A/N: I am unintentionally creating a pattern with the point of view for these chapters I think. If you catch on to what it is, then you can guess who it will be next chapter. ;)
This part is very different from the others, but I really wanted to work with a few concepts that have been on my mind. Please let me know your thoughts if you have the time!
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.
"Finally," Jason said under his breath. "Right where I want you."
The search had been long, tedious, and just as frustrating, but all of his investigating had paid off. Ever since Bruce had confirmed that Tim's case stretched farther than Scarecrow's scheming, the young adult had been tracking down every last person involved. There had been plenty of sleep lost over it as well as warnings from his old mentor to let it go. But Jason blew off the warnings, which he took more as suggestions, and poured over every resource at his disposal. It wasn't the easiest mission to accomplish without Tim knowing, but somehow he'd managed to pull it off. Now the moment had truth had come after so long.
Jason stood outside the hideout; an old factory on the edge of Gotham. It had been hard to pinpoint the exact location, but Jason was sure that he had gotten it right this time. The building loomed in the darkness, but he wasn't intimidated. Instead a fire had begun to burn inside him, the coals warming and sparking. His mood was dangerous, every fiber of his being ready to snap into an impulsive action. Yet he forced himself to be strategic, to focus on his goal.
He was going to break every single person he could get his hands on.
The thought made him grit his teeth, trying to quell the anger in him before it became too intense so soon. Jason clenched his hands into fists, the leather gloves keeping his nails from digging into his palms. Part of him, which still lived in the past, couldn't believe that he was actually doing this for Tim. The Replacement; The Imposter; the person that Jason despised for so long; He was doing this for the same person who was now his brother. It made his head hurt to think about it, and so he didn't and just accepted the fact.
His cell began to vibrate in his pocket, stirring Jason from his thoughts. The first mistake he made was not checking the caller ID. The second was answering the phone. "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" Tim's voice came from the other end of the line with a clear undertone of annoyance. It was easy to picture his expression; eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed together; Jason had seen it so often.
"Out," Jason replied simply, his tone sharper than he intended. It signaled that with that single word the conversation was over. "I needed to see someone."
"At midnight?" Tim pressed on, the aggravated note in his voice undeniable. Clearly the younger adult was unhappy; then again he never liked it when Jason went off without a word.
"They're nocturnal," Jason answered, unconcerned. "Just like little costumed heroes."
The humor did not sit well with Tim. "Come back to the manor. Whatever you're doing, it's probably a bad idea."
Although he wasn't about to tell the younger boy just what he was up to, Jason couldn't help but feel slightly offended. Nevertheless he recovered from the insult. "I'm an adult, Tim. You can't make me come back to the manor just because you're nagging me like a Mother Hen."
"Jason." And there it was; the tone of voice that made the older man have to hold back a wince. It was weak and fragile, betraying all the exhaustion and anxiety that Tim kept bottled up. During the day the teen didn't show it much, but when night came so did his emotions in a wave so strong that sometimes Jason feared it would crush him altogether. It was almost enough to send the older man back to the manor. But then Jason closed his eyes and he saw Tim lying on the ground covered in water, unable to move or speak, Tim waking up from nightmares, Tim shaking and pale as a ghost with darkness in his eyes.
His anger burst in him, and Jason quickly stomped it down. Taking a sharp breath, he exhaled hard through his nose. The grip on his cell phone tightened, though he restrained from snapping the metal in two. "I'll be home soon, kid," Jason said with as much calmness as he could muster. "Go to sleep."
"Not until you walk through the door," Tim said, not bothering to hide his worry or exhaustion. There was no doubt in Jason's mind that he wouldn't be awake much longer.
"That's your choice," Jason replied. "An unwise one."
Whatever possessed him to hang up at that point he couldn't say. Jason did it anyway, silencing the ringer. There was no way he could just turn around and go home, not when he was so close to completing his mission. He picked up his helmet and stared at it, barely able to see his reflection on the red surface due to the darkness of the sky. It seemed to beckon him, encouraging him that now was the time to act. Jason knew he couldn't let Tim's glass-like voice become permanent. He couldn't let the teen fall victim to his fear. Tim needed to be strong and get back on his feet.
And if that meant that Jason had to get rid of every last living remnant of that night, so be it.
He'd managed to get inside the factory without incident, proving his suspicions. The thugs had no security, nor did they have any idea that someone was on their trail. Jason had to bite back a ridiculous laugh when he'd entered; mostly brought on by the rage that was boiling in his blood. Once he had put on his helmet and assumed the identity of Red Hood, all the barriers he'd put up to keep himself in check came crashing down. The need to feel calm had left him; giving into pure animosity sounded like such a better idea.
