Chapter Text
Tim had a sunhat shading his face as he idly scrolled through his phone—Dick had just gotten home that morning, so Tim had taken the rowboat out as fast and as sneakily as he could to avoid being stuck in the middle of the passive-aggressive arguments that were sure to take up the rest of the day.
Ordinarily, he would’ve stuck around a while longer—Dick would ask him how his summer was going, neatly derailing Bruce’s unsubtle attempts to interrogate him, and Tim could’ve happily held up the conversation, but Dick was going to be here for a full week and there was a storm heading in tomorrow, which meant that Tim was going to be trapped in the house with Dick and Bruce until the weather cleared up again.
Hence the escape.
He’d spent an hour or two taking pictures underwater, and now he was quietly basking in the sunlight. He’d have to row back eventually, but right now, it was just him, the open expanse of blue ocean, and the summer sun.
The boat swayed, rocked in a steady rhythm by the waves, and it jostled slightly as a soft breeze tugged at his hat. Tim yawned and clicked off his phone, rubbing at his drowsy eyes—if he took a nap here, he’d wake up sunburned and dizzy.
He finished off the rest of his afternoon snack and one bottle of water before he stretched—the boat swayed a little harder, and Tim broke off with a nervous chuckle. He didn’t want to capsize it.
It was too early to head back, but Tim was feeling sleepy—another half hour of clicking pictures, maybe, before he rowed back to shore and the frigid tension between father and son. He covered another yawn as he hunted for his goggles and flippers amidst the other paraphernalia at the bottom of the boat—
The boat rocked violently, like it had hit something. Tim abandoned his task and peered over the side—had he been caught in a current? Had he drifted further than he realized? Had he run aground on the rocks?—but all he could see was clear water.
When he looked up to spot the shoreline, however, there was nothing but blue in all directions.
Tim’s blood ran cold. He didn’t know how far he’d drifted—he didn’t know how he could’ve drifted, he’d spent maybe thirty minutes on his phone, and he wasn’t supposed to be near any swift moving currents—but it was slowly becoming apparent that he was dangerously lost.
Tim scrambled for his phone again—surely he couldn’t have drifted far enough to be out of coverage area—but it slipped out of his hands as the boat jerked as though something had scraped along the keel. Tim wobbled with the movement, automatically grasping the sides of the boat to steady himself as his heart crawled up into his throat.
Maybe it was a rock. An underground reef. Tim edged forward to peer over the side of the boat. Any explanation that involved an inanimate object—
The boat shuddered, and Tim let out a sharp cry as he fell to his knees. The push hadn’t come from underneath. It had come from the side.
Please, let there be any, any possible explanation other than a deliberate attack. Tim warily poked his head up again, half-expecting to see a shark fin the way his luck was going, and instead saw the flash of scales, glimmering in the sunlight.
Tim frowned—what was that—
Something slammed against the boat, and Tim was honestly surprised that it didn’t capsize, he held on for dear life as it rocked violently in the wake, long, shimmering scales stretching nearly the length of the boat.
This was a deliberate attack.
Tim hadn’t see a tail, but the length and shape could only be one thing, especially this far from shore. A mer.
But there was no mer pod in the waters right now—they’d would’ve had to get permission from Bruce first, and Bruce hadn’t mentioned it, and Dick hadn’t said anything about unusual activity in the ocean either—and even if this was someone that had followed Dick, what did they want with Tim?
Something lightly scratched along the hull of the boat, like someone was running claws down the wood.
Tim couldn’t think of any mer that had a grudge against him, so he rode out the next vicious jerk before shouting, “Wait!” He inched closer to the edge, “Wait, I’m not a selkie! I’m a human. Please don’t capsize me.”
The water stilled.
“Hello?” Tim called out, peering over the edge of the boat, “I can take a message if you’d like? Do you want to talk to Bruce?”
A flash of scales—gleaming bright red, like the blaze of a setting sun—and a head slowly rose from the water. “Do I have a message for Bruce?” the mer growled, looked intensely amused at the question, “Yes, I suppose I do.”
Dark hair with a streak of white. Vivid, almost glowing green eyes. A smile that looked very much like a threat.
Tim’s throat went dry. “I’m a human,” he reiterated carefully—sometimes mers and other ocean creatures grew pushy in their definition of ‘harmless fun’.
“Believe me,” the mer said, baring long rows of very sharp teeth, “I know.”
Dread solidified in Tim’s stomach, a heavy knot of growing fear, but Tim wasn’t fast enough to scramble back when the mer lunged forward. Clawed hands closed around his wrists and, in an instant, the world turned wet.
