Archive of Our Own ^beta

By the time Jason reaches Tim’s side where he’s tied to the metal folding chair, Tim is crying. Not very hard, just quiet whimpering and tears dripping down his face. It wouldn’t be very disturbing given the circumstances, except for the fact that Tim decidedly does not cry.

“Hey, kid, you’re alright,” Jason soothes as he tugs at the numerous knots in the rope that’s keeping Tim’s hands tied behind him and thus keeping him tethered to the chair. Tim’s arms, it seems, have been spared from the worst of it. There are a few shallow cuts and scrapes, probably from the initial scuffle, but they’re nothing compared to the deliberate slices made across Tim’s chest and stomach. And none of those are a match for the long gash across Tim’s cheek. The top to his suit is inexplicably gone and there’s blood everywhere, dripping down Tim’s neck and covering his chest, “B and N are taking care of the last couple guys, and the cops were right behind us.”

Jason finishes the last stubborn knot and barely has time to rush forward and catch Tim as he slumps forward. Jason curses quietly, gently trying to maneuver Tim without hurting him further. He can feel Tim’s cold skin through his gloves, and closer now he can watch Tim’s struggle to breath. Shock.

“Hey, squirt, just relax, okay?” Jason says, employing the rarely used nickname. Sitting down on the cold concrete of the cargo warehouse, he does his best not to let Tim fall as Jason shrugs his leather jacket off and drapes it over the boy’s shoulders. It seems to dwarf Tim, who is staring at Jason with wide blue eyes, “You’re okay,” Jason mutters, more than a little unnerved by Tim’s demeanor and still trying to sound comforting. He eyes the cut on Tim’s cheek, which is starting to scab over. It probably won’t need stitches, but Tim will be saddles with a nasty scar for a long while. Some of the wounds on Tim’s chest are still weeping blood, but not much. Jason can’t bear to look Tim in the eyes right now, so he presses Tim’s head to the crook of his neck. Tim’s nose is cold against Jason’s warm, sweaty skin but the shaky puffs of breath come out warm. “We’ll get you home, ‘kay? Just gotta wait for the big man.”

Right on time, Nightwing appears at the door, “Oh, thank God,” He rushes over to them, stowing his escrima sticks, “He’s okay?”

Jason carefully gather’s Tim in his arms and stands with mild effort, “He’s in shock. Emotional, I think, not hypovolemic. Lacerations to the chest and one across the face. Nothing severe far as I can tell.”

Dick approaches Jason at the side, where if Tim turned his head just a bit, he could meet the lenses of Dick’s mask. Dick runs gentle gloved fingers through the dirty ends of the hair at the nape of Tim’s neck, “Hey kiddo, you with me?”

Tim doesn’t answer, just puffs out a shaky breath against Jason’s neck.

--

The tears stop somewhere between the door of the warehouse and the car. Bruce is close behind them, abandoning his conversation with Jim Gordon, and he takes Tim’s vitals in the car. His lips press together firmly when he feel’s Tim’s pulse, but he does nothing except start off toward the Cave.

Duke and Damian are in the Cave when they get there. Damian looks sort of ridiculous sitting at the computer with that massive cast on his leg. On the screen, it’s clear that both have been listening in on the comm feeds. Duke straightens up from where he’s leaning against the desk with his arms crossed, “What happened?”

“Tim pissed off some traffickers,” Jason supplies, feigning a casual tone and depositing Tim into a medbay cot. Tim is coming back to himself; Jason can tell by the way the glass in his eyes is slowly clearing, and by the way he doesn’t latch onto Jason as he walks away. Alfred, Bruce, and Dick all swam to take Jason’s place.

Damian tuts, “I trust they were dealt with appropriately.”

Jason nods, pulling his mask off and tugging his gloves off, “Yeah, Bruce and Dick took care of them. Cops have ‘em now.”

Duke hums, looking past Jason where no doubt the others are fussing over Tim.

