Archive of Our Own ^beta

Of all the times for Tim to be at W.E, it had to be when Crane targeted it in search of their latest pharmaceutical breakthrough.

Because of course it was.

It was an antidote distributor, specifically designed to hold copious amounts of various gas antidotes and spray it outwards like a fire sprinkler when activated. For the sake of the public, it was said to be for Commissioner Gordon and his people to use. The true purpose was the Bats.

The plan was to reveal it to the public on Saturday at a tech expo. Until then, Lucius had personally ensured it was kept under wraps so that they could get it finished and programmed to reject any chemicals that were too close of a match to known toxins. Fear toxin, Joker toxin, even a couple different versions of Ivy’s pollen.

There was one prototype set up in a lab on the thirteenth floor of the W.E. building. With Bruce in Japan for a business trip, he’d asked Tim to act as a sort of sounding board for Lucius through the final testing stages. Just to make sure nothing popped up that was easily exploitable or seemed out of place.

So Tim was in the lab with Lucius, watching the testing through thick glass, when the screaming started.

His first instinct was to run for the stairs and make his way to the W.E. Batstuff area. He knew there was a version of his Red Robin suit hidden in there, and he didn’t really want to deal with fighting a Rogue in a regular old business suit. It’d raise some questions.

Unfortunately, just when he and Lucius began to move, the big double doors at the end of the labs were thrown open.

Lilting, off-key nursery rhymes floated into the room, accompanied by a hiss.

Tim and Lucius dove to the ground.

It felt like watching a movie. A canister skittered to a stop maybe ten feet from them, spraying green gas. Tim saw it happen. He knew exactly what it was, the smell of something rotting and old, mixed with the alcoholic smell of a hospital too distinct to mistake.

Then, Crane stepped over the canister. His scythe dangled loosely from one hand and knocked against the cold tile, a rhythmic tapping in time with his approach.

“Scarecrow,” Tim croaked.

The smell was getting stronger, his head beginning to swim. Shadows around the room pulsed.

Warmth spread across Tim’s abdomen.

His hands automatically moved to grip it, holding back blood that should have long since stopped flowing out of a months old wound.

Except it wasn’t months old, Tim’s brain said.

And the cold tile underneath him was gone, replaced by gritty sand, and Lucius wavered in the corner of Tim’s eye, replaced by—

Replaced by Bruce.

Tim whimpered, releasing his stomach and shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The image of Bruce, bloody and pale and so horribly still, didn’t go away. It danced mockingly behind his eyelids.

It wasn’t real. Crane was right there. Everything Tim was seeing and feeling and hearing—

—screams, agony, “I’ve got you,” and “it’s not your fault,” and “I love you, Tim. I love you just like your mother loves you.”—

—all of it was fake.

If only his brain could get with the program.

He was Red Robin—

—Robin—

—Damian, Jason, grenades and katanas, batarangs and his own bo staff—

—and he could handle Crane.

But he wasn’t Red Robin, he was Tim Drake, wasn’t he? Which meant no fighting. No exposing his secret identity.

Tim’s fingers were trembling. He forced himself to reach for his tie, where he had a distress button.

A single click, and the Bats would find him.

He managed to curl his hand around the tie and feel for the button, but couldn’t seem to find it. The tie just kept going, and going, and going, and going, and—

—it was black and thick and he was holding Batman’s cape, Dick’s cape, something about it was different, he knew it was different, and it had blood smeared across it. Dick’s blood—

—there.

Tim pressed firmly down on the button. It clicked beneath his fingertips and he let his arm go limp, smacking hard against the floor. His eyes squeezed shut.

More screams, except they were more familiar this time. The one that stood out the most was Kon.

He knew the members of Young Justice’s voices like he knew his own, and they’d been in enough fights together to recognize each other’s grunts and screams, and that had to be Kon. There was no way it could be anyone else.

But Kon was dead, Tim had seen him—

—he was alive—

—Bart.

Gone.

Stephanie, Bruce, gone.

Dana and Jack, gone.

Janet.

Tim’s throat squeezed, and he had to fight down the bile in his throat, fight down the urge to let it go, to get rid of the poison that he hadn’t swallowed because his parents hadn’t taken him with them, because “archaeology has no place for children, Timothy. You’ll only get hurt.”

But Janet had drunk the poison, and her face flashed through Tim’s mind, mouth covered in sudsy red bubbles. Her hands scrabbled at her neck where it’d been slashed—

—except Tim had read the files and he’d seen the tape and it wasn’t Janet who died by a knife, but their employee.

He sucked in a breath.

Then he was immediately dragged back down by a weight on his chest, and a gleam of red above him.

If Tim were in his right mind, he would’ve been ashamed to admit that he’d screamed. If Tim were in his right mind, he wouldn’t have.

The Red Hood helmet stared impassively down at Tim.

And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? Tim could understand anger. He could understand hurt and betrayal and the need for revenge. Now more than ever, after Boomerang. Plus, to a smaller extent, after having Robin taken from him without his input.

But the man above him wasn’t any of that. He was disinterested, completely blank as he swung the bo staff down and connected it with Tim’s ribs.

The wound in Tim’s stomach spurted more blood. His ribs were on fire.

He sobbed, and Red Hood didn’t take off his helmet and grin in victory. He just swung again.

“I know what you did, Tim,” Bruce’s voice came.

The words wiggled in Tim’s brain, like he’d heard them before, but he couldn’t think of where or when, or even respond. Another flare of pain in his shoulder. Bruce said, “only after making all the wrong ones.”

“I failed, but I’m still beating you,” Jason said.

“I let you make the choice for yourself…” Dick’s voice was full of something rotten and sad. “...because I thought you’d make the right one.”

There were more voices and more words, but Tim’s heartbeat drowned them out, loud and too fast in his ears. He screamed hoarsely as the bo connected with his leg and he felt the snap.

That, Tim recognized. It was the feeling of his knee breaking.

Back when Tim first became Robin, he’d been training with Bruce. He’d slipped, Bruce had been too close to pull back, and accidentally hit Tim with a full force kick to the knee. Tim’s leg had broken immediately, leaving him to crumple into Bruce’s arms as he cried out.

Bruce wasn’t around to catch him this time. Or to stop Jason.

Would he even try, if he was there?

Head spinning, Tim tried to remind himself that Bruce—he was Tim’s dad, of course Bruce would step in, he’d never tolerated Hood’s brutal methods. Especially not against family.

Tim blinked sluggishly, even as adrenaline raced through him in an effort to keep him awake. His arms were trembling.

He’d hit his distress signal, right?

So maybe Bruce was there. Maybe he was just out of reach.

After a second of effort, mouth practically glued shut with pain and exhaustion, Tim mumbled, “dad?”

The scene changed.

Hood’s helmet blew away like sand in the wind, reality warping around his leather jacket and bright red bat. In his place formed Batman. The real Batman, not Dick or any of the future Batmen Tim had run into over the years, or Jason in his Battle for the Cowl get up.

Bruce.

Bruce, holding a batarang.

His cowl, which Tim had learned to read with ease, was incredibly blank. Impassive, just like Hood had been.

Not a word was spoken as Bruce hauled his arm back, and Tim watched with a yell locked in his throat as his dad threw the batarang.

It buried itself in Tim’s chest.

Maybe a few inches to the left, there was a matching scar from Jason. On Tim’s father’s corpse, buried six feet under in a Gotham cemetery, there was a remarkably similar one. A boomerang that Tim tore his hands apart trying to yank out, sobbing the whole way.

He didn’t even try to dig out the batarang. If Bruce had decided Tim needed to die—if Bruce had broken his number one rule on Tim—then it was for a good reason.

Maybe it had to do with a future Batman after all. Maybe Bruce decided that Tim couldn’t be trusted, he needed to be stopped before he grew up and became a monster like they’d all seen could happen. And Tim couldn’t even argue.

