Timothy 'Tim' Drake-Wayne. 17. Highschool dropout working for Wayne Enterprises during the day while downing the Red Robin cowl at night.
mun is 24, blog is nsfw
Yeah, guess that’s true. Even after this whole campaign, I’m still not really used to it. I just get so tired of people expecting me to be Lex’s little puppet.
I’ve been to several interviews and galas with Bruce and let me tell you that I’m still not used to them in the slightest. Mainly because you never truly know who’s going to be there and what they’re going to do to hassle you. You can either be the pliant relative or the rebel, but the latter might attract even more papparazi.
Alright, I want to say, just for the record for the millionth time that my views don’t match my uncle’s. How many times to I have to say that before someone actually gets it?
“I thought you learned your lesson last time.” Tim folds his arms over his chest, clad in his Red Robin attire minus the cowl. His hair is a bit ruffled, but it’s been a long night and his usually carefully combed hair is least important at this time. There’s a hint of an amused smile on his lips, eyes not as judging as they usually are. Fondness isn’t the correct term, but the gentle way in which he tilts his head questionally and sighs shows Tim cares enough about the other to want to know what happened this time and how he can possibly assist to make things better.
Okay, so that hadn’t been the most intelligent trap ever set.
And what made it worse was that it hadn’t caught the right person. Because the right person was standing there, looking at her with a smirk that ate her up inside. Stupid Robin. Stupid Bird. Why couldn’t he have sprung the trap instead of her?
“Just what are ya lookin’ at, Bird Brain?!” She squealed at him, swaying side to side as she hung upside-down by the ankles, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her blue eyes glared angrily at him.
“I thought you learned your lesson last time,” he replied.
Ohhhhhh, that was so frustrating! How could he treat her like this? It wasn’t fair! Mistah J never got caught up in his own traps! Why couldn’t she be like that? She was just as smart as the boss. She had to prove it!
The balls at the ends of her jester’s horns dragged across the ground as she swung like a pendulum, back and forth. Back and forth. “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about, Robbie~” She ‘humphed’ and turned her face away, pursing her lips and closing her eyes. “I meant to do this, okay? It’s… it’s all part of the plan and you just don’t realize it. Ha! Joke’s on you, Loser!”
Wow. This really wasn’t working in her favor.
Tim sighed in response, gloved fingers easing the mask over his eyes back in place as it dared to slip off. It had been a long, rainy night and he was lucky to be wearing it underneath his cowl. Better safe than sorry. He gave a firm press and cirled the female jester with a curious look. “Really now, so the trip wire that you set off on your own is simply to distract me from something bigger and better?” he asked hardly convinced by her performance. Still, this was Harley Quinn and she was just as unpredictable as the Joker himself. Chances were there was something he hadn’t noticed yet, but as he observed their surroundings, giving Harley a push to make her twirl and therefore disoriented, Tim concluded this was not the case.
“I think you’re lying to me, Harley.” The masked boy quipped. “This was your plan and it went horribly wrong. Did you truly think I’d fall for a trip wire this thick? I could see it from miles away.” Tim crouched to look down at her, his frowning lips smiling in her upside down view of the world.
“It’s a jewel that alters the physical appearance and voice of the wearer. Only you will see the real you, and others if you want to.” Tim gave a small shrug. “Though I understand why you’d choose not to use it. It would be the same as hiding, pretending to be someone you’re not.” That was the last thing he wished for her and the other alien comrades residing on Earth.
Kori frowned in confusion. “But they are as much of a threat to themselves as any hostile being is to them. I do not understand why humans would label something unknown as dangerous when they are already in danger from something that shares so many similarities with them.” She was not naive when it came to how humans were. They were in danger of dying at any given moment. There were people in this world. People who liked to hurt others because it almost always ended up with them gaining something from it. It was a disgusting way to deal with a life, Kori had concluded when she first came to know of all of this.
