Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Having his big brother back was a game-changer.

For so long now all Jason has seen and thought of was death.

The pain of his own death and the rage calling out for the deaths of others.

The boy who had enthusiastically followed after the Bat, who had innocently and proudly joined his crusade, who loved his special window seat in the Wayne library, eating Alfred’s cookies, training with his new dad, and rooftop races with his brother—That boy was dead and gone.

All that had come back was the shadow of that child. His hatred made manifest. A green-tinged ghost. A monster. Fueled by the promise of more death—the deaths of his enemies.

Killing the Joker. Killing Batman. Killing Nightwing. Killing the Pretender, the Replacement Robin. Killing all of the scum in Gotham.

But Jason hadn’t given a single thought to living.

Not until Dick had looked at him with eyes so full of hope and love—like he could see a whole new life for Jason. Like Jason was his living brother and not just a vengeful spirit.

Jason’s whole plan went up in smoke the moment Dick wrapped him up in his arms. Something from before had been real. He’d been avenged. He’d been loved.

Jason wasn’t just a ghost. His brother still loved him, and his brother still saw the remnants of the boy he’d loved in the broken, violent man Jason was now. And that gave Jason hope too... that he could be more.

Jason still thought the pit brought him back... wrong. He had come back angry and when Talia had guided it, pointing it towards a target, she merely had to fan the flames and Jason followed without hesitation. Like an animal—a monster. Unthinking, just following a raging green instinct without care for consequences.

But now, through the power of Dick’s octopus hugs, cheap takeout, shared silences and late-night conversations just sitting together in solidarity, Jason was actually starting to feel like a real person again. Like he was more than a ghost. More than just anger.

Jason was finally taking the time to reflect. On his other feelings. On what he actually wanted. (To be a part of a family, to save this city, to change things here).

It also meant he finally took the time to reflect on the consequences of his original plans.

And suddenly all of those plans stopped making sense.

What had he planned to do if it had all worked? What would he have lived for? Alone, in a green-tinged world in a city ruled by fear with nothing but ashes and blood.

And so, the number of murders he had initially planned was getting cut down.

The Joker will die (that wasn’t going to change), but Bruce will live.

Jason wanted him to live to see how much better Gotham ran under the Red Hood. (And if he did kill Bruce, Dick and Alfred would obviously be very upset).

There was no point in trying to force Bruce to kill the Joker now—not when that question had already been answered. The Joker had been killed. Jason had been avenged. And not only did Bruce refuse to kill the Joker, he refused to even let him stay dead. So, fuck him. No point in wasting his time in setting up an elaborate trap for the Bat—Bruce didn’t deserve it.

He was also dialing back the murder in his criminal empire. No more murdering all of his rival’s men. Dick had given him enough sanctimonious and worried lectures to pester a promise out of Jason to “do his best” to restrain himself. Sparing most goons and henchmen was easy enough. Most of them just needed a better chance. They were kids of Crime Alley, set up to fail from the start. And it was the Red Hood’s goal to make this place better, so that meant he needed to give second chances (the same way Jason himself had needed a second chance) not just put everyone in a bodybag. He needed to turn his profits into resources to support the community to break the shitty cycle that made Crime Alley.

But the real-shit stains? The big players, the traffickers, the fucks who hurt kids, those still had a habit of “disappearing” after they found themselves on the Red Hood’s radar. Without leaving any trace for Dickhead to worry himself about.

And Dick of course was no longer on his shit-list.

And the new Robin—

But Jason still wasn’t sure how to feel about The Replacement.

Timothy Drake.

The boy he had planned to kill.

The first time that realization really hit Jason had just been sitting on Dick’s couch.

They were having a movie night. Jason had driven up to Blüdhaven, picked up two large pizzas (because he was not going to be complicit in sharing Dick’s abominable pizza choices), and let himself into Dick’s apartment with the key his brother had given him. After double and then triple-checking HDMI chords on the shitty old TV, and giving the beast a solid shake, they got Dick’s laptop connected to the screen so they could stream their movie of choice for the night. It was all part of the usual process, but after this particular technological struggle, Dick hesitantly made the suggestion that they should have their next movie night at the manor in the full-sized theater.

“Bruce will be off-planet with League business,” Dick promised with a hesitant smile, clearly hopeful but doubting he’d be able to sell Jason on the idea. “And Alfred would love to see you. He’s got a whole new tin of that you two used to always drink, and Tim has been begging for me to introduce you.

“You’ll love him.” Dick gushed, “And he’s dying to meet you. You know, officially. He saw you plenty when you were kids. I told him that you know how to skateboard and I know he’d love to go skating with you sometime. You know how useless I am on a board.”

Jason brushed off the suggestion, evading a direct answer by making a snarky comment about how the setting didn’t matter when Dick was determined to desecrate wherever they were with pineapple on his pizza. That earned him a slice of the offending abomination nearly being shoved in his open mouth. Thankfully training as vigilante from tweenhood, training with the league of assassins, and whatever grab bag of powerups came with the trauma and horror of the Lazarus pit resurrection, Jason managed to evade the attack.

The topic was dropped amid the near food fight and the movie started, but Jason continued to mull over the suggestion.

But Dick really did have a point, the quality on his ten-year-old 24-inch screen really was such crap Jason was actually starting to weigh the option of visiting the manor. It’d be good to see Alfie. On his many visits, Dick often brought books from Jason’s old bookshelf, packaged homecooked meals, and treats like homemade scones and jam from the manor, and Jason knew they were actually coming from Alfred (because if Dick was picking, he’d be bringing stupid shit like his sugary-ass cereal). It made Jason’s heart swell every time with the reminder of Alfred’s love and care in every bite. And maybe he could meet the kid—Tim.

