#acknowledge the hostages you dipshits | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fidothefinch · 5 years ago

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Jason's been working undercover to get into Gotham's shiny new human trafficking business. But things get complicated when it's revealed that Red Robin's been captured.

Words: 5,688 Warnings: recreational drugs, canon-typical violence, cursing

The warehouse had been trashed since the last time Red Hood had been there. The wall-length locker unit was flipped on its side, and the office windows were shattered. “Someone did some redecorating recently, huh?”

The goons he was following didn’t acknowledge him past a warning glance tossed over their shoulders. He recognized them; they had been there when Jason was ‘recruited.’ But that meant they were smart enough to decide that, between Jason and their boss, Jason was the greater threat.

Jason stopped walking and crossed his arms. “I need an answer. You guys have a Bat problem?”

The goons looked at one another. The older and taller one was the first to turn around and actually look at him. Mirroring Jason’s stance, he said, “Not anymore. We took care of ‘em.”

“Good.” (Not good.) “I don’t work with anybody who attracts that kind of attention.”

The man nodded, and they continued through the building. Jason expected them to take him up the catwalk to the second-story office, where every other meeting with higher-ups had taken place. So he was surprised when they continued past it, instead heading straight for a blank wall. Goon A tapped a rhythm into the wall, and a rectangular wedge depressed and slid to the side to reveal a set of stairs leading down.

Jason took note and followed them mechanically, mind swirling. They hadn’t known about the secret entrance; hadn’t had a good opportunity to scope it out. But clearly someone had been investigating.

He was beginning to understand why Gretto had called for him.

The man known as ‘Gretto’ was in charge of Gotham’s new, flashy, human trafficking business. As far as Gretto knew, he had remained under the Bats’ radar for six months now. He also thought Red Hood was still completely independent, and obviously hadn’t done his homework on Jason’s morals. The guy was a good businessman but a poor criminal; it made it all the more easy for the Red Hood to slip into his forces on a mission for Batman.

Jason had made great headway, too. They were planning an assault on the building within the next month.

All that said, nobody else associated with the Bat should have been here.

The bottom of the stairs opened into a long hallway that stretched to the left and right. Heavy metal doors lined each side; many had blinking keypad locks next to them. More voices drifted from a door propped open with a cinderblock, off to the left. A man hurried out of a small alcove near them, an empty syringe in his hand.

For a secret lair, this place sure was poppin’.

Jason took note, even as the goons led him down the right hallway, straight up to the polished hardwood door at the end of the hall. The goons opened it and gestured for Jason to step inside.

It was almost like a small conference room. A long table was set up in the middle, but there were no chairs in sight. A tall man with a beer belly sat on one end of the table, pouring over a large book of figures. Jason’s hands itched to get that information.

“Gretto,” he greeted.

The man looked up, shutting the book and rising from his seat. “Red Hood.” Gretto’s long curls were pulled back in a low ponytail. He reached out a calloused hand to shake.

The best part about being Red Hood was that he could be an asshole. Jason waved off the hand flippantly, making himself comfortable against the wall next to the door. Gretto’s goons spread out to flank him. “I heard you had a Bat problem.”

Gretto’s smarmy smile fell instantly, and he shot a look at one of the goons. “Really?”

Jason shrugged. “Easy to spot, when you know their M.O.”

“One of them got upstairs a few days ago—"

“Which one?”

Gretto cocked his head to the side. “Shorter, used the big stick?”

Tim.

“Makes sense. Red Robin is usually the first to investigate a place like this.”

“Then we shouldn’t have any problems going forward. He’s been contained—”

Jason straightened abruptly. “You mean he’s still here?”

“It’s actually why I called you. I was wondering how much experience you had with hostages.”

Why the hell hadn’t Bruce contacted him?!

“You idiot.” Jason slammed a fist on the table. The goons looked a little more alert, now. “You want to blackmail Batman?!”

“I’m not going to be pestered by a man in a fur suit.”

“You think nobody’s tried this before?”

“I will be the first to pull it off. I already have the kid, after all.”

Jason’s hand thumped against his helmet before he realized, belatedly, he wouldn’t be able to massage away this headache. “I can’t believe you’ve dragged me into this mess.”

