Work Text:
Mama take this badge from me
I can't use it anymore
It's getting dark too dark to see
Feels like I'm knockin' on Heaven's door
- Knockin' on Heaven's Door, Bob Dylan
The sky had turned from a deep gash of rose to finally a hazy purple - there were no stars. Too much pollution. In a way, Tim could understand Ivy - understand her eco-terrorism and determination to rid the world of humanity's scourge; humans really ruin everything they touch. He hadn't seen Ivy recently; apparently her and Harley were away on their honeymoon and taking a cross-country road trip. There were pictures of them racing through Vegas with armfuls of casino chips in the newspapers. He watched B flick through one with a blank expression, giving only a hum of recognition as he skimmed across the gazette's headline:
Criminal couple making a splash in Nevada; the next Bonnie and Clyde?
The league were turning a blind eye now to them; they'd served their time (or at least a bit of it, having redeemed themselves through Amanda Waller's little probation scheme) and as long as they didn't cause too much trouble they were free to go as they pleased. Members of Batman Incorporated and Harley even an honorary member of the Justice League (decision pending after her glitter bomb prank on Superman who couldn't get the confetti out of his suit for a week and had to revert to his black and white one)
Tim swung his legs back and forth and took a swig of his water bottle. He was sitting on the edge of the Dwightner building - the second tallest in all of Gotham - alone. The view was a familiar sight but always breathtaking. This was his favourite part of the city. From this angle you could see planes soaring to Gotham Airport and he'd wonder about the people onboard; wonder what brought them to the city. Vacation? Not likely though there were some nice spots if you knew where to look and Bristol was pretty clean too - they got a lot of the 'True Crime enthusiasts' People who'd stop you in the middle of the street and ask about some gruesome occurrence. It really got boring after a while since most areas in Gotham had a story like that. They used to take selfies in the alley where Martha and Thomas Wayne were murdered; at least until the Batman scared a group of them off and since then it'd become a no go area. Even for the most obsessed true crime fanatic
His parents were coming home tomorrow. He wouldn't have time to track their flight through the skies over Gotham; they were landing and he was to meet them at a restaurant for a business dinner. They'd found something on their dig and they'd be having dinners and lunches every day and brunches over their short stint in Gotham with potential investors. Doing the math, he'd probably be spending a lot more time with them than he had in the entirety of the past year. He was fourteen and finally deemed old enough to learn the inner workings of the business - he was the heir to the company and now had to act like one. So this would be his last patrol for a week; he'd be working cases during the day and giving the intel to B or if there was an emergency he'd be there but otherwise he was on leave.
It had
Tim's comm crackled to life and there was B's familiar low growl in his ear:
"Robin. Burglary on seventh at Robertson's jewellers. ETA 5 minutes"
"On my way. ETA 2 minutes"
"Received"
And Tim leapt from the rooftop and felt the rush of wind in his ears, soaring past a starless sky. The only light was the blinking red and white of a jet, descending to an airfield with passengers who were not his parents but had business in Gotham - some reason to come to this hell hole of a city. And he wondered if Harley and Ivy were happy, having gotten out - wondered if they were sleeping under a sky where they could make out the constellations. Under the watchful gaze of Andromeda; the child who was betrayed by her people, her family and was sentenced to death. Martyrdom as the Chained Maiden whose sacrifice would save her kingdom. Until she was saved - only to be chained in another way. A chain of golden bands that carry the weight of an anvil.
The grapple caught and he ascended.
It should have been a routine 'Save the day and kick the Bad Guy's butts.' It should have been over in fifteen minutes tops and he and B could have moved on to the next spot. That was what should have happened. Instead he'd reached the jewellers and found that not only was there a robbery but a hostage situation; and not just a hostage situation but Two Face gang members and the main man (or men depending on what side of his face you were talking to) there in the flesh. Wearing the ugliest and outlandish suit possible; half orange and half purple with one side striped, the other polka dotted. Tim almost threw up in his mouth. What kind of tailor would make that?
