Chapter Text
Robin is a brilliant star on the gloomy backdrop that is Gotham city. Tim has several pictures of Dick Grayson's Robin smiling beneath streetlights and soaring through the night as though he could actually fly, and they're all amateurish, fuzzy and occasionally out of focus. They get better as time goes by and as Tim gains a knack for this sort of thing. He learns about lighting and depth of field and aspect ratio and all sorts of other interesting things about a camera. Tim checks out books from the library and does his best research on the internet trying to learn all that he can about photography. Like his mother says, if he isn't the most well-informed, isn't the best, then what's the point of him? Tim prides himself on becoming– being the best Batman-Robin photographer that's out there. He's seen the papers, and even his attempts are better than the grainy excuses for photography that reporters like Vicki Vale use for their headlines.
Birdwatching, Tim muses to himself. The kind exclusive to Gotham.
Tim has way more than what one would consider "several" pictures of Jason Todd's Robin.
It's a drastic change. Tim was content with distant shots of Dick Grayson doing somersaults and kicking ass. With Jason Todd's Robin, Tim finds himself getting scraped up and bruised, desperately chasing the yellow cape across the rooftops. He becomes skilled at judging distances from the ground, if he can make certain jumps, where he can hide to take the best shots. He's no longer content with squinting in admiration at Robin's light from afar. Tim needs to bask in it, now.
For the first time, Tim knows wonder. He learns about adoration in Jason's smile, knows of idolization with every new scrap of news of the new Robin and his new takedowns.
What started the change? Was it when Tim first realized that it was no longer Dick Grayson in the suit? Was it when he first saw Jason Todd in the tabloids? Was it when he first saw Jason's Robin choke out a man with his thighs? Tim doesn't know, and he doesn't care anymore. All he needs is more of it. More of Robin, of Jason. Nights are spent chasing Robin's slight form through Gotham's haze, and days are spent thinking about how he should best follow Robin into the next night.
Birdstalking, Tim thinks, and then laughs internally. It's really not funny, no. No. But what is Jason laughing at in this photo? He'd like to laugh with him. Jason has a pretty laugh.
Tim is beginning to think that he may have a problem. He only starts to think this when the pictures of Robin are joined with pictures of Jason Todd.
Jason Todd volunteering at shelters. Jason Todd at the library. Jason Todd at the tailor's, Jason Todd waiting on the curb for Mister Pennyworth, Jason Todd applying lip balm, Jason Todd, Jason Todd.
Holy shit, Tim has a problem. Okay. Well. Cool. He acknowledges it, nods to himself, and deletes a photograph of Jason Todd examining his nails.
Tim soon regrets deleting that photo so hard that he starts shaking and literally tearing up. Wow. A problem was an understatement. There's something deeply wrong with him.
So Tim acknowledges this new fact about himself, thinks about the way that deleting that image made him feel, and then decides to pretend that he doesn't know that it's a problem.
Jason is just so good. Tim's never met anyone so good before. Robin is good, Jason is good, Tim is good just soaking up his goodness. He feels guilty being such an invasive creep when Jason is so good.
He takes to the rooftops when Batman and Robin do anyway. He needs more pictures to make up for that deleted one.
.
Tim invests in a new camera. A new laptop, with more storage for all of his pictures. He transforms one of the empty rooms in the basement into his personal darkroom, confident that no one but himself will ever enter it. No one remembers that room even exists. Tim barely did. It's perfect.
Setting up the darkroom is a pain. He wishes he was taller (like Robin), wishes he was stronger (like Robin), but he sucks it all up because Robin wouldn't cry over setting up light fixtures. Robin wouldn't complain over work that needs to be done. He smiles in the face of hardship, always ready to do good, be good, act in the name of good.
Jason Todd really is the perfect Robin.
No offense to Dick Grayson, of course. Tim adores the boy too, but it's Jason that makes Crime Alley warm up to both himself and Batman. It's Jason that is eager to lend a hand to the drug addicts, the prostitutes, and the street kids otherwise forgotten or left to die alone. Jason, who uses his free time to volunteer at whatever soup kitchens and distribution centers that he can. It's Jason, who is Crime Alley born and bred, making a real change where most thought nothing could be done. Jason, who donates every bit of his pocket money to charities and checks up on the kids that Batman rescues and feeds strays in the Alley and–
Well.
Tim really can't help himself.
Jason Todd teaches Tim about magic just by existing.
A crooked smile.
Snap.
Bloody fists.
Snap.
Curly hair, adrift in the breeze.
Snap.
They say never meet your heroes, and it must be doubly true for Tim, as when he actually gets to speak with Robin for the first time, he fucks up immediately by bursting into tears.
It's a late winter night. It's always late, obviously, when Robin is out and about. Snow has started to blanket Gotham city, which means crime is going up. It doesn't mean much, seeing as though crime is always on the upswing. It's Gotham. Tim has situated himself on a rooftop just across from a big drug bust in a decrepit little brick building. He's already taken some great shots tonight– there's Batman, of course, dramatically appearing from the shadows, and there's the twenty or so pictures he took of Robin kicking ass, all from various angles and in various poses.
It's a good night.
The only thing really putting a damper on Tim's mood is that the snow is coming down faster than he expected, and he's only in a thin hoodie and jeans. No gloves, no scarf, no anything. He's losing feeling in his fingers and holding his metal camera isn't helping.
Well, it's decently early in terms of Gotham nighttime, but Tim's already taken a bunch of pictures of Robin, so he's satisfied. He flicks through them absent-mindedly, a smile on his lips.
"Take any good pictures tonight?"
Tim jumps a foot in the air, whirling around with his hands up. Thank god his camera strap is also hung from his neck, because otherwise it would have been sent flying.
"Woah," says Robin, who is right there in front of him, a playful smile on his lips and his hands up in the universal "I'm harmless" pose. "Didn't mean to scare you. Y'alright there?"
It's Robin, it's Robin, it's Robin.
It's Jason.
It's winter now, and so Jason is wearing longer sleeves and pants, and there's thicker gloves on his hands. His signature yellow cape is drawn up tight around his neck, like a scarf. Fluffy snowflakes are sticking to his dark hair, and so he looks more magical than ever. It's an incredible sight. Tim already has pictures of the outfit, but seeing it all up close makes him suddenly feel super grateful to be alive.
Tim can be cool. He has to be cool. This is the first time they've been face to face. The first time that Jason has ever properly looked his way.
I'm more than okay, he tries to say. He knows his manners, knows how to be polite. His mother and father made sure of it. He can make a good first impression on Robin. How are you? Hello. I'm Tim. It's so nice to meet you. Thank you for protecting Gotham. Can I have an autograph? A selfie?
Tim doesn't say any of those things.
"Bweh," Tim blurts, and then immediately into tears.
"Oh, fuck," Robin says, and steps closer. At the sudden proximity of his hero, Tim just starts crying harder. Jason smells like sweat and leather and blood and it's fantastic, he's fantastic. "Are you hurt? Is something wrong? Is that why you're out so late? Don't worry, I can take care of it. Shit, please don't cry."
Tim desperately tries to wipe at his tears and will them to stop, but they just keep coming. He can't believe he just burst into tears in front of Jason. What a horrible first impression– now Jason won't ever think he's cool, he'll just be the weirdo kid that starts bawling for no reason at all at the sight of him.
