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With how easy it was to get into the tower, Jason almost wondered if they knew he was coming—wondered if he was walking into a trap.
Only that didn't make sense, because if they did know he was coming, then they probably knew about the gas he was putting in the vents, and if they knew about the gas, then there was no way they'd let their shiny new Robin stay in the tower, especially without any backup.
Jason waited until the gas levels were low enough to be safely filtered through his helmet’s system and walked inside, following the sole heat signature into the kitchen, where he found the Pretender slumped over against the cabinets.
Jason smiled, picked up the boy, and made his way back to the zeta tube.
As much as he wanted to tear into the newest Robin in the tower, he already had plans in place.
After all, he had completely redecorated one of his safe houses to welcome the little birdie.
It would be such a shame to let it go to waste.
When they arrived at the safehouse, Jason took care to tie up the Pretender.
The boy wasn't in his Robin uniform, but Jason still checked for weapons.
He found a surprising lack of them—a bo staff and nothing else.
So he sat Tim's unconscious body in the chair and tied him up by the torso, pinning his upper arms beside his torso.
He tied his forearms to the armrests, then tied his thighs to the seat and his calves to the legs of the chair. He finished with the boy’s ankles.
Once he had checked and double-checked his knots, he took out his gun, aimed it at Tim's foot, and shot.
The boy woke with a flinch and a scream, already tearing at his restraints.
“Morning, Pretender. Enjoy your beauty sleep?”
Tim scowled at him, “Red Hood.”
Jason grinned, “In the flesh.”
Tim stared at him for a long moment. And then, “What do you want?”
“To teach the Big Bats a lesson.”
“And so you took me?”
“Of course,” he cocked his head, “thought the new birdie had gotta be something special considering how quickly he forgot about the old one.”
Tim’s expression shifted, and he gave Jason an almost appalled look, “The fuck are you talking about? Seriously what rock have you been living under? What about Batman's whole near-murder rampage gave you the impression that he got over Robin's death? Or even found a good way to cope with it?”
Jason snarled. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. Trying to gaslight the Red Hood?” He smiled—even if the Replacement couldn't see it, he could hear it, “What made you think that was a good idea?”
The Pretender opened his mouth again, and Jason loaded his gun for emphasis.
Almost hesitantly, he closed his mouth.
“That's better. Now, have you ever heard the story of how the old Robin died?”
The Pretender furrowed his brow but didn't respond.
Smart boy.
“The little birdie flew all the way to Ethiopia where he was tortured and killed. He begged to be saved—he begged for mercy. He got neither, but you, Pretender—you will be saved. When I'm done with you, I'll make your absence known, and they'll come to save you, little bird. Of course, all the entrances are rigged to explode the moment they're breached, but,” he shrugged, “how should they have known?”
He took a moment to stare at the Replacement. He eyes were filled to the brim with tears, but he didn't shed a single one.
Jason was excited at the prospect of changing that.
“Until you're saved, though,” and Jason was smiling again, “I can promise you no mercy, but I can make you beg for it.”
And I will, went unsaid.
When Jason got home, he took a nice, long shower to reward himself.
Well, to get the blood off, too, but mostly, it was a reward for a day of hard work.
The Replacement had screamed so well for him. He screamed as Jason dragged a knife into his skin, over and over, slowly carving Batman’s insignia into the Robin's chest.
Jason wanted to take a picture of it, only the blood kept overtaking the Pretender's chest before Jason could get a good shot.
Oh, well. Sacrifices must be made.
And the Pretender more than made up for it with the staccato sobs he let out each time Jason struck the boy with his own staff.
Jason laughed when he saw the boy's teeth on the floor.
The Bats would have so much fun cleaning up the mess Jason made.
Or trying to, at least.
Jason died hoping he'd get to see his family one last time.
It was only fair that the last thing they should see was what happens to Robins left to fly the coop too soon.
After his shower, Jason treated himself to a nice, hot meal before settling into bed, content in the knowledge that he'd wake up to the news that he'd finally rid the city of her rodent problem.
Something must have been wrong with Jason's systems, because he didn't get an alert saying that the premises of his safe house was breached and the bomb, it seemed, still hadn't triggered.
Only he checked his systems and no, they were still online.
The Bats just hadn't found their Robin yet.
Some things never changed, but that was fine. Jason was more than willing to give them a helpful shove in the right direction.
He sent them the Replacement's location.
Jason gave in and disabled the bombs after the third day with no security breach.
