Chapter Text
Jason was awake in an instant, the usual haze of not being fully aware of everything and sleep filled annoyance at not being able to fully grasp what had woken him up or why filling him. He huffed and rolled over, getting comfortable when nothing seemed to stand out as to what woke him. He tries to dismiss the paranoia creeping in. It's probably his damn brain latching onto the training of hearing one noise out of place and going into hyperdrive. It had happened far too often when he first started living at the Manor and then entirely too often after the pit. Which was a good thing considering the fucked up training- cough cough assassination attempts cough cough- with the league.
And then he heard it again— Knock, knock, knock— he was up out of the bed; the handgun he kept under his pillow in his hand before he registered it. By the time he was at the door the perpetrator who thought it’d be a good idea to fuck around and find out was was behind, the safety was off and his finger was itching to pull the trigger as any fear, precaution and confusion swiftly got swallowed into a green tinted anger that he’s sure as hell not prepared to fight down. He’d be stupid to not be weary of the knocking— especially in this area.
Logically; it couldn’t be the bats— the old man would never knock— not like before at the mansion— quit think about that— it doesn’t matter and Dick likes to pretend to knock— more of an announcement before just bumbling in like the asshole he is. And the Pretender— he’d know better than to even try. He’s pretty sure the Bats put their precious little replacement Robin on lockdown— or at least hasn’t been letting him patrol anywhere near crime alley. Not that he blames them— he’s almost certain that he’s maiming the asshole on sight.
Sure, he’s kinda doin better with the bats— but that doesn’t mean he wants them anywhere near his safe houses. Fuck— if he has to burn this location that’s really gonna suck. This is his favorite. He’ll need to snag as many of the items he wants to keep before moving on if this is really Dickwing or Bat-bitch-man. Just because he’s got a tentative truce of them staying the fuck outta his area and he doesn’t kill every single asshole who goes around breaking his rules, well that’s all they should be asking for. Dammit! He really doesn’t want to deal with any of them.
Knock… knock… thump— “For fuckssake if you’ve got a damn death wish I’ll happily obli—“ and his thoughts froze as he tossed the door open, gun cocked as whoever— no, he recognized that face; even if he can barely see it with the only light coming from behind the figure and their hood shrouding a good portion of their face away from the light—what in the absolute fuck is this?— as if just barely caught themself from falling into the open door using the edge of the doorframe.
There in all their pathetic glory stood Robi— those glassy blue eyes held… is that relief?! as they met Jason’s— he’s not wearing a mask. Jason takes the runt in, fully looking him over. He’s in disheveled civvies— no mask— hair looking like he hadn’t even bothered to brush it before tossing a hood on it as if it’d give an excuse for it.
“Oh thank god—“ Tim’s shoulders nearly sagged— why the fuck would this asshole be relieved to see him— is this some sort of false— ah. Jason pursed his lips. This is some sort of bait. It has to be. The pretender’s a planner and obviously he thinks Jason is stupid enough to fall for it. “I wasn’t sure y-you’d be here— and I—“ the fucker cuts off as the cool steel of the barrel presses into his skin— his eyes flashing wider with both panic and something Jason vaguely registers as resigned.
“You better start fucking talking and give me one good damn reason not to pull this fucking trigger.”
The asshole sways— blinks up at him as if he’s not completely understanding what is being said before his expression just shatters— refusing to meet Jason’s eyes. “‘M sorry— I— I didn’t— I don’t have—“ it barely registers to him that the fucker sounds like his throat is raw— like it’s hurting to speak— and he feels a little vindicated and gleeful at the passing thought. And that tremor in his shoulders? Yeah the little shit should be scared of him.
“D-d-didn’t what?” Jason sneers, anger boiling in his chest as well as sick enjoyment at seeing the smaller form tremble. What karmic deity did he piss off this time to have his sleep interrupted with this farce? What the fuck does he even think he’d accomplish with something like this? “Spit it out Pretender!”
He wasn’t prepared for the tears slipping out of the other’s tightly squeezed shut eyes as he leaned against the doorframe harder— as if the wall was the only thing keeping him up at the moment, shoulders hunching up making him look smaller. Jason has to strain to hear him. “I-I didn’t know where else to go…”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean—“ and that fucking asshole in all his-his— fuck! Jason hated when words decided to fail him because the pit is howling for a release— that fucker decides to interrupt him again.
