Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At this point Jason is considering hiring some kind of supernatural specialist. Because after all the bullshit he’d had to deal with in the 18 something years he’s been alive (and the couple or so he wasn’t), there has to come a point to admit he’s been cursed.

Did he piss off a witch in a past life or something, because this can’t be normal.

Of all the things he thought he might be dealing with today not once did it cross his mind that Tim Fucking Drake of all people would be the guy to pin him in an alleyway.

Not literally of course, the kid looks maybe 110 lbs sopping wet and he’s not even in costume. A fact that Jason is bitterly pleased about. The only thing that would make this whole conversation even more unpleasant would be the replacement cosplaying his childhood. But as it stands he isn’t.

In fact, Jason isn’t even sure Tim knows that He knows he’s Robin.

The kid stands in front of him, back to the opening of the alleyway, dressed in his school uniform. Like he’d caught a bus from the good part of Gotham to the shit hole that was Crime Alley. He doesn’t even look nervous about it, just determined as he brandishes a piece of paper for Jason to take.

Up until this point it had been a good evening. Red Hood’s control over the criminal ecosystem had been wielding good results. Drug peddling down 18%. Sexual Assault down 47%. Stabbings and Shootings down 23%. And with the demolition of this latest gang he’d been casing, he was sure the Peddling percentage was about to go up a couple more points as well. But that’s where his good mood had ended.

He’d dipped from his sniper position to piss when Tim had stepped out of the shadows and cornered him to the back wall.

Jason squinted at the paper, trying to read the printed text from the 8ft or so away that he stood.

“The fuck’s this?” He spat, not even attempting to keep the bitter fury from his voice. To his credit, Tim didn’t flinch, though his throat bobbed quickly in a nervous gulp.

“I’d like you to sign this.” Tim stated, a manufactured polite tone coating his words, “I need your help.”

Oh fuck no.

“What makes you think I’d ever do anything to help you?” Jason growled, stalking forward, “Gotham Academy, right? You gotta have some decent cash behind you to go there. What’s the matter, Richie Rich? Mommy and Daddy not forking enough out for you?” He snatched the paper from out of Tim’s hands, gleaming in the way he stepped back in surprise.

Jason snorted through his nose and flickered his eyes over the page.

“Emergency Foster Placement- The fuck is this Richie?!”

Tim audibly swallowed and forced himself to step forward again.

“My parents are being investigated. I can’t go home and if I don’t find someone to say they’ll take care of me, they’ll put me in foster care. And I can’t-” He catches himself quickly, and Jason watches Tim’s face become still with practiced high-society stoicism. “I need someone to sign those papers so I can get child services off my back. And I heard you help kids who need it.”

Fuck you, you low blow striking son of a-

Jason gripped the rage in the back of his mind with both hands and choked it.

“What’s your name kid?” He asked instead. It was becoming clear now that Tim had absolutely no idea who he was under the mask.

“Timothy Drake.” Tim responded in a hollow-y tone. He was clearly checking out from this conversation as much as he could emotionally, and GOD did Jason hate that he could recognise why.

“Don’t you got someone else to sign this, Tim?” Jason asked as softly as he could, rage still simmering underneath the surface.

Tim shook his head.

Ah, so we’re lying today. Jason thought bitterly, knowing all too intimately the exact speed and velocity Brucie would jump to add his signature to the bottom of this page. He clucked his tongue in annoyance.

“You sure about that? No friends or family?” Jason pressed, getting closer still to Tim, “No… Mentors?”

Tim froze, looking up at the polished red gloss of Jason’s helmet.

He quickly shook his head, “I couldn’t… he wouldn’t…”

“And what makes you think I could or would, huh?” Jason interrupted, flicking the paper in Tim’s face, “I’m a murderer, not a mommy. Get lost.”

“Wait!” Tim begged, lunging to grab at Jason’s arm when he turned to leave, “You wouldn’t even have to do anything, you just have to sign it and I’ll leave you alone! I can even pay you.”

Jason wrenched his arm from Tim’s grip, “Don’t touch me again.” He snarled.

“I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you in my life, you hear me Richie?” Tim stumbled back as Jason leered over him.

“I’m dangerous, you’d be better off in the system.” Jason sniffed, knowing just how much of a lie that was. Tim’s hands were crinkling the form with how tight he was holding it. In the light, his eyes seem to shine a little more than they should have. Jason clenched his fists in time with his heart.

“Please…” Tim whispered, “I’m… I’m really desperate…”

Fuck.

Jason took a step back, barely resisting the urge to punch the brick wall beside them. He sighed, the weight of every bad decision clinging to his chest.

Just say no. Just say no. Just say no. Just say no. Just say no.

“Gimme that,” He snatched the paper from Tim’s hands again.

Fucking shit dammit!

“You got a pen?”

Tim blinked owlishly before scrambling to grab a pen from his book bag, as if terrified Jason would change his mind in the 6 seconds he took to search. He held it out to Jason who snatched it right out of his hands.

“Turn around,” He commanded, pushing on Tim’s shoulders til the kid did as he was told. The form was warped against the thick material of Tim’s school blazer but it would have to do. “If we do this, we’re doing it right. You got that Richie? When I sign this you’re my kid.” Jason snarled.

“I don’t do things in half measures. I’m gonna be there for every PTA meeting, every club invite, every fucking carpool you understand? I don’t need some white bread, pearl clutching bitch telling me I’m a shitty Guardian just ‘cause I didn’t ask for this.”

The ink leaked around his signature from how hard he was pressing the delicate nib into Tim’s back. He spun the other around while the cursive was still wet.

“I’m gonna pick you up from school tomorrow and we are going shopping together, got it?”

“I uh… you don’t… I... I can take care of myself, you really don’t have-” Tim stumbled around his words, looking down at the signed form like it was the holy grail.

“We have an agreement Repl- Richie,” Jason caught himself, “That paper says you’re mine til you hit 18. And I am going to give you a childhood, whether you like it or not.” The words were soft but it sounded like a threat.

“I filled out my address on the form, if you’re so nervous about shit, look it up before tomorrow. You got somewhere to go tonight?”

Tim nodded.

“Then get! Buses stop running ‘round here at 9. And I got work still.”

Tim nodded again. Eyes wide like he couldn’t tell if he was being threatened or not.

Jason watched the kid book it out of the alley. Signed form clutched in his hands like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Once he’d turned the corner and was fully out of sight Jason let the tension in his chest snap.

His fist hit the wall again and again and again, til the leather covering his knuckles wore away and tore at his bare skin.

FUCK FUCK FUCK

What had he done? He couldn’t be a father! One stray nightmare and he’d throttle the kid in his sleep. The last thing he wanted in life was some child stinking up his safehouse, let alone the one that had replaced him. That had taken his place in his family! He’d stolen that from Jason.

Well, clearly not well enough if he didn’t trust Bruce enough to sign the dotted line.

Maybe the Bat had lost his ‘fatherly’ touch in his old age. Not like he really had it much to begin with, emotionally constipated asshole!

Jason would be better than he was. He’d be there for Tim way more than Bruce had ever been there for him. There would be no limit to what he would be willing to do. Not a rooftop Jason wouldn’t be willing to toss someone from if they so much as looked at Tim wrong.

He’d be a better father than Bruce ever could be. And with how Tim was still running around kitted in costume, it would only be a matter of time before old Batsy found out. Just imagining the look on Bruce’s face when he realised he’d been entirely outclassed by his ex-son was delicious.

It made the whole situation, at bare minimum, palatable. At least to the green rage simmering in the back of his skull. It didn’t cry for Tim’s death much anymore, it simply wanted to make Bruce hurt.

Jason sighed. Hands now shaky and bleeding.

He hoisted himself back up the side of the building to collect his stuff. The assassination would have to wait for another time.

Chapter Text

The next day, Jason woke up at 6am to pick up paint from the local hardware store.

The address he’d written down for Tim was to a top floor apartment. One that spanned across an entire floor of the old building it was situated in.

2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, and a living space that had this gorgeous bow window split into 3 large sections. Glass still intact and everything. Jason had bought the place for that window alone. It was angled perfectly to watch the sunrise every morning. A new set of curtains and it would be picture perfect.

Unfortunately the rest of the space wasn’t as well maintained.

This wasn’t the only safe house Jason owned; and he only really liked to renovate one, maybe two, at a time when he knew he was going to be using them. This one was at an odd end of Gotham, just far enough from Crime Alley to make travel inconvenient. So he’d left it alone since signing the papers.

The neighbourhood was decent at least. Most people kept to themselves. The only other people living in the building consisted of a deaf guy (and his service dog) two floors down, and an old lady called Doris on the bottom floor. Jason didn’t know what the deaf guy was called.

When he came to check out the apartment the night before, he’d grimaced at the work he’d have to put in to make this space livable again. Mostly he’d put the address down because he knew he could give Tim his own room here. But man, you never realise just how hard it is to fill a barren space til you gotta actually do it.

He’d swept and mopped the hardwood floors, leaving the place to dry while he drove back and forth between the apartment and another safe house. Deciding to collapse and transport the furniture he did have to the new place. It would be practically impossible to get a delivery of new shit in such a short amount of time so his old and used stuff would have to do for now. Besides he didn’t know what Tim would need outside the basics, but that could be sorted with the shopping trip he’d told the kid to prepare for that evening.

Besides, moving in this way meant he got to keep the couch Kori had picked out of a catalogue one time.

He’d only bought it because of how excited she’d looked, but it was genuinely hideous. The thing was an ugly, mustard yellow velvet, and curved around into what was halfway between a semi circle and a 90 degree angle. It was lumpy too. With one of the cushions flipped from the time Roy had crashed at his place post-mission and accidentally bled over it in the night. He’d never been able to get the stain out so they just decided to pretend it wasn’t there and call it a day.

He reassembled it opposite the bow window in a way he hoped would catch the light in a good way.

After the nightmare that was solo dragging, not one but two, mattresses up 7 flights of stairs Jason had decided to call it a night. He didn’t even reassemble either of the wire bed frames. Deciding, instead, just to toss a loose sheet over one of the mattresses and crash out on the floor.

It was only at 7:36am, in the hardware store the next morning, while contemplating between ‘Eggshell’ or ‘Alabaster’ paint that Jason even considered the idea that this could be a trap.

If it was, it was incredibly well put together and tugged at strings Jason was pretty sure not even Bruce would exploit. The idea of Batsy sending in Robin 3.0 undercover to spy on the mean, nasty crime boss was… a stretch. Obvious soft spot for homeless kids aside. It just wouldn’t be logical. Despite their disagreement in methods, Red Hood was getting better results in the 4 months he’d been in town, than Batsy had the entire time he’d been skulking about in the shadows.

The ‘duffle bag incident’ was probably not the most ‘unarrestable’ act Jason could have gone for but in his defence he’d been freshly high off Lazarus Juice at the time. Plus he was actively improving the quality of life for locals in a way that was undeniable. To remove Hood from the ecosystem now would bring in a squabble for power. One that would kill many more than just a couple drug lords here and there.

Jason wasn’t an idiot. He knew Bruce was watching Hood.

The Bat would have seen every time he ‘took care’ of guys harassing the working girls, or bought one of the street kids a hot meal.

Once he’d lifted a few dozen frozen meals on route to the Penguin Lounge and donated them straight to a local homeless shelter. He’d made direct eye contact (under the hood) with the nearest street camera just to really drive his point home.

If Bruce wanted this grey-area treading crook out of the way, he’d have to do it knowing all these people would lose a lifeline. He’d have to do it knowing his actions could and would cause children to die.

Not that he hadn’t let that happen before. Batman could run through traumatised teens like disposable batteries.

Whoops this one’s dead, better check the orphanage.

Jason snorted under his breath.

Alabaster, he decided, pulling two tins down from the store shelf.

Tim had been too nervous. Too realistically desperate. Everything about the interaction had screamed ‘last resort’. You couldn’t fake the fear of homelessness. Nor the fear of losing the ‘Robin’ mantle.

