Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd was aware of Tim Drake the way that most people were aware of their neighbors; they only really existed when in plain sight.

Before Talia just dumped the news of being replaced on his head, Tim Drake was just that. A neighbor. A very, very distant neighbor. Jason does recall seeing his pipsqueak-self at one of the galas that Bruce forced him to go to– the boy was very, very small, and had a bowl cut, of all the haircuts he could have. They talked about… eggs? Jason doesn't really remember. His memory was like soup sometimes.

Tim was never able to look Jason in the eyes. But he was able to take his place in record time, huh?

Black hair, blue eyes. Bruce really did have a problem.

Jason can't really help but hate him, at first. If it wasn't stealing Robin, it was being born into a filthy rich household. If it wasn't being born into a filthy rich household, it was being accepted into the hero community with ease. On and on Jason could go about how much he couldn't stand the sight of him– and speaking of the sight of him, what the hell was up with his face? First Dick Grayson and his whole existence, and now Tim Drake and his ingenue looking-ass? He got rid of the bowl cut and became an entirely different person! Jason really had to be the odd Robin out, huh. He'd even say that being good looking was a requirement for being a Bat if he wasn't included in the lineup once upon a time.

So anyway, Jason tries to put the fear of the Red Hood into Tim.

It's almost insulting how easy it is to break into Titans Tower and subdue the Titans. Confronting little Timmy Drake is even easier– the green seeps into his gaze and makes everything sharper, makes Jason move faster, hit harder, feel less pain.

The look on Tim's face as Jason beats the shit out of him is really confusing. Almost confusing enough for the green to recede slightly– there was not a single sliver of fear on his face, no anger, nothing but–

Actually, Jason has no idea what that emotion was. The Replacement's eyes were wide, but unafraid. They just darted over his face, his hands, everything. Searching for answers in a question that Jason hadn't even realized his presence was asking.

He still remembers how Tim breathed his name when they came face to face for the very first time as Robin and the Red Hood.

It's really you, Jason. I was waiting.

Waiting for what? To get his shit rocked? Jason highly doubts that.

It's doubt that keeps Jason on his toes. Doubt that has him flee from Titans Tower without confirming his kill. Doubt that has him handwashing Tim Drake's blood from his clothes.

Doubt that prevents him from believing that his family actually loves him. And honestly, he still doesn't think that they want him back at all! They just like the idea of him, the reckless boy that ran away to Ethiopia of all places only to get himself blown up.

Whatever. He'll kill the Joker himself if no one was going to do it. And maybe Jason doesn't actually get to kill the Joker, the time he manages to bust him out. Big fucking whoop. He'll get him next time.

The new Robin was bedridden, and that just put Batman and Nightwing on the warpath, preventing him from avenging himself. And maybe that prevention was less bloody than expected, and more… huggy.

It doesn't really stop Jason from waiting for the other shoe to drop, doesn't stop him from planning for the next time that Joker breaks out from the revolving doors of Arkham Asylum.

(Alfred's shaking hands as he touches Jason's face. The way Dick would perch outside his safe houses, his bedroom, as though terrified that Jason would disappear in the night.

…Bruce grasping his shoulders, a wild, desperate look in his eyes.

You are my son, goddammit! I love you! Even if you hate me, I'll always love you, and you won't stop me from loving you! You're a miracle, Jason. I'm sorry it took me so long to say it.)

Well. Jason's still halfway paranoid that Bruce is just waiting for him to put down his guard so he can throw his ass in Arkham.

He failed the last time the Joker was in front of him, but next time, he'll kill that motherfucker for sure. It might be the final nail in the coffin (ha!) and convince Bruce to put Jason in Arkham for good, but at least the Joker would be dead! He'll just pretend to lay low for now, play along with whatever happy family game they're trying to pull. It'd be best for everyone if they all let their guard down so Jason could continue his activities as the Red Hood.

Why were they so eager to pretend they were all just one big happy family anyway? It's not like the Bats missed him, considering how quickly he was replaced. Did they think that the power of love or whatever the hell it was would stop him from trying to help Gotham in the only way that the Red Hood could?

And he tried to kill the new addition to the family! What was up with that? Wasn't that unfair to Drake? Not that he cared about the Replacement's feelings, but…

Surprisingly it was Tim who felt the most strongly about him working with the Bats again, and it was surprising because he wasn't cursing his name and telling him to go fuck himself, he was actively trying to bring him back in. Ooh, Jason, Alfie sets out a second cup of tea for you whenever he takes a break for tea time. Ooh, Jason, why don't you come to the Batcave for a checkup, we all know you've taken a dip in the Lazarus Pit. Annoying. He wasn't, say, standing under Jason's window with a boombox trying to serenade him to live back at the Manor, but he was always… testing the boundaries. Edging closer. Talking to him like Jason didn't slit his throat. Acting fucking weird!

Despite knowing that he probably had good intentions (even if the endgame was something that Jason was trying to actively avoid)… It didn't really endear Tim to Jason in the slightest. In fact, the more eager Tim seems to see him, the more suspicious Jason gets. Sue him, he was a born and bred Gotham city citizen, and Tim's attentiveness and clever eyes are making his hackles rise. If he honestly didn't want to get even, then what the hell could he possibly want? Even that Brown chick would eye the two of them like she was ready to intervene if they came to blows.

And his behavior is really fucking weird. Did he mention that already?

It all starts on a dreary night like any other. Jason's taking a break from doing the rounds in Crime Alley by just hanging out by his favorite gargoyle, when a certain Robin seems to materialize out of nowhere at his side. And no, Jason definitely does not jump.

"Here," Tim says, handing him a manila folder. Jason takes it immediately before realizing that he probably shouldn't have and also, why the hell is Tim here and not on his patrol route? He knows full well that even though Bruce had that whole declaration of paternal love that was very embarrassing for everyone involved, it didn't necessarily mean that he trusted Jason anywhere near Tim. And who could really blame him? Jason couldn't trust himself around Tim, despite their… truce.

"Uh," he begins. "Little Birdie, are you aware you've fallen out of the nest? This is Crime Alley. The Bat won't like it if he finds out you're here and talking to the Big Bad Hood."

"Yes," Tim agrees, with a tone that makes Jason feel very stupid. "That's why I'm here, obviously. Because I knew you'd be here. Also, I'm not that little anymore. And did you seriously just call yourself the 'Big Bad Hood?'"

Jason gives him a once-over and draws a hand over Tim's head, which he's surprised that Tim doesn't flinch at. He drags the hand over to his chest as though to physically demonstrate that Tim was, indeed, littler than Jason. And anyway, wasn't Tim two… maybe three years younger than Jason? Time got fucky with him after the whole dying thing.

It's impressive that Jason can still tell that Tim is rolling his eyes behind the white lenses of his mask.

"Hood, you are six feet tall. Of course you're taller than me. Anyway, that's all I wanted to give you. See you later," Robin says, and flips off of the rooftop. Showoff.

Hood waits a beat before opening the folder, and what the fuck.

Seventeen enclosed pictures, all depicting a lower level grunt of his, whom he suspected to be selling his information to the Black Mask. And sure enough, there the man is talking to Sionis from seventeen different angles. In the last couple of photos, a man hands the grunt a briefcase, and when it's opened, Jason can clearly see the money sitting inside of it.

Son of a bitch.

It's only after Jason's done cracking a few heads when he realizes something. Why the hell did Timmy give him this, and how did he know about it at all?

The next time he sees Tim, he's going to interrogate him and demand why he thought he needed the handouts.

The next time he sees Tim, he's handed another folder. Jason's so thrown off by this sudden turn of events that he doesn't remember that he was determined to shake answers out of Tim until he's already gone.

The folder is filled with more pictures, this time of a drug operation taking place in a building he knows in Crime Alley, an operation that Jason had literally no idea about. How the hell did this escape his notice? Was it because he was too busy smoking out Sionis and his goons to notice?

So Jason goes and cracks more heads, ensuring that they realize that everything that goes down in his territory must be known to him. How dare they? He places more eyes and ears everywhere, unsatisfied with himself. He should have known before Tim did. And once again, how the hell did Tim know about this beforehand?

Now that Sionis isn't encroaching on his territory and there isn't a secret drug trade happening right under his nose, Jason patiently waits for Tim to reappear. And sure enough, a few days later, speak of the devil!

"Birdie," Jason begins, trying to remain civil, because although the pictures did help, he didn't necessarily appreciate how Tim just… dropped in and asserted himself, "although I do appreciate the information, I hate it when Bats and Birds step into my territory. Can you fuck off if you're just going to mysteriously drop off more pictures? I've been doing this longer than you have, and I don’t need– or want– your fucking hovering, and if I wanted help, I'd ask for it. Batman already does this shit enough, I don't need another pair of eyes on me."

Robin stares at him. Jason stares back.

"So you don't want these pictures incriminating a human trafficker trying to hide in Crime Alley?" Tim asks, waving another fucking folder around.

Jason loses the staring contest. "I didn't say that," he huffs, snatching the pictures out of the Pretender's hands. "Get out of my territory, birdie. Don't come back here again, unless you want another ass kicking."

Tim comes back, because he's an infuriating Bat who can't leave anything alone. And Jason doesn't kick his ass, because Tim does just give him useful things. More photographs concerning things regarding his recent cases, low level nobodies trying to dance around the fringes of his territory, proof of black market deals.

Was Tim looking down on him? He can look after Crime Alley without Tim's interference– and by the way, where does he find the time to go and take these pictures? Knowing Bruce, the Bats are probably swamped with their own cases. And doesn't Tim work at Wayne Enterprises or something?

If that was all of it, Jason wouldn't be so unsettled. One day Jason even comes home to two boxes of fucking??? Pizza??? On his table??? He's literally about to abandon this safehouse for good and wipe every account associated with this place when Tim fucking Drake walks out of his bathroom like it's normal and waves at him. There's a conspicuous bandage on his forehead.

"Hey, I was injured, and in the area, and didn't want to head to any of my safe houses because of how far they are, so I went to yours and used some of the stuff in your med kit," Tim says.

"Get the fuck out?" Jason tries, his gun already brandished in front of him. Tim doesn't even bother looking afraid, which is insulting. "How did you even– I don't think even Bruce knows about this place?"

"I bought pizza as a peace offering," Tim says, waving at the boxes on his table and making himself right at home on Jason's couch. He doesn't acknowledge the second part of Jason's sentence, which is kind of… Expected, of one of Bruce's little brood. "I can leave if you really want me to, but I'll take the pizza with me."

And goddamn him, but Jason hasn't eaten in a full day since he was dealing with Hood business. "...What kind of pizza?" Jason asks, because being raised by Batman made him lose common sense. Bribery with food was hardly bribery at all in Jason's eyes.

"One deluxe pizza, one meat lover's. They've both got cheese in the crust, and there's Sprite in the fridge," Tim tells him. Ooh, his favorites.

…How?

You know what, Jason doesn't care anymore. He grunts and goes to wash his hands and change his clothes.

By the time he emerges back into the living room with clean hands and fresh clothes, Tim has taken the Sprite from the fridge, plates and cups out of the cupboard, and turned on Jason's shitty TV to the Food Network. One of the only programs he watches. Jason decides not to care about this either because he hasn't eaten pizza in awhile.

The meal is oddly pleasant. Jason was bracing himself for a Dick Grayson-esque encounter where he'd yap all night long, but Tim only talks when appropriate, saying things like wonder if Alfred can make this and oh hey this place isn't too far from Gotham. Tim also doesn't overstay his welcome. He eats four slices of pizza and stays for two and a half episodes of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives before he fucks off to wherever Tims fuck off to. It wasn't a bad experience, especially since Tim left the pizza and Sprite behind, but how the hell did he find this place?

It gets weirder!

"Here," Tim says one evening, and then hands him a fucking gun. Did Jason fall into a parallel universe while grocery shopping without realizing it, or what? Also, why the hell was Robin talking to him when Jason wasn't wearing the Hood? "Busted some black market dealers on the East End, they had several crates of these babies. Thought you might like one– haven't seen this kind in your arsenal. I'm not too familiar with guns, so if this is secretly a shitty kind, sorry. I can get you a better one next time, if you want."

The image of Robin casually giving him a gun is so impossible that Jason can hardly believe his eyes. And the words he's saying– what was happening right now?

"Pretty bird, what the hell?"

Impossibly, Tim blushes, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Should I have gotten you two?" Tim asks, suddenly shy and as doll-like as his features might suggest. Jason's stunned for a few brief moments before he mentally slaps himself.

"No! You shouldn't have even gotten me the one!"

"Don't you like guns, though?" Tim replies, sounding genuinely confused for some reason. "I want to give you things, things that you like."

Fucking why?

"Bruce is going to kill you," Jason informs him, deciding to just ignore the last part of Tim's sentence. "Okay, not kill, but bench you. For months. Forever. Until the literal heat death of the universe. And Alfred's going to be so disappointed in you by proxy. How did you even slip this past Batman? What the fuck is the matter with you?"

Robin blinks up at him. "I won't tell if you don't."

So Jason heads back to one of his apartments. With a new gun. He sets it down on the kitchen counter, along with his groceries. Staring at the sleek metal of his new weapon next to the ground beef and lasagna noodles makes Jason feel like his life, which was already quite fucked up, mind you, has gone way off kilter.

"Why is he giving me things?" Jason demands, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Who's he?"

"Jesus fuck," Jason yelps, jumping a meter in the air. Dick, that fucker, is sitting on the couch in his safe house. Again. "Warn a guy, I could have shot you!"

"I knocked," Dick informs him, waving at the window that he clearly crawled into. "Okay, I say I knocked, but you weren't home, so I just let myself in. Your alarm systems were easy to disable, by the way."

Bruce's first son, ladies and gentlemen. Some days it really showed.

"You're also not holding a gun," Dick adds, because he's a dick.

"Get the hell out!"

"Hey, you were the one not answering your phone," Dick tells him, like the breaking and entering is all Jason's fault. He probably shouldn't be so appalled considering the fact that he literally kills people, but his tolerance for bullshit has decreased exponentially over time.

Jason picks up his freshly gifted gun and points it at Dick. He feels rather insulted when Dick just rolls his eyes. Okay, maybe he didn't even flick the safety off, but still.

"Can we skip the macho bullshit, Little Wing? I was just worried about you," Dick insists, strolling casually over to him and swinging an arm around his shoulders. Jason tries to shrug him off, but the octopus remains attached to him, so the gun is put down soon enough. "Anyway, who's giving you things? Do I need to give someone the shovel talk?"

Thank you, Dick, for volunteering yourself to listen to a rant that Jason was just keeping bubbled up inside of him for way too long. "Tim! It's Tim! I don't understand him at all! Is he like this to everyone?"

"Did you try and fight him again?" Dick asks delicately, and Jason has to briefly fight off a green haze before he can answer.

"No! Why the fuck would he be giving me things if I tried to kill him a second time? Why the fuck is he trying to give me things if I tried to kill him even once?!" Jason blurts.

"So what's he giving you to make you so antsy, Jay?" Dick inquires. He's still smiling that stupid grin of his, which Jason knows to mean that he's not taking this seriously at all.

"Pictures! Of Crime Alley! Like, shots of crimes and secretly held deals and– I don't get it!" Jason explodes, waving his hands around. "Does he think I'm incompetent or something? I can take care of Crime Alley all by myself. That's what I've been doing even before I died! I don't need his fucking interference! Does he want me to slit his throat again?"

"Yeah, Tim's a stalker," Dick says, cheerfully. "I thought you did your research on him, Jaybird. He followed us around on rooftops all the time, taking pictures. Alfred's framed a bunch in the Batcave."

Jason just looks at him.

"What?"

"I think he's just trying to be friends with you, Jay," Dick explains, which explains nothing at all. "Taking creep shots is how you know he's fond of you. Took B and I a while to get used to it, but now we know it's out of love."

He briefly frees Jason from his clutches to make a terrible heart with his hands, as though to punctuate his very concerning words.

"Bruce fucked us all up real bad with boundaries, huh?"

"Yeah, but our Timmy was a stalker before B," Dick tells him, like that's a normal thing to say. Granted, he's a Bat, so it's probably the equivalent of an ordinary civilian commenting on the weather. "If you're making lasagna, can I stay for dinner? You always add the right amount of cheese."

Jason picks up the lasagna noodles and whips the package at Dick's head. He catches them easily and places them gently down on the counter with a soft pat.

"Is that a no?"

"I said get out, Dickhead!" He rummages through his bags and lifts up a threatening can of beans. Dick flees out the window before Jason can throw anything else at him.

"What an asshole," Jason murmurs. Dick definitely did that on purpose– now Jason just has more questions than answers. Just what the hell did Tim get out of giving things to him? He didn't even get to tell Dick that he was given a gun either, which was his own doing, but whatever.

Being given things isn't the worst of it, actually.

Years of being hyper-vigilant on the streets as a homeless child and then as Robin and then as a poorly-adjusted, newly resurrected assassin gave Jason the innate ability to somehow feel whenever people were looking at him.

Jason doesn't even open his curtains on a normal day, but now he draws them tight. Soon after he'd returned to Gotham, he felt eyes on him wherever he went. At first he thought it was paranoia, but when he found the first camera, all he felt was vindication.

The feeling of eyes on him only ever fades when he enters his safehouses. It makes him… twitchy. The pit rage really, really doesn't like being watched.

There are new cameras all over Gotham, which makes sense seeing as though it's been years since Jason took to the streets as Robin. But what's odd to Jason is that they're A) everywhere and B) not connected to the Bats' network.

(It takes him a while to figure out that second bit, because he was too busy trying to get revenge. And when that fails, it takes him longer to scrounge up the courage to talk with Babs. She's always been better than him, though, so she greets him with open arms. Maybe he tears up a little when he sees her in that wheelchair. She'd never tell if he did, anyway.)

Okay, look. Jason has no evidence to prove it, but he's almost 100% certain that these cameras are all courtesy of Timothy Fucking Drake.

Jason's current working theory is that these cameras are the reason why Tim knew about all of the shit going down in Crime Alley. And Dick did say that Tim was a stalker, didn't he? Of course he would try and put up his own cameras. It unnerved Jason, but it made sense. There were probably new cameras all over Gotham outside of Crime Alley, too.

He considers setting up his own network, but that requires cash and resources– things he's tight on right now. Besides, although he's better than the average person when it comes to tech, it was never his strong suit. Reaching out to Talia for something like this would just be a waste.

When he learns where the cameras are and takes measures to avoid them, learning new patrol routes and ducking into the shadows, Jason can expect new cameras on the path he'd taken within a week or so. Sometimes within a day, which… How. How is Tim doing any of this? Jason never catches him setting any of the cameras up.

He takes careful note of what cameras are part of Babs' network because he literally shoots out every single suspicious new one that he sees, and he'd rather not have her chew him out for getting rid of hers.

Still, the cameras reappear.

Some of them he decides to leave alone, because it's just not worth it. But others he delicately packages up in a neat little bow and ships them off to the Manor in pieces, because he's an asshole.

Tim was definitely just waiting for Jason to let his guard down before he struck. Jokes on him, Jason hadn't relaxed since he died.

So he continues to waste ammo on some cameras. Some he dumps in the river. One time he's busy putting the fear of the Red Hood in a guy that tried assaulting one of the prostitutes under his protection, and then he notices yet another blinking camera out of the corner of his eyes.

It's one of Tim's. Jason is so sure.

Well, an opportunity's arisen, so why not have some fun?

Jason drags the guy by the hair closer to the camera, ignoring his pathetic begging and pleading. Was the streetlight good enough for this to be caught on film? Eh. Jason would probably find out soon enough. "Hey. Hey." Jason begins. "Ya listening to me? Got audio on this thing?"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry–"

"I aint fuckin' talkin' to you, bud," Jason snaps. The whimpering stops, thankfully. "We've got an eager audience. Say hi!"

The man does not say hi, on account of him being in tremendous amounts of pain. Jason shrugs. He wasn't the star of the show.

The Red Hood spreads his arms and gestures at the camera as though inviting whoever was watching to take a good look. "I know you're watching, Birdie. Can't get enough of it, huh? Ya nasty pervert. Keeping an eye on ol' Hood over here? Wanna watch me so bad you set this whole thing up? You'll make me blush!"

The safety of his gun goes off. The man on the ground tries to crawl away, but Hood plants a heavy boot into the center of his back and shifts his weight into it, digging his heel in. A low groan emerges from the man, and Jason can't help the smirk that crawls over his face. It felt good to mete out justice like this.

Tim better enjoy this one, that little freak.

"You should put on a good show for our voyeuristic friend here and start singing!" Jason tells the man, punctuating the end of his sentence by unloading a few bullets into his kneecaps. The man shrieks, seizing up and scraping at the floor with shaky hands. "Like a fuckin' canary, right Birdie? Does that do it for you? Huh?"

Jason flips the camera the bird, because he's immature. He takes great pleasure in shooting the camera once that's done, and the lens shatters, shards of glass falling to the ground.

Now, what to do with this pathetic thing crawling on the ground? Jason considers putting him out of his misery, but he was probably going to bleed out anyway. Good.

"Hope you can crawl real fast to someone stupid enough to patch you up," Jason snorts, and leaves the man he'd just kneecapped on the floor to bleed out.

Jason half expects Batman to be waiting in his safehouse to lecture him again because he wouldn't put it past little Timmy to be a little snitch, but it is blissfully Bird and Bat free. He does spend a good extra hour waiting for Batman to appear and lecture him, but he never comes.

The next day, when he emerges from his bedroom, he spots a single photograph taped to his window. He groans, checks his surroundings, disables the alarms, and then opens the window to reach out and snatch it from the pane.

Now, Jason doesn't know shit about photography, but even with his amateur eye he can tell that it isn't a bad photo.

It's a picture of him in full Red Hood regalia, from the night before. He's flipping the camera the bird, foot firmly planted on the back of that scumbag. In the fluorescent glow of the streetlamps, his helmet catches the light. Huh. He looks intimidating.

Jason's fingers catch on something on the back of the photo, and he turns it over to spot– a one hundred dollar gift card to the bookstore? What? He gently peels that off the picture, and then finds a small note written in red pen and elegant cursive.

Thanks for the show.

What the fuck.

Even the confirmation that Tim is the one setting up the cameras doesn't make Jason any less confused. What the fuck was up with Tim?

You know what was really sad? Jason didn't even care that he was being stalked, watched, and given things. He only cared that he didn't know why Tim was stalking him, watching him, and giving him shit. Dick said that it was Tim's way of showing someone that he liked them, but it didn't matter if he was relying on someone else's say-so. Honestly? It's all Bruce's fault for making all of his Robins like this.

Jason uses the gift card despite his confusion. Hey, it was free, and it was a hundred bucks. Why would he waste it?

Time passes just like this– strange gifts and photographs are given to Jason intermittently, but he can never tie Tim down to have a proper conversation with him. When he approaches Dick to ask about it, all he gets is some bullshit about how shy Tim was in person around his hero. Jason has no idea how to deal with these strange interactions, but they just keep happening, and even when he tries to corner Tim on patrol, the guy just flees like a bat out of hell.

Even Alfred is insistent on telling Jason that Tim is just shy. Does Alfred know that Tim is kind of a fucking voyeur? Jason seriously doubts it.

Why doesn't Tim just attack him already?

Of course, these dynamics all change when the demon brat is dropped off on Bruce's doorstep by his mother with absolutely zero warning. Jason gets a single text from Talia about it (look after one another. be safe.) and then proceeds to block every single one of the Bats' numbers– he doesn't want to deal with that shitshow.

.

The next time Tim reappears, he's in a completely new uniform, and that's when it hits him: the Bats definitely shoved Damian into the pixie boots.

"So the Replacement got replaced!" Jason greets cheerfully. Tonight's a slow night– he's taken to the rooftops to clean his guns and just listen to the noise of Gotham city. Even his helmet is off. Of course, the domino mask stays on, he's still technically on the clock.

"Hello to you too, Hood," Tim greets. He looks and sounds terrible, in all honesty. His usual perfect hair is in disarray, and he's paler than a ghost. Damian must be giving them all the runaround. Jason tuts at him.

"Surprised Agent A hasn't chased you down with honey lemon tea and his raised eyebrows," Jason says. Surprisingly, Tim sits down next to him, sprawling out like he's exhausted.

"He's too busy corralling B's evil spawn from hell," Tim says, and Jason snorts. Eyes dart over Jason's face, gaze as piercing as ever. "...So you knew him before."

"What's it to ya?" Jason asks, and carefully does not look at Tim as he nudges his near-full coffee cup over to him. Jason had an all-nighter the other night, and bought the coffee when he expected tonight to be just as awful as the last one, but it's been pretty quiet. He is not warming up to Tim. It's just that the coffee would go to waste if no one drank it, and Jason preferred tea anyway.

Tim takes the coffee and inhales deeply. Jason doesn't notice him rubbing a reverent thumb over the mouth of the coffee lid. He's too busy trying to memorize Tim's new outfit.

"You could have helped him integrate into the Manor," Tim tries. Jason snorts.

"Yeah right," he laughs, and gives Tim a very obvious once over. "Seems that he's integrated just fine."

That shuts Tim up. He takes a swig of the cold coffee.

"Might be some fucked up destiny stating that Robin can't be passed down normally," Jason continues, conversationally. "Even I didn't realize that I was taking Robin without Dick's permission 'til like, a year into the job. Explains why he fuckin' hates me."

That makes Tim's expression clear up slightly. "He doesn't hate you," Tim insists, putting down the coffee to put his hands on his hips. "Why would you ever think that he hates you?"

"Okay, my pride died long ago, I ain't need you to try and soothe it, Birdie," Jason says, rolling his eyes.

"No, I'm serious, Jason."

"Let's not get into this. Shut up and drink your coffee, nerd," Jason says. He's starting to see a little tinge of green in the corners of his vision.

"You have a very strange interpretation of what people think of you," Tim tells him.

"I said zip it, Birdie," he hisses. Mercifully, the bird finally shuts up. Jason takes a few deep breaths before he tries again. "So, you're not Robin anymore?

The words come out all wrong sounding, at least to Jason's ears. Robin will forever be a touchy subject.

"No. I'm Red Robin, now."

The words have an odd weight to them.

"...Like, the restaurant?" Jason tries. Tim levels him with an unimpressed stare. He doesn't fidget, not at all. Why in the hell were Tim's eyes so intense, all the fuckin' time? Jason hated making eye contact, but somehow Tim's gaze felt like a challenge. Like he was demanding Jason look at him, too.

"No, not like the restaurant. But yes, like the restaurant."

"...So which is it?" Jason asks, because he can't help but push the Replacement's buttons.

Tim just looks at him.

"Ah, whatever, I don't fuckin' care," Jason groans. He focuses on polishing his guns. "Shit originality, though, I gotta say. You just added a color onto your preexisting name."

"You're the one that took someone else's name," Tim huffs, and Jason's head shoots back up.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't be grumpy with me, you know that's not what I meant," Tim says, as Jason fights the urge to just toss him around like a ball. Grumpy? Hello? Jason was not grumpy! He was filled with murderous rage! How dare he try to reduce that to being just grumpy! "Before you get angry, you know Robin was never truly mine. And you did take the Joker's name, you can't deny that."

Jason takes a few more seconds to just try and calm down. Never truly his? Whatever, boy wonder. But he can't kill Tim right now, Arkham would suck ass. "It's," Jason begins, trying to stave off a headache, "poetic justice. Symbolic."

"So is Red Robin."

"Robin is already red," Jason rolls his eyes. "We were all walking, talking traffic lights."

"You were a very good looking traffic light," Tim tells him, like that isn't the most nonsensical compliment Jason has ever heard in his life. "You still are."

"Okay, did you just come here to say crazy shit, or what?"

The night is still fairly young. Tim must still technically be on patrol, right?

