It was a good thing that the rain had stopped, it was a long walk from the old Arkham grounds to the city and the last thing he needed was to get a head cold. The two walked slowly along the road holding hands; the little girl jumping in puddles. Tim looked up at the sky. The clouds started to break up, revealing the stars high up. He'd forgotten how pretty the night sky was, and the smell of the air after a rainstorm. It was strange, several hours ago he was confused and scared of everything and now he felt completely calm. It probably was best not to think too much about it right now, the other last thing he needed was another panic attack.

"How much longer do we have to walk?" asked the girl. He looked down, shaking his head and raising his shoulders. He really didn't know. He wished though that the city was right around the corner, he was tired and his feet were killing him. Stupid dress shoes weren't made for long walks. The girl suddenly stopped and started to pout.

"I can't walk anymore. I'm tired and cold." He rubbed the back of his neck, she was starting to irritate him and his nerves were already long gone. He bent down and pointed to his back. Luckily she understood what he meant and got onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. He struggled to stand back up, he just felt so weak. He started to walk on, trying to think of what he was going to do with this kid. He couldn't just walk up to the next person and ask them to take her off his hands.

"You're really bony." she said loudly right into his ear. He decided to ignore her, it was bad enough with everything else. He tried to keep walking with her weight, but after about two hundred feet he just couldn't hold her up anymore. He knelt back down and had to let her down. She let go and came around to look at him.

"Are you tired already?" He looked at her. She thought about it and said, "It's OK, I'll just walk on my own." and started to walk away. He went to get back up, but his legs just didn't want to move anymore. The girl looked over her shoulder and walked back over.

"I'll help you up." she chirped and grabbed his arm and started to tug. He got up and folded his arms in frustration. It was embarrassing, a four or five year old girl was helping him stand up. He was just grateful that nobody really used this road anymore after that new highway was built. He still hadn't figured out what he was going to do with her or himself. Maybe she's on the Amber Alert and the cops will be looking for her. He could find the nearest police car then...yeah that sounded like a good idea. It's not that he could ask her where she lived, or even if she knew her own address. After he gets her safe, then he'll find a place to sleep and stay until he was strong enough to leave town. That sounded simple enough at the moment. The girl seemed to have finally warmed up to him because she wouldn't stay quiet. She kept chattering on and on about her dog and her toys. He was starting to wish it was only a few minutes to the nearest cop.

Eventually, about two hours later the two came up to the outer city limits. It was a sight of relief for him because he was getting tired of hearing the same story over and over again. He looked around; now he had to be careful that nobody saw him. The longer he could stay hidden and not under Batman's radar the more time he had to prepare to leave. As he looked, he spotted a 24 hour diner, and would you look at that, a GCPD cop car! He grabbed her hand and pointed to the car. She looked up and smiled.

"Yeah, mommy says to go to the police when you're in trouble. They'll help us get home!" Oh crap, he hadn't thought about her talking to the police about what happened! She knew...everything. He looked down at her and pointed to himself and then made a shushing gesture. She looked up at him.

"What do you mean? I don't get it." He pointed to the car, then to himself and shushed again. She thought about it.

"You...don't want me to talk to the police?" He shook his head and pointed to himself.

"You don't want me to take to the police about you?" He nodded.

"Why?" He sighed. He always sucked at Charade, and besides he really couldn't stop her from talking even if he wanted to. He shook his head again and grabbed her hand and started toward the diner. As they got closer, the smell of the diner got stronger in the air. His mouth started to water from it; he didn't realize how hungry he was. He had to ignore it for now though. They got to the other side of the street of the diner and he stopped and pointed to the car. She looked at him started to tug at his arm.

"Come on," she said eagerly, "let's go see the police man." He shook his head; pointed to her and then to the diner, then to himself and the ground below.

"You don't want to go," she asked, he nodded, "why?" He didn't answer. She looked at him and gave him one last hug.

"It's OK, I'll go in, and I won't even tell them about you if you don't want me to." He chuckled and hugged her back and as when she entered the diner, he turned and ran as fast as he could away from the street as he could. He knew that the cops would soon be there and he had to get as far away as he could get.

