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Gotham smelled wrong.
Not the usual rot—chemical. Sharp. Sweet in the back of the throat. Jason clocked it the second his boots hit the warehouse roof.
“Yeah,” he muttered, scanning the broken skylights. “Real subtle, Crane.”
No response over comms.
That was wrong too.
Jason tapped the side of his helmet. “B, you still there?”
A beat. Too long.
“I’m here.”
Flat. Controlled. Which meant something was off.
“You sent me across the city for this,” Jason said, peering down into the swirling green haze below. “Your golden boy was closer.”
Silence again.
Then: “Robin is not on this case.”
Jason frowned under the helmet.
Not can’t. Not busy. Not injured.
Not.
“…That’s new.”
“Focus on Crane.”
Jason exhaled slowly through his teeth. Fine. Whatever. He’d play along—for now.
But something in his gut had already started twisting.
The skylight shattered under his boots.
Glass rained down as he dropped into the fog.
Scarecrow stood across the warehouse floor, half-obscured by drifting toxin, mask gleaming wet under flickering lights. Tubing snaked from his gauntlets, pumping more gas into the air.
“Ah,” Crane rasped, voice distorted. “The failed son.”
Jason didn’t slow. “You really need new material.”
The first thug went down before he finished the sentence. Second one cracked against a crate. Third reached for a gun—Jason shot it out of his hand without looking.
Efficient. Clean.
Controlled.
Crane backed toward a console, fingers twitching. “You breathe it in, don’t you? Even through that filter. Just a trace—just enough to—”
Jason fired.
The bullet clipped Crane’s shoulder, spinning him. Not fatal.
Not yet.
Jason stepped forward, gun rising again.
This time, he didn’t hesitate.
End it.
No more fear toxin. No more games. No more nightmares pumped into Gotham’s veins.
Just one pull.
“Don’t.”
The word cut through the haze.
Sharp. Familiar.
Jason froze—not because of the command, but because of the voice.
He turned.
Tim Drake stood at the edge of the gas cloud, staff in hand, posture rigid.
Too rigid.
Jason’s grip tightened on the gun. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Stand down Hood,” Tim said, stepping closer.
Jason barked a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Must’ve missed the memo where you outrank me.”
Tim’s tone sharpened. “Don’t do this.”
There it was—that edge. Not fear. Not anger.
Strain.
Like something wound too tight.
Jason tilted his head. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“I’m here now.”
“Yeah,” Jason said slowly. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Behind them, Crane stirred, coughing, hand inching toward a trigger on his gauntlet.
Jason saw it.
Made the call.
It happened fast.
Jason moved—one step, one shove—driving Tim sideways out of his line of fire.
Didn’t check.
Didn’t think.
Of course the kid had a rebreather.
Of course he’d be fine.
Jason fired.
Crane jerked as the shot went wide—striking the console instead.
And then everything went wrong.
The canister ruptured.
A dense plume of toxin exploded outward, thicker, darker than before.
Jason’s visor auto-adjusted, filters kicking into overdrive—but Tim—
Tim hit the ground hard in the center of it.
“Robin—!”
Jason lunged forward, grabbing for him, dragging him out of the worst of the cloud. The gas swirled, clinging, seeping into fabric, into lungs—
Tim coughed once.
Then went very, very still.
Jason dropped to one knee beside him. “Hey. Hey—stay with me.”
No response.
“Come on, Replacement, this isn’t funny—”
Tim’s fingers twitched.
Then curled.
Then—
He started giggling.
Jason froze.
“No,” he said immediately, grabbing Tim’s shoulder. “No, no—don’t do that. That’s not—”
Tim pushed himself upright.
Slow.
Unsteady.
His head tilted—but not smoothly. It jerked, like the motion didn’t quite belong to him.
“…Jay?” he said.
Relief hit Jason hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. You’re okay, you just—”
Tim exhaled.
Not shaky.
Not relieved.
Loose.
Like something unclenched.
“Oh,” he said softly.
A pause.
Then his mouth stretched—too wide, too fast.
“Oh,” he repeated, brighter now. “Oh, that’s so much better.”