Instead of a verbal reply, Tim only shrugs. He takes another sip of coffee.

"What, no mysterious pictures today?" Jason snorts. "Feels like I'm Pavlov's dog, but with cases."

"I just wanted to see you. In person, because pictures don't always do you justice," Tim says, completely ignoring the way he's imploding Jason's mind. "Wanted to recharge."

"What."

"Yeah," Tim nods his head. "I feel better. Thanks."

So Tim– no, Red Robin, takes out his grapple and leaves without so much as a goodbye. He's taken the coffee, too.

Jason doesn't think that he'll ever understand him.

.

One morning Jason leaves his bedroom to find Alfred in his kitchen preparing breakfast, and that's when he realizes he's definitely fucked.

"...Hiya, Alfie."

Alfred turns his head to look at him. Over his shoulder, Jason spots pancakes cooking away on the stove. "Master Jason. Good morning."

"Not that it isn't great to see you," he begins, slipping into one of the stools at the kitchen counter, "but, uh…"

"Why am I here? Master Jason, Master Dick has been complaining for weeks about how you have blocked his cellphone number and are always running away from him," Alfred scolds him. "And so it has fallen to me to fetch you."

"Alfie–"

"These old bones are far too aged for a chase, Master Jason," Alfred continues, and Jason makes a face. Alfred wasn't old. "So, I have decided to instead bribe you."

That was the last thing Jason expected to leave Alfred's lips.

"Bribe me?"

"Indeed. You are a popular man, Master Jason. Highly sought after. How else am I meant to coerce you to return to the Manor for dinner tonight?" Alfred asks, and Jason winces.

"Alfred, please," Jason pleads, and if it sounds like begging then they're the only two around to hear it. "You know I can't do that…"

"Young Master Damian has been asking after you," Alfred informs him. Jason dodges his gaze by staring into his countertops. Wow. What a nice pattern. He's never noticed how nice that pattern was before. "Master Bruce and I had no idea that you two were even acquainted until he demanded to see you."

"Yeah, well… I guess we ran in the same circles when I was with the League of Assassins," Jason tries. It's futile. The countertops do not save him from Alfred's noncommittal hums. "We both knew Talia, after all, haha…"

"I suppose you did," Alfred agrees. He sounds just the right amount of neutral-disappointed to make Jason finally look up.

"Talia made me swear not to tell a soul about him until we were sure we could guarantee his safety," Jason confesses, because it's Alfred.

Alfred hums and Jason tries not to wince, instead focusing on the light sizzling of the pan.

"Here you are, Master Jason. My bribe. I do hope that it is tempting enough to accept."

He slides a plate of perfect, golden brown pancakes over to Jason. For a second, he just stares at them. They smell distinctly nostalgic.

"Fine, I'll accept your bribe. But only if you eat some with me," Jason grins.

"That is acceptable," Alfred replies, a small smile on his own face.

So Jason finds himself staring up at the Wayne Manor doors at 6 pm. Before he can even think about running away, Alfred opens the door, because he's psychic.

"Master Jason. Right on time," Alfred greets.

"Heya, Alfie," Jason replies, and something awesome-smelling wafts out of the house and hits Jason dead on with a wave of nostalgia. Even if Jason did end up fist fighting someone, at least he'd leave with a full tummy. "It smells incredible, by the way. What'd you make?"

Alfred leads him into the house at a steady pace and Jason tries not to stare at the familiar, opulent surroundings. The decor, the houseplants, the chandeliers… It's awful, in a way. Over there is where they measured Jason up against the doorframe, and over there is where he spilled tomato sauce over a priceless vase…

Too bad that that Jason died long ago.

"We are introducing Master Damian to all sorts of culinary fanfare. All vegetarian, of course, but there is an oxtail stew with your name on it." Jason can't help but be moved. He loves oxtail, and Alfie too. That's part of why he couldn't return to the Manor at first– Alfred could probably coerce him into stopping his revenge plan for a bowl of soup and Jason wouldn't hate it too much.

(Well. Alfred could try. But Jason's men are always circling Arkham's perimeter, watching, waiting.)

Jason walks into the dining hall and immediately turns on one heel when he sees who's there. Too bad Alfred's put a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from running the fuck away.

At the table sits that blonde girl he can't quite remember the name of, the Pretender, Dickhead Grayson, a certain Bat that he doesn't want to even acknowledge, and Damian. Damian, who has picked up Alfred's polished cutlery and is throwing it at Jason's head. He dodges it easily, a scowl forming on his lips.

"Damian!"

"Damian, stop!"

Jason doesn't know why they sound so appalled. It wasn't as though Damian was actually aiming to kill. The only thing that pissed him off was that–

"You little shit, what if you hit Alfred?" Jason demands, striding over to him to pull at his cheeks. Damian swats at his hands with a vicious fury that only true demon brats from hell were capable of.

"My aim is far superior than that! Clearly I was aiming for you, and not Pennyworth!" Damian snaps, and picks up one of the forks in an attempt to stab him with it. A round of gasps fills the air, and Jason rolls his eyes as he grabs his wrist and disarms him easily.

"Stop it already, you fucking brat!"

"Stay still and allow me to skewer you, Todd! You deserve it!" Damian shrieks.

"Damian, calm down," Bruce tries. Jason doesn't look at him, and sighs.

"Are you that mad that I didn't come to see you?" Jason asks, tone playful.

"I am not simply mad. I am furious! I… I was expecting to see you..."

Ah. Now Jason just feels a little guilty.

"Hey now, you could have come to see me too," Jason teases, because open, honest communication? What's that? "I should be the one that's hurt. Don't tell me that you couldn't find me, Damian. I know you're more than capable."

Damian makes a face, but at least he's less murder-y now. "...Every time I tried to leave by myself, either Father or Grayson or Drake prevented me from doing so."

"Dami, you're ten," Dick says, like that would ever placate the demon brat.

"I am far more accomplished than any other child my age. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, Todd, tell them!"

Damian looks up at him, and fuck, he looks so much like Bruce.

"Gotham's different from Nanda Parbat, pipsqueak," Jason tries to pacify. "They only want you to not get jumped, or shot, or mugged."

He throws himself into the empty seat in between Damian and Dick, clearly meant for him. It's directly across from Tim and in clear sight of Bruce. Fuck.

Damian scoffs, of course. "As if any lowlife goons would ever be able to lay a hand on me," he declares, not even realizing that he's begun to settle down.

"Maybe if you get through this dinner without trying to kill anyone, they'll let you come find me on your own," Jason tries, because he's always had a weak spot for this kid. He may be a little brat, but he was Jason's little brat.

"That does sound like a fine idea, Master Jason," Alfred agrees, returning to the dining hall with food in tow. Jason didn't even realize he'd stepped away to fetch the meals. "Does it not sound like a fine idea, Master Bruce?"

"...Fine," a voice says. Jason refuses to look in the direction that it came from.

The food is served. Because Alfred is literally the best, the oxtail stew is placed right in front of him, but there's a whole spread of dishes from all around the world. Vegetarian mapo tofu, som tam, pan con tomatillo, and more.

When Jason's distracted by piling his bowl high with oxtail and rice, Dick pounces.

"Yoink," Dick says, snatching his phone away and unblocking his number, dodging all of Jason's attempts to subdue him. Satisfied, he hands it back. Jason yanks it out of his hands with a furious scowl.

"Fuck you, Dickhead," he hisses.

Dick laughs, clearly unaffected by the insult. He's got a glow about him that's really difficult to look at. "Don't swear in front of the baby, Jay."

"He's heard worse."

"I am not a baby!"

Whatever. He'll play nice and eat fast and get out faster.

"Jason. We're glad you're here," a voice says, soft and sweet and Jason does not want to fucking hear it. The chair at the head of the table is empty for all he fucking cares. "It's okay if you don't even want to look at me. I'm just happy to see you."

Yeah, Jason hasn't seen Bruce in awhile. The Red Hood on the other hand goes out of his way to avoid Batman, but he's always found somehow. God. Was anyone sure that Tim wasn't his secret kid or something?

Speaking of Tim, can he just eat the goddamn food without staring into Jason's soul? Thanks.

The blondie and Replacement are having a conversation of some sort, one that he doesn't really hear because Dick is teasing Damian over Jason's shoulders over how happy he seemed to see Jason and Damian is practically vibrating with indignation because he doesn't know that Dick teases out of love yet. Jason is happy to eat while dutifully pretending not to know that literally everyone is staring at him, especially Bruce and Tim.

"Hey, Jason, right?"

All conversation stops.

"Yeah, Blondie?" Jason prompts, spoon lifted halfway to his mouth.

"It's Stephanie. Stephanie Brown," she introduces herself cheerfully. "I just wanted to say that you look so different from your pictures, is all. You're so little as Robin! And you've got a sick streak of white hair now. It's so trendy looking."

Jason should be offended, right?

"Steph…" Tim begins, eyes wide. He looks embarrassed.

"Guess dying gave me a growth spurt," Jason says, shoving the spoon in his mouth. "Really put me in touch with the Earth's core, aligned all my energy or some shit."

"Lucky," Stephanie replies, a smile on her lips. "I only ever faked my death, so I guess I didn't get a real growth spurt."

Jason snorts and Stephanie's grin only grows bigger. He is not looking at the way Dick is practically glowing even brighter now, nor at Bruce's lost expression, nor at Tim, whose face is kind of intense right now.

"Pictures?" Jason prompts, curiously. Yeah, he bets he knows why she's seen them.

"Yeah, Tim's shown me some," Stephanie says, proving him correct. She's now begun to ignore the way Tim is glaring at her, which is impressive because a lesser man would have imploded under his gaze.

"Timbellina sure loves that camera of his," Jason states, rolling his eyes. Just a few more bites and he can leave.

"Not sure if it's the camera he loves," Steph mutters, and even before Tim can say anything Damian starts to make a low sound, like a growl, in the back of his throat. "Now why are you angry, little man?"

"I. Am not. Angry," Damian grits out, angrily.

Jason nudges Damian's arm with a pointy elbow, and predictably the boy snarls. "No need to get angry," Jason tells him, through his last mouthfuls of rice.

"I just said that I was not angry," Damian huffs, deflating ever so slightly.

As quickly as he can, Jason polishes off the last bit of his meal and stands. "Thanks for the meal, Alfie. I'm gonna go before I break out into hives. Bye, Dami."

"Will you be back for another dinner, Master Jason?" Alfred asks. Jason avoids his gaze in order to stop himself from being trapped, but he just ends up seeing Damian instead, who's looking at him with huge, hopeful eyes.

Ah, fuck.

And that's how Jason finds himself strong armed into 'family' dinner every Sunday night. Fine. He'll brave the stares– Bruce's sad, stupid eyes, Dick's hopeful expression, Brown's unsubtle grins, Tim's intense gaze– as long as Damian is happy.

.

Jason should have expected the brat to show up sooner, but it's still somewhat of a surprise to see Bruce's spawn sitting at his kitchen counter one morning, polishing his kris blades.

"I was promised waffles," Damian says, imperious as ever.

"Hello to you too," Jason greets. "I don't remember promising you shit, by the way."

"TT," Damian scoffs. "You are far more eloquent than you appear, so why do you choose to use such crass language?"

"Aw, Dami. You'll hurt my goddamn fucking feelings," Jason laughs. Damian rolls his eyes in response.

"I can forgive your awful memory. I am well aware that it is terrible on a good day. In any case, you once told me that if I ever come to America that you would show me what a proper breakfast tastes like," Damian says, and oh yeah, Jason kind of remembers a conversation like that. "You said that you would make it yourself, and that every meal was best homemade."

"Hence, waffles," Jason replies.

"Hence waffles." Damian agrees.

"I'm sure Alfie makes better waffles than me," Jason tries. "I learned how to make waffles from him."

"Pennyworth is not you," Damian scolds, his cheeks puffing out into a pout he'd never admit was a pout. "You promised. You have never failed to uphold your promises to me."

"Yeah, yeah," Jason complains, but takes out all the ingredients he needs for the batter anyway.

Damian watches him whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder and baking soda in a bowl with a strange intensity. Jason raises his eyebrows. "Wanna help?" He asks, lifting the metal bowl.

"No. I would like to taste the waffles that are solely your creation, but I would not be averse to helping you at a later time," the boy tells him, folding his arms across his chest.

"Suit yourself," Jason shrugs. The suggestion that Damian would like to try his hand at cooking some other time is really sweet.

He busies himself with heating up the waffle iron and getting all of the other ingredients put together when Damian clears his throat.

"Todd."

"Yeah, yeah, you'll get your waffles, just sit down and shut your yap a bit," Jason says, tossing some blueberries in the batter. "Should we just go crazy and add raspberries too, or just stick with the blueberries for now?"

"Akhi."

The sudden address makes Jason lift his head in alarm. Damian rarely called Jason by that title, saving it for serious moments or when he desperately required Jason's full attention. "...Dami? Everything alright?"

"Yes. However, there is something that I would like to address. Something that I can no longer ignore." Damian looks rather serious, lips pulled into a frown. Jason tilts his head to one side.

"Okay, lay it on me." Jason's expecting some dissatisfaction with the way Bruce runs his house, or maybe a complaint about how shitty Gotham is, but he isn't exactly expecting the next words out of his mouth.

"I do not like the way that Drake looks at you," Damian confesses, back as straight as an arrow and hands folded together atop the kitchen counter. "I find that his continued scrutiny of you is deeply unpleasant. Whenever you are in his general vicinity, Drake is assessing you as though you are a meal, from head to toe. He is far too brazen! Akhi, you must allow me to slash those impudent eyes out of his head."

Um.

Where to begin with any of that?

"First of all," Jason starts, pausing to focus on mixing the batter so he can ruminate on what the hell he's going to say, "even if it's rude, staring isn't exactly a crime, Damian."

"But his staring is not just staring, akhi. Drake leers at you as though you were a delicate maiden flashing a sliver of skin," Damian retorts.

"Okay, maybe I should have told Talia to get you different books rather than the ones I like," Jason chuckles, and then clears his throat. "The Replacement's probably just staring at me because I tried to kill him once and he's wary of me. It's no big deal. I'd be wary of me, too."

"That's not it!" Damian exclaims, slamming his hands down onto the kitchen counter. "Akhi, all he does is ogle you. It is– inappropriate!"

"What, you think he's lying in wait to jump me?" Jason also kind of thought the same, not that he'd tell the little brat.

"Yes!"

"...Damian," Jason begins, not knowing how to explain how fucked up their weird little relationship is, "do you seriously think that little pipsqueak could take me in a fight?"

The boy blinks, then quickly shakes his head. Well, at least Jason's ego is safe. "Oh no, akhi, I'm certain that you could end him swiftly and as violently as he deserves." Hmm. Thanks for that, Damian. "Despite this, I find myself concerned. I have learned that he has also been taking various pictures of you during your time as Robin, as well as right now. These actions are questionable, akhi."

Jason sighs. It wasn't as though Tim was trying very hard to hide the fact that he was a major stalker.

"I dislike Drake for many reasons, but his audacity, especially when it concerns you, is particularly astounding," Damian continues. "First, the mantle of Robin. He should have never been allowed to wear it. Next, not dying at your confrontation. Finally, his continuous, covetous gaze. It is irritating, akhi! We must do something about it."

"Okay, I think that you wanting to defend me is really flattering, but you can't really blame the guy for not dying," Jason tries, but that only winds Damian up more.

"I can!"

"There's nothing to do about it because even if he is… ogling me, it's definitely not with, uh, a covetous look. Like I said before, it's just a general wariness. Perfectly normal. Besides, your idea of doing something about it is literally cutting out his eyes."

"It is not murder, and therefore Father would not object," Damian informs him. Jason makes a very loud bzzt sound with his mouth.

"Yeah, you're wrong there, buddy. No murder, no permanent harm to his birdies," Jason says, rolling his eyes. "'Sides, I also object."

"Why?" Damian demands, sounding genuinely lost.

"Because you don't need to fight my battles for me, Dami," Jason tries, because telling him that it was wrong and that Bruce would probably find a way to make their lives a living hell without killing them wouldn’t work. Also, Tim would probably put up one hell of a fight. Not to mention that Jason… kind of feels bad for trying to kill him now, especially with the Pit faded a little more in the back of his mind. Damian opens his mouth to object, but Jason immediately barrels on. "If we really need to, uh, slash his eyes out, I will of course let you know. But I don't think it'll be necessary."

"...TT. Fine," Damian huffs, lifting his chin. "But don't you dare say that I did not warn you."

.

Jason receives ten text messages and thirty missed calls the next day from Dick.

help

jay help

jay cmon

jay pls u knew dami

stop him

pls even alfie don't know what to do

he's on a rampage

he n timmy might actually kill each other this time

jay please

ill buy u as many chilidogs as u want if u come to the manor

Jason snorts and decides to ignore it when another couple of texts comes in and makes him remember the conversation he had with Damian yesterday.

b isn't here so don't worry about that but i really think were gonna have to physically separate em

HEEELP

HEEHDSKDPDPELP

…Damian was really going to try to slash out Tim's eyes, huh. So Jason hops on his bike and drives all the way to Wayne Manor, hoping that Damian hasn't killed Tim yet.

He does try the doorbell, but when Alfred doesn't come to let him in, he picks the many locks. Alfie was probably trying to mediate anyway, so. And Jason may be setting off a million silent alarms, but that wasn't his problem. Bruce could deal.

He steps inside the Manor, and ah, Jason can hear the yelling already.

"–you harlot!"

Classic Damian.

Standing in one of the many living rooms is Damian, Tim, Alfred and Dick. Damian is holding his katana, of course, and there's a suspicious gleam of blood on its blade. Dick's trying to gently push him away from Tim, who is being tended to by Alfred. Jason can picture exactly what happened here, and it makes him groan. At least Bruce wasn't here.

"You told me you weren't going to try to cut out his eyes," Jason accuses loudly. Everyone turns to him, and Dick heaves a huge sigh of relief.

"I am not trying to cut out his eyes. I am going to do it!"

Dick's eyes widen. "Little Wing? What are you talking about?"

Tim is staring. As usual. There's a huge gash on his arm, one that Alfred is calmly bandaging. Hey, at least Damian missed the eyes.

Jason rolls his eyes and strolls casually over to Damian, plucking the weapon from his grasp. He gasps indignantly. "Yesterday we had a little talk about how he didn't like the way Timbo over here likes staring at me," he begins, and has the great pleasure of watching both Dick and Tim choke on air. "Told him it wasn't a fuckin' crime to stare, and that if it actually was a big deal, and it's still not, Dami– that I would handle it."

"The situation has changed!" Damian declares, crossing his arms over his chest. "He has announced a challenge! Right in front of me! As though I would do nothing about it!"

Uh.

"Timbit?" Jason prompts, and Tim immediately takes the hint.

"I didn't say anything–"

"LIAR!"

"Let me finish, you little brat!" Jason winces. He doesn't think he's ever heard Tim yell. "Like I was saying, I didn't say anything that could be taken as a challenge, but Damian deliberately took it that way!"

"So what did you say?" Dick asks, subtly moving to stand in between them.

Tim sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I said, I wouldn't mind being closer to Jason. That's literally it. That's all I said."

Oh. Huh.

Everyone turns to stare at Damian at the revelation, but Damian bristles in agitation. "Is no one else aware that Drake has ulterior motives?! I will not let this pervert anywhere near my akhi! All he does is– undress him with his eyes! Of course he doesn't mind being closer with him, that's the end goal of whatever perverted scheme he is attempting to set in motion!"

"Okay, you've got to stop reading my novels, you're like ten," Jason blurts, more scandalized over this than Damian threatening bodily harm. Damian threatening bodily harm was as common as a day ending in Y, anyway. "Both your mom and your dad would beat my ass if they heard you just now. Anyway, like I said, it's fine."

"Akhi, nothing you say will convince me otherwise. He is leering at you as we speak!"

Jason turns his head to look at Tim, and yep he's staring back. But it's probably not for whatever reason Damian thinks it is, it's probably because Damian is making a huge fuss and is ready for Jason to cast judgment upon him.

So he looks away.

Jason watches Dick mouth the word akhi before shaking his head. "Um, Dami… I think calling Tim a pervert is going a bit too far. And I really don't think that Tim is… Ahem. You see, Jason was Tim's hero growing up, so it's normal for him to stare. And if Tim wants to be better friends with Jason, that explains the staring too, doesn't it?"

Damian turns his head and scowls at the floor. "No," he says, petulant.

"Damian…"

"I know all about Drake," Damian continues, walking into Jason's side and staying there, as though for comfort. "Mother had us do research on Father's charity cases. I know that from a young age, he was an unrepentant degenerate that took pictures of all of you from the rooftops. And that akhi was his favorite. So how could he resist, now that his target was just within his grasp?"

Tim takes a threatening step forward, and Dick hastily puts a calming hand on his arm.

"Dick," Tim begins, oddly calm. "Tell Damian to shut up. Now."

Although his words are even in tone and as cool as ice, his face is–

"Master Damian–"

"Degenerate is a mean word–"

"That is precisely why I am using it–"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about–"

Jason claps his hands together and everyone shuts up. "Okay, okay, everyone, can we calm the fuck down? Damian, like I said, it's fine."

"But–"

"Damian!"

The boy makes a face. "Good! Okay. Timmers, we're friends now. Besties, even."

Tim looks like he's been picked up and shaken by the collar of his shirt, a look that's familiar to Jason because he's done that to Tim before.

"Akhi, please listen to reason!"

"And since we're friends," Jason continues, like he hasn't heard a thing, "I need you to get along with Damian, and vice versa. No fighting, no calling each other perverts, no defending my honor because I can do it myself."

Damian still looks murderous, so Jason adds; "and no, uh. No undressing me with your eyes."

Everyone in the room but Damian winces at the words, even Alfred. At least Damian looks somewhat satisfied, though.

"Deal?"

"...Deal," Tim says.

"Tt. Fine," Damian allows. "But only if Drake upholds his word."

Jason would find this whole thing hilarious if he wasn't at the center of it all.

"Good," Jason says, putting his hands on his hips. "Dami, as punishment for making Tim bleed, when your dad comes home I want you to tell him exactly why you attacked Timbo, without leaving a single thing out."

"He started it!" Damian exclaims, petulant. It's probably the only thing he's said today that makes him sound like a normal kid.

"Well, I'm ending it, you little shit," Jason tells him, ruffling Damian's hair. He squawks in irritation. "Alfie and Dickface will be there to make sure you're saying the whole truth, right guys?"

Alfred nods, composed once more. "Of course, Master Jason."

Dick takes longer to nod, but once he does, he does so eagerly.

"Great. Well, I'm getting the fuck out of here before Bruce comes back. Good talk, except just kidding, it wasn't. Let's never do this again," Jason declares. He makes to leave, but Damian yanks the hem of his shirt with great force.

"How come Drake doesn't get punished?" Damian demands, pointing a finger at him.

"Uhh…" Jason trails off. If he doesn't 'punish' Tim somehow, Damian will just get angrier again. "That's, uh…"

Thank fuck, Dick steps in. "Jason will go give him a stern talking to, right now, before he leaves. Will that do?"

For a moment, Damian looks unconvinced, but Alfred steps in too, that wonderful man. "I am sure that Master Jason will be able to stand up for himself, Master Damian. More importantly, Master Timothy will… feel an appropriate amount of shame if it is Master Jason who scolds him."

Damian frowns, but it looks more like a pout. "...Akhi, you must be harsh on him, so he never allows himself to think that he has any claim to you. If we cannot eviscerate him physically, then you must do so verbally. I expect to see him humiliated."

Jason shoots Tim a look, and of course, he's already looking back. When spotted, Tim merely shrugs.

"Yeah, yeah," Jason replies. "Okay, Timbo, with me. Bye, brat."

So Tim walks with him to his motorcycle, their shoulders nearly touching. It's quiet for a moment, but Jason clears his throat. "Sorry about him," Jason says, rolling his eyes. "He's never been socialized. Takes everything personally, like it's a slight on his honor or whatever."

"I could tell," Tim says. "Sorry about… Staring."

"Why the hell are you apologizing? Like I said, it's not exactly a crime," Jason tells him. "I don't blame you for being on edge 'round me, Timmy."

Although, this behavior, plus the way Tim would just give him things… Jason was just so confused all the time. He had to crack Tim soon, or something was going to give. Maybe something had already given.

"Oh, no. You don't scare me or anything, Jason, promise," Tim says, all quiet and soft and weirdly dangerous. Jason frowns. "Didn't you hear Dick say it just now? Haven't you heard me say it before? You are my hero."

"Uh, you used present tense," Jason points out.

"Yes," Tim agrees, and then stops talking. When Tim doesn't elaborate, Jason makes a face.

"You can't seriously be saying that I'm still your hero now. Robin? Sure, I get it. Red Hood? Red Hood tried to kill you, Timbo," Jason explains. "And Red Hood kills people."

"I was there, Jason," Tim replies, unimpressed. "And, like I've told everyone a million times before, I don't care. Many of my friends have tried to kill me before. It's like, a rite of passage. Damian tries to kill me everyday, and the others don't care because he's a child. So really, in the grand scheme of things, you trying to kill me isn't anything special."

Jason looks him up and down with the unnerving realization that his successor is more unhinged than he imagined. It's like seeing him for the first time.

"And anyway, you just kill rapists and pedophiles and other irredeemable people, so I don't care," Tim continues, like that isn't a crazy thing for someone raised by Bruce to say.

"Don't let Batsy hear you say that," Jason lightly scolds, deciding to go for humor rather than saying what the fuck. "Can't let him think I've corrupted you. What would high society say if they knew Timmy Drake had such polarizing opinions? Tsk tsk."

"Too late for that," Tim tells him, a cheerful Robin-esque smile lighting up his expression. It looks near-predatory on his face, which is strange, considering his delicate features. All teeth. "I was corrupted a long time ago."

What the fuck is Jason supposed to say to that?

"Well, you're better at hiding it than most," Jason says, taking his helmet from his motorcycle's handlebars and fastening it over his head.

"I wouldn't say that," Tim says, and is he getting closer? What the hell? "Damian clocked me near immediately. I've got some work to do, apparently. Besides, you already know I've been watching."

"Uh, yeah…"

For a moment he hears Damian's accusations about Tim undressing him with his eyes and mentally shakes his head to banish the thoughts.

"Right. Okay well, uh. I gotta run before B comes home. See ya," Jason swings onto his bike and drives away as fast as he possibly can.

Jason is not running away. He's merely trying to… piece together the Tim he thought he knew with the one he sees in front of him right now. It's clear that he needs to reevaluate some things.

.

Everything that the internet says about Timothy Jackson Drake is so annoyingly positive that Jason kind of wants to rip his hair out. Every picture of him is perfect. He's always smiling, always dressed in the finest clothes, always being shown in the most positive, most flattering light.

In one photo, Tim smiles as he stands shoulder to shoulder with Brucie Wayne. This smile isn't familiar to Jason. The one he sees when Tim greets him is full of teeth. This is close lipped, reserved.

His eyes are still as piercing as ever, though.

Timothy Drake Donates 2 Million!

Timothy Drake Funds Local Businesses!

Timothy Drake Volunteers At The Soup Kitchen, Implores All To Join Him!

Yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah. Come on. Didn't he have one scandalous news article written about him? Even the ones about him being a dropout were overshadowed by some bullshit like Tim Drake saves kittens from trees or whatever.

Of course his Replacement was good, ugh.

Jason shouldn't have expected the internet to give him a good look into Tim Drake's psyche, so he decides (reluctantly) to call Dick over, and see what a personal opinion would reveal about him.

They decide to meet up at one of Dick's safehouses, and Jason only agrees because Dick promises chilidogs. When Dick invites Jason inside, he's practically radiating happiness. Honestly, Jason feels exhausted just looking at him.

