Work Text:
It had been quite awhile since Tim had been in his room in the Robins quarters.
After his position as a court spy had been revealed by John Constantine, he fled the Kingdom of Storms, beaten and battered with a threat. He returned to the Castle of El where he found Batman missing and his fellow Robins out searching for their mentor. Tim stood in front of his queen and reported the declaration of war.
He had failed, and now he stood in the Robins quarters alone. His room had been untouched during his absence, the thinnest layer of dust covering everything in sight. Tim stepped forward, crossing the threshold and throwing his bag to the foot of the bed. He looked out the door and out the window, trying to decide what to do with himself. Should he join in the search for Batman? Should he investigate Zala’s denial of her part in the death of King Jefferson? Convince Queen Lara that the Kingdom of Storm’s royal family were good people?
There was going to be a war and he was a key player in its birth.
What could he do?
“Nothing,” an ugly part of Tim’s mind whispered. He was one boy in the face of angry gods, powerless and mortal. He could feel the phantom pain of the electricity ripping through him while he begged Constantine for his life. He could do nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Tim clenched his fist. He needed to talk with someone. Needed to lay down everything bare in front of him and claw his way through it just to find some semblance of an answer. Bruce was gone, taken with the wind, while his Robins desperately beat their wings to keep with its course. That most likely meant Alfred had fled with them as well. Harley was out of the question. She had tried her best at the best to comfort Tim, each attempt, however, just bringing the unwelcoming truth into light.
Tim sighed, realizing he was at a dead end. He stared out the window into the night. The moon was full in a sky filled with millions of stars. They cast their light down onto the forest below and the city it surrounded. The city seems to twinkle like the stars, lights appearing and disappearing at the command of the people living within it. Thousands simply carried on with their lives, ignorant to the war marching towards them.
Those poor little pawns in the angry gods’ game. Forced to sacrifice and pray to a greater being just to exist.
Tim’s breath stalled.
“Pray,” he thought. Maybe he should pray.
------
He had stripped down to a worn green tunic and stolen a pair of pants Jason wore on his frequent trips to the outskirts of the city. Tim was going farther than the city, however.
Past the city boundaries, the roads had worn away into a single straight shot through the forest. Or atleast to the naked eye it had. Most common people had no reason to stray from the main path. However, those who were running did.
Tim follows the moon into the forest, weaving through the trees and around the occasional faerie ring. Tim wasn’t superstitious, that being more Jason’s thing what with the children's tales he secretly indulged in, or even particularly spiritual. But Tim was respectful. Man made or Fae made, Tim would refrain from intruding on a space not meant for him. He could hear Stephanie and Dick teasing him in the back of his mind.
Pushing the thought back he continued on. The forest was silent aside from the occasional rustle of leaves from a breeze and the grass seemed to look softer the farther he traversed. Tim had the strangest urge to take his shoes off.
After what was only a few minutes that melted together and stretched so long they seemed like hours, Tim’s eyes caught it.
A simple red strand knotted onto a branch. Tim’s eyes followed the string, seeing it disappear into the trees beyond. He reached up to trail his fingers across the string as he followed its path. Softly pushing aside a curtain of ivy, Tim’s hand left the string.
There in front of him was a church. Well, not quite a church like the one the city people would frequent. The church in the city was brilliant marble and gold, large enough to house hundreds. This church was one with the forest, a humble build of wood and moss, big enough for a few families. It was odd to Tim. No matter how many times he had passed the city church, he never felt the pull to enter like he did this one. The booming organs of the city church had little effect on Tim compared to the delicate harp of the forest church. The city church did not house the thing Tim was looking for.
When Tim had to Constantine he wouldn’t tell Batman that John loved a man, King Jefferson, he meant it.
Tim stepped into the church, each movement made reverently. He scanned the inside, not taking too long to find what he was looking for as the building was quite small. The hall was warmly lit, lanterns and candles taking the place of torches, and it smelled like soil and spice. Rugs of all colors and patterns covered the hardwood floors, the occasional pew for those who needed them. The red string joins hundreds of others draped along the support beams above, all leading to the front and hooked at the candle shrine and simple wooden altar built low to the floor for kneeling. There are offerings of knicknacks, plants, and food placed upon the altar, all humble but meaningful.
Tim can see the few people sitting scattered around, heads bent and eyes shut. However, he only has eyes for one. Bernard is kneeling at the altar, blonde hair covering closed eyes and forehead pressing onto his hands laid on the floor. Tim silently appears at his side, kneeling down to join him. He presses his forehead to the ground and closes his eyes. His partner beside him opens his eyes, sensing a presence next to him. His eyes peek through strands of hair and he smiles, face warming with pleased recognition.
“Hello Moon,” whispers Bernard. Tim’s eyes meet Bernard’s, giving him a soft smile.
“Hello Sun,” he whispers back. Bernard’s smile widens and he closes his eyes again. They settle into silence, Tim letting Bernard finish moving through his routine worship. Bernard eventually opens his eyes again and looks back to Tim.
