AN: Somehow I managed to not upload more than half the chapters I wrote two years ago? Weird. Here they are.


"You give me the word and we'll throw that little punk in the holding tank for 24 hours," Barbara's voice said as soon as Tim was handed the phone.

"Hello Barbara," he said confusedly. "What's this about putting a kid in jail?"

"24 hours," she repeated. "We don't need a warrant or a reason. We can call it questioning. Bruce won't be able to do anything about it, not when I can make the DA sleep on the couch for a month."

"Still not sure what you're talking about, Babs," Tim said.

There was a pause over the line, then a long sigh. "I'm not entirely serious," she said, sounding suddenly exhausted. "I'm just worried about you. You don't have to get involved in this Jokerz thing. The McGinnis kid can be a selfish little bastard, he never thinks about how his actions affect others." Tim ran a hand through his hair. No, Terry wasn't the selfish one. He was.

"I appreciate the gesture, Barbara," Tim said. "Really. But if there's something going on with the Joker, I'd rather know. I NEED to know that I'm not being used anymore."

"You can know without getting involved, Tim."

"No, I can't. Not if I want to be able to sleep at night. Besides, I think you have McGinnis figured wrong. He's a good kid. Kind of an idiot, but then again, you were the only one of us that wasn't, so who am I to judge."

Barbara made a sound somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "I was still stupid enough to put on the cape and tights," she said. There was something in Barbara's voice that made Tim's heart break. She had come out of the bat life the best - went to a good college, married a good man, finally weeded out all of the corruption from the Gotham PD. But he could hear it in her voice, that she still woke up in the night hearing laughter, that she felt responsible for what happened to him.

"Look, Barbara, I need to go. I'll be fine with all this. Like I said, I need to be involved. If anything I need to make sure the kid knows what he's up against. Thanks for looking out for me, though."

"Alright, Tim," Barbara said, though her tone made it clear it wasn't alright. "Just... be safe." There was a click, and the line went dead. Tim returned to the kitchen to hang the phone up on the charger.

Stephanie was in the kitchen, sitting at the table and working on a spreadsheet on her laptop. "What did Barbara want to talk about?" She asked as Tim set the phone into its cradle on the wall.

"Just... checking in on me."

"Really. Because I distinctly heard you say the word 'Joker', and you were out with Dick for an entire night." Her typing got angrier as she spoke.

Tim felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He slowly walked over to Stephanie, draping his arms around her shoulders, burying his face in her pale hair. "I didn't want you to worry," he said quietly.

"Well," she snapped, not leaning back into his embrace, "lying to me doesn't really make me less worried. Kind of has the opposite effect."

"I know," he whispered, squeezing her. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I just," she slammed the top of her computer closed. "I just thought that that was the end of it. That kid got him out of your head for good. We can rest easy now. We don't have to keep getting wrapped up in the Batman bullshit anymore." She leaned back against him, more defeated than relaxed.

"Steph," he murmured, nuzzling her shoulder. "You don't understand what it's like. I'm so afraid he's not gone... keeping an eye on this stuff is the only way I can rest easy."

She gently touched his arm, but he didn't feel any closer to her. He knew she cared, knew she loved him. But she could never understand what he'd gone through. Very few people could.

"Please tell me you're at least keeping a distance," she asked. "That you're not actually getting physically involved."

"It's only some hacking," he said. "I promise. I'm not going to see any action, just give Dick and the kid a hand."

"Okay," she said, but, like Barbara, he could tell it wasn't okay. "This new kid, do you trust him? Is he keeping you safe?"

Tim's chest suddenly felt tight. He glanced at his hand, at his wedding ring. Yes, he trusted the kid. He trusted the kid more than he had most anyone in a long time. But he couldn't figure out if he trusted Terry for the right reasons... if there even was a rational reason. "Yes. I trust him. With my life."

Tim woke up in a cold sweat. He threw off the sheets and sat up, his hands shaking. Next to him, Steph shifted and groaned at the sudden cold.

"Tim?" She muttered, only partially awake. "S'everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said, voice shaky, "yeah. Go back to sleep."

"Nightmares again?" She sounded much more awake now, and was beginning to sit up. Tim understood why she would be so concerned, but he felt like he needed space to breath. To him, dreams were like drowning.

"It's okay," he repeated, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead. "It wasn't that bad. I just... need some air." He slid off the mattress and began to head to the closet to dig out a pair of shoes.

"Tim, please," she said, "come back to bed."

"I promise I won't wander too far, I've got my phone," he said without listening to her, shoving his feet into a pair of boots and wrapping a jacket around himself. He knew she was dialing the therapist by the time he was out the door.

