Chapter Text
Koriand'r is no stranger to the sensation of eyes. As a princess, she has always been watched; a fact that was only exacerbated when she became a slave. She has learned the subtleties of gaze through brutal training and survival instinct. She knows how to tell the curious from the calculating; how to detect wrongful intent.
As an alien on earth, she has not come across many in the human species who can harm her, save, perhaps, the two she spends so many of her days with. However, neither of her boys come with the biology that protects her from harm. While Roy shines brilliantly most days, he is no star - not physically. This is why she has become more conscious of threats. Her criteria is no longer of Tamaran quality, but of those that might try to take what family she has claimed for her own. As such, she becomes aware almost instantly of a brush of calculated intensity just outside of her peripherals.
A simple turn of her head reveals a street she’s grown familiar with. There are several civilians walking along the sidewalk in close knit groups. Across the small side road is a cafe, with old metal tables and big umbrellas set into the middle to help relieve some of the heat. It’s that, that gives him away.
While Kori has no problem with temperature, she has grown to understand that humans are much more particular. Too hot and they can burn up. Too cold and they will freeze. The man she sees is not wearing what one would expect for the coastal village. His sleeves are long and his pants are tucked into heavy boots. There’s a cloth mask on his face, sitting just below tired set eyes. She can see that he’s flushed, even from here.
A glance up at the sky tells her that she has time before Roy will be ready to head back to the island. She makes her way across the street to take the seat across from him.
“Hello,” she says. “You were staring.”
He looks familiar, up close. Something tugs at the back of her mind but she takes comfort in the fact that it does not ring of alarm bells.
“I was,” he agrees.
She likes this. Humans are so tedious with their lies.
“Why?”
He stares down at the iced drink in his hands but makes no move to take off his mask. The condensation is leaving pools of water behind; it drips between the metal grating of the table and darkens the sidewalk below.
“I’ve heard stories about you, but we’ve never really met. Koriand’r, right?”
She blinks. He is one of few to wrap his mouth around the syllables without pause. His pronunciation is not perfect - no humans’ will ever be - but it is impressive in how close he gets. She wonders what motive he has for the effort.
“Some call me Starfire. Others call me Kori.”
He drags his eyes up to look at her. “What would you have me call you?”
She taps her fingers against the table. The metal smokes ever so slightly. “You may call me Kori, for now,” she allows.
“Kori.” He gives a dip of his head. “My name is Tim.”
She does not know of any Tim, not personally. But there is a Tim she has heard of, one that Jason has ranted about. Kori looks him over with new eyes.
“What stories have you heard of me, Tim?”
“I’ve heard that you’re a member of The Outlaws. You’re a wanted criminal in several parts of the world, as well as a few different galactic ports. You’re a fierce warrior, a princess who has stood beside our heroes in the past.” He holds a hand up in a gesture of peace when her hair crackles. His voice softens. “I’ve heard that you love learning new things. That ice cream makes you smile and modesty doesn’t exist in your mind. I’ve heard that you’re one of the most honest people Dick Grayson has ever met and one of the few that Jason Todd trusts.”
“Flattery does not work on me,” she feels the need to tell him, past the sting that Dick’s name brings to her chest. She represses the memory, as she always does. “Why are you here?”
His hands tighten around the cup in his hands, hard enough that some of the liquid shoots up into the straw. He eases up before it can breach the tip. “I need your help,” Tim says. “I need - “ again, the liquid sloshes in his cup. He releases it to rub his hands over the fabric of his pants. “I need your help.”
“Do you?” She is usually not the one approached for these sorts of things. Jason gets the calls, and Roy charms his way into information. She is merely a companion, one that most people stay away from. “What sort of help do you require, Tim Wayne?”
There’s a flinch, so minute anyone else would have missed it. He lets out a harsh breath and grabs for his drink once more. He yanks his mask down in one swift motion and brings the straw to his lips. He drinks like someone who hasn’t had water in days, with a single minded determination Kori has seen plenty of men use to go at bottles in dark lit bars.
