Chapter 8
Tim stared at the ceiling above and counted down from twenty. They'd upped his meds and the room tilted and shifted like a ship at sea.
Down the hall, in a geek fantasy gone wrong, the Avengers discussed him like a puzzle piece or lost puppy.
Tim watched the ragtag team form with fascination from his dark city during the crisis in New York. They'd gone from disorganized and sloppy to a well oiled machine. And now the Avenger's laser focus rested on him. The entire situation made him lightheaded. He pushed himself weakly onto his elbows and strained his ears.
Tim heard muffled sounds through the wall, their voices already familiar, as they spoke in low tones.
Earlier, Clint Barton carried him out of the bullet riddled room while Natasha Romanov barked out orders to get another set up for him in the heart of the tower. Captain America, blue eyed and smelling like freedom and justice, had asked him how he was feeling.
Tim had actually thrown up ON Hawkeye. His stomach churned at the memory. If anyone in his family ever found out he'd never live it down.
"Yo." Jason's heavily shadowed frame leaned against the shut door.
"Ja-" Tim blinked heavy eyelids and fought to keep his heart steady.
"Hey," the older vigilante cut him off with a quiet hiss and gestured to his black domino and outfit, "none of that."
Right. No names when someone wore a mask. He knew that. Tim nodded and closed his eyes.
"Replacement." Jason moved closer in the several seconds Tim wasn't watching. He gestured toward the IV. "What are they pumping you full of?"
He nodded again.
"Not an answer," Jason grumbled under his breath. "Where is your file? Do you have a file?"
He eyed the makeshift room with disdain before seemingly dismissing a search.
"You smell like puke," he added off handedly while checking Tim's pulse. He pulled out a small flashlight and shined it in Tim's eyes.
Tim lets his arms sag. He tried to roll over.
"Nope." Jason held him still and checked the bandages on his stomach. He peeled up one of the edges. "Awesome. Lots of stitches."
Tim shrugged and the room spun. So many stitches. Tim felt like a doll whose stuffing had all come out.
"Lose any other organs? Anything the big man needs to knock you up the side of the head for?" He expertly removed the IV and glanced back at the closed door.
"Ha ha," Tim croaked. He didn't want to think about Bruce's reaction. He could live a perfectly ordinary life without his spleen.
"We gotta be quick." Jason leaned down as if to scoop him up and everything came to a crashing halt in Tim's mind.
"How?" Tim started, body tense as he pushed at Jason's chest until he could look him in the eye. His bed rested within the impenetrable walls of the Avenger's tower, the lion's den of New York City. "How are you here?"
Jason groaned and ran a hand through his hair. The white streak flopped in his eyes and he pushed it back absently. "Not the question to be asking while we're still here, yeah?"
"Do you even know where you are?" Tim whispered urgently; his fingers gripped the front of Jason's shirt and twisted. "Do you even understand how bad of a decision this is? I know you are the king of shitty decisions, but this is a seriously bad idea."
The older man stilled and his mouth tightened in a firm line. "You're the fucking idiot. Do you understand what you've done? Do you?"
"I'm fine," he insisted stubbornly. Tim would have figured it out. He'd gotten out of worse with less.
"Fine?" Jason gave a mocking laugh. He gave Tim a little shake and the younger man's irritation ballooned. He didn't need a lecture. "Never mind your family as long as you're 'fine'."
Tim's fingers weakened and the shirt slipped through his fingers.
"Family? I'm an emancipated adult," he weakly argued.
Jason paused and curled his lip in disgust. "Really? You want to play that game?"
Tim's focused his gaze in the far corner.
"No one could find you, Tim. No one."
Hot shame rolled down Tim's back and settled uncomfortably in his bones. His skin felt uncomfortably tight.
"I didn't mean-"
"You never do," Jason interrupted. "It doesn't matter. We need to get out of here."
Despite his gruff tone, Jason's movements were careful as he reached for Tim.
"I wouldn't do that."
A woman stood in the dark outline of the door, her hair a beacon in the otherwise shadowed space. Just an hour earlier she had offered Tim a packet of crackers with a sympathetic smile. He smelled soup.
Jason's fingers on Tim's arm tightened.
"Don't," Tim asked Jason, voice quiet. Despite her bravery, Miss Potts wasn't a super hero.
Jason relaxed and rolled his shoulders back. His face stretched into its signature 'fuck you' grin. The tension in the room grew impossibly thick.
"Hey gorgeous," his voice teased, "how about we have the kiddo sit this one out and we'll play cops and robbers?"
"Step away from him," she said with no trace of fear.
Jason cocked his hip and shook his head. "Naw, I don't think so."
She dropped the tray with a clang and made a move back toward the door behind her.
"Jarvis!" She yelled.
Jason stepped forward and caught her arm. She dug her heel into his instep and he made a noise and drew his gun.
"Ah, ah, ah," he chastised between clenched teeth. "Sorry, but there is no one listening right now. I wanted to make sure this remained a private conversation."
She put her hands up and he gestured her back near the open doorway. A piece of hair hung in her eyes and her perfectly pressed suit had a tear in the right shoulder. "Close it."
Miss Potts eyed Tim and shut the door. "Are you okay?"
Tim opened his mouth and forced himself into a sitting position. Everything from the neck down screamed in pain.
"Don't talk to him," Jason growled. Tim looked on as the situation spun out of control.
"Ja-"
"Replacement," Jason grit out, "shut up. And lay the fuck down."
Tim's jaw closed with a click and he locked his muscles in frustration. His vision grayed out momentarily.
"You aren't going to be able to escape with him," Miss Potts said calmly. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the two men.
Jason huffed out a weak laugh. "Yeah, no, nice try, Ginger Rogers, but we're not hanging out to meet your friends. I've heard they're assholes."
Awesome. Tim supposed Jason had heard Bruce complain about 'that showboat Tony Stark'.
The vigilante reached down with one arm, pushed the blanket off, and lifted Tim like a toddler. The teen clung to Jason's leather jacket and couldn't help but groan at the sudden wave of vertigo. His side burned at the movement and he leaned against the man's shoulder like a wet noodle.
"You with me?" Jason asked after adjusting his weight.
Tim breathed in the scent of gun oil and leather; his legs dangled. He felt too awful to be embarrassed. "Yeah."
"Okay." Jason's attention shifted back to Miss Potts. "Move to the other side of the room. Put your hands behind your back."
"He needs supervised medical attention," she argued. "If you try to escape with him he'll be re-injured."
Tim watched her from beneath heavy lids. Under his hand, Jason's chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh.
"Not. Your. Concern." Jason's insisted darkly. He motioned with his gun. "Move it."
She took a step and the door behind her buckled. Tony Stark entered with half of the Iron Man armor on. The palm of his hand glowed red even as shin guards attached themselves to his legs. Beyond him, Tim caught sight of Steve Rogers.
Jason shifted Tim until he blocked most of the older man's torso. The muzzle of Jason's gun pressed cool against his temple.
"Woah," Stark pulled his hand up, "you really want to go the hostage route? In my tower? Surrounded by the Avengers? After threatening my Pepper?"
Jason sneered and the grip on Tim's hip grew painful. "Yeah, I think I do."
Tim shut his eyes and cursed.