Chapter Text
Wind screamed past Tim’s ear as he raced on his motorcycle to the warehouse he’d tracked the drug bust to. He’d just decoded the last information he’d needed to locate the warehouse, and it took a little longer than he’d been expecting.
So, unfortunately for him, Tim was on a little bit more of a time crunch then he usually was. Tim glanced down at his watch as the children across the street tucked further into the alley, peeking from around the corner in awe at Robin as he sped past.
12:38 am, July 19th
Shit. The deal was supposed to go down in 10 minutes and Tim was still 5 minutes out. I won’t have time to do a sweep of the building. Hoping to buy a little more time, Tim accelerated the bike as fast as it would go and leaned in further.
As he sped closer to the docks where the warehouse sat, Tim went over the details of the case in his head again. There had been chatter of a shipment of something new hitting the streets of Gotham, something even Black Mask and his goons wouldn’t even touch.
That meant there was a new player in town, someone that had the skills to keep his data locked away where no one could touch it. That is, everyone except Oracle.
Barbara had been doing some digging for the Birds of Prey and had found the location of where the deal was supposed to take place. Given that she’d been busy with more important things, she’d passed along the information to Tim to deal with.
In addition to the location and time, Tim had discovered that the drug was a psychedelic called Vex, and the results it yielded were highly unpredictable. The least you’d get was a major trip to la la land. Majority of its users got a painful death to go along with it, but the worst was something that made death seem preferable to.
Tim shuddered as he remembered opening the pictures and reading reports of people who’d been rendered catatonic or comatose, their bodies only retaining enough of the nutrients they were given to survive and would expel anything more.
The skin wrapped so tight around their bones it looked like they’d been vacuum sealed. Eyes you could see a conscious person in, trapped helplessly in a dying body.
Whoever the hell this ringleader is, they must be an absolute monster. Even someone as fucked up as Black Mask won’t touch whatever they’re doing, Tim thought as he finally rounded the corner near the back of the warehouse, quickly cutting the engine and stashing the bike in the alley. After a glance at the area, Tim quietly dashed through the back doors.
Creeping along the dark walls, he saw no one down stairs, so he continued up to the next floor. As he made it to the second floor landing, Tim heard voices coming from a slightly ajar door at the end of the hall.
Apparently no one’s heard of proper security protocol, Tim snarked, albeit in his head, as he hugged the walls, slowly inching towards the door.
“I’m jus’ sayin, if I’m buyin’ whatcha sellin’, I’m gonna need a little bit of a demonstration, ya hear me?” An annoying, slightly nasal voice spoke. Whoever it was was male, and by the way he spoke, was either unaware of who he was speaking to or thought himself the bigger dog.
“Very well then, if you’re so eager to get on with this,” Another voice drawls, neither distinctly male or female. Tim pulled his cape tighter around his form, trying to blend in with his darker surroundings as much as he could.
He’d gotten close enough to glance through the crack that had been left in the door and could see the two people he’d heard speaking along with others accompanying them on each side.
The man who’d spoken first looked to be about 5’5” and in his mid 20s, with mousy brown hair and a bit of an overbite. He had two men flanking him, one on either side, each carrying Uzis.
By the looks of it, he was some trust fund baby who’d thought he was the shit and had decided he’d be some big time drug dealer. The fact that he thought he was putting on a realistic Crime Alley accent was laughable. That kid couldn’t scrub the Bristol out if he went through three cycles in an industrial washing machine.
Given that it looked like the only manpower he’d brought was the two behind him, Overbite, as Tim had started calling him in his head, also had the unwarranted confidence of most Bristol residents as well. The man was wearing some kind of designer tracksuit and a backwards ballcap, practically screaming ‘I think I’m tough shit but would die if any dirt even touched me.’
The other figure wore a mask on the lower part of their face, leaving only their eyes exposed. Their eyes were a sharp golden brown, flecked with pieces of silver that seemed to flow easily through their iris’ and their hair was a shade of blond so golden it looked to actually be shining in the dim warehouse lighting.
Tim couldn’t get a read on their age beyond a vague range of mid to late teens, given there were very few creases around the corners of their eyes. He also wasn’t getting any clues from their voice, since the mask had some sort of voice modulator within it. Besides that, they were dressed in a well fitted suit, definitely tailored for them.
Behind the blonde stood just one man with only a brief case held in front of him. It didn’t look like they had anyone else or any weapons at that, but given the way Goldilocks’ irises seemed to shift, they might be packing some kind of magical trick up their sleeves.
The two stood face to face in the center of the large room, the walls littered with grim and some kind of nasty looking mold. Decaying wooden pallets and crates were stacked high on the dirty concrete floor, a possible hiding place for more goons lying in wait, ready to be called upon if needed.
The blonde gestured at the man holding the briefcase without taking their eyes off the man in front of them. The goon stepped up to their side, opening the briefcase to reveal two syringes filled with a glowing golden liquid peppered with silvery bits that floated freely.
