Content warnings can be found at the end of this chapter.

It was about a week later when the reality of what he'd revealed fully hit Tim. He had gone to sleep on a chilly weeknight in November perfectly fine, but, then again, that was usually the case before the worst of his nightmares.

Tim's nightmares had become a lot more vivid after his biological father died. Sure, Tim had had nightmares before that, but they were the kind of nightmares he'd gotten as a child—a confusing mish-mash of scenes playing out in front of him that always seemed terrifying until he woke up and couldn't even remember what he'd been dreaming about. After his father was murdered, it was like going from black-and-white to color. Now, he remembered his dreams, could replay them for days after the fact. According to Wren, this was common among those with post-traumatic stress disorder.

The night started like so many others, with a weird dream concocted by a recharging brain that didn't know what to do with itself. But, in the middle of Tim playing Wii Monopoly against his newest brother, the Riddler, things shifted. Tim wasn't in the Wayne Manor theater anymore but instead standing in a decrepit warehouse. Tim knew they were in Gotham, just as he knew that the screaming coming from behind him was Steph being tortured by Joker. Tim wanted to turn around and run to her, but he couldn't move. He could never move in these sorts of dreams. He couldn't even speak. But then Joker was in front of Tim, straddling Steph and bashing her head with a crowbar.

She looked over at Tim, screaming in pain, but he could also clearly hear her saying, "You never should have told me," referring, of course, to the fact that Tim had told her his identity when he'd had to leave Gotham for Keystone City after the Cataclysm. And then she'd slipped up in front of Cluemaster, and word quickly got around that Tim Drake was Robin and Stephanie Brown was his weakness. Tim knew all this immediately, despite it never having been said to him.

The crack of her skull breaking was only rivaled in its gruesomeness by the bits of her brain that clung to the crowbar, a sight Tim had once seen before in real life, and thus he had a pretty realistic frame of reference for his dream.

But Steph was gone now, and it was Jason in his Red Hood bodysuit who was now being electrocuted by Black Mask. He was screaming, his voice low and guttural. Again, it was a sound Tim had heard before.

"Why did she tell him?" he whimpered, referring, of course, to the fact that his birth mother had revealed his identity to Black Mask, who wanted to take revenge on Tim by killing his brother in front of him.

I never should have told them, he wanted to say, even though he didn't actually remember what 'them' he was thinking of. I never should have told them.

But now he was just outside of the kitchen of his Keystone apartment, and Hermione lay on the tile. Above her, Captain Boomerang brought down his trademark weapon repeatedly into her chest, sending blood everywhere.

"YOU KNOW WHO HE IS!" Captain Boomerang roared, plunging his boomerang into her already-bloodied stomach.

"I'LL NEVER TELL YOU!" she screamed back, and then she shrieked when she was stabbed again for this comment.

"THEN YOU'LL DIE LIKE HIS FATHER!" he shouted, and Tim watched helplessly as he proceeded to stab her again and again and again and again—

You told her, her death is on you, you killed her, you killed them, you killed him, you killed them, you killed them you killed them—

"TIM!"

He was in bed, someone's hand was on his shoulder, and so Tim reacted before he could think about what he was doing. He grabbed the offending wrist and dug his thumb into its palm, and, with his other hand, he grabbed the attached arm and pulled it towards himself while simultaneously pushing away its hand and twisting it at the wrist.

"Fuck!" Whoever had grabbed Tim dropped down, but Tim didn't release his hold on their arm. His mind was still busy thinking about Hermione laying on the ground, and now that Tim could finally move, by God, he was going to take down Captain Boomerang—

"Jesus Christ, Tim, it's me! Purdie!"

Oh god. Had Captain Boomerang gotten his hands on Purdie, too?

"Ow, ow, ow, fuck, Tim, lemme go!"

"Somebody grab Professor Flitwick!"

"Petrificus—"

"No, Terry, stop! That'll just make him panic more!"

Just like Dad, Tim thought, the image of the bloodied body still fresh in his mind. It's just like Dad, it's just like Dad…

"Shit, I think he said something about his dad!"

