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"I like the new threads. You and D coordinate this whole switch-up?"
Tim snorted. "Less coordination and more…" He moved his head from side to side, considering his words, "D changed his colors to recommit to the mantle and…" He shrugged. "I wore those colors plenty. Robin is still right for me right now, but the traffic light is his."
Dick hummed at that.
Tim was certain his brother was contemplating pushing the Robin issue again. After all, the only reason Tim had become Red Robin in the first place was because Dick had wanted him to move on. Saw him as an equal, not a sidekick. But the two of them had never fully agreed on what Robin was. To Dick, the mantle was training wheels; it had an age limit. To Tim… well, to Tim, it was a symbol of hope and justice. A mantle that stood on its own as much as it did beside Batman. Slipping back into it when Batman needed him had been second nature. Slipping out of it… that would take a lot more than one of Dick Grayson's famous speeches.
Oracle's familiar voice sounded over the comms: "Nightwing. Robin. I've got you east of sewage treatment? There are reports of a disturbance over at St. Bernadine's Church."
"Watching Blüd, Gotham, and running the Birds, when do you sleep?" Tim laughed.
"Don't ask questions you know the answer to, Boy Wonder."
"We're probably five minutes out from St. Bernadine's. Details?" Dick was all business, all bits of levity dissolved.
"Seems like a rally was underway. They were live-streaming it. There was some sort of commotion, then the whole place went dark. My guess is a local EMP. You're going in blind."
Dick cursed under his breath and was on the move. Tim was on his heels, following each of his movements with a practiced ease. They had been working together in some capacity for nearly a decade. Words weren't necessary for them. And when in Blüdhaven, instructions were clear anyway. It was Dick's city: Follow his lead.
The first sensation to lap at Dick's consciousness was pain. It was a fire burning across his body, hotter and sharper in the meat of his thigh and the back of his head.
Then the memories returned in bits and pieces. Entering the dark church from above, with whispered instructions to Tim to stay close. Confusion as they came upon attendees, all seemingly unconscious in their seats. Then, blinding lights and guns pointed at them from all sides. A trap. The BANG of a gunshot and the agony that erupted in his thigh.
He tried to pull the threads of memories tighter, tried to put together the in-between, but it was darkness.
Dick was beginning to assess himself, cataloging his injuries as he was trained to do, when a scream tore through the silence.
Or had it ever been silent? He was now becoming aware of voices. He couldn't quite make them out, brain still catching up with the conscious world.
He finally opened his eyes and was met with the sight of Robin, of Tim, tied to a wooden chair and bent forward, panting hard and fast. Blood drip, drip, dripped onto the floor beneath him. Joining an already concerningly sized puddle.
It took Dick a moment to find the source of the blood, the red of Tim's new suit making it difficult to spot. Maybe he had been too hasty in complimenting it. Red should be banned from superhero costumes. He couldn't help but think of the many injuries Wally had hid so easily because of the damned red suit. Finally, though, his eyes landed on three small blades, one right after the other, embedded in Tim's thigh. He blinked a few times after that because that shouldn't have been hard to spot.
"You really don't have to make this so hard, little birdy. Give us Nightwing's secret identity and the pain stops."
Tim let out a laugh. "As if. You're amateurs. Try being tortured by Professor Pyg sometime, you'll learn a thing or two about being convincing."
"How do you want me to punish you then, hmm?" Finally, Dick's gaze slipped from his brother to the man who had gone to all the trouble of trapping the two vigilantes. "Maybe I'll move on to poison. Or we can start removing fingers."
"I'm good. We can stick with the current plan. I'm sure I'll spill the beans eventually. Really just keep it u—"
Tim's words were cut off, turning into a strangled sound as a knife was jammed into his right thigh.
Dick's head was finally clearing enough for him to get his fingers working on the handcuffs that had him bound to a support beam. There was no chance the brute force torture this guy was performing was going to get anything out of Tim, but it was very possible Tim would bleed out if it went on for too much longer.