On the upper level he moved quietly, the voices of men carrying upwards. From the shadows Jason peered over the edge, finding a typical scene below. Most of the factory equipment had been ripped out long ago, some old conveyer belts and machine parts shoved against the walls. The main floor was mostly clear, with tables and chairs scattered among the work space. Boxes were piled up, some of them open, holding vials of liquid; no doubt some of Scarecrow's toxins he'd been working on. The sight sent anger through Jason's veins like quicksilver.
The men were huddled around the largest table, a pyramid of glass bottles stacked in the center. Jason took a gun from his holster and aimed. There was barely a moment between aiming and pulling the trigger, and the bullet shot straight into the center bottle of the pyramid. Glass sprayed everywhere as the structure came crashing down, the sound of shattering, yelling, and cursing filling the air inside the factory. A sick grin came onto Jason's face as he watched them jump back fearfully, dashing around like a startled flock of birds.
He moved from the shadows then, presenting himself to the thugs. All stopped their frantic running and froze, their eyes locked on his figure. Jason brandished his gun casually as if it was a harmless item. "Well boys, looks like the party has started without me."
"We've stayed out of your territory, Hood!" One of the braver men shouted, pointing at him. "We scrammed the moment you said to!"
"Fair enough," Jason said coolly. "But I'm here on account of a different violation."
With his free hand he motioned to the vials in the boxes. "You've been dealing with some higher up scum of Gotham lately. I can't let that one slide."
"It's about that birdie, ain't it?" Another yelled up. "You've gotten real sensitive with the Bats!"
"That isn't your concern," Jason said, pulling out his other gun. "Start praying for your souls, because I intend to damn every one of them in this room."
He could feel the fear fall over all the men in the room. From somewhere there was a piteous question of, "Have you no mercy?"
Tim on the ground gasping, Tim lying motionless in bed, Tim left alone to perish.
"None that I wish to give," Jason growled. He did not waste another moment and leaped, falling into the chaos below. His feet hit the ground, glass crunching under his heavy boots. As soon as his eyes locked onto the men, his inner rage consumed him. Jason saw nothing but red, felt his fingers pull the triggers of his guns. He batted weapons away and dodged bullets, was acutely aware of pain as metal grazed his skin. The sound of gunfire and painful yelling was morphed in his ears; Jason was mostly aware of his heartbeat pounding like a drum in his head.
There was a constant rhythm in him, driving him to fight. He dropped his guns and lunged forwards, flipping someone over the table and cracking it into two halves. His fist flew and smashed into the nose of another thug, his foot ramming into the back of another. Limbs connected with jaws, chests, abdomens, and heads. By the time Jason had regained awareness of just what was going on, most of the men were sprawled out on the ground. There were moans, proving that they were still alive, for the most part.
He gritted his teeth, the heat of rage threatening to blind him again. Jason stalked over and yanked one of the men up by the collar and tossed them into the wall. His hands gripped their shirt, forcing them into the hard surface. There was blood dripping down their chin from a split lip, and his eye was already turning black. A sick sort of pleasure at the sight mixed with Jason's anger. The man said weakly, "What's gotten into you, Hood? Suddenly you're sympathizing with the Bat's little minions."
"What's gotten into me?" Jason growled, tightening his grip. "What's the matter with all of you? Dealing drugs to naïve people, supplying villains with what they need to kill the innocent. What right do you have to ask what's gotten into me?"
The man visibly flinched and stuttered, "Since when d-do you care about R-Red Robin?"
"Red Robin is an innocent," Jason hissed, seething. "He was just doing his job; he was trying to stop low lives like you from destroying what's left of this city. Because of you, he was left to die!"
He drew one hand back, glaring so hard that he thought his helmet would crack into pieces and reveal his face. "And that won't happen, not while I'm here!"
Another Robin won't die alone.
"Stop!" Jason froze at the sound of the voice, looking up to the top floor. His eyes widened, more than he wanted to admit, and he was glad for the helmet keeping his face neutral.
"Stop it," Nightwing repeated, standing tall. He looked less distressed than Jason had predicted; possibly more concerned than anything. Beside him stood Robin, who had his arms crossed and was scowling at the scene.
"Why are you here?" Jason said darkly. The man slumped in his grasp, unconscious like the rest scattered on the floor.
Robin, or rather Damian, replied, "You did not answer any of my rather considerate messages."