Not “the new robin.” Not “the replacement” or “the pretender.”

Tim.  

The weird little neighbor boy. Jason had actually met him a few times ‘before’— A brief introduction at a gala, a couple times trying to chase the stalker off the rooftops. A tiny kid, silent and unobtrusive at Gotham society galas, but wildly daring when chasing vigilantes through the night with his camera. Jason hadn’t known him well but he remembered the kid. He was so small and weird and sweet and—

And in his original plans, Jason had planned to kill the kid. He had planned to kill Robin—

It made his stomach roll, just the idea that it had ever so much as crossed his mind, much less that it had been a fixture in his plans.

He wore a former mantel of the Joker (granted, for the purpose of mocking both him and the Bat), and he had planned to torture and kill Robin.

Dick had long since fallen asleep leaning on Jason’s shoulder during the movie when Jason jolted the older man awake as he suddenly retched all over his floor.

“Jay?” Dick blinked blearily awake but quickly jolted to wakefulness in panic at Jason’s sickness. “Jay.” With an ease that never failed to stun Jason, the physically smaller man scooped Jason up into his arms with ease and hurried him to the bathroom. Jason was wrapped in a blanket, tucked up against the toilet, with a soothing hand rubbing his back—He didn’t deserve any of this. He had been planning to kill a child—

“Little Wing, what happened?”

“I just—” Jason choked over whatever words he thought to bumble through. “The pit—Talia—” None of that mattered. He couldn’t blame anything or anyone else. It had been his plan. It had been his desire. His fault. “I just—I was going to... to hurt... I wanted to hurt, FUCK how could I have ever wanted that?—He’s just a kid— But I planned to— I’m a fucking monster” How could Tim ever want to meet him? His would-be-killer? How could he be called the kid’s big brother when Jason had harbored such hate and anger that he had actually wanted to kill an innocent child?

He couldn’t bring himself to said it aloud to Dick—that he had planned to hurt Tim. But it was obvious Dick understood.

Dick hushed him gently, leaning gently against his back. “That wasn’t you. The things you thought, the things you felt, they don’t define you Little Wing. You’ve been through so much. Pain, and hurt, and weird fucked up magic can make you think and feel shit that doesn’t reflect who you really are.” Dick chuckled ruefully. “Remember when we first met? I was storming out and you were just coming home from school, and your eyes lit up because you were actually excited to meet me. But I was still so mad at Bruce. I felt hurt and betrayed and replaced and I took those feelings out on you by being bitter and cold.”

“What the fuck? How does that fucking compare?” Jason choked between shaky breaths. “You got angry and ignored me in the hallway, I got angry and I was going to hurt him—"

“But do you think I’m bitter and cold?”

“Wha—no. You’re a fuckin’ octopus, won’t leave me the hell alone.” Jason grumbled, shyly tucking his head against the porcelain to avoid looking his big brother in the eye.

“But I acted that way when I was hurt. It doesn’t excuse what I did, but it also doesn’t define who I am. You’ve been hurt Little Wing, you’re fighting through so much more than I’ve ever experienced, and these feelings and thoughts you’re fighting, they don’t define you. You’re still my Little Wing. Beneath all this big scary exterior, you’re still just my nerdy little brother who loves and protects more fiercely than anyone I’ve ever known.” A kiss was pressed to the back of his head. “Do you want to hurt him now?”

“No! Fuck no!” Jason exclaimed.

“Exactly,” Dick ran a hand through Jason’s sweaty curling lock, and dragging him away from the porcelain and into his chest which he happily melted into. “Because that’s not who you are Jay. You’re my brother, not the pit. And you’re his brother too. You haven’t hurt him. You’re a protector, not a monster.”

But was he?

Could Jason actually be a brother to this kid? Could he be his protector?

The kid still represented how easily Bruce had moved on. How little Jason’s death had meant to Bruce. (No matter what Dick tried to tell him otherwise).

But Tim was innocent in that.

He was a kid who, according to Dick, idolized Jason. Had grown up looking up to and modeling himself after Jason’s turn as Robin. Who held him in such high regard he even now desperately wanted to meet Jason—to meet his idol and predecessor.

And Jason had wanted to kill this child.

So, the kid also represented all the sickest parts of him—the parts he wanted to blame on Talia or the corruption of the pit, or some other shit, but ultimately still came from himself. The parts he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t.

He clung to Dick’s words in the same way he now physically clung to his brother’s shoulders.

He’s not a vengeful spirit, he’s not a monster, he’s not a—

He buried himself impossibly deeper into Dick’s shoulder as the elder softly hummed a familiar Romani lullaby, taking deep breaths to ground himself in this moment.

He’s Jason Todd. Little Wing. Red Hood. Protector of the East End.

It'd be best if Jason just, stayed away from the manor. He didn’t want to see Bruce. He was too ashamed to see Alfred. And... Tim...

He was scared to meet Tim.

Chapter Text

Tim’s ribs were definitely cracked, if not broken. The group of thugs currently kicking the shit out of him was having a field day with body blows as Tim fought for breath on the floor and internally begged his ribs to not puncture his lungs, pretty please.

But that was o.k. He could handle this.

Tim had certainly been in worse situations before. It just so happened that this trio of thugs had gotten the jump on him as he’d been investigating a warehouse just outside Red Hood’s territory. Sure, Tim wasn’t supposed to be this close to the Narrows but Bruce was out of town for the weekend on League business, and maybe he’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of his former hero.

When the Red Hood had first appeared in the Narrows with a duffle bag full of heads and a growing drug ring Bruce had been in full investigative mode hunting down the new crime lord—and then all of the sudden something shifted.

