There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Part 3: Tim (rough draft)
"Bruce? This young man has a question for you."
Bruce looked up from the report he was working on. Clark was standing there, obviously suppressing a smile, next to a child Bruce had never seen before who looked to be about five or six years old.
"This is the children's librarian, Mr. Bruce," Clark told the boy. "He'll be able to help you, okay?"
The boy looked indignant. "My question is for a librarian, not a children's librarian!" He was surprisingly well-spoken for his age, like he spent more time around adults than his peers.
"We're both librarians," Bruce explained. "I have specialized training regarding children and their families, but I'm qualified to help adult patrons, too."
The boy seemed mollified. "I came here to find a book."
"A specific book, or books on a certain topic?"
Clark, seeing that Bruce had it under control, backed away and returned to the front desk.
"I am looking for Textiles from Beneath the Temple of Pachacamac, Peru by Ina VanStan," the boy said, stumbling over some of the pronunciations but making an impressive effort. He held out a sheet of notebook paper, on which he had carefully printed the title and author.
Bruce stared, understanding now why Clark had not helped the boy himself. There was no way a young child would be able to get much out of such a scholarly-sounding book, and Bruce was the librarian best-equipped to point the boy toward more satisfactory alternatives.
Still, it was good customer service to at least make the effort rather than dismissing the child's request outright.
"What's your name?"
"Timothy Jackson Drake," the boy recited.
"Do you go by Timothy, or do people call you Tim or Timmy?"
The boy did not speak for a long moment, looking surprised and thoughtful. "...You may call me Tim," he finally said in a much softer voice than the firm, businesslike one he'd been using.
"All right, Tim. Let me look it up on the computer." Bruce took the paper and typed in the information. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the public library even had such an obscure-sounding book in their collection. "It looks like we do have one copy, down at Central. Would you like me to put it on hold for you?" When the boy looked wary, he explained, "I can ask the central library to send it here for you, so that you can check it out without having to go all the way downtown."
"Oh. Yes, please."
"All right. Do you have a library card?"
The boy froze guiltily. "No," he whispered.
"That's all right," Bruce hastened to reassure him. "What about your adult? Who did you come in with today, chum?"
The boy shifted uneasily in a way that abruptly reminded Bruce of Jason, even though this child didn't look homeless at all. He was very clean, with well-fitting, expensive clothes and styled hair that would not have looked out of place at a social event in Bristol. "Never mind. I can go to the central library to get it."
Something wasn't right here, but Bruce didn't want to scare the boy off by being too pushy. "Tell you what, how about I put it on hold with my own card, then when it arrives, you can come back here and take a look at it? Does that sound easier to you?"
Tim relaxed. "Yes, that is acceptable."
'Acceptable.' Bruce loved this kid already. "I used to do the same thing for my son, Jason, before I adopted him and he got a new library card of his own."
Tim tilted his head curiously. "How many children do you have?"
"Two, both adopted. Jason's older brother is named Dick."
"Are they at boarding school?"
Bruce blinked in surprise. It occurred to him that this child was, himself, not in school, even though it was close to noon on a weekday. "They're at regular school. Jason actually gets dropped off here four days a week and hangs out at the library until we close, then we go home together."
"That sounds lovely," Tim said wistfully.
Bruce had to work very hard to keep his facial expression from changing. He was getting the exact same feeling he had when Dick had peeked over the counter that first day and stolen his heart. 'Don't get any ideas,' he told himself firmly. 'Tim already has parents who dress him like that and teach him words like 'acceptable' and 'lovely,' and get him interested in Peruvian textiles. He's a patron, The End.' "Tim," he said out loud, "I've put your book on hold, but it will take a few days to get here. Do you have a phone number I could call to tell you when it's in?"
Tim hesitated. "Yes, but if I'm not the one who answers, please hang up and try again later."
More mental alarm bells. "All right," Bruce said slowly. He watched as Tim, from memory, wrote out a number on a sticky note in very legible handwriting. "You know," Bruce said once the sticky note was safely stowed in his breast pocket, "while you're waiting for the VanStan book, I can find some other books on similar subjects that you might like."
"Really?"
"Yes. I'll look it up right now."
