Chapter Text
Log 1: Day 1
Victim: John Doe, Caucasian, age approximation between late 40’s-mid 50’s
Assailant: Timothy Jackson Drake, John Doe’s victim
TOD: 2:02am
COD: Gunshot to the head, point blank, with a Winchester model 1894 hunting rifle circa early 1980’s
Events Timeline:
At approximately 1:50am Damian and I locked Jason and Dick in the cage in the basement due to Jason’s newly protective nature and Dick’s compromised mental state. We couldn’t risk Dick trying to protect Father or Jason trying to protect Dick.
We dismantled the security system connected to Dick and Jason’s collars. We broke into the gun safe and took one of Father’s hunting rifles. We went to Father’s room. I shot him.
Afterwards, we brought Dick and Jason back upstairs. We showed them the body. Dick fell into a dissociative state. Damian worked on bringing him back while I helped Jason out of the belts and mittens and massaged his limbs.
We moved Dick into my room with Jason and he started coming around.
Now: 5:46am
It’s been less than four hours since I killed him. I just finished with Jason again. He’s able to stretch out more but has yet to speak or move. It’s not a lot but it is a win so I’ll take it.
Dick still hasn’t fully resurfaced.
With nothing else to do, I figured I should make a record for the police for when spring comes and we can head into a town. We don’t know where we are. No phone. No internet. No television. No radio. Hell, no map of the area.
All we have is the cabin, Father’s corpse, and the unrelenting winter —T.D.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The door to Dick and Father’s bedroom closed with a muted squeak. Finally, the house fell silent.
Dick always stayed up later than the rest of them despite rising earlier. He had to be awake to respond to any of their needs, after all, and he couldn’t if he were asleep. Tim understood this was an ingrained rule, yet the wait was agonizing.
He took in slow, measured breaths even with the loud beating of his heart in his ears. His adrenaline was already on overdrive and the day hadn’t even begun.
It reminded him of the first time he donned the Robin costume, the first time he went subway surfing with Dick, the first time he jumped off a building to fly. Each time started with him, nervous, standing on a precipice before emerging stronger and better than before.
He wondered briefly if he’d come out of tonight better or worse. Then, he decided it didn’t matter. Everyone else would come out better. That’s what’s important. He could always go to therapy later.
He knew the plan: dismantle the proximity-based shock collar system, get Dick and Jason downstairs, break into the gun locker, kill Father.
The plan was simple. It was deceptively easy and lacked the multiple complicated steps Tim grew used to as Robin and Red Robin, as far as plans go.
The reality of the plan was not. The reality was devastating in a way he’d never faced before. The reality was a man would die tonight by his hand. The adrenaline shooting off like a livewire in his veins gave way for nausea to settle in his stomach. He’s going to kill someone.
He’s going to kill.
He squeezed his eyes shut and staved off the increased thudding of his heart in his ears. He had to do this. He had to. There was no other way. They’d tried and failed before and Tim wouldn’t allow it to happen again. Dick and Jason were too fragile. If they waited until spring to attempt another escape, it would be too late. This had to be done. It had to be tonight.
Slow, measured breaths. In. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Out. One. Two. Three. Four. In…Out…Just like that. There you go, Tim.
They’d already accomplished step one of the plan. Dismantling the system was easy even without the resources he and Damian were accustomed to. No Oracle or EMP device necessary, thank you very much. They didn’t need to worry about the possibility of the collars being tripped by their wearers, either. Both Jason and Dick knew better. The threat was enough for them to obey.
He took in another long, slow, measured breath. He was too wired up for meditation but if he tried he could almost—
Three knocks sounded in quick succession on the wall he shared with Damian. Tim moved. He didn’t need to confer with Damian to know he was right behind him on the other side of the house. Their movements mirrored each other as they crept closer to their targets.
The door and the cage of the crate squeaked simultaneously. Tim almost envied Damian for his target. Jason couldn’t put up much of a fight these days. But Dick was just as contained as Jason, mentally, if not physically. In theory, it should be easy.
Reality never really matches theory, does it?
Tim slammed a hand over Dick’s mouth, shoving his head into the mattress, and Dick’s eyes shot open. Tim knew he’d try to scream or at least make noise. He waited until Dick’s wild eyes landed on him to lean over with a finger to his lips. He hissed out a sharp “shhh”. Dick stared up into his face for what felt like an eternity but Tim knew must only have been a few seconds.
Dick nodded his assent.
“Get up.”
Dick nodded again but Tim still grabbed him and pulled him out of bed. Dick didn’t fight. Tim pretended it was because he trusted him. He ignored the sting telling him he knew the obedience was borne from fear. He didn’t have time to think about why.
He headed towards the door with Dick in tow, hand still around his mouth. Dick either finally woke up or panic set in as he began to struggle. Tim prepared for this. His struggles and muffled exclamations grew behind Tim’s hand as Tim bodily shoved them through the doorway into the hall. In a sudden show of strength Tim thought he no longer had, Dick wrenched Tim’s hand away and he feverishly rushed through the tenets.
There wasn’t time for this. Too much commotion would wake Father and they’d be screwed.
