Tim Drake oneshots

The Assasians Saint (3)

Tim sat by the grave he had made for Azruelle, the very place he used to visit to mourn his friend’s death, the place he now returned to when the weight of everything became too much. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets of Gotham. Tonight, the shadows felt suffocating, pressing down on his shoulders as he sat in silence. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, trying to steady the tremors running through him.

Bruce was gone.

Everyone said it. Dick had taken the mantle of Batman, and Damian—Damian, of all people—had replaced him as Robin. Tim had tried to argue, had tried to tell them, "Bruce isn’t dead, he’s out there. I know it." But no one listened. Not Dick. Not Damian. Not even Alfred. They had moved on, accepting Bruce’s fate, but Tim couldn’t. He knew—deep down, in his gut—that Bruce was alive. He just didn’t know how to prove it.

And now, here he was, back at Azruelle’s grave, alone again, the way he always ended up when everything fell apart.

Tears slid down his cheeks before he could stop them. He clenched his fists, angry at himself for crying, for breaking down like this. He was supposed to be stronger than this. But the betrayal, the loneliness, the helplessness—it was all too much. Dick had told him, in the calm, steady voice he always used, that Damian was “the future,” that he needed to step aside, that Bruce would have wanted it this way. Tim didn’t believe a word of it. He knew Bruce better than anyone. Bruce would have believed me.

Tim pressed his forehead against his knees, choking back a sob. He had lost everything: Bruce, his family, his place as Robin. And no one believed him—no one except him.

“Tim.”

The voice startled him, low and soft, like a whisper from the shadows. Tim looked up, his tear-filled eyes widening when he saw the figure standing before him. Azruelle, still cloaked in darkness but unmistakably there, the boy who had returned from the dead—his friend.

“You’re... you’re here,” Tim whispered, hastily wiping his face. He hadn’t expected anyone, least of all Azruelle, to find him here. “Why are you—”

Azruelle knelt beside him, his expression calm, but his eyes sharp with concern. He had been watching Tim for a while now, observing him from a distance, waiting for the right moment. When he saw Tim alone, vulnerable, the need to be close to him had overpowered his hesitation.

“You’re crying,” Azruelle said quietly. “What happened?”

Tim swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. He hadn’t told anyone how he really felt—not Dick, not Alfred, not even himself sometimes. But here, in front of Azruelle, the boy who had known him at his lowest, the words came tumbling out.

“Bruce... Bruce is gone,” Tim choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “Everyone thinks he’s dead, but I know he’s not. I know he’s still out there, somewhere. But no one believes me. Not Dick, not anyone. They’ve all moved on, and... and now Damian’s Robin. They kicked me out. I—” His voice broke, and the tears flowed freely now. “I don’t know what to do, Azruelle. I don’t know how to make them believe me.”

Azruelle’s expression didn’t change, but his heart ached at seeing Tim like this. The boy who had always been so strong, so full of conviction, now broken and lost. Without a word, Azruelle moved closer, sitting beside Tim, his presence a steadying force in the chaos swirling around his friend.

“I believe you,” Azruelle said softly.

Tim blinked, turning to face him. “You... what?”

Azruelle’s eyes locked onto Tim’s, filled with an unwavering certainty. “I believe you. If you say Bruce is alive, then I believe he is.”

Tim felt a flicker of hope spark in his chest, something small but real. It was the first time anyone had said those words to him, the first time someone had believed him. “Why? Why do you believe me?”

Azruelle’s gaze softened. “Because I know what it’s like to be thought dead, to disappear and have no one believe you could come back. I know how strong you are, Tim. If you say Bruce is alive, then I trust you. I trust your instincts.”

Tim’s breath hitched. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear those words until now. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, the tears slowing. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel so alone. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Azruelle nodded, his presence a silent reassurance. He shifted slightly, his voice low but determined. “We’ll find him, Tim. Together.”

Tim looked at him, surprise flickering in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Azruelle stood up, extending his hand to Tim. “I mean, I’m not letting you do this alone. I said I’d protect you, and that hasn’t changed. We’ll find Bruce, and we’ll prove everyone wrong.”

Tim stared at Azruelle’s outstretched hand for a moment, then slowly reached up and took it. As Azruelle pulled him to his feet, Tim felt the weight of his grief and loneliness begin to lift, just slightly.

He wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

With Azruelle by his side, Tim knew he could face whatever came next. They would find Bruce, no matter what it took. And together, they would set things right.