Work Text:
In Tim’s defense, this was supposed to be your average drug bust; break in, take down the hired muscle, and call the GCPD to pick them up while yours truly went for the heart of the organization. Granted, it got a bit messy sometimes, but not this messy.
Tim may have underestimated them, just a bit. Batman was benched, and Tim had barely wormed his way into closing this case by himself, with the promise to use his panic button immediately if anything went wrong. He was also expecting this to be a normal deal - by Robin’s standard, anyway.
In a way, this was normal, if a bit unpleasant.
A lot unpleasant, actually.
It was possible that Tim had gotten captured.
That in itself wasn’t as unusual as Tim would’ve liked, but he still wasn’t having fun, and the panic button he’d promised to use - and he totally would have! - was currently smoking from the tase Tim had been given around an hour ago. So, that plan was trashed. That left escape.
Which brought him back to his original point - this was supposed to be a normal drug bust. Now, if that was the case, Tim should have had no trouble incapacitating his guards and slipping out of his bounds. And he wouldn’t have, except that he’d been beaten on for the last two hours. And no one knew anything was wrong.
In the beginning, Tim had fought. He had thrashed and thrown punches, but he wasn’t good enough, and eventually even his commentary was silenced with a gag. Now, though, Tim did nothing.
Apparently, said thugs had bigger plans for him, because a hard blow to his temple knocked him out for God knows how long. When he opened his eyes again, it was to a vengeful headache and a completely different place.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone.
This wasn’t your average abandoned warehouse that Gotham’s criminal underbelly thrived in. In fact, Tim doubted it was even a warehouse.
It was an auction house.
Tim had a nasty feeling that he was the ware.
Not only were his dearest kidnappers here, but he saw the faces of several men with several warrants for their arrest on their heads. Gang leaders. Oh, and fucking Black Mask, and Tim was going to die.
They were all looking at him like a piece of meat, and while Tim felt everywhere the suit hugged his skin, he was definitely glad he added pants to the outfit. He shivered, grateful that the mask remained fixed on his face.
He was worth more as Robin than Tim Drake, after all.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Tim jerked his head up as a man walked across the stage in front of him, microphone in hand, “welcome to this impromptu session of Gale’s Auction. Make sure to come to the regular event, every third Saturday of the month! Now, we have a very special prize today: Gotham’s very own Robin!”
The crowd jeered at Tim, who hunched over a bit more, trying not to shake too noticeably. The announcer was right - Tim was Robin. He needed to act like it.
So he straightened his back and glared, lifted his chin, because he wasn’t a coward. He couldn’t fail the legacy, couldn’t fail what Dick had created and Jason had died for.
“I think many of us have a bone to pick with the little birdie, and now’s your chance. Bidding starts at 10 million, folks.”
Instantly a hand shot up. The numbers rose. So did the hands. Tim lost count after a while, but he was pretty sure they had passed the hundred million marker. At least Tim was pricey.
Actually, that might not be a good thing, because the richer his buyer was, the more advanced their torture techniques would probably be. Not that Tim would break, because he would quite literally rather die than give up the rest of the Bats. He wouldn’t say a word of their identities. Never.
Tim tried to scan the crowd for anyone who really stood out, other than one of Gotham’s biggest villains. The average low-level gang leaders, who were definitely out of their league as the numbers creeped ever higher, because of course Tim was worth that much, thank you very much.
He also saw the glint of a helmet in the front, which Tim could recognize pretty easily as the Red Hood. A new crime lord, though quickly gaining ground, wouldn’t have enough funds to buy Robin. He was probably there to enjoy the show.
Though the gleaming red was expressionless, Tim could practically feel the smirk coming off him. He bared his teeth at Hood, shifting in his bonds and ignoring the way his bruises and cuts and also sprained ankle protested.
They were tight. Unfairly tight. At least give a bird a chance, guys.
Luckily for Tim, he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Or his glove.
He pressed a button hidden in his glove, a recent addition, and out slid a tiny little blade, barely two inches long. Tim hid a smile as the announcer called out 300 million to Black Mask and started to saw away at the ropes that held him. Honestly, cheap of them to not use proper chains.
“Five hundred!” Hood stood abruptly, and Tim knew that he was probably fucked.
All heads turned to Hood. Someone called out, “If you’re just gonna kill ‘im, don’t bother buying!”
Hood said nothing, even as another man sneered, “He’s just gonna free the brat - you know how he is with kids.”
