Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim can’t twist free. He’s using every trick Dick and Bruce taught him, every bit of strength he’s built, and he’s getting nowhere. He hasn’t been this helpless since the Red Hood—

He abruptly changes his thoughts. He wears a collar now. No one can bite him. It’s a solid metal collar and—and that’s a blowtorch.

Adding a collar to the costume announced that Robin was an omega, but it seemed like a lesser risk than letting anyone have a chance at being like Red Hood and—

And now Tim is regretting it.

“No,” he shouts, thrashing uselessly in the grip of too many smugglers. “No!”

“Hold still,” the man with the torch leers. “I’d hate to burn any part of this pretty face.” He strokes the back of his hand across Tim’s exposed cheek and Tim shudders before going perfectly still.

Well, he thinks distantly as heat grows on his neck, at least they haven’t unmasked him.

It’s just a matter of time, though, and once—once they—once they bite him and Tim is—he remembers the euphoria, the desire to please, but more than that he remembers the pain of Hood ripping the bond away.

Tim will do anything to avoid that and he abruptly feels like a liability in the field with a weakness this wide. He shouldn’t be out at all.

Tears burn in the back of his eyes, matching the burning on his neck, and he’s trying to just not think when a flicker of motion catches his eye.

The man with the torch shuts it off and turns around and says, “What the fuck are you doing? I told you not to distract—” A fist catches him in the face and he drops. 

Tim can see more fallen men in the room, and there’s a surge of hope. Bruce, even though Tim didn’t have a chance push his panic button, or maybe Dick came to visit and— 

It’s no one he recognizes. Someone clad all in black, bulky in the way of tactical gear, fluid in the way that speaks to extensive training.

One man loosens his grip and that’s all Tim needs. He presses his panic button and then digs his fingers into another man’s wrist until his grip breaks and Tim has both arms free. The men holding his legs drop them and back away.

Tim is shaking, scared and panicked, but he’s Robin so he takes them out and zip ties their wrists. When he glances around for the mysterious figure, he’s surprised to see them doing the same.

“Robin,” the figure says, voice distorted. “Are you injured?”

Tim realizes his breath is coming fast and shallow and he forces himself to take a deep breath before he says, “No. Who are you?”

“A friend,” the person says, and swiftly leaves the room.

Tim should—should follow, should leave, should do something but there’s phantom pain in his neck, his vision is spotting, and he’s not sure he can breathe let alone track a clearly skilled vigilante through Gotham.

“Five things I can see,” Tim murmurs. “The doorway. My hands. My boots. The mark on the wall. The—the torch.” He shudders and tries to focus. “Four things I can feel. The floor. My gloves. The—the heat on my neck. The mask on my face. Three things I can hear.” He breathes jaggedly. “My breathing. Their breathing.” Because they’re all still alive. “And—footsteps.”

He snaps out his bo staff just as Nightwing bursts into the room.

“Robin!”

Tim throws himself at his older brother, and Dick wraps him up in arms that have always meant safety.

Two things he can smell. Dick’s shampoo. The chemical smell of whatever cleaner Alfred uses on their costumes.

One thing he can taste. The salt of the tears running down his face.

Chapter Text

The incident with the smugglers is just a short setback. The blowstorch wouldn’t have cut through the collar, not the extraterrestrial metal alloy. Tim knows that, he just—forgot. And panicked.

If he hadn’t been feeling eyes on him during patrols for the past week, making his skin crawl, putting him on high alert, he might have remembered. After every patrol he had snuck back down to the Cave post-patrol and combed through video feeds, but there was no sign of anyone watching him, anywhere. Either he was starting to go crazy, or they were too good to be caught on camera, and neither option was pleasant. 

But since he was rescued by a mysterious helper, that pretty much confirms that someone has been watching him. 

“You should have told us,” Dick says, concern warring with exasperation when Tim admits he’s been sensing a watcher for a while.

Tim shrugs. He doesn’t want to say he doesn’t trust his instincts, not anymore, not after Hood brutalized him. Not when Tim feels his loss with every breath he takes, even a year later.

“I might be able to find something,” Barbara says over the comms, ensconced in her seemingly endless video feeds.

“We’ll all look,” Bruce confirms. “And see where they went after they helped you.”

But even with the assistance of Barbara, there’s not much trace to be found of Tim’s mysterious rescuer. Whoever this person is, they’re familiar with the cameras of Gotham and disappear easily. And there’s no sign of them around Tim on any of his patrols, but clearly that doesn’t mean the person wasn’t there.

There’s a tinge of wild desperation to Bruce and Dick’s hunt, an intensity that doesn’t match the experience Tim had, which, as he reminds them, was being rescued.

Bruce grunts in his usual way, but Dick spins in his chair to ruffle Tim’s hair and say, “We know. But better safe than sorry.”

There’s a shadow in his eyes that Tim’s responsible for, or at least responsible for deepening it. Dick has always carried his grief with him on his sleeve, for those who know him, but after what happened to Tim—Dick seems brittle in a way Tim can’t manage to fix.

He keeps hoping time will help.

Time, and the illusion that Tim is fine. To keep up the illusion, he goes out a few days after the incident, as he privately calls it. This time, when his skin crawls with the feeling of eyes on him, he turns to see a dark figure just slipping away.

For a moment, he hesitates to point it out to Nightwing, patrolling with him. This mysterious person helped him. But Tim doesn’t really trust anyone, not anymore.

“N, west rooftop, I saw someone.”

Nightwing moves with legendary quickness, but there’s no one there.

“Caught a glimpse of him on the street camera two blocks over,” O’s voice says in their ear.

“Slipping up?” Nightwing wonders.

“Or letting us know he’s here,” Tim answers. “He did help, after all.”

“We still need to know who he is,” Batman says over the comms.

Tim shrugs, and follows Nightwing. At least it means he gets someone with him on patrols now.

