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"Hey, Dad," Tim called, sloughing his backpack off his shoulder and onto the kitchen table. "I'm home!"
No answer, which was unsurprising. Jack wasn't one to acknowledge Tim's existence unless that existence was beneficial.
He wandered into the living room, frowning when he found it empty. The TV was off, which meant his dad wasn't on a simple bathroom or snack break.
Tim slid into a fighting stance.
"Dad?" he tried again, creeping out of the living room and hoping he wasn't about to find his father crumpled on the floor, "Are you here?"
The study was empty, but it looked the same as when Tim had last seen it. All of the rooms looked the same, actually, which fairly debunked Tim's Intruder theory.
"Hello!" he hollered. "Dad?"
"Timothy?"
Tim would have sighed in relief if not for the ice in his father's voice.
"Come up here, now."
Tim swallowed tightly. "Coming!"
He tried to stifle the flood of anxiety, telling himself Jack was just... volatile, and was probably annoyed Tim hadn't cleaned his room or something. Maybe today had been rough for him physically. It didn't necessarily have anything to do with Tim himself.
Tim's bedroom door was wide open, light on.
He took a deep breath, pressing his hands against his thighs to keep them from shaking.
He probably just saw my report card or something.
Tim had meant to get help with English, really, but his essay - which would make a good 35% of his grade - was supposed to be on To Kill A Mockingbird, and the one time he brought it up, Dick cried and Bruce could only explain that it was one of Jason's favorite books. Tim couldn't ask them to pore over it with him after that.
He meant to go for a casual What's up?, but when he stepped through the doorframe his voice died.
His room was utterly, completely trashed. Dresser drawers all open, contents strewn around the room. Posters torn down, hamper overturned, even his mattress yanked half off the bedframe. His desk had been pulled away from the wall, and everything down to his pencil case had been spilled on top. His laptop was open to his browser history, blessedly clear of anything damning.
Only, that didn't matter.
Because Jack was holding Tim's Robin uniform.
"What. Is. This?" he hissed, brandishing the kevlar at Tim.
"A cosplay." Tim didn't know how he managed to keep his voice even. He couldn't quite stop himself from blinking too many times. "Forgot I had it, I haven't worn it in--"
"Bullshit."
Tim flinched as the uniform made a loud thwack against the wall. Jack stalked closer, and Tim backed up, tripping over a broken picture frame. Jack pulled him back up by his shirt collar, and Tim had to force down the instinct to strike his attacker and break free.
"Robin, Timothy? What the hell do you think you're doing? At least if it was a gang, there's ways to get out of jail, but--"
"If... what?"
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice you sneaking out of the house every night? For god's sake, how blind do you think I am?"
"I don't--"
"You explain to me, Timothy, you explain to me right the fuck now, what the hell were you thinking? Running around with a madman every night, getting into fights, and getting fucking shot at?"
Tim swallowed hard. "I think I'm helping people."
"'Helping people?'" Jack sneered. He kept walking, pushing Tim in front of him until Tim's back hit the wall. "How naïve are you, Tim? No, how stupid are you? Is that what Batman's been filling your head with?"
"I'm not naïve. And I'm not stupid. I'm saving lives." Under his breath, Tim added, "Some people call me a hero."
"I call you a goddamn idiot! So puffed up on the glory you can't fucking see that that... thing is just using you to give the freak club something else to shoot at. How long did you think you were gonna last, boy? The last Robin fucking died! You're just gonna throw your life away to save one drunk from another?"
Tim tried to blink away the sting behind his eyes. "Batman didn't want me to fight at all, let alone to use me. But I wanted to do something worthwhile, and if I do die--"
"You're sixteen, Timothy," Jack snapped, shoving Tim harder against the wall. "You will not say another word about dying or so help me--"
"Don't tell me you'd miss me," Tim hissed. "Be honest, Dad, you'd be glad if you never had to deal with me again!"
