The Disappearance of Timothy Drake-Wayne, and how Watcher Mystery Files solved it in one episode.
Wrote it for a warm up, freaked out because I didn't know how to end it, copped out, wrote Omegaverse instead, finished another story, circled back to this one.
Anyways this was inspired by this post right here from @thebeeswantarson
it looks like this go reblog it
Alright here we go.
When the nosebleeds had started, Tim hadnât really thought anything of it.
Heâd waved away concerned friends and family, shoved tissues (and tampons, on one memorable occasion) up his nose, and gone about his day.
Then the migraines. Oh, the migraines.
After the increased migraines, increased stomach issues, and a few fainting spells that had even Bruce cornering him and demanding he see a doctor, Tim had acquiesced.
And the result after many CATscans and MRIs?
Nothing. No tumors, no signs of disease, normal bloodwork-nothing physical was wrong.
Nothing magical, either. Heâd gone to some JLD members to ensure that.
After consulting with his small team of doctors, they finally managed to pinpoint what was driving his body to rebel against itself.
Stress.
Fucking stress.
Like some sort of swooning Victorian maiden, but with all the swooning and none of the cocaine.
So.
Tim had written email to his friends and family, sent them off, and proceeded to completely detach from the world around him in his most well-kept secret bunker.
Tim knew himself, and if he maintained contact with anyone then heâd inevitably go back to working on cases and undoing the de-stressing he was attempting.
He hadnât been sure if it would work, or if the stress of not being able to connect to the others or work on cases would make things worse, but it had. Unorthodox, yes, but it worked! Heâd relaxed and caught up on sleep!
But fully rested, and also more than a little bored, he knew it was time to get back into the swing of things.
Mournfully, Tim bid his state-of-the-art bunker goodbye and started going through the multiple airlocks to get outside.
The absolute second he stepped out, though, the air rippled and Kon was immediately there.
Kon lookedâŚdisheveled.
His hair was a wreck, he only had one sleeve of his jacket on, andâŚwere those tear tracks?
Why was Kon crying?
Fuck, had the zombie apocalypse started while heâd been away?
Tim held out his hands in a calming motion, not breaking eye contact.
âItâll be okay Kon; we can figure out what the cure is for the Zombie Plague.â Tim didnât actually know if he could figure it out, but he didnât want Kon to freak out anymore than he already was.
Timâs hands were pushed aside in favor of being swept into an all-consuming hug, and-yup. Kon absolutely was crying into his shoulder.
Tim was officially concerned.
âIs Bart okay? Is Cassie okay? Kon, whoâs hurt, what happened-â
âYou, Rob. Youâre okay. Shut up, Iâm having a moment.â
Tim was even more confused, but that was alright; his brain started working without him.
Kon was crying, and emphasizing that Tim was okay. Kon had not realized that Tim was fine, ergo Kon had not received the email Tim had sent out.
Then Timâs brain went Tim Big Brain.
Normally, a misconception like that would have been cleared up right away by someone else with correct information. But it hadnât been cleared up at all, and Kon was never quiet about trying to save someone.
Thus, no one had known any different to what Kon had believed. No one had known to correct the misconception that he had found himself immersed in.
Therefore, the emails had not been sent out.
âŚ
TheâŚemails had not been sent out.
Oh fuck him the emails had not been sent out and he went on his merry way to an unlisted bunker with soundproofing for six fucking months.
âYou were supposed to receive an email,â Tim muttered, horrified, as his arms wrapped around Kon as well.
Kon snorted wetly.
âWell I didnât, and neither did anyone else.â
âYeah, I kinda get that now. Iâm inâŚso much trouble.â
Kon nodded into Timâs shoulder, smearing snot and tears into his shirt. Tim didnât even complain.
He was too busy realizing just how badly he was in for it.
~~~~~~
Bruce could feel the conversation he was trying to have begin to turn into another fight.
Dick was insisting that Raâs Al Ghul had to be the one who had taken Tim, and had roped Damian in on it.
The problem was that there was no real concrete evidence that Raâs had taken Tim, and Bruce refused to let them move in without intel on, at the very minimum, where Tim could have been taken.
Dick, naturally, was not happy with that answer.
Bruce, of course, refused to lose any more of his children. Especially if it was something he could have easily prevented.
âFather, if Grandfather has Drake it is only a matter of time before irreparable damage is done. We must move quickly.â
Bruce shook his head, standing more firmly in front of his oldest and youngest.
Dick looked ready to explode.
âGet out of the way, Bruce. Iâm getting Tim.â Dickâs stance was tense, and his words moreso.
Bruce had no doubt this would devolve into a physical confrontation if he did not ed-escalate.
