Chapter Text
Robin backed away from the group surrounding him, all too aware of the brick wall blocking his escape. A broken grappling hook laying on the ground behind them, the only thing that could have gotten him out. This was supposed to be a normal patrol, no big risks. Those were the rules when both Bruce and Dick were off world or gone dark for a mission. Robin followed those rules. And everything had still gone wrong.
The patrol wasn't in any of the major danger areas. He didn’t go near any of the established crime lords or rogues. He didn't take any chances. He was in a small gang leader’s area off to the side of the Alley, a guy who mainly moved stolen tires and cars, selling fake plates and unmarked vehicles to the real big fish. Robin had found a basic group of thugs jacking a car, likely some of the gang boss’s goons. It was simple. It was easy. He could do this in his sleep. Batman had used small groups just like this for training when he first took the cape. It was easy, simple, and fast.
At least it would have been if his back hadn't started hurting for no reason in the middle of the fight.
He had two of the five down before they even noticed he was there. Robin was dodging out of the way of a crow bar swung at his head as the third was falling to the ground when he felt it. A pain like a burning knife in his back on the left side of his spine, just under his shoulder blade. The crook had taken the moment Robin stumbled from the pain to swing the crow bar again, Robin barely able to move his grappling hook in front of his face in time to take the hit.
The force of the blow had made him stumble away from the crook and farther into the alley the car had been parked in front of. The now broken grappling hook had fallen out of his hand as another jolt of pain came from his back, this time on the right side of his spine.
He hadn’t been hit in the back in months. It hadn't even been serious, fully healed ages ago. Bruce had Tim do a full physical because of his constant paranoia, Tim going along with it as usual to ease the man’s concerns. He had even trained with Dick, and the acrobat definitely would have noticed something wrong with his back. Tim was fine. He was SUPPOSED to be fine to go out on patrol. So why wasn’t he?!
He felt his mind racing as he stumbled farther away from the car and into the alley, eyes darting around to find a way out. The two uninjured thugs followed him, the third already up, and the remaining two started to move.
“Where ya going, birdie? Certainly not anywhere that way.” The man with a crow bar smiled at him, chin motioning behind Robin. He glanced back and saw that the alley was a dead end only a few yards deep, and he was already half way back into it. Glancing back he saw that the two men who had been down were already following after him, the fifth had his hand under him.
He could still do this. He could still beat five would-be car jackers with nothing but a single crow bar between them, back pain or not. Only, the second un-injured guy pulled out a taser he hadn't noticed and lunged for him. Tim jumped back out of his reach, kicking the taser out of goon’s hand in the process. Unfortunately, as he did, a spike of pain from the sudden movement caused him to lose his footing when he landed. He felt his back hit the brick wall hard and screamed, vision going white as the pain spread from under his shoulder blades to across his entire back.
Robin hit the ground hard, but immediately moved to try to get up before the men could get to him. A hard kick connected with his ribs before he could get his arms under himself, sending him onto his side, far more pain rippling through his torso than it should have and snaking all the way to his spine. Another kick to his arms where he had instinctively moved them to cover and protect his face and head made him curl tighter into a ball. More followed, the kicking hard enough to move his body, sending the vigilante rolling until his back hit the brick wall so he was laying against it on his side.
Something in the back of his mind pulled at him, telling him he shouldn’t be out here alone, that Robin should never be out here alone, and Tim felt fear filling his mind as it started to spiral out of his control. He instinctively pressed the small hidden panic button in his sleeve, but knew Alfred wouldn’t be able to get there fast enough, even if he took the Batmobile. Something at the back of his mind screamed at that thought, making Tim flinch almost more than the repeated kicks to he arms and ribs.
He could hold out. He HAD to hold out. Alfred would have gotten the distress call from the panic button, and would be on his way. But with a final kick to his left arm, Tim heard a crack and screamed, pulling the limb to his stomach and curling around it. Not broken through, but the fracture enough to draw the reaction. With only one arm remaining over his head not enough, the next kick made his skull jerk back and hit the brick hard.
Tim heard laughing as his head cleared and he felt himself being dragged towards a different car with its trunk open. It felt like his mind was filled with lead as they threw him into the back of the car, his vision going out again as his back hit the wall of the trunk. Glancing up through his blurring vision at the silhouette of one of the thugs, Robin tried to crawl forward as the trunk began to close, slowly blocking the criminal from sight.
But just as only a sliver of light was left, the sound of a gun shot rang out, and the trunk began to slowly spring open. Robin watched as the goon’s hand dropped limply to his side, the lid fully opening just as the man fell to the ground with a hole in his head. More gun shots started to sound, and Robin felt the urge to crawl to the back of the trunk, pushing even through the growing pain in his back. The rest of the car jackers started shouting around the car, yelling to return fire on whoever had showed up. He counted as one by one there were four dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground around the car.
Robin lifted his head as the light from the open trunk was partially blocked, a figure silhouetted against the clouds. “Damn it, Replacement. I’m not even here for three months, and you pull THIS?!” The modulator warping the voice made Robin’s blood run cold. There was only one criminal in Gothom who used one like that, and he had been taking over Crime Alley by literally making heads roll. So far, the Bats hadn't fought him, too busy with a bribe induced Arkham breakout to deal with someone in a part of town Batman had long since abandoned.
