What happened

Above-ground, the sun was sinking below the horizon. It was nearly time. After spending all afternoon at his computer with Barbara, Bruce finally stood up.

"I'm going to get Dick," Bruce said to Barbara, before stepping into the elevator. There was little hope that Robin -- no, Nightwing -- was in the manor, but it felt right to Bruce to go to look, himself. What had happened that sent Dick out on his own? The cold analysis in his mind suggested that he himself was probably the cause. There was much he did not know about the Dick Grayson in the City with him. But there were some things - core things - that Bruce knew were still there. He didn't hesitate to call on Dick for this outing to Arkham.

When Bruce started upstairs, however, a shadow cast on the floor from the library caught his attention. He stopped on the third step and narrowed his eyes. That was not a familiar silhouette. Silently, he stalked back down the stairs and across the room. Paused against the wall. Listened.

And then stepped into the room, blank expression plastered over his face. Under his skin, however, his muscles were coiled, ready for a fight. Who had come to the manor without his knowledge? And how much would it take to get them out again?

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Who: Oracle and Robin
What: Babs welcomes yet a new member of the family to the City
When: After her meeting with Matt

Tim: Robin didn't know where he was. He had an odd sense of familiarity, but then, there were some very familiar sights around. As in a dream, nothing was quite where it should be. The thing is, he had the clarity and sense of self that never came in dreams. He'd been wandering for hours looking over this new place... The only thing he could conclude was that somehow he'd been transported into another dimension, or an alternate reality.

He'd heard of things like this happening before, but he'd taken such stories with a grain of salt. Still stranger things had happened. It was time to attempt contact with someone, something he'd been afraid to do until now. The thought of being in a place entirely alone, knowing no one made him more uneasy then he would have thought.

He reached up and pressed two fingers to his ear. "Oracle, come in. This is Robin." He held his breath as he waited for a response.

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At around ten on Saturday morning, Max entered the manor through the pantry door. Breakfast should have been served already, she figured so Alfred possibly wouldn't be in the kitchen. It was better than trying to sneak in through the garage, where an alarm monitoring the cars would have most certainly been tripped.

She was still dressed in Friday's clothes, and she wasn't too keen on anybody seeing her as such. There was always the slightest, tiniest, chance that she hadn't been missed. If she could get up to her room without seeing anybody, change, and then come downstairs yawning, then maybe she could play it off. Or at least claim that she'd gotten home extremely late.

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Tim was skulking around. He'd been doing a lot of sulking in the past week, but today he'd decided to add that vitally important k to the mix. That is, he was doing something that would probably get him into trouble. On the one hand, Tim had started to feel infinitely better. He'd been to his father's apartment, and looked at everything that wasn't there. He'd seriously considered torching the place but... well, if he wanted a place to stay, it was as good as any. And it'd have room for any Bat-toys he needed to hide.

Or he could sell it. And just live with Bruce. And become just another one of Mr Wayne's wards.

That was absolutely, completely, positively out of the question.

So, Tim was skulking. Skulking his way past the kettle Alfred had on to make tea, towards Bruce's office. Where Bruce may or may not have been. The black-haired boy slipped in with relative ease, already snooping around.

It was paperwork that he was looking for. The sort of paperwork that could give a man custody of a minor not his own. Because if Bruce had any just lying about, waiting to have his name penned in, Tim planned to put it through the shredder in a most direct act of defiance. Mostly because, well. . . Bruce wasn't his father figure. Tim had grown up with a father. He didn't need a new one.

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Bruce Wayne wriggled and shimmied his way out of the arms of the woman who was practically humping him in the Wayne Manor driveway. She was not Pepper Saint James. Bruce wasn't quite sure who she was, only that he'd done a good job of appearing mildly drunk all day long and she had managed to be the only one among the group he was with who was sober enough to drive him home.

Somewhere in a very upscale restaurant he would be hard pressed to name; Pepper Saint James was plotting this woman's downfall. And right now Bruce couldn't blame her. He'd even applaud. The woman was a dragon, with the long red nails to match. And her perfume was killing his nose.

He shifted, politely moving her hands away from vulnerable areas of his body, and continued moving away from her. If he hadn't realized how shrewd she was on the drive over, he would have been more forceful. As it was, he was somewhat mildly trapped.

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Tim had, after some long period of hiding out in his room, emerged and ventured downstairs. Something about the way the house felt had changed, something in the air, perhaps. Tim wet his lips and pulled on a borrowed jacket (it must have been Dick's, it was a little black zip-up thing, with blue stripes down the sides) and shoved his hands into the pockets, slowly moving through the mansion.

The air tasted tense, and he hadn't heard from Bruce all day.

It unnerved him; Bruce was often busy, but something was nagging at the back of Tim's mind. He had this feeling, this uneasy feeling that something had gone wrong somewhere.

He wanted to find his partner. Or Babs. Or Alfred. The house, as comfortable as he'd always felt there, suddenly felt to him to be terrifying, now that it seemed so completely empty.

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Open To: Alfred, Tim, Bruce
Timing: Sometime/day after this

"Time to awaken, Master Tim." Alfred pulled back the drapes with a flourish, letting sunshine glow it's way through opaque white curtains. On the nightstand was a tray of tea and toast and scrambled eggs. "There's been quite enough hiding away in your room young man. There are things to be done and I've already awakened Master Bruce."

Alfred's crisp clean white shirt, dark waistcoat and tie seemed to mock everything disorderly and and confused. He pulled back a second set of draperies and glanced back only once.

"Those covers will be next to go, young Master. It's half past ten, quite late in the day already for those not currently engaged in other night-time pursuits."

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Tim had managed to find, when he'd slipped out earlier that day, not only his locker, or something that looked like it, at the school in the City's heart, but after some aimless wandering, he found himself outside of an apartment that he'd recognized as having been his parents'.

The place was empty, except for a few of his things, some of which he packed into a bag, and some of which he left, to come back for later. Tim felt no need to rush. He knew he'd need to come back here, if speaking with Bruce the first time had been any indicator. When he'd gotten back to the mansion, he'd folded just a few things - one, two changes of clothes - into drawers, before pulling a turtle-neck over his head and running one hand through his hair. He felt exhausted, which made no sense to him. He'd slept late, and still he felt like he was moving sluggishly, even thinking like he was tired.

Tim, dressed down in his faded-and-worn through the knees absolute favorite pair of blue jeans, cautiously headed down the stairs, peering around corners for Alfred or Bruce. His jaw was set firm, biting back some emotion or other that might have been too much to handle had he let it loose, as he found his way into the kitchen and began to make himself a cup of tea.

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The black-haired boy sucked in his breath and held it there, grabbing at the tatters of his cape and holding it tightly around himself. He turned, eyes wide and afraid and uncertain, trying to find his bearings. He knew, he was certain, that the blood drying underneath his nails was his father's. He was certain that, a moment before, he'd felt the familiar breath of his mentor stirring his hair.

Alone and uneasy, he sank back against a rough, red brick wall, and sweallowed hard, face tilted up into the icy rain.

What was this place? It didn't smell even remotely like Gotham. It didn't look at all like Bludhaven. Wiping the rain resolutely from his cheeks, Tim ground his teeth together and let out a long, loud howl - anger and frustration and fear and sorrow, all wrapped up in a single explosion of voice.

Then, he smoothed out his uniform, cracked his neck, and told himself gruffly to 'act like a man, and get back to work'. Anyone with ears would know where he was. Surely he had better things to do than curl up and cry.

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