The green fury in the back of his mind throbbed like an infection whenever he thought about it for too long.

Yeah, you couldn’t fake that.

Meaning that, somewhere along the lines, Bats had given the replacement the impression that any display of weakness (even ones he couldn’t control) would… what? Get him benched? Fired even?

It was pretty clear the kid was only doing this to cling to any level of normality he had left. A smug part of Jason’s brain preened at how badly Bruce must have fucked up to push his own sidekick this far.

Trusting a murderer over the hero of Gotham. Oh how the mighty fall.

Jason spent the next 6 hours or so languidly rearranging furniture and painting the apartment. He’d had to prioritise the most important areas which meant missing out his own room, and both the bathrooms from the equation. But he’d read something about bathrooms needing their own kind of paint anyway so he figured it was probably for the best.

He left the windows open while cleaning up the used rollers, and managed to actually set up some semblance of a bed (with proper sheets this time) before his watch beeped at him, signalling the end of the school day.

It was surreal driving up to the front gates of Gotham Academy.

Parents, Nannies, and kids alike, all funnelling their way out of the school buildings and into various expensive looking cars that lined the streets and every available parking space.

God, this was going to be hell.

Jason found a space (stole one from some lady just as she was about to pull in) towards the back of the lot. Close enough to the gates to oversee every face that came through the doors, but far enough back that no one would harass him to get out of the way. Or worse, recognise him from his own school days. Limited as they had been.

That was the price he’d pay for leaving his hood in the back under the seat.

Besides, he looked too different now. No longer scrawny with squishy baby cheeks and a will to live sparkling in his eye.

If there was anything ‘good’ that had come from his time in the Mountain Dew spa experience it was that it had seemingly reversed 15 years worth (eh, 13 if you took off the time he’d stayed at the manor) of childhood malnutrition.

His shoulders stood bulky and intimidating now, in a way they definitely hadn’t back in his early teens. No one could have been intimidated by the general scrawniness he’d fumbled around in back then, which actually kind of worked in his favour most of the time. Crook’s would underestimate him; write Robin off as just a side dish to the real threat, and promptly regret every decision they’d ever made when he kicked their asses into next week.

As fun as it had been at the time, there was just something about being able to tower over his enemies while the knowledge that they’d fucked up fully sunk in. Some spark of hopelessness in their eyes that was truly addictive.

Jason debated getting out of the car and leaning against the bonnet as the final few classes began to filter their way out of the gates, not much left but the real stragglers. The kids who didn’t want to go home.

For a long time Jason had been one of those kids.

School offered him a break between all the crappy parts of his life. A chance to get a hot meal and to pretend that his life was actually going somewhere other than petty crime and an early grave. The crappy public elementary school he’d attended before Bruce picked him up was alright for that kind of escapism.

He remembered trying to hide in the back of the library for an hour or so after school during the winters, just so he’d be able to sit in a place that had central heating for a little longer. It’s probably where his love of classic literature had come from. ‘Positive Association’ and all that psychoanalysis crap.

Of course, not long after that, his mom had sunk deeper into her addiction and he’d stopped going all together in fear she’d choke on her own vomit while he was out of the house. God knows Willis wasn’t going to check on her.

When Tim finally took the first tentative step from the building Jason nearly cackled out loud.

The kid was darting his head about in every direction possible, trying to gain any kind of visual on his ‘target’. Bruce’s training was obvious in the smoothness of his movements as he darted from shadow to shadow. Jason exhaled sharply through his nose in amusement.

If Tim thought he could possibly sneak past him before he could make good on his ‘threat’, he had another thing coming.

He took care to slam the car door shut a little louder than was necessary when he got out. Not to scare, just to catch Tim’s attention. Even if there was a cruel part of Jason’s brain that still reveled in how such a simple sound made the replacement twitch.

Jason didn’t bother to hasten his step as he walked up to the gates. Letting his casual stride play up his confidence for him. Tim had already spotted him, and thanks to his dilly dallying, there was no one else around to witness whatever was about to occur. Poor Birdie had caught himself in a net.

“If you wanted to get away unseen, I would’ve gone for the crowds,” Jason smirked, “You shouldn’t have held back.”

Tim’s eyes were wide as Jason finally strode close enough to tower over him. There was something in his eyes, some moment of realisation. Perhaps finally processing that, ‘yes, last night really did happen’ and that the person standing in front of him was-

“You’re…” Tim gripped the straps of his backpack tighter.

“Red Hood.” Jason finished, giving Tim a break from his stare to glance about the near empty parking lot, “Didn’t want to scare your classmates with the helmet.”

Tim inched backwards half a step, trying not to make it obvious how desperately he was looking for escape routes, “And… why… why’re you… here?”

Jason smirked, “I’m here,” he wrapped one arm around Tim’s shoulders tightly, guiding him towards the back of the lot where his car was sitting idle, “To take you shopping.”

Tim stumbled over his own shoe laces.

He blinked up at Jason with a bewildered look, as if he’d suddenly started spouting nonsense instead of offering to take care of him.

“You’re… You were serious?” He spluttered, “No! I mean you don’t… I can take care of myself, you didn’t-”

“I already said I don’t do anything in halves, Richie.” Jason tugged open the passenger side door for Tim to get in. The poor kid looked at the upholstered leather like it was suddenly going to sprout teeth and swallow him whole. “You hand in the paperwork yet?”

“Not yet, I was going to register it today.” He gulped nervously.

“Then we’ll stop by there first and head to the store after.”

Jason watched Tim chew his bottom lip before he finally caved and shrugged his backpack off, slipping into the passenger seat of Jason’s car. The door clicked firmly in place as Jason swung around to dip into his own place behind the wheel.

The start of the car ride was tense. Tim seemed to be doing his damnedest to compress himself into as little space as possible, angling himself away from Jason, as if expecting him to reach over the stick to grab him at a moment’s notice.

In the daylight it was easy to see why CPS had been called.

To put it gently, Tim looked… unwell.

He was obviously naturally pale but even the lightest skin shades seemed to flush with at least some life, a healthy glow from a life walking in the sun. Tim looked almost sickly with the paper white shade that coated his cheeks. No pink in sight. Just these deep, blue circles under his eyes, and a jawline that hugged the bone a little too much.

Christ, maybe his parents weren’t feeding him? But still, shouldn’t Bruce have been? Or Alfred?

Jason remembered being plied with meal after meal when he’d first moved into the manor. Alfred had taken it as a personal challenge to help him gain at least 10 pounds by the end of his first month.

Tim looked like he’d been surviving on hopes, dreams, and espresso judging from how uncontrollably his hands were trembling.

“You never said what they did.” Jason frowned, the statement already out of his mouth before he could catch his tongue.

“Huh?” Tim mumbled questioningly, pulling himself from the sharp silence.

“Your folks. You never said what they did to get CPS on their ass.”

Must be pretty bad to make Gotham PD give a shit about you - that last part went kindly unsaid.

“Oh.” Tim replied quietly, “they didn’t do anything.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason snuck a glance over to Tim. The kid was picking at the skin around his nails with almost surgical precision.

“Hm.” Tim nodded, “yeah nothing bad. Like hitting or anything if that’s what you’re thinking of. Some nurse in school just uhh… well they were in, are in, Vietnam right now for work so, they couldn’t get back in time to talk to the police. And the signal’s always spotty out there, so…”

“So they left you home alone?”

“Basically. But I’m 15. It’s not like I’m some toddler that’s going to burn the place down. They’re just making this out to be such an issue when it’s really not, you know?” Tim responded quietly, though Jason could hear the frustration leaking into his tone. More talking out loud than to answer the question.

“How…” Jason paused, wetting his lips quickly as he thought of the best way to phrase this, “How long have they been in Vietnam?”

“Uhh… like, since April I think?” Tim hummed, thinking it over.

It was mid May Jason noted, with some relief.

That’s basically a 4 week vacation, rich people do that shit all the time. Leaving a moody teenager while they got a break is fine, practically normal even. It’s like the main plot point to every ‘16 year old throws a party while the parents are out of town’ coming of age movie.

“They were in Thailand before that though. They left just after Christmas? No uhh, it was before, because their permits got approved early.” Tim corrected, though his voice was still coated with uncertainty as if he couldn’t quite remember.

Jason did some quick mental math.

Nearly 6 months.

Fuck, so much for relief.

“They call you though, right?”

“Oh yeah!” Tim agreed quickly, “I mean the signal over there is rough and there’s the time zone stuff as well but yeah, they call. Sometimes I’ll wake up to a voicemail and that’s nice.”

There was a fondness there. It coated every word like honey over hot oats, melting into every bitter crevice.

“They said they were going to sort this out once the dig was over. I already emailed our lawyer with the paperwork.” Tim continued, “She said it would be all taken care of by August so…”

Jason watched as Tim glanced in his direction, seemingly taking a moment while his eyes were fixed to the road to study his expression.

“Umm… thanks for doing this, by the way.” He said quietly, “I know you said you didn’t want money but I swear when this is over I’ll pay you back for whatever you-”

Jason rolled his eyes, “Shut up Richie.”

Tim’s jaw snapped shut with a click.

“I’m not doing this because I want repayment. This isn’t a loan. And I’m not a bed and breakfast.” Jason gritted his teeth.

“Then… why are you doing this?” Tim asked with a snap. Jason could hear how ‘Robin’ he sounded. The cocky, questioning, boy detective coming out of his shell. He caught the green before it could bubble over the surface and slammed both feet on the breaks. Sending them both lurching forward.

The cars behind them honked indignantly while Tim spluttered against the seat belt digging into his throat.

Jason breathed a shaky breath out. He could see Tim’s wide scared expression out of the corner of his eye.

“Because…” he breathed.

Why was he doing this?

It wasn’t all Bruce, was it?

Sure the fall out was going to be delicious but… there wasn’t any need to go this far.

He had the replacement in his car for crying out loud. There was nothing stopping him from driving out into the middle of nowhere and burying the new Robin alive, just to really send that message. Let Tim be the second Robin in Bruce’s care to be put in the ground.

There was nothing stopping him.

“Because…?” Tim breathed.

Jason let his eyes really take in the way Tim’s whole body seemed to shake simply with the weight of being alive.

He wondered if he’d ever been that small. If Bruce ever worried he’d crush him one day with a pat on the shoulder or a soft hand ruffling his hair.

Jason couldn’t remember a single time Bruce had hugged him without him first having to ask.

And for the first time he wondered if Tim was starving just as he did once.

And maybe still did

“Just because.” Jason said firmly, flipping off the car behind them and putting the clutch to the floor with a growl.

Chapter Text

It was a good thing Jason had insisted on driving the two of them over to the city hall because the lady sitting behind at least 3 sheets of bullet proof glass had demanded to see ID.

Jason had no idea what Tim’s original plan was. Maybe beg and put up the ‘poor abused foster kid just wants to live with his big brother’ act til the clerks gave in?

Clearly he hadn’t anticipated Jason to actually come with him and, judging by how he stiffened at Jason’s side, he also hadn’t expected him to have any ID for his obviously fake name.

Luckily for the both of them, Jason had put far too many hours into this already to fuck up here.

He passed Tim’s school ID and a fake one he’d had made up years ago through the glass. The plastic was just the right amount of scratched to convince someone at a glance. Or if it didn’t pass her scrutiny, the $50 he’d slipped her under the card definitely would.

Either way, they left the building with a snazzy new seal of approval.

Tim was now his kid. Officially. No take backsies!

He didn’t look too thrilled about it.

“What do I call you?” He’d asked timidly once they’d bundled back into the car. The stamped form sitting neatly in his hands.

“My name, ideally.” Jason had replied, still smirking from how easy it was to play Gotham’s system. “It’s called being polite.”

“I’m not calling the ‘Red Hood’ that.” Tim wrinkled his nose.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“‘Todd P. Johnson.’” Tim said dully, squinting at the signature. “Please tell me that’s fake. I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday.”

