Chapter 7


It was a sick form of irony that the "safehouse" Talia al Ghul spoke of was located smack dab in the middle of Crime Alley. Tim knew it couldn't be a coincidence as he rode through the congested streets, hands gripped on his bike's handles as he eyed every passersby on the street.

Northeast Gotham was not known for being one of the most sought-after places to visit, and that was perhaps a forgiving understatement. On the sidewalks, pedestrians walked with purpose, no one ever wanting to be stuck on the streets for too long. Anyone unfamiliar with the grim city's complex social structure would be forgiven for thinking that it was the groups that one needed to watch out for; Raucous crowds armed everything from crowbars to artillery as they wandered up and down the sidewalks of their territories

But focusing on those groups was a mistake. It was the solo individuals that Tim kept his eyes on as he drove by. The individuals who, for walking by themselves at the witching hour in one of the most crime-ridden cities in the world, sported a little more timidness than they should. It was that false timidity that they used to lure would-be assaulters in, only for the assailants to find out too late that they weren't the predators, but the prey all along.

Crime Alley was not a place that Tim frequented, not unless he did so for a very specific purpose. And while, technically, he counted what he was doing as mission, being there of his own volition felt like he was only plunging deeper into the murky pool of morally grey and blurred enemy alliances than he was comfortable with.

He dispelled those thoughts as he drove. They were of no use to him now that he'd already committed.

What had started as a drizzle earlier on in the night was now a full-on Gotham style downpour. Tim always liked it when it rained. Acid rain or not, the storms offered the rare moments when the polluted stink of the city was dampened to tolerable standards. He had to be cautious of it as he drove, though, because his new bike did not sport the tread of his Robin bike, and one too sharp turn could send him sliding. Oil slicked roads tended to become a lethal slippery hazard when mixed with rain.

Finally, Tim rolled up on what looked like a row of innocuous townhouses. He knew better than to trust their innocent seeming outward appearance. Knowing Crime Alley, more likely than not nefarious dealings were being had on the inside.

Slowing down, Tim turned off the street at one of the townhouses that matched his coordinates and stepped off his bike. He walked down the very short driveway to the sublevel garage. The townhouse was cement grey, with flecks of white peeking through where paint chips had peeled off from years of weathering the elements. The house boasted two stories, three if the basement garage counted. All the lights were turned off inside, but Tim knew better than to believe that no one was home when the garage door opened automatically at his approach.

Tim was relieved to get out of the rain as he rolled his motorcycle into the garage. His civ clothes were drenched and he suddenly wished he still had on his suit, if only to dispel the cold wet from sinking into his skin and bones. Thankfully, there was a single lit lightbulb flickering in the corner of the garage, which provided the only light as the garage door descended behind him. Trapping him in.

Tim's nerves were set on edge. He still didn't fully trust that Talia al Ghul wouldn't stab him in the back the first chance she got in the future, but at least he took some comfort that killing him now would be illogical. It made no sense for her to drag him into some elaborate recovery mission only to kill him. No, the woman who'd stood before him only a few hours earlier had been candid with her motivations… she wanted this weapon. And for that she needed Tim. And as for Jason Todd? Well, he's the reasons why Tim snapped his utility belt on over his waist and drew his staff from his duffle bag.

Cautiously, Tim made his way to the ominously flickering light and the stairwell just beyond. The stairs creaked noisily under his feet as he ascended. A closed door greeted him at the top of the stairs. Tim gripped his staff tightly in one hand as his hand pressed down on the lever handle and pushed it open.

As decrepit as the safehouse had seemed on the outside, it wasn't half bad. Tim took his final step onto the landing and assessed his temporary living quarters. All the lights were off and the only thing preventing total darkness were the streetlights outside. Tim shut the door behind him and took a few steps forward into the living space.

Meant for convenience, and literally nothing else, the only furnishings were a set of bar stools by the kitchen counter and a single sofa pushed against the wall by the windows. On the counter by the kitchen sink, a single glass of water silhouetted against the streetlamps light—

Tim ducked at the telltale whistle of a sword slicing through air behind him. He rolled to the far wall and twisted around to meet his assailant. Sensing another attack, he held his staff with both arms overhead and blocked the follow-up downward swing. Jason, at an advantage with his victim on the ground, pressed his weight down. Tim's arms shook under the added pressure.

Had Tim really miscalculated so badly?

Seconds felt like hours as the two men stared each other down. Tim felt naked without his mask but was glad it offered him the chance to skewer Jason with his glare. His lips curled, daring the man to finish the job… or at least try, Tim certainly wouldn't make it easy for the man to kill him.

