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Jason was so furious he could smell the fucking traffickers’ blood already.
They had the nerve—the fucking gall—
Distantly, he heard Bruce, Dick, and Duke’s tense chatter over the comm line, but he was pretty sure if he unclenched his jaw he’d bite off his own tongue. Or start screaming.
He turned off the comm line and stared into the clear glass of a sensory deprivation tank. Inside the blue water floated the teenager Jason had been looking for.
Red Robin. Tim Drake. Jason’s little brother.
Jason couldn’t kill the traffickers until they freed him. The stupid tank needed a key just to access its keypad, plus a password he didn’t want to guess. What might happen if he guessed wrong too many times?
How long had Tim been in there? He’d disappeared almost a week ago.
Jason swallowed. He didn’t know much about sensory deprivation tanks, but he was pretty sure people weren’t supposed to stay in them for almost a week.
Had they even fed him? He was hooked up to an oxygen mask, but Jason didn’t see anything like an IV line.
Something clattered in the next room. Jason jumped. Next came the sound of footsteps. He barely ducked behind a stack of crates before a pair of people walked into the room. The first wore a white lab coat and a badge with a logo that Jason couldn’t make out even when he squinted. It looked science-y. Was she a doctor?
The second was a textbook thug: big, burly, but his dark beady eyes looked a little too intelligent for Jason’s taste.
They walked right up to Tim’s tank. The doctor jotted down some notes on her clipboard. Apparently some of the gibberish on the small display screen by the keypad made sense to her, so she nodded and mused out loud, “He still looks fine.”
Jason relaxed just a little bit. He wasn’t sure if his definition of ‘fine’ matched hers, but she at least wanted Tim alive, right? So they could sell him and his identity to the highest bidder.
This was all Jason’s fault. He knew he hadn’t exterminated everyone involved with the Bowery’s latest trafficking ring, but he’d waited for them to reveal themselves.
They had. In the worst way possible.
“He’s creepy as hell floating in there,” the goon grunted.
“Well, it was necessary,” the doctor said. “They wanted him like that.” And what the hell did that mean? She shook her head and muttered, “Rich people.”
“Let’s get him out, then.”
Jason’s heart skipped a beat as the woman used a key attached to a retractable keychain to unlock the tank’s keypad. She punched in the password and the tank hissed.
The water inside rocked, and Tim rocked with it. It slowly started to drain out of the tank.
That was good enough. Jason could figure everything else out from there.
He was moving before they knew what happened.
The first knife lodged in the base of the goon’s skull. His spinal cord severed immediately and he dropped like a stone.
The doctor was already flinching away when Jason threw the second knife. The hit didn’t land perfectly—it sliced deep through her neck and a thick mist of arterial blood spray coated the exterior. She let out a choked half-scream, hands flying up to clasp at her neck, but dark blood, almost black, poured from the wound in quick pulses and spilled over her hands. First her knees hit the ground, then the rest of her twitching body.
Jason didn’t wait around to watch her die. The water was still draining from Tim’s tank, so he could wait while Jason took out every piece of shit that had been involved with his kidnapping.
There were three men cleaning their guns in the artillery room. It would have been so easy to shoot them all before they even knew he was there, but Jason didn’t know exactly how many people were in the building. He didn’t want to alert them so they could run away—or, even worse, take Tim with them. So without breaking stride he unleashed three shurikens that sliced through their jugulars. They slumped over the tables like puppets with their strings cut.
Jason slaughtered his way through three rooms before doubling back, bloodlust sufficiently sated. Leaving fifteen bodies to cool on the floor tended to do that.
When he stepped back into the first room, the tank was empty.
Not just empty of water, but also empty of Tim.
Jason panicked. “Red Robin!” he shouted. Panic and his helmet’s voice modulator made his tone harsh. Had someone escaped the slaughter and stolen Tim anyway? “Red, where are you?”
No response. Jason’s own harsh breaths echoed against the bare warehouse walls.
Fucking warehouses. It was always warehouses.
