Tim Drake SI

Tim Drake bolted up, a pang of reality pulling him from the abyss. His eyes moved around, fighting to make sense of the unknown room. The walls, an uninspired beige, felt like someone had his hands on his throat. The ceiling was high above, sterile white unlike a hospital. The air had a little bit of antiseptic, unforgiving in its smell. He shifted his weight with sheets that felt too smooth, the pillow was foreign, a calm and soothing presence that was beneath his head. None of this was Tim's. The pain in his chest was the only familiar thing—the sign of a battle he fought hard against KGBeast.

He steadied his breathing, breathing heavily as what was once fragments of his surroundings became sharp. With a quick look down, it confirmed what he expected: bandages that was bandaged every which way on his torso, their soft and almost pristine look from these bandages was helping him heal quickly. This weren't the same stuff he had been expecting from Gotham General or the no-nonsense and harsh supplies from the Batcave. These felt... different. Careful. Thoughtful. His mind was relentless with questions, each one sounding harder to answer then the last. Where was he? How did he get here? Who tended to him so thoughtfully?

The memories were hitting him hard and fast—KGBeast, a terrifying clash of muscle and will. The Russian enforcer was cold and unyielding in his attacks. Tim could still see the sharp look in the man's eyes, punishing blows KGBeast inflicted on Tim that was still felt. Being the protector of the Dzerchenkos was non-negotiable. He fought because he had to fight, and not because he wanted to. Each powerful blow he managed to land, every foreseeable move, it was all because of Bruce's training over the months, the hours spent on honing his body and mind into a uniformed weapon, with his secret ultimate power his mathematical vision that allowed him to see the world as impossible equations, graphs, and numbers. It allowed him to make the best possible moves at all times. Pain was soon beginning to block his vision. And then... darkness.

The tiny creak of the door was heard. Tim's muscles readied itself on instinct, his hands moving to a non-existent grappling hook. A figure had stepped into the room, and Tim could barely make out the figure. His eyes adjusted, trying to focus on the figure. The suspense was a bit lower just as the figure came into view.

"Huntress."

Her name was said with a mixture of disbelief and acceptance. She looked unlike herself—or at least, she wasn't the version that Tim had been expecting. There was no armored bodysuit and cape. She was wearing a loose white shirt and jeans, her black hair having been pulled back into a ponytail. The look of her eyes was opposite of Huntress. There was no cold determination of a woman being a predator amongst prey. No, this was softer, quieter—a worry that belonged to that of a mother hen. He really didn't know what to do with that look.

"You're awake," she had warmth in her voice, but it was also restrained. There was relief in her words, but it was kept light, like she was afraid that too much concern for Tim would shatter him.

Tim blinked and suddenly he realized how raw his throat felt. "What...where am I?" he grunted. The words were scraped out of his throat. It was painful.

"A safe house," she moved closer. "Not exactly a five-star setup, but it'll do." Her hand swiftly touched against his shoulder, it was for a moment but Tim felt it. "You needed time to heal. After the fight… you weren't walking out of there on your own."

"How long?" His voice was cracked. He disliked how weak it was.

"Two days," she replied.

Two days? Tim's mind was spinning. "The Dzerchenkos—are they—?"

"Safe." Her voice had shifted, a steel edge that was unmistakably creeping in. "After KGBeast left you in a heap, I got them out. They're under protective custody now. Batman made sure they're well-covered."

A wave of relief hit him, it had him almost buckling under its weight. "Good," he murmured, but his voice was still faltering. "That's good."

"You had us worried," her gaze was meeting him. There was no accusation in her voice, there was just a raw honesty.

He forced himself to smile, but then there was a sharp pang in his ribs. "I seem to be good at that."

She chortled, it was soft and genuine. "Yeah, well, don't make a habit of it."

He looked around the room for a moment, he was getting desperate to anchor himself that did not involve his fighting and other memories. "Batman… does he know I'm here?"

She nodded. "I called him the second I got you here. He said to tell you to rest. He'll check in when he can."

That made sense. Batman wasn't the type to carry you around. Still, Tim felt safe knowing that Batman was aware and that the Batfamily was aware too.

Tim let his head fall back onto the pillow, a satisfied and quiet sigh escaping him. "Guess I owe you one," he said, the words held more weight than he was expecting.

