Tim didn't even want to go to the stupid Wayne Charity Halloween Masquerade.
"Every night's a masquerade for us," he grumbled to Dick as they got ready upstairs before the party started. "This whole thing is redundant."
Dick laughed. "You're just jealous that you don't look half as good as I do." Dick wore a fashionable (yet roguish) pirate costume, and he was busy arranging his plumed tricorn hat at just the right angle as he examined himself in the mirror. "There's no need to get bitter about it."
Tim grunted.
"More and more like Bruce every day, huh?" Dick teased. "A regular Minibat."
"I'd rather just get better at being Robin," Tim said glumly. Batman had criticized his lack of coordination on their last patrol, and it still stung. "But that's not gonna happen if I have to go to all these parties instead of practicing my leg sweeps."
"Oh, quit sulking. Here, let me help you with your mask."
Tim ducked away. "I know how to wear a mask." He fingered the ornate red and gold fox mask that Dick picked out for him. He'd never admit it, but he secretly kind of liked the stupid thing. He settled it over his face and tied the ribbon in back, then swung the red silk cape over his shoulders and stood next to Dick to see the overall effect in the mirror.
"Dashing," Dick said with a wink. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Tell you what, if you can make it through the party, we can spar together afterwards, okay?"
Tim had to resist the urge to grunt again.
Downstairs, Tim found that the mask actually made the party bearable. It helped him blend in like he never had at this kind of event. No schmoozing young women who wanted to butter up Bruce by fawning over his kid, and no rich old ladies clicking their tongues over "the poor Drake boy." Mostly everyone was looking around for the man of the house, though Tim knew Bruce hadn't shown up yet. His guardian liked a bit of drama at these parties, especially around Halloween. He hadn't told Dick or Tim what his costume would be, though Tim was confident he would know it was him no matter what he was wearing.
A man in frilled black robes and a Venetian plague doctor mask strolled past, and Tim shivered automatically. Some people had taken the "Halloween" part a bit far, in his opinion. Aside from Dick's ridiculous pirate costume, he saw a ninja, a couple of vampires, a steampunk… well, whatever steampunk people were called. Tim wandered over to his usual haunt by the potted ferns and surveyed the grand entryway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bruce before he revealed himself.
"See any tasty rich hens, little fox?" a sudden male voice said near his ear. Tim looked up to see a man in a Guy Fawkes mask next to him.
Tim slouched further into his corner. "I'm not much of a Masquerade person."
"Hmm," Guy Fawkes said, then wandered off into the crowd of costumed party guests. Tim watched until he was out of sight, feeling uneasy with the whole exchange.
Then he saw Bruce. "Oh noooo," he groaned. If he wasn't wearing a mask, he would have dropped his face into his hands in embarrassment. Bruce was wearing a Zorro costume completely made of flamboyant magenta fabric.
Dick showed up next to Tim, snickering. "I never would have guessed he'd do it. I dared him months ago, but I didn't think he was actually listening!"
Tim glared at him. "So this is your fault?"
Bruce glided through the guests until he reached the staircase, then hopped up onto the bottom step in all his Pink Zorro glory. The guests all quieted to whispers as they realized who stood before them. "Welcome!" Bruce called out in his "Brucie" persona. "Thank you all for coming out tonight to support the Gotham Children's Hospital with your generous donations. Have a Spooktacular time!"
"Oh brother," Tim said. Dick just grinned.
The party resumed, louder than before as everyone commented on their host's unconventional choice of costume. Now that Bruce had revealed himself, he'd opened himself up to be swarmed by guests. Tim didn't want to be associated with him just yet, so he faded back toward the hors d'oeuvres table and tried to look inconspicuous. After avoiding a couple of chatty partygoers, he finally gave up and decided to find Alfred. Perhaps the butler would take pity on him and let him escape to the private rooms of the manor.
But as he passed through the double doors from the ballroom, someone grabbed his arm and tugged him off balance. He spun, but didn't get a good look at the person who held his elbow, since the Halloween mood lighting didn't quite reach to the hall.
"Hey!" he said and wrenched his arm away. Or tried to. The shadowy person who had grabbed him didn't let go, only tightened their grip and yanked him along.
Tim stumbled after the black-robbed person for a moment, then dug in his heels into the heavy hall rug and refused to budge. He prepared to fight, but then his captor turned around and despite all the training he'd done with Batman, and even after all the crazies he'd fought on the street as Robin… Tim found he couldn't move.
The birdlike plague doctor mask faced him, soulless black eyes staring at him above a creepy curved beak. It was silent and alien and Tim began to sweat under his fox mask. He finally shook himself and realized he had to get away before this went even more sour. He turned and glanced over his shoulder, hoping to see Dick or Bruce or anyone who might be able to see what was happening and care enough to help him.
Then the lights went out. Everyone in the ballroom screamed.
"No, little fox," said a slick male voice in his ear. Tim recognized that voice as belonging to the Guy Fawkes who'd cornered him earlier. "No one will hear if you call for help."
Tim felt a sharp prick in the small of his back, poking through the red cape. A knife.
Ah. So this was a kidnapping? Bruce had trained him for these situations, but he still felt helpless as he recalled his instructions. "Stay calm, stall for time, don't anger your captors if you can help it, don't fight unless you have no other options, leave a trail, I'll find you."
