A/N: Here is a bit of a longer chapter, and I believe it is the longest chapter in any of my stories on here. I just want to give everyone a bit of a warning that I am in school and the work load has picked up a lot within the last week, so my updates may become slow. I promise that I will not be abandoning this story, so bear with me through this busy time! I will do my best to make it up to everyone with longer, well proof-read chapters. :)

I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.

Tim felt like he was repeating a part of his life he thought he'd put behind him.

Every morning he awoke at dawn, as if his mind and body already anticipated what was to come. He'd blink into the darkness of his room as his eyes landed on the glowing numbers of the bedside clock. He knew that he wasn't going to be forced to get out of bed and he could easily choose to sleep later. But Tim was never able to do that, and pulled himself together as soon as he was awake. It was almost exactly the way he had carried out his morning routine when he was training with Bruce, but without the excitement. Tim wasn't nervous, but neither was he all that eager. His only motivation was his growing curiosity towards Jason, and wanting more answers than questions. That, and the fact that he figured Jason could teach him a few decent tricks.

In the quiet of his room he went through the mental exercises that Jason had passed onto him, having learned them all during his travels around the world. They were meant to help the teen find his center and focus, to clear his head completely. It took some concentration to banish all the questions and wheels that constantly turned in his mind, though once he found that sense of peace the exercises proved effective. Then he'd make his way downstairs, where Jason would be waiting for him. It was like the man never slept, and if he did it couldn't have been for long. They would share a few morning pleasantries and then move on and begin training, which would last almost all of the daylight hours. Not that Tim ever really saw the daylight, considering they were underground.

Because Tim had been fighting for months now, they spent most of their time sparring with one another. Sometimes they used weapons, but much of it was hand-to-hand combat, which Jason insisted Tim needed the most work. He was smart enough to figure out how to use his surroundings to his advantage or how to use certain weapons. But without strong fundamentals, he wouldn't be getting anywhere but six feet under, as far as Jason was concerned. So they sparred, facing off against each other.

And everyday Jason kicked his ass.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"I can't believe Bruce even let you in the field," Jason said to him after they had been training together for almost a week, standing over Tim with his hand on his hip, a frown not on his lips but in his eyes. "Are the criminals getting weaker or something?"

He didn't wait for an answer and reached down, pulling the teen upwards from where he had been sprawled on his stomach. Tim yanked away as soon as Jason hauled him to his feet, rubbing his wrist which he'd ungracefully landed on and luckily had not broken. He had to resist looking away in partial shame at the young man's assessment of his skills. "Sorry that I'm not a natural born fighter. I've worked to get where I am."

"I'm not saying you're awful," Jason replied, crossing his arms. "But you need to be more aggressive. You're going up against Gotham's worst scum. They don't need to be gently nudged to the GCPD."

It was hard for Tim to tell whether Jason was just a brutally honest person or purposely tried to rile him and get under his skin. Tim figured it was a mixture of both, a tactic that seemed ingrained in the young adult's personality. But even though he knew exactly what the young man intended with his words, it didn't lessen their effect. Even with the smallest comments, Tim found himself rethinking all that he knew. Like it or not, Jason was good at it.

Maybe it was because Tim done his best trying to live up to Jason for so long that having him there, now judging him, made it all the more difficult. The look on his face bore into him in a way that differed from Batman's intense stare. It was like a stab to his pride, to his self-assurance, to the very belief that he had in his crime fighting capabilities, logical and physical. For the first time since taking up the mantle, he felt the need to defend that he was capable of being Robin. Tim dropped his arm, giving Jason a hard look, "You only need to retaliate enough to get them to yield. Justice, not vengeance."

"Yeah, and look where that got me." Jason let the snarky comment hang in the air, his blue green eyes holding no sympathy.

Tim could nearly see the smoke and flames of that dreaded day flickering in Jason's gaze. The young man shook his head, the lines of his face suddenly seeming harsher. He scoffed, turning his back and walking towards the table where his weapons lay. "Six months of training and he thinks you're ready for the real world."

