Awakening - Chapter 1 - Hercules_In_Nightsky (2024)

Chapter Text

"Can one lose himself in the living?
Can you be too drown in the unending velocity of life to remember the character of your own soul?
For how long we can drunkenly wander this infinite space
Before it consumes us?"

Tim walks on a highway.

All he knows is that he is alone, in this place. No cars, no wind, no time. Tim keeps walking. The sound of his soles against the concrete echoes in… in…

He floats in the silence, breathes it, it envelops him. Everything seems so big on the empty road. The sidewalk overlooks a precipice that he can’t make out, but that he can feel in the vertigo, in the way the air swirls around. A bridge? There is light everywhere, it swallows the horizon.

There doesn't seem to be an end, and Tim can no longer remember how long he's been walking. There is a ritualistic quality to it, and Tim can't stop. Each step seems to weave volatile images of what he's been, and like everything else in this place, they are blurred by the light. Cereal on a plate, cloth blowing in the wind, water wetting his hands.

The images dissolve with each blink, joining the blinding white that surrounds him and accompanies him on this journey. Opening a door, the smell of an old sofa, footsteps on tile, laughter. It's peaceful, this nothing. Tim can almost forget that color, darkness, or noise exist. He is a child again, wrapped in the warmth of not understanding that there is something beyond this simplicity.

There is a rational part, deep within himself, that knows none of this is real. Tim stops, trying to hold on to that thought. In the middle of the empty, it's the only anchor he has.

This isn't real.

He repeats it, and has the unmistakable feeling that this place is familiar. Slowly, the light clears a little, spreads its wings for him. Tim makes out a starry sky beyond, city lights shining in the distance, its sparks chirping like birds.

This isn't real.

…

I have to wake up.

Tim has barely finished forming the thought when he falls crashing into his body, and breathing again is such a shock that it blinds him, deafens him. He drowns in his attempt to remember how to stay alive.

Blurred noises materialize little by little, deformed and distant, they could be nothing more than a dream. But as fast as he managed to wake up, he begins to regain consciousness.

“ ― ase wake up, you have to wa —”

“—on Timmy! “Can you he―”

Noise, noise, noise. Like static, like the nothingness of the endless road. Someone had whispered to him… Wind?

“They’re escaping! We have to go n—”

The static dies in a burst. As if he had been submerged under water, and someone pulled him to the surface. Suddenly Tim feels everything much faster than what he can process. The lights of the lamp flickering, the sound of bullets, the smell of smoke, the stone he is lying on, his pulse boom, boom boom!

Amid his frantic awakening, Tim feels hands on his body, and fear devours him.

His screams are a sound he can’t recognize. Hoarse and primal and that split his face in two. It takes the person in front of him by surprise, and Tim manages to push him to the ground. He screams and beats with every instinct he has left, with all the muscle memory he can recall, wild and relentless. All Tim knows is he’s been a prisoner, and for the first time they have let him off his leash. He has to try.

So Tim attacks with all his might, maddened by a rage he has only just begun to remember.

The days chained, tied, sedated. The cold, the fear, the pain. The despair of every minute, the helplessness of not knowing what they might want from him. But there is another anger, deep and distant, that calls to him like an abyss. It whispers in his ear, and Tim doesn't know how to shut it up.

The highway…

Someone else grabs him from behind. This one is bigger and stronger, and Tim is so weak that he can't do anything when the other catches him in his arms. He writhes, screaming, the world spins.

“―s okey. Is okey, you are saf —”

Some mechanism starts working again inside his mind. He knows that voice.

“ Is alright, son, your alright.”

Bruce.

Bruce.

Bruce.

The arms hold him tight, his screams fall. Tim sees the blue and black suit on the floor, and finally recognizes it. Nightwing. Dick.

Tim looks around frantically. He's still in the cell, but the guards from the door have disappeared, and someone has blown up the entrance of the compartment. Tim himself, in his frenzy, has torn out most of the many needles and tubes he was connected to. There are no enemies left to defeat.

He just attacked his brother.

Dick holds his face, dripping blood, and looks at him, so disheartened that Tim feels all the strange anger fading away. His arms go limp, and Bruce holds on to him. He's still agitated and disoriented, anger giving way to a relief that catches in his throat. He wants to apologize, but all that comes out of his mouth is breathless babbling.

They came for him. Is over.

Batman's armor is hard and cold, but Tim clings to it in search of comfort, letting thick black gloves support his body as if it were made of water, and could slip through his fingers at any moment.

Dick slowly gets up, and his eyes wander between Bruce and Tim. Batman allows himself to close his eyes during the embrace, and Dick watches the knight's facade fall for a moment. When he recovers, his gaze goes to the stone table where they had found Tim, surrounded by invasive machinery that glows, menacingly, around them.

"We found him," Nightwing says into the com. “He’s alive.”

He must have let something on in his voice, because someone makes his way through the rubble of the entrance to try to get closer, and Nightwing is quick to slow him down. Red Hood pushes him back defensively, but stops when he sees the scene in front of him.

The chamber is a clean square of smooth white walls, sickeningly bright, stained only by the gold that seems to slowly take over its perfection. Hundreds and hundreds of tiny gears, forming a carpet of golden metal that stretches like weed, buzzing mechanically in constant motion like a colony of ants. It invades the walls and the floor and rises to the white stone table that stands in the center, shining like crystal under the pale light of the laps. A macabre altar of metal and cables.

Batman’s dark figure disrupts the clarity of the room and imposes in the middle of it. A deep black shadow protecting Tim’s naked figure from the violence of the light.

Tim looks like a corpse. Covered in cuts, swollen, beaten, empty. Dyed red from head to toe. Batman takes off his cape and covers him with it.

After a moment, Jason finds Tim's eyes, so wide they could pop out of their sockets, looking around and slowly understanding what's happening.

Jason steps back, dizzy.

"We have to go."

***

The plane's door squeaks shut, and for a second, in the closed clean air of the cabin there is a tense silence. Everyone watches expectantly as Batman places Tim on the stretcher and hooks him up to the monitor.

Red Hood rips the helmet off his head, huffing.

“What the hell was that?”

Batman removes his cowl as well, and although he seems to be thinking about a response, it doesn't come. Bruce becomes absorbed in the task of checking Tim's vitals.

Dick colapses on the floor of the plane, catching his breath. The last few minutes blur together in his mind. The fight, the initial confusion, running through tunnels until reaching the only well-protected cell. The first terrible moment when the wall collapsed and they saw what was behind it.

Now, the holes from where the needles went bleed in trickles that slip through Tim’ body and drip onto the white of the stretcher, and Dick realizes that he's about to tear off a piece of his tongue with how hard his jaw is clenching.

Duke takes a breath, dares to look in Tim's direction, and almost immediately looks away. He walks over to the co*ckpit to contact Oracle and sits there, watching the night through the glass.

They fly over kilometers of uninhabited mountains in southeast Mexico, in a strategic lost point where the signal doesn't reach and the population is scarce.

Now it's Damian who breaks the silence. “They knew we were coming.”

He sits up carefully, frowning, looking at his own bruised knuckles. Dick notices the way Damian tries to hide the shaking, and snaps out of his trance to get up and wipe the traces of blood off his fingers. From moment to moment, he turns to see Tim on the bed.

Jason doesn't dare look. His red helmet hangs weakly from his fingertips.

“How is he?”

His voice comes out shaky, but there is a distinctive, seething anger in it.

Bruce finally stops for a moment.

“He is stable. I gave him a mild sedative to help him sleep. I think he needs it.”

“Good. Now, what the f*ck were they doing to him?”

“I don't know yet .” Bruce says, slowly stroking Tim's hair. “I was only able to recover a small sample.”

Bruce holds up the tube against the flashing lights of the plane. At first glance, it looks like plain water, transparent and clear, but every small movement makes it shine more than it should, reflecting with small holographic glitters.

“His pupils aren't dilated, his pulse is normal given the circ*mstances, and he appears alert. I don’t think it’s any known drug.”

“He seemed a little too alert, don't you think?” Dick says, finally looking up. “He attacked me.”

“We surprised him. Is likely he was in shock.”

Dick nods and has the impression that he sounds stupid. Of course Tim was going to act strange after being kidnapped, after having spent a month suffering from god knows what in that place. But he feels an unusually terrible premonition. The emptiness he saw in Tim's eyes terrifies him.

“I don't like this. They were gone when we got there, almost like…”

“Almost like they wanted us to get him,” Damian says. His somber tone makes everyone turn his direction, and he looks away. “We have to consider the possibility that Drake is being used against us.”

"I'm not sure. The way he was disposed seemed ritualistic.” Bruce replies. The candles, the carved table, the symbols, the careful way they had placed Tim's hands on his chest and brushed his hair. “This cult may have just wanted a symbol to worship or... sacrifice.”

“Cults create weapons too.”

From his seat, Duke feels the tension growing on the back of his neck and has the sense not to say anything. He doesn't need to anyway, everyone has already reached the same conclusion. Damian is right, the cult knew they would be there. They had abandoned the facility, leaving behind nothing more than a couple of guards. And Tim, lying in a room of lights.

The silence of the night immerses them in restless expectation. Jason sits next to Dick, taking deep, hoarse breaths.

“Did you see those creepy ass machines?”

Yes, he saw them. Dick doesn't think he'll be able to get them out of his head. But for now, he leans back on the seat and closes his eyes, relaxing in the relief of having his brother back. That's all he allows himself to feel for now. The rest can wait until dawn.

The sound of the monitor marking Tim's heart rate fills the air. After a few minutes, a melody slowly materializes, suspended in the midst of all their worries.

Ground Control to Major Tom

Ground Control to Major Tom

Take your protein pills and put your helmet on

They stand still, processing the song that comes from the speakers, creating an echo. Duke doesn't take his eyes off the front, and turns up the volume a little more.

“It's one of his favorites.” He says. “You should all get some rest.”

Ground Control to Major Tom

Starting countdown, engines on

Check ignition and may God's love be with you…

***

Tim doesn't quite believe he's safe until they land. Stepping off the plane, still dizzy and fragile, the familiar smell of dampness, plastic and metal from the Batcave brings a comfort that Tim didn't know he felt toward that place.

Someone is already there to greet him. Steph freezes as soon as she sees him, and Tim notices the way she holds back from hugging him. He must look worse than what he expected. Even Cassandra, also waiting a little further back, hesitates before putting a hand on his shoulder to let him know she's happy to see him.

He still feels like he's dreaming. But at the same time it's as if he's just returned from a particularly tiring mission. He is in a state of imbalance that he has only subtly felt in sleepless early mornings finishing homework, during that brief moment before dawn begins when the world seems supernaturally toned down. He sits on the stretcher and gets lost watching the bats on the ceiling flapping their wings among the stalactites, while Alfred and Bruce check him over and look for wounds that are out of sight.

“What is he— is it blood?” he hears Steph whisper.

Tim finally lifts his head and sees his reflection for the first time on one of the screens. He is unrecognizable. The wounds and bruises have deformed his cheeks and the lines on his face, he muscles strained and swollen in ways they have never been before.

This body does not feel like his own. His skin is covered in a dry red layer, and yes, it looks like blood. It even smells like rust. When he pays more attention he realizes that it is not entirely arbitrary, they have drawn swirls and lines on his body. When Alfred reaches out to wipe him with a wet towel, Tim stops him abruptly, grabbing his wrist.

“It's a pattern,” he says. For some reason he thought he would be able to speak normally, but that's not the case. His voice is painful, hoarse and worn. “Take a picture, I want to catch those assholes.”

The silence that follows is heavy, and Tim realizes that he took everyone by surprise. Is the first words he has said since his rescue. He gently lets go of Alfred, before they continue to stare at him like he's crazy. Fortunately, Bruce disperses the attention with a nod. He takes the pictures.

While Alfred takes a blood sample, Tim notices a scene in the background. Dick refuses to take his eyes off him as Cass appears to whisper something in his ear. Tim assumes it's about how beat up his face is. But Dick quietly dismisses her, as if trying to keep Tim from noticing the conversation, until his nose begins to bleed.

Right, I did that.Tim thinks.

Bruce comes over to help Dick and makes him sit down. It disperses the attention enough for Tim to steal a few seconds and think about what just happened. About the fact that he’s back. The memories overflow when he removes the plug he has on them, blinding him in flashes of ice water, days of starvation, maddening loneliness. The Tim that did all that mocks him. It's too much, and before it consumes him, Tim puts the plug back on.

They give him a clinical gown and take sample after sample, they heal the holes where the needles went. It's a violent image, now that he can see it in full, the wounds swollen and fresh. Right before he goes to rinse his body on a shower, Steph finally dares to approach. She hugs him gently at first, hesitantly, but soon succumbs to the desire to sink into his arms. Tim strokes her hair out of instinct. It's soft, maybe the softest thing he's touched in weeks.

Before he knows it he's clean, with white bandages all over him, being carried by Bruce towards his room. Once he leaves him on the bed, Tim silently asks to be left alone, and he agrees. He knows him well enough to know that Bruce is probably eager to start analyzing all the evidence and get to work. Bruce is quick to prove him right. He reaches out and a strong hand holds his cheek.

“Whoever this is to you, I will take care of them.”

Tim feels a piece of himself return to his body when he understands what it means.

It means he cares.

Bruce's eyes are a cold mirror. Tim sees his own fear, relief, and yes, even anger reflected in them. He finds warmth in the recognition that there is a secret language he and Bruce share, they always have. He knows his mind almost as he does his own. It's scary, sometimes overwhelming, and it's safe, familiar. Bruce hugs him and then leaves. Tim appreciates it.

Although pajamas have been left for him next to the bed, Tim only takes off the robe and folds it carefully, running his finger along the sewn edges. He lies down like that, only in shorts and bandages, sinking under the covers. It's warm in here, and he quicky falls asleep.

***

Tim wakes up several times only to fall asleep again. A whitened gap of daylight peeks through the curtains, but the prospect of getting up seems too foreign. He's sure he should be feeling something else, and after a while the anxiety of not knowing what eats him away.

The others are worried, but Tim can't do anything more. It's an uncomfortable feeling. Tiredness, not being able to rest, guilt.

One by one they come through the door, sit next to him and try to cheer him up. But for Tim they are nothing more than mirages. Alfred, more than anyone, brings him food and asks him if he needs anything. After the fourth, fifth time he comes in, Tim remembers how much he had missed him, and reaches to hug him. Alfred hugs him back, and whispers how relieved he is that he's home. As he walks out the door, Tim has the feeling that he's more worried now than before, but doesn't have the strength to explain himself.

It takes days for him to regain enough awareness of what he is doing. But stays under his covers, in that warmth, until the wounds begin to bother him again. Still, he doesn't say anything.

“Get up for me, Tim.” Bruce tells him after a while, taking him by the hand. “We have to change your bandages.”

As Alfred carries out the meticulous task of checking and re-disinfecting each of his wounds, a small crowd gathers in the hallway. They seem to be waiting for something, and Tim begins to find it irritating. When he discovers their eyes, they leave.

***

The world is reduced to his bed, his room, to a routine that he forgets every day. It doesn't take long for Tim to feel completely useless, confined there, for the first time in his life knowing absolutely nothing. He doesn't know how he feels, how to help himself, how to get out of this hole he's fallen into.

No, he hasn't fallen, he’s been thrown into it. Tim reminds himself of this all the time, furiously, wondering if the cult could have known him well enough to know that this, this helplessness, was what it took to defeat him. He can't not know who he is, he can't not know what comes next. If there is something he has always been proud of, its his ability to know, to discover, to find a way.

But he doesn't know why they kidnapped him, he doesn't know what they wanted from him. He doesn't know who they were. He still doesn't know what they did to him during all that time and he doesn't know why he still feels the cold of the stone table at night.

So Tim stays in bed, and waits to find out something he can say.

***

Jason can feel his breathing becoming heavy, the pressure in his chest increasing. The bright light from the screen hits him in the face, making him dizzy, but he doesn't even have the strength to look away. Beside him, Dick's eyes darken as they scan the medical file. It's the middle of the night, and they have come looking for answers to calm an anguish that has been devouring them. They couldn't wait for Bruce's conclusion, and frankly, they didn't really trust him to tell them the whole truth either.

“They would beat him, Dicky,” Jason says, shaking with fury. “Every f*cking day …”

He doesn’t need any medical experience to know that. He knows about getting beat up. Jason wants to scream and smash the screen into dust. The emotions hit his head, and he purses his lips to stop himself from speaking.

Jason feels it's almost selfish, the kind of thoughts that attack him in those moments. But he can't help to see himself in the Tim of the screen, broken, with an anger in his eyes that seems to penetrate and destroy every other thought.

But Tim is not Jason. He can't be. This story isn’t suppose to keep happening.

Dick clutches his face and receives a painful reminder that his nose is broken. He huffs, frustrated, and smashes his fists into the keyboard. He doesn't say anything, but Jason feels it anyways. He blames himself.

And Jason, God forgive him, almost feels the need to hate him for it. To shake him and tell him yes, it's all your fault. He's the one who's supposed to care, who swears to be better than Bruce. The older brother.

Someone was suppose to protect Tim. But those thoughts are an all-too-familiar poison, and Jason swallows it before his mouth spits it out. It wouldn't be fair, and he knows it.

None of this is.

