Chapter Text
The thing is, Tim isn’t even angry about Robin. He knows better than anyone that Batman needs a sidekick. It’s why he’d first volunteered, after all. Batman has always been better with someone by his side. So after Damian had fucked off to Bludhaven to brood, Tim had known someone needed to take his place.
So Tim can’t exactly begrudge the man replacing him with a brand new little Robin, no matter how hard Ra’s had tried to rile him up about it. Tim, of all people, knows how much better Bruce functions with a partner by his side. What happened to Tim was a fucked up anomaly. His own mistake. His own burden.
It’s the choice of Robin he disagrees with.
Damian had been obvious. Bruce’s true son. He’d trained with the League - with Ra’s and Talia and all of the tutors who have kicked Tim’s ass so many times since he had come back and found himself drowning in vibrant green. Tim knows how well Damian was trained.
The black mark against Damian is the fact that he’s killed. Tim had held that against him, as a kid. Comforted himself in the face of the other man’s rejection with the fact that he wasn’t perfect. That Tim, despite all his faults, still had that over him.
He doesn’t anymore, but Tim is starting to see how killing might not be as big a deal as Bruce likes to make it out to be.
And Tim fit Robin well for lots of other reasons too. He’s smart, well-educated, and part of the same circles that Bruce moves in when he’s playing Brucie Wayne. Before he’d died, he’d been slated to take over Wayne Enterprises. He’d had his own family, too, to help stop any suspicion being raised about any connection between the Waynes and Batman. He hadn’t needed Bruce Wayne’s charity.
The Robin Bruce replaced him with is a petty criminal, dragged up from the gutter of crime alley. Tim had looked him up, after Ra’s had first shown him that article - the announcement of Bruce Wayne’s new little adoptee. His records had been frankly pathetic, and they’d painted a sad little picture of Jason Todd.
A drug-addict mother who OD’d when he was nine, an abusive father who’s been locked up since long before that. A rap sheet of petty crime: thievery, loitering, child prostitution.
It had been clear that Bruce was looking for someone to save.
But even that hadn’t been enough to really get Tim angry. After all, Stephanie had been from the poorer part of Gotham, and Tim had worked alongside her perfectly well. He understood Bruce’s desire to help out the little charity case.
So he’d ignored Ra’s’ goading and let Bruce and his new brood get on with their pathetic mission. And Tim had kept on with his training - kept on with his plotting and planning and his mission to clean Gotham up once and for all. His plan was complex, after all, with a hundred moving parts. It needed time to set up correctly. Tim had been content to leave the Bats be, until he needed them. Even if it took years to get there.
Even the addition of the circus brat hadn’t phased him. What’s one more piece on the board to Tim at this point? The kid hadn’t even been Robin, or any sort of vigilante, at first. Either way, Tim hadn’t cared.
Then Jason presents and Tim’s whole opinion turns utterly upside down. Because Jason is an omega.
Tim hadn’t even considered the possibility, at first. It’s impossible to tell designations in the suits, and none of the papers had made any reference to his secondary gender. Tim had wondered, of course, but it hadn’t much mattered to him either way. He’d assumed the kid was an alpha, or a beta, maybe, and stopped caring about it. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jason hadn’t presented yet.
Now, years after Bruce had taken him in, Jason is far too old to be presenting. Maybe Tim shouldn’t be so surprised, considering what he knows of the kid’s background, but he’s never known anyone else to present so late. It happens, of course, but it isn’t exactly normal.
And omegas usually present earlier than any other designation. So seeing the article discussing the fact that Jason Wayne has presented as an omega comes as a shock. A painful, unpleasant shock. Because Tim is sure he’d seen the kid out patrolling just the other night.
What the fuck is Bruce thinking? A dirty little street-rat whore parading around as Robin is one thing. An omega is something totally different.
And Tim isn’t sexist, or anything. It’s just biology. Omegas are vulnerable to so much more than betas or alphas. What if a villain got hold of the kid’s neck? What if they injected him with a heat inducer? What if they managed to fucking bite him? If Joker gets his hands on Jason, he won’t have to torture him for weeks, like he’d done to Tim. One little bite on his neck, and Jason will be whatever he wants him to be.
Tim feels a surge of hazy green for the first time in a long time. His hands start to shake, a little. Tim has been over-generous. He’d let Ra’s’ little whispers of betrayal and replacement and revenge roll right off his back. Tim’s issues have always been with their methods - with the rogues and the crime and the way Bruce deals with it. He’s never had a crusade against the Bats themselves.