“Robin isn’t a kid. He’s a target.” Hood’s modulated voice silenced the room, save for the announcer calling for another bid. No one stepped up.
“Sold! To the Red Hood.” Dread shot up Tim’s spine, because he’d seen the reports of bodies that Batman hadn’t even let him see. Decapitated heads and torn arms and wounds that go straight through the gut and out the other side.
That was shaping up to be Tim’s fate.
He couldn’t even bank on Hood’s defining soft spot for kids, because Hood has said it himself - Tim wasn’t a kid. He’d signed up for this when he’d put on the bloodied suit.
“I’ll take him now.” Hood’s gaze was fixed on Tim.
“Sir, you need to pay first -” The announcer shut up when he was staring down the barrel of the gun.
“Like I trust you bastards,” Hood said lowly, barely loud enough for Tim to hear three feet away. Louder, he said, “I’ll get back to you on payment. For now, I’ll take my bird.”
Tim was tied to a pole, the lone reason he hadn’t stood and taken off. Hood gestured for the man to release him, holstering his gun with ease. The crowd of defeated bidders watch them intently. Tim hurriedly sheathed the little blade. He had been so close.
When the announcer saw the ropes had nearly been broken, he shoved Tim to the ground. “Good luck with that, Boy Wonder.”
Tim sprang to his feet, then immediately regretted it as his ankle and bruises berated him. Hood stared him down, radiating smugness that Tim hated.
“Well, then, Robin. Let’s go.”
Tim shook his head, grinding his teeth on the rag between his jaws.
“What was that?” Hood’s voice was still light, but Tim heard the undercurrent of danger.
He planted his feet, shaking his head again, and glared at Hood with his chin high. Tim wasn’t going into this willingly. He may be beaten and bruised, but he wouldn’t give in; he couldn’t. He was Robin. That was how he got into this. That was how he’d get out.
Tim was suddenly aware of the mass of literal criminals milling just a few feet away, all focused on his standoff with Hood.
“Show ‘im who’s boss!” a man shouted from the back.
“Don’t let the fucking bird say no to you!”
“Use those guns o’ yours, Hood!”
“Teach that bitch his place!”
At the last one, Hood slowly tipped his head to the side, eyes fixed on Tim. “Now that’s an idea.”
And Tim - well, Tim was ashamed to say his chin dropped, and he backed up a step. No. No. He didn’t want to be a Crime Alley villain’s bitch. He knew the kind of stuff that went on there, hidden by side streets and busted lamps.
Tim had thought Hood was making it better.
He had been wrong.
“Don’t like that idea, huh? That’s the life, birdie. So, c’mere and get on your fucking knees.”
Tim refused. Maybe he was stupid to do so, but he had to make a stand here. He had to. He couldn’t sully Robin, not with all that the former Robins had sacrificed. So Tim didn’t move, looking down because he wasn’t that dumb.
“The fun way it is.” Hood chuckled with a certain taste of satisfaction that sent Tim’s instincts on high alert, if they hadn’t been already.
He didn’t want Hood’s fun way. Hood’s fun way was bloody and painful and unending until death, because Tim had seen the victims, and those were the milder ones. Though he’d been horrified, he hadn’t been terrified, because those had been rapists and pedophiles and human traffickers. Tim wasn’t any of those. He’d never been a target.
Tim was the target now.
Tim had a decision to make - pain or pride.
Tim never was prideful.
So before Hood had a chance to do anything, he stepped forward until he was in front of Hood, and dropped down to his knees. He swallowed and let his head fall forward. There was nothing he could do.
“There’s a good bird.” A hand settled in his hair, like Tim was a fucking dog. He might as well be, obeying when Hood said the word.
Exhaling sharply was all Tim could do to respond. Someone catcalled from the throng, harsh and disgusting. Tim tried not to vomit when several men followed suit. Hood’s hand tightened its grip, pulling Tim to press his face against a muscled thigh.
Tim huffed, turning his face away from the crowd. He just caught Hood’s voice, barely loud enough for the helmet to catch it. “That’s right, baby bird. Hold on a bit longer and we’ll be out.”
Before Tim could even begin to decipher that, a deep voice crowed, “Make him use that pretty mouth of his for somethin’ other than jawing off.”
Tim stiffened, hoping, praying, that Hood would refuse, or at least wait until they were alone. He couldn’t - not this. Not here. Tim wasn’t ready. He couldn’t even fight if Hood tried.
“In front of you perverts?” Hood’s filtered laugh was terrifyingly twisted. “I don’t think so. I’ll enjoy little Robin in private.”
