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There were a lot of old, weird, or old and weird things Tim's parents had picked up over the years, but his favorite was the ornate, almost delicate looking mirror in the entry hall. Most of the time, it was just a very fancy mirror, but at three am, when he's just pulling himself back in from a night of photographing vigilantes, it showed something different, something not of this realm. Of course, it didn't always happen; when it was especially overcast out or it was a new moon, the mirror wouldn't show the swirling green void with the occasional floating purple door. But when conditions were just right, he would sit on the chaise across the entry hall, and watch as doors drifted in and out of the mirror's view until he fell asleep.
He'd just sat down with his homework to finish a few last problems before laying back to watch the mirror, when something... Different happened. He heard an echoey voice, coming from the mirror of all things.
"What the—? I could have sworn this was a mirror earlier... Why are you showing the entry hall of a manor? And at night, no less... Is that—is that a kid?" Tim looked away from the mirror at that, then froze. If whoever was on the other side of the mirror was seeing him, then him moving in response to them talking was beyond stupid, why did he do that? "Ah frick, kid, can you hear me?"
Tim did his best not to move or show he could, in fact, hear the other person. He'd gone on an internet spiral a few months back and ended up learning all kinds of things about fey-like beings and creatures, and he was fairly certain that responding to someone, or something, that was talking to him through a freaking mirror would bring nothing good to him.
"Right, stupid question, even if you could, who knows what's showing on your end of whatever connection this is. For all I know, you can't see anything at all, and you're just hearing a disembodied voice in your entry hall. That would freak anyone out, so yeah, I'll give you a pass on answering that... Though I would like to know why you're awake at, what, two, three in the morning? Just going off the position of the moon in the window and the fact I doubt you're anywhere in Asia with a house like that." Tim rolled his eyes without meaning to and cringed at the cry of victory his interaction invoked. Ohh, he was going to get himself into so much trouble, he could just tell.
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Over the course of the next few weeks, Tim cautiously started interacting more with the voice from the mirror, who'd introduced himself as Danny the next night. Tim had yet to work up the nerve to verbally respond, no matter how many quips or sarcastic remarks he had to bite back, but tonight was different.
The past week and a half had mostly been a bust on vigilante stalking hunting, but today he'd leaned why. Jason Todd was dead. He was dead and his funeral had been announced during the evening news. Considering how Batman had nearly beaten Joker to death two nights ago, Tim was willing to bet the Clown Prince of Crime was at fault. Jason his Robin was dead and he wasn't coming back and—
"Woah, hey kid, I don't know what's wrong, but I need you to take a deep breath for me, alright? Can you breath in—hold—and breath out, that's it, breath in—hold—and breath out, a few more times for me buddy, breath in—that's it—and breath out, breath in—you've got this—and out, one more time, breath in—there we go—and out. There, much better, right?"
Tim nodded, shakily rubbing at his tears as sobs shook his chest. At least he could breath, now. "Jason's-s de-ead," he managed through the emotions lodged in his throat. "My-my neighbor's kid, J-Jason, is dead, a-and he has been fo-or almost a-a week." And I didn't know, was unspoken.
Danny cursed softly and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry to hear that, were the two of you close?"
He shook his head, nearly making himself dizzy with how hard and fast he was shaking it. "No," he grunted, "we weren't, b-but I really looked u-up to h-him. He was doing things I could only hope to be able to do, a-and he was h-helping so many people, but now he can't anymore because he's dead, and I can't do anything about it! His dad's in so much pain right now, but I can't help him cuz he doesn't know me and I barely know him, but R-Jason was my hero and I want to help, but I don't know how!" Tim was breathing heavily by the end of his tirade, his eyes burning and his head throbbing, but no longer actively crying, so that was something. Focusing on his breathing, he slowly unclenched his hands. He hung his head in defeat as he whispered brokenly, "I never know how to help."
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Over the next few months, Danny and Tim talked as much as they possibly could, making plans and figuring out all the ways those plans could, and likely would, go wrong. Through careful questions and even more careful answers, Tim had revealed that Jason had an older brother who might be able to help him help Bruce, so Danny had taught Tim how to approach to a grieving older sibling for help. Tonight was the culmination of all their preparation.
Tim took a deep breath before releasing it. Well, he thought, here goes nothing. He stepped forward and knocked on Dick Grayson's door.