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It was no secret that Tim Drake was a horrible sleeper and has been since he was a child. Even before he became Robin he spent countless nights following the Dynamic Duo of Gotham, effectively forever ruining his chances for ever having a normal sleep schedule ever again.
It only became worse as he went deeper into the world of a vigilante, seeing and doing horrible things that no person, let alone a child, should be forced to see or do. But Tim never once complained about any of it, simply playing the part of a perfect soldier that Batman could always rely on, that he needed. Who cared if he barely slept most nights, that he often had to sedate himself in order to get through the nightmares? He was fine. He had to be fine.
But he wasn't fine, not for a while at least. Not when his dad died, not when Steph and Kon and Bruce died, not when Jason and Damian tried to kill him so many times, not when Dick took Robin away from him and threw him out like a broken machine, useless but having served its function. Sleep then was scarce and unwelcomed, especially around so many enemies that would gladly kill him the moment he let his guard down.
And then, even after everything calmed down, when Bruce and Steph and Kon came back and Tim Drake was now Red Robin, things... well, they didn't really improve as much as they became normal. He only slept four hours in the past two days? That's fine, he got a nap before patrol (only ten minutes, but who was counting-?) and he was good as new. He keeps downing coffee to stay awake? That's alright, it's been a rough week as CEO of Wayne Enterprises and Red Robin, he can power through a little bit longer.
Like he said before, it's not like anyone notices anyway. They're all too worried about each other, too worried about making sure the Earth doesn't fall to bad meaning aliens to be worried about about Tim Drake, the perfect soldier that doesn't need help and can take anything the world throws at him. He's fine. He hasn't needed them for years, hasn't- hasn't-
Now that he thinks about it, this whole... thing with Ra's al Ghul probably shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did.
It wasn't his fault. It really wasn't- but no one would see it that way. They would see it as a fallen hero finally succumbing to the darkside, and inevitable outcome that wouldn't surprise anyone if you looked hard enough. They wouldn't think about the pain, the desperation and the want-
They wouldn't think about just how much Tim Drake needed someone, anyone, even if that person happened to be an immortal megalomaniac with less than pure intentions.
But that wasn't the point in all of this, no. The point was that of all the things that have happening in Tim Drake's life, this entire situation started out in the most cliched way possible: trapped in the middle of a horrible blizzard, waiting out for the snow to stop. It should have seemed a lot more romantic, but it most definitely was not, at least, not at the time.
Now, however... he doesn't know.
Tim hated the cold, despised it even.
You'd think after spending his entire life in Gotham that he would be used to it by now, but this was more that just the bitter cold that seemed to constantly soak through the grimy streets of the city he called home. This cold was brutal, filled with ice and snow that never gathered the courage to appear on the streets of Gotham, the type of cold that had no problems killing you and freezing your corpse into a shriveled popsicle for some random archaeologist to find decades later when global warming finally caught up with the rest of the world-
"You look unwell, Detective. Your lips are turning as blue as the sky."
Tim shivered, wrapping his cape tighter around him, trying to find something that resembled warmth. He refused to let his teeth chatter, not in the presence of the reason that made this whole thing worse than it otherwise would be.
Ra's al Ghul. Why did it have to be him that Tim was trapped with on the side of a mountain in a little cottage that they found before they both got swept up in an avalanche? Why couldn't it have been one of the other Bats, one of the Titans, or literally anyone else other than the man that's tried repeatedly to get him to join the League of Assassins with progressively creepier and creepier methods? He would even be fine if he was all alone, because gods know what he's been through alone, he could handle it again. He didn't need any help-
But no, here he was, trapped with the man who was basically his nemesis at this point (though it was still up for debate most days) on a fucking mountain in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. Well, he knew he was somewhere up in the Himalayas, but that was far from the point. The point was that he was trapped on a damn mountain with Ra's al Ghul for the foreseeable future, and there was no way to stop it.
Dammit, why couldn't have Ra's caused mayhem in like, the Bahamas or something? Why did he have to start messing with India so much that he caught Red Robin's attention and forced him to come to the tallest mountain range in the world in the middle of winter?
