Chapter Text
Tim sat in the cave as Bruce droned on and on about whatever it was that was so important that he had to be here. The sound of the bats in the far recesses of the cave echoed so loud in his head that he could scarcely hear the actual words that Bruce was saying. Not that Tim could have actually turned the sounds into anything meaningful in that moment, there was no way that he could have interpreted those sounds into words, and those words into a sentence, and then understood what that sentence was supposed to convey to him. He hadn’t eaten in nearly a month, and he’d been stuck in this god forsaken manor for a full two weeks. There wasn’t a single chance for him to get away from everyone long enough to find some poor soul that either jumped on their own or got dumped into the harbor and washed up somewhere.
Tim didn’t exactly want to prey upon the misfortune of others, to feed on their bodies, to take advantage of the tragedy of their deaths in such a manner. But Tim also didn’t want to die. So he did what he had to to live, and tried to convince himself that he didn’t savor every bite of their flesh, every drop of their blood. He pretended to be appalled and ignored the whisper inside him that told him it would taste so much better fresh, and warm, and squirming between his teeth. He didn’t mean to get stuck in this position of course, he had plans to get himself dome food, but two days before he was meant to go, there was an accident.
The accident that led to his predicament was probably what annoyed him the most. It was so preventable. He had been so careless, had grown complacent and hadn’t taken proper precaution in a fight and had paid the price for it. Ivy had released a new airborne pollen that made victims violently ill on a routine breakout. But because of his lack of feeding, which was just over two weeks at that point, he was far weaker, slower, less aware of his surroundings. He was frail and fragile by ghoul standards, still far beyond normal limits by human standards, but he was easier to trick than he was used to. He was chasing her, she ran, he followed, and she led him right into a trap. It was still no excuse for his own shortcomings that had caused him to be close enough to get grabbed by her vines. He should have been able to identify that he wasn’t thinking clearly and compensated for it by being extra cautious, but he hadn't done that, so he wasn’t able to avoid her trap. So he wasn’t fast enough to dodge and as a result, was grabbed. But where he usually would have simply twisted and slipped away, he couldn’t react quick enough and got pollen blasted in the face. Not as fast or clever as he should have been, would have been if he was well fed.
So, while he was left under observation to recover, he’d been benched for another two weeks. If he was human then he would still be weakened, but he was fine, because he wasn’t human. The bats couldn't know that. Which means that he can’t get out without a chaperone, and if anyone follows, he can’t feed. So he either stays here and starves, or goes out and starves. It was infuriating to say the least. He would be cleared to move as he pleased in three days, just three more days of this and he could eat. Surely he could wait that long.
“Tim,” Bruce was looking at him, eyes narrowed in annoyance, “care to share what's on your mind?” Tim stopped himself from jumping at the sudden calling of his name. He sighed heavily, “No sir.” he bit out, willing himself not to flinch around the intense stomach cramp that rippled through his abdomen, and praying that the bite in his tone would be read as teenage petulance rather than pain and exhaustion, “I’m just a bit tired.” He tried when he saw Bruce scrutinizing him, clearly suspicious of him. Tim kept his eyes on the cave floor, uncertain whether or not he would be able to keep his eye under control if he were to make eye contact with a human in that moment. ‘Blue,’ he mentally chanted, ‘Your eyes are blue and they very much need to stay that way.’ Bruce’s head tilts to the side ever-so-slightly and Dick fully turns his body to look at him in concern, his brows furrowed and eyes darting around his face and body in worry.
Tim had to admit, their reactions were warranted, he never admitted when he was reaching his limit, likely a left over from his rough training days with Bruce where any sign of weakness that he showed would get him sent home for several days. But regardless, he really needed them to drop it, or he was going to start losing it right there in the cave. Thankfully, Bruce gave a grunt and motioned towards the stairs, “Go,” he said, finally looking away from Tim and turning to get to work on case files, “we will continue this when you feel like what we do is important enough to you that you can stay awake and listen.” Tim felt rage and indignation burn in his chest, joining the hot gnawing in his stomach and the itching feeling in his throat. How dare he! Tim put everything he could, everything he was into their mission. He fought and lost and cried and suffered and starved and bled for the mission! What right did Bruce fucking Wayne have to question his resolve.