But this? This is stupid. This is willfully ignorant. This is Bruce putting people in danger. Putting Gotham in danger.
Tim is going to have to show him. He’ll have to demonstrate exactly how stupid this decision is, before someone else does it for him.
⁂
It isn’t even hard to get to Jason. Tim accelerates his plan a little bit. Nothing crazy - nothing that will mess up all the work he’s already put into it. But he needs a distraction. And blowing Arkham wide was already on his bucket list.
Predictably, Bruce calls all hands on deck: Steph, Cass, the little circus kid. Even Damian gets shipped back from Bludhaven to help out. And of course, Jason, although Tim can’t imagine what Bruce is thinking - letting an omega go up against some of the worst Gotham villains.
Not that Tim is anticipating anyone but him touching the kid tonight.
In the chaos, it’s easy to get Robin alone. Tim waits until he’s finished taking out the low-level thugs he’s distracted with, then drops down silently behind him. Robin still senses his presence - so he has some training, at least - whipping around and raising his fists, looking every bit the street-rat brawler thug Tim knows he is.
There’s no weapon. Unlike the elegance of Tim’s bo staff, the kid fights with fists and feet. When he sees Hood, his whole body tenses and an uncertain look crosses his face, before it’s quickly replaced with a scowl.
“Robin,” Hood says and Robin snarls, lower and rougher than Tim had been expecting, and launches himself at him.
Tim dodges the strike easily enough, twisting to put himself at Robin’s back. Robin follows through with his momentum, rather than trying to stop himself, ducking forward into a half-twist handspring to keep Hood in his sights.
Not bad. Tim smiles behind the helmet, knowing Robin can’t see it. Maybe this will be more fun than he’d thought.
“What are you doing here, Hood?” Robin snaps, fingers flexing where they’re clenched into tight fists. “We got enough trouble.”
“I can see that,” Tim says. He cocks his head, watches Jason watching him.
This time it’s Tim who springs forward. Jason doesn’t twist out of the way, meeting Tim head on with exactly the sort of recklessness Tim would expect from him. An elbow slams into Tim’s stomach, then the kid grabs onto his shoulder, trying to flip himself over Tim to get behind him.
Tim drops, using his heavier body weight to bring them both to the ground. Robin immediately lets go, kicking out to try to push himself out from underneath the sudden weight on him. Tim hits him, hard, across the face, then again to the soft spot beneath his ribs. Robin grunts but doesn’t stop struggling until Tim manages to worm his arm beneath him and get a good grip on the back of his neck.
Instantly, Robin goes limp. Tim bares his teeth beneath the helmet, even as he slides the primed syringe out of his sleeve and presses it into the junction of Robin’s neck. This is exactly the sort of shit he’s talking about. One little grab and Robin is basically putty in his hands.
One little syringe filled with sedative and heat inducer and Robin will be a lot more than that.
And, really, anyone could get these drugs. Robin won’t be the first omega who has to suffer the indignity of a forced heat. Tim’s sure he won’t be the last.
Which is exactly why Tim needs to do this.
He keeps his grip on Robin’s neck until he’s certain the kid is unconscious, then sits back and pulls the little jamming device out of his pocket. Lord knows how many trackers Bruce has fit onto (and probably into, Tim has his own little scar from his subdermal tracker) Robin. Tim doesn’t have the time or the energy to dig each one out and destroy them. Besides, he wants Batman to be able to find them once he’s done.
So Tim clicks the button on the jammer, disabling the trackers without setting off any of the Bat’s alarms (he hopes). They’ll no doubt notice soon enough, anyway, but Tim hopes to be well clear of here by then.
The safe house Tim takes Jason to isn’t actually all that far from where he’d picked Robin up, but he doesn’t particularly want to be out on the streets with a limp, trackerless Robin any longer than he needs to be, so it will have to do. There’s nothing to suggest that he’s connected to the place, anyway, and Tim had made sure that there won’t be any evidence of his journey here long before he’d taken Robin.
He dumps Jason in the room he’d cleared out specifically for this, before setting to work on re-enabling his security. Just in case any of the Bats figure it out before Tim’s ready for them.
Then he sets to work.