He updated Batman on what he was seeing from his vantage point, having snuck through a window into the back of the jewellers and wedged between two steel cabinets. B replied that he wasn't to engage, that his ETA was six minutes - there'd been an unexpected hold-up with a mugging in the bowery he had to stop. So Tim, stuck in his hidey hole watched Two-Face and four men, 6 if you counted the two men in the van in the back alley but he didn't count them. Had sprung on them and knocked them out cold - two birds with one stone. No back-up and no get-away-driver.
If it hadn't been Two Face, he could have taken them. Tim knew in his bones that had it been any other sloppy group he could have taken them easily and already have been undoing the binds of the hostages. Seven hostages; four civilians and three workers. The guns were circling the room, filling their bags and putting their fists through glass cabinets to grab fistfuls of silver jewellery and strands of pearls. Meanwhile, Two Face stalked down the aisle with a Tommy gun, watching his men work and occasionally snarling a command to hurry up.
Then Two Face whirled on the manager; a woman in her mid to late forties hunched on the floor, hands bound behind her back. Her eyes darted from the gun in the man's hand and up to the man's face, horrified.
"See I want to let you guys live, I really do. I wanna let y'all-" He flippantly waved his gun towards the other 6 hostages gaining a frightened gasp "Get out of here. But then you had to go and do that" Two Face tutted, he was so close to the woman's face now that from his viewpoint he could barely make her out.
"What's your name?"
There was a whimper.
"I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION"
"M-Marjorie" the woman sobbed. "Please don't hurt me," she said through tears.
Tim had a choice - B had told him to wait but the woman was in danger. What if there wasn't time to wait for back-up? ETA was still 5 minutes - plenty of time for Two Face to shoot the woman and the other hostages. There were 4 gunmen across the jewellery shop, two flanking the entrance, and the hostages and two others looting. Meaty guys wearing the obligatory purple/ orange jumpsuits (what an eyesore! How did they get so much of that fabric, anyhow?) with heavy-duty guns. Looters 1 and 2 had pistols in their holsters for easy reach but otherwise had their hands full with their nondescript black duffel bags.
Two Face had stepped back from the woman who cowered, hands shielding her face; expecting to be struck: "Now, now - I'm not a bad guy! You pressed the panic button there didn't you, Marjorie?" His voice was sweet now, slick and suave like a businessman. Janet Drake would applaud. Marjorie nodded, slowly taking her hands away from her face and looking up with glassy eyes.
Plan: create a diversion. Attract the two flanking Two Face over here and take them out in the backroom without making a sound and then go back to the vantage point. If Batman isn't back then--
"Now, here's what we're gonna do Margie. See this coin here - pick heads or tails"
The woman shook her head, curls bouncing with the movement.
"It isn't a trick question. I just need you to choose one. So what'll it be; Heads or Tails?" But still the woman was silent with quivering lips "Alright - I'll do it for you. Heads - I blow your brains out--" Marjorie let out a sob. "And tails - well you run along with your tail between your legs and get out of here alive, thanking your lucky stars. That sound fair?"
Two Face, twirled the coin deftly across his fingertips; one hand mottled and brutally scarred with only the stubs of nail beds left. The other, gripped around the gun until its knuckles were white, was smooth and unblemished. A faded tattoo of a ying and yang symbol on the back of his hand is a reminder of another time. A man who saw justice in another way. Who had one bad day and lost it all.
He flexed his fingers and flipped the coin, sending it in a split second, hurtling into the air and then descending to his outstretched palm-- except it never landed. A birdarang sent its trajectory careening with a screech, embedding itself in the wall opposite and the coin rolling out of sight. Two Face let out a wrenching scream, whirling round to meet who had stopped him but only getting so far before a blur of red and green was barrelling into him, knocking the wind out of his lungs and the gun from his arm, sending it rattling across the floor.
Tim had stepped out of his vantage point; he had made the choice to move.
Shots rang out instantly but Tim was good, ducking and rolling until he was behind a steel cabinet for cover; a bullet from one of the looters had clipped him but his gauntlet had taken the majority of the damage. He'd just have a sore bruise for the next few days. When didn't he?
"My coin! You little fucker - where's my coin?" Two-Face screeched, falling to his hands and knees and searching beneath the cabinets for the coin.
