Chapter Text
Tim was falling through the air.
Not the first time he'd encountered this problem. It might be the last, though. Given the givens.
He'd started this involuntary and sudden descent where a lot of Tim’s problems began: investigating a cult.
Well, it hadn't started with a cult. It started with a tip via Lonnie that suspicious people had been reported entering an abandoned theater in the Coventry carrying strange black boxes. No one had been reported leaving, with boxes or otherwise, in over a week.
In Gotham, when it came to boxes and suspicious people and abandoned places (theaters especially), well. It bore investigating.
The plan had been to sneak in, take some photos, look for the boxes and/or anything that might have been inside said boxes, and leave. He'd already investigated who owned the building and found an antique trading company that seemed to pop up overnight called Vuloj Antik. Vuloj wasn’t a family name, wasn't connected to any crime syndicates, wasn’t connected to any language, any country, any religion, anything.
Which was, in a word, Suspicious.
Suspicious didn't mean wrong doing. Suspicious meant 'dig deeper'. It was supposed to be a recon mission, so Tim hadn’t requested any backup. He could recon alone (and these days, he often preferred it that way).
But—as if fate were contractually obligated to punish him for this oversight/hubris/what-have-you—the recon mission had, naturally, gone off the rails.
Tim had arrived at the abandoned theater just as it started to rain and slipped inside like a shadow in the night. Undetected, silent, give-him-a-gold-star, B.
And he’d discovered a motherload, alright; Tim had the privilege of catching a new cult during its inaugural initiation ceremony, complete with bloody rituals, mystic chanting, too many candles, the works.
His Latin was rusty and his German was worse, but Tim knew enough to know that whatever language they were chanting wasn't either Latin or German but something similar to both. A quick audio scan revealed it to be a variation on Esperanto. Which Tim also did not speak.
According to the rough translation provided by his wrist computer, the cultists were, apparently, attempting to summon some sort of Death God.
So, maybe not an initiation ceremony so much as a summoning ritual.
Given that there was already some kind of green crackly energy thing swirling around stage left, downstage of the elaborate candle altar they’d set up, it looked like whatever they were summoning, it was working.
Granted, it might not have been a death god—the translation said ‘Death (???)’ and indicated the word was possibly related to gods, dogs, or spirits.
Tim decided not to wait and see how accurate the translation was.
With a quick message to Oracle of his coordinates, he jumped into action, grappling down the deteriorating opera boxes and landing center stage.
There were only about thirteen of them, and usually cultists were of the less brawny variety and more the 'use magic and/or evil to solve my problems for me' variety, so he figured his odds were pretty good that he could incapacitate and/or restrain them, no muss no fuss.
"Okay guys, ix-nay the anting-chay, and no one needs to get hurt."
All thirteen cloaked figures turned to look at him, deathly still.
The good news was that Tim had interrupted the chanting.
The bad news was they were not happy about it.
As the cultists used the full scope of their (considerable) faculties to interrupt Tim’s interruption (and his life), he realized he may have underestimated their fighting capabilities, to say the least. On top of having taken leave of any rational thought, these particular cultists were agile. Slippery. Almost unnaturally so.
Just his luck really.
It was when things were making the clunky but undeniable transition from 'not great' to 'even more not great than before' that the whole thing took a definite turn for 'if I live to talk about this I'm never mentioning it to anyone'.
Because that green crackly energy thing? It exploded into a green glowy portal thing.
Right in front of Tim.
The good news was that the cultists stopped trying to kill Tim.
The bad news was that Tim and only Tim was actively being pulled toward the green portal.
He shot his grapple out at the audience to anchor himself, but the line had barely left the grapple barrel before getting sucked into the void.
His next attempt to save himself was stabbing a bird-a-rang into the stage for leverage, but it wasn’t enough.
He scrambled for something else to grab onto, but there was nothing.
"Well, uckfay," he sighed as the deteriorating wood of the stage gave way, and off he went.
Into the unidentified occult phenomenon.
At which point Tim decided the mission had gone so far off the rails that train metaphors weren’t gonna cut it.
The good news? Tim wasn't experiencing spaghettification, nor was he being crushed by extreme pressure, or suffocating, or any of the other very bad things he could be living through. Or dying through, as it so happened.
The bad news was that he did appear to be tumbling through some kind of green wormhole.
Maybe it was a Boom Tube? Tim had been through a Boom Tube before and survived it. Granted, the last (and first) (and only) time he’d been through a Boom Tube, it had been something he’d chosen to do. And he’d known where it was going. And why. And he hadn’t been alone.
This was not a choice; he didn’t know where it was taking him, or why, and he was very much alone.
This…thing didn't really look or feel or operate like a Boom Tube, but until he got more evidence that it was something else, Tim wasn't going to take it off the table.
After approximately three seconds of wormhole diving, The Maybe Boom Tube spat him out.
Which he would have been pretty jazzed about if it hadn’t spat him out at about 10,000 feet above the ground, according to his mask sensors, which were giving him warning alerts that amounted to what business do you have hurtling toward the ground at terminal velocity without a parachute?
Tim would also like to know.
He looked around, taking in what he could while trying not to panic (How many times had Bruce said it? Panicking in the moment wastes precious time. Save the panicking for the private after-party.)
Tim wasn't prone to panicking, exactly. He could count on two hands the number of times he'd had a panic attack, so he knew what they felt like, and it wasn't this. This was the calm acceptance that his options were limited, so whatever happened, happened.
So, Tim was not panicking, but he was also not gonna think the phrase "grounding techniques" when he was hurtling through the air. Toward the ground.