“S-sorry— can’t—s’ay- think ‘mmm pa’sss’ng out. Sss’ry—“
Jason scrambled to catch him before he went down, barely registering that he turned the safety back on and shoving the gun into his waistline. His brain froze for the second time since he’s been up as he held the preten—runt— kid— he’s holding a kid— a kid that just let out the quietest whimper he’s heard someone mostly unconscious make in a long time— his thoughts are frozen but the green-the pit is quiet. There’s no green telling him how much he needs to hurt him— this kid— to fuck! Why couldn’t this have happened before? Was it because he wasn’t in uniform?
He shifts to adjust the weight of the kid before it registers that the kid is entirely lighter than he’d been expecting. Unease is spreading through him as he pulls the both of them back into the apartment and locks the door up before making his way to dump the pre— Tim— to dump Tim onto his couch.
Or more like taking entirely too much care to set Tim down on the couch gently— attempting to not jostle him too much— his brain running through the possibilities of what happened. His thoughts jumping from one to the next of maybe he’d been mugged to maybe he’d gotten hurt on patrol— to his brain just dismissing each one because it doesn’t make sense! Why’d he come to him? Why would he have thought this would be a place to come to? Doesn’t he understand that Jason’s almost killed him? Several times? Does this kid really lack self preservation skills? Christ, what the fuck is this dumbass thinking?
He shoved the thoughts away as he pushed himself from the couch, trying to stay focused. He needs to check for injuries. Check to make sure the fucker isn’t going to implement him in his death. Surely, he didn’t come here because he was dying right? He made quick work of snagging his first aid kit from under the bathroom sink, a damp cloth so he can wipe the kids face, his flashlight and one of the softest blankets he’d managed to snag from the mansion the last time he’d been there before making his way back to his couch. He set everything down on the coffee table, aside from the blanket which he quietly set next to Tim.
He moved away again to turn on lights so he could properly dress any wounds this idiot must’ve passed out from— Alfred would have his hide if he found out he’d half assed it. Setting the gun down where he’d have quick access but it’d be unlikely for the Runt to be able to steal it, he moved to the kitchen. He grabbed some bottles of water before he was standing in front of Tim again. He gave a soft sigh, before pulling his table over— closer to the table; kneeling in front of him.
He grabbed his flashlight, before gently reaching over to shake the kid awake. “Pre— Tim. Hey Tim, wakey wakey. Need to check you for a concussion— come on— try and wake up for me kid— come on.”
The kid inhaled sharply, eyes flashing open as he jerked away from Jason’s touch— Jason dropped his hand away from him— his eye’s dancing wildly around them, his shoulders tensing and hunching in on his again before recognition flashed through his eyes and he sagged in relief again. The hood of his hoodie had finally fallen off him, leaving his face in clear view. And boy, did he look like he’d been through the wringer. Especially noticeable is that split lip and the bruise that’s been forming on his cheek bone though those didn’t look exactly fresh. The lip wasn’t quite bleeding and looked scabbed over. A glance towards where the kid's chin gets engulfed and hidden by his hoodie looks like it has more bruising peeking out around his throat. He’ll need to get the hoodie off of him to actually inspect it.
Jason is just gonna put a pin in the uncomfortable awareness that it’s wrong that Tim’s registering him with a feeling of safety— even if he’s still more guarded than he was at the door, for later.
“Tim, kid, hey, it’s okay. Concussion. I need to uh— I need to check for that. Okay? I’m going to be careful of that bruise you’ve got but I need-“ he rambles trying to convey that everything is okay. That he won’t hurt him.
“N-not con-concussed.” Tim forces out, wincing as the words come out raspy and his breath comes out in a short gasped pain. Should he add the possibility of bruised ribs to this?
Jason gives his own sympathy wince before grabbing one of the bottles he’d set aside. He doesn’t make a move to open it, but holds it up offering to him. “Shit, that sounds like it hurts baby bird. How about some water and then you can explain why I shouldn’t check you for a concussion? Hmm?” Or even a brain injury in general. How is Jason a safe option? If he’s not concussed— how did this dumbass figure the guy who’s tried to kill and has maimed him was a good idea to go to?
