Prologue

"Get up, kid."

Tim groaned as the cold bite of the cement floor leeched into his sweating skin. His cheek rested on the smooth ground, slightly irritated by the bits of dust and gravel - ever-present no matter how many times he'd been assigned to sweep it. His bony knees and elbows ached where cement met skin.

Tim and the floor had become quite acquainted over the last six months, and while that had been annoying at first, now he just wondered if he should accept their blossoming relationship as permanent. The cold did feel nice on his blooming bruises at least.

As if that was much of a comfort.

"Tim?" A warm hand gently tapped his shoulder, "Should we be done for today?"

Grunting as he did so, Tim took the mighty effort of turning from his stomach to his back. It was more of a flop than anything else. He looked up at the squatting form of his tormentor and teacher, Dick Grayson.

"Eh," was all that he could muster. Immediately, his open mouth met the metallic taste of blood. He licked his split lip.

Overhead, the looming walls of Mount Justice towered over him. Fluorescent lights cascaded from the cavern's roof in mismatching lengths. There were so many that shined above him that Tim had to squint through his bruised right eye.

"We should be done for today," Resolutely, Dick stood up as he answered his own question. He reached out an arm to Tim, who took it thankfully as he was hauled up. Tim wobbled on his feet for just the slightest breadth of a moment before steeling himself into a steady stance.

"You did good, kid," Dick said as he helped to take off Tim's helmet and attempted to brush the dirt and dust from Tim's bony prominences. It didn't do much, but it was a nice gesture at least. Stepping back, Dick took Tim's shoulders in his hands and gripped them firmly. "You'll get there, Tim. You will." His hands gave Tim a squeeze before releasing him and standing up straight. He towered over Tim as he did so, which downright chaffed at Tim's last bits of composure.

"Easy for you to say," he glowered at the ground as he made a half-hearted gesture at their size discrepancy. Dick was easily a foot taller than Tim's measly 4'8.

Dick laughed and suddenly rubbed the top of Tim's head roughly through his sweaty hair. "I was just as small as you when I was thirteen, kid. Trust me that I know exactly what you are going through."

Tim huffed.

Sure, maybe Dick might have been his size when he was Tim's age. But he'd also been a wicked gadget genius, already long enough established as Robin to be out on runs with Batman, could slay enemies literally quadruple his size, and was a founding member of the Young Justice team?

Yeah, Tim didn't exactly think Dick was the authority on not measuring up to snuff in the sidekick capabilities. He was the wonder boy after all.

But Tim didn't say any of that. Instead, he just nodded his head. His eyes fixed on the floor, not yet able to look up into his mentor's eyes. He was afraid of the disappointment he might see in them.

Dick, realizing that Tim wasn't in the mood for warm platitudes, just sighed above him as he gave his head one more rub.

"Hit the showers, kid. We'll be back at it tomorrow."

Wordlessly, Tim gave another stiff nod and moved away from Dick's comforting touch. More than anything he just wanted to stay there and receive reassurances from his mentor, but he restrained that urge and strode out of the massive training room. His feet echoed on the floor with his steps.

It was more of a limp if he was being honest.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath.

The worst part was that Tim knew he could do this. He could do this.

Tim knew he was smart, and it wasn't in a bragging, full of it way. He just was. At nine he'd already deduced the secret identities of Batman, the then-Robin, Kid Flash, Red Arrow, Black Canary, and Superman. It really wasn't that hard, and it somewhat concerned him that it wasn't obvious to everyone. At twelve, he'd worked his way through grade's 10, 11, and 12 curriculums and had surprised even his advanced boarding school when he'd requested to attend classes at the local college. They'd agreed of course, barring on permission from his parents. A signature he'd forged.

He'd probably overdone it with the forgery; he'd gone to significant lengths to use tech and precision to make exact replicas of his parent's signatures when, in retrospect, the school probably wouldn't have cared either way. Getting permission from his absentee parents was just a formality and it probably wouldn't have stopped the admin from trying to place their "prodigy student" in all the right places for their own motivations.

Tim couldn't blame them. He'd also been working to get himself in the right places. Those right places however, just so happened to be Bruce Wayne's office to receive the "Wayne Enterprises Award for Commendable Youths," so he could "request" to join Batman's team... while also naming the identities of all the major Justice League heroes while he was at it. And technically, it wasn't blackmail because he was qualified. At least that's how he liked to think about it.

