Chapter Text
Time slipped away. When Jason pried his eyes open again, he was handcuffed to a hospital bed. No, not handcuffed. These restraints were more serious, cold heavy duty shackles that he couldn’t escape without tools, magic, or cutting off his hand, which was an option worth considering when he saw the Batman insignia stamped onto them. Jason’s heart monitor sped up.
He scanned the room, disappointed but not surprised to see that he was in a holding cell in the Batcave. There had been quite a few changes since he had been here last. New tech, different suits, a bunch of other stuff he didn’t really care about right now; however, there was a lot that had stayed the same. The same bats clinging to the stalactites, the same mechanical dinosaur and giant penny, and of course, the same Nightwing glaring at him from the corner like he had just killed someone.
“Dickhead.” The sounds scraped out of his throat, tasting of stale blood and bitterness.
“Jason.” Dick wasn’t in his suit, but that hardly meant he was defenseless, not that Jason could have ever stood a chance in his current state. He had to be on some heavy painkillers, but his whole body still ached, and when he tried to move his fingers, they barely twitched. “Bruce wants to put you in Arkham.”
Jason wasn’t surprised. That was Bruce’s solution to all his problems: lock them up and ignore their existence until they escaped and made an even bigger mess than before.
“Why hasn’t he?”
Dick crossed his arms, leaning further back in his chair. “Tim vouched for you. He said that would only make things worse.”
“Yeah, well Tim’s a fucking idiot,” Jason said, even though this time he was totally right.
“Shut up,” Dick snarled, “you don’t get to talk about him like that. I swear to God, Jason, if you ever put a hand on him again, I’ll—“
“You’ll what?” Jason cut him off. “Kill me? Good luck. Maybe this time it will stick.”
Dick’s chair was sent clattering backwards, hurt flashing across his face. “Don’t say that. This isn’t a joke. We mourned you.”
Jason would have sat up if his body would let him. “Did you? I heard you didn’t even go to the funeral!”
Someone cleared their throat. Jason whipped his head around, face paling as he saw Alfred standing in the doorway.
“Master Dick,” he said, “Master Tim is asking for you.”
“I—.” Dick hesitated, looking between Jason and the door, before he sighed and nodded. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Jason rolled his eyes. Later was Bat-language for never, at least when it came to dealing with emotions. Alfred stepped aside for Dick to exit, hands clasped silently behind his back until the door was shut.
“Master Jason,” he said, approaching his bed with a soft smile and shimmering eyes, resting his hand just shy of Jason’s, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“I’m sure you’re the only one who thinks so.” Jason said, but it was harder to hold onto his anger in the face of Alfred’s calmness.
Alfred clicked his tongue, the biggest sign of upset he’d probably ever get out of him. “Now that is simply untrue. Your death was a trying time for all of us, but especially Master Bruce. While the circumstances of your return and your subsequent actions have complicated the matter, trust me when I say everyone is grateful you’re alive.”
Jason blinked, eyes burning. Was it the fluorescents? It had to be.
“How’s Robin?” He asked, changing the topic to something that was perhaps a little safer.
“His injuries were extensive but I believe he’ll make a full recovery. As should you, although your condition upon arrival was more severe. While I appreciate that your goal was to maim rather than kill, I do wish you could have avoided this violence for both his sake and yours.”
Jason’s mouth went dry. He swallowed and it didn’t help. “You know,” he said.
“Indeed. The signs were obvious when one knows what to look for.” Alfred caught onto his struggle and retrieved a cup of water from nearby, helping Jason guide the straw into his mouth to sip.
Jason didn’t have the energy to be surprised. Of course Alfred knew. Alfred knew everything. The only question was had he told anyone else, and Jason wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know that answer.
“He must hate me,” he said instead.
Jason would if he was in his shoes. It was a risk he had been willing to accept when he had planned on not seeing Robin for months, but now that it seemed they would be interacting much more soon, he didn't necessarily regret his actions, but he did wonder if perhaps he could have gone about things differently. Not that Tim was totally blameless. The little bastard gave as good as he got.
“Oh lad, you always were a romantic,” Alfred said as he began checking the various machines Jason was hooked up to. “I know Timothy is probably different than you imagined.”
A fucking understatement; Jason had never hoped to be tied to the rich brat who replaced him.
“But he has a good heart. As do you. Despite your rough introduction, I’m sure if you’re both willing to put in the effort, everything will work out. Perhaps not in the way you dreamed, but I’ve found that life is rarely perfect.”
