Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello, my name is ^□√•☆√◆, but most Gothamites know me as Ampelos. 

I'll keep this short. I'm a villain. I'm the leader of a Children of Dionysus group. And Dionysus had blessed me with powers and the authority to lead his followers.  

And this is my blog. Enjoy your stay. 

☆☆☆ 

My favorite vigilante has always been Red Robin. He jokes and flirts even as we fight neck and neck.

He caught the bo staff inches from his face.

“Wow, aiming for my prettiest features~?” Ampelos purred, trying again to snare Red Robin with his vines and pin him to the floor.

“Nothing personal,” Red said as he twisted free, swinging a kick toward Ampelos’s stomach. “I do that with everyone. Can’t have someone prettier than me.”

Ampelos dodged and slipped behind him with a grin. “Cocky, aren’t you~?”

“That’s why I’m your favorite,” Red shot back, tossing a smoke bomb at his feet.

Ampelos blinked through the haze, eyes glowing bright violet. “That won’t do anything against me, pretty bird~.”

But he was wrong. The bo staff cracked against his shoulder before he could react. He managed to catch it halfway, blocking some of the blow — but the surprise still showed.

He grabbed the staff and yanked it toward him, pulling Red close until their masks nearly touched. His eyes gleamed with irritation. “How did you discover our plans?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous as he tried to hypnotize the vigilante.

“A little vine spelled it out for me,” Red shot back before slamming a kick into Ampelos’s stomach, forcing him backward through the dissipating smoke.

Ampelos stumbled but recovered quickly. He knew when to cut his losses — and when to make an exit. Still, he didn’t leave without muttering a curse under his breath. “^-△¢/”

Despite my unfortunate run-in with Red Robin that day, I still completed the rest of my plans. I stole the chemicals I needed from the lab.

I’m not much of a chemist myself, but someone in my group definitely knows what to do with them.

One day, we’ll be the biggest group in Gotham.

Chapter Text

Tim walked into the classroom and slid into the seat beside Bernard. “Hey, Ber.”

“Hey, Tim,” Bernard said, smiling. “Did you do the homework?”

“Nah. They’re not gonna grade it, no use.” Tim pulled a book and notebook from his bag.

“Makes sense. You never do homework.” Bernard chuckled.

“As if you do,” Tim shot back with an eye roll.

“I was busy writing my blog!” Bernard said defensively.

That caught Tim’s attention. “What theory is it this week?”

“The Gotham sewers are run by the Rat King.”

Tim stifled a laugh. “Rat King? Seriously? I know we’re both conspiracy theorists, but come on— the Rat King isn’t real.”

“Really? Let’s go explore the sewers then. Today, after school.” Bernard grinned. He had other plans, but he could postpone them to hang out with his best friend.

Tim shook his head. “Some other day, maybe. My sister’s dance recital’s today. Told her I’d go.” Cassandra wasn’t even in the country.

“Wow, you’re such a good brother,” Bernard teased, elbowing him lightly.

“You wouldn’t get it. You’re an only child.”

Bernard gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Timmy! I didn’t know you could be so evil!” He sighed, then smirked. “Besides, you were an only child before you got adopted by a billionaire.”

Tim rolled his eyes — and just then, the bell rang.

The two of them began trying to listen to the teacher. But neither were paying attention. Tim was doodling leafs and eyes on the sides of his notebook. 

Bernard meaning while compiling his evidence on the Rat King to send over to Tim.

××× 

“I’m telling you, Tim, I can prove the Rat King is real. I’ll prove it to you one day,” Bernard said as he entered the dining hall, heading straight for their usual corner table.

“If you say so, princess,” Tim replied with a smirk, setting down his lunch box.

“You still bring lunch boxes? I thought you had enough money to buy the entire cafeteria.” Bernard grinned as he unpacked his own.

“Alfred makes awesome food. I don’t mind leftovers,” Tim said. “Damian takes them too.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s because he thinks cafeteria food is beneath him,” Bernard teased.

Tim kicked his ankle lightly. “Only I get to make fun of him. He’s my brother.”

Bernard rolled his eyes dramatically. “Wow, and here I thought I was your best friend.” He opened his lunch box — sandwiches and a handful of purple grapes.

“Sibling code,” Tim said simply.

Bernard stuck his tongue out at him before taking a bite of his sandwich. “Fuck you and your sibling code,” he mumbled through a mouthful of bread. 

“Don't chew and speak,” Tim said. 