Tim didn't really know where he was going when he left the house, only that the air was cold and calming, and though the city had gotten a lot more claustrophobic over the past two decades, it was still less suffocating then the condo. The noise of traffic and the giant TVs mounted on buildings helped drown out the noise in his head. Besides, he'd slipped his phone in the pocket of his jacket, it had the standard GPS apps.

He'd been walking for a few minutes, in the general direction of the shopping complex a level down from the condo, when an explosion crashed through the rest of the street noise. What few people were out on the streets suddenly stopped, and the traffic on the raised freeway that cut through the skyscrapers began to rubberneck. Everyone looked to the sky, at an office building not far from where Tim was standing. The hundredth floor was on fire, a row of windows suddenly gone.

Two dark figures appeared in the smoke, and seemed to be grappling. They neared the edge of the missing floor, and one pushed the other. The figure started to fall, and a kite-like apparatus unfolded from its back. Tim stopped breathing as he saw the figure smash into a streetlight, the metal arm of the light snapping off like a twig. The figure continued to fall, wrapped up in steel and broken wires. It fell, and it fell hard. Without thinking, Tim bolted across the stopped traffic.

His lungs were on fire as he raced down the levels, eyes glued on the spot where the figure had disappeared into darkness. He went down, down, down - over a dozen levels - before he spotted a broken red wing, caught on the side of a force-field fence. A few more levels, and he saw the broken streetlight on the ground. The level was deserted, emergency crews too occupied with the burning building above to see the boy laying on the ground in a broken pile.

"BATMAN!" Tim shouted, running to kneel next to the boy. He couldn't tell if the kid was breathing. The suit was torn, exposing circuitry underneath the exolayer. Sparks jittered along the spot where the wing had broken off of the back. Tim laid a hand on Terry's shoulder and carefully turned him over. He reached for the seam where the cowl attached to the suit, in order to find the boy's pulse. Terry's hand suddenly shot out and latched onto Tim's wrist, twisting it with the intent to break it.

"It's me," Tim hissed against the sudden pain in his wrist. "Te- Batman. It's me."

Terry groaned, words difficult with the air forced out of his lungs by the crash. "Mr. Drake...?" He managed to get out.

"Yes, it's me," Tim said again. "It's Tim." The hand fell away from his wrist.

"Batman, I know talking's gotta be hard right now, but I need you to tell me if anything's broken."

Terry moaned as he carefully tried to move all his limbs. "No," Terry said slowly. "Nothing's... broke. Can't... breathe."

Tim nodded, saying, "I think your armor protected you, and the wings slowed your fall a bi-"

Terry suddenly interrupted him. "Old man says... lungs not collapsed." Tim was confused for a moment, but remembered that Bruce was probably speaking to Terry through their comm line, and had some sort of system set up to monitor vital signs.

"Okay," he said, "you probably just got the wind knocked out of you."

Tim let Terry regain his breath, and carefully helped the boy sit up. The batsuit seemed intact, no lacerations had made it down to Terry's skin. He'd be black and blue for a month, but nothing permanent.

"I'm taking you home," Tim said. "You hear that, old man? Kid's going to be fine, but he needs rest."

"He says okay," Terry relayed after a brief moment of silence that was just long enough for Tim to know Bruce had had more to say. "But I need to go somewhere else."

"You're in no condition to go back out there," Tim said sternly. Terry's face was completely covered by his cowl, but Tim could feel the strength of the scowl he was being given, even without seeing the face.

"I'm not as stupid as you guys all think I am. If my mom catches me sneaking into the house dressed up like a bat, I'm gonna catch hell. I keep a stash of clothes hidden in the school.

"And," he continued, "much as I hate to say it, I... need a ride."

"Don't you have a jet?"

"See this?" Terry held up one arm. The exterior of the suit was completely stripped off, showing the inner workings underneath. "Can't pilot with the suit this bad."

"Well," Tim said, "hate to disappoint you, but I was on foot tonight." For the first time that night, Terry seemed to notice how odd it was that Tim had found him. He gave Tim a critical look.

"Yeah, what ARE you doing out on the streets in your pajamas at 2 am? Does your wife know where you are?" The second question was more of an accusation.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tim countered.

"You know pretty slagging well what that's supposed to mean," Terry shot back, his eyes narrowing.

Tim scowled. "Yes, she knows where I am. I couldn't sleep, I needed some air."

"And finding me after I got tossed out of a building...?"

"Just coincidence, really." Tim was desperate to change the subject, and suddenly asked, "Is Bruce still watching over your cowl's comm link?"

Terry's eyes narrowed even more. "No. I turned it off because it was too full of static. Why?"

"Because he wouldn't like what I'm about to suggest."

Before Terry could even begin to give him a weird look, Tim continued. "Your jet, it's got to have some sort of remote control access."