So yes, he was smart. But he was athletic too.

Tim had known that smarts would only get him so far on the team. He'd also have to present another asset to avoid being seen as a liability. So, he'd trained – hard. For years he'd finessed his way through multiple martial arts and acrobatics in order to present the best possible candidate for a future Robin.

All that work, only to have been beaten out by him in the meantime. All that work, only to realize that no amount of "training" could make up for his size or body type; a that was body more adept to lean muscle than bulk. One that was perfect for running away from, not towards, a fight.

"He's too soft on you," a voice sneered as the glass automatic doors opened with a hiss.

Tim cringed. Of course. Of course, there'd been an audience to his ongoing humiliation that were his training sessions with Nightwing… and it just had to be in the form of the 5'8" devil himself.

Jason Todd loomed over Tim, arms crossed menacingly over his chest. His black hair was longer than Tim's cropped short cut and curled wildly as it fell over his forehead. His mouth was set into that perpetual scowl that Tim was convinced was permanently etched into Jason's adolescent face. Tim hated that face.

Cold green eyes bored into him but Tim just stared ahead at the golden R emblazoned on his enemy's chest. It was the highest insult and set his teeth on edge.

Two years ago, when Dick Grayson had retired as Robin to become the new entity of Nightwing, Tim had thought he'd finally have his shot to prove his worth and step into Dick's very big shoes. But that hope had been promptly smothered when a new Robin had entered the scene shortly after as Batman's right hand.

This Robin was different from his predecessor. He was aggressive where Dick had been mischievous, hot headed where Dick had been methodical, ruthless where Dick had been merciful. He was the antithesis of everything Robin should be, what Tim could be. And Tim hated him for it.

But he also idolized him for it… and maybe that was the worst part.

"Hey, new kid, you hear me?" Tim's thoughts were interrupted as a rough hand pushed his shoulder.

Tim sighed, "What do you want Jason?" He was too tired and too sore to have to deal with this today.

The unfairness of it all was what really grinded Tim's gears. He was the one who had every right to hate Jason. Jason was wearing the very suit that Tim had yearned for, worked for, bled for, for years. The fact that Bruce had plucked this kid off the street, adopted him, and just handed Robin to him, all while being totally unaware that he'd had another prodigy, a Boy Wonder 2.0, who was training his way to be worthy of that very suit was the greatest offense to the legacy that was Robin.

So yes, Tim felt that he had every reason to hate Jason. But Jason had no right to hate him.

In all his life, Tim didn't think he'd ever had anyone hate him before. He was well liked in his boarding schools, always careful to never let his academic prowess be intimidating to his peers. His athleticism won him favor with the sort of crowds where smarts would not. Adults found him to be, "just delightful." Kids found him aspirational. His parents, well… his parents were never around long enough to know him at all. But they always expressed that they were proud of him when they could get enough service to call him from whatever archeological dig site they happened to be at that month.

Jason, however? He made up for Tim's relatively hate-free life in spades.

In the six months that Tim had been living in Mount Justice, Jason had gone out of his way to make it his own personal hell. None of it was ever overtly malicious, in fact, most of it was petty. Things like ripping out all the unused pages of his homework journals, forcing him to start a new one. Or dropping his sheets and comforter on the grimy floor, so Tim would have to wash them again. Or setting his morning alarm annoyingly loud 20 minutes before Tim's own, which would blare through their shared wall without fail every morning. Somehow Jason was able to sleep through it every time. Tim could not.

But while these things never failed to make Tim want to rip his own, and Jason's, hair out. Tim couldn't help but be jealous of him. When his temper wasn't going rabid, he got along so well with the team. He was a missing piece of the patched quilt that was their formed family. He drew all eyes wherever he went with his confidence and charisma. He wasn't perfect but he didn't try to be. Not like Tim did. And while Tim's idolization of Jason was a confusing. His extreme desire for Jason's approval was downright baffling. Which made Jason's unprompted hatred even worse.

Tim didn't know what he'd done to Jason to earn his anger. Maybe he was aware that Tim was gunning for Jason's spot, but that didn't seem like enough. Whatever it was, it had earned Tim six months of torment that was just petty enough to avoid the older member's attention, but annoying enough to make Tim feel like he had to look over his shoulder at all hours of the day.

"Dick was never that easy on me when I was your age," Jason said, nose wrinkled in distaste. "And I never would have finished practice early."

