Chapter Three: Pushing Boundaries
When Tim woke, his arms and legs were bound tightly behind his back and cheek was pressed into the stiff brush of high-density polymers rising up in some sort of cheap government carpet. His first thought was that they were still in the museum, but that was quickly dismissed as SciTech's carpeting hadn't been replaced in nearly five years and even the most remote office would've borne enough wear in that time to make the carpet's fibers feel less robust.
Besides, there was something else – a sort of smell that wasn't right. Even if it wasn't a public trafficked area getting dirt and grit ground into it, five year old carpet would have a lot of dust in it that should've been musky or mildew-y with neglect. But the smell was almost chalk-y and there was a hint of something that might've been chlorinated to it. And the fibers digging into his cheek were pricklier than he thought it should be... pricklier and actively damp in a way that seemed normal, intentional – like it was designed to wick moisture.
It was enough information to confirm for Tim that he was not at SciTech, but not enough to tell him where he was.
He didn't dare open his eyes just yet – he remembered why he'd been knocked out and that an unpleasant interrogation was imminent when his captors realized he was conscious and while he might've been reckless, Timothy Jackson Drake was not stupid – so he focused on interpreting what he could draw in through his ears.
There was a quiet rushing somewhere that probably wasn't as far off at it felt – water moving at high pressure in muted pulses, like through pipes...
The Gotham Waterworks and Civil Engineering Museum was located just a few blocks over from SciTech. It would be an easy escape and an unexpected one if they'd felt pressured to leave SciTech. And it would be private.
Government buildings like museums shut down at around 5pm most days and there was a three-day weekend coming, so even if Thursday afternoon had transitioned to Friday morning while he'd been out, Friday was a federal holiday and Tim's captors could have 3 whole days in this place without the regular employees or visitors to disturb them.
The continued rush of water, the lack of a humming HVAC system, the especially plastic-y carpet, and the proximity to the original kidnapping location; Tim was 96% certain he was being held in the old Gotham Waterworks building.
Now, the question was if Jason was here too.
Tim dared to crack an eye.
The carpet was a cheery blue in color and Tim's face was pressed into it about a foot away from the Gotham Museum Association logo. If Jason was in the room, he was on the side of it that Tim had his back towards. If there were any exterior windows in the room they were also on its far side – though Tim doubted even drug-lord kidnapers could be that stupid.
He wondered how long he'd been out.
His body didn't feel too bad, uncomfortable but not battered in the way it would've if he'd been lying here for several hours already, so it seemed likely that it hadn't been long.
His head ached, but not in the way that meant a concussion. And there was a cotton taste in his mouth that made it clear he'd been knocked out by a drug instead of just a blow to the head. It made sense, any blow to his skull hard enough to drop him like that would've cause brain damage. But a blow that just shocked him while a drug was injected elsewhere while he wasn't paying attention? That would be a sound way to knock out a kidnapped prisoner you wanted coherent enough to interrogate in the near future.
Tim might've had a small body, but his heart beat was hella fast; and while he definitely didn't mainline caffeine he did drink way more than his peers and he probably had about half as much coffee in his system as blood. He'd probably burned through the sedative way faster than the goons anticipated.
Advantage: Tim.
Sorta.
He didn't want to wriggle forcefully – to test out how well he was secured – until he could be sure he was alone in the room so he started slow, carefully shifting around to lie on his other side. All told it took at least two whole minutes to flip over, and before he was even certain none of the goons were watching, Tim spotted Jason on the floor just a few feet away from him. He resisted the urge to scoot over to him, fought it especially hard as he noted the beginnings of a bruise on Jason's jaw, and carefully scanned the ceiling for security cameras. He didn't exactly expect the office to have eyes inside it, but it never hurt to be careful.
As soon as he was moderately certain that he wasn't being watched directly, Tim started to pull at the bindings on his arms. Zip ties. Rugged plastic ones. Three of them. One on each elbow, hooking them to opposite wrists, and one in the middle for extra security. They were fairly tight, but only cutting off his circulation part way. If he was stuck like this for more than an hour or two he'd be in trouble, but for now he could still feel all of his fingers.
He could work with that.
Tim set to work at scraping the ties at his elbows down his forearms by wriggling his wrists and methodically working the tension points at angles down his arms. It was slow going, the skin on his arms was being rubbed raw, and it worked up more of a sweat than even a twelve year old Tim wanted to admit came from what seemingly should have been a small effort.
At last, he got all the ties gathered at his wrists. Working with his hands behind him was awkward, mastering this skill would take way more practice than Tim wanted to consider being worth it – But he made a very specific mental note to consider practicing anyway, if he could figure out a means of securing himself into this ridiculous position, it'd be nice to have practice at getting out of it, just in case something like this ever came up again.
