Chapter Text
I can feel Gotham aching under my feet. She’s dying, she can’t come back from this. I’ve felt it in the back of my mind for a while now. She’s barely holding on as her Knights stray farther and farther from her light– or lack thereof. I don’t want to admit it, but I can tell how tired she is. Sometimes I can't tell if it’s her pain and weariness I’m feeling, or my own.
When I’m running high on the rooftops with no sound other than her ever-present, buzzing chorus, I feel her. In a way that’s akin to worship. I feel her fill my bones and take over my body. On nights like those, I feel reaffirmed in my role as her Knight. Maybe she can tell when my devotion is waning– when I want to run far, far away to a place no one knows the name Batman, much less Drake or Wayne. Where no one knows me, or thinks they do.
On nights like these, the shadows of Gotham loom large, and I find myself caught in an endless chase, heart pounding like a wild drum. I yearn to run, to break free from the chains of this relentless city. With every stride toward the boundaries, the wind rushes past me, whispering secrets of freedom and dreams unfulfilled.
Yet, on these haunting nights, that palpable longing spirals into an exquisite pain that grips my very soul, twisting deep in my bones. It’s as if the city itself calls to me, taunting my every step, reminding me of a life I could have lived but never did. Just when I think I might escape, she—this unyielding force—pulls me back into her grasp, her embrace both a comfort and a cage.
I stand at the edge of despair, an emotion swelling within me that I can only describe as loss, an ache that has no name. But what is it that I truly stand to lose? My heart wrestles with this question, for I clutch tightly to nothing but shadows, a life spent in pursuit of a dream that remains just beyond my reach. The night deepens, the air thick with unspoken words, and I am left alone with my haunting thoughts, echoing into the silence.
In the morning, I watch the sunrise, trying to chase the idea that there might be more for me, outside of Gotham, outside of the cape. As the sun clears the horizon and the day goes on, I lose the idea that maybe, just maybe, I’m not where I’m meant to be. The idea usually fades completely by noon, which I can tell only by the digital clock on the bottom right of my screen.
Tonight, though, there’s an urgency in her pain, in her screams. I can feel it rise through my shaky legs every time I make contact with demolished rooftops. Her pain is beginning to become my own. There's not much left of her. The first wave knocked out most of her infrastructure– just as it was intended to. In the rubble that was left, you could see the occasional civilian huddled under a collapsed roof. The situation was bad, even by Gotham standards.
. “Red Robin, your tracker is off. Explain.”
I hear Batman’s voice buzz from my comm. It seemed even he wasn’t immune to the gravity of the situation. His usual ‘I swallow glass every day’ was replaced with more of a ‘I’m a depressed chainsmoker in the middle of a midlife crisis.’ It was a nice change of pace, but it really did come at a bad time. If he knew what I was thinking about his voice, he probably would lecture me on staying focused and on task– if I was lucky. Nowadays, he didn't even say enough for it to be considered a lecture. Part of me misses them, because at least then he took his time to tell me all the ways I’d failed to meet his expectations.
It was like this back when I first became Robin. He couldn’t even look at me during the first few months. I knew it was because I reminded him too much of what he lost. Too much of Jason. As a 10 year old child whose parents probably didn’t even remember how old he was, the excuse wore thin quickly. I had heard every excuse under the sun by that age. Whether it be death or work, it would only ever be an excuse. I saw just how quickly he got over Jason’s death when Damian showed up. Just how fast Dick came back to the manor for his baby brother. Even then, I knew that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much grief counseling he underwent, I would never get the same attention, never measure up to the past Robins. Not because I wasn’t talented enough, but because he would never let me. As much as Jason loved to call me Replacement, Bruce couldn't even find a place for me, much less give me Jason’s. It hurts even more now that I’ve watched him make room for Damian. He didn’t pick Damian either; he didn’t choose to have a son, so why was I so different? Why was I not enough? I was ready to give my life for his damn Mission– for him.
“Who knows, everything is malfunctioning right now. Must’ve gotten damaged. I’m still circling where the damage is the worst, trying to find survivors,” I replied monotonously. If I were being honest, which I never have been and never will be, I’d tell him that I ditched the tracker miles ago. By ditched, I mean I smashed it under the boot of my heel. Repeatedly. I couldn’t let Batman catch on to my plan. He needed to be there when this all came to pass.
