A/N: Woah, I never thought I would make it to chapter 14, but here I am writing this AN, with only 2 more chapters to go!

So obviously there's no correct answer to last week's trivia question, but I would just like to point out that almost everyone, if not everyone, that responded had a Bat Family member in their pool of favorite characters. I guess that makes sense, when you think about the main characters of this story. I always loved the Bat Family, especially Tim Drake. And Dick Grayson as Nightwing. And Red Hood. Yes, definitely Jason. And also, the speedster family (specifically Barry as Flash and Wally as Kid Flash).

Just a note: At this point in the DC timeline, Tim's mother has died, and he is living with his father (his stepmother doesn't exist… hehe). I tried to keep the ending of this chapter as true to the comics as I could while still maintaining my story line.

I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 14: Breaking Point

Unidentified Location

June 25 2017 [1300 hours]

The fight was quick and simple. It was three dozen guards and a psychotic alien against every super powered member of the Team. After the Reach guards were taken down, most of the Team members returned to another mission in Central City, and the Bat Family remained in the empty parking lot of the abandoned factory.

"We need to call an ambulance," Tim heard Dick say as he walked the younger teenager over to an area of shade.

Barbara looked at Dick like he had two heads. "Are you crazy? If Nightwing and Batgirl bring a kid that fits the exact profile of Robin to the hospital, Tim's identity may as well be written over the Wayne Tower. We'll bring him back to the Bat Cave and trea—"

"There's no time. He has a severe head injury and he's losing too much blood. For all we know, his brain could be damaged, and we don't have the proper equipment at the Cave." Dick tore a piece off Tim's shirt and pressed the wad of fabric against the boy's wound. Tim cringed, but understood that Dick was applying pressure to suppress the bleeding.

Dick looked up at Barbra, earnestly, "Babs, please. Tim's life is on the line."

She knew she was going to regret it, and yet her communicator whipped out before she could blink.

"Tim," Dick whispered to the boy, who had closed his eyes, "C'mon bud, you have to stay awake. When the ambulance comes, the workers are going to tell you that you have a concussion. They're going to ask you remain conscious, no matter how tired you feel."

Tim didn't remember anything harder than resisting the pull of unconscious and opening his eyes in that very moment. He wouldn't last long; he had lost too much blood.

Barbara returned and squatted beside Tim. "The ambulance should be here any minute," she informed them.

Tim must have hit his head hard against the floor in that factory, because nothing had ever damaged his vision as much as that hit. Colors and shapes whirled around the melted sky. Warped images pulled a lingering darkness over the field of colors. He could hear the distant sound of Dick and Barbara's voice, calling his name and asking him questions, but by the time the words reached his ears, they were slurred and shrill.

He didn't even realize he had closed his eyes and slipped into unconscious until he felt a sudden whirl of wind and a blaring siren of an ambulance faded into a silent hush.

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Gotham Medical

June 27 2017 [0900 hours]

He had never liked hospitals. They were too quiet, like the walls had something to hide. And apparently the nurses were actually determined undercover agents, because they pounded you with questions every time they walked by, as if you knew anything about the undisclosed secrets. The workers must have been desperate, too; they were making a point to leave every sharp needle in the entire universe out in the open. But Tim wasn't as nervous about receiving a shot as the hollow feeling he got when walking through the endless hallways. Every creek in the floor, which was suspiciously repetitive, forced a chill through his spine. And, even worse, they were inherently white. So white, in fact, that your eyes mistake everything for marshmallows and even when you leave, you can still see the piles bleached sheets when you blink. Not to mention the fact that it reminded him far too much of a certain psych ward he was one close-call away from being locked inside.

So when the doors finally opened to a busy parking lot glowering under a thousand warm rays of sunlight, anyone would have been safe to say that relieved was an under-exaggeration. Tim was so happy he could have grabbed a grapple hook and swung across the Empire State Building. He probably would have, too, but Barbara was standing cautiously beside him and his head was still throbbing from a concussion (though he would never admit it to her).

