Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Getting shocked with a cattle prod never got old. It wasn’t creative by any stretch, but it was predictable and versatile in a way that Jason could respect. Or he would have respected it if it had been his assailants that it had been directed at. Nameless, faceless goons had gotten the drop on him like the Red Hood was some sort of amateur hour vigilante.

It was supposed to be a normal night, Goddammit.

Sure, he hadn’t slept in a few days, courtesy of his still-healing ribs, but it was still extremely embarrassing to have been surprised this way. Jason had been trained and tortured by the best in the business; he was the motherfucking Red Hood. Barring a particularly annoying bird-themed vigilante— and now apparently these goons— his very name put people on edge.

Now, however, he found himself in the back of a nondescript van, arms and legs tied at strange angles meant to keep him off balance and in pain. Jason could feel an irritation headache coming on— even above the pain of a throbbing head injury. He was looking forward to ripping these men to shreds when they got him to the secondary location.

Truth be told, Jason hadn’t been having a good night before this either. One of the alley kids, Aiden, had flagged Red Hood down a week ago asking if he could search for one of his friends who had gone missing. If it had only been the disappearance of one child, Jason could have chalked it up to a runaway— or a tragic murder. He would figure out what happened and deal with the situation accordingly… But it hadn’t been just one child. The deeper Jason had delved into the case, the more kids had seemed to be missing without a trace, and none of the kids in question had been reported missing by their parents.

He had just been about to interrogate question one of the families involved when they had gotten the drop on him. The metal pipe to the ribs had been brutal, not to mention being pistol-whipped in the immediate aftermath. Jason vowed to pay his Replacement back ten-fold at their next little “re-match.”

He hadn’t seen the little shit since that night, but then again, Jason had better things to do with his time than pick fights with the Bats anyway. Some of his own goons had decided to start a coup while he was “laid-up,” and he had squashed their attempt ruthlessly. His revenge against Batman and Co. needed to wait until his own empire was stable enough to support the kind of vengeance he was looking for; plans were known to change mid-battle if necessary. In the meantime, Jason had studied up a bit more on Timothy Jackson Drake in preparation for their next encounter. He was slippery, to be sure, but he was going to find a way to destroy his Replacement.

“Put the bag over his head.” The voice came from the direction of the driver’s seat, not that he could see it. He cursed himself again for how stupid it had been to leave his Hood at home. Jason had figured the families would be more receptive to answering his questions if they could see his expressions. Clearly, they were so scared that they didn’t want to go to the police; Jason hadn’t wanted to add to their fear. He could admit that it had been a stupid idea in hindsight, even if that particular thought wasn’t helpful at the moment.

Darkness enveloped him moments later, and he focused on the pain of his ribs to distract him from the sudden darkness. Despite his hot breath trying to strangle him and the endless shadows, Jason knew that he wasn’t in his grave. Logically, he knew that there was no wooden box or six feet of dirt. Jason kept breathing.

Soon enough, his attention was pulled away as the henchmen man-handled him from the back of the van. They hadn’t even untied his legs; three sets of hands just hoisted him into the air like a sack of potatoes. Damn. Whoever these people worked with, they definitely weren’t inexperienced. Jason didn’t need his arms to be dangerous— and whoever these people were, they had seemed to know that. There wasn’t going to be an easy way out of this.

Well, there hadn’t been an easy way out of his own grave either, and yet.

The men stayed frustratingly silent as they moved him somewhere in doors. They were on the edge of Gotham Harbor; salty air and rotting fish met his nose even through the burlap sack they had stuck over his head. A steel door shut behind them, a resounding clank echoed through the air as the door closed behind them. Jason was starting to get really tired of crime being committed in abandoned warehouses. Yes, he could admit that they were convenient and easy to use, but at this point he would take an abandoned apartment building— or even some form of boat. Really, he wasn’t picky.

Jason told the goons as much, and the men became much less careful about the placement of his head around the door jams. His skull throbbed painfully on the last one— right before he was tossed onto the concrete floor.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll kill each other.” One of the guards chuckled. “You know the drill, kiddo. Knock three times when you feel like singing. Maybe we’ll even let you live after this.”

“What an incredibly generous offer.” A familiar voice responded flatly.

