Chapter Text
Bruce didn't want him on the rescue mission. He hadn't wanted any of them on the rescue mission but he'd been especially displeased by Dick and Jason. Jason, for the obvious reasons and Dick for his track record of nearly obliterating anyone that touches his family. He killed the Joker once, in Tim's defense; Bruce doesn't trust him not to do it again. Honestly, Dick doesn't trust himself, either, but that's far from his mind after the tape.
It'd come to them in the mail, hand delivered to Wayne Manor's mailbox in a seemingly innocuous brown box with a postage stamp that didn't make any sense and a sticky note with a little smiley face on the front. They'd run it through all the machines in the cave before finally opening it up to find the pieces of Tim's cut up Red Robin suit alongside a Polaroid of Tim mask-less and a thumb drive with a single video on it.
Dick can still see the way Tim had listed on the rusty coroners table, skin bruised and lacerated in all the places his clothes didn't cover. He'd looked so small in all the leather straps. Like he was bird boned and too rough a touch would make him snap.
Worst of all, though, was the way something had squealed off camera seconds before Tim had erupted into the most gut wrenching screams Dick had ever heard. He's seen a lot of messed up stuff, things that continue to haunt his nightmares; none of it has made him as violently sick as he was that day in the cave, bent double and dry heaving into the dark as he listened to Tim and his daemon scream.
He hadn't been the only one effected that day. They were all thirsting for the Joker's blood after that, desperate to find Tim and Thanh before even more damage could be done.
It was low to target someone's soul but that had never stopped the Joker.
They all had training in soul torture, especially after Jason's death, but the fact of the matter was there was a limit to what a soul could take and come back from; that's what made crimes against them so serious. Pretty much everyone could agree that harming another's soul was one of the worst things a person could do. It was also the most effective way to control someone.
The worst cases Dick has ever seen have included people forcefully separated from their daemons and kept in line through the threat of harm upon their soul. Human trafficking rings in particular tend to favor the practice. Like hell is Dick letting that happen to Tim, though.
It's bad enough Thanh came back from their time abroad with a scar down her side. Soul wounds are nasty, painful things—far more painful than any flesh wound. They all have at least one, doing what they do, but a part of Dick howls whenever he sees the evidence of Tim's pain written on his soul for all to see.
He failed his baby bird once. He's not planning on doing it again, no matter what Bruce thinks.
In the end, he won't be able to remember how many Joker goons he takes down on his way into the abandoned maintenance tunnel. He won't remember the screams as he breaks bone and leaves crumpled bodies in his wake. He won't remember the flashing lights and neon paint splattered onto the walls in dozens of smiling faces. He won't remember the gunshot, or Harley's scream, or the brain matter on the floor.
There is only Tim, clutching a gun to his temple and trying to pull the trigger on a now empty chamber, tear tracks on his painted face.
Everything slows.
"Tim," Dick, no longer Nightwing, whispers, hands held out, reaching but not quite touching, not yet. "Oh, little bird, what have they done to you?"
Tim stares at him without really seeing him. He's giggling in between sobbing breaths, finger still pressing down on the trigger again and again.
"Nightwing," Kisaiya hisses urgently, "Thahn isn't here."
"Find her."
She disappears from his side, leaving only a dull ache behind the further away she grows.
He inches towards Tim slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. "Come on, baby bird, I need you to put the gun down."
"Bang," Tim gasp-giggle-sobs. "Bang, bang, bang—"
Dick wraps his arms around him.
He's still for a few moments before a shudder starts from the shoulders and works its way down. A cry rips itself free from his throat as he pushes against Dick's chest, scrabbling at the Nightwing suit with jagged nails. The gun drops to the ground as Tim's knees give out.
Dick lowers them both gently to the floor, where he can pull Tim into his lap and rock slowly. His hands move over his back, feeling for wounds, for anything that will need urgent medical attention. The cuts on his face certainly will. They're bleeding onto Dick's suit even now.
Harley goes down without much fuss, alongside her hyena, as Batman crouches beside the Joker's body, mouth pressed down into a grim line.
"Is he—?" Spoiler starts.
"Deceased," Batman says.
Red Hood kicks at one of the downed goons. "Good."
Dick can't help but agree.
Black Bat and Robin close rank around Nightwing. BB tips her head to the side as she examines Tim. "Thahn?"
