Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Stand, child.”

Cold floor against his bare face and stomach. Wet liquid. Familiar scent in the air. Numb pain trickles through his body.

Time stills.

His vision whites out in pain with a loud thwack as his body moves on pure instinct, flinching just for half a second as a heavy object crushes his already damaged ribs. It’s hard to tell which bones in his body are broken, for all of them swell in burning pain and pressure, as if they are about to burst.

“Disrespect is not tolerated. STAND, you foolish child!”

He knows what is to come. First, he moves his fingers. Then, his toes. His hands slightly clench, and he drags his arms closer to him, preparing himself for his next movement. He slowly manages to get his hands against the floor with his trembling arms under him, and he pushes his body up and drags his knees under him. Every muscle screams in agony. Every blood cell in his body threatens to pop. He gets himself standing.

He doesn’t want to imagine how he must look with his head down, hunched forward, his arms swinging limply by his sides, his legs slightly bent and barely keeping him upright. He squints through the tears in his eyes and watches in what seems like slow motion as he rocks side to side before swiftly falling back first onto the floor.

“Pathetic.” He opens his eyes to see a shoe filling his vision, standing still right above his head, before it slams down on his nose at lightning speed as pain—

His body moves before his mind does, flinching against his pillow as his eyes shoot open, adjusting to the rays of light streaming through the curtains of his window. He turns his head against his pillow to glare at the alarm clock at his bedside, the time showing 10:34am.

My body feels intact. Must have been a dream then.

“Good morning princess. Enjoying your beauty sleep?” A voice more annoying than nails on a chalk board startles him once again.

Oh, right. His favorite part of the day. Wonderful. Riding to school with Tim-fuckass-Drake.

Damian meets his eyes with a glare. He gives himself a quick second to slip on his arrogant facade before giving a witty reply which seems to satisfy Tim, because he walks away after responding with “I’m leaving in 15 minutes with or without you.” At that, he slides out of bed and gets prepares for the day.

Patrol last night was a disaster.

He’s not exactly wrong either. Last night had ended with most of his team upset with him.

Many things factored into why last night was a complete disaster. Long story short, he was sleep deprived and dehydrated, which made him disoriented enough to use the wrong personality with the wrong people. Longer story short, Damian loves his family, but he doesn’t trust them, even though he wants to. He can’t stop himself from finding the nearest exits, analyzing his surroundings, and knowing where the nearest weapon is at all times. He is always ready for a fight and is always on guard.

As his future therapist says, he has this thing called avoidant attachment, which is why he feels the need to present a false version of himself to his loved ones. Avoidant attachment results in believing others are unreliable, untrustworthy, or uncaring. An infant quickly learns to meet their own needs because they cannot count on their caregiver— a form of attachment trauma. Therefore, avoidant attachment is a self-protective measure, allowing someone to avoid relying on others while simultaneously protecting themselves from others viewing their vulnerabilities.

For most cases, ones childhood paves the path of their future. Lessons learned at such a young age tend to stick with people the longest, regardless of if that lesson is positive or negative. For the fortunate, that lesson may be to love everyone equally because kindness is free. For the unfortunate, that lesson may be to trust no one.

Damian was never the luckiest, he had lived through hell for the beginning half of his life, and it is nobody's fault but his own. Or at least, that what he tells himself.

He learned many lessons growing up how in the way that he did, but theres one that had always stuck out the most, one that he knew will never change. “Weakness can and will always be exploited.” He prides himself in knowing this, knowing he is smarter than most his age, because no adult would ever expect a normal looking child to have the knowledge he does, and this leads to underestimation.

Underestimation is a weakness he can spot and easily manipulate to his advantage as if it were slime between his fingers.

He upholds each facade the best he can through daily life, pretending to be nonchalant and arrogant, immature even, but there have been times where his mask has slipped. There have been moments where he is undeniably a carbon copy of his grandfather, a wolf in sheep's clothing, a violent desolate soul showing through the cracked shell of a broken little boy whose eyes used to shine like the sun after a storm.

