Chapter Text
Gotham was more cruel these days.
She were concerned, she was mourning.
Each and every person were mourning their star. Gotham was always dark and cold, but that day she lost her magical shine.
Everyone was sad, somehow, everyone felt it. A kid from crime alley was still waiting for his friend to come visit. He never come.
Timothy Jackson Drake, didn't go to see vigilantes at night, that day. And following days.
He couldn't bear to see a batman without his robin.
Robin died. And he took every positive emotion, every beauty in this city with him.
Timothy chose to not go out anymore. If that's the result, he can't bear the sarrow. He may be smart, but he was never thought how to deal with emotions.
He never had to mourn someone before.
He is just relived he doesn't want to explain why he is crying to his parents.
Blüdvahen was quite that day. A relief, dick doesn't think he can patrol that night. He went straight to his bed, not even taking off his clothes. He took his phone, He put it on silent. He placed the phone on his nightstand. He certainly wasn't gonna check his phone for hours, at the very least.
He just lay down. Can't sleep, but he didn't have the energy to do anything else either.
He allowed himself to cry.
he come to earth. Expecting nothing, to be honest . but instead he’s met with the kind of silence people reserve for delivering horrible news. When they tell him, god, when the words brother and gone come together… his mind refused to understand.
His brother died, and he wasn't even on earth. His funeral was held, and dick wasn't even there.
He had been laughing with him just a few weeks before. There had been no warning, no goodbye.
He felt the guilt overcome him. He wasn’t just far away… he was unreachable. The little brother he swore to protect… he was gone, and he wasn't even available to reach for help. And everyone knew. Everyone grieved. Everyone gathered and buried him—except him. He wasn’t even there to see the coffin, to place flowers to Jason's grave.
.
He didn't even say he loved him.
Sure, he killed the joker -he wasn't regretting this at all, he would love to do it again and again, his anger just became more visible with time- but Jason was still dead. He can't change it. It makes him feel useless, helpless.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time. He doesn't feel hunger- he doesn't remember how much time has passed.
Timothy was concerned. Not because batman was close to killing himself from exhaustion. Sure, that was something of a big importance, and he wanted to deal with that as well. But at least batman had agent A near.
He was concerned about dick. He didn't attend any of his usual meetings, the gymnastic course for kids, the usual outings with his friends. Tim of course tracked down the money exchanges and there wasn't a single payment from him in the last week, what was he eating?
Now, Tim knows what he is doing is stalking, but he doesn't have another choice. Dick didn't answer any of the letters he sent. In the letters Tim requested for him to come back to gotham, to help Bruce, but there simply wasn't an answer.
So Tim checked the security cameras.
It would be okay if dick saw them and burned them. Sure, it would be sad, it would hurt Tim to see his attempts at helping being burned down. But, that was not the case. Dick didn't destroy any letters. He didn't even saw them. Read them. Hell, he didn't even know that they exist.
He never opened the door in five days.
Tim has to do something. At this rate all of his heroes will kill themselves.
So as any normal teen would do, Tim bought a drone.
It was hard to make sure the drone he bought couldn't be traced by anyone. He spent nights trying to make it so the bats can't see or track it. So he get to the work. He made sure he was all alone, at the drake manor. Never hurts to double check. He closed all the curtains. And double checked the cameras.
He hunched over his desk, the soft light of his monitor was the only light source. Tim liked to work in darkness.
he cracked open the casing of the little drone he bought recently. Under a different name of course. It wad a simple delivery drone before, now it was becoming something else entirely. He soldered in a new signal scrambler, fingers steady despite the thrill buzzing under his skin; if the bats ever traced this, he’d be done for. A modified thermal lens snapped into place next, followed by a tiny grappling hook mechanism he’d engineered from spare parts, just in case he needed the drone to get something mid-chase. When he finally powered it on, he felt relived- but also satisfied.
Time to help Nightwing.
And to the people of Gotham and blüdvahen.