**

Title: Whatever Happened: Shake and Bake

Spoilers: None

Rating: R for naughty language

Summary: Set ten years in the future, Tim Drake(Robin), Cassandra Sandsmark (Wondergirl) and Kon-El (Superboy), have grown up and moved on.

When they  meet again, they become embroiled in Tim's personal hell.

Author's notes: This came to me in the middle of Facades, and when a writer's bloc set itself so firmly in Facades, I had this to get me moving. Updates to Facades should be up within the week…hopefully ::crosses fingers::

**

before

**

Anderson sighed, patting my shoulder as he turned to leave, "No one survives that son."

I wanted to laugh if I didn't want to throw up more. Yes they do, Anderson, nightmares don't die.

That was three years ago.

They get stronger until they come back…

I had convinced my self that he was dead, he had to be, I had to believe that.

Until they come back and kill the ones you love.

**

now

**

I drove home.

When I found myself in front of the apartment building I didn't know how I got myself there. I didn't remember leaving the office, I didn't remember starting the car, and I defiantly didn't remember driving. It was as if I slept through everything. God knows how I got home safely.

I probably should have stayed at the office, began the investigation before it was too late, but I couldn't stand being confined in that room, I couldn't imagine taking this case again, opening the file.

I dropped the keys at least five times before I opened the door. My hands were shaking. They were shaking and I couldn't stop them.

I had seen worse as Robin, I had seen dead bodies stuffed in trashcans, in shoeboxes, once, shipped in tiny matchboxes. I had seen decapitated heads, mutilated bodies. I had seen twisted necks and broken backs and never blinked. But I was detached; finding the killer only took a few punches and a good kick to the groin. It never involved becoming a killer yourself; it never involved living in the fucker's head for months.

But I wasn't Robin anymore. I grew up, and out, of the costume, I began to understand the seriousness of death. That body in the trashcan wasn't a clue to catch the Joker, it was a mother of four who worked at McDonald's to send her kids to school. The broken neck in the alleyway on Fourth and Main wasn't the key to a puzzle, but a son of grieving parents, who wanted to be an actor.

My apartment was dim. The computer, always on, blinked languidly in the dark, casting a blue glow around the desk it sat on. I dropped the file on the desk besides the computer, stretched a moment, and briefly considered killing myself.

I wiped a hand across my face, throwing that thought away, and deactivated the screensaver. The monitor stared back at me. The little oracle icon on my start menu was blinking.

Babs.

I clicked on it twice, and her little program began to run.

"Tim!" The Barbara smiled at me, "Your home!"

I nodded, smiling faintly, "What's going on?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "The usual, monitoring government activities, checking up on the latest crimes, helping out the JLA," She motioned with her hand towards the kitchen, "Making sure Grayson doesn't kill himself with the can opener.."

"Babs!" Dick cried out from the kitchen, "Stop making fun-" He squeaked, "-OW!"

Barbara just rolled her eyes, "I just wanted to remind your meeting with Bruce, next week." She began to brief me of what I needed to know.

I nodded absentmindedly; I flipped through the file as she talked, pausing briefly at the picture of the first victim.

Ashley Holden. Newly wed. She was smiling in this picture, a wide toothy smile and a child cradled in her arms.

The next picture was the from the morgue. She wasn't smiling anymore, I imagined, but I couldn't tell for certain: her head was missing. Her naked torso on the cold metal slab of the Coroner's office, looked like plastic. Her skin was dull white, the blood settling in her back.

"…Hold on Tim, my email is blinking…"

The rest of the photos were most of the same. Smiling picture of the victim, cold picture of them dead. Included within the file where write-ups of the police and coroner reports, diagrams of where the bodies were found, and a general time line of abduction and discovery of the bodies, a map of where the bodies where found in relation to where they were last seen and where they lived, and a preliminary outline done by a guy fresh out of the academy.

They had been sitting on this for three months before someone realized the connection.

The log sheet told me it must have been Anderson.

Damn.

"...Oh god…"

The profile was the usual, the kind I would have drummed up at first. White male, in his late thirties, early forties, businessman, maybe father.

"…You can't go through this again…"

Within the file was a brief write up of the case that I had been involved in. My profile was included, dog-eared and marked up, parts crossed out, comments written on the side. God, my head hurt…

"…I won't allow you to take this case again Tim…"

My temples throbbed, and I turned the page on a police report from the third body. Something caught my eye.

"…killed you last time…"

God, what was it, it was right there, something is wrong, something I'm missing…

"…listen to me. Damnit, Tim…"

…The tapes. Goddamnit, the tapes.

"TIM!"

I looked up, suddenly, "What, what is it?"

She looked, "I can reassign you, I can hack into the FBI mainframe, you don't have to take this case again Tim."

"How do you know about that?"

She folds her arms and glares at me expectantly.

"Oh…yeah…" I shrugged, getting up from the desk, "Look, I don't have time for this, I have work to do."

"Damnit Tim, you can't-"

"Don't tell me what to do Barbara. I'm not Robin anymore." My voice was cold.

"I'm not going to watch you do this to yourself."

"Then don't."

I turned off the computer.

Sitting on my couch, the file spread out in front of me, I puzzled over the fact that after three bodies, why the tapes weren't on my doorstep.

It couldn't be him.

It couldn't.

I sighed, leaving the papers on the coffee table. It's late, I have to get some sleep; the clock read 2:30. I kicked off my shoes, and threw my jacket onto the chair in my bedroom. I needed a shower. God, I thought, wiping a hand over my jaw and looking in the mirror, I look like shit…

The doorbell rang.