"Hi Jay!" Dick briefly traps Jason in one of his octopus hugs for a moment before Jason pushes away. "Sit down, sit down. I've got chocolate milk, want some?"

"No thanks," Jason scowls, but Dick's already pouring them both a glass. "Dick!"

"But this is your favorite," Dick whines, and it is, so Jason only hesitates a few more seconds before taking the cup off of his hands. The two sprawl on the couch together. "So, you wanted to ask me something about Tim?"

"Yeah, can you maybe tell me why the hell Timmy's like that?" Jason demands, taking a huge swig of his drink before slamming it down on the coffee table. Dick blinks at him.

"Like, all… That!" Jason reiterates, waving his hands around as though that would explain anything. "You know?! Damian's weirdness makes sense, he's a baby assassin. But Timbo is like, like– you know?"

Dick hands Jason a chili dog from the table before he replies. "Me 'n B have actually been trying to crack the weirdness of Tim for a while, too. But he's not a bad kid! We love him! He just needs some love, some affection."

"I didn't say he's a bad kid, I just wanna know what the heck is going on in that head of his," Jason says, taking a bite of the offered meal.

"Well, I can give you the Sparknotes version of what we think happened to Tim to make him like this," Dick says, and begins to explain a fucked up home scenario that Jason was slightly aware of but not to this extent.

Parents in a different country 99% of the year. No nanny, no housekeeper. Alone in that huge house since he was a very young child. Never went to school, marking himself present through getting into the school systems online. The only time he left the house was to take pictures of Batman and Robin, of whom he figured out the identities of when he was a young child. Brilliant, but isolated. Well-meaning, but in need of a guiding hand.

Jason snorts. "If he wasn't such a do-gooder you'd have the recipe for a supervillain on your hands, Dickhead."

"Yeah, he was influenced by Robin," Dick tells him, wiggling his eyebrows. Jason smacks his arm.

"Yeah, Robin," Jason replies, putting an emphasis on the last word.

"Naw, it was your Robin that made him reach out to Batman. You know we were all destroyed when we thought you were gone," Dick says, and hell no, they are not doing this right now.

"Wow, I need to get going," Jason announces, quickly finishing off the last of his chili dog.

"No, Jay, I'll stop, I'm sorry," Dick whines, tugging at Jason's leather jacket. And then he takes out another chili dog, of all things. "Here, don't be mad."

"...'M not mad. Just confused," Jason admits, accepting the offering. "Why's he so fixated on me anyway? You're the original model, the golden boy."

"I didn't think you'd be insecure, Jay. You're perfect as you are," he teases.

"And you are biased." Anyone would think that their 'little brother' had the sun shining out of their ass if they had died and came back to life.

"I don't know about that," Dick drawls. "If so many people agree that you're great, then you must be great, Little Wing."

"Who are these people you're talking about?" He scoffs.

"Besides Tim? Me, Bruce, Alfie, Dami, even Steph," Dick continues. Jason started to tune out the moment he heard Bruce's name, but Dick just moves on easily. "Oh, and how about all of Crime Alley? I know we don't see eye to eye on your whole killing thing, but I can't deny the results, or the fact that Crime Alley loves their protector, Jay."

To avoid responding, Jason takes a bite of his second chili dog.

"But if you're still curious as to why Tim treats you like this, or acts in a way you don't get… Why don't you go ask him directly?"

"You can't be fucking serious," Jason states.

"As a heart attack, Jason. Why not? It's clear you won't be satisfied hearing what I think. Just cut the middle man out entirely and go talk to him. Have a heart to heart. I know we Bats hate talking about our feelings, but it doesn't actually hurt to do so sometimes." Dick insists, nudging him with his knee.

"Not a Bat."

"Tim's out of the Manor more nowadays," Dick explains, ignoring what Jason just said. "He's got what he calls his Nest, I can give you the address. Maybe go say hi?"

"I can't just show up at his front door like that," Jason tells him. For some reason, Dick's the one that looks at him weird.

"Front door? The window's easier." Ah, that's right. Raised by B. It really explains so much about all of them, honestly. Dick was just better at hiding the fact that he was a neurotic weirdo than the rest.

.

Jason does not go to Tim's 'Nest.' If Tim was there most of the time, there was no way there wasn't security rivaling the Batcave guarding that place. Instead, he decides to look for more information at Drake Manor. Maybe he'd work his way up to the Nest, but Drake Manor would probably be the easiest place to investigate first.

And of course it's not to have a stupid 'heart to heart.' No. Jason is going to commit some good ol' breaking and entering and see what Tim's house reveals about him.

He drives past Wayne Manor and rolls into the Drake Manor driveway, careful to avoid the obvious cameras. When he pulls in to park his bike, he hides it in a shrub before walking the perimeter of the fucking massive mansion.

It's similar to Wayne Manor. Huge windows, towering doors, a stately look. Jason skips the paths and just ducks into the backyard by passing through several tall bushes.

He debates just saying fuck it and kicking down the door, but despite the fact that Dick said Tim was usually at his Nest, it didn't mean that there wasn't a chance that Tim was here. So, one of the lower windows on the back side of the house it is.

Jason is in the middle of prying the screen pane off of the wall when the back door swings wide open, casting warm light onto his face.

"...Fucking Dick Grayson," Jason hisses. Was this a set-up? He wouldn't put it past him– laying out bait to make Jason think Tim wouldn't be here, all to get them alone, to get them to get along.

Tim looks like he's just hopped out of the shower. His hair is slightly damp, his blue eyes are bright, and his cheeks are a rosy shade of pink. He's wearing a soft red hoodie and pajama pants. It's clear that this is Tim's home turf, and that Jason would just be at a disadvantage were something to happen here.

Jason considers running when Tim opens his mouth.

"Hello, Jason," Tim greets. He looks way too happy to see him. Jason is literally breaking and entering. "Did you want to see me?"

"You know I fucking didn't want you to see me breaking in," Jason huffs, then tries to turn and flee with most of his dignity intact.

"Don't leave, you just got here," Tim implores. "I heard you were asking around about me. You can come in and we can have a proper conversation, but only if you want."

Fucking. Dick. Grayson.

…Or was it that Tim was watching him, yet again?

"Yeah, okay," Jason whirls around, furious now. "Let's talk. I've been wondering for awhile now about what kinda game you're fucking playing here, Replacement. What the fuck is your deal? I slit your throat and I beat you up and you act all fuckin' strange about it! And you and those fucking cameras– What the hell do you want with me?"

"...I thought it was obvious by now." Tim says, tilting his head to one side.

"Don't you fuckin' start."

"Are you curious?" Tim asks. He leans against the doorframe, blue eyes unblinking. "All you have to do is ask, Jason. I'll tell you anything you want. Anything at all. Just come inside first, it's getting cold."

Tim lifts a hand to beckon him inside of the Manor, and Jason feels as though he's been caught in the center of a spider's web without even realizing he's been tangled up in its threads.

Chapter Text

Tim should have anticipated the day that Jason comes over to his house, and he's kicking himself internally for the oversight. Never mind that Jason was… gone, for a good while. He should have just known that Jason was coming back. Totally his bad. He would have gotten slippers in his size and cleaned all of the bathrooms thoroughly just in case.

Actually, he should have known that Jason would dig himself out of his grave, too, so Tim could have fetched Jason himself and Talia wouldn't be able to get her hands on him. Ugh. Tim should have visited Jason's grave every single day, and not every single week. Maybe then he would have seen him coming out of his grave, or caught her stealing him away, or…

There's no time for regrets. In any case, Talia did help Jason in many ways, and helped him return to Gotham, so Tim won't dwell on it for too long, even if her father is the worst person ever. He has to focus on the now.

'The now' being that Jason Todd is in his house. He's making a cautious expression, and glancing at everything like it'll bite him, but he's in his house! Tim's so pleased, but also so afraid, and the two emotions are conflicting pretty heavily within him.

They're sitting at the kitchen counter in silence for some reason. In Tim's house. Just he and Jason. Alone. In Tim's house. Together. Alone. Alone together. In Tim's house, when no one else is here. It feels more embarrassing that they're here rather than in Tim's Nest. At least in his Nest there's cameras installed everywhere, at every angle. If they were there, Tim would have lots of footage to comb through. It'd be a fun evening activity.

Does Tim have cameras installed in his kitchen here? No, he doesn't. There's just the home security cameras, but those haven't worked properly in years. That's too bad. Once again, he curses his awful foresight. Tim needs to document the first time that they're sitting together, alone, in Tim's house–

He stands to get a camera, but then stops mid-movement. No, he can't be so obvious when he takes pictures, that defeats the whole point! Tim has always preferred candid shots, and if Jason were to allow Tim to take his picture right now, it may not be as natural as he'd like!

Ah, but it'd still be a picture of Jason, and it'd be one taken with his permission, so it'd be extremely valuable nonetheless…

"What are you doing?" Jason asks, raising his eyebrows in a way that distinctly reminds Tim of Alfred. On instinct, Tim straightens up.

"Oh, ah, did you want a drink? I'm thirsty, so… We have coffee, orange juice, water… Coffee…" Tim trails off. Jason just looks at him.

"Don't tell me you're getting flustered now when you're the one that invited me in," Jason says, a little teasing note to his voice. Tim could just about float up to the moon at the sound.

"It's the first time I've had anyone over," Tim confesses, robotically walking over to his fridge and taking out the jug of orange juice. "I can't help but be a little nervous."

He pours Jason a large cup and places it down on the counter in front of him before getting started on making an extra strong cup of coffee for himself.

"Thought Dickie and the rest have been here," Jason continues. "Speaking of Dick, he totally snitched to you. Didn't he."

Tim doesn't actually care much for expensive coffee so long as it's coffee, so tossing a few spoonfuls of the instant stuff and some hot water into a mug it is. "They invited themselves over, so it's different," Tim begins, and then tilts his head. "And, what? Dick? Snitched about what?"

With a leery eye, Jason examines the glass of orange juice before taking a sip. Tim smiles to himself. It was the same brand that they use at the diner he used to frequent, so Tim hopes that he enjoys it. "That I was coming over to break in and snoop around," Jason admits easily. Tim can't help but admire how bold he is about committing a crime. He can't help but admire everything that he does anyway, so.

"No, Dick didn't," Tim admits, absent-mindedly stirring his coffee with his spoon. He's staring at the way Jason's hands curl around his glass. "I just knew."

He watched Jason speed through the city on his monitors, idly wondering where the man was going before he realized that he was taking the road up to Wayne Manor, which he avoided like the plague. And since neither Alfred or Damian requested his presence… Tim was presumptuous enough to wonder if he had piqued Jason's interest enough for him to swing by.

"Uh-huh," Jason says. "Right."

"I did," Tim insists. He takes a gulp of coffee and ignores how it burns all the way down.

"No, I'm not saying uh-huh because I don't believe you, I'm saying uh-huh because you say some of the wildest shit with such a straight face," Jason tells him. "Dami and I are killers, you're a stalker… What's next? Alfie, a secret arsonist? Dick secretly takes candy from babies?"

"Technically we're all already criminals," Tim finishes off the coffee and moves to make more, throwing more instant coffee into the mug. "Heroes to some, vigilantes to others… We beat people up, commit breaking and entering… The list goes on."

"Oh, cool. Thanks for the convenient segue, Timbit!" Jason declares, faux cheerful. "Speaking of crimes, your stalking sure is something. Your pictures, your surveillance cameras, literally everything, I just– Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me, dipshit? Is this some kind of power play? Telling me you've always got your eye on me? Or are you looking for some weakness of mine? Why don't you just come at me with that fuckin' stick of yours and find out if I've got any?" Jason pauses to take a deep breath and waves a hand around. "Just. What the hell. Why?"

"Are you… Bothered by it?" Tim asks, completely sincere.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Jason demands, slamming a hand down on the counter. The glass of orange juice wobbles a little.

"Well, what about it bothers you?" He can totally tone it down if Jason wants. Tim might wilt away and dissolve, but it'd be okay. Eventually. Or he could just get better at hiding it all.

Jason takes a deep, deep breath. And then another. "Can't you fuckin' deduct what bothers me about it from the questions I can see you fuckin' dodging?"

So Tim rewinds the conversation in his head as he takes another sip of coffee. Ah.

"Oh. Well, I had a crush on Robin growing up," Tim confesses. He then has the great pleasure of watching Jason slot that information into his head and mentally readjust his line of thinking to fit the new knowledge in with the rest. It's funny how terrible he is at hiding his expressions. Or maybe Tim's just been watching him for so long that he can read his face easier than most?

"You can't be serious right now," Jason states, clearly still processing the words. Tim just looks at him.

"I am, though. Should I act shy? Did you want me to be shy?" Tim asks, completely sincere. He doesn't even have to fake his flushed cheeks. "I can be shy if you want me to be!"

It wouldn't be acting, anyway. Saying all this in front of Jason is very embarrassing, even though he tries to hide it behind a blank face. He doesn't want to scare him away, after all. However, if he can't come up with a suitable explanation, Jason would leave in a huff, which is also something that Tim doesn't want.

"You mean you… Had a crush on Dick…?" Jason asks slowly, like he still doesn't understand. Tim doesn't believe in a god or a higher power, but in this moment he thinks he should start praying to something.

This slow reaction is cute too, so Tim's fine with patiently explaining it all to him.

"No. I never had a crush on Dick. I discovered Batman and Robin's identities at a young age, so I could tell the difference between you and Dick. And I didn't start truly loving Robin until you got in the suit," Tim informs him. "Little me was crazy over you, Jason."

And big me is crazier over you still, Tim doesn't say. He's not ready to confess it all, not just yet. He's not worthy.

Not yet.

"Anyway, these feelings developed over a long period of time, starting from the very first moment I saw your Robin take to the skies," Tim easily explains.

"...Robin is different from Jason Todd," Jason continues, still somehow in denial that Tim's reasoning is so simple. He can see it all over his face, the confusion, the utter lack of understanding.

"I know that, duh. Robin is just a facet of you. You're better."

Tim is aware that it was not Robin that he loved, but Jason Todd. Robin was, as ever, a source of awe and inspiration, but Jason wasn't just Robin. Jason was Jason. How could Tim not fall hard?

The lost expression on Jason's face is so utterly lovely that Tim has to physically stop himself from running upstairs for his camera. Maybe he could even sneak a picture on his phone? He carefully takes it out of his hoodie pocket and tries to angle it just so.

"I thought you knew that I like you," Tim continues, before Jason can find the right words to deny him again. "The pictures? The gun? Everything? I got your favorite pizza flavors, right?"

"Yeah, how the fuck did you– Never mind. You're a stalker, that's how. Okay, well. Uh. So. How can you just do shit like this?" Jason demands, flitting between irritation, to acceptance, to uncertainty, to irritation again.

"A lack of supervision, for one. And a lack of familial affection. Any affection, actually. It's not a secret to me that I am terrible at expressing how I feel. I just– I started taking pictures of Batman and Robin because they were my heroes and I didn't realize I could come off as creepy at first, I was a kid. And then you arrived, and then I got worse. And now here I am today. I used to be so normal," Tim lies. He doesn't think he was ever normal. Tim's reaction at the first sight of Jason's Robin only solidified that fact.

"Just because you're self aware doesn't mean that it's a good thing," he hears Jason mutter. "How can you just– How can you just admit shit like this aloud? What the fuck?"

"It's not like I'm ashamed of my feelings for you. Not back then, not now," Tim says.

Tim hears him mutter something like is he still speaking in present tense and smiles to himself. If Jason's mind could get all twisted up because of him, if he spent hours of the night torn up thinking about their conversation, Tim would be so happy.

"Listen," Jason begins, and there's a thin note of Robin-esque concern threading through the words. "Just because you, uh. Had a crush on me shouldn't mean that you should forgive me for beating you up or slitting your throat. That's…" He trails off.

As good as ever, Jason. Tim smiles at him over his mug. Even if Jason decides to crush his heart one day, Tim can rest assured that it lay in good hands.

And what was Jason apologizing for, anyway? There was no apology necessary. Not between them.

"I'm not forgiving you because I like Robin," Tim informs him politely. "In my eyes, there's nothing to forgive. You were put in a pretty shit situation and not given enough information when you acted on what you knew. I didn't die, so I literally don't care. I'll repeat that over and over if you really need me to."

"...Tim. What the actual fuck?"

"Are you sorry? Do you still want me to die?" Tim asks, before Jason can suggest that he should go see a therapist or something. It's not like Jason's answer would change how Tim feels, but it wouldn't hurt to ask.

Jason looks… haunted. He runs a hand through his hair, and Tim wonders if the white streak has a different texture compared to the rest of his dark hair. Maybe he'll get the privilege to find out one day.

"Fuck it. If it's honest hour, fuck it. You spilled all that embarrassing shit out anyway. Okay," Jason curls his hands into tight fists. "I'm not sure if I ever really wanted you dead. I can't lie and say that it was all the Pit, but… I am sorry."

Tim hums. "I didn't need an apology, but I forgive you. Even though I've forgiven you long ago." He touches an absent hand to his neck, smiling.

The atmosphere seems to shift.

Jason looks like he doesn't know if he should yell at Tim, or shake him by the shoulders, or just throw up his hands and walk out. His eyes dart over Tim's throat and Tim stares at him through half-lidded eyes.

Jason's scar sits so pretty on his throat. Tim regrets not wearing a lower cut shirt to show it off like an exquisite necklace. The proof that Jason once laid his hands on him was more valuable than any jewelry in the world.

"Do you still– Is that why– What the fuck is going on? Are you crazy?"

Oh, Jason. He has the courage to confront human traffickers, drug dealers and even Batman at a very young age and yet he can't demand that Tim clarify as to whether or not he still holds feelings for him? Cute.

So confrontational with everything but his feelings. Jason tended to do that. Anger was fine, familiar. Anything else was dangerous.

The answer was obvious if Jason thought about it. If Jason only thought beyond the parameters of what he expected others to think of him. He didn't even have to think hard! Tim never said that his affections went away or anything like that. It was only that Jason wasn't accustomed to the idea that people loved him, cared for him, cherished him. It was a silly notion to Tim, who savored every bit of Jason as though every look at him might be his last. Tim would change that mindset of his eventually. Slowly but surely– not a single part of Jason would go unappreciated. He was patient. There was no rush.

"Okay, what else do you want to know?" Tim asks, breaking the spell by taking his hand off of his throat. Jason's eyes follow the path his hand takes before darting back to his neck and then down to the counter again. When he finally lifts his gaze once more, he looks to be more in control. Pity.

"So you don't want to fuckin' kill me? Or torture me? Or kidnap me? Or, or… Whatever?"

"I'd never hurt you, Jason," Tim insists. "I don't want to hurt you, or kill you, or torture or kidnap you. It's just the pictures. And the video footage. I just like looking at them."

And the Robin room, and the dark room, and the collection of miscellaneous items from Jason…

"You just want to creep on me from afar," Jason states slowly. "Add to your album collection or whatever it is you're doing with all these photos."

"Or creep on you from up close. But if," Tim swallows. "If you really want me to stop. I. I'll try." He really hopes Jason doesn't tell him to stop. Hearing it would be devastating, but Tim would do it.

Of all things, Jason snorts. "Telling B to stop being a stalker hasn't stopped him," he says. Tim perks up.

"...Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Tim only dares to hope.

"Timbo, I was raised by the ultimate creeper. I had three trackers on me at a time, at least. Dick and I made a game on how many new ones we'd find after Alfie washed them. There were surveillance cameras in my mask, heart rate monitors all over my suit, and several panic buttons hidden on my person. Bruce can tell if I've gained or lost even one pound just by looking at me. Hell, Dick can too. And speaking of Bruce and Dick, they literally just appear in my apartments like it's normal and then say something freaky like I shouldn't eat too many ketchup chips, because they somehow always know what I eat, too. You think I give a shit about something like this?"

It's like a chorus of angels has descended from the heavens and started singing.

"I thought you did care, and that's why you're here…" Tim trails off, not wanting to accidentally change Jason's mind.

He only rolls his eyes, that wonderful, wonderful man. "I do care? I just only cared about your motives. And now that I know them, I care less. So long as those pictures aren't used against me, I don't give a shit. Whatever you're using them for, B's probably got a lot worse on all of us."

Thank you Bruce, for being such an obsessive control freak. Thank you so, so very much for being the most paranoid man alive. Tim will follow all of his orders to the letter on their next mission together. Buy him a remarkable gift on his next birthday. Cover for him at the next gala. Whatever. It's clear that Tim owes him for this.

"If you were using them against me, I'd put them all to the torch, just so we're clear," Jason amends. Tim nods. "Same with all your cameras, too."

"Crystal," Tim murmurs, breathless with elation. He would never do anything like that, ever.

Jason's staring at him like he's finally seeing Tim properly for the first time. Like he's realized that he's an outright weirdo, but for reasons he can tolerate. Tim has no intention of telling Jason otherwise.

"So, what. You have like, photo albums of me?"

"I do," Tim nods his head. Many albums. Many framed photos. Many rooms dedicated to Jason. But Jason wasn't ready to see all of that. Not yet. He'd have to slowly introduce Jason to the true extent of his devotion. Emphasis on slow. "Wanna see one?"

So Tim runs downstairs to grab one of the very thick photo albums of Jason's Robin and prays that Jason doesn't follow him there. Luckily, he doesn't, and so Tim returns to the kitchen and practically slams the book down in front of Jason with an eager expression.

This album was dedicated to Jason's fights. These pictures contained some of his greatest hits!

Haha, Jason's greatest hits, and here he was in the photos beating the shit out of someone. Haha.

Tim's never shown anyone this album before. Not like he would ever want to. He watches Jason flip through it in silence, making faces at every new picture– embarrassed ones, smug ones, pleased ones…

Yes, Tim is subtly taking photos of him with his phone camera. Of course he is!

Halfway through his perusal of the album, Jason slams it shut. Green flickers in and out of his eyes, and Tim just watches. Slumping in his seat, Jason squeezes his eyes closed.

When he opens them again, his eyes are blue again.

He pushes away from the counter. "I need to get the fuck out of here," Jason declares, heading straight to the back door with long strides.

"Sure," Tim follows him there, watching Jason pull his boots back on. "Thanks for coming, Jason."

"Whatever."

Tim takes a deep breath to gather up his courage. "Um, Jason. There's something I need to do first, but when… When I accomplish it, will you come back again? There's something I want to show you."

"Uh. Sure. Fine," Jason's brow is furrowed. Tim wants to reach out and smooth the lines over with a thumb. "My life is already so fucking weird. This is already so fucking weird."

Tim knows he must be radiating happiness or something, because Jason starts to squint at him like he's hard to look at. "Ya don't have to be so happy about it, you stalker."

"I can't help it," Tim admits. Jason shakes his head, awkwardly adjusting his jacket.

"Uh, do you still… Do you act like this because you still…"

"Because…?" Tim prompts. If Jason wants to gather up the courage and demand to know for certain if Tim adores him still or not, Tim will of course tell him. It doesn't line up with his plans, but Tim's always been good at thinking on the spot.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Tim's lips curl up.

"See you, Jason," he waves.

Jason shrugs his shoulders. "I'm sure you will," he snorts. "And I saw you taking pictures earlier!"

"I've got a problem," Tim nods his head. Jason makes another face, but finally steps outside and fetches his bike from the shrubbery. Tim watches him drive away, and then he sinks to his knees, clutching the doorframe. He's never been so anxious in his life.

Great. Mission accomplished.

Distract Jason so he doesn't look for the Robin room. It wouldn't distract him for too long, but hopefully long enough for his plans.

Tim wasn't worthy just yet, but he would be eventually.

When he killed the Joker and presented Jason with his head, he'd confess everything. His feelings, the true extent of his stalking, the Robin room… Everything.

If Jason decided that Tim was a freaky creep that needed to be put in Arkham, he'd go willingly. Happily, too, if Jason was the one putting him there. As long as the Joker was dead, he'd be okay with it. At least he would have conveyed everything to Jason before getting locked away.

If Jason somehow decides that he reciprocated those feelings…

Tim actually can't even imagine it. And not for lack of trying! Every time he tries to picture Jason and himself together in a romantic context, his brain just… bluescreens. Holding hands? Scandalous. Embracing warmly? Too obscene.

What would they even do in a romantic relationship? Obviously, Tim would like to be super lovey-dovey, but how would that look? His relationship with Stephanie wasn't a really good basis for what a romantic relationship might look like. The most that they did together was… hold hands? Kiss chastely for two seconds at most? Go to the movies together? Ignore her for cases?

Tim really needed to send her an apology basket one of these days.

He slowly gets to his feet. Tim has to watch Jason drive back into the city on the camera feeds, anyway. While he pulls up the footage, Tim wonders, and wonders, and wonders.

Oh, maybe Tim could… could get Jason to pose in a few pictures… Not anything scandalous! Maybe. No, they'd have to warm up to that, but…

It's unimaginable, really. Tim spends most of his time dreaming about Jason, but he's embarrassed at the sheer force of his want. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't help but hope.

When Jason was dead, all Tim lived for was the opportunity to be good– just so Jason remained in this world. He lived for the opportunity to kill the Joker. To keep Gotham city safe. All things Jason would be doing if he was alive. And now that Jason's alive again, Tim has been living in a constant state of happiness– Jason doesn't need to do anything but exist, and Tim would live and die at his word alone.

If Jason ended up wanting him too, just as Tim hoped… he'd ask for nothing more.

…Except for maybe some pictures. The possibilities were endless. Jason in a tuxedo, Jason wearing cosplay, Jason in a flattering dress and heels, Jason in just his leather jacket and nothing else–

Ah, he was getting ahead of himself. Yeah, don't ask Tim when hero worship and awe and pure love became desire. He would be embarrassed to say that it was the day he got his throat slit.

.

Tim does not know how to feel about Damian at first.

The rational part of Tim tells him that Damian is a child put in an awful situation– with an abnormal upbringing and tremendous pressure put upon him to excel in all that he does. He is the blood son of both Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne, so already it's certain that he wouldn't be a normal child. He is an assassin. Damian is a child, a vegetarian, and an animal lover. He enjoys drawing, training, and tea.

He is also currently wearing the mantle of Robin.

It is difficult to come to terms with even when it shouldn't be. From a certain standpoint, Damian is more suited to Robin than himself. In fact, Tim isn't necessarily against the boy wearing the title– he is fond of Jason, and Jason is fond of him, and for that alone Tim would be eager to accept him with open arms.

But that is exactly why Tim is so irrationally jealous of the boy. Jason is more than welcome to throw any insults at Tim if he wants to, and Tim will accept it all, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't sting a little to be called 'Replacement' or 'Pretender' instead of Pretty Bird or something along those lines.

Jason said nothing at all about Damian wearing the Robin colors. It wasn't as though Tim wanted or expected Jason to chew Damian out at all, but…

Dick thinks that Tim has mixed emotions regarding Damian because of the way that both he and Bruce simply expected Tim to just give Damian Robin and take on a new name. That, Tim cares less about. If one of the former, actual Robins told him to hand the suit to Damian, then sure, but it wasn't as though they needed his permission. Robin was never his in the first place.

So he endures their forced bonding sessions to lighten Dick's guilt, even though they are all excruciatingly painful. Tim does want to get along with Damian, but it's difficult when Damian sneers at him and tells him that he shouldn't be even looking at Jason, or that he didn't even belong in the Manor.

Zoo trips. Visits to the amusement park. Even walks with the dog end up in bickering. It never ends.

Tim likes Damian much more when he realizes that he is a valuable source of intel on Jason during his time with the League.

One day, when Tim and Damian are trying to kick each other's ass in sparring without making it look like they're trying to kill each other, Damian says something that makes everyone in the Batcave perk up and pay attention.

