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Long before going to space for the first time, long before meeting Superman and Wonder Woman and fighting other worldly beings, long before stalking Batman and Robin through the streets of Gotham, long before becoming Robin.
Long before all of it, Timothy Jackson Drake knew aliens existed.
Had known for a long time that not only did they exist, but they had made contact long long ago. He knows this because he dreams of them. For as long as he could remember, he’s had this recurring dream. No, not a dream, a memory, a retelling of something so horrific that even in the release of sleep he could only just grasp it. Big cold hands, big enough to cover his entire face, a loud continuous buzzing sound like a drill, whimpering. Unintelligible whispers. Blood. Pain. He wakes up in a panic everytime he has this particular dream, heart pounding and stomach twisting into knots. Sometimes his nose starts to bleed, seeping down onto his upper lip or pouring over the side of his cheeks to drip into his hair and pillows.
Timothy Jackson Drake knows aliens exist because he’s seen them.
When he was in grade school he had been on the school’s science olympiad team. With his parents gone more often than not he did what he could to spend time out of the oppressive silence of his house. Science olympiad met twice a week after school for two hours, he was good at it, and his best friend Sebastian Ives was on the team. They would have so much fun together, even walking home together when the weather was nice and they had missed the bus.
The last day of fourth grade they had planned a sleepover at Ives’ house after the club meeting was done, already choosing what they wanted to eat and what movies they wanted to watch when they got there. It was a perfect June day and it was fitting to be a perfect night too.
Except, they never made it to Ive’s house.
They had been maybe halfway there when it all goes dark in Tim’s mind. Big cold hands on his skin, over his mouth and nose, that nonstop buzzing sound like unfiltered electricity. Garbled whispers. Crying. Blood. Pain.
He comes to on the side of some road, bruised and bleeding and scared and confused and alone. Hours have passed and he has no idea where he is or what’s happened.
Timothy Jackson Drake knows aliens exist because on the last day of fourth grade, on a beautiful June day, he was abducted.
He never sees Ives again.
It’s been six years since then and Tim’s doing fine.
The past few years have been a crash course in growing up between becoming Robin and then becoming Red Robin and all that those things entailed. He’s come close to death too many times to count. He’s survived more times than that. He’s made friends, lost some. He’s become part of a family—a real family—despite how dysfunctional they are 99% of the time.
He has that nightmare less often because now he rarely dreams but that’s alright with him. He’s able to talk to Clark and Kon without his heart immediately starting to race. (One night, Kon startles him into a panic attack and he has to read his contingency plans over and over to calm down. It feels shitty to have a contingency plan against one of your best friends and his pseudo-dad but he’d rather feel shitty than end up how he had all those years ago.)
He still has unexplainable nosebleeds but it’s easy to write that off to others as a certified Tim Drake Oddity™️ and they rarely question it now, just carrying tissues around just in case.
So, yeah. He thinks, all things considered, he’s doing great.
(Every June he visits Ives’ grave to leave flowers. The funeral was closed casket. They never found a body. Tim knows they never will. The police all those years ago had sighed and shook their heads at his alien story.)
It’s another beautiful day when everything seems to go to shit.
Tonight was movie night at the manor and Tim and Jason had been the unlucky ones sent to collect all the bad snacks they could find. The supermarket is on the smaller side and mostly empty as they weave a cart up and down every aisle to see what catches their eyes. As is standard for their relationship, the two are bickering, Tim half absorbed in his phone while Jason does the cart pushing. Tim snarks at something Jason says and the older boy hip checks him, sending him stumbling to the side and, just his luck, bumping into the only other person in the aisle. The immediate apology coming out of his mouth dies down as he looks at who exactly he’s hit. A cold hand lands on his shoulder, keeping him upright.
“Wow, Timmy Drake, it’s so nice to see you!” It’s Mr. Sinclair, his old science olympiad coach. He hasn’t seen him since—
“Look at you all grown up now. Sticking to science, I hope, you always did have a great mind for it.” Funny because Tim’s mind is currently blank, mouth dry as he stares up at Mr. Sinclair. He looks exactly the same as the last time Tim had seen him all those years ago.
