𝐓𝐇𝐄 ππ€π“ππ€πππˆππ†




















































the black raven|𝐓𝐇𝐄 ππ€π“ππ€πππˆππ†



β–‘ tim β–‘


If we stop running, we die.


We're just along the outskirts of Niagara Falls and we've still got a long way to go to get to Gotham. At least most of the state of New York, the tip of Pennsylvania, and we're in New Jersey, but not Gotham.


We're running, not flying or driving. And we can't stop. If we stop we get hit. And we die if we get hit.


In total, Dad said the trip from our training area, Echo Bay to Gotham City was just under three hundred hours; exactly 297. That's twelve-point thirty-eight days and we're on day five and a half since we decided to go back home, and I'm exhausted.


We've been running off the things on our back since we had less than ten minutes to pack, and now even Dad seems tired.


Yeah, he's trained by the League of Shadows, and the League of Assassins. Yeah, he's Batman. Yeah, he's Bruce Wayne-- but he's not invincible. No super speed. No heat vision. No real superpowers besides his body, mind, and vengeance.


"Tim, we have to go, they're not far behind us," Dad demands, and I see that he's a couple of paces ahead of me.


I arch my eyebrows, and lean against the tree for another couple of instants, and compel my body, limb by limb, to catch up. Everything aches.


Dad's pace has slowed down a little, and I'm grateful. Just being slower by one mile is unbelievably better, but it also quickly becomes a curse.


Some new assassins from the guy with the initials N.J.J launched a chase on us a couple of days ago, probably because their guys ratted us out about us torturing them.


It's torture, physical discomfort, emotional ruin, mental spirals. Torture is a hell of its own.


Torture, itself, is like a butterfly. Beautiful but deadly. There's a certain link between life and death. That link must be torture. It's the happy medium between the two. Life creates you but puts you through mental, emotional, and physical pain.


When death comes around and you don't see it, you know you want to go to heaven, but you don't want to die.


"Tim," Dad snaps quickly, which then leads him to shove me ahead of him. I start to sprint, not looking back but understanding the urgency of the situation.


I know Dad will follow me within moments and catch up sooner rather than later. It's what he does.


However, as I run through the area, I get a dreadful feeling in the cavity of my stomach.


The pit tells me at least one thing that is clear; that we're near a trail, as laughs and faint voices echo through the trees around me. That could also be sleep deprivation. My legs are still searing from the extreme run I've been taking for almost a week now, but it doesn't hide the overgrowing sensation of suspicion that compounds with the adrenaline.


As I keep a steady pace, I listen for some form of sound from the trees, when I realize that it's entirely mute now. I halt abruptly, waiting as to listen for something else when I feel the immediate effects of what Dad's doing here.


My vision starts to swim, and the forest in front of me starts to slant every which way, and I gasp quietly, reaching my hands out at random.


My hand whips back, and it suddenly wacks into something coarse and rough; bark. I barely have any time before my body slumps backward, slamming into the tree harshly.


The highlights that flicker in and out of my vision are a bright white, with a deep contrast of plum. I find that the more I blink, the more extreme it gets to keep my eyes open.


The last time I see the trees surrounding me, I hear rustling nearby, but I can't go on anymore. If they haven't gotten Dad already then better me than him. He can make it back to Gotham faster than me. He can get Damian, Jay, and Dick to listen. He can get me back since the footsteps get closer.


The feeling of peace, serenity, just letting go gets closer and closer. It starts with a subtle thump in my head that calms my determinations, as it ticks with my heartbeat.


Then, it goes through my arms, fingers, torso. I absent-mindedly block out the rest of the world, as my body gladly accepts my eagerness.


Once it reaches my shins, I embrace the sleep exhaustion with a warm welcome, relaxing my aching body, and wait for the final breath before I finally dive into a most needed--


"Timothy! "


Murky verdant, black, baby blue, sharp yellow, luminescent white--the colors I see explode and scorch into my eye sockets.


I bolt them shut rapidly, as the pain is too extreme for the two-second window.


My body comes across to be on fire, as the flames lick my bones, gnawing away with the speed of light. It reaches my chest, and every bone, muscle, tendon, nerve, and cell erupts, the inferno practically engulfing me with misery.


"Tim-- get the hell up!


I grumble for a moment, patiently waiting for my


and suddenly my hands go up to my ears, as my voice is like a concert speaker and booms through my ears.


"Timothy --- I swear if you don't get up right now --- I will kill --- Alfred --- !!!"


My head seems to somewhat recognize the voice. I have a figure but not a face. A name. Bruce. Bruce Wayne.


Oh shit!


