Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim was tired. He wasn’t being hunted down or anything, but for fuck’s sake the Riddler needed to chill, because this was the third time this month that he’d set up a death trap for Tim to solve. And of course Tim solved it, because no one else on the team could solve it half as fast as him, no offense.

So while the rest of the Titans retreated to their respective quarters - why couldn’t he just say ‘bedrooms’? - he found himself settling into a spinny desk chair with a mug of coffee. Three unfinished mission reports awaited him, and a disappointed Batman face. Not a Bruce face, because Bruce meant family, and he really didn’t need more disappointed family.

Typing wasn’t a great distraction, and all he managed to do was snap at Raven when she checked in on him before heading to her room, and he was starting to drift a bit. Frowning, he downed the rest of his coffee, about to get more when the automated voice rang out.

Warning: Unauthorized Entry of Sector B-2

Great. Now he had to reset the system. Another fucking problem, and he had school at 8 tomorrow.

Warning: Unauthorized Entry of Sector B-3

Warning: Unauthorized Entry of Sector B-4

Warning: Unauthorized Entry of Sector B-5

Tim was in sector B-6.

That was all the warning he got before his chair was tipped backwards, spilling him painfully on the floor. “Hey there, Replacement.”

Lifting his head, all he could see were gleaming boots in front of his face. He let instinct take over, rolling away from the raised foot and onto his feet. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why was a villain in the Tower, and they were attacking him.

It took a moment for the identity of his attacker to click. Leather jacket, thick armor, and most distinctively, a crimson helmet. That would be Red Hood, who needed no further introduction, because all Tim thought of was that he was going to fight his way out.

Alright, focus, Tim thought sternly. No need to panic. Talk him down.

“Hey, Hood.” His eyes were narrowed through the domino. “How’s it going?”

“It would be going better if a certain little bird was grounded.”

“Actually, I’m more of a bat than a bird, so we’re gonna have to scratch that.” Lie. Tim would always be a bird, detective or not.

“Don’t lie to me, Tim. You’re in bird colors.” Hood’s helmet glinted in the light. He knew Tim’s name. This was worse than he thought, Tim was worse than he thought, because he had been Robin before, but now he was just Tim Drake.

Right. Tim Drake had all the same training as Robin, who’s to say Hood wasn’t just guessing? Tim was a common enough name, wasn’t it - but the way he said it.

“Good guess, but not quite! I’ll give you another try if you’re lucky!” Tim flashed Hood a brilliant smile, hoping he hadn’t taken too long to recover.

“Tim Drake. Timothy Jackson Drake.” It was all he could do to stop himself from blanching as the mechanized voice spouted his full name, middle and all, as if it was nothing. As if Tim wasn’t watching his mask peel away with every word.

He opened his mouth to deflect it, but Hood beat him to it. Tim couldn’t help but notice the guns holstered in various places, probably more under his jacket. He was painfully aware of his missing staff, tucked away in his room. “Don’t bother, Replacement. I know all about you and your little friends. Bruce Wayne. Dick Grayson. Barbara Gordon. Jason Todd.”

Tim stiffened at the last name because Jason was dead, and his memory didn’t deserve to be sullied by Hood. “Don’t talk about him. He’s a better person than you’ll ever be, Hood.”

When Hood chuckled, it was cold and flat. “Aw, sensitive about the little dead birdie, are we? Don’t worry, Timmy. I don’t care about him. You’ve got my attention tonight.”

“Actually, it’s 2am. Morning.”

God, please tell me it’s not that creepy kind of attention, because I really don’t need a pedophile today, not with everyone sleeping - wait.

“Where is my team?”

Hood laughed, low and chilling. “Just taking a nap. They won’t be waking up anytime soon, but I’d be worrying about myself right now, if I were you.”

Tim was about to argue, to demand answers because those were his friends, but his eyes were drawn inescapably to the gun that was in Hood’s hand, aimed at his chest. Shit.

“Hey, Hood, let’s not-” He prepared himself to roll out of the way “- shoot people. Or me.”

Hood said nothing, and by the time a shot rang on, Tim was already rolling, and a bullet tore into his calf. He cried out, trying to muffle it, and ran. He had to get his staff, he had to call for help.

