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There were sounds of yelling coming from the most used lounge room. Tim walked down the halls, brow furrowed as he entered the room to see Jason and Damian sat on the couch. They both wore expressions of annoyance as they argued in raised voices.
“Todd, I was raised in the League of Assassins. It is obvious that I have killed more than you,” Damian said.
“You forget, demon brat, that I was in the League too.”
Damian huffed. “Inconsequential. I have still killed more than you.”
“Guys!” Dick yelled. “It’s not a competition to see who has the higher kill count.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Tt. Of course not, Richard.”
“But if it was, I’d win,” Jason said.
Tim walked further into the room and leant against the wall as the two continued to argue amongst themselves.
Seated in a chair on the other side of the room, a newspaper in hand, Bruce glared at the ground. “Hn.”
Dick laughed as he turned his attention to Bruce. “It’s just friendly sibling rivalry, B! They’re not actually proud of the number of people they’ve killed, they’re just proud that they beat their sibling.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes at Dick. “I know,” he said. “It’s just… Each of those kills - each of those is a time when I didn’t…” Bruce stared hard at the floor. “When I failed.”
Dick sobered immediately. “Hey, none of that. You thought Jason was dead, you didn’t even know Damian existed. You can’t control everything.” Dick shook his head. “Those deaths aren't on you.”
Bruce hummed, not answering Dick.
He sighed. “I’m going to do some of my paperwork,” Bruce said, getting up and heading out of the room, leaving a dismayed Dick in his wake.
Tim watched as Dick turned back to the argument before he got up and left the room.
He turned back to Jason and Damian’s argument, unable to summon any sympathy for Dick.
The pit was still there, just below the surface, making it a fight for Tim to feel anything, really. His stay at the League of Assassins had helped him to control it, for the most part. But it had also made it worse.
The pit madness was meant to stay for months at the most, slowly wearing off as time went by - Jason of course, was an outlier there. But Tim?
Tim had been in that pit multiple times, had been exposed to its waters almost daily, had whatever lazarus chemicals that were injected into him still flowing through his veins.
Tim had studied his blood, every week since he had left the League, and the levels had yet to change. He wasn’t sure it would ever wear off.
The Lazarus pit still raged beneath the surface, as strong as it had been when he first crawled out of those cursed waters. And yet here he was, back with his family, pretending - always pretending - that he was normal. The pit was kept on a tight leash and life went on.
Tim sighed and decided to join the conversation. “You’re comparing kill counts?”
The two turned towards him. “Yeah, Timbo. And obviously I’ve got the largest in this family,” Jason said.
Jason may have begrudgingly rejoined the family, but he still found every way possible to press Bruce’s buttons, and this was one of them.
Tim thought of his younger years, of his Year of Blood, his training in the League and his first and last action as Heir to the Demon’s Head. Countless lives snuffed out because of him. He’d seen the numbers, the amount of people that the League had employed. The Tim before the pit might have spared them. Might have started an evacuation and left the League of Assassins standing. But he had died, and so those people had gone up in flames.
Tim shook his head and laughed. It was jagged, cruel. Damian and Jason looked up in surprise, but Tim didn’t care to stop. The situation was ridiculous. There he was, with the biggest kill count of them all, and the supposed world’s greatest detective didn’t have a clue. He’d decimated the League of Assassins, destroyed Ra’s al Ghul so thoroughly he would never return, and they had no clue.
Jason knew, some of it at least. Knew that he had been in the pit, knew he was Wraith, knew he could kill.
“Tim?” Jason asked, halfway out of his seat already.
Tim waved him off. “Nothing, it's nothing. I’m fine.” He laughed bitterly and walked out of the room.
He managed to get further than he expected - only feet away from his bedroom door - before Jason caught up to him.
“Tim. Fuck - Tim, wait.”
Tim ignored him and entered the room, though he left the door open behind him. It would be useless to try and keep Jason out.
Jason entered the room, closing the door behind him.
“Wanna talk about it?” Jason asked, voice soft.
Tim crossed his arms and sat heavily on the bed. “Talk about what?”
Jason growled in frustration, eyes briefly flickering green. “Fuck, Tim. Stop. Stop doing that. I know you were Wraith, I know you died. I - I know about the pit. You can’t just pretend it never happened,” he snarled.
Jason paused and took a deep breath. “Look, just… talk about it. To anyone, it doesn’t have to be me. Just tell someone, please.”
Tim stayed silent.
Jason stared him down. “In the past few months you’ve had a pit episode at least once a week.” He huffed a breath. “I’ve had multiple stab wounds from them, you’ve had multiple broken bones.” Jason threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t keep this up - neither of us can.”
Jason sighed. “You can’t keep pretending it never happened. Tell someone.”
Tim didn’t speak.
Jason stayed in place, waiting for Tim to stay something. After a while, he let out an angry growl. Without a word, Jason turned and walked to the door. He grabbed the handle. But Tim - he couldn’t let him leave. He’d had enough people leave him already.