"I trained for a year," Tim corrected, staying rooted where he stood. "Bruce didn't want-"

"A second mistake? I'm sure. The Replacement has to be better, anyways."

Tim resisted the urge to visibly flinch at the words. Every time the subject came up, the teen wanted to just shake Jason to try and force him to listen. It was impossible for him to get across that Tim had never wanted that, had only been looking out for Batman and the people he protected. When he became Robin, it had been to carry on a legacy, not turn it all on himself. He sighed, "Jason-"

The man whipped around, and Tim froze as he felt the edge of Jason's knife pressed against his throat. There was no pressure, no pain, but the whisper of its sharpness fluttered across Tim's skin. Jason did not make any move to harm him, but he stared the boy straight in the eyes, his gaze burning into him, pulsing and crackling like a tempered fire. Every sense of precision and patience echoed back at Tim, but held a threat that warned him to be on his guard.

"Fight," Jason ordered, his voice low and dangerous, "and don't hold back."

Tim's expression hardened, his senses heightening at the young man's words. All sense of the conversation evaporated, and any words he had wanted to say disappeared from his tongue. He grabbed a hold of Jason's wrist and yanked it away from his throat, while at the same time landing a hard kick to his opponent's chest. He wrangled the knife out of his hand, throwing it out of sight and looking back to Jason just as the man dove for him. In an instant they were in each other's faces, hands blocking and punching, kicks aimed for all the weak points they could reach. They were a blur of combat, a dangerous dance with a flurry of limbs.

There wasn't much time to think, either. Tim grit his teeth, side stepping a punch but having his feet knocked out from under him. His back hit the ground hard and he winced, forcing himself to roll back to his feet before Jason could pin him down. The young man did not let him off easy and continued to go at him, and Tim barely blocked the next hit as he jumped backwards, putting distance between the two of them. Jason just eyed him with that same dark glint in his gaze, his expression holding nothing but intensity. "Giving up already?"

"Just thinking," Tim answered, trying to come up with a plan. Whether Jason was an expert fighter or not, he was still just a man, and all men had the same weak points. He was much bigger than Tim, and fast, but Tim was smaller and more lithe. He could use that to his advantage.

"That's your problem," Jason said, and lunged for him, managing to get Tim trapped in a headlock. The teen squirmed, aware of the pressure but trusting that Jason wouldn't take the opportunity to snap his neck. He was right, but he did get thrown hard against the ground again, falling onto his hands and knees.

It kept happening like that, over and over. Every time he thought he had gained the upper hand Jason made a point to crush his attempts. Jason sent a kick, though not with full force, to his side, forcing the teen to his feet. "Stop holding back, Tim. You're acting like you want to yield."

"I'm not," Tim hissed, his heart hammering from exertion and his rising irritation. His hands curled into tighter fists, his muscles aching from being taken down so many times.

"You are," Jason said, and in the back of his mind Tim knew what he was trying to do. His gaze only hardened further as the young man stood looking extremely unaffected by any of Tim's hits. "Get angry, feel something!"

He's just instigating. Tim knew that, knew that if he let emotion get in the way he wouldn't be seeing the battle clearly. But he was so, so tired of being beaten, the muscles in his back screaming that he better not fall again. All he could see was Jason standing there, towering over him with no bruises visible, not even looking the least bit sore. Staring straight into his soul, picking out the parts of him that weren't good enough. Judging him.

It angered him to no end.

Jason came at the teen again, and something in Tim halted. He quit thinking of plans and possibilities, stopped trying to strategize as the floodgates opened. The battle sharpened and blurred at the edges all at once, overtaking his consciousness. Acting on pure instinct he dodged the attack, and then with a cry he rammed his shoulder into Jason's chest, catching him off guard. The teen ran with the rush of sudden energy in his veins, not giving his opponent a chance to react. He sent a clenched fist straight into his mentor's abdomen, and then dropped low and swept his foot under Jason's already weakened stance. The man fell onto his back, and then suddenly Tim found himself thinking once more, strategizing so quickly the plans didn't have much time to form coherently. He leapt into a fighting position over the man, his foot pressed into Jason's neck.

