Chapter Text
Tim didn't know how long he had spent in the room. They didn't feed him, and the waterboarding sessions were the only source of water. He thought they visited more often than once per day. He wasn't sure anymore.
He didn't know who was in charge of the goons, but he did know what they wanted. Information on Batman. The name, the base location, the codes. They didn't dare take his domino mask off, afraid it would blow up - the rumor that started spreading after a few of Red Hood's stunts.
It was kind of funny - Hood's actions ended up being the last string holding up his secret identity. Maybe Tim should thank him later.
But for that, he needed to get out first. It wasn't exactly easy to come up with an escape plan that accommodated his growing list of injuries. Who would've thought.
His right arm was a mess. He couldn't alleviate sharp pain, or move it, or even look at it without getting dizzy. His left leg was in a similar condition, although they stopped messing with it three sessions ago. He was hungry to the point of occasional fainting (or maybe it was the oxygen deprivation. Cracked ribs made deep breaths almost impossible). And last time he woke up he realized he was developing a fever.
Tim would've still given it a go if he had an idea of how to get to safety after.
He remembered a long ride, which meant he might not even be in Gotham anymore. He didn't know if someone was looking for him or if he was by himself. Batman should've found him by now, broken in, gotten him out. Did something happen? Was there another emergency?
He didn't know how long he would last before breaking. The goons clearly thought it wouldn't take too long - they were in good spirits for the last session, mocking and cooing and doing everything they could to prolong his panic attack. It wasn't that long ago, probably half an hour, which meant he had some time before the next session. He needed to get himself together. Be prepared.
Tim made a deep breath, ignoring the sharp pain pressing on his chest. Went through some mental exercises Bruce taught him. Counted every dent in a concrete ceiling. Then again. Tried very hard not to cry.
He was trained to think analytically in situations like this. Acknowledge facts and ignore everything hindering. He would manage to slip into the right mindset. He just needed a little more time.
There were voices on the other side of the metal door. Tim's breath caught in his lungs - it was too early for another session and his captives had been quite pedantic until now.
He still needed time. He couldn't-
The door swang open screeching, and a goon nearly ran into him, dragging him upright. The pain exploded in his broken leg, and then in his chest as he was swung onto a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Everything went white with agony. He couldn't breathe.
Someone was talking.
"-The Bat shouldn't be-"
"-Get the brat out of here-"
"-The long route-"
The room was rotating and moving around as heavy steps echoed in his ears. It took him a second to realize he was carried somewhere. That was new, and everything new was bad.
Tim tried to remember any semblance of a plan he had before, but of course it was too late. He shouldn't have waited so long, that was against all the training, what was he thinking. He kicked and struggled against the hold with all the strength he could muster, but there was no effect. The goon didn't even slow down.
Somehow, Tim managed to keep his eyes open, though it was hard to see anything through the tears. They moved through a long corridor, then up the stairs and ended up in an underground parking lot.
Tim felt dread creeping up his spine. They were going to move him to a new location. Somewhere farther away from Gotham. From home.
He was not coming back.
There was a sound of a car unlocking, and the world turned around the orbit again, and his body exploded in pain again as he hit the hard surface. He couldn't breathe, his diaphragm didn't move like supposed to, he couldn't breathe and his lungs were burning, he was going to die, but he forced himself to look around, even as his vision swam, this time not just with tears.
He was in a car trunk. There wasn't enough space to uncurl from the embryo position. The goon was hovering over him, a dark shadow blocking the light behind. His hand moved to close the lid and Tim lunged.
He threw himself on the cold concrete floor and kicked the goon in the shin. The man stumbled but didn't fall.
"You little shit!"
Pain exploded in his cheekbone as the boot connected with his face. A large hand squeezed his left wrist - unbroken - and pulled him up roughly. He felt warm breath on his cheek.
Bang.
The next thing Tim saw was a face of the goon right in front of his eyes. There was a hole in his forehead, leaking blood at alarming speed. Somehow they both ended up on the floor. Tim didn't remember falling.
There was an echoing sound of someone's boots getting closer and a sharp metallic clicking of a gun.
"Replacement."
Everything went cold.
He knew that voice, distorted by the modulator. He knew that tone. It belonged to one person who wanted to hurt him more than anyone else. Who would hurt him as soon as he caught him.
Last time they saw each other Tim lost the fight. This time, there would be no fight at all.
He turned over onto his stomach, only half-registering the pain every movement caused, and started crawling away from the voice. A tiny part of his brain suggested to stand up and run, but he knew his leg was all wrong even if he couldn't feel it anymore. He couldn't feel any of his limbs.
The steps got louder - or maybe just closer, - and someone grabbed his left arm just below the shoulder, holding him in place. Crawling was no longer an option.
"I got him," someone said in the same distorted voice as before, but it was calm, like it was talking to someone else. "I'll take him to the truck. You'll finish without me? Yeah, yeah. And you thought we didn't need that many splints. Over."
The hold on his arm slightly shifted but still didn't try to pull him up. Somebody sighed.
"Okay, Replacement. I'm gonna give you some of the good stuff and you are going to have a nice little sleep while we treat your injuries. Got it?"
Tim didn't get it. What was The Good Stuff? What did they mean, sleep? He couldn't sleep now, he was in danger, he had to get away from-
Hood. It was Red Hood holding him.
Tim kicked his good leg blindly, but it didn't connect with anything. He tried to pull away, but the hold was unyielding. He thrashed and cried and used every last bit of energy that the sudden adrenaline boost gave him, just to try to get away. He needed to run, he needed to hide. He wanted Bruce.
Someone was talking, but it wasn't registering anymore.
-I'm not trying to-
-Fuck, you'll mess up your-
-Okay, it's gonna hurt-
There was a tiny burst of pain in his shoulder, something that would've gotten lost in the searing agony that was now his body if only Tim didn't know it was a needle. Needles were never good.
He tried to shake the hand away, but moving was getting more difficult with each second. Everything went dull and floaty despite the dread still squeezing his chest. Still, some part of him was relieved. Maybe he would be allowed to die without pain.
Someone moved him and his body just allowed that, like a marionette on cut strings. He couldn't fight the hands that turned him onto his back and started prodding his broken leg. He couldn't beg for a chance to escape. He could only breathe and fall deeper into the soft darkness.
***
Six hours ago, Jason was still in Gotham sleeping in his bed. He thought he deserved some rest after patrolling almost nonstop for the last three days, but obviously, some bastards who had the audacity to call themselves his friends thought otherwise.
Kori and Roy barged into his safehouse, woke him up, made him coffee and asked for help on their mission, all in a timespan of five minutes. He said no, of course, because Newark was not Gotham and he was not spending eight hours in total on the road just to shoot someone in another city. He had enough of that here.
They have Robin, Kori said and, well, that earned his interest.
He knew for a fact that the big old Bat was not going to save his bird in the near future, because Batman was still recovering from the effects of a new rage toxin. The one that made him attack and incapacitate Nightwing and Oracle three days ago.
The only Bat still patrolling the streets was Spoiler. And while she definitely did try to find information on Robin's whereabouts, Jason doubted she succeeded much.
He suggested her a truce of sorts when it started, said he could patrol a part of her routes, but she refused, which was fair. She probably still remembered what Replacement looked like after their match.
And now he had a chance to snatch the little bird to himself. Shove in B's face just how incompetent he still was, mock the old man for continuing to lose Robins, maybe scare him a little, maybe make a few demands in case he wanted Replacement back. Jason didn't try to hide a smile as he prepared for the trip.
***
The kid was a mess. They placed him onto a vacuum mattress and carried into the truck. Kori was driving this time, while Jason was keeping Roy away from the kid and medical supplies.
Propofol, morphine, IV fluids, splints, cool compresses for fever. Jason hadn't treated anyone in... awhile, but it felt familiar. He removed the domino mask with solvent and thoroughly wiped the kid's pale face, then listened to lungs again and concluded that Replacement would live. Which meant it was time to make a call.
The truck container had a hatch leading to the roof. Jason told Roy to keep an eye on the kid and climbed outside - that was going to be a private conversation. He wasn't sure if B was coherent enough to talk already, but there was only one way to find out.
The call connected after two seconds.
"Hello?" said a hoarse tired voice. Damn, did Jason wake him up? He hoped so.
"Hey B," he let some glee to seep through his tone. "How you feeling? How are N and O? Not too beaten up I hope?"
"Red Hood?" this time Batman sounded fully awake. "What-"
"Ah, by the way. Did you happen to lose anything important recently?"
There was silence on the other side. Through the wind and the noise of the moving truck Jason didn't hear a single breath.
"Do you mean Robin?" the voice was even. Perhaps a little too even.
"Depends on which one we are talking about," he replied just to be an asshole.
A pause again, this time just a second. Jason caught it anyway.
"Do you have him?" Batman asked and, wow, was it desperation in his voice or just the wind messing with the audio? "Hood, do you have Robin?"
He stayed silent.
"Hood? Answer. Red Hood! If you have any information on where he is, we can trade. And if you have him-"
"I have him."
"Whe-"
"Found him in Newark in a traffickers' base. Seems like he'd spent the last four days in a torture chamber," he meant to sound nonchalant. He didn't quite manage that.
There was a deep sigh on the other side of the line. The rage toxin must've gotten B good if he let so many emotions show. When he talked again, his voice was tight.
"God. How is he?"