Tim doesn’t see the mysterious figure for a month, and again, it’s a rescue.

“Wait,” Tim calls, following him across the rooftop. “Please, wait.”

The figure wavers, then halts. Tim joins him on the rooftop, carefully not approaching closely, ignoring Nightwing and Batman in his ear.

“Thank you,” Tim tells him.

The person stands warily, but nods. 

And because Tim was trained by Bruce, who honed his investigative instincts and shares the same passion for knowing, Tim asks, “Why?”

Fluidly, the person across from him shrugs, and then says, “You needed help.”

The voice is heavily modulated, more robotic than human, and Tim suppresses a flinch at how it reminds him of Hood in the helmet. He hadn’t registered the similarities the first time they spoke.

“Who are you?” Tim asks again, not expecting an answer.

“I’m sure Nightwing and Batman are on their way,” is the reply he gets. “I’m not sticking around for that.”

“Delay them,” Bruce’s voice orders over the comm, as the figure turns away.

“Wait,” Tim says, rocking forward. “Are you—what are you doing?”

The person looks at him a long moment and then says, “Helping you.”

Before Tim can say another word, they drop off the rooftop and disappear yet again.

Tim finds he likes having a mysterious protector. It reminds him of before he was Robin, when he put his faith in masked helpers in the skies who he thought could do anything, save anything.

He knows better now, of course; knows that they’re all only human.

But still. An extra watcher on his side, and Tim is starting to remember what he likes about being Robin.

The watcher’s entire focus seems to be on helping Tim, and part of Tim wants to analyze this, point out he basically has a stalker, but he doesn’t care. He’s also not sure he has room to complain about someone watching him like he watched Batman and Robin.

This helper makes him feel safe, makes him feel—worthy.

He hasn’t felt that way since Hood mated him and left him. Tim doesn’t let his mind slip around what happened. He needs to face it, head on. He was—he was mated, and he was rejected, and abandoned, and—and he’s healing. He’s going to be okay.

The ache inside is much less than it was a year ago, less than it was six months ago. He’d been told time would help, but he didn’t quite believe it until it did.

Everything falls apart after a shootout with the west mob. Tim gets pinned down, Dick and Bruce both occupied. But he’s not worried, he’s safe enough and they’ll come for him.

And if not them—

Tim smiles as the sound of gunfire over his head lessens, and a now-familiar modulated voice says, “You all right, Robin?”

Popping up, with the bright joy of Robin he thought he’d lost forever, he says, “Yep!” and then throws a batarang at the mobster sneaking up behind. His mysterious helper turns gracefully, and Robin ends up back to back with them for a bit.

The fight is a wild blur, but he and his helper slip away at the end and let Nightwing and Batman finish up. He ends up on a lot of rooftops with this vigilante who won’t give any kind of a name, or say much at all. He smiles brightly at the vigilante.

“That was close,” the vigilante says, but—his voice isn’t modulated. 

Tim tips his head, something about the voice—

“When I saw you pinned down, I was worried for a moment, Robin,” the vigilante continues, clearly male.

Male and—and—and Tim knows that voice.

He stares, frozen and mute, at the Red Hood. His neck throbs, a whisper of excruciating ecstasy washing over him.

“Shit, did you get hurt?” Hood asks, stepping toward him. 

Tim jerks away from him, pressing the panic button on his sleeve.

“Shit,” Hood says, reaching up to his damaged modulator. “This isn’t how—it’s not—” He glances behind Tim at the whir of a grapple and says, “I’m sorry,” before fleeing.

Tim is—this was—he’s trembling and he can’t stop.

“You injured, baby bird?” Dick asks, swinging up next to him. “There’s no one else here?” There’s a question in his voice, searching for the cause of the panic button.

Tim opens his mouth and nothing comes out, the emptiness screaming inside of him.

“B, there’s nothing here, but Robin isn’t responsive,” Dick says, moving closer. 

Tim flinches away from him, too. He can’t—no one can—he can’t—

“Robin, report,” Bruce orders as he lands on the roof.

Tim stares up at them, wondering when he wrapped his arms around his abdomen, wondering when tears started slipping out from under his mask. 

“It’s Hood,” he whispers. “The vigilante is Hood.” 

The world falls away.

Tim is warm. There’s—pressure on either side of him. He’s in Bruce’s bed. Bruce and Dick are on either side of him.

Tim blinks, and the room is flooded with sunlight. Dick is curled up around him, murmuring something in Romani.

Tim blinks again, and Bruce is there, holding Tim’s face in his hands.

“You’re safe,” Bruce tells him. “He can’t get to you here.”

Numbly, Tim nods.

“We’re here,” Dick adds, curled up behind him.

“Can you hear us? Talk to us,” Bruce says. 

“I’m—” He doesn’t know what to say.

He hurts. He aches. He yearns.

“Why?” Tim whispers. “Why was he—” His throat closes off.

“I don’t know, baby bird, but he’s never getting you again,” Dick promises.

Tim leans forward, resting his forehead on Bruce’s broad chest. He has to be okay. He has to be okay. He has to be okay.

He is not okay, eyes starting to burn and chest tight.

“Shh,” Bruce says, rubbing a hand down his arm, and that simple comfort breaks the dam.

“I miss him,” Tim chokes out, vision blinded by tears. “I know I’m not supposed to, I know I don’t even know him—” He heaves a breath. “But I miss him, there’s a space inside of me that’s empty because he threw me away.” His voice breaks into a wordless keen.

Alpha warmth all around him, a comforting rumble that’s not comforting because it’s not his alpha.

“I wasn’t good enough,” Tim sobs. “I wasn’t good enough to be Robin, or be his mate, or—or be loved by parents, or anything. I’m never good enough.”

“That’s not true,” Dick says fiercely into his ear, but Tim barely hears him.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says, fingers twisting into their clothes even as he should shove them away, should run back to his empty house, to all that he deserves, which is nothing.