 Bruce declared Crime Alley off-limits and forbade Tim from patrolling anywhere near the Eastside. And he clammed up immediately too, even more so than usual. Tim had been trying to figure out what Bruce learned, but Tim was actually hitting dead ends in his efforts pin down what the Dark Knight was up to. Tim could break his way through most of Bruce’s firewalls and encryptions, but all Tim could tell was that he was reviewing old case files around the Joker, the death of Jason, and more current research on the League of Assassins.

At least until Dick came home and blew the lid off that mystery.

Tim still hadn’t witnessed a true argument between Dick and Bruce. When Tim first took up the mantle the two had argued plenty, but they both seemed very aware of his presence in the room. Any time things started getting heated between the two there would be awkward glances Tim’s way and they’d find an excuse to separate and ‘discuss this later.’ Read: scream at each other somewhere else. They clearly tried to baby him, and shield him from their personal tensions. Tim personally thought it was silly. There was no need to baby him. But he didn’t challenge them about it because he actually thought it was good that they were arguing less and reigning in their anger at each other. In fact, their relationship seemed to be on the mend!

Until Dick pulled up to the manor one morning, burst through the front door, and jumped straight into yelling that Jason was alive and Bruce had known.

Patrol had gone long the night before so Tim had slept over for the night and had been starting his second cup of coffee in the kitchen with Bruce as Alfred finished cleaning up breakfast.

And this was definitely not how he expected the morning to go.

Nor was Dick prepared for Tim to be present—the moment he burst through into the kitchen he froze, guiltily trying to marshal his emotions. “Tim, I—”

Before anything else could be said, Bruce was on his feet, in full Batman mode. “Cave. Now.”

And with a glare, Dick turned on his heel and Bruce followed swiftly after to take their ‘discussion’ out of Tim’s presence.

Less than an hour later they emerged, and Dick vanished as quickly as he arrived, still in a storm of anger.

Bruce, however, looked... well... as close to chastened as Tim had ever seen him as the massive vigilante stood in the doorway, clutching it almost desperately, watching his eldest son drive away.

“Is it true?” The question escaped Tim’s lips as barely a whisper, and Batman responded with a sigh, hand tightening on the doorframe.

 “The League brought him back with the Lazarus Pit, but they’ve twisted him. They’ve done something unnatural. They’ve made him—” He cut himself off, taking a breath Bruce turned towards Tim with eyes so full of heartbreak the boy could hardly recognize him. Bruce then knelt down before Tim, placing one hand on the young teen’s shoulder. “Tim. The Red Hood isn't Robin. He’s dangerous. And unpredictable. He’s not the boy you looked up to anymore. I didn’t tell you or Dick because I knew you’d approach him, and it’s just not safe. He’s not safe.” Each word sounded like it pained him, but Tim was perhaps too caught up in how fatherly Bruce suddenly felt. Like... like he was treating Tim as his son? Shouldn’t the focus be on Jason? “This is my responsibility and my burden to bear. I will take care of the Hood. I will find a way to fix this. I will bring Jason home. But I won’t risk my other boys in the process.”

Other boys? Plural? Dick and Tim?

Tim stood frozen in shock as Bruce gave his shoulder a squeeze before rising to his feet and striding back to the Cave. “In the meantime, the Eastside is off limits. And you are not to contact the Red Hood. If he approaches you, retreat and reports back. Do not engage.”

But of course, Tim couldn’t leave it at that.

He immediately called up Dick to get the other side of this story, and a few weeks later, the two sat down for burgers and milkshakes and Dick gave him a much more detailed update that painted a much different picture.

Of a boy who was still just as dedicated to justice and protecting people as the Robin Tim had admired, but who had been so deeply hurt his crusade and... limits... had changed. Dick was insistent that Jason wasn’t a threat to them. “He’s definitely a threat to the Rogues and other criminals,” he admitted with a wince. “But we can work on that! He needs help from his family. Love and support. To process, grow and move forward. Not—” Dick’s expression twisted into a grimace. “Not whatever Bruce is trying to do.”

“What is Bruce trying to do?” Tim pressed.

“To lock him up!” Dick growled in frustration, nearly crushing the poor milkshake cup.

Tim nearly choked on his own drink. “In Arkham?!”

“No!” Dick quickly clarified. “No, of course not. In the cave. He’s got the cell ready and everything. B thinks he needs to be locked up and chemically or magically,” he waved a frustrated hand, “‘fixed’. Like the pit broke him and all that Jason needs is a factory reset. Like everything he's been through can just fixed and Jason will suddenly be back to 'normal.' But that's not how trauma works, that's now how any of this works. He needs to heal.”

A moment of silence passed between them, picking idly at their burgers. “I know you’ve been meeting with him. And I’ve seen the reports on Crime Alley. Crime rates are dropping. And there haven’t been any more reports of um... duffle bags.” Tim mumbled. “Is he... is he healing?”

“Jason needs to understand he has a whole family here for him. That B loves him. But B is just such an emotionally constipated ass that his way of showing it is to ‘arrest’ him. So that’s not great.” Dick sighed. “I wish I could just get Jay to come home to see Alfie and meet you.”

“Does he not want to meet... me?” Tim asked awkwardly. “I can keep my distance if he just wants to see Alfred—”

“No!” Dick objected quickly; the milkshake was set aside to reach across the table for Tim’s hands. “I’m sure he wants to meet his baby brother!” Tim blinked in confusion at that declaration (first of all, he’s obviously not a baby, and second, he’s not actually a part of the family. He’s just the intern basically. Sure, Dick acted like a big brother towards Tim, taking him on weekend trips and to lunch and helping with his training, but that was just his personality. Tim wasn’t so presumptuous as to expect Jason to feel the same) but didn’t contradict. “I think Jay is just... conflicted since he’s still, you know, a crime lord.”