. “Fine,” he grumbles out.
“Tt- you cannot even ensure the perpetuity of your gear, yet you brag of your intelligence? It’s for the best you aren’t on the main team, you would certainly find a way to mess that up as well,” I can hear the demon brat drawl. His voice tight with what is probably pain.
. “Really? Don’t you think we have better things to focus on?”
. “Red Robin, stop occupying the channel.”
I can’t even find it in myself to be annoyed. He’s twelve, he’s just twelve, I tell myself. The comment was elementary at best, and I can hardly say I took offense to it. No, the barbs that hurt were when he pointed out things I already knew. You’re only here because you forced yourself in. He’s only letting you stay here out of pity. He never picked you; he never wanted you. He should’ve left you to rot in that empty house.
A part of me sometimes tries to convince myself that Bruce isn’t aware of what he’s doing, or Nightwing, for that matter. Maybe they’re just so focused on Damian, so focused on the Mission, that they don’t realize I’m being pushed out. A bigger part of me knows just how stupid I’d have to be to believe that. I’ve seen enough happy families to know that it was possible. Possible to love all of your kids– except I wasn’t one of his kids. Damian was right, I am just an outsider. But that was a choice I made. I saw the gap and I widened it. I chose to extract myself from the tangled, rotted mess they call a family. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
I can’t believe I was worried about him catching on to what I was doing. Sure, he was a great detective, but to solve a case, you’d have to pay enough attention to know there even was one. I’ve been slipping under Bruce’s radar since he knew my name. I was fucking stalking him, and he didn’t even notice. That should have been a bigger tell that no matter what I did, he wouldn’t pay attention to me. He likes to think he knows what all of his ‘wards’ are doing at all times, but that’s just a delusion. He’s a mortal man, not the Moniter. Ever since I moved into an apartment, closer to Wayne Industries, I've told them – his oversight has been getting less and less. At this point, we hardly ever spoke, even on patrol. Neither of us mentioned the measly one camera and two bugs he planted. I’d bet my CEO position that Dick got at least twice as many when he moved out.
I wish he would figure out what I was planning. I wish he would call me stupid and reckless. I wish he would talk me out of it and go in my place. To be honest, I’d be happy with just the stupid part. Deep down, I knew he would never notice I was acting off. Part of me wants to attribute my trickery to my own skill, but I know that’s not all of it. Even I would be pressed to get something past Batman if he were paying attention.
I make my way through the remains of Gotham, doing my best to ignore the survivors. I hate myself when they look at me with their expressions of hope. Every particle of my being wants to help them, wants to stop and tell them it’ll be ok. Or at least keep them company in their final moments. I have to keep telling myself that I need to keep pushing to get to the cave. If I reach it, if I succeed, none of them will have to feel this pain.
The closer I get, the heavier my chest feels. It’s as if Gotham is collapsing in me– or it could just be my broken ribs. The reality of the situation is finally settling in. If my plan works, I won’t come back to Gotham. Hell, I won’t even come back to this earth. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m not… upset. Overthinking is my specialty; it’s what makes me so good at being Robin. But right now, I feel my mind blanking as my body moves as if controlled. Never seeing anyone I know ever again should break me, but I can’t think of even one person I would miss. Finally, I feel some clarity, like an epiphany. I could never bring myself to leave Gotham; the guilt would’ve eaten me alive. Now, if everything works out, I will have made the ultimate sacrifice. It was like a parting gift. I will have given myself up for the mission, which should allow me to be free. Right?
My comms are silent, as is Gotham, by the time I make it to the Batcave. At this point, I’m sure I have a concussion, at least tw– ouch ahh– ok, let's go with three, broken ribs. I pushed aside the pain; it got easier with every injury– every scrape, every fracture, it just made it easier to keep pushing in the long run. I wish it didn’t.
As I reach the cave, I feel lighter than ever. The weight in my chest lifts, as if Gotham finally approves of my plan. Each step I take brings me closer to my future. Even if I end up dead from some disease I never developed immunity to, lack of oxygen, or even trampled by some monster, at least I’ll feel a sense of freedom, even if it is short-lived. The last time I think I was free was when I was a stupid nine year old chasing Batman and Robin across the rooftops. When I still thought someone cared for me. Surprisingly, when no one cares or notices you, you don’t feel free. All you feel is want– at least for me.
