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Tim woke up to the gray light of dawn streaming through his window, and eight assassins standing around his bed. Not exactly an ideal scenario, Tim thought, whipping his pillow at one of their heads and lunging for his bedside lamp. Tim's hand closed around the shaft of the lamp at the same time a hand closed around his ankle, yanking Tim back down the bed. Tim went with the motion, drawing his knee up to pull himself even closer before driving his foot into the assassin's gut. They let go.
Tim leapt to his feet.
The next assassin managed to dodge in time so that the glass lampshade shattered against their shoulder rather than their head, but it still cut a decent gouge across their collarbone. Tim jabbed the lamp backwards to catch the one coming up behind him. Then someone yanked the sheets and Tim’s feet slipped right out from under him, sending Tim crashing back on the bedspread.
A pained cry escaped Tim's lips as glass shards bit into his back.
One of the assassins grabbed Tim's free hand, and Tim swung the lamp at them on instinct. The assassin jumped out of the way, out of Tim’s line of sight, and Tim couldn’t compensate—he whiffed. A second pair of hands grabbed Tim's forearm now that it was crossed over his torso and forced it against the mattress with what felt like their full body weight. Someone tried to grab Tim's feet again, so he kicked out. Tim felt his foot hit bone—probably an arm—and felt it give with a wet crack.
Then they were two to a leg, pinning him down, and Tim bit back another cry of pain as glass dug into his left heel.
"Finally," one of the assassins grumbled.
"Cowards," Tim spat, writhing against their grip even though the sheets were sticky with blood and every movement drove the shards deeper into Tim's skin. "Half a dozen of you can't take down one kid? Let me up, see how you do in a fair fight!"
"There's no such thing as 'fair,' Robin," the assassin said. Tim gulped. "There is winning & there is losing. This is you losing."
(Mrs. Mac was at the other end of the house. Tim's dad had decided to spend the night with Dana. There was no one else close enough to hear Tim scream. But Dick did keep complaining about Bruce planting listening devices around Dick's apartment whenever Bruce came over, so maybe there was a chance... )
"HELP!" Tim yelled as loud as he possibly could. A couple assassins actually jumped, like they weren't expecting that. "BRUCE! BATMAN! DAD! ANYONE, HELP! THEY'RE KIDNAPPING—"
Someone leapt on top of Tim, driving one knee into his gut and forcing the air from his lungs. A large hand covered Tim's mouth, shoving his head back into the mattress. Glass cut into Tim's ear and the side of his neck.
"Shut up!" the assassin hissed. They held one hand out to the first assassin, who put a syringe in it. The assassin straddling Tim leaned close enough he could smell their breath as they slid the needle into his neck. "You're lucky our lady wants you alive & whole, little bird. Normally, that move would cost you your tongue."
Numbness rushed up Tim's neck and through his face. The assassin shifted back, lifting their hand.
Tim slammed his forehead against theirs, knocking them off-balance.
"Oh yeah, real shame," Tim said, forcing a smirk—or tried to, his mouth wasn't really responding right. "But who would critique your style if I... if I... i-if..."
Tim didn't know if he ever finished his sentence. He didn't have a lot of confidence that he had, but he hoped the message got across anyway.
~ ~ ~
Tim remembered fragments of the journey—his ears popping & the sound of jet engines, someone cinching the bindings on his wrists tight enough to hurt, being thrown over a shoulder with the bone pressing painfully on Tim's poor bruised stomach, the needle coming closer or pressing into Tim's neck (two different occurrences, Tim was pretty sure)—but when Tim finally woke up again, he was in darkness. Sitting against a cold stone wall, with Tim's hands bound back above his head. Tim had already been there long enough that there was a crick in his neck & Tim could feel his shoulders trembling with the strain, despite not holding anything but their own weight. Someone had forced a cloth gag between Tim's teeth. Tim's jaw ached, and his mouth tasted suspiciously metallic.
Tim rolled his neck with a wince and tried to take stock of his situation. Civilian kidnapping by a group who knew his identity: bad. Drugged with an unknown chemical with unknown side effects: bad. Unarmed & injured in an unknown location, at least a plane ride away from Gotham: very bad. Bruce wasn't expecting to see Tim until the weekend and may not even have heard Tim yell for help: truly, unspeakably bad.
Could still feel & wiggle his fingers, so blood flow was not actually cut off at some point while Tim was out of it: good!
Silver linings, Tim thought to himself, wiggling them again for good measure. He was becoming increasingly aware that several of the cuts in his back still had glass wedged in them, which was not only bad but liable to get much, much worse if Tim didn't get proper treatment or moved wrong—but Tim didn't want to think about that. He focused on feeling around the thing his hands were tied to, trying to figure out the best way to slip free of it. It would be a lot easier to get out of the ropes if Tim wasn't trying to do it blind & backwards.
