Chapter Text
“Thought’s you’re thinkin’ make you feel like you’re dead.
But you can grow a garden out the top of your head.”
Graveclothes
By Birdtalker
On nights like these the air in Gotham felt the same as the roof gravel that dragged under Tim’s boots; Coarse, dry, made too hot by the summer day to be comfortable even after the dark chased the sun below the horizon. He had replaced his cowl with a domino mask tonight, and now, several hours into patrol it wasn’t any cooler than it had been at three in the afternoon, and his hair was clinging to the back of his neck with sweat, his fingers occasionally ghosting his wrist in a vain search for a hair tie.
“O, it’s quiet from West Side to Red Hook. Should I broaden my route back?”
“You can take Fort Clinton through Colgate Heights. BG Snagged Columbia after SCI. Slow night for everyone,” There was a click, followed by an increased buzzing noise, and Tim could almost see Barbara adjusting her many fans by the glow of her screens. “The heat may make some people crazy, but I guess it get’s hot enough to keep even the worst in every once in a while. Just give it a once over and pack it in for the night. If anything pops up, I’ll notify you.”
“Understood.”
Muting his end on the comm, Tim took a measured drink from the canteen he had removed from the supply cash at this location. The sudden thump of boots landing behind him had the water spilling to the ground, Tim’s hand reaching automatically to grip his bo staff.
“Hey Replacement.”
The nick name alone was recognizable enough to Tim, with or without the mechanical reverberation of the voice modulator. He immediately shifted his stance to the defensive, his weapon brandished aloft, his other hand returning his comm online.
The Red Hood was firmly planted before him, leather jacket-less in the month's heat wave, gloved hands held high and somewhat wide, in an attempt to appear as non-threating as he can make his naturally intimidating form. “I’m not here to hurt ya. I just wanted to talk.”
“Sure,” Tim shrugged, feigning belief. “And I’m B’s favorite child.”
“I’m serious. See, look,” he paused, shifting to look at his right hand before moving it slowly toward his head. His gloved fingers pressed into a hidden catch near the side of his neck, and the helmet let out a quiet hiss before he removed it completely.
Jason held onto to it awkwardly before tucking it into the slight dip between his hip and stomach, while the fingers of his free hand absentmindedly brushed the white fringe of hair away from his forehead. His handsome face was maskless and bore no signs of flushing or moisture, and Tim’s mind wandered briefly to the mechanics of the helmet, and if what cooling system Jason used in it could be adapted for his own suit and cowl.
“Turn off the comm so we can talk,” Jason instructed.
“No.”
“Look, you may not mind being on the Bat-Family Radar every second of your life, but I’m not interested in them dropping eaves on mine. So, tell Barbs you’ll get back to her.”
Tim eyed Jason carefully, looking for any indication that it was a trick. “O, I’m going offline, if I don’t check back in exactly fifteen minutes, I need you to send back up to my location.”
“Is that Hood?”
“Yes.”
“Red-“
“It’s a non-hostile,” Tim promised, not taking his eyes of Jason. “For now. Fifteen minutes. That’s all.”
The typing from her end sounded suddenly aggressive, her voice tight as she gave in to his request. “My timer has already started.”
Tim turned the comm off completely but did not loosen the grip on his staff.
“Paranoid Replacement,” Jason scoffed unkindly.
Tim smiled, giving a practiced tilt of his head. “I think of it as rightfully cautious.”
“You should be his favorite, even if you aren’t,” Jason frowned. “You’re just like him.”
“I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to sweet talk me.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Jason snarled.
“And this isn’t my usual patrol route,” Tim snapped back, causing Jason to flinch minutely at his sudden lack of composure. Tim swallowed, letting his voice return to its prior level cadence. “How long have you been in town?”
“A few weeks,” he shrugged. “Try as I might I just can’t keep out of her for good. Gotham is my drug of choice and I keep falling off the wagon.”
“I’m sure Arsenal just loves that metaphor.”
Jason bristled immediately, his arm tightening around his helmet, “He’s clean. He’s been clean-“
“I know,” Tim interrupted softly, regretting the comment the moment it passed his lips. “And I know you didn’t come here to talk about him. So, what did you want?”
Wordlessly Jason set his helmet down and then stared pointedly at Tim. His mouth pinched into a frown and even his eyebrows appeared slightly drawn. Tim could only stare back into the blue-green gaze, watching from behind his whited lenses, only to realize that Jason’s eyes seemed less green then they had when he saw him last.
A tense beat passed before Tim released a near invisible sigh, collapsing the staff down and tucking it away.
“I’ve been…seeing somebody.”
Tim felt his spine lock up before he could even blink. “Congratulations?”
His skin went pink around his neck and ears, the implication of his own words dawning on him too late. “No! Not like-I’ve gotten some help. I’m still getting help, and I’m not better, I mean I am better, but I’m working through it, this whole process…and-“
“You’re making amends.”
“Shut up,” Jason growled, blushing harder. “It’s not amends, this isn’t a twelve-step program. I’m just-“
“Seeking me out,” Tim supplied, shifting his weight between his feet, “because your therapist-“
“I’m just trying to fucking apologize, can you shut up and let me?!”
Immediately rushed with guilt, Tim stilled; as though water had been dumped over his head, freezing the breath in his lungs. His thought process stuttered to a halt for a full five seconds, before it decided to reboot. Tim reached up, carefully releasing the domino and slipping it into his belt. If this is what Jason came here to do, Tim was going to make him face it fully.
Now, Jason had seen pictures of Tim from his civilian life. He remembers vaguely the little boy of Tim at a Wayne event or two, when Bruce had first adopted him, and he was forced to mingle in that ridiculous child sized tuxedo. Both attempts Jason had made a few years prior on Tim’s life when he had first returned, it had just been the New Robin he was trying to get. He hadn’t really cared who was under the mask. He still doesn’t really care. But the older pictures of tween Tim don’t really look like this real-life teenage Tim.