Fuck you, Ra's. He will destroy a Pit for this, and there's nothing you can do to stop him.
"Th-the sky i-is hard-hardly blue," Tim managed to stutter back, not liking the fact that he could see his breath coming out in short white puffs. Or that his fingertips were starting to go numb. He should really upgrade the Red Robin costume so that it could withstand more extreme temperatures-
"At the moment, perhaps," Ra's chuckled. The bastard didn't even have the decency to act like he was freezing his ass off as much as Tim was, though that was pretty much expected at this point. He's probably taken so many dips in the Pit that he was immune to extreme weather, very much unlike Tim's normal human resilience. Yet another reason to blow one of the Pits right off the map. "But I will say, it's not a good look for you. Any paler and you would be transparent."
Tim scoffed, even as he tightened his ball. He glanced up at the Demon's Head, who was sitting right across from him on the floor, shocking himself slightly when he dared interpret concern coming from his enemy's poison green eyes. But it was there, almost completely hidden by the smirk ever present on Ra's' face. Why would Ra's feel anything other then hate and pleasure at his discomfort, especially when he was so vulnerable? He could barely remember the last time one of his own looked at him like that, let alone his greatest enemy-
"I-I've had w-worse," Tim spat out, still unable to get rid of that damn stutter, or the intense shivering his entire body was going through.
Ra's frowned at his words, like Tim had somehow disappointed him. "I know you have. That doesn't mean you need to suffer any more than you have." The Demon's Head stood up from where he was sitting down, and Tim could only watch with a stunned expression as Ra's came closer to him, unclipping his cloak somewhere along the way. He didn't even attempt to shy away as the immortal sat down next to him, no energy to think about the bo staff that was snug in one of the pockets of his cape-
Not when Ra's al Ghul tucked the cloak around him, his entire body burning like a furnace next to Tim's shivering one. Warmth instantly encircled the freezing vigilante, causing all of the tension in his body to abruptly melt out of his muscles. He grabbed the edges of the cloak, bringing it tighter around him, barely noticing as Ra's picked him up and set him in the Demon's Heads lap, even more warmth soaking into Tim from the shere closeness of their bodies. He didn't protest when Ra's deactivated his gauntlets (how did he know-?) and gently grasped his freezing hands, messaging feeling back into them.
Tim gave a long sigh, his body not caring that he was literally in the arms of his enemy, or that said enemy seemed to know how to deactivate his suit without a problem. His mind didn't have much to say either, but that was probably to be expected seeing as he hasn't slept at all in the three days he's been in the Himalayas, or the 15 hour plane ride there before that. In fact, Tim was quite sure that in the past week he's only had maybe three cat naps, all of them turning into nightmares. That on top of constantly fighting off ninjas since he's arrived made all of the logic his great mind possessed to fly away, making it seem like a great idea to let Ra's see him in such a weak state. Damian would be having a field day right about now if he could see Tim.
My mind and body are too tired to fight back, Tim reasoned, even as he nuzzled deeper into the warmth that was Ra's al Ghul, inhaling his scent of spices and vanilla. If he was in his right mind, this would have never happened.
He never did come up with a reason for why Ra's would do this, however. He clearly had to excuse.
"I-I'm going to bl-blow up one o-of your fucking P-pits for this, Ra's," Tim said, hardly any bite to his words. "Drag-ging me all th-the way to the damn-damn Himalayas ju-just to humiliate m-me."
Ra's huffed, his warm breath fanning over his exposed hair (which he swears wasn't exposed only a minute ago-) in amusement. "I expect nothing less, Detective," Ra's replied. "Though, if I really wanted to humiliate you, believe me when I say I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble."
Tim's world went black before he could say anything back.
The next day, Red Robin destroyed the Demon's Heads base of operations in India, making an escape back to Gotham. Neither of them talked about how Red Robin slept in Ra's' arms, and Red Robin didn't want to think about how he didn't have a single nightmare the entire time, something that hasn't happened for nearly a decade. It was easy to pretend.
After all, pretending was the one thing he's successfully done his entire life.
Red Robin never did destroy a Pit like he promised to do that night. Ra's never called him out on it.