Assuming the atmospheric composition, the gravitational pull of the planet, and the laws of physics were the same here as where he’d come from, Tim had about 30 seconds until he hit the ground.
Not a lot of time for an action plan.
Wherever he was, it didn’t look like the sort of place that would be attached to any sort of Death God. It looked like…well. Earth. Or a close equivalent.
It appeared to be early evening—the sun (yellow dwarf?) had just started to set, painting the sky orange-pink-purple, though still mostly blue, so this was probably not Apokolips. More good news.
There wasn't a cloud in sight. Or a tall building to grapple onto. So, more bad news.
There were buildings he could see in the distance; they resembled the type of building he was accustomed to, so it was looking more and more likely that he was on Earth or some Earth equivalent.
There were no mountains, but there was a large body of water to the East, and a river almost below him. There wasn’t enough pollution or salt in the air for this to be close to Gotham. Maybe the midwest somewhere?
He called out for Superboy, hoping against hope that if this were his own planet, Conner would come. Or Jon. Or maybe Clark.
As Tim fell a few thousand more feet, he realized: no one was coming.
This wasn’t how Tim thought it would end. He regretted a lot. He’d never finish Breath of the Wild, or develop his latest film roll, but what he regretted most of all was that he wouldn’t survive this long enough to figure out what the hell happened to him—
Two strong arms came up under his back and legs, scooping him from the air, from his imminent death—to safety.
Tim looked up into the face of his savior, expecting black hair and blue eyes because—well, he’d called, hadn’t he?
There was no black hair or blue eyes or Kryptonian features. So. It wasn’t Conner. Or Jon. Or Clark.
Nor was it any of the other people Tim knew who could fly. Which, if one counted the full JL roster, was quite a lot of people it could have been (but wasn’t).
Whoever this was, he had white hair (snow-white and unfettered by gravity), green eyes (glowing and exactly the same shade as the thing that had brought Tim here), and sharp teeth (all four of his cuspids were just a little bit sharper than human teeth).
So. He must be some kind of meta. Obviously. Not someone Tim recognized, which was concerning, though in all honesty, Tim was having a hard time feeling anything but the stupid kind of relief that came from surviving something impossible.
"Gotcha," said the Meta, grinning down at Tim, eyes twinkling almost literally.
"Hbuh?" said Tim.
Whatever he'd been feeling before, he definitely wasn't disappointed now.
The Meta chuckled. He had a dusting of freckles across his cheeks that seemed to glow in the setting sun.
"Yeah, that could've been bad," the Meta agreed, like Tim had said anything intelligible—
Hang on. Tim could understand him, so either he was speaking English or this was some kind of telepathy thing—either way, good news. More evidence that Tim was still on his own planet.
"I almost didn't see you in time—I was across town," the Meta continued. "You picked a heckova time to test gravity."
Tim closed his eyes. Took a deep breath in and out. He recognized the lighthearted banter for what it was: an attempt to keep a victim calm after a harrowing experience.
Tim wasn’t comfortable thinking of himself as a victim. He was Red Robin. He fought heinous crimes, night after night. This wasn’t even the worst thing to happen to him this week.
He opened his eyes again. He could think about almost dying later.
“Can confirm gravity is working. For me, at least. For you, on the other hand…”
The Meta laughed, a bright, surprised sound. “Gravity and I have an arrangement.”
Tim found himself smiling. He could do banter. That was Robin Playbook 101 stuff.
“I’d love an introduction. I could use an arrangement with gravity.”
“Not worth it dude, trust me,” the Meta said, shaking his head. “Where did you come from by the way? If it’s not too far I can take you back.”
And like that, Banter Time was over.
Tim looked down at his uniform. If that didn’t make it obvious where he'd come from, he was farther away from home than he'd hoped.
His mind flipped through several possibilities: Time travel? Alternate Universe? The Land of the Dead?
"I’m from Gotham."
"…Gotham?"
Repetition and frowning. Never a good sign.
Tim quietly scratched time travel off the list of possibilities.
In an unfamiliar situation, figure out the essentials first. That was B's protocol. Tim could breathe the air, so that was that taken care of. Depending on where he was, the food and water might be toxic to him. Hopefully he wouldn’t be here long enough to need to test it.
Next: establish location. The Meta didn’t seem to be hostile, so Tim could save his questions about him for later.
If he needed a pickup, he'd need coordinates, one way or another.
“Where am I?”
The Meta’s eyebrows pinched together.
“Uh, Amity Park, Illinois? In the USA? Planet Earth. The Solar System of the Milky Way Galaxy, specifically in the Orion Arm, also known as the Orion Spur, located between the Perseus Arm and the Sagittarius Arm. It's currently November 2nd, just past five p.m.”
Tim blinked. That was more information than he’d been expecting. But he could cross a few other possibilities off his list.
It was the same date, and approximately the same time, as when he'd left Gotham (allowing for time zone differences).
So. Was this an alternate reality, an alternate dimension, or the same earth with a meta he'd never heard about for some reason (Government Conspiracy? New meta? Hallucination?)?
Tim pulled up his wrist computer. It wasn’t connecting to anything; no satellites, no watchtowers, no Oracle Network. Not even T-Mobile.
The internal functions of the computer were still online, but if it wasn’t connecting, that meant there was nothing compatible for it to connect to.
Probably not his world, then.
“Fantastic,” he deadpanned, mostly to himself.
“Hey, Illinois isn’t that bad,” said the Meta, still carrying Tim and starting to look kind of awkwardly self-aware about it. Probably because he was waiting for some direction or something.
Tim considered his options. No point telling this meta everything just yet. Keep as many cards as close to the chest as possible while evaluating how to get home.
