Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, for can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.

-Oscar Wilde

Tim hated working with Damian. It wasn't that he didn't like his little brother… Okay, no, it was exactly that. He didn't like Damian, and if the constant insults, death threats, and attempted fratricide were anything to go by, the feelings were more than mutual.

"Remember, we are here to find the missing people first and foremost. We can not risk them disappearing again,” Tim said. 

Damian sucked on his teeth in lieu of a response before jumping down the broken skylight. Tim sighed, watching him go.

Over the last few weeks, they had received reports of people, mostly homeless women, going missing throughout Gotham. They had traced the disappearances to a cult calling themselves "The Acolytes of the One True King" but the information they found on them was incomplete at best. According to what Tim had been able to dig up, the Acolytes had been active for the last fifteen years. They show up once a year, always in a different place. Always with the same MO. 25 people go missing in the weeks leading up to the end of October, then on the night of Halloween, some kind of ritual takes place. All that has ever been found were the bodies of the missing women, their faces twisted in terror and pain. 

It was only sheer luck that they knew where they would be tonight. One of the women had escaped and ran right into Red Hood. She told him everything, and since somehow Tim had been put in charge of all cult activity, it was given to him. He would be fine dealing with the cult by himself, but Batman insisted he needed backup. Red Hood had wanted to come, but since his methods in human trafficking rings led to more corpses than answers, he got stuck with Damian. 

Tim jumped down the skylight after Damian and stumbled a bit on his sprained ankle. 

"Tt. Are you so incompetent that you can not even land properly?" he hissed.

Tim shot him a glare but bit back a retort. "Come on. Let's just find the hostages," he said, stalking down the hallway of the abandoned office building, keeping an ear out for any noises. 

There was nothing of note on the top two floors, but three floors down things got interesting. The ceiling and floor between the levels had been removed, leaving a large open space with I-beams crisscrossing above. Down below Tim could see a massive, 12-pointed sigil painted across the floor; twenty-four missing women were tied, two together, at the points of the sigil with the twenty-fifth standing alone in the center. Figures dressed in light purple hooded robes surrounded the sigil, and a man, who must be the leader, in dark purple robes stood on a raised platform, reading aloud from an old book.

“I count 15 cultists; I’ll take the left, you go right,” Tim said— but Damian was already moving, drawing too much attention. Tim barely had time to make it to the ground and block a punch that would have knocked Robin out. 

“I do not require your help!” Damian sneered. 

Tim barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Alright, if that's how he wants to do it. He left Damian to his own devices and focused on the three cultists attacking him instead. The men attacking him were protecting the leader, blocking his attacks. His focus on the chant he was reciting didn’t waiver.

“Robin, get the book!” Tim shouted, worried for what the chanting might enact. 

Robin gave him a scathing look but moved toward the leader regardless. Tim watched his progress, distracted enough that he missed the cultist approaching behind him. 

“Watch yourself, Red.” Tim turned just in time to see the cultist go down from a blow to the head. The woman from the center of the sigil had freed herself.

“Thanks. Can you get the others out?” he asked.

“Not a problem. Get that lunatic.” The woman said with a nod.

With the hostage situation being taken care of, Tim swung his bo staff around and turned toward Damian and the leader. 

“What have you done?!” he bellowed. 

“Stopped your little plot, is what,” Damian said. With one swift motion, he kicked the book out of his hands.

The cultist fumbled to try and catch the book, recoiling as Damian slashed at his hands. “You’ve ruined everything!” the man bellowed, pointing at Damian. He took a step back and raised his hands, fingers splayed wide, and started chanting quickly in a language Tim had never heard.

“Robin!” Tim shouted. He knew a spell when he saw one, and Damian was just standing there! 

With a burst of speed, Tim tackled Damian, but unfortunately, he was too slow. They both got hit by the spell. Everything disappeared in a blinding white light, the world dissolved around them. For one fleeting second Tim felt weightless— and then they were falling. 

***

They landed with a thump and Tim saw stars as his head slammed into the ground. He pushed that pain aside and sat up despite his vision swimming. 

"Are you actually stupid?" Damian shouted. "I could have taken him, easy." 

"Oh, excuse me, next time I'll just let you get hit by the spell without trying to save you," Tim spat back. 

"Next time you should throw yourself in front of the spell and get hit by yourself!"