Jason didn't understand why it made his own breath hitch. He'd been looking forward to this moment. He'd wanted this, to hear Batman lose composure, ask questions and let Jason interrupt whenever he felt like it. Instead, he just reminded himself of that one time years ago when he caught Bruce crying and immediately started crying himself.
"Had to put him under general anesthesia. He should wake up soon."
"What is the damage, Hood?" Bruce asked, because of course, he wanted a full report.
"Not as bad as it could be. A few broken bones, light fever, malnutrition. We are taking care of it." Jason didn't have much energy left to avoid questions. He wanted to be done with this call already.
"Who are 'we'? Is there someone else with you?"
"That's none of your business."
"Right." Silence again, as if preparing for a difficult question. "Will you return him to Gotham?"
Finally, Jason could feel the end of the conversation. "Sure. But I hope you don't expect me to give him up for free."
"Of course not. What are your demands?" that was Batman's hostage negotiation voice, the one he usually saved for Joker's stunts.
Jason's vision burned acidic green.
Break into Arkham and kill the fucking clown like you were supposed to five years ago, he wanted to say. Stop replacing me with rich spoiled kids, he wanted to say. Tell me I didn't ruin everything by coming back from the dead, he wanted to say.
"Stop interfering with my business. That's my demand," he said instead, because he learned to ignore Pit's ideas the hard way.
"What do you mean by 'business'?"
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose and couldn't quite contain a sigh. God, he needed a break.
"You interrupted a drug deal in Bowery two weeks ago. They were under my protection."
"Bowery is not your territory, Hood. I just stopped crime."
"I took over it a week before the deal. Don't pretend that you didn't know, there were enough bodies for the world's best detective to figure it out!" He had to calm down. There was no need to argue with the Bat when Jason had all the good cards. "You want the kid back? Then let me do my job."
"Alright. I'll keep away from your people and will tell the others to do the same." Well, that was... easy. "Anything else?"
"Huh?"
"Do you have any other demands, Hood?" Batman asked, slower this time.
"Any other-" Shit. Could Jason ask for something else? He didn't think the kid was that important... no, of course, B would worry about Replacement being stuck with Jason. Besides, it's not like Batman's word had a lot of weight. He didn't lose much in this deal.
But what else could Jason... maybe he could talk to Alfred one last time, or take some of his old stuff from the Manor- no. He didn't need that.
"That's it," he said, hoping he didn't sound defeated. "I'll call from Gotham."
"Wait," that one word was enough to stop him from ending the call. A reflex to comply - he hated that he hadn't outgrown it yet. "Can I talk to Robin when he is awake? Just a few words."
"Maybe. We'll see."
"And another thing."
"Fucking Christ, B." he rubbed his forehead to stop himself from shouting. "Can we get over with this already?"
An audible inhale, almost lost in the wind and static. "Hood. You don't have to hurt him, alright? If you come up with any other demands, tell me. Just, don't hurt him. Please."
Momentarily, Jason didn't know what to say.
Can't promise anything, B. Keep losing your birds and one day you won't get a chance to snatch them back, some part of him suggested. He wasn't sure if it was the Pit or not.
Maybe he should've said that. The whole reason behind this trip was to mess with Batman. But there was a real worry in his voice and Jason couldn't- he never heard Bruce talk to him like that. Like he was afraid of what Jason could do.
"I won't. The kid had enough of that without me." He ended the call.
***
Tim woke up in parts. It was hot and cold and comfortable all at once. The floor was vibrating slightly. His face felt weirdly cool, especially around his eyes, where the domino mask usually irritated the skin.
He tried to sit up with eyes closed, because opening them would be too much work. Something solid pinned his shoulders down.
There were voices, but it didn't sound like English, more like a jumble of sounds. Too high, then too low. Then too loud.
He groaned to make them shut up, but his throat felt like sandpaper, so he coughed instead. Someone talked again and he ignored them. He just wanted to sleep. The floatiness felt really good. He didn't feel this good in a very long time.
A wet cloth pressed to his lips.
He was in the room, they put him into a chair and tilted it back, put a wet rag over his face and continued soaking it with water, and they held him in place, he tried to breathe but he couldn't, there was water in his nose and his mouth, he was drowning, he was going to die.
He thrashed and fought against the hold on his shoulders, but they didn't let go. The cloth was gone but he still couldn't breathe, he was-
The room. A thug tried to put him into a car trunk. They fought. A gunshot.
He opened his eyes and saw Red Hood.
The next moment no one was touching him. He was lying on his side and only saw a light-colored metal wall. It didn't look like the one in the room. His vision was fuzzy around the edges but somehow he could breathe.
-Some kind of episode. And now dissociation.
He looks more lucid now. Was it because of the cloth?
Do you think they-
The end of the sentence was too quiet for Tim to hear. He wasn't sure he wanted to listen to it at all. It was all too much and too confusing, and while his head didn't hurt, it felt like it should be.
Still, he tried to connect the dots. The kidnapping - most definitely happened for real. There was no way his subconscious could make up so much shit. The last thug and a car trunk - also probably real. Red Hood. This one Tim wasn't so sure about. He thought if Hood got his hands on him there would be some physical evidence by now. Like pain. But he felt surprisingly fine.
Maybe Hood just waited for him to wake up before he-
"Hey kiddo, you with us?" somebody asked.
Tim wondered if he could say no and stay like this a little longer. Bruce taught him to keep tabs on his surroundings at all times, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that if he moved too much, the fragile state of safety would end.
Maybe if he pretended Red Hood wasn't there, it would become true.
Something warm and heavy was brought over his shoulders. A blanket. He grabbed it and tried to pull it over his head.
"Watch the IV!" somebody shouted, and they really did sound like Hood without his helmet. Tim wanted to cry.
A hand grabbed his left arm (presumably the one with IV) and slowly put it to the side. Another hand gently brushed his hair. It was so sudden he forgot to be afraid of the touch.
"Hey buddy, how about you lay on your back? It will be more comfortable this way, I promise," a second voice said. Tim liked that one better.
He made a deep breath and turned, because not listening to someone who sounded so caring would be physically impossible. With great effort, he kept his eyes opened.
The guy sitting beside him had red hair and was slightly smiling. He looked friendly, despite the red domino mask.
The one who didn't look friendly was Red Hood in the far corner of the room. No helmet in sight, he was also wearing a domino but it did nothing to hide his angry frown. There was some distance between them so Tim could probably stay on the mattress a little longer before trying to escape.
"How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" the other guy asked.
"No." He wasn't, and that was weird. At the parking lot he was in so much agony he could barely breathe. But then... he got injected with something.
Tim felt his limbs go numb with terror as he locked eyes with Hood.
"You drugged me," he hoped his whisper sounded accusatory instead of scared.
Hood shrugged. "That's what drug lords do."
The implication of what else drug lords could do hang in the air. Tim couldn't make himself think about it. Instead, he raised his head and looked down on his body. All limbs were still intact and didn't look worse than before. Two of them were even splinted and covered in bandages. Weird.
Maybe it was the other guy who treated his injuries and kept Hood away. Although how he managed that remained a mystery.
Tim glanced at the guy, looking for any signs of tension or unease but found none. He opened his mouth to ask are we in danger, but somewhere on the way it turned into "Who are you?"
The guy smiled wider. "I'm Roy, nice to meet you. Timothy, right?"
"Stop introducing yourself to everyone by your first name," Hood sighed, probably containing an urge to shoot them.
Roy didn't look concerned. "C'mon Jay, lemme talk to your brother in peace."
Fuck. Tim's heart raced wildly. Here it was, the moment Hood would lose his patience and attack them. No way he would tolerate what Roy just said.
"He's not my fucking-" Hood shouted, and his whole posture changed to something more aggressive, predatory, even as he remained sitting. He didn't clutch the gun, but it wouldn't take much effort.
"So, Tim," Roy kept talking, not paying any attention to the murderous psychopath behind his back. "Are you thirsty?"
Thirsty.
Did Roy want to give him a drink or was it a trick question?
They put a wet cloth on his mouth just a few minutes ago.
Hood was right there.
Shit. Why would Tim even think he was being saved?
"Hey, kid?"
He was going to be tortured again.
The blanket on him was too heavy. It constricted his chest, not letting him make a deep breath.
"Tim, we won't hurt you. I just wanted to give you a water bottle. You need to hydrate."
He remembered thugs cracking his ribs by kicking him around.
"Look, you don't have to. The IV is good enough, we just thought it'll help your throat."
He remembered lying in the room for hours, calculating the amount of oxygen in a confined space.
"Jay, he is hyperventilating."
He remembered wondering if it was possible to suffocate like that.
"Don't look at me, he'll faint if I get close."
He tried to push the words out, he would beg if it gave him a chance, but he couldn't.
"Jay."
"Fuck, okay, I have an idea."
He was lying there, waiting for something to happen, for a punch in his diaphragm, or a cloth, or a just a piece of tape, it would be so easy to kill him now.
"Tim? Hello, are you there?"
Hot tears ran down his face and into his hairline before the conscious part of his brain even recognized the voice.
"Tim, can you hear me? This is Bruce. You are going to be okay. Breathe with me. In. Hold. Out."
Suddenly he was aware that he was breathing too fast. He squeezed his eyes and tried to follow instructions, even if his lungs didn't want to cooperate. Like this, he could almost pretend that Bruce really was next to him, keeping him safe. But there was static in Bruce's voice, the one that came with a phone or comm call.
Would Hood call Bruce just to make him listen to Tim's torture? Absolutely. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little safer.
