Chapter Text
When Tim shows up to First National Bank of Gotham alone during a rare morning call, he’s sure there’s nothing that could have prepared him for the chaos that welcomes him.
He’s sweating heavily just from his travel from The Nest to his destination, one of Gotham’s few spring hot flashes choosing today of all days to hit. It’s uncomfortable enough that he almost wishes he were wearing the original Robin costume, given it was sans pants and sleeves.
It’s a relief to enter the air conditioned building through an emergency door that he disables on the side of the building.
There are traditional canvas bags of money randomly dispersed across the polished dark grey porcelain tile, some open with money piled around them, and some filled to the brim. A security guard with a belt wrapped around her leg is sweating profusely through shock and pain as she leans groaning against a supporting column. Red Robin rushes over to her, already pulling a miniature med kit from his utility belt.
The security guard doesn’t look up until he’s a few feet away, catching Red Robin’s purposely heavier footsteps slower than she would if she was healthy.
“Red Robin,” The security guard exclaims breathlessly, shoulders relaxing a bit upon recognizing the vigilante.
And doesn’t that reaction say everything? It’s thank you enough for his years of hard work for a civilian to see Red Robin in a moment of crisis and look so relieved. Timothy is always grateful for it.
“What’s the situation?” Tim asks, straight forward and to the point as he kneels beside the brunette woman and unzips the medkit.
“Robbery with hostages,” The guard expounds, letting her head thunk back against the column they’re propped against. “They’ve got the rest of the employees in the vaults, I think.”
Tim uses a pair of scissors to cut through the material of the security guard’s pant leg, pulling back the fabric to check the wound. She’s done well with the makeshift tourniquet; the belt is tight enough to staunch blood flow but not so much that she’s in danger of unnecessary tissue damage.
The woman hisses as he carefully lifts her leg to check for an exit wound to the supposed bullet. There is none. He leaves the belt where it is and unwraps some gauze to stuff into the oozing hole.
The security guard continues, “They came in hot, outta’ nowhere like a flash mob. Everyday Joe’s pulling guns on us and letting out a few warning shots. Some real shots too. They were rough, handsy, and when he showed up he didn’t like what he saw.”
Even as Timothy’s surprised by the mention of another interloper, he doesn’t falter with his precise movements. His gloved hands mindfully fold, twist, and pack the gauze into the woman’s thigh.
“He?” Red Robin prompts.
The guard takes the pain well, gritting her teeth as she pants while he works. She gives a small nod, “The Red Hood.”
This time Red Robin does pause. It’s only a split second, but it’s noticeable enough for her to catch on and continue. Her accent gets thicker as she speaks.
“Dunno’ how he got here, but he was just there all of a sudden. One a’ the perps pistol whipped some girl and he got real mad about that. ‘Said he was planning on taking it easy on them, but that that wasn’t the case no-more. The ones out here had a bit of a stand off with ‘Hood…”
Now that Timothy knows it’s there, he can feel the demonic disturbance rippling around them in the aether just out of reach of his human senses, like a word on the tip of his tongue. Jason’s energy doesn’t set him on edge in the same way other demons’ do. Red Hood learned how to mask it during his time with the Al Ghul’s, learned how to hide his tainted soul from the rest of the world. Until it’s pointed out, the feeling of other and power aren’t noticeable when it comes to Red Hood’s unique supernatural occult footprint.
The security guard doesn’t comment on his hesitation or the way he appraises the large hall once again with newly unveiled eyes.
He ties off the last of a bandage as she finishes regaling the crime, “Their bodies are on the other side a’ the fountain. Other guys took the hostages while Hood was distracted and went further in. Hood went after. I think there’s a lot more than it looked like too– people staged as employees. This shit was thought out.”
It certainly was. Red Robin is going to need to do a full deep dive into every single employee involved in today’s robbery and find out who else might be working on the inside without a ski-mask. With this level of involvement, there has to be a spiderweb of connections.
Somewhere in the distance sirens get closer, wailing. Timothy pings Oracle, hoping she’ll deal with the cops and make sure they don’t step foot into this mess until it’s guaranteed they won’t muck it up worse than it already is.
“Am I gonna lose my leg?” The brunette slurs.
“Not if EMS is able to get to you in the next ninety minutes.” Tim assures. And then, switching topics, “Do you need water to take a pill?”
“How big is it?”
Red Robin pulls a pill sheet from the medkit, ripping a tab off of the small pill blister package, and turns the clear side to flash the woman a look at the baby pink 3mm pill encased within.
The woman surveys it for a moment before reaching for the piece of the blister package, “I’ll be fine without water– What’s it for?”
“It helps prevent shock– Feels a bit like a medium strength pain med.” Specially formulated by Batman and then further innovated by Red Robin, is what Timothy doesn’t say as he hands it over.
Red Robin only stays long enough to see the security guard pop the pill into her mouth before he sets off to see the damage on the other side of the fountain. He braces himself for death, always taken aback whenever he’s face to face with it despite having next to no problems with violence and gore. His reaction is probably because of Bruce’s training and strict rules to prevent any sort of normalization over the matter. Sometimes, Tim still wishes seeing a fresh corpse had no effect on him, if only to preserve his own mental capacity and maintain his vigilante persona mid-emergency.
There are a total of four bodies behind the fountain. He has to do a double take because of their civilian attire. One is dressed in the bank regulated uniform while the other three look like your usual middle class civilians on an errand to make a deposit or withdrawal. The only thing out of place are the firearms either tangled in limp hands or tellingly close to their persons. Definitely an inside job.
Tim doesn’t bother to check their pulses when he knows real civilian lives are on the line, and the amount of blood puddling around the bodies is so large. He follows speckles of blood further into the bank’s grand hallways, weapon drawn and at the ready.
He hears them long before he sees them.
First they are illegible, their shouting too far to make out. A few much louder gunshots follow soon after. Tim quickens his pace as much as he can without fearing his footsteps will give him away.
“Please, please don’t kill–!”
The gunshot rings out, silencing the desperate pleading. Tim flinches. He was too late to save another person, criminal or not.