It had been a long time since he had to walk the streets of Gotham alone at night, but it was late enough that most people were in bed or at least at a safe enough place to wait out the night. He lurked in the shadows, darting out only if he had to. This sucked. He never had to be this stealthy before and now after smelling the cooking food in the diner, it was all he could think about. He came up to a small mom and pop store and looked inside. It looked like it served the neighborhood with a little of everything from groceries to clothes. He walked to the back and saw a second door, probably lead into the store's storage area. He walked over to it and saw it was only locked with a cheep lock. He picked up a rock and smashed it off with three strikes. He opened the door and peeked inside, looking around for security cameras or any other form of security. He didn't see any so he went inside.

The store was quaint, felt very 1800's. There were stairs leading up to the second story of the building. Probably where the owners lived, he thought. Dropping the rock midway in, he walked over to the clothing racks and looked for some clothes his size. There was no way he could go running around in a purple suit and not be noticed. He found a par of grey sweat pants, a bit too large but it was the only pair that would remotely fit him. Then he found a black hoodie; again too big but it would have to do. He put the pants and hoodie on right then and there; didn't want to get rid of the suit just yet. He'd have to burn it so Bruce wouldn't find it. He looked over at a display with some makeup for women. He walked up to it and picked up some skin foundation. He couldn't go around with white skin. He picked up several foundation creams and a couple of 'natural color' lipstick and put them into his bag. He looked over to the clothing again and picked out a hat and a pair of sunglasses and put the hat on and put the glasses into the bag. As he put the glasses into his bag, he pulled out one of the stacks of hundreds he had taken with him. He pulled out about two thousand dollars and placed it on the counter.

'There,' he thought, 'go buy yourselves a better security system.' He chuckled as he started to make his way over the fridges to grab something to eat. He just grabbed a quarter gallon of milk when the door of the second floor opened up and the lights came on.

"Who's down here laughing like a helium sucking hyena and about to get their heads smashed in with a baseball bat?!" yelled out a angry man. Tim ducked down, luckily he was in the blind spot of the stairs, but he was ten feet away from the back door. The man descended the stairs in pajama bottoms and a baseball bat, ready to take a swing at anything. He slowly made his way around the store, not knowing what to run into. Tim looked around, hoping to find something to help him out. He spotted the rock that he had used to break into the place, it was only about three feet from him. He crept his way toward the rock and picked it up. The man was looking around near the store's front window, looking into the clothing racks. He raised his arm and aimed at the window.

'Batter up!'

The rock flew through the air and broke the window, causing the store owner raise his arms defensively. With him distracted, Tim ran out the back door and further down the alleyway. He climbed over the wooden wall ran across the street and down another alleyway. Hoping he had run far enough, he started to walk quickly down the road.

'Helium sucking hyena' he thought to himself, 'got to admit, that's pretty good.' He laughed again, but this time tried to keep quiet. He looked around; it seemed that most of this part of the neighborhood had died. Building doors and windows were boarded up, the buildings themselves looked old and tired. He knew better than to go into places like that. Scumbags and gangs used places like those, it wasn't safe. There was only a few places that seemed to have some life left inside them. One of them was a bakery. He looked inside the window like before and eyed the day old breads and pastries and his mouth watered again. He looked around and again found a back entrance. This one however had a better lock and there weren't and bricks or rocks to help him out this time. He looked around, and called back to his days fending for himself on the streets, when he had to steal to survive. He lifted the doormat and sure enough, there was a key there. He opened the lock and placed the key right where he had found it and entered. The smell of bread and pies hit him as he entered, but it was faint. This area was part of the bakery, but it was used for storage. Large flour bags piled high and extra ingredients lined up neatly on shelves. There was a large old brick oven in the back of the room, it was covered in flour and dust and had a large crack down the front of it.

'The oven looks broken,' he thought, 'they probably have another one somewhere and just haven't bothered to take this one out.' He opened the gate and looked inside. It was surprisingly clean for a oven. The door was large enough to fit a small man inside and the inside of it was deep enough to fit a car. He looked around, hoping to find another way into the bakery to get at the food inside. Unfortunately, this door was locked and there didn't seem to be a key anywhere. He smacked the door bitterly; food was just right there and he was too tired to do anything about it. Running from the shop earlier took what was left of his strength. He turned and looked on the shelves, hoping that there wold be...something. He did find something, it was a halve of a loaf of sourdough bread. It was probably used for sandwiches for the employees but was left out so it got stale. He didn't care if it was stale, it was food and that was good enough for him.

