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Frostbite's ears flicked to the sounds of the storm outside.
There was the usual howl of the wind and snow that threatened to bury them in the cold yet never did. Though as he made his way outside he could hear something new. There was a shift to the winds and something else joined the howling.
There was an ache when Frostbite realized what it was.
A scream.
A horrifying, dreadful, soul-crushing scream. One that undeniably belonged to a child.
One of the guards, Bonechill, came up to Frostbite's side, silent and practically unseen through the white surrounding them. One of their weapons was already in hand and their blue eyes were ever watchful as if something was about to attack on the horizon.
The scream had yet to stop.
It was long and never-ending, mixing with the wind's howls that sounded more and more like the wolves who stared at you with three red unblinking glowing eyes. It came from everywhere at once, both far away and as close as in their ears.
“The children are all accounted for, none are injured,” Bonechill reported.
Frostbite looked around to see other members of the Far Frozen who were drawn outside, their children peeking out from behind them. Their ears flicked downward, a few of them visibly wincing at the sound. “Tell everyone to go inside. I shall go see one of the Elders but do not let anyone wander until then.”
Bonechill gave a quick nod of agreement but paused as he began to walk away. “All those who reside here are accounted for except for the Great One. Do you think he…”
The rest of the question was erased by the wind and the scream that overtook Frostbite's mind.
It sounded like Danny.
There was no question about it, not after Frostbite spent so much time with the young ghostling. He was just a child. One who bore a great role and even greater power, but still a child. Frostbite had seen the way Danny would stumble as someone still growing did. He had seen the way this child had played with the frostlings, listened to the stories of Crag, and let himself be prodded and poked by “Granny” Hoarfrost.
The last Frostbite spoke to Danny, the ghostling had spoken of a break from school and personal projects. He had promised to visit.
Yet Danny was screaming. The sound pierced him down to his core like burning ice.
Frostbite wasted no more time in grabbing one of their healers, Yama, and traveling to find Wulf. Usually, they would have to look at the Infi-Map, as Wulf enjoyed prowling around natural portals, but this time Wulf found them. He needed no explanation as he heard the scream too.
Wulf slashed open a ghost portal into what he said was Danny's ‘den’ in his home. He needed no direction as he had visited Danny several times attempting to learn English from Danny while the ghostling tried to learn Esperanto.
Danny’s den was that of a growing frostling, though a bit more sparse than what Frostbite was expecting. There were remnants of glowing star-shaped objects on the ceiling and posters on the wall with images of stars and planets that Frostbite was sure Danny had spoken of before. Clothes peeked out of drawers and there were books and paper on a small desk. It was normal.
Except everything was frozen over.
Though they were clearly in something humans built, it felt like the hidden depths of the far Frozen. Deathly cold and silent.
Before they could even exit the portal, frost was already building up on their fur. The patterns in which it did so were those of Old Realms Magic. It had been centuries since Frostbite had even seen the sketched images of such patterns and yet they crept up his arm of solid ice and bone. It was cold, harsh, and unforgiving. It was not like home.
It burned.
At the center of it all, was a small form curled up. Frost decorated them with ancient patterns that covered them tenfold.
Danny.
Yama hissed and his grey fur bristled at the sight. It was much too reminiscent of old stories the Elders spoke of. A warning to their frostlings. A story to tell others beware. Except the stories never involved one not of the Far Frozen.
Never of a Halfa. Danny was a being that the last time they had been heard of was long ago and they had almost been forgotten. Many had.
But in the cold, at the center of burning ice, the smallest cloud of fog came from Danny’s mouth.
From below their feet, there was a crash and angry voices.
Wulf whined and shivered.
Yama huffed and looked at Frostbite. “We must leave,” he whispered, “He must come with us, quickly.”
Frostbite didn’t hesitate to step closer despite the pain and broke Danny away from the frost. When Frostbite stepped closer, Yama’s amber eyes looked even closer at Danny and though he saw no change in their expression he could tell from Yama’s aura that he felt sick.
The ice in the room cracked and from down below the yells grew. Footsteps began to storm upstairs.
Frostbite growled, his claws thickening and elongating, his fur bristling with the semblance of new horns at the approaching danger. Wulf pulled Yama back into the portal.
The whine of a weapon joined the chorus and something hit the door. The wood creaked before it began to crack once again.
With a snarl, Frostbite sent a blast of ice toward the door before stepping back into the portal with Danny secure in his arms. The last thing he saw was the explosion of ice and a burning green.