“You sure?” Some dumbass gang leader hopped on the stage, and Hood’s gun was trained on him in a heartbeat.
“I’m pretty damn sure. Get outta here, you dumb fuck, the adults are talking.” Tim chanced a look to find the man’s gaze raking over him. He ducked his head when Hood’s gloved hand pushed him down, scratching lightly along the scalp.
The man didn’t leave. Between one moment and the next, he lay dead on the floor from a bullet to the head.
Tim couldn’t see Hood’s smile, but he knew it was there. “What can I say? I’m a bit possessive.”
And for some fucking reason, that calmed the clamoring crowd. Tim would never understand how the minds of the criminal underworld worked. Personally, he would’ve felt safer without the dead body. And yet, everyone was staring, desperate for every bit of humiliation they could wring out of Tim, out of Robin
This - this could be worse. Definitely. He hadn’t been tortured (yet), and Hood seemed to be intent on keeping Tim for himself. That was good. Tim could work with that. He could play nice and follow along, satiate Hood. Maybe he wouldn’t get too violent.
“So, I’ll be taking my bird now. Don’t get any ideas, fellas. I got eyes all through this place.” He dropped his hand from Tim’s head. “Get up, Robin.”
Robin got up.
Tim tried to hide a limp, but Bruce would kill him if he messed up his ankle even more by attempting to act tough.
“Don’t you need a leash for ‘im, Hood?”
“Yeah, he might give ya some trouble.”
Much to Tim’s relief, because he would quite honestly rather die than be treated like a nippy dog, Hood shook his head. “I think he’s learned his place. It’s been a treat, boys.”
And with that, he headed for the door. On the other side of the milling criminals. Tim did not want to walk through that, not now, when he was humiliated and bruised. When he hesitated, Hood placed a hand on his back and pushed him forward, surprisingly carefully. Tim couldn’t do anything but obey.
The crowd cleared a path, seemingly wary of Hood’s guns and penchant for violence. Luckily for both him and Tim, all the biggest players were in Arkham at the moment, though if Ivy did decide to show up, Tim honestly had some faith in her to release him after some mild torture.
Black Mask had slipped out at some point - Tim was 90% sure he hadn’t even been planning to buy, just kidnap him from whoever actually paid. That wouldn’t go down that well with Hood at the helm - he was already known for his brutality, though Tim had yet to experience it.
Someone’s hand brushed against Tim’s thigh, blunt fingers purposefully dragging across his skin. Tim jerked away, scanning the crowd for the culprit. He didn’t know if he’d attack or lean away, but he - was too late.
A man was screaming, blood dripping from the wound in his hand. Hood was already holstering the pistol. The bang echoed in Tim’s ears, but it was distant.
“Don’t. Touch,” Hood snarled. Tim backed into him a bit more, his words from earlier ringing through his mind. ‘Baby bird.’ Only Dick called him that.
Was this - was this a friend of Dick’s? Dick was pretty adept at making reluctant allies in darker people - see Deathstroke - so it wouldn’t be crazy for Dick to have called in a favor, or for Hood to see Tim and figure Dick would want him back. Tim wouldn’t even complain about the hoops he’d had to jump.
And then they went through the door. “Almost done,” Hood said quietly, almost to himself. Tim grunted, walking without resistance.
There were cement stairs that Tim tripped on, falling back on Hood. He caught Tim with a surprised exhale that sounded odd with the filters, pushing him back upright. “Watch it, kid. Wouldn’t want you breaking something before the fun starts.”
He shivered as they met the night air, biting at his exposed skin where his suit had torn.
Before he could shiver again, something warm settled over his shoulders. Tim turned his head to see Hood’s signature leather jacket pulled over him. “You’re annoying when you shiver, birdie.”
Tim’s theory was making more and more sense. The nickname, the fact that despite his threats, Hood hadn’t hurt him. Oh, and Dick’s penchant for growing on murderers. And the fact that Dick would probably try a lot of things to find Tim.
How long had it been? It had been early morning, probably two, when Tim had gotten captured. It was probably late at night now. Had it really been an entire day?
A sharp right turn, and Tim was being hoisted on a motorcycle with a warning not to touch the handles as Hood sat behind him. He was big. Really big. Almost as big as Bruce. Tim felt small. He was also scared, but that feeling was fading, along with the adrenaline rush of being surrounded by people who wanted him dead, hiding behind one violent ‘maybe’.