Eventually, he managed to stick the nose of one tie into the latch of another enough to pry the teeth away from the notches of the tongue to let it slide free. He awkwardly repeated the feat on tie number two, and then used one he'd already loosened enough to escape to jam open the final tie. His feet were only bound with one and he made quick work of prying it open.
Then he moved on to Jason.
Jason was secured in the same way, but his bindings bit hard into his skin and Tim doubted he would've been able to escape them like Tim had with nothing more than mild scraping. Jason would definitely lose significant amounts of skin if he tried.
Jason was out cold; at least Tim thought he was, until he tried to roll the vigilante onto his back and get his arms into a more comfortable position. An injury Tim couldn't see was jarred by the movement and Jason shuddered back to awareness with a groan. He jolted back to full wakefulness faster than Tim had and watched as Tim undid the zip tie around his ankles.
Jason glowered at him for a moment, clearly sorting through a good number of things he wanted to say. He massaged his wrists, piecing together how they'd been secured, and settled on asking, "How did you do that?"
"They didn't cut off the excess," Tim explained. He demonstrated the technique and added, "It's simple physics."
"You some kinda genius, Timmers?"
"Maybe," Tim replied distractedly – he'd never given much thought to being a genius or whatever and he didn't intend to give any thought to it now.
His eyes scanning to room to try to get a sense of where they were located exactly. He'd only been to the museum in the old Waterworks building once before – a fourth grade field trip that hadn't had any real special access – But he thought he could remember the layout.
"I think we're on the second floor of the old Gotham Waterworks," Tim mentioned at a whisper, going on, "We've been here less than an hour, so the sun's probably still up. If we can find an exterior window, and there should be one at the end of the hall either left or right of that door, we can figure out exactly where we are and get out of here. I haven't seen any guards pass the door yet, but I've only been awake a few minutes."
"Jesus, Tim," Jason huffed, "Breathe. I'm gonna make sure you get out of this alright."
Rather huffy himself, Tim muttered, "You're not even supposed to be here. They were only after me."
He knew he sounded petulant, but he didn't think that was enough to prompt the strange look on Jason's face. The civvie-clad Robin was staring at him in a way Tim couldn't read exactly, but he knew he wasn't keen on being subject to it and he couldn't quite push that discomfort away in time to refocus on their situation before Jason spoke up.
"About that, kid, why didn't you want me here? I can help you."
"Not enough, and not fast enough," Tim replied immediately.
He could interpret the flash of hurt that crossed Jason's expression and it made the unfamiliar roil of guilt bubble up in his gut. Tim knew the new Robin felt he was a poor substitute for the original, that he wanted so badly to do good, and Tim found he didn't like being partly responsible for making his idol feel inadequate.
Knowing that doing so would utterly compromise his ability to continue feigning ignorance when questioned by Batman and Robin about it, Tim elected to push his limits by explaining, "If we don't get out of here before those goons come back, it's going to be a lot harder to pretend I don't know anything when the person they're asking about is right in front of me. And if they figure out how close you are to everything... They're gonna hurt you, Jason."
"Better me than you, kid," Jason countered immediately, "I signed up for this shit."
"So, did I," Tim returned.
He knew that stalking the dynamic duo from a distance wasn't exactly the same as being a proactive part of the caped crusade – even before Jason muttered something to that effect – but still, Tim was out in Gotham at night consciously chasing down criminals and crime fighters.
It wasn't the same, but Tim wasn't just a random victim.
They stared at each other for a moment, a brief one because both Tim and Jason were more professional than that, but the quiet forcefully asserted the impasse between them.
Somehow, Jason's hands had migrated to Tim's shoulders.
He was giving Tim another one of those Robin looks that made traumatized victims talk calmly about what happened to them before they even realized their mouths had opened. "Tim," Jason said, soft and serious and just so Robin, "are you hurt?"
Tim shrugged awkwardly under Jason's hands on his shoulder – because holy frack Jason had big hands, no wonder his punches sent guys twice his age reeling – and said, "I'm fine. I won't even have a bruise from the knock to the head. No concussion, no strained muscles. I'm totally fine."
Tim watched Jason chew down a response – physically, chew; like the words were solid objects that needed every muscle in his jaw to work over – and asked his own, "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Jason huffed. "Just one or two bruises, nothing major."
Tim believed him. Because lying about injuries was just stupid. And as tragic – and likely somewhat over the line in terms of child abuse – as it was, a few bumps and bruises were nothing major for Robin. Jason could handle himself, even if he wasn't feeling as whole and able-bodied as Tim.
Before Tim could say anything else – accept Jason's answer, or perhaps doubt it, as the vigilante seemed to expect he might – Jason gave him a quick rundown on the gang they were facing. Tim hadn't known their names exactly, just that they were one of several gangs starting to push drugs around his school. They weren't the gang Batman and Robin had taken down a few weeks ago, they were rivals for the same area.