"Kisaiya went looking," Nightwing tells her.
"She found her," Oracle says over their coms. Her voice is grim, even through the distortion masking her identity. "She's in a cage. Assistance needed."
"Heard." Hood responds. "Lead the way."
Much as Dick wants to go, he knows that Hood is one of the best when it comes to comforting scared and injured souls. Besides, he has the pressing task of getting Tim out of this nightmare and somewhere safe. Somewhere where Batman isn't staring down at him with a contemplative frown.
"Don't look at him like that," Nightwing snarls. His arms tighten around Tim, pulling him closer in an attempt to shield him further from view. "Don't you dare."
Something like regret passes over Bruce's—not Batman's—face. "Agent A is bringing the car around. Take him to the cave. I will stay and assess the scene with Spoiler, Robin and Black Bat. Take Hood with you."
He nods.
Tim has always been light in his arms, but he feels especially so now as Dick stands with him cradled in his arms. Tim is still shaking with silent sobs, face tucked into Dick's neck. His hair is a tangled, dirty mess of haphazard dye. There are chunks missing in odd places, like someone hacked at it with scissors before giving up. Dick breathes through his fury and focuses on getting Tim above ground and far away from this place.
There's a moment, as he's carrying him to the car, where Tim seizes and Dick worries about nerve damage; where he thinks the Joker should have died screaming—and then Tim falls still with a little whimper and Jason's voice comes through without the hood, a bit on the wrong side of rough:
"You burn his body, B. Ya hear me? You burn his body and ya do this right, cause' fuck—" there's a sound that could be a wretch, or a sob, that has Kisaiya's head shooting up and Dick's instincts on alert. "Promise me right now, B. Promise ya'll make sure no one can ever bring that fuck back again."
There's silence for a few long moments. The Batmobile's side door swings open to let Nightwing slide inside, his cargo still in his arms.
Finally, Bruce's voice comes through: "I promise."
Kisaiya doesn't get in right away. She stands statue still by the door, watching the sewer entrance for Hood. He's sans hood and jacket when he appears, both of which are cradled in his arms. Makari doesn't look happy. She's pressed up against Jason's leg, fur standing on end. She barely lets him sit down in the passenger seat before she's jumping in to take up the rest of the leg room.
"Where's Thahn?" Kisaiya demands.
The Batmobile roars to life as Jason twists to let them better see the bundle in his arms. He lifts the jacket up a bit and two big eyes stare out at them. Thahn hisses at them all, muzzle matted over with dried blood.
"She wouldn't come outta the cage at first," Jason explains, "not 'til I took off my helmet and shut off the voice. Makari eventually convinced her into the hood."
"You took the explosives out, right?"
"Yes," he rolls his eyes, "I did."
Kisaiya chirps at Thahn; Thahn stops hissing to blink suspiciously. It would be adorable if the circumstances were different.
"She's got stuff in her," Jason says quietly.
"Stuff?" Dick echoes.
Makari's growl rumbles through the car. She hardly ever talks, after the Joker and the Pit, but the vocalization says enough.
"Wires, I think. I couldn't get a good look but—she's got a collar on."
It takes genuine effort for neither of the big cats to scream their outrage and grief. Dick has to consciously loosen his grip on Tim, who hasn't stirred once.
"Sedation isn't going to go well," Dick says quietly.
"We might not have a choice."
Jason drops his jacket back over Thahn as they wait for the car to arrive back at the Cave, where Leslie and Zatanna are already waiting for them. It pains Dick to lay Tim out on a gurney but he has to be treated. He trades a look with Kisaiya and she trots after Leslie and Alfred while he follows Jason and Zatanna.
"She's hurt but I don't know how we're gonna get 'er out without knockin' 'er out," Jason is telling Z. "She hasn't talked either."
"She's probably still in shock. Especially if she's been handled against her will." Zatanna bends to peer under a corner of the jacket and is met with a furious hiss. "Keeping her close to Tim will help but those wires need to come out. Soul wounds are nasty on their own but without removing what's causing it it's just making the soul expend the energy it needs to recover."
"What happens if there's not enough energy left?" Dick says quietly.
Zatanna's eyes flick down to Makari, who hasn't looked away from Thahn once. "It depends on the soul. It warps things. They could lose their voice or even their form. In worst cases they return to the host, but if the host isn't in a state to receive them… people don't last long, after that."
