Chapter 2: Gut Feelings

Jason was skipping school on a Thursday because there were some things he just couldn't let slide, some questions he couldn't keep himself from pulling on the thread that could lead him to uncomfortable, but necessary answers.

He knew Bruce would disapprove. He'd be getting a lecture from the man about this later and he'd probably wind up benched from patrol for the next week, at least.

But if this worked out in one of the two ways he worried it might, he'd either get a consolation cupcake from Alfred or be able to rub it in Batman's face that he'd been right. Or he could be totally wrong about this whole thing and little Timmy Drake was neither a threat to their secret identities nor in danger himself because of that supposed knowledge.

Jason wasn't exactly a gambling man, and he'd way rather be wrong in this case, but he had too much experience with drug dealers and what they could get their junkies to do to just let this kind of thing go without investigating. Because dealers were scum, and they were lying assholes, and they always cut their product... but Jason had never seen one bluff.

So, here Jason was, kicking through the crowded streets of the Upper West Side towards the History of Science Museum or some shit, looking for a singular rich-kid middle-schooler on a class trip – on nothing more than a hunch, an almost non-existent rumor, and a bad feeling.

He found the museum with no problem, having used its expansive and conveniently positioned roof plenty of times with B to pause and scan the area while out on patrol. It looked different from the ground, but it was still a big ass building, and Jason made his way inside – instinctively ducking his head a bit to hide his face from the security cameras.

Step one. Done.

Now, all he had to do was find the fucking kid, figure out if he actually knew anything about his and Batman's secret identities, and see if he knew how someone in a relatively tiny and otherwise unimpressive drug cartel knew about little Timmy Drake's secret knowledge.

The Sabinis were new on the scene and small – catering to mostly the amphetamine crowds in the areas around rich-kid high schools. B thought the rumor that they had a bead on a kid that knew the Batman's real identity was all bluff and bluster – that they were just trying to prop themselves up to seem more important than they were.

But Tim Drake was a very specific name, and his school was one of the ones the Sabinis had targeted. And it was easy enough to arrange a happenstance encounter with him that Jason could use as a mild interrogation. Just to test the waters, as it were.

He probably wasn't going to get the kid to straight out admit he knew something he shouldn't, but he was good enough at reading people – something even B admitted – to know when they were hiding something, and with B's interrogation lessons, Jason was getting pretty damn good at figuring out exactly what someone was hiding.

It was just a matter of finding the damn brat and getting him to talk.

Surprisingly, considering the size of the museum and all the twisty little side passages that wove through the different galleries and exhibits, it wasn't difficult to find the Gotham Prep A1 sixth grade class as they meandered through the computational developments of the early 1950's. One of their teachers had a fairly solid glare to keep the kids in line, but only one, and she was occupied with the kids near the front – silencing the ones who were chit-chatting away without the courtesy to hang back, like the others too cool for school, and were disturbing the kids who were actually interested in the docent's ongoing lecture.

That lady was the only one of the teachers with any kind of demonstrable control over the kids, the only one paying them any attention at all really. It would be a fucking cinch to sidle over and separate the Drake kid from the crowd if he could ID him.

He just had to figure out if the kid was one of the ones up front, or hanging back.

Jason had skimmed B's files on Timothy Drake, but it wasn't the right kind of info for him to know his personality type or how to isolate him in a crowd. Jason had met the kid before, and he never forgot a face, so he wasn't too worried. It would just take a minute.

Or not.

As Jason watched – from close enough to be associated with the touring class, but not so close that the class cared about his proximity – one of the kids split off from the group. It was a slick move, to be honest, an edging around a column to a blind spot in his supervision and a quick swing around a corner that took him to an entirely different gallery.

Jason followed.

It was definitely Tim Drake – the scrawny little thing was instantly recognizable as Jason got a clear look at him. He didn't look like the kind of person who could figure out Batman's secret identity. He didn't look like he could stare down a stiff breeze without flinching.

