Work Text:
Today was just not Tim's day. Looking around the bare warehouse he'd been calling his home-base for the last few weeks made him sigh. Frustrated, he kicked a loose pebble and watched it skid across the pavement. He knew the plan, knew what had to be done and yet he was dreading it. One minuscule, small part of him kept insisting that he 'stop' and 'go back to his family’, but he had no family left and if anything, the newest Robin proofed just how necessary his plan was. Tim had a mission and he would succeed, he owed as much to his old self— his dead self.
At least his direct succeeder had had a bit of scrumpt. If Tim was honest with himself—and he tried to be, even if recently he'd neglected it—he could admit that he would've done exactly the same, had he been left on the streets. He could respect that sort of hustle— that will to live and strive.
But Dick—A carnival-boy running around in a thin leotard? Whatever had happened to good old armored pants? Couldn't they recognize that Dick was little more than a walking, talking-flipping-target? Didn’t they care? Hadn't they learned from his death?
He sighed again and buried his head in his hands. They needed a wake-up call and Tim was ready to deliver.
The plan, if it could even be called that—meant he was kidnapping a middle schooler-Was Dick in middle-school? How old could he even be? Why was there an inverse trend of Robin’s age over the last decade? Had anyone done a study on that?
Glancing at the watch on his wrist he cursed again. He was already falling behind schedule. The plan was already in motion, he couldn't stop it now, even if he wanted—which he didn’t; because the next villain might not be as friendly as Timothy and then another birdy would end up dead, and chances were he wouldn't just wake up in his grave to be abducted by a fanatical climate terrorist, not that Tim was rooting for that.
He left the building without a look back, climbing up a rusty fire-escape until he could grapple, hidden from watchful eyes.
It hadn't exactly been hard to get the bird to fly right into his trap. In fact, one could go as far as calling it easy— too easy. Everyone had lost the goddamn plot! It shouldn't have been possible to isolate Robin after what had happened— Bruce should keep his flock close by and his stupidity was starting to really piss Tim off.
He hid in the shadows and watched as one lonesome Robin stumbled into place, watching the metaphorical dominoes tumble forwards, until finally, the last block fell and the trap snapped shut.
Robin was caught. In an actual, factual net. Yes, Tim thought of himself as somewhat of a comedian. He snapped out his bo-staff, letting it trail on the floor and watching with narrowed eyes as 'Dick' yelped and struggled, little yellow cape a sore highlight in the dark.
"Robin" he greets his successor and enjoys the boys eyes snapping to the dark corner he was standing in.
"Who's there? Reveal yourself!" he snapped and to his credit his voice didn't waver. Tim snickered.
"So nice of you to grace me with your presence. The name's Nightingale." (Ra's had chosen it. Tim would’ve preferred something more threatening but the lich wasn't to be convinced. Standing in his dark blue suit, he felt much too close to Nightwing.
"What do you want? Batman's gonna mess you up really bad! You know that, right?" Robin twitched like a fish out of water and Tim raised an eyebrow. Demonstrably, he turned in a circle, "Do you see him anywhere?"
Robin was going red with anger and Tim could only laugh. Had he once looked just like that? So determined to believe in Batman of all people?
"Which is actually my point, little bird. I thought you were much too free-roaming, much too easy to catch. I wanted to send a bit of a reminder. We wouldn't want you to end up like the second one, would we?"
Dick's face quickly drained of all that red-hot anger, eyes narrowing as he grew pale.
"What would you know about that? Keep his memory out of ya’ dirty mouth"
The laugh that broke away from Tim almost unwillingly was much too cold and high pitched. If he was being honest, he sounded like he was being choked. Maybe he was.
"My dear, I think his memory belongs to me, not you. In any case, Batman seem's to have forgotten all about it. I'm surprised you know of him at all. I would’ve thought Nightwing would hide him more.“ Always a dirty little secret. He clenched his jaw.
Tim took a few steps to close the gap between them. Robin was well and truly trapped and could do nothing but tilt his head back to look into Tim's masked eyes. There was righteous fury there, the kind that only a child still had. Not for long, Tim knew.
"D- Nightwing talks about him lots! And so do the Titans! " That did surprise Tim, who'd assumed his tragedy would be kept secret to the grave. But his friends were always loyal to a fault. The part of him that couldn't let go of the past, no matter how hard he tried, was jumping in triumph as he yearned to reconnect. He held no ill-will towards his fellow child-soldiers—Not even Ra’s had been able to convince him of their faults. But he hasn't said anything to reveal his continued survival and he won’t. At least for another while.
"Be that as it may, they clearly haven't learned much or you wouldn't be here, hm?"
He reached out to grasp Dick's jaw.
"I'm gonna tell you a secret Robin; or should I call you Dick?"
Dick's eyes grew and he began to twitch again.