They walked along the parking lot in silence. Tim knew he wouldn't feel like himself until he left the entire realm of the hospital, and Barbara didn't want him to strain his brain after such a hard fall. It was complicated enough to explain to an entire hospital staff that Tim was only a victim that the Reach used to force Dick into cooperation, and the boy had no relation to the superheroes who dropped him off in an ambulance. They convinced them that Barbara Gordon, after hearing about the fiasco, offered to drive the boy to his house.

You would think two members of the Bat Family wouldn't have to think twice to find their car in a parking lot, but as Barbara's phone rang and she raced to answer it, both heroes were still in search of Barbara's black Accord.

Tim instantly knew it was Dick who had called. Maybe it was Tim giving in to his detective nature and overanalyzing a situation, or maybe Barbara had always felt the need to soften her voice and fix her hair before answering a phone call. (Though as incredibly intelligent as she was, it seemed she still didn't realize that the voice on the other end lacked the ability to travel through wireless and satellite connections to actually see her.)

After she had finished the conversation, which lasted less than a minute, she threw the phone in her bag and determinedly examined the spectrum of the parking lot. When she found what she was looking for, she started making a beeline towards it, and Tim had to jog to keep up with her speed-walking.

"It's your dad," she told the fourteen-year-old, "He's home."

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Gotham

June 27 2017 [0930 hours]

The car ride to his house felt like an eternity. He had been aching to see his father for weeks, and yet a pertinent feeling of foreboding and worry was deadly apparent in his beating heart. His mind rolled over Barbara's words like a mathematical equation.

She should have sounded cheerful—wasn't it great that Tim would finally be reunited with his father after an eight week separation? But it seemed that her voice was anything but jolly. Her tone was low, and her eyes were soft as she informed Tim of the matter and sprinted towards her car, momentarily forgetting his semi-healed head injury.

Tim shook his head. It wasn't like he and his father had a rough relationship. His dad had discovered Tim's secret life of crime fighting only a week prior to Tim's own disappearance, but Tim secretly felt relieved that he didn't have to fabricate elusive excuses for every mission or patrol he partook in. His father, however, disapproved of Tim's dangerous extracurricular. His father had prepared to finally tell the Bat Family that Tim would no longer fulfill the role of Robin mere days before Tim was captured.

Tim didn't truly understand Barbara's worrisome tone of voice until the redhead pulled into the driveway of Tim's small sky blue house.

His heart stopped the second he saw the police cars. His eyes rolled over news vans from every station in New England parked along the street. Reporters, cops, and emergency paramedics were crowded on his front lawn as onlookers were herded onto the sidewalk by stern officials.

Tim opened the car door and jumped out before it even came to a stop. He heard Barbara call his name, but he was too focused on pushing his way through the crowd of curious reporters to turn and answer her.

His anxiety must have broken through to the surface, because a dark haired reporter with glossy, red lips shoved a plush microphone near his mouth as soon as he stepped on the yard.

"Are you Timothy Drake, son of Jack Drake?" she asked.

He pushed past her, not bothering to answer, but the other reporters seemed to catch on and swarmed around Tim like a pack of hyenas hunting down their prey.

"Were you aware of your father's sudden business trip?" a cheeky blonde with furrowed eyebrows asked.

"When was the last time you saw your father?" a male ginger reporter that could have been Wally's twin inquired.

"Do you know anyone that would want to harm your father?" he heard a purple-eyed brunette pose beside him.

Tim's confused gaze rolled over the reporters, trying to grasp the crime's details, but he didn't think he could handle it if something had happened to his father.

'It was probably just a simple break in,' Tim told himself, 'at worst, he was tied up and stuffed into the closet.'

Flashing white lights distorted his vision as a sharp, pounding ache wrapped around his injured head. He swore he would have passed out if not for the adrenaline pumping through his body. More reporters piled in front of the path to his house.