If this meta could help, great. But being able to fly wasn’t a sign of anything but…well. Being able to fly.
“It's not Illinois that's the problem," he explained. "I’m supposed to be in New Jersey.”
“New Jersey?” The Meta whistled. “You’re a long way from home.”
Tim grimaced. “You could say that again.”
“Does…everyone in New Jersey dress like you?”
Tim glanced down at his uniform again. He almost laughed, thinking about the number of people in New Jersey who did dress like him.
He didn’t actually laugh, mostly because the fact that this Meta didn’t recognize Tim’s uniform meant there was no Red Robin here. But also because this wasn’t funny except in the ‘I’ll laugh at this someday’ way.
“I’m one of Batman’s associates,” Tim said by way of explanation. Surely there was a Batman here, even if there weren’t a Tim or a Red Robin.
“Batman?” the frown deepened. “Who’s that?”
Okay. So there was no Batman here. That was—
Not Fine.
“Do you know Superman? Wonder Woman? The Justice League?”
It was hard to imagine the JL existing if none of the founding members were around to—well. Found it. But surely there was something similar. Though it would be just Tim’s luck to end up in an alternate reality or dimension or whatever this was that didn’t have a Justice League or anything similar…
“Look,” the Meta continued, “I just want to know where to put you down. As cozy as I’m sure this is for both of us—”
His eyes widened and he hugged Tim closer, swerving and putting some kind of forcefield around them as something came tearing through the air at them.
A moment later, it exploded above them.
Tim just couldn't catch a break, could he? So far from home it couldn't be measured in miles and yet here he was. Under attack.
“I almost forgot about them,” the Meta said with a wistful sigh, dropping the shield and dodging several smaller blasts from below.
But at least this was a problem Tim could focus on that wasn’t ‘where the hell am I?'. He scanned the street where the projectile had come from and found…some kind of modified…tank/RV combo?
"Put the hostage down, ectoplasmic scum!" came an amplified voice from a megaphone attached to the murder RV.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t as cool as the Batmobile. Honestly, it was kind of insulting that something so embarrassing to look at was threatening his life. He decided then that he refused to die because of something so ugly.
His resolve not to die was promptly tested when a new module lifted out of the roof of the RV.
“Is that an MLRS?”
“Not technically,” said the Meta. “It shoots lasers instead of rockets.”
“It’s shooting lasers at us!” Tim pointed out as—yep. The tank shot again. And missed again. Maybe it was deliberately trying to miss?
The Meta grimaced. "Let me get you to safety before they fire again—oop."
“Too late,” Tim noted, finding it in himself to be impressed with the dexterity the Meta avoided the laser cannons.
There was no way that was street-legal.
“Gotta lose ‘em,” the Meta said. “Hold on, this might feel weird.”
Whatever the Meta did, it did feel weird. Kind of like pins and needles. The world took on a strange greenish hue as they flew across the city with impressive speed and landed in an alley behind an office building.
“We should be safe here for now,” he said. “Or, you should be, anyway. I’ve gotta get back to the other side of town—”
“You’re leaving me here?”
With no Batman, no Justice League, and no other ideas, this meta was the closest thing Tim had to an ally.
Now that the Meta wasn't holding him, Tim could get a better look at him. He was wearing a black form-fitting suit with white boots, white gloves, a white belt, and a white symbol on his chest.
Whoever he was specifically, this meta was a hero of some kind. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and Tim was in need of help.
The Meta crossed his arms. “Do you want to go back into the thick of battle? You didn’t seem too jazzed about it, TBH.”
“I want to go home.”
"I get it, and I'll help you once I'm done with Mr. Problem of the Week, but I can't take a civilian where I'm going—"
"Do I look like a civilian to you?" Tim interrupted, gesturing to his suit.
The Meta floated up higher into the air. "You look like someone who fell about 7000 feet through the air and wouldn't like another near-death experience today, cute Halloween costume or otherwise."
"It's not a Halloween costume," Tim said, because that was the easiest thing to address.
"Whatever you say. If you want my help, stay put. Or don't, I'm not your mom. But if I have to hunt you down later—"
He cut himself off as something exploded in the distance.
With a sigh, he pointed at Tim as if to say this isn't over and took off.
Tim quickly grappled to the top of the building, catching the tail end of a black and white blur headed straight for a billowing smoke cloud at the heart of downtown.
The Meta had said to wait, but Tim had never done what people told him to do.
This city—Amity Park, was it?—might not have been as big as Gotham, but they did have one thing in common: lots of buildings built close together. Perfect for grappling and parkour. As such, it only took Tim about ten minutes to get to the center of action, where the Meta was fighting…
…A flying punk robot? Sure. Tim had seen weirder things. Though he'd kind of thought The Problem of the Week would be whoever was driving that murder RV.
This particular flying robot looked like a mix between a Robotman knock-off and Lobo. Green flaming hair, gleaming silver skin, a jet pack, a black leather vest. Talk about tonally inconsistent.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Skulker?” Said the Meta, grabbing the robot (Skulker?) by the leg, whirling him around three times and throwing him to the sky. “Ember is pissed at you because you're so focused on me!"
Skulker course corrected with his rockets easily enough, aiming an arm cannon at the Meta.
"Which is why your pelt will be an excellent apology gift, whelp!"
He shot a net at the Meta, which was easily avoided and grabbed onto as a way to—yep. Throw him into the sky again.
"Skulk, you've been wanting my pelt for years—still gross, b-t-dubs—and Ember knows it. It's not a very good gift to give her something you wanted anyway."
"I AM NOT TAKING RELATIONSHIP ADVICE FROM A CHILD!"
