Chapter Text
The staff slammed against Tim’s ribs, hard enough for them to crack. Tim bit down on a cry of pain, swinging his own staff in retaliation, just to be blocked easily by the Red Hood.
That was where they were starting, after all. The Red Hood had broken into the Tower, watched calmly as Tim scrambled for his staff, still in uniform, and attacked. And Hood had fought back with ease and an offer.
“Surrender and it stops. The pain stops, birdie.”
“Never,” Tim had snarled, and lunged, because Robins didn’t give in.
He was regretting it, just a tad, but he still wouldn’t break. He blocked a strike, but it left him open for Hood to lean forward and tear Tim’s staff out of his grasp, throwing it behind him with a clatter. Then he dropped his own staff, kicked it back, and somehow that made it worse, because Hood was big.
Hood made the first move this time, with a fist aimed for the gut that Tim barely dodged enough for it to clip his side. Hood struck again as Tim tried for his own, but all he earned was a dizzying blow to the head. It was hard enough to knock him out, but it didn’t hit the right spot, off to the side.
It was the oddest fight Tim had ever participated in. It wasn’t the first time a villain had told him surrendering would be easier, but it was the first time one sounded like they meant it. Hood’s voice, in contrast to the hits he was landing, because he was better, and Tim was struggling, was soft, coaxing him to give in.
“I know Robins aren’t meant to give up,” Hood said as he swept Tim’s leg out under him in a way Tim should have seen coming, but smooth and easy anyway, “but you’re just a kid. Make it easier on yourself, Tim.”
Tim almost messed up his roll onto his feet a few paces away, in an attempt to give him breathing room. Hood obliged, but it was clear it was an indulgence. “You - that’s not my name,” he bluffed pointlessly. From the ease Hood used it, and the easy stance at his denial, he knew better. “And I’m not giving up.”
Hood shrugged, then lunged, Tim twisted out of the way of one of his blows, but two more landed, knocking the breath out of him. They hurt, and Tim was so far out of his class he was struggling to keep afloat. He hadn’t thought Hood would be this good - he was just a crime lord making a name for himself, more due to his brutal methods and ruthless determination than his exceptional fighting, but Tim was seeing now how that may have been a part of it.
“This isn’t your fault,” Hood took advantage of his momentary disorientation and hauled him up to slam against the wall. “It really isn’t, Tim, it’s about Robin. It won’t hurt if you give in, I promise you.” Hood’s fist met his face in an especially painful manner and Tim groaned, failing to escape his pin.
“Fuck you,” Tim managed to spit, but Hood only snarled and shoved him harder.
“Someone’s going to learn a lesson today. It can be you, but my offer stands.” Hood stepped back suddenly, and threw Tim to the ground. Tim couldn’t strangle a yelp as steel-toed boots collided with his ribs. “I’m not gonna hesitate at turning this into a beatdown if you make it one. Surrender.”
Tim snarled wordlessly, raising himself to his elbows before Hood knocked them out from under him, making him collapse at the floor again. Jason wouldn’t have given up. Jason would’ve kept fighting. Tim had to at least try.
Tim bit down on any sounds that could escape, but the knife driving into his shoulder forced a choked scream out of him, and suddenly surrender didn’t seem like a horrible idea.
Hood didn’t give him respite, tearing the knife out - oh, it was a kris, wickedly sharp curved edges - and stabbing him again in the thigh. Tim tried to escape, twisting onto his back, but Hood pinned him easily with a knee on his back and a hand on his throat. “You sure you don’t wanna give?” Hood paused, just long enough for Tim to say nothing, then jerked Tim’s chin back with his hand.
Tim thrashed, but his hands were trapped underneath him and Hood held him down too firmly. A high, panicked noise spilled from his lips, and Hood ignored it, tutting. “You could’ve saved yourself from this if you hadn’t been so stubborn.”
He drew the kris across Tim’s throat in a smooth motion, slicing open the skin with ease. Tim choked on his inhale, but Hood shushed him, pressing his hand over the wound as Tim processed the lack of gushing blood.
