Warning: Alternative verse, Dub con, Stockholm syndrome, Underage, psychological and physical torture, the Joker, if anyone was bothered by the first part of this series do not read the second which is way way worse
Like a fairy tale part 2 - The Frog
Note: you might want to read "To Steal a Rose" before starting ;)
Chapter 1 – Ball in the Pond
'Once upon a time' are way too predictable. When a tale starts like this, you usually know how it's going to end.
I hate to be predictable.
Besides, finding the exact start of a story isn't that easy. I could have dropped the whole Lex and Jason part. But if that hadn't happened… Who knows? Maybe I wouldn't be who I am today! (Wouldn't that be dramatic?)
Moreover, let's give ourselves some difficulty. To start like this would be way too easy. The characters even fit! A young orphan adopted by the most important man in town… The true son, heir of the man's fortune… Someone creeping in the dark who would like to catch his attention…
(But whose attention, exactly? The man's, or the orphan's?)
So no, no. In our dear, twisted Gotham reality, it started like this.
sososo
Tim wasn't exactly angry at Damian for being at Wayne manor. If nothing else, Tim was glad Bruce had the opportunity to have a son of his own blood. Not that that meant much in their family of orphans but… it still did, didn't it? After all, one didn't pick up so many lost boys looking like oneself if one didn't want a child.
So it was great for Bruce. He had a real family now. Well. Except for Damian being Damian, of course.
And Tim felt bad for thinking as much – not the Damian being Damian part, because, duh, it was true. But the real family part. Bruce deserved better than him thinking they weren't father and son, even so soon after his adoption. Bruce had always been there for him, like he always had been for Dick and Jason.
That Dick became his lover and Jason had preferred to go live with a known supervillain were details. Bruce wasn't very good at handling peoples, except when on the mission.
"Stop overthinking it", Jason interrupted.
Tim startled out of his thoughts.
"I'm not…"
"You are. Even if you didn't make a habit out of it, it's written all over your face."
Tim winced. Was he really? He knew he tended to concentrate on his thoughts more than on the people around him from time to time, but he wasn't aware it had been noticed. He tried not to push it at Bruce level.
"Don't worry, you're not as bad as him. Yet."
Apparently, there was a reason why Jason had been a Robin. Like the ability to read other birds' minds.
But Tim already knew Jason had been worthy of the title.
"Bruce tries not to", Tim still defended Bruce.
"But he is awful at communication. You're much better at it than him when you put your head into it, duckling."
Tim tried not to pout. He knew he was the little one but…
Except he wasn't, anymore. Damian was.
"Aaand you're back at it" Jason's tone was starting to sound annoyed. "Can't you just concentrate on the task at hand?"
Tim winced. Jason had worked the whole day at Lex's offices and still came back to the Cave afterwards to help him on a case. They were trying to find The Spook, who had escaped from Arkham earlier that week. They had some leads but no confirmation on where he might be hiding. Batman was on the field looking for him. They had hoped to be able to help him by finding some clue but they didn't have any luck so far.
Suddenly, Jason got up and walked away without a word. Tim blinked. Jason could be moody from time to time though he was usually quieter with Tim.
"Where do you think you are going, brat?"
Oh. Damian had tried to slip out. Again.
"Let me down, you shameful… ouch!"
Jason had slapped the kid, hard enough to leave a bruise.
"Jason!" Tim protested.
"Don't call names someone you can't beat, brat."
"He's just a kid!"
Damian glared, ready to attack Tim for saying that truth out loud, but Jason's grip was too good for him to slip away. Jason himself snorted.
"A kid who was trained by the League of shadows isn't afraid of a slap. It's not like I broke his arm."
"You wouldn't be able to!" Damian challenged.
Jason's eyes shined dangerously. Damian looked ready to take the pain. Tim wished Dick hadn't gone on patrol with Bruce; this was starting to take a wrong turn.
"You're right", Jason said, surprising both of them. "I wouldn't. Because Bruce would have my head for doing that. Are you one to hide behind your father, pussy?"
Damian gasped with indignation.
"And apparently I should point out he'd like you to kill someone even less", Jason commented.
Damian winced. Tim paled: Jason had hit a nerve. The child had really intended to kill someone!?
Damian smirked at his surprise.
(They sure were from the same family, considering how they were communicating more non-verbally than anything else.)
Then Jason moved and suddenly he was twisting Damian's arm in a weird angle. The kid went white with pain but instead of screaming, he tried to break loose. Which only made him paler.
"Don't be stupid. If you keep moving, you're going to dislocate your own shoulder and I still wouldn't let go."
Something in Jason's matter-of-fact tone convinced Damian, who froze. He looked like he was deciding something. As if, maybe Jason wasn't as unworthy of his attention as he had thought before.
Tim totally understood why. Jason hadn't Dick's ability to do summersaults as easily as he breathed. However, the second Robin moved without a pause during fights. Besides, he occupied the room he was standing in – much like a younger Bruce. Jason always looked like he led the dance, always acted decisively.
Tim knew his own capacities; he would never become a fighter like them. He envied their ease. But he could still help, as a detective assistant if anything else.