He sat on the flour sacks that were stacked on a wooden pallet and took a big bite out of the loaf. The bread was hard to chew, but he opened the milk he had managed to take with him and took a swig of it. He didn't realize how bad his hunger was until he started to eat. His arms shook and he nearly choked from not chewing enough. He chortled between each bite, not caring if he was or wasn't, it was just nice to eat something. He ran out of bread before milk, so he swigged the last of it as fast as he could. He felt alive again. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of the hoodie and pulled the hood down, taking the hat off as well. He was still hungry, but what he had would do for now.

'I wonder when the bakery workers come in?' he wondered to himself. He didn't even know the time or date. He could only have a few minutes until they came and found him. He should look for somewhere else to stay, but eating made exhaustion catch up with him. He looked over to the oven and hope that the workers never opened it. He walked over to it and crawled into the brick oven and left the oven door slightly ajar. It was dark inside, but he didn't care. He crawled to a corner and curled up. He would plan the next step after he woke up, trying to ignore the hunger that was still there, trying to forget that he killed someone...forget everything like before. He tried not to, but right before he fell asleep, a bitter laugh came out again just to remind him of everything.

Three months.

Three long damn months and still nothing. He had used every favor at the Blüdhaven police station, looked under every rock and punched every face he had to, to find out anything about Robin and there was nothing. Bruce told him that he had everything under control in Gotham and for him to keep looking outside of Gotham. Bullshit. He wasn't staying away any longer; he should have come sooner. Dick was going much faster than the speed limit on his motorcycle, but he didn't care. He'd be lucky if he caught Bruce and Barbra returning to the Batcave at this rate.

He finally reached Wane Manner, the place looked more dreary than usual and that was a feat in itself. He parked the bike and took off his helmet. He took two steps at a time up the stairs and rang the doorbell, trying to wait patiently. The door opened and there stood one of the only men in the world he had more respect for that Bruce.

"Master Dick," said Alfred, "it's so good to see you again; though I wish it were under better circumstances"

"It's good to see you to, Alfred," he said without a smile, "how are you holding up?"

He looked Alfred over. Alfred was always the gentle voice of reason and understanding. He always seemed to know what to do and what to say to make everything right again. He was the rock; the anchor of the family and the safe port for any emotional situation. He never looked tired or ever frustrated with any situation. He always had clean pressed clothes and his posture was always strait and proper, but now. He looked tired. It was the only word for it. Dick looked at Alfred's always pressed cloths and saw that they had been slept in. Alfred would have never done that in any situation.

"As well as to be expected, Master Dick," Alfred said with a sigh, "we all have been searching night and day for young Master Timothy."

"I can see that," said Dick looking at his clothes again, "Alfred, you've been sleeping in your suit, haven't you?" Alfred normally would have been appalled at the very notion, but he seemed to sink into his own skin and said.

"While Master Bruce and Miss Gordon are out on the streets, I've stayed behind and monitored the computer in the cave to see if anything is referred to anything that may lead us to Master Timothy. I hate to admit it, but I have fallen asleep at the monitor a few times."

"We're all tired Alfred," Dick said placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder, "and you're doing an important job." Alfred seemed to perk up after that and smiled.

"Do you know when Bruce and Barbra will be back?"

"They often don't return for over forty-eight hours," Alfred said while leading him toward the Batcave entrance, "Miss Gordon's grades are failing, and Bruce Wayne has been on 'extended vacation' for the past two and a half months. Quite frankly, I'm worried for Master Bruce."

"What, for old Bruce," said Dick as they walked down the steps, "for the man who can do no wrong, the man who can solve anything, for the man with no heart?"

"Master Dick, please," said Alfred tiredly, "I know you and Master Bruce are currently not on the best of terms at the moment but do try to keep it to one insult at a time." Dick nodded, he didn't want to upset Alfred.

"Master Bruce hardly eats or sleeps," said Alfred calmly, "he barley talks to me or Miss Gordon, and," he said leaning in closer and lowering his voice, "he has been ignoring other crimes. He does not even answer the Batsignal." Dicks eyes widened.

"He's never done that."

"I know," said Alfred sadly, "and he's also becoming more and more violent." Dick was going to say something, but stopped when he heard the Batmobile's engine echo inside the cave. He turned and walked toward where the Batmobile would park and calmly waited for the inevitable 'why are you here' speech.

