A/N: This was written late last night on a whim, so I'm not sure how well it turned out. But it would be a shame if it sat on my computer, and I feel bad for not updating much lately. So here's a one-shot of angsty Tim as consolation for my lack of activity. Please let me know your thoughts!

Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.

He shouldn't have left the field.

Tim had a steadfast rule to not abandon a mission, not ever. No matter what was happening, he saw it through to the end and never gave up. That was the way it had always been for him, even if he failed. Every patrol, every goal; he went straight on until morning or longer if that was what it took. The teen had learned to grit his teeth and push onwards, and he considered himself to be very good at it. At least, he had been up until this point.

It had seemed like nothing at first. Patrol with Nightwing and Robin didn't sound like such a bad thing. While Bruce was off world on League business, Gotham needed some extra protectors. Tim didn't mind stepping in, and everything was going just fine. Damian was shooting insults his way, Dick intervened when he had to, and criminals were apprehended in between. As they flew across the rooftops, Tim was fully aware that nothing was out of the ordinary.

But as the patrol went on, he couldn't help but pause to notice just how well his two siblings worked together. Damian was entirely in sync with Nightwing, and vice versa. Tim had never seen the ten year old follow anyone else's lead so well instead of striving ahead to make his own path. It astounded him for a moment, and then the astonishment eased into something colder. Seeing them so perfectly involved in their system slammed a wall in front of the teen, one where he could watch what was occurring on the other side. The appeal of the patrol faded as Tim found himself isolated from the pair. He trailed behind, swinging only when they had gone ahead, fighting alone in battle.

The more they stayed together, the more Tim felt as if he was more of a bystander than a crime fighter. Little whispers grew to alarm bells in his head, the kind that told him to get out while he had the chance. Usually Tim ignored them. But this peculiar coldness had begun to turn icy, chilling his heart. Deep down he knew just what it was; the emptiness, the rift, the detached feelings. He couldn't address it in the field; not in front of Damian, and certainly not in front of Dick.

He stopped then, as he was crossing the rooftop, Dick and Damian continuing towards the other side. Tim waited a moment, then turned and started back. His foot was on the ledge before Dick called back to him, instantly curious. "Where are you going?"

Everything told him not to look back, but he glanced over his shoulder anyways. "I just remembered something that I need to do. I can handle it."

Dick frowned, tipping his head to the side. "Are you sure? That's not like you, if it's important."

"I've got a lot on my mind," Tim replied, and inwardly grimaced at his voice. It was so cold, so flat, that even he wasn't convinced of the words leaving his mouth. Then again, he wasn't trying to be convincing; he just needed an excuse to leave.

"Tt," Damian said, "Let him go. If he is too incompetent to handle his affairs, it is not on our shoulders. We have a city to protect."

Tim was not about to address that this time the comment stung slightly. He was used to brushing off Damian's comments, but tonight…tonight was different.

"It's fine," Tim said, turning his attention ahead of him once again. "See you later."

The grappling was fired, Tim swung off, and just like that he abandoned patrol. There was no business to attend to, and frankly the teen was positive that he wasn't in the right mindset to continue searching for crime to stop. At first he started towards the manor, but quickly stopped himself from going any further in that direction. Bearing the sight of the cave, having to walk past Damian's room; there was no way he could do it. He chose to trudge back to his apartment, a place that was waiting only for him and not another soul.

It was easy to slip inside; it was his security system after all. Tim trudged inside, pulling off his mask and tossing it onto the coffee table, right on top of the papers for various cases strewn over the surface. For a moment he stood there and gazed around the room, darkness shrouding every corner. He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, and no part of him wanted to anyways. Darkness was easier to hide in, easier to seek shelter in when he needed to conceal himself from the world. The teen felt the coldness creeping up his spine, along with the soft fire of rage beginning to burn; a pain that made him sick to the core.

