Of one thing, Tim had been certain,

No one outside of his tight knit circle of heroes knew his identity.

He'd gone to considerable lengths over the last five years to keep it a secret. When Bruce welcomed Tim onto the team, albeit begrudgingly at first, Tim had combed through all his remaining ties to his "before-life" and neatly cut them off. He never really had any close friends in those early years and that made things easy. So as far as his old alma mater, teachers, and tutors knew, the moment Tim Drake had turned thirteen, he'd gone off to join his parents on their archeological adventures for good.

No one knew that instead of getting on a plane to Bialya, he'd instead moved to Mount Justice - the now blown apart home where he endured years of the most brutal mental and physical training of his life.

In the beginning Tim's parent called occasionally. They wanted to know how he was doing at the new boarding school and all that jazz. At the time, maybe Tim had been the tiniest bit hurt that his parents never thought to question if he actually were where he said he was. But with how busy he became, that hurt eventually lessened, and soon the calls came in fewer and far between.

And then Tim's parents died two years ago- buried in the very tombs that had been their passion in life, and their resting place in death. And that was the end of their distant relationship.

Bruce had called Tim into his office one night shortly after and offered to adopt him. The gesture meant the world to Tim. Bruce was the closest thing he'd ever had to a father figure. But in the end, he declined, and used the opportunity to bury Tim Drake along with his parents. Things were easier that way. He let the individuals of his before-life think that the young boy genius, Tim Drake, died along with the late Mr. and Mrs. Drake and left it at that.

Tim was pretty sure his memorial still graced the main cabinet of Berdsham's Boarding School for Boys, not that he'd taken the time to check.

So how exactly this criminal not only unearthed Robin's identity, but also managed find his way into his bedroom, Tim was unsure.

Red Mask leaned back in Tim's lounge chair, the cheap thing creaking as he did so. The room around them crackled in anticipation as the two men silently appraised each other.

"Can I help you?" Tim asked sarcastically.

Red Mask was tall, probably half a foot taller than Tim. He was brawnier too, which was inconvenient. His muscles flexed under the fitted long black sleeved tee as he lifted his sword to rest the flat edge across his knees. There was a divot in the carpet where the blade had torn up the shag.

Tim seethed. That was going to come out of his security deposit for sure.

There was no way that Tim would be able to fight this man in his small apartment without tearing it up in the meantime. Already the room felt claustrophobic with the large stranger in his space. If they did come to blows, Tim would be at a disadvantage in these close quarters with his long bow staff. So that left only one option, stall.

Stall until help arrived.

One hand still resting on the hilt of his sword, Red Mask lifted his other in mock surrender. "No need to get pissy," his was voice deep and distorted by the mask he wore. "We have… what, three minutes to chat? You had to go and tattle on me already."

Tim swallowed the ice in his throat as the man pointed towards Tim's wristwatch, the device still neatly concealed under his sleeve.

"Too bad I'm not much for talking."

The man lunged out of the chair.

Tim cursed under his breath as he lifted his staff to meet the swinging blade coming down from above. The metals met with a shiiing as they locked in between the two men. Tim's arm tingled from the reverberations. Changing his grip to underhand, he pushed up with force to deflect the sword away – a slight wind from the sword grazed his forehead as he did so.

The man was just as lethal in his subsequent attacks as he was in his first. He swung his sword from every angle as he crowded closer. Tim met him blow for blow, his staff taking a beating from the flurry of strikes.

Shit. This guy was strong.

And Tim really wasn't equipped for close combat.

Defending himself was muscle memory, but Tim had to be doubly sure with every adjustment that his evasions wouldn't put him in a more precarious position. His enemy used these hesitations to his advantage, practically gloating as he did so. He was enjoying this.

Tim faltered when his hip bumped into his large dresser. A split second to decide and out of other options, he dove forward to the man's side as the sword came down with an unrelenting crack. Tim dropped his bow staff to the ground – it was more of a liability in this space anyways. Behind him, there was a massive split in the dresser where Tim had just been standing.

Tim lunged for his bed. His hands fisted his pillow for the two Escrima Sticks that he knew were lying underneath. They weren't electric but turns out having a practice pair of Dick's favorite weapon on hand could be helpful in a pinch.

Swinging around, Tim just barely lifted the sticks in time to thwart his attacker's latest strike. The two locked into position - Mask's sword trembled with strength as he pushed down between the cross of Tim's sticks, barely holding him back. The man hovered above as Tim's back pushed into the mattress with a creak. The Mask's heaving breaths mingled with his own.

