Tim wasn't going to freak out. He wasn't. That wasn't allowed. It simply wasn't in the equation. So Tim knelt there, calm, cool, collected. Still and silent. Obedient.

But inside his head, Tim screamed.

Does he know? Does he know? Does he know?

How could he know?

None of it added up. None of the math made sense.

Red Hood couldn't know that Tim was Robin. He couldn't know, so Red Hood wasn't here because Tim was Robin and Red Hood wanted to…

But if Red Hood didn't know Tim was Robin, then what was Red Hood doing here? Red Hood was a murderer and a crime lord and a full-on villain, but Robin and Batman had heard about Red Hood's "code of honor."

Red Hood didn't hurt kids. He didn't.

But Robin wasn't a kid. Red Hood fought Robin, going out of his way to hunt and hurt Robin, which therefore meant Robin equaled not a kid in Red Hood's eyes. And Tim was Robin. Therefore, since Tim equaled Robin, Tim equaled not a kid. Therefore, Red Hood could hurt Tim.

Red Hood would hurt Tim.

All of this flashed through Tim's mind in the span of a few seconds as Red Hood made his way further into the room and came to a stop on the other side of the table.

Tim could feel Janet and Jack exchanging sideways glances over his head. For once, Tim thought he knew what they might be thinking. Red Hood wasn't who they were expecting.

Tim had caught on to the codenames used, both for and by his parents. That was normal. Drake Industries couldn't be found out doing something that could be potentially misinterpreted as underhanded, after all, and most people didn't seem to understand the kind of math that Tim had to do. So Jack and Janet used codenames. Their business partners often did too, and they were sometimes even "non-business" personnel as Jack and Janet referred to the underworld of Gotham. It was completely normal.

Having a business partner revealed to be this caliber of person, though? Red Hood had made a name for himself quickly, and he was practically a Rogue by now.

"Mr. Rider?" Jack said warmly, but his voice tilted up at the end with concern

"That would be me," Red Hood's modulated voice came through.

"Please, take a seat," Janet invited.

Red Hood's helmet turned slightly toward her, then turned straight forward again, more toward Tim. (Tim tried not to shake.) Red Hood didn't take a seat.

Jack coughed. He reached down for his briefcase and put it up on the table. "Well, here's the contract we had formulated together last weekend with-"

"Miss Crimson," Red Hood interrupted before Jack could open his briefcase.

The goon by the door stepped forward quickly until she was at the table as well. She pulled a small envelope out of a pocket and slapped it down on the table, then she took a couple of steps back.

Jack frowned. "What is this?"

"The new contract we formulated," Red Hood said.

"We haven't formulated anything new since last weekend," Jack said slowly.

"That's what you think," Red Hood said.

Jack turned toward Janet. "Did you-"

"I didn't make any adjustments," Janet said shortly.

"That's where you're wrong," Red Hood said. "You made the adjustments without knowing, right from the beginning, when you decided to sell off your kid, Jack and Janet Drake."

That's when Miss Crimson pulled a pair of guns and pointed one at each of Tim's parents.

Jack and Janet both froze.

"See, here's where I stand," Red Hood said. He sounded almost casual, although Tim wouldn't have believed the casual tone even if Miss Crimson wasn't standing there with her guns trained on Jack and Janet. Red Hood continued, "Selling people is wrong. Hurting kids is wrong. Selling your own kid for someone else to hurt is very wrong."

"Then why'd you agree-" Jack began.

Janet smacked him on the knee.

Jack shut his mouth for once.

"I agreed to meet with you for two reasons," Red Hood said. "One: to stop this from happening again. Two: to fulfill my own purposes, which are for me and the kid to know and for you not to find out. Miss Crimson?"

Miss Crimson took several steps closer. The gun barrels were mere inches from Jack's and Janet's respective foreheads. There would be no dodging, no missing, no chance to heal. A gunshot point-blank to the head would be the end.

Tim didn't move. He couldn't. He knew how to fight, he knew how to slide under the table and take Miss Crimson down, he knew how to twist her guns out of her hands, he even knew how he could maybe leverage her against Red Hood, who seemed to care about his goons. But Tim didn't know, at that moment, how to move.

"So here's what I'm thinking," Red Hood said. "The little mister Timothy Drake down there is going to stand up from the floor. He is going to come around the table and give me his hand. He and I are going to walk out of this room. You are going to stay here. You are going to wait for Miss Crimson to allow you to leave. You and I are never going to see each other again. Understand?"

Jack gulped. Janet glared.

Red Hood tilted his head slowly to one side. "Or, if you don't understand, I'd be happy to have Miss Crimson make you understand."

Miss Crimson flicked off the safety on both guns simultaneously.

"We understand," Janet said tersely.

"We understand perfectly," Jack ground out.

"Then we've all come to an understanding," Red Hood said, looking at Tim again. "Now let's make it happen. Stand up."

Tim still didn't know how to move. Thoughts whirled through his mind. Was there a chance Red Hood didn't know Tim was Robin? Was there a chance Tim was going to be okay?

"Stand," Red Hood commanded.

Tim stood. He rounded the table. He held out a hand.

Red Hood grabbed Tim's hand, squeezing it to the point where Tim had to bit back a whimper.

And no. There was no chance. After that whole speech about hurting kids being wrong, the way Red Hood had Tim's hand in a hurtful death grip definitely meant Red Hood somehow knew Tim was Robin.

That could only add up to one thing.

Red Hood still wanted what Jack and Janet thought he'd come for; he just didn't want them to know. And that equaled a world of pain for Tim.