It felt like a hook. Good! A hook meant Tim just had to lift himself off of it. It also meant Tim was in some sort of seriously old-school torture dungeon, probably, but one thing at a time. Tim wrapped his fingers around the hook and started pulling his legs in under him.
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!
Tim's shoulders were shaking even harder, every twitch sending searing pain through his arms & back. His left leg still had a good sized shard lodged in the calf, and flexing it felt like it was stabbing even deeper into Tim's leg. Maybe it was, maybe Tim's muscles were just pulling the glass into his flesh, maybe he'd need surgery to get it out—
One thing at a time, Tim reminded himself. He got his right leg under him at least, and it seemed like it might hold his weight. Now, time to push up...
Tim had to stretch up on his tip-toes to feel the point of the hook—seriously, the thing was bigger than Tim's head, who made this?—and was in the process of coming to terms with the fact he was going to have to pull himself higher with his hands to get the rope over the edge, when the door opened.
Light stabbed into Tim's eyes and he flinched, regretting it instantly when he slid down the hook and the wall pressed hard against his back. A woman's voice said something in a language Tim didn't understand. Tim tried to peek through his lashes as light footsteps drew closer, a pair of heels clicking against the stone floor.
A single finger slid under Tim's chin, lifting it up until he could meet a pair of bright, unnaturally green eyes.
"Timothy Drake," Talia al Ghul said slowly, looking him up & down. Tim felt the illogical impulse to cover himself, despite still wearing the sweats & shirt he went to bed in.
"Talia," Tim acknowledged, muffled as it was, and curling his lip in case his tone didn't make it through the gag.
The word, at least, was apparently understandable, as Talia smiled coldly. "They did say you were clever."
"Dick said that you're a bitch," Tim said through the gag.
The smile dropped. "Apparently, not clever enough." Her eyes flicked to the hook, then back to Tim. She drew her finger back and wiped her hand on her dress. "Ubu, the needle please."
Tim jerked back against the wall as the absolute mountain of a man standing by the door behind Talia stepped forward. Ow. "No thanks, I've had enough."
"Don't worry," Talia told Tim, moving out of the way so Ubu could get closer. "It's not even a proper sedative. I do need you awake for this."
"Don't touch me!" Tim snarled, but either they couldn't understand him or (more likely) neither of them cared. Ubu pinned Tim to the wall with one hand, pressing him back firmly (OW OW OW) and stuck the needle right into one of the cuts on the side of Tim's neck. Tim whined, unable to fully choke down the noise, as the needle shoved into his wound.
A bubble of fuzziness blossomed at the back of Tim's brain almost instantly. Tim shook his head, knowing it wouldn't do anything. He needed to—to focus, grab onto something solid. Talia was watching Tim the way Bruce watched a centrifuge which wasn't working fast enough. The door was too far, and there were shadows of more people out in the hall. Tim was—wait, why was Tim’s shirt white? Tim had gone to sleep in a gray t-shirt, hadn't he? Had someone changed Tim's clothes while Tim was unconscious?! Oh, he didn't like that...
"Good," Talia said, turning away and striding out of the room. "Bring him with you. Let's see if he can walk."
"I have glass in my foot," Tim tried to say, but Ubu didn’t react. Ubu simply lifted Tim off of the hook like Tim was a bag of laundry before wrapping one huge hand around both of Tim's wrists and pulling.
Tim had a split second to make a decision, and simultaneously chose not further messing up his foot, hopefully making them underestimate him, and pure, unadulterated spite. So after taking one single shaky step, Tim let his knees go wobbly and slumped forwards. He was caught by an assassin on either side and ended up half-carried through the base, but still. It was the principle of the thing.
~ ~ ~
There was not a single window or person in the halls between Tim's cell and the room they dragged him to. There were enough branching paths to tell Tim this base was practically a warren, and Tim hoped his brain wasn't so drugged that he'd forget which ways they'd been.
The doors before them swung open, Ubu stepped out of the way, and the assassins holding Tim up all but threw him through the door ahead of Talia. Tim fumbled his fall and ended up cracking both knees against the stone before tipping sideways onto his arm, driving a wedge of glass into his bicep and ripping open several scabs all across Tim's torso. Tim pressed his forehead against the cool stone floor and blinked back the tears prickling at his eyes. He would not let Talia see him cry.
"Good morning, Jason," Talia said. Tim started to push himself up on his elbows to look when a hand grabbed Tim's hair and hauled him back to his knees. A noise slipped out before Tim could stop it, but he was up, he could look, he could figure out what Talia—
There was another boy in the room.
