Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tim shouldn’t have gone to the warehouse alone.

He’d known that this was going to be a big bust, but he hadn’t realized just how big until he was already hidden in the rafters of the warehouse, staring down at the boxes and boxes of guns.

Tim had been tracking Two-Face all week, watching him put together the pieces in some evil plan. He’d learned that Dent’s minions would be bringing something into Gotham from the bay at midnight, and had set himself in place to watch it unfold.

These guns were big and bad, the kind of weapons that tore crowds to pieces. Whether Two-Face was planning to keep them for himself or not, this influx would wreak havoc on Gotham’s streets for years.

Worst of all, this operation wasn’t being managed by minions, as planned. For some reason, Two-Face himself was there, alternately making reasonable requests and then shouting orders so loudly that his voice sounded raw before the boats even arrived.

Tim was sitting in the rafters, as small and quiet as the bird he was named for, as the crates of guns were piled into the warehouse below him.

Should he leave? This was bigger than he’d expected, and he wasn’t prepared for this many men, this type of weaponry.

If he left now, and these guns hit the streets of Gotham, it would be his fault. He had gotten cocky tonight, so determined to prove that he could operate on his own that he’d acted like the Batman himself. How many times had Tim shouted at Bruce for getting in over his head because of his own stubborn pride?

Finally, he turned on his communicator and whispered into it, not letting the sound catch in his throat. “Red Robin here. I need immediate assistance at the docks, Warehouse 27. Uh, the sooner the better. Stay quiet.”

He could hear Oracle tapping on her keyboard, searching for backup to send his way. “Batman and Robin are still in Europe,” she muttered. “Black Bat, are you—”

“Bludhaven,” Cass responded shortly. Of course. Dick had his own sting happening tonight, and he’d had the brains to loop in the girls to help.

“Red Hood is on the way,” Jason said shortly.

“Copy,” Oracle said. “Red Robin, Hood should be there in five.”

“Got it. Over and out,” Tim said, and silenced his communicator again. It was habit, learned from long years with Bruce. Stealth was vital. A crackling earpiece at the wrong moment had nearly gotten them all killed.

Once the communicator was safely off, Tim indulged in a quiet swear.

Of course it was Jason.

Tim had been avoiding Jason all week. The man was on a rampage lately. He’d gotten into a fight with Bruce and Dick, which was almost impressive considering how hard Dick tried to make them get along, and had been taking it out on everyone who got in his way.

In the last year, Jason’s snarkiness was usually mostly funny, but in the last week, he’d been mean. Like a snake backed into a corner, rattling its tail and baring its fangs, Jason was prepared to lash out at anyone who got near him.

It was nearly as bad as trying to talk to Damian.

Though Tim had worried that Jason might ignore his instructions and slide into the warehouse on his motorcycle, guns blazing, Red Hood dropped into place silently beside him four-and-a-half minutes later. The comms crackled as they opened a line just between each other.

“I heard a baby bird chirp for help,” Jason said as he scanned the scene below. “Old Harvey too much for you?”

“They’re loading a shipment of guns into those five trucks,” Tim said, ignoring the jibe. “We need to stop them before they leave.”

“Oh, trucks. That’s definitely scary. You didn’t think about slipping down there to slash the tires? I thought you were the creative one.”

“There are guards every five feet,” Tim hissed. “I would have been tagged in a second. I wasn’t trying to get myself killed. Half his organization is down there, and they have twitching trigger fingers. We would need a distraction before one of us tries to hit the trucks directly.”

“Distraction,” Jason said, standing up. “My specialty.”

“Wait, we need a…”

It was too late. Jason shot a grappling hook out to latch onto another rafter and swung down into the thick of things. He even whooped to draw everyone’s attention. “Having a party without me, Harv?” he asked as he landed on top of a stack of crates. “I’m offended.” He pulled the matching guns from his thigh holsters. “You know how much I love guns.”

“Plan,” Tim muttered. “Why do I ever bother?” Carefully, he slipped down along the wall so he could get to the trucks.

The firefight, which began as soon as the goons got over their surprise at Jason’s dramatic entrance, was loud and aggressive. Luckily, the minions weren’t using the new stock—they were all still locked in their boxes. The guns they did have still worked, though, and a bullet was a bullet.

