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His back was against the wall, arms raised in front of his face in a half-hearted attempt to shield himself.
The flurry of hits kept going, ruthlessly, full of anger, not stopping—why aren’t they stopping—and all he could do was pathetically cower.
After all, he couldn’t exactly fight his own dad.
“Bratty little— retard—”
He could only catch half of the words his dad was spitting. Why bother with the effort to listen? He knew he should, he really knew he should, because his dad would quiz him on it later, but- They weren’t good things anyway.
A hand gripped his hair and yanked him forward. “What have you got to say for yourself?” Jack hissed.
Tim didn’t reply. He couldn’t. His tongue was stuck to the bottom of his jaw and refused to budge.
It made Jack madder, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing in anger.
Tim braced for another hit, but it didn’t come. Instead, when he opened his eyes, a wad of spit stuck to his face.
His dad spit on him.
Tim went still.
His dad spit on him.
The spit was stuck on his face, his nose, his cheek. It clung to him.
“Pathetic, that’s what you are,” Jack sneered, squeezing his neck. “A pathetic disappointment, a stupid beggar, a fucking pig.”
Tim’s feet wobbled, about to give away from under him.
“You deserve to be spat on. Deserve to be hit. This is the last time you ever yell at me, and the last time you ever sneak out, got it?”
Tim couldn’t reply, the hand on his throat cutting off the breath to reply.
“Ungrateful, rude brat.”
He was supposed to be Robin. He was supposed to be strong. Supposed to be brave. Instead, he was mute and at the mercy of his own father.
“Selfish, selfish pig.”
He could have handled things peacefully. Could have just stood there and taken the insults and the words, then he would have just been grounded to his room and then snuck out anyway. He could have resolved things peacefully. He could have.
But why didn’t he?
“Arrogant rascal.”
That was why.
The hands let him go and he dropped to the floor, still, silent, frozen. Locked.
He went along with Jack’s yells and shrieks, didn’t dare move, didn’t dare wipe the spit off his face, didn’t dare do anything more to antagonize him even more.
He followed along with the punches and kicks without a sound.
Or at least… he thought he wasn’t making a sound. He wasn’t too sure. The world seemed a little… unreal. Like he was in a dream. And dreams always ended. So this would too.
He just had to go through the insults aimed at him, the hits that would surely leave bruises, the sight of Jack’s face in anger.
The door suddenly slamming open.
Jason Todd standing frozen in the doorway. Jack doing a lot more yelling. Jason stalking forward and grabbing Jack, yanking him away.
Jack toppling to the floor. Jason slamming him against the wall, eyes glowing green. Jack going limp after the third knock on his head with the wall, yelling turning to screaming melting to silence.
Jason approaching him, calling his name. Gentle hands on his shoulders. A rough voice asking him something, but not sounding nearly as loud as Jack's. Muttered swearing. A hand cupping his face.
…A hand cupping his face.
Tim blinked.
A hand cupping his face.
A strangled sound clawed itself up Tim's throat. A hand was cupping his face.
Tim gingerly put his own hand on top of the one— the one cupping his face. Gently. Softly. Providing comfort. Creating a dam for the tears that were running down his cheeks. Huh, that was strange.
He didn't know he was crying.
"Tim," a voice breathed out in relief. Tim slowly moved his head in its direction.
"Jason?"
"Yeah, it's me. Are you… are you okay?"
Tim blinked up at the unfamiliar face. "Not Jason," he stated.
"I think I would know if I was Jason or not, kid."
"Jason's dead."
The man grimaced. "Yeah well… not anymore."
"I'm dead."
"Holy shit, kid.” The man that looked like Jason muttered. “No, you're not dead. You're alive. We're both alive."
Tim didn't like the man. He didn't like his hand touching him. The hand was soft and gentle, but he didn't like it. He didn't deserve it. He didn't want it. He didn't like it.
His nose tingled like it always did before he was about to cry. "I'm dead." Tears quickly pooled in his eyes. "He finally did it. I'm dead. He finally killed me."
"You're not dead, kiddo." The man brushed some more tears from the right side of his face. The side where the spit was not on. "Shit, are you breathing kid?"
Tim stopped breathing.
"Shit. Come on, kid. Breathe with me. In, hold, out. Come on. Kid?"
He didn't like it here. He wanted to get away.
Where…? He didn't belong anywhere. He wanted to go to Dick and Bruce. But they were their own family. He didn't belong with them. He didn't belong anywhere. No one wanted him. No one liked him. Everyone hated him. He hated himself.
"Tim!" Hands shook his shoulders. "Tim, snap out of it, kid!" The hand was not on his face anymore. Tim relaxed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered faintly.
"What was that?"
Tim looked up at him—at his childhood hero. He looked older, bigger, with a white streak on his fringe. "I… I don't— He's not—" Tim swallowed. "Are you Robin?" The question came out with raw emotion. "Are you Jason?"
The man froze. His hands on Tim's shoulders stilled. "I… ye— no— I— I used to be." The man scrutinized him. "Kid, you're Robin now."
Tim started shaking. "I'm Robin?"
"Yeah. I— yeah."
This time, Tim actually felt the tears run down his face. "I can't be Robin, I'm— I'm a disappointment." Then he fully burst into tears.
Jason shushed him and pulled him into a hug, letting him have the freedom to move away. "You're not a disappointment, kiddo. I should have realized it before. Who said that?"
"Everyone." His voice was muffled by the brown leather jacket.
"Who's everyone?"
"My dad." Tim hiccuped. "My mom."