“You know, I never did get to say sorry about what happened to Sebastian. I know how close you kids were, I always saw you kids walking home together after school so it was just so awful to hear about.” The hand that’s still on his shoulder feels cold as ice, the grip hard like stone. The smile on the man’s face dims suddenly and his hand pulls back. “Oh, son, your nose is—“
Another hand is on Tim’s shoulder now, warmth radiating through his shirt sleeve, and he’s pulled away from Mr. Sinclair. He looks up at Jason as the boy suddenly appears in his eyeline, the older pressing a wad of tissue to his nose before peering over Tim’s shoulder to look at the man still lingering there. The man seems to sputter under the weight of Jason’s hard gaze, taking a step away before turning to leave.
“It was great seeing you again, Timmy, we should catch up later!” And with that, he leaves the aisle and leaves the two boys alone.
He shrugs Jason off as the other tries to question him about the encounter, begging him to just finish shopping so they could go. His nose bleeds up until they get into the car. The movie night passes in a hazy blur, all physical contact from his family making him want to jump out of his skin and the feeling of Jason’s pondering stare weighing on him all night.
That night, he has that dream again and it feels like he’s in it, living it again. He wakes up crying.
He starts losing time.
He’s brushing his teeth then he’s at Wayne Enterprises looking at paperwork. He’s showering then he’s at a family dinner. He’s at a board meeting then he’s in the cave researching something on the bat computer. Hours of time just gone. He starts spiraling because the only thing constant now in his life is the dream—the memory—that he can’t escape. Seeing someone from the past has unlocked his mind until he can no longer escape the lingering sense of dread. The fear. The guilt. All these resources he has at his disposal at not once has he used them to try to uncover his past. To uncover what happened to Ives. He should’ve tried to find Ives. He should’ve tried to track down those aliens and find out why.
Why them? Why did he get to go home but not Ives? Why can’t he remember?
He stares at himself in the mirror and sees how he’s grown up. He’s sixteen, most of the baby fat on his face gone. His dark hair is on the longer side and his eyes are still the bright blue they’ve always been despite the lingering darkness from his experiences lingering behind them. He has dark circles under his eyes because even the sleep he does get is anything but restful. He looks mildly like his mother.
He wonders what Ives would look like now.
Ives had been the opposite of him as a kid. Where Tim’s hair was black, Ives was blond. Where Tim was quiet and polite, Ives was outspoken and wild. Ives had such a big personality, even as a young kid. Tim wondered if his hair would still be so blond or if it would’ve darkened to a dirty blond. Would Ives be tall? Would he be just as playful? What hobbies would he have?
He’s crying, tears pouring down his face silently as he thinks of the life Ives could’ve had. The life they could’ve experienced together. Ives was his best friend and Tim let him down, just went on with his life.
He has to find out what happened. For Ives.
He can’t use the bat computer without possibly giving himself away to the others. Jason is already suspicious of…something. Tim has never spoken to anybody about Ives but the boy’s disappearance and Tim’s discovery had made the news all those years ago so it wasn’t exactly a secret. That being said, he wonders if Jason had done his own research after their encounter with Mr. Sinclair because everytime the older boy was around it seemed like he was dissecting Tim, trying to read and understand his every movement.
It’s for that reason that he’s not surprised when Jason shows up at his apartment unannounced, a tense look on his face. He looks around the apartment like he’s expecting to find something that explains it all—why Tim’s acting so weird lately, why he’s always acted so weird. And Tim, for a moment, considers kicking the older boy out. He tries to imagine Jason’s reaction to his story, the disbelief, the patronizing tone. Maybe Jason would have him committed somewhere and he’ll never find the closure he needs.
But Jason’s face softens when he looks at him, taking in how exhausted Tim looks, how frail he seems, almost swaying on his own feet. He guides Tim to the couch and sits him down, keeping some space in between them to keep from spooking the smaller boy. His presence is actually comforting and Tim thinks if he wasn’t so wired in that moment he would maybe feel safe enough to sleep. So he takes a deep breath and speaks without prompting.
“When I was in fourth grade, I was abducted by aliens.”