He is aware that his upbringing makes him different (or as mother had said, special). He will never truly be able to connect with children his age, regardless if he wants to or not (he doesn’t, children his age are stupid and naive and messy) but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t imagine what he could have had, had he been born in Gotham.

On particularly lonely nights, he imagines what it would be like to be a normal child. Normalcy is a gift he will never receive, because in a world full of water, he is oil. He was cursed from birth with an unfair reality full of hate and mistrust. It’s not easy to distance himself from the lessons that were engraved into his very soul.

Last night, he slipped up. Yes, he could win in a fight against a body builder blindfolded without food, water, or sleep for a week. That’s what he was trained for. Unfortunately, he wasn’t trained to handle jumping through emotional hoops while dehydrated and sleep deprived. He patrolled with Steph and Dick, with Cass, Tim, and Jason on comms and Babs on cams. With a normal amount of sleep, he could navigate through his internal emotional puzzle like a pro.

With Grayson, he is immature and sarcastic. Dick likes to think that he knows Damian the best because Damian feels comfortable enough to act his age around him. Damian acts his age around Dick because he knows it makes Dick feel better.

With Steph, he is calculated, egotistical, and playful. He and Stephanie have the type of relationship where they make fun of each other. Damian knows that it makes Steph feel better to think that he feels comfortable enough to tease her jokingly.

Together, it’s not too bad of a pair up. It’s manageable. Or at least, it would have been on any normal night.

One Steph-type joke aimed at Dick was what started the trail of unfortunate events. Dick was offended and Damian was confused.

Maybe he did not comprehend the intention of my joke. Let me try again.

In hindsight, fucking idiot.

But it couldn’t get much worse right? It wasn’t like he was gonna activate comms to repeat the joke.

Except, oh wait, that’s exactly what he did.

Fuck.

Awkward murmurs of protest came through his comms.

“Uh-huh…..” came from Jason.

And because why not dig his grave deeper, Damian responded with “I was not aware you could not take a joke, Hood. After your time spent with the joker, I thought that crowbar would have toughened up your sense of humor.”

Dick and Steph stopped in their tracks beside him.

Silence informed him that that was definitely not the right thing to say.

Double fuck.

A swift “Fuck you, nepo baby” followed by a call disconnected noice followed the silence.

More silence.

Steph and Dick just stared.

Damian had no idea how to act from here. Any normal person would apologize for the inappropriate joke. I think we’ve established by now that Damian is not any normal person. To him, this was an attack. He had no idea which personality to pull out.

“Do not be sensitive. It is pathetic that you can not take a joke.”

“I get that you think-“

“That was too far Robin.”

Dicks explanation was cut off my Steph’s stern voice. It was all downhill from there. The night ended with Jason ignoring him, Steph giving him dirty looks, Dick acting reserved, Barb giving short answers, and Cass giving him the silent treatment.

How fun.

He blames his stupid English teacher for this. Her stupid face and her stupid homework caused him to stay up the night before working on a stupid essay. So yes. It’s all her fault that everyone is angry at him.

After zoning out for 5 minutes, he quickly brushes his teeth, washes his face, shrugs on his school uniform, grabs a hoodie, his phone, headphones, and his backpack, he makes his way downstairs. He decides he doesn’t have time to eat breakfast at the table, so he sits himself in the passenger seat of Tim’s car, breakfast in hand.

Tim starts driving. He stays silent, and Damian almost thinks Tim has enough common sense to avoid the topic of patrol last night. Almost.

“Y’ really crashed and burned last night, huh. What was that about.”

There it is.

“Keep your eyes on the road while you still have them, Drake.”

“Pft okay, tough crowd.”

…

…

“Did you at least apologi-“

“If I wanted to listen to unnecessary rambling, I would listen to a podcast.”

“Damn, okay, don’t get your boxers in a bunch.”

“Do you just ever have a thought and not think it out loud? Or are you desperate to show everyone around you how that all you’re good for is background noise.” Damian’s response is immediate.

