Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gotham city isn’t known for being the calm and restful center of the universe. Even so, Tim had already spent most of his day fielding calls from upset customers thanks to a televised fight between Robin and a mutant, winged squirrel that was wreaking havoc over the streets of Robbinsville, leaving quite a few customers without water or power or both. Insurance claims had been rolling in all morning, and it was taking everything Tim had not to rip his work phone from the wall but instead direct their calls to the Wayne Foundation hotline set up for exactly this reason. When he finally did get a moment to breathe, it was only to get a notification on his phone that there had been two sightings of the Riddler wandering around the Diamond District. The police were almost positive it was an early Halloween costume, which was doing nothing to calm the masses already on edge from a flying squirrel the size of a pick-up truck.

Reading through the news reports that evening while waiting for his shift to run out, Tim knew there were worse jobs in Gotham than insurance agent. Hearing his work email notification going off yet again, he’s hard pressed to think of another at the moment. As he shoots off an email to a client about looking into their claim asap, he hears the glass door to the small insurance office open and watches Stephanie Brown,the goddamn Batgirl, walk into the agency and catch his eye. He puts masked vigilante at the top of the list.

--

“Are you sure you don't want to upgrade to the Pick 4 plan? While the area around Gotham University is relatively safe, I always recommend anyone living within a 5 mile radius of Robinson Park to include Poison Ivy on their home and auto. And with her recently comes the necessary coverage for Harley,” Tim says, doing his best to run through the categories of coverage for Batgirl without losing his cool. He's trying not to watch the clock tick closer and closer to seven, sun already setting, deeply confused as to why she's shopping for insurance policies.

“Doesn't the Harley coverage cover the Joker as well? I thought that was a special bundle,” Stephanie says, perusing the paperwork he had handed her that covers the breakdown of their additional Gotham options.

“Not for the last few years. After that big public blow up between them,” quite literally, Tim muses to himself. “When she said she wasn't working with him anymore, we had to discontinue that program.”

“Good for her,” Stephanie mumbles, not looking up as Tim tries to cover his smirk.

“I'm hoping they'll reinstate it for her and Ivy, but until then, if you want the best coverage, the Pick 4 is really the best I can offer you.”

“The Joker's been in Arkham for the last couple years though, why offer him? Think he's getting out soon or something?” Stephanie looks up at him, her blue gaze critical.

Tim doesn't mean to, but scoffs at her slightly, “When has being locked up ever stopped him from getting out? Every few years he tries to make a break for it, and every few years there's collateral damage, and you're not quite far enough away from Arkham for it to be safe.”

“And where would that be?” Stephanie asks, tone sharp enough to surprise Tim for a moment, be he regains his cool.

“Off-world,” Tim replies dryly, earning a snort from the blonde.

“Personally I think he should be automatically added to any policy, especially for anyone near Gotham, but until those changes go through, or he dies, I still suggest him on every policy. Ivy, and with her Harley. The only question is, with Halloween so close, if you want to include Scarecrow or Riddler? The Riddler is best if your health insurance already covers any form of long term medical leave already, but if not, I suggest Scarecrow and adding our short term disability, so you won't lose any money if you have to recover from any fear toxin.”

“Jesus,” Stephanie says as Tim hands over another pamphlet explaining the differences between long and short term disability. “I can see why you get such good reviews.”

Tim smiles at the off-handed compliment, “I take this pretty seriously.”

While she reads over the pamphlets again, he gives her a critical once-over. She’s in civilian clothing, purple top just visible under a blue hoodie, long blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun, the epitome of exhausted college student chic. Her pointed question and attitude about Tim’s well informed opinion of insurance policies keeps confusing him.
He's still trying to figure out why Batgirl of all people would be so far out of her normal hunting grounds, especially when Tim's pretty sure that everything she has is owned or being paid for by Wayne Enterprise. While he's unsure of what she's doing here, he's always found the best course of action when dealing with any new situation to wait and let the other person talk themselves into a corner. Coming at a situation head-on had never been the Drake way. Subterfuge, duplicity, and good old-fashioned misdirection were the best lessons he learned from his mother. When none of these seem to apply quite yet, he sits quietly watching her look over the pamphlets, mouth twisting in confusion as she continues reading.

“I'm here to answer any questions,” Tim offers, as she sighs deeply.

“Just trying to figure out what the overall premium is for all this. And if all of this is necessary.”

“Let me break it down,” Tim plays along, waking his computer up and inputting her information. “Do you own, rent, or are you in a dorm?”

“Rent,” she says slowly, aware he knew the answer from the beginning of their long conversation.

“Is your car paid off, loan, or lease?” Tim asks, trying to keep his eyes on the screen and not on Stephanie watching him with interest.

“Loan.”

“Great. Do you have a tendency to drive in neighborhoods more like Burnley or the Upper West Side?”

“West Side,” she answers, trying to look at his computer screen.

“Alright. Do you work or are you living off loans and grants?”

“Loans. Some grants,” Stephanie mumbles, a light flush coming to her cheeks. Tim assumes the 'grants' were a nice way of saying Bruce Wayne was paying whatever her loans didn't cover, which included her very nice apartment location.

“Do you have private insurance or are you covered through the university?”

“Private.”

“Then this is the best plan for you,” Tim says, turning the screen so she could see it. “The Pick 4 with Ivy, Harley, Joker, and your choice between the Two-Face gang since you spend more time in his possible hit area or Scarecrow due to the season," Tim says, choosing a rogue for her. "Once Halloween is over, I would suggest going online or calling to get your policy changed to include Penguin, since he gets more active the colder it gets. If you’re on your parents insurance, and don't work, don't worry about short or long term insurance just yet. Let them foot the bill for a little longer. Bundle renters and auto, pay every six months, and you'll get a massive discount,” Tim hits print while he walks Batgirl through all the steps in her plan, pointing out at the bottom of the screen the discount she would receive once she signed her name.

He gets up to grab the paperwork from the shared printer, noticing Stephanie trying to look around his desk while he walks away, but the printer is too close for her find whatever she was hoping to see. Tim pretends for both their sakes he didn’t notice.

“Plus, you have a clean auto record as far as we can see, and you can get a new member discount. Keep your record clean, and you can get a cash back bonus at the beginning of each renewal year,” he continues, stapling both the packet for his records and her personal one.

“Now, let's get you signed up,” Tim concludes, smiling and holding a pen out for Stephanie, who's staring at him in surprise.
Tim still worries slightly why Batgirl would need such extensive coverage, but a commission was a commission.

--

Tim walks quickly from his car to his four story walk-up in Newtown, not the safest neighborhood to be out late in, but by far not the worst in Gotham.After Stephanie had finally left, asking to think it all over instead of signing up, Tim had finished up a hurried conversation with another client about adding a new car. It was later than Tim normally returned to his neighborhood, but with his favorite Thai place still open, it gives him one more day to put off grocery shopping.
Showering quickly and changing into sweats, Tim hunkers down at his well loved desk, and pulls up the GCPD breaking news feed on his laptop, letting his desktop run a program to pull rouge names and locations from the news articles from the day. While the mostly redacted feed wasn’t the most reliable source for information, it was always a good start.
He adds a few notes to his ever growing Excel sheet before turning to the real goldmine: Gotham tweets. No one ever stayed quiet when it involved meeting their favorite bat or coming across another crime GCPD wasn't aware of yet.

Tim hadn't been lying to Batgirl when he told her he took his job seriously. The crime fighting world of Gotham had always been a hobby of his, from the moment he realized Robin was Dick Grayson, and continued to make the connections to Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, and Damian Wayne. When he was a child, his interest had been much more involved, up to following the bats whenever he could, almost getting caught a time or two. He was caught once by Catwoman, who had also been spying on Batman, and she had told him if she caught him snooping around again, she was going to take him home and make him one of her kittens.

Not a week later, both his parents were killed in a hostage situation gone wrong.

With no other living family and no close associates, Tim had been placed into foster care. There had been talk of different business partners adopting him or maybe Bruce Wayne. A couple months later though, Jason Todd was dead, and Bruce was in no shape to take on another child. Tim’s parent's business associates had been more worried about trying not to run Drake Industries into the ground than about an eleven year old orphan.

So Tim had given up his camera, his pictures, and his sneaking out to watch crime fighters to sneaking out at night to get away from the overcrowded homes he was continually moved to and from. Most families had started out wanting him until it came to light that his trust fund had been embezzled long before his parents' deaths and all Tim would be inheriting was his last name. After that, Tim became another young child Gotham was waiting to age out.
Instead, he worked as hard as possible to get his GED and used the grants WE had set up for misbegotten youth to get his AA in business before he aged out completely and lost what little state money he could get to pay for the degree.

When a classmate in an intro insurance class had mentioned his father was always looking for more insurance agents and there was always something getting destroyed by someone, Tim got his degree, put in some applications, and called it a day. He honestly hadn't expected to get quite a few job offers plus signing bonuses. Tim, figuring it was a great way to kick start his resume, took the one with the best options. He passed the state exam easily, and got a book of business cards with his name stamped on them and good luck from his new boss.
Tim had not realized that his old hobby would end up being such a boon to his new career. Apparently, no one else enjoyed running a statistical analysis on the cities crime rates with a crossover for geography and residential status. He had started mapping the city when he was younger to make it easier to keep track of patrol routes for Batman and Robin, so all it had taken was a few tweaks here and there to change it from watching the vigilantes to watching the rogues. His commissions had skyrocketed once his clients had started spreading his name around as some kind of evil-doer guru. He had started a small quarterly newsletter for them so that everyone could be kept up to date on new policies and activity on the streets.
When Catwoman had decided to weave back and forth from neutral party to burglar, Tim had made sure to let his few clients closer to the Diamond District to up their insurance maximums. When Black Mask had apparently come back from the dead, he had sent an alert to all his East End clients and hoped for the best. Red Hood had taken care of that problem before it could really take off though, which really helped keep premiums down.

As he read through all the #Gotham tweets and blog posts he could handle, he added the most pertinent information to his program and let it run while he washed up his few cups and prepped his coffee pot for the next morning. As he was heading to bed, he got a police alert on his phone that both the Red Hood and Batgirl had been spotted in Otisburg. Tim sighed deeply, and tried not to think about all the claims he was going to have to put in tomorrow morning.

--

“Mr. Ramirez, you did not include Killer Croc in your Pick 3. Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I'm looking at your most recent policy change right now. You removed him over six months ago when you downgraded from your Pick 4. If the police are able to prove he was working with one of your covered rogues, there is a minimum payout available to you. Yes, sir. Yes, sir, you're welcome. You can review all this information online as well. You too, sir,” Tim caught the sigh that wanted to escape, noticing Stephanie was standing patiently at his desk while he finished his call.

“It was Ms. Brown, right?” Tim asks, getting up to shake her hand, pretending for her benefit. It wouldn't do to make it sound as if he remembered every detail about her last visit to his desk.

“Good memory! But call me Stephanie,” she says brightly, a surprised smile on her face.

“I have to say, I'm shocked to see you back. After a few days, most people have moved on to different agencies. Are you ready to sign up for your renters insurance?”

“I think so, but I've got a few more questions?” her lips twist, a shy look on her face as Tim pulls a chair out from in front of his desk and waves for her to sit.

“It's what I'm here for,” Tim says, putting on his best Drake Industries smile. He had gone through the policy information almost three times with her on her last visit. It was already after six, and he was not looking forward to having another late night, especially while he was dealing with the claims from the giant squirrel attack.

“It's less about renters, and more about how you seem to know who's going to hit where? I've checked with a couple other places, and no one else just seemed to know who to choose. A couple friends bought from you, and they say you're great at what you do, but I'm worried about making the wrong choice. You guys aren't exactly cheap, you know?” Stephanie’s sarcastic tilt puts Tim’s nerves on edge, even though her face shows nothing but interest.

Tim wants to snap that it shouldn't matter how much it was, she was being bankrolled by Batman of all people.

“Who recommended me to you?” he asks instead, the desire to know who he could have as a client that could also know Stephanie overtaking his annoyance. Most of his clientele was located in uptown, and even as Batgirl, Stephanie Brown had a tendency to stick to the downtown area.

“Does it matter?” Stephanie asks, giving him a suspicious look.

“It does to me. Your friends should have been able to tell you that I get my information from the police releases, just like everyone else. Plus, I like to send my appreciation to my clients,” Tim said, watching her face close off slowly.

“Your appreciation?” She repeats, a strange look coming over her face. Tim worries for a moment she’s going to snap on him for something as simple as asking for a name.

Tim opens his desk drawer, watching her tense, only to pull out a stack of blank Thank You cards and envelopes.

“Yes. My appreciation. People don't have to give my card to anyone, so when they do, I like to go the extra mile for them.”

“You. You send people Thank You cards?” Her face freezes somewhere between shock and confusion, which Tim honestly shouldn’t find so cute.

“Shouldn't I?” Tim asks, confused. “I know it's a little old fashioned, but everyone likes something other than bills in their mail.”

“Sign me up,” Stephanie says, throwing Tim for a loop.

“Really?”

“Really. I'll need the Pick 4, the bundle you suggested. Toss Scarecrow in there as my final choice, and I'll be set,” Stephanie says decisively, giving him a large, genuine smile.

Tim does his best to keep his cool under the look of happy surprise Stephanie is giving him. He feels a slight blush rising up his neck, and is for once grateful he has to wear a collared polo shirt to work. He's not sure if what he's feeling is because a beautiful woman is giving him her undivided attention or because Batgirl was giving him her undivided attention. He turns back to his computer to print out a copy of the saved policy he had drawn up for her, trying to cover his flush. He glances over to Stephanie as he prints her a copy of his newsletter, and watches the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, as she reads it and laughs, and decides ignorance was bliss for the moment as to why Batgirl came into his office for insurance, and why Stephanie lets her hand linger when he passes her a pen.

--

Over the weekend, Tim decides that the twittersphere just isn't doing it for him anymore, and he's craving a spicy hot chocolate that he knows only one bodega makes right. He grabs his wallet, pepper spray, and collapsible baton before heading out.

While the quantity of self defense weapons would seem extreme for most other places in the city, Tim didn't lie to himself about where he was planning to go, and who he would be seeing on his quest to get hot chocolate.

His first few homes had been in the nicer areas of Gotham, appropriate for a young, well raised boy to live while the adults around him decided his fate. As he got older, and pushed deeper into the system, the foster homes had transitioned into group homes, and the Old Gotham district had transitioned into Coventry, and finally, the Bowery. It was when he was fourteen, and struggling to show emancipation and a Wayne backed scholarship was his best way out to his caseworker that he found his diamond in a coal mine that did Cuban coffee in the morning and Mexican hot chocolate at night.

He walked up and waved to the young lady working the drink window, and placed his order for six hot chocolates and five orders of tea cookies to go along with them. Struggling slightly with his cumbersome load, Tim hurries a few blocks over to an alleyway where he knows at least two of his best marks work. It’s a long strip of concrete that runs between a cluster of old warehouses, and Tim keeps an eye peeled for anyone lurking in the dark, closed off side doors or hanging out behind a few industrial garbage cans.

“Anyone interested in something to drink?” Tim calls out as he hits the other end of the alley, and is soon beset with a few very thirsty working girls.

“Didn't think we'd be seeing you so soon,” Lina says, taking the cookies from him and passing them out to the other girls.

“It's been a few weeks hasn't it? And I wanted something sweet,” Tim shrugged as the girls begin picking at their snacks.

“I could give you something sweet,” Lina winks at him, making Tim laugh.

“Maybe another time.” It's his standard answer to them, as they know he'll never partake. “No Mel?” Tim asks as the tray makes it back to him with two unclaimed drinks and a bag of cookies.

“Already picked up, but she'll be back soon,” Lina says, sliding the leftover cookies into her small bag. “I'll make sure she gets your treat,” She smiles as Tim grabs a cup for himself.

Lina is the oldest of the women working that evening, but Mel has always been his best contact. He'd known her for years, when they would spend all day at the library, both escaping their homes until they were kicked out at closing. She had been the one to turn him on to the ladies of the Bowery for information, and he had been the one who made sure they all had city health insurance and renters for the ones with more permanent addresses.

“We all know she's your favorite,” Anna calls out from where she's working at the end of the alley, making the women laugh as Tim shrugs at their good-natured ribbing, grabbing his drink from the tray.

“Guilty. But that doesn't mean I like you all any less. Anyone having any problems with their paperwork lately?”

“Yeah,” Anna calls out from the perch she's taken in a low windowsill, “My premiums went up again! Thought you said the Waynes handle that shit,” She says, giving Tim an annoyed look.

Tim frowns at her while she sips her cocoa, “The foundation does. I'm in the office on Monday. Bring everything they sent you and I'll pick through it, see where they messed up.”

Anna nods, still not smiling at him. “Thanks. And speaking of paperwork,” she stands, and walks closer to Tim, “found out some guys are getting out early on ‘good behavior’.” She tries for mysterious, making Lina snort.

“If you're talking about those Two-Face thugs, everyone knows that.”

Tim had not known that, but winks at Lina when she looks in his direction. It's how they play this game. Tim plys the women with treats and free paperwork advice, keeping them as covered by the law as he can, and they pay him in gossip and making sure he's the only one they buy any kind of insurance through. It keeps them all safe and happy.

“Bet you didn't hear about Penguin being interested in that traveling exotics show that's coming to the museum soon,” Coraline pops in with. She's by far the youngest, and whenever Tim sees her he wants to wrap her in a blanket and call someone's parents to take care of her. But when Tim had offered to get her set up in a halfway house and apply for a grant, she had scoffed and refused to talk to him for months. That she is now shows she's forgiven him for what she took as his pity.

When they all look at her in surprise, she shrugs and pops a cookie in her mouth, “What? One of my regulars works for him, and forgot I was in the shower.”

“Why the exotics show? Sounds more like Catwoman than Penguin.” Tim asks, and Coraline just shrugs in response.

“No idea. My date wasn't exactly the brains of the operation,” She calls out as she walks away towards a car that pulls up near her. Tim makes sure he's off to the side, inconspicuous so that the johns won't see him, and vice versa. She gives a quick wave to Anna, the closest to her as she hops in the car. Tim watches her drive away, and Lina shoves her elbow into his side.

“She's old enough to make her own choices. Anna looks out for her.”

“Is she?” Tim mumbles to himself. A cold wind cuts through the alley, making him shiver in his thin hoodie. Lina rolls her eyes at him and shoves past him towards the street, closer to Anna and grabbing the lone cocoa from the drink holder and taking a big swig.

“See you soon, honey. Don't be a stranger. And definitely don't forget the cookies,” she waves as she walks towards the street. Tim calls his final goodbyes and starts his trek through the long alley and back to his car. He walks faster now, not laden with so many easily spilled cups and is almost at the main road when someone snatches the back of his hoodie and hauls him farther back into the dark alley.

Tim reacts as quickly as he can, dropping his drink and sliding his baton from his front pocket, extending it with a quick wrist snap. As he’s pulled farther into the dark alley, away from the lights of the main road, he whips his arm around fast and aims with the baton blindly for what he hopes is a shoulder or head. If he can get them to loosen their vice-like grip on his hood, he can pull his mace and impede them enough to run back to the girls and get them to move before his attacker runs into them.

He hits a helmet. The snap of his baton against it does get the hand to loosen as the man's helmet tilts back from Tim's mad attack. Tim slips a little, barely keeping his footing thanks to the force he put behind his swing, but the man's grip, switching from his hood to his upper arm quickly keeps him upright. Tim reaches for the mace in his pocket, though it looks like it may be a useless effort. The man doesn't move, other than to finally loosen his hand from Tim's arm and bring it to the side of the helmet Tim hit.

Tim is sure that later, once he's home safe in his bed, he'll have the existential crisis one has when they realize they just nailed the Red Hood. If he makes it back.

“What the fuck, kid?” the voice modulator removes any tone that Red Hood may have had, but Tim is sure it's either shock or anger. “Is that a nightstick? Can civilians even have those?”

“It's a baton and of course we can,” Tim snaps, unthinking. “And what do you think is going to happen when you attack someone in an alley?”

“Shooting usually,” he says, stepping closer to Tim, and honestly Tim had though 'looming' was something that only happened in poorly written romance novels, but here he is, being loomed over by the Red Hood.

“What do you think you're doing here?” Red Hood asks Tim as he backs him into the wall of a warehouse.

“Talking with the girls? Is that a crime?”

“Talking? No. But you weren't just talking to them. You were bribing them for something. What?”

“None of your business?” Tim responds, stepping to the side, which he knows he only does because the Red Hood allows it, and tries to get closer to one of the streetlights.

“Wrong answer. And don't bother trying to run.”

“Aren't you supposed to be one of the good guys or something?” Tim snaps, still in shock from the attack. “Isn't there a mugging or an assault you should be stopping? Are you really going to waste time interrogating a guy who brought some women hot chocolate on a cold night?”

“Hot chocolate?” Red Hood says slowly, not even the voice modulator able to keep Tim from hearing the scoff in his voice.

“Yes,” Tim points to the cup he had dropped when Red Hood grabbed him. “Hot chocolate. Some cookies. You know, nice things for some nice ladies.”

“There's been some guys hanging around, trying to recruit girls into pimping and running drugs. Thought you might be working with one of them.”

“Well, I'm not,” Tim snaps. “Now, if you'll excuse me, it's cold, I'm tired, and I've just been attacked by the Red Hood, so I'd like to go home now.”

“Jesus, calm down Tim,” Red Hood says, backing up and leaning against a warehouse wall. “Couldn't see who it was talking to the girls. Can you blame a guy for jumping to the wrong conclusions? And only the ladies get cocoa? I'm hurt kid, thought you said I was one of the good guys or something.”

“Sorry, didn't sync your looming schedule up with my chocolate delivery schedule. I'll reprogram my PDA.”

“You're a riot. Stay out of the area until this is all cleared up. And if the ladies tell you anything about these guys, let me know.”

“How? Should I build a Red Hood signal? Back light an Uzi in my living room window just for you?”

“Bedroom window would be my suggestion, your choice. But seriously, stay out of the area. Some weird shit is going down,” The Red Hood points at Tim, ignoring Tim's “Come on, it's Gotham,” to continue, “So stay out of the Bowery.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Tim says, collapsing his baton and shoving it back into his hoodie pocket as Red Hood walks past him.

“Watch the sarcasm, you know what it does to me. And I'll be on the lookout for your Uzi in the sky,” Red Hood calls, shooting his grapple and soaring up to the roof of a warehouse.

Tim hurries out of the alley and does his best not to break into a full-on sprint back to his car. This wasn't his first run-in with the Red Hood. Wasn't even his second. If it happened in the Bowery or Crime Alley, Red Hood probably knew. So when Tim had begun going around, trading information with people, Red Hood had found him. He had also let him go when he realized that Tim was not only completely harmless compared to thugs he was used to taking on, but Tim was supplying the lower class with affordable healthcare and business grants, thanks to a few loopholes Tim had found in the Wayne Foundation bylaws. It was also not the first time the Red Hood had flirted, but from what he had gathered from Lina, it was how he spoke to everyone.

Tim takes a moment to breathe a sigh of relief that Hood hadn't been anything more than shocked by Tim actually landing a hit on him. It could have gone a lot worse tonight if Hood had taken it as anything other than self-defense it was. He heads home, and definitely does his best to not think about how one would shadow light a Hood signal.

Chapter Text

Tim walks into his favorite coffee shop after a long day at the office and ends up ducking behind a stand of ground coffee mugs as soon as he slips through the door. The day had been filled with call after call from customers about changing their plans to include some of the more festive rogues as Halloween crept closer and closer. All he had wanted was an after work coffee, something to keep him awake long enough to slog through the social media posts for the last few days before crashing. After his run in with Red Hood, he had decided to take the rest of the previous weekend off from fact-finding and relax a little before sliding back into the cesspool that was Twitter.
 Instead, Tim tries to creep out of the coffeehouse before Stephanie sees him, thoughts of coffee dissipating. His last exchange with her had been at the office, where she had strangely went from trying to interrogate him to buying a premium plan, and eventually, trying to give Tim her phone number. 

He may have programmed it into his phone, just in case. 

And then felt terrible about thinking of any customer, especially Batgirl, like that. He's almost at the door when Stephanie turns, large frothy concoction clutched in one hand, and begins waving insanely at him with the other.

“Hi Tim! How crazy is this right?” Stephanie said, walking quickly to him.

“Yeah crazy,” Tim said, smiling at her while placing his hand on the door.

“Leaving? Didn't you want anything to drink?” Stephanie asks, looking at his empty hands.

“Changed my mind actually,” Tim says lightly. “It was kind of a long day, so I think I'll just head home."

“I'll walk out with you then,” Stephanie nods at the door, which Tim opens quickly.

“If we’re already getting cold fronts, this winter is gonna suck so bad,” Stephanie mumbles, long hair whipping around her as she pulls her leather jacket tighter.

Tim, already layered in a wool coat and scarf, nods in agreement.

“It only gets worse from here,” Tim agrees, shrugging and nodding back towards his office, “It was nice seeing you again, Stephanie. Have a good night."

Tim starts to walk away but Stephanie's loud “Wait!” stops him. She reaches out to grab him, but stops herself before actually touching his arm.

“Yes?” Tim asks, waiting for Stephanie as her face shifts through a series of emotions, settling on determination.

“Did you want to do something this weekend?”

Tim flushes, mouth opening in what he was sure was quite unattractive. His throat clicks, and he watches Stephanie's face go from determined to embarrassed with his lack of answer.

“Oh god. God, I'm so sorry. That just slipped out, and I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It's just, there's this movie noir thing going on,” Stephanie rambles. She lays her free hand over her eyes, and her mouth turns down with a tiny frown, making Tim feel terrible for his shocked pause. Tim cuts her off before she can apologize again or worse, leave.

“Over at the Parliament right?" As Tim talks, Stephanie slowly lowers her hand from her face, giving him a boost of confidence to keep going. "I saw a flyer for it. Looked pretty cool actually,” Tim smiles slightly, making Stephanie give him a full grin.

“Yeah! It's supposed to be some big weekend festival, and anyway, a group of us were thinking of going, and I saw you, and I thought you may be interested, and I'm sorry, I'm not exactly subtle.”

“It could be fun. I mean, I usually don't watch many detective movies, but I'll try most things at least once.”

“Why not? Don't like a good whodunit?” Steph asks, taking a sip of her coffee.

“It's not that. I usually figure out who it is too early," Tim jokes, but Stephanie only nods in agreement. "Who else would be going?”

“Just a few kids from school. Maybe one of my brothers,” Stephanie says, face darkening at the end.

“Doesn't seem like you're happy about that,” Tim says, shivering as a sharp wind rushes past.

“Let me buy you something hot,” Stephanie says, gesturing back towards the shop. “And don't get me wrong, I love my brothers. I do,” Stephanie repeats, almost to herself as they head inside the warm shop and stand in line. “They can just be… a little overbearing. I mean, family you know?”

Tim didn't know. The closest Tim had come to having a makeshift family was a couple other foster kids that had been in the same group home with him for about six months. But he nods along with her as he places his regular coffee order. 

They continue talking, mostly Stephanie complaining about Dick and Damian Wayne. Tim lets Stephanie lead him over to the small bar set up against the pane glass front, bar stools close enough that their knees keep knocking against each other. With any other discussion, Tim thinks maybe he would have focused on Stephanie and the way her mouth curls into a warm, small smile even as she complains about her not-actual brothers. Instead, he's more interested by the stories mixed with complaints than flirting with Stephanie. 

Tim keeps himself in check, his face cheerfully blank as he hears how Nightwing always left his dirty clothes in the shared bathrooms at the manor even though he had his own personal one, or how Robin just kept finding more and more small animals to bring home even though their butler had put a cap on his menagerie.

“This is boring you isn't it?” Stephanie says suddenly, looking contrite.

“Not at all,” Tim quickly reassures her, while Stephanie sips at her now cold coffee.

“I didn't mean to dump on you. I just figured I'd ask you out, see a few good movies first.”

“Lull me into a false sense of security, and then talk to me about your annoying brothers?” Tim jokes. Stephanie gives him a sharp look, but it quickly turns into a self deprecating laugh.

“Guess I skipped around a bit.”

“Maybe I'm easy to talk to. How about we swap numbers, and you text me the movies you want to see?” Tim asks, not wanting Stephanie to get bogged down in her embarrassment.

“That would be great. I have to run anyway, I've got a study session starting soon,” Stephanie says, giving Tim her number again when he pulls out his phone. He texts her as she waves goodbye and exits the coffee shop, congratulating himself on not screaming that he had a date with Batgirl and that maybe Nightwing would show up too.

--
Tim contemplates talking to his boss about extending their business hours because Tim got the best business the later the day got.

Case in point, barely an hour before closing, as Tim scrolls through some news articles about the new civic center the Wayne Foundation wanted to build, the chair in front of his desk scrapes across the tile floor, and a very broad young man plops down.

Tim looks up and is surprised at what he sees. The tall, muscular, and very attractive man was in the process of waving off another associate, a crumpled business card in his fist. He’s dressed like most of Tim’s normal clients, in scruffy jeans and long sleeved work shirt, under a thin jacket. His large stature caught Tim’s eye, and when Tim finally got a look at his face, he found his jaw clenching with the effort to not gape open.

“Sorry man, but I was told to ask for Tim,” he says, pointing at Tim's small nameplate on his desk.

Tim shrugs in a ‘What can you do' kind of way at his associate, standing up to shake the newcomer’s hand. The man stands as well, making Tim tilt his head slightly to continue looking him in the face.
“I'm the only Tim here. How can I help?”

“I was sent here by a friend. Said you could help with some insurance stuff.”

“Absolutely,” Tim smiles his best Drake smile, which seemed to only make the man more tense.

“What type of insurance are you looking for? Auto? Home?” Tim asks as he opens his work programs while the man drops back in his chair.

“I got a bike?”

“We insure motorcycles too. You seem a little nervous, if you don't mind me saying,” Tim says, watching the man glance around him regularly. He would be more worried if there was any money from the way the man was obviously casing the office.

“This is just a new experience for me,” The man says, focusing finally on Tim. His eyes are a surprising teal color offset by a white streak in his dark hair.

“Maybe if you told me your name and who sent you I would be able to help make this easier.”

“Lina sent me,” he finally says still not giving Tim his name. Tim nods, and gets up from his desk, waving for the man to stay seated, though he watches as the large man shifts around to find a comfortable position. He can see the man watching him from the corner of his eye as Tim quickly talks to the other two agents still in the office. As he returns, he snags a couple water bottles from the small fridge they have set up for customers. He tries to hand one to his new client, but he refuses to take the drink. Tim leaves it on the corner of his desk, close enough for the man to grab, and sits down with his own.

“What did you have to tell those guys that was so important?”

“Just that they didn't need to wait for me to close up. We'll probably be here awhile,” Tim says, grabbing a few pamphlets and handing them to the man. “These are some basic packages we offer for motorcycles and renter's insurance. If you want to look those over while I log in,” Tim said, pulling out a laptop while his new customer pretended to peruse the pamphlets. Tim logs in to the back door he created in the Gotham public health system, using the laptop he had specifically bought just to use for special clients, like the ones Lina or Mel sent him.

As his associates wave goodbye and head home for the day, Tim keeps up a steady stream of generic one-sided conversation about the different levels and deductibles they might incur.

“So,” Tim said once they were left alone. “Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. Like your name maybe.”

“Why do you need two computers?” He asked, pointing to Tim's laptop.

“Because I have a few extra programs on this computer that may help you out Mr…?” Tim trails off, still waiting for a name.

“Jason. Jason Peters.”

“Alright Mr. Peters,” Tim says, not fully believing he hasn't just been given a false name. “Now, I'm sure since Lina sent you, you knew to bring your birth certificate and social. Right?”

“I don't have any of that. And why do you need that for my bike?’

“For your bike? No, I need those to get you enrolled in the public health system.”

“Can you do that?” Jason looks intrigued by the idea. He shifts slightly in the chair, as if trying to look at the laptop screen.

“Sure,” Tim agrees easily. “But not without some personal information. Some real information.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jason says, indignant.

“If your real name is Jason Peters, I’ll eat my shoe,” Tim deadpans, making Jason snort.

“It really is. Why would I give you a fake name?”

“You’d be shocked by how many girls have come through here trying to tell me their name really is Cherry,” Tim says, inputting the name. “You don’t come up in the system,” he mumbled to himself, making Jason sigh.

“I wouldn’t. I’ve never had insurance.”

“Never gone to a hospital?” Tim asks, surprise coloring his voice.

“Not to one that ever asked for any names,” Jason says as Tim nods.

“I can work with that. Makes it a little harder, but doable,” Tim says, going through the screens quickly, adding what information he can.

“Got any ID on you?” Tim asks, already knowing the answer.

“I don’t carry it on me,” Jason shrugs, nonchalant, making Tim roll his eyes.

“Don’t you think you should?  In case the cops pick you up?” Tim asks, while Jason raises his eyebrows in question.

“What would they be picking me up for exactly?” he asks, finally shrugging out of his dark jacket and tossing it into the chair next to him.

“You’re one of Lina's, right?” Tim hedges, not wanting to offend Jason if he's read the situation wrong. Jason continues to stare at him, a smirk slowly working its way onto his face. Tim does his best not to stare at the attractive man sitting across from him, but he’s pretty sure he’s doing a terrible job.

“I’m one of Lina’s friends, yes,” he says slowly, sliding down  slightly in the chair, trying to make room for his long legs. Tim sigh deeply, and turns back to the screen instead of looking at Jason.

“Usually the friends she sends me are,” Tim stops, and Jason's smirk grows as Tim loses his words again. Tim sighs deeply and plows on.

“Usually they're sex workers who need better medical coverage.”

Jason’s smirk turns into a grin as he gives a short laugh. “I’m a friend, but not one of those friends. I’m a mechanic.”

“A mechanic. How long were you going to sit there letting me make an ass of myself?” Tim huffs turning back to Jason; who only shrugs again, waving off the question. 

“About that long. Lina send you all her girls?”

“Just the ones that need help. Your job doesn’t offer insurance?”

“I’m sure they do for the ones who work on the books?” Jason rubs the back of his head, more embarrassed by that admission than Tim mistaking his job. Tim nods, quickly typing up the information.

“Without a W-2, you’ll have to be down as unemployed until you can get your boss to vouch for you. Any pre-existing conditions?”

“Are you shitting me?” Jason asks, eyes wide as Tim keeps typing.

“We’ll put no until you go for your first physical.”

“Slow your roll for a minute. How much is this all gonna cost me?” Jason says, making Tim look over to him in confusion.

“The public health system is free,” Tim says slowly, “That’s the biggest pro of the program.”

Jason gives him a frustrated look,  “No, I mean, what’s your cut from all this? I don’t make a lot,” Jason starts, but Tim holds up his hands, trying to stop Jason.

“I think you’re a little confused by how this works,” Tim says, turning and giving Jason his full attention. “I'm really starting to doubt that Lina actually sent you here, but we'll pretend she did for ease of explanation, shall we?” Tim continues, exasperation slipping into his voice. “When I enroll you into the health system, there's no cut, no payment, no need for you to pay back anything. I do this because I understand that they have a tendency to make it difficult for certain people without common jobs, and that it can be impossible to wait around all day in their office when you don't really get days off. That's it.”

“That's it?” Jason scoffs, crossing his arms.

“If you decide to get renters through me, maybe cover your bike, then I'll be happy. If not, it's not the end of the world.”

“You offer this to all the boys and girls?”

“If you were actually as close to any of them as you're pretending to be, you'd know not all of them have cars or stable addresses.”

“Why don't you believe Lina sent me?” Jason asks, seeming honestly interested in the answer, unfolding from his tight position.

“Two reasons,” Tim says, turning back to his laptop. “One, you thought I was going to charge you for something I've been doing for free for years. And two, Lina always calls before she sends me someone. So, how'd you get my name?”

Jason huffs out a laugh, a deep sound that pulls Tim's attention back to him.
“I really did hear Lina saying your name, talking about all the great shit you got her. She just may have been telling someone else at the time. And I may have stolen one of your cards from her. I figured I could come to the nice-ish part of town and see if we could work out a deal,” Jason is back to giving Tim that half smirk, and Tim does his best not to read too deeply into the phrasing, already well aware his assumptions had been wrong once already.

“No deals, no bargains, but for this to work, I require honesty. I can't enroll you in the health system without the right information Mr. Peters. It just won't work in the long run, and it makes the whole endeavor more likely to get caught.”

“Jason is fine if I can call you Tim. And I didn't bring that stuff because I really don't have copies of them. It was never a priority.”

“Alright, Jason. Give me your email, and I'll send you links to request your records. Were you born in another state?”

“Nope, Gotham born and bred,” Jason says, shooting Tim a wink. Tim rolls his eyes at him, hoping his fair skin doesn't heat up.

“Should have been able to smell the Gotham smart-ass on you the moment you sat down,” Tim mumbles, making Jason laugh.

“Please. Pot, meet kettle,” Jason says, waving a hand between them. “So once I get you that stuff, what do we do?”

“You can bring it to me, and I'll put you in the system, or you can call me and we can pick a place to meet,” Tim says as he hands Jason a piece of paper. “Write down your email and a number I can reach you at, in case something comes up.”

“If you ask nicely,” Jason says, just loudly enough for Tim to hear him say it.

Tim knows that objectivity, he's attractive. Slim build, with high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes are all features he knows give him a step up in the looks department. He's also aware that his caustic attitude and somewhat obsessive behavior knock him down some. He's not a stranger to people hitting on him, but he's definitely not used to someone being so blatant with a come on. He feels heat creep up the back of his neck and settle around his ears when Jason looks up to hand him the sheet of paper.

“Shit. Shit, I'm sorry, that just kind of slipped out. I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable,” Jason spews quickly, looking contrite.

“It's fine. Not use to my clients saying things like that, is all,” Tim says as he turns back to his computer and quickly pulls up the links he needs for Jason.

“You expect me to believe that you're friends with Lina, and you've never heard that before?” Jason says, giving Tim a sardonic smile.

“I'm not used to hearing a client say things like that in the light of day then,” Tim amends, making Jason's grin grow.

“Not to your face.”

“Alright, we're done,” Tim says loudly, which only makes Jason lugh, as he shuts down the programs on his laptop. “You've obviously got my contract information, and now I've got yours. I'm sure you'll be in touch when you're ready with all your paperwork.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“You made me late getting home, that's all,” Tim says, packing his items away.

“Can't have that. Listen, thanks for all this. Once I get it all together, I'll call you. And if you need anything, car jumped, tune-up, give me a ring, no charge,” Jason says as he gets up and shoves the pamphlets from earlier into his jacket's inner pocket

“I'll keep that in mind, Jason. Hope to see you soon,” Tim says, and then quickly adds when he sees Jason begin to leer, “With all your documentation.”

Jason smiles as he gives a two fingered salute, turns, and heads out of the office. Tim waits until he sees him turn the corner before laying his head on his desk and breathing deeply to calm his nerves.

The next time he sees Lina, Tim promises himself, he's taking every single one of his   business cards back.

Chapter Text

Tim realizes as he stands outside the Parliament, that there's a high possibility that he's put more pressure on this movie meetup than Stephanie planned. After all, he thinks pulling his coat closer as the wind whips, he’s been thinking of it as a semi-date, and she was talking about bringing her brothers. And a group of friends he had never met. To a movie where they probably won't talk at all. 

Tim has just about talked himself into heading home and curling under his blankets and never talking about this failed attempt again when he hears his name being called from down the street. He turns and sees Stephanie wave at him before turning to her small group. Tim sighs in relief when he sees the group is only a few other guys, mostly around his age, so he won't be the outlier.

That title belongs to Dick Grayson, who he sees hurrying behind the group, only to catch up and toss an arm around Stephanie’s shoulders. 

Tim thanks his parents for instilling business lessons at such a young age, his father whispering to him at a fancy dinner as they watched his mother talk circles around their competitors, “The trick is to never let them see you sweat.”

So Tim smiles and turns towards the group when they get closer, sucking in a deep breath before greeting them as if Nightwing isn't throwing a careless smile his way. 

“Cutting it a little close aren't you?” Tim asks, as they all walk to the ticket booth. 

“Sorry, Dick decided to pick me up, had to find the perfect parking spot, and Matthew and Corey rode with us,” Stephanie spits, shooting Dick a dirty look as she pushes his arm away. Dick just laughs and lets her.

“Hey, that car was expensive, I'm not just parking her anywhere,” Dick shoots back. “I'm Dick, nice to meet you,” he pauses, waiting for Tim to finish with his name.

“Tim,” he clarifies, holding out a hand for Dick to shake. Before Dick can, Stephanie grabs Tim's outstretched hand to pull him along.

“The movie’s gonna start soon, and thanks to Dick, we barely have time to grab snacks,” Stephanie huffs out, dragging Tim along to the snack bar.

“I still need to buy my ticket,” Tim tries as they get close to the ticket kiosk.

“Taken care of,” Stephanie shoots Tim a smirk as she hands over three tickets, “You can thank Dick's credit card.”

“Steph!” Dick yells as he makes a grab for her, but she darts ahead, pulling Tim with her as she runs to the snack counter. 

“I'll get the food then,” Tim offers as Dick follows, grumbling to himself. 

“You don't want to feed Dick. He believes Sno-Caps are real food,” Stephanie says, placing her order. Tim and Dick both chime in as well, Tim paying while Stephanie directs Dick to grab all of their food items.

“Do your other friends want anything?” Tim asks, looking at the two other boys still waiting in line for food.

“Oh, nah,” Stephanie waves off his question, handing Tim his soda while Dick carries the rest. “They actually decided to see a different movie, they just needed a ride here,” Stephanie says, glancing back at Dick, who Tim is unsurprised to see has all their popcorn and snacks held steady. “Dickie over there decided to tag along on his day off.”

“Am I not allowed to love Laura too?” Dick says, catching up to them as they enter the theater and find seats. Stephanie ends up in the middle, after a failed attempt by Dick to put her on the end. Tim tosses his jacket over his seat not bothering to take off his scarf, before Dick hands over his food.

“We should get dinner after this,” Dick says as he rips into his Sno-Caps. “Really make a day of it.”

“You are the worst kind of monster,” Tim hears Stephanie whisper to Dick. 

“Tim, you down for something after this?” Dick calls, ignoring Stephanie. “If I remember right, there’s a pretty good burger joint down the street.”

Tim’s torn. His automatic response to Nightwing asking him to spend time together is a resounding yes, but he can see how annoyed Stephanie is with her big brother. And while he would want nothing more than to be in Nightwing’s presence, Tim thinks he could really like Stephanie if given half the chance.

“We should,” Stephanie says, once she’s done glaring at Dick and looks over at Tim, “I can tell you that the popcorn and gross chocolate will only keep him complacent for most of the movie.” The look she gives Tim is embarrassed but a little hopeful. 

Tim is aware of how large his smile is, but he can't help it. “That would be great. I'm always down for a burger.”

“Man after my own heart,” Dick says, just as the lights begin to dim. Tim settles deeper into his seat, and prepares to rewatch a classic.

--

“What a strange way to make a friend. Buying insurance from them,” Dick says as the three of them settle into a booth after the movie. Stephanie had texted the other boys about grabbing dinner, but she said they had decided to hit a bar instead. Tim had been quiet on the walk to the burger joint, happy to watch Dick and Stephanie bicker back and forth about the movie. Dick had tried to push Stephanie to sit next to him, but she had plopped down right next to Tim. 

“Like you haven't heard weirder,” Stephanie says reaching over Tim to grab one of the menus.

“I have,” Dick agrees congenially, waving off the menu Tim tries to hand him. “You just usually bring home boys from some class or club. Not a working adult,” Dick says, eyeing Tim. 

Tim continues to scan the menu but has stopped comprehending any of the words. Dick is implying that Stephanie has spoken about him to Dick. Dick is implying that this is Stephanie’s way of introducing him to her family. 

Like a date. 

“I didn't. I didn't bring him home,” Stephanie sputters. 

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, speaking without thinking. “She took me out to the movies.”

Dick gives him a slow smile. Tim would call it more of a smoulder if he was less adult and says, “I bought the tickets. And I'm probably buying dinner. So really, you should be sitting next to me.”

“Stop,” Stephanie groans while Tim tries to get his blush reflex under control. “Put the look away. We all took a vote and agreed you got first dibs on any redhead but that you had to keep that under wraps the rest of the time.”

“That wasn't binding!”

“ Bruce seconded the motion.”

“...fair,” Dick agrees, and shoots Tim a wink. “ Apparently, it's bad taste to have a little fun at your sister's expense. I apologize.”

“You buy a second helping of curly fries, and I'll let you fight over who gets to walk me home,” Tim says flashing a smile at Stephanie, who gives up on her annoyance to join Dick in laughing.

“Deal,” Dick says and waves the server over.

--

The rest of dinner passes in easy jokes on Stephanie's part and unsubtle flirting to annoy Stephanie on Dick’s part. There are moments in the conversation that Tim feels like he's been tossed into a play already in the second act, trying to follow the siblings banter, but for the most part they keep him included. Tim's having a hard time remembering the last time he had such a good day, even after the small argument he and Dick had about paying the bill. 

“You said we could fight over walking you home. I'm not giving that up,” Dick says, sliding his card into the billfold.

“This? This right here is why no one wants to be seen with you in public,” Stephanie sighs as the waitress whisks away the bill.

Tim laughs as he pulls a few bills out for the tip.

“I don't know, Steph, could be worse. He could have hated me.”

“Nah,” Dick says, tapping his hand on the tabletop. “More fun to like the boys she likes. Makes her angrier.”

“God, I hate you so much,” Stephanie huffs and slumps farther into her seat, knocking her legs into Tim's, who knocks back.

Tim laughs again as the waitresses brings back Dick's card and they all shuffle back into the cold. The sun has set, and the air has changed from crisp to biting. Tim tucks his scarf tighter into his jacket, regretting not bringing his gloves for his short car ride home. 

“I hate Gotham fall,” Dick grumbles, his thin jacket doing nothing to protect him from the temperature drop. “Wait here,” he directs to Stephanie, “I'll warm up the car and bring it around. Mind waiting with her?”

“Not at all,” Tim calls to Dick's retreating back. 

“Did he actually leave us alone?”

“God has truly smiled upon us,” Stephanie says, slightly shocked. 

“Must have realized I wasn't interested,” Tim says, looking over at Stephanie. It's only half a lie, because he's been attracted to almost all the Robins since he realized what that emotion was. But in this moment, Stephanie has his full attention. 

She's standing close to him, and their heights are close enough that she's almost looking him in the eye. Her bright blue eyes are filled with trepidation, but if he's reading the situation right, then maybe a little hope too.

“I'd like to kiss you before Dick gets back,” Tim says softly, making Stephanie blush.

“I'd like that too,” she says softly, stepping even closer. 

Tim closes the distance between them, twining the fingers of her warmer hand with his cold one as he softly kisses her. Stephanie presses in, resting her free hand on his shoulder. The kiss stays soft, until they both mutually pull apart, sharing a small smile between them. 

“That was nice,” Stephanie says, Tim agreeing quietly as they pull apart. Tim lets her step away as Dick pulls up in an expensive little coup that Tim is surprised wasn't jacked in the hours since he parked it, bat security be damned. Dick hasn't rolled down the windows, but Tim can hear him laughing at the two of them even through the glass. 

“Be grateful you were an only child,” Stephanie sighs as they watch Dick make kissy-faces at the two of them. 

“How long do you think he'll do that to you?” Tim asks watching Dick continue his pursuit to embarrass his adoptive sister. 

“Oh, easily the rest of the night. If we do this again, I'll make sure he stays home.”

“Sure. Call me whenever is good for you,” Tim says giving Dick a quick wave as Stephanie steps towards the car. She smiles at him as she quickly steps in and shuts the door. Tim steps away from the curb to let Dick speed off, leaving him standing in the cold, a couple blocks away from his car. 

Tim wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't a pleasant kiss that left him wanting nothing more than that and no promise of at least trying again. The movie had been nice, Stephanie and him knocking legs and arms when they reached for food. Dinner had been even better, bantering and hearing stories go back and forth between the siblings. The easy camaraderie between the three of them had started quickly, even with Dick doing his best to annoy Stephanie. The kiss had been good enough, Stephanie pressing against him, her fingers tight against his. But when it ended, he could see that ‘nice’ just wasn't cutting it after how much fun the three of them had. It was a mediocre end to an otherwise wonderful night. 

Maybe the problem, Tim muses as he hurried to his car, was having three of them was just one too many. But Dick had been there to pick up the slack when Tim and Stephanie’s conversations had faltered. 

Or, Tim decides as he finally gets to the side street where his car is parked, it was just a weird date. Or almost date.

“What's a boy like you doing in a place like this?” Tim hears from above him. Tensed, and wishing for a least his pepper spray, Tim tries to look around, slipping his keys between his fingers. 

“What do you want?” Tim's proud his voice doesn't waver as he bites out the question. 

“If I drop down there, are you gonna try to break my mask again?”

“Red Hood?” Tim replies, turning as he hears boots hitting the ground. 

“You hang out with other masks that let you get in a cheap shot like that?” 

“You scared the shit out of me. And maybe the other masks were able to stop me.”

“Feisty’s a good look on you,” Red Hood drawls as he comes to stand next to Tim's car. He leans against the driver side door, effectively cutting off Tim's method of escape. "I like it."

“Are you stalking me? I didn't even know the Red Hood knew how to get downtown,” Tim asks, crossing his arms. 

“Obviously we're both full of surprises,” he grouses. “I heard you got a tip on the Falcone family. I want it.”

Tim liked following the masks both in real life and online. He enjoyed having his little information network built on mutual favors and making the Wayne Foundation pay through the nose for property damage. He liked being off the radar of everyone but the Red Hood, who usually just made sure he wasn't up to anything more suspicious than usual. 

The Falcones were not off the radar. 

“Nope. No. I am not helping you get into a land war with one of the best backed families in Gotham,” Tim says, shaking his head emphatically. 

Red Hood’s electronic voice makes a strange noise, and it takes Tim a moment to realize it's a snort. 

“I'm already in a land war with them. Everyone's in a fucking land war with them. You seem to have a tendency to find information faster than anyone else though. So spill.”

“If you think I've got something, then you have an idea of who gave it to me. Go ask them.”

“And when it gets around that everyone's favorite snack bringer is giving up names to the Red Hood, how long before your whole system falls apart? One week, maybe two? Pretty bad for business,” Red Hood threatens, sarcasm rolling off him.

Tim knew he was right. The moment he started giving up names was the moment he stopped being able to help people. 

“And how exactly do I give you the tip without it being traced back to me?”

“I've got other informants, don't worry. You're name won't come up. So tell me.”

“It's a couple weeks old,” Tim warns, giving in and leaning against his car next to Red Hood. “But someone heard one of the upper guys talking about a shipment coming in the week after Halloween. Something about waiting until all the crazies had their moment.”

“What's going to happen on Halloween?”

“This is Gotham, what isn't going to happen on Halloween?”  Tim laughs lightly, making Red Hood nod in agreement. 

“Right. And the place this shipment will be?”

“They didn't say, or my friend didn't tell me. Sorry,” Tim adds on a moment later. 

“Bet you are,” Red Hood says, pushing away from the car. “You get anything else like that, you need to tell me right away. This isn't some petty jewelry heist by Catwoman that can be written off, the Falcones are rotten to the core.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to give you a heads up? Slide into your DMs? What's your handle?” Tim snaps, going to unlock his car. Red Hood places his hand on the top of the door, still blocking Tim.

“Thought we agreed on the Hood signal in your bedroom?”

“Come on,” Tim huffs, the temperature dropping lower as the evening drags on, his breath fogging between the two of them. “Stop messing with me. I get how bad the Falcones are, I've spent half my life in the Bowery, so don't try to lecture. But people only tell me things because I keep it to myself and help them out when I can. But if the moment they tell me something, and the Red Hood goes in, literally guns blazing, they'll stop talking. And even if I do have something I think is important enough to break that trust, I don't have a way to contact you, unless this weird stalking game continues.”

Hood is silent long enough that Tim reevaluates his life choices and mentally goes over the living will he had made last year. Just in case. 

Tim holds his breath as he watches Hood reach into his leather jacket. His muscles tense to at least try to run away, even though he knows he’ll never outrun Hood. 

“Here,” Hood holds out a small disc with a flat button in the center. “Press it once, and it'll send me a signal with your location, and I'll meet you there. Hold it down for ten seconds, and it sends me and my crew a panic alert with your location. Don't use it unless you really need a rescue. Now, no more bullshit excuses about not being able to reach me. You hear something I need to know, you say something.”

Tim’s speechless as he looks at the small fob, which is completely black,  maybe the size of a quarter.

“What if you're out of range?” Tim asks, finally taking the device.

“You'd have to be pretty far out of the city to be out of range. Press it, and I'll find you. Feel free to meet me somewhere we can be comfortable together.”

“Like my bedroom?” Tim jokes. Hood finally steps fully away from the car, holding both hands up in a placating gesture. 

“You said it, not me. Oh, and Tim, trust me when I say I'm not stalking you,” Hood says as he steps to the side of Tim, pulling out his grapple. He leans close, and even through the mask’s electronic distortion, Tim hears the whisper. “I'm hunting you.” 

Tim watches Red Hood shoot his grapple and fly off into the night. He shivers, but not from cold.

Chapter Text

After almost a week of no calls or texts, Tim didn't expect to hear from Stephanie again unless it was to cancel her coverage. He also never expected to meet Batgirl.

Tim really disliked being wrong. 

It wasn't that he didn't want to see Stephanie, apologize for whatever happened that made the date end in a bust. Maybe ask her for coffee so they could just talk. There was something there, even if right now it wasn't romantic. He wants to see her, but doesn’t want to come off as creepy, considering she was also his customer.

He doesn't want to meet her when he's trying to get a cup of coffee after work because a wall exploded and some of Two-Face's men come running through the hole. 