To his credit, Jason seems to take his story at face value, even if Tim gets the sense that he doesn’t believe him 100%. He gets it though: if it hadn’t happened to him he’d probably be a little disbelieving too. It’s almost like something out of a movie and as someone who knows a few aliens and metas personally it seems almost in the realm of outrageous.
They sit in silence for a long time afterwards. Jason has a twisted look on his face like he’s still processing the words and searching for some deeper meaning, dissecting it like a metaphor in a novel. Tim wills his stomach to settle, anxiety pulsing through his body. Jason’s silence blankets the room and Tim can feel his pulse beating in his ears. He tells himself it’s fine, if Jason thinks he’s crazy he can just continue his mission by himself. He doesn’t need anyone’s help, he doesn’t need anyone. So he sits and waits for Jason’s inevitable crushing response so he can kick him out and move forward with his plan but—
“Okay, how do I help?”
Mr. Sinclair lives in the same house he always had. Tim’s hopefully not sure how he remembers the house, wonders if he had been there maybe for a science olympiad celebration or something but a lot of his memories from childhood were completely jumbled in his mind. He knocks on the door and waits, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. He looks over his shoulder at Jason who sits in the car parked out front, looking back at him. Tim looks away, touching the tiny comm in his ear for comfort, the device practically invisible when covered by his hair. All he has to do is ask Mr. Sinclair a few questions that’ll hopefully give him information on where to start his search. Jason will record all the info through the comm and they’d be able to review it later. Easy peasy.
His mouth dries up completely, though, when Mr. Sinclair actually opens the door and peers down at him. Even after all these years the man looms over him, looking down at him. He suddenly feels like a little kid again. Mr. Sinclair looks at him, then Jason in the car, then back again.
“Timmy, fancy seeing you here, why don’t you come on in.” he says, choosing not to acknowledge Jason. Tim nods after a second, glancing back at Jason once before walking past the man and into the house.
The small entry hallway opens into a cozy living room. As Tim walks down it he looks at the few pictures lining the walls. A younger Mr. Sinclair in graduation dress with what was likely his parents. Mr. Sinclair with his wife on their wedding day. Mrs. Sinclair with their son, just a toddler at the time. Finally, a picture of the science olympiad team after winning first place at a county tournament.
Tim’s feet refused to move any farther, eyes glued to the picture, to him and Ives stood in the middle surrounded by the rest of the team, shoulder to shoulder holding the first place trophy and smiling. Mr. Sinclair was stood behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders. Tim couldn’t take his eyes off himself and Ives, all the breath in his lungs seeming to disappear. He suddenly remembered that day so vividly like the photo had unlocked the door to that memory in his mind. That had been the last tournament they had ever gone to. It had been just the week before the abduction. It must’ve been the last photo ever taken of Ives. Tim let out a shuddering breath, his hand reaching up to touch the photo as if checking to see if it was even real. He jumped at Mr. Sinclair’s voice.
“After everything that happened I couldn’t bring myself to take that photo down, it felt wrong to.” Tim can feel the heat of the other man’s body near his back, warm but causing a shiver to run down his spine. It felt like the man was right behind him, like if he took a breath too deep his expanded chest would initiate contact. “Come sit and we can have a chat.” Finally the man moved past him and into the living room, allowing Tim to breathe normally again before following him.
Mr. Sinclair had situated himself on one end of the small couch, patting the space next to him for Tim to sit. Tim eyed the arm chair that sat vacant near the couch but moved to sit where Mr. Sinclair directed him. It felt awkward how close they were sat, if Tim turned anymore their knees would touch. He glanced around the room, taking in all the trinkets scattered around, things upon things on almost every surface. A clock on the wall ticked on and on. He cleared his throat and looked at Mr. Sinclair who was already staring back at him. He cleared his throat again, suddenly feeling itchy and feverish.
“Um,” he started unintelligibly, “Mr. Sinclair thank you for inviting me in, I just had some questions I really needed to ask after seeing you the other day.” The older man inclined his head, prompting him to continue without a word. “Recently I’ve been thinking about Sebastian a lot, I’m sure you know he was my best friend at that time.” Mr. Sinclair clicked his tongue, nodding his head and rubbing his chin before extending his arm towards Tim across the back of the couch.
