The freedom of flight did little to calm his nerves. He was afraid and he didn't know why. The teen jumped from rooftop to rooftop, moving as quickly as he could. He was being reckless, thinking with his heart instead of his head.
He dove for the next ledge blindly and aged concrete crumbled under his weight. Dangling six stories above the street and he refused to fall. Sharp rock cut his hands as he grabbed the edge of the roof.
A gloved hand reached out to him, pulling him up and into a warm embrace. Tim closed his eyes in surrender to a fantasy about someone else.
Sweet cologne met his nose, and the dream was dead before it could really begin. It just wasn't him.
Dick had missed him horribly, and worry was clear on his face. Bandages were wrapped around the teen's bloodied hands and he knew it was his fault. He should have been involved from the start, then none of this would have happened.
Tim pulled a few crinkled papers from his pocket and asked if he could deliver them to Bruce. He gave Dick a hasty explanation of what happened and there were a thousand questions his older brother wanted to ask.
He honestly doubted Jason would lose in a fight, but it was clear that Tim wouldn't go home until he knew for sure. And the thought of sending him back to the ex-Robin alone made his skin crawl. "I'm going with you"
Tim shook his head. "I can take care of this by myself."
"Outnumbered, unarmed, and unmasked? Tough odds." He teased with a smile before handing his little brother a staff.
The two of them made their way back to what was left of the apartment.
…
Books were torn from the shelves and thrown across the floor. Everything that could be broken, was. The place was deserted.
Blood was splattered on the carpet and clung to a shattered coffee table. There was a flash of panic on Tim's face. Frantically, he started checking rooms and called out into the silence in an act of helpless worry.
"Jason! Where are you?" He cried, opening a door to find it empty like all the others. "This…This isn't funny anymore…" He pleaded, hoping this was just a cruel joke.
Dick couldn't believe it, none of this seemed possible. "Don't worry, we'll find him."
The teen took up a piece of cloth from the floor, which he assumed was from one of the attackers. There was a dry, orange and black substance that had rubbed off on it. "Rust and soot" he mused. Judging from the color it had to be from someplace near saltwater and a furnace.
If Jason was captured, he had to be somewhere in the industrial district. There was a steel mill there owned by Roman Sionis, otherwise known as the Black Mask.
…
Jason hated drowning.
It was way up on his list of least favorite things. It ranked somewhere between Grayson and the sick feeling you get in your stomach when you wake up alone.
The natural response to it was full-on panic, because well… Let's face it, death sucks.
His head was pulled out of the water and he desperately gasped for air before being pushed back down.
Minutes after Tim left, he made a rookie mistake and got shot for it. A bullet lodged itself in his gut and everything went downhill from there.
It didn't take long for a plastic bag to be thrown over his head and he was tossed into the back of a van like a bag of dirty laundry. Blackness spread over his eyes as his body starved for air.
A bright light shone in his face and his head was swimming. The situation looked grim, captive and wounded were never a good combination. A cheap bandage had been slapped over his wound and tugged at his skin. After all, it wouldn't be good if he dropped dead before he talked.
It slowed the bleeding to little more than a trickle. His vision was still hazy. Blobs of color smeared and danced before his eyes, nausea rose in his stomach.
His wrists were tied down with twine, so every move tore at his skin. Escape would be difficult, if not impossible. If he could still breathe, he could still escape.
Black Mask was calmly watching the whole ordeal, rolling up his sleeves of a designer suit. There was a brief glint of diamond cufflinks. "You know, you've been a pain in my ass for a long time." The mobster punched him across the face with a hard right hook.
A pistol was taken from a nearby table and he pressed the muzzle to his captive's teeth. "Now you tell me what I need to know or baby won't be so pretty anymore."
Jason's heart did an odd tinge in his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he was afraid to die.
…
The feeling of metal hitting bone was oddly satisfying. It felt good to be fighting again and each step put him a little closer to saving Jason.
They had spent too much time on grunts and they needed every second. The mill was a large old building with many rooms and blind corridors.
A scream from downstairs helped narrow the search down.
The gunshots were getting louder the farther they went.
Jason was lying in the middle of the hall.
Tim ran to his side in an instant, freezing when the saw all of the blood. The red fluid ran down his side and his pants were slick with it. The man's skin was dangerously pale and cold. He was still conscious and managed to stand with great difficultly. He forced a smile and hid the wound with his hand. "Don't look at me like that, I just tripped okay?"
Two of his fingers were broken.
Tim slung one of the man's arms around his shoulder and helped him to the door. Dick took one look at him and said "He needs a hospital"
Nightwing made a call and a car was waiting for them outside. The eldest drove while the two others were stashed in the backseat. "We could take him to Alfred." The teen offered, not wanting to waste time cutting across town. Thankfully, there was a medical pack under the seat. Admittedly, he didn't know much about medicine but he could at least keep him stable.
Jason's vision faded in and out, and something tugged at his side. He was exhausted and every inch of him hurt. Sleep called out to him and never sounded so good.
The bullet-hole was as clean and wrapped as it could be, given the circumstances. It was out of his hands now. Jason slumped against him, resting his cheek on the teen's shoulder. "Tim…?" His voice was soft and far away. "…I'm sorry for being a jerk." The older man's head was too heavy for his shoulders and was hard to lift. He could see the worry on the teen's face and didn't want it to be there.
Jason held the teen's face in his hands and kissed him gently. He had to be strong for this boy.
The older man's hands were cold to the touch and Tim could feel his slow heartbeat.
Nightwing watched the tender scene from the rearview mirror.
He had feared for the teen's life when he found out he had feelings for the ex-Robin. Tim was still inexperienced and didn't realize how badly he could be heart by offering his heart to an enemy. Jason could use and abuse him as he saw fit, slitting his throat when there was nothing left.
If the damage was deep enough, Tim might even thank him for it. But seeing the teen utterly heartbroken at the thought of losing him was incredible.
Long gone were Jason's usual insults and sneers, instead replaced with a reassuring smile.
They actually cared about each other.
…
A few minutes later they were greeted by the too-familiar lights of the Batcave. Alfred was waiting for them with all the nessesary supplies ready to operate.
Dick had to help the ex-Robin onto an operating table. Green eyes were hazy as he clung to consciousness with his grip steadily slipping. Tim was beside him, doing his best to make sure he was as comfortable as possible. Doting like a wife to a husband.
Under Bruce's orders, the convict's wrists and ankles were tied down.
An oxygen mask was strapped over Jason's face and he reached for the teen's hand as far as the restraints would allow. Tim laced their fingers together and saw Alfred administer anesthesia through a syringe. He held on even after Jason's grip went slack.
Dick placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Let Alfred work in peace and besides, you should get cleaned up." He said, trying his best to make him feel better. His older brother led him to a sink and the teen finally saw himself in the mirror.
Blood had soaked its way into his shirt and stained his hands. Dick ran some hot water and saw his brother staring at his hands in horror. "Tim…? Are you okay?"
Full realization of what was happening hit the teen like a freight train.
His hands were shaking, "Oh my god... I've killed him." He said in disbelief, eyes wide but unseeing. "He's dying and it's all my fault…JASON!" He screamed and bolted for the door in a mad rush.
Please don't die! I need you!
He was inches from the door when it was thrown open revealing a face he was in no hurry to see again. Tim skittered to a stop, narrowly avoiding a collision.
Bruce looked down on him from his great height with a look that could only be described as disdain. Bruce held the emotion back and his left hand twitched slightly. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"
It was more of a statement than a question and the teen wondered if Bruce wanted to hit him again. If so, Tim was going to hit back.