Tim almost died. He had been half an inch of skin away from bleeding out, and the only thing keeping him from the fate of dying here, on the cool metal floor, was Hood’s apparent mercy. Tim shuddered.
“So? Ready to reconsider, Replacement?” Hood sounded almost smug, but he didn’t do anything but wait for Tim’s answer. The kris lay discarded beside them, darkened with blood.
Tim took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, before looking up to Hood. He nodded.
“Words would be preferable,” Hood said, but he was already easing off Tim, his knee no longer crushing Tim.
“I give.” Tim didn’t look at him when he said it.
Hood tipped his head up with an achingly gentle hand on his jaw, forcing eye contact, or as much looking into the lenses of the helmet qualified. “Good bird. Come on, let’s getcha up, on your feet. I know it hurts, but work with me, ‘kay?”
Tim nodded again, pulling his legs under him and standing up, aided by Hood’s hand on his arm, supporting him when he stumbled. He was light-headed from a little too much blood loss and one too many knocks to the head, and found himself relying on Hood’s hold a little too much.
True to his word, Hood didn’t inflict any more damage, only holding him up when he tripped. “We’re gonna sit you down somewhere, Timmy, stitch those wounds up. Where’s the nearest first-aid kid?”
“In -” Tim’s voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again, “In the next room. Left drawer of the desk.”
“Alright. You’re gonna sit down once we’re in there, nice and easy so you don’t mess yourself up anymore.” Hood guided Tim into the next room, sitting him down on the desk chair.
Tim tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. Hood was - Hood was patching him up. Hood, who five minutes earlier had stabbed him. Hood was talking to him softly, touching him gently, all quiet words. He’d beaten Tim to the ground, but now he was treating him like a victim.
Tim couldn’t quite figure it out.
He flinched when Hood pulled out a knife from his jacket, the blade only four or so inches long. Hood shushed him, running a hand soothingly over his leg. “It’s okay, just cutting off part of your tights to get to the wound. Trust me, alright?”
Tim let out a short, shuddering breath. “Finding that a bit hard.”
“Look,” Hood said as he sprayed saline solution on the stab wound in Tim’s thigh, “I told you I’d stop when you surrendered, didn’t I? And I did. It’s not your fault, not really. It’s the adults in your life. You shouldn’t be here, nearly dying once a week. You’re just a kid.”
Tim didn’t have an answer, so he just grit his teeth while Hood methodically stitched his wound, and then moved up to his shoulder. It was as painless as stitches could be, and Hood didn’t seem to mind his lack of answer, just patting him amiably on his good shoulder.
“One last thing.” Hood drew a syringe out of his pocket, and clearly he’d planned ahead. Tim stilled, eyes fixed on it. “I need some blood, birdie. This won’t hurt a bit if you stay still, and I think we’d both rather do this than cut you open. Can you hold still for me?”
Tim wanted to know what his blood was going to be used for, but he nodded anyway, going so far as to offer up his arm. Hood squeezed his arm lightly in what was clearly meant to be comforting, but just made Tim stiffen. “Why?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” Hood said, not unkindly. “Relax, Tim. It’ll make it easier.”
Tim forced his muscles to go lax, and Hood hummed, and there was a prick in his wrist as Hood drew blood directly from the vein. Tim didn’t look, focusing on the floor. The needle pulled out, and Tim heard the splatter of a liquid into something solid. Tim tried to pull his arm back, but Hood held fast.
“Not quite done yet. Keep still, yeah?”
Tim furrowed his brows, but held obligingly still as Hood drew another syringe-ful. And another. Tim made a vague sound of protest at the third, but Hood cupped his cheek. Tim, already feeling just a little light-headed, leaned into it.
“Sh, you’re alright. I won’t take too much.”
Tim shifted, debating trying to stop him, putting up more of a fight, but - but he would lose. He wouldn’t really stop Hood, not really. Just make it harder for himself. Tim relaxed again, letting Hood draw more. The syringe wasn’t too large, but Tim lost track of how many Hood took.