His face is flushed. The red comes through in blotchy patches made worse by the stark white that splatters the lower left of his jaw. On his cheeks are two reddened slashes. They start at the corners of his lips and cut up towards his ears in diagonal lines.
“Sanctuary,” he says, when his cup is empty and his mask is up once more. “I seek sanctuary.”
This is not a term she is used to. However, she has learned in her days spent with her team, her Outlaws, and the phrase rings familiar. She remembers it in scared children and desperate mothers. In people left bloody and scarred from the wars of others. She does not know what sort of war it is that Tim runs from, but she can see the same sort of desperation in his eyes. His hands tremble minutely against the table and she gets the feeling that if she leaves him here he will have nowhere else to go.
“I grant you sanctuary,” she says, slowly, carefully, feeling the words over her tongue. They do not bite or curdle.
Tim caves in on himself. There is no other term for it. One moment he is sitting upright and the next he is curled over and clutching at his sides like that alone will keep him from shaking apart.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
She allows him a few moments of peace to compose himself. When a glance up at the sky reveals the sun in its full glory, she knows their time to linger is coming to an end.
Tim nods and goes to stand. His legs wobble, threatening to send him crashing to the ground. She scoops him up into her arms and shoots into the sky before he can make a sound. He’s painfully light in her arms.
There’s a sort of sickness staining the air around him; she will have to scan him with the ship’s machines once they return. Perhaps Roy will know more. Jason, too, if he’s willing.
She’s not entirely sure how he’ll take this but she is of the opinion that it is long past time for Jason to face his demons and put them to rest. If Tim is one, she will help make it so.
Roy is waiting by the boat when she touches down once more. He squints at the bundle in her arms and then at her. “That’s not the kind of baggage we’re supposed to bring back, Kor. Please tell me you didn’t kidnap him.”
“Nonsense.” She strides past with fond exasperation on her mouth. “He asked for Sanctuary and I granted it. This is what you do, yes?”
“Uh, kinda? It depends on the situation.” Roy grimaces. “Who is it?”
She lays Tim down in the shade of the captain’s quarters. He’s half asleep, already. His eyelids drag with every blink.
“His name is Tim,” she says matter of factly. “Tim Wayne.”
“His name is what?!” Roy gapes at her. “Do you have any idea what Jason is going to do if we bring a bat home?”
“I suspect he will rage and break a few things before coming to his senses.” Kori frowns as she brushes Tim’s hair back from his forehead. There are misshapen, circular scars on his temples. “He is hurt.”
Roy moves closer and curses under his breath at the marks. “You’re explaining this to Jaybird,” he warns as he gets out the healthkit. “Timothy Drake was not on our shopping list.”
“Very well.” She turns to hit the button that will take them back to the island. The engine hums to life as the boat glides away from the dock. “I will tell him.”
The trip takes around an hour in earth time, one that is full of Roy’s mutterings as he ensures that their guest is not about to drop dead before she can get him to the ship’s machines.
“He’s definitely dehydrated,” he declares, after poking about at Tim’s person. Tim barely stirs throughout the process, which is worrying in itself. The skin he’s pinched on the top of Tim’s hand is slow to move back into place. “He’s breathing pretty hard and he’s burning up. Might have heat stroke, too, but the dehydration is making it hard to tell.”
She hovers over his shoulder and listens to the frantic beat of Tim’s heart. Roy’s is a steady pulse in comparison.
“What must be done?”
“We need to get him fluids. Getting rid of some of these layers should help, too.” He lifts a hand to take off Tim’s mask and curses at what he sees. “ Fuck .”
“He did not have these marks before,” Kori deduces.
“No, he - “ Roy rubs at his mouth as if he’s tasted something foul. His eyes are pinched at the corners. “The last time I saw him he was fine. Jaybird is gonna hate this.”
The scars look especially painful on Tim’s sleeping face. They’re raised and reddened slashes, still somewhat new. Kori can see where there had once been stitches keeping the skin together.
“And the markings?” She asks, as she reaches out to trace the white that splatters his jaw.
“New.”
Roy’s jaw sets as he begins pulling Tim’s shirt up. There are more white splotches here, as if someone had thrown a can of paint and he’d been caught in the splash zone. She’s never seen such markings on a human before.