Tim doesn’t respond after that.

They arrive at the school and part ways without a word. Tim takes the hallway to the high school area and Damian makes his way to the middle school area of the building.

I need to pull myself together. Last night was a temporary setback.

Chapter Text

School is a waste of time. I felt myself loosing intelligence by just inhaling the air contaminated by idiots.

Damian, dressed in a casual hoodie and workout shorts, is currently sat at his desk with more work than what his class was assigned. He grumbled to himself, staring at the papers as if he could will them to burst into flames in front of him. How dare they insult his intelligence by requiring him to complete more homework than his peers, labeling it as a punishment as if it would cause him difficulty to complete. The night sky outside of his window catches his eye, and he decides to fetch a drink from downstairs (hopefully uninterrupted) before continuing on with his homework.

+•••••+

“You have a minute? I have something I would like to discuss with you.”

Fuck my stupid fucking chungus life.

Damian hesitantly turned around to see his father standing on the opposite side of the kitchen. His father’s face was neutral, breathing even, and posture relaxed. Damian quickly stepped into the mental role of Bruces son, and gave a short reply of acceptance. They walked side by side from the kitchen to Bruce’s study. Bruce let Damian enter first, entering after him and closing the door behind him.

“I’m going to cut straight to the point, son. I’ve noticed how you don’t seem to feel like you can be yourself with your siblings.”

What…

What the hell?

“…”

“I don’t know what you mean, father.” Something changes in Bruce’s expression at that. “I just… I need you to know that you don’t have to earn a place in this family.”

Damian has the sudden urge to flee.

“Of course I know that. As the strongest and best robin, I have more than earned my rightful spot as a Wayne heir.” “Damian. You are more than just a Wayne heir. You’re my son. Now I haven’t gotten the full story, but what’s going on between you and the others?”

This is getting too personal. Abort mission.

Damian starts to walk away. “I have no clue. Instead of wasting my time playing detective, run along and interrogate the others about their own incompetence.” Damian can see it in Bruce’s eyes when his mood changes. Clearly he hit a nerve.

“Damian, I’m asking you because I care, and I can see that something’s up. Despite what you may think, I’m your father. Not your interrogator. Last night-“ Damian interrupts sternly him mid-sentence, voice louder than before. “A biological accident doesn’t make you my father. And it sure as hell doesn’t make me your son! You’re a glorified sperm donor at best, so get off your high horse and stop trying to play God in this ragtag group you call a family.”

“Damian!-“

Damian continues on and takes a couple steps toward him, finger pointing accusatorially toward the older man. “Housing a bunch of little orphan soldiers to make yourself feel better isn’t going to change your own childhood, or the fact that your parents-“

“That is ENOUGH!!” Bruce’s stern words boomed throughout the room. Damian finally stopped talking, his gaze dropping to Bruce’s clenched fists. Deafening silence consumed them. Bruce’s expression was full of betrayal and anger. ‘Maybe he had gone too far,’ a small voice in his head supplies. ‘Good,’ says an even smaller voice. Damian waits long tense seconds in anticipation for his father to continue. He looks to be having trouble figuring out what to say… not that it matters to Damian anyway. In his mind, he will win this fight. In this moment, Bruce is not his father. He is the opponent. He speaks in a neutral tone once he’s gathered his thoughts “You are benched.” Now that gets a reaction out of Damian. He whips his head up, one hand partially stretched out as if to stop something, protests ready on his tongue, when Bruce continues. “Im no longer sure you are fit to be robin.” He speaks evenly and slowly, as if stating a known fact. His posture is straight, his hands are at his sides, and his eyes are locked onto Damian’s, who stands frozen in his place.

“Robin is strong. Robin is brave, and Robin is confident. All of which are qualities you possess.” Bruce pauses. “However, Robin is honest. Robin is kind, and Robin is genuine. Underneath that hard shell, you’re still just a boy.  Until you come to terms with that, your position as Robin is over.” “But-“ “Alfred will retrieve your suit in the morning. My decision is final.” With that, Bruce leaves the room without a care to shut the door behind him. Damian stands unmoving for a couple seconds. What Bruce said actually kind of hurt.