Tim spluttered, attempting to kick free—his foot connected with something, and the grip around his wrists disappeared. He gasped in a breath of fresh air and spun back to the boat—he needed to get away, and call someone and—
The boat had capsized, and was slowly sinking underneath the water.
Tim stared at it in shock, before he caught a flash of red scales out of the corner of his eye and all his instincts screamed danger in true evolutionary fashion.
Tim, instead, decided to get angry. “This isn’t funny!” Tim yelled, treading water and twisting in a circle, trying to figure out where the mer was and what he was trying to do.
“I’m not laughing,” said a cold, dark voice right behind him—claws tightened on his shoulders, and Tim nearly choked on seawater as he was pushed below the surface.
Tim twisted away from the grasp and kicked away—he wasn’t a mer or a selkie, but he’d spent his entire childhood on the beach, and he was a very good swimmer. “I had equipment in that boat!” Tim retorted once he broke the surface again. His phone, his diving gear, his very expensive underwater camera, all headed to the bottom of the ocean. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
Laughter—Tim spun around and saw the mer staring at him, red scales churning the water. “Trust me, Replacement,” Red said, and something about his tone turned Tim’s dread into very real fear, “You don’t want to see my idea of a joke.”
He slipped beneath the waves without a ripple.
Tim swallowed, his heart pounding in his ears. He—he needed to get back on dry land. He couldn’t see the shore. He couldn’t contact Dick or Bruce. He—
Clawed hands closed around his ankles, and yanked.
He was trapped in open ocean with an angry mer.
Tim kicked out again, but Red made it extremely clear that the only reason he’d let go of Tim before was because he felt like it—he could barely even twitch his feet with the vice grip around his ankles.
His lungs began to burn.
Tim thrashed harder, using Red’s grip to pull himself down and claw at the fingers closed around his ankles. A laugh reverberated through the water, low and echoey, and Tim abandoned the task to instead lunge forward, blindly attacking.
He connected with a hard jaw, fingers grasping for something he could pinch or claw, and the grip around his ankles loosened. Tim took immediate advantage, and kicked back up to the surface.
“Stop,” Tim gasped when he had a full breath again, “What the hell do you want—”
Claws scraping against his shins—Tim instinctively kicked out, and his foot was caught in a strong grasp. He flailed, but there was nothing to hold onto, and nothing to stop his slow, gradual descent as the mer pulled him down.
Tim didn’t waste any time in kicking this time, and used the mer’s grip as an anchor—he couldn’t put enough force in his punches to make a mer back off, and his fingernails were blunt compared to a mer’s claws, but Tim had picked up enough grappling from obnoxious selkie older brothers that liked to smother him in seal form to manage a good approximation of a fight.
His elbow knocked into Red’s jaw, his fingers tightening in loose hair, and claws sunk into his ankles—not breaking skin, but Tim could feel the bones grinding. He set his face into a snarl, and twisted harder, yanking furiously on the mer’s hair.
The grip around his ankles tightened, then loosened, and Tim bared his teeth in vicious satisfaction as he kicked his way up—
He didn’t make it to the surface.
A brief flash of claws scraping his knees, tugging him down again. It was gone in an instant, and Tim tried to kick up—
Scales brushing skin as a powerful hand caught ahold of his arm and jerked him off course. The last few bubbles spurted from Tim’s mouth as he tried to twist away from the mer, striking back up the surface—
Something slammed into his side—the tail, Tim thought dazedly, the attack expelling the last of his air as he choked. His lungs were burning, squeezing painfully in his chest as his body screamed at him to breathe. I’m trying, he thought desperately, flailing weakening limbs to break the surface of the water—
A whisper touch around an ankle, mockingly gentle, slowly, inexorably pulling him down.
Tim struggled furiously, panic taking over any semblance of rationality as he fought to free himself from the shackles. It was taking everything he had not to take a gulp of seawater, his lungs spasming and overriding basic logic like he couldn’t breathe underwater.
This time when he kicked, nothing stopped him, and Tim desperately swam back to the surface, his mind split between an instinctive demand for oxygen and the growing terror that he’d be attacked before he got it.
He broke the surface—relief cascaded into him with his first breath of sweet, sweet air, and the respite was so strong Tim almost forgot he had to tread water, nearly dipping below the surface before he flailed, coughing and spluttering.
His heart felt like it was trying to carve its way out of his ribs, a sharp ache as Tim gulped in more breaths, trying to calm down even as his body desperately wheezed for more oxygen, more, more—
A sharp yank, and Tim was spluttering again. The mer, right, the one who’d apparently not stopped trying to kill him.
