Chapter Text
Tim has always wanted the opportunity to laugh in Lex Luthor’s face.
He got close to that catharsis six years ago, when Kon escaped with the help of the other young heroes, and Lex lost his prized clone. Almost as satisfying was the loss of Match shortly after Lex had suspended Tim from trying to treat the clone. Now, though, it will not be one powerhouse that slips through his fingers, it will be five.
The Justice League is here, Tim knows before any alarms go off. He hooked into their systems years ago, and he’s been monitoring whenever possible since Lex decided kidnapping five heroes wasn’t stupid as hell. It is the middle of the night, but that has never really stopped Tim before. Using his computer the way he wants to is something that needs to be done in cover, outside of any work so as to not to disrupt it. His process for getting anything done for ‘Cardinal’ is ridiculously complicated, but he does not think it is any more convoluted than is necessary, given the circumstances. Tonight, it is time to act, no matter what consequences Tim faces for it. This is the pay off for almost eight years of acting and submitting.
He gets through door after door all too easily, really Lex has vastly underestimated him. Cameras are barely more difficult. When he makes the door swing open, he notices the people in his sight jolting awake. Light sleeping is probably another adaptation from so much hero work. Kon sees him in an instant.
Tim hates it, seeing Kon in another cage. The look in his eyes is so telling, he knows Kon can see that something is wrong, but there isn’t much to do now. If they try to save him, it will only make things worse.
His fingers close even tighter around the contraption he carries. Kon starts, backlit by the red light illuminating most of the room, “Tim…”
“Stop,” Tim insists. He doesn’t have a lot of time, he has to do this, no time for hesitation. He starts opening every fixture on the cells that he can from the panels on the wall. He explains, “I don’t know where the other controls are, to open the cells, Lex isn’t that stupid. I don’t have the time, we’ll be on the move in minutes. This, though, this I can do. Kon, step back.”
Thankfully, Kon listens to the demanding tone as Tim marches up to him. Pulling out his makeshift zip gun he cobbled together, he prays it works. He sticks his arm through one of the now open panels and turns his arm up, shooting a large nail straight into the red sun lamp.
The cell block is now almost completely dark. Tim knows he has everyone’s attention, including those outside. He looks straight at Kon, something he has rarely let himself do since they reunited, “It won’t take too long for your powers to return, but you’ll still be weak after so long without any sun. Your friends are already here.” As if on cue, the alarm starts blaring. “I knew they’d trip it, it’s a new one, I didn’t notice until it was too late. I got too distracted.” He knows they don’t want him to apologize, but this is going to hurt them. Tim never wanted to hurt them. “I’ll make sure they get to you.”
Kon charges forward, forcing Tim to jump back as Kon’s arm shoots out through a gap to try and grab him. Bart and Dick, names Tim shouldn’t even know, both start calling out his name. From the doorway, Tim looks at all the people he now cares about. “I promised I’d protect you,” he reminds gently.
He had. He had sworn to himself the day he realized Kon had succeeded, where all the other attempts except for Match had failed, that he would take care of his new friend. He’d only been eleven after all. But the day he let Kon see his camera, knowing that bringing it out would get it destroyed, and Kon made him promise to take him to Gotham, Tim had sworn that Kon would not stay in Cadmus.
When he had seen M’gann crumpled on the floor under the weight of the heat, seen Kaldur’s burned hands, watched Bart try to cheer him up, and Dick recognize him and care; he had decided, then, that none of them would stay here, that his is what he had been waiting for. Not his own escape, but theirs.
Tim imagined watching movies with Bart or returning to Gotham and meeting the Bats with Dick. Seeing Mount Justice in person, not just through a screen, with M’gann and Kaldur’ahm. Being free with Kon. God, it sounded like heaven. But if it is a choice, if it is him or them, Tim chooses them. Easily.
He turns away from the cell block and runs. On his handheld interface— it would be a mockery to call it a phone or a tablet, but it’s functional— he operates with less subtlety. Leaving a trail for Lex’s goons to follow him through the expansive underground facility. The heroes are here, with his previous message they should find Kon and the others efficiently. And Lex should find him, because he can’t let Tim go now. Tim is too great of an investment, too smart, to let loose or let leave. Tim will definitely get worse than Murphy got for almost fucking killing Bart, but he isn’t afraid.
Or, he is. But he can’t hear it, can’t feel it, over the roar of purpose. His goal is worth more than the consequences.