No Robin, his decision is final.

“…”

He stands there for a couple more seconds before glancing at the open door. A mischievous lightbulb goes off in his brain.

“…”

Fuck you and your final decision.

Before he knows it, his feet are marching down the stairs toward the bat cave. Every step fuels his anger more.

Nobody tells Damian Al Ghul Wayne what to do. Not even blood relatives. Miss me with that bullshit.

He storms up to his Robin suit.

Fuck Bruce and his hero complex.

Fuck Grayson and his people pleasing obsession.

He’s consumed with anger as he hastily dresses himself in the top and bottoms of his suit.

Fuck Todd and his inability to move on.

Fuck Drake and his know-it-all attitude.

He slips on his gloves and utility belt. Every weapon is in its place, along with his mask.

Fuck Brown and her-

In his fit of rage, he failed to notice the footsteps coming closer and the voice calling his name. Two things happen at once. First, there is a hand on his shoulder. A millisecond later, the hand is gone, and there is a batarang embedded in the shoulder of his attacker. Except… he turns around and is met with no attacker. In fact, all he finds is Grayson, with…

…with a batarang in his shoulder.

Oh, he did that.

Soft noises of pain leave the older boys mouth. The younger boy finds himself frozen at the scene in front of him for the second time that night. “What the hell Damian?” He doesn’t respond. “What the hell is going on with you?!” He doesn’t respond. It seems like everything he’s been ruining everything he touches lately. He looks to…

…wait.

Wait a fucking second. That can’t be true.

Blood pools out of Dicks shoulder as he watches Damian’s face drop in realization. Damian backs away and looks to the floor, searching his mind for any evidence that can falsify the previous claim that his mind so helpfully supplied him with.

No I don’t… I don’t do that. There’s….

“Grayson. I don’t ruin everything I touch, right?” There’s something unreadable in his older brothers expression. Something of pain and despair.

It would make sense. It seems like none of his loved ones are happy with him at the moment. Was this inevitable?

… Is he truly destined to make people suffer?

Movement in the corner of his eye interrupts his internal dialogue. His head locks onto the source of the movement, locking eyes with the culprit across the room. Of course it’s Tim Drake. Kick a boy while he’s down. He looks from Dick to Tim, neither of the boys knowing quite what to say. Damian takes the chance to charge towards Tim, who had emerged from the entrance of the cave at some point during his internal turmoil, still fully geared up from patrol. Tim, who has obviously gathered that something is wrong, tries to guard Damian from getting to the door behind him, almost as if they were playing a sad game of basketball. Tim Drake may be strong and fast, but Damian is small and faster, which is exactly what gets him past the older boy and out the door into the night with no destination in mind.

+•••••+

“Robin!! Stop!!”

Patrol was long and exhausting. Of course tonight would be the night his little brother decides to play runaway princess.

The last thing he wants to be doing is chasing Damian Wayne. And don’t even get him STARTED on Damian. He is selfish, spoiled, arrogant, rude, and reckless. The kid drop dead tomorrow and Tim would shed a tear of pure joy (which is obviously why he’s going out of his way to make sure his little brother is ok instead of tending to the one with the stab wound). Never in his life did he think he would have beef with a 10 year old at his grown age. (Damian is 12, and Tim knows this.)

“Robin!! Running won’t fix anything!!”

Tim is well aware that Damian isn’t listening. It’s worth a shot. He continues trailing after Damian, following him from rooftop to rooftop while simultaneously maintaining enough distance to make sure the younger boy doesn’t feel trapped, because that won’t solve anything. He looks around, making sure nobody is around, before shouting for Damian again.

“Dami!! Just talk to me! What happened?!!”Surprisingly, this is what stops Damian in his tracks with his back still turned. “I have nothing to say that can be comprehended by a feeble mind such as yours,  Drake.”

