A/N: Wow, it's been a while since I've updated here, hasn't it? I apologize for my lack of updates, but school will be ending soon. That gives me much more time to write, and hopefully means that I'll be posting new chapters quicker.
Not sure how I feel about this one. I feel like I need to reacquaint myself with these characters. I hope it's still enjoyable though. Please let me know your thoughts!
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.
He wasn't exactly sure how he expected to feel when the darkness gave way for wakefulness.
Early afternoon greeted the teen when he arose from his slumber, and found himself alone in his room. He sat up in his bed rather than on the cave floor, light pouring in and illuminating every surface. At first there was the feeling of confusion and wondering how he'd gotten from Point A to Point B. Once the memories of the night came back to him and the grogginess faded, he opted to assess just how he felt, physically. Perhaps he should have been exhausted, had a headache, or at least a tad bit miserable.
The truth was that Tim felt fine.
Not the excuse he used so often, the 'brush-off-the-question' type of fine. This was the kind of fine that actually meant…well, good. There was no lingering muscle weakness, no pain or any soreness. For the first time in a long while, his mind felt clear. Fog that had clouded his view of the world, that had stuffed his mind with insecurities and anxieties, seemed to have lifted. It was the closest that he had been to his old self since the Scarecrow incident had occurred.
Tim looked at his hands, as if they'd hold the answers. Of course they didn't and he decided to test himself to make sure he wasn't imagining this feeling. Tossing off the blankets, Tim vault from the bed and landed quite close to the door. He swayed, reaching for the wall for balance, and grinned. He hadn't had that strength in forever, barely having the motivation to walk across the room. Now all of his ailments, physical that is, had disappeared.
He let out a surprised laugh, then remembered that he was the only one aware of his triumph. This was not something he planned to keep to himself, that was for sure. The teen resisted jogging down the hall and settled for a fast walk, reveling in how easy it was to do so once again. His grin spread further across his face, and Tim struggled to keep from laughing. It would be crazy, but he had the urge to run out of the manor and yell to the world that he was back; he wouldn't be kept down any longer. He wanted to spin in circles and jump off the walls of the hallway, to walk on his hands and somersault through the air, just because he'd regained the ability to move effortlessly.
As he descended the stairs, however, his joyful mood began to dissipate. The air as he walked down the last step shifted and became much more intense, and the grin slid off his face like a skater on ice. Tim hesitated, not sure if he wanted to enter the storm or retreat back to the safety of his room where he could celebrate his recovery. But there was always some sort of trouble brewing in the manor, whether it had the ferocity of a thunderstorm or a hurricane. The only way to deal with it was to take it head on, and so Tim continued walking, following the sound of raised voices.
They led him to the living room, though Tim hid outside of it to listen in on the conversation. From what he could tell the whole ordeal was short on turning into a screaming match. The first yelling voice that the teen was able to identify was, unsurprisingly, Jason's. "Don't you dare tell me that you know what's best for him. The people who have actually been trying to figure it out don't need to hear it."
"I am his father," Bruce answered, matching Jason's tone. "I have every right to make decisions based on what I think he needs."
Jason scoffed, "Oh come on, Bruce! You think he needs Scarecrow alive? You think he needs Batman to be out in the field instead of here, checking to see if he's alright? Does he need to be monitored like a damn criminal on your radar? Go ahead; honestly tell me that it's all from the heart and not paranoia. Go ahead."
"Alright, stop," Dick intervened, and Tim had a feeling that the oldest sibling had just stepped in between Bruce and Jason. Possibly it was to cut off their bickering, but more likely to keep a fist fight from breaking out. However peaceful the intentions were, it was clear in Dick's voice that he was angered too. "He has a point, Bruce. It doesn't matter where the reasoning comes from; we don't know the right thing to do. Jason and Damian have dealt with this the most—"
"I have put up with Drake enough to disagree with Father's suggestion," Damian clarified, and Tim held back on rolling his eyes. Of course the ten year old didn't want to be associated that closely with him. If he made a full and complete recovery though, Tim was almost positive he'd take some of the credit.
"You're outvoted," Dick said, clearly to his father. His tone was stern and unyielding. "Forget about it, because I don't think any of us are going to allow it to happen. You know I respect you but I can't stand by and let you do this."