Robin tried to think of a reason Red Hood would show up to a car jacking not even in his territory, but his thoughts were cut off as hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled from the trunk. Far more gently than he expected, he was sat upright on the ground, shoulder leaned against the bumper of the car, the blurred form of the crime lord crouched in front of him. Gloved hands turned his head, feeling the back of his skull where it had hit the brick and making his scalp sting. The domino covering his eyes was peeled away, the white lenses of Red Hood’s helmet staring into him. “Great. A damn concussion. There goes knocking you out for all this, Replacement.”
Releasing his head and grabbing him by the shoulders, Tim was pulled forward to lean against Hood instead of the car. The crime lord removed Tim’s cape and growled as it fell to the ground, saying something Tim couldn’t understand. Face pressed into the criminal’s leather jacket, Tim couldn’t see what Hood could to even guess why he was angry. What did Hood have planned where he would want to knock him out? All his other victims had been awake when Hood killed them. The very few ‘lucky ones’, if you could even call them that, who were allowed to live gave graphic detail of how he punished them to send a message. Tim felt his breathing pick up at the thought of Hood doing the same to him. He was already hurt, what more could Hood do to him, much less not even want him awake for!?
His thoughts were cut off again when a hand prodded his back just under his right shoulder blade, causing him to scream and try to shove himself away with a sudden surge of energy he didn't know he had left. Hood’s other arm shot up and pinned him in place, holding Tim as he gasped for air and struggled against the grip. The cold of a helmet pressed against the top of his head and he shuddered, feeling the vibration of the man talking but unable to make out the words through the ringing in his ears and his own sobs of pain.
Hood lifted Tim as he stood, one arm pinning him in place while his mind and body crashed from that final rush of adrenaline. Tim took in a small gasp as he saw the body next to the back of the car he’d been thrown in, Hood quickly lifting the leather jacket to cover his face. His breaths were sharp as he was moved, blind to where he was being taken, and unable to do anything about it even if he could. After a moment, Hood stopped and swung his leg over something, repositioning Tim so he was sitting in front of him. The sound of an engine made it clear he was sitting side saddle on Red Hood’s motorcycle just as it started moving, an arm still pinning him against the crime lord.
Tim lost track of time as they drove, tucked into Hood’s jacket away from the wind. Several times he started to drift to sleep, the leaden weight in his mind pushing him down as surprisingly gentle turns lulling his thoughts. Only for Hood to shake him awake each time.
“Concussion, idiot. No sleeping. I swear, the Big Bad Bat can’t teach shit, can he?”
When they finally stopped, he was easily lifted in one arm, head falling against Hood’s neck as he stepped up to a wall of electrical panels. A low growl filled the silence. “What the hell do you eat? DO you even eat? Fucks sake, you weigh NOTHING.” Hood’s voice was tired in his ear, and Tim couldn’t tell if he was speaking to himself or if he wanted a response. Either way, before he could reply, Hood placed his hand on a seemingly random electrical box on the wall, and Tim’s eyes went wide when the wall opened along invisible seams. Hood’s question forgotten, Tim managing a short “That’s clever.” in a quiet, raspy voice. Apparently it was still loud enough for Hood huff at the comment.
Stepping inside, Tim was moved back to being carried in two arms, his head covered after a moment when the bright lights flickering on made him wince. “Yah, yah, bright light, bright light.” Hood chuckled absently, walking for a minute before coming to a stop and sitting Tim on the edge of a table to lean against the crime lord like before. “Where the hell are the medical clasps.. Well, at least THAT is the same….” Hood grumbled overhead, undoing the claps put in place to allow the suit to be removed if they had broken ribs or other injuries that made removing their uniforms difficult. Tim distantly wondered how Hood knew about them as the upper part of his suit was removed, cringing as it was peeled painfully away from his back.
Groaning, he was laid on a table and rolled onto his stomach, his right arm pulled to his side and a strap tightened around his wrist to hold it down. Hood cussed a moment later when he inspected his left forearm, feeling it held down farther up the limb instead. Restrains were put on his ankles, another strap placed over his shoulders and waist. Tim’s heart started racing as a mask was pressed over his nose and mouth, trying to pull away when the band attached to it was pulled over his head to hold it in place. “It’s oxygen and anesthesia, you moran. Just breathe and relax. And YES, it’s safe for concussions." Hood muttered as Tim felt air begin to flow through the mask, a numb sensation spreading through his lungs and into his muscles.
Something prodded Tim’s head as he started to nod off, he couldn't tell how long later. A large mass like a curtain moving out of his line of sight likely what had poked him. “This is gonna hurt, but you need to stay awake. Got it, Replacement?” After a moment the mass returned, poking him in the head again and making him groan in confusion. “Closest I’m getting to a yes with you like this, huh?”
