Chapter 17

TW: Panic attack, Concussion, spiders (mention), reference to off page murder, mention of childbirth

Alone, Tim descended into his concussion.

No one disturbed him; the hallway immediately outside the small room was quiet, still even. No Shadow assassins came running in to attack Tim at his most vulnerable, not that he would have been able to fight them off anyways. His electric shocked body lay motionless, and his bleary gaze was directed where, only moments before, a child and man once stood.

His mentors asked after him in his earpiece, their concern ever mounting at his lengthening silence. Tim did not answer them; he couldn't hear them even. He did not hear their shouts nor the distant explosions that grew farther away with every passing second. He did not see the room before his eyes. Instead, Tim's senses were thrown headlong into the murky depths of his subconscious, totally consumed as the concussion held him in its unwavering grasp.

Tim's mind was… an unforgiving place.

Tim often thought of his mind as a house, sturdily built with rigid walls that kept valuable thoughts, memories, and feelings in the fore rooms… and unwanted ones locked away behind thick barricaded doors. He was both architect and master builder and spent years fortifying those walls, tending to them with regimented care. He used rationality, logic, and judgment as the foundation, building blocks, and plaster to protect himself. And he relied on his strict control to keep those walls from crumbling, to keep all the unwanted memories and feelings from leaking through the cracks.

And for so long, he'd been mostly successful. The only time that Tim had been plagued with those unwanted thoughts over the last seven years had been in his sleep. Those distant enigmas found their way out of the locked basements of his subconscious. Try as he might, he could never master those slippery demons, and their nightly onslaught left dark crescents under his eyes, a now permanently etched battle scar of his ongoing war with his own mind.

Tim had had awful dreams in the past. But this… this was like his worst nightmare tenfold.

Every single memory that Tim had meticulously locked away spilled forward, unfurling to the forefront of his mind like a dam let loose. Wave after wave of memories exploded across Tim's vision, sending him across time and space.

Tim. He was eleven years old and still knobby-kneed and all sharp under-muscled edges. He sat underneath a tree with branches that sprawled overhead like a spider's web. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his head between them. He'd wondered if, by making himself smaller and defenseless, he'd be able to invite some massive spider to come down from that web and consume him. Because even that was better than being there.

Bab's stood beside him and brushed her fingers through his hair. It was a kind gesture and meant to comfort. She was speaking to him, but Tim didn't listen. Her gentle tone was only a reminder of why they were all gathered, and he fought the desperation to shy away from her touch. The suit he wore was itchy around his neck, and he longed to rip it off. It was black, as was everyone's outfit around him.

It poured in Gotham City that day. It constantly rained there, but that day was a particularly drenched hellscape as if the city also mourned the loss of one of its sons. That was a ridiculous notion, of course. In a crime-ridden city like Gotham, people died all the time. And yet… it'd be many months before they'd have another downpour like the one they had that day.

Tim looked up from his knees and cringed. With everyone gathered in their black outfits and black umbrellas… it almost looked like a dark cloud had descended upon the cemetery.

Bab's tried coaxing him from the tree, telling Tim that the ceremony was about to begin. But he did not answer. He couldn't look at it. The boy they were burying had been so bright, too bright for a grim event like this… how could no one else see the dark cloud smothering him?

Tim. It was the aftermath, though only a few months since the funeral. He lay in his bed with the covers gathered around his ankles, having been tossed off in his fitful sleep. He held his hands tight over his ears, trying to block the sounds of a lingering nightmare that had followed him into waking. It didn't matter that he hadn't even witnessed the source of his dream; his imagination conjured it soundly enough. The halting thud of a crowbar against softness echoed in his ears. He held his eyes wide open, fearing that if he even blinked, he'd somehow be lulled back into his nightmare's clutches.

His chest heaved in and out, and his breathing was ragged. Alone in that room, he'd survived his first panic attack. And it wouldn't be his last. It'd be another year before he'd tell Black Canary, the Team's unofficial therapist, about the episodes, and even longer still before he mastered the tools to abate them after they'd started. But still, they were never more prevalent than when he was sleeping and vulnerable.