Tim waited patiently during the computer search, then followed close behind when Bruce went into the stacks. Bruce collected a pile of materials on Peru, textiles, archaeology, and the Inca, throwing in some volumes from the adult section because he suspected Tim would turn up his nose otherwise, but also including plenty of books from the juvenile section that would be more accessible to a six-year-old. Unlike Dick, Tim's eyes gleamed with anticipation when he saw the growing pile of books. Bruce set them all down on a table right on the edge of the children's section, almost in the teen area. "Take as long as you like, and let me know if you want me to save any of these books for you to look more closely at later."
"Yes, sir," Tim said absently, already diving into the treasure trove.
For the next several hours, Bruce kept on eye on Tim, frequently glancing at the boy as he worked. The child spent a while rifling through pages and looking at pictures, occasionally perusing the adult books intently, his brow furrowed in concentration and his lips moving as he silently sounded out words. After about an hour, he seemed to have settled more on the juvenile books, reading through them one by one at a rapid rate. A couple of hours after that, he was making comparisons between the children's books and the adult books as he wrote in a notebook. If not for his tiny size and the way he was kneeling on the chair with his entire upper body practically sprawled across the table in the intensity of his work, he could have been a college student. Bruce grew more fascinated every time he looked.
He wasn't looking, though, when Tim came to find him again. Bruce finished assisting a young father and his twin children before turning to Tim, who had been waiting quietly but anxiously. "How can I help you, Tim?"
"I can't put all the books away fast enough!" the boy said in distress.
"Oh - Tim, don't worry about putting the books back, that's our job." And since patrons who re-shelved books got it wrong 99% of the time, the books were essentially lost, sometimes for months. "Did you find any you like?"
"Yes, please, may I go?! May I be excused, please?!"
Bruce stared. This sudden panic was weird, and was making his something-is-not-right senses tingle again. "Yes, of course you can leave if you have to go. Will y-?"
"Thank you!" Tim cried, and dashed out of the library, still unaccompanied.
o.o.o.o.o
Three days later, Bruce was glad to have an excuse to call the number Tim Drake had left with him. After a long succession of rings, it went to an answering machine. "Hi, this is Bruce Wayne from the Gotham Public Library. I'm trying to reach-"
There was a clatter as someone on the other end picked up the receiver. "Hello?" said Tim's slightly breathless voice. "Mr. Bruce? I mean, Mr. Wayne?"
"Hello, Tim. You can call me Bruce. I'm just calling to tell you that your book on Pachacamac textiles arrived, and it will be held here for you for seven days. Do you think you can make it to the library sometime this week?"
"Yes! I'll come tomorrow!"
"All right, Tim, I'll see you then."
o.o.o.o.o
When Bruce pulled into the parking lot the next morning, he frowned at the sight of a much too small figure waiting in front of the locked library doors. Instead of going around to the employee entrance, Bruce approached the forlornly huddled boy, who stood up the minute he realized the librarian was heading toward him. "Mr. Bruce...when does the library open?" Tim asked, sounding chagrined. "I can't see the numbers." He pointed at the door, where the library's business hours were printed high above his head.
"We open at 10:00 today," Bruce said, disturbed. He had not once seen this little boy accompanied by any adult. "Tim, who drove you here? How long have you been waiting by yourself?"
"Not long. Do you have my book?" Tim asked anxiously.
"...Tim, where are your parents?"
"They'll come back soon. Is it 8:47 right now?"
This kid was adorably weird. "It's 8:35 exactly," Bruce said, glancing at his watch.
"Twelve minutes," Tim muttered as if scolding himself.
"Did your parents drop you off here and just leave you all alone? What time did they say they were going to come back?"
Tim took a slow step backward. "I think maybe I should go to the central library."
"No," Bruce said quickly, wondering if he was being manipulated. "I have your book, Tim. It's the only copy left in the system, and it's not at Central anymore because they sent it here for you."
"Okay. At 10:00, I can come in and look at it?"
Bruce sighed. "You can come in with me, if you promise to stay where I can see you."
"I promise," Tim said immediately. He stuck close when Bruce badged himself into the building, disarmed the security system, turned on the lights, and put his briefcase away. When Bruce gave him Textiles from Beneath the Temple of Pachacamac, Peru, the boy lit up with excitement and held the book like it was a precious treasure, practically hugging it because it was too heavy for him to carry in just his tiny hands. However, when Bruce looked up from his work twenty minutes later, he found Tim sitting at the children's table looking disappointed almost to the point of tears, staring into the distance with the book still open in front of him.