And Tim's classmate had jumped on board with them to secure a new dealer. Tim shared all the details on his classmate he could, but the older student had been boring and unpleasant and Tim hadn't paid him much attention over the last few months.
Tim had slightly more information on their current location and he broke it down for Jason much more confidently than he'd explained in regards to anything about his classmate.
They sat in silence for a beat, each digesting the new pieces of their collective information. It might not feel like knowing details would be helpful in their situation, but both Tim and Jason knew that understanding their situation vastly improved their odds of getting out of it no worse for wear.
Then at a mutual signal of some unconscious sort, they both began to clamber to their feet. Tim swayed as his head reacted poorly to the new orientation – the drug lingering in his system couldn't completely counteract the coffee, but it still made his limbs less wieldy than he liked. Jason didn't seem to be reacting adversely to the drug, but he definitely winced when he put weight on his left side.
Left leg, right shoulder, Tim noted; they hadn't been interrogated yet and Jason was already sporting injuries. His fault, probably, as Jason had mostly been aggressive to take the goons' attention away from Tim.
And then the door opened and their hopes for escape evaporated.
"Well, look at you boys," Casano cooed. "Up already. Now, be a few good sports and cooperate as we take you to the boss. We don't wanna have to rough you boys up any more than necessary. Play nice and you'll get to go home. You'll be back before you know it, sitting on your couches with pizza and whatever stupid video games you kids are playing these days."
Tim and Jason nodded, shooting each other a quick look.
It showed that Jason knew as well as Tim did that Casano was spouting nonsense because he thought they were just some stupid kids. Whether or not the gave anything up about the Bat, they weren't getting out of this alive unless they were rescued.
But getting hurt before the real questions started coming wouldn't help them either, staying safe enough for as long as possible beforehand meant they had better odds of lasting long enough to hold out for that rescue.
They were quiet and compliant as Casano, and a retinue of six goons, escorted them to the main floor of the old Waterworks – Tim had been right about both their location within the building and the building itself, which made him feel rather vindicated even as Casano locked his wrists in steel manacles and hoisted them above his head with a chain crank meant for lifting the thick pipe sections in and out of place for repair.
Jason was hooked up across from him, a vague platform made up of four rows of bright yellow pipe spread between them. Their hands were pulled high above their heads, but their feet remained on the floor – for now, at least.
Sabini made his personal entrance then, using the pipes as a sort of red carpet. He was new to Gotham and clearly working hard to adjust to the grandiose theatrics expected of Gotham's criminals – he wasn't doing terribly well, but Jason's smirk told Tim he'd given the baby-drug-lord an A for effort. Maybe an A minus.
"Falcone runs this town's drug connections, but even that family has to admit that they need outside help with connecting to the rest of the country," Sabini started off, giving his best shot at a traditional Gotham Villain Introduction. "If I get information on the Bat and provide those connections, Falcone will support my bid to get a footing in Gotham and I'll easily be able to sweep away the competition. I'm telling you this so you can understand that I am very motivated to get answers on the Bat... and I've been told that you two have those answers."
Neither Tim or Jason said anything, but Tim noticed Jason had stopped smirking.
Tim didn't understand it, Sabini's verbal threat didn't seem more aggressive than they'd anticipated, but Jason was definitely tense. Maybe it was something about Sabini's body language that Tim was missing – it seemed alert, keen, but overtly ready to smash their faces in, not like the thugs Tim watched them beat up on in Gotham's alleyways.
Tim dismissed it in favor of shooting Jason a horrified look when Jason shouted, "You're gonna be in for a helluva shit show when the Bat gets his hands on you, pendejo."
Sabini turned to face Jason and said, "Ah, but I have every intention of ensuring that he does not get his hands on me. What makes you think he'll ever be able to try?"
Jason clearly had another quip ready, but Tim spoke before he could. "Because Batman is the greatest detective ever. He will find you. It's just a matter of time."
Sabini whirled back to face Tim, stepping closer and twirling the cane in his hand like a baton. Like Richard Grayson over the years Tim had stalked him, watching the acrobat with his circus gear or his escrima sticks – like it was so second nature he didn't even realize he was doing it. That was the kind of body language Tim picked up on, but unfortunately, all it did was give him a possible clue about Sabini's background – the kind of clue that would need to be investigated after this situation was resolved.
It was not the kind of body language that warned him he was about to be jabbed in the gut by Casano's elbow.
Jason had jerked on his chains a second before Casano's elbow met Tim's ribs, so apparently there had been a signal, but Tim did not see it. Another thing to research and possibly practice with, on the off chance he got into this kind of scenario again.
Stalking Batman probably entailed a certain likelihood for this kind of thing.