"I got Profess—"

"Merlin's beard! Everyone, get out of the way!"

"—love to, Teach, but I'm a little busy trying to not have my arm torn off—!"

Wait, why are there so many Ravenclaws in my apartment?

Why am I in bed?

I'm sweaty, I'm so sweaty, why am I sweaty…?

Tim let go of his attacker's hand.

"Oh, thank the Maker," he heard Anthony whimper on his right. Huh. So that wasn't Captain Boomerang.

Wait…I'm in bed…my heart is racing, everything is buzzing around me…

Oh. Oh. Tim's brain finally caught itself up.

He'd just woken up from a nightmare.

He didn't say anything as Flitwick escorted him down the staircases, the short man holding his hand tightly and murmuring vague comforts to him.

"There, there, Tim, it's going to be all right, we're just going to take a little walk to see Madam Pomfrey, that's all…"

Tim tried to collect himself before they reached the Hospital Wing, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes, but all he could see, eyes opened or shut, was his father's corpse splayed across kitchen tile. It made him nauseous. It made him want to cry.

Madam Pomfrey's living quarters were attached to her office and the Hospital Wing, meaning that they needed only to go a couple doors past the Hospital Wing to reach her. Flitwick knocked politely on the door twice, giving Tim's hand an affirming squeeze as they waited. The school's matron was at the door within a minute, looking Tim up and down and then slinging an arm around his shoulder and leading him into the Hospital Wing.

"Oh, you poor thing," she whispered as she opened a glass cabinet in the back and started searching through the shelved potions. "Was it a nightmare?"

Tim nodded blankly, swallowing down the bile bubbling up in his throat. God, there's so much blood, he thought as he saw his father's mangled body. Why did it have to be so bloody?

"Drink this, dear." Madam Pomfrey pressed a bottle into Tim's hands, and he unconsciously brought it to his lips and downed it, suddenly feeling very parched.

The effect was instantaneous. Tim took a deep breath, the tension flowing out of his body, and closed his eyes, but this time, he did not see his father's body, just the blessed darkness.

"W-what is this?" he whispered, staring at the empty flask in his hand. He felt all warm and bubbly and peaceful.

"Calming Draught, child," Madam Pomfrey told him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Surprisingly, Tim didn't flinch at the touch. "Helps when we start to panic."

There's a magical cure for nightmares. Tim had read about this potion, but he had never brewed it before, like most of the potions he'd learned over the summer. He just hadn't expected it to be this…potent. If he had known he could stop a panic attack with a swig of a Calming Draught, he would have already stocked up on them.

He spent ten more minutes sitting on a bed in the Hospital Wing before Madam Pomfrey discharged him, and as Tim was led back to Ravenclaw Tower by a very relieved Flitwick, he couldn't quite forget that bubbly feeling from before.

Over the next week, Tim patiently answered the swarm of questions the three Gryffindors had about him whenever they hung out, while they, in turn, answered any questions Tim had about Hogwarts, the wizarding world, and the Order of the Phoenix. It ranged from him correcting various misconceptions about foreign magic (no, Wonder Woman was not a witch, and neither was Hawkwoman) to him walking them through the deductions he had made since arriving at Hogwarts (he'd bugged Umbridge's office, it was no coincidence that he had come to Harry's rescue when he had); in turn, they informed him on the crazy adventures they had been through over the past four years (no, Harry did not have a Philosopher's Stone any more, which was a relief, because Tim wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to have done with that information anyways). And, even though Tim knew it was coming—had known since Hermione had casually mentioned it before—a shiver still ran up his spine when the topic was finally broached.

"But you're not a member of the JLA," Ron repeated.

"Not technically, no."

"But you still do vigilante work in Gotham," said Hermione.

Years and years of conditioning made Tim absolutely sick in the stomach at the prospect of revealing his secret identity. But Tim honestly found that rule more than a little stifling, and since Bruce wasn't here to enforce it, Tim decided to come clean, just to spite his paranoid father.

Tim nodded. "Yeah. I work with Batman."

"Are you Robin?" she asked.