Warm blood trickled down Tim’s sides, pooling below him.

He didn’t look. He kept his eyes firmly on Bruce, because even if all he got was that perfectly blank look, it was at least a little comforting to have his dad there as he died.

“Mr. Wayne? Timothy?”

If he was lucky, Bruce would stay to make sure Tim died, which would mean he’d be there until Tim’s very last breath. That didn’t sound so bad.

“I thought you said the antidote’s fast acting.”

“It is. Worked on mr. Fox, didn’t it?”

Tim took a shuddering breath.

He wanted to ask Bruce to hold him—he wasn’t evil yet, even if Bruce had decided that he one day would be, and he was still Bruce’s son—but he couldn’t find the energy.

“Oh, for—get him out of here, Crane’s getting back up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, pretty sure I can handle Scarecrow and his stupid scythe. Get the kid, the old man, and those canisters, and get the hell out.”

Something shifted, and Tim was moving, but Bruce was still standing there. Not even budging as Tim was hauled away.

He was losing Bruce again.

Not to Darkseid, but to Tim’s own weakness, because he wasn’t even strong enough to die.

“No.” Tim reached for Bruce. “Please-”

And just like that, Bruce was gone, and Tim was alone. A sob tore itself out of his throat. Something squeezed him.

He writhed, trying to break free. He needed to go—

—desert, Pru, Owens, Z, sand, spleen—

—he needed to go after Bruce.

“Red, listen to me.”

Something like a door slamming made Tim jump, and years of training and his own instincts yelled at him to stop. Take stock, don’t jump the gun, assess the situation.

Tim was alone—

—someone was carrying him. Gently.

Someone was holding him, and the cold, night air of the desert was gone.

There was a Batarang in his chest—

—No. The only pain he felt was hollow, a phantom. Like when he woke up from nightmares and found himself with aching scars that hadn’t truly hurt in years. His knee, his chest, all of it was wispy and out of reach.

And that was Dick’s voice in Tim’s ear.

Tim sobbed.

“I’ve got you,” Dick said. “I’ve got you, just hang on a second. I need to get Lucius to safety.”

Another familiar voice—Lucius, family friend, Tam and Luke’s dad, Bruce trusted him—said, “take care of Tim. I’ll get the canisters to the GCPD and get myself checked into the hospital to make sure the antidote worked.”

There was a brief pause, but Tim couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and check what was happening. They were too heavy.

”Thank you, mr. Fox,” Dick said.

And suddenly they were moving again.

Tim’s stomach rolled with every step. He had to take a few deep breaths to stop from puking all over Dick.

“Scarecrow.” Tim mumbled bitterly.

The canister, Lucius, all of it was coming back to him as they walked.

“The prototype.”

“It’s safe, Tim,” Dick said. “The guys working on it initiated the lab lockdown the second Scarecrow showed up, so they and the prototype are both safe.

Something in Tim calmed a little, and he went limp again.

Dick sped up.

“We’re almost to the roof. Agent A is meeting us with the Batcopter,” he said.

Humming in acknowledgement, Tim adjusted his head so that his face was in Dick’s shoulder.

“You’ll be okay.”

The rest of the walk was filled with more random encouragement to stay awake and that Tim would be fine. He knew, distantly, that he ought to be worried about how many times Dick felt the need to say, “I’ve got you,” but he was drifting contently. Tim was nowhere near tethered enough to worry.

The prototype was safe. Lucius was safe. Dick was here, with Tim. That’s all he needed to know.

A pivot and a click, and a blast of cold wind hit Tim in the shoulders. He shuddered, leaning somehow closer to Dick.

Whirring. Loud, too loud, and then a weight on his head and blissful near-silence.

His ears were being cupped by something warm. They were moving again.

At some point, he was transferred to different arms, settled into someone’s lap, and he spared half a second of energy to pull away and look.

All he needed to see was the bright yellow of Signal’s suit and a tight, worried smile, and he was relaxing again.

“You sure it was fear gas, man? He’s totally out of it.”

“Yeah. Had to punch Scarecrow in the face to get to him and everything.” A brief pause. “I think the new antidote has some similar side effects as general anesthesia. So, loopy and tired, maybe nauseous, probably dizzy. Just don’t let him roll off your lap and we’ll be good.”

“I should’ve just made Black Bat come get you guys.”

“You’re the genius who chose the day shift.”

A mocking noise, and then comfortable silence. A hand drifted idly through Tim’s hair every little while.

His entire body felt heavy.

“You can sleep, y’know.”

Tim forced one eye to open, and found Duke looking down at him, eyebrow raised.

A thought scratched at the back of Tim’s head. He groaned.

“No,” he managed.

“Yes,” Duke said. “Nightwing and I’ve got you. You’re totally good, dude.”

“No. Everytime—”

Tim’s words got stuck in his throat, clogged by a lump. He blinked slowly, harshly, and continued. “If I fall asleep, they leave without saying goodbye.”

The part of Duke’s face that wasn’t covered by his mask scrunched, and he looked away, probably towards Dick.

“Who’s they?” Duke asked.

“Oh, Tim.” Dick sighed. A hand landed on Tim’s upper arm. “C’mon, pal, I promise, we’ll be here when you wake up. We can even call Bruce and get him back if you want.”

“My parents-” Tim started.

“Dad’ll be here when you wake up, Tim.”

Something about that sounded wrong. Maybe it was Dick saying dad, maybe it was the idea that Tim’s dad wouldn’t just use Tim falling asleep as an excuse to leave without a fuss, but it made alarm bells chime clumsily in Tim’s head. And what about his mom?

He groaned again.

There was a brief pause, before Dick said, “agent A says to put him under.”

“You sure? Mixing drugs like that?” Duke asked.

“If he said to, then it’s the right decision. Hold him still.”

Tim flinched at the feeling of arms squeezing tighter around him, drawing him up towards something hard and cold. He risked a peek through his eyelashes.

It was still Duke holding him. Tim’s cheek was now pressed against Duke’s bright yellow shoulder, held tight so he couldn’t get away without a lot of effort. Effort that sounded very, very exhausting at the moment. He let his eyes shut instead.

There was a little pinch in Tim’s arm, and he sagged, letting his head loll so he could look to see what had happened.

Dick smiled at him from less than a foot away. There was something that Tim couldn’t decipher in his eyes, but he was smiling, so it couldn’t be that bad.

________

Later, Tim would remember flashes of being hauled out of the Batcopter and transferred to the Batmobile. He’d remember hearing Bruce’s voice, tinny and distant. Dick’s chest rumbling under Tim’s ear as he responded.

Nothing really stuck, though. He was too out of it to stay conscious for very long.

He rolled over at one point and nearly fell off something. Arms caught him and squeezed, and Steph’s voice was in his ear, saying, “c’mon, Boy Wonder, let’s not add a concussion to the injury list. Alfred’ll have my head.”

Then he was gone again.

It just kept going like that. He’d sorta wake up and sorta move around, until someone grabbed him and put him back where he was, and by then, he’d be too exhausted to do anything but give in. His brain felt like it had been scrambled in one of Bart’s speed tornadoes.

The only time he really came close to being lucid, it was to Bruce’s hand on his forehead, so maybe it was just a very realistic dream.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” dream-Bruce said, “we have to go. We’ll be back as soon as everyone’s back in Arkham.”

Points for it being a dream; Bruce apologized.

Tim wasn’t even really sure what he was supposed to be apologizing for. Leaving? Going to deal with what sounded like an Arkham breakout? Of course Bruce was leaving, he wasn’t Tim’s dad, he wasn’t required to stay. And it wasn’t like Batman could just ignore an Arkham breakout.

________

There were hands on Tim’s shoulders.