Finally, Jason backed off and lowered his sword to his side.

Tim was incensed as he scrambled up to his feet. Without warning he hooked his arm and sent his fist flying towards Jason's chin, satisfied when knuckle met bone with a thwack. Jason's head jerked to the side.

"What the fuck was that for?" Tim seethed, satisfied when he saw blood bubble to the surface at the corner of Jason's lips. The taller man, seeming to prefer ignoring him for the time being, brushed his thumb against his split lip and just stared at the smudge of blood on the pad of his finger for a moment before dragging his gaze to meet Tim's glare head on.

"Thought you were an intruder," Jason answered like it was no big deal, like he hadn't just let Tim in through the garage only to nearly decapitated him only moments later.

"Like hell you did," Tim gritted between closed teeth.

Jason Todd merely shrugged, wiping the blood on his red tunic, and sheathed his sword before reaching an arm out to flip a switch on the wall beside him. Suddenly both the boys and the room were bathed in fluorescent overhead light.

Turns out, light did the townhouse a disservice. With the lights on, Tim could see just how run down the place really was. The kitchen appliances were a mismatch of refurbished items, some of which had to be as old as the 70s. The barstools weren't much better, duct taped in some places and others tilting from uneven legs. The living room sofa… Tim only had to take one look to know he'd never be desperate enough to occupy that bug infested monstrosity. Even the walls were littered with the telltale footprint of stray bullets.

"I know its humble lodgings for someone as dignified as a Drake," Jason's words dripped with sarcasm, his eyes quite literally rolling as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Fuck you," Tim retrieved his duffle on the floor and turned towards the taller boy. Jason looked the same as he had in the warehouse, which made sense because that had been only a few hours earlier but considering that Tim hadn't seen Jason since he was a fifteen-year-old boy, his brain still struggled to adjust.

Now that Tim had finally gotten him alone, he wanted answers.

"You're supposed to be dead," Tim said, not caring how heartless it sounded.

Jason's nose crawled up into a sneer, "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"I want to know how. When? What did they take from Jason's grave to make you?"

Jason's eyes flashed dangerously, "…You think I'm a clone?" He considered Tim silently for a moment before he scoffed, "You'd like that wouldn't you? It's easy to avoid guilt when you replace a dead guy. Harder when you've pushed out someone still alive."

"There's no way Jason's alive. I saw—" Tim stopped himself there. What had he been about to say? That he'd seen Jason Todd's still warm body bleeding out on the cement floor. That he'd seen the adolescent boy's bony prominences bending in ways no bones should? That he'd felt the exact moment when the rigor mortis started to set in, the barest stiffness setting in fingers clutched between his own—

No. Tim didn't think of that day. Much less speak of it.

"Hate to burst your bubble, Timbers. But like it or not I'm alive. And you're stuck with me until you've delivered what's been promised—"

"Don't call me that," Tim growled. He looked up at the older boy. Up. God dammit, it was just Tim's luck that as an adult Jason would still tower over Tim in height. He considered pushing the issue further but ultimately decided against it. As he expected, he was getting nowhere with asking Jason directly. Hell, it was possible that the Jason Todd before him didn't even know that he was a clone. Will Harper certainly hadn't right up until the moment that he betrayed his team to the light.

Tim had expected this hang up, which was part of the reason why he'd even agreed to this mission in the first place. He'd already decided back at the warehouse that he would follow this false-Jason Todd, because his suspicions ran much deeper. If Ra's al Ghul would go so far as to clone Bruce Wayne's only adopted son, and keep that from them for nearly seven years, what else was he planning? Not to mention this new ruse of some unnamed weapon. All of it spoke to some insidious plan and Tim meant to pin out exactly what that was.

Tim appraised the boy in front of him. Twenty-one-year-old Jason looked like a grittier version of the Jason that Tim remembered. He was broader in the shoulders and much thicker in the waist and chest. Everything about him screamed power and strength, so much so that it was no wonder he was such force in combat. Tim wasn't one to depreciate his own hard-earned strength and training, but it truly was a wonder that he'd been able beat the man.

"I take it my room's upstairs?" Tim asked, shifting thought.

Jason jerked his head towards another stairwell just beyond the kitchen. "Up there." The smudge of blood at Jason's lip had started to dry; a blemish on the man's rugged face that seemed oddly in line with his appearance.

Tim backed away slowly from the man, still not entirely convinced that Jason wouldn't literally stab him in the back the minute he turned around.