Later on, Cassie Sandsmark would hold him through those episodes. She'd whisper sweet words with her lips pressed between his shoulder blades. She'd grip him soft but firmly within her impossibly strong arms and steady him. Tim never knew what she was saying in those moments, but he'd appreciated her all the same. Gradually, he'd be lulled back into sleep, with those nightmares tucked away as they should be.

Both there and not there, far away and floaty, feeling returned to Tim's electric numb arms. Groggy and slowly, as if waking up from a long dream, Tim groaned as he tried to pull himself up. A splitting headache erupted, watering his eyes as he doubled over in pain and pulled forward another unwanted memory.

Tim. He was older now and finally an active member of the Team. He stood in front of the burning remnants of Mount Justice. The Team's headquarters had been bombed in Kaldur'ahm's attempt to maintain his double agent status. But Tim hadn't known that then.

He'd been… so angry. It was the closest he'd ever come to his true self bursting through the carefully neutral façade he'd spent years maintaining. As he stood in front of the only place that had ever felt like home, the strictly built structures within his mind creaked with mounting pressure. He blinked back tears of rage.

It wasn't necessarily that he mourned the loss of Mount Justice itself, even though it was the closest thing he'd ever had to a home. No, it wasn't the loss of his home that he grieved, but the loss of someone else's. Unbidden, he thought about that boy's stacks of books, doodles, sticky notes filled with the most inane thoughts and to-do lists, all the words Tim had combed through repeatedly until he remembered every detail, now reduced to ashes. The sheer loss… was almost overwhelming.

The warmth from the lingering fires heated Tim's face even though he stood at a distance from the wreckage. He wrapped the red hoodie he wore around himself even tighter. Thankfully, he'd given it to Alfred only days before for its first of what would be many mendings.

It was the only thing that Tim had left of him.

Both there and not there, but a little clearer. Tim's muscles were a little steadier, but not by much. The lingering numbness from the electric shock was finally wearing off. Tim shifted to his knees and then nearly spasmed forward when the change in level sent another round of searing memories between his temples.

"Oh god," Tim gripped his head. The headache pounded within his skull like a heartbeat, and his words were both a plea and a sob.

Because it wasn't only the bad memories that came pouring forth… and that was arguably worse.

There was Janet Drake, her hand resting gently on his cheek. His mother, who'd been around so rarely, and whose praise had been rarer still. He didn't remember what he'd done to earn it, only that it had felt so good to lean into the warm press of her fingers. Because despite her many faults, Tim knew there was love within that gesture.

There was Jason Todd; he was fifteen years old with his head thrown back. Tim had said something funny and had surprised Jason into laughter. Calming down, Jason beamed at Tim with one of his genuine smiles and ruffled his hair. Tim had lived in the pleasure of that moment for weeks.

There was his Team, freshly returned from Tim's very first mission. They crowded around him en masse, congratulating him, slapping his back, pressing in with hugs, and passing him off between them so quickly that their faces blurred together. And through the crowd, Tim saw Dick, not quite healed enough to join in on the joy but starting to be. His smile was slight but genuine. "Good job, kid," he mouthed.

There was Cassie Sandsmark; she was snuggled in Tim's arms after their first kiss. They stood on a Los Angeles beach on a chilly autumn night. They had no reason to still be out. They just wanted to prolong their time together for as long as possible. She was so warm, and Tim basked in the glow of that warmth spreading into him and settling deep within his chest. He hadn't been ready to say it then and wouldn't be ready until many months later, but he already knew he loved her then.

And there was Connor Kent… who's very existence had brought fresh air into Tim's life. They sat together in Connor's garage. The smell of gasoline, oil, and leather permeated the small space. Tim sat against a large, repurposed armchair and was completing a crossword puzzle balanced precariously on his knee. The other man was only an arm's length away, tinkering on his bike. They didn't talk. They didn't need to. Instead, they simply basked in the silent comfort of the other's presence.