_________
It hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt. It hurt. It hurtit hurt ithurtithurt ithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurt.
Danny woke up screaming.
His core was screaming. He was screaming.
Waves of agony and grief tore through his throat while burning tears streamed down his face. It was worse than before. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel anything other than the pain.
A part of Danny trembled at the thought that he was back in that other boy’s body. Once again lying on a floor stained with a stranger’s blood. He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want that body. That voice. He wasn’t Tim.
-ne-
He was Danny.
-othe-
He was Dead.
-alm-
He was Dead.
-YoungOne-
Danny opened his eyes to blue, white, and gold.
Familiar eyes looked at him while something soft and gentle cradled his cheek. Tufts of white fur caressed his cheek and the smell of ice and snow filled his nose. Frostbite looked at him with eyes that kept glancing over his face. His aura was soothing to the pain but concerned.
Tears wet Frostbite's fur.
“I-I’m so sorry,” Danny rasped out. “I’m sorry.”
Frostbite tilted his head and gently shushed him. “It’s fine, young one.”
Danny shook his head and his eyes teared up more. “No. No. No- I’m sorry, please I’m sorry,” he whined. Frostbite didn't know what he did. He didn’t know what happened. It was unforgivable. Horrible. But Frostbite just sent his aura to soothe Danny’s frantic one and it pained Danny with how comforting it felt after everything.
“You need not apologize. Rest.” Frostbite leaned down and pressed his forehead against Danny’s. “We will take care of you now.”
Danny felt small and safe despite the pain. He could not bring himself to pull away from Frostbite’s touch, if anything he wanted to cling to it. To bury himself in the fur and hide away from everything else.
Except they did not know what Danny had done.
If they did, then surely they would have left him to the cold.
_________
It actually took a month for Constantine to figure out the writing of the summoning circle.
It didn’t exactly help that the writing had disappeared and he only had the memory of what he saw and the footage from the bats' cowls to piece everything together. But finally, after a month holed up in the House of Mysteries, Constantine had a name.
“Keeper of the Ends,” Constantine told Bruce who sat across the little table with snacks neither of them had yet to touch. It had been a hassle trying to stave off Bruce the past month, seeing as the man wanted practically constant updates which was hard to give out when traversing the many doors of the House of Mysteries. A fact that must have been ingrained in Bruce from how many times Constantine told him. In fact, in Constantine’s opinion, Bruce should be grateful he had been able to get a name and yet, he could see as Bruce was about to ask another damned question.
“What does that mean?”
The fact that Constantine wasn’t allowed to smoke in the Wayne Manor made his eyebrow twitch. Instead, he roughly grabbed the cup of tea and threw it back like a shot, annoyed by the actual pleasant taste. “It’s an old name, so old it’s been practically forgotten. I haven’t gotten a clue how those fucks learned it, much less summoned the bloody thing.”
“You don’t?” and it was the look on Bruce’s face that finally ticked him off.
“Listen you bastard,” Constantine growled out. “You're lucky I found the name. You’ve no idea how summoning circles work, it’s more than drawing a stupid pentagram and spoutin’ shit in Latin. Doesn’t help that the idiots who drew the damned thing all died-which is another thing you want me to tell you! So, if you want answers, how bout asking someone other than me? Maybe they’ll answer your next question I’m sure will be if this Gatekeeper is something you need to make some sort of plan - that without me wouldn’t work- or if you need to invite them to another of your fancy parties!”
“Ya know, we don’t actually invite friends to those parties. We barely actually want to go them ourselves,” another voice said.
Both Bruce and Constantine flinched at the voice. A sudden pressure in the air appeared from Constantine’s magic and Bruce’s hand gripped a weapon hidden under the side of his seat.
Tim stood in the doorway of the office, leaning against the frame with a heavy blanket wrapped around him. Fuzzy socks and slippers adorned his feet.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing up?” Bruce asked and his voice was gentle. He let go of the knife and got up to go to Tim. “It's late.” It was four am which he apparently still thought was an appropriate time to have a meeting with Constantine.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Tim replied, wrapping the blanket tighter around him. “...dreams again.”
When nothing else was added, Bruce hummed and hugged Tim, pressing a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll tell Alfred to bring you some tea, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t already.”
There was a quiet sound of agreement before Tim retreated into the hallway. His footsteps barely made a sound. Bruce was as silent as he sat back down.