"Yeah," Terry said with hesitation, understanding what Tim was getting at. "But it can only go from the cave to my current location. It doesn't have a real autopilot."

"You won't need one. Just call it to our location and I'll take care of the rest." Terry was clearly not enthusiastic about the idea, but hit a button on his belt anyways.

Within a few minutes, the jet was hovering over them. Terry touched the button on his belt again, and it gently settled down next to them. Without a word, Tim stood up and walked over to it, sliding open the cockpit and dropping himself into the jet. The system was pretty advanced for being twenty years old, but he was an engineer. He began tinkering, and after a few minutes, climbed back out of the jet, waving his phone at Terry. "And now we have a real remote," he said triumphantly.

Terry scowled. "Great," he said. "Fantastic. Give it to me, and go home." He reached out his hand to take the phone.

"No," Tim replied casually. "Dick said you nearly crashed the jet that night you were attacked in the warehouse. I'll pilot it, just to the school. You can get changed and I'll get a cab."

Terry ground his teeth, but inwardly, he was agreeing. He wasn't in any condition to fly. "Fine." He said. "But you're not keeping that program on your phone."

"Deal."

"So why the school?" Tim asked as they flew over the city, carefully using his phone to program an air-traffic route into the jet. "You could get caught there, too."

"Nah," Terry shrugged, unable to really do anything but talk, what with his suit damaged. "Security really isn't tight there, and there aren't any security cameras along this one route between the roof and the gym. Found that out when I used to cut class for non-Batman reasons. 'Sides, all they'd suspect me of is vandalism."

"And why would they do that?" Tim asked.

"Probably 'cause I was a vandal," Terry said. "Hey, at least people usually just think that, and don't assume I'm a crazy clown trying to ruin their life." He coughed, and the cough sounded a lot like the name 'Max'. Tim decided not to pursue the topic, as the boy's tone was somewhat hostile. Instead he was silent as he maneuvered the jet onto the roof of the school.

Terry climbed out of the jet and started for the rooftop access door, Tim following right behind.

"Y'know," Terry said, typing in a code on the door's security panel that he obviously had memorized a long time ago, "I'm fine from here. You can go home now."

"Until you're actually home and not in danger of passing out while in the costume for someone to find you, I'm not leaving." Tim stated. "Speaking from experience, you should have someone to watch your back."

Terry didn't say anything as they made their way down into the locker rooms. He found his locker and opened it, pulling out a change of clothes. Tim turned away, leaning against a row of lockers, to give the kid some privacy. Something compelled him to glance over his shoulder, though, and he was more than a little shocked at what he saw.

Terry was turned away from him, shirtless, and Tim could see just how bad the bruising from the fall was. The young man's entire back and arms were already turning a dark shade of purple, on top of various lacerations in the process of healing.

"Good God," Tim murmured.

Terry, suddenly aware of Tim looking at him, quickly pulled on his shirt and gruffly muttered, "I'm fine."

"Jesus Christ," Tim whispered, walking over to Terry and grabbing one of his arms. There was a deep cut along the arm, scabbed over and beginning to show signs of scarring. "How the hell do you think this is fine? No one should choose to live like this."

Terry jerked his hand out of Tim's grasp. "Yeah, well, I did. So save your lecture."

"I'm sorry," Tim said, "I just-"

"You just don't want me to end up like you, I get it. Whatever. Like I said, I can take care of myself."

"Terry," Tim grabbed him by the shoulder, turning the boy to face him. "There's a reason I don't want you to end up like me. I care about what happens to you. I don't want to see you get hurt the way my entire family has."

"You don't need to c-" Terry began, but fell silent as he saw the look on Tim's face.

There was a lot of guilt to that expression, but Terry could see it was more than that. Tim wasn't just feeling guilty about seeing another person running around as Batman and getting hurt. He truly did care about the man under the cowl, about Terry. Terry nearly stopped breathing, frozen as Tim's hand moved to the back of his neck. He didn't resist - he even stepped forward, meeting Tim halfway.

Tim's mouth covered Terry's, pulling the boy close and locking him in a tight embrace. If dreams were drowning, Terry was a life preserver. Once again, Terry was hesitant, not sure what to do with his hands. Slowly, shakily, they reached up and touched Tim's face, then ran through his hair. A million thoughts were buzzing through Terry's head, questioning what the fuck he was doing, but they all came back to the same answer: Tim did care, if in a destructive kind of way.

Their breathing started to get heavy. Tim was content to just hold Terry, but it had been decades since he'd been a teenager himself. He wasn't sure if the young man needed this connection the same way he did, but whatever it was Terry wanted, he seemed to crave more than just holding on. Tim was pushed back against the row of lockers, one of the boy's hands grabbing the front of his shirt, the other pinning him to a locker.

