Work Text:
Jason’s wrist really wasn’t that bad. It barely counted as sprained.
But of course, B couldn’t help but overreact.
“You could get hurt, Jason!” “You could lose your grip while grappling, Jason!” “You could hit your head on the concrete from fifty feet up and splatter your brains on the road and traumatize all of the criminals, Jason!”
Get real.
Jason stuck to the shadows by the road as he climbed the hill toward Bristol. He’d told B to just finish the bust on his own. It was an important mission, and if he was going to be so stubborn about the wrist thing, Jay could make it home by himself just fine.
Sadly, Bruce had nixed Jay driving the Batmobile home.
Jason kicked a pebble. He never lets me do anything fun.
It had been a long walk, though, and he was ready to be back home drinking whatever that sweet post-patrol elixir Alfred made was. As he passed by the Drakes’ mansion, though, he stopped.
Thinking about Tim… still kind of sent his stomach churning. He’d been trying to give the kid space. After the failed Nerf battle incident last Saturday, it was kind of understandable he was upset.
Still. He’d been giving Jason the silent treatment for a week now, and he’d only been acting more isolated and borderline sick in class. A little concern on Jason’s part was reasonable, and not at all in the same ballpark as Bruce’s paranoia.
None of the windows gave off any light, but it was midnight, so that wasn’t too surprising. He could just check to make sure Tim was alright. You know, just give the place a quick scan to check for any threats.
Pretty sure stalking your friends isn’t something they teach in boundaries class.
And that was true.
But doesn’t count as stalking if it’s really more of a welfare check, does it?
And that was also true. Besides, he was in Robin uniform. If he got caught somehow, he’d just say Batman got a tip for a home invasion or something and he was just double checking things as a precaution.
It was foolproof. Tightening the almost certainly unnecessary splint on his wrist, Jason headed for the gates to Drake Manor.
Circumventing their security was child’s play, at least for a child that also happened to be Robin. Decent, for sure, but nothing compared to Batman’s. He got past the gates and dodged any cameras with ease, heading for the trellis outside Tim’s bedroom. Climbing said trellis one-handed was harder. He managed it, though, balancing precariously as he checked for any hidden alarms or cameras before picking the window’s lock and easing it open.
The kid’s bed was… empty. This was definitely his room though. The clothes and books strewn across the floor made a mess fit for any teenager’s room, whether or not Tim counted as one quite yet. Maybe he was a night owl watching TV in the living room. Jason headed for the door.
And stopped at the sound of footsteps and men’s voices.
“—him up and throw him in a closet somewhere. It's not like he's seen our faces or anything.”
Jason’s heart sped up. He slipped silently out of Tim’s room. The house was dark aside from a flashlight’s beam illuminating the railing across the walkway by the door. Jason crept across the upper landing on his knees, peering down to the main floor.
Heat filled his chest. Two men in ski masks stood at the bottom of the stairs. And at their feet, whimpering as they tied his arms behind his back, lay Tim.
Grabbing the railing with his good hand, Jason vaulted over it and landed one man’s back. He used his bad arm to choke him out, saving his good fist to deck the other guy in the jaw once he lunged close. In moments, they both lay unconscious by the stairs.
His hands twitched to untie his friend, but eliminating threats was the first step to ensuring civilian safety. Yanking two pairs of handcuffs from his utility belt, Jason bound the robbers’ wrists and dragged their limp bodies toward a coat closet in the entryway—annoyingly, one at a time, given his stupid sprain. He shoved them inside and slammed the door shut. On second thought… he grabbed a chair and propped it underneath the doorknob, just in case.
There. Threat neutralized.
Jason sprinted back to Tim.
The fallen flashlight cast the kid in an eerie sharp light. He sat with his back against the lowest banister, trying and failing to maneuver his arms in front of him. He trembled as Jason dropped to his knees in front of him.
“Hey, kid,” Jason said softly. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be—”
“Jason, you came. ”
Jason flinched. He resisted the urge to double check his mask was in place. “You, uh… you sure you didn’t hit your head, kid?” he tried.
Tim’s eyes welled up. He leaned against Jason’s shoulder, body shaking with a sob. “You’re here, Jason. You came.”’
Jason swallowed hard. He rested a gloved hand on Tim’s head, ignoring the twinge in his wrist. “...Yeah, Tim. I’m here.”
Sorting that new tidbit of knowledge could come later.
Tim’s whole body trembled in what had to be one nasty adrenaline crash. “I was so scared, ” he said, voice pitching in a way that reminded Jason painfully that the kid was only twelve. “I thought—I thought they might—”
“I know.” Jason wrapped his good arm around Tim. “I know, bud. It’s okay. You’re safe now, I promise.”
Tim wept into Robin’s cape. Jason held him tight.
After several minutes of murmuring whatever assurances came to mind, Jason tightened his good hand’s grip on Tim’s shoulder. “Here, Tim, let me get those ropes off you.”
Tim sniffed messily and pulled away. Jason grabbed a pocketknife from his belt, bracing Tim’s wrists with the elbow of his bad arm and sawing through the ropes with his good hand. This would be a lot easier if I hadn’t twisted that wrist.
A grim chill settled in his stomach at the thought. If I hadn’t twisted that wrist, I might not have gotten here in time.