***

Between mists and restless dreams, Tim hears them arguing. It's a disappointing routine. Dick yells, Bruce tries not to yell back. The conversations are cut off when Jason responds with invasive anger, and the rest push and punch each other as they try not to drown in it. Alfred sounds tired, Damian loses his patience. Duke answers back with a wit none of them knows how to handle.

Tim's not sure how it is that he can perceive this daily paraphernalia, but he wishes he couldn't. Sometimes the silence is so deep Tim feels like he's not awake, the house becomes too empty. But sometimes everything sounds terribly loud. The arguments echo through the tapestry hallways and high ceilings as if the manor had grown accustomed to them.

Tim had done it too, he realizes. He doesn't know why it irritates him so much now. They keep him awake and fuel that anger that has been hitting him since he returned. It's getting harder and harder to shut it up. Maybe he just needs to sleep.

***

That night, the nightmares begin.

Unknown, threatening places, labyrinths of rubble and fire and explosions. The aftermath of a battle. Sometimes he is covered in blood again, he feels a baseless but implacable despair. Sometimes he dreams that he falls. Of a building, of a plane, of an abyss. He feels like his bones break and he is left alone to crush under a city’s remains.

He aways wakes up screaming. It's so vivid, it feels so personal, that it takes several minutes for him to feel like he is awake. To convince himself that this, his dark bed in the eternal night of Gotham is reality. The first few times, Dick and Bruce stay to keep him company, dozing in a chair next to his bed until he falls asleep again.

"Don’t you guys have patrol or something?” he tells them after a few days, with an abrasive tone. “I'm fine. Is just a rough patch, okay?"

After insisting several times, they listen to him. They go on patrol, and Tim feels a little better now that they're not completely focused on him. He gets used to nightmares, and learns to suck up the screams when he has them. He doesn't dare wake up Alfred or Duke, the only ones left in the manor when night falls.

He's had nightmares before. Tim convinces himself and convinces Bruce that it's not that big of a deal. He can handle it. If anything, the nightmares are confusing most of the time, disorienting by how alien they feel despite the visceral reaction they provoke. He concludes that they may be scattered pieces of the many battles he has fought, being mixed together by his stressed mind to torture him. But a part of Tim still wonders why now, and why he doesn't recognize anything he sees at night.

One day, he wakes up on another planet. He's not sure how, but Tim knows from the moment he opens his eyes that he is not on earth. The sky is a dirty, pale yellow, and the air is filled with the dust of a destructive event. Clouds of smoke and debris float like snowflakes.

Colossal stone structures surround him, torn to pieces. They resemble something like giant stars, looming over him while their destroyed parts are scattered. Everything is so strange, and Tim feels so insignificant, that panic takes over him. He's not sure why, but he knows this place is dangerous.

The next thing he feels is the devastation. He is standing on a battlefield. Among the rugged piles of rock and metal he sees people. Tim doesn't know them, but a hole forms in his chest instantly.

“Did we just lose?” says a man, the only one standing.

Did we just lose?

Did we just lose?

Did we just lose?

He is falling into darkness, choked by green smoke that numbs his senses. The air fragments and breaks like glass as Tim crashes into it. He screams, trying to grab onto something to stop his fall. Something catches onto his hands, sticks to his body and spreads to swallow him whole. I paralyzes him, he can't get rid of it.

Spider webs.

Tim still feels like he is falling when he wakes up, in a panic. He was screaming, he feels it in his throat when the world stops spinning. Footsteps run across the hallway and throw the door open.

Duke enters, slightly agitated, and when Tim refuses to look his way, Duke carefully closes the door.

“You okay?”

For some reason, Tim has to muster up the courage to find his words.

“I'm fine.”

Duke still doesn’t leave.

“Come on man, my bed is sh*ttier than yours.” he makes Tim move, and settles next to him, pulling the blanket to wrap around them both. Tim's still shaking. “Why don't you put some pajamas on? Is getting cold.”

Tim turns his back on him. Let’s the heat Duke's body radiates comfort him.

The room is full of blues. Passing lights and silhouettes filter through the window and create a slow show of shadows on the walls. It's a windy night.

Tim half expects Duke to be asleep when he speaks.

“It was always cold, where they had me.” He whispers, almost as if he were talking to himself. He gathers a little more courage when Duke doesn’t say anything. “But they never gave me any clothes.”

“Yeah?”

For some stupid reason, his eyes start to fill with tears. Tim searches deep within himself to try to understand why, but he can't find it. Since he came back, it's like there's a chained door separating him from his own feelings. He can't reach them.

The same pajamas from the first night remain folded on the closet, and Duke watches them. “I don't think Alfred would care. If you tell him you don't want it.”

I want it.Tim wants to say.

There's something in Duke's tone that comforts him, strangely. Everyone else, he's not sure how to respond to their concern, it strains him to the bone. Maybe it's because they see the same weakness he feels and that it's driving him crazy. He is supposed to be more mature than this, he is the intelligent one, the one who does not break.

But Duke speaks to him with a different kind of caution. Even when he tries to help him, there is an underlying sense of wanting to follow Tim's lead. Everything he says carries an expectation that Tim will have to approve it. It's subtle, hard to see amidst all the cunning intelligence Duke carries with him. Now Tim wonders how he couldn't see it before.

“Maybe try to talk to them. Right now, there just being weird because―”

“Because they think I went cray cray ?”

“Dude, nobody says cray cray anymore.”

Tim taps him on the shoulder, and it’s so weak it's pathetic. But he feels Duke smile.

“Nobody thinks you're crazy, okay?”

“Nah, they just think I'm too useless now.”

"What? No! Nobody …” the big breath he takes to continue talking is enough to make Tim feel guilty immediately.

“Do― don't lisen to me. You have nothing to worry about, Duke.” The voice that comes out of his mouth is more reminiscent of Red Robin. Confident, calculated. It's the closest he's come lately to sounding like his usual self. “I'll be back in no time. Can you tell them that?”

“Why don’t you?”

When he can't find anything else within himself , Tim says the truth. “I― I don't really know .”

Duke settles further into bed, like he is preparing to sleep. “Pff. You couldn't be useless if you wanted to, man.”

I don't think you are useless. He seems to say.

"Okay."

They hear soft footsteps going up the stairs. A panting that runs along the hallway. They both seem to hold their breath until the footsteps recede.

“I know you got in trouble with Bruce.” Tim says suddenly. “You didn't have to.”

He feels uncomfortably guilty that Duke thought that defying orders and sneaking out to participate in his rescue was a good idea. He heard them, the morning after the rescue, Duke snarking at him and Bruce speaking in that tone so cold that only someone with a similar mind could decipher portrays genuine concern. But more often than not, Bruce just sounds too harsh.

Like then, Duke reacts defensively. “Bruce isn't the boss of me, and you…”

You.

Tim isn't sure what Duke meant to say, but that word is enough to remind him that he's the only reason Duke put himself in danger. Tim's mind seems to want to swallow him again, in catastrophic what if's.

“Look,” Tim gets up, changing to a sitting position. His voice is strict, and although he tries to soften it, with each word his tone becomes more somber. “I don't want you to ever do that sh*t for me, alright?”

“I'm not afraid of Bruce.”

“Great. That's not the point. I don't want you to take risks for me.”

I'm supposed to protect you. I can take it. I'm stronger. That was stupid. Why are you so reckless? I hold the danger. I keep you safe.

All the things Tim wants to say but will never reach his mouth.

“This ain't my first family, genius.” Duke says, and Tim recoils a little. “That’s what family does. We protect each other.”

Tim freezes for a moment, and it takes his mind a while to analyze Duke's body language to realize that he's a little agitated. The words beat in his throat and get stuck there. He lies down again, dizzy.

“You don't want me to worry? Then get better.” Duke's voice sounds shaky for the first time.

Finally, Tim realizes what his tone means. He knows it far too well, no matter how hard he would try to hide it. That infuriating nervousness at the possibility of disappointing, of the words sounding stupid. He's used it before, with his father, with Bruce, with the older boys at school he admired. But above all, with Dick.

Tim's mind races trying to think of what to say. He has to find a way to make him feel better. But what could do it? After a few seconds, he thinks about what he would want in this situation, what would bring him some peace, and finds that it's the same thing the rest of the family has wanted all this time: answers.

Duke deserves them. A little clarity, certainty. But Tim feels the cascade of memories, barely contained by its plug, and Tim doesn't think he can do it. He doesn't think he can expose him to that. Even if Duke is as tough as one can be, even if he has seen almost as many horrors as him and come out the other side stronger. Even so, Tim drowns in the helpless desire to protect him.

f*ck, Duke, you are too soft.It is a dangerous, dishonest thought. Duke would hate him for it. Tim starts to hate himself for thinking it.

Suddenly he feels inside that cell again, hanging by his wrists, the men in white approaching him, placing their hands on his body...

The old anger rises like bile in his throat, scratches him and climbs over his skin. No one ever told him that anger could be so painful, but he feels it breaking his body from the inside.

Tim jumps out of bed, moving away from Duke. He doesn't trust himself in that moment, he has to get this out somehow. He grabs his desk chair and throws it across the room. “Jesu– sorry, f*ck! Sorry … I’m sorry.”

He takes a terrible-sounding breath, like he's going to have a panic attack. Duke stands up, and Tim forces himself to take another deep breath before worrying him any more than he already has.

Duke is looking at him hard, every line of his face accentuated. Tim manages to bottle up the anger, compact it a little, and sits down on the edge of the bed again, agitated.

Come on, say something. He thinks to himself. Anything.

Duke is still looking at him, and Tim wants to believe he's not disappointed.

“I had to be someone else there… something else, to survive,” his voice is weak again. It surprises Duke. “I guess I just… need some time to let him go.”

It's the closest he dares to telling the truth. It takes Duke a while to react. Now, against the light, Tim can only see his silhouette in the dark, and feels that this is another one of his nightmares. Jeez Duke, I'm sorry.

Duke lies down next to him again and prepares to sleep. Tim takes it as his way of saying he forgives him. He settles under the covers too, looking at the ceiling.

He thinks about Dick, about whether maybe he would have had something better to say in this circ*mstances. He probably would. Even with all his bumps, he has always been better at this.

No, not always. Jason is living proof.

Tim wants not to resent his brothers for being so imperfect. At the end of the day, he would have to hate himself too.

“I'm really f*cking up this big brother thing, huh?” he says softly.

Duke tenses next to him, and Tim thinks maybe he crossed some line. He's only called Duke brother a handful of times. But their relationship has felt that way long before he learned how to verbalize it. It had been a relatively new experience for Tim. After all, Damian never allowed him to get that far.

They’re better, he wants to think. All of them. Despite his recent irritability toward his brothers, Tim has tried to convince himself that it's just an old wound reopening. It will close again, eventually. They are not the type to give up anyways.

“You could tell them; I think you should tell them… I mean, whatever you think you can say.”

“I know, I'm sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, man.” He sounds almost irritated, until he thinks about it. “It wasn't your fault, any of it. You know that, right?”

"I know."

But he didn't know it. Or at least he hadn't thought about it. It makes him… sentimental, and he feels stupid. Maybe he should have thought about it, maybe he needed someone to tell him. Tim feels he finally begins to decipher some part of what has been building up in his chest.

He's been feeling pathetic since he came back. Pathetic for screaming and attacking Dick when they rescued him. Pathetic for not saying anything. For hiding in his room for so long without knowing how to get back. Pathetic for feeling so lost.

But he doesn't feel pathetic now. There is no shame in this sentimentality, and Tim feels light.

How do you do it?He wonders, looking at Duke.How do you make everyone feel safe?

“I'm glad you’re my brother, Duke.”

It's an oddly raw statement. So naked and open that Tim almost expects him to recoil, to leave, to make a joke. But Duke is much smarter and mature than Tim had ever given him credit. He should try to shake that habit.

“Me too.”

Is confident and vaguely cheerful, like most of the things Duke says. Tim prays nobody ever takes that from him.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

***

They gather around his bed, and Tim feels uncomfortable. They do this from time to time, when his bandages need to be changed or his temperature checked. He's not exactly intimidated, but it's like he's holding a bomb, and everyone is waiting for him to detonate it. Is strange.

Today they want to do more tests. He has been having unprompted breathing difficulties for a few nights now, and they look too much like asthma attacks. Except Tim has never had asthma, and Tim is also pretty sure regular asthma attacks don’t trigger a near catatonic state after.

He is back to being silent, a traumatized, idiotic part of his brain seems convinced that if he opens his mouth and dares say anything the attacks will start again. Tim has been listening to his family argue about his lack of words, it seems to be starting to freak them out. Huh. Is almost funny.

Almost.

Bruce approaches with the syringe and asks Tim to remove the bandages from his forearm. When Tim does so, it takes him a moment to understand why Bruce stops, and Tim looks down at his arm. Green and purple skin, holes that have only just begun to heal but look painfully red around the edges.

“Hell, Bruce, have you given him any break from the needles?” Dick snaps at him. He seems irritable. Probably has been for a while now. “That looks infected.”

Bruce lowers the syringe and asks permission to take his arm and examine the area. When Tim doesn't react as usual, Bruce gently lifts his arm.

Jason is there too, leaning against the door frame, in a more threatening position, although Tim doesn't think that last part is on purpose. But he looks like he would like to be anywhere else. Bruce sighs and as he thinks, he keeps his hand on Tim's.

“Have you experienced any more symptoms, Tim?”

There's no answer, Tim just stares at the light layer of dust on Bruce's shoe.

Dick is still staring at Tim's arm, looking nauseated. “How the f*ck did you not notice this when you were poking him around…?”

“Dick, I think you should go for a walk until I'm done, I can take it from here.”

“Clearly you can't,Bruce, you're hurting him.” Dick responds, in a tone so aggressive that a fight is felt coming.

Jason rolls his eyes. Tim is tempted to do it too. They argue, and Tim soon dissociates himself from the conversation.

Damian, who's been staring at him this entire time from his desk chair, looks bored. But Tim's mystery-hungry mind nimbly catches a quick change in his expression. He is dreading the outcome of this.

“I won't force him to talk.” Bruce says, lowering his voice, as if there's any room for discretion when they're both standing right in front of him. Dick answers something under his breath that Tim can't decipher, but it sounds so spiteful that he almost doesn't want to know.

It's such a stupid discussion. It's the first thing Tim can think of. He must be making a face, because the next thing he knows, Jason is staring at him, and he's frowning.

“Hey Dicker, can you and Barbie don't turn everything into a f*cking fight?”

The room goes silent, and Dick reacts as if he's been electrocuted. Jason's tone makes him bristle, but he doesn't dare move a muscle. The tension no longer escalates, but now they are suspended in it. Tim is starting to feel anxious.

“I will give Tim some antibiotics and we can discuss the blood test later.” Bruce's stoic voice declares. “Does that sound agreeable to everyone?”

Tim is suddenly aware of how much he appreciates Bruce's formality. How comfortable he feels in it. Is stable ground, safe. At least for now.

Bruce changes his bandages in silence, and Dick presses his lips together to keep from saying anything else, watching Bruce's every move with far too much intensity. Tim wonders what this is all about.

Right, about me. They've been arguing about me for days.

He remembers what Duke said the other one night, about telling them something, whatever he felt he could say. Give them a piece of certainty like he gave one to Duke. Tim can feel Jason's exasperated breath mixing with his stubborn refusal to go. Can feel Dicks effort to give him an easy-going smile every time he looks in his direction. He remembers Damian got there before everyone else, and asked with a harsh voice if he was disposed for visits yet.

He lifts his eyes and locks them with Bruce, all steel and blue and shadows, and the impulse of shielding them from the truth turns little.

A piece. He can give them that.

“You found me in the machine room.”

His voice seems to shatter something in the air. None of them can hide how stunned they are. Tim keeps talking before he can regret it.

“That's what I called it anyways, but I wasn't always there. Most of the time they kept me in a chamber deeper down, that's where I slept. I had a bed at first, but they took it after I tried to escape using the springs on the mattress.” He licks his lips, head suddenly hot. “They would beat me with some kind of staff to bruise me and take notes. Or you know, as punishment for trying to escape.”

He makes the mistake of glimpsing at Dick, who's bad mood is completely gone. There is only pain in his eyes.

But Tim can't stop now. “They had another room, to tie me. From the ceiling, by the wrists, while someone threw cold water at me until I couldn't breathe. Afterwards, they would make me fight one of them. I think it was some sick… circus animal logic. Rail me up so I would fight more aggressively. I won though, every time, and I honestly don't know what would have happened if I didn't. If I won, they just liked to touch me afterwards …”

Tim hasn't entirely realized what he said until he stops. Saying it out loud is such a punch in the stomach and he is so dizzy he may actually throw up.Great Tim, you're a genius, why would you say it like that?

It must be less bad than what it sounds like. But there are still things he can't bring himself to say. Like the fact that he would let them touch him, because at least it meant surviving one more day. It meant they liked him. He can't tell them that in the heat of the fight, shaky and out of himself, he felt less alone.

The cult would cheer for him, pressed against the metal bars, chanting his name. After a while, he adapted, he had always been good at it. But Tim feels guilty at how easy it was this time. After a few victories, the pain was routine and the cold a violent motivation.

He…God. He started tolike it.The intensity fading the cold away, the rush of having to remember his training is a split second, the freedom of knowing there was no other stakes other than himself. Euphoria so blinding he would not remember who he was for terrifying, long minutes.