Tim's face turned cherry red. "Wha—?" Was he Robin? "No—no, of course not, Damian's Robin, he's been Robin for, like, two years now!"

"Who's Damian?" Harry asked.

"He's one of my little brothers."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Ron held out his hands in front of him. "You're telling me that not only do you fight Muggle criminals without magic, but your younger brother also does? How old is he, mate?"

"Thirteen."

Harry spat out his pumpkin juice all over the grass. "T-thirteen? What the hell? And he's fighting full-grown adults?"

"Trust me," Tim assured him, "if you knew Damian, you'd be much more worried about the safety of the adults."

"So, you two fight side-by-side?" said Ron.

Tim shrugged. "Sometimes. It really depends on where we're needed and if those places ever align."

"So, what, you go solo most of the time?" Harry said.

"Oh, no, I rarely go solo nowadays. I'm usually patrolling with at least one other person."

"Wait…" Hermione said slowly, her bushy brows furrowing. "Tim, how many vigilantes do you work with?"

How many—oof. That's a hard question. Tim started ticking off fingers. There are seven active Waynes, plus Kate, Steph, Helena…if you help out behind the scenes, does that count? Then Barb, Alfred, and Cullen would all count. And that's not even including reserve members like Harper and Tim Fox and Selina and Renee…

Tim abandoned his count. "Let's just say a dozen or so."

"And they're all your siblings?" Ron breathed, aghast. "Blimey, and I thought I had a big family."

"Oh, no, no," Tim laughed. "No, only five of them are my siblings. My dad's basically the one in charge, and his wife also goes out occasionally with us. My SO's a regular, so's my dad's cousin, and her SO helps out occasionally…There're others, but those are the ones most closely related to me."

Hermione stared at him, slack-jawed. "Bruce Wayne is Batman?"

If there was one thing Tim loved about revealing his secret identity, it was the reactions people had to finding out that his father, Bruce Wayne, was Batman.

He grinned. "Yep." He held up a finger to his mouth. "But that's kind of a big secret, so don't go around telling anyone."

"Don't look at me, I don't even know who Bruce Wayne is," Ron admitted.

"The name is vaguely familiar," Harry added. "I think Dudley has a WayneTech phone."

"Oh, cool! Is it the Quark V?" Tim asked excitedly. "Or the Tundra?" Those were the most recent models that Tim had had a direct hand in designing, and he was rather proud of the final product.

Harry was clearly flustered by this. "I—I don't know. Sorry." Really, Tim should have expected this, but he was still a little disappointed at losing a chance to brag about the long-distance retinal trackers he and his team had perfected.

"So, what's your codename, mate?"

"Red Robin."

"And yet you're mad when we mix you up with Robin?" Hermione remarked dryly.

"Okay, okay, well, I used to be Robin, but—"

"Hold on," she interrupted. "Are you saying that 'Robin' is a title that multiple people have held?"

"Yeah. Five actually. My oldest brother, Dick, was the first. See…"

After one particularly lengthy nighttime-Room-of-Requirement chat in which Tim had ended up explaining a good portion of Gotham's rogues and how evil each of them actually were (the fact that a crazy plant lady and a crazy doctor lady were living a relatively evil-free life together was hard for the Gryffindor trio to fully grasp), he slid into his dorm room to get some well-earned rest going into the weekend. He had just crawled under his sheets when he heard a muffled thump come from the common room.

Naturally, Tim got out of bed to check this out. If something had happened, he always wanted to be the first to know about it. He never wanted to risk the chance that someone was in danger or had gotten hurt but he hadn't shown up in time to help.

But as he rounded the corner of the marble stairs, he found that the common room was seemingly empty. In the nook to his left, some thick tomes lay scattered on the ground, as if they had fallen from the bookshelf, but no one was there. Had the swaying of the tower knocked this particular bookshelf temporarily off-balance? The explanation seemed too easy for Tim, but that was probably because he was used to solving complex scenarios set up by, say, the Riddler, on a weekly basis.