Jason’s smirk grew into a grin as Tim eyed him up and down.

“Please. Just… ‘Todd P. Johnson’? That can’t be real.” He sighed. Jason cackled, pulling into the parking lot of a local dollar store, and refusing to say another word on the matter.

The ice between them continued to melt as they trudged around the store.

“Which would you prefer? The Simba toothbrush or the Cinderella one?”

Tim snorted, picking up a plain red one instead.

“Lame.” Jason groaned at the choice.

“It’s practical?” Tim wrinkled his nose in growing amusement.

“Where’s the fun in ‘practical’, Richie?”

They left the store having spent just over $15 on basic essentials. Jason made a mental note as they left to pick up a spare change of clothes for the kid as soon as he could. The pyjamas and thin hoodie they’d picked up would work for now but there was no way he was going to let his kid live in them.

Fuck, he’d have to figure out the basement laundry situation. Or buy a washer and dryer for the apartment. He grimaced at the thought of lugging both items up 7 flights of stairs. But hey, if it kept his neighbours from seeing the blood he’d inevitably have to wash out of his suit?… Maybe he should call Kori and bribe her with a batch of his famous brownies?

Really it was Alfred’s recipe but he was the one making them. It counted.

“Sorry about the smell.” Jason apologised, holding open the door so Tim could get inside with his backpack and supplies.

The kid sniffled at the scent of fresh paint, curling his head around the hallway to try and see further into the apartment.

“I just finished painting a couple hours ago, I did your room first though so it should be kind of dry by now.” He continued, letting Tim explore as he drew the chain over the door. More locks would be a must but hey, that’s tomorrow’s problem.

“Maybe don’t go leaning against anything til tomorrow though, just in case.”

Heading further in, he found Tim gingerly petting the yellow velvet of the couch. The sun was beginning to set, and while you couldn’t see the yellow dot disappear over the horizon, you could still see the orange light bleeding through the glass. The sight caused Jason to pause in flipping the light switch.

A lump was forming in his throat suddenly. The part of him inside that was still 7 years old was mortified seeing someone used to wealth analyse the home he was working hard on.

“Kitchen’s to the right. And the doors you passed in the hall are the bedrooms. I gave you the one on the left ‘cause it’s bigger.” He cleared his throat a little, “bathroom’s attached.”

Truth be told, both rooms were basically the same size. The real reason Jason had passed the left room over to Tim was the fire escape.

There was a 0% chance he wasn’t going to sneak out at some point.

Duties as Robin would be hard now they were living together and Jason was willing to play ignorant so long as he wasn’t being stupid about it. He didn’t trust Bruce but he also knew Tim was the type to go out on his own regardless.

The kid had this look in his eye. This desperation to please. A need to do anything; to give anything so long as he was praised for it. It was depressingly familiar.

‘With Batman’ was better than ‘without Batman’, which meant midnight escape attempts. The fire escape, at least, had stairs so Tim wouldn’t have to risk breaking his neck. And Jason could mount a sensor to the window ledge so he’d be notified whenever he came and went.

It was as close to a safety check-in as he was going to get here.

With the light of the setting sun illuminating half his face, casting the other into shadow, Tim finished his examination. Staring at Jason with an expression full of awe.

“You really put a lot of work into this.” It came out neutral, but Jason could still hear the way Tim tone curled with incomprehension. As if he couldn’t believe Jason would go to the effort of cracking open a paint can and spending an afternoon with a roller.

He shrugged, “I didn’t want you to live in a hovel.”

Tim’s grip tightened on the plastic bag from the dollar store. And Jason suddenly realised it contained almost the entirety of Tim’s life now.

Shit, was he even allowed in his old place anymore? Like legally? Jason was pretty sure his parents weren’t allowed to live with him or see him without supervision from now on. Or until August as Tim had insisted.

Something in Jason’s chest squeezed at the thought of handing Tim back to his parents knowing they’d fucked off to Asia for 6 months just for funzies.

“You hungry?” He quickly changed the subject before the green could wrap its tendril around his throat.

Tim nodded, seemingly as thankful for the distraction as Jason was.

“You got any allergies?” He asked, pulling off his jacket and tossing it over the couch as he walked past.

“Uhh,” Tim stuttered, with a nervous expression. Jason was learning quickly this was Tim’s ‘I don’t want to be an inconvenience’ face’.

“Shellfish?” He said hesitantly.

“You telling me or asking me?”

“Telling. It makes my throat kind of… croaky? But if you really want to make something with it, you can.”

Jason sincerely hoped he meant ‘in the apartment’ and not ‘served in a dish’.

“Kay.” He hummed, giving Tim a much needed out to squirrel away in his new room.

Dinner ended up being quiet.

Jason’s fingers itched to turn on a radio while he cooked like Alfred used to do.

Bruce had tuned the old thing in the manor kitchen so it could pick up English stations. The intro to many a radio drama was embedded into Jason’s brain the same way the theme song to ‘Nights of our Passions’ was. Memories of his grandmother rewatching episode after episode on the old boxy TV set she had, clouded his thoughts affectionately the exact same way.

Even after the pit, it was nice to see some of the less painful memories still found a way to stick around.

Jason let Tim take his plate to his room to eat amongst a new found safety.

A table would be nice eventually but honestly the day had been exhausting enough.

Their relationship was turning out to be… efficient, at least.

Jason hadn’t expected them to be the best of buddies right away. Hell, he wasn’t sure he wanted them to be. Just ‘functional’ would do.

He supposed he was kind of separating them in his mind. A stark difference in emotion between Robin and Tim, even if a little of either would leak through on occasion. Mostly in the few occasions Jason had been able to poke a little sass out of the kid in the dollar store. That smirk was Robin through and through.

It wasn’t healthy. Probably. But it wasn’t like he was going to go see a therapist about it. What a conversation that would be.

Hey, sorry to bother you, but I just became the primary caretaker to the kid I tried to murder in cold blood about 8 months ago. Think I could snag an appointment real quick?

Fat fucking chance.

He’d just have to keep on going as he had been this last… not even 24 hours… fucking hell.

How do people do this all day? How was he going to do this all day?

Jason sat in the living room staring out the bow window until the light emanating from under Tim’s door flickered out. If he strained, he could hear the faint rustle of sheets being pulled back as the kid got into bed. A part of him wondered if Tim was warm enough. If he’d enjoyed the meal Jason had put together. If he’d eaten his fill or if he was still hungry and was too nervous to ask for seconds.

Tomorrow. He reasoned.

He’d just do better tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Living with Tim was… survivable. The kid wasn’t fighting him on any of the rules he was slowly implementing. And, in a weird way, that kind of worried him.

The obedient nod Tim would give every time he brought up something new was deeply disturbing. Jason was pretty sure he wasn’t this downright forthcoming when he was living under Bruce’s roof, and the man had practically dragged him from the edge of homelessness. Jason was pretty sure even back in his hero worshiping days he was still sneaking out and pulling Bruce up on his bullshit.

It didn’t matter what it was, Tim would nod and agree to everything.

“Hey kid, make sure you’re back before it gets dark okay? There’s creeps out there.” Nod.

“Hey, can you check the locks on the door before you go to bed.” Nod.

After a little while Jason just started making shit up to see how far he could push it.

“No opening the fridge between 3 and 6, got it?” Nod.

He’d do it too. Even when Jason wasn’t home. It was such a sharp contrast to the kid that had kicked him in the balls 8 months ago during their little ‘murderous scuffle’.

That kid had fight in him.

He wanted to live, he wanted to prove himself, and had zero qualms about fighting dirty. The little shit had even critiqued Jason’s technique mid fucking fight. Like he was drafting a suggestion to a recipe blog while he flipped and twisted mid air.

If he hadn’t been so angry at the time Jason could have maybe called himself ‘impressed’.

But that kid was Robin, and Red Hood wasn’t in charge of Robin.

Red Hood was in charge of Tim Drake, and maybe that was the real root of the issue.

Jason didn’t want to run this shit like the military. He wanted Tim to track mud into the house, and blast shitty music loud enough to rock the door frames.

Maybe get a sign that he wasn’t completely fucking this up at every turn.

Instead, it was like the kid was barely even there. Not a peep. Not a hair.

Once he’d come home quietly enough to watch the sliver of light emanating from under Tim’s door suddenly vanish, like he’d been listening for footsteps and hadn’t quite been fast enough to hit the switch. Like he was hoping Jason wouldn't walk up to the wood to knock on it like he always did. Sitting in his room and pretending not to exist, hoping the world would go away. Or maybe just Jason.

If he hadn’t insisted on cooking for them every night he wouldn’t’ve seen Tim at all.

“You know I was just fuckin’ with you about the fridge thing, right?” Tim had looked at him with wide eyes; the kind that told Jason he thought he was in trouble and was waiting for the fallout.

“You can use it whenever you want. Any hour. For anything.”

Tim had nodded like he wasn’t sure if Jason was testing him or not.

And instead of pressing the issue, he just placed a can of chilled soda in front of the kid and let him scurry back to his room. Jason, himself, opted to spend the evening in his, for the purpose of tearing his hair out in private.

He nearly wept in relief when the window sensor let him know the kid was finally sneaking out.

TEENAGE REBELLION! THANK YOU LORD!

The bone chilling panic was almost worth it when he realised his 15 year old would be out on Gotham’s streets, picking fights with full grown adults.

Full grown adults with guns.

So really, he’d had no other choice but to suit up.

Bruce wasn’t the type to change his patrol routes unless absolutely necessary, and it would take a lot more than a dip in the world's shittiest water fountain to make Jason forget that kind of muscle memory.

But the sight still startled him when he finally caught up.

He’d come face to face with the Bat numerous times since taking over The Alley, but those encounters had been on an ‘even’ playing field, so to speak. A fight between two enemies.

It felt wrong to stalk him from the rooftops like this. Dishonourable… kind of.

Bruce might be the only person he was still tempted to fight fair with. That part of him that was still desperate to prove himself useful on the cave sparring mats.

The shadows up here would be useless against the unguarded light of the moon. Experience had taught him Bats would pick up on all his little hidey-holes eventually. It was just a matter of time.

Bruce always cut an intimidating figure.

The abs moulded into the Kevlar were just as visible underneath as they were on top. At some point, over the years, he’d changed the cape material to something shinier that caught the moonlight with a striking white strip. Jason would put good money on it being blast proof too.

Too bad he hadn’t thought to figure that lil feature out before Ethiopia happened. Might have saved him some ugly scaring… if The Pit hadn’t taken care of most of it anyway.

Jason tried not to dwell on how weird it was to feel smooth skin where it should be gnarled and shiney. It was like he had no evidence of the injuries he’d been dealt. No way to prove he’d ever been hurt at all. The only scarred thing was his brain, and most people would sooner toss him in a looney bin than help him heal it.

Fuck ‘em. It was easier to deal with your own shit alone anyway.

Batman’s cape caught the wind with a dramatic swoosh. The moon’s rim light glinted invitingly.

For a brief moment, 15 year old Jason stared out from behind his eyes. Eager to leap from the ledge with an excited yell, knowing that no matter what, his dad wouldn’t let him hit the ground.

The moment passed.

The euphoria turned to sludge in his chest as Tim stepped up to Bruce’s side. The uniform that used to be his was too bloodied and torn to be anything but an antique now, but Tim still wore the colours.

Bats didn’t move to greet him, no pat on the shoulder, not even a nod. Just a turn and a swoop of the cape to signal the start of the night.

Jason spent the next 20 minutes gritting his teeth til they creaked and pressing his forehead into the rooftop tarmac. Liquid grief pooling in his stomach and leaking through stinging eyes. It greeted the green like an old friend.

He came home that night with bloodied knuckles and a limp.

Instead of following the Bat and his new bird through the streets he’d forced himself to take care of business elsewhere. It was the only way he could guarantee his hands would stay away from Tim’s neck.