A burst of pain against Tim's cheek and his head whipped to the side. He was still frozen in shock when Jack grabbed his chin and forced them face to face again.
"Timothy Jackson, don't you ever speak to me that way again, do you understand me?"
Tim... Tim... slowly nodded, staring at his father's white face. His cheek was starting to throb. It would probably bruise.
Jack finally let him go and backed away, shoes crunching on several CD cases.
"Good. And this Robin nonsense ends now, do you hear me, Timothy? You're grounded indefinitely. You go to school, you come right the fuck back here and you do not leave this house until school again. If you ever try to sneak out again, I swear to god I'm going to take a belt to you. Count yourself damn lucky I'm not doing it now."
Jack was half out the door when Tim found his voice.
"No."
"No?"
Jack slowly turned around. His eyes were darker than Tim had ever seen them. Tim stepped away from the wall, fists clenched at his sides, and this time when Jack stalked closer, he stood his ground.
"No," he repeated. "I'm not going to stop being Robin."
"This is not a choice, Timothy. I am your father and you will obe--"
"No!"
This time it was Tim who stepped forward. His breath was coming fast, and his body felt hot and flushed.
"You don't get to call yourself that. Maybe you made me, but then you left me. You never once acted like a father unless it benefitted you, so don't expect me to give up the one thing that's ever made me feel worth something just because you say so!"
"You will never," Jack roared, spit flying, "go out at night and play superhero again!"
"I'd like to see you stop me."
Tim saw the shift in his father's eyes a second too late. An unnerving mixture of resolve and calculation piercing the pure rage.
And he didn't react in time.
Jack lunged, tackling Tim to the ground. Tim's head struck something hard, and by the time he blinked the stars away, Jack had turned him over, knee planted squarely between Tim's shoulder blades.
"You want me to stop you?" he muttered. "Fine. I'll stop you."
"Get off!"
Tim bucked, trying to throw Jack off, or get his hands planted to lever up. Jack dug his knee deeper into Tim's back, grabbing his wrists hard as he flailed. He wrenched Tim's arms behind him and shifted to pin them against his back. Tim grunted at the weight.
"You will learn to respect me, Timothy," Jack growled, accompanied by the jingle of a belt buckle. "And I don't care what I have to do to get through to you!"
"Newsflash," Tim snarled back, still squirming and kicking, looking around at the debris for a weapon, "if beating me worked, I'd have quit the first time I ran into the mob!"
"Dear god, boy, do you fucking hear yourself?"
Tim yelped as Jack yanked his wrists back even further, and froze for a fatal second when he felt leather wrapping around his upper arms. His heartbeat kicked up five gears as his father wrapped the belt around and around his arms, tying it off around his palms.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"If this is what it takes to protect you from your own idiocy--"
"FUCK you!"
Tim finally landed a kick against Jack's back. He grunted and toppled right, and Tim tried to roll left only to be blocked by the mattress. He scrambled to get his feet under him and stand, swaying for a few precious seconds before he could stumble towards the door.
He made it a quarter of the way before a sharp tug on his ankle felled him with a cry. Jack clawed his way closer, despite Tim's continued kicking.
"You... Will never... Go out... there... again!"
Tim's knee jabbed Jack's throat, making him gag, but he was too late. Jack had one hand fisted in Tim's hair. He jerked his head up, then backwards, slamming it into the dresser, and everything went dark.
Tim's head was pounding. His arms and shoulders ached, and the rest of his body felt stiff and sore. He lay on a hard floor, pitifully cushioned by... a blanket?
He opened his eyes, seeing nothing but a sliver of light just in front of him, coming underneath a door and illuminating a hardwood floor identical to the hallways in Drake Manor.
Oh.
Fuck.
Tim bowed his head against the ground, making the throbbing worse.
That had really happened.
His father had found out Tim was Robin, Tim was stupid enough to openly defy his order to stop, and... and Jack had attacked Tim, tied him up with his belt, and locked him in a closet.
Tim bit his lip, not sure if it was to stop a sob or a scream.
