Tim Drake oneshots

The Assasians Saint (1)

Tim always remembered the first time he met Azruelle. It had been a cold, drizzly night in Gotham’s Crime Alley, the kind of night that made the city feel like a living, breathing thing, dark and heavy. Tim had only just started sneaking out, long before his Robin days, exploring the forgotten parts of the city on his own. He had been walking through the alley when he spotted a kid, younger than him, crouched beside a pile of broken crates. The kid’s clothes were tattered, and his face streaked with dirt, but his eyes—his eyes burned with a sharp intelligence that made Tim stop.

They struck up an odd friendship from that night on. Every time Tim visited Crime Alley, he’d bring Azruelle food, money, or even a blanket when it got too cold. Azruelle never asked for anything, but Tim could tell he needed it. And in return, Azruelle would share stories of life in the underbelly of Gotham, the things he’d seen, the dangers lurking that even Tim couldn’t imagine. Tim always admired how strong Azruelle was to survive in a place like this, to thrive in the shadows.

To Tim, Azruelle was like a younger brother, someone he wanted to protect from Gotham’s cruelty. And to Azruelle, Tim was... different. He saw him as a saint, someone kind in a world that had shown him nothing but brutality. Tim gave without asking anything in return, and that left a deep impression on the boy.

But then, one day, Azruelle was gone.

Tim searched for weeks. He asked around Crime Alley, but no one had seen or heard from him. In his heart, Tim feared the worst. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his friend had met a grim fate in the unforgiving streets. Eventually, he gave up hope, but not completely. In a quiet, hidden spot in Crime Alley, Tim built a small grave for Azruelle. It wasn’t much, just a marker, but it meant something to Tim. He visited it often, bringing flowers or just sitting there, talking to the stone as if his friend could still hear him.

In truth, Azruelle wasn’t dead.

Slade Wilson—Deathstroke—had found him. The infamous assassin had been tracking rumors of a boy with a sharp mind and instinct for survival, only to discover that the boy was his own biological son, the result of a past he’d long since buried. Slade had taken Azruelle in, shaping him, molding him to be his heir. Under Slade's brutal training, Azruelle became something else—something dangerous. He learned to fight, to kill, to survive in ways that made his days in Crime Alley seem easy by comparison.

But through it all, Azruelle never forgot Tim. He remembered the warmth in Tim’s eyes, the kindness that had seemed so foreign yet so welcome. In the cold, hard world of Slade’s training, Tim became his beacon, his guiding light. He thought of him as his saint, a figure he vowed to protect at all costs. No matter what Slade taught him, no matter how far he fell into the assassin’s world, Azruelle swore that one day he would find Tim again. He would stand by him, protect him, and repay the kindness Tim had shown him.

Years passed, and Azruelle—now skilled, now deadly—began to operate in the shadows of Gotham once more. He knew Tim had grown, too. He had heard whispers of "Tim Drake," the boy who became Robin, the boy who still visited a grave in Crime Alley as if waiting for a lost friend to return.

Azruelle smiled beneath his mask as he watched from the shadows. It was time to reunite with his saint.