Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If you asked Tim, he would say that him and Slade just stumbled across each other, a lucky coincidence. It was true that they stumbled across each other, but the lucky part? Not so much.

Tim was just lining up the perfect shot, finger on the shutter, when someone walked across his field of vision. He knew better than to snap at some random stranger on a rooftop, in Gotham, at night, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Hey!” His voice turned out squeaky and high pitched and not at all intimidating, but he was just about to get a picture of Robin doing a backflip, and the light was good this time (a rare occasion for Gotham) which meant he wouldn’t have to do a bunch of editing, and this guy had probably ruined it.

Sure enough, when he turned to see if Batman and Robin were still there, he was only met with shadows and empty rooftops. He had actually been hoping to get some photos of Nightwing tonight, but while the hero visited the city more often nowadays, it was still rare for Tim to get a photo of him.

The guy let out a low laugh, and turned to face Tim, who immediately shrunk back when faced with the orange and black mask. Heart pounding, he quickly gave the guy a once over to assess how screwed he was. He was wearing what looked like pretty good armour. It was black with lines of orange painted on seemingly at random. And... well, Tim didn’t know a lot about weapons, but even he knew that the massive gun strapped to the man’s back was bad news. He was pretty sure that no amount of self-defence classes would help him here.

To Tim’s surprise, he wasn’t murdered immediately.

Instead, the guy turned towards him and asked, “What are you doing up here?”

“Taking photos.”

Tim’s mom always said not to talk to strangers. But then again, she also said to go out at night and not to wander off places, and here Tim was.

“Yeah? Of what?”

“Batman.”

Tim was becoming a little unnerved that he had been talking to the guy for this long but hadn’t been able to put a face to a name. Maybe he was new?

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Tim nodded, “See, the light’s really good tonight, and I wanted to get a photo of Robin, but well...” He cleared his throat, “Who are you, anyway? Do you know Batman?”

“Batman? No, but me a Nightwing are... old friends.”

Tim’s eyes grew wide. This was it! He was talking to a real-life vigilante!

“Really?! Is he here tonight? Cause I wanted to get a photo of him tonight, but I don’t think he’s here.”

“Isn’t he?”

“No,” Tim worked to keep his face neutral (his father said that pouting was unbecoming of him, and Tim didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of a vigilante), “But that’s fine,” he quickly rushed into the next sentence, “I like taking photos of Batman and Robin too!”

Maybe he was sharing too much with this stranger, but no one had ever been interested in his photography before, and this guy was a vigilante, he wasn’t going to hurt him!

“How long have you been taking photos of Batman?”

Tim chewed his lip, “A couple years,”

“And he doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No.” Tim said proudly, sticking his chin up in the air, after all, it’s not every day you get to boast you’re sneakier than a vigilante.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Tim.”

“I’m Slade.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Do you know how to fight, Tim?”

“My, um, my parents signed me up for self-defence classes.”

“Would you like to know how to?”

“Yes.” Tim immediately jumped at the offer, before asking in a hushed whisper, “Are you going to teach me how to be a vigilante?”

“Something like that.”

It would only be later that month that Tim would be reported missing. A week after that, he was pronounced dead. Rumours would start flying across high society about the Drakes, about how they don’t seem all that upset, about how they left the funeral and immediately boarded another flight, about how sad for them, really, imagine losing a child that young.

The rumours don’t reach the ears of Bruce Wayne, mind still half a world away, but the news does. He doesn’t go looking. He doesn’t attend the funeral. And he doesn’t feel sorry (he doesn’t feel much of anything these days).

Tim’s grave is next to Jason’s.

There was nothing more unnerving than the feeling of blood trickling down your throat.

Except maybe the feeling of it drying all over your face. And your shirt. And a little bit on your pants. Really, it was amazing how much a broken nose could bleed.

The only thing Slade said after Tim broke his nose was, “Pain makes you stronger.”

Thankfully, that was the end of training for the day. It had been six months, but Tim still wasn’t used to the whole fighting-while-injured thing. Or the fighting thing. Or anything here really.

Things here were weird. He didn’t know where the food came from, he asked Slade a couple times, and he was just told to “not worry about it”. Because that was super reassuring. Most of it was pretty normal food, healthy stuff, nothing like the 2-minute noodles and take-out Tim used to eat at home.

He was pretty sure they were on an island. So far, he had managed to explore the shoreline, but he hadn’t seen anyone else yet. In fact, he was pretty sure that the two houses him and Slade stayed in where the only ones here. Both of them were pretty small, just a bedroom, bathroom (thankfully with plumbing, though Tim had no idea how), kitchen, and a lounge in both of them, though Slade’s house was larger. Not that Tim was complaining! It was a lot nicer here than it was back in Gotham. Less room meant that it felt less lonely.

Most of what he did all day was training. Usually combat training, learning how to use a variety of weapons, and whatever other physical fitness tests Slade decided were good for him. Tim was getting a lot better, Slade said he was improving fast. But he still wasn’t allowed to go on missions with him. Whenever Slade was gone Tim went through the usual training, and then began practicing whatever he decided was a good idea. Like hacking or picking locks or first aid. Slade didn’t really care, but he wasn’t against it either, so long as Tim did what he was told to do.

He had a laptop that Slade gave him, which was how he got most of his information, and his camera, which he hadn’t really had time to do anything which since he got here.

No matter how hard he looked there were no records of Slade anywhere. But he still tried to keep up to date on everything happening in Gotham. Which was how he knew Robin – Jason Todd – was dead. And how he knew Nightwing temporarily killed the Joker. And how he knew Batman wasn’t doing so good. But he would fix it. Once he was good enough, and he had gone on a couple missions with Slade – just to get the hang of it – he would go back to Gotham, and he would make things better.

But right now, he had bigger problems. Namely his nose.

Tim grabbed his laptop and placed it on the bathroom counter, googling with the less bloody hand how to fix a broken nose. Thank God for WikiHow.

Tim ducked behind the table just as bullets shattered the window.

The bullets didn’t reach him. Thank God for rich people’s taste in expensive oak furniture.

He ducked through the doorway, grabbing the twin swords Slade had gifted him a few weeks earlier, readying himself for a fight. He had been training for this for a year.

Slade warned him this could happen. He had a lot of enemies, and sometimes they would interfere with his missions. A blur of white and red flew past him, and suddenly he was lying flat on his back, his breath knocked out of him.

It was fine, Tim told himself, getting back on his feet, gripping his swords tighter. He knew who it was. Impulse, otherwise known was Bartholomew Allen. A descendant of the Flash. And if he was there then that meant... yep. Tim looked out the doorway to confirm his suspicion. It wasn’t bullets, it was arrows.

Young Justice. A team currently consisting of five sidekicks. Impulse, Superboy, Arrowette, Wonder Girl, and Secret.

He knew them and he knew how to fight them.

They were currently on the twentieth floor of an apartment building, Tim was here on a mission with Slade, it was his first mission, and he was just supposed to make sure that Slade didn’t get interrupted, though that job was seeming less easy by the second.

They were here to find a businessman, Charlie Smith. He was corrupt and they were going to stop him. See, they were doing the right thing, Young Justice just didn’t understand!

Slade wasn’t here, he had left after a quick sweep of the apartment, determining that Charlie was somewhere else. Tim was supposed to stay here as a distraction. A false lead. Just long enough for Slade to get Charlie.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

14:32

He would give himself ten minutes, then leave, lose whatever “hero” was trying to follow him, and meet up with Slade. He quickly formed a plan. Wonder Girl, Secret, and Superboy could fly but the other can’t... and Secret couldn’t catch someone...

Tim slid out of the way just in time for the arrow to hit the wall instead of him.

Where was she?

Ah. There.

Arrowette was next to the bookcase by the window, watching him with narrowed eyes. Tim wasn’t going to make the first move, after all, he wasn’t so interested in a fight than in stalling them.

Impulse skidded to a stop next to her. The other three followed.

“You’re not Deathstroke.” Impulse stated the obvious, sounding a little bit disappointed. That sparked something in Tim’s chest that was some mixture of jealousy, annoyance, and spite.

He was not, in fact, Deathstroke. Didn’t even look like him. He was wearing black armour, boots, and a mask the covered his lower face. A hood covered his head. He had a gun, two daggers, and his twin swords. All in all, not a lot of weapons, but more than he usually carried.

“Way to state the obvious.”

“Who are you?” Secret asked.

Tim raised his chin a bit, trying to seem in control.

“Shrike.”

That was true. He had chosen it. A bird that impaled its prey on branches. Tim thought it was intimidating. Slade disagreed.

Superboy snorted.

Tim glared at him.

“What?” Superboy (AKA Kon-El, AKA Conner Kent) defended, “It’s a stupid name!”

“No less stupid that Superboy.” Tim hissed, “How more obvious can you be that you’re a wannabe Superman?”

“Hey!”

Oh, good job, Tim! A voice inside his head said, You’ve managed to make one of them mad! So much for not starting a fight.

It’s fine. He had a back-up plan.

He glanced at the clock.

14:36

Six more minutes.

“If you’re not Deathstroke then what are you doing here?” Wonder Girl asked, sounding curious but not like he was a threat.

“None of your business.”

“Riiiight. I’m sure you’re here for totally innocent reasons.”

Tim decided he hated Superboy.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He said, aware it was a bad response, but he still had five more minutes he needed to stall for.

“Relax.” Arrowette told Superboy, “It’s not like he’s Deathstroke’s lackey.”

“I am his partner not his lackey!” Tim said, his mouth responding before his brain could catch up.

All five heads shot back to stare at him.

“Enough of this.” Superboy snapped, before charging towards Tim.

Tim dodged him, but barely. He flipped over the arrows Arrowette sent over his way, and skidded past Impulse.

He ended up next to Arrowette, and took the opportunity to stab his sword into her side. Nothing lethal. Not even anything with any lasting damage. Just... just enough to hurt. It was a fight. You’re supposed to hurt people in a fight.

She yelled, and Wonder Girl kicked him back, breaking two of his ribs.

Arrowette sent two more arrows flying his way, but he used one of his swords to cut them out of the air.

One minute left.

Tim decided to cut his losses and leave early. He was already by the window, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to hold out otherwise. They were uncoordinated, but it was still five against one.

Impulse ran towards him, and Tim took the opportunity, waiting until the last second to move, sending Impulse spilling out the window. Arrowette lunged forward on instinct, and Tim grabbed her arm, sending her out the window as well.

Wonder Girl and Superboy dove after their teammates and Secret... Secret was gone.

Tim decided he didn’t have enough time to worry about that and rushed out the door. The elevator was too slow, but he doubted he could get down the stairs much faster. But... he had a grapple. Tim ran through the door to the stairs, hooked the grapple over the railing, and jumped.

He flew down, making sure to slow his descent when he was close to the bottom.

Tim raced out the door and ducked into the nearest alley. He kept on running until he was certain no one was following him.

He had lost them! Or they had never been following him to begin with. Either one was good.

Tim began making his way over to Slade, slowing down to a jog.

He had beaten five... well, not superheros, but the closest thing to them!

Maybe... maybe he was good enough to go back to Gotham now, he thought, walking into an abandoned alleyway. He could go back, see his parents. They would be glad to see him. He knows he left without warning or a note or anything, but he would be back now!

Tim filled his head with thoughts like that, coming back down to Earth when his foot brushed against something. A newspaper.

Drake Industries CEO Dead!

Tim’s heart froze.

He picked up the newspaper, quickly scanning for information. His dad was dead. His mom was dead. She had been for six months.

The only thought in his head was that he had to keep walking.

Numbly, he dropped the newspaper, the news still spinning around in his head as he walked down the alleyway.

He had no place in Gotham now. He had no one except Slade.

He did his best to shake the thoughts from his head as he entered the warehouse Slade said to meet him in, though they lingered in the back of his mind.

“Deathstroke?”

There was no reply, but Tim could hear people moving.

He crept towards the sound, careful to stay out of sight.

Then there was a choking sound, and a body hitting the floor. Tim shot up, his swords in hand, his heart pounding in his ears. He just lost his parents; he couldn’t lose Slade too.

But the body on the floor wasn’t Slade’s. It was Charlie Smith. With blood pouring out of a gaping wound on his neck.

Slade was standing above the body, sword in hand.

Tim couldn’t see Slade’s face behind the mask, but he felt his eyes on him.

“He had to die, Shrike.”

He didn’t respond, eyes glued to the body. They were the good guys. They helped people. But those two ideas didn’t co-exist with the dead body lying on the floor.

“Shrike.” Slade’s hand was on his shoulder. His voice was firm. Tim looked up to meet his eyes.

“He had to die.” Slade repeated.

“But- But we’re the good guys.” Tim stammered.

“Yes.” Slade agreed. “Sometimes that means having to do the tough thing.”

“Right.” That made sense. Charlie Smith was bad.

Charlie Smith was dead.

“What?”

“Look, all I know is that suddenly Deathstroke has an apprentice,” Cissie told Bruce, wincing as she stood up, “and that he isn’t too bad with a sword.”

“What else?”

