Chapter Text
Tim didn’t sleep.
Not really.
He’d spent most of the night replaying the look on Percy’s face at breakfast — the way his shoulders had tightened, the way he’d gone quiet, the way Tim had said absolutely nothing helpful.
So in the morning, when the manor was still half‑asleep and the hallways were quiet, Tim found himself standing outside Percy’s door with a knot in his stomach and a half‑formed apology in his throat.
He raised his hand to knock.
And paused.
Something felt… off.
Tim brushed it off, convincing himself that it was just his nerves. He raised his hand to knock again, breathing deeply before pushing his fist forward, giving himself no time to stop.
The thud on the wood was loud in the quiet of the manor. Tim held his breath, fearing what Percy would say? Would he forgive him?
He waited, standing in that empty hallway for what felt like an eternity, though it could only have been a few minutes.
But… nothing.
No movement inside.
No irritated “go away.”
Only silence.
Something was wrong.
Tim tried the doorknob. Locked.
He frowned — Percy never locked it during the day — but he didn’t want to break the door down. Not yet.
He spun on his heel and jogged down the hallway to his own room, skidding inside and immediately digging through the piles of papers and reports scattered across his desk.
Whereisitwhereisitwhereisit—
They had to be here somewhere. He’d used them just the other night on a discreet mission for Bruce.
A glint of metal caught his eye between the stacks of white paper.
There.
Tim snatched up his lock picks and sprinted back to Percy’s door. He dropped to a crouch, tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he worked the picks into the lock, hands moving with practiced precision.
A click, and the lock gave. Tim wrenched the door open, scanning the room.
Something felt wrong.
Tim hadn’t been in Percy’s room before, but it looked almost exactly like it had the day Percy arrived. Clean. Empty. Impersonal.
The bare essentials were there — bed, desk, window — and nothing else.
The air had a slight chill, which made no sense. The heaters were on; he could feel the warm air drifting from the vents above him. So where was the cold coming from?
And where was Percy?
Percy was nowhere in sight, which was… concerning. Tim tried to be optimistic — maybe Percy was just exploring the manor?
He shook his head, forcing the thought away as his eyes swept the room again. They stopped on the window.
The open window.
Nononononononono.
Percy wouldn’t leave.
He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
Shitshitshit.
If Percy left, chances were he’d gone back to the cult. That was bad. That was very bad.
Tim crossed the room quickly, reaching the window and touching the frame. His finger came back wet.
He frowned. How could Percy have gotten past a secure, alarmed window with nothing but a bit of water left behind? It was… impossible.
But Tim dealt with the impossible weekly.
Impossible wasn’t impossible.
It was just really, really weird.
And usually dangerous.
Tim inhaled sharply, brain going into overdrive. He had to tell Bruce.
Tim doesn’t run — but he moves quickly, almost tripping over himself. At this time in the morning, B is usually either in bed or leaving for the city. But Tim knows that Bruce stayed in the cave last night, running over some report. God knows what it actually was, Joker or Black Mask or Percy.
The grandfather clock can’t open fast enough, and Tim finally breaks into a sprint the second it swings open. As he suspected, B sits before the batcomputer, screens glowing.
This was going to be fun.
Tim slid to a stop right next to Bruce, bracing himself on the chair.
“Bruce—”
“Tim. Slow down.” Said Bruce, not looking up from the news reports on the screens.
“Percy’s gone.”
Bruce froze. Completely still. “Explain.”
“His room— it’s cold, the window was open, the frame was wet— he’s not there, Bruce. He’s not anywhere.”
Bruce's voice was low, controlled. Slipping into Batman. “When did you last see him.”
Tim looks at the floor in shame. “Yesterday morning. He was upset. I thought— I thought he just needed space.”
“And now.”
“He’s gone. I checked everything. He climbed out the window.”
(Bruce stood. No hesitation.)
“Get the others.” No hesitation as B stood.
“Bruce— I’m sorry, I should’ve—”
Bruce’s voice was sharp, “Tim. This is not your fault.”
Tim flinched anyway.
His voice was softer, but still like steel as he reassured Tim, “We’ll find him. He couldn’t have gone far. Now go get the others.”
Tim nodded, trying to believe that Bruce was right. He had to be right. He pulls out his phone, fingers already directing themselves to the group chat.
Cave. Now. Emergency.
The replies were instant, but Tim didn’t see any of them before he shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Tim didn’t know where he was going, but he let him go without a word. Bruce in full mission mode was a force of nature — and right now, Tim wasn’t sure if that reassured him or terrified him.
Tim stood there for a heartbeat, chest tight, the cold from Percy’s room still clinging to his skin. The Cave hummed around him, screens flickering with silent news feeds, but all he could hear was the echo of his own pulse.
Bruce hadn’t hesitated.
Not for a second.
That told Tim everything.
***
Percy’s gone.
Tim rehearsed the words in his head, flattening them, stripping them of emotion. He wasn’t sure he could say them out loud without cracking.
Damian arrived first, already dressed, already furious.
“What is it, Drake.”
Tim didn’t look at him.
Didn’t react to the tone.
“I’ll tell you when the others get here.”
Short.
Efficient.
Neutral.
They came fast.
Duke.
Steph and Cass.
Jason and Babs.
Dick stepped out of the Zeta with tension already in his shoulders.
They all looked worried.
They didn’t know enough to be worried yet.
Bruce entered last, fully suited, cape snapping behind him. He didn’t slow down as he approached Tim.
Jason broke first.
“Okay, someone better start talking.”
Tim didn’t flinch.
Didn’t breathe.
Just delivered the data.
“Percy’s gone.”