“With the weight of the words you're holding within yourself, you’ll attract the sprites that wish to rip them out,” he says softly. Tim sighs. While Bernard was a bit unconventional when it came to his beliefs, putting faith in the existence of fae creatures and their involvement in people’s daily lives, he was quite attuned to the world around him.
“If they do exist, tell them they are free to do so,” he replied, smile falling and brows furrowing. Bernard hums and slowly untucks himself from his curled position, Tim following his example. He watches Bernard roll his head around his shoulders, neck cracking and deeply exhaling. They both settle into a crossed leg position and Bernard reaches forward to cut a red strand from the ravel. He takes Tim’s wrist and settles it in his lap, wrapping the string around it and beginning to tie knots around the base.
“Well, if you’re so keen on inviting them in, I guess I’ll have to protect you,” says Bernard. Tim watches the mindless repetition of knots and grounds himself.
“There’s a war coming, Bernard,” he whispers, defeated. Bernard stops for a moment before resuming the knotting. “I watched its birth play out before my eyes and I did nothing to stop it.”
“Was there something you could have actually done?” Bernard asks. Tim opens his mouth to answer because of course there was, but he stops. He was sent as a spy to infiltrate the court, to befriend, to report. He had done just that with room for more. Plenty of room to utilize whatever control he had to pull the strings of the people in his favor. But the more Tim thought about it the more he asked himself, “Did you really have any control?”
Bernard watches Tim stare into the space in front of him, deep in thought. He sighs.
“Whatever answer you are concocting I can guarantee you it is not realistic,” he mumbles. Tim clenches his jaw.
“I would like to know what your definition of realistic is. Because if we are comparing, then I think my answer is sane compared to your insistence that Batman is the son of a nymph and a bat,” he shoots back. Bernard grins.
“I’d still like to meet that nymph, see what kind of handsome that bat had to be to charm her,” he says. Tim’s brows smooth out and he smiles softly. He watches Bernard tie and tie like it's the only thing in the world he should care about.
Tim thinks for a moment that if the cloud of war reaches his Sun, he may never feel the want to rise again.
“I don’t know what to do with myself. If I couldn’t stop it then, how can I stop it now?” he asks. He doesn’t know who exactly he is proposing the question to, but he needs an answer and doesn’t care where it comes from at this point.
“Maybe, you can’t,” Bernard says, shrugging. “Sometimes…you just have to realize you’re one person trying to battle it out with forces bigger than you. And I don’t mean the gods above, Tim. I mean people who simply have a bit more power than you. You can’t always predict what they are going to do and you can’t always change what they believe.”
“I need to,” Tim whispers desperately.
“But you can’t,” Bernard whispers back.
Tim leans forward to press his forehead to the altar. He wishes and pleads to anything listening to at least keep his loved ones safe. It may be selfish. Maybe he should be praying for all the people fated to be caught by the war. But he rationalizes somewhere in his frantic mind that, maybe, if he starts small, it will come true.
Bernard ties off the last knot and tucks it into the loop, patting Tim’s wrist.
“There. Finished. Now any sprite that looks to catch your tongue will find themselves a bit twisted,” he says. Tim picks his head back up to look at the bracelet around his wrist. It’s small and arguably useless but Tim decides that his hand would have to be cut off for it to leave him. Bernard reaches out and snuffs out a candle, probably the one he lit for prayer, with his finger tips. Tim watches the thin trail of smoke float to the ceiling as Bernard stands and offers his hand. He takes it, rising to his feet, and they make their way to the door.
As they step out into the forest, Tim feels the cool night air greet him. Bernard pulls him towards the moon. Tim wants to stay with him, but he knows that his duty as a Robin will inevitably take him, forcing him to say goodbye again. They swing their conjoined hands in time with their steps and Bernard guides them through a little clearing and into the underbrush.
Tim notices Bernard’s feet are bare.
“You know,” Bernard starts, “If I were looking for a way to stop a war, I don’t think I would try to take on two kingdoms all by my lonesome.”
“Oh shut it,” Tim huffs. Bernard was right however. Tim had been looking for an immediate relief to his crisis, searching for something he could do despite the fact it was impossible. He needed help.
He should probably go help look for Bruce.
He’s evaluating the best course of action for the next twenty four hours when they suddenly stop moving. Tim looks up and he realizes.
They’re at the castle.
That’s impossible. They had both left in the wrong direction and the castle was at least an hour walk out. It could not have been more than fifteen minutes.
Tim is staring in awe when Bernard lets go of his hand and pecks him on his temple.
“This is where I leave you, Moon. Do talk to someone will you? For me?” Bernard asks, taking his leave back into the forest. Tim whips around to follow him.
“Bernard wait! How-” Tim starts, tripping midway. Bernard turns to look at him, walking backwards, and shrugs.
“Don’t be surprised Timmy. I just asked for a bit of help.” He retreats back into the forest. Tim rushes forward and pushes into the little clearing. There is no Bernard, but Tim looks down to the ground below. The only sign left is a faerie circle.