Chapter Text
Tim was having a very, very bad day. As if Damian's constant digs weren't enough to sour his mood, parading around in his eye line wearing the Robin mantle like a taunt, Alfred had cut Tim off from caffeine this morning.
Which might explain his borderline death-wish when he'd had his third run-in with Jason Todd in as many days. Or really the run-in had been with Red Hood.
Tim always separated the two in his mind. It was the only thing to keep him sane.
The incident, to be fair, was shaping up to be a non-incident. Really more of a screaming match from rooftops on opposite sides of the street. Which was hardly an incident in terms of Red Hood.
"What are you doing out here all alone, Replacement?" Red Hood shouted from the adjacent rooftop as he materialized from the shadows, his eerie red mask warping his voice into something strange and mechanical.
"Really, Hood? Is that the best you can come up with?" Tim bit out, his patience thinning to a thread in danger of snapping. "Can't come up with anything more original?"
"Ooh, someone's in a mood today," Hood snarked, leaning against a brick wall and disengaging his hood to reveal his ridiculous second mask. He had a smirk, verging on a snarl, plastered on his face as he pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it. "Who peed in your cornflakes, Robin?"
"I'm not Robin anymore."
"WHAT?!" Hood barked, stalking forward until he was practically leaning off the building in to the street. "Say that again."
"I. Am. Not. Robin. Anymore." Tim bit out, gesturing to his new uniform, before turning on his heels and stalking away. It was a bad idea to turn his back on Hood, but he could no longer care.
He heard, rather than saw, the sounds of boots hitting the roof behind him, but he didn't bother to turn, merely grappling across the street and further on to his patrol route.
"Okay, say it different this time, cuz' you're still not makin’ sense, kid?" Hood order, his voice closer behind him than Tim had thought possible.
Tim couldn't take it anymore. He was running on fumes, in caffeine withdraw fierce enough to give him a raging headache, and bearing with the sudden loss of Bruce and the Robin mantle. Not to mention Damian Wayne, the ten year old menace who’d done nothing but try to physically and psychologically torture him for the last three months.
He spun on Hood, his foot lashing out to the space he estimated Hood's face should be in a vicious roundhouse.
But Hood was quick. Hood dodged the attack with startling ease, his smirk turning into a predatory smile. "You want to start something, baby bird," he said, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his stance and raised his hands. "I'll play."
The fist that connected with Tim's face came out of nowhere. Jason was so unbelievably fast now. Tim staggered back, feeling like someone had just hit him in the face with a brick.
"Come on, baby bird," Jason taunted. "You're gonna have to be faster than that."
Tim's anger boiled over. He rarely felt that deep pool of rage flood his system, turning his veins to ice and smoothing his movements into a flurry of kicks and punches.
Jason responded in kind, blocking most, but not all, of Tim's rage. Tim landed a solid kick to the chest that sent Jason staggering back, his eyes flickering wide behind the whites of his domino ma
Tim felt it under his skin like goosebumps. He cackled involuntary, feeling his careful control loosen as Joker Junior fought toward the surface, praying on his momentary vulnerability.
Tim slammed his hands over his mouth, smothering the hysterical giggling as horror and revulsion pooled in his stomach.
Jason visibly flinched at the sound. For the first time since his return from the grave did Tim see real fear in Jason. He didn’t have to guess why. Tim stumbled back, slamming up his mental defenses like a steel wall. He couldn't afford to slip.
"Tim, what was that?" Jason asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, code names forgotten.
“Nothing you need to know about.” It was a strain to even grind the words out between his teeth. He watched the flickers of confusion, anger, fear and concern dance across Jason’s face, the edges of his domino mask twitching slightly as his face cycled through a dozen emotions.
Tim couldn’t take it. The rage had been bad enough. The hatred, miserable. But the look of absolute pity that settled on Jason’s face as pieces fell into place was worse. He stumbled back another step, intent on fleeing this rooftop, possibly the city, when he had the sickening sensation of falling. Tim fumbled for his grappling gun, only to find he'd dropped it in the fight.
Jason's face appeared over the edge of the building, his expression one of real fear as he reached for Tim's arm. But it was too late. Tim was already out of reach.