He still isn't sure if he's grateful for that or not.
Of course he ended up here.
It wasn't like Ra's would have in any differently, not if he could help it, and believe Tim, he could definitely help it. Usually with a lot of money and influence, but sometimes just plain charm. A guy like Ra's has had literal centuries to perfect his seduction skills, making it easy for any unsuspecting victim to walk right into his carefully laid traps. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it) Tim was immune to it at this point (or, he'd like to think he was). This was handy for many reasons, mainly because he loved to showcase just how damn stubborn he could be when he put his mind to it.
This was the perfect opportunity, getting kidnapped and all that jazz. It wasn't the first time he's been kidnapped by the Demon's Head, and he doubted it would be the last, either. Sure, it was a bit of an inconvenience (seeing as he was on live television when it happened, doing a press conference for WE) but it shouldn't be too bad. If Ra's really wanted to kill him, he would've done it by now. He wasn't the type to beat around the bush.
Tim, however, might get around to killing himself before Ra's ever decides he wants to. He's been in Ra's' compound for two days at this point, and in that time he has not once taken a bite out of anything that has been sent to him or slept a wink. He refuses to let Ra's or his assassins to drug him, no matter how many times they insist that they're not compromised in any way, shape, or form. He doesn't trust anyone, let alone Ra's and his minions.
He can't afford to. If he does...
There was a knock on the door of Tim's elaborate chambers, and the vigilante didn't do much more that glare at the offending piece of lavishly decorated wood. It wasn't like he could stand up and open it, not with his hands securely chained to the walls of the room that made sure he couldn't walk more than 20 feet in any direction. He could go to the bathroom if he so pleased, or reach any of the other accommodations of the room, but not the door. He's already tried everything he could think of to potentially reach the door, but to no avail. The shackles were too tight around his wrists to allow him to dislocate any of his joints, and there was no lock to pick. It was almost like these were made specially for Tim, with his exact measurements and weaknesses in mind.
The idea wasn't pleasant.
The door opened with a gentle click, revealing Ra's carrying a tray of what looked to be steaming soup and fresh bread. Tim could feel his stomach clench from just the smell.
Tim glared harder at the Demon's Head, wondering why he was bringing him food unlike the the servants he had sent before. He didn't like this game that Ra's was trying to play with him, attempting to feed him delicious food, letting him sleep (or pretend to) on luxurious silks, giving him an entire library to explore-
Oh, he didn't mention the giant wall that was nothing but books? He really should have, seeing as it's been his only entertainment throughout this whole kidnapping thing, the carefully bounded books coming from every corner of the world with every subject you could dream of-
But the damn books weren't the point! The point was Ra's shouldn't be pretending to care for him like he was some child, something that needed to be fixed, like-
Like he meant something.
The thought was harshly shoved aside, but remained echoing stubbornly in his mind. He hated that idea, hated how it kept coming up more and more, like his mind could suddenly forget all the training, all the memories. This game that Ra's was trying to play would not work. It couldn't, not when... when...
"What do you want," Tim hisses at the Demon's Head, ignoring how scratchy his voice sounded. The only water he's drank the entire time he's been here is the tap water in the bathroom, but even that was few and far between. For all he knew, they were poisoning the water there too.
Ra's ignored Tim harsh tone, walking into the chambers and placing the tray on the table Tim was currently sitting at. Tim refused to look at the food, keeping his stare on the Demon's Head as he awaited a response.
"Is it not possible for me to simply want your company, Detective?" Ra's questioned, taking the seat across from Tim. "Or perhaps to stop your destructive lifestyle, even if only for a little while?"
"You don't do stuff like this unless you want something," Tim snapped back, his nerves clearly showing through his exhaustion. "I would've been out of here sooner if this was just a chit-chat. They would have found me. You must be up to something." At least, Tim hoped they, the Bats, were looking for him. They usually did, and especially since Timothy Drake-Wayne was on live T.V when he was kidnapped, they were bound to be doing everything they could to find him.
