Work Text:
Tim did not enjoy being on his knees. It was uncomfortable, it was degrading, and usually he was forced. Unfortunately, he’d been doing it for the past two hours. The only thing that kept him clinging to sanity was the fact that he had tights. Otherwise it would be his bare knees scraping the floor.
He didn’t know when Batman would come. Bruce had told him in no uncertain terms that unless there was a clear chance for escape, he was to wait for Batman to show up. Tim ignored the fact that it hadn’t worked last time. At this rate, Hood would find him first. Tim was pretty sure he was in Crime Alley, anyway.
“Get the brat ready. We start in ten. All the big dogs are showin’. We can’t afford to fuck this up.” A man poked his head through the door
“Seems a shame to get rid o’ him so soon.” The goon who was watching Tim - really watching, if you got what he meant - looked disappointed. Tim remained expressionless, gritting his teeth against the ratty cloth stuffed in his mouth. They had gotten tired of his snide comments.
“It’ll be worth it. Now shut up and do what I tell ya.” The door slammed shut. Tim’s guard turned to him with a leer.
“Well then, birdie. Get up.”
Tim gave him a flat look and rolled his shoulders. There were ropes criss-crossed all over him, keeping him in place no matter how he twisted. Inexpertly done, sure, but they made up for that in sheer amount of them. He was practically wearing another layer.
“Thought the Boy Wonder could get outta anythin’.” A hand ran down his back for a moment. Tim fought the urge to stiffen.
When something looped around his neck, stiff and leather, Tim threw himself back, using the energy he had carefully reserved to kick his legs out of the stiff kneel he’d been in for hours. He was worming his arms free while vaulting backwards - thanks, Nightwing - when his breath was cut off in a snap.
He was pulled off balance with a jerk. Tim landed harshly, clawing at the band around his throat, constricting and tight and he couldn’t breathe, and he saw the guard standing above him, laughing.
Tim panicked. He won’t lie. If he had been more clear-headed, he would’ve found a way, or at least made less of a fool of himself. But Tim had never enjoyed suffocation. It reminded him too much of his father’s hands wrapped around his neck, or the way air seemed to suck out of his lungs as he sat in an empty house.
So he thrashed, but it did no good. He saw the end of the line in the guard’s hand as he smirked. Just as his vision clouded over, he was gasping in lungfuls of precious air. He lay there for a second or two, shamefully worn from his attempt, before he pulled himself to his feet.
In his struggle, the gag had come loose, and he spit it out bitterly.
“Try that again. Dare ya.” The man smiled slowly at him. Tim would be unnerved if this was his first time around. As it was, he gave his most obnoxiously cheerful grin.
“I would, except for the fact that you seem to think you have the advantage here.” Tim lunged as he spoke, lacking his bo staff, but it was only one underling.
He reached to yank the end of the lead from his opponent's hand, but before he could, his air was cut off again. It didn’t deter him as much as it did the first time, but that was when someone new shoved him down and out of reach of the line.
Again, he was deprived of air until he was about to pass out, panting harshly.
Infuriatingly, it only took a few more times until he obeyed. But by the time he did, his throat was sore and he was unpleasantly groggy. He only swayed slightly when a pair of green shorts were shoved at him. He was steadied by a hand that was too low on his back and the momentary tightening of the choker.
“Put these on. Now.”
Tim blinked, and looked down at his tights to the shorts. “But they’re weird,” he said without thinking.
The next breath was cut off halfway through. “Put ‘em on.”
Tim found that rude. He’d had to fight for his tights and he wasn’t about to switch back to the original because some bastards wanted him - wait. Yes he would. If he wanted to breathe. When he was granted air again, he let his shoulders slump in acceptance.
“Good boy.”
Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes and/or smack them soundly with his staff when he swallowed and felt the soreness on his throat.
Tim could see the appeal, he thought as he changed as quickly as he could, of having the classic Robin outfit instead of his. Easy to imagine him as another Robin that had done something. More revealing too.
