Archive of Our Own ^beta

The rats are at it again, scratching at the stone of the walls, the floor, the ceiling. They never stop, just pause, and even then only when they’re needed for one of Flannegan’s criminal exploits. It’s almost relaxing, at this point. White noise. Tim isn’t sure he could sleep without the rats, anymore.

The dripping of that old leaky pipe, though? Tim is pretty sure it’s actually, literally torture. It would be torture, at least, if Flannegan was doing it on purpose.

Next time Flannegan comes around to feed him, Tim will be good. He’ll eat his food and he’ll be quiet and he’ll say he’s sorry whenever Flannegan brings up his spying. And then he’ll ask if Flannegan could please patch up that pipe. That’s all. Tim isn’t asking to be let free, just make the pipe stop dripping.

It won’t be well-received. Perhaps Tim should cooperate multiple times and then ask? But no. He can’t wait that long. He needs the pipe to stop now. Otherwise he’s going to go even more insane than the guy who has imprisoned Tim under the supposed authority of the Gotham City Sanitation Department.

Tim’s stomach growls, more painfully than usual. That means it’s going to be time for food, soon. Tim likes when it’s time for food, because that means he gets to talk to someone, even if that someone is Flannegan. He doesn’t, however, like when it’s time to eat the food.

But he eats it anyway, because he doesn’t want to die. Sooner or later, his parents will come home and discover him missing. Probably. They’ll call the police—or, more likely, they’ll call a private investigator. But eventually, Batman will figure out that Tim is missing. Hopefully. And he’ll find him, because Batman saves kids. Tim knows that because Batman saved Dick Grayson from the evil CPS that his parents warned him about. And now Dick is Robin! Tim doesn’t expect to be Robin, though, just to be saved.

When Flannegan had first found Tim taking pictures with his camera and kidnapped him off to his secret sewer dungeon, Tim had thought he’d be here for a couple days, max. He hadn’t eaten the food Flannegan gave him, at first. He had thought he wouldn’t need it. Humans can go weeks without food. Tim could go a couple days, and then he’d be rescued. But two days passed, then three, then four, and then Tim realized he wasn’t getting out of here any time soon. Or possibly ever.

It's Tim’s own fault. He’s the one who hacked the school systems so that they wouldn’t notice him absent and trigger any sort of search. He’s the one who assured his parents he was responsible enough to be left alone. He’s the one who was stupid enough to go out at night taking photos and point a camera at a guy emerging from the sewers wearing a crazy costume. Tim should have known better to take a picture of a Rogue. Of course Flannegan was convinced he was a “rat.”

Tim wonders if that makes him a cannibal.

Then, he stops wondering. He thinks about other things. The pipe drips. Tim comes up with version number 567 of “The Imaginary Rescue of Tim Drake.” This time, Tim gets to hit Ratcatcher over the head with his dumb stick. It’s a good iteration. Tim is so lost in it that he almost doesn’t notice Flannegan entering the part of the sewer tunnel that serves as Tim’s dungeon.

Almost. Flannegan runs his stick—rat pole, Flannegan had told him proudly—across the grate keeping Tim trapped, jarring him out of his fantasy. Tim’s stomach growls against his will. Flannegan grins. “Chow time!” He tosses a dead rat into the cell. It’s a fat one, this time. Tim can’t help the small part of him that’s pleased.

Tim takes the rat—the food, it’s not a rat, it’s just food—and tries to bring it up to his mouth. Flannegan watches, eyes glittering. He’s not wearing his goggles, Tim notes. If he was smart, like Robin, he’d have something to throw at Flannegan and incapacitate him. But all Tim has is the carcass in his hands.

“You’re in good company, little rat,” Flannegan says, not for the first time. “You know who was in that cell before you?”

Tim can’t help but feel grateful for what feels like a stay of execution. He doesn’t have to eat just yet. “Judge Wyatt Hogan,” he says. One of the men who ‘falsely imprisoned’ Flannegan.

“That’s right! And next to him was another snoop.” Flannegan crouches down in front of Tim’s cell. “Do you know what I did to him?”

Tim shudders. He hasn’t heard this one before. “Killed him?”

Flannegan laughs uproariously. Tim flinches at the sound. Flannegan withdraws one of the pouches from his belt and shakes it. “I burnt out his eyes with acid.” Tim gulps. “But I don’t need to do that to you, do I? You’re just a kid. Notoriously unreliable eyewitnesses.”

“You could let me go,” Tim suggests. “I wouldn’t say anything. I don’t know anything.” He knows a lot. He knows exactly where Flannegan is hiding out in the sewers. He knows who Flannegan is plotting revenge against. He even knows the structural weakness Flannegan is trying to fix in his gas mask. But Flannegan doesn’t know that Tim knows all of that.

“Can never be too careful.” Flannegan shakes the pouch again. The threat is clear. “Chow down, kiddo!”