Becoming clearer still, Tim gritted his teeth and pressed his gloved hands against his eyes.

He had so many memories that he'd tucked away. So many memories that he'd hidden deep within himself because they were just so damn hard to hold onto. Because while they might have been precious then, now all they'd become were reminders of everything he'd lost.

Tim thought of Jason then, and primal fear settled in his gut. Tim couldn't shake the horrible feeling that if he didn't go after him right now, Jason would disappear again from his life, just as he had seven years ago.

If he had been clearer-headed at that moment, Tim could have focused on the fact that he was alone because Jason had betrayed him. Jason had left him for dead in the hands of Deathstroke and Lady Shiva. If only his thoughts weren't so scrambled, perhaps he could have reasoned that just because Jason had left him, it did not mean that Tim wouldn't be able to track him down later on. He'd done it once before; he could do it again.

But for once, that voice of reason was so quiet.

Tim should have noticed that the strict foundations in his mind had begun cracking the moment that Jason had stepped back into his life. Without his knowledge, the demons that Tim had barricaded away slowly began mounting their insurrection, waiting for a moment to strike. And now, those memories had taken hold in his greatest moment of weakness, and he couldn't escape them. The house in Tim's mind had come crashing down, and he knew that he would never be able to reconstruct it to what it once was.

Tim had lost so many people in his life, either by death, unforgivable choices, or the simple but inevitable act of growing apart…

But by some small miracle, one of those people had returned to him. Tim had been given a second chance. And now, now that he'd broken free of the chains of his own making that had once held him so tightly… it all led to one irrevocable conclusion.

Tim could not go back to living in a world without Jason Todd. He didn't want to anymore.

Somehow, Tim stood on his feet. The room still spun but a little less violently. His head… that still hurt like a motherfucker, but at least the ringing in his ears had lessened. He gritted his teeth and then turned to the door, hissing when that brought a fresh wave of pain behind his eyes.

Ignoring it, he took one step. Then another.

Tim didn't know how long he'd been out. It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours. He figured it couldn't have been too long when he reached the hallway where he saw the true depths of Jason's destruction, still fresh and not yet settled.

The explosion Tim had heard before Jason had electrocuted him apparently had been a bomb set off outside of Shiva's room. The hallway they'd both come through was now a dead end; a pile of rubble and dust blocked his way. Tim thought of all those assassins that had swarmed them… and how silent it now was looking at the carnage.

Tim did not think about the bodies underneath the concrete debris. He could have blamed his indifference on the concussion, but that would have been a lie. His true nature had finally broken free, and Tim's mind was too weak to put it back in its place. The honest truth was that he just didn't care.

He turned away. With one direction blocked, there was only one way out.

Tim continued down the long hallway. Every now and again, his feet dragged on the floor, forcing him to lean into the wall for support. His headache brought on occasional waves of nausea which he suppressed with heavy breaths, in and out. But once settled, he pressed on.

He couldn't afford to stop for too long. He needed to catch up.

Tim didn't encounter anyone in the hallway. Either they were all too busy pursuing Jason, were crushed in the collapse… or were intentionally being kept away, misdirected.

Tim knew that Shiva wouldn't want Jason to be found with the toddler. She wanted just enough evidence that Jason had been in the headquarters but not so much evidence that people started asking why. As vividly as those earlier memories flashed across his mind, Tim pictured those cherub cheeks, tiny little toes, and knowing eyes so wise beyond their years.

Tim stumbled into the wall, his depth perception tilting forward on its axis.

"Damn it," Tim hissed again. He pressed his palms over his eyes to stop the room from spinning. He would need a major neurological check after this. He knew how bad concussions were, how bad they could be in succession. He couldn't afford another hit to the head, and it would be wise to just sit tight and wait for the Bats to rescue him…

But he kept moving. Driven forward by some force of will or stupidity that he did not quite understand.