He rolled his eyes and kept eating his lunch, occasionally stealing glances over at Tim. 

Bernard would never admit it, but he had a crush on Tim. And he'd had it since he first ran into him. 

Just like any high schooler, Bernard at first had assumed Tim would be pretentious and annoying about being a Wayne, but no. 

Tim was nerdy, smart, silly. 

He liked skateboarding, programming, comics, cartoons, and star wars and star trek. 

Tim liked conspiracy theories and niche internet rabbit holes. 

He was chronically online. 

And absolutely nothing like the media and Gotham Gazette portrayed him. 

He could never let Tim know he was Ampelos. He knew Tim would never accept it. Tim was Robin and Batman's biggest fanboy. 

Tim finished eating and stretched. “Do we just have English left now?” he asked.

Bernard nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Tim started packing up his things. “I think I’ll skip it. Gotta get home before going to my sister’s recital.”

Bernard nodded slowly. “Ah, alright. Just don’t get caught,” he teased.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Wow, as if I’d ever get caught. Thanks so much for having confidence in me, Bernard. My best friend.”

Bernard laughed. “See you tomorrow.”

Tim shot him a finger gun before heading out of the cafeteria and disappearing into the hallway.

Chapter Text

Tim climbed into the attic. It was quiet — almost as still as the Batcave — and he was far less likely to be interrupted up here.

He grabbed his audio recorder and walked over to the corkboard covered in photos, notes, and documents.

He pressed the red record button, waited a heartbeat, then began speaking.

“Ampelos investigation log 14. 3:29 pm, November sixth. Yesterday, I investigated a lead from a trusted source. I managed to run into Ampelos. He was clearly shocked that I’d caught on to his plans. He and his group still managed to steal a large quantity of chemicals.”

Tim paced slowly, one hand wrapped around his stomach, the other holding the recorder near his mouth. His eyes scanned the cluttered wall of leads.

“I currently have no idea where his base of operations is. I have a few suspects, but nothing confirmed. I’ll continue investigating today.”

He stopped in front of the board, staring at a particular photo.

“Will follow suspect number one today.”

He clicked the recorder off and dropped it onto the beanbag.

Then he grabbed his camera and a dark hoodie. He could go as Red Robin, but that would draw too much attention.

Red Robin was bright — stealthy, sure, but still bright.

Tim Drake was just a quiet, creepy teenager with a camera.

He climbed down from the attic and headed for the door. His first suspect: Paul Vince. Blond hair, previously arrested for drug use and cult involvement. His digital footprint showed an obsession with strategy games.

×××

Tim sat on the edge of a rooftop, camera in hand, eyes locked on apartment sixteen across the street. Through the open window, he could make out the faint movements of the man inside. Judging by the shadows, he could estimate where Paul was pacing.

Paul Vince — a 9-to-5 office worker. White collar. Average.

Tim had only been watching him since 4 pm but he’d already learned one massive thing about Paul.

The man was an absolute loser.

Tim didn’t know how else to describe it.

Paul was a walking Andrew Tate quote — an “alpha male” wannabe who couldn’t even read stock charts properly. He binged podcasts of white men explaining the world to each other and called it “research.”

And somehow, on top of all that, he considered Tim Drake his personal icon.

Sure, Tim had owned Drake Industries at fourteen and was on track to become CEO of Wayne Enterprises once he finished high school.

But Tim was the furthest thing from an alpha male.

He was openly bisexual. He’d publicly called “alpha males” lonely guys who blamed women for their own failures.

Tim sighed and stood, letting his camera stay around his neck. Paul Vince definitely wasn’t Ampelos.

Nowhere near cunning enough. Or smart enough.

Since it was only 8 pm. He had time to check on his second suspect: Lauren Bickleton. 

Blond hair, previously a jokerz gang member. The digital footprint was a mess of online scams and small-scale ecstasy drug sales — conveniently tied to the Children of Dionysus.

But just as his feet landed on the ground. He received a notification that Ampelos as his cult was preparing for movement. That meant Tim had to get dressed and go follow them. 

×××

“Oo-ho-ho, look who decided to show up in my territory,” Red Hood called as he dropped down onto the lower rooftop, landing behind Red Robin. “And here I thought I’d scared you off for good, little birdy.”

“I’m here on investigation, Hood. I don’t care about you right now,” Tim said, sighing as he kept his gaze locked on the warehouse below.

“Oh yeah? Who’re you investigating?” Hood asked, stepping closer and leaning over him  to peek at the scene.