"How can you explain your six week disappearance?"

"Is it true that you and your father have had a rocky relationship over the past few months?"

"Would Captain Boomerang have any personal reason for harming your father?"

'Captain Boomerang?' Tim wondered anxiously, but he was losing his patience. Closing his eyes, he charged through the crowd. A wave of nausea rushed over him, and he had to catch himself to avoid hitting something tall and hard. It was blue and bulky, and one of its warning arms pushed him backwards.

"Move along, kid" the police officer said, "only officials are allowed on site."

"It's okay," a female voice said from behind Tim, and he knew Barbara had caught up, "he's Timothy Drake. This is his house."

The policeman must have said something like "I'm sorry" or "It may be best for the paramedics to clear out before you enter," but Tim didn't waste a second shoving the man aside and bursting through the open door of his house.

The first thing he saw was yellow crime-scene tape. It ran along the walls like streamers at a child's birthday party, strapped across shattered windowed and accompanying small cardboard stands numbering supposed evidence of the break in. Besides a few areas of broken glass, a muddy footprint, and the dozen working officials spread sporadically around, nothing had changed since he had last left his auburn-carpeted and rustic-furnished living room.

Somehow he knew exactly where to go. And as fast he was running through his house, part of him was begging to turn around and pretend like nothing had happened. But his legs kept moving beneath him, no matter how much fear piled inside of him.

"Tim."

By the time he had stopped at the sound of his name, he was already at the entrance to his father's bedroom. His head was screaming in so much pain that all he could see was a dark-haired figure. When his vision began to clear, he noticed that Dick's hair was ruffled, and his sleeves were rolled up like he was about to fix a faucet. Perhaps when the burglar came in, he broke Tim's sink.

Tim tried not to look directly at the blood on Dick's arms.

The older hero didn't say anything, but his eyes were telling everything he could have ever been thinking. And although Tim knew fairly well that Dick was warning him not to pass through the brown door in front of him, Tim ignored him and took a daring step towards the doorknob.

'It was just a robbery,' Tim reminded himself, though he was clearly denying the fact that he had subconsciously analyzed every room he passed through and noticed that everything, even the sterling silver vase and vintage coin jar that would have surely been jackpots for any average thug, was still present. 'Only a measly break in.'

Tim felt a firm grip pull his arm back. The blood on Dick's hands was still warm.

"Is he… is he," Tim stuttered, afraid to ask the question. He hadn't realized how much breath he had lost, and how good it felt to relax for a moment to fill his lungs with fresh oxygen.

But he couldn't let himself relax. Not as he stood there, reading Dick's solemn face and feeling a deadly dread fill his stomach with cement.

Dick didn't answer the unfinished question. Instead, he whispered two words so soft Tim swore he didn't hear them, and released his bloody grip on Tim's elbow.

The words were still ringing in his ears as Tim tore through the entrance and made his way into his father's bedroom.

"Brace yourself."

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Gotham

June 27 2017 [0945 hours]

He had always wondered what it felt like to die. Watching the world slip away as you let out your last breath. Convincing your hysterical family that it would be okay, even though you knew it wouldn't. Feeling the cold grip of sleep pull you from everything you've ever known. What would you say if you only had thirty seconds to live?

Because as Tim burst through his father's bedroom door and settled his eyes on a body sprawled over the tan shag carpet, he suddenly realized that whatever dying felt like, it must have been better than the injustice shredding his heart to pieces at that very moment.

He didn't realize he was moving until he felt his feet shift beneath him. He ran towards his father, shoving paramedics aside, and crumpled next to the man who had raised him.

His dad's bright blue eyes were wide open. They looked strange against his pale skin. His mouth was slack, and gray streaks sprouted from his black, straggly hair, but Tim looked at his father's face like he was still young, when his mother was still alive, when she and Tim would laugh at his father's jokes no matter how corny they were, when life was simple and joyful, and he and his parents would take him to the bookstore for his birthday and let him buy all the books he could hold.