Tim had accepted that answer, and the accompanying extra milkshake Dick bought him, and tried to be patient.

Jason would introduce himself when he was ready. Tim wouldn’t intrude or impose himself on the former Robin.

He’d just... poke around a little bit.

And look where that got him.

Tim was starting to wish they’d mix it up and lay off the body blows until one of them grabbed him by the hair and punched him in the face—then he wished they’d stuck to his torso.

“Hey, watch the face!” A second thug snatched Tim by the hair as well, pulling him from the first and craning his neck back, really exacerbating the whole can’t-breathe issue. Tim was really about to go bald. “Those pretty eyes are half the appeal.” Shit shit shit, Tim struggled to keep his breathing even (again, ribs poking lungs were making that real difficult). He was fine. He could get out of this.

“Ugh, the Bat really downgrades with each one, huh?” The third thug sneered down at Tim’s swelling face.

“Oh, shut up, look at the baby blues on this one!” The second used his grip on Tim’s hair to turn his now swelling face towards the third.

The thug still looked unimpressed—if Tim wasn’t so distracted by the pain in his lungs, he would have been offended. “Eh. None of them match the first though, had that exotic edge.”

The first groaned. “Guys, why can’t we just kick the shit out of a kid without you two being fucking creeps.”

“Get off your high horse.” The second growled back.

“If it was the first Robin—” The third started but they were all cut off by a new entrant.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

The trio froze, and Tim cracked his non-swollen eye open to see a bleach blond young man in a Tommy Bahamas shirt, Starbucks in one hand adorned by a glittering watch and cellphone in the other, looking at the group in shock from the warehouse entrance.

Thug One looked at the blonde in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Your tribute is due today you dumbfucks!” The blond hissed, he gestured angrily with his latte at the empty space. “And I’m not seeing any coke!”

Creep Two seemed to figure it out. “Shit, is it Wednesday?”

“YES!” The blonde shouted. “You’re supposed to be delivering me a shit ton of Cocaine, not assaulting a KID! AND A BAT-KID AT THAT! OooooH Shit. OohH Fuck.”

The full group of thugs looked at each other nervously, before one grabbed Tim by the hair again, holding him out towards the blonde. “Isn’t this better? This bird’s definitely worth more than our scheduled delivery. You can consider it a late fee, we’ll have the actual delivery ready by tomorrow, we swear Brett.”

The blond chugged whatever was left of his latte, took a deep breath to steel himself, then smiled. “Ok. Shit. Well, clearly you didn’t read the damn manual I gave you.” He murmured, more to himself than his audience. “This is fine. This is great. This all good.”

“We’ve been dealing way longer than the Hood’s been fuckin’ around, we don’t need a damn manual.” Creep Three growled in irritation. “Your boss should be grateful we’re helpin’ him out.”

“Yeah, sure, clearly. You’re doing great, Hood’s gonna be sooooo happy.” Brett huffed, gesturing impatiently for Robin to come to him. The second thug let him go reluctantly and Tim clambered to his feet slowly—ok, definitely a twisted ankle too—and shambled over towards the blond. The transition could afford him a chance to escape. Once they got in the vehicle, Tim just had to incapacitate the man and commandeer the car. And even if he failed, Tim would rather be in the Red Hood’s custody than here. Bruce might be worried that Jason was dangerous, but Tim would rather bet on his former idol than stay and see what these creeps had planned. “You better be able to walk, ‘cause I’m not carrying you,” Brett mumbled, placing a hesitant finger on the boy’s shoulder as if he was afraid of touching him and used it to steer him towards the exit. Tim allowed the blond man to ‘push’ him, stumbling painfully to his luxury Rolls-Royce waiting outside the warehouse.

“The name’s Brett.” The blonde introduced himself as he slipped quickly into the driver's seat. After clicking his phone into a dashholder, he popped open the glove box to reveal a refrigerated compartment filled with chilled beer bottles, canned cocktails, and little unlabeled baggies. He grabbed a beer and held out the chilled glass bottle to the teen. “For your eye.”

Tim took it hesitantly, but honestly, anything cold sounded like a blessing for his swelling face. “Uh, thanks.” He mumbled as he pressed the cool glass to his bruising skin.

Brett then grabbed another bottle holding it out again. “Want one to drink? Can’t offer you the coke though, Boss has strict rules on drugs and kids.”

“Oh, uh, no thanks.”

“Great, another wet blanket.” Brett sighed regretfully but started the car. “Should have figured, since you're a cape and all. Well, anyway, I gotta make one more stop, but when we get back to base, here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m going to go in, give the boss the update and tell him I saved you. Then, you can come in and tell him in your own words, how I rescued you.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to give the intro first, or if I walk in with you looking like that, he might think I did something. And that would be—,” he shuddered. “Bad. So, make sure you tell him how I’m the hero here. Oh! And be sure to mention how they were racist creeps, this is great!”

Tim looked at the man in confusion.

Brett correctly read the look and explained. “The boss has been all on this whole ‘de-escalation’ kick to ‘tone down the murder.’” The blond complained “He’s not killing regular goons and dealers unless they’re really fucked up. But for this—laying hands on you, plus the fact they were talking about Nightwing? What did that one call him? ‘Exotic’? Yeah, the big guns are coming out.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “And you want the Red Hood to kill people again?”