Jason stared at him for a long moment, and then gave as much of a nod as he could with a foot pressed against his airway. "Took you long enough to catch on."

"What?" The world around him suddenly hit much harder than the blur he'd been fighting in, the whirlwind coming to an immediate halt. Tim could hear the blood pounding in his ears, feel the beat of his heart, his panted breaths. Sweat clung to his skin from the exertion, black locks of hair plastered to his face. He felt wild, and he supposed he looked the part too.

Jason swatted at his foot and Tim drew it back, watching as his new mentor stood. The almost deadly shine to his eyes had faded, but his stony expression remained. "It's high time you learned to trust your instincts instead of relying solely on logic."

"You can't go into a fight with no plan," Tim argued. "That's just asking for a disaster."

"And you can't go into a fight without passion, either." Jason poked his finger firmly into his chest, causing Tim to stumble backwards a step. "The fight has to come from inside of you, otherwise you won't stand a chance. You can't just see it in your head, you have to feel it in your veins. You have to want to win with your entire being."

"So planning ahead won't get me anywhere?"

"It's not enough," Jason answered. "I'm not telling you to be blinded by emotion. But if you don't allow yourself to feel a drive, what are you fighting for? Why do you even try if you deny your instincts?"

Tim stared into Jason's gaze, narrowing his eyes as they stood locked in a silent confrontation. The harshness in Jason's blue green eyes was like staring into a storm, flashes of emotion like lightning that dared to blind the teen. But he stood and endured the intensity, hands curled at his sides, trying to figure out the man behind the metaphorical mask. This was how Jason fought, with anger and ferocity, with steadiness and resilience. But what was his drive? What did he fight for now?

Part of Tim wanted to ask, but the flood in Jason's eyes drowned his curiosity. Just having this stand off drained him of the will to do so, but he refused to break so easily. They stayed still as stone, locked in each other's gazes, waiting for the other to stand down. The seconds ticked by painfully slow, until finally Tim had enough and looked away, just as Jason decided to brush past him. "There is animal inside all of us," Jason said as he walked away. "Sometimes we have to let it out."

"At what cost?" Tim asked it over his shoulder.

Jason picked his knife up off the floor, flipping it in his hand. "Depends on the fight."

He set it down on the table and approached Tim, the storm in his eyes replaced by pure focus, sharp and ready. "Again. We have a long way to go."

It had taken Bruce more time than he wanted to admit in order to figure out what was going on.

He'd holed himself up in the cave, Alfred silently bringing him food and drinks that remained untouched. The butler knew that nothing he could say would make the Bat feel any better, and that his nerves were so shot that any comment would easily send him over the edge. Bruce appreciated the understanding, his eyes boring into the computer as he scanned over every detail he could find. Dealing with the League had allowed the information to stack up, and he regretted not asking Nightwing to handle a good bit of it for him while he'd been off-world. He had to learn to be less stubborn so that it could never happen again.

From what he had been able to gather, everything in the interior of the city was operating as usual. When it came to the docks, he tracked every shipment, traced its paths, traced the numbers to their cargo. He calculated every import, and then reviewed his own information from when he had investigated the pier himself. He wished there had been footage for him to review, but the security wasn't as tight as in other sections of the city. That, and the explosion had knocked out the limited feeds he had laced through the area.

Despite the setback, Bruce found one inconsistency, and clung to it like a lifeline. He was so deep in concentration that he barely even noticed he had pushed the chair back into Dick as he came up behind him. The young man stepped back, and then leaned his weight on top of the back of the chair, his arms crossed. "Find anything useful?"