She listened to what Tim said and bit down on her lip, frowning slightly. “I am not sure Tim. On one hand it would be nice to not have people stare at me because of how I look but on the other hand I would be feeling that somehow I am scared of showing my true self to anyone.” Tamaranians took pride in showing the true them. It did not matter which side it was, inside or outside, but if there was one thing that all Tamaranians hated it was deception and disguise. But perhaps in this case she might make an exception.
Tim was not about to disagree with Kori’s verbal thoughts. He whole-heartedly agreed, actually. “Humans are walking contradictions, don’t try to get used to it,” he suggested with a lop-sided smile and an apologetic face. Moreoften than not Tim couldn’t fully explain a person’s behaviour either. No matter his detective skills and the evidence that created the motive for whatever crime, primal emotions such as anger and fear couldn’t be truly analyzed.
“I understand your struggle, but should you make up your mind, just give me a call and I’ll help arrange a charm for you.” He pocketed his hands, looking up at the sign once more. He felt like he was hiding his true character every day. Whether he wore the Red Robin attire or one of his carefully taillored suits. The real Tim was hidden beneath those layers, uncertain to show itself, because there were expectations to meet. “I suppose we’re all wearing masks..” Tim muttered out loud, sighing gently. “Keeping up pretenses is what keeps the world spinning, it seems. I wonder what would happen if everything crumbled down. No more masks or walls or lies to hide behind.” His heartbeat accelerated, alarmed at his own thoughts. How terrifying.
It isn’t often that Tim is openly breathing fire. Controlling his emotions, predicting one’s behaviour and manipulating it to his wish is what has aided him through many different situations. But this. Wow. It usually takes someone like Damian to get under his skin like this. Good old G. Gordon Godfrey is close enough though. The man is preposterous, ignorant and in normal speech for people his age: a complete douchenozzle.
“I can’t believe they actually believe that man, that--that--there is no word for people like him,” Tim hisses angrily, motioning to the television that he muted a while back when the man’s non-stop rant of ‘Batman gone rogue’ finally got the better of him. Bruce would never harm anyone in such a way, not even Lex. He knows better than to give in to that dark temptation. There is no hesitation in Tim’s mind as he starts pacing the room, hands fumbling restlessly. “Someone planted the Batarang, it’s so obvious,” he adds after a whole minute of awkward silence. “And I will find out who did it. I won’t allow him to tarnish Batman’s name like this.”
It takes six stitches and a disappointed look from Alfred to remind him what close a call that was. Despite Red Hood’s own stitching, they can’t take any risk. And still the question of ‘why did he bother’ lingers in his mind.His encounter with the man was beyond what Tim expected and Dick was right to suggest to patrol in pairs to prevent the maniac from ambushing him. But he has been arrogant, thinking he can take on the man and expose him, reveal his intentions as he discovered the identity of Batman and Robin. Realizing all the evidence and eye witnesses were planted by the Red Hood himself was a blow to his pride. The one sided fight where he was inferior in agility, power and street smarts was a blow to his confidence. Not to mention the bruises littering his body, making him an odd kind of dalmatian of some sorts.
Tim watches himself in the mirror, shirtless and gazing at the sensitive red flesh that Alfred was kind enough to stitch for him after finally returning to the Cave. There are blue marks, some purple and several greenish. He tilts his head and traces the bruises on his throat, swallowing with difficulty. Speaking was possible, but made him ache. The grip the mad had on his windpipe will be visible for days to come, enough time for his family to notice and question him. Alfred didn’t ask a thing, but it is evident he needs an explanation for Bruce and Dick, whomever he manages to find first.
They need to know, they need to be warned. Red Hood is not the typical madman roaming Gotham streets. He knows. Their names. Their identities. Their tactics. He knows too much to be a stranger and Tim has a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he passes the displays, eyes lingering on the costumes Bruce keeps to remind them of their vulnerability.