"You don't owe me anything," Huntress fired back, there was a small smirk at the corner of her lips. "Just don't make saving your ass a regular thing."

He chuckled—quick, pointed, and unfortunately painful—but it was nice in a strange way. "Deal."

She softened her smirk. "Hungry?"

His stomach chose a fitting time to grumble. "Starving."

She went for a tray that was beside the bed, the cover was lifted revealing a modest meal. "Not gourmet," she said, settling the meal before him, "but it beats IV drips."

"Barely," he chipped, his usual spark slipping through for just a moment. He looked up at the woman, a grateful smile on his face. "Thanks."

There wasn't an immediate response, but her expression told him everything he needed to know. "Eat," she said at last, crossing her arms. "You've got a lot of healing to do."

Tim inclined his head, his eyes staying on her for a second longer before he looked at the tray before him. The smell was the first to reach him—chicken broth, Jell-O, and some sandwich that looked like it came out of a vending machine. But, it was everything that Tim needed. The hunger was even stronger when he picked up the spoon and moved to the chicken broth first, the smell curling onto his face.

The first sip was tentative, cautious, but when the warm liquid slid down his throat, it was like flipping a switch. He hadn't realized how much he needed this—every bite of the sad little meal grounding him, anchoring him in the here and now. The pain was still there, humming in the background like a static buzz, but it didn't own him anymore. Not with food in his stomach. Not with her here.

Huntress moved back in her chair, her arms ever crossed as he watched Tim eat. She focused her gaze onto him. "Y'know," she said, her voice was light, "for a guy who spends his nights dodging bullets and fists, you clean up pretty well."

Tim's lips quivered—hardly—but it was a bit of something. He was rolling his eyes. "Thanks for the glowing review," he replied, not in that weak voice he had before he ate something. It was stronger now.

She shrugged, a smile at the corner of her lips. "Just calling it like I see it, Robin."

He took another sip, this one having chicken in it as he chewed through it. "Not really my strong suit," he told her after swallowing. "The whole 'thank you' thing."

She raised her eyebrow. "Could've fooled me. You're not half bad at it."

Tim had set the spoon down, his movements were very purposeful, the weight of his words inevitably forcing him to meet her eyes. "I mean it," his voice was quieter now, but it was no less powerful than before. "If you hadn't found me…" He trailed off, his jaw beginning to tighten as what he wanted to say was practically said in spirit. "You saved my life."

She didn't flinch in her gaze, didn't look away. Her gaze softened instead, her shoulders losing it's tension by just a fraction. "You'd do the same for me," she said, her voice steady as it came out as a promise. The corner of her mouth lifted, just slightly, but it didn't look genuine to Tim. "It's what we do."

The man child's thoughts were already far ahead, further heightened by his mathematical mind. The Dzerchenkos were safe—but then his mind felt like there were puzzles that were missing. He had read this part of the comic before and he realized he was forgetting something. The drug operation. That was KGBeast's real game. The battle wasn't about muscle and protecting Dzerchenko, the real battle was the drug operation in which the russian gang was doing cocaine.

"The drugs," Tim said quietly but he was very urgent in his tone. "The operation KGBeast was running—it's still going, isn't it?"

Huntress's smile went away and all that was left was her features hardening. "Yeah, it is. But you don't need to worry about that right now. Healing comes first. Batman's handling it."

Tim locked onto her face, scanning for cracks, looking for lies. He found none which didn't make him feel all that better about himself. "But I should be out there. I need to be."

Her look was constant. "And you will. Just not today. You're no good to anyone like this."

The words were like a punch that aimed to the gut. Tim's lips became a thin line, his frustration was just beneath the surface of his skin. He hated that she was right. In the end, he gave a quick reluctant nod. "Fine. I'll rest."

Days went by, each day felt an eternity, like reality was dragging him through the mud. The pain was fading over time, but the safehouse he was in wasn't going to allow him to forget. It was an amalgamation of bandages, boredom, and words that he wanted to voice but kept to himself. Tim was recovering with restless energy and silent determination to be out of this bed. He couldn't wait to be back out there. To be back into Gotham. To be back into the fight.

