AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know, I know. This should be a Linchpin update, but once again I had this bunny that had to be purged. Do I like it? No, not really. It's not 100% mine and I'll be the first to admit I don't like writing stuff that's not at least originally my idea. It was inspired by another fic to another fandom that I read ages ago and for some reason it stuck with me this past week or so. It was just begging to be twisted around for some good ol' fashion Robin/Dick peril. So yeah...

It was the vile taste of rancid leftovers that finally chased the last vestiges of unconsciousness from him mind. Thirteen year old Robin forced his eyes open and regretted it instantly when the all-too-familiar, pulsating pounding threatened to split his skull. 'Damn it, why am I the one who always ends up getting chloroformed," he complained internally, attempting to massage the headache that was centralized behind his temples. Except his hands wouldn't move; that was when he realized how he was laying.

On his side, with his hands unable to be moved from behind him.

It was always disconcerting, being kidnapped when he was Dick Grayson. If he had been Robin he could have fought back, but as the adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne he knows only the rudimentary basics of self defense; easily overpowered by someone determined enough. Especially if his abductor was armed with chloroform soaked rags and rendered him unconscious. Which left him helpless to whatever means of containment was employed to keep him captive.

He noted his restraints were tight around the wrists and elbows, their thickness leaving him believing them rope. He tried to shift his body to get a better look at his bindings only to discover identical bonds around his ankles and knees. He twisted his wrists to test for any give in the ropes. It only took a matter of seconds for him to discover that there was none. With his sigh of frustration he became more aware of the almost painfully tight fabric tight over his mouth.

He fought the temptation to scream his rage out against the gag and remembered his training. He tilted his head back and around, taking in every inch of the dark room he was in. It was circular, small, barely six feet in diameter with walls reaching maybe seven feet up. There was no light fixture, the white plastic – no, fiberglass – walls thin enough to let in outside light but thick enough that he couldn't see anything outside them. There was a single hatch on the roof, maybe eighteen inches wide, but no hinges on this side, nor evidence of a locking mechanism, though he didn't doubt that there was one.

In other words, even if he managed to get himself free he wouldn't get out of the room. No, he wasn't in a room. He was in some kind of tank or cistern.

Okay, that was new…

Resigned to his situation, Dick let his head drop back to the floor. 'Okay, enough time has to have passed, or a ransom demand made. Bruce and Alfred will know something's wrong.' He hoped so; it meant help wasn't too far away and Batman would be along to untie him. The sooner the better, as far as he was concerned. Nothing annoyed him more than being unable to move around as he chose.

Not to mention…

Well, he would never willingly admit it to anyone, but it wasn't just the inability to move or the indignation that came with being held captive. Being tied up just plain scared him. It left him vulnerable, unable to defend himself from whatever his captives had planned. And a lot of the time, what they had planned was something with lots of pain and/or death; heavy on the death part.

The pain he could deal with; Batman had seen to increasing his pain tolerance in the first year of his training to become Robin. The threat of death though, to know his imminent demise was being plotted with no way for him to fight or prevent it-

Yes, Dick Grayson was scared.

But he wasn't just mild-manner-junior-high-student Dick Grayson. He was also Robin, the Boy Wonder, and he had been trained how to cope with and use that fear instead of panicking the way he had the first time. He could remember it exactly, every last detail as it was something that still featured in his nightmares from time to time, and it has been terrifying…

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It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to spend the weekend with Bruce learning about wilderness survival. The Tillman Ravine in Stokes State Forest of Jersey was to have been the perfect place: Only sixty miles from Wayne Manor and secluded, lush, and easy to get lost in. He was supposed to spend time with his new guardian and mentor.

Dick was not supposed to be grabbed as he stepped out of the tent in the middle of the night to find a tree to relieve himself. He was not supposed to be held with a gun to his temple and a hand over his mouth as Bruce was dragged from the tent. He was not supposed to watch the civilian persona of The Batman beaten into unconsciousness and unable to help either of them.

He was not supposed to be tied up and carried away.

At nine years old, Dick was familiar with the idea of being tied up. Between Saturday morning cartoons, comics, and Thomas Solomon - the escape artist the Haley's Circus Sideshow - he knew what it meant. He did not, however, think he would ever know how it felt.