But that just meant getting to the bottom of this rumor was even more important. If Tim was innocent and a bad guy found him before the rumor was dispelled, Jason worried little Timmy wouldn't fare well – honestly, he looked like he could be traumatized by a stern glare.

Suddenly, Jason was glad he'd decided to do this in civvies.

Confronting this kid as Robin would be terrifying to someone so skittish. Having Batman be there, even in the background, might make the little scrap piss himself. Poor kid didn't deserve that shit. Even if he did know Batman's secret identity.

Right. Focus.

Tim Drake was obviously a BatFan. He was wearing – more like drowning – in a hand-made over-sized red sweater that had the Robin R emblazoned proudly on the left side of his chest. And his plain black backpack had a pin with the BatSymbol stuck on it like an ID tag.

Maybe he did know something.

Jason followed him as he meandered through the SciTech halls – pausing when he did and pretending to examine whatever exhibit he was closest to until the kid moved on. Jason was beginning to think that the kid was just too smart for his britches and had cut off from his class exclusively to tour the museum on his own, but there was something about the way he moved – eyes scanning every exit, tracking the movement of every person cutting a course through the room, and his shoulders and feet were always facing the same direction.

And it was a specific direction – a destination.

A goal that he didn't want to be observed to have.

He was being careful to make sure no one picked him out as being anything other than your average – well your bizarrely tiny, but at least not suspicious – museum goer. Jason had to admit it was a damn good show the kid was putting on, even Jason hadn't been suspicious of the little shit and he was literally stalking the damn kid to see if he was worth interrogating.

Spoiler. The kid was fucking worth it.

Jason tracked a bit closer, evaluating him with new eyes.

Tim's fingers were tapping against his thigh, but they weren't going to any beat Jason could identify. It was a count, he realized. Tim's eyes were scanning the cafeteria he'd wandered into with the kind of attentive fixation Jason hadn't seen from anyone in daylight hours since he'd gotten off the streets. Tim was making a count of something that he saw.

A slight nod and the tiniest little smirk Jason had ever seen confirmed his suspicion, and told the crime fighter that Tim was clocking the museum employees as they lumbered to and fro on their lunch breaks. And he'd found one to target specifically for something.

Tim moved to examine a museum visitor's sign but Jason could see his eyes weren't on the words he was pretending to read. He watched an employee pass him, tapped off some predetermined interval of seconds with his foot, and then spun around to follow. Jason went along directly behind them – the three of them all separated by about a dozen strides.

The employee opened a staff-only door with a code and Tim gave another tiny nod. He didn't lunge for the door once the employee was through, but his hand snapped out at it as he neared. Jason expected him to swing into the staff only hall, but Tim kept walking.

A quick look at the door showed Tim hadn't done anything major to it, but Jason had used a u-shaped magnet often enough to block a door from latching often enough to recognize it in passing. Jason had to admit that was smooth.

He went to the water fountain further down the hall as Tim swung into the john and took a long slurp as he waited for Tim to return – certain he wouldn't be waiting long.

A smirk quirked his lips as he was proven right, maybe ten seconds later Tim reappeared – still totally focused like B got mid-case – and marched straight towards the door he'd kept from locking earlier. He had a paper towel neatly folded in his hand and used it to twist the handle without leaving fingerprints and haul the door open just wide enough to slip though.

Jason elbowed his was in behind him and followed as the kid dodged right to descend a narrow, clearly disused staircase. Tim's pace had picked up significantly, his skinny little legs carrying him at a goddamn scramble through the twisty basement corridors – no longer pretending he didn't have a specific destination in mind and a route laid out to get there.

And damn, the kid knew his shit, marching confidently through corridors Jason would never have guessed existed.

The only thing Jason could say about the kid's execution of a clandestine excursion was that he'd failed to notice Jason shadowing him – and Jason had closed the gap between them by a fairly considerable amount. Jason almost wanted to sneak close enough to grab him – just to see if Tim would notice, certain that he wouldn't.