Chapter Text

Jason doesn’t know how to fix what he did. He spent an entire year traveling, trying to learn to master the rage. He even accepted Talia’s help finding teachers for meditation techniques, telling her he’s too out of control, letting her think he’d go back to Gotham and do what she wanted.

He’ll never listen to Talia, never fucking again.

He tried medications, herbal remedies, anything.  It’s handled now, mostly. If he has a flare up, he knows how to mitigate it or direct it onto someone who deserves it, and in Gotham, that’s not hard to find. 

And now he wants to make amends. So he follows Robin, helps him, saves him, because—

He doesn’t know if the reason he can’t stay away is because the broken bond still lingers in him, or because Gotham is ultimately his home, but a large part of it is that he desperately wants to fix the unfixable.

Robin, with a knife, wanting to die.

Robin deserves to fly through Gotham, bright and unfettered, like both Jason and Dick did. He’s tense instead, a collar on his neck proclaiming to the world who, and what he is. 

Making him vulnerable.

But Robin is so much more than just an omega.

And Jason dares to think it’s actually going well , until it blows up in his face.

He doesn’t know what Bruce and Dick will think when a ghost rings the doorbell. He did spend months subtly getting into the Manor cams, even before the blow up, just in case, because he doesn’t want Tim present when—when—

When Robin doesn’t go back out, Jason needs—he needs his dad to fix this, however it can be fixed.

Jason waits for a night when Tim is asleep, when Bruce and Dick are not in the Cave, and—

He rings the bell.

Bruce answers, and Jason’s throat closes off. Bruce stares at him a moment before paling.

“Who’s at the door at this hour—” Dick’s voice trails off as he sees Jason in the doorway.

He planned out what to say, what to do, but nothing is coming to mind.

“Jason?” Dick whispers, clutching the door frame.

Jason tries to smile, but doesn’t think he succeeds.

“How?” Dick asks.

“A trick,” Bruce says, face dark.

“A Lazarus Pit,” Jason tells him, and peels off his scent blocking patch.

A moment later he’s in the entryway, hugged by both of them. He breathes in the smell of pack, of family , and shakes a little in their arms.

But he doesn’t deserve this. All too soon he pulls himself back, and Dick barely lets him go. None of them have dry eyes. 

Scent doesn’t lie.

“I’m sorry,” Jason starts, finding this to be harder than he’d imagined. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“For what?” Dick asks, worried. “Little wing, it’s not your fault you died.”

Jason shakes his head. “The—Pit Madness,” he manages to say. 

Bruce’s face twists. Dick frowns.

“I did—” but the words won’t come, they won’t , but they have to, he has to be punished or executed or whatever will help Tim—

Dropping gracefully to his knees in front of his pack alpha, Jason bows his head and exposes his neck.

“Jason,” Dick breathes out shakily.

“I was the Red Hood,” he says to the floor, and it is much easier when he doesn’t have to see their faces. “I was the mysterious vigilante helping Robin these past few months.”

Silence. Jason focuses on breathing in and breathing out. The scent of confusion is swelling above him, mixed with concern.

“It was the Pit Madness,” Jason says, begging them to understand.

“It was an accident,” Bruce says slowly. “You thought he was an alpha.”

Jason looks up at them, shocked. “He—he told you that?”

Dick crouches down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and fuck pack contact feels so good , if only he deserved it.

“You did what you could,” Dick tells him gently. “You brought him back to us before you broke the bond.”

Jason’s eyes are wide as he glances between them. 

“It—it wasn’t an accident,” he manages to get out. “He told me he was an omega.”

Another silence, and Jason looks back at the floor. Dick rises slowly next to him, the scent of anger swelling in the air.

“You bit an omega on purpose ?” Bruce’s voice is laden with disapproval, and Jason is—grateful to hear it. He did a terrible thing. This is what he deserves.

“I wanted to see him hurt,” Jason whispers, looking back at the floor, keeping his hands on his knees. “I’m sorry. I bit him, and then—I knew I had to break it, and he—the Pit made me want to hurt him, I thought—and then I bit him again —just to—”

He’s not sure he’s making sense, words tumbling out, confession scraping through him but leaving part of him relieved that he’s finally confessing, finally going to face punishment, finally—

“You bit him twice?” Dick’s voice asks, higher than it should be.

“Three times,” Jason admits. “And the third time—fuck, I thought you had replaced me, I thought you didn’t care about me, and I wanted to hurt him to make the hurt in me go away for a little bit, and it worked, for a moment. But then—then he tried—he grabbed my knife and tried to—kill himself, before I broke the bond a third time.”

Silence above his head.

“And I realized I’d made a mistake.” Jason isn’t sure when he started crying. “So I brought him back to you, and—and left, and fuck, I never meant—I mean—I’m sorry .”

He chokes down any further words, breath heaving in his chest, fingers digging into legs. There’s no excuse for what he did, Pit Madness a poor offering to lay before his pack alpha.

“Three times,” Dick whispers.

It was the Pit Madness , he begs inside his head, but doesn’t bother to say. It doesn’t matter. And maybe—maybe it was just who he was, all along.

“Why are you here?” Bruce asks him, and his voice is so cold that Jason flinches.

“I—I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he admits. “But you’re my pack alpha, you’ve always been—I don’t know how to make this right, if it can be made right, if—”

He bites his lip.

“I’m here to accept your judgment,” he finally says. “Your punishment. Whatever you deem necessary.”

“Tim tried to kill himself?” Dick asks, as though he hasn’t heard Bruce and Jason.

“With my knife,” Jason answers, the image too-bright in his mind. He’d—tried to forget, but couldn’t. Maybe that’s why he ended up back in Gotham.

He can’t look up at them, see the shock and disappointment and hatred—he just can’t . Part of him is braced for them to kill him now. He would deserve it, he knows that, that’s why he’s here —

“Get up,” Bruce orders, his voice still cold, and Jason haltingly does so. “Look at me.” 