It’s still two days until Halloween, Tim muses as he drops to the ground and army crawls to an overturned table, had the rogues lost all sense of the dramatic? 

Tim had liked this coffeehouse because it was far enough away from any bank, warehouse, or high crime traffic area that there was a lower possibility of the shop getting attacked. That, and they made the best red-eye he'd ever had. But even with Gotham’s tendency for bank robberies, new branches were still opening all the time, and apparently Two-Face had seen the signs boasting about the new facility opening just two blocks away. Tim covers his face as the gangsters let off a volley of bullets at the ceiling, debris raining down around him as they yell for no one to try leaving. He sighs, not surprised his untimely end could be due to an afternoon coffee run. 

Tim pulls a young woman over to his table to try and cover her better from the flying shrapnel. They both whip out their phones, her trying to make a frantic call to the police, while Tim texts the little used GCPD hotline. Most of the men run out of the shop, but one stays, and Tim can hear him walking over the debris from the explosion. The door is still too far for him to make a break for it, so Tim waits as silently as he can while the man wanders back and forth. Tim reaches into his pocket to feel for the small fob Red Hood had given him, figuring this was as good a time as any to see if Hood would come through on his promise of help.

Before he can press the button though, he hears the tell-tale whip of a grapple line as a mask flings themself into coffeehouse. Tim doesn’t dare look around the small table, and holds the woman close as she cries in fear. He does set his phone to record and leans his hand out just enough to get a video of Batgirl beating the hell out of the cronie. He looks around and sees a few other fearless souls leaning out from their protective shields of couches, tables, and pillars to try and get a better angle of the fight. No one has even tried to make for the door yet, and Tim realizes he doesn’t hear any sirens yet, so it’s just Stephanie dealing with the problem. It a short fight, and Tim catches Stephanie dropping the man with a blow to the head.

“All clear, everyone!” She calls, hogtying the shooter’s hands and feet. “You can come out now and head down the street. EMS is setting up a secure triage for those who need it. You all need to be checked for shrapnel, alright?” Batgirl says as the coffee house customers gather their belongings and run out of the building, doing their best to dodge the debris.

The woman Tim had pulled to safety is having difficulty keeping her feet moving, stopping to stare every few steps at the blown out wall or the damage done by the explosion, so Tim is practically dragging her to safety. Batgirl grabs her other arm and helps him get her onto the main road where she finally realizes she's somewhat safe and runs along with the other bystanders.

“You're welcome,” Tim grumbles under his breath. Batgirl laughs, turning her bright smile towards him.

“What an ungrateful date!” She tries for light, but Tim can hear the strain in Stephanie's voice as she speaks.

“No, just a woman who I pulled out of the way. She could have at least thanked you. So thank you, Batgirl,” Tim says, smiling widely, which makes Stephanie look off to the side, bringing a hand up to push her hair to the side.

“Just doing my thing,” She says, smile softening to something less hero and more real.

“Anytime you want to stop making friends,” Tim hears a yell from above them, “There are actual villains and people that need rescued at the bank.”

Tim looks up, catching a flash of yellow as Robin jumps from building to building.

“Gotta run,” Batgirl says, pulling out a grapple and giving Tim a quick wave.

“Wait,” Tim yells before she can fly off. “How did you know about us if they're all at the bank?” Tim questions Batgirl, who looks at him in confusion.

“Saw him from the rooftop. Get home safe!” 

She's gone before Tim is able to call her on her bullshit. 

He looks around the street, looking for any signs that she would have seen people from three stories up that needed her help. There's nothing, other than a few blown out windows from the explosion. But the coffee-shop isn't the only storefront to have lost windows, and even a cursory walk around the area shows the coffee shop isn’t the only one missing walls. Tim gets the idea that these explosions were supposed to throw the bats off, but only Stephanie had come to their rescue, Robin heading directly for the bank. So either Robin had absolutely no desire to look for wounded victims, or they were already aware this was all a red herring for the bank robbery. Yet Stephanie had still come directly to the coffee house, not bothering to check the other shops for survivors, even though they all looked the same from the outside.

Tim heads back into shop and very quietly looks through the large, blasted out hole in the wall. The storefront next door has a large coming soon sign hanging from the rafters, and there's another, larger hole in the ground of the shop, which, as Tim leans over it, looks like an opening to a tunnel, and while Tim has more than enough curiosity that he wants to know where the tunnel leads, he has enough common sense to call this adventure complete and head to the triage center.
It bugs him as he gets checked over for a few cuts and scrapes from the explosion. Their goon must have just been a guard for a possible exit, not part of the larger crew. It's still bugging him as he finally talks the cops into letting him get to his car so he can drive home. Stephanie had obviously gone out of her way to make sure they all got out of the coffee-shop and to the unit that was still in the process of being set up, looking like it had been meant for a much larger crowd. Like the bank crowd.

He continues to be bothered as he finally gets home and strips out of his over coat and thin sweater. He's fixing the collar of his coat as he hangs it up when he feels a small bump against the wool. Dusting off what he thinks is just a piece of glass or wood he's surprised to find a small round black piece of tech stuck to his coat. 

Right where Stephanie had placed her hand when they kissed. 

Tim is furious. And hurt. Why would Stephanie place a bug on him? And why use a kiss as a cover? The hurt he buries under the anger of being watched without his permission. 

His first thought is to crush the bug. He can't tell if it's specialized enough to give more than his location, or if it's able to transfer audio as well. 

Like his conversation with Red Hood that same night. 

Tim places the bug right where he found it, and moves to his massive desktop setup. He'll shower later, but first, he needs to do a little digging if this plan is going to work.

As he begins scrambling his ip address, he dials a number from memory and hopes she hasn't started work yet. 

“Mel? Yeah, I know, I was there. You should definitely stay in tonight. Listen, I need a favor.”

--

Tim hits the button Red Hood gave him as he stands in line at the small bodega again for some fortifying coffee. He had spent the rest of the week working from home while the bats worked on capturing Scarecrow and his goons through the holiday. Two-Face had given the bats the slip, and while the police were still on the lookout, people had continued on with their lives. The week had been insanely busy, dealing with insurance claims and setting up people for the Wayne Foundation distress fund. This has been the first day he's been anywhere but home and work, and he's hoping that his bet is going to pay off.

He gets two orders of coffee and pastelitos and heads to the alley where he parked his car. He sits on his hood and rips into his treat, sweet guava filling his mouth. 

He's halfway through his coffee when he feels someone walk up behind him. He slides out his pepper spray, but relaxes when he hears the robotic voice of Hood say “I appreciate the food, but how exactly do you expect me to eat that?”

“We could always make this a conversation between gentlemen, talk face to face?”

“My God,” Red Hood exclaims, hand reaching for his heart “Not a single person has ever asked me so politely to reveal my identity before! Truly, you have made me realize this farce has gone on too long!” Even though the mechanized voice, Red Hood's tone is dripping in sarcasm by the time he's done, leaning against Tim's car. 

“How were people ever shocked about the Red Hood coming to Gotham. We may be the only city able to handle this level of disdain and sarcasm from our vigilantes,”

“Gotham breeds a certain personality. You rang, I'm here. What have you got?”

Tim reaches under his coat collar and pulls out the small tracker. He holds it between his forefinger and thumb to show it to Hood.

“That's not mine. I don't need to track you, I can make you come to me,” Hood practically purrs at the end, making Tim roll his eyes. 

“I figured. I need to know first if this is transmitting anything other than location,” Tim says, placing the tracker in Hood’s outstretched hand. 

“I don't think so, but better safe than sorry,” Hood says, pulling his arm back to toss it across the alley.

“Wait! If that tracker doesn't move from here, don't you think they're going to realize I found it?” Tim says as he grabs Hood's arm to stop him. 

“Seems like you've got a good handle on how it worked already. Why call me?”

“Two reasons. But before any of that, I need to make sure they can't hear our conversation.”

“Tim, if you want to talk dirty, that's all you had to say,” Red Hood says, getting up and walking down the alley. Curiosity getting the better of him, Tim hops off his car and follows along. They make it to the other end of the alley where Tim sees a motorcycle parked behind a dumpster. Hood places the tracker on the handle and turns back to Tim, pushing Tim back down to his car.

“There, now they'll track me for a while before they realize you figured them out. Maybe I'll even return it to them once we know who placed it there.”

“I've got an idea,” Tim grumbles, still angry with Stephanie. 

“Well gosh, then why call me?” Hood asks, hopping onto the hood of Tim’s car.

“Two reasons. One, if that tracker can show my locations, sense says we should be able to backtrack theirs,” Tim said, sliding next to Hood and picking up his coffee. 

“That's a little above my paygrade,” Red Hood says, making Tim nod. 

“That one was a longshot anyway. The second is more reasonable. I want to know why there's a tracker on me, and I can't just go ask without letting them know I know.”

“Oh? Looks like you've got a good idea already. So I'm gonna ask again. Why call me?” Hood asks slowly.

“Because I thought we could help each other. That's how all of my other information trades work,” Tim says, sipping his coffee. 

“And I thought we had agreed already that our trade consisted of you telling me the important facts, and I don't rat out your little information network. So I'm still waiting for a good reason to stick my neck out.”

Tim knows he's going to have to play his hand a little more than he wants to. He had thought maybe Hood's curiosity about why someone would be interested in Tim would lead him in the direction Tim wanted. Unfortunately, Tim had put too much faith in that. He didn't want to air everything he knew, but without giving Hood some type of hook, he'd never get what he needed. 

“Because if you help me, no one else knows how close the Red Hood really is with Batman. And Robin. And just about every other mask running around Gotham trying to fight the good fight.”

Tim watches as Red Hood slowly tenses as he mentions Batman. Hood slides to his feet as Tim keeps going, throwing his hopes on his only real play. 

“I mean, it looks like you're over the whole gang lord thing, but everyone is still under the assumption that the bats and Hood want nothing to do with each other right? People think you’re keeping him away from the Alley and enacting your own type of law. But maybe, it’s not so much you threatening the Bat, and more you’ve both come to some type of agreement,” Tim sips at his cold coffee and waits for any type of response. When he doesn't get one he continues, pressing his luck. “Help me out and that can stay between us.”

“People have seen us working together. What makes you think this is a threat?”

“Because people see you guys working together for the big fights, sure. The breakouts, the city-wide bombings. Makes sense, the Red Hood is just trying to protect his little slice of Gotham,” Tim says, looking out to the street, “It'll make a big difference if people in Crime Alley find out you were working with Batman, with all of them, regularly. Working shoulder to shoulder with the vigilantes who gave up on them, just like everyone else. How long till you do the same? It's a lot to think about. Not to mention your snitches finding out their info could make it's way to a bat, then the cops? Pretty bad for business,” Tim tosses back at Red Hood, who has turned to stand in front of Tim during his little spiel. 

They're both quiet for a moment before Red Hood asks incredulously, “Are you trying to blackmail the Red Hood?”

“Please,” Tim deadpans, looking up at Hood. “This is obviously a shakedown.”

Red Hood laughs long and hard, the harsh mechanical sound making Tim wince. He worries he may have gone too far, but Hood just quiets, placing his hands on his hips, just above his guns.

“Let's say, in the most hypothetical sense, that I agree to help you. How would this work? You threaten me and I just jump? How long before I make an example of you?”

“No threatening. I told you, in every other relationship like this, it's an exchange of information.”

“Are you trying to say I'm not special? Tim, you're special to me,” Red Hood practically coos making Tim snort.

“I bet. But there's no need to make this crazier than it has to be. Info for info. You get to keep your people safe, I get to keep people from going bankrupt from all the property damage you and your friends inflict.”

“And that's it?”

“Well, that. And we make sure that the people who tracked me know how much I disliked that.”

“We?”

“Maybe a little more you than me,” Tim concedes.

“So if I'm putting my neck out there, you better have something good,” Hood says, making Tim smile in relief.

“So you're agreeing to the term agreements?”

“Want to get it in writing? Make it binding?”

“Only if you'll sign your real name,” Tim jokes.

“What've you got? Make it good.”

“I know where, and when, the Falcone shipment is coming in. I may even have a tip on what it is, but that one's not verified.”

Hood stares at Tim for a long time. Tim tries his best to look nonchalant, grabbing for Hood’s undrank coffee and downing a gulp of it. 

“I may have wanted that.”

“It's ice cold, no one wants it. Are you done rebooting?” Tim asks, doing his best not to smirk.

“How did you get all that?”

“Called in a favor, did my own digging,” Tim shrugs, not willing to give up all his secrets.

“Well shit. How could I pass up a deal like that? Fine, who do you think is tracking you?  And how do you think I could help you?”

“I think Batgirl placed a tracker and, hey,” Tim calls as Red Hood turns and begins walking back to his bike, “Where are you going?”

“Nope. Not getting involved. I’ll go back to staking out the Falcones,” Hood calls back as Tim hurries to catch up to him.

“How’s that been working out for you?” Tim snaps once he’s shoulder to shoulder with Hood, walking quickly to keep pace with the taller man.

“Fine thanks, I love the docks.”

“You must if you’re giving up valuable time to patrol an area the Falcones haven’t been seen around in weeks. Just because they call it a shipment doesn’t mean it’s coming on a ship Hood.”

“Christ, are all the conversations you have sprinkled with disdain?”

“No, you’re just special to me Hood,” Tim quips making Red Hood sigh. 

“It's not funny if you just repeat my words back. I don't care how close you think I am to the bats, I'm not helping you cross them.”

“I'm not asking you to. I want to know why they think they need to track me. My life is an open book,” Tim says as they reach Hood's bike and he removes the tracker.

“You're asking the wrong kingpin. While it may not always look it, I want as little to do with the bats as possible, and investigating for you will definitely bring us far too close to each other.”

“But,” Tim starts, shutting his mouth when Red Hood places the tracker back under his collar and rests his hands on Tim's shoulders.

“Let me give you a word of advice,” Hood says, leaning down. “If the bats are looking into you, then stop whatever it is you're doing that drew their attention to you. Stop getting tips, stop snooping around. Just stop. Then, when the heat is off, stay under the radar.”

“The most I do with the tips I get is make sure my clients get the best coverage they can. The only person I've ever tried to sell information to is you right now.”

“And I'll still take the tip by the way.”

“Not unless you try to help me. I can't imagine how tight bat security is, so there's no way I could do that myself. There has to be some kind of arrangement we can come to,” Tim says as Hood slides his hands off Tim's shoulders and crosses his arms. 

“I'm sure we could come to a great arrangement, but I don't know if you're ready to go steady with me yet,” Hood says, making Tim groan and swipe a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Come on, this is an invasion of my privacy. I've done nothing to deserve this. But fine, if my wellbeing isn't worth a Falcone tip, then I guess nothing is. Have a good night Hood, hope you find them,” Tim says, turning to walk away. He's barely turned before Hood shots out his arm to stop Tim, hand landing on his forearm.

“I still want that tip.”

“No. No, actually I've been going about this all wrong. If the bats are interested in me, it would be best to give them a reason right? Might be able to trade my tip for a reason and maybe a promise to stop?” Tim asks, not bothering to wait for a reply. “I mean, the bats want the Falcones locked up, maybe I can help them instead. Since you're not interested. Think about it, the bats dropping in to stop a shipment you've been tracking for weeks. Weeks. They won't even have to do any work.”

As Tim talks, keeping his voice light, he feels Hood slowly gripping his arm tighter and tighter. 

“You're hurting me,” Tim says gently, once the grip is hard enough to bruise. Hood whips his hand away bringing it to his side, hands clenched. 

“You sure this is still just a shakedown, kid?”

“Yes,” Tim says simply. “In the end we'll both get something out of this. But only if you agree to help to the best of your abilities. This is seriously worrying. How many other normal people are they throwing trackers on?”

“Tim,” Hood sighs, grabbing by the shoulder Tim and turning him to walk back to his car, “If you think for one minute you're ‘normal’, you need to look up the meaning of the word.”

Hood removes his hand when Tim rolls his shoulders back, and they're both silent as they walk to Tim's car.

“Here's the deal,” Hood says as he walks over to grab the lone pastry left for him. “I'll look, I'll do my best to ask, but I'm not putting myself in the line of fire for answers alright? While I'm looking, you'll continue to give me the best tips, no matter how long this takes.”

“I'll want updates. You can't just string me along to keep having me do your footwork,” Tim says, not mentioning that Hood has just reiterated Tim's original plan.

“Fine, hopefully it won't take too long. Now. Falcone,” Hood says, pointing at Tim with the hand holding the pastry. 

“Next Wednesday, they're bringing in two trucks to the old electric warehouse in Burnley via Trigate bridge. My tip said they were fully automatic rifles and maybe a few more semis. But that I couldn't check, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“They also said they didn't know the time, but knew it would be after 2 a.m.”

“Wouldn't work if it was the middle of the afternoon,” Hood sighs. He salutes Tim and starts walking back down towards his bike. “Keep the tracker on for now, until I can either block the signal or figure out why they're watching you. I won't have anything until I deal with Falcone though. I'll let you know.”

“How? You don't have my info,” Tim calls, still uncomfortable with keeping the chip on.

“You honestly think I don't have your number?” Hood calls, walking away.

Tim watches him leave, and quickly gets into his car. He waits for his car to warm up, rubbing his hand over the bruises Hood left under his coat. He worries about what he's decided to do, the deal he's made. It could work out. The information he finds could really end up helping the people around him in more than just making sure they're coverage is complete.

Or it could all go wrong, and he gets followed by the bats forever, or Red Hood finally grows annoyed by his game and decides something far worse. 

Tim sighs, his bed is already made. Now he needs to figure out the best way to lie in it.

Chapter Text

Tim is trying to hide in a rack of purses a couple weeks after his last conversation with the Red Hood, scoping out his closest exits.

He had spent the last two weeks after finding the tracker stuck at home, only comfortable leaving for work, until finally the cold snap had receded letting Tim happily exchange his coat for a thick sweater at least for the time being.

He had decided to run out after work to pick Mel up a thank you bribe for sticking her neck out and getting him his much needed info. Tim had watched the final results of Red Hood’s encounter with the Falcones, the explosions making the morning news the next day. The trip to the local mall was suppose to be a quick in and out, grabbing Mel something to take with him this evening. Instead, he finds himself huddling between two racks of accessories hoping Dick Grayson doesn't see him. 

Tim hadn't heard from Stephanie since the movie and hadn't run into Batgirl since Halloween. Tim had figured that by not wearing the tracker, he would encounter Stephanie sooner than later, but not Dick. 

Tim slowly backs away from where he sees Dick perusing the scarfs, doing his best to not get caught on any stray straps. He's just about to make a break for it through the shoe section when Dick turns directly towards him.

“Tim? Hey!” Dick calls out far too loudly for a department store and hurries towards Tim.

Tim does his best to cover his dread and goes for surprised happenstance. 

“Dick? Wow, small world,” Tim says as he holds out his hand to shake.

Dick has a firm grip and gives Tim a quick pat on the back before he pulls his hands away, staying close.

“I was just gonna say that! Long time no see! How's it been?” 

Tim has always hated small talk. Even his parents doing their best to drill into him how important it was to lull people into a false sense of security with pleasantries had never made him able to excel at it. Unfortunately, he's yet to find a quick escape from it.

“It's been alright,” Tim hedges. “What are you doing back in Gotham?”

“Getting a present for a friend. You?”

“Same,” Tim says, clutching his messenger bag to his side and trying to step away from Dick. “I was just getting ready to leave, but it was great seeing you again.”

“Didn't find anything? Maybe if we hunt together we can get this done faster, yeah?” Dick asks, nodding his head back to the racks.

Tim tries to step away, but the hopeful look breaks Tim's barriers. He's angry at Stephanie, but why should Dick pay the price? Plus, he reasons, any chance to get to know Nightwing is a chance he has to take.

“Sure, who are you looking for?” Tim asks walking back towards the purses. 

“My ex,” Dick says casually, Tim trailing behind. “What about you?”

“Just an old friend. You always buy presents for your exes?” 

“I do when their birthday is coming up. Just because the relationship didn't work doesn't mean the friendship should stop,” Dick says, perusing some large, brightly colored scarves and earrings. Tim turns his attention back to the small handbags he had originally wanted to get Mel.

“Do you always buy presents randomly for your girlfriends?” Dick questions, pulling a set of earrings off the rack and holding them against his own ears. 

“Just a friend actually. She did me a favor, and a thank you was in order. She just really likes purses. That color does nothing for you,” Tim comments, watching Dick hold up another bright pair of earrings. 

“Thanks,” Dick deadpans, putting them back. “What kind of favor warrants a present though? Must have been pretty big, right?”

“Dick,” Tim sighs, waiting for Dick to turn towards him. “Ask what you really want.”

“Why haven't you called Stephanie? She's pretty into you, and it looked like you were into her.”

Because your sister put a bat-tracker on me, Tim wants to snap. Because for some reason multiple vigilantes are interested in me one way or another, is another comment that comes to mind. Instead, he goes with, “Honestly, she didn't seem all that interested in me after dinner. I didn't want to push it and be that creep. I do still have to keep a business relationship with her after all.”

“She kissed you,” Dick says, pulling a bracelet off a hook. He's not even looking at the item, most of his attention still on Tim.

“Does every girl you kiss become something more? Don't lie, I've read the gossip columns,” Tim says lightly, making Dick sigh.

“I'm just asking because Steph has been moping about you for weeks now. And you never called. Now, I run into you, and you're buying presents for other women.”

“Should I call her right now, explain my reasoning? You can verify then that I've done what you want. I can let her know her big brother is looking out for her,” Tim asks, pulling a sleek black purse off the rack next to him.

Dick gives him a dirty look and turns back to the jewelry. 

“No, of course not. Honestly, right now I'm trying to figure out what she saw in you.”

“That makes two of us. I like Stephanie, but I also don't think it's fair to string her along when we both know there's no spark. I would like to be her friend, but this whole situation is a bit strange, don't you think? You were the one who kept mentioning how odd our meeting was,” Tim says, pulling out a similar purse and comparing the two. “What do you think is more preferable? More pockets on the inside or zippers on the outside?”

“I think I'm not qualified to answer that,” Dick grouses but looks at the purses anyway. His eyebrows rise, and he gives Tim a surprised look when he sees the prices. “That's a bit hefty for a friend, isn't it?”

“Well, you're looking at the discount jewelry for your ex, so I'm not sure which one of us is wrong. She came through for me in a big way recently, so she deserves something nice,” Tim shrugs, not overly worried. Dick can read into the price or not, but Mel does deserve something for her help. 

“Kory always prefer a bigger bang for the buck. I like the zippers, makes it stand out. Does this mystery friend have a name?” 

“Not to Blüdhaven PD and the ability to background check innocent people she doesn't. Or to a big brother worried about nothing.”

“Fair,” Dick sighs as Tim puts away the purse Dick chose and deciding on the simpler one. “Did you ask me just so you could choose the opposite?”

“Never,” Tim lies, making Dick smile.

“So if Steph were to call?” Dick trails off, making Tim sigh. 

“I would answer. I met her at my job; the ball has to stay firmly in her court.”

“I'll let her know,” Dick says, slapping Tim on the shoulder harder than necessary. 

“I'm sure she'll be thrilled,” Tim sighs, and holds up his find. “I'm heading out, good luck with the hunt,” Tim says, stepping away from Dick, who holds out his hand for one more quick shake.

“It really was good seeing you again, Tim. Hope she likes the present.”

“You too. Maybe next time with slightly less interrogation,” Tim jokes as he walks away, hearing Dick huff loudly. Once he's out and in his car, Tim rips off his sweater and checks both his bag and his new purchase to make sure that there's no new trackers on his person. He breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't find any, but decides it's time to retire this whole outfit until this whole, weird thing blows over.

--

Tim is finally catching up on paperwork left over from Scarecrow’s capture, plus trying to get ahead as best he can for the holiday season, when his desk phone rings for the umpteenth time that day. He grabs it quickly though and automatically does his standard greeting, eyes never leaving his computer screen.

“Hi, Tim. Jason Peters. Don't know if you remember me, but I came in a few weeks ago?”

“Mr. Peters, of course I remember. How are you?” Tim says, giving the call his full attention. Tim is happily surprised to hear from Jason, even if their last meeting had left him confused and flustered. 

“Just Jason, please. And I'm great. Listen, I was able to get the stuff we talked about, and I was wondering if the offer was still on the table?”

“Absolutely. Is there a good time for you to come in?” Tim asks, pulling up his personal calendar to block out some time for Jason.

“Well, that's the problem,” Jason hedges. “I've been working doubles, so I can't really leave for too long. You said we could meet somewhere instead of your office? Maybe this evening?”

“We can,” Tim sighs internally, going over all the work he has to complete before the week is over. “So long as it has wi-fi. Where's a good spot for you?” 

“I'm over in Burnley; there's this little tea shop off of 17th. You know it?” 

“I can find it. I'll text you when I get there at the number you gave me,” Tims says as he quickly packs up. They make their goodbyes, and Tim makes an excuse for having to leave early to his boss, quickly making his way uptown to meet Jason.

The tea shop, when Tim gets there, is adorable. Everything from delicate porcelain tea cups to bulky mugs line the walls, and the range of drinks is just as eclectic. After shooting a text to Jason, Tim finally decides on boba tea and finds a spot near the window so Jason will be able to see him. Jason enters before he can park himself at the small table, waving once he spots Tim.

“Of all the choices here, you go boba?”

“Hello, Jason. Nice to see you too, Jason. No, it wasn't that much trouble to get here, thanks,” Tim says as Jason puts in his own order for hot tea. “And it's hard to find good bubble tea around here, sue me.” 

“Alright sorry, sorry. Thanks for meeting me. It'll be a huge help,” Jason says to Tim, taking his cup and heading to the door. 

“Are we not staying here?” Tim asks, looking at the relatively empty shop. While the sun is just barely setting, the evening chill has already set in, and Tim's cold drink is starting to taste of regret.

“I prefer the outside,” Jason says, looking uncomfortable. 

“Alright,” Tim agrees, confused.

Jason sighs and waves at one of the small tables.

“The indoor tables are a little small for me,” Jason mumbles as he walks outside.

Once Tim catches on, he starts laughing as he follows Jason outside to one of the larger patio tables.

“Did you break a chair before figuring that out?”

“No, jackass,” Jason said, rolling his eyes at Tim. “It just wobbled a little. Better safe than sorry," he says, stripping off his jacket and placing it over his chair before dropping to sit down.

“Of course,” Tim agrees, mood considerably lighter. “So, while I log on, get your papers out, and we can get started,” Tim says, pulling out his laptop.

“Sure, sure. So you just need this, and boom, we're done?” Jason asks as he pulls out some folded up papers from his black leather jacket.

“Not quite,” Tim says, logging into the shop's wifi. “Since I couldn't find you in the city records, we'll have to input some answers, make you a profile, get an address set up so your benefit cards have somewhere to go. How are you set on housing and food?”

“Um, I'm good?” Jason looks a little shell-shocked, and Tim can't really blame him. It's a lot to take in. 

“I'm not asking to pry, I'm asking because if your job isn't paying you enough for simple means, I can see about getting you set up for an appointment with the city.”

“Can't do that with your wonder program?” Jason asks, tone interested.

“It's a different system, and a bit harder to crack,” Tim says, not mentioning that the last time he had tried to enter the program, another hacker had run him out, and when he went back, a massive firewall had been installed. He had not been tempted to try again after that.

“Alright, so let's make me a real boy,” Jason says, making Tim snort.

“How'd you get these so fast?” Tim asks, sorting through the papers. Jason had followed his directions to a T, Tim sorting through a birth certificate, license, social security card and even mail and few pay stubs.

“Told my boss I needed some type of papers so I could get some insurance. He preferred this over me having to miss work for a hospital stay. So now I'm officially sort of on the books,” Jason says, sipping his tea. 

“Congrats,” Tim replies, distracted as he begins adding the information. 

Tim can tell pretty quickly that something is off with the whole situation, starting with the birth certificate. He can't tell if it's the paper or the Gotham City emblem. Or maybe it's that Jason had only come to him a little over a month ago, and here he was with paperwork that normally took Gotham a couple months to send out. Maybe it was how quickly he got his boss to give him pay stubs. Or maybe it's that instead of meeting at the mechanic's shop, or at a commercial coffee house, Jason had them meet at a little tea shop tucked away on a side-street where the cups were mismatched and the tables were made for two.

"I'm just happy I could call and get them to expedite the paperwork," Jason says, as if reading Tim's mind. His large hands are fiddling with the small porcelain cup between them, hands scrubbed clean but nails still dirty. Tim doesn't want to read too much into the situation, sipping at his cold drink while perusing the paperwork. It's hard not to though, every moment feeling less like a business meeting. 

“It'll go faster if you add your past information,” Tim says, sliding the laptop over to Jason, shoving the word date far from his mind and focusing fully on the task at hand. “Fill in the highlighted portions, and we'll be just about done.”

“Damn, you are a lot faster than the actual office,” Jason says starting to type slowly as Tim slipped his tea. 

The area Jason had them meet wasn't one he normally hung around. The street was lined with small shops, each a little more interesting than the next. A record store and a used bookstore were on the same street as the tea shop, a psychic and comics and costumes shops across the street.

“I've never been to this area before,” Tim comments as he finishes off his drink. Jason glances around as he passes the laptop back over. 

“It's a hidden gem,” Jason agrees warmly. “Like the little bohemia of Burnley. I'm gonna run in real fast to get another order,” Jason says, wiggling his now empty cup. “Want one?” 

“Sure,” Tim agrees absentmindedly, looking over the form to make sure it's filled out correctly. He makes a few changes and continues his part of making sure the forms are approved through the system, when a cup and a plate are placed next to his laptop. 

“Thanks for the rush, Antoinette,” Jason says, taking his seat and smiling at the girl who placed Tim's items down, his hands full with his own plates. 

“No problem for our best customer,” the young girl laughs, winking at a confused Tim.

“What is this? This isn't tea,” Tim says, looking at the plate. 

“Of course not. The tea is in the cup,” Jason laughs when Tim gives him a dirty look and gestures to the sandwich. “It's a bacon, avocado, and tomato sandwich. You eat meat, right?”

“Yes,” Tim says slowly, pushing his computer to the side to bring the dish closer. “Just wasn't expecting lunch.”

“Really, it's closer to dinner, and this is the only break I'll get today.”

“Any meal is lunch when you haven't eaten since breakfast.”

“Kid, it's like six. You gotta eat,” Jason says, shaking his head as Tim shrugs.

“I was busy,” Tim grumbles, starting to eat anyway. The sandwich is still warm, and Tim sighs in contentment as he chews. 

“This is really good, I can see why you'd come here often.”

“She was just messing with me. But this is one of my favorite places to grab a bite,” Jason says, tucking into his own food. Tim takes a sip of his drink, the warm, sweet tea complementing the food. 

“You look like a sweet drink kind of guy, what with the boba,” Jason says, nodding towards the empty cup.

“A man gets one treat and never lives it down. It was good, not the best, but good.”

“Where's the best place to get it?” Jason asks, abandoning his sandwich to cup his tea in his large hands. 

“Kyoto,” Tim says, laughing at the surprise that overtakes Jason's face. 

“Not Tokyo? And how did you find that out?”

“My parents would take me with them on business trips sometimes,” Tim shrugs, still uncomfortable about talking about his parents even now. “Tokyo was always too packed to really enjoy anything.”

The memory of his parents taking him to the sights, explaining the long history of Japan as best they could to a six year old, each holding one of his hands, comes fast. Stopping at a small tea shop and treating him, his father wrapping an arm around his mother as she leaned into him. Wasting the day together before it was back to boardrooms and nannies. It had ruined him for any other expensive gift or exclusive guided tour for the rest of the trip.

“So you're a real world traveler? Wish I could say the same. I've always wanted to tour Japan,” Jason says, placing his cup back on the table and ripping back into his sandwich.

“I was young, but from what I remember it was pretty amazing. I highly recommend it.”

“Kind of hard on a barely-there budget,” Jason shrugs, Tim wincing.

“I get it. It's why I haven't gone since I was a kid. And, you know, with programs from the Foundation, you could get help saving money.”

“How?” Jason asks, finally looking up from his food.

“The Wayne Foundation does a lot more for the city than just rebuild what bad guys destroy. They have free clinics for people looking to get out of debt, classes to help with savings, or setting you up with technical schools.”

“I'm not one for handouts. Insurance notwithstanding.”

“Of course,” Tim says dryly, Jason giving him a dirty look. “You're the one that brought it up; I'm just trying to give you all the options.”

“How come I've never heard of any of this?” Jason asks, back to fiddling with his cup.

“Because unfortunately, even though these are supposed to be options for lower income homes, a lot of the Wayne Foundation workers don't ever seem to find their way down to Burnley. And they especially don't make their way down to Crime Alley.”

“So you do?” Jason asks, his tone bringing Tim up short. 

“Should I feel bad about that? That I used the Foundation to get me out of a bad situation when no one else would, and I'm trying to get more for people that need help?” Tim bites out, Jason raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“Just trying to get a feel on why you think you need to save everybody.”

“I know what it's like to have to get up and get out,” Tim says, trying to relax again. “And I know how difficult it can be to find all the information. If I can help make it easier for some people then I will.”

“I'm gonna be up front with you here, Tim,” Jason sighs, making Tim sit up straighter. He can tell Jason has been hiding something from him, and he's excited that Jason may actually start telling him something of worth.

“I asked around after I saw you, wanted to make sure all this was on the up and up,” Jason says, disappointing Tim. Jason nudges his dishware out of the way and braces his forearms on the table. Tim does his best to keep his eyes on Jason's face and not his very tight shirt sleeves. By the raised eyebrow Tim gets, he's not successful.

“None of this is on the up and up. If you want legitimate, I'd be more than happy to sign you up for renters and motorcycle insurance," Tim offers, tone saccharine sweet. Jason huffs out an annoyed breath, biting back what Tim guesses is some version of 'smart-ass'

“What I heard is that you do have a price. You like to trade information. You help poor, little hookers get their yearly check up for free, help some runners get a few computer classes under their belts, and they have to give you all the ins and outs of the Alley. What I'm wondering is what you do with that information after you have it. No one gets that kind of information and just keeps it to themselves, savior complex or not. Who do you trade it to after you sell them on the idea that you're their savior?”

Tim is so livid by the end of Jason's speech that he can hear his back teeth grinding against each other. He stands and begins packing away his laptop as quickly as he can when Jason holds up his hands to stop him. 

“Tim.”

“No, Jason,” Tim spits out. “You've said more than enough. I only came here because you asked me to. After you came to my office and asked for help. Then you accuse me of what? Selling secrets? Like some kind of crime lord? Give me a break. You'll get all your cards sent to the address you put in Mr. Peters, and I'll ask that you never speak to me again, information be damned.”

“For someone trying to make me believe you're not using this for your own gain, you're protesting there pretty hard, Timmy,” Jason shrugs, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed against his broad chest. 

“It's Tim,” Tim says slinging his bag across his shoulder. As he does, he notices his still mostly full teacup, picks it up, and tosses the lukewarm liquid at Jason, nailing him in the face.

“And the preferred term is sex workers. Have a good day, Mr. Peters,” Tim doesn't stay long, just barely getting to see the look of shock on Jason's face as he blinked tea out of his eyes. 

--

Later that same night, after Tim has relaxed by mapping out Catwoman’s new rotation and taken a very long shower, he gets a text message from a private number.

{I've got some answers. Will send coordinates later.}

Tim sighs as he flops down into bed, stress hitting him all over again. If it really is the Red Hood, and he's still not over the fact that that's something he could hope for, then maybe at least this whole bat problem will be solved soon. For now, he just has to figure out how to crush the idea that he's some kind of secrets merchant. 

“Piece of cake,” Tim mumbles, before shoving a pillow over his face to scream into.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Tim finally gets a message with a latitude, longitude, and time that has him preparing to head to Otisburg after work. As he’s heading to his car, he sees Stephanie across the street, arguing with a young woman.

“Please, please, we really don’t need to do this,” Tim hears Stephanie beg while there's a lull in traffic, pulling against the arm holding her in place.

“Of course we do,” Tim just barely hears the other woman say, pulling Stephanie along with her, and while Tim is not happy with Stephanie and knows she can take care of herself, he's also not going to leave her to deal with something like this on her own.

“Stephanie? You alright?” Tim calls out, grabbing the attention of the two. Stephanie flushes, and the other woman turns from her and quickly crosses the street, narrowly making it before the light changes, leaving Stephanie to wait for traffic to subside. Tim slides his hand into the pocket of his wool coat and feels for his mace and panic button. The woman is smaller than him with narrow shoulders and short dark hair. The high collar of her sleek, black trench coat hides most of her features. Once she's closer, Tim finally places her as Cassandra Cain, and his panic immediately spikes.

Tim has somehow placed himself in the middle of an argument between Batgirl and Black Bat, neither of whom look happy about his interference.

“Timothy Drake?” Cassandra asks

“I prefer Tim," Tim does his best to sound casual, but by the slow smile Tim Cassandra gives him he's not sure he's successful. 

“Cass,” she gets out before Stephanie gets there, darting between cars.

“Tim,” Stephanie calls as she runs over “Hey. Hi. Tim, how are you?”

“I'm great, Steph. Long time no see,” he says, her uncomfortable laugh making him wince. 

“Yeah wow, small world, didn't even realize were were nearby.”

“Really?” Cass asks, smiling. “You said you didn't want to come here because Tim worked nearby.”

“Is something going on?” Tim asks, drawing their attention back to him.

“Yes," Cass says, stepping around Stephanie who squawks in annoyance. "Stephanie has told me about you, and she’s...pining”

“I’m not!” Stephanie cuts in, literally shoving in front of Cass, who winks at Tim. “I just. Didn’t like how we left off, after the movies, you know?” 

“And I explained to Dick why I didn't call. I'm sure he told you about our little run-in," Tim says and both Stephanie and Cass roll their eyes.

“He did. And I really wish he hadn't. I'm sorry about my insanely intrusive circle of friends.”

“It's not like Dick knew I was going to be there,” Tim shrugs, even though he's still trying to figure out how Dick knew he would be there. 

“Right, right,” Stephanie agrees, absolutely not dissuading Tim from the idea that he needs to burn every item of clothing that has been in the presence of Stephanie and Dick. 

“Useless,” Cass mumbles to herself, turning back to Tim. “She sighs. All the time. Checks her phone.” 

“I will kill you, you horrible child,” Stephanie barely scrapes out, teeth gritted so tightly Tim is honestly shocked she hasn't cracked a tooth. 

“I’m older,” Cass says, making Stephanie growl.

“Is it alright if we talk about this...in private?” Tim asks Cass, who rolls her eyes but walks back across the street to let Tim and Stephanie talk. 

“I'm, um, I'm sorry about her,” Stephanie says, pointing behind her to Cass who's standing across the street looking anywhere but at the two of them.

“Sounds like she and Dick are just worried about you,” Tim's trying to be gracious about the fact that both Black Bat and Nightwing have tried to give him the third degree about his detente with Batgirl. It's a bit more surreal than he ever thought his life would be. 

“For no reason. At first, I was a little hurt when you didn't call. I mean, I asked you out, I was hoping maybe you'd ask me, and your nosey brother could tag along this time,” Stephanie jokes.

Tim gave her a tight smile, “Little chance of that happening.”

“But then Dick told me what you said," Stephanie continues, oblivious to her faux paux, "And I realized it hurt my pride more than anything else that you didn't call? Is that shitty?”

Yes, Tim thinks. Not as shitty as the tracker, he wants to snap, but still incredibly shitty. 

“No, not at all," he says instead. "But I did like spending time with you.”

“Me too!” Stephanie says excitedly. “Maybe we could try all this again? Without the brothers or the whole who's calling who? Friends?” 

“Friends,” Tim says, holding his hand out to shake. Stephanie sounds relieved as she laughs and shakes his hand.

“I’m glad we got that out in the open, do you want to grab something with us? I’ll make Cass pay.”

“Actually, I’ve got an appointment, and I don’t want to be late,” Tim says, gesturing at his car behind him.

Stephanie frowns but nods at him, “Then we’ll have to do something later. I’m really happy I got to talk to you, Tim.”

Tim sees Stephanie starting to reach out for a hug, and he takes a small step back, raising his hand to wave at her instead. He doesn’t have time to search out a bug before meeting Hood. She blanches slightly, but pulls out a smile and a quick wave before jogging back to Cass. 

Tim slips into his car and watches the two of them argue as they walk away. Even knowing they’re not following, Tim still plans to take a circuitous route on his way, just in case.

--

Tim’s barely a minute late to the meeting spot, a bar just opening for evening business. He hurries to lock his car and spends another minute looking around for Red Hood when he notices the fire escape to the building next door is pulled down, a couple wooden pallets pulled up under it. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Tim groans gazing at the top of the six-story building, but heads towards the fire escape nevertheless. 

By the time he pulls himself up the narrow ladder that leads to the roof, Tim’s out of breath and has to squat down to breathe.

“Took you long enough,” Tim hears, and looks across the roof to see Red Hood sitting on the ledge, a small bag letting off steam next to his leg. 

“Couldn’t have made it a little easier?” Tim grouses, pulling his coat tighter as he walks over to stand in front of Hood. “You rang?”

“Yeah, and you’re gonna want to take a seat for this,” Red Hood says, sliding down from the ledge to lean his back against the overhang instead. Tim steps back quickly to try and give Hood space, only to sigh and drop to sit on the roof as well while Hood pulls the small brown paper bag down.

“Did you pack a lunch?” Tim jokes until Hood tosses the bag at him, Tim only catching it by curling over the bag.

“Thought you might be cold and hungry. You’re too old to be reminded to eat, you know.”

“I eat,” Tim grumbles as he opens the bag to see empanadas the size of his hand crammed inside.

“Are these from Esther’s?” Tim groans in delight as he pulls one out and bites into the crispy pastry.

“It’s a crime to go anywhere else really. Now, before you get too involved in your food, what have you got for me?” Hood says, Tim turning to him in surprise while continuing to eat.

“Thought you brought me here to give me information,” Tim gets out around another massive bite.

“Slow down before you choke. And this is a partnership, Timothy. We share. You just have to share first. Always.” 

Tim finally swallows and sighs. “You know, apparently there’s a rumor that I’ve been selling secrets.”

“Doesn’t look like much of a rumor anymore there, Tim. Info. Now.”

“How do I know you didn’t start that rumor? Try to dry up my resources just like you threatened to," Tim questions. It's not as left field as it sounds, he thinks. Hood had started questioning him only recently, their past relationship founded on Tim staying out of Hood's line of sight, and Hood leaving Tim to his rounds. Now though, it feels like ever since Stephanie walked into his office, and the Red Hood started questioning him, his life has spun out of control.

Hood is silent for a while, helmet tilted toward the smog covered night sky. Tim shoves another bite of empanada into his mouth, his chewing the only sound between them.

“I heard what you did for Sugar. Carol.”

“I didn’t do anything. She got that job herself,” Tim defends, but Hood just shakes his head.

“Heard you got some connections, helped get her into that rehab.”

Tim shrugs, not sure where the story is going on Hood’s end. “Not connections, not really. Ana Marie was my caseworker back in the day, before I aged out, and I got the info from her. She likes me. I think she uses me as a positive story for some of her other kids. Plus, the Wayne Foundation is free to anyone who lives or works in Gotham. I just pointed her in the right direction.”

“She’s been clean what, three years? Helps get the kids off the streets now, yeah?”

“Yeah. Carol really took her shot,” Tim says, watching Hood. 

“Now, why am I gonna rat out someone who helps junkies get clean?” Hood asks, finally turning back to Tim. The helmet is emotionless, the mechanized voice destroying any cadence, but Tim can practically feel the softness radiating off Red Hood at the moment, and he realizes this is what the street kids see when they look at the kingpin who takes down worse men than himself. 

“What was their name?” Tim asks, and barely catches the quiet “Catherine,” in response. 

“You threatened to use my sources against me before. You saying you lied to me? I’m hurt, Red,” Tim says, making Red Hood shrug.

“Did what I had to do. You didn’t exactly fall for it.” 

“I did. I absolutely did. But apparently it doesn't matter, because it’s all going to blow up soon," Tim sighs, recalling how Jason had gone from happily surprised to accusatory so quickly. He can only imagine what his long time clients will feel, will do, if that rumor reaches them. "No one’s going to talk to someone they can’t trust, Wayne Foundation in or not,” Tim sighs, closing the brown bag, placing it to the side.

“But let’s get what we can out of it, yeah? I can tell you Penguin is looking into a museum tour that’ll be here after Thanksgiving. And for some reason, Catwoman has shifted her hunting grounds to more Old Gotham and less Diamond District, though no one has any information as to why.”

“I know why; she’s been having a few problems with Batman and I guess she’d rather not deal with him. Anything else?”

“Yeah, the Ghost Dragons are making a move on the Devil’s part of Chinatown. Guess Lynx had enough of them encroaching on her arms deals.”

“How long have you known that?” Hood snaps, all softness gone again, leaving only the hardened past criminal.

“Yesterday. I had a meeting with a client about adding more rental coverage for their kid's family in the area, and I did some digging.”

“What’d you do? Google ‘Where’s Lynx’?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t keep helping me,” Tim says, waving his finger at Hood. 

In actuality, he basically had. Once he met with his client and got back to them with estimates and a little gossip, he had headed home and checked a few Twitters and Instagrams of people who never turned their location tags off and always posted from Chinatown. Tim had realized early on that people were just as likely to tag their social media with their loyalties as they were the side of a building. 

“I mean, obviously I can’t be absolutely sure, but it’s a mostly reliable source, and I found some backing info. So, GD versus Devils. You gonna let Batgirl and Black Bat know?”

“Why would I let them have all the fun?”

“Isn’t that section part of their patrols? It’s a little far from Crime Alley, isn’t it?”

“How much do you know about the bat brats, exactly?”

“Exactly? Not much,” Tim lies, “But figuring out who mostly works where isn’t all that hard, all you have to do is pay attention.”

“Anything else you got?”

“Nothing that isn’t just rumor. Now, what’ve you got for me?” Tim asks, gearing himself up for whatever Hood plans to tell him.

“Did you know that you have the most completed claims against Gotham Rogues?” Hood asks, the non-sequitur throwing Tim.

“Yes,” Tim confirms, confused. “I got a nice little plaque last year from corporate.”

“Did you know you also have the most payouts against Gotham’s very own masked vigilantes? With all that beautiful money coming directly from the Wayne and Martha Foundation Relief Fund?”

“No? I mean, yes, I know where the money comes from, of course, but not about the claims. It’s not a company program so that’s not really tracked by them," Tim is getting more confused by the minute. Did Red Hood really drag him up here to audit his books?

“But of course you track it,” Hood says, making Tim huff.

“It’s my customer information, I’m not doing anything nefarious with it,” Tim defends. Hood just shrugs and continues.

“Well, apparently the Bats are interested in white collar crime just as much as they are blue collar. And someone noticed how all these poor, unfortunate souls having their cars crushed by Killer Croc throwing Batman into it were getting more money from the Foundation than your company.”

“Well, of course,” Tim defends, “People can’t afford to cover for every, single MD that decides super villain is preferable to paying their student loans. If it’s not someone they planned for, I try to get the Foundation to cover at least some of the payout. And if I have corroborating evidence, I can.”

“And that evidence points the most often to Robin and Batgirl? Who have the second and third largest payout rate?”

“Look,” Tim says, because even with a voice mod, he can tell when someone is laughing at him. “Maybe. Maybe Robin isn’t always the one causing all the damage, though good luck actually proving that without first hand accounts. Maybe it’s Nightwing or the Red Hood,” Tim says, gesturing to the man in front of him, “And they don’t have any payouts because the Foundation doesn’t consider them part of the Bat Pack, what with Nightwing calling himself Bludhaven’s savior or whatever, and you’re still known best for your 8 heads in a duffle bag moment.”

“First of all, that movie sucked and how dare you compare my terrifying reign to the worst Pesci movie ever, and second, I’m not a hero? I’m hero-ing all over the place here!" Hood flings his arms open, and the gesture pulls a snort from Tim. "I haven’t accidentally killed anyone in months!”

“I think they’re looking at the past non-accidental deaths as a bit of an overall negative, Hood. But so what? Should I let those people go into debt, paying off leases and rents for things that don’t exist? Give them or their kids yet another reason to look for not so legal or not so safe ways of making money?”

“I’m guessing the Bats don’t see it like that.”

“Do they even realize how easy it is to fall into gang activity when you breed that kind of poverty?" Tim continues, barely hearing Hood. "The kind of bitterness and resentment people gain against authority when they feel like they’ve been failed? The Foundation is there for a reason, and until Bruce Wayne gets his people down to Crime Alley and gets his money to the ones that need it most, then yeah, I’ll make sure people get their cars notes bought off because Robin was spotted in the vicinity, even if it was Red Hood doing the work,” Tim can feel how flushed he is by the end of his tirade. He notices he’s pushed away from the wall and turned completely towards Hood during his speech, and makes himself rest his back against the wall again, calming down. 

“You’re really passionate about renter’s insurance,” Hood says mildly, making Tim sigh.

“You’re not the first person I’ve had to defend my choices to recently," Tim grumbles, flashing to Jason again. He's had people question him before, but he's not sure if it's the fact that it's most recent accusation, or that it was Jason; someone he could have found himself attracted to that keeps pulling him back to that disastrous meeting.

“Hope they got it as much as I did,” Hood says, making Tim laugh.

“Well, you didn’t get a face full of cold tea, so I think they got it worse.”

“You didn’t,” Hood says after a long pause Tim chalks up to shock.

“It was there, he was being shitty about sex workers, and I have always wanted to go Dynasty level drama on someone. So I channeled my inner queen and just went for it.”

Laughter through the hood will always grate on Tim, he thinks, but watching the Red Hood clutch his stomach as he laughs at Tim’s story breaks the tension he’s still holding and makes him start to chuckle.

“Bet he loved that.”

“He was in shock, which thank God because he was massive and probably could have broken me in half if he tried. So I booked it back to my car after that parting shot. I’ll probably never see him again; he got his insurance, I got lunch. We’ll call it even.”

“Nah, anyone who knows to feed you knows well enough to try again. And if a little tea scares him off he wasn’t good enough for you anyway.”

“Defending my honor Hood?” Tim jokes without thinking. He finds he does that a lot with the Red Hood, and it’s beginning to worry him, this camaraderie they’ve built on a foundation of fear and lurking.

“I’m still waiting on my Hood signal. Bats shouldn’t have all the fun.” Hood says, turning just slightly closer to Tim.

Tim is on the roof of a possibly abandoned building, sitting with the Red Hood, having told no one of his plans. Getting fed and being flirted with. Tim feels like he’s losing control of his life, and there is nothing he hates more than the loss of control.  

“Can we get back to what else you found out?” Tim tries to pull the conversation. “Must not be good if you’re deflecting like this.”

“Our conversations aren’t deflecting, Timmy. But, you’re really gonna hate this,” Hood takes a deep breath, chest plate moving, looking like he’s preparing for the worst.

“Apparently, some people, people who happen to not wear a red helmet so don’t blame the messenger. Some people think you’re numbers seem a little too good. A little too high to actually be going to the people. And that you’re predictions are a little too on the head to not be coming from the source.”

“Are you saying,” Tim’s tongue is heavy in his bone dry mouth. He can’t finish his sentence, overcome with some shock, but mainly anger.

“I’m saying that some people think you’re trading information with some pretty big criminals to get such good predictions and stealing from the Foundation. That maybe you’re planning to give Penguin a run for secret dealing.”

“I. I. I live in fucking Newtown!” Tim finally chokes out, raw shock making it difficult to talk.

“What’s wrong with Newtown?” Hood asks, but Tim just keeps talking over him. He’s furious. He hops up before he really thinks about it, and apparently it looks like he’s leaving, because Hood reaches out to grab his forearm, calling his name. Tim turns, and Hood lets go, pulling himself up as well.

“Where do they think all this money is going? I’m in a three story walk up with a window that doesn’t always lock, and they think what? I’ve got a Cayman account I’m saving for retirement?” 

“I don’t know Tim,” Hood gets out, but Tim is barely hearing him.

“And who the hell am I trading information to? Do they think I’m just casually walking up to Two-Face and letting him know Catwoman says hi, and then he’s just telling me when his next gun run is coming up?” Tim says, pacing back and forth, overcome with a rush of adrenaline. He wants to leave. He wants to get home and curl up under his thickest blankets and pretend conversation hadn’t happened.

“I’m sure I don’t know, Tim. You need to calm down,” Hood says patiently.

“You calm down. I’ve got the heroes of this city looking into my job, my life, putting trackers on my clothes to see exactly where I go and you want me to calm down?”

“I want you to calm down because I think you’re on the verge of a panic attack,” Hood cuts in, holding his hands in front of his chest, moving slowly towards Tim. Tim finally gets his legs to stop moving, and Hood puts a hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the spot they were sitting. Tim drops down, exhaustion taking over, and rests his forehead against his knees. The cold jean material helps to cool his flushed face and he can hear Hood repeating, “Deep breaths Tim. Deep breaths.”

“Sorry,” Tim mumbles, still relaxing against his knees.

“You took that worse than I thought.”

“I just. I idolized Batman and Robin when I was a kid. I think a lot of people my age did, you know?”

“Did you now?” Tim can feel Hood shift. They’re practically sitting shoulder to shoulder now, and normally Tim wouldn’t be comfortable with someone sitting so close to him after a mini-breakdown, but right now, he appreciates the company. 

“Yeah. The heroes of Gotham, you know? I thought they could do anything. Help anyone. All I’m trying to do is make it easier for a few people that already don’t have it too easy, and now they think I’m the bad guy? Me?” Tim is surprised his voice doesn't crack, his emotions swirling, moving from anger to shock to crushed and around again faster than he can handle.

“I think anyone that talks to you for more than five minutes could figure out you’re not exactly villain material. You’re just...uncanny.”

