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Tim Drake crouched on the rooftop, staring out into the dark Gotham skyline. The air was thick with moisture, the lingering humidity of a summer night pressing down on the city. The streets below buzzed with a familiar kind of danger, one that had become so routine to him that it barely registered in his mind.
He was exhausted. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Every part of him ached in ways he didn’t quite understand anymore. It had been months since he left Gotham. Left Bruce. Left his family. It wasn't supposed to be permanent. Just a break. A breather from the suffocating weight of responsibility and unspoken expectations. He thought leaving would give him clarity, but instead, it had left him feeling more lost than ever.
The comm in his ear buzzed, but Tim ignored it, his mind a million miles away. The mission was over. He had done his part, swooped in and saved the day like always. But the adrenaline rush that used to keep him going, that kept him coming back for more—wasn’t there. He was just tired.
A small beep from his wristwatch dragged him out of his thoughts. Glancing down, he saw the Bat-symbol flashing.
Bruce. Of course.
Tim sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t spoken to Bruce since he returned to Gotham a few weeks ago. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to—it was just… complicated. Bruce had a way of making everything seem like a mission, even family. And Tim, more than anything, needed family right now, not more directives. Not more orders.
He pressed the button on his communicator.
“What do you need?” Tim’s voice came out more tired than he intended, a fact he was sure Bruce would pick up on immediately.
“Tim,” Bruce’s voice was even, always controlled. “I need you back at the Cave. We’ve got a situation.”
Tim paused. The Cave? Not the usual meet-up point.
“What kind of situation?”
“There’s something I need to brief you on. It can’t wait.”
Of course, it couldn’t.
“I’ll be there in ten.”
Tim ended the call and sat there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the city pressing against his back. The thought of returning to the Cave—his home, but not really—felt too much right now. He wanted to do what he had been doing for the past few months: vanish. Disappear into the night, into the parts of Gotham where no one would think to find him. But that wasn’t who he was. He was Robin. Or at least, he used to be.
---
The hum of the Batcomputer greeted Tim as he descended into the Cave. He had hoped for a few minutes of silence before dealing with whatever ‘situation’ Bruce had on his hands, but that hope was quickly dashed when he heard footsteps approaching.
“Finally decided to show up, huh?”
Tim turned his head slightly, spotting Jason leaning against one of the many Batmobiles parked in the Cave. Jason, wearing his signature leather jacket, looked as relaxed as ever, but there was something in his eyes that gave him away. Something heavy. Angry, but not directed at Tim, for once.
“Jason,” Tim said curtly. He hadn’t spoken much to Jason since returning to Gotham. The two of them never had an easy relationship. Jason was volatile, to say the least. Tim… Tim liked control, order. Jason was chaos wrapped in a thick layer of bravado. The two clashed often.
Jason raised an eyebrow at Tim’s tone, but didn’t comment. Instead, he walked over to the Batcomputer where Bruce was typing furiously, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two brothers.
Bruce didn’t look up as Tim approached. “There’s been chatter about a new player in Gotham,” he said, the calm in his voice betraying the urgency of his words. “Someone’s trying to fill the power vacuum left by Black Mask. I’ve got a location on their hideout.”
Tim nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand, but his mind kept wandering. He hadn’t realized how much the Batcave itself made him feel out of place these days. Everything here reminded him of what he used to be, what he had lost in the process of trying to be everything everyone needed.
“You’re not going in alone,” Bruce said, finally looking up at Tim. “You’ll take Jason.”
Tim blinked. “Wait, what?”
Jason scoffed, crossing his arms. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, B.”
“I’m not,” Bruce said, his voice firm. “You two need to start working together. This is a test run. Get it done.”
Tim opened his mouth to protest, but Bruce was already turning back to the computer. It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
“Great,” Jason muttered under his breath as he stalked past Tim, heading toward the vehicle bay. “Just what I needed. Babysitting duty.”
Tim rolled his eyes but said nothing. He had neither the energy nor the desire to argue with Jason right now. His only goal was to get this over with as quickly as possible.
---
The warehouse was tucked away in one of Gotham’s more dangerous districts, a sprawling maze of crumbling brick and rusting steel. The shadows were long and dark, perfect for their approach.
Tim and Jason crouched on a rooftop overlooking the warehouse. Tim, feeling the familiar sense of focus take over, surveyed the area. His HUD flickered to life, marking the guards, the exits, everything they would need to know.
“Two guards at the back,” Tim whispered, barely moving his lips. “We take them out quietly, then move in.”
