Chapter Text
Jason shifts from foot to foot, and Tim notices he’s cradling his left hand gently.
“Uh,” says Jason, looking nervous, “Sorry, I just… I was told to come here?” He raises his hand in explanation and Tim sees his knuckles are scraped bloody.
“Not another one,” says the nurse, looking exasperated, as if this isn’t her job, “I’m out of gauze, I have to run to the supply closet.”
Lollipop Lady nods firmly and ushers her colleague out of the room. “We’ll go contact parents. Sit tight, young man.” This is directed to Jason, who scowls a little and takes a seat next to Tim.
The two boys sit in silence for a moment before Jason turns to look at Tim. “You look like you got run over, kid.”
Tim shrugs. Robin is cool, but Tim will be damned if he lets anything slip. “What happened to you?” he asks instead.
Jason scowls again. “Well, the receptionists clearly think I got into a fight. Went off to call my- went off without even asking me.”
Tim stays silent, looking at Jason. Jason huffs and crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling. “Fine. I punched Brett Danvers.”
“Oh.” Tim nods understandingly, because it was understandable. Brett Danvers is mean, but worse than that, he's stupid. Tim once saw him try to trip Jason at a gala both Richard Grayson and Bruce Wayne were in attendance at. Like a moron would.
Jason cuts his eyes towards Tim when Tim doesn’t say anything else. ”He deserved it,” he says challengingly.
“I bet,” Tim says sympathetically.
“I hit him really hard.”
“Nice.”
“Okay,” says Jason, now fully facing Tim, “What is your problem, dude? Hitting people isn’t okay.”
This is hilarious, given both Jason’s hobby and the fact that he is literally in the office because he hit a classmate, but Tim has to hold in his laugh. “Sorry,” he says, slightly strangled, “Danvers is, like, a notoriously massive dickhole.”
Jason stares at him for a beat. “He’s kind of popular, though.”
Tim shrugs again. “And I don’t have any friends but I’m objectively the funniest freshman in the building.” He grins to show he’s joking.
Jason snorts, but he looks less weirded out. “Who told you that, twerp?”
“It’s based on extensive observation, Watson,” says Tim. This remark conclusively cements Tim’s “Funniest Freshie” position due to Jason’s hobby as a sidekick to a man who is the real-life modern-day equivalent of Sherlock Holmes, if Sherlock Holmes dressed in an animal suit and beat up the criminals he out-thought. Devastatingly, due to Jason’s hobby being a secret Tim is not supposed to know, this evidence is inadmissible in Social Interaction Court.
Jason snorts again. “Right, nerd. But seriously, did you get run over by a car?”
Tim curses Jason’s hobby; of course Tim wouldn’t be able to distract Robin from the admittedly gruesome injuries he’s sporting. Tim shakes his head. “Nah, it isn’t that serious.”
Jason scrutinizes him. “I dunno, you’re banged up pretty good, dude. Did your dad do that?”
Tim almost chokes. “Wh- what?”
“Did your dad do that?” Jason repeats earnestly, “Because you should tell the nurse if he did.”
“No!” Tim sputters, “He’s not even in the country!”
Jason doesn’t look satisfied and Tim is cursing himself for giving away that much information already. Jason’s bluntness is just… shocking. Tim is prepared for subtle insinuations, supercilious glances, and mocking implications. He is not ready for a blunt, concerned question. Nobody Tim knows would ask things like that.
Jason isn’t from Bristol, though, Tim reminds himself, and Jason sees stuff like that all the time as Robin, so it’s probably normal for him to ask something like that. “Okay, so, like, your governess? Your mom?” says Jason, still looking disturbed, “Someone clearly beat you up, my guy.”
“No, no, no,” says Tim, and then he pauses, “Sorry, did you just say ‘governess’? What are you, Victorian?”
“Shut up, dude. I mean your nanny or whatever you Bristol freaks call it. Jesus.” Jason flushes. “Stop distracting me! What happened to you?”
“I got beat up,” Tim says, buying time.
“Yeah, I know,” says Jason, still red-faced, “Who did it is what I’m asking.”
Tim wracks his brains frantically. He needs something that will satisfy both Jason and Robin, because if Robin takes an interest in him, then so will Batman, and then Tim’s carefully constructed tower of lies and fraud will come tumbling down around his ears and his parents will go to jail for one million years. “Brett,” his mouth says, before he can think about it.
Fuck. This is going to complicate things. He sighs and commits. “Danvers. Brett Danvers beat me up.”
“Oh.” Jason slumps back against the wall. “That explains a lot. He definitely deserved that punch, then.”
“Probably,” Tim mutters, mind already racing. Getting Jason off his back? Check. Plausible cover story? Check. Corroborated cover story? Not checked. Zero checks.
Tim's to-do list just got a lot longer.
~~~
Jason chats to Tim while the nurse disinfects and wraps his wound, only leaving when an office lady ducks back in and fetches him because he’s being picked up. Jason shoots Tim a rueful smile. “Off to get lectured,” he says lightly, “Nice to meet you, dude. Hope your nose heals up nice.”
Tim waves goodbye and continues to cool his heels in the nurse’s office for another forty minutes until Lollipop Lady sticks her head in the door. “I got through to Mrs. Drake,” she says to the nurse, “She told me she was aware of the injuries and they were being taken care of. She wants him back in class.”