His dad was never supposed to know. Never, because Tim knew he would be livid, knew he would go completely off the rails.
Yet he'd never imagined something like this. Being kept prisoner in his own home under the excuse of protection.
How had it gotten so bad that Jack locking him up to 'keep him safe' was the only way he could show something like love?
Tim's eyes burned. He bit his lip and kicked at the door, then kicked it again, over and over until his toes were throbbing.
"Stupid," he hissed. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
Yes, Dad. Whatever you want, Dad. I'll quit, Dad. Then wait for nightfall and go out anyway.
Then maybe he'd at least be tied up by somebody he could hate.
He shut that thought down, following it immediately with Robin's thoughts, with the process Bruce had drilled him on over and over and over again: what to do if you're captured.
Tim knew where he was, and that he was alone. He didn't know how close his d- captor was, or what his plan was. Keep Tim locked up until he broke? Even after? Forget he ever existed and then stumble on his corpse years later looking for spare linens?
Tim took a deep breath. That line of thought wouldn't help anything. The next step was to determine what was keeping him trapped, and how best to get out of it.
The belt was his most immediate problem. It was tight enough that his arms were starting to tingle. His fingers were already numb.
Tim closed his eyes and breathed, focusing on what he could still feel. The belt was actually fastened just above his elbows, with the tail wrapping around his forearms and hands until it knotted in his left palm. He picked at the knot with his fingers, hoping it was big enough and loose enough that he could pull it free.
It took longer than he wanted, but Tim did manage to untie the knot at his hands. The tension around his forearms slackened, and he was relieved by the sting of bloodflow coming back into his fingers.
Only, he could do nothing about the buckle. Tugging the belt's tail failed to do anything other than hurt his arms, and the blanket confounded any attempt to drag the loop against the ground. And not even Dick could have contorted himself to undo it with his hands.
And just like that, Tim was powerless again. The only answer Robin had was endure and wait for rescue or for a better opportunity.
So Tim waited in the dark, unsure how long it would take for anyone to realize he was missing. Unwilling to hope anyone would, because it only ever made his disappointment worse. Unable to turn off the memories of everything that had gone so wrong.
Uncaring to stop the tears streaming silently down his face.
By the fifth time Bruce checked his phone and set it back down with an anxious Hn, Dick had had enough.
"For the love of God, just call him!" he pleaded.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Tim never answers phone calls, you know this."
"He would for you!"
Bruce's next hum was considering. Dick waited for a short eternity before one of Bruce’s anxieties overrode the other, and he opened his phone to contacts.
After a minute of ringing, the line beeped and Tim's voice said, "Hey, you've reached Tim's cell. Please leave a message, or text if it's urgent."
Bruce sighed and hung up. His eyes slipped to the seat across from him. The empty one where a different boy would sit. Until he stopped answering his phone. Until he was too far away for help to reach him. Then too far for any force on earth to reach him.
Dick stood up.
"I'm going over to check on him," he said.
Bruce looked up at him and nodded silently. Dick didn't wait any longer before hurrying out the back door from the kitchen and starting across the lawn. Logically he knew getting a car or his bike would be faster, but he needed to move.
Speed-walking became jogging became running became sprinting, until he reached the wall between the properties and had to brace against it, breathing hard. He wished he could go up and over, climb in through a window, but with Tim's father around (for once) that would raise too many red flags. So he walked along the wall until it turned the corner and the driveway came into view.
Drake Manor was as imposing and forbidding as ever, too white and square and filled with priceless things to be anything but a museum. Certainly not a home. Dick didn't know how Tim could live alone there so long and not be insane.
He rang the doorbell, bouncing slightly on his heels while he waited. And waited. And rang again. And waited some more, worry building with every second. He was about to go around and find a window when finally footsteps beat towards the door and it swung open.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Jack Drake snapped, glaring.
Dick didn't like the look in his eyes. Fortunately, he was good at charming people he didn't trust.