“Yes, of course. You two always seemed so inseparable. A great pair of minds together, especially during science olympiad.” Tim swallowed dryly, thinking of how he had convinced Ives to join with him so he wouldn’t be alone.
“The other day when I ran into you at the supermarket you mentioned that you used to see us walk home together?” Tim could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, much like it had every other time he thought about Ives for too long.
“I would always drive past you two on the way home from the club meetings. I remember worrying sometimes about you two walking all alone, you two were so little.” He sighed, looking at Tim, eyes moving as he took in all the parts of the boy’s face. “Gosh, you’re all grown up now but you still look just like you did all those years ago.” The words settled heavy in Tim’s stomach, making him feel a bit uncomfortable, but he pushed it down.
“Did you see us that—“ his voice cracked but he cleared his throat and tried again, “did you see us walking that day?” Mr. Sinclair looked at him for a long time and Tim became vaguely aware of the arm on the couch behind him, how close the man’s hand was to the nape of his neck. He let out a small breath.
“I did. I remember that day too because Sebastian had tripped and broken the sole of his shoe right as I passed you two. I considered offering you kids a ride home but it seemed inappropriate as a teacher to do so.” Mr. Sinclair had a conflicted look on his face. “I wonder sometimes what would’ve happened if I had just picked you kids up, if Sebastian would still—“ he cut himself off with a deep sigh, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if shaking away a memory.
“We looked fine otherwise? I know it’s been a while but do you remember anything else, anything weird?” The lack of information was frustrating. Tim had counted on Mr. Sinclair knowing something that could guide him in the right direction but so far the man had done nothing but make him uncomfortable and dig up painful memories. The older man was staring at him again with an almost sour face, his arm coming down around Tim’s shoulder until his hand rested on the boy’s opposite shoulder. Tim tensed, feeling almost trapped under the weight of the man’s arm. His hand was cold through his tshirt sleeve.
“Son, what is this all about now? I thought the cops put this case to rest a while ago?” There was a slight edge to his voice and Tim’s eyes darted around the room again before landing on the man again.
“I just,” Tim had a dreadful feeling in his stomach and he suddenly felt like he was sweating, “I just—“
“It’s not good to dwell so much on the past, Timmy, sometimes it’s best to just leave well enough alone.” His big hand clamped down on the side of his neck, his thumb running across Tim’s cheek for a second before the boy jumped up to his feet, taking a step away from the couch. He felt dizzy from the sudden movement. Even from his seat on the couch, Mr. Sinclair seemed to loom over him.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Sinclair, but I should probably head back out to my brother before he gets too worried.” Tim let out an awkward laugh, trying hard not to display his anxiety but feeling like he failed. Mr. Sinclair stared at him for a half second before nodding, getting up to walk Tim to the door and see him out. He stopped in front of the door first though, hands on the knob but not turning it. Tim can feel sweat building on the back of his neck as he stares at the man blocking his only exit. Mr. Sinclair turned to look at him, eyes piercing as he looked Tim up and down.
“Sometimes it’s hard to accept things we don’t fully understand…” he opened his mouth to say something else then seemed to decide against it, opening the door to let Tim out. “Don’t be a stranger, Timmy, I hope to see you around more,” he called as Tim all but ran to the car, hopping in the passenger seat and slamming the door. Jason started driving off before he could even get his seatbelt on.
They drove in a tense silence and when they got back to Tim’s apartment they sat in the parked car for a long while. Tim willed his heart to slow down before he turned to Jason whose face looked pale. He had come to the same conclusion.
Mr. Sinclair knew something he wasn’t saying out loud.
They would have to get back inside that house.
For all that Tim was a detective known for his meticulous planning, he was going into this blind.
He didn’t have time to stake out the house, learn the layout of every room, bug the place. Hell, he didn't even know exactly what he was going to be looking for, he just knew that there was something in there he needed to find. His mind raced trying to find the connection between him, Ives, Mr. Sinclair, and the aliens. Mr. Sinclair had seemed so off for lack of a better word. Had he been compromised by the aliens? Was he working with them? He had admitted to seeing them that day, right before they’d been abducted, it couldn’t have been a coincidence.
