Chapter Text
"I'm sorry, you what?"
Tim blinks, lifting his head to look up at the stranger now standing over his table, a sort of narrow-eyed disbelief written all over his face. His very handsome face, even if it is all screwed up in that expression, which Tim really isn't sure what he did to deserve.
"Uh…" He shoves aside his appreciation of the man’s jaw, mentally replays the last few seconds of the conversation he was having, and then repeats more warily, "I'm going to map out the old Gotham tunnels?"
The man's face does a weird pinched thing, while in his ear, Conner makes a confused noise and says, "Yeah, Tim, I heard you the first time."
"Sorry,” he mutters, “not talking to you; someone asked what I said."
“Ah, got it.” He hears a clank somewhere in the background, then a slightly strained, “Who is it? Anyone you know?”
Tim takes a glance up at the stranger, who’s lifted a hand to forehead, thumb and fingers pressing into his temples like he's trying to stave off some kind of a headache. It’s definitely not anyone he knows, but Tim eyes the expression on his face and — wow — the breadth of his shoulders and makes a snap call.
"No. Can I call you back later?" Tim puts just enough of a tone in the words to make sure Conner gets it, and being his best friend, of course he does.
Conner snorts. "Attractive stranger, huh? Yeah, alright. I’ll cross my fingers for you, city boy. Want me to say hi to the family for you?"
"Yes, please. Thanks, Con; I’ll call you later."
"Good luck."
Tim hangs up the call via his earpiece and takes it out, dropping it to the table and refocusing on pained-stranger. Hand dropped now, staring at him again. He's very tall. Big, too, with short black hair and bright blue-green eyes. Brown leather jacket over his other arm, dark jeans, red shirt… He looks like he's about to get back on a motorcycle and peel off into the sunset.
(Tim takes a surreptitious glance out the window; there is a motorcycle parked out there, right near the door. Maybe he's not wrong.)
"Can I help you?" he finally asks, when the stranger just continues to look at him, jaw clenched tight.
"Are you entirely insane?" the man almost snaps, as if his question is permission. Then, a second later, he moves in a sudden jerk and drops down into the opposite side of the booth, elbows bracing on the table. "You're aware that the old tunnels are a complete maze, right?"
This really all seems like a bit of an overreaction. Also, this is not necessarily what he was expecting. But he can reprioritize, if the stranger wants to talk about the tunnels, he can talk about the tunnels.
"Yes? That's why they haven't been mapped yet. There are only partials, and it's really questionable how accurate those are. No one's managed a comprehensive map, yet."
"Because the entire place is a death trap. If you go in there, you're going to get lost, and you're going to starve. If the whole place doesn't cave in and bury you alive, and nothing else gets you first."
Tim squints back now, just a little offended. "I don't believe in urban legends, thank you very much. I'm sure homeless people and some criminals use the tunnels, but it’s not like there are monsters down there. Just people and rats and such, just like anywhere else. As long as I'm careful, nothing will happen. And frankly, you don't know nearly enough about me to make judgments like that."
"I don't need to know anything about you; I know the tunnels." The stranger leans forward, sincerity replacing the irritation in his expression. "Look, whatever your reasons are, however good you think you are, you don't want to go in there. Some things are better left alone."
Tim's been accused of selective hearing more than once in his life. Oh, he hears all of what the man says, but the only part that matters to him is, "You know the tunnels?"
The stranger opens his mouth, then shuts it again, narrowing eyes at him suspiciously. "Yes?"
He leans forward onto the table, and the stranger leans back seemingly unconsciously. "How well?"
"Well enough to know you shouldn't go down there if you don't know your way around." Tim smiles, opens his mouth, and the stranger cuts him off with, "No. Absolutely not. Whatever stupid idea you’ve got in your head—”
"How much would it take?"
The stranger blinks. Stares at him. "What?"
