Chapter Text
Sam didn’t want to go on another hunt. He didn’t want to leave for a “vacation” two weeks into school. He didn’t want to disappear from school again. The likelihood of them even coming back dwindled every year.
Dean had opted out of middle school when he was eleven, spending all his time helping dad. Elementary schools are easier to jump in and out of anyway, less school counselors and concern. So in two years when he started sixth grade… he would be expected to do the same. Or not just expected- but required.
Dean always chose these things. That meant he set the precedent. When Sam was six and Dean- at the ripe old age of ten- said they should be taken on the hunts…. Well that was it for a semblance of normal in Sam’s young life. Suddenly every two months- at most- it was time for another “vacation”.
A lot of time was spent in Motel rooms after that, scouring through documents and searching up cases. He knew he wasn’t being told everything- but honestly that looked better than whatever Dean was being told.
“Sam!” Dean called, interrupting his thoughts and elbowing him in the side. The two were sitting on the couch in front of their father. “Listen- Dad’s trying to tell us something.”
“Thank you Dean.” The man glowered down at Sam, and Sam cowered back. “Now as I was trying to say. We have to go to Bristol for a case.”
“I thought we didn’t go to Gotham?” Dean asked.
“We don’t.” he said with finality. “But this isn’t Gotham, it’s Bristol, and they don't know what they’re dealing with.”
“Okay. When are we leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning- start packing kids.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But my team's big game is in two days!” Sammy interrupted. “I promised that I’d be there. You promised that I’d be there.” He turned to Dean with the last accusation. “Can’t we just sit this one out!” Sam yelled.
“No.” Their father responded in gruff finality. “We do not ‘sit out’. I need you both here on this, you might actually be useful.” He said, eyes landing on Sam. “All the incidents seem to happen around kids- we could use you for information gathering.”
“You’ve done it before without me! I just want to get to my game, is that so hard! Why can’t I just be normal- just for one more week!” Sam stood up with his rising anger.
“Because we’re not normal! We help people Sam- we save people! We’re Winchesters, we stick together!” their dad yelled back
“We stick together!? We didn’t seem to stick to-”
“Sammy.” Dean interrupted, grabbing his arm. “Go to your room and pack. Now. I wish we could get you to that game but we have to help these people- these kids. You know that.”
Sam stood there for a moment more, staring at his father intently. His dad stared back, hands flexing into fists.
“Sam just go.” Dean said, his tone becoming one that Sam had learned to recognize- a hidden pleading.
Finally, Sam ripped his arm away from Dean and turned to walk back to his room.
--
Tim stared at the corkboard. Shockingly enough- not the one with the multi colored string tracking Batman and Robins patrol routes and cases. This one was even more precarious and uncertain. These strings were tied between his parents' flights, the phrases on their most recent calls, the most recent archeology digs, and the responses from their assistant when Tim tried to contact them.
If his interpretations of the phrasing was correct (which it was) and the most interesting recent digs that were popping up were right (they were) and since his airline contact was always right about timing and delays. It would be about two and a half weeks until his parents are home.
It was a simple calculation really, when factoring in that his parents said one week, and their assistant said they had a meeting already scheduled the day of their layover, and their was a fascinating dig starting up nearby, that currently seems connected to another one only 20 miles away from it. Combined with the “we promise we’ll be home for the first day of school” all added up to two and a half weeks in total.
I mean hey- at least it wasn’t actually the first day of school. They had gotten the date mixed up again. Who can blame them though? With how busy they are, August 19th vs 29th meant nothing.
But he had already figured that all out three days ago. Except for the extra half a week cause the second dig site only popped up recently.
He had just hoped that maybe- maybe he calculated something wrong. Maybe if he double checked again he would have found something he missed. Maybe they had said they would be back by the end of the week. Which means the meeting wouldn’t be with the person he thought it was- and they wouldn’t know about the dig- and maybe they would be back sooner so Tim could tell them about…. Everything.