Even as Dick’s harsh whispers grew in octaves, Tim pulled him along down the hall into the dining room where the basement door stood open for them. Dick’s whispering slowed then stopped entirely as understanding set in.
His hand flew to the collar. “Tim?” he asked, voice quiet and shaky.
“We disabled the collars. It won’t be hurting you anymore. But I need you to come with me, okay?”
“We? Who’s we? Where are we going? What’s going on?”
“I need you to trust me. Come on.”
He pulled Dick towards the basement once more and Dick followed silently. His nightgown tickled the backs of Tim’s ankles with each step as he led Dick down the stairs. They reached the main room and Tim suppressed a shudder. It took everything in him to not flinch each time he stepped inside.
He remembered the first week they spent here suspended in inky blackness. They’d been forced to listen to Dick scream and beg following thumps and bangs as he attempted escapes, only to hear nothing but overwhelming silence in their wake. Then the screams started again. This went on for what felt like days before the screams, the thumps, and the fight subsided entirely.
Occasionally, Father still locked one of them down there in the dark as punishment.
For the moment, the single overhead lightbulb was on, creating a small circle of yellow in an attempt to illuminate the expansive room. In the corner farthest from the door, still shrouded in shadow, stood a large metal cell wrapped in chicken wire, spanning from floor to ceiling. They called it the cage. The permanent built-in fixture with its multiple locks earned the title.
Damian stood guard in front of the closed and locked door where Jason sat inside. Damian eyed them with mild interest and annoyance. Jason, who’d sequestered himself into the far corner to escape the wire, perked up when he saw them approach.
Dick paused when he personally laid eyes on the scene. With another show of strength he wrenched his arm out of Tim’s grasp.
“What’s going on? What are you two doing? Explain. Now.”
“I told you, you have to trust me,” Tim responded. Then, he turned to Damian. “Dame’s, the door.”
Tim stood close enough to Dick to hear the man’s breathing pick up as Damian undid the locks. Amongst the four of them, Dick spent the least amount of time in the basement, but he wasn’t unfamiliar. As soon as Father learned isolation and sensory deprivation were effective punishments for Dick, he’d used them. It only took two extended stays in the cage for Dick to be on his absolute best behavior.
Tim grabbed him by the shoulders and gently ushered him forward.
“Timmy, Dami, please, whatever this is I—”
“Dick.” Dick gasped, turning wide eyes onto him. “I promise you it’s going to be okay. We just need you and Jason down here for a little. Not even ten minutes. We’ll let you out soon. I swear.”
Tim could both hear and feel Dick’s breathing turn erratic. Tim caught his eyes beginning to water in the light. Still, Dick allowed Tim to usher him into the cage. As soon as he was inside, Damian slammed the door shut and did all of the locks. Dick watched, moving back as he went, until he touched the wall of the back corner where Jason sat.
He sank to the ground. Jason nudged at him with the nose of his muzzle and let out a soft whine. Dick hugged him close. Both stared at him and Damian as though they were committing an act of utmost betrayal.
In any other situation, they would be. For now, this was for the best. It would keep them safe.
Damian hurried away towards the stairs and Tim followed after him.
“They’ll understand,” he tried in an attempt to soothe.
“I know,” responded Damian. He held his chin high and spoke with an air of confidence Tim knew was merely that. Air. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Just before they passed Dick and Jason’s line of sight of them, Tim ducked down and turned back to them. “We’ll be right back. I promise. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”
He saw a glimpse of confusion cross their expressions before he was up the stairs and out of the basement. He closed the door with a soft click.
They were on a time crunch. That was too much time in the basement and too much noise besides. This needed to be done before Father woke up and realized anything was amiss. He followed Damian into the living room. Tim watched him kneel in front of the gun locker and put in the combination. The room filled with quiet clicks as each number opened the next part of the lock until finally they had access. Tim watched with bated breath as the locker opened to reveal its contents.
The creak as it opened, despite knowing it was coming, still made Tim wince. They’d spent a week applying oil to the damn thing and still it refused to cooperate.
Tim almost started laughing as Damian selected a gun from the five that were inside, along with other weapons Father didn’t want them to get a hold of. The gun was a Winchester 1984 model hunting rifle. A classic. A good reliable, Father called it. It was Father’s favorite rifle.
They were really going to do this…weren’t they?
The adrenaline and the anxiety returned full force all at once, creating a nauseating pool of nerves and energy. It sloshed and settled like Jager bombs on an empty stomach.
Damian examined the gun, ensuring it was in good working condition despite both of them knowing it was. It never hurt to double check. The last think they needed was for their weapon of choice to jam at the last moment. That was a typical end to many a goon in Gotham.
Confident in its ability, Damian loaded the gun, and held it out for Tim to take. His shaking hand wrapped around the forestock. The wood was cool to the touch and the weight felt familiar as he pulled it around to clutch it by the handle. His fingers automatically found the trigger.
Gun in hand, he watched Damian procure a hunting knife with a blade that had a slight upward curve at the end.
They stood in the living room, weapons in their hands, and silence all around them. This wasn’t Tim’s first time handling a gun and this certainly was not the first time Damian handled a knife. It was, however, the first time in a long time either of them held a weapon with the intent to use it on another person.