Tim looked up at him hazily when Hood stood, watching as he walked out of the room with purposeful strides. His head lolled back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling. The bruises Hood had given him ached, but they had settled into something less painful, and Hood hadn’t hurt him. He’d been honest when he said surrendering would be painless.
Tim didn’t know what to think.
He startled at the hand at the back of his head, tilting forward into a normal position. Hood was back, and in his other hand was a glass of water. “Hey, birdie. Drink some of this for me, alright? You lost a good amount of blood, but you should be fine.”
Tim obligingly opened his mouth, swallowing when Hood tipped the glass back, slowly but steadily forcing him to finish the entire glass. Hood hummed encouragingly, the sound distorted from his modulator. He said to glass down on the desk. “Alright, sit down, give yourself a minute.” He pulled out a strip of dark cloth. “I’m gonna blindfold you. Don’t bother fighting, it’s staying on.”
Tim made a quiet sound of dissent, but he was still woozy, light-headed. He didn’t struggle when Hood tied it around his head. His presence vanished, and Tim was a little more thrown off by that than he would like to admit. Tim breathed out slowly. There was a distant splash, but Tim focused on breathing, regaining clarity.
It wasn’t working especially well, but he was a little more present by the time Hood returned, some ten minutes later. “Alright, last move. Work with me, Robin.”
“Where are we going?” Tim murmured, eyes flickering open and shut uselessly under the blindfold.
“You’ll find out in a minute or so. Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe. My point’s been proven,”
Infuriatingly, Tim believed him. So far, Hood had been proven to follow his word, and everything on his file suggested he wasn’t a careless killer. His victims tended to - Tim didn’t want to say ‘have it coming’, but it wouldn’t be entirely wrong - be perpetrators of rather condemning crimes. Murder of innocents, rape, child abuse, the likes.
Tim didn’t trust Hood. But he did trust him to not lie.
He’d even given Tim opportunity to give in from the start, and Tim obviously hadn’t taken it until he was bruised and bloodied, but the second he did, Hood stopped. Treated his wounds - admittedly took a good amount of blood, but gave him water after - handled him carefully, didn’t hurt him. Tim had reason to believe that if he’d surrendered at the beginning, he wouldn’t have been hurt.
He still wanted to know where they were going.
Hood led him steadily, turning him away from walls and tripping hazards so that the walk was smooth. Tim was in front of him, judging by the two hands on his shoulders to guide him and the sound of footsteps coming from behind. Tim should have focused, but he was still light-headed, dizzy, and he couldn’t track where they went.
They stopped abruptly, and Hood let go to circle around to the front of Tim, then took his jaw in one hand. Tim tipped his head to the sound of Hood’s voice. “Access codes for the zeta tube. Now.”
“What - no!” Tim jerked backwards, surprised Hood would even ask him like that and expect him to give up information so important, so vital. Hood’s hand tightened minutely on his jaw. “Thought you’d say that, birdie. Need some convincing, I’d bet.”
Tim bared his teeth in a weak imitation of a threat. “A lot.”
“Well, I already know dear old Dickie’s code, but I know he’s off in Bludhaven. Not due to be back soon.” Tim wanted to question it, but Hood said it so casually, without hesitation, that Tim believed him. He already knew their identity. Was this much more? “I figured they’d be a little less freaked if they saw your codes. Don’t wanna scare ‘em more than necessary, right?”
Tim shook his head once, but he didn’t know what he was denying. “No.”
“Tim,” Hood drew his hand carefully along Tim’s jawline, stopping to press on his pulse-point, “I could make you. I said I wouldn’t hurt you, and I won’t. But I can take you. So either give me the codes, and let me zeta us to under Wayne Manor, or I walk you out of here and throw you in a stolen van.”
Tim stiffened, wishing he could see Hood, could read something from his body language, when his tone gave nearly nothing away, distorted by his helmet. So far, though, Hood seemed to be someone who would follow through. Tim didn’t hold a lot of doubt that he was bluffing.
Tim was tired. He just wanted to go home - Wayne Manor, he meant, he wanted to go to Wayne Manor - and curl up in a bed, listen to Dick’s laughter and Bruce’s rumbling voice, the soothing one he used when one of them was injured.