Jason muttered a curse, too fast for Tim's sluggish brain to catch. "They're not your everyone, kid. Trust me." He gently raised him to his feet.
"They are," Tim insisted, admitting it out loud into the jacket. "They know me. They know who I really am. They know how I act, how I talk. They know how I think." Tim sobbed. "Sometimes… sometimes I think things that I'm not meant to think. I try to say sorry, but I can't. I never could say sorry to them. I never."
"Kid—"
"I'm sorry," Tim finally spurted. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm sorry I'm a disappointment. I'm sorry, Dick, for not being a good person. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Jason. For— for being a failure. I failed you. I failed everyone. I'm sorry." Tim's voice shrunk. "I'm sorry."
A hand was on his back, rubbing nice circles on it. Tim didn't mind it. The hand belonged to Jason. Somehow. Jason was here. And Tim could enjoy it while it lasted.
Just then, Jason pulled him away and peered at his teary face, examining him. "They shouldn’t be your everyone. I saw what he was doing to you," Jason said quietly. "I saw everything he did and heard everything he said. He— he spat on you, didn't he?"
Tim couldn't control the barrage of sobs that flooded and escaped his mouth, racking his whole body.
Jason brought a hand and cleared the left side of his face, where the tears were mingled with the spit. Tim melted and suddenly—he couldn't hold his own weight anymore. He collapsed to the floor for the second time.
Jason caught him.
"It's okay," he said gently. "It's okay. You're going to be okay." He pressed Tim's head back to his shoulder. "You don't have any major injuries except for bruises, but I bet that hurt too, right?"
Tim let out a muffled sob in response.
"Yeah, I bet. Doesn't matter how light or how hard you're hit—you're still being hit by your own parents."
Jason's hand started sifting through his hair, and Tim whimpered at the gentle motions—a complete contrast to the harsh beating just a few minutes ago.
"I'm sorry, Tim. For what I originally came here for. You don't deserve the things I had cooked up in my head for you. You don't deserve what he did to you either."
Now that was just plain wrong.
"I do," Tim protested, his voice cracking on the last syllable. "I do deserve it, Jason. I'm a fucking pig. I'm a selfish, arrogant brat. A useless waste of space. A stupid begger. I'm—"
Quick as a flash, Jason pulled him up and clamped his mouth shut.
Tim's breaths went shallow once more.
"You're not going to say that," Jason said calmly and lowly. "You are never going to say that. I never want you to say that. I never want you to even think that. Got it?"
Tim's lip wobbled and he cried through the hand clamping his mouth shut. "I'm sorry." The hand moved away. "I'm sorry. I'm still th— thinking it, I'm sorry. I don't know— I don't know what’s wrong with me— I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Hey, hey," Jason pulled him in a hug again. "It's alright, it's alright. We can work on that, okay? We can keep working on it until it goes away."
"O— okay." Tim gulped and gasped out another sob. "Th— thank you."
Jason's grip tightened. "Don't mention it, kiddo."
--------------------------------
The Pit was going to kill him with fury, if he didn’t kill someone else (Jack Drake) first.
The green had risen to such an amount that he had trouble doing basic tasks like breathing and seeing. The Pit was egging him on to kick, stab, shoot, torture, kill—but he was shoving everything in that box that was labelled ‘for later’. For the sake of the kid under his arms, breathing slowly and steadily once more, he was bottling everything up.
He concentrated on Tim's breathing and matched his own to it. He purposely loosened his grip, holding Tim in a way one would hold an egg as tightly as possible without cracking it. He didn't know whether Tim was aware of his fragile hold or was too out of it dissociating to notice.
He wasn't sure if the kid was still dissociating now, but he was breathing straight and wasn't dehumanizing himself, so Jason took whatever he could get.
God, he was here to torture the kid.
Jason bit down on his lower lip and his urge to yank his hair out in frustration.
He didn't know exactly what had happened when he heard the muffled grunts of pain and the sound of a furious man as he had pressed his ear to the door.
All he remembered was kicking the door open, taking one look at the scene, before instincts took over, pushing away his horror and the green enough for him to knock Jack out and keep Tim safe.
He had gone from "breaking bones" to "hugs" real fast. Enough to win a mention in the Guinesses's World Records.
He didn't want to admit it, but at that moment, watching Jack spit on Tim and call him the same names Tim repeated to him, neither the Pit nor his training pushed forward to handle the moment.
Robin had made his first appearance since his death. And Jason didn't know whether that was good or not.
Jason shifted Tim slowly, taking a look at his face to see if he was okay enough to stand again. Instead, his eyes were closed in unconsciousness. Kid was probably exhausted. His hair hung limply on his face, some strands sticking to his forehead, red areas where Jack had hit him made themselves known all over his skin, and a hint of blood was stuck in his nose.
Jason sighed and rested his chin on Tim’s hair.
A rush of exhaustion flooded Jason as well and he noticed the green receding.
He had come here to torture Robin, since the Bats had been hiding him away. Instead, he ended up cuddling him instead.
How did he even end up in these messes? The universe was probably having a hearty laugh at him.
What was he supposed to do now?
He couldn’t leave Tim here with his father, so that wasn’t an option.
He could call the cops, and though they would happily arrest Jack (since those fuckers liked putting everyone in prison), they would take Tim too and put him in their shitty system.
He could call Bruce…?
No. No, he wasn’t ready to see him or Dick as himself. Red Hood was one story. Jason was another.
So that left only one other option…
He had to adopt Tim himself.