Just what I get for being nice. Thanks, prick. Bruce owes him after this one.

“Robin, I don’t know what’s going on, but I know something’s wrong. You wouldn’t just hurt Dick for no reason.” “…You know nothing of me.” “I know more than you think. I know you push people away. I know you think nobody can tell how different you are with each one of us.”

Damian tenses at that. Ah, so that’s it. Gotcha. To be honest, it was just a hunch. “The others may not have caught on, but there’s a reason they call me the smartest. If anyone can understand, it’s Dick. Let’s go back to the cave.”

“I don’t have a place there. Father chose you. I was passed onto him like a chore. You will never understand, so give up.” A beat of silence passes before Tim responds. “He didn’t choose me either.” This seems to pique his interest, as he looks over his shoulder to make eye contact with Tim. Damian seems to believe him, so Tim continues. “After Jason died, B was a mess. I tracked Dick down and told him that Batman needs a Robin.” Seconds tick by in silence. “By that time, he was in bludhaven and refused to become Robin again.” Damian turns to fully face him. “I didn’t want to become Robin, but I begged Bruce to let me take up the mantle because I knew that’s what the city needed. It took months of persuasion. I practically pried my way into the family.”

The air shifts. Something’s wrong. Damian doesn’t seem to notice.

Tim’s eyes widen as Damian looks to the floor of the roof they’re stood upon. Tim looks around. Someone’s here.

“Robin, we-“ his sentence goes unfinished.

A small dart embedded into his neck cuts him off mid sentence. Suddenly, forming a sentence is the hardest task in the world. He is quickly disoriented, tongue becoming heavy and limbs suddenly light. The figure standing in front of him still hasn’t noticed. Is that a bad thing? He can’t tell. What was he doing? He doesn’t know why, but his heart drops. All coherence slips through his fingers like water. His eyes roll back and he feels gravity shift.

+•••••+

Damian can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’s looking down at his shoes, no longer able to face the boy in front of him. “Robin, we-“ Tim’s sentence cuts off. Would things have been different had he known how Tim had found his place in the family? As much as he hates to admit it, he and Tim have more similarities than differences. Tim is still silent. Damian glances up and immediately notices the panicked look on his face. The boy in front of him is wide eyed and his face is starting to droop. Damian’s eyes drop down and meet a blow dart shot into his brothers neck.

This is an attack. Damn it.

Damian readies himself to fight as Tim falls backward toward the shadow behind him. Strong arms reach out of the shadow to catch his brothers fall. The man holding his brother steps out of the shadows followed by 2 men behind him, and 2 other men emerging from surrounding shadows, all of which are dressed in black. The man, who clearly seems to be the leader, clears his throat and steps forward, letting Tim fall from his grasp. Damian frowns slightly as Tim’s head drops against the hard roof floor. That’s gonna be a nasty concussion. “Is this a bad time? Should I come back later?” As he speaks, the goons that had been behind him flock to an unconscious Red Robin. They make quick work of flipping him onto his stomach and restraining his limp arms behind his back. Damian cannot and will not let this happen. “Drop Red Robin, and I may consider letting you live.”

“You, dear boy, are in no position to make such empty threats.”

The younger boy waits.

Fine then. Damian unsheathes his sword. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

+•••••+

Damian has no idea how long the battle lasted. It could have been 10 minutes. It could have been an hour. Damian holds his own ground fairly well against the men double his size. He moves in a rhythm against every attack.

Swipe. Dodge left. Lean back. Kick right. Duck. Punch left. Jump.

He has each goon on the ground before breaking a sweat. Pathetic. He feels a cold realization crawl down his spine as he whips his gaze back to where he had last seen Tim, suddenly aware of loosing sight of him in the fight. Tim remains on the ground, still unconscious but facing upwards, head lolled to the side but facing him. Standing a few feet in front of Tim is the main attacker, along with two new goons that stand loyal at his side. They must have arrived at some point during his fight. “What an impressive performance. Now I do love watching a good fight, especially a bat fight, but unfortunately I’m running on a bit of a schedule.” A goon moves closer to Tim. “Let’s not beat around the bush here. You and Robin #2 are going to come with me, dead or alive.” The

man glances down at Tim, then back up to Damian. “Robin #2 doesn’t currently possess much of a choice, but you, my dear boy, have the ultimate choice.” The goon closest to Tim lifts a boot to hover right above Tim’s windpipe.

