Chapter Text
“You know, Tim. I've always thought of you as the smart one.”
Tim grunted in pain and dragged a hand in front of him, leaving a smear of blood on the floor.
“You always seem to have a plan.”
He sucked in a deep breath and then pulled his body forward. It moved an inch.
“You always seem to know what to do.”
He sucked in another breath then pushed his legs, moving his body another inch.
“I’ve read about the cases you’ve solved. They’re very impressive, I must admit.”
Tim scrunched his eyes closed in pain. He breathed out and forced himself to move forward another inch.
“Did you know that Ra’s is also quite impressed with you?”
Tim faltered. What did Ra’s have to do with this? He dragged himself another inch forward. A few more and he could reach the overturned table. The one with the hidden emergency button.
“Yeah, it’s true. Believe it or not. He told me himself.”
A heavy combat boot landed on the blood-slicked floor and Tim crawled another inch in panic.
“You must be wondering how I know him. It’s quite a story, actually. We met through his Lazarus Pit.”
Tim crawled forward another urgent inch.
“It wasn’t pleasant, let me tell you. I freaked and tried to kill everyone around me. I probably did. Memory’s a little fuzzy.”
He was almost there…
“But after a while, I started to get my memory back.”
He could spot it now. The tiny disguised button at the edge of the table leg.
“That’s how I know that you’re crawling towards an emergency button to call for help.”
Tim froze.
He laughed softly. “Come on, Tim. How do you think I got into the Tower without raising any alarms and comfortably walked through the maze of halls without getting lost?”
The black steel-toed combat boots covered the distance Tim had been struggling to cross in three steps. The owner of the boots crouched down, squatting to reveal a red helmet.
“For someone so smart, you certainly aren’t open-minded.”
Hood grabbed Tim’s wrist and twisted. Tim screamed, his throat aching with how much he had already screamed before.
“Otherwise you would have known to consider me as a suspect. Even as a ghost.”
Hood dropped his hand and pushed the table further away.
“Or a zombie. I don’t mind either way.”
Tim sobbed, too aching to move.
Hood reached up and pressed the latches under his helmet. Slowly, he lifted it, then threw it into the distance.
Bright and glowing green eyes met Tim’s teary blues, making them widen in surprise. “Jason?” Tim whispered.
Jason smiled. “Hi, Tim.”
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“Tim, I am going to fucking kill you.”
“No, you can’t. You love me too much.”
“No, I am seriously hating you right now.”
“Is it cuz I’m currently beating you six feet under the ground in Mario Kart?”
“No, it’s because you are currently cheating and beating me six feet under the ground in Mario Kart.”
Tim laughed and twisted the joystick on the controller, making the turn. He pressed down on the left trigger, releasing his army of power-up mushrooms.
“Motherfuck—” Dick screeched and hit the mushroom.
Luigi crossed the line and Tim flung his arms in the air. “I won!”
Dick threw a chip at him. “You mean you cheated.”
Tim pouted. “Hey, I’m just a broken little guy playing Mario Kart. You can’t blame a poor invalid with broken bones tryna win.”
Tim faced him with a wide smile, but a solemn face reflected back.
“Oh no,” Tim said. “I know that face. That is your guilty face. I don’t like the guilty face. Why do you have a guilty face?”
Dick sighed. “Tim, I—”
“Nope. Nuh-uh.” Tim covered his ears. “La la la la la la la, can’t hear you!”
Dick lunged and brought an arm around his neck, trapping him in a (very light) headlock and rubbing his head with his knuckles.
“Ow ow ow! Dick!”
“You little shit.” He finally released him. Grabbing the bowl of salt and vinegar chips with edible glitter, he placed it between them on the bed.
“I’ll stop if you stop apologizing.” Tim reached in and grabbed a handful.
“You can’t blame a brother for being guilty for not being there.”
“No, I can’t blame a brother for not being there at all because, if you didn’t get the cue, Jason kept me from actually calling for help.”
At the mention of The Name, Dick flinched. His hand reaching for the bowl of chips froze and his jaw clenched.
Immediately, Tim knew he made a mistake. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.”