Memories washed over him like raindrops, but it wasn't enough to steal him from reality, no matter how much he wished it all away. Tim gripped his father's cold hand.

There was so much blood. Far more than any one person could ever produce. Tim's hands were already drenched in it. His red, trembling fingers fumbled over the stained yellow weapon impaled in his father's chest.

A boomerang.

Tim heard his breathing quicken. His heart rate accelerated. The world around him blurred into a haze. Sound became irrelevant.

His father couldn't be dead. It just wasn't possible.

'He's just hurt,' Tim reasoned with himself, 'all he needs is some help.'

He gripped the yellow boomerang. It was sharper than he had intended, and it cut through his fingers, but he had to keep pulling. He had to save his father.

Warm blood washed over his hands, and he didn't know if it was his or his father's. He could hear himself screaming. The boomerang was heavy, and most of his dad's blood was already dried to it, acting like glue. He kept thinking that if he pulled harder, the weapon would finally budge and his father would be okay.

"Get him off that body," a harsh paramedic yelled.

Another pair of hands wrapped around Tim's wrists. Tim first thought they were helping him remove the boomerang, but then they began tearing Tim's hands off of the weapon and pulling him away from his father's body.

"Calm down, Tim," he heard Dick say firmly, "You're in shock. You can't help him now."

But Tim didn't believe him. He could help him. He could save his father.

He thrashed against Dick's hold, desperately pulling at the glimmering booming. It sliced his flesh like butter, and if he kept at it any longer, his palms would surely be split in half, but all Tim could feel was the overwhelming shock grip his heart and the tremendous need to tear the weapon from his father's chest.

Dick was unyielding. He grabbed at Tim's hands and tried to reason with the hysterical boy. "He's gone, Tim. He's dead."

"NO!" Tim screamed, drowned in the heart of denial and determination, but Dick was much stronger. The older hero wrenched him away and pulled him to a standing position.

Tim seemed to come to his senses, because he didn't try to crawl his way back. He watched his injured hands bleed out and let his breathing slow.

"He can't be dead," Tim whispered, but no one seemed to hear. Most of the paramedics had returned to tending the corpse.

"I think Tim needs some time alone," Barbara suggested, and Dick released his grip on the young Boy Wonder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Tim, and the fourteen year old realized that Dick knew exactly how he felt. He watched as both heroes left his peripheral vision, and without Dick's support, his knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor.

When Dick and Barbara had reached the corner of the room where they were sure Tim couldn't hear them, they laid their eyes over the room. From where they stood, they could see Captain Boomerang's body on the opposite side of the area as Tim's father. A puddle of blood formed around his corpse.

"How could this have happened?" Barbara asked Dick.

Nightwing sighed, though it was probably more for regaining his natural breathing pattern after the struggle with Tim. "It shouldn't have." He wiped his bloody hands on his dark jeans, thoughtfully, like the scene was playing over in his head. "Captain Boomerang breaks in; he doesn't know Jack's in the house, so when they see each other, both are startled; As Boomerang grabs his weapon, Jack grabs for his gun and shoots, but he's already thrown a boomerang. Both hit. Both fall. Both dead."

Barbara shook her head. "But why would Captain Boomerang hike all the way up to Gotham City just to rob a one-story two-bedroom house?"

"Unless," Dick furrowed his eyebrows in thought. It seemed that when the Bats talked through situations, answers became so much clearer. "He was hired to kill Jack Drake."

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Gotham

June 27 2017 [1000 hours]

Tim hadn't felt as much pain in his chest since he lost his mother. He had hoped since that day that he would never have to experience it again.

Apparently he was wrong.

He tried not to look at his father. The paramedics had cleared the room, but Tim's heart felt so fragile it could explode just by the sight of his hollow eyes. Barbara and Dick had stationed themselves on the far corner of the room. And instead of staring at his shredded hands, he let his sight drift to Captain Boomerang's body.