Jason forces his gaze to meet Bruce’s impassive face. He’s trying not to brace, trying to just accept, to accept whatever—

“We’re going to the Cave,” Bruce tells him. “And I’m putting you in a cell. If you try to do anything that will hurt any of my pack—”

“I won’t,” Jason blurts out.

A quick check by Bruce and Dick—who’s snapped on his Nightwing face—shows them he came unarmed, because he’s done hurting his pack. Even if he doesn’t belong, even if—it’s his pack until they cast him out, and if they cast him out—

Jason has a plan for that. But he would rather punishment come from his—dad. His pack alpha. 

He’s shivering by the time they get down to the Cave, Bruce in front of him and Dick behind him. They’re wary, on guard, and they should be. Jason can’t be trusted, even if he’s done his best—

“I’m sorry,” he whispers outside the cell, fingernails digging into his palm to keep himself grounded. “I—”

The cell is small, too small, and Jason instinctively takes a step back. Bruce and Dick move as one, blocking him, and Jason forces himself to stop. He doesn’t want—but he deserves—

“In the cell,” Bruce orders, but Jason can’t make himself move, he can’t .

“Can’t you just execute me?” he asks, looking up hopelessly into Bruce’s face. “It can’t be fixed, it can’t be undone, you’d be well within your rights as pack alpha.”

Dick flinches next to him.

“Cell,” Bruce orders, unmoved.

“Please, Dad,” Jason begs. “Just—execute me.”

Instead of answering, Bruce pushes Jason roughly, and Jason—he could catch himself, he could have dodged, he could twist—he lets himself stumble backward into the cell, already focusing on his breathing.

The door locks in front of him, and he closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

Tim stirs, the weight of Dick’s hand on his shoulder slowly bringing him awake. He blinks up at the older alpha.

“Dick?” His voice is scratchy from sleep.

“Hey, baby bird.” Dick’s voice is soft.

“Is Bruce okay?” Tim asks, heart skipping a beat, waking up more.

“He’s okay,” Dick reassures him, smoothing his hair down. “Everyone is okay. But—”

When Dick hesitates, Tim’s chest tightens. You don’t hesitate for good news.

“But?” Tim prompts.

“But I think we caught him,” Dick says.

Tim’s breath catches in his throat. There’s only one him Dick would wake him up for but—

“Are you sure?” Tim demands.

“Can you listen to something?” Dick asks. “Confirm his voice?”

Tim sits up, wrapping his arms around his legs, Dick’s presence a warm weight at his side.

“Yes,” is all he says.

Dick pulls out his phone. “We have three audio clips,” he tells Tim. “That should be enough.”

Tim doesn’t want to listen to the whole conversation they must have had, he just wants to know if—

“I was the Red Hood,” says a voice from Dick’s phone. “He told me he was an omega.” Tim starts shaking. “But then—then he tried—he grabbed my knife.”

He goes rigid, his lies unraveling in front of him.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Dick asks softly, and Tim nods, throat tight.

He lied, and now they know, and—

“He says he bit you three times,” Dick says, and it’s a question, Tim knows it is.

Shivering, he nods his head.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“You were so worried,” Tim whispers. “I didn’t want that. I had to be okay.” He buries his face in his knees.

Dick sighs next to him, and then gently tugs Tim under his arm. Tim curls up on his alpha brother.

“Of course we worried,” Dick tells him, dropping a kiss onto Tim’s head. “But Tim, you don’t have to lie to us.”

“I didn’t want to go home,” Tim admits.

“Go home?” Dick repeats, perplexed.

“If I wasn’t good enough,” he adds softly. “If I couldn’t be Robin.”

Dick is silent above his head, and then digs in his pocket for his phone. He taps out a message while Tim waits, not daring to ask.

“I’m telling Bruce to come up,” Dick finally says.

“You don’t need to do that,” Tim says automatically, and Dick flicks him gently on the nose.

“Apparently I do, if you think you’re going to be sent away,” he says pointedly.

“Not—it’s just—I’m supposed to be Robin,” Tim tries to explain. “And I’m supposed to help you and Bruce, because after Jason—it’s just—you’re not supposed to take care of me.”

“Of course I am,” Dick says. “You’re my little brother. I’m definitely supposed to take care of you.”

Tim opens his mouth, and then closes it.

“I just wanted to be okay,” he finally says.

“You don’t have to be,” Dick replies softly.

They sit in silence until Bruce comes through the door.

“Tim? Dick?” he calls quietly.

“We’re here, Bruce,” Dicks says, and turns on the bedside lamp. “Tim positively identified the suspect as Hood.”

 Bruce nods, sitting down on the bed. 

“And said that Hood bit him three times.” Dick’s voice wavers a little. “Tim says he lied because he thought we’d send him away.”

“What?” Bruce exclaims. “Tim, you’re in my pack.”

Tim shrugs. “I was in my mom’s pack, too,” he mumbles.

Dick flicks Tim on the nose again. “You don’t think we’re anything like your parents, do you?” he asks.

Tim shrugs again. “Not as long as I’m Robin.”

“You don’t want to be Robin?” Bruce asks, leaning in closer. There’s no judgment or censure, just genuine interest and caring. 

An amount of care Tim was convinced didn’t exist for him. 

Feeling his mouth twisting, his eyes burning, Tim shrugs yet again. “It’s—it needs to be done,” he says. “Batman needs a Robin.”

“No,” Bruce says. “I don’t.”

Tim doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” Bruce orders, an alpha rumble in his voice.

Slowly, Tim raises his eyes.

“You belong to my pack, to our pack,” Bruce says. “We are never, ever kicking you out, no matter what. Even if you’re not okay, even if you never want to be Robin again. You belong with us.”

Tim’s lip quivers and he turns his face into Dick’s chest, too many emotions crashing inside of him.