He clings to the corner of the hallway, peaking around the edge cautiously.
Red Hood, in all his Demonic-Raised glory, is standing with his guns drawn and shirtless. His back is to Tim, showing off his rippling muscles and the sheen of sweat that’s coating his skin.
Jason has his cloth mask on, sharp horns poking out over his head majestically as his snake-like tail swishes behind him. The glowing red slashes parallel along either side of his upper spine where his wings would be if they weren’t always curled within his corporeal form (Tim’s never heard of a reborn demon who always has their wings tucked into the aether even when their horns and glowing eyes are out, but Jason’s always been remarkable).
Wrath roils around Red Hood, the very nature of his demonic awakening distorting the air around him ever so slightly.
Four more bodies can be spotted, along with a woman on her knees crying silently with her hands over her face as she shakes.
Jason lets his arms fall limp, still clutching the guns tightly as he rolls his shoulders back. Timothy knows from experience that he’s taking a moment to collect the souls of those he’s killed, breathing deeply as he sheathes one of his guns and holds out his hand. There’s a dramatic clinking of metal coins, unnaturally loud.
“‘Ya gonna’ come on out, Red?” Jason calls, voice simmering with tamped down savagery.
Tim’s not proud of it, but Jason’s competence sends shivers down his spine.
Red Robin turns the corner and approaches the second crime scene, giving Red Hood a wide berth. He peruses the damage, glancing at the woman from a bit closer to make sure she’s not harmed. Physically she seems fine, though when she looks up and sees the vigilante she gives a heavy sob of relief.
Red Hood the crime lord and known criminal probably wasn’t the most reassuring presence on his own– at least not to a civilian only knowing what the public is informed of.
“Aren’t bats supposed to be nocturnal?” Jason quips as he turns to face Red Robin.
Timothy’s overwhelmingly thankful for the white’s of his mask’s eyes right now. He knows he’s not trying to make eye contact when Jason’s giant pecs and light brown nipples are right there. And that’s without mentioning his biceps from the front, forearms, and his cut torso (abs for days). If this was a corny romance his nose would be bleeding heavily right now just looking at Red Hood.
Red Robin lets one end of his bo staff touch the shining floor, leaning into it as he shoots back, “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing armor?”
Jason spreads his arms, showing off his bare skin as he pops out a hip. “What, you don’t like my new look? Don’t tell me you weren’t bakin’ in that getup on yer’ bike.”
Timothy forces himself to turn slightly away as to not be so obvious in his staring.
“Some of us don’t have tough demon skin.” Red Robin points out, fighting the urge to cross his arms haughtily.
“It ain’t that tough… wanna feel?” Jason offers, looking down at his own physique and flexing.
Red Robin’s fingers twitch around his bo staff. He grits his teeth and tears himself away from the tempting image.
“What are you doing here?”
Jason gestures to the hall of dead criminals and says, “Stopping a heist, same as you.”
Because the crime lord Red Hood thinks banks are so important, apparently. Not.
Timothy stares Jason down and waits. Red Hood looks like he’s considering ignoring him before giving in with a shrug.
“This gang’s broken a few of my rules.”
Mystery solved.
“Are you going to stop killing people long enough for us to handle this?” He asks, changing the subject as he brings up the security feed on his forearm monitor.
“For you, Red? Sure.” Jason gives an easy shrug.
When they had first begun running into each other after the incident in Titans Tower, things had been– understandably– tense. Jason was purposely brutal in front of every member of the Batfamily, beating the image of reform out of their minds until they finally understood. Somewhere along the way Timothy had become the only member of the family he had attempted to murder multiple times, and his favorite. Maybe it’s because Tim never asks him to put away his guns, or stop killing all together, or even attempt to speak to a version of Jason that no longer exists.
Now they meet in an unsteady middle ground. Timothy’s granted the ability to apprehend humans who haven’t committed acts of sexual abuse of any sort, and Jason uses Red Robin’s overabundance of resources to better protect his own ideals. Basically, non-lethal force is practiced during team ups between the two Reds of Gotham.
Timothy catalogs the data his security camera breach has gifted him and relays the information to his stand-in teammate graciously, “There’s fifteen more armed assailants, ten more two floors down before the vaults and five more within holding the hostages. The police are outside, but Oracle should be holding them off.”
Jason rolls his shoulders, venom in his voice as he says, “I’m gonna fuckin’ tear them apart.”
He sounds off; just inhuman enough to be considered monstrous. Dark and gritty like the streets he came from.
“Still high on power from those souls?” Tim asks, masking his apprehension with a wry tone.
He knows Red Hood must be drowning in fresh malevolence. Jason’s already unpredictable, and his impulsive disposition grows more unstable with every soul he consumes in a terrifying show of rewarded merciless gluttony.
“Maybe.” Jason chuckles manically.
Timothy lets the topic drop like it’s an unpinned grenade set to blow the second someone touches it wrong. (He’s seen how Jason reacts to advice given from the mindframe of preservation and cautiousness; alienation and brute force.)
In all fairness, Tim expected more mayhem and possibly a rampage following Jason’s collection of underworld coins. Instead, he’s faced with Red Hood redirecting all the energy towards their current mission.
“I’ll be distraction, go in guns blazin’ and a loud threat. You do the sneaky shit you’re good at— saving civilians and incapacitating bitches from behind.” Jason says, breathing coming in heavy controlled bursts as if he’d just run a mile. As he speaks he holsters one of his guns at his waist and releases the other’s magazine before replacing it with another. Timothy recognizes this magazine to be filled with rubber bullets by its red shell. Jason had only begun carrying the bright faux bullets once they had started working together on a regular basis. Red Robin sees this and something relaxes in his chest.
One less thing to worry about.
Jason heads for the elevator as Tim makes to enter the emergency stairwell.
He’s got the heavy fire door open when he hears, “Don’t die, Timbers, or I’ll have to trade out these rubbers for real bullets.”