Tim eyed the water before shaking his head. “I don’t— ‘m not thirsty.” He rasped, fighting another wince from speaking. He struggled for a moment, eyes falling into his lap— refusing to meet Jason’s. “D-didn’t hit my head. Not concussed.”
“Kid, you know that wouldn’t fly with Afie—“ he tries to ignore the flinch that the kid has at the mere mention of him— and fuck Alfred’s literally a saint— Jason’s hoping that the kid came here to avoid a lecture for doing something stupid. Fuck, he can’t think of any other reason the kid would flinch like that at Alfred’s named. “—you came here to me, so we do this my way. Your throat sounds all kids of fucked— so do me a favor and drink this— or I’ll just call him to come get yo—“
“No! No! Don’t call him! Don’t call anyone! Please don’t—“ the kid rambles, reaching out to snatch the water from him, his knuckles tight as he held it close to him— his eyes wide in panic. “I‘ll—I’ll try! Please I’ll try!—“
“Kid! Tim! Deep breath— in… out... there you go— keep breathing just like that. It’s okay. I won’t call him okay?” It takes a couple minutes for Tim’s lungs to remember how to breathe on its own, but that seemed good enough for Jason. “Try to drink some so you’re not straining your throat so much. It sounds like it hurts. I’ve got some over the counter pain meds if you want. It, uh, might help?” Jason offered, holding his hands up in mock surrender, equal parts confused, concerned and angry. It’s easy to be angry considering almost everything seems to get swallowed by the pit. Every emotion spins and churns until it’s anger and then the pit uses it as fuel.
He forces himself to inhale slowly before exhaling, trying to keep a lid on everything.
Freaking out on the kid isn’t going to help anything. “Do you need something for the pain?” The kid isn’t looking at him again. He shook his head. “You passed out as soon as you got here; I am not just let you sit there when you’re obviously hurt. Got it? So tell me what I can do to help, okay kid? That’s why you came here isn’t it? For help?”
“N-no… I can— I can handle that stuff a-alone. Just— just didn’t know… where else to go…” Tim forced out, a quiet sniffle escaping him. And fuck, Jason isn’t good at kids and crying. Not to mention this kid specifically.
“You said that earlier.” Astute observation, captain obvious! Jason mentally scolds himself. He swallows down the questions of ‘Why couldn’t you go home? Or to Dickie’s— why me kid?’ “Look Tim, I can’t help if you don’t let me. So, either you let me help with your injuries— cause you and I both know Alfred will lecture us both to hell and back with his disappointed look if he finds out you came here and insisted on handling things alone— or you let me call someone to come help ya. I’ll even call Dickhead if you want. Or one of your friends. Hell, I can even help get you to Leslie’s if you’re really insistent on not letting me get your brother or Alfie. So take a drink and then pick. Capiche?”
The kid’s trembling again, and he sniffles, using his sleeve to shakily wipe at his face. “I… why?”
“Why what?” Jason exhaled sharply, the irritation spiking before he could swallow it down again. “Why won’t I let you handle any of those injuries alone? Why the water?”
Tim hesitated before shaking his head. Jason was about to open his mouth to ask more questions when Tim started forcing himself to talk again, despite how halting it was. Jason’s sure he’d feel better if the kid would just drink some water. “Why do you… care? I… all I need is to just… I just needed somewhere… safe? Safe.” He repeats as if confirming for himself that’s why he came. “I can—I can handle everything else myself… just for a little while. Then I’ll… I’ll be gone and I won’t bother you anymore…”
And fuck, if that doesn’t make Jason’s hands feel clammy and the uncomfortable feeling he’s been trying to ignore grow. The kid regards this as safe? But didn’t expect him to care? If he wouldn’t care— why in the hell would it be safe?! He takes another controlled breath, those can be handled later. Right now he needs to focus on getting the kid to drink something and letting someone help with whatever injuries he got.
“Kid— Timmy, what do you mean you won’t bother me? You’re not really bothering me now, I’m butting my nose in because you’re a kid— and I have the availability to help. I already told you I’m not letting you handle your injuries alone.” He hesitates, “Come on, baby bird, you don’t just show up on someone’s doorstep and expect them to hang you out to dry, do ya?”