“How’s the lad been?”
Bruce sighed and it was tinged with exhaustion. He even slouched forward. “...he’s alive.”
That was that, and wasn’t it the kicker? Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne, Red Robin died. His body was a vessel to an unknown being with a forgotten name. He was sacrificed.
Except he came back.
Another question yet to be answered.
None of them knew what was happening that moment there was a burst of light. Tim had died and some being was inside him, they knew what Tim liked to be called and barely spoke. They smiled and then everyone had been blinded by a light so bright it rang like a bell.
Then slowly as it dimmed the ringing turned into a scream. Tim had laid out on the ground with his back arched as his mouth was open in a scream. Though it didn't sound like Tim at all.
As he screamed the sigils on the floor and Tim's blood glowed and flaked away from the ground like embers of fire. Even the blood that coated his Red Robin suit too. It wasn't until all the writing disappeared and the scream finally died down that they could get past the barrier despite Constantine’s curses.
“For fucks sake, be careful!”
No one cared because Tim wasn't moving. Jason pushed through the others, already pulling away the armor at the side to try to see the wound, but then he stopped.
Breathing heavily, Dick and Bruce came up beside him and they stopped too.
The cut that had been on Tim's side wasn’t bleeding anymore. Instead, it glowed white, diming every second. As the glow traveled down the wound, it left in its wake, a long thin white scar.
Jason’s hands shook as they drew closer. With a shaky breath, he pressed two fingers to Tim’s neck.
“Please plea-fuck Timmy don’t do this, please”, Jason pleaded in a whisper. The image of Tim laying there kept switching between different bodies of those he had dared care for in the past. Their skin not nearly warm enough when he touched them.
When he felt a singular pump of blood, Jason peeled his fingers away as if they had been burned. He fell back, caught by hands decorated in a blue stripe. “He’s alive,” he rasped out.
With those words the shadow that was Bruce swept passed him and scooped Tim up as if he were a small child again. He paused to look at Jason, but Jason shook his head fervently. “Just take him B.”
Jason watched as Bruce hurried away with Damian at his heels and Constantine cursing up a storm. Then as he went to get up, Dick’s hands tightened on him. He looked up to feel Dick breathing fast, his body trembling behind him. Jason didn’t know how long it took and how many whispers and promises that they ‘would all be okay’ it took before the two of them could leave and head to the cave where Tim was in Alfred’s hands.
Even still, Dick kept repeating those words to himself, Damian, and Bruce when days passed but Tim had not woken up despite the blood transfusions and meticulous tending by Alfred.
He repeated them to himself as a mantra almost religiously until Tim finally did wake up.
It was weird when Tim woke up. One moment asleep and the next, Dick had fallen down in shock at the sight of Tim sitting up and staring at his hands. It had been all too reminiscent of the way that Being had when it was inside Tim’s body. There was a terrifying moment where Dick thought he lost Tim all over again. This time the hope he had gained would kill him. Dick couldn’t lose another brother.
Except Tim spoke and it was him. There was no doubt that it was Tim with a dry throat and a question as to what had happened.
He didn’t get an answer until much later after several hugs and checkups from Alfred and Bruce. Though their answers hadn’t been nearly enough. They didn’t have a clue as to what truly happened during the ritual.
Constantine had yet to come to them with answers, and even now with a name they still didn’t know enough. The cultists died in a mysterious manner while in custody and they had seen the way the sigils flaked away like dust. Constantine couldn’t even give them definitive answers when he checked over Tim magically seeing as he didn’t know enough either.
Though the Laughing Magician wouldn’t admit it, he was surprised Tim was alive too. More often than not when he visited, the others could hear him muttering to himself in an array of languages that slowly grew frustrated. There were obvious after effects too that the other noticed.
Tim dressed like he was always cold. The dark bruises under his eyes stood out more and they had already caught him halfway dozing a dozen times. Even Bruce started to look the same and when Dick asked he mentioned how Tim kept waking up from dreams that were recurring.
One or twice he startled them when they didn’t hear him walking up to them.
They didn’t want to think about what it meant.
___________________
Tim wasn’t exactly a fan of dreams. Sometimes he didn’t have them and other times he just couldn’t remember them. Which was better, usually. Sometimes they were about his time as Robin and the various shit they got into as vigilantes. Those were good dreams except things don't always go well. There were days that Tim didn't want to go to sleep at all because the dream would twist into a nightmare.
