Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Someone is stalking Tim Drake.

This would be worrisome, if Tim didn’t know who it was. If he didn’t know who it was, it would be someone smart enough to evade Red Robin, the Bat’s third partner who wormed his way into the dangerous life of a vigilante/detective, who had proven himself time and time again to be a dangerously intelligent and formidable enemy.

But he knew who it was, so he wasn’t worried. He was terrified.

Tim had come into contact with this person before. A long time ago, when he was just starting out as Robin, when his mind was still fragile and he hadn’t witnessed any of what he’s seen today quite yet. His experience with this person, his stalker, hasn’t left him since it happened four years ago. He thought he’d gotten over it, and maybe he had. It wasn’t like you could prepare for the person who hurt you the most to come back to life and start taking pictures of you again.

He didn’t tell Bruce or Dick. They’d flip out if he did, lock him in the manor and never let him leave again. But Tim couldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t a kid anymore, nor was he so scared and helpless as one. He was stronger now, and if his own strength failed against his stalker, then he had even stronger (and superpowered) friends, two of whom could be at his side in less than a second. He was fine. He was more than fine. He was great.

He drew in a breath as he found another envelope waiting for him on his kitchen table. If Tim didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t have noticed a difference between this one and any other envelope. But he did know better, and he noticed the yellowed and aged appearance it had. He stood over it for a while, just staring at it, watching it like something was about to spring out of it. He heard noises from the bathroom, likely Conner attacking his appearance and doing his best to look as little Clark Kent-like as possible. Conner probably also brought in the envelope, thinking, like Tim did at first, that it was just a normal piece of mail.

Tim sighed. He’d been trying to avoid these since the first few he found. After noticing a pattern in the weathered envelopes, he stopped subjecting himself to the torture of opening them only to be greeted by his own face, or the back of his head, or his naked body. He was getting worried though. How close was his stalker to him now? How far away did he take the pictures? The first time this happened, with every envelope he got, the new round of pictures were taken closer to him than the last, until finally, they were taken from inches away from him.

Tim still had no idea how they were taken so close without him noticing, but it didn’t really matter. It was after those pictures, the ones taken right next to him, that he was taken by the man. Though, “taken” isn’t really the right way of putting it. It was more like, he fell right into his trap.

Either way, since he hadn’t been opening the envelopes, he had no way of knowing how close the pictures were to him now. He could make a guess, and his guesses typically weren’t too far off from the truth, but his anxiety still ran rampant. What if the stalker had picked up the pace? What if he was taking pictures of him from inside Tim’s apartment? What if he was here now, watching, waiting for Tim to turn his back so he could make his move? Tim’s breath caught in his throat, and even though his chest was heaving, it seemed no air was actually entering or exiting. Why was he losing it? He couldn’t act like this, not now, not when he was here, in his apartment, standing right behind him and-

“Hey, are you alr- woah!” Conner ducked in time for Tim’s fist to simply skim the top of his head. Tim retracted his hand, holding both of them clenched at his sides. His eyes darted around the room, searching in any shadows for the stalker. Kon stared at Tim, bug-eyed, before carefully grabbing Tim’s cheeks, forcing him to look at him. Tim noted that the look of worry on Kon’s face was prominent. “Hey, Tim, are you okay? Why are you hyperventilating?”

Tim forced himself to regain his head, telling himself over and over again that he wasn’t there, it was just Tim and Conner in here. They were safe. “I’m fine.” His voice wasn’t very convincing. He tried to repeat it, and he sounded a bit more confident this time. “I’m fine. Really. There’s just...this...case I’m working on right now. It’s got me a little...”

“Freaked out? Paranoid? Crazy enough to hit the love of your life even though it’d probably break your hand?”

“I wasn’t going to say all that but...I guess.” He sighed and turned around, Conner’s hands falling down to his sides. Tim placed his hands on the table and leaned his weight onto them, staring intently at the envelope again. Conner set one hand on the table and leaned more towards Tim, though his gaze traveled back and forth between his boyfriend and the envelope.

“Were you expecting something in the mail?” Conner asked, tuned in on Tim’s rapid heartbeat. “Is this an excited kind of paranoid?”

“What is an excited kind of paranoid?” Tim asked flatly.

“I don’t know, I thought you would since that’s what you’re feeling right now. Unless...it’s not?”

Tim stayed silent, trying to work up the courage to open the envelope.

“You’ve gotta help me out here, man, I’m really confused.”

Tim sighed, picking up the envelope with trembling hands and flicking his gaze up to Conner. “I’m going to open this, and I’m going to need you not to react. And I’m definitely going to need you not to tell anyone about this. And I mean anyone, okay?”

Conner clenched his jaw and said slowly, “Okay, but can you explain a little first? You’re acting so serious...should I not have gotten this for you? I was trying to help, I’m sorry if-”

“It’s not your fault, Kon. At all.” Tim turned and leaned his back against the table, watching the envelope again. “I’ll explain, I promise. I just need to open this first.”

Conner copied Tim’s motion and stood next to him, moving closer to Tim and setting his chin on his shoulder. “Okay, Tim.”

Tim felt his heart skip a beat (he’d never get used to Kon touching him like this) before taking a deep breath and ripping open the envelope. He reached shaking fingers into it, and pulled out a small stack of photos. The picture to greet him was his own face, of course, looking down at another set of photos, his brows knit together and his jaw clenched. The picture was taken from the building across the street from him. Okay, so he wasn’t too far off with his guess. He was still safe for at least a week or two. Then...well, he’d probably have to get used to spending a long time in the manor.

He felt Conner’s breath still against his neck, felt his whole body tense more and more as Tim flipped through the photos. They got worse and worse as he went. There were a few with Conner there too, a couple with Cassie and Bart, and more with Steph and Cass. Most of them, though, consisted of Tim in his apartment, eating, watching TV, brushing his teeth, or doing other, less conventional things. In one of them, he and Conner were in his bed, Conner’s hand traveling up his shirt and their lips interlocked.

Conner picked this one up, staring at it with eyes wide and an expression of near-horror on his face. “What...what the f-”

“No reaction, remember?” Tim grabbed the photo from his hand, shoved them all back in the envelope, and took a lighter out of one of his drawers. They both watched in silence as the envelope and the pictures inside slowly burned.

“Am I...” Kon asked after the envelope was all but gone, “allowed to react now?”

Tim took another deep breath and said, quietly, “Yeah.”

“What the fuck, Tim?” Kon nearly shouted. “What the hell was that? How long have you been getting those?” He followed as Tim left the burning envelope behind in the sink and went to every window, pulling the curtains shut. “Obviously, you knew what was going to be in it. Why didn’t you tell me? If I had known, I would have-I would have listened for whoever took the photos and I would have-I would have-”

“You would have what, Kon?” Tim asked, careful not to lose his temper. His voice was dangerously level and his face expressionless. “Brought him to prison? Beat him to a pulp? Killed him?” Tim scoffed, moving to the bedroom and closing those curtains as well. “Apparently, that doesn’t work on him, so don’t bother.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t work on him?” Kon asked, that horrified expression from earlier never faltering. “Tim, do you-” He breathed in sharply. “Do you know who’s doing this? Has he done this before? Tim, are you okay?” This last one he asked a little more urgently, likely because of the sudden heaving in Tim’s chest and the trembling racking his body all over. Kon reached out to touch him, but thought better of it.

Tim breathed in shakily as he slowly said, “Yes, I know who’s doing this. No, I’m not going to talk about it to anyone. Not Bruce, not Dick, not the police.” Tim turned to face Kon. “Not even you. Can we just...watch a movie or something? Forget about all of this for a little while? Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Tim, I-” Conner was quick to deny him, to say that they should tell someone, to say that Tim should at least talk to him about it. Kon thought that’s what people did in relationships--talk to each other about their problems and find a solution to them. It seemed, however, that Tim thought the opposite. He smiled up at Kon, a weak smile that didn’t really hide the fear in his eyes. Conner couldn’t help listening to him, though. It was hard, being so in love with someone who hated themselves. Kon sighed. “Sure, Tim. Whatever you want.”

Tim noticeably relaxed a bit. He carefully took Kon’s hand in his own and led him to the living room, where they sat on the couch and turned on the TV. Tim curled into Conner as they put on some old horror movie, and Conner watched Tim more than the TV. He was worried, Tim knew that he was worried. He could hear his heartbeat from where his head rested on Kon’s chest. Tim hated making Kon worry like this, but he refused to tell Bruce, Dick, or Barbara about what was happening, and they were the only people who could actually do something about this predicament. So, instead of saying anything, he laid there, listening to Kon’s anxiety.

And Kon, for as long as he could stay awake, listened. He listened to the streets around Tim’s apartment. Listened as closely as he could. Yet, for all he tried, he couldn’t hear another person’s footsteps, or their breaths, or their heartbeat. Eventually, he fell asleep, Tim following suit on Kon’s chest. Neither of them noticed as the curtains slowly opened, and the flash of a camera illuminated the room.

Chapter Text

Days passed, and like clockwork, the envelopes kept showing up. Now, with Kon there to support him, Tim opened every single one and looked intently at each picture. He hadn’t been studying them as closely as he should have been. He should have been looking for any sign of life behind the camera--a puff of breath in the cold air, a reflection in a window, anything. He should have kept the past pictures instead of burning them all like an idiot.

Every time Tim opened one of the envelopes, Kon carefully rubbed his back, hoping to provide him some comfort. It might not be much, but Kon hoped it reminded Tim that he was there, he’d help him, and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. Tim wished he could believe him.

One day, however, an envelope showed up while Tim wasn’t home. Conner typically doesn’t go to Tim’s apartment unless Tim’s there, but some days, he wants to get away from the Kent farm, or the tower, or Metropolis, so he sneaks into Gotham and by extension Tim’s apartment. Today- or rather, tonight, he decided to do just that.

Even though he could easily get in without the help of a key, Tim thought it would be better for the neighbors’ sake if he gave Kon one. So, honoring Tim’s wishes and Tim’s neighbors’ fragile civilian hearts, he unlocked the door and stepped inside rather than floating through the window.

He was greeted by a tall, shadowy figure standing in front of Tim’s TV. The television was on, loudly blaring static as the figure stared and stared at it. Kon couldn’t make out any features on the body, and it didn’t seem to be moving at all. No breaths, no slight movement, no beat of a heart. It seemed like a statue was standing there, in Tim’s private space. He would prefer it if it was a statue, but it wasn’t, and that was made painfully clear when it turned toward him.

Kon nearly reeled back. The only thing visible on the figure’s face were eyes. Four of them, all swiveling towards Conner. He felt his breath go cold.

It brought a hand up to its face, its index finger extended, and held it in front of where its mouth should have been, telling Conner to keep quiet. Kon found himself frozen where he stood, unable to move, unable to breathe. He wanted to attack the thing, to pounce on it and start hitting without the thought of ever stopping. How dare this monster show up in Tim’s home. How dare it stand there so nonchalantly after it’s caused Tim so much fear. How dare it carefully and slowly set down on the coffee table a slightly yellowed envelope that seems to be glowing in its dark hand.

Suddenly, Kon regained control of his body again, but before he was able to move, the figure was gone. He only blinked, just barely. He was across the room in a millisecond, searching frantically for any sign that it was still there, that he wasn’t losing his mind. He couldn’t find anything, except for the envelope. He dreaded what was inside. If this thing entered Tim’s home now, who was to say it hadn’t entered it before?

He thought about what Tim said, about how much longer he thought they had until the pictures were taken only inches away from them. He had guessed a week and a half. Kon wondered when Tim had told him that.

Oh, right. A week and a half ago.

Conner felt cold, dark dread slither down his spine as he picked up the envelope. He really, really didn’t want to open it. But he also remembered Tim saying, “If an envelope shows up while I’m not there, I want you to open it on your own. You don’t have to, but I’d appreciate it if you did. Just let me know if there’s anything really crazy in any pictures, otherwise just leave them until I get back.”
Kon breathed for a moment. Just stood there, holding the envelope, and breathed. And then, slowly, he turned it over in his hands and tore it open.

He wished he had waited for Tim.

Usually, if Tim got a phone call from Kon while on patrol, he wouldn’t think much of it. Kon often called to ask questions like what his favorite ice cream flavor was, or what his favorite snack/candy was, typically because he wanted to get one of those things to “surprise” him when he got home. Tim always had to explain to Conner that when he calls to ask what his favorite type of flowers are, then proceeds to buy those flowers for him only a second after, it kind of ruins the surprise part.

So, when he saw he had three missed calls from Conner (he and the other batkids had gotten a long lecture from Bruce about why it was important to put your phones on silent while on patrol. It made sense-- the lecture had come after Jason texted Dick, while on a stakeout, a picture of Damian falling off a roof earlier, and the chime alerted every goon nearby. It didn’t go very well for Dick), he thought it was just him trying to ask one of his silly questions.

He told Steph and Cass, who he often patrolled with, that he had to take a call, and stepped away from Steph’s merciless teasing and Cass’ snorts of laughter. Before he had a chance to call him back, his phone screen lit up with Conner’s bright, smiling face. He was calling again. That was weird. He usually didn’t call so much unless it was an emergency.

Tim answered the call with a new sense of urgency. He said, “Kon? Are you alright? You’re calling a lot.”

“Tim,” Kon said. He seemed to take a relieved breath before he continued, “Thank god you picked up. Oh my god, Tim, I thought you- I thought he... Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

Tim answered slowly, knowing he had told Kon the story before, “B told us to keep our phones on silent now, I told you that.” Tim’s heart was slowly picking up its pace. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

“No. No, Tim, everything’s definitely not alright. I saw-” Kon reeled in a sharp breath. “This is going to sound crazy, but you’ve got to believe me, okay?”

“Okay, Kon. What’s wrong?” Tim asked the question, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer. Kon had that same inflection of fear in his voice that he always did when the photos were involved.

“There was...Jesus. Okay, there was a...a thing here, in your apartment. I came through the door, like you asked me to, and when I opened it, I saw this, this shadowy figure standing in front of the TV. And when I saw it I, like, couldn’t move. Like, I was completely frozen. And when it looked at me- God, Tim, when it looked at me-”

“Kon, slow down,” Tim demanded, the controlling voice he used on missions shining through. He heard Steph and Cass quiet down a bit, but he ignored them for now. “Tell me what happened slowly.”

Kon took a breath and started from the beginning, delivering his words as if he were reporting how a mission went. “Okay. I walked into your apartment from the front door, and I saw a shadow-figure standing in front of your TV-”

“Shadow-figure?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it. It was like a living shadow, Tim. Anyways, it was standing in front of your TV, watching it. But it wasn’t watching a show, it was just staring at the static. And when it realized I was there, it turned towards me, and it had-” He took a breath. “It had four eyes, and they were all staring at me. No, not at me, through me, like they were looking into my literal soul. And then I was even more frozen than before. It shushed me, and set down one of the envelopes on your coffee table. And then, I could suddenly move again, but by that time it was gone, and-”

“There was another envelope?” His voice shook, no matter how hard he tried to cover it up. Steph and Cass were listening intently now, and he knew he needed to wrap this phone call up quickly. He needed to get to his apartment, to Conner. He needed to know what was in those pictures.

“Yes,” Kon practically sighed out. “And the pictures...Tim, he’s basically on top of you in these. How did he get so close without anyone noticing? Jesus Christ, Tim, I-”

“I’m on my way.”

“No, Tim, you should go to your dad’s, or a safe house, or something. Do not come back here.”

“I’m coming now.”

“Tim-” Tim hung up before Kon could finish his thought. He stuffed his phone in his pocket and started making his way to his bike, but Steph stopped him. Shit, he forgot she and Cass were still there.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going? We still have, like, an hour left of patrol,” Steph said, crossing her arms. Cass stood next to her, silently studying Tim in the way that she does.

“I have to go, Steph.” He tried to sidestep past her, but she moved to block him again. He sighed. “Please? I promise I’ll make it up to you at some point. Hey, how about next time we patrol together, you guys get to leave early and leave me with everything, hm? I’ll even write your reports.”

Steph clenched her jaw and prepared to argue more, but Cass interrupted her. “Okay.”

Tim and Steph blinked at her. “Okay?” they said in unison.

Cass nodded. “Okay. You can go. We’ll take care of everything. We’re not writing your report though, so don’t forget it.”

Tim hesitated as Steph started grilling into her. He said, “Um, alright. See you guys later,” and left before Steph could stop him again. He was too tired to look into any of that, and just assumed Cass looked into his body language and could tell it was something important. He heard the beginning of an explanation akin to that before he was out of earshot of the girls. Now it was just him, his bike, and his crippling anxiety that sent shivers down his spine.

By the time Tim reached his apartment, he couldn’t think of anything other than 'Oh my God, Kon is dead. I took too long and now he’s dead. He’s been murdered. I’m going to walk into my apartment and find his dead body on the floor and his blood’s going to be everywhere and *he’s* going to be there waiting for me and he’s going to take me again and-'

“Tim!” Kon snapped. “Snap out of it, alright? You’re okay, I’m here. You’ve got to pull yourself together.”

Tim looked up at Kon, who was holding his shoulders tightly, and nearly crumpled when he saw he was completely unharmed. Terrified, yes, but he wasn’t hurt. That was all Tim could ask for.

He breathed a sigh of relief as Conner led him to the kitchen table, where he had laid out all the pictures. Tim wished Kon had been overreacting when he described the photos, but no, of course he wasn’t. Every single photo was taken mere inches away from Tim. In a couple of them, Tim was practically looking directly at the camera. His fingernails dug into his palms as violent tremors wracked his body. Kon was saying something, but he couldn’t see or hear him. All he could see was those photos, and all he could hear was his voice, talking in that sweet, seductive way he did, telling Tim to be quiet, that Batman and Nightwing will find them if he’s too loud, that if they do, his punishment for his evil soul will end. And Tim believed he was good, didn’t he? He didn’t want to go unpunished when he himself punished so many other people, right?

He took a very deep, very loud breath and tore his eyes away from the photos. He met Kon’s terrified expression with one of his own. And in a voice of absolute, pure desperation, he said, “I’m going to talk to Bruce.”

Chapter Text

Bruce was typing on the computer, trying his best to focus on his report while Jason and Damian bickered behind him. Apparently, Jason kicked (Damian’s words)/lightly nudged with his foot (Jason’s words) Alfred the cat, and Damian is extremely upset about it. From the sound of it, Jason is trying very hard not to laugh, and Alfred the butler is doing his best to get Damian to calm down. Steph cracking up at Damian only a few feet away isn’t helping, and neither is Cass petting Alfred the cat and cooing consolations into his ears.

They all feed on each other’s distress, and it’s really starting to add to Bruce’s collection of gray hairs.

Another thing threatening to add to his gray hairs was the absence of one of his children, who he knew would have loudly taken Damian’s side in this argument just to piss Jason off.

“Where’s Tim?” he addressed Cass, the only one quiet enough to actually hear him if he spoke to her.

“He’s at his apartment,” Cass said, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “He left patrol early.”

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?” Bruce asked, his voice gruff. He didn’t like being kept in the dark about anything, especially when it came to other bats.

“You didn’t ask before.”

Bruce grumbled and turned back around, shouting out to no one in particular, “If anyone could contact Tim and ask him to send in his report soon, that would be nice.”

He didn’t hear a response, but knew someone would listen to him. Eventually.

And he was right. Eventually, Steph got bored of watching Jason and Damian and their endless taunts thrown at each other, and she turned to her phone instead. She vaguely remembered Bruce asking someone to contact Tim, and when she looked up at him, she saw him grumbling at the computer, likely because of the lack of Tim’s report. She sighed and opened Tim’s contact.

Steph: yo
b’s worried about you
or he’s not idrk
i think he just wants your report
he’s grumbling and shit but thats normal
hello?
tim?
timmm?????
lord i get why bruce gets headaches now

Steph set her phone on the table and turned back to Bruce, who was still grumbling at his keyboard. She thought about telling him she texted Tim, but then thought it would be best to leave Bruce alone. He’d probably get mad at her for not getting a response, as if that was her fault.

“Did you text Tim?” Cass asked, appearing right next to her.

Steph, like most of the bats, has gotten pretty accustomed to her unnatural level of stealth. She still jumps a bit sometimes, though.

She let out a puff of air and said, “Yeah. He’s not responding though. Probably busy with Conner.” She said “Conner” in a drawn-out, sing-songy voice.

Cass let out a small sound of contemplation. “He seemed distracted when he left.”

“Yeah, distracted by his boyfriend’s di-”

A ping from her phone interrupted her. She glanced down to find that Tim had texted her, in the sporadic, cryptic way he does when he’s distracted by something.

Tim: coming now
who’s there

Steph sighed and ignored his dry typing.

Steph: me, cass, jason, damian, alfie, and bruce
why
oh i see how it is
gonna ignore me again?
asshole

She groaned and threw her head back as Cass patted her shoulder in consolation, similar to how she was consoling Alfred the cat earlier.

“He’s such a bad texter. I hate when he gets like this,” Steph complained.

“He’s very bad at communicating properly.” Cass agreed, nodding her head.

“Who is?” Bruce called out over his shoulder. “Are you talking about Tim? Did you text him?”

Steph rolled her eyes as she said, “Yeah, B. He said he’s on his way.” Another ping from her phone. “Oh, and-”

Tim: tell B to get file on Guardian Angel

“He says he wants the file on...Guardian Angel?” Steph said confusedly, oblivious to the way Bruce’s shoulders tensed and how Alfred suddenly stopped trying to get Damian and Jason to cease their fighting. “Who the hell is Guardian Angel?”

Bruce gripped the edge of the desk as he slowly grit out, “Why does he want that file?”

Steph typed out the question and watched as Tim’s typing bubble appeared and disappeared three times. She was about to tell Bruce Tim’s indecisive ass didn’t know, but then he sent her a response.