What the fuck was his Replacement doing here? Jason dragged his temple against the ground, dislodging the burlap sack so he could see. As the door slammed shut, the single light in the corner only illuminated half of the boy’s face, but it was enough to show the calculating look the kid was giving him.

“Do you ever actually wear your helmet, or is it just an overly-expensive prop?”

Jason shot him a glare. “I’m going to shoot you in the face when I get out of here.”

Tim grinned wickedly, blood dripping from his teeth and down his chin. It was hard to reconcile poor little Timmy Drake with the little psycho bound before him. There were children with emotional problems, and then there was whatever the fuck the newest Robin had going on. At least Jason could blame the Lazarus Pit for his instability; what was this kid’s excuse?

Talia had left a few things out of her report when Jason had originally been told about the Replacement Robin. He would be having a few words with her about this the next time they spoke. Though, something told him that he was one of the only people who knew who Tim truly was underneath it all.

“What’s the ETA on Bats getting here anyway?”

”He’s not coming.”

Green polluted Jason’s vision like venom. “What?”

Tim shrugged, unconcerned. “Everyone’s out of town. It’s easier to do what needs to be done when there’s no one watching.”

Wait. Back up a few sentences. Yeah, that’s what Jason had thought he said. “You got captured on purpose? Without backup? You’re a dumbass.”

Tim leaned forward, and Jason could practically feel the boy’s hardened stare lick down his spine like hellfire. “If a Robin blows up in a warehouse, and no one is around to see it, would anyone care that it happened?”

The non-sequitur was pointed, a calculated manipulation to throw him off balance. Unfortunately, it was working. The chains around Jason creaked as he pulled against them, an echoing growl ripping from his vocal cords. “I’m going to enjoy watching the light leave your eyes when I choke you to death.”

The kid leaned back unconcerned, like he didn’t pose even a passing threat to him— or like he didn’t care even if Jason did. The taste of blood danced across his lips as Jason bit through the inside of his cheek to keep from losing any further control of his reactions. The metallic tang seemed to calm down the green enough for him to think He took a deep breath, and then another, and then a few more. Jason needed to think.

“What do you know about these people that I don’t?” Jason took a deep breath.

Despite his earlier proclamation, Tim Drake was far from stupid. Jason would rather pluck out his own finger nails with pliers than admit it, but the kid was… formidable, especially with preparation time.

“I’ll tell you what I know, and we call a truce for the time it takes to escape. The enemy of my enemy and all that.”

“Or—” Jason’s left eyelid twitched, voice strained with false calm— “— I break out of these chains before you, yank out your teeth until you tell me what I want to know, and then dump your body in the harbor.”

Tim’s shoulders were loose and even.

“Your plan has a few flaws in it,” The boy shifted, leaning forward as he fiddled with the bonds behind his back. A moment later, Tim tossed the chains between them, looking bored as he rested his chin on his fist. Jason’s mouth dropped open, but for the first time in his life he couldn’t think of any way to respond. It must be the concussion.

“There are two ways today will end. The first option is going to suck for you, but I’ll lay it out.” Tim nodded towards the stainless steel. “I take that and throttle you with it. I won’t kill you because I respect the Bats rules, but I’ll leave you brain damaged and alone in this warehouse… It would actually solve a few of my more illusive problems”

The boy genuinely looked like he was considering the first option a bit more fully, as though he hadn’t really been thinking about it before that moment but was starting to warm to the option. Jason’s teeth groaned under the pressure of his jaw muscles. If that kid got in striking distance, he was going to tear the flesh off of his fucking bones.

Jason struggled to move closer to the boy, but his legs were bound together, one crossed over the other, with chains that snaked all the way up his thighs and woven into the ones that tied his hands down. The kid… the kid could actually pull it off he decided to.

Something closer to respect seemed to settle in his stomach against his will. The Replacement would fit right in with the League, if he was ever looking for a career change. Now, how the fuck did he get out of these restraints?—

“First option doesn’t sound good to you?” Tim’s voice dripped with sickly sweet venom. “Damn, I was kind of looking forward to that one.”

“What,” Jason grit out when the shackles didn’t budge, “Is the second option?”

Tim’s demeanor changed, something more earnest coming into his countenance. The signs were subtle, but it soothed some of the roaring anger that had been consuming him since he had been tossed into this cell. Tim wouldn’t be here if people weren’t getting hurt. Despite… everything he hated about the newest Robin, he was still just that: Robin. The way the Bats fought their war was a losing game, but they still managed to save some people. The thought tasted like grave dirt in his mouth, true though it was.

