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Two clicks sounded, then the soft sound of released hydraulics, followed by the heavy thud of reinforced plastic landing carelessly on wooden floor boards. Jason sighed after the sounds and slumped beside his dropped helmet. He knew that his bed was just in the room behind him, but it was still too far for him to reach. He was much too exhausted and much too sore to care about where he passed out. No – around this point in the night, the better question would be ‘when he passed out’.
Stumbling back to his feet, Jason decided to postpone the “pass out” portion of his day for just a few more minutes. Then he could at least prevent himself from bleeding out overnight since the stiff back was a certainty. Once standing, he shrugged out of his leather jacket, hissing as the bloody thing stuck uncomfortable to his various gunshot wounds. “Imma have to wash that later,” he grumbled to himself before tossing the jacket near his fallen helmet. “Though to be fair, Jase,” he continued, “A ruined jacket should be the least of your worries.”
The marksman fingered a burn wound from where a bullet grazed him a little too closely. He flinched away from his touch when the tear screamed at him in protest. Laundry truly was the least of his worries. “Ok, first-aid kit,” he mumbled. Looking to fix his primary problem of too many open wounds, Jason fumbled around in the dark of his apartment. He dragged his hands sloppily along the walls, stumbling over furniture along the way. “Fuck man,” he yelled at himself, “You live here! Where the fuck did you put your fucking first-aid kit!”He banged his hand on the wall to really display his anger and a light flickered on overhead. “There’s a light switch here?”He looked to where his hand had landed. “Shit, there’s a light switch right here. Did I install that, because I do not remember that being here when I first moved in?”
“Are,” a voice began behind the injured man, “Are you alright?”Jason instantly turned around, gun drawn and trained. No amount of blood loss could make Jason Todd a bad shot, and the gunman would be more than delighted to remind his senseless (and soon to be brainless) intruder of that fact. “Calm down,” the other said. Jason slightly lowered his gun with a frown. Not many people were stupid enough to speak so nonchalantly when he had a gun aimed between their eyes. His gun was nudged more off center as the tip of the other’s finger pushed the barrel off their mark. “It’s me, Jase.”
“Tim,” Jason asked, “Oh, shit. I should have noticed your ridiculous hair.”Tim, who was still donned in his Red Robin gear minus the cowl, paused after the insult and rubbed his fingers through his chin-length raven hair. “Don’t take offence,” Jason waved. He moved his hand from the wall and placed it around his middle. He had to make sure his intestines didn’t spill all over his waxed floors. “But you look like an idiot,” Jason finished, “Or better known to you – Dick.”
Tim nodded as if Jason just gave him sagely advice and pulled one of the other’s arms around his shoulders. “Noted,” Tim said, “I’ll get a haircut tomorrow.” As the two boys struggled down the hall and towards Jason’s bathroom Tim added, “I was wondering why the board was looking at me funny lately.” He sighed and sat Jason on his toilet to wait as he dug around under his sink. “No one takes Dick seriously,” he mumbled into the cabinet.
“Exactly,” Jason slurred in agreement. While blood loss couldn’t make him a bad shot, it could definitely give him a serious speech impediment. “I mean,” he began as he slumped sloppily on the toilet. The porcelain was soothing on his feverish flesh. He bent awkwardly over to the side so he could also press his head on the sink. However that also tugged on his various wounds, forcing them to spill over in blood. “Dick’s a fucking joke,” he said with his face pressed against the sink.
Tim simply nodded and painstakingly dragged the heavy man upright so he wouldn’t bleed out while he looked for the gauze. “Seriously,” he began before pausing to celebrate his sudden discovery of the gauze. He opened it and the wound disinfect before he began to clean the many bullet wounds that lined Jason’s body. “What happened to you,” Tim asked. He dipped into another opening none too gently, digging to clean it properly before reaching for the suture kit. “You were in one piece when Kon and I left.”
“Hence why you and your lover boy shouldn’t have left,” Jason snapped. Or at least he tried to snap, which was difficult due to his frequent slurring. Tim paused in threading the needle and eyed the other incredulously. “I know I told you to leave,” he said as he withered under Tim’s look, “But when have you ever listened to me?” Tim shrugged and puckered his lips in agreement. It was true. He really never listened to Jason.