“It’s not as hard as you think,” Tim sighs, finally pulling his head away from his legs to rest it on the ledge behind him. “People like to talk. I like to listen.”

“So why not just tell Batman? Robin?”

“Do you honestly think Robin is more approachable than Batman?" Tim asks, raising his eyebrows at Red Hood. "He has a sword. That he uses on people. Can you imagine some grandma talking to him about how her grandson with the devil tattoo she never approved of got all new electronics for the family last week, wasn’t that sweet?”

“No. No I cannot. Are you trying to tell me your ‘network of spies’ is made up of little old biddies who gossip with you?” Hood asks, and Tim shrugs.

“Well, to be fair she cornered me at the mailbox to brag and ask some insurance questions, and it was really easy to trace that back to a break in on Ghost territory, and then some more posts helped narrow it down further. Hence me letting you know it’s gonna get rough over there soon.”

“Tim, are you gonna be ok?” Hood asks, raising a hand to place on Tim’s shoulder, but stops and drops his hand before it can make contact.

“Yeah,” Tim lies. Hood snorts, shaking his head. “I will be. I just apparently have to stop trying to. To help people the only way I can.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Hood says, making Tim snap his head to look at him. Hood is looking at Tim again, and he really, really hates that the Hood doesn’t let any type of emotion show.

“Fuck the bats. Keep helping the Carol’s of the world, keep helping me try and make sure there don’t have to be any more Sugar’s. Quietly. Either the Bats come around or they don’t. They do, and you’ve got a boatload of emotionally stunted but highly trained friends to help you in a bind. They don’t, and you’ve still got me to snitch to.”

“What I’m hearing is, become exactly what they think I am.”

“But obviously not with all the nefarious acts behind it,” Hood reasons.

“And how exactly, does this get them off my back?”

“I’m still working on that part. I can’t really hop into their super secret hideout and tell them you’re just swell.”

“God, how do people get through a conversation without trying to punch you?” Tim groans, placing his hands over his face, trying not to laugh.

“Why do you think I wear the hood?”

Tim gives in and laughs, sliding his legs down, relaxing against the wall. Tim quiets after a moment, and he and Hood sit in silence. It would almost be sweet, Tim thinks, if the unyielding smog wasn’t in the way of the stars, and the predominant smell of Otisburg wasn’t garbage and old chemicals. Hood turns away, silent as Tim tries to steady himself.

“I’ve got an idea,” Tim says, still formulating. It’s not his best plan, not his most thought out, but definitely his pettiest.

“Alright,” Hood says slowly, turning his head to look at Tim. Tim’s still staring at the clouds, trying to work it all out.

“Let’s fuck with them.”

“While I am always, always down to fuck with the Bats, I’m gonna need a bit more here, Tim.”

“Keep them on the hook, let them think I’m doing all this shit, absolutely do not let them know how. But the only one I’ll be letting in on the biddie gossip is you. They think I’m selling all this info? Make it look like I am, and you just happen to be the one who seems to get all the bad guys. How’s Batman gonna feel when the Red Hood, the man who took the horse in the bed scene to church is over here just killing it. But not, like, actually killing it. Less killing.”

“First, you’re not my boss, I kill who I want. I just haven’t felt like killing anyone recently, thanks for literally no one noticing. Second, how’s this gonna work to fuck with them in the long run? And third? That movie is a fucking classic how dare you.”

“Easy. The only thing Batman seems to hate more than Superman doing a flyover is not knowing what’s going on in his city. Robin is the same, everyone knows that. And not gonna lie, from what I’ve gleaned about them on the streets, if anyone is interested in this, it’s those two and less Batgirl,” Though it would explain why Stephanie had wandered into his office, and placed that tracker on him. “Having the Red Hood getting big name rogues? Helping stop gang violence instead of starting it? Before they even get to the scene? They'll have a conniption fit.”

“You’re mostly right. From what I heard, it’s more Robin than anyone else. Seems he found out about all those hospital bills and property payouts and got a bee in his bonnet.”

Of course, Tim thinks. Damian Wayne recently took a very public internship with the Foundation, in an act of nepotism Jack and Janet Drake would have been proud to point out and exploit. Which probably led to a massive chewing out by Bruce Wayne once they noticed the figures stacking up. So now Robin is trying to place the blame on anyone but himself. And apparently recruited Batgirl and Nightwing into his scheme.

“He wears bright yellow. If he doesn’t want people taking pictures of him while they run from imminent terror, he should look into a more muted palette,” Tim says off-handed, still thinking about how many casual bump-ins he’s had with Steph. Right up to the very first one. 

“Do you remember, from literal seconds ago, when I told you to do all this quietly? None of this screams quiet. They’re just going to keep tracking you, watching you, and all the people you interact with. Nothing good comes from trying to fool the bats,” Hood says. Tim turns to look at him, but of course, the hood is a blank slate.

“You sound like you know that well.”

“Intimately. The bats don’t take kindly to people they don’t think follow their codes. No matter the circumstance," Hood goes to rub at his neck, but stops before his hand fully makes contact. 

“You brought them around,” Tim says, gesturing to the bat symbol splashed across Hood's chest but Hood just sighs.

“Have I? What we have is more like a militarized zone, barely a truce.”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to work on it from multiple fronts,” Tim says, pushing himself up, grabbing his bag of ice-cold empanadas. Damian may think he’s got Tim backed into a corner, but Tim has at least one card up his sleeve. 

Damian doesn’t know that Tim knows he’s Robin.

And while he would never scream Robin’s secret identity from the rooftops, it doesn’t mean he has to take this lying down.

 “I’ll buzz you whenever I’ve got something good, and you’ll buzz me if they start getting too close to figuring this out,” Tim says, turning back to look at Hood.

“Will I?”

“You will if you want that sweet old biddie gossip. There’s a bridge tournament next week that is bound to have something good,” Tim jokes, but Hood just sighs.

“God, this is a mess,” Hood says and quickly stands. He shuffles Tim to the fire escape and makes a tsking noise when Tim shoves the brown paper bag into his coat pocket.

“Ruining good food, one shove at a time.”

“This isn’t exactly safe. I’m pretty sure the landing for the second floor is about to fall off, I’ll need both hands to grab the railing when it does.”

“I could take you the express way?” Hood asks, pulling out a grapple. And while Tim thinks it would be a hell of an experience to have Hood fly him directly to his car, he also doesn’t think it would be a good idea to be wrapped up by the Red Hood. He doesn’t hesitate to respond with a no.

“Plus, it’s a little crowded down there for theatrics,” Tim says, looking out at the now busy bar next door, loud music cutting through the night. 

“Your loss. Until next time,” Hood shrugs, and waves at Tim when he starts slowly making his way down. 

Tim makes it down the rickety fire escape and finds his car unmolested. There’s enough ambient light coming from the bar front that as he’s unlocking his car he can just make out a shadow passing over him heading for the building across the street. Tim climbs into his car and pulls the bag from his pocket, hoping he hadn’t crushed them too bad. Pulling one out to eat on the drive home, Tim notices a lone fudge ball sitting sitting in the bottom of the bag, and worries about what he's gotten himself into.

Chapter Text

Tim doesn’t expect to see Robin when he’s making his rounds near Crime Alley, handing out hot chocolate and caramel filled crepes. Tim hadn't even originally been planning to be in the area, but bless low ranking members of the Falcone family who don't think twice about Instagraming pictures of the sun setting over the docks. In Triad territory. So of course, Tim had to check with the ladies who know best. But when Robin comes swinging in, the girls scatter, leaving him holding an empty cup tray and a bag half filled with dessert. 

Tim had seen Robin only from a distance. Even as a child, following his favorite vigilantes, he had done his best to take his pictures from a distance. The closest he had ever come to a Robin was when his parents had taken him to Haley’s circus, and Dick Grayson’s life had changed forever. Even at charity events and galas as a child, Tim had stayed off to the side, never actually speaking to Dick or Jason, merely watching due to the fear of getting caught. Damian is tall, taller than Tim of course. He’s grown from the miniscule ten year old into a dominating eighteen year old, the oldest Robin Gotham has had. Even Dick had branched out into Nightwing before he was a legal adult. Damian’s outfit had grown with him, cloak longer, scraping the ground even as Robin stands fully from his landing crouch. His gauntlets have changed to resemble Batman's bracers, but had kept the tall, lace up boots. Tim takes this all in quickly, honing in on the hooded, masked face. The bright lenses covering Robin's eyes draw Tim's attention, making for an overall menacing figure instead of the little bright bird Dick had once been. Tim doesn't see a sword yet, but he wouldn't be surprised if one was hidden in the folds of his cape.

“Crepe?” Tim asks, holding out the bag when Robin just stands there, glaring at him.

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, and Tim is surprised that no one has made the connection, because Damian doesn’t even try to disguise his voice. That, or Damian doesn’t think Tim can put the pieces together.

He’s going to have to search his clothes for trackers. Again.

“I was giving the girls a late night snack, but now that they’re gone, I guess I’ll get going.”

“Stop,” Robin snaps, throwing his hand up, and Tim really, really doesn’t need this. He just wanted to do a quick fact check, make sure everyone was still as alright as they could be, and maybe spend the rest of his Saturday roaming the internet for any more Falcone information, or some inkling about why Penguin was pushing for his people to work security at the museum, because that was odd, even for him. 

“We know what you’re doing. It stops now,” Robin snaps, approaching Tim. Tim gives him credit, he's definitely learned the Batman stalk. 

Tim feels much more prepared than the last time he was cornered in an alleyway. He still has the bag in his hand, but is able to slide the panic button from Red Hood down his sleeve from where he stashed it and presses down. He keeps pressing, and hopes it makes it the full ten seconds, before Robin reaches out and slaps the bag and drink holder from his hands. Tim’s barely fast enough to slip the receiver back into his long sleeve before Robin has him backed against the wall. He’s having flashbacks to the first time he met Red Hood, but he was a lot more frightened that time, and it must show on his face.

“Most people would be scared in your position. Do you know the trouble you're in?”

“None, unless Robin has become a paragon of evil in the last few days,” slips out before Tim can censor himself. And while most of Robin's face is covered by his mask and hood, Tim can still see the sharp twist of his mouth as he pushes closer to Tim. Oh, Tim thinks, that's a nice soft spot to remember, just in case this happens again.

“We are aware of you underground dealings, Drake. You have a unique opportunity, a chance to change before it's too late.”

“Change what? Bringing a few friends some warm drinks?” Tim says, looking forward at Robin so he doesn't search the roofs surrounding him for Red Hood.

Robin looks ready to grab Tim when they hear a scream, followed by a volley of gunshots. Robin snarls, and quickly shoots his grapple to start a swing, turning to Tim for a hurried “This isn't over.”

Tim runs the opposite way, and makes it to his car, getting it moving before he even has his door fully closed. He makes it home in record time, and throws every bolt on his door, knowing it still wouldn't be enough to stop Robin if he really wanted. 

As he does a final check of his small apartment, Tim notices a slip of paper stuck on the outside of his kitchen window, which overlooks his small fire escape stairwell landing. He goes to slide it open one handed, and finds the latch hook actually fits and has to use effort to open the window for once. He snatches the torn piece of paper before it can be ripped off by the light evening wind. He snaps the window closed, hooking the new latch and leaning against the wall next to it to read the paper. 

‘ Told you I'd rescue you princess. Even fixed that window. Red

Thank Coraline for her help next time you see her.’

Tim gently places the note on his countertop, and slowly slides down to the floor, staring at the scrawl. He finds himself laughing, and can't bring himself to stop. 

--

“Bernard, I didn't call you to be laughed at,” Tim grouses as he walks into the office after a late lunch. Early dinner. Coffee run. Days had passed since his introduction to Robin, poor showing that it was, and other than the note, Tim had yet to hear from Hood about any of it. Plus, Stephanie had taken their agreement of friendship to heart and had been texting him regularly about having brunch with Cass this weekend.

“If you wanted someone to commiserate with then you called the wrong person. My job is to point and laugh. You're complaining that Stephanie Brown, known friend of the Wayne's, is inviting you to dine with her and Cassandra Wayne, beloved daughter of Wayne Enterprises?”

“Well,”

“And,” Bernard cuts him off, “You've met one of, and quote from her ‘brothers’ Dick Grayson, who is beauty, who is grace, and who can legally punch you in the face if he thinks you're resisting arrest.”

“This is why no one liked you in school,” Tim snaps, draping his coat over his chair and dropping into it.

“You did. Oh, and even after your less than stellar kissing skills were put to the test and, as usual, failed you, she still wants to hang with you. Two insanely beautiful women and one gloriously attractive man want to be in your presence for possibly hours. Yeah, yeah I can see why this is a bad thing for you.”

“Ok first, my kissing skills are far above par, ask anyone. That was never in question. It's just. It's just a lot. We hit it off sure,” If Tim didn't include the fact that Stephanie had planted a tracking device on him while kissing, or that Robin had it in his head that Tim was some kind of evil mastermind in training. 

“But brunch? After an awkward date, awkward run-in with her brother and, wait for it, awkward apology initiated by yet another found family member.”

“Hate to break it to you Drake, but people find awkward an attractive look on you. Not me, but people.” 

“Sure," Tim Hope's Bernard can hear him rolling his eyes through the phone.

“I have seen people across the board melt when you do that thing where your hand gets stuck in your hair because you forgot to brush it. They want to wrap you in a blanket and smother you with love. It's disgusting.”

“Wow. Wow thanks, Bernard. Conversations like these make me wonder why I haven't changed my number," Tim grouses as he logs into his company's server.

“You called me.”

Tim goes to make another comment when he sees his boss waving at him, pointing to his office. Tim hangs up without a goodbye and drops his phone in a drawer before hurrying over.

“Leo, sorry I was just hanging up," Tim says walking over to his boss who waves him into the small, glassed off office.

“Don't worry about that” Leo says, waving off the apology. “I just need you in my office for a few minutes.”

Tim is slightly confused as Leo closes the door once he's inside. Rarely does Leo call any of them to the office, much preferring to handle small issues at their desks or through emails. 

“Let me start off by saying that since you started working here, our completed claims have skyrocketed, and your new enrollees have regularly topped our sector. I've personally seen you grow from being new and unskilled to a top earner,” Leo says as he sits behind his small desk and pulls out a thick file.

“Thanks?” Tim asks, eyeballing the file Leo begins to flip through. “So what's the problem?”

“The problem,” Leo heaves a sigh, looking up and giving Tim his full attention “Is that there have been some claims filed against you and a few other agents through the city. But mainly, against you,” Leo says, pushing the file towards Tim.

“Me?” Tim asks, grabbing the file and sorting through the pages.

And there they are. Almost every claim he filed to the Wayne Foundation Relief Fund about the bats. Specifically, Robin.

“Looks like someone at the Foundation doesn't like all the work we're doing here, and has called a few of our methods into question.”

“This is absurd,” Tim is livid. These are all claims that have already been approved by the Foundation, some years old.

“Someone went hunting for old, paid claims and pulled up a lot.”

“This isn't all of them,” Tim says, making Leo's bushy eyebrows shoot up. “These are claims that got payouts due to Robin causing the property damage. Not a single one about Batman, Black Bat, or the others.”

“You read them all that fast?”

“I remember them all,” Tim snaps. “So I'm being accused of fraud?”

“Basically, yes,” Leo says, but holds up a hand to try and stymie Tim's next words. “But, because of your work record and overall effort, the company is fighting the claims against you. They're requesting all the information and details you sent in to get these paid so they can be reviewed.”

“Of course,” Tim agrees, “It'll take me a few days, but I should still have all of it.”

“Take the rest of the week off,” Leo says, “Get what they're asking for and bring it all on Monday.”

“Are you suspending me?” Tim is unsurprised, but still unhappy. 

“No. I'm giving you paid time to get all your ducks in a row. You have more than enough vacation and sick time.”

“Who brought the fraud claims against me?”

“It appears to be anonymous,” Leo says, but Tim is already well aware. Damian has decided that since his play as Robin was a failure, that it was time for a Wayne to take a shot.

“I'm sure,” Tim bites out, hands clenching the file. “I'll have everything I submitted to them that they already approved on your desk Monday.”

“Tim,” Leo says as Tim stands “You're a straight shooter. You're the last person I would think to accuse of doing anything like what they're saying. We'll get this all squared away.”

“What happens if we don't?” Tim can't bring himself to look at Leo, not when he knows that some of these might not be all neat and by the book.

Leo takes a deep breath before answering. “Fraud at this level would be jail time. And all the money would have to be paid back. By either you, or the claimant, depending on if they also find any of our customers at fault.”

“Right. Right. Thanks Leo. I'm gonna head out now.” 

Tim is nauseous, thinking of the dozens of families he’s helped get money to fix cars, heating units, sometimes full homes, after an attack. If they have to pay the money back, almost all of them would fall into a debt spiral they wouldn’t be able to climb out of. 

“Take what you need. And if you've got any of that stuff saved on the work computers, come on in and get it. Even if it's the weekend, you call me and I'll bring the keys alright Tim?” Leo says, so earnest Tim can finally scrounge up a smile for him. 

“Alright. Thanks,” Tim says pushing back into the main office and quickly grabbing his jacket, phone, and messenger bag.

As he pushed through the doors, cutting off the whispers from his office mates, Tim knew he was going to have to meet up with Red Hood again. Damian Wayne had moved on from trying to mess up his network to actively trying to destroy his life. Tim had dealt with far too much to let some child go and ruin everything he had worked for, Robin or not. 

Exactly what Tim is trying to stop would come to fruition anyway if his clients have to start paying the Fund back, and Tim will be damned if Damian thinks Tim’s going to give up just because he’s pushing Tim. Janet had told Tim once, after completing a business merger the other company had fought her tooth and nail on, that sometimes the only way to win was to change the rules of the game.

If Damian wanted to screw up Tim's life, well, he figured. Two could play at that game.

--

It's slow going that week, making sure that every claim could be proven to match up with what he had sent in to the Wayne Foundation. Double and triple checking locations, pictures, claim forms, police reports and the Foundation rules for coverage takes time and patience Tim rarely has. He stops answering Stephanie and finally has to turn off his phone to stop the incessant flashing of missed messages.

By Saturday, Tim has everything for the disputes covered, and in some cases, finds he has additional information that Damian didn’t think to ask about for his cases files. He’s prepared, both with paperwork and comments if they find it necessary to have a meeting with the Foundation. Hopefully it won’t come to that, but if it does, Tim is confident he’s ready for what Damian, or anyone at the Wayne Foundation could throw at him.  

Which means it’s time for Phase One. 

Tim changes into clothes that he won’t have a problem leaving behind. He also makes sure that the most technologically advanced thing on him is his mace. He debates his panic button, but decides against bringing it on this foray. One, it’s still daylight, so it wouldn’t be much help anyway, and two, it obviously has some form of tracker in it, and Tim does not need that at the moment. He doesn’t even bring his wallet, only a large wad of cash, and he’s out the door. 

He heads a few blocks away from his place, catches a bus with a connection takes him over to Otisburg, and hits the first consignment shop he sees. Tim swaps out everything but his underwear and socks, drops the clothes he was wearing in the donation box, and slides out with another shopper, helping her with the door. With the black hood pulled up, dark denim jacket and heavy work boots pulled on, he looks just like three other guys sitting at the same bus stop. He takes another roundabout way over to the Bowery, doing his best to keep to less traveled routes, which would hopefully mean less cameras and less chance of him being watched. It’s never been proven, but there’s been a rumor circulating for years that the bats have an underground group watching the CCTV spread around the city, and while of course it would be impossible to prove, Tim is trying to take as few chances as possible.

He finally reaches his first destination: the only surviving branch of Gotham Library in Burnley. He has to wait for one of the two computers to become available, but once his turn comes up, he slides into the chair and logs into one of his Twitter accounts. 

‘Networking,’ his mother had told him after a business dinner he had been forced to attend, ‘will be the worst part of your career. Worse than taxes, worse than any lawsuits you’ll have to deal with. Talking to people that believe they’re on your level when they’re not will be one of your more difficult tasks. But you never know when you’ll need something from one of them.’

So Tim had done that. But unlike his parents, who had barely kept their disdain hidden from their associates, Tim had made friends. Friends from college, friends from conferences, friends who worked in everything from cute, boho art galleries to Fortune 500 companies, like Wayne Enterprises. And thanks to Twitters algorithms, most of them were now following each other, and at least two of his accounts. 

Which is how he knew at least a few of the right people would see him tweet out. 

Heard from a friend #DamianWayneDoesnt tip! ppl out here making less than #minimumwage and the billionare can’t figure out 20% #richdontequalright. #DamaianWayne #wtf #alwaystip 

Was it petty? Yes. Was it untrue? Not if a friend who worked in the coffee shop in the lobby of the main Wayne Enterprises a few years ago was to be believed. Would it be effective? Damian was not the beloved Wayne son, that would always be Dick. And after a few years of some very public faux paus on Damian’s part, Gotham’s public was still split on the youngest Wayne heir. Tim was just going to have to do his best to make sure it got off the ground.

Logging off and making sure to clear the history, Tim heads back out to the bus stop. It’s a long ride to Chinatown, especially since he stops halfway there in Coventry to hit a Goodwill for another clothing swap. Outfitted in a pair of tight jeans, black blazer, and loafers, he slides into the evening party crowd in Chinatown easily. He keeps his head down and gets a spot at a rent by the minute computer shop. He waits for the computer to slowly log him in and feeds more dollars than he needs into the machine. Tim logs into a seperate account and quickly checks the tag to see that three other people have included their own #DamanWayneDoesnt stories to his own, ranging from agreeing with his original tweet to inclusions about Damian not holding doors and not covering his mouth when he coughs.

#DamianWaynedoesnt respect women. Watched him interrupt his sister more than once when she was just trying to talk. #DamainWayne #misogyny #feminism #heneedsit #sorrynotsorry

This story is slightly old, but he knows it can be backed up by at least one TMZ article talking about the relationship between Damian and Cassandra. Tim finds the column quickly and adds the link as a comment for anyone who wants to check it out. It’s meaner than the previous ones, and Damian was definitely much younger at the time, but Tim needs the tag to get off the ground, and the meaner it gets, the bigger it’ll get. Tim isn’t able to get at Damian the same way, attacking him directly at work. Bruce Wayne is beloved patron of Gotham, but people already have their doubts about Damian being able to step into the role of socialite with the heart of gold. And while Damian has a verified twitter account through the company, he’s never once posted, retweeted, or liked a single tweet. He’s also a well known antisocial, turning people down for photos, and never agreeing to an interview that doesn’t include at least one other family member to help pick up the slack, so no one really knows him well, outside of his very, very small social group. A little more doubt, and maybe Tim can make Damian’s life just that much more difficult, especially with a few gossip websites already casting doubt on how an eighteen year old is qualified to run a portion of the largest non-profit organization in Gotham. 

He makes one final stop at a little second hand store, and the owner lets him slip out the backdoor when he spills out a story about trying to evade a really, really shitty date. The black and red leather jacket is soft and warm, and with the skinny jeans, high tops, and his hair tied up into a bun, he’s dressed more in his own style than he has been all day. He heads to a bus stop down the road that will take him on a loop back home, regretting he’ll have to dump the jacket after one last change so he won’t be able to be backtracked, when he hears his name called out. Tim doesn’t turn to see who it is, hoping they’ll give up and figure they guessed wrong, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. 

He looks over his shoulder and then up to see Jason staring at him in shock. 

“I thought that was you! What are you doing in Chinatown?” Jason is all smiles, like the last time they met he wasn’t accusing Tim of using his clients for nefarious purposes.

“Not that it’s your business, but I was suppose to have dinner with someone tonight,” Tim’s tone is chilly, and he knows Jason can hear it because his smile falters slightly. 

“Why are you waiting for the bus?”

“They were my ride.”

“Ouch,” Jason says, and he actually winces. The look is overly dramatic ridiculous, and though Tim doesn’t mean to, he snorts. Jason takes that as permission and steps closer to Tim and nods down the street.

“I can take you back uptown if you want, I’m heading that way anyway.”

“No thanks,” Tim snaps. He knows he told Jason to never talk to him again, but apparently Jason is determined to pretend the last conversation between them never happened. And Tim definitely doesn’t want to talk to Jason; he doesn’t like being accused of doing something wrong when he wasn’t. At least at the time. Which is why Tim is going to blame exhaustion when  “And what are you doing way down in Chinatown?” slips out.

“You mean your date brought you to Chinatown and it wasn’t for the Bazaar? No offense, but maybe it’s good that you didn’t get too deep with someone like that,” Jason is shaking his head in exaggerated dismay, making Tim sigh.

“I never said it was a date. They had a family emergency, and I wasn’t going to make them drop me off at home first,” Tim says casually. He does find himself trying to look around Jason to see the set up. The Bazaar only happens once a month, if the weather holds out. While it’s mainly food trucks, there’s always stalls set up to hawk their goods. 

“Come on, let me make a good second impression,” Jason steps to the side and waves a hand dramatically at the street, as if he’s put it all together just for the two of them.

“Third impression.”

“Third time’s the charm,” Jason is quick to say, making Tim shake his head.

“Honey,” an older woman standing next to Tim whispers, “You don’t say no to that.”

She’s not as quiet as she thinks, because Jason smiles wider and says, “Yeah honey, don’t say no. The donut truck just started frying,” The smile is large, genuine, but Tim can see in his eyes that Jason is nervous, worried that Tim will say no once again.

Tim breaks. He’s never turned down a donut in his life, and he’s not about to start now. He glances at the woman standing next to him, who nods solemnly at him. Tim sighs, and turns back to Jason, who’s looking at Tim like he knows he’s already won. 

“These donuts had better be amazing.”

“Oh, you haven’t lived till you’ve had a donut stick,” Jason’s smile goes sharp, and Tim worries for his general sanity when he follows Jason down the street to the closed off cul-de-sac where people are already gathering.

--

Jason is right. He hands Tim his own small packet of fried dough, and it’s so light and airy Tim almost moans, but is able to catch himself by shoving another bite into his mouth.

“Amazing right?” Jason says, picking at his own order of scallion pancakes. “Come on, the coffee at this one is shit,” Which earns him an angry ‘Hey!’ from the food truck as they walk away, “But there’s a little stand that has Turkish coffee and really good halva. Oh wait, first, we gotta hit Mrs. Li’s stand. You eat pork? They’ve got these pork and rice cakes things that taste like heaven.”

“Jason,” Tim calls, as Jason scouts ahead. “Jason!” Tim calls as he catches up to Jason while he waits in line. “You don’t have to take me to every food stall. All I wanted was the...is this even a donut?”

“Not really,” Jason concedes. “But close right? Neither one of us have had dinner, and I love these things,” Jason says as they move up in the line. Tim sighs and finishes his snack while Jason gets three orders and two beers.

“Not gonna lie,” Tim says as they get their food and Jason hands over one paper boat, not letting go of either beer yet. “I am not coordinated enough to eat, drink, and walk.”

“Who is in this crowd?” Jason gestures with his full hands at the crowds swarming the streets, loud music and even louder truck owners creating a cacophony Tim finds himself enjoying. Jason gestures to an empty curb, and Tim follows him over as Jason squats to sit down.

“If I hand this over,” Jason says, waving a beer at Tim, “Do I have a promise it won’t end up all over me? I like this shirt.”

“It’s a nice shirt,” Tim jokes, grabbing the bottle before Jason can wave it again. It’s not, actually. It’s just a worn, long sleeved flannel, no where near warm enough for November in Gotham, but the dark blue brings out the warmth in Jason’s naturally olive skin. “And I won’t, if you promise not to accuse me of things I don’t do again. Thought maybe you were going to pretend that never happened.”

“Promise,” Jason agrees, tapping the bottom of his bottle against Tim’s “I’m actually glad I ran into you. I’ve been trying to think of a way to apologize that wasn’t me creepily standing outside your office waiting for you,” Tim laughs at the joke, flashing to Stephanie doing the exact same thing just days ago.

“Oh yeah, shoving food down my throat while holding a ride home hostage is far, far less weird.”

“Are you trying to say that isn’t the best porkchop you’ve ever had,” Jason jokes as he rips into one order while Tim laughs.

“I’d sell your first born for a daily order of those dough sticks, honestly. But this is really good,” Tim concedes, washing down a large bite with a swig of beer. It’s too hoppy for his taste, the bitterness killing any flavor left from the dough, but he’s thirsty, and doesn’t complain. Tim looks out over the street and he doesn’t know if they’re always there or if someone hung them just for the night, but the large red paper lanterns add a soft warmth to the area that the few street lights don’t destroy. He sees some older couples have brought their own chairs to use, and other younger people like Tim and Jason are sitting on any available space eating all types of foods. He watches a boy give his date a boost onto a mailbox and use her bare legs as a table for the both of them. Tim watches two women pull out a card table and start dealing out cards and poker chips to each other.

“I am sorry,” Jason says, making Tim turn back to him. “It was shitty. I was shitty. I’m not use to people helping me out for nothing. And even if you were doing that, which you aren't,” Jason is quick to placate Tim. “It was hypocritical to do all that after you got me enrolled in all that stuff,” Jason's apology is rushed, and he takes a long pull from his bottle afterwards.

“It really was,” Tim sighs, “And you're not the only one recently to think that. But,” and now Tim taps his bottle against Jason's, “Apology accepted.”

Jason's smile is large, toothy, and makes his eyes crinkle. Tim concludes he is so, incredibly, fucked.

“Come one, finish up,” Jason says, gesturing to Tim's half eaten rice cake. “There's still meat kebabs. Oh, and these sweet sour fruits.”

“Jesus Jason, I'm gonna need to buy new pants after tonight,” Tim jokes as he finishes off his food. Jason hops up, gathering their garbage, gesturing for Tim's still half full beer.

“Have at it,” Tim says, handing it over. Jason shrugs and kills the bottle before tossing it all into the trash. “I was promised coffee.” 

“All in good time,” Jason says, waving Tim in front of him and back into the busy street market.

Tim doesn't realize it's been over an hour since Jason's apology when they finally find themselves at the the coffee vendor. He tries to turn down the halva, but the woman running the stall just wraps it and shoves it into his hand, smiling and waving him off when he tries to hand it back.

“Don’t try, she doesn’t take no for an answer,” Jason laughs, handing over Tim’s lightly sweetened coffee. It’s thick over his tongue, and draws up memories of walking through Istanbul with his guide while his parents quietly argued behind them.

“I haven’t had Turkish coffee in a long time.”

“She doesn’t sell it anywhere else apparently. Takes too long she says. Are you gonna eat that?” Jason asks, gesturing to the wrapped confection.

“Here,” Tim says, handing it over to Jason who rips a large bite out of the dense sweet. 

“Where are you putting it all?” Tim asks. Jason had not only gone back for more porkchop, but had two kebabs, an order of dumplings, another pancake (which had earned him a dirty look from the vendor) and shared a sticky sweet fruit kebab with Tim. Now, two pieces of halva in, he can see Jason spying for another truck.

“I’m a growing boy! Plus, it’s pretty rare to have so many trucks outside of the Diamond and Financial Districts.”

“It’s almost like they’re afraid of the gang violence or something,” Tim quips. Looking around, he sees different locals sporting their colors, and while they’re not exactly having a share circle, no one has called out their signs, and no one is actively trying to ruin the night.

“Not at things like this. Not when the whole community is behind keeping it clean,” Jason shrugs, shoving the paper wrapping into the back pocket of his jeans when he can’t find a trash can.

“You make it sound so easy,” Tim says, and Jason barks out a bitter laugh.

“I know it isn’t. Would be nice though, right? People remembering we all have to live in this shithole together,” His tone turns dark, his already husky tone taking on a deeper quality that Tim knows he should fear, but instead finds himself wanting to hear more.

“Yeah. but until then, there’s always Mrs. Li’s pork chops,” Tim says instead, trying to lighten the heavy moment.

“Shit, you think she’s still open?” Jason’s mood changes quick, and he starts heading back the way they came.

“Jason. Jason! If I try to eat anymore, I will die.”

“I doubt that, you could do with some meat on you. Plus, there's an actual donut truck around here somewhere.”

“...let's find that truck first.”

Jason laughs, loudly, grabbing his chest, but walks towards the end of the bazaar, where they find a bright pink and yellow cupcake truck selling the last of their goods. Tim snags two breakfast donuts, coated in different cereals, while Jason gets an old fashioned. 

Tim finds a wide window ledge in front of a closed up shop and hops up to eat his donuts before someone else can grab the spot. Jason is quick to stand in front and block him from any passerbys. As the night had grown it's gotten even busier, with people stopping to snap pictures of their food, or create small dance floors wherever there's room. 

The donuts are almost too sweet, but Tim is determined to finish them both. Jason eats his in record time, and runs off to grab them beers from someone selling them from a cooler. He comes back muttering to himself in a mix of Spanish and English about price gouging bastards. 

“You speak Spanish?” Tim asks, taking the bottle after Jason pops the cap off against the ledge.

“Most Alley kids can. Your parents never taught you?”

“I had a German tutor. My parents already knew French and Spanish between them, and they wanted a new language.”

“Damn, what did your parents do?”

“They ran a business. Wanted me to be able to talk to all kinds of people when they retired,” Tim says, taking a swig. It’s a lighter brew, pale and sweet, and actually compliments the donuts better than his coffee.

“Why didn’t you?”

“They died,” Tim says simply. He doesn’t go into more detail, and Jason doesn’t ask further questions about them. Instead he turns to lean on the wall next to Tim and starts a running commentary on the people that pass them, whispering snide comments and some rude words about people stopping in the middle of the street to take pictures, or haggling over prices.

Tim finishes off the beer, and takes Jason’s long empty bottle from his hand to toss their garbage. The coffee stays with him as they walk the cul de sac one more time, Jason pointing out the other trucks they didn’t get to try.

“You’ve ruined me,” Tim complains as he finally gets Jason to leave the warm lights and head back into Chinatown proper. “I’m gonna have to come back every month now.”

“Give me a ring and I’ll meet you at Ms. Li’s for a porkchop,” Jason says casually as he unlocks the passenger side of a beat up black pickup truck.

“Thought you had a motorcycle? I really wasn’t going to hold you to taking me home, you know,” Tim says, standing near the door that Jason holds open. 

“Had to help a friend move, so my boss let me borrow a truck, and I was. I'm sure you're on the way.”

“I'm over in Newtown,” Tim says, which finally gives Jason pause.

“Ok, so you're a little out of the way. Won't be too bad on the freeway this late though,” Jason says holding the passenger side open. When Tim doesn't hop in, Jason sighs. 

“Tim, I'm not gonna leave you to take the bus this late, or try to get a Lyft. I have the truck, and if you're worried about me knowing where you live, have me drop you a couple blocks from your place.”

“It's not that,” Tim hedges. Just a couple weeks ago he was prepared to never see Jason again, and for good reason. Now, he's getting a ride home after spending an amazing night eating an insane amount of food. The whiplash alone is giving him a headache. 

“Tim, I promise, there's no ulterior motive other than you live somewhat close, and I was the one who kept you out this late. I really thought we bonded over those donuts."

And they did, is the thing. Between all the food, and the music, and the wandering, the conversation had been there, the entire time had been fun. Enough so that Tim had almost forgotten his worries over Damian, and Robin, and all the issues they both had brought him. 

Tim climbs into the truck, trying not to notice Jason's smile.

The ride back is quiet, for all the talking they’ve done through the night. The freeway is mostly empty, and for being such a beat up truck, they make good time back to Newtown. Tim finally directs Jason to drop him off a couple streets away from his apartment building.

“Nice place,” Jason comments as he brings the truck to a stop. It’s not the nicest building in the neighborhood, but Tim doesn’t worry about it.

“I liked this,” Jason says as Tim reaches for the handle, “And I get the feeling you did too.”

Jason pauses, and looks over at Tim, who realizes he’s waiting on a response. 

“I did too. It was a fun night.”

“Good. Good, so I’m thinking we should do it again. And this time I’ll be your actual date instead of someone who bailed on you,” Jason is smiling at him, but Tim can read the nerves all over his face.

“I don’t know,” Tim starts, but Jason holds up a hand and turns fully towards him.

“Hear me out. You like food, I like food. You like going places, obviously so do I. You like trying new things, I’m a new thing. It’s kind of perfect.”

It is, Tim thinks, but with everything going on, with the bats both in and out of costume, Tim just doesn’t know if he can handle another new thing happening to him.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jason says when Tim hesitates on an answer, but doesn’t hop out of the truck. “The museum is doing this experiment extravaganza Saturday after next. I’ll definitely be there, say at 7, near the entrance, so if you want to try something new, you can meet me. If not, then you don’t.”

Tim’s not use to people giving him open ended dates. Hell, before Stephanie he was the one used to having to do the asking, so this is all a new experience. Maybe not one he hates though.

“I’ll think about it,” Tim says, Jason nodding in agreement.

“That’s all I’m asking for.”

It’s not, even Tim can see that, but he doesn’t want to completely dismiss the offer, not after such a great night.

“I’ll see you later Jason,” Tim says hopping out of the truck. He tries to wave Jason away, but he waits until Tim has entered the building before driving away.

Once Tim knows he gone, he slips off the jacket and heads out the back entrance, into an alley where he can safely give the jacket to someone who needs it. Exiting the alley puts him across the street from his own building where he can finally head home and warm up.

He doesn’t log into anything tonight, not wanting to give any timestamps, even though he knows he’s being just a little too paranoid. Tim goes to bed warm, full, and still anxious about what comes next.

Chapter Text

Bright and early on Monday, Tim hands over both paper and electronic copies of his casework to Leo, who's relieved look rubs Tim the wrong way, as if there was an actual issue instead of just Damian flexing his muscles. It’s not a pleasant feeling knowing that his job could hinge on the whims of a privileged child. It’s a tense day for Tim, to the point that Tim escapes during his lunch break, surprising his coworkers who know he’s normally more than happy to work straight through the day.

When he steps out for lunch, he decides he needs to stop being so surprised about meeting out of costume vigilantes.

“Tim? Tim, who never responds to text messages, is that you?” he hears Stephanie call from a table as Tim is picking up his sandwich and chips to go. He winces at the call, as does the girl handing him his bag.

“Hey, Steph,” Tim says as he turns towards the call. “And Dick,” Tim says, once he catches sight of the dark haired figure sitting next to her.

He’s hoping it’s just the two of them, which will already be bad enough. He walks over to say a quick hello-goodbye, but Dick kicks out a chair as soon as he’s close enough.

“You’re on lunch? Take a seat; we don’t bite,” Dick says, smile full of teeth.

“Lying isn't a good look on you, Dick,” Tim says as he sits but doesn’t unpack his lunch.

“What happened to you? You were suppose to have brunch with me and Cass. Instead, this loser came, and now we can’t get him to leave,” Stephanie points at Dick who hisses out a, “Rude.”

“I know. I know, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t talk to anyone this weekend, I ended up spending it holed up at home going over old paperwork. I didn’t even realize I had turned off my phone until this morning.” The lie is easy, slipping out before Tim even fully processes what he’s saying.

“You have to work weekends too?” Dick asks, taking a big bite of his sandwich.

“Not normally, but I have a lot of old claims, and it takes a lot of time and energy to get them all the exact way the higher ups want them.”

“Well, you missed a wonderful brunch,” Stephanie proclaims. “Eat with us. You’ve got some time right?”

And Stephanie just looks so earnest. He wants to just pour out everything Batgirl’s Robin is trying to do, mess with his career, mess with his network, and really, what did he ever do to Damian Wayne?
But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out his sandwich and chips and asks Stephanie about her classes. And it’s easy. It’s so easy to fall into banter with Dick, easy to wink at Stephanie and get a crust thrown at him, easy to let Dick call him a little nerd when he tosses out a Star Trek quote. The sting of hearing them discuss the Thanksgiving meal Alfred is apparently already working on is even lessened by just watching how much they enjoy being in each other’s company. It’s easy to just be friends and forget for a while that the only reason Stephanie walked into his job that day was to scope him out for Damian.

It’s when Dick’s phone has a massive amount of chimes go off all at once that they’re brought back to reality.

“Jesus, Dick, tell your soul mate over there you’re busy with family,” Stephanie sighs as she tries once again to reach for one of Tim’s chips, only to be smacked away.

“Wally knows he outranks all of you in importance,” Dick says, distracted as he reads through his texts. “What the fuck?”

“Something wrong?” Tim asks, getting a head nod from Dick.

“Apparently people have been attacking my little brother on Twitter? Is that even a thing?” Dick asks, and Tim goes for casual interest, hoping they don’t see his shoulders tense before he can relax them.

“Of course it’s a thing,” Stephanie says, reaching into her back pocket to pull out her own phone. “You’re such an old, Dick. Holy shit,” Stephanie says, all in one breath.

“It’s not good, is it?” Tim asks, when Stephanie hands her phone over for him to look.

“It’s not,” Dick says, anger slipping into his voice.

The tag #damianwaynedoesnt has blown up since Saturday. The one that must have caught Dick's friends attention is actually pretty shocking

#damianwaynedoesnt care about his family. Watched him get into an argument with @DGWayne, and @DaimainWayne SHOVED him into oncoming traffic. LAST YEAR #wtf #horriblechild

“Your brother pushed you into traffic?” Tim gets out, scrolling through the tag. Which is trending in Gotham. And Metropolis.

“It was an accident. He pulled me right back,” Dick says, anger rolling off of him. Tim hands Stephanie back her phone, only to pull his own out so he can look for himself.

It’s bad. It'a better than Tim thought it would be. It’s been trending since Saturday night, and it seems like everyone in Gotham has some story about Damian, and very few of them good.

There’s a few #damianwaynedoesnt hurt animals. He’s been donating to the Gotham Humane Society since he got here. Which had people asking if it was his money or just the regular Wayne donations under a different name.
Or #damianwaynedoesnt let his friends drive home drunk. Watched him pay for about 5 Ubers in #metropolis after leaving @Brewers. Which only ended up with people demanding to know how an 18 year old got into a 21 or over club.

Then there are the multiple 

#damianwaynedoesnt deserve his new position #nepotism at its finest  

#damianwaynedoesnt deserve a position the rest of us would have to work our whole lives for, just because his father wants to make up for his own mistakes.

#damianwaynedoesnt get this city. Can I be an illegitimate #wayne heir too and get a position I’m nowhere near qualified for, don’t have to go to school for, and never have to worry about losing because daddy will just give me a better one? 1/2
@B_Wayne #damianwaynedoesnt care about this city, maybe hire someone who does? 2/2

“Oh my God,” Tim whispers, and he’s so glad he prepared himself because it’s taking everything he has not to whoop with glee. He’s never started a trend before, and its exhilarating. Even if it is as simple as calling out Damian.

“Who would do this to Damian?” Stephanie asks, shock coloring her voice as she continues scrolling. Dick is typing furiously on his phone, to the point that Tim is worried about him breaking the glass.

“If you’re thinking of responding,” Tim says to Dick, “I wouldn’t. You’ll only give them another person to jump on.”

“Better me than him,” Dick snaps, making both Tim and Stephanie jump. “He’s a child. And after everything he’s done for this city, people are going to shit all over him?”

“Dick,” Stephanie starts but Dick cuts her off.

“I’m texting Damian. And Bruce. And Babs. Maybe she can do something about this."

"Like what? Wipe Twitter? Things like this happen all the time. It'll blow over," Tim lies easily. He's definitely not planning to let this blow over. If it can get trending in two of the largest cities on the east coast, then it's only a matter of time before it's national, especially with the Damian sightings in San Francisco. Really, all he needs is one more big, messy tweet, maybe with another trending tag, and there's no way it'll pass. 

"Does your brother really mock that you're adopted?" Tim asks, seeing another tweet Dick is tagged in.

Dick snaps, turning his anger towards Tim. 

"He was confused when he was younger, that's all. He needed time to adjust.”

"Huh," Tim says, not wanting to get into how there wasn't anything to mock. "Looks like no one told the Children's Action Network."

"I'm calling Bruce. Steph, we need to go," Dick says, shoving away from the table and grabbing his coat. He barely gives Steph time to wave a quick goodbye before they're out the door. 

Tim quickly finishes his chips off, thinking about his next step.

--

Tim knew his next step had to work around getting one up on Robin. If the set-up was going to be full-proof, then it had to hit Damian from all sides, which included getting Red Hood taking down rogues just before Batman and Robin got to the scene. Considering the massive backing Damian had as both a Wayne and a vigilante, Tim finds himself at a loss, far earlier in his plans than he expected.

The best word he can find is that Robin had been seen skulking around the Lower West Side and Old Gotham areas. Which, Tim finds out through a night of cross examination of multiple crime boards and his ever growing excel sheet of arrest locations and frequent sightings, probably meant Scarecrow. Not exactly someone Tim wanted to come across, but if he was going to scoop Robin, he was going to have to get out of his comfort zone. Especially when trying to one up Robin with far less technological and social pull at his beck and call. The area is still too large for him to make a solid guess as to what’s going on where though, so Tim still doesn’t have anything to give Red Hood.

Robin didn't normally work the area that Tim has the most pull. While Tim has some people in Old Gotham and the Diamond District, none of them are as trustworthy as the ladies of Crime Alley or his customers in the Bowery. The girls had told him they had limits of who they took on dates, and anyone that even having a passing tie with Scarecrow wasn’t worth the possible fallout of fear gas and plain weird circumstances that surrounded his goons. Even with them keeping an ear to the ground for him, knowing how rarely he asked for special information, not a whole lot comes up. He eventually hears that there’s been some strange goings on mainly around the Old Gotham tunnels, but anyone that would talk to him has been keeping as wide a berth as they can. Now that Tim has a definite area, he knows he’s going to have to make his way downtown to get more answers.

Tim waits until he knows Bruce and Damian will both be busy with a Wayne Enterprises dinner, courtesy of a caterer posting their good fortune on Instagram. He grabs his mace, nightstick, and his panic button just to be safe, even though he's hoping to be back before it's too dark.

It takes Tim longer than he expected to get even just a basic idea of what's going on in the area. After dinner at a restaurant he helped insure, he gets pointed in the direction of a boutique shop closer to the tunnels by the owners. He goes in and tells them exactly who he is, an insurance agent trying to get a better feel of the local nightlife for some new clients, and finds out that while Scarecrow may have been making himself scarce, the owners had seen some very unsavory types hanging around. It's not new information because, as Tim sees it, there's always some unsavory types hanging around Gotham.

Running short on time he heads straight for the tunnels and finds two people that use to sleep over in Newtown that he helped get state insurance. These two men are more than willing to share what they've seen with Tim after he greases the wheel with some money, and that encounter ends up far more fruitful than the rest of the night.

He only sees her because she lets him.

As he’s leaving the tunnels, Tim catches movement from the corner of his eye. Following him. He keeps walking, doing his best to keep his eyes forward, even as he slowly reaches into his coat for his baton. 

It’s as he’s passing under a streetlight that he sees the unmistakable shadow of a cape.  When he moves from under the halo of light, he can barely see her standing across from him. Apparently the Black Bat doesn’t like him being here anymore than he does.

“Hello,” Tim says politely after some time has passed. 

Black Bat doesn’t show any signs of moving from his path, and Tim doesn’t make the mistake of thinking he can just go around her.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, voice monotone.

“Checking in on some old clients.”

“Why?”

“They’ve hit a rough patch. Wanted to see if there was anything I could do.” 

It’s not a complete lie. While he had been interested in what they had seen, Tim did make sure that they were aware Tim was available to help when they were ready, even leaving them a business card. 

“You’re lying. What are you really doing?”

“I told you. I’m not sure why you’re worried about what I’m doing when there are dangerous people to be found,” Tim says, and Black Bat minutely tips her head to the side, like she’s confused about what Tim just said.

“You’re not dangerous? Robin seems to think you are.”

“I don’t know why,” Tim grouses, and he swears he sees her lips twitching under the face mask.

“Of course you do, Tim.”

“You know my name?” Tim asks, surprised by her boldness. Other than the Red Hood, the others have at least pretended Tim still had anonymity.

“Shouldn’t I? You know mine.”

“You’re the Black Bat,” Tim’s not the best at playing coy, but he tries, hoping Black Bat will move away from this line of questioning.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Black Bat says, and faster than Tim can blink, she’s close enough to whisper in his ear. 

“You can’t lie to me like the others, Timothy Drake. You know exactly who I am. Who each and every one of us are.”

Tim feels the blood drain from his face, fast enough that he’s light headed by time she pulls away. 

“Let’s try again,” she says, and now Tim knows she’s smiling, he can hear it in her voice. “What are you doing here? Really?”

“What I said. Just trying to help a couple old clients,” Tim finally gets out, his throat unbearably dry. He wasn’t this afraid when he met Red Hood the first time, and Hood had pulled a gun. 

“And if I go back and talk to them?”

“They won’t talk. Seems like an encounter with Robin left a bad taste in their mouth for bats.” 

Tim raises an eyebrow, trying for bravado, but Black Bat doesn’t seem to buy it.

“He does that sometimes. Do you want to sit down?” 

Tim nods as Black Bat gestures to a bench nearby, and lets Tim walk over by himself after he waves her helping hands away.

“I don’t carry trackers, if you’re worried. Not Bat ones at least.”

“No? Are they specifically Black Bat ones?” Tim asks dryly as he sits down.

“I’m pretty good at hunting people down without them,” she says mildly, but Tim can hear the threat behind the words.

“And just how many people is this conversation being broadcasted to?” Tim asks, aware that Robin could be listening to every word they’re saying.

“No one. I turned off my earpiece. Don't you trust me?” she asks. Tim had heard that Cassandra Cain was soft spoken, demur, sweet. He’s wondering how many people Bruce Wayne had to pay off to keep her sass level a secret.

“Is it a requirement that all Gotham vigilantes be sarcastic?”

“No, but Batgirl says it helps keep people on their toes. You can trust me though. I haven’t told anyone either,” Black Bat says, perching on the top of the bench, forcing Tim to look up at her. 

“What do you think you know?”

“What I know you know. You are very good at keeping your face clear of emotions. Makes it hard for most people to tell.” 

“But you could tell,” Tim states, still trying to wrap his head around that face that Black Bat is the one here, and not Robin, or worse, Batman.

“I’m not most people,” she says blandly, making Tim think there’s far more behind that statement. 

“And if I know what you think I know, shouldn’t Batman be the one here interrogating me?” Tim asks, hating the idea, but realizing it was the most appropriate next step.

“But I’m the one who knows. Not Batman,” Black Bat says, throwing Tim for a loop again.

“You didn’t tell,” Tim breaths, Black Bat shaking her head slightly.

“Because you haven’t told. You’ve known a long time right? But you never told. Why?”

“It was never about figuring out who Batman was to hurt him. I use to think I could help him,” Tim says, recalling all the times he followed Batman and Robin around, hiding from them but dying to be acknowledged.  “I can’t, so I can at least keep the secret.”

"You could help him now."

"Let me guess, by telling you everything I know?" Tim huffs, rolling his eyes.

"Batgirl is right; you are smart."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. But what if I don't want to? Robin hasn't been too kind lately,” Tim says, and Black Bat nods in agreement.

"It's not one of his stronger traits. But haven't the rest of us?"

"More than kind. I've never had to throw away clothing after 'randomly' meeting someone before."

"Tim. This is a dangerous game. When Batman finds out, he won't go easy on you."

"But you're the only one who knows,” Tim looks up at her, hoping she’ll remember he’s just an innocent bystander in all of this.

"I won't be forever. The others will get suspicious, if they aren't already."

"Why warn me?"

"Because Robin is wrong this time,” Black Bat says, and Tim feels like he’s having whiplash from how many times in this conversation Black Bat has surprised him.

"I thought bats always stuck by their Robins?"

"He wasn't always my Robin,” Black Bat says, and there’s finally a hint of kindness in her voice. “She was. And she trusts you."

"But what if I really am some hardened criminal? Selling everything I know, just waiting for the right moment to out you all?" Tim’s not able to keep the disgust out of his voice, knowing he would never give up any of the bats identities. Even Robin’s, for all that he’s pushing Tim to the brink.

"Someone has been hearing whispers," Black Bat tsk's. "And not from Batgirl."

"Everyone talks to someone who listens."

"Don't I know it. Who are you listening to?" Black Bat leans just the slightest bit closer, and Tim finally remembers he’s sitting next to the one vigilante who could probably give Batman a run for his money.

"Lots of people,” Tim hedges, but Black Bat just shakes her head again.

"I don't like playing games. Especially with people who don't know all the rules."

"Are you saying I'm outmatched? Outnumbered? I already know that,” Tim doesn’t like being threatened, and it feels like for the last few weeks, that’s all the masks of Gotham have been doing. He’s angry and hurt. The anger is easier to grasp onto as Black Bat leans away again.

"Then why continue the game?"

"Because," Tim says, rising from his seat, and looking Black Bat dead on. "The game's no fun if the stakes aren't high."

Tim turns to walk away, but Black Bat's hand snaps out and grabs his wrist.

"You'll lose. He'll lose worse. Remember that when you're both trying to change the rules."

"I don't know who you're talking about," Tim tries again, but he only receives a head shake in return.

"It's ok, he knows the stakes," Black Bat rises gracefully from her perches and backflips onto her feet.

"Showoff," Tim grouses, earning a shoulder shrug.

"Be careful," she says before turning away and blending into the shadows.

Chapter Text

The rest of the week is uncomfortable for Tim while he tries to gather more information on Scarecrow. Though he’s happy Robin hasn’t nabbed him quite yet, the fact that Scarecrow is hiding so well is worrisome. There’s also the looming issue of what Damian is planning to do with the information Tim handed over to the Foundation and his job in general. And while the #damianwaynedoesnt hashtag still hasn’t blown up like Tim was hoping, it’s still trending in Metropolis and Gotham. Tim knows that unless someone comes forward with some really juicy gossip, he’s going to have to hit the streets and his other Twitter accounts again. It’s while Tim is idly scanning through some Gotham based tumblrs that he finally gets a break in the Scarecrow case and is so excited he doesn’t think before he swipes the fob Red Hood gave him off of his desk and taps the button to meet him. 

