Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And I...[...]And I will try to fix you.

~Coldplay

Chapter Four

Tim watched the pit as it continued to bubble. He wouldn't deny that it felt like his heart was in a vice grip. If this failed, then everything was lost. He wouldn't be able to go back to the Manor. They wouldn't be able to understand just what this was.

His breathing was uneasy as he waited. There was no turning back. Hell, there had been no turning back since he had dug up his brother from his grave.

There it was again. The Demon was not his brother. In no way, shape or form was the Demon his brother. There was no way someone who's tried to kill you multiple times could be a brother. Yes, Jason had tried to kill him previously, but since then, Jason had tried to make it up to Tim. And while it wasn't perfect more than often than not, but he was trying.

It was more than the Demon ever did.

But in all honesty, a part of it was Tim's fault. He didn't give Damian that opportunity to accept him as a part of the family. Tim swore he would do better this time around.

And so he was waiting.

He wasn't waiting long. Moments after he thrown Damian into the pit, there were more bubbles floating to the surface. He wasn't quite sure what was happening, but something was definitely happening. He just hoped that it was the right thing.

He heard the screaming first. That would be something that would never leave his memories for the rest of his life. He had never heard something so animalistic, so raw, so pained in his life. The waters erupted, throwing glowing waters everywhere throughout the cavern. A dark haired head appeared above the waters.

The child frantically paddled around in the waters, continuing to scream. There was a moment where it appeared he didn't remember how to swim and would drown inside the glowing waters. But within a second, Damian gathered his bearings and paddled towards the shore. He was still yelling.

For a moment Tim allowed himself to feel relief. He did it. He brought Damian back. He hadn't been entirely sure that it would work. Now he needed to get Damian to follow him out of there and get back to Gotham and Bruce.

Damian crawled out of the pit and stared at all of the people that were on the ground unconscious. His screaming had ceased, but he was tense, waiting for an attack of some sort.

Tim waited for a moment before trying to call to him. He needed to be careful about this.

"Damian?" He tried to be as non-threatening as he possibly could. But considering Damian had threatened to break his face when they first met, anything could happen.

Damian turned sharply at the sound of his name. His wild blue eyes jerked around for the source of his name. He stared at Tim for a moment. Tim was shocked at how feral Damian's eyes were. Damian's eyes went down to see the batarangs in Tim' hands. A sound like a growl escaped his throat and he flipped backwards. Away from Tim.

Even though he was trying not to care, Tim still felt a little hurt at the way Damian was attempting to escape him. After the initial flip, Damian scrambled backwards, not wanting to let Tim out of his sight.

Damian's foot caught on a rock and he landed on his butt. It took him no longer than it was to throw a ball, but he was up and running.

Tim realized just where he was running.

"Damian! Stop! That's the wrong way!" He called starting to run after the boy.

"Dammit," Tim grumbled when Damian slipped through the door to the rest of the main compound. He couldn't let Damian be killed again.

Sprinting he ran to catch up with Damian. Damn kid was fast. By the time he caught up with Damian, they were nearly in the main compound. Damian's fleeing back was getting closer when suddenly Damian stopped short in front of him. Tim didn't have to wonder very long why he had stopped so.

That was when the guns started to fire.

Tim took a deep breath and pushed himself harder. As he came near Damian, he grabbed his shoulders and spun around, using his own body as a shield. He felt a burning sensation in his shoulder, but ignored it.

"Run," He shouted at Damian.

Still maintaining his grip on Damian, Tim ran pulling him behind him. Damian surprisingly didn't resist. Tim could hear the assassins still in hot pursuit behind him as he passed the Lazarus Pit. Suddenly Damian's hand wasn't in his anymore.

It seemed as he turned in slow motion. His heart did a flip when he saw Damian on the ground blood coming from his forehead.

"Shit. I know you'll probably kill me for this later, but we need to get out of here," Tim said scrambling to pick up his brother. There was a small groan of protest, but Tim ignored it.

He was too slow. By the time he had Damian in his arms, assassins were beginning to encircle him.

Tim pulled out one of his batarangs and held it out. The other hand clutched Damian closer to his body. He wasn't going to give up his brother.

But he was wondering why he wasn't dead yet. He knew that there would be orders from Talia to stop him at all costs, and that would include shooting him, stabbing him, or other ways of making him dead. His only guess was that they didn't know what to do, considering that Damian was very much breathing and alive in his arms. He edged towards the hole he had come through.

"Freeze!" Someone shouted as they noticed that Tim was moving.

With a small slip of the wrist, Tim let loose a smoke pellet. The area quickly filled with a dark grey smoke. Tim ran into the tunnel, throwing some more batarangs back behind them. There were slight thumps as they made connections to the rocks on the ceiling. Tim waited a few more seconds to get farther down the tunnel before they exploded, blocking anyone from following them from that way.