That much was true. But Tim didn't think it was a fair comparison because Jason was always rearing for a fight, in training, in battle. It didn't matter where… he was always just so angry.

Tim shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "I'm not like you Jason."

Jason scoffed, looking ahead through the glass doors into the training bay. Tim turned over his shoulder follow his gaze. At some point Kaldur'an had arrived through the Zeta Tube and was now having an intense discussion with Nightwing. Both of their shoulders were taught with tension.

Nightwing was in the process of taking over the team as lead.

Initially, when Tim had arrived, he thought that the decision would be met with hostility and resistance from Kaldur. But apparently this had been a decision that had been long in the works.

Jason directed his gaze back to him as Tim prepared himself for the onslaught of creative insults that always made their way out of the fifteen-year old's mouth.

"Fucking right you're not," he stabbed a finger into Tim's bruised chest, Tim clenched his teeth in pain.

Jason's eyes bore into him, his eyes were so sharp that they stripped all of Tim's self-worth layer by layer with their stare.

"You're soft. You're weak. I don't know what Bruce was thinking bringing a brainiac like you onto the team. You're only here because he was afraid of you outing us. Just fucking give up already. You'll never be as good as Nightwing, or Artemis, or Red Arrow. I don't care if you're some sort of boy genius. Those monsters out there are going to eat you alive." He enunciated each word of the last sentence, digging his finger in more as he did so.

Tim's carefully controlled temper flared as he smacked Jason's hand away and stepped into Jason's space. He became even more irritated when Jason stood his ground, eyebrow cocked up, not in the least bit intimidated.

"I don't have to be as good as them," Tim seethed as he looked up at the boy nearly a foot taller than him, "I just have to be better than you." Tim stepped in closer, pushing Jason back as he did so. "One of these days, Jason- Bruce, Dick, Kaldur'ahm… someone is going to get tired of your bullshit. Just like the rest of us are. One of these days you'll fuck up so bad that no one can protect you. And guess who'll be right here once you're thrown out?"

Tim watched as a flicker of fear flashed across the older boy's eyes and guilt flared in Tim's gut. He'd gone to far. He knew Jason was self-conscious about being kicked out, about being alone again. He knew even if Jason didn't.

But just as he was about to take back what he'd said in a bumbling burst of apologies, Jason's eyes quickly shuttered back into their normal menace. No, it was worse than that, it was pure hatred.

"Listen here you little shit-"

"Jason."

The boys jumped apart at the whooshing sound of the automatic doors opening. At the door Kaldur stood with Nightwing dressed in his stealth-mode gear.

"Yes sir," Jason stood at attention, now at arm's length distance Tim. Tim wondered if Jason could feel the tension crackling between them like lightning.

"Suit up," Kaldur's voice rang through the empty corridor as he walked away from the assembled group. Whether or not he knew that he'd inadvertently broken up an impending fight, Tim wasn't sure.

…He probably did. Kaldur was perceptive like that. "Nightwing will fill you in on the details while I inform the rest of the team," he called over his shoulder as he turned around a corner and out of sight.

Excitement burst through Tim's skin. Nightwing turned around and went back into the training bay, Jason and Tim following behind dutifully. Even though he knew it was a long shot, Tim asked anyways, "Can I come?"

It wasn't a surprise when Nightwing shook his head, but Tim couldn't help the crushing disappointment welling up in his gut.

"Sorry Timbers, big kids only," Jason shot him a menacing smile. He tossed Tim his signature red hoodie as he changed into his suit. Tim caught it on instinct.

Tim clenched his fists in anger, nails biting into skin and fabric as he did so. To anyone else, the nickname would seem like a term of endearment. Tim knew better. It was just another way of infantilizing him. A way to make him feel smaller than he already was. God, he hated Jason.

God, he wished Jason's hatred didn't hurt so bad.

Tim was so caught up he missed the first part of the briefing.

"—the light is making moves on Infinity Island. We're going for an in-and-out stealth mission, just to see what they're up to. No contact if we can help it," Dick's hands gripped gently on Jason's shoulder, "I talked to Kaldur and convinced him… you're leading Team Gamma."

If a person could jump out of their skin, that's what Jason did. Tim watched as Jason's movements became electric, distorted, as he asked more and more animated questions to Dick's calm answers. Dick was trying to hide a smile but wasn't doing a very good job at it.

"—only stealth?"

"Only stealth, I thought this would be a good try out session. Get you used to leading a team"

"And if we do make contact?!"