"I'm f-fine," Tim sobs, and even he knows that he doesn't sound convincing in the slightest. "I'm okay, thank you. …And, and how are you? How are you tonight?"
The words are watery and barely make sense. He wants to die. Even with the domino mask hiding most of Jason's expression, Tim can tell that he's being shot with an incredulous look. He feels his face heat up. God, he's such a loser.
"I'm doing fine, save for the fact that I'm a little worried about this kid I just met," Robin says. Tim can't even say anything anymore. He's too busy trying to stop the tears, but they just keep coming. Oh god, Jason probably thinks he's being abused or something.
It's silent for a moment. Tim ducks his head so he doesn't have to see the look on Jason's face, but he shoots right back up when something touches his cheek.
Robin is holding a white handkerchief, of all things, to his face. "Here. Sorry for touching you without your permission, but I think you should take this."
Tim feels like he's under some sort of trance as he slowly reaches up and takes Robin's– Robin's! handkerchief. It smells like freshly laundered clothes. Likely the work of Mister Pennyworth. Judging from what Tim knows about Jason, the boy would never carry something like this around without being prompted to.
"...I can't get snot all over Robin's handkerchief," Tim mutters, eyes wide. Robin smirks at him, and Tim feels like several arrows just struck him in the heart.
"Better than blood. Go ahead and keep it if you're that worried."
"I– I didn't–"
"Relax, kid. It's all yours," Robin chuckles. "I've got more. Comes with the territory."
All yours. All yours. The words bounce around Tim's head, and he nods. He can't waste the handkerchief on his embarrassing tears. It's Jason's. Jason's handkerchief.
Miraculously, the tears stop. If they hadn't, Tim might have flung himself from the rooftops.
What brand of laundry detergent was used on this? Tim had to immediately research it when he got home. He tucks it reverently into his pocket instead of using it to wipe his face.
"Actually, take this too. Hands out, kid."
Tim puts his hands out at the command and Robin drops a heat pack procured from his tool belt into them. "Squish it around and it'll warm you right up," Robin says, and Tim does just that. He begins to feel hot right away, and it's not because of the pack.
When Tim finally gathers the courage to meet Robin's eyes, Robin is already examining him. Tim feels his face heat up again.
"C'mon, kid, you must be freezing out here. Let's go get some food in you. I know a place, my treat. May I?"
Tim blue screens when he realizes that Jason is offering him a hand. He takes it before he even processes what's happening.
…Jason's hand is bigger than his. The realization warms him right up. He'll never be cold again, he thinks.
Robin leads him to the fire escape, escorting Tim down the stairs. Tim has lost basic control over his limbs and thoughts and everything really, because Jason is holding his hand.
"There's a diner nearby that does great food and is open late," Robin explains to him, talking to Tim in what he knows as Robin's talking-to-a-victim voice. Tim knows this diner, of course. He's seen Robin drop in so many times, either with Batman or Nightwing and on one memorable occasion, both. On some nights the owner, a middle-aged dark haired woman with a limp, leaves leftover slices of pie out in the alley just outside on aluminum tins. The slices of pie go fast, of course. Tim can picture a young Jason Todd waiting in the darkness for a free slice of cherry pie to tide him over to whenever his next meal may be. "You can calm down over a good meal."
A small bell rings their arrival inside, and Robin plucks two menus off the hostess stand, Tim fretting behind him. They take their seats in a booth with a good view of both the entrance and the backdoor. Luckily, the diner is empty save for the single waitress, who looks rather occupied with her newspaper's sudoku. She must be used to seeing Robin by now, used to seeing him do whatever he wants.
Tim can't look directly at Robin. His eyes flick over to the menu, then the window, then the tables in the distance. He knows that it's a waste to not soak in Robin's presence properly when he's right there, but Tim really can't handle him up close! He's too– too Robin-y! It's not safe to stare at him without the camera shielding Tim from his lovely face!
A snort.
"I don't bite, kiddo."
Tim swallows so loudly he swears people in Europe can hear it. "I– I know."
"Got a name?"
Tim opens his mouth. Shuts it firmly.
"A kid full of secrets, I see," Robin continues, a teasing note clear in his voice. "Fine by me."
"Not a kid," Tim mutters, and then flushes all the way up to his ears. Robin laughs.
"Looks like it from here to me," he says. "Too skinny. Way too skinny."
Tim's head shoots up in protest, but he is barreled over immediately by the force of Jason's little smile.
"There, you finally looked at me. Done crying?"
"...What is even happening right now?" Tim asks aloud. He sounds as frantic as he feels. This entire night feels like a fever dream.
"Well, we're at a diner getting food because it's cold and you're like, tiny. I already know what I wanna eat. Do you?"
Tim's brain starts back up again at the question, eager to latch onto some kind of topic to keep him afloat so he doesn't like, evaporate at the sheer force of Jason's presence.
He knows that Jason doesn't order the pie from here because it reminds him of his days on the street. He knows that Jason gets a glass of orange juice, no pulp, and a stack of pancakes as his usual order, but on days like this, when it's cold, he gets–
"One hot chocolate and the eggs benny, please. With a soft yolk. Please and thank you," Robin tells the waitress. The waitress looks exhausted, but happy to be serving Robin. Tim didn't even notice her approach. "And whatever the kid wants. Thanks, Tammi."
The waitress' nametag does indeed say Tammi. Tim is charmed by the way Robin calls her by name, but he's charmed by everything Jason does, so, whatever. And he wants to repeat that he's not a kid, but instead he clears his throat. "Orange juice and pancakes, please and thank you," Tim says, because he can't help himself. Then he realizes that might sound suspicious or stalkery of him, even if it was all coincidental (which it isn't,) so Tim adds, "and hashbrowns, too. Please."
"Sure thing, honey," Tammi says, and strolls away, humming along to the soft music playing in the diner. And that's when Tim realizes that he won't be able to finish the food he's ordered. He barely remembers to eat on a regular basis.
"Hungry, huh? You eaten recently?"
And here the interrogation starts. It's gentle, all things considered, but Tim really doesn't want Robin to know why he's really out here tonight. Nor does he want Robin to worry, or god forbid, look into his life or follow him home.
Tim nods, because saying something could give him away. Or make him burst into tears again, who's to say.
"You don't talk? You just go bweh?"
"I– ngh," Tim begins, not knowing how to deal with Robin's teasing. "Ngh!" His chest aches with everything he's feeling– indignant, shy, flustered.
"Uh huh. So you can make other sounds," Jason laughs.
"Do you always make fun of the people you help?" Tim snaps, more embarrassed than anything else.
"Dunno. You in need of help?" The white lenses of his domino mask are bright.
"I'm not! I'm not like, a criminal either! So you don't need to interrogate me. And I'm not homeless either. Or abused. I'm fine," Tim blurts, before he can feel shame at yelling at his hero.
"Okay," Robin says, easily. Tim blinks.
"...Okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Robin continues, nodding his head. "Maybe I just wanted an excuse to get food on patrol."
It's so clearly placating that Tim bristles slightly. He doesn't want to be seen as a kid. He wants Robin to…
What does he want?
"Or maybe, maybe I saw a skinny kid alone in the cold in Gotham. Maybe I thought he needed a friend."
Breath leaves Tim's lungs in a rush.
