Chapter Text
Tim went limp in his arms again, and Jason swore loudly, hoping that if the roar of the motorbike underneath them wasn’t doing it to keep the younger boy awake, maybe yelling “Fuck!” at the top of his lungs would. Jason shook Tim again, only years of practice at carrying unconscious bodies stopping him from swerving straight into the side of the road or into another car. He kept his hands pressed tightly to the knife wound in Tim’s side.
The fucker who’d stabbed him had taken the knife, so Jason had bandaged it tightly with the limited supplies from the emergency first aid kit he kept on his bike, but it wasn’t enough. Tim was still leaking blood at an alarming rate, and with Tim’s distinct lack of a spleen, Jason didn’t want to risk using anything unsterile on him—the bandages that had been sitting in his bag for a few months were bad enough.
There was no response from Tim until Jason swung into an alley, skidding to a stop in front of an abandoned phone booth. He heaved Tim, who was way too light—Jesus this kid needs to eat more—off the bike and into his arms. The phone booth was disgustingly dirty on the outside, and although the inside appeared similar, no dirt marked Jason’s black boots. Instead, the booth seemed to be painted delicately with varying shades of brown. The actual phone was still very much broken, but Jason punched in a string of numbers anyway. 0-7-2-5-6-9-2-3. Batman’s Zeta code.
For half a second, nothing happened. Jason began to gather up the steam to launch into a tirade of curses against Batman, when a bright flash of light, which always made Jason feel nauseous no matter how many times he Zeta-beamed, engulfed him, and they disappeared.
Barely a few moments later, Jason stumbled out of the Zeta-tube in the Watchtower. It was nearing 3 am, so there was nobody in the room, but he knew that whoever was on monitor duty would be alerted to his arrival. Of course, they would think it was Batman, but when B didn’t show, they would get suspicious.
Tim made a little grumbly noise, squirmed in his arms, and leant over to vomit on the floor.
Or maybe he was giving the Justice League a little too much credit. Either way, he had to get Tim help, and that meant setting off at a full sprint towards the med bay. Even though Jason hadn’t been in the Watchtower for years, and Red Hood hadn’t been here at all, he still remembered the layout from his Robin days. He didn’t like thinking about that time—it made him feel uncomfortable and green always threatened on the edges of his vision. Jason couldn’t forget it though, and although he was fighting very hard against their efforts, Bats and the rest of the Gothamite heroes had been slowly bringing him back into the fold, and he was slowly, slowly, starting to forgive them.
Maybe that was why, when he’d found Tim bleeding out on a roof in Gotham, with Batman off-planet, Cass and Steph galivanting around the world, and Nightwing in Bludhaven, he hadn’t thought twice about grabbing the younger hero and getting him the fuck out of there. And maybe that was why, even after everything he’d done, Tim had looped weak arms around his neck and held on as tightly as he could whilst dropping in and out of consciousness.
Jason had been on his way to the cave when he’d remembered the prank war that Dick had started the day before and Alfred had ended a few hours later. All of Dick’s pranks were glitter-related, but this time had been so much worse, with his decoration of the cave going so overboard that Alfred had deemed all of the medical supplies unsanitary and unusable. Dick had been banished back to Bludhaven and Alfred had ordered more supplies, but they weren’t getting in until tomorrow, when Batman came back from the off-world mission he’d been on for the last week. He’d yelled at Oracle over Tim’s comms to get someone to the Watchtower to rescue him when he was inevitably arrested, and then took off again.
Which left Jason running headlong down the halls of the Watchtower, trying to balance haste with stealth and keeping Tim still.
He was almost at medical when he heard low voices around a corner. He skidded to a stop, still applying pressure to Tim’s side. He had passed out again after puking, but now roused himself with a weak groan. The voices stopped abruptly, and Jason swore internally. Right now, Tim?
He stepped back a few paces as two sets of footsteps began to echo down the hall, and before he could do anything, they rounded the corner, and he was met face to face with the Flash and Green Lantern.
And, yeah, Jason’s pretty sure it can’t get worse than this—wearing his criminal get-up and holding his little brother’s unconscious body in the middle of the Watchtower, where he really is not meant to be. The Flash and Green Lantern must have just swapped shifts with another pair, which meant there were at least four heroes here right now.
The pair was just staring at him with shock and barely disguised horror.
Tim groaned again.
“Oh my god,” Green Lantern said. “Is that Robin?”
The Flash’s mouth was hanging agape. “In the arms of a Gotham mob boss and mass murderer? Yep.”
See, Jason would refute that, but he wasn’t wrong, even if was keeping the whole killing thing to a minimum right now because Dick got really annoying about it. He had more important things to do right now, namely getting Tim medical help.
