A/N: Thank you all so much for your continuing support for this story! It is really keeping me motivated to update often. Not much to say on this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Let me know your thoughts!
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.
He would not be too late.
Batman kept repeating the mantra over and over again in his head as he raced through the city streets. His feet seemed to barely touch the rooftops as he rushed, cape whipping behind him in the harsh wind that threatened to blow him backwards. Another obstacle, of course, to try and throw him off track. The Bat grit his teeth and pushed onward, cutting through the air as he dove to roof after roof, following a trail only he could see.
In the back of his mind he knew that he should have a plan. He should have had multiple scenarios playing through his mind, every escape at the ready. But all he could think of was his partner, expecting him. All he could see was Tim, bloodied and beaten, and screaming out for help. It made him run faster, it made the Bat nearly succumb to the ever growing chasm of fear in his soul. He would not fail his Robin. He would not, could not, let it happen again.
This time he would make it.
Laughter filled his ears, manic and uncontrolled, about a joke that he didn't get. The closer he came to his destination, the louder it grew until it was almost overpowering. It turned the Bat's blood cold and hot all at once, and as he leapt from the roof and landed in front of the warehouse it gave him the strength to break down the door with one hard kick. How many times would the Joker taint his family? How much more of this torture would his sons have to endure?
How many times would he have to hold himself back from crossing that line?
In the middle of the room the boy was sprawled out, covered in bruises and blood. His face was buried in the floor, hair matted, the colorful uniform faded and soiled. Batman rushed towards him, the laughter threatening to make his ears bleed, sharp as glass, painful as a blade. He dropped by the Robin's form and helped him to sit up, his hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "Tim! It's alright, I've got you."
The boy lifted his head and all laughter ceased. It left a stark silence as the young Robin looked up at him with wild blue eyes that glistened with unshed tears. Blood streaked his face, dripped from his hair, black and blue dotting his cheeks. But it wasn't the injuries that shook the Bat to the core. He was looking at his partner, looking into his face and his eyes, but it was all wrong, from the angles of his cheekbones to the shade of his irises. Even his voice came out hoarse, but in a tone that didn't belong to him. "Bruce?"
The Bat could only breathe a response as the world crashed in around him all over again. "Jason."
Bruce jolted awake, his eyes snapping open as the dream vanished. He sucked in a breath, taking in the late afternoon brightness of his office, the usual soft creaking of Wayne Manor. It may have just been a nightmare, but his heart still raced in his chest, as if he really had been chasing a lead. The image of that bruised and bloodied face, those eyes of full of a broken spirit took the longest to fade. It made his stomach knot, his heart dare to stop as a sick feeling of failure and grief overtook him. That was his son, beaten and broken. That was his son alone and afraid.
That was his son.
His dead son.
It hurt, the grief striking him right through the heart, but Bruce knew that he could not let it swallow him like it had in the beginning. He pushed the image away, pushed down the pain, and dared himself to focus on the present rather than the past that he couldn't change. Releasing the breath he slowly sat up, rubbing his face as he looked down at his desk. He had come in after yet another dead end had left him anxious and angry, needing space away from the cave to try and clear his head.
If anything, his mind only became more and more clouded. He picked up the papers that he'd fallen asleep on, staring at the adoption forms but not bothering to read over the words. He knew what they said almost by heart, he'd combed through them enough when he had adopted his other sons. All he wanted to do was pick up a pen and scrawl his name across the lines, claim Tim as his own in a desperate effort to get him back. As if making it official would have the boy come waltzing into the room, as if it guaranteed his safe return.
But nothing was for certain, not even Tim accepting the adoption, and that scared Bruce more than anything. He set the papers down and massaged his forehead, muttering a curse under his breath that Alfred would have ridiculed him for if he'd heard it. The wooden doors opened, and Bruce lifted his head, wondering if the butler had read his mind and actually came to lecture him. Instead Dick walked in, rubbing the back of his neck. It had been a while since Bruce had seen his eldest son look absolutely wrecked, and he had to swallow down anger at the sight. This whole thing wasn't just affecting Tim, but taking a toll on his other son as well.
"I thought I sent you home to rest." Bruce shuffled the papers casually and opened the top drawer, placing them inside and shutting it a little harder than necessary.
Dick gave him a sheepish half smile, eyes rimmed red from tiredness, "Couldn't sleep. Figured I might as well keep looking."
"You're going to run yourself into the ground at this rate," Bruce chided. Yes, Dick was a grown man now, and could take care of himself. But even Alfred had to get on Bruce's behavior at times. As his adoptive father, Bruce still could do the same.
"So are you," Dick countered, shooting him a knowing look. "We're headed down the same road."
He knew that, but he didn't have a choice. If he didn't dedicate every possible moment to this search, the unthinkable would happen again. The dream only put Bruce more on edge, making him feel like every second was just slipping through his fingers. "Any results?"