“These guys run a child trafficking ring. They’re small, but they’ve been responsible for fifteen children being abducted in the last three weeks. We team up and we can get them taken care of quickly— so no other children get hurt.”

“If they’re messing with kids, then you know what I’ll do to them,” Jason warned.

“What you do to them after I leave is none of my concern.”

Jason could respect that, from the standpoint of plausible deniability of course. “So, I’m assuming you had a plan before I crashed the party?”

”Oh, I told them where to find you, Hood. The plan was always that you were going to crash the party.”

That little fucking shit—

“But for now, I’m thinking we make them come to us, don’t you?” The chains clanked against the ground as Tim made a show of binding his hands again. “They wanted me to sing, after all, and who am I to deny them a performance?”

Chapter Text

All things considered, tonight could be going worse. Tim had been following this trafficking ring for three weeks, desperately searching for information under Bruce’s radar. The man had been overprotective since he had come back bloody after his encounter with the Red Hood— or the random street thugs as he had told his father mentor. Tim hadn’t been allowed out on patrol at all in that time, and he wasn’t allowed to do casework either.

He could hardly blame the man. Dick had nearly been killed by Jason, and then Tim had gone out alone in Gotham and come back with a knife wound to the stomach. The man had looked devastated seeing both he and Dick injured side-by-side in the Medbay. No doubt Bruce blamed himself— as though he should have been able to protect them.

The world didn’t work that way. Sometimes you could do everything right and still lose.

All that is to say: Tim hadn’t listened to his well-meaning instructions. The man meant well, but he didn’t know the full story, and if Tim could help it, he never would. Red Hood had stayed on his side of the line— hadn’t attacked any of the Bats— since that night. That didn’t mean it was safe for Tim out there, but it had never been before either.

So when one of his informants told him about some children going missing in the rougher parts of Gotham. One disguise and a hired fake uncle later had led Tim to some answers. The operation was small, consisting of just eight men by his count. The actor had pretended to sell Tim to these men tied and bound, gift wrapped for these creeps.

Unfortunately, he had needed to break free from the van sooner than he had intended because of a call on his burner phone. Dick had wanted to get ice cream when he came into Gotham that night, and the man had assumed— like everyone had assumed— he was at Drake Manor. While he hadn’t figured out where they were keeping the kids, he had seen a distinctive tattoo on one man’s neck before he had broken free and disappeared.

From there it was a simple matter to place their last known employment to the Australian Secret Intelligence Service. They had been dishonorably discharged and had received U.S citizenship months later under false names and credentials. They had only made Gotham their permanent residence six months ago with various forms of employment.

Tim knew everything there was to know about these men. Where their families lived, what their favorite sports teams were, how they liked their eggs in the morning. He meticulously coded all of the information into a spreadsheet as he continued to gather more.

But none of it told him where the kids were.

Which was how Tim found himself “tied up” across from a very pissed off Red Hood. Apparently the man had been breathing down their necks, and they had wanted information on where to find him. Tim figured they would either find Red Hood and the vigilante would kill them outright, or they’d get the drop on him— because the man never wore his helmet— and Jason would be hauled back here for questioning. (Mentioning the previously broken ribs was more out of spite than anything else.)

“Can I trust you to play along, or will you try to maul me when I undo your chains?”

Jason’s biceps flexed around his binds, like he was physically trying to hold himself back from ripping Tim’s throat out with his teeth. He would have done the same thing if their positions had been reversed, Tim supposed. It must be difficult to be tied up in a warehouse and unable to escape. Jason’s past trauma was no doubt at the forefront of his mind. If it were anyone else, Tim probably would have felt bad; he just couldn’t muster the sympathy required for this particular pain.

“I will not,” Jason grit out each word like it physically pained him, “kill you until after I kill them.”

”I’ll take it.” And Tim would. As long as their common enemy remained, then so did this little truce of theirs. “At least one of these guys needs to remain conscious so they can tell us where they’re keeping the kids.”

Jason gave a jerky nod. One look at the man’s domino mask and he knew that he meant what he said. Red Hood hated Tim with a fiery passion, but he cared about the well-being of these children more. Good. That was useful.

