Chapter Text
*0*
“He’s…not distressed, but he is alarmed. Does that make sense?”
“Do the Robins ever make sense?”
“This is serious, Superboy!”
The clone raised his hands in surrender; “Yeah, but I didn’t hear that guy come in! And now we’re on sudden lockdown and Robin is down in the hall with some psycho who: A) found us, B) hacked into the mountain, C) entered the mountain without being found out, D) issued a full scale lockdown including Super-and-M’gann-tight steel doors, E) and is now alone with our teammate!”
Jaime facepalmed out of frustration and Megan shut her eyes, reaching out again to try and contact their comrade.
The night started out normal enough, with the entire team sans Robin 3.0 hanging out in the gathering room and kitchen area of the mountain cave when an alarm had sounded and lockdown was initiated. The lights shut off and emergency red ones came on, bathing everyone in an eerie glow, and ginormous, impenetrable doors came clanging down on every single doorway—even the vents became laced with lasers! The doors and lasers were there for multiple reasons, mostly for the safety of the team if someone were to break in, but also in case one of them went berserk and needed to be contained; it had been designed by Batman himself, meaning it literally was impenetrable.
Megan sighed and relaxed her hold on Robin’s mind. “No, he’s still blocking me for the majority, like always, but he seems calm. He is not distressed or harmed… But he is…bothered…”
Superboy took a step forward. “And the other one? The guy who broke in?”
The Martian shook her head. “No, he’s really good. I’d be scared to say it, but maybe better than Batman even…”
“Don’t let Nightwing or Robin hear you saying that, Miss M.” Cassie absently ran a hand through her hair and glanced around the room; no doubt trying to find a way out, even though there was none.
“Megan, is Robin gonna be ok?”
The green girl knelt before the boy. “Of course, Garf. He’s Robin; right, Superboy?”
Connor scratched the back of his head. “Uhh, yeah, yeah, Robin’ll be fine.”
“Can you hear anything, Connor?”
He tried to focus his hearing, but the best he could get was a grunt and some obscure yelling, maybe a quiet voice and something hitting skin; but he couldn’t be sure, the doors were doing a good job of blocking his powers. “No, not really.”
“Maybe I can try flying out the vents again!”
“You got zapped last time, Bumblebee; the lasers move too fast. Let’s not do that again.”
“Wish Nightwing were here…”
All heads swiveled to Bart, who had stayed conspicuously quiet since the initial lockdown.
“Wow, he speaks!”
“Be nice, Garfield,” Megan chastised softly.
“We all wish,” La’gaan spoke. “That Nightwing were here. But he is not. Should we not try escape once more? Mayhaps we can get out again. Our teammate is in possible danger and needs our assistance.”
Everyone nodded and Connor and Cassie took a stance in front of the door, readying to punch their way through it if possible. Megan tried to reach out to Robin again, and Bumblebee examined the vent again. Nope, the lasers definitely moved too fast for her; maybe there was a pattern?
With a mighty roar, Wondergirl and Superboy threw their fists to the door—only to pull up short when it slid open with a soft hiss to reveal a battered, bleeding boywonder. He had been in civvies and his glasses were cracked and falling apart on his face, jeans ripped, and hoody stained with blood. He was clutching his ribs and his nose was bleeding, a bruise forming over his forehead.
“Robin!” was the collective shriek and he was soon surrounded by his teammates. They hadn’t even noticed the red-hued lights switching to normal and the other lockdown initiatives shutting off.
“Are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“Come on, that looks bad!”
“Someone contact Nightwing!”
“No!”
They all stopped speaking at that, halted and nearly took a step back. It was said so vehemently, with so much spite.
“No one contacts anyone; am I clear?”
“But,” began Megan worriedly. “Robin…”
Even with his battered shades, Megan could tell his sharp gaze was on her. It was piercing.
“No one contacts anyone.” He turned swiftly but only Connor caught his wince. “Now, I need to get patched up before I can fully reset the system.”
Cassie hurriedly stepped forward to follow.
“Bart!”
At Robin’s bark, Bart stopped in his presumed sneaky retreat.
