Partly inspired because that drone has absolutely no problem finding Beast Boy at the beginning of Season 5 and because he is in no way surprised it has found him. Always wanted to play with the Doom Patrol a little because the dynamic between that whole group is so difficult. In all technicality and formal terms, they are a family but I always read the reality of the situation as being completely opposite. Reverse Titans dynamic I guess.

All characters belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing. - JM

Her baby didn't run away.

Running away means sneaking out. A shock or surprise, disappearing when least expected. Beds empty, missing clothes, childhood treasures stuffed into backpacks. Nothing but a gaping hole left in their wake and silence. The terrifying possibility of never finding them. Not knowing one way or another if your baby was even alive.

He didn't slip through the window in the middle of the night. Instead he walked out of the jet in the middle of the day just like he had a thousand times before. There had been no official goodbyes, no note. But she can remember knowing that moment was important. Hearing the stress in his voice. Gravity clinging to otherwise innocent syllables. He hadn't looked back.

She knew he wasn't happy. Her baby was never meant to be a grunt. But that had always been obvious. Always so stubborn, bound and determined to try and do things his own way. How he balked at orders he disagreed with and that temper that only flared up when he felt belittled. No, he was being trained to be a commander. The first of a new generation, someone to take up the gauntlet. That was the plan, had always been the plan for him. But that had never been his plan, had it? She knew her baby. All he wanted was to be wanted. Knew that he was suffocating under the pressure. Could see all the routine and orders choking the freedom out of his eyes and strangling his hopes. But no matter what, she never could have imagined a day he would be gone. She had forgotten how he rejoiced in being unpredictable, in bucking their carefully built system of expectations.

At first, they had expected him to come back because he had left everything behind. The jet held enough to supplies to support a thousand attempts at running away. He had access to everything. But he had walked through that door without even a single extra piece of equipment. Even his personal things were still there behind a closed door. Not the few well used toys they had found for him. The dog eared picture books of jungle animals and deep sea creatures had been left on their respective shelves. Clothes, blankets, mementos, his room had been left just as pristine as always.

But the doors had never been left open on the ship. For all the difference it made, he could have just been buried in those old picture books or doodling some silly thing on the backs of old mission reports again. One of the million expectations he had been expected to live under. Train, obey, keep yourself entertained, and stay quiet. Before he had crossed their path, the jet was quiet. When he had lived in its halls, the ship had still been quiet. Now that he had left, it was quiet as always.

They had pretended for a while, all four of them quietly checking that everything was still there. Or that maybe he was really there and they had just failed to notice. He had to be planning on coming back. Cliff and Larry kept finding excuses. He had just got lost again. Probably found some adventure. Lost track of time. Any second now, he'd come stumbling back through the door. Dirty and disheveled, apologetic for worrying them but still smiling like the sun.

Any minute now.

Any hour now.

Any day now.

So they all kept pretending he usually got lost, his constant internal compass suddenly skewed. Forgotten he had always managed to notify base about potential delays before. Chose to remember that he preferred being alone. They all kept murmuring about his new character flaws and sudden faulty memory while keeping vigil over what he had abandoned. His room had to be more than just another room filled with carefully ordered things behind a closed door.

Steve refused to acknowledge the fact his son had failed to return. The thought had never crossed the boy's mind, he said. If he had been planning to run, Steven would have known. Cliff or Larry would have caught hint of it, pieced it together somehow. Her baby would have told her, would have talked to her before doing something so drastic.

But he hadn't. Not every runaway leaves clues or drops hints after all. But none of them carry around a personal GPS.

Just in case the Brotherhood captured any of them. Just in case somebody got lost. It was a guarantee that if they got separated, her baby would never stay missing. At least that's what it was supposed to mean. When he didn't come back, they had checked on him. The same steady marker shone clear with no jamming from the Brotherhood, no notice of distress. So they gave him a day out of good faith. Then one more due to Steve's anger at their son's failure to report. Another because if it took two days to get there, it would have to take just as long to come back. A week later and their boy has already put a continent and six countries between them. Articles began cropping up about her baby. Always finding somebody to save or a good deed to perform where ever he bothered to stop, he'd always been such a good boy. Watched as the little blip that marked his position moved faster and farther away from them until it was far too late to chase after him. The signal never paused for very long at any location. Not until he reached the coast and the local news cast her baby in a starring role. He hadn't looked back.

He had never bothered making his location a secret. Not once had that GPS been turned off even though he knew how. He wasn't hiding from them, didn't care if they came after him. More than the empty room or the missing goodbye, that's what breaks her heart.

So no, her baby didn't run away. Her baby left.