Gretto smirked. “You will be thankful, when the Batman of Gotham won’t dare touch you.”

Jason was only half-listening now. His thoughts swirled around in his head, caught in the current of worry for Tim and this entire operation. He could pull out the gun hidden beneath his jacket and end this whole thing right here, except it wouldn’t do any good for the past and present victims of the trafficking ring. But he couldn’t just let them hold on to Tim, either.

First thing first, he had to make sure his brother was okay.

He played up his annoyance for his audience, heaving a sigh that sounded much louder through the mechanization of his helmet. “Listen, if you want my help, I need to know what kind of condition he’s in. We want to scare Bats into doing what we want, not make him come after us.”

Gretto clapped his hands together. “So you’ll help us?”

Jason grit his teeth. “There’s not really a choice, is there?”

Gretto didn’t respond to his comment, instead walking past him back into the hallway of metal doors. He led Jason past the entrance where the steps were, around another corner. It was no more than a stub of a hallway, with a door on either side. Gretto waved to the one labeled “Mechanical Room – Employees Only.”

“Here we are!”

Jason shook his head. “You left him within reach of your electric supply. Big mistake.”

“Don’t worry about him; we’ve made sure to keep him busy.” He tossed Jason a skeleton key. “Here. You’ll see what I mean.”

Jason couldn’t get inside fast enough.

The inside of the room was dark, save for the blinking lights on various equipment inside. The square of light from the door illuminated a layer of pipes running up the wall and disappearing into the ceiling above. Some machine hissed in the back corner.

But that wasn’t what caught Jason’s eye.

Red Robin was curled up in the corner, and if Jason didn’t know better he would think he was sleeping. His breathing was light and even, but way too slow. When Jason stepped closer, he could see sweat dripping off his jaw.

His eyes were half-open under his lenses; Jason snapped his fingers in his face. Tim didn’t so much as twitch.

“What the hell did you give him?” Jason asked. The question did not come out as impressed as it probably should have. He needed to not sound so worried.

Gretto waved a hand in the air. “Same stuff we give the rest of them.” Meaning, Jason surmised, the victims. “Although, we have to give him a lot. And more often, too. Really pisses me off. That stuff is expensive.” When he saw Jason kneel next to the fallen vigilante, he cocked his head to the side again. “What are you doing?”

“Give me a few; I’ll finish disarming him for you dipshits.” Jason revealed one hidden, tiny throwing knife to prove his point. “Plus, I have a few bones to pick with him.”

One of the goons snickered. Gretto waved them off. “Okay. We’ll get ready for the video. Don’t have too much fun.”

The door shut.

Jason looked around for a light switch and found only a pull string. The bare bulb swung violently in the small room, casting dark shadows along the walls that moved in companion with the motion. He waited until he was sure Gretto and his men wouldn’t be back before kneeling next to Tim.

There was a rip in the flexible fabric of one of his sleeves, exposing the pale flesh of his inner elbow. It was pocked with tiny dots, and one of them was still oozing a little blood. His most recent dose had been recent.

Jason disabled the suit’s security and pushed the cowl back.

“Hey,” he said, tapping him in the face a few times. His glove came away wet with sweat.

Tim didn’t so much as twitch in reaction.

Jason flattened his palm against Tim’s chest and pat him harder. “Hey, wake up.” He repeated the phrase, shaking the kid’s whole body.

Nothing.

“Kid, come on.” Jason was getting worried. He pulled back Tim’s eyelids and shone a penlight into them. The pupils were tiny pinpricks. They didn’t respond to the light. Not good.

Jason put the penlight down and pressed his fingers against Tim’s jugular.

Too slow. Way too slow. How much had they given him?

As if in answer, Tim exhaled a short, hissing breath. And his chest fell still.

Jason panicked. He knew that sound.

“Hey, no. Gotta keep breathing.”

With shaky hands, he fumbled through his belt for his Naloxone and sprayed it up Tim’s nose.

He waited.

He had treated overdose often enough to know what to look for. He knew how quickly Narcan reversed the most lethal symptoms, and he had already worked through the trauma of realizing how easy it could have been to save his mom.

He rubbed Tim’s sternum hard. “Come on. Breathe.”