What they were trying to keep Bruce from doing, Tim wasn't totally sure. As much as he probably didn't want to know, he was compelled to figure it out. He put his mind to the task and thought over it. If he was Bruce, and he'd just witnessed Tim's outburst, what would he do?
Jason had mentioned monitoring. It was possible that Bruce could quarantine him. Run tests if he hadn't already; isolate him. Try to find the source of his hallucination outburst and get rid of it. He could decide that he was a danger to others and himself, and he'd be locked under an even tighter system of wait-and-see, watching for any further side effects that could cause such a horrendous reaction. It would be an even greater endless cycle.
Tim's stomach tightened into knots. The plausibility was more than he wanted to admit. Bruce was like that, always wanting control and to fix the problem. But the teen was finally breaking away from one period of stillness and uncertainty, and he wasn't going to voluntarily place himself into another. No, he was just about desperate to stay out of anything remotely similar.
"Nothing's going to happen," Tim said and stepped into the room. All eyes landed on him. Jason turned to face him, but still kept half his body positioned towards those he had been arguing with. Dick looked over his shoulder, standing between Bruce and Jason like he had expected. Bruce looked at him from where he stood, and Damian glanced over, stretched out on the couch with his feet on the coffee table.
"Didn't know you were up," Dick said, but with a certain joy to it. A tired smile was present in his eyes and on his mouth, a comfort that Tim was secretly grateful to accept. Sometimes he really took the expression for granted.
Jason's expression was entirely different. Clearly his temper had flared, and the fire was sparking in his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd seen Jason so offensive, so absolutely fed up with something that was going on. Tim made a mental note to do his best to not encourage his mood. Jason said gruffly, "How much did you hear?"
Tim shrugged, though he wasn't about to let the matter slide. "That's not what matters. Whatever you're suggesting, I don't need it."
Damian let out a sigh and swung his legs off the table. He rose casually, crossing his arms. "Drake has made his judgment. May we all refrain from arguing any further?"
While Tim sympathized with the younger boy's desire to stop fighting, he couldn't let Bruce have his way. He looked to his mentor, standing tall and straight, ready to face the brunt of his adoptive father's stubbornness. "I don't need to be watched over. Everyone can stop worrying. I'm fine."
Dick raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. The comment had brought on a peculiar interest on everyone else's faces. Since the mood had shifted, Dick seemed to decide it was safe to quit being the wall between the feuding father and son and turned fully to the teen. "Timmy, you don't need to be embarrassed about what happened, okay? We understand."
"No, that's not what I mean," Tim said, seeing confusion pass over their faces. "I feel great. Maybe that was just the drug's final stand or something. But I'm finally over it."
An awkward silence fell over the room, and Tim picked up on what it meant. Nobody there was sold on his explanation, nor were they convinced that he had regained his strength. He couldn't help but feel a small amount of hurt, but concealed it and said, "You don't believe me."
"I can understand that all the running you did last night came from an adrenaline rush," Jason said, "but no, I don't think you're back on your feet."
"You still need rest, Tim." Bruce said, shaking his head. "Strength back or not, this is still serious. Anything could happen, and that drug might have even longer lasting effects no matter how you feel right now."
Tim felt the glare form on his features, eyes narrowing at every person present. "So even though I'm insisting that I'm better, I'm still not allowed to do anything?"
"We're just being careful," Dick said, as if it made up for everything.
"No," Tim said, the word coming out low and full of anger. The emotion burned in his chest, causing his hands to curl into fists. For so long that had been the excuse; they had wanted him to sit and relax and wait for the worst to happen. Don't get worked up Tim, stay in bed Tim, you're going to get hurt if you do that.
He wasn't dealing with this anymore. It was torture enough to sit by and let everyone take care of him, barely able to move a finger. But now that he could, it was like trapping a tiger in a cage. Tim had grown weary of sitting by, watching everyone else take to the streets of Gotham while he waited for their return. That stopped now.
"Every single one of you needs to stop. I'm tired of sitting here and doing nothing! None of us know what else this drug can do, especially me. But I've got my strength back, and I'm not wasting it. I want back in the suit. I want back on the streets, on the patrols. You can't keep me here when there's no reason for me to be!" Tim stopped his words from continuing, not sure what warpath he was about to go down.