There are so many scars on his skin for such a small body. She is no stranger to the cruelties of life but it seems excessive, even to her. Roy makes a miserable sound when he examines Tim’s arms; there are needle marks everywhere. The sides of his neck have been through a similar treatment, with haphazard dottings all along the length of it.
“He was tortured,” Kori says softly.
Roy makes what could be a sound of confirmation; he can’t seem to stop staring at Tim’s arm. She places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. In the distance, their island looms closer.
He’s careful as he sets Tim’s arm back down. His brow furrows beneath the shadow of his hat.
“What is it, dwisol’orp ?”
“I’m just wondering why a bat is looking for sanctuary with us instead of with the rest of them.” He lifts a hand to squeeze her own and says grimly, “Jay has tried to kill Tim before, so why would he come here? I’m just not likin’ the picture I’m starting to see, that’s all.”
She considers Tim and what she has heard from Jason of his origins. Jason has been so adamant in the past that Tim is his replacement; that the rest of the bats are busy playing happy family. A happy family does not send one of their injured running to the doorstep of a possible enemy.
“We will discuss things once he is settled and Jason has returned,” she decides.
The boat makes dock and comes to a pause. The engines shut off as Roy’s robots fix them in place. She slides past Roy to scoop Tim up once more. Roy grabs on to her shoulders when she offers her back and then they’re off.
It is not much of a journey to the ship, but it is faster with her flying. Roy hops off her back when she floats down to the hatch and opens the door. The medical bed is bare and prepped already. She sets Tim down as Roy powers up the scanners and steps back.
Muted blue lights start from Tim’s feet and move up to the top of his head. She watches the readings as Roy gets an IV prepared to help rehydrate their new guest.
There are several warnings on the screen. She frowns at the pain levels and taps the button to start the machine’s healing program. The settings Roy has put in tell her that Tim is too hot for a human, and that while there are no broken bones or outward wounds, there is something wreaking havoc on his body. He is malnourished and dehydrated, and sleep deprived as well, if she is to judge from the deep set bruises under his eyes.
“The drip is set up. I’m setting up some wet cloths for now to help bring down his temperature. We’ll have to keep an eye on the fever once he starts sweating again, and switch out the drip in about half an hour.”
Kori takes all of this in stride. It is not the worst set of instructions she has dealt with.
On the console, there’s a proximity alert from the door before it slides open, allowing the only other inhabitant of the island inside. She supposes it’s better to get this over with while Tim is still asleep.
“Hey, I saw the boat. Did somethin’ happen—“ Jason breaks off as he takes in the three of them. His eyes flick first to Kori, who is unfolding a blanket, to Roy who is tucking a cloth under the backs of Tim’s knees, and Tim, who still hasn’t stirred once throughout the entire process.
“What,” Jason starts slowly, with the quiet hiss of anger at the back of his tongue, “the fuck Is goin' on?”
“Picked up a stray, Jaybird.” Roy shoots him a lopsided grin before he grabs another cloth to tuck in close to Tim’s side. “Kori couldn’t say no to those big baby blues.”
“He is hurt,” she says simply. “I have granted him sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary - jus’ call one ‘a the bats t’ pick ‘im up!”
“Look at him, Jaybird.” Roy gestures down at Tim. “Really look at him. Tell me what you see.”
It’s obvious that Jason doesn’t want to. Jason would be much happier storming off and breaking something instead, preferably someone’s bones. But this is Roy and he trusts Roy, trusts Kori even - so he steps closer and looks down at Tim.
He doesn’t like what he sees.
His hand lifts to rub at his mouth as if he’s going to be sick. He drops it after a second to just barely touch the scar on Tim’s left cheek.
“You and I both know whose call sign that is,” Roy says quietly.
Jason’s jaw clenches.
“He ran from Batman,” Kori observes, “from all of his fellow bats. Is it not best to hear what he has to say?”
“Fine.” His voice sounds like he’s been gargaling gravel. He swallows convulsively and flexes his hands. “What’s wrong with ‘im?”