"It's a small detail," Bruce admitted, but clicked away at the keyboard anyway, pulling up the information he had gathered. "This is the list of shipments that were supposed to be imported the night of the explosion. Obviously the crime was a setback, and so they've been coming in irregularly ever since."

"But that's normal," Dick said, eyes narrowed in thought. "What makes it different?"

"When I went and took surveillance, there was more cargo waiting at the dock than what there should have been. It's possible that it was human error but…"

"It could be connected," Dick finished, pushing off the chair, suddenly filled with new energy. Bruce highly doubted it was from the rest Alfred had ordered on the young man. "We have to go check it out."

"We will," Bruce assured, glancing to the time. It pained him to see that the numbers were much later than he'd hoped; more of those precious minutes ticking away while he scrambled to find answers. "Sunrise is in an hour. We're better off waiting until night."

Dick made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, and Bruce half turned in the chair and looked up to him. He reflected his son's own tired and irritated gaze, but the aggravation was not at all his fault. If anything, Bruce directed the feelings at himself. "I want to find him too, Dick. But we can't throw caution to the wind. I have a meeting in four hours, and I don't want you going to investigate alone."

"I'll take Alfred," the young man suggested, only half joking. Most of the humor seemed lost in his bright blue eyes, which lately had seemed more dull than alight.

"Dick," Bruce said warningly, both with the tone of a father figure but the authority of the Batman himself. There was no arguing this situation, and his eldest son had plenty of wisdom and experience under his belt with crime fighting and dealing with the Batman. With the stakes this high, there was no choice but to wait for them to work together, or face an even worse possible outcome.

"Fine," Dick relented, knowing that it was an argument he'd only lose. His efforts were better put towards working than engaging in verbal battles with his father. "But I'm still searching the city in the meantime."

"If it eases your mind," Bruce said with a nod. He knew it couldn't be the Joker behind Tim's disappearance; he had abandoned the theory a while ago. It wasn't worth running after goons who didn't have a clue as to where the lunatic they served had gone. They were better off tackling this as a team and finding the real culprit behind Tim's prolonged absence.

"I won't be at ease until he's back," Dick said firmly, his mouth a grim line. Tension enveloped his entire being, radiating from his posture to the gleam in his irises. It told the story of a young man who had seen too much, and learned the hard way that no matter how much he tried to suppress the fear, it drove him to keep on fighting.

"Believe me," Bruce said solemnly, "I feel the same. But we will find him."

There were no 'ifs' about it. There was no time to have doubts. Together, they would find Tim, and they would bring him home.

They had to.

It had been a while since he'd felt this sore.

After his shower Tim had examined the bruises covering his body, splattered across his back and arms, blossoming over his legs. They weren't extremely painful, only uncomfortable at worst. Some didn't even have feeling to them. But looking over the marks of training, he couldn't help but remember that Bruce had never pushed him this far. He'd never purposely let Tim put himself at the risk of getting hurt. Jason was rougher, much more hands-on, and not afraid to let Tim get his hands dirty.

To Tim's surprise, he actually enjoyed it.

Getting involved in the fight was different from cultivating his logic skills. He knew how to incorporate logic into the battle, to plan on his feet. But he'd never felt the fight in his veins the way Jason insisted he had to experience. It had all been in his head for so long, the thrum of battle only tension. Tim had never really wanted to fight, had wanted to find the most peaceful way to deal with problems.

He sat on the edge of his bed, looking over his hands that were lightly scratched from sparring. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the sensation of the fight, the blood racing through his body, the fuel being poured onto the fire. It had been wonderful to let his instincts take over, to let them guide him while still using his head. Until this session, he'd never really wanted to fight with such vigor. Now, he nearly craved it.

Great, I'm an adrenaline junkie now. Tim ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the pillows. He knew how to be in control. It had been his job to keep Batman in line for the longest time, after all. But letting go, letting his inner rage ease into the fight...it felt good. No, more than good. It was liberating.

He hadn't felt so alive in such a long time.