Tim blinked.
Another boy, broad shouldered, taller than Tim even when they were both kneeling. Flanked on either side with more guards behind him, hands on the boy’s shoulders like they were holding him in place. Shaggy dark curls, freckles, and a scar splitting his lip. Talia cupped the boy's chin with both hands like he was something precious, something she loved, and something about it made Tim's skin crawl.
"What do you want?" the boy snarled, Gotham accent thick in his voice, and Tim's jaw dropped. (Fortunately, Tim was saved from looking stupid by the lesser indignity of being gagged.)
(Jason. Talia called him Jason. And that—that could be Jason, if Jason hadn't died. If Jason had gotten to grow up for three more years of Bruce's training regime & Alfred's cooking. If Jason had hit a growth spurt, shot up about a foot, and forgot to get a haircut—)
"Are you angry with me, Jason?" Talia asked, almost playfully.
(No, hang on. Talia was fucking with Tim—or Jason?—one of them had been brought here to screw with their heads. What the goal was, Tim had no idea, but he couldn't let hope get the better of him. Bruce wouldn't have made such a huge mistake, not with Jason, so Jason can't possibly still be alive—)
"You're a fucking—" Jason spat directly in Talia's face without finishing his sentence. Tim nearly laughed. Talia recoiled. One of the guards backhanded Jason so hard that the only thing keeping him from hitting the ground were the two assassins holding his shoulders.
Talia wiped her face on her sleeve as Jason pulled himself back up. He was smirking. "You missed a little," Jason said.
Tim would recognize that smile anywhere. Tim would recognize that tone anywhere.
Robin.
(Robin was alive. Somehow, against all logic, Robin was alive. Jason was alive, and Talia had hidden him, and—)
Talia's hand cracked across Jason's face, not so much a slap as a scratch. Her nails ripped open Jason's check, leaving bloody trails in their wake. Jason's head whipped in the other direction, and for a single second, his eyes met Tim's.
Bright, unnatural green.
"There," Talia said, colder than the arctic. "I think I got it."
Jason looked up, solemnly assessed her face, then smiled again. "A little to the left."
"You test your luck, Jason," Talia said.
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Luck isn't really what I'd call this, bitch." His eyes slid past Talia to meet Tim's. Something in Jason's face changed, his too-green eyes softening slightly, his smile shifting into something conspiratorial. Like they were both in on a secret joke that Jason was fighting not to give away. Like all Talia's bluster couldn't possibly hurt either of them, because Jason was the one in control. Like there was nothing Tim had to worry about, because Robin was right there looking out for Tim.
(How could Tim ever have doubted him?)
Tim was maybe more drugged than he realized, because he didn't even notice Talia had a dagger until it was slicing across Tim's chest.
"What the fuck—" Jason lunged forwards, eyes flashing, only to be forced back down by the guards holding his shoulders. Talia lifted her dagger until the tip rested directly over Tim's pulse without even looking at Tim.
"Try me again," Talia said, "and you will learn why your father has kept his distance from the League of Shadows."
(Out of the corner of Tim's eye, he watched the front of his shirt go from white to red. Oh, Tim thought, that's what the shirt was for. I guess gray didn't make enough of a point.)
Jason's eyes flickered from the dagger to Tim to Talia. A muscle in Jason's jaw twitched as he very deliberately sat back on his heels.
"Fine," Jason growled. "What do you want?"
Talia stepped away, sheathing her dagger. “I merely wanted to introduce you,” she said, curling her unbloodied fingers under Jason's chin, “to your successor, Robin.”
What?
Jason blinked. Confusion settled across his face as he looked at Tim, then back to Talia. Talia's smile only widened.
"What? You thought Bruce hadn't replaced you?" Talia laughed. "Did you think he even waited for your body to be cold before he was picking out the next child to shove into your costume? Did you think you were special?"
(No, that—that wasn't how it went at all! Bruce hadn't wanted a new Robin, Bruce didn't even want an older Robin! Tim tried, he'd tried over & over, but Dick & Bruce wouldn't listen to him, so Tim had to—but Tim hadn't, because Jason was alive, they could've gotten him back—except none of them knew that, and Bruce would've destroyed himself if someone wasn't—)
Jason blinked again. His brow furrowed. The green in his eyes looked brighter somehow. Jason shook his head.
(Tim tried to shake his own, but he was being held up by his hair. Tim tried to say "No," tried to say, "Don't listen," tried to say, "She's lying to you," but there was a gag in his mouth. Tim tried to sign a warning, but his hands were bound. Tim's eyes burned as he realized he'd been brought as a prop for Talia's argument, and there was nothing Tim could do about it.)