"You're too small. You need to eat, dress warm, look after yourself. I know it's hard to do in Gotham, but I can't just stand by and not reach out to you if I can help it," Robin tells him, all earnest and good and Tim… Tim melts.
It's the first show of genuine concern that Tim's ever received in, well… Forever, maybe? And it's from one of the only people in the world that matters to him? His hero?
"This isn't an interrogation. This is just a meal. And if you're actually a criminal, or you're homeless or abused or whatever you said, I can help with that too. But food first. You literally looked like you'd blow away in the wind and snow, like some little birdie who fell outta the nest," Robin continues.
Tim feels all dazed and dreamy and woozy. His thoughts are slow and languid, but–
"...Aren't you the bird? Robin."
"Guilty," Robin laughs.
Thankfully, Tammi returns with their food, setting their respective meals down on the table in front of them. Tim is intimidated by the sheer size of the stack of pancakes, they're bigger than his head! Robin grins at him, conspiratorial and so, so beautiful.
"Awesome, right? The pancakes here are fuckin' incredible. So much butter. Dig in!"
Tim hesitates because these pancakes are scary, but Robin likes them, so… He cuts a small piece off with a fork and knife and takes a bite.
The pancakes are pillowy, rich and thick and smothered in syrup. Tim's eyes flutter closed at the sweetness. It's good. And it's good to know that Robin has been eating something this good.
"Yeah, knew you'd like it," Robin laughs. He's already shoved half of his eggs benedict in his mouth. Normally Tim would be appalled by the lack of manners, high society standards beaten into him by his mother, but since it's Robin, it's forgivable. And cute. "They use syrup from Canada, you know? Canada. Not the fake Aunt Jemima stuff or whatever it's called."
Tim can't say he can tell the difference, but then again, he hasn't had pancakes with syrup in many years. "It's delicious," Tim praises, and is rewarded with Robin's wide smile. It's even better than the pancakes.
They eat in comfortable silence for a while. It's good to know they can share a tranquil moment together. Tim's never felt this happy. Ever. He should maybe try and strike up a conversation, but there's something so… comfy about a quiet moment in time shared with someone you truly admire.
He gets halfway through his pancakes and becomes very full when Robin strikes again.
"So, what the heck were you doing on the rooftops at midnight if you're not a criminal, or homeless, or abused?" Robin asks, and Tim knew he shouldn't have been distracted by Robin's windswept hair, or his smile. He wasn't out of the woods yet, clearly.
Rooftops, midnight. Okay. He thinks he knows what Robin is worried about.
"I'm not suicidal," Tim says. "I… just like nighttime photography." That should be fine, right?
"Oh?"
He needs to throw Jason off the scent. Tim wasn't someone that he needed to worry about. If he found out about the stalking, the pictures… Tim wouldn't even want to know what would happen. He couldn't bear to think that Jason might think him a creep.
"Yeah." Tim pushes his hashbrowns and pancakes around on the plate. "'S my hobby. I like, um. Skylines."
"Skylines."
"Yeah, skylines," Tim repeats. "Something to get me out of the house, yeah?"
"Oh?"
Uh oh. Abort mission.
"Something to get you out of the house even though it's midnight and snowing? Why'd you want out so bad?"
Tim squirms a little. He can't, he absolutely cannot let Robin get anywhere near his house. Ever.
So, even if it breaks his heart to be firm with Robin…
"I can look after myself," Tim informs him, lifting his jaw. One look at Robin tells him that the boy is totally unimpressed. "It's none of your business."
"Right, that's why you're in a threadbare hoodie on a snowy night alone in Gotham city. On the rooftops, to boot, and holding a fancy camera in your fancy shoes. You're like the poster boy for getting jumped." Robin tells him. Tim frowns.
"I didn't check the weather," he tries.
"It's December."
"So?"
"Late December."
"I fail to see your point," Tim lies. Robin sighs, but the sound is warm, unlike the disappointed sighs of his parents, so Tim is fine with lying.
"Okay, fine. You don't have to tell me anything. But you know I'm not like, a cop, right?" Robin tries. "I'm not trying to put you in the system or something."
"Yes," Tim nods. "I know." Of course Tim knows.
"Good," Robin replies. He reaches into his tool belt and pulls out a scrap of paper. "Listen, I know I'm just a stranger in a mask, but if you go to this address, there's a doctor who keeps everything off the record there. If you ever need free care, or need to get into contact with me for any reason, she can help. I promise."
Tim takes the paper and immediately recognizes the address of a certain clinic with a certain Leslie that the Bats favor. Tim feels something ooey gooey in his chest. It could be that the snow in Jason's hair has melted and has therefore made his hair damp, which means it's curlier than ever, and the mere sight of it made Tim's organs gently explode or something.
"Stop pushing the food around, by the way. You need to finish it," Robin gently chides him. "Actually, you should have gotten some fruit or something too!"
"I'm full," Tim protests. He can practically see Robin make a mental note of 'malnutrition' over his head. He's not malnourished! He's just small for his age. But he'll get bigger. One day.
Robin makes a face and opens his mouth like he has something else to say about this, but it snaps shut as he lifts a hand. Tim watches the communicator in his ear blink red.
"...Yeah? Yeah, I just… Got it. On my way, B. Be there in five, max." Robin says, and Tim feels his face fall. Ah. He's got to go help Batman. He's got to leave now.
No, no. Tim can't be selfish. Robin needs to go be a hero. Tim straightens in his seat.
With a single tap of his fingers, Robin cuts the communication. He shoots Tim an apologetic smile.
"Duty calls," Robin says, procuring a twenty from what seems like nowhere and slapping it onto the table.
Tim nods eagerly. "Yes. You can go. Thank you for the meal." He tries not to look disappointed. It was still the greatest moment of his life, sitting across from Jason.
"Tammi, can we get a takeout box for the kid? Please?" Robin calls.
"Oh, no, that's not necessary, I…"
"Shh, birdie," Robin waves him away, and Tim is so stunned at the new nickname that all thought stops once again. "You barely ate half. And I'm paying, so you gotta take it. Because I said so."
In a daze, Tim accepts the takeout and walks outside with Robin, who whirls on him instantly.
"Listen, there's something big going down at the docks, so I can't take you home, but I expect you to head straight there. The snow will only get worse, and I can't have a little birdie freeze out on the streets. Got it?"
Birdie. Birdie. Birdie.
"Got it? Did you need me to call you a cab, or…?"
"N-no! I'm fine! I'll go home right now! It's close by! So close!" Tim protests, fidgeting in place.
The lenses of Robin's mask narrow.
"Seriously! I'm fine! Go stop crime!" Forty-five minutes wasn't too far. "Thank you, Robin."
Robin stares at him for a long moment before taking out his grappling hook. "Better not see you out again this late, birdie," he warns. Tim laughs nervously.
"Bye, Robin. Be safe," Tim breathes. He carefully doesn't agree with Robin, because he doesn't really want to lie.
"Don't worry," Robin says, cheerful as ever. Are those dimples on his face? Tim can feel his brain leaking out of his ears. "Robin is magic. I'll be just fine. Don't get jumped on your way home!"
And with that, Jason grapples back onto the rooftops, bounding from the awnings and the fire escapes like he was made of air.
Tim stares up at him and sees the picture so clearly in his mind's eye. There is Jason, as seen from below. Miraculously, the smog has somewhat cleared, revealing a blanket of stars. His cape is fluttering, his gaze is set on the distant horizon, face lit with the streetlights.