That was the hope, anyway. There was still that nagging part in his mind asking, why haven't they found me yet? I haven't been moved, this isn't some new place of Ra's', they have to find me. But logically, he also knew that there was probably some big distraction Ra's conducted to make sure that the Bats didn't have time to search for Tim. That was fine. He could wait.
Ra's stared at Tim for a long moment, probably studying the way the bags under his eyes have only gotten worse in the past few days, how thin he was from the lack of food even before he refused to eat, how pathetic the great Red Robin was, chained to his spot like a prized slave.
"What I want," Ra's said softly, lifting the still steaming bowl of soap, "is for you to eat. It know you have a habit for disregarding your health, Detective, but I refuse for that to be the case while you're under my care. Now, eat."
Tim was stunned, unable to say or do anything but take the bowl passed to him. It looked rich, filled with various meats and vegetables and spices that he couldn't name, but yet still smelled familiar. No one in their right mind would refuse to eat it, starving or not. Tim had done so multiple times for the past two days, and just a minute ago, he was intent on doing it again. But something in Ra's' voice... he doesn't know. It was like...
He actually cared, like he wasn't just doing it to pretend. It was like for that moment, nothing else mattered but Tim, and he didn't know how to feel about that. Tim's never been the priority for anyone, not his parents, not the Bats, and in a way, not even the Titans. He always had to be the strong one, the mature one, the one who came up with the plan, the one who was never allowed to show weakness, because if he did, everything would fall apart.
He had to be fine, had to be impenetrable because there was no other choice.
What if, just for once...
Tim slowly took a sip of the soup, savoring the rich and wonderful flavor. All of the tension seeped out of his body at the taste as he ate spoonful after spoonful, barely realizing that Ra's was speaking to him at the same time. He let the Demon's Heads voice wash over him, not processing the words but still enjoying them nonetheless. It didn't even cross his mind that he should be this distance from his thoughts and the world around him, that he really should be more aware of what he's doing.
It's not until Ra's takes the bowl from him so that he doesn't drop it that he thinks something might be slightly wrong. Everything is swimming pleasantly around him as Ra's picks Tim up, bringing him to the bed.
"You... drugged me," Tim says simply, not even mad about it. Ra's only chuckles, giving Tim a fuzzy feeling a deja vu as he leaned his head against his broad shoulders. He smelled like the same spices that were in the soup, smells that were gradually becoming more familiar to him.
"If only to let you sleep, Detective."
Tim didn't reply, too busy sinking into the softness of the mattress, drifting off into a peaceful slumber.
Tim awoke screaming.
It wasn't as uncommon as you think it would be, but it definitely wasn't something that happened often. In fact, the only times it actually did happen was when he couldn't sleep for a long period of time and resorted to drugging himself, forcing his mind under long enough that the nightmares got really bad, bad enough that well-
He screamed.
He thrashed and tried to untangle himself from the sheets of the bed (which were much softer than he remembered his own bed ever being-) but there was something clasped around his wrists, chaining him down, rendering him useless.
But I can't be useless, if I'm useless people die, everyone dies, and the people I care about see just how poisonous I really am, how I eventually destroy everything I touch-
He was sobbing brokenly at this point, still trying to get out of the sheets that seemed to be endless. He couldn't even remember what the nightmare was about anymore, only recalling the feeling of being worthless and discarded, all alone in a sea of blood and darkness as flashes of death came again and again.
Suddenly, a door slammed open, making Tim flinch and cry harder, unable to stop the hot tears running down his face. There was the sounds of someone moving around frantically, opening various doors (yet more things he doesn't remember his bedroom having, unless this is a safehouse he hasn't used before) and going everywhere as if they were searching for something. All the while, Tim was whimpering and shivering, trying and failing to calm his tears.
Ever so gently, someone sat on his bed, finding the edge of the sheat and uncovering Tim from where he was thoroughly wrapped up. Tim froze when he saw the man on the other side, all of the memories of the past several days flooding through his mind.
"Timothy?" Ra's asked softly, as if he was afraid of startling a wounded animal. "What happened?"