Tim doesn't reach for his wallet, because as showy as it would be to thumb through he's not dumb enough to pay a stranger anything up front, but he does give his best business smile and clasp his hands together on the table. "You know the tunnels, and I want to learn them. How much would it take for you to work as my guide? Give me a number."
Sincerity has morphed into incredulity, but that's fine. He's aware he doesn't look, at first glance, like someone who knows what they're doing when it comes to mapping caves, or tunnels, or anything else. Doesn't matter to him. He's got a very nice letter at home from the Gotham Historical Society thanking him for mapping out the entirety of the caves under his neighbor's home, old Underground Railroad parts included, so he's not especially concerned with what random strangers think of his capabilities.
The man sits back against the seat, palms flat on the table as he studies him. "A thousand," he finally says, like that's a ridiculous number. "A day."
Tim offers him a hand. "Deal."
His eyes go wide. He sputters. "You—"
A groan as both hands lift, scrubbing over his face, back into his hair as he drops his head back against the high back of the booth. Tim waits, more or less patiently. His elbow's braced on the table; he can keep the hand up for a while.
"Christ, do you have absolutely no instinct for self-preservation? You don't even know me! I could—" His hands flail in some kind of indecipherable gesture. "I could be some kind of axe murderer, or— or—"
"You stopped at a random stranger's table to try and convince them not to do something dangerous," Tim points out, with a small shrug. "Doesn’t sound like an axe murderer to me. So? Do we have a deal? A thousand a day, and you'll help me map the old tunnels?"
The stranger lowers his head, staring at him with weary, exasperated eyes. “What if I say no?” he asks, and then frowns a little and exhales hard. The, “You’ll just do it yourself, right?” comes before Tim even has a chance to say anything.
But, yeah, that was going to be his answer.
He sort of feels like the scowl is a little unearned, but the man takes his hand. “You’re an idiot, and this is a dumb idea, but fine. You’ve got a deal.”
He smiles. “I’m Tim Drake.”
“Jason Todd.”
“Nice to meet you, Jason. Is tomorrow too soon for you?”
Jason lets go of his hand with a groan, slumping back against the seat. “Yeah, I regret this already.”
Tim shows up at the corner Jason suggested at seven AM, sunlight still weak and struggling to get through the marine layer lying heavy over the city. Anticipation has him wide awake, but Jason — already there waiting for him — looks like he didn’t sleep all that much. He’s got a paper cup of something between his palms, back leaned against the corner of the building. Something abandoned and slated for destruction; signs are up and everything. It’s not anything that Tim recognizes, and honestly he didn’t know there was a way into the tunnels from here.
He shouldn’t have been surprised, really; there are entrances to the old tunnels scattered all over the place, from what he’s read. Some old, from when they were actually built, and some newer and far more opportunistic in nature.
It’s not really his area of expertise, though. He might know every inch of the caves that stretch out underneath the land near him, and a bunch of far less local ones, but lower Gotham isn’t nearly as familiar. His business doesn’t usually take him down here, and this isn’t the entrance he would have picked to start exploring. Jason, however, apparently does know this part of the city, and since he’s the one that’s acting as a guide, it only makes sense to start from where he’s familiar.
The driver isn’t thrilled to be dropping him off in this neighborhood, but a smile and a twenty makes him go through with it without another word. The streets down here are quiet, a far cry from the jam-packed business-class rush in the heart of the city, and when Tim straightens out of the car there’s no one else in sight but Jason, who’s eyeing his transportation with clear judgment.
“Morning,” Tim offers, and gets a grunt and a flick of Jason’s gaze towards the strap of the backpack hanging from one shoulder.
“Morning.”
He doesn’t move, so Tim approaches, ignoring the sound of his ride pulling away from the curb. “You ready?”
He looks more or less ready. The same sturdy boots as he was wearing yesterday, leather jacket swapped for something more functional, jeans a more worn pair. It’s not that different from what Tim’s wearing, but his stuff is a little more designer, specifically built for this kind of work, not just ‘good enough.’