He sat down on the couch and ran a hand through his hair, eyes trained on the floor while his palm stayed threaded through his ebony locks. The will to stay composed urged him to clamp down on his emotions and silence them. But this was his apartment, his home, and he was allowed to do damn well what he pleased. If that meant giving into the feelings, just for the night, he could afford it. Tim slumped forwards, hand sliding down to cover half his face, his elbow digging into his thigh for support. The feelings came crashing in, and he let himself accept just what they were.

Loneliness.

Abandonment.

Jealousy.

But most of all, hurt.

He'd thought that he was over the whole fiasco. Dick had chosen Damian over him, and that was how it was going to be. There was no turning back; he'd been Red Robin for so long that he knew he could never return to his previous role. Plus, Dick had succeeded in getting the kid some development he desperately needed. The cut should have healed; it shouldn't have even scarred. Yet when he watched the two of them work together, everything hurt so much worse now than it did back then. It was pure agony to remember the truth.

That used to be him flying through the night with Dick.

That used to be him wearing the Robin suit.

That used to be him fighting crime, being a hero, being wanted by the family.

Damian had come and taken that all away, and the brat didn't even appreciate it. His existence forced Tim out of the role that he cherished the most. He'd been thrown out there into the dark world, no light to rescue him, no one to guide him. His instincts were the only leadership he possessed, helping him to find a new purpose and start a new path. But Damian, he had it all. He had everything, and all he could do was insult it.

His eyes began to burn, and it took Tim a moment to realize that it was from tears that were attempting to fall. He swiped at them angrily, roughly, as if they were a foe. The time for crying and mourning was long past; the fact that he was even suffering from the relapse of emotion was pathetic. Tim took a deep breath, the emptiness making his chest ache. Everything was empty, he realized, and it wouldn't be filled any time soon.

He heard the click of the door opening and then closing, realizing only in that moment that he'd forgotten to reset his security system. Tim was about to lift his head, but then heard the sound of heavy, boot clad steps entering the apartment. There was no need for him to look up to know who had come. "What are you doing here?"

"Ran into Dick, almost literally. He mentioned you were acting strange, wanted me to check up on you." Jason hadn't bothered to turn on the lights either. His steps came closer until they paused beside the couch.

"Why didn't you go to the manor then?" Tim hadn't even counted on returning to his apartment.

"Because I'm not stupid," Jason answered. As Tim stared at the floor he saw the older man place his helmet beside the mask on the coffee table. "I wouldn't go back there either."

"You don't even know what happened," Tim muttered, debating on kicking Jason out. The desire to be alone was so strong that he almost stood and shoved his older brother out the door, but he resisted the urge to do so.

Jason made a noise that wasn't quite a scoff, but full of disbelief. "It doesn't take a genius, kid. Dick is just too afraid to acknowledge the reason why his precious Baby Bird fled patrol."

The words were okay, up until the last five. Tim bristled, dropping his hand from his face and standing up swiftly. "Just stop. I'm fine, Jason. Go back to patrol or whatever you were doing."

He chanced a glance at the older man, and instantly regretted the choice. Jason was watching him with an expression that could have been perceived as blank, but in actuality his eyes were boring into the teen like truth was going to fly out of his mouth. The two stood toe to toe, Tim unable to ignore how much bigger Jason was than him. It was like all the suffering had only made Jason stronger, but Tim had not endured enough to even compare.

The silence became too much to bear, and Tim tore away and headed towards his room. "Look, I don't care what you do, just go."

"Spoken like a true Bat," Jason said, taking a seat on the couch.

Tim winced, realizing how awful that had sounded. Just because he was in a horrible mood didn't mean he had to take it out on his brother. He especially didn't need to encourage Jason's less-than-sweet thoughts about his relationship with the family. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Don't worry about it," Jason answered, his voice strangely dismissive. "Go shower."

