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Tim really hated how bright Gotham’s street lights were, of all the things for the city to actively take care of, why the street lights? They could take care of all the prisons or hire better police or lower the high crime rate. Actually, scratch that, the street lights made sense. Rampant crime and all, maybe people wanted to see their murderer. Okay, too dark. Though, light created the illusion of being seen, so maybe they were trying to lower the crime levels.
The panic must have been setting in, why was he pondering street lights of all things? Tim glanced behind himself at the van that had been following him for at least five blocks. If only he was in his robin suit, he could just grapple away and not have to think about stupid, blinding, street lights and persistent vans trailing him. But, no, he just had to take his first trip to crime alley, since Red Hood popped up, in his civvies. Tim jumped a short fence and rounded a corner fast, hoping to catch sight of the van as it sailed by him and down the road.
Several seconds passed and there was no sign of the van. Cautiously Tim peaked around the run down house he was using as cover and was immediately met in the face with a crowbar. With how adrenaline high he was, he heard more than felt his nose snap. Blood gushed down his face and in his attempt to run he bumped into Mr. Crowbar, smearing said blood all over the man’s shirt. Tim recovered quickly and began sprinting down the road.
At least if he was murdered, that goon would be stuck with a bucket load of Tims blood on his clothing. Blood stains were a bitch to get out. (Unless you were Alfred, of course.) He was just glad that once Batman returned to earth, there would be damning evidence against his killers. Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders at that thought. Tim was not totally useless right now, he was leaving good clues to his murder. With a small smile he stopped and ducked behind an old industrial warehouse.
Cringing, Tim tore bits off his shirt and used his nose blood to write ‘tim’ on the scraps of fabric. He tied a piece to a leftover fence post, and got moving again. Just in time to get out of the way of one of Crowbar’s friends, who had just shot at the fence post. Tim began to panic as he recognised the shotgun in the man’s hands.
Bang!
“SHIT–”
He went down like a sack of potatoes. Tim tried to tuck and roll, but the hole in his leg made it hard to bend. That was going to need pressure soon. Reluctantly, Tim pulled his arms over his head to defend himself. Unfortunately, the murderers simply grabbed him by his upper arms and yanked him to his feet.
They hauled Tim’s dead weight to the van and threw him in, where his head slammed onto a tool box and he blacked out.
Heavily blinking, Tim took in his surroundings. He knew Batman would be disappointed in him for waking up so obviously, but his brain was staticy and itchy and he could not bring himself to care. The room was overly cliche, down to the singular light bulb on a cord flickering ominously. Sighing, Tim began feeling around his bound hands. Luckily, his feet were free.
“What'cha got ta sigh about kid?”
With a slow turn of his head, Tim looked the man in the eyes. “What am I doing here?”
The man laughed and held up a paper and Tim went bug eyed when he read it. Detailed on the paper was a hit, signed by his parents. Why would they do this to him? He tried to be the perfect son. Was it to piggyback off of Jason's death a year and a half ago, along with the Waynes following fame? Tim knew they viewed him as an item…but…to have him killed? He never would have thought-
“I can see the wheels turning, kid, don’t-cha’ worry. We won’t kill ya yet. We still need ta have some fun with ya.”
Tim gulped, he had not even registered the other man in the room. Fuck. Not only had his parents sold him out to be killed, he was also about to be tortured until he finally died. He needed to get out of here yesterday. While Tim attempted to register all that had changed in the last three hours, he watched the first man bump the other and turn to leave. They filed out the door without a backglance. Silently, Tim was glad they were underestimating him.
Wiggling his hands Tim could tell that the men had handcuffed them. Briefly closing his eyes, he remembered Dick teaching him how to pop the joints in his hands out of socket. Jason's hands had been bound with handcuffs…they did not want to take any chances with Tim. It almost made Tim glad to be in Jason’s humongous shadow this time around.
Clenching his teeth, Tim tried to take his mind off of what he was about to do.
POP!
How was Dick doing in Bludhaven? Hopefully he was not dealing with any kidnapping cases as severe as Tim’s own.
POP!
Maybe after this was over and only if Dick was kind enough to like-
POP!
-a stupid, worthless Robin like him, they could go and get ice cream-
POP!
-together.
POP!
Finally, his hands were free, well one was free…and unusable now. Lucky for Tim, the killers had only used one set of cuffs to secure both hands to the chair. So with one hand free, both hands were free. He quietly knelt down and tore his jeans with his pocket knife. Those killers really did not think of him as a threat, they didn't even search his pockets. Rookie mistake.
He wrapped his leg to stop the bullet wound from bleeding any more than it had and stood up quickly. Surveying the room once more and with a clearer head, Tim spotted a window low enough for him to climb through. With a final look at the door his kidnappers went through, Tim used his good hand to pull himself up on the window sill and swung his good leg out the window. Already dreading the pain of falling, he pushed himself out of the window and hit the pavement as gently as he could.
Pain shot up his leg and he let out a strangled yelp. He knew full well that those men would be after him any time now, so he began running as much as his leg would allow. Tim probably looked like a deranged penguin, (reference intended, The Penguin ran really oddly) but living was more important than looking cool.
