Author's Note:

Good Morning!

So, clearly, my posting schedule still isn't quite perfect, but I'm here, and only a day later than intended!

Also, your comments give me life and the kind of gritty motivation needed to really get my butt in gear to get these chapters posted, so never feel bad about spamming me with a play by play reaction as you read! (In fact, I kinda LOVE those!)

On to our favorite Birdbrains:

Chapter Seventeen: Rule #17 – Don't be Late

Jason is sure that something's wrong.

He's certain of it from the moment he realizes that Timothy fucking Drake cut class.

The only thing he doesn't know is what is wrong.

Because when Tim decided to cut class, he went home. Which is what Jason would expect of a normal truant with the kind of entertainment resources Tim has at his stupid little rich boy fingertips. And it doesn't sit right with him that Tim just went home.

Tim doesn't have a reason to skip school and go home.

It's not like he's got a new video game he's obsessing over, or people visiting from out of town, or even a tv show he can't just stream for some reason… There's no reason for Tim to go home in the middle of the day… At least, nothing that Jason can think of without falling back on the possibility that Tim has a very specialized computer set up in his room that he can utilize for sensitive, case-related research.

Which is probable.

But Jason isn't sure why Tim would skip school for it.

That set-up isn't going anywhere. He doesn't have to skip out on class to get the most out of his research time. And Tim doesn't seem like the kind of kid to cut for kicks.

So why?

There had to be a trigger.

He had to have thought of something, or have learned something, that meant get couldn't just wait until he got home to investigate it.

Which means that whatever he found is pressing.

But it can't be too pressing, or he would've contacted the Bats, right?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Tim has Jason's cell phone number.

And he has the number for Wayne Manor, and the ones for Barbara's cell and condo.

Not to mention the web access he has to the social media feeds and hotlines specifically established by Barbara and the GCPD to funnel Bat-relevent information to the proper recipients – and have it all sorted and categorized by case and urgency.

Tim could eaily drop them a line if he found something important.

Unless it wasn't something concrete.

Tim's the kind of kid who'd wanna fact check like a dozen times before he actually told anyone about whatever weird little discovery he might've happened upon, even in regards to something with much lower stakes than a case like the current drug investigation.

Jason does not cut out of his own classes – except for the stupid after school supplementary lessons he's expected to go to, but not technically required to attend – because B would probably kill his ass for skipping twice in two months.

He's antsy all afternoon, though.

Couldn't accurately report on what happened in his classes if you paid him a million bucks for each step in a play by play. Isn't really upset by that.

As soon as Jason gets back to his room at Wayne Manor, he uses the epic-powerful desktop setup he's got there to check the GPS data from the tracker he stuck on Tim's bike. He'd spent most of the day refreshing the feed on his phone, but it's not too insanely difficult to fool a phone-based program into reading a looped feed as live.

His desktop is much more difficult to fool.

A quick look at the GPS history shows that his phone has been accurate.

Just after noon, Tim had biked home from school. No pauses, no detours, and he honestly made some pretty impressive time.

Since then, the bike has been parked right inside the Drake Estate's main garage.

Tim's probably been doing research this whole time.

Jason wants to know what he's been looking at, and he knows the easiest way to do that is to just hack into Tim's system and see what the little idiot has up on his screens. But Jason also knows that even with his natural talent and his Bat-enhanced tech skills, he's not good enough to hack Tim's system without Tim noticing.

Which would be a breach of propriety and trust and whatnot that Tim probably would not appreciate… at all.

So, Jason's stuck.

Sometime soon after Jason realizes that he's caught in a corner with no helpful options available, Dick sticks his head into Jason's room with an obnoxiously chipper hello that Jason summarily ignores out of hand.

Unfortunately, that does not discourage the ridiculous gymnast and Dick slides into the room – folding himself over the back of Jason's chair like Jason's cold shoulder is a warm and eager invitation.

Still going strong with that unreasonably chipper tone of voice, Dick asks, "Whatcha workin' on, Jaybird?"

Jason gives a huff of annoyance – partly directed at Dick's decision to ask instead of using the keen observational skills Jason knows Bruce has trained into him, and partly at himself because he's not exactly working on anything… he's just sitting here, stuck.

Finally, Dick connects the obvious dots.

"Jason, is that Tim's house?"

Jason grunts an affirmative.

"Is there a reason you're watching it like a KGB fanboy?"

Jason frowns. Rolls his eyes to level a glare at Dick for the idiotic insult.