Walking through the cave, I notice that most of the video feed from our dominoes is still connected to the computers. I must be one of the unluckiest motherfuckers alive to see this. On each screen is every cape’s point of view. It’s from their views that I see the killing blow being struck. Batman falls to blast that I know even he can’t survive from. The feed dies, but I can see the result from Robin’s camera. In a mess of blood and bones, Batman drops.
A scream filled with more rage than I knew could exist in such a small body tears itself out of Robin’s mouth. He wades through the bodies and ruins until he reaches his father. From there, he makes his final stand, taking out an impressive number of assassins until he inevitably joins his fallen father in a heap, eventually trampled by the incoming enemy forces.
I turn my eyes to another screen, this one showing Nightwing’s view. I can tell he won’t last much longer. His pulse is dropping as well as his blood pressure, the computer tells me. He looks towards Red Hood and says, “If I’m going down, at least it’s next to you, Little Wing.”
The words only seem to anger the pit-raged man even more. The red helmet that still occasionally appears in my nightmares turns towards the screen I’m watching. “Don’t you fucking dare, Dick. You don’t get to pull this shit. You don’t get to die on me,’ he growls out.
I always knew he had a soft spot for Dick, especially after he found out he killed the Joker that one time. In a ball of fire, both of their feeds are taken over until all that's left is static. Steph had already died; she was taken out in the initial blasts. I knew that, but I still turned to her screen, hoping beyond hope. I had never really forgiven her for the whole Red Robin gang war shit she pulled after she came back from the dead, and I don’t think I ever will, but a part of me still loved her. I had to keep telling myself that none of their deaths mattered because I would go back and change it, but I still felt tears streaming down my dirt-stained face. I widen my view so I can see all of the feeds, including non-Gotham heroes. One by one, they all turn to static. I’m grateful I turned off my comms before I came into the cave. I don’t believe I would be able to do this if I were hearing their screams. I force down all the emotions, because what good are they gonna do me now? Everyone is dead. I’m all that's left. I keep walking.
As the door to the vault gets closer, I can feel my heart beating faster. Finally, I stop in front of the door. A simple BioScan gives me access to a place that looks like a supervillain’s dream store. Rows and rows of shelves line the room, with display tables occupying the center. It’s normally illuminated by blue fluorescents, but the crisis alarm turned them red, just making the situation more dramatic. Really, I didn’t even know why we did the whole red lights thing. It seemed counterproductive; it only made people more stressed and less productive.
In the middle of the room, surrounded by three inch thick plexiglass and probably a billion other security measures, knowing Batman was a paranoid motherfucker that didn’t even accept birthday gifts without having them scanned and tested. On a small plaque drilled onto the stand was an inscription, ‘D.T.D., Origin: Earth-13, Alexandra Luther’. I had heard the story of Alexandra Luther and how she was smart enough to create a device allowing her to travel through dimensions. Yet, she clearly lacked creativity and ended up naming it the Dimension Traveling Device. I mean… really?
Apparently, before Batman took the device, she was able to put some sort of fail-safe on it. She was able to almost child-lock it, limiting it to one dimension, but still allowing its time-traveling capabilities. Batman had never allowed me to study the device, but I got the gist. The device could safely go back in time, but when the person who travelled backwards reaches the exact point in time at which they activated the device, they would be, for lack of a better word, flung across the multiverse. Part of me (a lot of me) was terrified at the lack of control the device allowed me. I wouldn’t be able to know where I would land after I fell through the multiverse.
When I reached the case, I carefully entered the passcode and pressed my thumb to the scan for yet another Biometric scan and begged whatever higher being there was, that didn’t want him dead, that this worked. After a soft click and hiss, the case opened, granting me access.
Whelp, guess we’ll find out soon enough, I think, as I input the time I want to go back to, making sure I have a firm grasp on my bag. If I go back without the plan and resources locked in my computer’s drive, then all this will be for nothing. I don’t think I could handle watching everyone fall again. The first time unlocked feelings even I didn’t know I had. This will either be my saving grace or a creative way to kill myself. I’m not quite sure which.