But of course it wasn’t that. He had checked over the transcript of the phone call a million times- it was really easy it wasn’t that long. He just wished that there was someone here to help with everything that’s been going on. It’s been getting worse.. And Tim’s pretty sure its his fault. (that was the third corkboard in his bedroom)
--
It wasn’t hot in the park, and it also wasn’t cold, in the worst way possible. The light from the sky came in a dim gray hue. Everyone seemed to either have a weapon or a safety precaution somewhere on them.
We are definitely closer to Gotham than we should be. Thought Sam as he looked around. But dad had told them to track down this Tim Drake boy while he followed other leads, and Dean said it was good for him to go to a park, so here he was. Sunday afternoon- missing his Little Leagues final game- with Dean ushering him over to a strange boy sitting in the grass.
“Hi. I’m Sam.” He said, holding out his hand. The boy looked up wearily, seeming to scan over every inch of him before grabbing his hand and responding.
“I’m Tim, nice to meet you.” He let go of his hands and paused for a moment before speaking again. “Are you new to town?”
“Yeah, actually, how could you tell?”
“Pretty easy to spot when someone's not from Gotham.” The little boy said with a shrug. “And you don’t have an accent.”
Sam suddenly felt a little offended for some reason. (Part of him thought maybe it was because he had never lived somewhere long enough to have an accent.) but the boy simply shrugged.
“Why are you in town? Gotham doesn’t get many visitors.” He was talking strangely for a nine year old- if Sam’s little league were people to judge social skills from- he seemed too put together; His voice too proper.
“Umm…” he glanced back at Dean, trying to think of an excuse. “We’re visiting our family!”
“Mmm nice,” Tim said, but his eyes seemed to narrow ever so slightly. “From Bristol I’m assuming? Who is it? Maybe I know them.” He leaned back casually, almost too casually.
“Umm, honestly… I, um… always forget her last name. Yeah, she’s, uh, from my moms side.” Something seemed to burn in Sam’s chest at that lie.
The boy's eyes narrowed again, before giving a nod and sitting up straight. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”
—
Tim knew this boy was lying to him. It was all over his face, and tonal inflections, and hand fidgeting. The boy- Sam- was lying through his teeth.
Honestly though, he didn’t really care. No one had really talked to him since the last.. incident. All his classmates seem to avoid his eyes now. He honestly didn’t do anything. He got annoyed at a question, he accidently raised his voice, then the chalkboard at the front of the classroom cracked down the center.
“So umm..” Sam said, interrupting his thoughts, “I’ve heard there’s been some weird events going on around here?”
Tim huffed a laugh “It’s Gotham, there’s always weird events.” It honestly took him a second to realize Sam could be talking about his weird events.
“Well, yeah, but ones here in Bristol. Some things getting mysteriously destroyed? Spooky.” he said the last word with a sheepish laugh. Sam looked over to the sides of the playground, and it seemed that an older boy- middle school aged- looked back at him pointedly, gesturing towards Tim.
Suddenly Tim was very unsettled. Why did the boy come up to me? I’m sitting alone reading a book. He clearly doesn’t belong here, he doesn’t even have a fake last name for his family, and now he's asking questions about The Incidents. And to top it all off there's some guy on the sidelines making sure this kid talks to me. Red flags.
“I have to go, my babysitter’s not gonna be happy if I dawdle.” He said, standing up.
It was his excuse. It wasn’t wrong, Mrs. Mac would throw plenty of Irish curse words at him for being late to pickup. Just that he typically used it earlier than pick-up time, and technically Mrs. Mac wasn’t his babysitter, she was a maid.
—
“Um, wait!” Sam tried to call after the boy to no avail. He had rushed off to the other end of the park before Sam even got the whole plea out.
He heard Dean jogging up next to him. “Great job, Sammy, you scared him off.”
“What was I supposed to do?! You told me to ask about the incidents, I asked, and he got freaked. These conversations aren’t exactly simple.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean responded gruffly. “I’ve had to do plenty, think you can figure one out?” He was annoyed, and agitated.
“It’s not my fault you and dad leave me behind in the stupid motel rooms-“
“Quiet,” Dean snapped as Sam's voice edged higher in volume. “Just, wait here, I’ll see if I can fix this.”