“But Tim,” Bruce continues gently. “Hood told us, about the knife, about you trying to hurt yourself. Do you still feel like that?”

Tim can’t stop himself from hesitating before he shakes his head no, and curses himself that little slip. He—he doesn’t, it’s just—it’s been a lot, and he feels a lot, and most of is empty pain, and— 

He burrows harder into Dick’s chest, and his brother’s arms tighten around him.

“It’s okay,” Dick whispers into his hair. “However you feel, it’s okay. We just want to help you feel better.”

Tim sniffles, and nods. 

“I’m not going to hurt myself,” he says, voice muffled. “Just—at the Tower—it was too much.”

“Of course it was,” Dick says. “Of course it was. To go through that—Tim, you’re incredible and strong and brave and talented.”

And afraid, Tim thinks.

“We can get you some more sessions with a therapist,” Bruce offers. “You can tell them the whole truth, now that we all know.”

Tim’s nose scrunches up in distaste but he doesn’t verbally protest. Dick might flick his nose again.

“And Tim,” Bruce says, voice getting even more serious. “The Cave is off-limits to you right now.”

Tim whips his head up to stare at Bruce. “I said I wasn’t going to—”

“Because Hood is in a cell down there.”

Horror pours through Tim’s body, made worse by the longing that flares up. Hood is—so close, so close, and he could take Tim back, but no. He could come after Tim, but no, he’s in a cell, he’s locked away, Bruce and Dick are here and—

“—m? Tim, can you hear us?”

“Why?” Tim asks shakily. “Why—why is he here?”

Bruce and Dick trade a glance over Tim’s head.

“It’s…complicated,” is what Dick finally settles on. 

“How did you even find him?”

“He…came to us,” Bruce says slowly.

Tim thinks back to the clips Dick played for him, the way the man with such a hold on him sounded, and it wasn’t—wasn’t pride or arrogance, it was—

“He came to you,” Tim echoes.

“Tim, I swear you’re safe,” Dick says, with Bruce nodding. “You know we have several alarms on the cell, and we’ve set alarms to go off if the Cave door opens from the Cave side and not the Manor side. And we’ve set manual alarms in the Manor—even if he hacks into our systems, he can’t disable them all.”

Tim nods slowly.

Hood. In the Cave. So close. Which is—good and bad.

“You’re safe,” Bruce says. “I won’t let him touch you again.”

Chapter Text

Jason can’t breathe. He’s pacing his cell, slowly, methodically, trying to not think about how fucking stupid he was to not anticipate being locked into a cell. He really thought Bruce or Dick would kill him for what he did to Tim.

He deserves it.

But then, doesn’t he deserve this cell as well? The walls closing in on him, nothing to do but feel trapped, air running out, and remember Tim’s terrified face at the idea that Jason might do what Jason did do—break the bonds a third time.

Robin’s face on the rooftop when he recognized Jason’s voice.

He’s done research on the effects of bond breaking in omegas. It was a lot of knowledge he wished he’d known before—in the Narrows, they just knew it would hurt. His dad controlled his mom with the threat of breaking her bond, and she wasn’t the only omega held to that threat. 

What Jason didn’t know how was often victims went comatose, and how there were long-term hospital wings dedicated to palliative care, and that some omegas never came out. And that’s from breaking one bond.

Tim—Tim struggled his way out of the shock of two, pushed through unimaginable pain, and Jason didn’t fucking stop. He felt good about seeing Tim hurting, it made Jason feel better, and abruptly Jason rushes for the toilet, throwing up bile.

He can’t remember the last time he ate.

He tried not to dwell on what happened, tried to move forward, tried to help and fix and—he should have confessed as soon as it happened, should have waited in the Cave for them to show up, should have—

But he didn’t.

Tim wants to see his face. Needs to see the face of the man who claimed him three times, and threw him away three times. He needs it.

When Dick is sleeping heavily, Tim creeps down the stairs to the study. It takes him nearly an hour, but he’s fairly certain he’s dismantled all the manual alarms and system alarms. Holding his breath, he swings the clock door open.

Nothing happens.

No wailing alarms, no rush of feet above him.

Tim blows out a breath, and pads down the stairs in fuzzy socks and an oversized sweatshirt that belongs to Dick. The scent of an alpha he trusts wrapped around him makes him feel safe. His mother’s scent never even compared, although he’d nest with as much as he could find of her scent, carefully cleaning and returning it before they got home.

There’s a bright green light above the occupied cell, and Tim stands at the foot of the stairs for a long, long minute, staring at the opaque door.

Behind that door—

But he’s not stupid enough to open the cell, or even get close to it. He skirts around the edge of the Cave, staying as far as he can, if only because he wants to open the door and bare his neck and beg.

He really thought he was doing better than this.

With shaking fingers, he pulls up the link to the video feed to the cell. 

It’s just a picture, Tim reminds himself. Just a face. He won’t even know you’re here. It’s okay.

He clicks the link.

His first impression is that Hood is broad, which he already knew. Broad shoulders, tall, black hair. He’s pacing the cell and when he turns, Tim sees his face and—

With fingers no longer shaking, Tim zooms in on that image, calls up an image of Jason Todd before he died, and does a quick comparison.

Then he starts digging for the blood work Bruce has surely started, and finds the DNA is a solid match. Traces of Lazarus, and when Tim looks back at the images, the older Jason has green-tinged eyes.

Jason Todd can’t be the Red Hood.

Is something wearing his face? Did—did Bruce and Dick make a mistake? Did they get compromised out in the field? 

But they had Hood’s voice…

Tim isn’t frightened, he’s curious. The same curiosity that led him out into Gotham, night after night with no care for himself. He heads over to the cell, and his hand pauses right above the intercom button.

If—if it is Hood, if he knows Tim is out here—but he hasn’t come after Tim, he’s been helping him— 

He hits the button and says, “Hello?”, immediately feeling stupid.