But he held his tongue as he walked up the stairs to his room, each step slow and measured so as to not give any indication of his anger at the comment. Sleep would not find him that night, he knew that. The pain in his stomach was too much to let him sleep but not nearly enough to be the avenue that would let him fall unconscious. This had been the ongoing battle for the past three nights and of course this night was not going to be any different.
Tim realized that he was wrong, and that this night was going to be much different than the previous nights, as his body folds and contorts itself into agonized involuntary arcs of pain. His body hurt so much, it hurt and there was almost nothing that he could do about it to make it stop. Disgust and violent nausea fought in a brutal frenzy against the blazing, screaming hunger, fed by the mouthwatering scent of the humans in the manor with him.
Tim gagged and dry heaved into the small metal trash can that he’d curled himself around, partly from the pain enveloping him, partly from the fact that he couldn’t stop the sweet smell of Damian’s warm blood from permeating the room. The boy in question, only a few doors down, completely unaware of what was happening in the other room. Tim waited out the latest wave of pain that washed over him, and as soon as it had passed enough for him to unwind himself from the bin and half drag himself over to the closet.
Inside were some emergency cubes that he usually used for his coffee to hold off the hunger for just a little while longer. He knew that it wouldn’t be enough, but he hoped that it would help, even if only a little. Tim placed one cube in his mouth, and in the blink of an eye they were all gone, and the hunger was no better. His tongue, dry, stiff, and swollen as it was, was desperately licking at the inside of the small plastic box for any remnant of that delicious flavor. He could feel the heavy warm pulse in his eyes that there was no way he was going to be able to get under control. He had to go, he was starving like this, if he didn’t eat soon, he was going to end up hurting someone.
He imagined Damian, his room just down the hall. They had just started to actually repair their relationship, the prickly boy trusting Tim a little more each day. He thought of Alfred, the man that had always been in his corner when it counted, who stood up for him when Damian first arrived, who scolded Jason every time the man called him names. He thought of Steph and Duke, he thought of the movie nights the three of them had, taking turns braiding Steph's hair, and throwing popcorn at each other. He thought about Jason, about Dick, about Cass, and Bruce, and Babs. He couldn’t be here, he’d never hurt them, he knew that, but he also knew that if he did, there would be nothing any of them could do to stop him. It was terrifying to know what could happen if his control slipped.
It was five in the morning when Tim slipped out of his window after quickly disabling the alarm linked to it and setting the cameras that overlooked the outside of the manor on a short loop, so that hopefully no one would see his escape. At this time, most if not all of the bats should be asleep, so he shouldn’t have to worry too much. If Alfred came in to check on him, well it wasn’t unusual for him to be up early in the morning or pull all nighters in the cave. The only glaring issue he could really see was that he was sloppy with disabling the alarm. He was exhausted and desperate, he knew that, but he was so hungry that at this point he just needed to be out as fast as he could get. Sue him.
Tim slipped out into the night as quickly and as quietly as he could. His red ribbon-like kagune unfurling from the base of his spine and propelling him through the night. When Tim got close enough to the city that camaras and witnesses could have actually posed a real potential problem, he was forced to walk like a normal human, and keep his face as hidden as possible. While most people in Gotham wouldn’t look twice at his odd eyes, he didn’t want to risk anything. He really should have grabbed his sunglasses before he left, but he forgot. He really should have fixed this issue before it got to this point. But even now he was risking a lot to sate his hunger, but he could feel his grip slipping and he knew that he was quickly becoming a danger to the people around him.
So, on he trudged through the semi-empty back allies of Gotham, doing his absolute best to avoid having to interact with any other people. Tim had almost made it all the way to the beach near the bridge, it was the place that bodies washed up the most, and so it was his best chance at getting a quick meal before running back to the manor as quick as he could, when he heard footsteps from behind him. Luckily, he was in a narrow alley between two probably empty warehouses, and no one was ever this far from the main hustle of the city this early in the morning, so no matter who it was, he won’t have to worry about not hurting them.
Tim looked up to see a man in what might have been his mid-forties or fifties, he had a semi-fit build, and clear muscle on him, not that his size of muscles would help him now if he tried to pick a fight. “Hey man,” the stranger called out to Tim, his voice was rough in the way that only comes from a lifetime of chain smoking, “Scrawny kids like you really should know better than to be all the way out here on your own.” The man began to creep closer, closing the gap between them. He hesitated for a second when he realized that Tim wasn’t backing away from him, confusion clear in his face, but still he pressed forward all the same. This was bad, really bad, he needed to get out of here, and he needed this asshole to leave.