Tim realized that he'd gotten closer than expected as he dodged a barrage of wide-array laser fire—what was it with this place and lasers?
He yelped as one got him in the thigh. He wasn’t bleeding, but it stung. And now he had a hole in his pants. Lovely.
The sounds of fighting had paused, which was generally good, but Tim had a bad feeling. He looked up to Skulker and the Meta both staring at him.
So much for stealth observation.
"Dude, what part of 'stay put' don't you understand?" The Meta asked, exasperated.
Skulker was watching Tim with a gaze that felt…predatory. A pair of mechanized binoculars popped out of his jetpack, positioning themselves over Skulker’s eyes.
Tim had another bad feeling. Never good when an evil robot pulled out a new tool to scan you, in Tim's experience.
"An interdimensional traveler…one of a kind,” Skulker marveled.
Phantom jerked his head to glare at Skulker, which only seemed to delight the robot. Maybe he wasn’t a robot, after all? Those expressions looked too…organic.
“And he's important to you, Ghost Child!” Skulker cackled. “That settles it! New target acquired—Ember will love this—"
The Meta growled and blasted Skulker with some kind of blue beam (laser??). His rocket was quickly encased in ice and he crashed to the ground (not a laser, then).
In an instant, the Meta was next to Tim. "C’mon, that won't stop him for long."
He didn't ask as he scooped Tim up and flew away, so fast Tim couldn't see anything but a blur of colors.
Moments later, Tim was deposited in an alley. A familiar alley.
The Meta was glaring at him, eyes glowing in the dim alley light.
"Now you've done it," he said.
Tim did his best to channel innocence. "Done what?"
"Gotten on Skulker’s radar." The Meta crossed his arms. "How'd you get over there so fast, anyway?"
Tim held up his grapple gun. “I swung.”
The Meta stared at it, seeming at a loss for words.
Fine by Tim. He had questions and he wanted answers.
“How did the robot—Skulker, right?—know I’m from another dimension?”
“Does it matter?” The Meta asked, apparently having shaken off whatever mood had taken him and returned to glaring at Tim.
Compared to the likes of Ra’s al Ghul or Lady Shiva, however, it was a mild, bearable displeasure. Tim could wait.
With a sigh of like recognizing like, the Meta's mild displeasure dissipated.
“Knowing things about potential ‘prey’ is kind of Skulker’s whole thing,” he explained. “I wouldn’t question it too much.”
Tim sniffed. “Questioning things is what I do. I’m a detective.”
“A detective?” His gaze traveled up and down Tim’s outfit, expression difficult to read. “Is that the normal get-up for detectives where you come from, or is Halloween a several-day event in the dimension that you’re apparently from?”
“I mean—it’s not Halloween—technically this is a standard outfit of a certain kind of detective in my—” Tim took a deep breath and started over. “I’m a vigilante.”
“First you’re a dimension hopper, then you’re a detective, now you’re a vigilante. Which is it?”
Tim crossed his arms. He could be stubborn, too. “All of the above.”
“Look, I don’t have much time,” the Meta said, pressing ahead in the conversation they weren’t really having. “Did you come here on purpose?”
“No.”
“Do you mean any of us any harm?”
“Definitely not.”
“Will you stay put if I ask you to?”
Tim smiled and didn’t answer.
That same amplified voice from the Murder RV floated down the street, apparently having finally caught up, broadcasting variations of things like "This is your final warning!" and “We’re going to tear you apart molecule by molecule!!”
The Meta groaned and muttered ‘I really don’t have time for this.’
“We will find you, Phantom!” said the Murder RV. “You can’t hide forever! Molecule by molecule, do you understand?! Molecule by molecule, Phantom!”
“Phantom…is that you?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “Man, you are from out of town. Yeah, that’s me. The one and only.” He gave a sarcastic little bow and doffed an imaginary hat.
At last, a name.
“Look,” Phantom continued, “I promise I will come find you later, but I was kind of in the middle of something before you dropped in so—”
“Take me with you.”
Phantom stared at him for a long moment. “Excuse me?”
“Skulker is after me anyway, right? I’m trained, I can help you.” He held out his hands. “I’m tired of feeling helpless.”
“I work alone. Well, mostly alone,” Phantom added. “It’s a work in progress.”
Tim almost smiled. He’d heard that before.
“I’m in trouble no matter what.”
Phantom was looking at him strangely now. A cross between curious and concerned.
“How did you say you got here again?”
He hadn’t actually asked Tim, but Tim wasn’t gonna point that out.
“I was stopping some cultists from performing a ritual to summon a Death God when a—” Actually, speaking of which… “You’re not a death god, are you?”
Phantom scoffed. “What? No. Of course not.” He gestured to himself like it was obvious.
It was not obvious.
Tim decided to believe him for now. He didn’t look like a death god. “Anyway, a big green glowing thing opened up in front of me and pulled me inside. Next thing I know, I’m here."
Understanding dawned on Phantom's face, which Tim was choosing to interpret as 'promising.'
"Ah. You got yoinked through a portal by the GZ, I see. Bad luck," he said sympathetically.
Lots to unpack there. Better to focus on the good news.
“So you know what it is, then? The portals and what brought me here?”
“The portals I know about. As for what brought you here—”
A loud, unfamiliar tune started to ring, cutting Phantom off.
“Hold that thought, gotta take this.”
He pulled a phone out of a pocket that didn’t seem to exist (there was no space for pockets on a skin-tight suit, which was one of many reasons why Tim wore bandoliers).
“What?” Phantom said as a greeting. “Yeah, I got to him in time and then he followed me. He’s human—you’re human right?” Phantom asked, addressing Tim.