He lifts his camera.
.
Tim doesn’t sleep. He spends the night staring at the heat pack, and the handkerchief, and the picture he took, replaying Robin's all yours in his head all night long.
Ah…
He should have asked for a selfie.
.
There's a gala, because there's always a gala. This time, the excuse for Gotham's filthy rich is the upcoming new year, and for once, Tim's excited to go.
Rumor has it that Bruce Wayne is bringing both Dick Grayson and Jason Todd to this one. The rumor has him spending days agonizing over what tie to wear, what cufflinks, what shoes, and so on and so forth. Of course, the handkerchief is coming with him. Tim takes it everywhere he goes now, just to run a hand over the fabric. It's losing the soft, comforting scent that came with it, and Tim is systematically going through as much laundry detergent as he can in order to find the right brand.
He's practically vibrating in the car as he and his parents make the drive over to the venue.
"Don't embarrass us, Timothy. You are a Drake. Act in a manner befitting one of your station," Janet warns. Even his parents are here for the first time in months, though they'll be gone again in two days. Tim barely notices the lack of their presence anymore. It's normal. And he's fine, so long as Jason is there. "Don't slouch, and look attentive. Chin up."
"Yes, mother," Tim replies absent-mindedly. They walk into the gala, and immediately Tim looks around to see if he can spot the Waynes. He carefully examines the room, and–
And there Jason Todd stands in the golden light of the gala. As expected, he looks incredible in a tuxedo, and as Tim drinks in the sight of him, the room seems to fall away. He's fussing over his bow tie, clearly unimpressed with its existence. Tim doesn't know why he has the sudden urge to slink over to him. Yes, like some sort of creature. Slink and crawl and slither over to him and just… watch him from up close.
Tim could totally fix his bow tie for Jason. Tim should go and help him. And Jason might give him a thankful look, or maybe he'd snarl and say that he could do it himself, but at least his eyes would be on Tim again, even for a moment–
"Don't be so obvious about staring, Timothy, it's unbecoming," his mother orders. Tim drops his gaze.
At least he can pretend to be staring for the reason everyone else is. It's the first time that both Dick Grayson and Jason Todd are at a gala together, and all eyes are on them. How do they interact? Who's Bruce's favorite? More importantly, who's getting the company?
Nonsense like that is whispered all around, but nowhere that Brucie Wayne and his boys can hear. Or at least, that's what they think. Tim can see Bruce hone in on those who titter loudly about Dick or Jason's origins, knowing that an uncomfortable conversation is in their future.
Tim wishes that they didn't have to arrive fashionably late so that he could have witnessed Jason walk into the gala for the first time. He must have looked wonderful gliding into the room.
For a moment Jason and Dick talk. It's a short conversation, and it ends with Jason rolling his eyes and waving him away, but they're both smiling. Tim is happy to see it. The two don't always see eye to eye, but when they do, it gives him a warm, fuzzy feeling.
Dick is whisked away by eager women and their daughters, who are, coincidentally, all around his age and are regrettably single. Bruce is busy terrorizing the ignorant with his feigned playboy image, he won't want to toss Jason in the ring with him.
So Jason moves to stand alone against a wall, eating one of those little sandwich pinwheel things. He looks decidedly unimpressed, but when a waiter approaches him with more, he takes two.
Tim swallows.
"I'm going to. Jason," Tim declares, eloquent as ever. Janet pats him absent-mindedly on the shoulder.
"Yes, making friends with the newest Wayne boy would be good for us," she says. Tim knows she's already forgotten him by the time she turns to the waiter for another glass of champagne, so he lifts his chin and robotically walks over to Jason. He doesn't want to make it too obvious that the boy is his destination lest he flee like with the others that tried to approach him, so he accepts a deviled egg from a waiter and takes the most roundabout way to Jason's side.
Jason doesn't notice when Tim strides up next to him and leans on the wall. Tim nibbles on the deviled egg, watching Jason out of the corner of his eye.
Music swells and falls, and with it, Tim's rapidly pounding heart. God. Jason's side profile was good looking, too. Tim can tell that Bruce Wayne probably took Jason to a talented tailor and got everything done custom made.
"Any good?"
Tim blinks.
"Sorry?"
"Your, uh, egg. Any good? These sandwich roll things aren’t great, but I'm hungry." Jason asks. Oh. Oh dear. Jason started a conversation. Jason Todd is talking to him, looking at him. Tim doesn't know what to do with his hands, his expression, where to look.
"It's fi-ne," Tim whispers, trying to ignore the way his voice cracked on the last word. "It's a normal deviled egg."
"Huh. Never had one before," Jason says. Jason doesn't point out the voice crack either, thank everything good and holy. "What's it taste like, just a boiled egg with some fancy name?"
Tim stares down at the half-eaten egg, grateful to past-him for somehow choosing a finger food that would prompt this conversation. "Um. No, it's got mustard, and mayo, and sea salt, and other things I bet. I don't actually know."
Why didn't Tim know? He should know. He should be ready to answer Jason's questions at all times, regardless of the topic. When he gets home, he needs to do research on everything and anything that Jason could be possibly interested in, starting with the eggs.
"I'll see if I can catch whoever's passing 'em out," Jason says, and pushes off the wall to leave. Wait, no, wait–
"You can have mine," Tim offers, and then blushes because why would Jason even want a deviled egg that Tim already started eating? What's wrong with him? "I, I mean. If you want. I already took a bite, but…"
Tim trails off, struck dumb by Jason's glance his way.
"Naw, thanks. You gotta finish that. You're a pipsqueak," Jason says, and then polishes off his pinwheel sandwiches. He tilts his head to one side as he examines Tim, and Tim feels his face heat. A lock of hair falls into Jason's eyes. He doesn't bother to brush it away. Tim has to fight very hard to not reach out and do it for him. "Get a sandwich, they're bigger. Or like, one of those little hot dog things."
With a slight nod, Jason walks back into the bustling crowd, either pretending to ignore that all eyes are back on him or genuinely unaware.
Ah, Tim didn't even get to introduce himself.
He traces Jason's path with his eyes, watches him approach the waiter with the deviled eggs.
Jason pops an egg in his mouth and licks the yolk filling off of his thumb. God, Tim hates himself. He should have brought his camera. Why didn't he bring his camera? He needed to take a picture and label it 'Jason's first deviled egg.'
Well, it doesn't seem like he hated the experience. Tim watches Jason chew and swallow, like a weirdo.
When the waiter does another round, Jason takes two eggs.
Tim pops the remainder of his own deviled egg into his mouth and tries not to sigh around it. Although he didn't get any yolk on his fingers, he licks them clean anyway.
.
The room next to Tim's dark room is a storage room. While he has pictures of Jason all over the house (his room, beneath the floorboards, in a locked box, a hidden compartment in his dresser, a framed one on his desk. It's the one he took on the night that Jason took Jim to that diner,) this storage room has essentially become what he's calling his Robin room.
It's a room without a lock on it, which may seem stupid (and it probably is), but Tim knows that if his parents see a lock on a door they haven't opened in years, they'll open it without a care. It doesn't matter that they're never home. Tim is paranoid in many ways.
The Robin room is covered, floor to ceiling, in pictures of Jason Todd's Robin. They're all labeled with dates and activities on the back, and so if Tim is ever curious about what Robin is doing in a certain image (even though he thinks that he's memorized them all by now) he'll just carefully peel it away from the wall and read the backside.