He expected the calming voice to end soon and hurting to begin, but minutes passed and he was still lying on the mattress, trying to catch his breath.
At some point Bruce stopped counting. "I'm going to ask you a question, okay, Tim?"
It took him two attempts to manage a hoarse yes. God, he was pathetic.
"Red Hood, or anyone else with him, did they hurt you?"
"Not yet," he answered after a pause, because injecting him - with what, a tranquilizer? - and pressing a wet cloth to his mouth for a second probably didn't count to Bruce.
"Alright," he said, like that actually meant something. "They are not going to hurt you, Tim. You are safe with them." And that was- that was crazy. Was he hallucinating? Had he fainted when the torture began and was now stuck in a dream created by his brain to keep him sane?
"I'm not-" he coughed, "I'm not safe, Bruce, please, get me out-"
"Tim, breathe." Easier said than done. "I made a deal with Hood, he promised to bring you to me. He will not hurt you." A deal? What kind of deal? What could Bruce possibly offer Hood to make him forget how much he hated Tim?
"Please, just get me out, B, please, Hood is right here, he won't-" he choked on a sob and couldn't contain a full body shudder. God, let this be just a hallucination. There was no way Bruce would leave him with Red Hood, right?
"I can't," the voice cracked, or maybe it was just static. "I was hit with rage toxin a few days ago and was out of commission. I can only leave the Cave for an hour or so. This is protocol."
Tim felt terror hit him like a wave.
"Others are unavailable right now. But, I promise, if Hood doesn't get you to Gotham soon, I will come to you. You hear me, Tim? I'm with you." There was a soft breath on the other side of the line. "Please, try to keep yourself calm," which meant try not to provoke Hood. "and consider this a rescue mission, unless given a reason to think otherwise. Can you do that?"
Could he do that? He didn't think so.
"Yes. Yes, I can," he whispered. "Can you just... stay on the line for a bit?"
"Of course, Tim. I'm not going anywhere," and that was the most comforting couple of sentences in his life. "If Hood allowed, I would stay until you were in the Cave, but I wouldn't push our luck."
"That's right, you shouldn't," someone muttered and just like that, the fragile feeling of safety was lost.
Tim opened his eyes and glanced around, trying to keep the panic down. Roy was sitting beside him, holding a burner phone to his ear. He was still smiling, but way more strained now. Hood was leaning to the wall at the farthest corner of the room, his expression unreadable. Apparently, they heard the whole conversation.
In other circumstances Tim would've gotten embarrassed over how childish he'd sounded, but this time his brain mercifully let it slip. Instead, he tried to decide what he needed to do now, that Bruce was still on the line. Should probably start with testing that whole 'rescue mission' theory.
He made several controlled breaths to fight the sudden nausea that always came with anxiety. "Can I have some water?" he asked Roy, not giving himself time to panic more.
"Sure." In one swift movement Roy got a water bottle from... somewhere and held it out to him. Tim tried to reach with his left hand but stilled after noticing how badly his fingers were shaking.
"Don't let him move the arm with IV, for fuck's sake," Hood said from his corner of the - wait, was it a truck container? Were they driving to Gotham right now?
Roy smiled at him apologetically. "Right, sorry." He turned back to Tim. "I'll help you with this, okay?" and that was... that was a bit too much.
"Bruce?" he turned to the burner, listening into the static. "Are you still here?"
"I am here, Tim. Is there a problem?" came an immediate response, making his heart calm down a little.
"No, it's okay. Just checking." He let Roy put him into a half-sitting position and tried hard not to freeze as the bottle touched his mouth.
Drinking felt good. The moment he made contact with cool water, he didn't want to stop. He made several sips before Roy took the bottle away.
"You shouldn't drink too much, buddy," he said, rubbing small circles on Tim's back. It felt almost as good as the water did.
Eventually, he was guided back onto the mattress. Some deep-seated tension eased from his body as Roy placed cooling pads and a blanket on him. Now, that the gamble of asking for a drink payed off, he felt more in control. It also helped that his throat stopped feeling like the Sahara desert.
"When will we get to Gotham?" he asked, wondering if he could just sleep this whole trip off and wake up in the Batcave.
"About three and a half hours. Less, if Kori Free Birds the rest of the road," Roy said with a half smile, like he was sharing an inside joke.
"Please drive safely," was Bruce's immediate response. "It's getting dark already, and the roads are dangerous this time of the year."
Hood huffed from his corner and muttered something that sounded vaguely like it's fucking June, old man. He probably rolled his eyes too, but it was impossible to see under the lenses.
"Yes, mister Batman, sir," Roy replied without a pause, then turned back to Tim. "By the way, have they fed you something in there?"
He shook his head. The idea of food hadn't crossed his mind for quite some time now, since hunger had turned into general lethargy. His stomach twisted. He wasn't sure he could eat anything without throwing up.
Roy frowned. It was weird seeing him without a smile. "That's four days without any food. Any longer and we might've had a problem."
Four days? It was just four days?
Tim knew it was a weird thing to be upset about, but his time in the room felt so much longer. He almost broke there, and it didn't even take a full week.
"Almonds are in the green bag," Hood's voice carried around the container, bringing him back to the present. "At the bottom. And I packed bananas there too, but someone ate three while I wasn't looking."
"Well, sorry for assuming that fifteen bananas were for everyone to share," Roy stood up and walked a few meters away. "And Kori took one, so I'm not the only culprit."
For several long seconds there was nothing between Tim and Red Hood. Their eyes locked, which was obvious by the tension in Hood's body. Tim felt very much like a prey on hunting grounds and had a hysteric thought that he should break the eye contact to not aggravate the predator.
He didn't have time to do anything before Roy came back into the view. A sense of immediate danger disappeared, replaced by familiar anxiety.
Roy sat down with a bag on his lap and started rummaging in it, seemingly oblivious to what just - almost - happened. "Do you have any food allergies?" he asked.
"No, he doesn't," Hood and Bruce said at the same time before Tim even had a chance to open his mouth.
Roy turned to Hood and laughed. And continued laughing even when something solid was thrown into his head.
"Stop!" Hood shouted, making Tim's heart gallop by instinct. "What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing," laughing turned into chuckling, and then into giggling, and that was such a contagious sound Tim felt his anxiety ease a little. "It- it's just, you sounded completely the same. Like, even your to-" he made a short wheezing sound and hit the floor with his palm. "even your tone."
And Hood- Hood was smiling. It was an unmistakable, toothy grin that he didn't even try to hide.
Tim looked at it and felt a pang of... something. He turned away.
"Okay, calm down."
Roy wheezed harder, leaned to the side, supporting himself heavily with one hand, and rubbed his mask as if trying to wipe away the tears. He clutched the bag and breathed deeply, but had another fit of giggles almost immediately.
"Is everything alright in there?" Bruce asked with a hint of worry in his voice.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Roy said, calming down. "I was trying to feed Tim." He opened the bag and pulled out a package of almonds. "I'll help you eat. We'll start with very small portions, okay?"
Tim nodded. It wasn't like he had a choice either way.
This time when Roy maneuvered his body to pull him up, he didn't flinch. The touch was becoming familiar and he missed the hair pets, but he wasn't going to ask for it. Not while Hood was in the earshot.
Apparently, helping to eat meant feeding from the hand. Tim was sure his ears burned red as the first almond was put into his mouth. Maybe he wouldn't be so embarrassed if it was just Roy, but of course, Hood was still there, probably enjoying the whole situation.
Tim thought he wouldn't be able to eat even one damn almond, but as he started chewing, the taste flooded his mouth. Suddenly, all he could feel was maddening hunger. He ate several more as quickly as humanly possible, barely listening to Roy's advice to slow down.
"Half a banana and that's it for now," Roy said, and Tim barely contained a whine. "Don't worry, you'll eat soon again."
That was the most delicious half a banana in his life. Tim chewed on it, looking at Roy finishing the other half and mournfully wondering if it was just as good. After that he was put back onto the mattress and under the blanket.
"So, can I have my phone back?" Hood asked, but it was clearly not a question at all. "I still need some charge on it."
Tim nodded slowly, making a few deep breaths when he felt his chest constricting. There was no need in dragging out the inevitable.
"Bruce?" he called, not sure what he wanted to say. Sorry for getting caught? Sorry for not getting myself out? Sorry for letting Hood take me?
"Tim," a soft exhale on the other side. "I will see you in the Cave in a few hours. We'll check you and then we can play video games if you'd like."
"Yeah," he said, holding back the trembling in his voice. "Terraria would be nice."
"We still need to beat that Worm of Cthulhu boss, right?" were Bruce's final words as Hood picked up the phone and finished the call.
There was a moment of dead silence when the static ended. Hood was hovering above them, looking at his burner like it personally offended him. At this distance Tim could see the dirt on his steel-toed boots. He would not want to be kicked by one of those.
"You want Kori to put something on?" Roy asked. Hood nodded slowly.
Roy took out what looked like a small comm and pressed the button. "Arsenal requests a status report from Starfire and some music."
A second later a female voice - the driver, probably - responded. "Starfire requests a banana if there are any left. Music in five."
Which clearly meant five seconds, because after that time past, soft rock filled the truck container. There had to be speakers installed somewhere - an odd thing to have in what seemed to be a mission vehicle, but Tim wasn't going to complain. He hadn't heard music in awhile.
Hood caught a banana thrown by Roy and without saying a word walked through the door on the far side of the container. Tim half-expected him to jump out on the road, but it turned out to be a door on the opposite side, leading to the driving cabin.