“Listen,” Jason said. His voice sounding mechanic and monotone thanks to the voice modulator installed in his helmet. “I just need to get Red to medical and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
That seemed to snap the heroes out of their state of shock. Green Lantern straightened. “No can do—we’ll take Spooks’ kid and you’re going straight into a cell.”
Jason was beginning to regret turning down Batman’s offer to take him off the Justice League’s Most Wanted List. Red Hood was technically a League problem because he didn’t just operate in Gotham, so he’d been put up on the list when he’d begun his whole crime ring schtick. B had asked if he wanted that issue to disappear, back when he’d been doing the whole grovelling-but-not-wanting-to-seem-like-he-was-grovelling thing, but Jason had refused. Not only was it good for his cover, making him more intimidating to the Gotham underworld—it was also really cool. How many people could say they were on the Justice League’s Most Wanted List? Not many. It was a personal achievement he held over Damian’s head all the time.
He considered booking it, but Tim made another pitiful sound, and his face, usually pale, was ghost-like. Even his lips were turning an unhealthy shade of grey. So instead of running for the hills, Jason took a deep breath, and nodded. His reputation was going to be fucked.
“Whatever,” he growled. “But medical first.”
The Flash held out his arms for Red Robin, but Jason just stormed past, towards the med bay. They hurried behind him, Green Lantern’s ring glowing ominously. Batman was going to kill them once he got back, and Jason told him everything. Seriously—what kind of superheroes let a wanted criminal just wander around? He wasn’t about to argue, but if he were any other villain, the Watchtower would probably be blown up by now.
Jason broke into a light jog, doing his best to maintain pressure on Tim’s wound, and when they burst into the med bay, Superman was waiting with one of the medical staff that the JL employed for situations like this. Or, well, not exactly like this.
Jason lay Tim carefully down on one of the beds and began explaining the situation to the doctor. “Knife wound on his right side—I’ve bandaged it and been applying pressure, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s lost his spleen so I couldn’t do anything in the field. He’s taking meds for that—couldn’t tell you what. Blood type is B-pos and he’s not allergic to anything except peanuts.”
The doctor nodded, beginning to cut away Tim’s suit from the wound to expose it more. Superman, who had been toting a pair of Wayne-Tech promethium cuffs, advanced on Jason. Jason stumbled away from him, the stress of finding Tim catching up with him all at once and settling on his shoulders like a weight. He couldn’t leave Tim, but he knew that if Superman got those cuffs on him he would be stuck until B could come up with some plausible excuse to get him out without blowing either of their covers.
“The knife was probably dirty as fuck so he’s going to need a bunch of antibiotics,” Jason advised the doctor, flipping out of the way as Flash ran at him. Green Lantern had disappeared somewhere, so he only had to evade the Flash and Superman. Thank fuck for his lead-lined helmet—he only had a domino beneath it, and Supes wasn’t stupid enough to not recognise him as the second Robin, who had died years ago. He put Flash out of commission with a swift kick to his important parts, and backed away from where Tim was being treated as he continued to slip out of Superman’s grip.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the doctor being joined by three others, as they got IVs into Tim, started drawing some blood samples, and prodded at the wound. Tim screamed in pain, and the sound was enough to distract Jason for long enough that Superman could grab him and wrestle him to the floor. Jason put up a fight, but it was Superman—his usual throat punches and dirty tricks didn’t work on the invulnerable alien.
Superman quickly got the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, leaving his limbs immobile, and when Jason continued to squirm, he quite literally wrapped Jason in a bedsheet that he had pulled from one of the hospital beds.
“Fuck you,” Jason spat at him. “Let me out.”
Superman cinched the bedsheet tighter. Tim let out another cry of pain and fuck. How Jason had ever wanted to hurt Tim was beyond him.
Suddenly, Superman’s head whipped around to face the door, and a few moments later, a blue and black-clad hero burst into the room. Jason slumped in relief. Nightwing was here. On any other occasion, Jason would be teasing him about his saviour complex, but right now he was too glad to see him.
Dick looked between the two of them—Jason on the ground, being restrained by Superman and yet still somehow managing to put up a fight, and Tim, who had once again fallen unconscious and was being swarmed by doctors. He made a bee-line for Tim and was shoved away by at least three of the attendants, so he re-evaluated, striding over to where Superman was struggling against Jason.
“Hey, Goldie,” Jason said. His modulator took the humour out of his voice, but as Dick shook his head fondly, he knew that he had understood anyway. Jason kneed Superman in the stomach again. Of course, it didn’t do anything, but just lying down and admitting defeat would hurt Jason’s pride a little too much to come back from.
“I’ll handle him, Superman,” Nightwing said, instead of responding to Jason’s comment.