Terry's mouth opened, and he bit Tim's lower lip hard. Tim opened his own mouth, and the boy's tongue darted inside it. Tim took hold of Terry by the waist and pulled him in closer, smelling the blood and sweat and smoke on the boy. He briefly wondered who it was that Terry had been fighting, how he had gotten thrown off a building, when Terry's legs leaned against his own and his mind went blank.

Tim's hands scrambled about, pulling up the hem of Terry's shirt and taking hold of his hips. His thumbs caressed the soft line between hips and groin, and Terry moaned. His hands began to work their way under the young man's jeans when Terry suddenly pulled away. There was a wild, somewhat scared look in his eyes.

"Shit," Terry muttered. "Shit, shit, shit."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"SHUT UP," Terry shouted.

"Just... just shut up," Terry's voice fell. "Just... listen to me for a second. You're MARRIED, and I ha-"

"No, you listen for a minute you stupid little brat," Tim snapped. "Do you know what all happened to me when I was a kid? Of course you don't, I never told anyone all of it. I can't even remember how long the torture lasted. It never ended. I couldn't keep track of time. You have any idea what the does to a person?"

"Mr. Drake, I-"

Tim shoved the boy away. "You have any idea how hard it is to feel human after going through all that? How long it took me to think of Bruce as my father, instead of The Joker? Most days I can't even feel anything other than anxiety that the torture never really ended, that I'm just living in my head to save myself." He stalked up to Terry, shoving the boy into the opposite row of lockers. "But you, you little bastard. You piss me off."

Tim could see the muscle's in Terry's neck starting to tense up. At any second now the kid was going to throw a punch. His face may not have shown how freaked out he was, but his body language did. Tim sighed and stepped back.

"Yeah, you piss me off," he murmured, as Terry stayed frozen where he was. "And that's... it's a bit of a breakthrough for me. You piss me off, and that gives me a lot of hope."

"Man," Terry said darkly. "You need help. Seriously."

"Right now, this helps."

"How? I keep asking and you don't give me any answers. What do you want from me?"

"I want..." Tim ran a hand over the back of his neck. He hadn't really figured out what he wanted. He knew what it was, but didn't have the skill to put it into words. "I want to feel needed." Terry was quiet, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Without a word, Terry pushed off of the lockers and grabbed Tim by a shoulder, forcing him to sit on one of the benches set an intervals between lockers. Tim wasn't sure what was going on in the boy's head, and felt selfish for it. He was so focused on what he needed, he hadn't asked what Terry needed. He kept wondering this when Terry straddled his lap and kissed him. The kiss was hard and angry, but it felt right somehow.

Tim wrapped his arms around the boy's back, sliding his hands up under his shirt. This time, the boy reciprocated, running his hands down Tim's chest. Terry's breathing grew heavy, and it was all Tim could focus on. Tim couldn't figure out when it happened, but Terry's shirt came off, his chest sweating and pressing against Tim. Terry's hands stopped moving across Tim, instead holding the sides of Tim's face. He gave Tim a long, deep kiss, slowly pulling away.

"Not... now," Terry whispered, pressing his forehead against Tim's. "Not here. Go home, Mr. Drake. Your wife's probably worried."

He stood up, looking at Tim. He looked hurt and overwhelmed, but also like he was doing everything in his power to stop himself.

"I'll... call you. Or something." He collected his shirt and bag, and once again Tim was left alone, though this time not as disappointed.

When Tim arrived home, Steph was curled up on the couch, the living room floor lamp on. She opened her eyes as soon as he walked into the room.

"Where were you?" She asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Just going for a walk," he said, sitting down next to her. "I'm sorry for worrying you like that."

"I called Dr. Moris," she said, lifting up her head to place it on his lap. She reached up and grabbed his hand. "She'd like to make a meeting with you as soon as possible."

"I'll give her a call in the morning," Tim promised, stroking Steph's hair. "I really am sorry about worrying you like that. I just had to get out of here for a while. I felt like the walls were caving in on me." She was silent, but he could tell tears were starting to fill her eyes. He took hold of her and moved her onto her back, leaning down and kissing her.

It was different from when he kissed Terry. When he kissed Steph, he could tell he was loved, that she was doing everything she could to keep him safe and sane. He needed that feeling. But he could never giver her the same sort of feeling, not with his head such a twisted mess inside. But the kid... the kid kissed him like he needed it. He needed Tim, even if it wasn't in the way Tim wanted to be needed.

"Come on," Tim said softly, helping Stephanie sit up. "Let's go back to bed." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him, clutching him tight.

"Sorry for worrying you," he said one more time, shoving any thoughts of Terry out of his head. The kid probably wouldn't speak to him again, he figured.