Chapter Text
Tim doesn't leave Wayne Manor for six days after shooting the Joker.
It's not exactly the best week of his life. Bruce is convinced that he's been manipulated somehow, although his deprogramming efforts are hampered somewhat by him not knowing what, exactly, he's supposed to be convincing Tim away from. Tim has had to sit through several uncomfortable lectures on moral philosophy, a lot of stilted reminiscing about the “good times” he's had as Robin, and one late-night emotional plea for him to “come back to them.”
“I'm right here!” Tim had wanted to shout, but he bit his tongue. Bruce would be trying to provoke an emotional reaction, something he could lever into breaking down Tim's “false beliefs” – or, at the very least, getting more information about what they were. Tim couldn't risk revealing Jason's secrets, so he was getting a lot of practise keeping quiet and staring at the walls.
Whenever Bruce wasn't around, Tim was free to go about his “normal life” – except that he couldn't leave the Manor, and he wasn't allowed anywhere near any computers or phones, which made things about as far from normal as it was possible to get. Alfred was picking up his work from school every day, and for once Tim was actually completing all his assignments on time. He was also encouraged to spend time with the family – which mostly meant Dick, since Bruce was mostly off frantically researching Tim's condition, and Damian was glowering at him for monopolising so much of Bruce's time.
Overall, Tim had a lot of time to think of possible escape plans.
There were a lot of measures he wasn't willing to take yet. He could call in Superboy in an emergency, but that seemed like overkill when he wasn't in any physical danger. He was also relatively confident in his ability to fake the tearful apology that Bruce was waiting for, but… fuck that. Fuck him. Tim had told Bruce the truth about himself, and if Bruce couldn't handle that, then for once Tim wasn't going to be the one to blink first.
(Dick had joked, at dinner a couple of days ago, that Tim had “gone hardcore” on his “teenage Robin rebellion phase.” Tim didn't love that phrasing, but he appreciated the way it had made Bruce twitch and turn pale.)
Tim might have felt comforted if he'd still had his Red Hood emergency beacon, but he couldn't make himself regret slipping it to Dick, even if it didn't seem like his reconciliation plans had worked as quickly as he'd hoped. Besides, it would have been a bad idea to call Jason to the Manor anyway – too much security, too many memories, too many people who could recognise him, in either of his identities.
No, it would be best if Tim could get himself out. Then he could reunite with Jason without causing any more of a fuss.
On Saturday morning – six days and a handful of hours since he'd last seen Hood – he wakes up to one of Gotham's rare sunny days. It's getting towards the end of May now, and summer has decided to make a brief appearance, before the inevitable return to clouds and drizzle.
So of course, Dick bounds into Tim's room with even more unbearably upbeat energy than usual.
“Up and at 'em, Timmers!”
He throws open the curtains, and Tim groans and hides his head under the duvet.
“It's a wonderful day outside! Just look at that sun!”
“I'm not even allowed outside,” Tim grumbles, not looking.
“Come on baby bird. Please look at me?”
Tim reluctantly emerges, blinking at the brightness.
“I know things are tough right now, but it won't last forever. You're gonna be okay, I promise.”
Tim would normally dismiss this as a fairly average Dick pep talk, but the words aren't important. Because as Dick talks, he flashes a couple of quick hand signals close to his chest, where his body will be blocking the security camera.
I'm undercover, the first one means. And the second is: I'm here to help you.
Dick's eyes are focussed on Tim, silently urging him to understand.
“Okay, I'll get up,” he grumbles.
“Breakfast is in fifteen!” Dick says cheerfully, flashing Tim a quick wink before he slips out the room.
#
It's about half an hour after breakfast. Bruce is working in his office, and Alfred had asked for Damian's help with something in the garden, so it's just the two of them. Dick suddenly looks up from his phone, catches Tim's eye, and raises a finger to his lips.
“I've looped the security feeds,” he signs. “We go quick, and we go quiet.”
Tim follows him soundlessly through the Manor, and they slip into the garage undetected. Dick grabs the keys to an Audi, and they drive off the estate without anyone challenging them.
“Sorry about the drama, Timmy,” Dick says with a smile. “I thought it was about time you got some time off for good behaviour, so I got Alfie to disable the alarms for a couple of hours. I'm taking you out for ice cream!”
“Thank you,” Tim says, genuinely. There's only a small twinge of guilt for hiding his true meaning. He is grateful – but mostly because it will be much, much easier to make a break for it now that he's off the grounds of Wayne Manor.
He really does wish he had his emergency beacon now, so that Jason could come pick him up. But the weather is too nice for a jacket, so if the coin is still in Dick's pocket, it's been left at the Manor. That's fine though – Tim can improvise.
After a week inside, it's hard not to stare at all the bustling activity around them as they drive through the city, crawling slowly through the traffic around Robinson Park as everyone tries to take advantage of the sun. Tim sees a toddler being lifted in the air between her parents, and suddenly he gasps.
“What?” Dick sounds concerned.