Tim's vision was starting to clear, their surroundings swimming into focus. They stood in a large chamber covered in hoarfrost with a raised dais at one end. A throne made of what looked like ice rose out of the platform and floating about six inches above the seat sat a being, legs crossed and head leaning against his hand, watching them. His face was hidden by a dark hood, the only thing Tim could see was his mouth, twisted up into a smirk. A spiked crown of the same ice as the throne floated just off the being's head, letting off odd steam that sank and swirled around the figure. Tim felt his heart pound in his chest. He felt like he was being stared down by a predator. Damian must have noticed Tim's distraction because he turned to face the being.

"Don't stop on my account," the being said, his voice echoing strangely, like he was speaking in stereo. "It's been too long since anyone just dropped in."

Tim struggled to his feet, hyper-aware of the being's eyes on him. "We're really sorry for this-"

"Do not speak for me!" Damian cut off Tim's apology. Could he not see how dangerous this guy was? The last thing they should be doing was angering them. "I have done nothing to be sorry for!"

The being was quiet for a few long moments, studying them closely before he spoke. "Then perhaps you could tell me how you came to be here." Damian opened his mouth to respond, but the being held up a gloved hand. "Not you, the other one." 

The other one? Him? The beings' eyes were on him. He felt like he was being inspected, weighed, and measured. "We were investigating a cult. They had kidnapped some people and were using them for some kind of ritual. We saved them, but the leader hit us with some kind of spell and we ended up here," Tim said. The being shifted on his throne, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Tim thought he could see green glowing out from under the hood.

"How interesting. May I have your names?" 

The way he phrased the question niggled something in Tim's brain: Never give your name to a fae. They will take it and never give it back. One of his nannies had told him when he was young.

"You can call me Red Robin, and he is called Robin." 

The being on the dais smiled with teeth that were just a bit too sharp, too long to be human. "And you can call me King Phantom."

So, he was a King? It would make sense, as they were in a throne room. Tim had met many kings over his years of being a vigilante, but none of them has the presence Phantom had. It made him wonder what Phantom is the king of. "King Phantom. Is there any way to send us home?" Tim asked tentatively.

King Phantom was quiet for a few long moments before he spoke. "It isn't easy, entering the Infinite Realms. It's even harder leaving. Death doesn't give up what is hers easily." Phantom looked up, and Tim followed his gaze. The ceiling was tall, and covered with the same ice that coated the walls.  From this distance it reflected the light from the braziers dotting the hall and sparkled like diamonds. 

"Death?" Damian spat. "What do you mean? We aren't dead."

"No," Phantom waved his hand as if he was brushing Damian's outburst aside. "But you stink of Death. And you," Tim shivered, feeling Phantom's eyes on him again. "You have been courting her for a long time. She claimed you both long ago, and now that you're here in her Realms, she won't want to let you leave." 

"You can't just keep us here!" Damian shouted. Tim hates to agree with Damian, but he's right. Even if Phantom could keep them locked up, Bruce would come to rescue Damian. He would stop at nothing to have his son back. 

"Please. We have to get back. Our family will be worried if they can't find us, and we are the only ones who know about the cult leader. They won't be able to find him without us." 

Phantom sat still, watching for a long while before speaking up. "There is a way I could send one of you back, but only one. You must decide who will go and who will stay."

"I'll stay," Tim said immediately, stepping in front of Damian.

"And you? You're okay with this?" Phantom addressed Damian.

"Of course, he's useless anyway." He said it without pause, tone clipped and certain. 

Tim couldn't help the wounded noise that comment pulled from him.

Phantom paused for a moment before saying in a quiet voice, "Then so be it." With a click of his fingers, a glowing green portal opened beneath Damian's feet and he was gone. 

"Where did he go?" Tim asked, feeling a little panicked.

"Home," Phantom said. "Back to wherever you came from." Tim looked toward Phantom. He seemed a little less ethereal now. He was actually sitting on the throne and the crown wasn't giving off anymore mist. "Now, come along," Phantom said, stepping down from the dais and heading toward the back of the room. "We have a lot to discuss."

Chapter Text

Tim stared at the back of Phantom's head as he bustled around the massive, cafeteria-style kitchen. He had ditched the cape and hood as soon as they left the throne room, and Tim couldn't forget how the garment dematerialized, just turned into frost as Phantom walked. He looked much younger and less intimidating without it, but Tim could tell he was still powerful, could see it in the lines of his shoulders and how the king held himself; as if he were balancing a heavy weight on his head. 

