Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim had seen countless bodies. Countless victims of one tragedy or another.

Yet somehow after all of that it never got easier, he mused to himself hunched over the body of a girl in an alleyway located in the seedier part of Gotham, his face scrunched up into a mixture of exhaustion and determination.

Broken glass littered the taped-off scene, reflecting the flickering light of a half broken street lamp and illuminating the blood staining the sharp edges.

Notebook in hand, Tim leans over the body. The girl was face down, for the moment she was nameless to him, but there was blood pooling around her, seemingly coming from around her head, but Tim couldn’t be quite sure until he could actually see the body properly.

He still makes a note of it anyway. It might be useful.

Hap-hazardly thrown on the girl's back was a note written on the back of what once was most likely a napkin, but after sitting in a grimy alleyway for an hour or so now no longer really appeared as one.

However the black ink stood out, cutting through the dirt and grime like a dagger. The handwriting was as generic as it could possibly be, neat and orderly and if you didn’t know better could be mistaken for something typed out rather than hand written.

“Qui si può essere tormentato ma non si può morire. Here you can be tortured but not die. What on Earth is this about?”

The words are familiar in his mouth, but from what he can’t quite place.

“Are you not done yet Drake?”

The sudden sound of Damian’s voice snapping Tim harshley out of his trance. His head whipped around to reveal his younger brother, well technically Robin, half clocked in the shadows of a nearby building, staring at him judgmentally as he leaned against the brick arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Like you would be any quicker?” There was no heat to his words, despite their seemingly rude nature.

A short laugh, somewhere between a giggle and a scoff, slipped out of his mouth as the sentence ended and he turned back to face the body. Tim knows that he really shouldn’t be laughing, not at this, but if he doesn’t he might just land himself in Arkham.

“Of course I could.” And Tim didn’t need to face Damian to know that the younger was rolling his eyes. He knew his brother, and this was the sort of thing he would take offence to the most. He just continues to smile, he was used to Damian’s antics by now, and in some cases found them weirdly sweet.

“Wanna bet on that?”

Damian didn’t dignify the question with a response.

“Although you are actually right. I am not quite done. This note it’s a message of sorts, I just don’t have a clue as to what it's trying to say.” He can feel Damian edge slightly closer, wanting to better see the victim but unwilling to leave the comfort of the shadows. “I know what happened here wasn’t just an accident, somebody wanted to tell us something, I can feel it Damian.”

It feels weird to use names when his brother is clearly in costume, but Robin sounds too formal, like he is somehow superior to Tim, that after years spent in the same position just doesn’t sit well with him.

“Ttch. Must you always overthink these things Drake. Friendly reminder but the dead don’t talk.” The Boy Wonder was clearly unimpressed, annoyance rolling off his tongue with every syllable.

“Well that never stopped Jason did it?”

Tim’s face was grinning as he called out the comeback into the crisp Gotham night, for some reason he found his quite frankly terrible joke to be a divine piece of comedy.

It must have been half decent though because a small snicker erupted from his brother before a warning not to let Jason hear him say that.

“Besides the living do talk Damian, and if we’re looking for the killer, we need to discover who is sending the message.”

With that Damian leaves the veil of the shadows entirely, standing half a meter away from his older brother, focusing on the note.

“It’s just a threat, and a bad one at that. Why bother leaving a calling sign when you could just kill?”

He understands where Damian is coming from, and the boy does have a point, but this is Gotham, everything has a meaning. People don’t just leave notes for the fun of it, more often than not they are a sign that something bigger is at play.

“Not every threat is immediate, some like this one, are the beginning of a larger puzzle.”

Despite his dismissal of Damian’s theory, he tries to sound as understanding as possible, everyone starts from somewhere after all, and a gentle nudge can go a long way. Even if Damian in question seems more annoyed by the statement then not.

“Fine. But I’d prefer to find whoever did this before they can do it again.” Typical teenage angst leaking from his voice as he walked away back into the shadows ignoring Tim as he knelt back down again staring intently at the glass littering the pavement. There was something special about it. The blood splatters were too perfect, too forced.
What if, Tim thinks to himself, the glass wasn’t the weapon like he had originally assumed. His fingers hover an inch from the ground tracing along the rivers of blood sprouting from the wound, maybe wounds, it wouldn’t have made sense for them to have been stabbed in the head, shot sure but there was no evidence of a bullet wound or any glass stuck in the skin from a stabbing.

“I don’t think the victim died here. The blood splatter it’s too perfect, too forced for it to have occurred naturally. Maybe she was poisoned? But the point is she didn’t die here, she just died here.” A sense of wonder and achievement glistened in his eyes as he announced his discovery to the now empty alley, at least he presumed Damian wasn’t there anymore.

It’s a warning, but for what?

Chapter Text

Gotham never sleeps, and the same could be said for her police department. Even at one am the place was hectic, people were running around, papers in hand and trying to reach someone amidst the chaos. Shouting could be heard no matter where you were in the building. Some of it came from those in the holding cells, however a good bit of the chaotic sounds were the result of underpaid, sleep deprived officers.

