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Chapter 3
Stolen Things
A week passed and Tim didn't sneak outside again, though that might have been due more to the fact that Ra's would know instantly now if he left rather than any sudden desire to avoid trouble, or rather, a certain black-haired, blue-eyed troublemaker. Besides, there was a lot to catch up on, progress to look over, people to check in with. If he couldn't participate personally, he was at least determined to make sure it was done right.
He had just returned from one such outing when a shifting in the shadows had him perking up, expecting to see Ra's returning, sweeping into the room with regal grace. The shifting was wrong though, not quite the prowl of Ra's' demons, and indeed, when he looked up, it wasn't Ra's standing there.
It was one of the intruders, one of the Detective's allies. He stood by the window, as strikingly beautiful as Tim remembered, all lean muscle and wispy black hair and startling blue eyes. For just a moment Tim thought it was Jason, and he couldn't help the flare of anticipation, even if it was the stupidest thing the man could have done, following him there. But then the rest of the details registered—the blue insignia against the black he wore, the softer set of his features, the longer sweep of his hair—and the thrill turned to alarm.
"Timmy." The man smiled, a beautiful smile, like everything else about him. Tim straightened, preparing to defend his home, taking charge of the situation.
"What is it that you want?" Whatever this man had come to steal, Tim was going to make sure he didn't get his hands on it. A few demons in the room had already scattered, off to tell their master.
"I've come for you, Timmy." And no matter how kindly, how earnestly those words were whispered, Tim felt all the calculations and stratagems in his head come to a jarring halt. Maybe he'd always been a little bad at evaluating his own worth, but in all his suppositions, he'd never considered it might be him they were after. Suddenly all those times Ra's had told him he underestimated his own importance made sense, why Ra's had hidden him instead of letting him fight. They wanted him. The entire time, he'd been the thing they wanted all along. The thing they'd come to take from Ra's.
It changed everything.
"I won't let you use me against Ra's." He had to think. The advantage seemed to be on his side if it came to a fight: they were on his territory, he had the demon inside him, more of them around the room that would definitely join in defending him, and Ra's was on his way. However, he had to assume that this creature had come here knowing that and had some advantage. If he was as dangerous as Ra's seemed to think, it was better not to underestimate him.
"I'd never use you." He held his hands out disarmingly, but Tim knew the man had no need for physical weapons. "Come on, Timmy. You know me."
Tim shook his head. He didn't know these people. Except he did. It was that same familiarity he always felt around Jason. As though the man (stranger!) had called it forth, there was a name at the tip of his tongue.
"Dick?" It was a trick. A trick. Ra's was right, they couldn't be trusted. They were trying to confuse him. He waved a hand as if to ward off the déjà vu. But the man was positively beaming at him now, nodding.
"That's right, Little Brother. I just want you to come home." Dick took a couple more steps forward: slow, unthreatening, steadily closing the gap between them. Tim's heart was hammering in his chest.
"I am home." He blinked and Dick's fingers were on his face, sliding reverently into his hair. That touch—like a memory of hugs, fingers tapping against his skin, brilliant grins in the dark. The images were warm and welcoming.
He was going to be sick all over again.
"I won't hurt you. I could never hurt you. Come back to us." Except they weren't his memories. The creature was trying to confuse him again, showing him images that didn't exist.
Tim was aware peripherally that his eyes were too wide, his body frozen against the wall under the mental assault.
The demon inside him squirmed agitatedly at Dick's touch. Tim felt a wave of infernal heat wash over him, rising from the pit of his stomach, rinsing away the shock of the images. He panted for breath. It was too hot. Dick seemed to notice, concern creasing his brow.
"Timmy? Tim, are you all right?" The cold hand pressed against his forehead then wasn't enough to help. He stumbled, eyes rolling up into darkness. Dick's worried voice followed him into oblivion.
"Tim, what has he done to you?"
Tim woke covered in blood, like an unpleasant coating of war paint, post battle, which cracked and flaked when he wrinkled his nose. He didn't know what it was at first, only that his clothes were stiff and heavy, his hair matted with it.
"Timothy?" Ra's was kneeling beside him, hand on his arm, looking relieved when Tim blinked up at him dazedly. Then the blood registered: it stained the carpets and the walls, it covered his arms and peeled in grotesque splotches on his hands. At first it panicked him and he scrambled to look for the wounds, raking fingers over the flaking blood, scraping it off, but there was only unblemished skin beneath. He wasn't injured. The relief was overwhelming.