Jason’s furrowed brow gets a little more pronounced. “You’re really gonna go through with this?”
Tim hefts the backpack a little more securely over his shoulder, staring down the unhappy frown without letting it phase him. Either way, guide or no, he’s going in those tunnels.
“Sure, why not?” Jason mutters, with a heavy sigh. He drains the last of whatever’s in the cup, then pushes off the building and takes the two steps necessary to get him to the trash can at the corner. “Alright, few ground rules. First, you do what I say while we’re down there. Stay close, don’t do anything monumentally stupid, and follow my lead. Think you can do that?”
Probably not unreasonable demands, given the likely state of the tunnels. “No problem,” Tim says out loud, and fills in, ‘within reason,’ in his own head.
“Great. Money, then?” It’s accompanied by an outstretched hand, and beckoning fingers.
Tim eyes it, unimpressed, but lowers a hand to the pocket of his jacket. Jason frowns at the piece of paper dropped in his hand.
“It’s a check,” he explains, before Jason can ask, “dated a week from today. I have a friend that knows your name and that I’m doing this, and there’s a message saved to his voice mail explaining the entire thing. If I go missing, police know where to start, and cashing a check from a dead man tends to look pretty bad.” Tim gives his very best smile. “That’s not a problem, right?”
Jason stares at the folded check, and then snorts, shaking his head. When his gaze lifts back to Tim, he can see the newfound sharpness in it. It’s the exact same look other corporate executives get when they realize that he’s not actually an unprepared, naïve kid shoved too-soon into the role of CEO, all appearances aside. Grudging respect, and calculation.
“Okay, Timmy. Fair enough." He pockets the check. "What've you got in the bag?"
Tablet with the mapping software, charger and external battery, paper to do it manually (just in case), food, water… "What I need."
He might have brought extra, too, but that's just because he didn't trust Jason to show up with anything. He doesn't want to get dragged out of the tunnels for lunch just because his guide didn't think to bring any. It's a smart investment; time is money, after all.
The vague answer gets him a roll of eyes. “Alright, then. Let’s go, Timmy.”
“I’d really prefer if you just called me Tim,” he complains, following as Jason turns away and heads towards the side of the condemned building.
“And I’d prefer not to do this at all, but I’m definitely not getting what I want. Sometimes life’s just not fair.” Jason pauses by a window with broken boards only half covering it, and shoots a sharp grin over one shoulder with a few too many teeth. “Timmy.”
A hoist of arms and a bit of wiggling has him through the gap, extending an arm down to Tim.
He scowls, but takes it. "You can leave at any point," he says through his teeth, as he jumps slightly and lets the yank of Jason's arm support him getting far enough up to do the same. His backpack catches slightly on something, but a last wiggle frees it and sends him toppling over the sill.
Or, would, if Jason wasn't there to catch him, hands warm against his upper arms. Tim stares as Jason settles him back on his feet, realizing slowly that he's automatically grabbed Jason's arms in turn, and those are… those are some very big biceps his fingers are wrapped around. He's no slouch himself but he usually tries for endurance and cardio, not weight lifting. (He doesn't show muscle as well as some, either, though there was definitely a bit in high school where he tried to change that.) He's smaller, and lean, and he's okay with that. But also wow. Just how nice these arms are was maybe hidden by the shirt last night, and he kind of regrets not knowing till now.
"You good?" Jason asks, hands easing off their grip.
It hits home, suddenly, that he's all but groping his hired guide. He lets go immediately, stepping back. "Yeah," he manages, after clearing his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine."
There's a little flicker of something in Jason's gaze, but it's gone before Tim can puzzle it out. Gone, and Jason's turning away again to walk deeper into — Tim takes a quick glance around — the clearly sometimes-squatted-in home. "You know, if you're having problems with a window, maybe you should rethink this idea."
The last bits of embarrassment evaporate, and he glares at the big, broad back slipping through a half-open door ahead of him. "I've explored plenty of tunnels and caves; I just don't usually get to them by climbing through windows. Why? Is that something you've got practice in?"
