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Tim’s exhausted. He doesn’t really remember the last time he slept. But it’s not that bad. He’s done it so often, it feels like an old dance at this point. He knows how his body works under stress, he knows how far he can push himself.
It’s okay. Everything’s fine. He just needs to solve this case - he’s so close - and then he can sleep. Maybe the nightmares will stay away. They sometimes do if he’s tired enough. And with nearly three days of no sleep, he’s pretty sure it qualifies as tired enough. Maybe he’ll get a full eight hours without any dreams. That would be nice.
But before he can go to bed – if he even makes it that far, maybe he’ll just lay down in the med bay – he has to solve this case. He’s so close.
For the past week he’s been on the trail of a Scarecrow-knockoff. At first he’d thought it was just a case of traffickers, considering the amount of people that suddenly disappeared. But some things didn’t add up, like the wide age range, different ethnicities, different social status.
And then the victims started turning up again, all in worse shape. None had physical wounds beyond some bruises, probably from escape attempts, but their minds were all over the place. Some were hallucinating, some babbling weird stuff.
For all their differences in appearance, personal history and symptoms, all of them were unable to give a description of their captors or even a recount of what happened to them.
It was almost like someone was running experiments and needed a big pool of samples.
From there, it wasn’t difficult to link this new rogue to the mysterious disappearance of one Professor Mathilda Wilkins. Checking the PhD-holders is the logical first step to figuring out the identity of a Rogue in Gotham, after all.
She was working on her thesis on how the mind works under intense stress. Her proposed experiments were of course denied by the ethics board. And if an ethics board in Gotham of all places says something is not right, then you should probably keep your hands off of it.
The only thing Tim hadn’t been able to figure out yet is her base of operation. It had to be somewhere in the city since all of the kidnapping victims were from Gotham. It would probably need to be soundproofed.
They’d kept an eye out during patrol but they couldn’t check every sketchy-looking warehouse in the city or they’d be at it for months.
Professor Wilkins lived on campus and owns a small flat on the outskirts of the city. No houses inside Gotham proper. No money transfer to anyone or for anything since her disappearance. She might have an accomplice but there are no indications for it and considering her affinity for anaesthetics and other mind-altering substances, it’s feasible that she abducted every victim herself.
They have nothing that could link her name to anything in the city.
He’s going through her file again, even though he hadn’t found anything the last dozen times. But wait; he stumbles over the name again. During his research into her history, he found barely anything. It was as if she had just appeared one day. There had been proper records of elementary school and middle school but all documents for high school and college were pretty flimsy.
He knows she had a half-sister when she was younger, but she committed suicide the year before she was set to enter high school, driven mad by the Joker during one of his schemes.
It might be a shot in the dark, but…
A few clicks later he has the solution on the screen in front of him. Elisabeth Wilkins was the name of her sister. The name of their new Rogue is actually Mathilda Smith. Different fathers, different last names. She must have taken on the last name of her sister sometime after her death.
He had checked names of her family members as aliases before, but hadn’t considered the possibility that she had just taken one part of the name. Maybe he should have noticed it before now, but he was so tired.
The past days were one big blur of cases and patrol and his work at WE, that he can barely keep his thoughts straight much less his different cases.
He’s been staring at the screen for an eternity and he finally has a lead. Elisabeth Wilkins and Mathilda Smith get even fewer results than Mathilda Wilkins. But lo-and-behold, a certain Elisabeth Smith owns not one, not two but three properties around the city.
So, apparently, Mathilda took on her late sisters last name and lived under it for the past fifteen years at least. All the while, she bought warehouses and apartment buildings under her sisters first name, Elisabeth, and her own last name, Smith.
What a mindfuck. His head hurts from thinking too much about it.
Originally, he thought she was just another professor that wanted to break out of the ethical confines of academia. But the whole thing proves that she has been planning this for a lot longer than he gave her credit for.
When he pulls up footage of the buildings from a nearby camera, he can determine pretty easily where she spends most of her time. She held her victims mostly spread out over her properties, but the building near Crime Alley is the one with the most damaged cameras nearby and the one she seems to linger in the longest.