He used the repetitive motion to count the seconds. But after two minutes had passed, and Tim still didn’t move, Jason felt his stomach sink. He took Tim’s pulse again.

It was still weak; thready. Not enough improvement.

He reacted quickly, pulling his extra emergency dose of antinarcotic. As he pressed the needle into the smaller boy’s thigh, he reminded himself it sometimes took two doses. Easy math; more narcotics, more antinarcotics. The second dose would do the trick.

It had to. He didn’t have anything else.

He got an arm under Tim’s shoulders and hoisted him halfway up to help him breathe more easily.

Any second now. “Damn it Tim, wake up.”

He could feel the hitch when Tim inhaled sharply.

Jason let out a breath of his own, and resumed with rubbing Tim’s sternum. “That’s it. Keep breathing. Come on.”

The breathing continued. Thank god. After another minute, Tim’s head rolled to the side, toward Jason.

Jason looked down. Tim’s pupils were still pinprick, but he blinked slowly and Jason saw recognition in his eyes.

“Hey, man. Welcome back.”

Tim didn’t answer; Jason didn’t expect him to.

He had a new problem, now. Jason glanced to the door. Nobody had come back for him yet, but he guessed he only had another minute before people started getting suspicious. And if Gretto had been telling the truth, about Tim being high for the majority of the last three days, there was a significant risk of going into withdrawal.

He replaced Tim’s cowl and dragged his limp body backward so he was leaning against a clear section of wall.

He activated his comm. “Red Hood to B. Found your bird.”

There was just static, and Jason thought that maybe they were too far underground for the signal to get out, but then, “Batman to Red Hood. Status report.”

“I’m moving the operation forward. I need to get RR out of here.” Jason’s eyes landed on a pile of used syringes in the corner. He carefully picked one up and worked at putting it into an evidence bag and his puncture-proof pocket.

“Negative.”

Jason jumped at the word. “What—”

“It will take too long to gather the forces necessary—”

Jason’s voice dropped into a low hiss. “He could start going into withdrawal any second now. I’m pulling him out.”

There was silence.

“Standby. Wait for further instructions.”

“Wait for further instructions? Are you fucking—” Jason cut himself off when the door handle squeaked.

The goon took up most of the doorway, casting an imposing shadow across the floor. “You done yet?”

Jason didn’t look back at Tim. He slapped dirt off his knees and rose to his feet with feigned nonchalance. “You’re lucky I’m helping you; the fucker had a tracking device on him.”

“We checked for those.”

“Not well enough, obviously.” The goon didn’t look like he believed him. Jason pulled his own tiny GPS device out of his pocket and flipped it toward him. Batman was a detective; he could figure it out. “Don’t ask me where I found it. You don’t want to know.”

The goon frowned, but didn’t press any further. “Boss has a camera. You ready?”

Jason was glad his helmet hid his expression. “What, now?”

The goon just stared, so Jason took it as a ‘yes.’ Without being asked, he went back and threw Tim over his shoulder, wincing where the bandoliers dug into his collar bone. “Where to?”

He followed the goon back into the hallway. Jason sized up the guy. He could probably take the one by himself, but there was no way he could be subtle enough not to draw attention in this echoey underground hellhole. And it wasn’t like he could just run up the stairs with Tim on his back; they would risk losing the entire operation, and there were victims to be avenged.

Still, Jason glanced wistfully at the stairway as they passed.

Instead of the conference room, the goon stopped in front of one of the heavy metal doors in the hallway. Jason watched with growing unease as the goon typed a code into the keypad (K492) and swung the door open.

The room was small, the size of a bigger walk-in closet. Jason purposefully ignored the dirty twin-sized mattress propped against the far wall. A chair was placed by the wall cattycorner to the mattress, and Gretto and the other goon stood behind a camera and tripod opposite the chair.

Gretto nodded to the chair, not looking up from the camera he was busy adjusting. “Over there. Put his hands behind the chair.”

“I know the drill,” Jason murmured. He adjusted his grip on Tim again before stepping over the threshold. The door closed with an ominous click behind him.

He used his helmet to hide the way he scanned the room. Three guys, but Gretto wasn’t armed. One exit, probably locked. Not impossible. They could still get out of this alive.