Phantom turned around and placed two mugs with steaming milk on the counter between them and a glass jar of little brown pearls. 

"It's hot chocolate from the Far Frozen," Phantom explained, placing a bead in each cup. "The Yetis make the best drinks, but their cooking leaves much to be desired."

Yetis? He had heard of yetis as myths, but they weren't real. He watched the pearl melt and turn the milk brown. He could smell the strong spiced chocolate scent from where he was sitting. "Where'd the milk come from?" Tim asked.

"Greece, circa 273 B.C.E.," Phanom said as he sat down opposite Tim.

Tim's eyes snapped up to the King's to find him grinning at him, small sharp fangs just visible past his lips. It was almost cute. Tim mentally shook himself from those thoughts. "You're serious. Are we in the past?" 

"No, time in the Infinite Realms is weird, we exist at all times and no times. We have limited access to certain times through natural portals, so we stock up on essentials when we can." Phantom mixed his drink with a spoon and took a sip. "Drink. You'll feel better." 

Tim took the cup, the warmth seeping into his hands even through his gloves, but didn't drink. His nanny had warned him about Fey's food and drink trapping him in the Fey realm. 

"It isn't poisoned," Phantom said softly, "If that's what you're worried about."

Tim looked at Phantom again. "Actually, I was worried about it being bewitched, like fairy food." 

Phantom laughed at that, full-bellied and deep, it was a nice sound. "I'm not a fairy or a wizard. But if you don't eat or drink something, you will die."

"The human body can live three weeks without food,” Tim replied stubbornly. His head was starting to pound from where he hit it on the stone floor when they arrived. He hoped he didn’t have a concussion.

"Not like that. More like…Have you seen Spirited Away?" Phantom said, running a gloved finger over the rim of his mug.

Tim blinked before nodding. Phantom had seen Spirited Away? 

"So you know how Chihiro has to eat food from the Spirit Realm or she would fade away?” Tim nodded again. “It's like that. This place isn't good for the living, and eating the food here protects you from it."

Tim looked back down at the mug of hot chocolate and took a sip; sweet sugar and bitter chocolate bloomed on his tongue, chased by cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, and clove. It was perfectly balanced against the creamy milk. Tim suspected it was more cream than milk. All at once, he felt the warmth of the drink reach down into his fingertips and toes, warming him from the inside. When he drained the last of the mug he felt more present, more aware than he had in days, and his head was pounding less insistently. Tim set his mug on the counter with a sigh, almost sad that it was gone. "I have questions." 

"So do I," the king said, setting his own empty mug down. "How about we do one for one, you ask a question then I ask. So it's fair." 

Tim thought about it. That did seem fair. "Why would you answer my questions?" 

"I'm a king, not a tyrant," Phantom said quietly as if he was speaking to himself more than to Tim. He shook himself slightly and said, "My turn, tell me about this cult that sent you here."

Tim shook his head. "That's not a question." 

Phantom grinned again. "True. The cult that sent you here, what are they called?"

"The Acolytes of the One True King," Tim answered, watching as Phantom's face went through a series of emotions before settling on a blank, resigned mask. "You know them. Are they yours?" 

"No!" Phantom spat bitterly. "They are servants of the previous king." Phantom waved his hand and a blue, ghostly light appeared with a soft ‘boo’. "Wisp, gather the generals and send a scout to the Keep." With the orders given, the blue light bobbed up and down in what Tim figured was an imitation of a bow and disappeared. “Can you describe the ritual they were performing?” 

“Yes,” Tim answered. When Phantom looked at him expectantly Tim raised one eyebrow. “Yes, I can describe the ritual. You didn’t ask me to describe it.” He was pushing his luck, he knew, but he needed to know Phantom’s temperament. 

“Clever little birdie,” Phantom said with a grin. “It’s your turn.” 

There were so many questions he needed to ask, and many more that he wanted to ask. Tim looked down at the stainless steel table, scratched and dented with use, and weighed his options. “Back in the throne room, you said something about this being Death’s realm. What did you mean by that?” Tim asked. 

“The Infinite Realms is where the restless dead gather. Those who died tragically or with deep regrets spend their afterlives here. Death claimed this realm and everything in it as hers long ago,” Phantom said with gravity and solemnity that reminded Tim of quiet libraries and graveyards, then he shook his head and grinned. “Now, describe the ritual the cult was using, please?” 