Okay, plan. First, get his staff. Second, send out a distress signal. Lastly, stall.

He could do this. Just a crime lord. Tim was Robin, he could do this.

Hood’s footsteps echoed eerily, slow and purposeful, while Tim skidded around a bend, chancing a look in his friends’ rooms. They were all asleep in various positions, and Cyborg was on the ground. At the end of the hall he found his room, staff laying on the floor. He snatched it and whirled to face Red Hood, who was just entering his view.

“Well, it looks like the baby bird found his stick.” Tim gritted his teeth at the taunt, tightening his grip on the smooth wood. “I think I’m ready to test the new Robin out.”

“What?” Tim blanked for a moment, because why would Hood, a crime lord newer than Tim was to the scene, care about him not being the first Robin? It was basically common knowledge, with the changing body types and voices, but nobody had ever cared. Not this way. “What’s it to you?”

Hood drew closer, the handgun still in his grasp, circling Tim like a shark. He edged towards the hallway, feeling trapped. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

When he struck, it wasn’t with a bullet, but with a fist in Tim’s gut that pushed him back. He stifled a groan - Hood was strong, then took off into more open space, Hood following him silently, a contrast to the echoing footsteps of minutes ago.

And then they fought.

It started off predictable, striking and dodging and flickering panic when his blows were easily deflected, grunts of pain when fists hit him, trying not to favor his injured leg too much.

That was just the beginning.

Hood didn’t tire, just kept coming back faster and faster until Tim couldn’t dodge, and then his staff - it was wrenched out of his hands as easily as tearing candy out of a baby’s grasp, and turned against him.

That’s where he was now, pinned against a wall and crying out as his own staff struck at him again and again.

Even as he thrashed, tried every move he could think of, it wasn’t enough. Hood was too strong, too vicious, and he seemed to know every attack and defense Tim attempted.

“What do you want, Hood?” he spat, shoving against him. “I’ve never done anything to you.”

“Oh, I think you have.” And with that, he pressed a forearm against Tim’s throat and used his free hand to pull off the helmet. Underneath was a face Tim recognized all too well.

Even with the domino mask, Tim knew Jason Todd - dead - on the spot, older and sharper but still the same nose and cheeks and jaw.

“Jason,” he breathed, the fight going out of him instantly. For a moment, all he could think about was that his hero was alive. But that was before he realized the Robin that he’d idolized was currently beating the shit out of him with a single-minded hatred that Tim hadn’t seen since Batman went after the Joker.

“Replacement,” Jason snarled back, all too angry without the filter his helmet provided. Tim flinched away.

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could say when the pieces clicked, ‘replacement’ ringing through his mind like a calling. That was what he was. A placeholder. He had taken Jason’s colors - but Jason was dead - and now he had to pay. “I didn’t - I couldn’t replace you. Bruce - he loves you. So does Dick. So does -” Tim broke off when Jason pressed his arm harder, cutting off his air.

Tim’s hand scrabbled at him, eyes wide as Jason spoke, low and dangerous. “You never should have put that uniform on, Pretender. You’ll regret it.”

“J’son,” he choked out, “‘M not your r’placement.”

Jason tore off his mask, leaving Tim to wince in sympathy at what must’ve hurt. Though, he really couldn’t talk, because he was just now registering the snapped arm, dislocated shoulder, cracked or broken ribs, and a lot of bruises.

“Stuff it, Replacement. You stole my spot as Robin and as his son. I don’t want them back, but you’re going to regret it.” Though his voice was calm, even, Tim could see the rage in his green eyes - Jason’s eyes were blue.

Jason eased off long enough for him to inhale frantically before he was thrown to the ground with a scream as his ribs burned at the impact, and the bones in his arm ground together. He could move his shoulder at all, but if he could just set it, he’d - his mind short-circuited. What would he do?

Run?

Jason would catch him.

Fight?

That wasn’t even an option anymore.

Freeze?

As if.

Fawn?

Now. There was something. Maybe if he - if he let Jason take out his anger, accept the pain, Jason would come back. Tim would survive, and honestly, if he didn’t, no one would care that much. They might shed a tear or two, but with Jason returned to them, it wouldn’t matter.

Jason was settling over him, straddling him with a knife in hand, a sharp grin on his face. Tim tensed for a moment, before going completely limp, head falling back.

