Chapter Text
Bruce watched the grimy security footage as it flickered on all screens of the batcomputer. On each, a person in a leather jacket efficiently and flawlessly gunned down all who stood in their way. “Robin, what do we know?”
The teenager didn’t look up as he continued typing on his laptop. He’d changed from his Robin outfit into sweats that dwarfed his lanky frame. The blue light illuminated his face as his eyes quickly scanned the information he found. “An apparent crime lord that appeared on the scene within the last month and has systematically been taking over the area known as Crime Alley. Current alias Red Hood.” Robin hit a few more buttons and all screens on the batcomputer switched to show one image of the crime lord with a clear view of the black body armor emblazoned with a red bat smeared with blood, dual pistols, and a red helmet that covered his entire face. Glowing white eyes seemed to stare right through the screen. Bruce frowned as Tim continued with his assessment. “Hard to tell with the modulated voice, but build and overall movement suggest male. Age could be anywhere from late twenties to thirties. Never seen without the mask. Hideout unknown. Origin unknown. Identity unknown.” The teen stretched his arms above his head, his back cracking. “O has been trying to track him with traffic cams, security feeds, even ATM cameras, but he seems to have them all mapped out. He appears and disappears like a ghost!” A thoughtful look crossed Tim’s face. “Or like a bat.”
Bruce hummed, his eyes still focused on the image.
Tim yawned and reached for his cup of coffee, frowning when it turned up empty. “What do you think he wants, anyway? His list of known victims has been limited to drug dealers, traffickers, and rapists from what I can find. Maybe he’s an up and coming vigilante.”
“I’m not sure.” Bruce’s permanent scowl he wore as Batman deepened as he flicked through images of Red Hood’s handiwork. “But his methods are not justifiable.”
Tim grimaced at a particularly gruesome take down that splattered blood over the camera lens. “He never leaves survivors.”
“Maybe I should tell the League I’m unavailable. The mission is off-world.”
Tim immediately scrambled to his feet, his laptop slamming shut. “No! You’ve been planning this for weeks . You have to go. What if something happens and they need one of the contingency plans?”
“They’ll be fine without me. Each contingency plan is explained in perfect detail in the mission briefs.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “You know that barely anyone reads those. All that will happen is they’ll get into trouble and you’ll end up having to go help them anyway, but the mission will take twice as long because you have to fix all the problems they made.”
Bruce sighed, begrudgingly admitting Tim made a good point. “Alright, but I don’t want you going after any of the rogues. Call Nightwing if you need back-up. Stay in constant contact with O. No going near Crime Alley, especially not alone. If anything starts moving with Red Hood, I want you to only observe. Do not engage.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Another hum escaped Bruce. “I’m serious, Tim. I may not be in contact range, but Dick is just in Blüdhaven. He can get here within an hour. Call him at the first sign of trouble.”
“I swear, Bruce, I’ll have it completely under control until you get back. I promise I won’t even look in Hood’s direction.”
To be fair, Tim did have it all completely under control for the first few days. He managed to show up on time for school and his patrols were quiet aside from the occasional mugging. Of course, his sleep schedule was an absolute mess, but a bit of coffee had solved that problem easily enough. Tim couldn’t help the grin as he let his bo staff settle across his shoulders. Told you I could handle it . When Bruce had first mentioned a League mission off-world Tim had jumped at it. This was his chance. He could prove that he could handle Gotham on his own. It had taken more than a few persuasive arguments to convince Bruce to not call in Dick. Nightwing had his own city and one week wasn’t worth relocating. Tim could do it. Plus, Babs would be on coms. Plenty of back up to go around.
The night air gently ruffled his hair as he surveyed the city one last time before flicking on his coms. “Heading in, O. Let me know if something pops up.”
“Everything seems quiet, Robin. Have a good night. Make sure you finish your homework.”
Tim rolled his eyes and grappled to the next rooftop. “I finished it before I left.”
“Really? You might want to double check number four for calculus.”
Tim hoped his withering glare translated through the com. “Stop hacking my webassign.”
“Stop reusing the same password. Honestly, Robin, I thought you’d be more cyber secure.”
“If you’re going to hack, at least finish my assignments for me.”
“And take away from your education? I could never.” Rattling keys filled the silence for a moment. “Nightwing needs my assistance. Talk to you later, Robin. And get some sleep.” The com line clicked and fell silent.
A wide yawn made him pause momentarily before he took his next grapple. He actually was looking forward to sleeping tonight.
Tim knew something was wrong before he even entered his house. He always made sure to shut the window before he left, but now there was a one inch gap. His heart pounding, Tim slipped inside. His organized chaos was still in place. His camera sat undisturbed on top of his desk.
Another jolt ricocheted up his spine. His bedroom door was open. That was never left open.
Tim gripped his bo staff and clicked the button to expand it as he stepped into the hall. The tv was muffled from the family room and the flickering screen was the only source of light at the end of the hall. He moved stealthily, years of stealth ingrained even from before his time as Robin. His dad’s room was empty, bed untouched. He avoided the squeaky floorboard and plastered himself to the wall as he peered into the family room.
An episode of Gilligan’s Island softly played on the television. A half-drunk cup of tea sat on the coffee table near his dad’s empty armchair. Tim hesitantly stepped forward, his staff at the ready. His eyes kept watch as he bent to feel the cup. Cold. Long cold. A half eaten sandwich was abandoned nearby with a napkin under the plate. Tim’s brow furrowed. Not a napkin. A neatly folded piece of paper. With Robin written on the corner.
His heart beat painfully against his chest as he picked up the paper. Very few people knew he was Robin. His mind tried to calmly compile a list, but the thought process screeched to a halt as he read the message.
Replacement–
If you want to keep your dad from ending up back in a wheelchair, come to the warehouse at the corner of Fifth and Park outside Crime Alley. Come alone. I’ll know if you contact Oracle so don’t fucking think about it.
Red Hood
On the TV, a laugh track played.
Robin tore through Gotham. His bike almost slid out from under him on multiple turns, but he didn’t slow. Tim didn’t know how Red Hood knew who he was. At this point, he didn’t have the capability of figuring that out. All he could think was that a murderous crime lord had his dad. His dad who he had maybe-sort-of-just-started getting along with better. His teeth ground and he blinked hard to clear his vision.
He had considered sending a message to ‘Wing or Oracle. A signal of some sort that wasn’t obvious but would let them know something was wrong. He’d dismissed the idea fairly quickly. If Red Hood knew he was Robin, it was hard to guess what else he already knew. It was unlikely he’d hacked the com system, but he couldn’t be sure until he or O ran a sweep and he couldn’t risk that until he knew his dad was safe.
“Sorry, Batman,” he muttered as he parked his bike and headed for the wide open entrance to the warehouse. “Looks like I can’t keep my promise.”
The warehouse was silent as Tim entered. He reflexively extended his bo staff, muscles tensed. He kept his breathing slow and calm despite his racing heart.
“There he is!” A mechanized voice seemed to echo from all corners and lights suddenly flickered on, momentarily blinding Tim. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”
Tim blinked furiously to clear the spots from his vision and whipped around until his gaze landed on the imposing figure of the Red Hood with a pistol pointed at his dad. Besides a bruise forming on his cheek, Jack appeared to be alright, but it was hard to tell from the distance and a gag kept him from speaking even if Tim tried to ask. Jack’s eyes were wide and frightened. Tim fell into a fighting stance and readied his staff.
Hood lazily waved his left pointer finger back and forth. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, little bird, this is not a fighting situation. Well, it can be if you want, but I don’t think your dear old dad is in the best situation to survive it.” He accented his point by pushing the barrel of the pistol harder against Jack Drake’s temple. His dad whimpered through the gag in his mouth. Glowing white eyes met Tim’s domino mask. “Now, be a good little hero and drop the weapon.”