Flannegan watches as Tim raises the food to his lips and bites down. Warm flesh and salty blood fills his mouth. The fur tickles at his cheeks. His stomach churns. And—

Tim is sitting in his cell, his hands covered in gristle, this rat’s bones joining the pile that already sits in one of the corners. Flannegan is watching proudly. “What do you say, little rat?” Flannegan asks.

Tim closes his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers. He can barely remember tearing the rat apart with his teeth, but he knows he did it. Like an animal. Like Gollum in his cave. Disgusting.

“Can’t hear you.”

Flannegan hasn’t hurt Tim, not other than knocking him out and throwing him roughly in his cell. But the threat’s always there. And if Tim doesn’t do what he wants, Flannegan doesn’t feed him. Which seems like a reward in the short-term, but in the long-term…it’s just not worth it. “Thank you,” Tim repeats. “Mr—Mr. Ratcatcher? The pipe that’s dripping. Would you fix it, please?”

“Goodness, no!” Flannegan says. “My children need something clean to drink.”

Tim doesn’t point out that Flannegan is feeding Tim his ‘children.’ He doesn’t do anything except pull his legs up to his chest and tuck his chin over his knees. He feels tired and weak. He can’t even clean up the results of the last vomiting incident.

Tim really hopes rescue is coming soon. He may not be starving, but rats don’t exactly have all the essential nutrients. If Batman and Robin don’t get here soon, they might be too late.

After Flannegan leaves, Tim drifts in and out of sleep.

He dreams that Batman and Robin step cautiously into the tunnel, glancing around to assess the situation. Robin gasps. “B, look!”

And then, Robin is kneeling in front of Tim’s cell. “It’s alright, kid. We’re going get you out of here.” Tim half-crawls forward across his mess of vomit and bones. Batman fiddles around with the lock, and then the grate lifts and Robin is pulling Tim into his arms.

“Robin,” Tim whispers. It’s strange. This hug feels so real. It’s far better than the ghost of a sensation his mind normally conjures. He must really be going crazy now—and he can’t even bring himself to mind, if crazy Tim gets hugs this good. “You came for me?” Robin bites his lip. “How’d you know I was missing?” Tim asks, expecting the normal explanation. His parents came home early and noticed his absence and regretted ever leaving him alone—so much that they made the police specifically request Batman and Robin’s immediate help. It’s Tim’s wish fulfillment dream. He can have whatever unreasonable love he wants.

But instead of the familiar words, all Tim gets is a sad frown. Batman and Robin exchange a look. “We didn’t,” Robin says eventually. “We tracked Ratcatcher down. We…had no idea that you were here.”

Lighting strikes Tim’s chest and he gasps, before burrowing further into Robin’s arms. He clutches at Robin’s tunic, unwilling to let go. Because this isn’t the script, so it can’t be a dream. And if it’s not a dream, it’s real.

“We’ll get you out of here,” Robin says. He tries to pull away, causing panic to tug at Tim’s chest. He holds onto Robin even tighter. “Okay,” Robin says. “We’re not letting go. That’s okay. Can I carry you then?” Robin’s talking to Tim like he’s a little baby in a kindergarten class. But Tim can’t even bring himself to resent it. Robin’s voice is so reassuring. It envelops Tim like a warm blanket and tells him that everything is going to be okay.

And it’s Robin’s voice, so Tim believes it.

Robin lifts Tim into the air. Over Robin’s shoulder, Tim can see Batman watching. He really should be acting more mature. Batman’s going to think he’s a baby! But then he catches a glimpse of his pile of rat bones and buries his face in Robin’s shoulder.

It seems like only seconds pass, and then Batman is lifting Tim up through a manhole and out into the sunlight. And the light—the light is so bright.

Tim slams his eyes closed with a whine. Even without his sight, the aboveground is still a sharp contrast to the sewers. Everything smells so sweet, without the sewer stench. Tim knows that Gotham’s air is horribly polluted, but compared to where he spent the past month? This is practically a meadow.

Robin slips batgoggles over Tim’s face, dimming the world and making it bearable. When Tim slowly opens his eyes again, he sees several police officers, waiting outside of patrol cars. With their lights and everything.

“Let’s go talk to the nice officers,” Robin says. And before Tim can protest, he’s being carried over to the police.

Tim knows what to do about that. “My name is Timothy Drake. I want a lawyer,” Tim informs them proudly.

“It’s okay,” Robin tries to say. “You’re not in trouble, kid. They just want to help.”

“Yeah, this is just a witness statement.”

“No one’s mad at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Lawyer.” Mom and Dad would be really mad if Tim talked to the police officers without a lawyer. Even if they claim they’re taking something called a ‘witness statement.’

“Batman’s kind of like a lawyer,” Robin offers. “He could help?”

“Batman’s not a lawyer,” Tim says.

“You don’t know that.”

Tim’s pretty sure he does know that. But he’s not supposed to, so he just shrugs.

“What if I took your statement and recorded it?” Batman asks.

Tim considers that. It sounds like a loophole. But…Batman isn’t the police. So…logically…Tim doesn’t need a lawyer to follow Mom and Dad’s rules. “Okay.”

