A/N: Well, email alerts and some other aspects of this site are currently broken for me and who knows how many other people, so I feel a bit like the band going down with the Titanic at this point…

Chapter 19: Into the Fire

I know there's no such thing as time
I know there's no such thing as mine
I try to calm and still the rising tide
—Regina Spektor, "Spacetime Fairytale" (excerpt)

ROBIN

"Leave the Kryptonite," ordered Batgirl.

"You can have it. I got what I came for," Red Hood said easily, leaping towards her with a swift kick that she dodged, knocking him momentarily off-guard, but he recovered quickly.

"Which is?"

"The lay of the land." She sprang at him, faster than he could move, but the device was already in his gloved hand, and all it took was one press of a button for the lids of the crates they'd discovered earlier to pop open. Guns lifted, forcing her to dive for cover as the video exploded into a blinding cacophony.

Tim hit the rewind button again, sending the images on the Batcomputer screen skittering backwards. He rubbed his eyes and was moving the cursor to the seek bar when the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Probably just the bats, he thought, blinking hard as he redoubled his efforts to dissect the case file before him.

For over a week, Gotham's newest crime lord had been systematically targeting Black Mask's operations in a clear bid to wrestle control of the city. But what Tim found most disconcerting about this opponent was that the Red Hood alias had once belonged to the villain now known as the Joker. Regardless of whether it indicated retribution or a tribute, such a connection could not be coincidental. One more thing bothered him—the fact that Batman did not seem in any hurry to confront Red Hood himself, almost as if—

"Tim."

Tim did not jump, but it was a near thing. He squeezed his aching eyes shut for a moment, then answered, "Yes?"

Bruce's footsteps echoed in the Batcave as he approached, coming to a stop behind Tim, who spun his chair around reluctantly. There were creases resting between Bruce's eyebrows as he asked, "How long have you been down here?"

Tim had no idea. He checked the time on the computer, but he was sure that Bruce registered the subtle glance. It was mid-morning; too wired to sleep, he had stumbled downstairs sometime after Batman and Batgirl's patrol had ended. He knew that he was still wearing the clothes he had slept in, and his knuckles were freshly bruised from an impromptu punching bag workout, but he also knew that there were much more important things for Bruce to be worrying about.

"Maybe a few hours?" he answered, squirming a little under the intensity of Bruce's gaze. "Couldn't sleep, so I came down here to work off some steam. Look," he added, changing the subject, "I've been going over everything we know about Red Hood, including Batgirl's cowl recording of the night you met, and I really think there's something going on here that we haven't picked up on."

"He's a new player in town, deliberately challenging Black Mask's authority," Bruce said, leaving Tim disappointed; he had thought that Bruce would welcome any assistance with the case. "Such a conflict was only a matter of time."

"But you said there was something in it," Tim insisted, jumping to his feet. "You wrote in your report"—he jabbed a finger at the screen—"that there was something familiar about Red Hood's motions. He cut your line before it went taut—that would have to have been practised." Listen to me, he begged, silently willing that familiar gleam to appear in Bruce's eyes: the look that told Tim without words that he was being taken seriously—that he was heard.

Good work, Robin.

But Bruce was giving Tim a strange look, as if he were looking right through him and seeing some part of him that Tim himself was unaware of. It made Tim want to twitch out of his skin. He did not want Bruce's pity, not when he was so close to a breakthrough—when Bruce had promised.

"Tim, I…" Bruce's voice cracked. Taken aback, Tim looked up to see that Bruce was similarly startled; his eyes were wide, and he seemed unable to speak.

"Batgirl thinks so too," Tim insisted. "She doesn't know him, but she thinks that it's as if you've both had the same training—"

"Tim." Bruce sounded hoarse. "Stop."

Tim automatically screeched to a halt. Annoyed at both himself and Bruce, he shoved the chair aside, gesturing Bruce closer to the computer. "Listen," he said. "I have a theory, and I just need to be sure—"

Bruce did not turn his attention to the computer, but instead kept his eyes fixed on Tim. "No," he ordered, in Batman's deeper timbre, cold and unyielding. "I'm pulling you off this case."

Tim stumbled. His back pressed into the edge of the computer desk. "What?" he breathed.

"In light of recent events—"

His blood ran cold for an instant, before hot anger pulsed through him so fast that he felt as if he might burst. "Bruce!"