"Tim?" Bruce said gently, crouching down beside him, "Is something wrong, chum?"
"I can't read it," the boy said in a very small voice.
"Would you like me to read a few pages of it to you?"
"Yes, please," Tim gasped out.
Bruce moved into one of the tiny chairs and made it through two and a half pages of the book when Tim, gently and heavily, laid his hand down in the middle of the page. "Thank you, Mr. Bruce," the boy said, his tone polite and distant. "Unfortunately, I don't think this is what I'm looking for after all."
"Would you like me to find you more of the kind of books you were looking at last time?" Bruce offered.
Tim hesitated. "No," he finally said, sounding near tears again.
Bruce wracked his brains. He felt like Tim was about to fall off a figurative cliff, and was desperate to find a way to reach him. "What else are you interested in, when you're not reading about Peruvian textiles?"
Tim sat very still and said nothing.
"Do you like animals? Dinosaurs maybe, or trains? Or, fairy tales, comic books - we have all sorts of interesting books here, Tim."
"Do you have...any books about a detective?" Tim practically whispered.
"I certainly do." Bruce fetched a children's graphic novel series about young Sherlock Holmes, but Tim didn't seem to be interested. He did a little better with Cam Jansen, but flipped through the stack of Beginner books way too quickly; it seemed to be a time-killer for him at best. It was Encyclopedia Brown that truly caught his attention, and Bruce was able to return to work as soon as it became evident that Tim had been sucked into the book series (Bruce's co-workers, arriving around 9:00, were slightly exasperated and very amused to see their children's librarian accompanied by a random six-year-old an hour before the library officially opened).
By the time Tim finished all the detective stories that were available, it was nearly lunchtime. "Tim," Bruce said when the boy came to give all the books back, "I used to eat lunch with Dick and Jason when they came here, before I adopted them. They're in school now, of course, but my lunch break is in about fifteen minutes. Would you like to join me?"
The boy's eyes lit up for a moment, but then he said politely, "No, thank you, Mr. Bruce. I'm not hungry."
Bruce tried the tactic that had worked with Jason. "Really? Hmmm. You see, my uncle always prepares lunch for me, and he always overestimates my appetite. He sends me off to work every day with a giant meal, but I can't finish it all, and then he sees how much is left over at the end of the day and thinks I don't like his food, even though I do. I would really appreciate having someone to help me finish all the food so I don't have to throw it away and waste it, or bring the leftovers home and hurt Uncle Alfred's feelings."
Tim frowned in confusion. "You're eating lunch here? You brought your own lunch?"
'He doesn't have a lot of money on him,' Bruce guessed, and pressed his advantage. "Yes. I can't afford to go out to eat every day, and Uncle Alfred's food is better than any restaurant's, anyway."
"Oh. Well, if that's the case, I can help you out."
"Thank you, Tim."
When they had gotten settled at a table, Tim attacked the first few bites with barely-restrained urgency, but then soon settled into tiny, slow bites. Unlike either of the previous children Bruce had regularly eaten lunch with, Tim wasn't a chatterbox.
The comfortable silence was eventually broken when Tim asked, "So, Mr. Bruce, what do you do?" He sounded exactly like an adult at a boring party, as if that was the only type of social interaction he had been exposed to.
Bruce found it more worrisome than cute, and took the question seriously. "I'm a librarian."
He hadn't at all meant it to sound sarcastic, but Tim still froze and whispered, aghast, "That was a stupid question, wasn't it."
"There is no such thing as a stupid question." Tim looked skeptical, so Bruce elaborated, "Every question you ask means that you're trying to learn something new and decrease your ignorance. That's always a good thing."
"But if children asked all their questions, they would bother the adults and cause trouble. That's not a good thing."
Bruce put his food down so he could lean forward, set a hand over Tim's, and meet his eyes directly. "Timothy, let's get something straight here. I don't know who made you feel like you're supposed to stay quiet in a corner, but they were wrong. You are a delightful, intelligent person with very interesting thoughts, and I hope that you get answers to every question you can think of."
