Chapter Text
Tim knew letting the Joker kidnap him was going to suck. But he didn’t expect it to suck this bad.
He choked, spluttering around the bleach as he was dunked again into the filthy tub. Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about germs, he thought half-heartedly, most of his energy focused on not dying or going blind from the vile concoction of chemicals he was being drowned in. Tim’s arms and legs were tightly bound, mostly redundant given the iron grip the Joker kept on his scruff. Tim couldn’t have fought the weakness in his limbs if he’d wanted to.
Not that he didn’t want to. No, Tim would like nothing more than to hurl himself out of this tub, grab his bow staff and beat the Joker to death with it, like Joker had to Jason, like he’d done to Tim’s Robin.
But not yet.
Tim had to wait, had to let things get bad enough that he could defend himself to Gotham’s courts, could defend himself to Gotham’s judge, jury, and well…not executioner, but close enough. Batman would never accept a Robin who kills, Tim knew that. But he also thought that the man might let Tim at least live as a civilian if Tim was close enough to death before he did it.
Joker dragged him out of the tub, and Tim couldn’t even muster any humiliation for the way he was drooling bleach and bile. He clung to consciousness as he was arranged, skin stinging, on a freezing metal table. Joker was singing that Mary Poppin’s tune about feeding birds as he strapped Tim down and hooked him up to a lurid green IV.
That couldn’t be good.
Feed the birds, tuppence a bag
Tuppence
Tuppence
Tuppence a bag
Barf.
Tim had never even liked that movie in the first place. He had very little patience for neglectful parents these days. Sure, he might never confront his own, adopted or otherwise. But he definitely didn’t take pleasure in media featuring them.
Tim couldn’t hold back the keen that ripped out of his throat as the concoction flooded his veins. Fuck fuck fuck, what the fuck is this?
“Sh, sh, sh,” Joker giggled, raking a hand through Tim’s hair. Clumps, weakened by industrial grade bleach, clung to his fingers. “Laugh, Junior! This is the first step to you becoming. Isn’t it exciting? Not a bat, not a bird, just a clown dressed in blood! Roses are red, violets are blue. I’ll kill the Batman, how? Using you!”
Gods, Tim had thought Joker was just targeting him to kill him, like he always did with Robins. Not to turn him into some kind of mini Joker, into a weapon against Batman. Not to mention it fucking hurt. Tim barely noticed when Joker spun out of the room, distracted by the way his blood was turning to acid. His bones felt like they were splintering, and Tim couldn’t hold back the whimpers through gritted teeth or the way tears streamed down the sides of his face, salt stinging the abused skin.
Tim knew how to withstand torture. He knew how important it was to keep a goal in mind. Thankfully, Tim already knew what his goal was.
Kill the Joker.
…
Jason woke to quiet giggling from his living room. Which was alarming because this was a safehouse no one was supposed to know about, let alone be inside. Silently, he rolled out of bed, grabbing his pistol off the nightstand. Whoever thought it was good idea to break into his motherfucking safehouse was about to get a wakeup call.
Jason ripped the bedroom door open, diving through the doorway and launching himself at the intruder. “Alright fucknugget—” he growled, body slamming the intruder with a hand gripping his throat, gun pressed to— “Tim?” Jason stared at the teen, wide eyed as he took in the copious amounts of blood and viscera literally dripping off him.
Dazed blue eyes stared up at him—no, somewhere just left of him, and frantic giggles were still bubbling from behind the teen’s gritted teeth. Jason nearly choked as the stench hit him, chemicals and blood and pain—please—triumph—scared—HURT—sorry
“Timmy,” he choked, throwing himself backward. The teen didn’t move, sprawled on his back, shaking as he stared up at the ceiling.
“Tim, what—” Jason gagged on the stench, he knew that smell, and it sent his mind back to Ethiopia and crowbars and pain and digging himself out of a grave— “I’ll call Bruce,” he managed, hand clapped over his nose and mouth.
He barely managed to reach for his phone before Tim slammed into him, moving faster than Jason, with his Pit-enhanced reflexes, could track. Jason toppled backward, nearly slamming his head into the coffee table with a snarling, feral, clearly tortured omega on his chest.
“Fuck,” he wheezed. Tim’s ragged fingernails were digging into his wrists. They stared at each other. “Tim,” he said, staying very, very still. “Bruce can help—”
Tim snapped his teeth at him, and Jason couldn’t stop the growl that ripped out of his own chest. He wasn’t expecting the way Tim froze, then nearly collapsed on his chest, head tilted to offer his throat. Jason stared, eyes wide at the unexpected response. Sure, Jason was an alpha, but he sure as fuck wasn’t Tim’s alpha, so why was the kid acting like he was?