Tim: need to update it

When she relayed this to Bruce, he froze more noticeably than before. Alfred simply stared at her incredulously, almost like he was expecting- or rather, hoping- that she was joking.

“What?” Steph looked around at Cass. “Did I say something wrong? Do you know who Guardian Angel is?”

Cass shook her head.

“Spoiler,” Batman- not Bruce, Batman ordered, “Ask Tim-”

“I’m not asking Tim anything,” Steph said, holding up her hands. “If you want to ask him something, text him yourself.”

Bruce grumbled before turning to Alfred. “Alfred-” The butler nodded before he got another word out. Bruce turned and walked away, further into the cave towards where they kept the safes.

“Where’s he going?” Jason asked, holding a flailing Damian in the air by his ankles. “Is he having another one of his temper tantrums?”

“Master Bruce is retrieving a case file.” Alfred was turned toward the computer, typing something frantically.

“Aren’t all of the files on the computer?” Jason questioned, curiosity obvious in his voice. “Why’s he going to the safes?”

Alfred sighed. “Some cases are not to be brought into the light, Master Jason. Even if that light happens to be the Batcomputer.”

“You’re talking crazy like Tim.” Steph leaned against the desk beside Alfred. She didn’t appear worried, and she didn’t really feel worried either. She was mostly just curious, like everyone else in the room, as to why Bruce and Alfred were acting like this. “Who is this Guardian Angel anyway? Some religious freak that went a little too far once? What’d he do? Burn someone alive? Crucify someone?”

Alfred grunted, similar to how Bruce does sometimes.

“Holy shit, did he really?” Jason chuckled out. “That’s crazy. And this was while Tim was around? How come I’ve never heard about this?”

“It isn’t our story to tell,” Alfred muttered, so quiet they almost didn’t catch it.

Between Bruce immediately tensing up and storming off, and Alfred acting so distant and somber, it was clear this “Guardian Angel” was involved in more than just crucifying some random guy. Steph swallowed and looked toward Cass, who met her gaze. Jason set Damian down, who thought it might not be the time to start attacking his older brother again. He glanced up at Jason, who gave him a weary look back. This probably wasn’t good.

They heard Tim before they saw him. They heard a bike’s engine rumbling and tires screeching, and then they heard heavy metal fall and clatter on the floor. Tim doesn’t usually drop his bike like that- he loves that bike, uses it as much as he can without Bruce warning him not to use it as a civilian. The fact that he threw it to the floor like that only solidified the group’s uneasiness.

“Alfred?” Tim called out. His voice sounded weak, broken, strained, like he'd been yelling or screaming. “Where’s Bruce?”

When Steph laid her eyes on him, she winced. His hair was a mess, tousled and windswept. His eyes were redrimmed, and his bottom lip was nearly chewed through. His hands had tiny beads of blood dripping down them, glittering in the light like gemstones, likely from how hard he was clenching his hands. Steph hadn’t seen him like this in...well, actually, she’d never seen him this anxious before.

“He is getting the file, Master Tim,” Alfred said in a calm voice with the somberness and worry that was in it only a minute before completely gone. “You should stay here. Tell me what you found.”

Tim glanced around frantically, not at Jason, Damian, Steph and Cass, but past them, through them, into every dark corner in the cave. He clenched his hands even tighter, which hadn’t seemed possible, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a weathered yellow envelope. Alfred reeled in a breath when he saw it.

“Master Tim...” he muttered, reaching out for the envelope, but Tim held it tightly in his hand. “How long..?”

Tim worked his jaw, carefully unlocking it, and said, “Few weeks. They’re...” He sighed and opened the envelope, pulling out a picture. Steph couldn’t get a very good view from where she was sitting, but it looked like a picture of Tim.

A strained sound came from Alfred’s throat. He looked back up at Tim, and their expressions of worry were nearly identical to each other.

“Hey, hate to interrupt or whatever,” Jason said, breaking the two- and Steph- from their trance. “But what the hell is going on? Who’s this Guardian Angel Steph mentioned and what does he have to do with pictures of Tim?”

Tim looked at Jason with an expression so fearful that Jason nearly stepped back. Before anyone could say anything, Bruce returned with a sour look on his face and a manilla folder in his hands.

“Tim,” he said, moving between Steph and Alfred and Tim. He barely registered the envelope before saying, “Let me see them.”

For a moment, Tim simply looked up at Bruce. He didn’t move, he hardly breathed, he just stared. He wanted to hug him, to curl into Bruce’s arms and disappear and never come back out. Instead, he handed Bruce the envelope.

Bruce grunted as he looked at the pictures. After a moment, he said, “He’s close. Too close. How did you let him get this close without telling us?”

“I...” Tim gripped the edge of the desk just how Bruce was earlier. “I didn’t think...part of me thought, maybe, it wasn’t really him.” He breathed deeply. “But then, today, Kon called and told me he...saw one of them, in my apartment. One of his Watchers.”

Both Bruce and Alfred had a reaction to that.

“Oh, Tim,” Alfred murmured.

“Damn it,” Bruce grumbled. “You should have said something, Tim. We could have done something. Now, it...” He cut himself off, sighing and shaking his head. He opened the folder and placed the photos inside.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Tim said, his voice small. His breaths came hitched. “Are you...going to tell Barbara? And...Dick?”

“Tell them what, exactly?” Jason interrupted, arms crossed, feet planted. He wasn’t going to give this up until they spilled, and Steph was fully on his side.

“Yeah, what the hell is going on?” she demanded. “Why are you guys being so mysterious and shit? Who the fuck is Guardian Angel? And what the hell are his Watchers?”

“Like the Watchers’ Flood?” Damian asked. “From the Bible?”

“What is the Watchers’ Flood?”

“God sent down angels called the Watchers to ‘watch’ humans. They ended up, I think, infecting humanity with evil, so God flooded the earth to rid the world of the human race, minus Noah and his family, of course.”

“Oh. Like Noah’s Arc? With all the animals?”

“Yes,” Damian sighed. “With all the animals.”

“Shit makes no sense to me,” Jason said. “How did every animal come from two original ones? And if Noah’s family was the only one to survive, does that make all of us related?”

“Ew.” Steph stuck out her tongue, and Cass nodded in agreement with her.

Bruce let out an exasperated sigh, and a small smile was creeping up Tim’s lips. “Please stop talking,” Bruce said, his voice as exhausted as his sigh. He turned to Tim. “You don’t have to tell them. They can help us without knowing the full story.”

“No the hell we can’t,” Jason said. “If I’m going to help with this Guardian Angel and Watchers and Biblical shit, I’m going to need to know everything.”

“Me too,” Steph said, Cass nodding along with her.

“Me as well,” Damian said. “I don’t like being left in the dark, Father.”

Tim stared at all of them as they agreed with Jason, his gaze coming to rest on Damian. He furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. We might not need the help. I’ll be gone by tomorrow anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” Bruce said, though he didn’t sound very convincing. “You’re going to be fine, Tim. We’ll keep you here, in the manor, and we’ll-”

“It’s not going to work, Bruce,” Tim said, shaking his head.

“We’ll upgrade the security,” Bruce continued. “Nobody will get in or out without us noticing.”

“Kon didn’t notice when he was there,” Tim nearly whispered. “He couldn’t hear or see him, Bruce.”

“If it was the Watchers instead of him, then it makes sense that Conner couldn’t-”

“No, Bruce. He takes the pictures himself. You know he likes taking the pictures himself.”

“Who likes taking what pictures?” Jason demanded.

Tim and Bruce gave him nothing more than a fleeting glance before returning to their quiet argument.

Alfred stood up from where he sat. “Perhaps it is time for bed, you four. Miss Stephanie, Master Jason, you are, as always, welcome to stay the night if you wish-”

“Bullshit, Alfred,” Jason snapped. “I’m done with all this secretive shit and trying to push us away. What the hell is going on? Why are you three so keen on hiding this shit? Clearly, it’s something important, otherwise you wouldn’t be so fucking quiet for once, so what is it? Why can’t you just tell us?”

The four of them looked at Bruce, Tim, and Alfred expectantly, and the three returned their gazes. Bruce looked distracted, Alfred looked saddened, and Tim looked...well, Tim looked defeated, more than anything. And then, Tim did something none of them expected him to do, not even Bruce or Alfred. He broke down into tears, his knees buckling and his shaking hands rising up to cover his face. Terrible sobs wracked his body, and he trembled all over.

And Bruce did something even more unexpected. He pulled Tim into a tight hug, rubbing circles on his back and holding the back of his head like if he let go, it would roll right off his shoulders.

Bruce looked up at Alfred and said, “Call Dick and Barbara. Tell them what happened, and we need them here as soon as possible.” He looked down at Tim. “I’m going to bring him to bed.”

“No!” Tim sobbed. “No, please! He’ll get me! You can’t, he’ll get me there!”

“Shh,” Bruce told him, his voice softer than any of them had heard it before. “It’s okay, Tim, I’ll be with you all night. I won’t let him get you, I promise.”

Tim kept crying and shaking his head, but he let Bruce scoop him up into his arms and carry him out of the cave, leaving the four clueless ones and Alfred alone.

“Jesus Christ,” Jason muttered.

“Is he okay?” Steph asked Alfred. “I mean, obviously he’s not okay. But, why isn’t he okay? I’ve never seen him cry like that before.”

“Trauma,” Cass said, still holding onto Alfred the cat. “He’s experienced this all before. He’s reliving a terrible time in his life.”

“Obviously.” Damian scoffed. “What I want to know is what this Guardian Angel and his Watchers have to do with it. Alfred, what did these people do to Drake?”

Alfred sighed, his hands showing the slightest tremor. He said, “Masters Dick and Barbara will be arriving some time tonight. As I said before, you may stay here or leave.” He paused for a moment. “If you stay, you will likely receive some sort of explanation tomorrow.” He was making his way to the stairs. “After Master Tim regains himself.”

Chapter Text

Jason didn’t stay in the manor overnight, though that was expected. He said he’d return tomorrow morning and not to let anyone explain anything until he got there. Steph and Cass retreated to Cass’ room, which happened to be right across the hallway from Tim’s. Damian assumed they would be sitting by the door all night, listening for any sort of mutterings they might be able to hear from Tim’s room.

Damian himself disappeared into his own room, but he wasn’t interested in listening for Tim. He was never very good with dealing with people crying, and he had never seen Tim cry even a little before, let alone how he was in the cave. It made Damian a little uncomfortable, seeing his older brother who had always feigned stoicism so easily suddenly collapse in on himself.

Damian had already showered and changed in the cave, so all that was left to do was climb into bed. He yawned as he slowly made his way over. Slow patrols like tonight were always the worst. Sure, they never ended up with broken bones or life-threatening injuries, but they were just so boring. Damian always found himself the most tired after the nights where they did absolutely nothing.

That’s probably why, when he saw the dark, shadowy figure in the corner of the room, he completely ignored it.

For some reason, it was common in his family for people to experience hallucinations. Every one of the bats had been visited by one or two in their lives, especially when they were running on two hours of sleep from the night before and a few mugs of black coffee. So when Damian saw the figure, with four eyes so bright against its void-like skin they appeared to be glowing, he simply dismissed the thing and crawled into bed, shutting his eyes and hoping for sleep to claim him quickly.

It didn’t, though. Something seemed to be keeping him awake. He wondered if his brain was worried about that hallucination he saw earlier. He could feel his heart beating, signifying levels of stress he didn’t quite understand. Of all the things he could have seen, all it was was some shadow with four eyes. That was possibly the least scary and intimidating thing he could have seen.

Just to give his brain some consolation, he decided he should open his eyes and turn on the light. That way, when he looked back at the corner where the thing was before, it would have disappeared. He sighed. He didn’t want to have to move and turn on the light and turn his whole body around just so he could look at a stupid hallucination.

Whatever. Anything to get his body to sleep. It took a full thirty seconds to force his eyes open, and once he did, he wished he hadn’t. His whole body jolted and froze, and a scream of surprise and horror stuck in his throat. The hallucination, the shadow in the corner just seconds ago, stood right in front of him, crouched down to meet his gaze. He needed to move, to leave, to at least shout for help, but his whole body was paralyzed. He couldn’t defend himself as the shadow reached up and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Damian couldn’t see its mouth, but he had an eerie feeling the thing was smiling at him. Its eyes were wide and bloodshot, and two on its forehead swiveled wildly while the other two stared dead at Damian. Damian’s breath sprang from his nose sporadically. He tried to breathe as little as possible, hoping that maybe the thing was blind, maybe it didn’t know he was awake.

But it knew. He knew it knew. He knew that it was staring into his eyes, into his soul, and it could see every part of him. Perhaps more than Damian could see himself.

He wanted to close his eyes, to pretend he never opened them, to pretend this was all just a terrible dream. But in dreams, you can’t feel pain. Not like this, not like the aching in his chest or the sharp sting as it dragged its nails across his neck. He shivered at its touch and an animalistic whine escaped from his throat. He hoped someone had heard him, that his father would come rushing in at the sound of his pain, or Alfred, or even Steph or Cass. But they couldn’t hear, he simply wasn’t loud enough.

Eventually, the thing left. He didn’t know exactly when, or how, he just found himself able to blink at some point and it was gone. He opened his mouth and sucked in a deep breath, shooting up to sit and watching a thick, dark liquid fall from his mouth and blot on his sheets, his hands. His eyes stayed wide and fearful as he reached a trembling hand to his bedside table where his lamp sat. He flicked the switch, watched as every part of him was illuminated...except for that liquid. It didn’t even shine when he turned the lamp on; it seemed to absorb the light into his void. It wasn’t blood, it was something else. Some black sludge that poured out of his mouth.

Or...was it blood? It had that metallic taste to it, and when he rubbed it between his fingers it felt just like blood, though maybe a bit thicker. His throat pulsed with a sharp, stabbing pain, and he wondered if that was the source of this liquid. If it was blood, if it was his blood...did the shadow make it dark like this? There’s not even a hint of red or any other color, it’s the same void-black as the shadow itself.

Damian’s breath hitched and his eyes pricked with tears. What the hell was happening? Why did his throat hurt so much? Why was he spilling black sludge like he was an oil rig? He needed to move, he needed to find someone, to get help. Why was this happening to him? He thought whatever thing Tim, Alfred, and Father were worried about was going to go after Tim, not Damian.

He whimpered as he forced himself out of bed, stumbling as he moved toward the door. His chest was heaving and his mind reeling, black spots swimming in his vision. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Maybe he was just hallucinating and it was just an extra hard spell. Maybe he’d stayed awake for too long and was dying now.

Damian shook his head violently, trying to clear his thoughts. All it did, though, was set him off balance and he found himself tipping over. He hit the ground with a loud thump, and a scratchy, warbled groan escaped his throat. He heard something outside his door, and all of a sudden a great terror washed over him. Was it another one of those shadows? What did it want now? It already turned his blood into black sludge, what more could it possibly do to him?

He tried to push himself away from the door, to escape from the shadows- for it was more than one- that were clearly targeting him. It seemed like all his training from both the League of Assassins and Batman left him completely, and he was left with his fight-or-flight instincts. And his instincts were telling him to flee, now.

But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t stand, he could hardly crawl. All he could do was collapse on the floor and breathe messily, the black liquid still spilling out of his mouth and forming a large, dark puddle around him. He was going to bleed out soon. If he didn’t get help, if he didn’t move he was going to bleed out.

Obviously, moving was out of the question. So he did the next best thing, or he tried to at least. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout for help, but the only sound he could muster was a tight, broken moan of pain.

Thankfully, what stood outside his door wasn’t a shadow.

Dick burst into the room, a worried and stressed expression on his face. When he saw Damian on the floor, a liquid void haloing him and slowly growing, that worry only turned into terror.

“Damian!” he shouted, rushing to Damian’s side and cradling him in his arms. Damian’s head lolled on Dick’s bicep, but he looked up at his older brother and felt a strong sense of relief. He was okay now. Dick was here, and Dick would save him. It wouldn’t be the first time. “What happened? What...” He looked around at the black liquid continuing to spill from Damian’s mouth. His expression morphed from terror to horror, and he called out, “Alfred! Barbara! A Watcher got Damian, I need help!”

Damian heard other footsteps rushing down the hallway, but before they reached him and Dick, the whitehot pain in his throat blinded him, and his head pulsed with aches. He was doing everything he could to stay awake, scared of what might happen if he fell unconscious. He reached up a numb, shaking hand to Dick’s chest and grabbed a fistful of Dick’s shirt. His breaths were ragged and desperate, weak, like his lungs were going to give out any moment.

Before losing consciousness, he felt his body being lifted up in Dick’s arms. They were bringing him somewhere, the cave, he thought vaguely. That’s where they kept all the antidotes for things like this. Did they even have an antidote for...whatever this was? Damian felt the entire earth’s atmosphere crushing down on him. He wanted to curl up in a ball as the blackness drained out of him, he wanted to lean into Dick’s shoulder and cry, he really, really wanted to fall asleep. And, finally, his body let him.

Tim stood beside the door of Damian’s room, leaning against the wall behind him. With his arms crossed, he watched Dick and Bruce dote over Damian, who had just awoken after being given the antidote to the Watcher’s disease. Barbara, Cass, and Steph stood next to him, Alfred making a batch of hot chocolate in the kitchen, and Duke was still fast asleep. It seemed like nothing could wake him up.

Tim’s jaw was clenched and his breath was shallow. He couldn’t help but feel guilty for Damian’s condition. He knew that, in theory, it wasn’t technically his fault. It still felt like it, though, because he knew this was done just to get Tim upset. Damian almost died just so Tim’s Guardian Angel could get a reaction out of him.

That really doesn’t make a guy feel good.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder suddenly, and turned to meet Barbara’s eyes. They were soft, and so was her smile. Tim felt his heart lighten up a bit. Babs tended to have that effect on people.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, so as not to disturb Damian and his fragile head.

Tim nodded. “I’m good.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know.” When Babs didn’t seem to believe him, he added, “No, really, I know. I just...” He turned back towards Damian. “It’s hard to, you know, agree with that.”

Steph had her brow furrowed and looked angry, while Cass looked curious. These seemed to be pretty common feelings in them tonight. Tim wondered how Jason would react once he found out about this, and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach.

“Jason’s going to be pissed,” he muttered.

“Jason’s only going to be pissed if you don’t explain,” Steph responded matter-of-factly. “So, yeah, he’s probably going to be pissed.”

Tim sighed. “Even if I had explained, it wouldn’t have changed what happened.” He thought for a minute. “Or, maybe it would have.” He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

Steph rolled her eyes and walked past him toward the door. “Whatever. Call me when you grow some balls and you’re ready to talk. I don’t know if I’ll be able to see you until then.”

“Steph,” Barbara called out, but Steph didn’t turn around. She was on her phone, likely texting Jason. That will be fun to deal with. Babs turned to Cass. “Can you-”

Cass nodded and was already making her way out the door by the time Babs asked her. Cass would talk to Stephanie, and would likely explain that there’s probably a reason behind Tim keeping this secret from them. Steph might, if she was feeling nice, apologize at some point for getting mad at Tim and sort of blaming him for Damian’s state. Though, Tim might not accept her apology. Not because he was angry at her, but because he agreed with her. He glanced at Damian again before pushing away from the wall and towards the door, promptly running into Alfred.

Alfred expertly avoided spilling any hot chocolate as Tim started listing out apologies.

“It’s quite alright, Master Tim,” Alfred said gently. They were all saying things gently to him now, probably worried he might fall apart again if they don’t. Tim feels embarrassment warm his cheeks. “Would you like a mug?”

Tim thought about saying no, but he caught a whiff of the hot chocolate and took one of the cups. “Thanks, Alfred,” he said before returning on his journey to the Batcave. He wanted to look at the Guardian Angel’s file again, just to look things over. He already knew everything, he didn’t need to look at the file anymore. He wanted to anyway.

He heard footsteps behind him, turned to find Barbara following him. Tim sighed, but didn’t protest. He knew it would be pointless anyway.

Babs quickly caught up to him and questioned, “Where are you going?”

“The cave,” Tim responded honestly.

“Why?”

“To look at a file.”

Babs sighed. “You know, it’s not healthy to obsess over a case, past or present.”

“This isn’t just a case, Babs. You know that as well as I do.”

“Well, then it’s not healthy to obsess over past traumas.”

Tim knew she was right. Of course she was right. But he didn’t want to listen to her. His brain was clouded with thoughts of the Angel, his Watchers, and Damian laying in bed. Dami was okay now, coughing a bit still, but mostly okay. He had a deep gash in his throat, like the rest of the Watchers’ victims, and was breathing like his lungs were full of water. He was in pain, clearly, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. And with every wince or flinch Damian made, Tim felt more and more guilty.

He found himself in front of the vault full of old, outdated cases. He knew Bruce would want the file back in here, even if the case was reopened. He knew because Tim didn’t know the passcode to this vault, and Bruce didn’t want Tim looking at the file any more than Barbara did.

“Babs, can you..?” Tim asked pathetically.

Barbara looked at him flatly. “I’m guessing you know the answer to that?”

Tim sighed. “What happens if I guess the passcode wrong too many times?”

“The door locks itself for two weeks, passcode or not.” Barbara crossed her arms smugly. “And Bruce will be pissed if you let that happen.”

Tim clenched his jaw and groaned, turning and going back to the computer. He clicked it on and asked, “Did Bruce transfer anything from the Angel case to the computer?”

Babs shrugged, leaning against the desk beside where Tim sat in the chair. “No idea. I’ve never looked.”

“He must have,” Tim muttered. “He’s crazy about always keeping multiple copies and shit.”

“Maybe he keeps multiple hard copies in that safe.”

Tim shook his head as he typed in the case name. “Both copies in the same place? Definitely not.” When he clicked enter, to his delight, the file showed up just as expected. Except, when he clicked on it... “Damn it. It requires a password. Do you know what it is?” He looked at Babs, who very inconspicuously raised her eyebrows. “Does it have anything to do with me?”