Tim lifted his leg and delivered a punishing kick into the man's chest.

Tim had thought that that would be enough to buy him a moment to readjust, but he'd miscalculated. The man hardly even flinched at the kick and instead grabbed onto Tim's socked ankle in a white-knuckle grip.

Then he yanked.

Pulled from the bed, Tim's vision went white as his head smacked against the floor. Thankfully, the floor was carpet, so that offered some way of protection. But underneath the old shag was concrete, and Tim knew he'd be nursing a fat egg on his skull when all this was over… if he made it out alive.

"Sloppy," the man hissed. He lifted his heavy tactical boot and pressed it down on Tim's sternum.

Tim let out a groan as his ribs creaked under the pressure. At the sound, the pressure deepened. Tim's eyes were still sparkly from the impact with the floor.

A jiggle of a doorknob.

"Tim are you in there?! Open up!"

Through the sound of the ocean roar erupting from his unhappy eardrums, Tim could barely make out Cassie's voice.

"Tim!" a deeper voice added. Arsenal's, maybe?

Suddenly the pressure on his chest was gone, replaced with a ruthless kick to his abdomen. Tim wheezed as the air escaped his lungs in fits.

"Looks like that's my cue." The man squatted down in front of Tim and snatched his chin between thumb and forefinger in an unyielding grip. Tim could feel the bruises on his jaw already sprouting, a reminder of this exchange.

Tim didn't know how he knew, but behind that red mask the man was smiling.

"Catch you later, Timbers."

A blast at the front door and the pressure on Tim's chin was gone.

Suddenly Tim's vision was crowded with Cassie. All blonde hair and blue eyes and pursed lips appraising him. Her mouth was moving but Tim's mind was elsewhere, cataloging the events that had led to this point. Behind her, Arsenal was leaning out the open window to his bedroom. On the street below he heard a motorcycle peeling away with a screech.

"Tim! Talk to me!" Cassie reached for his face and held his bruised cheeks between her soft fingertips, "Who was that?"

Tim looked down at his hands. He hoped that his team couldn't see how badly they were shaking.

"I don't know."


Tim definitely wasn't going to be getting that safety deposit back from his landlord.

His room was trashed. Thankfully, his furniture that took most of the beating. But all along the walls were scrapes and scratches where a sword cut through. That, along with the dozen or so cops who'd been there since tromping around in their muddy boots all over the carpet, had left his apartment in pretty rough shape.

A break in. That's what the police was what they were chalking it up to. Never mind the fact that Tim lived on the top floor, and nothing had been stolen. "I'm sure there's something missing." The captain said as he eyed Tim suspiciously. As if Tim was the one at fault for the police having to answer to a break in call so early in the morning.

It didn't matter. This was so clearly out of their realm that Tim wished he wouldn't have bothered even calling them. Only reason he did was so he could keep up appearances that he was just some average joe who just happened to get his door blown in by an average robbery.

Tim's landlord had called him immediately after the police left, reluctantly apologizing for the shoddy security, and offering false assurances that he'd be adding more CCTVs to the hallways and elevators. His voice had been smarmy, and Tim just knew that the man would be waiting to stick it to him when he had to move out.

Damn. He'd actually liked this place.

Now Dick was here with some of the other unmasked Outsiders who'd arrived to check up on him. He would have been touched if he weren't so pissed off at the whole situation.

"—Like I said," Tim offered for the millionth time as he cradled a frozen bag of peas against his bruised abdomen, "Nothing was stolen. He didn't give me a name or what he wanted. I have no clue who he's working for. And my identity's been compromised."

"That and you got your ass handed to you," Arsenal offered with a snicker.

Tim decided not to grace that comment with a response.

Dick stood in front of him, leaning against the wall of his battered apartment with his arms crossed across his chest. He was looking at Tim but not seeing him, something he tended to do when lost in thought. Finally, his eyes refocused. "And he didn't give you anything we go by? You didn't pick up on any clues at all?" He looked at Tim skeptically. To his credit, he had right to be suspicious.

"None," Tim lied.

Dick gave him one more assessing look before he sighed and stood up straight. "Okay," he said, "Well I'm sorry to tell you kid but you're going to have to find a new apartment." His eyes darted around the room, as if he were making one last ditch effort to find something off when he'd already combed the place three times already.

"I know," Tim mumbled. That wasn't a surprise.

"And you're benched for two days."

That was a surprise.