Red Robin almost says ‘code names’ on instinct. Instead, he stays silent and tries to ignore the festering satisfaction in response to Jason being so willing to avenge him (it’s not hero-like of him, or very good at all… Jason draws out the parts of him he’s kept rightfully squashed).
The door shuts with a loud click behind Red Robin, and he imagines it’s blocking out whatever horrible enjoyment he gets from Jason’s admission of violent care for him.
Tim takes his time getting to sub basement two, allowing some time for Jason to catch up and succeed in his distraction. He cracks open the emergency staircase right as the elector dings and its doors slide open.
Guns rise as the perpetrators are immediately wary. One of them is stupid enough to open their big mouth,
“Who… OH FUCK IT’S—” BANG! “AHG!”
The last real bullet in Jason’s chamber goes straight through the criminal’s knee. The now victim crumpled in agony, no longer a threat as he hyperventilates.
“D– DON’T MOVE!” Comes another’s trembling attempt at controlling the situation. They sound like they’re about to piss their pants; which makes sense since as far as they know, they’re facing death. Red Hood has a reputation as a successful crime lord for a reason.
Red Robin steps out onto the floor behind the group.
“C’mon boys, I’m sure we can compromise on this.” Red Hood drawls, the light of where his wings would be flaring flashily.
The choreography is smooth, flowing through Tim as if it’s his first language. One moment the criminal before him has their gun drawn and aimed at Red Hood and the next Red Robin has his bo staff silently constricting his throat, pressure on their vulnerable larynx. They drop their firearm in an attempt to either free themselves or catch someone’s attention– a move Tim easily intercepts by catching the heaviest part of it in the hook of his foot carefully before tilting his foot so the weapon slides seamlessly onto the floor. A risky move, but he pulled it off (even as he chastises himself for even needing to succeed in such a precarious act).
Meanwhile, the new lead voice of the criminals is loud and fearful, “GET ON THE GROUND!”
Finally, the criminal goes lax in Red Robin’s hold, held up for an extra few seconds just in case before being lowered, unconscious, to the floor. He moves onto the next closest assailant.
“Hey now, I don’t get on the ground for just anyone. Why don’t you try and ask a little more politely?” Tim hears Jason needle in the background. It’s hard for him not to roll his eyes and laugh.
“Fuck this!” A different voice shouts.
BANG!
The clear shot of a pistol– not the right weapon to put a dent in a Demon-Raised bearing the symbol of Wrath between their shoulder blades.
And, as one gunshot tends to prompt, a barrage of firearm discharge follows. The poor idiots are probably too hopped up on adrenaline to think through their actions and realize they’re wasting bullets. It’s just as well though, because Tim takes down two more criminals with quick hits to the head with his bo staff during the cacophony of bullets.
Red Hood knocks out two more, one after the other, with a rubber bullet to the head. They’re probably going to have a pretty bad concussion after this.
At this point, the three criminals left standing spot Red Robin and subsequently, the teammates he had incapacitated. Now Timothy is staring down at least two barrels. He sees Red Hood spring forwards with a distracting shout towards the one out of Red Robin’s reach, the criminal swinging their gun around to face the oncoming Demon-Raised frantically.
The split second of distraction allows him to knock the last barrel pointed his way out of the perpetrator's hands before advancing low to the ground. He knocks in the man’s knees, hears the crunch and screech of pain. Another one down for the count.
Red Hood’s holding up the criminal he had pounced on like an unnecessary body shield. Red Robin watches as he raises his victim’s own arm, the one holding the firearm, at the last perp standing, and wraps his finger around the digit already resting on the trigger. The man in his hold is crying loud, ugly dry sobs.
BANG! BANG!
It’s clear Red Hood is favoring knees today.
Jason drops the man in his hold and pistol whips him with the firearm he steals from the other’s grip in one smooth motion, stepping back as the body collapses.
Red Hood looms over his fallen foes, energy pouring off him in agonizing waves.
The mounting pressure grows by the moment. Tim can only imagine the weight of the call the Demon-Raised man feels to snuff out their pitiful lives and collect their coins.
“Hood,” Red Robin says, offering his voice as a grounding tool.
“Birdie.” Jason echoes the careful tone Tim had used as his scaled snake tail whips anticipatorily behind him, a blur of red, black, and green.
The crime lord looks up at Tim through his white lenses and stalks forward suddenly, as if compelled by an unseen force. Red Robin almost moves into a defensive pose on instinct.
Jason’s voice has been doused in arrogant satisfaction as he declares, “We work so well together.”
Red Robin wouldn’t go that far; They’re no Superman and Batman. That being said, they get the job done more efficiently than Red Robin did with the Teen Titans.
So Tim concedes with a straight-face, “We’re not a bad team.”
“Don’t be humble, Red, you know we’re a smooth machine.” Jason wheedles as he steps over one of the prone bodies as they begin to head further down the hall.
“Mm.”
Things progress steadily from that point on. Red Hood and Red Robin make their way further down into the depths of the bank’s corridors until they’re entering the vault. Jason goes first, blocking the bullets with his reinforced skin.
Timothy focuses on getting the hostages out as Jason keeps the rampage of firepower focused on himself. Once the civilians have a door between them and the gang, Red Robin joins the fray.
Jason’s already downed two of the five opponents. He’s busy muscling through two more fighters without the use of his guns. Both men seem professionally trained, but Red Robin has confidence in his temporary teammate.
The last one, eerily still by the bags of money, peers at Tim with unnaturally big eyes. The eyes get bigger, widening until they reach the point of humanly impossible. Its face twists to make room for the horrifying sight, wrinkling around wide orbs that begin to glow yellow with green edges, pupils disappearing completely.
Its mouth opens wide, jaw unhinging to reveal a gaping abyss of black nothingness, no teeth or tongue to be seen.
Red Robin is too shocked to feel the full extent of terror that the image before him should be inspiring.
Timothy tries to step back and reassess, but finds he’s frozen. A sharp force jerks him from his body. For a second, he’s viewing himself from above. The world goes black around the edges until he can barely see anything.
“Red Robin, hmm? You certainly feel red.”
