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Jason woke from a dead sleep to the sound of shrieking. It was shrill, loud, and mechanical sounding, and he found himself wanting to break whatever was making that wretched noise in half.
After a moment longer, as his brain rebooted fully and gave him his functional thinking back, Jason realized the shrieking was actually his phone. This did not make him not want to break it in half, but it did make him falter.
Jason stared with bleary eyes at the phone vibrating on the floor next to him. How or why he was on the floor was anyone’s guess, but he supposed it might have something to do with the giant blood smear on the sofa.
Groaning as the phone continued to shriek, Jason slapped his hand onto it until the sound stopped and he shuffled forward, close enough for him to drop the side of his face onto the device and make a grunt of acknowledgement.
“Jason?”
Jason groaned dramatically. He heard a quiet, tinny sigh on the other side, but he continued to groan until the person no doubt understood how annoyed he was.
“What do you want.”
“I need your help.”
Jason paused, staring blankly at the wall. Tim didn’t sound like he was in danger, though one could never know with that kid. He didn’t sound scared, or nervous, nor did he sound like he was actively bleeding out in a warehouse, but Jason still felt something akin to nerves itch at his spine.
“With what?” He asked, trying to hide the sudden tension in his words but no doubt failing as Tim sucked in a tiny breath.
“Uh— nothing insane, just… you know. Help. With um. Police.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. He didn’t care that Tim couldn’t see him. “The police.”
“Yes.”
“I’m gonna need you to elaborate, Timmers,” Jason said, pushing himself up with one hand while the other held the phone to his ear. He grimaced at the dried blood staining his carpet. “What kind of help?”
Tim was silent for a few moments, and Jason used that time to wet a washcloth and gently wipe at the cracking blood on his skin.
Then, “Ineedyoutopickmeupfromjail.”
Jason paused. “What?” He blinked down at his wrapped wound like it could explain to him what exactly Tim was saying. “You need me to do what?”
Tim sighed, heavily, like Jason was the one being unreasonable.
“I need you to pick me up from jail.”
Jason stared blankly at the wall for a few moments before he clicked his tongue, nodded, and continued to clean the dried blood off his stomach. “Okay.”
“…Okay?”
“What jail are you at?” Jason said, setting the washcloth down. He pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder as he redressed his wound. “How much you payin’ me back?”
“Anything,” Tim said immediately, sounding a little dazed, “Gotham County. What do you mean okay—“
“Be there in ten,” Jason said before hanging up. He got changed into (slightly) presentable clothes before grabbing his keys and helmet and taking off.
The safe house he had collapsed in the night before was close to the jail, so Jason got there in seven minutes. He waited another three, because no one could see he isn’t a man of his word, before entering the building. He ignored the stares directed his way and made it to the front desk.
He hesitated when the woman behind it looked up at him. Luckily, he didn’t have to spend too long wondering whether Tim used an alias or not when he went off and got arrested, because the man himself came walking out with a tall, annoyed looking officer trailing behind him.
“There he is,” Tim said, sounding and looking a little surprised, which, rude, but whatever.
The officer slid his eyes over to Jason, raised an eyebrow, before scoffing. “Whatever. You might’ve gotten off this time, but we’re watching you, Draper.”
Tim nodded politely, still staring at Jason with that shocked face. Jason gave it a moment longer before he sent the police officer a tight smile and began dragging Tim out of the building. It wasn’t until they were a block away, back at where Jason hid his bike, when Tim finally snapped out of whatever stupor he had found himself in.
“You actually came,” Tim said, “Why?”
“Why?” Jason repeated, “‘Cause you called. Better question is, why were you in jail?”
Tim blinked at Jason silently, the little freak, and it was only when Jason shoved the helmet into his chest did he respond.
“Some kids blamed me for graffiti,” Tom said absently, rolling the helmet between his hands. “Why did you come?”
Jason groaned loudly, running a hand down his face, “If you were so uncertain about me coming, why did you call?”
“Because Bruce would kill me,” Tim started, “Dick would go all mother hen and express his ‘disappointment’ in me, Steph would laugh and hang up, Duke wouldn’t answer, Damian wouldn’t either—“
“Okay, yeah, yeah, I get it,” Jason huffed, “So i’m the only one that might’ve come?”
Tim nodded, allowing Jason to maneuver him onto the back of the bike. “And the only one who wouldn’t lecture me about going to jail.”
Jason hummed, hopping on the front of the bike. After feeling Tim settle, he said, “Who said I wasn’t going to lecture you?”
“You can’t,” Tim said, “You’re literally a crime lord. You’ve been to prison.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t lecture you,” Jason scoffed as he started the bike. “I mean, if you really want, I could always call up Dickhead—“
“Don’t you dare,” Tim hissed— literally hissed, the kid’s insane— “I will crash this bike right now.”
“Crash it and I'll kill you.”
“Tried that before, remember? Multiple times, actually. And I distinctly recall you failing—“
“If you don’t shut up, I’m calling Bruce.”
“…”
Jason smirked, and as he drove through the busy streets of Gotham back to his safe house, plans of torturously long talking points and powerpoints running through his head, he wondered just how long he could milk the sudden blackmail Tim so gracefully dropped into his lap.