Tim wanted to curl up on himself, throw the covers back on himself and hide from Ra's' gaze that had no business looking as concerned as it did. He was an idiot, he ate the food he was given even though he knew it was probably drugged, and now here he was, trembling after some stupid nightmare. What would the Bats say about him if they saw Tim now? They would call him pathetic, demand to know just how long he's been working for the other side, try to throw him in Arkham again-
Warm, calloused hands cupped Tim's tear streaked cheeks, trying to soothe him. He should be refusing Ra's' touch, demand for him to leave, but he couldn't. Without even consciously realizing it, he was talking, rambling even.
"I-I have nightmares," he said weakly, his voice wavering ever so slightly. "A lot. All the time, whenever I manage to fall asleep, which isn't really all that often. But uh- yeah. Nightmares. They're worse when I force myself to pass out for a couple of hours, you know, sedate myself."
There was silence between them for a moment. "What are your nightmares about?"
Tim should veto that question immediately. There was no way he should be revealing his darkest thoughts and fears with his nemesis, with someone he knows for a fact uses every weakness someone has to destroy them, especially since he was currently a kidnapped victim chained to the walls of this very room. Maybe if it was someone else, someone who-
His thought abruptly stopped. Who else would he tell? Who in his life did he trust enough to tell them that he wasn't as put together as everyone thought, that he was really one bad day away from shattering into a million pieces?
No one. Not a single person.
"I never really remember. Not everything. But... but there's always death, someone dying, be-because of me. I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't smart enough, I wasn't good enough. But I'm never good enough, and they remind me, every, single, time. They laugh and they say-say I'm better off dead where no one has to think about me anymore- and-" he starts crying again. Ra's removes his hands from his face, instead hugging Tim tightly. He lets the vigilante cry his eyes out, hugging him back just as tightly if not more. He would never admit it, but everything about Ra's was just... calming. He was constantly warm, no matter what (which is something Tim would easily bet on, seeing as they've been in subzero temperatures together) his voice was great to listen to when he wasn't trying to kill you, and his smell was something Tim was steadily growing addicted to.
Sometime later, when Tim finally stopped crying and was just hiccuping every once in a while, Ra's asked another question with the uttermost hesitance. "When... when was the last time you slept without these nightmares torturing your every moment?"
Tim said nothing for a long moment. He had the feeling that Ra's already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from his mouth.
"When we were trapped on that mountain together," he replied, so quiet that he could barely hear himself. But that seemed to be enough for Ra's.
Ra's slowly began to lay them down, bringing the sheets up to wrap around them both securely. Tim sighed, mumbling, "thank you," into Ra's' chest. There wasn't a response before Tim's mind allowed everything to go dark.
The next day, the Bats found him, and Tim went back to Gotham like he always does. It was then that he found out Ra's was using Timothy Drake-Wayne's kidnapping as a distraction while he stole a precious artifact from ancient times. The Bats had been attempting to track it down before coming for Tim, but with no luck.
Tim doesn't know if he should be relieved by either fact or not. On one hand, he was right about that Bats eventually finding and freeing him. On the other hand, he really was originally used by Ra's for another means.
All he could think about was Ra's' gentle words and dreamless sleep.
There was a reason a rule of three indicated a pattern.
The first time something out of the ordinary happened, say, him and Ra's al Ghul basically cuddling together for warmth on a freezing mountain and ended up giving Tim the most restful sleep of his life, that was an accident. There was no way either of them could have predicted that out come, even with both of their forever planning tendencies. It was something that happened once that would never happen again, even on the most extreme of circumstances.
The second time the same out of the ordinary thing happened, say, him and Ra's al Ghul falling asleep together after being kidnapped by the League of Assassins as a distraction for stealing an artifact, that was a coincidence. Ra's would have kidnapped him either way, but it was by chance he happened to come across Tim waking up from a horrible nightmare and decided to help him fall asleep. As far as both of them were concerned, it didn't happen.
But this, this- there was no denying this.
There was no denying the fact that it was Tim going to Ra's for this, that after nearly a month of trying not to break, that he's just established a pattern. A pattern of Tim not taking care of himself or struggling to sleep, and Ra's al Ghul showing up to help him. Or something like that.