It starts with an offhand comment from Dick.

"Are you adjusting to training down here in the Batcave, Dami? I know it can be overwhelming at first," Dick asks, going through his stretches. "I mean, there's a freaking dinosaur down here. I'm sure that Nanda Parbat didn't have anything like that."

"Todd did tell me about the dinosaur. I did not believe him at first, but I suppose that he was speaking the truth," Damian replies, batting away Tim's attempts to smack him in the face with his staff. "There was a… Mission, where somehow he ended up on a tiger's back and rode it for a short period of time. Do not ask for specifics, I also do not know how it happened, I was not there. I thought he was lying about mounting and riding the tiger as though it were a saddled horse as well and yet Mother corroborated his story– but Todd told me that it wasn't the most impressive creature that he's ridden. He told me that he has ridden a dinosaur, right here in the Batcave, and that I should not be jealous of him for riding a tiger, nor should I go and attempt to ride one myself, because dinosaurs were better," Damian explains. It's the longest that he's ever spoken at once, at least in front of Tim. Wait.

A tiger?

"A tiger?" Dick exclaims. "How the hell did that happen?"

"I just said that I do not know."

That's when Tim realizes that Damian knows a Jason that Tim does not know, and–

"If I win this round, tell me more stories about Jason," Tim blurts, advancing on Damian with newfound intent. He gets a few lucky hits in before Damian scowls and ducks before attempting to kick out Tim's feet. Deciding not to press his prior advantage, Tim decides to retreat and circle Damian for now.

"No."

"Why?" Tim attempts to goad the boy on with a mocking lilt to his words and an arrogant stance. "Afraid you'll lose?"

Damian just looks at him with undisguised disgust. "Drake, you are an unrepentant pervert. No." He really was good at seeing through his intentions. Granted, it was pretty obvious what Tim wanted right now. He wasn't doing anything to hide it.

"I want to hear stories about Little Wing too," Dick whines, eyes wide. Even Alfred and Bruce, who are pretending to be working very diligently at the Batcomputer, are more tuned into their conversation than ever. "Do you have any embarrassing stories? We can trade. I have so much blackmail on him, it's not even funny."

Damian's lips curl, clearly tempted by the offer. But then he seems to remember that Tim exists and he scowls.

"If I win, I get to smash your camera. All of your cameras." Damian sneers, lifting the training sword in a clear taunt.

"Deal," Tim says. He wasn't going to lose, and besides, he had the money. He could always buy more. It wasn't as though he kept the photos exclusively in his camera's memory.

So they spar. It's the most intense spar that Tim's ever partaken in– he refuses to lose any information on Jason and Damian refuses to give any information on Jason up. Dick's eyes are gleaming for some reason as he watches them. Maybe he's realizing that Tim and Damian could bond over Jason instead of going on outings, but that thought honestly just makes Tim nervous.

It finally ends when Tim lands a lucky hit on Damian's wrist, smacking the sword out of his hands with a well-timed swing of his staff. Damian snarls in outrage and just goes to tackle him, but Dick easily swings Damian up into his arms and traps him there with one of his octopus hugs. "You lost, Dami! Story time!"

"I am offended that you sound so happy about this," Damian snaps, clawing at Dick's arms in a futile attempt to escape. He's not drawing blood though, so Dick doesn't put him down. "I did not lose! That was just a lucky hit on Drake's end. I nearly defeated him."

"Luck is also a crucial component of battle," Bruce adds. The man isn't actually looking at them, but it's clear what he's waiting for. What they're all waiting for. The realization that they all want to listen to stories about Jason shuts Damian up and he frowns.

"TT. What sort of story do you desire?"

And so Damian weaves tales of Jason, tales that none but Damian know. With the help of Dick's gentle prodding (manipulation, learned from the best, of course), he doesn't even realize that he keeps talking and talking. And no one tells Damian to stop. After all, he too seems elated to share stories about his akhi– Damian stopped calling him Todd two stories in.

There are stories like the ones where Jason helped steal a dog from one of the instructors at Damian's request and it lived outside his courtyard for months until his grandfather discovered it. Tales where Jason snuck Damian out and taught him constellations while they sat on the rooftops, sharing hot drinks. Miraculously, there are silly stories too, stories wherein Jason teaches Damian what pranks are and how their hidden prank war lasted a whole month until Talia caught wind of the whole affair and had them running drills overnight.

Mostly, they are stories about how valiant and strong Jason is. Of course, Damian tries to hide how much he looks up to him at first, but as time passes and they're just lying down on the training mats talking, Tim can hear the obvious admiration in every line. Akhi has fended off many of those who have attempted to take my life, or Akhi has the most accurate marksmanship of anyone I know. Stories like that make Bruce twitch, but he says nothing at all, lest Damian stops sharing.

And then the tales change in tone.

"Akhi used to smoke a lot more," Damian says, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the Batcave. He doesn't seem like he'll be getting up any time soon. No one seems like they'll be leaving anytime soon, either. Alfred had disappeared briefly upstairs and returned with a plate piled high with sandwiches, cups, and a pitcher of sweetened iced tea. Everyone had tucked in. It is perhaps the calmest meal they've shared since Damian arrived.

Come to think of it, Tim rarely catches Jason smoking even on all of his cameras. He still does smoke, it's true, but it's a rare occurrence now.

"Mother would catch him sneaking away on missions to buy a pack or to perhaps, 'bum a smoke' off others," Damian shakes his head. "She scolded him, of course. It would be no good if akhi perished from something as lowly as a cigarette when he has already conquered death itself. The lessons did not stick until she convinced him that I might take up smoking thanks to his influence, and only then did he agree to try and quit."

"Good," Dick says, mouth full of sandwich.

"Smoking is an awful habit," Damian agrees. "However, I must admit that sometimes, I miss the smell of smoke."

Tim understands. When he used to explore Wayne Manor, looking for the ghost of Jason in every nook and cranny, he'd sometimes stumble upon a few hidden cigarette cartons. They were tucked away into shoe boxes and in floor boards, and Tim would be tempted to try them but he was content with the fantasy of a young Jason Todd trying to hide them away from Alfred's knowing eyes.

"...Mother never said that she missed him when he left for Gotham," the boy continues. "She would never dare to show any weakness. But one night, when I… when I missed him, I took out akhi's old stash and lit a cigarette. He never hid them well enough. I never put it to my lips, of course. I simply let it burn out. It smelled of him. It was irrational of me, but I– I felt better."

A pause, like Damian doesn't quite know where he himself is going with this.

"I was not fully aware of my surroundings. Mother snuck up on me halfway through the cigarette. But what was surprising was that she did not chide me for something so… irrational. We only sat there in the smoke, without speaking," Damian whispers. "The next day, Mother told me of her plans to send me to Gotham. To akhi. Unbeknownst to Grandfather, of course. Grandfather hated him, but I understand that akhi posed a potential weakness to not only myself but Mother."

Tim closes his eyes. How did Jason not know he was loved this deeply? Or perhaps he did know, and that was why he rejected affection so fiercely– he did not think himself worthy of it.

"In any case. Grandfather was pleased that he was gone. He once told me that his influence over me was unacceptable, and that I should never seek him out again," Damian explains. Tim very badly wants to rid the world of Ra's al Ghul, that absolute waste of air. "That he inherited all of Father's worst qualities, and that I should never attempt to emulate him. His stubborn, confrontational personality, most of all."

Dick snorts and Bruce's face goes carefully blank.

"Influence?" Tim prods. Damian scowls, but continues.

"Well, for one, akhi read me 'inappropriate reading material.' Unsuited for the heir," Damian pauses to take a bite of his sandwich and Dick tries valiantly not to laugh at the way Damian phrased his words. "Grayson. Do not laugh. He did not read me anything indecent."

"I guess Jane Austen isn't well received by assassins," Dick quips, blowing past Damian's past comment entirely.

"Not just Jane Austen," Damian amends. "Grandfather would find fault with any of the stories that akhi told me, regardless of their subject matter. But nonetheless, he would persist in reading them to me– The Hobbit, The Little Prince, Fahrenheit 451… Akhi once gave me the full set of Fullmetal Alchemist as well, which was quite different from his usual fare. I enjoyed that too."

Dick makes a low sound. Tim knows that from his time following the Waynes around at a safe distance that both he and Jason used to watch the anime adaptation together, and although they re-watched it frequently, Dick hadn't seen it again since Jason's death. It was a story of two brothers, how the eldest fought to restore his younger brother's body to him. No wonder Dick hadn't picked it back up.

"So what was your favorite of all that he's read to you, Dami?" Dick asks, and if his voice sounds a little strange then no one comments on it.

"Frankenstein. There was a line that he was particularly fond of– 'I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other,'" he quotes. "I do believe he saw much of himself in the story."

It's one of the books that Jason owns that Tim hasn't read. He supposes he'll have to rectify that tonight.

"I barely remembered what happened in that one, I skimmed through it all for English class," Dick states. "Jason's no monster, though. Not to me."

Or me, Tim doesn't say.

"Yes, well, akhi desired nothing but to make himself one in order to slay his killer," Damian informs them. The air seems to shift at the words. "He threw himself eagerly into learning everything that he could so he would be prepared on the day that he faced that clown once more."

No one speaks as Damian sits up.

"I told akhi that he should not worry," Damian continues, glancing at his father out of the corner of his eye. Tim also starts to watch Bruce, waiting for… something. He isn't sure what. "That if I were to visit Gotham one day, I would slay the Joker for him. That it was my duty to take revenge on his behalf, if he were unable to."

"...And what did Jason say?" Dick asks, also looking at Bruce. His face is as impassive as always. Tim's surprised he hasn't already started scolding him for even implying that he'd kill a man.

"He said that I should never go near that monster so long as I should live," Damian confesses. "That I should not even think about coming here until he could make it safe for me, that it was his duty as the older one to take on my burdens, and that the reverse was unacceptable. Unfortunately for his plans, Mother sent me here before akhi could kill the clown. I am certain that he is unhappy about it. Akhi was scared. He should never be scared. He is so weary of–"

The boy sucks in a breath.

"I am done talking," Damian announces. "I have spoken too much."

Bruce closes his eyes. "Thank you for sharing with us, Damian."

"Yeah, thank you," Dick adds, but he seems distracted, distant. He stares at Damian for a long moment before wordlessly leaving the Batcave. Tim watches him go. He was probably going to go seek out Jason.

Tim watches Damian square his shoulders and lift his jaw. "Father."

"...Yes, Damian?"

"I am going to go see Todd, now. I will keep a tracker on me, as well as a panic button. Please do not stop me from going to him."

"Yes. Alright," Bruce says easily. The desire to see Jason has welled up in all of them. It's a desire that can never be sated. Tim knows from experience. "Be safe."

"Just wait, Young Master Damian. I shall pack up some cookies for you to share with Master Jason," Alfred says. Damian hesitates for a brief second, but nods.

Bruce heads back upstairs, too, but not before a final glance at the glass case that holds Jason's Robin suit. Tim's about to leave as well and open up his camera feeds, but Damian clears his throat.

"Drake."

"Damian," Tim turns to the boy, aware of what's coming.

"I still want to smash your cameras," Damian warns him. "And I will. One day."

"Okay," he says.

"Stay away from akhi," Damian demands, hands clenched into fists. "I have seen men like you before. Greedy, insatiable. Your eyes betray you. You are just like any other man– even if you say otherwise, you'll never be content with what you have. You and your stupid little pictures– You'll hurt him. You already have."

And Tim smiles. Damian looks like he's about to lunge at him, so he hurries to correct the misunderstanding he's inadvertently made.

"You'd be surprised at how content I am by just watching," Tim confesses. "Why would I ever hurt Jason? All I've ever wanted was his happiness."

A laugh.

"I know I'm not worthy, I know I'm not good," Tim can't help but grin wider. "You don't need to worry about that. I knew it long ago."

"...As long as you know."

The boy spins on a heel and stomps upstairs, the line of his spine rigid. Tim watches his departure, and then moves to leave.

.

The Red Hood shoots out every single camera on a certain street at midnight and naturally, Tim is intrigued. To his knowledge, nothing big has been going down in Jason's territory. Nothing big enough to catch either his or Jason's attention, anyway. But it's only those cameras, and only on that street, and Tim can't help himself. He's already planning his patrol around checking the place out. Just in case, he even shuts his communicator off from the Bats, not wanting them to scare Jason away.

He's further incensed to go when Hood looks into the final camera, cocks his head, and beckons him with a crook of his finger before shooting the lens, causing the feed to cut to static.

Tim gulps.

A part of his brain realizes that he's clearly being lured in for a trap of some kind, but since it's Jason he literally doesn't care. He also hasn't seen the man in person ever since he came to his manor weeks ago. He's even been avoiding Sunday dinner, which made all of the Bats severely unhappy, which made them try and corner Hood on patrol, which made him run away even more.

It's been tense, to say the least. Bruce is unhappy, so he's been more anal than ever. Dick keeps failing to have a conversation with Jason so he's been pouting, but he's become snappier, and so Tim knows that his patience is running out. Damian is sent back to the Manor earlier than ever after his visits with Jason, so he's even more murder-y than usual. Even Alfred can't seem to get a hold of him.

Tim? Well, Tim has been staying in Drake Manor ever since, wary that Jason would come back and search around as he previously wanted to. And he doesn't know how to act around Jason, now that the man is marginally more aware of Tim's habits.

It doesn't stop him from searching the streets that Hood lured him to. Tim narrows his search down almost immediately to an abandoned shop, the windows boarded up and the walls spray painted a dozen times over. Tim nearly laughs aloud when he spots it. It's so clearly a place where crime takes place that he's not surprised when he pushes his way inside and spots the Red Hood standing over a kneeling man. Before Tim allows himself to drink his fill of the sight of Jason standing in front of him, in person, he takes stock of the situation. A desk with papers strewn all over the place, some rope, a laptop… Canisters of some sort?

"Red Robin, help!" The kneeling man shrieks. Tim glances at him, taking note of all of the man's injuries. He's bleeding from bullet wounds, but none of them look fatal so long as the man manages to find medical attention.

"Hiya, birdie. Thought I'd put on another show for you today," Hood greets. Ooh.

"Help," the man pleads again. Hood rolls his shoulders around almost lazily before planting a kick right on the man's chest. A broken sound leaves the man's mouth.

"Do you think that doing all of your usual Red Hood stuff right in front of me is going to scare me off?" Tim asks, wondering what they're doing here.

"Not that kinda show, birdie. Least, I don't think it is. Let's see where the night takes us." The man whimpers as Jason gives him another good kick. Tim kind of wants to whimper too.

"Should I be intervening right now?" Tim asks, even though he's sure that Hood wouldn't be beating up this man without a good reason.

"Naw. This guy kidnapped kids off the streets to test some of his shit on them and then sold them off. Kind of a Scarecrow wannabe scumbag," Hood explains. Tim inclines his head. "Was gonna set up a whole thing, but I guess you really were eager to see me."

He doesn't deny the words, but he does walk over to the laptop, telegraphing all his movements clearly so that Jason doesn't think he's picking a fight. The screen shows lines and lines and rows and rows of formulas that Tim's eager to crack, but not now.

"Gonna stop me, pretty bird? Just so we're clear, I'm gonna kill this guy," Hood nudges the man's ribs with the toe of his boot and the man starts to beg and plead.

"I know you don't kill randomly," he nods. "Although you enjoy your image of being unpredictable and eager to lash out, it's not really you. You put a lot of thought and planning into everything you do, killing or otherwise. And from what you told me alone, the guy deserves it. So, no. I won't."

The man starts to cry.

"You say the sweetest things sometimes," Hood drawls.

"...I thought Bats don't k-kill," the man on the ground stammers through his tears. Hood barks out a laugh.

"Ain't no Bat."

"Red Robin, please. Just– even Arkham. Blackgate. I know I fucked up, but you can't just let Hood kill me!"

Tim is unmoved. "I thought everyone knew not to mess with kids in the Hood's territory," is all he says.

"What he said!" Hood cheers, throwing his hands up. The man on the ground flinches at the sudden movement. "Even a Bat gets it, so why didn't you, Sammy?" Hood cheers.

"I'm sorry–"

"Sorry ain't undo sellin' kids," Hood snaps. "Shh, shh. Be quiet and I'll make it quicker than you deserve."

The man– Sammy, Tim supposes, shuts up, but he can't stop crying. Tim gives him a once-over. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

"Naw. Did some thinking, some reflecting, had a bit of introspection, and I came to the conclusion that I don't have all the info I want. Not yet, anyway," Jason tells him. "So you just sit right there and wait, pretty bird. I've got plans."

Jason seems happier than usual as he crosses the room and picks up one of the canisters from its crate. It's a smooth, tapered thing that's dark gray in color and with a latch at the top. He runs a gloved hand over the side, and Tim shudders imperceptibly as he imagines that same hand glide that path over his skin.

"Is that what he was working on?" Tim asks. Hood nods, tossing the canister from one hand to the other.

"This stuff lowers inhibitions. Makes you open up, and on that note– It also does somethin' else that works well in my favor. You'll see. Hey, catch, pretty bird."

Tim stares, as if in slow motion, as Jason flips the latch, tosses him the gas canister, and misses Tim by a good distance so it clatters on the floor before him before it explodes in a cloud of pink gas. Instinct has Tim jumping back, but the gas is quicker than he, and he inhales quite a bit before it disperses.

"What the– Hood, what the–"

"Oh noooo," Hood drawls. "The canister opened. You got hit."

"This is why you lured me here?" Tim coughs. He doesn't feel much different, nor does he feel poisoned, but it's still a mysterious substance.

"It's harmless," Jason tells him, faux cheerful. "Tested it on this fuck earlier, only lasts about an hour or two. And I got hit with it yesterday and didn't die, so it should be fine. Inhibitions feeling lower, yet?"

"Huh?"

"Hey birdie, what do you think of Agent A's beans on toast?"

It's fine. Not my favorite, but it's fine.

"It's god awful," Tim blurts instinctively, and slaps a hand over his mouth. He didn't mean to say that aloud. Did lowered inhibitions mean…

The consequences of being hit by the gas should be obvious, but Tim's having a little trouble putting his thoughts together right now because Jason is looking at him, so nothing is really connecting as it should in his mind.

"Let's give you another heavy hitter, yeah?"

Jason shoots the man between the eyes effortlessly. He's not even looking at him. He's looking right at Tim.

"Better than through a camera, right?"

Jason is bloody and lovely and dangerous and Tim is going to die because his Robin's eyes are on him too. He's watching him, just as Tim does.

"How's that make you feel, birdie? Up for some more honesty hour? What do you really think of me killing people?"

Oh no, Tim thinks.

"Objectively, I'm fine with it. You only kill monsters. Otherwise… I don't even know if I should feel intimidated or turned on," Tim says instead. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. He is in danger. He is in so much danger right now, and not in a violence way– more of a Tim wants to just crawl over to Jason kind of way.

Tim has to get out of here. He has to find his camera. He has to figure out how that gas works and what it's doing to him. He needs to take pictures of Jason. He has to run because the gas did something that his brain can't quite compute yet. He needs to stop staring at the way the barrel of Jason's gun is smoking, needs to look away, needs to step away from the growing puddle of blood at their feet. He must be a terrible person because he doesn't care about the body, just the way Jason is looking at him.

With every bit of willpower that Tim possesses, he manages to tear his eyes away from Jason. Tim's brain feels even more chaotic than ever. It's just Jason-Jason-Jason– but when is it not? At the very least, he knows that he rarely thinks of anything else.

The only real difference now is that there's a slight fog over everything, like Tim needs to think really, really hard in order to…

To what?

"Huh. Why aren't you looking at me? Thought you said you wanted to creep on me from up close, too."

Oh, it's Jason. Tim lifts his head.

"I do, but…"

Jason steps closer. Tim backs away.

"Thought you said you weren't scared," Jason sing-songs, still approaching. His boots leave bloody footprints behind.

"'M not, I swear," Tim gasps. "Please stop thinking I'm scared of you, I hate it, I…"

"Shh, shh," Jason says, and he's still. Coming. Closer. Tim doesn't know what to do. He can't run, because it's Jason.

"I. I need my camera, I… I can't look straight at you, I'll…" Tim is a mess. He's blushing, sweating, stuttering, his eyes are darting everywhere because he doesn't know where to look. The gas did something to him– or maybe it was Jason's proximity, or maybe a combination of both. He tries to shield his gaze behind his fingers, but Jason stomps over to him and yanks the hands away.

Jason is holding his hands. Even through the leather gloves, Tim can feel the warmth radiating off of his body.

"Didn't you want to look? Aren't you always watching? I'm right here in front of you, pretty bird. No need to look anywhere else," Jason laughs. It's not a kind laugh, and Tim knows he's just teasing him, but it drops a hot weight into his stomach. Jason was merciless. Tim loves him so much.

"I can't!" Tim whimpers. "Jason, I can't. I'll die, Jason, I can't look straight at you."

"You can," Jason croons, like a siren sweetly serenading him into the sea. Oh, if Jason only asked, Tim would eagerly meet him there at the bottom of the ocean. Anywhere, really, so long as Jason was there. "Oh, pretty bird. You were so calm and collected at home, your own turf, but now that you're in my territory, have you finally sensed the danger? Realized that you're not the one in control yet?"

"I'm not scared!" Tim blurts. "You're just too beautiful to look at, I don't know what to do!"

The Red Hood tuts. Tim ducks his chin, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks.

"But you are scared," Jason tells him, and interlaces their fingers together. Tim's knees begin to shake. He thinks that the only thing keeping him upright is Jason's hands. His strong, wonderful, capable hands. Tim might be panting. "You spend a whole lotta time with the fantasy of me so you don't fuckin' know how to act with the reality. Am I as good as you've imagined, birdie?"

Was good even a good enough word to describe just how good Jason is?

"You're better," Tim breathes. "More than any of my fantasies. More than pictures or memories. You just keep exceeding my expectations simply by being you. I can't get enough of it. Enough of you."

"Oh, you'll make a man blush," Jason teases. "You're really fucked up over me, aren't you? No accounting for taste."

Tim just stares at him. In a sudden burst of reckless determination, Tim's hands tighten over Jason's.

Are you not aware of how gorgeous you are? Jason, you are a vision. Don't ever think less of yourself.

Tim wants to say that. He does not end up saying anything like it at all.

"Are you not aware that I want to literally lick the sweat from your neck, and your chest, and your thighs? I'd lick your eyeballs too if you only asked. Jason, I genuinely want to crawl inside your ribcage and live there. Don't ever think less of yourself– I would genuinely kill anyone that ever made you think that you are less worthy than you are."

"Holy shit," Jason says.

"Holy shit," Tim agrees, already planning how to just end it all right now. He has to die. His plans for killing the Joker would have to be sped up. Everything has to end now. What the hell is happening? Why is he just blurting all of this aloud?

"My ribcage?" Jason demands, incredulous. The voice modulator in his helmet is even more staticky than usual– or maybe that's just the sudden ringing in his ears.

"Yes," Tim blurts, because he can't ever keep his cool in front of his hero. "That way we'd never be apart, and I'd always be watching."

"...How would you see me from there? You'd just be. In my ribcage. How would you fit? You're small, but not that small." Jason asks, sounding so… lost. Like he was still processing the words. Tim bluescreens yet again at the very excellent point.

"I never thought of that," Tim admits. Being deprived of Jason's face would kill him. It was a silly oversight. One he should correct. "I'd like to live in your shadow, then. We'd never be apart like that either– I'd be with you in the haze of Gotham's nights and in the daytime when you're asleep and I'd always have my fill."

"If you lived in my shadow, how would you take your little creepy pictures of me?" Hood asks, like it's a joke. It's not. Tim is now seriously contemplating this scenario.

"I would find a way to bring my camera."

"How."

"I just would," Tim replies, determined. "I can't be deprived of the sight of you. I can have photos, if nothing else. Those are mine if nothing else is."

"Holy shit, birdie."

"I know, I can't shut up. Why can't I stop?" Tim asks, frantic. "Help."

"Guy I was beating the shit out of was messing with truth serum, tried to make it a gas," Jason explains, and Tim feels the knowledge wash over him like water. His brain finally connects the very, very obvious dots together. Why was it so difficult beforehand? "Reactions vary from person to person though thanks to its chemical makeup, 'splains why you're acting up. He was testing it on street kids, which is why I found out about it. Thought I could take advantage of this too, an' before you yell at me, I ain't taking shit from a stalker."

"I don't mind being drugged if it's you," Tim's knees wobble. "I mean, I would have appreciated a warning, but I still don't mind. You lured me over for this?"

"Yeah," Jason admits easily, letting go of Tim. He wants to fall over. "I wanted to bait you over here."

"Why?" Tim demands, feeling a tug in his gut. "You could have just asked. I'd come if you wanted me to."

Hood waggles his fingers at him. "Truth serum, birdie. Duh."

"I already said–"

A low laugh interrupts his words. "Talk's cheap, pretty bird."

"So's truth serum," Tim complains. "It's not the same! It's not equal!" God, that must be the lowered inhibitions again. Did he always whine like this?

"Damn right it's not equal. How 'n the hell can I come up with an equivalent for your years of following me 'round?" Tim wants to run away. "Nothing to say to that, birdie?"

"...You attacked me," Tim tries weakly.

Hood taps a finger against his throat, just beneath his helmet, and Tim swears that he feels his scar throb in response. Holy shit.

"I was there," Jason agrees. "On that note, are ya sure you're okay with that? I apologized already, but I can do it again. And you don't have to forgive me."

"Already said I'm okay," Tim snaps, impatient now. "No matter how many times you test me, I'll say it over and over again. I. Don't. Care. Aren't you tired of having the same conversation every single time?"

"Eh, not really. Wing says I'm insecure. Think I'm man enough to admit he might be right. Anyway, you gotta admit that you didn't like me beating the shit out of you, right?"

"I…" Tim valiantly attempts to fight off the truth serum, but to no avail. "I don't enjoy pain. I like that you put your hands on me. I like my new scars."

Silence.

Hood claps his hands together. "Right. Okay. I'm not going to unpack that, actually."

"Thank you," Tim says.

"You got here pretty fast. Did you come as soon as you saw me? I thought you'd do the rounds on patrol first."

"You're here. You called. Why wouldn't I be here?" Tim confesses. "I have to get my fill of you daily or I don't feel right."

"I can't believe you just say that shit."

"Truth serum, Hood. How are you not affected, by the way? You don't seem drugged up."

Even with the helmet on, Tim can picture Jason's flustered expression. He doesn't know what sort of face to make when he's all pink and embarrassed, so his lips always twitch into a funny line, but his eyebrows furrow like he's about to yell. It's a wonderful expression. "Rebreather and filter in my helmet, but ya know what I mean, birdie. You say that shit and you mean it."

"Once again, truth serum. Gas. Whatever," Tim repeats.

"Hey now, you shouldn't antagonize me. I could ask you anything I wanted, you know. Anything at all, and you'd have to tell me," Jason threatens. It's not really a threat. Didn't Tim promise to be honest with him? Isn't Tim already Jason's in both heart and soul?

Jason folds his arms across his chest and Tim's eyes drag across his pecs before he forces himself to look up. "Okay, tell me, what's the creepiest picture you have of me? Or pictures, plural. I'm sure you've gotten plenty of creep shots over the years. Explain 'em all."

Abort, abort, it is a threat. It is such a threat that Tim genuinely wonders if there is a way to die on command. Something like that must exist in their vast universe, right? It has to. If it doesn't already then after tonight Tim will find a way. He'll even turn to magic if necessary.

There was a difference between knowing Tim was going to show Jason his Robin room when the Joker was dead and straight up telling the man that he had plenty of creepshots of him. And besides, the Robin room was perfectly curated with all of Jason's best Robin shots!

This was different.

