Chapter Text
Tim hasn’t got an ounce of strength left inside of him. He should; he’s Red Robin, and before that he was Robin, and before that he was Tim fucking Drake, and he should be strong. But Dick’s face is ashen and Bruce is tight-lipped, eyes fixed on Jason’s unconscious form, and Damien is hazy and half-awake, and everything’s fucked, basically.
The villain standing in the middle of the warehouse is the only one who looks pleased. He’s a new villain, one that Tim doesn’t recognise, and he hadn’t bothered with a monologue, surprisingly, so nobody knows his name.
The etchings on the far wall begin to glow blue. Tim tries very hard not to move, to steady his breathing so that it looks like he’s unconscious while he peers through his eyelashes at Dick’s face. He doesn’t know if it works - if Batman notices his flickering eyes, if Nightwing knows that he can hear them, but he has to try. He won’t make this decision any harder than it has to be by being awake when they choose.
Because they have to choose. Dick and Bruce have to choose one person each to save, and one to disappear through the door. There’s something on the other side that the villain wants, but the dangers are clear, clear enough that he won’t risk it himself. The matter is delicate, apparently, and he doesn’t have time to waste.
“Send one of us,” Dick says, not for the first time. His face is dark and angry, fierce eyes flickering from brother to brother. “Send one of us instead. I won’t choose.”
“Neither will I,” Bruce says, his voice all gravel and grit. But Tim knows.
They won’t send Jason. They lost him once, both of them, and they won’t lose him again. No matter what he’s done or what he’s going to do, no matter his morals, it’s pretty clear that they love him, and they won’t risk losing him.
Damian is young, still just a child, for all he’s seen and done. Damian - as he often reminds Tim - is Bruce’s blood son, and therefore more important. He’s Dick’s youngest brother, his Robin. Dick’s proven before that he will choose Damian over him, and Tim’s made his peace with that. The fences are mostly mended, although things will never be the same as they were before. He agrees, in part, with what Dick did. He just doesn't like how it happened.
“The clock is ticking,” the villain says. Tim wants to punch him, but the place is rigged, and only he knows how to get out of there. That’s the deal, apparently. Send one boy through the wall to fetch his treasure, and the others get to walk free. Don’t choose, and they all die. Tim has no doubts that Bruce and Dick would be kicking the living shit out of the villain if they could move, but they’re currently held flat against the wall by some kind of blue force-field.
“Why won’t you send us through?” Dick snaps.
The villain grins a little. “This way is more fun.”
Tim is chained to the ground, but the cuffs around his wrists are leather, and he can work out of them easily enough if he forces his aching brain to concentrate. He needs a plan. He always has a plan, but so far, the only thing he can think of is basically suicide. He glances sideways while Dick snaps and snarls at the villain, and catches sight of Damian. He’s mouthing something - Grayson - and behind him, Jason stirs on the ground, his head wound bleeding stickily. Tim’s heart clenches painfully.
If they send either one of them through, regardless of who chooses who, then they’re going to be dead meat within a minute. They’re in no shape to fight, but Tim is relatively unharmed. He’s unharmed, and his head may ache but it's clear enough for this, and he already knows how this is going to go down.
He's just stalling now. He doesn’t particularly want to go through the big, glowing wall to his death.
So he supposes he’ll just have to live, come back, and kick the villains’ ass.
He’s up and moving within seconds of his decision, the cuffs cast aside. He doesn’t have a weapon, so charging the villain - God, maybe monologues are useful after all because the guy really needs a name or something - would be pointless, but he wants to get a good kick to the teeth in there anyway. There are no restraints besides the cuffs, which is a mistake, but the villain is still armed, and he has magic on his side.
Dick shouts something, and the villain whips around, but Tim is already sprinting for the blue wall. It looks like runes, all sketched into the grey brick, and the blue glow starts to solidify as Tim draws closer. It’s like looking at a bright tunnel with no end.
The villain starts shouting as well, and Tim has to hope, pray, that he won’t kill everyone anyway once Tim’s disappeared. He doesn’t think that will happen. All he has to do is get through the wall, find whatever it is the man wants - he has a rough description from the way he babbled about it - and then come back through. Then he can hold it hostage until his family is released.
Because it is his family. They may not show it very well, but they do love each other, in strange complicated ways. It’s all Tim has, some days. Even though he knows what the choice would have been, when Dick and Bruce finally gave in, it doesn’t mean he hates them. He doesn't blame them. Maybe he feels a little hollow, but he still loves them.
Or he wouldn’t be going through with this shitty, awful plan.
The blue light encases him, and the last thing he sees before he’s thrown forward is Dick’s horrified face, and Bruce’s wide, knowing eyes.
It's nothing at first. And then it’s nothing but air hitting his face and a squeezing sensation all over his body, and he’s weightless and flying and the world is rushing at him and it feels like he might not ever stop.
And then he does stop, slamming into the hard-packed ground, landing on his back with his arms and legs splayed, a tangled, breathless heap. He feels like an overturned beetle. One that just narrowly escaped being stepped on.
His eyes ache with the weight of the bright, piercing sun above him, a sharp contrast to the dark, dingy area he just escaped from. The air tastes tangy and tart, but he breathes in deep gulps of it anyway, trying to settle his lungs. It’s oddly quiet, but he can hear the wind.
After a few moments, he sits up slowly, grains of dirt shifting beneath his tattered clothes. He’d been caught out of uniform, so he’s just wearing old jeans and a threadbare shirt that used to belong to Dick, but even that feels too heavy here. It’s hot and sticky, which Tim has never liked.
He takes shallow breaths as he surveys the area, stretching out each limb and finger and toe to make sure that nothing is broken. A massive cliff sits directly opposite him, presumably where Tim was flung from, or through, if the etchings on the cliff face are any indication. The ground is unforgiving and covered in dust and dirt, and there’s no sign of any life for miles around. It’s still, quiet. Rocky formations pop out of the ground here and there, but there’s no greenery, no water, and no civilisation. It’s almost like a desert, but not quite.
He swallows thickly and stands on shaky knees. He has to get back because the others may not have much time, but there’s nothing here that looks like the treasure the villain wanted. It was an orb, apparently, made of lapis lazuli, hidden deep within a tomb and blessed with the powers of the 'Old Gods.'
If such a thing exists, then it doesn’t exist here. There’s no tomb, no opening in the ground, no great big glowing neon sign proclaiming that the orb is this way, dear sir, and won’t you sit down and rest awhile? You look like you’ve had a long day.
Tim turns tiredly, just in case he missed such a sign, and when he turns back to the cliff - he stops. Stares.
The etchings are gone. The blue glow has faded completely, and there’s nothing but smooth rock left behind. Tim lurches forward and curses under his breath, and then louder as his fingers scramble over the cliff face. There’s nothing there. His heart is in his throat. Nothing there at all. No doorway, no strange blue tunnel.
No way home.
Tim stares for a moment or two, and then he drops roughly to the ground.
"Shitty, awful plan."