The thought made Jason grin.

And then Tim found what he was looking for: the stuff that had been sent over by WE for the special tech exhibition being set up next week. The exhibition Jason had totally forgotten about. Bruce had mentioned it like once at the Wayne gala last month, the one Tim had attended, and like there might've been a memo, but apparently Tim was way more excited about it than any sixth grader should be because he'd more or less planned and perfectly executed a museum heist to get down here.

Kid was fucking vibrating as he perused an informational binder about what looked like a chunk of the Batcomputer in a bizarre metal igloo with a whole bunch of oddly placed windows. Jason's grin froze on his face. It was a piece of the Batcomputer – or tech just like it – and the kid he suspected of knowing their secret identities was excited about it.

Suddenly, his energizer bunny buzz didn't seem quite so fricken adorable.

It seemed like confirmation.

What if the only reason little Timmy Drake was investigating this shit was that he was trying to gain insight on Batman's tech?

Jason sighed and by the time he refocused on the kid, he had to blink a few times because he'd lost the little shit. Kid had snuck away from him.

Jason was halfway to concluding that Tim had spotted him before he realized the kid was fucking climbing on the goddamned chunk of Batcomputer. Like it was a fucking playground jungle gym. And he was still fucking bouncing like a kid on Christmas morning as he peered through the windows at the wiring.

The smirk split his face again. He couldn't resist it.

Kid was fucking crazy.

"Ya know, I don't think you're supposed to be down here."

Tim yelped – fucking yelped – and twisted around to face Jason like he'd just been caught lifting a Van Gogh instead of peeking at a cool computer. Unfortunately, that made him look really guilty in a way that did not bode well for his ignorance on Batman's real name.

Jason had been caught jacking tires off the Batmobile and even he'd been cowed when the caped crusader'd caught him. Bats could be really fucking scary when he wanted to.

And if Timmy here knew ... well it made sense of his deer in the headlights reaction.

Because he was staring at Jason with some big ol' fucking BAMBI eyes like he was afraid Jason was going to drag him off to the Cave and murder him in a super sinister way where no one would ever find his body. Jason was glad all over again that he was in civvies.

"Uh, hi," Tim said eventually – after they'd stared at each other for a solid two minutes straight without actually speaking.

"Hi," Jason returned, feeling the smirk creep back across his face without permission.

He wanted to scowl. To be Robin-y enough to make the kid spill his guts about what he knew. But Jason currently counted it a goddamn victory that he wasn't on the ground laughing his ass off at the fucking baby seal he'd cornered.

Another long moment of silence passed, until it became clear that Tim wasn't going to actually say anything more.

"You're Tim Drake, aren't you? We met last month at the charity gala," Jason commented, carefully pretending he was just chatting with an acquaintance at the frickin grocery store and not having this conversation in a creepy ass museum basement. "I'm Jason."

"I remember Mr. Todd," Tim replied. It looked like his brain kind of stuttered on him and then the manners protocol on the Tiny Timmy 2.0 humanoid robot spluttered to life and he went on awkwardly, "What brings you here?"

"It's just 'Jason', kid," he countered. It was a gruff response, but he didn't snap. It didn't rub him quite as wrong when Tim said it, but Jason had never liked when someone called him 'mister' – on the streets it was always a barb – and the reflex was still ingrained.

Besides, saying that bought Jason time to think up how to answer Tim's question.

He jerked his chin at the computer Tim was crouched on and said, "That shit's WayneTech. B sent me over to make sure it's got all the right bits with it."

Tim nodded woodenly, hands hovering over the computer's casing like it might burn him – but also like he kinda wanted to dive head-first into the fire. It was a shit story, Jason knew, but Tim didn't seem too concerned by that. He clearly felt that Jason was about to arrest him, kill him, or possibly straight up eat him.

