Chapter Text
The night started out ordinarily enough. As ordinary as any night patrolling with your adopted family of costumed vigilantes could be. In fact, besides a mugging in Grant Park and a botched robbery at the port, it had been downright quiet.
The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of back-breaking detective work, long stakes-outs, and lukewarm coffee, culminating in the takedown of a massive trafficking operation two days prior. A calm night should have been a welcome relief, but as he watched the Gotham skyline, Tim just felt uneasy.
“Red Robin!” a voice shouted behind him.
Tim tightened the grip on his bo-staff and spun, aiming to take out whatever rouge had gotten the jump on him.
“Hello to you, too.”
“Di—Nightwing—” Tim choked as his brother slowly pushed his staff away from his face.
“Quiet night?”
“Nothing in the past hour,” Tim sighed as he glanced around the rooftop, “Weren’t you supposed to be patrolling with Robin?”
“He’s on call. It was so quiet, I sent him back to the cave to rest.”
“I’m sure he appreciated that.”
Nightwing shrugged, “He didn’t put up much of a fight. He’s still nursing that cold from his dunk in the harbour. Actually, I was going to suggest you do the same.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t start with that. It’s been a long couple of weeks for all of us, you especially. I saw how jumpy you were just a second ago. Listen, I know— ”
Tim ignored his older brother as he shifted his hand towards the grapple gun on his belt and backed toward the edge of the building. As quiet as the night was, he had no intention of wasting it being lectured about rest by Dick Grayson, a man who, in his own words, had ‘written the book (Bestseller, book of the month, celebrity book club, the whole thing)’ on poor self-care. Tim knew he was tired. It made sense to go back to the cave, even. Still, Tim couldn’t shake the feeling of anticipation gnawing at his stomach. Something was happening in Gotham.
Just as he was about to reach the end of the roof when Dick grabbed his wrist. “Nuh-Uh, you’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing you do, where you jump off the roof and tell me you’ll ‘call me’.”
Behind his domino, Tim rolled his eyes. “I’ve done that, maybe twice.”
It was closer to three times. Usually, he texted.
Nightwing sighed, “I’m not gonna make you go to the cave. I’m not Batman. But, when you pass out from exhaustion up here, waiting for something to happen, let it be known that I told you so.”
“I’m not going to—”
Splat!
Tim jumped at the sound, nearly plummeting onto the asphalt below. Regaining his footing, he glanced around for the source but spotted nothing. Tim rubbed his temples. Maybe he needed that rest more than he thought.
Splat!
The sound, like a wet sponge dropped on concrete, was closer the second time.
“Did you hear that?”
Nightwing cocked his head. “Hear what? The leak?”
Tim shook his head. Whatever that sound was—heavy, wet, and fleshy? — it was not a leak.
“No.”
Splat!
“That!”
“Red, I really think you should go home and rest.”
Splat!
“You don’t hear it?”
“Sure. It’s a leaky pipe.”
Maybe Dick was right. Maybe he was hallucinating.
“Red, buddy, I’m taking you home.”
A smell, coppery and sharp, not unlike ammonia began to permeate the air.
Splat!
Tim definitely wasn’t hallucinating.
“Nightwing, turn around.”
“I’m not fighting you on this. “
“Nightwing, turn around!”
“You’re clearly not thinking str—”
“Dick! Turn around now!”
“If it will—Holy hell!”
The thing ambling towards them was vaguely humanoid, with uneven limbs and damp crimson flesh, mottled with grey and purple. Its body was dotted with clumps of dark hair and odd-shaped growths. The air was heavy with the smell of old blood. The creature paused, tilting its dubiously head-shaped appendage as it regarded the two vigilantes.
It took a slow step forward.
Splat!
Tim barely had time to scramble away from the edge of the roof before the creature leapt towards him with alarming speed. It collided with his bo-staff with a wet squelch and staggered backwards, knocking Tim onto his back. As he scrambled back to his feet, Dick lunged forward, swiping at the creature’s legs with his escrima.
All that seemed to do was make it angrier. As soon as Tim was back on his feet the creature was launching itself at him, snapping with its mouth-like orifice, lumpy fingers bared like claws.
Tim ducked and rolled out of the way, jabbing upwards with his staff. The butt of his weapon made contact with the spongy body of his opponent. It was enough force to fracture ribs, but the creature didn’t seem to care. It launched itself at Tim again, and again, and again, snapping and swiping like a rabid animal.
From somewhere behind him his brother shouted, “Hey! Living hematoma!”
It was a good idea, in theory, to distract their opponent and give Tim space to manoeuvre, but the thing didn’t even look up. Tim wasn’t even sure it could hear.
Nightwing seemed to draw similar conclusions, abandoning verbal insults in favour of attacking the creature from behind, attempting to knock it off its balance with well-placed kicks and hits from his escrima. The creature didn’t take the bait, regaining its balance almost as quickly as it went down.
“Red! What the hell is this thing?”
Tim grunted as a limb slammed into his side. “If I knew that, I’d have a plan other than getting its fluids all over me!”
Tim lept out of the way of a kick aimed at his knees.
Tim could feel himself slowing as adrenaline faded and his exhaustion caught up with him. The fight should have been easy. In theory, two trained vigilantes versus an amorphous gumby creature operating only on instinct lead to a very subdued gumby.
At the very least their blows should have slowed the thing down. Its flesh was split in several places, leaking dark coagulated blood. Several growths had swollen several inches. Unfortunately, it was undeterred.
The next attack knocked Tim onto his back.
It was on top of him now. He twisted his head to the side to avoid a swipe. A stinging pain radiated from his jaw.
Its fingers were sharp. How were its fingers sharp?
They were near the edge of the roof now. One wrong move and Tim would end up in a pile of twisted limbs in the alley below. He needed to get out from under this thing. But as much as he pushed and writhed, Tim was held fast. He couldn’t stave off this thing off much longer.
In a last-ditch effort, Nightwing tossed one of his escrima at the thing. It collided with the centre of its neck with a wet crack. The creature collapsed suddenly onto Tim in a pile of heavy spongey limbs, fluid seeping into his suit and mouth.
“Red! You ok over there buddy?”
The last vestiges of adrenaline had drained from Tim’s limbs. His arms were stuck pinned at his sides.
“-'m stuck—”
“What was that?”
“-M STUCK!”
“Oh—here”
Splat!
With the weight removed, Tim sat up and spit over the edge of the roof. Satisfied his mouth was as clear as it was going to get, he stood up.
Dick nudged the body with the toe of his boot. “Do you think it’s dead?”
Tim looked down at the thing in front of him. It looked even worse when it wasn’t moving. Chunks of flesh had fallen away to reveal thick calcified lumps. Small discs of metal appeared regularly along the ridge of its spine leading to the base of its neck, where a small chip had cracked in half.
“I’m not sure it was fully alive,” he sighed, “We should get this thing back to the cave.”
If Tim’s suspicions were correct, he was going to need all the help he could get.