He threw open the front door, and snarled, “What is this?”
The Replacement squinted up at him with bleary eyes.
Jason let out an exasperated noise. “Say something!”
“What do you want me to say this time? I'll beg for them to come if that's what you want me to do.”
“We’re well past that point, Pretender. Why aren't they here?”
Tim gave him a look, “Because, after last time, they learned better than to care about their Robins.”
Jason reeled back, “What?”
“You obviously knew him—the second Robin. I don't know how you don't see their love for him.”
Their love for him.
Something about the words snapped him out of his trance, and suddenly, he looked at the boy in front of him.
Saw him, truly, for the first time.
He saw the way the boy lulled against his restraints—how they were the only things holding him up.
Bruises flowered across his skin—blue and purple and covered in clumps of drying blood.
He saw his mark on the boy's chest.
He looked into the Pretender's eyes, and, even if the boy could only see the white lenses of his mask, it felt like he was looking into Jason's soul.
He didn’t know what to make of that look. “And they don't love you like that, do you?”
Something fierce crossed the boy's face. “What? Was that not obvious or did you just want to hear it from the Replacement’s lips?”
And that was a can of worms that he decidedly did not want to open. He changed the subject. “I sent them your location, you know.”
“And where are we?”
“Abandoned building on Sixth Street right across from the butcher's.”
The replacement hummed and nodded. “Well, that means we're in my territory. If they get any distress signals from in here, they'll just redirect them to me, so you might as well have asked me to save myself, and if you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit…tied up at the moment.”
Jason cringed at the joke—it was such a Robin thing to say. “You had no way of responding, though—they seriously wouldn't check in with you after three days of radio silence?”
“You tell me.”
Jason pursed his lips. That was not how this was supposed to go.
The Pretender was not supposed to make Jason feel sorry for him.
The Replacement was not supposed to snap Jason out of the pit rage.
Tim was not supposed to tell Jason he was loved.
But he did.
“You're not stupid enough to attack me if I untie you, right?”
Tim snorted, “What? Finally ready to kill me?”
A look of horror crossed Jason's face, but Tim was only privy to the mask, so he continued unaware.
“But no, I'm not in any state to defend myself and something tells me you're not going to take kindly to any monkey business on my end, so uh…no. Do whatever, just do it fast.”
Jason couldn't think of any proper response, so instead, he unsheathed a small knife from his belt and started cutting through the ropes that held Tim in place.
Ankles first, then he moved to the calves which, in hindsight, was just unnecessary.
Then the thighs, and he realized that he had just made a kid sit in his own filth for three days.
Three days.
And, for a moment, he was grateful for the air filters in his mask, but that feeling was immediately overrun by shame because he did that to a kid.
Nausea rolled heavy in his gut.
He untied Tim's arms.
He half expected the boy to start pushing Jason away the moment he had his freedom—scratching and clawing and doing whatever he could to keep himself safe and keep Jason away.
Only the boy just clenched and flexed his hands, rolling his wrists a couple of times, but leaving his arms on the armrests.
Jason cut the last restraint—the one around Tim's torso—and caught the boy as he fell limply to the side.
As carefully as he could, he picked him up and carried him out of the safehouse and onto his bike.
Tim didn't ask any questions but made no effort to hide the fact that he was awake, even going so far as to wrap his arms around Jason.
The arrangement worked well for the both of them when Jason got on his bike and drove them to his nearest safe house.
He hid the bike, brought them both in and locked the door behind him before placing Tim on the couch and going to get everything he needed.
He took a couple of trips to get different first aid kits, painkillers, and some towels from the bathroom. Then, he brought some light food and water from the kitchen—something to get Tim eating, but not enough to upset his empty stomach. As an afterthought, he also grabbed ice packs.
Finally, when he was ready, he sat down on the coffee table so he was facing Tim. He grabbed one of the towels and poured a healthy amount of antiseptic on it, but when he turned to Tim, the boy only asked, “Do you have to knock me out?”
Jason furrowed his brow. “What?”
“I won't protest—wherever you take me, whatever you do, you can do it, I just want to be…aware.”
“Why?” Jason genuinely couldn't understand—he’d go to great lengths to forget all about the Joker. It seemed wrong to want to remember pain of that magnitude.
Tim just gestured around lamely, “Edict memory. I remember everything I see, so blank spaces where memories should be don't sit well.”
“Sure, then,” Jason said, “I won't give you any knockout drugs.”