His hands wouldn't move. No matter how hard or which way he pulled against the tight layers of duct tape winding his slender wrists and ankles, he could move. He was at least grateful they had used the tape and not ropes like he has seen Thomas use. That would have rubbed his skin raw and most likely left bruises. The tape was still making his hands and feet numb from the lack of circulation.

The worst part was the gag, though. Thomas had never said anything about being gagged. The thick, metallic grey tape pulled painfully at his lips whenever he tried to open his mouth. He didn't do it very often, but he couldn't help it. Even though he could still breathe through his nose, the ability was cut in half and he felt like he was suffocating.

Now, several hours later and miles from their original campsite, Dick was fighting against his restraints again, desperate to get to his still unconscious guardian on the opposite side of the room. They had been left alone after being carried into the basement of a rundown cabin shortly after dawn and he had yet to pause in his efforts for freedom. He was panting through his nose and struggling to stay awake.

A new feeling was starting to overcome the boy, something not unlike how his father had once described what one of Haley's clowns had suffered – claustrophobia. His stomach was knotting with fear the more he fought uselessly against his bindings; a fear he had never felt before. The sensations of helplessness and hopelessness were not something he had ever felt before. They were horrid feelings and made his eyes tear up and his body tremble with fright.

He had to stop.

Dick let his struggles subside and his head drop wearily to the floor. He inhaled shakily through his nose and regarded his unmoving guardian. It was comforting, in a way, having Bruce there. The man was tied as he was, and hadn't moved once since the assault happened – that really couldn't be a good thing. Dick could only hope he wasn't hurt as badly as he seemed to be.

Voices sounded upstairs, and Dick hated how he cringed when heavy footsteps walked overhead. Their captors were only a few feet away and at any moment could decide to do something – anything! – do their captives. And there was nothing Dick could do to stop them!

The sound of talking continued and he let himself focus on the voices instead of his dark thoughts. He couldn't make out much, but enough to know that a ransom demand had been made. To whom, he couldn't be sure but he assumed Mr. Pennyworth and he didn't doubt that it would be paid.

"-dump 'em in Stoney Lake tonight?"

'No!' the boy screamed in his head, his eyes wide with terror. "No, if they throw us in tied up like this we won't be able to swim we'd-" And then he realized that was the point. The men would have their money, what did they need him and Bruce for. They were liabilities, and it didn't seem like these men were against committing murder. Dick's heart was racing, his body shaking. If he could only get free, but there was no way to get the tape off his wrists.

… But what about Bruce's wrists?

Dick looked over at his guardian again and his panicked blue eyes met now opened brown. The man was conscious and had obviously heard what the men were planning. Bruce's eyes were reassuring, but there was something else in them as well. "He's almost as scared as I am!" That was definitely not reassuring, but at least he was awake. Maybe, just maybe…

The young acrobat twisted his body into sitting position, straining a few muscles in the process, but feeling a bit better about having accomplished even that much. He felt his would-be mentor watching him carefully as he started to inch his way across the floor. He hadn't gotten far when he lost his balance and fell hard on his side. He clenched his eyes shut and groaned behind the gag, embarrassed to hear the groan nothing more than a soft, scared-sounding whimper.

Another sound caught his attention and he opened his eyes to see that Bruce had sat up and was working his way toward him. The effort was obviously tiring him; the man's dark hair was sticking to the sweat and blood on his face, but there was a determination that kept the man moving forward. Dick choked back the overpowering fear and, with his own resolve, pushed his body until he was sitting again and turned his back to Bruce. Then he started to move his way backward toward Bruce.

'I will never take moving freely for granted again!'

The sound of voices rose and made Dick wonder how long it would be before the men outside decided to come inside. Then he nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch against his back a moment before he became aware of Bruce's presence next to him.

Chilled fingers brushed against his arms, searching blindly for the edge of the bindings. Dick felt a breath of hope catch in his throat. Would this work? If Bruce's fingers were as numb as his it might not. Even if it did, it would take a while though neither knew how long they actually had.