Tim looks around, realizing he’s just tapped it while standing in his living room wearing his weekend sweats that probably should have been washed last week. He has no idea how to cancel the request, and while he knows Hood has been there before, Tim still gets nervous about the idea of Hood meeting him at home. He scrambles into some clean clothes, throws on his winter coat and boots, and hikes up his fire escape to the roof. Last time Red Hood had been to the meeting spot in a relatively short amount of time, so Tim is hoping to have the meeting spot fixed before Hood gets there. 

Tim’s standing on his roof, hair whipping from the icy breeze, and already wishing he had remembered his gloves when his phone goes off, with an unknown number. He dismisses it, but the number just calls back again. He doesn’t even get out a hello and Hood is already snapping at him.

“You set up a meet, and you don’t even have the decency to pick up the phone? Where are you?”

“On the roof. Where are you?”  Tim asks, looking around in confusion.

“Outside your window. Why are you on the roof? It’s cold at shit out here. I didn’t have time to pick up anything hot to eat this time.”

“I. I, uh,” Tim stammers, hearing Hood make his way up the metal stairs through the call.

“It’s fine,” Hood calls out, hopping the roof ledge easily and walking up to Tim. Tim doesn’t see a phone in Hood’s hand, and realizes he still has his own phone shoved against his face and fumbles to hang up, icy fingers almost dropping his phone. “I get it, I’m good enough to fix your window, but not good enough to be let inside.”

“Thanks for that,” Tim says as Hood leans against the access door. “My heating bills have really dropped since last month’s bill.”

“You should reseal all those windows. You’ve got some pretty obvious drafts.” 

Hood is tense, arms crossed against his chest, making him look even larger than normal. 

“While I appreciate the small talk,” Tim says, making Hood sigh.

“Yeah, it looks like it.”

“I’ve got some information,” Tim continues, trying to ignore Hood’s bad mood. “And you hopefully have something as well.”

“I may. What do you have?”

"You first. I have a feeling mine will take longer."

"Baby bat has a real bee in his bonnet now about you. Last I heard, he was trying to look into your background for any connections with the underground networks, see if someone placed you in your position instead of you running your own numbers."

"As a low level sales associate?" Tim snorts, smiling at Hood, who still doesn’t move from his tense position.

"Don't sell yourself so short, I hear you're at least on the way to mid level. He's having problems though, seems like his little band of followers are split about your real reasons."

"How so?"

"Seems like at least a couple think that you're a real stand up guy. 'Doesn't seem to have a mean bone in his body' was a phrase I picked up. Sounds just like you right?"

"Who said that?" Tim asks, hopeful Stephanie is standing up for him. Or maybe Cass. Dick he thinks is too up in the air and too close to Damian to be on his side.

"Does it matter? What matters is that if there's already dissension in the ranks, it's only a matter of time before they end up leaving you alone."

"Can't be soon enough," Tim mumbles, pulling his coat closer. 

"Seriously Tim, let's head inside. You look half frozen already,” Hood finally begins to relax, pointing over his shoulder at the fire escape.

"I'm fine,” Tim disagrees. He really doesn’t want Red Hood in  his apartment. From the poster boards of major rogue activity to the window nook overcrowded with blankets and coffee cups, it’s his sanctuary. None of his past relationships had ever felt comfortable surrounded by a hodgepodge of geek paraphernalia and higher end necessities his impoverished years couldn’t break him from wanting. Even Ives still gives him odd looks before laughing off Tim’s ‘weird hobbies’ when he looks at the maps Tim has scrawled notes all over, from most common Joker sightings to the best place to get imported Gruyere.  

"If you're worried about me getting the wrong idea, I can promise you, I won't. I didn't even go through your drawers last time. I am a paragon of virtue,” Hood says, placing a hand over his heart, making Tim roll his eyes.

"I just bet,” Tim jokes. “But really, I'm fine. I don't have much but I think it's important."

"Then I'm all ears," Red Hood says, tapping the side of his helmet.

“Scarecrow is going to release fear toxin in the Old Gotham tunnels. Most likely, to get it airborne through the subway vents.”

“How in the blue hell did you learn that? Last I heard, Batman had Robin scoping the area, but nothing was coming up.”

“Well, I knew Scarecrow was trying to get the supplies situated, it just took a bit longer to figure out where he was going to let it go off. I’m almost positive It’ll be close to Central Headquarters, but that’s just my own thinking.”

“How’d you figure that?”

“Talked to a few people who noticed some weird shit going on down there, and when I went,” Tim tries to continue, but Hood puts up a hand to stop Tim’s explanation.

“Did you just say went ? As in, you went to the tunnels, where you knew weird shit was going on? Weird, Scarecrow type shit?”

“Should I say no? I should say no right?”

"Why the hell would you go somewhere that Scarecrow has been seen?" Hood finally steps away from the access door, only to step fully into Tim’s space. He’s angry, Tim can see it in his stance, he’s practically poised to pounce, but Tim powers on anyway. 

"Technically, no one had seen him. Just some people who may or may not have had small amounts of fear toxin," Tim tries to defend himself, but Red Hood just cuts him off.

"You can't just go somewhere there's known rogue activity and hope they don't see you. Or attack you."

"I can take care of myself."

"Not against people like them. Don't you think if they were easy to contain, they would have been taken care of a long time ago?"

"I had my baton. And my panic button,” Tim says, but Hood just shakes his head.

"And while I'm just so terribly pleased you thought ahead, what if I was clear across town? What if I couldn't get there in time?" Hood asks, arms gesturing wide, as if to encompass how far he could have been from Tim if Tim needed him.

"But nothing happened. I'm fine. ” Tim snaps, uncomfortable with the worry Red Hood is so obviously showing. “Do you want to hear the rest or not?"

Hood is silent, body tense, so Tim takes that as a yes. He takes an obviously large step back from Red Hood, who stays in his spot instead of retreating back to the access door. Hood crosses his arms again, body a tense line.

"I wasn't completely sure, but just now someone posted about the secret gems of Gotham. They had pictures with some graffiti I remembered passing in the tunnels, and there was a dolly filled with boxes from a lab that Scarecrow hit a couple months ago they didn't crop. Something about catching the working class of Gotham scrounging for work at all times of night."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Nope," Tim says, pulling out his phone to show the screenshot he took. Hood doesn’t step closer, but he nods to let Tim know he’s seen the picture. "Tumblr, man."

"Well fuck. And you think what? I'll be able to just waltz downtown and blow him into tiny bits?"

"Well, I don't know about that. Who knows what he's pumped himself with and how it could react,” Tim tries to lighten the mood but he can see Hood isn’t going to just let his anger go.

"Hilarious. Downtown is strictly bat territory. They don’t want me down there, and I don’t want to be near them if I can help it.”

“Well, the goal was to sweep the stage before Robin could. And I gave you an in specifically against him, for that reason.”

“You’re also supposed to give me info I can use to keep the streets around here safe.”

“It’s all Gotham,” Tim sighs, which does nothing to help Hood’s over all mood. 

“If you think this city is equal in its share of crime and crime fighters? Well then, sweetheart, I’ve misjudged you.”

“One. Don’t ever call me that again. Two, I’m aware that not all of Gotham is created equal, I don’t need you patronizing me. But none of my usual sources have anything new. Scarecrow is all I’ve got. Possibly a Poison Ivy sighting in the Diamond District.”

“Nah, she hasn’t left that park in months. She’s still integrated with the plants, last I heard.”

“Then that’s that. Robin’s not planning to try and confront me again right?”

“Not that I heard.”

“Well, then,” Tim says, unsure of where to go from here. “I’ll see you next time, Hood,” Tim says, nodding a goodbye to Red Hood, who holds a hand up to stop Tim from walking to the fire escape.

“That’s it? You invite me to you home, and I don’t even get a nightcap?” Hood asks, and the switch from annoyed gagster to joking vigilante is enough to have Tim scrunching his brows together and needing a moment before he can formulate an answer.

“I never said I was a good host.”

“I’ve grown to like our little heart to hearts. I tell you nothing, and you tell me all about looking up to Robin and dramatic lunch dates.”

“You are the absolute worst,” Tim grouses, walking around Red Hood, who lets him pass.

“Hey, when we do this next weekend, I’m excited to see what the rest of your apartment looks like. I didn't even have time to snoop!" Hood calls, and Tim hears his footsteps following on the gravely rooftop.

"I'll page you when I've got something," Tim calls, waving as he finally makes his way to the fire escape to shimmy down and head back to his apartment.

“Wait. That’s really it?” Hood calls after Tim.

“You sound disappointed,” Tim says, stopping on the top landing. Hood is leaning over the ledge of the building, arms crossed under him. Tim looks up and gives Hood a small smile while he waits for some snarky remark.

“No,” Red Hood starts. Tim gives him a moment to continue, but when nothing else is said, he gives Hood a small wave and continues to head to his landing.

“Till next time,” Tim calls, and keeps an ear out for Hood to have the last word. Instead, all he hears is the shot from a grapple gun, and then nothing.

Tim’s encased in his favorite blanket, sitting on his couch, and staring out his window unable to sleep after his conversation with Red Hood. It had been short, and uncomfortable, and nothing like he was used to. Even when Red Hood had still been a threatening presence instead of a welcomed one, Hood had still been funny, and quick, and not anywhere so obvious about his reactions with Tim. 

Tim flops face first onto his couch cushions, groaning over the fact that he is honestly worried for a hardened criminal who thinks about bringing hot foods and Tim’s heating problems. 

--

It happens that Thursday. Tim is sitting at his desk, cruising for a continuing education course to sign up for when he hears his phone buzz. Reaching blindly for it, he unlocks it without looking away from his main screen. 

  I know I said I wouldn’t bother you until Saturday, but I just wanted to let you know I didn’t forget about meeting you. Don’t worry, not expecting a response.

The text is from Jason, and Tim can feel his body tensing, though he’s not sure if it’s from nerves or sheer anticipation. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about meeting Jason this weekend, though with the hunt for Scarecrow, and the worry over Hood, it did at times get pushed to the bottom of the worry list. He’s also been trying to get in contact with Stephanie, but it’s been full radio silence from her, which, if he’s being honest he probably deserves for the last time he did it for her. 

  He’s trying to formulate a response that’s both flattered but still non-committal when he notices the twitter notification and decides to swipe onto that instead of taking care of his actual problems.

#damianwaynedoesnt has begun to trend again, but this time not just on the east coast. 

@DamianWayne has finally shown his true colors. #damianwaynedoesnt care about any Gothamite. Who stops insurance payouts for people in need?! #privileged #1% #ripevergettingmyroofrepaired

#damianwaynedoesnt even think about the good people who have been hurt by this city’s rogue/vigilante problem. Putting out a blanket freeze doesn’t hurt the bad people, it only hurts the already destitute. 

#damianwaynedoesnt ever seem to think before opening his mouth. Try leaving your pristine tower and seeing how the rest of us live before telling us we’re not ‘looking at the big picture’.

The last tweet has a link to a press release from Wayne Industries that dropped that morning. Tim reads through quickly, blood running cold at what he’s reading. Due to the investigation into falsifying insurance claims, Wayne Foundation had decided to freeze all payouts for everyone until they could discern which claims could be considered valid. Tim can already imagine the calls he’s going to get from customers who can’t or won’t understand that while Tim helped them get the Foundation coverage, he doesn’t actually have anything to do with them getting their money. And considering just how many people he’s helped in the lower class areas of Gotham, it’s going to be a busy couple of days trying to figure out what can be done.

While Damian wasn’t listed explicitly, the Foundation was the primary focus, and as the most well known name, of course it had fallen on him. The press release hasn’t even been out a full day, and already, Tim can see a Buzzfeed article has dropped, listing the best tweets about Damian, and of course, the hashtag. None of the ones Tim posted are listed, which is actually a blessing because it pulls attention away from him and back onto the people of Gotham. 

“Tim,” Leo calls from the doorway of his office, face tense and tone serious.  “I need you in here.”

 Tim gets up and hurries to Leo’s office, closing the glass door behind him when Leo gestures at him to do so.

“Leo,” Tim starts, but is waved to a seat by Leo.

“Sit down. We’ve got a few things to discuss today,” Leo’s tone is clipped, which worried Tim the most. Leo, who’s normally jovial and easygoing, looks tense and drawn in a way Tim has never seen before. 

Tim does so, mentally preparing himself for the worst.

“First, I wanted to let you know that even though the Wayne Foundation is still investigating, I’ve been given assurances that your cases will be cleared.”

And while Tim knew there wasn’t anything they could pin on him, he still finds himself breathing easier. It’s a good feeling, knowing that all the hard work he’s put in to helping his clients won’t be unraveled by Damian.

“And while those were cleared, the Foundation is asking for another batch of your work claims," Leo says and Tim sees red. Damian hadn't been able to prove Tim was doing anything less than by the book the first time, so now Tim assumes he's going to try and double down, instead of just letting it go.

“But you just said I didn’t do anything wrong,” Tim starts, but Leo just lets out a deep sigh, running a large hand through his gelled hair.

"I know you didn't. But now comes the question of who did. Due to this scrutiny, and just how many of our agents across the city were accused, the company is having a full audit completed on all agents. The claims against our company couldn’t have been completely false, not with the amount of agents accused..." 

Tim barely hears Leo continuing.

“You said it was multiple companies,” Tim says, which he knows is true. He slipped into the Foundations records to see how many people had been accused of fraudulent claims, and most had worked for different agencies. It had taken him hours to slip in through the firewalls, but had been worth it to see that Damian had at least been smart enough to make it look like a general audit and not one aimed specifically at him.

“It was. But I don’t control what other agencies do with their people. I wanted to let you know first, since you had more riding on this. Spend today and tomorrow getting you files in order, and headquarters will send someone sometime next week. You’ll be getting an email with the specific claims next week before they get here.”

“It’s fine, I went through them all just in case something like this happened,” Tim sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Good, then you’re already ahead of some of our less than organized coworkers,” Leo tries to joke, but Tim can see how wearing this situation has been on him. “Can you send Alex in for me?” Leo asks, clearly dismissing Tim. Tim leaves and makes the stop at Alex’s desk as requested. 

Tim spends most of the day switching between watching his coworkers scramble to pull their files together and fielding calls from clients learning about the freeze. Considering there’s been no other information dropped since the initial one page press release, Tim knows exactly as much as they do. 

It’s a rough day all around, and Tim doesn’t even glance at his phone for the rest of the day. 

By the time he’s home and changed into his ‘these will never see the light of day’ sweatpants he’s had since college, he notices the notifications on his phone. 

There’s still the one from Jason that he has to respond to, another block from twitter, and a single one from Stephanie that reads I need someone to talk to

Tim doesn’t hesitate to call her first, and she picks up by the second ring.

“Hey, are you safe? What can I do?” Tim is saying before Stephanie can even finish greeting him.

“No no,” Stephanie says quickly, and Tim can hear she’s already been crying. “I’m fine, really. It’s just been really stressful around here. Dick is furious at all the stuff people are saying about Damian, so he’s taking it out on the rest of us. Cass is trying her best, but she doesn’t handle crowds, or reporters very well, especially when they’re going after her little brother and Damian and Bruce have just shut completely down. Like, emotionally comatose.” 

By the time she’s done, Stephanie has started crying again, and Tim feels like each little whimper is a knife made just to stab him in the heart. 

“And I’m over here trying to keep everyone together, and that other jackass is completely useless. I asked him to go talk to Dick, and he’s like fight your own family battles, I just want to run and be free and do my own thing and be the biggest douche about it that I can be. And. And it’s just a lot. I’m sorry, I feel like all I do is complain about my weird family.”

“I don’t mind,” Tim says, and he means it. He’s curled up on his window seat, looking through the grimy glass and out into Newtown, reminding himself why he wanted to go after Damian in the first place. “I never got to have arguments with siblings, or complain about them. It’s terrible, but I like hearing about other people’s families. But Steph, you don’t have to try and fix them. It sounds like this is a hard time for everyone, and with the new press release,” Tim starts, but Stephanie only pulls in a deep breath, and Tim realizes he’s stepped on a landmine.

“Which Damian had nothing to do with! He only mentioned to the board that maybe there were more they were missing. They decided from there.”

“Steph, you’ve got to know, in Gotham, a Wayne even mentioning something is a media storm. You’ve been around them long enough, you’ve seen it happen.”

“But he’s a kid! Who takes a kid that seriously?! I’ve seen him pull a butter knife on Dick for eating the last slice of pie!”

“You do when their last name is Wayne. And I would keep little memories like that to yourself until this whole thing has blown over. Most people wouldn’t see that as cute, not with his record of pulling actual knives on people when he was younger.”

“He came from a bad household.”

“And that excuses him a lot but,” Tim starts, but takes a deep breath instead of continuing. “I don’t want to argue with you about Damian and his formative years, you’re already dealing with enough. Tell me if there’s something I can do to help.”

“I know you’re gonna end up being affected by this whole freeze,” Stephanie says instead, making Tim snort. 

“It’s fine. I’ve been fielding calls all day about it. But if this is what the Wayne Foundation needs to do to make sure that everything is on the up and up, I’m not going to argue, or get in the way. But, who’s the other jackass? And why do they sound like a Merida knockoff?”

“He would hate that comparison, I cannot wait to call him that to his face. You’ve already made this a better situation. He’s… an old friend of the family. Like me, I guess, but like, way worse and totally useless when it comes to family things. I was kind of hoping he would talk to Dick, they would get into a massive fight, and Dick would forget about the whole situation while they had their version of a heart to heart. Which involves a lot more name calling and calling ex-girlfriends and putting them on speakerphone than you would think.”

“I would pay solid cash to see something like that. Think you could snap me the next time it happens?” Tim jokes, drawing his blankets closer as he feels the telltale chill of a draft. Hood was right, he really does need to hire someone to fix his windows.

“You pay for the coffee next time I see you, and we’ve got a deal,” Stephanie laughs, and Tim feels slightly better about the whole situation if at least Stephanie can find a bright spot.

“I could make that happen. But Steph, these things are gonna pan out the way they pan out. In a week or two, some other socialite will have made a massive faux paux, or will have a whirlwind romance, or anything, and Damian will be old news.”

“People were saying that a week ago and look what happened. I’m not saying I like the little brat, not with the way treated me when he first got here, but no eighteen year old deserves to be dragged through the dirt the way he has. Teenage-hood is hard enough around here.”

“Sure,” Tim agrees, wishing he could tell Stephanie exactly what Damian had done that had started this whole media storm. “But it’ll pass. And when he’s a big shot corporate head at Wayne Tech, this’ll just be a footnote.”

“You’re right I’m. I’m sorry, Barbara has been texting me non-stop, hold on while I check it out?”

“Of course, I’ll be here,” Tim says, placing her on speaker while he checks his own phones notifications. 

He stares at the text from Jason and decides to just go for it. They may have had a weird, rough start to whatever this could be, but Jason seems honestly interested and is someone separate from this game he’s playing with the bats. The fact that he ticks so many of Tim’s boxes doesn’t hurt either.

Can’t wait, I’ll be there.  

“Tim?” he hears over the speaker. “I’ve got to go. It just got worse.”

“How?” Tim asks, pulling up Twitter.

And it has.

#damianwaynedoesnt have respect for women. I finished my internship, so I feel better sharing this. @DGWayne came to visit him on his first day at @WayneCorp along with a girl. Damian the girl she should “know better than to dress like some street hussy.” 1/2

She laughed, but trust me, the rest of the women in the office learned to steer clear #metoo #harassment #yesallwomen #whatsyourwaynecorpstory 2/2

“Oh my sweet jesus,” Tim whispers, reading through a second time. The tweet is trending, and Tim is watching the hashtag gain ground as they speak, with more people writing up their #whatsyourwaynecorpstory

“How could someone write that!” Stephanie is screaming into the phone, and Tim is happy he kept it on speaker.

“If it’s a false claim, then Damian definitely needs to come forward,” Tim says, shocked at how the game has changed. He had figured there would be stories about Damian’s mysterious mother and her side of the family, maybe using the Wayne name to get out of some trouble in San Francisco, not a sexual harassment claim against Robin. 

“I mean, not technically? He said it, but it’s more of an inside joke.”

“How would you know that? Calling someone a ‘street hussy’ isn’t exactly funny. Who even speaks like that?” Tim asks, watching the tweets flood in.

“Because it was me. And I laughed because it was funny.”

“Steph, not sure if anyone else is going to see the joke. I don’t see the joke,” Tim says, a flash of anger at Damian for talking to Stephanie that way, but still more shocked at what just happened on Twitter.

“They’re leaving out how Dick tore him a new one right there on the floor for calling me names.”

“You could lead with that. But I would check with your PR department first. They’re probably already working on damage control. But remember, this isn’t up to you to fix, and it’s definitely not your fault that this is happening,” Tim says, meaning every word, because he knows it’s his fault. He’s just made Stephanie, and all of Wayne Corp, cannon fodder for his grudge against Damian.

“You’re right. I know you’re right. Listen, I’ve got to go, I can already hear Dick through the walls.”

“Good luck. Call if you need me,” Tim says, just before Stephanie hangs up.

Tim stays on twitter the rest of the night, and while there are definitely some people coming forward with stories about the company that aren’t doing Damian any favors, for the most part, the #whatsyourwaynecorpstory isn’t getting the foothold the original tweeter thought it would. Instead, more people than not are waxing poetic about the company, Damian not included.

#whatsyourwaynecorpstory well mine is how they hired me with no diploma, helped me get my ged and turn mine and my family’s life around, all because I walked in with a business card. 1/2

 #damianwaynedoesnt belong in charge, but @WayneCorp has done nothing but good for this city since Bruce Wayne took over 2/2

My family thought we were going to lose everything when I got my diagnosis. Thanks to a @WayneCorp grant, I got into a drug trial, and am showing signs of a full recovery #whatsyourwaynecorpstory sorry all I’ve got are good ones

#whatsyourwaynecorpstory they built a community center where my family was able to take citizenship classes & job training for free that may get shut down because #damianwaynedoesnt understand how freezing claims hurts the whole city

@DamianWayne may be a douche in the making, but that’s what makes this whole debacle even worse #whatsyourwaynecorpstory is filled with people talking about how @WayneCorp has touched almost every Gothamite, and almost all of them are positive. 

#whatsyourwaynecorpstory well the Wayne Foundation gave my school a grant to buy books when the city couldn’t afford it, helped build affordable housing in my neighborhood, and sends out a caregiver to help my abuela every other day. #sorrynotsorry 

My #whatsyourwaynecorpstory is too long to write up but includes getting an internship, learning from some of the best in the business, a grant to start my own cybersecurity company, and not trying to drag a company through the mud just because @DamianWayne is an ass. 

For as much as Tim wanted to put the heat on Damian, it’s amazing to see how people will gather around Wayne Corp and just how much Bruce Wayne has helped the city, both as ditzy billionaire, and Batman.

Tim drags himself to bed, uneasy with the plan he’s put in motion, and worried about what Damian’s next move will be.

Chapter Text

It's Saturday. It's Saturday and it’s seven and Tim is sitting in his car trying to force himself to get out and walk over to the museum. Jason had kept his promise on not contacting Tim again, but honestly Tim had spent all of Friday fielding calls from angry clients to worry much.

He's already paid the exorbitant price for parking downtown. He's got on his nicest black pea-coat with the blue scarf Bernard always tells him makes his eyes pop. He's also got on the nice jeans that he knows makes his butt look great. 

He finally pushes himself out of his car, fixes his outfit, and locks up. It's now 7:10, and Tim hurries to get out of the parking garage and across the street to where hopefully Jason is still waiting. 

The museum courtyard is crowded, and while Jason may be head and shoulders over most people, Tim is most definitely not. He finally bites the bullet and calls Jason, who hopefully hasn't left yet.

"Hey," Jason says when he picks up on the second ring. "You on your way?"

"I'm here actually," Tim says, still looking around. "Just can't seem to find you."

"I'll meet you outside at the Edison blow-up doll,” Jason says, making Tim groan.

“Please, never say that again,” he says, weaving through the crowded entrance hall towards the side wall where they’ve set up larger than life replicas of different scientists.

“What? Edison? That’s gonna be pretty hard tonight. I heard one of the showcases was making your own lightbulb,” Jason says, making Tim groan again.

"You know what."

"Fine, less blow up doll jokes," Tim hears from his side, and then an echo in his phone. "But with this many...larger than life air filled balloons, you can't take them all from me."

Tim finally sees Jason and Tim’s never seen him so put together. His hair has been smoothed back a little, the natural curl tamed. The black and white retro style racing jacket he’s wearing over a crew neck white thermal makes Jason’s shoulder’s look even broader. His slim fit jeans look impossibly tight. Tim has to take a deep breath and pull himself together.  

Tim hangs up on Jason while he's in the middle of talking just to watch Jason pull the phone away, brows furrowed. Jason looks up and catches sight of Tim almost immediately. The smile lighting up his face makes Tim realizes he’s made a grave mistake. Because it's a good look on Jason, and Tim didn't realize 'genuine happiness' was an emotion he could bring out in someone.

"Could have just said you were here instead of hanging up on me," Jason says, walking over to Tim in a few long strides.

"Couldn't figure out how to end the lightbulb tirade. Especially when there's that big 3-D printer inside,” Tim hints, but Jason just shakes his head.

"Nope, we are getting all the outdoor stuff done before the cold really sets in. Especially the rockets. Besides, you dressed for the cold pretty nicely," Jason says, giving Tim a once over.

"I get cold easily," Tim grumbles, making Jason laugh.

"Good thing you came prepared," he says quietly, leaning down and straightening Tim's scarf.

"You look pretty good too," Tim says before Jason pulls away, feeling like an idiot before he’s even done with the compliment. Jason smile turns just a little sharper, making Tim feel far warmer than he had just a moment before.

"Well, thank you very much,” Jason says softly, his quiet tone making Tim want to lean even closer. “Now come on. Bottle. Rockets,” Jason gestures in front of himself, letting Tim begin walking first.

"Lord, save us," Tim says, walking with Jason back to the open courtyard next to the museum. "Who thought it was a good idea to have anything that explodes in Gotham for fun?"

"You never know. Maybe everyone will be proved wrong and tonight will go off without a hitch," Jason says, shaking his head and laughing by the end.

"You couldn't even get that out without a straight face! If we're gonna do this, I'm hitting the popcorn stand first," Tim says, pulling Jason to the side to get in line for warm food and drinks.

"Now you're speaking my love language,” Jason says, staying close to Tim.

--

With all the small experiments the museum is putting on, Tim finds himself being pulled from side to side each time Jason finds something new to look at.

"Oh my god," Tim says after Jason goes on a five minute rant about how there's been at least three women not mentioned that did the actual inventing and been asked to leave one activity by an employee that Tim realizes. "You're a total nerd." 

"No, I'm not,” Jason defends, but it sounds more automatic than defensive.

"You totally are,” Tim says, slightly awed. “You were two sentences away from pulling out full citations on your phone to prove that mom wrong," Tim jokes, watching Jason's face scrunch up in annoyance. He continues, trying not to laugh. "You've corrected a dossant. You quoted Madam CJ Walker without having to check your source. You were already planning to come to this alone weren't you? I'm just here so you're not a lone scholar, wandering after people and yelling dates at them."

"I am not. But there's been enough exclusion in science already, there’s no need to continue propagating the idea that women haven’t or can’t do the work, and I'm not helping myself at all am I?" Jason deflates, making Tim snort.

"Oh no, please," Tim says. "I've always wanted to go out with someone who's idea of a good time is making a grad student misty eyed."

"His eyes were glazed over by the end anyway. He wasn't going to listen to anyone who looked liked me,” Jason says, gesturing at his simple outfit, looking slightly out of place next to all the well dressed downtown Gothamites.

"That's true," Tim agrees and laughs when Jason shoves him slightly. "But mainly because you were close enough he could probably smell your cologne and you were distracting him."

Jason laughs loudly and uses the hand he had shoved Tim with to pull him closer instead. 

"Are you trying to say something?"

"I'm saying people pay good money to get yelled at by someone who looks like you. He won't forget that anytime soon," Tim says lightly, resting his hands on Jason's biceps.

"Tim, I will yell facts about the forgotten women of science and business all night if you want me to," Jason says, leaning down to whisper near Tim's ear. 

"Take me inside, and I'll tell people all about the patents Edison stole in the electric and technology section, and Einstein’s forgotten first wife," Tim says, making Jason break and laugh.

"Oh man," Jason says, turning to wrap an arm around Tim's waist and start walking him back towards the entrance. "This is gonna be even better than I was hoping."

Tim finally gets Jason over to the printer. He also gets him to the Tesla coils and the climate change time lapse. They even have time to check out some of the long standing exhibits that are still open to the public. 

Jason doesn't let go of Tim. It's like now that Tim has given him permission, Jason can't help himself. From resting a hand on his hip while they listen to the lectures, to holding his hand to drag him away from a discussion with one of the dossants, and at one point even pushing Tim's hair out of his face when he leans over the coils to watch the voltage jump from probably too close. He even helped Tim slide out of his pea-coat at the coat check when they entered the building proper, leaving him in just his dark red sweater for the rest of the evening.

Tim doesn't hate it. He knows he's touch starved, even as a child his parents hadn't been overly demonstrative with their love, preferring a simple head nod or words of encouragement over pats on the shoulder and hugs. With other relationships, he had never been the one to reach out, which had sometimes been a point of contention. Jason doesn't seem to have that same problem. He's expressive, emotions written all over his face for anyone looking long enough. When Tim gets distracted in the cyberspace section the museum has set up to showcase the internet, it's only interest and not annoyance when Tim goes off on a spiel about all the new innovations in cybersecurity coming out of Gotham.

“Man, I’ve got to get you and Barbie in the same room. You’d both probably run off into the sunset with each other and your favorite laptops.”

“And miss out on all this?” Tim asks, gesturing to the main hall they’ve found themselves in again, encompassing Jason in his wave as well, just to see his reaction, “Pass.”

“Really?” Jason says, pulling Tim in even closer, “Because I can tell you, she’s got a lot to offer. Computers. Things that go with computers. Those chairs with the really nice backrests.”

“Does she have really, really bad science jokes and an insane level of knowledge about Stephanie Kwolek and Kevlar? Because if not, it’s a no from me,” Tim says as Jason herds him out of the walkway and towards a less crowded section of the main hall.

“Honey,” Jason says turning Tim so they’re looking at each other. 

Jason somehow has maneuvered them into a quiet section, with Tim close to the wall, and Jason blocking the view from the rest of the museum. At any other time, Tim might be uncomfortable or anxious about being placed in such a precarious position, but Jason’s hands are light on his hips, barely holding him in place. Tim’s not sure what to do with his hands but finds himself resting them between their bodies, ghosting across Jason’s stomach which twitches at the contact.  He’s staring intently at Tim, and Tim can feel himself flushing already. There’s been heat building between them all night, from the casual touching on Jason’s part to the not-so-casual looking on Tim’s part. Jason leans down slightly, and Tim finds himself pushing up just a bit more to meet him. Jason stops and tilts his head to whisper in Tim’s ear.

“I wish I was adenine. Then I could get paired with U.”

“Why?” Tim groans, shoving away a chortling Jason. “We were having such a good time, and now I have to kill you for this transgression.” 

“You wanted bad science jokes! I even looked that one up before we got here!”

“Oh my god. You came prepared with puns?”

“Well really, I was brushing up on Heddy Lamar, and then it linked to another page, and then there I was on reddit. Can you blame me?” Jason asks, wrapping Tim back up in his arms. Tim shoves him away again, which only makes Jason laugh harder.

“That’s your defense? Immersinet?” Tim finally lets Jason wrap an arm around him, hand finding the small of his back, but this time Tim reciprocates, sliding his hands up to rest on Jason’s shoulders. 

“It’s a good one. You liked it. Admit it.”

“Never.” 

Tim is smiling, and while the heat between them may have eased slightly, Jason’s eyes haven’t wavered from Tim’s face. Tim leans up again, and Jason’s look morphs from amusement to surprise, leaning down to meet Tim.

“Tim? Jason? ” Tim hears from a familiar voice, automatically flinching back from Jason as he remembers they’re still most definitely in a crowded museum. 

The voice is apparently familiar to Jason as well, if the way he whips around to look to the side means anything.

“You have got to be fucking shitting me,” Jason grinds out while Tim drops back onto his heels and looks over to see Stephanie and Cass staring at them. 

Well, Stephanie is staring. Cass just waves and goes back to digging through her bag of popcorn.

“Hey guys,” Tim says, pulling away from Jason, which Jason tries to fight for all of a second before letting go of Tim. “Steph, how are you doing? With the whole Twitter thing?” Tim asks, stepping away from Jason to turn more fully towards the women.

“We’re letting PR deal with it,” Cass cuts in before Stephanie can say anything. “We’re not getting involved. Right, Steph?”

“Right,” Stephanie agrees, rolling her eyes. “We came here, figuring it would be fun. Who would have thought we’d run into you. On a date,” Stephanie says, eyes darting between the two of them. When she settles on Jason, her look darkens for a moment, but a nudge from Cass has her clearing her face.

“You know Jason?” Tim asks, turning to look behind at Jason, who hasn’t moved from his spot. His face is clouded, practically glaring at Stephanie.

“Her car broke down once and my shop was closest. She’s found her way back ever since,” Jason says, eyes darting between the three of them.

“Must be a pretty good mechanic,” Tim says, smiling at Jason, who doesn’t reciprocate.

“Yeah, he really knows how to tune an engine,” Cass says, making Jason snort.

“It’s all in the hands, I’ve told you,” Jason says, walking to Tim and sliding an arm around his waist. This time though, he pulls Tim in close, hand squeezing before resting on his hip. The strangely aggressive move hits Tim as more proprietary than anything, and for the first time that night, he feels uncomfortable with Jason. He rolls his shoulders, making slightly more room for himself in Jason’s arm, who immediately loosens his hold and moves his hand to Tim’s back, the light pressure more on par with the rest of their evening.

“Crazy how small Gotham can be,” Tim says, making Cass laugh.

“I like it. Always running into someone you know,” she says, and while her tone is even, Tim can practically feel her laughing at him.

“Are you guys having fun? We just got here, so we don’t know where to start,” Stephanie says, gesturing at the large antechamber filled with different exhibits.

“We were,” Jason mumbles just loud enough for Tim to hear but continues in his regular tone. “We started outside, but I think they shut a lot of the hands-on stuff down already.”

“Too bad,” Stephanie says, clicking her tongue. “Anything cool in here?”

“All of it,” Tim says before Jason can talk. “But we were just getting ready to head out,” he says, pointing his thumb at Jason, who turns to him in surprise.

“Yeah? Yeah, we were. Have a good night ladies,” Jason says, waving quickly at them.

“Aw, and we just got here,” Stephanie says, making Cass snort.

“Good seeing you again, Tim,” Cass says, walking over and leaning up to kiss Tim on the cheek. “Enjoy the game,” she whispers before she pulls away. Stephanie comes up as well and reaches out to give Tim a hug, but has to wait a moment when Tim has to pull slightly away from Jason to hug her back. It’s quick, perfunctory, but Tim still looks over at Jason once it’s done to make sure he’s OK. Instead of the annoyed look he was expecting, he catches Jason give a small wave to Cass, who returns it with a wink. 

“Let’s get lunch next weekend. If you’re free, that is,” Stephanie says, glancing between him and Jason. 

Tim just smiles and grabs Jason’s hand. 

“I’ll text you. Have a good night guys.”

Tim starts to pull Jason towards the coat check closet, but Jason’s long stride ends up having Tim playing catch-up in no time. 

“If you’re not ready to leave,” Jason says once they’re near the entrance hall, “we can stay. Stephanie isn’t too bad,” Jason adds, making Tim smile.

“Do you want to walk around with two of my friends while you’re telling me bad science puns? Or would you rather go hit a diner and grab something to eat?”

“Food,” Jason replies quickly, making Tim laugh. “Food, Definitely. But listen,” Jason says, pulling Tim to the side, out of the way of the crowds. “Really, I just want you to have fun, and I don’t want you thinking we have to leave just because I was surprised to see Stephanie.”

“I am having fun. And I’ll still have fun down the block at the Denny’s over pancakes. Or, there’s that noodle joint?”

“Ohhh, Denny’s for life,” Jason says, turning to head towards the coat check again, pulling Tim along.

“He’s got a bomb!”

The scream coming from the back of the museum stops them in their tracks. Jason whips around, looking back the way they had just come, while Tim tries to pull him towards the quickly filling exit. He can’t pull Jason far enough before the bomb goes off. Centered near the back of the museum, the force throws the people rushing the exit off their feet but leave them mostly unharmed. Tim is helping Jason back to his feet when another scream rings out, much closer, and Jason shoots up to wrap himself around Tim just before the next bomb explodes.

Tim feels himself flung from the force, hitting his back on the ground hard before rolling to end up under Jason.

 They don’t stop moving even as a third explosion rocks the museum again. 

Rolling down the stairs knocks the wind out of him, and Tim feels the sharp edge of a stair on the back of his head. He ends up with Jason under him once they finally stop moving at the bottom of the stairs. Jason is groaning, already pulling himself up, sliding Tim to lay on the ground next to him. He’s saying something, but Tim’s ears are still ringing from the blasts. Jason slowly helps Tim sit up, running his hands over Tim’s body. Tim is sure he’s just looking for injuries, but it’s too much sensory overload. He has to shove Jason away to catch his breath.

Jason points behind himself, words still just barely a mumble, but Tim watches him get up to try and get back inside the building.

“No,” Tim says, grabbing Jason’s arm before he can pull away. “You cannot go back in there. What if there are more bombs? No, no way.”

“Tim, can you hear me yet?” Jason’s voice is finally getting through, but now so are sounds of screaming and crying, but no sirens. Not yet. 

“A little. But you can’t go back in there. What if you get hurt?”

“Cass and Steph are still in there,” Jason says, and Tim’s breath stops. He uses Jason’s arm to pull himself up, who grabs Tim to help steady him as his equilibrium comes back. Tim looks at the museum, and he can’t help the sounds of shock that escapes him. 

The entire front entrance looks like it’s been scooped out and scattered onto the front courtyard. Tim looks around and sees people all around them, the ones who had been rushing the exit, in varying states of hurt. All the lights nearby have been knocked out, and the loss of the ambient city lighting makes the gaping holes in the museum seem larger and darker than Tim thought possible. Emergency services still aren’t there, but citizens are already moving to help the ones that need it most. As his hearing clears, Tim can hear people yelling for others to help them move the worst hurt to a cleared area, while some are already heading back in to look for loved ones.

He really doesn’t want Jason going back in there. The building is still making aching, creaking noises, as if threatening to topple. But knowing Cass is in there, that Stephanie is in there? Tim knows there’s only one option.

“Then I’m going too,” Tim says, letting go of Jason to try standing on his own, which now that his senses are coming back online, he can do just fine. Mostly. 

“No,” Jason snaps before Tim is even done speaking, shaking his head. Tim squares his shoulders against a fight they don’t have time to have.

“Yes. What if they’re both hurt? You can’t carry them both.”

“You’re hurt. You’re bleeding,” Jason says, pointing to Tim’s ear. 

“A busted eardrum never stopped me before. Now, the longer we wait, the longer they’re in there. Lead the way,” Tim says. 

He doesn’t know if it’s his sheer determination to not let Jason go back inside alone, his desire to help his friends, or Jason finally realizing they’re wasting time that does it, but Jason just gives a quick nod.

“Stick close, step where I step OK? If it’s strong enough to hold me, it’s strong enough to hold you," Jason says, making sure to get a nod of agreement before beginning to climb into the ruined building.

Tim pulls out his phone, hoping the flashlight will make it easier to navigate the museum as they look for their friends. He can see other flashes around him, people with the same idea as he and Jason, calling out names. Their trek is slow and dangerous, the previously untarnished floor shattered around them. When Tim takes a moment to shine his light ahead, he spots a large crater in the back of the museum, where the worst of the blasts must have taken place. The concrete debris from the back wall and part of the roof caving in mar their way, and overturned exhibits make those looking for loved ones have to take winding paths.

“We last saw them near the back, next to the mini solarium, right?” Tim calls to Jason, who’s standing ahead of him, looking from side to side.

“They headed towards the climate change exhibit,” Jason says, holding out a hand to help Tim navigate the ripped up flooring. Where Jason can just take a large step to get himself to a safe standing spot, Tim finds himself having to jump from place to place, light from his phone flickering all around. Jason has already pulled out a pen light to illuminate the path in front of them, making it easier.

“You’re going the wrong way then,” Tim says, pointing his phone towards where there’s still some semblance of the exhibit standing off to his left. 

“There’s no clear path,” Jason is saying, heading to the right. “We’ll need to work our way around.”

“There’s a path right here,” Tim says, pointing towards the uncovered ground at their feet. There’s a few broken pieces, but for the most part, Tim can see an easy way to where Jason last spotted Stephanie and Cass.

“That’s not gonna hold the both of us. The museum has a huge basement, and we don’t want to hit a soft spot and go down.”

“Not the both of us, but it could hold me. Probably. Listen,” Tim says, already seeing Jason getting ready to snap. “I’ll go this way. You go around. One of us is bound to find them, and we’ll call out for the other. But if we don’t try different routes, we may miss them. I am asking you to trust me, like I’m trusting you, to not get hurt, ok?"

"And if we split up, and you get hurt, then what if I can't get to you?"

"Jason, I'm not arguing this. You need to go that way, check to make sure they're not there. I'll check this way. Whoever gets there first calls the other over. But the faster we get to them, the faster we know if they need help."

Jason is still shaking his head, but Tim just turns and starts walking through the narrow path between the destroyed exhibits surrounding them. 

“Tim!”

“I’m going this way, Jason. Check the other side, and one of us is bound to find them,” Tim calls, not looking behind, telling himself it’s so he doesn’t miss a step. But really, he doesn’t want to see the look on Jason’s face while he walks away. He hears Jason curse, but there’s no hands reaching for him, no call of anger, so Tim has to hope Jason is already taking the longer, safer path.

The father Tim walks into the museum, the worse the destruction gets. Two bombs had been centered near the back, the wall crumbling. What wasn’t still standing was in massive pieces all through the main hall. He can hear the cries of the hurt and the hollering of the people looking for them, and while he wants to help them all, he still hasn’t found Stephanie or Cass. He’s calling their names at intervals, hoping to hear a response soon. He thinks he can see Jason when he flashes his light up to look all around, his tall, dark figure looming, and if neither one of them has found the girls yet, Tim is worried that could mean the worst.

“Jason!” Tim hears Cass yell, and Tim looks around quickly, searching for her.

“Tim,” Jason calls. “Just keep heading forward, you’ll see them. I’m almost there, Cass, hold on.”

“How’s Stephanie?” Tim calls, weaving around the debris as fast as he can.

“Still unconscious,” Cass says, and by the time Tim gets to them, Jason is already there, kneeling over Stephanie’s prone body. “So was I, but her leg is stuck.”

“Let’s get her moved then. Tim, help Cass,” Jason says, moving to squat near the chunk of wall pinning Stephanie’s leg.

“Wait, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Tim starts, but is shocked into silence watching Jason easily lift the massive concrete piece off of Stephanie, shucking it to the side.

“Hand,” Cass demands of Tim, holding out her arm for him. He’s quick to help, letting Cass lean on him while Jason carefully scoops Stephanie up off the ground. 

“Careful,” Cass snaps at Jason while Tim tries to wipe the blood off of her face with his sweater’s sleeve.

“I’ve got sleeping beauty, you worry about putting one foot in front of the other,” Jason snaps at Cass, even as he cradles Stephanie close. “We are taking the safer route, right Tim?”

“Absolutely,” Tim says, letting Cass wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t even have to ask.”

“Let’s get out of this hellhole before someone tries to take the rest down.”

“You’ve really got a way looking at the bright side,” Tim snaps, the tension of the situation getting to him, but Cass shushes him, and he helps her walk the route Jason had come. It’s slower going getting out, with both Cass and Tim using each other at times to keep steady. Cass’ head is still bleeding profusely, and Tim has nothing to help stop the blood flow. Tim realizes on his walk out of the museum, now that the adrenaline is leaving his system, that he is definitely concussed, has at least a few bruised ribs, and is possibly still bleeding from at least one ear.  

Jason walks right over to the small triage unit that’s finally been set up by emergency services, placing Stephanie on an open stretch of ground. Tim helps Cass sit down next to her and ends up plopping down as well. Jason stays standing, looking around, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Tim reaches out and tries to take one of his hands, drawing Jason’s attention down to their small group. Jason snatches his hand back, jaw tight as he looks down at the three of them.

“Jason,” Tim says, but doesn’t see any recognition in Jason’s eyes. Tim pulls himself up, reaching out to touch Jason, but stopping himself at the last moment, trying his name again instead. Even in the cold, Jason is sweating profusely, his breath choppy, and Tim’s unsure if it’s from carrying Stephanie or something worse.

“Come on, Jason, please sit down. You need to get checked by the paramedics too. Jason? Jason, can you hear me?”

Jason is staring at Tim, but the look in Jason’s eyes is a million miles away. More ambulances are racing down the road, and the influx of noise has Jason turning and running away from the crowds of people.

“Jason!” Tim yells, shocked by Jason’s sudden change in demeanor. Jason, who had no problem going into a crumbling building to rescue two people, to running off at a sudden shift in noise.

“Go,” Cass says, waving her hand in the direction Jason had run off. “He needs you more than us. Hurry.” 

Tim doesn’t argue with her and shoots off to try and find Jason. 

Tim has to dodge and weave through the crowds of people still lingering outside but finally makes his way to a side street he saw Jason duck into. He’s out of breath and can barely get Jason’s name out, but stays at a jog while he looks around for the missing man.

Finally at the end of the road, Tim catches sight of the white piping on Jason’s black jacket. He’s squatting next to a building, head between his knees. 

“Jason?” Tim says, not wanting to startle the man now that he’s found him. Jason looks up at his name, face ashen, hands gripping his jeans so tight Tim wouldn’t be surprised if he’s ripped them. 

“Jason. Jace, you ok?”

“You need to get back there,” Jason gets out, voice husky. “You need to get checked out.” 

“We both do. I landed on you, remember? Come on, I left the girls with the paramedics, but we should get back to them.” As Tim’s talks, he’s slowly walks closer to Jason, waiting to either be stopped or welcomed.  “Come on,” Tim says, squatting down and holding out a hand to Jason. “If it’s too much over there, we can both go to one of the local clinics.”

Jason is silent, watching Tim, who’s waiting for some type of reaction. Tim just waits, hand held out while Jason collects himself. Jason finally takes a deep breath and grabs Tim’s hand. Tim levers himself up and let’s Jason use him to get back on his feet. Tim doesn’t let go of his hand the entire time they walk back, which is farther than Tim had realized in his mad dash to catch Jason. 

“The girls have probably already gone to the hospital. We need to get there too,” Tim says, but Jason is already shaking his head.

“Yes, Jason. This is non-negotiable. You could have internal bleeding! You can’t just head home after something like this.”

“They’re still pulling people out. I’m gonna go help,” Jason says, releasing Tim’s hand, but Tim only grabs onto his jacket with both hands, holding him in place.

“They have people trained to that. You can’t go back in there. What if you get hurt again?”

“You were just fine when it was Stephanie,” Jason snaps, venom lacing his words.

“Yes, I was fine with you going back in there because there was no one else. To help find my friends with you, you asshole, ” he snaps, anger strong enough to make Jason stop trying to pull away from Tim.

“Now they’re safe, getting help, and people that know what they’re doing are here. And we are going to go to the hospital and do the same exact thing.”

“I’m fine!”

“You’re not! You ran off!”

“If you two assholes are done,” a fireman calls out to them, “get your asses across the street where there’s not a collapsing building!”

Tim hauls Jason along, getting him most of the way before Jason finally gives in and makes his way on his own. He silently stands in line to get checked out at the triage unit they’re setting up and sits on a cot with Tim while they wait for one of the nurses to head over.

“Was that so hard?” Tim grumbles, crossing his arms in front of him.

“A little,” Jason says, and Tim knows he’s saying it just to get under his skin, trying to make Tim angry enough to snap at him to leave. Tim doesn’t let himself lash out, instead giving Jason the coldest look he can before turning to face forward and ignore the man next to him. Tim doesn’t even thaw from his anger when Jason throws his jacket over his shivering frame, leaving Jason in only his thick long-sleeved white shirt. 

They’re silent as they both get checked over. Jason is declared to be in good health, other than some moderate bruising and possibly a concussion. Tim finds himself worse for wear, with two bruised ribs, a broken eardrum, and definitely a light concussion. He’s given strict orders to hop in the next ambulance and head over to the hospital while Jason is given the clear.

“You’re staying here aren’t you?” Tim asks after they’ve been kicked out of the tent and Tim is in line to get a ride to the emergency room. He can hear how cold his tone of voice is, and Jason looks away from him, eyes downcast before looking up, his teal eyes filled with determination.

“There were so many people still in there,” Jason says. 

He’s looking at the building, not at Tim. Tim just sighs deeply, exhausted from the whole ordeal.

“Stay safe,” he says instead of all the other nasty things he could say. Cruelty is a far easier emotion for Tim than fear, but Jason doesn’t deserve Tim lashing out at him when all he’s trying to do is help. “Just because you got lucky this time doesn’t mean it’s going to hold out.”

Jason doesn’t say anything. Instead he wraps Tim up in the tightest hug he’s had in years. Jason smells of smoke, and stone, and a sweet solvent Tim knows but can’t place. 

“Call me and let me know you’re safe,” Tim mumbles into Jason’s neck. 

Jason squeezes him tight for one more moment, and then lets go. Tim falls back onto his heels and turns to watch Jason hurry across the street to the massive search and rescue still happening. He doesn’t get to watch for long, as the shuttle for his group shows up, and they’re all shuffled inside. 

Tim finds himself in and out of the hospital faster than he thought. It’s only been a few hours since the explosions, but Gotham is far too used to having masses of people hurt and caring for them. It takes Tim some time, but he finally finds the room where Stephanie and Cass have been set up. He waits with them, Stephanie having moved from unconscious to a more natural sleep. He and Cass grab two unsecured chairs and park them right next to her gurney. They stay like that, silently leaning against each other until a well put together older gentleman Tim places as Bruce Wayne’s butler Alfred comes to pick both women up to ‘recuperate at home’. Tim is sure Batman has to have a fully decked out clinic somewhere, so he doesn’t question Cass when she merely leans over to bump shoulders with him.

“Till next time,” she says, waving at Tim as they leave him at the entrance to the hospital. 

He’s alone, scared, and wrapped up in the jacket of a man that left him to go help strangers in a worse situation. He tries not to feel bitter or angry or any of the other emotions that he knows would just lead towards resentment. It’s not easy. He checks his phone, but there are still no messages from Jason. 

It feels like it takes him all night to get home, with his car still locked up in the garage at the museum, and taxis and rideshares already reaching their limits. He ends up catching a ride with a good Samaritan, who offers to let him share the car he was able to get free of charge. Tim takes it, even knowing all the bad things that could still happen to him, but he’s too tired, too scared, and too hurt to think twice. The ride ends a couple blocks from his place, and he walks the rest of the way home, barely able to keep his eyes open. Once he’s there, he doesn’t even bother heading to bed, instead crashing on his couch after plugging his phone into the charger. Just in case.

He’s awake a few hours later, the sun only starting to rise over Gotham, after nightmares of tonight’s bombing and his parent’s crash, nursing the weakest tea he’s ever had when his phone goes off, Jason’s name dancing across the screen. He snatches it up, muting the news coverage about the bombing, and the subsequent take down of another cult by Batman, Nightwing, and, surprisingly, Red Hood. 

“Jason?”

“Hey, you got home fine right? You’re not still in the hospital? I tried checking for you.”

Jason sounds exhausted, voice grainy and staticky. There’s an odd echo to the words, like a messed up intercom.

“It’s hard to hear you. Are you OK?”

“Yeah. Um, my phone is stuck on speaker, must have gotten messed up at the museum, so that’s why it sounds weird.”

“I’m fine, I’m home. They released me pretty quickly. How about you?”

“Good, good. Helped most of the night, ended up crashing till this morning. I should have called, you were probably worried. I was worried.”

“I’m fine, you’re fine. I don’t think we could ask for much more right now.”

“I mean, I could still be down for Denny’s,” Jason says, and Tim finally cracks, laughing, and choking on tears.

“Tim? Babe, you good? Tim?” 

“I’m fine, really. Just all catching up to me. Last night was a lot. Why…. why did you run away?” Tim gets out, needing to know why he could be left alone. Again. 

“I usually try to save childhood traumas for at least the third date, Timbo.”

“Ugh, stick to babe,” Tim says without thinking, wiping his cheeks dry. 

Jason only sighs deeply, sounding content. “Not today please? I’ll tell you all about it, but right now. Right now it’s all kind of fresh.”

“Alright,” Tim gives in, laying back down on his couch. He needs to know, but Jason’s right. Everything still hurts, from his ribs to his head to his heart, thinking about Stephanie still not awake and Jason running off. He’s still got Jason’s jacket on, not having bothered to shower before getting himself something to drink. “Still have to give you back your jacket. Though it is pretty warm. Fits well too,” Tim says, unconsciously shifting to wrap the jacket tighter around himself.

“You’re killing me. Killing me over here,” Jason groans, making Tim laugh.

“Not that funny, Jace. And while I may be interested in knowing the details in exactly how it’s killing you,” Tim says, earning a frustrated groan from Jason, “you need to rest. And I need to shower.”

“Not. Helping.”

“Go get some sleep, Jason. And thank you for letting me know you’re ok.”

“Sweet dreams, Tim.”

“Sweet dreams, Jace,” Tim says before Jason ends the call. Tim places his phone back on the coffee table and falls back asleep, warm and safe.