Batman, Robin, and Tim end up in a nearby diner. “What do you want, kid?” Robin asks as the waitress stares at them with starry eyes.

Tim has always wanted to try chicken nuggets. Mom and Dad never allow those on the grocery list, but Tim thinks he deserves a treat. But the thought of biting down and tasting the meat—

He ends up ordering pancakes. Not salty, like blood. Not chewy, like flesh. Tasty and sugary. They even have fruit on them!

While they wait, Tim explains his kidnapping, along with everything he knows about Flannegan. The pancakes come out just as Tim finishes. Batman cuts out a small amount for him to eat, telling Tim to have that first and see how it feels. Otherwise, he could hurt himself. That sounds fake to Tim, but he’s not exactly going to call Batman out on it.

The pancakes taste like the best food Tim has ever eaten in his life. It’s all he can do not to scarf them down, revelling in the sweet taste and the delightfully normal texture. No fur, no flesh, and no bones. Tim missed this.

“Did you catch him?” Tim asks, once he forces himself to slow down. Batman and Robin exchange a look. Tim gulps. They didn’t, did they? Flannegan will still be at large. And at any moment, he could decide to hunt Tim down. It’s not like Mom and Dad kept Tim out of the papers. Flannegan could figure out who he is and then kidnap him straight from the brownstone. And like before, no one will ever know.

“Hey,” Robin says. “It’s okay. We’re gonna keep you safe.”

“But—” One of the police officers enters the diner. Tim’s mouth snaps closed.

“Jim,” Batman acknowledges.

“Timothy’s parents aren’t reachable,” Officer ‘Jim’ informs Batman. “They’re out of the country, though. That’s as much as we can confirm. And there doesn’t seem to be anyone looking after him.”

“Is that true?” Batman asks.

Tim is pretty sure that’s one of the questions he’s not supposed to answer. So, he just keeps his mouth shut.

“It’s okay,” Robin says again. “You’re not in trouble, Tim. Can I call you Tim?”

You’re not in trouble. Not no one’s in trouble. Tim knows where this is going. And he knows where it ends: the same evil CPS that took Dick and steals kids away from their parents. Robin wouldn’t do that to him, right? Sure, Tim is annoying, but he can’t be that annoying! Not enough that Robin would turn Tim over to CPS.

“He’s going to need to be in protective custody,” Batman says. Officer Jim shoots Batman a look. “I have a friend who—”

“Really, Bats?” Officer Jim interrupts.

“I have a friend who can take him in. Just until Ratcatcher is caught.”

Robin snorts.

“A friend?” Tim asks. He didn’t know Batman had friends. Well, Robin is his friend, but Robin’s Dick Grayson, and Dick Grayson is eighteen. Eighteen’s probably not old enough to be ‘protective custody.’ Which is starting to sound a lot like CPS…

“His name is Bruce Wayne,” Batman says. “You may have met him, at an event?”

Tim has met Bruce Wayne at an event. He is also currently meeting Bruce Wayne.

He must be misunderstanding, though. Because it sounds like… “You’re saying…Bruce Wayne…would take care of me and keep me safe?”

“Yep!” Robin says. “He’s got a big mansion. Lots of security. You’d go live with him. I’ve met Bruce Wayne before. He’s really nice.”

Nice and Batman don’t naturally go together, but Tim supposes Robin would know better than anyone.

This still sounds an awful lot like CPS. But it’s Bruce Wayne. Tim can’t say no to living with Batman and Robin. Besides, Batman saved Robin from CPS, so it can’t be that, right?

“Is that alright with you, Timothy?” Officer Jim asks.

“Yes!” Tim says, a bit too excited, before remembering that he doesn’t have a lawyer. He turns to Batman. “Yes,” he repeats, more subdued. “You should try to call my parents’ work number. They answer it more. Then they can come back and get me, so I won’t bother y—uh, Mr. Wayne too much.”

Batman and Officer Jim exchange another look, except this time, Robin is in on it too.

“We’ll try to get in touch with your parents,” is all Officer Jim says.

Robin changes the topic quickly. “So, Tim. What do you say about a ride in the Batmobile?”

“I—” Tim looks down at himself, at the dirt and grime and sewage and vomit covering him and his several-week-old clothing. “I don’t—I’ll get it dirty,” he mutters. He really wants to ride in the Batmobile, though.

“Ever heard of Condiment King?” Robin asks. Tim nods. He knows a lot of Batman and Robin’s Rogues. He didn’t know Ratcatcher, though. “We’ve sat in the Batmobile covered in mustard before. It’s fine.”

Tim slides out of the booth, but finds that it’s hard to stand on his own two feet. Muscle atrophy. Malnourishment. It doesn’t matter what it is that makes Tim collapse against the table like a baby deer, just that it’s embarrassing.

But Robin doesn’t laugh. He lifts Tim up again, holding him gently. “I’ve got you,” he says.

And so, Tim snuggles into the embrace and lets Robin carry him home.