Tim was staring at him like a cornered rabbit, trembling a little. He abruptly stood up and backed away. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Bruce, but I have to go, it's very important!" he cried, and rushed out of the break room.
o.o.o.o.o
Bruce fretted for three days until Simon leaned into the work room and said with a grin, "You've got a call, Bruce."
Warily, Bruce glanced at the phone near the computer he was working at, and his eyes widened when he saw the name Jack Drake on the caller ID. He picked up the receiver at once. "Hello?"
Hearing Tim's voice was an incredible relief. "Hello, Mr. Bruce. This is Timothy Drake. You were very helpful when I was looking for that book about Peru, so now I would like to ask about another book."
"Of course, Tim," Bruce said, feeling his entire body relax for the first time in days.
"The title is The Hound of the Baskervilles, and the author is Arthur Conan Doyle."
"Ah. You're going to give Sherlock Holmes another shot?" Bruce said, already typing.
"Mr. Bruce," Tim said, his tone now accusatory, "you gave me an inauthentic substitute for Sherlock Holmes last time, when I asked for a detective story."
"Yes, Tim, I made an incorrect assumption about your tastes. I apologize."
"Your apology is accepted."
"All right, I've put it on hold. Should I use the same number as last time to call you when it comes in?"
"Yes, please. But only if I'm the one who answers, please hang up and try again later if it's anyone else or the answering machine."
"All right. ...Tim, are you doing all right? Do you need any help with anything?"
"No, but I'll call again if I find anymore books I want to read."
"No, I mean...with your life. In general. Are your parents treating you well? Are you having any trouble at school?"
Tim sounded confused and very polite. "Everything is quite well, thank you, Mr. Bruce. Goodbye." He hung up.
o.o.o.o.o
When Tim's books came in, Bruce called the phone number on the sticky note, but this time, a woman with a Bristol accent like Tim's picked up. "Hello?"
Bruce thought quickly. He didn't want to simply hang up and was glad of the opportunity to fish for information about Tim's home life, but at the same time, if Tim was being abused in some way, he didn't want to get the boy in trouble. "Hi, this is Bruce Wayne from the Gotham Public Library. I'm calling because I'm preparing a book display on titles recommended by leading citizens of Gotham, and I was wondering if the Drake family had any books or films they would like to recommend."
"Oh! Well, let me see..." The woman, who turned out to be Janet Drake, gave Bruce a few book titles, chatted with him a while about the archaeological expedition in Peru she had just returned from, and called her husband over to get a recommendation from him. To Bruce's frustration, she did not once even mention that she had any children at all, and he couldn't think of a risk-free way to ask about Tim. He hung up feeling dissatisfied, and wondered if he should wait until the next day to try again, or try sooner with his personal phone, withholding the number and just hanging up every time someone who wasn't Tim answered.
Luckily, he didn't have to decide, because half an hour later, the phone rang, and as soon as Bruce saw the caller ID, he snatched it up. "Hello? Er, Gotham Library, Bruce Wayne speaking, how may I help you?"
Tim's voice was a whisper. "Mr. Bruce!"
"Tim, are you all right? I called earlier, but-"
"Did you tell her about me?"
"No, Tim, I pretended I had neutral business. Seriously, I'm worried about-"
"Did you call because my book came in?"
"Yes, but-"
"You said seven days? I have to get it in seven days?"
"I'll hold it for you as long as you need, Tim."
"Thank you, Mr. Bruce. I'll try to come soon." He hung up without giving Bruce another chance to speak, and the man stared at the phone in frustration.
o.o.o.o.o
Bruce was restless with anxiety again, and that night, he looked up the Drakes. It was easy to find information on them because they were both rich socialites and fairly successful archaeologists. Almost no mention was made of Tim except for a couple of photos where he appeared as the only child in a sea of grown-ups, looking tiny in his formal suit, eyes so distant and polite that he barely seemed like a person. 'Timmy,' Bruce thought longingly, wanting to scoop up that little boy out of those stifling surroundings and cuddle him close.
"You shopping for Kid #3?" Jason asked, snooping over his shoulder.
"He has parents," Bruce said shortly.
"Bruce," Dick laughed, leaning on his other shoulder, "you got all obsessive like this over Jay, and then you brought him home to keep."
"I can't adopt him. I'm just worried."
