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If someone had asked Bruce a couple hours ago what he knew about Timothy Drake, Bruce wouldn’t have had a clue. No clue other than the fact that the boy was the Drake’s 9 year old child.
It was with this very minimum knowledge that he met the boy. Well, if met was the equivalent of seeing the boy stumble in after his dad as Bruce met them at the entrance of the Wayne Tech building. The boy was holding a waste basket and looked absolutely miserable, his skin a sickly pale.
Jack Drake impatiently waved his hand at him as if beckoning him to be faster and smiled apologetically at Bruce. “So sorry about this inconvenience Bruce, Timothy’s school called and said he needed to be picked up immediately, something about not wanting whatever stomach bug he picked up spreading.” The annoyance is clear in Jack’s voice as if his child getting sick was more of an inconvenience to himself than to his child.
Bruce feels his smile becomes stiff on his face as he says, “No inconvenience at all, Jack, these things happen. I have no problem rescheduling for a later date so you can take care of your boy.”
Jack waves him off, “Oh, no need for that. I won’t be back in the states for a while so I’m trying to squeeze in this meeting or it won’t happen until next year.” He laughs loudly at that and Bruce purses his lips, not even bothering to fake a laugh but nods.
He watches as Jack turns back to his kid and says something along the lines of “Behave yourself and don’t cause any trouble Timothy, I will be back soon.”
Bruce can’t help but notice how much colder Jack’s voice becomes when directed at his son. And his son, who Bruce half-expects to cling to Jack the same way Dick would cling to him when sick, only nods and rasps, “Yes, sir” before settling in one of the lobby chairs to wait, wastebasket as his side.
Something twists inside Bruce at clear misery the boy is doing his best to hide but he can only turn and lead Jack to the elevator and up to his office. Their meeting is just wrapping up when Jack glances at his phone and shoots to his feet. He excuses himself for ending their meeting early but says something urgent has come up and hastily shows himself out.
The last thing Bruce thinks before Jack disappears from sight is that he hopes Timothy Drake will be able to rest and get some proper care soon.
Two hours later find Bruce reaching for his things while his eyes try to squeeze in skimming one more document. It’s earlier than the time Bruce usually leaves the office but the weather forecast has issued in a sudden snowstorm that is supposed to start this evening. Most of the employees have already left and so it comes as a surprise when his cell rings and the caller id shows the name of his assistant who had stuck in to say her goodbyes only a few minutes earlier.
“Mr. Wayne?” Her tone is hesitant as she answers, “There’s something in the lobby I think you need to see.”
Bruce’s eyebrows furrow as he asks, “What is it?”
There’s a pause and then- “Mr. Drake’s boy is in the lobby. Timothy, I believe?”
It takes Bruce a moment to understand. To connect the name back to a few hours ago and- Timothy Drake? Why isn’t he at home resting where as boy as sick as he looked should be? And is he-
“Alone?” He hears himself ask.
“Yes, I believe so.” The words take on a hardened edge before they soften. “He appears to be sleeping.”
Document long forgotten, Bruce pulls his coat over his shoulders and finishes grabbing the rest of his things. He locks up his office and heads towards the elevator. Down, down, down he goes as he feels the pit in his stomach begin to grow.
When he reaches the lobby, Maddie is squatting in front of a still form that lays curled in one of the chairs. She stands as soon as she sees Bruce and looks at him with concerned eyes.
“Mr. Wayne,” she says, “He was like this when I found him. Pure luck I saw him at all.”
Bruce looks past at her at the boy—At Timothy. The boy’s cheeks are red and his hair looks greasy with sweat.
“Thank you for letting me know, Maddie. I’ll take it from here.”
Hesitance flickers across her face for a brief moment but then it clears. Bruce supposes she’s seen him look after his own sick child enough times to doubt him too much.
“Of course,” The hesitance comes back, “I’m just- I’m unsure as to why he’s still here at all. Isn’t his dad- I mean,” Maddie looks at a loss for words and Bruce suddenly understands the true reason behind her hesitance.
“I’ll take care of it,” He says again. Of Timothy, the boy curled up and sick. Of Jack Drake, the father who it seems has forgotten his child- The righteous fury grows and yes, Bruce will take care of it.
Maddie nods as if she understands more than was said and it’s very possible she does. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”
He watches her leave before kneeling down in front of the boy.
“Timothy,” he softly says.
The boy doesn’t even twitch.
Bruce gently shakes his shoulder and again says, “Timothy,”
Blue eyes shoot open, glassy and disoriented as Timothy looks around, like he’s trying to place where he’s at. His eyes land on Bruce who tries to smile reassuringly, “Hi, I’m Bruce, I believe we met earlier. Timothy, correct?”
“Tim,” comes the soft reply.
“Ok, Tim,” Bruce agrees continuing in the same soft voice, “I know you’re tired and confused but do you think you can tell me where your dad is?”
Tim’s bottom lip begins to quiver. Bruce is bracing himself for tears and kicking himself for presenting the question—but truly, what else could he ask?—when the boy’s eyes widen in panic.
Bruce knows that expression all too well and quickly reaches for the forgotten wastebasket as Tim begins to heave.
It’s only dry heaves though and Bruce wonders for exactly how long Tim’s stomach has been empty.
The trembling lip has only gotten worse and a dry sob spills through Tim’s slips. Once of Bruce’s hands go to Tim’s hair on auto-pilot and begin to detangle the locks while the other rubs circles on Tim’s back. The heaves continue with quiet sobs interlaced in between the pauses. Finally, Tim goes limp and then curls into himself. Then the crying really starts, horrible tears jerking cries that are still somehow so much more quiet than they should be.
Bruce from a couple years ago would have freaked out at the tears and in a way, he still does because he hates seeing kids cry but he’s a veteran (or at least, he’d like to think he’s somewhat experienced) and he knows what to do now. He gently helps the kid sit up and wipes his face with a handkerchief.
Tim stares at him with wonder with those deep blue eyes that even now Bruce can see they hold deep intelligence.
Then Bruce sits on the chair next to Tim, gathers him into his arms, and rocks him. And they stay like that, Tim crying and Bruce running a hand through his hair until the sobs taper off into hiccups.
Bruce moves to stand but doesn’t relinquish his grip. Tim’s arms tighten around his neck and he hides his face from the world, safe in Bruce’s arms (Batman’s arms), a safety he hasn’t felt in a long time.
And Bruce will question him later, will get down where his parents are (Australia), and why he was still sitting in Wayne Tech with no father in sight (Said Father forgot him in the panic of trying to catch a flight that got moved abruptly due to the weather), all that will come later, the fact that Tim has only recently started taking care of himself and Mrs. Mac’s visits have been reduced and he's been sick for a week and no one has noticed and he’d been so cold and so miserable and just wanting someone—anyone—and-
All that will come later.
For now, Bruce just holds onto Tim and Tim holds onto Bruce.
If someone had asked Bruce a couple hours ago what he knew about Timothy Drake, Bruce wouldn’t have had a clue. In fact, he still doesn’t know much.
What he does know beyond a doubt though, is that if he has anything to say about it (and he does), Tim will never be forgotten again.