Chapter 11


Tim was not well versed with the topography of the north side of Santa Prisca. Bioship's camouflage had always allowed his team the privilege of stealthy landings further south where the League was based. Tim was ashamed to how admit how he hadn't truly appreciated Bioship's presence until that moment. Her absence was a loss that he silently mourned as he swam through the turbulent waves of the northern shore. The undertow felt like lashings against his suit and for every stroke forward, he was pulled backward by the strong currents as he swam.

Tim was fine to let Jason take the lead. The other man's strokes were strong and sure as he guided their way. Jason, at least, seemed well versed in where to swim to avoid being thrown up against deadly underwater rocks, which Tim appreciated. He could hardly see as the water was murky; the heavy waves lifted the sand from the ocean floor and effectively obscured his view. The only thing he could follow the was the bright red of the other man's tunic that cut through the cloudy water like a beacon.

Jason and Tim were lucky it was still morning. Considering the extent to which he was presently struggling, Tim couldn't imagine how treacherous the journey would be by the time the afternoon winds picked up. He'd have to hope that they'd be successful in keeping their mission stealthy, because the way it was going, Tim couldn't imagine swimming back out to the boat in an emergent retreat. Their next opening would not be earlier than the following morning. And even that would be a narrow window, he worried.

Tim tried to shed the feeling that with every advancement towards the unforgiving island, he was effectively trapping himself on enemy territory. Enemy territory with a less than shaky alliance… That was an issue to be addressed later and not practical to dwell on given his present circumstances. Still, his stomach somersaulted from unease as the two eventually the two made it the islands shore.

Calling their destination a "shore," was a forgiving appraisal. Their target was more like a steep cliffside that made a sharp angle where stone met water. About 10 meters up there was a barely wide enough ledge that offered access to a climbing chimney that traveled a fair way up the face of the cliff. From there the angle considerably lessened at appeared more of a scramble than a climb. Though it was covered in tangles of vines.

Tim bobbed in the water. He was a short distance from the crashing waves and watched as Jason navigated onto the dry land. The other man used leverage from the waves to deftly launch himself on a large boulder. From there he scrambled up to a drier side. Tim felt some gratification watching Jason's feet slip once, proving that he wasn't entirely an inhuman force of physical talent. However, that pleasure was quickly tempered with the knowledge that he'd have to make the same exit, which was likely to be far less graceful. Jason squatted down on the rock and impatiently beckoned Tim to follow suit.

Timing the waves, Tim launched himself onto the boulder and began his mad scramble before the next large wave rolled in. Though his gloves were ribbed, they were more meant for the slick granite of Gotham's high rises and not exactly intended for use on ocean wet boulders slickened with algae. His hands slipped with each heave, which only irritated him further.

"Here."

Tim was surprised when his vision was interrupted with and outstretched hand. Sure enough, that hand was attached to a very smug looking Jason. Though his face was hidden, Tim could imagine the judging smirk behind the mask. Tim had figured Jason wouldn't be so quick with the assistance considering Tim's earlier tease, but maybe that had already been forgotten.

Tim shouldn't have given Jason the benefit of the doubt. Sure enough, just as Tim reached his arm up to grasp the outstretched hand, it retracted. Not far, just one or two inches out of reach. Enough to be taunting. And deliberate.

Feeling himself slip again, Tim desperately reached knobby hold only to have a strong gloved hand grab his and yank him up.

"Petty," Tim grumbled as he stood.

"Looked like you needed some help," Jason said, releasing his hand.

Irritation bristled along Tim's skin, setting his hair on edge under his dry suit. Over and over in his head he recited his earlier intention to let Jason's inevitable needling roll off his skin. But damn, did the other man make it hard.

For his part, Jason seemed content with ignoring him as if the incident never happened. While Tim assembled his sack for their eventual ascent, out of the corner of his eye, he watched Jason survey their climb.

Once upon a time, Tim had been able to read Jason with ease. As kids who frequently sparred together, Tim had grown fluent in the body language of Jason Todd. When he was younger, Tim had been immensely pleased that, unlike the other kids, he understood Jason. More often than not, the other teens ended up on the wrong side of Jason's fury, too easily missing the signs that preceded Jason's rage.

From a fighting standpoint, Tim knew losing to the older boy was an inevitability. Jason had been taller, faster, ruthless in his attacks and immovable in his defense. On most days when they were paired together, Tim knew that hastening his inevitable loss was in his best interest. Those were the days when Tim graded his successfulness on not how many bruises he had, but how long they took to heal. The best nights were when he went to bed knowing that he'd staved off the worst of Jason's attacks and wouldn't need to call out the next morning. Which he always loathed to do.