First, Tim strips Jason of his blockers and most of his uniform. The kid is limp and pliant as he works, soft, and already Tim can smell the sweet edge of his impending, artificial heat. The first stirring of arousal starts to build in Tim’s gut as he less-than-gently tugs the domino mask free, exposing Jason’s face. His eyes are closed, thick lashes resting against his cheeks. His mouth is slightly open, plump lips parted as he breathes slow and deep.
Like this, he doesn’t look like a thief or a street rat. A whore, maybe, with those lips, with that smell. Tim can imagine him out on the streets, younger and smaller than this, shivering in a ratty t-shirt and torn-up jeans, makeup smeared across his face, and is glad that the image repulses him.
But Jason is older now. And Robin. And in need of being taught a lesson.
Or, that isn’t actually true. It’s Bruce who needs the lesson. Jason is just going to help him do that.
Jason stirs just as Tim finishes attaching the heavy duty cuffs to his wrists. There’s a moment of drugged confusion, where Tim can see him performing the environment checks Bruce had drilled into them all, keeping his eyes shut as if he can fool Tim into thinking he’s still unconscious. His nostrils flare as he scents the air. The chain on the cuffs clinks softly as he tests his bonds. Then, eventually, Jason’s eyes flutter open, taking in the dim room around him with blown-wide pupils.
His gaze almost immediately lands on Tim. For a few moments, Jason just stares at him in hazy confusion, blinking slow and lethargically. There’s a light pink flush crawling across his cheeks. Tim can’t tell if it’s leftover from the sedatives, or if the kid’s heat is just coming on fast.
“Wha-“ Jason starts, then stops. Swallows drily. His eyes flicker around the rest of the room before landing on Tim again. “What the fuck? I’m - I’m hallucinating. I - what?”
Tim smirks. “What makes you say that?”
Jason stares at him as if he’s crazy. Tim is honestly a little surprised the kid recognised him. He’d half expected Bruce to have wiped any evidence of his existence off the face of the earth. But it’s clear that Jason knows exactly who he is, even with the domino mask still covering Tim’s eyes.
“I’m looking at a dead guy,” Jason says, in a faint voice. “I - shit, I’m not dead, am I?”
Tim laughs, a low, mirthless sound. No he’s not dead. Not like Tim, who the Joker had tortured for almost a week before his body had finally given up. Who Batman had failed to save. Who Nightwing probably hadn’t even bothered to look for, when they’d found out he was missing. No. Apparently this Robin is different. Tim has seen the way they interact with him. The way he makes Bruce - distant, serious Bruce - laugh. The way Damian has taken him under his wing, when he’d had nothing but cold disdain for Tim.
Despite himself, he feels a sharp pinch of pain in his chest at that. How he had admired Damian as a kid, looked up to him, marvelled at his skill. How he had wanted Damian to like him, to approve of him. And how little Damian had actually thought of him. He’d been clear on his opinion of the new Robin - unskilled, untrained, a liability. And yet, this kid - a street rat, criminal, whore, an omega - is somehow worthy of his care and attention?
“Not yet,” Tim tells him. “We’re going to have some fun first.”
Unease flickers across the kid’s face. For the first time, he seems to realise he’s half-naked, in nothing but his underwear, and his wrists are cuffed together with thick metal shackles. He tugs at them, rattling the chain, and Tim can hear his breathing quicken when there’s no give.
Another spark of arousal warms Tim’s belly. Good. He’d hate to not be able to perform.
“What do you want, Hood?” Jason snaps, the heat in his voice doing a decent job of covering the fear. “Why are you - why do you look like Tim Drake? What do you want with me?”
Tim huffs another bitter laugh. “I don’t look like Tim Drake, kid. I am him. In all his glory. Back from the dead.”
He fixes Jason with a sharp look.
“And imagine my surprise when I crawled out of the grave and discovered Bruce had replaced me with an omega.”
At the sound of Bruce’s name, Jason goes very still. He’s still trembling and his chest is still heaving, but he stops tugging on the cuffs, staring at Tim with wide, wary eyes.
“Bruce?” he says, hesitantly. “I don’t know-“
“I just told you, kid,” Tim interrupts. “I’m Tim Drake. You don’t have any secrets to hide from me. I know all about Bruce and Damian and Stephanie. I know all about you.”
“No.” Jason shakes his head, a little frantically. His feet slip against the concrete as he tries to push himself backwards without the use of his arms. “That’s - that’s not possible. People don’t come back from the dead.”