Big yellow eyes with green veins and pinprick iris’ flash into existence around him. They are overstimulatingly bright, almost blinding. Tim has no eyes to close to protect himself.
“I’m going to destroy you, inside and out.” The voice purrs. It sounds like distorted static.
Timothy recognizes this. Demon-Raised have tried to possess him before. It’s never been like this, he’s never come across whatever sin this one seems to Bear.
“GET OUT.” Red Robin commands, willing the demonic presence to be cast out.
It doesn’t work. He knows why. Timothy’s sinned too much. He’s forever stained because of his commitment to The Mission.
Sharp needles of pain begin to press into Tim’s essence, causing him to arch and writhe in pain with a harsh gasp.
The voice grows louder, clearer, “Do you think if I kill you right here, you’ll come back demonic? You feel just like one of us, shredded and broken. Yummy.”
It sounds so pleased with itself, happy to be a source of misery and destruction and fear.
The stabbing feeling spreads through every molecule of Timothy’s being, no longer just pinpoints. He’s losing all motility, unable to shift in this space between consciousness.
“I’m going to be your big bad wolf, Red Ro–”
CRUNCH.
Timothy crashes back into his body, momentum forcing him forwards and onto his knees. Jason towers over him, foot squished into the crushed skull and brains of the Greed Demon-Raised. The blood and viscera has splashed onto his thick boots, the strength of his killing blow causing the liquid and guts to splash.
Tim falls forwards on his hands, heaving. His stomach rolls. He stares at his fingers, curling them into the metal vault floor. The pain is bright and real. Controllable.
Jason steps back and lets the gore drip from his foot into a stain around where he stands on the buffed floor.
Tim rolls onto his back, flopping down to breathe and enjoy the feeling of existing in his own mortal body. He sees the two criminals Jason had been previously fighting lying off in the distance.
Jason moves to squat by his side, eyeing him through his mask from above like a judgemental god. Timothy can’t find it in himself to move out from under him.
A new, slightly different and darker coin drops into the palm Red Hood outstretches. The soul of the Demon-Raised. The surviving Demon-Raised flips the currency between his fingers in a show of dexterity.
“Ever since you came back from Nanda Parbat you’ve been dripping with wrath… even more than any of the others.” Red Hood mentions with faux indifference.
Timothy takes the context clues and assumes Jason’s ‘others’ references the other members of the Batfamily.
The coin’s flipping movements between Red Hood’s knuckles come to a stop.
Jason tilts his head questingly, “What’s got ya’ so wrathful, Baby Bird?”
Tim doesn’t deign to respond. His heart is still pounding like a jackhammer in his chest.
What doesn’t make him feel wrathful? Now that he’s given in before, who’s to say he won’t again? It’s taking over his life.
“You know, you taste like other sins too,” Jason continues after he’s met with silence. His tone is thoughtful, “Greed… Envy… Lust.”
Red Hood puts too much emphasis on the last sin, as if alluding to something in particular. That choice does nothing to support Tim’s hyper pulse.
“I’m sure any human would have a few sins.” Timothy responds, feigning nonchalance.
“They don’t cling to most like they do to you. Sin wants you…” Jason reaches out a hand for Tim to take. Red Robin does, stifling a groan as he’s pulled into an upright sitting position, face to face with the other who adds, “I can relate. You’re a special kind of temptation, Red.”
Timothy wills himself not to react, yet his jaw slackens ever so slightly.
He’s lightheaded and unable to properly pretend he’s unaffected, so he stays silent.
Just when the quiet has stretched for too long to be acceptable, Oracle’s voice crosses over his comms like a beacon of hope, “Red Robin, the hostages have made their way out and the police are coming in, over.”
“Heard, over.” Timothy echoes back immediately, a robot going through a set process.
Jason seems to take pity on him as he pulls them both up to stand.
“How do ya’ feel about post op burgers?” The Demon-Raised asks, extending an olive branch.
And Timothy folds instantly, taking the offering, “I want pickled jalapeños.”
“GBSC it is.”
+++JTw’26+++
Sitting on the roof of the Gotham Burger Social Club’s most out of the way diner, Red Hood and Red Robin unwrap their hot fast food meals.
“Have ya’ ever been possessed?” Jason asks through a mouthful of a double chili cheese burger.
Timothy chews his bite of pickled jalapeno secret sauce special before taking a large swig of Zesti from a to-go cup’s straw to wash it down.
After gulping loudly he answers, “I’ve had a few close calls. It’s never gone all the way though.”
Each one is forever ingrained in Tim’s memory, a new harrowing experience for him to look back on in the dead of night when he dissociates in front of his laptop.
“You’re a beacon of sin, Timbers. It’s gonna keep catching attention.” Jason says easily, as if the fact is common knowledge and unquestionable.
Timothy’s too tired to pretend he doesn’t know what Jason’s talking about– or even care all that much. Mask off, sweating heavily in the shade of the roof’s high opaque rails, Red Robin wonders if it’s obvious to everyone that his soul is as dark as any villain’s. Red Hood certainly wouldn’t be the one to judge him.
“I’ve looked into it. I’ve been thinking about getting in contact with a magic user to help ward away possession.” Tim shares tiredly.
It’s true. He has looked into it. He’s been met with dead end after dead end. The first time almost being possessed was enough to get him a tad bit frantic about finding a solution. Turns out, those are hard to find in the mystic world (solutions, that is).
Jason shakes his head, eyes honed in on his meal, “That’s not gonna work as well on the Demon-Raised. The energy is still too human, but not enough to be warded against like a ghost or hellborn. With how marred your soul is, I wouldn’t count on any totems or runes being a guarantee unless you pay a fee too taxing to be worth it.”
“So I’m fucked, is what you’re trying to say.” Tim concedes as he self soothes by watching a bead of sweat roll down Jason’s clavicle to his chest.
“In a roundabout way, yeah. Yer’ fit to finally be fully possessed on the job sometime soon. I can’t guarantee that you’ll get yourself outta’ that.” Jason says before taking another bite of his burger.