Tim felt dangerous. It was a certain thrill one developed after becoming a vigilante, a thirst for action. He made eye contact with Damian. Tim knew that glint reflected in his eyes matched his own. It was the look of a Robin knowing they’re about to fuck some shit up and ruin someone’s night.
Neither one had felt that in a long time.
Damian stood with the knife held in a way that looked like he knew exactly how to use it. Tim thought he looked lethal. It was easy to forget the kid in front of him who picked up strays animals like they were candy is a highly trained assassin with an unconfirmed kill count.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” said kid asked.
Tim knew what the question was. It was a reassurance for Damian as well as a way out for Tim. He was asking if Tim was determined enough that, in the heat of the moment, he’d actually pull the trigger. At the same time, it was an offering to take the responsibility off of his hands. Tim appreciated the thought and concern but he’d rather it be him than Damian.
Tim nodded. “I can do it.”
Damian eyed him for a moment longer before deciding he believed Tim. He gestured to the dining room.
“After you.”
They made their way through the house with Tim in the lead. They moved silently through the dining room, down the hallway, and into Father’s bedroom, where he lay sleeping on the far side of the bed closest to the wall. Tim circled the bed until he was facing Father. He held the gun at about point blank range. His finger twitched on the trigger.
He wanted to end this now. He wanted the fucker dead. He deserved it. Tim could do it. He would do it.
Damian remained on Dick’s side of the bed with the knife by his side. He watched Tim as a second passed, then two, three…five.
“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Kill him!”
“No—”
“Oh my god, Drake—”
“It’s too easy.”
“What!” Damian all but screeched, still attempting to whisper. “The FUCK it’s too easy! Kill. Him.”
“Shut it! Get on the bed and hold the knife to his throat. But stay close to the head of the bed so I don’t hurt you on accident.”
“Wha—hurt me on…WHERE are you planning on shooting him?”
Tim smirked, already enjoying the pain he knew he was about to inflict. This wasn’t like him, he knew. Something was wrong. Skewed. Someone took his brain and scrambled it, changing his motives, thoughts, beliefs. Oddly enough he thought of that too old argument between Bruce and Jason he’d heard about where Jason supposedly killed that rapist. For once, Tim found he understood Jason in that moment.
Just like Jason, he wouldn’t regret it.
“You’ll see,” he said.
He cocked the gun, turned the safety off, and aimed down along Father’s body, right where his groin was. All Tim could see was the man torturing Dick. All he could picture was Dick tied down to the very bed the man slept like a baby on, face down ass up, muffling his screams into the sheets. All he could hear was the counting and the wet smack as the bastard’s belt whistled through the air to land hit after searing hit along Dick’s bloody thighs and ass.
And Jason.
Don’t get Tim started on all the man had done to Jason.
He deserved this.
Damian followed the movement of the gun and let out a low whistle as he spotted where the muzzle pointed. That, of course, is what woke Father up.
The man’s eyes flew open and Damian was upon him instantly, curved blade pressed close to the precious veins in his neck. The knife was sharp and drew a thin line of blood.
“Don’t move,” Damian growled.
Father’s dark, empty eyes settled on Tim. He smiled down at the man as he watched his expression change into one of understanding. He’d been played.
“Wha—” is all he got out before Tim interrupted him.
“This is for Dick.”
He pressed the trigger.
Father let out a gut-wrenching scream as Tim shot him in the dick. Blood splattered over the sheets. The man’s hands flew out and, seeing his chance, Damian grabbed his right hand and sliced off his pointer finger and pocketed it. When he was done, Tim cocked the gun again and made eye contact with him as warning. Damian took the hint. He threw himself across the room as Tim let out another shot and another, one for each hand.
“Those are for Jason.”
He couldn’t even scream. His head was thrown back in silent agony, mouth agape, eyes bloodless as he gurgled, choking on his saliva.
Tim cocked the gun a final time and aimed it directly between the man’s eyes.
“Look at me.”
Father couldn’t control himself with how much pain he was in. Tim recognized that. He also didn’t care. This insect and his pain didn’t matter after everything he’d done to them. Tim reengaged the safety and smacked him on his head with the butt of the gun.
“I said, LOOK AT ME!”
Father’s eyes finally flicked to Tim again. Tim turned off the safety once more.
“This is for being the rat bastard who kidnapped us and tortured my brothers.”
He pressed the trigger.
More blood splattered over the bed, the wall, the nightstands, and Tim. The howl of pain cut off with the final bang. Soon, the room was engulfed in silence filled only by Damian’s heavy breathing.
Tim’s ears buzzed. His hands vibrated from the recoil. Everything within him stopped. The adrenaline. The fear. The anxiety. The stress. Everything faded away to numbed nothingness. He even forgot to breathe.
He couldn’t believe it.
He’d just killed someone.
And he’d enjoyed it.
“—im. Tim…Timothy!”
Tim startled with a violent shudder backwards as Damian appeared in front of him. Damian wrestled the gun out of his hands, turned the safety back on, and threw it on the bed. Then, he grabbed Tim’s shoulders and squeezed.
“Breathe. You did it. It’s over. You’re fine. Breathe.”
“I did it.”
“We did it.”
“…I’m fine.”
“You’re fine,” Damian agreed.