Batman was still a loose cannon but, apparently, he had improved. Either way, he wasn’t too bad at managing the Team along with Red Tornado, even if he was a pain in the ass sometimes.

“He said his name was Shrike, I think?”

“Shrike.”

“Yup.”

“Hmm.”

Cissie took that to be the end of the conversation and walked over to the rest of the team.

“I can’t believe he beat us.” Kon growled.

“What other option did we have?” Cassie asked, “If we left to follow him then Cissie and Bart would have died. And Secret was trying to find Deathstroke.”

“Not that she succeeded.”

“Hey!” Cissie cut in, “Don’t act like you were perfect either!”

“None of you were perfect.” Cut in said pain-in-the-ass. “You all need to work on coordinating your attacks.”

Greta nodded.

“Next time we see him, I’m gonna kick his ass.” Kon decided, glaring at the empty spot on the sofa.

Over the past two years Tim had become acutely familiar with every inch of this island. He knew every path, every landing bay, every hiding space. Anything and everything there was to know about the place.

Which was how he knew that the helicopter coming to land was not planned. Neither were the people exiting it.

He was far away from the landing bay but unwilling to take any chances. He knew how Slade got when Tim interfered in his business. He quickly scaled one of the trees, lying flat on one of the high branches, leaves obscuring him from view.

He watched as five people exited the helicopter. His mind did a quick assessment. Three guards, one leader, and... someone else. All from the League of Assassins. The leader... long brown hair, green clothing, gold jewellery... had to be Talia al Ghul.

Annnnnnd there was Slade. He was wearing his uniform, mask and all. This could get serious.

Tim was wearing his armour, ever since he started going on missions he wore it every day. Better safe than sorry. He also carried a handgun, his swords, and a few daggers, near constantly. Slade didn’t like it ( “If you can’t win a fight without all those weapons, then you deserve to lose.” ). His mask hung around his neck (another habit Slade disliked), and he quickly pulled it up over his face. If he did get spotted, then it was better if they didn’t see his face. Though he didn’t think that would stop Talia al Ghul.

He watched as Slade conversed with Talia, the guards spread out in a semi-circle behind her and the other person. Unfortunately, they were too far away for Tim to read their lips, but they spoke for about fifteen minutes, no aggression on either side.

When their conversation was over, everyone but the unknown person got back into the helicopter, leaving quickly.

Tim waited for Slade and the person to leave, before quickly sliding down the tree, pulling down his mask and running back to the house.

He took one of his shortcuts, jumping over rocks and fallen trees, sending the birds in the branches flying. He got back to the house a minute before Slade did, panting and his heart pounding.

When Slade walked in, he did his best to appear inconspicuous.

Slade didn’t buy it.

He closed the door behind them, shutting out the person Tim knew was waiting just outside.

“How many times,” he said, voice dangerous, “have I told you to stay out of my business?”

Tim shuffled, eyes glued to the floor.

“Sorry.”

Tim braced himself for what he knew was coming, not closing his eyes because he knew Slade wanted him to see it.

A knife flew across his face, creating a slanted cut from the inner corner of his left eye down to his jawline.

Pain makes you stronger.

Pain makes you obedient. A voice inside him said.

Well, then it isn’t working very well. Tim snapped back. This wouldn’t change anything. He would continue bending the rules. The benefits outweighed the costs.

“Clean yourself up.” Slade snapped at him.

Tim nodded, holding his hand over the cut to avoid getting blood on the carpet, and made his way over to the bathroom.

He dug the first aid kit out of a draw, he didn’t need WikiHow tutorials to know how to fix himself anymore.

He carefully applied disinfectant to the wound and used the rest of the butterfly tape to hold it together. He would have to remember to pick up more of that next time he had a mission.

He slid the door to the bathroom back, greeted with the sight of the stranger talking with Slade in the lounge.

“Shrike, this is Talia al Ghul’s ward. He will be training here for the next month,”

The stranger was well built for his size, he was at least a foot shorter than Tim, and he had a mask similar to his, except it was red and not black and covered his eyes. He had a sword strapped to his back, and a red shirt with gold edges, a replica of the ones worn in the League of Assassins in everything but colour. Underneath that he was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt. He had on a belt with several daggers attached, not unlike the ones Tim carried.

“I am going on a mission next week,” Slade continued, causing Tim’s head to snap away from the mysterious figure, he didn’t know Slade was on mission! Usually, he gave Tim a bit of warning before leaving. “So, while I am away, he will be your responsibility. He is... mentally unwell.”

Tim glanced back at the figure. He didn’t look mentally unwell, but then again, Tim was no doctor.

“It is too late now to begin training,” This was true, Tim glanced out the window to see the sun setting, making the sky an artwork of oranges and blues. He had taken a few photos of the sunset before but had given up quickly. There was no point in taking photos of something that he could see every day. Besides, it would be entirely too easy to trace those back to Tim. “He will stay with you while he is training.”

Tim nodded and began leading the man out, before Slade spoke again.

“Tim.”

He turned around to look back at Slade, “Yes?”

“Do not disappoint me.”

“I won’t.”

Tim had to do well with this. He pushed the rules as much as he could, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be here. This was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn’t ruin it.

Tim opened the door to his house, letting the man go in first before following him.

“So, uh, this is where you’ll be staying for a while.”

The man didn’t respond. Tim wondered if he could even understand what he was saying. He kept on talking anyway.

“You’ll be sleeping, uh,” should he offer the man his bed? How important was he? Talia al Ghul wasn’t going to behead Tim for making her ward sleep on the sofa, was she?

Tim’s love of his bed won out over his fear of Talia al Ghul.

“You’ll be sleeping on the sofa.”

The man nodded. Guess he did understand what Tim was saying.

“Sorry I couldn’t anything better together,” he wasn’t really, but politeness and all that, “short notice and all that.”

He laughed awkwardly in the silence.

The man sat down on the sofa and pulled down his mask.

And suddenly Tim was eleven years old again and at a gala, staring straight into the eyes of Jason Todd.

Chapter Text

Tim didn’t sleep that night.

He gave up at around 1 am, instead choosing to slide back the window and climb out. He did this every now and again. Just... walk around at night. It was calming. He wasn't sure if Slade was unaware he did this or if he just didn’t care.

His feet traced the path most familiar to him, one that led up to a small cliff on the other side of the island. It had a good view, sea stretching out into the horizon. It was a calm night with no clouds in the sky and the moonlight reflected off the water nicely.

Tim created a frame with his hands, holding it up in front of him, imagining the photo he would take if he still did that sort of thing.

It was times like this when he missed home the most. It was a strange feeling, a sickness, curling into his gut, making him feel nauseas with want, and refusing to ever ever leave.

But he had no home now.

His parents were dead. Their house stood empty. No sold, but not quite there either.

Definitely not Tim’s.

He was startled out of his thoughts by someone walking up to him.

Jason settled down next to him. He was wearing the same outfit he was wearing when he arrived minus the red shirt and belt.

Tim gave him a quick once over. He still looked the same as when he’d died. Was he still dead?

His eyes froze on the back of Jason’s head. His skull had caved in. There was a giant dent in the back of his head, and while Tim was no doctor he was fairly certain that that sort of injury would kill someone.

Guess that answers the dead question.

When Slade said he was “mentally unwell” Tim didn’t think that meant Jason was missing half of his fucking brain!

“Jason?” Tim asked gently, did he still know his name? Did he have his memories? Also, why was he Talia al Ghul’s ward? Did Bruce know about this?

A million questions whirled around his head, and he doubted Jason would be able to answer any of them.

Tim watched as Jason’s face flicked into a frown, before smoothing back out. He didn’t respond, just sat next to Tim silently.

Fuck.

Tim, rather selfishly, quickly became stuck on the idea of training him. If he didn’t know his own name how was Tim supposed to teach him... whatever Slade wanted him to teach Jason.

He needed to make a plan. Find out what Jason knew, and what he didn’t, then try to fill in the gaps. He needed to do that somewhere other than here, with said person sitting right beside him.

“Come on,” Tim said, standing up, “Let’s go back to the house.”

Jason saved Tim the trouble of dragging him back to the house by standing up and following him.

Tim spent the rest of the night writing down a plan for training Jason, and checking the door every so often, trying to listen for any sound that showed him Jason wasn’t dead.

He managed to get a restless couple hours of sleep before the sunrise woke him.

He didn’t bother trying to fall back asleep, instead choosing to get ready for the day. Did Jason still eat food? Do dead bodies need to eat if they are technically alive? When Tim walked out into the lounge, he saw that Jason was already ready, standing there with his shirt and mask back on and his weapons ready.

Tim decided to offer Jason some breakfast but was met with a shake of the head. He quickly lost his appetite by imagining what was left of Jason’s brain sloshing around inside his bashed in skull.

“Okay,” he cleared his throat, “so, um, I’m going to see what you do and don’t know about, well, fighting and stuff, and then I’ll try to teach you what you don’t. Sounds good?”

Tim took the blank stare and silence to mean, Yes, Tim, that sounds excellent, I promise I won’t screw you over by not doing anything or accidentally dying again.

Seriously, what was keeping Jason alive and when was its expiry date?

Tim was breathing hard when he walked over to Slade.

Slade had been watching them on and off the entire day, and Tim would love to say that it didn’t bother him, but all it did was make him anxious. Slade was leaving for his mission tomorrow and wanted to see what Tim was planning to do before he left.

“So, um,” Tim had been implementing his plan, trying to see what Jason could and couldn’t do, but, well... “It appears that he knows how do to everything I can. And a bit more.”

Slade spent a minute looking at Tim and Jason, who was still standing at the training area outside the house.

“Very well.” He said finally. “While I am gone you two can improve the other’s skills by sparring. We will talk again once I am back. Stop for now, you can carry on tomorrow.”

Tim nodded, walking back to Jason.

He lay awake that night. Ever since Jason appeared it became a common occurrence. He lay awake, but didn’t leave. He didn’t want Jason to follow him again.

It was... frustrating to learn that after two years of training his ass off, two years of sleepless nights and injuries and bending the rules he still wasn’t as good as his childhood hero who had been dead for two years.

Maybe it was just a reminder that no matter how good he was he would never be good enough. How could he ever think he could be one of them? He would probably die on his first patrol.

And with that depressing thought, Tim finally fell into a nightmare riddled sleep, waking up pointing a gun at an invisible enemy just as the sun began to rise.

Realising the time, Tim quickly pulled on his clothes and rushed out to the landing bay. Slade left early when he was going on missions, and Tim liked saying goodbye.

He took a shortcut, but even then, he only made it just as the helicopter was leaving.

He waved from the outskirts of the landing bay and smiled when Slade gave a half wave back.

Two weeks later Tim was covered in new cuts and bruises, but, thankfully, so was Jason.

It wasn’t unusual for Slade to be gone this long, and this time Tim was grateful for it. For almost the entire first week Tim lost every spar him and Jason had. But then he got the hang of it. Jason was good, but he was repetitive. Tim didn’t know if he had always been like that or if it was just another side effect of being dead.

Speaking of, Tim hadn’t found any answers on that front, but Jason hadn’t randomly become dead again yet, though Tim always had a moment where his heart stopped when Jason lay still for just a second too long, so he was counting it as a success.

Slade was coming back today. Tim hoped he was pleased with what he had done.

He got dressed slowly, trying to pass the time. While Slade left at the crack of dawn he didn’t return until midday.

“Let’s not spar today,” Tim told Jason before leaving the house.

He took the long way around this time, walking slowly, stopping to look and animals and flowers. Creating a frame with his hands and taking imaginary pictures.

He got there just in time to see the helicopter land.

A smile spread across his face, and he jogged up to Slade, waving.

“Hi,”

“Hey, kid.” Slade greeted him, ruffling his hair.

“How was your mission?”

“It was a success.”

This was a standard answer. Slade never said anything about what he did or what happened, preferring to leave the past in the past.

“Have you made any progress?” Slade asked as they walked back.

“Yes,” Tim responded eagerly, “We spar every day, and I think both of us have improved.”

“Good.”

They ate lunch together, something surprisingly rare given the proximity in which they lived to each other.

When they were done, Slade started talking.

“I have been in correspondence with Talia al Ghul, and she is ready for her ward to come back.”

“Really?” Tim tried not to sound too happy about that.

“Yes. And so, I am sending you on a mission.” Excellent. “You will take Jason to a secure location in Gotham.” Fuck.

The last thing Tim wanted to do was spend more time with Jason.

They say never to meet your heroes, and Tim thinks they’d agree that spending two and a half weeks together is even worse.

“Where will you be?”

“I will not be coming. You will complete this mission by yourself.”

“Okay.”

“You leave tomorrow. I will give you the relevant information before you leave.”

Great. This was going to be... just great. Tim’s first solo mission and he had to complete it with Jason-fucking-Todd.

“Stop doing that.” Tim hissed.

Jason kept on pulling the hood covering his head back, which was incredibly annoying, especially because Tim was responsible for getting him to the safehouse on the other side of the city without anyone seeing his face.

