Dearth // By Greysnyper

Title: Dearth
Author: Greysnyper
Fandom: Robin/Butterfly Effect ~ For the Timfinity AU challenge.
Date to be submitted: 12 February 2005
Rating: PG13 ; Themes, lang.
Betas: Dedicated to Niahmias. Thanx also to Draden.
Spoilers: Butterfly Effect; War Games; ID Crisis; Batman Beyond: RotJ. I had a field day...

Summary: Things only got worse.

i: Hey Alice

Arkham

He wasn't crazy.

There was just too much to think about in the haze of unsettling thoughts. That word; place; thing interrupted yet another attempt at collecting the images.

Images. They had moved onto those when words became scarce. Writing wasn't healthy anymore. This was what they told him after he had read half the dictionary. Defaced it with a ball point pen, robbing it of it's 'r's.

You can't spell 'dearth' without the 'r'. You can't be needed without the...

"Tim?"

Dr. Adams was watching him, and Timothy Drake was convinced that those glasses were for show. Between them her cigarette smoke twisted elegantly under the artificial lighting. She had asked him when she entered the room with its naked floor and the window that was really a mirror in the wall. She had asked him if he minded. At one point he must have. The second hand risk though, seemed trivial now that they were throwing around the name of that place.

Arkham, where the crazies go.

He wasn't crazy.

"Tim?"

Timothy Drake looked up and across the table and across the smoke to meet Dr. Adams' stare. She was waiting for his answer.

"It," he had to be careful, "Looks like debris."

Ruth Adams let the stick burn away alone in the ashtray, turning the card back to herself and frowning. "Debris?"

"Like, ruins of something." He pointed at the symmetry. "This brown line is wood. There's grey boulders. Um: debris."

He didn't comment on what the red splotch in the middle was supposed to be. Tim didn't critique the artist's lack of yellow or green in the picture.

Words were to be said with care in this place. He had learned that quickly when Dr. Adam's had begun this game.

'These are like really ugly postcards.' And saying that had revealed Tim's history with postcards. Psychologists liked to associate everything with parentage.

'What kind of postcards would they send you before they...' she had asked.

He hoped she didn't inquire as to the sort of debris he was talking about.

She didn't.

The little room listened to her thumb a second card from the stack.

"And this one?"

Tim nearly choked when he saw the mammal splattered on the paper.

"Butterfly. A colour deprived butterfly."

"Okay." Ruth's frown was more developed this time. "Remember that this'll be more effective if you say the first thing you think of."

"I haven't forgotten."

Tim had forgotten how easily sincerity was feigned.

"This one?"

Less colour deprived. Laughing. Insane. A face in the same place they thought he belonged.

"Cotton candy." Clowns were found in the same environment. It wasn't that far of a lie.

"And this one?"

Feeling something catch in his throat, Tim kept an impassive stare. This was too much. The scratch and the copper paint and the near perfectness of the circle. Harvey Dent: always a trial for Robins.

He wasn't Robin.

"Mud."

Ruth considered, "In such a circular shape?"

She wanted him to name the coin.

"It could have dripped, like in rain." He was reaching now. The lie was becoming too obvious.

Why did it always seem like he had to lie?

"Alright Tim, now for the next o-"

He caught her arm as it slipped to lift up another card. Her eyes flickered briefly from Tim to the mirror. Timothy Drake shouldn't be able to move so instinctively.

"I'm done with looking at these," he told her. "And I'm not crazy."

Dr. Adams sighed and detracted her hand. Tim let her.

"Listen Tim," she wasn't going to say that nobody thought he was crazy. "You have to see things as we do. You've had a rough childhood, there's a whole file concerning how you block out memories, and you've yet to explain to us what you were doing overseas."

Planting evidence. "Things went wrong."

She parted her lips; a sign that this was what she wanted. "What things Tim?" There could very well be a brooding shadow in the other room bristling now.

"May I have my books?"

Another glance was stolen at the mirror. "If you could just explain..."

If he could, what would they believe? Could they conceive the possibility that time wasn't relative and that he had been setting things right? Surely Batman would understand that superheroes could end up in another time or place.

Tim wasn't a superhero. Tim was replaced...except not really. Not yet.

'You shouldn't have come back...it's wrong...' Batman had told him so, except that it was hard to explain when and how come. Tim could agree with Gar for once in concerns with how complicated these anomalies got. But Tim didn't know Gar. They had never met.

"I'm not sure where to start," admitted Timothy. "If I had the books, my books'll have reference I guess."

She smiled across the table at him, small and possibly relieved. "If you think they'll help."

They would do anything if they thought it would help. Give him coffee, information, a straightjacket.

Tim observed Ruth Adams lean back to rummage through the bag that had followed her through the door. The light fixture above highlighted the silver strands in her hair. The details in the room were proof that, once again, told Tim he wasn't dreaming.