The hands on his shoulders squeezed harder. The pressure was solid. It was real. It was an anchor to guide him through whatever this was—probably shock, if he had to guess. He moved his still-vibrating and shaking hands up to Damian’s wrists and held on for dear life.
Tim had complete control over this. He was just in shock from the relief of being free and knowing he’s not supposed to kill anyone. There were rules. It was against their code to kill. It was wrong. But…but he had to do something. They had to do something. They had to. There was no other choice. They did it. He did it.
Holy shit I just murdered someone.
Oops there he went.
Damian luckily saw it before Tim felt it. He eased Tim on to the scuffed and newly stained hardwood so he didn’t collapse in on himself.
He didn’t know how long they stayed there but it was long enough for his ears to stop ringing and for his limbs to stop feeling like gelatin. It could have been two minutes. It could have been an hour. Shock did that to you.
Damian pulled back to sit on his heels. “Tim…Jason and Richard are still downstairs.” It was gentle but it was a nudge all the same.
Fuck, Jay and Dick.
“Yeah…yeah, okay. Just—”
Using Damian as a convenient crutch, he managed to climb to his feet. He held on until he was certain he wouldn’t collapse again. Then, he was fine.
He grabbed the keys for Jason’s bindings before heading back downstairs with Damian.
They entered the basement to see Dick huddled in that far corner with Jason still in his arms. His expression was stony. His eyes were narrowed. They only narrowed further when he laid eyes on Tim and Damian.
With voice low and gravelly, Dick asked, “what did you do?”
“It’s okay. You two are safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Tim explained again. Dick blinked at him, seemingly not comprehending the response. Tim sighed and knelt down in front of him. Dick tensed like he wanted to try to find an escape from him. Tim scooted back. “It’s over Dick. He’s dead…we’re free.”
At that Jason finally sat up, eyes more alert than he’d seen in months. Teal eyes roved over Tim and Damian. If they helped him come to a conclusion, he didn’t show it.
“We’re going to take the collars off,” announced Damian.
He held up the finger. Dick eyed it the way a cat owner eyed a gifted dead mouse, with trepidation and concern. Maybe a little awe as well. Though, that could be Tim’s outstanding optimism claiming that.
He still felt off-kilter. Shoot him.
Damian approached Dick first. They all watched as Damian pressed the pad of the finger against the collar’s latch. It took three seconds for the collar to beep. Then, a green light glowed beside it and the clasp broke apart. The collar was off.
Dick blinked as the pressure disappeared. His hands slowly rose to his neck where the collar sat like a loose necklace. His fingers hovered above it and it became clear he was unsure what to do. The fear of punishment was too great even with their reassurances.
Tim reached for the collar. He smiled at Dick. Softly, he said, “here, let me do it.” With slow, measured, and telegraphed movements, he moved closer to Dick and grasped the collar. There, he gently tugged it off and threw it away.
At the same time Damian shed Jason’s collar and threw it away as well.
“The keys.” Damian held out his hand expectantly. Tim plopped them in the proffered hand.
Tim saw when Dick recognized the set of keys. Something settled in him as he watched Damian test out the multitude of different keys on the tiny padlock. Tim didn’t even know why the man needed so many keys unless there were other kinds of locks like Jason’s in a secondary location. Dick reached out and pointed to a small silver one that looked about the correct size for the padlock.
Of course, Dick should know which key was correct. He was the one who mainly dealt with Jason over the last few months. Damian raised an eyebrow at him as though he were asking for confirmation and Dick nodded.
“The key hole should be underneath…yes, there.” Damian jammed it in and twisted resulting in a tiny click. “I’ll do it. You’ll hurt him otherwise.”
Dick scooted forward on nightgown-padded knees as his hands came to the first set of bindings they wanted to get rid of. It was a gag made in the shape of a dog snout—shockingly similar to Titus, if Tim thought about it. He tried not to think about it. It only came off during meal times or when Father wanted him to play with a dog toy. It went on sometime during their first month here at the house and remained a permanent fixture since, along with paw-shaped mitts on his hands, the straps keeping his legs bent, and a tail. Tim didn’t like thinking about the free-standing tail.
Jason whined as they eased the gag off. It was a muzzle keeping his mouth closed over a ball gag. It was intended to silence as well as a way to enforce drooling, just like a dog. Tim’s jaw ached in sympathy as Dick removed it entirely.
Jason whined again and pawed at his face. Dick shushed him. He ran soothing fingers through his hair as his other hand massaged his jaw.
“There. That feels better, doesn’t it?” Dick asked sweetly, voice slightly breathless with a laugh.
Tim’s mood and stomach soured at the tone. Damian turned away to glare holes into the chilled concrete flooring. They both hated the way they were force to speak to Jason. It was reminiscent of that overly high-pitched baby tenor people gained when speaking to children and animals. Dick adopted it early on—on purpose to help him cope or because of Father enforcing it, Tim didn’t know.
Damian cleared his throat. “We should go upstairs.”
Tim agreed. He wanted to get started on the belts on Jason’s legs as soon as possible. They needed to figure out what their next move was and how to handle the body. Most importantly, Tim needed Dick to see Father was dead.