Tim couldn’t dwell on it, because as soon as he was done, he was tugged forwards. He followed without protest as he was led through a hallway that was surprisingly clean. The man who had come while Tim was attempting to escape was significantly more intimidating than Tim’s guard. The thing that kept Tim at heel, however, was the lead in his hand, not his appearance.
Tim tried to act like it wasn’t humiliating being led like a dog, but every time he hesitated, he was deprived of air for a few seconds. So he stumbled after them, a well-trained pet. He was pretty sure someone patted him on the head. Oddly enough, it reminded him of Jason’s condescending smirk and hair ruffles. He wished -
Speak of the fucking devil.
The room he was in wasn’t empty. Not by a long shot. It wasn’t just a boring auction house or torture chamber, no. It was a - a club? Tim didn’t have a lot of experience there - sue him, he was fourteen - but there was a bar, and people mingling. Shady people, might he add. From the way they held themselves, they were somewhat highly ranked in wherever they were. Tim recognized two of Black Mask’s men, three of Two-Faces, and the distinctive glint of the fucking Red Hood.
And then Tim was pulled along to the front of the bar, where a space was cleared. “Please welcome to the show, Gotham’s very own Robin! Free of charge - courtesy of the Rippers.”
Tim remembered their file. They were an upstart gang, funded by a few rich members. They also weren’t particularly well liked by, well, anyone. Tim could see them fishing for party favors with a well hated vigilante. He glared at the man holding him balefully.
But Jason - Hood - was here. He would be okay now.
“I’ll be having the bird first.” Hood’s voice was that eerie mechanized version that made Tim a little nervous.
All he had to do was play along.
No one challenged Hood as he stalked forward, a path forming through the crowd for him, like a bloodthirsty Moses in a bloodthirsty sea. The end of Tim’s choker was deposited in Hood’s open hand, and Tim tried to look scared instead of relieved.
“In case ‘e tries somethin’.” Tim’s guard mimed pulling at the lead. Hood hardly glanced at him, giving his own tug. He had the angle so it looked like Tim was choked for a couple seconds, but it was careful enough that Tim just felt it tighten.
“Nice leash.” Hood led him towards the corner of the room, where several armchairs in surprisingly good condition sat in a semicircle. Tim followed him without protest, keeping his gaze low. He tried to ignore the chuckles following in their wake.
Hood settled in one of the chairs, casually spread out like he owned the place. He might as well. Tim stood awkwardly beside him, aware of how much attention he was drawing. He cursed Dick for going with traffic light colors.
“Well?” Hood looked at him expectantly. Tim tipped his head to the side, wishing the gag hadn’t been retied. Hood scoffed, terrifyingly in character. “On your knees, Robin.” Tim hesitated for show, but after a moment he obliged, glaring up at Hood with venom. He reassured himself that it was Jason behind the helmet, and Jason would get him out.
He just had to play along and do what he said.
“Good bird.” Hood’s hand in his hair reminded him that he was kneeling between Hood’s open legs. He didn’t - Hood wouldn’t ask him to do that, and he wouldn’t have even if they hadn’t sorted their differences - well, Hood’s differences, not Tim’s. And yet, he still felt unease sliding down his spine.
The remaining armchairs weren’t unoccupied for long. Chatter filled the corner, mostly about him.
Tim mostly tuned it out, but he paid close attention for any signals Hood may try to give him. His hand still absently ran through Tim’s hair, but he could tell Hood’s attention was on his audience of sorts. Tim allowed himself to untense just a bit, leaning his forehead against Hood’s leg. The hand in his hair still for a moment before continuing.
Tim stiffened again when he felt the toe of someone’s boot pressing against his back. “He is awful pretty, isn’t he?”
Tim tried to twist back to retaliate, but Hood’s hold in his hair turned iron, holding him in place. Tim didn’t bother fighting against it, just sagging a little and hoping Hood would deal with it.
“I’m in a good mood, so I’m gonna give you a warning. Don’t. Touch. I don’t share.” Hood’s hold on Tim went softer, pulling him away from his leg. “He is pretty, though. Robin, stand up.”