Some part of his brain tried to calculate his chances of stealing the truck and getting to Gotham by himself. The answer, of course, was impossible, but it was an entertaining thought.
Soon, Hood returned, and they spent some time in silence, listening to the music. Each new track was a different genre, and Tim distracted himself by trying to guess which one would be next.
At some point Kori put on an upbeat track with vintage sound effects and electronic guitar.
"What the hell is that?" Hood asked, not looking up from his burner.
Roy looked ecstatic. "Electroswing. Also known as the best music genre in existence. "
Hood was still for a moment, listening to the song. Then he took his gun out - Tim's heart momentarily started to race - and put its muzzle into his own mouth, mimicking choking sounds.
"You fucking idiot!" Roy laughed, lunging at Hood and trying to grab the gun. He didn't exactly succeed, but Hood did end up throwing the weapon somewhere in the corner. They wrestled around the container, avoiding most of their bags by some miracle, and while some of the punches seemed rough, they never stopped grinning.
Tim felt that pang again. This time it was harder to ignore.
He knew why he felt it. He didn't want to feel it. He trained himself out of it months ago. Still.
Jason Todd used to be - still was - his hero. His Robin. He saved a lot of people and died a terrible death before reaching adulthood. He was buried, but never forgotten.
Red Hood was not Robin. He wasn't even Jason Todd, not that one, even if he still used the same name. He was an outcome of a tragic line of events, a Rogue who needed to be dealt with and put in Arkham. He was a reason Bruce was getting nightmares for the last few months. He was a reason Dick avoided Gotham like a plaque. He was a villain.
Tim thought he did a good job of separating the two - not letting the memory of Jason Todd die and not fooling himself about Red Hood's nature - but just seeing him smile - the same smile as Robin did - that was a bit too much. Evil crime lords who inhabited bodies of dead heroes were not supposed to smile like that. It simply wasn't fair. To Jason, mostly.
He turned to the wall and for the first time in weeks let himself cry properly, mourning the impossible universe where things could've been different.
***
Roy's phone rang when they were getting tired of their little sparring match. Jason let him walk to the far corner of the container for some privacy and had to stay close to the kid. A crying kid. Fuck, he didn't even do anything this time.
"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Jason winced internally. Maybe that was a bit heavy handed. "Are painkillers running out?"
The kid tried to wipe his tears with the mattress, which, of course, didn't work. He turned to the ceiling and shook his head, avoiding eye contact. "m fine." He closed his eyes and cried harder.
Yeah, good job, Jason. Really should pat yourself on the back for this one.
The original plan was to keep away from the kid and let Roy do all the work, because, frankly, none of them were big fans of their patients having panic attacks. So, the smart thing to do now would be putting some distance between them and keeping his mouth shut.
Who was he kidding.
"Tim," using the name was unexpectedly hard. "B was telling the truth earlier. We made a deal and I'm not going to break my word. We'll get you to the Cave." He didn't get a response. "Do you need anything?" Don't mention water, don't mention water, don't you mention fucking water. "Almonds? You'll need to eat soon anyway."
The kid frowned but remained silent. Alright, at least no one could blame him for not trying.
He was thinking about what to suggest next when Roy gestured him to come closer. He shifted to stand up and caught a flinch with a corner of his eye as he was already moving away.
Roy looked a bit lost as he stood in the far corner. From there, the kid should not be able to hear them.
"What happened?" Jason half-whispered. There was no point of kicking around the bush. "Do we have a problem?"
Roy glanced at his phone once more and made an apologetic expression. At least he didn't look too worried. "There is no problem. Good news, actually - we got an update on our mission from the last month."
"Yours?"
"Yeah, I mean, mine and Kori's. The one in Metropolis."
"Okay," Jason said, still not getting what that was about.
"We found our target, fucking finally, but they'll move soon. I did some quick math, if we don't want to lose them, we'll have to move out right now. Like, in the next fifteen minutes would be good." And that apologetic face again. Jason wanted to punch him sometimes.
"Roy," he lowered his voice more, just to be safe. "I don't know if you noticed, but there is an injured Robin in our truck. And if we don't get him to Gotham this night, we'll have a fucking Batman on our tail and first-class tickets to Arkham ready to be delivered in our asses."
Roy raised his hands like he was a fucking wild horse. "Alright, first of all, no need to be so dramatic." Jason only huffed. "Just, hear me out, okay? We have another vehicle in a village ten minutes from here. Kori and I will take it and-"
"And you want me to deliver the kid by myself?"
"Maybe shouldn't use this exact wording, but-"
"Roy. This will end very badly."
Jason realized he was being too loud when he saw the kid behind Roy's back gasping in quick shallow breaths. He forced himself to stay in place. They needed to finish the talk first, and hopefully by that time the kid would calm down by himself.
"C'mon, you will do fine," Roy actually looked like he meant it. "The worst is behind already, you just need to drive him to Gotham. It's like three hours tops."
Jason squeezed the bridge of his nose. He was starting to get a headache. "I just know he'll try to jump out on the road or some shit. I- fuck, I don't want to deal with that."
"Look," Roy was silent for a moment. "Alright, screw the mission. We'll stay. I know Kori wouldn't mind either way, so," and there wasn't even a hint of annoyance in his voice. Jason knew it wasn't some kind of reverse psychology tactic - Roy meant it. He had done it before.
That was exactly why he couldn't accept the opening. His whining didn't actually mean that he couldn't do it. It was just nice to complain when things truly sucked.
"Forget it, I'll be fine." He sighed quietly, still not believing that he was doing it. "The kid will be scared, but I'll manage. You and Kori should go."
At least Roy seemed happy. "Thank you, Jay, seriously," he beamed his usual smile. "You can have the truck, we won't need it anymore. And try to look on the bright side, okay? Maybe you and Tim could have a nice conversation about your feelings and stuff."
"Funny," Jason barely kept his voice even. The flippant joke hurt unexpectedly.
"I'm serious, actually," Roy lowered his voice to a barely audible murmur. "I know you feel bad about your past with Tim. No offence, but I wouldn't let you join the mission if I wasn't sure."
"None taken," he forced the words out. It still made him feel so damn vulnerable when Roy or Kori talked about stuff like this.
"And I know it's hard to have a proper conversation with other people around. So, here is your chance. To talk, or apologize, if you want," Roy slightly squeezed his shoulder. Jason wouldn't admit it to a single soul, but it made him feel a little better.
He took a deep breath.
"I see your therapist is really paying off, huh."
"I can give you their number if you want."
"Maybe later."
***
Tim had no idea what Roy and Hood were discussing, but he could imagine. Based on Hood's sudden aggression they were probably changing the plan, which often meant changing the direction as well. And if they were not bringing him to Gotham, what were the alternatives?
Sometimes he hated his own imagination.
He almost missed the moment Roy walked up to him with a package of almonds. Tim tried to stay relaxed - if they were planning something, then appearing clueless would help him to escape.
He very carefully didn't think about how he was supposed to run with a broken leg.
After they finished with almonds, Roy didn't move him back onto the mattress. Instead, he started rubbing gentle circles against his back, and that was a bad sign if he ever saw one.
"Tim, something came up," Roy talked slowly, like he was picking the right words. Tim wished he would get over with it already. The reality could not be worse than what his brain came up with in the last couple of minutes. "Kori and I will have to leave soon. Jason will drive you to Gotham by himself."
Alright. That was his theory number six. Not a big deal.
His fingers were getting numb.
Roy probably expected some kind of answer, or a reaction at least. He tried to say something, but the words stuck in his throat.
"Look, I know you are scared, but I promise, Jason will not hurt you. He only went on this mission to get a deal out of Batman. It would be stupid of him to do anything to you now, that B knows you are with him."
Logically, Tim understood that. He knew Bruce would not leave him if he didn't think it was safe. But Hood... was unpredictable. Unstable. With no one else except TIm in the truck, in the middle of nowhere, anything could happen. And no one would ever know, unless Tim talked.
There were many ways Hood could make him to keep it a secret.
"It's alright," he said. Roy wouldn't help him anyway.
***
Ten minutes later the truck stopped. It was dark outside, except for a few road lights stretching through the small village. Jason got a kiss on a cheek from Kori and a hug from Roy. He watched their backs disappear between tiny houses and lit a cigarette. Something told him it would be the first of many tonight.
Notes:
Jason: I don't need Bruce. I'm good on my own.
Jason, when Tim thinks he's gonna be tortured: hey B, deal with that
Tim: Bruce, pick me up, I'm scared
Bruce: *tired dad noises*
Also, Bruce absolutely did mess up the name of a Terraria boss. Was it an accident or an attempt to ease Tim's mind? That's up to an interpretation.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Welcome to another episode of me struggling with English tenses and punctuation, featuring my personal take on Lazarus Pit madness. I hope it makes sense.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first hour was spent in silence. Jason left the comm active near the kid's head so he could keep an ear on him, but all he could hear were slightly ragged breaths.
Several times he opened his mouth to start a conversation, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't come up with a single word. Eventually, he gave up, gripped the wheel tighter and turned his full attention to the road.
He was starting to regret not telling Roy that he'd barely slept for the last few days. Then, the kid talked.
"Are we going to Gotham?"
He felt a brief wave of irritation. "Yes." Where the fuck else?
"How long-"
"Two more hours."
"Okay." The kid was quiet for over a minute. "Sorry, it's just, it's hard to tell the time like this. Without a watch."
He sighed under a breath. "I figured."
