Chapter Text
Tim began his day like he usually did – tired. Well, tired might be an understatement, considering he couldn’t focus on any singular object until he finally managed to get a decent cup of coffee in his system.
It wasn’t that he was addicted to coffee, it was just that it helped him stay functioning. When one is closing cases on their own, plus managing a multimillion-dollar company, coffee becomes essential.
And sure, if the day blurred a little as it wore on, and he chugged another couple of cups of coffee before lunch, and then before dinner, well – that wasn’t anyone’s problem but his own. Or so he likes to tell himself. He isn’t oblivious to Tam’s concerned looks as she hands over paperwork at the end of each day.
Tim had no idea what was inside. What had happened during the day’s meetings, again?
Budget. Right.
Shaking his head, Tim headed home, squinting up at the sky. The forecast indicated rain for the evening, which, considering Tim is missing a spleen, is not ideal. Still, that's part of the part of the job. Besides, he's fine. He's fine. There's no need to be worried, or to let anyone else in the family know. Not that they'd care, anyway.
Right now, he wishes he’d paid a bit more attention to the weather and the dangers it poses to an immunocompromised vigilante just trying to do a stakeout.
Problem number one: stakeouts involve staying in one place. And being the genius he is, Tim forgot all about the weather forecast. Meaning he’s stuck in the rain.
Problem number two: he’s quickly learning that this stakeout is not going how he planned.
Two gangs were supposed to make a deal tonight. From the intel Tim has, it’s likely weapons or a turf negotiation, seeing as the smaller gang, Indigo, is trying to edge out the larger gang, Bleeding Edge. Despite their sizes, they’re both relatively new gangs. Tim also knows he’s probably not the only one digging into them – Indigo somehow thought it was a brilliant idea to name themselves after their drug, which is beginning to circulate into the Bowery.
Safe to say, Tim is not in the mood to deal with Jason right now. They’re not… friends, per say, but they’re not actively fighting with each other. Dealing with Jason might not be the best given his miserable, soggy state, but Tim would take him over dealing with the rest of the Bats. Jason's far more likely to get into a fight rather than talk about emotions, and Tim cannot handle having his emotions run over by a herd of elephants.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim readjusts his gear and decides to move in closer, counting on the gangs’ inexperience and his stealth to keep him hidden. The few people he’s seen enter all seem to be carrying themselves with the air of someone about to make a deal. He works at WE, he knows a bit what that looks like.
Packing up his gear, Tim grapples to the next rooftop, timing his landing deliberately to account for the downpour that seems to not be letting up anytime soon. He pivots his foot as he stands up, darting back to the edge, where there's a sizeable gap between the top of the roof and the nearest window. He can't very well smash one of the windows in.
Plan B it is, then. Tim slips the cover off of the vent on top of the warehouse, hoping that there's no obstacle in the vent system that could potentially injure him. Swinging one leg over the edge of the vent, he sweeps his gaze over the area for one final check before he slides all the way in. The vent, thankfully, is large enough for him to fit through easily, and he's deposited directly onto the upper rafters of the building.
Tim curls his fingers around the vertical support of one of the rafters, grounding himself as he surveys the scene below. He’s got a direct view into the warehouse, where there are only six gang members. Somewhere in the back of his mind, alarm bells begin to ring. Deals don't usually involve just six gang members in total. It's obvious that one member of each gang is part of the gang's leadership, whereas the other four are just muscle. At least that matches up with the numbers, as most gangs have enough common sense not to send their top guys to a small meeting where anything could go down. Young gangs, like the two below, also happen to be especially volatile.
Tim has to give them some credit for thinking ahead. Still, that’s not going to give them much of an advantage when he busts the deal. Sure, this isn't much of a stakeout anymore, especially considering that there's nothing enormous going down here that requires more surveillance. Tim just needs to figure out what's going on, break the deal up, and go home so he can get warm.
Home.
Tim ignores the word that has the audacity to flit through his mind while he’s in costume. He can’t afford to dwell on the fact that he hasn’t been back to the Manor in months, and is constantly evading the Bats and their invasive questions as to why he hasn’t been to a family dinner in quite some time.
Nope. Not going there.
Turning his attention to the gangs below, Tim tilts his head to one side as he tries to get a read on what is going down. There are certainly odd-shaped crates in the building, and based on the way the gangs are arguing, Tim is now almost positive that this is an arms deal. He breathes out a sigh of relief. Arms deals are much easier to deal with than a turf war.
