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The first time it happened, Jason had only been Robin for a year. It was also about a month after Jason’s class had read their first Shakespeare play, so it was really just bad timing all around.
“Oh, you’re tiny. Why does Batman even let you out, you look like a strong wind would knock you over,” the henchman taunted Jason. If the situation had been any different, he would have punched the guy, but alas Jason was currently rather preoccupied with being strung up like a pinata and therefore not in any position to throw hands. He was still capable of glaring the man into submission. More or less.
The same henchmen laughed and gave Jason a push that sent him swinging. “Well, don’t sweat it, kid. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them,” he quoted, throwing himself into what he must have thought was a dramatic pose.
Jason frowned. “That’s not what that line means,” he said, silently debating whether it was smart to keep swinging and try to loosen the ropes that way or if that would only lead to motion sickness.
The henchman’s mouth dipped down in a frown. “What was that?”
Jason took a breath. “Greatness doesn’t refer to height, it’s—”
There was a loud crash, and glass splinters flew everywhere as Batman smashed through a window, taking out two of the three henchmen with his entrance. The third one was too busy gaping that he didn’t even manage to get up his fists in time before Bruce barreled into him, knocking him out cold with a single punch.
“Are you okay, Robin?” Bruce asked, voice low and Batman-y and Jason closed his mouth when he realized it was still hanging open. One year into being Robin and he still hadn’t quite gotten over how cool it was that he got to work with Batman.
“I’m fine, just a little tied up.” He wriggled in the bonds for emphasis and was rewarded with a twitch of the corner of Bruce’s mouth. Take that First Robin, Jason could do puns as well. He was so pleased with himself that he almost forgot that he’d been robbed of a chance to spread important Shakespeare wisdom. Almost.
—————
The second time it happened it was the Riddler of all people, which was incredibly discouraging since he prided himself on his vast knowledge and intelligence. It was too bad really that Jason wasn’t really in a position to say anything, seeing as he was gagged and — once again — tied up.
“Well, Batman,” the Riddler declared into the camera, positioned that it would perfectly capture the trussed up Robin in the background. “If you wish to save your companion from an untimely and painful death, you need only solve my riddle.” He waved his hand in a gesture that was probably supposed to look majestic but mostly just looked ridiculous. “Of course, that would require you to match my wits, which an imbecile like you is doubtlessly not capable of.”
He re-adjusted his hat and twirled his cane dramatically, then gave the camera another theatrical look. “Don’t blame yourself too much for your failure. After all, some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Unfortunately for you and your young sidekick here, none of this can be applied to you.”
Jason almost choked on his laugh. Okay, it was pretty obvious Riddler didn’t know what he was actually saying, but still—
The lights went out all at once just as Riddler was about to start on the next line of his monologue and he froze mid dramatic gesture to glare at the ceiling, like he could intimidate the fuse box into working again.
The fuse box was not intimidated, but at least he was already looking in the right direction when Bruce crashed through the ceiling and landed with a graceful swoosh of his cape. The Riddler was too startled to do anything but stare, right up until Bruce knocked him out.
While Bruce untied him once more, Jason mused that it was really strange that this exact thing had happened for a second time.
—————
The third time, Jason was tied up again, and this time there was very little hope that Batman would come to his rescue. He was kneeling on the cold stone floor of a warehouse, his hands tied behind his back and his helmet discarded off to the side somewhere.
Black Mask was looking down at him with a superior expression. “Hmm, I have to say I didn’t think you’d be quite so young, given all the trouble you’ve caused me,” he mused, and Jason didn’t even try to hide his smirk, flashing his bloody teeth at Roman.
“What can I say, I’m just really impressive,” he deadpanned, and Roman laughed.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he drawled. “All I see is a street rat who tried to climb out of its hole and reach for the stars.” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “You really should have known better, after all—” Jason could practically feel it coming. “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”
This time, Jason wasn’t gagged. “You know that’s just a dick joke, right?” he said, raising his eyebrow and Roman paused.
“What?”
Jason sighed dramatically, then with one fluid movement he got one foot underneath him and used the other one to sweep Roman’s legs out from under him. “It’s really obvious in context,” he mused as he raised up to his full height, the rope around his hands falling away as he resheathed the knife he’d used to cut it.
“Even more if you’ve ever actually seen the play,” he continued, twisting out of the way of one of the thugs that launched for him, kicking another in the chest. “Seriously, all actors point at their crotch while saying it.” Another kick sent two more thugs crashing into each other, leaving Jason the only one standing.
He walked over to the side where his helmet and gear had been carelessly discarded, and holstered his guns. He took one last glance at Black Mask, still sprawled out on the floor and clutching at his bad knee, and tisked. “Honestly, show some appreciation.” With that final declaration he fired his grapple and exited stage above.