He had almost worn a path into the floor of his apartment with the way he had been pacing since getting out of the car. Usually Jason would snark at him for it but the other boy looked a little haunted himself. Tim wondered what the other boy was thinking at this point but couldn’t bring himself to ask, not with his own mind jumbled up.
They sat in Tim’s apartment for hours, not speaking, until it was dark outside and they got back in the car, driving until they were two blocks away from Mr. Sinclair’s house. The neighbourhood was quiet, even the sound of bugs chirping seemingly muffled as they walked the rest of the way to the house. They could see his car still in the driveway but paid no mind to it—they’d snuck into more heavily guarded places before. Jason quickly picked the lock and they slipped into the house.
They walked slowly but surely down the hallway, Jason stopping to look at the photos on the wall the best he could in the lowlight. He stopped at one, the same tournament picture Tim had been unable to stop thinking about since he saw it. They hadn’t known each other when Tim was that young and he kept no pictures of his younger self around. He wonders if Jason is just now understanding how young he is—how young he was. Jason passed by him and continued into the house, Tim following behind after one last look at the frames on the wall.
As much as Tim wanted to find something that would give him all the answers, everything seemed so normal. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find—some alien technology? A spacecraft? An alien?—but there was truly nothing. Nothing but a regular house. It was all beginning to feel like such a waste. Even though everything within him was saying that he was at the right place there was no evidence towards anything. He was failing Ives again. Jason whispering his name pulled him out of his own head.
“Does the floor over here seem uneven to you?” He stood near the couch, looking at the arm chair in suspicion. With the way the moonlight was coming in through the window, it did indeed look like the rug spread across the floor was misshapen like it was laying on some uneven surface. He had hardly noticed it during his daytime visit, too focused on his own breathing while sitting on the couch.
They made quick work of moving the chair, lifting it up to move it to avoid making any noise. The rug was peeled back and what had looked like a normal floor became obviously a secret trap door. The breath left Tim’s lungs as he wasted no time getting the door open. The opening was pitch black and, finally clicking on their flashlights, they could see it was a relatively short way down. They waited a beat, steeling themselves before making their way down, closing the door behind them.
It seemed to be a normal basement set up as a bare minimum room. There was a large bed in the corner with plain sheets with a small bedside table next to it. There was a door across the room that was probably a bathroom. It was almost like a shitty motel room. There was a sort of staleness to the air that made Tim wrinkle his nose up in disgust. He could vaguely hear Jason moving around behind him but was on his own mission. He moved towards the bed, opening the drawers of the bedside table.
The top drawer contained a variety of sex toys and it occurred to Tim that maybe they had stumbled upon this man’s secret sex dungeon. The thought sickened him and also frustrated him. Everytime it seems like he’s getting close to something it turns out to be a bunch of nothing. He closes the drawer with a heavy sigh and almost considers giving up, getting Jason, and going home. For the sake of thoroughness though he moves to the next drawer. And pauses.
This drawer holds rope, multiple sets of handcuffs, knives, a saw, plastic bags. A feeling of dread starts to creep up over Tim, followed by an intense confusion. His mind is trying to piece together this puzzle but there are just too many gaps. He reaches out to open the last drawer.
Inside are a bunch of little knickknacks with no obvious theme. What stands out to him though are two small lime green ribbons. He knows those ribbons. He knows that he bought them for him and Ives to celebrate the other boy being cured of lyme disease in the middle of the school year. They had pinned them to each other’s backpacks. He had assumed that his had fallen off sometime during his abduction but here it is, in his science olympiad coach’s secret dungeon. Not just his, but Ives’ too. His mind is spiraling trying to understand.
“I…I don’t understand…” he whispers to himself and is startled by the overhead light suddenly flicking on. The bulb lets out a loud crackling buzzing sound before quieting a bit. The door across the room that he had assumed was a bathroom was another door that led into the main house and there in the door stood Mr. Sinclair, his figure tall and imposing as he stared directly at Tim. Sweeping his eyes around the room he sees that Jason is nowhere to be found, likely slipping into some hiding spot just in time.