Silence.
Immediate.
Sharp.
Steph’s eyes widened.
Duke swore.
Cass’s posture shifted.
Dick’s face fell.
Jason stepped forward.
“Gone where.”
Tim’s voice stayed flat.
“Most likely back to the cult.”
That detonated the room.
Jason swore.
Steph gasped.
Duke’s eyes went wide.
Cass’s fists curled.
Dick’s expression crumpled.
Damian’s voice cut through the noise.
“He would not return to those extremists willingly.”
Tim didn’t look at him.
“Statistically, victims of indoctrination relapse under stress. He was upset yesterday. The timing aligns.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened.
“We don’t know that.”
Tim didn’t argue.
He didn’t need to.
The numbers were already in his head.
Jason rounded on him.
“You’re telling me the kid ran back to a group with terrorist inclinations?”
Tim didn’t blink.
“It’s the highest‑probability scenario.”
Bruce pushed in. “Tim is right. Chances are he returned to the cult. We need to find him.”
The others start talking again, heading towards their suits. Tim is about to trail behind the group, still in that numb, analytical haze.
Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder — firm, grounding.
Not gentle.
Not soft.
Just enough pressure to snap Tim’s focus.
His voice is flat as he addresses Tim. “You’re on the computer. Check all cctv. From the manor and anywhere he might’ve gone.”
Tim doesn't respond, just swivels and sits. He grabs a comm from the bench, placing it in his ear before turning to the monitors.
He pulls up various feeds, the movements practiced, fast, and mechanical. It’s all stuff he’s done before, but this time it’s for Percy.
He can’t get this wrong.
He isn’t sure he’s breathing right, but he keeps working.
Internal cctv.
Perimeter cameras.
Thermal scans.
He runs through anything that might match, hoping that Percy appears in one of the monitors. He must’ve left last night, while they were all either asleep or on patrol.
He hears Babs come online, her voice crackling through the cave’s speakers.
“Already scanning city traffic cams. Sending you feeds.” A pause, “If he’s heading toward any known cult sites, I’ll catch it.”
Tim doesn’t respond.
He can faintly hear the others get more agitated as they fail to find him. No tracks, no sightings. The tension rises fast.
They’re used to not being able to find someone on the first go, but this is Percy. Despite only being there for a week, and barely talking, they had accepted him as their own.
And now he was gone.
Tim kept scanning. Kept filtering. Kept calculating.
Tim can hear as Bruce connects to Clark, telling him to keep an eye out for a seventeen year old boy with black hair and sea-green eyes.
None of them remind him that the probability of him being in Metropolis is low.
Because the alternative — the one they’re all thinking — is worse.
He went back to the cult.
A group with terrorist inclinations.
A group that had already hurt him.
A group that would use him.
Tim’s eyes flick across the monitors, scanning, filtering, discarding.
He’s running timestamps in his head, cross‑referencing motion logs, checking for anomalies. His fingers move faster than his breathing.
Then—
a flicker.
A pixel shift on the east‑garden feed.
Tim freezes.
Not emotionally — mechanically.
Like a machine pausing mid‑calculation.
He rewinds three seconds.
Plays it again.
Slows it to 0.25 speed.
There.
A figure.
Small.
Fast.
Moving low along the hedges.
Tim isolates the frame, enhances it, stabilizes the motion.
“Camera fourteen,” he says flatly, loud enough for Bruce to hear.
No panic.
No relief.
Just data.
Bruce is at his shoulder instantly.
“Show me.”
Tim zooms in.
The image sharpens just enough to be damning.
A silhouette.
Black hair.
Thin build.
Moving with purpose.
Not stumbling.
Not running.
Just… leaving.
Tim’s voice stays monotone.
“Height and proportions match Percy. Probability: eighty‑one percent.”
The Cave goes silent over comms.
Jason swears somewhere outside.
Steph gasps.
Duke mutters something sharp.
Cass doesn’t speak at all.
Tim keeps working.
He switches to thermal.
A faint heat trail.
Weak.
Hours old.
But present.
“Thermal confirms a single subject moving east toward the treeline at 12:13.”
Bruce’s jaw tightens.
“Direction?”
Tim pulls up the next camera in the sequence.
Nothing.
Just empty grass.
He switches to the next.
And the next.
Then—
A shadow slipping past the outer fence line.
Tim marks it.
“Camera twenty‑two. East perimeter. Subject exited the property.”
Bruce inhales sharply — the closest he gets to panic.
“Keep tracking him.”
Tim switches to the road cameras.
He expects to see Percy walking.
He does not expect to see a car.
He frowns, the car looks… wrong, somehow. The image is blurry, barely distinguishable from the background. And yet that was almost certainly a car.
Tim freezes the frame.
Zooms.
Enhances.
The car is old and beat up, missing a headlight. Tim rewinds the feed. That… can’t be right.
The car appears in the frame.
It doesn’t enter it.
Just—
pop.
There.
Tim speaks into the comm, “Unknown vehicle. No plates. Speed: 140 km/h.”
Babs’ voice comes through. “Sending the feed to my end— hold on—”
A beat.
“…that car isn’t on ANY traffic camera after that frame.”
Jason’s voice enters his ear, “What do you mean it’s not on ANY—”
“It’s like it vanished.”
Tim spoke up. “It did.”
“Great.” Jason again. “So now this cult has some magical car? Wonderful.”
Bruce’s voice is hard, tired. “Reconvene at the cave, we’ll figure it out there.”
Tim didn’t answer.
He just stared at the frozen frame of the impossible car, the empty road, the direction Percy had gone.
He hoped Bruce was right.