Chapter Text
Tim is scared.
Now, Tim knows, he knows okay, that he shouldn’t be scared. He’s Robin, for fuck’s sake. He’s punched Two Face where the sun don’t shine, solved more than enough of Riddler’s riddles, and fought with Poison Ivy. He’s gone up against some of the most terrifying villains in Gotham and won.
Of course, Tim’s been afraid before. It comes with the job.
But not like this.
Tim was in control then. He had a plan, and he had weapons, and he had training, and he had his body.
And right now, he has none of those.
Tim stares at the tiny hands that rest in his lap and still can’t come up with any other thought in his head but a very empathetic what the fuck.
The fingers (his fingers) are short and pudgy with baby fat, and when he tries to move them they don’t respond with the speed and precision he’s used to. They feel wrong. Everything feels wrong.
“You can see how well this drug will work on future… volunteers.”
Tim’s stomach drops as he suddenly remembers the situation he’s forced into.
Well, Tim is utterly fucked. It was great knowing you, world. Loved living in you while he could. If Tim could put in a request for his next incarnation, he wants a normal life outside of Gotham please. Maybe with some actually present parents for once?
“Despite the Red Hood making waves in the underworld,” Tim suppresses a shudder. Laughing and pain and green all race to the forefront of his mind, and he rapidly shuts that train of thought down, “we’ve been able to maintain a remarkably effective trafficking network.”
The lights overhead buzz. The warehouse is old and creepy, in a way that most warehouses are. A few boxes are shoved to the side and pressed tightly against the walls.
Tim tries to stand, but he immediately falls down. The oversized Robin gear feels like it’s drowning him. His cape tangles around his legs. His center of balance is completely wrong.
Panic crawls up his throat.
Get up. Damn it, Tim, get up!
He knows how to get up. He’s done it thousands of times before. But nothing is working like it should, and he can’t do this. He can’t do this.
A delicate laugh makes its way into Tim’s ears at his feeble attempts.
Heels click against the tile. The woman walks around Tim, like a predator stalking her prey, caressing the back of his head. Her fingers are cool against Tim’s burning skin. Her sharp nails tap lightly into the base of Tim’s skull, once, twice. He shudders.
“Oh, don’t be frightened.”
Tim’s breathing catches.
“It’s just the natural order of the human species. We evolve, and we learn new ways to survive.” She smiles, her teeth a stark white against the deep crimson of her lips. It looks like she smeared her lips with blood. “And survived we have. There are certain territories we can’t pull our recruits from, of course. Crime Alley, for instance.”
Tim’s stomach twists, and he feels like throwing up.
“The whole goal, my dear Robin, is to hide. The Red Hood has rules, and people who break them either regret it or don’t live long enough to regret it.”
Her fingers brush themselves once more through Tim’s hair before they leave.
“Wouldn’t you agree?”
Oh, trust, Tim knows. He knows exactly what the Red Hood’s rules were. The man had broken into Titans Tower just to prove that point after all…
No more dead Robins.
Tim’s stomach drops, and he desperately tries to think of anything but that awful night in what was supposed to be his safe space.
But the memory slinks in anyway, holding onto Tim’s consciousness and refusing to let go. Forcing Tim to face the memory. He’s looking into the barrel of a gun. He sees the violent flash of red. A feral grin grins down at him like the Joker, and green eyes burn with a promise of pain and misery.
Tim squeezes his eyes shut.
Think of something else. Anything else.
Sharp acrylic nails dig into Tim’s cheeks.
Tim’s eyes fly open, and he stares up at the woman who gives him a charming smile. “It’s so much better when you can pluck whoever you want off the street and repurpose them without any of the,” she pauses, as if the words cause her disgust, “above ground infestation noticing.”
She crouches. “And my, I do say you’ll collect a handsome price.” Those sharp acrylic nails dig harder into Tim’s pudgy cheeks. “Healthy, no diseases, angelic like, about two… The perfect age to be molded into whatever is wanted of you.”
Her smile widens. “Yes, Robin, you’ll collect a beautiful price.”
No, that can’t be it.
“Idenity?” Tim’s face burns at the clear mispronunciation, and tries again. “Idenenity?”
The woman laughs softly and pats his head like he’s a particularly stupid animal.
“Oh, I truly don’t care who the child is under the mask.”
Tim’s breath catches.
“No matter how you were, Robin, you aren’t going to be them any longer. You are my livestock, now. You aren’t a human anymore.”
Tim doesn’t realize he’s starting to cry until something warm slips down his cheek. He scrubs at it with one tiny hand, trying to get rid of the evidence. He’s not supposed to cry. Robins don’t cry. “Batman comes.”
A sharp laugh answers, then, “Oh, honey, you truly are delusional, aren’t you?” she coos. “We fried all of your technology. Nobody is coming.”
Tim stares at her.
Nobody is coming.
The words echo around in his skull.
Nobody is coming.
Of course not. Why would they come for Tim? Stupid little old Tim that had no business being Robin. He was just a replacement, wasn’t he? Someone easily tossed to the side when no longer needed. And now that Jason Todd, Red Hood extraordinaire, was back… Batman and Nightwing don’t need Tim anymore.
Tim’s throat tightens, panic constricting his chest until his little lungs are struggling to breathe.
They won’t notice he’s gone. They won’t know where to look. By the time they realize something’s wrong, he’ll already be gone.
If they even notice he’s gone.
The woman straightens. She adjusts her charcoal suit coat and turns to the men surrounding her. “Go ahead and start preparing our package. I wanta pictures taken as soon as possible. I want to see him on the market first thing tomorrow morning, and I want him transferred to a secure facility tonight.”
Goosebumps burst out across his arms.
It can’t end like this.