"Tim. Don't think because I'm handling the brat I don't hear you overthinking."
If he could stop blushing, too, that would be great. Damian was smirking again which only made it worse. A jolt from Jason's hand made him stop.
"Enough, the two of you. Brat, being the blood-son of Batman doesn't make you anything in this house, you will have to prove yourself worthy. And to do that, you need to follow Batman's rules, not the League's. Tim, stop moping, you're the best. Except for Alfred, of course."
"Thank you, master Jason. I however hope you don't intend to permanently damage anyone's muscles."
"I'm sure I won't have to. Will I, Damian?"
The child made that sound at the back of his throat, that Jason seemed to consider a yes. He let him go – then immediately blocked the blade Damian materialized out of thin air by grabbing his wrist.
"Remind me not to let you near the katanas", Jason said, like an afterthought while he was pushing the child's arm down.
Damian tried to resist, but he didn't have enough strength to do much against the teenager. He tried to kick him instead; Jason parried without much more effort. Behind them, Alfred was quietly putting some sandwiches and soup on a table for them to eat while waiting for Bruce's return.
Tim tried not to grin. An ordinary day at the Batcave.
"Come on, you've got more than that to show", Jason provoked.
Maybe that hadn't been such a good idea. Damian did fight well; he obviously had had the best trainers in the world. And he aimed for the kill.
That didn't seem to faze Jason. He kept dodging and mocking and giving well hidden advices.
"A bit short on the left. Still short, I hope you're doing this on purpose so I'll expect it to be short next time. Aw, really? You didn't just try that on me, did you? Still sh… ah, better already. By the way, if I see you near Tim with this blade, I'll put it up your ass."
That last one had Damian trip on his own foot, though he managed to make it look like he had meant to roll toward Jason to get at his ankles.
Tim took a sandwich and concentrated on his files. Those two would be doing fine on their own.
sososo
Jason remembered only too well how easy it was to feel worthless in Bruce's eyes. Not because Bruce didn't give any attention but because someone else right there was getting more of it. He had had to compete with Dick – which had been a stupid move in the first place, considering.
Tim had to face Bruce's own evil spawn. In a way, Jason was glad to help the both of them because, really, for all his nerve, Damian wasn't much more self-assured. Maybe Dick hadn't been, either.
However, Jason was also glad to be able to get the hell out of there to be fucked out of his mind.
"Just tell me if I bore you", Lex said at his ear, dangerous.
The teenager shuddered.
"Stop reading my mind and keep fucking me."
Lex jerked his hips, just once.
"I can multitask. I would like you not to."
That was an easy one.
"Well then, obviously, you're not putting yourself enough into this, because…"
Jason didn't have to end his sentence. Or to think, for the next five minutes.
He felt much better afterwards.
"I hope your familial matters will be solved soon enough", Lex said, annoyed. "You're being distracted."
"Then challenge me", Jason answered, which was a proof all in itself on how distracted he was. "No! No, I didn't mean that", he corrected immediately.
Instead of answering, Lex ran his hand on Jason's back. Had he been a cat, Jason would be purring. He settled for sighing with satisfaction instead.
If Bruce could see him right now… Well, his head would explode. But if he got over the fact that was Lex Luthor right next to him, he'd be surprised. Jason felt tame and didn't even manage to be angry about it.
"You're not fooling me", Lex said in that velvet voice Jason loved to hear him use. "You're not a cat."
Jason didn't feel like answering. That would require a constructed thought. And a working voice. Sounded way too complicated right now.
"You'll always be too dangerous to be a pet. You might compare to a young panther who would have fancied staying next to someone."
"'Never intended to become a lapdog, moron", Jason mumbled. "Also, panthers have no reason to attack snakes. They're ain't crazy. Now keep complimenting me."
Lex laughed softly, his hands still petting Jason's back. That. Felt. Amazing. Especially considering how much his muscles ache – thank to the brat who, except for the size, wasn't half a warrior – and his emotions had kept boiling for a good hour after he'd left the manor.
When Bruce had come back from patrol, Jason had had to talk to him about how Damian would try to bring back a head or something to prove his skill. Then, he'd had to explain Bruce not to preventively put Damian in a cage or something.
How could the man that had been retrospectively so patient with him could be so abrupt with his own son, Jason didn't get. Alright, maybe he would be pissed at Talia too if he'd learn she'd created some perfect heir out of a jar after raping him. But it wasn't the brat's fault.
"Bruce is a man full of contradictions", Lex said.
Jason groaned.
"Stop doing that."
"Be more specific."
"Stop doing the mind-reading thing. It's weird."
He only ever felt that kind of connection with Bruce, and exclusively during missions. When their training would kick in, and their moves would be one, and Batman would stand with his cape around Robin, not needing to say you did good.
Not having that anymore still felt like missing an arm.
Lex's lips pressed on his neck, right after the first cervical vertebrae. Apparently, this case of mind-reading had reached an alarming stage without Jason noticing.
He ought to feel worried about this happening with Superman's Goddamn nemesis, but… It felt like… A drug, actually. Damn. He was a junkie. He'd sworn to himself never to be one when his mom overdosed, and here he was.