"What?!" Tim shouted as he stood up. He grimaced as abdomen ached in protest. "You're benching me?"

"Yeesh. That sucks, dude," Arsenal offered condolences, as other members of the team nodded in agreement.

Tim once again ignored the murmurs as Dick approached him. He knew he'd messed up by letting the perp get away, but he didn't think he'd messed that badly.

"Why?" He managed to get out.

"Not for the reason you're probably thinking, Tim," Dick softly chuckled and ruffled Tim's hair. It was a half-hearted gesture. Tim knew Dick was hurting from Connor's death, probably more than any of them. The man in front of Tim felt like an echo of the Dick Grayson he knew, whittled away by too much loss. "I checked the EMT report. Two days, strict rest. Concussion protocols, kid."

Oh. Tim had forgotten about that.

"You're not even leader of the Outsiders, it's not your call."

Dick leaned back on his heels as he crossed his arms across his chest again. His eyebrow shot up at Tim's disrespect. It wasn't like Tim to question orders. "Sure…" his words came out slowly, like he was chewing on them, "It might not be my call. But I'm pretty sure Cassie will back me up on this." He nodded in Cassie's direction.

Tim swung his head in her direction. It took one scathing look from her for Tim to know he shouldn't even try.

He pointed wildly to the Outsiders around him who were making themselves comfortable in his apartment, "That's not fair! Half of the people in this room have been knocked out harder than I was!"

"Yes, but…" Dick left the second part unsaid.

Yes, but half of the people in the room were meta.

Tim's shoulders slumped. He'd lost this fight and he knew it. He must have been looking very sorry for himself because suddenly Dick slung an arm over Tim's shoulders and leaned in close so only the two of them could hear, "Two days, Tim. Then, with the docs okay, you'll be back out and at it again. Think you could do that for me?"

Tim kept his eyes locked on the floor, "I just… I just don't want to be sitting around. Not right now," he finally said as he looked up at his mentor.

Dick's lip twitched; his eyes flashed with grief. He gave Tim's shoulder a final squeeze before dropping his arm. "Yeah kid, I get it."

The excitement having died down, slowly but surely the lingering teens made their way out of Tim's ruined apartment. Soon the only three people left were Dick, Tim, and Cassie.

Dick offered for Tim to come and crash at his and Barbara's while he found a new place to stay. Cassie said his old room at the Outsiders was still available if he wanted it. He politely declined both offers. Tim loved Barbara, and Dick for that matter. But that was their space and while he knew that they'd do their best to make him feel comfortable… Let's be honest, Dick was Dick, and Tim didn't feel like having to gouge his eyes out from seeing something he could have gone his whole life without. And camping out at the Outsiders HQ while everyone was out on missions sounded like Tim's own personal hell.

"No, I'll be fine. I'll just go stay with Bruce and Alfred," he muttered. It had been a while since he'd been back to the grand old Wayne Manor Estate anyways.

Dick was already on his way out the door, having received an alert from Oracle that he was needed at the Watchtower. "You sure?" He asked as he slipped on his shoes, "Bruce will be gone for the next few days, so it'll just be you and Alfred."

Even better.

"Tim," Cassie reached for his hand, "You'll call me if you change your mind." A statement, not a question.

Tim smiled- genuinely this time. He was pretty sure that Cassie had talked to him more in the last six hours than he'd had in the last year in a half. He wasn't upset about it. "Sure, Cassie. I will."

And just like that, Tim was finally alone in his apartment again. He slouched against the wall, exhaustion leeching out of his bones. He never did get that shower and a nap. Closing the door behind his last guests, he turned around and started listing in his head all the essential's he'd need for the next two days.

In the end, all he brought was his duffle filled with his suit, staff, and a couple of spare outfits if he needed them. He swung his duffle over his shoulder, so he had his bag in one hand and fish in the other. Fin had found a new home in a glass cup with saran wrap jerry rigged across the top with rubber bands Tim had managed to scrounge up. He looked about just as unhappy about the whole situation as Tim did.


Hi friends! Here's a new chapter for you! I'll tell you what, I have been having so much fun with this story. It's been awhile since the words came to me this quickly. Just a head's up to those of you who started this story a few days ago, as of 4/26/22 I changed a couple of key details in the prologue. I'll try not to do that again because as a reader I know that can get tedious, but I really do like the changes made and think they fit better with the story. If you started TBATH after 4/26, you're good to go! Leave a comment if you'd like, I always love hearing from you!

3, Green