“Come on, just a few numbers. I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Hood coaxed, and Tim gave in. Again.
He rattled off the numbers reluctantly, and heard Hood type them in. Thankfully, he didn’t need to repeat himself. “Good,” Hood said, squeezing Tim’s uninjured shoulder. “Just gonna drop you off in the Cave, nice and safe.”
The zeta slid open, and Hood ushered Tim forward. Tim stumbled, but Hood held him up easily, half-dragging him. As usual, the teleportation left Tim disoriented, but Hood seemed unaffected, hauling Tim onward. “Almost there, Timmy.”
No one was in the Cave, and Tim was aware of just how much of a disadvantage he was at, dizzy from blood loss, injured and blindfolded. Hood could - Hood could shove him to the ground and have free rein until anyone showed up, which would be at least half an hour. Tim shuddered.
“Don’t worry, birdie. I won’t mess around too much. I have a goal today, and I’ll leave once it’s over with.” A few more paces, and Tim reached up to tug off the blindfold. Hood’s hand closed around his wrist, unforgiving. “No. Don’t touch it, Robin.”
Tim flinched and dropped his arm. Hood let him go after a long moment, and the sound of scrabbling, metal scraping against metal, followed. Then Tim was blinking, his eyes attempting to adjust to the light as the cloth around his head vanished.
Tim was standing in front of Jason’s memorial. His suit in the glass case, each rip carefully stitched, each bloodstain carefully washed. Tim backed away, straight into Hood’s chest. “What - what are you doing?”
“Putting the newest Robin in his place. Robin is pointless, Tim. Something that should’ve been left in the past after this one-” Hood gestured sharply at Jason’s uniform, which was something he shouldn’t have known about, “- went and died. Children shouldn’t be fighting, trained or not.”
Tim shook his head automatically, halfway to protesting, when Hood pulled the case open, the front sheet of glass swinging like a door. That should be - that should be locked. It took Tim a moment to process what Hood was planning, didn’t realize until Hood carelessly pulled the suit out, watching it spill on the floor, then pushed Tim forward. Tim froze, every muscle tensing.
“Timothy, you know what the consequences are.” Jack stared impassively down at Tim, who was frantically shaking his head and trying to back away. He had been too mouthy at the gala earlier, absent-mindedly pointing out an error in Jack’s statement. He hadn’t realized Jack had been talking to a fellow CEO, trying to initiate an alliance of sorts, and Tim had been making him look bad.
The contract had gone through, but if it hadn’t, it would have been Tim’s fault.
No matter how Tim pleaded, Jack dragged him unerringly towards his room, where Tim knew punishment waited. He twisted uselessly, trying to escape Jack’s hold, but it didn’t give, not even as he used one hand to pull something out from under the bed. A clear, plastic bin.
Tim was shoved brutally into it, the lid pushed on top of him as he was forced to curl in the bin. Jack pushed it back under just as Tim attempted to push the lid off, but it just hit the top of the bed without so much as an inch between the edge of the bin and the lid.
“No!” he cried pointlessly, but he stopped fighting, just pulling his legs close and watching through the side of the bin as Jack walked away.
No matter how tightly Tim curled, how little space he took up, the walls pressed closer, against his skin, until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. This was his punishment. He started to cry, and every breath took precious air away until he was shaking.
This was his fault.
“No, please!” Tim turned, pushing uselessly at Hood’s chest. Hood lifted him partially off the ground, shushing him and dragging him slowly towards the case. Tim couldn’t - Tim couldn’t be locked in there.
“Sh, it’s okay, Tim. This is what Robin should be - a memory. Children weren’t meant to be good soldiers.”
Tim sobbed, clinging to Hood as he gently yet firmly placed Tim in the case, half-lifting him. “Hood, please, I’ll do anything else, please, no -”
“This won’t hurt, Tim. It’s not your fault. Don’t fight.” Hood still didn’t hurt him, didn’t have too. Not when he was so much stronger, when he could push Tim back when he tried to escape with ease.