“I’m not giving you hints.”

“It doesn’t have to be a hint, just a yes or no answer.”

Babs shook her head. “Not playing your games, Timmy.”

“You’re so lame. Is it a religious reference?”

“Not answering.”

“Babs, please?”

“Nope. Bruce’ll be mad, and Dick will be pissed. I’m not willing to deal with that right now. Or ever.”

Tim groaned and threw his head back. He heard voices coming from above, echoing down the staircase he and Babs had just used to enter the cave. They sounded loud, and angry. Jason must have arrived.

“No!” Jason’s voice yelled. “I’m not doing this, Bruce. He’s got to say something, this is insane!”

Tim sighed and carefully placed his head on the desk before him. Barbara set her hand on his head, lightly ruffling his hair. She was probably looking at Jason with a death-glare right now.

“Tim!” Jason yelled when he spotted them. “What the hell is wrong with you? You keep these secrets from us, and now all of a sudden, Damian’s half dead with black sludge for blood? What is going on?”

Tim wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed as Babs responded for him, “Jason, watch your mouth. This is not Tim’s fault.”

“I’m not saying it’s Tim’s fault.” He ground out the last two words. “I’m just saying that his secrets might have cost Damian his life.”

“That isn’t true, Jason,” Dick said, sounding exasperated. Tim wondered how long they’d been arguing for now. “I’ve been telling you that is not true. Damian is okay, we have an antidote for-”

“For what?” Jason shouted. “For what, Dick? You’re not even telling me what he’s fucking sick with, let alone what caused it!”

Tim’s breath came out sharp and desperate, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Jason was right, of course. He’d been thinking the same thing earlier. But...he really, really did not want to talk to them about this. Not here, not now. (Not anywhere, not ever).

“No, Dick,” Jason was saying. “I’m not going to shut up. Not until I get some sort of explanation. I am so sick of-”

“And how do you think we feel, Jason?” Barbara removed her hand from Tim’s head and crossed her arms. “Don’t you think we’re getting a little sick of your complaints? It feels like you’ve barely stepped foot in the world before. Why do you think Tim would keep this from you? You know- I know you know he wouldn’t keep the truth from you if there wasn’t a good reason behind it. You’re acting like a child.”

“I’m acting like a child?” Jason lifted up a finger to point to his chest. “Twenty minutes ago, I got a text from Steph telling me that Damian almost died because of some other secret you aren’t telling us about. My little brother almost died because you guys won’t fucking tell us anything! How do you think that makes us feel, Barbara?” Babs pinched the bridge of her nose. “And I bet you haven’t told Damian anything, either, even though he’s the victim here. He probably doesn’t even know what tried to kill him, does he?”

Babs, Dick, and Bruce stayed silent.

“God,” Jason scoffed. “You’re all real fucking assholes, you know that? I really hope this comes back to bite you in the ass. And you-” He moved to point at Tim...who had seemed to disappear. “Where did Tim go?”

All pairs of eyes moved to the chair where Tim had sat only seconds ago. Suddenly, three hearts sped up rapidly as minds flew to the worst possible explanation.

Jason lifted up his phone and his eyes widened. “Found him. I guess we’re about to get that explanation afterall.” Jason turned on his heel and rushed to leave the cave.

The three he left behind stared after him, dumbfounded.

“Wait...” Dick said. “Is Tim...is he about to..?”

Babs groaned. “These assholes are really going to make him explain everything, aren’t they?”

“Tim wouldn’t do it unless he wanted to,” Bruce said. He let a breath out through his nose. “I hope.”

Chapter Text

They all gathered in Damian’s room, eagerly awaiting an explanation. When Jason entered, he seemed like he was going to say something, but judging by the intense quiet in the room, he decided against it. Alfred sat in a chair on one side of the bed, while Tim sat on a chair on the other. Damian laid between them, twiddling his thumbs and coughing every now and then. He felt very uncomfortable.

Cass and Steph sat at Damian’s desk, while Jason pulled up another chair from somewhere else. They all watched Tim intently.

Tim sighed, not looking at anyone or anything in particular. “I guess I’ll start from the beginning.”

Four years ago, when Tim was only thirteen and had just become Robin, Batman received a strange call from Superman. A murder had occurred in Metropolis, one that seemed out of touch from the rest of the pristine city. Metropolis was known for being bright and shiny, murders not too common and the only real threat being the occasional alien or some sort of kaiju. Gotham was much more acquainted with brutal murders, such as the one that just took place in Superman’s city. It was even less common for a murderer to know how to evade Superman’s super-hearing, which Clark thought called for some backup.

Superman wasn’t a bad detective. He could figure out who did this without his powers easily enough. But he knew it would be much faster if he called the world’s greatest detective to come solve it instead. He never expected Batman to bring along his brightly-colored ward.

“Robin?” Superman asked, a surprised expression obvious on his face as he touched down in front of them. He had been flying overhead, trying for the hundredth time that day to hear the murderer. “I didn’t know you’d come along.” He gave Batman an accusatory glance.

Batman returned Superman’s look with one that could be described as an exhaustion only parents could experience. “I will pay you half a million dollars to get him to stay home next time.”

Superman sighed and started walking beside the dynamic duo, Robin excitedly bouncing between them. He had a camera in his hands, a strap holding it around his neck. A bright smile painted his face- this was one of his first real cases outside of Gotham.

“He seems excited,” Superman said pointedly.

“I keep trying to tell him this is serious.” Batman grabbed Robin’s shoulder. “Someone died.”

Robin looked up at him, his smile quickly melting. “Sorry, Batman.”

Batman returned his attention to Superman. “Where’s the body?”

Superman nodded to a car a short ways away from them. The car was half inside a store, and half outside. It seemed to have crashed through the large window of the place. “In the car.”

“Was anyone in the store hurt?” Batman asked.

“No, they all got away in time. Saw him coming from a long way away.”

Batman grunted and picked up his pace, Robin easily matching it. Superman stood still for a second, watching Batman walk towards the horror show in that car with the little boy flitting close behind. Clark didn’t want the kid to see what happened to that man.

Superman flew up in front of Batman and Robin, allowing Batman to pass easily but stopping Robin before he could reach the car. He heard the slightest intake of breath from Bruce when he saw the crime scene, and he knew Bruce didn’t want the kid to see it anymore than Clark did.

Robin stopped in front of Superman, furrowing his brow and turning his head all the way up to meet Clark’s eye. “What’s your problem, Boyscout?”

“Why don’t you talk to the police a bit?” Superman asked, trying to distract the boy without making him feel completely useless. He knew that tended to be how the Robins felt. “There’s a few detectives over there, I’m sure they could use your help.”

“But how could I have a meaningful conversation with them that helps the case along if I haven’t seen the crime myself?” Robin asked, blinking up at Superman. “I couldn’t contribute to the conversation; I’d have to rely on their thoughts about the crime alone, without developing my own theories. That’s not how you solve a case, Superman.”

Superman watched the boy for a moment, mulling over how to respond. The kid was, well, not wrong. But he was wrong in the sense that he had to do any of the case-solving. He was just a kid; how could he possibly understand any of what he saw?

“Robin,” Batman called before Superman could respond to the kid. ‘Oh good,’ Superman thought. ‘Batman’s going to tell him to leave, and then Robin will have to listen. Thank gosh.’ “Come here. I need your opinion.”

Superman whirled around, staring incredulously at the vigilante before him. Robin waltzed right by Clark, bobbing up next to Bruce and turning toward the car. Just as Clark feared, Robin froze. His eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat, his hands clenched around his camera. He was scared.

And just as quickly as he showed that fear, he hid it under an expression of nonchalance, as if he’d seen stuff like this every day of his life.

“Tell me what you see,” Batman said, watching the boy more than the body. ‘He must have seen that too,’ thought Clark. ‘Why isn’t he doing anything about it?’

Robin took in a breath before explaining the crime scene in vivid detail. “There’s a man, likely in his mid-to-late thirties, in the driver’s seat. He’s hunched over the steering wheel, and it seems like his ribs are caught around the edge of it. His eyes are open and bloodshot, and they, along with his nose, mouth, and ears, are secreting a...a sort of black liquid, almost like oil. There are crosses burned into the tops of his hands and his cheeks, and there’s a rosary wrapped around his wrists. The crucifix on the rosary is the same size as the crosses burned into his skin, suggesting that the attacker used the same cross to brand him. And...” Robin’s eyes tracked along the man’s body, landing on his forehead. “There’s a message carved into his forehead. It’s in Latin. One word.” He stared at it for a second, eyes squinting. “‘Thief.’ This could suggest that the victim stole something from the attacker, something important to them. Important enough that they felt the need to murder him brutally.”

“What do you think the crosses and rosary mean?” Batman asked gruffly.

“Maybe...” Robin thought for a moment. “Maybe the attacker is a deeply religious person. Maybe if the victim did steal something from the attacker, it was something with a religious connotation to it.” Robin looked up at Batman, eyes twinkling through his mask. “How’d I do?”

Batman looked back down at him, the corners of his lips curling up into the slightest smile. “Good.”

Robin had to work to force down the smile that wanted to take over his face.

“Take pictures now. We’ll bring them back to the cave for further analysis.” He left Robin beside the car, practically glowing, and retreated to Superman’s side.

Superman had to admit, he was impressed. “How did he know so much with only one look?”

“He’s a good detective.” Batman shrugged. “He’ll grow to be better than me one day.”

They watched the boy take picture after picture of the body, studying them and then the man after each one. Superman answered, “I believe it.”

Robin leaned in closer to the car to take a picture of the rosary. It was wrapped tightly around the man’s hands, tight enough to have cut off the circulation while he was still alive. It held his hands clasped together, as if he died praying with the rosary. Tim could see the beads of the necklace cutting into the man’s skin, dried blood speckling around the small wounds. He would likely still be bleeding if he were alive.

Hanging from the end of the rosary, beneath his hands, was the crucifix. It was pretty; actually, the whole thing was pretty. Blood-red beads that sparkled in the light, occasionally broken up by larger, silver beads. The crucifix was made of the same silver, with tiny red gems the same color as the smaller beads signifying Christ’s blood and eyes. Tim thought it was interesting how the blood and the eyes were the same color.

Tim found himself transfixed by the thing, and against better judgement, wanted to touch it. He glanced back to where he remembered Bruce and Clark being just moments ago, and saw they were talking to a couple police officers. A few reporters, including Clark’s friends Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, were standing behind the caution tape set up around the crime scene, trying their best to get an inside scoop. They were all watching Batman and Superman, eyes barely glancing over to the car. None of them were paying any attention to Tim.

He looked back at the crucifix, Christ’s eyes looking directly into Tim’s. He reached out to it, held it in his hand. He brought it further into the light, finding that there were tiny trails of gem-blood coming from the crown of thorns on Jesus’ head. It was such an intricate design. Whoever had made the rosary clearly put a lot of thought and effort into it; Tim had never seen one so-

“Ow!” Tim yelped, yanking his hand away from the crucifix and taking a couple steps back from the car. Batman was by his side in a second, Superman not far behind.

“What happened?” Batman asked, his voice harsh and gruff. Tim wasn’t quite used to how angry he seemed when he was worried.

Tim shook out his hand, but he quickly realized that only made the stinging pain in his fingers worse. “The crucifix burned me.”

“What?” Superman gasped.

Batman demanded, “Through your glove?”

Tim nodded, held his hand out to Bruce. Bruce carefully removed the glove as Clark went to the rosary, gently picking it up in his hands and turning it around. When the glove was removed, it revealed intense redness on Tim’s thumb and index finger. It didn’t look very good.

A deep, gravelly noise came from Batman’s throat. “How could it still be this hot? Those brands on the body must have been made hours ago...”

“Maybe an inner heating system?” Tim asked, wincing at the stinging in his fingers. He watched Batman pull a first-aid kit out of his utility belt.

“There isn’t anything inside the rosary,” Superman responded. “Nothing that could cause such high amounts of heat. You’re...sure it was the crucifix, Robin?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Tim said defensively as Batman started treating his wounds. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m not saying you are, I just-”

“It was the crucifix. I’m not lying.” Tim sighed. “Why else would a crucifix have burned me? There must be something you missed, Superman. Look again.”

Superman did as told, but: “Nothing. Maybe there’s something else going on. Magic..?”

“Magic isn’t real,” Tim and Bruce said at the same time.

Superman sighed. “You two are exactly the same. Well, I can’t think of any other possible explanation, except-”

“Maybe the kid’s a vampire!” A new voice exclaimed from behind Batman and Robin.

“Jimmy,” Superman said, a smile on his face. “And...Lois! How did you...get past the tape?”

“Tape tends to be pretty flimsy,” Lois said, walking up beside Clark. She held a notepad and a pencil in her hands. “And there are some perks to being known friends of Superman.”

“Ah, of course.”

“Come on, kid,” Jimmy was saying to Tim, holding a camera up expectantly. “Open your mouth, let’s see those fangs!”

“I’m not a vampire,” Tim said, swatting at Jimmy’s camera. “Get that thing out of my face.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t attack the kid, Jimmy,” Lois said, a hand on her hip and eyes staring incredulously at Jimmy. “Especially considering who his dad is.”

Batman loomed behind Robin, uncomfortably close to Jimmy. Close enough that Jimmy realized his mistake of sticking a camera in an unwilling Robin’s face, and he backed up a step or ten.

“He’s not my dad,” Robin said half-heartedly, taking his glove back from Batman and pulling it on. “B, can we go now? We have everything we need. Metropolis is too bright.” He squinted his eyes up at Batman for extra effect.

Batman sighed. “Yes, we should get back to the cave and analyze these photos. Kal.” He looked at Superman. “Bring me the evidence as soon as possible. I want to look at that rosary for myself.”

Superman nodded. “Of course, Batman. As soon as possible.”

“Do you think Mr. Olsen was right?” Throughout the forty minutes they’d spent in the air inside the Batplane, Tim hadn’t been able to keep quiet. He was excited about this case, more so than any others. Batman had said he wanted to see how Tim was improving in his problem-solving skills, so he allowed Robin to take the reins with this one. And now, unable to keep quiet, he was pestering the Bat with constant questions, suggestions, or hypotheses on the victim’s death and why he might have died.

This recent question, though, he asked quieter. He had been avoiding the topic of the rosary altogether, Bruce had noted, until now.

“That you’re a vampire?” Bruce asked, an eyebrow raised. “I think you would have known by now, Tim.”

“No.” Tim shook his head, hair falling in his face to cover his eyes. “I mean...do you think there’s a reason that thing burned me? I mean, like, a reason other than a heating system or something. Clark didn’t...he didn’t see anything in the crucifix to heat it up.”

“Clark may not know exactly what to look for,” Bruce said. “We won’t know for sure until we take a look for ourselves. But, Tim,” Batman turned to look at Robin, “you’re not a vampire. And you’re not any other mythological creature. You’re a human, and a very good one at that.” Bruce ruffled Tim’s hair. “Now stop moping. Alfred won’t be happy with me if he sees you with a pout like that.”

Tim tried to push Bruce’s hand away, but couldn’t help the smile from taking over his face. He’d never get used to the Batman treating him so nonchalantly, like he was a friend. His heart warmed at the thought of Batman thinking of Tim as more than a crime-fighting partner, but someone he could confide in, someone he could be himself with.

Tim swore he’d never let Batman down, he’d never allow Bruce to feel the same kind of pain he did when Jason died. He wouldn’t allow Bruce to go through all that grief again. Even if Tim wasn’t quite on the level of Jason and Bruce’s relationship, he knew losing another Robin would not help Bruce’s fragile state of mind.

Tim promised God Himself that Batman would never have to feel the pain of not knowing if his Robin was okay, or hurt, or dead. He would never let Bruce cradle another Robin in his arms, devastated by a child’s broken body; not again.

Chapter Text

Batman had expected that case to be a one-off. He thought the victim of the murder had personally offended the killer, and thought the brutal killings would end there. They had seen it before: the victim had stolen something or hurt someone close to the attacker, and the attacker went a bit too far when exacting revenge. It was commonplace in Gotham, for people to take things too far.

Metropolis, however, didn’t seem to share that with the Dark Knight’s city.

Batman, Robin, and Nightwing stood outside a Metropolitan courtroom. They were speaking with Superman and a cop, who were explaining the situation to them. They tried to describe the scene the three vigilantes were about to walk into, but they struggled. Eventually, they simply said, “You need to see it to understand.”

Batman and Nightwing exchanged a glance, while Robin fiddled with his camera. Cops bustled in and out of the doors, a few leading a team of firefighters past the heroes into the room. With how Superman and the cop were acting, Nightwing felt uncomfortable allowing Robin to see whatever was inside that room. He put his hand on Robin’s head and bent down to meet his gaze.

“You sure you want to go in there, kid? It sounds intense.”

“It’s my case, Wing,” Robin responded, not removing his eyes from his camera. “I can handle it. Why are you still here, anyway? Shouldn’t you have gone back to Bludhaven?”

“I wanted to see my favorite little detective in action.” Dick ruffled Tim’s hair, smiling at the way Tim attempted (and failed) to push his older brother off of him. He hadn’t been this embarrassed at Dick’s affection before, when they went out to lunch together (as they always do on Fridays). Dick supposed the Robin suit made Tim feel more grown up.

Nightwing bit his lip, watching Robin break away from him and rush after Batman, who had started towards the room. He still wasn’t convinced. They didn’t know what they were facing here, which only added to his anxiety. He had hoped Bruce would help him try to keep Tim away from something potentially traumatizing, but of course Bruce wouldn’t. What was he expecting?

“B, wait!” Robin rushed after Batman, and Nightwing stayed close by him. He hated the idea of letting a child see a grotesque crime scene, even if that child was a Robin.

Dick found his anxiety justified when they laid their eyes on the scene before them.

Hanging above the judge’s bench was the victim, blood dried and crusted over his legs and torso. Dick couldn’t see everything from where he was standing, but he could see enough. The victim was tied via ropes to the ceiling, the constraints digging into his wrists and purpling the soft skin around them. His head hung low against his chest, blood dribbling down his body. There were scratches and burns all over him, all shaped like crosses. A rosary hung around his neck: red, sparkling beads and a silver crucifix.

None of that, though, made Dick stop in his tracks and suck in a breath. What made him freeze were the wings sprouted out of his back. Though, “wings” was a generous term for whatever monstrosity was behind the man.

Flabs of flesh, of muscle, were torn from the man’s back and pulled out behind him. They were cut into vague shapes of feathers, crudely mimicking wings. Dick didn’t want to look at the man’s back, but he could imagine what it looked like; spine sticking out with bits of muscle and flesh stuck on the vertebrae, ribs in a similar position, inner organs and muscles exposed. Dick shivered at the idea of it.

He looked at Tim, who seemed to be in a similar state of shock, and Bruce, who was already moving towards the body with Clark at his side. Dick was about to lose his lunch at the thought of getting anywhere near that, and he knew he couldn’t let Robin get close either- wait, where was Robin going?

“Robin?” Dick asked, watching Tim move closer to the body too, staying by Batman’s side. Tim glanced back at Dick.

“Nightwing?” he asked. “Aren’t you coming?”

Dick stared at Tim wide-eyed, shocked he would want to get closer to the body. He thought Tim would be frightened, would want to stay away. He supposed Tim was braver than he thought.

Nightwing sighed and started moving, refusing to allow his little brother to interact with this body alone. The closer he got to the victim, the worse it became. The smell coming from the man was terrible, which made Dick wonder how long he was actually dead for. There was no way only one night in this place could make him smell that awful.

“He’s been dead for a long time,” Batman said by his side. “Or he’s been decomposing for longer than he was dead.”

Nightwing let out a sound of sympathy. “That’s terrible. Hopefully that isn’t the case. What are the chances those wings were made after he was dead too?”

Batman looked at him doubtfully, and Nightwing sighed, shaking his head.

“Robin,” Batman called out. Robin was standing directly in front of the judge’s bench, staring up at the body and holding up his camera to snap a photo. When Batman called out to him, the boy turned his head and cocked it, asking what Bruce wanted without really asking. “What do you think happened?”

“You’re still doing this?” Nightwing asked, appalled at Batman’s insistence on letting Tim figure out this case on his own. “This is clearly something bigger than you initially thought, B. I don’t think Robin should do this on his own.”

“He’s not doing it on his own,” Batman responded. “If he was, we wouldn’t be here.”

Nightwing was prepared to respond, but Robin stood in front of them expectantly. He couldn’t deny the twinkle behind Tim’s eyes, the one that always showed up when they let him be a detective on his own terms. He bit his lip and nodded for Robin to go ahead.

“Well, we know it’s obviously the same person who murdered this guy as the last one,” Robin started, but Batman interrupted.

“How exactly do we know that? How can you be sure it’s not a copycat?”

Robin gestured upwards. “Look at the rosary. It’s the same one as before, the one wrapped around that guy’s wrists. That original rosary disappeared before we could get it, remember?” Batman nodded. “I’m pretty sure that’s it. It’s got the same beads, and the crucifix has those red gems in its eyes and on its forehead.”

Batman nodded again, this time approvingly. Robin drew in a breath at the slight praise.

“Um, the victim also has the same burns as the first victim had. The crucifix was used on his skin as well, you can see how the brands are the same size as the crucifix again. That also shows a continuity between the first victim and this one. Not to mention the Latin on his forehead.” Robin squinted up at the small writing. “I can’t quite read it from here, though. Maybe I’ll go up there soon and-”

“No,” Nightwing said, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “I don’t care if Batman wants you to handle this case, I am not letting you go up there with that body.”

“But, Wing-”

“I agree with Nightwing,” Batman said gruffly. “You can get all you need from down here. If the authorities don’t get him down soon, one of us will go up there instead. You do not need to get any closer to the victim than you are now.”