Jason nods in Duke’s direction, “You’re up late.”

Duke shrugs, feigning nonchalance, “Figured I’d be ready. Just in case.”

Both of them knew Bruce wouldn’t have called Duke for help. Not that he didn’t trust the kid, just that Duke was the only one of them with a semblance of a sleep schedule and Bruce was doing his best not to screw with it. The tension in Duke’s shoulders, though, tells Jason that if they hadn’t found Tim when they did, they probably would’ve gotten a visit from a certain yellow helmet.

Damian crosses his arms, “I would have come to help had Father not saddled me with this stupid cast,” He glares daggers at the blue casting material enveloping his right leg.

Jason can’t help but grin, “Dames, you snapped your tibia. You’re lucky a cast is all you got.”

Damian turns his glare on Jason and opens his mouth to retort when, behind them, Dick lets out a noise of surprise. It puts all three of them on alert and has Jason whipping around to find the cause.

Tim is crying again. Ugly sobs that are wracking his whole body. Bruce and Alfred are staring at Tim like he’s grown another head, but Dick has seemingly recovered from his shock and is trying—seemingly in vain—to comfort Tim. Jason sighs, something strange lodging in his chest. Whatever happened to Tim has broken something in him, and Jason’s not sure what to do with that.

He grimaces and turns back to the kids, “Everyone go to bed,” He says, trying not to make it sound like the order that it is, “Tim’s home, B will take care of him.”

Both Damian and Duke look like they want to argue,  but instead Duke helps Damian onto his crutches and they carefully make their way to the elevator.

Jason turns around when Duke and Damian disappear from eyesight and finds Dick crouched in front of the medbay cot. Alfred and Bruce have taken several steps back to let Dick handle the situation. Tim is still crying, face twisted in what Jason can only describe as complete and utter despair. Jason sidles up to Bruce, “Has he said anything?”

Bruce huffs, dropping his head. The cowl has been discarded, probably laying forgotten in the driver’s seat of the car. Jason hates when he wears the suit like this. It reminds him that at the end of the day, there’s just a man under there. “No,” Bruce admits, “We asked and he just…” Bruce makes a vague gesture to Tim, who is making a rather valiant attempt at breathing exercises with Dick. Jason notes that, at least, Alfred was able to stick Tim with an IV and hook him up to some fluids.

“Smooth move, Ex-Lax,” Jason quips, “He need stitches?”

Alfred answers this time, “Butterfly bandages should suffice. Once he’s calmed down, it shouldn’t take long to apply them.”

“He’s on bed rest for 48 hours,” Bruce announces to nobody, then turns to Alfred, “I want to run a CBC and a tox screen. Test for Drops, because I know there are new shipments making their way around. I want—”

“Hey, genius,” Jason starts as Alfred turns away to gather the supplies for a blood test, “Maybe you want to start with your son?” He crosses his arms, gesturing towards Tim.

Tim is not really crying anymore, just watching Dick, who is still talking to him in hushed tones. His breathing is still stuttering, though, and his hands shake where they lay in his lap.

Bruce stiffens for a minute, then seems to right himself. He strides over to Tim and Dick. Bruce places a hand on Dick’s shoulder, and Dick looks up and smiles. He rubs a hand over Tim’s knee, then lets Bruce take his place. It’s sort of funny, watching Bruce crouch down so that Tim doesn’t have to look up at him.

Dick moves to stand beside Jason, opposite where Bruce had previously been, “Kids in bed?”

Jason nodded, “Don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep them there.”

Dick crosses his arms casually, “I’ll go check on them later.” Both brothers watch as Bruce gently takes Tim’s chin in his hand, turning Tim’s face a bit to get a better look at the cut on his face. Bruce clicks his tongue quietly, a sound so like Damian that Jason can’t help but smile at it. Dick is smiling too when he claps Jason on the shoulder, “I gotta get a shower.”