He’d clearly just been tortured though, and Jason wasn’t cruel enough to reject him in that moment, so he stretched his neck to lightly brush his nose over the offered scent gland, nearly puking at the nauseating concoction of chemicals and fear and death.
The kid squeaked, the barest hint of a happy trill escaping him before he sat up and pulled something out of the pocket of the oversized cargo pants he was wearing. Jason sat up too, and Tim shuffled off his lap before dropping the object in Jason’s lap like a cat with a mouse.
It was a hand.
Jason swore, scrambling backward so the thing fell out of his lap and hit the floor. He knew that hand—This time Jason didn’t manage to hold back his vomit as his brain readily supplied images of black fingernails and bleached white skin gripping the crowbar as it slammed into his child-sized body—
“What the fuck, what the fuck,” Jason could feel himself trembling. His eyes darted from the hand to the blood-soaked pup in front of him, the stench of chemicals and death and oh god he needed someone else to handle this because he didn’t know what to do.
But he’d be damned if he called Bruce now, suspecting what he did, and he wasn’t going to drag Roy into this until he had a handle on things.
“Is that…” he took a steadying breath, “Joker’s hand?”
Tim flinched at the name before nodding.
“Okay,” Jason managed. “Did you kill him?”
The pup whined, in contrast to the pride—hurt—happy—happy? that peeked through his scent. He nodded.
Jason swallowed. He should feel triumphant, but it was impossible with that scent still flooding his safehouse, with the pup so clearly fucked up and bloody in front of him.
Right, first things first.
“Okay pup,” he said, voice as soft as he could make it. “That’s okay. Let’s get you cleaned up now, yeah?”
Tim tensed, curling in on himself protectively as he scratched at bleached skin, heedless of the way his nails tore it like paper, leaving bloody trails in their wake.
Bleached.
Jason grimaced, picturing how that could have happened. The kid had to be cleaned though, even if it was a trigger. “No bleach, Timbit. I promise. Just good old fashioned soap and water.”
The kid didn’t look convinced, so Jason added, “Don’t you want to get that off? He’s—“ Jason’s throat closed up as he spotted a clump of green hair stuck to a patch of blood near the kid’s elbow. “He’s kinda all over you.”
The kid looked down, and Jason couldn’t help the soothing croon that rumbled out of his chest when the pup whined in distress. Narrow, tiny shoulders slumped, and Jason barely caught the kid as he slumped forward into Jason’s chest. That was probably as close to permission as he was gonna get.
He scooped Tim off the floor, trying to be careful of any injuries he couldn’t see under the gore. Tim didn’t seem in pain at least, leaving Jason to wonder how long the Joker had had him. How hadn’t the Bats noticed?
Jason could figure that out later though, when he didn’t have an armful of traumatized pup. Speaking of trauma, Tim started shaking the second they entered the bathroom, his scent turning sharp and distressed.
Jason shushed him. “Just soap and water, remember?” He turned the shower on, having a feeling that even hinting of filling the tub would result in a meltdown. That was fine, they could make do.
“Alright Timbo,” he said, keeping his voice to a low rumble. “Let’s get this crap off you, yeah?”
He peeled off the jacket, careful of where it stuck to the skin and watching the kid for any signs of discomfort. Tim seemed placid enough though, if a bit dissociated and shaking lightly. Jason made quick work stripping off the rest of his clothes, leaving his boxers which thankfully seemed mostly unscathed. Tim could handle that when he was a bit more present.
When Jason tried to place him in the tub, Tim screamed and latched onto him with Dick-grade octopus limbs. “Whoa, hey, it’s all good,” he said, wrapping his arms around the pup, running a hand down the too-prominent knots on his spine. He thought for a second. “Alright, we’re gonna do this together.”
Jason stepped into the shower with an arm under the kid’s bottom and another around his back. He pretended not to notice how the kid buried his nose into Jason’s scent gland—definitely not appropriate given they weren’t pack—and let the water hit his back first, shielding Tim from most of it. He grimaced as the water instantly soaked his sleep clothes.