Tim runs past hordes of people, but the chaos works to his advantage. Everyone is rushing to break down labs and evacuate, grab what they can, destroy everything else, and move to a new location. Tim’s done this dozens of times, although only a couple under this sort of duress. No one is running for Project: Shadow, he knows this before he sees the hallway leading off to the isolated lab, but it still fills him with glee. There’s no way to move half stabilized cloning attempts in this situation, and Tim can keep his oath. No more clones.
“Timothy!” Someone shouts. It took so long to not flinch at people calling him like his parents did, but no one was allowed to call him Mr. or Dr. Drake and remind him of where he was before this place. It would be counterintuitive when they were sort of brainwashing him, at least trying to make sure he thought of this as his only place in the world. Calling his full name was the easiest way to display the respect of his position. No one had really called him ‘Tim’ since he was eleven, and succeeded where everyone else had failed. Except for the five people TIm needed to never see again and Luthor, and by extension that damn android, trying to be familiar.
Tim recognizes the voice of Nathan, the highest ranking security officer on site, so he doesn’t turn back to look. He needs to run towards the loading dock, because if they can’t get him out then they’ll turn their attention to the other captives, but he needs to go the long way. He already has the perfect route memorized for his wild goose chase. Does it count as a wild goose chase if the chasers will get something, but it is all part of Tim’s plan? Either way.
He hears the rifles firing, and he flinches involuntarily. He hates getting drugged way more than he hates getting hit, and he was only so able to mentally prepare to know tranquilizers were sailing toward him. Scott, another guard, is apparently there too, because Tim hears him yelling, “Timothy, don’t be foolish!” That almost makes Tim stop. This asshole’s current job is to hunt him down because he is too goddamn smart to lose, and he has the gall to imply that his thoughts are more intelligent than Tim’s? Forgive Tim for being egotistical, but his intelligence is the only thing he has ever truly had. He despises people who know this, and still have that subconscious condescension because they are older than him.
Bursting into a wide, multi-level laboratory, Tim vaults a railing, dropping about one story into a roll. His parkour skills leave much to be desired, but he has spent years being mostly confined to a couple of rooms at a time, and he always knew better than to not exercise while in such an enclosed area. He doesn’t have sports equipment, certainly didn’t have teammates or opponents, so he looked up articles and videos and practiced gymnastics and martial arts. He was a ten-year-old Batman fanboy when he got here. He isn’t experienced, but he is well practiced, strong and stable and flexible. He keeps running, staying ahead of his heavily armed pursuers.
From the way the ground and the walls are shaking, the heroes are well on their way. Tim trusts his mental timeline, he knows his estimations are solid, but anxiety still pools in his gut. He hits the turning point, where his track goes from ‘away from the exit point’ to ‘toward the exit point’. He’s halfway to the loading bay, the only above ground part of the lab, other than the singular entrance tunnel on the far side that the heroes will have used, or at least found. Tim knows, from his entrance several months ago and all the other identical places he has been, the loading bay should have the appearance of a random warehouse.
Distantly, he thinks that this is what it felt like to fly through Gotham. He can just barely remember trailing Batman and Robin, although it is hazy. He kept up tabs from his prison, both for his own work and out of nostalgia. He hopes that Kon visits Gotham, now that he will more or less remember those original few months. It’s definitely self-centered, but he hopes Nightwing mentions him in passing to Batman, he might because of the fact that Tim is a cold case. It would be so cool to be known about by Batman.
There’s radio static cutting in and out of Tim’s hearing range constantly, as people contact one another from on walkie-talkies. From what he can gather, this is a full raid, the exact number unclear, and they are headed straight for the captives. Most of their people are focused on escaping the siege. The heroes haven’t reached the five prisoners yet, but Tim is approaching the top level.
There was a small chance, with the kryptonians and the speedsters, that if the five were freed before the end of Tim’s race, one of them might be able to grab him. He had refused to let himself hope, but it is impossible to block out all faith by sheer force of will. So, Tim hardens his heart and holds back his tears, running straight for where he knows Lex is waiting.
Tim bursts into the bustling factory floor and slows to a halt. It only takes a couple of seconds for a hand to clamp down on his shoulder. Panting harder than his physical activity should warrant, he looks at Nathan, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You were before.” Mistakenly thinking he got lost or gave up, the moron.
“I know my place,” Tim forces out.
“Good,” Lex appears out of nowhere, face thunderous. “We’re leaving, now.” Tim is yanked unceremoniously by the wrist towards a large white truck. Not traveling in comfort is only going to piss Lex off more. Tim is silently vindicated.