But there were other days, days when Tim made a conscious effort to prolong their fights. Days when Jason entered the ring and, in a wholly out of character manner, seemed eager to teach. There was the jitteriness in Jason's steps, the buoyancy of his feet, a lightness in his voice as he commented on Tim's counter maneuvers. On those days, despite the onslaught of bruising attacks, Tim held on. Because those were the days when Jason was beautiful.

The way he navigated the combat arena, his feet swiftly padding the concrete floor. His body was lithe like a snake, vicious in its advances and retreats. His face, usually pinched in rage, was smooth, calculated, as if sparring the world's greatest youth vigilantes came easy. Which Tim could attest did not. Those were the days when Tim learned best. He copied the boy's movements in his own, and basked in the other boy's hard-earned praises, wishing more than anything that he had a quarter of the talent that Jason possessed.

Sure, the other sidekicks had their talents. Dick was fancy with his footwork, Kaldur was a force, and Wally, well… at least he was fast.

But no one moved like Jason. And Tim envied him for it.

In the Jason standing before him now, Tim could only see traces of the boy he'd used to know. There were some tells in his body language that Tim recognized. His pettiness when he'd retracted his hand earlier, that had been familiar. Tim had often been on the receiving end of those pranks, annoying yet harmless. They were usually precipitated by a snarky comment on Tim's part, which as an adult he was not proud of.

However, that was where the resemblance ended. He watched as the older man shifted from one foot to the other, his neck craned as he surveyed the chimney of the cliff face. Jason, at least, seemed to appreciate the deadliness of their ascent and gave their route the pre-meditated consideration that it deserved. It was a focus, a meticulousness, that Tim had never known. It was something new, something Jason had grown into...

Tim didn't know why that bothered him so much.

"We'll keep our backs to the left of the chimney. It's opposite the way I went last time, but I think the holds have weathered down since I've been here," Jason said as he swung his backpack over his chest.

Tim looked up to the top of the chimney, that was unfortunately becoming obscured by the volcanic fog. "Does it open up on top?" It was annoying, but Tim worried that his leg's wouldn't be long enough.

Jason seemed to catch his meaning, "It narrows before it opens to a ledge. You'll be fine. The last part'll still be steep, but this is the only climbing we have to do."

Tim nodded as Jason angled his back against the left side of the crevice and began his climb. He waited for a few moments for Jason to get a decent head start before wedging himself into the chimney and beginning his own ascent.

This cordiality was what confused Tim the most. Because Tim knew that underneath it all, Jason was angry. He'd always been angry. Jason as a teenager had been a wildfire, easily stoked and scorching once he got going. A comment like the one Tim had made earlier would have been enough to set him in a foul mood for hours. And as he climbed, Tim became more and more on edge because he knew the cordiality couldn't possibly last. It was like waiting for an active volcano to erupt.

"You struggling there, Timbers?"

Tim grumbled as he looked up. It was a mistake because it put him in direct view with Jason's ass. The other man was a full length and a half above him, looking down at Tim between his legs.

"I thought we were forgoing the nicknames?" Tim snarked. His eyebrow lifted, daring Jason to make him bring out Dick Grayson's infamous pet name again.

Jason seemed to consider the threat, then shimmied himself up further with a grunt. Tim would have been more than happy to continue their ascent in silence, but apparently Jason was in the chatting mood.

"I always hated that nickname. So fucking patronizing," Jason said, once again focused on his climb.

Tim huffed loudly; his skepticism apparent. He didn't believe that claim for a second.

As much as young Jason had bitched to others over the name, Tim vividly remembered the flush of pride that coursed through the older boy whenever Dick had called to him. Tim remembered the pink in Jason's ears and the glow in his eyes. For all their differences, both protégés had shared an unhealthy desire to win Dick's approval. However, while Tim's desire had been diluted by his equal desire to make Jason proud, Jason's adoration always been directly aimed at Dick.

It had been the only thing that Tim had resented of Richard Grayson in his whole life.

"You seem particularly pissy right now. You good?" Jason asked, once again annoyingly peering down between his legs.

"I'm fine. Why don't you just focus on not falling on me?" Tim glared pointedly at the rock wall in front of him where his feet were planted. His thighs burned from effort. It was quickly apparent why they couldn't use their grapple hooks; the shale rock was fragile and prone to cracking under his boots with every step.

"See that's what I'm talkin about. You still mad about the hand thing earlier?" Jason asked.

"I'm over it, so fuck off" Tim hissed, frustrated when his boot cracked open another perfectly good footing.