“Duh.” Brett rolled his eyes, sharply cutting into the next lane without blinking and getting an angry horn blast from the other drivers on the road in response (not that he acknowledged it). “When he kills the fuckers, we absorb their territory and I just shuffle around and redistribute responsibility among our guys. But if he lets them live, half the time he ends up offering them jobs, and then I have to onboard them all!” They swerved in front of another car, and Brett blared his horn as if he were the aggrieved party. (Maybe Tim’s life was still in danger). “We don’t have HR, so all this shit falls on me to run orientations and teach them all how shit runs around here. And no one reads the manuals I made! I put hours into those! Not to mention the boss wants to get the boys health insurance! How on earth am I supposed to do that? We’re not some sort of legitimate business with employee benefits!” Growing increasingly frustrated, he took out his frustration by cutting off another innocent driver.

Tim tightened his grip on the handhold and raised an eyebrow, choosing to direct the conversation back to his administrative complaints. “So...How are you laundering your money?”

“Sorry kid. I know you Bats and the Boss have some sort of understanding, but I’m definitely not disclosing thatto a cape.”

 “I was just gonna suggest you should probably have a corporate entity as a front. Then you could set up your men as employees, get corporate benefit plans and third-party HR support, and obviously launder the money too.” Tim shrugged. “You can do a lot of shady stuff under the cover of corporate law”

Brett glanced around the road awkwardly, without meeting Tim’s eyes. “I, uh, I know I have the appearance of a legit entrepreneur.”  Tim held his tongue and did not comment on that declaration. “But I’ve never actually run a... legitimate business. I, um, don’t actually know anything about...,” he shrugged, “corporate structure or whatever.”

“It’s not that difficult actually,” Tim assured with a shrug, “A lot of legal-ese to obfuscate everything, but under it all, it’s not too hard to operate. Just an idea, you can talk to your uh, boss about it.”

The rest of the short ride turned into Tim talking Brett through the basics of corporate formation as the dealer surprisingly responded enthusiastically. By the time they pulled up at another warehouse on the other side of the Narrows they’d come to the agreement an LLC would probably be the best choice for their purposes.

“Ok, kid.” Brett smirked as he shifted the Rolls-Royce into park and quickly scanned the area. “Just wait here and I’m gonna make the pick-up, then we’ll head straight to the Boss—unless you’re hungry. Ya hungry? We could pick something up. I’m feeling dumplings.”

Tim awkwardly gestured towards his bruised face. “I’d uh—actually like to get home as soon as possible.”

“Oh yeah.” Brett offered a sympathetic ‘yikes’ under his breath. “I’ll eat later.” With that he slammed the car door shut, flipped on the child locks (if Tim wasn't so exhausted he might be insulted, but he really wasn't planning on going anywhere), and marched off towards the warehouse.

With a tired sigh Tim slowly fumbled around until he found the lever to recline his seat, tilting all the way back to lay flat. He could really use a nap—really he could use a full night’s sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen. This was fine.

He closed his eyes, relishing in the cool of the bottle...well middling room temperature warmth now.

He lay there wishing time would pass faster until he caught the sound of another car pulling up besides the driver’s side of their own. Probably the other dealer Brett was meeting. As Robin, Tim should probably be doing something about that... but hey, he knew where the drugs were going—to Red Hood’s warehouse so the counted as some detective work. There was shuffling on the gravel outside as the other car’s occupants exited their vehicle but Tim paid it little mind.

Instead, he was focused on the internal debate over whether he should make the effort to sit up and get a new still-cold-ice-pack-beer for his face from the refrigerated console.

After several moments of this thrilling debate and a self-pep talk, Tim forced himself to fight through the ache in his ribs and sit upright.

And came face-to-face with a black masked figure holding a suspicious package standing just outside the driver’s side window.

A black ski mask. Like the cheap ones Black Mask’s goons wore to thematically match their boss.

The vigilante and the henchman stared at each other in shock for a moment.

Glancing down, Tim could see another man laid out on the ground halfway under the car.

Together the due were installing a car bomb.

On the car he was in.

Shit.

When Jason saw Brett’s name light up on his phone screen, he seriously considered ignoring it. The only reason he actually answered was the chance that given the time of evening, Brett might be offering to pick up dinner.

The last thing he expected the the panicked and teary voice that greeted him. “Boss? Shit. Boss, I—I can’t find Robin.”

Time seemed to slow as Jason tried to process whatever Brett was trying to tell him. “You, what?” Jason choked out, his heart rate already picking up—why? What did Robin have to do with anything? Brett should just be making his usual rounds in the Narrows, Robin shouldn't be anywhere near here.

“I—I found Robin earlier. He was hurt so I was gonna bring him back to base, but—I don’t know what happened, man.” The edges of Jason’s vision were tunneling, the surrounding sound of the other guys in the base fading into the background. “Shit. ROBIN! FUCK. He’s not— All I could find was a mask—one of those Black Mask shitty ski masks. I can’t find any—” Green was blurring at the edges of Jason’s vision—but he had to keep it together. He had to— “There was an explosion—M-my car’s on fire and he’s gone.”

The world—the narrow view of it Jason could still see—was green. All of it was green.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Tim could be grateful for, it was that he’d been unconscious for however he was transported to the Black Mask’s base. After all, what is a short bout of unconsciousness if not a power nap?

The moment Tim had tried to open the door to get out of Brett’s car, a Black Mask goon had slammed it back into his face, and after his rough night, that blow was more than enough to knock him out cold.

The next thing Tim knew he was blinking back to consciousness tied painfully tight to a wooden chair with the Black Mask and a whole crowd of goons in ski masks crowded around him. They were in a high-ceilinged, mostly empty warehouse occupied only by the crowd of criminals and some abandoned pieces of heavy conveyor belt-like machinery towards the wall—pretty standard for this kind of rough business. Someone like the Black Mask wouldn’t bring something intended to bait the Batman to his center of operations.