Tim’s silence spoke just as loud as anything the kid could have said. “Fuck, okay— well that’s not something we’ll focus on right now. Let’s just get you to drink some of that water, okay?“ the kid hesitates again but gives him a small nod. He finally makes the move to open the bottle and with a twist and click the lid in one hand as he just stares at it, his lips pressed into a firm line. He looks as if there’s something inherently wrong with it.
“What’s wrong with the water kid? It’s probably going to be more soothing to that throat of yours than the tap will.” Not that he’d willingly give someone the tap. It was a risk to use it, never exactly knowing if someone spiked the water supply again.
The kid pressed his lips even more together. He peeks a glance up at Jason, who only quirks an eyebrow in response. Tim seems to deflate, eyes back to the water. “Nauseas. I’ve already thrown it up— I don’t really want to do it again— there’s no point.”
Jason’s brows furrow at the phrasing. Something about it is tickling the warning signals but he can’t place it exactly. “I’ve got crackers and tums.” he offered. “Might help with the nausea. Or you already try that and throw up?”
Gods, so it’s looking more like the kid got mugged and he’s sick. How could anyone let him out like this? The fuck is Bruce even thinking? What if Jason hadn’t been able to push past the pit? This kid would have literally been so fucked if the pit hadn’t dissipated the hostility he’d had when he woke up.
He ignored the way his thoughts focused on the conflict of Tim being both Robin and a child. He don’t hurt kids— that’s one of his rules— but he’s already hurt Tim plenty of times. Too many times. And yet the kid still thought he’d be safe here? Something isn’t adding up. And with the resistance to calling anyone to help— he doesn’t like the picture his thoughts are painting up for him.
Tim hesitated again, sniffling as he shook his head. “N-no. I’m— I’ll just… I’ll try to drink this.”
“Slow sips then. I’ll… I’ll go grab a waste bin on the off chance it makes you sick. Okay?” He waits until Tim nods again before pushing himself up to standing again— his knees giving quiet pops from being in that position so long. He didn’t miss Tim’s hands tightening on the bottle nor did he miss the way the kid flinched as he stood before relaxing as he moved away.
Jesus, was this something Bruce did then? Is that why the kid showed up here? Because Bruce can’t learn how to fucking handle his kids? His anger flared up and he gritted his teeth as he made his way to the kitchen. He forced himself to focus on Tim. He can’t just allow himself to focus on his simmering anger— not while the kid still had injuries he needed to coax to look at. He grabbed a couple of his ice packs and the waste bin as soon s he’d shoved the green back enough to breathe easier.
He made sure to telegraph his movements, making sure the kid was as aware as he could be in regards to him. Where he’s at. What he’s got. What he’s going to do. “Okay kid, I’m gonna be sitting in front of ya again. I’ve got the bin. You still feeling sick?” He asked as he kneeled down in front of him. The kid nodded but forced himself to take the tiniest sip he could— just enough to coat his mouth. Jason sets the bin next to him, careful not to actually touch the kid. “Okay, and I’ve got some ice packs— wait, you’re not bleeding right? I mean, it’s okay if you are, but we should really get that shit cleaned up so it doesn’t get infected. So you bleeding anywhere, aside from that split lip?”
“Don’t think so…” Tim shook his head. “Think I’m ju-Just… bruised. Don’t think anything’s really sprained or broke either.” He refused to look at Jason again but he seemed to be trying with the water even if he’s doing it as slowly as he can as he raised it for another tiny sip.
“Okay, then I won’t push to look at your injuries yet. We can let you ice up and drink your water before we do anything else. Sound like a plan?” Jason offered. If the kid wasn’t gonna open up to him he’d have to see if Dickwing is in Gotham tonight. Maybe Dickie would at least be able to confirm whether the kid had a fight with Bruce or if the kid had even been on patrol. He can beat the shit outta Bats at any point if the asshole is the one who fucked this kid up.
Tim hesitated before nodding again. “Okay… I… I’m not sure I need the ice though… I can manage—“
“Nope. Didn’t ask whether you could manage without ice. You denied the pain meds so just use the packs. I have like three more if these aren’t enough. You should definitely hold one up to that face of yours— it’s been swelling.” Jason paused. “Do you need more than what I grabbed? This is the extent I’ll ask until you’re done with the water and iced up. Are the three I have here enough or do you need or want more?”