Tim tries to keep the information inside, keep his mouth from betraying him, but the words leave his lips easily. "I have an entire album dedicated to your thighs in the Robin outfit. All zoom-in photos." Tim says. "In your Red Hood guise, I have many photos of when your shirt got caught in a chase and part of your nipple and chest are showing. There are several angles of this phenomenon. I swear that I blacked out when I saw your chest and when I came back to myself my camera storage was full. In your day to day life, I simply like to take pictures of you asleep. There's a few where you're nude, but anything below the waist is regrettably covered by a blanket. I have no actual nude images of you, please don't be afraid. Unless you'll let me take them, which in that case, I'd be more than happy to have them."

…Tim contemplates stealing Jason's gun from his holster and ending it all.

"My nipple," Jason repeats. Tim has to die. "Like, just a picture of my nipple and chest?"

"Pictures, plural," Tim corrects, with nearly enough regret to kill a man. "Jason, feel free to reenact the night that you broke into Titans Tower, but this time, make it permanent."

"Has anyone else seen 'em?" Jason asks, instead of killing him. Tim can't tell what Jason is thinking. Usually his tone of voice is enough to give away what he's thinking, but now Tim is just busy fighting away a full blown heart attack.

"I would kill them and then myself if they have," Tim tells him, very seriously.

"Wow. And you're sure you don't have a picture of my dick or something?" Jason questions, sounding genuinely intrigued.

"I am sure, because if I did I would guard it with my life," Tim blurts. He closes his eyes. He hates himself so much.

Jason laughs. It's fuzzy through the voice modulator, but it's music to Tim's ears despite the mortifying scenario. "Glad to hear my hypothetical dick pics would be safe in your weird little hands," Jason taunts.

"Please stop," Tim will literally get on his knees and beg Jason to stop asking him embarrassing stuff.

"Okay, okay. I just had one real question, and then you can fly away and do whatever Red Robins do," Jason says. Tim slumps over in relief, then straightens up again. What was he going to ask that required the serum? Jason could have asked Tim anything that night at Drake Manor, so why didn't he then? He could ask what Tim was hiding, what he was gently pushing Jason away from in his house… Anything at all, really.

"Why'd you replace me?"

Oh.

"No, I didn't, I swear," Tim cries, willing Jason to understand. "I didn't. I wasn't trying to. It wasn't replacing you. I could never."

The Red Hood just looks at him and Tim swallows the rest of his words. What Jason wants here isn't denial, even if the serum makes it so both of them know it's the truth. It doesn't matter, even though Tim would never lie to him– platitudes would never reassure Jason. Tim was never trying to replace him, but it wasn't an explanation. He needed to use his words, and the opportunity given to him.

"You were dead and Batman wanted to join you," Tim doesn't know what to do with his limbs. Everything feels detached from his body. "He was suicidal, angry. He took it out on Gotham."

"You–"

"If you want the truth you're going to have to let me say it," Tim interrupts. Hood makes a frustrated sound low in his chest, but doesn't keep talking. "Right. Okay. You already know I followed all of you around, right? I got a front row seat to how brutal Batman became– life threatening injuries. Treating crimes like pickpocketing as though they were murders. A general disregard for human life. He'd even ignore the Batsignal and the Commissioner in favor of doing his own thing– it sounds weird to point out, but it made everyone wary. Gotham city was stuck in this strange limbo that I don't know how to explain to those who hadn't lived it.

"So I went to Nightwing and told him to continue being Batman's partner. That Batman needed Robin– that B needed his son. He essentially told me to fuck off."

That makes Jason huff, which makes Tim's shoulders relax.

"It sounds stupid, but then– then I thought of you, and how you were so good, and that I couldn't let that legacy die even if you were dead– And Agent A, desperate to save B, he… Agreed with me. And so with his help, I took to the skies in your suit, unbeknownst to Batman. He flipped the fuck out when he found out," Tim explains, and then smiles a little at the memory. It was terrifying, but… "even back then, your suit was a little big for me. I really was a pipsqueak."

"And you became Robin," Jason says. "Just like that."

"I forced my way into wearing your suit, yes," Tim doesn't quite agree. Jason clearly catches it, judging from his unimpressed body language.

"B took you in pretty fast, you gotta admit."

"No. Not really, B never accepted me fully. Even now, I don't feel like he has. He couldn't look straight at me in the suit for months. He called me by your name multiple times. B and Nightwing… I know they treat me nicely in an attempt to absolve themselves of how they treated you, in a way. It's unfair to you, I know."

"...To both of us," Jason mutters.

"My feelings on the matter aren't important, actually," Tim disagrees.

Jason levels him with a look so piercing Tim swears that he can see his eyes through the mask. "They are. Tell me 'bout 'em."

"...I didn't mind. They missed you. I missed you. We do all we can to find solace in one another even though it doesn't help. That's all."

"That's all?" He sounds incredulous. "And you say you're not a replacement?"

"I keep saying that I'm not your replacement because I genuinely don't believe that I am. I am not you. I could never be you. You have left an irreplaceable mark on my life and many others, not just as Robin but as yourself. Although I felt as though it was my duty to keep your legacy alive if no one else would, I– I didn't do it with the intention of stealing your role. I'm someone else's son. I'm someone else entirely. I… I am sorry that you think otherwise," Tim drops his chin. "I just wanted to be good, I swear. For you. I'm sorry."

"...Fuck are you apologizing for?" Jason hisses. Tim wants to just lie down. "Ah, hell. Jesus fucking Christ."

Tim shifts his weight from side to side, not knowing what to say. Jason paces the floor, looking like he wants to either run away or just shoot something full with bullets.

Hood sucks in a deep breath. Through the modulator, it's an especially violent sound. After that, it's quiet. He's even stopped pacing.

It's just Tim and Jason and the body between them.

"Fuck," Jason swears again, taking off his helmet. "That's what I fucking get for doing this. God, I don't even know if I wanted to hear that."

"...I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, I'm the one that fucking drugged you and asked all that shit," Jason snarls, running a hand through his hair. He shoves a hand inside the lining of his leather jacket and takes out a carton of cigarettes. "Shit. I need a smoke."

His hands shake as he reaches into another pocket and procures a lighter. Tim idly wonders if Jason's eyes are green beneath the domino mask while Jason lights his cigarette.

A few puffs escape into the air.

"You can leave now, birdie," Jason pulls the cigarette away from his mouth. Tim stares at the movement intently. "I swear, the gas fades after an hour or two. If it doesn't or you feel like dying, you can get even with me."

"No, I want to watch you smoke," Tim confesses. Lowered inhibitions isn't so bad when it works in his favor.

"Always watching," Jason mutters. "Do whatever, I guess."

So Tim does just that. Jason tolerates the staring and the silence for a moment longer before he makes a face. "It seriously can't be that interesting, pretty bird."

Pretty. "It is," Tim insists. "I find everything that you do fascinating."

"Smoking is bad," Jason informs him, a coy note to his words. "I wouldn't recommend it. Do as I say, not as I do."

"I'm not interested in smoking, but I can't deny that I'm curious about the taste. How it feels like," Tim moves closer. He feels distinctly like a cat stalking a bird.

"If you wanna try so bad, then why don't you take the other end? My treat."

The other end of the lit cigarette.

Tim stares at Jason, whose eyes are brighter than the moon. He's never seen anyone so exquisite in his life.

"C'mon now," Jason jokes. He points at the end with a lazy finger. "All yours."

All yours, all yours, all yours.

And so Tim leans in regardless, lips slightly parted as though to consume the lit end of Jason's cigarette. Like he was leaning in for a kiss.

"What the FUCK–"

Jason jolts back, eyes wide. The cigarette falls from his lips, hitting the ground like thunder in a storm. Tim smiles at him and pretends that he isn't jealous of a cigarette, of all things.

"You didn't really think that I'd do it, did you?"

"Of fucking course– of course I didn't think you'd fucking do it!" Jason yelps. A hand goes up to fist in his own hair. "God, the fucking inhibitions or whatever… I gotta dispose of that shit."

It's too bad. Tim really wanted to try the other end of the cigarette, just like Jason said. If he burned his lips or tongue, then so be it. So as long as he had another scar to add to his collection, Tim would be perfectly fine. He would take what he could.

"Don't– seriously, don't do that," Jason scolds, looking more on edge. He lights another cigarette, eyeing Tim warily. Tim wouldn't try again, not unless Jason asked him to. "You scared the shit outta me."

"I didn't mean to scare you," he replies. "I just wanted to try."

A look. A drag from Jason's cigarette. With the shake of his head, Jason steps back into Tim's personal space.

"Hey, Tim. Open wide," Jason says, gently lifting his chin up with his free hand. Suddenly Tim's brain is completely silent.

Oh my god.

Jason wasn't doing what he thought he was doing, was he?

Tim can only stare up into Jason's eyes as the man looms over him, leans in real close, and softly exhales the cigarette smoke into Tim's mouth.

…And Tim starts to hack up a storm.

"Your face," Jason snorts, tossing his head back with laughter. The sound is bright and wonderful and Tim almost doesn't regret looking every bit the fool he feels whenever he's in front of Jason. As long is Jason is genuinely laughing and content, he'll do anything. Anything at all. "Get out, birdie. I'll take care of the cleanup."

Tim leaves, but not before a final glance back at Jason. He's not looking at Tim. He's staring off at nothing at all. He looks lonely.

Jason clearly needed time to digest all the information he's been given. Although Tim wants to comfort him somehow, he's not sure that his interference would help at all, not right now.

So Tim flees.

He didn't get any pictures, but tonight was a good night. Patrol ends up being uneventful, and no one talks to him long enough for them to realize he's been put under truth serum. Before Tim heads back home, he clears his throat.

"I love Agent A's beans on toast," he says aloud. Good. It wore off.

Tim shakes his head. Maybe he should have taken one of those canisters. If Jason wasn't going to dispose of them all… Well. No matter.

.

The Joker breaks out of Arkham.

Light from Tim's laptop flickers onto his face. He rubs his eyes a few times just to make sure that he knows what he's seeing. Yup, that's him, alright, slinking around the streets of Gotham city and smirking his stupid fucking smirk. Tim has never wanted to kick someone's teeth in more. His too-wide smile and awful hair is familiar by now. Tim spent a lot of time researching the man, how he acts, where he'd go after he broke out, what he'd do. All for this moment.

Joker stares up into one of the cameras for a moment. They lock eyes. Of course, that monster doesn't notice, but Tim is always watching. The man moves on, not even realizing that eyes are on him. Too bad. He'd like for the man to feel hunted for once in his godforsaken life.

Tim's phone is ringing. Tim doesn't even have to check his phone to know who's calling, who's texting, who's summoning the Bats. Gotham city entered lockdown the moment Joker was sprung.

Briefly, he glances at the screen.

im worried. has anyone seen jay? i cant get a hold of him

Tim smiles a little to himself. Dick doesn't need to worry. Hood isn't anywhere near the Joker, not yet. At least not according to his cameras.

And after tonight, they wouldn't have to worry anymore.

Tim leaves the Robin room, but not before nodding at the photos. Jason smiles back at him, triumphant. "I'll do it, Robin. For everyone."

He shuts the door firmly behind him and moves quickly around the house, plans flickering in and out of his mind. He needs to fetch a few things before he can leave. Occasionally, Tim brings up the feed on his phone to make sure he knows where the Joker is at all times.

Tim finds himself loading Jack Drake's shotgun with uncertain hands. Not because of what he wants to do with it, but because he's never used a shotgun before. He isn't even sure that his dad has a proper license for this thing. Not that Tim cares, it'll serve his purpose well tonight.

Before he leaves his parents' room, he rummages through his mother's things and– there. A decently large duffle bag. Jason loves this kind of symbolic stuff. Tim places the shotgun inside, and a few other things he might need.

Can't forget the camera, either.

Tim looks in the mirror before leaving the house. He doesn't look like Robin. Or Red Robin. Or Timothy Jackson Drake. With his nondescript hood pulled over his head, gloves, and medical mask, he looks like your average criminal.

Good.

I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.

Tim has always been a very greedy person. Utterly incapable of having his fill. Why not satisfy both love and rage at the same time?

Drake Manor is silent as a grave. He feels like a ghost as he drifts through the halls.

Tim knows love because it flies over rooftops, light as a bird. He knows love because it wields a gun and slays monsters on behalf of those who cannot– or those who refuse to. He knows love's face, it stares down at him from haunted walls. He knows love and it is red, red, red.

Tonight, Tim will ensure that Jason knows love. After all, love knows Jason too. It is always, always watching.

Chapter Text

Jason rides through the streets of Gotham on his motorcycle, idly listening to the voice-mails he's been getting for the past two hours or so through his helmet. And wouldn't you know it, his murderer broke out of prison two hours and seventeen minutes ago. Such a coincidence, really, that he's so popular all of a sudden.

Bruce's voice-mails are, predictably, fucking annoying.

Come to the Batcave.

Come to the Batcave, now.

Where are you?

Jason, now is not the time to ignore me. I understand your grievances, but you must come to the Batcave now so we may discuss this.

Jason, please. I can't keep you safe if you're out there.

Jaylad. Answer your phone. I– Where are you?

Please, I can't lose you again. He's not worth it, I promise. Killing him won't solve anything, and I can't have you getting hurt.

Annoying. Wasn't it too late to act all concerned?

Dick's voice-mails are also fucking annoying. What a surprise.

Hey, Jay, call me back.

Jay, come on. You know why I'm calling. I'm worried. Call me back please.

Little Wing, I– I know you want revenge, but I– okay, all I want to know is if you're safe. Call me back, seriously.

Just let me know you're alive. Please, I can't do this again. We can figure out what to do together. Okay? P-please.

Damian's voice-mails are a little heartbreaking, but Jason powers through them.

You don't have to face that clown alone, akhi. I swore off murder for Father's sake, but this monster deserves death. We can slay him together.

Akhi, please. Don't go off on your own. Someone must watch your back. Answer me, or Grayson, or Father, just… Please.

He even gets a few from Barbara. And one from that Stephanie girl, which is surprising, because when did she even get his number? What's even more surprising is how similar they both are in word and tone. They're both telling him not to be stupid. Jason laughs a little when he hears them. It was a little too late for that. He was paying for his stupidity every single day of his second life.

Alfred's sole voice-mail is short and to the point. Jason listens to it thrice.

My dear boy. Please take care. I cannot lose you again.

That wonderful, wonderful man. He knows there's no point trying to talk Jason out of this. It's kind of insulting that they all think Jason's going to get hurt, though. Or worse.

(In all honesty, Jason hadn't planned for a life past killing the Joker anyway, so…)

Anyway, that's not even mentioning the texts he's getting. Dick's typos and Bruce's terrible, terrible formality when he texts are kind of funny. But they're obviously not enough to sway him out of hunting the Joker down.

Tonight, the Pit is hungry. Jason is hungry. He'll take a bite out of the Joker and spit him out. Last time, the Bats foiled his plans when he busted the Joker out of prison, so he wasn't even able to get a glimpse of him. How lucky that this time he didn't even have to do anything at all.

Everything's falling nicely into place. It's almost suspicious how easy it feels.

Of course the Bats want to chase after the Joker, but they're a little preoccupied by Joker's own gang, who are tearing up the city in their excitement that their leader is back, and Hood's gang, who are meant to distract everyone so no one stops Jason from killing that fuck since no one else would.

Jason swears that he can spot Batman in every shadow, paranoia eating away at his insides. Would Bruce totally ignore his gang setting shit ablaze just to stop him from killing the Joker? Probably? Maybe? Jason would rather not be spotted to find out. Hopefully his men are keeping everyone busy.

Over in the distance, the city looks as though it's literally on fire, smog and smoke lifting from the skyline to dissipate into the cold air. Barely any cars are on the road. Even less are the crowds. Everyone is hunkering down, hurrying home, trying to get the fuck out of dodge lest they encounter the Joker and he decides to have a little fun with them.

Not a single soul is in Jason's way as he drives all the way down to Amusement Mile, Joker's home turf. Of course. No Gothamite is suicidal enough to dare.

His informant had told him that Joker had headed straight to his usual spot just after killing three Arkham guards. He had hot wired the nearest car and sped off into the night. His informant had also informed him that if he died while getting his information that he expected Hood to look after his family for the rest of his life. Jason had agreed easily. It was the least that he could do.

Amusement Mile is as decrepit as ever. As Jason drives into the park, he can't help but feel uneasy. He's not going to play around this time. He doesn't need the Bat to play a game, or for the Joker to monologue at him. No. The moment Jason sees the Joker, he's going to shoot the fucker in the head. No more games. He can't risk the Joker around Damian, or any of the other birds.

"Hey!" Jason yells. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" He's confident enough in his driving that he takes one hand off of the handles and uses it to whip out his gun. Hopefully he can just nail the fucker in the head.

"I came to play, Joker!" He tries. Nothing.

Jason continues to drive, but slower this time, guiding his bike over the sidewalks and into buildings and pausing in front of every shadowed corner and–

And the Joker–

Isn't here.

Jason squeezes his eyes shut to fight off a wave of anger. Fuck. He takes a brief moment to exhale an angry breath before pulling over completely and whipping out his phone and dialing a certain number.

"I thought you said he went to Amusement Mile," he snarls, over the phone.

"He did," his informant says. "I swear. Johnny saw it with his own eyes, and I can send you the footage too– Boss, he's there."

Jason scowls. "Have you been watching the park this whole time?"

"...No, I got the fuck out of dodge the moment I confirmed that he was there. I just assumed that he would–"

"You assumed." Even to his own ears, the words sound cold and disbelieving.

God, the Joker could have known that Jason's guy was watching him and just waited until he fucked off before leaving.

"Why the fuck would he head to Amusement Mile only to fuck off immediately?" His informant bites back.

"How the hell am I supposed to know what goes on in that fucked up little head of his?" Jason throws up his hands. "Whatever. Don't call this number again."

The informant did do part of his job, even if he failed to follow through. Jason hangs up and thinks about what he should do next. Head back to Gotham? Clearly, the Joker is… gone…

His eyes catch on something in the distance.

Jason squints to see it better. There, in one of the abandoned buildings, one that's just completely missing one of its walls. Some kind of storage warehouse? Jason didn't know. Was that a blinking red light? It was just barely visible in the darkness, but it was there. He hops off of his motorcycle, gun at the ready as he strides into the building.

The Joker isn't here. There's nowhere to hide, at least for a grown man– the debris is minimal and there's no furniture or crates to duck behind. However, there is a conspicuously large pool of blood in his place– smeared all over the ground as though someone was dragged through it. And tire tracks, and more blood, speckled all over the ground.

Jason follows the short trail of blood and finds two bloody shotgun shells. Those, he pockets. They were oddly conspicuous in the darkness. As though someone wanted him to find them.

Okay. Did someone shoot and hit and run the Joker and not invite him? Rude. Knowing the Joker, though, he was probably still alive, that fucker. Or did the Joker do this to some poor sap and flee the scene for more 'fun'? That was actually more likely.

Jason does the rounds, but finds nothing more suspicious than the fresh blood stain. No freaky little games being set up, no weird little fun house. He returns to the blood puddle and sighs. He knew it was too easy. The Joker just had to fuck off, didn't he.

And then out of the corner of his eye, Jason spots it again. There, just barely hidden away, a blinking red light above him. Several red lights, all positioned at different angles, height levels, and distances. Surveillance cameras? Working surveillance cameras? Here, at the rundown amusement park that everyone avoids thanks to Joker?

Gears start to turn in his head.

…No fucking way. There was no way, right? Now, Jason was the sort of person to quickly jump to conclusions, he knows this full well, but…

Um, Jason. There's something I need to do first, but when… When I accomplish it, will you come back again? There's something I want to show you.

…No way. No. Way. Jason's just become accustomed to associating anything to do with cameras with Tim. Tim, who's weirdly obsessed with him. Tim, who calls Jason his hero even when Jason is decidedly not one. Tim, who's been following him for years, and years.

It's the same Tim that follows Batman's rules, right? The genius detective. The rich prodigy. Beloved by one and all. Highly respected in the hero community. Out of all of Batsy's little birds, he was probably the one who resembled B the most. That Tim, who's definitely never killed anyone before. Jason would definitely know if he had.

The same Tim whom Jason directly told that he was going to kill that man from the other day and did nothing about it. The same Tim who knows every last detail about his life– what he'll do, where he'll be. Tim, who wants to live in his ribcage, or even his shadow.

Tim, and his intense gaze hidden behind those cameras.

Jason practically sprints back to his bike and peels out of the amusement park like a Bat out of hell, thoughts swirling together incessantly. No way. Right?

He can barely put together a coherent thought other than no way as he speeds through the city.

When Jason first returned to Gotham, he did all of the research that he possibly could on the newest little Robin. At least, as much as he could. He wasn't as big a stalker as Bruce could be, let alone Tim.

The birdie was a fuckin' robot. He never ate proper meals. He never slept. If he wasn't on patrol, he was staring at screens, always focused on the next case, the next mystery. Bruce's perfect little soldier. Better than Jason, who was too angry, too reckless. Tim was rich and intelligent and worked tirelessly for a mission with no end in sight. Even when he was with others, he hung back. Waited for others to speak before speaking. He was bold in the most obnoxious ways and terribly anxious over the most insignificant things.

Tim is not a murderer.

Even if Tim did have some affection for him, he wouldn't kill the Joker on his behalf, would he? And he wouldn't set up cameras in anticipation of it. And he wouldn't leave obvious traces of this supposed crime behind, right? Tim was smarter than that.

Unless he obviously wanted to be caught… But why? And by who?

The obvious answer was himself, but Jason can't quite believe it. Hope wasn't exactly a thing that he had an excess of, ever since he died.

Maybe Tim kidnapped the Joker just so he could throw him back in Arkham right away just so Jason wouldn't bloody his hands further? So Jason could be good? That seemed like something he would do. Yeah, that was definitely it. His ass was being thrown back into Arkham. So Jason should hurry and intervene, right? Find that fucking clown and get rid of him, once and for all? Before Tim could put him away again?

…If he really believed that, then why was Jason driving in the opposite direction of the asylum?

A part of him wonders if it was the other way around, where it was little Timmy getting jumped, but… No. The Joker would definitely put on a show if he'd kidnapped or killed any of the Bats.

Jason races past the fires, the gang fights, the shadows, and the war drum beat of his heart as he drives out of the city, past Wayne Manor, and over to Drake Manor. He practically trips over his bike in his haste to park it, not even bothering to hide it better as he practically tosses it into the shrubbery.

This time, Jason walks right up to the front door. He bangs on the door with a gloved fist before spotting the doorbell and just slams his finger into it.

For a few seconds, he genuinely considers kicking down the door, but then Jason hears footsteps, and so he forces himself to calm down.

All thoughts fall away as Jason hears the door unlock. He steps back, unsure what to do with his hands. This could be the Joker. This could be nothing. This could be… Something. Jason doesn't know. He can hardly think.

And there Tim stands.

"Hi, Jason!" Tim's expression is bright. Manic. And goddamn him, but Jason's heart begins to speed up at the sight of blood splattered across Tim's lovely face. Jason doesn't dare to hope. He can't. He won't allow himself to. Inexplicably, there is a huge bouquet of roses in Tim's arms. The blossoms are massive and a vibrant shade of red. That's even more stupefying than the fucking blood. "Come on in. I've been expecting you."

Jason doesn't speak as he toes off his boots and slips off his helmet. As soon as he's done with that, Tim presents the bouquet to him. He takes it on instinct, still dumbfounded.

"I hope you're not allergic to roses. I mean, I know you're not, but that seems like the kind of thing that I should say anyway," Tim babbles, as he guides Jason through the halls. He's walking close enough to Jason that he can feel the man's body heat, close enough to realize that Tim's practically swaying into him. Like he wants to cling onto Jason but is restraining himself. "Do you like roses? You've never expressed any sort of affinity for them or for any other flower, but I felt that I should start with roses. Before the main event. You know?"

He's never seen Tim this animated. There was always a detached sort of air about him, like he was one degree separated from the rest of the world. Now, he's practically vibrating out of his skin, all too human as he stares at Jason like he's trying to see something lying just beneath his skin. Like he's picturing curling up in Jason's ribcage like a pleased cat.

"Roses are cool," Jason manages to say. He's rewarded with the world's most blinding smile.

"I'm so glad you think that way," Tim's got a little skip in his step now. "It was difficult to find a flower shop open this late. So I broke in and stole a bouquet– I left money on the counter, of course! Whenever I visited your grave, I wasn't able to bring too many flowers, so I'm glad I can bring them to you now in a happier context." What the hell is he even saying, with that dreamy smile on his face?

"I– I don't even think I have a vase for them," Jason hears himself say. Tim waves a lazy hand in the air. When he lowers it, it looks like he wants to hold Jason's hand, but he backs out at the last moment.

"I've got plenty if you want them. It's my parents' collection, but help yourself to any vase you see. They'd be put to better use holding flowers. Actually, you can help yourself to anything in my house. But you know that, right? What's mine is yours. Take whatever you want. Vases, food. Anything at all."

Tim's rambling is making him even more confused.

"Um," Jason says.

"I should have gotten you a box of chocolates too," Tim continues, his face pink. It's visible even from beneath the blood splatter. "Like those Belgian chocolate seashells that you loved growing up. I saw you eat them once on Valentine's day, when you shared that box with Alfred? You looked so happy… Urgh, I'm so stupid. I knew roses wouldn't be enough. Do you still like them? The chocolates, I mean. I can still buy you some. As much as you want. After."

Bless him, everything that leaves Tim's mouth is getting progressively creepier. Impressive.

Not that Jason cares right now.

Was Drake Manor always this large? Jason doesn't recall, he didn't get to snoop around. He feels as though they're trudging through quicksand. His heart is working overtime.

Was he really allowed to hope? What was he even hoping for? That someone cared more about him than Batman's stupid rule? That someone would actually…

"I was going to call," Tim continues, "but I was so nervous, and I was setting up the dining room for us. You came anyway, so all's well that ends well, but I was really thinking of coming to get you. You looked a little lost at Amusement Mile, after all."

More and more concerning. Alright then.

Tim leads him into a dim dining hall much like the one at Wayne Manor, one with a long, fancy table with fancy chairs lined all the way up next to it.

There's a huge spread of food lined up near the far end, plus wine, two fancy table settings sitting across from each other, and tall candles lit in between them, setting a weird kind of mood. Jason literally has no idea what to feel right now. What was going on?

If this were any other situation, he might even call it a date setup. Actually, looking in Tim's wild eyes, and considering the huge bouquet of roses, Jason feels like it really might be.

"I had little notice, but I wanted to set up something nice to wine and dine you when the time came. I can't cook anything but deviled eggs, but, um. I didn't have time for that and for the other thing. Sorry. But I can totally make some if you want!"

Tim gestures at the table with flailing limbs. It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"It's just a rotisserie chicken from the store and some of Alfred's reheated food, but it looks fancy plated up, doesn't it?" Tim rambles, playing nervously with the ends of his hair. "The wine's something lavish and old, though. It's from my parents' stores, so I can guarantee that. If you want something else to drink, I can definitely get it for you. I know you like orange juice. And Sprite. And chocolate flavored drinks. I've always got some, just in case. I know you don't drink. Me neither. But I wanted to set the mood. And maybe it'll be good? We can figure it out together. I went with red wine for obvious reasons, but maybe you'd like white more…"

At the very far end of the table sits… a lumpy duffle bag? It's a bit too dim to tell from afar, the candlelight insufficient, but Jason can tell that it's overflowing with something, too full to contain its contents.

The bag is dripping something dark.

Tim guides him to the end of the table. Every step that Jason takes rings louder and louder in his ears as the bag takes on a more recognizable shape.

"My aim isn't that good, but I got the job done," Tim tells him, bashful. "Do you like it?"

