Chapter Four: Hero Time
Jason woke suddenly – feeling unfamiliar hands on him and a throbbing pain in his shoulder. In less than a second after he opened his eyes, Jason regained control of his body and let the awareness of the situation sink in as he scouted his position.
The suddenness with which he had come awake had startled Tim – kid froze like a deer in headlights and turned those frickin bambi eyes on Jason with obvious concern that what he was doing had caused Jason pain.
Sore, and sporting a few new bruises under his clothes, Jason did a quick assessment of himself. He was fine, and he shot Tim a smile to prove it.
Tim didn't seem to believe it, but he returned to what he was doing – getting Jason out of the restraints he'd apparently been secured by before he'd woken up. Tim had been secured too, to judge by the red skin on his forearms – rubbed raw by being worked over by hard plastic. But now they were both free.
"How'd you do that?"
Tim flashed a smile and secured a loop of zip tie around a phantom limb before he demonstrated exactly what he'd done to get the tie's teeth to slide free. "They didn't cut off the excess," Tim explained, "It's simple physics."
Simple physics. Sure. Simple physics that Batman didn't know enough about to warn Jason of how to escape. More than that, it was something to consider on patrol – they should cut the excess off the ends of the goons they tied up, though honestly most of them were knocked out so thoroughly the zip ties were hardly necessary.
"You some kind of genius, Timmers?"
"Maybe," Tim replied, distracted – his eyes scanning the room they'd been stowed in with the kind of keen attention that pulled page-long explanations out of microscopic details. "I think we're on the second floor of the old Gotham Waterworks."
Jason nodded. He didn't know how Tim had figured that out, but Jason was willing to trust his gut and let the kid's maybe-genius brain put together pieces he couldn't even see on a puzzle that would give them the advantage if solved.
Tim didn't notice Jason's nod. He was still talking, "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."
It was an excellent run down of their situation, Jason was legitimately impressed.
But he was distracted by how urgently the words had spilled from Tim's mouth – how it was obvious Tim hadn't taken a breath through the entire spiel. Tim didn't sound afraid, but Jason couldn't believe he would be so agitated he forgot to breathe if he wasn't afraid.
"Jesus, Tim," Jason huffed, "Breathe. I'm gonna make sure you get out of this alright."
Tim huffed back, a pout building on his face. "You're not even supposed to be here," the kid muttered, dropping his eyes to the over-bright strands of the office's cheery blue carpeting. "They were only after me."
Yeah. That. Jason remembered that. And he was not a fan.
Tim was either a masochistic idiot or... well, Jason was certain at this point that Tim knew he was Robin, so that couldn't have been it. But maybe he wasn't the right Robin. He was still pretty new to this gig, and he hadn't been able to get Tim out of the situation before it had escalated to something this fucking dangerous.
Maybe Tim wanted a real hero sticking close to him.
"About that, kid, why didn't you want me here? I can help you."
"Not enough, and not fast enough," Tim replied immediately.
So, he probably would not have pushed Dickiebird away. Great. That's just what Jason needed to be thinking about right now. Because that was obviously helpful here.
He barely caught Tim's horrified expression as he apparently realized exactly what words had just come out of his mouth. Fabulous. Now Jason had sent the baby seal on a fucking guilt-trip. He was doing just great on this little investigation turned hostage situation.
Tim didn't let him sink into his thoughts, explaining hurriedly, "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."
Oh.
Oh.
And in the back of his newly-frozen mind, Jason vaguely realized that Tim had used his name. He'd called him 'Mr. Todd' once when Jason had first confronted him in the SciTech basement, but he hadn't directly addressed him since then – and he'd never called him 'Jason'.
Somehow, that fact made Jason fully believe that Tim meant his explanation.
That it wasn't that Tim didn't trust Jason to save him – that it wasn't that he'd have preferred Dick to be there with him – but that Tim didn't want to give up Jason's secret, didn't trust himself not to when the questions started and Jason was right there to accidently expose.
"Better me than you, kid," Jason countered, "I signed up for this shit."
"So, did I," Tim returned firmly, crossing his arms.
God, this kid was an idiot. Baby seals did not sign up to be possibly-tortured by drug-lords. That was just wrong. Even if they thought they knew what they were doing.
But Tim wasn't going to back down and Jason knew better than to fight him on it, he needed to focus on getting the goddamn cinnamon roll out of this fucking place.
He put his hand on Tim's shoulder, completely ignoring how bony and thin – and fucking impossibly tiny, probably malnourished – that shoulder was as he asked carefully, "Tim, are you hurt?"
Tim had gotten himself out of his restraints, but since moving to get Jason free, Tim hadn't indicated any thought to get to his feet – like he had simply accepted that he couldn't manage the motion.
With a shrug like he hadn't actually thought about it, Tim 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."
Jason squinted at him, but believed the assessment.
In so far as he believed any baby seal could be fine in a situation like this.
Fucking idiot bambi robot.
Tim didn't let him stew for more than a few seconds. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Jason returned. "Just one or two bruises, nothing major."
A worried beat passed before Tim nodded, but once he did it seemed he wholly accepted Jason's self-assessment. Which was helpful because Jason was lying, but only a bit. He wasn't hurt, not significantly – he'd hidden worse from Batman before and gone patrolling with it. But he definitely was not fine.