“Uh, yes?”
Phantom nodded. “Yeah. Human. Got yoinked by a portal. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t kn—yeah, I heard them. Well can you distract them for a little while longer? Or do something about Skulker while I wrap this up? Skulker’s heading where? Ugh, of course he is. Why? He said WHAT? Actually no yeah that checks out. Yeah. U-huh. Fine. Fine.”
He hung up the phone.
“I thought you worked alone,” said Tim.
Phantom glared at him. “I’m trying to, but—” he sighed. “We’ve got a situation on our hands.”
“What kind of a situation?”
"A good news, bad news situation.” Phantom grinned in a way Tim wasn’t entirely comfortable with. “The good news is that I don’t have to leave you here alone while I finish off Skulker! Also, I can probably get you home. If you survive the next part.”
The next part? Tim didn’t like the sound of that.
“What’s the next part?”
“The bad news.” Phantom placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Sorry in advance. No matter what it looks like, I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. Let’s see those vigilante skills in action, New Jersey.”
With a little wave, Phantom disappeared.
Fortunately, Tim didn’t have to formulate a response to that.
Unfortunately, Skulker had just slammed down to the ground at the mouth of the alley.
“There you are,” he cooed, stepping menacingly towards Tim. “Normally I don’t bother with the tracking bots, but you never know when it’ll pay off.” He grinned, showing a GPS tracking map blinking a location.
Tim’s location.
He must’ve gotten tagged when he was shot early. Sloppy.
Tim pulled out his bo staff, flipping it over his hand and holding it at the ready.
“Ah, you wish to challenge me? I hoped you would.” He pointed his cannons at Tim. “My name is Skulker, and I’m the Ghost Zone’s Greatest Hunter.”
“Red Robin,” said Tim. “You probably haven’t heard of me.”
“I am familiar with the human restaurant chain and their infernal birthday chants. You’ll find there’s no one in all the Ghost Zone with as much knowledge on your world and habits—”
Well, if nothing else, villains could be universally counted on to love the sound of their own voice.
Tim reached for his smoke pellets and threw them down, using the coverage to disappear.
Clearly this ‘Skulker’ was unprepared. “Oh, you’re better than I thought! You got me monologuing!”
Tim resisted the urge to respond; that would only tell his opponent where he was. If he were more familiar with the terrain, or if Dick or Bruce were here running back-up, maybe he would have thrown in a quip—once a Robin, always a Robin—but nothing about this was familiar.
If he knew he could count on Phantom to have his back, he might have tried it, but Tim was coming to understand that no matter how helpful he’d been so far, Tim knew almost nothing about Phantom, other than he was kind of hot, kind of an asshole, and didn’t want Tim’s help.
Tim had changed more stubborn minds about that before. He hoped it was worth it.
“You’ve got moxie, human child, I’ll give you that, but they don’t call me the best for nothing.”
Tim’s eyes grew wide and he ducked and rolled as a line of flame came unerringly out of the smoke toward Tim.
Apparently, the arm cannons had multiple settings. But now Tim knew Skulker could see through smoke, either through sensors or something else.
The good news was Skulker seemed content to play with Tim, which would provide ample time to study his abilities and how to counter them.
The bad news was Tim wasn't sure he'd be able to survive even one punch.
All the world will be your enemy, and when they catch you, they will kill you. But first, they must catch you. That's what Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Lady Shiva and even Jason had told him—
Anyway. Step one: don't get caught.
Tim flicked the infrared on his own lens, following Skulker. He was surprised to see that rather than a hot spot, Skulker was a cold spot on the infrared spectrum.
And there was a second one, following Tim quietly. Phantom?
Maybe Tim wasn’t as alone in this as he thought.
“I don’t normally hunt the living,” Skulker continued, using some kind of vacuum to suck up all the smoke, “but you are an exception I’m willing to make.”
Tim was already hiding behind a dumpster, leaving delayed-reaction mini-flares in his wake as a misdirection, flipping off his own infrared.
A moment later, they sparked to life. Skulker shot at them, cursing when it was revealed to be a distraction.
“However, your cheap tricks begin to bore me, human,” he said. "Come out and fight me like a true warrior!"
Tim triggered the exploding microphone disk he'd left in the wall. It could only make one short, pre-recorded sound before exploding, but the Robin cackle was a tried and true distraction.
Skulker did not seem to appreciate it, growling and crushing the disk in his hand. He didn’t seem to mind the explosion either.
Reinforced hands, perhaps? Tim needed more information.
"How far have you fallen, Ghost Child, that you force your rescuee to fight me in your stead?"
"I fight my own battles," said Tim.
Skulker whirled around, scanning for the source. Tim was already on the move, talons deployed to scramble up the wall to a fire escape. Huzzah for urban warfare.
Unfortunately, Skulker decided the best approach was to shoot a cannon at the wall in the general area where Tim had been, exploding it.
Shit. This was really not Tim’s day.
He ducked and rolled with the debris, covering his head with his arms. He should have hit the ground by now—
He felt the pins and needles he’d felt when Phantom had helped them escape from the Murder RV. Guess he'd meant it when he'd said he wouldn't let Tim get hurt.
"Gutsy of you, New Jersey,” Phantom’s disembodied voice whispered in his ear as Tim’s feet touched solid ground. “Keep his focus on you and we’ll finish him. Duck on my signal."
Tim shivered.
He crept inside the building, sticking to the shadows as was his wont.
“Perhaps you would like to join the world of the dead?” Skulker continued, stepping over the smoking debris in pursuit. “I wonder what kind of ghost you would leave behind?”
What the hell did that mean?