Somehow, I think I might have a feeling of how the drug was made. Tim thought wryly. He considered calling and waiting for backup, but when a goon emerged from the crates behind the Blonde, dragging a fighting kid by the arm with her, he knew there wasn’t enough time to wait for Batman or Nightwing. He’d just have to figure this one out on his own.
“It’s not very nice to drag someone around like, Golden rule and all. Unless you’re into that, I’m not judging. Just hand over the kid and we can settle this like adults.” Tim quipped as he stepped through the doorway, drawing his bow staff and extending it to its full length.
Of course, everyone knew that Robin couldn’t just let drug dealers go, but it’s nice to hope they’d just let things go the easy way for once.
But no, why would anything ever go the easy way, Tim thought as the two men behind Overbite pointed their weapons at him.
“Ah, I was wondering when the Bat would show up, but I guess I’ll just have to settle for one of his birds,” sighed the blonde, keeping his relaxed position.
“Still, I’m glad you could catch the show, it’s bound to blow you away.” Goldilocks said ominously as they started to reach towards the briefcase with the glowing syringes.
“I’d keep your hands off the glowsticks if I were you or things might get real messy for you, Goldilocks,” Tim said as he shifted his fighting stance, staff ready in his hands for an attack. As he neared the masked figure, Overbite started to make a run for the door, his guards taking off with him.
“Whoa now Chompers, why leave the party so soon? We’re just starting to have some fun!” Tim said as he drew a bola from his utility belt and threw it at him, making him tumble to the ground and knock his head on the concrete floor hard enough to knock him out cold.
Unsurprisingly, Overbite’s guards continued on their sprint out of the room and most likely out of the warehouse entirely.
Fuck, I’m going to have to track them down. Why can’t anything just be easy for little old me? A guy only turns 15 once, and I don’t want to spend tomorrow or technically today trying to track them. Tim thought with no small amount of annoyance as he shifted the rest of his focus to the now moving Blonde.
“Well done Robin, quite the display. As much as I’m flattered by your oh so original nickname, I must tell you I go by another. I am called Sicarius. While your company was so very appreciated, I have a feeling this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other,” Sicarius smirked as they fully grasped the syringe, moving towards the kid still struggling in their lackey’s arms.
“And as such, I think our time together should end with a bang, don’t you think? I imagine you already know what this does, but witnessing is so much sweeter than seeing pictures don’t you think?” Their eyes sliced back towards Tim, a manic glee swimming in them.
“Stop!” Tim shouted as he launched himself across the room, sprinting to get the blond. The man with the briefcase backed away behind the crates, seeming to vanish into the darkness. Sicarius paused right before Tim got to them and with a wave of their hand, Tim was suddenly in the air, being launched onto his back a few feet back.
Grumbling, Tim clutched the side of his head as it throbbed from the sudden impact.
Well, I’m certainly not winning any vigilante awards today. Getting back up, Tim sees Sicarius again about to plunge the drug into the kid's arm. Quickly, he reaches into his utility belt for a batarang. Tim grasps it firmly, then flings it with an accuracy that could be lethal if he so chose.
Seeing as the Bats weren’t really in the business of killing, regardless of whatever exceptions Bruce continued to make for Jason, Tim keeps his aim focused on the syringe in Sicarius’ hands. The batarang rips through the glass, shattering it, causing Sicarius to stumble backwards a little, whipping the now free drug off of their face. Using it as a distraction, Tim lunges at the woman holding the kid and hits her square in her forehead, making her drop like a rock.
“Get out of here kid. This isn’t really the place I’d spend my summers in, but that’s just me,” Tim says, breathing slightly labored as he puts himself between Sicarius and the kid who’s already launching themselves through the door and down the stairwell towards escape. He watches as the other figure slowly pulls themselves up to what Tim assumes is their full height, a solid 6’.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us now, so why don’t we get down to business,” Tim says as he grabs smoke pellets from his belt and tosses them at Sicarius, dashing into the smoke to deliver a barrage of blows with his staff.
As Tim started to bring his staff down in its downward arc to where he assumed Sicarius to be, a streak of gold flew through his periphery. Turning to face where a pair of glowing golden eyes stared him down through the smoke, a chill went down his spine as Tim fully turned towards Sicarius, preparing himself for a long fight.
“I must say, I am rather disappointed this didn’t go as planned. But as any good performer knows, the show must go on,” Sicarius said as a palpable wave of something that Tim was almost certain was magic radiated off of them. “It’s such a shame that you won’t be here to see my glorious rise, but you will be an example to the other pests of Gotham of what happens to those who don’t fall in line.”
“Wha-” Tim started but was abruptly slammed through the crates by the same invisible force as before, his bow staff being wrenched from his hands in the process. Before he got a chance to catch his breath, Tim was thrown into the air, his body a few feet off the group, his limbs frozen in place. He could feel the stitches in his side from a recent fight tear, blood starting to color a small patch of the Robin suit.