They didn’t feel familiar. Dick’s hands were, because they had those calluses that only came from his acrobatics, and Bruce’s were larger than these. Steph, Cass, and Duke’s were all smaller and leaner, and Damian’s were still kid-like. Alfred’s were wiry, aged.

Which meant there were random hands on Tim, and he couldn’t feel the weight of his Red Robin armor. He was defenseless.

Kicking out wildly, Tim gasped, and the hands retracted.

His room came into focus after a second of blurry movement, and Tim saw the shock of white hair immediately. It was hard to miss when his brain had been reprogrammed to see it like an antelope sees Cheetahs’ spots.

He lunged for his nightstand.

The batarangs he kept taped to the bottom of the drawer were a familiar, comforting weight in his hand. He spun, tangled in his sheets, and scanned the room for the Red Hood.

Jason was crouched on the other side of the bed, eying the batarangs warily.

He wasn’t wearing his armor. Just a tank top and what might’ve been black sweatpants. It did nothing to calm Tim’s racing heart.

“Alfred know you snuck those up here?” Jason asked.

Without responding, Tim began wiggling free of his sheets. His only chance was getting loose and booking it into the hall, where maybe the others would hear him yell-

The others weren’t home.

Tim wasn’t sure what exactly had happened since W.E. and Scarecrow, but he knew what night it was. According to the schedule Alfred kept for them all, Tim was the only one who was supposed to be at the manor.

His emergency distress signal was only another quick lunge away, tucked in behind the bed frame where he could reach it immediately after waking up. But even if he managed to get to it without Jason intercepting him-and he had no delusions that Jason didn’t know what he’d be aiming for, it was in a similar spot in all of their rooms-there was almost no way that Dick or Cass or anyone would be able to get back before Jason either killed him or dragged him to a secondary location.

Dick was in Blüdhaven, a good thirty minutes away.

Robin was patrolling the city with Black Bat and Spoiler. At least fifteen minutes out, all three of them.

Duke had gone for a sleepover with some friends across town. Would he even get the alert?

Bruce wasn’t even in the country.

Alfred—well, knowing Jason, he’d specifically chosen that night because Alfred had taken a break and gone to see a Shakespeare play being held at a theater in downtown Gotham. They all knew that Alfred wouldn’t hesitate to put a halt to any threat on anyone’s life in the manor if he were present, through virtually any means necessary.

Tim was alone, with a bed separating him and his murderous older brother.

He was out of options, and any hint of calm he’d been able to wrangle thanks to his Robin training was quickly vanishing, replaced by a cold, heavy panic. It clung to his lungs, his stomach, his throat. The sheets were still wrapped tight around his legs.

Jason was standing up, hands raised. Tim clutched the batarang so tight that he could feel it stabbing at his palm. Something trickled down his wrist.

“Tim. Drop the batarangs,” Jason said. “Now.”

He tightened his grip, shuffled three of the four to his left hand, and readied the one to throw.

“Get out,” Tim said. His voice wavered, but he hoped it at least wasn’t enough for Jason to notice.

Logically, he knew that bossing Jason around was a pretty good way to wind up dead, but logic had flown the coop long ago. His brain was too cluttered to think properly and everything was moving too fast.

Several things happened at once.

He took a half a second to glance at the door, wondering if he could bolt and at least get to where the cameras were in the hallway, so that Jason wouldn’t be able to claim innocence.

Jason lunged right over the bed. He closed the distance in a blink.

The batarang zipped out of Tim’s fingers, just barely missing Jason’s head, and Tim’s heart sank.

He’d almost lodged a batarang in Jason’s head. He’d almost been able to stop Jason, to save himself.

He’d almost lodged a batarang in Jason’s head. He’d almost killed someone.

Tim let out a hollow, strangled cry, just as arms closed around him.

If there was anything Tim knew, it was how to get out of being held by someone bigger than himself. It was one of the first things Bruce had taught him. He should’ve been able to break free without hesitating, without even breaking a sweat.

Maybe it was because Jason had been taught the same things as Tim, so he knew how to keep him restrained, or maybe it was that Tim felt like a marionette without any strings, but he couldn’t move.

Everything felt heavy. His head was cotton, his mouth glued shut. All he could do was stare at the ceiling and hold his breath. If he breathed, he’d start crying, and crying would become sobbing in an instant. He couldn’t cry in front of Jason.

The arms were still tight around him, and he could vaguely feel fingers scrabbling at his own. He knew it was Jason trying to get the batarangs, but couldn’t stop it.

The ceiling was moving.

Everything was moving.

The world was spinning, and Jason’s weight was pressing down on Tim’s chest, and he couldn’t tell if he’d given up on holding his breath or not, but his lungs were burning either way.

Distantly, he realized that the cold metal of the batarangs was gone from his hand and had been replaced with something warm. He clenched his fists, earning a squelch and sticky liquid seeping between his fingers.

Tim could hear something like voices from his right, but it was hard to listen.

He heard something about Bruce and what sounded like the Batcave.

Was Jason planning on killing him in the cave? Maybe he’d leave Tim’s body in a display case, next to his own Robin suit. That would be poetic. Very Jason. Or, he could always drop Tim over the side of the platforms, let him smash into pieces on the rocks below. Pump him full of fear toxin from Bruce’s samples, leftover from making antidotes, and let Tim’s heart give out from being too scared. Feed him to the dinosaur. Put him in a containment cell and filter out the oxygen. Stab him with one of Damian’s katana, electrocute him with Dick’s escrima sticks, and use their family’s weapons to rip him apart.

Or, maybe Jason would just stab him with a batarang again.

Tim groaned, body spasming.

He’d really prefer not to die. Especially not in the cave, where they were supposed to be safe.

Unfortunately, not dying was gonna require him fighting Jason, which he also didn’t wanna do.

He was too tired to really weigh the options.

Prying his eyes open, only sort of aware that he’d even closed them, Tim searched for a Jason-shaped blur amongst all the rest of it.

Everything was just different shades of darkness, out of focus and wrong.

Tim shook his head. He had to concentrate.

It took a second, but eventually, there was a large shadow leaning over and into his line of sight. It was moving. What looked like a hand reached towards Tim’s face.

He grabbed it. The shadow balked.

Rotating, mostly instinct and not actual thought, Tim drove the hand into the ground and yanked. He lifted a knee and dropped it into what felt like a shoulder. Using that as a lever, he pulled the arm up until he heard a shout and a crack, then fumbled to his feet.

It was too easy to run for the door. Everything was still spinning, but he was in the hall, and he was almost to the stairs between one blink and the next.

Losing time wasn’t great, but he couldn’t stop.

Stopping meant letting Jason grab him, and letting Jason grab him meant getting beat with his own bo staff, or strangled, or any number of horrible things.

Tim turned the corner to the stairs, just as Jason shouted, “Tim, stop!” from behind.

Like that had ever worked on anyone, ever.

He reached the stairs and started downwards. The banister was smooth under his hand, old wood that had been sanded by generations of Waynes, and the stair treads were soft against his bare feet.

Until his foot slipped.

Tim’s whole body lurched, heart jumping straight to his throat, and he fumbled the banister.

“Tim!” Someone yelled from below him.

The only thing that stopped Tim from falling straight down the long, wide stairs and hitting his head was something grabbing his shirt and yanking. It clotheslined his neck, hard enough to make him cough.

“Jesus, kid, I told you to stop. Are you trying to kill yourself?” Jason demanded.

Tim was practically sitting in Jason’s lap, both of them sprawled across the stairs where Jason had yanked him. He aimed his elbow at Jason’s stomach, but Jason easily caught it, and with one arm, pinned both of Tim’s.

The other voice was back, and Tim spotted Bruce, just as he asked, “what happened?”

“Dad.” Tim gasped. “Dad, please.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“Jason, can you get him to the batcave?” Bruce asked, in that specific tone that said it wasn’t a request.

It made Tim’s entire body go cold.