Tim stood slowly, stiff and sore and fuck his knees hurt. He made eye contact with Hood momentarily, letting trust flood his features before he dropped his gaze. He followed the motion when Hood pulled the lead forward and he was leaning over the chair and there were hands on his waist, bringing him closer. He panicked for a moment before he realized it was Hood and he was - fuck.
Tim was on Hood’s fucking lap.
Tim shouldn’t be as surprised as he was. If anyone else had claimed him first, he would already be doing that. Maybe he’d be unconscious, or in the middle of being choked out. And Hood was here to rescue him, he knew. He was sure of it. Because he was Jason.
Even when he was stained with blood, Jason would always be Tim’s Robin.
And, he realized after a moment, keeping Tim close would keep him away from wandering hands and within reach. It was a safer place than kneeling in front of him. Even if it was awkward leaning against Hood, face pressed against his shoulder. One arm wrapped around him and kept him close.
“Couldn’t resist, eh?” Tim heard a man jeer, and laughter followed like it was somehow funny. Now that Tim was so - er - close to Hood, he could feel the tension in every line of his body. Tim was squeezed that much tighter. He made an ‘oof’ sound and went limp.
“No,” Hood said evenly, contrasting exactly how not calm he seemed to Tim, “I couldn’t.”
Another bout of laughter, and in the midst of it Tim heard Hood’s voice, quiet so he could barely catch it. “We’ll be outta here soon. Go with it.”
Tim leaned his head against him in answer, remaining still even when Hood wormed one finger under the rough leather around Tim’s neck and tugged it hard enough to loosen. Tim winced minutely at the press of his glove against the bruises on his neck. Hood rubbed his thumb over them in what Tim assumed was meant to be soothing, but came off a bit odd. Tim supposed it fit the scene.
“Ya know, when I heard the Bats were scared of Hood, I called bullshit. They don't seem scared of no one. But ya bought me now. Ya practically got Robin eatin’ outta your hand. I saw the brat earlier, fightin’ tooth and nail. Now look at ‘im.” This time, Tim turned his head to glare at whoever said it. It was one of Black Mask’s men, older than most hired muscle survived to.
“Hm,” Hood said, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered, the asshole. His hand went to Tim’s hair again, threading through it easily. “He is behaving himself.”
Tim tensed for a moment at the insult before reminding himself that he was supposed to be scared of Hood and let himself go lax again. Hood lightly scraped his nails along Tim’s scalp as he continued to exchange chitchat and subtle threats that Tim certainly heard. He felt the gag loosen and come undone under his ministrations. Tim spit it out behind Hood’s shoulder. He strained his ears for anything past their corner that could be useful later, but Hood’s mechanized voice above him drowned it out.
Tim had to admit he spaced out after a few minutes. He should have stayed present, but he was tired and Hood was warm and his brother even if he couldn’t say it out loud. He knew Hood would keep him safe.
Tim was startled out of it by broad, unfortunately unfamiliar, hands on his waist, hauling him off of Hood. “Aw, c’mon, Hood, you can’t keep ‘im all to yourself.” He was hanging halfway off the chair before it processed, and two things happened at once.
One, Tim found himself with blood in his mouth and the crunch of cartilage between his teeth. The culprit, one of Two-Face’s younger underlings, cried out and tried to pull his hand back. Tim didn’t let go, even when Hood growled something at him.
He only released it when Hood tightened the choker enough to cut his air off, startling him out of whatever trance he had been in. He spat out the flesh in his jaws and scrambled backwards until he could breathe.
Then, the second thing. Maybe they weren’t quite at the same time, but it felt like it to Tim in the moment.
Once Hood had drawn Tim back, he attacked. Not with a pistol, as Tim had expected, but with the swish of a fine-edge kris. No one dared to intervene when Hood sliced the blade with deadly precision. No one seemed surprised at the sheer brutality of his attacks that Tim recognized as the Pit coming out to play.