No response. 

“Jason?” Tim asks, something like hope beating in his breast.

No response, and then, “You shouldn’t be here, kid.”

Tim takes his hand off the intercom and steps back. And back again. He backs up until he hits the chair in front of the computer, and reaches for it with fingers that aren’t quite working properly. 

Numb. That’s the word.

That’s Hood’s voice, and Jason’s face, and Jason’s DNA and bloodwork, and traces of Lazarus and—

Tim buries his face in his hands and cries.

Cries for the loss of his childhood, for the loss of his hero, cries for what Jason had been through to twist him up so much that he came after Tim, after Bruce and Dick. Cries for himself, for this gaping hole inside of him that will never heal by itself, cries because he can’t imagine the idea of letting anyone else bite him ever.

Hood—Jason irrevocably changed him.

Jason, too, has been irrevocably changed. Jason died.

Tim calls up the data they have on Ra’s, on Lazarus Pit Madness, and starts reading. He’s never looked into it before; the League hasn’t come near Gotham since Tim has been Robin. Perhaps because they had Jason, because they were priming a weapon of brutal betrayal, aimed right at them.

He is not going to go back upstairs and pretend like he doesn’t know this. He is not going to just—let this go.

He makes himself get up on legs that he refuses to admit are shaking, and marches back over to the cell. He clears the door, so he and Jason can see each other.

Jason looks at him, face completely neutral. 

Tim hits the intercom button, leaves it on.

“They put you in a Pit,” he says, and it’s not really a question.

Jason nods. 

“You were suffering from Pit Madness,” Tim tells him, and Jason nods again. “You called me a replacement, because I replaced you.” A hint of wry expression, but Jason merely nods again. “You’ve been helping me these last few months,” Tim says. “And you—Dick says you turned yourself in.”

When Jason nods again, Tim feels a spark of fury.

“Say something, damn it,” he demands.

Jason looks at him, hesitates, and then says, “You haven’t responded well to my voice.”

Tim staggers backwards a step, that alpha voice wrapping around him, making him remember, making him feel—

He glares at Jason and says, “Why are you back here at all?”

Jason shifts uncertainly, and Tim braces himself to hear that voice again.

“I submitted to Bruce,” Jason says softly. “I—wanted to make amends, or pay the price for hurting you or—whatever he thought was appropriate.”

“Hurting me?” Tim asks, voice rising. “Hurting me? Is that what you call it? You mated me, three times!”

Jason nods, and Tim’s fury boils over.

“What possible amends could you do to make up for that? There is nothing, nothing that can fill the void you left in me!” 

Jason studies Tim a moment, and then says, “I thought Bruce would execute me, as pack alpha.” 

You belong to my pack, to our pack. We are never, ever kicking you out, no matter what. 

“You would make him do that?” Tim asks, horrified. “You would—he was a pack of one, for so many years. We’re still a small pack and you’d make him rip out his own heart just so you feel better?”

Jason opens his mouth, and Tim holds up a hand. Jason’s mouth snaps closed.

“No, just no,” Tim says, shaking with rage or fear or both. “You do not get to put that on Bruce, not after—no.” 

“And what do you want?” Jason asks softly. “Me in Blackgate? Arkham? You don’t want me dead for what I did to you?”

“I want you to bite me again,” Tim cries out, and Jason recoils in the cell. “That’s what I want, that’s all I want, and you won’t. I know I shouldn’t, but that’s what I want.”

Jason looks stricken and he says, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry I did that to you. I should never—”

“Well, you did,” Tim snaps, with more venom than he knew he had in him. 

Jason bows his head in the face of Tim’s wrath.

“What would you have me do?” Jason whispers. “I’ll do anything.”

“That’s one hell of an offer,” Tim bites out, echoing Jason’s words from over a year ago. “Anything. You want me to break your arm, cut off your fingers? You want me to hurt you?”

Jason’s skin is white and he won’t meet Tim’s eyes.

“You really would let me do anything,” Tim says mockingly. “You wanted to see me suffer, and I did,” he adds, voice dark. “Nothing anyone can do to you will make you suffer like I’ve suffered.”

Jason swallows, hands curled tight, gaze fixed on Tim.

“Would you bite me again?” Tim asks, tilting his head. “What if that is the anything that I want?”

“I—“” Jason’s voice dies and he stares at Tim. 

Tim arches one brow at him.

“If that’s what you really want,” Jason says, a shiver going through his frame. “But I don’t think—I don’t think that’s what you really want. I don’t think it would really make you feel better.”

A pit yawns in Tim’s stomach, because he knows Jason is right, damn him. 

“I am never, ever giving you or anyone else the chance to bite me,” Tim hisses, before he makes the door opaque and kills the intercom.

He clears his session from the computer, and deliberately walks right past the cell to pad up the stairs. He resets the alarms, as though he was never there, and slips back into bed with his brother.

Still asleep, Dick rolls over and wraps an arm around him. Tim sinks into the promise of safety, forces himself to let go of his fear and anger, and eventually sleeps.

Chapter Text

I’ll do anything.

Jason wonders if he hates himself more than Tim possibly could, but doesn’t want to take that rage from the omega he—he—

He bit an omega. Deliberately, to cause harm, intending to break the bond. And he did it repeatedly.

Jason sits heavily on his cot, face in his hands.

But Tim is right.

We’re still a small pack and you’d make him rip out his own heart just so you feel better?

It was Jason’s intention to make Tim feel better but there is some truth to Tim’s accusation that Jason’s being selfish.

Jason should have never—what should he have done? Taken his own life? Left Tim looking over his shoulder? Given Bruce and Dick a body, with an explanation they wouldn’t believe, even if Talia confirmed it?

And what if Ra’s just threw Jason back in the Pit, and sent him back to Gotham? What if the Pit Madness had him hurt Tim or someone else again?