Tim catches one skinny ankle, dragging Jason back towards him. “Look, kid. I don’t care enough to explain myself to you, okay? I don’t need you to believe me, or to understand. I’m just trying to teach you a lesson - you and Bruce - about why dirty little omega whores shouldn’t be running around Gotham in my old uniform.”
Jason flinches. When Tim inhales, he gets a burst of anger and fear and a scent that’s thickening from pre-heat into actual heat and, wow, that didn’t take long at all. Of course Ra’s supplied the good stuff.
He shifts, dragging Jason a little closer. The kid tenses as he slides across the floor. When he’s close enough that Tim is practically on top of him, he finally lashes out, aiming a brutal kick at Tim’s solar plexus with the leg not in Tim’s grip. Tim doesn’t bother trying to block it - the armour takes the worst of the damage. When the kid immediately changes tactics, slamming his heel up towards Tim’s chin with impressive flexibility, Tim just catches his ankle easily.
Jason tries to twist out of his grip, but even if he weren’t drugged and entering an artificial heat, Tim doubts he would be able to match his strength. Not that Jason’s struggles are totally without merit. He’s squirming like a feral cat - hissing like one too - and Tim has to adjust his grip to make sure he keeps hold of him.
In one sharp movement, Tim jerks him closer, closing the last little gap of space between them. One leg, he pins to ground, shifting his grip to the meat of Jason’s thigh. The other he brings with him as he layers himself over the kid, pressing it close to Jason’s chest in a test of that flexibility.
Bringing his face down close to Jason, Tim lets out a low alpha growl.
Jason instantly stills. Wide blue eyes stare back at Tim. A whine splits the air, sharp and complaining, but also submissive in a way that a growl could never be.
A typical omega. All Tim had to do was growl at him and he rolls over and flashes his belly. How Bruce ever thought it was appropriate for this kid to be Robin, Tim will never know.
“What are you doing?” Jason whispers, although he clearly knows. Although he’s clearly terrified.
Tim releases his grip on Jason’s thigh. Slides his hand up over tense muscle, over the thin fabric of the kid’s underwear, the taut skin of his stomach, until he can close his fingers lightly around Jason’s throat. Jason shivers. Moisture gleams in his eyes.
“Come on, kid,” Tim says, softly. “You know what’s happening. You’ve done it plenty of times before, haven’t you?”
Pain flashes across Jason’s eyes before he screws then shut. Sours his scent. He tips his head away and Tim takes the opportunity to stroke at the exposed scent gland beneath his jaw. Jason trembles at the touch, a soft, protesting whine escaping him.
“Although not during your heat, I’m sure. You’ve only ever had one, haven’t you? So I’m sure this will be a novel experience.”
“I’m not -“ Jason whispers. “My heat’s over.”
Tim slides his thumb once more over Jason’s scent gland, already swelling under his skin, preparing, as with every heat, for a mating mark. Then he drags it lower, to the tiny pin-prick wound where Tim had injected the heat-inducer.
“It wasn’t just a sedative in that syringe you know. There are some pretty effective heat-inducers out there. Almost anyone could get their hands on one, if they wanted.”
“What do you want?” Jason asks again, voice rough and desperate. “Please, just tell me what you want. You don’t have to do this.”
“What I want, little bird, is to show Bruce the error of his ways. Omegas don’t belong on the streets. You have no right to Robin.”
As he says it, he pulls back enough to flip Robin over, maneuvering him into a proper presenting position. Jason resists, growling and snapping, tensing his muscles as Tim manhandles him onto his front and drags his hips up. His struggles are even weaker now, though - almost lethargic. When Tim backhands him casually across the face, he goes limp. The warm, sweet heat scent is growing ever stronger.
Not quite strong enough to drown out the fear, but enough to have Tim’s cock start to fill in his pants.
“Wait,” Jason gasps, as Tim tears the kid’s underwear off of him with easy strength. “Wait. I’ll stop, okay? I’ll give up Robin. Just…please...”
“I wish I could believe you, kid,” Tim murmurs. “Even if I did. It’s Batman I care about. I want him to see exactly what could happen to his precious little omega.”
Jason growls. Tim ignores him, parting the pale ass cheeks revealed when the fabric of his underwear falls away.
Jason’s cunt is pink and already a little swollen, sensitive from his heat. There’s a faint shine between his legs, but nothing excessive. There’s no real smell of arousal, either, just the base-level heat scent.
