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“There’s no crime if there’s no body, right?” The man seems so sure of it. His smile wide and arrogant. Like they hadn’t solved crimes with worse odds. Like he isn’t staring down several Bats right now.
One of which is the World’s Greatest Detective. Whether it’s Tim or Bruce is still up for debate but right now, that doesn’t matter.
A coup in a foreign country wouldn’t usually be their problem. But the country in question was Vlatava and well, the heroes have always been interested in Vlatava, given that Count Vertigo, well. Exists.
And now, Tim’s fairly certain, there’ll be more interest now that Count Vertigo is one step closer to the Vlatvian throne.
But if they can prove that the Count wasn’t just a villain but a kinslayer?
Even this far from Greece, people still view kinslaying and infanticide as one of the worst crimes that could be committed.
The problem is, as the count had pointed out, that there was no body.
The second prince of Vlatava had gone fishing with his uncle. Count Vertigo had been released from custody on good behaviour and was expected to recover from his evil-doing ways.
And, Tim thinks, he may have, if it weren’t for the fact that he would get something out of the opportunity. There’s a difference between recovery in the face of adversity and waiting for an opportunity.
Unfortunately, the royal family had given the count his opportunity.
And now a young boy was missing.
Missing, because Tim refused to believe the boy was dead.
Even if the count had drowned him, doesn’t mean he can’t be brought back from the brink. With some effort, given, but at least he won’t be dead.
But every moment they spend talking to the kinslayer behind them is a moment less.
The average human can go 8 minutes without air before the brain ceases to function due to asphyxiation.
They’ve already wasted 2 getting here via Super and speedster. They’ve wasted another 2 trying to talk the kid-killer into saving his own victim. Who knows how long it's been since the princess heard the scream and called for Clark.
They’re running out of time and quickly.
Tim’s eyes fall on the ocean beneath the wooden dock. The shine on the ice-blue water. This far North, taking a dip is one of the worst ideas Tim could ever have.
And while Odysseus may not have been afraid of the water, Tim sure isn’t a fan of it, given his past life’s history.
But there’s a memory that sticks in his head.
Of blood in the water and a trident in his hand. But that’s not what he needs.
And another memory floats to the front of his mind.
Of an enemy that will always be eternal.
Someone that both Tim and Odysseus can’t help but hate the mere thought of.
“Only the ocean and I will know!”
Tim takes a breath and lets it out.
“Get in the water, I guess” he mutters, feeling the soul in his chest rebel at the mere idea. Feels the flittering razorblades that is the broken soul wrench at his chest like pain would stop Tim when he’s determined enough.
But Tim isn’t Odysseus.
Tim takes a breath and a single step. And feels the soul in his ribs go still.
They both plunge off the pier in full Red Robin gear and Tim fights the immediate instinct to gasp and inhale as the cold soaks through his layers in an instant.
There’s muffled yelling above him but that doesn’t matter. Not right now.
Minutes. They have so little time and a boy’s life is in danger.
A boy’s life like your own, Tim thinks toward the other consciousness that’s always kept him company. And the soul stills as it takes in his words.
They don’t need to argue. They don’t get time to before the tide picks up. An unnaturally strong current pulling at Tim’s cape and dragging him along for the ride, pulling him further and further away from his friends and family.
But Tim keeps his head. Keeps his breath in his chest. Keeps the soul in his chest as silent as it can be because this isn’t his battle. There is a time and place for the Ruthlessness he's so known for.
They still in the middle of the ocean and Tim is left floating. He blinks his eyes open. He can’t see anyone or anything.
He doesn’t let him fool him that he’s alone.
Tim thinks for a moment, his eyes open and staring at the nothing around him, where the sudden rip tide had dragged him to.
“The cyclops was mine” Tim remembers, feels the words in his soul with a deep regret and yet so much determination. So much pride. To do what must be done to get him home.