They climb into the back of a trailer that is prepared for Lex’s trip, but still not nearly luxurious enough to tend to Lex’s massive ego. Tim presses his back to a wall for stability, it is definitely not his place right now to try and take a seat. He probably will later. The truck starts moving, and Tim, for some reason, feels something wither inside of him.
“Tell me what exactly you did, Timothy,” Lex sighs. He doesn’t have access to the security footage, and he has never gotten anything to make him remotely suspicious about Cardinal. He might not even know Cardinal exists.
“I freaked out when the alarm went off,” Tim is a very good liar. “I was already up, I’ve been so on edge with all of this, and I bolted to the cell block. Something was malfunctioning in— experiment thirteen’s containment unit. The neutralizing agent was spraying non-stop. I shot the fixture in the top of the cell through the panel I opened.”
“Shot?” Lex is buying it, he wants everything to be the heroes’ fault.
“I grabbed a gun from one of the guards on my way over. Not much I can do about a fucking superhero, but, you know. I felt the shaking and I ran, I just ran.” Accept some guilt, and a punishment, and it will be all the more believable. “Nathan’s committed to the job, Lex. He wouldn’t have evacuated if he thought dealing with the supers was the most important thing.”
Tim examines the opposite wall as he speaks, assuming lead-lined walls, reinforced, with white noise machines. Definitely anti-Superman. From the middle of the unit, lounging on a fucking couch, Lex sighs again. Really, he makes a great abusive parent, his ‘I’m disappointed because I care’ sigh is perfected. “You’ve always had a soft spot for Nathan. He’s been looking after you for a long time, hasn’t he.” It’s a shitty excuse in theory, but Lex has a very derogatory view of Tim’s continued empathy for other living beings.
“Yeah,” Tim nods. Kon, Dick, Bart, Kaldur, and M’gann will have been rescued by now. Hopefully treated and comforted by their friends and mentors. They’ll start scouring outward from the site of the lab, but they won’t find Tim and Lex. They entered too far away from the loading dock, the exit is too hard to find quickly if you don’t know where to look, Lex is well versed in slipping out of their grasp. A walkie-talkie crackles to life, and Lex stills. This discomfort draws Tim’s attention.
“Luthor, where is he?” It’s Kon. It’s Conner, Conner’s voice, terribly angry through the radio. “You think we’re going to walk away from you having a captive? You got too cocky, Luthor, you won’t get away with this.”
Lex turns his head slowly to look at Tim. His punishment will be worse than he originally estimated, he hadn’t expected the heroes to make contact trying to find him. “Timothy, I know you're a soft child.” Derogatory age based comments, Lex is mad. “I’ve tried to teach you how things need to be, how you need to act to face the cruelty of the world. I think you lost some of your toughness in favor of your extra intelligence.”
Lex approaches him and Tim realizes he may have miscalculated Lex’s rage when he notices the glass in the man’s hand. He does not move as Lex smashes it against his temple, only stumbling after the impact. Tim knows he shouldn’t let himself, but he is tired. This day has been so hard, and Tim has spent the last twenty minutes trying to convince himself that he hasn’t ‘lost’ anything, anyone today. So he falls, letting himself splay onto the floor, even though he knows putting himself near Lex’s feet is a bad call. He gets that small spark of accomplishment when Lex behaves exactly as Tim predicted, the man’s foot connecting harshly with Tim’s stomach.
Tim holds back his tears while fire explodes across his skin. Lex doesn’t deserve his emotions, isn’t worth his tears. But Tim has spent the past two weeks trying not to care about the others and push away how he feels, the fact that he feels, for Kon. That he cares about someone else, that he wanted to go with Kon and Bart to do normal fucking teenage things, or even do superhero things with Dick and Kaldur and M’gann. Lex sneers into the radio, “I have returned the hero children to the heroes, I would hope that I would be left with what belongs to me.”
“I swear to fucking god, Luthor,” Kon’s beautiful voice, reassuring through the pain, “I will hunt you down, this is your one chance to gain mercy.”
“And here I thought you were a hero,” Lex snorts cruelly.
“I am, and I will save him. You will not win and you will not keep him.” Kon is so angry, so desperate to know if Tim is safe. He is coming to find Tim.
Tim’s limbs ache and his chest burns. Every breath makes him want to cry more, like there is a cylinder with needles sticking out in each lung. But he holds firm like he always has. He held himself together through getting beaten, bruised, and broken by Lex. He can fucking deal with this bullshit. He’s felt this sort of pain hundreds of times, in every part of his body.
He can barely admit that it has rarely been this bad, been this painful or all encompassing.