The only reason Tim was able to react fast enough to the first attack was that he noticed one of the curtains move out of the corner of his eye. He twirled around and blocked the punch, kicking the person's left knee and sending them to the ground. As he turned back around to face the rest of the common room, his eyes jumped from assassin to assassin scattered about the furniture. He counted seventeen at first glance.

"Master Timothy," one of them started, addressing him with an Arabic honorific. "The Head of the Demon has requested your presence. We are here to escort you."

"Of course you are," Tim muttered in English to himself before switching to Arabic to address the assassins. "I'm afraid I have to politely decline," he told them. "I have previous commitments."

"Your presence is required. We will use force if necessary."

There wasn't really a doubt as to whether or not force would be necessary. When dealing with Ra's al Ghul, force was usually necessary. Three assassins rushed towards Tim, weapons raised, vaulting nimbly over couches and chairs. As soon as the first came within an arm's reach of Tim, he ducked down and slid his foot under their leg, tripping them up. They dropped their staff and fell down with a loud thump, which was when Tim realized that this was not going to be as easy as he had predicted.

He winced at the noise. Any more prominent sounds would be enough to wake up the other students, and that was the last thing Tim needed on his plate. He automatically reached down to grab his opponent's staff before remembering that the clanging of metal on metal would be enough to wake the entirety of Ravenclaw tower and then some. So, he'd have to do this unarmed. Swell.

Needless to say, Tim's hand-to-hand combat skills, while impressive to the average person, were not up to snuff with the members of the League of Assassins. Stick weapons were really where Tim's strength lay, along with his uncanny ability to predict his opponents next moves like he was rereading a book for the sixth time. Usually, if Tim was weaponless in a fight against assassins like these, his first priority would be securing a weapon, but that wasn't an option right now.

It was taking all that Tim had just to keep the assassins at bay. He had narrowly avoided at least four darts that he assumed carried a sedative. But this certainly wasn't the kind of thing he could keep up much longer. What he needed to do was lure them out of the tower and into a secluded area where he could safely let loose. He slowly shifted the battle closer and closer to the spiral staircase built into the floor. As long as he could get them to follow him out, he could lead them wherever he wanted.

Of course, that was when things went from bad to worse. This was in the form of him noticing out of the corner of his eye a shadow moving down the staircase from the girls' dormitories.

Fuck, someone's coming! Before Tim could try and pretend that no one was there, the other assassins took notice of the way his gaze had sat a moment too long on the staircase, and two of the assassins readied their weapons and headed in that direction.

No, no, no, nononono…

All bets were off now. There were innocent lives at risk. He rolled to his left out of the reach of the assassins and made a rush for that staff from before. He snatched it up and sprinted towards the assassins making their way to the staircase.

The shadow was getting bigger. A figure emerged from obscurity, their face becoming more recognizable as the candlelight unmasked them.

Oh god.

Aruna's face poked out of a large mane of untamed black hair, her dark eyes widening at the scene into which she had just entered.

Tim immediately abandoned all plans to keep things quiet. As he made eye contact with her, he could see how tense she was. In fact, she was only looking at him, seemingly less bothered by the two assassins rushing towards her.

He tried to warn her, shouting, "Aruna, don't—!" but he wasn't able to finish the thought, as another assassin was approaching him from his left with a pair of nunchaku. Without missing a beat, Tim swung his staff around into his opponent's side and then whipped it over his shoulder to catch the assassin coming from behind. He turned back just in time to see Aruna pull her wand out and attempt to cast a simple Stunner. Her mouth had barely begun to form the first syllable when one of the enemy's darts imbedded itself into her neck, and she immediately collapsed into the hands of a ready assassin.

And it was just as Tim had realized that he had been watching this scene play out for far longer than he could afford that something pierced his neck and took him down.

Dammit, Ra's, was the last thing he could remember thinking.

Me? End on a cliffhanger? Never...
Okay but for realsies, writing dreams is the easiest thing ever because I can mix up all of my DC knowledge without having to fact check what belongs to what storyline. Stephanie Brown was tortured? Yes. The Joker tortured one of the Bats? Also yes. Thus the Joker tortured Steph? Uh...sure?

CW: semi-graphic depictions of violence in the context of a dream