Jason’s grip tightened. “Tim—”
Tim’s hand snapped up, covering his own mouth.
The laughter didn’t stop.
It spilled through his fingers anyway—sharp, breathless, wrong.
“No—no, wait—” Tim gasped, voice tripping over itself. “That’s—hah—that’s not—”
His eyes squeezed shut.
For a second—just a second—he looked like he was fighting it.
“…stop…” he whispered.
Then—
stillness.
Total.
When his eyes opened again, the smile was already there.
Fixed.
Waiting.
Jason’s stomach dropped.
“…Tim?”
The boy tilted his head, studying him.
Curious.
Open.
Like Jason was something new.
“No,” he said lightly. “Not right now.”
A beat.
Then, almost kindly—
“He’s busy.”
Jason went cold. “What?”
The smile sharpened.
“We don’t let him talk when I’m out.”
Something in Jason’s chest tightened hard. “Yeah, we’re not doing this. Knock it off.”
“Oh, I like you,” the not-Tim said, bright and delighted. “You’re loud. He hates loud.”
He took a step closer.
Too close.
Jason didn’t move.
“Do you know how quiet he keeps everything?” he continued, almost conversational. “All neat and folded and—mm—” he wiggled his fingers near his temple— “contained.”
The grin twitched wider.
“Caged.”
Jason’s jaw set. “I said—enough.”
“Or what?” he shot back instantly.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Then—just as quickly—the tension broke.
He laughed.
“Sorry, sorry—hang on—this is just—” He spun in a slow circle, taking in the warehouse, the gas, the bodies. “Wow. We’re really doing it, huh? Outside. Moving. Talking.” He dragged in a deep breath through the mask, shuddering. “God, that’s good.”
Jason’s fingers tightened around his gun. “Tim.”
The head snapped back toward him.
Wrong.
“Oh, we’re still on names?” he said, delighted. “Fun. Love that. You can call me—mm—no.” A pause. “No, that ruins it.”
Behind them, Crane groaned, trying to crawl away.
JJ’s attention snapped to him instantly.
“Oop—hold that thought.”
He darted forward—movement erratic, almost sloppy—
—but when he struck, it was perfect.
One precise hit to Crane’s wrist.
Another to the shoulder.
Controlled.
Deliberate.
Crane collapsed.
JJ crouched beside him, studying him with bright curiosity.
“Huh,” he said. “You’re kind of disappointing.”
Then he stood—and just dropped the interest—turning back to Jason like Crane didn’t matter anymore.
Like none of it did.
Jason didn’t lower the gun. “You’re done?”
JJ stilled.
For a moment—
completely still.
Then he smiled again.
Softer this time.
Almost thoughtful.
“You died, right?” he asked suddenly.
Jason’s breath caught.
“…What?”
“That’s what he says.” JJ tapped his temple. “Over and over. Very dramatic.” He tilted his head. “Came back wrong.”
A beat.
His smile widened.
“I like that.”
Jason’s voice dropped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I do,” JJ said lightly. “I know all kinds of things he won’t say.”
He stepped closer.
Slow now.
Measured.
“Like how you weren’t supposed to be replaced,” he continued. “You were supposed to be a lesson.”
Jason didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
JJ leaned in, eyes bright.
“But then he made him anyway.”
A soft, delighted laugh.
“Can you imagine?” he whispered. “Trying again after you?”
Jason’s hand tightened into a fist.
“That’s not him talking.”
JJ’s grin snapped wider.
“Then who is?”
Silence.
“…he won’t shut up,” Tim’s voice muttered suddenly—strained, uneven.
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Tim—”
JJ blinked.
Once.
Then—bright again—
“Oh, he hates this part,” he said cheerfully. “All the talking. All the—” he gestured vaguely— “honesty.”
His head jerked sharply to the side.
Hard.
Like something pulling.
For a split second—
his expression cracked.
Fear.
Real.
“…Jason?”
Jason stepped forward immediately. “Yeah, I’m here—”
The grin slammed back into place.
Wider.
Sharper.
“Got you.”
He moved.
Fast.
The attack wasn’t clean.
Not controlled.
Not Robin.
It was reckless—overextended—almost playful—
but every hit landed hard.