Jason hums something of an acknowledgement as Dick pads away, not turning away from Bruce and Tim. He can’t hear what Bruce is saying, just the low rumble of the man’s voice. Brucie Wayne has a higher voice with an odd lilt to it, and Batman growls, but Bruce’s true voice rumbles like thunder. Jason knows from experience that when you get close enough, you can feel Bruce’s voice more than you hear it. He can still remember the way Bruce’s voice feels when he says “I love you” with Jason’s ear pressed to his chest, grounding him to the present when a nightmare thrust him back to the past.

Tim seems to be grounded by Bruce’s voice, just like the rest of them are, and he’s coming back to himself more and more. Bruce is asking him something, and Tim nods once with a heartbreaking sniffle, mutters something back. Alfred discreetly sets the materials for the blood draw beside Tim on the bed, and Bruce must be asking if it’s okay, because Tim nods and holds his arm out shakily.

Jason can’t watch that part (he’s never had a fear of needles, per se, but watching them go in gives him the creeps), so he busies himself taking off his boots. When he looks back up, Tim is pressing a small piece of gauze to his arm to promote a clot.

Bruce says something else, then takes the tubes of blood and heads toward the computer. Jason cracks his neck; showtime.

When Bruce walks away, Jason sits down on the bed next to Tim. He’d crouch, but his knees might actually burst into flames. There’s a good six inches of space between them; far enough for Tim to breathe, close enough for Tim to initiate contact if he wants it. “Sup, kid.”

Tim shivers a little, “’m cold.” It’s then that Jason notes his jacket is gone, probably shed in the car or somewhere between here and the Batmobile. He curses mentally, hoping he’ll get it back.

“You want me to grab you a blanket?” Jason says, already starting to stand.

But Tim sniffs and shakes his head sadly.

“Tim, there’s warm ones in the cabinet. I’ll be gone for two seconds.”

“I don’t want a blanket.”

Jason has officially run out of ways to help. That is, until his searching eyes land on the box of steri-strips sitting on the counter, “You wanna get cleaned up?”

That perks Tim up, and Jason wonders why nobody had offered before. He’s able to reach the box without getting up off the bed, and he works to rip the cardboard open, “You wanna do your chest? I can do your face.”

Tim nods, and then stiffens for a second, “Is the cut on my face bad?”

Jason shrugs, “It’ll look cool as fuck in like two weeks if that’s what you’re asking.”

Tim groans quietly, “Cool’s not the word I’d use for it.”

The cardboard gives way, and Jason hands Tim a few bandages. He feels a little better knowing that Tim’s at least well enough to keep up their usual banter, “Look on the bright side; I bet you’ll get an article in the Gazette about it.”

“That’s not a bright side at all.”

“I bet B will frame it if you ask.”

The jokes die down as Tim sets to work on his wounds. They’re less bad now that Tim is not actively bleeding. Someone, Alfred or Dick probably, has washed most of the blood from Tim’s chest, also making the wounds less gruesome-appearing.

Jason moves to sit on Tim’s other side. The cut is shallow, mostly scabbed over already. It starts just centimeters from Tim’s lower eyelid; any higher and Tim could’ve lost an eye. The ending trails off, like whoever made it was interrupted. It was probably what they were doing to him when Jason, Bruce, and Dick got there. It makes white hot anger boil in Jason.

Jason tries to be gentle when he presses the first side of the bandage to Tim’s cheekbone, but Tim still hisses at the contact. Jason mutters an apology, but continues, “You’re feeling okay?”

“Peachy.”

“Tim.”

Jason’s seriousness surprises even him, and Tim blinks, placing the last steri-strip on the cut across his stomach, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can only get away with that for so long,” Jason replies.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the poster boy for talking about your problems.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

Tim huffs, “There’s nothing to say, Jason. I screwed up, I got caught. End of story.”

Jason’s brows knit together, “Yeah, but you don’t usually get caught. So…?”

