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It’s easy to find it, if you know what you’re looking for. And Tim knows exactly what he’s looking for; when you work with Batman, you always do.
So he finds the small apartment, breaks in, and sits in the surprisingly comfortable couch. And waits.
Waiting’s the worst part of the job, though.
*
The front door unlocks, and Tim sits up straighter. He has every right to be wearing this uniform, he tells himself. He belongs in this job. He didn’t steal anything from anyone. Still, he sits up as straight as he can.
A click from the lock, and in comes Jason Todd. He looks skinnier than in the photos, and taller too. His hair is messier, darker, and the ginger roots don’t show. He comes in with arms full of grocery bags, in jeans and a red hoodie. Jason looks completely normal, an ordinary eighteen-years-old civilian.
But Tim knows better. He has no doubt this guy needs no weapons to be deadly. None of them do. It’s part of the training they all went through.
Jason calmly puts the groceries on the countertop, careful not to jostle the eggs. Then, in one fluid movement, Tim is staring at the barrel of a gun. From this close, he can smell the gunpowder, the metal. “Get out.”
“I just want to talk,” Tim says, trying not to think about the gun, “no one sent me here. No one knows I’m here.”
Jason Todd snorts, “you know, it’s not very wise to tell that to the guy with the glock on your face.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, owning his slip in judgement. Or leap of faith, depending in how you see it. “But I’m hoping you could put it away soon.”
There’s a pause, where Jason regards him with analytical eyes. Tim is clearly being judged, as a threat, as Robin, as a source of amusement. Finally, the gun is lowered, but it stays on his hands. Jason crosses his arms, “fine,” he concedes, “but make it quick.”
Well, Tim didn’t plan further than this, to be honest. He didn’t think he’d get this far, actually. He wrecks his brain for something to say, hating himself when he comes up empty. It gets worse, because when he’s nervous, Tim babbles. “Dick says you quit.”
The sentence hangs in the air. Jason visibly winces at Dick’s name, and Tim recalls how they supposedly never have gotten along. Personally, Tim can’t imagine a Nightwing that’s not friendly, and caring, and over-protective, but the Titans say that, well, a lot of things changed after Jason.
“But your file on the Batcomputer,” he continues, because apparently he can’t seem to shut up, “it says you got fired.”
Jason stays silent for a long time, and Tim worries he already put his foot on his mouth. “And what does Bruce say?”
“He, well, he doesn’t,” Tim shrugs again, tucking his legs under himself and grabbing a nearby pillow, “he doesn’t talk a whole lot about you.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Jason shakes his head. The gun is lowered on the table. “Why are you here, kid?”
This is the moment, this is his chance. Now or never. “Well, you see,” he begins, “Alfred wants to redo the family portrait this Sunday.”
Jason laughs. It sounds painful, humorless, incredulous, and it makes Tim uncomfortable. He didn’t prepare for this. But the gun is still on the table and now Jason is sitting down in the armchair, shaking his head, “I believe you now, kid. No way Bruce knows you’re doing this,” he stops, chuckles, “how did you even find me?”
“What, like it’s hard?”
“Did you just quote Legally Blonde at me?” Jason makes a disbelieving sound, “seriously?”
“I’m nervous,” Tim confesses.
This time, the laughter sounds almost real. “Unbelievable,” Jason looks up, once again with that assessing gaze, “then why are you here?”
“Alfred wants– ”
“Yeah, I heard it the first time. I wanna know why are you asking me. ” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. It would take him less than a second to reach the gun.
“Why? Well, it’s the family portrait,” Tim says, fidgeting, “so I thought everyone should be on it. Even Dick is coming from Bludhaven.”
“And you thought inviting me would be a good idea?”
“Yes?”
“Kid, what the hell has Bruce been telling ya?”