When he lowered Tim into the chair, he did it more gently than he would have for someone he was serious about torturing. Tim’s eyes roamed, but locked on Jason as he leaned in. His mouth moved, like he was working up the saliva to talk.

“Don’t talk,” Jason risked whispering.

He caught one goon watching him, so had to be rougher when he bound Tim’s arms behind the chair. To keep up appearances, he stretched Tim’s finger back until the boy whined with pain, and the goon nodded, pleased, before shifting his attention to Gretto’s instructions. Jason immediately released the finger, and managed to keep the knot loose enough that, if Tim was as trained as the rest of the brood, he would be able to slip it even half-unconscious.

“Hood,” Gretto called.

“It’s Red Hood.”

Gretto smirked, unbothered by the correction. “Weapon of choice?”

Jason did not freeze. “Weapon?”

“You said it yourself, we want to scare the Bat. And that—” he gestured to the mostly-limp body in the chair “—isn’t scary.”

Jason, for the record, was plenty nervous. “Listen, I’ll coach you through some good dialogue, but I’m not getting any more involved than that.”

With a flick of Gretto’s hand, there were two guns pointed at Jason. “Come on,” the man cajoled. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

Jason’s fingers twitched toward his hidden holster. But he couldn’t risk it; even if he were able to dodge a bullet, there was a decent chance it would hit Tim. He growled, letting his fingers relax. “I did not agree to being on camera, Gretto.”

“I can’t let the Bat see my face. You understand, don’t you?” Gretto easily drifted past Jason and stood next to Tim. He wrapped his fingers around Tim’s jaw and lifted his head. “Weapon of choice? I obviously won’t give you a gun, but we have a fine collection of more. . . traditional tools to choose from.”

Tim jerked his head to the side; an unsuccessful attempt to dislodge the hand.

Gretto nimbly overstepped the slow foot that kicked toward him. “Good, he’s waking up.” He leaned in close, eyes roving over Tim in a way that made Jason’s skin crawl. “More interesting, that way.”

Jason’s jaw was tight. “Keep in mind that you brought me here because I’m the expert. I think this is a stupid idea, and you’re going to pay for it.”

Gretto’s eyes narrowed in his direction. He released Tim’s jaw. “Was that a threat?”

Jason crossed his arms. Remained silent.

It worked; the slimy man lost interest in Tim. “You’re two stories underground, surrounded by people loyal to me. People with guns.” To emphasize his point, Gretto snapped his fingers, and the round hard barrel of a gun rested between Jason’s shoulders. “Frankly, I’m surprised you are not more excited to help.” His head cocked to the side. “Maybe you’re just not as ambitious as I thought.”

Jason grit his teeth. “You won’t kill me. You need me.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

Jason studied the man’s face. He looked no different than the rest of the scum that roamed Gotham’s streets, except for the arrogant set of his chin. He was serious. Stupid, but serious. Defeated, Jason dropped his arms. “What did you have in mind, then?”

“I was thinking we would rough him up a little, make sure the Batman knows we’re serious.”

Jason chewed over the words. “You got a bat?”

“Poetic irony. I like the way you think.”

One of the goons behind Jason left the room at some invisible signal, but Jason’s eyes were back on Tim. With a jerky motion, the boy in the chair lifted his head to see the world around him. Jason watched a shudder run down his spine, but it was unclear whether it was caused by the drugs or the environment. “Wha’ss habbening?” he slurred.

Gretto grinned wickedly. “You’ll find out soon enough, bat boy.” Turning to Jason, he asked, “Are these videos better when you do the talking before or after the beating? I can never decide.”

“Before,” Jason cut in quickly. (More time. He needed more time.) “It builds up the tension.”

The goon returned, bringing with him a metal baseball bat with the Gotham Knights logo printed across the barrel. He dropped it in Jason’s hands, and Jason mentally cringed at the weight of the thing. Not regulation, for sure. Feeling Gretto’s eyes on him, he stepped out of the way and gave it a few test swings.

Even intentionally holding back, the bat sliced through the air with a whistle.

A weak voice broke the quiet. “Gretto,” it growled.