He isn’t dashing like Dick always managed to appear, and he doesn’t possess the same rugged good looks that Bruce or even Jason himself had been given, but he was prettier than any of them could have ever hoped to be. He’s grown into his nose and cheek bones, and his eyes are a color blue that hurts. Considering he still has a few years until he stops growing, it’s apparent he might end up the cover of those magazines with the “Gotham’s Best-Looking Bachelor” articles that Bruce had always found himself in.
“I’ll be quiet.”
“Jesus,” Jason huffed, his hands tucking themselves away into his pockets. “You don’t have to look at me like that, just…I owe you an apology. I was messed up, when I came back, I was really messed up. And I don’t think anything could have changed that. But I was angry with B, and I chose to take that out on you.” Jason sucked in a sharp breath, stealing his nerves. “And I’m sorry I did that.”
He maintained eye contact with Tim as he had spoken, never wavering as much as his body indicated that he wanted to.
“I forgive you.”
“You-what?”
“I forgive you,” Tim repeated. “I accept your apology.”
“You accept my apology,” Jason parroted back, his voice edging with disgust. “Replacement, I tried to kill you. More than once.”
“And now you’ve apologized,” Tim shrugged. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Me to say it was okay?”
“No,” Jason said, stomping closer. “That’s not what I want. It’s not okay! So, don’t stand there and pretend it’s okay. Don’t give me some fake acceptance. I’m not here to get something from you, I’m just here to tell you that I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand. You’re allowed to present an apology, but I’m not allowed to accept it?”
“I don’t want you to forgive me for something that’s impossible to forgive. I don’t want any phony BS, I’m not Bruce. He might buy into that, but I don’t.”
Tim’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, frowning at the mention of Bruce. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Jason grunted, retreating towards his helmet. “This was obviously a mistake.”
Tim followed him, his footsteps hurried and light in contrast to Jason’s trampling. “You think I’ve fake forgiven him for something?”
“It was stupid to think you would understand,” Jason rounded on him sharply, his finger pointed accusingly out, almost jamming into his sternum. “You’re too much like him.”
“What don’t I understand?”
“The Joker!” Jason cried, his hands floundering as if he needed to push Tim away or shake him but couldn’t bring himself to touch him. “You…I found out- and I thought maybe…”
Tim bit into his lower lip, nodding slightly in understanding. “You found out about Junior.”
“How can you just pretend to be okay with that?” Jason asked, his voice strained and near breaking. “And after everything that happened to me, B let that happen to you and then Barbie and you forgive him? You can’t forgive things like that. ”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand,” Tim mumbled. “I didn’t fake forgive him. I do forgive him. If anyone has been given false forgiveness, it’s me. B is the one who has pretended to forgive me.”
“How could you owe anyone, let alone B, an apology for that?”
“I shot him,” Time shrugged, both accepting and shamed. “I shot the Joker, and medically he was dead for several minutes before they managed to revive him. And to B, to his code, that makes me a killer like anyone else.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong! You had been-you were tortured. Brainwashed. B is only alive because of what you managed to resist, and you’re the one who apologized to him? That is beyond anything I could even-Jesus, what is the matter with you Bats.”
“I’m sorry-“
“Don’t fucking apologize to me,” Jason spat, starting to pace a short distant across the roof. He took out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one aggressively between clenched teeth, sending Tim a repulsed glare. “You’re the one who should be in therapy.”
“I am. I’ve been in therapy since I was a kid.”
“Then you should be better adjusted than this.”
“You’re probably right,” Tim admitted, looking towards the purpling skyline. “Can I ask…what did your therapist say, to make you feel the need to come here?”
Jason snorted, the smoke coiling around him like the insistent fog that clung to Gotham’s Harbors. “Some flowery metaphor about how I’m still wearing my grave clothes. Facing trauma, letting go. Unburdening oneself from the past so a healthier future can unfold. You know, the usual dialogue.”
“Well I guess it worked,” Tim gave a hesitant twitch of his lips, the barest hint of smile felt like the bravest thing he had done in months. “Thank you, for the apology. I neither accept not deny it, but…it is nice to have gotten it. Thank you.”
“Alright,” Jason warned, crushing the remainder of his smoke under his heel, “don’t go getting any funny ideas, okay kid. This does not make us friends. I still don’t like you, and I’m not about join your team or help you out or give you any favors. And we aren’t gonna bond over clown fear or something stupid like that.”
“I’m not afraid of clowns,” Tim said, looking Jason up and down, before focusing his eyes on the holstered weapons strapped to his legs. “I am afraid of guns though.”
“You’re in the wrong line of work.”
“My therapist said I should face my fears.”
“Yeah, I’ve a feeling they didn’t mean it like this.”
“No. She suggested a shooting range.”
Jason released a quick bark of laughter. “I bet B loved that.”
“He doesn’t know,” Tim told him, watching Jason’s face shift to disbelief. “What? I don’t tell him everything.”
“Are you going to tell him about this?”
“You want to be my dirty little secret?”
“Shove off,” Jason hissed, the pink returning to his ears. “You’re the worst, Replacement. And we’re about out of time.” Jason picked up his helmet, pushing his hair back. “We good?”
“Yes. We’re…good.”
“If I see you in my part of town I’ll-“ Jason stopped, his fingers falling away from the gun he had been about to pat. “I’ll kick your ass.”
“Sounds fair.”
Jason gave him one final look, nodding curtly before replacing the helmet and taking a running bound to the building behind them. Tim watched him until he disappeared across the roof tops, his fingers tracing the place where the near invisible scar on his throat resided under the protective collar of his suit.