Dick shook his head sadly, falling into a chair in front of the desk. He leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling, the lines of exhaustion more prominent than ever around his eyes. "We're getting nowhere. Maybe we should start looking at this differently."
"I have been," Bruce answered, clasping his hands on the desk. "This is too complex for someone like the Joker. He had to have been working with a partner this time in order to pull this off. It's rare that he actually works with anyone, but it's happened in the past."
"So who could it be?" Dick frowned, his fingers tapping against the armrest. "What could they stand to gain from capturing a Robin?"
"Batman's cooperation," Bruce thought aloud, but shook his head. "If that were the case, they would have made their terms clear by now. This isn't a ransom case."
"Then why? It just doesn't make sense," Dick said, rubbing his forehead like the conversation was giving him a headache. "To keep Batman busy? They're only making it worse for themselves by pissing us off. I've heard the talk, Bruce. Criminals are staying at bay because they know what's better for them right now."
"I don't know," Bruce said, and hated himself for uttering those words. He was the detective, he should have had it all figured out by now. Instead Tim was still holed up in his captive's grasp. The 'if only' thoughts whispered in the back of his mind, and Bruce shoved them down. He could blame himself fully later.
But where were they to go from here? Dick said nothing, his expression almost at war with itself, like he wanted to say something positive but was feeling the weight of defeat too strongly. Bruce could barely take it, and pushed back his chair as he stood abruptly. "We need to start looking into other possible suspects. I need you to see if any of their recent activities line up with Joker's."
"Okay," Dick said, looking up at his former mentor. "What are you going to do, then?"
For a moment the image of that broken boy flashed before his eyes, the massacred picture of the son he had known. It remained in his vision only for a moment, before changing to Tim's face, now bruised and beaten. The thought struck a chord so deeply rooted in his being that Bruce had to refrain from punching the nearest wall. Instead he held back, using the thoughts as fuel to the fire and headed out of the office, a new wave of determination overtaking him. "I'm going to figure out what brought Joker to the pier in the first place."
Tim didn't know what to think.
At first, his conclusion had seemed completely illogical. The name was one he'd only heard talked about in harsh whispers or strained voices from the moment he first met Batman. Tim had seen the knife-stabbing agony in Bruce's eyes whenever he stopped in front of the memorial case in the cave. Alfred would go quiet, the lines in his face becoming much more present under the memory of the boy. Even Dick became solemn, head ducked in guilt and shame, whenever the topic of the second Robin came onto the table. They didn't avoid it necessarily, they'd been as open as possible about it with him, but Tim knew that didn't shove away the pain. Maybe the Batman acted like he was impassive, but he was driven by it. He succumbed to it. And that was what had made Tim take up the role of Robin the first place: to save the Bat from himself, and to honor a memory of a fallen Robin so that his sacrifice did not go in vain.
He'd spent so much time trying to live up to Jason's legacy, trying to be the best Robin he could be, that he never imagined what it would be like to have his predecessor standing right in front of him. There was also the fact that he had been dead, and as far as Tim's experience went people didn't typically come crawling out from their graves. But Jason didn't look like he'd wandered directly from a graveyard back into their lives. He'd grown up, in various ways, and looked like any regular young adult.
Except that Jason Todd was far from the average person.
Tim had foreseen the results of his plan to uncover either an enemy of the Bats or a new ally. He had not accounted for the part where Bruce's second Robin came back from the dead and took the teen under his wing. So now, stuck within the boundaries of Jason's hideout, he could only see all of his expectations and well thought out backup plans turning to dust.
What sort of chaos had he managed to walk into?
"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're gawking." Jason leaned against a table near the weapons wall, his two pistols in pieces before him. He cleaned at the various parts with a cloth, glancing at Tim with half a smirk on his face.
Tim had complied with Jason's orders to work on his various hand-to-hand combat skills. Currently that meant practicing throwing punches at a bag that the young man had set up for him. Apparently his bunker had plenty of training materials, but for the most part Jason kept them out of sight. "Can't say I saw this one coming."
Jason barked out laughter, apparently amused by the comment. "Do you even know our world, Tim? The dead rise, the evil live, and all that we love crumbles before us."
The explanation fell right on the line between logical and twisted. Even if Jason was right, it didn't make the situation any less shocking. Tim shook his head and threw another punch to the bag, trying to put at least a little focus into his practice session. "So how are you alive?"
"Lazarus Pit," Jason replied simply, picking up another piece of his gun.
Tim paused and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Ra's al Ghul's doing?"
"Talia," Jason corrected, glancing up from his work.
"Ah," Tim responded, as if it explained everything. In reality, it only brought more questions to Tim's mind. One explanation only seemed to lead to another complex web of events. He wasn't so sure if there would ever be an end, and just how much information he was missing. "Any reason why?"