When he comes through the door, Jason’s standing in front of a big fireplace, looking back at him with a crooked smirk. “Yeah, some. Here, this is it.”
Tim looks at the fireplace, and then back to Jason. "I think going up the chimney is the wrong direction, and you're definitely not going to fit."
With a snort, Jason drops down to a knee and reaches into the fireplace, curling a hand around the grate and hefting upwards. It comes up, and so does the whole bottom slab of the fireplace, which is… not a slab. It’s one thin layer of stone, over what looks like wood, when Jason props it up against one side of the mantel and he gets a look at it. What’s left behind is a dark, square hole vanishing somewhere underneath the house. Big enough for him, definitely. Probably for Jason too, though maybe a little tight.
What kind of a house has a secret entrance to the tunnel systems in their fireplace? Some kind of old Underground Railroad connection? Criminals needing somewhere to stash goods on short notice? Some kind of cult?
“That look better to you?” Jason asks, sarcasm sharp enough to make Tim frown automatically. “Not exactly like some cave, is it?”
Alright, he wants to do sarcasm? Tim can do sarcasm.
He forces the frown away, making sure there’s only idle observation to his tone when he answers, “No, tunnels are indeed, usually not like caves.” Jason’s smirk falters, and Tim smiles, feeding his second arm through the loop of the backpack and settling it more securely. “After you.”
Jason’s eyes roll, but he turns and grabs a small bag that was mostly hidden behind his feet, slinging it over a shoulder. And, in his other hand—
“Lanterns are a little old fashioned,” Tim points out, with an arch of his eyebrow. “You know we have these things called flashlights, now? Electricity is generally considered to be much more efficient than burning oil.”
“Uh huh.” Jason slides both feet into the hole, and there must be something to stand on, because he doesn’t fall. “And when that doesn’t work down there, you’ll thank me. Old tunnels have all kinds of things in the walls, Timmy; doesn’t always play nice with newer technology. Little difference between caves and tunnels.”
A wink, and a sharp grin, and Jason turns back and starts to climb down. By how he’s moving, it has to be a ladder, or at least something similar.
Tim approaches as his head vanishes into the dark, faint metallic clunks the only further hint of his progress. Even peering down into the tunnel, there’s not much more than a faint hint of his skin, light against the otherwise encroaching darkness. Not exactly the most inviting entrance, that’s for sure, but there’s no helping that. Sacrifices for the sake of progress, or something.
Carefully, extending one foot in first, he feels for whatever kind of footholds are there, and finds it after a second. Solid enough, when he tests his weight on it. It held Jason, and Jason’s probably another third of his size; should be fine.
A couple moments groping with his hands finds the top-most handle as well; grimy enough to make him wince, but he shoves the disgust aside and just grips tighter before beginning to climb down.
From below, there’s a quiet thud. Then a called, “The last couple feet are a jump. It’s not far, just watch your footing.”
Maybe he should have pulled the flashlight out first. Well, too late now.
The bottom’s not as far as the echo of Jason’s voice made it sound. His foot only hits air instead of another rung, and taking a breath, he bends his knees and drops down. It’s more jarring than he was expecting, but a hand closes on his shoulder and steadies him before he can even really wobble.
“Farther for you than me, I guess,” Jason says, from somewhere behind him. Jesus it’s dark down here; how is he seeing anything?
Tim shrugs off the touch of Jason’s hand, pulling his backpack far enough off that he can reach in and grab the handle of his flashlight, right at the top where he left it. His finger hesitates above the button for a moment, remembering what Jason said about electricity not always working. Then he presses it.
Light flares along the base of the tunnel, exposing stone bricks and packed dirt, reinforced with beams. Along the wall in front of him, where he climbed down, are metal rungs embedded in the stone. They end three or four feet up. Yeah, maybe easier when you’re another half-foot taller than he is.