Jason barely blocked the first.
The second clipped his shoulder.
The third—he caught.
“Tim—stop!”
Tim froze.
One second.
Two—
His face flickered.
“…Jay—?”
Jason’s grip loosened. “You’re okay—just—”
The expression shattered.
Not softened.
Broken.
The smile snapped back—brutal and bright.
“You always do that,” JJ said.
Jason stilled. “Do what?”
“Push,” he replied. “Interfere.” His head tilted slowly. “Make it worse.”
A step forward.
“I had it handled,” he continued, voice suddenly calm. “Quiet.”
A beat.
His smile twitched.
“Caged.”
Jason’s voice hardened. “I’m not letting you hurt him.”
JJ went still.
Not frozen.
Settled.
Like something had finally clicked into place.
Jason watched him, muscles tight. “Tim—don’t—”
JJ’s shoulders lifted slightly with a quiet inhale.
Then he laughed.
Soft.
Almost fond.
“You keep calling him,” he said. “It’s sweet, really.”
His fingers came up—slow this time—pressing lightly against his own face.
“Like he’s still the one in charge.”
Jason’s grip tightened. “He is.”
A pause.
Then—
JJ smiled.
Not wide.
Not manic.
Certain.
“Not anymore.”
Something shifted.
Subtle at first.
The color drained from his skin—not all at once, but like ink being pulled out from under the surface. Pale gave way to stark, unnatural white.
Jason took a step forward before he could stop himself. “What the hell—”
Jason took a half-step back before he could stop himself.
JJ didn’t react.
His head tipped back slightly, like he was stretching into it—into himself.
His hand dragged down his cheek—
and where his fingers passed, thin lines surfaced.
Faint.
Then darker.
Then red.
Carved into a smile that hadn’t been there before.
Jason’s stomach dropped.
“…no.”
That smile—
Too wide. Too red. Too familiar.
Jason’s grip tightened instinctively.
“No,” he said again, sharper now. “We’re not doing this.”
JJ’s eyes flicked toward him—bright, alive, thrilled.
“Oh, you see it?” he said softly. “Good. I was hoping you would.”
His other hand came up, raking through his hair—
dark strands shifting, bleaching, then staining green at the edges like something spreading through them.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Deliberate.
Chosen.
Jason’s voice came out rough. “Tim—fight it.”
JJ stilled again.
Then laughed—sharper this time.
“He is,” he said.
A beat.
“Isn’t that funny?”
The gear followed.
Not appearing out of nowhere—but wrong, like it had always been there and Jason just hadn’t noticed.
Armor shifting.
Colors warping.
Robin’s clean lines twisting into something sharper, louder—purple cutting through black, green catching the flicker of the warehouse lights.
A mockery.
A statement.
JJ rolled his shoulders once, testing the movement, then spread his arms slightly like he was presenting himself.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
Jason didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
JJ’s grin widened at that.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s about the reaction I was hoping for.”
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Measured.
Every movement controlled now—no wasted motion, no instability.
That was worse.
“So,” he went on lightly, tilting his head, “he says it was Papa who killed you.”
Jason’s breath hitched—sharp, involuntary.
JJ’s eyes lit up.
“Oh,” he whispered, delighted. “That’s a yes.”
He leaned in, just inside Jason’s space.
“You know,” he said lightly, “Papa hates unfinished work.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
JJ’s expression flickered, then
He moved first.
Not a lunge this time.
A step.
Measured.
Then—gone.
Jason barely got his arms up before the strike landed—sharp impact against his forearm, another twisting toward his ribs—
Too clean.
JJ laughed under his breath. “Oh, this is better,” he said. “He’s fast, but I’m—”
Jason countered hard, driving a punch toward his jaw—
JJ let it hit.
His head snapped sideways.
Then slowly rolled back into place.
Grinning.
“—not holding back.”
Jason didn’t answer. He moved in again—closer, tighter—cutting off space, forcing the fight into something contained.
JJ slipped it anyway.
Too loose. Too unpredictable.
A kick came in low—Jason blocked—JJ spun with it, over-rotating on purpose, turning the miss into momentum—
A knife flashed into his hand.