Tim was unfortunately contributing to that democratic, arguing with a Foresentic officer over seeing the body and the girl’s details. For some reason this information just couldn’t be released, not even to the detective on her case. As he argued, he became increasingly more animated, his loosely held cup of tea threatening to spill over onto the other officer’s head. He needed to see the girl’s body, study her wounds, confirm his theory, but how could he do that if he was denied valuable information?

It was all so frustratingly annoying. Eventually the officer just walked away, clearly not caring enough to put up with Tim’s relatively simple request, all he had to do was give him access to the girl’s file. “It's not hard” he thinks to himself, his body tensing with anger as he downed the rest of his tea and slung his coat over his shoulder, his shift ended ages ago anyway.

Leaving the hectic halls of the GCPD for the desolate streets of Gotham was a surreal experience. One moment his mind was buzzing with energy and warmth, only for it to be cooled instantly by the chilled air.

He missed Robin.

It was weird, he never wanted to be a vigilante, he thought that he would be happy to leave the life behind. Nevertheless he has to admit that investigating was so much easier as the Dark Night’s partner, they almost always had the first access to sensitive information and if they didn’t well they still found a way to make it seen.

Almost as if mocking him, the sound of a grapple line could be heard overhead as the sky lit up with the Bat Signal. He was no longer needed, no longer wanted. He no longer knew where his place was. If he was still Robin he would be up there with the rest of the Bats, but now he is no longer part of that inner circle, he would never be again. The thought was both mornfull, but also exciting, a fresh chance to make something for himself.

Which might be why the drive to Wayne Manor the next day was so disorientating. Anxiety and panic wrecked his body as he approached the manor as he had done so many times before. However this time it was different, he was no longer a bat and he had no clue as to how his place in the family would look as a result.

His hands were shaking as he rang the doorbell, forcing them to steady as he heard footsteps on the other side and the clear click of the imposing door being unlocked.

Unsurprisingly it was Alfred who answered, and for a moment Tim didn’t know why he had been so scared as the old butler welcomed him into the house with a hug and showing him to the empty dining room.

The table was set, piled high with plates of food under aluminium foil to keep the dishes warm. Apparently the other’s mission ends a bit later than they expected, but they’ll be there in half an hour max.

That was fine, Tim didn’t mind waiting, but he would be lying if he said that the message didn’t sting a little. It was just another reminder that he was no longer with them in every aspect of their lives, it was painful.

But he took the news with a grin as he and Alfred took their respective places at the table, both deciding to wait for the rest before eating. It was polite after all.

As the clock ticked along the pair chatted about Alfred’s book club and the thrilling murder mystery that he had been reading for it. At some point Tim threaded his badge off from around his neck, it was starting to itch, placing it next to the unused cutlery. However this action prompted their next topic of conversation, Tim’s job.

Yes he knows that he really isn’t supposed to talk about what he gets up to outside of work, especially not to civilians, but he needed to talk to someone about it and Alfred was the most trustworthy “civilian” he could think of, so he spoke about the girl from yesterday, Alfred had probably already heard about her from Damian anyway.

Her information and injury reports came through to him this morning after all. Her name was Maria Costa, an Italian citizen who moved to Gotham in her childhood, a student at Gotham University studying for a bachelors in Sociology. Her end was horrific, but he retailed all the information he felt comfortable giving with a straight face, he had to keep emotion out of it or he would wind up insane.

Just as he finished talking the dining room door slammed open, giving way to the exhausted rest of the family. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian and Steph all dressed in the comfiest sweatpants and worn shirts known to man their hair dripping from post-mission showers.

For a moment Tim felt out of place, in his jeans and button down shirt, until he looked over at Alfred who was far more dressed up than he was, even if it was only because of the older man’s job. Still it made him feel more secure in his place.

Tired greetings were muttered from the rest of the family as they took their places around the table, some were apologising for how late they were while others were saying that Tim and Alfred should have just started eating.

Once everyone was seated, the protective wrap was taken off the food and roast potatoes, crackling and vegetables were passed sporadically between them. Light conversation flowed through the room, but Tim felt like an outsider nonetheless, unable to contribute.

They were his siblings, but somehow Tim felt more like a cousin or family friend, as they all exchanged little inside jokes about their night-life that he was no longer privy to. Forced laughs carrying him through awkward glances, signalling that he should have found something funny.

“Did you see that explosion on 5th?” Dick said casually, “We should probably offer to help the cops clean that one up.” Tim had heard about the explosion on 5th, it blew up two buildings, severely burnt another and left several people in hospital facing permanent disabilities. It was safe to say that the GCPD was up to its head in terms of finding the culprit. Honestly the help sounded nice, it would give him more time to work on the several other cases that needed to be solved.

However before he could agree he was cut off, “That guy was probably crazy Dickie, did you see what he was wearing?” No Jason, he had not seen what he was wearing, he wasn’t there please elaborate.

“I know right, like who in their right mind decides to wear a dinosaur costume to commit arson?” Which Steph luckily adds, what the guy was wearing had the potential to be useful after all.

However that was quickly followed by a chorus of laughter, like the rest just didn’t care about the damage that the arsonist had done, but maybe they were just deflecting the pain with humour like he himself did. There was really no way to tell, and so Tim just decided to shrug it off and let the meal continue.