But Tim? Tim’s never had a home before beyond his family. And he feels something in his chest tighten before it loosens. The soul in his ribs no longer clinging to his heart and trying to squeeze the blood from it’s place. Just resting now.
Trusting. Like he’d trusted his wife.
“He’s just a boy” Tim breathes into the water and lets his air go.
The water stills completely as he does so.
Tim can feel something looking at him, scrutinizing him. Can feel the soul puff up in his chest like an angry cat before Tim shakes his head at himself (Themselves?) and the soul stops.
They’re equally smart, after all.
And Odysseus really should know better than to underestimate Tim.
But Tim won’t swing first if he can help it.
Maybe Odysseus had become a monster.
And maybe it had brought him home.
But Tim? Tim was already home. His family off the shore probably fighting themselves not to come after him. And Tim was happy to stay.
But the boy? The prince?
His uncle had thrown him off a boat to die. And that more than anything makes him more like Odysseus than Tim is.
Tim’s chest tightens but it’s not the soul in his chest this time. It’s his lungs complaining about his little trip.
And he feels the scrutinizing become contemplative.
There’s a soul-deep hum around him. Like the water itself is humming.
And he’s whisked away again.
Closer to shore this time. Still away from the other Bats. And much closer to the rocks just in case the sea god wanted to dash him against them.
But the current slows as they approach a stretch of water off the shore. Not too far. But not close either. Very close to a cliff that Tim couldn’t even scale if he wanted to.
He comes up to the surface and the ocean doesn’t fight him.
A few gasping coughs later and Tim has the though to wipe the hair out of his eyes.
He stills.
“Kon!”
He’s swimming forward before he can think any further. There’s a pale hand in front of him and Tim can only hope it’s attached to a body. Because it’s too small and dainty.
And Odysseus’ soul flinches at the idea that this could have been his son, Would have been his son.
Tim doesn’t have time for the flinch however and keeps swimming as something rushes above his head.
“Get him to shore” Tim orders, pulling on a small hand and pushing himself underwater to force the unresponsive body upward into the air and into Kon’s arms.
Kon’s gone a second later and Tim’s once again left alone in the surf.
There’s waves in his ears. The sounds of seagulls far away.
“The grief of a father” Tim muses and feels a hand tug at his ankle that doesn’t exist. “I’m not him, you know? I’m not gonna fight you. Well” Tim thinks “I might, but I mean” Tim huffs.
“I’m not him” he says.
It’s the truth.
As much as Tim is Odysseus reborn, he really isn’t. They’re both smart. They’re both stubborn. They both would burn the world to see their families happy.
But, and Tim will use Bart’s words here “Tim is friend-shaped where Odysseus was enemy-shaped” and Tim, as much as he would hate to ever admit it, he likes to think that Bart’s right.
That the difference between Tim and Odysseus isn’t 2000 years or more. It’s the fact that Tim refuses to become a monster.
He will not.
Because look how that turned out for him.
Tim almost scoffs as the soul in his chest starts to throw a mini-tantrum, Tim’s leg bones grinding together like stones on a beach and his chest going tight like he was still underwater.
There’s a presence above him, someone that appeared while Tim and Odysseus were having one of their occasional spats.
Their eyes are blue. Not like water. But like the northern lights reflecting off of the ocean. Like bioluminescent algae.
The man is staring at Tim like he can’t understand a man fighting his own soul.
…
Admittedly, Tim can’t blame anyone for being confused about his state. Especially if this person is who Tim thinks he is.
“Odysseus of Ithaca…” Poseidon muses.
Tim flinches as the soul in his chest rears up like a bear finding a threat. He shoves Odysseus back in his chest where he belongs and shuts the bars around his heart.
“Not exactly, name’s Tim” Tim says with a smile instead, holding out a hand as he floats in front of the god of the tides.
The God’s brow furrows and he takes in Tim’s entire being.
He huffs like he doesn’t like what he sees.
“Get out of the water”