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Well. Tim guesses this might be it. It's late afternoon, too early for Batman to be on patrol. Tim smothers any hopes about Robin saving him. The headline in the papers, whispered speculation at school, Jason Todd missing, Robin notably absent from the skies of Gotham, Batman's new viciousness, not even petty criminals immune to his wrath. Tim refuses to say it out loud.
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Tim is getting mugged. And no one is going to come for him. Because he's thirteen and it's too early for Batman to patrol and Tim should have been smarter.
Turns out walking home from the library is dangerous in Gotham! Who knew?
Tim knew. Tim knew and stayed late anyways. Tim knew and walked alone towards the bus stop. Tim knew and now he's in a grimy Gotham alleyway, staring down a mugger.
The guy has at least a foot and probably a hundred pounds on Tim. Which is why it was so easy for him to drag Tim into an alley. He's asking for Tim’s money but all he has is his skateboard, bus pass and the ‘for emergencies only’ credit card in Jack Drake's name. Of course, that pisses off the mugger.
Tim's head meets brick, slammed and held in place by his shoulder. His teeth clatter and he doesn't get a chance to think too hard about it because a knife is being jabbed into his side.
“Rich kid like you? You're lying you don't have cash. Give me your phone.” The muggers's breath is rank. Tim doesn't want to give up his phone. Firstly because he doesn't know when Jack and Janet will be home again to get another phone. Secondly because this guy's breath is gross.
“I only have a shitty old iPhone. Not even Wayne Tech.” There's a taste of blood in Tim’s mouth as he speaks. Gross, must've bit his tongue.
“You must think I'm real fuckin’ dumb.”
“I'm not lying!” Tim lies. “I broke my last phone. My parents won't buy me a new one so I learn to treat my things with respect.”
Blood dribbles down his chin. Tim’s talking too fast to notice.
“Then hand it over.” The blade bites into his side, and Tim cringes away from it. “You gotta easy choice here, shithead. You gonna give me the phone? Or try to be tough and get stabbed?”
Tim agrees, the mugger isn’t entirely wrong. “Alright, alright, I'm going to reach into my pocket and–.”
The air pressure shifts so quickly, Tim feels his ears pop. Suddenly the late afternoon shade drops into inky black shadows, a creeping mist bubbles up from the far end of the alleyway. The mugger frowns and presses the knife harder against Tim's side. But the way the mugger stares at the mist and tightens his grip on Tim's shoulder belies his sudden inexplicable fear.
“Unhand the boy.” Fright Knight steps from the mist. Interestingly, he isn't floating. Tim, despite the blade scraping against tender flesh, finds himself relaxing.
“What the fuck,” the mugger breathes. Mood, Tim agrees. He's immune to Fright Knight after more than a year of exposure, but Tim remembers his first impression. Yeah, a giant suit of armor with glowing eyes and a flaming helmet? Completely terrifying.
“I shall not repeat myself.” The knight's voice rings through the alley. It bounces off brick and concrete. Unearthly in the way it reverberates and amplifies on itself. His boots clang almost like death knells as he strides towards Tim, and coincidentally, the mugger.
Finally obeying the command, the mugger scrambles away from Tim. Comically trips and lands on his ass. Tim would probably laugh in any other situation, so instead he stifles his grin by pressing his lips together into a hard line. As soon as he's within arm's reach of Tim, Fright Knight tucks Tim into the writhing folds of his cape. Then stares down at the petty criminal, a bottomless rage barely held in check. His broad back blocks Tim’s line of sight, so he leans to peek out.
Of course, that won't do. Fright Knight tilts his helm, glowing eyes narrowed at Tim. Properly chastised, he actually smiles and stands properly, letting the spirit fully obscure him from view. The shadows deepen and begin to writhe in earnest, accompanied by the mugger gasping out a strangled shout. In front of Tim’s eyes, it almost appears as if Fright Knight grows taller, his aura more menacing.
It becomes so oppressive, even Tim feels himself starting to be affected by the primordial fear. It slithers under his skin, makes his heart skitter in his chest. Instinctually, Tim cringes back from the Lord of Fear. Blinks rapidly as his eyes begin to water.
“Fright Knight, stop.” His voice sounds tinny and far away to his own ears. The knight’s aura snaps back into place, and Tim wobbles at the sudden change. The adrenaline that had been coursing through his body bottoms out. He hesitates for a moment, but Fright Knight braces Tim by the elbow to prevent him from falling as he sways.
Tim gets a good look at the mugger as Fright Knight turns more towards him. The poor man is half submerged in a black oily puddle, shaking and pale as he struggles fruitlessly to escape it. “He’s not worth it. I’d like to go home now.”
Fright Knight scoops up Tim with one arm. Wow, he feels like a sack of potatoes like this, tucked under one arm against the spirit’s side. With a lazy flick of the wrist, the mugger is released. Tim’s sure the guy runs away but Fright Knight has them in the air and his stomach swoops as they rapidly gain height.
Tim’s sneakers squeak on the kitchen’s tiled floor when Fright Knight sets him down. Gross, his mouth still tastes like blood. He concentrates on rinsing his mouth out, drinking water directly from the faucet and aggressively swishing. When he turns around, finally free of the taste of copper, Fright Knight has the first aid kit on the table and bodily herds him to sit.
“I’m fine,” Tim does not whine. Decidedly. He’s not whining.
“There was a blade held to your person.” It’s the crankiest Tim has ever heard Fright Knight. With a sigh, he plops into a chair. Fright Knight glowers some more.