That’s it. He did it. Finally, he can get some rest. At least, that’s the sensible thing to do; that’s what everyone would want him to do.
But he’s so close. It wouldn’t even be a real stakeout, just some light observation and he could take her down tomorrow. He could even let the others take her down. He’s done enough.
The file stares at him enticingly. He could go to sleep now. Or, he could just confirm his suspicions. It wouldn’t even take much time; he’d be done in a heartbeat. And it would just be some observation. No more than ten minutes. Plus the time it took to get there and back again.
And maybe she still has victims in her clutches. There haven’t been any disappearances as of late and all the ones from before are accounted for, but it’ll only be some time before they will start up again. Or they could have missed someone.
Bruce is in a meeting at the Watchtower and Dick has already come back from patrol to stay at the manor this weekend. Jason might be out there, but Tim doesn’t exactly have a great relationship with him and he doesn’t want to ask him for a favour or for back-up. Babs has taken the night off. He’d be going out alone.
He’d be fine. He’s done it a million times as Robin and even before that it was always just Tim Drake. He’s used to no back-up; he’ll be fine. He’ll be back before anyone notices he was gone and then there won’t even be a lecture.
Decision made, he quickly dresses up in his suit and takes his motorcycle out for a spin. The streets are empty enough this late at night – or could it be considered early already? – that he can drive at neck-break speed without risking anyone’s life but his own. The thrill of the tempo keeps him awake about as well as the dozen cups of coffee he had today.
It isn’t long until he arrives at the hideout. Or what he thinks is the hideout. He’s pretty sure, though. He wouldn’t have come out here if he wasn’t sure about it.
He stashes his bike somewhere nearby and climbs onto the roofs. Finally, the birds view. This is where he belongs, this is where he’s safest.
He approaches the roof of the target warehouse carefully and spies through the ceiling light. They’re so convenient for the Bats but he has no idea why anyone with nefarious purposes would still install them.
Nothing much is happening but Tim gives himself a minute to observe before he’ll enter the building and start looking around for evidence. His eyes roam over the rooftops. He’s dangerously close to the Red Hood’s territory.
They have an agreement with Jason but that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be careful. He and Jason haven’t talked about anything that’s happened between them.
Jason has been over at the Cave sometimes and once or twice he came up to the Manor to say hello to Alfred, but he always left when Tim was nearby and looked at him with that unreadable facial expression. He gets the impression that Jason would still love to beat him bloody, if there wasn’t the truce between him and Batman.
The Red Hood’s territory is still off-limits for all Bats and especially so for Tim. He’s not exactly keen on operating so close to it, but technically he’s not crossing the line. He knows what happens when he pisses off the Red Hood and he doesn’t want a repeat performance.
Where was he again? Right, his observation. God, he needs coffee.
He doesn’t see anyone or anything near the warehouse that could interfere, so he opens the window and drops down. These windows really are convenient.
He gets the chance to look around a little, until he finds a desk in a tiny storage room that has been improvised as an office. The locked drawer is no challenge for him, even as tired as he is. In it, he discovers files and detailed protocols of the experiments she put her victims through.
There even is a laptop but Tim doesn’t get the chance to hack into it, because the door swings open and reveals one Professor Wilkins staring at him.
“I didn’t know you’d be back so early or I would have knocked”, he jokes and wants to hit his head on the wall. He really doesn’t have a brain-to-mouth filter when he’s this tired.
Professor Wilkins is blocking the door and he tries to use her momentary shock to get around her. “So, I’ll be leaving then. It was nice meeting you!”
That seems to shake her out of her stupor and she moves in on him.
Professor Wilkins – or should he call her Smith – isn’t a particularly good fighter, but Tim’s too tired and he can barely keep up. He can’t even use his staff; it’s too close quarters in here.
He should have taken someone as back-up with him. Even Jason would have been better than no-one. Professor Wilkins doesn’t seem to have made the same mistake, Tim realises, as he’s hit over the head from behind with something metal. At least this way, he’ll get some sleep.
He wakes up in a white room. His head hurts to all hell but at least his suit and mask are intact. He doesn’t like waking up without the clothes he fell asleep in.