"Hi, I'm Dick Grayson. My father owns the house next door? We took care of Tim while you were, ah, unable."
"And?"
Drake's expression shifted from outright hostile to wary, probably triggered by the aside to Bruce Wayne. Every so often Dick was glad to have a famous father.
"Well, traditionally, Thursdays are game night. I just came over to see if Tim was planning to come, since he hasn't been answering his phone."
"Timothy is grounded."
Dick blinked. "Grounded."
"Yes." Drake started to close the door. "Some other time, perhaps."
"Well, could I just say hi?" Dick tried, very nearly sticking his foot in the doorway.
"No."
And with that, the door shut and the lock clicked.
"Damn," Dick whispered.
He didn't like it. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly was setting him off, but there was an uncomfortable twist in his stomach, which only got worse as he turned back down the driveway.
Was it so impossible for Tim to be grounded? No. Dick loved the kid, but he was wild. He was reckless and independent and never quite knew when to shut up. All reasons Drake could have grounded him.
Taking away Tim's phone with the grounding also made some kind of sense, and Dick knew Drake didn't much like him or Bruce, so it wasn't surprising he'd shut Dick out, but...
The nagging feeling wouldn't go away, whispering over and over that he needed to see Tim safe or risk failing him the way he'd failed Jason. By not being there when his brother needed his help.
Dick waited until he was out of sight of the house, then doubled back around the side towards Tim's room. He climbed up the oak tree outside the window and dropped down onto the eaves to look inside.
Tim's room looked like a hurricane had hit it. There wasn't a single surface not littered with personal debris. Clothes, books, papers, CD cases, school supplies. The furniture had been yanked away from the walls, and the mattress was half off the bed frame.
The pit in Dick's stomach sank deeper.
He pulled open the window and slipped inside, consciously calming his breathing. He had to stare at the ground to avoid tripping on or breaking anything, and the view showed him that other people had not been so careful.
"Tim?" he called softly. "Are you here?"
He knew Tim wasn't. Tim wasn't a neat freak like Jason, but even he would never just leave his room in such a state. Dick could try to hope he was just... getting a trash bag or dust cloth, or, or in the bathroom. But then he saw an all-too-familiar shade of red.
Robin. Robin's suit just crumpled against the wall, and Dick could feel his heart speeding up because Tim would never treat his and Jason's legacy that way.
"Tim!"
Dick yanked open the door and started into the hall. He didn't much care if Jack Drake found him. In fact, he'd like to ask the man a few questions.
Timothy is grounded. No, you can't see him.
Was he trying to cover up that some villain had found out Tim's secret and kidnapped (not killed, not killed) him?
Or was he the reason Tim was nowhere to be seen?
"Tim, can you hear me?"
"What the hell?"
Jack Drake came storming up the stairs, face scarlet when he saw Dick.
"How the hell did you get up here? This is private property!"
"Where's Tim?"
"I'll call the police--"
"And explain to them why your son is missing and you're not doing anything about it?"
"What are you talking about?" Jack sneered.
"This!" Dick pointed to Tim's open door and the trashed room inside. "It's nothing short of a warzone, and Tim would have been right in the center of it! What are you hiding, Jack? Where is Tim?"
"My son is not your problem anymore. Leave. Now."
"Tim!" Dick hollered, staring Jack in the eyes and daring him to make a move. "Tim, if you're here, answer me!"
"Dick?"
The horrible twist in Dick's stomach finally relaxed, even as he narrowed his eyes at Jack.
"Dick, I'm here!"
Tim's cry was distant and muffled, but Dick could tell he was farther down the hall, behind Jack. Jack clenched his jaw and curled his hands into fists as he hissed, "Get. Out."
"I will fight you," Dick warned. "And I will win."
Jack yelled and threw a punch. Dick pivoted and let Jack's force carry him on, sweeping his legs out from under him with one kick. Jack snarled and tried to get up, but Dick pinned him with one foot against his back.
"If Tim has been hurt or violated because of you," Dick murmured, "I will make you pay for it, no matter what it does to me."