He had charted out a course with minimal security cameras, which was pretty easy, after all, Tim knew Gotham like the back of his hand.

He guessed Bruce did know about Jason being alive after all. Otherwise, why would Talia pick Gotham as a meeting place?

Still, it was dangerous. The safehouse was in Crime Alley, and the whole city appeared to be in lockdown, which meant there were no trains or taxis. So, Tim and Jason were walking across the city in the pouring rain.

The only upside of this, Tim thought, is that it lowered the chance of their faces being recognisable from security footage.

They got to the safehouse after two hours of walking. It was a strange experience. The paths and alleys Tim knew were all the same, a new bit of graffiti here, a bin there, but mostly unchanged.

Tim, on the other hand, couldn’t be more different. He was no longer the timid kid hiding behind dumpsters and on rooftops to take pictures of Batman and Robin. It felt like a ghost revisiting the people who had long since moved on. Watching as life changed, unable to do anything but haunt.

He tried not to let it bother him. He tried not to see ghosts around every corner. He tried and he failed.

When they reached the apartment building the safehouse was in Tim unlocked the door with a code Slade had given him, thanking God it worked. He was... just under an hour late. He hadn’t thought there might be a lockdown, a foolish mistake, after all, it was Gotham, and lockdowns were as common as anything.

He pulled on his mask before walking in.

Upon entering the apartment, he saw Talia al Ghul, two guards, and... a child. He had bright green eyes and features matching Talia’s. Guess he was her kid.

“Sorry for the delay. I was not prepared for the lockdown.” Tim said as Jason crossed the room to stand next to the child.

“It is fine. I will pass on the news of your success to your mentor, Shrike.”

“Thank you.” Tim recognised the dismissal and left the apartment, pulling down his mask in the elevator.

He was a little annoyed about having to leave so soon. I mean, you walk through the pouring rain for two hours and the only thing you get is a thank you? That’s insane! He wondered if Slade’s missions were like this.

Lost in his thoughts, Tim didn’t pay attention to where he was going, trusting his feet to bring him back to the helicopter.

That was, until he heard the click of a gun.

“Well, well, well,” The voice that everyone in Gotham was familiar with said, “What do we have here?”

Tim tensed instinctively, before forcing himself to relax and meet his pale green eyes.

“Hello.” His voice was low, barely a whisper, and he doubt the Joker could hear him over the roaring sound of rain.

“Well, if it isn’t itty-bitty Timmy Drake!”

This was bad. This was very very bad.

He was supposed to make sure no one saw his face, let alone Gotham’s most notorious serial killer.

“You know, last time I check you were supposed to be dead!”

Tim supposed this answered the question of what would happen if he came back to Gotham. Murdered by an insane clown.

“But we can always fix that.”

Tim let his body do the thinking, stepping out of the way of the bullet, and then he really should have started listening to his head, because the next thing he knew he had a dagger in his hand, and he was slicing across the Joker’s chest, making blood stain his ugly fucking suit.

Tim was a good fighter.

Tim was better than Jason.

A bullet ripped through his side.

He had tried so hard.

The dagger went into the Joker’s shoulder.

He tried so hard, but it wasn’t enough.

The dagger went into Joker's arm.

The gun was discarded on the floor.

He was never enough.

Not for his parents.

The dagger drew a line of blood across his stomach.

Not for Slade.

The dagger slashed across the face. A line identical to the one just starting to heal on Tim’s face.

He was better. He was better than all of them.

The body was twitching on the floor.

Tim stared at it for a second before leaning down to whisper in his ear, “I. Am. Not. A. Fucking. Joke.” His voice was rough with hate.

Then his knife cut a line through the Joker’s throat, making sure no one could ever laugh at him again.

He stood up, blood covering him head to toe, his breathing shaking.

He stomped out of the alley, clutching his knife.

“Keep your mouth shut.” He hissed to the blonde guy at the mouth of the alley who was staring at him with wide eyes.

He would make them all see.

He was not an idiot.

Timothy Drake was not someone you wanted to laugh at.

“Dead. Are you sure?”

It was almost too good to be true.

“Positive. Gordon contacted me when they found the body, he was tipped off by a civilian.”

“Who did it?”

“We don’t know. Oracle is looking for any security footage that might help us identify the culprit, but she hasn’t had any luck. The rain washed away all usable DNA.”

Personally, Dick had no doubt Babs would be able to find something that would help them, but Bruce sounded doubtful.

“Who tipped them off?”

“Bernard Dowd.”

“Have we got anything on him?”

“Nothing incriminating.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we put him in jail, Jesus Bruce.”

“Hmm.”

Dick sighed and began looking over the case file. He hoped that they didn’t have to put the person who killed the Joker in jail. Murdering someone is a crime, but, well, it was the Joker. He should have died long ago.

When the time came, he would try to reason with Bruce. For now, it was time to check out Bernard Dowd.

I am telling you, Bernard typed, Timothy Drake is alive and an assassin.

Riiiiiiiiiight

He was messaging someone on reddit, trying to convince them that what he saw was real. Timothy Drake didn’t die he left.

The news was playing in the background, the reporter talking about how the Joker had been found dead, and how they were still looking for who killed him, then a poorly written joke about giving the killer a medal instead of prison time.

I swear I saw him kill the joker

and i saw spoiler strangle the riddler

dude be serious

Bernard shut his laptop with a huff. He knew what he saw.

Timothy Drake was alive, and he was going to find him.

Tim drummed his fingers on his knees.

He had killed someone.

He was a good person.

Those two ideas didn’t quite fit together.

One of them had to be wrong.

The Joker was a bad person. He had hurt people, killed them, and Tim had stopped him.

This was the problem he was been struggling with since he got back. This was the problem he had spent the past month going over in his head.

If killing was bad, then he couldn’t be good.

If the Joker was bad, then stopping him was good.

He forced himself to pay attention when the helicopter landed.

He was in Metropolis for a change, on another solo mission to steal information from LexCorp.

Superman was away on a space mission and shouldn’t cause Tim any trouble.

They were a fair way out of the city, but this time (thankfully) Tim didn’t have to walk. Though it was sunny today, and it probably wouldn’t have been as bad as last time.

Still, he drove into the city, stopping when he got close to the centre. There was a LexCorp building two blocks from him, but he wasn’t planning on entering through the doors.

Tim wandered around for a bit before finding what he was looking for. A manhole cover.

He dropped down into the sewers and immediately gagged when the smell hit him. It was like some ungodly mix of rotten fish, alcohol, and excrement. In an attempt to block it out Tim pulled him mask up over his face.

Tim had a feeling that no matter how hard he tried he would never quite be able to rid his uniform of the smell.

He walked through the sewers for twenty minutes before finding the exit he needed, and he wasted no time in climbing up the rickety metal ladder, coming up in the basement of the LexCorp building.

The computer he needed to access was on the fifth floor. It was 17:20, which meant that the workers would have all left by now, only the security guards would still here. And if Tim timed it right then he wouldn’t run into them at all.

It turns out the research he did beforehand paid off, as he managed to get into the correct room with only a few close encounters.

Now just to download the information and wipe the security tapes.

Tim closed the door behind him and plugged his flash drive into the computer. Slade needed information about a warehouse in Africa somewhere, and Time was here to find it.

Tim clicked onto a few files before he managed to find the right one.

He scanned over the information. The warehouse was actually a secure bunker in Uganda, and the contents were... holy shit.

Kryptonite?

Tim quickly began downloading the file. He was sure the information on there was all sorts of classified, and it really was better if he got out of here ASAP.

While the file was downloading Tim began wiping the security cameras, giving himself a five-minute window to get out of here.

He tapped his fingers impatiently as the download stayed on 99% for what he felt was much longer than necessary.

Just as it ticked to 100% Tim heard the door open behind him.

He spun around, coming face to face with a wide-eyed security guard.

“Why are you up here?”

Tim didn’t respond. His heart was jammed in his throat; blood was rushing through his ears.

He had only one thought running through his mind.

It’s him or you.

The security guard reached for his radio.

It’s him or you.

Tim raised his gun.

It’s him or you.

It’s him or you.

He pulled the trigger.

It’s him or you.

He grabbed the flash drive and ran.

Chapter Text

Tim was not an idiot.

Heroes don’t kill people. Vigilantes don’t kill people.

And yet here he was, with blood on his hands and relief in his heart.

There was something freeing when you finally accept who you are.

Tim killed people. He killed people and he was good at it. Not as good as Slade, but good enough.

He wasn’t ignoring the Slade thing either. He wasn’t a hero or even a vigilante.

He was a hitman.

A mercenary.

Tim had known for a long time, perhaps since they first met on that rooftop in Gotham. Heros don’t carry guns. He had ignored that fact for as long as possible, trying to force both of them into being the good guys. Always in the right.

Tim had gotten past the blockers Slade set up on his laptop. There was a lot of information about him. He had tried to kill Nightwing. He had fought the Titans. He had very nearly succeeded.

In any other circumstance, this would have freaked Tim out. But the fact was, Tim was not a good person. He hadn’t hesitated when choosing between himself and the security guard. He hadn’t hesitated with the Joker either.

Tim was bad at being a good person, and he would have been bad at being a vigilante. Not because he would have died on his first patrol, but because he would have snapped too quickly.

He knew that now.

Really, there was only one logical next step: continue doing what he did, going on missions, and prove to Slade that he was tough. That he could handle the blood and the gore and everything bad.

He had to do something.

Tim scrolled through the information he copied from the flash drive. He would prove he could handle it. After all, if he could manage a warehouse full of kryptonite then what couldn’t he handle?

It was clear that Shrike was becoming a problem. Bruce needed to neutralise this threat as quickly as possible.

So far, he had only killed two people (that they know of), but Bruce knew what happened when people continued down that path. He had seen it happen time and time again.

He would not let it happen again.

The first mystery to solve was how Slade got a sidekick in the first place.

Cissie mentioned him being quite young, about their age, maybe a year or two younger.

Bruce knew for certain that Slade only had two kids and Shrike was neither of them.

There was the possibility that Slade was...

Cissie did say the kid referred to himself as Slade’s “partner”.

But no, Bruce had to believe Slade was better than that.

He would find Shrike first. Then he would ask questions.

Tim had practically begged Slade to allow him to go on this mission.

Tim had a new determination, a new purpose. He would become as good as Slade. Better than Slade. Tim wasn’t vigilante material, but this, this he was good at. He would become the best.

And that started here. At the bunker in Uganda, full of kryptonite.

He had new armour too. It was grey with black covering the back of his hands and stretching along his arms until they met the base of his neck, the material covering his neck was completely black, so was the black mask the covered the lower half of his face.

It was a cruel mockery of Nightwing’s uniform, it seemed appropriate since he had become the opposite of the man he once idolised.

Tim landed on the ground a spilt second before Slade, rolling to minimise the impact, after all, jumping down from a helicopter wasn't light work. They couldn't land it for this mission. Him and Slade had three hours before the helicopter came back. If they weren’t done by then then they would get left in the middle of the desert.

The good thing about the warehouse being in the middle of the desert was that no one was there to see them.

Tim picked the lock easily, swinging the door open.

Him and Slade stared into the warehouse, taking in the sight of boxes upon boxes, filling the entire warehouse.

Tim had his breath taken away for a moment. If all of these were filled with kryptonite...

He couldn’t imagine hating someone enough to fill a warehouse full of the only thing that would kill them.

“Check the boxes.” Slade commanded.

Tim slid the lid back on the box closest to him. He pushed back the white tarp covering the contents, and sure enough, it was filled with glowing green crystals.

Tim mouth felt dry.

There was a strange sort of beauty in it. A destructive power, something Tim felt deep in his soul, something he hungered for.

“Is it there?” Slade said, snapping Tim out of his trance.

“It’s here.”

“Good. We don’t have long, take a single piece from as many boxes as you can.”

Tim did as he was ordered, working as quickly as he could.

Time flew past and soon enough Slade was ordering him back outside.

They made it onto the helicopter just in time and Tim felt giddy.

“What are you going to do with the kryptonite?”

Slade gave him a measured look.

“Don’t worry about it.”

There was a warning in his voice, and Tim fell silent.

But it wasn’t enough to squash his good mood, so he smiled behind his mask, his hand clenched tightly in his pocket around the piece of kryptonite he snuck past Slade.

Bernard had been tracking Tim Drake. Or Shrike. He wasn’t very sure which one he should use now that Tim had turned into what Bernard assumed was a mercenary. Given his tendency to appear where Deathstroke does, it was very likely the two worked together, and even more likely Deathstroke was the one who trained Tim.

Bernard had been going over every single detail of what he could find on Shrike, trying to find a pattern between his missions.

So far, the only ones he could find were that Shrike, more often than not, showed up with Deathstroke, and left at least one dead body in his wake.

Bernard hadn’t seen him in person again; he hadn’t come to Gotham since he last saw him a year ago.

He sighed, about to shut his laptop, before the screen started flashing, quickly drawing his attention. It was one of those alerts, one that meant that you shouldn’t go out, and if you were out, you should get inside as quickly as possible.

