Chapter Text
Tim's cold. Maybe that shouldn't be the first thing he notices, but he is usually very specific about bundling up before he goes to sleep. Cold is lonely. Cold is empty.
Tim's cold.
Whatever he's lying on feels fancy, and would probably be soft if it was a little thicker. His clothes are overly familiar, in a way that makes him wonder why he's still in them if he can't remember being at a gala.
It's dark. Quiet. Tim wakes up a little more, and realizes breathing hurts. Everything hurts. His leg is throbbing. His ribs ache. His lungs feel like they're smoldering. His fingers ache like he pulled them against dead weight.
(Soft but hard. Dark. Alone. Hurt. Tim tries to ignore the way his brain connects this to the horror stories he's been warned happen to 'pretty boys'.)
He tries to turn to his side, curl up and self-soothe. But something hard, close above him, prevents it. Walls hit his arms and feet, causing pain to jolt up towards his spine.
He- Tim coughs, he's breathing too fast for his lungs. He slows down, makes each breath more shallow. If he's been kidnapped and put in a box then he should be quiet so his kidnapper doesn't know he's awake. So he can't cough again.
He starts feeling the sides of the box, because he's cold and it's quiet, and he thinks maybe he has a chance at escaping if he gets out.
No latch on the inside, but Tim finds more padding. Maybe it was like a traveling case for humans? They were probably trying to avoid damaging the goods.
Tim swallows the bile that follows that thought, and ignores that it tastes a bit like blood.
Tim starts running his hands down the suit instead, trying to find his homemade break-in kit. It's not there, which- really bums him out. He'd found the seal, and he probably could've pried it open.
He has, he has his belt buckle. Those can be pretty hard. He starts fumbling to get it off.
(He ignores that it's getting harder to breathe. That's probably him developing minor claustrophobia due to this event.)
(He continues to ignore that his body is wrong somehow. It's just the cold. He's not pretty. He's not.)
He's starting to feel lightheaded, when he breaks through the wood the padding had covered above him. The ceiling had been his best bet for light and being able to use both arms as much as he could.
Dirt pours in.
He's cold. Hurt. It's dark, he's alone. He's in a padded box.
Tim's digging frantically, and he doesn't know how that happened. He's sobbing, and there's dirt in his mouth and his nose, and he feels so, so tired. He wants to be warm. He wants to be safe.
He's not going to get out. He's too far away from- from something. Help. Safe.
"ROBIN!" He screams, and he can't breath anymore, can't-
Everything's cold, alone.
He- he wants-
Tim wakes up from a nightmare, melting back into the water when he's warm.
Water?
Tim opens his eyes, and the world is green.
---
Jason makes a point to mourn Tim Drake on the 26th of April. He goes to his grave, and leaves small things. A rock from the Batcave, a flower from Drake Manor's garden. A picture he took of Dick and Jason, smiling with Tim's face and Tim's eyes.
He makes a point to mourn, because he's the only person who knows Tim is dead. That Jason woke up, decided his death was a nightmare, and went back to sleep. That by the time he woke up and figured it out, even if Tim had been in his body he had definitely suffocated at that point.
(Just like Jason. And it had probably hurt just like it hurt for Jason, because bodies don't heal when they're not alive.)
Tim had known who he was. And Bruce and Dick. He'd been smart and funny and lonely, Jason had learned quickly after his figured out how to unlock the kid's laptop. He'd been a bit of a researcher, a planner.
Had a really nieve plan to fix Bruce. Bruce who was broken.
Had a bit of hero-worship over Dick. Dick who was falling apart.
Jason hadn't wanted to be Robin again, and the thing is he didn't think Tim wanted to be either. He was just out of ideas. Dick had said no, confronting Superman was just a little too stupid to work. Alfred couldn't control Bruce.
Leslie was busy fixing up people who ran into Bruce.
Bruce was scary, and mean, and a complete mess because Jason had been blown up. Jason didn't really want to be Robin again, but he was the only person who could do anything.
The short stack who'd died in his place (a place marked with his name, in his body) had been willing to face this Bruce for him, though.
Jason sighs, slumped against the couch in Titan's Tower. It had been three years, and Jason was ready to quit. Run away. Go somewhere he could be himself, and let Tim officially die. Batman might not maul anymore, but he wasn't Jason's dad either. His dad died with him. Dick- who he couldn't call Goldie because it made him mourn Jason even when he was right there- tried too hard to love 'Tim' because he missed Jason- again who was right there, who had tried to tell them hundreds of times in hundreds of ways.
Jason was sick of hearing his name because they couldn't be bothered to care for the kid he was supposed to be. Was tired of being pushed away while being expected close. Was heartbroken that Alfred, who'd stood up for him, never stood up for Tim (had, infact, been part of the horrible shit fire that was Tim's sixteenth birthday.)
He'd been told to go away while they dealt with a threat they wouldn't tell him about. So now he was in the Tower alone while the others were on a mission, because Bruce and Dick didn't trust him not to get in trouble.
He tenses just before a hand is laid on his shoulder. Apparently, the trouble would find Jason no matter what.
Another hand covers his eyes. "Are you safe?"
Jason freezes, both because of the unknown person, and because he knows that voice. It's deeper than he remembers, and it's accent is different in a slight way that he feels more than understands, but he knows.
"H-how?"
The hand on his shoulder squeezes a little tighter. "Jason, are you safe?"
And-
Well, Jason doesn't know the awnser to that. Because 'Tim' hasn't been safe since Jason finally decided to put his plan into action. Jason had been hurt a lot, but for awhile it was easy to ignore because they weren't trying to hurt Jason. But now...
Hadn't he just been thinking how sick of it he is?
His dad is gone. Dick tries too hard. Alfred doesn't try.
"What if I said I'm not?"
A huff that isn't familiar because Jason usually snorts. "Then I'll help you get safe, help you set up a life you want."
Jason thinks.
He hesitates, briefly, because he still loves his family.
Dad wouldn't want me to hurt like this.
"Are you safe?" And it's quieter this time, softer.
Jason spits it out with a shaky exhale; "No."
The hands let go, and Jason stands up, turns around. The man in front of him is tall and lithe. Pockets everywhere. He wears all black gear, but every seam (including pockets) is outlined in bright red. A grey cross thing goes across his chest, and a sleeveless red hoodie covers his head. A weird metal mask covering the lower half of his face and a red domino matching the red gauntlets. He looks badass, and is probably terrifying at night.
"You're the new threat," Jason guesses.
Tim shrugs. "I needed an opening. Do you need anything from either of the manors? I have a diversion ready." He offers a hand, palm up.
Jason takes it.