Really? The KGB? That's the best Dick can come up with?

Like the frickin police state of old world Russia is the worst kind of systematic stalkery ever devised. Like it's even got a pretend claim to relevance as an impactful insult in the modern world, where Dick's own ex-girlfriend / current sister effortlessly makes Big Brother look like an Orwellian teething toy.

Like, Seriously. The circus freak would last like ten minutes in the real world.

Even Tim could probably pack a harder punch with his words than Dick.

Speaking of Tim, though, Jason needs to focus, and with the right info Dick may actually find a way not to be utterly useless here.

"He skipped out on class today," Jason explains slowly as Dick continues to lean on his chair, "Just cut and run in the middle of the day, for no reason – for no obvious reason."

His amendment prompts Dick to ask, "You think he has one?"

Seriously?

Dick is not that stupid.

Jason undercuts the human puppy dog's intelligence on a regular, well-deserved basis, but even Jason can recognize that Dick isn't really even half as dumb as his pretty boy smile would theoretically indicate.

Frowning like he's actually using that blue-bird brain of his to puzzle through the possibilities – or rather, like he's attempting to puzzle through and is coming up as dry as Jason has been – Dick asks, "What do you think his reason is?"

Jason huffs.

He doesn't know.

Not for certain.

And even what he thinks he knows is up for debate because he doesn't know what Tim's actually found or if the Bats should be concerned by it.

Dick sighs.

"If you're worried about it, you can probably go over to his place after dinner," Dick suggests, still idiotically chipper. "Alfred might even drive you there."

Jason snorts.

But honestly, that's not actually a terrible idea.

Tim and Jason are… friends. Kinda.

Jason totally has the right to go over there and see what Tim's up to for himself.

But no way in hell is he gonna make Alfie drive him.

"Alf's running coms for you while Barbie continues her totally illegal government hacking spree, idiot," Jason retorts. "I'll just walk."

The mere hint of a probable instance in which Jason might be taking a suggestion from him makes Dick fucking sparkle beside him.

It's disgusting.

Jason is hugely relieved when Dick peels himself off of Jason's chair a moment later. He's even okay with the idiot's act of senselessly ruffling his hair – because it means his exit is imminent. Just before he goes, Dick says, "Just promise me you're not just gonna stare at that little dot until dinner time, okay?"

With a one-shoulder shrug, Jason grunts a noncommittal answer.

He's not gonna turn his map off for any reason in the new few hours.

Because there is no way in hell that he's gonna let Tim sneak out from right under his fucking nose if the idiot decides that he needs to get some on-the-ground data for some shit-head ridiculous reason.

Dick sighs again.

"Whelp, I'll be taking a nap if you need me," he mentions casually, finally heading towards the door. Seconds later – after a weird lingering pause in the threshold – Dick is gone and Jason can relax slightly.

He keeps his desktop screen showing the GPS readout for Tim's bike, but he pulls a few textbooks out of his back pack and gets down to work on some of the assignments he's got due in the next week. May as well knock as many out as possible while he's got the time.

It's all just fucking busy work anyway.

Tim's bike doesn't move while Jason pushes through like ten pages of upcoming math assignments and it's still holding steady when Alfred rings the warning gong for dinner.

The sound means that he's got ten minutes to get his ass downstairs. Jason supposes that the gong makes sense – its sound carries well, echoing through the whole Manor easily, and it certainly seems more reasonable than expecting Alfred to go through the halls shouting that grub's on, but Jason still thinks it's weird.

It is efficient though.

Jason checks his feed one more time to make sure it hasn't been looped and then he heads down to endure the meal with a relative satisfaction.

It's hard to maintain that feeling through the meal, but not impossible. Bruce asks his usual boring questions about school and such, and Dick manages to talk everyone's ears off, but over all, it's fine. There's no tension or raised hackles, so honestly it goes rather well.

After dinner, Bruce and Dick head down to the Cave to get ready for patrol.

Robin is still benched.

Bruce hardly shoots Jason a glance – but that's preferable to the sickening drip of sympathy that pours off Dick's face.

Jason checks his phone to make sure Tim's bike is still where it's supposed to be and then volunteers to wash the dishes, so Alfred can go do any one of the thousand other things he probably has left to handle tonight on that fucking unreasonable task list of his.