Jason glanced at him, an amused smirk on his face. “You’re still trying to do the whole ‘stealth’ thing? We could just, y’know, knock their heads together and be done with it.”
Tim shot him a look. “We do this my way.”
Jason chuckled but didn’t argue. “Fine. Your way. Lead the charge, Boy Wonder.”
Tim bristled at the nickname but pushed it aside. They didn’t have time for petty bickering.
They moved silently, slipping down the side of the building and making their way toward the guards. Tim was the first to strike, knocking the closer one unconscious with a quick jab to the neck. Jason, for all his bravado, took out the second guard with surprising efficiency, quiet and fast. They were inside within seconds, slipping through the warehouse like shadows.
The inside of the building was worse than the exterior. The floor was littered with crates of stolen goods, most likely drugs or weapons, and a small group of men were huddled in the center, speaking in hushed tones.
“Looks like we found our new players,” Jason murmured.
Tim nodded. “I count seven. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
Jason grinned. “I’ll take five. You can handle the rest, right?”
Before Tim could stop him, Jason was already moving, guns drawn and fists flying. The men didn’t stand a chance. Within seconds, chaos erupted, and Tim found himself diving into the fray, taking down the remaining thugs with precise, controlled strikes.
It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, and the two of them stood in the aftermath, surrounded by unconscious bodies.
“See?” Jason said, panting slightly. “Easy.”
Tim, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip, didn’t respond. His mind was already drifting, the rush of the fight fading too quickly, leaving only the bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.
He didn’t notice the man creeping up behind him until it was too late.
---
The world exploded in pain as something hard slammed into the back of Tim’s head. He stumbled, vision blurring, barely registering Jason’s shout before the ground rushed up to meet him.
Tim tried to get up, tried to move, but his body wouldn’t listen. His head throbbed, and the edges of his vision darkened. He heard more shouting, the sound of a scuffle, and then… silence.
A few moments passed before Jason’s face appeared above him, his expression tight with concern.
“Hey, you still with me?”
Tim blinked, trying to focus. His head was spinning, the pain radiating through his skull making it hard to think.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, though it wasn’t entirely true. He felt Jason’s hands gripping his arms, pulling him up to a sitting position. The world tilted, and he had to close his eyes to stop the nausea from overwhelming him.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jason muttered. “What the hell were you doing, spacing out like that? You almost got your head caved in.”
Tim opened his eyes slowly, the warehouse spinning slightly. He swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.
“Wasn’t… spacing out,” Tim managed to say, though he knew he didn’t sound convincing, even to himself. His voice was weaker than he intended, a quiet, strained whisper as the pain throbbed behind his eyes. Tim could feel the weight of Jason’s stare, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it.
Jason huffed, his voice dripping with frustration. "Yeah? Well, whatever it was, it nearly got you killed. You got lucky.”
Tim bit his lip, forcing himself to sit up straighter, but the world still felt like it was tilting. He could feel a sharp ache in his chest—not just from the fight, but from the truth in Jason’s words. He *was* slipping. He hadn’t been on top of things in months, and it was starting to show. More than he wanted to admit.
"Let’s just get this over with," Tim muttered, gingerly touching the back of his head where he’d been hit. His fingers came away with a bit of blood, but it wasn’t too bad. At least not physically. The weight pressing down on his mind, though—that was harder to ignore.
Jason shook his head, the anger still simmering beneath the surface, but there was something else there, too. Something Tim wasn’t used to seeing in his older brother: concern.
"Not yet," Jason said firmly. "You're not going anywhere like this."
"I’m fine," Tim tried to argue, though he knew it wasn’t true.
"Like hell you are," Jason snapped, grabbing Tim’s arm a little rougher than necessary as he hauled him to his feet. "I get it, Drake, okay? You don’t wanna show weakness. You want to pretend you’re still the perfect Robin, like you’ve got it all together. But newsflash: you *don’t*."
Tim flinched at the harshness in Jason’s tone. The words cut deeper than they should have, but that was because there was truth behind them. He wasn’t the perfect Robin. He wasn’t even sure if he was a good one anymore. He was just… *exhausted*. And Jason could see it, clear as day.
"What’s your problem, Todd?" Tim shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "You think I don’t know I’m slipping? You think I don’t *feel* it every damn day?"
Jason paused, the anger in his eyes softening for just a moment. "I don’t know, Tim," he said, and the use of Tim’s real name instead of ‘Drake’ caught him off guard. "I think you’re trying to run yourself into the ground. And I’ve been there. It’s not worth it."