And having noticed this, he still didn't want to leave. The case was terminal already.
"Talk", Lex ordered, because he couldn't ask anything like a normal person.
Shit, Jason hoped he didn't also get a major case of daddy issue, there.
"I can't decide if you're a drug or a disease. Which one do you prefer?"
"Which one can't you get rid of?"
Jason hid his face into the pillow for Lex not to see his grin. That, that was why Bruce could worry, Clark glare, Dick disapprove, all they wanted. Jason would still go back to Lex, again, and again, and again – however sugary it sounded.
sososo
With Jason's intervention, Tim had thought to reach some kind of understanding with Damian. They could ignore each other and just go on with their lives.
How wrong he had been. Damian had merely understood Tim wasn't able to defend himself without Jason or Dick around.
"Can't you even break loose?" the kid asked, tightening his grip.
Tim gritted his teeth, not answering. He couldn't. Despite the need to prove himself and the blade he felt against his throat. If Jason ever learnt about this, Damian would never hear the end of it.
Tim sure wasn't going to tell him. He had to earn Damian's respect by himself.
"You can't." Damian sounded satisfied, arrogant even. "You are no warrior."
"Our work doesn't stop at fighting", Tim protested, his mind racing to find a way out.
"One unable to defend himself isn't worthy of a place at Batman's side."
Tim paled. How often hadn't he thought exactly the same? But no. He wasn't helpless. He didn't put Bruce in danger. He helped.
"Even if you provide him with support, you cannot compensate for the additional work you give him", Damian commented coldly. "You are inadequate, a weight on his shoulders."
"I am not!"
The blade cut some superficial skin. Maybe Jason's warning had been enough for Damian not to kill him. Maybe.
"If he had met me, he would never had made you Robin", Damian insisted.
That's when Tim realized it wasn't about him or his skill at all. He relaxed very slightly, not trying to break free anymore. Damian wasn't just a trained assassin; he also was a kid hoping to find his place.
"Bruce would have", Tim said. "You are too young to be Robin."
You are not ready, he didn't add, because neither was he – though for different reasons. Tim wasn't enough of a fighter. Damian wasn't enough of everything else. The very fact that he didn't noticed it or admitted it was the proof that he couldn't be Robin yet.
"Even younger I am more able than you!"
"You are not", Tim affirmed.
He felt Damian tense and braced himself. Tim wasn't done, though. It was a hard truth to admit but he had to say it:
"You will be."
Damian relaxed at that, enough for Tim to roll away from him. The cut on his throat was superficial; he should be able to hide it. He hadn't gotten anything else except for bruises and those were common enough not to be noticed.
(Like his father, Jack Drake, had never noticed how his son was wounded all the time.)
(Bruce wasn't like Jack. Bruce cared.)
(Even Jack had cared.)
Suddenly, the blade was coming right at him. Tim barely had the time to dodge – and it still cut a lock of his hair.
"Todd is right", Damian said, making his blade disappear in his clothes. "You should stop losing yourself in your thoughts. You lose sight of what is right in front of you."
Tim's heart was beating madly. The kid would have sliced him, had his reflexes not been good enough. He indeed had lost track of what was happening, hadn't seen it coming at all.
How often had he put Batman into danger because he was doing just that? How often had Bruce had to look out for him because he was thinking about something else, even related to the mission?
Damian smirked, then walked away. He didn't have to add anything else to this demonstration.
sososo
Dick was the one to find the head. It was displayed in the middle of the Batcave, right under a spot. If nothing else, Damian knew how to make a point. Which did nothing for the issue at hand: the kid had killed someone.
He went to the mat where Damian was training, proud like a peacock behind a badly faked detachment. He didn't even stop moving around when Dick reached him.
"Who is that?" Dick asked, controlling his anger.
"A criminal."
"Did you not learn to answer accurately to a question?"
That comment made Damian pout. Which was a start.
"He's the Bossu. I think you two had the opportunity to meet hence my assumption your question was rhetorical."
"I know who he is. I want to know how much you know about him."
"I read his file. This computer really ought to have a better security. The current one is shameful."
Dick pursed his lips. How to explain to the kid exactly how much what he did was horrible? Damian didn't care what anyone thought about him, except maybe Bruce. But then why was he behaving like this when he had been told Bruce hated murder?
There probably wasn't an answer to any of those questions. He would have to improvise – maybe by using the parents' ultimate weapon.
"I am very disappointed in you, Damian", Dick said.
It slid on Damian like oil on water. He merely did that disapproving noise at the back of his throat.
"I do not care about your opinion, Grayson."
Dick should have known it would only work if you considered the person as a parent in the first place. Damian didn't: he saw Dick more like an enemy, because he was his father's lover.
Like all children of divorced parents, Damian hoped they would get back together so they could be a family. Which meant he didn't accept Bruce's family as it was right now. He couldn't. If he did, he would have to give up on his fantasy.
"You might not. But you care about what Bruce think, don't you?"
Damian didn't answer, which meant 'yes, but I am a proud little brat'. Good.
"You will also agree with me if I tell you I know Bruce and how he thinks, won't you?"
