Work Text:
The smell of blood permeated the Batcave.
Jason Todd could barely stand, his boots leaving scarlet footprints on the floor as he carried Tim’s limp body. Jason’s leather jacket hid most of his wounds, but the evidence of blood loss was undeniable. Small red droplets dripped rhythmically from Tim’s dangling arm, forming a macabre trail across the cave floor.
No one asked what had happened. There was no time.
Alfred exchanged only a few words before getting to work, his usually composed face reflecting barely contained tension. Dick and Bruce arrived soon after—Dick went pale at the sight of Tim’s unmoving body, while Bruce kept his jaw tight as he surveyed the chaos around him.
The Batcave became an improvised emergency room. Alfred spent hours trying to stabilize Tim. But life had already begun to slip away the moment Jason pulled him out of that alley.
When Tim’s brain activity flatlined and the machines let out a single steady tone, time seemed to freeze.
Tim Drake was dead.
The silence that followed was worse than any scream.
It was Bruce who finally turned off the machines, his hand trembling as he reached for the switch. Dick could do nothing but turn away, pressing clenched fists against his eyes in a futile attempt to hold back tears.
Jason didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.
And then they found it.
The mistake.
Tim’s beacon hadn’t triggered the alarm system. Not because it was broken. Not because Tim had activated it incorrectly. But because someone had rerouted the signal.
To a section of the Batcomputer that no one checked until the end of the month.
When Damian realized what it meant, his throat closed up.
“I…” His voice was barely a whisper, unable to bear the weight of his own thoughts.
Everyone looked at him.
“I did it because Tim used it too much,” he admitted in a small voice.
Silence fell.
Jason laughed. Not a genuine laugh. Not a bitter one. It was hollow—a sound that promised destruction.
“Too much?” he repeated, eyes flashing dangerously. “Too much for who, exactly?”
Damian clenched his jaw.
“For a Bat, three or four times a month is…”
“A nuisance?” Jason cut him off, his voice low, trembling with restrained rage. “A fucking nuisance?”
Jason’s eyes were bloodshot with fury. He stepped forward, letting every word hit Damian like a bullet.
“The beacons exist because Bruce didn’t want to lose another son,” he spat, venom in every syllable. “Because after losing me, after having to pull my fucking corpse out of a grave, he decided none of us would die again without at least a chance.”
Damian couldn’t respond.
“But you did it anyway,” Jason continued with a humorless chuckle. “Not with a bomb. Not with a blade to his throat. You did it by shutting him down. You sentenced him to death because it bothered you that he asked for help.”
No one spoke. Not Bruce. Not Dick. Not even Alfred.
“All of the League of Assassins are the same fucking shit,” Jason growled, stepping closer. “Arrogant. Selfish. Only caring about their own survival. The best thing Tim ever did was try to get away from this damn family. And even that wasn’t enough to save him.”
Damian felt a knot form in his stomach.
“I… I didn’t…”
“Shut up!”
Jason’s shout echoed through the cave.
“You know why I tolerated you all this time?” he spat the words like they were poison. “You know why, even though from day one I knew you were a spoiled, dangerous little brat, I forced myself to pretend your presence didn’t piss me off?”
Damian stared at him.
“Because Tim asked me to.”
The silence was deafening.
“Because ‘Replacement’ always believed in second chances,” Jason went on, his tone lower but even more dangerous. “Because he thought you deserved a shot at being part of this. Because he asked me to give you a fucking chance.”
Jason let out a breath.
“And look at us now.” His jaw clenched. “I regret listening to Tim. I regret pretending you might be different. If this proves anything, it’s that it would’ve been better if you’d stayed with Talia. With the League. With your real kind.”
Damian felt a sharp sting in his chest.
But Jason wasn’t done.
“Tim lived paranoid because of you,” he said, his voice dropping to a threatening murmur. “Because he knew you tried to kill him more times than anyone in this fucked-up family is willing to admit.”
Dick flinched.
“That was in the past!” Damian snapped, louder than he expected.
“In the past?” Jason tilted his head. “You sure?”
He pulled his phone from his pocket. Pressed a button.
“If something happens to me, Damian is responsible.”
Tim’s voice came through the speaker.
“I don’t know if he’ll do it directly or if it’ll be something stupid like his ego or his need to prove he’s better than me. But if one day they find me dead, I know it’ll be connected to him.”
Jason looked at Damian.
“Tim sent that to me three days before .”
Damian’s breath hitched.
Jason pocketed the phone.
“You know what the worst part is?” he asked, voice cold. “Tim tried to warn me.”
No one moved.
“And I ignored him.”
Jason inhaled deeply.
“I won’t make that mistake again.”
Damian felt the weight of every word.
And he knew—without anyone needing to say it—that Jason would never forgive him.