Chapter 9
Jason wanted to shake the injured teen in his arms. How Tim consistently managed to get himself involved in the craziest bullshit, Jason would never know. The entire vigilante population of Gotham knew Batman's stance on the New York team of crime fighters.
Do not engage; do not expose yourself; do not put yourself on their radar. Do not, under any circumstance, give them any reason to investigate.
Tim had somehow managed to break every one of the old man's rules. Stupid fucking Tim.
Across the room, hard eyes searched for weak spots. Jason breathed evenly and kept his heart beat slow and steady. Adrenaline coated the back of his throat.
It never ceased to amaze him how fast his plans went from solid to total shitstorm.
Against his shoulder, Tim barely kept his head level. Trouble making ass.
"Out," Jason said in a no nonsense tone; his arm ached from the teen's weight.
"How about you let the kid go?" A blond man wearing a shirt two sizes too small stood just behind Stark. His hard but somehow still earnest expression made Jason's blood boil.
Jason laughed and dug the muzzle of the gun into Tim's head. The teen groaned, flexed his fingers, but didn't fight.
"Terrible idea," Tim barely breathed out, "such a terrible idea."
Jason ignored him. "How about you three step back or I paint the wall red?"
"Just terrible," Tim muttered again. A strong shiver accompanied his voice. Jason eyed the blanket on the bed.
Everyone shuffled back and Ken doll's jaw clenched. Without looking, the blond reached out, grasped Ginger Rogers' elbow, and tucked her out of sight as if Jason were a rabid dog.
"Don't worry sweetheart," Jason called after her, "you're thinking of the wrong guy. Red heads aren't really my type."
Tim huffed a quiet laugh against his shoulder and said something unintelligible against Jason's neck.
"Don't talk to her." Tony Stark's voice lost its teasing edge.
Wonderful. Jason didn't have time for macho bullshit posturing. These asshats couldn't comprehend the mess coming their way if Jason didn't check in with Batman's missing bird accounted for.
He eyed the doorway and wished for an antacid.
"Gladly, high maintenance isn't my type either." He glanced at the glowing circle visible beneath the billionaire's t-shirt. "Though, I have a feeling she's the one dealing with a high maintenance partner."
Iron Man's eyebrow twitched and Tim tugged hard enough on Jason's coat it momentarily cut of air.
"What are your demands?" The blond asked.
"What are you implying?" Tony Stark followed up, his tone once more strangely conversational. The Ken doll gave the billionaire a look Jason easily deciphered. Good to know he wasn't the only one dealing with idiots. Tony Stark ignored it. "Are you trying to insult me? Obviously, I'm a fabulous catch. You'd have to be dead to miss that fact."
Jason tasted the teetering edge of sanity. He bared his teeth in a growl. "How's this? Move the fuck back or I will make sure a bonding moment in your relationship will be watching a kid get murdered."
"Woah," Tony Stark snarked back, "and I'm high maintenance?"
"Tony," the other man chided.
"Yeah, Tony," Jason mocked, "listen to the action figure behind you and take a few fucking steps back."
The blonde's gaze grew hard and Jason hated his own loud mouth. If Dick were here he'd have the entire Avengers team eating out of his hand. Too bad for everyone, the waste of space 'son' was closest.
Both men stepped into the hall and Tim sagged against his shoulder like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"Think this through," the injured teen pleaded. He breathed messily through his mouth and his glassy eyes tracked movements around him slowly.
"Just like you did?"
Tim shivered again and said nothing.
"To the right," he called out. The men shifted until the door and immediate hall opened.
Jason followed them, gun steady as he kept tabs on their body language. The blond's hands made two solid fists. Tony Stark officially wore enough metal suit to be considered more super hero than rich asshole.
He moved in the opposite direction down the cleared hall and they kept pace with him.
"There is no place to go," the blond spoke plainly, his gaze fixed on Tim before it shifted and hardened. "So, let him go."
Jason didn't bother to respond.
"Replacement." He jostled the younger man as he neared the elevator. "Down."
Tim sighed and reached one of his hands toward the closed elevator door buttons. He suddenly stiffened and a rush of air passed as the teen reached up before groaning loudly and collapsing back against him.
Jason glanced down the adjacent hall where an archer stood with a drawn bow and a shocked look on his face.
His stomach sunk and he shook Tim until the teen pulled his arm in and Jason could see the damage.
"Did you seriously catch an arrow with the palm of your hand?"
Like a gag gift gone wrong, the arrow disappeared neatly into the center of Tim's palm before reappearing out the back of his hand. Blood welled up and dripped messily.
Tim hissed and held it up as if equally surprised. "It would have hit you. I'm not quick enough right now to catch it."
"Mother fucker!" Jason exclaimed and behind him the doors opened with a soft sound. He stepped through them and pointed the gun out. A woman came up behind the archer and reached across her body for the gun undoubtedly tucked in her coat.
The elevator doors thankfully closed. The numbers descended slowly and Tim hesitantly reached for the arrow.
"Ugh," Jason eyed the wound, "don't touch it."
He tucked the gun into his shoulder holster and leaned down. Tim swayed and his bare toes curled up against the floor. Once both his hands were free, Jason reached forward and snapped the front and back of the arrow off before Tim could work himself up.
"Shhhhiiiiittttt." The injured teen blinked wet eyes before leaning forward and dry heaving. Jason caught Tim beneath his arm pits and tuned out the noise. He could feel a sympathy knot in his own throat.
"C'mon," Jason ripped off a piece of Tim's shirt to wrap around the injury, then pulled his coat off and slung it over narrow shoulders. No time to recheck the abdomen. He hefted the teen back up, retrieved his gun, and ignored protesting back muscles. "We're almost there."
The doors opened to a surprisingly deserted lobby. Outside the tall glass windows, the usually busy New York street was empty.
"Gun." Tim motioned with his uninjured hand. "Give me one."
Jason pressed the muzzle of his own weapon to Tim's head again. "Yeah, let's not make this more confusing for those dumb fucks. You, hostage, in shock. Me, asshole renegade gunman."
Tim made a disgruntled noise.
An arrow shot past and buried itself in the ground next to him.
"You sure are fast," he quipped at the archer wedged high between the ceiling and exposed metal beams. The man notched another arrow and aimed. "Oh, so do you give a shit about hitting the hostage or not? Cause, past experience tells me you're no Robin Hood."
The archer didn't respond but the next shot landed inches from Jason's right foot. At the far end of the atrium the redhead he'd caught a glimpse of held a gun and the blond carried an iconic shield.
Jason's stomach twisted. Tim seriously made the worst decisions.