Jason took another shot of whiskey, doing his best to think over the deafening rock music in the club. People danced and gyrated to lyrics about sex and violence. A blonde man on stage was screaming nonsense like the insane. Good thing the crowd was too drunk or high to care.
The place was a hell-hole, but at least he wouldn't be there long. His weapons contact was a no-show but at least the booze was good. He ordered another drink and downed the moment it hit the counter.
It burned like paint-thinner.
Being back in Gotham after all these years was like seeing a parent just out of rehab. It was wonderful to see them sober, but you knew it wasn't long before the relapse. So he would enjoy it while it lasted.
This was a makeshift welcome home party and nobody came. He briefly wondered if any of his old friends would recognize him, if they were alive of course.
At the other end of the club, something ugly was brewing in a black leather booth.
There was a yelp as some creep was trying to feel up a boy that was barely old enough to shave. He couldn't have been more than fourteen. A hand went up to squeeze his thigh as the middle-aged man asked how much his dignity was worth.
The boy was new at this, and god-damn did he look scared. Jason didn't think he had even kissed someone before, let alone bend over for some sick fuck. His first time shouldn't be like this.
Jason's gut clenched in disgust and anger. It had been a long time since he lived on the streets but the story still made him sick. The boy had probably run away from a living nightmare, only to find filth and shame instead of salvation.
He had gotten lucky back then, and he wonders what would have happened if Bruce never found him. He likes to think that his thief skills would hold out until he was old enough to get an honest job, but he doubted it.
Sooner or later he would have run out of luck and land in juvie or in a dumpster somewhere.
The teen yanked his hand away but the John wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. A pill was dropped into a glass of cranberry juice and something in Jason snapped.
He got up and said in his brightest tone, with a perfect fake smile to match. "There you are! I was looking all over for you!" The boy looked confused as the former Robin took his arm and kept talking "C'mon, we're gonna be late for Tommy's party."
The John frowned, slinging an arm around the boy's waist and tried to pull him back. Damned if he was going to let the prettiest lay all night get taken away by some jock. "Baby doesn't want to leave just yet…" His other hand slid into his jacket, hinting at a weapon.
Jason snorted. The black barrel of a very-real semi-automatic pressed to the creep's jugular and he hissed "Really? 'Cus I think he does."
"C'mon, pull a gun on me. I'll blow your brains out and say it was self-defense." He goaded in his head, yearning for an opportunity to rid the world of one more lowlife.
Batman couldn't do this, he'd just lock the guy up for a little while. What a shock it always was when they did it again as soon as they got out.
He was disappointed that his suspicions were correct; the man was a coward but not a murderer. The thought of actual physical harm took the creep down a few notches and he sat back down. Drugging and raping a minor was no big deal, but threaten him and that's where he draws the line.
Disgusting.
Jason gave the teen a tug and led him outside to a parking lot. The night was clear, so at least they had more than the streetlights.
"Thanks for helping me…" The boy said sheepishly when he was released, not knowing if he was really out of the fire. The last one didn't have a gun.
He looked over at him. The teen was a little older up close, but the make-up and school-boy look wasn't helping. "What's your name? Your real one, I mean." He asked, trying to assess the damage.
The boy flinched at being looked at so closely, toying with a lock of black hair to avoid meeting green eyes. "…It's Tim." He admitted.
Jason pulled out a card he had snagged from a restaurant and scribbled down a phone number on the back. "Whatever that guy was going to pay you, it's not worth it. I know what it's like to-"
Tim jumped back like the man was poison. "Wait a minute, you think that I'm-? I'm not a rent-boy!" He screamed indignantly, his face turning a deep shade of red.
"Don't you know what kind of scum hangs out in a place like that? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Now Jason was embarrassed, just because you assume the worst…
"You were there, and you're not-" The teen offered and he was cut off. "And what if I wasn't!" The former Robin screamed back.
He growled in frustration and gave him the card anyway.
Tim muttered in protest "I don't-"
"Keep it." He urged. "If something happens, like you need a ride, someplace safe to crash, or you just want somebody to talk to. Call me, I won't judge you." Jason threw a leg over his motorcycle and the teen looked…grateful.
Poor thing was a runaway, this was probably the first piece of honest-to-God kindness he had in a long time. He wanted to offer the kid a ride home, but doubted Tim had one. Even if he had a place to stay, it was too much of a risk to be alone with some guy he had only just met.
Before the boy could refuse he stuffed a thick wad of twenty's in the kid's pocket. It wasn't much, but it would hopefully keep him off the streets for a few weeks. "Get a cab and you better not throw the card away, got it?"
The teen nodded and waved goodbye as he drove off.
Tim took a communicator from his pocket and a voice on the other end asked what happened. "I didn't make contact with the buyer, and there was some trouble with a weirdo that that tried to cop a feel."
Bruce normally wouldn't have let him walk into such a dangerous place, but 'Matches' has been far too visible lately. They had gotten word that somebody's been stockpiling an arsenal and weeding out the bar's less-savory regulars. Luckily, the mission wasn't a complete bust… "A big guy with a gun stepped in before I could blow my cover."
Oracle didn't need to know the nearly-got-raped part of the story or how kind the stranger was. Good people were in short supply these days, and a part of him prayed it wasn't a set-up.
The red-haired woman chimed in. "Did you see what model? It might be the killer."
"He was carrying a Fountainfield Armory 9mm handgun, it's a perfect match." Tim fiddled with the thin piece of cardstock in his pocket, already planning his next move. "Good thing he gave me his number."