It’s a negative outlook, and Timothy doesn’t appreciate it. Red Robin stuffs a few fries in his mouth and chews as he thinks of all the contingencies he’ll have to make to prepare for when he’s finally possessed.
“There’s always another option though.”
Timothy perks up, turning to look at Jason with wary curiosity.
“Sell my soul so no one else can have it?” Timothy deadpans.
“That’s a horrible idea,” Jason scoffs, “No, I’m talkin’ Familiars.”
Familiars. Creatures that form a magical connection. Red Robin’s eyebrows furrow.
“Like a Witch’s Familiar?”
Jason looks tickled by Timothy’s comment, “Sort of. Just on more equal terms.”
At first, Tim wants to turn the idea down without hearing more. Magic has always been a big taboo in Batman’s territory. He’s been successfully fearmongered away from it until now. But really, when faced with a more uncontrollable type of magic, what choice does he have?
“How would it work?” Red Robin asks, trying to keep an open mind.
“You find a willing Demon-Raised and form some sort of caring relationship as required by the binding ritual. One damned and one not, it’s a balance. No other can possess or make deals with you– I mean, the Demon can by using your soul, but that’s rarely an issue.” Jason adds the last part hastily, as if trying to gloss over the information without purposely hiding it.
“Why not?” Timothy presses.
“Demon-Raised become very possessive of their Familiar’s. We struggle to create strong enough emotional connections to successfully bond since we’re so heavily influenced by the sin we bear.” Jason sounds like he’s reciting something he read. Timothy’s suddenly very suspicious that the Demon-Raised had done research about the topic.
It’s true though, anyone who knows anything about Demon-Raised knows that Demon-Raised can only really fully feel the sin they Bear, and at an overwhelming rate.
“So you think I should form an emotional connection and bind myself to a Demon?”
“No,” Jason responds instantly. And then, with confidence, “I think you should bind yourself to me.”
Out of all the possible things the Demon-Raised could’ve said, this is the most shocking.
Timothy’s aghast, barely even in control of himself as he asks, “Why?”
“I think I just went over that.” Jason snarks, being purposely obtuse.
“Why would you want to be bound to me?” Timothy practically growls, frustrated and caught completely unprepared.
“Maybe I’ve already got a bit of a possessive streak about you. Maybe I’ve been waiting for the chance to finally get to own a piece of you.”
Tim chokes on his food. He coughs wildly, trying to clear his throat as his eyes tear up. His mind races as he tries to catch his breath; What in the hell is Jason admitting to here? Does he have some sort of feelings besides disdain and possible begrudging fondness for him?
Jason crumples up his now empty burger wrapper and throws it into the paper bag their food had come in. He stands and stretches, muscles rippling attractively. He turns and heads towards the fire ladder at the side of the building.
Over his shoulder as he slings himself over the edge he says, “Think about it, Red.”
+++JTw’26+++
Two days later while on patrol Red Robin messages Red Hood on their encrypted Batfamily messaging system.
Red Robin: How do we complete the ritual?
Red Hood: all you have to do is show up
Red Hood: i’ll handle the rest
Minutes later Barbara messages him.
Oracle: Should I alert B?
Red Robin: No
Oracle: Don’t be stupid.
Nothing’s encrypted when Oracle has even a sliver of access.
When Red Robin touches back down in The Nest there’s a note waiting for him. It’s a time, date, and address in Jason’s surprisingly nice handwriting.
Tim recognizes the address but can’t place it immediately. Still, a week later, he swings through the night until he’s in Midtown Gotham, scaling a gothic art deco high rise until he’s at the fifteenth floor. It’s easy to spot where Jason’s condo is. At two am, it’s the only one glowing with light and, even more blatantly, the only one with a window cracked (illegal as hell at this height, it shouldn’t even be able to open).
Red Robin slips over the windowsill silently.
Jason watches him from a couch, splayed out across the expensive modern style piece of furniture dramatically.
“Welcome to my nicest safehouse, Timbers.”
Oh yes, Timothy remembers now, he had this place staked out after Jason’s first murder attempt years ago before realizing Jason never visited.
“Is this from drug money?” Tim asks, careful to make his tone as non-judgemental as possible.
Jason shrugs, “Crime Lord’s gotta have some showy digs connected to his accounts.”
Makes sense.
“How often do you stay here?” Timothy asks, besides knowing the answer.
He wants to see if Jason will lie, or if in the past few months something has changed.
“Rarely enough that Babs doesn’t know of its existence.” Jason confesses, noticeably not mentioning Red Robin or Batman. Timothy would be surprised if Bruce didn’t know given the trauma induced rampages he goes on whenever Red Hood is off the grid for too long.
In front of the couch, in the center of the giant open grid condo, is a pentagram painted on the floor in white. The outer circle of it is about six by six, leaving ample room within. Candles are placed at every point of the star. Many demonic symbols are scattered purposely around and inside the pentagram as well.
There already seems to be some sort of unnatural aura coming off the sigil.
“I called in a favor from Constantine. This shit’s legit.” Jason says, nodding towards the center of the collection of occult objects.
Tim recalls the most recent ritual he had almost been a part of, one where Raven had also needed a goblet and dagger that looked a lot like the one waiting within the pentagram.
“I don’t have to drink your blood, right?” He asks, worried what was almost required of him previously with Raven.
“Fuck no.” Jason says, face screwing up, “It’s all pretty straightforward. Some cult chanting, palm slicing, etcetera.”
Timothy nods, playing along in pretending this is the everyday sort of occurrence, “Oh, so the usual. Should we put on robes to match the aesthetic?”
“Eh… I think the airflow might be too exciting.” Jason jokes.
“But not the open flames?” Tim shoots back, pulling off his cowl.
Jason stands, grabbing a wad of folded fuzzy fabric from a nearby chair and throws it at Red Robin, “How ‘bout a bathrobe, Mr. Robe Enthusiast?”
Timothy catches the projectile and shakes it out, frowning at the oversized cream fleece, “Do I actually need to wear this?”
“Would you prefer to be in your underwear the whole time?”