Tim met both of their gazes, but they were standing strong. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sway their opinions, and immediately started thinking about how he could sneak past them and get up there anyway. He knew they’d start talking to Superman and the cops once he was done giving his report, so maybe he could do it then if he was quiet enough.

“Robin, continue your analysis,” Batman ordered.

“Right, sorry.” Robin turned away from them, back up to the body. “You can see how there aren’t any fatal wounds on him, other than his back. There don’t seem to be any signs of strangulation or poison either. This means that it was his back injury that killed him, suggesting he went through a lot of pain before he died. I don’t think the murderer messed with any of his insides either; and I think he was tied up before he died, judging by the pool of blood underneath him. He must have died from blood loss over anything else; maybe from the pain, if it was too much for him to handle. But I’m sticking with blood loss.” He turned back to Batman. “Good?”

“Good,” Batman confirmed. “Let’s talk to Superman and see what he and the cops have found. Robin,” He looked at Tim like he knew exactly what the boy was planning. “You’re coming too.”

Robin pouted, clenching his jaw. He unwillingly followed Batman and Nightwing, hardly paying attention to their boring conversation with the boring cops. His gaze kept traveling back to the body, and he found his eyes unable to be torn from it. Something about it was different from the other victim. He was nearly 100% positive that this crime was done by the same person, but there was something that rubbed him the wrong way. Last time, his ability to get so close to the victim provided useful in being able to confirm every assumption he made. This one, however...he felt he couldn’t be fully confident in anything he said. And he really wanted to be right. Batman and Nightwing were counting on him to be right.

He glanced back at the two, who were deeply engrossed in conversation with a few other detectives. Superman was nowhere to be seen, likely outside talking to the press. He was always better at that than Batman. Clark’s absence proved to be very helpful too: Superman was the only one that could catch him if he wandered away.

With Batman and Nightwing so distracted by their boring conversation, and Superman occupied outside, Tim thought there was no better time.

He snuck away from the two vigilantes and made his way toward the body. None of the adults bothered him, likely assuming Batman had sent him here. He loved how no one wanted to mess with Batman, and by extension, Robin. It made things so easy for him sometimes.

He pulled his grapple out of his belt and shot it at the ceiling, wincing at the sharp sound it emitted. He glanced back at Batman and Nightwing, but they were still distracted. He breathed a sigh of relief as he slowly started pulling himself up. When he reached the body, he placed the tip of his foot in the grappler handle and held onto the rope with one hand, his other hand holding on tight to the camera wrapped around his neck.

Tim held his breath at the terrible appearance (and smell) of the man. It was so much worse up close. He could see smaller cuts, little dots of blood all over the body, that he couldn’t see before. He saw how scrapped and bloody the man’s fingernails were, and wondered just how much he struggled against his attacker. He took pictures of every new and old feature on the body.

Including the Latin on the man’s forehead, which he could finally read. “Mendax,” it said. “Liar.”

What could this guy have possibly lied about to make someone so angry? He had wings made of his own flesh coming out of his back, for God’s sake. Tim didn’t think any lie could make him angry enough to hurt someone, let alone hurt someone this badly.

Tim could only hope that the pain wasn’t as bad as it seemed to have been. He hoped the man died quickly, without being forced to feel this terrible pain. Tim felt sick to his stomach, and suddenly found himself wishing he had listened to Batman and Nightwing. He just wanted to prove to them that he was capable, that he was a good detective, that he could handle-

A ragged breath puffed against Tim’s face, and to his horror, the body’s head slowly lifted itself up to meet Tim’s eyes. “Help...me,” a terrible, scratchy voice rasped out. For a second, Tim found himself stuck, unable to move, eyes wide and breath caught in his throat.

Then, he was moving again. He screamed, reeled back, and lost his grip on the grappler. As he was falling, he thought, ‘Oh no, he’s a zombie. He came back from the dead and he’s a zombie now! What are we gonna do? What if he bites someone and starts the zombie apocalypse! What if the zombie-ness travels through spores as he breathes, and he infected me? What if I’m a zombie?’

Someone caught Robin just before he hit the ground, and he looked up to meet Superman’s worried gaze. He must have heard him from outside, must have come rushing in to save the day. Tim would feel relieved, if he wasn’t still convinced he was about to become a zombie.

“Robin!” Batman called out, he and Nightwing running to where Superman held Robin in his arms. “What happened? I told you not to go up there. What happened?!”

Tim breathed heavily, trying his best to catch his breath. He pointed a shaky hand up at the man, forcing out, “He’s- he’s alive!”

He could practically feel everyone in the room suck in a breath. All eyes turned upwards, to wear the rise and fall of the man’s chest was now painfully obvious. Superman quickly transported Robin’s shaking body to Batman, and he flew up to the man, checking his pulse and immediately rushing to take him down.

Batman helped Robin to stand and hit him with a barrage of questions. Robin found himself still reeling with shock and he couldn’t answer a single one, not that he knew the answers anyway. How was he supposed to know why the victim was still alive? How was he supposed to know why no one, not even Superman, knew he was alive before? He wasn’t a mind-reader. He didn’t get a chance to question the man before he convinced himself he would become a zombie any second now.

“Tim,” Dick said, quietly, right by his ear. “Why don’t we go outside? I think Batman and Superman will handle this themselves, alright?”

Tim vaguely remembered nodding, and followed Nightwing out of the room and out of the courthouse. They dodged the reporters and journalists that seemed to be fervent after Superman rushed away from them seemingly out of nowhere. Robin and Nightwing made their way to the roof of a nearby building, where the Batplane waited for them. They didn’t get inside the plane, just sat on the edge of the building, Nightwing’s feet dangling in the air and Tim’s knees pulled to his chest.

“You okay, Tim?” Dick asked. He hadn’t said anything up to this point. “You seem kind of shaken up.”

“Am I gonna become a zombie?” Tim whispered, earning a shocked puff of laughter from Dick. Tim shook his head immediately, realizing how crazy he sounded now that he said it out loud. “No, what am I saying? I’m going crazy.” He took a breath. “He was dead, Dick. I know he was dead. He wasn’t breathing before, and I know his heart wasn’t beating because any sign of life would be the first thing Superman looked for when he saw the body. He wasn’t alive, I know it.”

Dick sighed, watching Tim intently. “I don’t think that’s possible, Tim. People can’t just come back from the dead. Death tends to be pretty permanent.”

Tim clenched his jaw. He whispered, “But he was dead.”

“Maybe we were all just tricked. There’s some sort of explanation for this, I know it.” Dick quieted for a moment. Then, “So. What did the writing on his forehead say?”

Tim closed his eyes. “‘Liar.’”

“I see.” Dick was quiet again. “Can I see the pictures you took?”

Tim looked at him, knowing what Dick was trying to do. He was trying to make him feel better, to convince him he wasn’t going crazy and that everything was fine. Tim didn’t believe him, though, he couldn’t believe him. Even so, he knew it would satisfy Dick if he complied with him, if he at least pretended like Dick’s distractions were working. So he took out his camera and showed Dick the pictures.

Dick pretended to care, pretended to think the pictures were very good. Tim saw through it, though. Nightwing seemed distracted, his smile fake and his laughs faker. He was also bothered by the man who had seemingly come back to life. Tim didn’t think Dick was all that convinced that resurrection was completely out of the picture. Tim wasn’t convinced of that either. He knew, in the bottom of his heart, that it was impossible for someone to come back to life. But...he couldn’t help but feel a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, it was, somehow, possible.

Chapter Text

Tim sat at his desk in his quiet bedroom, in his quiet home. His father and mother had left earlier that night to attend a gala, and Tim was more than happy to stay home. He was exhausted after spending that time in Metropolis, then having to sit through a long lecture by Batman in the Batplane about listening to what he told them, and then having to sit through a loud, incomprehensible argument between Dick and Bruce. The argument consisted of most of the plane-ride home, then Tim’s entire time getting undressed and redressed into his civilian clothing in the Batcave. When he emerged from the showers, he saw Alfred rubbing his temples as the screaming continued from Bruce and Dick. Alfred allowed Tim to slip away before giving Bruce his full report, which Tim was very grateful for.

So now, Tim sat at his desk, in his pajamas- when he would have preferred to be in his bed- staring at an envelope on his desk. It had been addressed to him, which was odd. Nothing was ever addressed to him, specifically. Normally, it was either addressed to one of his parents, or it was a letter about him meant for “the parents of Timothy Drake.” Those were always the worst letters.

Tim’s parents had been a little surprised at the envelope too, knowing how rare it was for him to actually receive a letter. They had hoped it was a friend of Tim’s, someone who was less for texting/calling and more for the more traditional way of communicating. Tim had a very hard time believing that.

The envelope made him a bit uncomfortable. Not only because he had no idea who it could possibly be from, but also because it looked...old. It was meant to be a white envelope, he could tell, but it seemed yellowed by age. The corners were all at least a little bent, the sides were all scruffed up, and it was crumpled, like it had been stuck in the bottom of someone’s bag for about fifty years. The cursive handwriting his name was written in looked about fifty years old too.

Tim sighed, turning the envelope over in his hands. He didn’t want to open it; he just wanted to go to sleep. But he knew if he didn’t open it now, he’d lay awake in his bed, wondering what was waiting for him inside until morning. He definitely did not want to stay up all night like that, so he decided to bite the bullet and open it up.

The first thing he saw made his heart falter. Crosses, drawn on the inside of the envelope. Crazed doodles that seemed to give insight on the insane mind of whoever drew them. They reminded Tim of his current case.

Tim swallowed and reached into the envelope, pulling out a stack of what seemed to be...pictures. Pictures of...him. Him walking to school, him sitting in a restaurant with his parents, him laying in bed. There were even some of him as Robin. Robin leaping through the air, Robin grappling to a building next to Batman, Robin studying the two bodies killed by some religious freak.

Tim felt his blood go cold. He...he had a stalker. And the stalker knew his secret identity. God, Bruce was going to kill him for being so careless. How could he have let someone figure out his secret identity? He was so careful, always covering his tracks and making sure nothing could lead back to him. He was almost as paranoid as Bruce himself when it came to his identity.

That wasn’t the only thing, though. His stalker didn’t seem to just be a stalker, as far as he could tell. He hoped beyond hope that he was wrong about this, but it seemed...it seemed like whoever took these pictures of him was also the murderer of those two people. A thief and a bribe-taking judge, who seemed to have absolutely nothing in common except: they were both on a trip- business or not- to Metropolis...from Gotham. Gotham, Tim’s city, where most of these pictures seemed to take place.

Was...was this person planning on coming to Gotham next? Was Gotham always their main target? Why start in Metropolis at all, then, if they wanted to come back here?

Maybe...maybe they wanted a head start. Maybe they hadn’t expected Superman to call in backup from Batman and Robin. Maybe, Tim could hope, they were even caught off guard and weren’t prepared for this, so they were scrambling. They might be angry at Tim, which was why they took those pictures. They just wanted to scare him a little. But, if that were true, Tim doubted they would have spent so much time mangling that judge’s body, and taking so many pictures of Tim in such a large span of time.

He was probably grasping, trying to find any logical explanation for this. Why would a random murderer want to target Robin? He’d understand if this person was doing it to upset Batman- a lot of villains went after Robin to get on the Bat’s nerves- but it didn’t seem like that was their goal here. They were taking photos of Robin, of Tim, and sending them to him, not to Bruce. If they were truly stalking Tim to make Batman mad, they had to have known Tim would never tell Bruce about this, because he definitely wasn’t telling Bruce about this.

Even if Bruce wasn’t mad at him right now (B tended to be mad at everyone after he and Dick fought), Tim still wouldn’t tell him. Even if he did have a crazy stalker who was brutally murdering people, he wanted to stay on this case. If B found out about this, Tim would never be allowed outside again if Bruce could help it. Tim didn’t want to be confined to Wayne Manor (or, more likely, Drake Manor. Tim didn’t think he’d be allowed to stay at Wayne Manor for the rest of his life); he was Robin, a free soul who was meant to go wherever he pleased, whenever he pleased.

The next night, before he left for patrol, he shoved the envelope in his bag. He knew his dad and mom would try to go through it, to see who had delivered it to him. There was only one thing worse than Bruce and Dick finding out about the pictures: Tim’s parents finding them. If that happened, Jack and Janet Drake would have the police scouring the city immediately, not to mention Tim’s secret night-life being exposed, and that would make everything so much worse. Tim just hoped he didn’t blow his cover; he was bad at keeping secrets.

After patrol, which was mostly uneventful, Bruce was talking about Tim’s case. “The victim from yesterday died this morning. We barely had a chance to question him. An ambulance was called immediately and they didn’t want to wait for us.” He was grumbling; he had likely known the man wouldn’t live no matter how many doctors tried to save him. He was probably mad they couldn’t figure out too much. “We did learn some things though, no matter how useless. The victim used ‘he’ and ‘him’ when referring to the attacker, so we can assume it’s a man, though the victim refused to call him a man and insisted on calling him ‘a creature worse than the devil himself.’” Bruce shook his head. “Whatever that means.”

“Did he tell you anything else?” Tim asked. “Anything at all?”

Bruce nodded. “He mentioned that the man called himself ‘the Retributionist.’”

“So, he thinks by killing people who have...’sinned’ in his eyes, he’s doing God’s work or something?” Tim inquired.

“It seems so.”

“Then...well, if he thinks he’s so close to God and whatever, maybe he’s hiding out in a church or something.” Tim moved to the computer, typing on the keyboard quickly. “And judging by the Latin written on his victims’ foreheads, I’m guessing he leans more towards Roman Catholicism than any other branch of Christianity. So, a Roman Catholic church or chapel within Gotham...”

“How do you know he’s in Gotham?” Dick asked curiously.

Tim almost winced. He couldn’t give it away now, not until the case was finished. He needed to make sure those photos were kept secret from Dick and Bruce until the end of time, at this point. “Just a guess. I assumed so because both of his victims were from Gotham. I was thinking...maybe he started his killings in Metropolis to throw us off or get a head start or something. He wasn’t expecting Superman to call us in for help, so now he’s caught off guard and is scrambling a bit.”

“Hm,” Bruce thought aloud, suddenly appearing next to Tim. “That could make sense. But-”

“He probably wouldn’t have had time to torture that judge so much, I know.” Tim sighed. “It’s all so confusing. I can’t wait to find this guy and interrogate him; I have such a long list of questions.”

“We’ll go over those later,” Batman hummed. “What are you looking at?”

“All the Catholic churches in Gotham,” Tim said, glancing up at the screen. “I’m sure he’ll be staked out in one of them, or around one, at least. He’s so obsessed with his religion, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t near a church.”

“How do you know for sure he’ll be in the city, though?” Dick asked again. “Can’t he be in a church outside of Gotham? Maybe in one of those small towns you only ever see in the middle of nowhere.”

“Maybe,” Tim muttered. But why would he be so far away from Gotham when it was the city that was his main target? And, if Dick was right, did that mean he came to Gotham on completely separate occasions just so he could take pictures of Tim? Why? Tim couldn’t understand why anyone would be so infatuated with him that they went out of their way to stalk him. Then again, nothing this guy did made sense.

“If you’re sure about this, Tim,” Bruce was saying, “we’ll have to investigate each of these churches. It looks like there’s around fifty. Did you include abandoned ones?”

“Of course.”

“Then we’re good. Let’s save these addresses, and then we can go over those questions you talked about earlier. We’ll need to make sure we cover all our bases when we find and interrogate this guy.”

Tim nodded, smiling a little. Bruce wasn’t lecturing him like he was a little kid anymore; he was talking to Tim like they were on the same level. Tim loved it when he did that.

“Timbo, are those questions in your bag?” Dick asked, walking over to the backpack Tim always brought with him.

Tim nodded, distractedly saying, “Yeah, they’re in an envelope. It should be in one of the pockets.”

Dick hummed as he ruffled through the bag, Bruce watched Tim save each of the church addresses, and Tim noticeably relaxed at the smell of the hot chocolate and cookies Alfred was carrying with him downstairs. He didn’t know why he relaxed, was unsure of what made him so tense in the first place.

Then, he remembered. There were two envelopes in his bag that night, and he had a terrible feeling he knew which one Dick had found first.

He heard a slight intake of breath from where Dick stood, and he whirled around in his chair to find Dick holding not only the envelope, but the pictures too. Dick looked up and met Tim’s eyes, one gaze full of worry and the other full of horror. How could he have been so stupid? He had kept drilling it into his head over and over again before leaving his house that Dick and Bruce could not, under any circumstances, look in his bag. Was he an idiot?

“Tim...” Dick looked back down at the pictures. “What...what are these? Where did these come from? Who took these of you?”

Bruce had looked over when he heard Dick’s gasp too, but now he was rushing to Dick to see what he was looking at. When he took hold of the pictures, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. Tim’s heart dropped. He was never going to be allowed to patrol again, was he?

“When did you find these?” Bruce asked gruffly.

“Um.” Tim coughed. He thought about lying, wondered how likely it was he could get away with it. From the way Dick and Bruce were staring at Tim, so closely, he guessed it would be a lost cause. He still tried, though, refusing to give up his freedom so easily: “Uh, a while ago. They’re from, like months ago, so no need to worry about it-”

“Tim,” Bruce interrupted, voice taut. He asked his question again, slower, “When did you find these?”

Tim averted his gaze, looking instead at his fiddling hands. “Last night, after I got home from patrol. But I promise it isn’t a big deal, you don’t have to worry about it, Bruce, honest-”

“Not worry about it?” Dick asked. “Tim, what are you talking about? You have a stalker and...judging from the crosses and the timing, it’s the same guy who’s been brutally murdering these people. How are we supposed to not worry about it?”

“Just...I don’t know.” Tim turned his head to the keyboard of the Batcomputer. “Just don’t worry about it.” He stood up and moved to take the pictures, but Bruce held them out of his reach. “Bruce, give those back. I need them-”

“For what?” Bruce asked, voice deep. “You won’t need them to investigate.”

Tim felt like the wind was getting knocked out of him. He knew what Bruce meant, but he wanted to deny it. He needed Bruce to openly say it to believe it. “Why not? They’re useful in the case, we can track them and-”

“You’re not working on this case anymore, Tim. You won’t be going out on patrol for a while either. You’re benched for the foreseeable future.”

Tim stared at him, wide-eyed, almost disbelievingly. He was acting very surprised for someone who completely saw this coming. “I...” He didn’t know what to say. “You said...you said this was my case. My case, Bruce. You said I could solve this, that I was in charge.”

“That was before this,” Bruce said. “Clearly, this is much deeper than we thought. If you’re being targeted by this maniac, then we can’t take any chances-”

“He didn’t just take pictures of me as Robin, Bruce. There are pictures of Tim Drake in there, too. What are you going to do, lock me up in my house? In the manor?” Tim scoffed. “Good luck convincing my parents.”

“I’m sure they would understand if we were to show them these pictures.”

Tim felt his heart stop. Show him the pictures? The pictures of him not only as Tim, but also as Robin? He didn’t want to tell his parents about his secret night life, he wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet. “Show him..?”

“We’d have to remove the photos containing you as Robin,” Bruce said, rifling through the pictures again, “but there are more than enough of you as Tim to convince them.” He looked up at Tim. “You understand the gravity of this situation, don’t you? This man figured out your secret identity, and we can assume that means he knows mine as well. He knows the identities of Batman and Robin, and he seems to be targeting you for whatever reason. We need to keep you safe, Tim. You have to see that I can’t let you out on patrol right now.”

“I guess I can’t see.” Tim glared at Bruce. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to, like, appease him? What if he gets mad he can’t take pictures anymore and reveals our identities? Then we’d be in even more trouble.”

“You’re grasping at straws here, Tim,” Dick interjected. His arms were crossed and his brow furrowed. Tim wondered if this would be the first time Dick agreed with Bruce on something in months, maybe even years. It made him second guess his decision of ignoring them both. “I know you understand, I know you do. You know you’re in danger, you just refuse to care. You can’t refuse to care about your own safety and wellbeing-”

“Yeah, because you do a great job of that,” Tim snapped. “If it was anyone else in those pictures- you,” he pointed at Bruce, “or you,” he pointed at Dick, “or even Alfred or Babs, you wouldn’t take them off the case. You’d keep them on and just tell them to ‘stick close’ or whatever. Why am I any different?”

“You’re thirteen, Tim,” Dick said, as if that explained anything.

“I’m sick of all of you treating me like I’m just some helpless kid. I’m not, I know what I’m doing. I know I can solve this case, and I just need you to let me. I’m so close, Bruce, so close! I can’t stop now!”

Bruce’s voice rose an octave and Tim winced at his anger. “Tim, this person is displaying an unhealthy level of obsession. A grown man is following you around and taking pictures of you because, for some reason, you made him mad.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“I know you didn’t, but this guy thinks you did, and he’s dangerous enough that we need to avoid any potential confrontation between the two of you.”

“Even if that did happen, I’d still have you or Dick right there with me. Unless you think you guys couldn’t handle him either?”

“I don’t think that. I do know, however, that we can’t rely on us being with you if you come face-to-face with that man. We have no idea what he’s capable of, Tim.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me.”

“Tim, I am not going to allow you to get hurt or...worse, just because you want to continue working on a stupid case. We can handle this ourselves, and if you behave, you can question him when we find him-”

“I’m not your do-over for Jason Todd!” Tim snapped, feeling angrier than he ever had before. He watched the three of them- Dick, Alfred, and Bruce- freeze, each having a slightly different reaction. Dick looked shocked and hurt, and turned away from Tim. Alfred was looking between Tim and Bruce, concerned and grief-stricken expression evident. Bruce looked like he was ready to slap Tim across the face. But Tim wasn’t ready to stop, not yet, not now, when he had finally gotten them to really, truly, listen to him. “Stop trying to act like I’m a replacement Robin- I’m not. I’m not Jason, I’m not like Jason, and I never will be. God isn’t going to forgive you for letting him die if you save my life.”