“Oh, Timmy, it seems you’ve found yourself back to where you’re meant to be.” He takes a few steps closer and Tim presses himself back against the bedside table, the wood grinding into the small of his back. “I never thought I’d see you down here again.” The grin on the man’s face can only be described as malicious as he continues moving closer, stopping just a few short feet away. The buzzing from the light is making his skin crawl and he can feel himself start to sweat. He doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels so weak.
“I don’t…what is happening.” Mr. Sinclair just sighed and shook his head like a disappointed dad about to chastise a child.
“You know, that day I thought it was all over.” is what he says instead. “When you ran out that door, I thought that was it for me, the cops were going to show up within the day and I would be cuffed and taken away. I had made my peace with it but imagine my surprise when they never came. When I read your story in the paper.” He looks at Tim, that hair raising stare again as his eyes tracked over his face and body. Tim felt naked. Tim shook his head trying to get his thoughts in order.
“S-so you were working for them?” is all he managed to say, swallowing at the raised eyebrow he gets in return.
“You always did have a big imagination. Always thinking outside the box, always leagues ahead of your classmates. Beauty and brains.” It felt almost like his mind was fracturing, trying to reconcile what he believed with what he was beginning to understand in real time. Mr. Sinclair took another step forward, just out of arms reach. “The brain is such an interesting thing, the way it twists our memories and thoughts to make life easier for us. Think, Timothy, think of that day.”
Tim closes his eyes, breath coming in and out loudly. He tries to understand, tries to play that day in his head but it’s all the same jumble that he sees in his dreams, the buzzing sound resonating with that of the lightbulb above him.
“Since the day I met you I knew that I had to have you to myself. After we won that tournament I found that I could no longer control myself and so I started to plan. The only thing standing between me and you was that little leach, Sebastian.” He says Ives’ name like it’s a bad word, like it poisons his tongue to say it, like it’s not a name that belongs to a ten year old boy but to a monster. “He would never leave you alone long enough. Finally, though, it seemed my patience had paid off and I saw the perfect opportunity.
I had been following you both in my car when Sebastian had fallen and broken his shoe. I seized this opportunity to offer you both a ride home. You were hesitant to accept, always a cautious boy, but Sebastian was foolish and too trusting and he pleaded with you to get in the car. The second the door closed behind you I knew that our lives would change forever.”
Tim could feel the tears running down his face as he shook his head in disbelief. It just couldn’t be true. For all these years he had thought that—
“It was so easy then. You were both so little.” The joy in his voice as he reminisces makes Tim sick to his stomach. “You both cried so much when I finally got you in here and cuffed, especially that little worm, he wouldn’t shut up until I knocked him around a bit. You were such a pretty crier, so delicate like a doll while I had my fun with you. I still remember how soft your skin was, how you tasted.”
Tim thinks he’s going to throw up as the memories finally start flooding back.
The smell of Mr. Sinclair’s sweat, the feeling of his naked body on top of his, his weight crushing. The smell of blood from Ives who was knocked out on the bed next to them, the smell of blood from between his legs as Mr. Sinclair kept on and on. The feeling of Mr. Sinclair’s cold hands on his face, trying to cover his mouth to muffle his cries and whimpers of pain.
He remembers his one bout of defiance, biting the hand over his mouth. How it had backfired. Mr. Sinclair had screamed in pain and punched Tim right in the face, knocking him clean out. When he had come to his face was covered in blood from his nose and one of his eyes was swollen shut. His whole body felt like a bruise and he cried again even though it hurt. He tried to speak but his words came out jumbled as he tried to piece a sentence together, head pounding. A small hand had grabbed his and he turned his head to look at Ives. They had been cuffed to different ends of the bed and could only just reach each other.
Ives’ face was already so swollen it looked like it was hard to breathe. He wasn’t sure if the boy could even actually see him. The sight of his friends made Tim cry even harder, his chest wheezing from the effort. He wanted to hug the boy so badly but could only squeeze his hand tightly. Ives tried to speak, voice coming out as a gasp at first.
“I’m sorry,” he started. There was blood in his mouth. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, it’s all my fault.” Tim shook his head, squeezing Ives’ hand so hard it probably hurt.
