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Jerry Lorayne didn’t know what was coming for him.
Honestly, Tim thinks, it’s not wise to kidnap a member of his family. He might be the kidnapee this time around, but that didn’t make the statement less true.
He wasn’t the only one.
Dick was counting the tiles on the roof. Jason was leaning his head against the wall. Wrists chained to a pipe. There wasn’t a word to be heard, and that was fine. They were all waiting for something. Listening. It was only a matter of time before-
Tim straightens himself when he hears a blood-curdling scream. He feels the binds around his wrists dig into his skin, but that is now the least of his concerns. It wouldn’t be there for much longer. He would soon be free from his constraints.
Lorayne, on the other hand, a small-time crime-boss, would not be so fortunate.
Tim watches him slide to the edge of his metal folding chair. He leans forward to give them a mean look, like this was their fault, but they had nothing to do with what was going on outside. Lorayne was the responsible one. He’s the reason they all have to go through this in the first place. Lorayne wouldn’t be exempt.
“You summoned the demon,” Jason barks in laughter. He’s bending over himself now. Shaking with each laugh like he’s strapped in on a roller coaster.
Lorayne cocks his pistol.
Jason keeps laughing, regardless, like there’s nothing to fear. Like he’s not about to get a bullet to the head if he keeps laughing. Tim wants to hiss at him, because contrary to belief, he actually cares about his brother, and he’d rather have him well-enough to sit at the dinner table this evening.
“What are you talking about? Give me some answers. Now,” Lorayne demands. He changes his aim to Dick. He’s got an angry frown on, now, exuding waves of frustration. “What does he mean?”
Dick gives him a sympathetic look. Leave it to Tim’s oldest brother to feel sorry for criminals. “You performed the ritual, but now you must pay the sacrifice.”
Oh, he’s playing along, as if this is actually a thing.
Tim’s the next one at the end of the barrel. Lorayne looks at him with red eyes. Infuriated.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jason says. “He might pretend Red Robin is his least favorite, but it’s usually just a farce.”
“He?” Lorayne growls. “Who did you call?”
Lorayne cringes when he hears another scream. This time, it’s closer, and he knows who the scream belongs to. It’s his right-hand man. Scott Green.
Lorayne doesn’t get a lot of time to fish for answers. Suddenly, the power shuts down, and Lorayne is plunged into darkness. He shoots up in his chair in a ditzy. It falls backwards on the floor as he tries to figure out what to make out of this mess.
The power turns back on, but only for the briefest of moments. Lorayne glances around fearfully as the lights flicker. Giving him only flashes of images of the people held hostage around him.
Tim glances upward. He watches in horror as a strange creature pops out of a vent. He starts crawling on the ceiling like some freaking spider thing, and Tim might’ve actually thought that if he didn’t know who it really was. He’s just never seen Damian move that way before. Damian looked like he was straight out of an R-rated film.
Lorayne looks up. He’d seen the fluttering of Robin’s cape in his peripheral vision.
Robin doesn’t give him a chance for long. He drops down onto Lorayne, the man screams bloody murder, and Robin tears into him like a brain-hungry zombie. He snarls, growls, and slaps his gun away. He then draws his fist back, without much hesitation, and smashes it in the man’s face.
“It took you long enough,” Jason complains.
Damian doesn’t answer him. He stands up from their captor, wipes the blood off of his lips, and then stumbles for Tim. Tim watches him with a wary eye. He should be happier to see his brother, even if they’re not always on the same page, but there’s something wrong with him. He’s limping. The way he drags his ankle would make one think he’s actually some kind of creature from hell, but while Tim might eagerly agree some other time, right now he knows that isn’t the case.
Damian fumbles with Tim’s wrist bindings. Tim waits patiently for him to cut them off. Once Damian’s done, he moves onto Jason, rewarding them with no sounds of acknowledgement.
Tim is rubbing his wrists by the time Damian reaches Dick. He cuts the bindings at Dick’s ankles (Dick had been a little uncooperative, and that rewarded him with extra binds), and then he moves up to his wrists. Dick’s eyes train on him the entire time. He might have been in a joking mood earlier, but he’d noticed something wrong, too. Tim could count on big brother to notice something was off with baby brother.
The minute Dick’s hands are free, he shoots them out, and then uses them to cup Damian’s cheeks. He frowns at Damian’s bruised lip.
Damian tries to pull his face away with a disgruntled noise, but Dick wasn’t having it.
Dick was acting as if it was his first time seeing a busted lip. He was staring at it with a dangerous glower. Like he was going to gut someone for inflicting it. Tim wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
Regardless, Dick keeps the questions inside of himself, aware they were on a short time crunch. He releases Damian’s cheeks temporarily to straighten himself up, but apparently that’s the wrong move. Damian distances himself immediately. He starts making his way for the exit until Tim grabs his shoulder.
“You’re limping,” Tim points out.
Damian looks at him. Tim’s very concerned that he isn’t reacting with a scowl. There’s no insults, either.
Finally, after some time of silence, Damian opens his mouth.
“I am?”
Tim doesn’t think twice. He lifts Damian up into his arms.
“Concussion,” he assumes aloud.
Jason whistles low. He was impressed. “Damn. You’re telling me he took out the perimeter guard while concussed?”
“I can’t really tell if he did or not,” Tim says. He tightens his protective hold. “But it’s clear that he needs some medical assistance. We better get to the cave.”
Tim feels Damian’s fingers grab hold of his suit.
“Did I do-” Damian breathes into his neck, “Did I do good?”
Tim steps over their captor. He leaves the handling to Jason.
“You did great, Damian,” Tim says. “We’ll handle the rest.”
“Mmk,” Damian sighs. “Love you.”
Tim snorts. “Why do those words only come out when you’re either half-asleep or majorly messed up in the head?”
Damian doesn’t answer. He presses his cheek against Tim’s shoulder. Trying to blink away his own blurry vision.
Tim doesn’t say it until they're out of the hostage room, but once he’s sure no one is listening, and that Dick is too far behind to hear him, he says, in a quiet whisper, “Love you, too, brat.”