Work Text:
Ghost
Lich
Vampire
Mummy
Zombie
Revenant
Witch
Werewolf
Tim was 10 when he figured out Batman and Robin’s second secret: they were monsters.
It was a secret that wasn’t a secret; everyone said that Batman was a vampire. Few knew it was actually true. Everyone said Robin was fey, was impish. But those were just adjectives, weren’t they?
It was when Tim was 12 that he realized that the Second Secret was a problem. Jason was the first human who had ever been a hero in Gotham - Tim didn’t know what Batwoman and Batgirl were, but they were certainly not human - and Jason had died. And Batman would never accept another human as Robin.
He considered all the options. Many creatures, like the Fey, you had to be born into. Witches required too much learned skill; he didn’t have time. The best option, he thought for a few months, was undead. But that carried so much risk: no matter how much he prepared there was always the risk of dying and not waking back up. Which meant Batman would never have his Robin. Which was unacceptable.
It took far too long to narrow it down to his only option.
California - 3 deaths - promising? BEAR
Minnesota - 6 deaths - 7 deaths
Iowa - 8 deaths - none for three years
Texas - 9 deaths - CHUPACABRA
Another month of research and he found a pack of werewolves in Minnesota. It was relatively simple to get there; a few days of in-person research found one of the werewolves; and then he just had to swipe her drink, cut deeply into his own leg, and pour in the drink - with the werewolf’s saliva - and then all that remained was to wait for the full moon.
He built a cage in the basement. It was his first time building anything out of more than Legos, and he could barely lift the metal frame, but after a significant amount of frustration the bars were all securely bolted in, the lock firm, and the key in a basket attached to a pulley system that a wolf’s paws and brain couldn’t get traction on.
He didn’t account for the pain.
sleeping pills?
morphine? (where to get?)
oxycodone? (how much?)
The moon touched against the basement window, and it began.
It wasn’t slow. There was no warning ache.
One instant he was a boy, waiting for a wolf.
The next his bones were snapping.
He screamed. Fire tore through his skin. Agony zapped along every nerve. His heart skipped several beats and threw him into a coughing fit and each cough tore at his chest as his skin tore apart, blood oozing through at his joints, and he screamed, and he grabbed for the pulley.
He couldn’t see, his eyes were burning, but he had to - he had to get out - and he scrabbled for the key with fingers that were bleeding as claws tore through them and somehow, blindly, as an arm snapped backwards, got the key into the lock, and tumbled out onto the concrete floor. And he screamed.
replace vase in living room
clean blood off rugs in first floor
replace window in living room
kitchen???
He screamed, and no one heard him but the moon. He crawled up the basement stairs as his hips broke and reformed. He got to the kitchen and surged upwards and crashed into the table, his body suddenly too large, his bones too long. His mouth filled with blood as fangs broke through and his teeth sharpened and he howled.
make it stop
And no one heard him but the moon.
make it stop
When he goes to Batman, he’s able to stand with confidence, bigger than his body, bigger than his bones. And when he’s hit by a bullet, only a few nights in to his debut as Robin, he looks down, and watches the flesh knit itself back together, and grins bloody, and the room fills with screams that are not his own.