After that Jason gave Tim a rundown of their situation, identifying the exact gang they were dealing with and outlining how this ridiculous situation had come around to begin with.
Tim managed to fill in some of the blanks in Jason's understanding, confirming his guesses about the classmate's involvement and the how's and why's behind it all.
It didn't take long for them to refocus on escaping.
Jason and Tim clambered to their feet, each carefully watching the other. Tim seemed like he was actually unharmed, and he didn't seem too worried by any tells he caught in Jason.
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 Jason that Tim fully understood that Casano was spouting bullshit because he thought they were just some stupid kids. Whether or not they 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 a clearly vindicated smile flash across his face. It made Jason's gut churn with worry for how his lack of sanity might get him killed, but none of the goons seemed to notice as they locked both kids in manacles and attached their hands to chains that raised their hands above their heads.
For the moment, their feet stayed on the floor, but Jason knew that probably wouldn't last. He couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering towards asking where the fuck the Bat was.
They needed to get out of here.
He was starting to have to fight the urge to check his watch – to make sure that emergency beacon was still doing its thing – when Sabini made his personal entrance. He sauntered into the room, using the low platform of pipes set between Tim and Jason 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 was willing to give him some credit for the attempt. Gotham was a stage built for Greek tragedy, and Sabini might've – on a generous assessment – been qualified to perform dinner theater on an Aegean weekend cruise, but still he was trying. Jason gave him an A for the effort.
Well, A minus. He was just wearing an Italian suit – a nice one, expensive – and the lack of a signature costume had to cost him a few points on the presentation front.
He did give the villain monologue a good go, though it lacked the grandiose reasoning that turned a whiny asshole into a force of villainy.
"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. "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."
It was a bit dry as villain intros went, overly practical – reasonable, as far as villain business models could go. But Jason's smirk had slid from his face as the lackluster speech went forward – for reasons entirely unrelated to Sabini's words.
The drug-lord was distracted, his attention fixated on Tim in a way Jason had seen in one too many creepers before to not recognize now. Great. Not only were they going to be violently questioned by a psychopath, that psychopath just had to be a pervert too.
Yeah, it's not like the baby seal over there was basically the illustration in the dictionary next to the word 'pedo-bait' or anything. Shit, shit, shit, shit, this was about to go bad.
Falling back on the vitriol of his little hometown corner of Crime Alley, 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 had another quip ready, but Tim – because, obviously, bambi had exactly zero self-preservation instincts – 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. Jason couldn't see his face, but even from behind he could tell the fucking dog was practically salivating as he advanced on Tim's defiant little frame.
And then Sabini tipped his head to Casano – still standing beside Tim, because clearly both of those fuckers were fricken creepers – and Jason instinctively pulled hard against his bindings like he could escape them and get to Tim before they hurt him.
Casano's elbow slammed into Tim's ribs and the kid gave a pained yelp like he hadn't been expecting it at all – like fucking physics had betrayed him or some shit.
Fuck, he was such a useless Robin.
"Pick on somebody your own size, bastard," Jason shouted as Tim audibly wheezed.
Sabini ignored Jason. He kept his gaze on Tim and asked, "Why is that, I wonder? What drives the Batman to hunt down his prey?"
Tim coughed pitifully, and Jason's heart clenched.
Casano, Sabini, anyone else he could get his hands on in the next few weeks... none of them were going to face the new year with any teeth left in their fucking skulls.
"He does it because Gotham needs him to," Tim said, sounding reedy and frail, but confident in a way that eased the screaming ball of fury clenched inside Jason's chest. "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 – standing just so close to Tim, and at just the right angle to look down on him in a disgusting pantomime of other vile activities. "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, sinking all the vitriol from Crime Alley into it. He went on with a flare of bitterness towards the Bat, and his own building fury at Sabini's extra dash of villainy, fueling the venomous twist behind his words, "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, it still made Jason feel better to know Sabini's immediate attention, at least, was on him. "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, resonating uncomfortably with the thought. He didn't think Batman would abandon even a sub-par Robin to a slimy bastard like Sabini, but B should definitely be here by now. And Tim fucking needed him to get here soon.
If Bruce was fucking ignoring Jason's emergency beacon to teach him some sort of fucking lesson about following orders or shit, Jason was going to jack way more than just the tires off the Batmobile – and this time he would fucking get away with it.
"That's not why he has Robin," Tim blurted suddenly, pulling both Jason and Sabini's attention straight back to him. He was staring straight at Jason – looking just so fucking earnest and worried. "Batman needs Robin to keep him grounded, to confront him when he makes a bad call. Robin is important."
The statement made something hard unclench inside Jason's chest, but that just let the fury flow through him quicker as Sabini sidled even closer to his tiny captive. If Jason had a single cell of super powers in him Sabini would have been vaporized by the power of his glare alone. As it was, Sabini was left unharmed and able to position himself mere inches away from the fucking oblivious baby seal.
Tim was still staring at Jason – the vigilante could feel it on him as Tim opened his stupid mouth again to say, "And besides, Batman doesn't find his Robins. They find him."
Well, Jason had to admit that was actually kinda true.
A hand from Unnamed Goon Number 4 covered his mouth in the brief moment of stillness that processing Tim's comment had generated in Jason. The goon was strong and much bigger than Jason – he barely reacted to Jason's squirming efforts to escape his hold.
Simultaneously, Sabini cooed, "Oh, does someone want to be a little birdie?"
