Chapter Text
Tim Drake had always possessed a morbid curiosity about what made people who they were—what made them tick. To him, human beings were just intricate machines, meant to be taken apart, studied, and put back together.
From a young age, he understood that his parents’ cold detachment stemmed from resentment, his very existence had shackled their freedom. He understood that Bruce Wayne had become Batman because of the trauma of watching his parents die. And he understood the Joker, regardless of all the chaos he caused, there was a method to the madness.
Yet, for all his clinical detachment, Tim still felt. He adored Dick Grayson for his warmth, his endless pep, his effortless charm. The day they met at the circus remained his most cherished memory. And he adored Robin, because Jason was magic. The last glimmering beacon in the black hole that was Gotham.
But now the last flickering flame of hope had gone out.
And Tim was ready to let the world burn.
Of all the people Tim Drake understood, he understood himself the most.
And he understood that at the tender age of twelve, he was going to commit a murder.