There's no pomp and circumstance about it. No jokes. No grand finale. No epic showdown between the Batman and the Joker, as it always seemed it would end.

It's the Joker's dead body, shoved into a duffle bag.

Jason finds himself swaying. He catches himself on the table with a hand, distantly noting that there's a shallow puddle of blood pooling on the floor. The bouquet of roses has slipped out of his hands, but neither of them seem to notice.

"I knew I didn't have much time," Tim continues, eyes bright as they search Jason's expression. "Even though your gang and the Joker's gang were distracting the Bats, I was a little nervous. I didn't know how much time I had, so he's a little messy, but… It doesn't matter. In all honesty, my plan didn't have the most finesse, but it worked. Joker's dead! Jason, he's dead! You can check too, if you want. Really make sure. And you can shoot his body if you want, too. And his head. Go crazy!"

Joker's limbs are spilling out of the duffle bag. It's unzipped, because even though the bag is comically large, the Joker is still a grown man. He's able to partly fit only because his arms and legs are broken and strewn every which way. This close, Jason spots the massive gunshot wounds– one taking out a good chunk of the Joker's thigh, and the other a clear shot to the heart.

Jason can see through him. Literally. A clear shotgun wound from what seemed like point-blank range? It obliterated Joker's chest, causing a gaping, bleeding cave-in. Jason knows that he'll be seeing that gory, pulpy wound behind his eyelids for the rest of his life.

"I hit him with a car first, that's why he looks like that," Tim informs him, proud as ever. "I wanted to shoot him in the head, but the shotgun would probably blow his head open, and I wanted you to see for certain that it was him. You can take DNA samples if you want. Yeah, so anyway, I ran him over as soon as I saw him in Amusement Mile. Then I backed up and hit him again. It was super cathartic, Jason. We can go outside and you can run him over with your bike or something too."

"A car?" Jason hardly recognizes his own voice. Tim eagerly nods, then visibly gathers up his courage to take Jason's hand. Numb, he allows the contact.

His hand is warm.

"Uh huh! You can watch the footage. I've got lots of cameras set up, but you know that. Oh! And I took a bunch of pictures, too. I can show you them later. Or now, if you want. It doesn't matter to me."

Tim gently leads him closer to the duffle bag. Up close, it's even more surreal. That's the Joker's dead body. He's not smiling.

"Don't worry, I'm getting rid of the car as soon as I can. I gave it a preliminary wash, but we'd best destroy it. Just in case. Unless you'd like to keep it! You know, since it's the car that ran the Joker over. Then I'll do something about it. The trunk is super ruined, though. Just absolutely covered in blood. Oh well, I'll deal with it."

Tim drops his hand. "Ah, shoot," Tim exclaims, slapping himself on the forehead. "I didn't install a dashcam on the car. Sorry. I've got every other angle though."

"So you ran him over and then shot him," Jason asks, as though the answer isn't already sitting on the table in front of them. Jason can't even picture Tim holding a shotgun, let alone killing anyone with it. Oddly enough, the idea is… attractive. Or maybe it's not odd at all. Tim did just kill the Joker for him. Jason's feeling a whole slew of emotions right now.

"Yeah," Tim replies easily. "Thigh first. I wanted to shoot him in the heart right away, but my aim is not the best, as we can tell. I never knew shotguns had that much recoil! It's okay, though. When he couldn't run, I shot him again in the chest, point blank. Then I put him in the bag and then in the trunk and drove home. Easy. He died on the scene, thank goodness. I didn't have to hear him laugh or joke at all."

He gives Jason a wide grin, obviously pleased with himself.

In all honesty, Jason doesn't think he's ever seen anyone so beautiful in his life.

With a grunt, Tim gingerly picks up the handles on either side of the duffle bag with both hands, careful not to touch Joker's body, and presents it to Jason much like he did the bouquet of flowers. Jason's mildly surprised that Tim was able to pick the bag up so easily.

"Jason," Tim breathes, "I'm in love with you. You don't have to reciprocate, or, or do anything about it, but I just wanted you to know that you're everything to me. And that I'd do anything for you."

He lifts the duffle bag, as though to punctuate the words. Jason stares. He can't do anything else.

"I've been waiting for this day for years," Tim continues, his smile still as shiny as ever. "I didn't want to confess to you until I was worthy. And I thought, what better way to show my devotion than to kill the Joker? I'd kill him a thousand times over if only I could. He didn't deserve to live as long as he did. And you didn't deserve to suffer."

Jason's heart is caught somewhere in his throat, and he tries to choke it down. "...I. I don't know what to say, I…"

He literally does not know what to say. Honestly, Jason's barely processing anything that's happening right now. Tim really did it. He really became a murderer for him.

Should he laugh or cry? Or both?

Tim smiles patiently at him and frees up a hand to take one of Jason's own. He squeezes it for a brief moment, before opening his palm and transferring the bag to Jason's hand.

It's heavy. Jason briefly falters at the weight, deciding to take the bag in both hands. He doesn't know why he's surprised. Lanky as the Joker is– was, he's still a grown man. The bottom of the duffle bag is dipping low, fabric stressed with the dead weight of a body.

Jason stares down at the culmination of all of his nightmares, crumpled up and dead and not smiling.

"...Why?" He hears himself ask, even when he already knows.

Tim shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He looks bashful, demure. "I can say it as many times as you want me to. I love you, Jason. This is the least I could do."

The bag drips blood onto Jason's foot, and he winces. He's never been squeamish, obviously, but knowing that this is his murderer's blood makes him want to take a long shower. And his arms look dangerously close to touching Jason too, so he puts the bag down on the floor next to them.

"I was going to just cut off his head," Tim babbles, playing with the hem of his hoodie, "and present him to you the way you did with all those gang leaders, right? Because you like that kind of symbolic thing. I couldn't find anything that was strong enough, though. I didn't want to use the kitchen knives to try either, because Alfred would be upset if he ever knew I tried to do that. We used to have a gardener, so I checked the garden shed for a chainsaw or an axe, but I think they just took all the stuff when my parents fired them. So. Yeah."

"Yeah," Jason agrees, still staring at the Joker. God, his makeup was terrible. Didn't clowns have classes for that sort of thing?

He still can't believe it.

"I also did think about letting you kill him," Tim continues, conversationally. Everything that leaves his mouth really just throws Jason for a loop. "But I didn't want him to speak to you. Or look at you. Or make you feel bad. He doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve a chance to rile you up. So I took care of it. And we all know that the fucker can escape when given the opportunity. I wasn't about to let him."

"That's…" Good, Jason wants to say, but the word can't quite leave his lips. It's like a dream. He doesn't want to wake up anytime soon.

"Okay, if you want to send me to Arkham now," Tim suddenly says, slapping Jason right out of his murky thoughts, "go ahead. I'll get the camera footage and the photographs. It should be an easy process when I admit to it all."

Huh. What?

"I even took a selfie with the Joker's body," Tim mentions. "Threw up a peace sign and everything. It has the shotgun in the picture as well."

Then Tim has the nerve to gaze up at him with his huge blue eyes, like he was bracing himself for a scolding. "You can call B now. I'm not going anywhere."

"Are you crazy?" Jason snaps. Tim has the audacity to be the one that looks baffled.

"Huh? No, I just… What?"

Jason laughs. "No one's going to Arkham for killing the Joker. And I'm sure not fuckin' sending you there– Tim, what? Gotham would throw you a party if they knew you murdered the Joker! They'd give you an award, nominate you as mayor! What?" He's laughing again, but harder. "Tim, come on. This is Gotham. I think B is the only one who doesn't want to murder that fucking clown."

"I just…" Tim's just staring at Jason's face, looking entranced. "I thought. That… Um."

Jason snorts. He suddenly feels a whole lot lighter, looking at Tim's pretty face. God. He really killed the Joker. For Jason. He gave up his morals for Jason, of all people. "I don't know what you thought. You hang around Batman and Wing too much. No Gotham jury would ever throw you in the slammer. No one in Gotham would ever persecute you– like, you think I'm the only one that the Joker's hurt? That the Joker's killed? Naw, birdie. He's on everyone's shitlist. You did good. Great, even. But I'm not snitching. I would never."

Tim blinks slowly, confused, until Jason drags him into a firm embrace. A loud squeak leaves his lips before Tim practically melts into the hug, arms coming up around Jason's waist.

"Thank you, Tim," Jason breathes, holding Tim close. He crushes the other boy close to his chest, like he can squeeze all those silly thoughts of Arkham right out of the birdie's head. "Fuck. Thank you for killing him. You're incredible. You're so good. Tim. God, I can't believe it. Thank you, fuck."

A suspicious inhale makes Jason look down at Tim. "...Are you crying? Don't cry. You should be happy. I know I am," Jason smiles, feeling like he could just soar to the skies.

Now that he's really looking, Tim looks more dizzy than anything else, held against Jason's front. Rather than crying, it looks like he's about to explode. His eyes dart from Jason's chest to Jason's eyes and back to his chest. "I thought you would be angry with me for taking your kill," Tim confesses, taking deep breaths. "Or that. You wouldn't want to be around me because I killed for you. Isn't that crazy?"

"Maybe I would be when I first came back, but honestly, birdie? I just wanted the fucker dead. It doesn't matter who, or how, or why, just as long as he's gone. And if I avoided you for that I'd be the world's biggest hypocrite." Jason says, absentmindedly tracing small circles into Tim's hip. Tim makes a small sound. "Never been hugged before? I can let go."

"No," Tim snaps, before looking horrified at the fact that he raised his voice. "I just. I don't know how I expected the night to go. And now you're holding me. Jason is holding me. I'm dreaming, I think. He's so warm. And he smells so good."

Jason blinks at the sudden change in tense. Well, Tim probably didn't mean to say that last part aloud.

"Dinner," Tim blurts, looking regretful as he gingerly pulls away from Jason's arms. "Um. I was supposed to wine and dine you. I have a whole updated plan to seduce you. It's not the exact same plan I had when I was younger, but. Yes. I was hoping to follow it."

"Seduce me?" Jason replies, amused. Tim runs a hand through his hair, and huh, there's blood in the strands as well.

"Don't make that face, I'm already in love with you," Tim counters, like it'll make Jason any less giddy. "It's not fair."

"I'm wined. And dined. Seduced, even. God, just kiss me already," Jason breathes, and surges forward to press their lips together. Tim makes a high pitched keen in the back of his throat, gasping into Jason's mouth like that's where all of his oxygen lies. It's clear that Tim doesn't know what to do with his hands– they clench and unclench, they hover over his back, they claw at his arms, and then they drift up and into Jason's shirt.

Jason sucks in a breath as Tim's fingers suddenly become more bold, scraping eagerly over his sides. They trace each scar that they come across, lingering just long enough to send sparks up and down his spine. Tim takes the opportunity to kiss him again and again, making low sounds deep in his chest. "Jason," Tim gasps, lips brushing over his skin. "Jason, oh fuck, am I dreaming?"

"Better not be," Jason mutters, in between hasty kisses, "God, don't let this be a dream." In one swift movement, Jason puts his hands around Tim's waist and lifts him up to sit on the table, slipping his thigh between his legs. Tim groans, tossing his head back.

They're not close enough. Jason kind of understands how Tim wanted to live inside of his ribcage now. He pulls away if only for a moment in order to strip off his jacket, but Tim grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him back in for another filthy kiss. Teeth catch on lips and the taste of iron fills Jason's mouth. It's so fucking hot. Jason can hardly breathe.

"Lemme take my jacket– off," Jason manages to say, in between kisses. He struggles momentarily with shrugging his arms out of his sleeves, but Tim, who's clearly had enough of his lack of coordination, practically rips him out of his jacket and tosses it to the floor. Thank god, it didn't land on the Joker.

Oh, wait. The Joker's body is still there on the floor, and they're making out next to the corpse.

"Wanted you," Tim breathes. "All my life. Wanted you more than anything, god."

Jason's beginning to get the picture when he feels something hard press up against his leg. He swallows. They should do something about the Joker, right?

"Jason, Jason, I did it– I'm good, right? Tell me I'm good, please." Tim's writhing against the hard line of Jason's body, taking what pleasure he can get from rocking against his thigh. Jason groans– they need to focus.

"We should," Jason tries to collect his thoughts, but it's hard when Tim's still moving against him. "We should. Do something about the body? Right?"

"Mmngh," Tim clearly doesn't hear a goddamn thing that Jason's saying. He's too busy decorating Jason's throat with hickeys. "You're so beautiful, Jason. So beautiful…"

Hot breath against his skin makes him shudder.

"Wanna suck you off," Tim breathes, eyes glassy. Jason momentarily forgets everything that he wanted to say as Tim fumbles with the buckle of his belt. "Or have you suck me off. Oh fuck, I need my camera. Can we fuck? Can we? I want to touch you, I want you to fill me, I want to be inside you, please let me touch you, I want to make you feel so good, you're so good, ah, need your hands all over, I love you, I love you–"

"Tim," Jason croons, and gently places his palm right up against the scar on Tim's throat. Tim goes wide eyed before he slumps over like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Jason," Tim complains, annoyed. He's leaning into the touch, though. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"We need," Jason pauses to collect himself, "to take care of the body."

Tim looks petulant. "We need to get naked," he counters, and hey, Jason doesn't disagree. But unfortunately, making out next to a dead fucking body probably isn't the best idea, especially when it's the Joker. Everyone's probably still looking for him.

The idea of B or Wing or anyone else walking in on them getting hot and heavy next to the Joker's cooling corpse does a very good job at killing the heat settling in his core.

"Tim. The body."

Tim finally, finally pulls his eyes away from Jason to stare at the Joker. "...What about it?" He asks, and Jason wants to groan in frustration, knowing that he's being completely, genuinely oblivious to the problem.

"We need to get rid of it."

"Can't it wait?" Tim asks, cocking his head to one side. He looks sharp. Ravished. Jason shakes his head.

"Um, no. It's a fucking dead body. It'll start to smell. And we need to get rid of the evidence. The Bats could appear at any moment."

Tim genuinely looks put out at the information.

"You can do whatever you want," Jason informs him, taking great pleasure in the way that Tim suddenly looks like he could fly up to the stars at the words alone. "After we dispose of the body."

"After?"

"Yes. I promise." A calculating look enters Tim's eyes, like he's debating the pros and cons of just ignoring Jason's words and pushing him down onto the table right now to have his wicked way with him.

"I want to make you feel good," Tim confesses, pressing his thighs together. Jason swallows. "Want to– watch you come. Take pictures. So many pictures. God, Jason, are you sure you want to let me do whatever?"

There's something crazy in Tim's eyes. Jason grins back.

"Promise?" Jason practically sings.

"I want to bury my face in your tits, I want to fuck your tits, I want to ride you until we both pass out, I want to make a sex tape, I wanna make several sex tapes, I want to take pictures of your dick, I want to edge you until you cry, I want to fuck you while you're wearing your helmet, I want you to fuck me while you wear a Robin costume, I want you to use me in my sleep and take pictures the whole time and–"

Jason presses a hand back to Tim's throat and his jaw snaps shut. God, did the house catch fire just now, or was that just Jason's face? Where the hell was Timmy hiding all of this perversion?

Well, he supposes that Tim was never hiding it. Compared to literally everything else, a healthy libido and graphic sexual fantasies were nothing at all.

"Okay, pretty bird. We have time. Joker's corpse does not. We need to– to figure something out. We can't leave it out to rot. And we need to figure out how to announce his death without the Bats discovering it was us. I'm all yours after that. I promise."

"...We have time…" Tim murmurs. "That's right. We do. You're here. And you're. All mine. Right? And I'm all yours."

Jason snaps his fingers in front of Tim's face when his hands start to stray back to his belt. "Focus, Timberly."

"...If you want me to focus," Tim sucks in a sharp inhale through his teeth, "you need to stop petting my thighs."

Oh. Would you look at that. Jason is indeed doing exactly what Tim described. He reluctantly takes his hand away, ignoring the disappointed sound that Tim makes when he does it.

"I was goading you so you wouldn't do that," Tim complains.

"Okay, we need a plan," Jason insists. "You distract the Bats. I have guys that can help clean up."

Tim frowns. "No, Jason, we can't implicate you at all. You need to be in front of the Bats' eyes when we dispose of the body, otherwise they might think it's you and send you to Arkham. That's part of why I couldn't let you be the one to kill him."

Jason scowls, but concedes the point. He also doesn't want Tim to turn himself in, so…

"I'll call in a favor," Jason declares, taking out his phone. "Talia's had shadows all over the city ever since Damian arrived. We can hand off the body to them for disposal, same with the car, the bag, and the shotgun. Then, you take a decontamination shower, we clean the hell out of the dining room, bam. Done."

Tim makes a face, and Jason raises his brows. "Got a problem? This'll solve the issue real quick. T owes me for dropping off Dami without warning."

"No, it's just… I'd rather everyone know that the Joker is dead over him mysteriously disappearing, never to be seen again. And none of us have been seen by the Bats all night. They'll definitely suspect something."

Jason hums. That's right, everyone should know that he was dead. "Then we change the story. We were also distracted by T's shadows. They were ordered by Talia to kill the Joker for killing me. You tried to stop them, I tried to beat them to it. But oh noes, the Joker was just a fucking clown going up against the best of the League. How 'bout that? We'll still have to get rid of everything and clean it all up, but we'd have to do that no matter what." It's simple, but it would probably work.

"Would Damian buy it?"

"...Damian probably would try to believe it. I instilled a healthy hatred of the Joker into him from a young age," Jason admits. "As long as the Joker's dead, I think he'll believe it. Plus, he won't question his mother, if he thinks the order came from her."

Finally, Tim nods. He's still pink in the face, and his hands are playing with the hem of Jason's shirt.

"I can take care of you before I call in Talia's shadows to take care of this." 'This' being Joker's body. You know, the corpse they've just been ignoring so they can grind up on one another?

"I came the moment you put your hand on my throat," Tim admits, then jolts. Jason stares at him. "Fuck. I shouldn't have said that."

"We are so fucked up," Jason declares.

"Thank you for saying we. I like being included in 'we,'" Tim says. "But pretend I didn't say anything. Please touch me again."

Jason shoots him a look and Tim hops off the table, a scowl on his face. "Fine. But you promised. Whatever I want. Later."

The words are just dripping with intent. Jason fights back a shiver.

.

.

Tim takes the quickest decontamination shower of his life, and pulls on the Red Robin costume. When he leaves the bathroom, the shadows are there, heads lowered. He's never seen them so subservient. Usually, the goons just try to kill him.

The shadows drag the Joker's dead body to an abandoned warehouse to cut off his head and dispose properly of the rest. They address Jason formally, calling him their 'prince.' If Tim needed more proof that Talia had taken Jason under her wing, this was all he needed. They don't bat an eye as he orders them to get rid of all of the evidence, the car, the bag, the gun, everything. They even take Tim's clothes and shoes, and begin to clean his house from top to bottom.

The photographic evidence remains, though. Tim wants to keep it for posterity, no matter what Jason says. The Bats will never find it.

"My prince, the Bats are approaching," one shadow says, head bowed low.

"Alright," Jason says, and nods at another, an imperious look in his eyes. It's a really good look on him. Jason shouldn't have to dirty his hands ever again. He should just order people around forever. If he just looked at them the way he's doing now, Tim's certain that hordes of men and women would scurry to obey him.

They set the stage, but Tim is just impatient. He wants to kiss Jason again. He never realized kissing was such a nice experience, never understood why people enjoyed doing it until today.

The Joker is dead. Who cares about him anymore? Who cares, when Jason's right there, with the most vicious smirk on his face?

Jason's somehow become even more beautiful, now with the weight of his murderer's existence off of his shoulders. Ah, Tim loves him. He loves him so much. Especially when he's mean. He'd like Jason's hands on him again. The way he held Tim to his body was wonderful.

"You should punch me in the face," Tim tells him.

"Excuse me?" Jason demands.

"It'll really make them think that we were fighting," Tim insists.

"Birdie, I'm not punching you in the face." Jason responds. "Then they'll also think I commanded the shadows to do my bidding. Which I kind of did, but not to kill the Joker,"

"They might think that anyway," he retorts.

"Which is why they're going to announce that they did this on Lady Talia's behalf," Jason scoffs, rolling his eyes. "God, they'll just throw me in Arkham anyway, huh."

Tim waves off Jason's comments easily. "I have photographic evidence that I was the one who killed the Joker. If he wants to send you to Arkham, which he definitely does not, I'll confess."

"Nope, nuh-uh, that's not why we're doing this, we're doing this so none of us get sent to that revolving door hellhole," Jason mutters. "Get ready, Red."

So Tim hobbles back across the warehouse to pretend to be fighting off a shadow, and that's when Batman arrives, swooping down from a broken part of the roof. To the untrained eye, he looks as calm and as unflappable as ever, but there's a panicked clench to his jaw that barely relaxes when he spots both Tim and Jason, only to tighten up again when he realizes that they're not alone. Nightwing lands shortly after him, his own panic more obvious. When Robin arrives a few beats afterwards, he doesn't even hesitate before running to Jason's side, not at all wary of the shadows.

And that's when their little play begins.

"Lady Talia sends her regards," a shadow announces, and deposits the Joker's head into Jason's hands.

.

The rest of the night– day, now, actually, is a blur. The Bats chase the shadows out of the city. Tim explains the situation. Then Jason. It was Talia, they say. Talia had planted shadows in the city to protect Damian. But if the Joker had ever broken out of Arkham, then their orders were clear.

Talia wanted revenge, but hadn't had the opportunity until he broke out of prison. Jason wanted to kill the Joker himself. Tim saw the shadows and gave chase. Tim couldn't contact Oracle or anyone else, too insistent on stopping Jason and the shadows. And Jason definitely had no intention of telling anyone where he was going, what he was doing. It went too fast. They were too busy handling the League. Or so they say.

Tim's actually a little surprised how easily they all buy it. Or perhaps Bruce wants to be fooled. Perhaps he's eager to listen to the lie, thankful that someone killed the Joker before his son could. He knows that Dick's definitely relieved. Dick looks like he wants to take the Joker's head from Jason and punt it across the city.

And just as Jason suspected, Damian is all too eager to believe that it was his mother's orders. In fact, he looks nearly as pleased as Jason does at the news.

Batman takes the Joker's head from Jason, gently prying his son's fingers away. He tells them all that he'll take care of it.

By dawn, there is not a single soul in Gotham that does not know that the Joker has perished. Both the Commissioner and Batman spin a tale of how he died– something about a bomb? But no one seems to care about the specifics so long as the monster is dead.

Jason was right. Gotham didn't care about the who or how or why. It's only been a few hours, and it's barely morning, but people are genuinely throwing parties. Cheering. Crying. Laughing. Holding one another. People are singing in the streets. It's weird! Gotham has never been this lively, this hopeful.

Dick can't stop from grinning ear to ear. Damian is smugly satisfied. Bruce is quiet, but not unhappy. Jason does not say a word. They all head back to the Manor, eager to wash the fatigue away and to face a new dawn without the Joker wasting anymore of their air. Tim is particularly eager to kiss Jason again, once they could be alone together.

They all gather for breakfast, Alfred humming all the while. Even Bruce makes an effort to be there, when he must be busy with the whole Joker being dead situation, and–

And Jason–

Jason isn't there.

.

Tim finds Jason in the graveyard standing in front of his tombstone. He didn't have to look hard. It was obvious where he'd go, if Tim thought about it.

Even though the Joker is dead, Gotham is still gloomy and gray. Tim was half expecting the smog and clouds to clear for one day of proper blue skies and sunshine to commemorate that monster's death.

"Hi, Jason," Tim greets.

"Tim," Jason acknowledges. He does not turn towards him. His eyes are locked on the tombstone sitting in front of them.

Tim drags his eyes across the epithet. HERE LIES JASON TODD, it reads. BELOVED BROTHER AND SON. He doesn't really need to. He's spent hours here. He's memorized the text by now, the feel of the stone, the grass, everything.

It's surreal standing here with Jason himself.

"I can't believe he shelled out for this massive ass slab of rock," Jason sneers, gesturing at the towering angel that made up the majority of the headstone. "What an asshole."

Tim doesn't reply. He has a feeling that anything he could say in response would just make Jason angry. So all he does is soak in Jason's presence, the cool breeze, the sound of the wind rustling the tree leaves.

It's a beautiful day, despite the gloom.

"Got something to say?" Jason asks, tone even. Too even. "Speak up, birdie."

"No. I just wanted to keep you company," Tim admits. Jason kicks up a little patch of dirt.

"Whatever."

So they stand in silence for a few moments longer. When someone breaks the silence again, it's Jason.

"Sorry. For being such an asshole," Jason says. Tim tilts his head to one side. Was he being an asshole? He couldn't really tell. Jason could treat him however he wanted to. "I just. I still can't believe it's real. That fucker was missing all of his chest and his limbs were just fucking everywhere and I even got handed his fucking head and I still can't believe it."

Understandable. Jason must have been living a nightmare this whole time. Tim can hardly believe it either, and he's the one that watched the life drain out of the Joker's eyes. He was surprised at how easy it was to kill a man.

Tim was happy to kill the Joker. It felt like checking something off of his bucket list.

"The way that B looked at me as he took the head from my hands… Like he was sorry. If he was fucking sorry he would have done it sooner," Jason scowls, staring down at his palms like they were still soaked in blood. "The way Dickie looked at me, like he just wanted to pick me up and spin me around… God, the smile on Damian's face, I– I really can't believe any of it.

"Talia was so smug when I called her. She congratulated me, like– like. I don't know. Alfred meeting us at the door with a hopeful look on his face. Fuck. I. I don't know anymore. I'm so happy, but I'm so afraid, fuck," he confesses. "And the way you looked at me when you handed me that bag, I– Am I really allowed this? Am I allowed to be this happy? To keep living like this?"

"Jason," Tim exhales. "Please, may I hug you?"

Finally, finally, finally Jason looks at him. As always, something slots into Tim's chest, making him feel complete. When Jason's looking at him, he just feels right. Whole.

"Get over here," Jason demands, weakly holding out his arms. Tim practically flies into the embrace. This was as close as he'd get to living in Jason's ribcage, and he was content with that. "Fucking. God. I can't believe Dick made us all huggers. God, fuck."

"I believe it," Tim mumbles, words muffled by Jason's shirt. He grabs fistfuls of Jason's leather jacket and just sinks down, down, down.

"You hug like you've never hugged anyone in your life," Jason scolds him lightly. Tim laughs and buries his head further into the warmth of Jason's chest. "Birdie? That laugh was concerning."

"I've so hugged people before. Dick hugs me," Tim chuckles. "And we hugged last night."

"That does not fucking count."

"It does too."

"He's an octopus. That's just what octopi do. Like he'd die without the contact," Jason insists, completely brushing past the fact that they did more than hug last night.

And so they're just hugging. Holding each other. It's lovely.

"It's not a dream," Tim murmurs. In his arms, Jason stiffens up slightly. "It's not, Jason. I promise it's not. I watched him die. He's dead. He has no claim over you."

Was Tim allowed any part of Jason's heart now that the Joker was dead at his hands? Could he have more than just pictures? He confessed his feelings, and they did kiss, and touch, but that wasn't necessarily a reciprocation on Jason's end. It could be adrenaline. A thank you of some sort. It was fine. Tim was patient.

Jason pulls back a little to just look into Tim's eyes.

"Okay," Jason says. "Okay."

He pulls away and Tim barely manages to hide his sound of disappointment. Suddenly he's much colder.

"You should head back," Jason tells him. "I'm gonna be here awhile. There's something I wanna do."

"I can help," Tim immediately blurts. "And I probably shouldn't return without you. Bruce is halfway to a heart attack. Only reason he hasn't come to get you himself is cause he's busy with the Commissioner and Dick said to give you some space, but Damian's halfway out the door already. Not sure how long it'll be until they both come running."