"I guess you might have spent enough time living near him for your opinion to be relevant on the matter."
One had to think very hard about it, but that was also a yes.
"Bruce is going to be disappointed in you when he will learn you have killed someone."
Which wasn't accurate. Bruce was going to be angry. Angry enough to hide how much this would affect him. Dick could see how he tried not to care about the child to make sure not to be hurt. He'd seen often enough Bruce push someone away for the very same reason.
Damian finally stopped working out.
"He would not! Thank to me, the Bossu will never harm anyone ever again!"
Dick fought back a sigh. Damian was a kid. Who had been thought by the League of Shadows.
Damn Bruce who was going not to handle this well.
"There are a lot of criminals in Gotham, right?" Dick didn't stop, because Damian wasn't stupid and didn't need to confirm he agreed on that. "And a lot of them are in prison because Batman arrested them."
The kid frowned.
"What is the point of this, Grayson? No need to make me lose my time."
"Did you ever hear of anyone Batman would have killed?"
Damian stayed silent at this. Not because he was too proud to answer, nor because he didn't want to be made a fool. He had just noticed the default in his reasoning and couldn't put it together with what he'd been taught his whole life.
"You didn't", Dick continued mercilessly. "Because Batman doesn't kill. Batman will never kill. Batman considers people who kill like murderers and puts them away in prison."
The kid was standing there, face angry, fists clenched.
"Bruce", Dick concluded, "will be disappointed in you."
"He will not!"
"He will. And you throwing a tantrum won't change anything about it." He let Damian rage for a second, before adding, "The right question is: what will?"
Now he had him. Damian didn't want to admit he had caused any problem but he was nevertheless interested in a solution. Though he didn't want it to be true, he knew Dick was right.
"First of all, you will have to admit you did wrong. No, listen", Dick interrupted when Damian tried to protest. "You have to acknowledge Bruce's rules are different from the League's and that you broke one. You should apologize not to have realized it sooner and promise to follow them as long as you are under Bruce's responsibility."
It looked like explaining things with logic worked, thankfully. Dick felt sick to do it that way instead than simply by saying 'killing is bad!', especially to such a young kid. But he'd had training. Jason hadn't been quite as bad, of course, but he had had a hard time understanding why he couldn't punish bad guys himself. Not by killing them – just by being a little too rough on them.
Sometimes, it was hard to remember the line. For all of them. Which was why it had better to be a crystal-clear one, one they could not cross, ever.
"Bruce will be angry even if you do as much, rightly so. But if you prove you can follow this rule, with time, he will trust you and accept you at his side. Right now, it is hard for you. But you are strong. I am sure you will succeed."
"Tt-tt. Of course I will. I don't need you to tell me."
The brat. Dick would have to apologize to Bruce. And to Alfred, Christ. It was horribly hard to be a parent.
"Start by putting the head away. This kind of display is unwelcome as is the pride that it demonstrates."
Damian gloomed to the head to obey. Dick felt like making a dance of victory but decided against losing what little respect he had just earned.
And now that he had just managed to make a cake without using any eggs, only the hardest was left: to break the news to Bruce.
sososo
"And now, he actually killed someone! It wasn't a slip, it wasn't an accident. He consciously got out of the cave, tracked down a specific the criminal and killed him. It was a murder. I can't even send him to Blackgate. He would get out in five minutes."
Clark straightened his glasses on his nose.
"You don't want to put your son in Blackgate, Bruce. He is too young anyway."
"Of course I can't. But you get the point."
Clark sat down. Or did you say sat up? He wasn't sure anymore. Everything felt a bit blurry. He glanced at his alarm clock on the nightstand.
"Can I help in any way in the five next hours, except by listening to you?" he asked.
"Not specifically, no. Why?"
"It's 4AM, Bruce."
Silence followed this declaration. Clark felt a nerve pulse at his temple. This wasn't a stunned silence created by the realization of how early it was: Bruce was merely waiting for him to elaborate.
"Everyone isn't a billionaire. I have to get up in", Clark yawned, because calculus at this hour was just too much to take, even a simple subtraction, "two hours."
"You don't need more than three hours sleeps by night, considering the rate at which your body absorbs sunlight during the day then uses it during the night."
Sometimes, it was hard to remember why Bruce was his friend, again. His body kept trying to scream how tired it was but the elaborated sentences were starting to wake his brain up – and his brain wasn't happy about it.
"I need more sleep to be able to think straight and I got to bed past midnight because of that flood in Indonesia."
"How did it go?"
"Fine! Now, may I go back to sleep?"
"Of course, I didn't want to bother you."
Temple pulsing II: resurrection. Clark was trying to decide if he wanted to send Bruce to hell or just bid him goodbye when he heard Dick asking in the background:
"B., do you know where Robin is? He said he would be back earlier today because he has this exam tomorrow…"
"He is still on patrol", Bruce answered, already typing a few commands on the console to double-check. "His suit didn't send any distress signal…"
There was a slight blank.
"Clark, I need to leave you there. Robin's signal comes from a neighborhood he already went through an hour ago."
Sleep had deserted Clark. He got up to grab his clothes.