“You’re coming with me.”
There was no use arguing with a tone like that, so after Cassie checked his ribs, administered some pain meds, and bandaged his bleeding wounds, Bart was left to squirm under Robin’s heavy gaze. Cassie had been dismissed, telling Robin to rest at least an hour for the meds to get to work before leaving the medbay.
“Do you know?”
Well, guess it was time to face the music. A sharp nod; but he wouldn’t lift his eyes from the ground. It was honestly heartbreaking and he felt guilty… Because it was, after all, his fault.
“How?”
“How do I know or how is he…?”
Bart could practically feel the glare harden.
“Both.”
“I know because of the files you’re planning on starting; and the ones Batman has.” Bart shrugged, kicked at the white tile floor; he knew that was why Robin was so touchy right now. That he suspected Batman—maybe even Nightwing—knew and hadn’t told him. “The files are practically history books now—err, from the time I come from.”
“So you knew? Coming here would make…this…happen?”
The small boy squinted. “Ehh, yes and no.” Robin frowned so Bart clarified. “The files said it was a flicker in the space time continuum, not that whoever caused it would be…staying…”
The other boy nodded sharply. “And the second part, the time continuum was flexed?”
Bart nodded. “I messed up the time continuum, big time; when I came here, it made things…funky…”
There was silence after that. Robin sat staring at the wall and Bart shifted from foot to foot; he needed to go for a run or snack on something. This was stressful.
“Did he really…crawl, claw, from…his…?”
Bart swallowed thickly; “yeah…”
Robin’s jaw clicked and Bart turned to take his leave; he was stopped.
“Is there a chance of making this right?”
The speedster chewed on his cheek; he couldn’t tell much, spoilers. He’d probably already said too much. “What you said in the cave?”
The boy with the sunglasses looked startled. “How…?”
“All you said was sorry; you didn’t make excuses. You just…you’re different…to him… You don’t…expect much…from him… You don’t have expectations. Do you?”
A shake of his head.
“It really sticks with him.”
He took his leave with that, leaving the bird to conspire within himself.
It wasn’t fair.
*1*
It just kind of happened. Well, that was a lie if Tim had ever told one…which he did…a lot, actually, now that he thought of it… I’m fine; my aim was off; sorry; I honestly didn’t mean that; I’m alright; yes, I slept; that’s only my first cup of coffee… Yeah, he lied a lot.
So, no, this was not an accident or a spur of the moment thing.
Jason hadn’t really been better, but somehow he stayed away from Tim and if they did run into each other subtle niceties were exchanged; it was…pleasant, precarious, but not falling like the relationship with Bruce and Dick was. So Tim counted it as a win.
Seeing as how Jason had already hacked into the Mountain once, he could definitely do it again. And he did. Repeatedly; not too often, but sometimes. Just to mess with the team or to pop in for a sudden sparring match with Tim. Tim didn’t mind, as long as he only walked away with a bruise or two and not cracked ribs like the first time.
Bart’s words stuck with Tim and he tried; he really did. Because if Jason had been given a second chance, albeit cruelly, he deserved a happier story this time around.
So walking into his room at Mount Justice at four in the morning from a late mission to find Red Hood—hoodless—collapsed and bleeding in his desk chair was a minor shock; it just kind of happened.
“Jason…!”
The older boy barely moved, merrily flinched a little and moaned. Tim dropped his cape at the doorway and hurried to Jason’s side; he had a hole in his chest and had been grazed a couple times.
“How did you get here? Bleeding this much! How could you even move?”
“Shuddap…Replacement… Just sew me up…sen’ me on mah way…”
“Not this bad, I’m not.” He stalked for the door. “Stay. Here. Don’t go. Anywhere. I’ll be back.”
A quick, stealth trip to the medbay allowed Tim to get the supplies he needed; the team didn’t know of Jason’s visits, except the ones where Jason led them all around the Mountain for the hell of it. The sparring dates were a secret, so Tim decided a bleeding Red Hood in his room should be a secret too. He gathered some medication to numb the pain, a sedative (just to be safe), needle and thread, and tweezers as well as disinfectant and gauze. With his supplies in hand, he rushed back to his room.
