Authors Note: Thanks to Trunksblue for sharing her ideas with me! I did use some of them, so credit to her for that! And then … update! This fanfiction actually has an end, and I can see it … kind of. I see the end of the main plot! Ha! It's like, ten chapters left. That's a lot of chapters … hmm. So it might not concern anyone. XD

"But I'm not broken, in my dream I win. And I take over, 'cause I'm no loser. And I'm in and you're not, bad dreams don't stop, but I'm all screwed up, a Cosmic Castaway. And I want but have not, bad dreams, lust thoughts. In here with no pain, you hurt me again. And I want but have none, I should beat the alien, but here - I'm no one, a Cosmic Castaway."

Cosmic Castaway Electrasy

Oh Silent Prayer of My Thoughts

By: The BatThing

Chapter Sixteen:

"Tell me about your parents."

Tim played with a bit of his shirt as he listened to the man before him fire off different questions. It seemed pointless to be here, but there was really nothing to do about it. The boy didn't like the feel of the room, or the look of the man before him. The doctor was all in all … too nice. He had an understanding look, and Tim had a feeling that the man did care, partially, and that worried him for some strange reason. He considered lying, but knew that it wouldn't do any good – Dr. McAllister had his whole file at hand. He considered playing the silence game, but figured that was a little too childish. Tim tilted his head a little, removing his fidgeting hands and lifted his eyes to the man's before him. "My father died, but you probably read about that."

"I've read a lot, Timothy, but that didn't tell me much of anything."

"My parents were young when I was born, mom split soon after, dad went into the slums of Gotham. I mean that in every way possible. He loved mom, and the fact that she left never left his mind. I think he missed her constantly." Tim glanced at the clock. "He took up lots of jobs, most of which just to take his mind off things. He worked late and he worked a lot. When he wasn't working he either drank or slept. Don't get me wrong, he wasn't an awful parent, he was just a depressed guy."

Stan seemed to be in deep thought. "You two got along alright?"

Tim's eyes kept flickering to the clock above the door. He couldn't help it, more than anything he wanted to get out of this room. "You find that hard to believe?"

"No. How much did you get to see of your father?"

Half an hour, what to do … keep talking or what? Tim wasn't going to make people think he was disturbed and couldn't talk about his life. The main goal was to get this Stan McAllister to tell Bruce that there wasn't any problem. Keep talking indeed. "Not a lot, but he had his weeks, or days, where his mood would change. He'd take us out, we'd talk a lot on those days."

"What was it you talked about?"

"Everything and anything. School, friends, the job, foods, you know … anything that came to mind. He was an easy guy to talk to … when he was in the right mood. If he was moping over mom leaving, well then … it wasn't a good day to make conversation. He'd talk, but only just enough to be nice." The boy shivered inside, bleh, this sucked. "Mom's still alive; apparently she works as a cop in Metropolis. After dad died the GCPD found her, and we got to talk. She was nice enough. Told me she was sorry to hear about dad's death, said she was sorry she left like she did … so on and so forth. It was nice to get to talk with her."

"You aren't upset with her?"

"Naturally I blame her for making dad's life miserable, but I can't do much more than that. She fell out of love with him, and well, she was selfish."

The time passed ever so slowly, and finally rolled to an end. Stan got to his feet and walked with Tim down to where Bruce sat waiting – reading a magazine. The two men talked for a few moments in private and then Bruce returned, he and Tim made their way out of the building.

"So? What did Stan the Man say about me? Am I as crazy as you think?" Tim smiled at Bruce, considering a wink as he did so. Perhaps that would be a bit too much. "He was a nice guy, it was kind of refreshing talking to him."

Bruce was deadly quiet as they made their way to the car. It wasn't until they were inside, doors closed, that he spoke. "I thought you said you weren't going to talk to him."

"Well, I was being dumb last night. I guess you could say I was having a childish moment or something." Yeah right.

"Yeah right."

Oh. Once more, Bruce is smarter than he looks … metal note made.