Bernard’s eyes flicked across the screen, ready to see which convict escaped Arkham this time, before he saw the picture.

A grey uniform with black stripes. A half mask.

Shrike was in Gotham.

This was Bernard’s chance.

Five hours earlier, Tim had just gotten the notification from Slade.

He was to go to Gotham and help break the Riddler out of jail.

Tim guessed they were doing away with the subtext now. Slade knew he knew about he did, and he knew Tim was fine with it.

So, in just under an hour Tim had come up with a plan. Blueprints and schematics for Arkham were depressingly easy to find, and now they were arranged in careful chaos across the table in the booth Tim had chosen.

He was arriving to Gotham via train, per Slade’s recommendation. Apparently, trains were harder to stop, plus they did much less thorough safety checks, which Tim soon found out was true, as he was able to carry all of his equipment inside without a problem.

He had chosen an isolated booth, down at the end of the train. Since he wanted to blend in, Tim was wearing baggy blue jeans, a white collared shirt, and a red hoodie he had found in a dumpster. It felt nice to wear normal clothes for once.

Well, normal-ish.

As normal as Tim could be.

His armour was in his bag along with the rest of his gear. Tim had a safehouse set up to house Edward Nygma for a couple days, he figured he would drop by and get changed there.

Tim got to the safehouse with minimal difficulty. He got a couple strange looks because of his scar, but not too many because, well, Gotham.

He got changed, and emptied most of his equipment onto his person, leaving his clothes, a lighter, and a flask full of the most flammable alcohol Tim could find.

He used Gotham’s tunnel system to get most of the way to Arkham, but they been destroyed closer to the island. After word got around to the Rouges about their existence, Commissioner Gordon decided it would be best to make sure no one could use them to escape (again).

Arkham had a fence surrounding it, and while it was tall, but it was not secure. All Tim had to do was short circuit the motion sensors and he climbed over it with ease.

From there on it got trickier. Guards constantly patrolling, security cameras, various infer-red systems, mother-fricking Oracle (how she always knew everything going on was spectacular and something Tim doubted he’d ever figure out. But Barbara Gordon was only human, and she could be defeated. Namely by looping the security footage and hoping she wasn’t paying very good attention to Arkham right now).

By the time Tim got to Nygma’s cell he was wondering how difficult breaking out could really be, if breaking in was really this easy.

He banged his fist against the bars, making them rattle, and causing the prisoner inside to wake up.

“Rise and shine.” Tim said in a deadpan voice, “We’ve got a lot of breaking out to do, and only so many hours to do it in.”

“What is this?” The Riddler demanded, “I was told I was getting Deathstroke!”

“Yeah, well, he was busy,” Or he just couldn’t be bothered, Tim thought, and honestly? He was starting to see why. This was boring. “So, you got the next best thing. I’m Shrike.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never heard of you. I paid for Deathstroke, I want Deathstroke.”

Now Tim was starting to get annoyed.

"Fine." He hissed, "If you don't want my help then I'll leave."

He turned around and got three steps down the hallway before Nygma's voice rang out again.

"Wait!"

Tim spun around on his heel.

"Yes?" He asked innocently, taking great pleasure at the sight of Nygma gritting his teeth.

"I'm sure you will do."

Wow. Such high praise. How will Tim ever cope?

Tim was tempted to just leave, but unfortunately, he still had a job to do.

He pulled out his gun, ignore Nygma’s panicked look (honestly, he was one of Gotham’s rouges, how could he still freak out about guns? Maybe it was different having one pointed at you) and shot through the lock, setting off alarms.

"What are you doing?" Riddler hissed, but stepping out of the cell anyway.

Tim felt pleased, if he had made a plan complicated enough for the Riddler to not follow, he doubted the authorities would fare much better.

"You think it’ll take long before someone notices you’re missing? There's not much point in being subtle." Tim answered, grabbing his arm and marching him down the hallway.

Tim shoved Riddler into an office, one that he knew would be abandoned, before following and locking the door behind him.

"Well, this is...cozy."

Alright, it was small, but neither of them had a lot of options right now.

Tim chose not to reply, instead opting to shove the desk against the wall, just in case someone decided to follow them.

Then he cut a hole in the carpet, and prayed he was right.

Sure enough, there was a trapdoor right were the blueprints said there would be.

He broke the rusty lock easily, and flung the door open, revealing a secret ladder down to the sewers.

See, the tunnels had collapsed but the sewers had not. There were, of course, grates over the entrances to prevent convicts from using them to escape, but the point where the tunnels ended and the grates started overlapped just enough that the right explosive would enable someone to move between the two.

And why didn't Tim use this to break in? For several reasons:

1. People broke out of Arkham all the time, he figured breaking in would be much easier, and it was. Frighteningly so.

2. He wasn't 100% sure this would work. Worst came to worse Tim could kill his way out. He could not kill his way in, get Nygma out, and disappear before the authorities arrived.

3. Sewers were gross, and Tim didn't want to spend more time in them than what was necessary.

"You have

got to be kidding me."

"Nope." Tim said, going down first.

They trudged through the sewers, Tim leading the way, pretending he couldn't hear Riddler’s mutterings about how he would be making a complaint to Slade about his employees.

"What now, genius?"

Riddler asked when they got to the grates.

Tim tried giving one of them a shake. Solid, definitely not going to budge.

This had to work, or they were both toast.

Tim pulled the explosives out of his pocket.

If Tim was right, and he usually was, placing the explosives on the left side of the sewer should open a passage to the tunnels. He hopped over the muck running through the sewer that he was trying not to think about or look at or, God forbid, smell.

“Get back.” He ordered, and Riddler obediently walked a few meters away. Tim pushed away the rush of elation of having his order followed to focus on the active explosive he was holding.

After setting it up he jogged to where Nygma was standing and blocked his ears.

3...

2...

1...

Boom.

Sure enough, when Tim looked through the hole it led to a tunnel.

“Come on.” Tim said, dropping into the tunnel.

He watched as Riddler awkwardly clambered through, impatience starting to get the better of him.

After a tedious walk back to the safe house, Tim grabbed his bag and bid Edward Nygma goodbye, praying they would never have to talk to each other again. For a supervillain he was very boring.

The first thing he saw when he stepped outside was a TV screen with his face on it. He was looking through someone’s window, and the news about him assisting the Riddler in his escape must have been broken because last time he checked Channel Seven didn’t do random pieces on mercenaries.

In other circumstances being on TV might have been flattering, but right now Tim doubted it would be good for him.

He hurriedly ducked into the alleyway, pulling on his hoodie and shoving his mask in his pocket. He scrubbed at the dirt on his face with his sleeve, it came off fairly quickly as he was aided by the rain that was starting to drip down.

Tim twisted the wrong way dumping his bag into the dumpster, causing pain to flare up from the bruise across his stomach he had gotten a few days earlier. He inhaled sharply; it was all he could do to stop from making some embarrassing noise of pain. Tim knew he didn’t have long before someone found him, so he gritted his teeth, moved some stuff around to cover his bag, emptied his flask all over it (not before taking a swig of the stuff himself) and then lit the dumpster on fire.

He couldn’t risk anyone tracing any of his equipment back to him or Slade, and he couldn’t take it with him.

Tim would have preferred to stay and make sure that the bag actually burned but he felt more than saw the approaching presence of a bat, so he cut his losses and took off running.

By the time he stopped he was in Old Gotham.

Luck seemed to finally be on his side, as the place where he stopped was a crossing with a red light. A perfectly reasonable place for someone to want to be.

There was only one other person waiting to cross the road. It wasn’t surprising, really, given the fact that it was pouring rain and the sun had set about an hour ago. Honestly, why was it aways raining when Tim came to Gotham?

Maybe he just forgot how much it rained here. He had been gone for... 3 years? Or was it four?

He left around September... so... yeah, three years.

How time flies.

Tim was sixteen now. Or he would be soon. He wasn’t 100% sure of the date. Things worked like that when you didn’t really have a job. Or school. Or anything other than missions and a growing list of people whose life you’ve ended.

That was a rather depressing thought, so Tim chose to focus on the other person at the crossing instead of dwelling on that.

The guy must have been around the same age as Tim. He was wearing a school uniform, with a crisp white shirt, black pants and polished shoes. He had a blazer pulled up over his head as a makeshift umbrella, and Tim could see an emblem sewn on it. His tie was the same colour as the emblem, gold and red.

It suited him, Tim thought idly.

Headphones snaked from his phone up to his ears, and his golden-brown eyes were transfixed on the screen. He had short hair, cropped back from his collar, though some strands still managed to fall in front of his eyes. Tim watched as he tried to blink them away, giving up after a second and pushing them back with his hand.

When Tim glanced down at what he was watching on his phone his blood ran cold. It was the news, and Tim’s (masked, thank fuck) face was plastered right there on the screen!

Tim forced himself to look forward, waiting for the light to turn green, signalling it was safe for them to cross.

It wouldn’t be much of a leap to go from the masked stranger on the screen to Tim with his mask off and shoved in his pocket, still wearing his armoured cargo pants, the red hoodie covering the rest of his armour.

Thankfully, the clothes covered all his scars except the one across his face and small ones littering his hands. The latter could be easily solved, Tim thought as he shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. The former... not so much. He would just have to hope no one noticed.

He pulled the hood lower on his face and hunched over a little, doing everything he could to blend into the background.

Why was he waiting for the light anyway? It was Gotham, no one followed traffic laws, no one would bat an eye at someone running across the street, especially in the pouring rain.

But the other person was waiting, so it felt like the right thing to do.

God knows why though, there weren’t any cars on the road, a rare occurrence for Gotham, Tim swore no one in this city did anything normal, least of all have a normal sleep schedule (he was not exempt from this).

As if Tim summoned it, a car turned the corner. He glanced at it as it sped up towards them and watched in slow motion as the blonde guy stepped into the road, not looking up from his phone.

The world sped up again, and Tim lurched forward just in time to pull the guy back onto the pavement as the car flew past.

The only problem was that Tim was tired, and the alcohol was doing its job, and he didn’t really interact with a lot of people who weren’t trying to kill him, so when he pulled blondie back, he lost his balance.

Which meant he fell over.

And he was still holding on to blondie’s arm, which meant that when Tim fell, he also fell.

Which meant that Tim was lying flat on his back in the middle of a growing puddle, the wind knocked out of him, staring into the eyes of a very attractive blonde guy who just so happened to be lying on top of him.

Tim’s brain stopped working for a moment.

Then the blonde guy blushed, his face going pink and his ears burning red (it was adorable), scrambled to get up, and Tim followed suit, picking up the man’s phone from the ground as he did so.

He handed the phone back, and shuffled awkwardly, unsure of what to do in this situation.

“Hey,” the blonde guy said suddenly, eyes widening, “You’re-”

Tim was no longer unsure of what to do. The light turned green, and he bolted across the street, running until he was sure no one could have followed him.

Tim had ended up in an alleyway. Honestly, he wasn’t even surprised about that, Gotham had way too many alleyways. It couldn’t be good for the crime rates.

Tim was panting, his heart racing.

He saved someone’s life.

In doing so, he almost lost his.

He couldn’t go to prison; he couldn’t disappoint Slade.

It was a blip. That’s all.

Shrike killed people. He didn’t save them.

Chapter Text

“It’s like...” Cassie winced as she moved her arm, “It's like he’s changed somehow.”

Bart nodded before speeding off somewhere.

“I don’t care. He’s still an asshole.” Kon put in his two cents. He was probably still pissed about the kryptonite thing.

After another encounter with Shrike (they were seeing him more and more these days) the Team was regrouping. Cassie thought it would be a good idea to inform Batman of their fight, since she knew he was also trying to fight Shrike.

Batman hadn’t reacted much when she told him what happened, but she knew he couldn’t be taking this lightly. After all, the guy had just broken someone out of Arkham.

“I will deal with Shrike. As of right now, don’t engage with him.” Batman spoke before leaving the room.

“You’ve gotta be joking.” Kon snarled, standing up. “He just expects us to back down?”

Cassie hesitated before answering. She wasn’t too keen on the idea either, but as team leader it was her duty to make sure nothing bad happened to anyone.

“We won’t back down. But we also won’t seek Shrike out. It’s too risky.”

Tim couldn’t risk it.

Too many people had seen his face.

He needed to fix it.

He needed to make sure that no one else would be able too.

It really wasn’t that hard.

Tim had a lot of free time. He knew what magic was out there. He knew there were spells and amulets that could hide your appearance.

So, after one of his missions (it was a clean-up task. Pretty cut and dry. Very boring. All it took was planting a couple bombs and pulling the fire alarm. He was halfway across the city when it blew up) he told Slade he would be taking a day or two to explore Rome. It was a prime tourist location.

But Tim didn’t actually care about the Colosseum or the food or whatever else was here. He was more interested in who was here.

The bell rung when Tim walked through the door.

The shop was a dingy, crowed place. Not by the amount of people, it seemed as though Tim was the only one who had been in there for years, but by the sheer amount of stuff inside. Workbenches were set up in rows, almost like a classroom, but every inch of it was covered in papers or trinkets or tools Tim didn’t know how to use and was sure were long out of date.