Why Tim decided to listen, he didn't know. This was his property, his place, and yet he obeyed the older man's command. The water didn't shake him out of the mood, and the heat didn't make him feel any better. But being out of the Red Robin suit made him feel a bit relieved, though he wasn't about to admit to that. Tim walked out of the bathroom, now dressed comfortably in sweats and a T-shirt, to find Jason laying on his couch, a cigarette lit between his lips.

"Don't smoke in my apartment," Tim said, his words holding as much threat as a lion cub's roar.

"Mhm," Jason replied around the cigarette. He pulled it from his lips and blew out a stream of smoke, then ordered, "Sit."

Tim hesitated, then went and sat on the couch, keeping a considerable distance between them. If Jason noticed, which he most likely did, he didn't mention it. Instead the older man stared ahead of him, taking another drag before speaking. "Sucks being kicked from the nest, doesn't it?"

The teen stiffened, "I'm over it. I had to go sooner or later. Nobody can be Robin forever."

"Uh huh," Jason answered in the same dismissive tone he'd used before. "You tell yourself that. You say it to make yourself feel better, and it works for a while. But then you see the person that came after you, and it hurts like Hell. Because everything you had now belongs to them."

"I never wanted to replace you—" Tim started, but Jason held up his cigarette to silence him.

The older man continued, "There will always be a replacement, Tim. We all outgrow the sidekick phase. Whether you like it or not, you were ready to go out on your own. Everything you've done as Red Robin; that would have been impossible if you stayed as Robin. But that's not the problem, right?"

Tim didn't answer, and Jason said, "The problem is that every time you see Damian, you see what you still think is yours. And it is yours. It's also Damian's, and Dick's, and mine. Robin belongs to all of us. The family belongs to all of us."

"You're counting yourself as a part of it this time?" Tim looked at him suspiciously.

"Can't ignore what's on paper," Jason said with a shrug. "We're one big, cracked in the head family. No matter what role we play in the field, it doesn't change who you really are. I'm the Red Hood, the totally opposite of Batman's moral code. But what the hell does Dick say every time he sees me?"

It wasn't hard for Tim to answer. "Come home with us, Jason."

"Knew the answer was somewhere in that brain of yours," Jason replied. "I'd let you come up with my point, but I don't think you'd get it."

"You're saying that it doesn't matter what uniform I wear. I'm still Tim Drake underneath." The teen finished.

Jason smirked a little, "So you are listening. You're the Tim of the family. No one's going to replace that. It doesn't matter who works with who in the field. Everyone still wants you. If Dick didn't have to keep our favorite rabid ten year old on a leash, then he'd be here telling you the same thing. Or not. He's denser sometimes than he realizes."

Tim cracked a small smile at that. Their eldest sibling was sometimes their biggest handful. "So what am I supposed to do? Go back to the manor?"

"No," Jason said, "take the night off. We all need to mourn our losses once in a while. Nothing would hurt if it wasn't important. So grieve, and go back tomorrow."

"Never thought I'd see the day where you offer up such scholarly advice," Tim said, looking at his brother sideways with a sad smile. He still felt hurt, but the cold had faded. Somehow Jason's words had reached into that emptiness and filled it enough to soften the ache. Dick had still been there for him, even after he became Red Robin. Even now, his older brother made every attempt to show that he cared. Being Robin didn't define family love.

Jason smirked, "I get a night to be philosophical. It's a once a year pass."

"Hmm," Tim replied, settling back against the couch cushions. "Meet here again next year, then?"

"Don't have anything better to do," Jason said, then placed the cigarette back in his mouth.

If he had been feeling up to it, Tim would have laughed. But he was stuck in nostalgia; in the past he so loved. But that was okay, Jason had helped him realize; it happened to the best of them. Tomorrow he'd return to the manor like nothing ever happened, like he had never been hurt at all.

But that was tomorrow, another world away, and the night was still young for two broken birds. There in his apartment, together on the couch, Tim grieved and Jason was philosophical, all in the cover of darkness and cigarette smoke.