Tim knocked against the metal door— one, two, three times. Then he started to sing a string of nine numbers, quiet at first, but then he picked up the volume as he heard the footsteps come towards their cell.

“Fucking— shit!” Tim grinned at the guard’s profanity as the man hastily unlocked the door. He didn’t let that stop him from cycling through the numbers though. The more worked up the guard— Tate— the more the situation was in Tim’s control.

The door swung open and crashed against the concrete blocks. Tate’s shoulders were tight with rage and apprehension as he made a B-line for him, knife drawn. His neck was red where it disappeared into his mask, all control he had shown earlier seeping from his body.

Tim was ready for him though.

The plasma cutter he had installed into his right gauntlet sheared through the knife blade as he leveled a simultaneous kick to the man’s ankle. Tate went down with a shout as Tim sprung over to meet him, bashing the crown of his head into the man’s trachea. Tate clawed at his throat, desperately trying to get air into his abused body. He would be fine; Tim hadn’t heard anything break. Yet.

“Hold still.” He only had one more charge on the plasma cutter, and, unfortunately, he had to waste it on unbinding Jason from his chains. If the man so much as twitched, he stood to lose something vital. The chains between his legs gave with a small tinkas Jason scrambled to free his legs and then his arms.

Tim rounded on Tate, sending the man sprawling to the floor with a vicious kick to the face. He was unconscious, but his chest was moving up and down ever so slightly. He’d live to see another day— assuming Red Hood didn’t kill him, of course. Not that it would be a great loss.

“Were—” Jason stuttered, hauling himself to his feet. “Were you singing his Social Security Number?”

”They wanted me to sing.” Tim shrugged, leaning against the wall as Jason shook the blood back into his wrists. "Can't blame them, really. I have an incredible vocal range.”

“You’re psychotic, Replacement.” Jason cracked the vertebrae in his neck. “And that’s coming from me.”

Tim scuffed, gesturing lazily at the unconscious man at their feet. “This man insists that his wife make him poached eggs every morning for breakfast and I’m the psychotic one? I take offense.”

Jason shook his head at Tim evasion of his unasked question. How does he know all this? It was practically rolling off the man in waves, but Tim wasn’t about to waste time on details that didn’t matter. The less Red Hood knew about his research methods the more unhinged Tim would seem to the man. People only picked fights they thought they could win. Keeping someone perpetually off balance was a great way to mitigate unwanted confrontation, for the most part anyway.

”There will be seven others. They all came over together after being kicked out of the Australian Secret Intelligence Service.”

The man nodded once, motioning for Tim to lead the way through the rest of the warehouse. There was something he needed to do first. He brought his steel-toed boot down on the Tate’s right knee, crushing it into the floor, doing much the same to the left afterward. He only managed to whimper and whine as he writhed on the ground in agony. If Tim started showing mercy in front of Red Hood, the man would always test him. And if he couldn’t have respect, he would settle for apprehension.

Jason stared at him, jaw slack as he looked between Tim and the injured man at his feet. “What? They took my wire ties.”

“I— You know what? We don’t have time for this.” Tim couldn’t agree more.

“Turn right and go down the hall. It’ll lead you to the main warehouse where they’re all camped.” Jason hesitated, but Tim just looked at him lazily.

“After you, Hood. I insist.”

Chapter Text

Jason waltzed through the cell door as though he were comfortable with Tim at his back— all smooth movements and coordinated, murderous strut. He would have been fooled if not for the subtle glances he sent over his shoulder. Well, he had brought the spare piece of chain that he had threatened to strangle him with, so Tim supposed it was a valid fear.

They had taken his utility belt when they had captured him. He had needed a weapon, after all. Why wouldn’t he use it if he could? Jason seemed content to use his sheer bulk to get by in their upcoming fight.

The hall was empty, but Tim had suspected as much. The others were concerned with guarding the rest of the warehouse— keeping a lookout for Batman or the GCPD. They had grown twitchy since they had figured out that Robin was on their trail. The warehouse was just a secondary location to keep him; a way to ensure that the authorities would be searching for the trafficked children in the wrong place. It meant that there were most likely more people guarding the children, but Tim had been more concerned about the leaders of the operation and less concerned about their hired help.