Jason laughed coldly, and his hand ghosted over the ‘R’ on his suit. Tim stopped himself from flinching, watching him evenly as he tried to control his breathing.

“What is it, Pretender? Scared?”

“You win.” Tim’s voice was flat, because he was tired. “I’m not going to fight you, Jason. I can’t fight you. You’re better than me and we both know it. Just -” he closed his eyes. “- just get it over with.”

Jason’s face contorted through several emotions Tim couldn’t bother picking out, before settling on a satisfied grin. “Oh, really? You gonna listen to me? Make this nice and easy?”

Tim nodded without a word.

“The last Robin didn’t go down half as easy. I would know.” His voice turned angry again, burning rage that made all of Tim’s wounds throb. He’d also hit his head at some point, and everything was a bit too blurry to be normal.

But Jason was right. Tim would never be as good, as strong, as loved, and he’d come to terms with that. So he’d accept what Jason gave him, however painful, because it was only fair. Jason was angry, at Tim, at Bruce, at everything. Tim was - Tim was good at obeying. Tim would suffer for everyone, and maybe Jason would go home.

Jason was Tim’s Robin, and he would die for him.

So in lieu of a real response, he nodded in acknowledgement and waited.

Jason smiled without teeth, and something in his eyes looked settled enough that everything was worth it. He grabbed Tim’s collar and hauled him upright as he himself stood, higher and higher until he was balanced on his toes trying not to choke.

“Maybe if you were a bit taller, short stack,” Jason mocked, and what should’ve been a lighthearted tease was vicious in context, but Tim just wrapped both hands around the crime lord’s wrist and prayed. To whom, he didn’t know, but he prayed nonetheless.

When Tim did nothing, Jason lifted his other hand to cup Tim’s cheek gently, far too gently because Tim couldn’t help but lean into the touch. If Jason wanted him dead, Tim wouldn’t stop him. He could take refuge for now.

“You really won’t stop me, will ya?” Jason marveled, even as Tim struggled to draw in a breath. His arm hurt. And then without warning, he was dropped back onto his feet, ribs protesting the sudden movement, along with everything else that had been broken, bruised and bloodied.

“Can you get on your knees for me, Timmy?” He phased it as a question, but it wasn’t, and he tried not to groan as he complied.

Jason circled him, slowly, and fear raced down Tim’s spine. He could see the glint of metal in one hand, pulled from something under the leather jacket, before he halted in front of Tim.

“Are you gonna behave for me?”

“Yes.” Because Jason was his hero, and Tim would do whatever he wanted, just for a scrap of approval, a word of affection, a soft touch, anything.

It was with a smile that Tim’s suit, Robin’s suit, gave way to his skin, split apart until it bled and Tim screamed for the first time. It carved into his flesh, bloody and sharp, until he struggled to stay up on his knees, wings engraved into his shoulders like a twisted badge of honor.

His breathing hitched as Jason ran his hand over the fresh wounds, like they meant something, smearing blood. Then a weight settled in Tim’s hair, wrenching his head back to look at what he wished was still a cold, indifferent helmet, because now it was purposeful.

Still, he didn’t fight.

“You’ve been such a good boy, haven’t you?” If Tim wasn’t half delirious from pain and maybe a concussion, he would’ve snickered. But that wasn’t Jason’s intention, never would be from how brutally he dealt with rapists and pedophiles. He was safe from that at least.

But the touch was gentle, and Tim leaned his head back into it, meeting Jason’s gaze. “A good soldier.”

Tim froze as Jason trailed the knife over his throat, pushing down hard enough to nearly break skin, but not quite. “You know I’m gonna kill you, don’t you?”

Carefully, he nodded. He tried not to swallow.

“You’re not gonna fight me?”

“No,” he whispered, raspy and true. If this was the price to pay for having a family, he was willing.

Jason made a pleased noise in his throat, before slicing Tim’s open.

Tim choked on nothing as he felt it, a hand flying to his throat to feel the blood dripping - dripping? It should be gushing.

The cut was shallow.

It was purposeful. Just a hair deeper and it would’ve nicked the carotid artery, would’ve drained the life from him in seconds. But it didn’t.