Huntress had continued to check on him on a usual basis, her presence was a comforting thing but also provocation. She never smothered him like a hen. She had been using her sharp wit, and harsh truths to make sure Tim stood taller for what it was worth. Tim was a self-insert, it was pointless but he appreciated the effort. The guilt that was consuming began to back off. He had done all he could for the Dzerchenkos but was unable to stop that cocaine operation. Now it was up to Batman to do that job for him—and maybe other members of the Batfamily.

Then came the night.

The door swung open without warning, and the room felt smaller when a familiar frame entered through the door. Batman. The air was different, everything that wanted to be said went unsaid between Tim and Batman. His cape was like a sea of darkness, it would've been theatrical if he didn't make it intimidating.

Tim naturally straightened, even as his body protested. "Batman," he said, the word carried accusation and relief.

The Dark Knight moved inside the place, as he searched the room, he was peeling back layers of Tim's psyche. In the end, he finally said something. "You're looking better." It was gruff and low as usual, but there was something else to his voice. Maybe something like approval.

Tim moved his weight in the bed, the bedsheets beneath him shifting. "Thanks to Huntress," he gave a quick nod of approval in her direction. She leaned against the doorframe and said nothing.

Batman's eyes moved towards her as he acknowledged her for a moment. He then turned his attention back on Tim. "You did well," he said, his voice was measured and deliberate. "Better than I expected."

Batman's praise had caught Tim off guard but he still appreciated it all the same. "I had good training," he said, merely just trying to keep it humble and honest.

Batman's serious expression had turned into something soft. "You've come a long way," he said, almost sounding like he was talking to himself. Then, his voice changed, back to usual edgy Batself. "But remember, this isn't just about fighting. It's about protecting. About saving lives, even when it feels impossible."

The words had weight, as Tim felt the powerful gaze of his mentor. It was the kind of weight that could make or break someone. "I won't forget," he responded firmly, his conviction to being Robin stronger than ever.

Batman gave a silent nod, the corners of his lips beginning to turn upwards. If it wasn't for Tim's mathematical mind, he would've missed it. "Good."

From what was seemingly in Batman's cape, Batman threw out what was red and green onto Tim. The Robin costume. Tim stopped breathing for a second. The Robin costume was so familiar, and felt so distant. It wasn't just another piece of clothing, it had history. A part of himself hadn't realized how much he had missed being Robin.

"We've got work to do," Batman commanded. It wasn't a suggestion.

Tim could only nod, feeling the tightness in his throat. Concentrating on the costume, Tim's fingers unfurled it. The color was bold and alive, and just what he needed in contrast to the hospital gown covering the bandages. The costume that he was about to wear, had more purpose then what he had on now.

Being by the door, Huntress was finally in motion, her arms dropping from her chest. Her eyes pinned him to the bed. "You sure you're ready?" she asked. There was no challenge, there was only concern behind her words.

Tim's eyes flicked to hers. "Yeah," he said, the word did not convey the gravity of the situation enough. "I'm ready."

Huntress stepped back, understanding that he needed space to transform as Robin. Not truly out of reach, however. Tim took off the gown, kissing comfortability goodbye. The motions were automatic, following the best possible equation for him to put on costume efficiently. The fabric covered his bandages, gloves encasing uncertain fingers, and when the mask was at last in place, it was like flipping a switch. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. For the first time in what felt like ages, he was finally whole. He was Robin.

"Thank you," he whispered, taking a glance at Robin.

She nodded, her eyes staying in his mirror before looking at Robin directly. "You're tougher than you look," she said, her voice soft now. "Don't forget that."

Tim stopped for a moment before she finally took the hand. Unlike Tim she didn't stop in her tracks. The grip was strong, firm, and beneath it Tim could feel the layers of acceptance and understanding.

"For what it's worth," she added, her lips held the faintest smirk. "you're not half bad at this hero thing."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a glowing review… again," Tim grinned. The heaviness from the past few weeks was momentarily lifted. 

Huntress tightened her grip for a second longer before releasing him. "Don't let it go to your head, bird boy."

Tim chortled, it was more out of relief than humor. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The boy turned towards Batman, his heart finding a steady pace. The Dark Knight just stood there quietly but his eyes gave him away. The approval was there. The respect.

"Ready?" Tim asked, but it sounded like he was asking the question more to himself if anything.

Batman's eyes locked with his. "Always," he said.

Tim nodded. For the first time, he didn't just look the part—he felt it.