“Nothing wrong,” Tim says quickly. “I just realised that… the Joker isn't going to hurt anyone in Gotham again.”
All these people are safe. That little girl is safe. Because of him.
There's a pause for a moment. Then Dick reaches over, and ruffles his hair.
“You did good, Timmy.”
Tim ducks away, scowling, and tries to ignore the hot rush of emotion that rises inside him at those words.
Eventually, Dick parks the car. They're on a bright and busy street in central Gotham – not great for making a run for it, especially when Tim doesn't have any gear. He needs some kind of distraction if he wants to be able to lose Dick in the crowd before getting caught and dragged back to the Manor.
He follows Dick into the ice cream parlour, a narrow little shop with half a dozen tables inside. It isn't hot enough to be queuing out the door, but there are several people ahead of them in line. Most people are taking their cones to go though, and the tables are half empty.
“Bathroom,” Tim says quickly, and Dick nods distractedly and lets him make his way to the back of the shop unobserved.
Tim shuts himself inside the washroom, and takes a slow breath, trying to think.
The bathroom itself is no good. He'd hoped for a window but there's nothing, just a boxed-in single-occupancy room that's barely big enough for a toilet and a sink. The front door is probably also a bust – there's no cover as he passes by the line of customers, so Dick is bound to notice him. But there was a door behind the counter through to some kind of staff area and their kitchens – with a little luck, they have a delivery entrance out back that he can use as his exit. He just needs some way to distract Dick and the staff while he ducks through the door –
There's a knock at the bathroom door, and Tim rolls his eyes.
“I'll be out in a minute!”
“I don't think you're gonna find a way out in there, kid, unless you want to try going through the sewers –”
Tim flings the door open that instant, and throws his arms around Jason.
“You came for me,” he says, and a part of him relaxes for the first time in a week at the smell of gunpowder and leather.
“Always,” Jason promises into his hair.
“So, how are we gonna –”
“There you are!” Dick walks over to them, beaming and carrying three generously-scooped ice cream cones. “You found each other.”
Tim blinks at him, glancing from Dick to Jason and back again. Dick's smile doesn't waver for a moment.
“Right,” he says. “Shall we grab a table?”
#
“I can't believe you're eating that,” Jason says, staring at Dick's cone of Rocky Road with mini-marshmallows and chocolate sauce. “I'm getting cavities just looking at it.”
“I have excellent dental hygiene,” Dick says placidly. “And at least Rocky Road is a real flavour.”
The three of them are seated at the very backmost table in the café. Above them on the wall is a giant black-and-white mural of the cow from the shop's logo. Tim is beginning to think he might be dreaming.
“The people here are artists, I appreciate the work that goes into designing a new flavour –”
“I'm sure 'cherry and almond tart' is a great flavour, I just didn't realise that my little brother had become a hipster…”
“Excuse me?”
Something cold lands on Tim's hand. His mint choc chip is dripping, beginning to melt uneaten as he watches Jason and Dick bicker. Automatically, he raises it to his mouth and takes a bite. All at once he's hit by a wave of cold and sweet and menthol, filling his senses, and the world feels a little more stable under his feet.
Not a dream. Somehow.
“You are kind of a hipster,” he chimes in.
Jason huffs.
“People whose favourite flavour is toothpaste don't get a say,” he grumbles. He bumps his arm against Tim's, too soft to really be called elbowing, and Tim feels a little more grounded.
“What is happening?” he asks, softly.
Jason chuckles at that, and Dick gives him a sympathetic smile.
“Your plan worked,” he says simply. He reaches into his pocket, and passes something to Tim, who holds out a hand to take –
A coin. The emergency beacon.
“You brought him back to me,” Dick says, with a watery look that Tim has done nothing to deserve.
Jason kicks him under the table, and Dick yelps.
“Don't go getting soppy on us, Dickface,” he grumbles, in the least annoyed tone Tim has ever heard from him. Then he turns to Tim: “Good thinking kid, getting us a man on the inside. It's not your fault Dick spent half the week moping around the manor before we managed to link up.”
More praise Tim doesn't deserve. He gave Dick the tracker because Dick needed it more than him – needed to talk to Jason again, when they didn't have any other way to find each other. Whereas Tim, in the long term, would either be free to rendezvous at one of Hood's safehouses after his escape, or would be sent to the kind of place where a tracker like that would be discovered. In either case, it wasn't going to do him much good.
But if Jason met Dick days ago, and they arranged this meeting, then that means…
“You're not taking me back?”
“That's up to you, kid,” Jason says. “Where do you want to go?”
Tim's brain immediately starts whirring. He'd assumed that Jason would have some kind of plan – well, it doesn't matter.
“Do you have transport?” he asks immediately. “How long until B notices we're missing? I –”
“Not what I meant,” Jason says, his voice a little stiff. “Forget the practicalities, Timmy. Where do you want to end up? We'll get you there.”
“But.” Tim frowns down at his ice cream. “Bruce will be looking for me.”
“Let me worry about that,” Dick says, in a deceptively light tone that Tim knows to fear. There's no point arguing – when Dick sounds like that, he can out-stubborn anyone.