Jason didn’t share his optimism. Honestly, Tim was good. Good at fighting, good at being Robin, and good with people, judging by the amount of friends he had. Perhaps if Jason had friends like him back when Robin, he would’ve grown up to be a better person. The kind of person who deserved to have a good relationship with their soulmate. As it was, he wasn’t going to be the one to initiate anything. It wasn’t his place, nor did he anticipate Bruce and Dick allowing him to have a private conversation with Tim any time soon.
It was fine. As soon as he was good enough to walk, he was breaking out of these cuffs and leaving this cursed cave behind.
Alfred was a saint who somehow managed to keep Bruce away the entire time he was on forced bed rest. Jason just knew the obsessive bastard was watching him through the security cameras and made sure to periodically flip them off, but as long as he didn’t have to physically see or talk to him, he was content taking advantage of their medical technology.
The unfortunate trade off was that he had to spend a lot more time with Dick. It took a lot of yelling, some tears, and a couple rounds of the Silent Treatment, but eventually the two of them managed to come to a truce, which made the rest of his stay tolerable.
Nevertheless as soon as Alfred cleared him to do more than just light stretches, Jason was out of there. Technically, he was supposed to remain in the cell; the locks on the door said Bruce didn’t trust him which fair, Jason wouldn’t either. However, Alfred, for some reason did, and had conveniently forgotten to engage all but the easiest one to pick. He’d also given him an extra tight hug and left behind a tupperware full of cookies.
The general layout of the cave hadn’t changed too much. Jason was making his way towards the garage, wondering what new cars Bruce had gotten that he could steal, when he saw it. A Robin suit in a display case. No, not just any Robin suit, his Robin suit. Like a black hole, it dragged him in, closer and closer until he could see the individual lines of stitching. His breath caught in his chest. Why?
A plaque at the bottom caught his eye. “Jason Todd,” he read aloud, “a good soldier.”
A bitter laugh wrenched out of his throat. Fuck that. Jason was swinging before he could think about it, smashing his fist through the glass, and seriously, that was too easy. Was Bruce too cheap for tempered glass? Did Jason not deserve to be protected, even in memory?
He heard a sharp inhale behind him and a single, deliberate step. Jason stiffened. There was only one person that could be. He didn’t want to see him, but he needed to. He needed to know the look on his father’s on Bruce’s face as he looked upon him and saw that no matter where he went, he would always leave a path of destruction.
He turned around. Bruce was frowning. A genuine frown, not just that normal furrow between his brows, jaw clenched tight with unspoken emotions.
“Jason,” he said, stiff like something was lodged in his throat, “please, I—“
Jason didn’t give him a chance. “Was that all I ever was to you?” He swung his arm, drops of blood flinging from his knuckles. “A fucking solider? A little toy to dress up and fight your battles for you? Subservient and disposable and only worth remembering when I died.”
“What? Jason, no. You were my son. You are my son. I—“ Bruce blinked. He swallowed hard and looked away. “It was easier this way.”
Jason laughed, sharp and biting. “Easier for me? Or easier for you?”
Bruce took a step forward, and Jason took a step back, glass crunching beneath his feet. “You weren’t here,” he said.
“No, I was rotting in the ground. And then I wasn’t. I was alive and in the hands of the League of Assassins, and you had no fucking clue because you never even visited my grave.” His voice cracked a little at the end, eyes brimming with what he wanted to pretend were angry tears.
Bruce flinched. “It was too painful,” he mumbled.
“Really? Was it more painful than being beat by the Joker? More painful than dying? More painful than having to dig yourself out of your grave with your own bare fucking hands?” He hadn’t even been fully conscious then but that didn’t matter. Not when he still woke up some nights, gasping for breath, scrubbing his hands until they were raw to get the imaginary dirt out from under his nails.
“Jason, I’m sorry.” Bruce stepped forward again and this time, Jason didn’t move. His shoulders trembled. He clenched his fist, grasping for every ounce of his pain and anger.
“Sorry isn’t good enough!” He yelled. “Sorry didn’t save me! Sorry didn’t stop the Joker! Do you think he’s sorry? No, he’s still out there. Laughing! Because he killed Robin, and instead of killing him for it, Batman just cut his losses and replaced him with a new one. A new more expensive model just like he probably always wanted. An upgrade from the street trash he had before.”
“You’re not trash,” Bruce said, reflexively like it was a familiar argument because it was. He had consoled Jason about that a lot when he was a kid and the investors and socialites and school classmates and everyone else in Gotham looked down on him for his upbringing. “And Tim’s not your replacement.” There was steel in his voice now, a hint of anger about what he did, but perhaps not as much as there should be.