“Not much, really,” Tim looks down, picking at a loose thread on the pillow to keep his hands occupying, “he doesn’t talk much about you, and Dick gets this constipated look on his face every time, so I stopped asking him, too. But,” he adds hastily, “Alfred said you liked butterscotch cookies, and books, and… and cars!”
Deliberately slow, Tim offers him a tupperware he had been hiding underneath his cape. Jason takes it with less suspicion than he expected, curiously opening the lid. It’s still warm, and the smell of sugar and cinnamon fills the air. Jason looks up, “are these Alfred’s cookies?”
“Yes!” He nods fiercely, “a peace offering, if you will.”
“You said no one knew you were here.”
“They don’t. I told him I needed them for a school trip.”
“A school trip?” Jason repeats slowly, picking a cookie from the tupperware.
“Yeah,” Tim smiles sheepishly, “they may be under the impression that I’m in Metropolis, visiting the Daily Planet.”
“Really? That’s what you went with? Daily Planet?” Jason chews slowly on another cookie. Alfred was really right, it seems. Not that Tim ever doubted him. “You told them you were going to Metropolis, then what? Walked all the way here?”
“Of course not,” Tim rolls his eyes, “I took the train, and then a cab.”
“How long have you been sitting on my couch?” Jason sounds mildly alarmed. Good. Tim should be at least a little alarming.
“A little more than an hour,” he tells him, “you took a really long time, it was boring.”
“What about your parents?” Jason asks, suddenly changing subjects, “what happened to ‘em?”
“What do you mean what happened?”
“Something must’ve, or you wouldn’t be talking ‘bout family portraits, kid.”
Tim looks down. Yeah, Jason really doesn’t want to open that can of worms. He decides to give him the Sparknotes version. “They’re traveling. Egypt, I think. They don’t spend much time here in the states, only a month or two, so.” He grimaces, “family portrait.”
Jason falls silent, his face revealing nothing. Tim tries to look inside the tupperware, see if there’s any cookies left; he’s kinda hungry and the trek back to the Manor is long, and he still hasn’t convinced Jason to come for dinner. He must not have been very subtle, because Jason offers him the tupperware wordlessly, lips twitching in what could definitely be a smile. “What’s your name, kid?”
“We both know you know my name by now,” Tim says, munching on his cookie, “but I’ll tell you anyway so you won’t ever call me Timothy by mistake. It’s Tim Drake.”
“Right” Jason says, “and how old are you, Timothy?”
Tim makes an affronted sound. He just said not to do that! Alfred never warned him Jason could be a jerk, this seems to be an important thing to know. Tim wouldn’t have brought him cookies if he had known. No, he probably would have anyway. But he would have eaten a few on the way. “I’m thirteen, almost fourteen.”
“The bastard ,” Jason shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with tired movements, “a thirteen-years-old fighting on the streets. What’s gonna take for him to see how fucked up this is? Someone dead?”
Okay, this is bad. Death talk is definitely a turn in the wrong direction. But his blood is beginning to boil, too. Who is Jason to say anything about Tim’s choices? He wasn’t there, he hasn’t been there for a long time, he has no right to judge. Well, maybe a little, but still. “Batman needs a Robin, you know that. And if it makes you feel better, he didn’t want me to take the job either. It took a lot of convincing.”
“Somehow,” Jason glares, “I’m still not feeling much better about being replaced.” Then, his eyes soften, just a little, “but you’re not so bad, kid. You have some balls, coming here alone and all.”
“I’m not trying to replace you,” Tim frowns, “I’m just. I don’t know, someone needed to do something, but no one was doing anything. So I had to. But I know I’m not the real thing, I’m like, a bandaid or something.”
“Kid, trust me, don’t go there,” he offers him the cookies again, “you start thinking you ain’t good enough, and you begin to spiral. If you’re gonna keep up the child soldier gig, the least you can do is go out there with your head on the game. Distractions like this, they can get you killed.”