He hooked the handle of his cane around Tim's chain and used it to pull his victim closer. Jason couldn't see what Sabini's other hand was doing, but what he could see of Tim's suddenly stiff figure did not bode well for Sabini's ability to eat solid foods in the near future.
Not if Jason had any say in it.
"Tell me Batman's name, and come work for me," Sabini offered with a disgusting drip of saccharine coddling. "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.
Jason didn't know whether to be proud or pissed at the stupid little squirt – and he wasn't given time to decide as the sound of a solid slap echoed through his bones.
"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.
"Who is the first Robin?"
"A happy ball of sunshine," Tim said, and Jason was reasonably sure it was a quote from a police report – he'd dug up everything he could on Dick when he'd first started with this gig, trying to figure out what it meant to be a good Robin.
Hot damn, was he doing poorly at it.
Another elbow to Tim's ribs from Casano and Jason writhed against his captor, finally gaining a bit of purchase with his teeth and clamping down as hard as he was able on the stupid goon's calloused, fleshy fingers. It was enough to make the goon let go, with that hand at least.
"He's a fucking dick, you idiot," Jason shouted, sorely wishing the stupid fuck was here because surely the frickin Golden Boy would know how to get Sabini to stop. "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."
But at least he wasn't useless.
"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.
The relief that Sabini wasn't still within arm's reach of touching Tim overshadowed any concern for himself Jason felt as Sabini advanced on him. Now, if only Tim would keep his stupid little mouth shut, Jason could handle this.
Sabini used his cane to beat on Jason, punctuating each and every 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, aiming a gob of bloody saliva at Sabini's shoes.
Sabini didn't take kindly to it and showed his displeasure with another beating.
"Where does the Bat get his tech from?"
"From that pressurized vault up your pinched fucking ass," Jason returned. It won him yet another beating. But it was making Sabini pissed enough to continue in on Jason instead of allowing him to remember how much more compliant Tim had been.
"How does Batman get medical treatment for his injuries?"
"He waves his magic wand, just like every other magical girl sporting a costume and a fricking animal sidekick," Jason retorted.
He was ready for the beating this time, tensed for it and ready to counter. He was a fucking vigilante, after all, and it was not in his nature to take a beating without doling one out of his own. Especially against a bastard like Sabini.
Jason didn't quite land his kick, but he did manage to get a dusty footprint to settle on the formerly pristine black fabric of Sabini's suit.
Predictably, Sabini took to violent punishment in reaction to Jason's fired-up temerity.
The first straight blow of Sabini's cane to his shin made Jason's vision fill with stars, but he managed to keep his jaw clenched and voice quiet. The second blow, aimed with impressive accuracy to hit the exact same spot, made Jason scream involuntarily.
That was a fracture in the bone, and not a small one.
"Stop it!" Tim shouted, tiny voice sounding achingly desperate. There was a whine in his lungs that Jason didn't want to think was pain as Tim added, "He doesn't know anything."
Sabini whirled back to face Tim – the stupid fucking little moron. "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?"
Jason was definitely going to puke if the shit-faced fucking Batman didn't show up to save the day in the next minute or two and he jerked hard against his chains as Sabini pulled back to strike his helpless quarry with his cane.
"Your turn to try answering my questions, eh, mio dolcezza?"
Oh yeah, Jason was gonna be sick.
Sabini pulled him close to him an arm wrapped around his waist for a moment, the cane wrapped back around that stupid chain, and then a hand gripping tight to Tim's chin.
Frightened little bambi eyes found Jason's and oh, fuck, Jason was about to lose it.
Unnamed Goon Number 4 beat into Jason pretty well – enough to subdue him again as Jason fought down another scream at the pain of his injuries. That would not help Tim's situation at all, and it wouldn't do to make things worse for him by making him worry about Jason. The failed Robin could take the punishment – he just needed to get Tim free.
Somehow.
"Where is Batman's base of operations?"
"I don't know," Tim replied, a filter of robotic blankness settled over his expression – though somehow it didn't look as clear that he was lying as some of the moments when he'd been lying earlier to Jason.
His voice sounded weak, exhausted, but Jason felt hopeful that it didn't sound broken.
"Oh, tesaro," Sabaini purred, "You have to do better than that."
This time, Sabini remained crouched within mere inches of Tim and a knife appeared in his hand that he took great pleasure in running over Tim's frightened face. Jason couldn't see much of the expression, but he saw more than enough to see red.
Especially when Sabini used the butt of his knife to jab at Tim's shoulder blades – which if Jason's were already strained and hurting, must have already been on fire in Tim's case.
Sabini's blade appeared on Tim's cheek again.
"Maybe if we bloody up your pretty face, a bit," Sabini mused, he twisted the knife in his hand until Tim's squirming stilled like he was too afraid to even breathe. "It would certainly be a sight, and I bet it would make your little friend there very eager to answer my questions."
He paused briefly, admiring his work or building the anticipation or something Jason wanted to hit him for and the he got back to asking questions.
"Where are the Batman's safe houses?"
Tim opted for silence this time, and Jason found he couldn't breathe as his chest constricted with the sudden force of his concern.
The slice across his cheek made Jason writhe again, but Unnamed Goon Number 4 was ready and he jabbed at Jason's injuries with enough force to render his resistance impotent.