They fell into silence. Jason looked at the dashboard. He told himself he would wait exactly three minutes and not a second more.
"Are you hungry?" he asked when the time was up.
"...No." That didn't sound very convincing.
"You haven't eaten for an hour." No reply. "If you want something else, we have greek yogurt. I can add raisins."
"I'm not hungry." There was an edge to the voice, like the kid was getting angry. Good. Jason would take anger over fear. "I have the IV, and it won't take long until I get to the Cave. Unless you are driving me somewhere else."
"For the last fucking time, Replacement. I'm not kidnapping you!"
Quiet. It took him five seconds to hear a rushed breath. Fuck.
"Sorry," he said, hoping for the love of God that the kid wasn't hyperventilating again. Usually he didn't even think before raising his voice - it was fine when he was in the company of Kori and Roy, or when he argued with Batman during their fights, but clearly, not now.
Eventually, the breaths evened out. "For what?" the kid whispered.
Jason was about seventy percent sure he was being difficult on purpose now. "For shouting, what else?"
A pause. Then an angry huff. "What else? Seriously?"
Alright. They were doing this. "Kid-"
"You are a crime lord, Hood. Stop pretending to be a good guy."
He gave himself some time to calm down. No fucking shouting - that was easy. "I control crime, it's different."
"Really? I know you take money from the business."
Well, sorry not all of us are billionaires, was his first instinct to reply. But between the two of them he wasn't the traumatized teenager here. He was smarter that this.
"Stop testing my patience, kid. If you wanna argue, wait until you are healthy and we are on equal grounds."
The comm fell silent. Jason gripped the wheel and concentrated on the road.
It was the best if they didn't talk, he told himself. They would get angry again, and he would yell, and the kid would panic. Two hours in silence. He could do it.
It took him five minutes to start feeling like shit. He didn't know what was going on in the container, and if the kid needed something, he would not ask. Not when the last thing Jason told him was basically to shut up.
"Kid?" he called, keeping his voice even. "You there?"
There was a quiet mutter before a respond. "Sorry."
"Sorry for what?" he asked and, wow, they were going in circles now.
"It's just. I don't understand you." And what the hell was that supposed to mean?
"Most people don't. That's barely something worth apologising for."
"No, I mean... I know you hate me. And I'm just expecting something to happen and it doesn't. And it's driving me mad, I guess."
The conviction with which the words were spoken, that really wasn't fair. Jason himself wasn't sure if he still hated the kid, but it seemed like the choice was already taken without his knowledge.
There was a mountain of unspoken assumptions between them. He seriously doubted voicing them out would help at all, but there it was - his chance to clear things up. He wouldn't get another one.
"I regret attacking you in the Tower," he started. "I didn't exactly plan it like this. It wasn't..." Fuck. Fuck, just keep going.
"What do you mean you didn't plan it?" there was genuine confusion in the voice. "It seemed pretty well planned to me."
Jason flexed his fingers on the wheel. Grip. Release. Grip. Release. Grip.
"Did you know I was dumped into the Lazarus Pit?" he finally asked.
"Yeah," the kid answered after a moment of silence. "I know it makes you angry. And it's probably not pleasant, but I thought-"
"It doesn't make me angry."
"What?"
"It doesn't-" How. How was he supposed to explain something that he only started to understand so recently? "It doesn't affect my emotions. I'm pretty sure of that. It just makes... some of my ideas seem better than they actually are."
There was silence once again, but Jason knew the kid was listening carefully.
"I hated you. The real me, you know? Not the Pit. I hated the idea of you. But I don't think I would've- I started regretting it immediately after leaving the Tower. You are a kid, and it wasn't your fault, it was B."
"Jason."
"I was angry. And then everything was green and there was just one thought in my head. Make you hurt. That was all I could think about, and it felt so right."
"Jason."
"What?"
"Please, just-" the voice was small, quiet. "Don't say it if you don't actually mean it."
That was kind of sad, but also kind of funny. Jason wouldn't even start talking about it if he didn't mean it. Not when it made him feel so fucking uncomfortable he wanted to just stop existing.
"I'm sorry for hurting you," he breathed out. The weight on his chest didn't disappear, but only got worse. That was fine. He didn't do it to make himself feel better.
The comm was silent for several long minutes. He got a response only when he'd already thought they were done talking.
"So, does this Pit... does it affect your decision making? Does it block your ability to analyze your impulses critically?"
Jason couldn't contain a brief smile. Of all the things to ask... "Yeah, I don't know. I mostly learned to ignore it in the last few months, so there's that."
"Would you..." the kid paused, mumbling something inaudible. "Would you kill all those people if not for the Pit?"
"Most of them, yes." It was an easy question.
"But how can you be sure? If it affects you..."
In truth, he'd thought about it even before the Pit. Before dying and coming back, before becoming Robin, sometimes. Some people deserved to die, that was an easy truth, he just hadn't had enough guts back then. "Because I don't regret it, even when I don't see green anymore."
"Maybe if we find a way to get rid of it-"
"No." How many times had he heard that from Kori and Roy before they understood he would not back out? "It's a part of me now. Sure, it makes me do dumb shit, but it also gives me confidence to do something." It gave him confidence to take the name of Red Hood. To use explosives even when his hand shook on a detonator. To make every rapist and pedophile in the city afraid of him. "It gives me hope, when nothing else does."
"You know," the voice was serious, like the kid really was thinking about it. "It doesn't seem healthy."
Jason laughed. "Yeah, it doesn't."
The conversation died out after that. The kid might've realized that his boy scout speeches wouldn't work on Jason, or maybe he finally fell asleep. It was honestly a miracle he'd been conscious for so long, anesthesia and all that.
Jason would have to check on him soon, change the IV fluids and the cooling pads. A smoke break would also be nice. He was already hyperaware of the pack of cigarettes in the inner pocket of his jacket.
"Would you," the kid talked again, and it was so unexpected Jason almost jumped in his seat. "Would you attack Batman if not for the Pit?"
"Well," he said in a mockingly thoughtful tone. "I wouldn't mind kicking his ass right now."
"You shot him." Great observation there, detective.
"I shot at him. It's different."
"You could've killed him." He sounded absolutely serious, like that was a fucking possibility.
"We are talking about Batman, kid. He doesn't die."
The kid sighed, as if he wasn't the one talking noncense. "Everyone makes mistakes, Jason. Even B. What if he didn't dodge the bullet?"
"That-" that wouldn't happen, he wanted to say. Batman always found a way out, even when the Universe itself was against him. Every time he managed to leave unscarred without breaking his moral code.
The road lights turned green.
That was so fucking unfair.
"Well, I don't care, okay? He never did what Gotham needed - nothing would change if he died."
"The hell is wrong with you?!" The voice was rough and angry over the comm. "Bruce did so much for this city, for you! Even for me-"
"Oh, please, he couldn't even end one fucking clown who killed thousands-"
"He doesn't kill. Trust me, it's better for every-," the voice cracked into a coughing fit. Jason barely heard that. God, he needed to smoke in quiet right now if he didn't want to lose his head.
"Killing Joker wouldn't count," he growled. "He is barely a human. He's insane."
"You are also insane, Jason," the voice was acidic, spitting venom behind the static. "And Bruce still loves you."
Jason floored the brakes. The road lights - green, green, green - started to slow down. He needed to hit something, preferably something alive, feel his fingers get warm and slippery with blood. That would calm the anger down.
"Why are we stopping?" the kid asked with a rushed breath.
"Smoke break," he said, barely registering the words falling out of his mouth.
The painkillers could be a problem. Replacement wouldn't feel much pain like this - but it didn't matter. Not when he had a plain cloth, and plenty of water.
"Jason?" the kid was breathing fast. Not fast enough. At this rate, he wouldn't have enough oxygen even for a minute. "Jason, I'm sorry. Please, I didn't mean it like that."
The truck stopped in the middle of a night, in the middle of nowhere. The road continued stretching forward for miles - Gotham was still far away. A lifetime away. Here, nobody would hear a scream.
Jason sat like that for a long second, struggling to hear his own thoughts behind all the noise.
"Please, I'm sorry. Jas- Hood. I didn't think-" he killed the comm and opened the door outside.
It was quiet, finally. The air was humid and warm and stuck to his skin almost like something material. The sky was black, and the starlight swam in his vision like a swarm of fireflies. He made one step towards the end of the truck - the cargo door - and stopped.
What was he doing.
He promised so many people not to hurt the kid, and here he was, coming up with the best torture method.
Some part of him knew if was the Pit talking - green glow that still didn't want to clear out was a dead giveaway - but still. He should've realized earlier.
But it would feel so nice to play with Replacement for a little. No one would find out.
Jason cringed internally and opened his pack of cigarettes with a sigh. Like always, the thoughts didn't disappear immediately, but they got easier to ignore after acknowledging. Just another source of noise in the background of his mind.
He still didn't trust himself not to do something stupid. He needed a few minutes like this, listening to the night and breathing in smoke, before he could check on the kid and continue driving. And if it gave him a few more minutes before facing the consequences of his actions, well, there was no harm in it.
***
Tim was fucked. He was so fucked, and he had no way of fixing this mess. There was no static on the other side of the comm - just dead, menacing silence. Jason still didn't enter the container, but it only meant that it would happen soon. Would it?
What if Jason had another way of reaching Gotham? What if he left him like this.
It might not be the worst case scenario. In a few hours, Bruce would start looking for Tim, and he would find him, unless- unless someone else did first. And then-
The walls were pressing from all directions. There was danger, somewhere. Two doors from the opposite sides, one leading to the driving cabin, another outside, on the road. He was trapped in a box, but also completely exposed.