Chapter Text

Tim spends the first few days of the week at home recuperating from his injuries. He does eventually make his way back downtown to grab his car once the police grant access to the area again. It’s hard seeing what’s left of the museum in broad daylight: the front entrance blown wide, the destroyed front lawn, and the crews still working to find and retrieve what was left standing in the rest of the museum. Jason had offered to join Tim, but now he’s happy he didn’t let Jason drive him down, not after his reaction while the whole mess was going down. Tim figured it was better to keep him as far away from the area as much as possible. 

Surprisingly, Stephanie hadn’t had more than a wretched knee and a bad concussion. Tim and she were facetiming regularly, and he knew Stephanie appreciated the worry, even if Cass had practically moved into her apartment to help while she recuperated. The girls were more than happy to snap him their mundane life stories or send him a photo of Dick failing to cook them dinner, if the amount of smoke coming from the oven was anything to go by. Tim reciprocated with snaps of his microwaved takeout, which led to a three message rant from Stephanie about taking better care of himself. It was certainly strange to go from worrying about Stephanie ratting him out to Damian to initiating conversations with her, but after Red Hood’s comment about some of the bats defending him, he had to hope it was Stephanie and that maybe, hopefully, this could turn into a real friendship.

Jason had made sure to call him every night, even if it was only for a few minutes. The jacket Tim had worn home had yet to find its way into the coat closet and instead was living on his couch where Tim could see it when they spoke.

“How long until you think they’ll make you go back to work?” Jason asks Wednesday night, Tim restlessly hopping from one web search to another while they chatted about the day.

“Well, working for an insurance company, they’re pretty big on not wanting to add onto injury,” Tim jokes, “but probably no later than Monday. My ribs should be all healed up, and my head’s been fine since yesterday.”

“Well, let me know when you can join the land of the living again. We’ll need to celebrate,” Jason says, phone still distorted from the incident.

“What were you thinking?” Tim asks, relaxing back onto his couch, closing his laptop.

“Nothing too extreme. Movie, some dinner. Probably what we should have done on a first date,” Jason sighs.

“I liked the museum. Mostly. And why wait? So long as we’re not doing anything too crazy, I don’t see why we couldn’t do something sooner. Tomorrow night even.”

“But you’re still hurt,” Jason tries to protest, but Tim cuts him off before he can really get started. 

“Not too badly. Really, the eardrum is the worst, but I’ve already had a follow up at the clinic. And there’s no hearing loss and no infection. I may get a little dizzy, but I’ll be fine.”

“Are you giving me permission to sweep you off your feet?” Jason says, cracking Tim up.

“Only if absolutely necessary and not where there’s witnesses. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, let me call you back in five. I’ve got to deal with something real quick.”

“Sure, good luck or something,” Tim says before Jason hangs up.

It’s a weird relationship, if Tim can even call it that. They’ve gone from one extreme to another it feels like, but even over the phone, talking about nothing of importance, Tim finds it the easiest of all his relationships. 

Tim, not wanting to jinx the whole thing by overthinking it, ends up back online, looking up the Gotham news feeds. People are even angrier now about the freeze on funds, especially with the new claims coming in from the museum that the Wayne Foundation isn’t even looking at yet. Tim pulls out his phone, opening a group chat he still has with some college friends, most of whom also went into insurance. He’s not too active on it and mostly mutes the group but still, contacts are contacts. They’re all complaining about how no one can even start to work on claims until the freeze is lifted. Someone has sent a link to another press release from the Wayne Foundation, basically reiterating the first. There’s also a link to an interview with Damian, done a day before the bombing.

{can you believe he actually thinks that people are just faking injuries for Foundation to pay out? It’s one thing to think it, but to actually say it?}

Tim clicks on the link, and Vicky Vale has done her best to take down Damian in 1,000 words or less. Damian had been written as the villain of his own story, as the heir to a Utopian company, keen on helping it's own city no matter the cost, only to have the next in line plot to destroy the good that had already been done. Damian never actually says anything about people faking injuries, but Vale has allowed people to read between the lines she’s written. It's chock full of horseshit in Tim's opinion, with Vale's own bias against the Waynes shining through, but the link's got close to a million hits and the comment section is already filled with landmines.

{sure would be nice if we could get a work around for the time being, something to let us help people} Tim sends.

He knows. He knows exactly what this is going to do to Stephanie. Damian has been in the internet spotlight for weeks, and now with the press release, he's being hounded by journalists, both web and print. But Damian still won't let up on the fact that Tim hasn't done anything worse than get people who need money the money they need legally, if not always fully factually. He’s tried to make Tim feel like a crook, like a liar, and now, with the fear from the bombing still fresh in his mind and pain still present, Tim knows this is the perfect time to do his best to remove Damian from power.

{There’s nothing in the works, at least not in my company} he gets as a response.

{Mine either} Tim sends {But I’m pretty sure if Damian Wayne was out of the way, the Foundation would have to do SOMETHING to placate angry Gothamites. If enough people ask for him to be removed, the Foundation would have to listen.} Tim sends, knowing at least two other members of the group had applied for different jobs with the Foundation. 

{I remember that! In their bylaws, there’s something about serving the city the best it can. If we could prove having baby Wayne and this witchhunt removed would end up being in favor of the city, they would have to listen.}

{Where could we even start? How could we make them take notice? Get all of Gotham in on it?} Tim sends. He knows the best way to do it, but he can’t have the idea traced back to him. If he can just lead one of the chat members in the right direction, then he’s in the clear. 

{What about one of those petitions?} is the response he gets, and he’s got them.

{Didn’t someone do that about the bridge getting retrofitted? Bruce Wayne even said it was a disgrace to have the people’s voices not be heard? Made a big deal about signing it himself} Tim sends. It’s true, to an extent. Wayne Corps had put out the statement after someone saw Bruce Wayne’s name listed as a signer.

{That’s right! City ended up finding those missing funds real fast lol}

{I’m gonna start one} He gets from another member, and not five minutes later, there’s a link in the message to a change petition to have Damian removed so that Gothamites could get payouts for the recent disaster.

Tim doesn’t sign it right away, instead he saves it to send out on twitter, if he can get out of the house tomorrow and send it from one of his proxy accounts. He signs off, muting the conversation for the rest of the night, his work done. While he doesn’t want Stephanie hurt anymore, Damian had moved past annoyance and into full blown pain in his ass. 

His phone ringing throws his for a loop, after sitting and mulling over his decisions and how to continue to proceed, but he picks it up quickly when Jason’s name flashes on the screen.

“Sorry that took so long,” Jason says, and the distortion is worse, voice staticky, deep, and out of breath.

“You have got to get a new phone. It sounds like you’re talking to me through a voice distortion app,” Tim says, sprawling back onto his couch. “You sound out of breath.”

“Yeah, some kids were trying to rob someone, was chasing them off.”

“You need to be careful, this is Gotham, they could be carrying anything.”

“Nah, bunch of brats, couldn’t have done anything but get themselves caught. Enough about that.” Jason’s voice is suddenly clearer, still distant over the speakerphone, but at least slightly less distortion. “Let’s talk about this date.You think you’ll be up for it tomorrow?”

“Definitely. I need to get out of this apartment, or I’m gonna go stir crazy.”

“Not use to staying in at night?” Jason asks, and Tim thinks of all his recent trips around Gotham, hunting for clues, trying to get one up on Robin, trying to get one up on Damian, and laughs to himself.

“Not really, just not used to doing nothing at all.”

“Well, then let me be the one to welcome you back to the land of the living. I’ll even let you help me get a new phone.”

“Are you trying to woo me with technology? Because it’ll work,” Tim jokes, and Jason laughs, loudly even over the speaker. Tim can already imagine the way his head tilts back when he laughs too loud, remembers that Jason has a tendency to clutch his chest when he does, and Tim is just completely and utterly doomed.

“Babe, I cannot wait to let you hunt for a new laptop for me.”

--

Tim wakes up the next day, groggy from talking to Jason late into the night. He finally had to hang up when the talking had turned less from conversation and more to flirting, leaving him flushed and more than ready to see Jason in person. He’s in the process of making a pot of strong, dark coffee when his phone goes off from his bedside table with a series of text pings, forcing him to turn away from the tempting brew to see what was going on. Tim sees Jason’s name and perks up a little, opening his messages.

{I am so so so sorry, but i can’t make tonight. One of my friends got hurt at work and i need to fill in for him}

{that probably sounds super lame, and it is, but if no ones there he could lose the job and im the only one who can do it}

{I’m gonna call you, I’m just already at work and can’t take a break I am so, so sorry}

Tim wants to be annoyed that Jason would wait till the last minute to cancel or that his friend could hurt himself, but really he’s more disappointed that they’re not going to be able to see each other. When Tim takes a breath and shoves all his emotions to the side, he decides it may be for the best if he and Jason go a night off without seeing each other or talking. It’s like he’s free falling from a high rise, no net to catch him, and he’s worried he’s the only one feeling this way, that maybe he’s clinging to Jason due to shared trauma. In most of his relationships, he’s been the distant one, cancelling dates, forgetting important milestones; Ives had been the one to point out he had a tendency to keep his relationships loose. Bernard would say he was keeping his options open by dating more than one person, at least in the beginning of some of his relationships, which had always lost him both people in the end. Bernard called it commitment-phobia. Ives said it was from losing his parents so young, and at that point, he would end up hanging up on both of them.

{It’s ok, really. If your friend needs you to cover, I get it. We’ve all been there. Don’t get in trouble for texting, just let me know when a good night for you is.} There, Tim thinks, shooting off the text, not too worried, but not too blase. 

Tim goes back to his coffee, and plants himself in front of his laptop. He opens Twitter, and sees most of his friends have already shared the petition that was created last night. He pops onto the page, to see how many signatures have been gathered and almost chokes on his coffee. 

The petition originally asked for 50 thousand signatures, and it was already at 35 thousand in less than 12 hours. It was trending on the Gotham side of Twitter, and Buzzfeed had shared the link which meant there had to be an article in the works. The business day had just started, so there was no new press release from Wayne Corps or the Foundation yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Tim hears his notification ping again and sees this time it’s a snap from Stephanie. It’s of her and Cass both sitting on the couch looking half asleep and then a video of them channel flipping quickly through morning television. Obviously Stephanie hasn’t checked her social accounts yet, or she wouldn’t be complaining about boredom. Tim decides to take a chance. 

{Want some company today?} Tim snaps back, taking a picture of his mostly empty fridge.

He gets a text message as a response with Stephanie’s address and the promise of Cass getting pizza if he headed over asap. Tim responds with the promise of an hour and heads to his room to get ready. He had been excited to finally get out of the house, and while he knows a lot of that excitement came from seeing Jason again, he’s not ready to give up on the idea of getting out of his small apartment just yet. He doesn’t have to tell Stephanie she was second choice, though he doubts that conversation will even come up. 

He ends up having to text Stephanie and adjust his arrival time, still more tender from his still healing ribs than he thought. Traffic makes it worse, so by the time he finally gets to Stephanie’s snazzy condo, the pizza Cass greets him with has gone cold.

“Well, you weren’t primping,” Stephanie says, waving to his dark green Henley and black skinny jeans, Tim rolling his eyes as Cass helps him slide out of his gray overcoat. “So what took so long?”

“Traffic. And my ribs are still making me move slower,” Tim says, sliding onto the loveseat, already munching directly from the pizza he had swiped from the kitchen island. Stephanie has taken up most of the couch, knee propped up on pillows with a massive ice pack settled on top. 

“Tell me about it. I’m finally hobbling to the bathroom by myself. Cass keeps trying to carry me," she jokes, nodding to the petite woman as she brings Stephanie a glass of juice. Cass somehow squirms herself onto the couch with Stephanie, just barely not touching her knee. 

"I promised not to drop you by accident. "

"Maybe lie next time and promise not to drop her at all," Tim says, finishing off his first slice of pizza. 

"Sometimes she deserves it though,” Cass says, voice steady, but eyes alight with laughter as she looks at Tim.

"So," Stephanie cuts in, making Cass roll her eyes. "What made you grace us with your presence? Other than the empty fridge?"

"Really I just wanted to check up, make sure you were doing ok. You were out for a long time that night."

"Mom's been checking up on me, making sure the concussion cleared up. Honestly the knee is worse. I've been having to do all my classes from home. Which is gonna suck once finals roll around," Stephanie sighed, shifting to get more comfortable. Cass lifts the ice pack slightly, and repositions it once Stephanie settles. 

"Good. Plus, I was gonna lose my mind if I had to stay in my apartment for another day,” Tim says, leaning slightly to grab a few napkins off the coffee table, wincing as he straightened. Cass moves as if to help him, but he waves her off, relaxing back onto the loveseat.

"Aww, so you decided to go from one apartment to another? I'm touched."

Tim looks around Stephanie's apartment. The large sliding glass doors in the living room give a view of the city surrounding her, the light hardwood floors are a nice contrast to the darker marble of her open plan kitchen, and from his seat he can just see into one of the bedrooms, which also seems to have a balcony, just like the living room.

"Doesn't look like you're hurting for room here, Steph."

"Yeah," Stephanie draws out the word, looking around at the large space. "I got really lucky they were renting this place out. My student loans cover most of it."

Tim knows if he were to hunt through the deeds, the building would either be owned by a Wayne subsidiary or by one of Bruce's dummy corporations. Tim's not going to of course, no use looking for answers he already knows, but he still takes a long look at the nice furnishings and looks at Stephanie again. 

"You've got good taste.” 

He tries for lighthearted, but it comes out deadpanned, making Stephanie snort.

"Tim, that was the nicest backhanded compliment you've ever given me," Stephanie jokes, flipping through the channels. Cass keeps glancing at Tim, giving him knowing looks, small smiles meant for just the two of them. She's trying to mess with him, remind him he's locked in with Batgirl and BlackBat. Like he could ever forget.

"No plans for the rest of the day?" Cass asks, pulling the remote from Stephanie's hand and settling on a channel. 

Tim starts to tell them, but is cut off by his phone ringing. Jason's name flashes on the screen, and Tim quickly answers it.

"Hey, hold on one moment," Tim says into the phone. He covers the speaker and looks back at Cass and Stephanie. "Sorry, need to step outside for a moment," Tim says, getting up and gesturing for the front door. 

"You can use the guest room," Cass says, gesturing to the door on the other side of the apartment. Tim gives her a smile and quickly walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"Jace, hey, didn't think you'd call so soon,” Tim says as soon as the door is fully closed.

"Got a break, wanted to apologize."

"You don't have to," Tim says, sitting down in the small armchair next to the bed. The whole room has been done up in soft, muted colors, and while the living room was open and airy, this room is cozy, the only light for the moment coming from a small window.

"I really do. I told you I would take you out," Jason starts but Tim cuts him off.

"It's not like you planned for your friend to get hurt. How are they?"

"Good, good. It looked worse than it actually was, but I'm still gonna finish up for him. Have to keep telling him that too. Asshole's already tried talking me out of it, but he needs the rest."

"Sounds tough."

"Roy's as tough as they come. He'd work even if he was down an arm. But he really does need the rest since he went and got himself hurt."

"Then it's good that he has a friend like you that can help out," Tim says, and the conversation comes to a lull. Tim wants to say that he already misses Jason, actually seeing him and not just chatting on the phone. Wants to tell him how much he was looking forward to a second date, hopefully making plans for a third. Instead he keeps it all locked up tight, not wanting to come on too strong, not wanting to scare Jason or scare himself.

“You still there, Tim?” Jason asks after a minute of dead air.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m sorry, think I just got lost in thought for a minute.” 

“Want to tell me about it?”

“I don’t think you have enough break time for that,” Tim tries to joke, but Jason doesn’t laugh.

“Tim, I’ll make time,” Jason says, and Tim sighs deeply, flopping back into the chair and running a hand through his hair. 

“I think I’m just a little tired, did more moving than I have all week.”

“And what have you been moving around?” Jason says, trying to lighten the mood, and Tim smiles to himself.

“I’m actually at Steph’s right now, wanted to check up on her,” Tim says, glancing at the closed door. 

“And how’s she doing?” Jason’s voice goes tight, making Tim sit up straighter.

“She’s doing better than I thought, only ended up hurting her knee and some bruising. Probably end up healing faster than me.”

“Then I won’t keep you. I’ll text you when I’m done with work,” Jason says, and Tim grips his phone tighter, talking over Jason before he can try and hang up.

“Wait a minute, I thought you had time? You have to go already?” Tim says, not wanting Jason to go, even though he knows it would be better to give each other a little breathing space.

“I just figured you’d want to go; don’t want to be a rude guest.”

“I’m in the guest room, not like I’m talking over their show or something. And,” Tim pauses, but decides to go for it. Maybe he is a commitment-phobe, maybe he has issues from years of being left behind, left alone. But he hates how closed off Jason’s voice got, and if he can discern it over the phone, he’s sure it must be bad.

“And?” Jason says, after Tim had paused too long.

“And I really wanted to talk to you today. To see you today. I. I actually think I miss you,” Tim is cringing, hand slapped over his eyes, like if he can block the light, he can block his own feelings of embarrassment. “Oh my god, maybe we should hang up.”

“Honey, if you hang up that phone, I will swim through the damn harbor just to shake you.”

“Promise?” Tim asks without thinking, making Jason sigh.

“I would if I could, Timmy.”

“If you call me Timmy again, I’ll drown you in that same harbor.”

“But ‘honey’ is still working for you? What about ‘sweetheart’? I’m always down for a good ‘sweetheart’. ‘Dear’ is a little old fashioned, but I could make it work.”

“Stop,” Tim groans, but Jason just continues.

“‘Babe’ was approved, so that gives automatic clearance to ‘baby’. Is ‘beautiful’ too on the nose for you?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Tim grates out, warm from Jason’s laundry list of pet names. 

“I’m just trying to figure out my options here. I also don’t mind a babe every now and then, if you’re making a mental list.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re the guy that given the option would never want to be called by his actual name in a relationship?”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Jason drawls, making Tim laugh.

“My parents called each other darling ,” Tim doesn’t even realize what he’s saying at first, mouth and emotions running away with him. “When they were angry with each other, which was a lot, probably more than a married couple should be, was the only time they used each other’s name. But when they were happy, it was always darling .”

“I’m cool with darling ,” Jason says softly. 

“I don’t know if I am,” Tim pushes out. “Don’t you think this is all a little...” and Tim’s not sure how to phrase it. Fast? They haven’t even kissed, it can’t be that. Much, maybe? Too much emotion, too much realness, too much of Tim’s issues holding him back.

“I can be a little much,” Jason says, and he sounds contrite, like he’s been told that more than enough times in his life.

“It’s me. No, it is,” Tim says over Jason when he tries to argue. “I’m not used to. To liking someone so quickly,” Tim is finally grateful for a phone call instead of a date, because if he had to say this to Jason’s face he would rather die. 

“Is that bad?” Jason asks quietly. And Tim doesn’t have a good answer.

“Not necessarily. It’s just new to me.”

“Well, I can tell you the feeling is mutual if that helps,” Jason says, and some of the tension in Tim’s chest releases.

“It does,” Tim says, flopping back into the chair and sighing deeply. “Most people have just called me Tim,” he says, trying to bring the conversation back to surer footing.

“I can tell you, for a fact, that that is never going to happen with me,” Jason says, and it makes Tim laugh, releasing the last of the tension in his body. He curls up as best he can in the armchair, listening to Jason.

“I may have a tendency to call people by nicknames. Give them my own personal touch.”

“So long as names are the only personal touch they’re getting,” Tim says, and Jason gives a huff of air over the phone.

“Baby,” he starts, but Jason stops when Tim hears a voice yelling over the phone. Tim can just make out a feminie voice complaining about Jason ‘hiding in a closet when there’s work to be done, do I really need to call Roy back?’.

“I’ve got to go, duty calls,” Jason says after Tim hears a door slam on the other end.

“Have you really been in a closet this whole time?” Tim is laughing, the image of Jason squatting down around toiletries and paper goods too much for him and has to settle to be able to hear Jason’s response.

“It’s not like it’s a supply closet or something. It’s the part storage area.”

“So it’s just a really large supply closet,” Tim says, laughing again.

“I’m gonna go jump off a bridge now,” Jason says casually, like he does it all the time. “Hopefully Kory,” and at this point Jason must have moved his mouth away from the phone to yell at someone else in the room, “will stop complaining about ruined vacations and help me out so we can get this done.”

“Please, don’t let me keep you,” Tim says, still laughing.

“Baby, don’t say that. I was hoping you’d keep me for at least a little while.”

Jason hangs up before Tim can even string together a response. Which is probably for the best because Tim has to try and take a deep breath, the laughter making him short of breath he tells himself. He looks at his blank phone screen, replaying what Jason had said. All of it. 

He sits in the quiet room for a few more moments collecting himself before trying to head back into the living room. Jason always leaves him feeling turned upside down from the moment he walked into the office all those weeks ago, lying poorly about how he heard of Tim.

And that should worry Tim. He'd had the feeling that Jason wasn't being truthful, from the moment Tim asked for his name to the paperwork that had been just a little too easy to get. That feeling of being deceived hasn't gone away, it's just been pushed to the side by pretty eyes and a great personality. Jason had joked that he didn't want to get too personal until their third date, but did Tim really want to wait that long to find out what Jason was trying to keep from him about himself? 

Tim's talking himself in circles, he’s self-aware enough to recognize that. He's just not sure if it's because he's really worried Jason is lying or because Tim is afraid of what Jason could offer. It's been a long time since Tim has been so happy in another person's presence that it's overwhelming. 

Tim gives up and heads back out to the living room, sliding his phone into his back pocket. He gets halfway into his slice of pizza before Stephanie and Cass stop staring at him and Stephanie clears her throat.

“Good talk?” She asks lightly, eyebrow raised.

Tim gives them a deadpan look before replying “Were you guys stationed outside of the door or something?”

“You were laughing. You’re still a little flushed,” Cass says waving in the general direction of Tim’s face. Stephanie scrunches her face up and lets out a hearty “No!” at the same time. 

“She can’t move fast enough yet,” Cass says, making Stephanie huff and crosses her arms.

“Whatever. You don’t have to tell us,” Stephanie starts, but Tim blurts out 

“It was Jason.”

“Oh. And how is Jason? Not seeing him today?” Stephanie asks, voice tight.

Tim knows he shouldn’t talk to them about Jason. Even if Stephanie was the one who said she wanted to be friends first, and he’s doing his best to take that at face value. He knows it’s a jerk move to talk to a past love interest about a current one.

But. Bernard would tell him to throw himself in head first, not to worry about things like lies or moving too fast. Ives would go full conspiracy theory on him about all the ways Jason could be playing him. 

And that’s it. Everyone else is either someone he uses as a work connection or someone he previously dated and had a massive falling out with. Tim never realizes how easily he shuts people out of his life until moments like this, when he needs guidance. 

“Tim,” Cass says, pulling his attention away from his thoughts. “We’re friends. Right?”

And it’s the way she asks. The way she looks. This woman holds Tim’s life in the balance. All it would take is a single whisper to the Batman, to Nightwing, to any of them about what he really knows, and Tim’s entire life could crumble around him. Instead, she’s watching him like she really wants to know, like talking to Tim is important, and not because of the games they’re playing.

Like they’re friends. 

“Yes,” he says, and it’s more decisive sounding than he thought, but the way her face lights up makes it worth it. 

“Then tell us what’s wrong.”

“It won’t be weird?” Tim asks, looking at Stephanie, who’s staring at Cass wide eyed. Cass turns towards Stephanie, and Tim doesn’t know what passes between them, but Stephanie rolls her eyes and turns to Tim.

“Oh, it’s gonna be weird, that’s a given. But, it’s what friends are for, right? So, talk to your girls. Jason being weird? We need to rough him up a little?” Stephanie asks, rubbing her hands together, going for menacing, but coming off as more comical to Tim.

“Definitely not. It’s just me. He’s so. Confusing.”

“Yes. Yes, he is,” Stephanie agrees. “But that doesn’t equate all bad. Usually.”

“What do you think of Jason?” Tim asks, and Stephanie shrugs.

“I don’t know him that well.”

“The dirty looks you were giving each other that night said something different,” Tim counters, making Stephanie huff.

“Told you to work on keeping your face relaxed,” Cass says, and Stephanie pokes her with her good foot in retaliation.

“Yes mighty Zen master. We just, clash when we meet is all.”

“At the garage? Why not just go to another?” Tim is getting more confused the longer they talk. He was hoping for some insight about relationships, maybe about Jason, not more questions.

“Because he’s good at what he does,” Stephanie says, and it sounds off to Tim. He decides to file that feeling away for another time because he can see Stephanie shutting down as she talks. 

“I like Jason,” Cass says, making Tim turn to her.

“Really?” Tim says. “You’ve met him?”

“I’ve gone with Stephanie a few times to have her car looked at. He’s funny. Likes to tell me bad jokes. Good at explaining them when I don’t get them.” 

Cass is looking at him, but Tim feels like she’s looking through him, dissecting him. 

“I like him,” Tim admits. “A lot. But, I get the feeling that something is off about him.”

“If you feel like that, maybe it’s better to stay away from him,” Stephanie says quickly, making Tim raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“That was...decisive.” 

“What feels off?” Cass asks, earning a grumble from Stephanie.

“Sometimes it feels like he’s lying about something. Even when he gave me his name, it felt wrong. Who says their names is Jason Peters?”

“I’m pretty sure that really is his name,” Cass says, looking over at Stephanie, who gives a nod of agreement.

Tim breathes a sigh of relief over that one, feeling at least one weight lift off of him.

“You’re still worried,” Cass says, and Tim sighs, finishing off his next slice of pizza before responding.

“I’m worried. That maybe,” Tim pauses, and he can’t quite place his emotions into words. He shoves another bite of pizza into his mouth to give himself another moment to gather his thoughts.

“Oh no. You really, really like him don’t you?” Stephanie sighs, placing a hand over her eyes.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Cass defends, making Stephanie sigh. 

“If it was a good thing, Tim wouldn’t feel so bad.”

“I don’t feel bad!” Tim argues, making Stephanie snort.

“You don’t feel good about it,” she counters.

"I'm just mixed up. I went from throwing a drink in his face to wanting to kiss it in the span of a few weeks. It's a pretty big turn around for me, ok?" Tim snaps, already exhausted from today’s emotional roller coaster.

"You," Stephanie starts but has to clear her throat before she can continue. "You threw a drink at him?"

"He was being a dick," Tim defends, looking between the two ladies.

Cass seems to be doing her level best to stay serious, but her shoulders are shaking and she's biting her lip. Stephanie is already cackling, flinging her hand out and hitting Cass in the shoulder repeatedly.

"You would have done the same thing," Tim grumbles, turning back to his pizza. 

"And he still wanted to date you? Damn, maybe he is a keeper," Stephanie is getting her laughter under control, trying to talk through giggles.

"Forget I mentioned anything," Tim sighs, dropping his next slice back into the box.

"Sorry, sorry, but you can't just go off like that and not expect me to laugh. I'm just picturing his face, covered in---what did you throw?"

"Tea," Tim sighs, which only makes Stephanie laugh even harder.

"Tea! I'm dying, Cass. Tell my mother I love her."

"So dramatic," Cass sighs, getting up from the couch to plant herself on the coffee table in front of Tim. "It sounds like Jason really likes you. And you like him. Maybe that's enough,” she shrugs, looking at Tim.

"Maybe," Tim concedes, reaching around Cass for his pizza. "Maybe I just had poor examples of a loving relationship."

"Didn't we all," Cass jokes, pulling a slice for herself from the box. 

"And the feeling that he's lying about something big?" he asks her as she nibbles at her slice.

"We all lie about things, Tim. Some for better reasons than others," Cass is staring at him, and Tim can feel that she's trying to impart something important, but he can't read her as well as she thinks because he can't tell if she's talking about him, Jason, or herself.

"And you think that makes it ok?"

"I think you have to pick your battles. How many games are you willing to play?"

And that's the second time she's mentioned playing games about Jason. It can't be a coincidence. 

"There shouldn't be any games in a relationship," Tim counters. "That's how people get hurt."

"You should know," Stephanie mumbles, drawing their attention back to her. She's loaded a movie and has it paused, waiting for them to finish their verbal volley apparently.

"If you like Jason, and he likes you, which is what it's looking like, you should be able to bring this up to him and get an honest answer. Now," she says, waving at the television, "Everyone get comfortable, because we are going on a literary adventure."

"In a movie?" Tim scoffs as Cass goes back to the couch.

"Pride and Prejudice is a classic in any form. The introduction of the classics at any age is important for society in general," Stephanie says, sounding like she's quoting someone as she hits play.

"Who said that?" Tim asks, giving up and pulling the whole box of pizza onto his lap.

"Oh, one of my brothers," Cass says, turning off the side lamp as the movie starts.

Chapter Text

Tim is at home, scrolling on his phone a few nights later, hoping Jason will call, when he gets a news update with the headline, Red Hood Turning Over a New Leaf?

It’s just clickbaity enough to get Tim’s attention, and he’s tapping the headline without thought. It connects to a video of Red Hood and Starfire jumping off a bridge, only to land on some type of spaceship, with Red Hood finding a way in and Starfire pummeling it from the outside. It cuts out and picks back up with Red Hood pulling people out of a harbor and onto dry land. The article begins detailing all the good that Hood has been doing lately, from stopping basic robberies to helping Nightwing take down the group of bombers from the museum fiasco. They’ve even dug up a shaky cam video of Hood showing some local kids how to shoot dice correctly. 

To anyone living in Crime Alley, it’s probably not a shocking story; they’ve known Red Hood as their own personal anti-hero for a while now. For everyone else, it’s probably an eye opening expose on the turnaround of a notorious Gotham criminal. 

Tim doesn’t realize he’s smiling through most of the article until he gets to a video of what looks like Batgirl, Black Bat, and Red Hood in the middle of an argument, with Black Bat being the one siding with Red Hood. It's nothing that should raise red flags in his mind, but he finds himself thinking that he wants them to get along, wants all the important people in his life to get along. 

And when exactly did the Red Hood become someone important ? He shouldn't be. The man hasn't bothered to contact Tim at all in the last couple weeks, not even a blip. Tim can't blame him. He hasn't had any new intel on Scarecrow pop up, and after the bombing, it's like the rest of the rogues had gone to ground. 

But watching the three interact, even from the distance the camera is at, brings a flash of déjà vu to the looks that Stephanie and Jason had been giving each other at the museum. To Cass playing mediator, which was so unlike her public persona. It's not a good feeling to have, even with the video ending with the two shaking hands instead of coming to blows. Tim checks when it was uploaded and feels his stomach drop when he sees it was from last night. Tim rereads his messages from Stephanie, and her snapstory is still her yelling "freedom!" outside of the Thompson clinic, Dick giggling behind her. 

Jason had messaged that he was finally free the night before, his friend recovered enough to take his job back over, which would leave him open the next few nights. Tim is out of bed and at his computer before he realizes what he's doing, hands scrambling over the keys, looking for anything he can get his hands on about Starfire's newest escapades. He finds an article, poorly translated from Portuguese, about Starfire and Arsenal taking down a Brazilian banker, only to have the players change to Starfire and Red Hood, and back to Arsenal. It's a rough read, and no where do they bring up the spaceship that's so blatantly in the picture with the article. 

It's a lot of circumstantial evidence. Just because Jason was filling in a friend's shifts and the Red Hood was spotted outside of Gotham doesn't mean anything. It's like the old "well you've never seen Batman and Bruce Wayne in the same room" joke. 

Except Bruce Wayne is Batman. 

Tim's been complaining about the distortion from Jason's phone for days, and he still hasn't gotten it fixed. Jason had said it was because of the museum, ruined from the fall. The time of Jason leaving correlates perfectly to Arsenal getting hurt and coming back. It could be a coincidence. People get hurt all the time, probably a lot in a garage. Jason had even told him Kory was unhappy about it too, since she and Roy were suppose to be going on a vacation soon.

The name spikes through him, and Tim’s scouring fanboards dedicated to Nightwing and Starfire, and while he knows he’s remembering right, he needs a second confirmation. Each board agrees that Starfire and Nightwing were very much an item for years until a bad breakup. Tim remembers when Dick was interrogating him at the mall, shopping for his ex, Kory. Nightwing, who had dated Starfire, and Dick who had dated Kory. 

Kory, who Jason had been pulling extra hours at the garage with to make sure Roy’s work was covered so he wouldn’t lose his job. Jason, who said he was going to jump off a bridge, but hadn’t sounded embarrassed about being caught in a supply closet. 

And Red Hood had then proceeded to jump off a bridge. 

It’s all conjecture. Tim knows that. It’s probably him putting two and two together and getting seven. But all it had taken was seeing Dick Grayson, and then Robin, both make the same flip, and he had known. Jason Todd had swiped a treat off a buffet table and slipped it to Tim with a wink, and Tim knew that was the same boy running around with Bruce Wayne without even having to check his pictures. He had watched Spoiler caught on tape and hadn’t even needed to investigate deeper to later connect her to Robin. Tim had always trusted his intuition when it came to the capes and rouges of Gotham. Why was this one making him second guess himself?

Tim’s phone rings, and looking over, he sees Jason’s name flash up. 

Tim lets it go to voicemail.

-- 

It’s not easy for Tim to push the doubt, the possibilities to the back of his mind, but he does. Jason had sent a text to Tim, wishing him sweet dreams after Tim hadn’t called him back. There’s absolutely nothing connecting Jason and the Red Hood other than neighborhood loyalty and his own conjecture. 

Not that Tim has actually tried looking in to Jason. Because to look, would mean he believes it could be true, and the last thing he wants is to start looking up reasons that Jason could have wandered into his office, other than the story he’s already been given.

The truth, Tim reminds himself. Not a story, not a cover. Jason had told him the truth. Tim has to keep that though at the forefront, or everything falls apart.

He’s staring at his phone, curled up on his window seat before work, cup of coffee slowly cooling on the floorboards. He should call Jason, let him know what he’s worried about, get it all out in the open before Tim’s natural distrust and slightly deceitful ways come back to bite him. He takes a deep breath, picks up his phone, and speed dials Jason. 

“Hey, baby, didn’t think I’d hear from you this early,” Jason says, and Tim forgets everything he was planning to say at the sound of Jason's voice, which is clear, crisp, and just this side of sleepy. 

“You got a new phone?” 

Tim's surprise must come through as Jason lets out a snort. 

“Got tired of you saying you couldn’t stand my crappy connection, so I finally pulled myself to the store and got a new one. How do I sound?”

“Tired,” Tim says, earning a husky laugh from Jason. 

“I was working late last night, helping a friend out, so yeah, I’m a little bushed.”

“I’ll let you go then,” Tim says, but that only earns him a grunted no from Jason.

“Never too tired for you. Tried calling you last night. You must have been passed out.”

“First couple days back from work after a leave are always rough. Especially with this audit they’re doing,” Tim’s not lying, or at least not completely. It has been rough at work, other agents still combing their past claims to make sure all the paperwork is still there, and Tim landing a hand. 

“Well, I was actually calling you last night to see if you wanted to do something now that I’m free, but if you’re too tired…”

“No one said that," Tim says, earning another laugh.

"Well, it's last minute, but they're doing the tree lighting ceremony tomorrow night over in Old Gotham. I'll pick you up, take the bike over? You ever been on one before?"

"A time or two in my youth,” Tim jokes, “but it's freezing outside,” he adds, looking out his frosted window.

“I’ll keep you warm, promise.”

Tim knows...Tim knows that when he gets too deep with someone, he gets stupid. All his great plans, all his scheming, it all falls apart when he finds himself falling too hard for someone. It’s rare, but it has happened before. He knows he should learn from the past, tell Jason this isn’t going to work out. Maybe set up a plan to get the Red Hood to out himself to Tim, get the game to work in his favor.

“I don’t know, I run pretty cold. Think I could get close enough?” falls out of Tim’s mouth, instead of a denial, instead of a drawn out play on words he could use later on to make his case, instead of a million other things he could have said instead of flirting.

“I’ll make sure you hold on tight enough. Grab you at, say seven? We can grab a bite to eat afterwards?”

“Pick me up from the office then; I can grab my car afterwards,” Tim says, picking up his mostly cooled coffee and chugging it down.

“May be better from your place. I don’t think where you work has overnight parking. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim chokes out before Jason hangs up.

Tim’s brain short circuits at Jason’s implications. Tim may have a lot of ‘what ifs’ and ‘could bes’ but if there is one thing Tim is sure of it’s that at least the interest goes both ways.  

--

Tim is just heading home that same night, one of the few agents not having to stay late to clean up reports still, when he gets a call from one of the girls he works with. 

“Anna, how’s it going?”

“I’ve got kind of a problem,” she says, and Tim hurries to his car to give them some privacy.

“I’m all ears. Something you want to talk about in person?”

“No, I don’t think it can wait.”

She stops again, and Tim is surprised to hear the hitch in her words. Anna has always been one of the tougher girls, ready to snap back at him at any time.

“Anna, what’s wrong?” Tim asks and stays silent while she spills what she knows. She’s still talking when Tim taps the button for Hood, hoping they can get a meetup settled soon.

“I didn’t know who to tell. The cops would never believe me.”

“I don’t know either,” Tim hedges, “But I’ll see if I can get the cops the tip. Thanks Anna,” Tim says, hearing his phone beep with a new message. She hangs up without another word, and Tim sees the message is from an unknown number

{Too public}  

Is the response Tim gets, followed by another message with coordinates again. Tim pops them into his GPS and sees it’s only a few blocks away, close to his apartment building. Tim pulls out and speeds over, heart pounding.

The meet-up is a squat, abandoned building, and with the sun having already set long ago, cast in the shadows from the other, larger buildings surrounding it. Tim walks around to the back of the building, looking to see if there’s some form of ladder or walkway that would get him to the roof since that’s become the norm for him and Hood.

“What are you doing?” Tim hears from behind him, and even with hearing the computerized voice, his automatic reaction is to fling his arms out to shove away the possible attacker. He’s easily caught though, one of Red Hood’s hands wrapping around Tim’s forearm, the other raised high, holding a steaming to-go cup out of the way of Tim’s flailing.

“Did you stop for drinks?” is the only response Tim can think of, looking between the cup and the emotionless mask. 

“Well, one drink. This thing’s a bitch to drink with even with a straw. What were you looking for?”

“A way up. Normally, you seem to prefer not being on the ground,” Tim says, pulling his arm from Red Hood’s grasp. He lets go easily enough, but doesn’t put any distance between himself and Tim. 

“Yeah, hadn’t realized the fire escape had rotten away. It’s fine. I can get us up there.”

“Oh? Did you keep the spaceship? Gonna fly me up there?”

“Tim,” Red Hood leans slightly closer, and with the lack of distance between them, it brings Hood close enough to whisper. “Keeping  track of me? Next thing you know, I’ll find a notebook with Mrs. Red Hood scrawled in it.”

“You are such a dick,” Tim snorts, the image cracking him up. “You got me. I’m already in the process of embroidering my handkerchiefs with your initials.”

“I’ve always been a sucker for monogrammed bath towels. Not white though, so gauche.”

“Get serious. Where are we doing this? Here works for me.”

“I am. We’re gonna use my grapple to get to the roof,” Hood starts, but stops when Tim starts shaking his head emphatically no, going so far as to raise his hands in front of him. 

“No. No, no way. Not happening. Right here is just fine,” Tim says, just as they hear a loud group shouting at each other near the front of the building.

“I honestly could not have timed that better if I was trying,” Hood says, waving Tim close. “It’s less than a second, just wrap your arms around my neck. Come on, hurry up. This won’t hurt a bit.”

“This all feels like a continual bad touch,” Tim grumbles, stepping into Red Hood’s space and lightly wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Tight,” Hood grips, using his free hand to tug Tim closer. “Grip my jacket. There you go. And don’t close your eyes”

“Why?” Tim asks as he feels the arm holding the cup wrap around his waist, Hood’s free hand raised in the air, grapple magically appearing.

Red Hood doesn’t answer, instead he shoots the line up, and faster than Tim thought possible, he’s being flung up to the roof. The force from them flying up in the air brings them above the actual roof, and Hood has to brace them both, Tim’s legs not prepared for the force of the landing.

“You closed your eyes,” Hood says, releasing Tim slightly but not letting go completely. Tim doesn’t realize he had until he opens his eyes and sees nothing but Hood’s brown leather jacket. He’s pressed shoulder to knee with Red Hood, hands twisted in the collar of the jacket. As soon as he has his feet under him, Tim takes three massive steps back from Hood, running his hands through his hair. 

“How did you not drop that drink?” Tim tries for casual, but can hear his breath catching from the rush.

“Just like I didn’t drop you. I had a good grip,” he says, walking closer to Tim to hand him the cup.

Tim takes it and takes a small sip of the drink. The latte has barely cooled, and the warmth does wonders to steady Tim.

“How’d you know I like peppermint?” Tim asks, taking another sip and moving to hop up and sit on one of the old a/c units still on the building.

“Who doesn’t? Now, what have you got?” Hood asks, coming to stand in front of Tim. He’s close enough Tim has to look up at him, his thighs just barely grazing Tim’s knees.

“Want to sit down?” Tim asks, patting the unit, but Hood only shakes his head, shoving his hands into his jacket’s pockets, waiting on Tim.

“Two-Face is hitting something on Christmas Day. Probably a few places knowing him.”

“Fuck,” Hood groans, sitting on the unit next to Tim, slumping. He’s close enough that their knees knock together when Hood drops down, and Hood doesn’t pull away. Instead he leans back on his hands, one of them ending up incredibly close to Tim’s hip.

And maybe it’s just Tim reading into the situation. Maybe he’s just noticing more after Hood’s change in personality with their last, cold, distant meeting. 

Maybe Jason is just forgetting himself.

Tim snaps his leg back from where his knee had been knocking against Red Hood’s as the man sat in silence, pushing that dark, insidious thought to the back of his mind.

“I know. I was surprised too. No one had heard anything for weeks. I thought maybe he had been snatched back up into Arkham,” Tim says, taking a gulp of the cooling coffee.

“He’s too big not to get the fanfare of the cops getting him again before he slips out. You’re sure it’s Christmas?”

“Makes sense when you think about it. Cops normally run on skeleton crews, most places will be closed, easy in and out right?”

“Think a lot about the best time to pull a heist?” Hood asks, turning back to Tim. Even without being able to see Hood’s face, his body language is intense. Normally Red Hood is easy, lax, when he’s around Tim. Knows he’s not a threat and treats him as such. Now? Now he’s laser focused on Tim, and Tim isn’t sure if he feels scared or flustered. 

He’s worried he’s leaning towards flustered, especially when there’s a large, massive possibility that it’s not Jason under that hood.

“You feeling ok?” Tim asks, getting up to walk around the roof a little bit, work some feeling back into his legs. He’s only in his work chinos, and they definitely weren’t made for a windy rooftop in December. 

“Fantastic. Wonderful. You know I can’t get anywhere near Two-Face, right? He’s a full stop, no-go with the bats.”

“Didn’t think the Red Hood was afraid of a few bats,” Tim jokes, looking over his shoulder, only to see Hood walking towards him, boots barely making noise on the hard gravel roof.

“I’m not,” he says, stopping a few feet from Tim. “But I also can’t get close enough to any of his known hideouts without setting off some kind of bat alarm.”

“Are those real? Do they look like little bats?” Tim asks, trying to imagine where someone could hide something so obvious looking.

“The bat security system is a little more subtle these days. Less tacky, more...high tech.”

“Can you get them a message?”

“I can,” Hood grouses. “It’s just a pain in the ass, and after the last problem, I don’t need them thinking this is gonna be a regular thing.”

“I...sort of get the whole lone wolf thing, Hood. Batman isn’t exactly the beloved hero of Crime Alley, but Two-Face isn’t known for his moderate, well intentioned thought process. What happens if the coin flips the wrong way?”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Hood says, closing the distance between them. “Gotham, all of Gotham, is my home too. But he's made it more than clear he doesn't want my help."

"What about Batgirl?" Tim asks, remembering the video he saw of them online. Remembering Stephanie and Jason.

"What about her?" Hood asks slowly. 

"You've worked with her before right? Can't you have her pass it to the big man? Make sure your name doesn't come up. You can just be another one of her tips," Tim says, moving to step away from the ledge. Putting just a bit more space between the two of them. Had Hood always stood so close? Even with the chill, Tim imagines he can feel the heat radiating off the man. 

"Just what I've always wanted," Hood says, clasping his hands near his heart. "To be a Batgirl informant ."

"I don't know, you could do worse than a leggy blonde," Tim says, smiling at the memory of Stephanie whacking Cass with her good leg when she was complaining about watching another reagent movie.

"Not my type," Hood says, walking away from Tim, scouting around the roof. Tim watches him, waiting, but doesn't get more of a response.

"Well, I know it was short notice, but do you have anything for me?"

"I brought you coffee," Hood says, finishing his walk-around and ending once again next to Tim, shoulder to shoulder. "Isn't that enough for you?"

"I meant anything on Robin. Any changes you've heard?"

"It's all radio silence from that end. Been a little busy."

"This is supposed to be a partnership," Tim says, turning to look at Hood.

"Funny, I thought this was a shakedown? Am I changing your mind, Timmy boy?"

"Nope. Do not call me that," Tim says, making Hood laugh, the mechanical sound still grating even after all these months. And it has been months. Months of scouring the net, months of back alley meetups that had originally left Tim scared and worried but now seemed to be turning into impromptu coffee dates that left Tim warm and confused. 

"Aw, thought we were close enough for nicknames by now. I brought you coffee."

"How do we get down from here?" Tim asks, looking around the roof, hoping to change the subject.

"Same way we got up," Hood shrugs, making Tim turn to him in horror.

"Again?" And Tim can barely hear himself over the harsh, grating laughter coming from Red Hood's mask.

"Oh my God. Your face. Your face," Hood gets out clapping and resting a hand across his chest. "Your face was fucking priceless."

"Oh was it? I wonder why? Maybe because I don't see why we have to fling ourselves off a building just for your ascetic," Tim snaps, making Hood crack again. 

"It's much gentler going down, I swear. Plus, two free hands," he says, waving said hands slightly. 

"Ugh," Tim grouses, swigging the last of his ice cold coffee and shoving the empty cup into a pocket of his overcoat. "Let's get this over with."

"Trying to leave me so soon? But sweetheart, we never get moments alone like this anymore."

"No. No, I told you not to call me that," Tim snaps. He didn't like how it sounded last time, when Red Hood was angry about Scarecrow, he likes it even less when it brings up fresh memories of Jason's deep voice whispering it over the phone."I want down from here. Now."

Tim is well aware of the persona Red Hood has built for himself. It's not all bluster either; there are more than enough videos and police reports about the devastation Red Hood had reaped on the underworld when Black Mask was still around. 

But Tim's also aware of how many stories he's heard from people about the Red Hood breaking up bar fights, making sure kids got to shelters, helping people who couldn't help themselves. He's mostly sure, by letting Hood know this wasn't ok, he'll get what he wants. 

"Alright, alright," Hood says, holding his hands up in defeat. "Thought we were having a conversation," he continues, heading over to the ledge to stand on it, waving Tim over. As Tim walks towards him, Hood shoots his grapple into one of the a/c units, already preparing for their descent.

"Hold on again," he says as Tim steps closer. Tim sighs deeply but does as requested. Hood wraps his arm around Tim again, squeezing tightly as he takes a step off the roof, dragging Tim along with him. Tim shuts his eyes again, but the grapple lowers them slowly, and he's able to keep on his feet this time when they touch down. Tim lets go quickly, but Hood takes just a second longer, slowly releasing Tim. Once he's free though, Tim takes a large step back.

"You afraid of me or something?" Hood asks as Tim tidies his coat.

"What?" Tim asks, confused by the question. 

"This whole time, you've been doing your best to keep 5 feet of distance between us. You worried for your virtue or something?"

"Should I be?" Tim asks before thinking, and Red Hood tenses before relaxing again.

"I told you; I'm still waiting for my signal. Anytime you want to post that in your window, I'd be happy to make a house call."

"I think this should end our agreement," Tim blurts without thinking, and Red Hood takes a step back, like Tim had physically pushed him.

“Whoa, I get it, I was a bit forward, I apologize," he starts but Tim cuts him off.

"This was supposed to be mutual, but if your connection to the bats is drying up, then there's no way to keep up your end of the bargain,” Tim reasons with Hood, and, maybe a bit with himself.

"What, I have a bad week, and suddenly you think you're calling the shots?"

"This wasn't supposed to last longer than necessity needed."

"Saying you don't need me anymore?"

"I'm saying, I did what I wanted to do to Robin. You got the Falcones, the Dragons, hell they tried to keep it quiet but I saw the reports about Scarecrow’s stash being found last night, even if he got away in the end. You got to stick it to the bats, I got to help you. But now, if you can't tell me what they're planning anymore, then no I don't."

"And here I was thinking we were getting closer. Connecting. That maybe one night you'd invite me into your little abode, let me see the inner workings."

"Jesus, my boyfriend isn't even this pushy," Tim mumbles, running his hands over his face. "This is done. You've got what I've got on Two-Face. Do with it what you will. I'm done. I'm out. Have a good night, have a good life. Good luck with the whole vigilante thing," Tim pulls out the fob Red Hood had given him, and tries to hand it over, but Hood doesn't reach for it, instead standing silently, looking at Tim. Tim huffs and shoves the fob at Hood's chest, and the man grabs it before it can drop.

Tim is leaving, confused, worried, but mainly praying he hasn't made a huge mistake when Red Hood calls out, "You've got a boyfriend?"

"Please," Tim says, turning back around to look at Hood, who hasn't moved from his spot. "Please do not tell me that out of everything, that's what stuck."

"Not the only thing," Hood says, walking quickly over to Tim. "Listen, keep the button," he says, trying to hand it back to Tim, who doesn't take it. "God knows with the weird shit happening in this town, you may need me one day. Or you just may run across something big, something only I can help you with. Just because you don’t think you need me, doesn’t mean you won’t. No funny business.”

Tim looks between the device and Hood. It’s impossible to tell what Hood is thinking, not with the helmet between the two of them. Tim likes to think that other than his secret identity, which still weighs heavily on Tim’s mind, Hood has never lied to Tim. This whole scheme has worked well for them, Tim getting to be a step ahead of Damian, Hood getting to take down heavy hitters, proving whatever he needed to to the bats.

Tim takes back the device, slipping it into his pocket. Hood relaxes slightly when Tim looks back at him, shrugging his shoulders.

“Guess this is it then,” he says, holding out a hand for Tim to shake. “Gotta say, you were one of the better rats. Maybe the best.”

“Wow,” Tim says dryly, shaking Hood’s hand quickly. “You really do say the nicest things.”

“It’s what I’m known for,” he says giving Tim a small salute before turning and walking down the darkened alleyway. “Till next time.”

Tim watches him leave, waiting until he’s disappeared behind another building, until he hears the rev of a motorcycle, until it’s just him and the sounds of the city at night.

Chapter Text

Friday drags for Tim. Normally, this close to Christmas, the days are already slow as Tim’s clientele isn’t exactly in the financial situation to buy Christmas cars. Instead he’s spent the day helping colleagues collate paperwork for the ongoing audits. Helping out gives Tim something to do, but the monotonous double checking wears on Tim, his excitement about seeing Jason again outweighing his normally anal retentive ways. Plus, other than a quick exchange of texts double checking that Jason remembered where Tim lived, Jason had been silent the entire afternoon, busy at work himself. Tim leaves just after five, dodging requests for help and hurrying out to his car to speed home.

He knows he has time to get ready, doesn’t even take him that long normally, but after being caught in a bombing the last time he went into downtown, Tim wants to make sure he at least has his pepper spray on him. He ends up spending longer on his hair, tying it up and taking it down, before giving up and shoving a dark blue beanie over his head in concession for the light flurries of snow that he can see out of his living room window. It ends up being Jason’s jacket that gives him the most contention. He had ended up getting it dry-cleaned, because while the idea of having something that smelled like Jason in his home did interesting things to his hindbrain, having something that also smelled like grime and ash from the explosion did worse things to his subconscious. Tim finally decides to wear the woolen grey coat he’d been using this last week, after the loss of his favorite at the museum. It’s snugger than he last remembered from college, the attachable hood shoved into one of the pockets still. 

By the time he’s tracked down his gloves and scarf and reattached the hood, it’s close to the time they agreed on. Tim rushes out, shoving his wallet, phone, and keys into a pocket, grabbing Jason’s jacket off the couch at the last minute. He’s already locked up and heading to the building Jason had dropped him off at after the bazaar when Tim realizes he still has the button from Red Hood when he shoves his keys into an outer pocket. It’s too late to head back and toss it in his apartment, so he just puts it in the pocket with his pepper spray so he doesn’t accidentally grab it if he needs to get his wallet out. 

It’s after seven, and Tim is standing outside the building waiting for Jason when his phone rings and Tim sees Jason’s name scroll across the screen. His stomach drops with anxiety that Jason is going to have another emergency but quickly picks up.

“Hey, you running late?”

“Late? I’m here. Come on down," Jason says, confusing Tim.

“Jason, I’m standing outside. I don’t see you anywhere,” Tim says, taking another glance around, wondering if maybe he had missed him.

“What do you - son of a bitch I’m on the wrong street,” Jason groans, making Tim laugh. Jason hangs up on Tim, who is still laughing when he hears a motorcycle come around the corner and stop in front of him. Jason’s long legs sprawl to keep the bike upright, while he removes his black helmet. The bike is smaller than Tim had imagined, the Indian motorcycle made more for the city than touring. There’s no backrests or back handles on the matte black bike, giving Tim a moment of pause.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Jason says, placing the helmet between his legs while Tim catches his breath.

“I even tried to remind you. You were the one who said ‘How could I forget’?”

“Shut up and get on the bike,” Jason grumbles, reaching back to open one of the massive saddlebags on the back of his bike to pull out an extra helmet.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Tim tries to console, but can feel how big his grin is. Jason just gives him a flat look which sets him off again. 