Jason turned slowly, allowing the water to hit more of the teen in his arms, soothing the whimpers rising from his collarbones until Tim was fully under the spray. “Alright, you’re doing great,” he murmured, fumbling to soap up a washcloth one handed. This would be much easier if the kid would detach from his chest, but Jason was 98% sure that was out of the question.
He was careful, running a cloth over the damaged skin and not letting his anger show as more and more injuries were revealed. He’d thought the lack of visible pain meant that Tim was mostly unscathed, but the multitude of cuts and bruises he was unearthing showed him that clearly his logic had been faulty. Jason grimaced as he realized just how much of the Joker’s blood had come in contact with open wounds. He needed to get Leslie to look at the kid ASAP, maybe run some blood tests.
Jason stilled, realizing that he’d been thinking like he was responsible for Tim. But that was Bruce. This was Bruce’s pup. It was going to be him taking Tim to get blood tests, making sure he stayed home from patrol, coaxing him into eating and taking care of himself. Unease stirred in his gut. Would he? Bruce took care of them…somewhat. He was adequate in making sure they had what they needed.
But Tim had just killed the Joker. He’d just broken Batman’s number one rule. And sure, Jason had killed a bunch of people and still been, begrudgingly, integrating more with the Bats lately since Bruce had gotten back from the timestream. But Tim was a Robin, and Jason knew better than anyone how inflexible Batman was with his Robins.
Jason had to push away the train of thought when he realized his hands had stilled, and Tim was shifting anxiously in his arms. Jason let the soothing rumble start up in his chest again, and the pup went limp, practically tranquilized. It would have been adorable if it weren’t so concerning. Another thing to investigate.
When it was time to wash his front, Tim was less than enthusiastic, but Jason managed to wrangle him into sitting on Jason’s lap under the spray with minimal fussing. Something twisted in Jason’s gut when he started washing the kid’s hair and realized it was falling out. It took nearly an hour to get Tim clean and patched up, dressed in comically oversized sweats and a t-shirt. The kid still looked like hell. He was pale, patchily wrapped in gauze with circles under his eyes so dark he looked like a racoon.
“Alright babybird,” he said finally. “Any preferences what we have for dinner?”
Tim shook his head, what was left of his hair brushing Jason’s chin. He had the pup propped on his hip like a 1950s housewife with a laundry basket, but at least he was calm and most of that disgusting scent was gone. Tim still smelled vaguely sterile, and Jason frowned because while yes, some of it was the chemicals Joker had injected him with (Jason had seen the marks of a ripped-out IV) there was something else about it that bothered him. His hand froze on the pantry door as he realized what it was.
Jason couldn’t smell pack. Dick, Bruce, Alfred, even demon-brat, should have been intertwined with Tim’s scent now that he was cleaned up, but they weren’t. Sure, it wouldn’t have been strong since they hadn’t scented him since he’d bathed, but there was still an underlying sameness that pack scents take on, a familiarity.
Tim didn’t have that. In fact, he smelled utterly alone, and Jason’s gut churned. Had Joker done it? Had he found a way to break Tim’s pack bonds? It should have been impossible, but Jason couldn’t figure out any other way Tim would smell packless. And if that was the case, Jason needed to get him to Bruce ASAP before bond sickness set in. Being packless was unhealthy for anyone but for a distressed teenage omega? It was a death sentence.
Given Tim’s previous reaction to him trying to get ahold of Bruce though, Jason wanted to feed him before bringing it up.
It didn’t take long for the pasta to boil, and Jason grudgingly compromised to using jarred sauce for the sake of efficiency. He still added spinach, mushrooms, garlic, and sausage though. He wasn’t a savage. Soon enough, the food was made, and Jason sat them down in the living room, flicking on a Harry Potter movie to distract Tim.
He blinked as he realized he had settled them on the couch with one big bowl to share, like Roy did with Lian when she was small and having a bad day. He glanced at Tim to see if he’d noticed, but the pup was curled quietly in his lap, watching a hat sing on screen. Jason felt awkward as he spun a little pasta around the fork and, after another second’s hesitation, brushed the pup’s lips with it. Tim’s eyes were already half-lidded as he accepted the bite.
Jason felt the tension run out of his shoulders, both at the way Tim hadn’t made a big deal out of it and the way this act—protecting and providing for his the pup—made his lizard brain rumble contentedly. They were halfway through the movie before Jason offered another bite and realized Tim was dead asleep on his chest. He finished up the pasta, careful not to disturb him as he set the bowl on the table and reached for his phone.