Jason hadn’t moved and Tim dumped the things in his hands on the desk. He turned to Jason.
“Gotta get the jacket off, Jay.”
“Don’t fuckin’ call me…’ay.” His hand moved in his lap and that’s when Tim noticed the gun in his hand. “I’ll shoot ya…”
But he was calm; Jason wouldn’t shoot him. He hadn’t yet. “No you won’t. Come on, I need the jacket and Kevlar off, Jason. Please.”
He’s not sure how the older one kept silent throughout the removal of clothing; the body armor was the worst. The blood had begun to clot, making the thick Kevlar stick to Jason’s skin. But he stayed quiet the whole time, teeth grit tight and eyes shut even tighter. Once the jacket and armor was removed, he slumped in the chair completely exhausted by the procedure and Tim didn’t blame him.
Of course, somewhere in Tim’s mind he knew Jason would have scars from his life. He knew the boy had to, with what he endured. He was not expecting to see the ghastly scar of a mortician’s knife, however, and he felt like he would hurl.
“Jason…”
“Sew…me…up…” His eyes were tight and voice was raspy.
Tim tore himself from the horrifying image and got to work; he dug the bullet out from the chest wound after administering a numbing agent through syringe. Jason had only tensed and Tim remembered a bit too late that the late Robin was trypanophobic—he hated injections and needles. But it was too late, the deed was done, and it was the most effective way of numbing the area. Tim apologized swiftly, not lying one bit for his mistake. Jason didn’t respond.
There was no response from the not-dead boy for the rest of the night, so Tim worked quietly. He sewed the wound after digging the bullet out, tapped gauze to it, and cleaned up the abrasions from grazed bullets all in silence. When he was done, the clock on his bedside table read 5:12, his eyes were stinging, and his hands were shaking. Every time he brushed against the scars across Jason’s chest, he felt bile rise. Jason hadn’t even flinched, but Tim had to wonder if that had anything to do with blood loss and not lack of empathy towards his own autopsy…
Tim stood abruptly, shaking that thought away as quickly as the vomit was once more climbing his throat. No one should ever have to think about their own autopsy, let alone bear the scars; a shake of the head and he reached out for the other boy. He maneuvered a deadweight—no, not deadweight, just heavy—a heavy Jason to his bed with little grumbling and administered the sedative, sadly again with a needle; Tim wouldn’t be surprised if it hadn’t registered with Jason. He was pretty out of it from the blood loss, and it felt wrong to do something to Jay without him being aware, but it would offer him a deep, painless sleep that he needed. Tim turned to clean his workspace quickly and froze at the computer chair; it was covered in red. Good god, who knew how long he had been sitting in Tim’s darkened room for!
He felt bile rise once more and barely made it to the wastebin in the corner before it all came up; he would not be resting easy for a while…
*2*
The second time was just pathetic. One minute they’re all enjoying some of Megan’s better batch of cookies and the next Jason comes in—hoodless again, but with the mask in place—crying out and holding his hand close.
“I’m bleeding!”
Robin had the sudden urge to facepalm; or move halfway across the globe, change his name to Felipe Kim Wong, and never speak to anyone ever again.
“You are barely bleeding, Hood.”
“Robin!”
He tried to ignore his team in the background and continued speaking. “It’s a papercut, RH.”
An appendage smelling of motorcycle oil and metal was suddenly thrust under his nose, making him go crosseyed. “Look at it! It bleeds!”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Robin, what is going on?”
Garfield and Bart were snickering and Karen hit the speedster lightly on the arm while Connor continued to glare. Batgirl, who had been checking in on the team before Hood’s appearance, was stuck between grinning, looking extremely pained, and wondering if Hood was a threat.
“I had three beers, so not enough to get drunk on.”
“Then you’ve been breathing the smog of Gotham too long.”
“It’s an owie, fix it!”
His communicator chirped from his pants pocket and Tim fished it out quickly; he hit accept. “Nightwing, is something going on?”