Okay. He hadn’t seen Tim on his way back, so odds were the kid had gone the other way. Two other doors led out of the room. The first led to a dead-end hallway, so not that one. Jason strode through the last door. Not quite running, because he didn’t want to charge headfirst into a bullet, but he definitely wasn’t relaxed about it.
Just Jason’s luck, this door opened to a shadowed hallway with seven doors that widened into another large warehouse section. Old, rusted machinery filled the floor. Jason didn’t see a clear exit, nor anyone ducking between the shadows. So whoever had taken Tim had probably hidden in one of the seven rooms Jason had just passed without checking. Like an idiot.
Jason whirled around and hissed, “I’m coming to get you, Red!”
A sound.
Maybe.
Could Jason be tricking himself?
“You might as well come out now,” he loudly informed whoever had stolen Tim. “Don’t make things worse for yourself.”
That was definitely a sound.
Traffickers always panicked when Jason cornered them. They knew trafficking kids was bad, but they did it anyway, and that was why they deserved to die, dammit.
Jason looked forward to killing them. And then he would take Tim back to his apartment and give him fluids and nutrients, for fuck’s sake, and keep him warm until Bruce showed up.
Jason was pretty sure the noise had come from the nearest door to his right. So, gun drawn, he turned the door’s handle, then ducked.
No one shot him through the door, so he nudged it open with his foot.
Still no attack.
Either they were smarter than Jason thought, or more cowardly. Usually they fought back a little before surrendering.
He peered into the room. It was dark, just like the rest of the warehouse, and looked like an abandoned office. A large desk took up the majority of a moldy carpet, a wardrobe’s doors were half-ajar, and a tarp hung in front of what Jason guessed to be a window, not that it would have let in much light given it was the middle of the night. It was probably broken, judging by the way it swayed slightly and the chill that bit through Jason’s jacket.
He loomed in the doorway so the trafficker wouldn’t try to escape. Voice harsh, he said, “All right, give it up now. Come out now and I won’t hurt you. Much.”
Lie. Definitely a lie. Jason wanted to vivisect every single person that had touched his brother. It was probably obvious in his voice, because the room remained silent.
Jason felt a flicker of unease. Was it possible that he had misjudged where the noise came from?
No. Those wardrobe doors looked awfully suspect. He should definitely check them out.
Jason nudged the doors open with the barrel of his gun. Nothing apart from several old cardboard boxes.
They wouldn’t have jumped out the window, right? They couldn’t.
The sour-smelling carpet muffled his footsteps as he passed the desk to push the tarp away from the window. Just as he suspected, all the window led to was open air and a forty-foot drop to concrete. Given the lack of a Tim-shaped pancake on the sidewalk below, they had to be somewhere around here.
Jason stiffened at the sharp gasp of air behind him. He whirled around, but the empty room greeted him.
Or… was it empty?
Jason slowly knelt.
Huddled so far beneath the desk’s shadow Jason never would have seen him was the kid. He was curled into the tightest ball Jason had ever seen.
“Found you,” Jason said, voice rough with relief.
Tim shuddered.
“Where’s everyone else?”
The white lenses of his mask peeked out from underneath one of the arms that circled his head protectively.
“Don’t tell me you’re alone.” It would be a miracle, but Jason had learned long ago that miracles weren’t fond of any type of Robin.
If it was possible, Tim curled into a tighter ball. He shook—the night wasn’t particularly warm, and he’d been immersed in water until about fifteen minutes ago.
That’s right. He was weak from his ordeal and probably confused. Well, Jason didn’t mind carrying him. It’s not like the shrimp weighed much anyway.
“Hey, baby bird. I’ve got you.”
A broken sound escaped Tim’s chest.
“I know,” Jason soothed. “I’m going to make it all stop hurting, okay?” He grabbed Tim’s arm to pull him out from under the desk, and Tim—
Tim screamed.
Jason fell backwards with shock. “Red?”
As uncoordinated as a drunk, Tim unfolded his limbs and shot out from under the desk. He moved like a buffering video—caught in one pose for a moment, lunging forward the next, all choppy and uneven., the effect aided by the dark shadows he blended into.
“Were you drugged?” Jason demanded.