Tim nearly toppled the armchair in his haste to get away, to hide, because if Hood focused on him, he was dead. No one here would stop it. Even if they didn’t want him dead (yet), there wasn’t anybody in here who would face Hood’s wrath just to spare him. He had managed to get himself over the back of the chair as quietly as he could, taking refuge behind it for a moment, before someone snatched the end of the lead, sticking out.
Tim lashed out as he was dragged out from his shelter, his foot striking someone’s gut with less force than he would’ve liked. There was a pained grunt and then his airflow was cut again. Tim struggled, but went utterly still when Hood’s helmet turned to them, splattered with blood that blended in with the red.
“Hey, hey, look -” The man who had taken Tim cut himself off, dropping the leather like it burnt him and backing up a few stumbling steps. Hood stepped forward, over the mutilated body he had left, and straight towards Tim.
Tim shoved himself backwards, not even trying to disguise his fear - real, this time, because all he could think of was Titan’s Tower, snapped bones and bloodied costumes and green, green, eyes.
There was nowhere to go. He was trapped. Again.
This time, he would die.
There was no room for Hood to claw back control, to push the green back, not with the crowd jeering and everything Hood stood for spit back in his face. Tim was alone. Hood stood over him for a few seconds. Tim didn’t even breathe. And then Hood reached out so fast Tim hardly registered it, seizing the leather band around Tim’s neck and using it to haul him upright. Tim lost his balance for a moment, precariously, hanging from Hood’s fist, before he righted himself.
His breathing came quickly, little gasps and sharp exhales. Hood drew him closer, his hand still on Tim’s throat.
“He’s mine,” Hood snarled, and there wasn’t a single opposition. This wasn’t the cool, calculated fury. This was volatile and fiery and not a soul dared cross it. Including Tim. Maybe if he was still enough, quiet enough, Hood wouldn’t be so angry. Maybe he’d get off with only a few more scars,
Because, contrary to popular belief, Tim didn’t want to die. He was fourteen and he hadn’t even finished high school - even though it sucked - and there were so many more people he could save.
And then Hood left. He dropped the hand on his throat to grasp his shoulder tightly, pulling him along. He kept Tim right in front of him, his free hand holding the bloodied kris. Carted around like a war prize, ready to burn.
Tim was glad his domino hid the fear in his eyes.
They walked through the door and up the stairs and into the street. Once they hit fresh air, Hood paused to heave Tim up on one arm effortlessly. Tim attributed it both to his strength and the Pit. He clung to his arm, trying not to tremble as Hood grappled off with his other hand. Tim held tight, but Hood held tighter.
They landed in a safehouse Tim didn’t recognize, which meant Oracle didn’t have eyes on this one. At least not actively. It would require digging and time Tim didn’t have. Shit. Tim was dropped on the couch roughly. Hood snatched his ankle when he scrambled back, yanking him closer.
“Hold still,” Jason said, dropping his helmet on a nearby table.
Tim, needless to say, held still. He almost bolted when one of Jason’s hands brushed his throat. Tim squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, wishing he’d had the forethought to tug the choker off while he’d been herded into the safehouse. He had been too consumed by terror and trying and failing to repress the memories of Titan’s Tower.
But then the rough leather rubbing against his skin was gone, and he heard a dull thud as it was thrown across the room. Tim slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Jason, eyes burning a bright green that lit the edges of his face. He took Tim’s jaw in hand, turned it side to side, while Tim held his breath, before tipping it up.
Tim just wanted it to be over.
“They hurt you,” Jason snarled, his grip turning painful.
“You hurt me,” Tim whispered, before snapping his jaw shut and closing his eyes. This was it. Tim had pushed him and maybe he’d had a chance of getting out of here before, but now it was pointless.
“Yeah,” Jason sounded a little awed, “I did. How could they not see that you’re already mine to hurt?”
Tim flinched backwards, but Jason caught him by the back of the neck and drew him close. “Jason -”
Jason hushed him, running his hand through Tim’s hair. Tim froze, holding as still as he could while Jason settled beside him. “Don’t worry, birdie. I got ya.”
That was exactly what Tim was afraid of.