"Yikes, language," Jason's voice crooned, "Not so Boy Wonder of you."

"I said FUCK OFF!" Tim snapped, his hand slamming down on the rock at his back. The rock cracked under his fist, the shale falling with a shawww from their considerable height into the ocean below. The waves roared below, filling the following silence.

Tim took a second to get his breathing under control, then somewhat sheepishly looked back up at the man above him.

Jason was staring at him pensively, his mask hiding any expression that Tim could have read into. "Definitely not so Boy Wonder of you," he finally said. It was an appraisal, not a judgement. And without another word, he resumed his climb.

Tim tapped his head back against the rock, a small punishment for his lack of composure.

Because that was the heart of it, wasn't it? What was making him so frustrated.

Jason had always been characterized as "the angry one." It was the defining characteristic of his short career, and often what other's recalled of his tenure as Robin. They didn't remember his ingenuity, his improvisation, or his fierce protectiveness of his teammates. Instead, they remembered his brazenness, running into a fight with gun's metaphorically blazing, always a little too happy to enact punishment on an enemy.

And in the face of that, how easy had it been for Timothy Drake to hide what he so desperately didn't want others to know about him.

That in him, his own anger burned just as bright.

Sure, Tim was better at hiding that anger behind intellectualism and reasoning and logical solutions. But those were attributes not organic. They were born out of a need to keep his anger under strict control.

But the more time that Tim spent with Jason on this mission, the more he was reminded what had drawn him towards the older boy in the first place. In Jason, young Tim had always seen a reflection of himself. An anger matched. Because despite everyone's perception, Tim didn't resemble the Boy Wonder Dick Grayson at all. Instead, that role belonged to another.

So, Tim didn't know what to with the Jason above him. It had almost been a relief to see Jason's fury on the plane earlier, because at least that had been recognizable. But this new Jason, this mission focused Jason. This was Jason that he couldn't read, and he suddenly felt very alone.

Tim cursed himself inwardly as he climbed. His outburst was illogical and wholly unnecessary. It been only hours earlier that he had promised himself that he'd stay focused and not let Jason get to him. And here, Jason hadn't done anything at all and yet Tim's thoughts were consumed with memories and feelings that he would have preferred stayed buried.

"Nearly there," Jason mumbled.

And sure enough, the chimney opened up into the promised ledge. Tim was in his peak physical shape but even he couldn't help but feel grateful that their free climb was over. Jason too, seemed perfectly content laying back against the vine-covered incline.

"Sorry," Tim muttered, the eyes of his domino mask decidedly not looking at the other man.

Jason just waved his hand like it was neither here nor there, "You got whatever's twisting your underwear under control?"

Tim bristled but tried to let the comment roll off him, "Yes."

"Good, 'cause this next part's a piece of work."

"I thought you said the chimney would be our only climb?" Tim asked quickly, his eyebrow lifted in confusion.

"It was," Jason rolled off his back and onto his knees. His hands were on his hips as he looked up. "But the rock from here on out is shifty. I've lost people to rockslides because you can't see under the vines. So, mind where you step"

"Huh," Tim said as he followed Jason's gaze. The incline sure didn't look dangerous, at best a Grade 3 scramble. But of course, he'd been on terrain that had been deceptive before.

Sure enough, the scramble was harder than it looked. Both men's feet often tangled in the mess of vines as they climbed. The shale cracked threateningly under every step.

After Tim's outburst, Jason had become decidedly less talkative. Tim didn't know if it was because he was just focused on the mission or if was just giving Tim space, which would be surprisingly perceptive of him. And Tim wasn't ready to give him that much credit.

Still, Tim figured he should be the one to break the silence all things considered.

"What's your deal with Dick anyway?" he asked.

… And that, was certainly not one of the many safe questions he'd conjured up in his mind only moments earlier, but it was out there. And Tim could only wait in anticipation, his hands grabbing hold of available vines as he pulled himself up. The silence went on so long that Tim was sure that Jason was going to ignore the question. But then he spoke.

"I can spare you the details of what happened, yeah?" Jason asked.

He was talking about what happened on the island. How he'd died. A lump suddenly became very apparent in Tim's throat. "Yeah," he choked out. In the month's following Jason's death, Tim had read the brief from that mission thousands of times. He didn't feel like resurfacing that memory quite yet, as much as others were forcibly coming back.

"Good. I'll spare you the gory details. But do you want to know what my last thoughts were?"

Tim was suddenly very sure that he didn't want to know. In fact, he felt like he was going to vomit.