The dishes give him a buffer – a chunk of time where he's not just twiddling his thumbs as he waits for Bruce to get far enough away from the Manor to fail to notice Jason heading out to check on Tim. He's not exactly sneaking out – he is just using the front door and Bruce didn't explicitly ground Jason when he benched Robin – but it's always best to take careful precautions, especially with B.

Because while he's not explicitly grounded Jason is very probably not supposed to be leaving his room for any reason tonight.

He gets all the way to the edge of the Drake Estate before something goes wrong.

His phone beeps.

Tim's bike has left the perimeter of the area Jason defined as 'safe after dark'.

It could've just been stolen, but that is just too fucking unlikely to really consider a viable possibility. The fucking shit-head is running off to investigate. Alone. Again.

Bab's snarky suggestion about fitting Tim with a radio tag suddenly seems totally reasonable. Kid needs a fucking shock collar and one of those god damn invisible fence things.

Jason doesn't bother walking the rest of the way to Tim's mansion.

The kid's bike is moving fast, but it's not more than a half mile away yet. There's no way going all the way back to Wayne Manor to boost a bike from the Cave will let Jason catch up to him before he gets himself into trouble.

Jason just hikes up his pace and steers his feet towards the Kane Memorial Bridge – it's the only bridge on this side of Bristol that'll let Tim get into Robbinsville and the maze of Gotham beyond in a reasonable amount of time. If Jason yard-hops and takes a straight course while Tim stays on the roads, Jason might even be able to head him off.

And if not, he'll probably be able to find some wheels in the process of chasing Tim through Robbinsville once he gets across the bridge and into more traditional suburbs.

Jason's just approaching the far side of the Drake Estate boundary when his phone gives another alert, this one the buzz of a text.

It's frickin Barbie.

'Tim just spent all afternoon hacking the NSA and now he's gone tech dark. You still have the coms you swiped from me last night on you?'

Jason curses loudly in the silence of the evening.

He shoots off a quick maybe as a reply and starts fishing through the innermost pocket of his coat for the special split in the lining he'd added ages ago. Inside it is one of the coms he borrowed from Barbara's stash – it's one of the older ones, bulkier, with a physical on-off button and limited-sync capabilities. Jason honestly thought Barbara wouldn't even notice two stupid little prototypes just walking out the door when she's got so many frickin' others that are like a thousand times more awesome.

Jason presses the power button and sticks the com in his ear just in time to hear Dick say worriedly, "He was gonna take a walk over to Tim's place after dinner, I dunno when he set off."

"Dude, seriously, it does not take that god damn long to fucking walk here," Jason grouses. He skips the small talk, so fucking glad that Bruce's com protocals makes ingoring niceties the norm, and goes straight to reporting, "Tim's gone, by the way, his bike's halfway to Coventry according to my phone and it's gonna take a bit to get there without a motor."

Dick doesn't even whine about Jason's matter-of-fact-ness.

That could be because the Bat's task-oriented training has finally won out over his bird-brain or it could be because Dick's worried enough about whatever Babs told him about what's going on with Tim to already be the kind of focused that let Robin become the uncontested leader of the Teen Titans.

Dick is all about the mission as he says, "Well, I've got a bike, but I'm twice as far away, so even with the motorcycle, I'm still at least twenty minutes out."

Jason curses again.

Checks his phone.

Tim's bike has almost made it to the bridge.

Kid's fucking booking it.

Jason picks his pace up even further and huffs without any real hope holding out behind the words, "So, Barbie, you got any wheels stashed nearby?"

There's a long pause.

Jason can almost hear the viscious clash of Barbara's different frustrations as she wars with herself over what option she has available would be the least wrong to utilize.

Then Barbara sighs and says, "I'll ping you an address. There's a dirt bike in the shed out back, combo on the lock is 11-42-23. Don't break it."

Jason chuckles but he's running too hard to have any air in his lungs to reply.

His phone buzzes with another message from Barbara – this time it's a link to the GPS coordinates of his new destination. The shed's at an address just on the outside curve of Robbinsville, just a quick sprint across the bridge and Jason will have some motorized wheels to use for chasing down Tim.

He puts all his focus into the sprint. Keeps his breathing careful and even, keeps his posture straight and his joints loose. Some of it is the Bat training, the exact posture and technique, but Jason's had his fair share of straight experience with running hard and fast because his life is on the line for it, so it's easy to ignore the burn as his body starts to vehemently protest against the exertion.