Tim sighed in relief, but never slowed his run.

"My apologies, Your Highness, but Drake escaped," said one of the assassins as he bowed on his knees.

Talia gripped her sword tighter. That was not what she wanted to hear.

"And what of the boy?" Talia resumed running through her drills. She ignored the fluttering of her heart at the thought that Drake may have succeeded at resurrecting her son.

"Drake had already thrown him into the Pit. Our apologies," he said.

Talia could feel the conflicting emotions rising within herself. She squashed the happiness quickly with her anger. How could her men have failed her in such a way? These men were the best. They had to be in order to be a part of her father's organization. And yet a child was able to get past her defenses and succeed in his task.

"How did he get in the compound to begin with?" She asked tightly controlling her anger.

"It appears that there was a tunnel of some sort leading right to the Pits. This had to have been the point of entry and escape. They collapsed it as they escaped."

Talia picked up a throwing disk and sank it into the jugular of a mannequin near where the few soldiers in the room were standing. If they were surprised, then they didn't show it.

"Any other information that may have escaped your mind?" She growled.

The assassin that had been speaking fell silent. He didn't want to risk angering her any further. One of the newer recruit's eyes looked back and forth from Talia to the one who had been speaking. He opened his mouth, before shutting it again.

"If you have something to say, then I suggest that you say it," Talia said without looking up from her blades.

"Well, it appears as if the boy didn't recognize Drake and ran from him. Drake eventually caught up with the boy and intervened when we fired at the boy. A bullet managed to find its way into Drake's shoulder."

Something in Talia paused. This might not be as much as a disaster as she thought. An injured protector wouldn't be able to put up as much as a fight as someone who was at full capacity. If they were able to find them before they managed to get back to Gotham and the safety under the bat's wings, she would never get them.

"Find them. Do not let them find their way back to Gotham at any cost. Mr. Drake may have won the battle, but I fully intend to win this war. Dismissed."

The assassins quickly got out of Talia's room.

Talia picked up one of her daggers and tested the tip to be sure that it was sharp enough. A small pinprick of blood appeared. Turning she stared at one of the dummies about the room.

"You will not evade me again, Mr. Drake."

The knife sunk into a dummy right where his heart would be.

By this time, Tim was gasping for air. He had been running for a few miles now, and normally that wouldn't be any sort of issue. But the adrenaline had worn away much earlier in the night and carrying Damian in his arms was draining. Not to mention that there was a bullet in his shoulder. He needed to stop and rest for the night.

But he couldn't. He needed to at least make it to the car. That was wear he had left the rest of his supplies, clothes, extra water, and the weapons that he couldn't carry when Damian was dead.

Not that it mattered; he still ended up carrying Damian anyway.

When he finally saw the car through the dark, he sighed. Tim was physically exhausted and loosing blood. He needed to medically attend to his shoulder quickly. In all actuality, Tim was surprised that he hadn't already passed out.

Damian's mouth was shut for the entire run. There was a little while where Tim thought that he had actually fallen asleep. Which wouldn't have been good if that cut on his head was a concussion. He hadn't time to check yet, being on the run. But he was pleasantly surprised when he looked down to see that Damian was still awake, but keeping his mouth quiet.

Tim set Damian down at the side of the car and knelt down to look Damian in the eye.

"Damian? I need you to stay by me, you can't go running off. Do you understand?" Tim asked.

"I may have just been raised via Lazarus pit, but I am not mentally challenged, nor am I a child needing simple instructions," was the small response he got.

"Well, it's good to know that the right personality made its way back to the living," Tim grumbled. Why was he doing this again?

He pushed aside those thoughts and pulled out his satchel. He rustled through it for a moment before pulling out a few clothes and medical supplies. Painfully he managed to pull off his own shirt and began to inspect his shoulder. He prodded around for the bullet to see if it was still inside. He was somewhat relieved to see it was a clear through and through. Tim began the process of cleaning and dressing the wound.

Damian kept his mouth shut during the entire process. He only watched as Tim winced a few times as he wrapped his shoulder tightly. Once Tim was finished, he threw a spare shirt on over the top and withdrew a flashlight and antiseptic pads from his bag.

"Damian, I'm gonna clean out your wound now and check for a concussion. Can you follow my finger and answer a couple questions?" Tim asked readying his supplies.

"Tt. Fine."

"What's my name?" Tim asked watching as Damian's eyes followed his finger.

"Drake."

"Where do you live?" Tim's lips pursed at what he was seeing.

"Gotham."

"What do you get when you multiply eight times nine?"

A basic question, really, Damian would normally scoff at such a question, but this time he was a bit slow on the intake. He chewed it over for longer than it should have. He opened his mouth to answer before shutting it again.

"Seventy-two."

"You probably suffered a mild concussion. I'm going to wrap your head to keep the bleeding down. Would you like some water to drink? I don't have much food to eat unfortunately."