“Isn’t he? I’m not sorry for what I did to him.” Not in the ways that mattered. It sucked that he had ruined his chances with his soulmate but he didn’t feel bad about beating Robin. Tim knew what he had signed up for when he took on a dead boy’s mantle. “You chose a tough one.”
Bruce growled. “This isn’t like you.”
“Are you sure? I’m not 15 anymore, Bruce. It’s normal for kids to grow up and change. If only you had been around to see it.” Maybe then Jason could’ve turned out more normal. Or well, perhaps not normal. Bruce was hardly the most emotionally well-adjusted father, but he probably would’ve been better.
Bruce clenched his fists. Oh, looks like he had struck another nerve. He sneered as Bruce sniffed, and oh, oh no, was that a tear? Perhaps Jason had pushed things too far.
“You’re right,” he said, and Jason’s sneer dissipated, “I wish I had been there for you, Jason. You don’t know how much I wish things had been different. I’ve spent so many nights dreaming of the what if’s. What if I had been a little bit smarter, a little bit faster, a little bit better? What if I had made you feel like you could trust me instead of going off on your own? What if you were still here? And you never were, but now, now you are. I'm glad you’re alive.”
He stepped closer to be within arms reach now. Jason took a shuddering breath. “No, you aren’t. I’ve killed people. I hurt Robin. You should hate me.”
“Jason, son, I could never hate you.”
“Well I do!” Jason was just full of hate. Hate for the Joker, hate for Bruce, hate for Dick, hate for Robin, and above all, hate for himself.
“Oh, Jay,” Bruce opened his arms, clearly telegraphing a hug, and Jason couldn’t help it; he flinched.
“Don’t touch me!” He yelled, swatting at Bruce’s arms. He dodged the hit but froze in place, so close but so far. Jason could feel his warmth. It would be so easy to step forward and curl up in his arms just like when he wasn’t a kid, but he couldn’t. Too much had changed. He sniffed, rubbing at his face with the back of his wrist.
“I need to go,” he choked out. He expected Bruce to protest, but he didn’t. Instead he just let him push past him. Jason wasn’t sure if he liked that, but he didn’t look back, walking as quickly as his bruised body would let him around the corner to the garage. A bike would be the most dramatic choice, and any other time he wouldn’t hesitate to pick the sleek black beauty in the corner, but he didn’t trust himself to drive a motorcycle right now. Plus Alfred would never let him out of the Manor again if he popped his stitches so soon after he did them. Instead he chose one of Bruce’s nicer cars, a [insert car brand] that he was sure to miss.
He fiddled with the radio, setting it to an angry sounding rock station at a volume loud enough to drown out his thoughts. Tears fell against the steering wheel as he left the garage, popping out the secret entrance on the side road leading back to Gotham proper. He had always found driving rather meditative. There was no need to think about anything beyond the cars around him when he reached downtown traffic. Fuck trackers, he didn't even bothering to take the back way to his fifth favorite safe house. He’d have to burn it later but in the meantime, it was his least favorite that was actually stocked with any food beyond protein bars.
He left the car parked out front, keys dangling in the ignition. It was too flashy for the neighborhood but hopefully whoever stole it could admire its beauty and wouldn't just scrap it for parts. There were too many fucking locks but eventually he stumbled through the door, barely thinking to set the container of cookies on the counter before he collapsed into his bed.
Jason buried his head in the pillow with a groan. Fuck, he wished he could just go to sleep and never wake up. Or well, maybe not. That was what had caused this whole mess in the first place, but god, life had been so much easier when he was dead.
It took days to heal. Days of sitting around doing nothing. Or well, nothing physically demanding. Mentally, he stayed busy, because if he let himself get bored, he’d start to think about things he was trying to ignore. Besides, there was a lot for him to do like reaching out to his subordinates to figure out what he had missed and what he had needed to do next. He spent the first couple of nights unable to sleep, convinced that Bruce was going to change his mind, and that at any moment, the Batman was going to come for him and haul him off to Arkham like he arguably deserved. He never did, nor did he try to reach out for any other reason. That was fine— it wasn’t like Jason wanted to talk to him.
He switched safe houses. The Red Hood kept his head down for a little bit but soon emerged back on the scene, perhaps a little less violent but only for those who deserved his mercy. Maybe he had been too brutal before, treating petty thieves the same as traffickers. He returned to the streets sooner than Robin did, and if Jason was hyper aware of his absence and subsequent reemergence, checking every night for even a flash of those traffic light colors, well, he just wanted to know if his message had been received. No other reason.