“It’s not your fault, we’ll get out of here.” Looking back, Tim wishes he had been able to keep his word. Only one of them had been able to escape.
Mr. Sinclair had come back after a while, desperate to play with Tim again. Tim’s only relief was that the man didn’t question him and Ives holding hands, allowing them that comfort while Tim was used over and over. He had even allowed Tim to put his clothes back on when he finished when the boy pleaded that it was too cold.
When he left them alone Ives began to cry again. Mr. Sinclair had brought him ice for his face and the swelling had gone down mildly enough for him to open his eyes and look at Tim. His eyes seemed dull and depressed, empty as they looked at Tim. There was blood crusted on Tim’s upper lip and his nose was stuffed up. His eye was still swollen but the pain was minimal compared to the general pounding of his head. He was bleeding through his pants.
“We’ll get out of here together and we’ll have the craziest summer story ever,” Tim started, “we can tell everyone we were abducted by aliens.” It had pulled a small smile from Ives. They had no idea how long they had until Mr. Sinclair came back.
“Backpack,” Ives croaks out; it seems to hurt him to talk, “phone.” Tim suits up gingerly, looking around for their bags. They’re all the way across the room and Tim sighs in defeat. He looks at his cuffed wrist, pulls at it. It’s just too small to pull his hand straight out of but he thinks if he forces it, it might come out. He turns to Ives.
“I think I can get my hand out if I pull hard. I’ll get our phones, call for help, then get you out, okay?” Ives nods gingerly, seemingly drained of all energy. Tim takes a deep breath, struggling a little with all the dried blood clogging his nose, then starts to yank his hand. He can feel the skin on his wrist start to split and he bites down on his other arm to keep from crying out. He pulls and pulls until some blood from his wrist helps his hand finally slide through. He takes no time to celebrate the victory, hopping to his feet, stumbling from the wave of dizziness that hits him. His legs are trembling in pain as he shambles across the room to grab their bags, bringing them over to the bed.
“Ives, Ives, I’ve got the bags.” Ives eyes are unfocused and Tim wonders for the first time if maybe he’s concussed. He’s about to start digging through the bags but they hear footsteps moving around above them. Tim ditches the bags and tries to get Ives free from his cuffs. He pulls and yanks but Ives is bigger than him and pulling too hard hurts the boy too badly. He’s scared of dislocating the boy’s wrist but he’s starting to panic at not being able to get him free. Ives has started crying again and the sight puts Tim’s heart in his throat.
“Tim, you gotta go,” is what Ives finally forces out between cries. Tim shakes his head and keeps trying to free his friend but Ives is whimpering in pain and choking on sobs. The footsteps are moving closer, they’re running out of time. “Tim, please, you gotta get out of here and get help. Go.”
Tim leans down to hug Ives tightly before grabbing his backpack and shrugging it on. His legs burn but as soon as one the doors opens, he runs for the other as fast as he can, climbing steps and pushing the door open. He runs and runs until he’s outside then he keeps running and keeps running and keeps running until his foot gets caught on something and he hits the ground, head hitting the floor, and he’s out.
When he awakes on the side of some road however long later, all he can remember is big cold hands on his skin, that buzzing sound, whimpers, whispers, crying, pain, blood. Ives. Aliens.
He is sick this time, doubling over to empty his stomach.
“Do you remember it all now? You were the one who got away but you never came back for poor Ives. Though it would’ve all been for nothing had you. I disposed of him shortly after I realized you had truly gotten away. As much as I despised him for coming between us I killed him quickly. Small mercies, I guess.” Tim felt numb, still bent over at the hips, hovering over a pile of his own sick. His nose had begun to bleed again.
“What did you do to him?” Mr. Sinclair tsked, flopping his hand out nonchalantly as if it was an idle question about the weather.
“He was buried behind the property. But enough about him. You have finally made your way back to me and this time I don’t intend to let you go so easily. All these years I’ve dreamed of owning your body again.” He pulled a knife from his pants and moved closer to Tim. For all his Robin training, for all the cosmic foes and assassins he’s defeated, Tim found himself completely frozen, facing the real monster of his nightmares. Suddenly he was ten years old again, holding his best friend’s hand and crying, wondering if they’d ever get to live their lives again. He was shrunk beneath the mass of Mr. Sinclair, completely defenseless.