Tim had just pleaded with him. Called him dad. Bruce hadn’t even asked what was wrong.

He hadn’t questioned why Jason was holding him.

Biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, Tim swallowed a sob.

Bruce was working with Jason. Jason was actually standing up and wrestling Tim down the stairs, like he was going to listen to an order from Bruce. Them having teamed up to get rid of him was the only explanation.

“No, no, dad, please,” Tim said, straining to reach for him.

“C’mon, Timber, we’re going to the cave. Calm down,” Jason said.

“No-”

Of all the different ways Tim had imagined Jason killing him, never once had he thought Bruce would help. Be unable to stop him? Sure. But never actually help.

Tim sagged in Jason’s arms.

If Bruce was on Jason’s side, then that was that. It was no use fighting.

Jason had already caught him, and it didn’t feel like he was going to relax enough for Tim to slip free anytime soon.

Even if he did, where was Tim gonna go? They were in Wayne Manor. Bruce’s home turf. Tim’s plan had been to get out to the hallway so the cameras would see everything and he wouldn’t go unavenged, at least. But Bruce wasn’t out of the country, and he already knew. He approved.

Bruce was gonna let Tim die to appease Jason.

Stomach churning, Tim tried to blink his burning eyes and get rid of the tears welling up. If he was gonna die, he was gonna do it without looking like a child in front of Batman and Robin.

He forced himself to breathe normally as Jason hauled him towards Bruce’s study and Bruce turned the clock hands. Panic made Tim’s head spin the second Jason’s bare feet hit stone, but panic wasn’t helpful, so Tim shoved it down.

They were halfway down the steps when lights flashed over the high cave walls, and echoes of motorcycle engines grew loud.

Tim bit the inside of his cheek again, right where he had before. He tasted iron.

He couldn’t escape Jason and Bruce solo. He knew he was as good as dead against them by himself. But with the help of whoever just arrived?

If it was Cass and someone else, then he was saved. Cass would never let anything bad happen to him—they were siblings, Cass was his big sister, she always protected him—and she was skilled enough to take down Jason. Whoever she was with could hold Bruce until she finished Jason off, and then they could team up against Bruce.

And even if she didn’t care about Tim as much as he thought she did, she was the one who was the most dedicated to Bruce’s no kill rule. Maybe even more than Bruce himself at times.

So if it was Cass, he would be okay.

Duke and Steph were more debatable. Both were skilled and both would want to at least try to save him, but Tim wasn’t sure if they’d be able to take down Jason and Bruce. Duke could blind them and he, Steph, and Tim could run, but would that be enough? They’d all trained to fight without being able to see. Bruce was a master of blind fighting.

And if it were Damian or Dick, Tim would probably wind up saved. Dick had always and would always try to save Tim. Same as Cass, they were siblings, and Dick was there whenever Tim needed him. Dick also had no problem going against Bruce when it was really necessary.

And Damian might not have held Tim in high regards, but he’d saved Tim from Jason once before, and he cared a great deal about Dick. Once Dick struck, Damian would be right behind him.

So, those bikes were probably Tim’s best bet for getting out of the cave alive. He just had to make sure Jason didn’t try to hide him or anything before they could see what was happening, and he’d be okay. He’d be okay.

Jason and Tim hit the bottom of the stairs, while Bruce started to move towards the vehicle platforms.

Alright.

As soon as Bruce got up there, he’d probably either start making excuses or just send whoever it was away. Jason would squirrel Tim away to the armory or medbay or something so they could kill him in private.

Which meant Tim had to get away and get the newcomers attention immediately.

He’d been mostly relaxed the whole way down. It was Jason holding him, which meant that Tim had very little chance of actually catching him off guard, but he could try.

An elbow to the neck and a heel to the stomach, and Tim was twisting into a wobbly flip. He rolled to his feet and bolted.

“Dammit—Tim!” Jason shouted.

Bruce turned, nearly at the vehicle platform, and two more heads of black hair appeared just beyond him.

Dick and Damian. Still suited up, where Bruce and Jason were in civies.

Alright. Okay.

“C’mon, grab him!”

Jason was still yelling, and Tim was still running, and Bruce was moving towards him. Dick was taking in the scene, while Damian was moving forwards, like he’d already made up his mind on what was happening.

“Dick,” Tim said, voice breaking. “Help, please.”

He wasn’t fast enough to dodge Bruce. Not strong enough to get out of the hold, especially not when Jason caught up and it was both Bruce and Jason holding his arms, and the funny part was, it was probably the closest those two had been out of their suits in months.

Dick started towards them, Damian saying, “I see the toxin’s still affecting him.”

Toxin?

Pausing in his straining for half a second, Tim thought back to W.E. It felt like ages ago, but he knew it’d probably only been a few hours at the most.

Was that what was happening? The fear toxin had gotten to him?

But if that was the case, wouldn’t Tim have been hallucinating awful things like he’d been earlier? Jason beating him, everyone telling him what he’d done wrong, his dad dying, Kon screaming?

This didn’t feel anything like that. This felt real, sturdy in a way that Scarecrow hallucinations didn’t. Those always had him off balance and dizzy. He felt pretty solid at the moment, enclosed in Bruce and Jason’s arms, and steady on his feet.

No, this was real.

“Dick, please,” Tim said. “Damian—”

He cut himself off before his voice could break again, but couldn’t stop the tears.

The parts of Dick and Damian’s faces that weren’t hidden by domino masks looked surprised. Maybe they weren’t expecting Tim to be lucid enough to beg again, if they thought he was still affected by the fear gas. Once could be a coincidence, but twice, with both of them?

Maybe they were catching on.

Or, maybe not.

Jason was hauling Tim away again, and neither Damian nor Dick moved to help him. Bruce let go completely and let it happen.

“Jason,” Tim started.

“Don’t. I’m doing this for your own good, kid. No puppy dog eyes are gonna get me to let you go throw yourself down any more stairs,” Jason said.

Something about that sounded wrong. Out of place.

Unfortunately, it slipped away, panic taking doubts place as Tim got closer and closer to the medbay.

“Please,” Tim said. “Please, I swear, I’ll leave. I’ll leave.”

Because that was what Jason wanted, right? It had to be. For Tim to be out of the way.

In the space of a blink and a sob, Tim was laying down on something that crinkled when he moved, and there was a pinch in his arm. Alfred’s voice from not too far away, saying, “traces—bloodstream—master Bruce—”

Tim shuddered.

He moved to sit up, to try and get away, only to have hands clamp down on either arm.

“I’m sorry, Tim. Just lay still, okay, it’s almost over,” Dick said.

“Listen to Dickie, kid,” Jason said from Tim’s other side.

Tim was stuck.
VThere was absolutely no way he could fight off both Jason and Dick while they were over him, not like this. All of his limbs felt like they weighed a million and a half pounds. His head and stomach were both spinning.

He considered hoping that Cass would still show up in time to save him, but if Dick had betrayed him, then maybe she would, too. Could he really trust any of the Bats to go against Bruce for him?

And non-Bats didn’t just show up at the cave. He’d need to get to his phone or a distress signal or something, and there was no way he’d be able to manage that. They’d probably already hidden all of the ones he knew about, just to make sure there weren’t any interruptions.

Tim was a dead man.

He sucked in a breath, trying desperately not to lose himself to panic.

Was there anything else he could do? Superman might’ve been able to hear him if he yelled. But Superman was practically Bruce’s best friend. He wouldn’t go against something that Bruce had decided was necessary so easily, would he?

But Superboy had no such qualms.

“Kon,” Tim said, “Kon, Batcave, now!”

His voice went high and loud at the end, desperation tainting it. If Kon didn’t hear him—

With a sob, Tim shook his head.

Kon would hear him. He’d show up and he and Tim would get out of there, and Tim would figure out what happened, what’d gone wrong. He’d fix it.