Dick and Alfred looked at him like he was the Joker. Tim suddenly realized what he just said, and knew he went too far. His expression crumbled, his eyebrows suddenly upturned and eyes worried. He took a step back and raised his hands. “I...I didn’t mean...” He looked at Bruce, whose face was hidden by a shadow. “Bruce, I’m sorry, I-”

“Go home, Tim,” Bruce said, tone discernible. Tim couldn’t make out any features on his face, but just imagining the look of anger and anguish on it made Tim regret ever becoming Robin in the first place.

“Bruce, I-I swear I didn’t mean it, I just-”

“Go home!” Bruce yelled, his voice shocking Tim nearly to tears. His lip shook, and he turned on his heel, grabbing his backpack and fleeing up the stairs and out of the Batcave. He found himself unable to hold in his crying by the time he reached the front door. He never should have said anything. What an idiot.

Dick glanced at Alfred, who returned his worried gaze. They both watched Bruce carefully, watched as he carefully removed his cape and cowl and set them on the desk.

“I’m going to shower,” he mumbled. Before he had a chance to leave, the computer screen lit up green with Oracle’s symbol. Bruce had to suppress a groan. He was exhausted, and he didn’t think he could deal with anything after Tim reopened a still-fresh wound in his heart. He still didn’t protest when Dick quickly answered the call, though.

“Oracle?” Dick said, noticeably relieved at the distraction. “What’s going on?”

“Um,” Oracle said. Babs must have heard the hint of unmistakable sadness in Dick’s voice, must have seen that sadness in its manifestation on all of their faces. “Sorry to interrupt...whatever’s going on, but there’s another murder. In Gotham, this time. I know you said it’s Robin’s case and whatever, but I thought he’d still be here so I called the computer instead of him.” She paused. “Is he...not there anymore? Should I contact him for you-”

“Robin is no longer working this case,” Bruce said gruffly, moving to put his cape back on. “Send the coordinates to the Batmobile; Nightwing and I will leave now.”

“Uh, alright.” They heard keyboard clacking from her side of the call. “Coordinates sent. Batman, did something happen-”

“Goodbye, Oracle.” Bruce hung up the call and turned swiftly toward the car, not checking to see if Dick followed or not.

“I think we might have to talk to Tim tomorrow,” Dick said to Alfred. “Once everyone’s calmed down a bit.” He sighed. “I guess I should go. Wish me luck, Alfie.”

“Good luck, Master Dick,” Alfred responded, nodding to Dick as he moved to the Batmobile. ‘Yes,’ he thought. ‘I’m sure we will have a little talk with Master Tim soon.’

Chapter Text

For the next couple weeks, the only way Tim found out anything about his case was through the news. His parents were gone on a business trip, so Tim constantly had the TV on and open to Gotham’s news channels. He flipped back and forth between them, always on the lookout for any updates in his case. If he found someone talking about anything to do with it, he’d write everything he could in his journal; though, it wasn’t like the news anchors knew much more than he did. All he got was surface level stuff; they didn’t even show uncensored photos of the bodies.

After realizing the news was somewhat of a lost cause, Tim decided to hack into the GCPD computer network to see if they knew anything. Long story short, they didn’t. There was a little more information there than in the news, but they really had no idea what was going on.

What Tim did find out from the GCPD was that there was a growing number of victims to some sort of unexplainable sickness. Apparently, people were claiming they were being visited by “angels,” who infected them with some disease that turned their blood and guts into black sludge. That was definitely interesting, though not all too useful. Tim knew it had to have something to do with his case somehow, considering these disease-giving beings were being called “angels,” but he would have a hard time figuring it out if he was benched.

Tim was completely out of the loop. Sure, he had access to the files from the GCPD, but those were just as useless as the cops. And hacking into the Batcomputer was completely out of the question- he’d tried before, and it did not end well. What was there left to do? He was desperate at this point, he’d do anything for just a sliver of information on this case.

All while he was trying to figure out what to do for the past few weeks, he was receiving more and more of those envelopes. Every time he opened them, he was hit with his own face, getting closer and closer to the camera. His stalker seemed to be getting more comfortable with Tim. That definitely was not something anyone wanted to hear.

He was about to give up, about to call Bruce or sneak into Wayne Manor, get on his knees, and beg for forgiveness. He was about to lose his mind, knowing everything he was missing. That was when, out of the blue, Alfred called and promptly saved Tim from perpetual boredom.

“Hello?” Tim said as he picked up the call. He had no idea what this could possibly be about. Maybe Alfred had called to yell at him for saying that stuff about him and Jason. Well, he probably deserved that anyway. “What’s up, Alfred?”

“Master Tim,” Alfred’s voice came from his phone. “It is good to hear your voice again. How have you been faring?”

“Uh.” Tim glanced around at his bedroom, which was covered in photos of him, photos he had taken of the two crime scenes he was allowed to see, and newspaper clippings all connected to the case. He realized how crazy this looked right now. “I’m...pretty bored, I guess. Look, Alfred, I’m really sorry about what I said about Jason, honest. Can you...can you tell Bruce I’m really sorry, please?”

“Even if I do, Master Bruce will not be willing to let you back on the case.” Alfred sighed. “Though, if it comforts you any, Master Bruce has already forgiven you and is simply too nervous to talk to you at this point. He wanted me to let you know that you are more than welcome to help on the case-” Tim’s spirits soared. “-as long as you stay in the cave with me. You can help from the computer, if you wish.”

Tim’s heart sank immediately. “But, they already have you and Barbara helping remotely. They just want to make me feel like I’m useful, when they really don’t need me at all.”

“Perhaps.” Alfred paused for a moment. “I believe there is a package waiting for you on your porch, Master Tim, if you’d like to go fetch it.”

“What?” Tim asked. He pulled up his doorbell camera and found that, yes, there was a package on his doorstep. How did Alfred know that? Did he...send something to Tim? Why? They were neighbors, Tim could have just walked right over to Wayne Manor if Alfred had wanted him to. Unless...maybe it was something Alfred didn’t want Bruce knowing about.

Tim nearly sprinted down his stairs and to his door, throwing it open and snatching the package. He ran back up to his room and closed his bedroom door, though that was completely unnecessary considering how deserted his house was at the moment.

The package was a small brown box with black tape holding it closed. Tim quickly grabbed his scissors and cut it open, only to be met with-

“Alfred,” Tim said, awestruck as he held up his Robin suit. “How...how did you get this here without Bruce realizing?”

“We have spares for a reason, Master Tim.” Tim could hear the smirk in Alfred’s voice.

Tim couldn’t suppress the smile that overcame his face as he pulled out each part of his suit. Alfred really didn’t falter when he was packing this; Tim found his mask, his belt, everything still inside the belt, and even his grappler. Right then, Tim became the happiest kid in the world.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Tim nearly whispered. “I’ll...I’ll keep this a secret. I’ll hide from Dick and Bruce, and Barbara too; they’ll have no idea I’m out there again.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. But please, my boy, do be careful. It is a dangerous world out there.” Alfred hesitated. “And, remember Master Tim, you are always welcome back at the Manor. It has been quite quiet without you here.”

Tim felt his heart warm. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see you around, Alfred.”

“Yes, see you, Master Tim.”

When Tim hung up, his smile didn’t leave his face for another hour and a half.

Tim sat perched on top of a building, binoculars in hand and com in his ear. Alfred had given it to him knowing Tim would want to listen in on the Bats’ conversation. God, he’d have to give that butler the biggest hug the next time he saw him.

Right now, nothing interesting was going on. Tim was nowhere near the other Bats, who seemed just as bored as he was (he could tell they were bored because Dick actually got excited when he found someone mugging an old lady.) They all seemed dreary and mopey with the lack of action.

Tim wasn’t only listening to the Bats, though; he was also paying close attention to the police. He knew that if something important happened, the Bats would likely be the first to know, but he didn’t want to take any chances. His paranoia about it was justified when he heard Commissioner Gordon demanding backup on a murder scene, only a few minutes before the Bats had any idea of what was happening. Tim immediately started heading toward the location, knowing he had to find a good place to hide away from the Bats, while also having a good view of the crime scene. He knew he’d have to act fast, before Batman and Nightwing showed up or Oracle looked at any cameras in the vicinity and spotted him.

Though, when he reached the crime scene, he found himself stopped in his tracks.

With the last victim in Metropolis, the judge who had been taking bribes, no one knew he was alive until it seemed too late. This time, however, everyone within a few blocks knew of the victim’s alive-or-dead status, because she was screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Help me!” she shrieked, desperation painfully obvious in her voice. The words could hardly be made out through her sobs, and she seemed to give up trying to be coherent after those two, painful words. From where he stood, fifty feet underneath her, Tim could just barely see black bile gushing from her mouth, her nose, even her eyes. With every cough, only more splattered out. The thick liquid fell from her like tar. Tim felt sick to his stomach.

The black liquid was probably the healthiest part about her at the moment, though. She was hanging from a building, nails through her hands and feet to pin her against the wall. That same black liquid pouring from her face was dripping from her hand and foot wounds in the place of blood, which Tim found interesting. He knew close to nothing about this disease, and this was the closest he’d ever gotten to a victim of it. It almost seemed like...maybe that black sludge was her blood. But what kind of disease could change not only the color, but the composition of someone’s blood?

Besides the disgusting liquid, there were those cross burn marks on her, and a red twinkle caught Tim’s eye. It was the rosary again, the same one that had appeared on all the other victims. Alfred had been keeping Tim somewhat up to date on everything since he gave him the Robin suit, and he had told Tim that that rosary appeared around every victim’s neck since the first one. It disappeared, however, before the Bats had a chance to get their hands on it. The rosary seemed important to these murders somehow, if the killer was going out of his way to retrieve it from the police after every crime. Tim just wished he could figure out why.

None of her other injuries compared to the state her limbs were in. They were torn in half- not cut, literally torn, the pieces holding onto each other by threads. That black blood gushed from the open wounds; Tim was shocked she was still kept up. It seemed to defy all laws of gravity.

Tim could feel his breath quickening, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He stood stock-still, staring in horror at the victim as she continued to scream incoherently, that liquid dripping from her broken body. He was trembling slightly, every thought he previously had in his head disappearing. All he could see was that woman, hanging by her hands and feet, begging for help that seemed like it would never come. He only remembered he had to hide when he heard the Batmobile’s engines rumbling, quickly advancing on him. He turned and fled, quickly jumping down into an alley before Batman and Nightwing had a chance to spot him.

Tim watched the two vigilantes jump out of the car, rushing to where the police stood beneath the woman. After being knocked out of his shock, suddenly everything was very overwhelming. Sirens were wailing from all sides, blue-and-red lights flashing, police officers yelling at bystanders to step back, those same bystanders screaming and probably not helping to comfort the woman hanging from the building. All Tim wanted to do at this point was curl up in a ball, squeeze his eyes shut, and pretend none of this ever happened. He should have stayed home, in his quiet room, in his quiet house, waiting for his father to return from Drake Industries and his mother from another business trip. He really wanted his mom right now.
He cursed at himself for becoming so useless. Batman, Nightwing, and Oracle were counting on him to solve this case, even if they didn’t quite know that yet. He needed to pull himself together. He took a deep, shaky breath, and stood on trembling legs. He needed to get closer to that woman, or at least see closer. He needed more details; maybe there were smaller wounds he couldn’t see from here, and he knew there had to be a Latin phrase on her head he’d need to read.

Tim slowly moved out into the light, quickly realizing no one was paying attention to him. Citizens were too frightened to care about Robin hiding in an alleyway, the police were too distracted by both the citizens and the crime scene, and Batman and Nightwing were enraptured by the victim. Tim could see Batman moving toward Gordon, while Nightwing was pulling out his grappler. He likely wanted to get a closer look at the victim while simultaneously calming her down. It was a lot harder to save a terrified, struggling victim than a calm, reassured one.

Feeling like everyone was adequately distracted, Tim stepped further out of the alley and pulled his camera off of his neck. With the magnifier he added to the camera, he never had any need for the binoculars Bruce insisted Tim keep in his utility belt. He wanted to take pictures of the victim anyway, so using binoculars would ultimately be useless.

Tim held the camera up to his face and zoomed in, prepared for the worst. Before anything, he saw Dick reaching the woman doing the same maneuver Tim had done in the courtroom and standing with one foot on the handle. Tim could see Dick gasp and reach out trembling fingers to the victim, who was...who was...

His breath stopped in his throat and his blood ran cold. His hands were suddenly shaking so bad he could barely hold the camera up. Tears sprang to his eyes as it fell from his hands, clattering against the ground.

Tim whimpered, “M-Mom?”

Tim sat beside a hospital bed, heart monitor beeping in his ears. He bounced his leg, watching it go up and down more than the woman in the bed before him. His father had left about ten minutes ago to talk to a doctor, and he insisted Tim stay here with his mother. Tim didn’t want to stay with his mother; he wanted to destroy whoever did this to her.

The doctors hadn’t been able to do much for her. Her limbs were too far gone, and every single one had to be amputated. Smaller wounds, like the burned crosses in her skin, riddled her body, and despite having been asleep for a few days now, she looked exhausted. She was hooked up to a machine that helped her breathe, her chest steadily rising and falling. It seemed artificial to Tim- her breathing, her heartbeat, her life. It didn’t feel like she was still supposed to be here.

And Tim wanted to kill someone for it.

His mom was still sick. She couldn’t cough, for obvious reasons, but doctors were worried about the state her blood was in. They couldn’t even give her a blood transfusion for all the blood she lost, because they were worried her body would reject the new blood. Tim knew Bruce was working on a cure for the illness, probably even harder now, but Tim wasn’t sure if it would be ready in time to save her.

He took in a shaky breath and slowly raised his gaze to his mother’s face. She was bruised, and those burns covered her cheeks. Tim could finally read the Latin on her forehead. It said, “Meretrix.” This asshole was calling his mother a whore.

Tim felt so much rage quivering in his bones that he felt paralyzed, stuck to this chair in this hospital room, his eyes glued to his mother’s broken face. He could barely breathe, found himself shaking, realized there were tears in his eyes that were quickly spilling out, and all of a sudden the air seemed so thick and he couldn’t breathe it in at all and he was suffocating and soon he would be dead and then who would take care of his mother and what about his father and-

“Hey, Timmy,” a soft voice near-whispered in his ear. Tim felt arms slide around him and he was pulled into a very warm, very comforting hug. Tim found himself melting against Dick’s chest, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder. “Oh, Tim. I’m so sorry.”

Tim hiccuped and ground out, “Dick, he-he hurt my mom!”

“I know, Tim, I know.” Dick kept his voice quiet, and he carefully rubbed circles in Tim’s back.

“She-she’s going to d-”

“She’s not going to die. I promise.”

Tim shook his head, burying his face deeper into Dick.

“Tim, I wouldn’t make a promise like that if I wasn’t being serious. We have an antidote for the disease, we tested it and made sure it works.” He took a breath. “She’ll be okay.”

Tim sniveled and pulled away from Dick, allowing Dick’s hands to remain on his shoulders. Tim looked into Dick’s eyes and said, “She won’t be okay. Even if she lives, she won’t be okay. Her arms and legs are gone, Dick. She’s going to be so sad, and-and she’ll be traumatized, and-” He tried to breathe, but it was shaky and hardly sustained him for another few words. “-and it’s all my fault!”

Dick moved his hand to cup Tim’s cheek as he slowly said, “Breathe, Tim. You’ve got to breathe. Just slow down a bit, okay? You can do this, I know you can.”

Tim shook his head, but he did as Dick told. He forced himself to slow the rise and fall of his chest, and found breathing to be much easier all of a sudden. He leaned into Dick’s hand, finding the warmth a lot more comforting than he was willing to admit.

“Bruce is trying to convince your dad to allow the doctor to administer the antidote. We had both Batman and Wayne Enterprises working on it, it’s legit.” Dick gave Tim a small smile. “It just comes down to them approving of it now.”

Tim took a shaky breath, though he still felt a twinge of doubt. Would it really work, or was Dick just doing his best to reassure Tim? He appreciated Dick’s words, he really did, but he couldn’t help but feel hopeless and beyond angry. He wanted to make the man who did this to his mother pay. Tim wanted to force the same pain onto this man that he gave his mother. Dick must have seen the intense anger on his face, because his brow furrowed and he was about to say something before the door opened.

The two looked up to see Bruce, a doctor, and Tim’s father walking into the room. The doctor held a small vial with a thick, clear liquid in it. That was what was supposedly going to save his mother? Tim suppressed the urge to laugh. That wasn’t going to do anything, was it?

Tim leaned into Dick more, placing nearly all his weight on the man as Dick helped him stand and move out of the doctor’s way.

“Mr. Grayson explained to you what that is, right Tim?” Jack asked, placing a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder.

Tim nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. He had a terrible feeling in his stomach that something was about to go terribly wrong. He looked to Bruce, who had his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. He was chewing on his lip and tapping his foot; he looked nervous. Suddenly, Tim felt all the more discouraged about his mother’s survival.

He watched with intense anxiety as the doctor transferred the liquid from the vial to a syringe, while trying to reassure both Tim and his dad. She was probably involved with Wayne Enterprises somehow; it seemed Bruce’s company was responsible for most medical happenings in Gotham.

The doctor flicked the syringe and moved her eyes to Tim’s mother. She had pushed the long needle into Janet’s shoulder and was about to press down on the syringe, when suddenly, the heart monitor started beating a mile a minute.

“What’s happening?” Jack asked loudly, rushing to Janet’s side and touching her shoulder. Tim’s mother was still unconscious, but she was shaking and foaming at the mouth. The foam was painfully black. Jack desperately looked up at the doctor, who was paging for help. He turned to Bruce and yelled, “Don’t just stand there- do something!”

Bruce clenched his fists and turned on his heel, sprinting out of the room. Tim wanted to follow him, wanted to be anywhere but here right now, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was stare, stare at his mother as she suffocated on her own spit, watch as tears sprang to his father’s eyes, stand despairingly still as more doctors and nurses rushed in, trying to bring Tim’s mom back with CPR, an AED, anything they could think of.

None of it worked.

Tim didn’t cry when his mother died. He didn’t cry on the silent drive home in the back of Bruce’s car, nor did he cry that night, or the next few nights when his father went out drinking. He didn’t even cry at her funeral. He just watched, eyes dead and void of all emotion, as her body hidden inside a coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. His father cried, hard. Tim wrapped his arms around his dad, knowing it would bring him some comfort. He didn’t feel anything when Jack hugged him back, but he didn’t think that mattered. It was better to feel nothing than agonizing pain, right?

It took Tim about two weeks before he cried again. In that time, hundreds more people reported seeing those shadows, the Watchers as they came to call them, and they all came down with the same illness. Luckily, Dick wasn’t lying about the antidote being legit. It helped all of those people, saved their lives, protected their families from losing someone so integral to their being.

There were also two more of the big murders. A man and a woman, on separate occasions, though with the same wounds. They were found on crosses in major parts of the city, crucified, those rosaries around their necks and burns all over them. Their jaws were ripped off, and the wounds traveled down their torsos to their navels. Neither of them were alive by the time they were found, and the Latin on their foreheads didn’t give any insight on what the killer was thinking. It was just utter nonsense: “Satanas dolorem sentire potest sicut illi.” “May Satan feel pain like them.” Tim guessed this marked the beginning of the end of this case.

Now, he laid on his bed, face down, procrastinating opening the envelope beside him. His phone was ringing, probably Dick or Alfred. His father never called him anymore, and Bruce seemed to be trying to give him space. That, or he was afraid of talking about Tim’s pain. Likely the latter.

Tim sucked in a long, shaky breath. He lifted up his head and found Dick’s name staring at him pointedly. He brushed his phone away, watching numbly as it slid off his bed and landed on the floor with a thump. The ringing didn’t stop. It never did.

He turned his gaze to the envelope, his name written in shaky cursive. As the envelopes were sent to him more and more, the handwriting on the front grew increasingly messy and desperate. At this point, Tim couldn’t care less.

Tim pushed himself up and rubbed his face. He had to do something. He owed it to Bruce, to Dick, to Alfred. To his mother. He had to figure this case out, because Batman was clearly struggling on it, otherwise he would have found the man already. Tim hoped that the newest batch of pictures would have some sort of clue in them. He would take literally anything at this point.

He carelessly tore open the envelope and was immediately met with a close-up of his face. It was him, at the hospital, his face red and raw. His gaze was tilted down, not at the woman in front of him, but at his probably-tapping leg. The next was also him at the hospital, burying his face in Dick’s shoulder. Then he was watching his mother as the doctor readied the antidote, then he was watching with horror as his mother lost her life. All of the pictures consisted of him grieving: him at home, eating a cold dinner alone at the kitchen table. Him in his bed, his eyes heavy but unable to fall asleep. Him at her funeral, watching with exhausted eyes as she was lowered into the ground, as his father wept on his shoulder. Him just moments ago, face stuck in his pillow, his arms wrapped tightly around his head.

Tim puffed out a breath of air. How was this last photo taken so soon? The envelope had been waiting for him in his mailbox for hours now, and he retrieved it before that photo could have possibly been taken. Tim’s suspicions about something deeper, something supernatural were all but confirmed with this newer discovery. He almost felt sick to his stomach.

Instead of puking, which he couldn’t have possibly done anyway with the lack of food in his stomach, Tim broke down into loud, uncontrollable sobs. His breath caught on his whimpers, and tears ran down his face like a waterfall was pouring from his eyes. He was gasping for breath, trying to wipe at the tears, but they fell faster than he could soak them up in his sleeves. It seemed like all the grief, all the guilt he’d been feeling since he saw his mother hanging there on that building finally felt it was time to leave in great, heaving sobs.