It’s not fair to have Bruce execute him, but nothing that’s happened to anyone in this family is fair. Jason’s death is the easiest, simplest solution. Bruce will see that soon enough.

Tim wakes up angry. Furious, even, the kind of rage he imagines is akin to what Jason has had to deal with in the past few years.

He wakes alone, and angry.

He storms down to breakfast, sees the takeout cartons scattered on the table and snaps out, “You can’t even make eggs?”

He knows they can make eggs. He knows Bruce has plenty of money and ordering in breakfast while Alfred is gone is a tradition they hope he never finds out about. But in this moment, Tim doesn’t care.

Bruce and Dick look up in surprise, Dick with a mouthful of eggs and a guilty expression.

“Tim—” Bruce starts, questioning.

“You should have known!” Tim yells, yells at them. “You should have known I wasn’t okay instead of making me patrol alone! You put me back in that costume, made me a target for every criminal in the city, and put a collar on me! It’s only luck no one else bit me!”

Dick hastily swallows his mouthful of food but Tim holds his hand out to forestall him.

“If either of you, either of you, cared about me like you claim you do, you would have seen I wasn’t okay! I’ve been crying myself to sleep for months, months, and you just—you made me go back out there—and just—”

Tim suddenly realizes he’s crying.

“Honey,” Bruce says softly, and Tim turns away from him, crossing his arms.

“You should have known!” 

Tim doesn’t care that he worked very, very hard to hide it, that he thought he was grateful there was no video from the Tower so his lies worked.

“We should have known,” Bruce quietly says, and Tim sniffles. “I should—I wanted to give you space and trust you, and I didn’t want to push you into therapy or into confronting what happened if you weren’t ready. But I should have known you weren’t okay, and I shouldn’t have put you in harm's way again.”

“But you did,” Tim mutters. 

“I did,” Bruce agrees. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Dick adds. “I’m sorry, baby bird. I should have seen how much you were hurting.”

Tim doesn’t turn around, emotions a storm in his chest.

“Can you forgive us?” Dick asks softly.

“Forgive you?” Tim does turn around. “Is that what you’re going to do with Jason, forgive him?”

Bruce and Dick go very still.

“Yeah,” Tim tells them. “I needed to see Hood for myself and so I went down to the Cave. And turns out Hood is Jason, and were you even going to tell me?”

There’s an expression on Bruce’s face that Tim can’t quite parse, but it’s Dick who speaks up.

“First, we wanted to know if he really was Hood and if you were safe,” he says. “We—he rang the bell last night, while you were sleeping.”

“So you just shoved him in a cell?” Tim demands. “Now what?”

Bruce and Dick exchange a glance.

“I don’t know,” Bruce admits.

Tim stares at him. Bruce—Bruce always knows, always has a plan, always—

“He wants you to execute him,” Tim tells them, and Dick’s face tightens. “Most packs would, for what he did to me.”

“Is that what you want?” Bruce asks him, voice steady.

“He was sick,” Tim says, realizing he’s yelling again. “It was the Pit Madness, right? So he was angry and he was sick and he—he—he hurt me.” His voice drops to a whisper by the end.

Dick moves forward, wrapping Tim up in alpha safety, and Tim realizes he’s still crying.

“It’s not okay, what happened,” Dick says into his hair. “It wasn’t okay, even if he was sick. We’re going to keep you safe.”

“But if he’s not sick anymore,” Tim asks. “Aren’t I safe?”

“There’s a lot we don’t know about the Pit,” Bruce tells him, hugging both of them at the same time. “I’m playing it safe.”

“Is he going to be Robin again?” Tim whispers. “If he’s—back.”

“You are Robin,” Bruce says. “If you want to be. No one can take that from you.”

Tim thinks Jason already took Robin from him, which is fair because Tim took Robin from Jason.

“Is he going to move back in?” Tim asks. “I can—go home.”

“This is your home,” Dick says firmly.

“But it’s Jason’s home, too,” Tim points out. “And if he needs help—”

“Tim,” Bruce rumbles at him. “You have a place here, as Robin, as pack, however you want it. We are not taking that from you.”

“But it’s Jason’s place,” Tim argues, ducking out from under Bruce’s arm.

This is—this a dream come true for them, and Tim is standing in the way. 

“I’ll leave,” he says. “I’ll—go, and you can bring Jason up, and—”

“No,” Bruce says as Dick grabs Tim's arm.

“Absolutely not,” Dick agrees.

“Why not?” Tim demands. “I’m just—in the way. You have Jason back! It’s all better now!”

“You are just as important as Jason,” Bruce says, and Tim goes very still under Dick’s hand.

Then— “Stop lying to me,” he yells at them, yanking his arm free, hard.

He runs for the doorway. He needs out, away, he can’t—they can’t—he’s not—it’s not—he—

Wrenching open the clock door, he barely hears the multitude of alarms go off. He’s sprinting down the stairs, faster than he ever has before, and he skids to a halt in front of Jason’s cell. There’s no hesitation before he slams the unlock and open button, and Jason jolts in surprise.

“Tim? What’s wrong?” 

Tim laughs, wildly. “Nothing is wrong, Jason, you’re back. Come home.”

Jason licks his lips. 

“This isn’t my place,” Tim tells him. “You showed me my place before, so do it again. Bite me! Bite me and break the bond until there’s nothing of me left, nothing standing in your way, and you can go home. You told me anything! Well, this is what I want!”

He steps into Jason’s cell, drops to knees, and bares the side of his neck.

“Tim!” Dick’s frantic voice echoes through the Cave.

“Please,” Tim begs. “Before they get here. Just—do it.”

Jason is wide eyed, staring at Tim with horror, but he’s not moving.

“Do it!” Tim yells at him, and he’s about to grab Jason and do—something, when someone grabs him from behind and bundles him out of the cell. 