Sure enough, the long hallway eventually ended in what had been double doors leading to the training yards. But now the hallway just led to open air. Jason had apparently blown these doors up too. Still, no one came for him.

Tim's thoughts were becoming a little more coherent. He could piece together why there'd be no assassins, but that dawning conclusion only urged him faster. If Shiva knew where to keep her agents away from, then that meant she knew precisely where Jason was.

Tim bypassed the training yard, knowing that Jason would have been put off by the tall stadium lights buzzing overhead. Instead, he skirted the periphery and made for the forest edge to the north, suspecting that Jason would go back the way they came.

Though his headache still thudded in his skull, the effects of electrocution had finally started to wane somewhat. Tim's strength returned as he pressed through the forest. He didn't run, not wanting to wear down his already tenuous stamina before he might need it. But he did walk fast, navigating the dense forest floor with a little more difficulty than when he'd been going in the opposite direction earlier that night.

Finally, just as Tim started to worry that Jason had gotten too much of a head start, or worse, that Tim had gravely miscalculated and gone the wrong direction, he heard voices.

He slowed his movements and dipped low to a crouch. Between the forest trees, Tim could see Jason facing his direction. He wasn't moving; he stood very still with his body, angling the young toddler away from the person he spoke to.

As expected, Tim hadn't been the only person who'd followed him.

"—she always was so… sentimental." Shiva's back was to Tim, her voice cutting. She intended her words as an insult. "Still, her devotion to the boy is admirable. She must have great plans for him."

Tim had moved, so he was to the right side of the exchange. He saw Shiva's eyes twinkle darkly though her face remained expressionless.

"Don't pretend like you're anything like her," Jason growled. His voice was dangerous and low.

"Not like her?" Shiva's eyebrow lifted as if genuinely curious, "Though Talia may be more committed to the act, am I not a mother as well?" Her fingers tapped along the hilt of her sword in thought; in her hands, it was somehow a threatening gesture. "Still," she looked at the toddler shrewdly, "I must admit the boy has inspired me… Perhaps, it's time that my own prodigal child returned home."

Tim thought of the ceramic pot in Shiva's quarters. He thought of that little maker he'd felt so instantly connected to, the kindred spirit who apparently had found their way out but was about to be roped back into the Shadow's world. He shuddered at the thought of the horror this mission might bring upon them.

Jason snarled, "Spittin' out a kid between your legs doesn't make you a mother, hag."

Shiva's mouth dipped at the vulgarity of Jason's words. It seemed like she was thinking about ending the conversation there but driven by a rivalry that she couldn't let go of, she asked with a sigh, "You find Talia's methods so much more preferable?"

"Yes." Jason's answer was absolute.

The two stood silent for a moment until Shiva tsked. "Your ugly words will get you into trouble one day, young assassin. Perhaps I should do Talia a favor and teach her eldest son a lesson as well."

Jason bristled at the 'as well.' Tim saw that his gloved fingers were wrapped around the child's bared feet as if in an unconscious effort to warm them. The child snuggled into his shoulder. "You're barking up the wrong tree, bitch. I'm not Talia's son. And you're gonna regret every talon you laid on him."

Shiva actually laughed at that. The laugh was condescending and rang through the otherwise quiet night. "Not her son?" her dark eyes glittered sharply, "You speak as if you know so much of motherhood, and yet you know nothing, do you?" She chuckled in response to some joke that she didn't wish to say out loud. She dismissed the conversation, waving it away. "Never mind then, that is your own domestic affair that you should have settled with Talia before coming here." Her hand tightened on her sword

Tim knew what Shiva intended to do. She needed to cover her tracks, to cut loose ends. She couldn't afford to invite questions from Slade regarding an al Ghul child who'd been kidnapped on her watch. She'd kill them both, dump the child's body off somewhere for the island to consume, and take in Jason's as proof of Talia's plans for a coup. Shiva's plan would finally be set in motion.

