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Tim woke up in little bits and pieces that drifted into his consciousness with all the haste of Damian forced to go to a charity gala. Observations slipped through his sluggish synapses and floated away just as quickly. The first thing he noticed was that he was just so sleepy . Like, bone deep, ignore all of your responsibilities, turn off your alarm instead of just hitting the snooze button sleepy. But between late night patrols and early morning meetings, that was a fairly common occurrence.
The second thing Tim noticed was a persistent beeping noise disrupting his sleepiness from somewhere not far away.
Bomb? Tim’s synapses whispered. Maybe.
The third thing Tim noticed was that all of his limbs felt like they’d been emptied out and filled back up with wet sand. And while being sleep deprived to the point of stupidity was something Tim was intimately familiar with, this kind of heaviness was attributed to a less common experience that he had gained in his time as Robin.
Drugs. Fuck.
With a violent jolt, Tim ripped his eyelids open, trying to take in his surroundings before they inevitably fell closed again. He couldn’t even manage to sit up before there were several hands reaching out to steady him. Two warm spots on his right arm, one on his bicep and the other on his forearm, preventing it from bending. Another warm grip on his left shoulder pressing it back into the - chair? bed? - cushion behind him. The beeping got louder, demanding attention from the other side of the room.
Definitely a bomb his synapses whispered, just as unhurried as they’d been a few - minutes? hours? days? - moments ago. A soothing voice spoke from beside him.
“Shh, it’s alright Tim. Relax, you’re safe.”
“Where am I? What’s going on?” He demanded, or, more likely, slurred. Honestly, Tim wasn’t even confident the words had come out at all. He opened his eyes again - when had he closed his eyes? - and his head lolled over to the side where that warm hand still gripped his shoulder. Funnily enough, the hand was attached to a man - most likely, everything was pretty blurry actually - staring down at Tim, eyebrows furrowed, but mouth quirked up in a soft almost-smile. He was so distracted by that worried little almost-smile that he didn’t realize the soothing voice had started up again until it was quieting again. Something about hospital and surgery and the good stuff. Tim couldn’t even remember what his question had been.
“You better let me go,” Tim told his captor, though for some reason, he didn’t feel terribly distressed in the man’s presence. The bomb in the corner kept beeping rapidly. It was probably gonna blow any second. Tim wiggled uselessly against the steel grips those evil, soft, warm hands had on him, until the one on his shoulder slid up onto the back of his neck, nails scraping against his scalp, then fingertips digging into the tense muscles at the top of his spine and oh that felt nice. His whole useless body melted into the touch as the fingertips kneaded his tendons into putty.
“I know where all your buttons are, remember?” The very handsome man with the very nice hands said in a quiet, raspy voice. Had they been having a conversation? Tim hoped so.
Wait, no!
“Don’ touch me,” Tim slurred, leaning into the firm touch. “My boyfriend has guns an’ he’ll shoot your ass off.”
“Is that so?” The man rasped, sounding thoroughly amused.
Tim tried to nod, but that just made the whole room spin, Gotham County Fair Tilt-a-Whirl style, so he focused in on the very handsome, warm, nice, tall man whom he was not engaging with because Tim definitely had a boyfriend. He was completely distracted from these thoughts by the sight of a captivating tuft of fluffy white hair floating around somewhere above the man. It looked cottony and soft and Tim lifted one wet sand bag arm to reach for it, but before he could get there, another hand was materializing out of the fog to catch his wrist. And there was more of that lovely pressure, a calloused thumb pressing into the center of his palm. These kidnappers sure knew how to treat a hostage.
Don’t get any ideas Tim thought at the man, or maybe at himself, but instead what came out his mouth was, “You’re pretty, but my boyfriend’s prettier.”
A bright laugh burst out from Tim’s other side and he rolled his head over towards the sound. What he saw was another man, definitely not the source of the laughter, his face filled with frown lines and a small indulgent smile tugging at the corner of his mouth pressed tightly closed. The warm spot on his forearm rubbed up and down, comforting the rest of Tim’s frazzled nerves.
“What are you gonna do with me?” Tim asked the older man.
At that, a figure emerged from the shadows of the room and draped an arm over the shoulders of the older man. His bright blue eyes sparkled down at Tim, filled with mirth.
“We’re gonna hold you hostage for ransom, get our hands on the Wayne family fortune.”
“Dick,” the older man scolded. “Don’t tease.”
“Oh, come on, look at him, he’s practically drooling. He’s not gonna remember any of this later.”
“My dad’s gonna fuck you up,” Tim warned the bright eyed man, words all running together as they stumbled out of his mouth. “My whole family’s gonna fuck you up. When they find out…” He lost his train of thought somewhere around there, trying to recall what exactly was going on.
The older man just let out a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Don’t worry, Tim, we’ll get you home soon.” The warm spot on his bicep turned into a cold spot as a hand materialized to run through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. Tim felt a pair of soft lips brush over the knuckles of his still captured left hand.
Could get used to this, Tim thought to himself, soaking in the warm touches. Might just have to get kidnapped more often. A raspy laugh indicated to Tim that he might not have kept the thought to himself.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d lied there indulging in affection or when exactly his eyes had slipped shut again, but they fluttered back open at the sound of a camera shutter and Tim caught the bright eyed man tapping rapidly at a screen that was lighting up his features. Had the room always been so dark?
“Cass and Steph wanna know when visiting hours end.”
The two men on Tim’s right continued to discuss the particulars of family visitation and dinner plans and at-home care, their voices blurring into the background of his attention. As he drifted closer and closer to sleep, that raspy voice spoke low next to his ear, just for Tim to hear.
“Relax,” And who was Tim to deny a request like that? “Rest. We’ll be here when you wake again.”
And despite himself, Tim slipped into slumber, feeling warm and safe and deeply, heartbreakingly loved.