“Close off the cave?” Jason asked tensely.

“No. Superboy would just break in and attack immediately, without asking any questions,” Bruce said.

“If he heard.” Damian said. “A half-Kryptonian hearing a call that quiet, all the way from Kansas?”

“It’s Kon-El, Damian. Death was the only thing that ever kept him from Tim before, I doubt a couple state’s of distance is gonna do it now,” Dick said.

“Then kryptonite,” Damian said.

“No, that would make Superboy view us as his enemy immediately,” Bruce said.

Right. Right, Bruce had kryptonite.

Crap.

He should warn Kon, should yell and tell him to turn around, but the thought made Tim’s throat close up with panic.

But he could tell Kon to bring backup.

Tim writhed under Jason and Dick’s hold, and gasped out, “Kon, call Bart.”

“Oh, great,” Jason said. “Baby speedster, too.”

“Someone shut him up before he brings the entire Justice League down on our heads.” Damian hissed.

There was silence for half a second, and then a sound like a sonic boom.

“Alfred. Would you get the door?” Bruce asked.

“No need, mr. Wayne, I’ve got it.” Bart’s voice echoed around the room. “Wouldn’t want SB breaking down the whole cave.”

“Crap,” Jason said.

“Bart.” Tim sobbed.

“Really, you should just be glad Wonder Girl is busy with her mom, or she’d just punch a hole through the roof and call it done. At least SB’s waiting on me,” Bart said.

Then, in a blink, Jason and Dick’s hands were gone, and Tim was standing upright by the medbay door.

He sagged, and Bart caught him easily.

“Woah. Rob, you alright? What’d they do to you?” Bart asked.

Tim opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a whimper, and then his knees hit the ground. Standing beside him, Bart put a hand on his hair, pressing Tim into his side protectively.

It was weird to see Bart in jeans and a t-shirt in the Batcave. Weirder still to see him with actual anger on his face, enough to show through his carefree facade.

Across the room, Bruce took a step towards them.

A brush of air on Tim’s back, a hand on his shoulder, and Kon’s voice, deathly quiet as he said, “anybody moves, and I start breaking bones.”

The room froze.

“Kon,” Tim said, leaning into his touch. “Guys.”

“Hang on, don’t fall asleep yet,” Bart said.

“What happened, Rob?” Kon asked.

“They’re—God, Bruce, why?” Tim’s voice cracked, and he scrubbed the palm of his hand over his eyes. Kon’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“Alright, alright,” Kon said. “Shh, c’mon. You don’t have to tell us right now. We’ll get you out of here, and once you’ve calmed down, you can explain everything. Just tell me, do I have to put anybody here through a wall?”

Tim shook his head vigorously, nearly toppling over with the effort, and Bart squeezed him comfortingly.

“No,” Tim croaked, “let’s just go.”

“Superboy,” Bruce said.

He stepped forwards again, and instantly, Kon was holding him by the collar of his polo shirt. Tim’s shoulder tingled, cold, where Kon had let him go.

“You don’t have the full story,” Dick said. “Tim’s not himself, he’s been hit by fear toxin. It’s mostly worn off, but you know he’s paranoid at the best of times—”

“Don’t call him paranoid.” Kon snapped.

It wasn’t like Dick was really wrong. Tim knew he was paranoid. Kon did too.

Kon was also ridiculously overprotective.

“—and it’s only been intensified by the leftover toxin. He thinks we’re trying to hurt him.” Dick continued like Kon hadn’t spoken.

“Hurt me?” Tim asked, forcing himself to speak around the lump growing in his throat. “Jason’s trying to kill me, and Bruce is going along with it, and now—God, Dick, I really expected that from Jason, but why you?”

Ignoring the way Dick clenched his jaw, Tim pushed his upper lip over his bottom one, tasting the salt from his own tears, and took a deep breath.

“Bart, please, just get me out of here,” Tim said.

There was a pause, and Tim looked at Bart, who was staring at the ground. By the time Tim glanced back at Kon, Bruce was being set on his feet.

“No,” Tim said.

Kon stepped towards him, saying, “Rob.”

“No, c’mon.”

“Listen, I’m on your side, you know that. But if some toxin is messing with you…”

“It’s not. I know what fear toxin is like, and this isn’t it. I called you because I needed you—”

“And we’re here to help,” Bart said quickly.

“—and now you’re falling for this?”

“Rob, listen to yourself, man. You’re telling us that Batman, mr. No Killing himself, is gonna throw you to the wolves? Think about it,” Kon said.

Bart squeezed Tim’s arm, adding, “you’re the one who’s always thinking things through. You’re our guy with the plan. If someone told you Batman was trying to kill someone, would you believe them?”

His chest tightening, Tim shook Bart off and got to his feet. He took an unsteady step back.

“I—” Tim looked down at his own hands. They were bloody and sliced up, badly. But Jason and Bruce hadn’t done that; he did.

But Jason had been in his room while Tim wasn’t able to fight back, and he’d grabbed Tim, and—and—

“Why were you in my room?” Tim demanded shrilly.

Jason raised an eyebrow. Tim stared directly at him, clenching his fists and feeling the warm blood squish through the gaps.

“There was an Arkham breakout. Everyone else was called out, but Alfred benched me this afternoon because I messed up my leg while grabbing Scarecrow,” Jason said. “Do you wanna see the X-rays? The messages with Duke when I started home and he asked if I got Scarecrow?”

“But—”

With a quick, stuttering breath, Tim brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes. He probably looked like a victim in a horror movie, blood everywhere. “That doesn’t…it doesn’t explain why you were in my room. If Alfred benched you, you should’ve left, you always leave.” Tim’s voice was growing frantic. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

“I was going to, kid, I swear. But everyone else got called out to handle the Arkham breakout, and Dickie-Bird promised you that someone would be here when you woke up. He and Narrows refused to leave unless someone stayed.”

“And, what? You stayed for them? I don’t—you expect me to believe that?”

Dick chimed in, moving a little bit towards Tim, but keeping Kon between them. “His exact words were, ‘if I do check-ins to make sure Babybird doesn’t choke on his own puke, will you two just go already?”

“And you believed him?”

Honestly, Tim wasn’t sure which was worse; if they were making all of this up to cover up that they really were trying to kill him, or if everyone had just left him alone, unconscious and defenseless, with Jason, and just trusted him not to break every bone in Tim’s body.

“Cass watched him to see if he was being honest, Tim,” Bruce said. “She believed him, and Alfred stayed in, so you weren’t alone. Barbara wired a baby monitor into your room just in case.”

Tim’s stomach lurched.

“Show me,” he said.

“What?” Bart asked.

“The monitor. If you were really watching me, I wanna talk to Barbara, and I wanna see the monitor.”

“Alright.” Bruce agreed.

Tim backed away first, out of the way of the door, and gestured for everyone else to walk past. Kon joined him and stood like a bodyguard in front of Tim. Bart clung to Tim’s arm.

Then, only once everyone else had passed, did Tim follow.

He wanted to shuffle. All of his limbs felt like they’d been caked in cement and dried, and his head didn’t feel connected to his body, but he knew that if he was more than a few steps behind the others, he’d be giving them a chance to alter something. Or to clue Barbara in and tell her to lie to him.

So Tim was right behind them, Kon and Bart flanking him, and the Batcomputer looming ominously ahead.

“Tim?” Babs’ voice came through the speakers.

“Oracle,” Tim said. He needed to ask Bab’s if she’d been assigned to watch him, if there really had been an Arkham breakout, if they’d tried to keep him safe, but he couldn’t give her any hints to the answer he wanted to hear. “I need—I need to know what your job was tonight.”

A brief pause, and then Oracle said, “step-by-step, or overarching chunks?”

“Overarching chunks.”

“Alright.”

A two-page document appeared on screen, one of Oracle’s unfinished reports.

Tim stared blankly at it.