Superman raised one of his perfectly-sculpted brows at the younger hero, but wasn’t stupid enough to argue with a bat, backing off and letting Nightwing take his place restraining Jason. Although he continued to struggle, he wasn’t actually trying to get out anymore, and Dick barely had to hold him down—this was just for show, now. Both of their reputations would be on the line if anyone found out about their relation—Nightwing’s as a hero, and Jason’s as a villain. It was a boundary they could cross in Gotham, where the difference between good and bad was blurred, but here? In the Justice League’s Watchtower, Superman standing nearby? It would be unacceptable.
Dick turned his head away from Superman to mouth, What the fuck happened? at Jason, who tapped out a short response in one of B’s many codes on the floor.
Knife. Tim. Mission. Then: Oracle. Tell.
Nightwing nodded slightly in response—barely an incline of his head, not enough for Superman to notice their communication.
“You can leave, Superman,” Nightwing said, pinning Jason to the floor a little more effectively, sticking his knee into his back and producing some steel cable to begin tying him up. Jason took the cue to finally go limp. “I’ve got this handled.”
“I’ll take him to the cells,” Superman offered.
“No,” Dick snapped. “What if he has more information that could help Red Robin? I still don’t know what happened to him.”
Superman continued to hesitate. “How did you even know Robin was here?”
“Red Robin,” Nightwing corrected, letting annoyance thread through his tone. “And Green Lantern contacted the cave—I was the one to receive the message. As soon as Tim is stabilised, we will be returning to Gotham, and taking Red Hood with us. He’s one of Gotham’s villains.” At this point, Dick was just spouting bald-faced lies, but Batman had taught each of them not to let their weaknesses be known—nobody could know about the glitter situation in the cave. B had also taught them how to disguise their heartbeat, so nobody could tell if they were lying.
Superman still looked concerned, but nodded. “I’ll send Green Lantern to keep watch outside—you can yell for help if you need him, and I’m on monitor duty.”
Nightwing nodded at him as he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and Dick let the tension bleed from his body, slumping down on top of Jason, who kneed him to get him off. He let out a quiet groan, rolling off Jason onto the floor, and then after a few minutes sat up. The doctors were still bustling around Tim’s body, and both of the Bats knew better than to get in their way anymore, so Dick just looked over at Jason, who had managed to get out of the sheet constricting him, and was working on freeing himself from the cuffs. With a final grunt, Jason unlocked his wrists and started on his ankles. Wayne-Tech was notoriously tricky to get out of—unless you had been trained on it. Or you had watched the inventor multi-task designing it and drinking so much coffee that even Bruce had looked worried.
“So what actually happened?” Dick asked finally, after Superman was out of hearing range. Of course, if he strained, the alien could hear across the entire world, but the monitors were on the other side of the Watchtower, and he wouldn’t accidentally overhear them.
“I’m not sure,” Jason admitted. “I found him bleeding out on a roof—all he said was it was a mission gone wrong—that he got stabbed. Whoever stuck him took their knife back, and because of you, the Watchtower was the closest option if I didn’t want him to die of blood loss.”
“And you didn’t,” Dick said, with a contemplative hum.
Jason felt a spike of annoyance. “Of course, I fucking didn’t!”
Dick, as usual, stayed infuriatingly calm, winding one of his famous octopus arms around Jason’s middle to pull him in for a sort of side-hug. “I’m glad you didn’t, Little Wing.”
Jason rolled his eyes beneath his helmet, but couldn’t be bothered to argue with Dick right now. He was exhausted, and couldn’t even muster up the energy to pull away from Dick’s clutches. “Don’t know how you manage three little brothers,” he mumbled. “Two are stressful enough.” Even though he hadn’t entirely meant for Dick to hear it, he could still feel Dick’s absolute glee emanating from beside him.
“Three little brothers?” Dick said. It wasn’t so much a question as a confirmation.
“Don’t push it, Big Bird.”
Jason finally released his ankles from the cuffs and pushed himself back to lean against one of the walls, resting his head against the panelling. Dick joined him after a moment, and they both waited there until their legs lost all feeling, and the clock on the wall read 8:14am, which was when a doctor approached them and said that the knife hadn’t hit anything major, and Tim was going to be fine.
“Thank fuck,” Jason said emphatically, rising to his feet.
Dick barely choked out a “thank you” to the doctor before rushing at Timmy, who was beginning to rouse from unconsciousness.
Jason followed at a more sedate pace, and as Nightwing dropped himself on the bed to give Tim a hug, he dragged over a chair to flop down in, examining the wound. They had cleaned it and stitched it up, leaving what would hopefully become a thin, silvery scar in a few weeks.
Tim blinked up at them sleepily. “’Wing?” he said, looking at Dick’s masked face.