"More like colorful," Nightwing corrected, earning an eye roll from the ten year old. The oldest brother continued, "Damian couldn't get through to you, so he called me. We've been looking everywhere."
Damian launched himself to the bottom floor, landing a few feet away from Jason. He glanced over his shoulder from his crouched position. "It was helpful that you didn't bother to cover your tracks. Finding your exact location took little effort."
Jason made an aggravated sound in his throat. "Congrats, you found me. Now go hide and I'll find you both when I'm done."
He raised his arm again, even though the man was unconscious, and Nightwing—Dick dropped down on the opposite side of him. "Don't. It's not worth it."
"Not worth it?" Jason repeated, not able to fathom his brother's reasoning. "These low lives almost had Tim killed! Don't tell me that this isn't right!"
Dick looked at him so severely that it took Jason off guard. His next question was almost enough to knock him off his feet. "Are you doing this for Tim, or are you doing it for you?"
There was complete silence. Silence in the room, silence in his mind; everything settled for that brief moment. He pictured the memory of himself lying on the floor of the warehouse covered in blood. He remembered his labored breathing, the Joker's laughter bouncing off the walls. The countdown, the pain, the fear; being completely alone; it came back to him in a rush of memory. And then he wasn't picturing himself lying there, but Tim. Tim in pain, Tim afraid; Jason knew just how terrifying and helpless the teen felt as he waited for the inevitable end.
"I know this is hard," Dick said carefully, taking a few small steps towards Jason. "I wasn't there when you found Tim. But I am aware of all the effort you've been putting in to take care of him. You're trying to do the right thing and get rid of what brought him down. But this isn't what he would want."
Jason felt his hands trembling slightly. His voice was scratchy and raw. "So what am I supposed to do? Let him go on every day knowing that people involved are still out there?"
"The person responsible is in prison," Dick said gently, coming up behind Jason. He placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Tim will heal, Jason. But you need to let yourself heal too."
Maybe that was the breaking point, or maybe Jason was just worn out. Either way he let go of the man and turned away as the thug slumped to the floor. Jason stepped away from Dick, feeling like he was reeling, falling through the air. When he'd found Tim that night, it did feel reminiscent of his own unfortunate fate. This whole escapade was to save Tim that grief, to keep him from feeling that no one cared. He didn't want the teen haunted by the fact that the person responsible was still out there somewhere.
But Dick was right; it was over.
Damian had taken the time to round the criminals up into one pile, their bodies overlapping one another. He dusted off his hands and walked back over, looking as unconcerned as ever. "Relax, Todd. If it has not occurred to you, Drake is not a totally weak individual."
The ten year old stopped, seeming to consider his words before lifting his gaze to set back on Jason. "And neither are you."
Jason wasn't going to lie; he was not expecting that. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dick smiling, proving that yes, Damian had just said something nice. Jason found himself saying, "Thanks, kid. That…surprisingly means something to me."
"Tt," Damian said, "Don't expect it often."
Dick chuckled, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'll call the cops to handle this mess. Then let's all just go home."
Jason agreed easily with that.
He found Tim asleep on the couch, right where he predicted the teen would be. The younger boy was stretched out, a blanket over him. Jason guessed that Alfred had taken care of him before heading to bed. Jason walked over to the couch, rubbing at his arm. While Dick had bandaged all his minor wounds, he was just now starting to feel the irritation from them. Of course he wasn't about to show that in front of Tim, so he dropped his arm and looked the boy over. The shadows under his eyes were almost nonexistent, proving that he'd been somewhat sleeping.
Tim blinked, and Jason was broken from his thoughts as the teen's bleary eyes settled on him. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment in confusion, and then he rubbed at his face. "You're finally home?"
"I've been home," Jason said, lightly flicking his head. "Thanks for the warm welcome."
"Go away," Tim muttered, voice slurred from sleep. A hint of a smile was on his lips as he said it, fully aware of his words.
Jason just chuckled, "Sure, why not."
Tim closed his eyes again, "You're okay?"
"Of course I am," Jason answered. And so are you.
"Good…" Tim said, already drifting off to sleep again. He was out within moments, chest rising and falling slowly.
For a minute Jason stood there watching, and then nodded once to himself before sitting down in the chair. Both Dick and Damian were right. Tim was beyond the need for vengeance. The only rehabilitation that he needed was through himself and with others to help. That was something Jason could offer if he put the past behind him. Jason half smiled, and then leaned back and closed his eyes.
They were going to be just fine.