It took over an hour for him to calm down enough to further inspect the photos. Tears still leaked from his eyes and blurred his vision, but he could see enough to find a message on the back of the final photo, the one of him in his bed. It was written in red ink, and it didn’t mean anything to Tim at first. There was a crude drawing of the Gotham skyline, then the letters N, E, S, and W with arrows pointing in different directions from the city. One of the arrows, the one pointing to the N, was drawn in black ink rather than red. Something was north of Gotham- or, rather, someone.

Tim immediately lunged for his computer and started searching for anything suspicious north of Gotham. He was still convinced this monster would be hiding out in a church of some sort, so he looked for any Catholic churches that looked particularly suspicious. There were a few in some small towns, out in the middle of nowhere, that had oddly large basements. There were too many of them, though, for Tim to be sure which one the murderer would be staying in.

He started flipping through the other photos, hoping for any sort of clue on any one of them that could point him in the right direction. Obviously, this guy wanted to be found now, right? He couldn’t honestly expect Tim to visit every single church in the hundreds of small towns outside of Gotham, right?

His desperate pleas came to fruition when he looked on the back of the photo of him at his mother’s funeral. It was another terrible drawing, this time of a building. No, not just a building- a church. It was small, Tim could tell, even from the little doodle. It seemed worn down, boards over the windows and the doors nearly rotted off their hinges. He could work with that.

Tim was back on his computer, looking now in his list of suspicious churches for ones that were abandoned, or at least seemed like it. He came up with two, both pretty similar in their appearances. Only one of them, however, had a sparkly red rosary peaking out from behind one of the boards.

Jackpot. He’d found his suspect. He’d found the man who had murdered so many people, including his mother. He found the man who made Bruce become distrustful of Tim, who made Tim hurt the Bats. He found the man who ruined his life.

And he was more than prepared to make his revenge hurt.

Chapter Text

Tim left his bedroom early in the morning, carefully avoiding the sounds of his father retching in the bathroom, and quickly made his way into the garage. The Drakes had many cars sitting in their oversized garage that were hardly ever used. At the moment, Tim’s father was only using one car, which was currently sitting outside the manor. Tim thought he wouldn’t notice if one of the expensive sports cars went missing, at least for a little while. Jack Drake didn’t seem to worry much about Tim anymore anyway, either too overcome with grief or alcohol to care.

Tim didn’t mind. It gave him enough time to work through things himself; or, rather, not work through things, go crazy with guilt and the need for revenge, and storm off in the early morning to go kill a crazed murderer.

He chose the car closest to the garage door, not too keen on hitting another car on his way out. He would already be in big enough trouble taking one vehicle, he didn’t need to add a damaged one on top of that. He’d probably be grounded until he was thirty.

Sitting in the front seat of the car, Tim went over all his bases. He had packed everything he needed in his backpack: the Robin suit, his phone, a spare com (he already had one in his ear), his utility belt, and an envelope full of pictures plus a note meant for Bruce. He had already left a note on his bed for his father, if Jack ever decided to enter Tim’s room, but he knew Bruce and Dick would have a higher chance of finding out he was missing, and also worrying about it. He knew the envelope he was about to put in Bruce’s mailbox wasn’t going to ease any of their anxiety- in fact, it would likely only make it worse- and Tim didn’t entirely know why he was giving them a note either. He didn’t owe them anything, they weren’t his parents. He could leave and come back like nothing ever happened, and if they did realize he was gone and questioned him when he returned, all Tim would say is: “I took care of the Retributionist problem, don’t worry about it anymore.” He could handle that, right?

But deep down, Tim knew the reason he was giving them the note: he was afraid he’d need help. Tim had to go on his own, otherwise Bruce and Dick would never let him enter the church with them. But...there was a nagging feeling in his chest, a deep-rooted fear that wouldn’t let go. And it told him that, soon, he would meet the same fate as his mother.

Tim took a deep breath and shook his head. He was fine, he was going to be fine. There was absolutely nothing to worry about, because Tim was Robin, and nothing bad happened to Robin...

...Right?

Tim could name a couple people who might disagree.

Tim turned the car on and nearly peeled out of the garage, not quite used to driving yet. Bruce had never let him drive the Batmobile, of course, but a few times, when Bruce wasn’t around for whatever reason, Dick would let Tim drive for a bit. He suddenly felt a wave of sadness rush over him, and found himself missing those times. But why? It wasn’t like he’d never get to experience that again, right? He was acting like a ghost coming to terms with his death.

Tim grumbled as he drove down the driveway, a little slower now, and turned right. He’d drop off the note at Wayne Manor, and then he’d be off. Soon, he’d be at a little church in the middle of nowhere, beating the asshole who murdered his mother to death. He couldn’t wait.

Robin stood in the basement doorway, a flashlight shining down into the long, dark staircase. His Bat-grade flashlight was enough to illuminate hundreds of feet in front of him, but for some reason it only stretched about five feet. It seemed almost...afraid to travel too far down.

Tim grumbled. “What are you talking about?” he scolded softly. “Of course it’s not afraid, it’s light! How could light be afraid of the dark?”

His consolation didn’t help his nerves much, however.

Tim drew in a breath and murmured, “Come on, pull yourself together. You’re so close; do it for-” His voice caught in his throat, all thought and reason leaving when he felt a presence behind him. He slowly turned his head to be met with a shadow. But it wasn’t just a regular shadow; it had eyes, four piercing eyes that seemed to stare into his soul. All of a sudden, logic was replaced with the primitive urge to run.

Tim turned and fled down the stairs, taking four steps at a time. That prickly feeling that marked the Watcher’s presence didn’t leave until he reached the basement floor. He found himself doubling over, gasping when his body finally felt safe. That feeling of complete and utter fear, however, wasn’t leaving him. He felt paralyzed, save the tremors that racked his body, as his hands remained on his knees and he continued to reel in breath after breath. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him, the same way he felt that thing, that angel, peering into his soul.

Tim felt tears suddenly running down his cheeks. He didn’t want to be here anymore, all alone in this cold, dark basement. He was scared- no, terrified of what was about to happen to him. He only realized he was sobbing when he felt his vocal chords getting scratchy and achey. Tim crouched, hugging his knees to his chest, and tried to calm down. Breathe, Dick’s voice spoke in his ear. Just breathe. You’re going to be okay. Breathe.

Tim had no idea how long it took for him to calm down enough to raise his head. In his long moment of panic, he realized he needed to regroup. He needed to get out of here, to ask Dick and Bruce to come back with him. Or, maybe they would go without him. And maybe Tim wouldn’t be so upset about that.

He took one last long breath and activated his night vision, stood up, turned toward where he came from, and found nothing but a dark expanse of hallway on either side of him. A new form of terror spread through his limbs, and he found himself paralyzed again. He had hardly moved from the stairs at all- maybe a few feet, but that was it. How did he get so far? Was he...teleported? He knew it was possible, even Bruce didn’t deny the fact, but he hadn’t felt like he was transported anywhere.

And if he was teleported, that would mean he had no way of telling which way the stairs were. For all he knew, he could be in an entirely different hallway that had no exit at all.

Tim couldn’t allow himself to lose his mind. That’s exactly what this monster wanted- for him to panic and lose his sense. It would make him a much easier target. So he forced himself to breathe correctly, to regain his calm, and to take in his surroundings. The second he did, a sour, pungent odor filled his nose. Tim suppressed the urge to gag and he quickly covered his mouth. His gloved hand did hardly anything to block the thick scent.

Tim wondered what caused the smell, and knew he had to look around. He really didn’t want to, but he was a detective, and detectives often had to do what they didn’t want to do. It wasn’t like Batman enjoyed looking at dead bodies almost nightly. His flashlight didn’t work anymore, and the night vision in his mask wasn’t as amazing as he wished it was. He could only see a few feet in front of him, but it was enough to see the bodies lining the walls.

Tim recognized some of them from police reports: people that had gone missing recently, ones with dark eyes and black veins, that same sludge that came from his mother dried all over their faces and torsos. They had died from the Watchers’ Disease.

Some of the victims, he recognized; but most of them seemed not just days or even weeks old, but months, maybe even years. A few of the bodies had no flesh remaining, were just skeletons cluttered on the floor, their bones blackened and ashy. They must have been here for decades- some of the bones had even begun to decay.

Tim’s panic returned in full force, a wave hitting him and nearly knocking him off his feet. He felt dizzy and unstable, and knew this was so much bigger than him; maybe even bigger than Dick or Bruce. And Tim was alone, stuck here in this endless hallway of broken, dead bodies. His eyes stung and watered, and his throat hurt both from the smell and from holding back sobs. He needed to contact Batman, he needed to get help. He had a horrible feeling that if he didn’t, he would never escape this place.

Tim reached for his ear and immediately coded for SOS. He knew the chances of anyone getting this signal were extremely low, but he had to try. Tim was not ready to die yet.

After waiting five minutes and receiving no response, Tim decided to take things into his own hands. He wasn’t some helpless damsel in distress, he was able to do things for himself. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against whatever this monster was, but he was smart; he’d be able to find the exit if he just put his mind to it.

He couldn’t see much, but he had a feeling both ends of the hallway extended into a long void of darkness. He walked to the right for about five minutes, then around and walked the other direction for ten, before realizing both ways were the exact same. There were bodies lined one after the other, no space between them. The number of corpses didn’t seem to dwindle, no matter how far he traveled.

Tim decided to keep moving in the direction he was already going in. If he was going the wrong way, then so be it. He would be fine no matter what; Barbara probably got his SOS signal and was now sending Batman and Nightwing as fast as she could. They were currently on their way, moving as fast as physically possible, and they were bringing the best weapons they owned. Tim found himself suddenly wishing Batman did use guns, though he wasn’t sure even a bullet could help him now.

He shook his head and huffed. He couldn’t allow himself to spiral right now, that was the last thing he needed. He needed to keep a clear mind because if he didn’t, he would probably plop down right where he was and never get back up again. Actually, that didn’t sound like that bad of an idea...

Tim clenched his fists. “Stop losing it,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna find this guy, and he’s gonna turn out to be a big loser that just got lucky, like, a thousand times. You’re gonna easily defeat him, and you’re not gonna kill him because if you do, B will never let you go out again. And you’re going to stop talking to yourself because it’s not actually helping, even if it makes it a little less silent.” Tim sighed. “God, I’m losing my mind.”

Something ahead of him shifted, the sound of a body dragging along the ground. It was far enough away to be out of his sight, but that didn’t really mean it was that far at all. Tim’s breath stopped, along with the rest of his body. Nothing moved except the trembling of his limbs and the pounding of his heart.

Silence persisted, and just when Tim convinced himself that the sound was nothing but his imagination, something latched onto his ankle.

Tim let out an ear-piercing shriek and fell back, trying to kick away whatever had grabbed him. His arm hovered before his face protectively as more shrieks clawed at his throat, the hand on his leg still- wait, it was a hand. Just a regular hand, weakly gripping him. His breath coming to him rapidly, he looked down at the body the hand belonged to.

A sad, tearful gaze met his own fearful one. Dark, stringy hair covered her face, black ink trickling out of her mouth. Her eyebrows were drawn up, and there was a glimmer of dull hope in her eyes. When she realized Tim was no longer scared of her, her lips pressed together and her tears fell, illuminating her hope further.

“Please,” she gasped, and Tim winced at how ruined her voice sounded, “help me. I...I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but-but all the bodies...I’ve been trying to get back to the stairs, but I don’t- I just don’t-”

“Hey,” Tim said softly, pushing himself up. He reached for her, holding her cheek in his hand. She helped her sit up so they could be eye-level, keeping his hand on her face as a comfort. “It’s okay. I’m here now, I can help you. Don’t worry.”

The words only made her cry even more, and Tim hoped she was crying out of relief. “Do you...know how to get out?”

Tim hesitated. “I...don’t. I’m really sorry. I’ve been looking for the exit too. I’m doing my best but I can hardly see anything.” He paused. He could hardly see anything and he had night vision. How did she manage? “How did you...know I was here?”

“I could hear you. I can’t see anything either, I was just hoping you weren’t him. But your step sounds lighter. You’re not him, right?”

“‘Him?’ You mean the Retributionist?”

“Is that what he calls himself? Some retributionist he is. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know, I believe you.” The woman was going limp in his arms, leaning closer to his chest. She was coughing and the sludge spattered all over him. He felt the warmth of it on his face, trying his best to suppress his disgust. It wasn’t her fault, she was dying. She couldn’t control where the inky mess went. Tim felt a new wave of anger toward the man who caused her pain. “I’m going to do everything I can to save you, alright? I called for help; Batman and Nightwing should be on their way now, and-”

“Batman and Nightwing? How were you able to contact them?” Tim watched as the woman stared at him blindly, and he realized she had no idea who he was. For all she knew, he was just another random victim of the Retributionist, one who was a little luckier than her.

“Oh, I-” He paused. Would it really be a good idea to reveal that he was Robin? He knew the woman would be grateful if it was Batman or Nightwing who were here: they could actually do something. But Robin was just some random kid that followed Batman around, and just so happened to have a couple cool gadgets on him.

Still, any hero was better than no hero, right? Even though he felt a knot in his gut that told him not to tell her who he was, Tim went ahead and said it anyway.

The look on the woman’s face after he told her who he was was a look Tim would never forget. He had never been stared at with such utter fear and revulsion. She shoved away from him immediately as her sobs came to a peak.

“No!” she screamed. “No! Not you, please not you! Anyone but you!”

Tim fell back on his hands, staring at the woman in utter disbelief. “What?” he croaked.

“You demon. You devil! I’m not going to Hell, I’ve repented! You can’t drag me down with you, I won’t go! I don’t deserve to burn, Samyaza said I don’t deserve to burn!”

“Sam-what? Who-” The woman started beating at Tim’s chest, and though her weak punches didn’t hurt, he still felt a pang wherever she hit him. Tim grabbed the woman’s wrists and tried to hold her back, but she only started shrieking louder. He quickly let her go and stood, taking a step back. The woman stayed on the ground, sobbing and shrieking, clawing at her face and tearing off her skin, revealing dark, decaying muscle underneath.

Tim watched in horror as she skinned herself alive, screaming all the while. She was completely losing it- because of him. His legs were shaky as he retreated another step, then another, then two more.

Then she looked at him, and this time she seemed able to see him. He was able to see into her eyes, into her soul. She was in pain, was desperate for help. But all Tim could do was turn around and run away, as fast as he could. The guilt in his chest was palpable, but every time he thought about turning around, he heard her shrieking and imagined her pulling away at her skin. He felt sick and could no longer keep his footing. He tripped over something- a limb, probably- and fell to the ground heaving and gagging. The terrible smell and corpses surrounding him made him feel so, so much worse.

Tim clutched his stomach and continued gasping, begging his lungs to accept the air he was reeling in, no matter how terrible it tasted. He wanted to leave already, he wanted to go home and curl up in bed under his blankets, never to return to the light of day again. He wanted to wake up from this terrible nightmare. More than anything, he wished Bruce or Dick were here, so they could wrap their arms around him and tell him that everything was okay, that they were here now, and they wouldn’t let anything hurt him.

A desperate sob escaped his throat, opening the gateway for more terrible sounds to tear out of him. He gripped himself tighter, his nails digging into his sides. He wasn’t prepared for any of this, and he wished he had just listened to Bruce. He was older and wiser than him, why didn’t he just listen to Batman like he should have?

His terrible cries seemed to be never-ending, and he was okay with that this time. He was okay with curling up on the floor, his tears puddling around him, and waiting for Bruce and Dick to arrive. He was okay with being the damsel in distress this time.

But, of course, the universe would never allow Tim what he wanted.

Before he knew what was happening, the floor underneath him opened up and swallowed him whole. Tim barely had time to widen his eyes and mouth before he fell, along with the few unlucky corpses who happened to be too close to him at the time. A terrible scream tore out of his throat as he fell for longer and longer. He was going to die when he reached the ground, there was no doubt about it. He was falling far too long, and he had no control over his body spinning around in the air.

“Please!” he cried to no one and nothing in particular. “Please, just make it stop! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!”

As if in answer to his prayers, Tim suddenly saw the bottom. Instead of fear of his impending doom filling his heart, he felt a sudden wave of relief wash over him. He was ready for this, ready for all the pain of his recent life to leave him. He was ready to see his mom again.

Tim landed feet-first, and a horrible crack sounded from underneath him. The pain didn’t register until he looked down and saw his legs twisted in all the wrong directions. Blackness creeped up at the edges of his vision, and his lungs felt completely crushed. He couldn’t muster the strength to scream, however much he wanted to. The pain was so overwhelming, all Tim could do was allow his tears to slip down his face.

He was too overcome with horror at the state of his body, he didn’t notice as a light turned on in front of him. He hardly even registered when someone grabbed his ruined legs and dragged him further into the light, nor did he care when his mask was removed and a silhouette appeared above him.

“You’re completely out of it,” the shadow spoke. His voice was rich and smooth, beautiful enough to make Tim’s crumpled form want more. “How do we get you back to us, hm?”

He crouched, getting close enough to Tim that he could make out his features. Rich, brown skin and dark, curly hair were the first things he saw. Tim’s brain automatically registered the man as beautiful, possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He felt an overwhelming urge to trust the man, to follow him to the ends of the earth. His soft, plump lips smiled at Tim, and Tim saw the way his eyes twinkled in the light. And the eyes were what dragged him out of his stupor: they were a color Tim had never seen before in eyes, a bright gold-amber. His pupils weren’t circular like normal humans’, they were slits in the center of his irises. Tim realized that the man was probably not human at all.

A strained noise he had never made before made its way out of Tim’s mouth, and the man’s smile widened. “Welcome back, sweetheart,” he said, seductively smooth. “It’s so nice to finally speak to you. I’ve been planning our meeting for a very long time, you see. I promise you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

Tim was in too much pain to move, to run away, so he resorted to turning his head and covering his face with his hands, another one of those strange sounds gurgling in his throat.

“Oh, don’t turn away my little devil.” The man reached for Tim’s chin and violently jerked him up to meet his gaze. Tim felt like an animal, trapped and attempting and failing to come to terms with the fact it was about to become its predator’s meal. “My Watchers and I will make you feel the same pain you forced onto us. I will not allow you to forget me so easily, Satan.”

Tim tried to shake his head, but the man only gripped his face harder, causing bright red blood to seep out of his cheeks. He suppressed a sob as the man said, “You shall remember me, Samyaza, for the rest of your pathetic existence.”

Tim abruptly stopped his story, holding a hand over his mouth and breathing heavily. Dick was already at his side, and Bruce looked about ready to pounce at whatever was scaring Tim so much. The room remained silent for a long time until Tim was able to muster up the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m...sorry. Dick, I-” He looked up at his older brother, who nodded in an unspoken agreement.

“Okay. It’s okay, Tim, you don’t have to continue. I know it’s hard.”

“I’m sorry. I want to...I want them to know, Dick, but I can’t-” He sucked in a breath. “I just can’t. Maybe you could-” He kept stumbling over his words, trying his best to seem more stable than he really was. “Maybe you and Bruce could- could keep going for me. Right?”

“Tim, you’ve already told them everything they need to know. There’s nothing left to tell them.”

“But- but I-”

“Tim,” Steph spoke up, realizing Dick wasn’t going to be able to convince him alone. “It’s fine. We got it, alright? You don’t have to push yourself.”

Cass and Jason nodded along in agreement as Damian said, “Yes. You don’t need to worry, Drake. We do not require anymore information from you.”

Tim stared at Damian, wide-eyed and gripping the armrests on his chair. Damian started to shrink beneath his gaze when Bruce set a heavy hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim looked up at him and visibly deflated, his exhaustion shining clearly.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Bruce said. “We can talk more about this in the morning.” He turned to Jason and Steph. “Feel free to stay the night.”

With that, he scooped Tim up into his arms- who surprisingly didn’t fight it- and swept out of the room. The others were left in a dazed silence, all trying to process everything Tim had just told them.

“What-” Jason started.

Dick abruptly stood and proclaimed, “I’m going to stay here tonight. Jay, Steph, feel free to stay as well. I’m sure Alfred wouldn’t mind, right Alfie?”

Alfred nodded curtly.

“Wait-” Jason stepped in front of Dick, preventing him from leaving the room. “You’re not going to just walk out of here without answering a few questions first.”

“I thought you said you didn’t need to know anymore,” Dick said.

“Yeah, we don’t need to know more from Tim.” Jason crossed his arms. “I’m still a little curious about a couple plot holes here.”

“Me too,” Steph chimed in. “Like, we were all there for all the stuff with the Retributionist and whatever. Obviously, it’s a lot bigger deal than I thought it was. Honestly, I completely forgot about all of that until now. And I get why a lot of that is traumatizing, but-” She paused, continuing in a softer tone, “What did that guy do to Tim to make him so terrified?”

“Not a guy,” Barbara muttered.

“Babs-” Dick began.

“They should know what they’re dealing with, Dick.” Barbara delivered him a stubborn look before turning back to the others, who were even more confused. “He’s not just a guy. He’s not human. Tim insinuated it, but it’s important for you to know that he is not human.”

“What is he, then?” Cass asked.

“An angel.”

Jason let out a snort. “An angel? Are you serious? Is that, like, code for something?” Dick and Barbara both looked at him, completely serious, and Jason’s face stilled. “Oh. Like, an actual angel. Okay. Cool. So we’re going to have to kill an angel.”

“You can’t kill him.” Dick’s brow furrowed.

“What the fuck do you mean, we can’t kill him?” Jason demanded. “Obviously we’re going to; you want to just let that thing come back in another few years to torture Tim again?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. You physically can’t kill him. He can’t die.” Dick sounded just as desperate and confused as the rest of them. “We...we thought he could. We thought he was dead. But we were wrong.”