Jason's vision was going rather blurry, but his hearing still worked fine and his gut roiled as Sabini crooned, "Ah, there's a bright eyed coniglietto, eh?"
The drug-lord stepped aside to fucking show Jason the fruits of his labor and Jason felt rage course through him like it never had before. He'd heard about how adrenaline and fury could make the pain of dire injuries disappear, but he'd never actually believed that until now.
With such keen hatred coursing through his veins, Jason legitimately considered breaking every bone in his hands in order to get free and throttle the bastard still touching Tim's lower back. Sabini gave Jason a satisfied smirk as he said, "What do you say, tigre? Pretty enough to spill all your darkest secrets for, huh?"
Fuck that bastard needed to be hit. Repeatedly. In the face, with a fucking hammer.
And just as Jason was about to resign to never using his thumbs again, a voice from above filtered in that made relief sink into Jason's bones – even as fury and frustration flooded into him as well.
"Don't bother, those kids don't know anything."
Fucking cocky late-ass bastard, that's what kind of hero Dick was.
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. Dick slithered down the chain attached to Tim's wrists and quickly dispatched the drug-lord and his primary goon.
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?"
God that circus boy was damn insufferable. Jason definitely owed him at least a dozen kicks to his fucking perfect teeth.
"It's about damn time you got here, puto culo," Jason growled under his breath as Dick set to work with picking the locks on Tim's manacles.
The fucking kid collapsed against Nightwing's side as soon as his hands were free – his legs didn't even pretend to try supporting his weight.
When Nightwing got him down and tucked Jason against his side, the new Robin demanded, "What took you so long, jackass?"
Nightwing hauled his young rescuees into a quiet side office, painfully similar to the one where he and Tim had first woken up.
With a wary and apologetic look to Tim – that wasn't nearly guilt-ridden enough for Jason's tastes – Dick explained, "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."
Okay. That was almost a good reason.
Tim definitely couldn't be subjected to this shit ever again – that much he agreed with.
"Why are you even here," Jason grumbled, adding, "I thought you were in California."
With another wary look at Tim – who was staring back with unabashed awe that totally wasn't making Jason at all jealous or bitter – Dick replied, "Robin takes a vacation now and then, and I occasionally come to visit."
Under his breath, Jason scoffed, "Only when you're fucking forced to."
Dick ignored him.
Instead, he sighed and pulled out a piece of equipment he knew Jason had been trained to use. "Use that to lock the door behind me and then stay quiet back here until Batsy and I finish mopping up. Once the building is secure we'll get you both out of here, safe and sound."
Hesitating to leave like they were both frightened little bunnies, Nightwing crouched beside them and stared – fucking bleeding heart who'd never felt the sting of pity.
"I got this," Jason growled defensively.
The last thing he needed right now was the poster child of Boy Wonder perfection going all doe-eyed with pity for his second-rate replacement's failure to live up to the reputation.
Dick shot one last look at Jason, one he felt bore through his chest with a warning that he'd better be able to handle this part – since he'd clearly botched the rest of it.
Once Dick had left, Jason set the lock in place, letting the Bat's tech do what it did to seal them in securely and relaxing into the safety of it. 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.
Jason glared at the Bat symbol on the tech, wondering exactly how fucked he was going to be when Batman figured out exactly how badly he'd screwed up. Jason wasn't sure he could take getting reamed by the Bat in front of the Golden Boy.
"You're my favorite Robin."
Tim's whisper surprised Jason. He blinked and turned slowly to look at Tim, certain he'd just imagined the kid piping up.
Tim curled up like Jason's gaze alone could make him shrivel up into oblivion as he cleared his throat and repeated, slightly louder and steadier, "You're my favorite Robin."
He spread his sweater over his knees like it could hold him together and protect him from the wrath he thought was imminent from Jason as he added, "But you need to cut Nightwing some slack."
Jason's confusion curled away into a flatly insulted frustration. Of course. Even the kid recognized that Jason wasn't good enough to be a hero. Of course, Tim was on Goldie's side.
"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."
Jason hadn't really wanted a brother, or a father for that matter, but Bruce had made it sound so tempting when he'd first laid it all out... See how fucking well that panned out.
"It was that Bruce gave you Robin," Tim went on, jarring Jason back to the moment. Tim was clearly struggling with getting the words out, but he was just as clearly determined to have his say be heard. "Richard is still a circus kid, at heart, 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."
Jason's brain stuttered and stopped as Tim's words filtered in.
None of that had ever occurred to him – none of that had ever been explained to him. He didn't know how Tim could possibly know any of that, but Jason had consciously stopped asking questions about how Tim knew things approximately three and a half hours ago.
A bit shell-shocked from the implications of the revelation, Jason watched Tim huddle in terror for the anger he'd assumed was coming – that was something Jason would have to remember to talk to him about later – and he watched as it finally occurred to the kid that no rain of vitriol was coming.
Tim peeked up from his knees with a tentative caution.
Jason chuckled when he caught Tim's confused gaze and said slowly, "You might be on to somethin', kid."
The flicker-thing that apparently meant Tim was thinking very hard about something very complicated happened again, and Jason decided to just roll with it. He stayed silent as Tim's little robot brain did its thing.
And he listened when Tim started talking.
"That's why he only goes out as Nightwing when he comes back to Gotham," Tim pointed out, continuing to connect dots Jason hadn't realized were even remotely related. "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."