“Is that what happened to you?” the question slips before Tim can stop himself from asking. Oh boy, this time he definitely put his foot on his mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask. It’s none of my business.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I didn’t die, did I?” Jason shrugs, leans back on the armchair, “but not really. I was looking for my mom. Found the wrong end of a crowbar instead.” He pauses, looks at his watch, “say, are Dick and Bruce still fighting like cats and dogs?”
That’s all he’s gonna talk about that particular subject, clearly, and Tim lets him steer the conversation away. “Maybe? Not so much, I think. Dick is trying to overcompensate for being a bad brother to you. It’s a little overwhelming,” he adds.
Jason snorts. “Sounds like ‘em.”
“So,” Tim begins, hope and excitement bubbling up, “ does that mean you’re coming for dinner this Sunday?”
“I don’t know, I’ve been working real hard to shake the Bat off my back. Seems a pity to throw it all away now for a pretty picture.”
“Please? You don’t even have to talk to Bruce!” Tim suggests, “Alfred does that sometimes, when he thinks Bruce is being too stubborn or generally a jerk.”
“Going back after three years and refusing to talk to him?” Jason pauses, mulling it over, “sounds petty as hell. I’ll think about it.”
“Great!”
“Awesome,” Jason gets to his feet, clapping his hands, “now scram. I still have lunch to make.”
Tim hesitates, “I may have another reason to be here.”
The teen rolls his eyes, shoulders sagging. “Of course you have. Come on, out with it.”
“Well, you see,” Tim bites his lower lip, struggling to find the right words, “Bruce, Dick, and Alfred, they’re like family to me, they are family.”
“I am sorry to hear that. Alfred is the only good parental figure out of the lot.”
“And so, Dick is like an older brother to me, really,” he continues, ignoring him, “therefore, following that logic, that would make you my other brother. And I wanted to meet you.”
“ Excuse me?” Jason had been about to start putting away his groceries, but he screeches to a halt, a gallon of milk almost slipping from his hands. Tim suddenly feels an overwhelming urge to leave; it was so stupid, coming here. You can’t just go around telling people you’re their brothers, that’s gotta be weird. Maybe Jason is right, clearly Bruce or Dick aren’t quite good role models on social skills. Tim just really wishes he could leave now, before he ruins everything he accomplished here today.
“Kid,” Jason puts the milk on the fridge, closing the door with a little more force than necessary, before turning to Tim, “I know you’re under this illusion that somehow you can all be a happy family, but I haven’t been part of any of it for a long time now. I think the guns make it really obvious.”
“You have been using rubber bullets for months now, I know, and you haven’t killed anyone in even longer,” Tim says, digging himself further into his own grave, “I heard Bruce telling Alfred that.”
“Still doesn’t change anything.”
“Does too.” Tim gets up from the couch, giving up on fleeing, “it means there could be compromise.”
“Batman doesn’t compromise,” Jason begins putting pots and pans on the stove, rummaging through cabinets, “and I haven’t changed my mind.”
“You don’t have to,” Tim sits on a stool, leaning on the counter to look at the kitchen, “like I said, compromise.” On the stove there’s a pot filled with water, and Jason has a bunch of tomatoes on the sink. “But that’s for a near future. I’m not asking you to like, come home for good or anything.”
“No, you’re asking me to go back and pose for Bruce’s picture of the perfect family.”
“I’m asking you to visit this Sunday so Alfred can stop sighing every time someone brings up the damn portrait,” he spins a half-circle on the stool, legs swinging back and forth, “it’s making everyone sad, and Bruce is devolving back into talking only in grunts. That’s no good when I’m trying to decipher what street I’m supposed to patrol.”
“That’s emotional manipulation, bringing Alfred into this,” Jason complains, cutting the tomatoes with worrying ease, “you’re a little shit.”
“Maybe. Is it working?”
“Maybe. ‘m not gonna promise anything, though.”
“Okay, that’s enough for now,” Tim drums his fingers on the counter, nervous, “are you making pasta?”