“Ampelos and his cult,” Tim muttered. “They’ve been spreading drugs all over the city. I’m trying to track where they’re operating from.”

Hood crouched down beside him, smirking beneath his helmet. “And you think you can take him down on your own?”

Tim didn’t look away. “I’m working on it.”

“And how’s that going for you?” Hood asked — Tim could hear the grin in his voice.

“I’ve only been on this for two weeks,” Tim said. “Their network is huge. I’ve got a list of suspects who could be the leader and I was working through it when I got an alert they were mobilizing.”

Hood hummed. “What are you watching now?”

“One of their confirmed bases. I’m waiting for them to consolidate in one room before I move in.” Tim’s voice was flat. “I need to knock them out fast — the second I show, Ampelos will arrive in seconds.”

Hood whistled low and stood. “Well. Good luck. Get home in one piece. I’d rather not explain to B-man why you disappeared in my territory.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “How thoughtful of you.”

He pulled his bo staff from beneath his wing-shaped cape.

Hood grappled away, disappearing into the night, and Tim took a breath before vaulting across to the warehouse roof.

He landed silently and crept toward the skylight. With one swift motion, he shattered the glass and slipped through the opening.

The drop was clean. The landing — silent.

He moved fast, knocking out as many cult members as he could before they even realized what was happening.

And then — he felt it.

Ampelos’s presence.

Even without seeing him, Tim could sense it — like invisible water ripples growing stronger the closer he came.

Ampelos always wore a mask. Commedia dell’Arte-inspired, white with curling vines and gold accents. Tim had never seen his face, but he’d memorized the eerie purple glow of his eyes. He also had a gold grapevine crown. 

Ampelos was skilled in martial arts and had powers as well. 

Vine control. Maybe some form of hypnosis or mind manipulation. And, from what Tim had seen, light regeneration.

Tim knocked out the last cultist when a slow, sarcastic clap echoed behind him.

“Wow, detective, impressive,” Ampelos said as he approached, his voice rich with amusement. “You managed to take them all out before I arrived this time.”

A vine lashed toward Tim’s leg, but he grappled upward in a blur, landing behind the cult leader.

Ampelos turned to face him, mask glinting faintly. “If you keep improving like this, I might actually start to fear you’ll catch me~”

“You’re already scared of it,” Tim said, spinning his bo staff in a tight arc before lunging forward.

Ampelos blocked the strike easily. “You’re really persistent. When will you give up— or give in?”

Tim gave a short laugh. “You want me to join your cult that badly? You know I’d take over in a week.” He deflected another vine with a sharp kick to Ampelos’s arm.

The villain swung a punch in retaliation, grinning behind his mask. “You wouldn’t be able to. But imagine the headlines! ‘Red Robin joins the Children of Dionysus!’ Or maybe— ‘Red Robin: the new pet of Ampelos’.”

Tim caught his hand mid-swing, twisting it behind his back with practiced ease. “Keep dreaming,” he said, voice low and calm.

Ampelos grabbed Tim’s wrist, trying to flip him over his shoulder — but the vigilante countered with a sharp kick to his lower back, sending him stumbling forward.

“You’re off your game today. Did I actually catch you off guard~?” Red teased, swinging for the back of his knees.

“You wish,” Ampelos hissed, snapping a vine toward Tim’s weapon.

Tim leapt backward, dodging cleanly. “You’re irritated. You didn’t expect me tonight.”

Ampelos’s eyes began to glow. “You’ve been interfering too much lately,” he said, voice tightening. “But I’ll make sure you stop soon enough.”

For just a moment, Tim’s focus slipped — enough for a vine to snag his ankle and yank him forward.

He slammed into the wall. Ampelos pressed close, only an inch shorter, those violet-glowing eyes meeting Tim’s blank white lenses. Then he began to speak — in a language Tim didn’t recognize. “❀-{□ [×#√ \\-•◆ △× \\□”

Tim grit his teeth, kicked the villain’s knee out, and reversed their positions, pinning him against the wall instead. “Got you now,” he said, snapping handcuffs around Ampelos’s wrists.

The glow in Ampelos’s eyes faded. For a split second, Tim saw they were blue — or something close to it — before a hand clamped over his mouth. Another arm locked around his throat.

Tim bit down hard on the hand, twisted, and kicked backward — freeing himself just long enough to whirl around.

But the cult leader was gone.

“Shit,” he hissed, scanning the now-empty warehouse before grappling out into the night.