A hand pressed gently over Tim’s left shoulder blade, but he still flinched hard, the light touch still painful. But it was nothing compared to the pain of a blade piercing his skin just below the hand and moving down his back just off from his spine. It shouldn’t have hurt this bad, the blade sharp and clean, but his back still screamed, the pressure to cut more than his nerves could handle. The restraints dug into his skin as he tried to pull free but couldn’t. The hand on his shoulder pushed down more firmly, pinning him as the blade moved down his back just above his hip and was mercifully removed.
Tim felt his head prodded a few times, heard something he couldn’t understand said through the fog in his mind, firm at first and turning angry, then growing panicked at the lack of response. A gloved hand lifted his head, a blurry face in a domino meeting his eyes and speaking, shaking him before dropping it back to the table.
He couldn’t move as a hand pushed into the incision, his muscles twitching as the hand moved along SOMETHING in Tim’s back that seemingly wrapped half way around his side, over his ribs. There was an odd popping sensation as the hand moved along, as if detaching the object. Finally, fingers grasped the foreign thing before pulling it agonizingly out and laying it over his left side.
Tim breathed deeply for the first time in what felt like hours, relief spreading across his entire body as the pain in his back halved. Whatever it was, it finally being removed allowed his mind to clear a small bit. He focused on the feeling of his back, too weak to lift his head to look, and realized he could FEEL it. The thing, still attached to him, twitched, his shoulder moving with it. And he finally realized what it was. A wing. He had a wing. The other side of his back, still screaming in pain as something tried to push its way out, being its match.
Tim wasn't supposed to get wings. Jason never did. Or he at least, he didn’t live long enough to. It felt wrong that he got his when his own Robin never did. They had stopped waiting, stopped checking, a year into him being Robin.
He blinked his eyes as the blurry face from before moved into his vision again, his thoughts slipping away. A gloved hand stained in red gently shook his head. “...eh! Hey! You with me now, kid? I need you to move that damn thing and let me know it’s out right before I get the other one? HEY?!” Tim blinked as the hand shook his head again more urgently, his mind being pulled somehow out of the fog clouding it. He focused, blinking as he tried to muster the energy to move something. He twitched his shoulder, and felt the wing flick at his back, thudding dully against his side. The figure looking at him sighed, a feeling of relief washing over him. “Good! Good. It feels better now, right? Now we just got to do the other one. Hold still as best you can. The more you move, the worse it is. Move the other wing out when I’m done cutting. You need to move it YOURSELF this time.”
Moving out of his line of sight, Tim flinched when a hand mirrored the actions from before and pressed down on his right shoulder blade. He took a deep breath, the anesthetic gas dulling the pain a bit as he did. But not enough that he didn’t jerk as the blade pierced his skin again, his eyes rolling in his head as he focused on holding still. When the blade pulled away, the curtain returned to his vision and prodded his head, and Tim blinked for a moment before remembering what he was told.
Focused on the thing, the wing, in his back, he could feel it move under his skin. Distantly, he felt the small pops repeat, the fledging limb disconnecting from the membrane that it was attached to. A few small, weak twitches sapped his energy before it slid out, dropping limply to his other side to mirror the first. “There yah, go, baby bird. Took you long enough.”
The figure moved into Tim’s line of sight again, eye level with him. His vision had cleared more, the pain in his back almost entirely gone. He thought he recognized the face for a moment, but the thought slipped away even as a similar smile formed on it. “Now, the cuts close fine on their own right now, but I still need to clean up your back, head and wings. You still need to stay awake with that knock to the head you took. Can you do that for me, Robin?” Tim blinked, then nodded. He could do that.
The figure moved away, returning with cleanly gloved hands that reached out, using a wet cloth to wipe blood from his face, hair and neck. Moving out of sight to his back, Tim felt the wings, HIS wings, twitch as they were held and cleaned, a twinge of guilt at the back of his mind that he had gotten his wings when his own Robin never had.
The cuts stung as they were cleaned, but nothing compared to before when the mere pressure of the knife making the cuts had felt like fire. His head was prodded a few more times throughout the process, the same curtain blocking his view of the room when it did, till once again he heard the figure speak, more to himself than Tim.
“Alright, let's get you on to something a bit softer. Been two hours since you got hit, so only two more left to make sure you don’t die in your sleep.” He let out a long groan. “I need to sit the hell down after standing for all this.” Talking as he walked around the blurry room, Tim now recognized it as a well stocked, if small, medical bay. It took some time, the figure occasionally returning to check Tim between tossing bloodied gloves, tools, a small pile of cloth, before finally washing his arms up to the elbow.
Tim thought he saw something move behind the figure a few times as walked about, but his vision was still coming in and out of focus. Eventually the figure walked back over and removed the oxygen mask. Tim hadn't even noticed the restraints had already been taken off, too tired to even think about moving, as he was sat up and leaned against the man. “Right. The stupid arm.” The figure sighed, clearly tired. “I’ll just do it where I can sit down.” The figure grabbed a bag of supplies from a table nearby as he lifted Tim in one arm, carrying both out of the room. “And make some food. You skinny twat.” He sighed again, sounding almost as exhausted as Tim felt. “Two more hours, then hopefully bed time for birds.”