Chapter Text
The first thing Tim sensed when he woke was the honey-citrus scent pervading the room he was in. It was a wonderful step up from the blood and human excrement he'd been expecting, but Tim couldn’t be glad. Judging by the scent, plus the soft cushions he lay on, the warm breeze, and the sunlight tinting his eyelids red, Tim was imprisoned somewhere within Ra's al Ghul's private chambers.
What did he want this time? Tim thought he'd made it clear he was never going to give Ra's anything, not again. Ra's… he couldn’t…
Footsteps. Another person breathing.
“Good morning, Detective.”
It was no use pretending to be unconscious. Tim propped himself up on his elbows and managed, “Ra's. Wish I could say I'm surprised.”
He was indeed in Ra's's chamber, laid across a low couch near the balcony. Someone (hopefully not Ra's) had changed him from his suit into loose cotton pants, but hadn’t given him a shirt. He had to fight a shudder as Ra's's eyes raked over his scars.
“You’ve sustained a number of injuries since last I saw you, Detective.”
“Occupational hazard.”
Tim sat up fully, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. He heard an unsettling clink-thunk as he swung his feet to the floor and looked down. He had to fight to keep his heartbeat steady when he saw the thick, braided gold cuff twined around his ankle, and the chain leading back to the couch's foot.
“Yes, it’s rather impossible to keep you still and attentive without that,” Ra's said, eyes glittering.
Tim glared. “Take it off.”
Ra's just raised an eyebrow. Tim stood up and kicked out, making the chain rattle.
"I'm not stupid enough to run, Ra's. Take it off."
"You are in no position to demand anything of me, Timothy."
Tim grit his teeth, balling his hands into fists. Pick your battles, Bruce's voice cautioned.
“I’m listening," he said flatly. "What do you want?”
“Sit,” Ra's ordered, turning away from Tim and making a hand gesture towards the curtain-door. “You still favor that ridiculous bean drink over tea, do you not?”
“Coffee,” Tim corrected warily, still standing.
The curtain was brushed aside to reveal two League assassins, one carrying a tray with two steaming pots, the other holding a decorated wooden chest.
The woman presented the chest to Ra's before placing a low table in front of Tim’s couch. The man set the tray there and moved a throne-like armchair to the other side of the table. Tasks done, they bowed low and exited without turning their backs.
“Still living in the tenth century?”
“Sit down, Timothy.”
Tim held Ra's's gaze as long as he dared before submitting, resting at the very edge of the seat and kicking his ankle again to show he was still pissed.
“You can behave. Isn’t it so much simpler, Detective?”
Tim clenched his jaw. That did not deserve an answer.
Ra's sat opposite Tim, physically higher and taller, pose infuriatingly calculated to make Tim feel like a little boy before an emperor.
“What do you want, Ra's?” he repeated.
“So impatient,” Ra's tutted, pouring hot water into a china cup. “Take tea with me, Detective, or coffee, if you must. We have plenty of time for business.”
Tim, glaring straight at Ra's, dumped half the coffee pitcher into a mug and drank the whole thing black without pausing for breath.
The coffee was more bitter than Tim was used to, and hot enough to burn his mouth, but it was worth it to see the mild disgust on Ra’s’s face. He sipped his tea with even more pointed refinement.
“Now will you tell me--"
“By the gods, boy, one more word and I shall slit your tongue!”
Tim flinched.
He carefully drank the rest of the coffee at a more reasonable pace, adding some of the sugar and milk. With no mental tasks or freedom to move, the caffeine made him jittery. His knee bounced rapidly, making the chain rattle against the tile.
He bit his tongue as Ra's procrastinated over the entire pot of tea. When he finally finished, he moved the tray to the side of the table and stood.
“If you promise to behave yourself, Timothy, I shall bring you out with me for some air.”
I'd rather you get to the damn point.
“Kinda hard to take a walk with this thing,” he said instead, kicking pointedly.
Ra's smirked and stooped by the couch. When he rose, he held the end of the chain in his hand. “Come, Timothy,” he called, tugging.