Tim stared at Jason like he could somehow erase every bad vibe between him and Dick by sheer willpower alone.
"You are a very strange kid, Tim," Jason replied eventually, a crooked, affectionate smile pealing itself across his face.
It made Tim bury his face back into his knees – embarrassed to the point of pain in a way Jason could objectively define as way too fucking adorable to be reasonable.
Jason chuckled – a rare sound that was low and warm and felt startlingly good – and said, "You get beat up by a wannabe drug-lord, and the first thing you do afterwards is play doctor and psychoanalyze my fucked-up family? What the hell do you do for fun?"
Looking up from his knees again, still wearing that same cautious confusion, Tim blinked at him – like he didn't understand the questions, like he didn't understand that the questions were rhetorical.
He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before any sound actually came out.
"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."
And damn straight did Jason mean his words.
Baby seals had no business sticking themselves in fucking shark tanks.
Not on his watch, at least.
Tim had other plans, however, and no intentions to stop pursuing his hobby as he made clear by pointing out, "You're only two years older than me."
"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.
He'd thought the last thing he needed was a comparison to Goldie by an angry Bruce, but apparently, he'd underestimated the impact of a guilt-ridden Timothy Drake blaming himself for Jason's own stupid injuries.
Tim shot him a skeptical look, but he sighed and seemingly accepted the answer. But then he looked back down at his knees and resumed playing with a fraying strand of his sweater as he mumbled pitifully, "I'm sorry you got hurt because of me."
God damn watching Tim be like that fucking hurt.
"No sweat, kid," Jason promised immediately. "What kind of a hero would I be if I left damsels in distress to fend for themselves?"
The insult hit its mark hard enough to jar that pained expression off of Tim's bruised face, replacing it with a much more bearable look of exasperation.
There was still something bothering Jason, though – something too big to ignore forever, especially with Batman and Nightwing likely on their way back.
"Seriously though, why didn't you tell that bastard anything?"
Tim had taken quite a beating, and he hadn't said a word about Batman's secrets – which, obviously he knew better than the Bat family itself. Jason wasn't even entirely convinced that Alfred knew anything more about them all – and Alfred was fucking magic.
In answer to Jason's concern Tim frowned more pointedly, like Jason's current question was far more insulting to him than the direct jibe he'd levied earlier.
"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 in an attempt to convey that Jason wholly believed him. "It is. And it means a lot."
Tim kept his eyes on his knees, but Jason could see his smile.
And then a thought occurred inside his little alien robot brain that somehow managed to wipe that heartwarming smile entirely away.
The stupid fucking flicker thing happened again, and Jason was left waiting for the goddamn robot's processers to get to the fucking point as Tim began to frickin' vibrate beneath his hand. He hauled himself a few inches closer and curled his arm awkwardly around Tim's shoulders – trying his best to rub soothing circles into his back at the strange angle.
"Hey, um, Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"Batman's not gonna like that I know," Tim started, visibly working very hard to make the whole communication thing actually happen. He toyed roughly with his fingers like they had mortally offended him as he went on, "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."
Shit.
This kid was gonna give Jason a fucking heart attack even if he never again got himself into something this stupidly dangerous. Which the little fucker probably would end up doing.
Tim buried his face again, so obviously mortified that his ears went bright red and the color could be seen creeping all the way down his neck before the skin disappeared beneath his sweater. Baby seal, meet bruised little hedgehog.
... who was apparently convinced that oxygen was toxic and would burn him because the fucking kid wasn't breathing. Jason could feel it through the hand he still had between Tim's shoulder blades. "Shit, kid," Jason managed, miraculously not choking on his own air or the words that needed it, "breathe for fuck's sake."
Jason started rubbing circles again and between the direct order and the comforting motion, Tim managed to convince his lungs to function.
"So, like, I didn't really follow any of that," Jason stated. "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?"
Tim kept breathing, but he didn't respond.
Pressing down slightly harder on his hand to remind Tim that he was there and solid, Jason repeated, "Got it?"
A nod – stilted, but conscious and intentional.
"You're okay?"
He didn't look okay.
He looked like a wet kitten dropped on the roof of a moving train.
In space.
With alien laser guns trained on his tail.
But he gave another nod and it was enough to make the worry in Jason's lungs ease.
"Okay," he breathed, mostly to assure himself.
With the panic part dealt with, Jason felt compelled to address the last point in Tim's little terrified ramble. Embarrassment of his own reared up as he tried to soothe Tim's final worry by saying, "And, uh, you can... you can, um, still have... you can still have an uh, autograph or some shit."
Tim's head shot up from his knees – hopeful little magpie eyes staring through him like those fucking space lasers Jason had thought were trained on kitten-Tim's tail.
"Really?"
God, this kid was a wreck.
It was like he'd never imagined Jason might not be a complete asshole about the whole Robin thing, or about Tim knowing about the Robin thing.
Jason was reminded with a painful stab of guilt about the question Tim had asked back at SciTech: then why are you talking to me? Like the kid had never had any friends, never thought that having friends to chat with for no reason was even possible for him.
"Yeah," Jason said, using the hand that had been on Tim's back to pick at the carpeting as he fought the worry that Tim might've only said it 'cause he was panicking. And trying very hard not to wonder if he'd rather have an autograph from Dick than from Jason. "You know, only if you want it, though."
A beat of silence passed.