Tim sets off to find the bathroom without another word. Somehow he ends up in the pantry instead and decides that, fuck it, he’s just going to change in there instead. When he comes back he’s in the robe with only his black cotton briefs beneath. He almost stops when he sees Jason matching him, only sans the robe with red briefs.
“Where’s your bathrobe?” Timothy asks pointedly.
Jason pops out a hip, eyeing Tim’s outfit from where he’s placed himself within the pentagram, “I only have the one and I wasn’t going to buy another I was never going to use again.”
Timothy’s seen more of Jason’s nipples than he has in a lifetime in the past week. Not that he’s upset about it, but it is disconcertingly unhelpful in his struggle to squash his crush.
Red Robin places his vigilante suit on the couch and steps into the circle beside Jason who then directs him to lay down in the center, head directed at the top point of the star. He does, getting comfortable on his back and trying to relax. Jason kneels down beside him and unties the bathrobe, pushing it open until it only covers Tim’s arms and sides. While the robe may seem unhelpful, he does appreciate the comforting softness and warmth of the fabric against his skin.
Jason picks up the dagger with runes cut into its wooden handle from beside the goblet and raises it low, careful not to lift it any higher than Tim’s palm. The man seems anxious to be as unthreatening as possible.
“I’m gonna cut you now.” Jason warns, taking Tim’s right hand in his left to hold it steady.
“Ok.” Tim grits out, unable to turn away.
“Deep breath,” Jason commands.
Tim indulges the Demon-Raised, inhaling. Jason lowers the blade and slices quickly and cleanly through the center of Red Robin’s hand. The dagger cuts about half a centimeter beneath the skin. The breath that Tim lets out after is on the shakier side. Blood wells up immediately, pooling in his palm as Jason cautiously lifts his hand and turns it so the wound will drip into the goblet.
“Pretty blood for a pretty bird.” Jason murmurs.
His heavy, green gaze is inescapable.
Tim fists his free hand by his side as his face gets hot, “...Creepy.”
“Yet you’re blushin’.” Jason smirks, eyes as heated as Tim’s cheeks.
Red Robin refuses to respond. Jason lets the silence lie and bandages Tim’s hand with expert precision. It’s not long before he’s spread the pain-free antiseptic and wrapped the wound with gauze. He moves on to his own hand next. This time, Tim looks away, if only so he doesn’t have to think about the sick way his heart squeezes at the idea of their blood mixing together in the goblet.
“Your blood should dilute mine enough to keep it from causing your skin too much irritation.” Jason explains conversationally a few moments later.
Tim finally turns back and sees that Jason is already wrapping his own hand (though with a lot less attentivity). He lifts the goblet and gives it a few strong swishes before turning his attention back to the man lying beside him.
“Ready to be painted?”
Tim nods resolutely, “Get to it, Van Gogh.”
Jason dips his pointer finger into the liquid and it comes back slick with the warm red stuff. He begins at Tim’s forehead, callouses firm against the latter’s skin. He then moves lower, drawing beneath his throat, then the center of Tim’s chest, and then beneath his top surgery scars. Tim sees him glancing too and from something by his head and he peaks at it, turning his head as inconspicuously as possible.
“You have a reference sheet?” He asks, spotting a piece of paper.
“Courtesy of John himself. Now be a good canvas and hush, I need to focus.” Jason demands, tongue poking out with concentration.
Further still he paints, down over Tim’s stomach, beneath his navel on the edge of his briefs, on top of each thigh, and lastly, on the sole of either foot.
Jason pulls back and draws his own symbol, the one of Wrath between his pecs before adding one beneath it Tim doesn’t recognize.
Without a word the Demon-Raised stands, setting out to begin lighting each candle counter clockwise until he stops before the last one at the very top of the pentagram.
“Once I light this last candle we can’t say anything that’s not part of the script. I’ll be chanting and at the end, I’ll speak briefly in english. That’s the only time you’ll need to open your mouth and repeat what I say back to me. Got it?”
Timothy tilts his head until he can meet Jason’s eyes as he hums in agreement.
“Yup. No fucking talking except for one weird thing at the end.”
Jason crouches to light the last candle, “Last chance.”
Tim stubbornly sets his jaw, “Do it.”
Jason flashes him a deranged smile of bared teeth. “Good boy.”
Lightning fast, he flicks the lighter on against the wick. Tim glares. Every light within the condo switches off all at once. They’re plunged into darkness, the candles only illuminating their outlines.
Jason steps back into the circle. He moves silently around Tim, shifting, always just out of reach. And then the chanting begins. It’s rhythmic, enchanting Tim with horrifying ease as Jason controls the narrative, voice growing louder as a demonic tongue flows from him as though it’s his first language. As the volume ascends, so does the pressure in the room.
It’s stifling.
As it continues to grow, it becomes suffocating. Tim opens his mouth wide like a fish, trying to drag in as much oxygen as possible as he begins to sweat.
Right at the point Tim thinks he’ll pass out, Jason breaks the rhythm and recites, “Of my own free will, I bind my soul to yours”
Tim feels so squished and discombobulated, he almost forgets to echo, “Of my own free will, I bind my soul to yours.”
Many things happen all at once; The pressure pops. Every light comes back on as every candle blows out instantaneously. There’s a loud whoosh of air displacement as wings explode from Jason’s back and his eyes roll back. Tim’s nerves are attacked with stimulation as rage overtakes him, and he arches violently against the floor.
Timothy thinks he hears himself screaming.
A voice cuts through his insanity, “C’mere, c’mere.”
The world tilts.
“I’ve got ya’,” Jason drawls.
Hot skin presses against Tim’s front, soothing the internal burn. And oh, does Timothy burn. He digs his nails into the flesh of Jason’s back, below his ribs. Jason just holds him tighter in response, cradling the human reverently in his lap as he coos.
“Give your wrath to me, baby, I can handle it.”
Tim claws at the tough demonic skin offered. He’s going to implode, red behind the eyes with anger. It’s not fair, it’s not fair.
His spleen should be inside of him. His mother should be alive, his father should walk, his parents should have loved him. Stephanie should’ve loved him, Bruce should’ve loved him, Dick should’ve loved him and believed him. Damian should’ve respected him. Jason laughed in his face.