“Yeah, why?” Jason looks up, still cutting the tomatoes, “you allergic or something?”
“No? Does that mean I’m staying for lunch?”
“You’re not? Figured your stupid trip isn’t supposed to go back until well in the afternoon,” he throws all the small pieces in another pot, checking if the water is boiling on the way. “I’m not about to let you wander around this neighbourhood alone and hungry. God knows Batman would definitely kill me if I did.”
“Oh, thanks, I guess.” And the prospect of pasta sounds amazing, Tim has to admit. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Jason pauses, looks at him skeptically. “No, I’m good. You can set the table later.”
Tim nods, and they fall silent. It’s a little awkward, and he begins fidgeting again, fiddling with the hem of his cape. It feels weird to be wearing his uniform while Jason is in his civvies, and it feels even weirder to be Robin in the middle of Jason Todd’s apartment. When he can’t take the silence anymore, he blurts out, “you do know that Bruce wants you to come back, too, right?”
“What?”
“Because he does, they all do. Even Dick. They miss you, I can tell.” Tim doesn’t dare look at Jason. It feels slightly out of place, for him to be saying this, but well, someone needed to do something, but no one was doing anything. So it had to be him. This is his family, and Tim worked hard to earn his place, he’s not going to give up on it.
“You’re naive if you think that’s enough to fix anything.” Jason finally says, quietly, softly.
“Maybe not, but isn’t it enough at least for trying?”
Jason has his back to him, but Tim can see the tense line of his shoulder, the way his hand curls around the wooden spoon in a white-knuckled grip. He sees the way he seems to suddenly deflate. Tim wishes he had known Jason before. Before the fights, before the Joker, before he left.
“You are a stubborn little fucker, you know that?” He sighs, sounding tired, “I said I would think about it, didn’t I?”
“It seemed like the kind of thing you should know.”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard it the first time. Now shoo, go watch cartoons or something.”
Tim rolls his eyes, waving off the comment; he’s not going to dignify that with an answer. Instead, he focuses on the second goal he had set for today. “So, now that we officially met, and you haven’t threatened to shoot me in at least half an hour, does that mean I can come visit again?”
“I have the feeling you’re gonna do it whether I like it or not,” Jason glares at him half-heartedly at best, “but maybe if I agree, you might actually use the front door like a normal fucking person.”
“That would help, yes.” Tim grins, “I’ll even bring more cookies next time.”
“You’d better, I’m not above bribery.”
The tupperware with cookies is lying empty on the counter, and Tim makes a note of bringing more the next time. Butterscotch cookies are a cheap enough entrance fee. Besides, he’s not gonna lie, even if this has been the most stressful conversation he’s ever had, it’s nice not having Bruce breathing down his neck all the time.
Lunch seems to be still well on the making, so Tim digs around the backpack he had brought along to stash his school uniform, and pulls out the book they had been assigned to read. It’s Dickens, because his teacher is clearly a supervillain in the making, and Jason takes one look at that, steals it from his hands, holding it high enough that Tim can’t steal it back, and snorts.
It gets easier from there.
*
Two hour and an insane amount of pasta later, Batman appears.
Tim says appear because the front door never opens and he didn’t hear any windows, but it’s Batman, so he doesn’t question too much. He does feel the lecture approaching at full speed.
“Robin,” he says, voice grave and hard, “you lied to me.”
From where he had been helping dry the dishes, Tim sees out of the corner of his eyes, Jason stiffen, whole body tense, ready to bolt. “Good afternoon to you too, Bruce,” he says, accusing and bitter.
“Jason,” Bruce sounds like he’s at a loss, and it’s the first time Tim’s ever seen him struggling to say something. “It’s been a long time.”
“And who’s fault was that?”
“You moved out in the middle of the night,” he argues, “we had no idea where to.”