“A little birdie doesn't survive long, so far from his nest"
He leans forward."Trust me, I'd know."
To his credit, Dick's eyes only take a second to flicker to his bo-staff and back to his face, that is still the same ivory white, entirely unblemished except for the mask.
Smart bird.
He hadn't exactly been planning on revealing his identity just yet, but he could adapt.
That's when the window shatters and two men land.
Nightwing. Red Robin. Glancing at his clock, Tim can confirm it took them about eight minutes more than he would’ve needed to kill the boy.
He's about to elaborate on that when he gets whipped over the head.
The world goes dark.
When Tim regains conscience, it’s to a pounding in his head and a masked face hovering right above him. He needs a second to focus, but he doesn't get that time.
Immediately, punches start raining down on him. Tim knows pain intimately, knows it better than any 19 year old had any right to, but he wasn't prepared. He coughs and yelps and tries to yank away but he's bound to a chair.
"What did you want Robin for, huh? You sick freak". Red Robin's voice is easily recognizable even if Tim had only ever heard recordings. His crime-alley drawl used to be endearing but now it’s just threatening.
It's fine, he should've expected as much.
One punch to his chest leaves him dry heaving as Nightwing takes a step back. "You thought you could just take him? That I would let you?" he asks menacingly and if Tim could, he'd roll his eyes.
He spits out blood, "' did"
"What's that?"
"I didn' try, I did!"
Damian lets out an enraged growl and the punches continue. One knocks a tooth clear out and the next breaks his nose. Brings back memories.
He can't remember how often Damian had used him as a punching-bag under the guise of training. He hasn't gotten any better with age.
Tim zones out like he learned in the league. His soul and his mind are entirely separate from his body and he barely feels the pain at all. Even if he dies on a chair like this, it would be worth it. Just to remind them that having a Robin was a weakness and a liability.
He comes back to reality abruptly when ice water rushes over his head. He simply opens his mouth and swallows as much as he can, giving the two vigilantes a bloody grin.
Distantly, he hopes Dick is already gone, the twerp didn't need to witness such acts of violence from his brothers.
"What did you want Robin for, huh?"
Red Robin demands and Tim tilts his head ever so slightly in his direction. "'s a warning-"
He hears his succeeder sputter and Damian scoff. "A warning? Really? You're not gonna admit that you wanted a child to suffer?"
Tim shrugs and grimaces as he notes a dislocated shoulder.
"'s the truth. Believe it or don't."
"A warning for what?" the demand comes with a raised electrical baton to his side. Do they truly think Tim is intimidated right now?
"Needed a ‘minder— Robins are easy to lose, far from the nest"
The baton connects and Tim grits his teeth. The electricity never gets easier, and his muscles twitch uncontrollably. He much preferred Damian's swords and the occasional dagger. They were personal, at least.
"You have no idea what you are talking about"
Now Tim really does laugh. He has a few screws loose for sure, but he never claimed to be the sanest.
"Au contraire" he chirps and his vision is so green it looks like one of those cheap night-light cameras.
Damian let's out a sound of pure rage that he knows all too well, and then he pounces. Suddenly there's a dagger in his side. All par for the course. Luckily for Tim, his spleen never regrew and so it doesn't hit anything. It does hurt like a motherfucker though and Tim lets out a gurgling scream. He wonders if Ra's had counted on this happening. Or if his corpse would be stolen some time tomorrow and he'd be resurrected once more.
The two brothers in front of him start to argue in hissed whispers and Tim can't concentrate enough to make out what they're saying. Maybe Red Robin has some sort of weird hang-up around stabbing?
Tim watches the blood pour out of the wound and down his pants. The dark material soaks it up eagerly and its sticky and hot just like Tim knows it would be. He hopes they give him a shower before he is buried. Realistically, they'll probably dump his body somewhere in an alley but a boy can dream.
"Last chance tell----who y-- are!" the words don't quite reach him, but Tim knows what they're trying to say anyway.
"Your wors' nightmare" he aims for a cheery sing-song but it sounds choked.
"Did Ra' -- you?" Damian demands, electric blue chest swimming before Tim's eyes.
"Wouldn't you like- like to know, weath-cough- er boy?"
If those were his last words the second time around, Tim could die happily.
(The first time around, it had been "please" or "help" or something equally inane and stupid. His pleading hadn't worked and he wasn't gonna waste his second chance to be equally boring)
His vision momentarily blacks out, but it comes back and with it the sensation of someone peeling off his domino.
It's a treat from a god he doesn't believe in, that Tim gets to witness Damian's face paling rapidly, tripping backwards as if he’d seen a ghost. (He is- might be? He has no idea, but it’s probably close enough)
"R- ROBIN?!" he asks, voice hallow and shattered, and he's staring at Tim in horrified deliverance.
Tim smiles grotesquely. "N- not my name"
"Tim."
His world goes dark.