Soon, there was a satisfying click of one cuff.
"Alright, alright! Clearly, I need to change tactics." The man turned away, speaking as he searched for his next means of torture, "I've heard you birdies are pretty susceptible to crowbars." He turned back towards Tim, a brand new, shiny crowbar in hand.
Dick saw red.
He was on his feet and on the other side of the room in three strides. Any pain he should have been feeling melted under his fury. He grabbed the crowbar from Tim's tormentor and slammed the man against the wall. He pressed the crowbar against the man's neck. "I should break every damned bone in your worthless body." His voice was a growl. "But I'll consider holding off if you explain what's got you so interested in who I am."
"I-I-I it's just a contract, man! Someone's paying big bucks to find out who you are. No idea who!"
Dick held the crowbar tighter against the man's neck. He could tell the man was telling the truth but the temptation to make him feel even a little of Tim's pain was nearly overwhelming.
"Wing? Mind putting the idiot down and—" Tim's words were interrupted by a hiss of pain and a few panting breaths, "giving me an assist?"
Dick let the man fall to the ground and pinched a point on his neck, rendering him unconscious. He was at Tim's side in the next instant. Tim had already undone his restraints. He was staring down at his legs, seemingly uncertain of what to do next. Probably the blood loss getting to him.
Dick knelt did a sweep of his brother's body, checking for any injuries he'd missed. There were two more stab wounds, these in his arm with the blades removed which seemed to contribute to most of the blood pooled below him.
"Gauze? Bandages?"
Tim's head had lolled to the side and it took smacking his face to get him to answer. Dick could have found the pouch himself, but he really needed Tim not to pass out on him.
"Ah. Right…" He blinked a few times moving his hands to the pouch in question and pulled out a roll of bandage and one of gauze.
Dick took the supplies and went to work, first dealing with the gunshot wound in his thigh then packing Tim's wounds and wrapping the bandaging tight around his arms and legs. While he worked, he talked, pushing Tim to answer.
"How's Bernard?"
"Fine. Fine."
"You guys doing okay?"
"Yeah… I guess. I mean…" He shook his head. "Probably should see him more."
Dick hummed at that. "You planning to go to college? Get a job?"
Tim laughed; it was more breathy than Dick would have liked, but at least he was conscious. "Unlike you?"
"Hey, I have a job."
"Yeah, after Alfred gave you a bajillion dollars. Before that you did what? Fifteen different things?"
"And you're… living on a boat." Dick pulled the first knife from Tim's leg, drawing a sharp gasp from Tim.
"I live on a boat and…" Tim shrugged. "Be a billionaire's weirdo twenty-something kid."
"Yeah, been there." He pulled the bandage tight. "You know, I always regretted dropping out, not finishing."
Tim sighed. "I'll… figure out something eventually. I need to check in on the Neon Knights more… Maybe get a job as a mechanic to fill my time."
"Oh, the internet would love that."
Tim groaned at that. "God, they're so annoying."
"Hey now, you can't complain too much. It's much worse being the actual billionaire." He pulled the next knife out, turning Tim's snort into a strangled cry.
"Fuck, hurry up."
Dick continued the conversation, handling Tim a bit rougher than he might have typically to keep him awake and talking. Finally, he tied off the last bandage.
"Not hiding any other injuries?"
"I couldn't…" Tim trailed off, thought seemingly lost for a moment then he shook his head. "Couldn't hide an injury from you even if I wanted to."
"True. Can you stand?"
Tim made an attempt, pulling himself to his feet with Dick's assistance, but was quickly back in the chair. "Nope. How about you…" He waved a hand at Dick weakly. "Go beat up our captors, and I take a nap?"
"No. Nap." Dick said firmly, lifting Tim from the chair with only a little difficulty. "We run into anyone on the way out and you just toss smoke balls at them, it'll be fine."
"Terrible hangout day. 0 outta 10. Next time, you're coming to my stupid boat."
Dick sighed. "Next time, I'm coming to your stupid boat."