“He’s getting picked up now anyway,”
Dean looked just over Sam’s shoulder. “You wanna bet on that?”
—
If you want something done right. Dean thought begrudgingly as he walked over to the kid, still sitting on a bench at the far end of the park.
“Hey, sorry about my brother. He’s kind of a freak-“
“Yeah I noticed,” Tim said plainly.
“Okay, yeah, I was joking, but sure. Listen, he just wants to make some friends while we’re here, and-“
“Why are you talking to me?”
“You have a real pension for interrupting people, kid.”
“Well when they’re weird strangers asking me about the freaky events that have been happening around me, I get a little jumpy.”
“What do you mean they’ve been happening around you?” See, they had already gathered this information, but when interrogating, always pry into what you already know.
“Were you not listening to the rest of the sentence-“ Tim seemed to cut himself short before he could get worked up. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not telling two random boys in the park anything.”
“Okay, got it. Can I sit here anyway?”
“Free country,” the kid said with a shrug.
Get into their space. Being around them makes them more likely to talk. His fathers voice rang in his head. He could wait out this little kid's silence. I mean unless his ride arrived first. Wait a min-
“Aren’t your parents supposed to be here to pick you up or something?” Dean questioned. Thinking of, why did this kid's parents leave him in a park to begin with- in Gotham of all places?
“It’s not my parents, it’s my babysitter, and she’s just running a few minutes late.”
“Well then I really ought to stick around until she shows up. Is she hot?”
Tim turned to him in a deadpan. “You’re twelve.”
“Yeah, so?” Dean replied, trying not to think about how easily the kid guessed his age. It was freaky.
“She’s 56.”
“…. She can still be hot,” Dean joked with a shrug.
—
Tim didn’t like this boy any better than he liked Sam. Actually he disliked him much more than Sam. This guy was trickier, he thought he was getting away with everything, but Tim didn’t find out Batman and Robins identities through name tags. He knew this kid was lying- maybe not about anything he specifically said, but he was hiding something. And Tim wanted to know what.
“My name's Dean by the way,” the boy said, interrupting Tim’s thoughts along with his very intense stare at his book. “What’s yours?”
Tim took a deep breath and stared at the boy- Dean. He already told his brother his name, there was no use not telling him. But maybe he could figure out something they’re hiding.
“Who’s your family?” Dean's face scrunched up at the question.
“What?”
“Sam said you were staying with family, but didn’t give me a last name. You give me a last name, and I’ll tell you my first.”
Then I’ll have the upper hand. I haven’t told them my last name, they don’t know where I live. All I’ve said is that I’m Tim, with a babysitter (lie), and have been around The Strange Incidents. Okay so maybe that last one gives them the upper hand- fuck!
“…Johnson,” Dean offered.
Tim rolled his eyes at the boy. Was he seriously this stupid?
“The only Johnsons that live around here are gone on summer vacation, and I happen to know their son doesn’t have any cousins, or close relatives.”
Okay so he wasn’t entirely sure on the second fact. He knew there was no cousins, and if they did have a visiting relationship with their extended family, Tim figured he’d be aware of it. All in all a pretty safe bet that it was a lie.
Dean simply let out a sigh. “Okay listen, can I tell you the truth?”
That was easier than expected.
“Obviously.”
“Me and Sammy… aren’t from around here. We aren’t really supposed to be in Gotham,” he said with a chuckle, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Y’know we’re pretty alone out here, and you looked kind of alone too.”
—
It was a long shot. Like a huge long shot. Betting on so much personal info that Dean did not have. But the kid had been sitting alone in a field. He had a fifty six year old baby-sitter instead of parents. Something was definitely wrong in his life.
“Okay. Why are you really in Gotham?” Before Dean could open his mouth the kid kept talking. “And no BS this time.”
Dean took a deep sigh. He hated this part. “You’re not gonna believe it.”
“I live in Gotham, I believe in The Batman, my school was frozen over last week by a maniac with an ice gun. I’ll believe it.”
“Okay. We’re detectives.” The kid's face perked up a bit.