"Stan says you are very talkative, and personable, and he can't wait to see you again next week." Bruce turned to glare. "You just play all the card just right, don't you?"

"You're mad!" Tim stuttered a little, on purpose of course. "Why the hell are you mad at me for talking to the guy you hired me to talk to! You make no sense at all, Bruce! What? Would it make you happy if I didn't talk at all to the man, just ignored his questions and stared at the clock. Or maybe if I just gave him smart answers, lied? What would make you happy?"

"If you were truthful for once."

"I am!"

That's when it came. Bruce turned to look at the boy, and Tim saw it. The glare he hadn't seen in so long. Batman's glare. The boy must have made a shocked expression or something because Bruce's face quickly changed. "What? What is it?"

"N-nothing." Tim turned, flustered, and looked out the window. His minds raced, his heart raced, maybe this was a sign that Bruce was coming back? After all, the man said that he was having a strange intuition – and that intuition had so far been right about Tim. Bruce knew when the boy was lying, knew what the boy was feeling and such. Maybe, just maybe things were going to turn out right. One could always hope.

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"So I'm pretty sure that I don't need to know that." Tim pointed his finger at the paper a bit too harshly. He looked up at Bullock and shook his head. "I might as well go back to school. You give me more than enough work for three private schools. Man, I can't go out if you keep giving me all this stuff to learn and shit."

Harvey Bullock didn't seem phased by the ill willed comments coming in his direction. He was chomping on his toothpick and standing, rather confidently, outside of a small White Crates resturamt. It was a shabby place, the food wasn't good, and it was worth too much money, but for some reason the detective found it to his liking. "I just give ya' what ya' need ta' know. If this weighs ya' down 'den maybe ya' should consider not goin' out so much."

The boy was quick to make a face at his 'teacher'. He knew it was pointless to argue, especially with Bullock. The man was the one person in all Gotham who appeared to have no fear. He would talk back to Batman, and anyone who could talk without fear to Batman was someone not to argue with. Robin sighed and stared at the papers and books. "Well, did the boss have anything else to say, other than to make sure I keep up with readings and such?"

There was a disgusted look. "I ain't a messenger, kid."

"Fine." Robin frowned as he looked up and down the street. A woman passing by glanced his way, staring at his sunglasses for a moment and then looking away. The boy wondered if it was really a good idea for them to meet like this. Tim had done his best to look 'normal'. Gordon had sent him a message, telling him to meet Harvey at this low class restaurant, and so far the meeting had been rather boring; Just a school check-up. The boy frowned. He had been hoping for something, well, interesting. "What time is it?"

"S'round two – why?"

"I had better get back, that's why." Tim snapped his head up and forced a smile to the larger man. "Thanks for the books, I'm happy to read them."

"Yeah right."

"Tell Gordon the next time he wants me to meet, that it isn't for something like this. I have enough on my plate without having to keep up with -."

"Kid." Bullock sneered. "I ain't a messenger, I told ya'. And as for yer' fast mouth – well, think before ya' talk. Yer lucky to have someone worry about ya' like Gordon does. Alright?"

Tim glared at the man. As if having Bruce to hound him wasn't enough. "Yeah well, I just wasn't expecting to come all the way down here for something like this. I was hoping that things had calmed down or something."

"The only thing that has calmed down is Annika." Harvey answered, he shrugged his shoulders. "People are still crawlin' around, always turnin' up in weird places – wantin' inside information on why the Commish is keepin' the girl at his house. They are turnin' it inside out, sayin' that he misses Barbara so he's taking the girl in."

Tim scrunched up his nose and tightened his grip on his backpack. He rose to his tiptoes, and rocked back down, thinking in silence. "How is Jim dealing with it?"

Bullock gave a partial smile, the most he ever gave. "He's just the same as he always is."

"That's good."

"I'll see ya'."

Tim lifted a hand, waving it at the detective. "Tell everyone hi!" He then turned quickly and started to shuffle through the people, walking down the sidewalk and blending with the Gotham crowds with great ease. His thoughts wandered, too much to think about – and he didn't want to think. Basic. He just wanted to space out, think about nothing, think about food, or think about maybe playing a game of soccer or something … hmm. Tim gave a steady laugh. "I think I need friends."