"I'm coming."
"I will handle this."
"I'm coming", Clark repeated.
Last time something had happened to Tim, he had let Bruce handle the matter and it had ended up being Lex's fault. His best friend had been in pieces because of a villain Clark should have taken care of. That all and ended up mostly well didn't count.
This time, he didn't care whose fault it was. He would help before the issue became bigger.
Bruce seemed to understand because he didn't protest any further.
"Alright. Meet me in Park Row."
Clark didn't wait to hear the phone tone. He superspeeded into his clothes and was soon flying toward Gotham. He wondered if Bruce had contacted Jason as well. If he hadn't, Dick probably would.
Arriving over the city, he waited, flying around and trying to get Tim's voice. The Batmobile parked before he heard anything. He landed beside it.
"So where does the signal come from?" he asked.
"A few streets over there."
Clark nodded and followed. He was starting to get anxious and could hear by his heartbeat that so was Bruce. Probably Tim was just checking on something, or someone. Probably he wasn't talking because he had nothing to say.
If the signal was moving that meant Tim was still out there. Robin's suit would have picked any injury. He was alright. Surely.
"I'm calling Jason", Clark heard Dick say in Bruce's com. "He can monitor while I joint you on the field."
"No real names on the com', Nightwing. And negative. Kal and I cover enough ground. No need to worry Jay as long as we have nothing confirmed." Then, after a hesitation, he added. "Keep an eye on D."
"He isn't disobeying again anytime soon."
Dick's tone was definitive. Good: they didn't need an additional worry.
The conversation ended at this. They kept following the signal silently. Getting there only took minutes but when they arrived, the place was empty. And yet, the signal kept moving.
"Maybe he's inside?" Clark suggested.
Bruce grunted. They went to the side of the building – then Clark froze. He'd just heard a noise. He left Batman's side, carefully taking a few steps toward a few boxes left on the floor... A cat got out of it at the speed of light – but still not quick enough for Clark not to catch him.
"Ah! I'm sorry, Batman, I thought…"
He didn't end his sentence. Robin's mask was attached to the cat's collar.
sososo
Tim felt cold. His muscles hurt though he didn't remember to have sprained anything during his last training session with Jason. But that had been yesterday, so maybe he'd been hurt during patrol today… He didn't quite recall going back home.
Because he never made it home.
He managed not to open wide eyes at the realization. What was the last thing he remembered? He went back normally after school. Ate with Dick. Bruce had been leaving for Wayne Enterprise, for a meeting with Lucius. Tim and Dick had gone to patrol on their own. They had started together for fun, then had separated because Bruce's absence meant they had more ground to cover.
Tim had thought about calling Jay but he, too, had some business to attend to and Tim hadn't wanted to bother him.
Then… Nothing. Black.
He needed more details. He had been at the Bowery. Yes, Dick hadn't wanted him in Park Row but Tim wouldn't have left him all the worst neighborhood so that was it. He had landed on the casino's rooftop, the highest one around – and that had been his mistake. That had been predictable.
He didn't remember anything else after that. Whoever had captured him had been expecting him.
Tim shuddered. He should have been more careful! Especially after Luthor had pulled the exact same trick on Jason! He himself had been captured after school on his day-persona so at least he hadn't made the same mistake twice himself, but still!
Bruce was going to be so worried.
His head hurt. His thoughts were blurry, coming one at once in an absolute disorder. He had to focus if he wanted to get out of there. To gather information. Who had abducted him this time?
There was noise. No. Music. An old tune, jazz or maybe blues? The sound's quality wasn't good, as if it was played on band instead than being numeric. Tim's guess was on a tape.
He was on a bed or, at least, a matrass. Not perfectly fine either, he could feel springs pushing against the threadbare fabric. It would probably protest if he moved. It smelled of dust and… lavender? The scent was too strong to come from a generic washing powder. There must be a potpourri around, or maybe the sheet had been stocked in a closet where one had hanged.
The music's didn't resonate enough for a very big room, but still too well for a cell. Tim estimated it at about nine feet square, maximum.
He opened an eye. He had been wrong about the tape: a phonograph was displayed on a coffee table. The tablecloth was tasseled. And dark pink. Next to it, a big oak wardrobe was decorated with yellowed baseball posters.
This was the fifties.
Tim was used to Gotham's villains. Anything kinky meant bad news. The mob wouldn't have put him in a sitcom bedroom, which his brain should have picked up when it heard the music. His head was slowly clearing though; he felt less blurry already. His instinct kicking off helped.
Since he was alone, he sat up. The bedroom was furnished well enough, all in the same theme. There were even little planes hanging from the ceiling: one red, one white with little blue strips.
There was a window or, more precisely, a window frame. But only plain brick where the glass should have been. He probably was underground. Little note against the general mood, a vent was hidden in the up left corner. A small one: Tim's arm would have fit but certainly not the rest of him.
He got up and waited for the world to stop stirring around him. His arms and feet felt heavy. How hard had been the drug that made him sleep? Chloroform wouldn't have been efficient enough or it would have been used, Tim was sure. It fitted the theme.
