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“This is Red Robin, I’m in position,” Tim said over the radio, scanning the shadowed harbor for movement.
“Good,” Red Hood’s voice crackled over comms. “Stay there and don’t get in my way.”
“Batman told me to-“
“This is my mission, I don’t give a fuck what Bats told you, this is my turf and my issue. The only reason you’re here is because I’m humoring the old man. Stay out of my way. Don’t bother me. That’s an order. Be a good little soldier a follow it.”
“Fine,” Red Robin shot back, voice clipped. He watched Red Hood stalk into an abandoned warehouse, and simply pulled his cloak closer around himself.
B had made it seem like, for once, Hood wanted his expert opinion on the case, but it seemed like Tim shouldn’t have been so hopeful. Just because Jason no longer actively wanted to murder him didn’t mean they were on friendly terms.
Of course. It was so obvious that Bruce was forcing them together, Tim, smart young man that he was had known that, deep down. But it didn’t stop the sting at the older boy’s words.
——
In was five minutes into negotiations when Red heard the sound of cars and spotted several men approaching. He hesitated. It could be some late arrivals, or people Hood was expecting. The man had told him -ordered him, more accurately- not to bother him.
Red watched with growing alarm as more men appeared, surrounding the warehouse. He swore and pulled his grappling hook from his belt, speaking over comms as he did.
“Hood-“ he started.
“Be quiet,” the man snapped.
“But-“
“Shut up,” he hissed.
“Hood! It’s a tr-“ was all Red got out before he was attacked. As always, the fight happened fast. Three of Black mask’s men appeared from behind Red Robin.
They must have known Hood would’ve brought back up. Red did his best to fend them off, but he quickly gave ground, backing further and further across the roof. He didn’t realize how close he was until he caught a glimpse of black water.
Distantly he registered the sound of gunshots, likely Hood’s, but he’s too preoccupied with his own fight to consider them. Red had always been pretty proud of his skills with a bo staff. It came easier to him than most, and was his weapon of choice for a reason.
At the end of the day, he was by no means the strongest of the birds, his skills lay with investigations more than anything. He could usually hold his own, but he was not a fighter.
Before Tim knew it one man mumbled something to the others, and one moved to the side, trying to cage him in. As he was distracted by the one man, the other lunged, and suddenly there was a pain ripping shoulder, and another was shoving him, hard.
Red Robin, like all injured and startled birds, fell.
“Hood!” He managed to shout over the comms before he hit the toxic water below.
Sinking in the ink-black water all he saw was silt, and trash, and no matter how hard he tried he could not make his limbs to work right. His lungs screamed. Then it all went well and truly dark.
——
Hood had made his was through everyone who had entered the warehouse and had just made his way out when he saw Red, backed to the edge of the roof. He was already running by the time Red managed to shout.
The few of Black Mask’s men still in his way slowed him down, and by the time he was at the water’s edge, there was only a few bubbles. His guns dropped on the ground with a thud and Hood dove before he could even think, because there was a kid drowning in the dark, and because he decided there would be no more dead Robins.
He resurfaced a moment later, which was already far too long, dragging the boy’s limp body behind him. He hauled them both up onto the dock, ear already to the boy’s chest, listening to the thump of Tim’s heart slowing. He pressed his knuckles into the kid’s sternum, and the boy stirred slightly, his eyes moving beneath their lids, and suddenly he was rolling over and coughing.
Hood pulled the boy to a sitting position, one arm around Red, his other hand free, resting on his gun as his sharp eyes scanned the too quiet harbor. He’s gotten most of the men, but whoever he’d missed must have fled. They wouldn’t last long on the run. Hood would find them.
“My belt,” Red Robin rasped, patting himself. Hood glanced down to find it gone.
“What’re you on about? You’ll get another one. Bats has enough to bank roll a million of them if you want.”
“No-“ Red started to say, but was interrupted by another coughing fit. Hood rolled his eyes and chalked it up to sentimental attachment. Damn rich kids.
“C’mon. We need to get outta here,” he said, hauling Red to his feet with ease and practically dragging the shivering teen away from the water and cold fall wind. The boy stayed silent as they walked, and Hood frowned down at him.
“Take my helmet and get on,” Hood demanded when they made it to his ride, pulling his helmet off, leaving only his domino mask. “Hello? Kid? Earth to Red Robin!” The young man blinked, then frowned at Hood and the bike then at the helmet.
“What?”
“Take it,” Hood forced the words out through gritted teeth. “And get on.” Red looked ready to ask more questions at this but Hood stopped him before he could.
“You’re one weak ass breeze from falling over and more likely to tip yourself off my damn bike. If you crack your skull open I’m never hearing the end of it. You’re coming with to my safe house. That’s not a question.”