Tim stared at him, the words sinking in deeper than he expected. Jason had never been one for heart-to-hearts. He was brash, reckless, always charging headfirst into situations. But this? This felt real, and it made something in Tim’s chest tighten.
"Why do you care?" Tim asked quietly, almost under his breath. It wasn’t accusatory—it was genuine. Jason had always kept him at arm’s length, treating him like a replacement for something he’d lost. So why was he here now, showing concern?
Jason huffed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Because whether I like it or not, you’re family. And family’s all we’ve got, man."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, the weight of those words hanging between them. *Family*. It was a word that used to bring Tim comfort, but lately, it just felt… complicated. His relationship with Bruce, with Dick, even with Damian—it all felt fractured. But hearing it from Jason, someone who’d always been the outsider, made it feel like there was still something worth holding onto.
"I’m fine," Tim repeated, but the words lacked conviction. He knew Jason wouldn’t believe it, but it was the only defense he had left.
Jason sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, clearly wrestling with his next words. "Look," he started, his voice softer now, "I get it. You feel like you have to keep pushing, because if you stop for even a second, everything will fall apart. But it’s already falling apart, Tim. You can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."
Tim swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing. He didn’t want to have this conversation—not here, not now. But Jason wasn’t letting it go, and maybe that was what Tim needed. Someone to push past his walls, to force him to face the things he’d been avoiding for too long.
"Why do you think I left?" Tim finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why do you think I stayed away?"
Jason stared at him, the anger in his expression melting away completely, replaced by something almost resembling sympathy. "You left because you didn’t want to disappoint anyone," Jason said, and there was no judgment in his tone, just understanding. "You left because you thought if you stayed, you’d break."
Tim closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I thought… I thought if I came back, I’d be better. I’d be *fixed*. But I’m not."
Jason stepped closer, his posture less confrontational now, his voice low but firm. "You’re not broken, Tim. You’re just… tired. And it’s okay to admit that."
For a moment, Tim didn’t say anything. He just stood there, feeling the weight of Jason’s words settle over him like a heavy blanket. He *was* tired. He was more than tired—he was exhausted, inside and out. And maybe it was okay to admit that. Maybe it was okay to let someone else carry the weight for a while.
Jason shifted, looking away as if the vulnerability of the moment was starting to make him uncomfortable. "Look, we don’t have to talk about this right now. But I’m not letting you go back out there like this. You’re in no shape to fight."
Tim sighed, the fight leaving him. He knew Jason was right. His head was still throbbing, and the world hadn’t stopped spinning completely. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed a break.
"Fine," Tim muttered, his voice weary. "You win. I’ll take a night off."
Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at Tim’s sudden acquiescence, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he nodded toward the exit. "Come on. Let’s get out of here."
---
The ride back to the manor was quiet, the tension between them fading into something more akin to mutual understanding. When they finally arrived, Jason parked the bike in the garage and led the way back into the house, heading straight for the kitchen.
Tim followed in silence, his body aching with every step. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this exhausted, and the adrenaline crash from the fight wasn’t helping.
Jason opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of water bottles, tossing one to Tim. "You look like you’re about to pass out."
Tim caught the bottle and cracked it open, taking a long drink. "I feel like it," he admitted.
Jason leaned against the counter, watching him closely. "You know," he started, his voice softer now, "I didn’t think we’d ever have a conversation like this. Hell, I didn’t think we’d ever talk without trying to kill each other."
Tim chuckled weakly, the sound surprising even him. "Yeah, me neither."
Jason smirked, but there was no malice in it. "Guess we’re not as different as I thought."
Tim looked up at him, studying Jason’s expression. There was something unspoken between them, something that went deeper than words. Maybe it was the shared trauma, the unspoken bond that came with being part of the Batfamily. Or maybe it was just the fact that, despite everything, they were brothers. And brothers looked out for each other, even when it wasn’t easy.
"You’re not alone in this, Tim," Jason said quietly. "No matter what you think, you’re not."
The words hit Tim harder than he expected, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something other than exhaustion. He felt… hope.
"Thanks, Jason," Tim said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it was unmistakable.
Jason nodded, pushing off the counter and clapping Tim on the shoulder, a little rough but affectionate. "Get some rest, Drake. I’ll make sure nothing blows up while you’re out."
Tim smiled, a real one this time, and for the first time in months, he felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.
As Jason left the kitchen, Tim sat there for a while, the silence of the manor settling around him. He wasn’t fixed, not by a long shot. But he wasn’t alone either. And that was a start.
Maybe, with time, the fractures in his life would heal.
Maybe, with family, they could all mend together.