He turns, sweeping the light around with him so he can see the rest of what he’s working with. More stone, dust, some moss here or there but no real water far as he can see, and—
“Ow!” Jason steps back, nearly hitting the opposite wall as he covers his face. “Hey, you mind not shining that right in my face?”
Tim stares. He could have sworn— He swallows, shakes his head and lowers the beam. “Yeah, sorry.”
He must have just been seeing things. Humans don’t have reflective eyes, so there’s no way he actually saw a pair of bright, shining eyes reflecting the flashlight back at him. It didn’t happen. Couldn’t have.
Jason lowers his hand, scowling slightly, but his eyes are normal. Just blue, shadowed by the darkness so they look close to black, but that’s all. Nothing weird.
“So now that you’ve blinded me,” Jason grumbles, blinking heavily, “what’s the plan?”
The words jar Tim back into action. He drops his backpack at his feet, kneeling down and fitting the flashlight’s handle between his teeth so he can pull out the tablet, and after a moment of consideration, the pad of backup paper, too. Maybe electricity really doesn’t always work down here, or maybe Jason’s just being superstitious and weird, but the tablet’s the easiest way, and he’s keeping it until it stops working. He’ll just copy things over to the paper, too, just in case. Better safe than sorry.
The backpack goes back over his shoulders, and the flashlight comes out from between his teeth. “Now, I map, and you tell me whatever I need to know about where I’m heading.”
Jason sighs, hands crossing over his chest. “Great. Sounds like a blast.”
“You’re the one that insisted I shouldn’t go down here without a guide.”
“Yeah, and then you somehow convinced me to come with you.” A shake of Jason’s head that he just sees out of the corner of his eye, and a low, “Most expensive babysitting job I’ve ever had.”
Tim doesn’t lift his head. “‘Somehow convinced me’ is an interesting way to say ‘you paid me to.’ But if that makes you feel better, go for it.”
“Just shut up and make your stupid map.”
Everything goes more or less fine, in spite of all Jason’s doom-and-glooming. The tunnels are more straightforward than he was expecting them to be, and even though there are some… weird things, it's nothing that causes any real problems.
The flashlight does perfectly fine, but the tablet does fritz in and out a few times. If Tim'd been relying solely on it he might have had a problem, but since he transcribed everything to paper as well, there's no real problem. Other than that, it's just… oddities. Some of the shadows look a little weird, but the architecture down there has some odd corners and decoration in some places so it was probably just the flashlight’s beam catching them strangely. Twice more he catches the flash of reflective eyes in the corner of his vision, but both times he looks they’re gone. Just Jason.
Tim’s not normally paranoid, but he also definitely usually doesn’t hallucinate. All in all, he’s pretty much trusted what he’s been able to see his whole life, so he’s not sure why he’s suddenly seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe… Maybe Jason’s just got contacts or something in and they’re catching the light weirdly. Or maybe there’s some kind of weird mold or something growing down here that’s got some hallucinogenic effects. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing to be found in a cave.
Jason doesn't exactly guide, but sometimes Tim will get pulled a different direction than he was planning on going, with nothing but a, "Not that way," as explanation. He tries to pry, but Jason doesn’t offer anything helpful.
Well, he paid Jason to guide. Maybe he’s better off not knowing exactly why Jason knows these tunnels, and more specifically, which ways not to go. Maybe better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Oddities aside, everything’s fine. His mapping’s off to a good start — he’s looking forward to pulling the details up when he gets home and figuring out how things line up with the buildings and streets aboveground — and Jason’s not bad company, all things considered. They talked some, when Jason apparently got tired of the silence, and more over lunch. (He did, actually, bring his own. Tim’s a little impressed.)
It’s late, when they finally get back out of the tunnels. The house is dark, silent, and once they’re outside, the sun’s pretty low. Tim checks his phone on automatic; near 5pm, not bad at all for a day’s work.
“See?” he can’t quite help teasing, cocking an eyebrow. “No starving or getting lost. Everything went fine.”