To keep himself from falling victim to his laughter, Jason shoved his hands into his pockets and dug his nails into the heels of his palms. He almost lost the battle to contain his laughter as he continued the absurdism of parody and echoed Tim, "What brings you here?"

"Field trip."

The kid was dead serious, too.

Like blank face, whole-hearted, utterly truthful – and technically, Jason supposed, it was true – completely missed the point, kind of answer. Like it flew right over Tim's head that they were having the conversation by shouting across a creepy ass museum basement because Tim was climbing on a supercomputer.

"Field trip?" Jason blurted, unable to articulate anything else.

Tim blinked, nodded.

"Alright then," Jason accepted, at a loss of what else he could possibly do.

Kid was fucking crazy, man.

He shrugged and shook his head to forcibly reorder his thoughts. He attempted to figure out a method of moving this conversation to the important-question interrogation phase. Tim was skittish, that much was clear, he needed to be set in a safe-space before he would talk – since he already seemed to think Jason was going to murder him, and the big bad Bat wasn't even here to loom menacingly over him.

Food. Food would help.

And there was a semi-public cafeteria above their heads – private enough to frickin have this conversation, but public enough to convince Tim he would survive the encounter. Probably.

"So, you got yourself stuck up there or are you gonna come have lunch with me?"

"Lunch?"

It was obviously a foreign concept to him.

"Yeah, ya know, food. You eat it," Jason snarked. He was mentally rolling through the museum cafeteria's pickings and added, "I know I could use some pizza."

Tim frowned, and stared – tipping his head to one side like a fucking bird. Like Tim was a goddamned magpie and Jason suddenly was something shiny.

The silence persisted until something twisted in Jason's gut.

"You actually stuck up there, Tim?"

A beat. Then Tim huffed a petulant no and looked so pitifully offended by Jason's assumption that the twist in his gut moved to his chest.

There was another beat of awkward quiet, and Jason began to worry Tim's adamant objection to the assumption he'd gotten stuck was nothing but pre-teen bravado. If Tim was really stuck, Jason could get him down, but it might compromise his Robin identity.

Jason was debating the point when Tim seemed to realize he was supposed to be climbing down now – like the manners protocol on the little robot had finally been replaced by the action one. He scrambled down the computer's casing like a fucking squirrel and planted his feet flat on the ground in front of Jason like he was sizing him up.

God, the kid was fucking tiny.

He was at least a head shorter than Jason, and looked like a fucking stick drowning in that ridiculous sweater, and when Jason threw his arm around the kid's shoulders he was legitimately worried about breaking the little shit – kid was skin and bones at best.

Batman's files said he was twelve, but B had been wrong on the odd occasion before and Jason couldn't quite believe he wasn't wrong now.

Jason tightened his hold slightly as he began to drag Tim towards the exit – Tim stiffened under his arm and began to wriggle. Then he dodged out of Jason's hold so quick Jason barely managed to process it as Tim lunged for the backpack he'd abandoned before his climb.

He was back at Jason's side before Jason had even dropped his arm.

Recovering a beat after the bony little asshole was already back at his side, Jason tucked Tim – who was clutching desperately at his comically oversized backpack – close with a prickle of concern still lingering.

He steered them upstairs and wrangled a large pizza from the first counter they passed. He dropped a twenty for the pie and didn't pause to collect his change – an act that would've been unimaginable to him less than a year ago – and focused on getting Tim settled in front of a plate piled with the bare minimum of slices he felt the kid should have.

Damn runt needed like five thousand calories shoved down his throat. ASAP.

Just looking at him made Jason want to inhale literally anything even remotely edible.

For his part, Tim started poking at his pizza – looking like he either thought it was poison, or like it was about to jump of the cardboard plate and eat him.

Goddamned little alien.

At least he looked a bit more comfortable with chitchatting. Though he was avoiding Jason's gaze with a monk-like dedication.

"So," Jason said slowly, trying to ease into the interrogation, "Some people are saying you've got some sort of connection to the Batman."