Tim hesitated slightly before dropping the staff with a clatter against the concrete floor. “Let him go, Hood.”
A barked laugh made Tim flinch. Jack also winced away, his wide eyes looking between Tim and Hood. “I don’t think you’re in the fuckin’ position to be giving any orders, Replacement. But no worries. Do as I say and Papa Drake here goes free. Lose the gadgets. Belt, comm, tracker, phone, all of it.”
The utility belt clattered at his feet and he kicked it in Hood’s direction along with his staff. His com was crushed under his foot as he held up his hands. “Let him go.”
“I’m not a fuckin’ fool, Replacement. I said lose the tracker.” Hood tapped his own boot for emphasis.
How does he know about that? Tim filed away the information as he carefully bent and opened the secret compartment in his boot. He pulled out the small device and moved to crush it as well before Hood stopped him.
“Leave it and step away. Little farther. Good. Now kneel and stay put.” The man jerked Jack up by his elbow and half-dragged him forward. Tim bit his cheek at the treatment of his father. “Which pocket is the phone in, birdie?”
“Third on the left,” Tim bit out.
Hood retrieved the tracker and phone without moving the gun and slipped them into Jack’s breast pocket. “Now, Jackie, I want you to keep those safe. Especially the tracker. Don’t lose it, don’t break it, don’t even think about it. When you get home, I want you to put it right next to little Timmy’s computer and leave it there. Understand?” Jack nodded. “Good. Now this next part is very important. Do not tell anyone what happened. I don’t care what you do, but do not try and reach out to any of the other so-called heroes. Don’t do anything suspicious. I want you to pretend that everything is normal. Maybe you could send a few texts with his phone. I don’t give a fuck how you do it. The minute I catch even the scent of a cop or a bat tracking me, your boy is dead. If that isn’t enough incentive, you’ll be quickly following him. Get it?” Jack nodded again and Hood patted him on the back. “Good. I knew you’d understand. Now, enjoy your nap. I’ll make sure you wake up at home.” Before Tim or Jack could react, Hood pistol whipped the older man. Jack crumpled to the ground in a heap.
“Dad!” Tim cried, rising to his feet.
The gunshot made Tim’s ears ring. For a split second he thought his dad had been shot. Then pressure in his left leg was growing, like he had been kicked. Even when he saw the blood quickly soaking his pant leg his brain didn’t register what was happening. Then searing pain. He would have screamed, but there didn’t seem to be any air in his lungs. He fell to one knee, his hands instinctively putting pressure against the wound which made the pain blinding. It seared like a hot poker had been laid against his thigh.
“I said stay still.” The mechanized voice growled as Hood came closer.
Tim watched the approaching boots from the side of his eye until the man was in range. He surged upward. His shoulder slammed into Hood’s armored stomach hard enough to make the man give a huff and step back. Tim ignored the pain from his thigh to spin a kick at Hood’s leg. Both of them ended on one knee. Tim shook away a fog that threatened to take over his vision. His reaction time was slower than it should have been, even with a gunshot wound. Thirty-six hours awake was fine when fighting dimestore crooks and everyday thugs, but not actual villains. I’m so screwed.
“You little shit,” Hood growled, his hand shooting out and gripping Tim by the throat. The teen wriggled fruitlessly as he was dragged into the air and slammed into a shelf. Hood’s white eyes burned.
Panic threatened to overwhelm Tim. His gasping breaths became harsher. Come on, Robin. He gritted his teeth and flailed his uninjured leg out, managing to catch Hood in the side. The impact did little more than earn a grunt, but Tim was nothing if not stubborn. He desperately grasped at a shelf with one hand while his other continued to pull at Hood’s hold. His hand closed on something metal and he immediately swung it at Hood. The crowbar cracked loudly against the metal helmet, inspiring Hood to let Tim go.
The mechanical growl cut in and out with a burst of static. Tim scrambled back, his hand still clutching the crowbar. His back hit the shelving and he managed to roll between the bottom two shelves. His head spun as he staggered to his feet.
“I was going to make this relatively painless,” Hood said as he rounded the corner and stalked forward. There was a crack in his helmet. One eye blinked in and out sporadically. “But you just can’t stop, can you?”
Tim steadied himself against the shelves and raised the crowbar.
“Guess that’s the problem with Robins. They just don’t know how to give up, even when no one is going to save their ass.”
The crowbar was easily knocked from his grip, allowing a well aimed kick to connect to Tim’s chest. The Robin armor helped dissipate the impact, but he still felt his ribs creak as he stumbled backward. He caught himself and managed to stay upright, even as his foot slipped in his own blood.
“They don’t know how to stay down either,” Hood taunted. Another kick, this one to his injured leg. “They just keep. Fucking. Coming. Back.” Each word was emphasized with a punch.
Tim barely managed to block the ones against his head with his forearms. His breath stuttered every time one landed against his ribs. A final blow to his stomach sent him to his knees with a choked gasp. His right hand felt the crowbar and he grabbed at it. A boot slammed down. He couldn’t stop the scream as his fingers snapped. The boot kicked at his chin, causing him to bite his tongue.
“There it is. That’s the birdsong I’ve been waiting for.” Hood gripped Tim’s hair and forced his head back until he was looking at the expressionless helmet. “Didn’t last nearly as long as the last one. It took hours for him to start begging.”
Tim spit out a glob of blood that slowly dribbled down Red Hood’s chrome cheek. “‘M not beggin’.”
The man’s head cocked to one side. “No. Guess you aren’t. Yet.” Hood flicked out a knife and twirled it in his hand before placing it under Tim’s chin. The blade left a shallow cut that bloomed warm blood as it trailed down Tim’s neck and dragged across his body armor. It stopped at the Robin symbol. “Replacement,” Hood sneered. “Are you even fit to wear this uniform? Little gangly thing like you? Can’t even put up a good fight.” The knife bit into the armor and within seconds the “R” was cut from his suit.
Tim growled and lunged forward. His teeth sank into Hood’s exposed wrist.
“Son of a—“ The crime lord tightened his hold on Tim’s hair and tried to pull him away. The teen bit harder and felt the warmth of blood as he broke skin. He grabbed at Hood with both hands despite his broken fingers and rammed forward with as much force as he could.
“Fuck, Replacement!”
The knife clattered to the ground and Tim scrambled to grab it while Red Hood tried to recover. For a brief second, Tim felt like he’d gained the upper hand. Then a punch landed against his temple and he slammed into the shelves before dropping bonelessly to the ground. The shadowed figure of the Red Hood standing over him with a gun pointed at his head made Tim’s haggard breath stutter. Another hit finally knocked Tim out cold.
It was dark when Tim woke up. Darker than his room normally was. Did I fall asleep in the cave again? He shifted and pain erupted through his whole body. He gasped and pressed a hand against his thigh. The memories of what happened came rushing back and he scrambled to sit up. His head swam and he barely caught himself on the wall before he tilted back to the bed.
“Okay, Robin. Breathe,” he muttered. “Status report.” Tim grimaced and carefully shifted to better assess his situation. He was still wearing his Robin uniform including his domino which allowed him to switch on his night vision. The green static made him wince and squint, but he preferred it to the pressing darkness.
His gunshot wound was wrapped in clean gauze and the broken fingers on his right hand had been splinted. A quick check found his neck bandaged as well. His throat felt raw and an experimental cough left him wincing. Bruised ribs kept him from taking a full breath, but nothing felt broken.
The room was barren aside from the mattress on the floor and a bare bulb on the ceiling. The window was boarded from the outside and no sunlight was visible through the small cracks. Still night, Tim reasoned. There was no way to tell how long he’d been unconscious. It could have been a full day or only a few hours and the more he tried to think the worse his headache got.