He had failed to scare Tim away from being Robin, or Bruce away from having a sidekick, but it seemed he had unsettled them, as the Bats were blatantly avoiding Crime Alley. Weeks passed and gradually Jason began to relax.
Until one night, he came home and had to whip out a gun the movement he stepped across the threshold.
“Do you have a death wish?” He growled.
Robin tilted his head, ridiculously fluffy bangs falling across his eyes. He was trying to look all innocent and cute and relaxed but Jason refused to fall for it. Even if he wasn’t here to cause trouble—because nothing about his aura screamed malicious— he had to want something.
“A little bit yeah,” he said, taking a sip from the soda can he definitely hadn’t gotten from Jason’s fridge. “But I figured if you didn’t kill me the first time, you weren’t going to do it now.”
Jason snarled, clicking the safety off in warning. Patrol had been rough. He didn’t have the energy for this.
“I will if you don’t get your feet off the table. I know you weren’t raised in a barn.”
“Alright, fine,” Tim slowly, deliberately swung his feet down to the floor. “Happy now?”
“Fucking peachy.” Jason kept his gun pointed at him for a heartbeat longer before he holstered it. He narrowed his eyes at Robin, waiting for a reaction, but he stayed sitting still. Fuck it. Jason reached up and took his helmet and mask off too, setting them down on the table he had in his entryway specifically for this reason. Damn, he was going to miss this safe house. It was so nice and homey. He stomped over to the fridge to get a bottle of water. “Why are you here?” he asked.
“Family dinner is this Sunday. Alfred wants you there.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “And what about you? Do you want me there?” Because he knew Bruce wasn’t aware of this invitation. Alfred was sneaky like that.
Tim shrugged. “Does it matter if I do? You’re not my family yet.”
“Aren’t I? Last I checked Daddy Bats had adopted you too.”
“Eh, that was more of a formality than anything. Just a way to keep me in Gotham.”
Jason snorted. Yeah, right. There was no way the old man had changed that much since his death; he definitely had meant for it to be genuine.
“Besides,” Tim smirked, “last I checked you were legally dead.”
Plastic scrunched as Jason squeezed his water bottle too tight. He took a deep measured breath before replying. “Touché. Tell Alfred I’m not gonna make it but if he wants, I’ll come over for lunch Wednesday.”
Growing up, that had always been the day Bruce went to work. No one liked Mondays, and Tuesdays were normally pretty busy, but by Wednesday, most people had caught up on their work and were taking it easy procrastinating Friday deadlines. Plus it was Hump Day and Brucie Wayne couldn’t resist that joke.
“Yeah, no.” Tim set his soda down. “I agreed to be his messenger, not yours. If Sunday doesn’t work for you, you’re gonna have to tell him yourself. My work is done.”
Jason gritted his teeth. What a little shit. “Fine. Maybe I’ll cut off a couple of your fingers and mail them to him. I’m sure that will send the message.”
Tim’s grin was all teeth. “Go ahead. I nominate these two,” he said, and flipped him off with both hands.
Jason lunged across the table. Tim laughed, rolling out of the chair and popping back up in a crouch. “Do you really want to do this again? It didn’t work out for you so well last time.”
“Says the one who was stuck on house arrest for two weeks.”
Tim pouted, an expression that Jason denied was even the teeniest bit cute. “That was Dick’s fault and you know it. He can be such a mother hen sometimes.”
Really? Because he hadn’t ever been like that with Jason. He was pretty sure Dick had spent months hating his guts for being Robin. By the time their relationship began to improve it had been too little too late and well, bye bye birdie. Thinking about it now made Jason’s chest burn.
He lunged for Tim again and this time there was no escape. They grappled with each other, banging into the cabinets as they rolled across the floor. Tim’s half empty can rolled off the table, splattering sticky soda right in Jason’s hair. He was bigger than Tim, he should have the advantage, but he was a slippery little fucker. Every time he thought he had a good grip, Tim would wiggle his way out but instead of using it as an opportunity to flee he’d just throw himself right back into the fight. Neither of them was seriously trying to hurt each other this time, but Jason’s body still bloomed with bruises, from Tim and from himself, because of this stupid fucking soulmate bond and— “Fuck! Did you really just bite me?” A burst of pain made him look down to see Tim’s teeth clamped around his arm.