He didn’t look forward to it. Out of all of them, Dick and then Damian became the patron saints of following Bruce’s one rule. From his tone when they returned to the basement, Tim knew Dick was aware of what they did. Even in this instance he was against it.
Tim hoped he’d forgive him.
For the time being, baby steps.
“Damian’s right. Let’s go back upstairs,” Tim urged. “We’ll deal with the rest of Jason’s stuff up there.”
They made their way upstairs and Tim led them towards the main bedroom.
“This may be…shocking,” Tim landed on.
He wanted to laugh. There wasn’t a much better description for a scene like this. There was no way to ease into the reveal when Dick already knew. Dick looked for all the world like a soldier marching into battle. Tim recognized the look. He’d seen it plenty in his tenure as a vigilante by Dick’s side: preparation for something Dick knew he’d not fully come back from.
As soon as they passed the precipice of the doorway, Dick froze, only a single step inside. Jason scrambled around the bed as though he couldn’t believe it was real. As if the blood on their hands weren’t proof enough.
Normal Jason would have commended them. He’d preach and prostrate about how Bruce’s no-killing rule was short-sighted and sometimes you had to take matters into your own hands. Any other day-no, any other year-Tim would have disagreed. Current Jason huffed and snuffled around. It was the only way he was allowed to show interest. Other then, of course, the way he came back around and nosed at Tim’s hand.
He recognized the scent of gunpowder.
That’s how he knew Tim was the culprit. That’s what Tim told himself. It didn’t help the way he needed it to.
Dick sucked in a breath. “Who…you two,” he choked out. His gaze darted between the two of them.
“Yes, Richard. We killed him.”
“We had to.”
Damian stepped forward. Dick stepped back. Damian returned close to Tim’s side and Dick took another step back.
“There was no other way, Dick—” Tim ignored the flinch at his name and barreled on “—if we didn’t kill him there wouldn’t be another chance. This-this was it.”
Dick licked his lips. He wanted to say something but Jason moved closer to nudge at his leg. Dick glanced down at him and Tim watched the battle wage. He watched swimming-pool blue, still bright even in the dim moonlight, rove over Jason’s form before landing back on the two of them. He then looked back to Father’s body.
Calculating.
Human life was never a price one could calculate but damn if they didn’t try each and every night as vigilantes. Tim wondered how much Dick believed Father’s life was worth after the man’s actions.
Eventually, Dick nodded, even if that nod appeared shaky, gaze distant, haunted. He made his way around the bed to step right where Tim collapsed only a few minutes earlier. Damian crossed the room to sidle up to Dick’s side and, in an uncharacteristic show of physical affection, wrapped his arms around Dick. Tim saw him squeeze tight as Dick’s arm pulled him close immediately, eyes never leaving Father
Sensing this was a moment Dick needed for himself, Tim turned his focus to Jason.
“Jay, let’s go to my room. I want to get all of that off of you.”
Tim turned away from the scene and heard the familiar thumps of limbs behind him telling him Jason followed. Meanwhile, his mind reeled.
Tim couldn’t begin to imagine the thoughts and emotions running through Dick. He was the glue that held them all together these past five, six months. When they’d first arrived, Dick spent less than a day in the basement before Father dragged him upstairs. Since then, Dick became the carrot to dangle in front of them to force them into obedience. Those first few days were agonizing to hear, and Father knew they wouldn’t want a repeat.
Tim emerged from the basement second, after those first few days fell silent. Fight or flight coursed through him and his fingers itched to fight back but Dick’s appearance, that false paparazzi smile Tim recognized, made it clear. There would be no fighting.
The dynamic was set.
As he sat down for his first real meal, the expectations became obvious in so few words. Their kidnapper was “Father”. Dick was their “Mother”. Tim and Damian were to be their sons.
But had the man miscounted? There’s four of them.
No, he had not miscounted.
To solidify the delusion, Father forced Dick into a dress and heels. Tim noticed the odd cinching of Dick’s waist, accentuating his hips, reminiscent of the silhouette of corsets as well. Dick donned a wig of long black hair almost reaching his tailbone, styled into a half bun with the loose ends left to gently curl at his waist. Then came the makeup, the soft pink hues the final nail in the coffin of forced feminization, which was then solidified by a name change.
Rachel.
On Tim’s first day out of the basement, Dick attempted to warn him of the plans for Jason. Tim had to watch in horror as Father not only caught the warning, but punished Dick for it, in front of Tim. He forced Dick to identify what he’d “done wrong”, choose an appropriate amount of lashings with a belt, count each one, then thank Father for the correction and for making him a “better wife”.
Tim almost threw up at the scene. He was glad he didn’t. Dick would have been the one forced to clean it up.
Still, Tim appreciated the warning, regardless of how little it accomplished in the face of reality.
You can hear a person will be made into a family dog and still not fully comprehend the extent of the meaning. Tim sure didn’t, until more than a month later when Jason emerged, newly broken, in his bindings.
Tim didn’t know what Father did to him but whatever it was, it took a capable crime lord and turned him into a literal dog.
They were all too stunned to react.
Dick actually broke character and fought back resulting in his first long-term stay in the basement.