Maybe it was the remnants of whatever they’d hit him with to knock him unconscious, or maybe it was sheer exhaustion from crying so much, but just looking at the screens made Tim’s head pound. Trying to read the document was overwhelming.

Looking away, Tim said, “out loud, please.”

“Sure, Tim.”

Another pause. Babs cleared her throat and continued. “A Scarecrow sighting at Wayne Enterprises. Red Hood and Nightwing were sent to catch Crane and to save Lucius Fox, the new prototype, and Tim Drake. I watched to make sure nothing took them by surprise.”

“Okay.”

“Signal and Agent A went in the Batcopter to retrieve Nightwing and Tim Drake. Tim was hit with fear toxin and didn’t seem to be properly reacting to the antidote. According to what I could hear over comms, Tim was—” Babs paused. Tim nodded, knowing she was probably watching them through the cave’s cameras. “Tim seemed to be out of it enough that he wasn’t aware his biological parents were dead.”

Tim put his hands on the back of the Batcomputer chair, clenching until they were white-knuckled.

It wasn’t the first time that chair had gotten blood on it, and it wouldn’t be the last, and he had more important things to worry about then stains on a chair Bruce could replace a thousand times over.

“Tim was taken back to the Batcave, medicine rendering him unconscious. Red Hood started towards his safehouse and Signal texted him to ask if he’d gotten Scarecrow. Hood admitted that he’d been injured and Agent A insisted he return to the cave, instead.”

“The cave,” Tim said dully.

“Yes. Hood arrived and was purposefully kept away from Tim, on the off chance Tim woke up and was still experiencing fear toxin symptoms.”

Jason shuffled in place, arms crossed over his front, and Tim shifted slightly towards Kon.

“And then?” He asked.

“Tim was cleared, it seemed like the antidote had worked, so he was taken up to his room just as reports of an Arkham breakout came in. Everyone began suiting up to leave, but Nightwing and Signal refused to leave you alone.”

That matched up with what Jason had said, but could Tim trust it? Honestly?

“Hood—Jason—agreed to stay with Tim to make sure he was alright. Nightwing agreed, but on the condition that Alfred would remain at the manor, and that I would keep an eye on you. I had a monitor running the entire time on its own screen. You were never in any danger, except for when you woke up and Jason had to restrain you.”

“Had to?” Bart asked.

“Restrain him?” Kon hissed.

“He grabbed batarangs and was slicing up his hands, you should be thanking me, Kid Clone,” Jason said.

Kon started to move towards him, but Bart reached out and grabbed Kon by the jacket, holding him in place as best a Speedster could hold a Kryptonian.

“I have the footage, Tim. Would you like to see it?” Babs asked.

Nails digging into the leather of the Batcomputer’s chair, Tim nodded. “Yeah. Greatest hits. Anything and everything that wasn’t just me sleeping.”

The monitors all changed in a blink, moving from the document to Tim’s bedroom. The camera had obviously been hidden in a corner opposite the bed so it could see properly.

A flicker, and the footage rewound a bit. Dick showed up, face filling the frame until he pulled away and said, “you got it, Babs?”

“Got it. Full view.”

“And if he wakes up, you’ll call right away, right?”

“I promise, Dick.”

Dick hopped down off of whatever he’d been standing on, and the room was blank again. Just clutter and a messy, unmade bed.

The video sped up. Slowed down again a split second before Dick returned to the frame, carrying a limp Tim, Alfred trailing behind. Dick set Tim down on the bed and carefully arranged him under the sheets, just like Tim preferred, with his arms uncovered.

Then Dick was rushing out the door.

Babs sped it up again. Alfred moved around the room, looking like Bart when he was running just slow enough to let people see him.

Once Tim was the only one left in his room, the video sped up even more. It kept like that for quite a few moments until a shock of white popped up, and Babs slowed it down, letting in the sound of Jason saying, “wakey wakey, you’re supposed to be alive when the others get back, or I’m gonna be thrown out on my ass.”

Every head in the room pivoted to stare at Jason.

“What?” Jason asked defensively. “He couldn’t hear me, and I’m not wrong.”

“Jay, lad,” Bruce started.

“Not now,” Babs said.

They all went quiet.

On screen, Jason smacked Tim’s leg, then felt his neck for a pulse and below his nose for air. He pried one of Tim’s eyes open to look at that, too.

Tim shuddered.

Jason had been that close to him, and he hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t even flinched.

And just like that, Jason was gone.

The video went back to at least 3x speed. No point in anything slower when they were just watching Tim, who was lying so still that it might as well have been a screenshot. The only real difference was the light from his windows gently paving a path across the room as time went on.

Jason checked back in two more times, doing the exact same thing as the first, though with variations of “get up and smell the gunpowder,” “sleeping Beauty, if you’re dead, I’m letting one of Damian’s pets be the prince,” and the like. Each got various responses from the others in the room. Kon kept a steady hand on Tim’s arm the whole time.

Then, on the fourth visit, Tim saw himself twitching and gasping for air.

He saw Jason reach for his shoulders, holding him in place as he began to thrash.

The Tim on screen kicked out. Jason lurched back into a crouch and Tim helplessly tangled himself in the sheets.

A brief second of Tim staring at nothing, and then he was a blur of motion, lunging for the nightstand.

Current Tim bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron.

It was bizarre, seeing it from this angle. Not feeling the intimate fear of being alone in a room with his would-be murderer, but with a haunting chill running down his spine as he remembered it.

Tim knew every move that his past counterpart was making. The way he spun with the Batarangs in hand and landed hard on his butt on the ground, legs still in his cocoon of bedsheets. The way his eyes were wide with sweaty fear as he searched for Jason.

Jason, who hadn’t moved since Tim had, just crouched and watching warily as Tim wielded Batarangs with all the grace of a toddler with a knife.

“Alfred know you snuck those up here?” On-screen Jason asked.

The way Jason said it sounded so different from what Tim remembered. At the time, he’d thought Jason was taunting him, mocking him for thinking batarangs could save him.

Now, it just sounded like how Jason talked to kids while patrolling as Red Hood. The ones who were clearly out of their element and scared, and were a danger to themselves and to others if they weren’t saved quickly.

The video continued, and Jason stood, deliberately slow. His hands were raised.

Both Tims clenched their hands tighter.

It was too easy to see the bloody mess Tim’s hands were becoming with the batarangs stabbing him. Oracle’s cameras picked up the littlest hints of that sort of stuff, and there were literal rivulets of blood flowing down Tim’s wrist.

Another difference, Jason sounded slightly strained, maybe a little panicked when he said, “Tim. Drop the batarangs. Now.”

Past Tim swapped three batarangs to his left hand, slicing that one, too, and readied one to throw. Jason’s jaw tightened.

“Get out,” Tim said, voice wobbly.

He glanced at the door, and current Tim could see the exact calculations made in past Jason’s head. Tim had made the same calculations a dozen times.

Can I get to them before they realize? Can I save them? Will they get hurt if I act now?

It made Tim’s chest tighten uncomfortably to see Jason think like that about him.

And then, Jason was leaping into motion, clearing the bed in a single lunge with his height. Tim let the batarang fly. It barely cleared Jason’s head without lodging itself in his forehead.

On screen, Tim let out a strangled sob. Jason tackled him.

It looked surprisingly gentle considering how much it had overwhelmed Tim at the time.

And it was obvious how much it had overloaded Tim’s brain, thoughts giving way to panic, because he went completely blank. His arms fell limp and his eyes stared, unseeing, at the ceiling.

He looked a little dead.

Kon seemed to agree, because his reassuring hand on Tim’s arm changed to an entire arm slung around Tim’s waist, pulling him close. Tim breathed in the smell of hay and leather and Kon’s coconut conditioner.

