Tim Drake, the third Robin.39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGG0grf0Emq
It wasn’t just a title—it was his passion. He had a deep love for the psychological aspects of detective work, and he possessed remarkable talent and potential in that field. Under Batman’s rigorous training in deduction and investigation, Tim had passed with flying colors.
Today, the focus of Tim’s internal inquiry was the previous Robin—Jason Todd, the one who was, technically, his older brother.
He first saw Todd while the latter was in a long-term coma. That body was covered in scars, the kind left by severe physical abuse.
Tim had only stepped out of the shadows after realizing Batman had been without a Robin for six months. He understood one thing—Batman needed a Robin.
So, he went to Batman and offered himself for the role. He was turned down.
So he changed tactics. He outmaneuvered Batman, made it impossible for Bruce to shake him off—and in the end, he succeeded.
39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWHzhILAe9S
Tim sat in the corner of the study, holding a cup of cold Earl Grey tea. Notes and photographs were scattered across the desk in front of him.
Among the pages were records of Todd’s reappearances, behavioral patterns, psychological profiles—and certain inconsistencies he couldn’t explain.
He compared photos of Jason with his old medical files from the hospital. He carefully documented the distribution of injuries—the kind that marked someone who had teetered on the edge of death. Tim’s face remained impassive as he observed and recorded.
He was pondering one thing: Jason’s behavior after waking didn’t match expectations.
It wasn’t about emotions—it was something at the core of his personality. According to standard psychological theory, someone who had experienced severe trauma, intimate betrayal (perhaps viewing Batman as a father), and being replaced, should show signs of emotional volatility or dissociative, even vengeful behavior.
But Jason hadn’t erupted.
He just smiled. Said “Congratulations.” And left.
That wasn’t normal—and Tim knew that far too well.
He looked down at the behavioral chart he had drawn. Lines and timelines crisscrossed the page, but there was one blank space. The "pivot point"—the gap between Jason's coma and his strangely calm departure.
Tim hated blanks. He would rather have incomplete data than a broken logic chain.
But this blank wasn’t silence. It felt like something had been erased—extracted.
He frowned and opened Jason’s recent activity logs. Jason still lived in Gotham. His movements were traceable. His actions were cautious, unlike the reckless patterns of other anti-heroes. He avoided unnecessary conflict, even steered clear of pointless bloodshed. Violent, yes—but always with restraint.
Tim scribbled a line on a sticky note and stuck it above his monitor:
“A bird that forgot the way home.”
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled against his lips. His eyes, calm and focused, stared forward in thought.
One more thing bothered him—Jason never questioned how he ended up in a coma. Never looked into the Joker’s body. Never asked Tim why he had taken his place.
It was too strange. This wasn’t the reaction of a boy who once screamed for justice and identity.
This wasn’t Jason.
This wasn’t the Jason Todd he should have been.
Tim continued documenting every inconsistency. This wasn’t about jealousy or rivalry. He just wanted to know:
What had his so-called older brother lost during that year in the dark?
Tim sat at the Batcave’s main console. His Red Robin suit shimmered faintly under the cold overhead lights. He hadn’t started his nightly patrol yet. Instead, his fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up an old file—the record of the night Jason Todd was nearly killed, six years ago.
He needed to know what really happened.
It was a written report entered by Batman himself. Each line was simple, calm, yet carried a tight, ominous tension:
[Scene observation: Warehouse floor littered with bladed weapons. Pattern unusually dense and unnatural. No gunfire evidence. No shell casings. No gunpowder residue.]
[Subject: Jason Todd. Location: center of the blade pile. Unconscious. Blood loss excessive—abnormal.]
[Unusual marking: One white rose found on subject’s chest. No known source.]
[Preliminary assessment: Attacker did not use conventional weapons. Possible external interference.]
Tim narrowed his eyes.
He reread the phrase “white rose” again and again. That wasn’t something a killer would leave behind.
A white rose—pure, clean.
He exhaled and switched to Batman’s body-cam footage from that night. The screen trembled slightly from the chest-mounted camera. The video opened to a sea of glinting blades, the warehouse floor shimmering cold blue under dim yellow lights.
Batman walked across the knives, his footsteps deliberate, urgent. At the center of the blade mountain, he found Jason—still in his Robin suit—lying completely still. The area around him formed a perfect, untouched circle. Not a single blade was near his body.
Tim hit pause.
Too perfect. Those knives looked deliberately arranged—like by an unseen hand.
He pressed play again.
Batman rushed forward, bent down, checked for a pulse. Then he exhaled, as if pulling the boy back from death itself.
And then—39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFUFw7VOSrc
Just as Batman went to lift Jason up, the white rose on Jason’s chest slid off—falling softly into the pool of blood like a gentle prayer released, sinking, stained red.
Tim stared at it.
That wasn’t a stage prop. Not a dramatic touch.
That was a real, fresh white rose. Dewy. Fragrant.
Tim’s heart skipped a beat.
He leaned back into his chair, a strange ache swelling in his chest.
It wasn’t the thrill of a mystery.39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxEqx6FvQqi
It was like touching a soft, transparent hand—reaching up from a memory still buried at the bottom of a sunken sea.
Later, Jason woke up.
When the boy on the hospital bed opened his eyes, dawn had just broken. Outside the window, the first light of morning poured in—a soft, golden haze.39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCG33OtluZl
Batman sat beside him, unmasked.39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFzlue8XacG
It was a sign of respect, and perhaps, a quiet refusal to lie to the child before him.
“Jason… that night—what did you see?”
The boy stayed silent for a long time. His lashes trembled faintly, but his gaze was steady—so calm it bordered on hollow.39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVnsaFeRf7o
He slowly shook his head. His voice was low, like a fog hidden deep within his chest:
“…I don’t know anything.”
Batman didn’t press further. He knew—that wasn’t a lie.
But the rose,39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNlKR6B2AIG
the blades,39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2KlkpFWfze
the layers of blood and flesh…
They were all still there.39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtPMt6kp3Ds