Various drapes of fabric and peeling posters covered the windows, smothering any light that could have entered, and the walls were covered with stacks of books or paintings or yellowing diagrams, scraps of dulled red wallpaper barely making an appearance.

Then there was a footstep near the back of the shop, quiet, but enough to draw Tim’s attention, his hands drifting towards his daggers automatically.

Then the lights flickered on, various lamps scattered across the room brightening.

At the back of the shop stood someone who looked to be in their late twenties, wearing a long flowing black skirt, an artfully loose silk shirt, and gold jewellery everywhere Tim could see. Their hair was tied up with a bandanna, and their startlingly green eyes focused on Tim in record time.

“Well, hello there. David, I presume?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Avery. Come on through.”

They wore a friendly grin, but Tim wasn’t fooled. No one here was who they seemed (hence “David”. Tim wasn’t stupid enough to give out his real name).

He had called ahead of time, after all something like this... wasn’t easily accomplished.

He was lead through a doorway into a brightly lit corridor. The walls and ceiling were white; the floor made of tiles. Where the front room and been cluttered, here there was nothing except the doors they passed. Silence filled the air, and for the first time in years Tim felt an itching to break it. The whole situation reminded Tim of being in a hospital.

The first and last time he had been in a hospital was when he was eleven. He had broken his arm falling out of a tree in the backyard. The hospital visit had been uncomfortable, neither of his parents being present meant it was up to the housekeeper to stay with him and answer the questions as to why Jack and Janet Drake weren’t picking up their phones. But eventually it had ended, and Tim got to go home, and the housekeeper got to leave, and it was over and that was all that mattered. But he had never climbed that tree again.

He was roused from his thoughts when Avery stopped in front of a door.

“This is the one.”

The room was, thankfully, not at all like the hallway.

It was a small room, probably only about 2 meters wide and not much longer, it had a low ceiling, and there were no windows. It was lit with a few lamps scattered around, bathing the room in a warm light. There was a low cabinet stretching along the walls, only coming up to Tim’s knee, the top being mostly bare, with only a notebook, what looked to be a small bust of Sappho, and a spell book scattered across the surface.

In the middle of the room were two chairs. They were both simple stools, nothing extraordinary.

“Okay, so just a few admin things before we start, first I need some proof that you can pay,”

Tim dug the cash out of his pocket and placed it on of the cabinets. Two thousand dollars. Not a lot for him in the long run, but still expensive.

“Wonderful. Now, this process is irreversible,” That’s what Tim was counting on, “so we need to make sure you understand what it does.”

“Okay.”

“So, this spell is channelled through an object and connected to a person.”

Tim drew out a necklace. It was one that had caught his eye a couple months earlier when he had been considering this. It was... well it was basically a choker. It was made out of a fairly strong fabric, and was a simple loop, no fancy embroidery or strings. It was plain black and wouldn’t be noticeable through his armour.

“Excellent,” Avery took note of the choker. “So, when you put it on, the spell will be in effect, but when you take it off, everything will return to normal.” Tim knew this already. “It won’t work for anyone else, and your reflection will appear normal to you.”

Tim nodded, and Avery clapped their hands.

“Ready to begin?”

If you asked Jason, he would tell you that he didn’t know Shrike. After all, he had never met the man. But in the back of his head there would be an itch, something that told him the grey clad man was familiar. And if Jason cared to pry a little more, he would be able tell you that he met Shrike once. That Shrike had black hair, blue eyes. That he was young. Eager to please. Not too fond of Jason. He liked Slade a little too much for comfort.

But Jason didn’t care enough to dissect the shadows of memories he had, so he knew none of that. All it took was half an hour of being around Batman for him to see that this particular interest of his was going to be all consuming, and Jason had no interest in being a part of that. So he left, not that it mattered much.

His last interaction with Shrike had been an abandoned flaming dumpster.

It felt like a poorly timed joke at Jason’s expense.

But he was not a grudge holder, so he very calmly and very peacefully punched the wall before informing everyone else of what he had found.

Nothing they got out of Shrike’s bag was worth anything.

Jason didn’t try to track him. Barbara was doing that. So was Bruce. There was a decent chance Steph was looking as well. Cass was in Hong Kong and was infamously bad at keeping in touch with them, but if she had talked to Steph then she also knew about Shrike. Four people was plenty. No one could stay hidden from one of the Bats for long, let alone four. There was really no need for him to stress.

But... there was always a but.

But Shrike had gotten the better of him.

But he had gotten into Jason’s territory without him knowing.

But it had been a long time since someone had managed to best the Bats.

And, fuck, Jason was curious.

Tim looked at himself in the mirror.

It was not something he did often.

Everything was... normal.

Exactly what he was supposed to see.

He was in one of Slade’s safehouses, on the edge of Hong Kong, and he was supposed to be getting ready for a mission.

Tim was, technically, half ready.

The bottom half of his armour was on; knives were slotted into his boots and in the secret compartments he had insisted were put in.

The rest of his weapons were spread out across the bed, along with the armour he still had to put on. Tim... hadn’t meant to get sidetracked. He knew that if Slade came in right now, while he was shirtless and wearing a choker... well, it would be very easy to get the wrong idea.

Instead of Tim’s eyes tracking the scars across his body like he usually did they were fixated on his face. His perfectly clear, non-obscured face.

Avery said that it wouldn’t work for mirrors He reminded himself, but nerves still swirled in his stomach.

Tim dragged his eyes away from the mirror and forced himself to carry on getting ready. Before long the only thing he had left was his mask.

Tim chewed on his lip before pocketing it, wanting to see what Slade thought.

He exited the room to find Slade outside, already looking quite impatient.

“Kid, what the hell is wrong with your face?”

Thank God.

“Nothing. I had it arranged.” Tim gave as an explanation as he fixed his mask to his face.

The intended purpose of the spell was for it to... not exactly scramble his features but make it so he was unidentifiable. His features were now just obscured enough that at a glance there was nothing amiss, but upon a closer look there was nothing that could be used to find him. Nothing that could trace Shrike back to Timothy Drake.

That was the idea anyway.

Slade gave him a look that told Tim he thought it was stupid, but said no more.

This was one of the missions Tim had to beg Slade to be allowed on. It was a serious one. Slade would go in, kill... whoever he needed to kill (Tim didn’t ask, and honestly? He didn’t really want to know) and Tim would be playing the distraction. Pretending to break into a government building to steal information. That way, if any vigilantes came along, they would focus on Tim, allowing Slade enough time to do what he had to do. Then they would leave.

The plan seemed simple in retrospect, but Tim still had the mixture of excitement and nerves that he had with every mission.

Shrike was doing a lot more solo missions, just minor ones, here and there, but nothing too big. He hoped that doing this would prove to Slade that he was ready to work on his own.

Tim had found his line that he didn’t cross. His morals. He would kill people for the mission. Easy and quick and bloody. But he wouldn’t kill others. Not unless he absolutely had to. Not unless they got in his way.

When Tim told Slade this there was hell to pay. There’s no room for weakness in their line of work. At least, that’s what he said. But Tim was nothing if not stubborn, so he was sticking to it.

Tim took a maze of trains and buses and taxis to get where he needed to be.

It wasn’t overly difficult to avoid people. He was wearing a dark green hoodie over his armour, and with the hood pulled over his face most people didn’t give him a second look. But, then again, Tim wasn’t trying particularly hard to blend in. The point was to get noticed by anyone who could stop him.

The plan proved fruitful once Tim reached the second story of the building. He was partway through hacking into the database, wondering what the hell he was supposed to steal, when he felt a prickling on the back of his neck. He spun around just in time to see a fist collide with his face.

Tim skidded back, trying to regain his footing.

His mind worked quickly, thinking of everything he could use to gain the upper hand in this fight. His attacker was Orphan. She was terrifying a formidable opponent. Shrike wasn’t scared of her. He wasn’t scared of anyone.

Still, he didn’t have long to recover, she fought like no one he had seen before. He had nothing over her.

Tim struggled to keep up, but even as he fought twice as hard as he ever had before, even as his mind worked overtime to compensate for Orphan’s abilities, he quickly lost ground.

And then it happened.

All it took was one kick. One kick and a reaction that was split second too late on Tim’s behalf.

His mask came flying off.

He could see her eyes search over his face, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Tim mentally breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered the spell. Thank God. He took advantage of her confusion to scoop up his mask and jump out the window.

But, because luck had never been on his side for very long, Orphan only took a second to follow.

It was annoyingly obvious that Tim couldn’t beat her in combat. He knew her reputation, but he didn’t think she would be this good. His only hope of getting away was to outrun her.

It became very clear very fast that this was, unfortunately, not an option.

Tim was starting to think that he might actually have bitten off more than he can chew when he ran into a dead-end alley. His heart was pounding and he was panting as he tried to remember everything he could about Orphan.

Indescribably trained. Could read body language to a frightening degree. Was trained as a child.

In was in this last point that Tim found hope. Maybe, just maybe...

“He’s making me!”

That was enough to make her stop in her tracks.

She could read body language, which meant she could tell he was lying, but it was enough to buy Tim some time. He had his hand behind his back and clicked his panic button as subtly as he could, praying Slade could get here soon.

Tim could see the tension in her body, the way she was ready to attack him at a moment’s notice but holding back because... unresolved trauma daddy issues empathy kindness because she was weak.

Tim took advantage of her hesitance and backed a few steps away. She relaxed minutely. He could have used the opportunity to attack her, but Tim already knew he wasn’t going to win.

It was then that a sound made both of them turn their heads.

A helicopter flying over the area. Slade was visible even from a distance.

“Come with me.” Orphan offered, staring at Tim like he was someone she wanted to have around, like there was hope for him.

She was too optimistic for her own good.

Tim looked towards the helicopter circling lower and lower, then back at Orphan.

“Sorry.”

He was surprised to find out he meant it.

“He has...” Cass gestured at her face with her hand, rather unhelpfully, “no face.”

A beat a silence rang through the cave.

“What?” Steph asked, squinting at Cass like it might help her make sense of what she was saying.

“Nothing I could point out.” She elaborated after some consideration.

“He has no recognisable features,” Barbara looked to Cass for confirmation, and after receiving a nod of agreement asked, “Interesting. Because of magic, do you think? Or something else?”

Cass thought about it.

“Magic. He seemed surprised too.”

A new spell then, Dick’s mind supplied. Something he had done recently. And something that was apparently effective.

“How did he get away?”

Bruce was a buzzkill. Especially when it came to Shrike. Dick was half glad they hadn’t managed to capture the man yet, knowing Bruce’s track record it would result in Dick gaining another sibling. Though he had to admit he was curious about that too. No one got away from Cass.

“I let him.”

Cass said it so simply it took a second for it to compute.

“You let him?”

“He... said that Slade was making him.”

“People lie, Cass.”

“He wasn’t lying.” Cass prickled at Barbara’s (unintentional) condescension.

“Cass-”

“No.” She hopped off where she had been perched on the edge of the desk and stalked up the stairs to the Manor.

Steph gave Cass a second’s head start before shooting an indecipherable look at the rest of them (excluding Bruce, because he had turned back to the Batcomputer) and followed her out.

When the door slid closed behind her with a deafening click, Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose.

It was one of those rare occasions that they were all in the same place. Things had been a little hectic lately, with the arrival of Damian and all, but all seven of them managed to find time to meet. Which Bruce had, predictably, turned into a debrief on Shrike.

Jason had left the second Shrike came up to go join Alfred in the kitchen, presumably the girls had joined them, Damian agreed to go to bed after having a staring contest with Steph, and now it was just him, Babs, and Bruce left in the cave.

“We’ll find him.”

Bruce didn’t reply.

“I mean, who the hell does he think he is?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying this entire time.” Jason insisted.

He held out a plate of biscuits to them, both girls taking one.

Steph didn’t quite know what it was that set Cass off, but she knew it was Bruce’s fault. And if there was one person you could complain about Bruce to, it was Jason.

“I mean, if Shrike-”

“Who is Shrike?”

All head turned to the person standing in the doorway.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Jason asked accusatorily, to which Damian replied:

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

And because Alfred wouldn’t be happy with them if someone died in his kitchen, Steph broke the tension the best she could, by throwing a biscuit at Damian.

Jason scowled and turned around, Cass waved at Damian, and Steph relaxed.

“Who is Shrike?” Damian demanded more impatiently.

“He’s, uh...” They weren’t technically supposed to talk to Damian about patrol stuff. The kid wasn’t allowed out in the field yet, and Bruce wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“The newest rogue Bruce has decided to get obsessed with.” Jason finished her sentence easily.

Deciding the cat was out of the bag, Steph pulled up a still one of the security cameras in Hong Kong to show to Damian.

The thing that drew Steph’s attention was Cass. The way her focus snapped back to Damian after she had drifted off to look at Jason. Steph took it as a cue to look at the kid more closely and was rewarded by her efforts.

Tension lined Damian’s body, but upon noticing her staring, forced himself to relax.

“You know anything about him?” Steph prodded gently, trying not to spook the kid.