Tim stiffens, “Well, sorry I wasn’t good enough tonight then.”

Jason reels back, “What the hell? What are you talking about?”

Tim pushes himself to stand, “Whatever.”

“No, not whatever!” Jason grabs Tim’s shoulder to keep him in place, “I thought you’d worked through that insecurity shit.”

Tim squints at him, not quite a glare because it’s probably painful to move his cheek like that, “You are making this conversation so much worse.”

Jason groans, “That’s not what I meant, I just—” Jason huffs, composing himself, “You haven’t said something like that in a long time.”

Tim sags a little at that, staring at his lap, and Jason takes that as his opportunity to apply the last steri-strip. The wound will scar, but only for a little bit.

“Dude…” Jason says, watching the way Tim almost curls in on himself, “What the hell happened tonight?”

Tim takes a steadying breath, “Jace, I really, really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You can’t—”

“Jason.” Dick’s voice cuts in. He’s standing a few feet away, toweling off his still-dripping hair. When Jason looks at him, he gives the slightest shake of his head and hangs the towel over his own shoulders. Then he looks at Tim, “You want to shower, Baby Bird?”

“Yeah,” Tim mutters, quickly pushing himself off the bed and rushing past Dick.

Dick watches until Tim is out of earshot, then turns to Jason, “I will tell you what I found out, but you need to be normal about it.”

Jason makes an exaggerated gasp, “I’m always normal about stuff.”

It makes Dick smirk a bit, but his tone is stern, “I’m serious, you can’t flip out. I already had to talk Bruce down.”

Something unsettling churns in Jason’s gut.

“B found of Rohypnol in Tim’s blood.”

Jason rushes to his feet, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Dick holds up his hands, “Stop it, listen to me,” He hurries, “It was a small amount, probably just enough so he’d stop fighting them. They were traffickers, Jay, it was probably all they had.”

Jason sighs. The anger is still bubbling just below the surface, but he listens to Dick’s words carefully.

“I think Tim is freaking out because he can’t remember a lot of what happened tonight.” Dick says, a little sadly, “It would explain why he freaked out when B asked him what happened.”

Jason runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t…what do we even do with that?”

Dick looks as lost as Jason feels, “I guess we just…try to be there for him.”

Jason sighs again. This whole thing is so fucked up, and what he really wants to do is burn down whatever jail cell these fuckers are being held in. Instead, he nods, “Did you tell him?”

Dick shakes his head, looking slightly sheepish, “I…I don’t even know how. B is going to be useless, Alfred too…”

“If this is your way of asking me to tell him…” Jason huffs.

Dick turns on his best puppy eyes, “Please? And then I can help after?”

“Uh, no. You do not get to comfort him if you’re not gonna do the dirty work. Go upstairs and check on Duke and Damian.”

Dick at least as the nerve to look slightly guilty, “I appreciate it, Jason. Really.”

Jason doesn’t answer that, just looks down at his own socked feet. Dick pads off near-silently, and Jason doesn’t look up until he can’t hear Dick’s footsteps anymore.

--

Jason finishes his shower before Tim is done with his, despite starting a good ten minutes after Tim. Still, when Tim emerges from the steamy room, he looks somewhat surprised to see that Jason is the only person left in the Cave (with the exception of Bruce, who has chained himself to the desk to scour cowl footage of Tim’s rescue in what is most certainly an act of predictable self-flagellation.)

Jason tries to push an air of casualness into his voice, “You and me, Birdie. You going upstairs?”

Tim seems to shake himself from his surprise quickly and he nods, “I was just gonna—”

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

That stops Tim in his tracks. He stares at Jason with those same wide blue eyes. The fear from earlier in the night is gone, replaced with what is certainly overwhelming (and possibly drug induced) exhaustion. He doesn’t intend to keep Tim up for much longer, just long enough for him to relax before Jason breaks the news to him.