In the video, Jason was still trying to get Tim to drop the batarangs. He fumbled with Tim’s tightly curled fingers, cursing as Tim managed to cut himself more with every attempt, before finally managing to yank them free. He threw them haphazardly across the room.

With Tim no longer unknowingly hurting himself, Jason dug his phone out of his pocket and punched some buttons before putting it up to his ear.

This must be what Tim had heard before. Voices that he was too disoriented to listen to.

Jason opened his mouth on screen, only to pause, then said, “so why aren’t you here yet? If you’re done, get your happy Bat butt back here and handle your kid. Jesus.”

Another pause.

“Yeah, nah, nah, no problem, except he had batarangs hidden in his room, and he’s pretty damn lucky he didn’t slice off one of his own fingers trying to take me down.”

This one was much shorter, and Jason was yelling when he said, “then get up here and get him to the cave, dammit Bruce!”

Jason hung up the phone.

In his head, Tim replayed his own thoughts from that same moment.

While Jason had been yelling at Bruce to get there and help him, Tim had been thinking that Jason was cooking up different ways to murder him.

Past Tim groaned pitifully, and his entire body spasmed. Jason moved to check him. Tim’s eyes flickered open.

He grabbed Jason’s hand and yanked.

Rotating, past Tim drove Jason’s hand into the ground and lifted a knee, before dropping it straight down onto Jason’s back. Jason shouted in pain.

There were a dozen different ways Jason could’ve gotten out of that hold, but—

—no, maybe he’d been taken off guard, there was no reason he would’ve expected Tim to be able to injure him while half-out of it and bleeding from both palms—

—but he hadn’t, and Jason was trained by Batman, he didn’t get taken off guard. Not like that.

He’d let himself get hurt so he didn’t hurt Tim.

“That’s enough,” Tim said.

Past Tim lurched to his feet and ran out of the room.

“Oracle, stop the video.” Bruce repeated.

Jason cussed loudly, shoved himself to his feet with one arm, and ran after him.

The video vanished.

Carefully, Tim spun the Batcomputer chair around and sank into it, burying his face in his hands.

He’d completely misread everything. It was so obvious now, so painfully obvious, and he’d ran all around the mansion and the cave assuming that his entire family—and his best friends—were plotting to kill him.

With a bitter laugh, he spun the chair towards Jason.

He couldn’t convince himself to drop his hands completely, but he managed to get them below his eyes, so he could at least look at Jason and the others.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t—I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know how I thought you were trying to hurt me.”

“Past is prologue,” Jason said with a one-shouldered shrug.

One-shouldered, because Tim had injured his other one even though Jason had helped him. And then Jason had saved him from becoming a stair pancake, and hauled him all the way down to the cave, and held him down so Alfred could work, and—

Tim shuddered.

He’d taken literally everything and twisted it in his own head as a threat.

Even Bruce, who would rather die than hurt any of his kids. Tim had convinced himself that Bruce and Dick were threats.

Warm hands landed gently on Tim’s knees, and he reluctantly lowered his hands to look.

Bruce was crouched in front of him. His thumbs were rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the sides of Tim’s knees.

“B?” Tim asked, voice pathetically quiet.

“It’s alright, son. We can give you something so you can sleep, and you’ll wake up feeling like this was all a nightmare,” Bruce said.

Tim sucked in a breath, eyes wet for the billionth time in one night, and sobbed, “dad.”

“I’m here.”

“Dad.”

“Shh, you’re safe. It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

“Dad, I thought—I thought you’d given up on me, dad, please, dad—”

Arms folded around him, and, carefully, he was drawn into Bruce’s chest.

Everyone else was probably still there. Normally, the thought of breaking down like this in front of anyone, much less his entire family and two of his best friends, would’ve made him spiral in self-hatred. He was supposed to be Red Robin. He’d long since learned that he wasn’t Batman, that bottling up his emotions was bad and that he needed to grieve, but he also knew there was a time and a place. In front of everyone was neither.

But God, Tim had actually been convinced that Jason was going to kill him. That everyone was just gonna let it happen.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt betrayal that deep before.

He definitely never wanted to feel it for real.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Bruce said, breath ghosting over Tim’s hair comfortingly. “I’ve got you.”

Tim sobbed, and Bruce held him tighter, cradling him like he was a little kid, which only made Tim cry harder.

He was lifted. Turned. The familiar creak of the Batcomputer’s chair and Bruce sinking down told him he was curled up in Bruce’s lap right there in the chair.

Back when Tim was Robin, he’d never done this. He and Bruce were closer to business partners than father and son for a long time, and Tim had never been one to ask for this sort of comfort, anyway. His parents wouldn’t have tolerated it.

But it felt stupidly right to bury his face in Bruce’s shoulder and let snot and tears run down his face.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said. His voice broke. “I’m sorry.”

“It was the fear toxin, you have nothing to apologize for,” Bruce said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh.”

With a full-body shiver, Tim shook his head. “It’s—I’m not scared of Jason anymore. I promise, I’m not.”

“It’s alright if you are,” Bruce said. “He hurt you badly.”

“I’m not, I’m—I don’t trust him, but I’m not scared of him. I’ve fought him since then and I’ve never once been as scared as I was today.”

“Fear gas.”

Tim nodded helplessly. “I hate Crane.”

He felt like a toddler complaining about a nanny that wouldn’t let him have ice cream before dinner, but Bruce just smoothed his hair and hummed.

“I do, too,” Bruce said. “But you’re stronger than him. You listened to Kon-El telling you to think, and you managed to figure out a way to fact-check yourself. It took me a long time to figure out how to do that, son.”

“I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I should’ve…there were so many signs, B.”

“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty. It’s not your fault.”

Tim opened his mouth to respond, to protest and explain, but was cut off by a jaw-popping yawn. Bruce chuckled.

“Tired?” Bruce asked.

“I—yeah, a little.” Tim admitted.

“Alright. Tomorrow, I want to run some tests, find out why the antidote worked on Lucius but not you, why it stayed in your system for so long, all of it. But for now, do you think you can handle going to sleep? You can pick where.”

Running his tongue over the roof of his mouth, Tim thought about it. The idea of falling asleep didn’t send tendrils of terror up his spine like it would’ve twenty minutes before, but he didn’t really want to go back to his room, either. There was probably still blood on his floor.

“Can I stay with you? Or Dick?” Tim asked quietly.

Bruce nodded, and then Bruce was lifting him and they were moving. Tim forced himself to glance around.

The cave was empty except for them. Everyone else must have left at some point during their talk, including Kon and Bart.

Bruce shuffled Tim into the medbay, where he wiped and wrapped Tim’s hands, then carried him upstairs. Tim protested the whole way and got nothing from it. Bruce was determined. Not even the sort of determination where he could be reasoned with if something made more sense, but the one where his answer to anything was just a silent glare that said, “move, I’m Batman.”

Reluctantly, Tim settled in against Bruce’s chest.

Semi-reluctantly, anyway.

It was sorta nice having his dad carry him around. Especially when he yawned again and his eyes started to drift closed every few seconds.

“I’ll get him into pajamas, B,” someone said.

Tim was shuffled like a potato into another pair of familiar arms, and he mumbled, “Dick?”

“Hey, pal. You awake?”

Humming, Tim blinked blearily. A chuckle reverberated through his ear where it was pressed against Dick’s shoulder.

A moment later, Tim was laid down on a soft surface, and the swish of drawers opening made him try and sit up. He found Dick rifling through a dresser that definitely wasn’t Tim’s, and a little more investigation told him that it wasn’t his room, either. He was on Dick’s bed.

“Am I staying with you?” Tim asked.

Dick shook his head, saying, “you called Bruce dad like ten times tonight and cried even more. I think he’s gonna go full mother hen on you for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh.”

Pausing to consider that, Tim eventually decided on, “cool.”

Another chuckle. Dick tossed a pair of sweatpants at Tim’s chest.