For a moment, Tim just looks at it, at the omega spread out beneath him, at the prize he’d stolen from right under Bruce’s nose - and Nightwing’s. Then, without warning, he spears two fingers deep into Jason’s cunt.
The omega cries out, a sharp noise of pain and surprise. It probably didn’t actually hurt that badly. Tim had only used two fingers and although Jason isn’t dripping, he is already a little slick. But if Jason wants to complain, Tim isn’t going to stop him.
Tim pulls his fingers out, then pushes them back in again, pumping idly. Jason squirms, making soft, hurt noises. Little whimpers and whines that pool warm arousal in Tim’s belly, encouraging his cock to swell to full hardness. He shifts, pressing closer until the hard jut of his cock is pressing into Jason’s thigh.
“Your greedy little cunt is desperate for this, huh? Bet it’s missed a thick alpha cock in it. You want me to knot you full? Want me to send you back to Batman with a pup in your belly?”
Jason jerks like he’s been electrocuted. Gasps. “No,” he chokes. “Please, please don’t.”
“Don’t what, baby?” And he’d thought - Tim hadn’t expected he’d enjoy this so much. He’d thought he would have to work at it, just go through the motions, mechanically. This was just a means to an end and Tim, he’s not exactly a good guy, but he’s not - he’s not a bad guy. Except, he’s enjoying this. “You don’t want to get pupped?”
Jason lets out a pleading little whine. His cunt clenches involuntarily around Tim’s fingers and Tim hums, pleased. He wasn’t expecting him to be quite so...responsive. Not considering the kid’s history. But then, it is only Jason’s second heat. It must be overwhelming.
“Tell you what, kid. I’ll give you a choice. I can fuck your desperate little cunt, knot you, and you’ll just have to hope it doesn’t catch…” he punctuates that with another harsh shove of his fingers. Then he pulls them free, stroking up between Jason’s cheeks to pet over his hole. “Or I can fuck your ass instead.”
“No,” Jason moans, trembling. The smell of his heat is so strong now, a heavy, honey scent soured by fear. “No, please.”
Tim presses damp fingers against the furled ring of muscle until Jason’s desperate body gives up the fight. They sink into him easily enough and Tim shivers at the tight, dry heat. With his free hand, he fumbles at his own pants, tugging his straining cock free. Alpha arousal immediately seeps into the air.
“That’s not an answer,” Tim hums. He pushes his fingers deeper, gripping the meat of one trembling thigh with his other hand to give himself the leverage to thrust his aching cock along Jason’s slit. It feels good, that friction, the slick heat of him. “You don’t want to make me decide.”
For a moment, he thinks Jason isn’t going to answer, either too stubborn, too scared, or just too far gone with his heat. Then, in a tiny, trembling voice:
“My - my - please.”
“Please what, Robin. What do you want me to do?”
“Please fuck my ass,” Jason whispers, miserably. “I can’t - I can’t have a - a pup.“
Christ. An electric jolt shoots up Tim’s spine at that. His cock throbs. Suddenly he doesn’t have the patience for teasing. He needs to get his cock inside Jason before he loses it. He feels almost like he’s about to tip into his rut, wild and uncoordinated.
With almost numb fingers, Tim grips Jason’s hips, reaching his thumbs around to tug the kid’s cheeks apart. The dusky hole between them winks, teasingly. Tim groans, pressing his hips forward, sliding his hot cock across Jason’s skin.
Jason lets out a pitiful whimper. “Please don’t do this,” he begs, one final, desperate time.
Tim ignores him. He shifts a little, then pushes forward, pressing inexorably into Jason’s body. The flesh splits around him, tight and dry and so hot and Jason screams, his whole body convulsing.
Tim grunts. He feels warm all over, like there’s a fire burning in his gut. Pleasure radiates out from his cock, from the tight squeeze of Jason around him. It’s shockingly intense.
Part of Tim, the instinctive, alpha part, howls at the fact that there’s a slick, wet, in-heat pussy right there and Tim is ignoring it. The rest of his brain is purring, pleased by how good Jason feels. Too caught up in the sensations to care about anything else.
“Fuck,” Tim curses. His fingers are digging in hard enough to bruise. “You’re surprisingly tight for a whore.”
Jason sobs. Tim pulls out and thrusts in again, punching another agonised sound out of him. Tim should have recorded this, he thinks, absently, as he sets a fast and hard rhythm. He doubts he’d ever have better material to hurt Bruce with than that. The sound Jason just made would no doubt haunt him for months.