“Is that Big Wing!”
“Is that Red Hood?”
Tim could hear the warning bells in Dick’s head. “He’s acting weird.”
“I miss you, Big Wing!”
And Dick looked less worried and more humored, if a little startled at the off-screen declaration. “There’s something going on over here; something’s in the water, we think. It’s making everyone act, uhh, younger? More childish. Watch Hood and don’t drink Gotham water.”
“I’m in Rhode Island, Wing.”
“Well, still, don’t drink Gotham water. Watch Hood; I’ll come collect him when this is over.”
Collect sounded more like arrest, possibly even lock in Arkham. Tim felt icky. “Yup, see you later.” Not gonna happen. “Come on, Hood, let’s fix up your owie.”
“Am I gonna die?”
“No, come on.” Tim steered the larger boy down the hall, leaving a bewildered group of superheroes behind. He would have some explaining to do when this was over.
By the time Tim got the antidote in Jason, he had forced Tim to read him Three Bears and Goldilocks, as well as watch Toy Story and make him pancakes. Tim felt like an older brother for once. When the antidote took effect, Hood spoke colorfully about what would happen if anyone spoke of what happened. (He should’ve been more thorough because Barbara had pictures of him cuddles against an awkward and frustrated looking Tim and a three minute video of him crying at the friendship between Buzz and Woody.)
When Nightwing arrived to take Jason away, he was nowhere to be found and Tim pretended he had no idea why the backdoor of the mountain had been left wide open.
*3*
It was not funny this time; it was not humorous or even just a thing that happened. It was terrifying. It was horrifying. It was like Jason had dunked himself in red dye, ran into a door three times, and then decided to take a plunge from a two story building.
The zeta tubes announced his arrival, which was abnormal to begin with.
Unknown 300: R-2
Upon normal circumstances, Jason would slip in from the outside of the Mountain through the vents or an outside entrance; he rarely used zeta tubes and Tim could only guess it was because they were part of the Justice League system. But that hadn’t happened; he’d taken the front door, announcing his arrival.
At first, Tim wasn’t that worried; he knew what R-2 stood for in the zeta codes, the tubes having checked Jason’s DNA and matched it to the second Robin. But, of course, the machinery couldn’t comprehend that a dead superhero was alive, so he was also considered Unknown. He calmly informed his team it was Red Hood, probably for a visit and not a prank. Tim didn’t move from the counter where he sat typing on his laptop, merrily waiting for Jason to enter.
Except he didn’t; there was the sound of heavy shuffling, steel toed boots clanking against the floor, and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Tim was up shortly; everyone was accounted for in the gathering room. Bart and Garfield were marathoning TV shows with Megan; Connor, La’Gaan, Cassie, and Karen were playing foosball in the corner. Everyone was there. And Tim would recognize those steel toed boots anywhere; for Jason to not come seek him out immediately, it was strange.
So he hurried to the entrance room where the zeta tubes were located. He wished he had moved faster, because there was Jason.
He was curled on the floor right before the zeta tubes, twisted on his side with his arms curled around and pinned beneath himself awkwardly. His shoulders were hunched beneath his jacket, his helmet was cracked, and he was lying in a pool of blood.
Tim was frozen for a full minute before the scene registered; when it did, he moved faster than he ever had. He was running for the limp form, crying out a high pitched “JASON!”, secret identities be damned. He slid to his knees at Jason’s back and gripped Jason’s shoulders; no reaction from the body, not even a tension of muscles or a groan.
“Jason?” Tim swallowed the urge to shake the redhead. “Jason, please.”
There was no response and Robin called out. “Megan, help me.” His voice was hoarse, croacking; there was so much blood, his palms were slick with it. “Megan! MEGAN!”
The Martian was there, the whole team was there having come running at his first shriek, and he hadn’t even noticed; she came to kneel by his side and her face was horrorstruck. He decided to worry about his lack of sensing their arrival later because right now all that mattered was Jason.
“See if you can link up with him.” As he spoke, he searched for a pulse, eyes roving over the slashes in the leather jacket that he could see. He still hadn’t turned his estranged brother over yet, not until he knew what condition Jason was in. “Megan!”