He opened his mouth to do just that when, with a shrill beeping sound, Oracle chimed in.
âUh, guys? I think I just found Tim.â
Bruce felt something inside of himself relax, and didnât bother to stop Dick and Damian as they charged past him to crowd the Batcomputer.
âOracle, report; where is he?â Was he safe? Did he need help?
âAbout thatâŚâ
âBabs please!â Dick begged, knuckles white from where he gripped the console.
âHeâs currently outrunning the paparazzi and a literal mob of Gothamites with phones.â
BruceâŚhad no idea how to respond to that.
Neither did Dick, apparently.
âTheyâre all livestreaming, so like; tracking him isnât an issue,â Oracle supplied, like that made things make more sense.
The screen blinked, and four separate video feeds from random Gothamites showed Tim running from them at different angles.
ââŚAgent A, I believe itâd be best for you to pick him up.â
All eyes were on Tim; it would be weird if Batman swooped down to retrieve him.
~~~~~~
When Tim had Kon drop him off, he had been expecting maybe a second look or two when he stepped out of that alley.
What Kon may have neglected to mention, however, was that the disappearance of Timothy Drake-Wayne was all anyone had been talking about for four months. There were a lot of theories, but the most prevalent happened to be the most gruesome.
Popular theory one; Bruce Wayne murdered Timothy Drake-Wayne in cold blood after Timothy made a decision with Wayne Enterprises that infuriated the man.
Popular theory two; Timothy Drake-Wayne was being held for ransom, and Bruce Wayne was refusing to pay it. Effectively, it was the same as theory one but with more steps.
Popular theory three; Timothy Drake-Wayne had been captured by Gothamâs underbelly and sold into human trafficking.
And the fourth most popular theory; Timothy Drake-Wayne was abducted by aliens.
So when Tim stepped out of that alley, it wasnât to an occasional second glance.
It was to excited whispers and impromptu livestreaming.
Naturally, Tim bolted.
Heâd outrun one mob, only to run into another one. His face was all over the internet, he knew, and there was no way Barbara hadnât caught on.
He hadnât been paying attention to where he was going, really, and made the worst mistake he could have made at that particular point in time.
He ran in front of Wayne Enterprises.
There were two guys, presumably talking about his disappearance. One was average height, the other was tall, and both were clearly not from Gotham.
He heard tiny snatches of their conversation as he got closer, pinned the California accents, and shoved past them with a half shouted apology.
âWell wouldâja lookit that, Ryan; looks like it just solved itself!â
âHow?!â
Tim let them fall into the background and used his new bearings to beeline for Crime Alley.
After all, only idiots would follow someone into Crime Alley.
Unfortunately, after twenty minutes Tim was forced to admit that the general populace of Gotham probably wasnât on the scale of normal he had been depending on.
They had indeed followed him all the way into Crime Alley.
So he tried to lose them even harder.
He shoved between muggers and their victims, blew through obvious drug deals, and jumped over the tables hosting poker games so intense that the players were fingering their weapons.
Still, the crowd followed him.
Tim took three quick turns, prepared to take a fourth, and was snatched out of the street and into an old building.
The hold was meant for restraint, and Tim couldnât break out of it without making a lot of noise, which he really didnât want to do.
Plus, he recognized the arms latched around him and keeping him in place.
âThanks Hood,â Tim whisper-panted.
The arms got tighter.
âKid, do you have any idea how many ops I blew searching for you?â
Oh.
Oh no.
âWas absolutely convinced trafficker filth had gotten their hands on my kid brother,â Hood continued quietly, the mechanical rasp making his words deceptively collected, âSo I went ahead and destroyed some of my only leads on the off chance that Iâd find him.â
Tim felt himself start to break out in a cold sweat.
âSoâŚyou need help picking up your old trails?â
ââHelpâ feels wrong. Iâm owed it, Timmers.â
~~~~~~
âTimothy Drake-Wayne Returns from the Dead!â
Tim thought that the newspapers were, quite possibly exaggerating just a little.
Just like his family was overreacting.
He was to wear at least four trackers at all times, he had to check in four times a day, he had to help Red Hood with picking back up the case load heâd all but set on fire in search of Tim, and he had to take Damian wherever their youngest wanted to go.
Apparently, the Little Demon had been so concerned that Raâs Al Ghul had Tim that heâd started having nightmares.
And Tim wasnât gonna lie, he felt beyond shitty for that. Well, that and everything else.
Heâd also been forced to tell Bruce the location of every single one of his bunkers.
Heâd sulk butâŚTim also kind of felt like the worlds biggest asshole.
So.
Heâd justâŚremember to actually hit send, not save, next time.