Tim hesitated. They had agreed to answer questions, but this was Bat business. Except— Phantom knew about the cult and what they were trying to achieve. If he had more information it could help stop them, and— well, he did say ‘please’. “There was a twelve-point sigil on the floor in red,” Tim said, tracing the shape on the countertop. “With symbols placed here, here, here, and here,” he said, tapping the spaces on his invisible drawing. “They had twenty-four women tied in pairs at each of the points of the sigil and one woman in the center.” Tim pointed at the center of the circle. Phantom hovered his hand over the spot and the invisible drawing lit up with green fire. Tim didn’t jump, he’d seen magic before. “The cultists were chanting something in a language I have never heard before,” he added as an afterthought.

“Would you recognize the symbols if you saw them again?” Phantom asked. 

“That's two questions in a row, King Phantom,” Tim said, keeping his voice carefully level. Phantom raised his head and looked at Tim through his snow-white fringe, one eyebrow raised. Tim had a feeling his luck was running out. “Yes. I would recognize them if I saw them again.”

“Then that is what we will do tomorrow.” Phantom wiped his hand across the symbol, extinguishing the green flame. “You have two questions.”

Tim swallowed. Something had shifted in the atmosphere, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He had so many questions, but he wasn’t sure how much longer this conversation was going to continue. He had to make these questions count. “Are you going to keep me here forever?” he finally settled on. He needed to know if he would ever see his friends or family again. 

“No. I never intended to keep you here forever. I just don’t have the power to send you back right now,” Phantom said.

“When will you be able to send me back?” Tim asked. If there was a possibility of going home, he would take it.  

Phantom studied him for a long moment before sighing. “We are cut off from the modern mortal realm and creating portals there takes a lot of power. I was only able to send Robin home because it is Samhain and the veil is thinner. The next time the veil thins will be Beltane in the spring.”

“That’s six months away!” Tim exclaimed. 

“I know. I–” Phantom’s response was cut off by the wisp appearing again with the same soft ‘boo’. “I apologize, Red Robin. My generals are here. Wisp, show our guest to his room.” Phantom said before sweeping out of the kitchen, cape, and hood re-materializing around his shoulders. The wisp bobbed up and down before circling Tim, heading toward the door and waiting for him to follow.

Chapter Text

Tim paced around the room that Wisp had led him to. It was about the size of his living room at the penthouse apartment he had been living in. It was separated into two by a folding screen that partially blocked the bed from view. Closest to the door was a sitting area with a loveseat and two chairs surrounding an unlit fireplace. Against the wall was a bookshelf with a few books written in a language he didn't recognize. Next to the bookshelf underneath a window was a rolltop writing desk stocked with paper and pens. Tim looked out the window and into a green and purple void dotted with doors. Directly under his window was a courtyard of sorts. A large white fountain sat in the middle of a maze of bushes and bright red flowers growing on strange, dark purple vines.

Behind the partition was a large bed with a deep blue canopy and matching bedclothes made of some kind of silk. In the sleeping area were two doors, one led to a large, mostly empty closet, and the other led to a large bathroom with a soaking tub and shower. Tim eyed the soaking tub longingly. He knew a warm soak would be great for his aching muscles and sprained ankle, but he didn't have any clean clothes to change into. The thought of putting his sweaty, dirty clothes, or even just his underarmor, back on after a soak sounded awful. He would if he had to, but not right now.

After he explored the room he checked the door. It was unlocked. He hadn't been told not to leave the room. Tim checked the desk and grabbed some paper and a pen, intending to make a map. He could find his way back to the kitchen and throne room, but the castle was huge and he'd like to not get lost.

Tim walked down the corridor silently. He was always good at being quiet, but training with Batman and Lady Shiva had made him an expert. Probably not as good as Phantom, whose feet barely ever touched the ground, but good enough for his own purposes. So Tim went down the hallway on silent feet, trying every door he came across. They were all locked. 

He made his way to the kitchen and tilted his head; he could hear voices up ahead. Tim made his way to a fork in the hallway. One way would bring him to the throne room, and the other would lead him toward whoever was speaking... Tim headed toward the voices. 

"Have Skulker or Wulf returned?" That was Phantom's voice. 