The words from the radio are ringing in Tim’s ears, the promise that someone was coming for him, that he couldn’t help but believe no matter how much he resisted. The tears that resulted sting his eyes, so he squeezes them shut. But still, this is the difference. As everything screams in his body, as Lex beats him senseless in his rage, he can hear and he can see, at least when his eyes are open. For now, all there is to hear or see is Lex and his arrogant rage, but Tim has his eyes and his ears, and he has toppled empires with the things he has found before.
***
Likewise, as Tim comes to, it is his eyes and ears, only, that are free from the searing ache that consumes every other part of his body.
Much to his chagrin, he is in some medical setting. He assumes so, at least, by the sterile lighting and what feels like a skirt around his legs. He groans incoherently, just to express his irritation despite his inability to articulate words with his numb face, but pries his eyes open. Not smart to remain unaware and unprotected for any longer than is totally necessary. Tim forces himself to sit up, cataloging every part of his body in a rush.
The room is empty though, thank fuck, and it is definitely a med-bay or some such thing. Additionally, there is a button on the wall. Tim closes his eyes for three seconds, takes one full deep breath, and presses the button. “I’m awake,” he states blankly, and after a moment decides that he needs not say more.
The door in the corner slides into the wall and Tim mentally spits every curse he has ever learned. A genomorph, Tim believes he goes by the name Dubbilex, who Tim had been mildly concerned about due to the sudden bout of inaction from the usually prominent figure, walks up to him. “Hello,” the creature greets amicably, “Timothy, correct?”
“Yes,” Tim has reason to believe Dubbilex is a reliable ally, “Dubbilex, I presume?”
The G-Goblin blinks, and then smiles, “You’ve heard of me?”
“I hear a lot of things,” Tim swings his legs around so he can sit on the edge of the bed. “I feel fine, by the way, I would like to be discharged.” Tim needs to figure out where he is. Being in the presence of genomorphs is not a good sign. He feels bad for thinking it because from Tim’s information most genomorphs are similar to Kon, good creatures simply under the control of their rotten creator. This, however, is the issue. Tim does not want to be involved with the genomorphs, he has tried so hard to stay away from cloning and artificial creation of life, he doesn’t want to start manufacturing genomorphs for Lex. He isn’t sure he could bear it. “Where precisely am I?”
“I couldn’t tell you, if you are asking in terms of geography.” Dubbilex starts examining the machines that Tim is still attached to. “This is Laboratory Thirty-Six. I have only been here for a short time.”
Glancing around, Tim speaks quietly, “I was under the impression that the genomorphs were no longer under the restrictions of Lex Luthor. Cadmus does still operate publicly, I thought the genomorphs ended up on the right side of that.”
Suddenly, Tim hears the barely familiar voice in his head, We almost were, we came close, but the destruction that came with the Superboy’s battle with Project Match revealed our increasing organization to Lex Luthor.
Ah, I heard about that, Tim has sort of gotten used to telepathic communication since he met M’gann in person. I’m sorry, I’m sure that was not his intention.
It was not, nor do I blame him. The greater organization of heroes has been trying to deal with Lex Luthor’s manipulation of politics and the legal system for years, the Superboy is doing what he can.
Kon, Tim mentions, I believe he goes by Kon or Conner, as his name.
You were present for his recent captivity, Dubbilex notes, I understand you were also present in Project Kr. It is nice to have another reason for the heroes to get involved now. I have heard of you as well, Timothy.
For some reason, Tim feels embarrassed of all things. Something about Dubbilex’s immediate assumption that Tim’s presence will warrant Kon’s continued involvement. Tim has spent years trying not to hope. Not when more and more heroes sprung in Gotham, not when heroes started operating globally, nor when the League started engaging Lex more and more. He tries so hard to never let himself believe there is a chance, because waiting for someone to save him will only be painful. But his iron walls have been torn down.
For once, giving in, Tim flops back down onto the hospital bed. In the privacy of his own mind, he can not hold himself back, Please come save me, Kon.
After a couple of minutes of Dubbilex seemingly giving Tim space, the genomorph continues, “There have been problems with the connections to the G-Sprites. Lex Luthor wants this issue resolved as soon as possible.”
G-Sprites are the electricity-generating genomorphs, one of the many disturbing uses for living creatures in Lex’s dictatorship, and are mostly controlled by the G-Gnomes via telepathy. Considering the way genomorphs are designed and used, they are essentially biological machines, many considered incapable of independence. If there is a problem with receiving, following through, or enacting orders, it is highly likely a biological issue. Like the genomorphs are computers with a processing error, Tim is being brought in to fix it. This is precisely the situation Tim wanted to avoid. This is a punishment from Lex. “Do we have any information?”