Tim can't tell them that it was the only time he ever felt in control. More than that, he felt powerful. And it was addicting.

Tim takes a breath and looks directly at Bruce.

He is met with a cracking attempt at composure in his eyes. But the mask is faltering. Tim tries to tell himself that he is Batman, he won't fall apart on him. But the thing is, he has. Is the reason they meet. He has seen how deep Bruce Wayne can sink. And for a long moment, Tim fears he said too much.

Whatever little peace there was left in the room is long gone. Tim wants to punch himself for being so illogical. How did he think this was a good idea? They all look at him and that old cold is clinging to his chest again. He is naked in that ring again, an open wound.

“Touch you?” Jason gives a step towards him, clutching his fists, and he sounds so angry, so much like how the Red Hood demands an answer from his enemies, that Tim recoils. “Touch you how…?”

Tim’s mind screams at him not to be afraid, but his body is already moving, and shaky hands grab the syringe to defend himself. Some f*cked up part of his mind wants the fight, wonders if it would be more exciting than anything he did on the cult.

Jason stops cold. Boiling in anger and something else, something haunting that starts to reveal behind his eyes. Suddenly, he is backing away as if Tim had really stabbed him with the needle.

Tim goes deaf for a moment, sunken in confusion as he looks at Jason. He is not sure what his darken expression is showing, but Tim knows he is in pain.

Someone grabs Tim by the wrist and jacks the syringe off his hand. Is Damian, his eyes dark and concentrated in analyzing his every move.

"Son," Bruce's voice takes possession of Tim again, and lands him back to reality. “Look at me.”

He does it, embarrassed. But he can't concentrate on anything anymore.Pull it together Tim, come on. You are not there anymore.

“I -sorry. I didn't—"

“Is okay, Tim.” Dick says. He has slowly approached him; with the same attitude he had after Tim attacked him.

God, this isn't like that.

Jason is gone, and Tim is angry again. It seems that's all he really has left.

***

Tim returns to his voluntary solitude and has the feeling that things will never stop looking so gray.

Jason no longer goes to his room to see him. No more of his bad jokes and not at all gentle way of telling him to eat well. Nobody says anything about it either. Tim worries about him, but he's also furious with everyone. They need to calm down, but they just won't do it.

A couple of nights later he is back in the darkness of his room. The night as familiar and immersive as ever, a pale lamp next to the bed as the only source of light. He is trying to take advantage of the silence to focus on what he feels. He walks around the room with a strange eagerness digging its claws into him. Tonight, Tim is tired of sleeping, of nightmares, of doing nothing.

After everything he's been through, this feels childish. This stupid adjustment period. He's been in worse places, seen worse things. But Dick and Bruce (but especially Dick) insist on treating him like a child. Tim hasn't felt like one in a long, long time. There has been darkness in him for years now, growing, taking shape. His brothers should know that.

Batman, traffickers, murderers and hallucinogenic gases. Time travel, space, blurred lines everywhere. His parents, the blood he feels on his hands and doesn't believe he can ever erase. The titans, grieve, Ra's al Ghul, torture, blows after blows after blows. He has seen so much that his life feels worn out.

He's lost himself more times than he can count.

An impatience has grown in his chest more and more. A parasite that feeds on all his fears. And he just wants to feel that the fear and anger will leave him one day. And there, sitting in the phantom immensity of the mansion, he can almost believe it. Bruce has let go of the darkness, little by little. And while Tim suspects it will never leave him entirely, there's a hopeful aspect to seeing him thrive.

It is possible to live with this burden. To find some light and joy. For some cruel reason, Tim's mind wanders back to Jason. His brother may never know how much his presence scared away Bruce's shadows. But Tim does. He was witness to it, as he was of the way the shadows consumed him when Jason died. And maybe that's his curse. Forever the helpless observer of this fractured family he found himself being a part of.

“But you are a kid.”

Tim freezes.

It… what? The voice was so sudden, so clear. Did he say that? No, no way.

A chill has run through his entire body, Tim's mind races. People don't just sneak up on him, he is trained better than that, and every dormant fighting instinct inside him seems to suddenly wake up ringing alarms. He doesn't know the voice. And they manage to get into his room.

“You're young, you don't understand how the world works.”

What is this?

Discreetly, Tim reaches for the sharpest thing he can find on his desk, a paper razor, and prepares for a fight. They must be right behind him; he heard them far too close. And now he knows there are two voices. The first sounds far younger than the second one. They don't sound threatening, not yet.

Are they taunting him? The intruders sound far too comfortable, not at all worried. Maybe they're armed. Maybe they already got everyone else in the house. Fear shakes his heart out of his body.

Alfred is in the house. Duke is in the house. Damian is watching a movie and relaxing for once in his life, downstairs.No, no, no.This can't be happening. He has to remain calm. The intruders are here, with him, the door is closed. That's what he knows. He can try to fight them himself, but in his state, some backup wouldn't be so bad.

Bruce.Jesus, Bruce, where are you?

The cave. He is in the cave. Tim heard him come back a few hours ago. He can distract them, maybe fight off the weakest. Make some noise until someone comes to his aid. Tim holds onto the razor and comes back into his fighting stand.

“You got to get better at this part of the job.”

Another voice. He turns quickly and throws the razor, preparing to duck an attack when…

The razor hits the empty wall. There is nobody there. Tim takes a step back, defensively looking at the shadows on the room. They must be here, he knows, he heard them. They must be good at working in the dark. But so is he.

Tim slips back into the Red Robin mindset like a glove. Stands straight, re-focusing his eyes to look for any changes in the shadows, and shows nothing but confidence.

“Show yourself,” he says. “What do you want?”

Nothing. He can't see them, the silence rings on his ears…

“Master Timothy?”

The voice makes him jump again. But he knows this one. It's Alfred, at the door, knocking. Before he can react, Alfred opens the door and the light from the hallway pours in, uncovering the shadows. Tim jumps to shield Alfred from the intruders and…

Nobody is there. He is standing in the middle of the room, shaking, alone.

What?

“Are you alright, my boy?”

Afred looks at his defensive stand, worried. Tim has no answer this time. The last few seconds play on his mind, and Tim is awake enough now to realize the three voices sounded like they came from everywhere. He couldn't have pinpointed them the way he pinpoints Alfred's

“I'm fine.”

He sits back on the bed, sinks limp on the silence. On his empty room.

I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.

Tim doesn't, he can't think of what this could mean. He has been hating his family for acting like he has lost his mind. Like there is something broken inside him, and they aren't sure if it is fixable.

But what if there is?

***

That night, his dreams are dyed red.

A man in red armor. His face withers and melts into a shiny skeleton, it mocks him.

A red cape, on a man with eyes that shine in burden and magic, shaking his head disappointed.

An open wound that leaks and he can't stop, far too familiar motherly eyes, a life fading between his arms.

Red explosion invading a beach, running through the scorching sand, his clothes catching fire.

Blood between his fingertips. Faces he can't place. A guilt he knows too well.

He is fighting under a collapsed building. The weight crushing his bones, suffocating him. Screaming for help that never comes.

Then, Tim is back on the cult.

On the ring that smelled like death. Spinning, stumbling amid the crowd calling for blood. Wailing in victory as his opponent's bones cracked between his hands.

The dirty, red, wild creature he became; chained and muzzled until he was needed.

But also, the god they turned him into. Oils perfuming his hair. Fearful hands painting him in adoration. Masked servants that bowed before him and clawed each other for the chance to touch him while he laid on the table. To get a taste of his never-ending victory, a glimpse of his power.

The king, resting on a mechanical throne.

And then, Tim remembered the highway.

When Tim opens his eyes, something about this dream feels different. He is back in the machine room, at the entrance, trying to understand why he can't entirely recognize this place he knows so well from his nightmares. The cult surrounds the table with their needles and strange devices, the room shines and moves like a clock, just as he remembers.

But this time, Tim isn't the one on the table.

Waves of messy, tangled golden hair, dripping blood from an open wound on the top of his head. His body is tortured, covered in bruises and battle signs, but he doesn't move, and endures it as the cult members connect him into the machines again. This is someone who knows pain. A fighter, a warrior. Like him.

This is what he must have looked like, suspended in a haze of twisted adoration. He looks like he belongs there. Like Tim belonged there. Red, gold, darkness.

The other king turns his head, and Tim meets brown, kind eyes.

“Find me…”

Tim’s eyes snap open, and he is screaming, chest burning on the memory of those brown eyes. Whistling, cold wind enters through the wide-open window, the curtains blow around him. Steps are coming his way.

He crutches on himself, trying to breathe over the lighting that has hit him. He had been wandering, lost in darkness all this time. Stuck in the loneliness of mazed, broken roads.

But now a name starts to shine dimly inside Tim’s mind, like the beacon he had been looking for, guiding him through the darkness.

“Peter…”

There is a shadow in his room.

As soon as Tim stops seeing brown eyes and golden rooms, he lifts his head, on the gloom of the night, and sees it.

Is in front of his bed, under the bookshelf on the wall, almost like it’s trying to hide. It’s completely still. And it just stands there, faceless head staring at him. Tim stares back.

It is absolute darkness, taking form. Tim feels his mind go numb. It is incomprehensible, a bottomless deep. This is not meant to be survived. No change can come of it, and therefore, no life.

Its existence takes over Tim’s reality. He can’t breathe.

“—en you hear m—”

“—ats wrong Tim?"

Forms, a presence. Several of them. They reach and touch him and try to pull him out of the darkness. They’re warm, loud. Their heartbeats boil and rumble and as they come closer, they bring with them a light that it’s like air for Tim.

Light. Guiding lights.

Peter.

Tim fights back, trying and failing to blink away the darkness. He is dizzy, everything spins at a brutal speed, and he falls face-first into the bed. Hands help him up, grab him by the shoulders.

“We need you to breathe, Tim…”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Son, look at me, don’t fall asleep.”

“What happened? Did he have another nightmare?”

“Tim, stay awake… Damian!”

“I can’t find it!”

“He is not breathing, Bruce!”

Bruce's callused, desperate hands hold onto Tim’s face. More people, the light grows. But the shadow grows equally as fast, ruthless, unstoppable. Tim's body refuses to respond. He feels like a rag doll, limp and motionless. His eyes are open, but he can’t see anything.

“Duke, stay back!”

“Tim!”

Suddenly, a ray of light bursts in and cuts the darkness in half, burns it to the ground and invades everything. Tim feels the shadows recoil, run, and disappear before its gentle power. A softness that covers all his nightmares. And then he is back in the white, and Tim is at peace.

Is so bright. It sparkles and bubbles in all the colors of the world. In laugh and tears and wind blowing the branches of the trees. In fresh water and sunlight warming up skin and ice melting on a glass. A song fluttering like butterflies, all around him.

Tim knows this voice. It sounds like his mother.

From a lifetime ago, a memory so buried it had almost faded in his mind. Laying on an expensive antique sofa, a radio playing softly in the background. It was almost dark. Her fingers loosely on his hair, massaging his head and murmuring the old songs from the radio. At some point, she had hugged him against her chest, thinking he was asleep.

Tim thinks he will never feel as safe as he did then, warm in his mother´s scent, hearing the beating of her heart in his ear.

He floats. And Tim lets the current take him.

***

It’s been three days by the time he wakes up.

Tim’s eyes open slowly, and his eyelids feel heavy. Everything feels heavy. He is back between shadows, but this time it feels different. Is dense, worn, alive. Is sad too. Gray clouds and smoke sticking to the walls. Is lonely houses and empty plastic cups, a little town that will never grow up, a cold pillow. A quiet graveyard at sunset. Ruins covered in vines, there was a home there once.

Little by little reality returns to him, and he manages to turn his head a little. There is someone there, sitting by his side.

“You are some bloody bastard, boy,” the man says, lighting a cigarette, the fire makes his eyes glow. “Welcome to the club.”

Tim is inclined to believe this is still a dream, but everything feels too muted and grounded for it to be. Every fog on his mind has been cleared pristinely away. The air is light, and the shadows in his room are just shadows. The house is quiet.

Jonh Constantine sits back on the chair, watching him like he is expecting some kind of response.

Tim doesn’t think he has one in him. He tries to move his arm to reach for the oxygen mask that´s on his face, but he is still far too weak, his fingertips twitch and caress the sheets. All energy escapes him.

“Don’t even,” Constantine says. “With all the drugs Wayne pumped you up with you’ll be lucky to taste your tongue in a few days.”

What are you doing here?Tim wants to ask. But all he can do is breathe into the mask and struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Impressive. Scare the bat the way you did.” The man continues, and Tim thinks his eyes soften, ever so slightly. “Do you remember anything?”

Tim thinks about it. He is pretty sure the things he remembers were not real. But is frighteningly difficult to notice the difference now. He blinks, hoping Constantine will get the idea. He does.

“I’ll tell you, because I doubt daddy will tell you himself.” The smoke swirls around them, and Constantine looks at him. “You were laughing. You couldn’t stop laughing, and then you started to panic. You were rambling about killing someone because he justwouldn’t stoplaughing at you. You looked positively possessed.”

What?

Tim feels a shiver go down his entire body. He searches and searches, but he can’t remember any of it. Jeez, he must have really freaked everyone out.

“To get the short cut mate, I came to examine you. Want to hear the diagnosis?”

Constantine is looking at him right in the eye now. And Tim feels a change in the air, a heavy expectation washing over them like waves. Tim holds his gaze, coldly, and finds the strength to nod.

The Hellblazer’s eyes look golden in the light, they seem to ignite when he speaks.

“You’re dying.”

One breath. Two breaths.His mother sings to the radio.

“Something is draining your life force, sucking your soul like a parasite,” He continues. “But we aren’t telling that to the big bat just yet.”

The air slowly condenses again, and now Tim is at the bottom of the sea. The darkness is just part of the world now. The light filters in glimpses. Deep inside, Tim is afraid. But there is a strange, numbing comfort around it too.

Tim remembers the highway. The white, the peace. And he remembers the nothing. His mother's voice flashes through his mind. His father’s eyes. The blood that runs through his body is all that is left of them. Now he realizes, he has been living on borrowed time.

Maybe that’s what the cult tried to prove to him all this time. How miraculous and fleeting his existence really is.

“You know, I met a priest once, on some… tropical island, and he was dying, everyone told me he had lost his marbles years ago and all he did was drink now; you know what he told me?” Constantine stops, making sure Tim is paying attention. “He said ‘We’ve all been death more times than we'll ever know’.”

He half smiles, a hint of sadness. The door opens.

Bruce steps in, a broad silhouette covering the light from the hallway. He looks powerful, even in his civilian clothes. Strong and unbreakable.

“I thought I was clear, not smoking in my house.” Bruce snatches Constantine’s cigarette and crushes it with his bare hands.

“Yeah, alright bats…” he says, and his eyes wander back at Tim.

Bruce finally notices he is awake.

“Tim.” He reaches over and puts a steady hand on his arm. “How are you feeling?”

He is tired. So, so tired. And angry. But Tim can’t bring himself to admit any of that.

I don’t want to die.He thinks.

Tim’s eyes tremble looking at Bruce. He is all shades of blue. This incessant fight between darkness and light can’t reach them. At least for now.

***

At Tim’s request, they are all in the cave. As soon as he was strong enough, he had the urge to leave his room for at least a little while. So now they round the table and sit, nervous and expectant. His brothers, Cass, Barbara, and Alfred. Jason is still absent. Tim has no energy left to wonder where he may be.

Tim is in a wheelchair, at the head of the table. Bruce stands behind him, hands on his shoulders. The light from the large screen gives the space a surreal look.

Directly across the table, Constantine explains things that Tim feels, at the bottom of his heart, that he already knew. It was no common cult, this one. They were using magic. And for what they have been able to gather, they had intentions to somehow combine it with technology.

The liquid they spend weeks injecting him with is some kind of venom with magical properties. But they still don’t know exactly what it is.

“If you ask me, those f*ckers didn’t have a clue of what they were doing. Playing with forces beyond their control. This magic is unpredictable and chaotic. And very, very ancient.”

Tim thinks that it makes sense. But the most broken part of him, the one the cult managed to maim and that is still bruised and hurt, tells him none of it really matters.What’s the point now?

The noise in the room slips through his mind, everything is heard far away. The world blurs. Tim is sick to the bone of this suffering, this uncertainty. He is just angry.

His eyes look for Constantine and finds that he is looking at nobody but him. They stare at each other in this haze, as the world moves slowly around them. Bruce is saying something. His brothers are upset.

I can’t do this to them.He seems to say with his eyes. Constantine answers the same way.

I’m sorry kid.

Tim knows Constantine won’t give up yet. Otherwise, he would have told Bruce about this tragedy he can’t avoid. But he is not doing that, he is looking for solutions, and is asking Tim to be patient.

Unfortunately, that’s the one thing he can’t give right now.

It all feels clear to him now. His senses are sharper than ever. His dreams take form. This is a mystery designed for him.

Is not all for nothing. There is a greater purpose in all of this. Something bigger. He felt it. He is a pawn in a game none of his family, not even Constantine, are able to see.

But there is someone who can.

Who are you?

The other king.

Peter.

***

This time, Tim pays attention to his dreams. Every single, excruciating detail.

To his horror, the dreams seem to realize he wants to see them now, and they prolong, stretch, scenes pass in slow motion and Tim ends up feeling like he may never wake up.