He hesitated in front of the door. It was the only exit, which he didn't like at all. On the other hand, it was the only exit.
He tried the handle. It was unlocked and opened with a creak.
"Are you awake, baby?" a shrieking voice asked from downstairs.
Tim felt his hair bristle on his head. He knew that voice and it meant bad news – no, it meant the worst possible, the insane, the oh-God-I'm-going-to-die kind of news.
The Joker.
"Come to join me, I'm preparing you a good meal!" the madman called, sneering.
Tim didn't want to go. But he knew better than to disrupt the Joker's plans even before knowing what they were. To be labeled a spoilsport without Batman around could well mean a death penalty. He might stay alive long enough to be saved if he played along.
The corridor's ground was covered in velvet carpet. Old frames hung at the walls. Some presented pictures of himself but not as Robin – in his everyday life. A cold shiver ran down Tim's spine. The Joker had been spying on him out of the suit. For how long had he known?
He got down the stairs, moving carefully. His head wasn't hurting anymore but he felt woozy. The kitchen was opened on the living room. The Joker was waiting for him, wearing a white apron with red strips. He grinned at Tim.
"Here you are! Come here to help."
"Joker."
The madman brandished a wooden spoon covered in cream.
"This isn't a way to call your dad!"
Tim blemished. His dad was dead, dead and buried. The Joker had no right…!
"You are not my father", Tim said as calmly as he could, and the hell with going along with his insanity.
"Alright", he was answered, surprisingly. "Your mom, then."
"You are not my mother either!" Tim protested.
He shouldn't have: the Joker got a Taser out of his apron's front pocket and got him before Tim could move away. He screamed with pain and fall – this wasn't a toy like the Joker used sometimes. It was real stuff!
The madman, of course, was laughing.
"Now, behave, son! In this house, we show respect to the wannabe parental figures."
Tim swallowed and nodded nicely. It had hurt but not threateningly so. The Joker wanted to play with him, not to kill him. Tim had to make that state of mind last… Maybe he would get an opening at some point.
He got back on his feet, leaning against the wall not to fall back on his wobbly knees.
"So what do you say?" the Joker asked threateningly.
"I… am sorry?" Tim guessed.
"Good! Sit down, we're going to eat!"
Tim sat. A second after, another electroshock made him fall from his chair.
"Wash your hands first, you boorish child!"
Of course, the rules would be changing or go untold until he would break them. Anything else wouldn't be fun for the Joker. Tim would have to make some assumptions not to get another round of shocks.
While reasoning, Tim hurried to the sink and washed his hands thoroughly. He then went back to his chair – and got the wooden spoon in the face not to have risen to his feet when a lady was around. Which he should have guessed since the Joker wanted to be call mom.
After a few more smacks, dinner was served: biscuits and custard with cream. And nothing else.
Tim was then forced to eat using fork and knife and hustled for making too much crumbs. He still had to finish his plate entirely, despite the sickly sweetness of the food. Then there was dessert. And coffee with sugar. By the end of it, bruises were flourishing all over his arms, and a few more on his face.
Nothing severe, though. He had been right: the Joker wanted to play. He probably had something in mind. Tim would have to figure out what so he could get away from there.
He didn't dare to fight back. He knew he wasn't up to it. And what would the Joker do in front of such disrespect?
Tim hoped Bruce would find him soon.
sososo
They had hoped to find something on the tracker but it came back clean. The cat was also monitored, just in case, with the same result. Barbara had checked all the street cameras around Robin's usual patrolling route with no more results. Bruce double checked with no more success. Clark was listening at Gotham but couldn't catch Tim's voice.
It made them all very nervous.
"So Drake ran away", Damian commented. "It only proves his inadequacy."
Bruce rose from the console, a massive black mass exuding cold.
Damian didn't look impressed.
"Fortunately I am here, father. You had no use for him anyway."
Before Dick could intervene to calm the game down, Bruce grabbed Damian by the collar, lifting him from the ground.
"Was it you? Is this was Talia was planning?"
Damian squealed. For all his strength and self-insurance, he was still a kid scolded by his father.
Dick felt sick.
"Bruce, enough!"
"Was. It. You?"
"No! I don't need to have him away to prove myself!" Damian protested.
"Bruce!"
He listened at last and put the kid back to the ground. Damian was livid despise his raised chin. Dick knew only too well the need to make the accusations stop, to be considered useful. To be wanted.
"Mother didn't do anything to Drake either. She was going to Gibraltar. She most probably finished her business there a few days ago but she would have returned home."
Bruce nodded, once, then went back to the console. Damian made a movement toward him but Dick stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
"But…"
Dick shook his head. He wanted to hug the kid. Damian sure looked like he needed it – like he had for some time already. But that would earn him a punch, at best, so he let go instead.
"Let's go upstairs", he said. He would have to talk with Bruce, as well, but – later. "We both need some air."
"I am feeling perfectly fine."
Damian still followed him. He looked thoughtful. Dick hoped this hadn't been too much; the kid was only at the manor because he wanted to. Talia had dropped him on them so Bruce would be distracted from her most important business – and it worked. If Damian decided he wanted to go back to his mother, she'd welcome him.