“Oh, Replacement,” Jason laughed coldly. “Did you think it would be that easy?”

He leaned down to whisper in Tim’s ear. “This is gonna hurt.”

The moment he released Tim, he slumped over, broken ribs and all, because it was time to give in. To really, truly give in.

“Okay.”

Suddenly, the presence of Jason right behind him vanished, and a few seconds later he heard gagging. It was distant, though, like from another room. Tim furrowed his brows but didn’t move, because if this was how Jason wanted him to stay, that was how he would stay.

“Kid,” came Jason’s voice, much closer than before. “Can you stand?”

Tim thought about it for a moment, because lying to his soon-to-be murderer was not high on his fucking list. As he unfolded his legs, he couldn’t hold in a whimper as his injuries protested the movement. Something grabbed his good shoulder and pulled him completely upright.

“Brace yourself.” Jason began to countdown from five, one hand on Tim’s dislocated shoulder, and on three, shoved it back into place. Tim strangled a scream.

“Good job, good job.” Jason’s voice was quiet, soft. It didn’t seem furious or angry at all. “We’re going to the med bay, alright?”

Tim blinked, following Jason’s steady steps with a limp.

Jason groaned for no apparent reason, looking down at Tim’s leg, which was still sluggishly bleeding. “Shit, right. You gotta bullet in your leg.”

Tim hummed in agreement, wondering what the fuck was going on. Maybe Jason wanted to draw it out?

I hope not, he thought. It’s painful enough already.

“I’m gonna pick you up now, ‘kay?” Jason sighed, and after Tim nodded, because what else would he do, a strong arm slid under Tim’s knees. He panicked for a moment when his legs went out from under him, but there was another limb supporting his back, and he was being carried bridal style.

Tim bit back a whimper when it jostled his arm, but he leaned his head against Jason’s chest and let himself pretend it was Bruce carrying him after a hard patrol, warm and safe. Maybe he could pretend for a little while longer.

His ribs protested as he was placed on a - bed? It had the stiffness of a medical cot, the kind Tim was all too familiar with. He blinked, recognizing the sterile room of the Tower’s med bay.

What? Wasn’t Jason killing him?

“Tim,” Jason said softly, drawing Tim’s attention back. “Can you look at me?”

Tim looked at him, tipping his head into the hand that carded through his hair. He would take whatever comfort he could get. “Good, that’s good. Keep your eyes open.”

Tim hissed and ducked away as a light shone into his eyes. “Fuck off.”

“He speaks.” Jason’s voice was amused, and Tim was a bit confused as to why the hand in his hair didn’t tighten painfully. Really, Tim should’ve been more suspicious, because there was a prick in the back of his neck, and everything was blissfully dark.

Chapter Text

Jason was furious. Jason was delighted. Jason was confused.

The fight had been exhilarating, sure, but when it drained out of Robin, that was - that was better. The power, the rush of green that clouded his vision, hissing its need for blood, for pain.

Robin had provided.

First had been the battle, if you could even call it that. Robin was outclassed, easily, hopelessly. Not only was Jason bigger, stronger, but the League had certainly taught him a few things, and the Pit kept his reflexes sharp.

Now Robin looked up at him with eyes that reflected the knife in his hand, and Jason had to grin. “Oh, really? You gonna listen to me? Make this nice and easy?”

“The last Robin didn’t go down half as easy. I would know,” said Jason, burning with rage because how could Bruce replace him with this? He was weak and scared and - this was his childhood hero attacking Tim - and Jason hardly broke a sweat taking him down.

He was expecting a rebuttal, a protest, something but blind agreement, a spark of defiance within that Robin was supposed to have. Instead, Robin nodded without a word. Jason seethed, hauling him up until he couldn’t stand, the collar of his suit tight and constricting. Jason could see him struggle to draw air in, and it was delightful.

“Maybe,” Jason observed him with no small amount of glee, “If you were a bit taller, short stack.”

It was time to ground a bird. As much as Robin denied it, he wore the colors that Jason had died in, before Jason’s body had even cooled. Had stolen his place in the family and on the field.

Jason bet Dick had welcomed his replacement with open arms in a way that Jason never got. He’d probably smiled and called him ‘baby bird’ and hugged him and cared. When Dick saw Jason for the first time, he’d told Bruce he didn’t want a brother, and hardly spared Jason a glance.

