Hey yall guess who's back? *dances*

So basically this will be a robin!reversal woooo! I will hopefully update every week except one in which I will not have access to the computer and therefore I won't update.

as always betaed by WhatAreAllTheseTears :D

The bubbling green liquid of the Lazarus Pit burned Tim's eyes. His body spasmed and all he knew was that he had to get out. He curled his arms, pulling and tearing at the leather bindings that held him down. He ripped the ankle restraints off and climbed out of the Pit. Adrenaline pumped through his body, his heart pounded and his breathing was heavy. His muscles were taut and his eyes couldn't seem to look at one thing for more than a few seconds. Everything was bright and loud and god, where he used to be was so quiet. So peaceful. But now he saw pain, he heard pain, he was pain.

Tim roared.

Tim took in his surroundings. There were people around him, judging by their outfits… Assassins. The League. His mind caught up to his subconscious. The League had revived him in the Lazarus Pit. How long had it been? How long had he been dead? Overwhelming rage frothed within him. One of the ninjas attacked, Tim fought back. Fists flew out, fast and deadly. He wasn't holding back. Not that he'd ever had to with the League of Assassins. But there were so many, and Tim could only fight so much.

He screamed as they dogpiled on him, hoping to restrain him. Tim struggled but couldn't move. His memory was foggy, all he remembered was an incessant ticking noise and pain. Pain that struck in bursts, first his legs, his chest, his head, his chest again, his head again, his legs again. Over and over. A flash of something metal that made his mouth taste like iron. And a laugh. A maniac laugh that half of Gotham was familiar with. One that always incited fear.

Tim was on his knees. Head bent down as someone shackled his wrists behind him. The clicking of footsteps, click click click click. Boots, he knew the sound of boots well. A sweeping green rope. Everything looked green, everyone looked green. Tim knew they weren't really green, his brain came up with an explanation for the coloration of his captors' skin easily—it was the reflection of the luminescent green boiling waters in the Pit below—but for some reason Tim couldn't help think that the color fit the League well. The color of greed, of envy, of will, of life.

Ra's robe was a different green than the Pit's. His was richer, darker, more dangerous. He bent down, eyes studied Tim. "He will have to do. Take him away."

Why was he doing this? What was he planning? And why, sweet heaven above, why had Ra's revived Tim?

Tim struggled when the ninjas dragged him away, but it was to no avail. Tim was screaming words, sentences even, though he couldn't comprehend why he was screaming or what he was saying. He just needed to get to Ra's. He needed to kill Ra's.

The room the assassins threw Tim in was less of a room and more of a cage. There was a bed, a toilet, and metal bars separating Tim from the rest of the world. As if to protect Tim from it, or to protect it from him. The assassins had unshackled him. Tim stared at his hands, marveling at how clean they were. The Lazarus Pit didn't just clean away sins, it cleaned away dirt. Tim ran the fingers of one hand over the palm of the other, his skin was soft. When he tensed the texture changed, now it was taut, not coarse but taut. It felt like stretched leather.

Tim's rage had left him, his heart beat at a normal (healthy) pace. One of Ra's henchwomen stood at the door. She stared at Tim, watching him as if she would unravel his secrets if she stared long enough.

She wouldn't.

Tim examined the rest of his body, touching his face, testing his flexibility, looking for past scars. He found them in abundance, apparently the Lazarus Pit didn't get rid of past healed injuries. He had no stubble on his still rather premature face. His body was stiff but had lost no elasticity. Tim began to stretch. His guard watched him interestedly but said nothing.

Footsteps jarred him from his exercises and Ra's appeared again, Talia at his side this time. One of Ra's bodyguards held a food tray. He slipped the tray through a small slot at the bottom of the columns of iron bars. Tim hesitated before poking at the food. He sniffed at it warily. His caution made Ra's crack a smile. Tim didn't think that a smile suited him.

"Just like the Detective. Always suspicious."

Tim said nothing.

"Fear not, Little Detective. I have no reason to poison or drug you. Your food is safe."

Tim didn't believe him. He was in the dark about all of Ra's motives and denying that he had any didn't make Tim's qualms disappear.

"I would like for you to answer me. I need to know, Little Detective, do you know your name?"

"Tim. My name is Tim Drake." Tim's voice was hoarse, unused. He didn't want to speak, especially not to Ra's. But he figured he would have to give a little to learn more about Ra's plan for him.

"Very good." Tim gritted his teeth. The praise was like slime, it slithered into his ears and made the little hairs on the back of Tim's neck rise. "Do you know who I am?"

"You are Ra's Al Ghul. The leader of the League of Assassins." And the grandfather to the most annoying superhero in the world.

"Very good. What is your relationship to your mentor, the Detective?"

The Detective. Bruce. Batman. His mentor. His father. The memory of the warehouse flashed back: the Joker's laugh, the ticking of the bomb, the mantra don't worry, Bruce will come, he won't give up, he'll be here, the world ending noise that signaled the bomb going off, the final desperate thought: I'm so glad Bruce isn't here. "I am Robin."

"Were. You were Robin. And now, you are mine."