He reached forward and Tim tensed—it took a moment to realize that Tim thought the towel was drugged.
After a moment of debate, he decided that the best course of action was just to show Tim first-hand that the antiseptic wouldn't knock him out.
He pressed it to a wound on his forehead. Tim winced and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Helping you. I made a mistake. Now, I'm fixing it.”
“So what? You just want a blank slate before you tear into me again?”
“I—no, Tim, I’m helping you.”
“Yeah. Which means you want something. Can’t blame me for trying to figure out your motive.”
And no, he really couldn’t. He had no right to ask Tim to just trust him, but then again, Tim didn’t need to trust him—he just needed to stay still so that Jason could finish cleaning his wounds, and then…and then, what?
Jason didn’t know what he was going to do after that. He could always drop Tim off with the Bats, but that wouldn’t work because if they hadn’t been taking care of Tim before and then they didn’t deserve the opportunity to start now. Nor was Jason sure they’d take that opportunity if Jason handed it to them on a silver platter.
His next thought was Tim’s parents.
After he’d finished cleaning Tim’s face and arms the first towel was drenched in blood, so he poured more antiseptic on a second and began cleaning Tim’s torso. “If you had to hazard a guess, how do you think your parents are reacting to your whole…disappearance?” For as frequently as he’d been checking for bat sightings lately, it hadn’t really crossed his mind that he should look for how the Drakes were reacting.
“If you’re asking how long it’s going to be before they report me missing, then I can tell you it’ll be a while, if at all. Last time I was kidnapped, it took four months before they were home—that’s when they noticed I was gone—but they didn’t want it to become a scandal or anything, so they hired a PI to find me—which she did, so hooray for that, I guess.”
Jason didn’t know how to respond to that, so he kept quiet as he tried to think of who else could take care of the boy.
The bats were out and his parents were out. If no one had noticed Tim being kidnapped, then he didn’t have anyone looking after him at home.
Jason sighed and tossed his towel away, grabbing another one, pouring more antiseptic on it—he made a mental note that he’d have to buy more soon—and kept cleaning the kid’s chest. Slowly, he realized that the reason there was so much blood was because, in cleaning the blood off, he had irritated the wounds and they started bleeding again.
Jason prepared his supplies before stitching the boy’s chest closed.
He wanted to gag.
He’d stitched himself up plenty of times and had some good experience stitching others up, too, but this was different, because not only did he cause that wound, he drew it well.
The insignia was almost perfect, if a bit jagged and lopsided.
It was going to leave a nasty scar.
“Have any friends that’ll let you stay the night?”
Tim gave him a weird look, “Why are you asking?”
“I want to make sure you have somewhere to go after this?”
“You can bring me back to my house. I don’t want you to traumatize any of my friends by showing my mangled corpse or whatever you're planning.”
“I’m not—” He paused, trying to figure out how to explain his change of heart, “What if I didn’t kill you? I’ve had my fun, I’m cleaning up my mess, and now, I’m trying to arrange a drop-off somewhere where you’ll be cared for.”
Tim was quiet for a long moment. And then, “You know who I am—you know where I live. You can just drop me off at my house; I’ll be safe there.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t ask where you’d be safe. I asked where you’ll be cared for.”
Tim thought for another moment before answering, “You can drop me back off at the Tower, then. The rest of the Titans will be back in a week or so, and I’ll be cared for then.”
And a week was too long, but if Jason could use his codes to get into the tower, he saw no reason why they wouldn’t work to send out an emergency beacon.
Deciding that was his best course of action, he finished up the stitches, wiped off the rest of the blood, and moved to cleaning Tim’s legs.
That part went by a lot quicker, as he had no gaping wounds that Jason had to try not to gag at, but he did need a few small rows of stitches here and there.
By the time he was done, Tim was nodding off, but an impromptu sleepover with Tim wouldn’t do anyone any good, so he placed a couple of ice packs on the kid, bandaging them down when he realized the boy was too weak to hold them.
Someone else could deal with that later.
With minimal fuss, he led the boy to the Tower before laying him down on the couch to sleep.
Tim gave him an odd look, “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re just going to leave me here?”
Jason nodded. He wanted to apologize, but there were some things he needed to think through first. Instead, he only confirmed, “I am. Stay safe.”
Tim gave him an odd look, which he elected to ignore.
Jason turned back and entered the zeta tube, pushing the emergency beacon on his way out.