Chapter Text
Tim still felt the air blowing around him. The howls of Gotham's winds in his ears were gone, but the air still seemed to fly around him. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't falling. Tim frowned, looking down at the city that he had fought over and over for.
It was as if...as if he was floating.
"What is your choice?" A deep voice asked from next to him
Tim jumped slightly, hand flying to his collapseable bo staff, only to find it gone. He turned to see Him.
Everything was strange. The city was quiet, silent as if it slept, frozen in a blink of time. Yet the wind still blew, and he could still feel the cold bite of the promise of winter in it. Tim had to be dreaming. He had to be.
Or.
Or he was dead.
Tim swallowed thickly, swallowing down his grief, his fear, and his pain.
"What choice?" Tim asked
He tilted his head, gold helmet gleaming in the full moon that illiuminated the fog covered skies of Gotham.
Was this his death? Falling from a kick to Ra's Al Ghul? Was this his death? The loss of a battle but the winning of a war? Would he die before he ever got to see Bruce returned from the time stream? Would Ra's wage war upon everyone he loved? Would war seep across the city he bled for like a parasite to a host? Tim did not want that. He could not let that happen. That wouldn't happen. Determination flared around, tainting the air with the taste of citrus in his mouth. He would not his death cause a war. He wouldn't.
He stared at Tim, and the for the first time in all of the times Tim had seen Him in his life, Tim wasn't scared.
"I'm not going to die," Tim hissed, fists clenching
He smirked as if he was amused by such a claim.
Tim wouldn't die like this.
"Who are you?" Tim demanded, as he should have years ago
He had been so afraid every time he saw this-this other. He had been distracted, distracted by a war, a fight, a battle he had to win. If Tim was truly dying, he had not more fights to fight, and if he was dead, if he was dead fear would not choke him.
"What is the one constant that has followed you?" He asked simply
Tim scowled, and for a second, the city beneath them was alive. Sirens. Screaming. Then it froze again.
"Who. Are. You?" Tim bit out, tasting fear in his throat
His anger was evident in the air, lashing out and making the air that wasn't quite real heavy with it. He didn't want to answer Him. The question repeated over and over his like a song Steph would always get stuck in his head.
He was silent, spear held in hand as he stared at Tim, awaiting his answer.
Tim wanted to say pain. Lonleniess. Suffering. Loss.
But he didn't.
"War," Tim whispered, the flickering of anger subsiding
Above all else. War was the one constant. Wars that never ended. Wars he chose to fight and chose to end. Wars that followed him to the edges of insanity and wars that hunted him down back to the city of darkness.
War was the one constant.
"That is one of my names. So is Ares. Or Mars," He said, "What is your choice?"
His helmet motioned down below where they floated, not giving Tim time to even process what He had said.
Tim peered down below and saw himself. Falling. Slowly. As if time was stopped and Tim was stuck watching his death. In the distance Tim could see a flash of blue and black hurling towards his body, moving just as slow. Dick.
Dick wouldn't make it in time.
Such a realization made tears fall in horror from his eyes as a hand covered his mouth.
"Do you wish for him to catch you?"
Tim looked at Him.
Ares.
Mars.
War.
Tim looked down at his body. His cowl was broken from his face, blood covering the exposed skin.
He had fought for so long. He had fought war after war. Thrown himself into millions of battles, and came out bleeding out of every one. He had been fighting for as long as he could remember.
Did he want Dick to catch him?
For a moment, Tim remembered many things. Maybe it wasn't a moment, maybe it was eternity in a single blink. But for a moment, he remembered. Bruce's proud smiles. Dick's loud and free laugh as he ruffled his hair. Kon's stupid smirk. Bart's cheeky grin. Cassie's fond eye roll. Alfred's silent support.
Did he want Dick to catch him?
Tim looked up at the thing, the Other, the god, the thing that had been haunting him for all he had ever known.
"Yes."
Ares, Mars, War smiled.
And the city breathed.
---
Dick sobbed, holding him tightly as he rocked him back and forth.
"How did you know I was going to catch you?" Dick choked out
Tim pulled away, chest shaking and mind reeling from what had happened, trying to ignore whatever the fuck just had happened.
"You're my brother," Tim said, "You'll always catch me."
So Tim did what he did best.
He lied.
And smiled.
And pretended a war wasn't brewing.
Dick laughed wetly and hugged Tim tighter.
---
Tim had always known he was different.
It wasn't always obvious. But it was something he had always just sensed. Maybe it was the reason the kids his age at school, inched away slowly when he was angry. Or the way his skin always pricked with goosebumps when a fight broke out. Or the way when he lost himself to a case, he lost himself to a case.
Tim had always known he was different.
No one else saw Him standing over him. No one else saw the wars that had to be fought in the silence and darkness. No one else stood up, willing to fight them. Sometimes it was obvious. Like how he always managed to win a fight, but only when he wanted to. Or how Bruce's eyes would widen ever so slightly when Tim's voice demanded something.
Tim had suspected that he was...something else for a long time.
No one survived the Clench. Let alone twice.
No one survived walking the desert with a sword stuck in their stomach while dragging another person.
Tim had suspected. But he had always ignored it. Pushed it away. Focused on a case. Focused on a fight. Focused on a war. He ignored it. Pushed it away. It was easier that way. Maybe he wanted to cling to his last bit of humanity just for a little longer. Maybe because he hoped he was wrong, he prayed he was wrong. That maybe he was normal. That he wasn't different. That he didn't see a Him. That his emotions didn't effect the air around him.
He had hoped he was wrong.
Prayed that he was wrong.
"Tim, I've got the files for the meeting at six-Tim!" Tam exclaimed, dropping files on the office floor and rushing inside his office
Tam froze a few feet away from his desk, eyes full of horror and emotions that made Tim's eyebrows furrow in confusion.
Her voice was quiet and shaky when spoke next.
"Your nose."
Tim knew Tam suspected such things too. Because of the things Ra's said, how he worded his sentences, why he was so keen to keep Tim caged and locked up. Because of the way she had seen him fight, and seen him control a war he had started. She had known he was different.
Tim's hand slowly reached up, his fingers meeting liquid that leaked from his nose that could only be blood.
Frowning, Tim pulled away his hand to peer at the blood.
It wasn't red.
Tim had always known he was different.
He had hoped he was wrong,
Prayed that he was wrong.
It wasn't red.
It was gold.