“We’ve got the guards on high alert. No sign of the Bat yet.” One goon reported.

“Good. I’m sure he’s on his way.” Black Mask sneered, grabbing Tim’s face and pressing into the bruises. “Bet the big bad Bat’s looking all over for you.”

“Yeah, really not the best call on your part.” Tim snarked through his teeth. Perhaps it was best to describe his current pain/self-preservation levels as exhausted. Everything hurt, and so what the hell, why not piss off a known sadist while he was alone without any way of knowing how far out any potential rescue was. “Pretty dumb of you to make yourself an issue. After all, you haven’t been on our radar at all. Not a top priority.”

The room went dead silent as Black Mask ominously tightened his grip on him. Tim could almost hear the insidious score that would accompany this moment in a movie—or maybe that was just the head trauma.

“What was that?” The mob boss growled.

“I said you’re not a top priority. We’ve had bigger fish on our mind, like the Red Hood.” Tim continued to instigate.

Suddenly instead of gripping his face, the Black Mask’s hand was around Tim’s throat. “You think some small fry upstart is a ‘bigger fish’? The Red Hood is a fucking nobody. A stupid fucking nobody who I’m about to put back in his place. So, the Bat better—"

Black Mask continued ranting, but Tim was a bit too distracted by the lack of oxygen to listen.

As the world was starting to white out around him, Tim reconsidered that, maybe, provoking Black Mask hadn’t been the best call. The rushing sound of his blood in his ears drowned out the cacophony that came next.

BOOM

Tim vaguely registered the whole room shake.

Presumably, a wall had been blown in, but all Tim knew was that Black Mask had released the pressure on his neck and his full focus was on gasping for air.

The sudden uproar of screams, gunfire, and a growing cloud of smoke and plaster dust were all secondary concerns—at least until the smoke and dust started interfering with the whole breathing thing.

The Black Mask’s voice sounded distant and hazy. “The Red Hood? I know we just left you with such a lovely surprise, but I certainly wasn’t expecting a visit quite so soon. I would have expected you would be a bit busier salvaging the remnants of your latest supply shipment.”

A mechanical voice boomed and echoed through the chaos. “Where. Is. Robin.”

“Here.” Tim managed through a coughing fit, wishing he had a free hand to at least fan some of the dust out of his face.

“Robin?” The voice called out, and Tim wearily raised his head to see a red blob floating in the cloud of smoke and dust.

“Red Hood?” Tim managed to choke out in question. He’d been hoping for a rescue, but he hadn’t expected the Red Hood. He’d thought Jason didn’t even want to meet him? The blob practically flew towards him, and suddenly Tim was being cut free from his ropes and pulled to the ground beneath a giant body as a hail of gunfire tore through the air above them.

“Stay low, and get behind there.” The mechanical voice commanded, turning Tim’s eyes towards the heavy metal of the convey belt to their left.

“Uh, yeah. On it.” Tim nodded blearily as he began to army crawl to cover. Once he’d made it, the Red Hood popped back up and marched straight back into the hazy mess.

“Wait,” Tim attempted to object but his voice was easily overwhelmed in the chaos. He squinted into the confusion, but at best all Tim could make out was one red blob and a large assorted crowd of black blobs—which were goons in ski masks, and which was the actual Black Mask was impossible to tell. But that didn’t stop the Red Blob from tearing through the smoke and leveling the black blobs.

Tim had grown up watching Robins fly. Jason’s particular fighting style as Robin was engraved in his memory—Jason had a much more grounded style than Dick.

While Dick would flip and fly high, Jason tended to target low. Though he was so small especially at first, even as a brand-new Robin, Jason could push, twist, and throw grown men to the ground with more power than anyone could ever expect. He could drive through opponents twice his size.

And now? Now he was Bruce’s size and Tim was suddenly sure Jason could bulldoze a mountain. Even amid the cover of the smoke it was awe-inspiring watching the way the single red dot plowed through the crowd of black, dropping enemies to the floor before they ever stood a chance.

Yet somehow amidst the one-sided blitz the Black Mask still had the confidence to let out a mocking laugh ringing through the cloud of smoke. “I heard you were soft on kids. Didn’t realize that extended to capes.” Tim squinted into the chaos doing his best to follow the sound of the mobster’s voice, and was pretty sure it was coming from one of a trio of black blobs standing right next to each other, though he couldn’t tell which was the actual Mask and which were goons. “Didn’t think the new hotshot in town would care so much about—FUCK!” Whatever the Black Mask was about to say was cut off by a wet gurgling choke as the Red Blob flew upon the trio and one of the black blobs crumbled in his grip.

“That’s my baby fucking brother.” The mechanical voice hissed. “And I’m going to fucking kill you for touching him.”

The first man’s horrific gurgles were soon accompanied by another terrifying scream as the Red Hood moved on to the second of the trio and Tim’s stomach turned—unbidden memories of Dick covered in blood. His big brother’s face pale and frozen and his body setting into shock as the Joker lay dead at his feet. Then the weeks afterward where Dick went into some sort of self-imposed banishment and practically vanished. Of the cost something like this could have on the people he cared about.

Rallying all the energy he had left, Tim pushed himself to his feet and forced himself into the smoke. “Stop.” He called weakly as the Red Hood continued to wail upon his current target, and as the third and final black dot fled. “Hood.” Tim staggered forward and managed to collapse against Jason’s back. “Stop. Let’s—let’s go home.”

The moment Tim made physical contact Jason froze—every muscle rigid with tension. “Get off. Go back.” The mechanical voice bit out. “Now. Or you’re gonna get hurt.”