Carefully, Tim eased to his feet. The old hardwood floorboards creaked under his weight and the room spun sickeningly. He waited for his stomach to settle and his headache to reduce to a dull throb before risking moving. He checked the window first. The glass spiderwebbed from the broken corner that allowed air to seep into the room through the cracks in the boards. A muffled car could be heard driving by, but otherwise the city was quiet. If he even was in the city. Tim frowned and closed his eyes to better focus. He could hear sirens in the distance, a train, and his heart stuttered when a gunshot sounded even closer. The lullaby of Gotham.
If Tim had to guess, they were in one of the many half-abandoned apartment complexes in the center of Crime Alley. It only made sense. Red Hood practically owned this corner of Gotham.
“Okay. Okay.” He took as deep of a breath as he could and slowly let it out. His voice was scratchy, but he was pleased to find that talking was still possible. “Still in Gotham. Still night. Probably early morning. Wounds are bandaged. Hostage situation? Ransom?” Torture? He refused to voice the thought.
The door on the far side of the room offered no explanation. He crept over and checked for any traps, finding none. A quick test of the handle confirmed that the door was locked. The question was whether it was still Hood or some other goon waiting on the other side of the door.
Tim slid down the wall next to the door and turned off his night vision to let his eyes adjust. If someone came in, he would be hidden by the opening door and it might give him enough of an advantage to escape. He’d already started planning different plans of attack when there was a rap on the door.
“Replacement,” a voice growled through the door.
Tim froze, muscles tensed.
“I know you’re awake.” The voice was natural. No mechanical sounds to distort it and younger than Tim expected. Gotham accent, Tim’s mind supplied. “I know you’re waiting on the side of the door. You think I don’t know all the fuckin’ tricks? Be a good little bird and get back on the bed.”
Hood had to be able to see him. Tim quickly took another look around the room and finally noticed the camera in the corner over the mattress. His lips pressed into a thin line as he cursed himself. It was a rookie mistake to overlook the surveillance.
“ Now, Replacement.”
With a groan, Tim forced himself back to his feet and hobbled to the mattress. The door was already unlocking as he sat. The door swung open and a bright light prevented Tim from getting a clear view of the man standing there. He blinked furiously and tried to take in as much information as he could.
Hood was still wearing his armor and leather jacket, Tim could tell by the outline, but his helmet was missing. He could see the curled hair sticking out at odd angles like he’d just woken up. The odd thing was that his eyes reflected light like an animal. Hood bent and put something on the ground and slid it across the floor. “You sittin’ in the dark on purpose?”
“Huh?”
Broad shoulders rose and fell in exasperation. “There’s a light switch on the wall. You don’t have to sit in the fuckin’ dark if you don’t want to.” The door shut loud enough to make Tim wince.
The sound of boots retreated and he was again alone. Well, as alone as I can be . Tim glared at the camera that cheerfully blinked red every five seconds.
He felt along the wall until he found the light switch. Grimacing in anticipation, he flicked on the light. The bulb flickered to life, not nearly as bright as Tim thought it would be and he sighed in relief.
The tray Hood had left sat in the middle of the room. Tim hesitantly approached it and nudged it with his foot, though he figured if Hood was willing to just slide it around it was unlikely to be boobytrapped. Still, years of training made him more than skeptical. However, no amount of skepticism could stop his mouth from watering when the aroma of tomato soup reached him. He couldn’t crouch with his leg, so he scooted the tray closer to the mattress and resumed his seat.
The tomato soup smelled even better up close and his stomach gurgled. But food could easily be drugged. Tim couldn’t risk it. At least not yet. He’d gone hungry before, he could go hungry again. Instead, he inspected the bottle of water. Unbroken seal. No obvious puncture marks. Probably safe. He’d die of dehydration much sooner than starvation. Two pills said ibuprofen, but Tim wasn’t about to trust that. The oddest addition to the tray was the solvent and rag. The same brand he used to remove his mask.
At first he balked at the idea. Taking off the domino while captured went against every ounce of training, but Hood obviously already knew who he was. The skin around his mask itched the more he thought about it. He’d once worn the domino a full twenty-four hours and it had left his skin raw and irritated for days. A drop on his glove didn’t burn like acid and the familiar smell made him more sure that it wasn’t a trick. He still held his breath as he gently dabbed at the corner of his mask with the rag. No burning. No instant reaction. Just the loosening of the domino.
It did feel nice to remove the mask. He carefully cleaned all the residual adhesive from his skin and the domino before stashing it under the mattress along with his gloves. Not the safest spot, but it was something at least.
The tomato soup still smelled amazing, but he pushed the tray away. No reason to push his luck. He did take a swig of the water bottle. His headache was getting worse and his eyes kept drifting shut.
With a groan, Tim laid back down, shifting to try and keep pressure off his many injuries. He wrapped his cape around himself and curled up.
Just a quick nap, then I’ll find my way out.
“Somethin’ wrong with my cooking, Replacement?”
Tim woke with a start and immediately rolled to his feet. Or at least he tried to. As soon as he put weight on his bad leg he crumpled. He scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall. Red Hood stared at him. The helmet was back in place.
“Mornin’, sunshine.” The mechanical voice sent a shiver down Tim’s spine.
“What do you want?” Tim was proud his voice didn’t waver.
Hood kicked the tray with his foot. The now very cold soup sloshed. “You have allergies or something? Or are you just too used to high end meals?”
A frown creased Tim’s brow. “Not hungry.”
“Right. And I suppose you’re not in pain, either.” Hood squatted and picked up one of the pills.
Tim didn’t bother answering.
“Listen, Replacement, if I wanted to poison you I would have just shot you up with something while you were out. Poisoning isn’t really my style anyway. I’ll leave that trick to Ivy.”
“Sorry if I don’t exactly believe you.”
Hood shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Tim watched warily as Hood stood. The dual pistols were in his holsters. It didn’t take much calculating to know that Hood would be able to draw and fire before Tim could get close to striking distance.
“Shower.”
For the second time in less than five minutes, Tim didn’t know what the proper response was.
“That’s why I’m here. Those bandages need to be changed and that suit looks disgusting.” Hood waited and, when Tim didn’t move, sighed with a mechanized rush of air. “Listen, I’m not going to fuckin’ force you to go to the bathroom and shower, but I sure as hell don’t want to clean up a bucket or literal shit like that. So, either get your ass in gear or be prepared to hold it until Daddy Waynebucks gets back in town.”
Tim continued to stare as he tried to process Hood’s demands. Not demands. Offering?
“I don’t have all day, Replacement. Clock’s ticking.”
The grime on the Robin suit was disgusting and he could feel the dried blood sticking to his skin. He bit his lip to keep a whine from escaping as he leveraged himself to stand. The wounds were more sore than the last time he’d been conscious and he could barely put weight on his leg.
“Don’t try anything fancy.” Hood’s warning was almost comical. Tim could barely stand without using the wall as support and Hood was clearly armed. It would be more suicide than anything to try an attack at this point. Especially when Hood pulled out one of his guns.
Tim struggled his way to the door, stepping through with Hood following behind. Sunlight streamed around edges of black out curtains and gave ghostly silhouettes to the sparse furniture of the apartment.
“Eyes forward,” Hood said, one of his guns tapping Tim’s shoulder for emphasis. “First door on the right.”
The bathroom light was brighter than the room and he blinked and squinted against the harshness.
“Ten minutes.” Hood shut the door, but Tim didn’t hear any footsteps moving away.
The bathroom was small and cramped, as one would expect from a run down apartment complex in Crime Alley. A first aid kit was precariously balanced on the sink and a set of clothes waited on the toilet seat along with a towel and bar of soap. No cameras. No traps. No tricks. At least not from what Tim could tell.