Damian shook his head, “No.” He snapped, then stalked out of the room.

The three of them all shared a look.

“He knows something.”

“We all do.” The careful reminder from Cass that they all had their own secrets plunged the kitchen into silence once again.

Sometimes Steph wondered how close this family was to falling apart at the seams. She had the feeling that Shrike might be the last nail in the coffin.

His first proper solo mission.

And it was going horribly.

Tim was running, as he found himself doing more and more often these days.

The mission was, on paper, easy. Get in, get rid of anyone watching, steal a lab sample, and get out.

The lab was in Seattle, and it was supposed to be abandoned. Safe to say, it was not.

Tim let his torso drop, sliding forward on his shins to avoid several arrows sent his way. He got back on his feet as quickly as he could, taking off running.

This exit is secure. Tim reassured himself.

Actually, Tim screeched to a halt, scrap that.

“Funny seeing you here.” Nightwing said, flipping one of his escrima sticks idly.

“That’s not your best.” The response came out of Tim’s mouth faster than he could stop it.

“No?” Nightwing asked with a laugh, wearing the same expression Tim often saw on his own face. The refusal to back down from a challenge. Looking forward to the challenge. Or, more accurately, looking forward to knocking someone down a peg or two. Tim found he wasn’t fond of it. “I’ll have to make up for that.”

He lunged, Tim dropped.

Tim knocked him down, he got back up at record speed.

Shrike was, at best, evenly matched. Which meant Tim had to get out of here. Even if it meant running from a fight.

He knew that Nightwing was here. So was Red Arrow. Who knew what other heroes were lurking in the shadows.

Nightwing wasn’t as good as his sister, Tim realised with relief. But he didn’t have the same emotional weaknesses either. Say what you will about the Bats, they were good at compartmentalising.

An arrow shattered a window to Tim’s left, in response, his fighting got more frantic.

He could hold his own against Nightwing. Maybe even with arrows coming at him.

But if anything else went wrong... even the smallest slip could result in him losing.

He couldn’t fight for long. That was his weakness. Besides, dodging arrows while fighting Nightwing... it wasn’t easy.

Shrike saw a flash of colour, and before he could stop himself, he turned his head.

It's just a fraction of a turn, a millisecond of distraction, and then it’s a foot slamming into his face.

Tim got flashbacks to googling how to fix his nose in the bathroom, blood spilling over the tiles as he tried to hold his head over the sink to avoid making a mess, throwing up everything he had eaten because the pain had gotten too bad, before he dragged himself out of the memory to remember that he was not with Slade, that he was outnumbered three to one, and he was losing.

He dodged a kick from Nightwing only for an arrow to puncture his side.

“Fuck.” He hissed, narrowly dodging Flash (the Keystone one) and definitely not dodging the kick to his ribs. Or the escrima stick. Or the punch to his stomach. Tim managed to draw a knife and lodge in someone’s leg because he was on the ground, he was on the ground and he was losing and he wasn't supposed to lose he couldn’t lose he couldn’t disappoint Slade he had to be enough he had to be enough he was never enough he wasn’t enough for his parents and he couldn’t even save himself and he had to save himself and he was enough he had to be he had to be he had to-

Tim would later look back on the moment and think that his inability to breathe had little do to with the injuries he sustained.

Bernard watched the news with his heart in his throat.

It was stupid to root for a villain.

It was stupider to become so obsessed with the man it felt like he knew him.

But here he was, with his heart in his throat, watching as the news broke.

“...detained for suspicions of insanity, he will be getting he help in needs in Arkham Asylum...” The reported droned on, past the point of believing anything they were saying. Bernard was only picking up bits and pieces, far too lost in thought to do anything else.

He watched as a picture of Arkham Asylum floated across the screen.

Timothy seemed nice when Bernard met him. It was hard to imagine him locked up in there. Well, his breath had smelled like alcohol, and he was very clearly trying to get out of Gotham before he got arrested, but it’s not like he stabbed Bernard or anything.

The feeling that something was so innately wrong didn’t fade by the time Bernard drifted off to sleep.

It seemed he had run out of luck.

Was that what he had been doing this entire time? Using up his luck? If he had not met Slade, would he had died with one of his parents?

Tim watched the rusty iron gates shut behind him.

Everything had a tipping point, and if Tim was lucky, he might just find his in here. After all, if was so much easier to kill people when you don’t care about anyone but yourself.

Chapter Text

Damian... well he didn’t know Shrike. But he knew of him.

He knew Shrike was smarter than he looked. Than he acted. Smart enough to keep his trail of bodies just under the radar. Smart enough to trick Cassandra. Smart enough to get in and out of Gotham unnoticed. Smart enough to not get caught. At least, not until now.

He knew Shrike could break out of Arkham.

But so did everyone else.

Something wasn’t quite adding up.

And no one would tell Damian what it was.

So, naturally, he decided to figure it out himself.

He would pass this test, whatever it was. (Father had said that there weren’t tests, but people lied and Damian wasn’t five and he would prove himself).

So, Damian made an excuse to Father about attending Chess club (which made the man happy, for some reason) so he could watch Arkham undisturbed.

“Well, looks like you beat me to it.”

Damian stiffened at the sudden voice, cursing himself for allowing a stranger to sneak up on him. He turned to find Stepha- Spoiler standing next to him. She was, admittedly, not a stranger. That did not excuse his failure.

She had that stupid look in her eyes that meant she was smiling under her mask.

“If you are so eager to please then you should consider being faster.”

She laughed, as if Damian was not giving her useful advice.

“Fair enough. Chess club must have really changed since I was in middle school.”

Damian stiffened again. If Father found out he lied-

Then Spoiler tapped her pointer finger to where her lips would be, and said:

“It’ll be out secret.”

Grudgingly, Damian relaxed, and Spoiler sat down next to him on the ledge.

“How about a deal?”

At Damian’s wary glance she continued.

“I tell you what I know, and you tell me what you know.”

It sounded like a trap.

“Why should I believe you know anything of use to me?”

Spoiler hummed as some people did when they were thinking, leaning backwards absentmindedly.

“Okay, how about this: I go first, and if I tell you something you don’t already know, then you tell me what you know.”

Damian thought it over. Her information could be useful. And she had promised to keep his lie from Father.

“That sounds agreeable.”

“Great!” Spoiler clapped her hands together, making Damian jump.

“That is not stealthy.” He hissed, and Spoiler winced in apology.

Tim stared at the numbers on his cell door.

1907

He didn’t know the cells had numbers on them.

It had gotten to the point where Tim was desperate for something to entertain him. He had a meeting with a shrink every two days, but other than that he was left alone for the hours that stretched between meals.

So far, most of what filled his thoughts were plans to escape.

He had a plan, of course, he had come up with one the day he got locked in here. Well, the day after (he was unconscious for most of the first day) but he hadn’t put it in motion yet.

Something was off.

Tim didn’t have a lot of evidence to support this, but the one piece he did have was overwhelming.

The spell. AKA the choker that Tim knew he shouldn’t have been allowed to keep.

But he had it.

He had it and his face wasn’t visible to anyone.

Tim hadn’t realised this for a couple days, the inhibitor collar kept it hidden, it was only when the shrink (he forgot her name) asked him about his “meta powers” that he realised what had happened. Thankfully he had managed to catch on quick enough to make up some explanation about genetics, but it was a near thing.

So. The choker. It was on.

And the lab was supposed to be abandoned.

The sample he was supposed to steal wasn't anything important, definitely not important enough to warrant 3 of the Titans as guards. Which meant someone tipped them off. It could have been anyone. It could have been, but Tim knew it wasn't.

Only one person knew about the choker.

Only one person knew he would be Seattle.

This was a test, and Tim had failed.

Tim's eyes remained on the numbers above his cell.

1907

Arkham didn't have 1907 cells. It simply wasn't big enough.

Tim spent the next few hours with his eyes stuck to those numbers, wondering how it was possible for his luck to turn so quickly.

“Nihilism can seem like an attractive option to those with no hope,” the shrink had not seemed to grasp that Tim was tuning out half her words, “But it is important that you do not let yourself fall into-”

“I think I’ll kill myself, when I get out of here.” Tim said. He wouldn’t, really, but he wanted to see what she’d say.

She drew in a breath, placed her pen at the top of her little therapist notepad, and looked at Tim with cool grey eyes.

“I cannot help you if you insist on making things difficult.”

Tim thought that was a weird way to react to an admittance of suicidal thoughts.

The session ended quite soon after that, the shrink refusing to go on when Tim kept on being “difficult”.

He was almost sorry, God knows he spent enough time in his cell as it was, but the mandatory therapy sessions were worse. Tim didn’t know who recommended her for the job, but it was a very bad recommendation. Or maybe she was just the only person insane enough to take the job.

Whatever. He would be out of here soon enough.

Tim had finally put his plan in motion. Why had he waited so long? It was a good question but not one he really wanted to answer. The truth would be that he was trying to figure out what Slade wanted him to do.

It was clear that the Seattle Incident was not an accident. Slade must have pulled some serious strings to get Tim put in Arkham and let him keep his choker. And the numbers- He knew what they were now. A message.

If luck wouldn’t help Tim then he would help himself. He’d never been very good at letting things run their course anyway.

Tim opened the door without much of a struggle.

It was difficult finding somewhere no one would look, but Tim’s secrets had finally proved useful.

The Drake’s house had been empty since Jack and Janet died and it showed. Dust covered every surface and there was a lingering smell of industrial cleaner.

Tim walked around the house for an hour. His feet remembered the hallways better than his head did. Every room stirred up some long forgotten memory, a time Tim thought he had put behind him, but one he strangely wished to return to.

He made his way to the upper floor of the house, nothing here had been touched. The furniture was still in place, there were still clothes in the closets. Not even Tim’s bedroom had been cleared out. All of it was just empty, forgotten shells of the people who once lived here. Like a faded photograph, where you just couldn’t make out one of the faces.

Then he heard a door creak open.

Someone was here.

Tim’s heartrate sped up. That wasn’t how Slade walked. Whoever it was, they were unknown to Tim and that made them a threat. All he had was some old clothes he had found in his father’s closet, and as much as it made his skin crawl to wear them it wasn’t like he had a lot of better options. He hadn’t managed to smuggle any weapons out of Arkham, but Tim thankfully had the foresight to take a knife from the kitchen.

He slipped it into his palm, lightly spinning it around in his hands a few times to get used to the weight of it.

This would have to do, Tim thought as he crept down the stairs, the person was in the living room, giving him the perfect opportunity to sneak up on them from behind.

As he reached the bottom of the staircase Tim paused, listening for sounds, but there was nothing except for the occasional shuffle of feet. Tim’s patience snapped, adrenaline urging him to move, to fight, after having been locked up for so long.

He shot around into the living room, not waiting to look at who it was before slamming them to the floor. Tim pinned them to the ground, his legs around their hips, the knife in one hand, above the person’s left eye, his other hand wrapped around their throat.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” The person choked out, which may have been the only thing that stayed Tim’s hand from plunging the knife into their face. Tim took a second to look at who had broken into the house.

He had blonde hair, and brown eyes, and was not wearing a school uniform anymore. Abruptly, Tim remembered the stranger at the crossing, the one who had fallen into a puddle with him- or rather, had fallen on Tim.

The guy tapped at Tim’s hand, the one wrapped around his throat.

“Can you-” Tim withdrew his hand, and pulled the knife back a bit, but did not let him get up from the floor.

“Who are you?” He demanded, while the guy gasped in air.

“I’m, uh, Bernard.”

“Okay, Bernard, you want to tell me why you’re here?”

“I was looking for you.”

The knife was now at Bernard’s throat.

“Why?”

“I, um, we met before-” Tim pressed the knife harder against his throat, just short of drawing blood, “I won’t tell anyone! I just- wanted to see you.”

That was the stupidest fucking thing Tim had ever heard. He told Bernard as such.

“Well, look, I’ve been following what you, and you don’t actually seem like that bad of a person-”

Tim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was something seriously wrong with this guy. Then again, there was something seriously wrong with Tim, so who was he to judge.

Regretfully, Tim got off Bernard, and started walking out the room.

He gestured to Bernard with the knife without looking.

“Leave.”

“No.”

Tim stopped in his tracks.

“What do you want?” He demanded, if this was a blackmail situation then he would be better off killing this guy now and getting out of Gotham as quickly as possible.

“Just... just give me a chance.”

“Excuse me?”

Tim couldn’t even begin to fathom what he was asking.

“Just...”

Bernard moved closer to Tim,

“...give me...”

He hooked two fingers through Tim’s choker,

“...a chance to...”

Tim’s mouth went dry,

“...show you what else...”

Bernard was so close Tim could count his eyelashes,

“...there is to living...”

Tim moved forward, capturing Bernard’s mouth with his own.

Technically, Tim had kissed people before. Strangers who he had thought looked good, both men and women, and it was fun but it was never... anything. It never came with the promise of more.

Bernard moved closer to Tim, pressing their bodies together, his hands sliding along Tim’s waist, his back, his neck, his jaw. Tim’s hands felt glued to Bernard’s waist, hesitant where it felt he should not be.