Re-living the hours upon hours on the table, blood still gushing out of his nose from the fight, being restrained until he would stop fighting. Putting the weight of his sanity into observing the way the gears turned and stopped in an infinite, repetitive pattern of motion.

Desperately trying to scare away the flies that preyed on his wounds as he waited at the back of the cage. The dirt from days and days caking on his hair and making Tim wish he could peal his skin off just to get rid of the smell. Fighting and screaming and breaking another human being just for the chance to be clean again.

These are more than just dreams. These are the memories Tim has tried again and again to bury. The person he wants more than anything to forget. But he doesn’t have the luxury of shutting them down now.

So he keeps paying attention.

One night, he wakes up tied up again. The ropes burn his wrists and his feet are already slipping from the flooded floor. In the pain and numbness, Tim closes his eyes for a moment, just to imagine the relief of sleeping so he can withstand one more fight. Around him, the men dressed in silver, the ones in charge of injecting him and taking notes of everything, stare coldly.

One of them approaches and lifts Tim's chin to take a good look at him.

“There is improvement.” He whispers. The others may be expecting Tim to lash out at the proximity like he has done before. But this time Tim is too tired to do it, so he keeps his eyes closed, and hangs there motionless.

“More is needed.” Another one says. “He is only one half of the sacred vase.”

“We’ll pray and see,” the first one answers, letting go of Tim. “Only one will see the light of day.”

Tim opens his eyes and the man stares at him curiously, delighting in his fear. His face deforms in the blinking light and wrinkles cover him, he gets old as a smile grows on his face and he starts to laugh. Loudly, painfully. Blood comes out of his mouth and the man keeps laughing, spitting blood all over Tim´s paralyzed face.

Something is dripping into Tim’s hand, and as he looks down, he sees the blade he is holding, twisting inside the guts of the laughing man. He relishes in Tim's horror as he tries to step back and stop the bleeding.

“You, you were the one to kill her…” he laughs.

Tim´s eyes snap open. He meets the sight of the sealing. Night, night again. His bed again, in this room he calls his and that turns more into a cage with each passing day. This is his tomb.

This time the fear doesn’t go away in the face of reality. It gets bigger and escalates until Tim can’t move. Body covered in cement, trapped. Tim's eyes shoot everywhere, desperate.

Is then he smells the blood. It invades everything. And Tim feels it even before he turns to face it. Death.

Peters’ corpse lays next to him, looking at Tim with whitened, crystal void eyes. He is purple and rigid. Covered in the same wounds as the first time he saw him. But these wounds don’t heal, they grow and eat away Peter's body. The blood leaks from him, soaking Tim's bed.

A scream strangles in his throat, but there is no escape from this. His body has stopped responding entirely.

“Go- I’m s-sorry… Peter, I’m sorry.” Tim babbles, pleading for this ghost to leave him and forgive all the sins he can´t remember.

But Peter doesn’t respond. Because Peter is dead. Tim starts to feel dead too.

***

It takes hours until Tim falls asleep again, his body too tired of the fear. When he wakes up again, the corpse is gone. But it takes a couple of days until the smell of blood disappears, and Tim stays forcefully awake, sitting on the carpet.

The guilt doesn’t leave at all. And Tim opens a new file on his laptop.

He has a clue now.

***

Bruce's sleep has always been restless, a difficult beast to tame. So he doesn’t find it strange tonight when the nightmares and paranoias awake him once more. He knows by heart the fleeting peace of this hour, the dark and early morning still at service of night’s loneliness.

The bed creaks when Bruce gets up, moving in the shadowy numbness of the house. And in all the fears that have come to haunt him tonight, he moves to the other rooms, where his children sleep.

Even after all these years is strange to think of Wayne Manor as a house full of people, of life. Especially at night, the great walls and long stairs seem too grand and old to be ever filled with the happiness and warmth they have managed to keep. It seems too easy to lose it all.

He wanders through the hallway and peaks into each room. Sleeping figures, breathing figures. Some of the tightness in his chest dissolves. As he approaches Tim's room, a veteran feeling takes over, and he already half expects it when the door opens and he is met with an empty bed.

Panic settles in Bruce’s mind immediately, but the same instinct as before tells him he knows his son well enough. There are scatted papers around the bed, and the laptop is open on the desk, the red light indicating low battery still flickering.

The Batcave is strangely cold when he goes down, and Bruce has a fleeting thought of worry along with relief as he spots Tim, sitting in front of the Batcomputer with nothing on aside from some shorts. He looks small there, a big screen looming over his emaciated figure, all bandages like a mummy. Is a contradicting aspect of fragility given how much his face and presence have matured over the past year.

“You should be in bed,” Bruce says.

Tim shoots his head towards him. “Sorry… I had a nightmare.”

“What are you doing?” Bruce says, staring at the seemingly dispersed pieces of information Tim has gathered on the screen.

Several incomplete searches on the database, files of different people.

“Have you ever heard the namePeter Parkerbefore?”

By the tone Tim says it, there is a particular flavor of weight inside the name, despite how generic it may sound at first glance. Tim inflates it with an unsettling aura that ripples between them.

“No,” he answers, and Tim looks blankly at the screen like he expected such a response.

“I think I wasn’t the only one,” he finally says, voice going hazy.

“What do you mean?”

“At the cult. I think they kidnapped someone else.”

“Peter Parker.”

“Peter Parker.”

Tim hunches there, watching the images on the screen, haunted by them. “I can’t find him anywhere; is like he doesn’t exist.”

“How do you know what to look for?”

Tim´s mouth twitches, and doubts for a second.

“I… saw him. Is hard to explain,” he says, sighing.

Bruce takes off his robe and wraps it around Tim, who flinches at the feeling. His mind, his spirit, seems focused somewhere else. Bruce wishes he knew how to handle this, and knew more about this illogical, surreal matter of magic. That way, he may be able to fix it. But fate has a thing for showing him there are things even the Batman can’t control.

“I´ve been having dreams. Constantine said not to listen to them, but I… I can’t help it.” Tim confesses. “I keep seeing him, in the same rooms as me, living the same tortures I did. He… he always asks me to save him.”

Constantine hadn’t stayed long. He had left a few days ago, looking for answers on the other side of the world. Bruce had almost followed, but something in the way he had hesitantly put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, low voice saying,“Nah mate, the kid needs you more here,”had left Bruce frozen enough to stay.

He knows Constantine is keeping something from him, and even if he still doesn’t know what, is not difficult to deduce that Tim is worse than they thought, worse than either of them are letting on. This helplessness is eating Bruce alive. The whole family has put their hopes dormant while Constantine is away.

Bruce has given him a week, more at Tim’s request than anything. He seems to trust him to resolve this, but Bruce can’t. If nothing comes from this, he will find another way.

“Tonight, I remembered something,” Tim continues. “I don’t know why I couldn’t remember before, is all… confusing in my head, but… I heard them talking one time, they thought I had passed out. They called meonly one half of the sacred vase.”

Bruce sits next to him, and his face hardens. “What do you think it means?”

“I think this Peter Parker may be the other half. We seem to be the same age and build, maybe similar skills…” Tim´s lip quivers slightly, and he bites it hard, eyes moving up and down without looking anywhere like he does when he is overthinking. They’re hard eyes, ice-cold eyes, calculated.

“There is more,” Bruce says, and is not a question.

“Yeah,” Tim answers. He makes eye contact with Bruce and then looks back at the screen. Bruce thinks he hasn’t seemed this young in a long, long time. “Only one will see the light of day, they said. They meant us, me and him. All those fights and tests… I made them happy, met their expectations every time.”

Suddenly Tim’s eyes are clouded with rage, tears that blind the light on his gaze. “What if I did exactly what they wanted? What if I made them choosemeover…him?”

The same conclusion comes to Bruce, as he looks at all the wrong Peter Parkers on the screen, a collective, hollow loneliness among them. A nobody, someone easy to disappear, someone nobody would look for.

“I saw the light of day, Bruce. That means… that means Peter didn’t.” Tim says. The tears, hot and abundant, roll off his cheeks. “God, how could I be sostupid?All this time they had me competing with some kid and I never realized, what if I got him killed?”

“Tim, listen to me,” Bruce says, kneeling in front of him and turning his face up with strong, reassuring hands. “We work with the information we have. Being deceived does not make you a bad detective. You know that. And you know we can’t always save everyone.”

Bruce hopes it conveys enough conviction, enough to make him realize this misery he drowns himself in won't help anyone. Least of all himself.

But his words only deepen the regret in Tim´s eyes, and he rejects Bruce’s touch as if it burned him, getting away from the chair and wobbly pulling himself away. He aggressively tries to wipe the tears off his face, rubbing it with his hands and pulling his skin.

“No, you don’t understand, Bruce… all this time… t-the t-things I did to stay alive… and I was making someone else suffer,” Tim says. “We´re supposed to protect the innocent. But I was only protecting myself.”

Bruce freezes. Old habits die hard, and Bruce is tempted to focus on what this could mean. The fear Tim holds of becoming something he can’t come back from is too real, a tangible and terrible threat that the Batman, for much that it pains him, can’t ignore. Tim is too bright, too determined, too close to surpass him in everything.

But he isn’t Batman right now, Bruce reminds himself. And this Tim is not a threat, is just his son. Bruce had promised he would try to be better, to become the hope the people and this family so desperately need. And to do that, he needs to stop seeing enemies on every face.

“You are too much like me, Tim,” Bruce says, and his expression falls to a kinder one. “You and I, tend to forget that we are human. But you have always been better at knowing who you are, and because of it I… I know who you are.”

Tim looks away, digging his nails into the bandages on his arms.

“You are good, Tim.”

“You don’t know what I became in there.” He says, and there is a deep, alive darkness lurking inside his eyes. “I´ve been remembering… I-I don’t… What if I can’t control it?”

“Control what, Tim? What are you so afraid of?”

His voice is rougher now, but he needs Tim to listen.

“T-there is something!” Tim says, frustrated, closing his eyes like the light hurts him. “They put something in me a-and I… I remember now!”

He seems so desperate, and Bruce tries to reach with a hand, comfort him, ground him somehow. But Tim suddenly refuses his touch and looks around, scared. Is he afraid of him?

There is no sound around them, but Tim's head bounces like searching for something Bruce can’t hear or see.

“No! I… I won’t fail. I will… I can fix it!”

“Tim, you’re not making any sense…”

“Shut up!” Tim yells, covering his ears. “I didn’t kill her!”

Bruce feels his blood go cold. Is like watching a glass slowly crack and shatter. Feels it coming, feels the shards before they even materialize, helpless to stop it from collapsing.

Tim starts to pull his hair, breathing rapidly. And his desperate gasps quickly turn into screams, choked and breathless.

Is Batman who reaches him, holds both wrists strongly, and makes him look at him. He is firm, and doesn’t give Tim the chance to let go to continue hurting himself.

“I-I can hear him laughing at me, Dad.” Tim cries, eyes too far gone into some other nightmare. “Is all green, everything and… and he keeps laughing…”

A sudden hush rips through the air of the cave and Bruce has just enough time to reach and hold onto Tim to stop him from collapsing into the ground. A dart sticks out of his shoulder. He passes out almost instantly into his arms.

Damian comes out of the shadows behind him, a blowgun in his hand. He is trying to appear fierce and ruthless like when he is Robin, but Bruce can see that he is frightened.

“I’m sorry, father,” he tries to explain. “I couldn’t stand this again.”

***

Bruce leaves to look for Zatanna the next day.

She was unavailable, had gone radio silent for a while now and nobody seemed to know exactly why. But Bruce convinces himself, in his despair, that if anyone can find her is him.

Meanwhile, the visions get worse.

Tim doesn’t always dream of the cult and their bunker. Sometimes it turns into a night sky. And Tim is back to being surrounded by fire. His father, his mother, Bruce, burning to the bone and screaming for help.

And then he sees Peter. In the middle of everything, fallen to his knees and burning. He doesn’t move, doesn’t fight, doesn’t make a sound. He just stares at Tim sadly, as the flames ignite his hair and turn his skin into black goo.

Tim tries to get the fire off him, tries to make him move, react. But nothing ever works, Peter turns into a skeleton that follows him into reality.

In quiet moments, when he tries to fix his hair or read a book, Tim hears the cracking of the flames. One day, as he is talking with Damian about some old case, Tim thinks he smells the smoke, the nauseating stink of burned flesh.

In other dreams, Peter dies rotten on the stone table. Pale face longing to feel the warmth of the sun again, lips parted with one last scream forever attached to them. White eyes crying blood and pearly white venom.

Afterwards, Tim is left hollow. He sits in his room, and everything feels so foreign, so far away. Everyday life almost kills him, it suffocates him. This life no longer feels his. It is another incomprehensible dream from which he cannot wake up.

When did he become this? When did his family become strangers? When did he lose himself?

Again.

***

Tonight he is making notes again. He begins to write a long, pristine mission report to clear everything in his mind. There is an instant relief in how clean he can make everything seem, in the realization that he has not completely lost himself.

Every detail of the cult's facilities, their strange tools and devices. Tim closes his eyes, trying to picture the symbols carved on the walls. Draws a few sketches of them, none as convincing as he would like.

It is alarming to discover the many gaps in his memory. But the dreams have helped fill many of those. For now, he doesn't want to focus on that, the things he remembers are much more interesting. He knows that the cult had some kind of fascination with hurting him, but more than that, with watching him recover. They were testing him. He now has an idea that he was being tested in comparison to Peter. What he still doesn't know is for what purpose...

Pam! Pam! Pam!

Tim jumps at the sudden bangs, taking a step back. It came from… from his window. From his incredibly high window, almost impossible to climb window.God, no, not again.

A shadow passes through, and Tim does not want to know what this new hallucination is about. He needs more time; he needs to concentrate.

Is raining outside. Tim retrieves to the other side of the room as the lightning bolts give him glimpses of whatever is there. A silhouette, floating right outside.

The shadow stops, finding a hole in the curtains to peek through, and Tim holds his breath. A pair of eyes catch him, they glow pale in the dark, and they burst the window open.

Tim's shoulders relax immediately. An overwhelming joy fights its way through the dark that surrounds him.

“Conner?”

It is. Every inch of black hair and broad body. His black jacket is covered in raindrops. Conner comes down to the ground, closes the window, and gives a tentative half-smile as he turns to Tim. “Hey,”

Tim feels like a lighting bold just struck him. The gray clouds clear in Conner's presence so fast that he is dizzy. He had forgotten so many things these days, he realizes.

Before he can think of reacting more collected, Tim is against Conner, hugging desperately to his body. Physical affection has never been his favorite, even less so lately. But right now, the relief he feels is overwhelming. A stupidly big smile forms without his consent.He is real, he is real, he is here.

Conner is taken aback. “So… you’re not mad at me?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” Tim responds through his smile. Kon hesitates.

“I mean, I come back from the mission, and you won’t answer your phone for weeks, Cassie tries to call and not even Bart seems to…”

Excuse me?

“Wait, wait, wait. What mission?” Tim pulls back, frowning. Conner just stares. “What mission,superboy?”

“Th-the mission with the glowy conquerer aliens…? I know Tim, ok?Don’t look at me like that. It was a last-minute thing; Kara didn’t tell me the mission would take that long! Ok? I had no time to call, I swear.” He is trying to apologize, Tim realizes.

Weeks ago. Weeks ago, he was still a prisoner. And Conner was on a mission, apparently. Why didn’t Bruce say anything? Oh, right, because he is losing his mind already, and is not like Tim has given them any chance to have a normal conversation. But is harrowing to be reminded that the world kept moving without him. It didn’t stop, despite his own inability to come back into it.

Tim feels bad for not asking about his friends from the start. Wait- Cassie has been calling? God, where is his phone? He really has been a mess lately.

“Who did this to you…?”

Tim snaps back into the present, and Conner is clutching to his shoulders.

“Tim,who did this to you?”

He is looking up and down at him, and Tim suddenly feels naked, exposed. He frees himself from his grip, taking a step back.

“They didn’t tell you.” He mutters. Is a cold statement, not a question. Conner's face gets so tense Tim thinks it may break like glass.

“Tell me what?”

Geez. Tim has the gut feeling that is wrong for him to be the one to tell him. Now, when is all over. He is looking at him with the same invading worry as the rest of his family. Tim wonders if it’s worth it. To go over all of this again.

Conner's presence in Gotham has always felt like a breath of fresh air. Colorful, unexpected, young and thrilling. But today more than never Tim thinks he is the air he hasn’t been able to reach for weeks.

For Conner, he is still the same. He is still a capable leader, a good detective, a good friend, a good brother. His hands aren’t covered in blood and darkness. He is not dying. And Tim gets another piece of himself back, watching all the expectations Conner holds for him in his eyes.

You know who I am.

And Tim realizes he just wants his friend.

“Nothing.” He finds himself saying. “It was just a rough patrol, had to be benched for a while but I- is no big deal… sorry for not reaching out.”

Kon blinks, clearly don’t believing a word he says. Thankfully, he also knows Tim well enough to know pressing will drive him further away. So instead, he asks:

“How are you feeling now?”

Tim think about it, and his body gives up little by little, remembering how tired he is. He stumbbles weakly to sit back on the bed.

“I’m… better.”

Is true enough that Conner breaks his wariness. He sits next to Tim, making the entire bed creak.