That’s going to be a bitch to get out
Coughing, Tim shifted his eyes to look at Sicarius, who still held the same relaxed posture as before, eyes seemingly blazing in the receding smoke. Tim would have thought that they’d been frozen as well if not for the way their hand was raised, presumably holding Tim in place.
“Sorry Goldie, I don’t know what you mean by ‘won’t be around to see.’ Hate to break it to you, but after a quick glance at my calendar, it looks like I’m fully booked with kicking ass. Tight scheduling comes with the job, I’m sure you understand.” Tim quipped despite his breathing starting to come out harsher, the simple act of it getting harder as panic started to claw at the edges of his mind. He struggled against the invisible hands that held him in place, but to no avail.
He couldn’t be captured, Batman and Nightwing had too much important work on their plates as it is. Tim couldn’t have them divert their attention away from essential operations to try and rescue him. He tried to avoid thinking about how many innocent lives would be endangered if he pulled Gotham’s protectors away, all because Tim couldn’t handle a simple job any of the previous Robins would’ve been able to handle.
“Oh, I do believe you misunderstand me. I’d think of it less like making room for something, and more like a permanent sabbatical.
“One you won’t be coming back from,” Sicarius says, the corner of his eyes crinkling, clueing Tim in that they were definitely wearing a shit eating grin under the mask.
Ice shot through Tim’s veins and the panic he’d been fighting against pushed itself further to the front of his mind and it took all of his willpower to stop himself from hyperventilating.
Appearing from behind some crates, the man with the briefcase reappeared, bringing said briefcase to Sicarius. Opening the case, Sicarius grabbed the second syringe of glowing liquid, flicking it as he gazed almost lovingly at it.
Shit, I was too distracted trying to save that kid, I completely forgot about the other goon.
“Seeing as you so rudely destroyed my other creation, it seems fitting that you try it yourself. Don’t worry, it’ll give you a fun little trip, but I’ll be here to make sure the job gets finished,” Sicarius’ mask hisses as they pull it off with their free hand and drop it to the floor beside them.
Beneath was a mouth with long scars stretching across their mouth to their chin. Tim opened his mouth to dog on them, probably to call them a knockoff scarecrow, but found that his voice was lost to him.
“As much as I do love to watch the beautiful effects my creation causes, it does just Vex me when I hear people scream,” Sicarius states matter of factly, a sinister smirk curling against the backdrop of the scars littering their face. It was like they just silenced people with their magic all the time.
Actually, that makes a lot of sense, given the amount of trials I saw on that drive, Tim thinks as he continues to try to throw his body away from Sicarius.
Without any more preamble, Sicarius jabs the needle into Tim’s shoulder and pushes the plunger all the way in. Fire erupts under Tim’s skin, an onslaught of sensations soon following, nearly overloading Tim.
Struggling against the barrage of wrongness, Tim could just barely make out Sicarius speaking some kind of language.
"Emitte animam suam de corpore suo et exilium illud in mundo procul a domo, Emitte animam suam de corpore suo et exilium illud in mundo procul a domo, Emitte animam suam de corpore suo et exilium illud in mundo procul a domo…" Sicarius chanted over and over again, face pinched in concentration.
They were the last thing Tim heard as he lost the battle to keep his eyes open, unconsciousness washing over all his senses.
Of all the ways his life could have ended, he hadn’t imagined it would be at the hands of some nobody in a random warehouse in Gotham Harbor, freshly 15. He might have envisioned something a bit flashier, but he probably should have guessed that this is how he’d die. He was the cuckoo, as Jason had so kindly pointed out, and Tim had to agree. The only reason he’d become Robin was to make sure Batman didn’t kill others or himself in his grief of losing his son.
Tim had become auxiliary, a vestigial organ to a family that no longer needed his help or support. Jason had returned to fill the hole that his death had ripped through the Wayne family.
Among the many things Tim regrets, the one he regrets most is that he had to die in a warehouse. As much as he hates how Jason and Bruce treat him, they don’t deserve the blow to their psyche that would come with another Robin dying in a stupid warehouse, regardless of whether or not it was Tim in the suit.
Fuck, Tim thought as his body shut down, slipping without much fight into death’s cold embrace. Batman’s gonna be so pissed.
𓅨𓅨𓅨
Head pounding, Tim groaned as he slowly came to. When he opened his eyes, what Tim expected to see was that he was in the Cave medbay, Bruce scowling disappointedly as he stood at the foot of his cot.
He’d expected to see Alfred busying himself with cleaning the medical tools they’d no doubt used to stitch up his side, unless this was one of the times Bruce expected him to demonstrate he knew how to.
What he wasn’t expecting to see was a 10 year old staring at him in shock. What he really wasn’t expecting was that the kid would be a 10 year old Jason Todd and that Tim himself would be quite literally floating in front of him.
What the Fuck