No pictures of regular, day-to-day Jason Todd here. If anyone finds this room, it'd be less creepy if they found it as a shrine to Robin rather than one to Jason Todd. God forbid his parents actually get caught doing something illegal and they search his house and find this and discover Robin's secret identity in one fell swoop.
There's nothing else in this room but the pictures. Not even a window. Tim drags in a bean bag, but for some reason it makes the whole thing creepier. So he buys a DIY bookshelf online and assembles it in the Robin room with the intention of using it to store his many albums of Robin. That makes it kind of creepier somehow, too. It's fine. No one will ever know about it, and it's not like Tim is planning on using these pictures for anything other than to stare at them. God knows that Tim barely has the courage to even speak with him, what with all the squeaking and weird sounds and voice cracking.
However… Tim's become less satisfied with that as time goes by. Of course, he doesn't want to scare Jason, or blackmail him using his identity, or anything! He would never want to harm him, or stress him out, but… Tim really, really just wants to be his friend.
"How can I get Jason to want me too?" Tim asks aloud. No one answers. Good, he'd be frightened if someone did, because his parents are in Spain and they fired his nanny long ago.
There's a whiteboard in one of the rooms for whatever reason, Tim doesn't remember. But it serves his purposes just fine now, and he rolls it into the Robin picture room, which sounds much less creepy than his Robin shrine.
Tim drags a chair over and stands on the seat, plucking a dry erase marker from the lip at the bottom of the board. Uncapping it, Tim writes at the top in big red letters;
How Can I Get Jason To Like Me?
It was more than a bit daunting to write 'want me too' so Tim doesn't. Tim should start with being liked first. And then being wanted should naturally come after.
Jason is headstrong, gallant, forthright. His manner of speaking was crass at times, sure, but beneath it all he was sincere and caring and just plain wonderful. Tim taps the marker against his lips.
How to catch the eye of someone like that? Tim was barely socialized. He had no friends at school, when he bothered to attend his classes. He rarely spoke. Did Tim have to change his entire personality in order to please Jason? He'd do it, but it would be difficult.
What did Jason say when they met, again? Tim frowns before writing something down.
Stop being small?
They've only spoken twice, and yet each time Tim was called small, and skinny, and a kid. It seems like he'll have to grow up fast to catch Jason's eye. But how much weight should he put on? How much milk did he have to drink in order to become tall? Actually, how tall does Jason want him to be? As big as Bruce Wayne, maybe? But his parents aren't that tall either, so it could be impossible for him. Heels? Those slip-in insoles for shoes? Well, first Tim should try getting taller naturally first. Maybe Tim couldn't change his personality right away, but he could eat. Even if he didn't want to sometimes.
What else could Tim personally do for Jason, right at this moment? What does Tim have that he can give?
Ah.
Money.
So, spoil Jason with anything he wants? Maybe.
Jason clearly hates rich people, even now that he's technically one himself. He knows that if he showed up with a bunch of expensive gifts that Jason would likely reject them. But Tim really, really really wanted to buy Jason nice things. Nice things that Jason would like to keep and hold onto and cherish. Books and clothes and anything really, anything his heart desires. Tim has the money for it. He has more than enough money to support the two of them.
So Tim writes spoil him on the board in big letters too. And then a bigger question mark right after, because he's still not sure if he could do that and have Jason enjoy being spoiled.
Oh, Tim could also help out with Robin activities! He knows that he probably couldn't help kick butt or anything, but Tim was smart and small and has taken pictures of many a suspicious warehouse or drug bust. He jots down potential informant next to his previous points with a smile, but it quickly fades when he realizes that Batman probably wouldn't take too kindly to an anonymous informant appearing out of the blue with critical information. And then the next thing you know Batman is searching his house and seeing this room and oh no…
So Tim puts an even bigger question mark next to informant and rocks back and forth on his heels. He suddenly realizes that the path to being liked is vast and daunting and long, with no end in sight.
Donate to charities of Jason's preference? Help out in the community? Start reading some of Jason's favorite stories? Use his wealth as a Drake in order to help Crime Alley? Continue to learn more about deviled eggs? Every little plan he has, no matter how insignificant they seem, is written on the board. Tim stares up at it and knows that it may not be enough, but he has to try. He just wants to be a part of Jason's life. He'll put it all into motion soon. Soon. He'll grow a little bit more first, and maybe try to eat more, and then Tim will do his best.
.
Tim thinks about buying a plane ticket to Ethiopia in order to document Jason's reunion with his mother, but that'd be going too far, wouldn't it?
He had to keep the stalking to Jason only. And Batman too. But mostly Jason. Wouldn't it be a super big invasion of privacy if Tim stalked his birth mother too? Knowing that Jason would be out of Gotham for a short period of time was enough. Tim would have to tide himself over somehow, but it would all be okay.
Jason should have that moment alone.
.
.
..
…
Tim doesn't think he'll regret anything more in his life than not following Jason to Ethiopia.
.
"I'll keep you alive," Tim tells the photo-covered wall. Robin smiles back down at him.
"I'll keep you alive," Tim tells the tombstone. He spends a day sitting in front of Jason's grave, red flowers in his lap.
"I'll keep you alive," Tim mutters to himself, raising a hand to knock on Dick Grayson's door.
"I'll keep you alive," Tim says, putting on Robin's costume for the first time and feeling like a clown.
"I'll keep you alive," Tim whispers, staring up at Jason's portrait in Wayne Manor, hours after Bruce had properly acknowledged him as Robin for the first time.
"I'll–"
Tim pauses.
For the first time since– since Jason, Tim looks in the mirror and meets his own eyes. He's wearing Robin's colors and Robin's mask but he doesn't feel like Robin. He's taller now, too. And even though he's tried to put on weight for both Bruce's training and for Jason's sake, he's still slender.
When Tim takes off his mask, he barely recognizes the stranger beneath it.
There are bags under his eyes. Last week, Stephanie broke up with him. It was surprisingly amicable, and short, and his heart was never in it, which was unfair to Stephanie, but it did sting a little when she accused him of never even wanting her in the first place.
(It was true, and Tim is still sorry about it. He likes Stephanie, but only as a friend, and assumed feelings might naturally blossom if they started dating. Too bad he was still mourning a dead boy that never even knew his name. Too bad his heart only ever beat for Jason Todd. Too bad that Tim was probably never going to move on over something that never even happened.)
Tim pokes at the bruises on his skin and they're all purple and blue and red, red, red. Everything was red. He could live in that color. He does live in that color.
Jason was no longer here, but his ghost hung over everything and everyone. Tim relishes it. He sees Jason in every shade of red, every street child, every good deed. He wants to be haunted by him. He wants this, at least. Just a visit from his ghost from time to time would tide him over to the next day. There wasn't anything else left for Tim but ghosts and memories and pictures of red, red Robins.
He wasn't Bruce Wayne, who'd lost a son. Or Alfred Pennyworth, who'd lost a grandson. Or Dick Grayson, who'd lost a brother. And yet Tim still sleeps in a pile of Jason's photos every single day, still clutches a handkerchief to his heart. He should really give some of these pictures to the Bats. They deserve to see them, and besides, they now know that Tim used to follow them around with a camera. Of course, they don't know the true extent of what he did during his nighttime activities, but something possessive and bitter in him refuses to give up these photos, even if it was only a few of them. They had Jason's love. All Tim had was this. He was pathetic, but…
This, at least. Tim always thinks. Let me have this, if nothing else.