But he held still and didn’t object as Jason maneuvered him onto his lap, utterly surrounded by him. Jason muttered what he seemed to think were reassurances softly, and oddly enough, the longer Tim lay there and accepted his fate, the more reassuring those words were. It went from ‘no one can hurt you but me,’ to ‘you’re safe now, I’ll protect you.’
Jason pressed a kiss to the top of Tim’s head at the last one, and, slowly but surely, Tim began to believe him.
Tim allowed Jason to run his hands over his limbs in what he recognized as an injury check after a minute or two, falling into the familiar pattern. Tim shifted helpfully, leaving Jason to coo at him for being ‘such a helpful little bird.’ Tim hadn’t heard him talk like that before, painfully fond.
Tim was settling in for whatever the fuck this was. Jason clearly didn’t want to murder him, so he’d take the win. After all, if even the Pit tolerated him, maybe Jason would want to spend more time with him. Jason kept him close and Tim didn’t look him in the eyes. He could almost pretend that Jason was in his right mind, that he wanted him around.
As frightened as he was - and that was getting less and less by the second - he couldn’t help himself from leaning into Jason’s touch because it was Jason. After Jason had attacked him in Titan’s Tower, then broken through the Pit in time to save Tim, he had avoided him. The rest of the family had reconciled, and Tim had forgiven him, but he hardly saw Jason outside of patrol. Sometimes he would run into Jason and Dick hanging out, and Dick would pull him in, but Jason would make his excuses and leave.
Tim wondered what he’d done wrong.
Dick always assured him it wasn’t his fault, that Jason was just busy, but Tim saw through the lies. Jason didn’t want to be with him. He was forcing Jason out of his own home, just by being there. So he’d stopped letting Dick coax him into family dinners and remained at his own house, shivering when the heat shut off.
So why was Jason so insistent on having him there?
Well, not Jason. The Pit. Which, while undeniably a part of Jason, was not really him. Maybe it was because he would always be a little mad at Tim for replacing him, but he didn’t really want to hurt him anymore, because he realized Tim was just a kid. Not even Robin, not when it mattered. Yeah. That was it. Jason protected kids. Tim wasn’t the exception, not anymore. Just a chore.
The whole possessive-creepy thing didn’t quite fit in, but Tim was quite willing to ignore that as long as Jason kept running his hand through Tim’s hair.
Tim was expecting to be here until the Pit faded, which would hopefully be soon, since Jason was getting better control of it, and then kindly but firmly dismissed. He was not expecting Jason’s attention to snap past him just before Tim was seized by two hands on his ribcage and dragged swiftly out of Jason’s arms.
Tim immediately started to thrash, his blows meeting kevlar as he instinctively turned to Jason for help. Jason snarled and reached for him, already on his feet.
“Baby bird -” Tim fell still when he recognized his older brother’s voice. “Yeah, you’re okay.” Then, louder, Dick said, “Jason, calm down. You’re going to regret this later.”
Jason lunged at Dick, and Tim took the opportunity to worm out of Dick’s grip and launch himself at Jason, hitting his chest with a thud. Since neither of his brothers Dick or Jason expected it remotely, it slowed down the confrontation.
Tim pressed his face against Jason, trying to get him to back down. It had to be harder to fight with a teenager clinging to you like a koala, right? Also, there was no way Dick would fight Jason when he could potentially hurt Tim.
(Well, he hoped so.)
“Tim, what - you -” Dick sounded so terrified, but Tim could hear Jason’s heartbeat slowing down already.
“He won’t hurt me,” Tim said with more confidence than he had.
“I won’t,” Jason said with more aggression than he needed.
“He got me out earlier. I’d still be captured if it weren’t for him.” Tim turned to Dick earnestly, wrinkling his nose when Jason patted him on the head. “Stop that.”
“I’m not questioning Jason’s intentions, I’m questioning his control. In his right mind, I know he wouldn’t hurt you. In his right mind. He’s not there right now.” Dick took a cautious step forward. Jason stiffened, but Tim leaned his head back against his collarbone and drew his attention back.