"Couldn't tell you. She mentioned something about owing the Bat, feeling bad about some history between them. Honestly it wasn't my main concern at the time." Jason pieced his gun back together completely, weighing it in his hands and fiddling with the trigger.
Tim moved his attention from the bag in front of him to the former Robin. "Bruce doesn't know, does he?"
Jason didn't answer, but at the mention of his old mentor's name a flash appeared in his eyes. It told Tim everything; Bruce had no idea that Jason was alive. How long had he been up and walking? How long had they all been unaware? A rock seemed to settle in Tim's stomach as he thought over his own tenure as Robin.
How long had Jason been dead before he took up the mantle?
Jason set the pistol down on the table and made a face at him, looking more displeased by the second. "You're killing me all over again."
Suddenly Tim regretted ever opening his mouth. "Sorry, I'll cut the questions."
"No, I don't care about that," Jason replied as he walked over. "I'm talking about your skills. Even your punches could use some work."
"Thanks," Tim muttered, dropping his arms from their stance. One time during a particularly difficult training session, Dick had said to Tim that it was okay he was struggling. When Tim dared to compare himself to the former Robins, to Jason especially, the eldest had simply shaken his head.
"Jason was a born fighter," Dick had told him. "He fought even when his instincts told him to run."
But that had never been Dick's reasoning for why Jason had died. The simple answer to that was it had been the Joker's fault. No one blamed Jason for what happened, not to Tim at least. He wondered if the former Robin knew that the only one they considered responsible was the mad man himself. But Tim didn't ask that as Jason approached and stopped the bag from swinging. "You're still hesitating. You can't just throw half your weight into the punch. If you're going to hit someone you have to throw your entire body into the hit and give it all your force."
Jason motioned him backwards and then swung his fist towards the bag, putting the force of his entire body into the punch. His hit landed hard, the sound of it echoing throughout the entire room. The bag moved much more than Tim had been able to shake it, and Jason drew back and placed his hand on the bag to make it settle. Tim's eyebrows rose, impressed. "Who taught you that one?"
"Talia. Before I met Bruce, actually." Jason shook out his shoulder, then looked to Tim. "What are you staring at now?"
The teen hadn't meant to have such a peculiar look on his face, but it was how he felt on the inside. He shrugged, not sure how to say exactly what he was thinking. "I thought I knew who you were, that's all. Now I'm not so sure."
"Trust me," Jason said, "even if you'd known me before I died, you wouldn't recognize me now."
"To be fair, if you'd known me before I joined with Batman you wouldn't recognize me, either," Tim responded, taking his position in front of the punching bag again. He stared it down a moment and then slid into his stance, then reeled back and threw all that he had into the punch. His fist connected with the bag and sent it rocking, and the teen realized just how much more powerful it felt than his previous attempts.
"Our similarities are striking," Jason answered sarcastically. Bitterness underlined his tone, and he let it show. "Just remember that we all end up in the same boat sooner or later. We all get replaced, usually when we don't see it coming."
"I never wanted to replace you." Tim turned away from the punching bag and faced the young man, having to raise his head to look him in the eyes. Jason was much bigger than him, taller and broader, but that did not deter the teen from attempting to be defiant. Maybe Jason thought he wasn't a force to be reckoned with, but he had survived fight after fight before the second Robin's return. He had fought with Batman and the Titans, he'd thrown himself into the midst of danger and come out on top each time. That gave him enough courage to look his predecessor in the eye and be firm. "Maybe I looked up to you, maybe I wanted to be like you, but it was never my intention to dishonor you."
"It didn't have to be your intention," Jason said, expression stoney and hard to read. "You're not the one who had the final say."
He stepped away from Tim and walked away, and somehow the teen knew the conversation was over. Maybe he still did blame Tim to some extent, but the teen had caught what Jason hadn't outright said. When it came down to it, this whole thing was about Bruce's actions. The whole story didn't matter, the reasons why Tim became Robin would only fall on deaf ears. Tim knew what Jason refused to hear, but he couldn't say Jason's words went right over his head. The warnings sat in the back of his mind, and Tim just couldn't shake them off completely.
"Bruce will find you, Jason," Tim warned, looking over his shoulder. It wasn't meant to sound threatening, only to inform the man about what line he was walking. Not only that, but Tim needed to hear himself say it and convince himself that Bruce was searching to find him. Now that the teen knew who his savior was, he couldn't bring himself to just run back to Gotham and rat Jason out. There was a reason Jason hadn't shown himself to the rest of the Bats. That left Bruce to figure out where Tim had gone, and the teen still had faith he would.
He had to come, because Tim was his Robin and he was missing. Batman needed his Robin. That was all there was to it. "You'll have no choice but to face him, then. So what happens next?"
"Don't be so confident in that," Jason turned back to him, steely gaze nearly boring into Tim. It was enough to quiet the teen and any of his brewing protests. "Get back to work. You'll need all the practice you can get."