Tim watched him for a moment before looking away. “I… I can make do with three.”
Jason exhaled— fighting the urge to snap. He set the ice packs on the blanket beside the runt. “Fine. Okay. Whatever. I’m gonna go make me some tea— lemme know if you need anything. And keep drinking that water. Got it, baby bird?” Tim nodded. “Good. Put the ice on — if you get too cold, put the packs on the table and use the blanket. Got it?” Another nod. “Good. Great.” Jason pushed himself up again, slower than he had before. His lips twitched up at the fact that the kid was watching him but not flinching. He made his way back to the kitchen before pulling his phone out and shooting a quick text to the golden boy. He told Tim he wouldn’t call anyone. And it’s not like he’s going to invite Dick over yet but he can at least start investigating what the hell happened.
The-talking-dead
Yo dickwing— you in town tonight?
And with that out of the way, he set the device on the countertop before he filled his kettle up and stuck it on the stove. Maybe he’d make the kid some of Alfie’s hot chocolate after he’s sure he’s not going to throw it up. It never tastes good coming back up. He shuddered shaking the thoughts away as his phone started lit up. He scowled and ignored the call. Fucking idiot. If he wanted to have a call he’d have fucking called.
He gave a soft huff, pulling his a mug out with a Shakespeare quote on it. The fucking Dick can chill out while he finishes getting his tea ready. Another call flashed on the screen and he ignored it again, reaching up for his tea bags— mint— something Alfred had gotten him hooked on. Not to mention it helped him relax and get a bit of a better grip on the pit. Once he only had the kettle to wait on, he checked his messages.
On the flip side :)
Why? Something going down? You need a wingman?
Come on answer little wing :((
:((((((
Is everything ok?
Srsly you never message and then ignore my calls. What’s going on?
The-talking-dead
Christ you’re annoying. I hardly message at all, much less do a call.
I just need to know if you’re in Gotham, got it?
Can you answer that for me or not?
On the flip side :)
I’m not… but I just got back from my nightly walk. I can be in Gotham in like three-ish hours if it’s important
By which I mean, if you want me to come over, I will. Your important, little wing.
Jason rolled his eyes with a scoff as the texts spammed in. He glanced out into the living room, noticing the kid didn’t hardly move since he’s been in here aside from having the blanket wrapped around him. Good, at least he’s not pretending he doesn't need anything and hasn’t thrown up yet. “Hey, you still doing good out there?” He called out to him. He watched the kid flinch— and flinch hard.
Fuck, whatever happened spooked him bad if he’s still on edge. Or maybe it’s just being around him— which granted maybe he wasn’t expecting Jason to be so insistent on helping even if he was semi-sure Jason wouldn’t hurt him. No, more than likely he was expecting Jason to let him do his own thing. “Y-yeah… I-I’m okay…”
“If you’re sure.” Jason called back, frowning. Fuck, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with this kid. If the kid’s totally resistant to getting help from him, maybe he can see if Leslie will do a house visit— just to be certain the run isn’t hiding injuries. He turned his attention back to his phone. A lost venture considering Dickhead isn’t in town; he’s doubtful that he’s aware of whatever happened. Dammit. Back to square one.
The-talking-dead
Fuck, you’re such a fucking sap. I’m fine. I’m not sure if you should head this way or not yet. I’ll keep you updated.
On the flip side :)
Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on, Jaybird?
Are you hurt?? :(((
Do I need to fight someone?
The-talking-dead
No. It’s not me. Like I said; I’ll keep you updated. Keep an ear out for a call. Get some rest or something while you wait.
And I can handle myself Dick.
On the flip side :)
I was planning on heading to Gotham soon anyway. Me coming early won’t hurt anything. Worse comes to worse I’m sure I can convince Baby Bird to hang out with me.
Jason bit his lip. Dammit— he shouldn’t have texted. He’ll have roughly three hours maybe four hours max to get this handled before Dick decides to say fuck it and come over anyway. Especially if he can’t find the kid. Fuck this shit— this’ll be hell in a hand basket if he can’t fix this.
The-talking-dead
Whatever. If you feel up to the drive then go for it. There’s still no rush. I’ll let you know if you need to come over or if the rush thing changes.
On the flip side :)
Got it little wing!
Be there soon!
<3