“Oh,” Red said, tugging the too-big helmet on. Hood felt the boy clumsily climb on and hesitate. Hood scoffed and rolled his eyes, reaching back and yanked the boy closer.
“Hey!”
“Jesus, loosen up a little. Relax, I’m not going to bite. And try not to fall off!” He called over the engine. He kicked the stand up, and they were on their way.
——
Tim needed his antibiotics. Or just any antibiotics. Jason would have some, surely. He was the least likely to raise an eyebrow if Tim demanded a double dose. Good. Questions were bad, but Jason wouldn’t ask. If only he had his belt, where he’d kept them. Damn thing must’ve caught on something.
Either way, he’d inhaled a little water, which was more than enough. On top of that his shoulder wound was prone to infection, especially with the water. The next few days would be miserable, and the next several hours were crucial.
The drugs should have been his biggest priority, followed by trying to find some excuse he could make to go home and take care of his whole secret no-spleen situation himself. Not to forget the fact that Hood had told him not to be a bother. The man was surely pissed, or at least irritated with him.
But for some reason his sluggish mind barely acknowledged the threat to his life. Instead all he could think about was how warm Jason was, and how exhausted he felt.
——
“Off with your shirt,” Jason demanded less than ten minutes later after shoving some pills (luckily high-dose antibiotics) and a glass at Tim. Tim coughed at the demand, almost spitting up the last sip of water.
“Why?” He asked, guard up, heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He scanned Jason’s expression but there was no sign of malice.
“That shoulder, for one, the fact that I’m freezing and had on twice the layers you did for two, and also because you look like a wet cat and it hurts to look at you. Come on, act as shy as you want but it’s not helping you. Not like you can patch up that arm anyway,” Jason responded, arms crossed over the plain tank top he’d changed into.
Tim almost told the man just how well Tim could patch a wound on his own, but stopped himself. Nobody knew that, and he wanted to keep it that way. Every bat and bird had their own secrets, and Tim was no exception. Jason cocked an eyebrow, expression otherwise unreadable. Tim felt the adrenaline pumping in his veins, and knew he had no choice. He swallowed, before nodding.
“Okay,” he said quietly, moving past Jason to stiffly perch on the edge of the tub. Still careful of his shoulder, he slowly pulled the shirt off, carefully pulling the shirt away from the bullet wound while Jason pulled stuff from a cabinet.
Tim dropped the ruined costume to the tile and Jason turned, still looking at the stack of gauze he was carefully unfolding. At Tim’s side, he crouched, and finally looked up, only to freeze. Tim had his arms crossed protectively over his chest but couldn’t completely cover the scars.
Tim knew what was going through the other’s mind. The dozen or so jagged scars that raked his torso, remnants of sloppy stitches, stark in comparison to Alfred or Doctor Thompkin’s precise stitching. Then he felt it. The shift in Jason as his eyes landed on the thin white scar by Tim’s ribs.
“Timmers…” Jason said softly. “Did you- Is that what I think it?” He just gave a little shrug, his shoulder protesting at the movement.
“Drowning’s not the first time I’ve almost died,” there was silence between them and Tim grimaced, regretting his words. “I meant, uh,” Tim glanced at the scar, the only perfectly neat one.
“Your- what is that, your spleen? And these other ones…” Jason was closer now, crouching down, his eyes flashing green as they studied him. Tim fought the urge to pull his knees to his chest, instead pulling his arms a little tighter around himself. Jason blinked and his eyes softened, and he scooted back, giving Tim space. For a moment Jason just looked at Tim, his eyes painfully sad.
“It’s not-“
“Don’t. I already know.”
“Do you?” Tim asked, voice small and a thousand questions left unsaid. Did Jason really know what it was like? Why Tim had felt the need to sew up his knife wounds and bullet holes by himself, with shaking hands forced to push through the pain?
“They’re old scars,” Tim supplied when Jason said nothing.
“Does Doc patch you up again?”
“Usually. Alfred sometimes too. It’s been a while,” Jason hummed at this.
“Next time, come to me.”
“Next time?”
“If there is one. Next time you don’t feel safe enough to be injured. Next time you don’t want to bother anyone.”
“I-“ tears stung at Tim’s eyes at these words. Jason shot him a small smile.
“Told you. I can read you like a book kid,” he said, then he did something entirely unexpected. He opened his arms. Tim leaned forward and let Jason wrap his arms around the teen. Tears rolled down Tim’s cheeks.
“It’s going to be okay,” Jason promised as he Tim hid his face in the man’s shoulder.
“… wait, did you say your spleen?!? Shit you need more antibiotics, and that bullet wound, fuck sorry I should’ve been doing that-“
Tim let out a small wet laugh and let the man pull away, his eyes now wide with worry. Tim couldn’t help but smile at his Robin, and wonder why he had been so scared of the man.