"So we remove the wires," Jason says grimly.
"So we remove the wires," she agrees.
They all turn to stare at Thahn.
"Can I—" Dick swallows, as he reaches up to work his domino off his face. "Can I try? I've known Thahn since before she settled. I might be able to talk her down."
"You can try." Zatanna inclines her head and Jason and Makari leave the curtained off portion of the infirmary. Zephrial, her macaw, fixes him with one large eye from his perch on her shoulder.
"Hurt things hurt others," he warns.
Dick flashes them both a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'll call if I need anything."
The curtain swishes shut behind them, leaving Dick and Thahn as alone as they can be, all things considered.
"Hey," he says softly, as he kneels beside the hospital bed. He hooks a finger under the jacket and flips it up, enough that her head is exposed. She snaps her teeth at him and huddles further back into the helmet.
She's so small, even with her fur puffed up to make her look bigger. Thahn has always been on the smaller side, but she'd been at a relatively healthy weight for a female raccoon of her size the last time he'd seen her in person. Now she's skin and bones.
There are clumps of fur missing from her body, like someone took a buzzer to her and she fought them all the way. Her hair is uneven and choppy, with parts of her skin shaved bald. It looks like someone smeared stage makeup on her at some point, and there's blood matted into her fur. One of her ears is missing a chunk out of it and her claws look like someone tried to paint them. There's a thick collar around her throat made out of looping metal with spikes he can see biting into her neck. It's rubbed her raw. The wires he can see stick out of her head, near her ears. They're barbed and have clearly cut her paws up from when she tried to remove them herself.
Dick's throat threatens to close up.
"Hey," he chokes out again, "hey, I'm not going to hurt you. Do you—do you remember me? You turned into a bird the first time I took Tim up on the trapeze. A little sparrow. You used to hide B's socks in his office chair and no one realized what was happening until you showed up as a ferret for family dinner and Alfred put together the pieces. You raced Kisaiya once, and you said it was like flying."
He doesn't realize he's crying until a snout touches his wet cheek. There's a soft snuffle and then a chitter. Dick blinks his vision clear and stares up into Thahn's kind eyes.
"Sad," she says slowly, like it's a great labor. She lifts a paw to pat gently at his cheek; one of her toes sits at the wrong angle. "…Me?"
"I'm sad for you," he agrees.
"Help… me?"
"Yeah," he whispers, "yeah, I'm gonna help you, joli fille. Let's start with that collar, okay?"
She holds still as he finds the clasp, even though he knows it's got to hurt. Fresh blood stains her fur as he pulls it out of where it's been embedded into her skin in some places. He sets it aside on the side table even though he really wants to throw it as hard and as far as he can. He pulls his gloves off and examines the places the wires have been shoved into her head. He quickly realizes that whoever did it made two wounds, one for the wire's entry and one for its exit. They pulled the rest of it through and then twisted the pieces together like some fucked up antennae.
She whimpers when he finds a pair of pliers to cut her free. He comforts her with gentle words and the soft hum of a lullaby his Da used to sing. The wires join the collar. From there, he pauses.
"There are other people here to help you. I need them to come in to look, okay?"
Thahn blinks tiredly. She hasn't stopped shaking; he's not sure if it's the chill, the shock or both.
She doesn't say anything, so he calls out for Jason and Zatanna. They both walk in slowly. Makari rumbles at the sight of Thahn out of the hood but does not leave Jason's side.
Zephrial flies off Zatanna's shoulder to perch on one of the cabinets, where he can watch everything with a critical eye. Zatanna bends to smile gently at Thahn. "Hello, little one, may I touch you?"
"You can say no," Dick says, when Thahn stares at her, even though he knows this will go easier if they don't ask.
"You can," she agrees.
Thahn glances at Dick. "…Him."
"I don't have magic," he tells her, silently cursing himself for the fact.
"I can help without touching, it just won't be as potent." Zatanna glances back at Jason. "You'll need to treat the wounds like you would your own, for now."
The silent order is clear. Jason moves to start pulling out bandages and disinfectant. Dick pulls another pair of gloves on and preps some lidocaine.