Okay. Forget the practicalities.
Tim isn't sure he knows how to do that.
“You have options,” Dick prompts after a few seconds of silence. “You could go to your friends in San Francisco, or anywhere else where someone is able to take you in. A lot of people would be more than willing to help you.”
Tim drums his fingers on the table. He isn't sure he wants to drag the other Teen Titans into this mess… but if handing him off to another hero is what Dick and Jason think is best, he can probably think of someone.
“You don't have to leave, though,” Jason says softly.
“It's not too late to go back to the Manor and reconcile with Bruce, if that's what you decide. It won't be easy, but it might be your best chance at going back to how things were before. Or you could go live with your dad. I'm not sure we'd want you living at Drake Manor alone if you weren't able to go next door for help in an emergency –” Jason snorts “– but if you want to move into the townhouse with him and Dana, we can find some way –”
“Why are you trying to sell him on all the bad ideas?” Jason interrupts.
Dick frowns at him. “I want him to consider all the possibilities. You're the one who said we had to give him a real choice.”
“Yeah, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't fucking mention the stuff we actually want him to pick –”
Tim takes a large bite of his ice cream, watching them bicker back and forth for a minute with the comfortable rhythm of familiarity.
He holds up a hand, and they both fall quiet.
“I appreciate the attempt to be comprehensive,” he says, “but can I have the good options now?”
Dick and Jason share a look with each other.
“Him or me?” Jason says simply.
“No wrong answer, baby bird,” Dick adds. “Just who would you be more comfortable living with.”
Tim frowns. “I'm not moving to Bludhaven,” he says, with all the reflexive disgust of a native Gothamite.
Dick chuckles.
“I have an apartment in Gotham too, even if I don't use it very often. I have enough leave saved to take off work until a transfer to GCPD comes through, so you could be back in class on Monday.”
Tim scowls at Jason. “I can't believe you got Dick in on your weird school thing.”
“Yeah, my radical idea that you should graduate high school.” Jason rolls his eyes. “That's not open for negotiation, kid. You can get the bus from my place to Gotham High just fine.”
Tim looks from one of them, to the other, and back again.
“What about my… evening job?” he asks, eyes on Dick.
“Well.” Dick pops a mini-marshmallow in his mouth. “Bruce has most of your gear, and that's probably a bust I'm afraid. It'll take a little while to put something together, depending on how much design work you want to put into it –”
“Or you could keep using the stuff at my place,” Jason chimes in with a shit-eating grin. “We'd be ready to roll out together again in a couple of days.”
“It's not a race,” Dick grumbles. “As I was saying, I'd love to have you with me, Tim. I think we'd work well together. And I'd love to see you going solo some day, but… well, perhaps not until B has had some time to cool down.”
Tim grimaces at the thought of Batman on the warpath, but as for the rest…
He wasn't expecting this. He was surprised enough that Nightwing didn't want him to rot in jail for killing someone, but now he's offering to give up his whole life, move back to Gotham, help Tim design a new suit… And he'll do it, too. Dick doesn't make promises he doesn't intend to keep.
It's too much.
Jason's offer seems like the easier path at first glance, but Tim knows he's downplaying things. Red Hood has put a lot of effort into avoiding Batman's attention – this would destroy all that hard work. Jason won't have a moment of peace while he's sheltering Tim, and he'll be distracted from all the necessary work he's been doing in the Alley.
If Tim was truly a selfless person, he wouldn't let anyone help him. He'd drop off the grid, leave Gotham forever and go somewhere that even Batman couldn't find him. Or better yet, turn himself into the Justice League and accept whatever punishment they deemed suitable. Either way, he wouldn't ever get to be a hero again. He'd known that would be the price, when he pulled the trigger.
But then, if he were that good, he wouldn't have pulled the trigger at all.
He wants what Dick and Jason are offering him. A chance to hold on to his life – to keep going to school, keep seeing the people who matter most to him, keep helping people and keeping Gotham safe. So, which is it to be: Nightwing? Or Red Hood?
Where does Tim want to go?
“Jason,” Tim says softly.
Dick and Jason, engaged in a spirited discussion of some kind, are immediately quiet.
“I want to go with Jason,” Tim repeats. “I know his operation. I like working with him. I… I do feel safe, with him.”
He watches for a sign of annoyance or disappointment in either of them, but Dick just nods firmly.
“Plan J it is,” he declares, getting to his feet. “I'll make the first call. You two will need to head out sometime in the next half-hour.”
Jason nods at him. “I'll take it from here.”
Dick reaches over to ruffle Tim's hair.
“Don't be a stranger,” he says. “Either of you. If you need anything, you have my number.”
Tim blinks at him as he walks away.
“That's it?” he asks Jason. “Just like that?”
Jason chuckles. “Well, yes and no. I told you we'd handle the logistics.”
He reaches into a bag stowed under the table, and hands Tim a wig and some sunglasses.
“Finish your ice cream, and then step two begins.”