Jason rolled his eyes, "You can get your panties out of a twist. I'm not going to kill you. I have direct orders to keep an eye on Ra's' investments… and assist if need be" The last sentence came out as if it were as hard as pulling teeth. Jason's eyes looked Tim up and down before settling into a look of disdain that was jarringly familiar.

"Huh… well the Jason I remember didn't take kindly to orders," Tim said as he turned around to go up the staircase.

"Yeah well… that Jason is dead," the man spoke behind him.

There were so many possible ways to interpret that vague statement that Tim didn't even bother deconstructing it as he made his way up to the second floor. The second story was, thankfully, a little better outfitted for his purposes than the first floor had been. Three doors greeted him at the top landing, two open, one closed. One of the rooms clearly led to a bathroom, so he ignored that one as he stepped through the only other open option.

Tim's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

The room itself wasn't much. Appropriately small, matching the overall size of the townhouse. And like the rest of the place, the lead paint was peeling in some places and carpet was worn through in others. But that wasn't what drew Tim's attention.

In the center of it all, taking up nearly every bit of space that the room had to offer, was a computer. Blue lit screens with pre uploaded files on the desktop flickered at him as he walked into the bedroom. Monitors covered up nearly every bit of wall space. On a massive desk, a neatly stacked pile of files was organized with labels ranging from the al Ghul's known enemies to locations that they'd already searched. The set up wasn't as good as Oracle's, but it was pretty damn close.

Tim's eyebrows narrowed. That the al Ghuls would offer this much to him, all their own intel, physical and monetary resources, only spoke to how desperate they were for this unknown weapon's recovery. Ras al Ghul was known for his multitude of negative qualities but being a man of his word was one of the more positive ones. But Tim hadn't held that same faith with his daughter, and even until this very moment he'd had a stun gun ready at his waist should he have need of it. But with every new discovery he was becoming more and more convinced that Talia al Ghul was telling the truth, that they needed him, and at least wouldn't be plotting his death at this point in time.

But that didn't stop Tim from tensing when a man stepped into the doorway behind him, blocking the inflow of light with his size. Tim glanced over his shoulder. Jason was still unmasked and leant up against the door frame. Though he feigned nonchalance, Tim knew that the man was watching his every move, ready to act if Tim decided to repay him in kind for the earlier attack downstairs. It hadn't even been three hours since they'd been swinging their weapons at each other across a warehouse floor, after all.

"So what? I'm supposed to sleep here while you sleep in that room of yours," Tim gestured to the closed door across the hallway, "And while I figure out the location of this weapon, we try not to kill each other in the process?" Suddenly the impossibility of the situation became overwhelming.

Jason just looked at him with his arms crossed at his chest, apparently deciding that now would be a good time to employ a quiet ninja persona that apparently, he'd adopted over the last seven years on Infinity Island. The Jason that Tim remembered never did know when to keep his mouth shut, and he didn't know how to handle this new person standing in front of him.

Tim let out an exasperated groan, "You're insufferable as always."

Jason flicked a finger at the monitors on the wall, "Anything you search on these is uploaded directly into this," he gestured to a mobile device on his wrist. "So don't bother trying to pry into anything outside your lane. As for the room, you can lock the door and I'll do the same for mine," his eyes went hard. "You don't piss me off, and I won't bother killing you. We clear?"

"As if you could," Tim growled. Suddenly Jason approached him. Tim stilled as the man drew close, body tensed for attack. Jason stopped only when he stood only a foot away, leering down at Tim. Tim glowered right back up, barely avoiding the very real temptation to sock the condescending man right in the chin for a second time.

"I catch you using our intel for anything but this mission," Jason hissed, "And I end you, you got that, Robin?"

Jason seemed to think he had the upper hand, but Tim just gave a scornful laugh, "End me? That didn't work out for you so well earlier now, did it?" He clicked the switch of his electric staff and smirked when Jason instinctively stepped backwards to avoid the electric ends. "Now get the fuck out of my room."

The taller man just glared at Tim for a moment before stepping backwards, just past the threshold.

Tim slammed his door. Leaning an ear against the wooden barrier, he listened for Jason's steps as the man walked back down the stairs. Only when he was sure that Jason was out of the vicinity did he slowly turn around. He slid his back against the door as he sat to the ground.

"What the hell am I doing," Tim mumbled to himself, clutching his short hair between his fingers.

For the time being it seemed that he and Jason would be working side by side… and by extension he'd be working with the al Ghuls. Tim let that sink in. He was working alongside of one of Batman's oldest enemies. And if he was working on the same side as the enemy… what did that exactly make Tim?