“If you’re awake, you can get changed by yourself while I find you a hoodie. Bruce’s room is colder than the iceberg lounge.” Dick vanished into the closet, voice muffled by the distance. “I used to go find him for hugs after nightmares, and I’d steal his robe, it was so cold.”

Tim hummed.

He managed to stand, only swaying a little, and tugged off the sweatpants he’d been wearing. They were drenched in sweat and had blood splattered across them. He’d have thrown them away, except Alfred had gotten worse out of his clothes before. The man was a miracle worker.

The new pair was too big and darker gray than Tim’s normally wore, but a little clumsy work with the drawstring fixed the size just in time for Dick to come back with a black Bludhaven hoodie.

Dick helped him out of his sweaty, tear-stained shirt and into the oversized hoodie with only one incident of Tim accidentally smacking Dick in the face. Dick playfully ruffled Tim’s hair as soon as he popped up.

“Alright, c’mon. Bruce is gonna chew off all his fingernails worrying if we don’t go find him,” Dick said.

He tossed Tim’s old clothes into the hamper by Dick’s bathroom, then shuffled Tim towards the door with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

They ran into Kon and Bart into the hall, Bart launching himself at Tim for a hug, and Kon scanning him worriedly.

“You alright now, man?” Kon asked. “You scared the crap out of me calling like that.”

“Sorry,” Tim said.

“Don’t apologize. If we hadn’t been here, nobody would’ve reminded you to think, and you’d probably have hurt yourself or someone else, and then you would’ve been guilty for the rest of time. At least we know how to communicate,” Bart said.

“I’ve gotta head back to the farm, but call me if you need anything else. Just…maybe try using your cell,” Kon said.

“Same here.” Bart agreed.

Tim nodded, pulled Kon into the hug, and then let them both go. Bart ran off with Kon at his heels.

“So sweet,” Dick said.

“Shut up,” Tim said.

A little grin, and Dick said, “you must be feeling better if you’re awake enough to fuss at me.”

“Shut. Up.”

Tim headed for Bruce’s room before Dick could say anything else, face hot.
The door was ajar when they arrived. Tim let Dick step in front of him, following just behind with his arms crossed and shoulders up.

“Special delivery, one baby bird,” Dick said.

He grabbed Tim around the waist, and with a shriek, Tim was flying through the air onto the bed like a toddler.

“Careful with your brother, please, chum. I think we’ve had enough medical issues for one night,” Bruce said.

Bruce was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, fiddling with his tablet. Tim sat up, legs crisscrossed, and asked, “are you busy?”

“No,” Bruce said immediately. “Never too busy for you kids. Just double checking some things with Lucius, I didn’t get the chance earlier, what with the Arkham breakout.”

“C’mon, Lucius will understand,” Dick said.

With a sigh, Bruce set aside his tablet. “I suppose so.” He reached for the television remote, while Dick peeled back the comforter and forced Tim to crawl under, then tucked him in, like Tim hadn’t been since he was very young.

The door swung open again, and Tim brightened at the sight of Cass, already dressed in plaid pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt.

“Here for the sleepover?” Dick asked.

Cass nodded.

She easily climbed into bed beside Tim and put an arm around his shoulder, so that he was pressed into her side. “Sorry I wasn’t here,” she said quietly. “But no more nightmares tonight. I’m here now. Nothing will touch you.”

It sounded cocky, and if it were anyone else, Tim might have laughed. The idea that someone’s presence would prevent nightmares was something you tell a child to calm them down. But it was easy to believe it when his big sister was the one saying it.

“Thanks, Cass,” Tim said, letting his head droop. She ran her fingers through his hair gently.

On her other side, Dick shuffled around. The click of a lamp string and the room dimmed. Bruce flipped through a couple shows and movies on Disney+ before settling on Toy Story.

A swell of warmth went through Tim’s chest, and he let a tired smile flitter across his face.

He’d said Toy Story was his favorite Pixar movie a while back while trying to comfort a young child at a crime scene, though he’d kept his reasoning to himself. It felt wrong to admit that it was because he liked the idea of his childhood toys being real and having them for company when he was younger and lonelier.

Had Bruce really been listening to him and that little girl? Not only that, but he’d listened and took note of Tim’s favorite kids movie?

“You re’mem’erd,” Tim mumbled.

Bruce chuckled softly. His hand ghosted over Tim’s head, just beside Cass’.

“Sleep, all three of you,” he said.

Cass made a little noise of protest, but Bruce cut her off, adding, “I’ll keep watch.”

“Tim’s the safest bird in the world.” Dick laughed. “Tucked up between Batman and Black Bat? I’d feel sorry for whoever decided that was a fight they wanted.”

Carefully, Tim reached across Cass to grab blindly at Dick. A warm hand covered his after a moment.

“You too.” Tim said into Cass’ side, voice muffled.

Dick squeezed Tim’s hand. “Yeah. I’ll keep you safe, pal. Promise.”

“Safe.” Cass echoed.

________

Tim stayed completely still for a good ten minutes after waking up.

It wouldn’t have fooled anybody, but Cass was still breathing evenly beside him, and he could hear Dick’s snores. There was nobody awake to fool.

He kept going over the previous day in his head. Thinking about how badly he’d messed up, clenching his stinging fists. The bandages would probably need to be changed and his palms cleaned again if he didn’t want to wind up with an infection, thanks to his lack of spleen.

At some point, Tim shifted a little, moving further into Cass’ space. She always ran a little warm, like a personal space heater.

A glimpse of white hair had him going still.

It didn’t make any sense.

But he knew that hair, knew it from real life and nightmares and relaxed breaks on patrol and beatdowns that left Tim in agony.

He just wasn’t sure why it was in Bruce’s room.

Slowly, carefully, Tim sat up a little.

Jason was in a cushy armchair that Tim recognized as being from the room across the hall, a bedroom that nobody used. His head was resting against his shoulder and he was snoring loudly like Dick said he always had after Killer Croc broke his nose back in his Robin days.

He was still wearing the sweats and tank top from the day before, but had donned his knife holsters—not the guns, though—and had his right hand resting inches away from the sharpest blade.

Tim would’ve been intimidated, if not for the face that Jason was pointedly directed towards the door and the windows. The chair was between them and the bed. A physical, armed barrier between any intruders and the people tucked in to sleep.

Off to Tim’s right, Bruce had fallen asleep as well, in his own chair. He had a small pack of batarangs in his lap. The latch was undone, so all he’d have to do would be grab one and throw.

It was ridiculous. Both of them.

Tim hadn’t been in any physical danger. From the moment Dick had grabbed him, he’d been safe. But Bruce and Jason had done this, set themselves up to sit uncomfortably the entire night with holsters biting into Jason’s thighs and batarangs in the manor where they might give away their biggest secret, to make Tim feel more secure.

Carefully, Tim slipped back down to lay against Cass with stinging eyes. He’d really thought they’d all abandoned him. Worse, that they’d all turned against him. Jason, gone back to attacking him, Bruce, willing to kill, Dick, not caring enough to stop it.

He wasn’t sure how to handle this. He’d made them all out to be terrible people, as bad as some of the villains they fought, and they’d set up a pointless vigil around him to make him feel safer.

Tim bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and curled his fingers around the comforter.

Across the room, a hoarse, tired voice said, “stop thinking.”

“Jason.” Tim croaked.

“Shhh…sleep now. ‘s not time for stupid. Check back later.”

A bit of silence.

“I can still hear you thinking. Stop it. I’m not gonna let anything happen, so go to sleep. Alf said the rest of the toxin’ll be out of your system in a few hours, and I’m not in the mood to chase you down the stairs again, so close your eyes and shut the hell up.”

That hadn’t been what Tim was thinking, but he didn’t argue or say that he wasn’t scared anymore. He just wrapped his arms around Cass and said, “thanks.”

“Whatever.”