“You have a point there,” he agreed. “Now hold still.” Tim took his now threaded needle and jabbed it through Jason’s ruptured skin. Jason hissed in agony at the improper intrusion, while Tim smirked slightly. Goofy or not, he didn’t like it when people talked about his luscious hair. “Did that hurt,” the third Robin asked innocently. He was sure that Jason would have decked him if he was sentient enough. He might have even shot him. Wouldn’t have been the first time.
“Screw you,” Jason grumbled. His head was leaning on the wall behind the toilet now. It was a minor miracle the he could even get anything out of his painfully contorted throat; his neck was bent so awkwardly. He distantly thought that he could now add ‘crook’ onto the list of ailments he would feel tomorrow. “If I was feeling better I would’ve shot you in the lower leg and then made you limp back to Bruce a bleeding mess,” he finished. Tim yanked on the thread and Jason was sure the little bastard did it out of spite. “Just wait until it’s your turn,” Jason threatened through clenched teeth. Tim simply just yanked again.
“You’ll be waiting a long time,” Tim retorted, his voice his usual monotone of sarcasm. “If I’m bleeding to death and in need of stitch job,” he continued. He paused to dab (read that as roughly wipe) away the copious amount of blood that was blocking the view of his stitching. “You would be the last person I’d ask,” he finished, “I’d ask Bart first.”
Jason looked down at his ‘younger brother’, glaring holes into his shaggy, unkempt raven locks. “I hope the brat kills you,” he said. Tim chuckled, his stitching hand speeding up as if rewarding Jason for the laugh. It didn’t stop it from hurting though.
“If he did,” the younger raven responded, “He would’ve done a better job at killing me than you.” Jason deflated, his upper body slumping in a way that made it hard for Tim to see. That was good. “Hold still,” Tim repeated, as he wiped again, “You can worry about picking up your ego later.”
Jason gave him a slurred chuckle. “Maybe I’ll find you skills down there too,” Jason retorted back. Tim outright snorted, he laughed so hard. The sound made Jason laugh as well. It’s been a long time since he’s heard Tim laugh like that. The kid was always so busy leading his team and Bruce’s enterprise that Jason wondered if the kid ever remembered that he was, in fact, just a kid.
“We’ll see if we can find your self-preservation as well,” Tim added. Tim didn’t share barbs often. The man always feared that he would be too cruel and that his sharp tongue would cut a little too deeply. However, that couldn’t be said when he joked with Jason. The gunman gave as good as he got and Tim knew that Jason was a tough cookie. Nothing he said could really hurt his feelings. He then gestured to Jason many wounds, “Seems like it was something you left in the grave when you crawled out.”
Jason sat up and gave a full bellied laugh before lying back down after his eyesight started to spin. “Oh, my god,” he said between chuckles. He ruffled Tim’s hair sloppily and brotherly. The younger man ducked from under the playful touch and pouted childishly, something he only showed when with his ‘big brother’. “Honestly,” Jason said, “I can’t lose something I never had.”
The two laughed in unison, Tim’s hand missing the mark and poking Jason right in his open wound. “Sorry,” Tim breathed out. Jason just waved him off. He’s died – a poke is just a drop in the bucket at this point. “Almost done,” the third Robin spoke. He waited for a response but heard none. Tim’s head jerked up worried by the silence, to only find his brother asleep. He was slumped on the toilet, his neck bent at an odd angle and his chest covered in dried blood where Tim didn’t wipe, yet a tiny smirk were on his lips. He fell to sleep mid-chuckle. “Just like you to fall asleep during a suture job,” Tim mumbled fondly.
Tim then finished sewing Jason back together, putting butterfly bandages on what he could once he ran out of thread and cleaning the dried blood off. It was a half-done job, but to be fair, he’s never seen anyone so torn up that he ran out of thread before he was done putting them back together. Plus he was dead tired, and Jason kept the world’s worst coffee in the back of his cabinet so he could have an excuse to keep visiting the cute barista down the street. So instead of trying or taking him to Alfred for a proper stitching, he simple dragged Jason and his 200 pounds of dead weight to his room and dumped him unceremoniously onto his (surprisingly) well-kept bed. “You owe me one,” Tim grumbled. He then forced the other’s window open and hopped through, his cape fluttering heroically behind him.