“One, not unbelievable. Two, what are you detecting?”
“The occurrences of… spontaneous, um, wreckage….?” Dean tried to phrase it in a nice way, trying to avoid saying ‘ghost’ or ‘haunting’.
“…..okay.” His voice got a little smaller. His eyes fell down. “Yeah- that’s probably why you’re talking to me,” he let out a small unsure laugh. “But, why are you two doing it?” He said as the question dawned on him. “You’re not even in high school.”
“We’re helping our dad,” Dean said with a shrug, no reason to lie about that.
“Hey!” Sammy appeared over his shoulder. “Thought you were getting picked up?”
“Oh, yeah, I lied.” The kids' mood immediately changed. He popped back up, his eyes were a-light, it seemed he was completely fine. “I just wanted to get out of the conversation.”
“Oh, okay.”
—
Okay so they were detectives. At least they told him. Tim doesn’t appreciate people lying to him, mostly because they act like they’ll get away with it. They never do.
“So, now that we’ve got that covered, wanna fill us in on anything?” Dean asked broadly.
“Well, first, my name is Tim since that was your original question. Which was probably a fake question you already knew so that you could start a conversation. Classic detective movie,” he said with a shrug.
“Okay, you know a weird amount about this,” Dean said, shifting to look down.
“When did this all start?” Sam piped up.
Tim took a deep sigh, thinking back. It wasn’t actually that hard, it had a distinct marker. “A month and a half ago.”
Right after his parents last trip. And right before they left for this one. It’s just business.
“Is there anything specific that-“ Sam’s words were cut off by a loud honk.
“Timothy!” An old woman shouted from a car in a heavily accented voice. “Hurry now eejit! You flute, teacht go tapa anois!” She said quickly.
Tims face scrunched up. “That would be my ride.” He quickly packed up his things and gave a nod goodbye to the strange boys.
“We’ll figure this out,” Dean called after him as he left.
He quickly made his way to the car and sat in the backseat and thought through the series of events. If these boys were figuring out what was going on, he was gonna help.
Now he just had to figure out where they were.
—
“So boys, what did you find out?”
The boys in question had just stepped through the door of the motel room. Both of them froze momentarily before Dean spoke up.
“Tim was real skittish about it, but he seemed scared. He immediately said that he was involved in all of them- seemed like he felt kinda guilty about it.” Dean could practically hear his brother's eye roll.
“He confirmed it’s been going on for a month and a half. I overheard him calm himself down quickly when he started to get riled up at Dean, could be nothing, could be something that’s triggered the events.”
“Okay, that checks out with what I could gather.”
“Well what did you-“ Sam’s question was cut off like it didn’t even exist. He hated when his dad did this.
“Dean, come with me, we're gonna check out the most recent incident. Sam, you hit the books and find out anything that correlates to the information.”
“Yes, sir” the brothers both responded, though one much less enthusiastically.
His brother and father left out the door, with Dean throwing a “remember to eat” quickly over his shoulder. So Sam was alone with a room full of books, again.
He quickly began reading, scouting for some sort of spirit that feeds off anger. He flipped through a million different pages, and honestly he was about to fall asleep where he sat.
Then there was a knock at the door.
Sam cautiously walked over to it, peering through the peephole. He had to stand on his tip toes, then had to significantly look down to see the guest.
Timothy Drake stood on the other side of the door with a folder in one hand and thermos in the other. Great.
Sam opened the door and looked at the boy questioningly. “What are you doing here?” He asked.
“I’m here to help. If I’m- wait, where's your brother?” Tim said, breaking off his own script. “Shouldn’t your father be here?”
Sam let out a deep sigh. “They're both off doing the leg work, I’m here trying to find information.”
“Well that’s good, cause that’s what I have-“ he took a deep breath, relieved to get back on script. “If I’m involved in the case, I get to help, I deserve to know what’s going on.”
That struck a chord with Sam. Of course the boy deserves to know what’s going on, everyone should get to. It’s all Sam ever wanted.
“Okay, come on in.”
So maybe Sam could earn Tim’s favor.