Or rather, definitely entailed... case in point: his current involvement in this situation.
"Pick on somebody your own size, bastard," Jason shouted as Tim pulled air back into his lungs and wondered if there was a way to practice that when he was at home.
Sabini ignored Jason easily. He kept his gaze on Tim and asked, "Why is that, I wonder? What drives the Batman to hunt down his prey?"
Tim coughed – a mostly-faked action to buy time to consider the question. It seemed an odd one for a man looking to uncover Batman's identity, but Tim realized it was actually a crucial one. Sabini was building a psychological profile for his quarry, a means of isolating his target from the background noise of possibilities and nonsensical theories.
It was a good strategy, better than most for puzzling out the answer to this particular question. Tim would have to be careful.
"He does it because Gotham needs him to," Tim said as forcefully as he could manage, "Because Gotham needs someone to stand up to people like you."
"But what does the Bat need?" Sabini asked, unwilling to be distracted or provoked. "He does sign all of his work, but is it really a signature, claiming ownership, or a just warning to other criminals about the consequences of playing in shadows? The costume alone makes me think he likes the drama, the notoriety. But what do you think, little fanboy?"
Jason snorted. "Bastard definitely does it all for the glory trip," he shouted, adding, "You should see the ego on that guy."
"So, it is about the adoration," Sabini mused, finally turning around to look at Jason again. Though he didn't step away from Tim. "And I suppose that's why he has the little acolyte? Someone to follow and be wowed by his greatness?"
"That's exactly why he has Robin," Jason growled.
Tim thought Jason might be saying that just to keep Sabini's attention on him, but something about the dark flit of emotion that crossed his face made Tim worry Jason might really think that... or at least, that he was not entirely convinced that wasn't the case.
Tim knew Jason and Batman had fought recently – His camera only had shots up to June inside it, but that was because he'd already copied the nightly hauls over to his main computer, he only ever kept his favorites in the camera's gallery – And he was reasonably sure that this exact point was a sore spot still. The thought that Robin didn't seem to realize how important he was to Batman's crusade made Tim's stomach twist itself into knots.
Sabinis was still talking, rambling on into a question of how the Bat managed to find such devoted little birds to keep, but Tim was watching Jason. The undercover vigilante didn't give Tim any tells to know what he was thinking.
"That's not why he has Robin," Tim blurted, frantically trying to mentally calculate the line he shouldn't cross in terms of revealing real information. "Batman needs Robin to keep him grounded, to confront him when he makes a bad call. Robin is important."
Tim tried to convey to Jason how much he meant those words with a look, but Jason's focus was entirely fixed on boring a hole through Sabini's shoulder blades.
"And besides," Tim said, still looking more at Jason than at the shadow of Sabini drifting closer in the corner of his vision, "Batman doesn't find his Robins. They find him."
"Oh, does someone want to be a little birdie?" Sabini cooed, looping the grip of his cane around the chains that bound Tim's wrists and using it to pull Tim closer. He grabbed Tim's face and swiped a gloved thumb over his cheek. "Tell me Batman's name, and come work for me. I'll let you fight whatever other crime you want without bothering my direct business, and you can even pick the costume – pixie boots and all."
"No," Tim replied simply.
He was immediately rewarded with a hard slap across his face.
Which hurt a lot more than Tim had ever imagined it would.
"How did the Robins find the Batman?"
"They're clever, and brave, and bold," Tim told him, honest and carefully vague.
This time the hand that stuck him was a fist.
Which hurt even more than the slap, but at least that much Tim expected.
"Who is the first Robin?"
"A happy ball of sunshine," Tim said, quoting the first police report he'd read with Robin's moniker attached to a witness assessment statement by the first officer on the scene.
Another elbow to the ribs, accompanied by a punch straight to the gut.
Tim began to really regret the pizza he'd let Jason con him into eating earlier.
"He's a fucking dick, you idiot," Jason shouted, having apparently bit the guy whose hand had been covering his mouth hard enough to make the goon remove it. "He's a whiny little dick, and a fucking human puppy-dog that drools on all his toys. You never met the fucker, Timmers, trust me."
Sabini straightened from where he'd been crouched in front of Tim and straightened his sharp Italian suit.
"You should really learn to wait your turn, piccolo," Sabini growled. He gestured to Casano – still standing beside Tim – and the lieutenant moved to push a button that drew both Tim and Jason's chains taught enough to haul them to their toes. And then he nudged them slightly higher, until Tim's feet slipped entirely free of the ground and Jason's beat up sneakers were left just close enough to touch it without being able to gain any purchase.