No time to think about it now. Human stamina, no matter how well-trained, couldn’t hope to compete with a machine. The longer this went on, the more of a disadvantage Tim would have. It was time to end this.
Hopefully Phantom’s plan was ready to go.
He launched over the debris and jammed his bo staff right into the back of Skulker’s neck, blasting it with an electric charge.
Or, well, that had been the plan. With preternatural reflexes unseen up to this point, Skulker dodged the staff without looking, catching it in his hand and forcing the arm to take the brunt of the shock.
The good news was that the robot limb, predictably (or maybe not so predictably?) shorted out, frozen.
The bad news was Skulker still had his other arm, his rocket, and everything else at his disposal.
“So you can do more than just run,” he said, not sounding disappointed at all.
He pivoted, second cannon pointed at Tim. “I wanted to play with you a little longer, but if this is the best you can do, I think I’ll collect you now.”
“Hard pass,” said Tim, twisting the staff out of Skulker’s hand and flipping over his shoulders, leaving several explosive charges in his wake.
Skulker only laughed when they exploded, as expected. They were only an annoyance, barely a distraction, but that was Tim’s role here. Distract the giant, indestructible robot. Fine.
“Oh, you are fun. And here I thought humans weren’t worthy of my time.”
Tim quickly checked his pouches, taking quick stock of his inventory. He could do more smoke pellets—the explosive charges were useless without more information on the robot’s weaknesses. Usually joints were a good bet, but that was a human-centric way of thinking—if only he had EMPs with him—
Oh, that was interesting. When had that ended up in his utility belt? It didn’t matter. He could use this.
He rolled out of the way as a net launched out of the darkness towards Tim. It was pure reflex to pop up out of the roll and jam his staff into Skulker's other arm, which sparked but didn’t freeze. Not surprising; Tim hadn’t had time to fully charge a full shock.
Skulker grabbed Tim by the cape, lifting him off the floor. “Got you, birdie.”
Exactly as planned.
Tim pulled out the shark spray and deployed it right in Skulker’s face. Clearly Skulker used the ocular array to see, so if nothing else it would give Tim the chance to escape.
Much to Tim’s surprise, Skulker screamed and dropped him. He was in pain? Great. More effective than he’d planned for. (Batman tip #456: Always carry shark spray. B was right. Again.)
“Never mind capturing you alive,” Skulker growled as a canon lifted out of his jet pack, pointing at Tim—
So, Tim might have miscalculated.
“You're dead meat! Your pelt shall adorn my—”
“Not today, Skulk,” said Phantom from behind Tim.
Tim ducked, according to the plan. Which, if Tim were offering critique, wasn’t much of a plan.
Skulker turned around sharply before being blasted into the wall with a beam of ice, freezing him solid up to the neck.
Phantom reappeared then, floating in the air and looking incredibly smug about it. “Forgot about me, didn’t you?”
Skulker bared his teeth.
“Playing dirty is beneath you, ghost child!”
“Sure, Skulk,” said Phantom walking up to Skulker and—pulling off the head? “This has been real fun, but I don’t have time to play with you today, so be a good little hunter and get in the thermos.”
“In your dreams!” said a small voice from inside the helmet.
Ah. So it was a suit.
Phantom sighed and pointed a thermos at the helmet.
“I did ask nicely,” he said before a blue beam sucked a green? Creature? Out of the helmet, along with what Tim was now certain was a robot suit. It shouldn’t have fit in the thermos, logically, but maybe it was magic.
And like that, it was over.
Phantom sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. “All good?” he asked, after a beat.
“All good,” Tim said, tentative. “You?”
“Peachy. Sorry for the lack of warning. Didn't want to tip him off.”
Tim gestured to the carnage. “Was this part of your plan?”
“No. I didn’t expect you to engage him quite so intensely, though. I was just gonna freeze him to that wall out there, but I didn’t want to accidentally hit you. You disappeared like a ninja.” Phantom crossed his arms. “I guess you really are a vigilante.”
Tim sighed.
“Still,” Phantom continued, “Thanks for the assist. You did good.”
“Thanks,” said Tim, taking the olive branch for what it was. It had been a while since he’d been desperate for positive feedback, but it was still…nice.
Phantom smiled. The last rays of sunlight stretched through the window, making his eyes seem to glow. He was looking right back, expression unreadable.
“So, Red Robin, huh,” Phantom pressed on, decidedly ending the moment and flipping the thermos in one hand before attaching it to his belt. “Like the Restaurant?”
“No.”
“Oh. Then the ice cream franchise?”
“Also no.”
“What about—”
“I’m named after the bird.”
Well, Dick had been named after the bird. And then Jason had decided to be dramatic and use "foreshadowing" and "color theory" to rebrand himself temporarily ("C'mon, Red Hood, Red Robin? It was obvious!" was all he'd say about it. "Sure fooled you all, though.")
Tim only had the name as a double hand-me-down slash stolen sobriquet.
He didn’t feel like going into it now.
Phantom cleared his throat. “The bird was gonna be my next guess.”
Tim scoffed in an almost laugh. “Sure.”
Tim heard what was now the familiar sound of the Murder RV approaching. It sounded like it was crashing into every other building and running over every other car.
“They must’ve heard all the explosions,” Phantom said, glaring out the window. “We’d better get going. If they see me with you, they’re going to upgrade your status from ‘hostage’ to ‘accomplice’.”
“Just when I was starting to like this alley,” Tim joked, pulling his grapple out. “Where to?”
Phantom eyed it with interest. “Can you follow me with that?”
“As long as you don’t go too fast.”
Something else exploded in the distance.
