Title: Kidnapped
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Fandom: Batman
Rating: G
Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd
Summary: The situation is getting ridiculous.
Disclaimer: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Robin, and Batman are owned by DC comics.
*---*---*---*---*
It was decidedly odd, Tim thought, to wake up groggily while tied to a chair in a place that was most obviously not his bedroom.
“Rise and shine, kid.”
Raising his head from staring at his lap and the metal wire wound around his tiny wrists and the chair arms, he blinked owlishly at the long faced stranger with a bushy beard. Instead of his neat and orderly room, he was in a small and messy floored living room with a small television set placed on top of a bunch of boxes in front of him. It brought Tim to one conclusion and one conclusion only.
This kidnapping spree was really getting annoying. Given, this WAS Gotham, and the recidivism rate of crime in the city was roughly 65%, but you'd think that after fourteen different kidnapping attempts the criminal element would have gotten a clue by now.
Fleshy fingers rose in front of his face, snapping to get his attention. “Hey, kid. You with us? Not conco- concus-” unable to seem to find that right pronunciation, the guy gave up. “Ya not brain damaged, are ya?”
Tim thought for a moment, trying to ignore the continuous throb from the back of his head. “Yes and no.”
“Ah, that's good. Kinda worried, ya know? Donny, the guy over there drinking the vodka, he's alche-alcho-, a hell, ya know, always drunk. Afraid he hit ya too hard with that bat.”
He'd have to add that to his growing list of objects to hate. It was a good thing he'd never been that fond of baseball to begin with. Though he may have to eventually face up to the rolling pin if he ever ended up needing to make his own cookies from scratch...
A squeezable stress ball sailed through the air and hit the bearded guy in the face. Asian features pulled into a scowl. “Idiot. I ain't got no habit, Jeff. Now tell the brat off so we can finish the round,” Donny said, waving the hand holding the vodka bottle at the kitchen table strewn with playing cards.
Tim watched as Jeff bent over to pick up and pitch the ball right back. “Ah, give it a rest, Don. He's probably as confused as hell, being only ten-”
Tim made a face. “Twelve. I'm twelve.”
Jeff glanced at him. “Sorry.” He looked back at Donny, “Being only twelve, and waking up with a bunch of strangers and all.”
Tim snorted, catching the attention of the other two. “Actually, that's getting pretty normal this summer.”
Jeff blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah. For one, you wouldn't believe what my first set of kidnappers used to tie me up...”
*---*---*---*---*
By the time Tim had gotten to reminiscing about the time he'd spent with the second set of kidnappers, Donny had moved from the kitchen into the living room to sit with Jeff, both interested in the follies of their fellows.
It wasn't until he'd gotten to the seventh set that the windows looking over the main street behind them burst open, glass shards flying everywhere as Batman and Robin sailed through, moving to subdue Donny and Jeff.
On some weird level, Tim pitied them. Especially when Donny started complaining about the broken half bottle of vodka that was knocked out of his hand only to be punched across the jaw.
*---*---*---*---*
“Hey kid. Where's the parents?” Robin asked, cutting the wire ties off with the edge of a bat-a-rang.
Tim pouted slightly, rubbing at his wrists when they were free. “Taiwan, though they might be in Kyoto by now. Depends if Dad got bored and moved the flight up or not.” He glanced over to watch Batman working the zip-strips around the kidnapper's limbs before looking back at Robin. “Busy night?”
Robin shrugged from where he was sawing away at the wire binding Tim's ankles. “Riddler showed up at a television studio. Went spastic because the station was dropping his favorite game show.”
“Not Twenty Questions?”
“Afraid so. Ratings have been dropping ever since the last show host retired.” The bat-a-rang finally slipped through, and the wire fell to the floor. Standing up, Robin pulled him out of the chair. “So what were you guys doing, all cozy up in one room?”
Tim shrugged. “I was just recounting the other times I was kidnapped.”
Robin grinned. “Did you get to the group that turned themselves in when you told them Bats and I were going to find you?”
“Nah, I only got to the group that left me unsupervised in a bedroom with a window.”
Robin punched him in the arm lightly, which for Tim meant he'd be bruised there later. “You still haven't told me how you got those last ones all edgy.”
Tim blushed a bit. “I finally got annoyed enough to tell them that Drake Industries doesn't pay ransom demands and that they'd have to wait about two months for Mom and Dad to get home to send them a ransom note. I think they didn't like the idea of having to babysit me for that long.”
There was a noise from over by the window, and they turned to see Batman tapping a jump-line launcher against his thigh. “Well, duty calls and all that crap. You know which number to call for the police. See ya later, kid.”
“Night, Robin.”
*---*---*---*---*
“Wakey wakey, kid.”
Eyes fluttering open, Tim groaned as he looked up at a bald headed Rambo-wanna-be.
He made a mental note to ask Batman for an emergency tracker for repeat victims like he'd read about in that book on English Policing. Or maybe get some tips from Robin on how he gets out of all of those hostage situations.
Really, he thinks this situation is getting absolutely ridiculous.
--Fin