"This will help with the pain," he tells her, before he starts numbing the wounds on her head. They need stitches and cleaning but he can't get access to everything with all the fur in the way. He hates to do it, but he has to shave her down to do this properly.
She doesn't complain; just sits there slumped over, eyes just barely open as he does his best to be gentle. Jason helps hand him things while Zatanna weaves magic into the air to help ease some of the healing. What Thahn really needs is a bath, but that's going to have to wait for now. He does his best to clean off the worst of the grime with a wet towel.
He stitches up the deepest wounds, treats her neck and sets her broken toes into a cast. By the time he's done, she's more bandages than skin and swaddled up in one of the hospital blankets Alfred keeps stocked.
Zatanna takes her leave with a tired smile and a request to call her if anything takes a turn, leaving Dick and Jason alone.
"Should bring 'er over, right?" Jason says, glancing down at Makari. "Bein' close usually helps healing."
"Yeah, you're right." Dick scoops Thahn up like she's glass, oh so careful not to jostle. He doesn't have to worry about touching her when she's wrapped up in the blanket which makes things easier.
The four of them make their way over to the other side of the med bay, where Bruce has arrived to go over rest results with Dr. Thompkins. Neither of them look very happy.
"Hey, Doc," Jason says, "is he going to be okay?"
"He'll live," comes the grim answer, "he's in for some nasty withdrawal but he'll sleep through most of it, with the fever. How's Thahn?"
"Z said she's okay, just has to heal now." Dick glances towards the curtain. "Can we go in?"
"Go ahead."
Jason holds the curtain open for Dick to step through. On the bed, Tim lays still and silent. He's just as much of a bandaged mess as Thahn; especially his face. Dick can just barely see his eyes through it all, closed in forced rest. Kisaiya is laid out on the bed beside him, head on her paws as she watches his chest rise and fall. Dick rounds the bed and lowers Thahn down beside him.
Contact is important, especially after being separated, so he shifts Tim's hand to rest against her exposed skin. Except, instead of settling, Thahn whines and Tim cries out in his sleep.
The others rush in at the noise.
"What happened?" Bruce demands.
"I don't know!" Dick's hands flutter in the air above the two. "I just moved his hand to touch her!"
"Hurts!" Thahn cries.
"Remove her," Dr. Thompkins says, rushing to check Tim's vitals.
Dick scoops Thahn back up into his arms and backs away, shaken and unsure of what to do. Tim is distressed now, even asleep. His brow is furrowed as his hands twitch against the mattress.
"What's goin' on?" Jason asks.
"Soul rejection," she says grimly.
Dick sucks in a sharp breath. His arms tighten around Thahn, who is back to shaking like she's going to come apart at the seams.
"She was used against him," Mara murmurs, from her perch in the shadows. Her eyes are big and luminous as she peers out from behind her wings, clawed toes keeping her steady as she hangs upside down. "It's a common torture technique."
Jason buries a hand in the thick fur of Makari's neck. "You think he sees 'er as a threat?"
"It's possible," Dr. Thompkins says. "Either way, he's unstable. He needs a soul tether."
Bruce and Mara exchange a silent look. Jason crouches to throw an arm around Makari who leans into his side with a low rumble. Alfred, who heard the tail end of the conversation and appears with a tray of drinks, is as silent as Iselda at his feet.
"Maybe Steph or Cass," Jason starts cautiously.
"I'm his father," Bruce argues, "I'm the one that failed him—"
"Perhaps we should let Master Tim decide," Alfred suggests.
It all goes in one ear and out the other. Dick can't make his mouth move to join in on the conversation, he can only look at Tim's tortured face and feel the way Thahn trembles. Kisaiya looks back at him; her eye markings make her appear as if she's weeping. There's something in her expression that he can't quite parse, a steadiness that he doesn't feel.
The bed doesn't so much as creak as she unfolds from where she lays. Her long legs step carefully around Tim's body as she moves further up the bed. She hooks a paw in the blanket tucked up around him, pulling it down on one side before oh so carefully lowering herself into the space between his arm and side. Tim isn't wearing a shirt which means they're skin to fur almost instantly.
Dick sucks in a sharp breath as he feels the touch resonate in his soul. As affectionate as he is, Kisaiya is different. She's only ever allowed a select few pets from certain people. This is entirely different. There's a warmth in him that he can't describe. A feeling of rightness as he settles into the sensation.