Jason could be anywhere. He could be doing anything right now, and Tim couldn't just lie still and accept whatever was going to happen. He needed a plan. A way to protect himself.
He needed a safe corner to curl up in and pretend that everything was going to be okay. He needed-
He looked around. There were a few bags left with medical supplies, food and who knew what else. He could find something to use as an improvised weapon, but in his condition it would be useless. The only thing that could help him now was-
If only Jason heard him out. Because, he really was sorry. He didn't mean it, he was just so tired, tired of being scared, of being hurt. He didn't know where the anger came from. He should've kept his mouth shut.
There was a gun on the floor a few feet from him. Jason threw it away when he was sparring with Roy and didn't pick it up.
He didn't feel much pain when he started moving. His chest constricted and his lungs didn't want to work, but he pushed himself, inch by inch, towards the weapon. The metal pole that held his IV bag wasn't on the way, but the tubing was barely long enough to reach.
His fingers were shaking as he grabbed the gun with his left hand and tried to flip onto his back. Something made a cracking sound. Probably a bone. He didn't feel it.
The gun was cold and heavy against his sweaty palm. He tried to hold it tighter, but wasn't sure it made any difference.
What next? Should he wait for something to happen or should he come up with a plan to move to Gotham? He couldn't exactly walk, but if he moved somehow-
There was an automatic hiss, almost lost in the sound of his thundering heartbeat. The cargo door started to slide up. Tim watched as if in slow motion Jason's boots appear on the other side. He lifted the gun, held his breath and waited.
"Kid?" Jason said and, oh, he didn't sound that angry anymore. Maybe they could-
His eyes were glowing green through the white lenses of the mask. Two circles of acidic light, the only thing visible in almost complete darkness. The last time Tim saw that he was beaten to half death and had to crawl into his room in the Tower to call for help.
"S-stay away," he whispered. The metal clacking of the gun in his shaking hand was louder than his voice, but Jason seemed to get the message. He put his hands up, palms open. A feint?
"Kid, it's alright, I calmed down already. Sorry for that," he said, like his eyes weren't glowing with magical madness. "Can you put the gun down?"
Tim didn't put the gun down. It was getting harder to hold up with every second, but if it was the only thing keeping Jason away, he could manage.
"Do you at least know how to use this thing?" Jason asked in the same casual tone. It was unnerving how calm he was while held at the gunpoint. As if he didn't think Tim could actually do it.
He was right, of course. Tim could figure out how to use it. It wasn't rocket science. But-
His vision blurred. His brain was drifting away for some time now, but suddenly it was all catching up. Everything went distant. Just a few more seconds and he'd lose the grip.
"Okay, you can keep it. Just let me change the IV fluid, alright?" the voice echoed around the container as Jason made a step forward. Then another. And Tim let it happen, as his arm finally gave up.
His cheeks were wet. His breathing was speeding up again, and it was pathetic, Bruce taught him better. He was not supposed to break so easily. He was Robin. He was-
He must've lost a few moments, because next time he blinked, Jason was sitting up beside him, slowly extracting the gun from his limp hand. He didn't try to fight back. He knew from experience it would only hurt more.
"Next time you bluff about shooting someone, try switching safety off." Jason held the weapon in front of Tim's eyes and clicked a small switch up and down a few times. His voice was level. "Like that."
So, he hadn't even used the gun correctly. So fucking useless. And now, he was going to get shot. It wasn't a big deal - it would be just like the old times on patrols-
"Kid, are you drifting away again?"
Yes, and he wanted to drift as far away as possible, thank you very much.
A sigh. "Okay." Jason moved away, and Tim allowed himself to close his eyes. Maybe he could fall asleep and miss all the pain. Maybe Jason wouldn't waste ammunition on him if he played dead.
There was rustling of fabric and soft clicking that didn't sound like a weapon. The tugging of the IV needle lessened, and then something heavy and warm was brought over his body.
"Weighted blanket," Jason said from far away. "Can you breathe normally under it?"
Tim made a slow breath and nodded. The blanket was grounding, and that was dangerous on its own. He was supposed to drift away. He didn't want to be in the truck with angry Jason.
A large hand supported his back, another one under his knees, and before he realized, he was lifted up. He didn't have enough time to panic more before the hands lowered him onto the mattress. He had to admit, it was more comfortable than the floor.
He was half-sitting, his back and head leaning on something solid and warm, and there were fingers massaging his scalp and, despite the nicotine smell, it was nice. Bruce did it sometimes when he got migraines. Now, Tim wished he'd asked for it more often.
"You are okay," someone murmured after a particularly nice tug on his hair. "You are safe here."
Many years ago, on bad days, Tim used to imagine Robin holding him like this, hugging him after nightmares, playing with him in a huge empty house. Being a friend, or even a brother - when he'd felt especially bold and had allowed himself to dream about it. It was a nice fantasy that never failed to put him to sleep.
***
Next time Tim woke up, he knew he was supposed to be scared. Something bad happened. There was a green light, and then Robin, and then-
He opened his eyes. Same container, same hum of the moving truck. Jason was nowhere to be found.
The last few hours were not a dream then.
There were static next to his ear and then a low, raspy voice. "You awake?"
"Yeah," he whispered. Talking loud seemed like a bad idea for some reason. "What happened?"
Jason sighed. He was sighing a lot tonight, but maybe it was a normal amount for him. Not like Tim would know. "You fell asleep."
That much was obvious, really, except for the fact that Tim was not supposed to fall asleep. Not before he even knew if he was safe. But he remembered hallucinating Robin, so maybe that was why.
Robin. Right.
He swallowed.
"You only slept like twenty minutes," even through the static Jason sounded weary. "I left a water bottle and some food to your left. I figured, if you could hold a gun, then you'll manage those."
A gun. Right. He remembered that too.
He swallowed again, this time with much more difficulty.
"Jason?" he called and waited for a hum. "Sorry for what I said."
"Forget it, kid. It's nothing," was an immediate response. Too bad Tim was trained by Batman - he could detect such an obvious lie while unconscious.
He wasn't going to press on it though. Instead, he found a half-opened water bottle with his left hand and took his time drinking slowly.
"I mean, it's not like you are wrong," Jason muttered almost unintelligibly, and that was just fucking sad.
Don't start arguing again, Tim told himself. It wouldn't end well for you, he told himself.
"You are nothing like Joker," he said. "Just a few hours ago I had a different opinion, but I think I was ignoring a lot of information about you. I think you are trying to do good, even if-"
"Even if I go into a killing frenzy every Tuesday?" Jason huffed. He didn't sound agitated, so Tim counted that as a win.
"Yeah." He half-sat against the wall and took an almond out of the package. "I won't lie, you seem like a guy who needs professional help, but you are not, like, evil. Unless you've been tricking me for the last few hours, in which case - good job."
Jason didn't reply immediately, so Tim started eating. God, he was even hungrier than before.
"We are still enemies, you know," Jason finally said, but it didn't sound very intimidating. More like a stream of tired thoughts. "Once this is over, we'll be back to our business, and if I see you on my streets - it's fair game."
Tim stopped himself from putting another five almonds into his mouth. What was happening right now was more important.
"We don't have to be enemies," he started accurately. Jason might not have a good reaction to what he was about to say, but it needed to be said regardless. "I'm sure Bruce would be happy-"
"Really? What, you think he'll invite me to dinner instead of putting me into Arkham for everything I've done?"
Sometimes, Bruce looked like he was thinking about inviting Jason to dinner. "He misses you."
"He misses fifteen year old Jason Tood," the voice cracked on the last two words. "A good soldier who put up with Batman's bullshit with minimal questions. Who had good grades and baked with Alfred every week and tried to quit smoking. He doesn't miss me."
Tim stared at the opposite wall for a good ten seconds. If stuff like that was going on in Jason's head all the time, no wonder he was so convoluted.
"You know you are the same person, right? You are Bruce's son, and all things you said, that was all you."
"Just, don't-" Jason sighed. "You really think," he started again, this time slower, like he was picking every word. "that I am that Jason Todd?"
Tim opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened again. "What, is this a trick question?"
He wished he could see Jason now. Even with the mask he gave away a lot of emotions. Like that, it felt like diving into the ocean blind.
"I came back from the dead, kid. Stuff like that doesn't just happen. Sometimes it feels like... I left half of my brain in the grave, and now I have to improvise the rest."
Weird thing, Tim used to draw a hard line between Jason and Red Hood not so long ago. He wasn't sure when exactly it changed - during an explanation about Lazarus Pit, or an apology, or when Jason started stumbling on words so uncharacteristically - but now Tim felt guilt coiling in his guts. At least he kind of understood what Jason was talking about, even if this problem seemed to run much deeper.
"People change, you know," he said. "Sometimes you look at your old photos and don't recognize the person in them. And dying, it's probably a lot to take in." He didn't think anything he said now would change Jason's mind. But he couldn't stay quiet. "Those things that happened to you when you were a kid, a teenager, they didn't disappear. And if you don't believe me, there are people who would love to start from the beginning. Make new memories with you."
Jason laughed humourlessly. "Like Bruce?"
"Bruce, Dick, Alfred." Me too, maybe, he didn't say. It used to be my dream to spend some time with Robin, but I guess tonight counts already.
Jason didn't answer for a long time. Tim finished the almonds, drank again and closed his eyes. The blanket was heavy on him and kind of felt like a hug.