"No, not yet," A female voice said. It was rough but had a bit of a musical lilt. "They didn't want to go."

"No one does." This speaker was nasally and sounded young. "Especially when you won't even tell us why it's necessary." 

Tim had reached the room where the voices were coming from. From the gap in the door, he could see just a sliver of the room. A large table was set up in the center with glowing green islands of all different shapes and sizes floating above it. Tim could see two figures, a girl with flaming blue hair and a guitar strapped to her back, and a monochromatic teen who looked like a nerd plucked from a B movie from the 1950s. Tim supposed these must be Phantom’s generals.

"I received word of activity on the other side," Phantom spoke again. "A cult trying to free Pariah Dark and summon him to the mortal plane." 

"What!" both of the generals exclaimed. 

"Can they do that?" the blue-haired woman asked.

"They're close. They have the sigil, the sacrifice, and the date. Who knows how long they've been trying this? If they hadn't been interrupted this time, they may have succeeded." 

There was a grave pause, the generals seeming to consider his words.

"Interrupted by who?" The 50's boy asked.

"By a couple of Robins." His voice grew suddenly close, and Phantom finally came into view, looking out the crack in the door, right at Tim. "You can come in, little birdie." 

Tim hesitated before pushing the door open and stepping into what was probably a war room. The generals turned to face him. "I didn't mean to intrude," Tim said.

"Ooh, who's this?" The blue-haired woman asked, floating down to his level. "Have you finally got a boyfriend?" Tim sputtered at the question and Phantom's cheeks turned an odd shade of green. 

"Red Robin is going to be my guest for a while,” Phantom said. “And I expect him to be treated as such.” 

“Don’t get your royal tights in a twist, baby pop; I always treat guests well.” the girl said, extending a hand out to him. “The name’s Ember  and that’s Poindexter.” Tim took her hand. It was so warm he could feel it through his glove. “It’s a shame Phantom doesn’t want to date; you’re a cute one. At least, I think you are under that mask.” Ember traced the edge of his mask with a finger. It took everything in him not to back away under the scrutiny. 

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Poindexter asked from where he floated. 

“He doesn’t own me; I can look,” Ember said, floating around behind him. Tim turned to keep an eye on her. 

“Ember,” Phantom said, floating in front of her, “don’t objectify my guests.” 

“You never let me have any fun.” Ember pouted before floating off, taking some of the warmth in the room with her.

“I’m sorry about her,” Phantom turned to him. “Did you need something?” 

“Not really. I just wanted to get my bearings.” Tim held up the half-finished map he had been making. 

Phantom floated closer, craning to look at the paper with a grin. “If you want to see the place, I would be glad to give you a tour after the scouts check-in,” he said. 

“After Skulker and Wulf come back, you have a meeting with Queen Dorathea,” Poindexter said, “and Frostbite has been asking to see you.” 

Phantom winced. “I forgot about Dora,” he whispered. “Don’t tell her I said that, she’d never let it go.” Tim was struck by how human Phantom seemed at times.

“I should probably head back to my room,” Tim said. Phantom was busy and he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping in the first place. 

Phantom looked him over, frowning. “You should soak, it will help your foot.” 

“Yeah, I thought that, too, but I don’t have any clean clothes to change into,” Tim said.

Phantom’s eyes traveled up and down his body before a green flush spread across his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that.” 

“It’s okay, I can—” 

“No, it’s not okay. I have some clothes you can wear until I can have Dora’s tailors make you some,” Phantom said, floating up into the air. “Ember, Dex,” he called. The two ghosts turned from where they were pretending to hold a conversation. “Send Wisp to get me when Skulker or Wulf get back.” 

“Shouldn’t you wait—” Poindexter started but he was cut off by Ember.

“Of course! Take care of your guest, Phantom, we’ll let you know as soon as they get back.”

Phantom nodded and floated out of the room with Tim following closely behind. 

***

Phantom led him back towards his bedroom and opened the locked door next to his, this room much bigger. A bookshelf took up most of the wall adjoining his room loaded down with books, loose papers, and a model spacecraft made from ice. Where Tim had a sitting area, Phantom had a workbench. Tim was surprised to see scrap metal and a soldering iron set up. Phantom had gone past the bookshelf and work area to open a large wardrobe. 