As for him and Damian, they remained upstairs, uncomfortable and sick with the knowledge of Father’s actions as he enforced the new addition to their dynamic. He forced Damian to play with him and feed him. He forced Tim to take him outside for the bathroom and to help train him. If they disobeyed or lacked enthusiasm, Father activated Jason’s shock collar and added another hour to Dick’s isolation.
Tim allowed the memories to fade as he helped Jason onto the bed. They wouldn’t be of any use. Damian had Dick. Tim had Jason.
He ignored how light Jason was as he maneuvered him onto his side. Jason blinked up at him, eyes wide and watchful, just as a curious dog’s might be.
Stop. Stop making comparisons. Focus.
Tim felt around the mitts to get an idea of what he might have to look forward to underneath. From what he could surmise, the mitts forced Jason’s fingers to curl into his palms at the first knuckle. He’d been walking like that for months. That…must have been painful.
Tim blinked back the emotions and smothered them with logic.
He’d need to remove them carefully so as to not dislodge them too quickly. The pressure release would be more than enough pain as it was. Tim would need to massage each individual finger up and down the entire digit before moving forward with physical therapy and stretching.
He moved on to examining Jason’s knees, already knowing he’ll tackle Jason’s hands first. His knees and legs would require the same ministrations as his hands. The muscles no doubt atrophied and so it would take a lot more physical therapy. Looking at the lack of give in the bindings, Tim wondered how Jason hadn’t lost his legs. Was that part of Dick’s care? Did he and Father alone allow Jason to stretch out every once in a while so the lack of blood flow didn’t kill the limbs?
There was another option that left Tim sick to his stomach. The limbs were already dead and Jason had been forced to lug around literal dead weight. If that were the case, they’d need to amputate.
Tim let out a shaky breath and tried not to let the despair take over. It was horrible. This was horrible. What had been done to Jason was cruel. It was sadistic.
He unlocked the padlocks on each hand.
“We’ll go slow. I’ll take the mitts off and rub feeling into your palms then work my way down to your fingers. It’s going to hurt. I need you to—can you—do you trust me?”
Jason stared up at him. Tim swallowed. Something was there, acceptance, recognition, resignation. Tim wished Jason didn’t wear a damn helmet all the time in their daily lives. He’d be able to read him a lot easier if the man bothered to show his face around them.
Dick could read him, Tim’s traitorous mind supplied. Dick actually bothered to care enough to acknowledge him.
Tim bit down on that thought and tore it apart with gnashing teeth.
He eased the first mitt off. Exactly as he’d explained, he started at the heel of Jason’s hand, smoothing insistent pressure over it as he carefully rubbed feeling back into the appendage. Tim was surprised at what Jason’s hand looked like. It was white, pale, and somewhat damp, with texture imprints lacing it at odd places. It reminded Tim of how skin looked after being in a cast.
He knew when sensation finally returned when Jason closed his eyes and buried his face into the bedding. His arm and hand twitched, clearly wanting to pull away. As Tim moved further down the hand, Jason began to whine. If Tim listened closely he thought he heard the way it ticked up into more human-like smothered sobs.
“I know. I’m sorry. I know this hurts. The pins and needles will go away you just have to make it through them,” he tried to soothe.
His face and eyes grew hot and Tim knew he’d lost the battle against his emotions as the dam broke. He sniffled, blinking back tears, even as his throat wobbled.
He couldn’t know how much this hurt. Tim had never been in this situation before. He’d been kidnapped and bound enough times and for long enough, however, to know the hot pins and needles sensation as feeling returned was a bitch to get though. After not feeling for months, Tim couldn’t fathom how much worse it must be for him.
Even though Jason was in pain, at some point in Tim’s ministrations Jason tuned in to his distress. He pressed his head against Tim’s thigh and nuzzled into it as if to say “we’re in this together, Timbit”.
Tim gasped. He heard Jason’s voice so clearly there he might as well have said it. That, more than everything else, broke him.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed out. Tears leaked down his cheeks. “I-I’m…s-so sorry. You did—didn’t deserve this. I should’ve—” he cut off with a loud sob.
Jason nuzzled in further.
Tim continued working as he cried until one full hand was done and he could move on to the next. He tried not to think about how Jason was about to be in more pain all over again. He removed the second glove and got to work.
More whines slipped from Jason’s throat as the bed dipped further by Tim’s legs. They soon devolved into more guttural groans, sounding far more like Jason than the dog he’d been forced to become.
As far as Tim was concerned, he couldn’t have finished fast enough. Unfortunately, his hands weren’t the main issue. Tim dreaded what came next.
To calm himself as well as get Jason’s attention, he ran his fingers through Jason’s hair. It grew longer in their captivity despite Dick’s best efforts. He’d washed Jason not ten hours earlier. It was soft and smelled like Dick’s current shampoo, a mixture of honey, lavender, and rose.
“Jay,” he called, voice soft and thick in the sudden quiet as Jason’s pained noises lessened.
Jason poked his head out from the sheets. Tim smoothed his hand down Jason’s face to rub at his jaw and caress his chin. Jason sighed, leaning into the touch.
“You know, don’t you? What comes next?” Jason let out another whine. “I know. I’m sorry. And I know that doesn’t help either. Just like before though. We’ll get through this together. If you need a break, let me know. Kick me. Bite me. Scratch me. Whatever you feel you need to do, do it, and I’ll stop.”