“Jesus Christ,” Tim mutters then pulls his shirt off. “Look, it’s just a scratch. He barely got me.”
“Humans,” Fright Knight says, disdainfully. “Treating the wound will reduce chances of infection.” Tim concedes to the worry. It’s easy to let Fright Knight fret over him. No one else does. It’s a treat, even if TIm feels like it’s unneeded. It really is just a small cut, no worse than the scrapes he’s earned at the skatepark or just by being a teenage boy.
Fright Knight finally allows him to put his shirt back on, satisfied with the wound dressing. Then menaces Tim into eating a granola bar. “Your lack of survival instincts continues to astound. It is only your habit of carrying the gate pendant and penchant for injury that prevented a worse outcome.”
If anything, despite all the scolding, it reinforces Tim’s opinion on how much Gotham needs Batman. Needs Robin. He tumbles over the thoughts, and gets caught up in them for a little while. Fright Knight leaves him to it, satisfied now that the bitching is out of his system.
But Tim can’t stop thinking.
“There is fear in your belly, Tim.”
It’s like his breath is punched out of him. Tim leans back, reeling for a moment. Yeah, he is scared. Scared from the attempted mugging, scared knowing others weren’t like him with the Lord of Fear, Spirit of All Hallow’s Eve in the wings, ready to swoop in and save them. Scared knowing Robin is –.
“Robin’s dead. Jason Todd is dead, isn’t he?” Tim peers up into Fright’s helm. The eyes dim, then he nods.
“The High King… noted his arrival. His spirit is within the Realms, in his own version of afterlife.”
It isn’t a surprise. Tim knew. Tim had figured it out, like every other puzzle and mystery he put his mind to. It doesn’t stop it from sprouting shock and something cold in his chest. Dread. Sadness. Robin isn't immortal and endlessly magic afterall. But Gotham needs Robin's magic. And that determination is what Tim uses to galvanize his will.
“I’m going to make Batman make me the new Robin.” Before Fright Knight can speak, Tim rushes to continue. “Gotham needs Robin. I needed Robin today and there wasn’t one. Gotham needs Robin. Batman needs Robin. You haven’t seen it. He’s so angry, and he’s hurting people.”
Tilting his head, Fright Knight considers Tim. It’s the most exposed he’s ever felt. He knows the spirit is seeing the truth of him, of what lies beneath that no one else can. “You have a plan.”
The smile is easy. “I have a plan.” Because of course he does, Tim always has a plan, and two more after that. He’s going to demand Batman take him on as Robin. And if that fails, then he’s going to Bludhaven to demand Nightwing’s help. And if Richard Grayson will not help, then he’s going to break into Wayne Manor.
“And yet you are still scared. It is strange to see you fearful. Even when a man held a blade to you, you were not this scared. So what is it that inspires your fear? Is it failure, or is it a fear of regret should you not act at all? Perhaps it is a fear of what you will become should you succeed in your quest to become Robin.” A cruel line of questioning, yet Fright Knight’s voice is still kind.
It demands consideration. The words are certain to haunt Tim – in the dark, in the day, in the empty hallways of the Drake mansion. It’s good advice, to point Tim inward. All of his attention has been on others, the needs of Gotham and the woes of Bruce Wayne under the Batman cowl.
“Are you always so wise?” Tim feels sore, wrung out and resentful for being poked at. Literally. Figuratively.
Fright Knight inclines his head. “It is often my role to advise the High King.” Ah, there’s his pride again. This is the Fright Knight that Tim likes best. Haughty, proud, unbothered.
“What you did to that mugger. What was that, you playing with your food? Does the High King encourage it?” It’s mean of Tim to say, how sharp and direct he's being. But he’s genuinely curious. Well, he supposes the immortal ghost was bound to be inhuman in some ways, to exist outside of human morals and sympathy.
It's the first time Tim has seen it. Fully anyways.
But Fright Knight bows his head in shame. “It was my folly, motivated by emotions. I was enraged and… fearful you may be grievously injured. The High King reminds me often how fragile humans are in nature.”
“You were scared?” The memory of copper is still fresh in Tim’s mouth. He thinks he tastes blood again, but he's not sure. There's no use denying anything, Tim knew he had been in danger. He just didn't know… “But you're the Fright Knight!”
He just didn't know he was that important to Fright Knight.
“I am not immune to fear.” There's a gentle hint of rebuke in Fright's tone.
Tim frowns. “But you're really strong. I bet you could go toe-to-toe with Superman and win.” So if you're scared, Tim doesn't continue the thought.
Impossibly, Fright Knight straightens further. “It is what we do in spite of the fear. For there's the rub, to endure or to concede. Thus, many have fought against me and prevailed regardless of odds.”
What will Tim do in spite of his fear? Probably something dumb. Well thought out and planned, but definitely something that anyone with a sense of survival wouldn't. It won't be the first time, and it for sure won't be the last. Tim knows himself well enough to recognize that. No kid makes a hobby of chasing vigilantes around a crime riddled city in hopes of getting a few decent photos otherwise.
“If my plan works and I do become Robin, I'm probably not going to be birdwatching anymore.” Amusement rolls off Fright Knight, drawing a sly smile from Tim. “And I'll probably be in loads more danger daily.”
“Indeed,” the spirit readily agrees with a nod. “My summons shall remain available for your use and discretion. Should it be for an emergency, to chaperone your duties, or otherwise.”
Otherwise. “Even if I don't need anything? Phantom won't have a problem that I keep stealing you?”
“It is not ‘stealing' if it is my own decision to answer. I remain at your disposal.”