“I know, I know, I’m working on it, please, Robin…” She was shaken and it was hard for her to focus with all these sudden developments.
“Connor, come here; Connor!”
He wasn’t moving fast enough for Tim so he picked up the pace. “What is it?”
“Can you hear his heartbeat? I can’t find a pulse, shit, there’s so much blood…”
Bart and Garfield gasped, turned to each other—“Robin cussed!”
“Come on, La’Gaan, Karen; let’s go get medbay ready. Bart, Garf, go back to the living room.”
Cassie and her entourage hurried to prep a bed for the antihero.
“Robin, I…there’s a beat, but it’s faint. He’s lost a lot of blood…”
“Mmngg…”
“Ahh, he’s waking up!”
Tim leaned over the broad shoulders. “Jason, please…”
“Hey…” He coughed harshly; Tim removed the helmet to reveal a maskless Red Hood. Flecks of red were splattered against the pale lips and an eye was swollen shut. The eye that wasn’t swollen rolled to gaze glossily at Robin. “’placement…”
It was the first time Tim had seen Jason’s eyes in person; they were a light green with blue interspersed. A collage of beauty and mystery and sadness. “Who did this?”
The boy coughed again and shied away from Megan and Connor’s hands with a sharp inhale of pain; they immediately stopped trying to assess his injuries, backing off three steps. “J’ker…”
“Shit…” Tim slipped a hand under his brother’s abdomen, digging around as gently as possible. He left his free hand gripping Jason’s shoulder, an anchor for both of them. Two ribs were cracked, his arm was shattered, his jaw was bruised, possible internal bleeding, so many injuries that Tim felt his head spin sickeningly. “Jay, I need to move you; Megan, go get a sedative.”
“No sed’tives!” The not-dead boy was glaring. “No, no ne’dles, no shleep. No…” His eyes shut and the rest of his words turned to moans.
“Megan, a sedative.” Tim could only curl around the downed bird in hopes of sheltering him from the world. “I’m not leaving you, Jason; I’m right here… I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
He never felt the prick of the needle, and he didn’t fight the darkness of sleep that chased the pain away.
When he awoke next, it was to a phantom pain at his back of a bomb blowing and the echoing laughter of a psychotic clown. (Maybe screams too, but he couldn’t be sure if they were in his nightmares or reality). Tim was there, in a change of jeans and shirt, hands scrubbed red and sunglasses discarded on the bedside table. He was still rubbing at his hands but he was watching Jason with wide eyes.
Jason shut his eyes and groaned, whether from annoyance or pain he, again, couldn’t be sure. “Ba’ybird.”
“Gonna make the hurt guy do all talkin’; rude.” His words were slurred but not from bloodloss, thank goodness. Sedative. “Drugged me, babybird; after I said not to.”
Still nothing was said, but he felt the covers get tucked in tighter.
“Hmm…”
The door hissed open and feet slapped against the tiled floor; Jason heard Tim scramble for his sunglasses and shove them on his face.
“Get some rest, Robin.” That was the little green boy, wasn’t it? “It’s okay, I’ll sit with him. I don’t want you tiring yourself out. Go on.”
“…I’m fine…”
Jason needed to open his eyes because babybird was not fine; his voice was tight and clipped and hollow. So he forced his tired eyelids open and regarded the scene from his reclined position. Garfield stood at Tim’s side, shifting gazes from Tim to Jason to Tim to the floor to Tim to Jason to the floor and rinse and repeat.
“Go to bed.”
Garfield didn’t move. “Megan is upset; she’s crying. Says he’s the second Robin; they won’t explain anything to us.”
“Go to bed, Garfield. Now.” Robin was glaring from behind his shades as he turned to regard the boy. “That is an order.”
So the boy went to shuffle out; he paused at the door and turned around to stare at Jason. “You must be really special, mister; you made Robin curse. He’s never done that before.” And then he was gone.