Tim tried to twist his foot out of his grasp, flailing—his head tipped above the water, and Tim managed a breath before a wave splashed onto his face and he coughed, seawater burning the inside of his nose.
Tim alternated between half-breaths and swallowing seawater as he struggled—Red wasn’t pulling him down, but neither was he letting him break the surface, Tim was drowning anew every time a wave swelled across his face.
Confusion grew, amidst panic and terror—this wasn’t some stupid game, they’d passed that point a long time ago, but if Red wanted him dead, well, Tim had no delusions about his ability to fight off a murderous mer in open water with no weapon.
So what the hell was he doing?
Another gulp of seawater instead of air as Tim was dragged down half an inch and he twisted, opening his eyes and ignoring the burn as he squinted through the water. Red was a couple feet below him, claws idly dragging against Tim’s legs, powerful tail flicking in flashes of glimmering red.
He was grinning. Mouth wide, showcasing an array of sharp teeth, eyes vivid and narrowed—they caught Tim’s gaze, and malicious amusement swelled.
Dread bypassed fear and ran straight into terror.
This was a game, and Tim wasn’t the one playing.
His lungs started burning again—an escalation of their near-constant searing pain, because Tim hadn’t gotten a breath big enough to calm the spasming of his diaphragm—and Tim thrust his head back up, sucking in one and half breaths before Red decided that was enough, and tugged him just below the surface again.
Tim fought against his grip, eyes stinging—another second of air, another bout of coughing, not enough breath to scream or beg the mer to stop. He didn’t know what he’d done, why Red detested him this much, what crime was horrific enough to justify this torture, but ignorance clearly hadn’t stopped him from reaping the consequences.
“Plea—” was all he managed before he was choking again, caught between holding his breath and desperately gasping for air as his chest squeezed painfully. He was drowning by millimeters, a death stretched sadistically out for minutes and minutes and Tim didn’t know whether the burning in his eyes was seawater or tears.
“Stop,” Tim managed underwater, a garbled sound, but Red clearly understood the meaning. The teasing jerks stopped and Tim finally, finally broke the surface fully, taking in deep, spluttering breaths, too fast and too panicked to calm down.
Red breached the surface as well, dark stare locked on him as Tim sucked in desperate breaths, his hindbrain telling him to draw in all the oxygen he could before the mer started drowning him again.
Drowning was a painful, agonizing death. Drowning slowly, the act stretched out over an eternity, until fatigue overwhelmed him or his lungs gave out—it was like watching a fish flop around in an inch of water, desperate and panicked and dying too slow and too painful for it to realize it should just give up.
His breaths turned into hiccupping sobs as he kept treading water, his legs aching and worn out from all the flailing. The mer caught the change in cadence, smile widening.
“Aww,” Red crooned as he swam in lazy circles around Tim, tail lashing around to block off any avenue of escape, “Does the little human not have gills?” Another flick, circling tighter—now he was wrapped around Tim, sharp claws on either side of his very fragile neck. “Does the little human want gills?” Red asked, low and dark.
Tim’s breath stuttered in his throat.
“No,” he said hoarsely, his voice cracking, “No—I don’t—stop—”
Claws pressed in deeper, just below his ears.
“But you want to swim with the fish,” Red hissed into his ear, “Take pictures with your fancy camera and go back to a house you share with selkies. If you wanted to be one of us, all you had to do was ask.”
The claws dragged down, and it felt like they were carving lines of fire into his skin.
“Stop,” Tim said, strangled, “Please—I didn’t—I’m sorry, whatever I did to you—” Claws pressed in deeper, and Tim couldn’t hold back the scream. “I’m sorry!” he sobbed, “Please, I’m sorry, stop, please!”
Claws retreated, curling around his shoulders, and Tim screamed again as saltwater stung on the cuts, writhing in the mer’s grasp.
“Because you asked so nicely,” Red laughed, “Let’s see if you can breathe underwater now.”
Tim managed a half-gulp of air and lost it immediately—Red pulled him underneath the waves and the shrieking agony of saltwater on his wounds was enough to lose his breath in soundless cries.
“Can’t breathe?” Red’s voice echoed around him as he was pulled deeper and deeper, “Are you sure?” The water was getting darker. “You haven’t even tried.”
Tim kept looking up—at the glittering blue of the surface, and the light beyond it, blurred and distorted. His lungs burned, and then screamed, his heartbeat pulsing behind his eyes as his throat squeezed like a giant hand had wrapped around it.