“Uh…yeah,” Tim says, sounding thoroughly confused, “Okay.”

The pair starts towards the elevator, “Doesn’t have to be a movie. What’s that stupid show you’re always watching?”

“That does not narrow it down in the slightest.”

“The one where Ted Danson owns the bar?”

Tim lets out a noise that’s a cross between a laugh and a scoff, “Yeah, Jason, we can watch Cheers.”

--

They’re halfway through their second episode of Cheers when Jason decides he can’t wait any longer.

(Jason has to give the kid credit; the show is funny. It’s well before both of their times, so Jason’s not even sure how the kid stumbled across it. Still, it’s just mindless enough that, for a second, Jason forgot he was supposed to be on a mission here.)

Dick hasn’t appeared since he went upstairs to check on the kids, and Jason would bet good money that he fell asleep in Damian’s bed when he went up there to say goodnight. Alfred is asleep, and Bruce is still downstairs, so he knows nobody is around to bother them. Now or never.

“Bruce got your blood test back while you were showering.”

Tim stares at the TV. Rhea Pearlman’s character makes a joke that sends the audience into hysterics. “What did it say?”

Jason tucks one knee up on the couch to face Tim. “The guys who took you gave you Rohypnol.” Tim pales, “There wasn’t much left in your blood when B took the sample, so it can’t have been much. Just enough to get you to…” Jason wishes there was a better way to phrase this, “…to stop putting up a fight.”

Tim swallows hard. The audience is laughing again.

Jason presses forward, “You know…if you don’t want to talk about it because you don’t remember…” He’s treading on dangerously thin ice here, but he can’t help himself, “…there’s no shame in that.”

Another hard swallow from Tim, and his chest rises and falls like he’s fighting back vomit.

Jason watches Tim for a while longer. His eyes are glassy again, and he’s staring at the TV screen but not really watching.

And suddenly, Jason can’t stand the silence, “Tim, please say something.”

Tim takes a quiet, shuddering breath, “They didn’t…um, they didn’t rape me,” Tim says, “The suit was…intact. Nothing hurts.”

Jason frowns, “Yeah, Dickie thinks they only used it because it was all they had on hand.”

Tim watches the TV again. It seems like he’s done talking, so Jason turns back to the TV too. He’s not really watching either, not anymore, but it’s more socially acceptable than staring at Tim’s profile until he decides to speak again.

Then, as if he’s reading Jason’s mind, Tim speaks again, “I got roofied at a party once.”

Jason’s head snaps back to Tim. Tim is staring now at the floor just in front of the TV. The tears in his eyes are threatening to spill over. Tim screws his face up in a way that is surely hurting his cheek, blinking the tears away, “It was in high school, this dude spiked my beer when I wasn’t looking. Stupid…I didn’t even realize until he was helping me out to his car.”

Jason can’t do anything but stare.

“He didn’t get very far, I guess. Just kind of…touched me, or whatever. Kissed on me a little. I don’t remember a lot of it. The cops showed up right after.” Tim lets out a wet chuckle, “They were gonna charge me with minor in possession but B talked them out of it. Lectured the hell out of me the next day.”

That snaps Jason back into his own body, “Wait, you never told him?!”

Tim shrugs, “I didn’t think it was important at the time, and by the time I did, it had been so long that…I don’t know, it just felt weird to bring it up.”

Jason is back to facing Tim, one leg pulled up on the couch, “Tim, I’m really fucking sorry.”

“I just…” Another shaky exhale, “I don’t like blacking out…” He trails off, then suddenly gets a sardonic smile on his face, “You know I didn’t even let them give me general anesthesia to pull my wisdom teeth last year? Local only.”

Jason grimaces, “Jesus, kid.”

A wry laugh, “Yeah, it was miserable…” Tim sighs, sagging, “But I just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t blackout again. I just…” Somehow, Tim deflates even further, “I don’t want to not remember.”