A rap on the door made him almost jump out of his suit. “Clocks tickin’, Replacement.”
Tim clicked the lock on the door, well aware that the flimsy wood would do very little to stop Hood from entering. He struggled his way out of the Robin costume, carefully peeling the gauze away from his injuries. The bruises lining his ribs and arms looked terrible under the bright light. His neck looked even worse. He quickly turned away from the mirror and got in the shower. The cold water left him shivering and covered in goosebumps, but it served to help clear his head. It was awkward to scrub off all the blood and dried sweat without his right hand, but he managed well enough. Rewrapping his injuries wasn’t terribly difficult, but again took longer than it would have if he had full use of both hands. The gunshot wound turned out to be a shallow graze. Still hurt like hell when he pressed on it, but obviously hadn’t done as much damage as Tim would have expected from a close range shot. How could he miss?
“You still alive in there?” The voice sounded normal again.
“Peachy.”
“Hurry up. You’re well past your allotted ten minutes.”
“You try bandaging your own neck one handed and let me know how it goes,” Tim muttered to himself more than Hood.
“What was that?”
“I’m getting dressed now,” he said slightly louder. The t-shirt and sweatpants were oversized and hung off Tim awkwardly. It was reminiscent of the times he’d borrowed clothes from Dick. He frowned down at the t-shirt. Wonder Woman stared back at him.
“Any day now.” The voice was modulated again. A gun tapped on the door.
Reluctantly, Tim unlocked the door.
Hood waited just outside. One gun still at the ready and the other hand held out expectantly. Tim blinked at the offered hand. Does he want me to take it?
“Scissors. I know you probably took them from the kit. Just hand ‘em over before you do something stupid.”
“Oh.” Tim glanced back at the first aid kit that he’d neatly repacked from habit. “I, uh, put them away.”
There was a beat of silence. “Seriously?”
“Well, yeah.” He winced internally. It would have been a smart idea to try to take some sort of weapon from the kit, but he hadn’t even thought about it.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a vigilante? Shouldn’t you be thinking of ways to escape?”
Heat rushed to Tim’s cheeks. “And what, have you shoot me again? It's a calculated risk. Why go all in on an ill-advised plan that is sure to fail and might end with me getting more injured?” Tim gestured to himself. “I’d barely put up a fight against you.”
“Right.” Hood stared him down before finally motioning with the gun. “Back in the room.”
Tim kept the Robin suit bundle with him. It was disgusting, but it didn’t feel right to leave it with Hood. The door closed behind him and Tim heard multiple locks click into place as he hobbled back to the mattress. A few water bottles and a box of granola bars waited for him. He briefly stared at the food before stashing the Robin suit as well as he could. The cape he kept out to use as a blanket. The breeze from the window made his wet hair feel even colder.
He needed to stay awake. He needed to work on finding a way out, but he was so tired. Pressure was building behind his eyes. Sleep seemed like a much better idea.
Tobacco smoke slipped into the room through the broken window. Tim screwed up his nose and coughed slightly.
“You awake, Replacement?” The voice was normal again. No helmet.
“Do you have to smoke so close to the window?”
“My fire escape, my rules.” The metal creaked as Hood shifted. His silhouette blocked the sunlight that was able to enter through the cracks in the board.
Tim groaned. “Do you have to be right in front of the window?”
“Not my problem whichever way the wind blows.”
“Not a healthy hobby,” Tim groused.
“Not exactly worried about my health, kid.”
Tim eased to his feet and hobbled to the window. He slid open the glass part after a bit of struggle and tried to peer through the spaces.
“Careful,” Hood said in a way that stirred a memory.
Tim glanced down and saw the tripwire spanning the width of the window and disappearing into the frame on either side. He immediately took a step back, losing whatever thread of thought he’d almost had.
A chuckle. “Just don’t pull on it. Don’t want you becoming wall art just yet.”
“That the big plan?” Tim leaned forward carefully. He could see the broad back wearing a hoodie. The hood was pulled up. “Rig me up and put me somewhere for Batman to get caught?”
The shoulders tensed for a moment. “Maybe. Explosions and robins do tend to go together.” He sniffed out the cigarette on the railing. Tim caught site of bruised knuckles. “‘Cept all I’d get is a cooked bird.” He turned and left without letting Tim catch a glimpse of his face.
It took time for Hood to approach when he returned from patrol. Instead, there was clattering elsewhere in the apartment. The wait was agony. Tim could practically see Hood preparing the torture devices and his heart rate kicked higher with each clang and muffled curse. Finally, the locks clicked and the door swung open.
“Replacement,” Hood greeted without stepping into the room. There seemed to be more of a growl in his mechanical voice than usual.
“Hood.” Tim cursed the crack in his own voice.
“Let’s go.”
Tim’s mind raced. This is it. He’s going to torture me. He saw me looking around and now he’s going to make sure I can’t escape. The videos of Hood snapping arms and legs flashed through his mind unbidden. He’d probably put a bullet through his kneecaps. Tim could feel his chest constricting.
A low growl reverberated. “It’s been a long night. I would like to get this over with. So move .”
With a painful swallow, he limped his way toward the door. He watched Hood warily, but his kidnapper didn’t move. The man was wearing his normal regalia with the addition of what definitely looked like blood. Exactly whose blood was something Tim wasn’t too keen to find out. Tim sidled by, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. He skittered to the bathroom and locked the door, sliding down the wall with a shaky breath. Come on, Robin, keep it together.
The first aid kit was still on the sink, though it had been used since he last saw it. Bandages were half unrolled across the sink and bloody gauze decorated the area around the trash can. A bloody suture had been thrown away.
Tim updated his mental picture of Red Hood with new information as he took care of his own wounds and used the restroom. Male, younger than expected, from Gotham, Crime Alley accent, well-trained, hates Batman, knew my identity and how to find me. Injured. Not a whole lot to go on, but even small details could mean the difference between life and death.
The gunshot was still inflamed and sore as he rebandaged it. The knife wound on his neck was shallow and scabbed so he left it uncovered. It stood out against the purpling bruises along his neck when he looked in the mirror.
A single slam against the door made Tim jump and finish cleaning everything up. The first aid kit was neatly packed except for the scissors which he left in plain view.
Hood was leaning against the wall when Tim stepped out. It took a moment before he pushed off and motioned to the bedroom.
Tim again tried to get a lay of the apartment, but Hood was moving him too quickly. In a last ditch effort to have a chance to gather information, Tim purposely stepped wrong on his bad leg. He braced to hit the ground while keeping his gaze on the apartment, but a hand grabbed his elbow and kept him from face planting.
“Jesus, kid.” Hood held him until he got his feet back under him. “You’re a walking disaster.”
“I’m injured.”
“You’re a klutz.”
Tim jerked away with a growl.
“Aw, how cute. Kitty thinks he has claws.”
“Give me my staff and I’ll show you what I can do in a fair fight.”
Hood lashed out and grabbed Tim by the arm with a bruising grip. “You couldn’t beat me on your best day, Replacement.”
Tim swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. The cut burned with the motion. White eyes seared his skin. He could practically feel Hood’s grip closing on his throat and cutting off his air supply.
“Birds are just bait for bats.” Hood spat. He marched Tim to his room. “They get all dressed up like a traffic light and get dangled out there to attract the next big bad. How many times have you gotten beat to a pulp before the fuckin’ Bat showed up? How long before he’s too late?” The man loomed over him. “Do you think he’ll get here in time to save you now?” He ran a gloved finger down the scab on Tim’s neck. “Tell me, how long do you think you’ve been here? And why hasn’t anyone come looking for you? Your dad knows who took you, but no one’s figured it out yet. Nightwing? Oracle? I hear Batman’s back in the city. Why isn’t he here, huh?”