It took nearly half an hour for Tim to configure his door so that it could not be accessed from the outside. Locks and triggers that he'd stored in his utility belt on the way over spanned from floor to upper frame. Though the door had already had locks he could have used, he absolutely did not trust that they hadn't been tampered with somehow. Tim never did hear Jason come back upstairs as it seemed like the other man couldn't stomach sleeping on the same floor as the person who'd attacked him earlier either.

Finally, completely exhausted, but at least relieved that no one would be making any uninvited entries anytime soon, Tim crawled onto his cot in a heap. He fell asleep so fast that he didn't even remember his last thought before he was pulled under.

That night, Tim dreamt a memory.

It played out in the way that dreams normally do, lengthening in some areas and whittling down in others. Playing at experiences and places and sounds in a chaotic dance. Edging Tim just close enough to awareness that he could offer some input, but never lending him control. Because here, subconscious ruled, and all logic and reason were finally put to rest.

Tim, both nineteen and thirteen, in the chaotic way self was usually portrayed in dreams, stood on the ledge of a rooftop, so tall that the clouds floated below him. No matter that in reality the rooftop had probably been two stories at most, because hush reality, it has no place here. A plunging expanse separated Tim from another boy on a rooftop who beckoned him with a goading holler. Dick, Dick was waiting for him.

"Come on Tim! I don't have all day."

Dream Tim hesitated, both nineteen and thirteen, wearing a red suit with a gold R emblazoned on his chest. Another exaggeration? Tim couldn't have been Robin at that point, could he?

He hopped on his heels, nervous energy gathering. Oh how badly he wanted his feet to move. Oh how badly he wanted to impress the boy on the other side.

"It's just for practice, Timbers. Just aim straight for me" me me me. The word echoed in ways words didn't in the real world, becoming louder and louder until they rang like a thundering clap, propelling him forward.

Tim ran. Tim jumped.

He jumped over stars that whistled like comets beneath him. He jumped over faceless crowds that oohed and ahhed at the flying bird. He jumped over ocean waves that lapped up at him, trying to pull him into their murky depths. He jumped over a blackened expanse, where vicious voices hissed not enough, not enough.

At some point dream Tim, both thirteen and nineteen but maybe actually twelve, eleven, or ten, realized that he hadn't jumped far enough. His feet wouldn't make it to the other ledge. With every year he regressed, his legs became shorter and shorter, rendering the landing impossible. Nine, eight, seven.

Stupid to think he could do it. Stupid to even try.

But just as he braced himself to hit the wall, far below his intended target, a hand reached out, fisted into his red hoodie (because apparently, he was wearing an old and worn red hoodie now, one that belonged to nineteen-year Tim, but had belonged to someone else back then) and forcefully pulled him forward, granting the last burst of velocity he needed.

Tim's body crashed into Dick's, the older boy's arms wrapping around him as they tumbled together onto the cement floor with an oomph. For a moment, side by side the two boys just looked at each other. Fifteen-year-old Dick, stunned expression at first… but maybe a hint of pride in those eyes? Tim, definitely thirteen now, shaking from shock, exhilaration, fear? Some combination of the three.

Then Dick erupted in rowdy laughter and both hands roughly through Tim's cropped hair. "You did it Tim! I knew you could."

And oh how Tim could have melted into a puddle of pleasure right there. Just knowing that he'd been the one to make the older boy proud. Seeing the pride radiating from Dick's joyous face as he beamed down at him.

"Dick's Face." But it hadn't been Dick that day now had it?

No, it had been another boy who'd caught him. A boy who, on that particular sunny afternoon, had been having one of his good days. Good days that came so few and so far in between. One of those days where he wasn't so angry; angry at every wickedness that the world had dolled out on him. Far too many and far too cruel for a child of fifteen years. One of those days where he wasn't so defensive; defensive that the upbringing of a younger boy, Tim, would mean his eventual replacement. Because of course he was irreplaceable. One of those days where he wasn't so scared; scared that eventually everyone would wise up to the kind of person he really was and leave him. Leave him alone with all that fear and all that anger that he'd tried so hard to keep from bubbling over and burning everything he touched.

Tim liked the boy best on those days, because those were the days where the boy radiated like the sun. So bright and so magnificent that Tim instinctively knew that all he had to do was stick close to him, because surely some of that sun would gather onto him as well.

It was still Dick's face that beamed at him. But even dream Tim knew that that face was a lie.

The next morning, Tim would remember what he'd dreamt. And like he'd done so many times throughout the years, he'd ignore it; tuck it away in his mind like the wayward fragment that it was. Because whatever that memory had meant back then, it wasn't much use to him now, now was it?

Thank you so so much for reading! Please leave a review if you're able, they always make my day! Until next time! -Green