Jason swung around to see Tim glaring daggers at the ponytailed-man with watery eyes.

Shit.

A smile stretched across Gretto’s face. “Ah, so you do remember me. How are you feeling?”

While Gretto was distracted, Jason scanned Tim. He definitely looked more alert, but far from well. What was exposed of his skin was flushed pink, and a light tremor ran down his arms and legs. He didn’t look back at Jason.

Tim’s weight shifted sluggishly. He shook his head hard and stopped, probably regretting it. “You drugged me.”

“Yes, quite a bit. I am honestly surprised you’re conscious,” Gretto quipped. He moved behind the camera and fiddled with the controls.

“How long have I been here?” Tim’s words came out slow and precise, but Jason’s practiced ears picked up the way his ‘l’ carried on too long, like his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. His shoulders moved in an obvious tell he was testing his restraints.

“Long enough to make the Batman nervous.” There was a soft click as he started to film. “Smile for the camera. Hood?”

When Jason didn’t move, Gretto gave one of his goons a pointed look, and the goon in turned raised a gun in Jason’s direction. Jason flipped them both the bird before stepping behind Tim’s chair, putting the metal bat in his hands within view of the camera.

“Batman,” Gretto laughed. “I believe we have something of yours.”

Jason looked down at Tim. This close, he could hear his breath speeding up, and see every small twitch as he began to withdrawal.

“They call you the world’s greatest detective, but I have been surprised by your lack of response to my operation. I can only assume you underestimated me, sending this sidekick of yours. After all, don’t you know what I specialize in?”

The face Gretto made, out of sight of the camera, made Jason clench his jaw hard enough he heard something pop.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think,” Tim muttered. All eyes zeroed in on him, and Jason could tell Tim was fighting to remain still. He wasn’t successful.

“Or maybe,” Gretto continued. “He was sent as a gift?”

Tim flinched back into his seat.

“Keep to the point,” Jason reminded Gretto. “The longer the video, the more likely he’ll find something to track.”

Gretto waved a hand dismissively. “I was just having a little fun.”

Jason didn’t reply.

Gretto sighed. “You’re the expert.” His posture improved by a margin as he continued. “My business has quite the following; I have buyers from all around the world. And I have several upcoming auctions for my product. I’m sure many of my clients would be willing to pay a hefty price for the chance to own one of the bats.”

Jason remained calm. He took mental notes; they hadn’t realized he sold internationally. When Tim started to wiggle out of the rope around his wrists, Jason looped his metal bat in front of his neck, not applying any pressure, in a gesture that looked intimidating and hid the movement of Tim’s shoulders as he worked.

Jason still heard a hitch in his breath.

Gretto sneered at the sight. “Of course, that’s all up to you. Stay out of my business, and it won’t become an issue.”

Tim’s hands were free. He tapped twice against Jason’s thigh and laced his fingers together.

Jason knew the signal. ‘Your call.’

He was pretty confident Tim was not currently capable of fighting. Unfortunately, there were not many good ways remind Tim of that while they were both being watched.

“And if you try to come for us, directly? There will be consequences.” Gretto nodded to Jason, who stiffened his posture in preparation. “We have a little. . . demonstration, in case you didn’t believe me.”

Jason adjusted his grip on the bat in his hands. It was still around Tim’s neck. “What, now?”

At Gretto’s flat look, Jason shrugged. “Okay.”

He dropped the bat into Tim’s lap. Tim, catching on, began struggling again.

“Hey, Goon Numero Uno, could you give me a hand? If he moves around too much I might kill him.”

Gretto pushed one of his henchpeople forward, and at Jason’s instruction, the man holstered his gun and braced Tim’s shoulders back against the chair. Tim continued to fight against the hold, even managing to head-butt the guy once before the man was able to change his grip to hold Tim’s head back over the back of the chair.

“Give him a good beating,” Gretto ordered. “The drugs are too expensive to keep using on him.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason answered. He flipped the bat in one hand, testing his grip again.

“And put on a good show!”

“Shut up and let me work.” Jason rested the butt of the barrel against Tim’s sternum. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you? You’re going to stay still and let me do my job?”