"—it might be best if you took a break from—"

Tim couldn't believe what he was hearing. "No!" he cried, desperation shattering the remains of his self-control. "You can't pull me from being Robin—I'm not even being Robin right now! You can't argue that I'm putting myself in danger or disobeying orders, and I don't even have to go out as Robin to solve this if you'll just let me work! I know how to do this, and I can. You said you'd work with me—you promised to help me become emancipated!" His voice had risen louder and louder without him realising, culminating in what was practically a yell that reverberated through the Batcave.

He did not know what kind of response he had wanted to provoke—he knew that Bruce was rarely swayed by inarticulate, impassioned pleas—but he was dissatisfied with what he saw. Bruce had a distracted expression and only reacted by wincing at the end of Tim's speech, saying, "Don't—"

"Tim?" came a new voice.

Tim had been so caught up—stupid, stupid—that he had failed to notice Dana descending the stairs, and could only watch, heart pounding, as she approached them now, her eyes flicking between him and Bruce.

"You promised to help him?" she whispered, voice high with disbelief. "Oh, Tim, can we talk about this? Please—I know you're working on something important here, but Mr McBride said…"

Fuck Mr McBride, Tim wanted to say. He opened his mouth.

"No," interjected Bruce. "He isn't working on it."

"Bruce!" Tim protested, too stunned to be articulate. Embarrassment flooded him, and he knew that his ears were turning red.

"Dana is right," Bruce said. "Until you decide otherwise, I am still your legal guardian. And until you've seriously considered your own future—beyond expressing half-baked ideas—and made steps to pursue it yourself, the Batcave is off-limits." Then, while Tim stood stock-still, unable to breathe, Bruce moved to the computer and shut it down in a matter of seconds.

Tim found his voice. "You can't be serious. You need my skills—Batman needs a Robin—I need this!"

"No. What you need is a break. Take some time off. Spend it with Dana or Stephanie or Dick. Let me handle this case." Bruce was speaking calmly, but his tone was so full of authority that Tim could not hear the simple words as anything less than direct orders, Batman to Robin.

Understanding struck him with force, and he reeled. "You don't trust me."

"Tim—that's not true!" said Dana.

At the same moment, Bruce's face hardened, and he said brusquely, "This isn't about trust."

But Tim could not stand it any longer. If Bruce refused to listen, then there was nothing else he could do here.

"Keep telling yourself that," he muttered. Abruptly, he spun away from both of them and stalked over to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Dana hurried after him, but he pretended not to hear her calling his name or feel her feather-light touch on his arm, and she let him go.

It was only when he was upstairs, breathing heavily in the stillness of Bruce's office, that Tim realised that Bruce had made no attempt to stop him leaving. Of course, he thought, he doesn't want me working cases, so why would he let me stay in the Batcave?

Since the end of the gang war, it had been clear to Tim that Bruce wanted very little to do with him. Tim had practically had to beg to be allowed to stay overnight at the Manor, and although Bruce had relented at the time, Tim had since observed Bruce taking every opportunity to send him away—whether it was refusing to let him stay by Dick's side to help his brother, bundling Tim off to Blüdhaven on a mission that had proven to be difficult and short-lived, or constantly making him work with Batgirl even though she had her own place and had always been more independent. Was it any wonder that Bruce was dismissing Tim's efforts now?

Tim was not blind. He had seen how much time Batgirl had been spending under Batman's tutelage, building her detective skills so that she could be a more well-rounded vigilante. He had also happened upon the piece of paper that lay in the top drawer of the computer desk—had read its contents with numb lips as he envisioned what they meant for Bruce Wayne and Cassandra Cain. Face burning, he had quickly shut the drawer and returned to the case file, but once known, such information could not be easily forgotten.

Hey… you wouldn't… fire me, would you?

Do you really think I could replace you?

That conversation with Bruce seemed so long ago now—before Bruce had betrayed Tim's identity to Steph, before Tim had been obliged to give up Robin and Bruce had replaced him with his girlfriend practically overnight. Bruce could dole out platitudes as much as he liked, but the fact remained that Batman had no more use for either Tim or Robin, and was just waiting for Tim to understand.

There was only one thing that didn't make sense—why had Bruce promised to help Tim become an emancipated minor, and yet seemed so reluctant about the prospect now? Surely it would have the benefit of making their relationship much more professional—no awkward guilt or obligation on Bruce's part, no unrequited sentiments on Tim's.

It was so quiet in the study that Tim could hear his own heart thumping rapidly. His body felt taut as a wire, and it was another moment before he could make himself relax, finally believing that neither Bruce nor Dana was coming up to confront him.