"We're going to do our best to avoid that scenario. Like I said, intel only."

"But—" Jason's voice was high pitched and frantic with excitement. His skin nearly vibrating out his suit.

Before he knew what he was doing Tim limped between them.

"Let me come. Please." He looked desperately between Nightwing and the boy who was now heaving breaths.

"Fuck. Off." Jason's voice dripped venom.

"No! Jason, you can't be levelheaded about this. You shouldn't go!" Tim grabbed onto his sleeve, "You're going to do something. Someone's gonna get hurt." The words couldn't tumble out of Tim fast enough. He didn't know why no one else could feel the static of dread that was closing in all around them.

"I SAID FUCK OFF!"

The wind left Tim's chest in an oomph as he made impact with the floor, his body stiffening on instinct to prevent his head from ricocheting off the cement. A near miss.

"Jason." Dick's voice was hard and unyielding, but he needn't have bothered.

Jason was already looking down at Tim with a cacophony of emotions plain on his face. Anger, horror, regret, guilt, all warring with each other. Any fight though was gone, quick as it had come. And soon, all those emotions died down too, replaced with the all too familiar look of disdain.

Against his will, tears welled up in Tim's eyes. He hoped against all hope that he could keep it together and not let them spill over. That would be too humiliating.

Sniffling, Tim stood up from the ground, trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left.

"I hate you," he said as his hands fisted at his sides. He turned on his heals before either of his mentors could see the tears that had now started falling down his cheeks. He was too caught up in his own anger and hurt to catch onto Dick's scolding.

"—shouldn't have done that."

"I know."

"You know he adores you."

A subdued laugh, "Tell him that."

The door locks wheezed shut as Tim hobbled his way to his bedroom. He didn't bother with a shower that night and opted for just lying in the day's dust and grime on the top of his bed as he stared at the ceiling. At some point M'gann came to tell him that the team would be leaving soon for a day or two, she asked him if he wanted to say goodbye.

Tim declined.

But the team didn't come back for a day, or two. In fact, it was a whole week gone by before Tim was sitting in his room studying one evening when he heard the clatter of the other left behind Young Justice teens running down the halls outside his room. Still holding onto his books, Tim stuck his head out in time to catch Garfield, who was newer and younger than even Tim running on green feet and knuckles in the same direction.

"What's going on?"

"We just got the alert that the team passed through the zeta-tube! Come on!"

Relief spilled into Tim's chest as he dropped his books with a loud clatter and sprinted down the corridor, hot on Gar's heels.

When they reached the doors to the training bay, the doors couldn't open fast enough. Tim bounced on his heels in impatience as the doors slowly split apart. Beyond the split, Tim saw the figures of his peers all huddled together near the zeta tube. Surprisingly enough, adult heroes were there too. Superman stood by Superboy, their relationship recently having started to thaw, with his hand gently on his shoulder. M'gann was leaning against her uncle's shoulder, listlessly using one hand to keep Gar down, who was trying to jump and peek over the huddled mass. The older teen's bodies were bunched together blocking Tim's view. Kaldur leant against the wall nearby, head between his knees.

He heard Bruce's familiar voice and started to step forward.

"— Where's Tim?"

Tim's feet stuttered to a stop as all the faces turned around to stare at him. The door hissed closed behind him. When the bodies had turned, slight openings allowed Tim to see Batman kneeling on the ground holding something large in his arms. Red and green peaked out between the heroes' legs.

"Tim," Dick had stepped away from the massed huddle as they all bunched together and turned their heads back forward, as if they were trying to give them some privacy.

Tim didn't like the look on Dick's face. He'd taken his mask off and Tim could plainly see rings of red around his eyes.

Dick didn't cry. Dick never cried.

Suddenly, Tim was very sure he didn't want to hear what Dick had to stay. Instinct screamed at him to turn around and run the other way, but his body remained traitorously numb. His feet were glued to the cement where he'd been practicing earlier that day.

As Dick approached him, Tim's eyes scanned the room. His eyes searched for anything to look at that wasn't the horrible look on Dick's face.

He saw M'gann, Kaldur, Tula, Garth, Connor, Artemis, Gar, Wally, Zatanna, Rocket, Troia… someone was missing.

Someone was missing.

"Tim," Dick's voice cracked as he squatted down and reached for Tim's hand.

Lead pooled in Tim's stomach. His eyes went staticky around the edges.

"Tim… It's Jason."