A thought enters Jason’s head, “Tim, you know that’s not your fault, right? The party or tonight?” Suddenly it’s very important to Jason that Tim acknowledges this, “You know that the only person at fault is the stupid fuck who spiked your drink?” Jason spits.

Tim nods, rolling his eyes a little, “I know, Jason.”

“No, dude, I’m serious,” Jason’s tone is sharp, and it succeeds in making Tim look at him, “What happened to you at that party, and tonight, it doesn’t make you stupid or a shit vigilante, or whatever. It could’ve happened to anyone of us.”

“But it didn’t.” Tim looks at his lap dejectedly.

“Yeah, but if you think that there’s not a single person in this house that wouldn’t have taken your place…”

That makes Tim’s head snap up again, a pleading look painting his face, “Don’t say that. You can’t say that. I wouldn’t want it to be any of you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “Fine, then we’re all stupidly altruistic; whatever. Point being, nobody thinks less of you for what happened. And they wouldn’t think less of you for what happened in high school.”

Tim looks thoroughly unconvinced.

“Tim, I’ve literally made a joke about everything that’s ever happened to me. Have you heard me make a joke this whole conversation?” Tim raises an eyebrow and Jason rolls his eyes again, “You know what I mean, dude.”

Tim looks away, then nods, “I get it…I do. Like logically, I know all of that.”

Jason sighs, leaning against the back of the couch, “I know it doesn’t help. I just…needed to say it, I guess.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Cheers is still playing in the background, but neither of them are listening. Finally, Jason slaps his own leg lightly, “You’ve gotta be wanting some sleep right about now.”

“Not really,” Tim says, “I mean, yes, but—”

“I’ll stay with you,” Jason interrupts, standing up and turning off the TV, “I’m a light sleeper, nobody’s getting past me.”

Tim’s ears turn pink with embarrassment, “It’s stupid…”

Jason looks down at Tim seriously, “It’s not stupid. It’s an accommodation; a tool you use to make life easier. Like Dami’s crutches or Babs’ wheelchair.”

Tim doesn’t respond for a moment, standing up and stretching. Then he looks at Jason with a mischievous grin, “So you admit it; you are a tool?”

Jason points at Tim, “I’m too tired to kick your ass right now, but in the morning, you better watch yourself.”

Tim’s laugh is clear and bright.

--

Tim is stiff in bed next to Jason. Jason is laying on his stomach, planted between Tim and the door. His head, however, is facing Tim, though he feels Tim shift in bed more than he watches him.

“What is it?”

Tim opens his mouth to respond, then huffs, “I’m cold.”

Jason huffs and rolls onto his back. Before Tim can react, he tugs Tim close to him, Tim’s back pressing against Jason’s side and his head against Jason’s bicep.

“Jesus, you’re so warm. What the hell?”

 “Go to sleep.”

Silence, for a moment, then a tiny voice pipes up, “Night, Jace.”

“Night, squirt.”

--

Jason’s eyes snap open when he hears the doorknob turn. He’s about to sit up (and dislodge Tim, who is still curled up next to him), when Bruce’s voice reaches his ears, “Shh,” He soothes, “Just me.”

Bruce pads over to the bed, “I see I have a full house tonight.”

Jason hums sleepily, eyes fluttering closed. He doesn’t have to be on guard anymore; not when Bruce is here, “Gotta protect ‘im,” He mumbles, nearly incomprehensible.

Bruce chuckles quietly, and there’s that rumble that Jason is so used to; it’s the same rumble that used to lull Jason to sleep or comfort him when he cried. A massive, calloused hand brushes over his head, warm and soothing, “I know, Jaybird, you’re doing a good job. Get some sleep, okay?”

Jason hums again, already falling back to sleep. He feels Bruce reach over him to run fingers through Tim’s hair. Tim makes a small noise and burrows closer to Jason.

Jason is asleep before Bruce leaves the room.