“Dehydration and possible heat stroke. I’m going to run some blood samples because he’s covered in needle marks. Those scars on his face look pretty irritated and I have no idea what’s going on with those white splotches. Some kind of chemical burn, maybe?” Roy shakes his head. “He’s got electrical burn scars on his temples, too, so I’m gonna set up a brain scan. This really isn’t my forte but I can call Leslie if we need to.”
“Goddammit,” Jason mutters. “How many more Robins is it gonna take Bruce before he fuckin’ learns ?”
“I will unload the ship if you are able to assist.” Kori places a hand on Jason’s shoulder. She offers a small smile when he meets her eyes. “I am also willing to pay this Bruce a visit, should you deem it necessary.”
It’s enough to earn a sharp burst of laughter. His teeth flash as he gives a nod. “Yeah, okay, I’ll help clean up the replacement’s mess.”
“Thank you, Jason.”
“You’re really not the one who should be thankin' me.” He sighs and moves over to the decontaminator to clean his hands. The gloves are on the counter and he swipes a set before pulling out a pack of needles. “How many vials ya want?”
“Two,” Roy says as he tucks the blanket in around Tim’s sides. “I’m gonna set up the scan.”
Jason turns Tim’s arm over and grimaces at the marks dotting the inside of his elbow. He knows Tim would never do anything that would make him lose higher brain functioning and the haphazard nature of the marks is at odds with the careful precision he’s come to expect from his replacement. He’s gentle when he ties Tim’s arm off and feels for a vein, more gentle than he will ever admit to. He’s had his problems with Tim before, but nobody deserves this sort of treatment. Especially not if it came from who he thinks it did.
At least he survived, a snide voice remarks, maybe daddy bats has learned that much.
The vials come slower than normal. The blood is thick from dehydration and despite how fast Tim’s heart is beating, it makes it harder to get a sample. By the time he’s done and pressing a bandage to the needle mark, Roy has the scan ready to go.
“You think brain damage?” Jason asks as he tosses his gloves out.
“I don’t know. The kid was out cold when Kori brought him over, but she said he asked for Sanctuary.” Roy crosses his arms and frowns over at the bed. “I really don’t like this, Jaybird. Something smells fishy.”
“Well, we are on a beach—“
Roy’s elbow knocks into his side, stealing the air and the words out of his lungs.
“I’m serious. I don’t like the fact that he came to us instead of Bruce. I thought he was one of his biggest fans.”
Jason shrugs. “Replacement was lookin’ fer ‘im in the time stream, last I saw. I know Bruce is back so he must’ve succeeded.”
“He’s got no trackers on him. In fact, notice any bags?” Roy gestures to the empty space around him. “Kid is running on empty in more ways than one. Not a single trace of belongings, ‘cept for the clothes on his back.”
“No tech?”
“Nothing.”
Jason frowns. “Replacement loves his tech. He would never leave it behind.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Something doesn’t add up here, and I’m not looking forward to where it’ll leave us.” The scanner beeps and Roy moves over to check the readings. “No signs of brain damage. I’m not a neurologist so I can’t say much more than that, but it’s good news so far.”
He grabs the blood vials and looks back at Jason. “You good to watch him while I run these through the lab?”
“Yeah.” Jason sighs and pulls over one of the chairs. “I’ll watch ‘im.”
“We’ll figure things out, Jaybird.” Roy gives a two fingered salute. “Try not to make yourself go any more gray.”
“Ha ha, very funny!” Jason calls after him. His eyes roll as he settles down into his seat to watch the rise and fall of Tim’s chest. It’s too fast, almost like the frantic beat of a robin’s wings.
The last time he saw Tim he looked marginally less terrible. There were no scars on his face and even the bruises under his eyes hadn’t been so deep. His hair is shaggier now, too, which is even more at odds with what he knows of Tim. Timothy Drake-Wayne takes pride in his appearance and is the face of more than one tabloid or business magazine. He’s one of the top dogs of Wayne Enterprises and an enigma the public often like to boggle over.