"Am I good yet?" Tim asks the mirror. "Am I worthy of Robin?"
His reflection doesn't reply.
.
"Soooo, your birthday's coming up," Dick says one day, over a nice breakfast at Wayne Manor. They know that Tim tries to eat breakfast even though he frequently misses other meals, but they don't know that it's only for the chance that they might have pancakes or perhaps even eggs benedict that day.
Today's breakfast is a French omelette with cut up fruits on the side.
Tim doesn't respond. He doesn't realize that he's being spoken to at first, but when Stephanie nudges him with her elbow Tim straightens up in his chair. "Oh! Yes. It sure is."
"I'm going to be upfront with you," Dick begins, and uh oh. "I have no idea what to get you for your birthday. Can you give me some ideas?" Oh, phew. But also, uh oh.
"...I don't really. Want things," Tim tells the room. He refuses to look at anyone, especially not the empty chair that everyone knows used to be Jason's.
"Rich boy here impossible to buy things for," Stephanie teases, like they're all in on a joke that Tim doesn't know about.
"You don't want, like, a video game?" Dick tries. "Is there a new console out? I'll buy it for you." Stephanie rolls her eyes.
"You know he can buy those things himself?" Stephanie retorts, waving her fork at him. Dick pouts.
"Of course I know, but isn't it the thought that counts? Come on, Tim. Help us out here. Should we go on a trip or something? I know you like nighttime photography, how about a new camera?"
"He hasn't been taking many pictures as of late," Bruce says, and Tim tries not to sweat. That was probably just his general observation talking and not. Him knowing about Tim's problem. Okay, well, time to change the subject.
"All I've ever wanted was just one thing," Tim begins, and then stops.
"Yes?" Dick prompts, looking so hopeful that Tim immediately feels bad. He pushes around the food on his plate in an attempt to stall so he doesn't blurt out that he's always wanted Jason in any way that he can have him. Good thing he didn't say any of that out loud to Dick, who probably already thinks he's crazy. Dick, I've always wanted Jason Todd to look my way. No, he barely knew I existed, but I've dedicated so much of myself to him that I think I wouldn't even exist without him. Yes, that Jason. You know, your little brother? Who happens to be dead? Whom you feel very guilty about not saving? Did I tell you about my thousands upon thousands of pictures of him too? What about the dark room I built just for the pictures of him? Or the other room in my basement that is literally covered, wall to ceiling, in his photos? Or the literal plan I made to seduce him somehow?
"...A birthday with everyone I care for present," Tim says instead, and silently endures the awws and the pity projected his way. It's pathetic enough that Bruce mercifully changes the subject.
Tim thinks he's celebrated Jason's birthday more than his own, funnily enough. Last year on his birthday he forgot it was even his birthday, and only remembered because he briefly booted up Animal Crossing to pass the time. On Jason's birthday he bought a small chocolate cake and ate it by himself. Tim did entertain the thought of showing up at Wayne Manor and just… dropping off a gift for Jason and saying that it was from the Drakes as a whole but that might raise more questions, so a day spent alone in the Robin room it was.
Accuse Tim of anything, but never accuse him of being well adjusted. Or normal.
On his birthday, Tim treats himself to a gift of his own. He slips into the library and cracks open Jason's well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice with something like trepidation. A few weeks back, he spotted the copy on the shelves here and was surprised that it wasn't in Jason's room, but it worked for his current plans.
Tim… tries to enjoy reading fictional stories. Really, he does. Ever since Jason, (ever since, ever since,) he's been trying to get into some of the books he knows that Jason loved. But Tim's more of a numbers guy, and if he's reading anything they're cases, so it's difficult. Less so when he reads a story and tries to imagine what Jason would like about it, but it's still difficult.
Even as Tim bears the mantle of a dead boy he finds it presumptuous to assume anything about what Jason would like.
Tim skips the preface and settles in to read the first chapter.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
It was very easy to digest the story when Tim thought about how all the creases and well-worn pages were Jason's doing.
He doesn't even get halfway through the story when he's summoned for breakfast. Tim debates the merits of leaving the book in the library, and decides to just leave it there for now. He'll come pick it up later. Besides, he was somehow becoming increasingly invested in Elizabeth and Darcy's relationship.
Alfred makes an intimidating tower of fluffy, golden brown pancakes. Tim pours what Stephanie calls a metric-fuckton of Canadian maple syrup on top and digs in.
.
Crime Alley never accepts Tim the way it did Jason, no matter what he does. It doesn't sting the way that Bruce's sadness does, doesn't sting the way that Jason's closed-door mausoleum of a room does. In fact, its rejection of him buoys him to work even harder– Tim sees Jason in every scowl and bruise and dark corner and can't help but love Crime Alley the way he loves–
Is it love?
Tim doesn't know. He doesn't really have a good grasp on what love looks like. As he spends his free time perusing the stories that Jason loved, he gets the feeling that his idea of love doesn't really match the kind of love seen in typical romance novels. It was mostly… soft. There's really no other word for it.
And although the thought of Jason makes Tim realize that all of those sappy lines make sense, he wouldn't necessarily consider his affection soft. Jane Austen was cruel in the sense that Tim would read a particular line and sigh and then wonder if Jason would have read that same line and sigh along and then suddenly Tim would despise the author with a frightening chill that shocked even himself.
Truly there was something deeply wrong with him.
"You try so hard for Crime Alley," Stephanie says, like an accusation. It's not, they both know it isn't, but it comes out that way. And the two of them are good friends, but Tim can hear the unspoken rich boy accusation like a bottomless divide between them. "Not that I'm saying you shouldn't, but…"
She trails off, clearly not knowing how to punctuate whatever point she's trying to make. Even she knows what sits between them, even when she doesn't truly know.
Tim Drake is not Jason Todd. He will not be accepted by Crime Alley as Robin, as anything but a hang-on that replaced one of their own.
"It's an unrequited love," Tim tells her, one of the only honest things he's said in a very long time.
It's love, it's love, it's love. Even if it isn't soft.
When Batman can hardly stand to be in Crime Alley for more than a few minutes at a time, when Nightwing only enters Crime Alley to sit by Jason's favorite gargoyle… Tim will do his very best to stand by Crime Alley.
.
There's an Arkham breakout. It takes everyone's combined efforts to suppress the latest Scarecrow scare, and Tim spends his days with nothing but the taste of coffee and iron on his tongue.
Nightwing relocates back to the Manor for a good while which is all fine and good until Tim realizes that Dick showing up everyday to fetch him from Drake Manor is a terrifying prospect, so he stays in the room Alfred assigned to him at the Waynes.
He misses the Robin room and feels its absence in his life like a missing limb, but the giant portrait of Jason hanging in one of the rooms makes up for the ache just slightly. It's much better than Dick inviting himself inside his house like that one time, and it took Tim literally pushing the man outside to get him to leave.
Thankfully, both Dick and Bruce just assumed that it was because Tim was embarrassed to have his house be seen because it was so empty and he was an embarrassing teenager. They said nothing more on the subject when Tim started staying in his designated guest room, probably grateful that they didn't have to go fetch him for missions and that he was always on standby.