The den he’d taken out had a name he couldn’t quite remember.

Seven men, armed enough to be comfortable but not guarded, populated the warehouse he’d broken into. A game of Texas Hold‘em spread across thick wooden crates.

Their blood had mixed with the split bags of powder he’d spilled til it became slurry beneath his boots.

In a better circumstance he would have waited. They were nowhere near the drop date. The seven men, now dead, were just the few unlucky enough to be on guard duty. Maybe new recruits, or one with a mouth big enough to piss off the boss. Come the big day, there would have been 30-40 there easy.

He could have taken out a decent chunk of the ring runners. Instead he’d let himself run away into the green.

Now there was a warehouse sitting on the East side of the Docks full of spilled coke and body parts.

Jason smelt of sweat and metal.

One of the guys had caught him with a belt buckle halfway through. The meat of his thigh was screaming like it had been sharpened and laced with something deadly.

He’d kicked the guy’s teeth in for his trouble.

But the hobble he’d been reduced to halfway between the 2nd and 3rd flight of stairs made him wish he’d dragged it out a little more.

He staggered when getting the door open, and only just about managed to hook the locks in securely before his legs failed him.

Yellow light from the street lamps outside streaked through the living room window as Jason clawed out from the hallway.

This was why you always put the med kit on the bottom shelf. He’d had the foresight to put at least one in every room. Paranoia: 0 - Jason: 1…

or was it the other way around?

In an ideal world, he’d be setting himself up in his bathroom for this. Cleaning the wound of whatever filth the buckle had been laced with was probably essential. He’d feel like utter shit if it got infected but with the way his vision was tunneling he probably didn’t have the time.

Jason’s hands shook as he lifted the lid to the medkit, fingers fumbling pathetically with the latch. Nearly dropping the curved suture needle upon finding it amongst the creams and bandages.

You think they’d make these things easier to open for the dying.

The tiniest floorboards squeak had him dropping everything, snatching up a pistol from the holsters on his hips and brandishing the barrel towards the hallway.

Tim flinched at Jason’s raw speed and ducked behind the hallway wall with the practice of someone who knew what a gun in Hood’s hands could do.

“Jesus kid,” Jason wheezed, dropping the thing immediately. It hit the floorboards with a weighted thump. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Tim mumbled, creeping back out into the open. He hit the lightswitch on the side wall which flooded the room in bright white light. Jason’s eyes saw spots as he made a mental note to push ‘buy a lamp shade’ to the top of his ‘to do’ list.

“What happened?” He asked, eyeing how crumpled Jason must have looked on the floor.

Jason sighed, tossing the packaged needle back amongst the supplies, “Somethin’ stupid. Gimme a hand, will you?”

The kid skittered forward, hooking an arm under Jason’s shoulder to help him stand. Together they hobbled through his barren room and into the ensuite bathroom.

Using the bowie knife he kept near his ankle, Jason sacrificed the leg of his pants. Deciding he’d rather lose the material than struggle with belts and buckles right now. He could get changed after all this bullshit had been dealt with.

Tim worked alongside him in silence. Much too at ease with the situation for Jason’s liking.

It was almost like autopilot, the way he helped point the shower head towards the wound, and ran to fetch the abandoned med kit while the water rinsed away the poison. If his hands hadn’t been shaking so much he would have put a stop to Tim snapping on a pair of sterilised gloves. Would have said something when he unpackaged the suture needle and grabbed a pair of forceps.

Instead he watched and winced as Tim got to work, twisting and knotting the needle in and out of his flesh.

“How’d you know to do this?” He asked at the third stitch.

Tim twitched like he suddenly remembered who he was fixing up.

“We live in Gotham.” He replied flatly.

Jason snorted, “We sure do.”

He dug around in the medkit for a couple of painkillers and swallowed them dry while Tim finished up. The sleeves of his pyjamas were rolled up enough that Jason could see the mottled red turning purple of a bruise on his forearm. One he recognised as defensive. Someone had tried to hit his kid tonight. And now said kid was spending his time fixing him up instead of sleeping.

“You’re a good kid.” he mumbled, glancing over the tie Tim had done for the dressing. He didn’t need to be looking at him to know how startled the kid’s eyes were.

“Go get yourself back into bed, kay? M’sorry I woke you.” Jason reached out and gently patted Tim’s shoulder, nice and firm. And figured it was probably a good sign when he didn’t flinch or back away. A sort of smile graced Tim’s face, just a little twitch at the corner of his mouth but it was enough.

“You don’t want me to help you into bed?” He asked quietly.

“Nah, I’m good. Not that old yet I promise.” Jason let his hand slip away from Tim’s shoulder. He lent his head back against the shower wall, slightly tilted so he could see the almost smirk before Tim replied.

“Say’s the guy who’s already going gray.” He mumbled, pleased at his own joke.

“Wow!” Jason chuckled, “Kick a guy while he’s down, why don’t you?!”

“Sorry,” Tim smiled, not in the least bit apologetic. He pulled the gloves off and tossed them into the little bathroom trashcan.

“Night.” He called on his way out.

“Night.” Jason replied softly.

Yeah.

Good Kid.

Chapter Text

“Hey Hood?” Tim called, words echoey as they bounced over the bathroom tiles, “what should I do with all these?”

Jason rounded the corner to find Tim elbow deep in a bright purple, faux fur bag, filled to the brim with odd containers and little brightly coloured packets.

Ah… that was one of Kori’s then.

Turns out, during exam season, Gotham Academy let students out halfway through the day to give them a chance to ‘study’. So like any good parent, Jason figured he was way past due to take advantage of the perk all dads become dads for.

Unpaid manual labour.

He’d spent the early hours of the day sweeping shit from his old safe houses into boxes and driving them back to the apartment.

The goal was to sort through them before Tim got home. But when Tim inevitably text him around 1pm for a ride, Jason decided it was probably safest to let him go through the boxes labelled ‘bathroom’ and call it a day.

Not that Jason had anything too dangerous just lying around.

Or at least he didn’t think so until Tim had found Kori’s make up bag.

“Oh shit, I was gonna toss these but then I read the labels and didn’t want to pollute the harbour any more than it already is…” Jason sighed, crouching down to take a look inside.

Tim pulled something with neon packaging up to his face, squinting at the intimidating list of ingredients.

“‘Deep Pore Cleansing Masque’. And they’ve written it with a ‘Q’ so you know it’s fancy. Why do you have all these?” He read aloud.

“‘Friend of mine brought them over ‘couple months back and just left them.” Jason huffed, he must have read the packaging at least a hundred times by now, though he was no closer to figuring out exactly what any of these slimes actually did for your skin.

“A friend?” Tim mimicked suggestively, eyeing him up and down.

“A friend.” Jason rolled his eyes, “A regular friend who happens to like… skin things.”

“Is this friend a girl by any chance?”

“Shut up, we’re co-workers.”

“You do face masks with your co-workers?”

Jason waved an expressive hand in Tim’s face, “Once! One time! And it was her birthday, so I couldn’t say no!”

“Sure.”

“We’re not dating.”

“Of course, that must be why she keeps her things at your place.”

“Fuck off.”

“Platonic things.” Tim was smirking.

“You’re such a little shit,” Jason was elated, “Alright then Romeo, let’s hear about your love life.”

Tim faltered slightly, “What love life?”

“Ah! I saw that.” Jason gently knocked his shoulder against Tim’s, “Spill!”

Tim scrunched his nose, “There’s nothing to spill. She was cool and it was working and then it wasn’t working. And I’m pretty sure she’s dating someone else now anyway.”

“Yikes. What’s her name?”

“Steph.”

“And what’s his?”

“Her new boyfriend?” Tim muttered, “Dean, I think?”

“You don’t like him?” Jason asked, watching the way Tim’s whole body seemed to twitch in displeasure.

“I… I don’t know? He seemed kinda like a jerk, I guess? But I can’t tell if that’s just me being a shitty jealous ex, you know?”

Jason nodded.

“I mean, both things could be true, kid. The guy can be a jerk and you can be jealous. You’re being respectful about it though, right?”

“Respectful?”

“Giving her space, trusting her judgement. No weird texts after midnight?”

“Oh.” Tim blinked, “yeah! I mean, she’s her own person so...”

“Good,” Jason smiled, glad that among the mess of misplaced behaviours he didn’t have to add ‘be nice to women’ to the ‘relearn all the healthy life skills’ list.

“Kori’s seriously not my girlfriend though.” He added, sorting through the pile, grouping everything he figured was similar into their own separate collection.

“We used to be on a team for a while and when that was done with we all fucked off in separate directions. We still hang out though. You might meet them one day.” He glanced at Tim, trying to gauge his reaction to the idea, “Only if you want to though. This is you’re home so if you don’t want any fucker in your space you don’t gotta put up with it.”

Tim just shrugged, “It’s fine, I’m used to that anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

“Uhh like…” Tim was fumbling, “I don’t know, I get it if you need to show me off or something.”

“Show you off?” Jason snorted, dropping another container into his pile, “Are you a prized turkey? Jesus, I’m not gonna parade you round the living room. I just…”

Don’t want you to hide in your room anymore.

“Didn’t want you to be caught off guard if a friend of mine crashes on the couch every now and then.”

Tim just shrugged, “Like half of these are going to go out of date next month.”

Jason plucked the packet out of the kid’s hands, “Yeah. Kinda sucks to let them go to waste...”

“Hm.” Tim agreed distractedly, busy picking up the expired containers and tossing them into a nearby trash bag.

Jason grinned. An evil grin.

“Hey Timmy…”

Tim froze.

Jason waved the face mask in his hand suggestively.

“Absolutely not.” Tim started, blinking in horror at the packet like it was due to explode any second.

“You just said it would be a waste…” Jason said, pushing himself onto his knees.

“No. You said it would be a waste.” Tim argued.

“C’mon! Just one.” Jason inched forward, waggling the thing tantalisingly, “You might like it…?”

“You do it if you want it so badly.” Tim ducked backwards, away from Jason and the mask.

“Hey, I’ll do one if you do one.” Jason bargained with a shrug.

Tim blinked, “...seriously?”

Jason shrugged. “You know you want to.” He sang.

Tim looked between the mask, then Jason… then the mask again.

20 minutes later they were sprawled face up on the couch together. Some kind of Green goop smeared on Jason’s skin and a wet sheet of something shaped to look like a cat draped over Tim’s.

“This… actually isn’t so bad.” The kid mumbled, “It’s kinda meditative.”

“My whole body is zero’d in on my face and that there is stuff on it.” Jason mumbled.

“You gotta relax,” Tim huffed, sounding vaguely smug at Jason’s discomfort, “this was your idea.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“Suffer.”

“Rude.”

A pause.

Tim tilted his head to glance at Jason, “You know when we wash these off, it’s just going to go straight to the harbour anyway, right?”

Another pause.

“...fuck.”

Tim cackled.

Chapter Text

Tim doesn’t eat much.

It’s something Jason first notices a few weeks after Tim officially moves in.

At first it was easy not to notice. Tim took to ‘eating’ in his room for a little while. But as the atmosphere melted a little between them he was willing to spend more and more time outside of his safe space. Til eventually that space grew to include other parts of the apartment.

A fact Jason was privately thrilled by.

In a way, he figured, this must be what shelter cat owners feel like the first time their skittish baby curls up in their lap.

Jason barely wanted to breathe the first time he caught Tim sprawled over the velvet sofa, reading a book from the shelf he’d put up earlier that week. Like if he did it too loudly he’d spook the kid away again.

They’d spent the evening in companionable silence, neither really solid enough in each other’s company to know how to break it. But Tim had smiled at him when Jason eventually passed him a chilled soda from the fridge. It was progress.

As was the first time Tim joined him at the dinner table.

It wasn’t the fancy, overly long, mahogany thing Jason had eaten a hundred meals at in the manor. Rather a crappy, plywood flatpack he’d picked up from a general outlet, with the idea of it being temporary. But now it had character, especially with how it wobbled on one foot.