Tim furiously wiped tears from his face and ceased fighting, just clinging to Hood’s arm. “Please, don’t make me.” He was too tired to fight, and he wouldn’t win. Just the exertion of a few minutes was making him even dizzier, aware of just how much blood took.
“This is where Robin belongs,” Hood said, pulling his arm back sharply. His stance softened, and his tone might’ve as well if Tim could hear it. “Someone will find you. You’ll be okay.”
“Please,” Tim said again, but Hood was shutting the case, walking away without a backwards glance.
Tim wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to succumb to the memories.
It wasn’t long before Tim was on patrol again, swinging through his usual routes. Batman had refused to let him go alone for some time, but he was benched after a brawl with Killer Croc, and Dick was called in, so Tim was allowed to patrol by himself, as long as he updated Nightwing regularly.
He’d thought about his encounter for a while, and he’d finally come to a decision; he would ignore it.
Tim wasn’t particularly fond of Hood, but Tim hadn’t exactly said, ‘oh, I have childhood trauma from being locked in small, clear boxes and things, so could we do something different?’ It was hardly Hood’s fault, but Tim still didn’t appreciate the Tower being broken into, nor did he appreciate being beaten and drained of blood. (Which had apparently been used to write, in bold, messy letters across the wall, Remember Jason Todd. Tim already did, and didn’t appreciate the reminder. He did have to wonder what Hood cared about Jason, or how he knew about him.)
Right now, he was precariously neutral, and the filtered voice calling to him from a roof too threatened to ruin that.
“Hey, Robin! C’mere!”
“No!”
Tim suddenly found himself falling through the air as his grapple was cut with a well-thrown batarang. Naturally, he landed on the rooftop Hood was on, lounging against the wall with a distinctly smug air. “Fancy seeing you here, Replacement. Nice to see you managed to get out of that display alright.”
Tim narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “No thanks to you. Where’d you get that batarang?”
Hood gestured vaguely. “Around.” One of his guns was unholstered, loosely held in one hand. Tim kept a wary eye on it, but Hood didn’t seem inclined to shoot him.
“That’s not very reassuring,” Tim replied dryly, digging through his utility belt for his extra grapple. “And cutting my line wasn’t very nice of you.”
“Neither was shouting ‘no’. Just wanted to talk for a while.” Hood’s voice darkened. “I see you’re still in the uniform.”
Tim snorted. “Did you think locking me in a glass case would stop me?” It almost had, when Tim had been hyperventilating, praying someone would find him soon as the walls closed in on him. But Hood didn’t need to know that.
“No,” Hood said, considering him, “but I’d hoped it would send a message. Apparently, it hasn’t gone through.”
That was when Tim noticed, a split-second too late, that Hood’s rifle was pointed at him now. He didn’t have time to dodge, barely enough time to think, Is this how I die?
Tim only vaguely registered that it wasn’t a bullet but a sedative-laced needle that hit his neck, and then he was crumpling to the floor, and the world was dark.
Tim opened his eyes with a struggle. That was all he could do, in fact. As much as he tried, he couldn’t force his muscles to tense, to move, to do anything. All he could do was lay limp in - in Hood’s arms.
Hood was stalking down a sidestreet, one of the safer parts of Crime Alley, and thus practically abandoned after dark. His helmet twitched downwards to Tim almost immediately after he woke, even if only his eyes moved.
Hood turned sharply, shoving open a door of some shop with his hip. ”Morning, sunshine. I’m sure you noticed, but I stuck a little muscle relaxant in ya after I knocked you out. Bet it’s real hard to move right about now. Don’t you worry, you’re safe with me.” Hood’s voice lifted mockingly at the end, but his hold was careful.
Tim's eyes darted frantically around, trying to take in his surroundings. He noticed a few tanks, littered with gravel at the bottom and set into walls, crates and shelves half-full of - oh. It was a pet store.
Tim had a bad feeling about this.