The boys shared a knowing glance. "Five bucks he comes home with Timmy in the next three months."
"Eight months," Jason said. "Getting custody will take longer since his parents aren't dead. Unless Dad kills them in their sleep or something, that's the only way you'd win."
Bruce sighed.
o.o.o.o.o
It took five days, but Tim finally came back to the library, still unaccompanied. It was two days before Jack and Janet Drake had a speaking engagement at a university in London (there had been a photo of them boarding the plane, since they intended to sightsee both before and after their presentation). 'Is he giving someone the slip, or is his nanny or babysitter criminally neglectful?' Bruce wondered. Though it was hard to worry as much as he should when Tim was beaming up at him in anticipation.
"Do you still have my book, Mr. Bruce?"
"I certainly do." Since they were under Bruce's own name, he'd been keeping them in his desk. "Tim," he said before he handed them over, "I'd like to ask you something."
The boy's face fell. "I'm doing very well at home and school," he said in a cardboard voice. "I'm going out to dinner with Mom and Dad tonight."
Bruce knew better than to challenge that closed off expression with the fact that he knew Tim's parents were not even in town. Though, honestly, the only reason he wasn't pushing harder was because Tim was always so clean, well-dressed, and not overly hungry.
"It's about the books. I did get you the genuine novel as you asked, but I wondered if you could help me with something." Although Tim's reading level was higher than average, Bruce was pretty sure a classic novel would still be difficult enough for the six-year-old that having to decipher it would leach out the enjoyment. That's why he had ordered an adaptation for younger readers as well, but he knew Tim would be offended if he didn't present it right. "I'm meeting someone next week, and I don't know whether to recommend the original novel or an adaptation. Do you think you could possibly do a comparison between the two, and let me know which you like better?"
Tim studied the two book covers. "I don't think they would like to get a recommendation from someone like me."
Bruce wondered how easy he had to go on the compliments to boost the child's self-esteem without overdoing it and scaring him off again. "I think you would be good at this, and I respect your opinion. I'll make the final decision later, I just wanted some input from you. I've been going back and forth about this for days, but you'd have a fresh perspective."
"Well...all right. I'll compare them for you."
"Thank you very much, Tim, I appreciate it."
Bruce got the boy settled at a table, then spied on him for the next few hours whenever he got a chance. The child seemed to be taking the project as seriously as he had when he'd been comparing the adult and juvenile materials on Peruvian textiles. It took him a few days, but at last he came up to Bruce with his verdict: "The adaptation is easier to read, but the real book is more important. Mr. Bruce, I think you should give them both books - they can read the adaptation for fun, and it makes the real book easier, too, because you already know what's going to happen."
"I think that's a good idea, Tim," Bruce said seriously. "You worked very hard on this. I'm proud of you."
Tim stared up at him, wide-eyed, for a long moment. "...Really?" he asked softly.
'Precious,' Bruce thought, resisting the impulse to snatch up and cuddle. "Very proud. You have an impressive reading level, Tim. I don't know any other six-year-olds, except maybe Jason, who could have helped me with this."
"Jason is your son," Tim said longingly. Then he blinked. "Why didn't you ask Jason to help you?"
"Well, Jason has schoolwork, but you never seem to have any," Bruce fished.
"Oh. Yes, I finish very quickly," Tim said dismissively.
"What grade are you in, Tim? First?"
The child tilted his head in confusion.
"What school do you go to?"
"I'm homeschooled."
"I see. Does your caretaker teach you, or does someone come to your house for lessons?"
Tim was getting that evasive look again that meant he would run if Bruce pushed much harder. "I do my lessons at home, and then I submit them. They're always A's."
"You're very smart, Tim."
"Do Jason and Dick always make A's?"
"Jason usually does. Dick is better at sports than schoolwork, but Uncle Alfred and I work hard with him to make sure he keeps his grades up."
Tim nodded. "He has to stay in his room without dinner until he comes back out with A-pluses."
Bruce swallowed, trying to keep his composure. "I've never used food to discipline my sons, and Dick is a very social person, it would hurt him too much to shut him away from us. If his grades are too low, he has to cut down on gymnastics until they improve to at least B's. Jason's never had a problem with his academics, but we do have to keep a swear jar for him, and sometimes we have to talk when he gets in fights at school. I don't think I could ever shut a child in his room without dinner until he made a perfect score on schoolwork."