When they both sat at it they didn’t have a whole lot of space but it didn’t seem to matter much.

Jason had caught a glimpse of the paper that morning, something about a ‘graphic robbery’ had been splattered on the front page. It hadn’t clicked that it might have been something to do with Batman and Robin til Tim was hovering in the kitchen doorway, glancing longingly at the table.

“You gonna stand there, or you gonna sit and eat?” He’d asked, shoving a bowl of pasta into Tim’s hands and gesturing with his chin towards the second table chair.

The kid had looked relieved to be invited. And maybe that was just because he hadn’t wanted to be alone with his thoughts for a while.

Whatever the reason, a dam had broken that evening. And now Tim could be found sitting opposite Jason at the table practically every night.

He’d eaten 6 bites of the pasta.

4 of the chicken piccata Jason made the next night.

5 of the beef and pepper stir fry the night after.

And only 3 of the baked ziti Jason was currently packing up leftovers for.

It was worrying.

And frustrating. He couldn’t tell whether or not it was because Tim was picky or because of something else.

‘Picky’ Jason could understand.

Rich people could afford to be picky. If they didn’t like something they could toss it, maybe go out for dinner or order something instead. It was easy to learn to be picky when you didn’t have to worry about making your paycheck stretch.

Jason knew what food banks looked like. Knew how, sometimes, the volunteers would set up the donations on shelves and hand you a basket on the way in so it was like going to the store for real.

A green tendril was wiggling furiously in his brain at the silvered spoon picture Tim was painting. He wanted to be angry about it, he was a good cook damnit! Really trying to make everything all balanced and nutritious. Especially since he had the money now to do so.

But there was something else, a feeling in his gut that was twisting. It felt too easy to leave it at ‘picky’. So he started keeping track. Paying a little more attention.

Tim ate less and less every evening he ‘snuck out’ to patrol with Bruce.

2 bites, maybe 3 at most.

Once 7.

And it took everything he had not to break Tim’s door down, when he heard the faintest splutter coming from the kid’s room later that night.

The exact same sound he’d remembered coming from his own bathroom the week he’d gotten the flu and was convinced Bruce would kick him out for it.

It was damn near impossible to ‘vomit quietly’. Alfred had clocked him instantly, with his pale face and chattering teeth.

Tim didn’t have either symptoms. But Jason hated to inherit Alfie’s eagle eyes.

Fuck, this was going to be tricky.

He couldn’t force the kid to eat but he couldn’t let him go hungry either.

Was it the allergies? Did Tim think he was randomly going to spike his food with crab or lobster? Why would he? Jason hadn’t done anything to hurt him… recently… okay well, not since he’d signed the papers.

Was this something weird and left over from… some other thing Jason didn’t know about?

A Bruce thing… maybe?

There’s no way Alfie could be involved. The man loved having a home full of people to feed.

What Bruce lacked in emotional support Alfred made up for with magically appearing plates of cut fruit and grilled cheese.

Fuck, okay…

How can one person help without having to talk about… feelings.

Therapy would be essential but if Bruce had already stuck his emotionally constipated claws where they weren’t wanted… well he might have more luck winning the lottery.

And it’s not like Jason, himself, was the glowing standard of proper emotional outlet. Every time he needed to get something out of his system he’d put a bullet in the skull of the first person to test him that night. Quick, easy, efficient. Absolutely no draw backs.

If Tim was going to get anything out of his time with Jason it wasn’t going to be his coping mechanisms.

But it was all well and good to think about what not to do. That was easy. There were a million things not to do. What was the right thing to do?

Fuck.

“What’s this?” Tim asked, gently brandishing the plate he’d found outside his door.

“What’s what?” Jason played dumb.

The kid hadn’t even taken his bag off yet. His school uniform wrinkled from the daily expedition that had him walking from one class to the other. Jason didn’t like how the blazer, that should have been form fitting, hung limply off his shoulders.

Tim looked down at the plate with suspicion.

“What did you do?”

“The fucks that supposed to mean?! They’re apples.” Jason grit his teeth.

Be nice. Be nice. Be nice.

“I know they’re apples. Are you apologising?” Tim bit back.

“They’re just apples. Fuck me for thinking you’d want a snack.” Jason did not pout.

He stood from his place on the sofa.

“I’m heading out,” he growled, pushing the plate further into Tim’s hands, “eat.”

He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. And slammed the door quickly enough to miss the way Tim was smiling slightly.

He’d cut the slices individually so the peel stuck up into little bunny ears.

The same way Alfred used to.

Chapter Text

The ‘food thing’ (as Jason was dubbing it in his head) continues much farther into the next week than he would have liked.

In that time Jason has done his best to experiment and found a small collection of ‘almost safe foods’ that Tim will reliably pick at when pushed.

He has to time these experiments to days after Tim comes back from patrol. Bruce doesn’t seem to work his Robin’s more than one day at a time any more. A change Jason isn’t sure what to think of yet.

Back in his day, Robin was just as obsessive as Batman. He’d spend every hour horribly sleep deprived and begging for more.

The fact that Bruce isn’t potentially giving in and working Tim night after night after night could mean a lot of things.

Does he actually see how small Tim is?

Does he regret working Jason so hard?

Is he slowing down finally?

Are the days of Batman numbered? (More than they always have been?)

Jason swears he spends more time these days discovering new problems than solving the ones he already has. And it’s not as if he can do anything about these ones either. Bar waltzing up the manor’s front porch and demanding answers directly, he’s stuck. He hates being stuck.

So instead of stewing in questioned torture, he buys another net of oranges, and places one next to Tim’s spot on the couch. Just in case.

It’s nice whenever the kid takes the bait and lets himself peel one quietly. The smell of citrus is relaxing, and Jason thinks they’re both being pavloved into feeling at home whenever the scent hits.

He doesn’t mind.

He’s just glad Tim is eating.

The kid seems to have a much easier time doing it when it’s small, easy things.

Full meals he struggles with. Especially if it’s anything heavy, or contains a lot of carbs.

It makes Jason nervous at how little Tim likes to keep down on the nights he tries to make a pasta or a bread. Carbs are essential not just because they’re part of a balanced diet but because they’re energy boosters. Tim should crave them with how much energy he burns through.

Every minute spent training is calories burning. Carbs are fuel and Tim is clearly running on empty.

This shit has Jason taking out a brand new library card and eyeing up posters for support groups. He scours the internet hard and long enough that he’s scraping the 10th page of google before finally giving up.

Every road points to therapy but god is he not qualified for those kind of conversations. Nor is he confident enough to even pitch the idea to Tim.

It all feels pretty damn hopeless reading article after article, each telling him, in much the same way, just how pathetic he is at this. His kid is drowning and he can’t bring it in himself to toss him a goddamn floaty.

Stupid.

Eventually salvation finds him in the form of one Dr Leslie Thompkins.

Her free medical clinic (funded at least partially through bat money) sat as a glowing beacon for most living on Park Row and beyond.

Jason could swear she’d seen her once or twice when he was around 8 or 9. A satchel full of paramedic equipment hooked over her left shoulder. This was before the days of the clinic's physical location. Back when it probably wasn’t strictly legal for her to walk around at night vaccinating those who couldn’t afford to keep up with the costs. But that’s the thing with those who have the inherent desire to do good. You don’t need permission (you just have to break some laws).

The number to the clinic was meant to be for donations only. One of those business lines rather than advice related. They were probably too understaffed to be able to man a phone line like that but if it was an important enough issue then surely… if Jason was desperate enough to try.

Dr Thompkins hadn’t answered, some other nurse had. But she’d been helpful and sympathetic. Sharing a story of her own struggles as a teenager that made Jason feel a little less like a failure.

She’d given him the general spiel about therapy and he promised her he’d bring it up eventually when the time was right.

If nothing else, by the time the phone call ended Jason felt he had a plan. Tentative and with no guarantee for success, but it was better than no plan at all.

He’d sat in silence for a while after the call, just staring at the phone in his hands.

That 25 minute conversation had been the first time he’d asked for help in… well since… actually, maybe even…

Maybe… Maybe Jason had never asked for help.

He’d been given help on rare occasions throughout his life. With most of it coming from adults deciding what he needed for him. Some had better ideas than others when it came to figuring out what said ‘thing’ was but, asking and being heard, that was… new?

And incredibly fucking depressing.

God, no wonder his kid was drowning. No wonder he never asked for anything. Never argued against nothing. Fucking hell.

In terms of the caretakers in Jason’s life, he’d had his Mom (who checked out of the role whenever she earnt enough to afford a hit), his grandmother (a shushing presence in front of the TV who’d died shortly after his 3rd or 4th Birthday), Bruce (who had the outward emotional intelligence of a brick), and Alfred (who couldn’t seem to pick between the role of ‘Manor Staff’ and ‘Active Caretaker’).

At least 3 out of 4 hadn’t been terrible but still… How do you make it to 17 or 18ish (birthdays got weird after you spend a couple underground) without it ever occurring to you to ask for help?

Tim was, of course, suspicious when he arrived home that evening.

Who wouldn’t be? Walking into the kitchen to find Jason leaning on the counter, an apron tied around his waist and a grin to rival the Joker’s gracing his face.

“Hey,” Jason smiled.

“...Hey?” Tim replied cautiously.

“How was school?”

“Fine?” Tim continued, taking off his bag and hanging it off the side of the couch.

“Good, good,” Jason smiled. He pushed himself up from the counter and placed both palms together in a way that reminded Tim way too much of a villain he’d seen once in a cartoon. “How much d’ya know about cooking, Timmy?”

“Uhh…” Tim hummed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jason interrupted, “because starting today you and me are going to cook together.”

“Why do you sound like you’re threatening me?” Tim squinted, eyes quickly glancing to the knife block on the counter and making a note as to how many currently sat there.

“Because it is a threat. Grab a peeler, Richie.”

Okay so, Tim is either really bad at cooking or really trying to pretend he isn’t Robin. Honestly… it might be both?

Jason’s trying hard not to wince in Tim’s eyeline when the knife he’s using to dice bell peppers gets a little bit too close to his fingers.

At least he’d picked all the ingredients himself, so that was something.

The nurse on the phone recommended he let Tim choose what ingredients they added to at least one of their meals. Since a lot of disordered behaviours stem from a lack of control; letting him have more of a choice in what he ate might ‘redirect some of the more harmful behaviours.’

That’s how she’d put it… in between giving him the number for a few qualified therapists she knew would ‘help his case without repayment’. She didn’t need to know if the next hefty donation towards the clinic came from a Mr. Todd P Johnson, and not the ‘disadvantaged’ individual she’d spoken to on the phone earlier that day.

‘Let him pick between eating food A or food B before he can pick between eating or not eating.’

It made sense in theory. When he really thought about it, there wasn’t a lot in Tim’s life he had a choice about right now.

You can’t really do much about anything at 15. Even when said 15 year old is vigilante-ing by night.

Much less so with his parents getting caught up in goverment shit, and all the stuff with Batman on top of that. And now he lives with the ‘big, bad Red Hood’… With how each direction was looking for Tim, nothing could really be classed as a ‘choice’.

It seems horrible to wish something like this on his kid but, Jason was actually pretty happy things have turned out like they have.

Tim’s a good kid.

And he’s trying not to fuck up being a parent… big brother… dad?… guy who is cool and let’s Tim live in his house?

Forget it.

They were making some kind of roast vegetable dish. The kind that didn’t have a recipe because neither thought to look one up before starting to chop and dice. But hey, you cover something in enough oil and seasoning and it’ll taste good. Hopefully…

Although, human flesh and blood is not and should not be classified as a seasoning.

Tim finally gets through all the peppers without injury and looks up to Jason with his big blue eyes.

They get bigger when Jason nods approvingly and tosses the cut pieces into a baking tray. They’re a little uneven and some pieces will definitely burn before others are cooked through but it’s fine.