A look at his hands show that his nails are short and jagged around the edges, as if he’s been tearing compulsively at the keratin. Another alarm bell. He remembers watching Tim getting his nails done during the period he was stalking him.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types Tim’s name into the search bar with more than a little trepidation. His phone is encrypted to hell and back so he’s not worried about pinging anyone’s radar, but he is afraid of what he might find.
The results aren’t good.
Article upon article pops up on the first page. He scans the contents, picking up words like missing , conspiracy and murder . There’s a headliner for an article from Vicki Vale. As much as he doesn’t want to read it, he clicks on it all the same.
It’s been six months since the explosion that wiped out a hospital in the Fashion District, causing forty two injuries and nearly a hundred deaths. The attack has since been proven to be connected to Arkham Asylum's escaped convict, the Joker. Eye witness statements testify that Timothy Drake-Wayne, who was at the hospital to finalize a donation, was missing from the scene after the building was evacuated.
Statements from Bruce Wayne, Timothy’s adopted father, have since corroborated this fact. Jim Gordon, the police chief and head of the search party, has been tight lipped about their operations in finding the Joker.
Three months ago, there was another explosion at Amusement Mile, in which the Joker was confirmed dead. Harley Quinn, Joker’s accomplice, was also found at the scene and is confirmed to have sustained life threatening injuries that have kept her in a coma to this day.
Timothy Drake-Wayne was said to be at the scene in undetermined condition. When later questioned about Timothy’s wearabouts and current health status, Jim Gordon confirmed that the heir has been found and continues to recover alongside his family and loved ones.
It’s now, three months since, that the public is beginning to question the validity of this claim. Is Timothy recovering in solidarity, too scarred by his ordeal to brave the world just yet? Furthermore, is he even alive?
It wouldn’t be the first time one of Bruce Wayne’s wards has died under mysterious circumstances. Seven years ago, Jason Todd -
“Fuck.” Jason’s fingers tighten around the phone in his hands until it gives the faintest creak in warning. That was a low blow, even for Vicki, which leads him to believe that Gotham is really the mess of questions she claims it is.
A hospital bombing, a subsequent kidnapping and the death of the Joker?
Jason can’t decide if he’s angry, horrified or relieved. He pushes the last feeling far, far down, where it can drown in the blood of all the rest. He’s not believing anything until he sees a body. Too many people have come back from the dead, especially the Joker.
There’s a sour taste at the back of his mouth as he ponders how the hell the bastard died. Batman had to have been on scene. Did he finally do it? Did he finally cross the line?
A hand lifts to run over the scar on his neck. A wave of pit green rage threatens the edges of his vision; he forces himself to breathe and gets up to change out Tim’s intravenous fluids. He shoves his phone deep into his back pocket, where he won’t have to think about it, and goes through the motions of cutting off the line and reattaching a new bag. He watches as the new fluid begins to drip and tosses the used bag into the recycling.
Tim doesn’t look much better, but his color is starting to come back little by little.
Jason looks away from the bed as the familiar clamber of Roy’s footsteps echoes up from the lab below. His face is grim when he meets Jason’s eyes.
“You’re not going to like this.”
“I seem to be hearin’ that an awful lot today,” Jason grouses. He crosses his arms and gives a go ahead gesture. “Lay it on me.”
Roy lets out a slow breath. “His blood is clean, save for one thing. There’s faint traces of Joker toxin still lingering. I’ve never seen it mutate like this, I’m not sure if an antidote would even work at this point and I’m not comfortable doing anything until Tim can tell us what’s going on or how long it’s been in his system.”
“Six months.”
“Huh?”
“Six months,” Jason repeats. He clenches his fists against the urge to smash the supplies at his elbow. “Found an article from Vicki Vale. It said there was an explosion six months ago, and that Tim was taken by the Joker.”
Roy echoes his own internal thoughts with a choked off “ fuck .” He takes his hat off to run a hand through his hair, leaving haphazard strands standing every which way. He smooths it all down before putting his hat back on his head - backwards, this time.
“I really wish we could contact a bat without bringing them all down on our heads.”
“Yeah,” Jason says grimly, as his eyes fix on the rise and fall of Tim’s chest. “I’ve got some questions of my own.”