“Alright, hold on to something.” With that warning, the bike roared to life, leaving Tim to clutch and the sides while it started forward.
It was a minute or so later when he was pulled further against Hood by his arm, holding him firmly in place. Tim felt less like he was going to be thrown off by a sharp turn. He also had some concerns about how much control over the bike Hood had with only one hand.
He protested, waving a hand at the handlebars, careful not to touch. Hood laughed, the wind nearly blowing it away. “Don’t worry, kid, I got it.”
Tim grudgingly dropped his hand and waited.
It was probably ten or so minutes later when Hood pulled into a rundown apartment building. Then, he did something pleasantly surprising - though, maybe not so much, seeing as how he seemed amiable so far.
As Hood got off the bike, he put a shoulder on Tim to keep him in place. “Gimme a sec, baby bird.”
Tim went rigid when he felt the edge of a blade against the back of his head. He wanted to apologize, to see what he did wrong, but he couldn’t talk, not with the cloth tied tight around his head, keeping him from speaking and - falling?
“I -” Tim started, breaking off to wince and rub at his jaw. “Thanks.”
“Yup. Had to wait ‘til no one was following me. Hop off and let’s go.”
“Where?” Tim might be pushing his luck a bit.
“Up.” Hood held up a grapple gun. “So c’mere.”
Tim awkwardly got off the bike and stumbled into Hood. “Watch the ankle, dumbass.” He wrapped one arm around Tim, warm and firm, and within moments they were on the fire escape, and Hood was prying open a window, disabling alarms as he went. Tim stood there, staring.
“Is this a kidnapping?” Tim thought. Hood turned to look at him slowly, and maybe Tim said that aloud. Shit.
“I’m pretty sure the real kidnapping happened last night. And, nah, you’re free to go as soon as I patch you up. In we go.” Hood slipped through the window with ease that betrayed his size, before gesturing for Tim to follow.
Tim hesitated, but maybe this was Dick’s friend, and if he wasn’t, it’s not like he couldn’t catch Tim if he ran anyway. So he limped over and jumped through. His foot slipped on the landing, and he would have had a painful fall if not for Hood catching him, the bastard.
“Easy there, tiger. Sit down.” Tim sat where Hood gestured on the couch, waiting for Hood, who vanished and reappeared with first aid. Tim already had his ankle elevated, so Hood iced it.
“How’d you end up like that, Replacement?” Hood had his back to Tim when Tim tipped his head to the other side at the name, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Drug bust didn’t go as planned.”
“They never do.”
“Are you Nightwing’s friend?” Tim said bluntly.
Hood was quiet for a minute, and then he laughed. The modulator was gone. The laugh was deep, a bit gravelly, but the helmet was off. “You could say that.”
When he turned around, it was to a face Tim knew all too well.
“Jason?” Tim pressed back against the couch, because was he dying? “I’m - I’m dead?” He had to wonder in what world Jason became a dead crime lord, but, whatever.
“The fuck?” Jason was much closer than before. “You’re not dead. How do you even know that? I’m wearing a fucking mask.”
“But you’re - not dead, apparently.” Tim took a deep breath, looking him over. “Crime lord?”
“Shut the fuck up, Timmy. You’re lucky I’m a crime lord, or you’d be Black Mask’s pet.”
Tim shuddered, before perking up. “You know my name?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Thought you were smart, baby bird.”
Right. This was Jason Todd. He knew all their identities. That might be a pain in the future, but Tim didn’t want to think about the future. He wanted to be here, with his hero. “Oh. Yeah.”
“‘Kay, now that that’s settled, I’m gonna need you to take off your suit if you can. I’ll turn away for your modesty, of course.” Jason tossed him a pair of sweatpants that would definitely be too big, and a t-shirt, then turned his back to him.
“Bossy,” Tim snorted and took a couple minutes to change into the oversized clothes. It was a nice change from the skin-tight suit in front of a mob of thugs who despised him.
“Right, anything big we need to worry about?”
“Just some bruises. Maybe a concussion.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Dumbass.” He sat down next to Tim, and Tim didn’t hesitate to shift closer until he was pressed against Jason.
“Sleepy time for baby birds.” Jason sounded uncharacteristically soft. Tim melted against him. He felt safe. This was -“Go to bed before I drug you.”
Tim stiffened, but Jason pushed him down to rest his head in his lap. Tim went peacefully limp. Don’t get him wrong, he believed Jason. It took a special kind of caring to threaten someone with sedatives. Something only a formerly dead Robin would do.