“Good job,” Jason adds in for good measure and gently nudges his shoulder against Tim’s.

“Though your knife work scares the shit out of me.”

Tim frowned, “what’s wrong with it?”

“You’re not tucking your fingers in, I watched you put them under the blade like three times. It’s a miracle you’ve still got ‘em all,” Jason teased, pulling down various seasonings from where they sat in jars on the shelf.

“I’m not that bad, I can cook.” Tim insisted, “And I know how to use a knife!”

“Uh huh,” Jason smirked, “okay well, just make sure to keep your fingers out the way next time and I’ll believe you.”

“What are we putting on these?” He added, before Tim could argue his case further.

It didn’t turn out too bad in the end.

Some of the vegetables were charred and crispy on the edges and others had a raw crunch. But they still tasted fine.

Jason toasted them both a slice of bread so they weren’t just eating vegetables alone and watched in pure unfiltered relief when Tim ate a good 3/4 of his portion.

He never got the nurse’s name but it was now his life’s goal to send the woman the fanciest gift basket he could find.

Tim sits, staring out the window and half heartedly pushes the remainder of his meal around the plate with his fork.

“You don’t have to finish it,” Jason points out as softly as he can, catching Tim’s attention.

“Huh? Oh.” Tim puts his fork down, “Yeah, I’m done.”

He seems to say it a little wistfully, like he’s uncomfortable with the concept.

Jason hesitates in taking their plates to the sink.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.” Tim gives him this forced smile. A bit of that upper class ‘can’t show any weakness’ mask slips into place but Jason’s not buying it for a second.

“Who taught you how to cook?” He asks quickly, before Jason can call him out on his bullshit.

“My grandfather,” Jason replies because it feels natural to say.

Tim blinks in surprise.

“What?”

“Nothing!” Tim replies much too quickly, “I just… Wasn’t expecting it. Because you know like uhh.. Older guys aren’t super into household stuff so… I’m digging myself a hole here.”

“You are,” Jason snorts, “He’s a great cook though, and a very good teacher. I should make you his brownie recipe some time, they’re so fucking good.”

Tim smiles a little awkwardly, “He’s still alive? Your grandfather?”

“Oh uhh,” Jason blinks, “yeah. I think.” He adds for good measure.

Tim leans in with interest.

“I don’t really talk to my folks too much,” or at all, “So you don’t gotta worry about meeting them.”

Tim doesn’t look too put out by the idea, but he does lean back once more. Probably to give Jason some space.

He bites his bottom lip while he thinks about what to say next.

“I think,” He clears his throat a little, it’s suddenly become much too dry and much too tight, “I think that’s part of why I wanted you to cook with me tonight.”

Jason remembers Alfred pushing the kitchen stepping stool up to the counter so he could mix the brownie batter himself with a wooden spoon.

“I think I want to do that for you. Teach you.”

“Food’s important. For like… a lot of things. But, when you grow up without a lot of it, it becomes something bigger, you know? My grandfather’s not a great guy with words so he’d do it through meals.”

“He’d sit in the kitchen every Sunday. And he’d write down these huge lists of all the recipe ideas he had that week, and cut it all down into what he needed, and when, and how much it would cost. All that stuff. And it’s so much effort and so much time that he’d spend doing that.”

“But it wasn’t because that was his job.”

Jason swallows hard and forces himself to look Tim in the eye, “It… It was because he loved us and he wanted us to be healthy. So eating the food he made was his way of saying it without saying it.”

Tim looks like a deer standing before an oncoming car.

“You love me?”

He’s trying so, so hard to look Tim in the eye. He needs to get this across without fucking it up for once.

“I’m sorry I can’t say it neither.”

There’s a moment of silence. Tim’s eyes shine a little more than usual.

“That’s okay.” He says finally. With a tone that’s confused and almost hurt.

“I don’t… I’m… sorry,” Tim fumbles with his words and finally brings a hand up to wipe his tears when they begin to drip down his cheeks. He looks down at his wet fingers with disbelief. Like he can’t quite believe he’s crying.

“Oh kid. I didn’t mean-“ Jason tries.

“Why?” Tim interupts, “I dont… I don’t get it.”

Don’t get…?

“That I…?” Love you?

Tim nods, “I haven’t done anything for you.”

“What does that mean?” Jason stumbles, “You don’t have to do anything.”

You shouldn’t have to.

Tim shakes his head, “It’s not just that. I’m such an inconvenience.”

Jason stares.

“I’m… I live here, I begged you to. I… You take time out of your day when you’re busy to cook or clean or offer to drive me places. And I don’t get why. It feels like,” A sob rips its way through Tim’s body, “It feels like I’m just waiting for you to realise that I’m… I’m not…”

“Oh kid…” Jason breaths under his breath as Tim dissolves in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whimpers. His arms wrap around his middle, pressing tighter and tighter like if he does it hard enough it’ll feel like someone else’s instead of his own. “I’m sorry. I’m overthinking again, I’m sorry.”

Jason’s on his knees in front of Tim’s chair before he can blink.

“Hey Tim, look at me. Can you look at me buddy?”

Tim sniffles and blinks at him through the tears.

“Yeah that’s it, can you give me your hands? You’re gonna squeeze yourself too tight if you keep going.”

Tim’s hands feel cold to the touch.

“That’s it,” Jason encourages gently, “Just breathe okay, nice and deep. Try and fill your whole chest.”

Tim’s breath comes out trembling and congested.

Jason curses every god that refused to bless him with the charisma Dick inherited to deal with this kind of thing. He’s always sucked with the mental side of things.

He knows the drill, had the whole script memorised by his first outing in that dumbass yellow cape, but there’s a stiffness people always seem to pick up on. Like infants being held by people who don’t like babies. Or cats around dog people.

An instinctual discomfort.

He can tell Tim picks up on it, could probably smell it the second he knelt down. But a panic attack is a panic attack. And Jason thinks he’d rather eat glass than leave him to his own devices like that.

“‘M sorry…” Tim sniffles pathetically.

“You’re okay.” Jason responds immediately. Because it is okay.

“I really like it here.”

“I know.” Jason squeezes Tim’s hand and tries to pretend his heart hasn’t swelled to thrice its original size.

The couch seemed like the best place to end up after dinner.

Their plates sat abandoned on the table, turned yellow by the streetlamps casting their light through the window. Neither had moved to turn on a proper lamp after the sun had set.

“That sucked.” Tim finally sighs. Jason hums in agreement. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re okay,” Jason responds automatically.

Then after a beat, “You feelin’ any better?”

He doesn’t look but he can hear the velvet rustle as Tim nods.

“It was a good speech,” Tim comments, “I ruined it by freaking out.”

“I shouldn’t have dropped that on you,” Jason argues. “It was a lot, I don’t blame you.”

Tim heaves a sigh, like he wants to argue but is too exhausted to do so.

“I don’t… understand you.” He says finally. Jason can hear the frustration.

“Oh yeah?” He cranes his head a little to try and catch a glimpse of his kids crinkled brow.

“You’re nice to me. I’m in your house now because you believed me. But you’re…”

“The Red Hood?”

He hears Tim nod again.

“I didn’t even do anything to earn your protection. And you won’t take my money.”

“I don’t want it.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get!” Tim huffs and hefts himself into a sitting position. One where he can look Jason in the eye.

“You say you love me, but I’ve done nothing but cause you issues. I’ve… I’ve cost you money, I’ve lost you a room in your house. And you look at me like… like you can’t… like I’m…”

Jason leans in. “Like what?”

“I don’t know?!” Tim cries, “I don’t know anymore. Everything’s so confusing all the time and I’m so tired!”

“Kid, you’re 15. Everything’s confusing at 15, it’s like a rule of the universe. And you’re having an especially shitty time right now because instead of worrying about girls, or some shit, you had the man flip the script on your ass. Don’t beat yourself up about having a bad time, you’re allowed!”

Tim grits his teeth in frustration, his fingers twitch like he wants to hit something. Jason doesn’t blame him.

“I just… I need a break. Or just, like 5 minutes where the world stops so I can catch up.”

With some of the people you know, that just might be possible.

“There’s probably gonna be a couple people pissed at you if you manage to stop the Earth’s rotation just for a vacation.”

“Fuck ‘em, I need it!” Tim huffs, sounding the most Robin Jason’s ever heard him. It’s enough to startle a laugh out of him.

“Why not just play hooky for a day and sleep it off?”

Tim scoffs at the suggestion, “I can’t do that.”

“Who says?”

“Like the government or something? The school board?”

“So you’re willing to go to super villain lengths to literally stop the Earth from turning, but you won’t skip a study period to take a nap?” Jason snorts.

“… you’re right. But I want it noted that I don’t like the way you said it.”

“Get better priorities and I wouldn’t have to call it out.” He smirked. Immediately catching Tim’s ankle when it shot out to kick him jokingly, “Hey, no hitting! The couch is a sacred space!”

Tim conceded and let himself flop back once more.

“You know if you ever need a day off I’ll call you out, right?”

“I know,” Tim sighs, “But I feel like crap every time I try to take a break anyway so there’s no point. I’d just spend the whole time feeling shitty about feeling shitty.”

“Have you tried just not thinking about it?”

“Shut up.” Jason can hear the smile in his voice, “I wish it was that simple.”

“Everyone does.” Jason sighs. “For the record I think you’re handling this way better than I would have at your age.”

“Not really.” Tim shrugs.

“Hey, you didn’t know me at 15, I was a mess.” Jason insisted, “I once snuck out and slashed all the tires on the block because I was pissed that I-” Let the penguin get away, causing Bruce and Dick to get into yet another fight. “Failed… something. Anyway, ‘point is, I was a menace at 15.”

“Did you get caught?” Tim asked.

“By the cops? No. By my Grandfather? Yes, absolutely.” Jason sighed, remembering with a shudder, just how cold Alfie’s disapproving stare could be, “he was pissed.”

“Yikes,” Tim hissed sympathetically.

“Eh, it wasn’t so bad and I kinda deserved it. He made me go door to door and offer to change the neighbours tires for them as punishment.”

“Oh my god!” Tim giggled.

“It was humiliating!” Jason groaned, “But, I never did it again.”

“I don’t think I have that level of rebellion in me.” Tim said.

Jason tried not to scoff.

In your civilian life maybe.

“Eh, you got time still. You just gotta stop giving a shit what adults say and do what’s good for you.” He replied instead.

“I can’t.” Tim insisted.

“Why not? What’s stopping you?”

“Nothing? Everything?” Tim sighs, “it feels like if I don’t micromanage everything, it’s all going to fall apart and then that’s my fault because I couldn’t hold it together.”

“Well, why the fuck are you the one holding that up anyway? Why’s that not someone else’s problem?” Jason growled.

“I don’t know? It just is?” Tim replies with a snap, “It just always has been? Ever since I was a kid.”

You’re still a kid.

“You don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to.”

Tim hums, “Yeah well, what can do? Just let everything go? I can’t do that.”

“And why not?” Jason asked, “Seriously, why not?”

Tim shrugs.

“Worst case scenario, you let things go and they drop. Big deal. The only person responsible for that is the people that handed you those things to begin with.”

“You don’t get it.” Tim sighs.

“Yeah? Then explain it to me.” Jason dares.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?!”

“Because…” Jason can hear the way Tim is grinding his teeth. “Because I can’t.”

A silence stretches between them.

“I’m… I’m going to bed.” Tim says finally, pushing himself up off the couch.

“Okay.” Jason replies, watching Tim leave. “Goodnight kid.”

“Night.”

20 minutes later Jason’s just glad Tim ate well that evening as the kid sneaks out through his bedroom window.

Chapter Text

Tim gets a phone call at 8pm the following Tuesday.

He bolts straight upright, like he’d suddenly been struck by lightning and scrambles desperately for the device. His fingers smear the case with soapy water, having pulled his hands away from dishes he’d been cleaning in the sink.