Tim’s glare was palpable, even through the mask, even with his neck craned back at an awkward angle. But his breath was racing in and out faster, his chest moving with the force of it, and Jason felt justified in telling Tim to sit this one out. It would be even harder to get him out if he fell unconscious again.

“That’s good enough answer for me.” Jason hoisted the bat over his shoulder.

Tim’s throat bobbed.

Jason did make it showy, swinging his weight back before thrusting it forward and around. The bat sliced through the air, making a low whistling noise that bounced around the small concrete room. The bat made contact with its target with a sickening, ringing, crunch, sinking into flesh and bone alike.

The man holding Tim down only grunted before crumpling to the floor.

Jason didn’t stop, using his momentum to hurl the bat at the goon lazily aiming a gun in his direction. The room hadn’t caught up to what was happening yet, and the bat hit the man square in the chest. He flew backward into the wall, and his gun fired, sending a bullet into the ceiling.

A piece of the ricochet sliced through Jason’s left bicep. He grunted, but otherwise ignored it. Instead, he hooked the bat behind the goon’s head to pull him down into his knee, and the man instantly fell unconscious.

Jason dropped the bat. It rang hollowly in the suddenly silent room.

Gretto picked up the camera and held it in front of him like it would protect him. “Hood? I thought we were partners?”

“You didn’t do your homework,” Jason growled. He took his time pulling out his handgun, releasing the safety. “I’m not a fan of human traffickers.”

“I’ll give you money! I have lots – and drugs! I can give you drugs!”

Jason aimed the gun at the skeevy rat of a man. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Hood. Don’t.”

Jason turned in time to see Tim trying to push himself out of the chair. He got an entire step away before his legs collapsed, sending him into a heap on the floor.

“Red Robin!”

Images of his mom, lying too still on the floor, flashed through his mind. He stubbornly pushed them away. He raced to Tim’s side and rolled him over to see his face.

He was still breathing; Jason could hear it.

“Don’t turn your back on me,” Gretto snarled. It was all the warning Jason got before something smashed into the back of his head. Jason’s helmet took most of the damage, but the force of it still sent him sprawling forward over Tim’s body. His helmet display winked out.

“You don’t know what I’ve built! The bats can’t touch me!”

The metal bat came down again, across the back of his shoulder. Jason wheezed.

That one was going to leave a mark.

Jason fumbled in the darkness for his helmet release catch, and flung it backward before Gretto could get another hit in. (He thanked his dramatic ass for wearing the domino under the helmet for exactly this reason.) Judging by the satisfying thunk, the helmet hit its target.

“Jason,” Tim mumbled beneath him. He was shivering. “Don’t kill him.”

“Names,” Jason chastised, even as he retrieved his gun and rolled over. He barely did it in time; Gretto flung the bat down over his head with both hands, and the metal bounced on the concrete floor where his helmet-less head had been a split second before.

But Jason’s split-second of relief came to an abrupt end when Gretto pressed the bat against Tim’s neck and started pushing down.

“I’m going to kill both of you!” Gretto howled.

Tim immediately began to splutter. He shoved against the metal blocking his airway, but he didn’t have the strength to push the larger man off of him. His struggles rapidly weakened.

Jason couldn’t shoot; the odds of hitting Tim were too high.

He kicked Gretto in the face once, twice. The man’s grip on the baseball bat finally wavered when Jason aimed his combat boot at his fingers.

Tim gasped a breath.

Gretto hissed, shaking out his left hand and raising the bat with his right, his intentions clear. Before he could follow through, Jason shot through the hand holding the bat.

The man shrieked. The bat fell to the floor and rolled away. Gretto curled up around his hand.

Jason loomed over him.

“Please don’t kill me,” Gretto begged. “I’ll do anything.”

Jason was sure he would. He sneered. “You’re not worth the bullets,” and hit him with the butt of his gun. Gretto fell unconscious.

“Come on, Red. We’re getting out of here,” Jason murmured.

“Sounds good.” Tim had to squeeze the words out between gasps. Jason couldn’t tell whether it was because of nearly beings strangled or another symptom of withdrawal.

“Can you walk?”

Tim made a valiant effort. But even sitting upright made him sway.