Jason rolls his eyes, then crosses his arms across his chest. Tim tries not to be so obvious about staring, but from Jason's amused face, he's failing miserably. "And you?"

"I snuck out, obviously."

"Right."

He clears his throat.

"Bruce ever tell you about Sheila Haywood?" Jason asks, cocking his head in the direction of her tombstone.

"Your biological mother, right? She was there, in Ethiopia," Tim nods.

"She was a bitch who sold me off to the Joker too," Jason hisses, glaring at her tombstone with such force that Tim's surprised that it didn't explode. "Working with him wasn't enough, oh no. Sell your biological fucking son off to him for shits and fucking giggles. I'm glad she's dead."

Tim always regrets not tagging along to Ethiopia, but the words sink more despair onto his chest. If he was there, he could have stopped it. Somehow. It didn't matter that he was scrawny and little. He'd fight tooth and nail for Robin.

How could anyone look at Jason and decide to hurt him?

"I didn't know that she gave you up to the Joker," Tim admits.

"No, I doubt she would have told anyone. Playing everyone for a fool 'til the very fuckin' end." Tim wants to sink back into Jason's embrace and count his heartbeats, but he doubts that the man would appreciate that right now. "And now she's buried next to me. Or she was."

Jason uncrosses his arms and walks behind his gravestone. Tim almost goes to follow, but Jason reappears almost immediately. When he does, he's holding a shovel.

Tim's heart skips a beat.

"I hate that I'm buried next to her," Jason hisses, knuckles white around the shovel's handle. "Maybe that's how I revived. I couldn't rest in peace knowing that she was so close to me. What a fucking pitiful excuse for a mother."

"Are you going to dig up her grave?" Tim asks. Jason makes a face.

"Much as I hate her, no. No, I won't. I want to dig up mine," Jason admits, and Tim's heart does a funny little thing again.

"Why?" Tim demands, a little shrill. Why would he even want to dig it up? Don't tell him that he wanted to–

Jason firmly plants the shovel into the ground. "I just wanted to see. Did you know? I crawled out of my own grave. I barely remember most of it, just– the dirt. My ripped fingernails. The lack of fucking air. I just wanted– need to breathe. It was terrifying."

Tim just looks at him.

"And then I took a deep breath and emerged from the ground like a weed," Jason continues, face bitter. "I spent a long time trying to claw my way out. I remember my lower half being stuck, so I couldn't exactly pull my way out. And then I did. And I wandered. I was dripping dirt and blood and it was raining and–"

He cuts himself off. Tim has to physically stop himself from lurching forward to touch him.

Jason peers up at the sky like he can still see the rain from that day. "And then I remember a hand reaching out to me. It was Talia, but I didn't know that then. She was– I don't know what she was thinking. Maybe I'll never know. But I owe her everything, Tim. She's important. To me."

Tim suddenly forgives everything Talia's done. Anything and everything. Poof. Sending goons after him? Aw, that was nothing. Let bygones be bygones, as they say. Stealing Jason? Ah, she helped him in the end, so whatever, right?

"I don't remember all of it, but before she pushed me into the pit, she was… kind, to me. After, too, of course," Jason continues. "When she introduced me to Damian, I was still half out of my mind. I don't remember it at all, but Dami tells me that she introduced me as his brother, and that the rest wasn't important. That I was here with them to heal. To just… Be."

A soft sound. "You probably wouldn't be able to tell looking at him now, but Dami would tell me that he was so pleased he had an older brother. That he was happy he wasn't alone here. 'Course, he never said it like that. But you know."

Tim can practically see it in his mind's eye. A lost looking Jason Todd, still dazed from it all but entirely protective of his smaller shadow. Combined with Damian's stories, it paints a rather adorable picture.

Jason sighs. "Anyway, much later. She told me that she covered up the fact that I dug myself out. Replaced the dirt, removed the debris from my coffin. Even fuckin' put up new grass. And I asked why, and she said 'for you, of course. You're not ready to face it.' I didn't get it then. I'm not sure I get it now."

"So you're going to dig it up," Tim confirms. Jason gives him a smirk.

"Sure am. Who else can say that they've dug up their own grave?" Jason jokes, and then frowns. "I thought this would help. With closure or something. I don't know."

"Can I help?" Tim asks.

"Only got the one shovel, Timmy Tam. Wasn't exactly expecting company."

Tim whirls on a heel. "I'll go get one," Tim says, and is really about to go get a shovel somewhere, somehow, until Jason grabs his hand. Tim feels heat rise to his face.

"Where the hell are you gonna get a shovel?" Jason demands.

"It's a graveyard," Tim thankfully says, instead of oh your hand is so warm. "I'm sure there's a shovel somewhere."

Jason clicks his tongue. "Whatever, it's fine. Just stay and watch. It's my grave anyway."

Just stay. Just stay. Just stay.

"O-kay," Tim's voice cracks. This time, Jason laughs at the sound.

"You're a mess, Timantha," Jason teases.

"Sure am," Tim says, and mercifully, his voice doesn't crack again.

So Jason begins to dig. He plants his shovel into the ground and digs out mound after mound of dirt. It's hard labor. Even though Jason is built, it's still an unending, unrewarding, repetitive job.

The dirt mound next to Tim grows higher and higher, and Jason finally steps down into the hole he's made. It's getting deeper and deeper. Tim has taken to sitting on the grass.

"Fuck," Jason says. It's been ten minutes. "Fuck!"

He wipes his brow with the back of his hand.

"Six feet under," Jason mutters. Tim is staring at the curve of his lips, the cut of his jawline. "I can do it."

The hole gets deeper and deeper. Jason looks paler and paler.

Tim watches and watches.

It's when Jason pauses to take several deep breaths that Tim speaks up again.

"Can I try?"

Jason looks alarmed, like he hadn't realized Tim was still there. What a cute expression. But all of his expressions were cute.

"I think you need a break," Tim says.

"No, no! I– I can do it," Jason insists, even though he looks thirty seconds away from a panic attack.

Tim, uncaring, drops down into the hole and takes the shovel from Jason's hands. It's a testament to how shaken the man is that he lets go of the shovel quite easily.

"Take it back when you're ready," Tim says, and begins shoveling. He's not as fit as Jason, so he's not making much progress, but it's something. He's careful to not accidentally hit Jason with the shovel or the dirt.

Jason doesn't even look like he can see anything but the dirt around them. His breath is coming in short, sharp little huffs. He's got a hand to his chest.

Tim keeps digging.

They were probably close to six feet now, right? Honestly, they could have gotten to the coffin faster, if Jason wasn't emotionally compromised. Not that Tim was blaming him, of course. He just wishes that Jason didn't find it necessary to unearth his trauma under the guise of closure. Was this even helping at all?

No matter.

If Jason wanted to dig up his grave, then Tim would do anything in his power to help.

"...What the fuck are we doing here, Tim?" Jason finally says.

Tim pauses. "We're… Digging. Like you said we should. Did you want to stop?"

"Are you seriously not bothered by this?" Jason demands. "We just spent like twenty minutes digging up dirt on what used to be my eternal resting place. And you didn't really say shit about it."

He gestures at the hole they've made with frantic hands.

"Isn't this crazy?!" Jason snaps.

Tim stares.

"Not really. You're not dead. And this grave is yours. You're here and in front of me, so I'm fine with it," Tim admits. "If it bothers you, you can go and sit down. I'll put all the dirt back. Or I can keep at it."

Jason stares back at him. It's all Tim wants, all the time. He'll kill and he'll dig up graves and do anything at all so Jason will look his way.

And then Jason puts his hand out.

"Gimme back my shovel," Jason demands. Tim obediently places it back in his hands. "And get out, you're in the way."

So Tim eases his way out of the grave. It's slightly more difficult, as the hole is even deeper than ever. His clothes are completely covered in mud and grime now, which is just fine with him. This is where Jason was buried. Even the dirt underneath his fingernails is precious.

Finally, they hit something.

Thunk.

The sound echoes out around them, and both Tim and Jason perk up a little.

"I think we're there," Jason blurts. "I think we did it!"

Tim loves, loves, loves being included in we. Even when he didn't do much.

Jason's digging speed picks up, dirt flying everywhere. Tim moves closer to get a better look, but doesn't quite step into the grave. He doesn't want to disturb him.

It's Jason's coffin. There, just shrouded in dirt. As expected, since Talia covered it all up, it looks undisturbed.

Jason lifts the shovel high above his head and swings it down violently.

The sound of wood snapping fills the air. Jason raises the shovel again and again and again.

When Tim looks down into the grave again, he sees it. They both see it.

An empty coffin.

He turns to look at Jason, who is calmly pulling himself out of the hole they've dug, shovel in hand. Jason just stares and stares and stares, down into his own empty coffin.

And then he laughs. He laughs and laughs until he starts hacking up a lung.

"I can't do this," Jason wheezes, hands in his hair. He's on the ground, now, sinking in on himself. "Get me out get me out get me out get me out get me–"

"Jason," Tim tries, feeling hopeless and pathetic. He hurries to his side and reaches a hand out, but–

"Don't touch me!" Jason screams. It's an agonizing, horrible sound. Tim pulls his hand away as quick as he can, trying not to agitate him further. "Just– Just– God! Fuck!"

Tim doesn't know what to do. How can he help him? He's never felt this inadequate.

"Calm down," Jason mutters to himself. Then he sucks in another sharp breath. "JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN!"

"Jason," Tim tries. "Please." He doesn't know what he's pleading for. Tim really was pathetic, wasn't he? He could kill the Joker, but he couldn't help in a situation like this.

Should he call Dick? Alfred? Damian? Bruce?

He wishes he knew the magic words to just help him.

"You're alive," Tim blurts. "You're alive, and the Joker's dead. He's dead. I promise."

Jason doesn't seem like he's even heard him. It feels like hours pass, but really, it's only been a few moments.

"You're alive," Tim repeats, when he finally gathers up enough courage to do so. "I swear. This isn't a dream. The Joker will be dead tomorrow and the day after that, and years down the line he'll still be dead. And you're alive in spite of him. Fuck him. This is the best payback imaginable."

Jason lifts his head, so Tim swallows.

"He's dead," Tim says again, nodding his head eagerly. "Dead."

"...He's dead," Jason agrees. "And I'm still here."

"Yes," Tim breathes.

"And fuck him," Jason spits, getting to his feet. He wobbles a little, but at least he's up now. "Fuck him! Why was he such a fucking asshole?! Because of his hard-on for Batman?! Because it was funny? Does he even know how many lives he's ruined?! What he's done to us?! To Gotham?!"

"He knows," Tim says, quietly. "I'm certain of it."

"Oh, I bet he fucking knew. Probably got off knowing that he was the worst person alive– That motherfucker! Why didn't Batman kill him before?! Because that way the Joker would win? Win what? The fucker is dead! There's no winning in death! It's not some– some absolution, it just– is! So why?"

"I– I couldn't tell you."

"And why did it fall to us?!" Jason demands. His chest rises and falls with exertion. "Why? Why?! Why did it come to this?! Why is it that a little birdie had to be the one to pull the trigger?"

Tim exhales. Jason was, as always, kinder than he'd ever allow himself to admit.

"I don't regret it," Tim tells him. Jason throws up his hands.

"That's not the fucking point!" Jason snaps. Tim nearly flinches back. "It shouldn't have been us. It shouldn't have been like this. Goddammit!"

Jason throws the shovel at the ground.

"Why did I die like that? Why is Arkham such a resounding failure? Why are Batman's ideals more important than the safety of the entire city? Why am I still feeling this way even when the fucker was sent to hell? Why did I come back wrong?"

Tim wants to protest the last point, but he feels that saying anything right now would be… wrong.

And then Jason throws his head back and screams. Tim feels tears spring to his eyes at the sound. There is nothing more to say.

When he's done, Jason just stares back into the grave.

"...And I need to put all this dirt back before someone comes by," Jason picks the shovel back up, looking unhappy. "Fuck."

"I can do it," Tim offers, immediately springing into action. At the very least, he can do this. He can do this, if nothing else.

"Nuh-uh birdie, this one's mine," Jason says. "Just sit there and look pretty."

"I– I can do that!"

It doesn't make Jason laugh, but the sides of his mouth do quirk up a little. Tim smiles at the sight in return.

He supposes that it's for the best. Jason seems to want to do this, and besides. He's never been the greatest at leaving ghosts to rest.

"I know I already said it before, but… Thank you. Tim."

"...Of course."

"Just– just give me a sec."

Jason sighs and stares up at the headstone. As he's doing that, Tim stares into the grave. Then he turns his head so as to make certain that Jason was still hale and whole and breathing and there.

For a moment he has the urge to jump back down into the hole that he and Jason made together and just. Sit there. This is where the man he loves was buried. This is where the man he loves crawled out of the ground.

No. If Tim was seen doing that by Jason, he doesn't even want to think about how he'd react.

So then Tim watches as Jason finally shovels the giant pile of dirt back to where it belongs. It takes a shorter amount of time, which makes sense, but it still feels rather quick, all things considered.

Anyone looking at the grave would definitely be able to tell that it was disturbed. Not like either of them cared at this point. The only one that was allowed to be bothered by it had already crawled his way out.

When Jason's done, Tim clears his throat.

"May I take you home?" Tim asks. Jason rolls his eyes.

"Gonna make an honest man outta me, doll?"

"I just don't think you should be alone right now," Tim says, trying and failing not to blush at the implications of his words. And– doll? Hoo boy. Tim really, really wants to kiss him again. "And I can show you the moment he died. Um. Only if you want, though. Like I said, I've got the footage."

"Home as in Wayne Manor?" Jason asks, brows raised.

"Home as in Drake Manor," Tim clarifies. "Since it's closer to the rest of the Waynes. Unless you're ready to see them already."

Jason groans. "No. I'm not. God. They'll clock that something's up with me the moment they spot me."

"Is that a yes?"

"Sure, sure. Whisk me away, prince charming," Jason sing-songs. He knows Jason is joking, but it still flusters him. Tim needs to say something appropriately witty and flirty in response, right?

"Ngh," is what leaves Tim's mouth instead. "I– ngh!"

"Real articulate, Timtam."

"Shut up…"

"I can't believe that that's what makes you speechless after we made out and you grinded up on me."

"Everything you say and do makes me speechless," Tim hisses back, a hand over his face. He's definitely got dirt all over his cheeks now.

"I took my bike, so… Meet you there?" Jason offers, mercifully redirecting the conversation.

"Meet you there," Tim agrees, breathlessly.

Okay, great. Cool.

Time to show Jason the footage. He really hopes that he likes it. He has so many angles, so many pictures. He even captured the Joker screaming in pain, so hopefully that helps Tim in his seduction plan.

They already hugged, and made out, and Tim confessed his love, but he can't help but want more. Always. He was lying to himself when he said that he was content. Or perhaps Tim hadn't known that he wasn't just content with watching from afar. Not until he had Jason in his grasp.

Jason did say that he was wined. And dine. And seduced. But nothing else came out of it. Which was fine. Tim could try again.

Tim's a little more worthy now, but Jason still doesn't know everything.

He needs to show Jason the Robin room. But perhaps not yet. When the dust settles on the Joker's death and the Bats are not as alert…

That will be the right moment.

.

.

They're in Tim's room, sitting on his bed and watching the footage on his laptop. Jason had politely ignored the pictures of himself on Tim's desk, pictures that Tim hurriedly flipped over so that Jason didn't examine them too closely when they first arrived.

Wasn't it too late by now? They weren't even weird pictures, all things considered. There was one of him on the rooftop as Robin, his cape fluttering in the snow and wind. There was also one of him in his Red Hood regalia, cleaning a gun. When the hell did he take that?

Honestly, Jason's attention was barely on the pictures, but instead, his messy ass desk. There were just a random assortment of things strewn everywhere, and as someone raised by Alfred, he had the urge to start cleaning up. Like, could he really not throw that empty coffee cup away? Or that used heat pack? Wasn't it literally summer? What the hell was he using that for?

"Augh…"

The Joker's painful groan echoes from the laptop's speakers. It's the tenth time he's heard it. Jason has been rewatching the footage over and over from several different angles. He restarts the video. He wasn't giving it his full attention.

It starts like this, regardless of the video. The Joker stalks into the building, snickering to himself. He's twitching, the ugly fuck– all of his movements jerky and yet utterly precise. He strides over to a crate and throws it open, examining the contents. A knife. A gun.

A crowbar.

As the Joker examines the items, the distant screeching of tires can be heard in the background. The Joker lifts his head and smiles. Mouths something that Jason can't quite make out entirely, but he's almost 100% that he says 'Batman,' because of course he does.

The Joker strides over to the sound to greet his guests and is promptly run over by a car. The first time Jason saw the footage, he burst out laughing. Now, he's silent.

Ah, that fucking maniac deserved it. And he didn't die at the hands of the Bat, something that Jason's now sure that he wanted.

Not that he's dead yet.

The car drives over the Joker's twitching body. It's not audible, but Jason can practically hear the crunch of bones giving way beneath the crushing indifference of the tires. And then the car backs up and hits him again. The Joker opens his mouth in a silent scream. One of the tires has caught his leg as the car briefly stops to readjust. This scream is audible as the tire ever so slowly rolls off of the limb.

Somehow, the Joker is still attempting to get to his feet.

Tim hops out of the driver's seat, shotgun in hand. Even though Jason knows it's Tim, it's difficult to really tell in that outfit of his. He looks nothing like his usual self.

Before the Joker can even crack one of his stupid jokes, Tim takes aim and fires.

The Joker's thigh practically explodes. A scream fills the air.

He knows that recoil plays a part, but Jason's still surprised that Tim didn't manage to nail him in the chest on the first try.

Tim reloads the shotgun methodically. It's clear that he's never handled a gun, much less a shotgun. Jason watches him set the shotgun down momentarily to reach for the camera hanging from his neck and point it at himself.

For a moment, Tim fumbles as he tries to adjust the shot, grabbing the shotgun as he goes. He shuffles closer to the Joker, lifts his weapon high with one hand, the camera with the other, and–

Snap. Snap. Snap.

"Cheese," Jason mumbles.

Tim takes a moment to examine the photos, completely ignoring the dying man's groans of pain. Jason can practically hear the younger man saying 'this works' as he settles the camera back against his chest, where it looks like it belongs.

He walks right up to the Joker and presses the barrel of the shotgun to his chest. Before he can even speak, Tim fires.

Jason exhales.

The rest of the video is exactly as Tim described. He takes more pictures. He gathers the body up and puts it in a duffle bag. He drives off.

When Jason turns to look at Tim, he's fallen asleep on his shoulder. He's impressed that he was able to sleep through the screaming, the tires screeching, and the gunshots. But he was probably bored. Or tired. Or both. It was weird, looking at his defenseless face now, all while watching him kill a man on screen.

Prior to this, Jason had watched Tim attempt to subtly edge closer, and closer, until their thighs were touching. And then their sides. And then Tim leaned his head onto Jason's shoulder.

It would be a scene straight out of his romance novels if they weren't, you know, watching someone getting brutally murdered in like twenty different angles on Tim's laptop.

Should he watch another video? There's still a ton of camera angles he hasn't seen yet. He doesn't exactly want to wake Tim up. The poor guy's done enough for him today.

Before Jason can click on the next file, his phone starts buzzing in his jacket pocket. A quick glance at Tim confirms that he hadn't woken up at the sound, and after ever so slowly readjusting Tim so he was lying down properly on the bed instead, he leaves the room, closes the door, and picks up the phone.

"Dickie," Jason greets.

"Are you safe?" His brother immediately demands.

For some reason, out of everything that's happened to him in the past few days, this is what brings tears to his eyes. His eyes were dry when he saw the Joker's dead body, but now? He blinks the tears away. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm safe. Tim, he uh, found me at the graveyard. Wouldn't leave without me."

"Oh, Jay. You're with him right now?" Dick asks, voice softer.

"Yeah, we're at Drake Manor," Jason tells him, starting to pace the halls.

"Come home," Dick instantly says. "Or I'll swing by. It's close, anyway. I gave you enough alone time. If I don't see you soon I'll crawl right out of my skin, I swear."

"Tim's asleep, though. Wouldn't want to wake him. I didn't think he actually knew what sleep was until right now. Don't want him to freak the fuck out when he realizes I'm not there either," Jason murmurs, heading down the stairs to the first floor so that he doesn't wake Tim. "You were right, by the way."

Silence on the other end. Before Jason can even think to become concerned, Dick fills the silence. "Can you say that again, Jay? I wanna record it. Y'know, for future reference."

"Shut the hell up, you're never hearing it again," he hisses back, ignoring Dick's pleased laughter on the other end.

"Now, I'm always right about so many things, but what am I right about this time?"

"...Tim's fucked right up over me," Jason mutters. Dick laughs, again, because he's an asshole. "Don't laugh, I don't know what to do!"

"Let me guess. You had some big emotional showdown when you were chasing the Joker?" Dick asks, voice staticky over the line. "Some huge scene? Dramatic tension? An epic culmination that started with yelling but ended with some affirmation of his feelings?" Eh. Not too far off. Pretty close actually. Startlingly close.

"Yeah," Jason admits. He's just walking around in Drake Manor aimlessly now. He really can't help but be nosy, considering the environment he grew up in.

"What'd he say?"

Jason cannot fucking believe that he's gossiping about his love life with Dick right now. "...he told me that he l-loved me."

Silence.

"Dick?"

"Shut up," Dick demands. Despite the choice in words, he sounds downright delighted. "Shut up!"

"What the hell?" Jason bites back. He starts wandering the halls, peering into rooms. God. The Drakes really did have more vases than were necessary for any one family to have.

"Oh my god. Oh my gooood. No way. I owe Alfred a favor," Dick continues, and– that's when it hits him.

"Were you betting on something like this? Wait, did you know that Tim–"

"I bet that Tim would never ever actually confess," Dick laughs. Jason can practically see the dickhead's smile even though he's not even there. "You know Tim. Always keeping everything to himself. He'd rather die than let anyone think he's vulnerable or soft. I thought he'd be content to keep the status quo forever."

"Um," Jason tries, but Dick just barrels on.

"And Alfie knows everything about everyone ever, so of course he said otherwise. Said, 'Master Dick, I do believe that you are wrong,' yadda yadda yadda. So of course I was like no way. And then he was like yes way. Okay, not like that of course, it's Alfie. But you get the gist. Anyway, now I owe him a non-specified favor that he can cash in at any time at all. I'm kinda scared to see what it could be. Alfie knows he could ask us to die for him and we'd all do it."

"I can't believe that you and Alfred of all people were talking about– Dick. You're saying that Alfie took bets on whether or not Tim would confess that he's all sorts of fucked up over me?"

"No, I'm saying Alfie took bets on whether or not Tim would confess his years-long crush on you," Dick corrects.

"That's what I just fucking said," Jason snarls into the phone, running a hand through his hair. "Alfie? Really? You're serious? You're not fucking with me?"

"I'm so serious," his brother says.

"You're so not."

"Ask him," Dick retorts, smug.

"Ha, right, talk to Alfie about– about this?! No way." Jason peers into another room and spots what looks like thousands upon thousands of dollars worth of sculptures. He shuts the door firmly.

"And what did you say back?" Dick suddenly asks. "Wait, don't tell me. You said nothing at all because you totally didn't believe it at first."

Ding ding ding. Was Dick secretly psychic or something?

"Your silence tells me that I'm right again." Ugh, that fucker always sounds so smug.

"No, that's not it," Jason snaps. Technically he did say something. He said that he didn't know what to say.

"So you said that you didn't know what to tell him because you were speechless or something?"

What the fuck.

"What the fuck," Jason hisses.

"What'd I tell you? Always right. I'm the Love Guru," Dick croons. "I know what's up."

"I'm gonna vomit," Jason politely informs him. "So did everyone know about his. His feelings? For me?" He peers into another room. It looks like a huge home theater. It also looks like it's never been used once. Jason leaves the room immediately. At least Wayne Manor, with all of its excessive annoying rich person opulence, looked lived in. This place was just sad.

"Literally everyone knows," Dick confirms. Jason doesn't know how to feel. A horrifying thought occurs to him.

"Does Bruce know?"

"Um," Dick hesitates.

"Dick," Jason says. He thinks he knows the answer, but maybe he can remain in denial for the rest of his life if he doesn't hear it directly. He doesn't even know why he's prodding, actually.

"Do you really want to know?" Dick asks.

"Absolutely not."

"That's what I thought," Dick replies, smug.

"So if everyone knows, why did you brush Damian's worries off?" Jason asks, and then realizes that it's probably a stupid question considering, you know, everything.

"Uh, because I prefer my Tims to be stab-wound free." As expected. "Damian's already looking for any excuse to skewer him, Jay. He doesn't need any more."

Jason opens another door. It's a bathroom where everything looks gold-plated, even the toilet. He closes the door. This was just getting ridiculous.

"So do you liiiiike him back?" Dick draws out the i in a very annoying manner. "Do you like-like him?"

Ladies and gentlemen, the Boy Wonder.

"Dick, how old are you again?"

"I'm serious, Jason," he whines. "I can tease all I want, but I'll stop if you hate it."

"You won't."

"I won't," Dick confirms. "But I mean, I won't pry any further. Make fun of you, yeah, of course. But you know that you don't have to reciprocate his feelings even if he ki–"

He cuts himself off. Jason frowns.

"Dick?"

"Sorry, Damian walked by, and I'd rather him not hear this conversation," Dick says. It's a reasonable excuse, but something's pinging alarms in Jason's head.

Should he pry?

Of course he fucking should.

"Ki…?" Jason tries. "Ki what?"

The sound of a closing door on Dick's end. Okay, maybe he was telling the truth.

"I only meant to ask if he, like, kissed you or something."

Jason would like to remain silent on the matter. But Dick smells blood in the water, of course.

"Oh my god."

Actually, Jason thinks that he was the one that initiated the kiss, but he'd rather die again than tell Dick that.

"Oh my god," Dick repeats. "Jason, oh my god, shut up."

"I'm literally not speaking," Jason hisses into the phone. "I'm hanging up now."

"No!" Dick yells, causing Jason to pull his ear away from the phone. "Jason, oh my god. What. Was it like. What?"

It's kind of funny how not-eloquent everyone in Jason's life is, especially considering that they're all geniuses in their own right.

"He didn't force the kiss on you, right?"

"Of course not," Jason bites back, offended on Tim's behalf. "It's Timmy fucking Drake."

"I'm just asking to be sure," Dick replies, indignant. He also sounds like he doesn't believe that Tim would ever do that either, so Jason's shoulders relax. "You didn't say anything about liking him back, so I was worried, is all!"

Silence, again.

"Were you the one that instigated the kiss?"

"I hate you," Jason hisses, knowing that it was as good as a direct answer. Not like he could hide anything from Dick. He's used to it by now.

He peers into the kitchen. As large and as empty as ever. Alfred would be appalled at the wasted potential. Like why have such a magnificent kitchen when there was no way Tim was ever going to use it?

"You can kiss someone without liking them," Dick tries, like he's trying to justify Jason to Jason.

"Woah there, Casanova," Jason mutters.

"Heat of the moment situation," Dick continues, like he hasn't heard a thing. "I get it. Totally. I know the feeling."

"Well, I don't know anything anymore. About my feelings, or anything that's fucking happening. My life has been so fucking weird since I returned to Gotham. Like what am I supposed to do now that the Joker's dead? I don't know about that shit, let alone– ugh, stuff like kissing. I didn't think– Well, maybe before, but– I wasn't sure I'd even live long enough for something as frivolous as romance," Jason practically yells, and then winces when he realizes the other end of the line is way too quiet. "I don't even really start liking people unless I know they like me back! I can't risk that shit."

