Tim Drake oneshots

The Assasians Saint (2)

Tim stood in front of the makeshift grave, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The city was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of a siren. He knelt down, placing a small bouquet of flowers at the base of the stone marker. It had become a ritual for him, something he did whenever he needed to think, to reflect. This grave was more than just a memory of Azruelle—it was a reminder of a time when he wasn’t yet a hero, just a kid trying to help someone in need.

As he ran his fingers along the cold surface of the stone, Tim sighed. "I’m sorry I couldn’t do more," he whispered, his voice barely audible against the backdrop of Gotham’s restless energy. He had long come to terms with the fact that Azruelle was gone, but the guilt never truly left him. If he had been faster, smarter, maybe his friend wouldn’t have vanished. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to make this grave.

Unbeknownst to him, a figure stood in the shadows, watching.

Azruelle's heart ached at the sight. He had observed Tim for days now, keeping to the darkness, waiting for the right moment. Tim had grown taller, stronger, but his expression still carried the same warmth Azruelle remembered. Watching him visit the grave—his grave—stirred emotions that had been buried beneath years of training and discipline. Azruelle could still feel the weight of the past, but now he was different. Now, he was someone who could protect Tim.

Slade had taught him many things: how to fight, how to kill, how to manipulate, and most importantly, how to survive. But nothing Slade drilled into him had dulled the memories of those nights in Crime Alley. No amount of training could erase the bond he felt with the boy who had shown him kindness when no one else did.

Tim stood up, brushing off his jeans, and turned to leave. As he took a few steps, he sensed something—movement, a presence. Years of being Robin had sharpened his instincts, and he knew when he was being watched. He stopped, his body tense as he scanned the surrounding rooftops and alleyways.

“Who’s there?” Tim called, his voice steady, though his heart rate spiked. He didn’t reach for his weapons yet, but he was ready for anything.

A figure stepped out of the shadows, his face partially hidden beneath a mask, but the outline was unmistakably familiar. Tall, lean, with the same intensity that Tim remembered, though older now—hardened. Tim's breath caught in his throat. No, it couldn’t be…

“Azruelle?” Tim whispered, disbelief flooding his voice.

The figure stepped closer, removing his mask, and Tim saw it clearly now—those same piercing eyes, that familiar face, though marked by the years. Azruelle had changed, but there was no mistaking him.

“I thought you were dead,” Tim said, his voice trembling with emotion, torn between shock and confusion. He had mourned this boy, visited his grave, and now he was standing in front of him, alive.

Azruelle looked at Tim, his heart swelling with both guilt and relief. "I should have told you sooner," he said, his voice soft but steady. "I didn’t mean for you to think I was gone. But I couldn’t come back—not then."

“Where did you go? What happened to you?” Tim’s questions tumbled out all at once, emotions breaking through the carefully maintained composure he had as Robin.

Azruelle hesitated for a moment, the weight of his past clinging to his every word. “Slade found me. He’s my father, Tim. He took me and… trained me. Made me into what I am now.” His voice hardened at the mention of Slade, the memories of his brutal training flashing through his mind.

Tim's eyes widened. "Slade? As in… Deathstroke?"

Azruelle nodded, his gaze dropping for a moment. "I became his heir, his weapon. But I never forgot you, Tim. Not for a second. You were the only person who ever treated me like I mattered. Like I was something more than just a street kid."

Tim took a step forward, his expression softening. “Azruelle, you didn’t have to go through that alone. You didn’t have to disappear like that.”

Azruelle clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "I didn't have a choice. But I swore to myself, one day, I’d come back. I’d find you. And I’d protect you, just like you protected me."

Tim shook his head, disbelief still clouding his thoughts. “You don’t need to protect me. We can help each other.”

Azruelle smiled faintly, a shadow of the boy Tim had once known. "Maybe. But I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."

Before Tim could respond, Azruelle’s gaze hardened, his instincts flaring. He turned his head slightly, scanning the rooftops. "We’re not alone," he whispered.

In an instant, Tim’s training kicked in, and he was on high alert. He could sense it too now—someone was watching them. "Slade?" he asked, his voice low.

Azruelle nodded. "He never lets me out of his sight for long."

Tim clenched his fists, ready for a fight. But Azruelle placed a hand on his shoulder. "I’ll handle him. This is between me and him. But I’ll be back, Tim. I swear it."

Before Tim could protest, Azruelle was gone, disappearing into the shadows just as quickly as he had appeared. Tim stood there, heart pounding, watching the spot where his friend had vanished.

Azruelle was alive. And now, it seemed, Tim was about to be drawn into something much bigger than either of them had imagined.