It was apparently the wrong thing to say – or exactly the right thing, if Jason's only goal was to get Tim to look at him – because the kid's eyes snapped up and leveled a quizzical stare that was so keen and clear and evaluative that Jason felt himself sit up straighter.

The evaluation in his eyes stuttered – like his robotic little brain glitched out on him or something – and then he ducked his head and hunched his shoulders as he half-shouted an apology: "I'msorryItouchedthequantumcomputer."

Jason's mouth hung open mid-chew like someone slapped him. Tim would probably have been offended by the sight if his eyes weren't screwed shut with his face buried in the nylon of his backpack. Baby seal, meet abused puppies and those gut-wrenching god-awful Sarah McLaughlin songs.

Actual pain twisted in Jason's chest.

"Shit, kid," Jason managed, consciously making the effort to chew and swallow without choking. "You're not in trouble."

Tim paused in poking at his pizza like it was some dangerous animal. "I'm not?"

There was a ridiculous sort of hopefulness spread blatantly across his face. Jason knew he really shouldn't be making any kind of promise like this – B was going to roast him for it if Tim turned out to know something dangerous – but Jason wasn't Bat enough to kick a puppy.

"Nah, fuck the man."

Relief flooded Tiny Tim and Jason felt himself relax.

He blinked, and a ripple of confusion fluttered over his otherwise blank expression.

"Then why are you talking to me?"

This time, Jason managed to keep his mouth from falling open, but he still felt like he'd been slapped. Jason had met enough kids on the street to know Tim meant it – he was utterly baffled as to why Jason, why anyone, would be talking to him if he wasn't in trouble.

He tried to be gentle, carefully reiterating, "'Cause I hear you know who the Batman is, ya know, under the cowl."

His carefulness seemed to pay off, because Tim – fucking finally – decided to take a bite of pizza. It was the goddamned smallest bite Jason had ever seen, but it was a bite.

"Nobody knows who Batman is," Tim said eventually.

His face was too blank, his tone too even.

"But you're a fan, right?" Jason pressed, gesturing at the dead give-away that was the kid's ridiculous sweater. "You've gotta have some theories."

Tim blinked. And carefully intoned, "I don't have any theories."

Damn, this kid was a crap liar.

He took another – frickin tiny – bite of pizza and Jason pushed, "Seriously? None?"

Tim shrugged.

"Then why's the word on the street that you've got insider know-how on ole Batsy?"

"I dunno," Tim said with another shrug.

Jason frowned. Tim's eyes flicked up and he gave a subtle flinch and Jason's obvious disapproval, but Jason couldn't wrest the expression from his face before Tim looked down again and stilled.

Tiny Timmy 2.0 was glitching again. No human could be that still – except maybe Batman, but Jason still considered B questionable on the human front.

"Who'd you hear it from?"

Tim's question seemed to startle Tim. It certainly made Jason jump a bit.

Jason shrugged and pushed out an answer, "I dunno. People. But like seriously, you don't have any fucking idea why someone would think you know Batman's real name?"

Shaking his head slowly, Tim stared at his pizza like it held the answers to the whole shit-spitting universe. Jason could almost hear the machinery whirring inside the little robot's head.

"Huh."

Jason's huff was the only reaction he had for running into a dead end. It was obvious that Tim did know something, but he was utterly baffled as to why anyone else might think so. Either it was because he was good at keeping secrets – and his poor ability to lie made that unlikely – or because he never actually talked to anyone. Timmy's lack of typical human interaction was obvious, and it made a more severe isolation than was obvious seem plausible.

The huff seemed to trigger Timmy's programming to go into overdrive as Jason fell into his own thoughts. It wasn't for a long few seconds that Jason noticed Tim's eyes doing this bizarre rapid-flicker thing.

"Tim?"

Nothing. No response. The flicker-thing didn't even stutter.

"Hey, Tim, you okay, kid?"

The twisty bit in Jason's gut flared to life again.