And look- it's not like he doesn't know that he shouldn't do this- it's just that-
This entire month has been horrible, alright? Just downright awful, the worst one he's had in years, which is really saying something, okay? It started off with Timothy Drake-Wayne getting abducted (again, though not by Ra's) by a gang hellbent on getting a portion of Bruce Wayne's endless stack of money. It wasn't too bad over all, a few bruises and cuts, but it was especially humiliating since he wasn't allowed to take down the gang unless he suddenly wanted the world to know who Red Robin was. The Bats had to save him once again, and Damian's harsh words of being useless even as one of the most powerful people in the country hurt him more then he'd like to admit.
It didn't help that none of the Bats even seemed to notice.
The month then continued with a major mess at WE; someone had hacked into the software and planted a virus, causing thousands of dollars in employees salaries draining into an unknown account. It took much longer than it should have to fix, even with the combined efforts of Oracle, Tim, and the best WE had to offer. By the time they had finally fixed it, the entire company was nearly put into a panic, and even Vicki Vale had written an article with the speculation that Mr. Drake-Wayne had planted the virus himself in order to pay an associate of the illegal kind.
The worst part was, some people actually believed it.
But that crisis was quickly replaced by another: Arkham. A breakout, bigger than nearly any other that came before it. Poison Ivy, the Joker, Mr. Freeze, Scarecrow, Harley Quinn, Mad Hatter, and any other villain you can think of, all roaming the streets of Gotham. It was mayhem trying to control everything, to keep the city from falling apart, from keeping the panic down, to just staying alive.
And Tim, he arguably got the worst of it all.
On the first night of the breakout, the Red Hood chased him across the rooftops, injected with Joker Venom as he tried again and again to kill Tim. It took hours before anyone was able to stop him, and by then, Tim was downright exhausted, barely able to stand up. But he still had to go after the escapees for the rest of the night, one wrong move away from blacking out and dying the entire time.
Over the course of several days, Poison Ivy used a new pollen on him that caused severe sickness and draining of strength, Mad Hatter used him as on a guinea pig for a new experiment that controlled his movements, making Tim attack the other Bats, and Mr. Freeze nearly froze him to death.
And yet none of them, none of them, were as bad as the night Scarecrow came out to play.
At first it was just run of the mill type of thing, Scarecrow attempting to release a new strain of newly created fear toxin on the city, the Bats coming in, stopping the crazy scientist- it went exactly as planned to a T. Nothing could have gone wrong- except it did.
They didn't know that the toxin was also scheduled to go off in certain rooms of Scarecrow's warehouse, one of the rooms Red Robin happened to be in at the time. They didn't know that this gas wasn't targeted at fear, but at the insecurities of the mind, meaning all of their previous antidotes would do absolutely nothing. All of that lead to Red Robin collapsed on the floor, whimpering and crying in a room full of gas that he could no longer see while everything that he's ever worried about came right into the forefront of his mind.
His parents, wondering if he could make them love him long enough to stay more than two days.
Bruce one day saying that he no longer needed Tim, that there was no reason to be Robin anymore.
Bruce and nearly everyone else he's ever loved, dying and leaving him all alone without them there to pretend he's not.
Dick and Damian basically kicking him out, leaving him on a one man hunt to find their former mentor.
And more and more and more. Tim doesn't even remember any of the Bats finding him and taking him back to the Cave (a place he literally hasn't been to in months before that moment-) or anything else besides being hurt over and over again. In almost every way, it was worse than the fear gas ever was. At least fear gas channeled your fear into something, fighting, running away, something, but this gas just left Tim useless and crying about things in the past that he had shoved away and tried to forget about. And that, perhaps, was the worst thing about it, being stuck in the past, and past he's tried so hard to ignore. Like that, it's impossible, and everyone around him can hear it, hear him calling out for them not to leave him again.
Tim isn't entirely sure just how much they heard, but he knows the second he was finally out of it, that they finally found a way to stop the gas's effects, he bolted. He couldn't look any of them in the eye, not when they all saw him so weak. Not just physically incapacitated, but mentally. Tim Drake, the Robin known for his brilliant and quick mind, broken beyond tears and words.
He had to leave, and he did. No one ever came for him, and like many things, Tim isn't sure if that makes him relieved or just heartbroken.