Tim was very quiet. Finally he said, "When Dick makes bad grades and Jason gets in fights, do they ever make you look so bad that you lose important connections and don't get invited places anymore?"
Bruce couldn't help it. He set his hands gently on either side of Tim's face, wanting to cradle the child like the treasure he was. "I wouldn't care if I never got invited anywhere ever again if it meant my sons would grow up free and happy."
Tim's eyes were a little misty. "I think I would like it if you were my dad," he said. Then he pulled away and left the library without a backward glance.
o.o.o.o.o
Bruce and Tim continued to find excuses to see each other. Every week, Bruce grew more and more impressed with and worried about the little boy. He was convinced by now that Tim was an actual genius, and it bothered him that the child seemed so unused to validation and affection. He tried to make arrangements for Tim to meet his family, but as soon as Tim got the merest whiff of Bruce's intent, he made sure that he was never at the library on Saturdays or on weekday afternoons after Jason got dropped off. His determination to avoid Bruce's children in person was matched only by the frequency of his wistful questions about them.
The closer they got to the three-month mark, the more insistent Dick's "When are you gonna bring Timmy home?" nagging became as he sought to win his bet with Jason.
Jack and Janet Drake continued to frequently leave the city or the country. Tim rarely came to the library when they were in Gotham, but he did several times a week when they were gone, and Bruce still had not determined who was supposed to be taking care of him in his parents' absence.
"Tim," Bruce said one day at lunch, "Dick and Jason think you hate them."
"No!" Tim gasped, looking horrified. "I don't hate them! They know about me?! How do they know about me?!"
"Because sometimes," (many times...) "when I'm at home and talk about work, I mention you, since I see you a lot at work."
"But why do they think I hate them? I never met them!"
"Because every time I start to suggest a meeting, you make up an excuse and run away, so they think you're angry and don't want to meet them."
Tim was starting to look upset. "But I... But they won't like me if they meet me."
"You don't know that."
"But...but they're so cool, Dick won first place in his last competition."
Bruce had never said anything about that to Tim. He was very curious to know how the six-year-old had found out.
"And Jason is smarter than me. And I'm too small. Big kids don't like little kids."
"Tim, how about this. We can try just one meeting- Are you doing anything with your parents for Christmas?"
"Oh- No, we're just having Christmas at home."
"All right, then. We can have just one meal together, maybe on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, depending on what your parents are okay with, and if it doesn't go well, I'll take you straight back home. But if it does go well, maybe you can stay longer. How does that sound?"
Tim fidgeted. Bruce waited patiently. At last, the child said, "I can leave as soon as Dick and Jason get mad at me?"
"If they get mad at you, then I won't make you stay."
"...All right," Tim said quietly, looking nervous.
"Good. If your parents aren't home, who should I talk to about making the arrangements?"
"You can...you can email," Tim said. He wrote an email address on a slip of paper.
"Thank you, Tim," Bruce said. He smiled. "I'm looking forward to having you over for the holidays."
"Yes, sir," Tim murmured unhappily.
That evening, Bruce sent a message to the email address Tim had given him. He received a very short reply ten minutes later, and as the online conversation continued, he became more and more sure that he was actually writing to Tim rather than his parents. The spelling and capitalization were much better than the average six-year-old's, but there was still something off enough about the writing style that all but confirmed Bruce's suspicions. We look forward to having Tim over for Christmas, he typed.
Tim is small he makes mistaks, came the reply.
That's all right. Even if he makes mistakes, we will still be very happy to have him here.
Ok Goodnight merry christmas!
o.o.o.o.o
On Christmas Eve, the boys were excited as they ran around the house, making sure that everything was perfect for Tim's arrival and occasionally getting into friendly scuffles. Even Alfred was humming as he worked on a batch of fresh cookies. Bruce was the one more uneasy than excited, wondering how in the world things would go down at a mansion in Bristol where a lonely six-year-old lived with parents who were barely home and caretakers who let him wander around the city alone.
Bruce had asked a friend of his in law enforcement, Jim Gordon, to accompany him out of uniform (Bruce didn't want to alarm Tim by showing up with an obvious police presence). The drive was a long one, and the two men, neither of them naturally talkative, spent most of it in amiable silence.