Still, there were nights when the dream was okay, like this one.
Tim was warm. He felt safe. As if someone was holding him gently in their arms. Nothing could hurt him or get to him unless he wanted it to.
He wanted to stay in the warmth. It reminded him of when he was younger than he could remember being held by his mother. Her heart beating strongly underneath his ear he had pressed against her chest while she hummed and gently rocked him up and down. It reminded him of hugging Dick at the circus and how Dick pleaded with his parents to let him have a little brother with a smile. It reminded Tim of the way Bruce hugged him tighter, finally saying his name instead of Jason’s without sorrow in his voice. It reminded him of playing with Stephanie and laughing until his stomach hurt. It reminded him of the utter glee he had while holding tightly to Jason as he was taken for a ride on his new bike. It reminded him of the cackling Duke had when he managed to get the upper hand in a board game while Cass cursed at him for cheating. It reminded him of sitting with Damian while Titus and Alfred the cat were lying across the both of them. It reminded him of the gentle hands of Alfred trying to fix his hair. It reminded him of the ease he had with the Titans.
It was everything he loved, that made him so determined to hold onto his family.
Which was why it hurt to feel it ripped away when he was suddenly plunged into the cold. He wasn't being held anymore. Instead, his head lay against the floor that barely even felt as if it was there. It was dark all around him, but Tim could see that a few feet away from him someone else was lying on the ground too.
They had a concerningly small frame that was curled up and shivering. Trembling wracked their body in an undeniably painful way
Tim's hand itched to reach out. He waited for that head of black hair to turn around and look at him. Except it never did. It hadn't been for weeks. Instead, the cold would be too much and Tim would wake up, still longing for the warmth from the dream.
Every morning, he’d feel that chill inside. Even with thick blankets, Jason’s hoodie, and even Dick’s slippers Tim still felt it in his chest. It helped when he was near the others. Tim didn’t even worry whenever Damian stepped into his side and leaned in close. Dick hugged and clung to him whenever he got the chance. The hesitation from Jason was barely there anymore. Then there was the part of Tim that kept seeking out Bruce unknowingly. Every time he woke up his feet would take him to where Bruce was.
Those moments helped, but the cold had yet to go away.
The boy in his dream had yet to turn to look at him.
Tim had yet to find an answer as to why.
He knew that the others were searching for answers. Bruce was going nights without sleep and actually talking more to other members of the JL. He knew that his siblings looked at him differently sometimes. Dick was more tactile than ever, as if checking that he wasn’t a hallucination. Jason came by the Manor more often and Damian stopped calling him 'Timothy' and instead just said 'Tim'.
He could feel their eyes watching him more often than not. Alfred was checking on him more often and very rarely did Tim find himself utterly alone. He had yet been allowed out back on patrol and he even had to admit that he probably wasn’t well enough to go out.
But even when he tried his hand at the Batcomputer and go over cases it didn’t take long for Babs to come along.
They were watching, waiting, and searching. Tim knew this and most of the time they included him in it.
It was when he noted an unspoken tension and that he had been alone longer than what had been their pattern for the past three weeks. That’s when he knows. They found something. Logic would dictate that it was most likely they found a way to summon this ‘Keeper’. They knew and they weren’t going to tell him.
Maybe it's just because they want him to rest and heal, but they didn’t even know from what. Sometimes Tim felt so cold he wondered if he was still alive. He died, but did he actually come back? Has this all been a dream? Have the touches, time spent at his side, and the pleas for him to stay been an illusion? Had it been by his own design?
Questions have kept him up even though he couldn't help how heavy his eyes felt, how tempting it was to just lie down and not get up.
But Tim had to know. It would kill him not knowing. It might have already.
Figuring out where they were was no issue. Already, Tim found it easier to sneak up on them more than once. His presence was barely a whisper now if he wished it to be.
So he followed and waited.
Others showed up but no one else noticed him.
He kept hidden when they finally began the ritual. He ignored the ache that throbbed at his side where now lay a simple white scar. But still, he kept quiet and watched.
Constantine, Zatanna, and another never faltered as the magic flared to life and the sigils began to glow. They kept going, not even pausing for a breath of air. It was mesmerizing.
Slowly the sigils written in chalk iced over. Frost crept from the center is reached across the edges of the chalk. A nearby window began to frost over and it only grew. One by one everyone’s could see the condensation of their breath as if they were breathing out fog. Frost built at the tips of their eyelashes and hair.