“I know that, Dick. But you don’t wanna hurt me, right, Jason?”
“No,” Jason propped him on one arm, “I fucking don’t.” Tim tried to hide the delight on his face when Jason pulled him closer.
Dick’s expression softened. “I -”
“You’re sounding like B.” Tim risked the possible trigger for the surefire way of getting Dick to back down. A decade of bickering led to one thing - Dick did not like being compared to Bruce, even if he was in the right by being paranoid.
Jason exhaled sharply, but Tim could see Dick cave and let his shoulders slump. “Fine. Mind if I come in?”
“Asshole.” Jason looked sour, but his grip loosened enough for Tim to slip away. Jason would be okay now with Dick coming in for a hug.
Tim was halfway down the hall before he was pulled back by a hand on his wrist. “Where are you goin’, birdie?”
“I don’t want to intrude -”
“Timmy, get back here before Jason goes on another killing spree.” Dick looked like he was only half-joking.
“But I -”
“Now.” Jason’s eyes, which had dulled significantly, flared for a moment before Tim followed him grudgingly, still making half-hearted protests.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be there. He just didn’t want to bother them if he didn’t have to. But he went willingly when Jason tugged him to sprawl on top of him, just tucked his nose against Jason’s neck and fell still. He felt someone start threading nimble fingers through his hair.
Tim tipped his head into Dick’s hand. No one said anything for a while, but the tension steadily drained from the room until even Jason went lax.
“That was weird. Usually it’s easier to get out.” When Jason spoke, Tim knew that he was in his right mind again. He tried to squirm out, but Jason’s arm, slung around his waist, squeezed once. Dick settled more on top of him.
“You’re not getting out of this one that easy, baby bird.” Dick sounded irritatingly smug, but he kissed the top of Tim’s head and Tim melted.
“I can’t believe I haven’t done that before. It’s like an off button!” Jason’s voice was delighted, and Tim tried to sit up to protest, but Jason ran a couple fingers down the side of Tim’s face, achingly soft. Tim was helpless against it.
“Because you’ve been avoiding the baby bird.”
“Have not.”
Tim rolled over slowly. “I thought you hated me.” His voice wavered slightly, because he hoped he’d been wrong, he hoped so much, because he couldn’t stand if Jason really hated him.
“I haven’t hated ya with a clear mind, well, ever, Tim.” Jason looked down as Dick mysteriously vanished - probably behind the fucking couch to give some illusion of privacy while still eavesdropping.
“Oh.” Tim dropped his gaze. “I never hated you.”
“You coulda. I wouldn’t blame ya.”
“But I didn’t. Don’t.” Tim was having a bit of trouble breathing, and the thought of looking up to meet Jason’s eyes was painful. He ducked his head so Jason couldn’t see his face.
Luckily, Jason seemed to get the memo. He pulled Tim closer, hiding his face against his side. “So what? We don’t hate each other? That’s good, I think.”
“Brothers, brothers, brothers, brothers!” came the incessant voice behind the couch.
“Shut up, Dick.” Both of them spoke, even if Tim was muffled.
“He’s right, though, birdie. You’re my little brother. There’s a reason I got so mad earlier. I couldn’t stand to see them hurt you.” Jason squeezed him once, lightly, but Tim could feel him restraining himself. He sounded raw when he spoke again. “I won’t let ‘em hurt you again. Promise.”
“I know,” Tim admitted softly against his chest.
“Good. Now that that’s sorted, I’m making waffles because I want to. Yes, Dickface, you can have some. No, Replacement, you can’t skip it.”
“But -” Tim protested, ignoring the sting of his words. It was negated by being Jason’s little brother.
“You’re gonna eat the fucking waffles, Tim.” Jason’s voice dropped a notch and Tim accepted his defeat.
“I love having little brothers!” Dick announced cheerfully, emerging from the sofa and bounding into the kitchen. Jason scooped Tim up like he was a kid despite Tim’s half-hearted objections.
Tim was not totally opposed to having older brothers. Even if they were assholes. At least one of them made waffles.