Tim made a guttural sound deep in his chest and staggered into the wall with a deep, pained groan. Jason reached out to stabilize him, but Tim slumped to the ground to evade his hands and crawled with the confused desperation of someone whose body had suddenly stopped listening to his commands.
“I’m here for you,” Jason said as he kept pace with the scrambling boy. He didn’t know why Tim was panicking, but he would hurt himself in this state. “Why are you fighting me?”
Tim reached for Jason’s ankle. He relaxed a little. Okay, Tim wanted help. That was fine. Jason could help.
Except Tim didn’t want Jason’s help, it seemed. He did his best to trip Jason. It didn’t do a lot, but Jason pretended to stumble to make him feel better. Then Tim jumped to his feet—he swayed, bent in half, and had to use the wall for balance—and began his uncoordinated stumble down the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Jason shouted.
Tim clapped his hands to his ears like he’d shot a cannon and said, high and strained, “Just leave me alone!”
Oh. Sensory deprivation. Tim wasn’t used to so much stimuli. Of course he’d found a dark corner to huddle in.
Jason made sure to soften his voice when he said, “Red, stop running. I’m going to take you before anyone else comes for you, okay?” He touched Tim’s shoulder. It seemed the least aggressive point of contact, what with the armor there.
White mask lenses met Jason’s eyes.
Tim trembled like a leaf in the wind. His muscles had to be screaming after so long of disuse. Finally, he cracked open his mouth and said, “Hood.”
“Yes,” Jason said, pleased. “That’s me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, no one ever means to get kidnapped.”
“Don’t,” Tim said when Jason moved to pick him up.
“I know it hurts,” Jason soothed, “but you’re too weak to fight anyone right now. So I’m taking you.”
“It’s not fair,” Tim whispered.
“What’s not fair?”
“Not a fair fight,” he said desperately. “Just let me go, Hood—”
“What?”
“I know—I know you’re angry,” Tim said, “just—”
“Why the fuck would I be angry?” Jason asked angrily.
“Hood, I didn’t mean to—no!” he gasped when Jason tried to grab him again. “Don’t hurt me!”
“What? Baby bird, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Tim’s shaking legs decided they’d had enough, apparently. He let out a choked sound and crumpled, then sucked in a pained breath when Jason caught him. He lowered the kid to the ground and knelt next to him. Tim shook so violently his teeth rattled. He said breathlessly, “Batman will get you. Stop hurting me!”
“I’m not,” Jason said with frustration. “I’m here for you.”
“I know,” Tim said, “here to get me, Hood—” His hands flew to his neck and he made another terrible choking sound.
Oh.
There had been a day, two years ago, that Jason had chased Tim out of a tight hiding spot and into a hallway. The kid’s broken leg and cracked ribs had kept him from running, and Jason had walked side-by-side with him as he tried desperately to stagger away from his attacks. All the while, Jason had twirled the kid’s staff and tapped him with every other step to irritate his broken leg, all the way until he collapsed. Then Jason had kicked him in the ribs, broken two of his fingers, and slit his throat and left him for dead.
Tim thought Jason wanted to kill him again. He was terrified of Jason.
Jason was Tim’s Joker.
Jason ripped off his helmet and Tim cut himself off with another gasp. White lenses round with surprise, he whispered, “Jason?”
Jason blinked back tears before they could pool in his domino mask. He said, “It’s me, Timmers. I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Then I can—”
Tim clutched both lapels of Jason’s leather jacket and said, low and terrified, “Jason, Hood’s here.”
All Jason could say was, “What.”
A tremor ran through Tim’s whole body. He squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Jason, it hurts.”
“I know, kid.”
He was probably hurting Tim, so Jason attempted to loosen the kid’s hold from his jacket, but Tim made a wounded sound and clung even tighter, almost all his body curled up in Jason’s lap. Whenever Jason tried to run a hand up and down Tim’s back, the kid flinched away, so he couldn’t do anything as Tim twitched in his lap.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the scared, confused boy. Jason didn’t think he’d ever actually said the words out loud to him. “I’m so sorry, Tim.”