Tim gave them both time to breathe and recover. This would be painful. This would be hard. He’d rather have a mission again. At least when he was killing Father he had a plan to execute. This was merely endurance. Tim knew they were both good for it. That didn’t make it a fun time.
“Okay, I’m going to get started. Remember, tell me somehow if you need a break.”
He moved to the other end of the bed and examined the straps. Jason’s legs were held in a sort of canvas bag cinched shut then buckled tight atop what looked like the lower half of a bitch suit. It hid the entirety of his naked legs from view. Anything could be inside.
Tim started by rhythmically squeezing his knees and the surrounding areas. If Jason started feeling uncomfortable it meant the limbs were still alive, which in turn meant they could be saved and they wouldn’t need to amputate.
He hardly breathed as he began. His heart thudded in his ears once more. Instead of adrenaline there was only anxiety coursing through him. He didn’t want to know the outcome.
It took what seemed like minutes before Jason started squirming. The squirming morphed into attempts to twitch out of Tim’s grasp. It was the low, whining moan that told Tim his leg was still alive.
He let out a breath of pure relief as his shoulders dropped and the anxiety ebbed somewhat.
With more confidence in his ministrations, Tim undid the first strap keeping his knee tightly bent. Jason let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a shout. As he’d done with Jason’s hands, he continued to press and massage and work feeling back into the joint. His confidence grew and he undid the other strap. Jason’s calf and ankle immediately fell away from his thigh. Tim was glad he’d kept the canvas bag on so Jason’s leg didn’t go flying down.
Jason squirmed more and his pained sounds grew louder.
“I know, I know. I wish we had pain meds or something…well, I mean, we have moonshine but I don’t know how much that would help.”
Tim considered it the moment the words left his lips. He could give Jason moonshine. He quickly thought better, though. God knows the man hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. The last thing they needed was for anything relating to Jason’s blood changing, even if it would help numb the pain. The payoff wasn’t worth the risks.
Jason bit down hard in a section of bunched sheets, wrinkling the previously smoothed surface.
The process was long and arduous as he worked through the rest of the first leg then moved on to the second leg. He repeated the actions step by step. Jason began sobbing at some point in the process. It hurt enough Tim noticed Jason clutched the blankets in his hands.
Tim didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign.
When he was finished, he sat back with a long, weary sigh. He felt drained. His hands cramped. His nose crusted over from the snot. His eyes and cheeks were damp and his lashes clumped together in the corners. He never wanted to repeat that again.
Through blurred vision Tim checked the time on the basic alarm clock on his bedside table.
Red numbers blinked 4:05am at him.
Helping Jason took nearly two hours. He sat there on his knees listening as Jason calmed down. He petted Jason’s legs in an attempt to soothe something he knew he couldn’t help.
Where were Damian and Dick through all of this?
Dick would have heard Jason’s pain. He should’ve come running. That meant something was wrong on their end.
Tim eyed the sliver of space on the bed between Jason and the wall. He could go for a nap right about then. His conscience wouldn’t let him, however. He knew that.
He stood and stretched out, rolling his neck, and flexing his hands. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, am I right?
Tim once again petted Jason’s hair to get his attention. “Hey, I’m gonna go check on Dick and Dami. Don’t move too much. I’ll be right back and I’ll bring some ice.”
Jason didn’t respond. He hardly acknowledged Tim spoke to him but that didn’t surprise Tim. He made his way out of the room. His room faced the door to Father’s so he could see straight down the hall inside. Dick and Damian disappeared. In their place two puffs of black hair peeked out above the bed.
He allowed his footfalls to gain volume to announce his presence as he entered the room. Even so, he still knocked on the door. One tuft of hair snapped up to reveal Damian’s green eyes.
Tim came around the bed. He paused at the foot of it, looking over the two of them. In the two hours he’d helped Jason they’d sunk to their knees on the floor in front of the corpse. He tried to get an idea of Dick’s state. All he could see was the rapid rise and fall of his chest. This told Tim Dick’s breathing was harsh and shallow. Hyperventilating. Panic attack?
“So I got everything off of Jason,” he reported. “He’s not going to be able to move for a while. Figured we could ice his hands and knees.”
Damian readjusted his hold on Dick to face Tim better. “We heard…was it that bad?” he asked quietly.
Tim shrugged. There wasn’t much to say. “It’s about what I expected. The good news is, we don’t have to amputate his legs.”
Damian blinked a few times. “Good. That would’ve been unfortunate.”
Tim snorted. Nice save. Damian shot him an unimpressed look as though he knew exactly what Tim thought.
Tim sat down on the corner of the bed. Damian turned back to Dick. Tim watched him apply pressure along specific points. Not panic attack, then.
“Has he been like this the whole time?”
“Just about. He collapsed without a word.”
Tim chewed on his lip. He had an idea of what was running through Dick’s head. The blood. The gunshot. The particular brand of tortures Father utilized. His mind jumped to the next obvious clue: dissociation.
Tim moved to kneel in front of Dick. “You’ve been talking to him? Providing stimuli?”
“I’m not an amateur,” Damian snapped. “I know how to bring someone down from a panicked dissociative state.”