Another time, another place, and another station in life. He knew how things were meant to be, and yet he couldn't gauge how long he had known. In that time though, he wouldn't have set up the trap or left clues and he certainly wouldn't have been jealous of someone who was living or who had made him. He had really fucked up big time and maybe they were right.

He could very well be crazy.

"Nobody's read them," explained Adams as she slid the worn books across the metallic surface. "Did you put your life story in there?"

Tim ghosted a grin as he chose a cover. "One of them."

The page he wanted was dog-eared. He was scanning the contents so eagerly he knew that Batman could read opportunity in his movements.

In a moment they would take this all away.

Dr. Adams was speaking to him. "Tim, you're nose is bleeding."

"Yeah?" she might have heard him say.

'You shouldn't have come back! Who did this to you? It's wrong Jason! It's...'

"Jason bled too."

ii: And No-One Will Be Watching

It was always very warm when he came out of it. And sometimes there would be noise.

Noise in the background to mimic the sounds of the new places he became a part of. It was quiet this time though. It was very warm too.

"I am," he was talking to himself because there was nobody else. "Here."

The ceiling focused. The bed was familiar in a weird way and it was probably the layers of sheets to blame for the feeling of high fever.

Tim shrugged these off and sat up and, feeling his head adjust he understood now why he knew the room.

Tim hadn't lived here for a long time.

This was his father's bedroom; mother's too, when they had lived in the Drake manor. His room had been down the hall though, so something must have changed.

Still, this was home. Or close to what home once was. This could be good.

"Dad!"

He was in pajamas and wasn't wearing socks. He remembered dressing as such last night, but the images were surreal. More believable were the dreams of Arkham and Iran and...not thinking about that. He was here and maybe he had made things better.

"Dad!"

The hall was smaller than he thought he recalled, and the overcast environment lent a compressive feel to the rugs and the drapes. The manor was soundless.

"Anyone?"

A head poked around the stairwell that ended the hall and a complete stranger was staring at him.

"Masdair Tihm?" The woman was old and heavily accented; appearance and language both. "Dihd you cahl?"

Tim swallowed back the inquiry as to her identity, finding that he knew her name but it was still backlogged in a haze of unsettled thoughts. "Ellaine?"

"Yes?"

Until he remembered everything, he had to be careful. "Who is home?" A penciled brow piqued at the question. "Oh Tihm, you know dat your uncle will no' be back dil' dis night."

He had an uncle?

"'Ees postcad explain dees to you, no?"

If his uncle were sending him postcards, would that mean that Jack was gone here too? And what of Batman? If Bruce were still in the picture, Ellaine wouldn't know about it.

He ran a hand through his hair and started thinking aloud, "I think I'll, um, pass the time until he gets back by hiking up to the Wayne manor."

"Ah," Ellaine nodded curtly and ruffled the duster she carried. "Den dake a' coat becos eed is dres cold an' do not tarry roun' da Wayne yard if dere are buyers dere."

Her words brought Tim up at the threshold of his father's old room. "Buyers?"

Long curls fell over her shoulder as she tilted her head at him. "De sell it. Been selling it fo' months."

"Thanks," offered Tim, and he quickly shut the door and hurried to the drawer beside the closet. Bruce was moving? Or had something happened? Cursing, Tim felt like he should know these things but couldn't do much more for remembering beyond letting his fingers automatically pull out his clothes.

They smelt different and unfamiliar.

Outside though, smelt the same. There was wind tossing about leaves and a very uncomforting white sky. He had the feeling that this wasn't right either, but he had to investigate further to be sure.

The kidnapping and ransom had gone wrong. Timothy Drake, orphaned because nobody had been able to save them. Because Batman hadn't known again this time and Tim lived alone with Ellaine and his father's estranged brother.

He wouldn't be jealous this time. And he wouldn't even think about growing up to be like Dick.

The secret entrance to the manor had not changed. It was there long before any of them for purposes of trafficking slaves. The only trouble Tim found with accessing this entrance was the overgrowth.

Once upon a time, Alfred used to take care of things.

Tim didn't need to know the activities of his neighbor to know that Alfred's touch was long missing from this place.

Shadows begat more shadows as Tim followed the stairs down to the cave. He found exactly what he didn't remember. Bare space and bats. The air wasn't regulated and it was cold. In the darkness, Timothy cursed himself for not bringing a light to tell him if things were removed or whether they simply had never existed.

Batman never existed.

Or he had at one time...

'Oh Tihm, did you 'ear bout da last of dos acrobats? Dere was a accident. 'Ow sad...Did I mention dat you got anodder postcad in da mail too?'

This wasn't right. Batman needed a Robin...but the world needed a Batman. Tim needed a father.