“Tim. Timothy. Get on the bike before I do something drastic.”

“Like?” Tim asks, draping Jason’s jacket over the seat before looking at the helmet and trying to decide if he needs to take off his hat.

“Throw myself into oncoming traffic.”

“Make sure you get the street right,” Tim says, finally deciding to keep his hat on.

Jason revs the bike back up and prepares to leave Tim on the sidewalk, but Tim just laughs again and reaches to grab Jason’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I’m done, promise. Where do you want me to put your jacket?” Tim gets out while Jason stops the bike again.

“Same saddlebag I pulled the helmet from,” Jason says, gesturing to the one closest to Tim. He slides the jacket into the massive saddlebag, placing it on-top of what looks like another one.

“How many leather jackets did you think you’d need tonight?”

“It can get pretty cold on the bike, wanted to make sure you had enough layers on,” Jason says as Tim gets the helmet on and swings onto the bike.

“Already reneging on your promise to keep me warm?” Tim asks, getting comfortable while Jason slides his helmet back on.

Jason grabs Tim’s hands from where they’re just barely grazing Jason’s waist and pulls them so that Tim has to scoot closer. Another pull has him inching even closer as Jason brings Tim’s hands to cross over his waist. By the time Jason lets go, they’re pressed together chest to back, Tim’s knees just barely grazing Jason’s hips once he finds his footholds. 

“Just make sure you hold on tight,” Tim barely makes out through his helmet. Jason does up his chin clip, and they’re off, Tim clutching at Jason hard when he peels out. 

Jason driving his friend’s truck and Jason on his own bike are two completely different beasts. Jason in the cab of a truck had been relaxed, quiet, barely even speeding even though the streets had been emptier that night than this one, one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick, easy in his control over the truck. 

 Tim comes to the horrible realization that all of that must have been a facade. 

Once Jason realizes that Tim knows how to move with him, it's like a flip is switched. Jason on the bike is fast, weaving through traffic on the expressway at breakneck speeds. Even at the few stoplights they catch, Jason inches the bike closer and closer whenever he can. It’s a terrifying ride, Tim’s breath catching when it looks like they won’t make it through a gap, hands gripping tight when Jason takes a turn a hair too sharp. But it’s exhilarating at the same time, feeling the control and confidence Jason has over his bike and the roads. It probably doesn’t help his case that Tim keeps breaking out in exhilarated laughter when Jason revs the bike faster than he was expecting or grabbing tight the one time they got stuck at a long light downtown and Jason let go of the handles to rest his hands on Tim’s thighs. 

By the time Jason finds curb parking, partially down an empty alley, Tim is out of breath, from Jason’s final rush through downtown traffic to move around the evening commute. It takes Tim a moment to unclench his fingers from Jason’s jacket, pulling away slightly to give Jason room to pull off his own helmet. 

“What’d you think of the ride?” Jason asks, smile blazing as he turns to look at Tim. 

Jason’s cheeks are flushed, olive skin just beginning to dew with sweat, and his hair such a mess that the bright white streak is practically standing straight up thanks to the helmet. Tim has never found him more attractive and hurries to take off his own helmet. The helmet takes his hat along with it, and Tim rushes to push his hair into some semblance of order. 

“Well? Need help getting off?” Jason asks, turning the bike’s handles slightly to make it easier to grab.

Tim slides off the bike, Jason taking the helmet from him as soon as Tim is upright.

“You ok? Little quiet there, sweetheart,” Jason says, pulling himself off the bike to stand in front of Tim. 

The pet name jolts Tim out of his stupor, and he finally takes a deep breath.

“We are never taking a car anywhere again.”

Jason starts laughing, moving to take Tim’s helmet to lock up on the handles. 

“Liked it that much? Thought you had been on one before.”

“Not like that. It was,” Tim pauses, making Jason look up from his work.

“Fast?” he guesses, but Tim just shakes his head.

“Exhilarating,” he finishes, and the slow smile Jason gives him is well worth the helmet hair and frozen fingers.

“Let’s hope the rest of the night keeps up the standard,” Jason says as he finishes locking up the helmets and walks back over to Tim. He slides an arm around Tim and starts walking him out of the empty alley to where Tim can see the large dark tree waiting to be lit.

“You got this street right at least,” Tim jokes. 

Jason makes a disgusted noise and shoves Tim away, who only laughs as Jason walks away from him yelling

“Good luck finding a cab home tonight!”

Tim catches up to Jason and slides his hand into Jason’s leather gloved one.

“That was the last one. Promise,” Tim says.

Jason gives him a side eye, but releases Tim’s hand to wrap his arm around Tim’s shoulders again, pulling him close.

“I swear, whenever there’s just a little bit of snow, someone always has to try and make a bat signal,” Jason grouses, nodding at a family slowly gathering the soft snow and trying their best to build a wing.

“It’s only because Robin doesn’t have a signal,” Tim says pointing at another group sculpting a smaller R, making Jason laugh.

“What? You think they’d choose a Robin over a Bat?”

“I bet if you walked up to them right now, they would each have their favorite Robin.”

“There’s only one Robin,” Jason says, and laughs at the look Tim gives him.

“Ok, ok. Two. A girl and a boy.”

“You sure you’re really an Alley kid? Because even they could tell you there were four.”

“Alright, smartass. Who’s your favorite Robin?”

“You first,” Tim counters as Jason walks them away from the crumbling bat signal. “Since there’s only two.”

“Probably the first one. You know, the Boy Wonder or whatever.”

“He’s a solid choice. When it doubt, go with the original,” Tim agrees, nodding his head.

“And you?”

“The Robins used to be a pretty big deal for me back when I was a kid. Watched every news clip, read every article they and Batman were mentioned in. Kept them in a photo album before my parents found it and tossed it,” Tim confesses, looking away from Jason in embarrassment.

“So,” Jason cajoles, making Tim turn back to him. There’s no judgement, no joking, no exasperation like so many other people he’s told about his childhood obsession. “Who’s your pick?”

“The second Robin,” Tim says quickly, earning a surprised look from Jason. “Probably,” he tries to amend.

“The girl? I mean, I guess?” Jason says, shrugging. 

“Not the girl. There was another one in-between. When the first Robin got too old. You sure you’re Gotham bred?” Tim asks, poking fun at Jason.

“I was a little busy as a kid trying to take care of my mom. Don’t people just skip that one?” Jason says, looking around them as he walks them forward.

“Not me. He may have been a little rough around the edges, little tougher than the first Robin, but there was something that just screamed ‘Gotham’ whenever they caught him on film,” Tim says as Jason’s decisive walk slows to a meander, listening intently to Tim’s reasoning. “Maybe it was that roughness. You ask me, Gotham wasn’t made for the weak of spirit, and that was one thing the second Robin most assuredly was not,” Tim says, looking around as the park fills up around them.

It’s always amazed Tim the way Gotham bounces back from the horror and destruction that happens so frequently. The explosion only happened a couple of weeks ago and yet, here was Gotham, out and about en mass ice skating, singing carols, surrounding a large menorah and even larger tree just waiting to be beacons of light and joy, two things Gotham seemed to need most. 

“Babe? You ok?” Jason’s question pulls Tim from his thoughts, noticing he had stopped walking in front of the small playground that had been set up for the younger kid to play.

He turns to look up at Jason, who’s still flushed, hair a mess, looking down at Tim in concern, eyes on him like he’s the most important thing here right now. His teal eyes are clear, a shock of light, standing out even in the light pollution surrounding them. Tim comes to the sudden, lurching realization that he wants to see those eyes at sunsets, sunrises, over late night hot chocolates, and far too strong morning coffees. At over too soon lunch dates and after ‘just one more episode’ show marathons, and everything in between.

He can’t put these feelings into words, doesn’t know how. Hasn’t felt this strongly about anyone, anything in a long time, maybe ever. Knows the last time he cared for someone, he lost them in Haiti. But putting the words out there, hearing them come out of his mouth makes Tims stomach churn, a sick feeling battling with the need to say something, anything, to make Jason understand he’s fine, good, better than he has been in a long time.

“You forgot a hat,” finally slips out of Tim’s mouth, making Jason give Tim a quizzical look, but he reaches into his back pocket with his free hand and pulls out a crumpled, forest green beanie. He removes his arm from Tim and uses both hands to slide it over his hair, covering all but his white streak.

“There, all nice and warm,” Jason says, smiling down at Tim but still looking concerned.

“Sorry, just got lost in my head for a moment,” Tim tries to cover, starting to walk forward, pulling Jason along with him. “Let’s try to get closer. Sometimes they have those carnival games.”

“Want me to win you a bunny?” Jason teases. Tim stops in front of him and grabs Jason’s biceps, squeezing slightly.

“With these muscles? We should be able to win a whole menagerie.”

Jason is still laughing as Tim pulls him closer to the tree and the crowds gathering around the stand.

“Hey, look,” Jason says, stopping short and making Tim let go of his arm. “It’s the mayor. They should be lighting the tree up now. Then I’m getting you out on the ice.”

“You say that like I didn’t have an instructor when I was six,” Tim scoffs as he comes to stand close to Jason, making his eyebrows rise.

“German teachers and skating instructors? What kind of business did your parents run?”

“Drake Industries,” Tim says, not expecting Jason to jerk away from where he was lightly resting against him.

“ Drake Industries ? How long were you gonna hide the whole 'heir to a throne of Gotham'?”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Tim defends. “They died when I was a kid,” Tim gets out, already feeling raw from his epiphany just moments ago. “The company got eaten by Wayne Corps and the IRS, thanks to the interim president being a moron. Whatever throne there was was destroyed a long time ago.”

“You’re right,” Jason says, reaching for Tim’s hand, who only moves it out of the way. “No really, you’re right. I may not be an orphan Alley kid anymore, but I can still let my prejudices get a hold of me. Tim,” Jason says, and Tim lets him grab his hand finally. “I think we’re all allowed to be a little shocked at the others past every now and then.”

Tim can’t disagree, so he squeezes Jason’s hand instead, leaning against his arm like they were before.

“I gotta ask,” Jason says as the mayor drones on. “How’d a former rich kid like you end up working with Alley folk like me?”

“No one wants to adopt an eleven year old when they’re not getting their trust fund anymore,” Tim says, leaning harder into Jason. “I just. Ended up in the Bowery when I was a teenager, got my diploma and my associates before I fully aged out, and never looked back. No point in leaving Newtown to try and fight my way back into the Diamond District. Gotham, in one way or another, has always been my home.”

“I hear you. I could probably travel the world and find myself wanting to get back to these streets,” Jason says, sliding his arm around Tim’s waist. Tim looks up to see Jason staring off into the distance, face closed off. “It’s like no matter how much you try, Gotham’s always there, in your blood.”

“She’s a fickle mistress,” Tim agrees. They watch the mayor wave to everyone and request the local city commissioners up on stage with him. As they stand there watching, all the lights in the area cut off, leaving them in pitch darkness. Jason tenses up next to him, pulling Tim close like he’s going to try and cover him, when the tree bursts into light, dousing them all in colored light and pushing the shadows back once again.

“You ok?” Tim asks, looking at the surprise written over Jason’s face.

“I thought something was going to happen,” he says, loosening his hold on Tim’s waist, giving Tim room to wind his arm around Jason’s narrow hips.

“They always do that. The big reveal, you know?” Tim says gesturing to the street lights that are already coming back on to relight the park.

“I’ve never actually been to the tree lighting before,” Jason says, looking at the massive tree, decked out in a spectrum of colors.

Tim is busy watching the lights play over Jason’s face and almost misses the soft, “Mom was always too sick to take me. Or we were too broke for the bus.”

“I’m glad we made it tonight then,” Tim says, smiling up at Jason. Jason is still staring up at the tree, and Tim can watch the surprise melt into delight before he finally looks over to Tim.

“Me too,” he says, turning slightly so he can wrap both arms around Tim. 

Tim finds his free hands slowly tracing up Jason’s arms to rest near his shoulders again. 

“How about that ice skating?” Tim asks, watching Jason’s face, but all he can see is delight and maybe a hint of that heat they had back at the museum, that night feeling eons away.

“Maybe in a minute,” Jason says, pulling Tim infinitesimally closer.

Tim is waiting patiently for Jason to lean down and meet him halfway when the lights flicker out again, even the tree. When they come back on Freeze is standing on the stage, ice gun pointed at the community already frozen in shock.

“Time for a real Winter Wonderland!” Freeze yells out before he begins icing the Gothamites that hadn’t been able to escape the stage.

“Move, move!” Jason snaps, pushing Tim in front of him and trying to weave through the crowds of people rushing all around them. Tim isn’t normally one to get claustrophobic, but the rushing mass of bodies is making it impossible to find a safe way back to the bike. Just as Jason calls that he can see a way out, groups of thugs with their own smaller freeze guns come out and begin icing people trying to flee while Freeze cuts off any way back, his massive gun laying out swaths of people too slow, pushed to the back. 

Tim sees a young girl struggling with her brother, still tied up in his skates trying to make a run for it. He stops them and starts untying the heavy skates, but Jason pushes him out of the way, pulling a switchblade and slicing through the bindings instead, freeing the boy almost instantly. 

“Try and find somewhere to hide,” he yells to the girl over the cacophony of the crowds. “Help will be here soon.” 

She nods and rushes off with her brother in the other direction.

“Hurry,” Jason snaps, pulling Tim back to feet and practically dragging him to squat behind one of the carnival game tents.

“You need to get back to the bike as quickly as possible,” Jason says, running his hands over Tim like he’s already searching for wounds.

“They would have been trampled,” Tim snaps, swatting Jason’s hands away. “And we need to get back to the bike. No heroics, no going back into the museum this time. We leave together .”

Jason stares at him for a moment before shoving his switchblade into Tim’s hands, grabbing another pocket knife for himself. 

“You know how to use that?”

“I’ve got this,” Tim says, pulling out his pepper spray from inside his coat. 

The fob for Red Hood falls into his hand as well, and he glances at Jason to see if he saw it, but Jason has already turned to watch his back for any of Freeze’s men. Tim slides it into the fist holding his pepper spray, just in case, before Jason glances back.

“Pepper spray? That’ll work too. Any of them get close, you soak the shit out of them with that,” Jason starts but is cut off as their hiding spot is taken down by a wave of ice. 

Jason grabs Tim by the shoulders, flinging him away from the tent and throwing his body over Tim’s. Tim’s fist clenches in shock, but instead of letting go, he keeps holding down, at least ten seconds. On the eleventh, an alarm begins going off on Jason’s person, closer to a police siren than a clock alarm.

Tim probably would have let it go. Probably. If not for the look of shock and fear that came over Jason’s face when Tim opened his fist and showed him the little black button sitting in the middle of his palm. 

“I fucking knew it .” 

Tim growls, fury overcoming his fear as Jason hurries to switch off the alarm, pulling out what looks more like a miniature computer than a phone.

“We need to move,” Jason, the Red Hood says, grabbing Tim and pulling him to his feet.

“You need to move,” Tim says, shaking off Jason’s hands.

“This is snow laughing matter!” they both hear just before the rest of the tent is demolished in a blaze of ice. 

Jason grabs Tim’s hand and runs, both of them glancing around, looking for an escape. Tim notices the old chain link fence surrounding the park has a small gap and turns, pulling away from Jason to get his attention.

“There, we can slide through, wrap our way around back to the bike.”

“I’m never gonna fit through there,” Jason says, nevertheless hurrying towards the gap.

“What, those big, bad, vigilante muscles can’t widen a fence gap? They’re only for show?”

“You know, a little less sarcasm would make this easier,” Jason says as they make it to the fence and Tim slips through the thin gap, needing Jason’s help to untangle his hood from the chain link. Jason grabs the fence and rips a much larger hole in it.

“Sorry, the next time I’m left in the dark about a fucking secret identity, I’ll make sure I handle it with a bit more grace,” Tim says as Jason slides through and grabs him again. Tim bats away his hand and begins running on his own, Jason easily catching up.

“Do you mind, just maybe, shutting up while we run for our lives?” Jason says, and Tim is about to snap back when he catches a shadow from above. 

Tim stops in his tracks when he catches sight of Nightwing flinging himself building to building, trying to get close to Freeze who keeps moving around the park.

“Jason, Jason, it’s Nightwing!” Tim is ecstatic for a moment, watching Nightwing flip and tumble his way closer to the massive ice structures Freeze is surrounding himself with.

“Yes, wonderful, let’s go!”

“Did you not hear me? That. Was. Nightwing. Just a few feet away from us!”

“You have got to be fucking shitting me right now. Nightwing? Really ?”

“Sorry, was I supposed to say Red Hood was my favorite? How his daring deeds of valor and uncanny use of explosives put him at the top of the list?”

“Well damn, Tim, it would be nice, considering I’ve saved your life a few times already.”

“While you lied!” Tim says, finally following Jason as he winds back towards the alley where he parked. 

“What was I supposed to do exactly? Tell you after you threw tea in my face?”

“Oh really? We’re bringing that back up? You had ample opportunities to not, you know, lie in multiple different settings on sidewalks, alleys, my roof. Oh my god,” Tim says once they reach the bike, pointing at Jason who only gives him an exasperated look.

“You were late because you went to my building! My actual building. You’ve been in my apartment; you fixed my window .”

“I never actually went in. And are you really going to blame me for lowering your heating bill?”

“That’s not the point Jason, and you know it. You stood there, all those times, Hood or not and just. Lied. Lied!” Tim yells over the bike as he watches Jason toss the jacket in his saddlebags over the seat and pull out a black Kevlar chest plate. “I mean, why did you even come into my office that day? Was this some weird set up by you and Robin?” Tim accuses as Jason rips his jacket off and slides the Kevlar on.

“I will stay dead the day I take an order from that tiny dictator, so no, I did not, what? Conspiraze against you with Robin.”

“That’s not a word,” Tim snaps as Jason pulls a dark brown jacket out and shoves the other jackets back into the saddlebag. He walks to the other side and starts pulling out a few guns and knives and begins strapping them to his body as Tim gapes.

“You’ve had those this whole time? You were prepared to go full Red Hood on our date ?”

“Well, I’m not the one who hit the emergency button!”

“It was an accident. And I distinctly remember someone with a colorful bucket over their head shoving it back at me when I tried to break things off.”

“Why was that?” Jason asks, never stopping strapping himself with weapons. “As I recall, since we’re bringing up our history together, you had no problems spilling your guts on a few rooftops with the Hood, and then you suddenly go Freeze cold. Who is still rampaging while we have out first fight.”

“Nightwing is there,” Tim says, making Jason’s face contort in anger.

“Yeah, guess the prodigal son can pull anything off.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? How many guns did you fit in that saddlebag?” Tim asks, watching Jason pull out another one, looking for a place to hold it. 

“Nothing. Try and stay close to the bike, if you need me, press the button again, and I’ll come running,” Jason says, pressing a button on the side of the bike that pops the seat up slightly, letting him pull it off and pull out his hood.

“Jesus Christ, was I just part of your magical girl transformation? And I broke it off because you weren’t giving me anything I couldn’t get on my own. You were, quite obviously, getting more out of the bargain.”

“Yeah Tim, what a terrible bargain. You gave me information, and I helped clean up the streets of Gotham.”

“You’re doing great,” Tim says, gesturing to the entrance of the alley “Fantastic job keeping the madmen off the streets there, Hood.”

“I’ve been trying to leave, but you. No. You know what? I am going to go out there, kick Freeze’s ass all the way back to the ice age, and then we are going to have a very, very long talk.”

“Can’t. Wait,” Tim snaps, following Jason as he slides the Hood over his face.

“Stay near the fucking bike,” comes the mechanical voice, grating on Tim’s already raw nerves.

“And what? Shiver in the cold? I don’t know how to drive it. I can’t go anywhere on it. I’m going to try and get somewhere safe.”

Red Hood, Jason , whips around to Tim, but before he can snap anything, Nightwing comes tumbling head over heels, towards them, flat on his back, staring up at them.

“Wow, Wing. Really stuck that landing,” Jason snarks, as Nightwing makes his way back to his feet.

“Oh my god, it’s Nightwing,” Tim gets out, slapping Jason’s arm a few times as if to get his attention. Jason pulls away, making a disgusted noise.

“Anytime you want to help out, Littlewing. By all means, move at the speed of molasses. Uh, citizen,” Nightwing says, smiling at Tim before pulling his grapple and flying back into battle.

“God, I hate that man,” Tim barely hears Hood over the static that takes over his mind and drowns out the rest of the background.

Tim wasn’t aware that someone’s mind could ‘record scratch’ in real life. But here he is, getting snapped at by Red Hood to get back to the bike, nodding along blankly before Jason runs back to the park. 

Tim does not, in fact, go back to the bike. 

He finds himself walking quickly, pulling out his phone to call for a car. None of the rideshares will come to the area, so Tim ends up at one of the many Gotham subway stops. It ends up taking him three different transfers to finally find himself in his neighborhood again, still having to walk a couple miles back to his apartment. He turns on the news, sees that the fight with Freeze is continuing still, and shuts the set off. He makes sure all of his windows are locked and blinds are pulled tight. Ends up taping a ‘no solicitors’ sign to his kitchen window, so hopefully Jason, the Red Hood of the Gotham Underground, doesn’t think he can just hang around on his fire escape. 

He showers slowly, takes time in the bathroom to check there are no new bruises or pains from his second, exciting date with Gotham’s notorious anti-hero. 

Who Nightwing had just called Littlewing.

Tim dresses in his favorite pajamas, the soft cotton a nice touch on his overworked nerves. Tim had heard the nickname a time or two. He’s positive he wasn’t supposed to, considering once when he did he was loitering on different buildings, hoping to get close enough to Nightwing, close enough to Robin to get at least one good picture for the evening. 

Tim makes sure his slippers are close, that his blankets are straight and warm before sliding into bed. It was said with a patronizing air on a rooftop sometimes, with a hand on down turned shoulders at a holiday party on another. But always, only to Robin. And as far as Tim knows, only to one Robin. The few times Dick Grayson put on the batsuit and was caught with his sidekick, it was always ‘Robin’, maybe a ‘baby bat’ thrown in. But never a ‘Littlewing’.

That had been reserved for Dick Grayson’s replacement. The second Robin. Tim lays on his pillows, eyes wide in the dark, listening for the sound of heavy boots on his metal fire escape that never come.

It had been reserved for Jason Todd.

Chapter Text

Tim hadn’t slept. Instead, he was hunkered down in his living room window seat curtains pulled over the snowy landscape that had appeared overnight, a cup of coffee in hand, and let his mind run in circles over the Jason conundrum. The Red Hood was Jason Todd. How much did that change? Could he continue on, as if nothing was different? Like he hadn’t had the rug pulled out from under him? Tim had glanced around his blinds that morning, checked his fire escape for any signs Hood had tried contacting him, but other than a few cigarette butts, there was nothing. There had been no phone calls or text messages either.

Not that Tim was expecting it. 

He had texted Cass early this morning {How do you know when you’ve lost the game?} , before checking his favorite news sites to make sure there had been no casualties, civilian or otherwise last night, and was still waiting for a response from her. Because he had. He had played and then been played by pretty eyes, tight shirts, and a smile that lit up Tim’s day. He had absolutely been played, and he didn’t know how to get himself out of check this time.

Tim’s sipping at the dregs of his coffee pot when his phone rings again, and, this time, it’s a picture of him and Cass from the weekend he spent at Stephanie’s apartment. He answers, but she speaks first.

“You’ve lost if you’re dead,” she says without preamble. “And as you are not dead, I hope, you haven’t lost yet.”

“Thought he didn’t kill.” 

“He doesn’t. Others do,” she says, and Tim feels himself go lightheaded. “Rogues don’t have things like moral compasses, Timothy. They don’t think the way you do.”

“The way we do,” he corrects, placing his coffee cup on the floor and curling up into his window seat.

“The way you do,” she says again. “Why do you think you’ve lost?”

“You were right. The deck was stacked against me the whole time.”

“How?”

“How secure is this line?” Tim asks and gets a laugh out of Cass. 

“We are the only two people on this line. I can promise you that.”

“Stephanie. And then Jason. Was I always supposed to choose one of them? Was that part of the plan too? Have one of them play the long game, make me spill secrets that don’t even exist?”

“Tim,” Cass says quietly, and Tim knows he’s right. He covers his eyes with his free hand and tries to block out everything in the world, except Cassandra’s voice. 

“Stephanie was to try and talk to you. Maybe make you...swoon? Swoon. But she hit...she said a speed bump.”

“And what was that?”

“She liked you. Thought you were sweet, funny, and you got along with Dick. How could she string you along like that, only to hurt you in the end? She wanted to be your friend, not an informer.”

“Jason doesn’t seem to have that same qualm.”

“He does,” she defends. “He just. Likes to change the rules to suit him.”

“How many times have you lost to him before?” Tim tries to lighten the mood, and Cass sighs.

“I only played cards with him once, learned my lesson. But Tim, Jason cheats at cards, at dice, he even cheated at Shoots and Ladders, whatever that is, according to Dick. But he doesn’t play to hurt. He doesn’t like hurting people.”

“How do you know that? The bodies stacked behind him don’t really prove your point well.”

“Because I’ve seen it. I know what people who like to hurt, kill, look like. And they don’t look like Jason. You just have to trust me.”

“Do I?”

“You already do,” she says, and Tim can’t argue that. “Why are you hurting so much?”

“I feel betrayed,” Tim finally chokes out. “He came in, under false pretenses, hit on me, under false pretenses, and now? How far does it go?” Tim questions, Nightwing’s slip last night at the front of his mind.

“You knew who Stephanie was, the moment you saw her. You went to the movies, kissed her , and never once said anything. When she finds out, and she will Tim, they all will sooner or later, how do you think she’ll feel?”

“It’s not the same. I didn’t go out of my way to con her into something,” Tom says, uncomfortable at her accusations. 

“But you went out with her, under false pretenses. How is it different? Because now it’s you who didn’t know everything?”

“You’re not very good at not kicking a man when he’s down,” Tim grouses, trying to burrow deeper into his comforter, dragging the blanket over his head.

“I wasn’t taught to be.”

“So what, just forget I know anything, carry on or whatever? Let Jason keep sending in info on me?”

“You’re not listening. Jason has never followed a direct order from any of his brothers in the time I’ve known him. He’s been known to go and do the exact opposite. Like if someone told him to bring back intel, after his little ruse was discovered, he would probably never send a single, solitary, piece in to help fill in the puzzle blanks.”

“He changes the game to suit his needs,” Tim repeats back to Cass and gets a sound of approval.

“Maybe you’re both playing different games. Yours was to hurt. Maybe his was to help. Maybe he had no game at all.”

“He had a little game,” Tim grouses, making Cass laugh.

“Well, maybe. But I’ll keep that secret if you want.”

“That’s what we all are isn’t it? Secrets built on other, bigger secrets,” Tim says, Cass making a noise of agreement.

“Cass,” Tim says, heart in his throat. “Who is Jason Peters? Really?”

“Oh, Tim. The game’s no fun if the stakes aren’t high,” she says, hanging up.

“He’s right. It’s not funny when you just repeat my words back at me,” Tim groans, flinging his blanket off of his face. He goes to toss his phone down but sees he has a ton of notifications from when he was talking to Cass. A lot are from his messenger group, and he opens it to mute it again, when he sees how many messages are congratulating each other on a job well done. Tim scrolls up, sees a link to a press release from Wayne Corps and another to an online article, and has to click when he sees the title.

Damian Wayne to Step Down After Weeks of Scandal.

The full article is short, with a promise of a follow-up, and another link to the press release stating that after all of the issues surrounding Damian’s position at the Foundation, that Damian would be taking a leave of absence to continue his schooling in the upcoming spring semester. That when Damian came back, as a summer intern of course, he would be left to do his work for the betterment of Gotham in peace. 

The article mentions the almost seven hundred thousand signatures on the online petition and the general outcry, both in social media and the press, for Damian to be removed from his undeserved office.

It should feel like victory. Tim, curled up on his window seat is watching the fruits of his labor pay off against an eighteen year old boy and feels slightly sick to his stomach.

{Heard a rumor that now that Damian is on the outs, the Foundation is starting payments up again soon} one of his colleagues writes.

Tim closes out of the feed and sees the rest of his notifications are similar articles. And two messages from Jason, that Tim has left unread.

{We need to talk}

{Babe, please call me}

No. Tim decides he is emphatically not in a good place to try and have that conversation again, but right now, he can at least handle one thing and texts Cass.

{Did you know about Damian?}

{What else did you expect him to do? How much longer will you keep playing?} he gets back almost instantly.

{I didn't do anything to him.}

{Well. Not technically. Stephanie needs me. And so does Damian.} Cass sends, and Tim knows he won't get anything else from her today.

He ends up staring at the messages from Jason, trying to figure out what to do. He likes Jason. Liked him more with each phone call about his day while Tim had been cooped up, each text that been just toeing the line of appropriate. Had even thought, just maybe, he could live in ignorance about Jason’s vigilante lifestyle if he never brought it up. 

But now he knows. 

Jason had called Nightwing ‘the prodigal son’ which was odd. Jason Peters should never have had any contact with Dick Grayson, and Red Hood had already shown that though he had a relationship of sorts with those affiliated with Batman, he was reluctant to work with them. Dick had been on the scene, in Blüdhaven, with the Titans, and in Gotham in all his many forms years before the Hood’s bloody entrance to the Gotham crime scene. 

But Hood, Jason, was from Gotham. Had called himself an Alley kid at the Bazaar, had said something to the same effect about Gotham breeding when they first came to their arrangement. So he could have met Nightwing back when Dick was Robin, could have met him as Batman, could have met him a million ways, in either life. 

But Nightwing had called him Littlewing . 

There are too many loose ends. Too many possibilities. Tim has never been one to live his life by letting the flow take him where it may. Jason Peters had been a mystery Tim was willing to let unravel slowly, take his time with, spend months sussing out important information through honest means and not deep diving on his background. Red Hood had been a conscious sidestep to keep both of them safe, because Tim was sure, the more information he had on the Gotham capes, the more likely it was that he would find a target on his back. But having the two intertwine left too many important questions and no acceptable answers.

Tim gets up and puts on another pot of coffee. Jason hasn’t tried texting him again, and Tim still has all of his blinds pulled closed. It takes everything he has not to do another quick check of his fire escape, see if there are any more signs of an early morning visit, even though he’s sure Jason is probably at home, sleeping off the night’s escapades. Unless something happened the news didn’t mention or didn’t know about. 

Tim has his phone out and sends a quick text to Jason before he can think himself out of it.

{I hope you weren’t hurt last night}

Tim hasn’t even slid his phone back into his sweats when his phone vibrates.

{No I’m alright. Nothing we couldn’t handle}

{I was more worried about you. Are you alright?}

Tim slides his phone back in his pocket. He’s in neither the mood nor mindset to be able to handle a conversation with Jason right now, but it had felt wrong not to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Now that he has, knows that Jason is at the least physically sound, Tim takes a deep breath and pours himself a cup of coffee. He takes it over to his desk and plops down into his computer chair, pulling out his phone and putting it on do not disturb. 

He has to know. He had spent too long as a child not having enough information after his parent’s deaths that he couldn’t, wouldn’t let it happen again. Jason was quite obviously willing to lie to Tim about a lot, on multiple occasions. But about how much? Tim inputs all the information Jason had written on his Gotham Health forms, information from the birth certificate and social security number, thankful for his eidetic memory. 

None of the Gotham networks pull up an actual person, no one matching Jason’s criteria born in Gotham to anyone with the names listed on his birth certificate. The Social Security number isn’t his either. 

Tim takes a long pull of his coffee and gets up to grab a box of animal crackers, preparing for the long haul. He makes sure all his firewalls are active before he starts diving. 

Tim doesn’t usually bother looking for information on the dark web. He’s found for his purposes, the information he gathers is usually either tainted by worse crimes or not worth scrounging around quite a few depraved message boards for. 

It takes a couple hours, but he does find that the social Jason Peters had given was most likely bought from a info farmer for a pretty steep price, since it connects back to a man that’s been dead for almost twenty years. The birth certificate was a much easier work around, with more than enough printing presses willing to offer bogus paperwork for a fee. As far as Tim can tell, there’s never been a person by the name of Jason Peters in Gotham’s recent history. 

So one mystery solved. 

Tim had been mostly sure the whole thing had been a farce, had felt it since the beginning, but had pushed his discomfort to the side every time Jason had opened his mouth. Ives had told him time and time again how he got stupid in relationships, spent more time making excuses about their behavior or his than actually having a good time. He was doing the same thing with Jason, even if maybe this time there was a good reason behind the lies.

Tim pushes all of those feelings to the side, packs them up and shoves them to the back of his mind, because now he knows he can’t put off the bigger question that had popped up last night. 

Nightwing had called Red Hood Littlewing. Dick Grayson had called Jason Peters, a man that did not exist in the most basic sense, something he had called Robin. 

He stares at his computer screen, trying to think about how to even begin to search for answers. 

“Can’t exactly google, ‘When did Jason Todd come back to life?’” Tim mumbles a loud. 

But. 

It’s not an altogether bad idea. Pulls up another web page and does a quick search about the death of Bruce Wayne’s second son. All actual information about Jason Todd has been wiped from the system, from his juvie file to medical records from his time before Batman took him in, but even the team Batman may have working for him on the tech side couldn’t stop the press and the release of information. Even after all these years the story is inconclusive, information basic and scarce. Trip gone wrong, somewhere in Africa possibly. Small burial, no press allowed. Family listed as Catherine and Willis Todd. 

“Now I know who Catherine was,” Tim says, recalling his rooftop meeting with Hood, where he first really felt a connection. Maybe Jason had too, to let a name slip. But Catherine was incredibly common. 

Hitting a wall, Tim minimizes that screen, goes back to his main program, and decides to look a little deeper into Jason Todd’s parents. Willis had been a low level thug, death certificate showing his death years before Batman picked Jason Todd as Dick’s successor. Catherine Todd was also deceased, from an overdose, which made that connection just a hair tighter. Strangely, and while Tim didn’t put it past Gotham General to have lost at least some files, Catherine was never listed as having borne any children. 

“Well, shit,” Tim sighs, and begins a new hunt. The papers had done an exposé on Jason Todd when Bruce Wayne had began fostering him, trying to get to the root of who he was, and more importantly, why Wayne would take in an Alley kid. No one had been able to connect Wayne to Catherine Todd, as illegitimate heir or blackmail, so the stories had eventually been dropped. But they did list all of his basic information including birth date, school records, and known acquaintances. 

The hospitals had all gone digital years ago, so even holding out to the possibility that Catherine Todd was actually Jason’s mother, he double checks. It’s gone of course, no records having survived, either from time or a Bat sanctioned scrub down, so there goes that idea. 

Tim goes back to the forums he’s found and eventually finds a conspiracy thread about Jason Todd and his death. The absurdity of his death in a goodwill mission gone wrong. How he hadn’t been buried in the Wayne graveyard but next to an S. Haywood. How maybe Wayne really had killed off an illegitimate heir to make space for Damian, a child from an obviously better family. 

Most of it was bullshit. Anyone with eyes could see the full blown grief on Bruce’s face whenever Jason was brought up after his death. The S. Haywood was a good start, but all it brought up was a dead doctor, killed in an explosion in Ethiopia--where rumors said Jason Todd had died. Weak. But Tim could see where the conspirators could make the jumps. 

There were threads about Todd never actually dying, instead Bruce had packed up his unstable son and placed him in a mental institution half a world away. The blatant racism in the sub-thread made Tim want to close out, disgusted that anyone could talk about Jason, or any of the Wayne children, this way. 

The stand out was the one labeled, ‘Life after Death?’

In it were full lists of the heroes who died in the line of fire, only to magically be there years later. Robin was listed, of course, even though Stephanie had picked up the mantle after Jason Todd. It listed all the ways the heroes had said they came back, either in hard won interviews or from witness accounts.

Red Hood was included on the list with a question of who he could have been before because there was a witness account of hearing Red Hood yell that he ‘did not come back to life to deal with this bullshit, Bat brethren.’

He could just ask Jason. 

Tim looks over at his phone, screen dark, and instead goes back to research. 

Tim spends the rest of the day looking for anything he can on Jason Todd, the second Robin, Red Hood, and all he keeps getting is that the Red Hood showed up out of nowhere, no affiliation with the original Red Hood Gang from back in the day, and had made it his personal mission to kill every hood and mask in the Gotham area, until it wasn’t anymore. But no mention of the Red Hood anywhere outside of Gotham until his debut as maniac cum vigilante. 

Tim decides on a new tactic and begins looking for outside resources, maybe something about Bruce Wayne’s other children that had missed the internet scrub down.

Damian’s name keeps making an appearance, linking his mother’s side to a strange doomsday occult group that Bruce Wayne has had multiple dealings with in the past. It’s all incredibly racist and xenophobic, but it does give him a name that keeps popping up. 

Lazarus.

And it’s lunatic. That Damian could be brainwashed from a doomsday cult set on figuring out how to resurrect a dead person, that possibly they had succeeded, and that was why Bruce finally took Damian away from his mother, who has never actually been seen in Gotham.

But Damian’s entire childhood is a blank slate to the people of Gotham. He was home schooled, they said, which could explain his inexperience with large groups, but not his massive anti-social streak and sense of importance. Or his lack of real world experience with literally anything having to do with modern society. 

Another possibility is mentioned in the same vein, that there were whispers online that Damian didn’t come from a doomsday cult but instead came from one that dealt with death in a much more visceral way, which was used to explain his mean streak, especially prominent when he first came to Gotham.

And if there were whispers, Tim was going to find them. 

He began running multiple searches on anything he could get on Lazarus, any cult that held him in esteem, Damian’s family, and anything to do with paid killers, mainly from the areas surrounding where the Wayne’s said Damian had been raised. 

The few hits he was getting were more and more extreme sounding, from a group of murders that possibly went by the League to "legitimate" resurrections and the madness that could follow. 

Tim’s in the middle of reading second hand accounts of League assassins that have ties to Damian's home country when his screen goes black.

“What the fuck?” Tim mumbles, looking under his desk to see if maybe he had knocked a wire loose. He looks up at his screen and sees green text rolling across it.

I wouldn’t bother. Your computer is working just fine.

“What the fuck?” Tim repeats, louder this time, going to hit the button he installed that would wipe his hard drive, just in case.

I can hear you. And again, don’t bother, I’ve already copied it.

“And just who the fuck are you? If this is some kind of blackmail, trust me, I don’t have any money,” Tim snaps, hands still hovering over his reset button.

The screen goes black again, and then a computerized green face takes over his screen.

“I am Oracle.”

“Was Java already taken?” slips out before Tim can stop himself.

“I didn’t want to get confused with a coffee shop."

"Sure. If you've been through my files, I'm sure you know who I am. What do you want?"

"To stop you from making a mistake."

"And what mistake is that? Not having strong enough firewalls?" Tim quips, because apparently his default was smart-ass when confronted with a situation he wasn’t prepared for.

"Oh no, those were quite good. Look mostly self taught, multiple different systems, continually changing algorithms. Most would find it impossible to hack your network."

"Is this where you say you're not most people?"

"You're taking a lot of the fun out of this," the computerized voice is emotionless, but Tim really hopes he's annoying the person on the other end.

"I'm sorry? Should I cower? What mistake?" Tim asks, sitting back fully in his chair.

"You look too close at the League, you run the chance of them looking too closely at you."

"They're real?" Tim says, mouth falling open. "How much of the rest is true?"

"I'm not here to answer your questions."

"Then I'll keep looking. I'm not going to stop until I have answers,” Tim promises, hands clamped tight on the edge of his desk.

"Of course not. From what I understand, you could get all your answers from a simple call."

"Who do you work for?" Tim asks, aware of the answer already.

"I think you already know that."

"Batman," Tim breaths out, awe coloring his voice.

"Hmm. Maybe. I'm shutting all of this down. Including your little twitter bots. No more causing unnecessary outcry."

"Why didn't you before?"

"Goodnight, Timothy."

His screens go black for a moment, and suddenly it's back up, his home page blank. 

He wants to check his files, make sure everything is intact, but doesn't want to set off any malware Oracle may have left for him. 

Tim reaches for his phone, looking at all the missed notifications. He swipes away all of them, including the couple texts from Jason. Instead he sends a text to Cass. 

{How safe is it to open the files on my computer?}

{Is this a joke? I'm not very good with puns} Cass sends back rather quickly.

{My computer had a visitor. Trying to decide what I need to do with all my files}

{They're not vindictive. Usually. You should be good}

{How long until checkmate?}

{I don't know. Do you feel alive?}

Tim has never felt more alive, if he's being honest with himself.

{Who is Jason Peters?}

{No one. But you already knew that}

{Who is Jason Todd?}

{Never met him}

{But you know of him} Tim responds, starting scans to check for anything malicious. 

{ Doesn't every Gothamite?} But Cass isn't from Gotham. Jason's story had made the papers, but the national ones had only skimmed the story of beloved ragamuffin meets untimely death. Gotham herself barely mentions Jason Todd.

{What is the League?}

{Don't} Cass sends back. And Tim knows what she means. Don't look, don't ask, don't even think about the League. But if she's telling him to stop, then he knows something. Not enough, probably never enough, but he's on the right path. 

{Thanks} Tim sends back, already getting up to get dressed.

His phone rings barely a second later, and he answers without looking at the caller.

"This was meant to stop you."

"It has, Cass. I get it," Tim says heading to the kitchen to drop his used cup in the sink.

"You're lying. Tim, these people aren't just scary. They're nightmares come to life."

"And I'm absolutely not going to keep looking into them. I don't have a death wish."

"Then what are you planning to do?"

"Gotta go, Cass. Things to do today," Tim says, hanging up on her before she can argue.

If the Oracle has his information, they definitely know all his close friends and associates, which means he needs to find someone who would help that they wouldn't think to check. 

He'd be seen, he reasons as he starts getting dressed, ignoring his phone's continual ringing. Maybe it would be best to make himself a target then, get it out into the open he was actively looking. Try and find someone who would talk. 

Was it his best idea? No, Tim thinks, packing all his weapons into his coat pockets. But right now, with access at an all time low, it could be his only option, other than Jason. Who was more than willing to lie to him for both of their own goods. He ends up turning off his phone altogether, the constant ringing annoying him. He locks up and heads out to get to his car, intent on getting to his destination as quick as possible now that he has a plan. He's intent enough on his own musings that he doesn't pay any mind to the man loitering outside his building until he's right behind Tim.

And then everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

Tim wakes, groggy, and doesn't want to open his eyes quite yet. It's hard to lift his head. He’s seated, he knows that, but when he tries to lift a hand to his throbbing head, he can't move either one. He panics, tries moving his arms and fingers, only to realize his wrists are bound. It's the same with his legs, calves strapped to what he pretty sure is a chair.

Tim finally makes the effort to open his eyes, the darkened room a relief to his head. He blinks away the heavy feeling in his eyes as best he can and visually confirms his suspicions. He's duct taped to a metal chair and can already see his pale skin chafing against the binds. His jacket has been removed, leaving him in his now far too thin sweater and jeans. His boots are gone. So is his hair tie. 

He finally pulls his head up, trying to focus enough to look around. The longer he's awake, the easier it becomes to gather his bearings. The room is freezing, the concrete making it even worse on his bare feet. It's not fully dark either; there's a few fluorescent lights scattered around what he thinks is an abandoned warehouse. The large skylight above them is caked with enough grime and dust that it’s barely a light source.

 Across the room, at least a couple dozen feet away is a small folding card table where two large men are sitting. They're murmuring to each other, and the buzzing in Tim's head is still too loud to make out what they're saying. His jacket lays on the table between them, his weapons, phone, and keys scattered around the fabric. Tim can just barely make out a heavy looking door across the room, but the men stand between him and what looks like his only means of escape.

Tim hasn't made any noise yet, biting his tongue to hold back the groan of pain that wants to escape. He tries to look around more, turn his head, but the movement makes his vision swim, and he needs to blink heavily to get see properly again. 

"He's awake," one of the men yell out, the sound of his deep voice sends a shooting pain through Tim's skull, finally making him groan aloud in pain.

"About fucking time," someone says behind him, and he can hear their stomping footfalls as they walk closer. "I told you not to him him so hard."

"He's fine," the brute shoots back, even though Tim is undoubtedly not fine. The man from behind finally comes to stand in front of Tim, leaning down to inspect their hostage. He's not a big man, smaller than both of the other two in the room. He's staring at Tim, a calculating look in his green eyes. 

"Your brains unscrambled enough to answer a few questions?" he asks none too gently. 

Tim just stares at him in response.

They're dressed in plain jeans and jackets, no insane matching uniforms to let people know what rogue they work for. No gang colors or ornate tattoos to show what area of Gotham they call their own. Nothing Tim can pinpoint to say 'this is why you were taken and by whom'. They look like every other guy from the Bowery Tim's seen, from their heavy work boots to their worn faces. 

"Hello, anyone home?" the man in charge asks, giving Tim a quick slap across the face. The sudden violence gets a gasp out of him, and the quick movement of his head makes his vision swim again.

"We know you can talk; he didn't hit you that hard. Now, you're gonna answer a few questions, and then we'll release you."

Not let him go, not set him free. Release him. Which could be anything from his chair or from this mortal plane.

"Who are you?" Tim asks, and the question gets him another smack, across the opposite cheek this time.

"We're asking the questions. Who is the Red Hood?"

And Tim doesn't mean to. He really, really doesn't. If asked later, he's holding to the story that the concussion made him do it.

He laughs. 

He laughs so hard his head tilts back of its own accord, hands trying to move to clasp in front of himself, stomach clenching tight. He keeps laughing, eyes tearing as the three men stare at him then at each other. He has a brief moment of relief, that the men surrounding him are nothing more than local thugs, not a syndicate of hitmen for hire. That these are more like the men Tim has spent most of his adult life working around and tracking for his customer’s benefit, lets him think maybe he can talk his way out of this situation. 

"Maybe I did hit him too hard," Tim hears the largest man whisper to their leader, which only sets him off again. 

"Hey," the third man snaps, moving close to Tim and shaking him, which stops Tim's laughter quickly, his pain now at the forefront of his mind again. "Stop fucking around and answer the question. Who is the Red Hood?"

"That's the big question though isn't it?" Tim responds, finally calming down enough to answer. "Who exactly is the Red Hood? You think I know?"

"You do," the leader says, pulling his comrade off Tim. He's smaller than the two other men, not as petite as Tim, but not large enough that his presence would be enough to protect him on the streets of the sketchier parts of Gotham. It lets Tim know for all his poor interrogation skills, he's the brains of the operation, which hopefully doesn't extend farther than this warehouse. 

"I don't," Tim says honestly. "I really, really don't. No one does, that's the whole point of wearing a mask. Hood. Helmet, whatever." 

The longer he's awake and talking, the clearer Tim's mind feels. He's definitely got some kind of concussion, and it feels worse than the one he had at the museum. His face feels swollen, which is probably from the strong slaps he's received. The rest of Tim aches but more from the sharp chill in the warehouse than from bodily harm. His toes curl, trying to lift the majority of his foot off the icy floor as much as possible.

"No one spends that long with the Red Hood and doesn't learn something," the leader says, leaning close to Tim again. 

"You'd be surprised," Tim murmurs, looking between the three. The largest has gone back to the table, grabbing something from near Tim's jacket while the third man heads towards the wall to grab something hidden by the deep shadowing in the room. 

Tim looks between them and suddenly realizes the background noise of the warehouse isn't dock sounds or workman yelling to each other or even the sounds of the highway. 

It's music.

It's music, coming from another floor, most likely directly below them. Tim looks up when the heavy beat, which had been the same steady rhythm changes to something faster. 

There’s no way they’re the only people in the warehouse, Tim realizes. These are just a few of what must be a larger group, the rest below their little interrogation.

Realization of what’s going on must be written on his face from the way the smaller man smiles at Tim.

“Ready to help us yet?”

“Why do you even want Red Hood?” Tim tries, doing his best to track the other two men.

“Because once the Red Hood is out of the way, we can take back what's ours," the man says, holding out his hand as the largest man walks over and gives the leader something from the table. 

"And you think whoever you work for is gonna give you a bigger piece of the pie?" Tim asks, disdain coloring his voice.

"We don't work for anyone," the largest man snaps, just before the leader can get out, "Shut up, Mike."

"Everyone works for someone, Mike," Tim says, directing his words to the largest man now that he has a name. "You work for your little friend," Tim continues, stressing 'little' just enough that the man's face darkens in annoyance. "He works for someone, too. And the lower you are on the totem pole, the less you're gonna get."

"Don't listen to him," their leader says, waving his hand like he's dispelling Tim's words. "He's just trying to save his own skin. You know that when this done I'm taking care of you. And you," the man points at Tim, "need to shut up about things you don't understand."

"Thought you wanted my help," Tim says, trying to draw out the conversation as long as possible.

"And we'll get it."

"You think I've got something to do with the Red Hood," Tim tries to direct at Mike but is cut off.

"We know," the third man finally says, walking over from the wall with what looks like a pipe wrapped with padding. "We saw you."

"Shut. Up." the leader says again, but this man doesn't listen.

"You were talking over in Newtown. Fucker brought you coffee."

Tim is speechless. His mind is trying to work through how they could have been caught, why they would have been followed in the first place.

"Anna," he finally chokes out, seeing the leader smirk at him when he says her name. "She helped you. Told you I was good at getting information."

"She said the Red Hood had mentioned you a couple times when he came to do his little look around. And look at that, she was right,” the head of the group finally caves and says, ending with a smirk and a hand wave at Tim.

"Anna wouldn't have told you that without you doing something to her," Tim says, remembering how worried Anna had sounded over the phone and how she had never once called him about something that wasn't insurance related. He looks between the men, hoping to catch one with some show of remorse or pain or anything that he could exploit to help get him out of this chair. None of them show anything, other than anticipation of getting the Red Hood.

“It’s amazing what people will tell you when their kid is in the other room. Since we don’t have that option for you,” the leader waves at the third man, who’s now swinging the covered pipe. “Looks like it’s gonna have to be a little rougher.”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to beat the shit out of the one person that could get you the Red Hood?” 

“Not making excuses anymore?"

"You obviously think you know something. But I can tell you right now, that hurting me is not going to help your cause," Tim says, doing his best to keep his eyes on the leader and not on the man with the pipe who is slowly walking around to the back of Tim’s chair. 

"So tell us. Who is the Red Hood?"

"I don't know," Tim says again. "He gives me a place, and I meet him. Ask your boss what he does to people who don't follow his orders."

The pipe hits the back of the chair hard enough that Tim pops forward in his restraints. The movement jars his head enough that he goes lightheaded for a moment, while the man with the pipe walks back to his front.

"We don't work for anybody," the man says, coming to stand close enough to Tim to push him back in his chair.

"This is it?" Tim finally gets out, once the wave of nausea settles. "You three are the pick of the litter?"

The leader comes close and smacks Tim again, which makes him clench his jaw to keep from vomiting. Tim doesn't know whether to appreciate that at least the group that took him was smalltime enough that they weren't on his radar yet or be offended that he wasn't important enough for at least a well established family to pick him up. 

"For someone tied to a chair, you don't have a whole lot of self preservation skills," the leader says, pulling Tim to sit upright again. "We're gonna ask you nicely, one more time. Who is the Red Hood?"

"I. Don't. Know," Tim enunciates slowly, his mouth feeling like it's full of marbles. "But I can try to get him for you."

"With this?" Mike asks, pulling the fob Jason had given Tim from his pocket.

"Thought you said the Red Hood contacted you first?" the leader says, lifting his had to smack Tim again. 

"I said he tells me where to meet. If you hold the button down for ten seconds, you'll get a text with coordinates. Then, you'll find the Red Hood."

It's a bad idea.

It's a bad idea because Tim has no idea how many people are below them and below those as well. He doesn't know if this placed is rigged, wired, or guarded. He doesn't know anything about the situation Jason could be flinging himself towards.

What he does know is that if they hit him with that pipe, padded or not, he's not going to be any good to anyone shortly. And he knows that despite the fight they're having, Jason will come for Tim. He has every other time. And if he’s lucky, he won’t come charging in. And he’ll be able to figure out the best way to get Tim out. Because telling these guys the Red Hood’s best kept secret isn’t happening. He just has to keep himself alive long enough for the cavalry to get him. 

“That’s it?” Mike asks, staring between the fob and his boss. 

“That’s it,” Tim agrees, looking at Mike, his finger hovering over the button. “It’s always a blocked number, just turn on my cell phone and when you get the text you’ll be able to get him,” Tim is hoping the Oracle is watching his movements close enough that they were checking his phone for any strange activity after their little software run-in. 

“It sounds too easy,” the man with the pipe snaps, pointing the weapon at Tim, who flinches. “How do we know he’s not lying?”

“Why would the Red Hood make it hard?” Tim tries to counter, looking at the leader of the group again. He’s shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, watching Tim interact with the larger brutes. “He wants my information. Why make me jump through hoops to find him?”

“Hit the button,” the leader says, nodding at Mike, who holds the button down for the full ten seconds. “Get me his phone,” he orders Mike, who hurries to grab the device from near Tim’s coat.

“We either get the coordinates, and we’ll be prepared. Or he tries to come here, and we’re prepared,” the man says as Mike hands over Tim’s phone. The device powers on, and ping after ping of missed calls and messages rings loudly in the warehouse.

“You’re very popular. Cass and Jason are very worried for you,” the man walks up to Tim and grabs his hand using his finger to unlock the phone. “Want to hear what they’re talking about?”

“Leave them alone,” Tim snaps, and the pipe wacks him in the chest hard enough to leave him breathless but not hard enough to break any bones. 

“We may need you in ok condition,” the leader says, going back to the table to drag a chair closer to Tim. He plops down, ankle crossing over his knee as he thumbs through Tim’s text conversations. “But we definitely don’t need you mint.”

“Jason and Cass just want you to call them before you make a bad choice,” he continues, glancing up at Tim. “What choice?”