Fists clenched into tight balls, Damian takes a furious step forward, but is stopped in his tracks as the goon starts to press down lightly. Tim doesn’t wake up, remaining defenseless. “Either… you both come with me alive, or you try to fight me and the boy dies. Either way, you still-“

Damian doesn’t catch the rest of his sentence due to a blow dart landing forcefully in his neck. A distraction. Of course he would have had men surrounding the perimeter, he should have known better. With Red Robin compromised and himself outnumbered, he’s forced to admit that he can’t handle this on his own. With his last coherent thought, he focuses all of his willpower to locate the panic button located in his utility belt. The man in front of him takes notice of this, and spits out some witty comment that Damian doesn’t catch as his last strands of consciousness slip away, leaving both him and his brother at the complete mercy of their attacker. Damian doesn’t even feel his head hit the ground.

Chapter Text

Tim Drakes eyes blink open before he even knows he’s awake. He doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. Behind squinted eyes, his brain muddily races a mile a minute. He can’t focus on an individual thought long enough to comprehend that something is wrong. Or at least, until his brain regains coherence. That’s when the anxiety sets in. He’s been in situations like this before. To be honest, it comes with his night job.

Thick rope wraps around his torso, wrists, and ankles, binding him to a chair with his arms behind him. He tastes some kind of folded fabric in his mouth, held in place by a wide long cloth wrapped around his head, keeping his mouth closed and the fabric trapped inside. He lets himself slip into an analytical mindset as he quietly feels around the rope encasing his wrists, searching for a knot he doesn’t end up finding. His captors must have experience. The knot tightly binding his wrists together must be tied higher than the farthest point he can angle his hands to reach, meaning he can’t undo the knot. He needs to work fast to assess the situation.

He can smell the harsh scent of mildew and cologne. He can hear water slowly dripping from a leaky pipe, along with quiet breathing from multiple individuals scattered throughout the room he’s in. They must not know I’m awake. Good. I’ll have to make sure I stay still and keep my breathing even. The longer they stay unaware, the more time that gives the others to find me and get me the hell out of here. From the angle his head is at, he can see his Red Robin suit, void of his utility belt and weapons, along with thick rope restraining his chest. That eliminates the chance of this being a civilian ransom. At least he won’t have to hold back. He focuses his eyes past his suit, toward the floor, concrete and dirty. The leaky pipe and lack of light tell him that he’s being kept in a basement.

“If you need information, just ask.” The voice comes from a man somewhere in front of him. “After all, that’s my plan. We’re in an underground base on the west end of the Narrows.” At that, Tim looks up. To his surprise, he is not met with the scene he expected, which would have been some low life criminal with a weapon in hand. No, in fact, he’s met with a clean looking old man standing behind the chair his unconscious 12 year old brother is bound to. His eyes widen. The memory of last nights events hit him like a punch to the gut. The cloth keeping his mouth shut prevents him from speaking his mind.