"I thought you learned your lesson last time." Tim folds his arms over his chest, clad in his Red Robin attire minus the cowl. His hair is a bit ruffled, but it’s been a long night and his usually carefully combed hair is least important at this time. There’s a hint of an amused smile on his lips, eyes not as judging as they usually are. Fondness isn’t the correct term, but the gentle way in which he tilts his head questionally and sighs shows Tim cares enough about the other to want to know what happened this time and how he can possibly assist to make things better.
“It was a mistake not to tie me up,” he snarled as he took his grappling gun next and attempted a second try at his escape plan. The sound of the gun wouild have caught his attention either way, it was best to startle him with physical pain first.
It didn’t take long for him to finished stitching up the wound, motions neat and precise from years of practice. Even as he pressed a bandage into place over the stitches, Jason wrestled with himself. He could have just left Tim there, he probably should have. Or he could have tried finding the SOS beacon himself. Even just stuffing the wound with gauze would have been quicker and easier. But no, he had to carefully sew it up and bandage it, just in case Tim tore the stitches when he inevitably got up.
Well, it would screw everything up if Tim died now. Yeah, that was it. He didn’t give a damn what happened to the replacement, but all the Bats would come after him if the kid died. And maybe deep down, he knew it wasn’t Tim’s fault Bruce and Dick had moved on.
Letting his guard down was stupid, but Jason was so stuck in his own head, he only noticed that Tim was moving when it was too late to do anything about the disc catching him hard, likely leaving a bruise even with the helmet in place. The blow knocked him back, though he quickly flipped back to his feet. Definitely should have just left Tim there.
“It was a mistake to come out here on your own,” he said in return, teasing lilt in his tone. But he was done now. So he remained where he was, pulling out his gun and firing off a few warning shots, aiming purposefully to miss, though not by much, still wanting to scare him.
It was easy to dodge the bullets, almost too easy. It confirmed the theory in his head: the Red Hood wasn’t out to kill any of them, only to warn Bruce and have him come out to face him. Well, Tim would deliver the message. His grappling gun pulled him up and out of the warehouse where he climbed onto the roof and rolled onto his feet. Swiftly he began to jog, hand pressing to his shoulder where he had most likely ripped the stitches the man had given him. Also something to pass forward: Red Hood wasn’t as vicious as he pretended to be. He wasn’t even following him, wanted him to escape to confront Bruce about his presence in Gotham.
Tim leapt off the building and landed on his feet nimbly like Dick taught him. His bike was a few blocks away and with the signal on, he was assured a safe escape. Looking back over his shoulder, the boy narrowed his gaze. He still didn’t know how Red Hood knew their names. Perhaps it was time Bruce got word of this, and then Tim’d demand an explanation.
The grip he refused to loosen on the man’s jacket slipped, hand reaching up not for the hand around his throat, but the shiny red helmet in which he could see his pained expression. He pressed, pushed, grunted, pushed some more and cursed inwardly as his lungs burnt. Not much later his hand slipped from the helmet, falling to the ground limply, Tim slipping into an unconscious state.
Even as Tim shoved at his helmet, Jason kept his grip tight, expression behind the mask calm and cold. He found himself wondering how hard it would be to just snap Tim’s neck. But as soon as Tim went limp, he let go. Then, despite himself, he hesitated. A quick glance around told him no one was there. They were still alone.
He knelt at Tim’s side and tugged off his glove, holding his bare hand just over the replacement’s nose, checking to make sure he was still breathing. His fingers slid almost gently under Tim’s chin, checking for a pulse. Unconscious, not dead. Good. Just as he had planned. Not that he had been overly concerned about going too far. Though it would complicate matters if he killed Tim now, which was the main reason he held back.
But he still lingered. It didn’t seem as though Tim had activated any sort of distress beacon. Which was a poor choice on his part. Because with that wound in his shoulder, once the knife was gone, it was only a matter of time before he lost too much blood. Rising, Jason stared at the knife. Maybe he should just leave it.
