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Jason is screaming in his sleep again.
Tim can hear it through the walls, the desperate cries and angry yells. The sound of the man scratching against his bed’s headboard. Something smashing on the hardwood floor, a vase most likely. Jason’s voice starting to grow choked up. Soon the screams dissolve into sobs. He won’t admit it in the morning, he never does, but everyone in the manor knows about Jason’s nightmares.
He survived the games. If he didn’t have bad dreams they would be more worried. It’s been years, but to any ‘victor’ the games would always feel like yesterday. Tim knows that well enough from hearing Cass’s, Jason’s and Bruce’s screams echo off the walls in the dead of night.
A light flickers in the corridor, and Tim can hear the footsteps of someone walking down the hallway to Jason’s room. Dick, he assumes, since it’s coming from the direction of his room. It’s not always Dick; Cassandra, Stephanie, Alfred and Tim himself have taken their turns on comfort duty when it gets close to the reaping, though Jason rarely wants comforting. Damian’s usual form of comfort is challenging the elder to spar. Bruce rarely does it, at least during this time of year.
He has his own post-game nightmares to wrestle with.
“It’s okay, Jaybird. You’re safe.” Tim can hear Dick say from the other room. Out of all of them, he is the best with comforting words, except for perhaps Alfred. It’s one of his talents.
“Fuck off, Dick.” Jason’s voice sounds raw. We both know that’s a load of shit.” Tim waits for a response to echo down the hall.
The silence is telling.
***
The Wayne household contains three victors total. Bruce Wayne who at the age of 15 managed to beat the games by only killing a single man (to most, it’s impressive. To Bruce, it’s a failure.) Then there’s Cassandra who won brutally enough at age eleven to be featured in every version of ‘The game’s best moments.” She has nightmares as well, Tim can tell, but she hides them to a degree that few notice. Her father has been banned from the manor, not that he wants to see the daughter he raised as a career after her glory had faded.
Then there’s Jason, the boy who entered the arena just like his adoptive father only to come out, bruised, burnt, and bloody. He lost his leg in the games and while he claims it works fine, Tim notices him rubbing it from phantom pains. To the district of Gotham, they’re all winners.
None of them feel like it.
***
“Tim, you’re brooding,” Kon says as Tim sits on top of one of Gotham’s tallest buildings. In his hand he has a sketch pad, a long list of all the electronic supplies Gotham makes for the Capital. This part of the city is out of the reach on capital spies and monitors, making it an ideal place for revolutionaries. Whatever he’s designing, it looks complicated, but Kon can make out the basic form.
“Trying to give Red Robin wings, huh?” Tim smacks Kon upside the head lightly, still invested in his design. The bigger teen doesn’t flinch, running his hand through his hair.
“It’s a prototype. If we could see Capital movements from the sky without being as easily seen, well, it’d be a breakthrough.”
“Well, it’s a cool idea, dude. But I’d keep it away from the demon unless you want that kid mobile.”
Tim groans. The youngest of their family of rag tag revolutionaries matches his father’s son in stubborn. It took ages to get the eleven year old to stop buying his mother’s teachings of the games bringing glory. He’s better now, still as brutal as the rest of them, but fighting for the right team. Even if he does get on Tim’s nerves.
“It’s in two days, you know?” Kon says, looking up at the sky. “The Reaping. Our second to last year and then we’re safe.”
Tim chuckles, his voice bitter, looking at his best friend. “We’re revolutionaries who dress up in costumes to go destroy Capital supplies. I don’t think safe is an option.” Kon shoves him to the side, and rolls his eyes.
“You know what I mean, smartass. Bats worried about the demon?” Tim’s face grew grave. He’s shoulders hunched slightly.
“Not as much in the past. He only has one raffle in, and with the stories Cassandra, Bruce and Jason have been telling him, I think he’s finally as terrified as the games as all of us. I only have seven.”
Conner sits up straighter, taking on the appearance of a wealthy capital citizen. “The odds are in your favor, Timothy Drake.” He says, impersonating Effie’s high pitched voices. Tim’s response is a whisper.
“They were for Jason too and look how that turned out.”
***
They all joined the revolution in different ways. Bruce lost his parents to the capital and then his innocence. Dick was raised by revolutionaries; it was inevitable he would want to be involved. Bruce was the one to take him in to stop him from getting killed. Barbara joined out of wanting to do what was right, Cassandra from wanting to change. Jason wanted payback from watching many of his friends in the seam perish from the games, though attempting to steal bread from Wayne manor may have been the spark to push him on that path. Stephanie wanted to stop her father at first from using his guard status to hurt others. Damian was doomed one side or the other from the day he was born.