Phantom didn’t seem perturbed by this. He just rolled his eyes. “They’re more determined than usual today.”
“Story of my life,” Tim muttered.
Phantom eyed him speculatively.
“I could just carry you—”
“I’d rather swing.”
Phantom held up his hands. “Fine. Let’s go.”
"Yeah. Let's."
“Sorry about them, really," Phantom said, after they'd finally escaped from Murder RV Rampage: This Time It's Personal. They'd managed to lose them in the park, but Tim was jumpy now. "They’re harmless but annoying.”
“Harmless?” Tim scoffed, flicking his grapple to release and redeploy from one building to the next. “They thought I was a hostage and they still shot at us!”
“They sure did try,” Phantom agreed, eyeing Tim with what he was choosing to interpret as athletic appreciation. “Though really, they were shooting at me, and you just happened to be there.”
Tim decided he wasn’t in the mood to argue semantics. "Who are they, then?”
"They’re Ghost Hunters," he said as if commenting on the weather.
“Ghost…Hunters?” Tim frowned. He didn’t know what to make of that. “Are they working with Skulker?”
"You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Phantom mumbled bitterly, flying backwards through the air and keeping pace with Tim. ”They’d tell you they’re scientists, but their methods aren’t very scientific, so.” He shook his head as if to say 'what can you do?'
“Scientists don’t have laser guns attached to tanks.”
“Hey, show some respect, that’s the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle,” Phantom snarked. “It runs on ghost tears and scientific dishonesty.”
“Are you going to go stop them, then?”
“Who?”
“Drs. Evil and Terrible of the Family Fenton,” Tim stressed, following Phantom’s lead as he indicated to turn. “They’re a threat to public safety.”
Phantom stared at him for a long moment before bursting out into laughter. “Oh, that’s a good one!” he mimed wiping a tear from his eye. “I’m gonna have to remember that to cheer me up in my darker moments.”
Tim sighed, pausing on top of a building that was just Art Deco enough to make him homesick. “Is that a no to stopping them, then?”
“Look, Jersey, the only one they’d even try to hurt is me. I already caught the ghost they were after originally. Which was just a baby ectopus, and they couldn't even catch that.”
He held up the damn soup thermos again and shook it.
"Like I said: harmless."
Tim only understood about half of that. “They’re trying to catch you?”
Phantom raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, what part of ‘ghost hunters’ don’t you understand?”
Maybe it was just Tim reaching the threshold for absolutely insane things to happen in one day, but it took him an embarrassingly long time to process the unsaid assumption.
“You’re a ghost?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in ghosts after I just saved you from one.”
Tim held his breath and counted to ten as he processed. “Skulker was a ghost?? I thought he was a robot!”
“Technically, he’s a Bounty Hunter with a mech suit who just happens to also be a ghost,” Phantom said, nodding his head.
“What does that even mean,” Tim muttered, aiming his gun for the next building and grappling off.
Tim thought he could be forgiven for his momentary oversight; his mind was on overdrive—he’d been here less than half a day and he’d nearly fallen to his death, been shot at several times, had an extended chase sequence through an unfamiliar city in another goddamn dimension, and he had a bounty on his head.
“What will you do with him now?”
“Who, Skulker?”
"No, the president," Tim fired back.
"The president is a woman in my dimension," Phantom said airily. “As for Skulker, I’ll do what I always do: release him back into the Ghost Zone.”
“What’s the ghost zone?”
“Parallel dimension where ghosts come from. You probably passed through it to come here.”
Tim looked sharply at Phantom, remembering now that he’d never finished explaining what he knew about Tim’s situation.
“Can you get me home, then?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Probably? Is that the best you can do?”
Phantom frowned. "The how isn’t the hard part. Theoretically, if you got here via Portal, you can get back to where you came from the same way. The hard part is figuring out the when and the where."
“The when and the where? Of what?”
“The portal that’ll take you home.” He looked to the sky, which was still holding onto the last drop of daylight by its fingernails. “It’ll probably show up close to where it dropped you.”
Tim felt himself sway. “You’re not going to have to drop me through the air again, are you?”
Phantom shot him a horrified look. “What? Of course not! Unless you…want that?”
“I do not.” Tim took a deep breath. “What if a portal doesn’t show up?”
“According to Frostbite, there’s always a return portal.” Phantom smiled. “But if this is the first time one doesn’t show up, we aren’t out of options. Okay?”
Tim nodded. “Okay.”
Phantom led him over to the river docks across from what he called ‘Elmerton’, their sister city. It almost looked familiar, in a way; Amity Park obviously wasn’t Gotham, but the outline of a city at night would always be a comforting sight.
They were perched on top of what appeared to be an abandoned theater, which was funny to Tim and only Tim. This place had the best view of the spot where Tim had fallen, according to Phantom, so now they just had to sit here and wait.
“Could you tell me about your dimension?” Phantom asked, shy. “What’s it like there?”
Where to start with that.
“Well…I’m part of a team. A few teams, technically. I guess you could say my world—my dimension has a lot of problems. Alien invasions, super-powered robots, evil billionaires, rogue metas, you name it, we got it.”
Phantom listened to Tim as he talked about Batman, his Robin days. Nothing too personal—keeping secrets was second nature by now. But it was oddly…freeing, to just be able to talk. Phantom didn’t know any of the people from Tim’s world. He didn’t have any preconceived notions about Gotham, or Batman, or Tim Drake-Wayne.
Tim could just be…Tim.
“You’re lucky you have so many people to rely on,” Phantom said, almost wistful. “I've always wanted to meet a real hero, you know."
"You're a real hero," Tim pointed out. That was what Tim had concluded, anyway, based on the outfit, the powers, and the general…vibe.