Dick pursed his lips in a tight smile and shook his head, casting sad eyes on him. “It’s okay. We all cope with trauma using dark humor. Let’s play another game. It’s my turn to choose now.” He picked up another controller and started setting up another round.
Tim watched him, just like how he was watching Bruce, Alfred and Barbara. None of them had gotten over the whole finding him three-quarters dead floating in a pool of his own blood on the floor debacle either. Especially not when they saw the letters 'JASON WAS HERE' spelled with his blood in the backdrop on the walls with his body right in front of it. Tim had only further confirmed when he woke up that it really had been Jason who had attacked him.
Bruce immediately threw himself in research, trying to figure out how Jason was still alive and how it was that he was Red Hood. Dick trailed along with him, though he often dipped out to do his own research and then come back with findings—which were always minor. There wasn't enough information or footage about Red Hood, even with Oracle's virtuoso skills. Even Alfred was hithering and tithering everywhere, lost between grief and care for the crazy workaholics under his roof.
And Tim… Well, he was traumatized, to say the least. Being beaten up like that certainly didn't raise his self-esteem either. In fact, it only stated just how bad his skills were that he couldn't survive more than five minutes in a fight. Even if he was lacking a weapon and facing off against a Lazarus Pit-enhanced former Robin.
But besides that… he worried. He had tried so hard to rid Bruce of his vampire bat tendencies lunging for blood and get his sweet fruit bat side back. Gotham needed a bat that helped the city, not one that destroyed it. Before the attack at Titans Tower, the family was getting back together again. Slowly but resolutely. Dick was talking to Bruce again, Alfred was smiling more often, and Barbara had grown twice as snarky like she used to be. He didn’t want the flimsy thread holding them together to unravel again.
But he didn’t want Jason to be left out either. He wished there was something he could do to get him back in the family. To build the family back again but this time wholly.
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“B, if you don’t end this very clearly boring and uneventful patrol in the next five minutes right the fuck now, I swear I will peel my fucking skin off.”
Oracle laughed, “Bat 1, Birdboy is being dramatic again. Now you know that is time to end patrol.”
Batman sighed heavily through comms.
“Hey,” came Nightwing’s indignant voice. “I thought I was your Birdboy.”
“You’re a birdman, Dick.”
Robin groaned. “Batman, seriously. Who the FUCK authorized New Jersey to be ninety-fucking-eight degrees at NIGHT?”
“God,” Batman gruffly replied.
An exaggerated gasp jarred Robin’s comm, making him clutch his ear. “Did Batman actually just jest?” followed Nightwing’s voice.
“I do not jest.”
“HA!” Oracle screeched. “You just did!”
“I do not jest,” Batman grunted again.
Nightwing snorted.
Robin sighed and dropped to his knees. He pitched forward and spread his arms out, lying on the stone of the roof. It was slightly cool. Barely an improvement, but he was taking anything he could get now.
Dimly, he wondered if Mr. Freeze had a rival this summer.
Just as he was considering the pros and cons of simply falling asleep on the roof, his ears caught a scuffle.
Robin went rigid.
Subtly, he tensed his fingers, ready to snatch his bo staff in a second’s notice. He strained his ears, trying to catch the origin of the scuffle. When he heard it again, he moved.
In a split second, Robin had his staff in his hand out defensively and in a fighting stance, ready to take down whoever was attempting to creep up behind him.
But instead, he faced a barrel of a gun pointing at his nose.
“Well,” Red Hood beamed. “This was easier than I thought.” At the same time, Tim's comms buzzed and disconnected.
Tim was having a heart attack.
Wait, no. His heart was just moving quickly enough to look like it was still.
Tim was having a heart-speeding attack.
He needed to call someone. He needed to call Bruce, or Dick, or the cops, just— anyone! He couldn’t face Hood alone so soon. Not when it had barely been two days since he was allowed out of the house. Not when it had only been a week since his injuries were healed. He really didn’t want his arm broken again. Eating was a bitch with it. Typing was even more of a bitch.
“Honestly, Robbie-boy. Didn’t the old man teach you not to let your guard down?” The hammer of the gun went down. The safety of the gun (and the safety of Tim too) clicked off. “But then again,” Hood tilted his head with amusement. “Failure is the best teacher. I would know.”