They don’t care, Tim’s brain supplied. He swatted Hood’s hand away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Batman always, always , comes to save anyone he cares about.”
A sound almost like a laugh escaped the red helmet. He shoved Tim against the wall and his forearm pressed against Tim’s windpipe, pushing just enough to make the younger boy gasp. “I can’t wait to deliver you to Batman on a skewer. Shove his failure in his face and watch him face his consequences.” He released Tim and the teen bonelessly dropped into a heap on the floor. He was still gasping when Hood stormed out and slammed the door.
“Replacement,” Hood growled from the closed door.
“Yes?” Tim asked innocently.
“If you don’t stop that drumming I will throttle you.”
“I think I might prefer that.” Tim flopped back on the mattress. The sunlight through the boards illuminated the dust particles. Briefly, he wondered if there was a mold problem in the building. “Don’t you have a puzzle or something? I will die of boredom before you enact your great plan to kill me.”
A noncommittal grunt answered him.
“At least bring me a coffee!”
“You don’t need a coffee. You’re, like, twelve.”
“You sound like Alfred,” Tim grumbled. The thought of the butler made his heart clench. He’s probably super worried. I promised I’d meet him for breakfast on Sunday.
“Take a nap, kid.” The voice sighed. “You look like he haven’t had a break in weeks.”
“No thanks to you.” Tim sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes as he curled up under his cape.
The next time Tim awoke, he was even more sore than he’d been before. It was dark outside. His head pounded and he groaned as he groped for the light switch. The light sent a spike through his head and he quickly covered his eyes with his arm.
He carefully breathed while he waited for his head to calm down. Once it had dimmed to a bearable throb, he gently sat up. Beside the mattress was a bottle of pills and a book. Careful inspection showed no apparent tampering. The cap for the pills was intact and at this point, Tim was willing to try anything to get his head to calm down.
He downed the pills, half a bottle of water, and was working on a granola bar when he turned his attention to the book. The worn cover had a slight tear in one corner. Pride and Prejudice . Tim hummed thoughtfully as he turned to the first page.
He was a few chapters in when the door unlocked.
Hood entered and dragged a chair with him. He dropped into it once he reached the middle of the room. The leather jacket had been removed and his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. He still wore gloves and his helmet. His motions were sharper.
“The bird lives. When you didn’t wake up last time I came by, I thought you’d actually kicked the bucket.” His words were clipped. Something was different from the last time they’d talked. Tension stilled the air.
Tim glared in response.
Hood chuckled and pulled out a knife he spun idly between his fingers. “No, of course not. Not a Robin specifically picked out by Batman himself. You’ve gotta be strong. Stronger than the last model.”
Tim had to physically bite his cheek to keep from saying something. He blinked and slightly shook his head to clear the encroaching self-deprecating thoughts. Hood felt like a predator in his movements and tone. If Tim made a wrong move, he could quickly become prey. He couldn’t rise to the bait. He knew this. And despite Dick and Bruce both thinking he had no self-preservation, Tim didn’t actively seek destruction.
“What is it that Batman sees in you, anyway?” Every time Hood said Batman it came out like a curse. “Did he really trust you enough to go out on your own?” The knife stopped moving, the blade held between thumb and forefinger on his right hand. “He just doesn’t care what happens to wayward birds, does he? Just sends them to the slaughter.”
“No!” Tim couldn’t stop the outburst. “No, he didn’t– he does care! He—“ His argument was cut short when the knife shot past his head and thudded in the wall behind him, nicking his ear in the process. Tim froze, his heart hammering and breath stuck in his throat.
Hood stood and walked forward. He crouched and reached past Tim to pull the blade back. “He doesn’t care about you at all, Replacement. You better get that through your head now.” Hood left, leaving the chair behind.
The retreating back said that he didn’t think of Tim as a threat.
The fact that Tim didn’t even try to grab the knife said he was right.
An hour later, Tim had calmed down and refocused. He could hear more night life outside– shouts, laughter, a distant scream– so it had to be close to midnight at the latest. The brief thought to call for help crossed his mind, but was quickly dismissed. This was Crime Alley. Calling for help would most likely only make things worse.
Hood had left the apartment completely not long after their discussion . Tim glanced up at the security camera. It was fixed in position. The only blind spot would be if Tim sat directly underneath it. The real question was whether Hood was watching right now. As nonchalantly as possible, Tim stood and started pacing the room. He checked floorboards, walls, and eventually the closet at the end of the room. It appeared empty, but Tim did his due diligence anyway. He felt around the doorjamb, tested the stability of the wooden rod for hanging clothes, and hoisted himself up to look on the top shelf. His ribs protested at the motion, but he was rewarded for his efforts. In the back corner, wedged in the crevice between the shelf and the wall, was a wire hanger. For the first time since being kidnapped, Tim smiled.
Every fiber of Tim wanted to escape immediately, but he couldn’t be sure of what waited outside, or even in the apartment. He was half-way to a decent plan, but there was no point in trying until he could be sure he’d be able to escape. He would only get one shot if he acted rashly. The hanger could be helpful, he could probably run on his injured leg if he needed to, and his many bruises were starting to feel better. It had been three days if his brain was to be trusted. True, he’d spent a bit unconscious, but he doubted it was much longer.
“Ok,” Tim mumbled to himself. “One more day. I’ll rest and tomorrow night I’ll make a break for it.” He laid down and closed his eyes, but his mind continued to race. He pressed his arm over his eyes with a groan. “Come on, sleep.” Another few minutes passed before Tim gave up. He turned the light back on and pulled the book open again.
He had just gotten to Mr. Collin’s visit when the whoosh of a grapple caused his head to whip toward the window. The fire escape creaked as someone landed. Unlike before, the steps were softer as they entered the apartment. Tim quickly closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep as the door locks quietly clicked open. He kept his breathing even. Soft steps moved closer and he could feel the figure standing above him. It took everything for Tim to fight the instinct to tense up.
There was a quiet sigh as Hood leaned down and moved the book from Tim’s hand. Something soft and warm settled over top of him. “Night, kid.” Hood’s voice was quiet and soft despite the rasp. Tim peeked through his lashes and caught sight of a mess of dark hair before the light turned off.
It was now or never. It didn’t matter if Tim didn’t know what awaited him on the other side. Adapting to situations was a required skill to be Robin. The sound of Hood slipping out the window and the whoosh of a grapple made his heart rate spike in anticipation. He slowly counted to one hundred before deeming it safe.
The hanger was wedged firmly in the closet shelf and he had to drag the abandoned chair over to get the right leverage to yank it free. The metal scratched at his hands as he bent it into a long claw shape. It took longer than it should have with his splinted fingers. He cursed his trembling hands. Every noise from outside made him jump.
If he catches me… Tim didn’t finish the thought.
He didn’t bother changing, but he did pull his Robin boots back on and stuck his mask in the pocket of the sweatpants. Everything else he tied up in the cape as a makeshift rucksack. It took a few tries before he was able to slide the lower part of the window up the rusted track and he had to shove a water bottle in the opening to keep the pane from slamming back down.
“Alright,” Tim mumbled as he pulled the mattress up on its side and positioned it between him and the window. He carefully stretched the hanger-claw out to hook on the trip wire. Once he was as hidden as he could be behind the mattress, he tugged.
The explosion was small enough not to bring down the building, but it managed to knock Tim off his feet and left his ears ringing. He shoved the mattress off of him and scrambled to his feet. The once window was now a gaping hole of broken boards and the floor was littered with shattered glass. The mattress itself sported more than a few glass shards and splinters, but it looked like most of the explosion had been focused outward.