***
The kid seemed to fall asleep before he came up with a reply. It was for the best, really. Jason wasn't in the mood to talk anymore.
The idea that B would even consider mending their relationship after everything that happened, after everything that Jason had done, was hilarious. Batman might still be a man behind a mask, but he'd always prioritized the mask. He wouldn't pull his punches just because they had a history together.
Jason had the memories of bruises, cracked ribs and a concussion for a proof. He still had nightmares, sometimes, of the Batman's cowl in front of his eyes.
You shot him.
He never meant to kill him. Did he?
He didn't know why he was thinking about it. It didn't matter either way - he wouldn't even leave a scratch on Batman. It was fucking Batman. Batman wouldn't die to a stupid bullet.
Maybe it was Pit's idea after all, but Jason never grew to regret it. Not when B chose the clown over him, not when he proved that he didn't care. The kid could say whatever his feverish brain came up with - Batman's job was to beat criminals to half-death and ship them to prisons. And it would happen to Jason too, the second he lost his guard.
He couldn't afford that.
The road was stretching far ahead towards a single point on the horizon. It was a beautiful night by local standards - he could see the stars in the clear sky. He tried not to dwell on that, they seemed brighter when he didn't look straight at them anyway.
The road lights and lane markings swoop before his eyes in a never ending pattern. He lost some time by looking straight ahead and when he glanced at the display, it showed 01:14 AM. They would be in Gotham in thirty minutes.
Maybe he wouldn't need another smoke break after all.
He was beginning to space out again when a terrible choking sound interrupted the static on the comm.
"Kid?" he called, already hitting the brakes. No reply, just more short choking breaths. That wasn't good.
He rushed inside the container before the truck fully stopped moving. The kid was lying on the mattress, still covered in blanket, his whole body shaking violently. He was opening and closing his mouth without drawing full breaths.
Jason snatched a stethoscope and a chest tube out of the medical kit in record time and kneeled before the mattress, throwing the weighted blanked away. For several long seconds he listened to the kid's chest. It didn't sound like a collapsed lung. In fact, it was completely fine.
Except it wasn't. The kid probably had a nightmare that turned into a panic attack and was now suffocating on nothing. He wouldn't die, of course, and Jason wouldn't be able to help much anyway, so maybe he should go back and drive them to Gotham at full speed in hopes that B would deal with it. Like he always did.
"Ja-" the kid choked and any resemblance to a rational thought left Jason's brain in an instance.
"You are okay, your lungs are fine. It was just a nightmare." He couldn't stop the rambling as he helped the kid to sit up straight and lean on the wall, rubbing slow circles into his shoulder. The words seemed to register, based on the way the kid's whole body jerked, but his breath didn't get any better. He still sounded like he was suffocating.
It was a familiar sound.
Jason didn't know what he was doing. He didn't have much experience in stuff like that, especially with recently tortured teenagers that could still be afraid of him. He had enough sense to open the cargo door to let some fresh air in and tried to guide the kid with breathing exercises, but wasn't sure it was helping at all.
It seemed like an eternity had passed before the kid stopped choking. He was still breathing irregularly and wheezing on each exhale. Tears poured down his red face as he shook somehow even more violently than before.
Jason wondered if a little distraction would help.
"So..." he whispered, still rubbing the circles in. "You know why Batman is called Batman?"
The kid froze for a moment, as if trying to understand what the fuck was going on, then nodded slowly. He tried to say something too, but it came as a strangled mess of sounds.
"He was afraid of bats, you see. He wanted to conquer his fear," Jason continued, allowing himself to settle near the wall. They were having a conversation after all. "The question is, why was he afraid of bats?"
He didn't expect a reply, of course, but after a few seconds of tense silence the kid opened his mouth.
"Bats. In a well," he coughed. Jason automatically handled a water bottle and watched him take several big gulps.
"Yeah, that's right," he cleared his throat, trying to remember what he was about to say. "When B was - what, six? - he fell into an abandoned well and got attacked by a colony of bats. He wasn't injured, but developed a phobia after that. But you know, I've been thinking recently..." he hummed gently, as if in consideration. "I've been thinking that, if he really wanted to conquer his fear, he should've called himself Gunman instead."
Jason watched the kid's eyes widen momentarily and couldn't contain a faint smile. "And worn a costume of a gun. Bet it would help with intimidation tactic too."
The expression of surprise changed to a withering look that screamed I can't believe this shit, but at least the kid seemed a bit more grounded. Jason could pat himself on the back for this one.
"But here's another one," he continued, just because he could. "Why is Robin called Robin?"
This one the kid actually seemed to consider it for a moment. Then he shook his head and glanced at Jason expectantly.
"Well, you see, when Dick was six he fell into an abandoned well and got attacked by a colony of robins. He wasn't injured, but developed a phobia after that."
The kid made a sound between a choke and a wet laugh. He tried to say something too, but his voice was absolutely ruined. He coughed, and there were fresh tears in his eyes, but he stopped shaking so much and instead only trembled faintly.
They fell into silence after that. Jason didn't know what else to say and a part of him didn't want to talk at all. He was content sitting still and listening to the kid's breaths, as their shoulders slightly touched.
He could've wrapped an arm around the kid and turn their little sitting into a real hug, but he didn't think it was a good idea. Impulse control. He was nailing it recently.
"I had a nightmare," the kid whispered. Jason hummed, nudging him to continue. "It wasn't very detailed. It was dark, I think, but there weren't any people. I just started- suffocating." He drew in a strangled breath. "I- I still feel like there is not enough oxygen. And it's weird, you know," his voice was shaking as fresh tears rolled down his face. "Breathing is supposed to be an easy part."
Jason gave him a few minutes to cry in silence.
"It'll get easier," he murmured in the most calming voice he could manage. "Just give yourself time to heal."
The kid looked at him in consideration. "How do you know that?"
Jason opened a new water bottle and drank slowly. He'd never talked to anyone about that and wanted it to stay true for just a few more seconds.
"I don't usually use this card, but when I died..." he made a deep breath. "it wasn't the explosion that killed me. It was the smoke."
Kid's expression was unreadable. Weirdly, it gave Jason enough courage to continue.
"It's really fucking ironic," he grinned for a moment. "I survived the beating by Joker, and a blast, and several tons of concrete falling on me. Bruce was so close I could hear him call me- but I couldn't answer. I suffocated before he got me out."
He stopped there, wondering if it was too much, but the kid was still looking at him like he knew it wasn't the end. So he continued.
"And then I woke up in a coffin." There was a time he couldn't even start thinking about it without giving himself a panic attack. "You know, there's not much air inside. Especially during rain when you are trying to get out." He drew another breath just to remind himself that he could. "It was somehow worse than dying. Still don't know why."
Then there was Lazarus Pit. Jason didn't remember the moment he was dumped under the surface, but he did remember how the unnaturally thick water felt in his lungs. The magic healed his brain faster than it was dying, and although he didn't exactly know how long he spent there, it was probably awhile.
For all he knew, he died in the Pit thousands of times. Of course, the kid didn't need to know that.
Tim looked at him with his big blue eyes. He was not crying anymore. "But you got better, right?"
Yeah. He did.
***
Jason ended up staying in the container until the kid fell asleep again. He listened to even breaths for a few minutes, then stood up, fighting light vertigo caused by the change of position, closed the cargo door with one push of a button on the keys - Roy got fancy with that one - and walked into the driving cabin.
The truck came to life, basking the road ahead in bright light. The display showed 02:17 AM. They'd been talking for a bit over an hour.
Jason wondered distantly if he should call B and explain why they were late - the old man probably expected them half an hour ago - but he got distracted by a light thudding sound through the comm.
The kid waking up was the most logical explanation. If Jason was a different man, he would say something and wait for a reply. But Jason was Jason, and the heavy feeling of danger, danger, danger in his gut made him jump back to the door and throw it open.
There was a tall dark figure standing in the middle of the container. It was not Batman.
Jason unbuckled his gun and pulled the trigger, aiming for a shoulder. The thundering sound echoed around the container, but the figure took a hit like nothing and rushed towards him unsheathing a sword. They were probably wearing good armour.
Jason didn't have a choice but to let them closer - no way was he fighting near the kid. He waited for the figure to jump into a driving cabin and tried to shut the door, but got distracted by a blade near his jugular.
They were good. Worryingly good. Jason shot several more times while dancing away from the sword and only managed to hit them once - same place again. It seemed like it hurt, maybe he got though the armour.
As he was thinking that, the sharp edge sliced through the air and returned covered in blood. Jason's left arm was burning.
He felt his fingers growing numb and heard one of his guns clatter as it hit the floor. He dove down under the sword, trying to get another gun hidden under the dashboard, but his opponent was faster. They grabbed the weapon and tossed it away through the door, then jumped on Jason.
He caught both of their arms and pushed, fully aware of the tip of the sword one inch away from his face. It shone in the dull light of the road lamp like silver. He recognized the metal.
League of Assassins.
Maybe if he'd slept in the last three days he would've found a way to get out of the hold. But like this, his left arm was already shaking with strain. He looked at the plain mask in front of his eyes and scowled. That was not how he planned to die.
Bang.
Assassin's breath hitched, distorted through the mask, and their weight suddenly lessened. Jason snatched a knife from his belt and slipped it between the armor plates of the neck. Wet, gurgling sounds filled the cabin as the assassin choked on their blood. Jason only pushed the knife deeper until they stopped struggling and fell on him like a sack of flour.