“Obviously leaving my apartment today,” Tim grumbles, which earns him a hit across the legs, harder this time. 

“How long does this usually take?” he doesn't even bother looking up from Tim's phone this time, still swiping through his life.

"I don't know. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours," Tim gets out, which earns him a sigh.

"Don't use the pipe. If it's gonna take that long, you'll have to take your time," the leader calls out to his enforcer, who only glares at Tim.

"So what do you want me to do?" he asks, dropping the pipe to the side of Tim.

"Get creative. But make sure he can still move if we have to take him with us."

The man sighs deeply but pulls a rag from his jacket to wrap around his knuckles. Tim's throat is dry by the time the man open hand smacks his chest, all the air leaving his body.

"Let's see what they have to say," the leader calls, putting Tim's voicemail on speaker.

“First voice message.”

" Tim. It's me. I need you to call me back. I know you're angry, but Cass called. You want to keep secrets? Fine. But if you keep looking for these people they're gonna start looking for you. And you don't want that. Please, call me back ."

“Second voice message.”

" Tim. Timothy answer the fucking phone. Cass told me everything. Everything. You're gonna keep being pissed and angry at me ? You obviously need to look in a fucking mirror to find the person who was keeping the bigger secrets ."

“Third voice message.”

" Ok. Ok. I'm sorry. I don't need to go off on you. I'm just really worried. Call. Please. "

"Wow, sounds like you both fucked up," the leader says, smiling at Tim.

Tim tries to respond, but, as the messages have been playing, the enforcer has been slowly pummeling Tim in the chest, arms, and a couple times across the face. His mouth is filling with blood from biting his tongue by accident, and his chest and head are fighting to be the most painful. 

"Nothing to add? Jason texted, wants you to know he's worried and that he knows you'll do the right thing. Oh, Cass left you a voicemail, too."

“Fourth voice message.”

" Tim. We know. And it'll be ok. "

"Wow, she's not much of a talker is she?"

Tim is too busy being grateful to worry about anything else being said. Cass wouldn't waste leaving a message when he had already hung up on her. 

“Are you listening?” the leader snaps, just as his enforcer lands a solid blow against Tim’s chest, making him gag. It’s been long enough since Tim’s eaten that nothing comes up, but the acidic taste mixes with the blood in his mouth. It’s enough to jolt him out of his haze and look up at the leader, who’s smirking at Tim.

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Tim growls out, voice harsh and alien sounding to his ears. It’s enough to wipe the smug look off the gangster’s faces as he snaps out. “You are so screwed.”

“And why is that?” The leader asks, waving off his enforcer when he raises his hand at Tim again.

“Didn’t you hear?”

“And what? Some bitch thinks she knows something, and you think that means something? No one knows where you are. No one but us.”

“You got me leaving my home. You don’t think that maybe I was supposed to be meeting someone?” Tim carries on, aware that the longer he can keep them talking the less hitting they can get in before Jason or Cass find him. And they will. Even if Tim hadn’t duped them into pressing the fob, Oracle had said they were watching him, and Cass trusted them. And if Cass said it was going to be okay, Tim had not a single, solitary doubt that she would make sure to keep her promise.

“Who? Your man? Your woman? What’s she gonna do, go to the cops? I’m sure they’ll get right on looking for some nobody from Newtown, top priority. Hit him again,” the leader nods to his enforcer and then points to Mike.

“You grab the pliers. He can still walk without some teeth.”

Tim tries to squirm against his restraints, but the duct tape holds firm, only rubbing his wrists raw from his frantic squirming. Mike walks over to the table and picks up a pair of needle nose pliers, inspecting them before earning a nod from his leader. 

Tim is too busy trying to catch his breath from this new hard smack to keep squirming away, and his head is caught easily, pressure forcing him to tilt his head back. He clenches his jaw as tight as he can in the hopes it’ll slow the two men down. When they can’t get him to open his mouth easily, they begin applying even more pressure against the back of his jaw. He can feel his lower jaw loosening. His eyes water from the pain.

“You two planning to take all day? Hurry up. He could text any time,” Tim hears distantly, fighting his panic response to scream for help, since he knows knows it won’t do him any good. 

The heavy bass leaking from the floor below abruptly shuts down, along with the few lights in the warehouse. It’s pitch black. The two men stop, releasing Tim when the darkness doesn’t relent. Tim hears screaming on the floor below, and Tim hears the heavy looking door across from their group swings open.

The leader gets the flashlight on Tim’s phone up and running, pointing it towards the sound. It's obviously other gang members, but they’re not running towards their leader. 

They’re running from Robin. 

“Who the fuck invited the kid? Shoot him!” the leader yells, and both men reach for guns on their persons. 

Gunshots ring out, but not from any of the men surrounding Tim. They come from above, shattering the skylight as Red Hood drops down. His back is to Tim, but Tim can see his guns are still drawn as he rises from his landing slowly, the three men in front of him frozen, and in the influx of light, Tim can see the fear written across their faces. Red Hood doesn’t look behind at Tim, doesn’t check to see if he’s hurt from the falling glass, but doesn’t move from his position of blocking Tim until Robin rushes to Tim’s side, birdarang already out.

“Can you walk?”

Tim stares up at Robin, his young face set in a scowl as he waits for Tim to answer. He’s the last person Tim would have thought would be part of his rescue. Cass or Steph? Absolutely. Jason on his own? Far more believable than seeing Damian in his reds and greens standing there like Tim needing his help is an affront to his actual nature. It’s surreal, and Tim’s doesn’t fully believe his poor, concussed brain hasn’t just made him hallucinate.

“Can you walk?” Robin repeats slowly, beginning to work on Tim’s leg restraints. 

“I think so,” Tim finally gets out, believing it’s real enough when the feeling rushes back into his feet. 

Robin cuts his hands free and helps Tim stand, slinging one of Tim’s arms around his broad shoulders.

“Do not make me carry you out of here,” Robin says, putting so much disgust into his words that it stiffens Tim’s spine, and he starts walking along when Robin starts his slow move around the room.

“Don’t you need to help him?” Tim asks as they make their way to another door on a wall he hadn’t noticed considering it was behind his chair. 

“I eagerly await telling Hood you thought he couldn’t take on a few low level gangsters on his own,” Robin says, a small smile making its way onto his face as they get to the doorway, and Tim is met with a flight of narrow stairs. 

He must make a noise of pain because Robin just sighs before lifting Tim into a fireman carry and quickly making his way up to the roof. The position does nothing to help Tim’s aching ribs, but it gets them to the top quickly, where Tim is gently placed on the gravel roof to rest against the side of an industrial sized air conditioner. 

“Where are you hurt?” Robin asks, even as they both hear the multiple gunshots still going on below them.  Through the broken skylight, Tim can hear reinforcements pouring into the fight. There’s screaming interspersed between the never ending gunshots.

“I’m fine. You can go help him,” Tim says, trying to wave away Robin’s help.

“Tt. If you think Hood wants or needs anyone’s help right now, you have misjudged him.”

“He could accidentally kill someone,” Tim says as Robin forces him to try and track his finger. 

“You have a concussion. Multiple contusions on your face and chest,” Robin looks slightly contrite at that. “Your ankles and wrists are cut and bleeding due to your bindings. Those men were preparing to remove your teeth,” Robin says as he reaches into his utility belt and pulls out gauze and begins gently cleaning Tim’s wounds. “It won’t be an accident.”

“No,” Tim says, pulling his wrists away from Robin and grabbing him by the shoulders. “You need to go stop him. He hasn’t accidentally killed anyone in months. Batman won’t just let it go that the Hood has started killing again.”

Robin stares at him, the white lenses in his eyes not giving away any emotion. He finally stands without a word, turns, and heads back downstairs.

Tomorrow, Tim will feel bad that he sent a teenager with a sword back into a gunfight. Tomorrow, he’ll worry about how badly he must look that Robin, Damian , thought at least a few deaths by the hand of Red Hood could be overlooked.

“That means he likes you,” Cass says, flipping over his head to land gracefully in front of him. The Black Bat face mask doesn’t show him any emotions as she kneels in front of him, but the way she cradles his wrist and softly wipes away the blood tells him enough.

“How do you figure that? You weren’t the one whose chest was knocking against his body armor. Some of these bruises could be from him.”

“Small price to pay for safety. You’ll live,” Cass says, handing over the used gauze for Tim to grab.

She stands gracefully, her cape sweeping around her as she stalks towards the stairwell. She stops, but doesn’t turn back towards him.

“You didn’t talk.”

“What?” Tim asks, patting at his ankles with the gauze.

“You had all that time. And you never said anything.”

“Wasn’t my secret to tell,” Tim says, giving up on getting any of his cuts clean with the used gauze and shoves it into his pants pocket.

“That means he likes you,” she concludes leaving Tim on the roof, cold, hurt and alone.

Tim’s just stood, finally getting his sea legs under him when Red Hood slams his way onto the roof and makes a beeline for Tim. 

“Stop,” Tim says, holding up a hand to stop Hood. Hood stops so fast Tim swears he sees his knees lock.

“If we’re the only ones up here, can you take off the helmet?” Tim asks, dropping his hand. He’s not ready to have...whatever conversation is going to happen with a helmet between them, but he especially doesn’t want to have it with a voice distorter between them.

Jason rips his helmet off, hair plastered to his head, small red mask in place, eyes still blocked by white lenses. His face is flushed, jaw clenching as he runs his free hand through his damp hair, disheveling it even more. The sun is just beginning to set, and the bright reds and oranges make Jason glow, skin drenched in sweat from the helmet.

“All those times you complained about not being able to take off your hood for a drink, and you have a second layer under that thing?”

“I’ve heard the hair is a little distinctive,” Jason grits out. 

Tim looks at him, watches the way Jason doesn’t relax, shoulders held tense and straight. The guns have been put away, leg holsters heavy with the items. There doesn’t seem to be any bullet holes in Jason’s jacket or any blood he can see.

“Are you alright?” Tim asks, and Jason makes a strangled noise, hands fisting at his side.

“Me? I’m not the one bruised all to hell,” Jason says, and silence falls between them. 

Tim is waiting for the yelling, the accusations, the ‘I told you so’s and the ‘what were you thinking’s. Waits for the finger pointing and for Jason to leave him on a roof barefoot and hurt. To leave, like everyone else he’s ever lied to has done. Like everyone else he’s hurt has done. Like everyone else he’s ever loved. 

“Can I please come closer now?” Jason gets out, and while Tim was stuck in his head, building walls to try and deal with the inevitable backlash he’s caused, Jason has flipped the lenses in his mask up, and Tim can finally see his teal eyes. 

They’re filled with grief and pain and Tim wants to call it love, but won’t, not yet. Not when it could all so easily go wrong. 

Tim nods, and Jason practically runs to Tim, wrapping him in his large arms around Tim, encasing him in gentle pressure, forcing him to lean into Jason and wrap his arms around Jason’s waist. Jason curls forward, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder and drawing him closer, until there’s no space left between their bodies. Jason is taking deep, heavy breaths against Tim’s neck, and Tim’s nose is filled with the scents of leather, gunpowder, and sweat. Tim's hair is matted to his face, and Jason's nape is wet against Tim's cheek. They're both messy with blood and dirt, and Tim has never felt so fully treasured as when Jason slowly runs his hands up and down Tim's back. 

"You must be freezing," Jason whispers, still slowly caressing Tim's back. 

Tim's hands have fisted themselves in Jason's jacket, cold and pain making his hands clench.

"A little," Tim says just as softly, though neither of them make a move to leave the roof. 

Jason is still taking deep, heavy breaths against Tim's neck, and the damp warmth sends a hard shiver through Tim's body, reminding him of all the new bruises he's gained today. Jason slowly pulls away, giving Tim enough time to unclench his hands from Jason's back. Tim slides his hands against the cold leather, grabbing the open zipper, unwilling to let Jason move too far.

"I need you to let go," Jason says, pulling off his gloves and placing his warm hands over Tim's ice cold ones.

"Why? Where are you going?" Tim's says, and even he can hear the slur in his words from the concussion.

"Nowhere," Jason is quick to say, pulling Tim's hands off his jacket and giving each one a quick rub to try and help the blood flow. "But I certainly can't let you wear my jacket if I'm still in it."

"I'm sure we could figure something out," Tim says, letting go of Jason, who quickly rips off his jacket and slides it onto Tim, going as far to make sure he slides Tim's arm into the sleeves. He goes to zip it, but Tim's freezing body decides it’s been away from Jason long enough and falls back into Jason’s chest. Jason holds Tim close for a moment before pulling away again, cupping Tim's face is his large hands.

"You scared the shit out of me," Jason says, voice tight. 

"Are you angry?" Tim says, looking up at Jason. His head feels heavy, and he can't read the emotion on Jason's face.

"I am furious, but not at you."

"What are you at me?"

"I am a lot of feelings at you," Jason says, thumb gently caressing Tim's cheekbone. "But I'm not furious at you." 

Tim's hands move from Jason's waist to slide up the body armor encasing Jason's chest. There are no holes, no rips Tim can feel. Jason apparently has gotten out without a scratch, leaving Tim the one worse for wear. Jason pulls one hand away from Tim's face to stop his hands from touching the bat emblazoned on the front.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Jason says. Tim tries to shake his head, but the feeling leaves him nauseous, so he stops before he completes the movement, closing his eyes to try and stop the world from wobbling. 

"I'll be fine once I'm home, get a nap."

"Tim, babe," the pet name makes Tim look up at Jason, the pinched look on his face making his thoughts on that idea perfectly clear. "Do you have any idea what you looked like in there? What you look like now?"

"Guess my good looks couldn't hold up forever," Tim tries to joke, but Jason's face remains steadfast. 

"Honey, your looks will never be a problem. Hypothermia may be if we stay up here any longer."

"But you're warm," Tim sighs, moving just that much closer to Jason. Jason is still caressing his face, and Tim leans into his hand, looking into Jason's eyes, hoping all the feelings he doesn't want to put names to are coming through.

"Tim," Jason sighs, the hand holding Tim's on his chest tightening as he leans lower. Tim can feel Jason's soft breath over his lips for just a moment before the world tips to the side and everything fades out.

Chapter Text

Tim wakes, the pounding in his head unyielding. He's on his back, warmer than he's been since he left his house this morning. He opens his eyes to a white ceiling, slow beeping from a machine nearby pulling him fully into consciousness.

Tim tries to move his head, taking it slow thanks to the massive headache he's feeling. The beeping is from a monitor, the hookups connected to Tim. It's a small room, less hospital sterile and more overused clinic dingy. It's a private room though, so Tim isn't planning to complain. He finally gets his head to turn to the other side of the room, pain making it slow going to see Jason dozing in the chair next to his bed.

It's not a comfortable doze. Jason just barely fits on the tiny armless plastic chair, legs spread for balance and arms crossed over his now armor-less chest. His jacket has been tossed over the bottom of Tim's bed, giving his feet an added layer of warmth he appreciates. Jason's head is tilted toward his chest, neck stretched, mouth a hard line even in sleep.

"Nice of you to join the living," Jason says, not moving position, making Tim jump a little, which does nothing for his sore ribs. 

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you, Mr. Todd?" Tim says, and his voice is still sleep husky. 

"Oh, we're back to Mr. So-and-so eh?" Jason asks, finally opening his eyes and raising his head.

"You're not denying it," Tim says, and the machine starts beeping faster, which only makes Jason raise one eyebrow slowly.

"Calm down, or you'll have a nurse running in here. And what should I deny? Oracle already told us about your little foray into the dark and grimy world of international assassinations."

"Is it all true? The League, the Lazarus,” Tim doesn’t expect Jason to move so quickly, clamping a hand over Tim’s mouth to quiet him.

“Speak of the Devil, and he’ll appear,” Jason says quietly. 

His hand stays over Tim’s mouth until Tim gives a small nod. Jason slowly removes his hand, palm caressing Tim’s cheek before he moves away and sits back in the chair.

“What happened? Exactly?” Jason asks, and there’s a touch of Red Hood in his speech, in the set of his shoulders. Tim feels slightly surer now. This is a dance they’ve done again and again.

“I was leaving my apartment, heading to a meeting,”  Tim starts, but Jason cuts him off before he can really begin.

“Meeting with who?”

“I don’t think that matters anymore.”

“It matters,” Jason says. To me is left unsaid.

“It was a meeting for an online conspiracy group. I figured they probably didn’t have the information I needed, but if I could get noticed, maybe make a few connections,” Tim shrugs lightly, which only makes Jason’s face darken.

“The only people you’d get noticed by are the wrong ones. Cass told me she tried to warn you.”

“Cass? Oh, did her car need a tune-up? She get a pre-Christmas discount?” Tim says waspishly. 

Jason sighs deeply and rolls his eyes, arms coming up to cross across his chest again.

“Don’t be a smartass. Apparently someone was keeping a hell of a lot more secrets than he let on.”

“Yes, Jason. That’s why they’re called secrets and not public knowledge ,” Tim’s head is throbbing. He’s been changed from his clothes into a hospital gown which is doing nothing to help with his overall feeling of safety. The hospital room is grungy and gray, unlike the emergency room he had been in just a couple weeks ago at Gotham General. He turns his head slightly, and they skyline is unknown to him. The buildings are dilapidated, the smog even thicker than Gotham’s general air pollution. There’s an overall quality of despair and defeat Tim can feel even in chilled hospital room.

“Where the hell am I?” Tim asks, fear in his voice. Jason could have taken him anywhere in the time he was unconscious.

“What day is it? Jason, where am I? ” Tim is practically yelling, the heart rate monitor spiking again, and Jason is quick to move from the chair to Tim’s bed, warm hands coming to rest on Tim’s upper arms, rubbing gently.

“Hey, Hey. You’re ok. You’re at Blüdhaven East, and it’s Sunday morning.”

“ Sunday ?” Tim gasps. He knows he was taken Saturday, but the sun had been setting by the time Jason had found him.

“You were out for a while thanks to the concussion, which you may still be feeling,” Jason says, never stopping his soothing ministrations. “You’re at Blüdhaven East because we thought it was better to get you somewhere sooner than later, and unfortunately, this hellhole was the best on the route.”

“They took me all the way to Blüdhaven? Why?”

“I didn’t really stick around to ask them, Tim. You were far enough out my tracker stopped working, and we had to wait for your phone to turn back on, since someone thought it was the best idea ever to turn his phone off instead of listening to reason, ” Jason’s voice has risen by the end and he’s obviously fighting the desire to start yelling at Tim.

“You would have just told me to stop!” Tim retorts, which does nothing to calm Jason down.

“Yes! Yes, I would have, and maybe in hindsight that would have been a good idea,” Jason removes his hands from Tim’s arm and clenches them in his lap. His eyes are on fire, and Tim would be worried, he should be worried, the Red Hood wasn’t known for his good temper, but the one here is Jason, Jason, who brings an extra jacket just in case, who makes bad science jokes, who always makes sure Tim has something to eat, Jason, who would never hurt Tim.

“Oh, right, like you knew those guys were just waiting outside my apartment. I let you talk me into not finding out the truth or not, they still would have been there. This has nothing to do with what I was looking for!”

“Why even look for them?” Jason snaps, moving to get up from the bed, turning to look down at Tim. “Oracle and Cass told you to stop. If you had bothered to pick up your fucking phone, I would have told you the same thing.”

“Right, because you’ve been so forthcoming,” Tim scoffs. 

“Oh, yeah, what a great fucking ice breaker?” Jason snaps, then switches to an airy voice. “Oh, you got your associates? Yeah, I took a gap year where I had my head fucked with by a bunch of assassins run by literally the most insane family I have ever met and I’m including mine!” Jason’s not able to keep the affected tone and is practically yelling by the end.

“I thought you said we had to worry about a nurse coming in,” Tim says, but Jason just talks over him.

“And then. And then! Instead of realizing ‘wow, this shit looks insane, maybe I should listen to the multiple people telling me to stop ,’ you head out to put a bulls-eye on your back and turn off your phone. Who does that?”

“They didn’t take me,” Tim says, trying to keep his voice calm. He can see the whites of Jason’s eyes, can see how he’s sweating in the chilled room, can see all the signs he saw at the museum, but he’s stuck in this hospital bed and can’t do anything to try and calm Jason down.

“No. No instead you’re taken by some two-bit fuckwads who somehow have enough brain cells to take you out of Gotham. Leaving the rest of us scrambling to find you. And we couldn’t because you turned your phone off instead of talking to us , and Blüdhaven is still in the stone age when it comes to CCTV, and we had to figure out where they took you from where Dick thought they would go, and he’s fucking useless.” 

Jason is pacing, the small room barely a few steps for his long stride. His face is clouded over; anger, fear, and hurt warring across his features.

“Jason.”

“And why?” Jason finally turns towards Tim, pain across his face. He looks at Tim’s wrists and around the small, old room. 

“Because you know the Red Hood,” Jason says and walks out.

Jason leaves. He leaves Tim. Jason has walked out on Tim, and Tim knows it’s not completely his fault. It can’t be; there were more secrets than honest moments between them. Jason Todd had been keeping secrets far larger than Tim’s, and it wasn’t Tim’s secret identity that had gotten him tied to a chair and beaten for hours.

But all Tim can see is Jason leaving, exactly like everyone else. Tim lays back down, head turned toward the unfamiliar skyline, and breathes deeply. Breathes deeply again. And again. Slowly and steadily, until sleep overtakes him before the tears can.

—

Tim wakes slowly, head pain finally at manageable levels which only lets him feel the rest of the pain in his body. He hunts down the button to lever his bed up and can tell from the window that not much time has passed; the sun is still out, just barely.

“If your beauty rest is completed,” Tim hears from the other side of his bed, “we have been approved to remove you from this mockery of medicine.”

Tim turns his head slowly, just in case, and sees Damian Wayne sitting in the small plastic chair Jason had previously occupied, flipping through an outdated magazine. He’s impeccably dressed in dark slacks and a soft white jumper. Damian would look like the next model for J. Crew if not for the dark look of annoyance on his face. 

“Yeah,” Tim croaks out, trying to clear his throat, but his mouth is dry. “Let me just find my clothes.”

“The clothes you were brought in wearing are no longer available,” Damian says, still not looking at Tim, as he picks up a large white paper bad and places it on Tim’s bed. “You’ll find weather appropriate clothing in there and a bathroom just over there,” Damian says, using his now free hand to point at a small door behind his chair before going back to flicking through the magazine.

“Thanks,” Tim says, confused as to why Damian is acting so oddly. “You don’t have to stay. I can get  dressed and make my way home from here.”

“From Blüdhaven?” Damian finally looks up and turns all of his ire on Tim. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? Wave down a cab?”

“They have these things called trains. Busses too,” Tim rolls his eyes and is overjoyed when the world doesn’t tilt all over when he does.

“Do you honestly think after everything you went through, we’re going to let you leave by yourself? I’m under strict orders to make sure you get to your home unmolested. No one said I had to be happy while I did.”

“Who told you to do that?” Tim asks, heart in his throat.

“Grayson. And Cain. And Brown,” Damian tacks on, lips twisting at the end. “I was informed that it was in all our best interests, if we held your hand and made sure you were safe and sound.”

“If you’re so unhappy about the task, why agree?” Tim snaps. 

Jason’s name was the only one not mentioned, and it stings. Jason hadn’t come back.

“Brown is a close friend of my sister and asked me to take on this task. Grayson is an officer here in Blüdhaven. He’s busy looking into the strange attack you were part of, so unfortunately he is unavailable.”

Tim wants to ask about Jason, is dying to ask about Jason but, if Jason had decided that after everything, he’d rather not deal with Tim, then Tim wasn’t going to give Damian ammunition against him.

“And Cass?” he asks instead.

“Working on a more personal matter,” Damian hedges. “I, unfortunately, was the only one available to make sure you don't get yourself in more trouble on your journey home.”

“Everyone seems to be under the assumption I asked to be kidnapped.”

“I’m aware of who’s fault that was,” Damian says, “but this was one of the better scenarios you could find yourself in the way you were going.” Damian finally gives up on the magazine and tosses it on the table next to Tim’s bed.

“And where was that? To the top of the Gotham Underground?” Tim asks casually, Damian snapping his eyes over to Tim. “Maybe to an island with incredibly well hidden money and the last of my good name?”

“What a strange imagination you have, Drake. No wonder you and Brown get along so well. As to your good name, does anyone remember the Drake legacy? My father even had a difficult time recalling who you were.”

Damian means for it to sting, but he’s working under the assumption that Tim believes his last name should mean something. His parent’s poor choices in executives had made sure Tim was aware from a young age that a last name meant absolutely nothing. 

“I’m sure you’re right. He’s taken in so many orphaned and unwanted children,” Tim starts, watching Damian’s eye twitch ever so slightly, “that he probably forgot reaching out to me about a home after my parent’s death. I’ve heard Bruce Wayne can be quite flighty.”

“People die from concussions all the time, Drake. I hope you don’t become just another statistic.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Tim says with far more bravado than he feels. He rises slowly from the bed, making sure his balance is steady before making the seemingly forever trek to the bathroom, knowing Damian would have zero problems watching him fall to the ground. Tim makes sure to snag the bag before he gets too far from the bed and passes Damian, who has gone back to angrily flipping through his magazine.

Tim closes the bathroom door and uses the facilities before removing his hospital gown to look at the damage. His chest is covered in bruising, and there’s even a section that’s been taped up. His wrists are hidden under thick gauze, but there are small spots where he’s bled through. The bruising, from both trying to break out of his bindings and being shoved around on the chair, crawls up his forearms. Amazingly, his face and legs are mostly unmarked with only some slight bruising on his face from the slaps and a tender spot on the side of his head covered by his hair. His feet are cut up and bruised from the rooftop, which makes him think of how gently Jason had held him, which makes him think of how tense and tight Jason’s back had been when he walked out of Tim’s hospital room. 

Tim dresses as quickly as he can, the soft green jumper and dark slacks covering almost all of his wounds. There are socks but no shoes in the bag and no winter jacket. He gives his face a quick rinse and finger brushes his hair back into some semblance of order. He gives himself one more quick check in the mirror. The clothing and the rinse have done nothing for his bloodshot eyes and sallow skin, but with a layer of clothing between him and the world and standing on his own two feet, Tim is able to take a few deep breaths and start slowly working himself up to the idea that he’s going to be stuck in a car with Damian Wayne for a couple hours. He was going to need every wit he still had left.

He leaves the bathroom and tries to hand the empty paper bag to Damian, who doesn’t look up from his magazine. Tim wants to sigh. He wants to roll his eyes and snap. Instead he just puts the bag down next to Damian’s seat and goes to sit back down on his hospital bed.

“We just have to wait for the doctor to do a final check-up on you, and then we’ll leave for Gotham,” Damian says, finishing the magazine.

 Only to flip right back to the beginning and look through it again. 

Tim wants to ask what he did to deserve this, but he’s learned not to ask questions he knows the answers to already.

“Do we know when that will be? I’d like to get home soon.”

“I’m sure you would. Newtown is so beautiful this time of year,” Damian says, making Tim’s already sore hands clench. “The doctor should be doing their rounds in a few minutes, and I informed the nursing station you were awake while you were changing.”

“Thank you.”

Damian doesn’t say anything else, still not looking up from the magazine in his lap.

“What happened to the rest of my stuff? My keys, phone?”

“Your keys were found, but unfortunately your phone was lost in the melee.”

“I’m sure,” Tim mutters, and Damian’s head snaps up, face angry, but before he can say anything, the doctor and a nurse walks in and quickly begin assessing Tim. He ends up having to slowly remove the sweater so the doctor can check out his ribs and the patch job. He’s given prescriptions for both antibiotics and pain to be filled when he gets home, and other than telling Damian to watch for any signs that the concussion could be worse than it originally appeared, Tim is given clearance to leave, and the doctor is gone in what feels like a matter of seconds. 

As Tim slowly slides back into his sweater, he hears a clatter on the ground, and when he looks down there’s a pair of new winter boots on the floor near his feet, and Damian has two coats draped over his arm.

“If you’re able to get those on yourself, we will leave shortly.”

Thankfully the boots can just be slid on, and Tim is on his feet, chest heaving slightly from the pain of having to bend to slip on the boots. Damian leads the way out of the room to the elevator and finally turns to look back at Tim once they’ve reached the lobby.

“I need to bring the car around,” Damian says, handing a coat to Tim. “Stay here until I return. Try not to get into any more trouble,” he says, slipping his own coat on and heading out of the building. 

Tim doesn’t bother to put his jacket on, figuring Damian will have the heat on by the time he pulls up to Tim. He watches the people around him, most sitting on their phones or sipping on coffee. Tim walks and finds the little coffee machine. He hunts through the pockets on his coat and finds a few dollars that had been shoved carelessly into an inner pocket. He quickly makes his purchase and walks over to where Damian had left him to see the man turning in place, face angry when he spots Tim walking towards him.

“What part of ‘stay here’ was too difficult for you to understand?”

“I got you a coffee,” Tim says, holding out one of the styrofoam cups towards Damian, keeping one for himself.

Damian looks between the cup and Tim a couple times, confused. “How did you get the money to buy that?”

“There was a few dollars in the pocket? Did you guys not do that?”

“That’s one of Grayson’s old coats,” Damian says, running a hands across his face before taking the cup. “He never remembers to empty his pockets," he looks surprised to have shared that bit of information with Tim, but snaps his mouth shut quickly.

“Must make for an interesting wash day,” Tim says, trying to make light.

Damian looks at the coffee again but merely turns to walks away from Tim. Tim tries his best to keep up, but even with the pain medication in his system, his feet are sore, and by the time Tim walks out of the hospital, Damian in already in his red and black sports car, revving the engine, passenger door open.

Tim slips in, placing his coffee in the cup holder next to Damian’s, draping the jacket over his legs, even though the seats are heated. Once Tim is buckled in, Damian pulls away from the curb, quickly switching the radio to a soft classical station and never taking his eyes off the road.

The drive through the city is tense and only partially due to the surprisingly heavy traffic on a Sunday afternoon. Damian has to keep weaving between lanes thanks to accidents and other drivers cutting him off. At one point, Damian has to break hard to not slam into a car that stops dead in front of him. He shoots out a hand to hold Tim’s shoulder in place so his chest doesn’t slam into his seat belt like Damian himself does. His hand leaves Tim's shoulder as soon as Tim slips back in place, but the gesture seems to thaw Damian somewhat, and as they merge onto the highway, Damian finally takes a sip from the coffee Tim had bought at the hospital.

“Thank you,” Damian says, gesturing at the cup. “I forgot to say that.”

“You’re welcome,” Tim says, hands clenching and unclenching under the coat. Damian’s fingers tap against his stick shift as he seamlessly switches gears, speeding down the highway.

“And thank you,” Tim gets out. It stings to have to say to Damian of all people, but he’s the only one available, and this may be the only opportunity Tim has to thank Robin for what he did.

“For what?” Damian asks, never taking his eyes off the road.

“The warehouse.”

“Warehouse? Blüdhaven may be a cesspool, but I had hoped you were aware you were in a hospital, Drake.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Tim says, hands fisted under his coat but voice cool.

Damian is silent, eyes still locked on the road. Tim sighs, rolling his eyes upward, and speaks quietly.

“If you don’t want people making the connection, you should try changing your voice like your dad does. You’ve got a pretty distinct way of speaking.”

Even before Tim is done talking, Damian cuts across the highway to the emergency lane, slamming the car into neutral. He turns towards Tim, face clouded over with anger.

“I don’t know what you think you’re talking about,” he starts, but Tim just shakes his head.

“I know it all. I know about you. About Dick and Stephanie and Cass. About your father. Hell, I think I’ve got a bead on a couple others now too,” Tim says, and he watches Damian pale as he continues. “I know about the scheme you put together with Stephanie. I’ve known since the beginning.” 

It’s only a white lie, but it’s nice to see Damian, who’s been so calm and collected this whole time finally look shocked.

“And I’m guessing this car is secure enough that we can have a little chat without anyone listening in? Good,” Tim says once Damian nods his head slowly. “So while I’m grateful for the rescue, I think it’s time our little dance comes to an end, don’t you think?”

“How so?” Damian asks.

“You call off Stephanie and Dick. I don’t really think you have any control over Cass.”

“You’re under the assumption I have control over any of them.”

“So you’re going to sit there and pretend you didn’t send Stephanie and Dick after me to try and learn about my underground crime syndicate.”

“No. What I’m trying to tell you is that I have no control over them,” Damian says slowly. Tim raises an eyebrow in disbelief, and Damian rolls his eyes before continuing.

“I asked Brown to go in to your place of business to get a read on you, perhaps place a tracker so we could see if you were meeting anyone of note. She reported that there was nothing amiss, and when I asked her to continue her investigation, she declined.”

“Said I didn’t have a mean bone in my body?” Tim repeats back, hoping to shake Damian’s cool again. All he gets is another eye roll from the teenager. 

“That would be Grayson,” Damian says, shocking Tim. “Did your little informant not tell you who said what? Perhaps he didn’t realize, considering he was too busy suiting up to bother talking to the rest of us,” Damian says scathingly, and Tim feels his world tilt on its axis. 

“He was there?” Tim asks, hands shaking. “In your...what, super secret clubhouse?”

“I now have startling clarity as to why he likes you. You both have an atrocious sense of humor. Yes, he was, as Brown and Grayson complained about me wanting to begin surveilling you once Cain reported seeing you near Old Gotham, for reasons she elected not to tell the rest of us.”

“That’s not right,” Tim says, shaking his head. “Dick found me at the mall. Stephanie and Dick caught me at the sandwich shop. You were ‘surveilling’ me the whole time,” Tim doesn’t know if he’s accusing Damian or trying to remind himself.

“Of course we weren’t,” Damian snorts, shocking Tim. “If we went around surveilling every citizen that could possibly be breaking the law, we’d have no time for anything else. Brown stated there was nothing to worry about after receiving that pedantic newsletter you put together for you clients, and Grayson agreed.”’

“She put a tracker on me,” Tim cites, pointing a finger at Damian.

“Grayson put a tracker on you when you were at the movies,” Damian says, and Tim pulls his hand back to his lap. “He wanted to double check your movements in case Brown was mistaken, but he came to the same conclusion. Is that why you never called her back? I had to deal with her moaning and whining because of Grayson ? This time I really am going to kill him.”

Tim’s shock takes him over for a moment. Dick, Nightwing , had been the one to plant the tracker. Dick had been the one to distrust him enough to want to know his every move. It’s another hurt on top of his other hurts. He doesn’t have the strength to deal with that truth, so he turns his ire back on Damian.

“You audited me! Practically accused me of colluding with madmen!” He snaps, and Damian takes a deep breath before answering.

“My father’s company audited the top ten agents who had the most claims in the city completed through the Foundation, which is our right as the payors. The company was having an issue with funds disappearing and to give a valid reason on the forms, we had to complete the audits. Why worry if there was nothing wrong with your claims?”

“You knew there wasn’t anything wrong with them.”

“How was I to know? You were the one who decided to run a smear campaign,” Damian retorts, and Tim can feel his teeth grinding together.

“I didn’t even repost a tweet,” Tim defends, but realizes he’s getting pulled off subject. “You accused me of working with rogues, of stealing money, and basically trying to hurt people in my neighborhood for a few extra dollars.”

“Oracle found your little jaunt through uptown, connected your tour around town with the ip addresses that posted those first few tweets,” Damian says, but Tim just scoffs.

“And? What is that supposed to prove? That me, and a few hundred other people, logged in to those computers. You tracked me, audited me, froze the accounts of people that I had helped, for what? For what Damian?” Tim’s voice is raised by the end, and Damian’s lips are pressed tightly together once Tim’s finished. 

“I voted against the freeze,” Damian says, stopping Tim short.

“What?” Tim asks softly, and Damian looks out the windshield for a moment before turning back to Tim.

“I voted against the freeze. Freezing all payouts, even known legitimate ones was a bad idea, as I informed them, but the directors would not be swayed. And somehow, my name became connected to the worst PR move the Foundation could have asked for.”

“But you’re on the board,” Tim starts, but Damian makes an angry sound that stops him short.

“I am an intern ,” Damian snaps. “Even my father cannot give me a position I haven’t earned, no matter what anyone else wants to say. I am allowed to sit in and have my opinion heard because I am a Wayne, but I don’t hold any form of power. If I did, the freeze would not have happened at all. There are better ways of rooting out rats.”

“Vale,” Tim starts, but Damian cuts him off with a sound of disgust.

“Vale has had it out for my family ever since my father slighted her at some party. She hasn’t written a good word about my father or myself in years. I’m surprised you took her words to heart.”

“Your actions didn’t leave much to the imagination,” Tim tries again, but Damian only shakes his head.

“ The boards actions .” He intones darkly. “Do you think I would be out there every night, risking mine and my family’s lives if I thought Gotham was full of liars and crooks? There will always be those who try to circumvent the rules, Drake , but the vast majority are merely trying to live their lives as best they can. Unfortunately, I have been removed from my position until the summer, so we’ll see who you decide to scapegoat next,” Damian’s tone is dripping in sarcasm, eyeing Tim with disdain.

“If I did tweet anything,” Tim starts, which only makes Damian roll his eyes as Tim continues, “It definitely wasn’t the one about you calling Stephanie a street hussy.”

“I have apologized,” Damian says, and he actually looks contrite. “Both personally to Brown and publicly to the office for making anyone feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. I also instituted an anonymous tip line for anyone feeling uncomfortable or harassed by anyone at the Foundation, including myself due to my past mistakes. But I suppose none of that fit into a tweet.”

“She said it was an inside joke,” Tim recalls, and Damian nods in agreement.

“It is. One she started as I remember. Doesn’t mean I should have called her that, in public or private,” Damian shrugs lightly, but Tim can see that while everything else was easily dodged, this one actually seems to have stung Damian. 

“You accused me of working with the rogues,” Tim says again, well aware Damian never answered the question. “Looked into my personal life, my work life. Your family invaded my privacy, and for what? To keep trying to prove I was doing something wrong?”

“You were working with the Red Hood,” Damian says, and the reminder of Jason sends a sharp pain through Tim’s chest.

“And apparently so do you,” Tim snaps. “You cornered me in an alley, tried to interrogate me by swordpoint.”

“Don’t be facetious,” Damian cuts in. “I never pulled my sword.”

“And told me to stop everything I was doing,” Tim continues, ignoring Damian. “That you knew what I was doing.”

“You cannot honestly be writing yourself as the victim in this,” Damian scoffs, looking at Tim in disbelief. “You have illegally enrolled people into the Gotham health system, used false information for Foundation payouts, and created a network of spies that rely on you for their continued good fortune. Congratulations, Drake, you are well on your way to ticking every box for a budding crime lord. Red Hood should be able to give you some pointers on the do’s and don’ts of creating a syndicate,” Damian says. Hearing Jason’s alias again makes Tim want to snap back in anger. So he does.

"I'm not a crime lord! I've never even gotten a parking ticket! How in the holy hell could you honestly think that someone enrolling people into the free healthcare system is bad? Maybe, if the Foundation kept the office open past 5 and thought about being open on the weekends, more people could get to the offices. Or what about, I don't know, actually sending people to Crime Alley to help enroll them?"

"And you just believe you're filling the void a multi-million dollar corporation cannot? And all they have to do is whisper their secrets to you. Give you every detail of every crime they decide not to report. Yes, very altruistic. If only all Gothamites were as caring as you,” Damian’s words are acidic by the end of his little tirade, face flushed with anger.

“You know what, maybe if they were, we wouldn’t need vigilantes sending their sisters and brothers out to con the working class.”

“Oh yes, I forgot, you’re the victim. Not like you used that information to help the Red Hood at all. Not as if you circumvent weeks of work on the Dragons and Scarecrow to send Red Hood in, guns blazing. Which is never an outcome we want, considering how easy it is for those bullets to cause permanent damage. Like death.”

“Doesn’t seem to have been very permanent for Jason,” Tim says softly, and watches Damian’s hands clench.

“Someone has been looking at things that are far out of their depth. Those dark corners of the world will do nothing to help your sycophants.”

“You would know all about those right? There are rumors everywhere about who your mother is,” Tim starts, but is cut off when Damian grabs Tim by the throat and slams him into his backrest. 

“You should learn not to talk of things you do not understand,” Damian says quietly. Tim tries not to let the fear that creeps up on him at Damian’s soft tone show on his face. 

Tim breathes shallowly until Damian releases him. He relaxes his muscles as best he can while Damian stays tight and tense.

“Then maybe you should enlighten me.”

“Absolutely not,” Damian says, not breaking eye contact.

“I won’t stop,” Tim promises, pulling himself from the seat and turning towards Damian. “You’ve had to have made a file on me. Looked at my past. I won’t stop until I understand. Until I know.”

It’s not a threat.

Tim is sure Damian can read the truth in his words, his face. He’s not hiding anymore. He’s tried subterfuge, he’s tried sussing out slowly, waiting on people to be honest. He’s hurt, tired, and dying to find out the truth.

“How much do you think you know?” Damian asks, looking out the front window.

“Something happened to Jason,” Tim starts, but Damian just shakes his head.

“I’m not here to answer questions about,” And Damian stops, side-eyeing Tim.

“You can say it,” Tim says, staring at Damian.

“I’m not here to answer questions about Todd,” Damian repeats, and even though Tim knew, Tim knew with all his being, having someone agree with him gives him the validation he needed.

“Shit. Shit, ” Tim says, eyes wide as he stares at Damian. “I knew it.”

“Yes, yes, you are incredibly smart, job well done, etcetra. If you want to know about him, I suggest you speak to him.”

“So your...mother’s people had nothing to do with that?” Tim asks, earning a deep sigh from Damian. 

“No,” Damian says, putting the car back in gear and peeling back out onto the highway. “Not in the beginning.”

“So the rumors. They’re true.”

“You of all people should know about the validity of rumors,” Damian says, and Tim sighs deeply.

“I thought you were targeting me specifically. Especially after finding that tracker. Thinking Batgirl did that was bad, but Robin? That made it even worse.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re Robin ,” Tim says before thinking it through. But when he looks over at Damian, who’s still watching the road intently, he can see a blush creeping up his neck, and pushes through. “Robin is supposed to be the one who stands up for the little guy when Batman is busy saving the world. Felt like maybe Robin had given up on me.”

“I was,” Damian says quietly after a moment. “I was trying to do what was right for Gotham. I was trying to find where the money was going. Because if it wasn’t an outsider taking more money than their claims called for, then that meant it was someone betraying my father, betraying what the Foundation stands for.”

Tim stays quiet, the soft music filling the void left by their conversation. Some of the tension had left Damian, and he quietly taps his fingers along with the music, the steady rhythm lulling Tim into relaxation. It’s not until they’re passing over the Trigate Bridge that Tim finally speaks up.

“What it sounds like to me,” Tim says quietly, “is that maybe, possibly, we were both a little wrong.”

“Possibly,” Damian agrees after a moment. “Though I think we can both agree where the blame truly lies.”

“And where’s that?” Tim asks, looking over at Damian.

“ Grayson and that idiotic tracker,” Damian practically growls. “If he had been even the slightest bit more subtle, placed it in a better location, then all of this could have been avoided.”

“Or,” Tim says slowly. “Or, he could not have placed a tracker at all . Then maybe we could have avoided all of this?”

“All? Most, yes, but not all,” Damian says as they make their way into Gotham proper.

“How so?”

“While I am fully prepared to blame Grayson for every moment of this, and I’m sure Brown and Cain will happily concur, none of us are the reason you ended up in that warehouse,” Damian says, voice growing darker as he speaks. 

Tim looks out the window, watching the large warehouses of Burnley and Otisburg shift into the crowded tenements of Newtown. Damian stops in front of Tim’s building and goes to remove his seatbelt.   

“You don’t have to walk me up.”

“I rather think I do. Considering all the trouble that’s come your way recently, it would be for the best,” Damian says as he exits the car.

“I didn’t know you--all of you--would have to go through all this trouble,” Tim says, getting out as Damian walks around the back of the car to meet Tim as the passenger side door.

“Were we supposed to leave you to rot in Blüdhaven?”

“I mean, it’s good enough for Nightwing. Think you could get me his autograph?” Tim jokes, and Damian rolls his eyes so hard Tim is worried for his health.

“I should have let them kill you. Father’s disappointment would have been worth it to never hear that sentence.”

Tim smiles slightly and heads into his building. Damian follows at a sedate pace behind him, even holding his shoulder steady at one point when Tim’s feet protest the steps by shooting pain all the way up his leg. 

They make it to Tim’s door, and Tim stares blankly as he remembers.

“I don’t have my keys,” Tim turns to Damian only to see the young man holding out his keyring.

“Todd was able to grab a few items before he met you on the roof.”

“Ah,” Tim replies, taking the keys and unlocking the door. He turns to Damian, who’s still standing on his stoop.

“Let’s make a deal,” Tim says, earning a raised eyebrow from Damian. He’s shoved his hands into his coat pockets, standing tall and still as he looks down at Tim.

“Next time we think one of us may be plotting against the other to ruin Gotham, we let the professional handle it.”

“And whom may that be?” Damian asks, raising a single eyebrow at Tim.

“Cass,” Tim says, and Damian finally cracks and smiles.

“Agreed,” Damian says nodding at Tim.

“And. And I’m sorry. To all of you, about this,” Tim says, clenching his hands together in front of him.

“What?”

“For the warehouse. Blüdhaven. Even the ride home,” Tim says, recalling all the subtle jabs Damian had said in the car.

“In what universe is any of that your fault? The petition, the tweets, those were your fault, even if you’ll use the excuse that you merely led people in the right direction. The warehouse isn’t on this list,” Damian said, surprise coloring his response.

“Well, it wasn’t Dick’s fault,” Tim says, but Damian just shakes his head.

“I am going to regret this,” Damian mumbles to himself before removing one of his hands from his coat pocket. He presents Tim with his phone, screen slightly cracked, but overall looking only slightly worse for wear.

And the fob Jason had given him weeks, no, months ago.

“The warehouse is only one person’s fault. And as he decided not to be here to deal with his own failures, it unfortunately falls unto me. Grayson had informed me not to return these to you, but you have a lot to talk about, and honestly I would rather be done with the both of you,” Damian says, shoving the items at Tim, who fumbles to catch them before they slip from his grasp.

“I don’t think he wants to see me,” Tim says quietly, trying to power up his phone.

“You must have realized at this point why Todd has to cover his entire face. He is extremely easy to read,” Damian says, staring at Tim in disbelief.

“And?” Tim asks, giving up on his phone for the moment.

“And even now, all Todd wants is you.”

Chapter Text

Tim taps the fob. 

Not right away. He thinks about it as soon as Damian closes the door on Tim’s gaping mouth, but he’s self aware enough to realize that he needed a shower, some food, and some time to destress. He’s gone from fighting with Jason, to needing a rescue from Red Hood, to being alone. Talking to Jason in this mindset would do neither of them any good. He ends up falling asleep as soon as he drops onto his bed, plans of figuring out how to talk to Jason lost to nightmares of Red Hood never falling through the ceiling, of Jason never being there at all.

He means to try on Monday, but news reports show Red Hood and Nightwing outside of the city, fighting some unholy monster off the coast of South Africa. What the news cameras catch is terrible, both men fighting with their super friends at their sides, but it could take them days. Tim reasons that Jason’s too far out of range anyway, so there’s no reason to bother. 

It doesn’t stop Tim from reading the news reports whenever he can during work. Evenings are spent in front of his computer, checking his files for anything the Oracle could have left, and reading tweets from the area while his scans run.

Tim forgets Christmas until Ives calls him with a reminder on Christmas Eve that he’s on beverage duty and to please make sure Bernard actually arrives on time or he’s eating on the porch. He doesn’t put it past Ives’ wife to follow through on the threat, so he makes sure to set a reminder to call Bernard. He’s in line later that evening, cart stacked with all the drinks he can think of, when his phone rings with a private number. Tim answers before the second ring goes off.

“Hello?” Tim gasps out, slipping out of line to take the call.

“Who were you expecting?” Stephanie’s voice comes through the line, making Tim’s shoulders slump.

“Why aren’t you calling from your number?” Tim asks instead, earning a snort.

“Because this is a work call, lover. What can you tell me about the Dominguez cartel?”

“Lover?”

“Oh sorry, is Jason the only one allowed to call you that? What do you call him? Jay Jay? Redsie-poo?”

“The cartel is just setting up shop, mostly in the Tricorner area. But I don’t know what they’re running or by who. My associates don’t normally head that far downtown,” Tim answers.

“Pay for your drinks, put them in your car, and meet me around the back near the truck receiving door. See you in a few minutes. Lover.”

Stephanie ends the call, and Tim stares at his phone for a minute before heading to the back of the line once again. 

He’s barely at the receiving doors when she drops into step next to him. The purple and black blend into the shadows, but her shock of blonde hair lets Tim know who it is right away.

“Fancy meeting you here. Small world huh? What are the odds?” Stephanie says as they come to a stop. 

“Did you need something?” Tim asks, tone tight.

“Oh wow, I’m sorry, are you unhappy? Hurt? Did someone lie to you ?” Stephanie asks, rounding on him, hands resting on her hips.

“Is this the moment where you call me a hypocrite? Because Damian already beat you to the punch.”

“I’m shocked you both made it out of that car alive. I told Cass it was a bad idea, but she thinks she knows everything. You know, like you,” Stephanie says, tone biting. She’s gritting her teeth, and Tim can read the anger in the set of her shoulders.

“She’s not wrong,” he says which only sets her off.

“Oh no, of course she’s not. Because you both know so much better than the rest of us. Was it fun? Watching us run around like chickens with our heads cut off?”

“Was it fun walking into my job and lying to me? Spying on me? Nightwing may have been the one to plant the tracker, but you most definitely used it to track my location too!”

“I never -” Stephanie starts but Tim cuts her off.

“I found it after you saved me from the coffeeshop. There was no way you saw us from the rooftops and knew I was there,” Tim accuses, pointing a finger at her.

“Amazingly, asshole, not everything is about you. Someone was using their phone to flash a signal, and I saw that from the rooftop. Do you think we’re out here, winging it, with no form of situational awareness training?” Stephanie snaps, pointing right back at Tim

“I never saw that," Tim says which only makes Stephanie scoff.

“Maybe if you were more worried about surviving and less about filming the fight then you would have seen the dude with the flashing light!”

“Why are you yelling at me? Did you really track me down again just to complain in an alley?”

“First, this is not an alley. This is a back door, and second, yes. Yes, I did track you down to yell at you, you liar.”

“Rich coming from the girl who asked me out on her younger brother’s orders!”

“That was me! I asked you out! But you were a boring date!” Stephanie yells back, poking her finger at Tim.

“I. I. I am not a boring date. Ask anyone!”

“Well, as Redsy-poo is off shooting things with the ginger squad instead of dealing with his adult emotions, we can’t really ask him.”

“Is that what this is about? Because you found out I was dating Jason?”

“No!” Stephanie says, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is about you. You and your lying, and your deceit, and the fact that you sat in my apartment while you...plotted to both destroy and bang my family!”

“Whoa. Whoa,” Tim says, raising his hands in front of his chest. “There were no banging plots! There were barely any destruction plots! I just. Gave people the information they needed to make an informed decision about Damian. Who took all this much more gracefully.”

“Are you really basing what my emotional level should be based on a teenage death ninja? Don’t feeling shame me!” Stephanie snaps, voice raising enough to echo off the concrete walls nearby.

“No one is...okay. Okay. I think we both need to take a deep breath.”

“You need to take a deep breath,” Stephanie mutters, turning to look off to the side. 

Tim doesn’t mean to, but he starts laughing. He has to lean over to rest his hands on his knees as he tries to breath through the pain from his bruises. Stephanie is looking at him like he’s cracked, and maybe he finally has. He notices the slightly raised curb and motions for Stephanie to follow him over. His laughter fades as he drops down onto the curb, knees bent to rest his forearms. Stephanie follows in silence and stretches out her legs once she sits next to him, leaning back on her hands. 

“What are we doing?” she asks after they’ve both sat in silence for a few moments.

“I’m building up nerve,” Tim says which only makes Stephanie turn to him in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and even with her cowl on, Tim can see her raise one eyebrow. “I am. Just, not for all of it.”

“Ah, my favorite apologies, the conditional ones.”

“I’m sorry for a lot of what happened with Damian. There were times I went too far, but I also wasn’t working with the full amount of information.”

“Oh, okay, so we’re still blaming him? Cool, cool.”

“No. We’re blaming each other. We talked, and I think we came to a good point in our relationship to never deal with each other again."

"He's going to run the Wayne Foundation one day. Gonna pull another scheme when he takes his place?”

“Not if he doesn’t deserve it.”

“Then we’re done,” Stephanie says, starting to get up. Tim whips out a hand to rest on her forearm, silently asking her to stay.

“I’m sorry about what happened with you. And that’s not conditional,” Tim says staring at Stephanie. She pauses and drops back into her spot. When Tim doesn’t finish, she raises her hand to make a ‘go on’ gesture.

“I distrusted you. From the moment you walked into my office. Wanted to know why you would even walk in, and then it got weird, and then Dick made it weirder,” Tim stops when Stephanie gives a small laugh but pushes through once he knows he has her attention again.

“And then I found the tracker. And it ruined everything . I got so caught up in the fact that Damian was the one who told you to look into me that I had tunnel vision. And every time I saw you and Dick it felt like you guys had tracked me down, were trying to catch me in the act for him.”

“We weren’t. I was fully honest when I said I can’t get Dick to go home.”

“I didn’t know. And it’s not exactly like I could ask you. Couldn’t really ask why Batgirl was in my office and asking me to the movies.”

“How long have you been keeping that secret?”

“Longer than you have,” Tim says. Stephanie doesn’t look happy with that answer but leaves it alone.

“I thought we were friends. You told me about your gross Jason feelings,” Stephanie says quietly.

“You told me his name was Jason Peters.”

“Peter is his middle name. And I had no idea what you knew. Cass refused to tell me, even though I knew she knew what you knew.”