Turning on his heel, he took a few steps away before he stopped, hands curling into fists at his sides as he glanced back at Tim’s prone form on the ground. Damn it. He let out a huff and turned right back around, dropping to one knee again as he pulled medical supplies from his jacket. It would screw everything up if he let Tim die, at least that’s what he kept telling himself as he carefully pulled out the knife and applied disinfectant to the wound before carefully stitching it up.
It wasn’t until Jason was packing his stuff once more that Tim regained conscious. One of the first lessons Bruce taught him was to stay quiet and use your senses. Listen, feel, smell. There was the distinct smell of disinfectant and blood. He was still lying on the ground, cold and hard, but no longer pinned to it by the blade. He flexed his muscles and bit on the inside of his cheek. It still hurt, but he could tell his wound had been stitched. By whom though? Tim widened his nostrols as he inhaled deeply yet slowly as to not make any sound. Gunpowder and cigarettes, mostly. Red Hood.
Opening his left eye ever so slightly, Tim was able to spot the man he’d been searching for and fighting with. Awfully confusing behaviour, he thought opening both eyes when it became clear Red Hood still had no clue about him being awake. Now was his chance to press the little button on his right wrist that would send the Batcave and his team mates a SOS signal with the coordinate of his location. Pressing the tiny button sounded so very loud, similar to the pounding of his blood in his ears. Even though the man had saved him, he had been the reason for his near death. Not to mention nearly choking him if blood loss wouldn’t have kicked in. There would be some very deep bruises soon.
Tim reached for one of his discs and decided it was now or never. Throwing his legs up, he used the leverage to swing his upper body off the ground and whack the man in the head--helmet?-- with his golden disc. “It was a mistake not to tie me up,” he snarled as he took his grappling gun next and attempted a second try at his escape plan. The sound of the gun wouild have caught his attention either way, it was best to startle him with physical pain first.
“Bombs are tricky.. and we know too little about his persona to determine just how skilled he is with them. Perhaps we should resume this elsewhere though? Your leg needs rest,” Tim said solemnly, ignoring the throbbing ache in his own.
"Either well known or easily recognizable,” Dick said, nodding. “He might have some sort of distinguishing mark on his face that would make him easy to spot. I’ll try to run that through the computer when I get the chance.”
His mind was so focused on the Red Hood that Tim’s suggestion caught him off guard. “Leg? Oh gosh, here I am babbling and you’re standing here silently suffering!” He pushed off the wall and wrapped an arm around him. “Your place or mine, little brother?”
Tim winced at the clumsy wobbling of his legs when Dick pulled him against his side in a sideway-hug. So much for keeping up pretense. “I was actually talking about your leg, but.. who am I kidding, I shouldn’t be up and running around Gotham for at least two more weeks.” The teenager wrapped an arm around Dick’s waist, allowing the man to lean on him if he wished to. He tilted his head back, looking up at his brother’s easy-going expression and smiled. “Mine, yours is probably too cluttered. We need room to see if some stitches are ripped,” the boy said eyeing Dick’s leg. Smacking the man’s chest, he continued: “walk straight or you’ll strain your other leg.”
“You want his attention, don’t you? Figure you go after us to get to him.” Tim breathed out, speculating more than stating facts. He’d see whether he’s right or wrong gauging the man’s reaction.
The grip on his jacket did little to stop him, though it did catch him by surprise. Though it probably shouldn’t have. Bats never knew when to quit. This kid still had some fight left in him. Hmm. Jason better make sure to beat it out of him. He left the blade where it was and kicked harshly at Tim’s side. Every move was calculated, the kick aimed low, not wanting to break a rib and have it go straight into the replacement’s lung. Hurt but not dead.
“Wow, you figured that out all on your own? What a smart little bird,” he said as he grabbed the blade and twisted it. Though he knew pulling it out would make the bleeding worse far too quickly, so he left it there again. Instead, he knelt over Tim, grabbing him by the cowl to yank his head back, other hand going to his throat and squeezing. “You’re all pieces of the puzzle, Timmy. Bruce is end game, but don’t think you’re not special. I’ve got plans for all of you.”