The weight of the body pinned him down. He allowed himself to freeze for a moment, then pushed it away with a grunt and stood up on shaking legs. Tim first, everything else later.
Tim was sitting in the middle of the container, his eyes glassy and distant. He was still gripping on a gun, the one that got thrown through the door.
They looked at each other, one breathing heavily, another almost not breathing at all.
"I... see you figured out the safety switch." Even through the gasps Jason's voice sounded strangely calm to his own ears.
Tim didn't react.
"Are you injured?"
He got a shake of the head as an answer. That'd do for now.
There was a rush of air from above. Jason looked up - the hatch was opened, letting the starlight in. That was probably how the assassin got inside once Jason left the container.
Stupid. So stupid. He lowered his guard the moment he felt safe - something that the League itself taught him not to do years ago. He grew arrogant in his relative safety.
They were not safe yet. There might be more, and Jason needed to know for sure how many people Ra's al Ghul sent after him. Why would he do that in the first place remained a mystery.
"Don't let go of the gun," he said. "Shoot everyone who is not me."
He expected protests, but Tim only clutched the weapon tighter until his hand shook. They would need to talk later.
Jason shut the hatch and made sure it was locked up, then went back into the cabin. There was blood everywhere. The body remained still, half-leaning on the driving seat, sword still clutched in its hand. Jason half-expected it to stand up and pounce on him again.
He took off the mask and checked the pulse. They were dead. He reloaded his gun, turned on a flashlight and went outside.
It was quiet in the same way as a few hours ago. Jason stalked around the truck several times, changing pace and direction randomly, not forgetting about the undercarriage and the roof. There was no one around.
He went back and walked to the body. They were not going to drive it to Gotham, but he had no energy to hide the corpse. The roadside would have to do.
The moment he tried to pull the body up, his left arm screamed with pain. He clutched it with a hiss involuntarily, then made himself let go and looked at his palm. It was bloody, but not too terribly. Jason had enough experience in getting cut, and he knew that he wouldn't die from something like that.
He couldn't allow himself to waste time on stitches. Gotham was so close, and once he returned Tim, he could go to his safehouse and patch himself up in peace. That was the plan.
With effort, he managed to drag the body to the roadside and dump it in sparse bushes. It would probably be found the next day, but he barely cared. No one would start an investigation over a dead assassin, especially so close to Gotham. Things like that happened there every goddamn day.
The seat was mostly clear of blood which couldn't be said about everything else. It felt fucking great to just sit there, even better to take a long drag on a cigarette and see the road moving again. Usually Jason didn't smoke inside, but he wasn't keeping the truck anyway. Not after this disaster of a night.
"You alright?" he asked through the comm and had to wait half a minute for a quiet hum. "Still have the gun?"
"Yeah." the voice sounded distant, like Tim was talking to someone else. "You?"
"I'm good." Jason lit another cigarette and gripped the wheel tighter, flooring the gas pedal.
***
Bruce watched from the roof as a scratched truck slowly drove to an abandoned parking lot and stopped in the middle of a driveway. He waited half a beat and when nothing happened swooped down in front of the vehicle.
There was a figure sitting in a driving seat, obscured by shadows. Their eyes were glowing green. They weren't moving.
The truck's engine was still running, a constant source of noise in the otherwise quiet night. Bruce wondered if Jason would try to run him over. He also wondered, as he often did these days, if an attempt like that would be genuine.
It didn't happen. The truck made a sharp turn and drove forward, parking in the nearest spot. Now, Bruce could only see the back of the container.
It took Jason a few minutes to leave the cabin and walk closer. His steps were heavy and he limped slightly, but the helmet didn't betray any emotions. He was missing a gun from one of his holsters.
One of his sleeves was covered in blood, poor lighting making it impossible to say if it was his own. Bruce prayed it wasn't Tim's.
He knew he made a gamble by trusting Hood. He didn't know what he would do if it turned out to be the wrong choice.
As bad as it sounded, he didn't recognize Jason under the helmet. The voice modulator, the height and the width of his shoulders, but most of all - the ease with which he ended a life, he didn't know this new Jason. He didn't know if he should've expected a fight.
Hood's eyes were still glowing when he lifted his hand, clutching the shiny keys. Without a word, he hit a button and Bruce tensed instinctually as the cargo door started sliding up slowly.
The keys got thrown into his face. He caught them at the last moment.
"You can keep the truck," Hood said and turned his back, walking away.
Bruce had a sudden impulse to follow, ask why the hell were they late, where were his teammates, where did the blood come from, but then he saw a hunched figure in the container and all his other thoughts disappeared. He ran, his steps echoing in the empty space, until he could see Tim's face, until he could touch his shoulder. It was only then that he realized how little hope he'd had left.
"Bruce," Tim's voice was distant. He didn't meet his eyes, looking somewhere far away.
"I am here. I am here, it's alright." He spread his cape, trying to hide them from the rest of the world.
"Jason is stealing your Batcycle," Tim said evenly, like they were talking about the weather.
Bruce turned his head. Red Hood was sitting on the Batcycle, loose wires in his hands. The next moment the engine came to life and he hit the gas pedal, speeding up to a dangerous level.
They watched him disappear between the abandoned buildings with the roar of the engine. Bruce felt a slight pang of regret. He liked that Batcycle.
Some part of him wondered why Jason didn't ask for it when they discussed the deal. Another part couldn't stop watching Tim, alive and breathing and in one piece.
He had splints, and cooling pads, and the IV connected to his left hand, and he was holding- a gun. The safety switch was off.
"Tim, what is that?" he asked evenly.
Tim's fingers started shaking as if on command. He looked at the gun, hiding his eyes behind long strands of hair.
"I'm sorry," he choked.
Bruce froze. An apology was the last thing he'd expected to hear. It anything, it should've been the other way around. "It's alright, Tim. Can you give it to me?"
"I'm sorry, Bruce, I didn't mean it." His shoulders were shaking and there were tears running down his cheeks and he was sobbing hysterically in such a raw emotional way Bruce felt his heart ache. Still, he didn't let go of the gun. "I- I had to, there was no other way-"
"Tim, you don't have to explain."
"I'm so sorry, Bruce, I swear I'll never do it again."
"How about we talk in the Cave, okay? You'll rest a little and then we can talk if you want."
"Just- just give me another chance. Please." Tim looked at him then, first time this night. Bruce didn't want to see such an expression of pure fear ever again.
He found enough confidence to touch Tim's cheek and gently wipe a track of tears with his thumb. "Tim, I will give you as many chances as you need. I don't even understand why you..." he sighed deeply. "Let's talk about it later, okay?"
Tim nodded uncertainly, his eyes still wild. He looked at the gun again and slowly held it out to Bruce.
Bruce took it. By its weight he could sense that there was one bullet missing. He wondered where it was now.
He stood up, giving Tim what he hoped was a comforting squeeze of his shoulder, and walked to the cabin door. The knob was stained with blood. He opened it slowly.
The first thing he noticed was a strong smell of nicotine, as if someone had smoked a whole pack of cigarettes there. The second thing was the blood splatter on the side window.
There were more stains all around. One of them led to a dark mask half-hidden under a seat.
League of Assassins.
Arsenal and Starfire must've left somewhere on the way - it wasn't hard to figure out who they were after the phone call. Then, Jason and Tim had gotten attacked by an assassin. The missing bullet made sense. Tim's panic made sense too.
Bruce let the mask lie for now. He sat on a seat and looked at the faint bloody print of a palm on the wheel. Slowly, he put his hand over it. The print was just a little smaller than his own palm.
Jason had gotten injured. Tim had had to shoot and possibly kill the assassin. None of them had thought of calling him after that.
Bruce was experiencing one of those weeks when it seemed he had failed at everything. As Batman - for getting affected by the rage toxin, as a parent - for letting himself hurt and abandon his own children. There were days like that when he wondered if the life he'd chosen was worth it.
The blood print stained his glove as he started the engine and made a deep breath, inhaling leftover nicotine.
Jason used to hide his addiction when he'd first moved to the Manor. When he'd missed from his room, Bruce had known he could find him in one of his secret corners, dragging on a cigarette. But Jason had looked so guilty every time he'd gotten caught, that Bruce had rarely sought him out.
Jason had almost stopped smoking by his fifteenth birthday. He'd been so proud of himself he'd talked about it openly.
Bruce wondered now, if the addiction had survived Jason's death or if he'd chosen to start from the beginning, seeking comfort in something familiar, if unhealthy.
Gotham streets changed each other as the truck moved forward to their destination. Bruce let Alfred know that he was bringing Tim back. They would check him over and let him sleep on a cot next to Dick and Barbara, and then they would have a long conversation. One that hopefully would end up with them playing Tim's favourite video games.
And while Tim slept, Bruce would pay a visit to Jason.
Notes:
Bruce checks on Jason while his other kids are sleeping. He slips into his safehouse and stitches his arm while Jason is mostly unconscious and gives him a light head massage because he looks so frazzled.
When Jason wakes up he is convinced that his dad taking care of him was just a hallucination.
Tim has a long recovery but eventually he puts on Robin costume once again. He doesn't touch guns since then.
This ended up more open ended than I initially planned, but in my head Jason does return to batfamily eventually. I have a few ideas of this happening, but they could also be original fics unrelated to this one. Let me know what you think. Is this a satisfying end or would you like a follow up fic (or two)?
Thanks to everyone who is leaving comments, it helps me deal with imposter syndrome lol
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