“Is this your room?” he asked, glancing around. Phantom’s room lacked a privacy screen between the living and the sleeping areas, but the room was spacious enough that it didn’t feel crowded. The bed itself was huge, larger than any bed Tim had seen before. On the wall above the bed was a mural of the night sky acting as a headboard. Tim could pick out different constellations and stars. “This is beautiful.” 

“Thanks, it took me weeks,” Phantom said, dumping an armload of clothes on the bed. “You should see it in the dark, the stars glow.” 

“You painted this?” Tim asked, studying the painting with new eyes. Photography was much more to his strength, but he’d always appreciate a good composition.

“Frostbite said a creative hobby was a good way to deal with the stress of kingship,” Phantom said. He lifted a pair of blue jeans from the pile and held it out toTim. “See if these will fit you, they should be about your size.” 

Tim took the pants and held them against him. They should fit around the hips, but they would be a little long in the legs. “They should do fine.” 

“Okay.” Phantom picked some more pairs of jeans out of the wardrobe as well as some t-shirts and pajama pants. “I don’t have any fresh underwear, but I’ll be sure to ask the tailors.” 

Tim blushed at possibly having to go commando, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. “I hate to put the tailors out like this.” 

Phantom laughed at that. “Trust me, they are going to be delighted to have a human to make clothes for. Most ghosts don’t need custom-made clothes.” The ghost handed him a stack of neatly folded clothes. “Where did Wisp put you? I’ll walk you back to your room.” 

“Next door, actually,” Tim said, nodding his head toward his room. Phantom’s gaze trailed to the adjoining wall and the green flush took over his face again. 

“Ah. I see.” 

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, it’s just…That’s the concubine’s chambers.” Phantom said, his face turning more green in what Tim was realizing was his version of a blush. It was kind of cute. “It has direct access to my room.” As if to prove his point Phantom floated to the bookshelf and pushed in a book. A part of the wall pressed in and swung open, revealing Tim’s room. “You can lock it, or I can move you somewhere else if you don’t feel comfortable with this.” 

Tim debated it. The king having direct access to his room was a bit unnerving,; but… “Do the other rooms have a soaking tub?” 

“No, actually, my room and the concubine’s chambers are the only ones with en-suite bathrooms,” Phantom said. 

Tim sighed, deciding he valued that comfort too much to pass up. “Then I’ll stay here; you said I could lock it?” 

Phantom blushed again but showed him how to lock the passage between the two rooms. He explained that the castle had been made for him by the yetis and no one had ever stayed in the concubine chambers until now. Before long, Wisp appeared to alert Phantom that his scouts had returned. He bid Tim goodnight and encouraged him to seek him out if he needed anything before leaving through the door. Tim watched him go before shutting and locking the door and ensuring the passage to Phantom’s room was locked. He fished a pair of pajama pants and a NASA shirt out of the pile Phantom had lent him and took them with him to the bathroom. It was time he checked out that soaking tub. 

***

Tim sunk into the hot water. There must be something unearthly about the water. For one, it felt thicker than normal water. For two, it glowed slightly green when disturbed, like there was bioluminescent algae in the water even though it was crystal clear. For three, as soon as he put his injured ankle into the water it had gone from a dull throb to an ache, and the longer he sat soaking in the tub, the better his body felt. His sore muscles were soothed and even the place he hit his head when he fell in the throne room felt better. It was as if the waters were healing him. 

Why would waters in the land of the dead heal the living? Tim glanced over to the sink where he had put the clothes Phantom had lent him. Why would Phantom have human clothes in his wardrobe? Questions circled Tim’s head until he sunk fully under the water. He was here for six months, he’d figure out what was going on.

Chapter Text

Jason had full confidence in Tim's ability to take down a human trafficking scumbag cultist. He really did, but he wanted in on the op anyway. The girls the scumbag cultist took were from his territory. They were HIS girls, so he should get to shoot out the kneecaps of the scumbag who took them. It was only fair.

So he could be forgiven for patrolling closer to the warehouse the cultists were in that night than he usually would. This turned out to be a good thing. When Tim and Damian's comms both went dead with a hiss of static he was right there. He didn't waste any time on stealth, instead, he crashed through a window and landed in a large room with a sigil on the floor and unconscious cultists scattered around. There were a few women still in the warehouse but it looked like most had escaped already. Most notable was what wasn't there. There was no sign of either Red Robin or Robin. Movement in the shadows caught his eye, the flutter of purple robes. Jason fired without even turning his head. Rubber bullets wouldn't kill, only incapacitate. The cultist fell with a pained wheeze. 