He threw his hands up to say “I’m not a threat” as he hid a smile. He still managed to catch Damian’s gaze and he kid rolled his eyes. The familiarity was nice. Damian snapping at him like this like they were arguing on patrol was nice.
“I was just making sure,” Tim assured.
Tim he sat back on his knees. With his position between Dick and the bed he should’ve been able to hide the worst of the carnage. Also in his position he could finally take a better look.
Dick’s eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring blankly ahead. Dick was a million miles away somewhere deep in his head. If Tim had a choice between dealing with Jason’s problems and Dick’s, he’d take the dissociative state any day of the week.
“I think we should move him into my room with Jason. Being away from the body should help.”
“I’d considered such an option but I needed your assistance.”
“Is he that heavy?”
“No,” Damian turned away. Even in the dark Tim could see him turning red. “I have gained weight and lost muscle.”
Tim snorted. “Three square homecooked meals a day and no night life will do that to a person.”
“I hate it. I feel weak.”
“Why didn’t you ask for help?” Damian didn’t respond and he still didn’t look at Tim. Oh fuck you. “Really? Really, Damian? Are you fucking serious?”
“Shut up and help me,” he hissed.
Tim rolled his eyes and turned back to Dick. “Dickie, I know you can hear me. We’re going to leave the room. Jason’s all alone just down the hall. I really think we should all be together, so Damian and I are gonna help you to my room. Do you think you can do that?”
Dick still didn’t respond. Tim looked to Damian and Damian nodded. Tim moved to Dick’s other side and together they lifted him to his feet. Tim counted his blessings that Dick’s feet moved with them as they made their way through the room. Tim faced Dick sideways as he helped him to mitigate his sight of the body as much as possible.
It was a painfully slow journey from their bedroom to his. The hall never felt longer. The thought struck him that maybe he’d lost some muscle too. They entered the room and Jason poked his head out from the blankets. Tim saw his skin was blotchy and his eyes were swollen. He perked up when he saw Dick, though, and that staved off the guilt.
“We’re going to set you down next to Jason, okay Dick? Jay’s right there. Damian and I are just gonna grab some ice for him.”
He said this for Jason as much as for Dick so Jason could scoot over and make room. They deposited Dick on the edge of the bed next to the pillows. Tim helped Jason settle himself into Dick’s lap and Tim placed one of Dick’s hands on Jason’s hair. Despite being vocally unresponsive, Tim spotted the movement as his fingers twitched. Jason, for his part, relaxed immediately, becoming liquid in the man’s lap.
With the older two situated, Tim pulled Damian with him to head into the kitchen. Damian leaned against the wooden door frame and watched Tim grab a bowl.
“You should know it wasn’t my intention to leave you with Jason. I didn’t want to overwhelm him and I didn’t want to leave Richard alone.”
Tim loudly scooped ice into the bowl. When it was full he grabbed four plastic bags and began separating the ice into them. Damian’s gaze followed him all the while. Tim flustered under it. Damian didn’t have a right to say shit to him.
He was so focused on not snapping at Damian he didn’t even notice when the bowl of ice became half empty. He spotted the two smaller bags already full.
“Jason and Richard will need support. I understand that…But Tim—”
“What?” he rounded on Damian. “What do you want?”
“Are you okay?”
That made Tim freeze. Out of everything he expected to come out of Damian’s mouth, that was not it.
A little desperately, Tim asked again, “What?”
“I’m sorry I left you with Jason. I didn’t realize you’d want me there…are you okay?”
Tim let out a long breath and sagged against the counter. That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t being fair. He knew they couldn’t leave Dick alone in that state. Damian was right. So why did he feel like this?
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Damian shuffled closer. Tim spotted his raised hand hovering in the air between them. Tim shook his head and Damian lowered it.
“Look, whatever you heard in my room—”
“I’m just saying. You killed a man. You went through a difficult experience with Jason. After tonight, you’ll still need to gain back their trust. I know why you did what you did. They won’t.”
Tim turned back to the ice to finish separating the bags. Then he grabbed a separate smaller bowl, grabbed some more ice as well as a few kitchen towels, and left the room. He heard Damian huff behind him as he grabbed the bags of ice.
Back in the room he wrapped the ice in the towels. He placed the two smaller bundles in Jason’s hands then he laid the other bundles on each knee. After that he fed Dick an ice chip before putting another piece of ice in his free hand. He continued to alternate between the feeding Dick ice and applying ice to different parts of his body, speaking with him the entire time, until Dick finally blinked back into awareness.
Damian settled with his knees to his chest in front of his closet door. He silently watched Tim work until he was finished.
He turned to Damian but spoke to the room as he announced he was going to get cleaned up.
He just needed the blood off. A fresh pair of clothes after a hot shower and a little alone time would make him good as new. By then Dick should be responsive enough. Tim could help Jason start stretching and together they could come up with a plan.
He needed something to do, a mission, a goal, something to distract him from everything. Damian was right about one thing: he’d just killed a man.
He’d committed murder. In addition, his older brothers didn’t trust him. Damian wanted to help but clearly didn’t know how.
Everything fell to him.
He just needed a plan…then everything would be fine.