Tim reached for the spare grappling hook at his belt, only to remember that it was part of the Robin uniform and he hadn't gotten around to outfitting his new gear with a spare.
So much for no more dead Robins, Tim thought darkly as he continued to fall. Oh wait, I'm not Robin anymore.
The last thing he saw was the look of horror and confusion on Jason's face and then everything went dark.
—————
Tim woke up with a start and the sensation of falling. He jolted, finding he’d been laying on warm asphalt in a secluded alleyway. The sky above was bright blue, only interrupted by puffy white clouds and an angry looking portal that twitched with red electricity as it swirled 10 feet over the street. On the other side of the portal, Tim could still see Gotham’s night sky, the stars blotted out by city lights and smog. Weird, he thought, his brain feeling like it was processing in slow motion.
Tim was just getting around to considering what, exactly, was going on, when Red Hood appeared overhead, mask engaged, falling at considerable speed directly toward Tim.
Tim may not have been quite himself at the moment, but he was with it just enough to recognize the blaring alarm in his brain that screeched, “Danger!” loudly on repeat. In response, Tim let out a banshee-like screech and roll himself out of the way.
“Where are you going,” Jason’s modulated voice echoed around the alley, a twinge of his Gothamite accent slipping through the robotic tone. “I’m trying to save you, ya’ moron.”
Tim froze in confusion, looking back to find Jason dangling through the portal from his grappling line.
“Hurry up!” Jason barked, looking up nervously. “I don’t know how long the portal will hold.”
Tim was still very disoriented, possibly with a concussion, but he trusted his gut, and it was screaming to trust Jason, just this once. He stood, rushing forward just as Jason came within arms reach of the ground. Jason’s arm reached out and Tim leapt off the ground, grabbing onto the older boy’s arm firmly.
Jason didn’t hesitate. He recoiled the grappling gun and the pair lurched upward, rushing at top speed toward the still roiling portal.
Tim had about two and a half seconds for relief to flood his system. Just long enough for him to think this whole endeavor might end up being just a very strange night on patrol. An incident he’d leave out of his report, most likely, so he didn’t have to explain it to Bruce.
As Tim stared upward, he watched the portal give a sudden lurch and then disappear with a loud clap like thunder, only a foot above Jason’s head. The grappling line, which had previously been anchored to the roof of a dirty brick building, went slack, its cleanly severed end drifting down like a feather.
Tim didn’t immediately feel that he was falling this time, the shock barely registering until he’d almost hit the pavement again. He recognized what was happening with only a moment to react.
He hit the pavement. Hard. He’d managed to tweak his form just enough to protect his head and vital organs a little and to roll slightly into the fall to lessen the blow.
Jason, however, had not managed the same control. He landed on top of Tim in a flail of limbs and elbows, the bulk of his considerable weight landing directly on top of Tim.
Tim didn’t even bother trying to get up. He just laid there on the filthy pavement, wheezing and groaning under Jason.
Jason let out a pained groan, seemingly unaware that he was actively crushing Tim. “Ugh, that was close.” Jason moaned without moving.
Tim huffed in reply. “Jason, can you get off of me,” he managed to wheeze out. “You weigh a ton.”
Jason rolled off Tim with a muttered, “sorry,” and flopped beside him on the pavement.
Tim could finally get a clear breath, which he sucked in to his lungs deeply in spite of the smell of garbage and urine hanging in the air. Tim began cataloguing injuries as a force of habit. He’d definitely hit his head on the first fall, possibly broken a couple of ribs on the second, and received a good dose of road rash in both.
Simply put, Tim felt like he’d been put through a blender.
“Where do you think we are?” Jason asked, hauling himself into a sitting position.
Tim blinked his eyes open, struggling to sit up as well. His eyes caught on a blue and white striped banner hanging under a 24 hour diner sign he recognized. A diner that had gone out of business in 2016. His stomach dropped into his toes as realization hit him. “We’re still in Gotham.” Tim said, struggling to his feet. He turned to Jason and offered him a hand up. The older boy took it, his brow creasing in confusion. “The real question is when are we?”