Despite the years of proving his worth, he’s always alone. Left to suffer and rot for The Mission because that’s what a Robin is supposed to do, Red or not.
He bites down punishingly into Jason’s shoulder, snapping through skin and tasting salt and copper.
Instead of being thrown away, Jason cups his head and purrs, “So fuckin’ gorgeous for me, Red.”
Tim feels Jason inside of him, feels the way the Demon-Raised carries reverence for him. There’s a whole host of other emotions too, they clash with his own until Timothy doesn’t know which are his own anymore.
He finds himself grinding down onto Jason’s cock, legs wrapped around the bigger man’s waist. His movements are desperate with no finesse. His only goal is to be closer, to have more, to work out the energy pounding beneath his skin.
Right now he’s either fighting or fucking, and Jason just so happens to be the person he’s been dying to ride since, well, forever.
When Timothy can’t get past the layers of underwear between him, he lets out an aggravated howl that’s muffled by Jason’s flesh.
“I know what you need, I feel it.”
Jason’s hands slide down under the elastic band of Tim’s briefs. Tim doesn’t help him take them off, leaving the other to struggle trying to unwind the legs around him to get them down past his hips. Their limbs clash for a minute, and then both pairs of underwear are being thrown aside. Jason lays Tim down gently on his back, situating himself between the man’s pale legs.
Tim whimpers and whines, squirming as he gazes yearningly at the bobbing cock jutting out inches away from his cunt.
“Shhh, hold on, baby, hold on. I need to get you ready first.”
A knuckle brushes up between Tim’s folds. His knees spread wider, welcoming Jason in.
Jason lets out a heavy breath and groans, “Fuck, you’re precious.”
Tim keens as Jason pushes a finger into him, and then another when that one slides in easily. The two digits are a bit of a stretch, and it almost burns. That doesn’t stop Tim from pushing himself lower on the fingers, taking Jason down until his fingers end and his palm starts.
“Good boy, good job.” Jason praises, further turning Tim to goo.
He’s not moving inside of Tim, just letting him wriggle pathetically.
“I can’t– I need–” Tim hiccups.
Jason leans over and kisses the man’s lips chastly, as if he’s not knuckle-deep inside of him.
“I know, baby, I know.” Jason whispers before trailing down to Tim’s chest to lick off the blood staining between his pecs.
“Gross.” Tim chokes.
The Demon-Raised just grins and begins pistoning his fingers, tilting and curling them within Tim until he’s hitting the spot inside of him that makes his back bow and voice crescendo. He bucks, arms stretching out and fingers curling into the cold floor.
“Careful–” Jason hisses, reaching for something by Timothy’s right hand.
What he pulls back is the dagger used for the ritual, dried blood and all. Fire races through Tim, his body flaming even more intensely with want. He shudders uncontrollably as the blade glints in the light.
Jason’s green eyes seem to be glowing as he turns to appraise the human incredulously, “Really? Didn’t I slit your throat with a blade just like this?”
At the mention of the harrowing experience, one would expect Timothy to feel some sort of fear or disdain, and while there is some of the former, it’s heavily outweighed by the rush of thrilled excitement.
Jason feels it all through the bond.
“Baby, you’re sick.”
Whereas most others would be saying those words with disgust, Red Hood practically sings them with delight. He brings the dagger down and lets its sharp tip rub right between each of Tim’s top surgery scars, and watches the way the nipples below him tighten and perk up.
“What if I carved my sigil into you?” Jason asks threateningly, digging the dagger in until it stings against Timothy.
The man beneath pants erratically. Pleasure is building up in his core, sharp and unavoidable. Tim rides Jason’s fingers, meeting them for every thrust.
Above him, Jason continues to taunt, “Then you’d carry me with you wherever I go. I’d own you– every demonic presence will feel me all over you.”
“Do it, do it now!” Tim begs, worked up into a frenzy.
The bond between them is a feedback loop of covetous urges. The level they crave to lay claim over the other is unhealthy– and so, so hot. He squeezes around the fingers inside of him and plants his feet firm on the floor to get better leverage.
Jason drags the dagger’s tip down Tim’s torso, watching as a pink line raises in its wake and laughs darkly, “You’d just let me carve you up, huh? Cut my name into you and make you my bitch?”
“Uh-huh,” Tim nods jerkily, eyes wide and wild.
He feels his own slick dripping down to his ass.
“You gonna cum for me?” Jason asks, scraping the weapon along Tim’s hip bone as he keeps pace, noting the way the other man’s legs quake.
“Uh-huh!” Tim affirms loudly, eyes squeezing shut as he bares down harder than ever and finally orgasms.
Wave upon wave of pleasure rolls through him. Like butter in a hot pan, Timothy melts. The cool blade against his skin grounds him, poking harshly at the husk of stress he’s left behind. He feels as if he’s transcended.
When was the last time Red Robin felt so much release his muscles failed him?
Was there ever a time before this?
Jason, pupils blown out and also panting, “Jesus, I need to be inside you.”
The Demon-Raised scoots closer until the tops of his thighs are under Tim’s and he’s lifting his butt into his lap once more. He takes his own pulsing cock in hand and leads it to the sopping pussy waiting for him, rubbing the head of it against hot folds greedily with a quiet noise of enjoyment.
He pops the head past Tim’s vaginal opening and slides in, smooth and slow.
“Fuck,” Red Robin wheezes, mouth ajar as he throws his head back to bump against the floor.
Jason presses his face into Tim’s neck and sucks hard enough to leave a mark as he waits for the other to adjust. He licks up the side of his throat until his mouth is at his ear and whispers, “Thank you for loving me.”
A tear runs down Timothy’s face, streaking down from his eye to his temple as he wraps his legs tight around Jason.
He can feel the love through their bond running both ways. The base is stormy, lustful, and obsessive love. Not necessarily because they bring out the darkest parts of themselves, but because this is what their love was always going to be with or without the other. Two people who can’t love correctly loving each other.