He couldn’t help his futile struggles, his body too panicked to listen to reason, his hands reaching for a sky they’d never touch, and, as his vision began to darken with more than just depth, terror curled into painful reality.
I’m going to die.
He was going to be drowned by a mer that had singled him out as a target, he didn’t know why, and Bruce was going to lose a second son to the sea. A second body they’d only recover in pieces.
This was going to break Bruce. Shatter him along the fault lines that Jason’s death had created, and snap the tenuous threads on his sanity that Tim’s presence had helped hold in place.
This was going to break Dick too—last time he’d been in a completely different ocean, way too far to help, but this time he was just a few miles away. He was never going to stop blaming himself.
Tim closed his eyes, and let his air exhale in a rush, panic receding to a terrifying calm. He was going to die, and it was going to be slow and cruel, and Tim—Tim was scared.
But if he took a deep breath, it would be over. Just one deep breath. Just push past all the instincts screaming that he couldn’t breathe seawater, and—
Red snarled, low and vicious, and Tim didn’t have time to do more than splutter before they were breaking the surface again.
Tim coughed, seawater burning on the way up worse than it had on the way down, and clawed hands closed bruising-tight around his arms as an angry mer shoved into his blurry field of view. “You don’t get to die,” Red hissed, “Not until I’m done with you.”
Terror slithered right back inside.
“Please,” Tim begged, “I—I don’t know what you want, I’m sorry—”
“Oh, Replacement,” Red crooned, claws drifting along the edge of Tim’s face, oh-so-gentle. Tim whimpered as they traced around the corner of his eye. “Did no one warn you about the dangers of the ocean? Did no one tell you what happens to people who stick their noses where they don’t belong?”
“St—stop—”
“Why?” Red asked, baring his teeth, “Because you asked me to?”
“Pl—please—”
“I begged once too,” Red said softly, “I begged and screamed as a monster gouged out my scales, and all they did was laugh at my pleas.” Claws settled around Tim’s neck, curling into the hollow of his throat.
Tim went as still as he possibly could, taking shallow breaths.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m—I’m sorry—”
“For what?” Red snapped.
Tim had no idea, but whatever this was, it felt personal.
“You don’t even know,” Red said, the water around them beginning to froth as he whipped his tail around them in a frenzy, “You don’t have a single clue what you did, you spoiled, entitled brat—” Red made an inarticulate sound of fury, and suddenly pushed—Tim wheezed, and then went still in shock as his back slammed against something cold and hard.
“Do you know what it feels like to have your skin flayed off?” Red asked, almost conversational, if it wasn’t for the way his hand was constricting around Tim’s throat, crushing him against the hard stone.
Tim scrabbled against the wet, smooth surface—it wasn’t the shore, they were in the wrong place for that, but Tim knew there were rock outcroppings about seven miles out, it was what made the area so dangerous for ships—and gasped for breath, lunging out at Red’s face in a feint.
It worked—Red jerked back instinctively, as though he thought Tim had managed to find a weapon, and Tim immediately grabbed a handhold and pulled himself up onto the outcropping.
It wasn’t land, and it certainly wasn’t dry, but it was the only choice he had—Tim ignored the shards of rock slicing into his palms, against his bare feet, the sharp stinging pain as saltwater burned against the wounds, and made for the very top of the outcropping.
It wasn’t a large rock—maybe three feet above the water, and six feet wide—but there was an indent in the middle, a little hollow just large enough for Tim to wedge himself inside if he curled up into a little ball.
Tim had no illusions that it was enough to deter the mer if he was truly determined—he could pull himself up onto the rock, grab Tim’s leg, and drag him out again, like snatching pearls from oyster shells. But there was no sound of scales slipping against rock, or the mer’s growling voice. Nothing but waves splashing against stone.
He buried his head in his knees, arms wrapped tightly around his shins, and shuddered.
Tim banged his head against stone three times before his fatigued head finally figured out where he was—rock. Boat capsizing. Angry mer. Fear slipped back in, next to exhaustion, as Tim blearily opened his eyes.
It was night. Stars stretched across the sky above him, twinkling merrily. It was a new moon night, so the faint starlight was all he had to see by. Tim warily poked his head out of the hollow, half-expecting an enraged mer in his face, but the ocean was quiet and there was no sign of anyone nearby.
“Hello?” Tim called out, and winced at the raspy tone. He tried to clear his throat, but it didn’t do much, still sore and aching from the abuse it had taken. “Dick?” he tried. Surely they were searching for him. Surely they were out turning over every rock in their territory.
Surely they’d noticed he was missing.
“Bruce?” he called out, a little louder. No response.