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When Bruce came home that evening he found his ward sprawled out on the couch, watching the television rather intensely. The man kept quiet as he hung up his jacket. He approached the boy, his attention being drawn away by the colors and noises that were attracting the boy.

"…struggling with the ghosts of his past, Jim Gordon takes on the responsibility of Commissioner of Gotham City. He's considered one of the finest the city has had. After all it was he who turned Gotham around – saved us. The death of his own daughter did not stunt his ability to take control of our city during those weeks of the bombing. He still stands at the top, ready for whatever comes. It seemed that he had handled his daughter's death rather well, until just a few days ago he took a young girl into his home. She was the victim of the Gauss Murderer. Her house, and her family, were lost in the horrid fire last…"

Tim flipped the television off and looked up at his guardian. "What's up? You're home a little late today."

"It happens." Bruce answered, turning away to head … well, away. He was still perturbed with the teenager. The boy just made him so flustered, it couldn't be helped. It was like living with a con artist or something. The man frowned at the thought. "How was your day?"

Tim flipped his hand back and forth as he replied. He looked perfectly comfortable and totally honest as he spoke. "It was ok, I guess, I got way too much homework, I really think that teachers are becoming more and more worried that we don't have lives or something."

"They're just keeping you busy, besides, looks like you're done with your work already. Right? So they couldn't have given you that much."

"Hmm." Tim turned back to the empty screen and sighed.

Bruce looked at the boy for a moment, and then walked on towards his study.

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Later that Night:

Tim leafed through Dick's journal, reading the entries again and again. His sigh was barely heard as he stared at the words, lost in thought. How was it that Dick had been so strong when he had been so little? A sharp buzzing caught the boy's attention and he sat right up, glancing around the room in wonder. "What the?"

He spotted a cell phone on his dresser and scrambled to answer, knowing that it had to be Gordon on the other line. The boy wondered what about. He flipped the phone open and walked over to his window.

"Hello?"

"Robin?" There was a pause, it was Montoya. "We're going to need you over here."

The boy opened his window and made his way onto the roof, feeling a bit more secure talking out there. "Where is here?"

"GCPD, just come on over and we'll explain." And the line went dead.

Tim stared at the phone in wonder and shook his head. He scanned the area and then went back into his room. His backpack lay on the floor and the boy quickly emptied all the books from inside it and then slid under his bed, lifting his mattress and moving a supporting board. He grabbed his Robin suit and replaced everything, sliding back out. The boy buried the costume into his bag and then grabbed a sweatshirt, slipped it on, and pulled the backpack on. Tim hurried back to his window and exited, closing it silently and praying that Bruce didn't bother him tonight.

He snuck across and came to the rain pipe. Tim didn't dare trust the object, not since it had broke on his a few years back – gaining him a long period of room time for sneaking out. The boy kept walking till he came to the opposing side of the house and swung his feet down. He held tight and jumped. It was a hard land, and he bit his tongue when he hit and rolled on the ground.

"Shit." The boy stuck it out and carefully walked towards the garage, pondering how bad the bite was.

To be continued …

Terra89: Hey! Thanks so much for the kind words, lol, I'm glad you liked it. There should totally be a Tim Drake Club. A friend and I started one once, when we were like … babies. Wow, it was like five years ago. Anyhow, lol, I laughed at your way to deal with troubles. It reminds me of a friend. You two should meet, I think you think alike. Glad you read! Tim Drake forever.

Trunksblue: Gah! Try going without a computer desk, it sucks! My neck hurts so bad from sitting all weird and having my computer on this little chair and my mouse and keyboard in my lap. I need to get a desk, I can't live without one! … Random fact of the day. Anyhow, I totally stole your advice about Bruce's glare, it was such a good idea. You inspired me to greatness, SoN. LoL. Bleh, anyhow, thanks for the review … hopefully I'll keep writing fast? Maybe.