Jason rolls his eyes, shouldering his bag a bit more securely. “Sure. Nothing to do with me.” His other hand, a little blackened by whatever kind of grime was in the tunnels, brushes a bit of cobweb off his thigh. “You should head home, Timmy; gets dangerous down here after dark. Not safe for a rich boy like you.”
Tim’s annoyed by that, but only a little. Just reflexively, before his rational brain catches up and agrees that yes, probably best for him not to be down in lower Gotham past sunset. He’s aware enough to realize that he sticks out down here, and if crime statistics are to be believed, there’s more than a few people down here that wouldn’t hesitate trying to mug him.
He swipes over to the ride app, and from behind his shoulder, Jason snorts. “You’re going to have a hell of a time getting any of them to pick you up from down here. Come on, I’ll walk you a few blocks; it’s not too far to somewhere a little more decent, if you know the shortcuts.”
Jason brushes past him, off down the street, and after a second Tim follows. “So, it’s not safe for me to be down here, but you’re going to take me through ‘shortcuts’ to leave? Seems contradictory.”
He wasn’t going to say anything, but he’s a little grateful when Jason slows a touch, letting him draw even. Long legs. “Yeah, but I’m with you. You’ll be fine.” Jason glances down at him, then adds, “Just don’t try to do this on your own. And, maybe put away the phone, till we’re out.”
Okay, fair enough. Flashing expensive technology is maybe not the smartest, unless these ‘shortcuts’ are going to be through well-lit, crowded parks or something. Not likely.
He tucks it away, feeding his hands through the straps of the backpack just to grip something. Jason leads him across the street and into an alley, sunshine slants in, but most of the alley is covered in the shadow from the taller of the two buildings rising up on either side.
Out of that, across another deserted street and into a second one. Darker than the first.
He’s a little curious why Jason thinks that his presence is enough to stop anyone from attacking them. Sure, Jason’s pretty big, and he’s definitely in shape, but if someone’s got a knife or a gun, why would that stop them?
Unless Jason’s known down here, somehow. ‘Connections,’ or something. Something that would ensure that no one messes with him, or anyone else with him. Even a (okay, he admits it) soft-looking target like Tim.
He’s definitely curious, but not quite enough to ask. If Jason’s actually connected to some gang, or mob, he doesn’t really want to know.
Surprisingly soon — Jason really knows what he was talking about, apparently — the more dilapidated buildings turn suddenly into tall apartment buildings. Actual streetlights, entrances to underground garages. It’s not suburbia, but it’s a whole lot nicer than the last block they were on. Nice enough that he should be able to get a ride out, at least.
That thought’s confirmed when Jason says, “There you go. Should be good from here.”
He nods his thanks, moving to stand under one of the streetlights before he pulls his phone back out. Jason follows, leans up against the pole with his hands hooked in his pockets.
Sure enough, he gets the accepting buzz of an incoming ride just moments after he submits the request. Six minutes, give or take.
“So,” he starts, as soon as he’s put the phone away, “I have meetings tomorrow morning, but how does eleven-thirty sound?”
When Tim’s gaze lifts all the way, he finds Jason staring intently off into the shadowed alley they came from, eyes narrowed, one corner of his mouth lifted in a snarl. There’s the sharp point of a canine there, and—
“Jason?”
Jason blinks, snarl falling flat in a moment as he looks back down. “Hm?”
Tim stares for a moment. Then he pushes the sight out of his head and repeats, “Eleven-thirty? Tomorrow?”
He gets a snort, and a shake of Jason’s head. “Haven’t had enough adventure yet, huh?”
“I don’t know where you got the impression that I was doing this for adventure.” Tim shrugs. “Tunnels aren’t mapped, so I’m not done.”
Jason pushes off the pole, gaze flicking upwards as he shakes his head once more. “Okay, Timmy. Fine. Eleven-thirty it is.”
Tim smiles, maybe a little less sharply than he would have this morning. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”