“Hey, Baby Bird,” Dick said fondly. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” he responded. “Are we on the Watchtower?”
“Yeah.” Dick looked over at Jason. “It was the closest place with enough supplies to help you.”
“Thanks to you,” Tim muttered mutinously, and followed Dick’s gaze to Jason. His eyes practically bulged out of his head. “Hood? What the hell are you doing here?”
“No thanks for the guy that saved you, huh?” Jason joked.
“What?” Tim asked, wincing as he tried to prop himself higher on the bed. Dick immediately leant in to manoeuvre him into a more comfortable position, leaning over to steal an extra pillow from the bed beside them.
“Ah, Hood, help, I’ve been stabbed,” Jason acted out, looking up and waving his hands around in the air for good measure, like a child wanting to be picked up by their mother.
“Ha-ha,” Tim said sarcastically. He had this particular skill of being able to roll his eyes even when one couldn’t actually see his eyes beyond the lenses of his domino, and employed the talent now. “Whatever, Hood. Thanks, I guess.” Dick looked like he was about to boil over with pure excitement, all of his dreams of family coming to a head thanks to Tim being stupid and getting himself stabbed. All they needed now was Bruce and Damian. And Alfred.
“You’re so welcome, Timber,” Jason teased, his helmet hiding his grin.
Tim opened his mouth to spit out what would probably be an excellent rejoinder, knowing him, when the door slammed open. Dick and Jason were both on their feet before they could even register who was standing in the doorway. Batman.
His hulking, black figure filled the frame, with Green Lantern peeking over his shoulder. The other hero’s eyes narrowed. “Hey!” he said, looking directly at Jason. “You’re meant to be locked up!”
Batman just walked in a few more steps and closed the door to drown out Green Lantern’s protests. Maybe the Lantern did actually trust Batman, because he didn’t try to open it. Or maybe it was just fear. Either way, they weren’t interrupted as Batman strode forward, leaning down to pull Tim into a brief, careful hug, mindful of the injury on his side.
He straightened and stepped away, his voice gruff as he spoke, as if he were making up for his unusual display of softness. “What happened?” he asked.
“Dude with a knife happened,” Tim explained succinctly. “I’m fine—I’ll put in a mission report later.”
B looked unsatisfied, but seemed to realise that with an uncaffeinated Tim, that was the best he was going to get. He instead turned to Jason. “Hood. What are you doing here?”
Jason felt a little miffed—ok, maybe a lot miffed—that Tim got a hug and he got a scowl, but he tried to convince himself it was just to keep up appearances. He pushed down the anger and shrugged. “I’m the one that found him bleeding out on a rooftop,” he said.
“So you decided to bring him to the Watchtower, not the cave?”
Jason jerked his head at Dick in response, who had so far been sitting very silently on his side of Tim’s bed, as if trying not to be seen. He glared at Jason as B turned his piercing gaze on the older hero.
“Nightwing?”
“There may have been an incident,” Dick said innocently, “In the cave.”
“Incident?” Batman asked, frowning so much that his eyebrows almost met in the middle.
“Involving glitter,” Jason cut in, a sick sort of glee in his voice. If Dick had Superman’s heat vision, he would be dead right now, but as far as Jason was concerned, Dick had asked for this in dragging him kicking and screaming back to the cave—it was a little brother’s job to get his older brother in trouble from Dad.
Not that Batman was his Dad.
Or that Dick was his brother.
Fuck—he was getting too attached again.
Batman was lecturing Dick in a low hiss, and Tim was jumping every now and then with encouragement and further material, but Jason stood up, interrupting the conversation. “I’m off now,” he said.
The others all turned to look at him.
“Tim’s not able to move yet,” Dick said carefully. Tim squawked in protest and they all ignored him.
“I don’t care,” Jason said. He was an even better liar than Dick. “I’ve done my civic duty and I’ve got to catch up on the case someone’s stabbing interrupted.” He took a step towards the door but didn’t move any further, Batman blocking his path.
Jason rolled his eyes and sidestepped around him, but Bruce’s arm shot out to grab his wrist. “Agent A’s making chilli dogs tonight,” he said. They looked at each other for a moment, the air thick with tension. Jason nodded, understanding the message for what it was—an invitation. Maybe a “thank you”. Maybe an apology.
Bruce let go of him, and this time, when Jason made for the door, nobody stopped him. He gave Tim one last little salute and was rewarded with a snort of laughter, before he opened the door. Green Lantern was still waiting outside. Jason incapacitated him with a swift kick down under and took off running towards the Zetas. Neither Batman nor Green Lantern were ever going to live down letting him escape, but Jason didn’t really care. He was just looking forward to chilli dogs and a nap.
Jason fucking loved chilli dogs.