It had been almost two weeks since that night at the bar.
Tim paced around his ersatz home. It was an empty floor of a condemned apartment building, junk had piled up in the corners. He had managed to buy it from its previous owner to help with his cover. With Bruce's connections, it didn't take long to draw up papers for a poor country boy that ran away from foster care.
All he had on the stranger was a phone number and a gun that was the same model as one that killed some local drug-dealers. Guns are mass-produced though, and it would take a much closer examination to see if it really was a match.
The teen checked his watch and flipped open a cheap cell. As if on cue, the downstairs shouting match fired up and he shut himself in the closet. He wanted the acoustics to be perfect as he slipped into character.
If he was the vigilante, then he should possess a strong sense of black-and-white morality. It would be easy to exploit. Paint up as a helpless victim and the man should welcome him open arms.
In truth, he felt guilty taking advantage of someone's kindness, even if it was intended to catch a murderer. But…
The way weapons and money were being shuffled, not to mention having some of their men being picked off. The gangs were on edge and looking for blood. If this wasn't resolved quickly, there could be a massive gang-war before summer.
Something was brewing in Gotham.
The phone number turned up nothing in a search, and he wanted to trace the call. Bruce said it was too dangerous to risk him finding out. Tim bit his lip as he dialed, he should have done it anyway.
The phone didn't need to ring twice. "Hello?"
The teen hesitated, not expecting such a prompt response. "I didn't think you'd actually answer." He confessed.
The stranger responded simply, reaching for a pair of scissors. "I told you I would." The older man was pleased to hear from him. Without even a last name to track him down, he might have spent the rest of his life thinking he was dead in a gutter somewhere.
"I know that but…" Apologize, act vulnerable…"I'm sorry, did I wake you up? It's really late and all."
Jason took a swig of cold coffee. The circuitry in his new helmet was giving him trouble. He would be up until dawn. "Nah, I'm just working on a little side-project." He muttered, distracted with this puzzle. Maybe if he put the battery over here…?
The teen ached to pry but it would be no good to tip him off now. "I wanted to thank you for the other day, mister-?" Tim hinted, hoping he would take the cue.
"Call me Jason"
Damn it, no last name. This was probably fake too. "Thank you Jason, for everything and…for picking up. I really needed someone to talk to right now."
The stranger had stopped working, suddenly very interested in what he had to say.
The sounds of a fight echoed underneath the apartment and he asked what was wrong. "There's always something happening outside, I keep thinking someone's going to break in." The rushed explanation left enough out to keep the man's attention.
Coat hangers clattered as the teen sat down, making himself more comfortable in the cramped space. "I get scared sometimes." He added pitifully, barely above a whisper.
The other line was suddenly very quiet.
"I'm sorry, I-I didn't have anyone else to call." Tim began to panic, did he lay it on too thick? What did he do wrong?
Jason grabbed his coat and had it on before he even noticed. Where the hell was he thinking of going? He didn't know where Tim was and what was he going to do when he got there? It's not like he could adopt him and make him his sidekick. He's not like Bruce.
He came back to Gotham for one reason, to get revenge. Nothing was going to get in the way of that.
He flopped down onto the couch and lit a cigarette. Jason's abrupt question startled the teen. "Why do you stay there if it's not safe?"
Tim's hand wrung his jeans and he asked, flustered "Where else am I supposed to go? I-I can't go to the shelters because they check the missing persons' list and I'll die before I go back home."
The older man sighed deeply, he wasn't going to do this. He promised himself that he wouldn't. Why should he care? Millions die every day, what's one more?
But he couldn't walk away from a kid in trouble.
"Do you…?" He asked, unable to finish the words. Ask me for help, damn it. I'll do it. The older man fumed in his head. "I'll stay on as long as you want."
The teen knew he was going to offer him a hot meal and a place to stay. Guilt gnawed at his stomach, why was this man being so irrationally nice? He had nothing to gain from this. All the teen could do was choke out another "Thank you"
…
They had talked for hours, and Jason stayed with him until the teen pretended to fall asleep. He had given the older man his number to gain his trust. Or maybe he just liked hearing him talk. He ended up missing the check-in time with Bruce and got a scolding for that later.
Jason was rough around the edges and swore a lot, but he was nice.
Nice to the point of stupid.
He had taken him, some kid he met at bar, completely at face value. No questions, no suspicions, nothing. He only wanted to help.
Tim shouldn't feel guilty, right? It was the best lead they had and guns were hardly uncommon in Gotham, even for self-defense. So the suspicion against Jason was purely circumstantial.
The chances of him being the killer are astronomical, the teen convinced himself.
Right?
…
The next day, Tim decided to prove it.
"No." Bruce said flatly. Appalled, his adopted son would even ask a question like that. He didn't even know what this 'Jason' looked like. Where his base was, or any other important information. "I can't let you arrange a meeting, it's too soon." They barely knew anything about their suspect and he wasn't going to let the teen walk in what could likely be a trap.
It wasn't an uncommon tactic to lure in victims with the promise of warmth and safety. Tim's strategy worked by playing someone that's 'safe' to talk to, that meant putting himself in a vulnerable position. The vigilante was someone with a similar experience, thereby connecting to it.
The character was by definition, weak. Having weapons on him would ruin the illusion.
Tim put his hands on his hips and scoffed at the rejection. "You've seen the numbers moving around. If he's the killer, he has to be getting outside help. You won't let me trace the call so send me in. I can find out who's working with him and geta motive."
He understood the risks but this is what he was trained to do. Besides, the faster they caught the vigilante the better. "I'll have a taser and a panic button in case something happens."
Bruce shook his head. "No, you won't because you're not going. Not until we have more information."
The teen eventually conceded with his mentor, agreeing that he was rushing into this. However, he excused himself after the discussion.
Alone in his room, Tim believed he was right. He had to prove Jason's innocence. The phone chimed as it turned on and the boy briefly asked why he was so quick to assume he was innocent.
…
Jason's phone went off in his pocket, but he couldn't reach for it.
At his feet, a dog of a man begged for his life. His skull was cracked in two places as the still un-named vigilante struck him again and again with the hilt of his gun. It was the man from the club. The former Robin was sickened to find out just how 'regular' his escapades were. The feeling was compounded by the fact he had a wife and kids of his own.
He allowed himself to be more brutal, more violent with this one. He had shattered the bones in right hand and snapped two ribs.
When he thought he waited long enough, Jason finally put a bullet through the man's head and answered the phone. "Sorry about the wait, I was kinda busy." He was breathless and the words came out as a smug purr.
The man's tone made Tim embarrassed for reasons he couldn't explain. "Jay…?" He asked, not sure of what he would get in return.
He wiped the blood onto his shirt and resisted the urge to brag. He doubted the teen would find the news at happy as he did. "I just got done doing some kick-boxing. It's a lot of fun, you should try it. So…" He leaned against his bike, debating the merits of getting a beer to celebrate. "…whatcha wanna talk about?" He asked, changing the subject.
Tim quickly remembered his plan. "I wanted to know if you were doing anything on Saturday, because if you didn't…maybe we could go to a movie or something."
The older man regarded the phone as an alien life-form. Did the kid just ask him out?
Nah, he was reading way too much into this. "Sure, I'd love to."