“What, so he can come back to life? How the hell is that fair?”

“What do you mean you thought he was dead?” Damian asked. “Did one of you kill him?”

All eyes turned to Dick and Babs expectantly. Dick pressed his lips together and shut his eyes, clearly wishing he hadn’t said so much. Babs sighed and looked toward the ground, also wishing Dick hadn’t said so much. At the same time, though, she was glad for the question. It meant she could explain without bringing it up herself.

She started, “One of us didn’t-”

“Barbara.” Dick looked at her sternly. “We cannot tell them this part. Tim would not want them to know.”

“Tim knows how his actions make him look ten times more desperate.” Babs’ hands were folded in her lap, and she was feigning confidence pretty well. “He knows this will put it into perspective for them.”

“Tim’s actions?” Cass questioned.

Dick and Barbara turned toward them again, both of their expressions full of anguish. Dick let out a gruff sigh and left the room, and Babs took that as a sign to continue.

“Tim killed Samyaza,” she said, with as little emotion on her face as possible. “He stabbed him to death with a scalpel. I’ll explain more tomorrow.”

It took another minute after Babs left for that to fully register in the others. Once it did, Jason had to suppress the urge to yell when he said, “What the fuck?”

Chapter Text

Golden sunlight streamed through the curtains and washed Tim’s face with a pretty yellow. His mouth was slightly parted, his breath puffing slowly; it was the calmest he’d been in weeks, since the envelopes had first started showing up again. Kon found he was always the most relaxed at Wayne Manor.

Connor had arrived early this morning, early enough that even the morning birds were still asleep. He sat beside Tim’s bed, a sleeping Bruce in a chair across from him. Bruce hadn’t realized yet that Kon was there, and the super knew that the moment he opened his eyes, Kon would be in for it. Batman scared Connor way more than he cared to admit.

Kon reached out and brushed the hair away from his boyfriend’s eyes. A soft smile stretched his lips as Tim let out a huff. Awake or not, he always had the cutest reactions to Connor’s touch.

Tim shifted and let a small sound out of his throat. He reached up to his eyes as an annoyed expression took over his face. When his eyelids fluttered open and he caught sight of Connor, that expression only deepened. 

“What are you doing here?” he slurred, his voice scratchy and soft. Kon reached out to him again, his smile ditzy and lovesick, and Tim pushed his hand away. “B’s gonna kill you,” he whispered.

“I know,” Kon responded, his voice just as soft. He leaned closer to Tim, their faces only centimeters apart. “But I had to come see you. I’m glad you’re alright.”

Tim hummed, closing the gap and pecking Connor on his lips. “Me too. You should probably leave before B wakes up. He’ll actually kill you if he sees you in Gotham without his permission, let alone in the Manor.”

“I thought Batman didn’t kill.”

“Batman doesn’t, but Bruce Wayne will.”

“Bruce Wayne can’t kill me, I’m Superboy.”

“He can make it happen, trust me.” Tim offered Connor a tired smile, and Kon found himself returning the gesture. “You’re so pretty in the sunlight.”

“You’re so sexy when your hair is all messed up like that.”

Tim rolled his eyes and shoved his face into his pillow; Kon could just barely see the faint red on his ears. “Leave, please,” came Tim’s muffled attempt to hide his embarrassment further.

“Whatever you say, darling.” The red deepened. “Alright, I’m leaving.” Connor stood, but made sure to place another kiss on the back of Tim’s head. “Love you. I’ll try to get Bruce’s permission so I can come here legally next time.”

Tim knew Kon had left when he felt the warmth by his side diminish. He glanced to the side of the bed where his boyfriend had stood just moments ago, and sighed. The space was empty, the window closed. He was always disappointed when Kon left. 

He turned to the other side of the bed to make sure Bruce was still sleeping, but he was attacked by piercing blue eyes watching him carefully. Tim laid and stared at Bruce like a deer in headlights, hoping the man had only woken up after Kon had left. He had a strong feeling that wasn’t the case.

“How...long have you been up?” Tim asked carefully.

“Long enough.” Bruce’s voice was gruffer than usual, not because he was angry, but because he was just as tired as Tim. Tim didn’t think Bruce would be angry at him for a long time. “He can ask for all the permission he wants, but I won’t be okay with him coming here no matter what.” He sighed. “And he should call me Mr. Wayne, not Bruce.”

Tim snorted. “Sure, B.” 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked, trying his best to mask the worry in his voice.

“Fine.” Silence overtook them and before he could help it, Tim found himself remembering all the events that had transpired up to this point. He clutched his hands together and closed his eyes, willing the memories to leave him. “I didn’t...tell them everything, did I?”

Bruce’s gaze saddened. “No, you didn’t. You wanted to, but you were getting too upset.”

Tim nodded. “I know. Do they want to know more?”

“Even if they did, you wouldn’t have to tell them.”

He sighed. “I should tell someone. I haven’t told you or Dick yet, either.”

“We can guess from the medical records Tim.”

Tim shook his head. “Not everything, though.”

The door opened and Alfred peaked his head in. When he saw the two were awake, he stepped inside, a tray of breakfast in his hands. “I hope you have an appetite, Master Tim. I believe it is important for you to eat at a time like this.” 

“Thank you, Alfred.” Tim pushed himself up to sit, crossing his legs as Alfred brought the tray over. Alfred sat beside the bed, where Kon was just minutes ago, and he and Bruce watched as Tim slowly ate his food. It was hard to eat with so much anxiety filling his stomach.

The two men remained quiet as Tim munched on his omelette. He felt increasingly uncomfortable as time went on; it wasn’t fun to eat food alone while people watched intently. 

He coughed. “Um, do you have any water, Alfred?”

“Yes, of course, Master Tim.” Alfred stood. “I’ll be right back.”

Tim and Bruce sat in silence as Tim continued eating his food. After Alfred was gone for five minutes, he couldn’t take the awkward tension anymore and broke the quiet. “Are we just gonna keep sitting in silence, or are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Bruce had a look of feigned confusion on his face.

“Whatever you want to talk about.” Tim absent-mindedly played with his food. “I think I can guess what it is, though.”

“You didn’t have to tell them all of that last night.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I really don’t care, Bruce. You think I didn’t have to, everyone else thinks I did, including myself. It’s not a big deal anyway. What’s done is done. They know everything now, and there’s no taking that back.”

“They don’t know everything, though.” Bruce’s eyebrows creased. “Which makes me worried that you didn’t want to tell them the rest of it, either.”

“I didn’t want to tell them anything.” Tim stabbed at his omelette and watched the gooey cheese slowly leak out. “I had to tell them because he’s back, and if they don’t know what he did to me, they won’t know what they have to deal with.”

“Tim-”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Tim blabbered on angrily. “You’re going to say they don’t have to help, it’ll be better if they don’t. And even if I did agree- which I don’t- they wouldn’t listen to either of us anyway. It’s better this way, Bruce, whether you like it or not.”

Bruce waited for him to stop his ramble. He quietly said, “That isn’t what I was going to say. You’re right- it’ll be a lot easier with them helping.”

Tim furrowed his brow. “Then what is it?”

“You haven’t even told Dick, Barbara, Alfred, or I what really happened that night.” Bruce’s voice was soft and mindful of the way Tim’s shoulders tensed. “None of us know everything except for you. And I know that you all are keen on hiding your true feelings about things- you get that from me, unfortunately. But this is different.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is. When I hide things, it might be an injury that will heal and won’t be a problem for long, or it’s something I need to hide to keep you safe.” Tim scrunched his brow. “I think you’re keeping what happened to yourself because you’re too scared to face the truth.”

Tim looked angry. “That isn’t true. I have faced the truth many times now. I don’t need you telling me to face it more.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to encounter your trauma when you have others to help you.”

“That would be pretty nice advice if it was coming from literally anyone but you.”

Bruce sighed and lowered his head. “I know, I’m a hypocrite. But please, Tim, if there’s something I should know, tell me. I can keep it a secret for you.”

Tim stared forward, making a point not to look at Bruce. His gaze remained enraged. “You can leave now if you want.”

“Tim-”

“Quiet.” He picked up his plate and shoved it at Bruce, who quickly grabbed onto it before it hit the floor. The omelette was only half-eaten- a symbol of Tim’s anxiety. “Take this downstairs. Tell Alfred I don’t need the water, I’m going back to sleep.”

Bruce was going to say something, but seemed to think better of it. He slowly stood and left, a pained expression on his face.

Tim huffed and pulled the blanket over his head as he violently flopped down against his pillow. He cursed Bruce under his breath and wished Conner had never left. Things always seemed better when he was around.

He rolled over and hugged his shoulders, his eyes just barely open. He hadn’t slept well last night, though he hadn’t slept for a full night in a while, so he was used to it. He always felt like someone was watching him from behind, but every time he looked, no one was there. Normally, that would give him some relief, but he knew the Watchers had strange abilities. For all he knew, they were there right now, looming over him, reaching to his head and-

Tim spun around, breathing heavily and staring at the empty space of his room. Nothing was there but his shadow, just like always. He stared at the silhouette on the wall across from him, trying to convince himself there was nothing wrong with it. He saw it waver and sway, was sure it was a warning from God that something was going to happen; when he turned, though, all he saw was the curtain behind him fluttering in the wind. Kon had forgotten to close the window. Of course.

Tim sighed and shook his head, forcing himself to lay back down. He couldn’t quiet the nerves he felt throughout his body.

Someone knocked at the door and it opened before Tim had the chance to respond. Not Bruce or Alfred, then- they usually tended to barge in unannounced. 

“Didn’t Bruce tell you I’m trying to sleep?” Tim muttered, refusing to look at whoever it was. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation right now.

“We both know that’s bullshit, Timbit,” Jason said. Tim raised his head to find Jason gently closing the door behind him. He looked up and gave Tim a small smile before moving to sit beside him. “How’re you feeling?”

Tim groaned and buried his face again. “Want the honest answer or the one I gave Bruce?”

Jason snorted. “Pretty bad, huh?”

“Terrible. How did you sleep after you woke up in your grave?”

“I didn’t.” Jason thought for a moment. “Well, I did. But that was mostly because I didn’t remember anything. And then the drugs helped a lot in the hospital. And when I was with Ra’s it wasn’t too hard because I knew Joker would never-”

“I get it.” Tim moved to sit up and he stared at Jason. “So all I need to do is get a terrible concussion, take a shit ton of drugs, and go live with the al Ghuls for a bit.”

“Pretty much.”

“I don’t think Ra’s would be too happy to see me. Besides, the Watchers can get places even the Joker can’t, so it might not be as safe for me.”

“Fake your death so they don’t try to come after you then.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Fake my death to avoid immortal, omniscient beings. That’ll work.”

“They’re probably not that omniscient. God, like, killed them, right?”

“If He killed them, they wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s tough, isn’t it?” Jason shivered as a particularly hard gust of wind tore through the window. “Why the hell is this open? Aren’t you freezing? It’s God damn December, man.”

“Sorry.” Tim’s eyes followed Jason’s movement to the window. “Conner left it open when he left earlier.”

“Conner snuck in here?” Jason scrunched his nose. “How did Bruce feel about that?”

“He said Kon should start calling him ‘Mr. Wayne’ instead of ‘Bruce.’”

Jason laughed. “He’s trying to seem like a responsible adult so bad. Nobody is calling his ass ‘Mr. Wayne.’” He thought for a moment. “Except those other rich losers at the galas he goes to.”

“And Vicki Vale.”

“Yeah, her too.”

Jason sat down again as the silence slowly stretched on. He watched Tim carefully, scanning his body, noticing the tremors in Tim’s hands and the way his eyes darted about the room. He sighed.

“You sure you’re alright? You’re looking pretty paranoid, Timbo.”

“‘M fine,” Tim said, staring down at his shaking hands. He clutched them together to try to get them to stop, but it seemed to only make the trembling worse.

“Yeah, sure. Do you want anything? Like, food or water, or to get out of this room for a bit? I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes being around other people actually can help.”

Tim furrowed his brow. Before he could stop himself, he muttered, “But what if he gets you too?”

“He can’t possibly overpower all of us, kid. He’s just one dude.”

“He’s not just a dude.” Tim shivered, conjuring up an image of the terrifyingly beautiful man in his head. “He’s some...some eldritch, Lovecraftian horror. He’s some cosmic being from somewhere beyond our realm.”

Jason stared at him, attempting and failing to hide his incredulous expression. “Well-”

“You don’t believe me.” Tim’s voice was small and shaky. “But you haven’t seen him. He’s not human, Jason, I swear. He’s something else. And he...he says he’s an angel, and I think I believe him. I don’t know what else he could be.”

“Angels are supposed to be good, right? Why would he attack you? Even if he does think you’re the devil or whatever, that’s just so...weird.”

“He’s not one of those kinds of angels, Jason. He’s a fallen angel. They say he’s worse than Satan himself.”

“Who says that? The crazy religious freaks who also think fucking dudes will make you burn for all eternity?” Jason crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I’m of the opinion that we shouldn’t listen to anything a Catholic has to say.”

“That’s...an interesting way of looking at things. We know a lot of Catholic people. You don’t listen to any of them?”

“Nope.”

“Azrael?”

“Hell no.”

“Hellena?”

Jason paused. “Well-”

“What about Selena?”

“Okay, be quiet, kid. Don’t question it too much, just know I don’t like most Catholics.”

“Aren’t you Catholic?”

“Family was. I consider myself more agnostic.”

“Whatever. You don’t have to believe he’s an angel. But he calls himself S- you know. And he looks, not human. So he’s-” Tim found himself tripping up on his words, noticed his voice was shaking more than before. That seemed to happen a lot when he attempted to say the fallen angel’s name.

Jason watched Tim quizzically, before eventually giving up on whatever he was going to say. “Alright, kid. Whatever. He’s not human.” Jason yawned. “Man, I need to start sleeping more. It’s becoming a genuine problem. Think I can get B to give me a couple nights off so I can sleep?”

“Since when have you ever listened to him anyway?”

“Fantastic point.” Jason glanced at his phone and yawned again, tripping Tim into doing the same. “Dick’s coming by soon. Think you can thug it out ‘till he gets here?”

“‘Thug it out?’” Tim asked, an unimpressed look on his face. “Seriously?”

“Goodnight, kid.” Jason completely ignored Tim as he got up and went to the door. “Don’t let the angel get you while I’m gone. Don’t want his little feathers getting all up in your hair.”

Tim flopped onto his back again. “Look for Joker on your way home. He can give you a nice makeover. You might actually look good for once.”

“Fuck off, kid,” Jason laughed as he left the room, closing the door behind him. 

Tim didn’t actually feel tired again. He was glad for Jason’s company, but he could only handle being around the man for so long. Jason was intense, and Tim knew he wasn’t the best with handling people’s feelings, including his own. He was trying to lighten the mood by joking about the angels, but Tim couldn’t help but feel like his trauma was being ignored. Which was weird, coming from Jason; usually, he was the first to jump at the chance to do whatever he could to help his little siblings deal with their issues.

Tim turned to his side again, staring at the wall he had been watching before, though this time without so much anxiety. He supposed Jason’s joking did work afterall. He felt a bit better now, lighter, especially knowing Dick was on his way. Dick was able to make him feel better like no one else, even without trying to. For a while, Dick was the only person Tim would let lay their eyes on him after his first run-in with Sa-

A second shadow emerged from above Tim’s, seeming to almost ooze out of his own and onto the wall. Tim’s eyes widened and his breath stopped. He felt paralyzed where he was, unable to move to run away, let alone fight back. His eyes were stuck open and they stung when he felt the breeze blow against his face. The window was open again. But the Watchers didn’t need to open windows to get inside, so why was it open? The only one of them made of enough physical matter to need to open things to get inside was... 

Someone knocked at the door again and Tim watched as the shadow slowly retreated toward the window. It remained open, but Tim was alone again. He sat up in less than a second, gasping for breath and clutching his chest. He felt like his lungs were full of water, like he was drowning. He felt like he was about to die.

“Tim?” It was Duke’s voice on the other side of the door. Sounds like he had finally woken up. “Are you good? Can I come in?”

Tim stayed silent for a couple more seconds, waiting for his breath to come easier. He finally was able to grind out, “Yeah.”

Duke opened the door, and Tim could practically smell the worry coming off of him. He heard how terrible Tim’s voice sounded, and saw how terrified he looked sitting in his bed. 

“You, uh...” Duke hesitated, slowly closing the door behind him. “You sure you’re good?”

Tim nodded. “Fine.”

Duke looked skeptical, but decided to leave it for the time being. Bruce was still making him go on patrol soon, and he’d have to leave before B noticed he was in Tim’s room, but he had to check in on him first.

“Um,” he started, walking towards Tim. “Do you want that open?” He gestured to the open window, where freezing cold wind was billowing inside. The wind seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Tim looked at the window, feeling a terrible sensation fall over him when he saw it. “No, not really. Do you mind closing it for me?”

“No problem.” As Duke made his way to the window he said, “Hey, I heard about everything that happened last night. Steph filled me in.” He slammed the window down and locked it in place. Tim let out a small breath of relief. Jason hadn’t locked it before; he was probably okay now. “She thought you’d want me to know. I thought I’d let you know, just to see if you’re actually okay with it.”

“Yeah, that’s good.” Tim let himself visually relax, melting back into his pillow. Duke remained standing, likely because he had to leave soon, but Tim noticed how he seemed to lose some anxiety too. “B’s probably making you go on patrol today because of it, so it’s good that you know. I don’t want anyone getting hurt without even knowing why.” He paused. “Well, I don’t want anyone getting hurt at all, but you get it.”

“Yeah.” He blew a raspberry. “Jesus, I’m really sorry you went through all that. You must be terrified right now.”

Tim shrugged. “Well, you know.”

“We wanted to tell you we’re going to do everything to make you feel safe. Let me know if you need anything. Steph and Cass are being held up by Bruce right now, but they’d be here too if they could.” Duke glanced at the door. “B’s really on-edge right now. Alfred, too. I haven’t seen Dick or Barbara, but I’d guess they’re also losing their minds. Did Jason tell you Dick’s on his way?”

“Yeah.”

“He should be here any minute now. Anyways, I’m not gonna hold you up any longer. Just-” Duke turned towards Tim again, and stopped in his tracks. He cocked his head to the side again as he said, “Didn’t I...didn’t I close that?”

Tim’s head snapped toward the window, which was now wide open again. A shiver went down his spine, and not just from the cold. His breath came in short, sporadic gasps, and he clutched his sheets like they were a lifeline. He turned back toward Duke to tell him to leave before anything happened to him, but he was too late. A man stood behind him, one who was sickeningly beautiful, who had a deceptively kind smile on his face. Tim felt his heart drop.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t possibly warn Duke before it happened. Duke didn’t even notice anyone was behind him before the angel slit his throat, his smile only growing as black sludge oozed out of the wound. Duke’s eyes widened as they locked onto Tim’s, a desperate plea for help, before he fell to his knees, then to the floor. His lips turned inky black as the liquid seeped from his mouth, and pooled around his head.

Tim hardly had time to process what just happened before the angel was upon him. He could do nothing but look up as Samyaza’s crippled, deformed wings emerged from his back. 

“Hello, little devil,” he said, his voice hauntingly gorgeous. “It’s been so long. Why don’t we catch up a bit?”

Dick made his way up the stairs to Tim’s room, careful to avoid making too much noise. He had heard Bruce scolding Steph and Cass when they said they wanted to go talk to Tim, and he wasn’t willing to go through a lecture right now. All he wanted to do was get to his little brother, who likely wouldn’t come out of his room all day if someone didn’t make him. When he got to Tim, he was willing to channel his inner Bruce to bug him out of bed. He wanted to visit Damian after, too. Maybe he could even get Tim to see Dami, if he wasn’t feeling as guilty anymore.

Dick smiled as he reached Tim’s room, thinking about all the many tactics he could use to get Tim out of bed. His smile quickly disappeared when he heard wet choking inside.

He threw the door open and stepped inside, taking in everything at once. The window was wide open, blowing freezing air past the curtains. Tim’s bed was empty, bright crimson staining the white sheets in little droplets. On the floor lay Duke, drowning in a puddle of his own infected blood.

Dick didn’t allow himself even a second before he ran to Duke, yelling out to anyone else in the manor who could hear. Bruce would be up in less than thirty seconds, certainly.

Dick placed his hands around Duke’s mangled neck, telling him to calm down, to try to breathe through the blood running down his throat. Duke’s eyes were wide and his lips opened and closed like a fish’s. He was trying to say something.

“Duke,” Dick said desperately. “Don’t try to talk. Just relax, okay? You’ll be alright, I promise.” He looked around the room, trying desperately to shove down his anxiety so as not to stress Duke out even more. He wouldn’t have been able to win that battle no matter what. “Where did Tim go? What the hell happened?”

“He...he got-” Duke swallowed through the blood, through the pain. He winced. “He got...the...angel.” He blinked up at Dick through his tears, just as Bruce entered the room and stood in shock for just a second. “He got Tim,” Duke forced out, before his vision darkened and he passed out in Dick’s arms.

Chapter Text

Jason stood beside Duke’s bed, staring down at him with his arms crossed over his chest. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed in an expression mixed with anger, guilt, and confusion. Duke was still unconscious, though more from the drugs than the blood loss at this point. His breathing was labored, and a small bruise was blooming on his forearm where the blood was transfused. 

Jason’s mind worked a mile a minute, so fast that he didn’t even feel like arguing with Dick and Bruce, who were currently losing it at the Batcomputer. Dick wanted to go out and search for Tim immediately, but Bruce was doing the (probably smart) option of staying in the cave until they figured out what to do. For all they knew, Samyaza wanted to target the rest of them too, and it would be so much worse for Tim if they all died. 