The Batmobile roared one last time before silencing and the canopy opened. Batman jumped immediately out and marched toward the Batcomputer while Batgirl slowly exited the car, clearly tired.

"I thought I told you to keep looking in Blüdhaven." Batman said without even looking at Dick.

"I've looked everywhere there was to look at," Dick said trying to keep his temper down, "asked every favor I had on the force. There isn't anywhere else to look." Batman ignored him, too busy typing on the computer. Dick turned toward Barbra, saw how tired she looked.

"We've searched nearly the entire east side of Gotham," she said taking off her cowl, "and still no sign." She looked over at Batman as he continued his search on the computer.

"Bruce," she said quietly, "we've been up for nearly 42 hours. You only had a four hour nap before that and that was after 57 hours of searching. We need food and rest." Bruce didn't say anything.

"Please Bruce," Barbra pleaded, "you need to rest yourself." Bruce turned toward her and shot her a look that would have made the Scarecrow wet himself.

"I will rest when Tim is found, until then I will keep looking."

"And what if you find him," Dick interrupted, "you find him and you're too weak and tired to do anything about it?"

"Master Dick is right, sir," said Alfred gently, "you must rest yourself. It would not do any good for you to be at your worst when Master Tim needs you at your best." Batman scowled at all three of them, the lack of sleep was quite evident on his face, even for Batman.

"I'll go out and keep looking," said Dick, "you three get some sleep. We'll do rotating shifts. That way everyone can rest."

"That sounds pretty good to me," said Barbra, Bruce did not say anything. He turned back to the computer and kept typing. Alfred walked up to him and placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Pleas sir, for Tim."

Bruce sighed, removed his cowl and looked at his closest friend. Alfred always had a way with Bruce, one that everyone wished they could learn how to do it. Bruce slowly rose out of the chair and finally showed just how tired he was.

"Go check near the west docks," he said to Dick as he slowly ascended the stairs to the mansion, "the clubs and bars down there always secrete information." Alfred followed close behind, ready to help out his master and then rest himself.

Dick walked over to where the costumes were stored away, picking out a spare Nightwing one. He quickly changed into them and was just about to put on his mask.

"Dick," He looked up and saw Barbra holding herself, tears flowing down her face, "I don't think that we're going to find him alive anymore. It's been too long. It's just been too long." He walked up to her and held her in his arms. She felt so limp in them, she buried her face into his chest.

"We'll find him," he said to her, "no mater what. We'll find him."

"I'm beginning to doubt that as well." she said quietly. Dick sighed, he didn't really know what to say to make it better.

"Has Bruce told the league yet?"

"No, he hasn't," she said sadly; anger started to swell in Dick's chest, "I don't think he is going to tell them either."

"Yeah, his damn ego and pride gets in the way for that."

"Dick..."

He let her go and waved his arm around in frustration.

"Barbra! He has friends that can see through walls, run faster than sound and other abilities that could have helped find Tim and yet," he said putting on his mask, "he doesn't want to ruin his precious reputation! He's Batman! Batman never asks for help! It's his damned fault for taking on another sidekick, a young sidekick! Tim is only ten years old! Yeah I was eight when I started, but I wasn't even allowed outside the cave and in costume for at last a year with extensive training, Tim started three weeks after he was 'recruited'!"

"Dick, stop." Barbra said sternly.

"No Barb, I'm not going to," he said angrily, "it has to be said. The only thing Bruce ever loved in his life was his parents. Everything else is disposable and the only thing he remotely shows any interest in, is if it is useful in his goddamned war. If Tim is really dead out there," he got on a bike and put on his helmet, "it's all on his head." He revved the engine and speed out of the cave. Barbra stood there, watching him leave the cave. She was too tired to do anything right now, she had to get some sleep. She walked toward the computer and looked up at the screen. It seemed that missing girl had been found safely after she had been missing for two days. She smiled, at least that story had a happy ending.

He woke up screaming. He didn't remember the nightmare but he woke up screaming. He felt utterly dislocated; didn't even remember where he was. He tried to stop screaming, but it was like the laughter, it just kept coming out. He somehow stopped himself from screaming and had to settle for the laughter that replaced it. The laughter was the worst, it hurt every time it came out and it seemed to have a mind of it's own. It lived deep within him and would only come out at the worst time, just to spite him. He tried to catch his breath again when he suddenly remembered where he was. He listened to see if the bakery workers had heard him. He didn't hear anything. He peaked out of the crack of the oven and saw that nothing had been moved. He crawled out and listened at the door of the bakery. Nothing. The Bakery was closed.