He stands up without resistance from chains or cuffs and is proud to say he barely sways. He might be sleep deprived and probably concussed, but he’s still okay enough to have kept his bearings. It barely takes long to remember why he’s here. See, he’s fine. He can deal with this stuff perfectly well on his own, Bruce.
First things first. He looks around the room and tries to figure out, where he is and how to get out. It’s pretty small, only ten by ten feet. The door is locked, no windows. And of course, they have taken a few of his weapons from him. Not all - they’re too well hidden and some are secured with a trap – but enough that Tim knows they were very thorough.
Everything around him is white. The door, the wall, the ceiling, the ground. It’s a bit eery. He knows what a white room is. He knows what it’s used for.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he can spot a camera and a speaker. So, she’s even willing to use it as intended and use his reaction for her study. Great.
Tim tries the door again. It doesn’t look like something he could escape, even if he had all of his tools. It’s secure like a bank vault.
He shrugs and presses his panic button. He’s done enough. Maybe too much. But he’s done now. He knows he can’t open the door, not with all the fortifications and his pounding headache and drooping eyes. The others will see his alert and they’ll get him out of here in no time.
He might as well use the free time. Instead of panicking and trying desperately to get out, he can get some shut-eye. He doesn’t fancy going crazy from staring at a blank wall either. The others might take a while – depending on how long he was unconscious – but they’ll be on their way soon.
Decision made, he turns around and crosses the room in two longs strides. He sits down on the wall across from the door, right underneath where he spotted the camera. The floor isn’t exactly comfortable, but at this point he’ll take anything he can get. Sleeping with a concussion might not be the best idea, but he sure all hell won’t be able to stay awake without coffee.
He tucks the cape around himself protectively and closes his eyes. Sleep tugs at him and starts dragging him down.
A loud, harsh noise startles him awake. His eyes fly wide open, adrenalin pumping through his veins and he’s prepared for the enemy to come rushing at him. It takes a few second to register the music coming from the speaker next to the camera.
Something like dread settles in his stomach. This is supposed to be torture, it’s supposed to break his mind. Of course it can’t be so simple as just going to sleep.
He tries to stay awake, but it’s useless after the week he’s had. Even coffee wouldn’t help much at this point. Every time he nods off, he’s shaken awake by the music blasting at full volume.
If they could just use better music. If they could just let it play consistently instead of only turning it on when he’s about to fall asleep. But Tim knows how this game works. He’s read reports. He knows how easily the human psyche is broken.
And if this was a normal day, he’d be alright. But he’s been awake for the past 72 hours, not counting his short bout of unconsciousness. He’s absolutely exhausted and already on the brink of hallucinations without active torture. It’s way too easy to break him, in theory. But he can’t let that happen. He’ll be fine. He has to be.
It’s the Red Hood that shows up first. Figures, that it would be him. He’s the last person Tim thought about extensively, so it makes sense. And he has deep trauma intrinsically linked to him. That’s probably not helping.
The Red Hood steps through the door and says “I found him.”
A shiver runs down Tim’s spine. He has to remember that this is just a hallucination. It’s not real. It won’t be any more real when it starts berating him, calling him Replacement, Pretender and starts to beat him with his own staff. He’ll know for sure that it’s not real when the staff doesn’t make contact with his body. Although, is it possible to imagine pain? Probably.
Tim is really not looking forward to the next minutes.
The Red Hood crouches in front of him and Tim can almost see the horrific smirk beneath the helmet, the green-glowing eyes, the blood-lust that is evident in every line of his body. He’s prepared for the insults, the sneers when the Red Hood starts talking.
“Fuck, Replacement, your panic button wasn’t working right. Something jammed the signal. What the hell were you thinking, going out alone, without back-up? You’re lucky you left the file open before you left!“
Well, that’s decidedly not what he imagined he would say. The insults are there but they don’t feel malicious and his tone is more worried than angry. And what he said is more in-line with what he expected of Dick.
“Well, I didn’t think my subconscious would fabricate a lecture from you of all people. I thought I’d get another beat down and I really don’t know which one is better”, he muses aloud, because at this point it doesn’t matter anymore what Professor Wilkins sees or hears, as long as he doesn’t reveal their identities.