(But then he had loved him, they’d gone trainsurfing, they’d gotten ice cream and laughed at Batman behind his back and -)

Well, Dick wasn’t here to save the baby bird now.

Jason realized for a second that he’d blanked, and that Robin was still hanging there, not moving. Oh, he was alive, it hadn’t been that long, thin hands wrapped around Jason’s arms in a silent plea.

Cupping his cheek with a hand was easy. Robin’s reaction was pathetic, sinking into it like it brought him salvation.

“You really won’t stop me, will ya?” Jason looked at him consideringly, because he had won. The fight was well and truly over, and it was time for some more fun.

Before Robin could respond, Jason dropped him without a warning. The sound of his stifled cry was music to Jason’s ears. He had done that. He’d shown the Replacement exactly what being Robin meant. And he wasn’t nearly done.

Miraculously, Robin had managed to remain standing, and Jason had heard the distinctive snap of bones quite a few times. That wouldn’t do. Jason wondered how far this newfound obedience would go.

“Can you get on your knees for me, Timmy?” It would hurt. Jason knew it would hurt.

He hid his surprise when Robin folded awkwardly into a kneel with a muffled groan. Jason grinned, not displeased with the newest turn of events, and pulled his knife from its sheath. It was going to get bloody, he knew, circling his prey with a single-minded intent that was focused on pain.

“Are you gonna behave for me?”

“Yes.”

Jason smiled, because he was in control, Robin’s life rested in his hands, and he’d given it over himself. He was still smiling when he dug the knife into Robin into both skin and suit gave way to blood.

Time to give Robin some wings. As he carved them into his skin, long lines with curved edges, he heard every scream and it invigorated him. The Pit took joy in every cry of pain as he dug the knife into pale skin, blood dark against it. He felt complete. Everything settled into place.

Even as Robin screamed, Jason started the second one, drawing blood with deep wounds that made him grin with sadistic glee. He finally understood why some people enjoyed the screams.

Finally, as the Replacement nearly toppled to the side, trembling, he finished. Running a hand over his work just to hear Robin’s breathing hitch and watch the blood cover what skin was left unmarred, he let the smile drop.

Then he tangled his fingers in Robin’s hair - black hair, of course it was black, just like his eyes were blue - and pulled in back until his neck was bent to look at Jason, who stood behind him, towering over him.

“You’ve been such a good boy, haven’t you?” Jason was oddly entranced when Robin leaned into his hand, meeting his eyes. They were watering. “A good soldier.”

Robin went rigid against him when Jason used his free hand to draw the knife lightly across his exposed throat, not quite hard enough to draw blood. “You know I’m gonna kill you, don’t you?”

He was. He would. It was the only way to end it. Jason wasn’t gonna make it easy.

When Robin nodded, he continued. “You’re not gonna fight me?”

Robin spoke for the first time in a while, low and raspy. “No.”

Jason was a bit surprised - who recruited an apparently suicidal vigilante? - but he made a pleased sound, because this was going to be fun. In one fluid movement, the skin of Robin’s neck opened in a neat incision, and the Replacement choked, a hand going instinctively to feel the blood.

It wasn’t going to kill him. There was much more Jason was going to do before he was ready to end the night. So many more screams, more pain, and just the idea made the Pit purr its approval.

The moment the realization crossed Robin’s face, Jason laughed so coldly that he could feel the ice. “Oh, Replacement. Did you think it would be that easy?” He bent over so that his lips nearly brushed Robin’s ear. He could smell the blood. “This is gonna hurt.”

He was expecting a lot of things. He was expecting Robin’s resolve to break, for him to scramble away. He was expecting a whimper and a plea for mercy. He was expecting tears.

He was not expecting Robin to go completely limp, spilling over the floor in a way that had to jostle his ribs, and utter a small, broken, “Okay.”

Jason stumbled back, the green fading from his vision so abruptly - when had everything tinted so violently? - that it made him gag. The kid - oh fuck that was a kid - lay there without moving.

As he turned into the other room, he emptied his stomach into the garbage bin, because he attacked a child. He was going to kill a child. For no other reason than jealousy, the feeling of being replaced, but the Replacement - Tim - was still a kid, probably not even fifteen.