The knife glinted and Tim could almost see his pathetic reflection in it, cowering, before suddenly Mr. Sinclair grunted and fell over. Jason stood behind him, taser held firmly in his hand. With the man temporarily incapacitated, Jason quickly crowded Tim’s frozen form, cupping the boy’s face and patting his cheeks.
“Tim, Tim, you’re okay, it’s okay.” Tim must look a mess, blood, tears, and vomit all over his face, glassy eyed. He stares at the man on the floor before turning to face Jason.
“I—“ his voice cracks, “I was, was never, was—“ Jason just holds his face, letting him find the words, knowing he needs to say them. “I was never abducted by aliens.” It feels like breaking some sort of fourth wall or entering some sort of parallel universe. It feels like breaking out of a dream and into a nightmare except it’s reality and that makes it infinitely scarier. Everything he thought he had come to terms with had been a lie, a lie between two friends that only one got to spread. A lie that his brain believed because the reality was just too tough to come to peace with. A lie that took him six years to realize was a lie the whole time. “I left my best friend to die.” And that finally breaks him completely.
He breaks free from Jason’s grip and throws himself on Mr. Sinclair, the man grunting, dazed, as Tim beats on his chest, sobbing in anguish.
“You ruined my life! You took everything from me!” He hits Mr. Sinclair in the face, no longer pulling his punches, caving his nose in. The next two hits shatter his left orbital bone. Another dislocates his jaw. The man under him is writhing in pain, struggling to get up but Tim is bigger now, will never be the small guy again. Tim wraps his hands around Mr. Sinclair’s throat and squeezes, watching as the man slowly turns purple beneath him. He glances at the knife in consideration but recons this would be more satisfying. Mr. Sinclair didn’t deserve a quick death, he deserved to feel every bit of pain he could before his pathetic life was snuffed out. The man clawed at Tim’s hands, trying to pry him off, but the boy just squeezed harder until finally something crunched and the man went limp underneath him.
Tim found himself breathing heavily, sitting back on his haunches and flexing his fingers to get the feeling in them back. After a while he looked up at Jason, the older boy looking back at him with a somber expression, reaching out a hand to help Tim up, yanking the boy into a strong hug which Tim found himself melting into. He listened to Jason’s steady heartbeat, taking deep breaths to center himself. For the first time in a while his head felt clear.
“What should we do about…” he looks over his shoulder at the wretched body cooling at their feet. Jason pulls back, looking at the body before looking at Tim.
“I’ll have my guys handle it.” He nudges the body with his foot, a disgusted look on his face. Tim hums, leaning towards the bedside table to grab the two ribbons out, clutching them hard in his hand.
“I want him to be found and I want everyone to know what he did. And I want Ives —“ he closes his eyes for a second, sucking in a breath to hold back tears, “I want Ives found…he deserves to finally go home.” Jason nods, no questions asked, and they leave. They go to one of Jason’s safehouses instead of Tim’s apartment because his neighbours are less nosy and less likely to say anything about the blood all over Tim’s face. They move around in silence, taking turns in the shower before going to bed. Tim lays on his back, staring at the ceiling while Jason snores quietly next to him. Ives used to snore. He closes his eyes.
When he finally sleeps, his dream is another memory. Him and Ives under the blanket in Ives’ bed, using a flashlight to read a comic book adaptation of the Alien movie. Tim shudders as he looks at pictures of face huggers and other unearthly creatures. Ives laughs and nudges his shoulder.
“Don’t be such a baby, Tim, aliens are so badass!” Tim huffed, nudging Ives back and flipping the page.
“Okay, you remember saying that if we ever get abducted by some.” Ives laughs. They finish the comic before going to bed. It’s one of the best sleepovers Tim’s ever had.
The memory is bitter sweet and he wishes he could’ve had another chance to be friends with Ives. He wishes he could tell Ives that he came back for him like he promised, that he’s sorry he was so late.
He hopes Ives forgives him.
He hopes he can forgive himself.
He falls back into a dreamless sleep.