Chapter Text
They left me behind. Again. Fuck.
In front of Burbank Hollywood Airport, Tim Drake-Wayne stood frozen. Because he had no idea what to do. Because Bruce had just… left him. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to go in, since his brothers had insisted on pushing him into the crowd.
And they hadn’t come back for him. And the plane they were supposed to board had been in the air for thirty-six minutes. Tim counted each one just to be sure.
What am I even supposed to do? He didn’t know. Tim Drake-Wayne– formerly Robin, then Red Robin, and now Phoenix— the detective, the one who always planned for everything, didn’t know what to do. Always making twenty-something contingency plans for everything, and he couldn’t have planned for this? Pathetic, really.
He should have known there was a catch when B said that he wouldn’t leave like everyone else. There always was with everyone. Why would Batman be any different?
Has he ever cared about me, anyway? I mean, he let two of his sons– my brothers– attempt to kill me. Soooo. Not to mention that he used to use training as an excuse to beat the shit out of–
No. Of course, Bruce loved Tim. Bruce was his dad.
Plus, there was no time to ruminate on those thoughts, anyway, so it didn’t matter. Not when he needed to track down some kind of shelter for the night before calling B to fix things. And generally get home. Okay. This was fine. Tim could do that. He’s done more dangerous things in the past. He blew up Ras’s bases, after all.
And well. He was technically still the acting CEO of WE, since his adoptive father had yet to take the position back. Tim isn’t sure the man ever will, given that every time he has attempted to broach the topic, the man has shut down (like he used to when Jason was still dead). And, obviously, he was also a kick-ass vigilante.
So in conclusion, yes, Tim Drake-Wayne could, in fact, secure a room for the night. He still had the suitcase that had fallen over when Damian and Jason shoved him, after all. The second youngest Wayne drags the maroon suitcase down the ramp behind him, abruptly walking down the entrance ramp at a brisk pace. He had no idea where he was going. It was like he was on autopilot.
Wait… Where am I? In his panicked frenzy, Tim hadn’t realized he’d practically flown down multiple streets, past multiple businesses and apartments.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” a soft, kind, unfamiliar feminine voice asked. Why did this person sound so concerned? And concerned about him? Tim wasn’t worth being concerned about.
Still, he turned, mouth parting to assure whoever this was that, yes, he was fine and had everything under control—
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The boy’s vision blurred. He couldn’t breathe. He was numb. He was scared. This was exactly like that one time when his parents left him in Greece, the one time they had taken him on a dig–
“Hey. Hey… Breathe, honey,” the kind voice murmured. “Breathe with me…”
Tim choked on his tears. When had he started crying? Where was he again?
Oh yeah.
“F-fuck.” His breath stuttered with his actively rising pulse. “S-sorry, I–”
Tim finally caught a glimpse of the stranger’s face. Concerned blue eyes gazed into his. She was a blonde woman, probably in her thirties to forties if he had to make a guess.
“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” she said gently, like he was some kind of victim or something. It was very reminiscent of the “victim voice” that his family (and himself on multiple occasions) used in the nightlife. While a part of him felt safer… He hated it.
I don’t need anyone’s pity. I’m fine.
Because he had to be. He couldn’t fall apart. Especially in front of a stranger in an unfamiliar place.
Tim was not, in fact, fine. As clearly evidenced by panicked gasping. And the fact that his vision was blurring in and out.
“Breathe,” the lady’s soft voice directed, “Breathe with me, honey.”
Tim tried. Tried and tried. And kept trying.
“That’s it. Just like that. In and out.”
The world slowly came back in pieces. The lady’s gentle, worried gaze. Hands on his shoulders. His wet socks. The sky heavy with grey, grey, grey clouds. The drops of rain pounding the sidewalk.
Oh, he realized, it’s raining…
His eyes flicked to the puddles accumulating around his shoes. He glanced up at the stranger again. Shaky breath in. And out.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, voice smaller than he ever wanted anyone to hear ever again. “Can you tell me where I am? I… think I’m lost.”
“You don’t need to apologize, hon,” the lady repeated, kind and gentle as she was when she found him. “Being lost and alone can be scary. We’re in Burbank right now.”
“Oh.”
Okay. So still in the ballpark to find somewhere to stay for the night. A park bench would even suffice at this point, with how late it seemed it was. Maybe he should ask her if she knows any nearby hotels.
“What’s your name, dear?” the kind stranger asked, seemingly changing tactics now.
“Tim,” the reply came much easier than he wanted it to. He didn’t even have an alias on the tip of his tongue, like an idiot.
“Okay, Tim. I’m Heloise.” She gave him a small, encouraging smile. “Do you know where your parents are?”
Dead. And my adoptive dad left me in another state. Tim didn’t answer.
“That’s a no, then,” Ms. Heloise muttered, pulling a phone out of her jeans pocket.
“.... My dad left me here,” he admitted quietly, some moments of silence later. “We were supposed to fly home earlier this afternoon to go home from a business trip.”
Her eyes go wide with the severity of the implications. “Did he do it on purpose…?”
Tim was quick to (try to) reassure her, his hands shaking. “N-no! Of course not! I– I… don’t think so…?”
Ms. Heloise sighed, gently taking one of his hands, squeezing it in reassurance. “It’s alright, sweetheart. We’ll figure this out together.”
I sure hope so. Damian might kill me because I “inconvenienced” him, even though it isn’t my fault.
“I don’t know what to do. Where am I supposed to go? I don’t have anywhere to stay, and it’s too late to book anything now…” Tim had to fight off the urge to cry again. He couldn’t afford that right now.
The kind blonde woman squeezed his hand a second time. “I’ll bring you to my house. You have your things in the suitcase you’re holding, right?”
The boy nodded, wiping his eyes with his free hand. “Yeah. I think I have like three days' worth of extra outfits just in case.”
“You must be quite the planner,” Ms. Heloise chuckled, eyes alight with amusement.
“Most of the time.”
“How old are you, Tim?” She squinted, concern and confusion mildly evident in her expression. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”
Tell her you’re seventeen. It's what you've told everyone else.
“...Fifteen.” Why would he tell her this? He barely knew her! And he’d never told Bruce. Or Dick. Jason and Damian weren’t even close enough to him to question him. Cass probably knew but didn’t say anything, like the saint she was.
“Oh, dear…” the lady mumbled, anxiety breaking through her mask for a brief moment.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Still, Ms. Heloise gazed back up at him. “Tim, I’m taking you home with me. And we’ll call your dad in the morning, after you’ve had food, a shower, and a good night’s sleep.”
Tim wanted to resist. It was instinct, after all. Years of living in Gotham and general let-downs left the boy wary of kindness.
He relented, seeing the same stubbornness that he himself constantly had in her blue eyes. “I don’t get a choice in this, do I?”
“Nope,” Ms. Heloise affirmed, a small smirk of triumph gracing her red lips. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, now would we?”
Yeeeeahhh, she’s got a point there. No spleen and all that.
“ Let’s go then.”
The hours passed in a strange, hazy blur, Tim far too tired to properly process everything after finding safety. He hardly remembered the steamy heat of a hot shower. He barely even felt himself stumble from the bathroom in the apartment suite to the kitchen table, where the world blurred with that fuzzy static that transitioned into sleep. Which was probably not good, but Tim was too tired to care.