Tim listened to Jason’s sustained banter as he slipped around to disable the trucks. Jason was still in a mood tonight, and his chatter didn’t seem like it would stop anytime soon. Good. Tim could be sure the idiot hadn’t gotten himself shot while Tim worked.

Tires first, just to stop them from moving. If Jason could keep up the distraction, he’d see if he could set up an explosive to destroy the whole shipment.

“Seriously, Harv, why are we still doing this song and dance? I keep expecting to hear that you’ve retreated inside an opera house and found a mask for that face of yours,” Jason was saying as Tim slipped along to the third truck.

“Kill him!” Two-Face roared, as though his men weren’t already trying their best.

“Jesus, you really did bring every man you have for this,” Jason said, and a hint of unease threaded his voice before he recovered. “Afraid to do the heavy-lifting yourself? You are a little weedy. You know, they have moving companies for this.”

Tim slit the tire of the last truck and then rigged the line of explosives. He needed a lot of firepower to blow up trucks this size—so much that it might take the whole warehouse with it. They needed to get well clear before he pressed the button…but Jason wasn’t ready to flee yet.

As he’d suggested in his complaint, Jason was completely surrounding. The quarters were too close to much gunfire on the part of the goons, which was lucky—Jason made a bright and easy target at the center of their circle.

Tim dove into the fight. Using a move Dick had taught him, Tim flipped up and used his legs around a man’s neck to take him down. When they both hit the ground, Tim rolled forward and rammed his escrimas into the backs of the legs of the men standing closest. By the time they all realized there was a second Robin in the mix, Tim was already nearing Jason’s side.

“Do you need help over there, Red?” Jason called, noticing him as well. “I know how much guns scare you Bats. It’s like, the most inconvenient phobia a group of superheroes could ever have. It’s like being afraid of masks, or punching.”

“I’m not afraid of guns,” Tim said, knocking away a knife that aimed for his ribs and taking a punch to the head while he was moving. The room spun for a moment around him, but he blinked to clear the haze before getting back into his rhythm. Normally, Jason’s commentary entertained him, but there was a jagged edge to it tonight that grated on Tim, distracting him. “Cut the chatter.”

Finally, he made it to the center of the circle, standing back-to-back with Red Hood.

“’Cut the chatter,’” Jason repeated. “You sound like the Batman. Do you have to suck the fun out of everything?”

“You’re being annoying,” Tim told him, dodging a blow and then kicking a gun out of man’s hands. It clattered across the warehouse floor. “Can’t you shut up for two minutes?”

“Fun-sucker,” Jason repeated.

“We’re in the middle of a fight,” Tim said. And they were extremely outnumbered. Saying it out loud might make Two-Face’s crew too confident though, so he bit down that remark.

“I don’t just mean now,” Jason said. “You’re a general fun-sucker. The boring Robin. Everyone knows it.”

That stung more than Tim wanted to admit. Did Jason really think that, or was he doing what he did best—finding people’s weak spots and hitting them with unerring aim?

 “Shut up, Hood,” Tim snarled. “Don’t take your bad mood out on me.”

“Bad mood? I’m not a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum,” Jason spat back.

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been a jerk for more than a week now, and you’re about one foot stomp away from throwing yourself a pity party. Sorry you managed to piss off the only people who care about you, but whose fault was that?”

“Oh, you think Bats and Wing care about me?” Jason snarled. “They still wish that I was the kid I was before I died. It’s not me they care about—it’s him.”

“Is that what this is all about? That’s not what they think at all. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tim said.

“Since I’m the one who died, I think I do.”

“Jesus, Hood, are you ever going to stop using that as an excuse to be a complete jerk?” Tim shouted, blocking another blow. “We get it. You died. That’s not a free pass to treat your entire family like crap for the rest of time!”

“Well, excuse me for—”

Another shot echoed through the warehouse. One of the men had finally broken open one of the gun crates and used the new weapon. Instead of cracking against the pavement or pinging off the tin walls, there was a dull crack as it pierced through Jason’s armor.

Jason slumped backward, weight heavy against Tim’s back.

The moment of utter stillness probably didn’t last as long in real life as it did in Tim’s head.

Static rushed over him, fear and horror swamping over his senses and leaving him blind and deaf for an eternity.