Jason glances up from his place at the dinner table and watches Tim panic.

In the few weeks they’d been living together, not once had Tim ever taken the chance to talk on the phone. Occasional texting maybe, but Tim strikes Jason as the type not to have many friends.

Not that, that’s a bad thing per say.

Jason, himself, was kind of a loner at school. The rich pricks at the academy hadn’t wanted to associate with someone of his ‘status’ regardless of the ‘Wayne’ scrawled at the end of his name.

But Tim carries this ‘energy’, and unless he’s able to undergo a major personality change while between those educational walls. It’s probably unlikely he’s hanging out with many people these days.

Except maybe the Titans. Though from what Jason hears, they’ve been put on a hiatus til the holes in their security system are identified and fixed.

A fact, he’s starting to feel just that teensy bit more guilty about considering that he’s the hole.

But then again, someone was going to have to keep those kids safe at some point. So it was better he triggered it rather than someone with much worse intentions… At least towards the members who weren’t Tim.

Still, it’s kind of hard to feel smug seeing his kid sit alone day after day.

This is why parents buy their kid a puppy for Christmas, isn’t it?

“Mom! Hi!” Tim wheezes down the phone finally getting a grip on the screen. He sounds excited. Jason’s not to be jealous, “How are you?”

Janet’s breathy Bristol accent chatters through the line, though not loud enough to discern any words. She sounds rich, Jason thinks bitterly.

He remembers, with great clarity, the way elite folks at Bruce’s Galas used to chew through sentences. Like they were each competing to see how long they could take to say the least amount of information.

“Ah- yeah it’s-” Tim tries to get a word in edgewise but the woman just keeps going. He’s watching Tim’s expression fall in real time with every word.

Tim moves to grab the edge of the kitchen counter top and smushes his spine against the bottom cabinets near the sink, looking every bit the poster child for the word ‘dejected’.

“Are you sure?” There's the disappointment. Jason tries not to wince and stares determinedly out the window, trying to make it seem like he’s not listening in.

“Oh. I mean-” another interruption, “Yeah that… that really sounds like a great time. I hope… I hope you and dad have fun.”

Another pause.

“Yeah. I can talk to Angelica. I’m… I’m sure they’ll be okay with waiting. Cambodia sounds important so...”

“Maybe October then?”

“Oh, Okay, I’ll talk to Angelica and have her send something to the judge and… and maybe we’ll try something in the new year?” A little hope.

“OH! Yeah! We can talk about it later. Tell dad I said hi, I love-”

Jason hears the line cut.

“You.”

Tim pulls the phone away from his ear and just holds it for a while. The light of the kitchen is bright and suddenly much harsher than Jason remembers.

Tim spends the rest of the evening locked in his room.

Which isn’t a bad thing!

Tim’s parents have obviously done something, or said something, to upset him and he’s taking some time to process it. That’s normal. Completely understandable.

But even still, there was something about the look on Tim’s face that has cemented itself firmly into the forefront of Jason’s mind.

Something that makes him want to check on the kid and give him space simultaneously. Which is, of course, completely achievable and not worth worrying about at all.

Fucking hell.

It’s nearing 1am and Jason can still hear Tim moving about in his room. Rustling sheets and (if he really strains) the occasional sniffle.

It’s enough.

That’s enough.

5 hours of sadness is just about all he can take from the hands of the Drake’s and now it’s time to do something he’s good at.

Action.

Before he can blink he’s at Tim’s door, knocking on the wood the way he always does when he gets home late.

“Tim.”

A pause, then the rustling of sheets. Tim answers the door in a pair of pyjama bottoms and a band shirt Jason isn’t sure the origin of. His eyes and face are red and slightly crusty. He’s been at this for a while.

“What?” Tim croaks.

Jason tosses his head towards the front door with a frown, “Come on, we’re gonna take a trip.”

“What?!” Tim says a little more insistantly and a lot more confused.

“You heard me.” Jason insists, “Come on, get your shoes.”

“I’m not even dressed.”

“So? You need a suit and tie to sit in a car? Let’s go princess.”

Tim rolls his eyes and leaves the doorway to pick out some socks and a pair of heavy black boots.

Jason waits by the front door for him, dipping into a mock bow when the kid finally turns up.

He unlatches the lock. “After you.”

“Where are we even going?” Tim mumbles as they trek down the stairs.

“On a trip. You’ll see.”

“Are you ever not annoying and vague?” Tim laments.

“Nah,” Jason grins, “Sounds boring. It’s way more fun this way.”

Tim sighs deeply.

Tim stares out the window the entire drive and only makes a move once they turn towards the old memorial bridge.

“Where are we going?” He asks. Jason can hear the nervousness in his tone.

“You’ll see.” He repeats pushing for Tim’s patience. It’s almost funny to see him on edge like this. A glowing, sadistic part of him desperately wants to hit the door locks just to freak him out a little further, but that would be cruel, and Tim’s had enough cruelty for one day.

There’s a drizzle in the air once they finally turn into crest hill.

Drake manor is almost half way up the road though it doesn’t seem to make much difference in terms of trying to find it.

Not only are the property lines large enough to mean your closest neighbour is at least a good mile or so out, fence to fence. But the Drake Manor is also starkly different in design.

It’s a modern build.

New money, Jason notes.

Unlike Wayne Manor, with it’s gargoyles and 12th century gothic hauntedness; Drake Manor is a polished white marble. With these tacky machine carved pillars that just scream ‘I have money now and fitting in is hard’.

None of the lights are on.

Tim’s frozen to his seat, only moving with the jolt of the brakes as Jason pulls up against the curb.

“Here we are!” Jason sings, jazzing his hands dramatically.

Tim looks mortified.

“What? You think I didn’t do any research? I know who you are.”

Tim noticeably swallows “Yeah, but this is…”

The manor looms before them.

“Look, you had a shitty day,” Jason says, leaning one elbow up onto the passenger seat, “you know what I do when I have a shitty day?”

Tim’s looking at him with Robin’s eyes.

“I break something.”

Jason snags a spare hoodie from the back seat and tosses it into Tim’s lap, ”So put that on. We’re going to grab rocks from that drive way, and you’re gonna smash a window.”

“Wha… I- No?” Tim scoffs, as if the notion is ridiculous. It is, but Jason’s not kidding.

“Oh for- can you please remove the stick from your ass and actually have fun for once in your life?” Jason argues, throwing his head back.

“It’s not- this isn’t fun! This is a felony!” Jason raises an eyebrow.

“And we have cameras.” Tim adds, suddenly seeming to realise how moot his previous point was.

“You won’t after we brick ‘em.”

“We’re not ‘bricking’ anything. This is my house?!”

“It’s your parents house.” Jason corrects.

“I-” Tim rubs his eyes in frustration.

“I just want this day to be over. I have school tomorrow.” He pleads. Jason heaves a sigh.

“One rock!” he holds a finger up, refusing to let go. Tim gives him a look that could burn through lead. Jason stares back daring the kid to look away first.

Tim sighs.

“One rock. That’s it!” He agrees with a growl, tugging on the hoodie with all the difficulty of a man who’d forgotten to remove his seat belt, Jason kindly hits the switch for him.

The door clicks open and Tim goes trudging up the driveway, Jason trailing after him with nothing but pure elation in his stride.

The hoodie is so much bigger than Tim and he has to roll the sleeves til they’re bunched around his elbows to pick a rock from the gravelled drive. The thing he picks is no bigger than a pebble.

“No, nonono,” Jason stops him, “what you want is something with a heft to it. Something like uhhh,” Jason glances about and stoops to pry half a paving edge from where the grass meets drive.

“Try this on for size,” He dumps the thing in Tim’s hand and gets a look of incredulousness for his efforts.

Tim adjusts his grip a few times, feeling the weight in his hands.

He sighs.

Pulls back.

And releases.

The slab falls to the ground with a pathetic thud, barely a foot from where they both stand.

“Well, one rock, oh well, time to go home now.” Tim shrugs, turning to leave, only for Jason to grab him by the shoulder.

“No, come on. You didn’t even try.”

“You said ‘one rock’?” Tim grinds his teeth.

“That’s a paving stone.” Jason smiles, happy to be the smartass. Tim looks just about ready to strangle him.

“Why,” he growls, “are you like this?!”

“Because it pisses you off. Now throw the damn rock.”

Tim groans out loud, letting his head flop backwards to stare at the clouded sky.

“This is accomplishing nothing.” He bites, stomping forward to snatch the paving stone up from where it fell.

“You dragged me all the way up here in the rain,” it’s barely drizzling, “Because you wanted a fucking Mr Miyagi moment? I’m tired, Hood. I want to go back.”

Jason bites his lip, trying really really hard not to respond with something along the lines of ‘wah wah wah’.

Too mean, that’s not the point of this.

“Then throw the damn thing already,” He settles on, “the longer you spend complaining, the longer you stand in the rain! Fucking toss it already.”

“I’m not doing that,” Tim snarls back, brandishing the stone at Jason for emphasis. “There’s no point. None of this means anything. I break that window and >I have to deal with it.”

“Why?!” Jason yells back.

“Becasue I do.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my responsibility!”

“But WHY?”

“It’s my house!”

“It’s your parents house.”

“It doesn’t matter, they’re never fucking here!” Tim screams. He wrenches both arms back in a wide dramatic arc and the stone slips from his grip. It goes flying across the courtyard and straight into the delicate glass of a bottom floor window. Jason winces at the sound it makes.

They both stare at the dripping glass with wide startled eyes, completely silent. Tim’s arms still up in the air.

“That’s one way to do it.” Jason snorts. Tim sighs exhaustedly.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his hands to his sides and stares dejectedly at the broken window as if he could will it hard enough to disappear all by itself.

“Feel better?” Jason asks, stepping closer to elbow Tim’s side gently.

“No.” He finally croaks.

“No?”

“This is- It’s just another problem I have to fix.” Tim turns from the window and begins to trudge further up the driveway, curving away from the front porch to skim around the side of the property.

“Thanks for that, by the way, really great. Exactly what I needed today.” He huffs tiredly, spreading his arms open sarcastically. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Where you goin’?” Jason calls after him.

“To erase the footage before anyone sees.”

Jason watches Tim disappear around the side of the manor and hurries through the gravel to catch up. The kid’s already about half way up the side of the building by the time he’s able to squeeze past all the bushes and fencing.

Gripping the wooden lattice that’s meant to be keeping the ivy from the brick, Tim easily works open the latch to the second highest window on the 2nd floor.

He glances down at Jason before slipping through the opening. A roll of his eyes hidden (but not well enough) as he turns away from the window.

Jason’s desperately hoping the thin wood is sturdier than it looks.

It’s not.

A few of the slats snap under the weight of his boot, but it holds enough to get him gripping the sides of the window sill. Tim watches him struggle from the inside long enough to see him hoist his way inside, but no help comes his way when it comes to actually getting through the tiny opening. There’s a reason Jason’s a bigger fan of doors since his dip in the steroid soup.

The inside of Drake manor is cold and expectedly dark. The hallway they’ve hoisted themselves into overlooks the entryway, a long carpeted staircase spills out towards the front door. A thin white rail the only thing that separating them and a 15 ft drop.

“My dad’s office is down the hall, I’m gonna delete the footage from his computer.” Tim instructs making a loose gesture with his hand. “Just- Stay here and don’t touch anything.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Please!” Tim begs taking a small step back, placatingly bringing his hands up for a moment before turning.

It’s like he can’t trust Jason to sit still for 5 minutes…

He was right, of course.

Obviously, Jason doesn’t even wait for 2 before beginning to snoop.

There’s what looks to be a kitchen to the left downstairs, but he’s got no desire to head down there right now. Not while there looks to be white cloth covering most, if not all, large decor down there.

It’s like a house set for closure. Like the Drake’s had decided to sell the thing with all the furniture included.

A layer of dust coats it all. More than there should be after only a few weeks.