"You can't possibly expect us to unleash you into Gotham just because you want to, Drake." Damian gave him a stare that should have turned into a smirk; that is if Dick hadn't shot him a warning look. "As absurd as your suggestions can be, that is the worst I've heard recently."
Jason looked to the teen, looking just as unconvinced. "I'm with him on this one. You aren't jumping back into the game, Tim."
"I know I can't go right back into it," Tim said, annoyed that no one was giving him a chance. "I'll go back into training. I'll build myself back up, but I won't sit here idly. Either you let me do at least that, or I'll find my own way to do it."
The threat had more substance than anyone probably suspected. He stood tensely, letting his eyes wander to each person. Dick looked to Bruce, who watched Tim with a stern expression. The teen wasn't sure whether he was considering his words or just trying to come up with another excuse to keep him locked in the manor. Damian gave him a nasty glare, and Tim was certain the kid was imagining throwing knives at his head for continuing to argue. Tim wouldn't be leaving the room without a definite answer.
It was Jason who finally made the choice to speak. He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly, dropping his crossed arms and walking over to Tim. "Fine, you want to be Red Robin again? Prove that you have it in you?"
Tim didn't ask why he had to prove himself worthy of the title he made for himself. He only asked, "How?"
Jason stopped in front of him, giving everyone the view point of the two of them. "Punch me."
The teen recoiled in surprise, "What?"
Jason didn't bat an eye at Tim's shocked reaction. "Well I'm not going to have you shoot me. Contrary to popular belief, I don't enjoy digging bullets out of my body."
"I don't get how this proves anything," Tim replied. He couldn't help but feel like Jason had some ulterior motive to this, or that he would try something else if Tim complied.
"You claim you've got your strength back," Jason explained, oddly calm. "Want back in the field? You better live up to your words, kid. Show me that this isn't an exaggeration. If you can do that, then you'll train and no one will stop you."
No one in the room spoke against the deal. Even so, Tim couldn't help but hesitate. Sure, Jason angered him since he was refusing to let him go, but that didn't mean he actually wanted to hurt the older man. Sensing his hesitance, Jason said with a smirk, "It's not that hard, Tim. I used to try to kill you for Hell's sake. Just do it."
The tension grew, and Tim felt his hand curl into a fist. He really didn't want to strike his brother, and he hated referring to their complicated past. Since it wasn't relevant to now and feelings had changed, Tim found the argument to be rather pointless. Jason's eyes bore into him as the two locked eyes, their burning asking him simply, "How bad do you want this?"
Badly; so badly that he would do something this unreasonable to get it. The hesitance caused Jason to sigh and start to turn away, clearly thinking that Tim had been lying. Tim's fist reached back and then swung, giving it his all, and cutting through the air. It connected with Jason's jaw, his knuckles cracking; bone against bone. The punch caught Jason off guard, and, combined with the force of the hit, sent him reeling backwards and onto the floor.
Jason landed on his back and everyone else in the room widened their eyes. It took a moment for Jason to sit up, and he rubbed his jaw with the mutter of, "Ugh, damn Tim…"
The teen winced at the pain he caused and said, "Sorry."
Though admittedly he wasn't totally sorry; Jason kind of deserved it for doubting him.
"Don't be, that was the point. I just didn't…" Jason trailed off and then changed his train of thought and said reluctantly. "You win, Tim. Congrats."
Both Bruce and Dick had expressions that were almost grim. Damian however was looking at the teen with a sort of mixed approval, and possibly respect. Tim didn't take the time to analyze their emotions any further. He had what he came in for, gaining it like he'd intended. It was his decisions anyways; it wasn't that he was Batman or Robin. Red Robin was his title to use, and his responsibility. After all of this waiting, it was about time he resumed his role.
The air was becoming thick with disapproval, radiating from the three older family members. Tim didn't thank any of them, and instead took a step back. "I'm not doing this to get on your bad side. I'm doing this for me. This is what I need."
Not another argument was raised. Tim turned on his heel and walked out, passing Alfred as he went down the hall. He had no doubt the butler heard the exchange without being present.
"Is there anything you need, Master Timothy?" The butler said, but there was a sort of amusement in the question.
"No, Alfred, but thanks," Tim said, and cracked a smile as he walked away. "I'll be in the cave."