Swinging free in a way that would definitely start to hurt his shoulders shortly, Tim thought Jason's position might be more frustrating – being that he was no less able to stand and therefore protect his shoulders, one of which Tim knew was already injured, but he was so close to being able to help himself. Tim used Sabini's distraction to swing himself slightly, getting his toes to touch the nearest of the low pipes serving as Sabini's platform. It was enough to ease the strain on his shoulders somewhat – enough to help him hold out a little longer.
Sabini was still advancing on Jason. He uses his cane to smack Jason hard, or jab him even harder in the gut, to punctuate each word as he said, "But since you seem so eager to talk, I'll let you have the honor of answering my next question: who funds the Batman's exploits?"
"Tu madre, puto," Jason spat. It was a wet, heavy sound and Tim strained to see if Jason had any blood in his teeth. Tim couldn't tell if there was any blood, and he couldn't tell if that was good or bad – if would help at all for him to be certain, either way.
As he swayed on the chains holding him up, Tim concluded that certainty – in this one isolated circumstance – would not be helpful. His hypothesis gained traction as his stomach churned while he watched Sabini beat on Jason for his snark.
"Where does the Bat get his tech from?"
"From that pressurized vault up your pinched fucking ass," Jason returned. It won him another beating, a few blows longer than the last, by Tim's count.
"How does Batman get medical treatment for his injuries?"
"He waves his magic wand, just like every other magical girl sporting a costume and frickin' animal sidekick," Jason retorted. He was clearly ready for the beating this time, tensed for it and ready to counter.
Sabini slammed his cane down on Jason's shin for the punishing kick he almost managed to land. He did it again when Jason grunted through the pain and smirked at the drug lord for the dusty footprint his dark suit was now sporting. The second time, Jason screamed.
"Stop it," Tim yelled, only afterwards realizing that he'd opened his mouth and shouted out loud. "He doesn't know anything!"
Sabini whirled back to face Tim. "Si, carino, if you say so. But I think he knows more than you believe. And look at you, all riled up, though not quite enough for me. What will it take for your pretty little face to actually come alive, hm?"
With another move that made Jason tense before it happened, Sabini struck Tim with his cane. "Your turn to try answering my questions, eh, mio dolcezza?"
Tim couldn't quite rationalize the way his chest tightened as Sabini pulled him close again with his cane wrapped around the chain. But shouts and thuds from Jason's side of the room made Tim feel slightly better about disliking the distinct proximity.
"Where is Batman's base of operations?"
"I don't know," Tim replied, doing that thing where he was technically being honest. He knew who Batman was, and he knew his base was called the Cave, and he had a good guess of where it was located, but in the most stringent definition of the term, Tim didn't know.
His voice sounded weak and whiny to his own ears, but he assumed that was at least better than sounding like a liar. His ribcage throbbed with every heartbeat, and his shoulders were starting to loudly declare their formal protest to their position, but Tim felt he could manage easily enough for a little while longer. And if he couldn't, he'd pass out – which would possibly cause issue with the rescue, but would definitely help with keeping his secrets silent.
"Oh, tesaro," Sabaini purred, "You have to do better than that."
This time, Sabini kept Tim close via the cane on the chain at his wrists. He punished Tim's non-answer by pulling a stiletto from his sleeve and using its handle to bang against the edges of his shoulder blades where his position forced them to stick out slightly just behind his armpits. Tim keened, high and pained, having never imagined something like that could hurt so much – the blow hadn't been nearly as forceful as the knocks with the cane, but it was against bone almost directly, in a place where Tim's muscles were already strained and hurting.
Sabini's blade appeared alongside Tim's cheek, the flat plane of metal cold enough to startle a shiver out of Tim. "Maybe if we bloody up your pretty face, a bit," Sabini mused, he twisted the knife in his hand until the blade's sharp edge rested on Tim's skin – pressing down just enough for him to feel it. "It would certainly be a sight, and I bet it would make your little friend there very eager to answer my questions."
Shifting so his cane was tucked under his arm and the hand previously holding it could latch onto Tim's chin, Sabini dragged the stiletto across Tim's cheek – not quite hard enough to cut him, but hard enough to let Tim know it was more than sharp enough to slice him to the bone if Sabini so much as sneezed.
As the blade trailed down Tim's jaw, Tim froze. It prodded lightly at his carotid – his jugular being internal and a mix-up of the two being common enough, and annoying enough, a mistake in most parlance that Tim's terrified brain latched onto the cold hard fact of his correctness – and Tim retreated into the back of his brain.
He was vaguely aware of Casano's hands on his waist, holding him steady as Sabini worked, but his focus was only the point of the knife as it fluttered back up to rest over his eyebrow – on a such thin layer of dermis that Tim held his breath for fear of jostling the edge.
"Where are the Batman's safe houses?"
Tim opted for silence this time, preferring to think that if he actually got cut he would like it to be intentional rather than simply because he breathed too hard in responding to a question he wasn't going to answer truthfully anyway. His brain was also sort of short circuiting in a way that made it impossible for him to calculate which lie would be least telling to someone like Sabini who worked off subject profiles more than direct information.