No. He didn't know what he needed.

He found the books under his bed, where he knew he would have stored them. Ellaine was shouting something about supper when he pulled them out of their boxes. Though the notes never seemed to change, he wondered if they would be any different had he put the newspaper clippings and the photos in from the first time. Did it even matter? Yes, Tim thought. It did.

iii: On Sleepless Roads The Sleepless Go

Heat, steaming up and around himself. He was barely clothed. Vapour clouded things more than his forsaken brain could and the wall became a very useful thing indeed as Tim braced on it.

"The floor is wet." The warning came from behind and Timothy almost laughed when he heard the voice.

This was the cave.

This was where they showered. Moving silently over the stone floor towards him was Bruce.

Exhaling, it was all Tim could manage to keep the grin from revealing itself. "If I asked you a question, even an obvious one, you won't think I'm insane right?"

Bruce, towel in hand and critical frown ready, shook his head.

'The boy is obviously disillusioned. I've never seen him before.'

"Okay," Tim began, unsure of what he could ask. The vicinity had finally stopped spinning. "You're Batman."

He got a blank reply. "I had no idea."

It was a joke, and Tim was very amused. "Alright. And my dad?"

"On a trip for work."

Timothy nodded, hardly believing that finally, his dad was alive again. "And mom?"

The concerned crease on Bruce's forehead explained more than he said. "You know I couldn't save her. Tim, are you okay?"

"Just, checking something," he nodded. He was always more serious behind the mask. Half naked and cheating to remember didn't seem so dignified. "Dick is..."

''Ow sad...'

A second frown was directed at Tim. "Did you need to talk Tim? I know you probably miss Richard but he hasn't shown much interest in coming back to Gotham just yet."

"No I'm...adjusting." Robin grin. He hadn't forgotten how to do that either, what with all that had transpired. "Oracle?"

"Who?"

"Babs?"

Bruce Wayne motioned towards the showers. "Is waiting for us to finish up so she can have her turn."

No Oracle? That had changed then. No Cassandra...but Barbara could walk.

"And...myself?"

Bruce gave Tim a surveying stare but relented when Timothy flashed another Robin look. "You'll never end up on patrol if you don't get in costume."

It was what Tim needed to hear.


This wasn't how he had left it, but Timothy Drake could adjust. His father was alive, and he was remembering the changes that prevented Spoiler's death. He had never quit. Jack had never found out. There was never a Robin IV. Though he didn't hang out with the Titans, he knew he could get them together if he tried. Maybe he'd find where Cassandra was and things would be better. Tim would make them better.

He was Robin again.

Perched on the grit of a brick building, a overdue scream pierced the skies of Gotham. Robin grinned and deployed his jump line.

"It's super-hero time," he told the world, his world, feeling like he was exactly where he should be.

He wasn't.

'It wasn't that far of a lie.'


"I don't know what to say."

Bruce was talking again and the words were probably directed towards Tim. He had wanted to bring them together. Oh, it really was wonderful to see Dick again, after what seemed like years of not knowing the guy at all. The bindings though, were not what Tim needed to be wearing at the time. But the paint just wouldn't come off, even if they had removed it. There would be a great deal of time passing before he could put on gloves of any kind too.

He had wanted to bring them together. Had wanted to set things right. That was why it was so ironic. The more he tried to do something, the harder it got to live with the mistakes. It was really funny actually.

Tim didn't laugh.

But he wanted to.

"I don't know what to say either," were his first words in the entire trip back to the manor. He'd considered telling a joke. He knew some good ones. That would really set him up in Arkham though. Bruce would do it too. He had threatened it once before...

He could tell the truth. Being so disingenuous all the time was wearing on him. Maybe Batman would believe. Joker might have, somewhere in the midst of learning secrets. All the secrets.

'Cotton candy.'

"Fuck," he muttered, and wondered if he were even able to cry. It was always easier to grin. The body was made that way and, "I screwed up."

"Tim, it's not your fault."

It certainly was. He didn't belong in this place. And when he thought this was what he wanted, he left himself vulnerable and that was hardly like him. He used to be different. Better at control.

"Tim," Bruce repeated, bringing himself to eye level with the boy. "It's not your fault."

Words. Tim had a lot of fun with words. Twist them into puns. Make them into puzzles. Deface them in the dictionary. He had done that once when he wanted the suit. He had the sudden urge now, to tear the 'R' right off the damned thing.

His hands were shaking.

"I need...Bruce?"

Millionaire Bruce Wayne was holding his shoulders and hardly Batman.

"What is it Tim?"

The attention was satisfying. Somewhat. It wasn't right though, for Tim to see him so unintelligible.

"Are my things still in my room?"

Concern, like before it all went to hell. "Alfred is packing, in case you have to leave for a bit when we inform your father."