He looked out the small widows and could see daylight, so it must have been a weekend day or a holiday. He sighed, relieved that it was closed. He would have been surely caught otherwise. He got up and stretched, he felt stiff from sleeping on the hard bricks in the oven. He also felt hot with all the layers of clothes. He took off the hoodie and the sweat pants; and looked at the purple suit he was wearing. He hated formal clothes, they were so restrictive. He unbuttoned his green vest, pulled off his outer coat and the vest and tie, pulled off the Purple suspenders and unbuttoned the green dress shirt. He open it up and looked down. There were so many scars. Scars that were white, scars that were a light purple color and new scars that were still healing. They were all over his chest and stomach. He looked around for a bathroom, hoping that there was one in the storage of the bakery. Thankfully there was one. He went inside and looked inside the mirror. He turned to look at his back and there were just as many scars. Burn scars, knife scars; scars of all kinds. Why didn't he remember any of this? He remember bit's and pieces, but the rest was a blur; locked away in his head. While in the bathroom, he did his business and as he washed his hands, he looked at his arms. Just as scarred as the rest of him. He would have to wear long sleeved shirts from now on or else people would think he was cutting himself.

He walked back over to the pile of clothes and went to put on the hoodie, but then felt sick. He just got a sick, painful feeling that if he didn't put the suit back on...

'It's just in my head,' he told himself, 'I don't have to wear it.' He put the hoodie on and took off the dress pants and put on the sweat pants. He started to gather up the clown costume, trying to think of what to burn them in. He started to feel itchy. His skin started to itch and burn like as if he had rolled around stinging nettle. He also started to feel claustrophobic and panicky. He took off the hoodie and pants and started to put back on the suit. As soon as he got the dress shirt and pants with straps back on, he started to feel better.

'Great, not only can't I talk,' he thought bitterly, 'but now I can't go without the stupid suit.' It must have been burned into his mind to wear the suit at all times. He felt sick without it. It took some time to put the tie back in, but he eventually was returned to his clownish glory.

'At least I can wear clothes outside of them,' he thought. He walked back to the oven and pulled his bag out. He dug inside it and pulled out the makeup he took and looked at it.

'I can put this on and get a bus or train ticket out of town,' he thought to himself, 'but I don't even know what part of town I'm in.' He felt his face and laughed. How stupid was he, he could put on gallons of makeup but he still had that stupid grin to cover up. In this town, it was always a bad idea to walk into any business with anything on your face. It was a miracle they hadn't banned Halloween yet.

He sat back down and put his head into his hands. This was going to be harder than he thought. He didn't really want to leave, but he also couldn't go back to Wayne Manner and face the others. He didn't want to think how the would look down at him. Faces full of disgust. Batman had a strict code. Anyone who broke the law had to face justice. He started to laugh at the thought; covering his mouth again because of it. They'd take one look at him and throw him in the nut box. He didn't want the Mad Hatter as a roommate. His head was still swimming, making him sick to his stomach again. He couldn't just sit here either, eventually Batman was going to find out about what happened. He'll know everything. He'll know he let him down, how weak he had been. The laughter started to get louder, making his stomach ache all the worse. He closed his eyes and tried to think what would be best to do.

'What were you thinking Tim,' said the voice that sounded so much like Dick, 'telling him everything like that!?'

'Guess you're just a little kid after all.' sighed the one that sounded like Barbra.

'Batman should have picked a stronger person for the job' sighed the voice that sounded like Commissioner Gordon

'Kid's a loser!' said the Bullock voice. The voices started to talk over one another and everything was just so loud that he just wanted it to stop. They all stopped suddenly.

You disappointed me,' said Batman's voice, 'you're not even fit to be called Tim, let alone Robin, JJ.' His eyes darted open and he panted as the voices finally stopped. Batman was right. Tim Drake was dead. Robin was dead. There could only be JJ now. He felt more comfortable with that name now anyway. Bruce and the others would mourn the death of poor Tim Drake and they would move on, his old name honored for falling in the line of duty.

Yeah, he could live with that.

Thanks again for sticking around and reading! Reviews are always appreciated and welcomed. :)