×××

He climbed into the attic and grabbed his audio recorder, pressing the red button before speaking.

“Ampelos investigation log fifteen. 1 pm, November seventh. His list of powers includes — but isn’t limited to — mind control or manipulation, vine control, light regeneration, speech in an unknown non-Earth language, and possible teleportation.”

Tim paced the attic, one hand pressed against his stomach, the other clutching the recorder as he organized his thoughts.

“I’m starting to believe his followers might possess abilities of their own. It could explain how he moves between bases faster than one person could manage.”

He sank down onto the floor, crossing his legs as his eyes fixed on the corkboard full of notes and photos. “My first suspect, Paul Vince, was a dead end. I’ll check on Lauren Bickleton another day.”

He reached up and tore Paul’s photo off the board.

“Lauren might not stay a suspect for long either — Ampelos’s eyes were blue, or close to it. Theirs are unmistakably green.”

He removed their photo too, sighing softly.

“I’ll move on to suspect three after some rest. And if that fails, I’ll have to expand the list again. Progress has been slow.”

He clicked the recorder off and against the nearby beanbag as he sighed deeply. He curled up and shut his eyes, deciding to sleep where he was. 

He still had school tomorrow. He might hang out with Bernard again. 

Chapter Text

I don’t understand how he keeps doing it.

I had everything carefully planned out. He shouldn’t have known.

I did suspect there might be a rat within the group. It would only make sense for a group as large as ours to have a few cracks. But I don’t know who it could be.

I’ll pray for Dionysus’s guidance later. Maybe he’ll reveal who keeps betraying us. Maybe he’ll show me another vision of our mission.

…

What I found most strange about Red Robin is that I couldn’t control him.

My powers just wouldn’t work.

I had him pinned against the wall, my powers active, saying all the right words for the spell to take hold.

Yet it didn’t.

This suggests he has an immunity to my power or to mind control in general.

I still haven’t discovered his true identity. If I had, it would be so much easier to bring him into my group.

Perhaps the mask blocks my control(?).

I’ve researched the Bat-Family’s gear before. I’ve heard their masks can explode if tampered with.

I wouldn’t want his pretty, clever brains to go off with his face.

I could try forcing him to remove it himself, but he’d never comply. He’s slippery, flexible and he bites (Terrance can confirm.) 

His staff hits harder than you’d expect.

We lost part of our ecstasy supply because of today’s fight. He’s getting better, faster. We're less steps ahead than a week before. 

I don’t want to believe we’re getting sloppier. My top men insist everything is going according to plan. 

Whatever it is, Red is becoming more of a pain in each plan. He must be pulled into the group before he pulls us apart like threads. 

I should bless more people with abilities, I'll pray for Dionysus to help me with that. 

This weekend we'll have another ritual to help him gain power, in return for all his blessings. 

We are still preparing ecstasy powders and wines to mix them into. On November 9th everything should be ready. 

Chapter Text

Bernard slid into his seat beside Tim and dropped a folded map of the Gotham sewers onto the desk with a dramatic thud. “We’re going to look for the Rat King today,” he declared.

Tim laughed. “Woah, woah, woah. Don’t you think that’s a bit sudden, Ber?”

Bernard rolled his eyes. “No, it isn’t. I need to prove to you he’s real. And yesterday you had Cass’s dance recital— how’d that go, by the way?”

Tim traced a finger along one of the map’s edges, pretending to be very interested in the folded thing. “She was obviously the best.”

“Of course she was,” Bernard said with a grin. “So you’re free today, right?”

Tim looked up, smirking. “I suppose I could make time for you and your Bigfoot hunt.”

“Rat King isn’t my Bigfoot!” Bernard gasped. “Everyone knows Bigfoot sightings are just furry conventions in the woods. The Rat King is real and I’m going to prove it.”

Tim pushed the map back toward him. “Great. You’ll have all afternoon after school to prove it. I’ll even help co-write your article— and take the pictures.”

“You brought your camera?” Bernard asked, brightening.

“Of course I did. I always do.” Tim pulled it out of his bag and handed it over.

Bernard went to look through the photos before frowning. “Did you recently switch out the SD card?”

Tim nodded. “Common practice. I separate them by day, it keeps things organized.”

Bernard snorted. “Of course a rich boy like you would do that.”

Tim huffed. “It’s just more convenient.”

The bell rang, cutting off their back-and-forth.

They pulled out their notebooks and started to try and pay attention to the lesson. 