The rest of the month was spent tracking down the rest of the Arkham inmates one by one until they were all back in their cells. He fought alongside the Bats, but he never stayed around to chat afterwards.
Sleep... sleep only came in nightmare filled pockets, worse than they've ever been. Scarecrow's gas fucked him up more than any other before it, and even with all of it cleared from his system (he checked multiple times, just to make sure) the after effects still haunted him.
And all of it, all of it- has lead Tim to the decision he's making right now.
Tim's shaky fingers slowly dialed Ra's al Ghul's number, something the immortal gave him long ago but hasn't used until now. There was no guarantee that this number even worked anymore, but Tim was willing to try anything at this point. He could physically feel sleep tugging on his soul, but the nightmares remained just out of reach, waiting for him to fall into their trap.
He took a deep breath before hitting the call button, curling the blanket tighter around himself. It felt like he hasn't left his bedroom at the Nest in days, and at this point, it was hard to be sure. He rarely checks the time, and when he does, the numbers just swirl in his head without making any sense.
The phone rang and rang for over a minute, but no picked it up. Tim felt his eyes begin to water, stinging hotly. He knew that this was a long shot that it would even work, but something deep inside just hoped so much that Ra's would be on the other end. He never should have tried this at all-
But just before he was about to hang up, someone answered. Tim froze, only able to process, "Detective?" before he was uncontrollably sobbing.
He was there, he was there, gods he was there.
How did it escalate to the point that I need you right here beside me? Why haven't either of us stopped it?
How much more are we going to push it?
"I-I-I-," Tim stuttered, unsure exactly of what he was trying to say. But Ra's didn't seem to care about that though, somehow understanding that in that moment that Tim simply needed him.
"I'll be there as soon as I can, Timothy," Ra's rushed, the sounds of the place the Demon's Head was in rushing around him. Tim didn't even notice that Ra's didn't ask where he was, only assured him that he would be there. The hot tears never stopped running down his face, even as Ra's spoke comforting words to him (though he couldn't recall what those words were, only his voice).
He had no idea how long he was on the phone with Ra's before the immortal was simply there in his room. All he knew was that the phone was gently pried from his trembling hands and turned off, placed somewhere where Tim couldn't see, and then Ra's was under the covers with him. He latched onto the sudden warmth, burying his face in Ra's' shoulder, beginning to soak the material there with his wet face. Ra's didn't seem to mind at all.
A large hand gently tangled his his hair, messaging his head and neck in firm, soothing strokes. Minute by minute, Tim felt the tension and fear in his mind and muscles dissipate, leaving him limp and relaxed in Ra's' arms. In that moment, he didn't care about anything else but this. He didn't care about the past month, didn't care about what anyone would think if they knew what he was doing with his supposed nemesis, didn't care about the responsibilities he was supposed to represent, didn't care that he's never been allowed to just feel, didn't care that everyone else in the world had seemingly abandoned him.
Because- because Ra's would never abandon him, never force him to constantly make that choice between the world or himself. Sure, they disagreed on pretty much everything morally, but never once has Ra's given him the illusion that they could somehow come to an agreement on their morals. Never once has he tried to befriend him only to toss him away when he was no longer seen as useful. Ra's, while a manipulative bastard, never hid or changed his intentions like so many people in Tim's life.
It was... a freeing feeling. He couldn't exactly trust Ra's per say, but he could rely on him. And that... that was more than Tim Drake has ever wanted.
"Thank you," Tim whispered. "For coming here, I mean. It's... it's been a rough month."
Ra's hummed, laying them both down in a more comfortable position. Tim took a deep breath, appreciating that spicy vanilla smell that he's grown to associate with comfort and warmth, with Ra's. "Always, Timothy. I think we both know that at this point, neither of us need an excuse."
Tim sighed, feeling all of the nightmares in his mind fade away as the black blanket of sleep overtook him,
It was hard to believe it all started the way it did, Tim thinks. It's even harder to believe that it escalated this far, but that was fine.
For once in Tim Drake's life, all he had to do was ask for help, and that, perhaps, was the greatest escalation of them all.