Tim began to clean the gash on Damian's forehead, being as thorough without trying to cause him any more pain than necessary. After he cleaned it satisfactory he began to wrap the kid's head. Tim made sure that it was good and tight. He may not have another chance to take the time to rebandage it.

"That should hold until we get back to Gotham and we can get Alfred or Dr. Thompkins to check it out. In the meantime, you should try to get some sleep; I'll get us get as far from here as I can."

Damian crawled into the car and quickly found the blanket. Curling underneath he fell asleep within seconds. Tim allowed himself a small smile. The kid didn't look quite as terrifying little monster when he was asleep.

Fighting the exhaustion that he was feeling, he climbed into the driver's seat and started putting as much distance between them and the League of Assassins as he could.

Bruce was having a hard time wrapping his head around this whole situation. What would possess his second youngest to go in the middle of hostile territory, just raise his brother whom he didn't even really like and most definitely didn't like him back. And while he knew that in Tim's head, the solution made sense as a way to bring Bruce back from oblivion, was a simple one, why was this the only option that he acted upon?

It had been a couple days since his son left. Or was it more than that? He was beginning to lose track of the time that he cared for. He most definitely wasn't getting the sleep that Alfred and the others in the family were telling him to get. How could he sleep when the threat of losing another son at his expense was looming over him?

He was on his fifth cup of coffee for the day, when the telephone rang. Fumbling for a little bit to pick the phone from its receiver, he finally held it up to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked, not really caring if he came across as ill-tempered.

After affirming that he was indeed Mr. Wayne, he listened to whatever the person on the other end of the line had to say. His hand gripped the phone tighter until the call was ended. Letting out a yell, he threw it across the room.

Footsteps came running from upstairs and down the hall. Soon the kitchen was filled with his butler and his two adopted sons, as they insisted on staying at the manor until the matter was resolved, wondering what had made a noise.

"What did the phone do to you?" Dick asked, picking up the pieces.

"They found one of my private jets in the Middle East. Apparently it's been sitting in the terminal for a bit."

"That's good right? Tim should be that much closer to coming home, right?" Dick asked trying to maintain the optimism that he was known for.

"Someone blew it up. They're just putting out the fire now. All that will be left in a few minutes is an empty husk." Bruce stared down at his hands. They were clenched as fists.

"What does that mean for Tim, and Dami?" Dick asked sitting next to Bruce.

Bruce looked to his eldest with a lost expression on his face. An expression that didn't look right within the hard lines of his face. an expression that really didn't belong on the Batman's face.

"That means that Talia knows what Tim is doing and is going to do anything to stop him. And that Tim doesn't have any means to get back to Gotham even if he managed to get in and out with Damian successfully."

"But Tim's a resourceful kid. He'll manage to find a way back. I know he will," Dick said, masking the worry with an upbeat thought.

Bruce didn't say anything. Neither did Jason or Alfred. There was nothing to say. Either Tim managed to find his way back home with Damian in tow, or they would have to bury another brother.

Damian was confused. And yet not. He understood just what the hell happened to him. That wasn't difficult to figure out. Drake had dug up his bead body, assumedly without any of the other members of the 'family' knowing, and went over an ocean to dump his stinking corpse into the Lazarus Pit behind his mother's back, all without getting killed. That wasn't the part that he was confused on.

He was confused as to why it was Drake.

Drake had never liked him. Drake had made this painfully clear through the many times that they had fought one another. He even put Damian on his damn hit list. So why would he be the one to bring him back form the dead? Damian thought that Drake would be in some sort of enjoyment at the thought, and take back the Robin mantle.

But yet here Drake was, driving a car after saving his ass from the assassins. That was another thing that puzzled him. Why had he froze? He was Damian Wayne. Trained since birth in the art of taking a man's life, he did not crack under pressure, and yet he froze.

This was why he awoke, but he didn't change his breathing pattern, he didn't want to alert Drake to his alertness. His mind was racing and he was a little chilled. The blanket he was under had slipped off sometime while he was sleeping.

He just couldn't come up with any reason why Drake would bring him back from oblivion. Drake always had a reason, but what could it be this time?

The blanket that had slipped was pulled back up to his chin.

"Go back to sleep Damian," Drake said.

"How-?" Damian began, his eyes popping open.

"I could hear the cogs in your head churning. It would be best if you didn't overwork your brain too much, you'll need it later." Drake gave a small chuckle, but never took his eyes from the road. "Now sleep. I'll wake you when we stop."

Damian was tired. But he didn't want Drake to think that he was obeying his command. He was doing this of his own will.

"Not listenin' to you," he whispered as he fell asleep again.

A/N: What did you guys think? Leave me reviews, I do enjoy them quite a bit. Maybe next time, I'll be able to say something really clever down here.