“Wait,” Tim said. Jason turned back to face him. “Fine, I’ll talk.”
Jason studied him as he pulled out the desk chair and sat down.
Tim took a second, removed the contacts from his eyes – the only other thing that he had taken from the League, alongside his Wraith uniform, was the contacts that filtered all the glowing pit green colour from his eyes. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. Where to start? The moment he left Gotham, that night in Paris or… the desert.
“I – well, it. Urgh,” Tim sighed in frustration. “I was looking for Bruce. Ra’s found out somewhere along the line, but he – he believed me.” Tim let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Not even Dick believed me, but he did.”
“Anyway, there wasn’t any progress with my search - I didn’t have the resources. And so when Ra’s offered to help, I accepted.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?” Jason said.
Tim shuffled on the bed, eyes downcast. “I - you were needed in Gotham.”
Jason sighed. “I woulda’ dropped all that in a heartbeat if you’d asked.”
Tim gave Jason a small, tired smile. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t.”
Jason had a confused look on his face, mouth open to ask Tim what that had meant, but Tim interrupted, continuing on with his story. “Ra’s sent three assassins to help - Pru, Owens and Z. They became my… friends, of sorts. And then - ” Tim trailed off, going rigid as he thought of the cave. He knew his eyes were flickering like crazy but he couldn’t help it.
“The cave,” Tim croaked out. Jason jumped off his chair and came to sit next to Tim, rubbing his back comfortingly. Tim swallowed, blinked back the tears and let his control of the Lazarus pit slip just a bit.
“It was the first artefact that Bruce had left. The starting point,” Tim continued in a flat tone. Jason moved to say something, voice his concern, but Tim stopped him. “We were ambushed.”
“The Council of Spiders,” Tim said matter of factly. “A group of deadly assassins hunting down the League for sport. And one found us – the Widower.”
“He killed Z. Killed Owens. Slit Pru’s throat and then came for me. There wasn’t even a fight – he just lunged at me. I managed to block one of his blades - the other went right through my side.”
Jason had, at some point during Tim’s story, frozen. His hand was unmoving on Tim’s back, and Tim wasn’t sure if it was because of his own death or Tim’s.
“Should I –” Tim started.
Jason shook his head. “No, keep going.”
Tim glanced at him and saw the shaky smile Jason shot back before he decided it was okay to continue. “It didn’t end there, though. I collapsed to the ground, bleeding out and – and the Widower says, ‘the Council of Spiders thanks you for your participation in the game’.” Tim laughed bitterly. “A game. It was all a game to him. But, bleeding out at his knees, I refused to let him win. I extended my bo staff, managed to lodge the knife in a gap in his armour. It sank right in.”
“He threw a knife at me, I was told later, but I didn’t feel it. I was alive long enough to see the Widower die, to hear Ra’s say ‘well done’ for killing someone before I was dead.” Tim blinked hard and leaned into Jason’s side.
“I woke up in the pit.” Jason sucked in a breath and pulled him closer. “I was burning and everything was green and when I finally got control every assassin in the room was dead.”
“The pit, it changed me. Not like it did you, no. It makes it so hard to feel. And then when I did, it was all green and rage. And so, when Ra’s offered to make me his Heir, I agreed.”
Tim stared at the wall across from him, not daring to look at Jason as he spoke. “Next thing I know, I’m starting the Year of Blood. One hundred kills in a year, and yet I somehow managed to negotiate it to five hundred kills in six months.”
“Shit,” Jason said.
“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “And the first seven of them were the Council of Spiders. They – before me and Pru, not a single assassin had made it out of an encounter with them alive. And yet when they snuck into the Cradle and the pit took over, I woke up to find every single one of them dead. The rest of the 500 kills were easy compared to that. I sorted them into lists, pulled strings to get as many of them as I could into one place. And then I killed them.”
“I finished all 500 kills in 4 months and was named Heir to the Demon’s Head. Ra’s had a flight scheduled for Gotham two days after that, and I couldn’t - I couldn’t let him get to any of you.”
Tim's eyes glowed a bright green. “Ra’s died the day he made me heir. His body was dying, he revealed. And so, he was going to use mine instead. Ra’s was going to complete the transfer, and then fly to Gotham to rub it in Bruce’s face - that he had won. He had corrupted a Bat, stolen their body.”
“We fought,” Tim continued. “In the end, I killed him. But by that point I had too many injuries. I bled out right next to him.”
“I woke up in the lazarus pit. Pru had come back and found me, dumped me in. Together we chained Ra’s up, bolted him to the floor of the Lazarus pit.”
Tim laughed, then smiled, almost cruelly.
“The chain isn’t long enough to reach the surface. He’s trapped there indefinitely, unable to breath, starving, kept alive and in constant agony.” Tim wasn’t sure Jason was breathing anymore, he hadn’t moved since Tim had told him about his confrontation with Ra’s. But his eyes were burning green, and if Tim had been anyone else, trusted him even a little less, he would be running.