And if Tim was here all this time then why is this all so… unused.

The hallway on the second floor isn’t much better but at least it seems less abandoned.

There’s not much decoration in the same way Wayne Manor had.

Martha had been fond of ‘nik naks’ and Bruce hadn’t had much motivation to change it in the years since she’d been gone so they’d remained, all in their original places. Vases and statuettes placed upon pedestals for one to admire as they wandered by.

That, coupled with Alfred’s personal love to print and frame every single family photo possible, made for a space that felt cluttered but still kind of classy? It was probably just the ornate frames.

Part of Jason wondered if the weird clay sculpture he’d smashed on accident had been replaced with something equally as mind bogglingly expensive or if the pedestal had been left empty and odd.

Probably the former, Bruce wasn’t in the game of leaving empty spots empty for long.

At least it would fill the space more than whatever it was the Drake’s seemed inclined towards.

It’s a fuckin’ ghost town in here…

Still, there were some things of interest.

Tim’s childhood bedroom is the second to last door of this particular hallway. It’s the only place not completely fuzzy with dust.

It’s tidy but messy in the way that tells you someone used to live here.

Papers are stacked on the small wooden desk by the back window, a pot of pens and pencils sits off to the side. Tim’s the type to chew the eraser it seems.

His bed is made. Clean light grey sheets ironed tidily and folded over so the pillows can remain puffed and centre stage.

There’s no toys, no electronics, nothing on the walls, it’s like the model of an adolescent’s room. The kind they set up in furniture stores to show you what life could be like if you actually had your shit together and your 16 year old didn’t hate your guts.

It made Jason’s heart twinge slightly.

He hadn’t actually gone inside Tim’s room in the apartment. He hadn’t wanted to disturb the kid’s peace. Something about privacy, maybe?

It’s just what Bruce and Alfred did when he’d first moved into the manor.

Jason had been so fiercely protective of his own space that Alfred couldn’t even get in to vacuum most days without setting off what he still refuses to call ‘panic attacks’.

They’d eventually come to a routine that worked for them but the territorial nature of ‘my space, my privacy’ had stuck with him. It was unconsciously something he had given Tim without even thinking about it.

Should… Should he be doing more? Less?

Was this the behaviour that pushed Tim to seek him out in the first place?

Why does this shit have to be so complicated all the time?!

“Hey!” Tim’s voice snapped from the hallway, he peaked through the doorway with a sour expression etched onto his face, “Do you mind?”

“I don’t actually,” Jason shrugged, “This your room?”

Tim seemed to mentally count to ten before replying, “It is.”

“No toys?”

“I’m 15.”

“You’re allowed toys at 15. You don’t have a beloved teddy bear or some shit?” Jason turned to face him properly.

“I didn’t like plushies. I had a train set and blocks and then I out grew them. Can we go now? I saved your ass from getting sued.” Tim sighed.

Good luck with that.

“You know I actually read something about that a couple years back, about plush toys,” Jason started, thinking back to the many, many psychology books he’d made his way through in the manor library, “turns out kids use cuddly toys as practice for real relationships. So they’ll hug and kiss them because that’s affection and that’s connection.”

Tim gives him this look, like he’s trying to imagine Jason on fire.

“But kids who didn’t experience that, the hugs and all that, didn’t like playing with those kinds of toys. Because they didn’t know how. There wasn’t any basis to practice with.”

“Are you trying to imply I wasn’t hugged enough as a child?” Tim frowned.

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Is this because I got mad at you for making me brick my own window?!”

“This is because your house looks like a haunted mansion despite you supposedly living here not even a month ago.”

“It’s a big house,” Tim throws his hands up in frustration, ”What? Do you expect our one cleaning lady to go through the whole place for one kid?!”

“This is decrepit. This whole place looks like it’s for sale.”

You shouldn’t have been living here by yourself.

“I… I don’t know what you want from me?” Tim sighs.

“Are you happy living with me?” Jason curses his big fucking mouth. And it gets worse because Tim just blinks at him.

“I don’t know.” His lips look bitten raw, “That’s…. That’s not a fair question to ask me when I’m mad at you.”

“You weren’t happy here though, right?” Jason pushes because he’s a moron right now.

“…No.” Tim admits, “But I didn’t have anything else and it’s not like I was being abused or anything. Like, oh no~ rich kid gets to stay in a mansion~ how terrible~”

“What about Bruce Wayne?”

Oh Fuck.

You know there are easier ways to eat your foot than just shoving it straight down the esophagus, you fucking-

Tim stiffens right up.

“What about him?” He asks with much more suspicion that is strictly casual.

“He likes strays, don’t he?” Jason plays it cool.

“Yeah, hate to break it to you, but I’m not a stray. I’m not some orphaned circus boy and I’m not a street… kid.” Tim stutters, “I’m the unimportant kid next door. And it’s not like he’s taking applications.”

A part of Jason knows to replace ‘kid’ with ‘rat’ in that statement. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. But the 12 year old in his brain still stings his eyes.

He regards Tim just long enough for the kid to begin to squirm.

A green tendril wrings its way around the 12 year old in Jason’s brain, whispering tantalising suggestions. He fights them both down hard, knowing they’ll take the slightest moment of weakness to spill from his stomach.

“I know, Tim.” He says instead.

Jason Todd, chooser of moments award winner 2 years running.

“What? That he wouldn’t want me?” Tim almost snorts.

“No.” Jason tries to speak without his voice cracking, “I know.”

Tim blinks.

A pause.

Jason’s watching his face drain of all colour.

“I have sensors on all the windows.” Jason begins to justify, “And I saw those bruises the night you helped stitch me up. Pretty weird skill for a 15 year old, wonder where you picked that up.”

Tim’s breath is stuttering.

“And I know that Bruce Wayne is Batman. And that Dick Grayson is Nightwing. And that both their names are on the emergency contacts list at your school because I called and I asked to be added to it.”

“It’s not exactly rocket science to tie the string there, birdie.”

Tim wobbles on his feet, but Jason can recognise a fighting stance when he sees one.

“Stop it.” He commands out loud without meaning to sound so…

Bruce like.

“You- You di… I… kill…” Tim is stuttering and wheezing and his eyes are unfocused.

Jason takes a hesitant step forward, “Hey, you’re okay, it’s fine. Calm do-”

Tim’s breath catches in his throat like a choke and suddenly he’s coughing up bile straight onto the very fancy carpet.

“Woah Jesus!” Jason startles, automatically moving to rub his palm over Tim’s spine comfortingly. But before he can do so, Tim, still choking on his own vomit, is smacking Jason’s hand from the air.

“G’t… away fr’m me.” He splutters, missing a second hit; instead accidentally rattling his knuckles on the doorframe.

“Okay! Okay! Backing off.” Jason confirms, moving backwards to someplace Tim would still be able to see him. “Breathe Tim. Christ kid, you’re safe, I’m not gonna do shit!”

Tim’s knees give way and he has enough strength to slow his descent by using the hallway wall for support. He’s still coughing, and Jason can hear the way his breath is wheezing like he’s suddenly developed asthma in the last 30 seconds.

“Breathe kid!” He commands as if that’s actually going to do anything.

“I- I’m…” Tim coughs. His throat makes a noise halfway between a gag and a gasp.

Fuck it.

“I’m coming closer, okay Tim. Not gonna do anything, just-” Jason grits his teeth and takes the world's slowest step towards the huddled kid across the room.

“Don’t!” Tim cries, his voice sounds scratchy probably from the stomach acid.

“I gotta, I’m sorry.” Jason insists. Feeling like such shit with every step he takes.

Tim had been using the doorway as some kind of halfcover to hide from him and it's pitiful the way he starts to scramble when Jason begins to turn the corner.

“You’re fine, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jason’s apologising for everything all at once. He knows it's not going to be enough.

“Stop it. I’m done! I’m done! I don’t wan’ anymore!” Tim screeches as Jason grabs his wrist as gently as he can. He sounds like a toddler with the way he’s slurring.

“Tim, HEY! Listen!” Jason begins, keeping hold of Tim despite the way he’s struggling, “Listen to me! You remember what I told you last week?! Where I said that I… That I love you. And then we both freaked out and laid on the couch for like an hour afterwards?! Well, it was true Tim, you hear me?”

Tim’s sniveling and shaking under Jason’s hold but he’s not twitching to escape anymore.

“I don’t say it but I love you and I want…” He’s fucking everything up again, “I can’t hurt you anymore. I’m sick. I’m SO sick. And that doesn’t forgive what I did and you can be mad at me all the time. And I was trying to prove tonight that you can do the worst things possible and I won't abandon you. I’ll still look after you, even if you hate me. I can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let myself.”

“Now, for god’s sake, can you take a breath before you suffocate!”

Tim gasps shakily as if he’s scared to disobey such a blatant command.

He shakes his head, shoulders still bunched and scared, “I don’t wanna do this anymore.” He whimpers, “I wan’ go home.”

“Home?” Jason glances at the empty dusty hallway. Surely not. “I can drive you to Bruce.”

“NO!” Tim shrieks, sounding even more scared by the minute, “He can’t know! He’ll take him away. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Take who? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Robin!” Tim sobs.

It’s like a magic word. Tim dissolves into a puddle of tears in Jason’s hands. No fight left to do much of anything.

“I tried so hard. I wanted… I wanted to be like you so badly and I failed.”

Like…

Jason’s eyes go wide, if his grip hadn’t been so tight and desperate he might have dropped Tim’s hands entirely.

“You-”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I tried!” Tim continues to whimper like a mantra.

“How long have you known? Since when?!” Jason demands trying desperately to keep the green from spilling out of him. It’s dying the edges of his vision threateningly.

“Since you picked me up from school. I didn’t- I didn’t know when I asked you and then I couldn’t- I thought you’d kill me.”

“I’m not!” Jason insists automatically, “You knew the whole time. This whole time you’ve thought I’d kill you if I found out.”

Tim sniffles and nods.

“You didn’t go to Bruce because you thought he’d bench you.”

“Fire me!” Tim wheezes, “And I couldn’t do it. He almost died last time and if he fired me then- then there wouldn’t be a Robin and he’d… he’d try to… I can’t lose Robin. It’s all I have.”

“Fucking hell.” Jason forces himself to breathe.

Guess the martyrehood runs in the family.

“I’m sorry Jason…” Tim gasps, “I tried to be you. I really tried. I’m sorry I couldn’t do it. I’m not enough. I don’t fit.”

“You don’t…” Jason begins without words, “You shouldn’t be trying to be me in the first place. I’m the one that disobeyed orders and got myself-” He grits his teeth.

“We’re not doing this here.” He decides for both of them, Tim’s eyes are red and puffy and his breath still hasn’t returned to normal, “You’ve had enough for one day.”

“Don’t tell Bruce.” Tim pleads weakly as Jason begins to pull them both up.

“No, I’m taking you home. No Bruce. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” Tim sighs pathetically.

“I’m sorry too.” Jason responds gently, beginning to guide Tim through the halls.

This is such a mess.

They make it out to the car with a few sniffles in a tense silence. Tim doesn’t look like he’s going to bolt any time soon however.

For a brief moment while the kid's piling himself into the passenger seat, Jason chances a glance up the hill. If he squints he can just about make out the tall gothic pillars signifying the beginning of the Wayne Property. He’d been in the cave once since returning. But seeing the house itself was another thing for the inner part of him that had choked on all the smoke, thinking he’d never get the chance to be inside again.

A moment passes.

Then another.

Jason gets into the car.

“You know you’re not going to school tomorrow, right.”

It’s a testament to how utterly exhausted Tim looks that he doesn’t argue.

The rumble of the engine is coupled with the aircon spluttering to life and dousing them both in cool (slightly gas scented) air.

“You wan’ a milkshake?” He glances over to Tim guiltily.

Tim glances back and sniffles. He nods.

They get him a chocolate milkshake from one of the 24 hour drive-throughs on the way home.

Jason gets vanilla.