Turbulent, unsteady, romantic love, just as thick but far less noticeable, is layered on top. It’s lighter than the previous, and hides behind its fellow versions of affection. Quietly it has grown and continues to grow. The shakiness of it is caused by their own self doubt and loathing.
The next layer is almost thin, but not non-existent. Built over time and after years of taking blows for each other on missions, and coming back to the Batcave to tend to each other's wounds with the other ex-Robins; Heavy, appreciative, familial love.
Lastly, a slim new shine on top of the pile, brilliantly bright, and awed puppy love brought on by their last few months of one-sided flirting (Jason) and allowance (Timothy). It’s been doubled in size since their bond snapped into place.
If this is what it feels like to be loved, Tim’s sure he’s never been loved before. It’s a melancholy recognition.
Tim tries to echo the sentiment, “Thank you–”
Jason cuts him off quickly, “No, baby, no. Lovin’ you ‘s easy.”
That’s never been true before. Gratitude and pain knot together within Timothy as another tear falls. If loving him is so easy, why is Jason the only one who does?
It’s too much. There’s a lump in Timothy’s throat, and he desperately wants the gaping hole of loneliness to go back to being ignorable. Jason begins to move his hips, kissing him far too lovingly.
“It’s ok,” Jason whispers, feeling Tim’s internal struggle through the bond, “I have you.”
Tim whines brokenly. The Demon-Raised pours his affection and devotion into him, trying his best to fill the gaping maw of isolation and abandonment within his bonded. It’s not enough, not now at least, with everything so fresh, but it’s a start.
The human rocks back into the thrusts. He wants Jason. He’s wanted Jason. He’s finally having him.
Jason must share the same sentiment, because he picks up the pace. His pelvis slaps against the back of Tim’s thighs. He tilts his hips until the man below can’t keep his eyes from squeezing shut in pleasure.
“How’s this angle?” Jason asks, grinding upwards.
Timothy exclaims wordlessly at first, an unholy noise of ecstasy before laboring out, “A– amazing!”
“Oh yeah? Am I hitting your sweet spots again baby?”
“Yes, yes, so good–” Tim praises, half mindedly, hypersensitive and overstimulated.
Jason snaps his hips hard, stinging the back of Tim’s thighs. Through the bond he feels abashed joy and ashamed relishment.
The praise burns Jason, it brands him. He’s hit deeply by Tim’s easy words. He’s accepted he does things wrong, but he works so hard to be right, to do right, even if no one agrees. He wants someone to see it. He needs someone to feel it.
Tim does, and he dives head first into it, caressing the man’s face, “Jason, you’re so good.”
And Tim’s not just talking about the way Jason’s fucking into him. He says it low and heavy with meaning so Red Hood catches on.
“FUCK. Shut up.” Jason seethes, even as his hips stutter.
He can’t escape how raw he is right now, how proficiently Timothy is scraping away at his insecurities and exploiting them. It’s torturously amazing.
“You make me feel so full,” Tim croons, clenching around Jason and sucking in a breath as he feels the cock within him withdraw, rubbing against his inner walls.
Jason makes a wounded noise even as his dick twitches. The slapping of their flesh is loud within the condo, the wet squelch of every push and pull reverberating through them.
“Jason… I love the way you feel inside of me,”
Red Hood pulses inside of him as he grinds forwards into his core. Tim seizes, squealing unattractively as his g-spot is pulverized. His fingers curl into claws and he rakes them down whatever’s available– which just so happens to be Jason’s leathery-looking bat wings. They’re soft and velvety, nothing like the harsh hide they give the impression of.
Tim’s nails drag on the smooth derma mercilessly.
Jason screeches.
Beneath Tim’s hands, Jason’s whole body quivers fiercely.
“GOD– do that again, do it again!” Jason’s a snarling mess, eyes flashing red briefly before turning to a gleaming green once more.
If they weren’t mid-coitus and reading each other so easily through the bond, Timothy might be scared of the reaction, given how visceral it is. Instead, it’s thrilling.
He scrambles his fingers back up to where Jason’s wings start, stretching out from between his scapula, and scratches.
The darling mewl Timothy’s gifted with in response is heavenly. Such a big, rough and tumble man dismantled by a simple flex of his fingers.
“Oh god, oh fuck, Timbers–” Jason cries out.
The Demon-Raised is clearly close to his own orgasm. Red Robin thinks the other will get there before he does until suddenly a slick, scaled nub is flicking and rubbing against Tim’s clit. It’s cold and textured– a sex toy in itself with how it’s moving. Timothy has no control over how his body flails.
Someone is vocalizing sharply, high pitched.
“Yeah, mouthy bird, how do you like it?” Jason asks sadistically.
The vocalization cuts out as Tim tries to respond, and he realizes it’s been him the whole time as he tries, “A lot– like it a loooo–”
And then he’s crashing hard into his second orgasm of the night, limbs spasming involuntarily.
Somewhere, in the part of the brain that’s still aware, he can feel Jason following in release right after. It radiates through their bond, multiplying the sensation.
In a place above time and space, Timothy feels more whole than he has in years.
Later, sometime after they can wiggle their toes and move their jaws again, Timothy runs his hand down Jason’s wing, petting him.
“You’re not alone either.”
Jason says nothing for a moment before he whispers roughly, “If you tell anyone my feelings, I’ll ruin you.”
Tim snorts and smiles, “Promise?”
“Any way you want me too.” Jason agrees, kissing the human with featherlight pressure.
Then the Demon-Raised pulls away, unmounting Tim to turn away, as if hiding his face will hide the emotions rolling through the bond.
Tim lets him go, but adds sincerely , “I’ll keep all your secrets, Hood. Don’t worry.”
“‘Wasn’t that worried.”
Extra
Timothy: “Your wings…”
Jason: “They’re batwings.”
Clearly, Timothy snarks in his head.
He thinks they’re magnificent and Jason can feel it.
Jason: “Maybe I’ll let them out once in a while.”
Timothy: “Maybe I’ll scratch them up again if you do.”
Jason: “Yes, please.”