Bernard pulled away first, staying silent, waiting for Tim to speak first.

Which, after a beat of silence, in which Tim’s brain tried to compute what was happening, he did.

“I’ll hear you out.” Tim said it breathlessly, and he was certain his cheeks were flushed, but Bernard smiled and he wasn’t sure he really cared about how stupid he was being.

Bruce was brooding. That, in and of itself, was not a rare occurrence. Neither, it just so happened, was the person he was brooding about.

After a solid 12 hours of not being able to find Shrike, Dick had called the search off, telling the others to go home. If they hadn’t found any sign of Shrike by now he doubted they would be able to find anything else in time.

Dick had stayed out a few more hours with Bruce, before finally convincing the man to come back to the cave. He had since showered, dressed into casual clothes, checked up on everyone else, eaten, and finally wandered back down to the Batcave.

Bruce had sat by the Batcomputer, not doing anything very productive except for thinking. But, who knew, maybe the World’s Greatest Detective (as he had so humbly branded himself) had thought of something that might help them.

“We have to find out who he is.”

“Are you sure that would help us?” The man didn’t seem to have much of a life outside of the missions he did with Slade. From what Dick had noticed fighting him, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to take things easy.

“It would be a new lead.”

Dick nodded in agreement.

“Any idea where his home base is?”

“No. But I know where Slade’s is. One of his home bases, anyway.”

Dick knew they knew about this. They had left it alone until now, starting a war with Slade was not something to be taken lightly, but now with Shrike...

If it was true, if he was as young as they thought he was then he could end up much more dangerous than Slade has ever been.

“What’s your plan?”

“Motherfucker.”

“Swearing is rather unbecoming of you.”

Steph opted for peace and chose to ignore Damian, instead focusing on the screen in front of her.

“Did they have video games in the League? How are you so good at this?”

Steph could see Damian’s smug look out of the corner of her eye.

“I am simply superior, Stephanie.”

Steph threw the controlled down when Damian won yet another round of Mario Cart.

“What the fuck?” She muttered under her breath, standing up to get a glass of water.

Damian followed her into the kitchen. They were at her apartment, and it was technically a “strategy meeting” about Shrike (it was the only way she could get Damian to agree to come over).

“So, Stephanie-”

Steph didn’t push for Damian to call her Steph instead of her full name, it had taken her long enough to convince him to stop called her “Brown” altogether.

“-we will get on with the agreed upon topic for today’s meeting now, since we have finished obligatory friendly activities together.”

“Sure, lets do that.”

There was a paused in the conversation as Steph realised that Damian expected her to speak first.

“Uh, Shrike escaped from Arkham and then disappeared.”

Damian waited for her to continue.

“Is that it?” He demanded, when she didn’t.

“Pretty much.”

“Well, do you have a plan?”

“Do you?” Steph countered.

Damian took a deep breath like Steph was testing his patience, before saying, “We will make one together.”

Steph grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

Damian gave an exaggerated eye roll.

Tim had spent too much time in Gotham.

He knew that.

He also knew that Bernard was studying biology and physics, he knew Bernard’s parents could be a little overbearing sometimes, he knew that Bernard’s lips were indescribably soft, he knew the sound Bernard made when he-

Tim shoved all thoughts of Gotham and the people in it to the back of his mind.

Bernard was fun. He was also over now.

Tim felt a sense of dread settle in his gut as he walked back towards the base.

He had let Slade down. Now he would face the consequences.

Before long, he stood in front of Slade, his head bowed, his heart hammering in his chest.

“You failed.”

“I know.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Slade snapped. Tim did his best to supress a flinch.

“You failed. But you got out of Arkham. That is good enough.”

Tim’s head snapped up.

“We will no longer work together. You are free to work by yourself. That means that I will not interfere, whether it be for your benefit or detriment. But don’t forget that you owe me a debt, one I will call in one day.”

Tim felt like his heart had stopped. He was frozen in this moment, unwilling to do anything that might shatter the illusion of freedom.

“But until I do, you are free to do as you please.”

He was free to do what he wanted.

This may be the first time in Tim’s life that was truly free. He had money (Slade gave him his share from every job they did), he had a means of getting more (by now, he was pretty well established, if he wanted to do a hitman job, it wouldn’t take long to find one), and he had means of traveling around. Take off the choker and he was just another person.

Tim just had to find something he wanted to do.

What did he want to do?

He thought about the question for the rest of the day, and only one answer came to mind:

Tim wanted to see Bernard again.

It was weird.

This was weird.

Tim should not be here.

Despite all the thoughts spinning around his head, despite the anxiety curled in his gut that made him feel like throwing up, Tim raised his fist and knocked on the door.

There was a beat of silence where Tim felt like running away.

But, before he had to opportunity to, the door opened.

Bernard’s face was blank for a terrifying millisecond before he smiled.

“You came back!”

“I, um, yeah.”

He swung the door open and gestured for Tim to come in.

Tim and Bernard had spent three days together. During that time they talked about Bernard’s life. What he studied, what he did for fun, what his hobbies were. They had spent that time at the Drake’s old house. Tim had no idea what his apartment looked like. He never imagined – he never thought he would be trusted enough to be allowed where someone lived. To be allowed to know them so intimately.

Bernard’s apartment wasn’t big, but Tim found he liked it. The windows were open and the place had a fresh sort of feel to it. There wasn’t much in means of decorations but the minimalist style wasn’t one Tim minded.

Him and Bernard talked for hours.

They talked until the sun set and then they talked some more. They talked about anything and everything, Tim was desperate to know Bernard, to trust him, and he hoped Bernard was just as interested in him.

They talked and then they kissed and it was sweet and Tim felt like he was floating.

They kissed and then they laughed and then they kissed some more.

The next day they did the same thing, with Bernard teaching Tim how to cook some complicated meals, Tim messing up but smiling anyway because Bernard was smiling and for once messing up didn’t mean pain.

Tim showed Bernard how to tie some knots, it was the only part of his training he found peaceful. They practiced until Bernard made a joke about tying someone up that made Tim’s face flush red.

They kissed and Tim’s back was against the wall, and Bernard was holding Tim’s hands above his head and he was at a disadvantage but it was fun and exciting and he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t scared for the first time in years.

When he woke the next morning, his arms wrapped around Bernard, sunlight streaming through the windows, Tim felt an unusual sort of fear settle in his gut. Not the fear of getting hurt, or failing, but something he hadn’t felt since he was a kid.

Tim realised, with a stab of nostalgia, that he was scared of losing Bernard.

What he usually would have done was shove the fear down deep, he would plan and practice and get rid of whatever was causing it.

But... but maybe he didn’t have to do that this time.

Maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself to have this. This small portion of happiness. Maybe he could allow himself to have sunlit mornings and peaceful nights.

“It has been four months, and we still have no sign of Shrike.”

“We will find him,” Like always, Grayson was the voice of comfort in the room. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Father had arranged what Todd called a family meeting. Despite his presence in the nightly patrols, Grayson had made his disapproval at Damian’s presence clear, though had not attempted to remove him yet. The thought of his presence being unwanted by him caused a heavy feeling within him, one he quickly dismissed because he had no time for such trivial matters.

Besides, it did not matter much. Brow- Stephanie had been telling him everything the others said, as per their agreement.

“We have a new lead,” Barbara spoke, instantly drawing the attention of the room, “We have managed to locate one of Slade’s bases and have reason to think that is where he trained Shrike.”

Damian glanced towards Stephanie, wanting to see whether she had already known this was happening and kept the information from him. But her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, and her index and pointer finger were tapping absentmindedly; a habit that indicated she was thinking of a new strategy.

Her eyes shot towards Damian, she must have felt him staring, and they exchanged an indecipherable glance, before quickly looking away. No one else in the family knew of their deal, and they had agreed to keep it that way.

Their plan was well formed. At least, it was well formed before this new lead.

Someone had tipped the Titans off. It was clear the person knew Shrike would be there, and Stephanie said it was probably the same person who arranged for Shrike to be in Arkham. That meant they were connected to Shrike. And if they managed to track down the informant they would be able to track down Shrike.

It was a way for Damian to prove he was capable. The reasons Stephanie had agreed to assist were unknown to him, but so long as she did not betray him then he did not care.

“We will attempt to discreetly enter the island and find out as much as we can about Shrike. The team will be composed of three people.”

Damian pushed his shoulders back.

“I will participate in this mission.”

There were glances exchanged that angered him.

“Look, Damian,” Grayson started talking to him in the voice that meant bad news was coming. As if the whiny tone in which he delivered the news was supposed to ease anyone’s pain. “This is a very dangerous mission, and you’re new to the field. So, I think it’s best if you stay here.”

Damian gritted his teeth.

Before he had time to respond, Todd cut in, “Yeah, I’m out too.”

“I’ll go.” Stephanie offered, before sending an apologetic look Damian’s way. Her sympathy was utterly useless to him, but it was nevertheless appreciated.

Barbara sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, as she did when she was frustrated, which was often.

“We actually already discussed the team for this mission.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Todd demanded of her, sounding angrier than usual.

“Me, Bruce, and Dick.”

“What, so the rest of us don’t get a say anymore?”

“Of course you get a say. It was just quicker-”

“Wow, and here I was, thinking you actually valuated our opinions.”

“Your deliberate counterproductiveness is not only annoying, but proving their point.” Damian had thought that these meeting would be far more interesting. Everyone else was doing a fantastic job of proving him wrong.

“The team discussed,” Father spoke over Todd’s protests, “Was me, Nightwing, and Orphan.”

The team was, strategically, strong.

Cassandra shook her head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Shrike is not bad.”

“Cass-”

She shook her head again, making Barbara give up on trying to convince her.

Damian did not know why Cassandra refused to fight Shrike, nor did he care to ask, but the frustration in caused him was undeniable. But in this situation it served his purpose.

He glared at Stephanie to make her take notice of him, and once she did, she seemed to understand what he wanted her to do, nodding slightly before speaking up.

“I’ll go.”

Cassandra’s eyes shot to her, and if Damian didn’t know better he would say she looked upset.

“Okay. Spoiler, Nightwing, and Batman will go. Any problems?” Everyone waited around for a minute to see if anyone spoke up, before dispersing.

Tim put the duffle bag with all his worldly possessions (minus his camera and whatever other bits and bobs he still had at base) at his feet.

As of 10am today, he had an apartment.

Tm had an apartment.

One that was just his, with no strings attached. Well, not so much his. It, legally, belonged to a Timothy Brown.

Look, its not like Tim could go around buying apartments under the name of someone who died, like, five years ago!

And, well, Brown was simple, and easy, and not at all like Drake. It was a fresh start. One Tim desperately needed.

So now he was Tim Brown, a new resident of Gotham who travelled regularly for work, family matters, and every other excuse he could think of.

He was Tim Brown and he was dating Bernard Dowd.

He was Timothy Drake he might finally have a chance to live.

The only downside to this was that he had to take another hitman job to pay off the apartment without completely depleting his funds.

It wasn’t something Tim really wanted to do. The realisation surprised him. He had spent so long waiting to get out from Slade’s shadow, to be able to gain recognition for who he was rather than who he worked with, that the reality was startlingly depressing.

As Tim fixed his mask to his face the same question that had been in the back of his mind ever since he first kissed Bernard came to light.

Was it possible, for someone like him, to lead a normal life?

To be happy?

Chapter Text

Cass was glaring at her.

Steph shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She officially hated Gotham traffic.

Cass had been kind of distant since the meeting a week ago. Truthfully, Steph didn’t think much of it, Cass did this on occasion, retreating into solitude for some reason or another, but she always came back after a few days and she was always fine afterwards. But now that they were alone, she was pretty sure there was more to it.

“So, what’s up?” Steph’s voice came out an octave too high.

“The mission.” Cass wasn’t being very specific, but Steph didn’t need her to be. She knew that it was about the mission to Slade’s base.

Steph, being given the chance to explain, did not waste it.

“Me and Damian, we have a deal. To figure out what’s going on with Shrike. And because he couldn’t go on the mission I thought I’d volunteer, that way at least one of us would know what happened.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know Cass, I found the kid sitting outside of Arkham, he’s weird as fuck but a pretty good partner-”

“No. Why won’t you trust me?”

“I-” The simple question left Steph at a loss for words, “I do.”

“You do not.”

Steph may not be Batman’s daughter but she was smart as hell and her mind put together the pieces quickly. This was about Shrike. Cass kept on saying he wasn’t bad, that he was doing this against his will, but no one believed her. Including Steph.

“Okay.” Steph said slowly, “How about this?” Damian was probably going to kill her, “Why don’t you join us, me and Damain, that way, if we get to Shrike first, then we can all decide what to do.”

No Batman throwing around orders, her mind continued.

Cass looked at her for a long moment before nodding.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Steph drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, “Awesome.”

Now she just had to find some way to explain this to Damian.

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?”

This had been weighing on Tim’s mind for a while.

“That I kill people.”