Particles of ice hung in the air and there suddenly was a wind as if the echo of a blizzard was coming from the sigils that were covered by a fog and white light.
It only grew and while a few of the members of the League grew restless Tim found it oddly mesmerizing and soothing. The cold was familiar and he didn’t dare take his eyes away.
It had been more jarring to Tim when they finished chanting.
Zatanna and Constantine looked pale and shaky. Someone went to one of them when their legs buckled but Tim didn’t know who. Instead, his eyes were focused on the center of the summoning circle where five lights of gold glowed.
A menacing growl and a giant huff of air cut through the frozen air and slowly the fog dissipated.
Something dangerous was looking back at them.
At the center was a large creature crouched on all fours hunched over. They were covered in white icy fur. Horns of ice crept from their head in a sharp menacing way. More spikes trailed down their back and even more at the tip of its thick tail. There was a blue cloth partially covering its back and it draped down its side. Most notable was that their left front leg was made up of pure blue ice showing bones frozen within.
It snarled with teeth reminiscent of a large wolf. With large canines creeping from the bottom jaw
They had attempted to summon this Keeper of the Ends, the being that had possessed Tim’s body and soul. This was different.
It was a different power. Of ice and cold and stillness. Of a storm that raged in white and would seep away any warmth you had in your heart. It would freeze the air in your lungs and you would be lost, unable to to found.
Then its mouth moved.
Words were spoken but not understood. It sounded like the howl of a blizzard raging for eons and the crackling of ancient ice within your soul. Deep and eerie.
The magic users look sick and weak. Mumbling in other languages. One of them looked panicked and spoke “An Ancient, that’s an Ancient. Oh why-”
It was clear to Tim that something had gone wrong. He heard the frantic whisper of ‘An Ancient, oh god help us’. Most likely they had not planned for this. He should have been afraid. But something was alluring in the call, mesmerizing. So very very familiar that his soul ached to get closer. He had to get closer.
He had to know.
Tim barely heard the yells for him as he stepped forward from the shadows. The ice was leaving him free to move while all others struggled fruitlessly even with powers. He stared straight ahead towards the creature of glowing eyes and ice.
He couldn’t look away.
With every step he took forward, frost crept up his arms, but he didn’t feel any colder than usual. Tim was always cold now. He was always waiting for something.
The creature had yet to move and now in front of him, it stared back at him. Pure glowing gold eyes deeply peered before it moved its head.
Though Tim knew the others had to be yelling, there was no sound as a head of fur, ice, and fangs leaned down. Soft cool fur brushed against his cheek and nubs of ice that looked so sharp somehow didn’t pierce his skin as this creature, Ancient, tucked its head underneath his chin. He could feel another horn pressed against an artery in his neck. The fur was so soft it didn’t even tickle.
There was a canine nosing at cloth and then suddenly a cold large nose pressed into the center of Tim’s chest. It took his breath away and the creature breathed out as if for him.
A moment passed and the Ancient moved its head away, the glow was not as fierce as before. Instead, it seemed softer. There was a howl, echoing even though the Ancient had yet to open their mouth. It was a sad tragic sound that made Tim ache and he couldn’t move as a frozen limb gently pushed at his arm forcing him to take another step to the side where the blue cloth rested against its side.
He didn’t know why but the Ancient nudged him one more time before suddenly there was movement around the cloth.
All this time it had draped on the side while the Ancient was hunched over, but they were also curled in their figure, Tim now knew why.
A small hand peeked out from underneath the cloth. It was pale and tinged blue at the fingertips. Tim didn’t hesitate to reach out.
Once the pads of his fingers brushed against skin, there was suddenly a warmth that enveloped Tim and a whisper breaking through the silence. It was of his name. Desperate. Pleading. Grieving. Pained. That ache in Tim peaked into agony and Tim found himself grabbing the hand and pulling them close.
It only stopped when something, wrapped in blue cloth and more fur was pressed against his chest. Cold hands curled against his chest in between them. A head was underneath Tim's chin and someone was breathing into his chest.
This Being was so small, trembling, holding on tightly as if they would be torn away. But what amazed Tim was hearing them whispering the answer he had been searching for. They said it with heartbreaking relief in a continuous stream of,“You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive…”, their head and ear undoubtedly pressed against where his heart was beating.
Tim was alive.