Looking back Tim knew he was at least a block away from the old warehouse, but where was he headed. Dick was still in Bludhaven and Batman was obviously in space or else Tim would not have been allowed in Crime alley. He had a sneaking suspicion that Alfred let him escape, but if that were true, there was no way Tim could return this beaten up. There was no way he would willingly let Alfred down like that.
Damn. Who could he seek out…
Red Hood was known for helping children…But Batman said to avoid contact with him. Disappointed Alfred vs. disappointed Batman…
Where was the closest site they had listed as a possible Red Hood hideout? He was on 56th street, so the nearest one was – two blocks away? That would have to do. Carefully Tim wove his way through the back alleys until he was face to door with the run down apartment complex. Tim took a shaky breath and put on the most confident face he could as he pushed open the door.
The smell of nicotine hit his nose like a truck and he almost puked on the spot. Steeling his stomach, Tim continued further into the building and took the elevator up to the fifth floor. He almost threw up once again when the elevator began moving. Eager to get out of the small space, he darted through the doors right as they opened and was surprised to see this floor was much cleaner than the rest of the dinghy building.
Room 513…Room 513…
It was at the end of the hall with a very nice bay window positioned right next to the door. Turning to the apartment Tim could not help but question whether or not this was a good idea. Sure Red Hood did not hurt kids, but…
Something about Red Hood really scared Batman,what if Hood knew their identities? Tim would practically be handing Robin over to Hood gift wrapped and tied with a bow. Could he afford the risk? Would Batman de-robin him if he came back in this state? Definitely. Tim had manipulated his way into Robin. No way Batman would want him around. Even Tim did not want Tim around.
Why should Batman or Red Hood?
Tim forced himself to knock. This was his only choice. If he died…He died. Batman would find the blood and the cloth scrap and Tim was sure the people in the houses saw what happened. All in all, if he died, his parents would be charged for the hit and nobody needed to know Red Hood was involved, he would be honest with Hood. Tell him all of this…Well, maybe not the Batman and Robin part…
Hood would have to make the choice not Tim. In fact, what was taking Hood so long to answer? Tim knocked again and looked intently at the door. No movement. Huh. Maybe he and Batman had been wrong? There was no turning back now and this apartment had been listed as mostly vacant, so he would need to give it a try.
With his trusty pocket knife, Tim took the screws off the padlock and redirected the wiring. A soft beep let him know the door was unlocked. He carefully replaced the top and traveled inside. The space was cozy, an open floor plan with no doors left on their hinges. Barely any personalization, aside from a stack of books on an end table; the only one Tim could make out was The Great Gatsby on the top of the pile, a bookmark in the latter half of the pages. He slowly made his way into the master bathroom and was unsurprised to find that this was the only room with a door. Opening the left most drawer Tim easily found a first aid kit.
While threading the needle he found in the well stocked box, Tim sat on the toilet seat cover and relaxed a bit. He really needed something mundane to ground him. Robin put him in plenty of dangerous situations, but Tim Drake rarely ever was truly in danger. This whole ordeal was really freaking him out.
Realizing his hands were not moving, Tim looked down. The needle had been taken from him and gloved hands were efficiently stitching up his leg wound. Had Tim not been trained by Batman, he would have jumped when he realized he was not alone. But a few seconds of staring and it was obvious the hands were much more skilled than him. His gaze trailed up leather covered arms and he found himself inches away from the infamous Red Hood.
The Red Hood who’s safehouse he just broke into. The Red Hood he was looking for.
Holy Shit!
Red Hood was patching him up.
Was it still worth worrying about Hood? Yes. But what should he say? ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t know this was your house.’? Stupid, that would make the drug lord suspicious. ‘Nice place.’? No, he didn’t snoop around. ‘Gatsby, huh?’ That would just piss the man off. What was he meant to say? How the hell was Tim even supposed to address the man? Mr. Hood? He glanced up at the bright helmet the vigilante wore, pondering.
“Ya finally aware, kid?”
Tim did jump this time and Hood simply held his leg in place. The man chuckled and his voice modulator made it echo and crack… A delirious giggle escaped Tim and caused the man to snort, which sounded awful. They both burst out laughing. When something whistled, Tim finally reached up and checked his nose. It stung like crazy, causing him to hiss. He should have known his nose would be broken. Hood stopped what he was doing and looked up at Tim who winced.
“Sorry, Mr. Hood.” FUCK.
Hood snorted again. “Mr. Hood, huh? Listen kid, I don’t care who you are or how you knew to come here. There's only one thing I care about.”
Audibly, Tim gulped. The drug lord knew, he had to. What else would he be talking about? Batman was gonna be so mad, there went the only people he could even remotely call family. All because Tim was stupid enough to get kidnapped and then seek out one of their enemies for help. Stupid. Stupid. Stu-
“KID! Relax. Breathe with me. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. That's it, keep breathin’.”
Tim glanced up at the vigilante through wet eyelashes and tried to follow his instructions. Slowly finding the rhythm, he felt himself untense and relax. Once Hood was satisfied with Tim’s breathing, he silently went back to stitching. Not knowing what Red Hood was about to say, Tim continued to spiral in his mind. Finding every scenario his brain could think up and most of them were not pretty. Still stewing, he drifted off to sleep.