Chapter Text
Heavy rain hit the pavement in rhythmic, splattering bursts, thick drops that rang out across cracked Gotham streets like the ticking of a funeral clock. Every few seconds, a harsh gust of wind would sweep through the alleys, moaning low like the city itself was in mourning.
Tim Drake hit the ground hard.
His body skidded, rolling once before slamming shoulder-first into the broken curb. His limbs folded awkwardly beneath him. Pain bloomed sharp and instantly bright behind his eyes, radiating down his spine and bones. He barely registered the metallic taste in his mouth before a wave of nausea followed. The world tilted somehow for a moment, he stayed there, sprawled against the street like a broken marionette, fingers twitching, chest heaving. Cold rain soaked into the torn fibers of his suit blood mixed with mud and gutter slime. His left arm wasn’t responding like it should, His ribs screamed every time he coughed or shifted.
But none of that mattered. Not really, Because this had become his norm tim was used to being hurt.
He slowly pushed himself to his knees, muscles shaking with effort, fingers slipping on wet asphalt. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Existing hurt. he did it anyway.
He always did.
Tim blinked against the downpour and squinted at the skyline searching for familiarity in the shapes of the city. For the small comforts of what he knew. But something was wrong, Very wrong. The Gotham he knew had sharp edges, yes but this Gotham? This one leaned. Buildings sloped slightly inward, like they were listening and staring. The sky above was a dull gray-black, stars swallowed whole. The familiar Wayne Tower spire loomed too high, too twisted. It moved when he wasn’t looking. The streets whispered.
He blinked again. Head throbbed.
Concussion, gotta be or worse.
He didn’t remember how he got here. The mission had been simple a cleanup on a trafficking tip in the Narrows. A solo gig of course. That was all they let him have anymore. He remembered breaking glass, the sound of a scream. The rooftop giving way. The sudden, sickening weightlessness.
Then... here.
Maybe he hit his head hard enough to hallucinate, Maybe he was dying.
A strangled laugh bubbled in his chest. It came out more like a wheezing cough. Of course he’d die alone in a gutter. That tracked.
And then the silence fell.
Not quiet. Not peaceful. But the wrong kind of silence One that swallowed the city’s usual chorus of sirens and tires and screams. As if the world had been placed under glass. He didn’t hear the steps behind him because there were none to be.
But he felt it.
The slow, suffocating shift in the air pressure, The throb behind his eyes deepening. Like a storm front descending inside his own skull.
And then...
“Ooh Welcome home,” a voice cooed from somewhere.
Tim’s breath caught in his throat. The voice wasn’t loud. It was soft, low. Gentle even But it didn’t come from behind him. Or around him.
It came from within.
He turned slow, aching and saw them.
Five shadows descending from the rooftops. Slow, liquid movements, Like silk in water, Like smoke with weight. Cloaks curled like wings. Eyes glowed faint white, gleaming beneath cowls and masks that looked almost right but weren’t. Too tall. Too still. Too... wrong.
And yet..
He knew them.
Batman. Nightwing. Red Hood. Batgirl. Robin.
His family.
His family?
No.
That wasn’t possible.
His head pounded and throbbed Tim swayed, vision flickering in s fuzzy haze. He blinked and blinked again. They weren’t close enough for him to make out their faces, and maybe that was for the best.
Because they hadn’t moved.
They just stood.
Watching Like statues.
And in the silence, just as Tim’s vision blurred harsh once more, he heard it again beneath the rain, beneath the city, beneath his skin:
“We found you.”
And the world folded in in pure nothingness.