Bernard's mind was stuck on yesterday's events and how his plan was foiled by Red Robin. 

He still had light marks on his wrists from the handcuffs as his healing abilities didn't heal bruises that weren't causing pain. 

He couldn't help but glance over at Tim and watch him. He didn't often get a chance to just stare at his best-friend-slash-crush. 

And then he frowned. 

A thin scar traced across Tim’s neck. Had that always been there? It looked… deep. Like something had cut his throat open.

Maybe Bernard had never noticed it before. Maybe he— 

“Bernard! Pay attention!” The teacher exclaimed. 

He got embarrassed “Sorry, Miss” he said and quickly looked back at the whiteboard. 

×××

Bernard and Tim were walking to the sewer system entrance. Tim was messing with the settings on his own camera. 

“So,” Tim asked, “what does this Rat King of yours look like?”

Bernard gave him a mock-offended scoff. “I thought you’d know! I was under the impression you were a fellow conspiracy theorist.”

Tim smirked. “Humor me.”

“Well, he’s humanoid, man-shaped, but with rodent-like teeth, a tail, and ears,” Bernard said, stepping over a suspiciously green puddle that was probably radioactive.

Tim followed, somehow avoiding both the puddle and the rocks without ever looking up from his camera. “Cool. Excited to take pictures of a giant rat.” 

Bernard rolled his eyes and ignored him for a moment, walking toward the open sewage tunnel.

Tim followed, letting his camera hang from his neck as he pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on.

“Do you think we should vlog this?” Bernard asked, switching on his own light.

“Nah,” Tim said, stepping deeper inside. “Let’s just get some pics and enjoy the mystery. Besides, the tabloids would love that.”

Bernard snorted. “Yeah, I can see the headline now ‘Tim Drake-Wayne, millionaire nut-job.’”

Tim laughed. “Or, ‘Tim Drake and local conspiracy theorist explore Gotham sewers — video goes viral!’”

Bernard laughed harder, walking ahead of him. “Better yet, ‘Tim Drake falls down the conspiracy rabbit hole, believes in the Rat King. What’s next? Experts speculate!’”

“God, they’d talk about me for months,” Tim said with a dramatic eye roll.

“Because you’re Mr. Famous,” Bernard teased.

Tim didn’t dignify that with a response, just kept following him down the tunnel.

The sewer system smelled just as bad as it did on patrol — maybe worse. But this was Gotham, their sewage was probably radioactive and possessed by ghosts, and nobody ever did anything about it.

Bernard glanced over. “Hm? You’re not bothered by the smell?”

Tim shrugged. “I expected it to be this bad.”

“My first time, I puked,” Bernard admitted.

“I’ve been by sewers before. I hang out with this skateboarding gang sometimes, their main spot’s next to a sewer entrance.”

Bernard chuckled. “Did you bring your board now? Gonna shred through the sewers?”

“Hell no,” Tim said flatly. “I don’t wanna accidentally fall into crap water.”

“Finally, you’re acting like a rich person,” Bernard teased again.

“Oh, fuck off,” Tim groaned, scanning the dark ahead.

Bernard kept walking deeper in before stopping at the first intersection and pulling out the map.

“Do you actually know where we’re going?”

“Of course,” Bernard said confidently. “We have to get over to the small chamber near F3.”

“Uh-huh,” Tim said dryly. “As if I’d know what that means without context.” Not that he needed it. He already knew exactly where the F3 tunnel was — and that G7, the one beside it, had collapsed recently during the Penguin & Two-Face turf war.

“Right, sorry,” Bernard teased. “I forgot you’re not a high-level conspiracy theorist like me.”

“Crawling through sewers is crazy-person behavior,” Tim said, smirking.

“As if being a conspiracy theorist isn’t,” Bernard shot back, then burst out laughing.

Tim laughed too, the sound echoing off the walls.

They kept walking, Bernard leading while Tim quietly mapped their route in his head. They were currently in E1 — just beneath the edge of Crime Alley.

The walls were lined with old graffiti, Jokerz tags, gang signs, maybe a few bored teenagers’ attempts at rebellion.

A squeak echoed behind them, and Bernard jumped slightly before a rat darted between their legs.

“Are we getting close?” Tim asked jokingly.

“Are you asking because of the rat, or because you actually want to know?” Bernard countered.

“The rat,” Tim smirked.

Bernard groaned, trudging forward. “I hate that we are.”

