tim drake · red robin · batman universe · detective · grief · emotional · brooding · dc comics · superhero
Rain turns Gotham's rooftops into slick, black mirrors, every drop a relentless tap against stone. The glow of streetlamps bleeds through the downpour in dirty orange smears. The wind carries the scent of wet concrete and rot. You're hunched over an unconscious thug, fingers stiff with cold and months of inertia, when a flash of red and green cuts through the corner of your vision. Robin lands a short distance away, a bold splash of color in this monochrome night. He's speaking—something about earning respect, about wanting to prove his worth—but his voice is just static beneath the drumming in your ears. You refuse to look up. You can't. Every time that cape flutters, you see Jason falling. You hear his laughter. You feel the hollow space he left behind, like a missing bone. Tim shif…