Shit, he fucked up. A lot. There was a teenager in there with broken bones and a slit throat and fucked up shoulder because of Jason.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The Red Hood was supposed to protect kids, because they were off limits. There was no shortage of dead bodies to testify that, and the street kids had just begun to approach him with names and targets. And here he was. Beating up a kid.

But Tim needed medical help, and currently Jason was the only one awake, and he was not calling fucking Batman. Nightwing was an option, but coms were down, thanks to himself.

So he walked back in to see Tim exactly where he’d left him. Okay. He could work with that. “Kid, can you stand?”

There was a pause, probably Tim thinking it over, before he nodded. Slowly standing, he whimpered, and it was automatic for Jason to reach and steady him on his good shoulder. Speaking of shoulders, he carefully avoided the bloodied wounds and dislocation.

“Brace yourself,” Jason told him, counting down from five. On three, he shoved the joint back into place, wincing at Tim’s scream. “Good job, good job. We’re going to the med bay.”

He started walking, trying to go slowly, but Tim was limping. He groaned, the gun feeling heavy in his holster, Tim’s cry of pain echoing in his ear. “Shit, right. You gotta bullet in your leg.”

He glanced down at Tim’s leg, stained red. Tim himself looked confused, humming in agreement. “I’m gonna pick you up now, ‘kay?”

When Tim nodded, Jason slid one arm under his knees and the other on his back, low enough not to pull at the wings cut into his shoulders. Fuck, the way he leaned into Jason like he wasn’t a murderer, didn’t attack him, didn’t beat him bloody. Jason needed to keep him safe.

Jason would kill to keep him safe.

He got turned around once or twice, but he found the med bay relatively easily, setting Tim down on his stomach. He really couldn’t win here, but he needed to treat the wounds before they got infected.

“Tim,” Fuck, Jason was already using his victim voice, tailored as a teen vigilante for small children, “Can you look at me?”

To really seal the deal, he began to run his hand gently through Tim’s hair, allowing himself a bittersweet smile as the boy leaned into his touch like a cat. Damn, this kid was touch starved.

When Tim met his eyes, he allowed himself a real smile. “Good, that’s good. Keep your eyes open.”

He pulled a flashlight from the table and shone it into Tim’s obligingly wide eyes. Tim hissed exactly like a cat, and Jason was right about that comparison the first time.

“Fuck off,” and Jason startled into a chuckle at the flash of pissed-teen, refreshing.

“He speaks,” Jason said with a grin, softer than the feral one from minutes before. He continued to card his hand through Tim’s fluffy black hair, waiting for him to relax. He could patch him up when he was awake, but the combination of ribs and shoulder wounds, without bringing the broken leg into the mix, was bound to be painful.

Luckily, he brought his own sedative. He didn’t want to think about why.

When Tim finally untensed, he carefully hit the vein and injected it into his bloodstream. The effect was immediate, and soon he had a passed out vigilante on his hands.

Jason grimaced and grabbed the stitches. Time to begin.

Tim woke up. Normally, that wasn’t unusual, but he was rather surprised to wake up after last night’s events. Actually, he was expecting to be very much dead at this point. He didn’t know what dying felt like, so maybe it really was like falling asleep. Honestly, the second he felt the needle touch his neck, he was ready for death.

Apparently, Jason had other plans.

He sat up, looking around to the familiar Tower med bay. The only difference was a crime lord sat, severely lacking in the weapons, armor, and helmet department, on the foot of the bed. The leather jacket was still on, but since he was cross-legged, reading a book, the intimidation factor was down by a lot.

His shoulders ached. One held the dull pain of a sore joint, but he could feel the deep wounds etched across the backs of both. He could feel stitches pulling, and his ribs were pleasantly numb, likely a painkiller. His brain was a bit fuzzy, but that was easy to blame on the concussion and the drugs.

Jason’s green eyes focused on him. “Mornin’, baby bird. Your teammates are still out cold. I knocked ‘em out with some gas when I showed up last night, but then I gave ‘em some of that shit I gave you. I’m sure they’re great and all, but I really don’t need to deal with a bunch of super-powered teens after I beat up their leader.”