Tim felt his hands begin to tremble slightly where he had then stiff and still at his sides. He didn’t want to hurt this man, but there was no way for him to get away without fighting him, and he was worried that he would hit him too hard without meaning to. He thought about running for a moment, but that would attract a lot more attention, and he didn’t have the excess energy for a long chase. The man was sure to follow if he took off, there was no doubt, and a running teen is an easy target for criminals looking for an easy hit, so if he bolted, then this one guy would quickly turn into a large group of them.
Then the man pulled out a gun from the pocket of his baggy hoodie and aimed it at Tims head, “Look, I can tell that you’re a trust fund kid who thought that he was untouchable, and I’m a nice guy.” the man smiled in an imitation of honest friendliness, waving the gun away from where it was pointing at Tim. “Just empty your pockets and everything will be alright.” he finished, pointing the gun back where it was. Tim stiffened, the assumption was fair, he was a rich kid, and his clothes reflected that. He hadn’t come out here in costume because he didn’t want Red Robin to be caught cannibalizing someone, and it was easier to slip into a crowd in street clothes than in a costume if he did get spotted, but that meant he looked like a spoiled kid. Out of his depth and with a nice chunk of change likely to be found on him. Usually, he would just act like a scared civilian and hand over everything he had on him, but this time he had a domino mask tucked into his jeans pocket and not a penny on him. And if he was being honest with himself, then he also really didn’t want to let himself get too close to the other person.
“Go away,” Tim tried, usually if an easy target starts acting off then a smart Gotham criminal will leave, sort of like a wild animal. But this man didn’t seem to be one of the smarter ones. “Look kid, I’m nice, but I’m not that nice,” He took a few more steps forward and aimed the gun lower, so that it was leveled at Tim’s chest instead of his head, “Just give me what you’ve got, and I’ll let you go.” This was bad, the man was getting agitated, and he was no longer aiming at his head, so he was probably actually going to pull the trigger. Rich kids don’t get shot in the head, they’re worth much more alive, and a dead rich kid meant someone was actually going to prison for a long time. This encounter was growing more and more dangerous by the second, he needed to get out of here before things went sideways.
“Fine,” Tim said, trying to sound scared, “He slowly began to pull out a few items from his pockets, and took a couple small shaky steps forward as he did, trying to get close enough for a quick knockout. He dropped a pen, an erasure, and a pad of sticky notes out of his jacket pockets. This fully set the man off as he stomped over, “Come on just turn them out-” the second that he reached for Tim’s wrist, Tim twisted, aiming to get the weapon out of the man's hands, but he miscalculated, and his foot slipped, and he lost his grip on the other as he crashed to the ground. His surprised would-be mugger cried out in shock with a short yell. He instinctively pulled the trigger and the bullet impacted Tims ribs hard. Tim crashed to the ground, head smacking against a large stone, and his head swam.
Everything was still for a moment as the mugger realized he just actually shot a rich kid. A rich kid who wasn’t moving. “Shit,” he said in a harsh whisper, sounding frantic, “I’m gonna go to prison for this, oh god.” he stumbled over to Tims fallen form and began going through his pockets looking for the money he was there for. After a few seconds he pulled out the mask and froze, looking back and forth between the mask and the body on the ground. His brows furrowed in confusion as his gaze lingered on Tim, “There’s no blood, why isn’t there any blood?” he murmured softly, almost frantically. The man gasped and tried to scramble away, but it was already too late, Tim lunged forward, tackling the man to the ground. Then everything descended into a fuzzy haze and wild chaos.
There was a short cut off scream, then a wet, scratchy, gurgling noise, snapping and cracking, a thick whimper, the taste of delicious warm liquid on his tongue and flowing down his throat, the scent of iron all around, the sound of flesh tearing away from bone, the wet squelch of organs moving beneath sharp and unrelenting fingers, and the popping of joints being pulled apart and the burst of stomach being bitted open. The warm organ popping like a fresh grape and spilling thick bitter liquid from it. Then everything went black.