He makes it to the proper shed, twists in the code Barbara gave him, and pulls out a feisty looking red and white Yamaha. He closes up shop and locks it all back into place like he was never there. He walks the bike over to the road and keeps walking until he's about a block away before he starts the engine.

Settling himself astride, Jason checks his phone again.

Tim's still in Robbinsville.

In Jason's whole sprint across the bridge, Tim only moved about ten blocks.

His bike is in a parking lot – stuck out front of a 24 hour donut shop, by the looks of it.

Which is just… odd.

Tim totally needs to down a box of sugar-glazed heart-attacks, but Jason's pretty damn sure that Tim would never voluntarily go buy himself a box. Especially all the way out on the far side of Robbinsville. Tim had to have passed at least two other donut shops in the same frickin' chain, not to mention all the additional places where donuts could be acquired.

So, what's he doing at that one?

In the middle of the night after skipping school?

He's gotta be investigating something.

But what could be so worth investigating at a donut shop?

Jason supposes they could be a part of the distributing chain for the new drug; hell, they shit they served legally was addicting enough to start with.

But Tim's not dumb enough to go poke the tiger directly.

If he knew something that concrete, he would've let the Bats know about it.

Right?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Aw, fuck it.

Jason decides to just text Tim himself. 'Where the fuck are you?'

He's not honestly expecting a reply.

He's not really sure what to do with the one he gets – he doesn't get anything for several minutes and he's already guided the motorbike halfway to the Upper East Side when his pocket gives a buzz. 'U = Kiddo's friend?'

That is not how Tim would fucking type.

Jason hits call.

The instant the connection takes, Jason demands, "Where the fuck is the kid?"

"Why the fuck should I tell you?"

The voice is female, young, and … distressed – but covering for it like a true bred Gotham City girl that was born and raised on the wrong side of the tracks.

" 'Cause I'm the little idiot's friend."

"You're not listed in his phone like you're his friend," the girl accuses.

Jason frowns. "Really? What's the caller ID for me?"

"It's just a bunch of symbols and squiggles," the girl replies. "You could be a drug dealer or some shit for all I know."

"Why would that idiot have a drug dealer's number in his phone?"

"I dunno, the kid's weird."

Jason's hand finds his forehead, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose because, yeah, okay, that's fair. Tim's weird. And Jason's caller ID apparently does not scream 'friend'.

But actually… that gives him an opening.

"I'm not a drug dealer," Jason promises, "I'm Robin, and I'm a friend."

"Robin, like Batman's Robin?"

"Yeah, that Robin," Jason affirms. "Now, where's the kid?"

There's a shaky breath on the other end of the line.

"I don't know," she admits. "His bike's here, and his back pack, but he's not."

Jason curses. "Camera," he realizes suddenly, "Is his camera there?"

There's a crinkling sound, and a shuffling, and then the girl says, "Um, no. There's no camera here that I can find."

Jason nods and exhales – not relieved exactly, but settled into executing a back-up plan with functional plausibility. Paranoia is annoying, but damn is it useful sometimes.

"Okay, um," Jason fights to reorganize his thoughts – to do the investigating thing properly, the way Bruce trained him instead of diving into his back-up plan and just charging off like his street kid instincts are trying to make him do. "First, do you have any idea why he was there to start with?"

"Uh, not really," the girl says. "He meets me here, sometimes. He brings snacks."

Of course, the idiot brings snacks to a donut shop. Drops a hundred on a coffee tab, but won't spring for anything with the calories that could actually keep a human alive.

"How does he know when you're going to be there?"

"How do you know he doesn't just call and meet me here like a normal person?"

"A, that kid is fuckin' weird. You just take one look at him, and what he does with his time, and tell me how many normal friends you think he has," Jason points out.

The silence he meets with says enough about that point hitting home.

"And B, he left his house abruptly, which means it was probably unplanned. He went to a donut shop to find you, but he didn't stay," Jason lays out, adding, "So, either you called him out there for an emergency, or he saw something that made him think he needed to talk to you – as fast as possible. So, if you didn't call him, what were you doing 20 minutes ago?"

"I um… I twitter tagged a suspicious package and sent the location info to GCPD."

"Send it to me," Jason says. He pulls the com out of his ear and syncs it to his phone, which takes it off the channel he'd been using with 'Wing and BG, but that should be fine – he needs to keep this girl on the line, but he needs to head to the location she's sending him. The com's been quiet for a while now, anyway.

The girl fumbles for a long moment, but eventually manages to send him a map linked through a twitter account called Spoilers_vault_of_Spoilers.