Tim also became aware of the well calculated attacks. Sure, he hurt like hell, was slowly starting to think he might not make it out of this warehouse alive, but Jason wasn’t harming him with the intention to kill. At least, not yet. Torment, perhaps? He sure seemed psychotic enough. Tim coughed and wheezed, back wanting to curl to protect his stomach, but the blade was stuck in his shoulder and prevented him from moving much altogether. Also something the man must have planned.
“Agh!” Tim cried out once the blade cut through the already tender, bleeding wound. His lips parted, breathing irregular when his head was forced back. He hated it, hated how he was at the man’s mercy. His mind was fogged with pain and soon cut off from oxygen if Red Hood’s hand didn’t stop squeezing his throat as tightly as he was. It was all so ominous, Tim thought as his vision began to blur and darkness began to swallow his sight. The grip he refused to loosen on the man’s jacket slipped, hand reaching up not for the hand around his throat, but the shiny red helmet in which he could see his pained expression. He pressed, pushed, grunted, pushed some more and cursed inwardly as his lungs burnt. Not much later his hand slipped from the helmet, falling to the ground limply, Tim slipping into an unconscious state.
People ask, ‘Why Young Justice?’ I’ll tell you why: Because we’re so damned glad we found each other, that we hold on to each other like life preservers as the flood waters rise. We don’t get more complicated than that. We don’t have to.
Tim believes there are three basic levels of trust:
the deterence-based trust
the knowledge-based trust
the identity-based trust
He has a chart of their names and pictures in his mind. Eveyone is carefully categorized and monthly evaluated whether they are still in their correct place. It is out of self-protection and his separation anxiety disorder that he keeps track of them all.
Deterence-based trust involes common rules that prevent someone from taking advantage of another There are policies and procedures of how to behave, rules that everyone has to follow. Keeping promises, not stealing his belongings, staying clear of his room and any filder or digital hardware that might contain sensitive information. Privacy is most important to Tim, after all. Within this level Tim trusts his immediate colleagues at Wayne Enterprise and the overal people he knows in the crime-fighting world. His colleagues know better than to enter his office or meddle with his cases. Fellow capes and cowls know the importance of secret identities and how difficult it is to maintain them. Once someone crosses the line however, Tim is quick to completely avoid and ignore this person. His secret and personal business are very precious.
The next level of trust, knowledge-based, means that Tim has had enough experience with someone and has knowledge of their behavior that he can predict their behaviour and thought patterns to a certain degree. Obviously this makes it easier for the repressed teen to speak his mind and be honest with himself and the other. They aren’t strangers or colleagues. Friends of friends, perhaps, and people who have proven themselves. Several (super)heroes like Green Arrow, Black Canary and Wonder Woman have most definitely proven themselves as did his Titans and Young Justice teammates, some surpassing others to the third and final level of trust.
The identity-based trust. There are only few who know his hopes, his dreams, his flaws and vulnerabilities. With them Tim allows his insecurities to shine through. With them he feels most at ease, trusted and protected completely. Those who do are considered close friends and of course his family; the most important people in his life. Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Stephanie, Cassandra, Kon, Bart. And of course Superman, because who in their right mind would not trust this oversized boyscout? They are people he cares deeply for. The few he would die for without hesitating, without regretting the sacrifice, because he knows they would do the same.
Thinking back on this, Tim realizes with a somewhat sad smile that his biological parents never made it through the second level of trust. There was always a certain distance between them, literally and figuratively speaking, that kept them apart. Even after his father knew of his grappling adventures in Gotham and demanded Tim to stop that dangerous nonsense, they both knew that the promise held little value, because to him it isn’t nonsense at all. So his father said he understood and trusted Tim to look after himself when he went back to the crime-fighter’s life he has grown familiar with. Tim didn’t ask his father to look after himself as well, knew he couldn’t ask of something he couldn’t do in return. But perhaps he should trust himself a bit more these days. After all, he has been through so much already.