"Don't believe me?" Talia snapped her fingers. Jason was shoved forwards, catching himself on his hands, and a folder was flung down in front of him. Papers spilled out of it, photographs & newspaper articles. Tim even recognized some of them, secretly clipped for his own collection after he premiered.
Jason picked one up with trembling fingers and stared at it. After a long moment, he dropped it and picked up another. After another moment, Jason tossed it aside and grabbed the whole folder, ripping it open and flipping through each & every document, a mixture of horror & wrath spreading across his face. The green in his eyes kept rising, bordering on luminescent, the sort of bright, poisonous color you don't normally see outside of chemical plants.
(Talia wanted Jason angry. The al Ghuls did not have naturally green eyes. To bring someone back from the dead would surely need a near unheard of level exposure to a Lazarus Pit. Tim had read about pit madness—)
Tim wrenched forwards, twisting with all the strength in his body, and apparently caught his assassin by surprise enough to actually get free. Tim fell, banging his head on the floor, but that was fine, he didn't need his head. Tim needed to drag his hands (fighting his screaming shoulders & uncooperative muscles for every inch of it) to his face, needed to scrabble at the gag, needed to get it off—
A foot was planted squarely on the middle of Tim's back, and Tim screamed. For a second, Tim couldn't think around the shards ripping through his skin, cutting into his muscles, grinding against his bones—but. Tim was well trained enough to fight through it. To dig his fingers into the gag instead of going lax, to pull it out from between his teeth and try to get it over his lip—
Something pinned both Tim's shoulders. Hands grabbed Tim's elbows, Tim's wrists, and wrenched them away from Tim's face. Tim held on for as long as he could, the gag cutting into his fingers, but Tim could feel his strength draining, feel his fingers slipping.
"No!" Tim cried, as clearly as he had all day, "No, no, no, no, no—"
"Leave him alone." Jason's voice cut across the room like a knife.
Everything stopped.
Everyone turned.
Jason was standing, unhindered, the folder clutched in one white-knuckled fist. He was glaring at them, eyes blazing with righteous fury. Weight forward, jaw set, shoulders straight—braced for a fight, and wow, Tim knew he currently had a floor’s eye view, but Jason looked even bigger now that he was on his feet. He had to be at least as tall as Bruce, maybe taller.
(Even with the odd cast Jason's new eyes gave his face, even with the new height, he had the same snarl on his face he'd always wore when fighting pimps or traffickers.)
"Don't hurt him," Jason said, all danger & steely Robin confidence. Tim's breath caught in his throat, heart too big for his chest, mind stumbling as he realized what was happening. (Jason had to have a plan, and Tim would help all he could, and then they could get out of here together, and Tim would take Jason home, and Dick & Bruce would be so happy—)
Jason turned away from Tim.
"That's my job," Jason told Talia.
Tim's heart shattered. The strength drained from Tim's limbs, hope & adrenaline leaving him and taking all his energy with them. Jason was, was still talking to Talia, something about a duel—a duel? Tim couldn't fight a duel, Tim couldn't even walk, wasn't that obvious?
"Robin," Tim whispered, stretching his fingers out towards Jason. "Robin, please."
Jason didn't look at him. "He’s going to pay. You give him food, medical attention, and sleep, and tomorrow I will prove that I am the better Robin."
Talia was smiling. Because—because this was what she wanted. She wanted Jason angry, she wanted him mad. But Jason was Robin, and Robin was magic, and Jason had spent three years talking back & not giving in to a force that most minds buckled under and never recovered. She must've tried so many things to bait that anger, Tim realized. There was no surprise when they’d entered the room, Jason knew what he was there for. They had a routine. This wasn't the first time Jason had sat here while Talia threw someone down and listed their crimes—who knew what kind of scum had lain on this floor in an attempt to make Jason lose control? Talia certainly had access to the worst of the worst. Since she'd clearly kept trying, it clearly never worked.
Until Tim.
(Tim, who stole Jason's suit. Jason's family. Jason's name. Tim, who never corrected people who assumed he was the same Robin who disappeared in spring. Tim, who never wanted to take his place, but who loved being Robin and who never felt like he had to apologize for what he’d done. Tim, who had anchored Dick & Bruce so firmly in Gotham that they never noticed Jason was still alive.
Tim, who only wanted to help.)
The guards dragged Tim back to his feet. Jason glanced over, eyes cold, face unreadable. Tim flinched.
Jason looked away.
Jason Todd held out for three years against the Pit boiling in his blood. Held out alone, isolated, against everything Talia threw at him. And Tim had broken him without saying a word.
(Tim wondered if they'd take the gag off before Jason killed him. Somehow, Tim didn't think he had any words that could change Jason's mind.)