And make him even more of a leaguer. Dick couldn't stand the thought of Bruce's kid being turned into a little assassin. Or any kid. Damian deserved better.
Dick took him to the kitchen. The place had always meant warmth to him. This was where then went after, when things were back to normal, no crisis was ongoing and they could take some rest.
He opened the fridge and put some milk on the fire, then started looking for honey.
"I followed his rules", Damian said a few minutes. "He still doesn't trust me."
"Bruce isn't a very trusting person", Dick admitted easily. "It took him months before he started relaxing around me."
"You are not of his blood."
Dick found the honey, added it to the shuddering milk.
"Even it takes half as much with you, it's still more time than you've been around. Don't forget that if you knew about him, he had never heard of you. Besides, you didn't follow the rules from the beginning. I told you that would make it longer."
Damian bit his lips. Dick took two mugs from the cupboard and filled them. The kid looked dumbfounded when he put one in his hands.
"Careful, it's hot."
"Obviously, Grayson, it just came out of the fire."
Then he carefully blew on it.
Dick smiled. The kid was cute. Somehow.
"Father looked… frustrated", Damian said in a little voice.
Frustrated. Right. More depressed to the point of the darkest rage. But Damian didn't need to hear his father was actually not all-powerful.
"He is", Dick confirmed. "It's always hard when family is hurt."
Damian made a disapproving noise – clearly, he didn't consider Tim as family – then drank a sip. He let go a pleased sigh. All kids liked sugar, even the brattiest ones.
"Consider this a probation", Dick said. "You have to keep behaving despites his mistrust. That will earn you points."
Damian nodded.
Well, maybe Dick could push a bit further.
"And you could try to understand why Bruce is so affected. Tim is his adoptive son. He got enough of his trust to become Robin. If you studied how he managed, that would give you some tips."
sososo
The phone hit the wall at optimal velocity, smashing its screen into pieces. That didn't satisfy Jason enough, so he walked to it and kicked it a few times. Satisfaction still didn't hit but, at least, he had spent some of his rage.
"So. I guess the one who is gone isn't the brat?" Lex asked, half hoping.
Jason blinked at him. His eyes weren't wet because he wasn't sad because nothing had happened yet.
"Tim is missing", he confirmed. "He disappeared during patrol yesterday. Yesterday", he insisted. "And they're telling me this now!"
How stupid were they? He could have helped! The first few hours were the most crucial when someone went missing, one of them like any other human being! The abductor was more likely to play with his prey before killing it, which gave them time to find clues, to find a lead, a witness, something!
And they had spoiled those most precious hours by going at it with reduced workforce!
Lex went to his desk, frowning slightly. And picked up the phone.
What the hell? Didn't he just hear what Jason had said? Tim was missing. Tim. Adorable, sunny, kind Tim who made them proud by wearing Robin's costume.
"Mercy? Get four teams together. We have someone missing and I want him back today."
Jason blinked. Lex was putting his men to the task? Like, the military-trained thugs he usually used to impress fellow supervillains and politicians? Talk about a taskforce. However…
"Wait a minute", Jason interrupted. "You can't send an army into Gotham's streets. If whoever got Tim realizes they are after him…"
Lex raised his eyebrows.
"Apparently, I have to point you out not to be obvious", he said to Mercy on the phone.
Jason swallowed. Mercy would make him pay for this during next training – which would start at any time of the day or the night and last as long as she felt like it.
Therefore, he was going to make Lex pay for having told her.
But only after he'd put his men to the task.
Jason listened to him giving more instructions. Lex's orders were specific, resolute; it almost felt like everything was going to be alright just by listening to him.
That was a stupid reaction. Bruce wasn't much less intelligent and knew Gotham better. He would work himself to exhaustion as long as Tim wasn't found. He would ask Clark to help, this time – because if he didn't, Jason was going to… scream his rage at him or something. Dick would ask the Titans.
And Bruce was going to allow all those people to come in his city to find his son because Tim didn't deserve anything less. And people would come because, come on, it was Tim!
Yet, it was Lex's decisive action which were calming Jason down at last.
Stupid.
When Lex hand up the phone, Jason was ready.
"Where can I help?"
"Come over here."
"Lex. Where can I help? You know I'm good. Use me."
Lex shook his head.
"You are too close to this."
"He is my damn brother of course I am! Now stop treating me like someone inept and tell me how I can help."
Lex didn't waste time protesting any further.
"Mercy is very efficient but you know Gotham the best. Be at her disposition if she has any question. Of course, things would be easier if we coordinate with Bruce, but…"
Jason grabbed his jacket.
"I'll convince him."
He stopped before reaching the door to go back to Lex. He gripped his collar to force him down and devoured his mouth for a solid minute.
Then one more.
They were both panting when Jason let go. Lex had a satisfied smile entirely uncalled-for. Jason had to bite his lips to make him pay. Then to kiss him again, because, hell, he wanted to.
Then to finally get a step back before they'd start fucking on the desk. Again.
"I'm going. I'll call you."
"I'll be waiting for you", Lex said nonchalantly.
