Chapter Text
Bruce sat in his office, surrounded by stacks of documents that seemed to grow taller every time he blinked. The past few weeks had been eerily quiet. It was as if all the major criminals and notorious rogues had collectively decided to take a vacation, biding their time until Robin returned to the field. Bruce didn’t like patrolling without Tim either. He'd sent a message to Lucius Fox, requesting any Wayne Enterprises work that required his personal attention. The result was a mountain of paperwork and a sarcastic note from Lucius: “Have Fun!”
Bruce sighed, leaning back in his chair. He’d always prided himself on his ability to balance his dual life, but without Tim by his side, everything felt off-kilter. He knew Tim was right next door, probably having fun with his parents, yet he missed the sharp wit, the analytical mind, and the unwavering determination that Tim brought to their nightly crusades. His thoughts drifted to how unfair he’d been to the boy lately, especially with the occasional slip of the tongue where he accidentally called him “Jason.” Tim never seemed bothered by it, but…
Jason. The name brought a pang of grief to his heart, a wound that time hadn’t healed. It had been years, but the pain of losing his son was still as raw as ever. Bruce knew he hadn’t fully let go, hadn’t fully accepted that Jason was gone. He’d pushed Tim away too much, not wanting to get too close, afraid of losing another son — or, another boy he cared about. But Tim wasn’t Jason, and he deserved better than to live in a shadow he didn’t cast.
The thought led Bruce to a sudden realization. Jason’s birthday was coming up in a month. It was a date etched in his memory, one that always brought a mixture of sorrow and reflection. A day when he once used to take his little son to the bookstore, watch him run gleefully through the aisles as Bruce told him he could buy everything he could carry. Now he’ll be spending this same day in a graveyard.
But then, as he thought of Jason, he realized something else: he didn’t know when Tim’s birthday was. How could he have been so negligent? Tim had been with him for years, and yet he’d never bothered to learn something as basic as his birthday.
Bruce immediately reached for his computer, the screen flickering to life as he accessed the secure files. He felt a pang of guilt as he searched for Tim’s personal information. It was a small thing, but it felt like a significant oversight, a sign of how distant he’d kept himself.
Just as he was about to open Tim’s file, his phone rang. The caller ID displayed an unknown number. Frowning, Bruce hesitated for a moment before answering. “Bruce Wayne.”
There was a robotic, modulated voice on the other side, cold and cruel. “Do you know where your baby bird is?”
Bruce’s blood ran cold. “Wh—”
But the phone had been cut.
For a split second, Bruce stood frozen. Then his training kicked in, forcing his mind to focus. He jumped from his chair, heart pounding. He needed to calm down and think rationally. There were two important things to address: ensuring Robin was safe, and figuring out how the caller knew Bruce was Batman. But Tim took priority.
Bruce quickly ran to the cave, donning his Batman gear. He set the Bat-Computer to automatically run the modulated voice of the caller against known databases before getting on his bike. Within minutes, he was racing towards Drake Manor, a grim determination driving him forward.
Arriving at Drake Manor, Bruce was cautious as he entered. The house was eerily quiet, an unsettling contrast to the chaotic thoughts in his mind. He moved silently through the pristine hallways, his senses on high alert. There was a thin layer of dust, like the place hadn’t been cleaned in a week or two, but the gardens outside were perfectly trimmed. The mansion's opulence did nothing to comfort him; instead, it only heightened the tension.
As he approached Tim’s room, a horrific scene unfolded before him. The bodies of Tim’s parents lay outside the door, their faces contorted in expressions of sheer agony. Bruce’s stomach churned at the sight. Both parents had clearly been tortured, their bodies bearing the marks of a prolonged and brutal ordeal. Clear blunt force trauma, gunshot wounds in very specific areas that caused immense pain and bleeding, but they’d died due to a lack of medical attention.
Tim’s parents were dead. Another Robin orphaned.
Nearby, another corpse added a disturbing layer to the grisly tableau. The face was unrecognizable at first, but it soon clicked; this was Philippe Joe, a known pedophile who’d been released from jail just a month ago. The man's presence here made no sense at first glance, but Bruce's mind quickly connected the dots, leading to conclusions that filled him with dread. There had been a known pedophile in Tim’s room.
He stepped into the room, his sharp eyes scanning every detail. It was clear the murders had been committed a week or more ago; the bodies were in advanced stages of decomposition. That meant Tim had been missing for a week, and Bruce hadn’t even realized. The guilt and anger at his own oversight threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it down, focusing on the facts.
First conclusion: The killer had a vendetta against the Drakes. The level of torture suggested a deep, personal hatred. But clearly they also had a… need for Tim. Was there anyone with a reason to torture both the Drakes and Batman?
Second conclusion: The fact that the murders had gone unnoticed for a week indicated careful planning. Whoever did this knew the Drakes' routines and had managed to cover their tracks effectively. The worst part was, the bodies had just been lying there. The murderer must’ve done something to either keep maids and nannies away or keep them quiet.
Third conclusion: The presence of the dead pedophile raised alarming questions. Was he involved in the torture? Was he there to further harm Tim, or had he been brought there as part of some twisted game? Was the killer… like him? Just how much danger was Tim in?
Bruce's mind raced through possibilities. The fact that this had happened a week ago and no one had noticed meant the perpetrator had taken steps to ensure the bodies wouldn't be discovered immediately. This was someone meticulous, someone with a deep-seated grudge against both the Drakes, and a reason to taunt Batman.