The smoke and dust were finally starting to clear and Tim could finally more clearly see the carnage around them, blood spattered all over the ground and a mix of still bodies and slow-moving survivors dragging themselves desperately towards the exit, the terrified, trembling ski-masked man dangling from the Red Hood’s grip, and the other still at his feet—meaning the third who was fleeing had been the real Black Mask.

The whole experience still felt honestly surreal. He was hanging from a dangerous crime lord’s back like a limpet, with who knows how many bodies on the floor, the Black Mask fleeing, and Bruce’s warnings about the Red Hood ringing in the back of his mind at the same time as Dick’s assurances, and now Jason’s own declaration: “That’s my baby fucking brother.”

And if Jason was his brother, Tim wasn’t going to let this play out the same way it had with Dick.

“Please.” Tim pled again, murmuring into the leather of the Red Hood’s jacket. “Let’s go home.”

A tense moment passed. The rigid tension of the Red Hood’s body slowly turned to a fierce tremor, then faded back to stillness again.

The Red Hood suddenly threw the final henchman to the ground, and Tim couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He was about to let go when the Red Hood abruptly began storming towards the blown-out wall he’d entered through and Tim reflexively tightened his grip, ending up getting a piggyback ride out of the warehouse where a familiar Rolls-Royce was waiting for them.

The driver’s side door flew open and Brett leapt out. “OH Thank FUCK! Kid, I was so worried—”

Whatever hug attempt Brett dove in for was quickly brushed aside as Jason shoved his keys into his subordinate’s hand. “Get my bike back to base.” He ordered gruffly as he surprisingly gently helped Tim down from his back and into the passenger seat of the Rolls-Royce. “I’m taking your car.” Before Brett could respond, Red Hood had already hopped into the driver’s seat and peeled away.

Awkward silence dominated the small space as the Red Hood sped through the night. Nervously glancing over, Tim noted the rigid posture of his escort’s body and painful-looking grip on the wheel with his bleeding hands.

“Um, thanks.” Tim squeaked out eventually, unsure of what else he could possibly say.

But the thanks only seemed to intensify whatever Red Hood was feeling.

“Don’t fucking thank me. I’m sure the Bat has already told you all about me. That I’m unhinged. Dangerous. A monster. That the pit fucked me up. That I’m not that kid you looked up to.” The Hood growled. Before Tim could even open his mouth to respond, he forged on. “Well, he’s right. I am fucked up. You just saw it. So don’t—” His grip on the steering wheel was knuckle white. “Don’t thank me.”

“You saved me.”

“I just as easily could have hurt you—killed you.”

Tim couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the ‘could have’ argument. “But you didn’t.”

“Kid, you literally had to pull me off a guy to stop me from caving his skull in.” He spat back. “If I had gotten to the Black Mask—”

“I didn’t stop you because I was worried about the Black Mask, I was worried about you.” Tim starting to feel snippy. “It just... It reminded me of when Dick—” He cut himself off and decided to reframe the issue. “I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret just because you were worried about me.”

Another beat of silence passed between them before Jason replied bitterly. “Well don’t let the boss hear you talking like that. You’re supposed to care about the bastards, not me.”

“Not care about you?” Tim finally snapped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Bruce cares so much it's borderline obsession. You and your death basically define who he is—”

“Bullshit! That’s not the fucking same.” Jason bit back, harshly swerving the car over to the side of the road, throwing it into park to more fully focus on what was becoming a shouting match. “Bruce is defined by his failure: that he lost to the Joker. That doesn’t mean he cares about me. If Bruce ever cared it was for that kid that died in a warehouse. And I’m not that fucking kid anymore.”

“So, what if you’re not the same?” Now Tim was officially shouting in return. “I’m not the same kid I was two years ago. I’m not the same kid I was before Robin. I’m not the same kid I was three months ago. We all change. So what? It’s different just because you changed in a way Bruce doesn’t ‘approve’ of? That doesn’t mean that—that--” Despite his initial confidence, Tim found himself struggling to find the words he wanted to convey, becoming increasingly aware he was somehow trying to lecture some big life lesson to someone both older than him, and who had experienced things so far from his ability to grasp (i.e. literal death). Until he remembered he was Robin. Robin could lecture Batman. And if he could do that, he could lecture his undead crime lord older brother. “What I’m trying to say is, it doesn’t matter if Jason Todd today is different than Jason Todd then. No matter what you’ve been through, or what you’ve done, or even what you’re currently doing, you’re still you. You’re still his son. You’re still Dick’s brother. And you just... you said you were my brother so... We all care about you.”

The Red Hood didn’t respond. Completely still completely silent. With the Hood on Tim had no facial expressions to go off of, so he opted to keep talking.

“Like I said. It doesn’t really matter, but I don’t think you’ve changed that much. You know, in the way that matters. I doubt you remember, but I actually met you before. I was just some dumb kid in over my head sneaking around downtown. You saved me and got me home safe. You saved me that night, and you saved me today. You’re still my hero.”

Another moment of silence and Tim was starting to worry this had all been too schmaltzy, when slowly, Jason removed his Hood revealing red eyes and wet cheeks. “I remember.” He murmured softly.

“Oh.” Tim found himself lost for words, and cheeks flushing that Jason remembered. “Uh, cool.”

More silence passed before Jason finally spoke again. “You wanna think of me as a brother?” He asked skeptically.

“Well, you said it first.”

A pale red blush had kept into Jason’s cheeks as well. “And you’re... ok with that?”

Of course, he was. Who wouldn’t want Jason Todd as their brother?! But he’d been emotionally vulnerable enough for the night. “Dick already says we’re brothers, even though I‘m not actually Wayne. I just work here. But like, the brotherhood of Robins and all. That’s cool.”

Jason raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Even if I’m a violent crime lord?”