Bruce Wayne my father. He's calling for me. He's telling me to get up.


Get the hell up.


My eyes peel open and I see my surroundings. Nothing hurts anymore, my body knew that seconds before opening my eyes again. My body is not on fire, as I look around. That was internal, I guess. I just feel more energized as if I were on fire.


Dad's moving quicker than normal, with another person right next to him.


Oh, that's an assassin. Wait, what's an assassin doing - Oh, shit, we're being chased by-


"Tim!"


And that's when I shoot up, groping my hands up the trees, getting up as quick as possible, my eyes on Dad as he went quiet.


He's fighting mercilessly against a man in black, who is so much more skilled than the other dooshbags we met a couple of weeks ago.


And the dooshbag seems to be winning. I don't know whether I should fight or run. I take a couple of steps forward but back up, yet retreat again as Dad slams the guy against the tree, hard. The wood makes an indent in the tree as the giant falls to the forest floor.


Dad stands there, heaving, leaning on his left leg. We stand there for a minute, and it's then that I acknowledge the two needles stuck in my legs. One in my left thigh and one in my right thigh. I frown, wondering what they held.


"Hey-,"


"Adrenaline, Tim. It was adrenaline that I gave you," Dad states, sounding extremely aggravated.


And then, almost as soon as he said it, the adrenaline kicks in-- sneaking in every nook and cranny. It rushes through my veins and tenses my muscles with my heartbeat.


I take a breath, steadying myself. I feel awake, but I don't know how long this impression will last.


I sigh and then hop over to Dad. I tap him on the shoulder, and his jaw hardens as soon as he turns. I frown even more as he comes off angrier at me the longer we stand there, neither of us saying a word.


"I told you to run. Why didn't you listen to me?"


"I did run, and far because I was about to pass out over here--," I feel frivolous, as random parts of my body start to twitch.


I'm cold, even though it's seventy degrees outside.


Also, why the hell is he angry at me for passing out after sprinting for days on end when it was him who told me to run. My brain is on overdrive and I'm too weary to figure it out. Especially because that question is a neverending loophole.


"Well, you should've run farther, since I caught up to you."


"Well sorry Bruce," I retort, raising an eyebrow, turning my back to walk away.


I'm slightly stunned to hear nothing in response. He's probably too tired to fight any longer. And better to take the energy and adrenaline now rather than later. It's a moment before I hear his footsteps behind me, from him following me. I don't turn around as I walk, still angry from him trying to baby me and scold me that I should've run farther.




Β° TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER Β°


We're still walking, neither of us bothering to talk - or run - as the adrenaline has worn off by now, and Dad isn't going to talk first.


Alright, fine. I've had enough.


Just apologize and then get out of the awkward ass silence.


I stop, shaking my head in irritation, and turn around. As I head back towards Dad, I make sure to keep my head down. I stop once I see Dad's hiking boots.


They're ebony underneath the brown and red. Underneath the mud and blood. I look up and see he's got the same look on his face that I have on mine.


"Look, Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap, I was just angry. I mean, we were chased by fucking assassins by ourselves in the forest, when I'm supposed to be training in Echo Bay, just like everyone else," I shout, "just like Damian, just like Jason, just like Dick--!"


I stop abruptly, watching Dad's face contort with different emotions. And then I realize the temper tantrum I'm having is childish.


"But I guess this is better than what Damian got."


Dad sighs and places a hand on my shoulder. A small half-smile forms on his face.


"It's alright, Tim, I get it. It's hard when you want to fight so badly, but know you can't. This means that you're going to have to trust me. You're going to get there, it just takes time," Dad explains calmly. I nod, understanding. "And watch your language."


"Ok," I nod, letting out a final rush of anger towards him in a sigh, glad this fit between us is over.


It takes a moment of silence before I add, "And please don't baby me-- try to protect me. I'm out here for a reason."


Dad chuckles a little, and it echoes through the relatively quiet forest.


"Tim, now that's impossible. I'm your father. The same goes for Dick, Damian, and Jason. It's my job to protect you all,"


"Well...," I pause, thinking about my next words carefully. "Ok, but I have some conditions. Treat and protect me like you do Dick, and you've got a deal."


"Woah, making pledges already Timmy?" Dad teases, and I just shake my head.


"Sure Dad, sure. And I'm Tim, not Timmy,"


"Mm, no. You're Timmy Drake Wayne. My kid. I have the authority to call you whatever I want," Dad scruffs my hair slightly, then his tone changed," also, don't ever start a deal. Let the person come to you. Give them a reason to, so that you've got the leverage, credibility, and cover if needed."