The slice across Tim's cheek was both expected and surprising – he knew it was coming, but the cut itself hurt far less than he'd thought it would, at least for the first few seconds. The knife was so sharp it slid through Tim's skin without any genuine effort and it wasn't until a good beat afterwards that Tim actually felt it. The absolute burning of it made him hiss and writhe as his eyes watered too fiercely for him to blink the blurriness away.
More muted thuds and vague half-shouts came from Jason's side of the room – that Tim couldn't hope to see with Sabini crowding his blurry vision so completely – and Tim tried his best to breath with shallow pants that were silent enough to avoid worrying Jason any more than absolutely necessary. Tim was fairly certain he would hate himself forever if he made Jason reckless enough with Robin-worry that he got himself truly hurt.
The leg alone was enough to bench him from patrol for a while and that was already weighing on Tim's conscious as partially his fault.
"Ah, there's a bright eyed coniglietto, eh?" Sabini purred. He stepped aside and pulled Tim closer to show him off to Jason as he asked, "What do you say, tigre? Pretty enough to spill all your darkest secrets for, huh?"
"Don't bother, those kids don't know anything."
This was a new voice – cocky, confident, and deeper than the average teenager, but still obviously young. Tim recognized the voice immediately.
Sabini and Casano both stepped back from Tim to get a better angle to look up at the owner of the voice coming from directly over Tim's head.
Tim couldn't see Richard Grayson, but he could feel the gymnast slither down the chain he was attached to and he could see the vigilante's feet spin out around him as he whipped forceful kicks at both of Tim's assailants.
The former Robin was lean and long-limbed and deadly accurate, and he sent Sabini and Casano reeling as his heels slammed hard against their jaws.
Unfurling himself from Tim's chain, the former Robin – currently dressed in the blue and black get-up he'd recently begun adopting as Nightwing – put his hands on his hips and looked between Jason and Tim with a wide grin.
"How's it hangin' boys?"
Tim was too relieved to react in any coherent way, but he heard Jason swearing again in Spanish. It was less venomous than he'd been when reaction to Sabini, but not by as wide a margin as Tim had thought it would be.
Nightwing was on him before he could fully process his observation – picking the locks on his manacles and sweeping him into a half-hold as they limped over to repeat the process on Jason. Tim's legs refused to support his weight, but Jason's outright couldn't.
Nightwing looped his long arms around both Jason and Tim's torsos and half dragged them both away from the main floor where the sounds of fighting began to pick up into an alarmingly brutal volume. That would be Batman, Tim knew.
Calm and confident, Nightwing dragged his rescuees to a side office and got them gingerly settled on the carpeting.
"What took you so long, jackass?"
With a brief and apologetic look to Tim, Nightwing explained at a whisper clearly intended mostly for Jason, "We couldn't risk other bad guys figuring out that one or both of you was suspected of knowing something about Batman. And an immediate response, a quicker than normal arrival at your exact location? It would've been like confirmation one of you was attached to the Bat somehow. Even though it's not true, it would have still put you at risk of having something like this happen again in the future."
"Why are you even here," Jason demanded, adding, "I thought you were in California."
Flashing a wary look at Tim – who was staring at him in totally unabashed awe and wasn't even embarrassed to admit it – Nightwing said, "Robin takes a vacation now and then, and I occasionally come to visit."
Jason muttered something darkly under his breath, but Nightwing ignored it.
He handed Jason a piece of tech that looked kind of like a Batman-themed yo-yo and said, "Use that to lock the door behind me and then stay quiet back here until Batman and I finish mopping up. Once the building is secure we'll get you both out of here safe and sound."
Nightwing flashed another worried look over both hostages, but before he could verbalize any concern, Jason huffed and insisted, "I got this."
Giving Jason one last hard stare, Nightwing nodded and left the room.
Jason opened to two halves of the yo-yo and twisted them until the high-density weave of metallic and Kevlar strands of the hidden military-grade strap between them was about four inches long – long enough to stretch across the door jamb so the halves of the yo-yo could be secured smoothly to the surfaces on either side. Jason tapped the Bat symbol on the center of each circular piece and they attached firmly before pulling the belt between them taught.
Nothing was getting through that door with any part of the door intact unless they had the remote deactivation button – which would mean it was either Nightwing or Batman.
Tim and Jason sat in awkward silence for a moment, long enough for Jason's persistent glaring at the Bat toy to make Tim uncomfortably aware of the tension lingering between Nightwing and Robin.
"You're my favorite Robin," Tim whispered.
Jason blinked and slowly swiveled his head to face Tim directly.