"When'd you start hearing that rumor?" This question definitely started Tim, but Jason only felt relief – he'd been halfway to assuming that the kid was having some sort of seizure.

"Uh, about a week ago, I guess," Jason explained. "Your name had come up a few times before that in regards to you being a fan, but it wasn't too long ago that it changed to you having special access or some shit."

Tim nodded absently. His eyes started to do that flicker-thing again, but his face didn't go totally vacant. Instead, a frown crawled across his face in slow motion and his brow began to furrow at the same glacial speed.

"Yo, Timmers," Jason said slowly, "Can you hear me?"

Tim nodded, but Jason had the distinct feeling that it wasn't in response to his question.

Then Tim was a flurry of frantic motion, lunging for his backpack and scrambling to dig something out of it. Eventually he pulled a phone to the surface and clicked it on. Whatever he saw there was not heartening and his gaze snapped up to meet Jason's as he paled – quite a feat considering how sickly-white he'd been to start with.

"We have to get out of here," Tim announced, already attempting to tumble to his feet.

Jason stumbled after him. He grabbed the remaining pizza to keep his hands full – certain that if he did what he wanted and physically held Tim still, it would not go over well. Tim was already freaked about some shit and the last thing Jason wanted to do was make it worse.

"What's wrong, Tim," Jason asked, in the soft but insistent kind of Robin voice he usually reserved for getting details out of fresh assault victims in Gotham's darkest alleys. He'd never had to use it while the sun was up before.

Tim ignored him and continued power-walking towards the museum's main exit. Jason ended up discarding the last piece of pizza in his hands. He swiped his fingers on his cargos – certain little Timmy would not appreciate pizza grease on that stupid hand-made sweater – and grabbed Tim's elbow.

The kid swung around to face him like a fucking boomerang. He was way too light to be anywhere near healthy and he almost smacked face-first into Jason's chest. His backpack buffered him and Jason caught his other elbow to stabilize him.

"Timmy, what's got you so spooked?" Jason asked. "C'mon. You can tell me. Anything. I won't rat on you, even if it's something bad. Lemme help."

Tim vibrated in his hold and Jason watched the conflict cross his face.

"I can't – it's not – You don't," Tim struggled, a desperate whine building in his voice that yanked hard at Jason's heartstrings. "We have to get out of the building."

Jason slid his hands up Tim's arms, latching onto his shoulders in a gesture of support that would've been a hug if not for the stupid backpack squeezed between them. "Why?"

Tim only vibrated harder, eyes wild.

And then the museum's windows exploded inward with a dramatic shower of glass and gunfire as more goons than Jason could count began to repel their way inside.

Tim closed his eyes and half-collapsed against Jason as he groaned, "That's why."

How Tim could possibly have known Sabini was about to launch a goddamned assault on the fucking museum was beyond Jason – though clearly, he had – but Jason's immediate priority wasn't answering questions. It was getting Tim to safety – since there wasn't really any other even quasi-logical reason Sabini's goons would be attacking a goddamned museum in broad daylight: they were definitely after Tim.

And with Jason's own certainty that Tim knew providing cause, it made an unfortunate amount of sense for how many resources Sabini had committed to this mission.

The first thing Jason did was pull Tim closer to him, securing him under his arm and obscuring the now damning logo on his sweater. The second thing he did was hit button on his watch for the emergency beacon Bruce insisted he wear at all times – in some form or other – even in civvies, even in his frickin PJs. Paranoia, maybe. But it was also hella useful.

After that, Jason began shuffling Tim towards a staff-only door – away from the exits that the panicked crowd of unlucky museum-goers currently clogged. Screams and chaos and gunshots kept the air too loud to facilitate verbal communication, but Jason used his thumb to rub soothing strokes down Tim's shoulder as he physically dragged the pre-teen along.