“You sure Rob? I’ve seen you witha lotof injuries, but this looks… well, I wouldn’t be a fan!” He tries to sound casual and smile, but his joy falls flat under a surprising softness.

Tim is doing it again, without realizing. Falling short on words. The window was not closed entirely, and a cold breeze from the outside reaches them. Tim feels it and is overflown by how much he misses going out at night. The outdoors, the emotions. Gotham.

“Who was the idiot, huh? Do I need to call the team to kick some ass?”

Tim smiles, rolling his eyes. “No. I can handle it.”

Conner settles with that answer for now and gives him a nudge on the shoulder. Tim remembers all the times he has lost and missed Conner; the phantom feeling mocking him. Right now, he can’t imagine life without him. There was a short time when he felt safe knowing that Conner wasn’t human. It was liberating, in a way, having a friend that much stronger than him. The chances of dying before he had to ever see Conner die were high.

But of course, the universe had a strange sense of humor when it came to them.

“Do you ever worry about me?” Tim asks. “Like, because I’m human? Does it ever bother you?”

He is almost ashamed of such a weirdly narcissistic question. The stupid need to be… what? Needed? Protected? Missed?

“Does it bother me that you’re human?” Conner sounds bewildered but sighs before answering. “No. I mean, you want me to say it, I’ll say it, man. I worry about you, I do, but I also know you’re theabsolute maddestweakling human there is.”

Tim lets his body fall heavy over the bed and stares at the ceiling. “Guesses am still here for… You know? I don’t know…”

Now he is just rambling. His mind is loose.

“Hey, I know,” Conner says after a minute, and jumps out the bed. “I’ll get you out of here for a bit. Fly us to your favorite brooding apartment complex. What do you say?”

Tim smiles again.

***

The rain has subsided, turned into a cold wet breeze that has washed away the ugliness of the city for a few miraculous hours. The remains pool on the streets and cover the windows, droplets falling from the ceilings.

When Tim jumps from the window, clinging to Conner, the first thing he looks for are the stars. They are covered by a dense mass of gray clouds, the same as the moon. But the air is clearer. Every blurriness of the sun, the heat, the smoke of the cars, has been wiped away.

Kon flies higher, driving them away from the mansion and its gardens, getting small in the distance. Tim sees the lights from the first floor still on and leaking through the large windows, making the entire house float on its soft yellow glow.

As they head further downtown, Conner shifts Tim with a quick move, only grabbing him firmly by the hands. The movement makes every strained muscle on Tim creak in pain but says nothing. He is walking on air, dangling his feet over the roofs and feeling the cool air caress his sore skin.

Is thrilling, flying over the streets he knows so well from so high above, the possibility of falling on the back of his head. His heart races, feels the blood moving in his veins, his body responding for the first time in weeks. They are soaring faster than the wind.

Tim smiles, and Kon takes it as permission to be more daring. He takes a sudden dive, and now they’re racing to the ground. He lifts Tim just before they come crashing on a rooftop, and starts flying at that level, slower, on a straight line.

Tim’s naked feet brush the rooftop, and Conner keeps driving him forward. Tim tries to reach the ground, wants to feel it under him, and Kon lets go of him a little. The surface is cold, and a rush strikes him up and down when he touches it. He starts running, pushed by Conner's speed and jumping slightly at every step. Faster and faster.

He is running on top of buildings like he used to, and he had missed it so deeply that a knot untangles in his chest, Tim laughs like the joy has finally been let out of the cage, it runs freely on every pore and line of his face. Light, fast, unstoppable. A true flying robin, riding in the wind.

Conner laughs with him, louder, with a grin that cuts the air and shakes his entire body. Is contagious, and Tim´s laugh turns into joyful shrieks, echoing in the night. They howl, and scream, catching the quiet city by surprise.

Tim’s feet start to burn from the friction, but he´s too immersed in this adrenaline to care. He runs faster, pouring all the air out of his lungs on the victorious wails that leave his body.

Eventually, Conner lifts him higher again, away from the same level buildings. Tim points at the highest skyscraper, right next to the neon lights of Wayne Tower, and Conner flies them to the top. The vertigo is instant, and Tim loves it.

They land, and so high up there is still drizzling. Now Tim really feels the cold, his entire body shaking, hair covering in little droplets. He grabs the metal border and looks down.

Holy sh*t.

Everything looks stupidly small from there, the vastness of Gotham stretching in all directions. Details are lost in the haze of the lights. His knees start to give out, and Tim hides it by sitting down carefully. His bandages are getting wet.

Conner sits next to him and whistles, looking around.

“So this is your favorite spot? Rad…”

“I’ve actually never been here,” Tim confesses. “I can’t exactly fly, so…”

“Still, cool pick.”

Tim’s lips are so cold that is becoming difficult to talk, so he doesn’t. He just stares at the horizon, realizing how disheartening it had been to not see the sky for so long. The clouds move so close to them now…

“Sure you’re alright, dude? We can go back if you want.”

“Ju-just… give me a minute.”

He does, and Tim tries to breathe slower. The weight of straining his injured body is hitting him now but is manageable. He just feels weak. He starts to lean into Conner, head resting on his shoulder. Conner doesn’t move, and he is so warm Tim feels his eyes closing. Smells the leather of his jacket, and is ridiculous how familiar it feels, how safe it feels.

“I´ve beendyingto tell you about this new disc I found on Pa´s boxes. Is somerealsh*t. Ma called it garbage music but it’s so weird andso loud…”

Tim doesn’t notice when Conner takes off his jacket and wraps it around him. He hears vaguely about experimental 70s music, trying to cook potato cake, and chicks at schooltotally fightingover who he will take to the fair that weekend.

The city boils and runs and spins around them. Floating in blue and yellow light. Windows of buildings form a mirror maze that shines wet from the rain.

“God, Kon. I love you, man.” Tim whispers, and his voice is so soft he is not sure Conner even heard him.

He is so relaxed; the prospect of the future escapes him. His eyes fall.

And he sinks.

.

.

.

.

This time, the darkness is static. No danger, no fear. Tim doesn’t try to fight it, rather, he has the need to reach further. Thinks he’ll find something there. A missing piece.

It resembles something like swimming at the bottom of a pool. He knows is there, and he is too far down to regret it now. Struggling against pressure and currents. He just has to touch it, and he’ll let go. Is close, he can hear it…

“Hey, can I be your guy in the chair?”

“When we get into MIT, we should live together!”

“I just wanna thank you, for letting me be a part of your journey…”

“Dude, hi…”

“And I promise you, I won’t turn into a supervillain and try to kill you.”

“Let’s catch some multiverse men…”

“Fresh start.”

“You promise?”

He has reached it now and can touch it. Is pure, unaltered sadness. A longing Tim can’t recognize but can feel deep in his bones.

Where are you?

Who are you?

I miss you.

I know you…

SAVE ME!

Tim is falling again, wind whistling on his ears, darkness. He can’t move, can’t even form a coherent enough thought to feel any panic. His precious highs have turned against him. A robin struck dead. Tim feels feathers fly off him, leaving him naked.

His wings turn into gray ash, and soon after, his whole body follows.

And somehow, it feels familiar. Like he has done this before. Like this nothingness that claims him is a place he knows. And Tim is afraid. He wants someone to save him.

“Idon’t wanna go…”

You…

Then he stops, something catches him. A muffled noise reaches him. Tim is out of his body, perceiving everything from afar. The hands that pat his body, the cold cement, the voice. All he can see is black.

“—im! Come on, don’t d—”

…

“—ot you Rob, just hol—”

…

The next thing Tim feels is grass. Someone puts him down on it, his fingertips reach instinctively to touch the earth. His mind is forced to focus on it, and the darkness starts to fade. Tim breathes in and out, slowly, until his eyes regain sight.

He is in Conner´s arms, somewhere open. The change from their previous location is disorienting, and Tim's head hurts. His entire body hurts, actually. His beaten feet from the run, his arms stretched beyond what they could really handle, his lungs and throat tired from the cold.

“What the f*ck, Tim.” Conner is shaken, breathing fast, trying to lift Tim’s head. “You scared me, man.”

Tim tries to open his lips to ask Conner where they are, but energy has completely run out. Something wet is leaking into his shirt, and Conner feels it.

“Oh, no, no, no!”

…

…

His eyes are closing again. Conner lifts him in his arms and covers him with his jacket, keeping him close to his chest. Is raining again. Tim is not sure where they are going until the warm light from the manor hits him. It looks like a beacon, in the closing darkness of his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Tim hears Bruce through the storm.When did the rain get so bad?He is angry, defensive. Too much like Batman.I can’t feel my body.

“W- we were just flying and he…”

“How could you be so careless with his life…!”

Tim stops feeling the rain on his face, and everything suddenly turns warm. They’re inside now, under a white chandelier. He can’t keep his eyes open, pay enough attention to know what exactly is happening.

“I’m staying with him! Tim, I’m right here…”

“Step down, Superboy.”

“I´m not leaving him alone with you…”

The walls stagger and turn blurry. Kon tenses, clinging to Tim so hard that it will surely bruise. Steps run everywhere, surround them. Everything is too loud; the darkness seems so inviting…

“Conner, what are you doing?”

“Get the hell away from me!”

“Put him down.”

“No! He won’t tell me what happened! Didyouhurt him…?”

“What?”

“Bruce, back away! Conner, please, listen to me!”

Darkness blinds Tim once more, and the mansion turns into a madhouse. Bells that scream and turn and shatter the glass from the windows. The curtains rip as the explosions take everything down and the house falls into a deadly rain of bricks and metal.

And a laugh. Mad, foul, delighting in all his misery. Like a ghost in the back of his mind.

Tim knows this is another nightmare. But he is awake now, and Tim doesn’t know how to come back from this.

“What did you do to him?”

Jason? What are you doing here?

“Put him downsuperboy,before I blow your arm out.”

Mist leaks into Tim´s airway.

This isn’t real.

He has to fight, has to tell everyone to calm down. But the nothing is winning; it dismantles him into ash. The world is on fire. And Tim can’t save anyone.

He may be the reason everything has come crashing down.

Darkness clears away, even if just for a moment, and Tim recognizes with sharp, scary speed the place he is in.

Remembering, threat by threat, second by second.

He is in the chamber where he slept, laying again on the rag he used as bed, breathing the cold of the stone. He is somewhat clean today, being allowed to rest. The little light in the sealing flickers, and Tim can hear water running and dripping from the walls.Isprobably raining on the outside.

Thisis the last day he spends in the cult.

As he lies there, a man in white enters the chamber, holding a bowl with a red liquid. Todayonlyhe is allowed the honor to pain Tim, and he does. Timdoesn’tmove,doesn’teven recognize he is there.But he does notice—and remembers now—the wayhis hand trembles in the end, how uncharacteristically gentle this one isbeing.

“You are ready,” the man whispers, tracing the final strikes on Tim's face. “We have run out of time, boy,”

Tim finally reacts,frowning,andlooking around. They are alone, noone is at the door.

“Iam sorry, there is nothing I can do now,”the man whispers, breathing hastily under the mask.“The great power will consume you; it will consume all of them around you, and then… it will consume the world. I tried to warn them…”

Steps echo outside the chamber. Tim hears chanting, getting closer. The man looks back, inurgency,and takesTim´sarms to make him stand. He gets close to his ear, whispering one last time.

“The jump…Is the only way.”

Jump

Jump

Jump

Fall…

.

.

.

.

When he wakes up, Tim is almost sure he dreamed it all. His mind goes blank, thoughtsturned into echoes.

The heavy, cool air of the mansion calms all the horrors in his mind. The curtains are closed, and the rain pounds heavily on the ceiling. It lulls him into a semi-conscious state where Tim feelslikehe should get up butcan't.

They'vestarted an IV again, Timfiddles with the wire between his fingers, forcing himself not to go back to sleep.

Eventually, someone slowly opens the door. Tim stays staring at the ceiling.

"You are awake,"Damian says.

Tim turns around violently. He had expected Bruce, maybe Alfred.Hedoesn'tknow whether to be relieved thatit'sneither of them. He stares, and the first strange and sentimental thought he has is that Damian looks too tall, heis almost a teenager.When did he grow up so much?

“Yeah.”

His voice sounds terrible. It creaks like an old door trying to open. Tim is not sure how longis been, butDamian'spresence clears away the blur of time hewas suspendedon. Nowheworries,about what may have happened.

“You look absolutely terrible.”Damian points out.“But you are alive, which is surprising considering your poor choices.”

“Are you here to lecture me?”

“Is a mere observation.”

“Okey, noted.”

Damian hovers there,surelyfeeling some ofTim’sirritation.But that is not whyDamian’sbrows furrow slightly, why hisfist twitches underthe sleeve of his shirt.He seems doubtful, strangely.

“Father wishes for you to join us at breakfast, doyou think it would be possible?”

He sounds annoyed, but there is something else there Timcan’tquite place.“What’sthis really about, Damian?”

“Don’tpretendlikeyouaren’taware of the worry they all feel for you.”Isaccusatory, and Damian is huffing now, crossing his arms. But he is keeping something, holding it tight to his chest.Isalmost cute, as he frowns with a coldness Tim has come to see through by now.

So, hedoesn’tsay anything and waits for Damian to find the words.

“I’mtired of seeing you in this state, Timothy.”

For long seconds Tim can’t bring himself to react in any way. And a concern flashes in Damian’s eyes for a split second. He appears to regret what he just said, but can’t take it back now, so Tim watches him fight the awkward feeling by biting his lip and recoiling more into himself, trying to maintain some anger.

Is strange.Tim feels this is familiar.

“I’mnot doing it on purpose.”

“Imust say,falling off a building with the clone is not helping me believe this.”

Is that what happened?

“Where is Conner?”Tim says, trying to get up from the bed.“Did you scare him off?”

Damian clutches his jaw.“Believe what you wish.”

Tim realizes he may have sounded too harsh. His head still feels a little out of it. Tim trails back into what Damian said.He isbeinguncharacteristically vulnerable, even if his eyes still have an angry, cold energyin them.

No, is not as uncharacteristic anymore. He has softened, over the years. And Tim has had the feeling for a long time that he acts too much on edge around Damian. Maybe not giving him enough chance to open up. And Tim has tried to become close to him for too long to give up now.

The wary way Damian stays on the door starts to click on his mind. He seems almost…afraid. Caution on every movement, on every word. A hint of annoyance.Likehe is expecting Tim to snap if he says the wrong thing.

Great.Thiswasn’tsupposed to happen tohimtoo. Tiptoeing around his own brother in fear he may lash out.

“How bad did it get?”he finds himself asking. Damian is surprised by the question.“When I was… you know.”

Damian keeps his face an unmovable stone, and Tim knows it must have beenbad. Did he laugh again? Did he say something?

Damian finally seems to find something to say, but Tim beats himto it.

“I’msorry,”he says, voice breaking even though he tried to stay calm.

Tim has been dreading, running away fromreallythinking about the sentence that has fallen on him.Damian’seyes,to his own surprise, pull him aggressively to reality.

He could die.

He is dying.

Nowthemetaphorical bomb is muchmore real.Tim has his fingers on the detonator,andhedoesn’twant to think about what will happen when it explodes.Onwhat will happen to this family.

If.Hereminds himself.Ifit happens.

“Conner is keeping his distance at father’s request.” Damian finally says. When he gestures to keep talking, Tim realizes he doesn’t need the details; he can worry about it later.

He stands carefully, even though his body sends painful alarms all over, and rips the IV needle from his arm.“Let’sgo.”

When they comedownstairsthe house is gloomy.Isa typical Saturday in Gotham. Cool morning air that smells like the remains of rain. Fog surrounds the manor, floating over theline of the grassand invading the view from the windows. Light is ghostly white on days like this, peaking through the gray sky.

To Tim's surprise, the place is not quiet. He can hear chatter, voices, movement. Damian offers him an arm of support when they reach the last step, flustered. Tim hesitates for just a second before accepting.

Everyoneis scatteredaround the living room.Theycatch a glimpse ofAlfred before he disappears into the kitchen with a couple of empty teacups. Stephanie is in a corner, with her jogging pants still on, concentrated on learning somekind ofdance Cassandra is trying to teach her andlookslike she is about to burst out laughing at any second.

Dick is distractedly playing a video game on the TV while Jason sits next to himlookingat his phone. From time to time, he laughs and leans to Dick to tell him about something. Barbara is theretoo, silently judging the way Dick plays while she eats butter cookies from a plate that rests on her lap.

Bruce sitsin front ofthe shiny black piano, slowly playing a melody thatcould only be describedas luminous, simple, and cheerful. On the other end of the piano chair is Duke,watching attentively. They are both still in pajamas, and Bruce puts a hand onDuke’sshoulder while he tries to repeat the melodyon his own.

Tim gets so distracted, involuntarily integrating into that familiarity, that he trips over himself with the carpet. Every head turns in their direction as Damian helps him up. The piano stops playing. Dick pauses the videogame and offers to take Tim to the couch, but Damian stops him with an annoyed“We can walk, Richard.”

Tim’smouth curves on a smile as he sits on the couch and fights back the urge to feel guilty forthe waythe simple atmosphere has changed in his presence. Stephanie runs to sit next to him anddoesn’tdoubt this time when she puts an arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Tim brushes his cheek against her hair.

“Feeling better, idiot?”

Duke rests his fingers loosely on the keyboards, some weight lifting off him as he turns back into the piano. Bruce eventually does too, and Tim notices that he lookstired,in a different way than usual.