He leans closer to the Red Hood. He looks awfully life-like.
“Beat you? Wait, back up, your subconscious?”, the voice sounds bewildered even through the voice modulation and a second later, Jason is sitting in front of him with the helmet off, just in a domino mask.
Tim marvels at the detail of the hallucination. Every line is sharp and all proportions are correct. It’s feels so real, as if Tim could just reach out and touch him-
His hand is slapped away before it can make contact with Jason’s face.
“Knock it off! What is it with this fucking family and thinking I’m a hallucination?”, Jason grumbles.
Tim stares at the hand that was slapped away and then back at Jason’s face.
“Hood?”
He can’t quite stop the giggle from escaping. This whole situation went from terrifying to funny to just plain weird and it’s giving him whiplash. He just acted familiar with Hood of all people - the real one, not a hallucination - and told him he expected a beating.
“Just- you know what? Just ignore everything I said”, Tim manages through the giggles. The exhaustion is hitting him all at once and overriding the adrenaline from when Hood showed up.
“Yeah, no, we’ll get back to that”, Jason insists and grabs his arm, “Get up, Replacement. We’re going home.”
Tim barely remembers the drive to the Cave. He knows they’re using Jason’s motorbike and that Jason is holding him to his chest in an almost protective manner. This, if nothing else, feels like a dream.
His head feels stuffed full with cotton and it’s like he’s hearing everything through water.
Jason carries him from his bike and tries to give him to someone else. A short spike of panic shoots through Tim and he clutches at Jason’s leather jacket. Is this a trap? Did Hood rescue him only to give him to another Rogue?
But Tim can hear a familiar soothing voice and two arms extracting him gently from the hold he has on Jason. It’s Dick. It’s home.
They exchange a few tense words and Tim is just drifting in and out of consciousness. He wants to sleep. He wants to rest.
He hears the motorcycle start again and he whines. He’d be self-conscious if he was more awake, but right now he isn’t. Jason is just leaving him, like everybody else. He thought they were finally on good terms. Jason saved him and he didn’t hurt him, so that means that everything is fine between them, right?
Why is Jason leaving, then?
He feels more so than hears Dick chuckle and the noise of the bike dies down again. Out of nowhere, a hand strokes through his hair. He flinches away on instinct but then leans into the contact.
“C’mon Replacement, I have to go.“ While Jason’s timbre is low and soothing, the words are anything but.
Tim peels his eyes open and it takes a herculean effort.
“Stay.”
It’s not much, but it’s all he can get out. If he could get his mouth to cooperate and his brain to work, he would tell Jason, that he’s welcome at the manor, that everyone wants him here and that Tim desperately wants to be on good terms with him.
“Christ, Babybird”, Jason sighs and Tim can’t even begin to unravel the emotions in his voice, “Okay.”
Dick gets him out of his costume and into his pajamas – Tim doesn’t like it but he’s too tired to do it himself and he knows the rule: no capes outside the Cave – and carries him upstairs to his room.
His bed is the softest thing he felt in a while. As soon as his head hits the pillow, sleep tugs at him and pulls him down.
But before he can escape into the blessed clutches of unconsciousness, he jerks awake.
“You okay, Tim? What’s wrong?”, Dick asks worried.
Tim can’t explain it, he doesn’t even know what’s going on himself. He just expected to be woken up, so his body reacted to the noise it thought would come.
Tears begin to build in his eyes. It’s just so frustrating. He so rarely wants to sleep and now that he does want to, now that he finally can after this hellish week, his body won’t let him. He just wants to sleep, dammit, is that too much to ask?
Dick’s large hand smooths his hair and shushes him gently.
Then, Jason begins to speak. At first, the words make no sense. But Tim realises eventually, that Jason is reading to him.
Big, scary Red Hood that beat him bloody with his own staff is reading to him.
Caring, kind-hearted Jason, who bought him ice-cream all those years ago, who rescued him today is reading to him.
Dick keeps up the repetitive movement through his hair and Jason keeps reading, one word after the other and Tim lets the both of them lull him into a sense of security until he is finally, finally, asleep.