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t need that.”
“I don’t need any of this,” JJ shot back brightly. “That’s kind of the point!”
He lunged—
Jason caught his wrist.
Locked it.
Twisted.
The knife clattered to the ground.
For one second—they were close. Too close.
Jason’s voice dropped. “Tim. Listen to me.”
JJ tilted his head.
“…you keep doing that,” he said softly.
Jason tightened his grip. “Doing what?”
“Act like he’s the one you’re talking to.”
Jason’s jaw clenched. “He is.”
JJ’s smile sharpened.
“Then why are you looking at me?”
Jason didn’t hesitate.
“Because you’re in my way.”
For a split second—
something flickered.
JJ’s grip faltered.
Just enough.
Jason saw it.
“Tim,” he said, sharper now. “You’re stronger than this. Don’t let him—”
JJ’s head jerked violently.
His free hand flew to his temple.
“Stop—” Tim’s voice broke through, strained, raw. “Stop talking—”
JJ inhaled sharply—
then laughed over it.
“Wow,” he said, breathless. “He really doesn’t like you.”
Jason didn’t let go.
“Good,” he said. “Then I’ve got his attention.”
JJ’s smile twitched.
Wider.
Wrong.
“You really think this is about you?” he asked.
Jason shoved him back hard, breaking the hold.
“It is now.”
JJ stumbled—
then steadied.
Still smiling.
But tighter.
Less certain.
Jason advanced.
“No more games,” he said. “You’re done.”
JJ’s eyes flicked over him—calculating now.
Then—
“Okay,” he said lightly.
And rushed him.
Fast.
Faster than before—no wasted motion now, no theatrics—
Jason blocked one, two, three strikes—
Fourth got through—
A hit to the ribs that forced the air from his lungs.
JJ followed it immediately—relentless—
Driving him back into a crate—
Wood splintered on impact.
Jason grunted—but didn’t fall.
Didn’t give ground.
He grabbed JJ by the front of the suit and slammed him sideways into the metal support beam.
Hard.
The impact rang through the warehouse.
JJ went still.
For half a second.
Jason leaned in, voice low, urgent.
“Tim. This isn’t you.”
Silence.
Then—
“…I know.”
Jason froze.
JJ’s expression… shifted.
Not gone.
But cracked.
His eyes—clearer.
Focused.
“…Jason?” Tim said, voice thin, shaking. “I—I can’t—”
Jason’s grip tightened, but gentled at the same time. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got you. Just stay with me—”
Tim sucked in a sharp breath, hands trembling.
“He’s—he’s still—” His fingers twitched toward his head. “He won’t—”
The grin twitched back into place.
Not fully.
Fighting for it.
Jason saw it happening.
“Stay with me,” he repeated, firmer. “You’re winning. Don’t let him take it back.”
Tim’s eyes squeezed shut. “I’m trying—”
His whole body tensed—
Like a wire pulled too tight—
Then snapped—
JJ’s laughter burst out again, jagged and breathless.
“Okay—wow—that was close,” he said, shaking his head. “You almost—hah—almost had that.”
Jason didn’t step back this time.
Didn’t give him space.
“Yeah,” he said. “And we’ll do it again.”
JJ’s smile flickered.
Uncertain.
Jason stepped closer.
“Every time,” he continued. “As many times as it takes.”
JJ’s head tilted.
Studying him.
Something quieter creeping under the mania.
“…you’re not going to quit,” he said.
Jason’s answer was immediate.
“No.”
A beat.
Then—
JJ laughed.
But softer now.
Less sharp.
“Huh,” he said. “That’s… inconvenient.”
Jason moved again—
Not striking—
Grabbing.
Pulling JJ off balance, forcing him down—
Pinning him hard against the floor.
JJ struggled—fast, erratic—
But Jason held.
Solid.
Unmoving.
“Tim,” he said again. “Now.”
Silence—
Then—
a gasp.
Sharp.
Desperate.
The fight went out of JJ’s body all at once.
Not relaxed.
Collapsed.
“…Jason—” Tim’s voice broke through, clear this time. “Get—get it off—”
Jason didn’t hesitate.