Smart. Limit interior damage and severely injure whatever threat was attempting to infiltrate. Tim scraped through the window. The air was chilly and goosebumps quickly covered his arms as he scurried down the fire escape. The drop to the alley below sent a twinge through his leg, but he’d dealt with worse. He took off toward the street. It was only a matter of time before Hood showed up. If the explosion itself didn’t attract attention, Tim had no doubt the crime lord had some sort of alert sent to his phone. A calculated guess said that he had five minutes at most to find some place to hide.
A light drizzle started as Tim stepped onto the sidewalk. He kept his head down after a quick glance. He didn’t recognize the area immediately. He’d only been in Crime Alley a handful of times and not at all since Red Hood made an appearance. He picked right and started walking. If I walk in a straight line, I’ve gotta get out of Crime Alley eventually.
He pushed the pace as fast as he dared, his injured leg giving him a slight limp. A few people were on the street, all avoiding contact. The feeling of being watched made the hair on Tim’s neck raise. He glanced behind him. Nothing jumped out. He kept his head down, unwilling to chance a glance at the rooftops.
A siren screamed ahead of him. Red and blue flashing against brick as a police car tore down the street.
Tim watched the police pass. He could follow the car. Try to find the police. If he could contact the commissioner, this nightmare would be over. Time took half a step forward when a hand shot out from the alley and pulled him back.
“What do we have here?” A man spun Tim to face him. He had a buzzcut and a scar across his cheek. “Looks like a runaway.”
“Where you runnin’ from, kid?”
Tim spun around, suddenly surrounded by large men.
“I bet he’s tryin’ to get away from his dad.”
“Aw, daddy just don’t understand, does he?”
“We understand, kid. How about we help ya?”
Tim stood straight. “I don’t need anything.”
A man with a ponytail chuckled. “That ain’t an Alley accent. Seems like you really are out of your element.”
Buzzcut reached for Tim’s arm and he jerked away.
“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. We’re just tryin’ to help.”
“Yeah, why don’t you let us show you around?”
“It’d be a shame if somethin’ happened to ya.”
Tim moved to try and keep everyone in his line of sight. His back hit the alley wall and the men were in a semicircle in front of him. There were ten. If he were in better shape he’d be able to get out of the situation with minimal injuries. If he had his staff, he’d be able to get out of it unscathed.
“Get back,” Tim said, dropping his bundle and raising his hands for a fight. He ignored the pain as he clenched his fists.
A laugh from Buzzcut. “Kid’s got spunk. How cute.”
Ponytail moved forward and reached out a hand. He was rewarded with a right hook to the face. “Shit!” The thug stumbled back, blood pouring down his face.
A guy in a hoodie slapped Ponytail on his shoulder. “Kid warned ya!”
“Son of a bitch. He broke my nose!”
“Can’t make you look any worse!”
While the group talked amongst themselves, Tim siddled right. If he could make it to the main road, he would have a chance of flagging someone down. He saw a chance and made a dash, but got dragged back immediately by the collar of his shirt. The fabric ripped as he was hauled back. He tripped as he was dragged and fell backward onto the trash covered ground. He blinked the water from his eyes as the group laughed at him.
“Careful with the goods, boys. He won’t be worth as much if he gets any more bruises.” Buzzcut leaned down and tilted Tim’s chin.
“Hey, boss, you ain’t goin’ to believe this.” Ponytail was holding up the bloody Robin costume. “Do you think he stole it?”
Hoodie gave a short snort. “Must have. You see how scrawny this kid is?”
“Hm.” Buzzcut looked at him consideringly. “Well, if we say he is, he could get a better price.” He grinned with tobacco stained teeth. “Black Mask would certainly pay a pretty penny.”
Tim grabbed Buzzcut’s wrist and pulled the man off balance. His legs wrapped around Buzzcut’s waist, twisting until Tim had him pinned and pressed his arm across the larger man’s windpipe.
Tim breathed heavier from the exertion than he normally would. “You’re going to let me go. I’m going to walk out of here and you are going to leave me alone.”
A gun safety clicked just over Tim’s left ear.
Buzzcut smiled. “I hate to damage goods, but better a bird with a clipped wing than no bird at all.”
“Alright, kid. ‘Nough playin’. Stand up real nice and slow,” Hoodie ordered.
Tim did as he was told, side-eyeing the gun. It was just out of reach and Hoodie had his finger on the trigger. He’d shoot before Tim could disarm him. Play nice for now.
Buzzcut stood and brushed himself off.
Hands grabbed Tim and wrenched his arms behind his back. Zipties bound his wrists.
“Let’s get ‘im back to the warehouse. We’ve been on the street long eno–” The man didn’t get to finish his sentence before a gunshot echoed through the alley. The man holding Tim slumped to the ground and Tim instinctively dropped and rolled to the side as more gunfire erupted.
“Do you see him?” Buzzcut yelled.
Tim knelt and leaned forward, bringing his bound wrists back and pulling forward and apart as he hit his spine. It took three tries before the zipties snapped.
“Shit!” Ponytail clutched a bleeding hand and stumbled to Tim’s left. The other thugs had taken cover behind dumpsters and garbage while still firing.
Down the alley, a red helmet glinted in the gunfire. Red Hood stalked forward, his own guns raised and firing. The clicks of empty magazines briefly paused the fight. Hood threw one of his guns at the head of a thug while reloading his other pistol. Five men were already unmoving on the ground.
Ponytail used Hood shooting one of his buddies as a distraction to run up and grab at Hood’s gun. He earned an elbow to the face for his trouble, but he managed to knock the weapon loose. The gun skittered toward Tim. Batman didn’t like guns. Robin didn’t like guns. But to Tim, getting a gun out of play seemed like a great idea. He had just reached it when he was hauled upright by a strong hand on his collar. The gun he’d been reaching for was digging into his temple hard enough to bruise.
“Stop! Or I’ll kill him!” Buzzcut shouted as Hood stepped over the body of Ponytail.
The helmet cocked to one side. The blazing eyes considered the scene before Hood slowly raised his hands to shoulder height. “Kill him and I’ll kill you.”
“You’re going to kill us anyway, we know the Red Hood doesn’t leave anyone alive.”
“Huh, if I always kill everyone, how did the stories start? Who’s livin’ to tell the tale?” Hood took a step forward and the gun pressed harder against Tim’s temple. “I can leave one of you alive. If you act nice, I’ll let you choose who.”
Movement from a shadow caught Tim’s eye. “Hood!” he cried as a thug ran at Hood. Something flashed in his hand.
Hood whipped around and briefly tussled with the attacker. The fight was quick and dirty. Tim lost track of the knife almost immediately. The last two gang members that could function threw themselves into the fray. Tim gulped. No matter who won this, he needed to be ready to fight. Or run. Buzzcut’s fingers dug into his shoulder.
There was a sudden crack and a thug dropped lifelessly to the ground, his neck bent at an odd angle. One guy managed to get Hood in a choke hold. The other punched at Hood’s helmet and torso while he was restrained. Hood lifted both legs and kicked his attacker away. He used the momentum to fling the man on his back forward and over his head. The thug gave a choked gasp as he hit the ground. Hood kicked him in the head.
“Anyone else?” the mechanical voice asked. Hood straightened his jacket and cracked his neck. “No? Then how about we just end this here.”
The gun wavered against Tim’s head. “Listen, motherfucker.” The gun raised from his temple slightly. “If you think I’m just goin’ t–” Buzzcut’s words were cut off by a knife going through his left eye.
The man crumpled against Tim’s back and slid to the ground.
Hood released a breath of static through his helmet. He bent to retrieve his dropped pistol and checked the clip. Without warning he put two bullets in the man closest to him.
Tim scrambled to his feet. “Stop! Don’t!”
Hood shot the next person.