Tim’s nose crinkled before his jaw released, tongue sticking out as he recoiled. “Oh my god, ew, when was the last time you washed that thing?”
Jason glanced down at his patrol jacket. “I don’t know. Maybe like six months ago?” He spot-cleaned it when it got exceptionally dirty and the lining was removable, but the leather exterior couldn’t be washed fully too often without ruining it.
“Ewww, gross. I better not get sick because of you.”
“Because of me? You’re the one who’s fucking feral.”
“Oh shut it. You can’t tell me you've never bit a guy before.” Tim said, and then he paused, tilting his head before he chuckled. “Heh, that’s what he said.”
What? It took Jason a second to get it but once he did, his cheeks reddened. It wasn’t even a good joke but it was unexpected. “You’re such a freak,” he said, shoving Tim back down to the ground one last time before he climbed off of him, suddenly all too aware of how close they had been pressed against each other. “No wonder Dickhead likes you.
“Come on, that one wasn’t even that bad.” Tim sat up into a cross-legged position. “Hey, have you ever heard that one about Clock King?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, only like a billion times.” Speaking of clocks, he glanced at the stove and frowned. Was it really that late already? “Oi, isn’t it past your bedtime? Shouldn’t Batman be coming to tuck you in soon?” Because if he was, Jason needed to be gone yesterday or else he might be pulling out his gun again and he hated disturbing the neighbors.
"Why old man? Getting tired? But nah, B thinks I’m across town patrolling with Nightwing.”
"And let me guess, N thinks you’re with Batman.”
“Bullseye!” Tim pointed at him with finger guns. “Man, it’s almost like you were raised by a detective or something. Anyway, Bruce declared all of Crime Alley off limits for Robin. He was worried that if you saw me again you might change your mind and actually kill me for realsies.”
Jason’s eye twitched. “I’m still considering it.”
“Nah, you don’t actually want to kill your soulmate,” he said, and Jason froze, not expecting to hear him put it into words so blatantly. He wasn’t wrong. Jason didn’t want to kill his soulmate. Not only was it immensely painful, damaging your soul and cursing yourself with a lifetime of impossible to ease pain, but it would mean killing the last of his own innocence, breaking his heart and extinguishing yet another childhood dream.
Tim continued bluntly. “And honestly, I don’t even want to beat up mine. So why don’t we just call it water under the bridge and try to get to know each other?”
“You’re insane.” Had Jason hit him too hard when they fought and knocked all the common sense out of his brain? He had broken several of his bones, and he wasn’t even sorry about it. That wasn’t something they could just pretend didn’t happen.
“That’s not a no. Would it be better if we started over from the beginning? Like hi,” he said, voice changing into something more smooth and high society. He stuck his hand out for a shake, plastering on a smile that belonged on the front page of the Gotham Gazette and not on Robin. “I’m Tim Drake. It’s nice to meet you.”
Jason scowled. Was this a joke? He slapped the hand away. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Too cheesy? Wait, I can do better.”
Jason didn’t want to hear it. He reached behind him for the knife block, grabbing a blade at random and throwing it. Tim side-stepped it easily. “Get out.” Jason repeated.
Tim looked at the knife stuck quivering in the wall and shrugged, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, fine.” He said, walking over to the window because of course, he couldn't just use the door. “But we’re not done talking about this.”
Jason chucked another knife, pain searing across his own cheek as it skimmed Tim’s face and went flying out the window. Oops, hopefully no one was in the alleyway. “Yes, we are.”
Tim just laughed. “Whatever, I’ll see you Sunday,” he said with a wave before somersaulting out of sight. Jason heard the familiar zip of a grapple as he rushed and slammed the window shut, hard enough that it shook in its frame.
Fuck. Maybe he should’ve killed him. Now he had to call and cancel on Alfred, and he was going to talk to him in that disappointed voice, and Jason would have to try to come up with an excuse or use his death trauma to get out of it, and even if he did succeed in rescheduling, Alfred would probably arrange it so Tim was still there because he liked to meddle and just ugh! All of this was giving him a headache.
Why did the universe have to give him the most annoying soulmate ever? Why couldn’t he have had a nice normal meeting with a nice normal civilian?
Oh, who was he kidding? That had never been a real option. Tim may be frustrating but he was interesting, and Jason’s life had always been interesting. If they could stop beating each other up every time they met, he would probably really enjoy getting to know him. If not, even if they ended up hating each other forever—and Jason admittedly hoped that wasn’t the case—at least he knew their relationship would never be boring.