He yanked the rebreather loose, ripped open the outer layer of the suit where the toxin had soaked in most—
Dragging him out of the worst of it.
“Hey—stay with me,” he said, dropping to one knee beside him. “You’re good. I’ve got you.”
Tim coughed hard, curling in on himself.
“Don’t—” he choked out. “Don’t let—him—”
“I won’t,” Jason cut in. “He’s done.”
Tim shook his head weakly. “No, he’s—he’s still—”
Jason grabbed his shoulder, firm.
“Whatever this is-- we deal with it,” he said.
Tim’s breathing hitched.
His grip caught in Jason’s sleeve.
“You don’t—” he started, voice unsteady. “You don’t understand—”
Jason exhaled sharply.
“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t.”
A beat.
“But I’m not letting it stay that way.”
Tim stilled.
Jason adjusted his grip, hauling him up carefully.
“Questions later,” he muttered. “Right now we get you out.”
Tim didn’t argue.
Didn’t fight.
For once.
He just nodded—small, shaky—
and let Jason take the weight.
Tim’s grip tightened in Jason’s sleeve.
Not strong.
Just… desperate.
“Jason,” he said, voice rough, uneven. “Listen to me.”
Jason shifted, trying to keep him upright. “Save it. We’re getting you out first—”
“No.” Tim shook his head weakly. “No, you don’t—there’s not—there’s not time for that.”
Jason frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Tim swallowed hard, breath hitching.
“He’s not the toxin,” he said. “It didn’t make him. It just—” His fingers twitched near his temple. “It let him out.”
Jason went still.
Tim forced himself to keep going.
“I’ve felt him before,” he admitted, quieter now. “Small. Contained. I could—manage it.”
A shaky inhale.
“I can’t anymore.”
Jason’s grip tightened. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Tim snapped—then flinched at his own voice.
A beat.
Softer—
“I do.”
His hand clenched harder in Jason’s jacket.
“If he comes back—” he said, forcing the words out, “I don’t think I can stop him again.”
Jason’s jaw set. “Then I will.”
Tim shook his head.
Slow.
Certain.
“No,” he said. “You won’t be fast enough.”
That landed.
Jason didn’t answer.
Tim looked up at him then—really looked—eyes clear, steady despite everything.
And that made it worse.
“Jason,” he said quietly, “if he comes back…”
A pause.
Not hesitation.
Acceptance.
“…you have to end it.”
Jason’s expression hardened immediately. “Not happening.”
Tim didn’t look away.
“You’re the only one who will,” he said.
Another beat.
Then, softer—
“Please.”
Jason’s grip tightened on his shoulder—almost painful.
“Don’t ask me that.”
Tim’s voice didn’t waver.
“I’m not asking you to want to,” he said. “I’m asking you to be ready.”
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Unresolved.
Tim’s strength gave a little, his weight sagging.
“…I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he added, barely above a whisper.
Jason exhaled sharply through his teeth.
Then adjusted his hold, pulling him closer, more secure.
“You won’t,” he said.
Firm.
Final.
Whether he believed it or not.
“Not on my watch.”
Tim didn’t argue.
But he didn’t agree either.
Epilogue:
The safehouse was too quiet.
No sirens.
No comms.
No Gotham.
Just the low hum of the overhead light and Tim’s uneven breathing from the cot.
Jason leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, helmet off, watching.
Waiting.
Tim hadn’t said anything since they got in.
Hadn’t really looked at him either.
Just sat there, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced too tight together—
like if he stopped holding on, something would slip.
Jason pushed off the wall.
“Alright,” he said, voice rough. “We’re done pretending that was normal.”
No response.
Jason exhaled sharply. “You’re gonna start talking, or I start guessing—and trust me, you don’t want that.”
Tim’s shoulders tensed.
“…don’t,” he muttered.
Jason ignored that.
“Because from where I’m standing,” he went on, pacing once, restless, “you’ve got some kind of—what—split? Episode? And it just happens to look like—”
He cut himself off.
Jaw tightening.
Tim’s head dipped lower.
“Yeah,” Jason muttered. “Thought so.”
Silence stretched.
Then—
“…it’s not new.”
Jason stopped.