And then Tim squealed – clearly the gears in his little robot neck resisting his refusal to bury his head back between his knees as he fucking beamed at Jason.
Like he'd bought the boy a puppy.
"Thanks, Jay," he squeaked eventually, startling Jason at the warmth and trust and easy familiarity contained by the simple, nearly inaudible syllables.
His mouth dropped open like he wanted to say something – though what exactly, Jason had no fucking clue – but before his silence could destroy his dignity, the Bat device on the door beeped and fell away.
Batman and Nightwing swept into the room with a wave of tension that made Jason squirm with shame and guilt. There was a silent moment of glowering as he fought to maintain the anger he'd harbored at Bruce for not believing in his hunch, for not trusting his expertise when it came to run of the mill street thugs, and as he tried not to shrink under what he knew was a well-earned chastisement for getting wrapped up in this mess.
It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but exhaustion like he'd run a marathon pooled in his bones when Batman finally looked away.
"Alright, boys," he said, ostensibly addressing both hostages – 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?"
At least Batman waited for Tim to consciously nod to spray him in the face with a spritz of knockout gas – Jason had very firm views on consent, and they were especially pointed at the moment with what else Sabini had wanted from Tim – but within seconds, Tim's unconscious form was slumped against Batman's armor-plated chest, wrapped up securely in his cape.
"You didn't have to do that," Jason growled as Batman turned his back to let Nightwing collect his brother without a word. "He would've behaved himself."
Collecting his tech and then sweeping and arm around Jason's middle as he ducked under one of Jason's own arms, Dick hauled Jason to his feet and said softly, "He just wants to get you both back to the Cave for assessment as quickly as possible – no detouring to throw him off in case he's one of those people with the ability to accurately mental map."
Fine. That was an almost adequate reason.
Except Jason was pretty damn sure Tim didn't need a mental map to figure out the Cave's location. Hell, he probably just knew it.
But Jason sure as hell wasn't going to tell Bruce that.
He might not be a very good Robin, but could do a little something heroic. And Jason knew that Batman would be pissed if he knew Tim knew so much about them. He wasn't sure what special knowledge of the Bat's secrets made Tim so afraid that he was gonna be mind wiped like a frickin' Roswell witness, but he trusted that if Tim thought it was possible, then it probably was. And if B was ever gonna use that shit on someone, it'd be Tim.
And Jason was not going to let that happen.
He'd promised.
And Jason kept his promises.
The Batmobile was more than roomy enough for Dick, Jason, and Tim to share the back without the drive jostling any of their injuries more than necessary. The ride was awkward, tense, and silent – save for the tremendous roar of the oh so fabulous engine – but blessedly short and unimpeded by any obstacles.
Tim was on his back on a table in the Cave's state-of-the-art infirmary before Nightwing had even helped Jason limp out of the car. By the time Jason was sitting on his own table, Bruce was settled enough to peal back his cowl and Alfred had appeared to help assess Tim's injuries.
Alfred shot Jason a tight smile – the kind that said he was relieved Jason was back, saddened that he was harmed, and deeply worried about his recklessness – but quickly turned his attention wholly unto Tim.
Meanwhile, Nightwing had removed his mask and gloves and was gingerly working his way through helping Jason strip down to his boxers. His expression was tight as he looked over Jason's wrists – flayed from his struggles against the manacles – and the bruising across his torso – though, Jason was reasonably sure his ribs were only bruised and he didn't have any internal bleeding. Dick's face turned downright dark as Jason's cargo pants were gingerly scooched out of – his eyes locked on the shin that was broken so entirely it seemed more surprising that the bone was not poking through his skin than if it had been.
"You took quite a beating, Little Wing," Dick said, quietly – carefully.
Jason frowned. The nickname still irked him, but he'd never noticed how tentatively Dick had used it before now – before Tim had pointed it out.
"The leg's broken, but I don't think anything else is," Jason said, equally quiet. "The shoulders are both strained, dorsi and anterior deltoids should be fine by tomorrow, but I definitely pulled both teres muscles and the posterior delt."
Dick nodded slowly, gingerly touching his muscles to confirm Jason's self-assessment. His fingers flit lightly over the bruises littering his torso and his murmured an apology before he pressed down to search for pressure or heat that would indicate internal bleeding or any fracture that might've gone unnoticed in the face of worse injury.
Once he'd checked Jason's assessment of the wounds on his torso, Dick helped Jason swing his legs up to rest them on the table and got an IV started in the crook of his elbow. It was mostly a hydration sack, but Jason caught Dick slipping in just a touch of preemptive morphine – knowing that real pain management would have to wait until after Bruce had his say about this debacle. Getting his leg set was a priority too, but that could happen after morphine made him too loopy to debrief.
Jason didn't thank Dick for the meds, but he also wasn't glaring at him as he worked. The former Robin set himself to disinfecting Jason's surface wounds, using a swab to apply generous amounts of antibacterial, numbing goo and then gently pressing bandages to the affected areas. He even wrapped loose bindings around Jason's gingerly treated wrists. He moved carefully, broadcasting his intentions and waiting for Jason to meet him halfway.
There was definitely lidocaine in the goo, or something powerful and instant and meant to take away his pain, because Jason started feeling better almost immediately.
It made him wonder if Dick had done that before, had snuck him something small that Bruce would've never realized he might've needed. He couldn't think of any where he knew it'd happened, but he could think of plenty where he hadn't been paying enough attention to notice.