Dad would never have let Tim storm out like that; then again, Tim would never spoken to his father like that in the first place. The guilt and grief warring within him welled up suddenly, becoming an uncompromising whole, and Tim hastily left the room, trying to ignore how his eyes were stinging.

I won't stop, he told himself, pushing away everything that had happened since Bruce had interrupted his efforts on the Batcomputer. I can't stop. He won't believe anything until he sees proof, so I won't rest until I get it.

BATMAN

It seemed that Bruce could do nothing right regarding Tim. It did not help that Tim's recent behaviour seemed, at least to Bruce, to be wildly inconsistent, and out of character in a way that was concerning. He saw now that he had been so preoccupied with Dick that he had become far too reliant on Tim's ability to bounce back. Dick had been through an immense amount of trauma in a short period—but then, so had Tim. The only real difference, Bruce realised, a chill running through him, was that Tim had been better at masking—until recently, when his pent-up emotions had twice burst out of him, leaving carnage in his wake.

What Tim actually needed was the time and space to fully process all that had happened. Only then, Bruce believed, when Tim's mind was clear of the anguish and recklessness that currently controlled him, would he be able to devote himself to Robin again.

Overcompensating. In denial. Grieving.

Bruce put his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers as he thought. Dana had originally come to the Batcave in search of Tim; after his abrupt departure, she had spent some time muttering to herself in an agony of indecision before finally appealing to Bruce for advice.

"Do you think I should go talk to him?"

Bruce shook his head. "He's smart. With time, he'll understand the right decision himself."

"But he has this habit of running away when he's unhappy," Dana said, and then her eyes widened, and Bruce could tell that she had just realised where Tim must have run to in the past.

"I know."

"I really do have to go out—I'm meeting with a client this afternoon—but if he says anything else, will you let me know?"

Bruce had agreed, of course. But, like Dana, he had a persistent feeling of unease that told him there was something else he had missed—not about the Red Hood, as Tim had insisted—but about Tim himself.

"Master Bruce." Alfred had come down and was standing stiffly near the stairs. "Miss Stephanie has asked to speak with you."

Taken aback, Bruce withdrew from his thoughts with some difficulty. "Did she say why?"

"No, sir," said Alfred. He waited, clearly intending to escort Bruce upstairs himself.

Bruce suppressed a sigh. "I'm coming," he said, standing up. No doubt Steph had heard from Tim what had happened in the Batcave that morning. But he had no idea if she would agree with Bruce's decision. He had not wanted to remove Tim from the case—he knew that Tim was immensely capable, probably even more than Tim himself realised—but the decision had had everything to do with the timing of the whole affair.

This had always been a rule of Robin—homework done and civilian duties kept up with before embarking on patrol or tackling another case. But Tim, in his frenzied state, had been so shaken up by the disruption of their status quo over the last few weeks and months that Bruce had felt he had no choice but to intervene.

Bruce followed Alfred up the stairs to Stephanie's room. She had been recovering from her severe injuries for some weeks now, and Alfred had cleared her to take short walks around her room and the hallway to build up her strength again. As he turned the corner, he saw her standing in front of the large stained-glass window at the end of the corridor, the colours streaking through her blonde hair and making her look, for a moment, almost well again. When she saw him, she gave a bright smile.

"Dana helped me go outside yesterday," she said, eyes flitting to the distorted patches of outside visible through the glass. "When it wasn't raining, I mean. Did you know that there are fifteen tiny metal bats in the corners of the wrought-iron fence on the west side?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Sixteen," he corrected. "Who do you think put them there?"

She laughed. "I guess that means they're not just for decoration. Hidden cameras? Or bugs?"

"Of a sort." Bruce saw that she was leaning more heavily on the wall now, her face paler than before; he offered his arm and she took it, letting him lead her back to her room.

"That's not really what I want to talk to you about," she said slowly, when she was settled back in bed, propped up on the pillows. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, and… well, there's something I need to tell you."

Bruce's heart raced. He had expected her to bring up Tim, but that did not seem to be where this conversation was headed. Had she been considering what she would do once she had recovered fully and it was safe enough for her to live with her mother again? Since Jack Drake's death and even before, he had barely spoken to her beyond brief interactions, and he felt a pang of guilt erupt within him as he remembered what Selina had told him when she had visited the Manor and glimpsed Steph's tear-stained face.

Are you blind? She's lonely!

"Go on," he said. Stephanie met his gaze, biting her lip.

"It's about the gang war. And… everything."