Might not have rescued him at all.
Jason yanked the cut ropes off and rubbed Tim’s arms to get the blood flowing. “Did they hurt you anywhere?”
Tim nodded. Jason let him go so he could lift the hem of his shirt. The flashlight’s glow revealed harsh purple bruises already blooming across Tim’s ribs. Tim’s stark ribs.
Jason hissed between his teeth. “Just what did those bastards do? Hold on, let me hit the light. I need to get a better look at this.”
“No, wait–!”
Jason flicked the nearest light switch. Nothing happened. Fan switch, probably. He flicked the next one in the row, then the next. Still nothing. “One of your bulbs out, Timmers?”
“I—”
Jason pointed the flashlight around the room until it caught on another set of switches. He headed over and flicked them all. Nothing. The Robin Alarm in the back of his head started its slow whine as he turned back toward the kid.
“Tim, why are none of your light switches working?”
“I can explain!”
Jason crossed his arms. “Then explain.”
Tim’s breath quickened. “Well, you see, it’s—” He shrank back against the banister as Jason stepped closer. Jason held his hands up in a show of peace as Tim’s words broke off with a cough.
Jay waited, but Tim just kept coughing. What had he done, swallowed sand or something? Jason headed for the kitchen sink—luckily right within reach (the Drakes thankfully appreciated open-concept home design). “Hang on, I’ll get you some water.”
“Wait—” Tim croaked as Jason held a cup under the faucet.
A faucet that failed to produce so much as a drop of water.
Forget a slow whine, the Robin Alarm was full-on blaring now.
“Tim, last I checked, there haven’t been any natural disasters or major Rogue strikes in Gotham lately that would have knocked out both your power and water. I’m ready for that explanation anytime now.”
Tears ran down Tim’s face as Jason set down the cup and drew closer. “It’s not—I’ve been trying my best, I swear…”
“Trying your best to what?” Jason put on his best Robin voice and dropped to one knee beside Tim. “You can tell me the truth. Promise I won’t get mad.”
Tim sniffed and eyed him warily. Jason cocked his head and held out a pinkie with a grin. Snorting, Tim looked away.
“The power and water went out about a week ago,” Tim said quietly. “I called the power company when it happened. They said it was a billing issue. Mom and Dad changed their credit card but forgot to update it with them.”
Jason’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you call your parents to get them to fix it?”
“It was three in the morning where they were when it happened!”
“Still could have called them for something like this. But that aside, why didn’t you call them once it was, I don’t know, six their time?”
Tim crossed his arms. He still didn’t look in Jason’s direction. “My phone died. My power went out, remember?”
“You could have come over and charged it at my place! That would have been the opposite of a problem, Tim!”
Tim’s face creased as he glared at a spot on the floor. “They wouldn’t have picked up, anyway.”
“What do you mean, they wouldn’t have picked up? You’re their kid, they—”
“They’re still giving me the silent treatment over ruining their meeting because of some stupid groceries!” Tim turned toward him with a snarl on his face. “So no, they wouldn’t have!”
Okay, Jason had lied. He was mad. Livid, actually. “ What? ” he hissed. “You’re telling me your parents—who I’m going to guess do not actually have a nanny for you, given how long this has gone on—decided to completely ignore any and all communication from their entirely unattended twelve-year-old son, as some kind of, what? Punishment? For what was it again? Groceries? What does that mean?”
Tim gritted his teeth. “It means I’m not a child, Jason! I can handle buying food and water for a week or two on my own, and nobody needs electricity to survive. And it’s not their fault if I can’t figure that out on my—”
“Oh, bullcrap! They’re your freaking parents! They signed up for this when they—”
“Just shut up, Jason!” Tears streamed from Tim’s blazing eyes. His clenched fists trembled.
Oh. Because Tim wasn’t actually angry at Jason, was he? He’s scared. Because vulnerable truth is scary.
You should know that better than anyone.
Wasn’t it fear Jason had felt when Bruce found out about his food stashes in his room? Wasn’t it fear he’d felt when he’d had to admit to still worrying about his next meal in spite of everything, resulting in an ant infestation in his closet from all the food he hid away behind his shoes? More than any punishment, Jason had feared what Bruce could do with that information. Food was Jason’s weakness. Weaknesses were targets. At least, that was what the streets taught him.
Tim just showed you a weakness. You’ve gotta show him you won’t treat it as a target.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” Jason said, forcing his voice to go soft again. “I’m just worried for you, but that doesn’t mean you deserve my yelling. This isn’t your fault.”
“I’m fine,” Tim insisted, even as he wiped tears away. “I’ve been managing. I’m…”
“Kid, there’s a difference between surviving and being fine. I’ve lived it. It’s okay to need help sometimes.”
“But…”
“No kid should have to face robbers all alone. Please, Tim.” Jason took him by the shoulder and tried to catch his eye. “Let me help you. Even just a start is okay.”
Tim lifted his watery eyes. “I…” He squeezed them shut, letting his head fall against Jason’s shoulder again as his tears soaked into the yellow cape. “Okay. Just a start.”
And if a "start" in Jason's book meant a call to both the police and CPP, that was a discussion they could have later.