So. In this, Tim's a big bucket of crazy. Like. Nuts. So. BE WARNED, CRAZY TIM. ANGST. CRAZY ANGST. CRAZYYYY.

I hope you like it anyway. Reviews are always loved~

Disclaimer: I do not own. Never will.

He wondered when the remorse would start setting in.

But there wasn't any. Just a buzzing in his brain that was making his temples throb.

He wondered if this was what Cain felt like.

Then, in retrospect, he didn't really care all that much. Tim stood, rubbing the blood as best he could on his jeans.

"'A fugitive and a vagabond shall you be on the earth,'" he murmured, pulling off his bloodied hoodie and dropping it upon Damian's body. It soaked up the blood pooling around the younger boy's throat. Not enough to make any sort of difference, of course. But that didn't matter.

Damian's grey-blue eyes stared up at the starry sky of Gotham and Tim could feel laughter bubbling up into his throat.

It looked like Dick would have to find another replacement.

And the laughter sprouted into something else (and the remorse had yet to show itself), a more or less hilarious laughter bordering on maniac.

Tim had won.

Tim had won.

Of all the people he'd lost, the one life he had the ability to control was Damian's. And he'd won.

—

Arkham wasn't as scary as Tim figured it'd be. That was probably because straightjackets weren't Robin-proof, so everything they'd tried to restrain him with just ended up being taken off and pushed in a corner.

Dick came to visit, sometimes.

He'd always look so sad and Tim would smile a little after every visit, because Dick was now as sad and as ruined as he was.

As he washed his hands (he'd taken to doing that more often recently) he thought about what Jason would think. Had he heard?

What would Conner think? Bart?

...Bruce?

"Was it worth it?" He heard Damian's voice, which was impossible, because Damian was dead.

Tim turned off the water and settled into his small bed.

—

The Joker was dead at his feet.

Tim felt himself grind his teeth and tears pricked at his eyes. He wasn't sure what from. Joy. Horror. Damian stood in the corner of the Joker's cell (because not even the locks had proven Robin-proof, after a time) and just looked, tilting his head to the left for a moment, then the right.

Arkham officials arrived, one jabbing a tranquilizer into his bicep. He hadn't been struggling, so a part of him was confused as his brain went fuzzy.

Damian moved forward, and looked at him as he dropped into the arms of a staff member.

"Was it worth it, Drake?"

—

He was washing his hands again.

"Why do you do that?" Damian had gotten more talkative.

"I'm reducing the possibilities of infection." Tim said, matter-of-factly. "One day, someone will kill me. It is no less than I deserve."

"'Whoever kills Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold,'" Damian chimed.

Tim smiled a wry smile.

—

Jason had come to visit him once. And that was to bestow a hug upon him. Tim had been surprised. Damian rolled his eyes, sitting on the table and fidgeting with the pockets of his jeans.

Dick had come to visit too.

"I think you might be losing your mind," he said.

"Perhaps I caught rabies from Jason," Tim chimed good-naturedly, holding his cuffed hands in his lap. (He allowed the cuffs because it made the staff more comfortable.)

"Not funny, Tim."

"You used to love my wit."

"I'm just... getting tired of this." He gestured.

Tim grinned, but suppressed the hysterical laughter that threatened to overtake him. "Brother, you were already sick of me. Tired of me. And so here we are. Me with nothing. And you with nothing. Though," he said, rattling his cuffs, "I believe I am worse for wear."

Dick blinked, once.

"But it was worth it," he said, turning his gaze to Damian, standing at Dick's shoulder. "All of it. Damian and the Joker. Because for once, I was not having something taken from me. I was doing the taking. Because you know something, Batman? I was tired of having things taken. And taken. And taken."

Dick looked like he was close to freaking out.

"So, Dick, I win. You may not think so. Gotham may not think so. But I win. Because I'm in control now. Of me and my life. And the lives of others. And I won't be losing things anymore." He stood and moved to knock on the visiting room door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to wash my hands."

—

The night was freedom.

The night is free, Tim thought as he ran across the rooftops, leaving Arkham far behind him. Arkham, after all, had never been Robin-proofed.

Damian followed, padding with the silent footfalls of a trained Robin, as they headed toward the bridge that would take them out of the city.

As he escaped into the darkness beyond Gotham's lights (even though the lights brightened nothing), Tim smiled and he laughed.

"A fugitive and vagabond shall you be on the Earth!" Tim shouted, running and running.

Damian hummed beside him, watching thoughtfully. Tim paid him no mind. Even when the younger boy said "Am I my brother's keeper?"

No, Tim thought. I am my brother's keeper. His soul is mine. The Joker's soul is mine. I am Death, Taker of Life, Keeper of Souls.

They never did find out where Timothy Drake had gone.