It's a slow few days, and then Tim gets hit by fear gas.
Tim… doesn't remember any of it, actually. He didn't even think he'd be that affected by the gas in the first place, seeing as though he was already living through his worst nightmare.
Realistically, he knows that's not exactly how fear gas works. Perhaps Tim should be grateful that he doesn't remember seeing Jason dying alone or hearing Jason condemn him or seeing Jason frightened of him because he's a freak.
Tim only becomes afraid when he's suddenly aware of his body again and Nightwing is there, a frown on his lips. They're in the Batcave, and Tim is hooked up to IVs. Something is off.
"...Batman?" Tim tries. His mouth is dry.
"Dealing with putting Scarecrow back in Arkham," Dick says, peeling the mask away from his face. "The situation is under control."
"Oh. That's good," Tim says.
"We were surprised," Dick continues. "Most people become incapacitated when they're hit with fear gas for the first time. When you took the hit for B, we were ready for things to go south."
Tim slowly sits up on the cot. Something was off about Dick's expression.
Did he. Did he say something when he was hit by fear gas?
Just yesterday Dick was hit and they had to pull out of the field because he wouldn't stop screaming. It was an awful, heartbreaking sound, the kind of sound you hear from broken people experiencing the worst sorts of tragedy… Like losing a loved one. A brother.
As Tim and Alfred hurried to create a new antidote, Dick just kept screaming Jason's name over and over, even when his voice broke and shattered into disjointed sounds. Even now, Tim can still hear the evidence of the hours-long screaming in Dick's voice.
So what exactly did Tim say on fear gas?
Okay, he wasn't in like, handcuffs or anything, but Dick's attitude was throwing him off.
"No one expected you to keep fighting," Dick explains, rubbing at the red mark left on his face. "Not even Scarecrow. That brief moment of confusion got him real good. He was gloating about taking you down and you just launched yourself at him. It was pretty impressive, actually!"
Oh?
Dick chuckles to try and lighten the mood, but he just ends up coughing up a lung. Alfred appears as if from nowhere, because that man truly is magic, and hands Dick a warm mug.
"Thanks, Alfie."
"Yes, of course. And it is good to see you awake, Master Timothy. We were all very worried for you."
…What the hell did Tim say on fear gas?
He spends a few moments trying to follow the breathing exercises that Alfred taught him once before he tunes back in to whatever Dick is saying.
"...You were quiet on fear gas," Dick says, uncharacteristically morose. "I have never, ever seen anyone that quiet when hit… Not to mention how angry you seemed… Tim, what did you see? You were shaking all over! Is, is everything alright at home? At school?"
Tim wants to pump a fist in the air, but that would probably give him away. Oh thank god, Tim didn't say anything alluding to his obsession with Jason Todd. They were only worried he was so quiet because no one else acted the same way that he did.
I probably saw Jason, Tim doesn't say. But I usually do anyway.
When Tim consists more of coffee than water, he sees him. When Tim starts seeing dark shapes out of the corner of his eye because he hasn't slept in days, he sees him.
Even now.
Just over Dick's shoulder sits that glass case housing Robin's costume.
A good soldier.
"I'm okay," Tim tries, and then tries to look appropriately flustered when Dick shoots him a disbelieving look. "No, seriously. I don't even remember anything. I wouldn't even have known that I was hit by fear gas if you didn't tell me."
"...Is it your parents?" Dick tries. Tim makes a face.
"Dick, seriously. I'm okay. When I say I don't remember what I saw, I seriously don't remember."
"...Okay, but if you do, you can tell me," Dick tries.
"Well, can you maybe tell me how I apparently got the jump on Scarecrow? I'm kinda disappointed that I don't remember it," Tim tells him.
That brightens up Dick's expression, which is a huge relief.
Tim really is disappointed. Not because they finally threw Scarecrow back in Arkham, of course, no no. He is disappointed because this time, the Joker didn't break out.
He recalls the time where Batman tried to kill the Joker and it didn't take, all because of Superman. Then he recalls the time that Dick did kill the Joker and it didn't take, all because of Batman.
Tim wants to be good. He is good, all because Jason is good.
Killing his killer would make him even better, no? The Bats don't exactly know it, but Tim spends a lot of his time thinking about ways he could kill the Joker.
He should have bought that plane ticket. It clearly wasn't going to be creepy if it saved Jason's life. Or if Tim did a little more research on Jason's mother, wouldn't that be better for everyone? He should have known, he should have been able to warn Jason, stop him from ever leaving.
Tim spends half of his time hating himself and the other half wallowing in a well of depression so deep he only remembers to pull himself out of it by staring into his Robin room.
Jason's cheerful grin in the pictures makes him realize that Tim has to be the one to put the Joker in the ground. It's the least he could do for the boy he devoted his life to. Batman can't kill the Joker, Batman is a symbol, a mythos. And Nightwing can't do it either– if the murder of Joker tore apart the already complex relationship between Batman and his first Robin, then that would just spell trouble for Gotham city.
So, Tim will do it.
Never mind that he will take great satisfaction from getting rid of that monster.
Of course, he can't do it in the Robin colors. Or maybe he should? Poetic justice, and all that.
No, no. Tim couldn't desecrate Jason's Robin like that. So Robin couldn't kill the Joker, but Tim Drake was another story.
Tim spends a lot of time watching the cameras in Arkham when he sits in the Robin room on his laptop. And he watches the cameras on the street just outside. And the ones surrounding that street. He finds them inefficient and terrible, so he installs new ones when he can. All over Gotham. It's inevitable that the Joker will break out, and so really this is for the greater good. If he sets up the cameras in the spots where Jason used to frequently patrol too, that's his business.
He'll watch and wait. He's good at that.
The Joker would stumble into his sights one day. And when he did… Well.
.
A new player has entered Gotham.
He doesn't seem like your ordinary, run-of-the-mill criminal either. Especially considering the duffle bag full of heads and the fact that he immediately took control of Crime Alley, something that was once thought an impossible feat.
If that wasn't enough, his mere existence seems to set Bruce on edge, and it's really no wonder why.
"He calls himself the Red Hood," Bruce tells him, pulling up a file on the Batcomputer. "We aren't too sure if he's actually affiliated with the Joker as of yet, but there's no way he would choose that name out of pure coincidence."
Tim feels a righteous anger build in his chest at the name. It dies near instantaneously when Bruce pulls up a grainy, low quality image of a man in a red helmet.
…Huh?
"This is the best image Oracle could get of him. He's been avoiding most of the cameras, but he stopped in front of this one briefly. We're aware that the Red Hood probably knows where they are, which either speaks to a familiarity with Gotham, training in spotting hidden cameras, or both," Bruce explains, but Tim is not listening, not listening at all. What is happening? Why is…? "He's made a name for himself in Crime Alley despite the fact that he's only been there for a short period of time. At least, we think he's only been there for a short period of time. He may have been hiding and waiting for an opportune moment to make his debut. We're still trying to figure out what his goal is, here. Control of Crime Alley can't be everything."
Huh? Huh???
Tim has spent way too long behind a camera and following a certain bird across the rooftops to even consider what he was considering right now.
"Bruce, could you maybe zoom in. Please?" Tim asks. If Bruce shoots him a look because he sounds like he's having an out of body experience, it's because he is.