I nod my head and hum in response. And now we're just fine, back to normal. The weight of my emotions from earlier is now long gone, and I relish in that.




"Tim?" Dad's voice asks to my right. I look at him as we walk, waiting for a response. "Do you think that Mara is a real person?"


Oh, shit.


I hadn't thought about it. Dad didn't either. I mean, we could be on a wild goose chase. Doing all this for nothing. I sigh and turn my head back to the wilderness ahead of me.


"Uh... I-I think-- I think that she could be, and probably is. I mean, why would those assassins lie about a person who's related to you, since they want her?"


"You've got a point. And a good one Timothy, a damn good one. But," Dad stops mid-sentence, but I just keep walking and decide to finish for him.


"--But it could be a wild goose chase? Yeah, I thought about it, but based on everything that's happened, I don't think there's a way that she isn't a person. Right?"


My feet crunch over the sticks, leaves, making little sounds in the quiet area surrounding me.


The wind is a nice cool breeze, but it still gives me chills. The adrenaline is gone. I'm completely calm, and I enjoy it. I haven't felt like this in a long time, since most of my past months have been worrying about my brothers, and if Dad made it home safe or not.


Now, my biggest worry is myself, Dad, and now- I guess -since she's directly related to Bruce, the Mara girl that everyone seemingly wants to have. My thoughts are pretty loud, so much so that I don't even realize that it's completely silent.


Dad didn't answer me, even though it's only been, like, 30 seconds of walking.


"Dad?" I ask, and turn around, and curse.


I see three huge men holding Dad back, silently killing him. I don't waste a second as I leap into action. I launch towards the first man I see, even though their all giants compared to me.


Nonetheless, I swing myself onto one of the guy's framed backs and wrap my arms around his throat. I pull back against him as hard as I can and hear him audibly start to choke.


I watch his hand slide down Dad's arm slightly from lack of oxygen, but I know he's still got a grip on him, he's still holding Dad.


Dad, on the other hand, is slipping in and out of consciousness every second, and I don't know how much longer he can go, even with his training.


I grunt as I use the man's knees against him; I unwrap my legs from his torso and kick behind his knees to unstabalize him. He jerks forward, falling to the ground rapidly.


The other man carrying Dad's legs drops him and takes one step towards me, but I already retained my gun from the side of my bag, as I threw my bag off one shoulder and used one hand to rip it out.


I quickly aim the gun at the man's head and pull the trigger once, twice, three times. He stumbles backward and falls to his butt.


Then, I return my attention to the man I'm choking. I press the gun against his head and pull the trigger twice. I'm about to go for the third round, but someone tears me off of the man and flings me back into something cemented-- a tree if anything.


My head blows into something arduous, and I collapse to the ground. My body hits the dry, crunchy ground with a thud. I'm losing consciousness in rapid succession as the pain is winning a battle over my mind.


I know I need to get up, but I can already feel my knee, a couple of ribs, and a shoulder are broken or dislocated.


I stumble forward on all fours as to at least try to do something, but a hard object slams into the side of my head, sending a final pain before I lose all senses, and my unconsciousness takes control.


The last thing I hear is Dad's voice.


"Gotham needs-- !"






Β° TWO YEARS LATER Β°




"Fuck, Robin, you could have been killed!"


I sigh heavily.


I'm tired, exhausted, but not because of the fight. This fight was like any other, and that wasn't the problem. The problem is that even I am getting tired of Dick yelling at Damian for the same thing every night.


I get it, I really do, especially after all that's happened, but Dick is correct-- Damian does know to be more careful now, as he is.


"Fuck off," Damian growls.


I roll my eyes. I'm sick and tired of my little brother's stupid facade of being Mr. Tough Guy. I mean this in all seriousness. Dad takes that role.


Speaking of Dad, I'm about one lead away from figuring out where the hell he is, where he's been for the past two years.


"Dami-"


"I said fuck off, Grayson," Damian repeats. This time, it's authoritative.


I leap from rooftop to rooftop on each building until I reach Dick and Damian. Of course, Dick's in a defensive position while Damian's in an absolute attack mode.


He doesn't have an 'offense' button. The replacement of that is an outrage that is unpredictable in a fight.


You know, it's funny how out here he's lethal. He can kill a man within a second, using only his pinkey.


But around Mara, he melts. I only see it in his eyes, even if he thinks he hides it incredibly well. He still talks to and treats her like he does everyone else.


When he sees her, he becomes a caring but extremely insensitive and jerky brother. Never showing the loving or caring part, anyone else would think he hates her.


But we all care and poke at each other as siblings, to some degree.


Or did, in Jason's case.

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