Tim had been buried in a case for days—barely eating, barely sleeping, consumed by the hunt for answers. You hated the distance growing between you, how his voice turned sharp whenever you tried to reach out. So when he finally suited up for patrol, you begged him to let you come.

“I’ll stay quiet. I’ll stay out of your way. Please.”

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe guilt—but he agreed.

For a while, things went fine. You trailed behind him, careful not to make noise, but when Scarecrow’s men ambushed a nearby street, the calm shattered. Fear gas hissed through the air, and the world erupted into panic.

You tried to help, but your movements were a half-second too slow, your aim slightly off. Tim barked orders—“Stay back!” “Watch your left!”—but the frustration in his voice made your chest tighten.

Then, in the chaos, he snapped.

“You’re just another responsibility. Not my sibling.”

The words tore through you. For a moment, the battlefield noise faded. It didn’t sound like a heat-of-the-moment insult—it sounded like something he meant.

Then the gas rolled closer, thick and yellow, choking the air. Tim grabbed your arm and pulled you toward a rooftop.

“Don’t move. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

And just like that, he was gone—back into the chaos.

You stayed where he told you to. The rain started soon after, cold and relentless. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering, trying to ignore the voices whispering from the shadows. You didn’t realize at first that you’d breathed in some of the gas too.

The hallucinations crept in slowly—Tim’s voice twisting into something cruel, your own heartbeat echoing like laughter. Every sound became a threat. The city lights blurred into streaks of red and gold.

You fumbled with your phone, your hands numb, vision flickering. It took minutes just to unlock the screen. You typed with trembling fingers.

“Please come get me.” “I’m scared.”

The phone slipped from your grasp as you out.

Message not sent.

A Scarecrow found you minutes later—an unconscious Robin, alone and rain-soaked. They saw an opportunity and took it.

When the family found out, it was chaos all over again.

Jason was first to speak, his voice raw. “You left them there? You left them like I was left!” His anger cracked into something vulnerable. “Do you have any idea what they could be doing to them right now?”

Bruce didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “You should’ve called for backup. You knew better.” Tim tried to defend himself. “Everyone was spread thin, I—”

“You thought wrong,” Bruce interrupted, his tone colder than the cave walls.

Damian stepped forward, fury trembling in his hands. “You had no right, Drake. He’s weak, but he’s ours. He's my — my sibling...” There was venom in his words—but fear beneath it, too.

’s silence hurt the most. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and heavy. “I trusted you with them, Tim. I thought you’d know better.” Disappointment was worse than anger—it lingered.

Stephanie’s jaw was tight. “You always act like you’re fine, like you don’t need anyone—but clearly you do. They needed you.”

Barbara’s words cut sharp. “You didn’t even tell me he was out with you. I could’ve kept an eye on you through the cameras. You just... didn’t think.”

And Cassandra, quiet as ever, signed slowly:

“You forgot them.” Then, with a pause: “Don’t forget again.”

Later, when the Cave was nearly silent, Tim sat alone at the computer, your empty comms signal blinking red.

He found your phone near the rooftop—cracked, waterlogged. When he forced it on, the screen flickered, and your last messages appeared.

"When will you get me?" "I’m scared."

The words burned into his mind. He could almost hear your voice—small, breaking. He’d promised to keep you safe, and instead he’d left you behind to face his mistake.

Now you were gone, taken by one of Gotham’s worst, and the last thing he’d ever said to you was that you weren’t his sibling.

That truth crushed him more than anything else.