Tim stood to check the IV drip (not exactly a needle but a needle and god did Jason hate needles, hate them with a burning passion of a thousand suns and he just wanted to rip it out and run away, maybe to Mexico or Nigeria or—), but he still refused to speak to the boy in the bed.
“What’d I do?”
He froze; his shoulders relaxed some and he stared straight at Jason after slipping the glasses off his face. “You did nothing, Jase. Go back to sleep; I won’t tell Bruce you’re here. No one will know. Just…just rest, get better…” Tim wanted to add more, wanted to speak more, wanted to yell at someone and maybe even strangle the Joker and Jason’s mom and Jason’s dad and maybe punch Bruce for not checking on Jason or not doing something about the Joker, for letting things like this happen…
But something had to separate them from the bad guys.
Life wasn’t fair and Tim wanted to cry again as he watched Jason’s eyes drop shut; instead, he hesitantly took the older boy’s hand in his and sat on the bed to resume his vigil.
Life was never fair to Jason Todd, it seemed.
*4*
“I swear, the next time you kick me I’m throwing you out of the mountain!”
Hood thrust his foot out again and Robin yelped, dropping his book in surprise. Hood huffed and curled up again, cradling a bag of ice against his head.
“I’m tired!”
“And whiney.”
Jason glared. He had a concussion from a bad run in with some drug dealers at the docks of Gotham. He’d been punched one too many times and one of the thugs was wearing brass knuckles; he had some cuts on his scalp and a wonderful concussion. He had used the zeta tubes to reach the mountain. Tim had fixed him a new designation, Red Hood 2o9, and pointedly refused to add “badass motherfucker” to the title upon Jason’s request. Jason still used the tube system, even with the “incorrect” name, so his visits to the mountain were becoming more frequent and a lot easier. Sometimes Tim wondered if Jason got hurt on purpose to just annoy him, but then he would realize Jason had probably been patching himself up and only coming to Tim as a last resort.
Either way, Tim’s room at Mount Justice was slowly become Red Hood’s room too. Like tonight. A concussion meant Red Hood needed to stay awake, so who better to stay up with him than Robin? So Tim was designated book reader and Jason was designated whiney patient.
“This is a boring book.”
“You chose it.”
“You have poor choice of literature, Tim; where’s the Shakespeare? Where’s To Kill A Mockingbird? Frankenstein?”
“I have A Separate Peace.”
Jason glared; he shifted the icepack and yawned, breaking his glare, and snuggled down against the pillows at his back. “I hate that book.”
Tim retrieved Catcher in the Rye from the floor and resumed his place at the foot of his bed. “Why’s that?”
Jason shrugged; he frowned and pulled the icepack away. “Shit, think I’m bleeding again, Timbo.”
The younger boy leaned over, hands deftly touching along the other’s scalp. He pulled back and checked his fingers. “It’s okay, you’ll live.”
Jason would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t think the movement would make his headache worse. “Hmm,” he put the icepack back on. Just some painkillers and he’d be fine; why hadn’t he decided to sleep it off at his safehouse? He was so stupid sometimes…
“So, hey, why do you hate A Separate Peace?”
Jason shrugged. “I hate it.”
“Yeah, but why?”
Jason squinted at the wall, plucked lint from the bedcovers, scratched his armpit. “I hate it.”
Tim counted to ten. “Is it the characterization?” He knew Jason loved literature and analysis; maybe something was wrong with the storyline?
“I know a Gene, idiot.”
Tim was confused; Jason was giving him a pointed look... Who was a Gene? Who fit that description of the character that it would cause Jason distress and—oh… Oh! Ohhh…! Well…shitake mushrooms… “And I guess I know a Finny, then, huh?”
Jason shrugged. “I dunno, do you?”
In a way, yes. He did. To an extent. Finny was athletic and ambitious and outgoing and manipulative and he got away with things by his sharp tongue and even sharper wit; Gene was smart and cunning and jealous and guilty… The rivalry between the two was what kept them baiting each other, dependent and utterly helpless to the whims of the other.
Tim crawled to lay on the outside portion of the bed and Jason would blame the dip in the mattress to him pressing closer.