Everyone knew how protective Batman was over his partner. To kill him wouldn’t be signing a death warranty so much as an extended stay in Black Gate or Arkham. But Tim was okay with that; he would never make Bruce compromise his morals for the sake of avenging him. He wasn’t so selfish.

But that was beside the point. The point was this: they knew Robin was on their trail; they presumed that Batman wouldn’t be far behind; they would try and move the kids as quickly as possible in response to the aforementioned.

It didn’t matter though. One way or the next they wouldn’t be able to lay a hand on these children again. Either Tim would permanently maim them, or Jason would find a more deadly solution to the problem. Preferably before they managed to scatter these kids where no one would ever find them.

The hallway was dark with only a smattering of old fluorescent lights. Some were burnt out, some of the fixtures didn’t have any at all, but every now and then there were a few that functioned. They must have been stealing power from the outside lines. Smart. Most of the time, Gotham vigilantes found themselves functioning in the dark. Not that this was much better, but at least Tim wouldn’t have to move slowly to avoid any unforeseen obstacles.

Jason was surprisingly quiet for as oversized as the man was. Somewhere, very distantly, it reminded him of Bruce. The comparison was an uncomfortable one. It was easy to forget that the man in front of him had once been the Robin he had admired. Despite the way Jason had hurt Tim’s family, he was still Bruce’s son and he was still Dick’s brother. He needed to remember that. Permanently maiming the man was out of the question— even if Tim really, really, felt like it.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t threaten it to suit his purposes. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

Thirty seconds later, they came across their first obstacle:there was a man stationed at the end of the hall. James Donovan wasn't the best fighter, or even the smartest of his group, but he was loyal to a fault. The man considered the others his family where the others deemed him as nothing more than an asset. A pang of pity settled into Tim’s heart for a brief moment before he squashed it down. The man had chosen his circumstances— he had chosen his family— and he had chosen wrong. Donovan would pay for that decision dearly.

He was faced away from them, more concerned about what would make it through versus what was coming from behind. Tim nearly scoffed at the unspoken insult. Instead, he raised his hand to Jason’s shoulder, blocking the elbow that threatened to break Tim’s ribs.

Jason turned and raised an eyebrow. The man searched his face, and Tim rolled his eyes, holding up the chain that he had wrapped around both fists. Jason stepped to the side, sweeping his arm out in a dramatic invitation. Well, you could take the murderous psycho out of the theater, but you couldn’t take the theater out of the murderous psycho, Tim supposed.

Slowly, carefully, Tim snuck up behind Mr. Donovan, snapping the chain around his neck with efficiency. Jason was kind enough to cover the man’s mouth to muffle the choking noises as Tim carefully cut off his oxygen. He didn’t want to break the man’s trachea, but he needed to make sure he didn’t get up anytime soon.

Tim dragged the man back into the shadows of the hallway and around the corner while Jason grabbed his feet.

”Your technique could use some work,” Jason muttered, “That was sloppy.”

Tim leveled him with a meaningful look . “I could use more practice, if you’re offering.”

“I swear when we get out of here—”

“— You’ll kill me, I know. Can we get on with this while one of us is still young?”

Jason’s fists clenched at his side, and Tim could almost see the green glow of the man’s eyes permeate his Domino mask. He fought the urge to roll his eyes a second time as he brushed past him and into the entrance of the hallway.

Four of the men were sitting in the dilapidated accounting office on the ground floor. The blinds were cracked and broken, and an antique lamp gave off a minuscule amount of illumination. Slowly he snuck closer, Jason following close behind. The older boy’s eyes prickled at the skin of his neck, but Tim ignored it. They had a common enemy right now. He was fine for the moment.

The men were speaking in hushed tones, but Tim couldn’t make out any of their words from his place beside the broken window. He settled for what he could see instead.One of the goons— Seth, upon closer inspection— was twirling Tim’s Bo absentmindedly. Another was admiring one of Hood’s guns. Jason’s leather-clad fists creaked dangerously beside him.

Of course this zombified man-child was possessive over something as simple as a weapon. Tim just barely bit back a scoff. Hood pulled him back by his shoulder gruffly. The urge to snap at him was nearly Tim’s— and by extension their— undoing, but he managed to bite it back behind a cool facade. Reactivity was dangerous to their goals, and they wouldn’t get a second shot at this

“You gotta plan, or are we just supposed to sit here until they decide to come out and play?”

”If we wait and listen then we might hear something useful.”