"Who the fuck do you think you are!?"
Dick leaned down, Jack grunting at the shifting weight, and whispered, "Well, if Tim is Robin..."
Jack went utterly still. He didn't move even when Dick let him go. Dick scoffed and turned back down the hall, running towards Tim's voice.
Tim kept yelling, "Here! Dick, I'm here!" and kicking the door until he could hear Dick just outside calling, "I got you, Tim, I got you!"
He stopped kicking and a minute later the lock clicked and the door swung open.
"Tim?"
"Down here," he sobbed.
Dick's knees folded to reveal his face. Tim had never seen it so tight and angry.
"Hey, kiddo," he said, voice incongruously soft with his expression. "Let's get you out of there."
He took hold of the blanket and backed up, sliding Tim out of the closet. He snarled when he saw the belt binding his arms.
"I'm sorry," Tim stammered, "I couldn't get it off--"
Dick shushed him, leaning over to fuss with the buckle. Tim bowed his head to rest it against Dick's knee, soaking his jeans with tears. He felt the tension give, and seconds later was swept into a bone-crushing embrace, Dick stroking his hair and whispering, "It's ok. It's gonna be ok."
"I didn't... I... How did you...?"
"You weren't answering your phone," Dick breathed. He pulled back, taking Tim's face in his hands and turning it side to side, then taking his arms and squeezing his hands to warm up his fingers. "We were so scared, baby bird."
"I'm ok," Tim tried, "really--"
But Dick was shaking his head.
"Tim," he said slowly, forcing Tim to meet his gaze. "Has your dad hurt you like this before?"
"It's for his own damn good!"
Tim jumped at his father's voice, shrinking behind Dick as he stood up, squaring off with Jack, fists clenched.
"He's a child, my child, and I refuse to let him out on those streets again."
"Tim hasn't been your child since you took that first flight to Cusco," Dick hissed.
Jack flinched.
"And if you hadn't given up your right to him then, you sure as hell did when you tied him up and locked him in a goddamn closet."
Dick reached down a hand to Tim, never breaking his stare as he pulled Tim to his feet and nudged him behind.
"I'm taking Tim home now."
"You can't just--"
"For his sake we'll give you the chance to sign over custody quietly."
Jack gawked, mouth hanging open despite the fury in the rest of his body. Tim shrank against Dick as he carefully led him around his father and down the hall, never letting go of his hand.
"You're gonna be ok," Dick promised again.
"Did you really mean--"
"I'll tell!"
Dick yanked Tim behind him again as he whirled to face Jack, recovered from his shock and with the same crafty look in his eyes that had ended with Tim bound and imprisoned.
"You take him away, I'll tell the whole city your secret!"
Tim's breath caught, but Dick squeezed his hand.
"Try it."
Jack's smugness faded to confusion. Even Tim glanced up at Dick anxiously, not knowing where he was going.
"Tell the whole city. See how many Rogues and mobs all come after you, asking how you found out and what else you know. See how long they'll bother to ask nicely. See how long it takes them to recognize Tim and go after you as bait. See if he saves you after everything you've done."
Tim shivered. When Jack's eyes slid to him, suddenly fearful, he wanted to throw up. He pressed even closer to Dick to steady himself.
After a minute of silence, Dick scoffed, "That's what I thought," and gently tugged Tim onward again, leaving Jack standing stupefied in the hall.
"Dick, I-"
"It's gonna be ok, Tim. We'll make sure he doesn't--"
"Did you mean it? About taking me back?"
Dick stopped and turned to him, putting his hands on Tim's shoulders and looking straight into his eyes.
"Tim, we never wanted you to go in the first place. Bruce was ready to adopt you outright before your father woke up." Dick tugged him into another tight embrace. "And you have always been my baby brother."
Tim blinked hard, but it still couldn't stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks.
"Oh, sweetheart," Dick sighed, brushing away the tears. "C'mon. Let's go home."