Shiva stepped into an attack stance, and Tim aimed—

The Batarang struck true; Shiva was blown off her feet and thrown into a nearby tree. Her back hit the wood with a thunk as she fell to its roots.

The explosion sounded worse than it was. Batarangs were made to maim, not kill, and people tended to recover quickly. Tim knew that the recovery time would be even shorter for someone like Shiva. He stepped from behind the tree.

At Shiva's threat, Jason's body had already been settled into a defensive position. That had been disrupted by the explosion. But upon seeing Tim, he dropped back into a fighting stance. It was as if he were preparing for the impossible task of fighting both of them... even with a toddler in his arms.

Tim sighed, looking from Shiva and then back to the small child tucked into Jason's side. Pensive green eyes peeked out from behind Jason's turned body. This was such a bad idea.

And yet, it was the only choice he had.

"Go," Tim said. He nodded to the child and fought the fresh wave of nausea that came shooting up from neck to temple at the movement. "Get him out of here. I'll hold her off."

Though obviously confused, Jason didn't question him. He took one step back and then turned to the forest. Tim thought he'd start running immediately, leave him behind just as readily as he left him back in that small room… But this time, Jason's feet were slow, hesitating. He took one step towards the forest and then stopped.

He looked back, and Tim's chest ached at the simple acknowledgment.

"Go," he repeated more quietly. That little voice of reason, which had been so quiet up to that moment, now sounded off alarm bells. Only moments before, he'd been searching for Jason, and now he was about to willingly let him go. It screamed at how dangerous this was. Without Jason's help, there was a strong chance he wouldn't come out of this alive.

But he ignored it. Something other than logic was in control of his decision-making now, and Tim settled into that side of himself as if reuniting with a long-lost friend.

Tim gave a small smile when Jason turned from him and ran.

Suddenly, air whistled over Tim's head. He ducked, narrowly missing Shiva's kick. His teeth gritted in pain at the fast movement, his headache returning with renewed force with his increased activity.

"That was unwise," Shiva snarled.

Yeah, Tim seemed to have made many unwise choices over the last week. At least it was keeping with the tradition of the mission.

Shiva came at him again, and Tim ducked, evading her onslaught of kicks and sword-wielding strikes.

He did not try to attack her. Tim was a good fighter, excellent even. Years of hard training, grit, and perhaps foolish determination had crafted him into one of the most promising young vigilantes in the business. But Shiva was one of the greatest martial artists in the world. Tim didn't stand a chance of beating her, and if he wasn't careful, there was a strong chance he wouldn't get out of the scrape alive.

But maybe Tim didn't have to beat her. Maybe, all he had to do was outlast her, at least until help arrived.

Suddenly, Tim recalled his old sparring matches with Jason in the hallways of Mount Justice. He recalled how, on Jason's good days, young Tim would prolong his bouts with the clearly superiorly skilled older boy. He remembered how in those fights, he'd mirror Jason's movements, stretching their spars in order to have enough time to absorb every unspoken lesson that Jason taught him in those fights.

Tim wasn't focused on learning now, and his concussed brain couldn't even fathom deconstructing Shiva's complex moves. But as if muscle memory were finally waking up after years of sleeping, he moved and evaded Shiva's attacks.

Shiva was upon him, slippery as a snake, and every strike was intended to be deadly. He didn't trust his coordination with his staff, so he left it at his side and relied on his acrobatic training. He ducked and twisted and arched and crouched away from her. And all the while, Tim kept his body between Shiva and the direction Jason had run, ironically becoming the very same obstacle for Shiva that he'd created for Jason back in the headquarter's hallway.

It wasn't a perfect defense. With every minute that passed and every jostling movement, his headache worsened, pounding within his skull in sync with every pump of his heart. And yet, Tim held on.

Shiva was not an opponent easily frustrated, but as more time passed, Tim noticed her jaw strain. A dimple appeared on her cheek where she bit down.