Jason’s jaw ticked, but he nodded anyway, motioning for Tim to lead the way as they crept back over to the window. The men were closer to the window now, and their voices were much clearer in the silence of the warehouse.

“— Jack and Liam are squared away. None of the Bats have been sniffing around the place. Should make moving ‘em easier.” So these were the last men in the building. Tim had been wondering when the other two would rear their ugly heads. Apparently, they were on guard duty.

Tim smirked a bit as the conversation took a turn. “Yeah, and can’t believe it was so easy to bag the Red Hood. Has a helmet and doesn’t wear it— just sloppy if ya’ ask me.”

The others laughed, and Tim could feel heat radiating from the man behind him.

“Walks around like some kinda Robin hood when you know damn well he's every bit as dirty as the people he hunts.” Oh. Oh no. This was taking a turn. Jason was agitated before, but this wasn’t going to end well if it was allowed to continue. Tim looked around for something to distract them. If he took a stray rock and threw it, the noise would—

“— You know, I bet if we offered to let Hood buy one of the prettier ones, he would join us. He’s probably a freak that would like to—”

— Tim felt a muscled bicep band around his chest, while another scooped up his legs. Jason hoisted Tim into his arms and heaved him through the glass window with little fanfare. His back hit the linoleum floor with a sickening crunch as the men scattered to get out of his path. Tim struggled in a tangle of window blinds and glass shards on the accounting room floor, but went largely unnoticed in favor of the raging vigilante who had just jumped through the open window.

Jason wrestled his own gun away from one of the men— Oliver? — quick to shoot him in the kneecaps for touching his prized weapon. As the man’s back was turned, Seth jumped in with Tim’s Bo, intent on breaking Jason’s skull with it. Instead, Tim kicked his foot out, and tripped him with all the finesse of a fish caught in a net. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. Jason brought his boot down on the man’s hand, and he heard bone crunch as Seth screamed and writhed.

Everyone converged on Jason, the man who they assumed to be the bigger threat. Tim used the time to haul himself to his feet, standing at Jason’s back. One came at him with a large Bowie knife, slashing wildly with wide eyes. Tim caught the handle with his chain, fighting for control as the man tried to pull him away from Hood. As far as Robins went, Tim was small, but he wasn’t defenseless either.

— And if he wasn’t allowed to maim Jason Todd, then these guys weren’t allowed to either. There was a line, and he was there first, dammit.

Tim grit his teeth, leaning away from the exposed blade. On the man’s next pull he jumped into the momentum, dodging to the outside of the knife, and kneed the goon in the stomach. Tim let the chain fall and kicked the blade from his hand. Something flashed from the corner of his eye and Tim just managed to catch his Bo staff before it hit him square in the face. Red Hood gave him a two finger salute and began beating one of thugs within an inch of his life.

They fell into step after that, he kept the two at a distance while Jason beat another one into the ground. They switched sides, Tim striking low while Hood gave the final blows…It was like they were a team. The thought made him nauseas, but in a different life maybe they would have been good, dare he say, partners.

Tim shook the thought from his head before his distraction got him killed.

His assailant was persistent, Tim would give him that. The man was a wall of muscle, even if he was smaller than Jason at his back. A roar tore from the man's lips as he grabbed Tim's bo staff with one hand and rained down punches with the other. The final blow to his cheek jolted something awake in Tim, and it throbbed in tune with his fractured cheekbone. Viciousness rose up to meet the pain in kind, and this man was going to suffer.

……

……

Time blinked between one moment to another, and Tim was looking down at the prone form of the last goon standing. His chest heaved violently as the man groaned on the floor beneath his feet. Exactly where someone like him belonged. Tim probably should have been concerned that he didn’t remember the fight, but the adrenaline coursing through his system felt good. It felt like justice.

A low whistle distracted Tim from his thoughts. Jason leaned casually against a desk— lit cigarette hanging from his teeth. The man considered him for a moment, dragging his eyes over Tim’s form as he took a long drag. He didn’t back away from the scrutiny. Tim knew what he was, and he knew that he had given Jason another glimpse into the true nature of his soul.

”Vicious,” he finally said, “Sloppy, but vicious. All the makings of a monster.”

”Then I suppose I’m in good company.” Tim crouched down and grabbed the broken man but the collar. “Now help me get him up.”