When his head cleared, Tim was standing over Jason’s fallen body, fighting as fiercely as he ever had in his life. Keeping his legs firmly, protectively over Jason, Tim flung batarangs and blocked punches and broken bones.

He was a robot. He was a machine. The only thing that mattered was protecting Jason. His body seemed out of his control, its only purpose to guard his fallen brother.

Was he breathing? Where had the bullet hit?

Tim couldn’t spare the time to check. All he could hear was his own frantic heartbeat, and the thudding rhythm of the fight.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t save him alone. He flicked his wrist to open his comm line to the whole team. “Help!” he croaked. “Red Hood down. Evacuation needed. Now!”

There was a crackled as someone started to respond, but he turned off the communicators again. He couldn’t have a conversation right now. He couldn’t manage their worry and his own.

There were still so many men.

His eyes found Harvey Dent’s ravaged face in the dim light. He was watching Jason and Tim with a strange expression.

“Are you happy now?” Tim shouted at him, the words ripped from his lungs. “Are these guns worth it? If I don’t kill you, Batman will as soon as he hears about this.”

Though, why wait for Bruce?

Tim raised his hand, the detonator for the explosives he’d stuck to the row of trucks gleaming in his hand. “Call your men off, or I blow us all up,” he snarled.

The crowd around him took a step back, finally giving Tim room to breathe.

“You wouldn’t,” Two-Face said immediately. He was standing on a crate nearby, watching the fight from a distance.

“Try me. He’s dying!” Tim said. Jason hadn’t moved yet. He might already be… “Leave, or I’m taking you all with us!” When Two-Face hesitated, he lifted his hand higher. “You don’t want to push me, Dent.”

Two-Face flipped his coin. The bit of silver flickered in the warehouse’s dim lighting. He caught the coin again, but didn’t look down at the result before he said, “Men, let’s go.”

One of the men nearest to him startled. “But the guns—”

“Leave them,” he instructed. “It’s not worth it. The whole shipment has already been tagged by the Bats anyway. Move out.”

Without another protest, Two-Face’s men dispersed. Tim stayed crouched over Jason’s body until the warehouse door closed, leaving them alone with the row of disabled trucks and a scattered room full of weapons.

Hands shaking, Tim moved to kneel by Jason, finally pushing his fingers against Jason’s neck to feel for a pulse. Jason blinked up at him, making the effort moot. “That was…” He coughed weakly. “Maybe the coolest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Shut up,” Tim snarled, moving to check the wound. The bullet had hit Jason in the gut. Had it gotten any of his organs? It was far to the left side, but if it had kept Jason down so long…

“Even I almost believed you were going to blow the place.”

Tim was silent, pulling a bundle of bandages from his utility belt and pressing the whole mess against the wound.

“At least if I die now, I can use this death for a few years before you get fed up with it,” Jason said faintly. When he coughed this time, blood flecked his lips.

“Be quiet,” Tim said. His hands were shaking.

“Can do,” Jason murmured, his eyes slipping shut.

“No!” Tim shouted. “Don’t fall asleep. You need to stay awake until backup gets here.”

“Make up your mind,” Jason muttered, eyes still closed.

“God, you’re… You’re impossible!” Tim said. “Stay awake, Jason!”

“Not the boss of me.”

“Please,” Tim said, voice breaking. There was so much blood. “Don’t you dare die. Stay awake. Do it. You can’t let a minion take you out, right?”

Jason laughed, harsh and quiet. “Do I have you worried, Timmy? It’s almost like you care…”

“I do care!” Tim shouted. “You’re an annoying idiot, but you’re my brother. If you don’t stay awake… I’ll tell everyone you asked me to tell them how much you love them. And that you apologized to everyone. Everyone.”

“You wouldn’t dare. My last words will be cooler than that. Cooler than last time. Just let me think of them…”

“I would!” Tim insisted. “I’ll give you such a good deathbed speech that Bruce will put up another memorial.”

“You’re a jerk,” Jason muttered, barely audible.

“Come on. Give me that good speech,” Tim pressed, looking up to see if he could spot the light of the Bat-Jet yet. From the constant blinking planes and buildings of Gotham, it was impossible to tell if any of the blurry lights in the windows above them were getting closer. “You’re telling me you haven’t thought about it?”

“Always think better…off the cuff,” Jason said. He fell silent again.