They soon left E2 and turned into F1. That’s when Tim noticed it, an unnatural whiteness clinging to the walls.

He raised the camera hanging from his neck and took a few quick shots, mentally marking the corner and wall patterns for later.

Bernard kept walking toward F3, oblivious.

Tim glanced around again. The air here felt… off.

Maybe it was just his imagination, or maybe he’d never really paid attention to this part of the system before…but something about the F tunnels wasn’t right. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he couldn’t tell if it was from paranoia or instinct.

A splash broke his focus. He looked down to see a rat frantically swimming through the sewage, its face blotched with the same pale residue coating the walls.

Tim snapped a quiet picture, then glanced at Bernard — who hadn’t noticed any of it.

He lowered his camera, adjusting his flashlight. For a split second, dizziness washed over him. A flicker of colorful static darted across his vision, gone in an instant when he blinked and forced his focus back on walking.

“We’re close,” Bernard said, glancing over at Tim.

Tim nodded, eyeing his best friend. Bernard didn’t seem fazed by the oppressive air down here — if anything, he looked like he was thriving in it.

Maybe Tim was just imagining it. Probably the dizziness again… or the sewage fumes.

Whatever it was, the feeling only grew stronger as they stepped into the chamber connected to F3.

The first thing Tim noticed was the rats. There were hundreds of them — so many that the small room looked even smaller, the floor shifting with their movements.

And then… someone was sitting in the center of it all.

He lifted his camera, instincts kicking in — but before he could take the shot, Bernard suddenly grabbed his wrists. “No, no, no— you’ll scare them—!” Bernard hissed, frantic.

The two stumbled, and despite Bernard’s effort to stop it, the camera shutter clicked. The sharp sound echoed off the concrete walls.

Every rat froze.

Then, slowly, they all turned toward them.

Tim and Bernard both froze on the spot. Tim's brain was working slower than usual, maybe borderline not working at all, but it didn't matter as his best friend grabbed him by the hand and began rushing out of the sewers. 

Tim followed, mostly instinctively just running after Bernard as he was dragged further ahead. 

As the two of them ran, Tim glanced back and noticed a wave of rats just frantically running after them, it was just like a wave of water — if the wave was gray, had a lot of eyes and was screeching and squeaking. 

Before he could look back to where Bernard was leading them, Tim was suddenly pulled into another sewer room.

He blinked and noticed Bernard pinning him against the wall, his best friend was only an inch shorter than him. He was watching as the rats ran past the room — sort of like a cartoon scene, yet Bernard looked so focused. 

Maybe Tim was imagining it, but it looked like Bernard's eyes were glowing. 

Gosh… Tim felt dizzy. He couldn’t even feel his heartbeat, his skin buzzed, nerves dulled to static.

As the last rats scurried past the room, Bernard let out a small sigh of relief.

Tim couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu, like something about this had already happened. But before he could focus on it, Bernard pulled away and started walking.

Tim stayed where he was, blinking hard, slightly leaning against the wall still. The light from Bernard’s flashlight flashed across his eyes, too bright.

“Are you coming?” Bernard asked.

“Where are you going?” Tim slurred before realizing how sluggish he sounded.

“To the exit. Are the sewer fumes getting to your head, rich boy?” Bernard teased lightly.

“I think it’s just… sleep deprivation.” Tim muttered, leaning heavier against the wall.

“Come on, I’ll hold your hand and guide you out.” Bernard stepped closer, offering his hand.

Tim stared at it. His brain felt foggy, disconnected — but his instincts screamed don’t.

He blinked, forcing his gaze up to Bernard’s face.

“Tim?” Bernard frowned, voice soft now.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tim mumbled. “I’ll just call Jay… ask him to pick me up.”

“Are you sure?” Bernard asked, his frown deepening.

Tim nodded weakly, running a hand through his hair. “Jason should know where I am. He used to hang out in sewers a lot—” His words blurred together. Every part of him screamed to get away.

Bernard hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. If you say so. Just text me when you meet up with Jason, alright?”

“Mhm. Will do,” Tim murmured.

Bernard lingered a second longer, then turned and walked deeper into the tunnel, disappearing around a corner.

The second he was gone, Tim’s legs gave out. He slumped against the wall, fumbling for his phone. His vision blurred, but muscle memory guided his thumbs. He found Jason’s contact and sent his location.

By the time he hit send, the darkness was already closing in.

He managed one more text — just a single word, Sewer.

Then everything went black, and very quiet.