Tim should probably be more concerned about that last part, but Jason was right; he was tired.
Jason started stroking his hair, and it was all over.
Jason was so fucking pissed.
There was no way it was legal for Tim to be acting this fucking helpless. He just passed out with his head in a murderer’s lap. Like it was nothing. Like he trusted everything to be fine.
God, his replacement was stupid.
Jason hadn’t even showed up with good intentions; when he’d received his last minute invitation, he had grinned and gathered his funds together. His plan was one he regretted now, but it had never come into play.
Step one: buy the new Robin.
Step two: humiliate him in front of the mob with some light torture.
Step three: everything he had planned for Titan’s Tower in a more private setting.
Needless to say, that wasn’t Jason’s plan anymore.
Sure, that was what he’d shown up with, but the moment he saw Tim, trembling and bruised, the urge to protect him overcame to green fury. He’d decided to free him as soon as they were clear of the milling lowlifes, but when Tim looked at him with such open fear as he kneeled before him, Jason knew he had to fix him up first.
It had been easy to kill the first man who jumped on the stage after them. It had been hard not to kill the man who groped at Tim when they left. But as much satisfaction as he would take in ending the offender, Jason recognized him as the right hand of Two-Face, and he was not ready for that confrontation. So, he settled for a possibly crippled hand.
Now the kid was passed out with his head in Jason’s lap, Jason still petting him carefully, like he might break. Because it could happen. Jason could snap his neck like this, before Tim could even open his eyes.
Something stirred at the idea, something angry and suffocating and not human. Jason wasn’t used to feeling the difference between the Pit and him. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
But he wouldn’t do that. Tim was a kid. Jason would keep him safe.
He had a phone call to make.
“Who’s this?” Bruce’s voice was wary, but not Batman’s growl. It was his personal cell, after all, and few people had access to it.
“Oh, just wondering if you were missing something. A little bird, perhaps.” His helmet was on, and even through the phone his voice was distinctive.
“Hood,” Bruce snarled, and Jason grinned. This was gonna be fun. More fun, in fact, than anything he’d planned for his attack on Titan’s Tower. He got to make that vein bulge in Bruce’s forehead while the baby bird remained unharmed.
“The one and only.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. Yet. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps, doesn’t he? Helpless.” Jason turned the phone to face Tim, sprawled with his head laying on Jason’s thighs. The mask was off, and Tim’s face was nestled in Jason’s broad palm, which would give the old man a heart attack.
Jason snapped a photo and sent it.
“What do you want?” The tone was clipped, forced control. Jason knew it was just a cover. “This is a ransom, isn’t it?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Bruce inhaled sharply on the other end of the line. “I might just keep him.”
“Don’t lay a finger on him, Hood,” Bruce snapped, venom in his every word. “You’ll live to regret it.”
Jason had no doubt Oracle had already traced the call, so with two last words, he hung up. “Too late.”
It hadn’t been ten minutes when Nightwing burst through his window, Batman on his heels.
“Step away from Robin. Now!” Nightwing growled, uncharacteristically furious. Apparently Jason wasn’t the only one Tim had grown on.
Jason smirked, hidden by his helmet, and obligingly moved to stand. He was stopped, however, by Tim clutching at him and tugging him back down with a whined protest.
“You’ve been outvoted.” Jason had become talented at sending smug through a faceless hunk of metal. It worked.
Batman stepped forward, fists clenched, but Jason brushed the hair out of Tim’s face before settling his hand on his neck. He didn’t squeeze, but it was enough to stop Batman in his tracks. Even though his face remained impassive, the tug of his mouth cued Jason to his fear, fear that turned to anger. It always did, Jason knew. That’s how Batman was born.
Nightwing had calmed himself. “Look, why don’t we just talk this out -”
“That’s a great idea,” Jason cut him off, “so you and the old man can take it down a notch, and put down the fucking escrima sticks. We’re having a chat about child endangerment.”
That was enough to silence them for a minute or two, so Jason went on, moving his hand from Tim’s throat to play with his hair. It had been an empty threat, anyway. “Do you know where I even found this kid? A fucking auction. He was being sold. Because you couldn’t be bothered to keep your damn eyes on him.”
He allowed the Bats a moment to process that before continuing. “And guess who I outbid, with a good chunk of my funds, mind you? Black Mask. You know what he would do to little Robin here.”
“I - I hadn’t realized how much danger he was in.” Batman didn’t seem nearly so intimidating now. Nightwing’s gaze still burned into Jason.