Tim jolted his shoulder, hard.

Jason winced and opened his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“I know,” Tim said. “Now tell me your final words.”

“How about: Bury me in a shallow grave?” Jason asked. “So I don’t have to dig through so much dirt next time. Also a pine box. Not that fancy heavy wood.”

“Those are instructions. Not really something for the books,” Tim said. Jason twitched and groaned. His hands scrambled for his stomach, but Tim knocked them away with his elbows, worried he would disrupt the pressure Tim was putting on the wound. “Shh,” Tim said. “They’re almost here.”

“How about ‘Avenge me?’ …Maybe the problem last time… was that I wasn’t specific,” Jason said, gasping in pain.

“Still an instruction.”

Finally, Tim heard the sound of an engine humming outside, and then footsteps running toward the warehouse. His family was here. They would get Jason out.

“I give up,” Jason said. “I am sorry… and I do love you. All of you. They… they won’t believe I said it… But you were right.” His eyes slid closed again.

“Jason?” Tim shook him, but this time he didn’t wake. He was unconscious. At the least. “Jason!”

Dick and Stephanie burst inside the warehouse. They had to peel Tim’s hands away from Jason.

#

It took Jason more than twenty-four hours to wake up.

Tim woke up when the man on the bed shifted, nearly dislodging the legs he’d propped up on the edge of the sheets. “Jason,” he said, lunging forward to stop him from trying to sit up. “You have stitches. Stay down.”

Jason blinked and looked at him, dazed. “Tim?”

The lack of nickname was concerning. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Tim said, trying for a smile.

Jason patted absently toward his stomach, but Tim moved his hand away. “You’re on a bucketload of painkillers right now, but the wound is still healing. We had to call in Leslie for an emergency surgery.”

“Jesus,” Jason said, finally leaning back onto the pillow. “We’re not in the hospital,” he added.

“No, you’re in the Manor,” Tim said. “Alfred was on babysitting duty, but he had to go make dinner.”

“Babysitting my unconscious body?”

Tim glanced at the monitors set up around the bed. The steady beat of Jason’s heart was echoing around the room. “All the benefits of having you around without having to hear you talk,” he said.

“I knew you just kept me around for my pretty face,” Jason said, but there wasn’t malice his voice. The poison he’d been spitting all week was absent, leaving him tired and subdued. “How long am I stuck here?”

“The bullet tore a hole in one of your kidneys. Leslie had to remove it. You’re on bedrest for at least a month.”

“So, I can sneak out in a week?”

A week was longer than Tim had thought Jason would conceded to stay. “Probably.”

Jason groaned. “That’s still forever. At least Bruce is out of town.”

“Not for long. He’s on the plane back right now.”

Jason swore. “Great.”

“Dick is coming by again tonight,” Tim added. “He was here all day. He was really upset you got hurt while you were fighting.”

“He’s going to cry on me, isn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

“He might yell first, but yeah, eventually.”

“Great.”

“This is one way to end a fight,” Tim said.

“Never let it be said I do things halfway,” Jason said. “A whole week, huh? And you didn’t even put me in a room with a TV.”

“Don’t worry. Alfred suggested that we read to you to keep you entertained, and I volunteered for the job.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “You did?”

“Of course,” Tim said. “You’re my brother, and I love you.” He pulled out the thin paperback he’d ordered from Amazon that morning, rush-shipped to arrive in time. “Now, let’s get to work so you’re better prepared next time.”

“Dying Declarations: Famous Last Words from Politicians, Criminals, and Celebrities Throughout History,” Jason read, squinting at the cover. “You’re kidding.”

Tim opened the first page. “Here’s a good one. ’Either the wallpaper goes, or I do.’ That one’s—”

“Oscar Wilde,” Jason said. “That sassy gay was an inspiration to us all. He actually said it a few weeks before he died, though. Doesn’t really count.”

“All right, fine. How about this one? Said by a Prohibitionist gangster right when the leader of the firing squad asked if he had any last requests. ‘Why, yes, a bulletproof vest.’”

“I should have gone with that one. Would have saved me a bit of trouble,” Jason said. “Geez, this is so morbid. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Tim hesitated. “Should I stop?”

“God, no, I love it,” Jason said. “I should have done this ages ago. Hit me with another.”

Tim shook his head and kept reading.