For an instant, it was as if the breath had been knocked from his lungs; he saw her again as she had been in the clinic, pale and still as death, and it was all he could do to keep himself in the present. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"I was wrong, and I'm sorry." The words burst out of her. "I should never have been Robin, and I should never have disobeyed you. I broke every rule you gave me, and then still didn't have a clue why you fired me. I get it now. It isn't a game—any of it. I hurt Tim so badly. I should have realised it was a mistake as soon as they all started shooting each other, but I just kept getting in the way and making things worse, and now I've ruined everything…" Steph's voice broke, but she valiantly refused to let the tears fall as she stared glassy-eyed at a faraway spot on the blankets before her.

Damn it. He had intended to impress upon her the gravity of what she had done, not encourage such bitter, destructive self-reproach. He took a long, slow breath. "Look at me, Steph."

She did so, and he saw in her eyes that she had learnt her lesson—if far too well.

"I am only going to say this once," he said, selecting his words with care as he kept his voice low. "How the gang war began, what you did to cause it—none of that matters anymore."

"But it does—it has to!"

"Why? So you can continue to punish yourself for a mistake?"

Steph jerked back as if his words had been a physical blow. "What?"

"I reminded you that you've made mistakes because I know that you're capable of learning from them." First Dick, then Tim, now Steph… a pattern of trauma followed by self-blame had emerged from the fallout of the gang war, and Bruce did not like what he saw.

"Okay," she said, frowning as if she did not believe him, and it took a moment before everything snapped into place, and he understood her hesitation. It was little wonder she had previously been unable to grasp the seriousness of their mission. She had never known the reason behind it, because that was tied to the greatest secret of all—one that she had only learnt a few weeks ago.

"I must… apologise," he said heavily, and her eyes went wide. "It was a mistake to train you without informing you of my identity." And then, as she listened, he borrowed anguish from his eight-year-old self and poured it into the words that left his lips, feeling once again the echo of that old ache as he relived the moments in that alleyway and afterwards that had led to the formation of Batman.

"I swore an oath. To fight against crime and corruption, and never swerve from the path of justice. I became Batman because I wanted to prevent even one more person from going through what I did."

"What about Robin?" she asked.

So he related to her an abbreviated version of events, similar in scope to what had told Dana, while she listened, and if there was one part where he had to look away for a long moment until he could speak again, neither acknowledged it.

When he had finished, she was silent for a minute, and then asked, "Do you regret letting me be Robin?"

This direct question, delivered in hushed words, still had the effect of catching Bruce off-guard, so that a myriad of thoughts rushed through his head before he was able to respond. He had to be deliberate about how he answered, because he knew that Stephanie had reminded him of another Robin long before she had summoned a vision of him with her death.

"Choosing you… no," he said. "I have no regrets about deciding to train you, only about the circumstances. For what it's worth—I treated you badly, and for that… I apologise." There was more, but it would do more harm than good to tell her the essence of what he had told Dick about Jason all those years ago.

I admit it. I was lonely.

He turned away, not wanting her to see the sudden emotion that made him unable to speak.

"Um," she said. "Batman?"

"Yes?" He looked back to see her holding out her hand and biting her lip.

"I'll forgive you if you forgive me."

The shock of it sent a smile to his face before he could think. He felt a warm glow in his chest quell all previous thought as he grasped her hand and squeezed it gently.

"Forgiveness is not conditional," he said. "But… I accept your offer."

Now was the time to tell her. Now, while her attention was so fixed on him and he still had his nerve. All he had to do was form with his lips the words of the secret that she was at the centre of—how she had been so completely betrayed by someone they all trusted implicitly.

Leslie faked your death.

He opened his mouth.

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Stephanie called, before Bruce could speak.

Alfred appeared, and though nothing about him would have been amiss to the casual observer, Bruce felt his heart rate spike as he was overwhelmed with the immediate impression that something was wrong.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Master Tim and Miss Cassandra are missing."

Bruce was on his feet in an instant. "Do you know why?"

"Yes, sir." Alfred held a folded sheet of notepaper out to Bruce, who took it with numb fingers and opened it as Alfred continued, "They've taken the Batplane."

A/N: For those of you who love Cassandra's point of view so much, she'll be back in the next chapter, along with Dick. Also, thank you again for your patience—I had to rewrite the second scene a lot before I was happy with it.

Sources:

Tim said, "Hey… you wouldn't… fire me, would you?" and Bruce responded with, "Do you really think I could replace you?" in Robin (1993) #74.

Bruce revealed Tim's civilian identity to Steph in Robin (1993) #87.

Bruce admitted to Dick that he took in Jason because he was lonely in Batman #416.