Work Text:
Jason's not really paying attention to the poker game laid out on the fold out table. There's a pair of tens facedown on the laminate in front of him, and a gold watch weighing down the stack of rumpled cash that's making up the prize pot. He's pretty sure it doesn't belong to anyone at this table, but as far as crimes go, petty theft isn't enough to get Jason out of bed in the morning anymore.
He's not even usually one to play poker. Rick had bullied him into it; something about subordinate morale. Jason had caved and let himself be dealt in to the table of five.
The guy to Jason's right, a new one, necks his beer and takes a swig, moaning gratefully. "Great pull, Rick. These really hit the spot after tonight."
Rick, one of Jason's more trusted middle men, smirks and considers his cards carefully. "Been busy?"
"Been a week, that's for sure."
"Run into any trouble tonight?" Rick asks, and throws in a twenty.
Terry, the new guy, snorts. Jason's not sure where they picked up this one, but his numbers have been a bit thinned since the Batman busted a warehouse and handed over a team of his men to the GCPD. He'll take the new blood where it comes.
"Yeah, I fucked up that little red bird guy," Terry says with a grin.
Beside him, Rick's own smile falls, and Jason feels something like electricity under his tongue. It tastes like battery acid.
"Red bird guy?" Jason repeats. The entire table goes quiet, a few of the goons shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
Terry hasn't clued into the sudden drop in temperature at the table. He shuffles his cards and counts out a few notes for a raise. "Yeah, fucked him up real good."
Jason pushes his cards to one side, and swears he sees Rick swallow. "Which red bird guy?"
Jason had been very explicit about not hurting children. Admittedly, he hasn't given his whole credo speech to Terry yet, but he'd hoped Rick would at least tell him the basics.
He wonders what state Damian is in. Wonders exactly how fucked up "fucked up" is in Terry's book. Wonders if he needs to wring a last known location out of this dumbass and drop a private line to Barbara to get the kid some urgent medical attention. Wonders if he ought to tell Terry to get his affairs in order before Talia does it for him.
Terry has the gall to roll his eyes. "The bird guy. Short. Dark hair."
"How old," Jason grinds out, and Terry seems to wake up to the fact that the entire table is frozen.
He glances around, paling a little. "I don't know, man. I can't tell with those masks. A teenager?"
Jason unholsters his gun and lays it on the table, finger curled around the trigger. Terry's breath sharpens audibly. "How old was the kid you 'fucked up'?"
Terry squirms. "I didn't fuck him up that badly. I was exaggerating. Just a few hits, a bloody lip at worst. Honest! A few bandaids and the kid will be good as new."
"Robin is Batman's ward," Jason says slowly, like he's talking to a child. Terry shrinks. "He's under Batman's protection. If one of us — any of us — crosses that line, it has repercussions for our entire operation."
Terry's brows tug together. "Robin? The little kid?"
Jason's stony silence must be answer in itself.
"I didn't touch Robin," Terry says, words tumbling out. "I got jumped by his other one. The Red Robin. The skinny one."
Jason feels a rush of surprise. It's fleeting, at Terry's next words.
"I got a lucky shot in, clocked him with an uppercut. Sent him reeling. Must have knocked him around, because he didn't take the next few punches half as well as the first."
Jason's on his feet without realising he's risen. Terry scoots back in his chair to put distance between them. As if Jason's bullet can't cross the distance.
"Was he conscious when you left him?"
"He was breathing," Terry says defensively. "I think."
Jason swallows down the immediate rage. "Where."
"Huh?"
"Where did you leave him?"
"Boss, he's a Bat. What does it matter where I left him? Let the Bats take care of their own."
Jason tilts the barrel of his gun down, and fires a splintering shot through the table. It whizzes past Terry's knee, sending him toppling backwards onto the concrete floor with a scream.
"Somebody tell me where this idiot was working tonight before I have to put the next one in his knee."
"Tricorner," Rick answers, expression tight. "Seventh and Main Street."
Jason holsters his gun and turns on his heel. "I'm going to clean up his mess before he brings the whole brood down on us. Someone teach this guy about the Bats before I get back and beat the message into him myself."