The userpic is a fuckin kid in a black scarf and a purple bedsheet – like seriously, this kid is the lowest rent vigilante Jason's ever seen. He's heard the name before though, remembers it from a case with Cluemaster or two. But he's never looked her up.

At least Tim manages to stay like five feet back from the shit the capes wade through in Gotham's underbelly… this Spolier character can't be much older and she's already playing dress up… fuckin' shitheads.

God, Jason's gotta talk some sense into these losers eventually.

Even if Spoiler's a tough girl, she's way too young to be a cape.

God damn it.

Jason's starting to sound like Bruce.

Next thing you know he's gonna adopt the idiots.

Fuck.

Speaking of the idiots, the sound in Jason's ear seems to be Spoiler getting ready to run back to the scene where she left the box… Fuck no.

"Your name's Spoiler, right?" Jason drawls, kicking his borrowed bike into high gear and balancing his phone on the edge of the steering column pressed into windscreen – secure enough to drive with… -ish. Close enough.

"Yeah," she confirms as he tears through the quiet streets towards the blip she tagged.

"Okay, Spoiler, I'm gonna need you to stay right where you are," Jason says.

Deeply offended, she protests, "Fuck that. If that kid's in trouble, I'm gonna help him."

"But if he's trying to find you, and you're not at the warehouse you tagged, he's gonna go back to the donut shop," Jason reasons. It's probably true, Tim's stuff is still there, after all.

Spoiler's silence says that she's considering his words.

"Besides, I'm closer anyway," Jason pushes to seal it.

"Fine," Spoiler grumbles.

Jason revs his engine in victory and kicks it faster as he feels the ease of one problem settle so he can put his full focus on the original problem.

Tim.

Idiot.

Stupid fucking baby seal…

Jason makes it to the warehouse in just a few minutes.

But it's empty.

Void of everything save for the I-beams and lumber piles that are supposed to be here, that are actually registered inventory being legally housed at the off-site storage facility.

Nothing important is here.

No Tim, and no box.

Spolier hears him cut the engine and asks, "So, is he there?"

"No," Jason replies cautiously. "He's not. And neither is the box."

"Well, he's not here," Spoiler informs him – tightness pulling at her throat. She's nervous, had been worried since the beginning, and she's now starting to lose her cool.

Jason's already opened his mouth to soothe her worries when he finds the scuff marks and disarray that tell of a struggle – so he can't stop the curse falling from his tongue.

"What?"

Jason ignores Spoiler's question.

"What did you find?"

Jason keeps ignoring her, scanning the area and trying to interpret the scene – to figure out what happened here… and if Tim was actually involved with it.

"Fuck, Robin," Spolier shouts, loudly enough for her voice to clip in the speaker, "What the fuck did you find?"

And then Jason spots a tiny, ratty, little red high top in the corner.

It's got a subtle little Bat-patch on the instep, and a slightly less subtle R on the outside.

It's Tim's.

"Oh, hijo de perra," Jason sighs.

"Robin. What?"

"Spoiler," Jason huffs, sorting out his thoughts and priorities. "Um. There's a guy called Nightwing on his way to you. He'll know the guys who took him, and he'll know who he needs to get on the case. Stay there until he gets to you. I have to hang up now, I need my phone to track the kid. Stay down, stay quiet, and tell 'Wing what happened."

Jason doesn't let Spoiler protest before he hangs up.

As soon as he's disconnected he takes his earpiece out and switches it back to the frequency he'd had it set on before he'd linked it up to Barbara's system when she'd texted.

Then he uses his phone to remotely push on a little pneumatic actuator he'd linked to the system in a bout of paranoia he's really annoyed with needing to utilize. The actuator is fixed to the other earpiece he'd swiped from Batgirl.

He flips the switch and gets the com turned on – uses the power-source to fire up the GPS inside it and syncs that location to his phone.

Sticks the com he has with him, the one that he's already got paired with the one he stuck into Tim's camera case back into his ear.

Debates with himself as he gets resituated on the dirt bike – he wants to talk into the com to see if Tim will find it and maybe even put it in his ear; which would make this whole thing a lot easier. But if Tim's really been taken like the evidence suggests, then speaking might get the com found by the people who took Tim – and destroyed.

Jason can't risk it.

He doesn't have anymore back-up plans to pull out of his ass.

He needs this one to work.

Radio silence it is.