And another thing that reinforced Tim's view of it was that when Dick was done, he didn't leave. He pulled at his suit – removing the armor and pealing back the skintight layers underneath – until his chest was bare and went about seeing to his own scrapes. And even when he'd finished with that he took a seat at Jason's table-side and waited.
Jason watched him sit there.
It was better than watching as B and Alfred hovered over Tim's unconscious form.
But not by much.
Dick's hands were clenched together, and his weight was on his elbows as he leaned over his knees. He didn't look hurt, but he didn't look good either.
"Dude, you alright?"
Dick flinched like Jason's question had startled him. Maybe it had.
He looked surprised that Jason had asked, surprised that he even cared.
"I'm fine, Little Wing," Dick promised. "I'm sorry I couldn't jump in sooner. You did good, though, keeping that kid safe – considering the circumstances."
A burst of resentment flared in Jason's chest. "How long were you watching."
"Not long," Dick promised immediately, reacting to Jason's unspoken accusation. "I got there just in time to see Sabini's little knife fetish."
Dick's voice darkened at the end, raging at Sabini's other fetish.
"I hope you didn't leave that guy with any teeth," Jason mentioned, agreed.
With a smile more vicious than Jason had seen on Dick before, the vigilante promised, "I left him one. As a reminder. That if he steps out of line a little birdie's comin' back for him."
Jason nodded, intensely grateful for the gymnast's unexpected viciousness – for the unspoken promise that if someone did go back for him, it would be Jason's Robin. "Thanks," Jason grunted.
Dickie fucking beamed at him for the effort.
With a sigh as Jason rationalized fully that Tim was obviously right about the primary reasons he and Dickiebird rubbed elbows – about the fact that Dick wanted him as a brother – he rolled over to stare at the glass wall between him and the bay where Tim was being treated.
Or was finished being treated.
He had an IV in his arm – hydration, painkillers, and no doubt a strong sedative. But he wasn't hooked up to anything more than that, which meant he didn't have any injuries Jason couldn't see just by looking. Even from a room away, Tim looked all kinds of black and blue – his cave-dweller pale skin making the bruises stand out all the more under the stark lighting.
Alfred appeared in Jason's frame of vision – blocking his view of Tim, from right by his shoulder. "Our young guest is sleeping," Alfred announced. "He's sustained some bruising and a single, mild laceration, but nothing too concerning. Physically speaking, he'll be fully recovered by the end of the week. Psychologically... Well, unconscious patients are notoriously impossible to accurately diagnose."
His sass was clipped and pointed, giving Jason an accurate rundown of Tim's condition, and simultaneously announcing a public chastisement of Bruce's choice to knock him out.
Bruce was cowed, but even Jason could barely tell from his reaction – just a very slight pinching around his eyes. He was still wearing most of his gear, but his gauntlets and outer armor had been removed in the process of treating Tim. He was still six and a half feet of scowling Bat in half-armor, but Jason scowled right back in force.
"What happened?"
"Followed a hunch."
See? Jason could do the short dramatic sentences thing, too. B didn't have a copyright on everything with attitude.
"So, like, does everyone else know who the kid in bay 2 is?"
"His name's Tim Drake," Jason supplied, still scowling at Bruce. "He's our neighbor.
Whispering like it was a secret, Dick asked, "We have neighbors?"
He was ignored. But his contribution probably kept Jason from saying something that would push the conversation into genuine-fight-territory.
"There was a rumor that young Timothy Drake had information on Batman's secret identity," Bruce explained. "While the rumor seemed unfounded, the details were concerningly specific and those details originated on the streets with dealers working high end neighborhoods around the branch of Gotham Academy Drake attends – dealers working for Sabini."
"B thought that since it didn't make sense to think a twelve year old knew shit that the entire Gotham police force couldn't figure out, the Sabinis wouldn't act on the rumor," Jason explained. "But drug dealers aren't exactly known for making sense, so I decided to go check it out. Just to gauge the kid's obliviousness and to see if I could clock any runners watchin' him. Turns out, I wasn't the only one who knew about his fucking field trip."
"There was a military grade assault team, Jason," Bruce commented. "They took abducting Timothy Drake very seriously. Care to explain why?"
"You know what, B, no," Jason retorted. "I don't care to explain. You know damn well that they were trying to cover the abduction by making it look like a robbery. You feel like explaining why we didn't do anything to make those stupid rumors go away?"
Bruce took a slow breath, consciously forcing himself not to respond with anger.
"Does he know anything?"
"No, Bruce," Jason growled, "He doesn't know shit. And that's not the point, he's just a fucking kid. We knew a drug lord was targeting a kid and we didn't do anything. Why?"
"Does he know anything?" Bruce repeated, level and firm – he didn't believe Jason about Tim's ignorance. "I did do something, Jason. It should've quashed the idea that Drake knew anything. The only way Sabini's crew maintained the rumor was with something concrete to fuel it. So, what does he know?"
Jason huffed. "He's a fan, Bruce, that's it. Kid got himself a few pictures and his classmate's a junkie that needed an in with Sabini to score. That's it."
Bruce continued to stare him down and Jason resisted the urge to repeat himself. If Jason knew anything at this point in his short and brutal life, it was how to lie to cops.