Jason was athletic and most likely outgoing in social situations where it was needed; he could definitely be manipulative and Dick had said he had had a wonderful wit when he was…younger… Now he was barbed and hurtful…
Tim was smart. Very smart, cunning… Jealous, no; at least, he didn’t think so. Guilty, yes. God, he felt guilty his whole life it seemed.
At then there was the rivalry between the two; yes, it had died down, but it could still be seen every now and then. Specifically when Batman and Robin ran into Red Hood in Gotham. It was boiling beneath the surface and neither wanted to admit it.
Tim shook his head. “Well, the end of our Gene and Finny doesn’t have to be the end of A Separate Peace.”
“Finny dies.”
Tim swallowed and had to gather the courage to speak. “My Finny died; but he’s back and he’s trying. That counts.”
Neither spoke again and that was alright with Tim. They were found in the morning by Bart, Jason with an arm flung over Tim’s chest and head resting on Tim’s shoulder, both sound asleep and content. Bart was happy to see that, even with his arrival, nothing seemed to have changed.
Jason would still get his happy ending.
*5*
Tim’s cellphone lit up from its place on the armrest at his elbow and he picked it up, not recognizing the number; well, it was alright. He and Bart and Cassie were returning from a short, simple mission. If it was a telemarketer, he’d just hang up; but maybe Dick had forgot his communicator and was phoning for something important.
“Hello?”
“I am dying.”
Tim gripped the device tighter. “Hood?” Dying? “What’s going on?”
“I am dying…” A ragged breath. “On your couch.” Another ragged breath. “In your stupid mountain.”
A dial tone and Tim lurched forward. “Make this thing go faster!”
“Robin?”
“Wondergirl, drive faster, please; something’s wrong, Red’s at the mountain. Said he was dying. Step on it!”
So Cassie did and they made it to the mountain in record time; Bart was cheering about it, for some reason. Tim ignored them to rush through the mountain looking for his estranged brother.
“Red Hood! Hood!”
“Living room, babybird.”
He hurried there, head whirling with possibilities of what he might find; when he turned the corner, he wondered if fraternacide was still considered murder.
“Didn’t take you as long as I thought it would; I mean, I know I said I was dying, but geez, babybird, did you get a speeding ticket?”
There was Jason, perfectly safe and sound and nowhere near death save for the small wound on his arm that he was applying pressure to. Tim decided it was an appropriate reaction to glare at it; Jason caught his gaze and grinned sheepishly.
“Yeah, I almost got mugged; got caught on a fire escape as I was leaving the crime scene. I’m still legally dead, ya know?”
He only now realized Jason was in civilian clothing; Robin slapped a hand to his face. “I thought you were dying, you said you were dying. You have a cut—”
“Gash.”
“Cut on your arm. You aren’t even near dying…” He stepped forward to examine the wound. “It’s even stopped bleeding!”
Jason looked around. “Um, I didn’t get my tetanus shot?” He was grasping at straws.
“For chirssake!”
“Ohh,” Bart cheered from the doorway. “Second time you made him curse, Ja—Hood! Props to you, man!”
Tim figured adding murder of a teammate to his mental prison sentence wouldn’t be too bad; later, Bart would pay… Maybe. He turned back to Jason on the couch. “There’s disinfectant in the medbay.”
And, dang, Jason’s pout was the most childish and disturbing thing Tim had encountered yet. “But I’m only one handed; I’m an invalid, Tim! Injured!”
Fraternacide wouldn’t be that bad… Except this was Jason and Tim was pretty sure the boy wouldn’t be rising from the dead a second time.
“I swear to… Ughh, come on, let’s get it cleaned up.”
He turned to lead the way, ignoring Jason’s whoop of joy as he bounced from the couch to fall in step besides him. An arm slipped around his shoulders, the first real sign of affection from Jason, and the redhead spoke quietly for only their ears.
“You’re a good brother, Timmy.”
There were times when the injuries were huge and terrifying and Tim couldn’t breathe; then there were times where Jason was there to laugh and smile and feel relaxed. Tim figured he could handle both, if it was for his brother.