It’s kind of amazing how they can immediately resume fighting, as if there hadn’t been this nearly three years gap. It sounds rehearsed, like they did this many times before. Tim shrinks back a little, twisting the dish rag on his hands, watching as they go.
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I moved to Japan.”
“But you made it very clear you didn’t want anything to do with us anymore, you can’t expect me to magically guess–”
“I was sixteen and pissed at the world!”
“I was trying to give you space, like when Dick–”
“But I’m not Dick, am I? And isn’t that the real problem.”
“That is not what I meant, you went underground–”
“Your kid found me in less than a day!”
That brings the attention back to Tim. “And he has a lot of explaining to do.” Bruce crosses his arms, pinning him with a glare, “I had lunch with Clark today. Imagine my surprise when he knew nothing about a visit to the Daily Planet.”
“It was for a good cause?” Tim tries, “I’m sorry I lied, but you would never let me do this. Or you would insist to come along, and clearly you would have only made things worse.”
“Look at that, the Replacement has you all figured out already,” Jason snorts humorlessly.
“And what in god’s name do you think you’re doing?” Bruce is beginning to get the same constipated look Dick gets whenever Jason’s name comes up.
“Well, Alfred said we’re redoing the portrait Sunday,” Tim shrugs, “so I came here to make sure we can redo the portrait this Sunday, properly. And, you know, finally getting to know my brother beyond a computer file. ”
Suddenly, Jason seems to be very entertained by washing dishes. Bruce clears his throat, eyes visibly widening, even under the cowl, “Tim–”
“I’m very sorry I lied to you,” he interrupts before he loses his nerve, “but I regret nothing.”
Bruce pauses, pulls up the cowl. He doesn’t look mad, or angry, or even bitter anymore. Tim breathes in, relieved. “It was very dangerous of you to lie about your whereabouts,” he says stern, but gently, “but I’m glad you stayed here with Jason instead of trying to go back on his own. This isn’t a particularly nice neighbourhood, and I want you to promise to wait for one of us to pick you up or have Jason bring you back next time, okay?”
“Yeah, okay, I can do that.” Tim nods, fair enough.
“Wait, wait, hold on,” Jason demands, turning around to face Bruce again, “you’re saying you’re okay with this happening again?”
“Well,” Bruce half-shrugs, lips twitching in a suppressed smile, “you fed him. There’s no getting rid of him now.”
“Are you telling me I accidentally got joint custody of a gremlin?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, then whirls on Tim, pointing a finger, “I should have kicked you out after Legally Blonde.”
“Too late,” Tim smirks, “no take backs, you already said I could come back.”
“I feel tricked.” Jason stares at the distance, eyes unfocused, “is this how making a deal with the devil feels like?”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t know. You could try asking Constantine? Or Jason Blood?”
“No summoning demons,” Bruce intervenes, awkwardly shuffling in the small kitchen, “Tim, we should go. Alfred is waiting.”
There’s a pause, where the only sounds are the clinking of porcelain and the rush of water coming from the sink. Tim takes a deep breath, “thanks for lunch. And thanks for hearing me out. Please, keep in mind what I said.”
Jason washes his hands, dries them sloppily on his jeans. “I promised I would. Use the doorbell next time, as surprising as it sounds, breaking and entering is usually frowned upon.”
Tim flashes him a grin.
“Thank you for taking care of him,” Bruce says, then pauses. He walks forward, rests a hand on Jason’s shoulder, “I hope to see you Sunday. And I hope you know you are always welcome home.”
When Jason doesn’t say anything back, Tim gathers his things, waving goodbye as he hurries out the door after Bruce.
Sunday is still three days away, but Tim knows Jason will be there. Maybe then things can feel a little less gloomy around here, a little less like walking on eggshells all the time. And if the Red Hood decides to help them on patrol nights, Tim wouldn’t complain. But mostly, after being an only child in an empty house for so long, he’s glad not to be alone anymore.