Jason even mutes his input so there's no possibility of the mic picking up the noise from his dirt bike. He keeps the output on, though… just… just in case.

It's not long before that ridiculous optimism is miraculously rewarded.

"Robin?"

The word is tentative, and just a whisper – but it's still enough to make Jason nearly fall off his borrowed bike.

He unmutes his own com and whisper-shouts over the sound of his dirt bike's madly whirring motor, "Hey, baby bird, you doin' alright?"

"I, um," Tim's whispering, hesitant – his throat clearly tight and straining. Jason can't hear him well enough to know if he's keeping quiet because he's close to the assholes that took him and needs to be quiet, or if he's just too scared or something to keep in perfect control.

"Are you alone? Able to talk? If not, just stay quiet, baby bird, it's just good to hear from you at all," Jason tells him.

"I, um, I think… I think I messed up," Tim admits.

"It's okay, Tim," Jason promises, "We're comin' for ya. I'm using the earbud to find you and I'm already getting' close. Just give me another ten minutes."

"It's not the Raven," Tim warns, adding, "It's not the Tolovis. They brought me to a different night club. I think it's called 'Obscura'."

"Obscura, got it," Jason relays. He hears Tim sigh on the other end, is glad that the com standards B drilled into him have actually functioned to make Tim feel understood, that let him breathe a little bit easier in the midst of the terrible situation he's caught in.

He wants to keep Tim talking. Keep him focused – keep him from panicking.

"So, it's not the Tolovis?"

"Mm-hm," Tim replies. "It's some people working with the organization that the Tolovis separated from – GHOST. The only name I know is involved is Tavian Ross. I think he's the leader. There's at least six guys here besides him, but I don't know if that's it."

"GHOST. Tavian Ross, and six cronies," Jason repeats, adding, "That's a pretty good rundown, Timmers. You're doin' fine."

There's a long stretch of quiet.

Then Tim says softly, "I'm sorry I screwed up."

"We are gonna have to talk about how you keep running off alone," Jason tells him, honest and serious, but not accusing. "Why the fuck did you go off tonight? What happened?"

"Spolier," Tim breathes. Then he stops breathing and rambles, "It was Spolier – it's not her fault, should couldn't know, but… I figured out what the Tolovis were after and… and Spoiler found a box, labeled like the ones the Tolovis have been stealing. I don't… I don't have any way to contact her, but I had to try… It was- , I thought – I thought I had more time. Usually, there's GHOST activity, and then the Tolovis arrive a few hours later, and then GHOST comes back… I miss-timed it, or miss-read it, or something… I'm sorry."

"We'll get you out of this, baby bird," Jason promises again.

There's another silence as Jason holds his breath and hopes that Tim believes him – hopes that Tim isn't holding his own breath simply to keep his words back because he wants to apologize again and thinks that Jason's getting tired of hearing it.

"Why didn't you come to us, though?" Jason asks quietly, not entirely sure Tim can hear it over the roar of the engine. The com he's using is old tech, hardly sophisticated enough to be expected to pick up his muttered, "Why didn't you come to me?"

At first, Jason's certain Tim didn't hear.

"I was going to," Tim promises.

Jason waits, not sure what to think – not sure if Tim's gonna say more.

Eventually, Tim elaborates, "I was going to; I was. I'd just figured out enough concrete details to make it worth telling you and I was going to hand it off tonight. I've still got the flash drive with me… I don't think my system's as secure as the Cave's, so I didn't wanna send it wireless. I was gonna give it to you or Nightwing when you went through Coventry on patrol."

Jason sighs.

"Kid, your system is like the third most secure system on the fucking planet," Jason huffs with an exasperated something… affection, frustration, and possibly some kind of distraugt disbelief… Jason doesn't even know at this point. Tim is just plain ridiculous.

There is no possible way he could think that riding his bike out into the middle of the city just before midnight to physically hand a fucking jump drive to a vigilante mid-patrol could be safer in any regard when compared to shooting out a fucking email.

"I'm sorry."

"Shit, kid, it's okay. We'll talk about it later, just be safe until I get there, alright?"

There's an agonizing wait before Tim says, "Okay."

"I'm almost there, Timbo, just another few blocks," Jason promises.

Jason is just about to promise Tim that he'll stay on the line, keep talking, keep letting Tim know he's not alone, when the silent jet black phantom of the Batmobile appears in his rear view. This model of the Batmobile has an electric engine, nearly the same model that powers the record-holding Zombie 222. Jason can't out run it without a huge head start, and because it runs almost perfectly silent, he's already lost any lead he could've fought to keep.

