Chapter Text
Tim was falling.
He had no appropriate gear to break the fall. No backup coming. No energy. No more plans or contingencies to make it out of this.
The normal reaction would probably have been to be afraid. But, eh, normal was overrated. Since when did Tim ever settle for normal?
Instead, he just felt relieved.
Admittedly, it had not been his best plan. There had not been enough time or resources. But at least, it worked. His primary objectives were accomplished.
I did it, Tim smiled as he fell. I saved the people he loved. I saved everything he worked so hard to build. No compromises.
He was satisfied.
It didn’t matter if he was the collateral damage.
He had won. Ra’s al Ghul had lost. The Waynes would live on and continue to thrive. Batman would soon return. That’s what mattered.
Bruce’s family and legacy was safe. Tim had already modified his will to cover Wayne Industries should he perish. He’d also given the evidence of Bruce being lost in time to Dick and the Justice League. His mission was done.
Tim just wanted to rest now.
He still had his grapple, though it wasn’t much use from the heights he was falling from now. God he wished he had the winged cape he had been thinking of designing for his costume. They would have been perfect here. Well, too late for that.
He could also try calling for Superman. But… The way the League agreed with Dick and thought he was crazy for believing Bruce was alive left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sue him. He had his pride. And to be honest, he couldn’t help but doubt if Clark would even show up for him.
He was no one important. Not even really part of the Bats any more. Most of the superhero community thought he was crazy because of what Dick said, and most of his team was dead, thought he was crazy, or hated or distrusted him.
And god was he tired.
The last day had been terrible. No, the last year had been terrible. He was exhausted. He felt dirty. He had given up everything, even his own identity and morality, for a mission that everyone had thought he was crazy for. But he’d like to think it was worth it.
He hoped Bruce would be proud of him. That was all that he ever wanted.
He won’t say anything. He never does. But I know. I know that Bruce will be proud of me.
Tim wanted to believe that. He really did.
But…if Bruce knew what he had done, would he really be proud of him?
Sure, he had accomplished the mission, but he had made compromises, stained his hands with blood and broken the cardinal rule that Bruce had always considered to be so important.
No. Tim knew. He knew that if Bruce ever found out what he had done…he would not forgive him.
Worst case, he would join Dick in trying to lock him in Arkham. At best, he would never be trusted again. He would always be considered a potential threat. No longer truly family (if he had ever been).
So maybe this was for the best.
Tim hadn’t wanted or planned to die, exactly. Really! He’s not suicidal. He’s not. He just…didn’t particularly mind either way? He and his survival instinct had an on and off relationship, alright.
But he honestly hadn’t planned it out to end like this. He just…didn’t plan for it to not end like this? If that made sense?
Either way, at least if he died now, he would have died doing something useful. He could still trick himself into believing that it was true, that Bruce would be proud of him…would be proud to have him as his son, or if not, then as a good soldier, a good partner.
Perhaps it was better off for Tim to never know what his reaction actually would be.
He didn’t want to see the disappointment or judgement. He didn’t want Bruce to see what a failure he was, what he had done.
So Tim just…closed his eyes with a smile. He ignored the tears that were blown away by the wind.
He decided to just leave it up to a roll of dice with fate. Yet another game with Lady Death. But with no weighted dice this time.
No more plans or tricks.
No last minute miracles.
No hero to save him or catch him when he falls.
And this time, the gamble was lost. But at least it was quick. When Tim hit the ground, there was just a moment of agonizing pain before he knew no more.
Red Robin had made his last flight, and had finally fallen, broken.
***
Tim wasn’t surprised he died.
Ever since he had picked up the mantle of Robin, he had been prepared to die at any moment. Hell, the reason why he took up the mantle was because the previous Robin had been tortured then killed.
He knew the risks.
He knew that every time he went out into a fight, it would always be a gamble. Always some chance that perhaps, that night, he might not make it back.
So no. Tim was not surprised that he had finally died.
In fact, he was actually quite satisfied with the way he went out.
Heroic and useful death? Check. Quick and relatively less painful? Also check. One thing for certain, it sure beat torture. He would know.
What was surprising, though, was waking up again after.
Tim had no idea how it was possible.
When he came to, his training automatically kicked in, and he kept his breathing even, faking sleep in case he was in the presence of enemies.
Tim quickly catalogued his current state. He could feel his mask and costume was still on, so he was still currently Red Robin. His cheekbone felt as if it were fractured. He seemed to have some broken or cracked ribs, and he was covered with gashes and cuts. His shoulder was dislocated.
His entire body was sore, and he was lying on cold concrete, the frigid wind causing him to shiver. The familiar feel of the metal of his bo staff weighed comfortingly in his hand. He could hear the sounds of sirens and passing cars. Outside then, in a city. No signs of another person nearby. At least, not yet.
Tim opened his eyes.
Okay. Night sky. He was on a rooftop somewhere. No signs of anyone else nearby. Why was he lying alone on a rooftop?
With a groan, Tim struggled to his feet with his Bo staff. He tried to figure out where he was or what the current situation was.
Huh. Alright. First thing he noticed was that he was definitely not in Gotham any more. Last time he checked the Empire State Building was decidedly not in Gotham. He was in New York. Why was he in New York?!
“O?” Tim turned on his communicator. “You there?”
There was only static.
Tim frowned. He tried a few other frequencies, but got the same result.
He was starting to have a bad feeling about this.
He turned on his gauntlet computer, quickly going through the holographic screens. He was immediately met with the problem of having no connection. None of the Batfamily’s satellites were available, nor any other satellite they were used to.
Alright, the theory that he was in an entirely different dimension was starting to be increasingly likely. And from the fact that there seemed to be no compatible satellites from his world, this was most likely a world where Batman did not exist, or something may have happened to him. Not ideal. But Tim would deal with it.
Tim noted his current location, then checked to make sure nothing was left behind as evidence of his presence, quickly cleaning up the blood from his wounds and other traces. Once he was sure nothing could be used to track back to him, he threw himself off the roof then grappled away, sticking to the rooftops and the shadows, making sure to avoid cameras.
It wasn’t Gotham, but moving around was easy enough. He needed to quickly get some distance away from his landing point. He had already wasted some time during his disorientation and clean up. Who knew what the current state of this universe was? If they had a way to detect dimensional or magical disturbances (or whatever had gone on to get him here), then they would likely send someone to check it out. And nope, Tim did not want to stick around for that. No thank you.
No, what he needed was information. And he needed to blend in. He couldn’t attract attention to himself.
It’s okay. Tim was good at adapting.
Sure he might be alone now with no team in another universe, and sure he’s pretty sure he had just died…but he was still alive somehow (at least he didn’t feel like a zombie), and he was fine. Completely fine. Sure, it felt as if he had been run over by a truck, but he’d had worse.
The missing spleen might cause some complications, but he’ll live.
He’d treat it like another mission. Information gathering. Survival. Finding a way back.
Alright, Tim thought as he slunk into the shadows. Time to find out what mess I’ve landed myself in.
It was time for him to do what he did best. He’ll make a plan. He’ll fix things. Complete the mission.
Don’t panic. Don’t think about dying. Don’t think about Bruce or Dick or—
He was fine.