They had to be looking for him. The mer couldn’t still be around, not with Bruce and Dick patrolling. Tim knew where he was, knew where the rocks were in relation to the shore, and while he wasn’t an expert navigator, he could pick out the North Star, so he had a general idea of where home was.
He could start swimming back.
Tim pulled himself fully out of the hollow, scanning the ocean—it was a stupid idea, he could admit that to himself, the smart thing would be to stay put and wait for Dick or Bruce to find him, but Tim could feel the prickling down his spine and the desperate desire to go home and he wasn’t safe here and he just wanted to be back on dry land.
Tim took a couple of deep breaths to choke down the sob, breathing slowly until the lump in his throat subsided.
A stray splash of water on stone.
Tim immediately whirled around, but there was nothing there. Nothing he could see anything—in the darkness, the water was a mass of black, and he couldn’t make out anything underneath the surface, much less red scales.
Tim ducked back into the hollow, curling up again, keeping still and silent. He had to wait for Dick and Bruce to find him.
If they would find him.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
This time, it was light out—early morning sun rising slowly, turning the water pale as its reflection shimmered across the waves. Tim uncoiled gingerly, wincing as his muscles fiercely protested all movement—his legs were shaking, his arms trembled as he tried to stretch, and swallowing was physically painful.
He also smelled like a salt shaker, and Tim shivered as a low wind picked up—his suit was still damp and cold. It was a good thing it was summer.
“Dick?” Tim called out, hoping to catch a glimpse of a seal, “Bruce?” No movement in the choppy waves. Not Dick, not Bruce, not the shimmer of red scales or sharp teeth or a malevolent smile.
Tim turned, and finally stared at his biggest threat—dark clouds hovered southwards, and the wind was blowing stronger. The storm was arriving early.
Land was about seven miles due west. Tim knew the waters, he’d boated and swam here all his life, and there were no unexpected currents to trip him up.
Staying where he was should’ve been the safest. Stay, and wait for Dick and Bruce to find him, because they had to find him eventually. Stay—so he didn’t have to trust exhausted limbs to carry him forward, so he didn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder for red scales.
Unfortunately, even selkies weren’t safe out in stormy waters, and Tim’s rock would definitely be underwater in an hour. Getting closer to home was in his best interest—he just didn’t know if he could make it all the way to shore before the storm hit.
Tim took a deep breath and tried to think through the lethargic fog. Fact: the rock was safer than the water. Fact: the rock was not safe enough.
Tim turned in a slow circle, scanning the waves as far as he could see. No strange wake, no odd waves, no sign of a tail or flashy scales. The mer was not in sight.
This was the best chance he was going to get.
Tim swallowed, and slowly climbed off the rock. He crouched at the edge for a good ten seconds before he finally worked up the courage to slip into the waves.
The first thing that hit was the searing agony of fresh saltwater washing into all his wounds—the deliberate cuts that stretched down his neck on either side, the scrapes on his feet, the jagged cuts on his palms—and Tim had to bite down on his fist to muffle the scream.
The wash of excruciating fire cut through the shivering at the frigid water, so there were small mercies.
Tim took a couple of shuddering breaths, motivated himself with the warm bath and dry clothes that awaited him, and struck out towards shore.
Tim was a good swimmer—he’d spent his entire childhood on the beach or in the water, and after he’d been adopted by Bruce, the ratio shifted to more time spent in the water and less time on land. He had to be a good swimmer to keep up with Dick and Bruce, and both of them had joked that he had seawater in his veins.
Right now, he definitely felt like he had seawater in his veins. And his stomach. And his lungs.
Tim was a good swimmer, but unfortunately, he was only human.
He didn’t know if it was lingering panic, hyperawareness—thrice Tim thought he saw the flash of scales in the sun, freezing in sudden terror only to realize it was just the sunrise reflecting off the waves—or exhaustion, but he had to stop every so often to gulp in deep breaths, treading water slower and slower as he took a break.
He didn’t know how long he’d been swimming—the sun was higher in the sky, the clouds were closer, and he could finally spot the dark smudge that signified land. The rock he’d slept on had vanished from sight—the waves were getting choppier, tugging at him, making it more and more difficult to swim.
“Bruce!” Tim called out again, but his voice was too hoarse to yell, “Dick!”
No response.
Tim suppressed the hitched breath—crying wouldn’t help anyone now—and kicked out with aching legs, pushing forward in slow strokes. He managed three kicks before his right calf clenched, and Tim was forced to a sudden halt, gritting his teeth as his calf muscle spasmed.
Cramps. Exactly what he needed.