There's a burst of static in his ear as B gets close enough to use the Batmobile's system to forcibly establish a commlink to the device in Jason's ear.

Jason's not sure if Tim hears the static too, or if he just hears the curse that slips through Jason's tightly gritted teeth, but the kid's voice is tremulous as he asks, "Robin?"

"It's okay, baby bird," Jason swears immediately, rushing out his words in case Batman acquires exclusive access to the feed. "I might have to go off coms for a second here, but I'll be right back, and all us Bats are coming for you, alright?"

Jason doesn't get to hear Tim's reply – if he makes one – because B has control of the feed and is already talking.

B's interference signal is way stronger than the natural commlink – which makes his already booming voice sound so loudly in Jason's ear that he has to fight his reflexes to avoid riping the com out of his poor ear canal to hopefully save his soon-to-be-exploded eardrum, but he manages to keep the bike mostly under control and still heading towards Tim's signal as B shouts, "What the devil do you think you're doing out here, Jason?"

"Fuckin' shit, B," Jason hisses with a touch of desperation. "Volume. Down."

There's no response, not even a chastisement for his cursing – but the ringing in his ear from feedback overload eases.

Breathing slightly more evenly, Jason explains, "It was just gonna be a donut run."

Silence.

Even through the com, Jason can tell that B's restrained hush is filled with furious disbelief. B's not buying his story for a fuckin' cent. "I stuck a tracker on the kid, on Timmy fuckin' Drake," Jason expands, "And he left his house for this donut shop in Robbinsville like half an hour ago and I was just gonna go pick 'im up, see what the fuck he was doin' out there."

More silence.

Still oppressive and disbelieving.

Jason would need to see the fuckin' Bat to know more. B's body language is hella microscopic, but it's still easier to read a brick wall than to read empty air waves. But hell if Jason's gonna stop for B to corner him and chat this out while Tim's still a captive.

Without knowing what the story BG and 'Wing spun to explain what the fuck is going on with all this, Jason has no real point of reference to guess at what might convince the Bat to let it drop for the moment – at least for long enough to get Tim back from whoever fucking took him.

"I dunno what happened, exactly," Jason finishes, "But T's been snatched by some dude called Tavian Ross, kid says he works for GHOST."

There's a pause – possibly as B relays the new information to BG, and likely as he confirms Jason's story with her or some shit.

"Robin is benched tonight," Batman growls dangerously.

"Well, I'm not in the fuckin' bird suit, am I?" Jason shoots back. "Look, B, I'm gonna be savin' the kid tonight, costume or not. You can either get on board with that or not, but I ain't gonna just twiddle my thumbs back at the Manor while Tim's getting' his cakes fried. Now get the fuck off of my com so I can keep talkin' to the idiot."

There's another stretch of silence.

Then B growls, "I am not rewarding this behavior. Your stunt tonight has benched Robin for the rest of the month and you are not to leave your room for anything other than school – to and from which you will be escorted directly by Agent A. Nightwing and Batgirl are en route, BG has Robin's gear. You may stay on the line with the civilian target, but you are not to approach or engage or make any promises as such until the others arrive and we regroup."

Under his breath, Jason huffs, "Too fuckin' late, B."

Fortunately, it doesn't seem like Batman hears, because the static of interference fades out and the Batmobile drops back to a respectable tailing distance as opposed to active pursuit.

"Hey, T," Jason prompts. When he gets no response, he asks, "You still there, baby bird?"

"Robin," Tim whispers, sounding distinctly more terrified than the last time Jason heard his voice. "I think they're coming back."

"I'm almost there, baby bird," Jason promises, "Just hold on a bit longer for me."

Tim doesn't quite manage to verbalize a response and Jason claws a bit more speed out of the dirt bike he borrowed.

Author's Note:

Again, review comments always make my day!

And I truly am determined to get this posting regularly now that we're moving into the Endgame of the story's plot. It's already pretty harrowing, but the tension doesn't even pretend to ramp down for a while here, so I wanna make sure I don't string you guys along on too many distended cliffhangers. ^_~

Once again, I apologize for the long delay over the last few months. I AM getting on a schedule now. And if you wanna stay more up to date on what I'm working on at any given moment, check out my profile here: ( a href=" Astyle_Alex" Astyle_Alex /a).