Tim said nothing, staring at him intently. Why wasn’t he attacking? Taunting him? Telling him what a failure he already knew he was. Instead he was sitting there, chatting like they were old friends.

“Look,” Jason sighed. “I know I fucked up. I fucked up majorly. I never should have attacked you. I shouldn’t have been here to start.” His voice was solemn, and Tim shivered under the strength of his gaze. “What I said - I was wrong. You’re Robin, and you’re damn good at it. I’ve seen the way you talk to victims, your computer skills. You’re a goddamn asset, Tim.”

Despite everything, Tim felt himself preen under the praise, because Jason Todd was calling him an asset. And it wasn’t in the cold, clinical way his parents had seen him, it was warm and gruff and earnest, like Tim really meant something. Like he was worth something.

“There’s a lot more I have to say, and quite a few explanations, but in conclusion, I’m really, really sorry. You deserve better. And I’ll leave just as soon as you’ve got someone to watch. And, not to disturb you, but I’m not calling the big Bat and co. I don’t fancy getting arrested.”

It was all he could do to nod. His hero wasn’t mad at him. Jason didn’t hate him. Jason was sorry.

Yeah, everything hurt, but it would be better.

Yeah, it wasn’t okay, but it would be.

So, Tim used his wide eyes that never failed to bring Dick running, and tipped his head to the side. It pulled at the stitches on his neck, but he didn’t mind. Jason’s expression cracked and he moved to Tim’s side, made no protest when Tim sank into him, head leaned back against Jason’s collarbone.

“It’s okay,” he said, and it was only a half lie. He just needed time. Jason’s arms wrapped around him protectively, and Tim felt safe. This was the Jason he’d grown up watching, who’s photos littered his room, scattered and cherished.

“No, it’s not.” Jason pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “But thanks anyway.”

Tim made a low, happy sound and pressed closer, blinking up at him sleepily.

Jason swore lowly, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Tim’s bare collarbone. “I get why Dick likes you so much. You’re so damn cute, baby bird.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “Objection. I’m a hardened vigilante. I regularly take on men twice my size and beat the shit out of them. That doesn’t qualify as cute.”

“It does when they’re twice the size of you. Tiny. I’m literally double your size.”

“You’re as big as fucking Batman, Jason. It doesn’t count.”

Jason stiffened for a moment, and Tim was terrified he’d made a mistake, going limp in a desperate attempt to appease him and tipping his head back. Then Jason relaxed and hushed him, starting to run a hand through his hair. Tim melted when he lightly scratched his scalp.

“Asshole,” Tim grumbled. Maybe he was being stupid. But right now he was tired, and this was Jason fucking Todd petting his hair.

There was a lot more that Tim had seen then the… attack. So much more. But Jason had died and - wait.

Tim straightened instantly. “You - you should be dead!”

“No shit, Sherlock. I can see you were trained by the World’s Greatest Detective.” Jason laughed, ruffling his hair and tugging him back down.

“But - how?”

“Dunno. Just happened. Took a dip in the Lazarus Pit afterwards, though.” Jason shuddered, and Tim pressed his face against Jason’s chest, not protesting when Jason squeezed him just a bit too tight.

That would explain the anger, while not uncharacteristic, and the way it flipped off like a switch. Tim still didn’t know why. Along with the oddly colored eyes, most oddities could be resolved, but the anger directed at Bruce.

There were few places that had a Lazarus Pit. One of them was somewhere, very, very bad, a place with people who’d be delighted to twist Batman’s son against him. Somewhere like - “The League,” he whispered, before his hand flew to cover his mouth.

“Clever bird, aren’t you?” Jason murmured, loosening his grip. Tim stretched out his bad leg and bent the other close to his chest.

Tim shrugged, because it really wasn’t that hard of a connection to make. “I’ve been told.”

Jason sighed, ruffling Tim’s hair lightly. Tim leaned into him more, humming pleasantly. “We gotta talk later, once you tell your friends not to kill me. Please.”

Tim arched his neck to press against Jason’s hand, which started to card through his hair. “I’ll take that as a yes, baby bird.”

Tim closed his eyes and sighed, letting the darkness wash over him and drag him under, warm and safe.

Nightwing woke him up hours later by pulling Jason out from Tim and into a hug. Tim flinched.