“Executive decision. Up you go.” Jason tried not to worry, even when hoisting the smaller boy onto his back meant he could feel his shuddering. He double-checked his handgun was loaded and made for the door.

“Proud of you,” Tim said. Heat radiated off his body onto Jason’s back.

“Shut up.” Jason’s words had no heat behind them. “You’re delirious.”

Tim hummed in a tone that neither agreed or disagreed.

Jason wanted to put him down. Check his pulse, check his breathing, check his pupils. Make sure his motor reflexes were intact, make sure he wasn’t running a fever. But he didn’t have the luxury; the noise of the fight was sure to have drawn attention. “Red Robin, you with me?”

Tim’s arms, looped over Jason’s shoulders, gripped marginally harder. “Yeah.” His breath came in fast puffs against Jason’s neck.

Jason bounced him, shifting his weight higher onto his back. “Just. Hold on.”

He approached the door cautiously. Typing the code into the keypad elicited a quiet click as the door unlocked from the inside. Jason pulled the door open barely a crack and strained his ears for any noise coming from the hallway.

He was surprised to hear almost nothing. A single pair of footsteps shuffled down the hallway, away from them. A door opened, letting loose a barrage of sound – voices and tinny music from a radio – and then the door shut, swallowing the sound with it.

Good enough for him. Jason crept out the door.

The hallway was empty. Jason should have thanked his lucky stars and bolted straight for the stairs.

But he took a split second to make sure he wasn’t imagining his luck, and his eyes landed on the office door, just barely cracked open.

Gretto’s files were in there. His fat book full of documentation. Evidence.

Jason cursed under his breath. He couldn’t leave it behind. It would be gone before they ever made it back.

Tim’s grip was loosening by the second.

Jason didn’t have a choice.

He bolted up the stairs.

- - -

Jason wasn’t the type to sit around the med bay and watch people sleep.

Regardless, he found himself sitting in a folding chair next to a gurney. At least he was pretending to read his worn copy of Pride and Prejudice instead of staring.

Tim had not been okay, by the time they had reached the Cave. Jason had had to flag down the Batmobile on its way to the warehouse because Tim nearly slid off Jason’s bike.

He had started vomiting in the car.

Jason looked up from the sentence he had read twelve times already to check Tim’s vitals again. They weren’t normal yet, but it was a far cry from where he had been. The electrolyte-saline drip in his hand – the antibiotics were connected to his not-infected elbow – was nearing empty. Jason sighed, and stood to replace the bag.

Something about moving must have disturbed Tim, because his face puckered and relaxed, and his eyes blinked opened. “Bruce?”

“Sorry, no. You’re stuck with me.” Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Batman’s busy cleaning up my mess.”

When it was clear Tim would survive, and that Jason wasn’t in danger of bleeding out, Bruce had been pretty clear about that.

Tim studied him with sleepy eyes. He didn’t say anything.

Jason had half a mind to leave. But a lingering question bothered him. “Why were you there, in the first place?”

Tim’s eyes shut. “I was following a lead for a different case. A big drug deal. They caught me at the docks.” He looked down at his bandaged elbow, slathered in triple antibiotic. “I think I woke up in the warehouse, but I don’t remember anything after that.”

Jason gave a low whistle. “They weren’t kidding, then. That must be some powerful stuff.”

Tim’s mouth fell into a frown. “I should apologize.”

Well, that caught Jason off-guard. “For what?”

“Ruining your mission.”

“Don’t be a dipshit. You couldn’t have known. Besides,” Jason shifted. “It was my fault. I should have waited for backup.”

“For the record,” Tim started, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Jason tried to smile, but there wasn’t enough levity in his voice when he answered, “Yeah. Me, too.”

He could still the ghost of Tim lying on the ground, OD’d.

Jason stretched his back, getting several satisfying cracks out of it. (He knew Tim hated the sound.) “Well, tell Alfred I’m sorry I had to leave before the tea was ready.”

“Where are you going?”

Jason smirked darkly. “I have some business to finish.” He paused by the door before leaving. “Take care of yourself, Tim.”

Tim nodded. “Only if you promise to change those bandages on your arm.”

“I’ll do my best.”

#fido writes #jason todd #tim drake #batfam #jason & tim

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