Tim swallowed. The green and red of Titans Tower crashed into his head and now his breathing was fucked too.
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
Tim swallowed again. “Why? You've jammed my comms and you’re going to beat me up anyway.”
Even through the helmet, Tim could tell that his comment made Hood grin.
“You’re right, I am.”
The bullet cut through the air, along with Tim’s collar.
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So the bullet hadn’t actually hit bone. Still, it hurt. Like— like— like a bullet wound. He couldn't think of a good enough metaphor.
Yes, he was currently on drugs.
He was also currently crying on Bruce's shoulder.
"Hey, hey, chum. You're okay. I promise you're okay."
"Semi-okay," Dick piped up. "Since you still have three gunshot wounds, a black and blue face and yet another broken arm."
Tim could feel Bruce's glare though he couldn't see it.
"Sorry," Dick muttered. "Either way, you will be alright eventually. Hood didn't hurt you too much. Unlike last time," he added under his breath.
Tim broke apart from Bruce's hug and sat back on the hospital bed. Bruce still kept a hand on his shoulder as he rubbed away the tears from his eyes. "I'm okay now," Tim said hoarsely. "Thanks. It's just the pain meds."
Bruce smiled tightly and let his hand fall.
Tim exhaled and laid back on the white pillows propped up for him. "My parents are gonna freak, when they hear about the almost-kidnapping cover story."
"If they even hear about it," Dick said quietly off to the side.
"We had to explain the injuries to the media somehow." Bruce took back his place on the chair beside the bed. "You are still a public figure."
"Yeah." Just then, a long, wide and embarrassing yawn which Barbara liked to call "a kitten yawn" overtook his body and the fatigue settled over him.
"We'll leave you to rest, yeah?" Bruce suggested.
Tim nodded with bleary eyes.
The two left the room, but not before Dick fluffed up the pillows and Bruce tucked the blanket around him. Tim was too high on morphine and too tired with sleep to even protest. Despite the sleepiness, he couldn't rest. His eyes were closed, but his other senses and consciousness were wide awake and functioning. Enough to hear the conversation happening outside the slightly ajar door.
"Why would Jason even do this? Twice?!"
"He told Tim in the Tower that it was to send me a message."
"And he told him now that it was to teach you a lesson, which is it?"
"Both, I think."
A troubled huff. "This doesn't sound like him. It doesn't sound like him at all!"
"It's what Lazarus Pits do. They twist you. You might come back out healthy and better, but you come out changed. Different."
"No longer yourself."
"Precisely."
An extended silence. Then, quietly, "Is there a cure?"
Bruce didn't reply immediately. When he did, the tremor in his voice was as clear as the pain Tim was feeling.
"No."
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Tim hadn't fully healed yet. In Bruce's opinion, that is. In Tim's opinion, he was the paragon of health. In Dick's opinion, he was stupid. In Babs's opinion, he was reckless. Alfred had agreed with Babs on that one too.
But in Tim's opinion, he was awesome. And that was the only verdict that was valid.
Which was why he was dressed fully in his Robin suit and already sitting in the Batmobile when the others came down in their own gear.
"No," Bruce said immediately.
"Yes," Tim rebuffed.
"No," Dick also said.
"Yes," Tim pressed on. "Come on! Penguin? With that many goons? You won't stand a chance without me!"
"We'll manage," Bruce said gruffly, opening the car door.
"No, you won't. I've seen you try that before and you nearly died."
"And I've seen how definitely not healed those stitches are. You're not going."
Tim turned to Dick.
"I agree with him."
Tim scowled at Dick. "Well, I'm not moving." He folded his arms.
Bruce sighed. "You can do comms, Tim. Just don't go out tonight."
"Bruce. I knew what I was signing up for when I knocked on your door with evidence that you were Batman. I knew this would happen. This has happened. Multiple times! It's not like I haven't been shot before."
"Tim—"
"Is it because of Jason?"
They both halted.
Tim peered at them. "It is, isn't it? I've been let out with half-healed stitches before with enough pestering, but because it's Jason you don't want me out now."