Jason grumbled and he braced his hands on the side of Duke’s bed, leaning over the sheets and breathing heavily. He couldn’t help but feel guilty about this whole situation. He was just there. If he had stayed for even a little bit longer, he might have been able to do something. But he just had to leave, had to go home, go to sleep for the five minutes he got before Steph called him in hysterics, telling him Duke was half-dead and Tim was gone, taken by the monster Jason was just teasing him about.

He gripped the sheets tightly in his fists, squeezing his eyes shut and trying his best not to lose his mind. It was his fault, he left them there, Tim and Duke. He left those kids to fend for themselves against some omnipotent, immortal being, he had to come to terms with that. He had to make it up to them.

Right at that moment, Jason decided he was going to take that “angel” down, no matter what.

“Hey.” Jason nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice, whipping around and pulling his gun out on the owner. Steph held her hands up, her face devoid of fear, knowing Jason would never. “I was going to ask if you were good, but I’m guessing not.”

Jason clenched and unclenched his jaw, putting his gun back in its holster with a tight sigh. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Lesson learned.” She glanced at Cass, who shared an equally concerned expression. “So, uh.” She nodded at Duke. “How’s he doing?”

“Good,” Jason said. “I think. Alfred didn’t seem too worried; they administered some sort of antidote a while ago, but they were saying something about how this is different from the past attacks.”

“In what way?” Cass asked, leaning over the foot of the bed and watching Duke intently.

“Something about his wound looking more...physical? I have no idea what that means, but they looked worried about it.”

“Hm,” Cass said.

“How’s it going out there?” Jason nodded to the room’s exit, to the rest of the cave, where they could just barely hear Dick and Bruce’s yelling. It sounded like there was another voice now, too, maybe Barbara. She sounded the tiniest bit more calm than the other two. 

“How do you think?” Steph sighed and dramatically flopped down on one of the chairs beside the bed. “Cass and I were sick of the yelling, so we came here. It’s a lot quieter.”

“What are they even fighting about?” Jason grumbled. “Isn’t it obvious what we need to do?”

“Yes.” Cass nodded in agreement. 

“Go out and search for him immediately,” Steph said, at the same time Cass responded, “Remain here and figure out our best course of action.”

They looked at each other incredulously.

“You seriously want to wait?” Steph exclaimed. “Wait any longer and he’s going to die, Cass!”

“Going out and searching without knowing where to look would be a complete waste of time. We must find a lead first, before-”

“Finding a lead will take ages, Cass! We need to go out now, to wherever we might think he’ll be, and-”

“And what?” Cass raised an eyebrow at her. “Find clues? Find evidence? That’s what you’re going to say, right?”

“Yes.” Steph furrowed her brow at Cass. “And we need to do that now, before it’s too late.”

“We first need to make a plan of where to look, otherwise we’ll be running around like headless chickens.”

“All this time spent arguing could be spent figuring out a plan,” Jason mumbled, turning away from the two and towards the sound of Dick and Bruce’s voices. Babs seemed to have gone quiet; she was probably ignoring the other two and decided to take the matter into her own hands. Smart.

Jason glanced down towards Duke, who didn’t appear to be waking up any time soon, and decided to leave Steph and Cass to their own devices. They hardly seemed to notice as Jason left the room.

He couldn’t blame everyone for being so confrontational. He was angry too, at himself, at this angel, and at pretty much everything else in the world too. He needed something to do, and fast, or else he’d lose his mind.

When Jason got to the main area of the cave, he was immediately hit with Dick yelling, “Jason!” at him from across the space.

Jason rolled his eyes and attempted to ignore him, wandering over to Babs, who sat at the computer, but Dick wasn’t having it.

“Jason,” Dick exclaimed, suddenly appearing beside him. Bruce wasn’t too far behind him, a tired, gruff expression on his face hinting to Jason on just how long this had been going on. When he arrived at the manor, they were arguing, and they hadn’t stopped for at least an hour. Anyone would be exhausted at this point. Anyone except Dick, that is.

“Tell Bruce he’s being a stubborn jackass.” Dick held onto the edge of Barbara’s seat with a sort of fire behind his movements that Jason hadn’t seen in a while. “Tell him we need to start searching, now. We need to interrogate survivors, go back to that church where Tim was first abducted. Tell him, Jay!”

Jason watched Dick incredulously, his gaze slowly moving to Bruce. “I’m guessing you want to stay here for a while and form some impervious plan?”

“I think we need to slow down,” Bruce sighed. “We’re all worried about Tim-”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Dick snapped.

“-But we can’t let our worries cloud our judgement,” Bruce finished, adding another exhausted sigh to the end of his sentence. “I’m not saying we need to stay here for days or weeks trying to find where he is, but we need to figure out what to do and where to go. And, if we do find clues, where to go from there.”

“Every second wasted is another second Tim endures torture-”

“I understand that. But I know if we jump too far ahead, we’ll never find him. I agree that we should search the church-”

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?!”

“-But,” Bruce looked extremely annoyed, “it’s very dangerous there. You know that as well as I do, Dick. We need to make proper preparations, figure out how many people we need, who those people will be. It’s an extremely large complex, and who knows what secrets are hidden inside. For all we know, there could be booby traps still set and waiting for someone to make a wrong move; one of us could die, Dick. We have to study the place first, and then-”

“Okay,” Jason interrupted. “That’s bullshit. I am not waiting around here so you can study this place. I do think we need to prepare somewhat, but you’re going way overboard here.” He furrowed his brow. “Dick’s right. Every second wasted here is another that Tim has to spend with that horrible- thing. We’ve got to do something now, Bruce. I don’t want to let him get hurt again.”

Dick frowned at that, but before he could say anything about it, Barbara spoke up.

“I have an idea,” she said. She was watching the computer screen with a deathglare. “How about we compromise? Dick and Jason can do something now, while Bruce gets to explore the church all on his own.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Dick asked, tapping his fingers against the back of the chair. He, too, was looking at the screen now, as were Jason and Bruce. On it, showed a woman, seemingly middleaged, who Jason didn’t recognize at all. Dick and Bruce, however, seemed to view her very differently.

“No,” Bruce said sternly. “I don’t want to get innocent civilians involved. Especially her, Barbara. She’s been through so much already.”

“Oh no, I agree,” Babs said, typing away at the keyboard. “I don’t mean you should necessarily talk to her. But...” She clicked the mouse and an image of another woman popped up, maybe a little younger, who looked similar to the previous lady. “She has a daughter. Her name is Lucy Wrett, and she was a teenager when her mother was taken. I’m sure she’ll know some things, at least.” She turned and looked at Dick and Jason. “Would you two be up for talking to her?”

“Yes,” Dick said immediately, followed by an “Absolutely” from Jason.

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Clearly, he was outnumbered here, and he was too exhausted and anxious to do anything about it. 

“Okay,” he said. “But don’t go too far. It’s likely a sore subject for her, I don’t want you two opening up any old wounds.”

“We know how to interrogate people, Bruce.” Dick looked severely impatient at Bruce’s lack of trust.

“That’s exactly the problem. This isn’t an interrogation; she’s not a criminal. You’re just asking her questions to try and help us find Tim.”

“That’s what an interrogation is,” Jason deadpanned.

Bruce stared at him. “My point is,” he said harshly, “be gentle. Please.”

Jason could tell Dick was going to snap at Bruce, so he interrupted and said, “Sure, Bruce. See you.”

They took their separate bikes to get to the woman’s house. Jason could hear a constant stream of nothings coming out of Dick’s mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard or saw Dick so anxious.

“Why’d you do that back there?” Dick suddenly asked, surprising Jason. He’d been talking to himself for a while; Jason began to think Dick had forgotten he was there entirely.

“Do...what?” Jason asked, oblivious to what he could be referring to.

“Defend Bruce?” Dick sounded upset. Not angry, necessarily, nor was it really sadness. If Jason didn’t know any better, he’d think he sounded sort of...betrayed.

“I don’t think I did defend him.”

“You took his side. He was belittling us by telling us what to do, and you took his side. You never take his side.”

“There are no sides here, Dick. If anything, I only did what I did to speed this shit up. Like you said, every second-”

“Yeah, whatever.” Now, Dick sounded mad. He was quiet for a moment before he muttered, “Just wondering when you came to be so much like him.”

“Oh, come on, Dick.” Jason scoffed, in genuine disbelief about how childish Dick was acting. “You are overreacting way too much about this.”

“I just think siblings are supposed to stick together, and if you’re going to take Bruce’s side over mine, then-”

“Jesus Christ, Dick!” Jason yelled. “I only did that because I know how terrified you two are! Fighting about this shit isn’t going to solve anything, and it’s definitely not going to get rid of any of your anxiety. Just stop being such a fucking bitch, for once.”

Dick went quiet, and Jason wondered if he had gone too far. Then he wondered if that actually mattered right now. He decided it didn’t.

Just when Jason was getting used to the uncomfortable silence, Dick said, “There’s the Jason I know.”

When they knocked at the door of Lucy Wrett’s house, a new face answered. She appeared to be the same age as Lucy, though where Lucy looked relatively happy and tired in her photo, this woman seemed angry. That anger only seemed to double when she saw the two masked vigilantes standing at her door.

“No.” She tried to slam the door on their faces, but Dick caught it with his hand.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, feigning a smile on his face. “Is Lucy Wrett here? We need to have a conversation with her.”

“No. Sorry, you’re going to have to leave.” She glared at him. “Or I’ll have to call the police.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t take no for an answer.” Dick pushed the door open further, hardly struggling when the woman tried harder to close it on him. “If she isn’t here, do you know where we can find her? It really is urgent.”

“Try looking up your ass. Now, leave!” She attempted to close the door again, but another woman appeared behind her. This person, Dick and Jason recognized.

“Sophia? What’s going on?” Lucy asked. She placed her hand on Sophia’s shoulder and peered around her at the two vigilantes. Her eyes widened. “You’re...”

“Yes,” Dick said, removing his hand from the door. “We’d like to talk to you, Miss Wrett. About your mother.”

“My...oh. Um, why don’t you come inside?”

“No!” Sophia looked at Lucy with intense worry. “You shouldn’t have to talk about this again, not when you’ve finally healed.”

“It’s okay, Sophie.” Lucy smiled softly. “Let’s just hear them out, alright? I’m sure they wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t for something important.”

“We wouldn’t,” Dick insisted. “It’s important, I promise.”

Lucy looked at him and nodded, turning and leading them inside. Sophia gave them another dirty look before giving up and following Lucy, allowing Dick and Jason to do the same. They glanced at each other, but decided not to say anything.

They all sat down at the kitchen table, where Lucy insisted on getting them water to drink. Neither Dick nor Jason touched the cups, and it didn’t seem like Lucy or Sophie were very thirsty either. For a moment, they all sat in silence.

“So,” Lucy started. “You want to hear about my mother?”

“Yes,” Dick said. “We need to know everything there is to know about what led up to her abduction, what happened to her during it, and even the effects it had on her mind.”

“Don’t tell us anything you don’t want to,” Jason said, realizing why Bruce was so insistent on getting that point across back at the cave. “We know it’s a difficult subject, and we don’t want to make you anymore uncomfortable than you already are.”

“But it’s really important that we know most of the details,” Dick said, with a level of intensity that was not lost on Lucy or Sophia. Jason saw how they glanced at each other nervously.

“Can I ask why you need to know this?” Lucy asked. “I’m not sure if I’d be comfortable telling you everything without knowing why.”

“We can’t tell you that-”

“Yes,” Jason interrupted. He ignored Dick’s angry stare and continued, “You remember when this happened all those years ago, when people were getting sick with that mysterious illness, when your mother was taken?”

Lucy nodded carefully.

“You don’t know this part, we kept it a secret from the public. But, before Batman and Nightwing arrived to find that murderer, Robin went in to find him alone.” Jason took a breath. He didn’t have to tell her anything, just enough to move her to speaking. He refused to look at Dick, who he knew was glaring daggers at him right now. “Samyaza kidnapped and tortured Robin before Batman and Nightwing could save him. We thought Samyaza was dead, that we wouldn’t have to worry about him again. But-”

“He’s back,” Lucy whispered. “He’s back, and you need my help to find him.”

Jason nodded. “Yes. Robin is in trouble, and we need to do everything we can to save him.”

Lucy had a troubled look on her face. “I’m so sorry, this happened to you. I’ll tell you whatever I can to help. I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do, though. You’re probably trying to find where he is, right? My mother has never mentioned anything about any places, besides the one where she was found.”

“That’s-” Jason began.

“That’s fine,” Dick interrupted. “Just tell us what you know.”

Jason watched Dick carefully, noticing how his brother was fidgeting anxiously. Dick was more scared about this situation than he was letting on, and it worried Jason. Dick was always overdramatic, but this wasn’t an act. This was real, genuine fear.

“Alright.” Lucy took a deep breath, and Sophia reached for her hand, squeezing it in her own. She seemed less angry and more reassuring now. “Well, I suppose I’ll start with the beginning.

“My mother started acting weird a few weeks before she was taken. It wasn’t like the victims of the Watchers’ Disease, where they were sick and coughing up their own blood and guts. It was more of a...mental kind of weird. She was acting less like herself, more paranoid. It started small at first; she was looking over her shoulder every few minutes, blinking a lot, things like that. Then, it got worse.”

“Worse, how?” Dick asked.

“She started scratching at her skin, jumping at every tiny noise. She got angry at us a lot- me and my brother. He left a while ago, after she came back and we realized we wouldn’t be getting her back. He was frustrated. I can’t say I blame him.”

“What do you mean, you realized you wouldn’t be getting her back?”

“She’s...not herself anymore.” Lucy looked down and fiddled with her hands. “She’s bedridden, and still just as paranoid as she was before. She can barely get herself to move. I have to feed her, bathe her, change her clothes, do everything. She isn’t paralyzed because of any physical injury; it’s all in her head. I...” She hesitated, furrowing her brow and closing her eyes for a moment. “I miss her.”

Dick took in a sharp breath and Jason clutched his hands together. If this is what happened to this woman after being kidnapped by Samyaza just once, how would Tim be once they finally got him back?

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Jason said softly. “I’m sure she was a wonderful woman. I know how it feels to feel like you’ve lost someone when they’re still around. It’s...hard.”

Lucy nodded, giving Jason a small smile. “Thank you, Red Hood. I hope I can help you save Robin.” She took in a breath. “At first, I thought my mom had gotten addicted to drugs or something. Closer to her abduction, she started mumbling nonsensical things. I would tell you what it was she was saying, but honestly, I’m not very sure myself. She was unrecognizable at that point, not really irritable, but more like, always extremely angry. It became hard to be around her, and my brother and I began to leave her alone more. I realized only too late that it was probably the wrong thing to do.

“Obviously, I didn’t know very much about what happened to her when she was missing. When she got back, I tried to ask her about it, but she was completely mute by then. I wanted her to try writing to me- she always did that before, in a journal she kept close to her- but her hands were too weak and shaky to write anything. I can show her to you now, if you like, though I don’t know if that would help you at all. She doesn’t speak, and can’t lift her hands.” She paused. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help you more, I really do, but that’s all I have to say.”

Jason and Dick remained quiet for a moment. It was Jason who broke the silence, “It’s alright. Thank you so much for your help. We really appreciate it. Right, Nightwing?”

Dick was still silent, his eyes squinted in concentration. “You said she had a journal?”

Lucy blinked at him. “Um, yes, she did. Would you...like to see it?”

“Yes, I would. There might be some important information in there.”

“Alright. Wait here, and I’ll get it from her room.” She got up, and Sophia was quick to follow her.

Dick nodded at them as they left the room. He turned to Jason immediately and said, “That did jack shit to help us.”

Jason sighed. “I know. Except scare the shit out of us about how Tim’s going to feel when he gets back.”

“‘When,’” Dick muttered. He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. He was exhausted, Jason realized. He hadn’t really thought about it, but none of them had been sleeping very much recently. He knew he wasn’t, not since Tim told them all about the first time this happened. He couldn’t imagine Dick felt much better. Just looking at his dark circles earlier was enough to tell Jason that he was losing his mind.

“Yes, when,” Jason insisted. “We’re getting him back, D. No matter what.”

Dick let out an exhausted sigh, sat still for a moment, then nodded. He rubbed his face and removed his hands, saying, “You’re right, you’re right. I’ve got to believe that, or I’ll lose it.”

“More than you already have?”

Dick scoffed and smirked at Jason. “Yeah, even more.”

They could hear Lucy and Sophia walking back to them, arguing amongst each other. They were fighting about Dick and Jason. Sophia still wanted them to leave and wished Lucy would keep the journal away from them, but Lucy was insistent on helping.

“You don’t understand, Sophie,” she said aggressively. “You don’t know how it feels to lose someone to this man. I want to help however I can.”

They entered the room and paused in the doorway. Lucy sighed, seemingly utterly defeated, and held the leatherbound journal out to the two vigilantes. 

“Here,” she said. “You two should take this and go. I’m truly sorry I couldn’t help more, and I’m sorry I have to kick you out, but I’m afraid you’re making both Sophie and my mother quite anxious.”

“Your mother?” Dick asked as the two stood. “Is she awake?”

“Yes, but-”

“You can’t speak to her,” Sophia said. 

Lucy sighed again. “She’s right. She knows you’re here, and she doesn’t like it. She hasn’t liked any of you vigilantes ever since getting back.” She paused for a moment. “Now that I think about it, she seems to hate Robin the most. Or, Red Robin now, I believe. She always gets scared when he’s mentioned around her.”

Jason and Dick glanced at each other.

“Thank you,” Jason said again. “You really have been a big help. And thanks for the journal, too. You didn’t have to give it to us.”

Dick took the journal from Lucy before she had a chance to respond, and said, “We’ll be leaving now. Thanks.” He shouldered past the two women, earning an annoyed glare from Sophia and a worried look from Lucy.

Jason cringed at Dick’s behavior. “I’m sorry about him,” he apologized. “We’re all on-edge right now.”

“It’s alright.” Lucy smiled at him. “I hope you find your Robin.”

Jason smiled back. “Yeah, me too.”

The room was dark, wet, and cold. A dripping could be heard coming from a corner, a small puddle forming beneath the ceiling. Chains scraped against the wall and floor, and a boy groaned around the gag in his mouth. He slowly blinked his eyes open and swiftly regretted it, a deep pounding starting in his head. He felt tears come to his eyes and he clenched his teeth together tightly.

Tim threw his head back and looked toward the ceiling. It was too dark to see much of anything, and he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to see anything anyway. He thought he’d be content just sitting here in the dark silence over the alternative.

A sharp pain suddenly jolted through his arms and he whimpered, suddenly losing his ability to breathe. It took him a few moments to catch his breath again, and when he did, he noticed a warm, thick liquid was running down his arms, his shoulders, his back. He didn’t want to know what happened to his arms, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid it forever. He turned to his right arm and could barely suppress the tears that sprang to his eyes.

His wrists were cuffed to the wall, so tightly that his hands were swollen and purple. The metal cut deeply into his skin, drawing blood, but that wasn’t where most of it was coming from. 

The bone in his forearm was completely missing, leaving nothing but a huge hole where Tim’s flesh should have been. Blood was slowly dripping out of his arm; most of it was already puddled around him.

Tim was puzzled. He should have been dead. There was so much blood surrounding him, and both of his arms were completely useless. He should have bled out a long time ago, but he didn’t. He was still alive. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Before he had a chance to work the problem out (which was hard with how slowly his mind was moving), he heard a doorknob turn at the other end of the room. His heart dropped and an indescribable fear overtook him. He felt like an animal trapped in a corner, helpless as a hawk swooped down to scoop him up.

Light streamed into the room, illuminating Tim and his broken body. He squinted at the doorway, but he couldn’t make out any of the figure’s features. He didn’t really need to, though. He’s had the man’s features engraved into his mind for years now.

“Hello, little devil,” the sickeningly sweet voice cooed. “You’re finally awake. It’s been such a long time since we’ve been together, hasn’t it?”

Samyaza stepped further into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. His hair seemed to flow behind him like he was some sort of god. Tim tried- and failed- to suppress his whimper of fear.

Samyaza smiled at him and let out a small laugh. “Oh, little devil. There’s no need to be so scared.” He crouched down in front of Tim and cocked his head, his smile still residing on his face. “After all, this is what you deserve, isn’t it?”

Tim glared at him, trying to swallow his fear. Samyaza wasn’t really so scary; he was just a weak angel, nothing more than a metahuman, which Tim has dealt with many times before. He was scary when Tim was younger because he’d never handled anything like that before, but he knew what he was dealing with now. He had to believe that, or he’d lose his mind.

A pout formed on the angel’s lips, and he reached out to Tim and tightly grabbed his cheeks, jerking him closer to his face. “Trying to convince yourself you’re not scared, hm? Well, that’s alright for now. I won’t hurt you yet, I just wanted to check on you. I’m so excited you’re awake now. My friend and I have been waiting for quite a long time.”

Tim huffed, confusion spreading across his features. Samyaza had a...friend? Who could that have been? Tim couldn’t imagine any human would want to work with him. He was evil, a villain in the eyes of the Bible. No Christian would want to work with him, and anyone else wouldn’t believe he was an angel. Tim could only think of one group of beings that might work with Samyaza, and those were his Watchers. But they were shadows, and they didn’t seem to be able to think much for themselves. The way Samyaza mentioned this “friend” made it seem like they were conscious, like they weren’t controlled by him.

Samyaza noticed Tim’s confusion and smiled, a cold, terrifying expression that Tim did not miss. 

“Don’t worry,” Samyaza said, moving his hand to brush his fingers through Tim’s hair. “You’ll meet him soon enough.” He stood again, setting his hands on his hips, his smile never leaving his face. He looked down at Tim and his grin widened. “Oh, my little devil. We are going to have so much fun together. The first time I had you, I hardly had any time to truly get anything done. Now, I have all the time in the world.”