“We have done some psychic examination, but I have found little inconsistency with the connection between the Gnomes and the Sprites.” Dubbilex starts leading Tim into the predictably plain maze of hallways, mind numbing to anyone within and horrifically confusing to anyone who is not well prepared for it. There was probably an examination outside of Dubbilex, because Lex is a thorough bastard, and Psimon was already due in. Tim is going to have to be careful with his mental energy and do his best to steer clear of the psychic psychopath.
“Have you checked for mechanical malfunctions? Collecting biologically-generated electrical energy is a new field with little precedent; there could be difficulties with the apparatuses connected to the G-Sprites.” Tim memorizes the route, trying to take note of any signs in front of labs, although many of them are labeled with project names or letters and numbers. First step, every time they move to a new location, build a mental map and learn every pathway.
“We are in the process of examining that angle,” Dubbilex replies, “but we have not drawn any conclusions as of yet.” A recent problem, that’s an interesting factor. Tim can not think of any inciting incidents off the top of his head.
Tim is also really starting to wish he could initiate the psychic connections. Dubbilex obviously has reason to be cautious, Tim would be disappointed if he was acting foolish, but he is clearly not yet going to ask how they are going to work together to fuck with Luthor before figuring out where Tim’s loyalties lie. Tim just wants to know how Dubbilex is managing to either siphon off the energy, and if so what he is doing with it, or getting the genomorphs to stop behaving, and if so how much independent thought is able to be encouraged in other genomorphs.
They arrive not at a large warehouse space but at what is clearly Tim’s living space. “Ah, I assumed I would be getting right to work.”
“You still need a short time to heal.” Dubbilex explains. “All of your work is uploaded to your computer, you can begin working in full tomorrow. For today, you will be left alone.” Tim nods and just waits for Dubbilex to leave.
This suite is smaller than the usual, another punishment. The main room has a bed, a desk with a fancy computer, and a wardrobe. It doesn’t give a lot of space for him to move around an exercise. The attached bathroom is equally small, and there was no third room, which he was accustomed to having for working on whatever larger projects he needed space set aside for. Leaning on the sink, Tim examines his beaten face in the mirror. His nose is stuck at an odd angle, not healing as it should be, much to his disappointment.
With a deep sigh, Tim ambles back to the main room. The computer is a large module, and there are few of his books around, none of the interesting ones, only the ones relevant to his research. No laptop, no tablet, nothing else he could take into the bathroom. He will have to check for cameras and listening devices, but it looks like Cardinal won’t be active for the foreseeable future if Tim has no way of getting any tech into an unmonitored area. There is no way for him to get a message out to the Team.
Tim shouldn’t even be here. Before the clusterfuck of Lex’s impulsive kidnapping of a bunch of heroes, Tim had been working on stabilizing the methods for creating new metas for months. He hated it, hated experimenting on people and creating metas, but Lex and his associates were doing it either way, and they just kept destabilizing the subjects’ genetics. Tim had once worked to try and help Match, to find a way to rectify the faulty construction of the clone’s brain and nervous system causing the ‘craziness’. Tim just wants the teens to stop dying, it is an ongoing issue across the globe, it is something Tim can change. And now Lex won’t let him, because his profits are slightly threatened, and Tim’s work saving lives does not take priority.
He allows his mind to rage as he systematically works over every part of his living space to find the cameras and microphones. He is proven correct by the usual lack of surveillance in the bathroom, because thank fucking god, Lex has some standards. Apparently.
Therefore, Tim retreats to the solitude. Looking in the mirror once more, he sees the bruises on his face, some still dark purple, one just fading toward a sickly green. He lifts his shirt to examine the damage to his ribs and stomach, poking and prodding to make sure nothing is broken or punctured. He has no pain meds, and no ice.
He crouches in the shower, knees at his chest and face buried in folded hands. The microphones are sensitive, and Tim refuses to give Lex the satisfaction. So he turns on the shower, as cold as possible if he can’t get an ice pack, letting the freezing water soak his clothes and body. And, he keeps his sobs quiet, he muffles the crying with his arms. He won’t let Lex know how successful the punishment is. He won’t admit to the grief and loss, won’t admit to the pain of still being here, won’t admit to the fear and desperate want for his heroes to come save him. He will keep his pain silent, until he has stockpiled enough of it to bury Lex under.
And he will. One day, somehow, he is going to be free, and he even allows himself the indulgent thought that he will see Kon again