His captors ushered him down the dark hallway, as the panicked partygoers covered any noise they might have made with their exit.
How did these freaks know their way around the manor so well? Who were they? Tim's mind analyzed every sound, every scent, but he came up blank. He was surprised when instead of taking the nearest exit, the two dragged him through the laundry room and then threw him into a large walk-in storage closet that contained nothing but some boxes of extra cleaning supplies.
The door slammed shut.
Click. The pull-chain light flickered on. Sprawled on the floor Tim squinted against the sudden light after so much darkness. Even in the light, his two kidnappers looked menacing in their dark robes and masks.
"What do you want?" Tim demanded, trying to compose himself as he gathered his red cape around him. "If it's ransom you want-"
Guy Fawkes laughed bitterly. "Oh no, Foxy, we couldn't care less who your rich daddy is. You high society types are all the same, all so blind to the pain and suffering of those beneath your notice. Well, not anymore…" He gestured to the plague doctor, who brandished his black cane. "You're gonna find out firsthand."
Tim's heart sank. They wouldn't care that his adopted father was Bruce Wayne, that this was his own house. In fact, it was probably best that they didn't know, considering that Bruce was the richest guy in town. They wouldn't care that Bruce's ridiculous parties made thousands of dollars for underprivileged kids in the slums, supported single mothers, and paid for jobs training for ex-cons. They saw the money, the snooty guests, and heard the gossip, and assumed that everyone above a certain pay grade was the same.
Plague Doctor stepped closer, never saying a word, and Tim scooted back against the wall. Please Bruce, Dick, notice I'm gone! He wondered if it would be okay to fight back, since these men obviously didn't know his true identity.
Before he could make up his mind, however, the first blow struck him right in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Tim gasped, but he was too slow to recover before the next blow connected with the side of his head, and he saw stars. He slumped back to the floor and tried to protect his head with his arms.
"Ah yes," continued Guy Fawkes as the blows continued, striking his shoulder, his back, his side with increasing intensity and power. "At least one rich kid's parents will know the pain of having their child beaten and left to die."
Even curled in a fetal position, the debate in Tim's mind grew louder. Should he try to fight? Or would Bruce figure out what had happened to him before things got too bad?
"Hang on," Guy Fawkes said suddenly, and the blows halted for a moment. Tim couldn't resist the urge to peek at his captors to see what would happen next.
Guy Fawkes' fake grin told him nothing, but the knife in his hand was more than enough of a hint. "In the interest of fairness… perhaps we ought to cut him up a bit, too?"
Tim groaned, feeling his bruised and possibly cracked ribs with one hand. Fairness. Right. "You guys have a funny sense of justice," he mumbled. "Beating me up really isn't gonna make your lives any better."
"There you're wrong," Guy Fawkes sneered. "I already feel better, and we haven't even gotten to the part where you scream for mercy yet."
Great.
Where was Bruce?
The knife jabbed down toward his leg, but Tim's Robin training kicked in and he automatically swept his leg out of the way into the plague doctor, who wobbled but unfortunately didn't fall like he'd hoped. Tim didn't waste a second on his failure. He leaped up and dodged another jab from Guy Fawkes' knife.
"Ah, so little Foxy doesn't want to die, does he?"
"No," Tim spat back, his anger multiplied by the fresh bruises on his body. "Foxy's got better things to do." He clenched his hands into fists and prepared to attack his attacker, but then the room spun around him and his vision blacked at the edges. No! He'd forgotten about the possible effects of a concussion. He tried to cover his moment of dizziness, but he was too late. Guy Fawkes had seen his opening and taken it.
The knife cut into his shoulder and he screamed. Somebody had to hear him, right?
Then again, this was a really old, well-built mansion, with thick walls. Besides, Tim had no idea if Bruce or Dick would be able to escape the frightened party guests in order to come rescue him.
It looked like he'd have to do this himself.
These masked men were much larger than he was, but he'd been training as Robin for months now. He just had to catch them off-guard, and he could press the advantage. He bent over and shuddered, encouraging his captors to think he was thoroughly cowed.
"Well, that was short-lived," Guy Fawkes said, and kicked Tim in the stomach. Tim did his best to remain limp, waiting, ignoring the pain as best he could.
Then the moment came. He lashed out fast and hard, yanking the man's heavy boot to the side as forcefully as he could.
Guy Fawkes fell. Tim gave him a good punch to the diaphragm, then kneed him in the groin to ensure he would be down for a few more seconds.
Tim leaped for the closet door and freedom… but then Plague Doctor's cane hooked his ankles and tripped him up, and he crashed to the floor again.
On the floor next to him, Guy Fawkes snorted. "You should know, I could easily kill you as retribution for all that I've been forced to witness on the streets of Gotham while you live up in some cloud castle. But my pal here has even more reason to want to make you suffer…"
Tim tried to focus, but his head was spinning, his shoulder was bleeding, and he really just wanted to go to bed and sleep. "Okay, I think I get it," he said, probably interrupting some stupid villain monologue. "You crazies feel cheated at life, and just want to take it out on someone. My lucky day. But first, I need to tell you something important… You picked the wrong fox to skin!"
With that, he executed a perfect leg sweep and knocked the Plague Doctor down completely.
A minute later, a pink Zorro and a worried pirate finally broke through the closet door to find a battered but self-satisfied fox sitting on top of two unconscious and unmasked thugs.