“I have no ill will towards you, young man. My problem is with the big bad bat in charge.” Ah, so this is one of those ‘revenge on Batman’ deals. “I would like to know every detail about the bat, starting with either his identity or weaknesses. Of course, I won’t force you to tell me. Though I might have to find some ways to… persuade you. Whatever happens from this point on is your decision.” Tim glares at the man. A beat of silence passes before the man takes even steps toward Tim, and Tim feels a small weight lifted off his chest as the distance between the man and his little brother increases. “So what would you like to start with? Are you willing to converse with me if I let you speak?” Tim holds his glare steady for a few seconds, and then silently directs his gaze to the floor in front of him. His captor seems to take that as an answer. “Very well then. If that’s what you wish. Maybe next time I ask, you will have changed your mind.” The well dressed man in front of him shoots a look past Tim’s chair, which must have been a signal to whoever lurks behind his chair, because suddenly there’s movement from the person behind him. Before he knows it, a cloth covers his eyes. Tim thrashes his head around to avoid loosing his sight, and a large, strong, cold hand grips his jaw and cloth-covered cheek tightly, holding his head still as the goon behind him ties the knot of his new blindfold. Tim grunts softly in anger. Being blind and defenseless in the hands of criminals would be enough to make anyone worry, but what scares Tim the most is that he can’t see his brother.

As his eyes adjust to newfound darkness, hard metal knuckles crash into his gut. The air rushes from his lungs, through his throat, and out his nose so fast, it sends him into a muffled coughing attack. Except he can’t get any air into his lungs, which leaves him dizzy and light headed. Brass covered knuckles don’t give him a chance to recover as they make their next impact on his jaw, sending his head flying in the opposite direction. The punches rain down on him. One hit breaks his nose, blood trails down and soaks the cloth around his mouth. Another hit fractures his shoulder. He hears a rib crack under a particularly nasty blow. Each time he thinks the punches stop, they just keep going. Tim takes hit after hit. When the hits don’t stop, he thinks he might have made them angry enough to beat him to death and interrogate his brother instead. Blood oozes from multiple gashes on his face. Muffled sounds of pain get louder and more frequent, more desperate, as he takes each hit. He nearly cries tears of relief when he hears the man step back, until he remembers Damian. If their captor is focused on Tim, Damian stays untouched. He feels guilty for feeling relief at the sound of the man backing away.

“You don’t look too good kid. Ready to talk?” Short and quick, straight to the point. Tim may be in immense pain, but this man could tear him limb from limb and he would still protect each and every one of his family members with every ounce of strength he has. So of course, as stubborn as Tim is, the only sound that comes from him is deep panting from his nose. “I gotta hand it to you kid, you’re a tough nut to crack. This isn’t how I enjoy spending my time… but, if you insist…”

Tim’s whole body tenses, and his fists clench behind him. He expects another hit. Instead, he throws his head back in pain, his body convulses, and he bites down on the fabric incased in his mouth as he feels burning electricity shoot through his veins and pull apart every individual blood cell in his body. After 5 seconds, he starts to let out strained high pitched muffled whines. After 15 seconds, his throat is raw from the pathetic screams clawing their way out of his throat.

Behind his captor, Damian blearily blinks open his eyes. He looks up and sees a neat looking old man towering over what must be his brother, if his memory serves him right. He clenches his fists as he attempts to free himself. He thrashes in his binds. He can’t just sit here and watch Tim suffer the consequences of Damian’s actions, not after getting them both into this mess in the first place. If he would have at least tried to communicate with his family, they wouldn’t be trapped in this situation. The sounds coming from his brother are starting to scare him. He knows Tim is tough, but there’s only so much a human body can withstand, and he has no idea how long he’s been out for. Damian grunts loudly at their captor in an attempt to lure the man away from Tim.

Tim can’t think. His consciousness wavers for a moment. He slumps as the electric rod in his side is pulled back. Someone is speaking, but Tim can’t decipher the words. “Well…-tyou wer-…goodmo…-oy won-…” The voice stops for a beat. Tim blinks, the feeling in his body is starting to come back, and with it, immense pain. His face is fully wet, he can’t tell what’s from blood and what’s from sweat. “…r- manners… -ed rob…” he still can’t make out what the voice is saying. Damian is struggling in his seat, eyes on his brother as the older boy slumps farther into his binds, clearly loosing hold of awareness. “I’m not sure he even heard me. Let’s fix that.” A goon steps out of the room, and returns with a bucket of ice cold water. Their captor doesn’t hesitate before harshly soaking Tim in the cold water. The older boy flinches violently as he’s forced back to reality, sucking in a loud deep breath through his nose.