"Did I rough you up too much?" Jason appeared in the doorway, wearing a t-shirt and faded jeans, his feet barefoot. By the looks of it he had showered as well, his eyes clear of the rush of the fight. He looked just like Jason Todd now, like a normal young man. It threw Tim off a bit to see him so civilian, so...average.

This was Jason Todd of all people. He was not a typical case by any means, and had transcended average a long time ago.

"I've been hurt worse," Tim said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Besides, you got your point across. That's what matters."

"Hey, for the record I'm not trying to hurt you," Jason said, leaning against the door frame. "But you're not going to learn if you don't work for it."

"I'm willing," Tim answered, casting a glance to the side. "It was easier to learn than I thought."

Jason went quiet, and when Tim lifted his eyes back to where the man stood, he found Jason watching him thoughtfully. It was hard to decipher just what he was thinking, and then he spoke, with just enough hesitance that told Tim he had been wrestling with the idea for a while. "You said you lost your dad, right?"

Tim nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. It wasn't secret information; if Jason had done any research on him it would be easy to find out. The fact that he had openly shared that, showing a weak part of himself so easily to the young man, made Tim want to flush in embarrassment. He held his ground though, even if he didn't keep his gaze directly on Jason for long.

There was another pause, and then Jason turned his own gaze to the window on the opposite wall. "It still hurts, doesn't it? He hasn't been gone long."

"Is it obvious?"

Jason shrugged, "Not really. But when you were fighting, you weren't pulling that effort out of nowhere. You drew on something that caused you pain, whether you realized it or not."

He looked to Tim, and his gaze was softer, but guarded nonetheless. "I can't say that I understand what it's like to lose a father that you actually care for. But I can say that I see how you're dealing with his absence. I think you've got a lot of hard feelings towards it, whether you admit it or not."

Tim didn't say anything, but he knew he didn't have to; the fight had already given him away. Grieving skills were not in the assets of the Bat and his clan, and Tim had adopted their methods all the same. His father's death cut a hole into him, and he'd forced himself to be numb to it. He had to help Bruce, he had to protect Gotham; that was his purpose. If he just focused on that, the grief wouldn't slow him down. The pain would disappear faster, or so he thought. But Tim knew he was only pushing it farther and farther into the depths, not making them fade. As much as he believed in Batman's moral code, as much as he respected Bruce Wayne, vengeance cried to him from the darkness of his soul.

"Sometimes the animal has to be let out." Was that what was happening now? The thought sent a pang of fear through him, his stomach tightening into knots. There was a rage inside of him when he pictured his father bloodied, eyes glossed over, gone from the world. But it hadn't had an outlet. It hadn't been quenched. Maybe this was how he would have to grieve; through every punch and hit. Somehow that seemed to be the way all of them dealt with pain; hitting harder.

"So what drives you?" Tim let his expression be an open book as he raised his head to his mentor, wondering if it would prompt the young man to share. "What do you draw on in order to fight?"

The smile that Jason gave was without humor, but the same flash came to life in his irises. It said so much so fast, played a string of memories and realizations across his features. Behind the facade the wave crashed, then receded just as quickly. "You're smart. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

He didn't linger any longer. Jason gave a small wave as his 'goodnight' and then disappeared, Tim listening as his footsteps retreated to his own quarters. The teen stared at the empty doorway, and then finally flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He held onto the image of Jason's stormy expression, of the way he regarded Tim with hesitance but begrudging acceptance. It wasn't exactly easy to figure out the mind of someone who had been through what the majority of people never even dreamed possible.

But despite all the oddities that made him special, Jason Todd was still a man.

Even if he didn't say it, even if he tried to hide it, Tim could see past the facade. Maybe Jason was calculating, maybe he had an agenda of his own by taking him away from Gotham. But Tim knew that his motivation didn't spawn from the need to protect or the desire for justice. It wasn't fear or a sense of moral duty that drove him to make his decisions and take action.

It was hurt.