**

I grabbed my gun from the hall table, and slowly moved towards the door.

It rang again.

My hands weren't shaking; I don't think I even breathed.

I grabbed the knob, the brass cold under my fingers.

…What was I going to find on the other side…

I swung open the door, in one quick motion shoving the barrel of the gun against the person's forehead.

"FUCK!"

I blinked.

Well…shit.

Cassie glared at me, her hands up, blonde hair askew.

"You know I can bend that gun in two." She growled, "I can do the same for you too."

I didn't smile. I looked up and down the hall, than dragged her inside my apartment.

She glared at me, "Hostile much?"

I didn't answer, concentrating only pushing the deadbolts and locking the locks.

She found her way to the couch, sitting uncomfortably on the leather cushions.

"Tim-"

I put my hand up, stopping her, "How did you know where I live?"

She rolled her eyes, "Two weeks ago, when I left your apartment."

Oh. Yeah.

She picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table.

"What's this-"

I snatched it from her hand, gathering the rest of the papers, "Nothing, just," I shoved the file into my desk, "Nothing."

I made my way to the kitchen, calling out behind me, "Want something to drink?"

"Coffee please." She walked around my apartment, picking up pictures, checking out books, "Tim-"

"Sugar?"

"No thanks."

I grabbed the cups from the cupboard, "Cream?"

"No, I like my coffee black."

"Nice…"

"What are you here for?" I called out from the kitchen, checking to see if the water was warm enough. Managing to burn myself, I found out it was.

"You left something at my house."

"What?" I had my wallet with me when I left…didn't I?

"A tape."

I dropped the cup, spilling coffee all over the floor, and sending shards of glass scattering over the kitchen tiles.

The sound glass breaking must have startled Cassie, because she came running into the kitchen, "Tim, what happened, are you alright."

Oh god.

No.

This can't be happening.

***

I have to sit down. Maybe rest my head against something cold and hard. Right now, the way it's going, it may have to be a gun. Maybe mine? I have it tucked away in the bottom of the dresser in the back of my room. Bruce hates it. Babs flinches when she sees me wear it. Dick…he understands. He's carried one for years now. Never used it.

I did on my third case. I shot to kill and couldn't even do that right.

I have to sit down.

It's not Cassie I'm worried about. She's got powers comparable to Wonder woman, and they haven't changed even if she doesn't wear spandex anymore.

It's not Cassie I'm worried about.

You're lying.

Why am I worried?

You know damn well Drake.

My eyes screw close even tighter.

He doesn't have to hurt her to kill her.

I know I'm going to start shaking again. I can't, not in front of Cassie, not in front of her while she's holding my hand and dabbing away the blood.

Don't dare shake Drake.

I rhyme in my head.

The morning's breakfast is pulling its way up my throat.

Don't throw up Drake.

It's tickling the back of my throat, and I briefly consider how green bile would go well with her purple sweater. I feel like I'm going to faint, fall on the broken glass of the #1 Sidekick mug that Babs had bought me years ago when I graduated from high school.

Most of all I want to scream. My jaw muscles tighten, my cheeks flush.

Don't scream Drake.

I was Robin and I want to scream, I've faced worse, I've beaten worse…

…You became the worst.

Cassie is looking at me with worried eyes when I finally glance up at her. She pushes back a strand of hair that fell in my eyes, "What's wrong?"

Don't shudder, resist the urge to grab her and run Drake…

So I stand there, still, unmoving and breathing, because if I breathe I will grab Cassie and run and shake and shudder and kill…

"Rob- Tim, what is it?"

My jaw clenches, I'm breathing again, "Nothing," I pull my hand from her grasp, "Nothing at all." Bending down to scoop the glass up from between our feet, I let my head drop once more.

Fuck.

**

Cassie went home, promising to call me tomorrow morning.

As soon as the door swung shut I ran to the phone, dialing Bab's number as quickly as I could.

"Whuh-Who-?" It was Dick, groggy and tired.

This was Barbara's private line besides her bed.

"Put on Babs."

"Hey Timbo! How's it-"

"Now."

There was a rustle and a sigh, than Babs came on, her throaty voice oozing sex, "Hello? Tim?"

"Put the works around Sandsmark and her apartment as quickly as you can."

There was another rustle as Babs probably was untangling herself from Dick, "Tim, what's wrong?" Her voice sounded panicky.

"Just get someone there."

"You're going to have to tell me why."

"I can't."

"Then you're going to have to tell me what to look out for at least."

Do you want her involved Drake? You want to get the cripple involved in this? What is wrong with you Drake? What the fuck is wrong with you?

"I-I'm sorry…"

A pause then a quick intake of breath on the other side of the line.

"Shit. Goddamnit Tim!" She was screaming into the phone now, "I'm getting you off this case now, do you hear me?"

You're going to kill her, you know that Drake?

"Please-"

The tapes will come to her door, then her tape will come to yours and you will hear her scream as he dismembers, destroys and rends her body into pieces and you won't find her head…

"You are off this case-"

… or her arms or her legs and her torso, naked and white, will be on the steel table and Dick won't ever be able to touch her face again and kiss her…

"Never mind."

…and you will be responsible for Bruce's anger and Dick's hate and her death and it will be your fault because you weren't fast enough, man enough, smart enough to kill the bastard when you had the chance you sick fuck.

The phone hung limply in my fingers, and then fell to the floor, tumbling across the wood.

It rang again.

Don't pick up Drake.

And again and again and again…and again and again and again they'll die because you didn't kill him when you have the chance you sick, sick fuck.

**