“Me and Pru ran out of the building – none of the other assassins had noticed anything was off, yet. Once we were far away, I hit the trigger. I had calculated the whole thing. The Cradle collapsed inwards around the pit, so Ra’s could be stuck there forever.”
“But that was only the start. I had planted bombs in every single base and Lazarus pit, every League owned building in the world that I could reach. I had promised myself that I was going to burn Ra’s’ fucking League to the ground if it was the last thing I did - and I succeeded.”
Jason was pale as a sheet now, jaw slack as he stared at him. “No.”
Tim focused on Jason, forgot to keep the walls between himself and the pit up, yet barely noticed as the green spilled over into his mind, his eyes. “I know you've been trying to figure out what happened to me. Why do you think none of your league contacts will respond? Why do you think we haven't heard a single whisper of league activity since I came back?”
“Tim. You – all of them? Every – holy fuck – everyone?”
“Yes. On that day, when as many League employees were at the bases as possible, I blew them up. Everyone. Assassins, accountants, trainers, even the truck drivers, the cleaners.” Tim laughed brokenly. “The civilians working in the League owned businesses. They all died.”
“And then I came back to Gotham.”
It was silent. Jason had yet to move and Tim wasn’t sure if it was because he was processing everything, because he was in shock or because of anger.
Slowly, though, Jason began to move. He was shaking slightly, Tim could tell, before he got up abruptly and started to pace across Tim’s room.
“Fuck – oh my… shit. Holy fuck,” Jason muttered to himself.
Jason turned to Tim. “The league? Shit. No – no way…” he trailed off, looking lost.
Tim dug his nails into the palm of his hand to push back the wave of green. He stayed silent as Jason paced back and forth.
Eventually, Jason paused and turned to Tim. “Tim - ” he paused. “Thousands,” Jason said. “You killed thousands - ”
A scrape.
Both of their eyes flew to the roof, where the noise had come from. The vents.
The vents were small, too small to fit any member of the family in. Except for -
“Damian,” Tim and Jason said, standing frozen as their eyes met.
Within seconds they were moving again, bursting out of Tim’s room and running to Damian’s. Jason threw open the door and bolted through, Tim following behind, only to run into Jason’s back as he skidded to a stop.
In front of them, Damian stood, sword raised and an empty look on his face that Tim knew hid the fear Damian was feeling.
“Get out,” Damian said.
Jason took a step forwards, breathing a sigh of relief as Damian permitted it. “Hey, Dami, put the sword down.”
Damian’s eyes darted to Jason, but he didn’t budge.
Jason sighed. He turned to Damian, put an arm around his shoulder, and if Damian were in any other state, Jason wouldn’t have gotten his hand back attached.
Jason looked at Tim. “I think you should leave,” he said softly. “I’ll come find you later?”
Tim nodded and left the room.
This was one of those things that past him would be hurt by. He would be angry, maybe, hurt and betrayed. But all he could feel was the ragged pit in his chest, the numbing emptiness.
The door to Tim’s room opened and Jason stepped in, closing the door behind him. There was a guilty look on his face. “I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I - I don’t want to send you out, but…”
Tim smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. “You did what was necessary.”
Jason glanced at him, hesitant. “Did - do you regret it? The deaths?”
“No.”
“Do you feel guilt? Anything at all for them?” Jason sounded desperate.
Tim shook his head. “Nothing. The pit took all that away.”
Jason sighed. “I’m sorry you went into the pit. That I wasn’t there when you needed me. I should have come with you, should have tried to make you stay in Gotham.”
“It’s not your fault. And I would have gone anyway, you couldn't have stopped me.”
“I suppose you're right.” Jason leaned to the side, bumped his shoulder into Tim’s. “I’m still sorry, though.”
Tim didn’t know what to say to that. “Okay.”
They sat in silence, till there was a knock on the door.
Tim whirled his head around to face away from the door, hiding his eyes as it opened. His contacts were on the other side of the room, on the desk where he had left them. Tim didn’t know if his eyes were glowing at that moment, but he did know that even if they weren’t, they had been permanently dyed green. One look and whoever was at the door would find out what had happened.
“Damian,” Jason greeted softly.
Damian stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Tim sighed in relief, shoulders slumping as he turned around to face Damian.
“Drake,” Damian started, sounding hesitant. “When you - my Mother.” He paused, looking frail like he never did as he looked up at Tim - like the child he was meant to be. “Is she - ”
“No,” Tim said softly. “She’s alive. I sent her a warning about what was going to happen, and made sure that she listened to it.”
Damian inclined his head. “I suppose I am grateful that you took care of my Grandfather,” Damian said. He said the word ‘Grandfather’ with a sneer, a look of disgust. “It is a fitting punishment.”
Tim grinned. “He deserved it.”
Damian looked up to him, hesitant. “I - thank you, Timothy.”
Tim looked at him, shocked.
In the silence, Jason turned to Tim. “Remember when you said that the only original thing I’ve done is die?” Jason asked, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.
And Tim – Tim laughed.