Dick tried not to think about it. He closed his eyes, tried to calm his breathing, and hold back the tremors so as not to make it more difficult for his guardian. He couldn't feel the loosening of the bindings, not yet, but he could feel as Bruce tugged more and more of the thick tape away from him. It took all of Dick's restraint not to wrench his arms apart, particularly when the pins and needles assaulted his hands as circulation was slowly being restored.

Several times Bruce's fingers dropped away and the fear surged anew. He knew it had to be tiring and awkward, but the minutes until he felt those fingers start to work against were excruciating. What if Bruce was hurt worse than he though? What if he was unconscious again? What if they didn't get free before the men decided enough was enough? What if-

Minutes, or hours, Dick couldn't tell. But the last loop of tape suddenly pulled painfully at his skin and he was able to pull his arms apart. His shoulders screamed in protest as he was able to bring his arms in front of him and he groaned at the pain that lanced across his chest and down his back. Then he froze and feared he'd been heard. When no one burst down the stairs he carefully eased the tape off his mouth before turning and working with uncoordinated fingers on Bruce's bindings.

It only took a few seconds before Bruce was grunting his discomfort at the sudden freedom after hours of being bound, expelling a single huff of air through his nose as he ripped the tape from his face. Another minute and both were tearing the last of the tape from the ankles and trying to stand.

'Something else I never considered about this,' Dick thought disparagingly as he lost his balance and stumbled.

Bruce's arms were there to catch him and without hesitation enveloping him in a warm hug. The older man's arms were trembling and Dick eagerly returned the embrace. Dick suddenly realized that this wasn't The Batman, a man with no fear. This was Bruce Wayne, a man who had seen the boy who would be his son held at gunpoint and tied up; a man who knew fear intimately. Neither was ready to relinquish their hold, but after the shaking subsided they both knew they had to get out before their escape was discovered.

Bruce was the first to step back, and looking up into the man's face Dick saw the emergence of The Batman. Without a word he was guided to the stairs and underneath them. With a look, he was instructed to stay put and gave a curt not of compliance. Then Batman was up the stairs and into the upper floors of the cabin.

Their captors were taken out of the State park in an ambulance.

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Dick sighed through the fabric of his gag, remembering that night with unwanted clarity. The police and park rangers' arrival had ended the ordeal, but it had been a very long time before the nightmares of being tied up stopped.

He shivered slightly and tried to think of something else. Thinking about how frightened he was every time he'd been tied was just making it worse. Closing his eyes he forced himself to think about the present situation, which wasn't much better but it was a start.

Fighting. His eyes snapped open.

Someone nearby – several someones by the sound of it – was getting their butts kicked. Seconds later, the welcomed deep voice was heard.

"Where is the boy?"

Less than a minute later a shadow was crawling up onto the top of the tank and the sealed hatch was ripped off. Dick looked up at the cowl of his savior and felt the tensions in his body fade.

"The opening is too small, I won't fit through," Batman told him quietly, his voice the comforting baritone of Bruce, and Dick nodded his understanding. "If I drop you a knife could you cut yourself free? Climb out?"

Robin tested the ropes binding him and winced. He couldn't feel his fingers and they were barely responding to him. He shook his head.

"Hang on."

Batman disappeared from the hatch but the shadow of his form remained. A moment later the smell of burning plastic filled the tank and he choked on the smell as Batman cut through the fiberglass with a laser cutting tool. It took a few minutes, and the approaching sirens of the police were getting louder, but then the side of the tank was falling away.

"Are you hurt?" His mentor was next to him in an instant, pulling the gag off and easing Dick into sitting up. It was always the first question.

Dick shook his head as his arms were cut free with the edge of a batarang. "Nauseous from the chloroform and my pride's stinging, but otherwise I'm fine." Glad as he was for the rescue, it was still a blow to the ego.

Seconds later he was free and the police were finally showing up. He rubbed at his wrists and winced at the pain in his fingers as the circulation was returned to them. A strong hand fell to his shoulder and he looked past the cowl and into the eyes of his mentor – no, his father. Bruce squeezed gently before helping the boy to his feet and out of the tank.

Bruce knew. He didn't say anything but the concern was there and the reassurance from just a gently touch conveyed just how well he understood Dick's fear. It was unnerving to be so helpless, even if it was nowhere as terrifying as the first time.