Bernard took time eating his next spoonful of cereal.

“Well, I mean, It's not like you do it as a pastime.”

Tim did not. He was not trained in any other field and being a hitman was a quick (and dirty) way to make a lot of money quickly.

“And you don’t kill just, like, anyone,”

He tried to choose his contracts very carefully, his newest niche being CEOs of companies that were, in general, pretty shit.

“and bad people don’t have nightmares about the people they’ve killed.”

That last part hit Tim like a sack of bricks. He had told Bernard that in passing, as an explanation for the nightmares he had, but he didn’t really consider how Bernard saw it. Tim... he didn’t have that nightmare very often, but every now and then he’d wake up from a dream, and it would take him much longer than it should to figure out that he was covered in sweat, not blood.

Tim’s throat felt very dry.

“So, no, it doesn’t really bother me.”

Bernard was being very callous about this.

“Right.”

“Does it bother you?” Bernard asked, and upon seeing Tim’s confusion, he elaborated, “Killing people?”

“They’re bad people,” That was Tim’s usual excuse as for why he killed them. “I’m not doing a disservice to anyone.”

“Well, then does it bother you that it doesn’t bother me?”

“No.”

Bernard didn’t look like he believed Tim, but he let it drop.

“Okay.”

The question stuck in Tim’s mind for the rest of the day, despite his best efforts to forget it. Does it bother you? Killing people?

“You told her?!”

“Damian-”

“We had a deal!”

“I know-”

“Do you have a reason for betraying my trust like this?!” Damian’s expression was some combination of anger, resignation, and hurt. “I understand that you are closer to Cain than me, but the honour of the matter-”

“Damian.”

The kid was refusing to look at her, which, well, fair enough.

“I trust you. I just-” Steph ran her hands through her hair, “I needed to explain to Cass why I was going on the mission.” Damian still wasn’t looking at her, “She doesn’t think Shrike is bad, and isn’t that the whole reason we’re doing this? To find out whether he’s bad or not before Bruce does? Besides, she could be a good addition to the team.”

“You should have asked me first, then we could have assessed Cain and decided if she would be a good teammate together.”

“I should have. I’m sorry.”

Damian looked at her, and apparently whatever he saw was good enough because the next thing he said was:

“I will try and find a way to forgive you.”

Stephanie didn’t really know how to respond to that.

“Okay.”

There was another beat of silence before Steph decided to try and extend another olive branch.

“Maybe we should talk about the mission?”

Damain hesitated.

“Yes. That is a wise idea.”

“Get the Froot Loops.”

Tim turned his head to the side to look at whoever was talking to him, “What?”

The blonde woman tapped one of the boxes Tim was holding.

“Froot Loops, 100%. Definitely better than Cheerios.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Tim said, putting the Cheerios back on the shelf and the Froot Loops in his basket. It... had been a while since he had to buy cereal, and when he got to the shops he found he couldn’t quite remember which one he used to like.

“I’m Stephanie, but you can call me Steph,” The woman introduced herself.

“Tim.”

“Nice to meet you, Tim.” Her smile was infectious, and Tim could feel the corner of his mouth turn upwards.

“Likewise.”

“You come here often?”

“Just moved to the area, actually. You?”

“Lived here my entire life.”

“Wow.” After everything, Tim couldn’t imagine living in one place for his entire life. It sounded... normal. Boring.

“I know, right? It grows on you though.”

Tim hummed in compliance.

“So, what brings you to Gotham? We don’t usually get a lot of tourists.”

“Work, mostly.”

“Cool.” Steph nodded, “Well, if you want I can show you the area sometime, I know all the best places to eat.”

Tim glanced at her for a second.

“Yeah.” He agreed, aware that this was not something he should be agreeing to, “I might have to take you up on that.”

Steph grinned.

Tim left the store 10 minutes later with Steph’s number written on his hand in eyeliner and a promise to call echoing in the back of his mind.

Tim had copied Stephanie’s number down on to a piece of paper, thrown the paper away, picked it back up out of the trash and then thrown it away again.

Want and reason warred in his mind, part of him wanting to call Steph and let her show him around the neighbourhood, but the other, more survival orientated, part of him told him to throw the number away and never go back to the same supermarket.

Frustrated with his own indecision, Tim threw a pen across the room, watching as it hit the wall with a very unsatisfying thump.

Fuck it.

Before he could second guess himself again Tim typed the number into his phone and typed out a message.

Hello, it’s Tim

Tim hit send, ignoring the way his stomach twisted into knots.

The reply came a minute later,

heyy

i was starting to thing you weren’t actually going to message me lol

Tim decided not to tell her how close to the truth she was.

Sorry, I have been busy

dont worry i totally get it

If youre free sometime i can show you the best burger joint in gotham

Tim wondered idly if Steph was allergic to proper grammar.

I’m free on Thursday afternoon if that suits you?

ill see you then!!!

:D

Tim laughed a bit at the smiley face Steph sent before sending one back.

:)

The first thing Tim noticed was that Stephanie was wearing nice clothes. Not fancy, but definitely nicer than what she had been wearing at the supermarket.

The outfit consisted of baggy dark purple jeans with a thick black belt, a white top that wasn’t long enough to hide the sliver of her stomach that was showing, and a lilac hoodie that was unzipped and hanging loosely off her shoulders. The row of purple earrings she had in both ears completed the look.

Tim knew enough about fashion to know that while it had the illusion of causality, the clothes had been carefully picked.

With that thought in mind, he began to feel more self conscious about the outfit he had chosen. Simple blue jeans, with a long sleeved white top under one of Bernard’s short sleeved red shirts.

Steph looked up from her phone when he approached, a smile spreading across her face when she spotted him.

“Hi!”

“Hey.”

Tim returned the loose hug she gave him, friendly physical contact still unfamiliar to him.

“Is this the place?”

“Yep!”

The diner didn’t look like anything spectacular, but according to Stephanie it made the best burgers in all of Gotham. Tim, who hadn’t eaten a lot of burgers over the course of his life, wouldn’t have much to compare them to, but what better place to start than with the best?

They headed inside, Steph talking about the different menu options and Tim half listening while he scanned the diner, looking for possible threats and making note of all the exits.

The food was, as promised, divine, and Steph was a good conversationalist. Tim ordered the same burger as Steph did, but opted for lemonade instead of a milkshake.

During the meal Steph talked about the tourist destinations in Gotham, the places he had to see that were less well known, and scattered some general “Gotham survival tips” into the conversation.

Having had less than a few casual conversations in his life, Tim found himself unexpectedly enraptured by the things she was talking about, sometimes sharing things he had seen on his “travels” (aka. missions) that seemed to fit into the conversation.

Before he knew it, almost two hours had passed.

Him and Steph strolled out of the diner together, still chatting amicably, when Steph said:

“Oh! We should totally go thrifting!” Her eyes darted to Tim, “You aren’t busy after this, right?”

Tim shook his head, “Thrifting sounds fun.”

“Great!”

Tim walked with Steph to different thrift shops, half browsing the items, half watching as Steph assessed different items.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Tim asked at the second store.

“Sort of,” Steph said, holding two dresses up, “I’m going to this event, and I don’t really have anything to wear, but I don’t want to spend tons of money for just one party, y’know?”

Tim nodded, even though he didn’t know. Money had never really been much of an issue for him.

At the third shop Tim began looking through some of the nicer items, finding it much more interesting to look for clothes for Steph than for himself.

“What about this one?”

It was a baby blue sundress, nice enough but nothing spectacular.

“It’s more of a fancy party.” Steph said with a sigh.

Tim hummed in acknowledgement, before turning back to the clothes.

After a few minutes he struck gold.

It was a purple floor length dress, the colour seeming to be a favourite of Steph’s, with a sheer black fabric covering it, transforming it from something plain to memorising. Tim had found matching gloves, and with a little cleaning it could be perfect for a classy party.

“This one?”

Steph gasped when she saw it and Tim felt strangely proud of himself.

“Yes! That’s perfect!”

She tried it on straight away, doing a twirl to show it off.

They found matching heels with little trouble, and soon they were walking out of the shop.

“Thanks for going out with me today.”

Tim smiled, “It was fun.”

Steph waved as she walked away, and Tim found the usual ache that came with watching someone leave was absent. Maybe it was the knowledge that there would be another time.

It was good. That Tim was making friends. Being a normal person.

In truth, he was nothing like Bernard imagined him to be. Nothing like the media made him out to be.

He was caring, and kind, and listened to Bernard ramble on for hours. He was also bad at living life to the fullest. Always looking over his shoulder for a threat, never leaving behind his life of crime. Bernard knew that going in, but now that he knew that Tim was reluctant to go back... maybe he could help.

Maybe this would help.

Being able to be a normal person, with friends, and a boyfriend, and not quite a job yet. Maybe it would show Tim an out.

Bernard was not an idiot. He knew that even just by being near Tim he was putting himself at risk. Shrike had enemies. Enemies who weren’t afraid to play dirty. But maybe if Tim got out... maybe it wouldn’t have to come down to that.

Maybe they could live peacefully.

heyy

me and some friends are meeting up staurday to play video games

you want to join?

Tim chewed on the inside of his cheek. This was another arguably bad idea.

Sounds like fun

Where?

Then again, he seemed to be getting into all sorts of bad things lately.

Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

And that was how, two days later, Tim ended up in the most uncomfortable situation of his life.

Steph may have been easy to talk to but her friends decidedly were not.

Cassandra, or Cass as Steph called her, was silent, though not unfriendly. An air of danger hovered around her.

Damian was very formal. He also did not think a great deal of Tim. Usually Tim would have just told someone like him to fuck off, but Damian was three years younger than him and Steph’s friend, so he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well.

“They just need to warm up to you a bit.” Steph said apologetically, when her and Tim had gone to the kitchen to get snacks.

“They seem...” Tim hesitated a bit to think of a word that wouldn’t insult them or Steph, “...interesting.”

Tim’s lack of experience with video games was also not helping. He hadn’t played one since he was a kid, and his struggle with getting used to the controller only seemed to get Damian to look down on him and Cassandra to pity him.

“You should play Mario Cart with us next, Damian usually lets loose a bit when he starts getting competitive.”

Tim nodded. That was an idea.

When they walked back in the lounge, Damian and Cassandra moved away from each other that clearly indicated that they were talking (presumably about Tim) before they walked back in the room.

Before either him or Steph could say something, Damian spoke up.

“What is your name?” he asked, rather aggressively.

“Tim?”

“Your full name.”

“Timothy Brown.”

“Does Stephanie have a sibling we don’t know about?”

“What?”

Damian pointed at Tim, “Timothy Brown.” Then he pointed at Steph, “Stephanie Brown.”

“Oh.” Stephanie laughed, “Maybe you are my long lost sibling.”

Tim smiled, even though he knew with an unwavering certainty that he was not. Timothy Drake was an only child.

“Maybe.” He agreed just to keep the peace, ignoring the way his parent obituaries flashed in front of his eyes.

Mario Cart did indeed get Damian to loosen up a bit, and by the time the night was over Tim could safely say that they were on civil terms.

Cass still seemed to be wary of him, but she offered Tim a smile when he left. He smiled back.

“Thanks for inviting me over.”

“My pleasure.” Stephanie smiled like she really meant it.

Tim spent the walk home wondering about Steph’s strange friends, about how they held themselves a little bit too much like him and Slade.

Maybe there were consequences to Tim’s bad ideas after all.

Maybe they were much worse than he ever could have anticipated.

This... This wasn’t working.

Allowing the boy to become independent was a mistake.

When Timothy first brought up getting his own missions he was wary for this exact reason. He couldn’t let the boy separate himself from Slade too much. He was too good of an asset to lose.

Having him around all the time might be annoying, but it was much better for him to be dependant on Slade than to separate himself from him. He would hate to have to kill him after putting this much effort in.

He hadn’t thought that the boy might take his freedom to leave the life behind. He had been so... desperate when Slade first met him. So eager to please. Entirely too trusting. Easy to mold into whatever shape Slade wanted him to be.

And now... he was being distant. Not relying on Slade as much as he should be. It was something he’d have to fix.

There was no room for distractions, no room for mistakes in their line of work.

This was just another lesson he’d have to make sure Timothy understood.

“Okay, well, if he is Shrike, then should we even say something?”

“Why would we not?”
Despite the fact that it was only the three of them in the apartment Steph still felt the need to whisper.

“He doesn’t seem like a bad person!”

Cass nodded.

“He’s Shrike!”

“I know!”

“He kills people!”

“Not anymore!”

“He did it last week!”

“Maybe he just doesn’t have another option!”

“Always options.”

“Okay.” Steph put her hands up in a surrendering motion. “The mission is in three days. Lets just... wait until after that to decide what to do. If everyone else finds out on the mission, then problem solved. If not, then maybe what we find can help us come to a decision.”

“Shrike is our enemy.”

Steph thought about the tentative way Tim had eaten the food, like he expected it to be poisoned, she thought about the smiles that became less guarded the more she got to know him, she thought about the man with her last name, and she didn’t see an enemy in him.

“Maybe he isn’t.”