Jason stalked his prey, each footstep perfectly audible in the open space, as he slowly crawled away. It didn't take him long to catch up, a busted kneecap will slow most people down. He held the cultist in place with a knee in the middle of his back and pulled his head up by the hair. 

"Where are the Robins?" He growled the question, letting the voice modulator make it sound more sinister. 

"Go to hell." The cultist spat. Jason slammed his head into the concrete. He should get an award for not shooting the asshole again. ‘Most restraint shown in the face of human trafficking scumbags.’ 

"Wrong answer. Want to try again?"

The cultist coughed, sputtering. "You'll never see them again." The cultist sounded dazed, slurring his words a bit. He may have hit him too hard. No matter, some people just need more convincing before they are ready to talk.

"You have three seconds to start making sense." He pressed the muzzle of his gun against the nape of his neck. A shot from this range, even from a rubber bullet would be crippling, if not fatal, so he was careful to keep his finger off the trigger for now. “Three—” Jason dug the gun into his skull. “Two—” He twisted it, scraping the guy’s skin and pulling a hiss from the cultist. If this guy didn’t start talking he was so going to shoot him. “One.” 

Jason put his finger on the trigger at the same time as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He had long since learned to trust his gut and looked up to find the source of his unease. A green portal opened about six feet off the ground and Robin fell through in an ungraceful heap. 

“Robin?” Jason asked at the same time as the cultist whispered, “That’s impossible.” 

Jason pistol-whipped the cultist and he fell limp, unconscious. He would be getting interrogated more thoroughly later, when Jason wasn’t dealing with birds falling out of the sky.

Robin picked himself up and looked around the warehouse. Jason felt a pit growing in his stomach.

“Are you good, Robin? What happened? Where is Red?” 

“He,” Robin gestured to the cultist Jason had been questioning, “did some spell and sent us to — he called it the infinite realms.” 

“Who did?” 

“The King, Phantom. He said he could only send one of us back.” Robin took a deep breath and looked down to the ground. “Red Robin volunteered to stay.” 

***

Tim woke up slowly which was rare for him. Most of the time he woke up with a jolt to the sound of an alarm or alert or someone standing over him with a knife. But he woke up gradually without any pain or soreness in his body. When was the last time that happened? He honestly couldn’t remember. Before he became Robin, that’s for sure. Tim lay in bed for a long while and stared up at the dark blue canopy. It was almost the same color as Phantom’s cape, as the night sky above Phantom's bed. Tim groaned and sat up. Why was he thinking about the king right now? 

He got out of bed, washed his face in the bathroom, and affixed his mask. It would look strange with street clothes, but his armor was still drying from where he had washed it the night before. After getting dressed Tim stood in his room unsure of what to do. He didn’t have any responsibilities here. Usually, he had cases to work on, or people to interrogate, but here he didn’t have anything to do. 

“Coffee,” he decided. “I need coffee, and I’ll go from there.” 

“Boo,” Wisp appeared in front of Tim and circled him before heading toward the door. 

“You want me to follow you?” Wisp bounced in the air and spun in a circle. Tim supposed that meant ‘yes’. 

Wisp led him through the hallway in the opposite direction of the throne room and kitchen, then down a narrow staircase that might have been a servant’s stair hidden behind a tapestry depicting the moon and stars. Down the staircase, to the right, and down a long hallway Wisp finally came to a stop in front of a door that was cracked partially open. From inside Tim could smell the heavenly scent of fresh coffee. He nudged the door open and looked around. 

It was a study of some kind. Bookshelves lined three walls, weighed down by books, from the size of a matchbook to ones bigger than dictionaries, so heavy that they caused the wood to bow under them. A large window overlooked the same gardens Tim could see from his window. It looked just the same as it had the first time he had seen it. There must not be a night or day here— wherever here may be. How do people tell the time? 

In front of the window was a large wooden desk stacked tall with papers and scrolls. The papers were covered in a looping script, trailing vertically down the page. Tim recognized it as the same writing that was in the books in his room, though it wasn’t any alphabet he had ever seen. Most importantly, there was a small drip coffee maker half full on the desk. 

“Red Robin? Are you okay?” 