"You're my favorite Robin," Tim repeated, curling up and ducking his face into his knees to avoid feeling his idol's keen scrutiny as he went on with putting his foot in his mouth, "But you need to cut Nightwing some slack."
He played with a strand of the sweater he'd pulled over his knees and felt Jason's stare digging into his shoulder.
"I, um, I know it's not my place to say," Tim squeaked, "But he's not mad at you for being the new Robin. He's not even mad at Bruce for making you his brother. He was so happy when Bruce first told him he was going to have a new sibling."
Jason snorted. "Sparkles had a funny way of showin' it."
"It was that Bruce gave you Robin," Tim went on, trying his best to keep his momentum up, "Richard is still a circus kid, and stage names are important to them. Robin, to him, wasn't just Batman's partner – it was the whole character, the bright fun sidekick and the costume and all of it, and it was one of the last connections he had to his parents. The Flying Grasyons called him their little robin before he ever made it a vigilante mantle. He really doesn't want to hate you, but I think he's finding it really hard to stop himself."
Nothing happened for so long that Tim dared to peek up from his knees.
Jason was staring openly at him – like he was just a little crazy, but maybe also kinda right. At least he wasn't glaring anymore, at anything.
"You might be on to somethin', kid," Jason said quietly, sounding sort of ... stunned.
Tim was struck by the realization that no one had ever explained that to Jason, had sat down and dissected the friction between him and Richard and Bruce. Tim blinked at him, shocked by the sudden depth of understanding he had about three people who almost no one else on earth could even recognize beyond their symbolism.
He suddenly felt a profound responsibility to mediate this rough patch between his heroes. It definitely pushed the limits of Jason's already probably strained tolerance, but Tim pointed out, "That's why he only goes out as Nightwing when he comes back to Gotham. He's still Robin in San Francisco with the Titans, but when he comes home he's trying to give you space to be Batman's partner, even though it hurts him to do it."
Jason started at him a few heartbeats longer and Tim stared back, trying to convey how much he meant what he said – how certain he was his conclusions were correct.
"You are a very strange kid, Tim," Jason replied eventually.
It didn't feel like he meant it aggressively, but Tim still felt compelled to bury his face in his knees. He really should've kept his mouth shut. This was none of his business, not really. The Bats would've probably been able to work it out eventually, what with Bruce being the great detective and all... Tim should've just stayed out of it.
"You get beat up by a wannabe drug-lord," Jason said, pulling Tim out of his spiraling thoughts, "and the first thing you do afterwards is play doctor and psychoanalyze my fucked-up family? What the hell do you do for fun?"
Tim peeked up from his knees, more than mildly surprised that Jason hadn't torn into him about minding his own business. If Tim knew anything about the new Robin, it was that he was ruled by his emotions and most of those emotions linked back in some way to anger. If Tim's butting in had embarrassed him or poked at open wounds – which Tim couldn't imagine he hadn't – Jason should theoretically be yelling at him right now.
Tim opened his mouth, meaning to apologize, but apparently the part of his brain that did things like answer stupid, obvious questions was still in control of his tongue because instead of I'm sorry he said, "I stalk Batman and Robin. For fun, I mean."
The crooked smile Jason was sporting turned into a full blown grin as Jason shook his head. "We are gonna have to talk about that, you know. It ain't safe for a kid your age."
"You're only two years older than me," Tim pointed out.
"And look how that's already turned out," Jason countered, gesturing to their current spread of cuts and bruises. "Seriously though, how you doing, Tim? You got beat up on pretty bad, but anything feel really terrible? Broken bones or shit?"
"I should be asking you that," Tim replied with a guilty glance at Jason's mangled leg.
Jason shrugged it off. "Hurts like a bitch, but it'll be fine in a week or so," he insisted.
With a skeptical frown, Tim sighed and accepted his answer. He looked back down at the fraying strand of sweater spread across his knees. "I'm sorry you got hurt because of me."
"No sweat, kid," Jason promised immediately. "What kind of a hero would I be if I left damsels in distress to fend for themselves?"
Tim had to work very hard not to be offended by the joke, and he didn't quite keep the annoyance off his face.
His exasperated expression seemed to make Jason relax though – in a way that made Tim suddenly notice the vigilante still seemed very tense.
"Seriously though, why didn't you tell that bastard anything?"
Tim frowned, insulted in a very different and very personal way. "I would never give you up like that," Tim declared. "Never. You and Batman protect the whole city. If I can help protect you from something... it's not much, but it's something."
"It is a lot, Tim," Jason told him, grabbing onto his shoulder with that calm and earnest Robin sincerity – the one trait shared by both boys who'd held the hero's mantle. "It is. And it means a lot."
Tim kept his eyes on his knees, but he knew Jason could see his smile.
And then a thought occurred to him that wiped that smile entirely away.