Which is probably why Jason hadn't even thought about Tim in a romantic context prior to him doing any of this crazy stuff.

All this talk about liking and like-liking makes Jason a little queasy. What is this? Middle school?

Even though they practically leapt at each other, the idea of wanting is so foreign to him.

The concerning silence drags on. It occurs to him that he probably shouldn't have said all of this stuff to Dick, overprotective Big Bird supreme. Not about kissing, not about not knowing what to do now that the Joker was gone.

"Jay," Dick says, sounding positively wretched. "I–"

"Don't try and start playing big brother with me now, Dick," Jason mutters. "I don't wanna hear it."

"I am your big brother," Dick snaps, and it's so vicious that Jason is genuinely startled. "And as your big brother–"

"Ah, Jesus fuck–"

"–I want you to know that you have all the time in the world to figure it out. Literally no one knows what they're gonna do tomorrow, let alone for the rest of their lives. So, one of your goals was inadvertently completed. Great. Cool. You can do other things now."

"Like?" Jason had lived for nothing else but revenge. What else was there?

"Like– like– going back to school! Going for a drink with me! Getting a cat! Uh, kissing Tim and figuring out if you like it or not!"

Jason groans.

I don't care what you do so long as you're alive and still with us, Jay."

"...Killing that fucker Sionis and all his goons," Jason tries. "Expanding my territory. Taking complete control of Gotham's underworld."

"Yes! Wait, no! But yes! You get it!"

"You said yes," Jason teases, turning a corner and finding a set of stairs heading down. "I'm telling Bruce you approve of me killing goons."

Jason descends into the basement. It's just as large and annoyingly fancy as the rest of the place.

"I didn't say shit about approving and you know it," Dick replies, sounding far lighter.

More silence. Then;

"You do know that we love you, right Jason? Me, Bruce, Dami. Tim, of course, too. But you do understand, right?"

Jason says nothing.

"Little Wing."

"Yeah?"

"I love you," Dick tells him. "Don't ever doubt that. Thank you for being alive."

It seems that Jason will spend forever not knowing what to say at these sudden declarations of love. His lips part, but no sounds leave them.

"You don't have to say it back. You don't even have to believe me. But that's how I feel. Okay?"

"...Sappy bastards, all of you. I'll never get how you can just say that shit like that."

Maybe Jason really does take after Bruce in more ways than he imagined.

…What a horrifying thought. He shudders.

"I learned that if I wanted to tell someone I love them, I should do it whenever I can, as often as possible. It may be too late if I waste my time scrounging up the courage to say anything," Dick says.

Three guesses as to why Dick now thinks that way.

"Sap," Jason accuses. Well. Maybe at least Dick loves him. Dami too.

…And Tim.

"Well, I'm not B," Dick laughs. "I won't get a hernia from being all mushy."

"Neither you nor Tim, apparently," Jason mutters.

"Well, do you believe that he loves you now?" Dick prods.

"I mean. I think. Yeah."

"You sound so sure," Dick's voice is flat.

"How the hell am I supposed to really know?"

"Maybe you should know because he told you straight up, dummy." Okay, fair point. But it's not like Jason has the most experience with relationships, let alone love. And people lie all the time. "Gonna do anything about it?"

"Uh."

He distracts himself from the conversation by opening another door and finding a massive home gym, complete with a huge assortment of equipment that any gym rat would want. It's covered in dust, because of course it is.

"Jason?"

It's not like Jason is opposed to the idea. After all, he was the one who kissed Tim. And Tim really does adore him. Romance was just too foreign to him. And judging from the way Tim acts around him, he wasn't exactly the most experienced with this sort of romance thing either.

Maybe they could try learning about it together.

"Yeah. I. Maybe."

That's all Dick is getting.

And he must sense it, because he laughs. "...All I know is that when Damian finds out that Tim confessed to you, he's going to try and maim him." Jason really appreciates the attempt to bring levity to the conversation.

"I don't wanna even think about it," Jason mutters. He opens another door.

And stares.

"You're gonna have to help me wrangle Damian," Dick says. "You know he–"

"Can I hang up?" Jason interrupts. "Sorry. I've had to piss real bad the whole conversation."

"Oh, okay!" Dick replies. "Have fun."

"Dick…" Jason tries to inject as much disappointment into the name as possible. He's no Alfred though, so it clearly just rolls right off of him.

And he's a little distracted at the moment, so it's not his best work.

"Hurry back, Jay," Dick is saying. "When Tim wakes up, come straight home. Alfred's polishing the same silverware over and over again, and Damian's killing our practice dummies. They're not alive but they look dead. It's kind of scary."

"...Okay. See ya."

"Love you! Bye!" The call ends.

Jason puts his phone in his pocket and heads into the room, closing the door behind him. And stares.

His own face stares back at him.

Several pictures of his face stare back at him, actually. No, this was way, way more than 'several' pictures, this was an egregious amount– the room was covered, floor to ceiling, in pictures of Robin. His Robin.

Everywhere that he looks, there's a picture of him. There is not a single inch of bare wall visible. Nor is there any visible ceiling. It's almost impressive. How the hell did he get pictures up there and get them to stick so well?

A few bookshelves line the wall, filled to the brim with what looks like thick photo albums. There is a single red bean bag chair tucked in one corner, a few charging cords strewn out next to it. A whiteboard sits in the middle of the room, looking like it's been hastily erased, but Jason can see smudges of past writings– he spots the word want several times over.

There he is, soaring over the streets of Gotham. There's Robin, eating a chili dog. Robin picking up a stray dog. Robin and Batman, smiling at one another. Robin beating the shit out of criminals. Robin running a hand through his sweaty hair. Robin adjusting his boots. Robin taking out his grapple. Robin and Batman sitting by Jason's favorite gargoyle. Robin offering warm drinks to the homeless. Robin climbing out of a dumpster. Robin tugging his cape closer as snow swirls around his body. Robin tossing his head back mid-laughter.

Robin's side profile. Robin as seen from below. From above, clearly taken from a higher building. Robin as seen from behind. Jason never knew that his back looked so small.

It's all Robin. All Jason. He looks so carefree. So innocent. So happy. It's like he's stumbled right into a fucking fever dream.

Jason manages to stumble his way across the room and collapses into the bean bag chair to take it all in.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck?

Okay, there was no way Dick and the rest knew about this shit. Sure, they were aware that he stalked them, but did they fucking know that Tim stalked Jason like this?!

This was not the room of a sane man.

Jason should probably be running. Or screaming. Or burning the place down. He should be afraid, right? Tim did allude to the fact that he was obsessed with him, yes. And he had a shit ton of pictures of him, of course. Jason knew that full well.

Seeing it was much different than just hearing about it, though.

He doesn't know what the feeling building up in his chest is, but it's not fear. He's intimately familiar with what fear feels like. This is not that.

It's not exactly a pleasant emotion, either.

Jason reaches out and peels a random picture gently off of the wall. It is a photo of him staring up into the rain, eyes closed. He is the brightest thing in the image. Everything else is gray and colorless. When he turns the photograph over, he spots a short paragraph on the other side, one that he quickly reads.

September 18.

Today, Robin is as good as ever. He directed a few homeless children to the newest Wayne shelter and assured himself of their safety before leaving. It was raining today. I hope that he doesn't catch a cold.

Well then.

Well.

…What is Jason supposed to do!?

Jason puts it back on the wall, praying that Tim doesn't notice and that it sticks again. When it doesn't fall, he nearly breathes a sigh of relief. Tim seemed like the kind of person to notice if anything was out of place, especially in a room like this.

Now aware that he could paste the pictures back onto the wall, he grabs another picture. This one is of him climbing out of the Batmobile, a devious little grin on his face.

The back of the photograph is similar to the last.

May 7.

Today, Robin is as good as ever. Robin and Batman busted a drug ring. Robin was very happy about it since he was the one to discover it. Good job, Robin!

He picks up another. He's eating an ice cream cone. There's strawberry ice cream on his nose.

August 19.

Today, Robin is as good as ever. Robin stopped a young thief and treated them both to ice cream. It turns out that the kid is genuinely stealing to feed his younger brother. Robin pointed him to the Wayne Foundation Shelters, and promised to check in on them later. I should get some ice cream, too.

And another.

November 2.

Today, Robin is as good as ever. He and Batman stopped a local grocery store robbery and left with leftover Halloween candy as a reward. How nice!

And another. And another. And another.

Jason puts the pictures back in their rightful spot and then runs a hand over his face.

They are all accompanied with the same line.

Today, Robin is as good as ever.

Present tense.

Jason stands and walks over to the bookshelf and pulls out an album, opening it to a random page. Yep. That was like a million close up shots of his face. He puts it back and takes out another. Oh cool, this one was an album dedicated entirely to him just eating food. And were those penned notes of food reviews on what he ate?

Jason went for a corn dog instead of a chili dog today, and I have to agree with him– chili dogs are much better. But this corn dog wasn't bad. 3.25/5 stars.

Cool. Great. Awesome.

Well, time to get the fuck out of here! He'll figure out what to do when he's, you know, not surrounded by the fucking shrine to his dead self. It was really messing with his thought processes.

He's half expecting Tim to just be standing outside the door with that dangerous smile on his face. Thank god, he's not. What the fuck would Jason even do if that happened? Scream? Start swinging? Shake little Timmy by the shoulders and demand him to start seeing a therapist? Burn the entire goddamn Manor to the ground?

Okay, why is he still surprised? Tim killed the fuck out of the Joker for him! This wasn't too strange in comparison. Right? Right.

Or maybe being raised by Batman skewed his scaling of what was normal and what not. Or maybe he was lowering his standards for normality. Or maybe he was freaking the fuck out because he was seeing the actual physical proof that Tim had been stalking him for years.

Jason checks the room next door, almost certain that it would be another weird ass room, but–

It's… a darkroom for photography. As the door closes, Jason hits a switch and red light illuminates the room, casting everything in an eerie hue. It makes sense that Tim would have one of these, considering, well, you know.

Jason stares.

It's fucking massive. In his time, he's seen many a few amateur dark rooms set up by wannabe criminals, trying to be something they were not– taking pictures of their crimes as though they could be the next Riddler or something–

This is not that at all.

Jason's not sure what a professional darkroom looks like, but he's certain that Tim's darkroom would blow it completely out of the water with size alone. Professional equipment, huge ass red lamps, tables with… basins? He's not sure.

What really catches his eye are the rows of clothesline strung across the room, clothespins holding up rows and rows of pictures lined up like little soldiers in the dark room. It's not to the scale of that weird ass room, but there are still a shit ton of fucking pictures in here.

He yanks a photo from its hanging place, expecting either Robin or even one of the pictures that Tim would hand him, depicting some sort of illegal activity happening in his turf.

Jason squints at it.

It's not Robin.

Well, it is, but–

It's a picture of himself. Jason Todd, and not who he used to be. And well, the current Robin is in the photo too.

The picture almost slips from his fingers and he fumbles to keep a hold of it. It's him, like maybe a few weeks ago? He's sitting next to Damian on a park bench. Damian looks displeased. Jason looks particularly amused as he ruffles the boy's hair.

He remembers this moment. Jason was explaining that Damian was not allowed to jump the random civilians for trying to feed bread to ducks, but he could walk over there and politely inform them that bread was actually harmful to waterfowl and no, Damian, lightly stabbing was still stabbing and was not more polite than the alternative, because the alternative was just talking it out. No, not stabbing.

Neither Jason nor Damian saw Tim there. If Damian knew someone was stalking him, he'd definitely have a tell. And Jason would confront 'em. Tim managed to sneak up on two highly trained assassins and take their picture.

Alright.

It was just Tim. Okay.

Well.

Moving on.

Jason carefully pins the picture back up. He's not going to think too hard about it.

The next picture is another picture of him. He's reading a book in a café. And the next is also a picture of him. He's eating a chili dog. And the next, where he's fixing up his bike. And the next. And the next. And the next.

Wow.

For some reason, Jason's even more thrown just seeing these pictures of himself, and not just Robin.

There's a whole row of Red Hood pictures too, and they are appropriately violent, and chaotic, and– those are his nipples. Jason knew that he wasn't lying about it, but those sure are his nipples. Just on display in this dark room.

He decides to snoop around some more.

There's another bookshelf with albums, similar to that last room. Jason scrounges up all his remaining courage and takes out a random one.

When he opens up a random page to see himself sitting in the library and reading The Hobbit at like, what, fifteen years old?– he closes the album.

Seeing his younger self in a mask was one thing. Seeing his younger self without it was another.

"What do you think?"

"I have no idea what I fucking think," Jason replies, taking another album off of the shelf. "Like, why did I dress like that when I was younger? Can't believe that Tim took pictures of all that."

Wait.

He turns around.

Tim is standing right there, smiling at him. In the red light of the room, he looks more dangerous than Jason's ever seen him.

"FUCKIN' HELL," Jason yelps, "we needa put a fuckin' bell on you or something, fucking god."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Tim apologizes, which is kind of funny considering the scary ass room that they're standing in, and the scarier ass room just next door.

"How did I not notice you come in?" Jason demands, instead of the more obvious question of what the hell was wrong with Tim.

"It's dark out now," Tim says. "I didn't turn on any lights either. We should head back before Bruce starts a headhunt."

"Before Bruce comes by to fetch us and sees this room and puts your ass in jail or something, you mean," Jason corrects.

A sigh.

"I was hoping to show you at a better time," Tim says, "but I guess it's unavoidable. Well. Now you know. What do you think?"

Jason thinks that the only exit to this room is being blocked by Tim.

He smiles. "I'm not going to hurt you, Jason."

No, Jason doesn't think that Tim would hurt him, especially considering the fact that he's almost certainly had the chance to do so over the years and hadn't done anything to harm him– but this cramped room with the red lighting was setting all of his fight or flight instincts off.

"I know," Jason says. Tim blinks.

"That's good," Tim says.

The most awkward silence of all time descends upon them. Jason is not about to be the one who speaks first. He'd like for Tim to say whatever the hell he thinks might make this whole situation better.

"Creepy, right?" Tim finally asks, cocking his head to one side. The self-awareness was really something.

"Um, yeah."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Jason scowls. "If you're sorry and you know it's creepy, then why even do it in the first place?"

"I don't know," Tim says. It sounds honest. "I couldn't stop myself. I'm sorry. It's the only way I know how to love."

"You think this is love?" Jason asks. "I think it's like. Obsession."

Tim clicks his tongue. "The two aren't actually mutually exclusive. I know full well that I'm not only in love with you, but also obsessed with you. As you can see here."

You bet your ass Jason can see it.

"What would you like to do now, Jason?" Tim asks. "You can still send me to Arkham."

"Is that your go-to phrase when you're afraid of having an actual conversation? 'Cause it ain't gonna cut it. Not this time."

Tim ducks his head.

"And don't tell me to slit your throat either," Jason says. "Tim. What exactly do you want from me? And be honest."

"Um."

"Tim."

"You know, I've always wanted to show you this but I've always been afraid of how you'd react and also did you know that you look really beautiful in red lighting and I'm sweating up a goddamn storm and whenever you pick up something sharp I think about the time you slit my throat–"

"Tim. Quit babbling. What do you want from me? You're in love, you're obsessed. Whatever. What now? We're standing in your freaky darkroom. You literally have nothing to lose at this point."

Tim's eyes are nearly bulging right out of his head. "My dignity."

"You still have that? Look around us!" Jason gestures at the room with pictures of his goddamn nipples.

"Jason," Tim complains.

"Hurry up!"

"LET'S DATE," Tim finally yells. He clears his throat. "I mean. I'd like for us to be in a serious relationship where the end goal is, um, marriage. Please."

Jason is both surprised and unsurprised. He's also surprised that Tim didn't say that he wants to keep Jason in his creepy basement for the rest of time. And that he still managed to have the audacity to ask this.

"I don't want to keep you in my basement!" Tim yelps. Huh. He said that aloud.

"What's the point of even wanting to be in a relationship with me?" Jason asks, genuinely curious. "Let alone a serious one."

It's apparently Tim's turn to be the confused one. "What do you mean? I just want to be with you. I'd like to hold hands and hug and kiss and be with you forever. Didn't we establish this?"

Maybe Jason is just starved for genuine affection and that's why his heart skips a beat at Tim's earnestness. The disparity between this Tim and the Tim that makes out next to a body is really something.

"No, we established that you're obsessed with a me that doesn't exist anymore or something. Like that room was fucking creepy, Tim. What the fuck. What was all that bullshit about being good?"

"Oh, that? The truth is, I don't care if you're good at all. Not in the way you think I might care. You were good, are good, will be good. Even it's just to me alone. Or to Crime Alley. Or to the ones you love. The moment you told me 'all yours,' I was all yours. And I have been ever since. The photos, the gifts, killing the Joker… I don't know how to show love any other way. I'm sorry. You can leave if you want now. You can burn this place down. You can send me to Arkham. Just please… don't hate me. I love you, Jason. If you asked, I'd stop with all the pictures, with everything."

A normal person would have probably started running for the hills. But Jason, who's well aware that his standards are completely fucked by now, and who's well aware that Tim killed the Joker for him–

"You could have said," Jason says.

"I have. I did!"

"You certainly didn't tell me about the creeper rooms," Jason retorts. He still wants to run away, but Tim is looking extra pathetic, and he can't deny that he holds fondness for him by now.

"I thought you would be scared. I thought you would hate me," Tim says, and his voice is shaking. He sounds like he's about to cry.

Honestly, Jason doesn't know how to feel. This was pretty different from the usual stalker tendencies of the other Bats. He was creeped out, sure, but he was also confused.

And that's when Jason realizes something. Something important.

Has Tim not realized that he has no real sway over him? Not when he's exposed his weakness like this.

There's no way Jason could be scared, because there's no way Tim could ever bring himself to hurt him.

Something about his face, his body, his personality, his everything– had driven a man to kill for him.

Jason is the one who holds the power here.

"Do you really want me?"

The sudden hope in Tim's eyes reminds Jason of the moment that they kissed.

"More than anything," Tim declares, insistent.

"Come here, Tim," Jason says.

Tim was the one who decided to intrude on Jason's life on his own accord. There was no way he would be leaving. Tim definitely wouldn't betray him, or hurt him, or start to hate him.

So what if Tim was fucked up? Jason was, too.

They could all be deranged little birds together.

Jason opens his arms.

When Tim obediently falls into his embrace, Jason knows that he is loved.

.

.

It's late and they've all reconvened at Wayne Manor, waiting for Bruce to return from the Commissioner's. Damian had stolen Jason away since the moment they crossed the threshold. Tim spotted them sleeping on a couch together, Damian curled up on Jason's chest. It was cute. He took several pictures.

He's in the kitchen making himself a cup of coffee when Dick arrives.

"Hey Tim, if there's more hot water, can you pour me some? I want tea. Alfred got this new earl gray, I wanna try it," Dick says.

"Sure," Tim says, taking out another cup. He busies himself with pouring him water while Dick fetches the loose leaf tea.

"Thanks," Dick takes the cup from Tim's hands and begins fixing up the tea. "...You look happy. Something good happen while you and Jason were at your house?"

"Oh, not really," Tim lies, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. Dick hums.

"Huh, weird. Jason looked pretty happy too," Dick points out, then takes a sip of tea. "Ooh, that's good."

"Joker's dead," Tim points out. "I expect that'll buoy him for a while."

"Yep, we're all happy that asshole is dead. Even Bruce! It's great to see everyone smile."

"Bruce smiled?" Tim asks. "Like an actual, visible big smile?"

"Okay, not big, but you know B," Dick drawls.

"That's right, he can rest easy knowing his son's murderer is dead," Tim says, satisfied with himself.

"All thanks to you, of course," Dick says, taking a sip of his tea. Tim's heart stops for a brief second.

"I didn't do anything," Tim says, voice cool. "I wasn't able to stop the shadows. Suppose it all ended well, though."

"Yep," Dick replies, still smiling. "Thank you, Tim."

Something clicks in Tim's brain. He turns around and meets Dick's eyes, not knowing if he should run.

"You know."

Dick stares back at him. He's smiling his normal smile. Despite this, Tim still feels uneasy.

"What do I know, Tim?"

It's a gamble. Tim might be playing into Dick's hands and confessing something that the older man wasn't even aware of. But something about the look in his eye makes Tim think otherwise.

"You know that I killed the Joker," Tim says.

"What are you saying, Tim?" Dick asks, a playful lilt to his words. He gives him a pointed look. "You didn't kill him. The shadows did. That's what you and Jason told me. And I saw one deposit his head into Jason's hands. That's more than enough proof that they killed him. Right?"

Now, Tim knows that Dick loves being underestimated. He loves playing the airhead, loves playing dumb. He knows that Dick is smart, knows that Dick was raised under someone known as the World's Greatest Detective. He still shouldn't be shocked whenever confronted with the knowledge that Dick Grayson always knows more than he lets on.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tim asks, voice small. He should play along. But after the events of today– he's tired. He'd rather face Dick's judgement now than far in the future.

Dick smiles. "Say what exactly?"

"Dick, cut the crap." Tim massages his brows. "Please, just– if you're gonna yell at me, now is the time."

"Why would I yell at you?" Dick questions. He sips at his tea. "I already tried to kill the Joker once and nearly succeeded. But Bruce… He's really annoying sometimes. It's too bad. I didn't want you or anyone else to bloody your hands."

It's likely the most verbal confirmation that Tim will ever get.

"I see," Tim says, staring down into his coffee. "Will you throw me into Arkham?"

Dick looks horrified. "Oh no. Of course not! Why would I do that? You killed the person I hate most in the world. I'd rather congratulate you. You accomplished what so many have wanted to do for years. So thanks. Seriously."

"Oh… No, thank you. For being here."

Today was just a day full of surprises.

"You alright, Tim? It must have been scary. I know you've never killed anyone before," Dick says.

In response, Tim shakes his head. "No. It wasn't scary. I only regret that he died so quickly."

"How did Jason react?" Dick asks.

"...He was grateful," Tim replies. "And happy. So so happy."

"That's great," Dick says, as cheerful as ever. "Can I ask you something, Tim? And can you be completely honest with me?"

Tim's heart begins to work overtime, and it must show on his face, as Dick hurries to soothe him. "Don't worry! You're not in trouble, I swear. I definitely won't be sending you to Arkham over this, so relax a 'lil bit, Timmy."

So Tim does his very best to relax. "What is it?"

"You killed the Joker for Jason, right? Right. Did you do it so you'd have some sort of claim over him?"

That was not the question that Tim was expecting, and Tim nearly bolts from the room looking at the intense expression on Dick's face.

"N-no."

"So did you do it so he wouldn't be able to escape you? So he'd always associate the death of his killer with you? To manipulate him?"

"No!"

"It must have felt great, being able to swoop in as Robin's hero. Maybe Jason didn't notice you taking those pictures, but I certainly did."

"I– That's not it, I–"

"Then what is it?" Dick– no, Robin– asks. It's as damning as it would have been if it were Jason asking him these questions.

"I don't know," Tim babbles.

"Liar."

"I don't!"

Dick clicks his tongue. "Playing dumb is my thing, Tim. If you're not honest with me…"

He trails off, but Dick doesn't need to continue his threat. Dick almost certainly knows everything.

And besides, Dick was once Robin.

Tim cannot truly lie to Robin.

"...That's right, I lied."

He chugs the rest of his coffee before he continues.

"I'd want any part of him. Every part of him. But there's no point unless it's given freely. It's not fair, because every part of me belongs to him. He put a curse on me long ago, did you know? When he smiled at me? I haven't been able to think of anyone or anything else. Jason could live on just fine without me. But I'm different. I could barely go on by honoring his memory. I– built myself around him. I'm nothing without him. I didn't even exist to him before he died. He would save me, but he'd save anyone.

"I thought I could become something– someone he'd want to keep in his life. That when given the option, he'd choose me too. I just. I want to be chosen by someone I choose. I'd kill for that chance. I already have. And I'd do it again. All so that he could see me the way I see him. I'll be a bird, if that's what he wants. I can be pretty. I can spend years and years lying in wait to kill a man and then finally kill him in the end because I know it'd feel good to do something good for my one and only hero. I did feel heroic killing the Joker. I felt even more so presenting his dead body to Jason. For the first time ever, I was good.

"I have the pictures, but that's not enough. It's never been enough. It's a poor substitute for the real deal. Any sort of claim would be fine so I don't go crazy. Crazier. Fuck. I know I'm not normal, I know this isn't normal, but even though I want him so bad–"

Tim swallows.

"Sure it's manipulation. But I don't know what else to do, and besides, it's a win-win. Jason gets to see that the Joker is dead. I get to see Jason. He'll think of me forever. I'm finally somebody to him. I'm the one that killed his killer. He'll carry that association for the rest of his life!"

Dick is just watching him. The room is quiet. There's no point in running.

"You can take me to Arkham now. I've been ready since the moment that I shot the Joker," Tim says, and puts his hands out like he was anticipating handcuffs.

Slowly, Dick finishes off his tea and puts his empty cup in the sink. When he reaches for Tim's empty mug, Tim flinches so violently he nearly gives himself a headache.

And Dick chuckles.

"Didn't I say I wasn't throwing you in Arkham, Tim? Relax," Dick says, putting the mug in the sink.

What?

"W-why? I just confessed. Told you everything. I'm dangerous to keep around. Especially around Jason!"

"You are?" Dick asks. "From my perspective, it's Jason that's keeping you well on a leash."

Tim snaps his mouth shut.

"I love you, Tim," Dick declares. Tim feels the weight of the words almost knock him off his feet. "Did you know that?"

Tim isn't sure that he did.

"And I love Jason. You're both so precious to me," Dick continues. "Ever since Jason died, I've reflected on myself, and my values. What is important to me? What can I tolerate?"

His blue eyes cut across to Tim. "What can I forgive?"

Tim feels like he's younger again, knocking on Dick Grayson's door and seeing that cold face. He says nothing.

"I'd do anything to keep the ones I love in my life, keep them safe and sound, keep them alive. I don't mind playing the fool forever," Dick says. "I've noticed that that's how we know love. It's an occupational hazard– we're predisposed to sacrifice, to playing a role. It's heroic."

Finally, Dick smiles his patented Robin-smile. It's all teeth. All of their smiles are.

"So long as you remain tame for him, I'll have nothing more to say," Robin tells him.

They are Robins in a room. They do not know love the way that most do.

Love is trackers, is heart rate monitors. Love is surveillance cameras. Love is a batarang blade, is the threat of slashing out eyes. Love is pretending to be oblivious. Love is patience. Love is violent, it is waiting. It is the only way that they know how to love.

"I am also selfishly happy that you killed him," Dick says. "Don't tell Jason, but he's right sometimes. Some people really are better off dead." It's said with a smile.

And Tim smiles right back, Robin-charm turned up to the max.

"What do you mean, Dick? Killing is wrong."

"You're right, Tim. Want a snack? Alfie made chocolate chip cookies earlier."

"Please."

And so Dick fetches them both cookies from a plate left on the counter.

The charade is familiar, easy, like slipping into a warm bath, but–

"Does Bruce know?" Tim asks, as Dick hands him the treat.

"We're all playing a part to keep Jason here with us," is all Dick says, and Tim supposes that is answer enough. He inclines his head. "Everyone loves him dearly, Tim. Like you do."

Like Tim does, huh?

It didn't seem like Jason could get away from any of them. Not in this life, and not in death either.

They eat their cookies. They're sweet and chewy and soft.

"Oh, these are good. Alfred must be in a great mood," Dick exclaims, looking at the cookie as though it holds the secrets to the universe. "Gonna text Jay, tell him to stop hogging Dami and to get their butts over here for cookies."

"Alright," Tim says. He's already anticipating Jason's arrival.

It's just like always.