Hood shifted him a little higher, slumping Tim against his chest instead of cradling him. He stroked one hand lightly over Tim’s hair, and he would have flinched away if he could move at all. “You know, they shut this down a while back. Counts of animal cruelty or some shit, mistreatment. Say what you will about Crime Alley, but the men here would rather shoot each other than a dog.”
Hood’s easy strides came to a halt, jostling Tim enough for his head to loll back, blocking his view of what Hood stopped in front of. Tim suspected it was purposeful, but he couldn’t voice his accusations. Or do anything else really. The best he could do was squint.
“Thought it was a bit ironic, taking you here. Mistreated pets, yeah?” Hood’s thumb pressed down on a bruise along Tim’s ribs, one he’d gotten a few days ago when someone slammed a crowbar into him. “Little birds shouldn’t be this hurt.”
Tim didn’t respond, obviously. He was entirely at Hood’s mercy, more than ever, and Hood - wasn’t hurting him. He exhaled, a little sharper than normal, and Hood lightened his hand, turning around so Tim could see what was behind them.
Tim would have blanched if he had the control at the glass enclosure in front of him. A faded picture of a parakeet, ragged at the edges, was plastered at the bottom. Tim’s breathing picked up a tad, and he knew Hood picked up on it, arms tightening around Tim. Tim couldn’t - he couldn’t go in there. He was sorry, he didn’t know what he did wrong -
Please, Tim tried to say with his eyes, and from the tilt of Hood’s head, the message was received. But he stepped closer, shifting Tim’s dead weight to one arm and cutting off his view as he slumped in a different direction. The hinges creaked as Hood presumably opened the door with his free hand.
No.
Tim didn’t want to be there, walls pressing in, seeing out his cage, just to watch his dad Hood walk away. Just to be trapped while the world went on without him. Please, no - anything but that, please.
“Trust me, birdie, this is for your own good. Little birds like you aren’t meant to be fighting on the streets. They’re meant to be kept safe, whether they want to or not.” With that, Hood pushed Tim into the enclosure.
It had been cleared of perches, but a few feathers scattered over the bottom, along with a few suspicious white spots on the wires. Tim sprawled bonelessly across the floor of it, blinking slowly up at Hood.
Hood reached in, carefully brushing his hair out of his face. “I know you don’t like this now. But little birds have to be handled with care, and that means being here, where people can see all those flashy colors, but not touch.”
Hood’s own touch was so soft, and it almost drew Tim from his terror. Almost. His breathing didn’t slow, still hitched and just a tad too fast, and all he could do was stare at Hood’s blank helmet and hope he wouldn’t leave. Tim couldn’t be alone again, not like this, please -
“After all, little birds have breakable bones, don’t they? Fragile.” Hood’s hands closed over Tim’s forearm, pressing hard enough that Tim’s bone creaked, and his arm ached, before he abruptly let go, running his hand lightly down the same arm. “That’s why I’m going to keep doing this until you stop running around at night, getting yourself hurt. This could be the last time, Timbird. Give in.”
He stroked a finger gently down Tim’s nose, over and over until Tim’s breathing dropped back to normal, focused on Hood. “Go home, birdie. When he finds you, go home. Don’t come back.”
Tim would come back. He had to. He was Robin.
But Hood was withdrawing, and Tim could just barely twitch, just exhale a little sharper when he wanted to move, to escape, to beg, to plead, anything. “After all, you’d make a far better pet than you do a Robin. Nice and unharmed, someone’s kept songbird. That’s another option for you.”
Tim would have flinched if he could. Hood seemed to smile, taking a step back and shutting the door, trapping Tim completely, in his body and in a cage. His boots thudded against the floor as he walked away, out the door and out of sight.
A tear slipped from Tim’s eye. Then another. And another. He was crying, struggling to draw air in, as the walls pressed closer and closer against him, clear but suffocating.
Tim had been bad. He had been bad, and now he would be punished, and he just wanted it to stop, but it wouldn’t and it was all his fault -
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, but it wasn’t enough, it never was. He would fix it, he’d try so hard, if he just knew how. Polished Oxfords walking away, leaving Tim behind. He should have been used to it by now.
He wasn’t.