Phantom waved him off. "I'm just a ghost catcher. I just do what I have to.”
“What do you have to do?”
“Well…when things go wrong because of ghosts, there’s no one else to fix the problem but me. Sam and Tucker and Jazz help, but I can’t expect them to do this forever. They’ve all got lives to live.”
“Oh. They’re not…ghosts?”
Phantom scoffed. “No. They’re humans. My best friends. My team." He stared at his gloved hands, clenching them lightly. "I probably wouldn’t have made it this far without them.”
But it sounds like you’re trying to let them go, Tim filled in mentally. He didn’t say it; he barely knew Phantom. It was hard to imagine what it was like to be a ghost vigilante.
But being a ghost vigilante probably wasn't that different from being a human vigilante.
“Isn’t it their choice if they want to help you?”
“Obviously. And I’m glad for it, but I want them to understand they don’t have to. They worry.” He folded his legs up under him, criss-cross style, and floated into the air. “I just want them to see that I can do it alone, so they can think about what they want without thinking I need them to stay here.”
“What about what you want?” Tim gestured to the city. “Do you have to do this? You said the Fentons are ghost catchers, too, right?”
“Hunters,” Phantom corrected. “They’ve never caught a ghost and that’s a good thing. They don’t follow my catch and release policy,” he added darkly.
The phrase molecule by molecule asserted itself in Tim’s mind. “So you’re trying to protect the ghosts?”
“And the humans, yeah.” He sighed. “And everyone hates me for it. I don’t do it for gratitude, though.”
Tim wasn’t sure what to say to that. It sounded like things he thought about himself at times.
“Whenever the portal shows up, you gotta be ready to go immediately,” Phantom said, apropos of nothing. “They don’t last very long.”
“Uh, okay?”
Phantom nodded. “So, in case I don’t get the chance to say it later, thanks for helping me catch Skulker, and I’m sorry your time in this dimension kind of sucked.”
Tim almost laughed. “Well. Thanks for saving me from falling to my doom.”
Phantom’s cheeks were flushed in soft green, freckles glowing in the late evening light.
“Hey, anytime, Red Robin. You’re an honorary member of Team Phantom now.”
“I thought you worked alone?”
“I’m trying to,” Phantom said with a sly smile. “But being stubborn is an important part of the dubious honor of catching ghosts.”
Tim felt the odd sort of melancholy of knowing something was over before it really began.
“You don’t think I’ll get brought here again, do you?”
“Probably not,” Phantom said, eyes downcast. “A natural portal opening in front of you is like, a once in a lifetime chance encounter. Even if it were encouraged by a cult,” he added, proving he’d been listening when Tim told him about that.
“Well, in that case…” Tim held out his hand. “I’m Tim.”
Phantom blinked in surprise, breaking out in a smile as he took Tim’s hand. “I’m Danny.”
Tim hid his own surprise; he wouldn’t have thought a ghost would have another name.
But…he’d been alive once, hadn’t he?
“Well, Danny. Despite what you might think, my time here hasn’t all been bad. I got to meet a super cool hero in your dimension.”
Danny rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Well, Tim, you’re definitely my favorite hero from your dimension.”
“That’s gotta be a first. I don’t think I’m anyone’s favorite.”
“And yet you’ve got a whole restaurant chain named after you, and an ice cream franchise, and even a whole species of bird!”
Tim laughed. Dick would like Danny. Tim liked him quite a bit, too.
It was too bad, really, that they lived in separate dimensions.
In the end, the portal that brought Tim home appeared as suddenly and inconveniently as the one that had brought him here. He and Danny had been exchanging stories about their various Rogues Galleries when Tim found himself falling again.
At least at the end of the journey, he wasn’t spat out thousands of feet above the ground.
He was still spat out, though. On top of a building.
A familiar building surrounded by an even more familiar skyline.
“Tim! Is that you?”
Tim turned at the sound of a Dick who was panicking and trying to hide it. He flipped down from the neighboring building, rushing over to look Tim over.
“We’ve been trying to contact you for hours! Babs said your comm cut off and she couldn’t find you on any cameras and your mask tracer disappeared from her system, so I came here to investigate, but I just got here and there was nothing—”
Tim hugged him. He could have cried.
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you."
Dick hugged him back, picking Tim up off the ground. "Don't know what this is about, but I never say no to a hug."
Tim asked a few more questions to make sure he was on the right earth, that everything was fine—
The good news was it looked like exactly the time he’d been in Amity Park, he’d been missing here.
The bad news was The Death God Cult was definitely in the wind now. He was still half-convinced one of them was responsible for opening that portal in the first place, even though Danny told him it was unlikely; apparently, opening portals was ‘easier said than done’.
Dick pulled back from him after yet another hug, looking him in the eye. Mask lens. Whatever. "Seriously, though, Tim, are you okay? What happened?”
"I’m okay. Sorry for worrying you. Something weird happened with a cult I was chasing down…"
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Bruce would definitely bench him if Tim explained everything that had happened. He didn’t even know if he had any proof—he’d have to review his mask footage to see if any of it revealed the truth of what had happened to him.
Until then…did he want to talk about it?
He briefly contemplated telling Dick ‘I think I went to another dimension’ and promptly rejected it. He didn’t want to hear I don’t believe you or you’re suffering from trauma or—
Well. He’d learned his lesson. Before proposing any crazy theories, he’d find proof. Answers. And then he’d present his evidence and explain it all.
“The cult triggered something that took out my comms and mask tracker, but…suffice to say, I'm back where I'm supposed to be."
Two feet on solid ground in his dimension.