“This whole situation is so messed up. Can’t I just go back to selling insurance?”

“And lose out on clandestine meeting with views like these?” Stephanie asks, waving her hand out in front of them, taking in the dirty ground and barely lit alleyway. 

“Is he really Jason Todd?” Tim asks quietly, staring at his knees.

Stephanie is silent, still, and while he knew, while Damian had basically told him, Stephanie he trusts. For all the twists and turns, all his deceit and half lies, he knows now she’s been honest with him, from meeting at the coffee shop to sitting on her couch just a couple weeks ago. She reaches over and links her fingers through his, pulling his hand from his knees to rest between them.

“I think you need to talk to him about that.”

“He’s in South Africa with Dick still,” Tim chokes out, but Stephanie shakes her head.

“He’s. Well. Technically he’s on an alien princess’ spaceship.”

“Stop,” Tim groans, leaning over to rest his forehead on Stephanie’s shoulder. “I don’t need to hear how a gorgeous space princess is helping him deal with our time apart.”

“Don’t worry. Apparently she’s got a thing for incredibly stupid men with bad hair, so she’s happily leading Arsenal by the nose. And hey,” Stephanie says, wiggling her shoulder to dislodge Tim. “Maybe he’s just giving you space?”

“By hanging out with one of the most captivating people on this planet?” Tim replies, refusing to move his head.

“I’d be hurt, but she is pretty amazing,” Stephanie sighs, leaning her head against Tim’s.

They’re quiet, the silence between them soft and warm, hands still entwined. 

“You’re a real asshole sometimes,” Stephanie whispers against Tim’s hair.

“I won’t dispute that,” Tim mumbles, squeezing Stephanie’s hand. 

“But the rest of the time. When you’re not lying, or plotting. When you’re just sitting on a couch, throwing banana peppers for me and Cass to catch,” she says, both of them softly laughing at the still recent memory, “when you’re just. You? You’re not half bad, Drake.”

“What if I really am just an asshole?” Tim asks, and Stephanie pulls her shoulder away from Tim, forcing him to look at her. She’s flipped the lenses in her mask up, and the soft, clear blue of her eyes draw his gaze.

“Then you’re in good company.”

--

Christmas day finds Tim seated on Ives’ couch, warm apple cider in one hand, Wii remote in the other.

“You’re not taking this very seriously,” Ives says, shaking his head at Tim’s gutterball.

“Please tell me this cider is spiked,” Tim groans as Ives gets up for his turn.

“Seasoned with the wife’s love,” Ives says, heading over to a small rolling bar in the corner of the living room and pulling out a new bottle of rum. He goes to hand it to Tim but pulls the bottle back at the last moment.

“First, you’ve gotta pay the toll.”

“I should have never spoken to you,” Tim whines, holding out his hand for the bottle.

“High school would have been terrible. Just you and Bernard? Place would have gone up in flames,” Ives tries to joke, but it falls flat. He turns serious as he nods at Tim “What happened to you face? Looks a little swollen.”

“I got mugged,” Tim says. It’s the same cover story he had used at work, and had gone over just as poorly as it with Ives.

“Did you file a police report? Did they get anything? How hurt are you?” Ives asks as he walks quickly back over to the couch.

“I didn’t even have my debit card on me, so they took it out on my face. And no, I didn’t report it. I didn’t even see their faces. And I’m fine,” Tim raises his voice to stop Ives from talking. “This is the worst of it.”

“Why is your default state to lie?” Ives grumbles as he hands Tim the bottle. Tim fumbles it, barely catching the unopened bottle before it lands on the couch. He tries to take a deep breath, but it’s hard, his throat closing up.

“Tim?” Ives asks, dropping down on the couch next to Tim, tone worried.

“I’m fine,” Tim says, but his voice is thick, and he has to take shallow breaths so his chest doesn’t tighten up again.

“Really? Because you don’t look okay. You look like you’re gonna cry.”

He’s not. Tim hasn’t cried since he was a child. When his parents never came back home. When the realization that Batman wouldn’t be there to save him from Gotham’s streets like he had Jason Todd. When Tim had realized that he was alone.

“Tim,” Ives says as he rests a gentle hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Buddy, is there something I can do?”

Tim opens his mouth, trying to figure out where to begin, but is cut off by Bernard blowing into the house like a miniature tornado. 

“I am not only here, but I am here on time. All bow before me!” he yells as he walks into the house.

Tim has never been more grateful for Bernard and his incredibly outlandish ways. He moves to get off the couch to greet Bernard, but Ives only tightens his hand on Tim’s shoulder and presses him down into his seat.

“Bernie, Tim was just about to tell us what’s going on in his life,” Ives calls out to Bernard, who has walked into the dining room to greet Ives’ wife.

“Stop,” Bernard says as he heads into the living room, a bottle of wine in one hand and a sleeve of plastic cups in the other. “Timothy Jackson Drake is going to bare it all? Someone call a doctor.”

“Shut up and pour that wine,” Tim says, downing his cider and holding out his now empty cup for Bernard. 

“Is this celebratory or misery drinking? Either way, I took a Lyft,” Bernard says as he unscrews the wine cap. Tim wiggles his cup in Bernard’s direction as Ives does his best to block Bernard from pouring.

“If he starts drinking, he’s just gonna do that thing where he curls up into a ball and screams Cure lyrics at us,” Ives says, making Bernard laugh hard enough that Tim has to swerve his hand to keep up with Bernard’s errant pouring.

“I prefer when he’s less post-punk and more indie,” Bernard says, finishing with Tim and pouring a drink for Ives. Bernard looks between the bottle and Tim, and snatches Tim’s cup before he can take a sip.

“Hey!” Tim snaps, annoyed until Bernard shoves the wine bottle into Tim’s still outstretched hand.

“You’re welcome. I mean, have you ever met someone else who knows so much Neutral Milk Hotel?”

“I want to say I hate you,” Tim says as he takes a swig of the wine directly from the bottle, “but I can’t recall why right now.”

“I’m requesting that if someone starts singing,” Ives wife calls from the other room, “that we go a little more top 40’s?” she finishes as she strolls in.

“Clara, don’t egg him on!” Ives laughs as his wife slides into the small spot next to Ives. Instead of moving over for her, Ives slips her legs onto his lap and slides her flats off, her toes tickling Tim’s thigh. 

Tim looks at his friends while they lightly bicker with each other. Bernard is the only one not squashed onto the couch in the living room, but he’s hanging over the recliner's armrest to twirl a finger into Clara’s thick curly hair as Ives hands her his plastic cup of wine. She’s laughing at Bernard hard enough that Ives has to grip her thigh so she doesn’t slide off the couch. 

Bernard and Ives have known him since high school, and Clara had walked into their lives while Tim was fighting to get his Associates as quickly as possible. They’re probably the people that know him best in the world, and as he listens to them talk about the dinner show they went to two weeks ago, Tim realizes he has no idea what’s going on in their lives anymore.

“Tim?” Clara says, nudging him with a manicured toe. “Your face just went all sad. Trust me, you didn’t miss anything at that stupid show.”

“I liked it,” Ives grumbles, and Clara just pats him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Tim says, taking a swig from him wine bottle. “Just realized how long it’s been since we all hung out.”

“Mom missed you at Thanksgiving,” Clara says, shoving at Ives a little to better position herself on the couch. Ives just steadies her while she wiggles into a comfortable position. Neither Tim nor Ives bother to move, they know Clara well enough that they also know her preferred sitting position is sprawled over someone else. “She Skyped and asked for you. We told her how busy you were with the whole audit thing.”

“It was. It was pretty rough,” Tim concedes, taking another sip. “There’s just been a lot going on.”

“What’s their name?” Bernard asks, winking at Tim when Tim looks over at him.

“What?” Bernard asks. “Last time I talked to you, you were dealing with Stephanie Brown. But,” Bernard holds up a hand to cut Tim off before he can start speaking, “you had said your sub-par kissing had ruined that before it could even start. And you’re never interested in one person at a time.”

“It’s a problem,” Clara agrees while Ives just shrugs.

“It’s not like he’s ever really serious with them though.”

“Still counts,” Bernard sing-songs, and Clara toasts with him.

“Plus, you have a tendency to drop off the map whenever you’re interested in someone,” Ives says casually. “It’s been a few weeks since you even logged into the game server.”

Tim is staring at his wine bottle, trying to keep his breathing steady. None of them are being cruel, they’re just stating facts. He had started something with Stephanie, only to fall for Jason a few weeks later, completely cutting off his closest friends. He grips the bottle tight and takes another swig. 

“Tim?” Bernard says, shifting in his seat, moving closer to the edge. “Buddy, we were just playing around. Is it Stephanie?”

“No,” Tim chokes out, and Ives snatches the wine bottle from him and hands it to Clara. Bernard gets up and comes to sit on the coffee table, placing himself directly across from Tim.

“Tim?” Ives asks, resting his hand on Tim’s shoulder again. 

And it should be too much. Too close, too much focus. Too much care for the person he is. 

But Bernard is looking contrite, and Ives and Clara worried, and Tim feels warm. Maybe from the wine, maybe from the three bodies bracketing him in. But he’s sitting in a house he helped paint with Ives after standing with him at his wedding. Bernard, who Tim had confided in when he was thirteen about how it wasn’t always girls he dreamed about. Clara, who stepped in with an extended family that looked at three boys with more ghosts than parents between them and welcomed them like long lost cousins. And he feels comforted.

“I think I really fucked up,” Tim whispers, and he hears Ives give a little grunt and knock into his shoulder as Clara heaves herself into fully sitting. She reaches across her husband and grabs Tim’s hand as he breathes deeply. Ives doesn’t move from leaning against Tim. Bernard has his hands folded in his lap, but he’s leaning close to Tim, eyes trained on his face.

“Start at the beginning,” Clara demands, and Tim tries.

“I met a guy. At work. I was trying to help him get medical coverage through the city, and we kind of hit it off. Well,” Tim amends, finally smiling a little. “At first we really, really, didn’t hit it off. Like, the absolute opposite.”

“What did he do?” Ives asks, always ready to try and defend Tim. Bernard just raises an eyebrow.

“I may have tossed a beverage at him when he accused me of helping people for bad reasons.”

“Good,” Clara snaps, squeezing his hand tight. “Bastard doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“But of course,” Bernard says, “this only made you even more attracted to him.”

“No!” Tim defends, but Bernard only snorts.

“Of course it did. Nothing is sexier to you than someone calling you out on your bullshit. It’s why every person you’ve ever dated has been an opinionated bastard. Myself included.”

“At least you’re honest. Jason was a shit, but so was I. And then I ran into him at the Bazaar in Chinatown and…” Tim trails off.

“And you fell madly in love with this Jason?” Clara supplies, making Ives laugh.

“Nah,” he says, knocking shoulders with Tim. “Not our Tim.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Tim says, making Bernard look at him in shock, “but I started to like him when he took me to the museum.”

“The one that got bombed?” Ives gasps, turning and dislodging Clara enough that she has to grab the couch arm to keep her seat.

“Were you hurt?” he says, grabbing Tim’s shoulders tightly. “You didn’t say anything about being hurt.”

“Not much. They didn’t even keep me overnight.”

“And you didn’t think to maybe tell your best friends ?” Ives says, shaking Tim a little. It’s surprising enough that he’s not able to brace himself, and he can’t hold back the wince from his still healing bruises. 

“Timothy,” Bernard says slowly. “That was weeks ago. Why are you hurt now?”

“He says he was mugged,” Ives cuts in. “But I don’t really believe him.”

“It was,” Tim says, and while he doesn’t want to keep lying to his friends, he can’t tell them Jason’s secret. “I just. Was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“We’ll come back to that,” Bernard says, looking Tim in the eye. “Now. Mystery man and how you fucked up.”

“He was lying to me,” Tim hedges. “About something big. There were hints, but I didn’t want to do what I always do. So I planned to let him tell me when he was ready.”

“Tim,” Ives starts, but Bernard holds up a hand to stop him from continuing. 

“He didn’t though right? Not fast enough for you,” Bernard says, and Tim nods slightly. “So you went digging. What did you find?”

“He used to be part of a local gang,” Tim says, which isn’t completely a lie, and from the look on Bernard’s face, he believes Tim. “He cut ties with them years ago, works as a mechanic now.”

“But,” Bernard says when Tim stops.

“But I kept looking,” Tim says quietly. Ives is still holding him tightly by the shoulders, and Tim has to shake him off to wrap his arms around his middle. “And I found out more about this gang, and him in particular than I think I should have. It all kind of came out during the tree lighting. And then,” Tim continues, moving slightly away from Ives when he tries to grab at Tim again. “I went to see him at work, and I ran into a few old gang members he used to run with.”

“Jesus, Tim,” Clara says softly, voice choked with emotion. “You didn’t report that?”

“What gang?” Bernard asks tightly, and Tim glances away.

“I’m not telling you,” he says which earns him an angry huff from Bernard. “You’ll just go using you connections at the police station to try and track them down.”

“You could have those same connections if you would just join the firm,” Bernard starts, but takes a deep breath before continuing. “Fine, you won’t tell. Fine. So what, these guys attacked you because of Jason?”

“Jason stopped them, got them to stop. Made sure they wouldn’t come near me again.”

“Doesn’t sound like he used to be part of a gang. Sounds like he’s actively part of one.”

“He’s not,” Tim quickly argues. “But, you know how the Alley is. You can try to forget it, but it’ll never forget you.”

“Keep going,” Bernard says, annoyance coating his words.

“And after he got me to the clinic, he left. Said it was a bad idea to be together.”

“He’s not wrong,” Ives says. Clara huffs at him, and Ives just shrugs. “What? If this guy can’t keep his past in the past, why should Tim pay the price? Maybe if he had just been honest in the beginning, none of this would have happened.”

“It’s not like it’s something most people want to talk about,” Tim says. He looks over at Bernard, who’s staring at Tim, hands clenched in his hands.

“What?”

“How did you fuck up?” Bernard asks, and Tim gives him a confused look.

“Did you not hear the part where I went hunting through his past? Got hurt?”

“Sounds like he told you at least the basics of his past if you had enough to go history hunting, and he left you because he got you hurt. So. How did you fuck up?” Bernard asks again, raising an eyebrow at Tim.

“Bernard,” Tim says, shaking his head.

“Oh no, Timmy, I’m gonna make you say it,” Bernard says, a smile finally gracing his face.

“Bernard,” Tim says again, practically begging, but Bernard only unclasps his hands and places them on Tim’s knees. 

“You know if you say it out loud, the world won’t end. I promise,” Bernard says.

“What if it does?” Tim whispers, looking at his knees. Bernard gently tilts his head up so Tim has to look him in the eye.

 “Look. I’ll go first,” Bernard says, turning to look at Ives and Clara. Ives is glancing between them in confusion, but Clara is smiling softly, hand running gently up and down Ives’ upper arm.

“Clara, I love you. You’ve brought happiness into my life I didn’t realize I was missing. Ives, I tolerate you, because without you there would be no Clara in my life. See,” Bernard says, looking around the room for a moment before turning back to Tim. “The world keeps going on.”  

Tim breath feels thick and heavy as he tries to breath through his nose. Bernard has placed his hands back on Tim’s knees, thumbs rubbing gently, and Bernard has placed a hand on Tim’s back, steadying him.

“I think.” 

And Tim stops. He wants to say it, wants to finally, finally, be honest with himself, with the people he loves, with Jason, but it doesn’t feel right to say the words without Jason here to hear them for the first time.  

“I think I need to talk to Jason.” 

Tim says it so quietly he can barely hear himself, but Bernard only smiles, patting Tim’s knee with one of his hands.

“It’s a start, buddy. It’s a start.”

“Tim,” Ives says, but Clara just shakes her head.

“No, none of those ‘what ifs’. You know Tim’s thought of them all, worrywart that he is. If Tim says he needs to talk to Jason first, then that’s that.”

“And that’s your big fuck up? Falling for a bad guy?” Ives asks. 

“He’s not,” Tim defends, voice thick with emotion. “He’s kind, he looks out for people, and he’s gentle, even when I probably don’t deserve it.”

“First,” Clara says, getting up from her spot, only to walk around and drop down on Tim’s other side. “You always deserve someone who’s gentle with you. Always. No matter what you did or didn’t do. Second, it doesn’t sound like such a bad thing, loving someone like that.”

“I ruined it. I looked too fast, practically backed him into a corner, and he just. Left.”

“Sweetie,” Clara says, pulling him into a hug. It dislodges Bernard, but Tim doesn’t care, falling into her and wrapping his arms around her tightly. 

“Sounds a little like a bastard to me,” Ives says, and Tim can hear his quiet ‘ouch’ as Bernard smacks his leg.

“Did you call him? Ask him why he felt like he had to leave?”

Tim’s answer is silence, and he feels Clara sigh deeply before she pushes him away slightly so she can look him in the face.

“You know, phones work both ways.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me. He walked out, left me there,” Tim says, but Clara shakes her head.

“Was he angry with you? Maybe he was scared of hurting you?”

“He was more angry at himself,” Tim says, recalling their fight, even though it hurts. “Angry I had gone digging, yeah, but more angry that I had been hurt because of his past,” Tim says, modifying the truth.

“Okay, I’m dropping truth bombs here,” Bernard says, waving at Tim to look at him.

“Here we go,” Ives groans, picking up Clara’s wine and drinking it.

“You, Timothy, are a nasty little know-it-all who refuses to let things go.”

“Damn,” Clara says, looking at Tim with wide eyes. “He was not lying about bombs.”

“You’re a good kisser but a mediocre date because you’re always worried about misstepping, or looking for subtext.”

“Bernard,” Ives says, but Tim shakes his head.

“He’s not wrong.”

“Of course I’m not. Of all the people in the room, I am the only one with first hand knowledge of what it’s like to date Tim Drake. You’re also terrified of someone leaving you, and you do everything you can to push them away before they can figure out you’re testing them.”

“Didn’t work with you,” Ives points out.

“I’m a cut above the rest,” Bernard waves Ives off. “And when you do succeed in making them break-up with you, you use it to make try and make yourself believe your unlovable.”

“Which is wrong,” Clara says, Bernard nodding in agreement.

“You do your absolute best to push people away. You’re a pusher. Tim. You push people,” Bernard says, making Tim roll his eyes.

“Is this really the moment for movie quotes?”

“Hush, I’m being uplifting.”

“Is that what this is?” Ives asks drily. 

“And you pushed Jason away, probably like you were trying to. Someone tells you to stop, and you take it as a personal attack against your hacking skills,” Bernard says, and Tim shifts uncomfortably, aware of just how close Bernard is to the truth.

“But, did this Jason tell you to never call him, tell you you guys were done for good, any of the generic break-up lines?”

“No,” Tim says, making Bernard nod.

“Then this is just a very drawn out fight because you are a drama queen,” Bernard says, continuing over Tim’s squawking and Ives laughter, “and you’re so stuck on the fact that he left your hospital room but not your life.”

“He might as well have. He’s been completely MIA. His...sister said he had left town with a few friends.”

“You’ve already met his family?” Clara asks looking over Tim’s head at Ives.

“Mostly by accident. And stop doing that thing where you talk without talking; it’s annoying.”

“It is,” Bernard agrees. “And okay. That’s not great. But, it’s not like phones stop working as soon as you reach Gotham city limits.”

“Sounds like you just need to call him and find a place to meet, talk things through,” Ives says, grabbing the wine bottle and pouring himself what’s left of the bottle. 

“But not a call. People lie over the phone all the time,” Bernard says, reaching for the bottle of rum on the floor. “At the absolute least, he should be able to Skype with you.”

“I guess,” Tim sighs, which only makes Clara tut at him.

“No guessing. Use that ‘won’t give up’ attitude that got you into this mess and use it to get your man.”

“Yeah, if he can handle that thing where you never seem to know where to put your hands when you’re making out, then he’s a keeper,” Bernard says as he unscrews the top of the rum and stretches to grab a new plastic cup.

“Yeah,” Tim says, grabbing Bernard’s cup from him and downing the large shot he had poured for himself. “About that…”

--

The next day is terrible, headache lasting most of the work day. Everyone is overjoyed at the Foundation news, and Tim does his best to field calls from customers, explaining multiple times that while the Foundation had released they would be starting payouts again, Tim personally has no idea when. One of the few positives of the audit is Tim’s end of year assessment goes smoothly, and he’s able to show how dedicated he’s been throughout the year. 

Bernard sends him dating memes in the group chat throughout the day, and Clara, who he once trusted, keeps linking him to YouTube videos about kissing do’s and don'ts. Ives just keeps liking all of their posts. 

It’s not an easy day, and Tim curls under his blankets that night with Ives on speakerphone as he complains about Clara’s turncoat ways. 

Red Hood still isn’t back in Gotham.

--

Tim almost goes down twice on his trek from the bodega to the street where he hopes to meet up with a few ladies. He’s been off balance ever since Stephanie had sent him a text letting him know Jason was back that morning. He knows he needs to talk to Jason, wants to talk to Jason, but still worries about whether Jason will answer his questions or want him back. Fear of Jason rejecting him again, of maybe never responding to him at all has left him nauseous and tense all day, making what should have been an easy day at work long and stressful.

“He walks over that ice like it’s his first winter,” Tim hears Mel say as he finally makes his way to the side street he normally finds them on. 

“You’re one to talk,” Tim grumbles, holding out the drink carriers as the women walk over to get a hot chocolate from him. “Weren’t you the one who practically slid down sixth last winter?”

“That’s low, sweetie,” Mel says, coming to stand close to Tim, almost leaning against his shoulder. She’s taller than him, slim with her long strawberry blonde hair braided down her back. 

“That was beautiful,” Coraline says as she dips a cookie into her drink, earning a disgusted look from Mel. “I still dream about the look on your face when you realize you were going down.”

Tim doesn’t hear the rest of their bickering. He’s too focused on Anna, standing farther back from the group. She hasn’t come to get a drink and is staring down the road, like she can make a car appear and take her away. 

Tim eases out from Mel, who gives him a confused look before turning back to Coraline, and heads over to Anna. 

“Cocoa?” he offers, holding out the lone cup for her. She turns slightly, and Tim can see the bruising running down the side of her face to her neck.

She doesn’t say anything but reaches for the cup, wrapping both hands around it. Tim twirls the drink holder between his hands until he inevitably fumbles it, and it drops to the cracked sidewalk.

“I didn’t want to help,” Anna says softly as Tim starts to bend to grab the container. He stops halfway and rises without it, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. He’s still wearing Dick’s as his last good winter coat was lost in the kidnapping.

“I can see that,” he says without thinking, and Anna turns to look back down the road.

The silence drags on for a minute or more before Tim says quietly, “They said your son was there. Is he alright?”

“Sure,” Anna shrugs. “They didn’t touch him, but he’s still shaken up.”

“Good. That he’s not hurt, not the shaken part,” Tim says quickly, Anna finally turning back to him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, looking away before he can meet her eyes.

“Me, too. You should never have been dragged into this,” Tim says, looking her over. Much like him, her bruises are fading quickly, but unlike him, she didn’t have the knowledge that someone would be there to save her, and he can see the shadows still lingering in her eyes as she looks down at the street.

“Your friend said they had been taken care of,” Anna says, and Tim’s stomach clenches.

“You’ve spoken to Red Hood?” he chokes out, hands fisting in his pockets.

“No,” Anna shakes her head, and Tim does his best to not let his disappointment show. “The Black Bat. Said she had neutralized the threat. Took me and David to the clinic to get us checked out. Stayed and asked us some questions once the nurse was done,” Anna says, voice tight as she glances away from him.

“They’re good people there,” Tim says, looking away as well. Mel is french braiding Coraline’s dark hair with a red and white Christmas ribbon, even if it’s only two days until the new year. Lina isn’t there yet, but Mel is guarding a bag of cookies for her, laughing as Coraline describes a very strange Christmas date. Mel looks over at him and winks, and he remembers her as a tiny fourteen year old girl hiding with him in the non-fiction section, hoping maybe the librarian wouldn’t do a final check.

He realizes as he stands in the night, coat pulled close against the cold, watching women he’s known for years bring a little joy to each other’s lives that he’s built up this idea that he’s been walking through this life alone. That by holding everyone at arm’s length, they’ve done the same to him and how easy it would be for them to walk away forever.

But Mel looks over to Coraline and starts telling the story about how Tim had stashed winter clothes for her at one of his group homes after an incident at home had left her without a good coat. Bernard has already invited him to his New Year’s party, and the group chat has picked back up without any accusations or snide remarks. His coworkers had just this evening invited him for drinks. Stephanie had held his hand and consoled him when he may not have deserved it.

“Why are you standing here by yourself?” Tim asks, glancing back at Anna, who’s wrapped her arms around her middle.

“Don’t think they really want me here anymore. I’ll find a new place soon,” she says, keeping her face turned away.

Tim steps just in front of her and holds out a crooked arm to her.

"You're gonna make me go on two cocoa runs when I want to see you?"

She looks up at him finally, and Tim feels himself finally relax with her. She's glancing between his outstretched arm and his face, like she's waiting for him to walk away, hurt her for what she thinks she's done. 

Tim knows that feeling intimately.

He only gives his arm a little shake and nods over to Mel and Coraline, who are greeting a returned Lina with her now cold chocolate. 

"It's way too cold to be standing around here by yourself." 

Anna stares at him, shoulders tense and mouth tight, but she reaches out and slips her hand around his elbow. Her hand is cold enough that Tim can feel the chill through his wool sleeve, so he places his other hand over hers to try and warm it as he walks her back to the small group they'd left.

"Count on you to know when I need a sweet, sweetie," Lina says as he and Anna walk over. Her eyes skip over Anna, but Tim only holds her hand tighter.

"I think we all needed something warm tonight," he says, not letting go of Anna. Coraline looks between them and shrugs, walking over to Anna and tying what was left of her ribbon around Anna's free wrist. It cuts the tension quickly, and while Mel and Lina still don't look happy about Tim and Coraline's stance around Anna, they warm up slowly as their small talk continues.

Before Tim leaves, he learns the Dominguez cartel is actually just the Dominguez Brothers for right now, Catwoman had been seen stalking around Robbins Park, and the Penguin was interested in the museum for the travelling exhibit on Mountain-gem hummingbirds made of precious gems.

Mel hugged Anna when she got a frantic call from David asking to hear her voice, and Lina gave her her last cookie when she got picked up. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't easy, but it was a start. As Tim waves his goodbyes, heading back to his warm home for the night, Mel calls out that she'll keep an ear out for the Hood, but he doesn't worry about her finding him.

Once he's home, he curls on his window seat and watches all eight candles on the menorah across the street flicker and burn. 

Tim taps the fob. 

Chapter Text

Tim sleeps through the night. It’s only by his third alarm that he finally pulls himself out of his warm bed and into his kitchen for a strong cup of coffee. He pulls up the blinds on his kitchen window and finally pulls down ‘No Solicitors’ sign he had taped up last week. There are still no signs that Jason has been anywhere near his emergency escape landing, but Tim merely lets his blinds slip closed and continues his hunt for breakfast food. 

He ends up running to the coffee shop near work. 

Leo tells them if they don’t have any pressing claims, and they’ve got their paperwork completed, they can head home after noon. Tim stays a bit longer, helping his co-workers finish up their final rounds of paperwork for the year. He cleans his desk out for the first time in months, tossing candy wrappers and shredding papers that should have been tossed months ago. It’s with a freshly wiped down desk and a much lighter satchel that Tim heads to the grocery store to restock his mostly bare cabinets. He doesn’t want to try and brave the liquor store on New Year’s Eve, so he just grabs a bottle of white wine before checking out. It’s a surprisingly quick drive home, most people still at work for the day.

His phone stays silent.

Well, not entirely. He finally has to tell Bernard he won’t be at his party and to give Clara a soft maybe for brunch the next day. Declines Stephanie’s invitation and silences Dick’s calls twice, still unsure who would have given him his number. Bernard replies with line after line of heart emojis, and Clara sends three different hang in there cats. Ives sends a link to the tropes page for safe, sane, and consensual.

Clara and Bernard both like it. Tim considers blocking them all.

It’s not until he’s home again, shoving his frozen vegetables into his small freezer, that his strange serenity breaks. He slams the door of his freezer hard enough when he tries to close it that the door bounces back open as he takes the two steps to his kitchen window, ripping the blinds open. 

It’s the middle of the day, there’s no reason for Jason, as himself or the Red Hood, to be standing there waiting for Tim to get home. But seeing the empty fire escape sends Tim to the floor, breath coming in short gasps before he can get himself under control. He knows, logically, that Jason has every right to not answer Tim, considering Tim didn’t bother to text him, call him, contact him in any way for days, but Hood had never made Tim wait more than a few hours to set a meeting place, and Jason had been more than willing to let Tim set the pace. It’s been hours since Tim pressed the fob button and nothing. 

He sits, mind hazy, watching his freezer drip as it sits open longer and longer. He doesn’t know how long he sits on the cold tile, legs crumpled under him, cold seeping up through his jeans, but he finally pulls himself up by the window ledge and finishes putting away his groceries. He contemplates just opening the wine now, slipping a straw into the bottle, and calling it a night. He slides the bottle into the fridge. He cleans his floors, wipes down his counters, straightens his cushions, and stares at his now fully stocked fridge before placing a pick-up order for Indian. 

He gets two orders of curry.

The sun is setting by the time he’s walking home from the restaurant, and Tim stops between two buildings to watch the sun slowly dip below the horizon. Gotham has always had more brilliant sunrises than sunsets, but Tim can’t bring himself to keep walking as he watches the soft pinks settle into twilight purples. It’s not until one of his neighbors greets him that he moves on, talking to them about their plans for the night as they both head home. His food is barely even luke warm by the time he’s locking his door, so he places the food into his fridge, figuring his appetite will come back later. 

Tim turns on the television, for background noise, but the colors and sounds are too sharp, so he quickly turns the set off. Tries to settle on music, but can’t find anything that helps settle the twisting in his gut. Thinks about changing into his nightclothes early, but doesn’t want to be caught underdressed. Just in case. 

Night has fully set by the time Tim settles in his window seat, hot tea in hands, swaddled in his bed comforter, apartment silent except for the city sounds filtering inside through his windows, car horns and blaring radios muffled by the light flurries of snow that started as soon as Tim got home with his dinner, still sitting in the fridge. He’s desperately reaching for the calm he felt last night, this morning, but as the night draws on, and he watches the people in his neighborhood head out or welcome guests into their homes, Tim feels his anxiety and worry start to spiral out of control. He’s staring at the fob, still sitting at the far end of his window seat where he dropped it last night, deciding whether or not it’s worth it to try again, when his phone, dropped near his feet so Tim wouldn’t keep checking it for missed calls, beeps with a message.

{little crowded on the roof} Tim gets from an unknown number. He almost spills his tea trying to reach for his phone. 

{Meet me in my apartment?} Tim sends back, fingers shaking enough that he has to take a deep breath and retype the text before he can send it off.

Tim sets the mostly full cup of tea on his floor, unwraps himself from his comforter, tripping over his own feet to get to his fire escape. He’s left the blinds open, but there’s no sign of Jason yet. He stands there, hands on the latch when he hears a fast rap on his door.

Tim’s stomach feels tight and queasy as he unlocks his deadbolt and chain to open his door fully without bothering to check the peephole. 

Jason’s not dressed in his Red Hood armor. His green down jacket is still frosted with snow, melting quickly. He’s in the same beanie Tim remembers from the tree lighting. He’s staring at his boots instead of at Tim, who can’t take his eyes off of Jason.

“Come in,” Tim says softly, opening the door wide enough for Jason to walk in, but he stays on Tim’s door stoop, hands shoved into his coat. 

“Please,” Tim gets out, leaving the door open as he walks back to his window seat. Jason finally steps in and closes the door behind him, flipping the lock closed. He takes a step in before looking up and then looking anywhere but Tim. Tim was expecting anger; clenched jaw, fiery eyes. Or maybe hurt; a down turned mouth and eyes. Tim had been hoping to see the same emotions he’s been battling all day to be mirrored on Jason’s face. 

But Jason is flat. Mouth soft, eyes a million miles away. He’s a blank slate, and Tim fears he’s waited too long to try and make things right.

But as Tim watches him from his perch, he can see the tight, tense lines of Jason’s shoulders as he walks over to large poster sized maps of Gotham on his living room wall. One, he’s marked with the most common routes of all the bats and birds of Gotham, each route color coded with extra notes, like Batgirl and Black Bat’s routes overlapping the most, or Huntress making wide circles around Batman’s most common spotting places. The other, he’s marked similarly with the rogues and gangs, sticky notes connected with strings to try and keep track of the ever changing movements of people and goods. The final one is relatively clearer than the other two, marked with some of his best sources of information and other points of interest.

“What’s ‘bridge after 2pm’?” Jason asks, pointing to a post it on top of the Sprang Bridge

“Good time to get a photograph,” Tim says, hands clenched in the pillow top of his window seat. “The water seems clearest then, and the sun is bright enough that it helps with the lighting.”

“Didn’t know you were such a photography buff,” Jason says, voice tight as he continues to take in the details of Tim’s maps.

“I’ve been taking pictures since I was a kid. It relaxes me,” Tim says, watching Jason look at everything but Tim. 

“I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about you,” Jason says softly enough that Tim barely catches his words.

“There’s a lot for both of us to learn,” Tim says, trying to draw Jason into a conversation, but Jason just keep looking around the apartment. 

“Red Hood’s on both those maps,” Jason says as he lightly touches the Pop! figurines Tim has scattered on top of a short bookcase that’s filled with movies and old school books, back turned towards Tim. 

“For a while, he had to be, after Black Mask,” Tim says, not moving even as Jason picks up a hand-painted fan, turning it to look at the design. 

“People always want to bring him up, like it was a loss or something,” Jason says, placing the fan back into its holder gently and moving on.

“Jason,” Tim says, but Jason just points to a small figurine on Tim's bookshelf. 

"What's that?" 

"A replica of a seventeenth dynasty Egyptian hippo. Jason--"

"Did you know hippos are more dangerous than sharks?" Jason cuts in, hands ghosting over the small figurine.

"Did you really come here just to give me animal trivia?" Tim can hear the strain in his voice as Jason keeps walking through Tim’s apartment.

"Yeah, I guess that's more Damian's thing. Nice set-up," Jason continues as he reaches Tim's desktop, the tower humming away.

"You don't have to sit or anything but," Tim tries again, but Jason just continues speaking as if Tim wasn't even there.

“So, what've you got?” Jason’s asks, still looking at Tim’s computer desk.

“What?” Tim asks, confused by the non-sequitur. 

“You pressed the button. You must have something for the Red Hood. I’ve been out of town for a few days, so I’m not sure what I need to catch up on.”

“Jason, I wanted to talk to you. I thought that would be the easiest way to contact you.”

“Well, if you don’t have anything for me,” Jason says, turning to head for the door. 

Tim bolts from his seat, reaching Jason before he can put his hand on the doorknob, grabbing his arm tightly.

“Please, just. Just stay and talk to me,” Tim’s voice wavers, and he’s not sure if it’s from worry of Jason leaving without them having a conversation, or annoyance that Jason is acting this way.

“I think we’ve said more than enough-”

“No, you said more than enough. And then you walked out and left me with Damian . For that alone I deserve a few minutes of your time, don’t you think?” Tim asks and gives Jason a moment to take a deep breath before pointing to the couch. “Sit with me?”

Jason doesn’t say anything, but moves away from the door, and Tim is confident enough to let him go and walk over to the couch. Jason sits on the end closest to the door, and Tim slips around him, settling far enough that there’s space between them, but close enough that if Jason tries to bolt, Tim can try and make a grab for him. 

“I think we both have a lot we need to tell each other,” Tim says, hands in his lap. Jason is hunched over in his seat, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped together. 

“Did you want to take off your jacket?” Tim asks, looking Jason over.

“Can you just get on with it?” Jason asks. His voice is flat, clinical, and it puts Tim on edge.

“Get on with it? Jace, I’m trying to have a conversation with you. Sorry if I can’t get it done in five minutes or less,” Tim snaps and he can see Jason’s hands clench before relaxing again.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“What’s there? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe why you walked into my office? How about how Jason Todd Wayne is sitting on my couch years after I read his obituary? Or maybe why your coping mechanism seems to be running off with your brother’s ex-girlfriend? We could start with the easiest if you want, which is why did you just leave me there ?” Tim’s voice finally wavers at the end of his rant, but Jason still doesn’t look up from his hands.

“You got hurt because of me,” he says quietly, but Tim just shakes his head.

“I got hurt because I didn’t double check my sources. I went to you blindly trusting Anna, who’s going to be fine, fyi. Anyone working with Red Hood, with any of the masks in the city, could get hurt. It’s a risk we’re willing to take,” Tim says, but Jason just shakes his head.

“I should have been watching you closer, been more prepared,” Jason says, but Tim huffs out a laugh.

“Any closer and I would have had to toss clothes with your trackers too, and then I would have only had Cass. You couldn’t have stopped it this time. We’ll just work to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“It can’t happen again!” Jason snaps, shooting up from his seat. Tim tries to reach for him, but Jason just starts pacing his small apartment.

“Don’t you get it? The longer you’re around us, the higher the chance you could get hurt. And that,” Jason chokes, but pushes on, “that can’t happen again.”

“It might,” Tim says, getting up as well, but not trying to stop Jason’s frenetic movements. “But, we’ll be prepared. I won’t turn off my phone again, unless I have to.”

“Oh, well hell, I guess that’s all fixed. You shouldn’t be getting hurt to begin with.”

“You do.” 

“I’ve been trained!”

“By Batman,” Tim says, and Jason’s pace slows, so Tim pushes forward. “By Damian’s family. By Bruce Wayne.” 

“How?” Jason stops, turning to look out Tim’s front window. 

“I met Dick when I was little, at the circus. He was pretty memorable.”

“Of course he was,” Jason mumbles.

“From there, the rest was pretty easy,” Tim shrugs uncomfortably.

“Oh, easy, of course it was. You figure out one of the best kept secrets of the multiverse and it was ‘pretty easy’.”

“...multiverse? No, no, off track,” Tim runs a hand through his hair, forcing himself to move on. “How did you meet Daiman’s family?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Jason says, but Tim just shakes his head.

“No, come on, I told you I knew who Batman was. You’ve got to come through.”

“Actually, Cass told us that,” Jason says, and Tim huffs out a breath.

“Fine,” Tim says, his anger leaking out. “Then let’s both stop using her as an intermediary and start telling the truth.”

“You’re gonna stand there and talk about the truth ?” Jason says, finally turning to Tim, anger burning in his eyes. “Real fucking rich coming from you.”

And Tim is just happy that Jason is finally looking at him. It’s not fair really. Tim had been taught from a very young age how to keep his emotions in check, how to not show strong emotions, and after his parents' deaths, he had clung to the lessons they had given him like a lifeline to his past life. But Jason may as well tattoo his feelings across his forehead for all the world to read. So while there’s anger coursing through Jason, from his clenched hands to his wide stance, there’s fear, and worry, and maybe, just maybe the exact emotion Tim feels every time Jason pulls him close, touches his hand, looks his way. 

“What do you want me to say, Jason? That I should have told the Red Hood I know just about every person who’s worn a bat across their chest? Should have told Jason Peters I thought I knew who he was? I thought I was protecting you!”

“Protecting you is my job ,” Jason snaps at Tim. “Shitty as I am at it.”

“Maybe we can protect each other,” Tim says, and Jason looks away, eyes trained on Tim’s floorboards.

“That’s not how this normally works.”

“Funny, because I don’t see any other way for it to work. Jace,” Tim says softly, waiting for Jason to look at him again. He doesn’t, but Tim tries to give him time to collect himself before gesturing to the couch again. 

“I don’t know if it’s supposed to work,” Jason says softly, sliding his hands back into his jacket. 

Tim’s whole chest seizes, and he feels like he’s been kicked in the gut, but he forces himself to speak.

“It’ll work if we both want it to.”

Tim sees Jason’s mouth tighten as he shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t be with someone who could get you hurt.”

“Do you plan to hurt me?” Tim asks, and he can hear his voice wavering, but he pushes through. 

Jason glances up quickly before turning back to his inspection of Tim’s floorboards, and shakes his head minutely.

“Then I get to have a say in this, too. If you don’t want to sit, then fine. But,” Tim has to stop and take a deep breath before he continues.

“But all I know is that I don’t want you to leave. Not like before.”

“I did that to protect you,” Jason says, and Tim feels his anger take over.

“You did it to protect yourself,” Tim spits, anger spilling out of him which finally makes Jason look up at him. “It was easier to leave me there and run off than deal with your feelings, just like everyone else. You want to play the lone ranger? Fine, Red Hood is officially not an associate of one Tim Drake,” Tim says, walking over to his window seat to grab the fob off the seat, throwing it at Jason, who fumbles the catch a little. “There, congrats. No longer will either one of us have to worry about me getting hurt thanks to the Red Hood not protecting me well enough. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Jason Todd for a few minutes about being a dick and not only leaving me in a hospital but apparently leaving the goddamn planet instead of having an adult conversation!”

“I didn’t--”

“You did!” Tim snaps, speaking over Jason. “Did you think I wasn’t watching, waiting for you to come back home? First, you’re off with Nightwing fighting something Red Hood would never have helped with before, and then Stephanie told me you were off with Starfire on some sort of space walk! Please, please, tell me how that wasn’t literally running away from having to talk to me?”

“You were hurt because of me!” Jason snaps, stepping back from Tim. “You were hurt, and the entire time you were unconscious all I could think about was if I wasn’t who I was, none of this would have happened. No Blüdhaven, no hospital. But this is who I am, all I know.”

“No us, you mean,” Tim says. 

Jason goes to speak but Tim cuts him off.

“No. No because if you weren’t who you were, you would have never walked into my office after Damian told you to, and you never would have cornered me after the movies with Steph or found me at the Bazaar, or anything else, because if you hadn’t been the Red Hood, hadn’t been you, you never would have spoken to me,” Tim is breathing heavy by the end, and Jason is paler than Tim’s ever seen him. Tim’s knees are shaking, and he locks them so he doesn’t fall over. 

“Damian didn’t,” Jason starts, but has to clear his throat before continuing. “Damian didn’t send me to spy on you.”

“Then why even walk in there? I had barely any interaction with the Red Hood before that, and then suddenly you’re everywhere.”

“Stephanie was talking about helping Damian out with checking out some insurance agent, and she said your name over the coms. And,” Jason sighs, stopping. 

“And,” Tim prompts, trying to steady himself.

“And I wanted to know,” Jason stops, but his jaw clenches before he continues. “I wanted to see what she was talking about. You were always so sure of yourself when you were speaking to me as Red Hood. Shit, the first time we met I held a gun at you, and you offered me the rest of your latte. It was peppermint; I could smell it even through my sensors. She was going on about how you were this sweet, shy guy, who had to have some ulterior motive, couldn’t be doing all of this out of the kindness of his own heart, and all I could think was…”

Tim wants to push, needs to push, but he can see from the way Jason is glancing around, heel tapping on his floorboards that if he pushes, there’s a very high chance he’s going to push Jason right out his front door.

“All I could think was, that can’t be my Tim. I had to know,” Jason is whispering at the end, and Tim’s whole body is tense with the desire to grab Jason and hold him close but knowing he needs to let Jason come to him.

“Your Tim,” Tim says quietly.

“Not that you were! You’re your own person and can act however you want around anyone. But,” Jason stops, and Tim shoves his hands through his hair.

“But what?”

“But I wanted to see what she did. It felt like she was talking about a completely different person. Someone who was only out there to help himself get what he wanted. And that just didn’t feel right.”

“You had no problem sitting there and accusing me of doing exactly that,” Tim reminds Jason, none too gently. “And then listen to me complain about you later on - oh my god. Oh my god you sat there and listened to me talk about Robin. About Robin two. About you, you absolute asshole!” Tim whines, wiping his hand down his face as Jason shrugs, embarrassed as well.

“To be fair, you offered those pieces of information up on your own, but I was incredibly flattered nonetheless. And I had to, just to make sure. It’s not like you were the only one up there telling secrets either,” Jason says, face closing off as he realizes what he’s saying.

“About Catherine, your mom,” Tim says and watches Jason slowly nod. “That helped, you know. In figuring out who you were.”

“Red Hood?”

“Jason Todd,” Tim says gently, and Jason just sighs. 

“There’s a lot. A lot that even I don’t have answers to. And what I do know about the time between - between the Joker and when I came to with the League - doesn’t make much sense anyway. But yeah, Jason Todd, in the flesh,” Jason shrugs, and Tim gives a watery laugh.

“Nice to meet you again,” Tim says, trying to lighten the mood, but falling flat.

“Again?” Jason asks, looking up in confusion before looking away again.

“When I was ten, Bruce dragged you to one of those charity balls Gotham loves so much, and you passed me some cake after my mother told me I had had enough sweets for the night. You winked,” Tim remembers, and can barely see the stocky pre-teen in a pressed formal suit in the tall, broad man in a down jacket and holey jeans standing in front of him. 

“I, uh, I don’t remember,” Jason says, staring at the ground again.

“I forgot I was drinking peppermint,” Tim offers, giving a watery laugh. Jason doesn’t look back up, but he doesn’t turn towards the door. Tim wraps his arms around his middle, holding himself together.

“Please,” Tim says as the silence stretches on, “don’t stand there and say that because of one time we just forget all the rest of this.”

“Do you think I want to?” Jason whispers.

“I think if you leave, you’re making a decision for both of us that we’ll regret. I know who you are Jason,” Tim says, and he can hear the plea in his voice.

“You don’t,” Jason says, shaking his head but Tim just talks over him.

“I do. I know that you like tea shops with chairs too small for you. That you’ll try just about anything, but you prefer savory to sweet. That you study before a date to a museum. That you get along with your family a lot more than you’re prepared to say out loud. That you,” and Tim has to stop because if he keeps going he won’t be able to stop. Won’t be able to take back what comes next for good or for ill. 

Tim wraps his arms around his middle, hugging himself, trying to keep steady as he tries to say what he’s feeling. His hands are gripping his upper arms so tightly he imagines he can feel bruises forming under his fingertips. But Jason is still looking away from him, and he can’t go on until Jason looks up. Until Jason looks him in the eye.

Jason glances quickly at Tim when the silence drags on, and then looks fully at Tim, finally taking his hands out of his pockets and reaching for Tim before stopping himself. 

There’s worry. And fear. And sadness and pain and hope and maybe just enough of that something else that Tim forces himself to continue.

“That you may love me just as much as I love you.”

Tim has barely finished before Jason takes two large steps forward and wraps Tim in his arms, tight enough that Tim can feel the zipper of his jacket cutting into the skin of his arms, still wrapped around his midsection.

Tim’s mind is buzzing, white noise taking over for a moment as he takes in what he’s said. As his breathing steadies, he can hear Jason whispering into his hair, still clinging to Tim. 

It’s his name, over and over and over again, whispered brokenly in Jason’s deep, husky voice. Tim can feel the heat of Jason’s breath over his ear, and he struggles to slide Jason back a step, the larger man not giving any ground at first.

Tim finally gets him to step away enough for Tim to unwind his arms and unzip Jason’s jacket, hands sliding inside to wrap around him and grip his back tightly. Jason catches on quickly and flings off his jacket, jostling Tim for a moment before Jason’s strong arms wrap back around Tim. Tim rests his cheek against Jason’s warm chest, can feel his heart hammering and breaths in Jason’s cologne deeply. 

“Jason,” Tim whispers, and Jason holds Tim tighter, finally quieting. “Please.”

“Anything, anything, anything,” Jason whispers brokenly into Tim’s hair.

Tim pushes away from Jason, slowly sliding his hands to rest on Jason’s waist. Jason takes a moment, but follows along, sliding his hands from around Tim’s back to rest on Tim’s neck, thumbs rubbing against Tim’s cheeks slowly. Jason’s eyes aren’t wet, not like how Tim’s feel, but they’re wide, staring at him like he’s never seen someone quite like Tim before. His hands are just barely trembling, like Tim’s would be if they weren’t tangled in Jason’s flannel.

Tim finally untangles a hand and reaches to pull off Jason’s hat, leaving his hair in disarray. Tim slides his hand down Jason’s cheek, and watches as he leans against Tim’s hand. He continues though, bringing his hand to slide down Jason’s chest, ghosting over his heart before returning to twist into the back of his shirt.

“Please just.”

“Just?” Jason whispers.

“Just. I can’t take it back, so if you don’t. If you can’t,” Tim can feel himself choking on the words, but when Jason opens his mouth to talk Tim has to shake his head to stop him. “If you can’t see this working. If you don’t want to at least try, then you can’t come back,” Tim says, and Tim can feel Jason’s breath hitch slightly before he can continue. “I can’t do this again. I don’t want to ever do this again.”

“And if I don’t go? If I didn’t want to?” Jason says, resting his forehead against Tim’s. 

“Then stay,” Tim whispers, tension finally, leaving his body, letting himself rest fully with Jason in this moment.

“There are a million worse people out there,” Jason starts again, but Tim cuts him off.

“And I’ve got a battalion of vigilantes ready to help me if something else goes wrong,” Tim says, closing his eyes. 

“And you’re willing to risk that? For this?”

“For you,” Tim corrects and feels Jason’s chest expand with a heavy breath. “Because I love you.”

“Tim,” Jason says, but Tim just shushes him, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

“You don’t have to say anything. This is enough,” Tim sighs, leaning just a bit more into Jason’s hands, still caressing his face. 

“I’m not a good person,” Jason says, but Tim pulls away to force Jason to look him in the eye.

“Neither am I.”

“No,” Jason says, hands stopping their movements, but not leaving Tim. “I’ve killed people. I liked it, justified it as getting rid of worse people, but I liked it. I came back from the dead, got a second chance to do the right thing, and I spent the first few years killing anyone that got in my way. That almost included Stephanie and Dick.”

“So the madness thing, that’s real?” Tim asks, mind picking up speed, the thick warmth from Jason slowly receding as he goes through what he had read before Oracle had cut him off.

“How deep did you go? Tim, I hurt people. For a living,” Jason says, hands tightening slightly on Tim’s cheeks, drawing him back to the present.

“You also save them. And you haven’t killed anyone in a long time. Not even those guys at the warehouse. Robin would have stopped you.”

“He did. But I wanted to,” Jason says, looking away from Tim. Tim doesn’t want to lose this moment, doesn’t want Jason falling back, falling away from him.

“But you didn’t. You don’t think there weren’t dozens of times when I was in the group homes I wanted to hurt the people that treated me and the other kids like shit? That I didn’t go out of my way to hurt Damian in the most public and visceral way I could think of, by trying to get all of Gotham against him? You wanted to, but you didn’t. We’re more than our gut reactions and base desires.”

“You want to be with someone who’s gut reaction is to shoot to kill?”

“I want to be with someone who’s gut reaction is to help people, even when there’s no easy way. I want to be with someone who seen how nasty and cruel I can be and still sees something that makes them come back . I’m not an easy person either, Jason.”

“And that’s enough for you? That the both of us are assholes? That we’re both difficult and had shitty childhoods that made us shitty adults with personality problems therapists could write volumes on?” Jason says, shaking his head, eyes closed.

“No, it’s not enough,” Tim says, waiting for Jason to turn back towards him, eyes opening to take in what Tim is saying. “But we both know what it’s like to make hard decisions where nothing seems like the right answer. How scary it is out there and how nice it is to know there’s someone waiting on your call because they want to hear from you, not because they need something from you. So no, Jason, it’s not enough,” Tim says, watching Jason take in every word, his hands still warm on Tim’s face, cupping it gently.

“But it’s a really good start.”

“How did we even end up here?” Jason asks so softly Tim can barely hear him.

“You wanted to insure your bike,” Tim smiles, “which we never actually got to do. I can grab my laptop, get that sorted. You want the Pick 4 or,” Tim says, moving a hand to point behind him, trying to look over his shoulder at his work bag. 

Jason turns him back to face him, hands sliding to the back of Tim’s neck to draw him closer. 

When their lips meet, it’s with Tim still smiling slightly, hand still pointing behind him, the other pulling on Jason’s shirt to draw him even closer. Jason takes the hint and slides an arm to wrap around Tim’s waist, pulling him flush against Jason’s body. 

Tim is on fire, the heat in his chest spreading through his whole body, heels just barely on the ground. He finally moves his hand from pointing to rest gently in Jason’s hair, tilting his head to a lower angle, making Jason gasp and pull away, foreheads still touching, breathing unsteadily. 

“Tim,” Jason breaths out, hand still wrapped tight around Tim’s waist. He doesn’t finish, just runs his nose down Tim’s cheek until he meets Tim’s neck, burying his face there. He’s hunched, maybe trying to make himself smaller, to encase Tim fully, or just hold him so close Tim will decide to never let go either. Tim can feel Jason’s heart thrumming, and he imagines their hearts are beating in time with each other.

“I know, I know,” Tim says, running his hand through Jason’s hair. 

“I can’t.”

“I got some really good advice from a really big asshole,” Tim murmurers in Jason’s ear, making Jason snort against Tim’s neck.

“You say it or you don’t. The world isn’t going to end. We’ve got time.”

“How much?” Jason asks, his hushed question making Tim pull away so he can hold Jason’s face in his hands this time.

As Tim goes to answer, they hear a roar from the streets, the crack of fireworks, and the off-key singing echoing through the neighborhood. Tim draws Jason close again, and this time when they kiss, it’s longer, lingering, with Tim’s hands cupping Jason’s cheeks, while Jason’s hands make slow tracks up and down Tim’s back. Tim pulls back slightly, though Jason doesn’t let him go far, lips sliding one more time against Tim’s, as if he’s unwilling to let Tim move too far away now that he has him. Tim’s joy is overwhelming, as he finally pulls himself just far enough away to watch Jason’s eyes open slowly, watch the lights from the fireworks outside play across his face.

“As long as we want.”

Their next kiss is longer still, just like the next and the next.