Unfortunately, behind that staff door was another of Sabini's goons, and Jason was herded back to the museum's main atrium as a second goon joined the first, and then a third – all three brandishing gleaming sharp stiletto blades that could slice through Timmy's tiny limbs in a heartbeat if Jason let him go long enough to try fighting them off.

Instead of fighting his way out alone, Jason just tucked Timmy closer and let them both be herded into the slowly calming crowd. The goons were explaining that they were only after one thing – Jason noted it was not a thing they named – and that all the hostages would be let go in an orderly fashion if they would just settle down and let the goons go about their business.

They were trying to pass it off as a regular robbery, Jason realized, probably pretending they were after something special in the basements like Tim himself had been. It was almost clever for a drug-lord kidnapping scheme.

The police and any capes that showed up to investigate after the fact would be working under a false impression of motive. Moving and hiding stolen merchandise would take the gang in a very different direction than harboring a hostage for interrogation. Jason didn't know how long it would take investigators to give up on the stolen merch route and figure out that not all the hostages had been released when the gang said they would be, but it definitely gave the Sabinis a good head start.

Or would've, had Jason not been here on a gut feeling.

Jason wasn't planning on letting Tim out of arm's reach until Batman himself declared the situation safely resolved. Which meant that if they tried to take Tim anywhere, Jason would be going too, and when Batman got there to investigate, he would notice Jason's absence long before he would have noticed Tim's.

Jason's resolve to keep Tim glued to his side built in intensity as the crowd of hostages thinned out around them until he had to consciously remind himself that Tim was rather breakable and could easily be crushed by Jason's vice-grip. Tim kept himself plastered to Jason's side, instinctively trusting in Jason's bulk and brawn to keep him at least slightly safer than he would've been on his own.

Eventually, they were the only two left and Sabini's goons closed in with keen interest. Sabini's second in command – Casano or something, if Jason remembered the info from B's files correctly – stepped forward, dragging a kid Jason recognized as one of Timmy's classmates. This kid was definitely a junkie, and clearly spinning on the edge of withdrawal, which made a bit more sense of how Tim's name had gotten wrapped up in all this.

"That's him," the junkie said, pointing at Tim. "That runt knows Batman."

"Who's the other one?" Casano demanded.

"I dunno him," the junkie promised.

Casano regarded the junkie like a particularly ugly lap dog he was tolerating as it drooled on his lapel. Shooing the junkie / ugly lap dog away, Casano approached Tim and Jason. He eyed the way Jason shifted to hide Tim behind him, but Jason couldn't bring himself to regret the reaction – even if it made Casano fairly certain the junkie's claim held merit.

"Don't you boys look chummy," Casano mused. "So, do you know anything about the big bad Bat or is it just il ragazzo there?"

"Kid doesn't know anything," Jason said immediately. "He's just a fan. We met on the internet. He wanted to talk to me because I met them once – Batman and Robin, I mean."

He knew he was volunteering details to a story he hadn't been asked – red flag to any practiced interrogator – But he needed to establish a baseline story out loud so Tim could stick to it too. If Jason could just buy a little more time, maybe Bats would show up and save the day before things even got hairy.

"He's lying," the junkie chimed in, voice kind of desperate. "The runt knows. Check his backpack. Loser's got a camera full of close-ups on the Bat and Bird-boy."

Jason didn't look away from Casano but he felt Tim clutch more tightly at his backpack. The movement attracted Casano's eye and he made a gesture to his goons with the petite stiletto playing lightly between his hands.

Crap.

Four goons moved in to separate Tim and Jason. Tim seemed unwilling to be parted from Jason's side, but didn't fight hard enough to get himself injured when the goons grabbed his shoulders and wrenched him away. Jason didn't play quite so nice and got a punch to the gut for his trouble – But nothing so brutal he couldn't bite back the grunt of discomfort. It was nothing he couldn't ignore enough to flash a smile when Timmy's fucking bambi eyes looked at him with painfully blatant worry.