While waiting for the elevator to reach the ground floor, Jason tried to calm his heartbeat. Then, he stole one of Lex's cars and distracted himself by thinking about how to convince Bruce to let a supervillain help him. That was going to be tricky.
Bruce hated to admit needing help, never mind from someone he didn't like nor trusted. Jason knew the feeling: he was exactly like that himself. However, once again, this was for Tim. Tim deserved an exception.
He parked on the gravel and jumped over the steps to reach the entrance. He didn't need Alfred's help to open the door but still rang and waited politely for him to arrive. Thankfully, it didn't last long: he hadn't been in the cave.
"Where is he?"
"Good afternoon, master Jason. I am afraid master Bruce is downstairs, along with master Dick and Mr Kent."
"Anyone else?"
"Not yet."
Jason nodded. He left his jacket to Alfred before going to the library, then past the clock. Bruce was indeed sitting at the console, looking pale but determined.
"Lex is looking for him too", Jason said point-blank.
Dick gasped; Clark looked dumbfounded. Bruce didn't even stop typing.
"Graves is coordinating the teams. They would be more efficient with your help. We would be more efficient, putting everyone's efforts together."
"This doesn't concern Luthor."
Jason wanted to punch him in the face. Instead, he waited for Dick to put a hand on him arm – see? He was learning patience!
"I don't trust him either", Dick said.
No answer. Dick glanced up at Clark, who shook his head briefly. Then all the attention went back to Bruce. They were waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
Jason was going to throw a damn nuke to this place if they kept waiting for one more fucking…
"She would have to follow my directions", Bruce said abruptly.
Dick's whole face brightened with hope. Jason just nodded.
"She will."
There would be time for smiles when they would have Tim safely back among them.
sososo
There was a gorilla in the living room. Definitively a male, though he had on the apron the Joker had been wearing the first time Tim had awoke. And it was dusting. With a yellow feather duster. It also wore makeup and its nails had been painted in red.
Tim didn't dare to point it out to the Joker.
He had had to change and had found clothes in the cupboard – his exact size. Thankfully, they weren't colored strangely, though they were in theme: he had had to put braces with his pants.
He would have preferred ugly clothes and better food, though.
"Why are you pulling a face now? I cooked the whole day for you, you ungrateful twit!"
"I am sorry", Tim answered quickly. Past the first meeting, the Joker had not insisted on being called dad or mom. "It's really good! A bit… sugary. But delicious!"
"You eat your sugar or you'll be forbidden to go out!"
The Joker found himself so funny, Tim thought, depressed. It wasn't that he didn't like sweets: he did… up to a point. He was starting to crave for meat and vegetables. Moreover, sugar and cream wouldn't provide enough for long.
The Joker still hadn't talked about his plan nor even mentioned Batman, which was out of character.
Tim ate silently for a while, thinking. Then he dared:
"May I ask a question?"
"Of course, butternuts! What would you like to know?"
Tim didn't swallow, which was a start.
"I would like to know how I can please you most", he said at last, choosing his words carefully.
"By keeping me company of course!"
That was… bad wasn't the word. Did he meant he wanted Tim to stay there forever? That was insane! Then again, the Joker wasn't known for his sense of proportion.
"I am, am I not?"
"Yes you are indeed, baby-birdie."
The Joker was grinning. Tim couldn't miss this opportunity: if the topic changed now, he might never want to talk about it again.
"I would have thought you'd prefer someone else's company", Tim tried. "You do like birds, of course, but they are not your favorite playmates."
There; that should do it.
"Aw, don't worry, hon'. It's you I want. I can't let others have all the fun, can I?"
Tim's eyes widened. That was a reference to Jason's abduction, certainly. Which meant the Joker was jealous of Luthor's idea to kidnap a Robin.
Which meant he wanted to do worse.
This time, Tim couldn't help but to swallow. He was terrified. He fought the fear not to be overwhelmed. He had trained to handle situations like this, he was not going to shame Bruce!
"Certainly Robin should be at Batman's side, though, shouldn't he?" Tim tried.
The Joker laughed at that.
"Aw, no, silly! Robins are made to make Batman sad! They're to be kidnapped and tortured!"
Ice slid in Tim's stomach.
The Joker had seen in which state Bruce had been when Jason then Tim disappeared. He took Luthor's success at tormenting him as a blow to his pride. Now he had to do better, so either to hurt him more or to keep him longer.
"But with no Robin, there wouldn't be anyone left for you to torture Batman", Tim protested weakly.
The Joker shrugged.
"He's good at finding new ones." Then he smiled again, vicious. "Yes, baby of mine. He has been so good, he managed to find you."
Tim didn't answer. He couldn't: the terror had made his breath too short for him to say anything at all.
sososo sososo
Ending notes:
Aaand here it is! This chapter is still quite okay but I'm not kidding when I say things will be getting worse in the following ones.
And as I said previously, this part won't be Jason-centric anymore. I think you can guess who's the new star... (Actually, no, it's not Damian)
Except for that, we still got a bit of Son of Batman in here and I think this is going to be the end of me following anything near the comics' timelines in this part. We've successfully diverged! :)