He’s so focused on the deal going down and trying to ignore the traitorous thoughts in his head that he misses the entrance of another Bat.
Problem number three: Tim may be emotionally compromised to the point where he isn’t paying attention to his surroundings like he should (not that he’d admit that out loud to anyone else and show just how weak he is as of late).
Problem number four: Jason scares him half to death.
Problem five: Tim is still wet.
He opens his mouth to yelp in surprise and simultaneously adjusts his right foot to the side when he realizes he’s slipping off the rafter. He inhales, his balance already gone, when a hand grips his cape firmly and hauls him back sharply. A warning hand is placed over his nose and lips, indicating that he needs to shut up, and fast.
Jason manages to get him stabilized on the rafter before he leans back, casually, one elbow on the angled beam that runs up and away from Tim. Underneath the hood, he’s probably smirking at the fact that he’s managed to catch Tim off guard.
Something slithers in the pit of his stomach just thinking about that. He tries hard to shake the feeling of inadequacy off, but it’s difficult when he’s face to face with his hero. His Robin. The same person who tried to kill him.
He’s definitely emotionally compromised by this point. Again, not that he would let anyone know that. Jason might be safer, but Tim keeps his emotions in check and forces his face into a neutral position.
“So, Replacement, ya here for the weapons deal too?” Jason drawls, but his voice low as he keeps an eye on the gang members to make sure they weren’t detected.
From such a close distance, Tim can see Jason's fingers twitch toward the gun on his hip. Tim hopes that Jason isn't feeling particularly affected by the Lazarus Pit today. Even if he isn't, Tim starts looking for all possible exit routes, both plotting for an effective takedown and an escape route if Jason feels like fighting, or worse, talking.
It takes another few beats for Tim to realize he hasn't answered Jason, and he gives a halfhearted nod.
Jason must have seen it, because Tim feels Jason's gaze boring into his skull. After another moment, he grumbles, clicking his teeth together in a harsh noise that is further distorted by the hood. “Silent treatment today, I guess. Well, just don’t drag me down with ya into your problems. I’m here because of the drug. I won’t get in your way, I just need some information out of Indigo’s head guy here. Been trying to tack ‘em down for ages. Cool?”
Tim's stomach drops from out of his body. Surely Jason isn't attempting to pull the case out from under him? Tim thought it was a weapons deal, but he's doubling back on that decision, wondering if there's a drug deal going down. If it is, Tim is wrong. Again. And Tim can't afford to be wrong. He can't bear the thought of having to note that in his case files, even if Tim isn't sure the rest of the Bats read them anymore. Certainly not Dick or Damian, and Tim tries not to think about Bruce altogether.
At that, Tim shifts his gaze to Jason, giving him a glare. "This is my case, Hood. You trying to take it away from me?"
It comes out harsher than he intended, and Jason makes like he's narrowing his eyes behind the helmet. The only thing that gives him away is the crossing of his arms over his chest, which would be accompanied with a glare, but seeing as Tim can't see that, he chooses to act like Jason isn't acting hostile.
"The hell, kid? I just told ya I'm here to talk to the head guy. You have beef with me or somethin? 'Cause I've been nothing but civil, and even though I know you ain't talking to the big Bat right now, I'd like ta not get on his bad side for a mere drug deal."
Tim tries so hard not to let this affect him, but he can't help the slackening of his mouth and the slight backwards shift of his weight. He's in no mood to get into a fight with Jason in the middle of a deal.
Jason clearly notices, because he hisses and turns away. "Sensitive much?"
Tim's hands begin to shake, and he closes his eyes, letting out a breath of air. He's cold, miserable, and it looks like Jason is in the mood to get on his bad side tonight. He's not sure he's awake enough to handle this. Every beat of his heart roars louder in his ears, and he feels his lower lip begin to tremble. He clenches his jaw and tries to stop it. He's already begun to slip with just a few words from Jason, but he can't let his mask shatter completely. There is no reason to be nervous tonight, he decides. He'll close this case, he'll tell Jason to stay behind while he gets the guys so he doesn't have to admit that he needed to team up with another Bat for a mere arms deal. There is nothing to fear.
That is, until he hears Jason let out a string of curses under his breath. “Those aren’t regular guns.”
Tim turns to see that Jason’s right. They are not regular guns.