“Hood!” Tim rushed forward and grabbed the man’s wrist. “They’re down. You don’t have to kill them!”
Hood yanked his hand free and glared at the younger teen. “And what? Let them live so they can do this again? You think you’re the first kid they grabbed? How many do you think they trafficked? How many are they allowed to traffic before they pay?” A cough stopped his tirade.
Tim froze and took a better look at the slightly stooped posture, left arm hanging limply, and the breathing bordering on ragged. “Hood?”
“You want them to live so bad? Fine.” Hood holstered his weapon and went to find his missing gun. His empty hand now pressed against his left side.
Tim watched him move. Favoring his left side. Broken ribs? It was too dark to see an obvious injury unless Tim moved closer. Which he shouldn’t. He should’ve been running away while he had the chance. But he was rooted to the ground.
Hood started to bend for his gun and froze mid-motion. He swayed slightly before collapsing to his knees. Tim was at Hood’s side in an instant.
“What are you doin’?” The helmet couldn’t hide the slur in the words.
“Where are you injured?”
Hood growled and grabbed for the gun twice before managing to find it and put it in the holster. “Get out of here, Replacement. Before I change my mind.” He forced himself upright with a slight stagger.
Tim bit his lip and stepped closer. “I just want–”
Hood growled and stumbled away. “Just go.” He made it five steps before he had to stop and lean against the wall with a harsh cough.
Slowly, Tim started to back up. He said he’s fine. There’s no reason to stay. He kidnapped me and practically tortured me. He’s a criminal, why should I bother worrying. It only took a moment for Tim to repack his Robin costume. Pride and Prejudice was laying beside a puddle. Tim picked it up and wiped off the grime. His gaze slid back. He got hurt saving me. Despite everything, Tim couldn’t turn away from someone who was injured.
“I thought I told you to get lost.” Hood growled as Tim approached.
Tim set his jaw. “You need help. If I leave you, you’ll die.”
“I won’t die.”
“You’ll get killed. Every gang in Crime Alley wants you dead. You think they’ll leave you alone if they see you like this?” He only hesitated a moment before pulling Hood’s good arm over his shoulder.
The man tensed and another growl rumbled through his chest, but it ended in a harsh cough. Hood sagged a bit into Tim’s grasp. “Fine.”
The moment of satisfaction was short lived when Tim wrapped his arm around Hood’s torso to better support him and felt the warm liquid coating his side. “Shit,” Tim mumbled. The comment earned a chuckle. He grit his teeth and took the first step forward. “What happened?”
“You were there,” Hood wheezed.
“I mean, what caused the injury?”
“Knife.”
Tim clucked his tongue. “You aren’t supposed to pull it out.”
Hood sighed. “Needed weapon. Not many options.”
“Needed…” The knife through Buzzcut’s eye . Tim winced. “Right. I need to keep pressure on it.” He did his best to press against the wound while supporting the taller man.
The relatively short journey back to the apartment seemed to take forever between sticking to empty alleys and Hood progressively putting more and more of his weight on Tim. The wound was still bleeding. The fire escape was completely out of the question.
“Front door,” Hood wheezed.
Tim struggled his way up the front steps and into the apartment building. Surprisingly, the building wasn’t completely abandoned. There was mail stuffed into boxes and he could hear a tv behind one of the doors. “Elevator?”
Hood only laughed.
“What floor?”
The red helmet tilted to look at him.
Tim groaned. “Figures.” He adjusted his grip and the two began the arduous climb to the top floor. Bulbs flickered and every step threatened to give out under their combined weight. No curious residents came out to see what was going on. Smart thinking considering that the less you knew in Crime Alley, the less trouble you got into. Tim was really beginning to think that this entire apartment was filled with squatters stealing power from the grid and that there was no landlord. Honestly, smarter than trusting anybody in this city.
By the time they made it, Hood was barely shuffling forward with his head hanging against his chest and Tim’s arms and legs were shaking. Every injury that had partially healed was burning and he felt like he was wheezing almost as bad as Hood. The door loomed in front of them and Tim had no doubt there were traps. He could clearly see the outline of a hidden keypad.
“Hood.” Tim jostled the man. “Hood, come on. I can’t get in. Once we get in you can rest.” There was no response. “Hood!” he said louder. “Come on. I need your help.” Desperate, Tim said the one phrase that always got a response from him as Robin. “Red Hood, status!”
The man jerked and mumbled something that Tim didn’t quite catch. His head slowly moved to take in his surroundings before he seemed to catch onto what Tim needed. He dug in his pocket and shakily pulled out a key. It took a few tries before he was able to slide it into the lock. When he turned it, the keypad slid out of the wall. “Code’s 0427.”
Tim quickly typed it in, praying that Hood hadn’t left out any other important information as he pushed the door open and dragged them both inside. He considered taking a break and dropping Hood to the ground, but he knew neither of them would be able to get back up. He fumbled along the wall until he found the lightswitch and was taken aback when the room that greeted him was a fairly tidy standard apartment. The furniture– consisting of a coffee table, couch, and bookshelves– didn’t match and based on their wear may have been salvaged from a dumpster. The only art that was a bit amiss was the weaponry that was carefully arranged on one of the shelves. Tim struggled until they reached the couch. He unceremoniously dropped Hood on the cushions. The sudden loss of weight made him feel a little floaty as he retrieved the first aid kit.
Hood hadn’t moved from where Tim had deposited him. He pulled the coffee table closer and laid out the first aid kit.
“Hey, you with me?” Tim shook Hood’s shoulder with no response. Tim’s heart raced as he felt for a pulse point, only relaxing slightly when he felt the fast heartbeat. He lightly tapped the helmet. Still no response. Carefully, Tim pulled up the edge of Hood’s shirt. The kevlar made it difficult to get a good view of the wound and he sighed in frustration. “I have to get access to the wound, don’t attack me, okay?”
It took a few minutes for Tim to manipulate Hood out of the leather jacket with his injured arm, but he managed. There had been a few times when Batman had required field medical attention and Tim knew the kevlar would be next to impossible to get off without active help from whoever was wearing it. Instead, he grabbed the scissors and quickly cut the armor away leaving Hood in a tight black undershirt similar to the one he usually wore. The fabric was partially stuck to the injury as Tim cut it away. Pulling the shirt away made it start bleeding freely again and Tim quickly pressed gauze over it as he took another look at the young man.
Hood’s breathing was fast and harsh. His left arm hung at an awkward angle and would need attention as well. Tim grabbed medical tape and secured the gauze for a moment while he cut the rest of the shirt away. Like he suspected, the left shoulder was dislocated. Relatively easy fix.
“At least you’re relaxed.” Tim guided Hood into a seated position before pulling his arm forward and straight in front of him. A sharp jerk and the shoulder popped into place. Tim allowed Hood to lie flat again. The only reaction was a light groan.
Gingerly, Tim leaned over Hood and reached under the edge of the helmet. He could feel a few different latches and was about to press one when a hand grabbed his wrist in a vice like grip. Tim froze, staring at the white eyes.
“Trap,” Hood wheezed. “Wrong latch. Boom.”
Tim’s eyes widened and he quickly pulled back. Hood let his wrist slip free. He slowly reached around the helmet and licked a few releases. Tim kept track and subconsciously memorized the pattern. With a sigh, Hood let his hand drop and nodded tiredly. Tim took the cue for what it was and carefully lifted the helmet away. He focused on setting the apparent death trap on the table before evaluating Hood and–
His mind stopped working.