“No,” Tim yells, kicking and twisting in what turns out to be Bruce’s hold. “No, just let him bite me, and then I’m not a problem anymore, and it won’t hurt anymore, and it will be fine!”

Dick’s in the medical bay, sprinting back with a syringe in his hand.

“I don’t need to be sedated!” Tim shouts, trying to bite Bruce’s arm to make him let go.

There’s a pinch of a needle in his arm, and he screams, wordless and enraged and hurting. He screams again and again, until the world starts to go blurry, it’s harder to move his muscles, and he’s barely conscious when Bruce tenderly lays him on a medical cot.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers as he watches Tim scream and struggle. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He stays in his cell while Bruce and Dick settle Tim, and then they both walk back over to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, before they get to his cell door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

He’s trembling, he realizes, sitting on his cot and trembling.

“I didn’t—” He’s rocking a bit, in place, and he buries his face in his hands. 

Fuck, there’s no coming back from this. It would have been kinder to just kill Tim than put him through this. And now what’s left to do?

“What do we do?” he asks, looking up at his dad and older brother. “What do I do? How do I fix this?” 

Please, help. Please, fix this.

Bruce and Dick slip into his cell, and sit on either side of him. Their warmth is a gift he doesn’t deserve. 

“You both need help,” Bruce tells Jason. “I’m going to get you the help you both need.”

Dick rests his head on Jason’s shoulder. “You got so tall, little wing,” he murmurs. 

“What help is there, for either of us?” Jason asks, even as his shivers slow with warmth on either side. 

Bruce speaks slowly, carefully choosing his words. “You are not the first person to use bond breaking as torture. There are—specialists that can help Tim.”

Jason nods, grasping at straws.

“And me?” he asks, voice small. “What happens to me?”

“You need to keep working on mastering the Pit,” Bruce says, still speaking carefully. “My understanding is it manifests mostly as rage, and we can find someone—”

“No,” Jason says, shaking his head. “I don’t—what happens to me? I did this, I hurt him, and he might never—” His voice breaks, and he bites his lip.

“You want us to punish you,” Dick says, deceptively mildly, head still on Jason’s shoulder. “For what? Being murdered? Coming back to life? For having Pit Madness?”

“For hurting Tim,” Jason says, voice wavering. “That’s not—that’s not acceptable in packs.”

Bruce’s hand rests on Jason’s knee. 

“It’s not acceptable,” he says, deep voice serious. “It’s not acceptable at all. There were, however, extenuating circumstances that I think make execution unnecessary.”

Jason’s eyes burn.

“But I deserve it,” he whispers.

“I don’t think you do,” Dick says.

“I can’t—I can’t just go live in the Manor with you and Tim,” Jason says. “I can’t be close to him.”

“Not yet,” Bruce agrees. “And maybe not ever. We’ll see what the experts recommend.”

Despite himself, Jason has to stifle a small snort. As if Bruce has ever let something this important be left to so-called experts and not tried to fix it himself.

“But for now,” Bruce says. “I was thinking the penthouse.” 

“The—penthouse?” Jason repeats, confused.

“It’s got similar protections to the Manor, and plenty of space for you.”

“Not a cell?” Jason asks slowly.

“Do you want us to leave you in here?” Dick asks, and his voice sounds so sad that Jason’s chest hurts.

“I should be punished,” Jason says, clenching his hands into fists. “I should be—” Executed, he doesn’t say. But they all hear it. 

“You were murdered,” Dick says thickly. “And—hurt before you were murdered. Isn’t that enough?”

That’s not—it happened before—it doesn’t count—the crowbar came down and down and he couldn’t stop and he still sees it and—

“You submitted to me,” Bruce says. “To my judgment. Do you challenge my right as pack alpha?”

Before Bruce has finished speaking, Jason is shaking his head.

“No,” he says. “I’m not challenging you. I meant it.”

He just didn’t think it would go like this. But he trusted Bruce—trusts Bruce to make this right.

Even if he can’t see the path himself. 

“Is Tim going to be okay with me at the penthouse?” he asks, looking over the heartbreakingly still, small body on the medical table. “I mean—I could leave Gotham, I could go anywhere.”

“Tim wants you in the Manor,” Bruce says. “I think it will be a struggle for him to accept the penthouse.”

“He wants me in his house?” Jason asks, astonished.

“He doesn’t think of it as his house,” Dick says softly. “He thinks of it as yours. He wants to leave, so you can come home. The only reason he went back out as Robin last year was because he thought we’d throw him out if he didn’t. His family—his homepack was never there for him.”

Jason processes this.

“So then, what I did…” he trails off. 

“Just made all of his insecurities worse,” Dick confirms. 

Jason leans his head against the wall behind them, looks up at the grey ceiling.

“But—this can be fixed, right? We can—he can be better?”

Dick and Bruce glance at each other.

“Are you going to get better?” Dick asks him.

Jason flinches slightly. 

“And not just from the Pit,” Bruce adds. “But from what Joker did to you, and—what happened with the League.”

Jason knows Bruce probably imagines the worst, and it’s not that far off from the truth. So he shrugs.

“I can try,” he tells them. “I don’t—want to be Hood, I don’t want to be the person I was when I was him.”

“No more killing,” Bruce orders, an alpha rumble making it an order.

Jason scrunches his nose, and makes an outraged sound when Dick flicks it.

“No more killing, little wing,” Dick tells him seriously. “Not in this pack.”

“No killing,” Jason agrees, lifting his head and looking at each of them. 

He doesn’t fully agree with their stance on it, but—he can be done killing. There are other ways to make a difference. 

Dick settles him in the penthouse while Bruce stays with Tim. Jason is not unaware that they’re going to be monitoring him, and they should, protecting their omega should be their priority. But he hopes he can live up to their tentative trust in him, wants to live up to it, wants to be around to see Tim heal and recover and grow into something new, the way Jason has.

He stands at the window, watching the sun set over Gotham, and feels more at peace than he has since he died.