The goons fished out Tim's camera, handling it more roughly than Tim liked if the way Tim jerked around in his captors' hold was anything to go by. The goon who ended up with it had enough tech savvy to get the complicated thing on and scroll through the gallery to show Casano – whose unimpressed face quickly gave way to surprise as he whistled.

"Wow, mio amico," Casano said approvingly with a few steps closer to Tim. "Che bello. You take these yourself?"

"Yeah," Tim declared boldly, making Jason kind of want to punch him. That urge intensified when Tim continued, "I figured out their old patrol routes, then it was just a matter of getting into place before they got there."

"Why not ask them to pose for you?"

"I didn't get that close. The camera has really good zoom," Tim explained. "I don't actually know anything about them. I've never gotten close enough with the camera to meet them or chat, and I've never been saved by them from anything."

"But you figured out their patrol routes," Casano commented.

Tim shrugged. "That was before. The most recent photo in there is from June. The last time I saw them, even without the camera, was September. I don't know anything."

Casano shrugged and slid the camera strap over his shoulder. He patted it affectionately where it fell against his hip and cooed to Tim, "You might know more than you think."

Then Casano turned to face Jason with his full attention.

"And how about you, eh, carnoso? You know anything interesting?"

Jason glared at him in silence, frantically trying to find a way to pique Casano's suspicions without giving himself too much away.

"He doesn't know anything," Tim piped up.

"I've met them," Jason blurted, confused as to why Tim suddenly seemed like he didn't want to have Jason with him when Casano took him to Sabini. "A few times."

"That was the old Robin though," Tim protested. "He's never met the new one."

"There's a new Robin?" Casano asked as Jason's stomach dropped to his shoes. Whelp, so much for hoping to keep Casano focused on him.

"Of course, there is," Tim snorted, being excessively unhelpful to himself and making that urge to deck him rear up in Jason all over again. "What? You thought he was teleporting back and forth between Gotham and San Francisco?"

Fuck. This goddamned kid was gonna get his skinny ass killed.

And he knew a helluva lot more than Jason had suspected.

"Maybe I did only meet the first one, but we talked shop," Jason pushed, trying to keep his value as a hostage on par with Tim. "I might not have ever shook hands with the new bird, but I know the Bat. And I know his toys."

"Boys, boys," Casano said, voice dripping a nauseating sweetness, as Jason and Tim shot each other hard glances with scandalized and rather pissed expressions.

"This is not a competition," Casano purred. "If you're both so invested in finding out the truth about the Bat, you're both welcome to share all."

Jason quirked a triumphant eyebrow at Tim before he realized he was doing it and Tim stared sullenly back at him – looking moderately betrayed.

"We're late to meet the boss," Casano mentioned, now speaking to his goons. "Take them both. Even if only one actually knows anything, the other seems useful as leverage."

"What? No, he doesn't know anything," Tim yelled, struggling against the holds of his guards. He glared anxiously at Jason and said, "You have to get out of here."

Jason was absolutely certain in that moment that Tim knew exactly who he was in uniform, and that Tim knew exactly how easily Jason could get himself free to make a break for it. But Jason had exactly zero fucks to give about that shit and he was not about to leave a goddamned baby seal on a melting iceberg with Sabini's fucking sharks circling in for the kill.

Casano gestured and one of his goons struck the back of Tim's head with the butt of his blade. The kid went out like a fucking light, dropped straight off the goddamned grid.

That was the first moment Jason jerked hard against the goons' grip on him since they had pealed him away from Tim to start with. It took a bit more effort from the goons to get Jason subdued than it had for Tim, but eventually Jason's vision blurred all the way to black and he lost the fight to stay conscious.

The cool feel of his watch on his wrist – silent emergency beacon still radiating its alarm – was his last link to any sense of being grounded. As long as that kept working, Batman would come get them. Eventually.

And Jason would find a way to keep the fucking baby seal alive long enough for the fucking Sarah McLaughlin songs to kick in to cue the guilt-trip inspired rescuing.