He blinked and shook his head, trying to remember if he had been dosed with something during the fight. Because he was staring at a dead man. A dead teenager. He wasn’t that much older than Tim. Hood’s eyes were closed and his quick breathing hissed through partially opened lips. It was a face that Tim knew . Even though it had aged a few years and there was a shock of white in the black hair, Tim would always know his Robin. He’d spent too long staring at photos and practically stalking him to not know who he was. Not to mention the portraits around Wayne Manor. Everything slid into place. The off-hand comments, the bat on his chest. He knew who Tim was, knew Bruce Wayne and Batman, and knew what happened to the last Robin despite no one ever talking about it. Knew because it was him.
A memory of a laughing boy in red and green catching Tim before he could fall off a fire escape surfaced.
“Careful,” Robin said as he pulled Tim back. “Fire escapes are always slippery in the rain.” He took a controlled slide across the metal railing with a laugh for emphasis.
Tim just gaped at his hero like a fish.
Robin looked up at the sky. “Rainy days are always the best for books. They make you just want to curl up in a blanket and read, ya know?” A toothy grin. “Careful with that camera!” He turned to leave, but Tim caught his cape.
“Wait! Wait.” Tim immediately released the cape and ducked his head as he raised the camera. “Can I…”
“You want a picture with me?” Domino eyes widened.
“Y-y-yeah.”
Hands grabbed his camera and before Tim could react a head was pressed to his. The light flashed and the camera was dropped back into his hands. The Boy Wonder grappled away with a laugh.
Tim stumbled back, the back of his legs hitting the coffee table and causing him to sit abruptly. Hood– Jason – remained unconscious during Tim’s borderline crisis.
“Okay, breathe, Tim. You just have to calm down. Not the weirdest thing you’ve seen while working with Batman, you just can’t think of any weirder things at the moment.” A breathing exercise a school counselor taught him helped get his breathing under control. Once his hands had mostly stopped shaking, he again looked at Jason. “Right. Presumed dead hero is back and if you don’t keep it together he is going to die again. So, focus, Timothy.”
Jason’s chest was mottled with bruises of varying age. A particularly large assortment covered his left side. Exploration with fingers didn’t show anything broken, but they were definitely at least bruised. The shoulder Tim reset was already turning a color. There were older injuries in various stages of healing and a multitude of scars. Jason’s breathing was worse.
“Think, think, think,” Tim mumbled as he tried to remember what the symptoms pointed to. It hit him like a train. “Collapsed lung. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.” Tim dug through the first aid kit and found a sterile large-gauge needle then froze. His eyes flicked between the needle and Jason. He’d read about what to do in the mandatory first aid training Bruce had given him, but this had been a lower priority. The main treatment listed was “Call Leslie”. Tim bit his lip before diving for Hood’s jacket and digging through the pockets. A sigh of relief escaped him when his hands closed on a familiar shape. He quickly unlocked the phone with Jason’s face and a brief thanks to the people who invented facial recognition. His eyes briefly scanned over the apps for Kindle, a police scanner, and scrabble. There were no saved contacts and the call history was clear. No help on that front. Tim crossed his finger as he dialed Leslie’s private number.
“Pick up, pick up,” Tim said as he started to pace. Finally, the line clicked over.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Thompkins!”
“Who is this?” she asked, suspicion evident in her voice.
“Right, sorry, it’s Timothy Drake.”
“Tim? Where are you calling from? I don’t recognize this number.”
“That’s a long story.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “But I kind of have an emergency right now.”
“Are you injured?” Leslie asked sharply.
“No, no, I’m fine.” Relatively speaking. “But I’m with someone who’s not. It looks like he has a pneumothorax. Puncture wound left chest area, tachycardia, fast breathing, and it looks like his lips are turning blue.”
“It would be best if you could bring him here.”
Tim shook his head immediately. “Can’t move him.”
The doctor took a calming breath through her nose. “Okay. I can walk you through it, but it would be best if I could see. Can you put me on video?”
“Uh.” Tim glanced at the unconscious teenager. “Yeah, I can do that.” He clicked a few buttons and kept the camera focused on himself. He winced when his image appeared on screen.
“Timothy?” Leslie’s concern was obvious. “You said you were okay.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s old.” Tim waved a hand in front of his bruised face which only served to show off his splinted fingers.
Leslie’s face darkened, but she moved on. “Show me the patient.”
Tim flipped the camera, careful to keep Jason’s face out of frame.
“Prop him up somehow so he’s leaning over.”
It took some fancy maneuvering, but Tim was able to get Jason on the floor so he was leaning on the coffee table. He followed Leslie’s instructions as he gloved up and cleaned an area between Jason’s ribs. He carefully inserted the needle and held his breath as he pulled back the plunger, breathing a sigh of relief when blood flowed into it.
“Good,” Leslie said. “Push in the catheter and carefully remove the needle. The drainage tube will attach. You’ll need a container to catch the fluid.”
“Right, right.” Tim didn’t think about it before dumping the rest of the first aid kit, earning a raised eyebrow from Leslie. Tim felt his cheeks redden.
“You don’t want to drain off more than one and a half liters at one time.” Her lips twitched. “About one box full I’d estimate.”
Tim nodded seriously. Jason already seemed to be breathing easier.
“You did well, Tim.” Leslie’s kind eyes searched his. “While we wait, can you tell me what is happening? Alfred called and said you were feeling ill, but when I called your father to see if you needed any medication he refused to answer. You also haven’t responded to any texts.”
“Don’t tell anyone you talked to me,” Tim immediately said. “I promise it’s ok. I, uh, ran into an old friend and he’s going through some… stuff.”
“Your family is worried, Tim. Frankly, I’m concerned as well.”
“Just a few days, Dr. Thompkins. Please. I promise I’ll explain everything later.” He gave his best puppy dog eyes, just like Dick taught him.
Leslie’s lips thinned. “I will not lie for you, Timothy Drake. If someone asks if I heard from you, I will tell them. I won’t send them after you, however. I will give you two days, then I better receive a call. If I don’t I have no doubt Mr. Grayson will tear apart the city to find you.”
Tim smiled. “Thank you.” He hesitated briefly. “Um, do you know if Batman is back in town?”
“Not that I’m aware. I’m sure if he was, he would have called in the calvary to find out where you are.”
Tim gave a small smile. “Right.”
They waited in silence for the bloody fluid to drain before Leslie said that would be enough for now. Tim carefully removed the catheter and bandaged the site with gauze.
“Thanks. I think I can stitch and bandage the stab wound on my own. I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.”
Leslie nodded. “Goodnight, Tim. Call if you need anything else”
His smile grew more genuine. “Good night, Leslie.”
The call ended and Tim let his head fall back. His eyes drifted closed for a moment. Exhaustion tugged at his whole body, but he couldn’t sleep yet. He carefully put the box on the table for now.
He pulled Jason back onto the couch as gently as he could. The teen was pale and clammy, but he was breathing easier and his unconscious face was more relaxed. Tim removed the hastily attached bandage over the stab wound and set about cleaning it. This he could do on autopilot. Aside from bruised ribs, knife injuries were fairly common for him and Bruce and Alfred wasn’t always available. He finished the clean line of sutures and rebandaged the area.
A wave of dizziness was pushed away as he stood. Carefully, he disposed of the box blood in the toilet and scrubbed the box out with bleach before repacking the supplies. He used his Robin cape as a sling for Jason’s left arm. A blanket was on the back of the couch and he tucked it around Jason. His hands hovered over the older teen for a second before he turned and sunk to the floor, leaning against the couch.
His hands started shaking again as the gravity of the situation hit him. Jason Todd was back. Not only was he back, but he was an active crime lord killing everyone. Not everyone, just criminals. Dispensing his own form of justice. The image of the dead traffickers and what almost happened to him sent a shiver down Tim’s spine and pooled uncomfortably in his stomach. He didn’t know how Jason came back or why he hadn’t gone to Bruce. But he was alive.
After a moment, he reached up and grabbed Jason’s wrist. The steady beat under his fingers let Tim drift off.