Two shots to the neck. His father always had perfect aim.

Tim cringed. A shock of pain rippled through his body, like another heartstring had been clipped. He almost wished Captain Boomerang was still alive. Then Tim could have strangled him himself and watched him die. Maybe then, he could have asked Boomerang if he knew who he was killing when he threw the yellow weapon. He could have asked him if he knew what a great man Tim's father was, and who Boomerang would be affecting when he murdered him.

He could feel himself tense up, and not wanting to lose control twice in one hour, he forced himself to look past the pathetic body of a murderer. As he turned, a glimmer of light sparked in his vision. When he looked back, he noticed a silver object clutched in his father's right hand.

He made his way back to his father's body as best he could without further injuring his bleeding hands. He kneeled beside him, still wrapped in doubt that he would never speak to his father again, or take a lame picture in a party store's photo booth, or go to any ice cream parlor in Gotham and order the largest ice cream cones available, then take them home and fill it with cheap frozen yogurt because he's convinced gourmet ice cream is made with old seaweed.

"That's what you get for reading gossip magazines at the dentist's office," Tim whispered to the body, lost in a daze. When he remembered his initial goal, he reached over the protruding boomerang and peeled his father's fingers off of the polished, gleaming pistol.

Holding it gave him a strange feeling. He felt a surge of energy, washing away his distress and replacing it with a strong sensation of objective. It grappled inside of him, and suddenly he swore he felt ten thousand eyes staring at him.

And whispers so quiet they melted into the silence the second he heard them.

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Gotham

June 27 2017 [1000 hours]

"You think the Reach hired Captain Boomerang to murder Tim's father?" Barbara asked, waving her hands in the air. She was running on her last dose of caffeine, but the past weeks had been so crazy, she wondered when she would finally get a moment to rest.

Dick nodded, but answered instead with his own question. "How did you find me and Tim in that warehouse?"

Barbara shrugged, "Tim wore a tracker. Once I contacted the Team, we traced it back to the rundown factory."

"That doesn't make sense. They removed my tracker before going anywhere near that factory. They would have followed the exact same protocol with Tim."

"Well," Barbara sighed, "if there's one thing we do know, it's that the Reach isn't stupid."

"So the real question here, then, is why the Reach would want us to be found mere hours after our capture."

Barbara looked like a light bulb had lit up her brain. She opened her mouth like she was about to speak, but she never got the chance to, because at that very moment, a subtle glimmer caught both the heroes' eyes, and their conversation died instantly.

Tim was standing over his father's dead body. At first glance, you would've thought he'd gone mad. He was slightly hunched, breathing heavily, with wild blue eyes that seemed to be looking at everything in the room, but seeing nothing. But when Dick and Barbara looked again, they realized they were wrong. Tim's eyes weren't wild; they were incredibly calm, widened only to maximize his field of vision. He was breathing heavily to maintain supercharged levels of oxygen. And Tim was slouched because his foot was nudged under his dad's corpse, so that if anyone threatened to attack, he could flip the body over and use it as a shield.

No, Tim hadn't lost his mind. He had gained something—some sort of distorted and sick initiative that had been brushed under a rug for too long.

But it wasn't Tim's mechanical expression or even his teetering concussion that sent Nightwing and Batgirl's heart rate through the roof.

It was the gun in his bleeding hands, plentifully loaded and pointed directly at their hearts.

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A/N: I don't know if I made this clear: Tim's father was killed by Captain Boomerang, and Boomerang was killed by Tim's father. They killed each other at the same time, kind of. I don't know. Ask the writers of Identity Crisis. Next update should be next week, but I've started writing the next chapter, and it's not going so well. Very weird scene to depict into words.

Trivia Question #11: Which Batgirl was given her very own Batcave from Batman?

A) Bette Kane

B) Barbara Gordon

C) Helena Bertinelli

D) Cassandra Cain

Tim's about to shoot Babs and Dick? Tell me what you think!