Time to go. He sent a birdarang round the corner. Looter 1 was down. Cartwheel into a handspring, bringing the cabinet down on Gun 1 who let out a startled grunt and using the momentum to land in a roll, again another bullet clipped him; this time his arm. And whilst he felt the pain distantly, he also felt the rush of adrenaline. Tim Drake was Robin. And Robin gives you magic.
"Get down and cover your eyes" He shouted to the hostages as he lobbed a smoke bomb to the other side of the room where Gun 2 and Looter 2 were - that should knock them out cold. Different batarang - like a slingshot it shot through the air and tied the two men together tightly.
Then he whirled on Two Face who was stalking toward him with a manic gleam in his eyes. He was holding the tommy gun he'd taken off the now-unconscious Gun 1, still crushed under the weight of the cabinet, arms starfished out from underneath it and was pointing it straight at him.
"Game over Birdy" The man laughed crazily, drawing the gun to point at Tim's chest when suddenly he was tackled to the ground by a dark figure. B had finally arrived - and he wasn't alone. From the back of the shop, a team of SWAT agents entered, guns pointed, Commissioner Gordon with them.
Then suddenly he was outside, in the alleyway, a firm hand gripping his shoulder. Gauntleted. With blurry eyes, Tim tracked the hand up to Bruce, still in the cowl whose mouth was moving but no words, at least that he could hear were coming out. He forced himself to listen in.
"--You disobeyed direct orders, Robin - I told you to stay put and wait for me. But instead you put your and the hostages lives at stake. If I hadn't of gotten in when I did you would be - Robin, are you even listening to me?"
Tim opened his mouth to say yes - he was listening. Of course he was listening. He had saved the woman - Marjorie was alive because he'd stepped in. It didn't matter that he'd disobeyed the order when it'd worked; when it was the right answer. But instead, all he let out was a choked noise, pain rising in his chest.
Tears marring a porcelain face
Racing
down
down
Like the tear in his tunic, just beneath the Robin insignia
up
and
up
The fabric, a call back to the flying Graysons
As red as roses,
As red as a robin breast,
As red as the blood that coated his hands.
Clinging.
Cloying.
That acrid metallic smell that stung,
He wasn't doing too good.
"Robin?" A distant voice asked and Tim swayed on his feet. The voice sounded worried - why would that be? Why would someone be worried about Tim? They should be angry - he'd disobeyed orders. But even his thoughts were spinning and he found the world turning on its axis, falling, only to be caught by a strong force. Like a pillar.
He thought, then, about Andromeda, as he looked up, past Bruce who was shaking him, calling him by his name. His real name. There were no stars in the sky like on the night Andromeda was fastened to a pillar and left as a sacrifice. Because of a crime committed by her mother. Cassiopeia taunted the Gods and invoked their wrath, not upon herself, but upon her daughter.
And as that force, like the waves of the ocean, swept him off his feet; carrying him swiftly and with urgency. He realized that he might be dying and his parents would land in Gotham tomorrow and arrive at their business dinner with their client and wait. Wait and wait and wait until one of them says "You know how teens are" and begins the meeting. They'd learn of his death and craft some sort of narrative. How tragic. Maybe it could even get them some deals - everyone loves a sob story.
What's better than a child without his parents? Parents without their child.
And they would wait and wait and wait for a societally expected amount of time to grieve before slinking back into the public eye - maybe making a charity foundation in his name. For something obsolete like saving crayfish or the beluga whale. And they would hold a ball yearly in his memory and B would attend. Bruce - whom he'd failed. he'd need another Robin now.
Tim felt the cool leather of the batmobile, Bruce was still with him - turning the car onto autopilot and staunching the bleeding as best he could. If he could speak he'd apologise for getting blood on his suit; Alfred might have trouble getting it off. Bruce was speaking but the words sounded like a foreign language so he listened to the timbre, the rise and fall of panic in his tone which he couldn't quite hide. There were a few phrases he recognised though:
It's going to be okay Jason.
I've got you.
I'm here - you're going to be okay,
Jason.