Bruce zooms in on the image and Tim takes a step closer to the Batcomputer, hyper focused on all twenty pixels of what made up the man's image. Was he losing his mind? This guy didn't even look at all like Jason Todd, so… why was his heart clenching painfully in his chest? Intuition? Over what?
The man was much taller and much bulkier than Jason. Even in the low quality, Tim can tell that the man spent a lot of time training and staying in shape. A leather jacket over kevlar wasn't really common, but it worked for this guy. And Jason could have never become this tall, this fit. He knows that for most of his life, Jason wasn't eating well, and it had stunted his growth.
And Jason Todd was dead.
"...Are we checking out Crime Alley tonight to see if we can get a read on him?" He asks. He doesn't notice the way Bruce is watching him. All he can see is red.
"...Yes. Are you feeling up to the task, Tim? Tonight's a school night, so if you ever…"
"You know I want to drop out anyway," Tim mutters, taking an aborted step forward. Nothing about this man screamed Jason Todd. And yet…
"Tim?"
"Hold on just a second," Tim says. It sounds like the words are leaving his mouth from a great distance. "I. I need to head back to my house, I forgot something there. Hold on."
So Tim heads towards Drake Manor and bursts into his Robin room in record time, fumbling for his laptop.
Red Hood may have been able to avoid Oracle's network, but what about Tim's own?
He combs over all of the footage, and— There.
Almost two months ago, a man in a red helmet stepped into an alleyway. Tim exhales as he watches the man scare off a drunk with the flash of his gun.
How did he not notice this before? Tim needed to take better care and pay attention to more cameras, not just the ones around and inside of Arkham.
Tim takes a few deep breaths and stares up at the photo-covered ceiling. He wasn't good enough yet.
First, he'd figure out why this man reminded him so much of Jason Todd. Next, he'd…
Tim doesn't know anymore.
.
Tim literally doesn't know why everyone cares so much about the Red Hood nearly killing him.
He didn't die, so who cares? Do they even know how many people try to kill him on a daily basis? Also, even if he did die, Jason was well within his rights to kill him. Tim's life was already his, so…
More importantly, it's Jason! Jason Todd!? Robin! Are they all crazy?! Isn't Jason Todd coming back to life the most important thing here? How did that even happen? Who cares that he tried to kill Tim, he needs to stop running around and come back to Wayne Manor right now!
"You can be upset, Tim, I know he was your hero," Dick says.
"I'm not," Tim tells him. And you don't really know, he doesn't say.
"You don't need to worry," the Titans say.
"I'm not worried," Tim tells them.
"I'll take care of it," Bruce murmurs.
That's exactly what I'm worried about, Tim doesn't say.
Hello? Is everyone losing it? Jason could do whatever he wants to Tim, for all he cares. Tim would be upset if he woke up from the dead too and his killer got a slap on the wrist and if it looked like he got replaced within a day or something!
Tim had to find Jason and talk with him properly, explain to him that Bruce became borderline suicidal at his death, and how he'd give up Robin immediately if Jason asked. Jason was almost definitely trying to lure the Joker out. It was a real pity that in all this time, Tim didn't have the opportunity to get rid of his murderer before Jason returned. Things would probably go a lot smoother if he did. Did Jason need help? Tim could go help him!
…And then maybe he could ask for a selfie this time?
Look, Tim is well aware that he isn't exactly the poster boy for mental health, but all of his higher level thought processes went down when he realized that Jason Todd, his one and only, was alive.
Now on forced bed rest thanks to one very despondent Alfred, Tim spends his time rewatching the footage of Jason Todd beating the shit out of him. He does literally nothing else.
The lines of Jason's body are stunning even in low quality.
Tim watches himself get pummeled to the floor by one angry Jason Todd and squirms a little. It hurt, yes. Tim wasn't really a masochist, but he feels that it's a rather big shame that he wasn't able to savor the feeling of Jason's hands on him.
He watches Jason lift him by his shirt, unblinking. Ooh. Tim winces as he watches himself get thrown into a wall. But very nice form on Jason's part!
Oh, and here comes the best moment of the night.
The Red Hood lifts a blade to Tim's throat and–
Ooh.
Tim lifts a hand to his neck. If Jason really wanted him dead, he would be. It was a relatively shallow cut, but Tim was told that it would scar something fierce.
With trembling legs, Tim hauls himself out of his room in Wayne Manor and into the bathroom, where he stares at himself in the mirror. Despite knowing that Alfred would yell at him for hours for this, Tim peels off the thick bandage on his neck and stares.
The line on his neck is still an angry red, agitated by Tim carelessly ripping away what shielded it from the world.
Never in Tim's life has he ever wanted to take pictures of himself.
Group photos, sure. Family photos for the press. But there was no point in documenting himself. He knew what he looked like– scrawny, eternally tired, scarred up from fights that got too close for comfort, pale as a ghost. He wasn't the golden Dick Grayson, nor was he the ever gorgeous Jason Todd. He just was.
But now, with Jason's scars lining his throat, he can't help but want to reach for a camera.
Tim laughs a little as he prods the wound. He's spent so long watching the recovered footage of their fight that he knows it by heart, now, and even though the cameras didn't pick up what Jason was saying to him, he can hear it so clearly in his mind.
I was here first.
Show me, Tim. Show me what you have that I didn't.
You can't be that good.
Sure, the words did make his chest ache, but it's clear that Jason didn't have all the context. And maybe Tim had to fight back a little, but he was too busy being stunned at the fact that Jason was there in front of him to actually put up a proper fight or snark properly back. And besides, Jason also…
What? Pretty bird, gonna cry for Batman to save you? Go ahead and cry out. He won't come. He's never been on time.
Pretty bird, Tim thinks to himself. Pretty.
Why did Jason call him that? Was it something he wore, something he did with his hair? He needed to know, so he could replicate whatever it was that he did and hear it again. Even if it was a lie, even if it was a thoughtless tease, even if it was mocking. Pretty.
Tim wants to be pretty. If Jason thought him pretty, he shouldn't be wrong.
"Pretty bird," Tim repeats aloud. He traces the thin cut on his neck, admires it like a necklace.
"...I want Jason to want me too," Tim murmurs, thinking of that silly list he made. It could use some tweaking, sure. But in all that time that Jason was gone, Tim hadn't erased that list from the board.
Tim sighs. Hopefully, they'd corner Jason soon enough and they'd all sit down and have a proper conversation about this.
He realizes now that he would never be satisfied with just pining away. Before Jason's death, he had convinced himself that it was only right that Tim could only stare from afar. He wasn't worthy, not yet. When he thought Jason dead, Tim believed that nothing could ever sway his heart again.
With Jason alive now… How could Tim possibly keep his affections at bay?
He couldn't be overt about it, no. He didn't want to scare Jason away. But he couldn't stare from afar forever. Something was going to give. Something had likely already given, long ago. And Tim doesn't mean to be presumptuous, he's well aware that no one was worthy of Jason.
He just can't help himself. He can't live like this. They could surpass this whole misunderstanding, and then… Well, maybe they could start off as friends? He really, really still wants to be Jason's friend.
Tim can be pretty. He can be good, a bird, anything. He can be whatever Jason wants him to be. All he needs to do now is make sure that Jason knows it. It might take awhile, but isn't that true of most good things? If anything, Tim is good at waiting. He's patient. He can lie in wait for however long it takes for Jason to realize that he's being chased down, hunted, haunted.