He scrambles backward, but two large hands grab him up from behind. Tim screams. His middle is squeezed tightly, making it even more difficult to breathe. He kicks and claws and twists, but the man just chuckles at Tim’s ineffective fighting. Tim is Robin! He should be able to get out of a simple hold. Except… no two year old was a match for an adult man’s grip.
“Le’ go!” Tim shrieks.
Another man approaches with a bag, opening wide like a mouth waiting to swallow Tim right up. Tim stiffens. He doesn’t want to go in there, because if he does… he knows he’s never escaping. And suddenly a thought hits his brain hard enough to make everything twist with nausea. What if… what if he stayed like this? Like it wasn’t temporary. What if he forgets everything like a normal two year old would?
What if he forgets… forgets his family?
The world plunges into darkness. The man holding him freezes.
“Boss?”
“Get the kid out of here!” the woman snaps. “Evacuate, plan C!”
Tim feels himself be tucked securely into someone’s arm like a football. He goes perfectly still, waiting for just the right moment—
A loud, echoing BANG! BANG! reverberates throughout the warehouse.
—for Tim to sink his teeth as deeply as he can into the man’s arm.
“Fuck!”
And Tim drops like a soccer ball.
He lands hard on the ground, and he can’t help but scream when something snaps in his right arm, pain radiating up through his shoulder. For several seconds, all he can do is lie there and cry.
The lights flicker back on.
Two bodies lie near Tim, soulless eyes staring upward. Blood pools from a perfectly executed head shot (especially for in the dark, the part of Tim’s brain that wasn’t currently screaming observed). No one else is there.
Tim stares at the empty warehouse, his breathing coming in little shaky gasps. He has to move, he has to get out. Tim looks down at his right arm, sees the bone sticking out from the skin, and throws up.
He can’t do this. He’s alone at two in the morning, two years old, injured, and somewhere in Gotham.
He is so, so screwed.
The side door slams open. Two figures in dark red hoods and goggles sweep into the room, pistols up and ready. They both stop when they see Tim. They stare at Tim.
Tim stares back.
He recognizes the gear, and the fear that began to recede returns full force. They were Red Hood’s men.
“Uhh…” One goon drops her pistol, letting the barrel focus on the floor. She looks at her partner. “Marcus? Are ya seein’ what I’m seein’?”
The guy next to her raises an eyebrow. “I dunno. Are you seein’ some two year old kid in the middle of some blood?”
“Yeah…” the woman slowly drawled out.
“Then yeah, we’re seein’ the same thing.”
Silence. Tim’s heartbeat pounds in his ears.
“Boss didn’t give protocol for somethin’ like this.”
“No he didn’t.”
“Should we call him?”
Tim snaps out of his frozen terror and shock. No! Every bone in his body screams at those words. Red Hood couldn’t see him like this! Red Hood would kill him!
“Yeah…” Marcus reaches for something on his hip. “I’m gonna call him.”
The warehouse goes silent as Marcus brings up the device to call Red Hood. With each ring, Tim’s heart pounds harder and faster. Please don’t answer, please don’t answer, please don’t—
“What.” That familiar growl rolls across the static of the phone.
Tim swallows heavily. He knows that voice. He knows it better than he wants to. Something warm soaks underneath him, and Tim can’t help but let more tears drip down his cheeks.
Marcus clears his throat. “Yo, boss, we got this two year old in the middle of the ware house.”
Silence.
Tim has a really, really, really bad feeling about this.
“What?” Even the vocoder couldn’t hide Jason’s shock. “Where’s the kid now?”
“We, uh, called you first. Didn’t know exactly what to do?”
A pause. “Where’s the kid, Marge.”
“On the floor?”
“You mean to tell me that the kid is still on the floor?” Jason hisses. More tears drip down Tim’s face.
“Uhhhhh… yeah?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Jason mutters then says, “The kid’s probably scared. Pick him up. See if you can get his name. I’ll rendezvous back toward the warehouse.” The line disconnects.
Tim’s mind blanks.
Jason is coming. Jason is coming here. Jason will know him. Maybe not immediately, maybe the tiny body will fool Jason for a second, but Jason is smart. He had to be smart to be Robin. Jason knows Tim. And when he realizes…
Tim’s chest tightens. He remembers Titans Tower. He remembers Jason standing there. He remembers the utter terror and absolute feeling of helplessness that rattled in his bones. He remembers seeing the hatred. Jason would kill Tim, finishing the job he started at Titans Tower.
Tim can’t do it anymore. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want Jason to come. He wants Batman to come and fix him.
He starts wailing. Tears spill down his cheeks and his nose and his chin. He can’t catch his breath, and he just wants to breathe, and every breath comes too slowly, too shallowly, and these stupid sobs keep interrupting him—
He can’t make it stop.
“Fuck!” Marcus scrambles forward, holstering his gun. He awkwardly scoops Tim up, face blanking when he realizes Tim is an absolute baby and he’s pissed himself.
Tim cries harder.
“Marcus!” Marge yanks Tim from out of the man’s hold, also awkwardly holding Tim like he’s some sort of newborn.
Tim twists weakly, still sobbing. He’s not a baby. He’s Robin! He just needs to grow up!
“I didn’t know what to do!” Marcus protests.
“Well, whatever you were doing was wrong!” Marge snaps, trying to rock and bounce.
“You’re both doing it wrong!” A mechanical voice growls.
Tim freezes.
Large hands snatch Tim away from his current holder. He’s pulled away from Marge and tucked firmly against someone’s chest. Cold armor presses against Tim’s cheek. Tim jerks backward. A blank red helmet stares down at him. Tim stares back.
The Red Hood is holding Tim.
Jason is holding him.
And judging by the way the Red Hood suddenly goes rigid, he knows exactly who this random toddler is.
Tim is so screwed.