Oh, hell no!
“I am not your dog, Ra's,” Tim spat.
But neither the force around his ankle nor the man applying it gave a crap about Tim’s wants. One swift tug spilled him onto the floor, and one more jerked him upside down, suspended by a shrieking pain in his ankle. Blood rushed into his head as it thunked on the floor, making him dizzy. It took several seconds for Ra's's glower to come into focus.
"The time is long past for you to declare what I can or cannot make of you, Timothy," he hissed. "I intended to treat with you as an equal, but if you continue to behave as an irksome child you will discover precisely how I trained such insolence out of my grandson."
I already know precisely how you tortured all defiance out of the kid, Tim railed. You think we didn't figure out why he never said no to a thing we told him? Why he's scarred head to toe? Why he almost fucking called Bruce 'my lord' when he came to Gotham?
But thinking about Damian filled Tim with a fresh terror. The whole family had been caught in the ambush last night. There was no way Ra's had let them go. Tim - more accurately, Tim’s cooperation - might well be the only thing protecting them from the same torments that haunted his nightmares.
"Fine," he muttered, breaking eye contact. "As you wish, my lord."
"Excellent."
Ra's let go of the chain and Tim collapsed in an ungainly heap at the man's feet. He quickly got to his feet, rubbing the throbbing spot on the back of his head, but keeping his grumbling sotto voce.
Ra's led him across the room out onto the balcony, seeming to float above the ground in comparison to the way Tim had to hobble. He kept just enough pressure on the chain that Tim had to watch his balance when they stopped.
"What have you done with my family?” he demanded.
“They are unharmed. For now.”
"I want to see them. In person."
Ra's ignored this.
“Look at it, Detective,” he murmured, gazing out over Nanda Parbat's lush gardens and crystalline pools. "I gave it to you freely, asking nothing in return but your loyalty. Why do you repay me with hatred?"
"This was never what I wanted," Tim snapped. "I didn't even want your 'help' finding Batman, and I certainly never wanted--"
He bit his tongue. Ra's didn't get to hear Tim admit it.
"What you wanted was someone to believe you," Ra's said. "You were much too far gone to care who or why. But I did believe you, Detective. Your mind was cracked, not shattered."
The retort he'd planned died on Tim’s lips. Too far gone... mind was cracked... but...
"What?" he croaked.
A thin-lipped smile. "I did not think you insane, but I could hardly believe you were in full possession of your faculties. When you are not surviving on adrenaline and obsession, Detective, you are much harder to deceive."
“So you… you fucking planned it,” Tim whispered. His hands balled into trembling fists. “You… you knew, as well as I did, that I was in no kind of state to… that I wouldn't realize... or if I did, that..."
His whole body was shaking now, tears threatening to leak onto burning cheeks. He wanted to throw up.
“This whole time… I thought I was just an idiot, but you… you-- You had the whole thing planned since Paris, didn't you? You knew, you fucking knew exactly how desperate I was, and exactly what you could get me to-- It was all just some sick game… and you fucking enjoyed it!” Tim screamed, voice cracking. “You didn’t let me do it to myself, you did it to me! And you still think you can…”
Tim stumbled back a step, but the chain went taught and he fell, slamming back-shoulders-head into the ground. The world spun, and when it cleared, Ra's was standing over him. Tim froze.
"I did not become the Demon's Head by playing fair, boy," he said coolly. “Even the people you did claim to trust tried to tell you you were ill in your mind. That you ignored their warnings and entered into an agreement with me is no fault of mine - you were free to reject me until the moment you gave your blood in contract."
"But..."
Tim tried to breathe, tried to process the words, because all this time he'd thought-- and yet now-- because even if Ra's... but his mind was a hurricane of His fault, not mine. His fault, not mine. His fault.
Ra's was saying something, but not to Tim. The chain rattled as it was dropped on the ground. Footsteps were coming close. He couldn’t breathe. Someone was crying. A bruising hand latched onto his arm.
He gasped out, “No!”
Everything stopped.