He makes brief eye contact with Jason, who practically fled the couch when he got close.Tim’sstare is intense, and Jason lowers his.

“Did youruinmyperfect score?”Damian spitslookingat the screen.“I have worked on it for a week!”

“Ithought it wasmyavatar…”

“Have you become blind in the last thirty minutes, Richard? It clearly says my name there!”

Barbara shakes her head.“What did I tell you?”

Tim feels Stephanie laugh in his chest, still clinging to him. Jason has disappeared into the kitchen, a fickle of the words he shares with Alfred reaches them. The piano keeps playing, and Tim recognizes the melody. It was a favorite of Thomas Wayne, and over theyearsBruce has had a weakness to teach all his children how to play it, even if theycouldn’tbe less interested in learning piano.

“You are a natural,”Bruce tells Duke, and Tim can hear the smile in his voice.

In the kitchen, Alfred tells Jason to fetch the rest of the family, and his steps are heavy over the tiles. Whatever it is that Alfred is cooking, it smells delicious. It bubbles over the heat of the stove and makes the kitchen warm.

“Breakfast is ready,”Tim says, stealing the words from Jason, who stands in the doorway, looking at him.

Tim looksback,andinhis anger, hopes his eyes convey enough care for Jason to understand. But Jasonjustfrowns.

There is collective understanding to giving them a little chance at privacy, and they all head to the dining roomleavingJason to fall a little back. Tim tries to get upon his ownandlift himself out of the couch by the armchairs, but hecan’thold it.Jasonjuststays inhis place likewaitingfor him to say the word.Tim finds it incredibly annoying.

He gives up and sits again, panting.“What did you do to Conner?”

“Excuse me?”

“Iwas pretty out of it, but I remember enough,”Tim says, and his tone is far too cunning.“Youcan’tdo that, Jason. Youdon’tget to threaten my friends.”

Jason comes closeandfor a second, Tim thinkshegoing tohelp him up. Instead, Jason pullsTim'sarm aggressively and rolls his sleeve up, showing the print of ahand,marked in bruises. Tim jerks away.

“Jesus Christ, you act like a crackhead sometimes. You heard me.”

“Should I have let him crush you?”

“You all put him on edge, hewas trying to protect me,”Tim answers.

Jason's eyes narrow, but he stays quiet, clenching his jaw. He finally offers Tim an arm, and Tim stares, hardly, before even thinking of accepting.

“Where is he now?”

“Damian convinced him to turn the drama down and Clark came for him, okay? He is fine," Jason says, and even if he rolls his eyes, Tim can see there is a little bit of regret in his voice. “You can call him, or whatever.”

Tim takesJason’sarm and allowshimto lift him. He leans on him to start walking towards the dining room, and Tim forces his own anger down. He means well, Timknows that.

As they come to thetablethe chatting is contagious, thelight from the chandelier is golden and bright, kind in all the quietness of a day that has barely started. Tim tells himself he can pretendisjust like any other day, even if just for a moment.

“Did youreallythink you could blow his arm off? Pathetic, let me tell you.”He says, with a little more humor.

Jason, though still tense, tries to smile weekly.“Smartass.I’mthe big brother, Ido the bullying.”

At the other side of the table, Dick smiles at them before sitting down.

Breakfast turns out to be aspicy,tick stew with poached eggs and bread on the side. Perfect for a cold and gray morning like this one. Tim takes a long, delicious sip of his coffee, feeling the headache that throbbed on his forehead subside.

“Duke, can you pass me the cream?”Tim says. Dukecan’thide the slight surprise of hearing Tim talking tohim,but gets over itquickly,and gives him the little porcelain jar.“So, what, Bruce is finally teaching you piano?”

Duke flashes a crocked smile“Yeah. And tonobody’ssurprise,I’mactuallypretty good at rich kid sh*t like that.”

Brucewatches them carefullyfrom his seat at the head of the table, eating in silence butsurelypaying attention to every word said at the table. Ever since Tim was little, he has seen the men in the house, the family heads ofrichfamilies, sitting there likeit’sa throne with divine qualities.Like sittingthere makes their figure more menacing, their words moreimportant, their power greater. Bruce owns it with the burden of a wise king, a righteous duty he was born into.

Tim wonders if he could ever look like that, painted in aristocratic air and tragic severity. It becomes more familiar as the years go by.

Surprisingly, Jason sitsnext toBruce and avoids looking his direction, clearly uncomfortable at the closeness. After a while, he gathers the courage to turn and whisper something to him. AtBruce’scollected response,Jason’sshoulders visibly relax.

“Ok, we get it, I suck atDamian’svideogame, can we please change the subject?”

Barbara laughs harder, and Dick pretends not to hear her by putting a ridiculous amount of stew in his mouth. He burns his tongue. Tim feels a laugh growing bubbly on his chest, wanting to come out.

“Yes, can wepleasetalk about how Duke waswastedlast night?”Stephanie shouts.

“What?”

“I-I wasnot… please Bruce,me?wasted? Puff…”

“Isaw you sink your cup on champagne when Fatherwasn’tlooking,”Damian saysquickly, biting casually into his spoon. The table erupts.

“You traitor…”

“On your third gala attending? Impressive…”

“How do you know that, little one?”Cassandra says, raising a brow.“You were in your room.”

Tim's face cracks in a smile. “Oh my god, Damian, have you become a stalker?”

“Ihavenot…”

“I’mso proud of you, gremlin.”

“Iwill kill you! These are false allegations!”

“Did you use the camera device I gave you?”

“W-we were talking aboutThomas,”

“Yeah,Thomas, what is that about?”Dick says, repressing a smile.

Duke puts the spoon firmly on the table and dramatically throws his hands in the air.“You are all terrible people; Iwould likeyou to know that…”

“Do you even remember what happened?”

“Ijust I- I… Bruce was kissing a photographer!”

Bruce chokes on his coffee, starting to cough so loudly that everyone burst out laughing, making the table shake. Stephanie falls off her chair with excitement.

“Wait, wait…”

“Idon’tthink this is an appropriate…”

Suddenly, Jason's smile reaches his ears, and he lays a heavy hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Nah, nah, nah, you ain't scaping this one, Brucie.”

“So, istrue?”

“Master Wayne, I do believe is in today’s newspaper…”

“No way!”

Three different newspapers are laid on the table, and Jason is quick to snatch them, starting to suffer an attack with how much laughter he is containing. “This… This is the best thing you have ever done. In your life.”

“What does it say!”

“Bruce Wayne flaunts RIPPED physique at the… a-at the…” Jason wheezes, suffocating in his laugh. “I can’t read this…”

Duke takes the newspaper and clears his throat before reading. “Bruce Wayne flaunts RIPPED physique at the annual summer gala for endangered youth and SHOWS OFF new romance sharing a passionate kiss with acclaimed freelance photographer Rain Williams.”

“Wait, wait, Ican’tbreathe…”Stephanie manages to say as she tries to get up to her chair again.

“No way itactuallysays that.”

“Is Seven Pages Gotham, is a trashy gossip site…”

“Are you kidding? They could not have picked a better headline.”Jason says, pulling out his phone to take a picture.“I have to send it to everyone.”

“Since when do we even receive this newspaper?”

“Since today, sir.”

“You should see the titles they discard, Ihacked into their server once,”Tim says, and every eye turns to him.“They had this poll on Nightwing once…”

“Okay, I thinkthat’senough…”Bruce tries to intervene, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How come you never showed me that!”Steph says, pushing Tim.

“Idon’twish to keep speaking about this…”

“Youdidn’tseethatwith your camera, huh, Damian?”

“Iwould like to eat without listening to sensationalist blabbering,”Damian declares, hiding his flustered face.“I’llhave you know that I only entertain myself with the most carefully selected…”

“Iknow you watch my little pony, Damian.”

Duke looks offended.“My little pony is the sh*t, you uncultured…”

“Language at the table, boys.”

“Iswear you become more insufferable each day…”

“Damian,”

“Ihaven’teven said anything!”

Tim laughs.“Wow, I leave for five minutes, and you have a wild party without me.Honestly,totally on brand for you guys.”

“Agala is hardly a wild party,”Dick points out.

“But thatdidn’tstop Narrows over here, right?”Stephanie says, snapping her fingers in the air.

“Jesus Christ…”

“Ican’twait to tell Kate… Oh my god! There must be a video somewhere, right?”

“Iwill pay you, pleasedon’tembarrass me in front of Batwoman.”

“Shewon’tcare.”

“Hello? I do!”

“Oh! Please, Tim, tell me you can get that video.”

“In my sleep,”Tim says, smirking.“Do I get something in return?”

“Sorry Tim,you'rejust not my type…”

“Ah!”he dramatically puts both hands on his chest.“But Shawn Mendez is?”

Stephanie´scheeks get red, and she tries to cover it with her hands.“You have not… I was in middle school…No!Don’tlaugh! It was a thing of the time,okay?”

“No, I’m sure it was,” Tim says. “Shawn Mendez's only legacy is being forever played at outlet stores.”

"We will be talking about this, Duke."

"Oh, come onman..."

Tim smiles and starts todistractedly eatbefore it gets cold, while Dick keeps trying to joke with Damian, who gets progressively more frustrated. The food is a comfort hehadn’trealized was missing, justfeeling the hot and rich sauce in his mouth makes him aware ofhow hungry he is.

“Master Timmothy, I suggest taking the food slowly, youspend quite a few days on intravenous nutrition only,”Alfred says, coming up from behind him.

The statement makes Tim feel a little disoriented. A few days? He puts the spoon down, biting with a little more care.

“Sure, Alfred, thank you.”

“Can he even eat that?”Dick suddenly says. The previous conversation pauses.“I mean... Are we sure his stomach can handle it?”

There is a brief silence between them, and almost instinctively, Tim lets out an exasperated breath.“I’mnot a f*cking baby, Dick. I know my limits.”

“Oh,do you?”

The chatter around them stops immediately. Tim clutches his spoon and looks away,canfeelDick´sinstant regret for snarking back in a tone he rarely uses with him.

“Sorry, I…”Dick says, and has the decency to look at least a little embarrassed, but mostly, he sounds frustrated.“I’mjust worried about you.”

“Iknow,”Tim responds, and his voice comes out so coldly angry it freezes the atmosphere. Nobody is eating anymore.

“We areallworried about you.”

“Iknow, Dick.”

He raised his voice, and logically, Tim knows how unfair he isbeing. But the anger burns his lungs and spreads like acid all over his veins. And hedoesn’trealize, as he lifts his eyes back up, just how much the devil peaks behind them.

This hatred hecan’tcontrol kills every other emotion in the room, and all Tim can see is red. Red anger and hurt and defeat bouncing around inDick’sface. Red frustration anddisappointment,buzzing around Stephanie, Duke, Cass, Jason, andDamian, trapping them in a trance. His own red and throbbing desperation in realizing he is ruining everything again.

He is not half dreaming anymore; he is painfully present. This anger ishorriblyhis.

“What is this?”Tim snorts, looking around.“This… this pathetic little thing your doing, Imean seriouslyDickwh-what? What do you thinkyou’redoing, huh?”

“Tim, come on…”

“No! Get off me! What is this, Dick? Think I need your f*cking pity?”he is up and out of his chair now; his mouth feels dry.“Think I need you following me around like a wounded animal? Youwouldn’teven know to f*cking help yourself.”

“Stop it right now, Tim…”

“I’msorry youcan’tcomprehendI’mnot a stupid kid anymore, but is what is happening, do you hear me?I’man adult. Do you have an idea of the things I can do?I’mthe detective! I could destroy you!”

“Tim, please…”

“Don’tbe f*cking ridiculous, you and Bruce are always going around in circles,but I know whatI’mdoing.I’mtheonly onewho knows what he is doing! Youcan’teven hold a girlfriend, attend to a job, whothe f*ck do you think you are?”

“I’myour brother,”Dick says, with such conviction, like hereallybelieves in the power of a statement like that.Like it has the power to fix all of this.

And the part of Tim that is still stuck in being eleven years old, watching Dick Grayson on an unreachable pedestal, is tempted to believe him.

“Give me a break,” Tim's face gets stone cold, breaking in rage. “I’m a Drake. Do you even know what that means? I’m Timothy f*cking Drake.”

Tim knows he hit a sore spot. Dick gets stuck in his chair, frozen, and Bruce flinches. He looks angry, but Tim knowsismore than that. He is hurt. It fuels the fire inside him like gasoline.

“Iwas mymother’spride. Think Idon’tknow what you all think of her?”he looks around the room, daggers digging into every face.“I could f*cking destroy you! Because before I was Robin,ora Titan, or Red Robin, or any of that,I was her pride.”

Tim's mind is a ruined jigsaw, pieces flying around and torturing him. And he is too deep in the longing, maddening memory of his mother holding him on her lap as she signed papers, on the little wrinkle that formed around her eyes; to notice the way Damian holds his breath, the way tension rises on Jason’s neck. His eyes get densely clouded.

“No one is your enemy here, Tim,”Stephanie says, finally looking up, and she is exasperated, heartbroken.“And I know youdon’twant to hear it, but weareworried about you. Andwhat that means isthat we care, and if youdon’tcare aboutusthat isfine.”

“Don’tbullsh*t me, Steph…”

“Okay, time to cool off, kid,”Jasonsays,as calmly as he can, rising from his chair.

“Iwantnothing more thanyou to shut your mouth, Jason.”

“That is enough!” Bruce'stone is deep and dark as he slams both hands on the table, making the china clatter. He gets up, adark, intimidating figure looming overall ofthem.

And his eyes, those areBatman’seyes. Even Tim, in all his aggression,can’thelp the instinct to retrieve. He looksdown,and feels like Robin again, being lectured by his mentor. The rage is a loose fire now, and too lateTimrealizes hecan’tcontain it.

And since hecan’tface Bruce, Tim goes for the next best thing. His eyes slowly fix on Jason, red clashing against red.

“Playing the sane man now, Jason? Does it feel good?”

“Iknow whatyou’redoingkid, is not going to work.”

“Does it feel good not to be the nuthead for a f*cking day?”

“Tim,”Bruce scolds, angrier now, tense. Tim refuses to look at him.

A surprisingly strong hand grabsTim'sshoulder and forces him to step back.“Come onman, knock it off.”

Duke´svoice is collected, sympathetic, andfirm.Hedoesn’tlet go until Tim looks him in the eye, and Timcan’tstandhow much love there isinside them.

Tim pushes him so hard Duke almost trips over the table, and when Duke tries to grab him again, Tim reacts like a wild animal trying not to be touched.

The back of his hand clashes withDuke'sface, trying to grab it, and Duke pushes him back. It only angers Tim more. He is too blind in his despair to realize who he is trying to hurt until someone else pushes him away from Duke.

“Hands off him, Tim.”Jason stands defensively between them.“I mean it.”

“The prodigal son, everyone!”Tim mocks.“You know, we all followed him around, but no one is moreBruce’sson than you, just as stubborn, just as lost, chasing each other like headless chickens.”

“Back off, kid.”

“You’rea f*cking psycho.”

“Me?”Jason says bitterly, and Tim knows he did it, heprovoked him.“You’rethe onetalking to walls and laughing like the fu…!”

“Both of you, stop it!”

“No, no, no. Come on, say it.”Tim pushes him, shouting.“Say it! Am I like thef*cking Joker? Say it, Jason! Am I your worst f*cking nightmare?”

Jason lifts him by the shirtin a secondand pushes Tim to the wall.The world is nothing but chaos.

“There it is, huh?” Tim says, eyes wide, maddened with rage. “There it f*cking is! Come on, don’t hold back on me now! You never have before!”

“Jason, let him go!”

Dick and Bruce grab Jason from behind and push him to the ground, Timfalls onto the floor. Everything hurts again, everythingspins. He feels the phantom touches from all those cruel hands, the unending violence, the cold, the pain that keeps coming and coming and coming.

He is still in it, henever escaped it.

“Brotherly love at it again, huh, Jay?” he spits, and a string of blood comes out of his mouth. “Isn’t that all we do? Yeah, yeah, Bruce… oh, Bruce over here… Oh, Jason, you have no idea.”

“Shut up.”

“Bruce loved you so much it almost burned Gotham to the ground,” Tim feels life draining out of Jason's face as soon as he says it, “He almost set us all on fire with him… You know? I always knew,we all knew, that no matter how much loyalty, devotion, and kindness, and love we gave Bruce… none of us would ever live up to the ghost of Jason Todd.”

A strangled laugh comes out ofTim,as he tries to get hold of all the air hecan’tseem to reach. Blood drips down his chin.

“Not that it matters. Not that any of it matters, because you came back. And at the end of the day, Brucestill failed you. Heearnedyou hate, no matter how hard he keeps trying to fix it, over and over and for the rest of his life.” Tim's smile is made of red tainted teeth, and he can´t quite lift his head to see their reaction, it hangs like that of a puppet.

All the eyes around the table have gone still, shocked silence looking in dread. Some deep,stilltender part of Tim regrets all the red he has brought into their world.

“So much… blood…”he whispers, like it confuses him.“And what was it for? No- nothing.”

White devours the world. Tim can taste therust,andsmell it like it never left.Like it will forever cover him.The silence is all-consuming, and Tim is tired of it, of this nothing. Anger is much more fulfilling.