Turned slowly. “What?”
“I just… didn’t let him out before.”
Jason stared. “Didn’t—” He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re telling me that was on purpose?”
“No.” Tim’s voice sharpened. “I’m saying I could contain him.”
A beat.
That word again.
Contained.
Jason’s chest tightened.
“…and now?” he asked.
Tim’s fingers clenched harder.
“He’s pushing,” he said quietly. “I can still hold him back—but triggers… toxins… anything that messes with my head makes it easier for him to get out.”
Jason swore under his breath.
“So what, this just showed up one day?” he shot back. “You wake up and suddenly you’ve got a homicidal clown in your head?”
Tim flinched.
Hard.
Jason stopped immediately.
“…no,” he said, quieter now.
“Then where did it come from?”
Tim went still.
Completely still.
“…you don’t know,” he said.
Not a question.
A realization.
Jason frowned. “Know what?”
Tim looked up.
Really looked at him.
“You weren’t there,” he said.
Jason’s irritation flickered. “Yeah. I got that. Start explaining.”
A pause.
Then—
“…he took me.”
Jason blinked. “What?”
“He took me.”
“…who—”
And then it clicked.
Not fully.
But enough.
“…no,” Jason said immediately.
Tim didn’t look away.
Jason shook his head. “No one told me that.”
“You were gone,” Tim said.
That landed.
Hard.
Jason’s jaw clenched. “That doesn’t mean I don’t get filled in.”
Tim’s voice sharpened—not loud, but cutting.
“When was I supposed to do that?” he said. “When you dropped a duffel bag of heads at the station? Or when you attacked me at Titans Tower?”
Jason went still.
“I should’ve just worked it into conversation, right?” Tim went on. “Hey, by the way, Joker kidnapped me. Tortured me. Hope you’re doing well.”
Jason’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
A beat.
Then, quieter—
“…I’m sorry about the Tower,” Jason said.
The words came out rough.
Not practiced.
Not easy.
“I know that doesn’t fix anything,” he went on, jaw tight. “And I’m not gonna pretend it does.”
A beat.
“But you didn’t deserve that,” he said. “None of it. You were just—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “You didn’t do anything to earn that.”
Tim looked up, eyes shining.
Jason didn’t look away this time.
“I was pissed,” he admitted. “And I took it out on you because you were there.”
Another beat.
“That’s on me.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
“…thank you,” Tim said quietly.
Jason frowned, thrown. “Don’t—don’t do that.”
Silence settled again.
Then—
“…he called him ‘Papa,’” Jason said.
Tim went still.
Jason watched that carefully.
“Yeah,” he said. “Thought that’d mean something.”
A beat.
“…it does,” Tim admitted.
Jason rubbed a hand over his face.
“So what—this thing in your head thinks he made it?”
Tim hesitated.
“…something like that.”
Jason let out a humorless laugh. “That’s not disturbing at all.”
A pause.
Then—
“If it comes back—” Jason started.
Tim tensed immediately.
But Jason didn’t stop.
“I’m not putting you down,” he said. “So don’t even start.”
Tim held his gaze.
“…you might have to.”
“No.”
Flat. Immediate.
Tim didn’t look away.
“You didn’t see all of it,” he said. “If I lose control again—”
“Then I’ll find another way,” Jason cut in. “I pulled you back once. I’ll do it again. Worst case? I tie you up and drag you out until whatever triggered it wears off.”
A beat.
“End of discussion.”
Tim searched his face.
Like he was trying to decide if that was enough.
It wasn’t.
But—
“…okay,” he said anyway.
Jason nodded once.
Like that settled it.
Even if it didn’t.
A beat passed.
Then Jason exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.
“…this is messed up,” he muttered.
Tim huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah.”
Another pause.
Jason shifted his weight, glancing at him.
“…so,” he said, voice dry, “what—this makes it a shared experience now?”
Tim blinked.
Then—despite everything—a small, real smile broke through.
“Guess so.”
Jason let out a short, humorless huff.
“Great,” he said. “We might have to start a club.”
Tim’s shoulders eased—just a fraction.
Not fixed.
Not okay.
But… lighter.
And for now—
that was enough.