On the bed, Tim starts to calm. Everyone falls silent as his fingers twitch to curl ever so slightly into Kisaiya's fur. She rests her head on his chest and licks his chin as a purr rumbles up from her chest.
Well, that's as good a confirmation as anything really.
Dick shifts the bundle in his arms. He balances her on one arm and cradles her to his chest like a baby. There's a sharp gasp the first time her furry face presses against his neck and then she's all but scrambling to get out of the blanket to press the rest of her body up against him. He helps her, making soft soothing sounds as she snuffles wetly at the join of his shoulder.
"Well," Dr. Thompkins drawls, "that settles that, then."
Dick ignores the way Jason is looking at him like he's insane. He ignores the way Bruce is eyeing him like a puzzle that needs to be solved. He even ignores Alfred, who is looking at him without something like pride on his face.
"What do we have to do?" he asks.
"Contact is going to be the most important factor. They were separated, which has made their soul bond weak. I'm not an expert on broken bonds but I'm sure you'll be able to get someone to look at him," she looks meaningfully to Bruce, who grunts. "In the meantime, he's accepted Kisaiya and Thahn has accepted you. It's not uncommon for people to trade daemons during traumatic events, though it usually happens between parents and children, or significant others. When the soul is repaired, Tim should accept Thahn once more. Until then, you just need to act as support. Stay close and watch for any significant changes."
"Okay." Dick runs a hand down Thahn's back, aware of how easily he can feel each notch of her spine. "I'll take the spare cot."
Alfred inclines his head. "I'll get it ready."
"Right." Dr. Thompkins gives a long stretch. Her posture finally relaxes, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Her capuchin, Arbor, climbs up her arm to perch on her shoulder.
"Food and rest," he demands.
"Yes, alright."
"Thank you," Bruce says, as he follows her out of the room. Mara flies after him. "I appreciate what you've done."
"Keep me posted. I'll have my cell on, in case there's an emergency."
Their voices trail off as they move further away, leaving Jason free to round on Dick.
"What the fuck?" He hisses. "What're ya doin'?"
"I don't know!" Dick hisses back. "I'm just trying to help!"
"The last thing Tim needs right now is t' be fucked up about feelin's on top of everythin' else!"
"You think I don't know that? I'm aware that our relationship isn't the greatest right now, but do you really think he'd do better with Mara?"
"Steph or Cass—"
"Senka and Apolline might have been able to do it but you're forgetting the fact that Thahn won't let anyone else touch her." Dick sweeps his hand down Thahn's back again, almost unconsciously. She's stopped shaking and appears to be asleep, judging by her soft breaths. "If Tim wakes up and hates it that much, we can try something different but until then I'm not going to argue. You saw them, little wing. This is their best chance."
Jason's shoulders slump. He looks over at Tim and Kisaiya. "Fuck," he mutters. "This sucks."
"Yeah," Dick says. "It really does."
"That fucker's dead though. He—he's really dead." He runs a shaking hand through his hair. Makari leans against his side and growls low in her chest. "I owe Tim dinner for a month for that alone."
"Just a month?" His smile falls flat but Jason doesn't call him out on it.
"If I let him milk it he'll have me cooking all his meals for the rest of his life."
"I'm sure he'd give you an excellent insurance package."
Jason snorts. "You think?"
"Better than what you have now, anyways." Dick glances down at Thahn and considers himself. He's still half in his suit and filthy. He needs to shower but he's hesitant to set her down.
"Will you sit with her while I shower?" he asks.
"Yeah, sure."
They leave the med bay behind to head for the lockers. Bruce and Leslie are already gone, back to reconvene with the others and to go home.
Dick lays a towel down on the floor and sets Thahn down. She grumbles quietly but doesn't wake. When he steps away, Makari curls around her with a soft purr. It eases his anxiety enough for him to scrub himself down properly. He emerges to find Jason has stripped down to his under shirt and pants, ready for his own shower.
Makari cracks open an eye and uncurls from around Thahn. Dick scoops her back up into his arms. He takes her to the med bay, where Alfred has finished setting up his bed. He flashes a grateful smile and collapses into it.
A protein bar is pushed into his hand alongside a water bottle. He downs them both in a tired haze before curling up under the blankets.
He's out in moments.