“You did it, youwon, Jay.I’mgonnadieandyou get to replace me.”

***

Jason stops fighting, held between Dick and Bruce. The paralyzed room watches as Tim loses consciousness and falls heavily over the tiles. Jason sees Tim’s body, so still and small and cold on the floor, and gets fixated on the wrinkles his hands made on the neck of Tim's shirt.

He is vaguely aware of Alfred's firm and worried voice, of the bodies that come, like in slow motion, to surround Tim in panic. He thinks he hears crying, and desperation. Bruce pants and huffs as he takes over and lifts Tim, rushing him to the med bay.

Nightwi—No, not Nightwing, thisisn’ta mission.Thisis themanor,where they are supposed to be safe—Dick puts a hand over his chest, asking him to stay there. Jasondoesn’twant to, but hecan’tmove either.

A gray cloud buzzes around his head, and in the middle of this out-of-body experience, a memory comes tohim,in ghosts.

Just a few days after his rescue, a cold night with the curtains open to see the full moon. Jason had thought it the perfect occasion for silly werewolf movies, somethingto maybe distract Tim from his misery. He installed a mini projector on the wall, sat on a chair next toTim´sbed, and passed him the DVDs for him to choose from.

Tim had been reluctant atfirst,didn’teven seem strong enough to lift a hand. Jason had almost given up.

“These titles are so stupid,”Tim suddenlysaid,and picked one up.“Where did you even get this?”

“Hey, put some respect on 'Santo and Blue Demon vs the Monsters', kid,” Jason said, smiling. “It has 'Franquestein' in it,”

“Oh, I see, of course,”Tim said, shrugging, starting to smile.“Don’tyou have Teen Wolf?”

“That is so basic.”

“I’ma simple man.”

As Jason set the movie up, Tim had stayed numb on the bed, dissociating. His silence freaked Jason out much more than he cared to admit, hejust seemed so out of himself.Toomuch like howaddictsacted when they were too far gone. Jason had fought with Bruce over it on previous days, demanding to know what meds andin whichdoses werebeing administeredto Tim. It had awakened a deep fear hedidn’tknowhe had.

The opening credits had started to roll, and Jason made himself comfortable on his chair, pulling the giant blanket to cover Timtoo. After a few seconds, Tim looked away from the movie, unsurely staring at Jason in the dim light.

“Hey,”Tim had whispered, mindclearlystill foggy.“Could I ask you areallyf*cked up question?”

“Mm… this is interesting. Shoot me.”

“What does it feel like… to be dead?”

The abruptness of the question had hit him on the throat at first, and Jason choked for a moment, not knowing how to react. Thenthememories, the most painful ones, had peaked until Jason forced them away to return to reality.

The silence before he found the courage to speak was deafening.“I… Idon’tknow.”

It was the truth. Admiting to it was nauseating. Tim had then looked down, embarrassed and tense.

“Jesus… sorry, forget it, I....”he had said with a shaky laugh.“Idon’tknow what I was thinking.”

“Hey, I know, okay?” Jason said, putting a hand on Tim's shoulder. “I know after you get too close to it all you can think about is death, but that ain’t the important part, okay?”

Tim blinked and nodded vaguely.Thiswas probably the most they had talked in a while, and in that moment, Jason realized there were things hehadn’tsaid yet. Maybethingsnobody had remembered to say yet.

“We… we want you alive,okay?”Jason had said, voice getting dangerously gentle.“Sodon’tyou scare us like that again, birdy. Wedon’tneed another dead robin.”

The restthirtyminutes of the movie they watched in silence.After a while, Jason found an opportunity to make a jokeandTimhadresponded weekly, but with a smileon his face.Everything had seemed almostnormalfor the rest of the night. Tim fell asleep near the end of the movieandJason is still not sure why he remained stiff on his chair until the screen turned black and even long after, compulsively searching in the quietness for the sound ofTim’sbreathing.

Now,Jasonisn’tsure when or how he ended up sitting on the couch.He stares at the pattern on the carpet, limbs loose, and keeps staring until hecan’tfeel his arms. The lights are off, and he sinks in the darkness.

He is not sure how longis beenwhen a figure sits next to him on the couch.Isso stealthy andquiet,Jason recognizes its presence by instinct. The world comes back to him slowly.

“Is heokay?”Jason says, and a lump forms in his throat.

“He is,”Bruce answers. His face is calm and collected, but his eyes are as hard as ever.

Jason shakes his head slowly.“You knew the kid was still afraid of me. He wasjustpretending.”

“Tim is not afraid of you.”

Surely, Bruce means it as somekind ofcomfort, but his voice is so emotionless it just pisses Jason off. Besides,isnot like he believes him.

“But you are,aren’tyou? ThatI’llhurt him again.”He sounds more aggressive than he intends, and Brucesigns,tired.

“Iam not in the mood for a discussion, Jason.”

Jason buries his face in his hands.

Whywouldn’the be afraid of me? Whywouldn’the hate me?

Jason still remembers how it was at first,the wayTim flinched at his laugh,the wayhis eyes looked around mistrustingly when they were alone in the same room.The way Tim hid the doubt when Jason offered him a hand.

For how long had he been pretending everything was fine?

The kid was right. Their family historywas madeof bloodshed. Itdidn’tmatter how much Jason had tried to move away from it, how much he had tried to rebuild the bridges. He kept burning it all around him.

He had just hurt his littlebrother,again.

His brilliant, co*cky, toosmartfor hisowngood little brother.Tookind for hisowngood.Stillbelieving inBruce’sholy crusade.

“You know what he is doing, right? Deflecting, pushing us away so he can have an excuse to destroy himself," Jason says.

“Iknow.”

There issomething subtle inBruce’svoicethatmakes Jason think hetooismulling over everything Tim said.And Jason feels a dread hedidn’tknow he could feel for anyone but himself. Bruce is far too talented at saying all the wrong things, and Jason wants to warnhimandtell him not to scare the kid away even more.

“Don’tyou think of giving up on him…”is all Jason ends up saying, hisvoice is failing him, and— God, no, he is not about to cry in front of Bruce.

“Never.”

Jason settles in his conviction for now.

“Whatis thisabout Bruce?”he asks, hiding behind a rough voice.“I saw your files, whyare you looking into the clown again?”

“Is… complicated.”

“Do youreallythinkJokerhad anything to do with this?”

Bruce thinks of hisnextwords carefully.“The cult came from Gotham; I know that now. And some of the things Tim has said sound…familiar. I could be wrong.”

Jason feels a panic growing inside.There is nothing he wantsmore than running away, but like it has happened many times during all these years, hecan’t.A part of himis still tiedin flesh to this place, this family.In the darkness, everything feels so hopeless, but he has to believethatthere is a way out of this hellish maze.

“Keep me updated,”Jasonsays,before getting up.

Even if he doesn’t turn, he can feel Bruce’s eyes burning his back.

***

This time around, in the empty, there is no blinding light, no darkness.

Isa sad, lonely gray.

Like the gravel on the highway, leftovers of something made to me transited. An empty place meant tobe briefly filled.

It'sstatic on a radio, forever haunting all the channels thatcan’tbe reached.

When Tim was thirteen, he made a painting for art class. The assignment was to create an entirely free piece that reflected an emotion, and the emotion assigned to him was loneliness. Tim had displayed all his colors of gray that afternoon and painted a Greenland shark. He had been fascinated by them since he was little. Thisgreat, quiet animal that wandered freezing, dark waters all alone for decades, covered in the scars madeby humanshewould surely outlive.

Tim admired nature’s will to survive. With ferocity, with tooth and nail against everything. But with gentleness too, patience, with slowing down. Tim thought he had figured it all out when he painted that gray shark like an old photograph, smelling in it even the cold sea he would never get to see for himself.

As Tim keeps diving into this deep end, hetoofeelslike the tragic portrait of a memory never remembered.Another scarred, blind animal doomed to swim through these grays, looking for a way to stay alive.

Are they happy?Livingjustto live?

If he were alone in these waters, Tim would not care for the arrows and harpoons on his back, the trail of blood they leave behind.

How peaceful would itbe,to die having lived so long and solittle. How tragic, how inhuman.

Tim lets himself sink.

Andkeepssinking.

Andsinking.

And he wonders if, in this passiveness, there is a way to survivetoo.

“Alright, Tim, when I give you thesignyou press play.Okay, my love?”

“Okay, mommy.”

“Do you rememberDad’sfavorite song?”

“Yellow submarine, yellow submarine…”

“Yes, that one, very well,”

“Kon, stop it.”

“Oh,you'retotally in love with me.”

“Shut up, Superboy,I’myour superior.”

“Excuse you, I thought this was a cooperative organization.”

“Well, as a foundingmemerI…don’tlaugh. As a founding member, I say…stop laughing! I say if there was ever a leaderitwas me.”

“Damn it! It must’ve been a punch I took… Your first Father's Day and I…”

“Did great Tim. Did you get the bad guys?”

“Yeah…”

“And you came home safe. You made it a perfect Father's Day, Tim.”

“Iamabsolutelynot planning you a surprise party! Come on!”

“Dick, there are very few instances where you have been able to keep a secret from me.Thisisn’tone of them.”

“Are you ever going to humor me on this?”

“Idon’tknow, maybe one day you canactuallytrick me.”

“Fricking me, I forgot the jalapeño sauce…”

“Ihave some.”

“Are you a magician? You always pullexactlywhat I need from that belt. You should teach me that trick sometime.”

“Is easy. You always forget to ask for it, so I order extra for you.”

“Aww, thanks, old man.”

“Duke, I’m bearly three years older than you.”

“Just look at him, areyou seeing this miss… teacher?”

“I am, sir.”

“He did all this by himself! My boy is a genius, I tell you. I wish I could take the creditbutisall him, heis special. Sodon’tever think about telling him there is something hecan’tdo, arewe clear?”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“—o! I am not being irrational, ifyou would ju—”

Tim is still underwater. Halos come in waves and slowly allow him to make out his surroundings.But the world is aghost, translucent, barely there for him to noticeit.

First, he sees a wooden floor andhearsthe slight creaks it makesas someone walks on it.Thenwindows, letting the clarity of a bright yellow sun come through them.

“—ny timetimesdo I have to tell you; he did not run away!Thisis n—”

Then he perceives the noises of a city, cars and sirens, and smoke and people. And he hears the wayis muffledbehind these four walls.Isa nice place, Tim thinks.Feelslike it could be somewhere safe.

He smells the earthy but old brick walls, some neutral detergent.A coffeemaker that has been on for too long. A pancake burning on the stove.

“Don’tyou dare hang up on me!”

Tim slowly slips back into his body, or something like it. He grounds himself inside hisownpresence,in this place. A fleeting presence,hesoon realizes. The sunrays pass through him like he is not there.

He sees the man more clearlynow,as he leans over the kitchencounter,and slams the phone on the wall next to him. Tim watches from his in-between place andhas the feeling thathe knows him from somewhere.

The mantakes his dark glasses offand rubs his face, strongly breathing through his frustration.Tim takes note of the white cane on hishand,the way his eyes move. He is blind.

Tim looks more closely around the room. Few pieces of furniture, no photos, and no decorations. No dining room. There are files piled up on the kitchen table, with names on them and Tim recognizes the format. The man is wearing a suit.

A lawyer?

Despite how generic and empty of personality the apartment is, this man does not seem to live alone. Tim catches sight of a blue hoodie on the hanger by the door, of a smaller size, in a style thatdoesn’tseem to matchwiththe minimalistic, practical aspect of the rest of the house.

He sees the sugary cereal boxes on one side of the fridge and thesimpleinstant oats on the other.The plain and long sockscommonfor office workers scattered across the floor next to the brightly colored and attention-drawing ones.

It appears no one hascleaned properlyin some timetoo.There is a fine layer of dust on the floor, clothes and notebookslayon the couch,pillows areon the floor.

The man picksthe phone back upand has no trouble guessing exactly where it has fallen. (Maybe he is notcompletelyblind?). He starts dialing a numberandTim hears the way he takes a deep, long breath before the person on the other line answers.

“Hello?”

“The police are useless. Iam not going tostand and wait for one ofthemto believe me.”

“Matt, wait…”

“No! We tried your way, nowI will deal with itmyway,” the man's voice faltered ever so slightly, “I am bringing Peter home, Foggy. One way or another…”

Peter?

Peter!

PETER!

The darkness reaches him again, claimsTimlike it knows he can never escape it. It wraps and strangles him, weights him down into the abysm.

“…one half of the sacred vase.”

“You’redying.”

“…magic is unpredictable and chaotic.”

“…. sucking your soul like a parasite.”

“They put something in me a-and I… I remember now!”

“Save me!”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Please, buddy, come on, can you hear me?”

“Peter…?”

“Yes! Its…it’sme, oh, I thought I was going insane…”

“Peter… is this a dream?”

“God, I hope not.”

“You… how can you hear me?”

“Look…I’mnot sure myself how this all worksbut…I’mgonnaget you out of here,ok?”

“Out? Out of where?”

“I-Idon’tknow where you are yet, butdon’tworry, I am going to figure something out, is what I do best.”

“This… thiscan’tbe real.I’vebeen hearing you, seeing you. But youdon’texist…What if it was all in my head?”

“No, no, no, no,I´mvery real,okay.Theyjust…theywant us to think we are crazy.”

“Aren’tyouliterallya voice in my head?”

“Right.I’m…what if I tell you a secret?”

“How would that make you real?”

“Well, it will be something about me youdon’tknow. And you can hold me toit,until I get to where you are, and…you can fact-check.”

“I… I guess.”

“Okay, here goes...I’m…I’mSpider-Man.”

“You’re… what?”

“I’mSpider-Man.I…I fear it may be the reason they kidnapedyou,they want something with my blood, and you got caught up in it,I’msorry.”

“No… what? I…what does that mean, that your…aspiderman?”

“What does… Do you not knowSpider-Man?”

“No?”

“Okey, well this is…I…I’ma superhero.”

“Oh… that explains some things.”

“Really?”

“So, Peter Parker is an… alias? A secret identity?”

“Wow, you even know my full name,that’s… a little weird.”

“Yeah,I’mpretty sure they somehow linke—”

“Linked our minds?”

“Exactly”

“Your name is… Tim, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’msorry you got caught up in this mess, Tim.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure is entirely your fault, Peter… What did you say before? About your blood?”

“It has… properties. Is not the first time people thinkthey’llget powers if they do something with it.”

“Idon’tthinkthat’swhat they were trying to achieve.”

“Really? Why?”

“Is… complicated. Butlet’sjustsayyou’renot the only one with tricks,Spider-Man.”

“This is… strange, right? You feel ittoo?”

“Ido, I… I thinkI´vebeen hearing your heartbeat…”

“Do you… Do you thinktheylinked something more than our minds?”

“I…”

“Tim…?

“Peter?”

“Ti—!”

“Peter!”

“Peter?”

“I’mgonna find you, Peter…”

***

Duke watches them all go their own way, the mansion slowly emptying like it always does at twilight.There’salways something haunting about letting them go, saying goodbye to them until morning.Especially at first, Duke had felt uneasy about the, even if remote,possibility that theywouldn’tmake it back.

Since the day he lost his parents, every goodbye has felt catastrophic. Even if the feeling has dissipated over the years, it still lingers behind the smiles and waves of the hand, the“see you around”and“take care”.

Tonight, as they say goodbye and leave for patrol, Duke feels their collective tension, nobodylooks him in the eye. And he has to try harder than usual to believe things will get better in the morning.But if Duke isbeing honest, those kinds ofthoughtsdon’treallyfeelrealfor people like them.

Daylight is almost an afterthought in Gotham. The night takes over the city, itfeeds on its shadows. The night is when the monsters like to rule.

Duke sits on his desk, trying to write an essay that he already feels is not being made consciously. He is too distracted by the somber shadow he saw on Dick's face as he left earlier. He anxiously moves the pen on his finger, wondering if he should try to sleep when someone opens his bedroom door.

Jason is in full Red Hood gear, holding the helmet in one hand. Hedoesn’tseem all that there when he gathers the courage to look Duke in the eye.

“Joker scaped Arkham forty minutes ago.”

For a solid few seconds, Duke thinks this must be a nightmare. He fell asleep on his desk, over his computer.Thisis all his fears coming alive on a single day, itcan’tbe real.

Then, his eyes narrow.

“You stay put,alrightkid?”Jason saysquickly,and makes sure Duke hears this is an order.“We’llcall you if we need backup.”

Liar.

Duke thinks immediately. For much that he wants to trust him, Duke has come to know their ways.Tonight, they are all emotional,andtheytend to beapprehensive,overprotective,when they are.There is a reason Jasonisn’ttelling him to put the suit on immediately.

By the time Jason puts on the helmet and leaves, Duke is alreadystarting to plana way to escape. Oratthe very least, assist from the computer on the Batcave. Itdoesn’ttake him long to make up his mind, thepaper and pen are left abandoned on his desk.

He stops,sitting at the edge of his bed, and remembers Red Robinisn’tout there tonight.There is a pain in his chest thatdoesn’tseem to leave.

“I’mreallyf*cking up this big brother thing, huh?”

A thunder roars outside as Duke gets up, determined, and goes towards Tim's bedroom. He is not even sure what he’ll find in there, if Tim will even answer the door. No one has seen him since that morning when it had all gone wrong.