"The kid took a beating, Bruce," Dick chimed in, "And I saw him when Sabini was asking questions. He doesn't know anything."
It took everything Jason had in him not to whip his head around to face Dick, because if anything Jason had expected Dick to take Bruce's side – caution, over common courtesy. Especially as Jason knew that Dick could probably tell that he was lying, could tell that Tim probably knew something. But Dick was... Dick was covering for him.
Bruce's gaze cut to evaluate the first Robin – who didn't even fucking flinch. Jason was way more impressed with that than he'd thought he'd be, and way more surprised that the frickin' human puppy dog had that kind of spine.
"Fine," Bruce sighed, letting the tension settle into its usual rut. "Let's get that leg set."
Alfred stepped forward then, added a significant pouch of morphine to the drip making its way into Jason's arm. He felt his bone being forcibly adjusted and panted through the pain as the limb was immobilized – between Bruce and Alfred's practiced touch, Jason's leg was in a cast before the morphine even managed to kick in enough to feel.
"Hey, B," Jason asked, as he and Alfred were cleaning up. "Why's Tim still here, still sedated? Why aren't you taking him home?"
"Young Timothy's parents are out of the country, Master Jason," Alfred explained, "And I would feel far more comfortable with keeping him under close observation until we can be sure he has recovered. Letting him sleep for now will aid in that recovery, if nothing else."
Bruce nodded. "Alfred has insisted that we wake him in the morning to assess if he can be safely returned home," he elaborated carefully. "We may be hosting him for most of the weekend, so the Cave is now masks-only. Sorry Alfred, you'll have to stay upstairs. And his door remains locked, at all times. He may not know anything now, but a jaunt around the Cave would certainly be enough to change that."
Grudgingly, Jason agreed.
"You'll stay here tonight as well, tomorrow you can come back up to your room," Bruce added. "You've suffered a shock and the IV drip will keep you hydrated, and its nutrients will kickstart the healing process. In both you and Tim."
"I'll be taking the first shift of watching over you both," Alfred announced. "Master Bruce, I can take it from here. There is a file on your desk that requires your review and you have a meeting at WayneTech's auxiliary laboratory in just over four hours. I suggest at least a nap before you confront the skittish imbeciles who still believe this debacle was mere robbery."
Bruce opened his mouth to accept Alfred's suggestion, but the butler's tirade wasn't quite finished. "They're concerned about your stock prices and I don't believe that anyone's even noticed the absence of young mister Drake."
"Seriously? No one's noticed the kid's even missing yet?" Jason wasn't nearly as shocked by that as he wanted to be – after half the questions Tim had asked him over the last however-many hours, Jason tragically wouldn't be surprised if they really could keep Tim captive here all weekend without his disappearance being noticed.
There was a moment when no one answered and then Alfred said firmly, "We shall take good care of him, Master Jason, that much is for certain."
"Yeah, Alfred," Jason accepted, "Thanks."
He was starting to feel heavy and loopy with the onset of morphine and the retreating flood of adrenaline, and once Bruce left the room even the fight half of his reactionary instincts began to fade away. Consciousness would be quick to fade as well.
Jason was just settling into a comfy position to spend the rest of the night right here when Alfred's low tones reached his ears. "You should head upstairs as well, Master Dick."
"Just another minute, Alfred," Dick replied from his place still close to Jason's bedside. "I just wanna make sure he's okay."
"He will be, young sir," Alfred promised. "He will be."
"He took some pretty hard hits tonight for that kid," Dick explained softly, adding, "He did the Robin name proud protecting him."
"As he often does," Alfred said. Jason heard sound of Alfred making his way over to lay a hand on Dick's shoulder, heard Dick literally sigh into the comforting contact. "While you know I disagree with Master Bruce's decision to pass your mantle on without your blessing, I do believe you've quite 'out grown the pixie boots' as Master Jason says. Partnering with Batman helped you become the young hero you are today, but now you must spread your own wings."
Dick simply breathed for a moment. Then he chuckled. "You might be goin' a little hard on the Bat's thematic punch with the metaphors, Alf."
Jason had hardly dared breathe through the whole exchange, even afterward he held his tongue a moment – waiting for something else to break the silence.
"To bed now, Master Dick," Alfred suggested in that light and warming way of his that was still not at all a legitimate suggestion so much as an indisputable order.
Dick sighed heavily. "Alright, Alfred. I'm going."
He pushed to his feet and the scrape of his chair allowed Jason the excuse to break the moment further. "Shut the hell up," Jason huffed, "Some of us are trying to sleep."
"Apologies, Master Jason," Alfred said, pure teasing.
Jason readjusted his position and grumbled, "Stupid fucking saps."
Alfred's chuckle met his ears as the lights dimmed. "Hush now, Master Jason," the butler chided, "All young heroes need their rest."
"Aye, aye, Alf," Jason slurred, as he found the sweet spot on the marginally comfy table he was stuck on for tonight. "Whatever you say."
Jason sunk into oblivion feeling more like a hero than he ever had before outside of those few moments when he was actually punching in faces to keep a victim safe.
It was a pretty damn good way to finish off a fucking awful day.
Tim was safe, his secret knowledge was safely secret, the capes had nothing to worry about regarding his secret, and another skeevy drug-lord was off the Gotham streets.
And he didn't quite hate his brother any more, thanks to Tim.
Yeah, it was a damn good day.