“Where are your manners, boy?! Let’s try that again, shall we?” Damian glares at the older man as he travels behind Tim’s chair and unties the older boys gag. The cloth falls to the ground, and he sluggishly spits out the fabric bunched into his mouth to keep him quiet. Tim sucks in shallow uneven breaths through his mouth. “Be polite, Red Robin,” the man behind him gathers a fistful of black hair and yanks upwards, forcing Tim’s head back, “tell the nice young man good morning.” Tim’s heart drops as he sucks in a sharp quiet breath. Ice spreads throughout his veins. He has to be the worst big brother in the world. Underneath the shield Damian put up, Tim saw a boy that grew up way too quickly. He swore to himself he would make sure this kid gets at least a semi-normal childhood. So far, he’s failed. Tim can’t protect Damian from much of anything right now. The most he can do at this point is to try to lessen his worry, or try to keep the attention on him instead of his brother. Tim can’t see Damian with the blindfold around his head, keeping him completely blind, and Damian can’t speak to Tim with the cloth wrapped around his head, keeping his mouth closed.

“Rob-,” Tim tries to speak, but trying to use his voice after screaming his throat raw sends him into a coughing fit. Blood launches out of his mouth, and Damian’s eyes widen. After Tim calms down, he tries again. “Robin… emergency action plan D-26…” The sentence didn’t sound as reassuring as he intended, but he knows Damian understands. Part of robin training is to memorize codes for different situations, as well as what each code means and the actions and precautions to take when one of their own activates an emergency action plan. Section D is for if a bat is ever put in a situation where they are taken captive. D-26 means proceed with caution, the captor is after information. Physical harm is guaranteed and escape is not likely. Wait for rescue.

Damian face is creased with guilt and anger. “Not what I told you to say,” the old man mumbles, punching Tim in the gut. Damian flinches, staring directly at Tim, who curls into himself as much as he can while desperately trying to catch his breath, and the old man continues, turning to face the younger boy. “Now let’s make this simple. I have no goal to cause you pain. I just need information on the old bat,” Damian already knows this because of the emergency action plan Tim activated, “it’s your turn, boy wonder. Feeling talkative?” Damian stays silent. “Would you look at that, Red Robin? You bats are all the same.” “No!!” Tim yells, struggling against his binds as the man turns on the electric rod he used to shock Tim. The old man watches with a smile as Tim struggles, thinking his little brother is getting hurt, tortured right in front of him, and Damian catches on to the old man’s cruel plan. He’s trying to make it sound like he’s hurting Damian, when in reality, his target is still set on Tim, and he’s switched his methods from physical torture to mental torture without even getting his hands dirty.

The worst part is… Damian can’t tell Tim anything otherwise.

The electric rod turns off. “This next parts gonna get a little messy… you may not wanna listen to this.” The man snaps his fingers at one of the men in the room. “Get the boy some headphones.” Noise canceling headphones are picked off of a rolling table in another corner of the room.

“No, wait no, what are you gonna do to him, hey wait!!” Tim’s voice got increasingly higher and louder as headphones were shoved over his ears, and he shook his head harshly in an attempt to shake the headphones loose. “Leave him alone!!” The old man in charge let a soft sigh escape his lips. “Listen kid, I don’t wanna hurt ‘cha. I don’t pride myself in hurting kids your age.” Damian would spit right in his face if he could. Instead, he settled for sending him a fiery glare. “Tell me what I want to know. I’m sure you’re fond of this guy, I’m sure you don’t wanna see ‘em hurt. This is your choice.” Tim’s squirming doesn’t stop, he looks scared, and Damian’s heart hurts. “Just look at the poor guy… why would you do this to him? It’s only gonna get worse from here. Feeling talkative yet?”

“What are you doing to him!!” Tim yells from across the room, a ball of dread curling in his stomach. They could be doing anything to his brother, and he’s powerless to stop it. For goodness sake, he can’t even protect his brother when he’s 5 damn feet away from him.