Treading with one leg was more similar to flailing than Tim liked to admit, and he was wrung out by the time his leg finally uncurled. He kicked out slowly, like his legs were moving through molasses, just enough to keep his head above water as he stared up at the darkening sky.
His toes had started cramping a minute ago. He didn’t even bother trying to force them to relax.
Tim closed his eyes for a moment, before he resumed swimming. His freestyle had turned jerky—jagged movements forward followed by a period of sinking stillness as Tim tried to force his muscles to cooperate.
He was exhausted. He could barely keep his nose above water, and he coughed as he accidentally inhaled seawater. The rocking motion of the waves was beginning to feel soothing—like if he just let go, just drifted, just slept—
No. He needed to keep swimming. He couldn’t do that to Dick or Bruce. He had to keep fighting.
Tim pushed forward, forcing his legs to keep kicking—just a little bit further—okay, that was a lie, it was a lot further, but if Tim could pretend that the beach was right there, so close, he just needed a few more strokes—
Shooting pain stabbed up his left calf again, and Tim cursed, flailing as he tried to stretch the muscle out underwater. He attempted to keep treading water, but his right calf spasmed at the odd angle, and Tim choked back a cry as both his legs cramped up.
He kept his arms moving in frantic circles, tilting his head back so his nose was above water. He just needed to wait for the cramps to stop, just needed to hold on a little bit longer, just—
He was slipping underwater, millimeter by millimeter, and he took one last desperate breath before a wave brushed over his face.
He hadn’t been underwater for five seconds before hands closed around his waist and pulled him up.
Tim broke the surface and stared, stunned, at bright green eyes.
Oh shit.
There were several thoughts swirling through Tim’s head—how had the mer found him? Had he been following him? Why had he pulled Tim up instead of yanking him further down? What was the point of all this?—but the one overriding one was how fucked he was.
He was exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open—if Red had given it another five minutes, Tim would’ve drowned all on his own, but the jolt of adrenaline kept him aware and alert for whatever Red had planned.
Red wanted him dead. And he wasn’t going to make it quick. And Tim—Tim had tried so hard to get back home, and the mer had been toying with him this whole time, and Tim was never going to go back and he couldn’t even fight and he was helpless and he couldn’t stop the tears even if he tried.
Breaths were replaced by large, hiccupped gasps as Tim shook, tears curving through the salt water, hot and thick, and he couldn’t inhale without dissolving into hitched sobs.
“Stop crying,” Red growled.
Tim shuddered harder, bringing his hands up to cover his face because he didn’t have the energy to stop crying, he didn’t have the energy for anything, he didn’t have the energy to fight off Red and he didn’t have the energy to stop the curl of horror and terror and dread and exhaustion and misery, beating in tandem with his heart as it spread through his limbs.
He was shivering violently—Red’s grasp tightened, sharp claws digging painfully into his hip bones, and Tim gasped wetly, pressing his hands against his face like if he didn’t see it, then it wasn’t happening.
He was going to die. It was going to be painful. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He couldn’t stop crying. He couldn’t stop shivering. He tried to tell himself to calm down, he needed every breath he could get, Red would start drowning him any minute—but what did it matter, anyway? He’d be choking soon enough.
“Stop crying,” Red snarled again, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Tim’s next breath ended on a slightly hysterical wheeze.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Red repeated, sounding like he was two seconds away from ripping out Tim’s throat with his teeth.
“T—then l—let go.”
Surprisingly, Red let go.
Tim snapped his eyes open in shock, too startled to keep crying—Red was indeed gone, no trace of red scales in the now-gray waters. This was definitely a trick, but Tim didn’t have any other choice.
He tried to swim forward, but his limbs had turned to jelly, and the sobbing had only compounded his exhaustion. He felt like a limp tissue, with the structural integrity to match. He forced himself forward, but his next stroke didn’t push him up above the water and he was slowly sinking again.
Hands settled on his waist as his lungs started burning, and Tim broke the surface with a gasp, keenly aware that his continued ability to breathe depended solely on Red’s goodwill.
He clutched Red’s shoulders, like that would deter the mer from letting go again.
“If I let go,” Red said flatly, “You’re going to drown.”
“Y—you almost s—sound like y—you care,” Tim said through shivering, hitched breaths.
“I don’t want you to die,” Red scowled. Tim was far too close to razor-sharp teeth for his peace of mind.
“Could’ve f—fooled me,” Tim muttered anyway, because self-preservation instincts had been sacrificed somewhere along the way of his journey.
“I don’t,” Red snapped, baring his teeth again.