Tim whipped around at the sound of a voice. He had been so focused on the coffee that he hadn't even registered the person sitting on the couch in the corner of the room. He had black hair, long and shaggy on top but close-cropped around the sides, and a large book bound in red leather perched on his lap and a coffee mug clutched in both hands. 

“Oh, sorry. Wisp led me here when I said I wanted coffee,” Tim said, feeling a bit foolish. He hadn’t even seen him there! He must be losing his touch.

“Ah. Yeah.” The boy closed his book and set it and his coffee on the side table. “Don’t tell the yetis I have coffee,” the boy said, crossing to the desk. “He thinks coffee is bad for my sleep schedule,” the boy said. “I asked him how important a sleep schedule is in a place with no night or day. He was not amused.” The boy pulled a mug from a drawer on the desk and filled it with coffee before handing it to Tim. “Do you want sugar or cream?” 

Tim sipped the coffee and sighed. For drip coffee, it was really good. “No, thanks. This is perfect.” He watched as the boy gave a lopsided grin, his canine tooth poking out over his lip just a bit. He was cute. “I don’t think I got your name.” 

The boy’s smile faltered for just a second before coming back full force. “Call me Danny,” he said, heading back to the couch. Tim followed and perched on the edge of one of the chairs. “No need to ask who you are, Red Robin. Everyone’s been buzzing about the masked man who dropped in on the king unannounced.” Danny took a sip of his coffee. “How’s your head, by the way?” 

Tim rubbed the back of his head. “Still a little sore, but much better after a bath. What's in the water?" 

"Ectoplasm." At Tim's blank look, Danny continued. "Like, ghost ooze? In the right amount, it can help heal mortals." 

"That's…kind of gross." 

Danny laughed, his nose wrinkling up. "A little. You get used to it." 

Tim hummed. He wasn't sure he wanted to get used to it. He found his attention drifting around the room and landing on the book Danny was reading when he came in. The cover was red leather and had the same writing as the papers on the desk. "What are you reading, anything interesting?"

Danny groaned. "If you consider thousand-year-old ghost laws interesting. I don't." 

Tim might have if he could read the text. "Then why are you reading it?" 

Danny let out a long sigh, glaring at the book. "Because ghosts have long memories and had no king for a thousand years. Now that there is a new king they want to bring up millennia-old disputes for ruling." Danny sipped his coffee and flipped the book over, gesturing to the pages, each covered in the same tiny looping scribbles. "Hence, brushing up on thousand-year-old ghost laws." 

"So, you're like a ghost lawyer?" Tim sipped his coffee and sat back in his chair. It was very comfortable, he could see himself falling asleep here.

"I always considered it more of a glorified tax accountant," Danny said, flipping the book closed. “Only there isn’t an IRS.”

Tim peered down into his mug and tried to imagine what ghost laws would look like. Are there ghost lawyers? Ghost police? Ghost legislature? "Sorry if I interrupted your work." He knew how frustrating it was when you get into a groove and someone comes in asking dumb questions. 

"Ah, don't sweat it. They've waited a thousand years for a ruling, they can wait a bit more. Besides, Phantom asked me to show you around, take you to the tailor, and figure out what runes were used in the summoning circle. Speaking of the tailors, they are very excited to get started.” 

Tim frowned into his coffee. "Do I need an appointment to see them?" Mr. Haversham, the tailor all the Waynes used, was always booked out for months, and this was a royal tailor, surely they wouldn't be available for just him.

Danny chuckled, a grin spreading across his face, his small sharp canine tooth flashed in the firelight. "No, they're available. We are going to head over there after we eat, so start thinking of what kind of colors and styles of clothes you want. They can basically make anything." Danny took a sip of his coffee before pausing with a frown. "Don't tell them I said that. They'll get on my case about my wardrobe." 

Tim took in Danny's clothes: a worn tee shirt for a band he had never heard of and blue jeans that had been torn in the knee and mended so long ago that the patch had started to wear through. He looked down at his own clothes for the first time since putting them on, a tee shirt for the same band and blue jeans that were in slightly better condition, but not by much. "These are your clothes!" Tim exclaimed. 

Danny looked taken aback for a moment and opened his mouth to speak when what sounded like a school bell rang somewhere in the distance. "Oh, time for breakfast," Danny said, setting down his mug and heading toward the door. "Come on, if we're late she'll be mad." 

“Who will be?” Tim asked, hurrying after Danny. 

“The Lunch Lady!”