"It worked," Tim looked up at Ra's with growing triumph as the realization set in. "It worked. He couldn't take me." But the man didn't seem to share his exultation, gaze hard as he sat back.
"These enemies are smart. This won't stop them for long."
"But there's one fewer of them now." Tim spread his arms, wrinkling his nose again at the coating of sticky blood. Nothing could have survived that kind of blood loss. "Surely that's some relief." So why did he feel only a sort of nervous worry at the thought?
"He'll be back." Ra's' gaze only darkened broodingly. "The Detective's children aren't so easy to kill."
Tim let his arms fall to his side, back against his sticky, red and brown stained robes, and moved closer to the man's side. The heat pooled in his abdomen was reassuring, a constant promise of protection. It made it easier to ask the question that was burning the back of his tongue, the one thing he didn't understand.
"He came for me, Ra's. Why would they want me?"
"Your position at my side is more important than you think." Ra's' tight smile seemed to say he'd explained this before. "Taking you from me would deal a great blow to my hold on the city."
There was something still bothering Tim though, something not taken into account by such an explanation. Ra's had admitted to stealing something from them, and it was curious the way Tim seemed to know their names, the way they'd come to him, not like an adversary seeking a fight, but like brothers. What if…
"What was it you took from them?" he blurted out. It wasn't his place to question Ra's, and he half expected a rebuke, but the man's impenetrable green gaze only regarded him thoughtfully.
"The city," he said, like it was obvious.
Tim blinked, caught off guard. It wasn't a lie—Tim knew how to read lies—but it wasn't the answer he'd expected either. Perhaps the familiarity he felt with their adversaries, the inexplicable knowledge of their names, had simply been more of their mental tricks. Perhaps he'd been a fool to put more thought into it.
"Do you think less of me for taking it from them?" Ra's asked suddenly, and Tim realized he'd been frowning intensely into the distance. He shook his head.
"They couldn't have been doing a good job taking care of it if they let the curse kill everyone."
"No," Ra's replied, somehow amused. "I suppose not." He reached out then, hand gripping Tim's shoulder. "I am relieved to find their attack unsuccessful. I'm glad you were not harmed."
Tim smiled, leaning into the warmth of the man's touch, and shrugged off his lingering doubts temporarily in favor of appreciating this momentary success.
It wasn't until later, looking in the multi-faceted mirror of the master bathroom at his own reflection, that he thought back on the strange conversation he'd had with the creature called Dick. The man had called him Little Brother. Looking in the mirror now at his own features—less perfect, not so ethereally beautiful perhaps, but similarly colored blue eyes, the same black hair—he had to wonder.
"Was the city the only thing you took, Ra's?"
Dick looked back at the monolithic tower—what had once been a hotel with the grandest view of Central Park, now one of the few remaining structures in the area and the prison holding his brother—because prisons didn't have to be dark and dank and Spartan. Sometimes they were made of silk pillows, and mother-of-pearl inlay, and the fond touches of a man who had stripped away the memory of family and the ones who really cared.
Dick gritted his teeth. He'd been beaten badly, blood soaking his suit even if the gashes had already healed over, but despite all that, what stung the worst was the failure. He hadn't managed to free his brother. Tim was still an unwitting prisoner.
"What happened?" Bruce demanded, landing lightly beside him on the burned-out hull of a house. Damian and Jason weren't far behind. They'd agreed that he was the best choice to convince Tim. If anyone had a shot at bringing their stolen brother home, it was him. Of all of them, Dick had always been the most naturally convincing without having to resort to tricks. Ordinary people tended to look at him, to listen to him, to believe him. Ordinary people like Tim.
The thought of Tim, of what had been done to him, filled him with a renewed sort of rage.
"Dick?" Bruce prompted.
"It was Ra's." He nearly spit the words. "That man put a demon in our brother."
Author Notes: This was actually supposed to be the end of ch. 2. I think I was holding onto it because the ending I had in mind required Tim be familiar with the people in the city, and I needed a scene that showed him interacting with them. That and I wanted to elongate the meeting with Dick to show the fight. At this point though, both of those things seem so ridiculously minor. I would rather get the rest of what I have written posted than leave 5000 good words moldering on my computer for the rest of eternity.
I thought I'd have time after my baby was born to write (like I did after my first baby), but I have since had to reevaluate my life priorities, because I just have no thinking time at all anymore with two hip-high little critters running around. Unfortunately writing has gotten sacrificed. That's why there are now year-long gaps between updates. T_T