His thoughts turned back to the caller. The robotic voice, the taunting message—this wasn’t a random act. It was calculated. The caller knew Bruce’s identity and had orchestrated this elaborate setup to torment him.
There weren’t many enemies that knew Bruce’s identity. He suspected Slade Wilson knew, Harley and Ivy knew — but they were kind of allies, nowadays. There were the al Ghuls, but their form of assassination was usually much cleaner. Especially Talia; he knew she thought it was the right thing to “eliminate” evil by killing, but she took no joy in torture.
But… why would any of them do this? Who else would?
Bruce began to methodically search the room, his sharp eyes scanning for any clues that might have been left behind. The entire room was a mess of blood and guts, suggesting this was the work of an amateur, but by the way every other step was perfectly calculated, Bruce would guess the killer was simply extremely mad.
f*ck. Tim was with a dangerously unstable person…
A notification from the Bat-Computer pinged on his wrist-computer: “Voice match not found.”
Bruce bit back a growl of frustration. He hadn’t expected a modulated voice to be matched to a known one, but…
Then Bruce noticed the glint of bullet shells scattered on the floor. Picking one up, he examined it closely. Standard issue, but the make and model were distinctive. They were the kind used by street gangs, not professional assassins. It was an odd inconsistency, but it was a lead. Tucking the shells into a pouch on his belt, Bruce decided it was time to hit the streets.
He tore through Gotham on his Bat-cycle, the familiar roar of the engine barely registering in his mind as fury and helplessness churned within him. Tim had been missing for a week. How had he not noticed? How had he allowed himself to be so consumed by his grief and work that he’d missed the signs?
He started with the usual suspects: local gangs, petty criminals, informants. He interrogated them all with the kind of intensity that left no room for deceit. But none of them knew anything about Tim’s whereabouts. The day stretched into the night, with each lead bringing him no closer to finding his young… friend.
Eventually, Bruce found himself in Crime Alley. This was Red Hood's territory now, and he was acutely aware of the tension between them. The Red Hood had made it clear he didn’t want Batman in his domain. But Bruce was desperate. He had to search every damn place for Tim.
As he moved through the shadows, he spotted one of Hood’s gang members lurking near a corner. The man looked like he was on a routine patrol, completely unaware of the predator that had set his sights on him. Bruce moved swiftly, silently, and within moments, had the man pinned against a wall, a growl in his voice as he demanded answers.
"Where is he?" Batman's voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
The gang member, eyes wide with terror, stammered, "W-what? Who? I don't know what you're talking about!"
Bruce pressed harder, his patience wearing thin. "The boy. Tim Drake. Where is he?"
The man’s face twisted in confusion and fear. "I don't know any Tim Drake, I swear! We don’t— we don’t hurt kids!"
Bruce’s eyes narrowed behind his cowl. He reached into the pouch and pulled out one of the bullet shells, holding it up to the man’s face. "Recognize this?"
The man blinked, his eyes darting to the shell and back to Batman. "Yeah, that’s ours. But what does that have to do with—"
Batman cut him off, wrenching the gun from the man's holster and ejecting a bullet from the chamber. He held it up next to the shell. The make was identical. His mind began to connect the dots. The same type of bullets used at the crime scene were used by Red Hood's gang.
A chilling realization struck him. Jason Todd had died because of the Joker. Now, Tim Drake had been kidnapped by someone who used the Joker's old moniker, Red Hood. The parallel was too strong to ignore.
Jason had been Batman’s biggest failure, the pain of losing him still a raw wound that never fully healed. And now, it seemed, the cycle of tragedy was repeating itself with Tim.
Was every kid Bruce loved destined to die because he failed them? Was Dick next? Cass?
No! He scolded himself. He couldn’t afford to think that way. He needed to find Tim right now.
Bruce released the gang member, who crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. He didn’t have time to deal with small fry. He needed answers from the top.
As he melted back into the shadows, his mind whirled with the implications. He had to find Red Hood, confront him, and get to the bottom of this. If Red Hood was involved in Tim’s disappearance, there would be hell to pay.
The night seemed darker, the shadows deeper as Batman moved through Crime Alley with a single-minded purpose. The memories of Jason’s death and Tim’s current peril intertwined in his mind, fueling his determination.
He slipped past the usual sentries and traps, heading straight for the heart of Red Hood’s territory. He knew where to find him. It was a dangerous gamble, but Bruce had no other choice. He had to save Tim, and if that meant facing the darkest part of his past, so be it.
Every step he took was a reminder of his failure with Jason, of the young boy who had once trusted him with everything. And now, Tim was in danger because of that same failure. Bruce could feel the weight of his mistakes bearing down on him, but he pushed it aside. He couldn't afford to let it cripple him. Not now.
The parallels between the two tore at Bruce. Jason Todd, his son, died at the hands of the Joker because Bruce wasn’t aware where he was soon enough. Now Tim Drake, his pseudo-son was in the hands of a dangerous criminal wearing the Joker’s old face, all because Bruce didn’t know.
But… Tim’s parents were dead now. He had no where to go, after Bruce rescued him.
He tried to push away the slight happiness he felt that he’d be able to adopt Tim now. Or at least, be his ward. He also felt guilty for thinking this way — the boy’s parents had just died.
Eventually Bruce neared the location of Red Hood’s known hideout — a building where apparently a huge chunk of Hood’s gang operated from. He took to the rooftops, prowling closer until he could see Hood’s apartment on the top floor — he could see a huge, helmeted figure inside the curtain, clearly co*cking a gun.
Growling, Batman leapt, foot aimed straight for the window.