The nurse sighs. “Alright, off you go then, Mr. Drake. I recommend visiting your doctor again for those fingers, though. I can tell that middle one is broken.”
“Oh, weird,” says Tim sunnily as he gathers his stuff once more, “It doesn’t even hurt, really.”
This is a total lie, it definitely does, but ‘mild finger pain’ is a better excuse for not having gone to the doctor. Tim wanders out into the halls. It’s the beginning of the lunch period, so Tim has about half an hour before he can catnap in statistics. Hm.
If Tim were a tenth-grade bully who is also a moron, where would he be?
~~~
Tim pushes open the door of the third-floor boy’s bathroom and is immediately met with the smell of lavender cleaning products valiantly and futilely attempting to mask the smell of teenage B.O. and old urine. Good ol’ Gotham Academy.
Inside the tiled room, Brett Danvers is leaning against a stall door, looking on while his perpetual companion, John Parsons, looms over a blond boy Tim vaguely recognizes. Tim is pleased to note the growing bruise spreading across Danver’s cheek. “-better give it to us,” Parsons is saying threateningly.
“Oh, hey guys,” Tim says, “What’s up?”
Danvers, still slouched against the stall door, sneers. “Find another bathroom, dweeb.”
“Can’t, sorry,” says Tim, injecting as much sweetness as he can into his voice, “I was actually looking for you guys? I need to ask something real quick.”
Parsons is glaring at Tim now, which is better than glaring at the blond who Tim is worried is about to pee himself, but is not epic because Parsons is 5’ 8” and kind of beefy. Tim sighs. “Look, just- how much lunch money are you shaking him down for?” Tim gestures at the blond.
Parsons blinks at him. Danvers answers instead. “Twenty bucks."
Moron, Tim thinks, but he fishes a twenty from his wallet. “Boom. There you go. Twenty dollars. Now can you let him go so I can talk to you guys?”
Parsons is still blinking at him, clearly suspicious, but Danvers grabs the twenty from Tim (rude) and gestures for Parsons to let the blond go. The blond hightails it out of the bathroom, stumbling in his haste to exit. “Okay,” says Danvers, “What the hell do you want?”
“I know you guys are dating,” says Tim.
Danvers stumbles back, and Parsons immediately steps in front of him, hands balled up in fists. “No we’re not,” he says fiercely, “Who told you that?”
Tim sighs. Blackmailing isn’t really that fun, but it’s extremely effective and Tim is short on time. “As cliche as it is, I saw you guys kissing behind the bleachers back in the fall. You guys are not that sneaky.”
“Fuck,” says Danvers emphatically, “Fuck. Look, Drake, you can’t tell my dad, okay? Please don’t tell my dad.”
He’s clutching onto the back of Parsons’ jacket kind of pathetically. Tim raises his hands placatingly. “Listen guys, ideally, I take this secret to my grave. I don’t really care personally, but I can promise you the entirety of Gotham Academy will know, along with associated parents-slash-guardians, unless you guys do something for me.”
Parsons looks properly freaked out now, but he puffs out his chest. “Yeah? What do you want? Dweeb,” he adds as an afterthought.
“If anyone asks, say you beat me up.”
“Huh?”
Tim gestures at his face. “I need a good explanation for these, so I need you guys to pretend you beat me up if anyone asks.”
Parsons’ mouth opens a little and he looks sad. “Aw, kid…”
Tim rolls his eyes. Parsons is just as dumb as Danvers; Tim is literally blackmailing the guy and he’s getting distracted by a (not real!) sob story. “Oh my God, my dad didn’t beat me up, for Christ’s sake. I was just doing something I shouldn’t have and need cover, okay? I’m not gonna sue or anything.”
“And you won’t tell anyone about us?” checks Danvers from over Parson’s shoulder.
“Nope. Not a soul,” promises Tim. He pauses. “Although…”
Parsons and Danvers both stiffen. “What?” Danvers demands.
Tim considers. Whatever. Go for broke. “Stop picking on Jason Todd. And he never punched you.”
“What, is he your dweeb boyfriend?” Danvers says mockingly. Tim can hear the sneer in his voice.
Tim raises an eyebrow and looks the two up and down, letting the silence stretch. “...Fine,” Danvers mutters when Parsons nudges him, “We’ll leave Jason Trash alone.”
Jesus. These freaks need better insults. They can’t even rhyme.
“And he never punched you,” Tim says firmly, “Right?”
Parsons nudges Danvers again. “Fine!” Danvers scowls. “Even though it really hurt.”
“Sweet,” says Tim, relieved, “You guys beat me up, Jason didn’t beat Brett up, nobody will be beating anyone up going forward. Fantastic.”
“And you don’t tell anyone about us,” cuts in Parsons quickly.
“Scouts honor.” Tim salutes as he backs out of the bathroom. “Nice doing business with you guys! Have a good one.”
Back in the hallway, Tim adjusts his uniform. Blackmail can get a little gross, but in his defense he wouldn’t have spread that particular story around if they’d refused to back up his story. Probably. He’s pretty sure a moral philosopher would still have some serious ethical reservations about what he’s just done, but Tim is a) efficient and b) has a lot bigger priorities.
Plus, now he has an alibi and Danvers will leave Jason alone, so that's a pretty big bang for Tim’s proverbial buck.