Chapter Text
The warmth of the party washes over him, heat radiating from the bodies pressed around him, enclosing in every bit of free space in the room. The stench of weed and cigarettes hangs in the air, creating a haze that hangs close to the ceiling. Strobe lights flash in beat with the music, adding to the blur of the room and leaving him feeling disoriented.
He weaves his way through the crowd, passing by the mass of bodies that threatens to swallow him whole. They move with the music, drinks sloshing in cups, sweaty people pressing into him, choking, cloying. Someone spills their drink, making the floor wet and sticky. The scent of alcohol permeates the room and burns in his throat.
He finally makes his way into the kitchen. The music is softer in here, less overwhelming, and there are several more sources of light in the form of tacky decorative lamps. He downs the rest of his cup, letting the warm beer wash down his throat. It’s cheap, tasting sickly sweet and slightly of watered down piss. The buzz is the same, however, and he feels the rush move through his body, lighting his nerves on fire. He moves towards the tower of alcohol, grabbing a random bottle that looks like it’ll get him drunk enough, and pours a few shots into his cup, not bothering to mix it with anything.
He doesn’t want to feel anything tonight, the lingering eyes, the want that pulls at his soul. The want that leeches from him like a black hole, unending hunger. His body moves without his permission anyway, wandering through the house, looking for her, like he always does. Watching her from behind closed doors, from the dark corners. Always waiting, always behind the curtain, an imaginary barrier stretching between them. He could never go up to her. What would he say?
It’s better like this, keeping the want at bay, keeping her a finger’s breadth away from getting sucked into his collapsing heart. She deserves better than Tim Drake.
She’s with that guy again. The one that makes her laugh with his little jokes, makes her smile with a single glance. The one that Tim could never be. He knows that they met in calculus class. They study together on Thursday nights and have been dating for three months and seventeen days. When they go out, he always orders a vanilla milkshake while Zo gets strawberry. Their dates always end with him dropping Zo off at her house, a soft kiss on the cheek before she moves towards the door.
The first time they had sex was in his car in the parking lot of West Gotham Mall, one month after they had gotten together. Zo still calls it “making love”.
He didn’t come here to watch them, but they make it so easy. They’re sitting in the living room, Zo on his lap as they whisper together on the couch.
He hates that he can’t stop watching, watching as their mouths get closer. Tim downs half of his cup as their lips touch, smiling into each other like they’re the only people in the room. The music is loud and the lights are dim, and Tim’s head is spinning, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the secondhand smoke, maybe because he can still taste her lips on his.
They move closer, hands brushing against each other’s bodies, and Tim feels the fire burn within him. Jealousy. Hatred. Regret. His stomach hurts, twisting and turning until he can’t bear to look anymore. He downs the rest of his cup, staggering out of the living room and into the backyard, looking for something to distract himself besides his own misery.
He finds it easily, Bernard waving him down, face dopey and drink in his hand. He’s sitting in a lounge chair next to a blazing fire, flames flickering in and out of the wind. Next to him are Ives and Callie, breaking apart their hand hold to wave Tim over as well. A few empty beer bottles lay at their feet, like they’ve been sitting there for a while.
The world dips around him as he walks, but he makes his way over anyway, fingers going numb as he crushes the cup in his hand, tossing it into the fire. It bursts into a small ball of flame before melting down, molten plastic slowly creeping into the embers. He pulls up an empty chair, plastering on his best drunk smile.
“Tim, you made it,” Ives says, taking another swig from his beer, “thought you were dipping out on us again.”
Bernard’s face screws up for a fraction of a second, falling back down after the moment passes. He looks like he wants to say something, but he stays quiet instead.
Tim has been less than present lately, finding his time better spent behind the lens of a camera or locked away in his apartment. He plays that part of truant perfectly, but his friends should know to expect that by now.
“I prefer to call it fashionably late,” Tim replies, giving a fake bow, smile all teeth.
There’s a weird air between them tonight, something off-putting and bitter. Tim feels cold despite the warmth from the fire, and something slithers inside of his flesh. He laughs when he’s supposed to, listens to the mindless chatter, all while feeling like a ghost in his skin, floating, barely there.
He doesn’t realize how late it is until Ives and Callie are going, something warm in their eyes as they glance at one another, a stark contrast to Tim’s freezing heart. He wonders what Zo is doing right now. If she’s still with him. Maybe they left, calling it an early night before either of them got drunk enough to feel anything. Or maybe they’re still here, hidden away in some bedroom or closet, fucki-
“Tim,” Bernard interrupts, shaking his thought process, “are you okay. You seem kind of out of it.”
They’re alone, sitting by the dying embers of the fire. It’s dark enough outside that Tim can barely see Bernard’s face, the glow of the flames creating halos in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Tim breathes, “guess I had too much to drink.”
He didn’t. He should have drank more, gotten drunk enough to forget everything, to forget the clawing at his heart. He shouldn’t have come to this stupid party. No one wanted him here anyway.