Tim was fading fast; his moves were becoming more halting, and his evasions were by a narrower margin. It would only take one wrong hit to the head, and suddenly his brain would be swelling within his skull, leading to a very swift and painful death.

But Tim wasn't ready to die yet. He had a score to settle with someone who'd left him behind a record three times.

"I tire of your games," Shiva warned as she lunged for him. Tim slipped behind a tree as Shiva's sword landed into the wood in a resounding Crack!

"Tim," Bruce's voice was measured in his ears. "We're ten minutes out."

Startled by the sudden voice, Tim miscalculated, and Shiva's ensuing kick landed square on his sternum, knocking the wind out of him. He pitched backward but caught himself before falling, barely dodging Shiva's killing strike with her sword. His headache screamed within his temples, the pain nearly blinding him.

Tim minutely turned to the direction of the woods where Jason had disappeared. He'd just have to hope that he'd given Jason enough of a head start.

Tim turned eastward and ran, noticing with some relief that Shiva didn't pursue him and instead chased her other prey.

His head lurched with every pounding step. He'd been in nasty scrapes before, but this was his worst. He'd noticed his vision becoming blurrier in his fight with Shiva, but now sparkling black was closing in around the edges.

He definitely needed that neuro check.

The headquarters wasn't far from the southeastern beach, so Tim only ran for a few minutes before suddenly bursting out of the rainforest and onto the rocky shore. He skidded to a stop when he saw the blessed sight of Sphere, Connor's old alien AI, morphed into a flying motorcycle and traveling faster than any modern airplane could ever manage. In the driver's seat and cockpit sat Bruce and Dick, respectively.

The relief that coursed through Tim at the sight of them was so palpable that he could have cried.

He stumbled in the sand, his coordination worsening with the change in turf, and fell to his knees.

"Tim!" Dick jumped out of the passenger seat before the cycle even landed and scrambled to him. "Fuck!" Nightwing swore as he got closer, a deviation from his usual abstinence from cussing.

Tim smiled ruefully, "That bad, huh?" he said in an attempt at lightening the situation.

He must have looked really awful because Dick didn't laugh. His face was pinched in obvious concern, maybe even panic.

"Let's get you home, kid," he heaved Tim's arm over his shoulder and turned back to the hovering motorcycle. Tim's head lolled to the side, his body finally giving out beneath him. Dick loaded him up into the cockpit that was only meant for one person and then hopped in beside him. He leaned Tim against himself, using his arms as a seatbelt.

"Alfred. We need med help. STAT." Bruce's voice was also wrong, and Tim couldn't trust his judgment, but he thought it might also be tinged with fear.

As the flying motorcycle took off into the air, they nearly missed colliding with a chopper that came roaring in over the east bank. They ignored it as Bruce turned the cycle south. Behind them, ground-to-air missiles flew through the air at the chopper, and the helicopter returned fire. Jason must have run into trouble and needed his own swift evacuation. Tim should have expected that Talia al Ghul would be waiting on standby as a last resort. Of course, she'd come for her son, even if her presence there meant a declaration of war.

The black pressed further over Tim's vision, now tinged with dread. Shiva had what she needed now. Even if word got out of the child's kidnapping, Tim had no doubt that Shiva could spin the story in her favor. And Slade… he'd never tolerate a direct attack on his island, no matter how justified it was.

The Shadows were at war.

Tim slumped, the black overtaking him. He'd fucked up so badly.

And now, it was time to face the consequences.

A/N: Moral of the story? Concussions are bad news folks.(Okay but actually, getting a concussion and then traveling to a hostile owned island not even a week later is a very bad idea.) But in all seriousness, I genuinely hope you enjoyed this chapter. It has been so long in the making and it was so much fun seeing what had been cooked up as ideas in my head finally playing out on the page. And we got to see some acknowledged development between Jason and Tim! Thank you all SO much for being so patient with them. More than anything I wanted their relationship to develop organically and I truly appreciate you all following along at their pace.