After a quick glance to verify Tim was out cold, Jason unlocked his phone, flipping immediately to his messages. Surely if a Robin had gone missing, someone would have reached out. Missing Robins were an all-hands on deck situation. Surely Jason had just missed or accidentally ignored an SOS call. The Bats were dramatic enough that it was often hard to tell a real emergency from a minor one.
Jason’s fingers tightened around his phone as, one by one, he flipped through all the family chats—personal and professional—and saw not one of them mentioned Tim. There were invites to family game night, dinners, proposed patrol routes, but no hey a member of our family, a pup, is missing and we need you to help us find him while he’s still alive and minimally traumatized.
Jason’s brows furrowed as he realized that even in casual conversation, Tim’s name just didn’t show up. In fact, the only mention he could find of him in the last three months was his moniker, Red Robin, in regards to a case they’d collaborated on. Jason knew he didn’t talk to the kid, but that was intentional. Pit Rage or no, Jason had tried to kill Tim. It wasn’t right to try and force his company on the kid after that. Jason was just grateful that they had an non-antagonistic working relationship.
Maybe the other Bats just didn’t bring him up to Jason so they didn’t set him off?
Jason didn’t feel right about this. He chewed his lip. Should he reach out to Dick? But Dick would immediately tell Bruce, and Jason, though possibly biased, had a feeling that, if something was up, it was almost certainly Bruce’s fault. Demon brat was out of the question.
Maybe Babs? Jason thought she and Tim had a decent relationship since they were both good at the whole coms, hacking, guy in the chair thing.
He texted her.
hey
After a second, three dots popped up.
What
Jason’s lips twitched at the curt reply.
Have you seen Tim? Haven’t heard from him in a while
or seen him around the manor
or anything actually
The three dots popped up again and then disappeared. A second later, Barbara’s contact popped up, calling him.
“Shit,” he whispered. He debated hanging up, but Tim seemed out for the count, and he wanted answers.
“What?” he said, voice as low as he could make it while still being heard.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because I’m trying not to be heard,” he snapped.
Babs hummed. “Why are you asking about Tim?”
He rolled his eyes. “I literally just texted you why. I haven’t seen the kid around. Figured Bruce would be up his ass.”
“Tim’s not like you and Dick,” Babs’s said. “He does his own thing. Disappeared for months while Bruce was lost in time.”
Jason frowned. “And Dick let him?”
The silent that followed was charged. “He and Dick had a…falling out.” Her voice was reluctant. “You took off too after Bruce so you might not have noticed, but Dick was…pretty torn up about B’s death. Plus, he had to take over Batman. Tim thought Bruce was alive and Dick…didn’t handle it well. Tim was always independent, but after that, we’ve barely seen him outside of work.”
Jason’s pulse throbbed noticeably in his temple as he tried to keep his breathing even. He should have laid the kid down before answering the phone. “And the pack? How does that work if they’re barely around each other?”
“Tim was never big on pack stuff. He barely seemed to notice dynamics when he first started to hang around Bruce, and you know B isn’t big on all the cuddly stuff either. Honestly, those two are too alike. I’m sure he figured something out.”
“Right.” Jason couldn’t help the way his voice had gone a bit cold. “So you haven’t seen him?”
“Nope. You could try WE. I think he lives in that office when he’s not patrolling.”
“Yeah, alright. Thanks.” He didn’t wait to hear her reply before he hung up.
Jason investigated Tim when he got back to Gotham. His replacement. He knew Janet and Jack Drake were absent and massively neglectful pieces of shit. He’d just assumed Bruce had cleaned up their mess. But no, of course Bruce had to see shitty parenting and try to one up it.
Jason had seen the signs since Tim had first shown up in his apartment. Touch starved to hell, disoriented, overly responsive dynamic noises. Hell, he’d practically drowned himself in Jason’s scent all night.
Timothy Drake wasn’t just the tortured murderer of the Joker. He was pack-starved. And none of Jason’s shitty ex-pack had even noticed.
That’s not to mention the months he’d apparently been missing that no one had bothered to follow up on. Had he been hurt? Working a case? Vacationing in Bora Bora?
How the fuck hadn’t he seen this?
Tim stirred with a whine, and Jason realized his arms had tightened uncomfortably around the pup. He shushed him, starting up a low rumble to ease the kid back to sleep. The purr had the side effect of making Jason sleepy too, and he fought for only a minute before slumping down on the couch with an armful of sleepy pup. There was too much to work through in one night. He’d get answers in the morning.