If Batman knew that Tim knew what he did, Batman would probably be forced to take drastic action to ensure Tim could not be a liability like this again. And if WayneTech's pharmaceutical division delivered even half of what their R&D had said could happen for the PTSD treatments they were developing... it was uncomfortably possible that Tim might not remember any of this tomorrow.
He had seen Batman use something sort of to that effect on the hostages of a bank robbery a few years ago. They all reported sort term memory loss afterwards that meant they had no idea what they'd been doing the entire day of the robbery. If the selective memory adjustment possibilities had panned out at all, if they'd improved on the formula used at that bank robbery, Tim might not remember Batman or Robin's secret identities at all.
He would probably remember how much he liked them – they were his heroes, after all, it would take a very dramatic shift in his memory to erase that fact entirely – But it was very possible, probable even, that his memories wouldn't be nearly as fleshed out and wonderful tomorrow as they were right now...
"Hey, um, Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"Batman's not gonna like that I know," Tim started, working very hard to keep his words aligned into coherent sentences – And keep those sentences organized into something Jason could follow. Now would be a great time to have some note cards.
Tim tried to count off his bullet points on his fingers, but he didn't have a concrete list to reference to ensure it worked. "And he's gonna want to protect you and Richard so he has to make sure I'm not a liability, obviously. So whatever he does is probably gonna make it so I don't even remember, so I'm not a threat to you or to myself just because I know. So if he does that and I do forget... can you just give me Robin's autograph? Or maybe not... handwriting analysis is getting pretty advanced... so maybe like a picture or something? I just... I met Robin today... both of you... and I just ... I just wanna... remember it."
Tim knew his finish was weak – knew his whole speech was lame to start with – And he buried his face back into his knees and deeply regretted that his parents had ever taught him to speak to begin with. Clearly, he did not deserve the English language, or the gift of speech at all.
Tim was fairly certain a long moment passed in awkward silence, but he was too mortified by his own continued existence to actually clock it.
"Shit, kid, breathe for fuck's sake," Jason said eventually.
With a burst of concentrated effort, Tim pulled air into his lungs. Only after he let it back out did he realize that Jason's hand had migrated to his back – that it was the warm weight he felt moving in comforting circles there, grounding him to this reality despite his current discomfort with it.
"So, like, I didn't really follow any of that," Jason admitted. "But first of all, his name is Dick. And I dunno what mumbo jumbo voodoo magic shit you think the Bat is gonna do to you, but you got no reason to be so fucking worried about it. I'm not gonna let him do some fucking Jedi mind wipe or shit to you. Got it?"
Jason pressed slightly harder with the hand against Tim's back and repeated his query, making Tim realize he expected some sort of response.
He managed a nod.
"You're okay," Jason said – though Tim wasn't quite sure if it was a statement or a question. He nodded again, just in case.
It seemed to be the correct response, because Jason exhaled heavily – relieved.
"Okay," he said again – this time, definitely a statement.
Jason pulled his hand back and Tim instantly missed the feel of it. He wasn't able to fully process the sensation before his attention was pulled back to Jason's voice as he said, "And, uh, you can... you can, um, still have... you can still have an uh, autograph or some shit."
Tim glanced up sharply when his brain managed to process the meaning in Jason's offer – not quite daring to believe it.
"Really?"
"Yeah," Jason told him, painstakingly making the effort to avoid Tim's gaze and fastidiously examine the office carpeting. "You know, only if you want it, though."
Tim felt the smile break out across his face and his ears burned with embarrassment and excitement as he resisted the urge to tuck his head between his knees.
"Thanks, Jay," he squeaked.
Jason looked surprised at the nickname, but he smiled. Tim's smile back strengthened as he felt relief sink in, because he was utterly certain that he couldn't have managed the other syllable of Jason's name under any circumstances and he was glad Jason wasn't pissed off by it.
Jason opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but before any sound came out the device Nightwing had given him beeped as it disengaged.
Batman and Nightwing swept into the room with a wave of tension Tim almost wanted to measure in a physical shift in air pressure. There was a moment of back and forth glowering between the trio of vigilantes, and then Batman turned his attention to Tim.
"Alright, boys," he said, ostensibly addressing the both of them – But clearly looking only at Tim from beneath his cowl. "I know this has been a traumatic day for you, but there's one more scary thing you need to do: let Nightwing and I put you to sleep for a little bit and get you medical attention. Then you can both go home. Can you handle that?"
Tim sighed. He shot one last smile at Jason – felt a bright bubble of warmth swell inside his chest as he remembered, and believed in, Jason's promise – And then nodded at Batman. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't quite get his voice to work – He didn't know what he could've wanted to say anyway.
Batman nodded back and said, "Alright, close your eyes and take a deep breath."
Tim did.
And he felt the world fade away.