Tim thought about jerking back, but he was too tired. Too tired to even come up with a rejoinder as he stared blankly at Red.
“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” Red glared, green eyes flickering, “I was—I was just trying to scare you.”
“M—mission acc—accomplished.” He was shivering so hard his teeth were chattering.
He squeezed his eyes shut—he didn’t want to look at Red, and he didn’t believe the whole ‘don’t want you to die’ thing, but if Red wasn’t going to start torturing him right now, Tim was going to enjoy the last few moments of peace he had left.
“I—I really was just trying to scare you,” Red said, quieter. Tim squinted at him—Red was looking somewhere over his shoulder, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t meant to—” His gaze sharpened on Tim’s throat, and Tim shuddered with the instinctive urge to curl up.
Red exhaled slowly, and looked away again. “…I’m sorry,” he said.
“What?”
Red snapped his gaze to him, and Tim froze as glowing green eyes fixed on his face, going perfectly still in some screwed-up instinct to play possum.
“I’m sorry,” Red repeated, sounding remarkably sincere for someone who’d spent the previous afternoon slowly drowning him.
“I—I don’t understand,” Tim said hoarsely, because it didn’t make any sense, “Why did you attack me? I don’t—I don’t remember meeting you, and I’m sorry, whatever I did to you, I—”
“It wasn’t you,” Red cut him off, glowering again, “Well. Not entirely you, anyway.”
“…What?”
“Bruce,” Red growled, “I wanted to—it was just supposed to scare you and remind him that—it—it’s a long story, okay.”
Tim thought that, as the person who’d suffered the consequences, he was owed that story, but pissing off the person flip-flopping between drowning him and saving him was probably not a good idea. “Okay,” he agreed.
Raindrops began falling, a low drizzle swiftly turning into a downpour, and Tim looked up to squint at the dark, heavy clouds.
“You should get back to land,” Red murmured, looking at the clouds as well, “It’s going to be a bad storm.”
Tim almost started crying again, laughter on the edge of hysterical, because what did the mer think he was trying to do? “I can’t swim anymore,” he admitted—if Red let go, Tim was going to sink like a stone.
Red eyed the shoreline in the distance, and turned back to him. “I can get you closer,” he offered.
Tim stared at him. At the way it was phrased like an offer when Tim was shaking, exhausted, and clinging to the mer because he was the only thing keeping him afloat.
“Please,” Tim said, wishing he could shove the manners so far that the mer would choke on it. What was he going to do if he said no? Tim was entirely at his mercy, so this was just another game, albeit one Tim was too exhausted to follow.
Red didn’t wait for any further begging, though, and Tim blearily tried to keep his eyes open as they were suddenly moving much faster than Tim had been swimming, helped by Red’s massive tail. It was an awkward angle, because Red was still trying to keep Tim’s head above water, but Tim let the dread uncoil, piece by piece, too exhausted to keep up the vigilance.
At this point, Tim didn’t care if Red did drown him, he just wanted some sleep.
Unfortunately, the storm was almost upon them—the waves were getting choppier, and Tim squinted his eyes open the third time he accidentally swallowed seawater because a wave slapped him in the face.
“Sorry,” Red said, making a face at the roiling waves around them, “It’s just—I can go faster, but I can’t do it like this.” He aimed a speculative glance at Tim, “How long can you hold your breath?”
Tim did not like the sound of that question.
“A minute?” Tim guessed, feeling dread curl into his stomach again.
“Okay,” the mer nodded, and shifted so that Tim was on his back, arms wound loosely around the mer’s neck. Clawed hands held his wrists in place. “If you struggle, you’ll burn up oxygen faster. You need to trust me.”
I don’t trust you, Tim wanted to say, but they were underwater before he could open his mouth.
Panic slammed back into him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, interlacing his fingers as he pressed against Red’s back, frantically counting in his head—Red was right, though, they could move much faster like this, and they were unhindered by the rough waves.
Tim reached a panicked count of fifty, his lungs squeezing painfully, before Red broke the surface. Tim took deep gulps of air, shuddering, and raindrops mixed with the salt on his lips as he waited for the burning in his lungs to subside.
Tim warily unwound before Red sank back down again.
This time, it ticked past fifty—fifty-one, fifty-two—his lungs felt like they were going to burst—fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five—it felt like he was being squeezed through a trash compactor, pressure on all sides—fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty—
Sixty-one.
No.
Sixty-two.
Please.
Sixty-three.
His chest felt like it had been doused in acid.
Sixty-f—
Air. Sweet, sweet, glorious air, and Tim was gasping and shaking and trying to inhale and exhale at the same time. Red sounded slightly panicked, and Tim realized he was clinging to the mer like a koala as he shuddered.