"—It was, where's Dick? Where's Bruce?" Jason continued, his voice hoarse, "Fuck, I was just a kid, you know? We all were. And here are these adults sending us out to our deaths. I realized something in those last minutes," his words were coming fast now, "I was just a cog in the machine. I knew I'd be replaced. And those two, who were supposed to protect me, would send another kid out to die after I was gone. And would ya look at that, they did." Jason had stopped and was turned around, looking directly at Tim.

"So what… you turn to Talia al Ghul? Who does the same?" Tim didn't mean for it to sound accusatory, and he was thankful that Jason didn't seem to take it that way.

Jason chuckled ruefully, "That's a whole other story that I don't feel like getting into with you. But it's not the same." He returned to his climb.

"How's it not? She does the same thing with her lackeys." Tim questioned further. He was frustrated, but not exactly with Jason.

"Because at least Talia doesn't pretend," Jason argued. "Bruce and Dick pretend they live by this mighty moral code. No to killing drug lords. No to killing meta kid traffickers. No to killing genocidal regimes. But you know what is disposable? Us. Or… I guess, you now."

"That's not true." Tim pulled himself on the vine up and over final ledge of the cliff. The shale slipped under his boots.

"Isn't it?" Jason hoisted himself up as well, brushing his tunic as he stood over the edge. The vines were tangled around their feet. "Look, maybe they're both the same but at least Talia's honest about what I am."

"And what's that?" Tim crossed his arms over his chest. Now he was decidedly irritated at Jason.

"Replaceable." Jason said with finality. His hands were on his hips, standing his ground.

Tim rolled his eyes, wishing Jason could see his disgust behind his domino mask. There was so much he didn't know. "That's bullshit."

"Is it?" Jason countered haughtily, "You know I—"

Suddenly there was a loud crack and a rumble and all at once Jason was there, tall and imposing and heated and alive.

And then he was gone, along with the ledge he'd been standing on.

"JASON!" Tim shouted as he dove forward.

Jason was holding onto the remainder of the cliff and relief pounded through Tim's veins. Jason's fingers were gripped to the rock, but the shale cracked under the pressure ready to give way any second. Tim was bewildered as to why the man wouldn't pull himself up until it took him a split second to see the vines wrapped around his angle, dragging him down along with the rockslide.

Tim reached out for Jason's wrist, kneeling as close to the edge as he dared. "Jason, I need you to grab my hand."

"That seems like a… bad plan." Jason's voice groaned with strain.

Tim's hand wrapped around Jason's wrist, but it was so big he couldn't get a good grip. "Jason, I can't hold onto you this way. Grab my hand!"

"Too heavy. You couldn't— I'll—myself up." He grunted as he tried to pull himself up, but to no avail.

The rock crackled under Jason's gloves and Tim panicked, "Jason. Please! Please trust me!" His voice cracked in desperation.

It must have been enough, because just as the shale gave way, Jason gripped both of Tim's hands.

And fuck, the weight was heavy, threatening to pull Tim over the edge right along with Jason. But Tim was strong. And he'd handled worse. So he pulled. The already exhausted muscles in his biceps and back roared as he heaved the man inch by inch up and over the ledge, using the strength in his legs to scoot backwards and not stopping until they were both safety a few feet away from the cliff. Then he crawled over Jason's back, pulling a dagger from his belt, and began hacking away at the vines around Jason's ankle.

When Tim cut the last one, the vines disappeared over the ledge with a thunder. Tim shifted off Jason and looked over the edge just in time to see the last of the rockslide catapult into the ocean.

Both were heaving, Jason's breath maybe tinged with pain.

"This… fucking… island," he muttered.

Tim looked over at the Jason, who'd pulled his mask off to breathe. His hair was wild and tangled. His eyes were bright green and bewildered. His mouth was slack jawed. And his eyebrows were knitted, as if he were fully offended that the cliff had made a solid attempt to kill him… again.

Tim sputtered at the absurdity of it all. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he laughed. Hard. It was a laugh tinged with hysteria, and near-death adrenaline, and perhaps a hint of sleep deprivation, but it was a laugh. And then his eyes welled up as he choked out a sob, one after another, unending, and over what, he didn't exactly know…

But Jason laid at his side silently as he cried.


A/N: Hello hello! So sorry for the delayed update. This story remains unfinished but it is not abandoned. In truth, I had not been updating on this site because there just didn't seem to be much interest in the story (which is totally okay! You can't win over everyone). But I want to give my sincerest thanks to the very kind individual who left a review encouraging me to continue, if there is even just one person out there who's enjoying TBATH, then that's good enough for me! I will be sure to update the chapters over the coming days so that it is all caught up. And to the very kind reviewer, thank you again, your words meant the world to me. Update 1/3