Archive of Our Own ^beta

jason’s hands are covered in blood.

he knows three things;
1. he doesn’t know who’s blood it is
2. tim isn’t here anymore
3. damian will never forgive him

he can only guess who’s blood it is; with bruce and dick lying half-dead at his feet, and no pain to be felt anywhere in his own body, he has two very good, very bloody options.

he can hear footsteps coming his way, tim or damian—he’s never quite been able to tell—but it doesn’t really matter. either way, they’ll both know what he may or may not have done soon enough.

but jason can’t move. all he can see is the blood on his hands.

and once the footsteps stop, he knows his brother sees it too.

he knows he needs to leave, needs to get out of this room, needs to run. but he just can’t manage to make his legs work.

“timmy,” he whispers. “where’s the kid?”

he’s never heard tim so silent.

“please. tell me where he is.”

tim can’t speak, but he can move.

jason watches as tim checks over the bodies—over dick and bruce’s bodies—for. . . something. jason’s not really paying attention to that. but he listens to tim’s breathing, to his panicked whispers that don’t make sense in jason’s busy mind.

tim! he screams, but only in his head. jason can’t muster that much volume now.

“tim,” he whispers.

tim’s breaths change.

“get out of here,” tim pushes out, his lungs tight. he feels that thing in his chest that he never quite knows how to explain, that thing that makes him ache and long to speak no matter how hard it is to push the words out.

tim can’t speak but he does it anyway.

“jason! get out of here!” tim is screaming. tim is panicking. “get out of here! now! i’ll take care of the kid just—“ his voice breaks off. just get out of here, he longs to say. but tim already used up all of his words.

but jason can’t move. so he sits and he stares at the blood on his hands.

“what’s going on?”

they both missed damian’s footsteps.