Tim? Tim was a smart kid, with a decent house, and little odds. Tim had a sense of curiosity about the Bats who raided Capital weapons storages at night and destroyed them. Tim wanted to help the saviors of Gotham city in any way he could.
To risk one’s life to save another’s? To Tim, there was no other logical choice.
***
“Roll, Master Timothy?” Alfred asks as the family huddles around the dinner table. Bruce is at the head as usual, arguing with Damian to eat his food. Dick and Barbara are squished next to each other, oblivious to how much of a couple they are. Stephanie and Cassandra sit on the other side of the table, exchanging stories on their days, Stephanie acting out parts. Jason has made it his personal mission to nail everyone at the table with a rolled up napkin.
“Yeah, that would be great.” Tim takes the roll, and sits back watching his family. A wad of paper strikes him in the side of the head and he can’t help widen his grin despite his attempt to scowl at Jason.
What can he say? He loves his family. Even if they are a bunch of nut jobs.
***
It’s late at night and Tim is surprised to hear someone walking down the hallway. No one is patrolling tonight, security before the Reaping is too dangerous to mess with, and Tim can hear no nightmares. A door opens, the creak echoing, which means someone is going into Dick’s room. Voices soon follow.
“What’s wrong, little D?” Dick asks and Tim sits up in surprise. Damian? Up this late? There’s a long pause before he hears Damian speak up.
“Grayson, my mother said the day before the reaping should be one of glory and excitement. I’m afraid I do not feel the same.” His voice cuts off at the end just enough to be a whisper.
“Little D.” Tim would usually laugh at the sound of Damian squawking about being pulled into a hug, but this time he doesn’t. The feat in the kids voice was too real. “Nothing is going to happen to you, alright? You’re not going to be chosen; it’s your first reaping. Tim will be right there next to you.”
“TT, as if Drake would provide any comfort. And I am not scared.” Damian says it like a true eleven year old, and suddenly Tim can remember that despite his antics, Damian is still a kid. A crazy kid trained to be a career, but still a kid.
“Okay, Dami. You have any nightmares, let me know, alright? ”
“I don’t have nightmares.” Tim can hear the door close and Damian shuffle back to his room. Titus follows behind and Tim gets up out of bed to peer through the door. Damian is standing outside of his door, the dog right next to him.
That’s when Jason starts screaming again.
If he didn’t see it for himself, he wouldn’t have believed it. But sure enough, the brat winces, buries his fingers in Titus’s fur and steels his jaw before stepping into his room. He hadn’t expected that.
When Jason cries out again, Tim wonders if there is more than one Wayne who has nightmares.
***
They all gather in the reaping. There are only three of them eligible now; Tim Stephanie and Damian. They’re sorted off into their various groups early, scattered from their loved ones. Stephanie gives him a kiss on the cheek, Dick and most of the rest give him a hug. Bruce smiles just enough to give off an air of confidence, but Tim doesn’t miss the shaking of his hands.
Tim stands by Bart and Kon who look equally nervous. Effie goes up to the raffle, playing the dammed video, the highlight clips. The camera pans towards the past victors and while they all attempt to look cheerful, Tim doesn’t miss the grinding of Bruce’s teeth, Cassandra’s hands in fists, or Jason reaching towards his robotic leg.
Then comes the raffle. Tim crosses his fingers, prays that it isn’t Steph or Tam and lets out a small breath when the name he hears is unrecognizable. He feels guilty for it seconds afterword’s; the girl is fourteen and from the Seam, shaking on stage. Effie smiles, pats the girl ignoring her flinch, and Tim reminds himself that he is now Tim Drake not Red Robin. Throwing himself into the fray will help no one.
Effie reaches for the boys’ names, and Tim closes his eyes waiting for a name. His chances are high at seventeen but others are higher. The odds are in his favor. He can almost hear his name in the wind. When Effie speaks, it isn’t his.
“Damian Wayne.”
Tim’s eyes snap open in flash. Kon and Bart shoot him a shocked look. Tim can hear Dick yell from the back of the crowd. It’s hard to breathe. No one makes the slightest move to volunteer; there are no careers this year. The camera pans to Damian who is incredibly pale, his hands in fists. And while he’s showing no weakness about the matter as he steps forward, Tim can’t erase the picture of the little boy hugging his dog last night.
So Tim steps forward, takes a deep breath and shouts loud enough for the whole area to hear him.
“I volunteer.”