The mer made low, soothing sounds, patting Tim’s arms, and exhaustion won out over adrenaline—he dropped his head on Red’s shoulder, still sucking in desperate breaths.
“We’re almost there,” Red said softly, “Just a little bit further.”
Tim didn’t even try to raise his head and see if he was right.
He just took in a deep breath as the mer started sinking again.
This time, Tim got to forty-two before they were rising again, and he took deep breaths, still slumped against Red’s back. He didn’t have the energy to lift his head. He didn’t have the energy for everything.
“We’re here,” Red said, untangling his arms and twisting around—Tim slipped down with the loss of support and Red made a surprised sound before grabbing his arms. “We’re here,” the mer repeated, and Tim managed to twist his head enough to see the wooden pier next to him.
Land. Home. Tim reached out a hand, but he could barely manage to grab the edge of the pier, much less pull himself up.
Red sighed, and the hold moved to Tim’s waist as he effortlessly heaved Tim out of the water. Tim coughed and shivered, fumbling as he got his knees braced against the wood and crawled forward.
He had to stand up. He had to walk up the pier and onto solid land, and up the path to the house in the distance, where the lights were shining brightly.
Tim shifted to the balls of his feet, and his legs answered with the structural integrity of an overcooked noodle.
Okay, he would crawl up the pier and onto solid land, and make his way up, step by step, and hope that Dick and Bruce had actually noticed him missing and—
His arms wavered, and crumpled, sending him collapsing into a heap on the wooden slats.
Or, he could stay right here. This wasn’t land, not entirely, but the wood was solid under his cheek and the waves only brushed the underside of the planks, and this was fine, someone would find him eventually.
“Replacement?” Red said. It was accompanied by a light tug on his right ankle.
Tim couldn’t hide the muffled sob. If Red dragged him off the pier now—if this whole thing was some sick game of dangling escape in his reach, allowing him to take it, and then tearing it out of his hands, then Tim would break.
He didn’t have the energy for games, but apparently he still had the capacity for tears.
Red made a sharp, frustrated sound, accompanied by a low curse, but there were no further tugs on his ankle. Instead, Tim could see red scales flashing beneath the wooden slats, heading closer to shore and Tim managed to crinkle his forehead in a frown. What was he trying to do, break the pier off?
A loud, mournful sound echoed across the water, swelling with the raging wind to carry across the ocean and along the shore.
In the house at the top of the path, the door banged open.
Tim had heard that sound before. Many times, as a child. There was a conch shell tied to the underside of the pier—a sound that would summon Bruce down to the water.
Someone was shouting in the distance. Red scales flashed back the way they’d come.
Tim hadn’t heard that sound in four years. Dick had no need of it, when he could just walk out of the water. Tim didn’t even know exactly where it was. The shell had been for a different child, a mer child, who couldn’t leave the water on his own.
Tim struggled up onto an elbow, watching the swift-moving wake as the tail flashed. “Wait!” he rasped, straining to spot red amidst the dark grey waves. “Wait!” He swallowed, and said hoarsely, half a question, half a deduction, “Jason?”
Green eyes latched onto him, sudden and vivid and wide.
Pounding footsteps rumbled the wooden slats underneath him. Tim blinked, and the green eyes were gone.
“Tim!” Dick shouted, sprinting down the pier, nearly tripping as he threw himself into a crouch next to Tim, “Oh, thank god, we’ve been searching for you since yesterday, and then the storm picked up—” He was tugging Tim up as he spoke, an arm curling below his knees so he could carry him, and another set of footsteps vibrated down the pier, stuttering and uneven. “—little fry, we were so worried—you terrified us—what happened?”
Tim—Tim couldn’t think, he was exhausted—the conch shell, Jason—he’d called him Replacement—he was angry at Bruce—
“Long story,” Tim murmured, twisting further in Dick’s embrace so he could rest his head over his brother’s heart and listen to the comforting beat as silent tears spilled into his shirt. Home. Family. He’d made it back.
“We’ll get you warmed up and dried off,” Dick promised, heading back up to the house, and they passed Bruce, who was staring out at the roiling waves with a haunted expression on his face.
“Bruce,” Dick said softly, and then again, louder, “Bruce.”
Bruce jerked, like Dick had hit him, and shakily made his way back to them. “Tim,” he said hoarsely, and Tim had a feeling that the water on his face wasn’t just rain. “You’re okay,” he murmured, gently brushing Tim’s cheek.
“You’re okay,” he repeated, but this time he looked to the sea.