It was fully dark by the time they reached Drake Manor. The gates were open, so Bruce cautiously drove through them and up to the house. The exterior and the grounds were covered with an obligatory, ostentatious display of holiday lights and decorations, but all the windows were dark.
A tiny figure was standing on the front steps as Bruce got out of the car and approached. Tim, despite looking ready to leave at the drop of a hat, was staring at Bruce like he couldn't believe his eyes.
"Hello, Tim. Are you ready to go?"
"You came," Tim whispered incredulously. "You really c-" He burst into tears.
Bruce, finally acting on what he'd been wanting to do for months, scooped up the little boy, backpack and all, and held him close.
"I'm sorry!" Tim sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay, to cry, Tim."
"I...I'm...sorry...!"
"I want you to stop talking and just cry until all the tears are gone."
Tim's little arms came up to cling around Bruce. He slumped in the man's hold and wept, sounding so lost and relieved all at once.
Jim, meanwhile, had been unsuccessful in getting anyone to answer the door. Bruce coaxed a key and a security code out of Tim, then just sat in the car holding him for a long time. At last, Jim came back out and stomped over to the car. "There is no one in that house," he stormed. "Kid, how long have you been all alone?"
Tim flinched at his angry tone, probably not realizing it was his parents Jim was mad at. Bruce patted him soothingly. "Th-They said they'd call for Christmas," Tim gasped tearfully into Bruce's shoulder. "I was supposed to wait until 11:00 for them to call, because of the time zones, but if I waited that long then Mr. Bruce wouldn't come, I was gonna wait until 6:00 and if he didn't come then I would go back and wait for Mom and Dad to call, but now Mr. Bruce is here and I won't be home and even if they call, no one will answer, they said they'd call for Christmas but I'm not going to answer, I'm a bad son...!"
Bruce was shaking with outrage, focusing most of his energy on not squeezing Tim too tight. "You are a good son," he found himself murmuring, "you are too good for this, I am taking you home, ssshhh, we're going home..."
Jim got all the details for his report as quickly as possible so that they could leave and get Tim somewhere safe. This time, he drove, and the radio was set to a station that played solely Christmas music. Bruce sat in the back with Tim, talking to him in a somewhat desperate stream of chatter as Tim sat very still and stricken. "Are Mom and Dad going to go to jail?" Tim finally asked. "Did I get them in trouble?"
"You did not get them in trouble," Bruce said firmly. He'd like to see them go to jail, but if he could use it as leverage to get them to give up custody of Tim more easily, he could live with that. JoAnn would know how best to play it. "You did the right thing, letting us help you. Did you bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush?"
"Yes, sir."
"You don't have to call me 'sir.' Dick and Jason like to fall asleep watching movies in the living room on Christmas Eve; would you like to do that, too, or would you like to sleep in a real bed?"
"Um, I can sleep wherever they want me to sleep..."
Tim looked very nervous when they pulled into the driveway, and outright scared when they came down the front walk. He was clinging so tight to Bruce's hand that Bruce wondered if he was going to be able to unlock the door.
Luckily, the door was thrown open before they reached it. Dick stared out at them in delight, decked out in a Santa hat and the ugliest Christmas sweater he'd been able to find at the thrift store. "JAY!" he shouted over his shoulder, "TIMMY'S HERE!"
"I GET DIBS!" the other boy yelled over the sound of pounding feet.
"Nope!" Dick lunged out, but Jason was so fast that they ended up tumbling off the porch together, nearly falling. Bruce caught Jason's shoulder just in time, and Dick turned his momentum into a front limber. The boys threw their arms around the little brother they'd already adopted in their hearts and swept him into the warmth and festive light of the house. Bruce was smiling as he followed.
o.o.o
A/N: I was really debating whether to post this today, or the new chapter of The Birds Who Smile. At first, I was leaning more toward TBWS (since it was last updated longer ago than this series was, and because it would have been nice to have a cute library fluff break amidst all the "John vs. Bruce" angst), but I eventually settled on this because it'd probably be a good idea to get a chapter or two ahead on TBWS to decrease my chance of making mistakes. If I can get a decent amount of writing done in the next couple of days, I'll probably update TBWS on Wednesday.