But Tim will just have to make do with Bruce knowing. With him knowing how badly he’s failed his Robin - both of them. With knowing how badly he’s failing Gotham.
The thought sends a shudder down Tim’s spine. He doesn’t want to think about all the ways Bruce has failed him right now. He just needs to let his instincts take over. He just needs to feel.
Embarrassingly, Tim’s orgasm builds quickly. Already, he can feel the tell-tale tingle at the root of his cock. His thrusts turn quicker and sharper, pounding brutally into the little omega below him. The slap of flesh on flesh is loud in the room. There’s a wet sound each time Tim thrusts, blood slicking his cock. Jason is whimpering and crying beneath him. Tim can barely hear anything over the roar of his pulse and his own panting breaths in his ears.
He’s going to pop his knot any minute and, as cruel as he’s been to the kid, he doesn’t actually want to kill him. Tim could just pull out. Spray his semen across the back of Jason’s thighs, claim him with his scent and seed even if it isn’t actually inside him. That had been the original plan.
But now, with the omega’s heat-scent in his nose and his knot swelling and his alpha instincts roaring, Tim finds he can’t bring himself to do that.
He does pull out, because he doesn’t want to split the poor kid in two, but rather than taking himself in hand, he thrusts forward, pressing his cock lower between Jason’s legs, carving into his cunt.
Jason screams again, although he’s wet enough that Tim slides to the hilt with ease. Something settles in Tim, to feel the clench of Jason’s cunt around him. Deeply ingrained alpha instincts purr at the thought of breeding the omega full.
Tim doesn’t actually want that, but the thought sends molten arousal down his spine, regardless.
“No,” Jason shrieks, squirming desperately as Tim’s knot steadily inflates with each thrust. Tim can hear the cuffs rattling as he scrabbles at the floor. “No you said - you promised.”
Tim snarls. He lunges over the omega, one hand releasing its death grip on his hips to fist into sweat-damp curls instead. Jason keens. Tim wants to tell him how little words mean. How little anyone’s promises have ever meant. But when he opens his mouth he can taste Jason’s heat on his tongue and, suddenly, he can’t stop himself from pressing his lips to the kid’s neck.
This has always been a part of his plan, anyway. This bond. The final fuck you to Bruce. All it takes is one bite, and the omega will be Tim’s until one of them dies, or Tim chooses to break it. If the Joker had gotten Jason tonight, that’s all it would take to bind him to the freak forever. No torture needed. And every last secret, everything that so many people have fought and died for, would be his.
If anything, Bruce should be grateful that Tim is taking that off the table. He won’t be. But Tim is fine with the alternative. All he needs is the lesson.
The moment his lips brush the swollen gland on Jason’s neck, the omega fights. He bucks and snarls and writhes in Tim’s grip, sobbing and snapping.
“No,” he growls, again, as if that’s stopped Tim before. “No, god, don’t.”
Just like before, Tim ignores him. He firms his grip in Jason’s hair, clenching tight enough to yank several strands free. Then he closes teeth hard around the swollen gland, burying deep enough that blood and oil immediately burst across his tongue. Something like electricity sparks across his whole body. He growls low and loud. His knot swells and locks as his orgasm rocks through him, spurting seed deep into Jason’s fertile womb.
Jason screams again. His body goes rigid as a board, his cunt clenching down hard around Tim’s knot as he comes, an automatic reaction to a simultaneous knot and bite during heat.
Tim holds them both there for a long time, keeping his jaws locked tight around Jason’s throat. Jason goes limp, at some point, crying weakly, although his cunt continues to convulse around Tim well after that. Tim can feel the bond cementing at the back of his head, a possessive swell within his chest, a permanent reminder of his power over Jason.
Eventually, Tim’s knot deflates enough that he can slip out. Even when he releases him, Jason stays limp on the ground, silent aside from the occasional sob or whimper. His eyes are open but half-lidded, staring sightlessly. Not unconscious then, but in shock.
Tim smiles to himself as he stands and does up his fly. He doesn’t bother redressing Jason. He wants Bruce to see exactly what he’s done, after all.
But he does retrieve the jammer and flip it off. If it’s worked correctly - and it should - all of Jason’s trackers should be coming back online and the Bats should arrive shortly after.
All Tim needs to do now is wait.