“Yeah,” Tim confirmed.

Jason still looked pretty stunned by his willingness, but he nodded in seeming acceptance then hesitantly restarted the car and pulled back onto the road. “Well, I better get you home now.”

The thought of going home to his empty house right now turned Tim’s stomach. So now was the time to really push his luck. “I-I’m pretty tired. And the drive back to Bristol will take a while. Could I maybe just stay at your place tonight?”

Jason looked sincerely shocked. “I just murdered multiple people in front of you, and you want to spend the night at my place?”

“Yeah.” Tim doubled down. “But only if there’s something to eat. I’m starving”

The edge of Jason’s lip twitched in a half-smile, revving up the speed as he corrected course towards his nearest safe house. “I’ll order pizza.”

“No pineapple.” Tim pled.

“Fuck no!” Jason barked out a laugh, finally breaking serious atmosphere and reaching over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Thank fuck, Dickface hasn’t brainwashed you. I might be a murderer, but I’m not that kind of monster.”

Tim laughed as well. “For that alone, I think I might have a new favorite brother.”

“Yeah, my thirteen-year-old hero worship for Dick died that first time I saw him order his own Hawaiian pizza. That was when I first realized he’s actually a loser.”

Tim snorted. “What? His sense of humor didn’t tip you off.”

Now Jason was howling. “Damn baby bird. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

Chapter Text

Tim was halfway home from school when the alert came in requesting help evacuating Gotham Academy’s science building from a fire. Firefly had attacked a transport down by the docks the night before, and most of the Gotham Fire Department was still containing the remains downtown, so emergency service would take too long to help with immediate evacuation needs. And so that’s how Tim found himself turning right back around to Gotham Academy, but this time after making a quick safe house stop to get in a different uniform.

Thankfully by the time Robin arrived most of the building had been safely cleared, except one student on the third floor, who had stayed behind to help others evacuate—Bernard Dowd.

 So, with only one person in need of rescue, Tim slipped on his rebreather and grappled his way to an open third-floor window.

From there he quickly found his classmate, crouching low below the smoke. Bernard had taken off his shirt and was covering his face with it as a makeshift mask. Bernard’s eyes lit up with relief when he spotted the teen vigilante. He lowered the makeshift tee shirt face covering and beamed, “Robin!” and Tim’s rebreather must have malfunctioned for a moment because his breath caught in his throat for a second.

With only a minor fumble Tim pulled out the second rebreather from his belt and handed it to Bernard who gratefully put it on and stood up.

“Do you mind if I uh…” Tim gestured awkwardly, the words catching in his throat for some reason. Now that Bernard was standing Tim could tell he was actually pretty well built—Tim vaguely remembered Bernard mentioning some martial arts training. It was definitely working well for him. He should ask—wait no focus. Tim is only making these… observations for the practical necessity of determining whether he can lift the civilian. “I can pick you up and grapple down.”

“Of course!” Bernard instantly agreed and wrapped his arms around Tim’s neck and—ok, that’s how this is happening. Pretending to feel confident, Tim scooped Bernard into his arms and as quickly as possible grappled their way back out the window, and down to the ground.

The landing was a little rough, and the two both found themselves frozen for a moment, eyes locked as adrenaline still rushed through Tim’s veins. After a second, he awkwardly dropped the arm holding Bernard’s legs, allowing the blonde to stand upright. But even with his feet on the ground, Tim's other arm was still looped around Bernard’s waist, and Bernard’s arms were still securely wrapped around Tim’s neck and their eyes were still locked, and um, it was a bit warm out here—but like comfortably so, Tim wasn’t complaining this was all very um, comfortable—

Until a shadow loomed over them both and Bernard tensed for a moment before taking a polite step back, finally separating, as Red Hood appeared behind them. Even with the mask, his pure body language communicated more danger than a glare ever could.

“Hood?” Tim questioned. “What are you doing here?” Gotham Academy was way outside his territory there was no reason for him to be here—unless… Tim flushed even redder wondering if Jason came all the way across town just to check on him since it was his school that was on fire.

“Just making sure no kids are getting barbecued today.” He quipped, but his posture remained as intimidating as ever, and all of that menace was clearly directed at Bernard for some reason. “This was the last one?”

“Yes, um, sir?” Bernard confirmed and immediately the Red Hood shouldered his way between the two teenagers and putting his hands on Robin’s shoulders began to forcefully steer him away.

“Then we’ll be on our way.”

“Hey!” Tim attempted to object, but Jason really was an unstoppable force when he got moving. Instead of resisting Jason’s manhandling he simply called out of his shoulder. “Thank you for your help evacuating the other students! Make sure to stay here and speak with emergency care providers. You should be checked for shock and smoke inhalation and—“

Before Tim could continue his list of potential injuries from the fire, Bernard actually cut him off shouting back with red cheeks. “No! Thank you, Robin! You saved me! I was only doing what you would.”

 “For fucks sake,” Jason muttered under his breath, picking up the pace at which he shoved Tim away.

Bernard called after them in a final question. “Wait, Red Hood! Is it true that you’re a dhampyre?” 

Jason completely ignored the poor kid's question and instead marched on until he got Tim to his bike. “Go home. And the next time I see you, we’re having The Talk.”

“What do you mean The Talk?!” Tim hissed, face flushing even redder than it already was. “How old do you think I am? I already got—”

“Bruce gave you the book?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, well Dick already—”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Jason!” Tim practically wailed in the complaint. “Where is this coming from? What is this even about? What did an evac mission have to do with ‘The Talk’?”

A beat passed between them. “You seriously don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

“Nevermind. All the more reason for The Talk. You're too young to understand. You'll work it out eventually.”