Neither of them replied.
"I don't see how that's fair."
Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Tim, I'm not going to—"
"Wait, B." Nightwing cut him off. "What if we let him out, but with the condition that at least one of us stays with him? You know how we Robins are. He's gonna go out anyway."
Tim cast hopeful eyes at Bruce.
Bruce stared at Tim, considering, but finally gave in. "Fine. But you stay with either me or Nightwing at all times."
"Deal!" Tim crowed happily.
For the first half of the night, Robin flew with Batman across Gotham. Busting criminals, kicking rapists in the nuts and all that jazz. For the second half, he spent the night with Nightwing. Having dance-offs on rooftops and screeching song lyrics at muggers and all that oomph.
It was in the second half of the night, that something happened.
Robin was just about to nick a chocolate pretzel off Nightwing's snack bag when something nicked his neck instead.
Tim touched the side of his neck—a dart. He glanced quickly at Nightwing, who was holding an identical one. Tim blinked once and Nightwing reached out to steady him. But slipping through his gloved hands, Tim pitched forward off the roof.
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A big as fuck tsunami of pain crashed into his body along with consciousness.
Tim cried out. Or, well, he tried to. All that came was a hoarse ‘mew’.
Red Hood had managed to kidnap him right under Nightwing’s nose with tranq darts shot at both of them. Robin was the only one who was nabbed, though. He had then taken his sweet time re-breaking his bones, re-opening his stitches and adding more wounds to his already exquisite exhibition. He clocked out in the middle of Hood demonstrating strangulation techniques on him.
He laid still in the same grimy and empty alleyway where it all had happened. The slow travel of the smog and clouds above his head caused a nauseating feeling in his stomach. He couldn't puke now. He could barely move and would choke on it.
He needed to call for help. He needed to—
Beep.
Tim froze.
His thoughts immediately went to bomb??
Beep. A small red light.
Swallowing the agony and dread, Tim turned his head—the muscles in his neck protesting with the movement—with great difficulty.
A small, black device with a red button lay beside his head. Tears formed in his eyes so quickly that Bart would be jealous.
Beep.
It wasn't a bomb. It was a communication device for emergencies.
Hood didn't want him to die. He wanted Bruce to see a Robin covered in blood. Another Robin covered in blood. That was his message to Batman. His lesson.
No more Robins, Tim recalled Jason's words to him now.
Beep.
Jason hated him. He hated him because Tim stole Robin from him. He stole his name. And this was the consequence.
Was he so bad of a vigilante that his predecessor had woken up from the dead to let him know?
Beep.
The salty tears released and spilled on the floor, mingling with the red. Soon enough, he could hear Bruce and Dick's worried voices in the distance.
"We're here! This is where the tracker stops! Where is he?"
"It says around the corne—"
Beep.
Tim knew the exact moment when they found him.
The clouds parted to let a sliver of moonlight shine on the red of his suit and his blood, and Batman gasped in horror. Batman never gasped in horror.
Bee— The device switched off.
"Robin!" Dick cried out and ran forward, but Bruce got there before him.
"Nightwing, wait!" Bruce ordered. "Don't move him now in case there are any injuries to his spine. Call Leslie, Alfred and Oracle. I've already signaled the Batmobile to stop here. Tim? Can you hear me?" his voice shifted to a softer tone. "I'm here, chum. It's okay. We're going to take you somewhere safer."
Tim couldn't move his tongue. He felt numb. Out of focus. Distant.
Dissociation, he thought. That made sense.
"I don't think there are any spinal injuries. Nightwing, help me take him to the car."
As Bruce slid his hands under his knees and shoulders, Dick held his head and hand, squeezing the latter tightly.
Just before he was lifted, he gazed up at the rare clear patch of sky again and saw a streak of white shoot past.
A shooting star.
Please, please make everyone okay. Please let us be whole again. Please let Jason—
His thoughts were cut off with a scream tearing its way through his vocal cords to escape his body. Bruce lifted him up and quickly carried him to the car.
Please let Jason come back home.
Even as he made the wish, he knew. There was only one way to do that.