He wants to think Tim will be better now, hisepisodesdon’tusually last that long.Right now, Dukeis preparedto take his anger if it meansto hearTim'svoice before he gets out.

To his surprise, the doorknob is loose, and Duke opens the door. At first,all he sees isa room in complete darkness, curtains closed. Then, his hand reaches for the light switch.

What hefinds,is a madhouse.

Notes and papers are scattered all around the floor, theycover the walls along a thousand strings and tacksformingan incoherent red.Hesees pens and other sharp objects stabbing the walls, circles inside circles carved on thewood of the bed. A trail of cakey red pain—he hopes, he praysthisisn’tblood— runs over the notes like branches.

And in the middle of it, there is a scrambled drawing.A roundface,painted in red.It has nomouth,withblack, largeovaleyes. Black stripes run from between the eyes.

There is a ripped-off note next to it.

Spider-man?

His heart starts pounding so hard is all Duke can perceivenow,as he staggers inside, trying and failing to make sense of all this. The notes on the walls are absolute nonsense. The worst ones, unreadable scribbles, the most decent ones, the ones he can make out…

scared little kid

kid?

Won? When? Who?

lost

she lay down

strong, STRONGER

KILL?

kill her

back, back, back

forgotten

save me

vessel, vase, who?

DEAD?killed?

Highway, light, mom?

cantrust?

JUMP JUMP

alive?

Duke looks around in panic.Tim is not here. Tim is not here. Tim is not here.

He runs to the mess in the desk, piles of destroyed books around, and looks forTim’snotebooks. He finds one immediately, half torn and wrinkled, in the same shaky writing as the rest of the room.

“…waterboarded for an hour…”

“…broke his jaw as I tried to…”

“…believed I was alone…”

“…. Two oval eyes, no mouth…”

“… I won…”

“They wanted me here…”

“…he laughs, Ithink he wants me to laugh too…”

“…when smoke is greentherea nightmare…”

“…back, but not the same…”

“…nobody wants this burden…”

“…still alone…”

“…family deserves beter…”

“…is getting worse…”

“…fear I have become dangerous…”

“…abilities… out of control…”

“…I am poison…”

“…better if Ihadn’tcom…”

“…ybe I can fix it…”

“…the jump must be made…”

Before he canevenprocessDuke is out of the room, running towards the cave.His body moves on its own, instinct making him react through fear. He practically slams himself over the bat computer.

“Barbara, Tim left the manor, youhave to tracehim,now!”

“What?”

“Tim left the manor! You have to find him!”Duke screams.

He is breathing too fast.

He vaguely hears Barbara giving orders, and Dukecan’tconcentrateon it.

Duke closes his eyes and tries to use his powers to find Tim, sense him, see him, anything.Butislike trying to walk with a cramp on both feet.He falls and falls and falls. His powersdon’trespond, and terror overcomes him.

Hecan’tfind him. Time is running out. And Duke is blind.

“This is Oracle, TimDrake is out on the streets alone, Ineed all available eyes to find him, wethink he may be in danger.”

“What? What the hell happened?”

“Dick, listen to me,”Duke says, putting a com on his ear.“He escaped from the manor, Idon’tknow how long ago, heis acting crazy, wehave to find him right now!”

“Damn it!”he hears Barbara.“He completely fried the security system; I don’t have a visual of anything on the manor's grounds.”

“Why would he get out?”

Because he hates himself.Dukethinks. Because we didn’t help him. Because he thinks we don’t want him.

“His body is still weak; hecouldn’thave gone far.”

“He took the Red Robin suit,”Barbara says, and Duke feels his heart stop.“He disconnected the tracer on the near west of Crime Alley. Sending coordinates now.”

***

Tim is running.

Flying, falling, cascading, pushing, carving his way out.

He escapedfornow, from the place where he was captive, but the shadows are still lurking. There are many more nightmares coming after him.

Thisisn’treal.

He passes down the screams of the man whose face he broke in half on the ring andsees the mad smiles of cult members claiming and begging for him to keep going.Feelsthe heat of their ecstasies, desperate, hungry hands trying to reach him.

He sees thefloor of the ring, as he saw it every time an opponent knocked him over. His disgust and horror at the stinking, caked in blood surface. So much of it, so old.

Again,feelsthe tension on the man in white who was charged to chain him, the way his body shook as he got close to Tim like he was some vicious dog that would tear his face out at any minute.

He runs past the machine room, blindingly white, its table dripping with Peter's blood. And Tim scrapes through the passages of the bunker, trying to find a way out.

And suddenly, he is running past the street where he used to meet Robin to end the night together. Sees the neons of his stores, the huff and whistle of its pipes. He jumps from one roof toanother,and midair, inhere, all of this almost feels real, like he isreallythere being Red Robin again, free.

But the shadows keep chasing him, and Tim keeps running as the tunnel closes on him again, and he knows hecan’tstop,hehas to find the light, andhe has to keep going.

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

“I’mgonna fix you…”

That laugh again, crushing him, filling him with fear. That terrible laugh of cruel, maddening evil.Isall the dried blood and the screaks of people hecan’tsave.Isthe desolation of a lost battle, of all the grieve and rock bottoms that have ever beat him.

Now Tim feels cracking under its weight. He realizesnow,he has been losing this battle for longer than what he has ever admitted to himself, his body, his spirit, withering away.Evenbeforehewas strippedof his freedom,of his softness, of hisdignity.

These cracks of his were not made by the cult.They were already there. This anger and darkness were already hiding beneath bruised skin and distracted eyes.

“The hardest choices require the strongest wills.”

But this darkness will not reach his family. He is going to make sure of that. The cult wanted him to come back and poison everything in his reach. They had turned Tim into a monster and waited for him to rip apartall the peoplehe loved.

And Tim is not going to give them that satisfaction. He owns this world to fight for it one last time. He owns it to Peter, to himself.

“…such a weakness.”

No.

Tim thinks, and he feelsstronger, sees more clearly.

You think you know me? You think you broke me? Youain'tseen nothing of me yet.

Thisis not over until he decides it is.

Tim jumps again, and this timethefall is much taller, hestumbles as he keeps running. Green smoke creeps from all directions, trying to eat him whole.

A light shines on the horizon, and Tim stretches to reach it. He can do this. He can get out of this dream.

“You listen to me. You have a gift…You have power…”

“The jump. Is the only way...”

“Everyone who knows and loves you…”

He is getting close; Tim can feel it. The way out is somewhere around here…It can all beover,soon.

***

Duke opens the entrance to the cave and jumps on the only bike available. He is out in the rain in a minute, thunder and black clouds looming over him. He turns and jumps overobstacles,andtries to go faster and faster. There was no time for a suit, hissweatshirt is already soaking.

Thisis too slow.

Jesus, Tim, what are you doing?

And something answers inside Duke, full of regret, that he recognizes this.

He is in pain, hecan’tsee another way out.

And Duke saw it. He sawit,in his eyes every day when he was defensive andcombative,and closed himself in his room for days.

Because Duke knows what this is, he has faced this dark placebefore. Thisdespair.

The bike slips out of control in the rain.

Duke barely has time to jump out of it before it crashes into an abandoned store, wheels still running out of control. As he gets up, bruised, he realizes he has no time to get it to work again. So, he runs.

The rain is disorienting, andDuke’sbody moves painfully stiff in adrenaline. He feels like he is not going fast enough. He passes streets and almost falls several times, runs through scared people and houses on fire, and is barely aware of the chaos that has taken over this part of the city.

He pushes to run faster, straining his muscles. He is almost there.

“What is that?”

People scream all around him, theypoint to an abandoned block further on his left. Dukelooks andsees a big, old building, some sort of factory or warehouse, completely overrun but weeds and rust. Butisnot abandoned tonight, itglows in sickly yellowlight,andalmost looks like a cold fire.

“What was that?”

“The old factory outside of the 4th, in Crime Alley. I just traced Tim there. Whoever isclosego there now!”

Duke takes the turn and heads there with all his might. He is sure he is running faster than he ever has in his lifebutisnot enough. Nothing feels likeisenough.

Suddenly, something flies over him. IsRobin,running over the roofs next to him and heading in the same direction.And then catches a glimpse of Spoiler, Black Bat, making their way from the opposite direction.

The shine coming from the factory expands and intensifies like an explosion. Duke is in front of it now, and finds an entrance on a giant hole on the side of the building. He perceives the other heroes trying to come in from all directions.

“Superboy is on his way.”

And Duke has just enough time to feel a glimpse ofreliveas he runs into thefactory;to feel the hot, dense air inside and see the speaks of ashthat floatin the air and see the machines turning on and moving before he looks up and sees him.

Red Robin,on top of a leverthat hangsfrom the high roof.Under him, a giant container boils with acid that scorches the air, even as far as Duke is.

Then everything slows down.

***

Tim stops.

When he opens his eyes, he wonders for a moment what this place is. He can feel thelight,coming frombelow,in waves.

He looks down as the vertigo washes over every thought he has. The voices stop with a hush, and he is back in the gray peace ofhismind. It all seems so clear to him now. It seemsfitting,that this is the fate he must fulfill to be free again.

“The jump… Is the only way.”

He has been dangling in the limit ever since the cult held him captive and stole everything from him, but he can make things right now. He will make things right. The acid boils in a sickly green, and Timtakes a slow stepforward. The ladder is slippery. It would only take a second.

“…and with great power,there must also come great responsibility.”

Thisis the end.

Tim thinks he hears it again, in the distance. Stephanie’s voice singing to a musical as they watched it huddled on the couch, the way her hand rested over his chest. Damian's concentrated huffs, trying to get the sketch of Alfred The Cat sleeping on Tim's shoulder just right. Dick’s heartbeat, safe and steady, hugging him after a particularly rough night, his calming, funny voice that took the nightmares away.

Jason’s feet tapping the floor impatiently, with a burger in his hand, rambling about how he needed a break while they sat on the swings of an abandoned park. Cassie's grunt as she took her earring off and sat exhausted on the bed, her smile when she cached him on the door. Bart's excited screams and claps when they were watching some stupid action movie, popcorn, and laughter flying everywhere.

Alfred’s severe voice, scolding him as he bandaged his arm and pretending not to find it funny when Tim cracked a joke. Cass's hands making the needles clash with a tink, as she kneaded a deformed scarf while keeping him company in the library. Duke's embarrassingly excited howls from the audience, at the theater where Tim had just presented a photographic exhibition.

Bruce's laugh, rare and bright and embarrassed. Batman's calm voice in the storm, carrying him when he was injured, arms that would protect him forever.

Kon’svoice, coming to lift him after afight,and putting an arm around his shoulder to help him walk, repeating:“We stick together Tim, that's what we do.”

Somewhereherethere is a home. And as he takes the final step on the ladder, Tim can almost convince himself it was real. But he knows hecan’tkeep balancing on this string forever. Sooner or later, he will have to face the abysm.

And homewell, home was never a place he knew how to find.

Silence comes again. It is absolute.

And Tim lets go.

He falls.

And as he falls, he thinks maybethis time,he will reach somewhere.

Somewhere safe.

Can one lose himself in the living?

Can you be too drown in the unending velocity of life to remember the character of your own soul?

For how long we can drunkenly wander this infinite space

Before it consumes us?

Can you get too used to living?

And how, oh how do you wake up?

***

Tim falls.

Duke screams his name.

Spoiler opens her way on the ruble and enters.

Black Bat breaks in a second later.

Robin enters from the other side at the same time.

Red Hood sees Tim through the factory's windows as he is arriving.

Nightwing is too far away, when he sees the glow of the factory intensify.

Superboy is flying as fast as lighting, clinging to the ragging sound of Tim's heartbeat.

Bum.

Bum.

Bum.

Bum.

Bum.

Kon shoots from the sealing, reaching a hand to catch Tim.

Bum

Duke's powers come back in ragging alarm, paralyze him and give him a glimpse of the last second, playing in repeat as Tim falls.

A shadow tainted in red. It comes behind Tim, and then grows over him, looms as he pushes Tim forward. When it turns, Duke feels its deep, hollow black eyes burning everything around him.

Bum.

Bum.

Bu…

Kon dives into the container with him. Blinded by the acid, he grabs into the first thing he feels of Tim and rushes to get him out. Is not until he comes out and falls coughing on the floor that Kon realizes what he is holding is not a person, is not a body.

Isa piece of Robin armor.

And a bone.

Flesh melts off of it.

The silence rings, and itdoesn’tstop.

It isallsilent.

The bone rolls on the floor.

“I… I c-can’t…Ican’thearhim,”Kon stammers.“Ica-can’th-hear him! Ican’thear him!”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Kon'slasers split the building in half, hisscreams rumble through the earth and crack the pavement underneath them. And like an explosion,Kon'shorror spreads through the room and suffocates the air.

The next thing Duke knows is that hecan'tbreathe, hecan'tmove.Islike the immediate sting and numbness after being punched in the chest, only thisdoesn'tgoaway,it goes, and it goes, and it goes...

From moment to moment, he snaps out of it to see a scene bad enough to sink him into panic again.

Stephanie is on the floor, collapsed in a strike of shakes and sobs so violent that she starts to vomit.

Cass has fallen against a wall, clinging to herclothes,and digging her nails into them, like trying and failing to make the world stop spinning.

Hecan’tstop shaking. Whycan’the stop shaking?

Something is coming.Duke feels it in a split second, and through the emptinessandfearand shock he forces his feet to move.Maybeisadrenaline or instinct, but something drives him to look for Damian. He is a few meters away, on his knees, pale and frozen and looking at the half-eaten bone, still scorching from the acid.

Duke staggers towards him and practically drags Damian to get him away fromKon'sbreakdown.

"Don'tlook, Damian, do—"heis so shakenthe words die in his mouth, and Damian makes no sign of having heard him, but still Duke tries to shield him with his body, crouching in front of him and covering him with his arms.Islike hugging a lifeless puppet.

The air changes and something shoots from the ceiling. From whereheis, Duke can only catch a glimpse ofSuperman'scape,a whisper of hiswords,as he holds on to Kon from behind and tries to make him stop. The building has started to collapse, theceiling falls piece by piece, in flames, all around them. Machines shriek in pressure, about to explode.

Duke holds onto Damian, helpless, willing to let the debris fall over him before it falls over Damian. He is hugging him sohard;thathedoesn’tnoticeat firstwhen Red Hood staggers inside the factory.

Jason drags Stephanie out of the building. It shakes Duke enough to do the same and push Damian out as best hecan,as he convulses into an uncontrollable cry that turns his body against him.

It turns into a panic attack as soon as he is finally out, and the building explodes behind them.

He sees Jason, falling to the floor and trying to breathe. Nightwing comes and clings to Jason, his mouth is moving, but Duke isn’t entirely there anymore, he can’t hear them.

But he recognizes the horror in Dick's eyes when Jason answers between sobs.

“No, no, no, no…no,”Dick says, stepping back as his eyes fill with tears.“No…”

“He jumped into the f*cking acid…”Jason says, voice shattering in despair.

The world blurs around Duke. He feels like he is dying. His heart beats so out of control the nausea knocks him to the ground and is all unbearable.The sounds, the air, his clothes, his own body.His vision deforms and flashes, blacking out.

Then he feels something grabbing him, forcing him to become himself again.

“Duke, listen to me, please.”

It takes him far too long to recognize Batman's voice. And as he looks up, he sees the overwhelming pain that fills his reddened eyes. Desperation he never thought he could see in the Dark Night.

“Duke,”

He is calling him, but Duke feelsiseasierto sink into this anguish than face the same pain he feels reflected in someone else.

I’msorry,I’msorryBruce, I tried to save him.

“Duke,” Batman begs, holding Duke's face up. Tears stream down his mask. “My boy, I need you to be strong, okay? I need you to be strong.”

And maybeisstrength, or fear, orlonging, or some other supernatural powerthatshocks Duke into reality again.And he hears the sirens of policecars,coming close to them.

“You have to go before they get here,”Bruce says,and his voice isbreaking.“You have to go…”

Someone—maybe Dick, maybe Jason—pulls him and separates him from Bruce, takes him away, and forces him to walk and hide. Duke is breathing better now, but his mind is still not responding.

And he is only partially aware of how they push him into the batmobile. The cold old smell of the seats, the sound of Dick crying.

Hedoesn’tknow how long passes. Whathappens,after. And hedoesn’tknow either whenit is thathe passes out completely.

But it feels like it has been just a second when he opens his eyes again, and he is on the Batcave's floor. They all come out crawling out of the batmobile. He sees Jason, drunkenly walking to the bat computer, tears still gushing uncontrollably out of his eyes.

“What are you doing?”Dick asks, his voice is raw.

“I’mgonna find him… andI’mgonna kill him…”Jason says, his voice trembling in so much rage and grief that it seems to suck the air out of the room.

“Whatthe hellare you talking about…?”

“That was Joker's acid. That was Joker’s hideout.” Jason spits, breathlessly, the sobs scape through his voice.

“Jason…”

“No... hecan'tget away with this again, Dick...”

Duke finally gets his thoughts tocome backto him, shaking him into realizing what is happening. And he remembers.

The red shadow. Black eyes.

“Itwasn’tthe Joker,”Duke says, and the other voices stop. A particular, dark rage starts to invade his eyes.“It was something else…”

The web of clues in Tim's room. The creature on his shoulder. The cult. The nightmares. The face painted on the walls.

Spider-Man