“I wanted you here, Tim,” Bernard frowns, leaving Tim to wonder just how much of that he said out loud. “Let’s go home,” Bernard softens, gently placing his hand on Tim’s shoulder.
Bernard’s hand is warm, breaking through the chill of the night, radiating heat down the left side of his body. Tim pulls away, breaking the connection between them, and Bernard’s face falters. He stands up slowly, wiping his hands on the tops of his thighs.
“Have a good night, Tim,” he says, making his way back towards the lights and music of the party.
It’s quiet outside, everyone either having left or gone back towards the warmth of the house. Tim grabs an empty bottle off of the ground, throwing it at the fire and watching it shatter.
_____
There’s something about Tim Drake. Something off-putting, like watching a creature try to be human for the first time. The skin sits wrong, facial features are too exaggerated, and limbs are too lanky and angled. Tim Drake acts like he hasn’t lived a day in his life, like breathing, eating, and drinking are all novelties to him.
If his years of being Robin had taught him one thing, it’s that people like Tim are one step away from being on the wrong side of the whole Batman thing. Could be Blackgate or Arkham or maybe just a night in the police department, but Jason had a feeling that whatever did happen would happen sooner rather than later.
It's not that Tim is violent, in fact, Jason’s barely seen the kid at all, but something about him caught Jason’s attention, and he wouldn’t be Robin if he couldn’t trust his gut. He’s like the type of kid who knows how to build a bomb, or brings pocket knives to school. Dangerous.
Most people feel the same. If it weren’t for Tim, Jason would probably be the most ostracized person in his class. Not only is he a year behind, he wasn’t exactly one with the students of Gotham Academy. His past had thoroughly closed that bridge. So, in a way, Jason was a little grateful that Tim did whatever Tim does, if not for the fact that Tim freaked him the fuck out.
Mostly, Jason just stays away, happy in his own bubble. He does his schoolwork, goes home, and gets to kick ass. It’s all he really needs in life. He’ll graduate, go to Gotham U, and live out the rest of his life however he wants to. Everything was going exactly as expected.
Which is, of course, when the universe throws a wrench in his plans, in the form of Tim Drake. Jason looked down at the packet in front of him, detailing the expectations of his AP English project. A partnered project. His English teacher had smiled as she read off the list, leaving Jason and Tim’s names until last. Jason was obviously meant to be Tim’s handler, which if that was his reward for being the ‘good kid’ in class, he was never going to turn in another assignment ever again.
Tim sits in the corner of the classroom, head down resting in his arms. Jason’s surprised the fucker even showed up, breaking his no attendance streak of the past few days. His uniform is wrinkled, shirt untucked and tie missing.
The class moves around, forming small groups with their partners, and Jason reluctantly goes towards the corner of the room after it becomes clear that Tim has no intention of moving. He looks even worse up close, dark eyebags painted against skin that looks like it hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. There’s an off look on his face when he finally does look up, but it quickly fades into something neutral, or whatever Tim thinks passes as neutral.
He reaches into his bag slowly, pulling out a small stack of papers held together by a straining paperclip.
“Here’s my part of the project,” he says, then proceeds to lay his head back down on his desk.
“We haven’t even picked the book yet,” Jason says incredulously. Who does this guy think he is? They didn’t even have the project until today, and Jason is one hundred percent sure that whatever that stack of papers says is complete bullshit.
“I picked one out,” Tim shrugs, and Jason contemplates murder.
_____
The street-light flickers, casting an inconsistent shadow on the girl. She walks briskly along the sidewalk, hugging her backpack to her chest while glancing at the people who pass by. It’s not late enough for the streets to be deserted, but she’s been having the increasing feeling lately that she’s being watched.
She’s cautious, but she meets a boy outside of a small diner. They hug, and he presses a chaste kiss to her lips before they make their way inside. She feels better now, safer, like whatever is out there can’t hurt her. Like she’s safe.
She doesn’t know how carefully she should be treading. A fly caught in a spider’s web.
The evening gets later and later, turning into night through the passage of milkshakes and flashcards. She gets a call on her phone. An unknown number, which she ignores, instead choosing to devote all of her attention to the guy across from her and the textbook in front of her. They laugh together as they get questions right, questions wrong, and eventually, she gets up, making her way out of the diner.
The streetlight that was flickering earlier is now completely off, plunging the street into full darkness. She turns around to the boy behind her, hugging him and whispering in his ear before they both head in opposite directions.
She walks alone in the darkness, the smile on her face negating the fact that she’s being hunted like prey.
He finds her easily, following the routine that she exhibits every time. It’s easy to catch her, to mask her screams, holding her throat until she’s wheezing and gasping.
Letting go as she hunches over herself on the ground, choking on her own breath.
He pulls out a knife, relishing in the sound it makes as he plunges it into her abdomen, her chest, her throat. Blood spills out of her in a rush, gurgling like a stream, pouring onto the ground.
She’s crying, tears in her eyes as she grasps against her killer, trying and failing to gain any purchase to defend herself.
He leaves her in the dirt, watching as the light drains from her eyes. Watching as everything turns red red red.