Jack would find out. Logical course considering Tim had been missing for months. Months!

Jack Drake would know and make Tim quit. Would Jack be dead soon too then? He coughed to cover a laugh. The irony was really too much and he couldn't quite stop until he had made his lip bleed.

"Tim..."

His hands were still shuddering and he needed to hold the books. Had told himself again and again while he waited. It didn't have to happen like this.

"Tim..."

'Junior?'

"I'd like to help. I'd like to pack my things too."

A softer answer, "It's late Tim."

He had an answer ready years ago. "Bruce. You know I won't be sleeping..."




Anything. Bruce would let him do anything.

That was the problem.



iv: In Want Of Pearls



"It's late Tim."

The mask twisted in his fingers and he knew his eye colour would be distorted by the white noise in front of him. Tim didn't look up as Bruce Wayne sat down.

"You should sleep."

Tim nodded slowly. "You too."

There was an attempt at a smile. Perhaps irony or something equally twisted. Tim felt it as much as he felt the pressure building in his head. Maybe just once he could get away with a handful of acetaminophen...

"You don't have to do this."

Fumbling with the mask in his hands, Tim responded in kind. "I never had to do this. And if I got out now, what have I got left?"

"Hardly fair is it?"

Batman left the cave to check up on Black Mask. Robin watched the screens and knew that nothing would change. Everyone dies. Batman moves on with his war.

Tim couldn't live like that anymore. He needed...something.

The black pearl had worked once, but the books gave him more options. More chances to save their worlds.

He needed to try.


v: Into The Pavement

"Timothy, will you try to hold still?"

There was noise again. And he felt flushed and unsteady on his feet. Somebody was talking and it was most likely their shadow over him that kept the bright lights at bay.

"Look at him Jack! He's burning up!"

Tim Drake blinked and tried to place himself somewhere. It was really hard when he kept recalling the name that was spoken. Jack. Jack was here. He heard him and...

She was wiping his face with a tissue and hovering around him. She was real. "Mom?"

Jack, looking very different, came forwards too. "He's probably just excited. The photograph was a stroke of luck."

"I'm fine."

He was, and that was the truth of things.

"That's good honey. You got so quiet all of a sudden. I'd rather if you were quiet on the way home instead so I can get over the jetlag..."

She was putting the tissue back into her purse. There were balloons and orange tents. Tim knew this place. How could he forget?

He knew this day, and he knew what he should do.

"Are you sure that you're okay?"

"I'm good." He was holding her hand possessively and following through with what he said once before.

"I can't wait to watch the show."

He would make himself watch as they fell.

vi: Everything You've Been

He was falling.

A short cry escaped Tim as gravity's inertia dropped him with force. For an instant he saw his gauntlets and pondered briefly why it wasn't wrong to wear them. He saw the snap of a zip line leave his grasp and would have believed he was really in trouble had an arm not appeared around him.

Stories separated Tim from death. Stories and Superboy.

"What was that?!" Kon had barely let Tim onto the rooftop before he was shouting. "You just let go of your line. You can't fly you know."

"I'm sorry," whispered Tim, and his head was only pounding because he had yet to make his pulse slow. Never had he come around in midair before.

Kon was serious. "What happened?"

"Thinking."

A snort shared with the rooftop. "Did you lose the ability to multi-task now? Don't ever do that again!"

"I won't."

San Fransisco. Tim wondered why he had remembered the details so quickly. He had been in the cave a few days ago...or, "after my dad died..."

Kon kicked at the stone. "Is that what you were thinking about?"

Tim frowned, remembering that Kon could hear almost every mutter.

He tried to say 'I'm fine.' but gave instead, "I'm not crazy."

"You're a bat. Of coarse you're crazy," Superboy argued. "And if things were different, I still think Tim Drake can be pretty creepy at times."

If things were different...

Bart materialized between them. "Guys. Hey!"

"Bart."

Throwing his thumb over his shoulder, the Speedster indicated the lights over the Bay. "I just got word that there's a freak typhoon in Asia. Some of the JL's are going, but they can always use back-up."

"Count me in," Kon quipped and Robin nodded slowly. "Aside from Robin being all suicidal, there hasn't been enough chaos for this weekend."

Kid Flash gave Tim an inquiring look.

Tim shrugged. "Chaos is inherent in all compound things."

"Strive on with diligence," finished the Speedster. "Quote from Buddha."

Kon swiped at Bart but predictably missed. "Stop reciting books."

With Bart halfway gone, Tim accepted Kon's arm and listened to him mumble about how some books...and Speedsters, should be burned.

Robin knew he could agree with the former.


'If we wish to make a new world we have the material ready. The first one, too, was made out of chaos.' - Robert Quillen

End.