“And you ‘rescued’ him -” Jason could hear the sarcasm, “- out of the goodness of your heart?”
“You know how I feel about kids. Plus, I managed to take out a pedophile in the process. All in a day’s work.” Sure, Jason’s intentions hadn’t been exactly innocent at the start, but he’s past that now.
Nightwing snorted derisively. “Sure. Okay. Thanks, I guess. Give us Robin.”
Jason tutted. “Nope. That’s not how this works. I’m keeping him until he’s awake enough to make his own choices. Shockingly, I don’t trust you assholes.” Well, maybe Nightwing a little, but when it came to Tim, Nightwing and Batman were a package deal.
“Give us Robin.” Batman spoke this time, stony and stubborn.
Too bad Jason was stubborner.
“No. Get out before I make a call. Your little birdie will be returned in a few days in top shape. Only the best for Gotham’s heroes.” Jason’s voice dripped with sarcasm on the last bit, but he meant it when he said Tim would be in better condition.
They didn’t move. Jason internally groaned. He didn’t want to play this card, but fine. “Dick. Bruce. With absolutely no love, get the fuck out.”
Batman stiffened, in contrast to Nightwing’s paler complexion.
“Before you ask, no, I’m not telling you how I know, and, no, I’m not planning on spilling unless you don’t leave my safehouse and stay out until I call you.” He held up his phone. “I got some numbers to call with some interesting news if you don’t.”
The two of them left. Reluctantly, with multiple threats of violence, and one last look at Tim, who was somehow still fucking asleep. Jason carefully moved him, ignoring his muffled protests, and fixed his security, a task that took at least ten minutes.
Tim yawned, blinking slowly. Sunlight filtered through a window and onto his lap where he stretched out on a couch. His pillow was warm, and he nuzzled closer before freezing. That was a leg. Tim rolled over, dislodging the hand that had been buried in his hair.
“Jason?” he mumbled, looking up at him with eyes blurry from sleep.
“That’s the one.” Jason set down a paperback beside them. “Hungry?”
Tim grunted without a real answer. Jason nodded. “Food it is, you scrawny brat.”
“Whatever.” When Jason stood and made his way to the kitchen, Tim sat up and stretched. There was no flashback of the night before - he knew what happened. He also vaguely remembered Nightwing showing up, maybe Batman, but he went back to sleep before anything happened. He had no clue how Jason warded them off, but he wasn’t complaining.
“I made scrambled eggs,” Jason said a few minutes later. “So eat up while I talk.”
Tim obliged, and was delighted to find Jason must’ve learned from Alfred.
“Right, so, here’s the plan. I told Batman and co. when they broke in that I’d keep you around until you were awake enough to decide what you wanted to do. As much as I’d love to double cross them, I’ll let you leave. I can call ‘em for pickup, if you want, or drop you off at the Manor. Not coming in, though.”
“But I wanna stay for lunch.”
“What - it’s noon, baby bird.” Jason looked at him with a bemused expression. Tim merely smiled sweetly.
“Dinner, then. Can I call Dick, though?”
Jason looked about to protest, but Tim gave him his best puppy eyes, approved by his dear older brother. “Fine.”
Jason heaved a sigh and dialed Dick’s number. “Don’t give them a reason to arrest me.”
“Other than the murders?”
“Other than the murders.”
“Hello?” Dick’s voice was cheerful, but a bit forced.
“Dick?” Tim was a bit nervous, honestly. It must have showed, because Jason put a hand on his shoulder.
“Tim? Are you okay? Did Hood do anything?” Tim knew exactly what frantic expression he was making. He had to settle it.
“I’m okay, I swear. I slept for a bit, and the furniture’s nice.” Their code for ‘all clear’ was the last bit. Maybe not exactly what it was intended for, but the message was pretty obvious. From Jason’s flat look, they hadn’t changed the codes in a while.
“Uh huh. Do the curtains match?” ‘Are you safe?’ Dick was certainly on top of things today.
“Yeah, they do. I’m probably staying for dinner. He’s a really good cook. See you soon.”
“Wait, what -” Jason reached over and hung up.
“Jesus, kid, you heard of a secret identity? Or a reputation? Can’t let it get out that I’m nice like that.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “He probably thinks you killed me.”
“It’s tempting.”
“You like me too much.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute, twerp. Otherwise I’d be strangling you.”
Tim smiled charmingly and set down his plate. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“The fuck you are, on that ankle. Stay down, Timmy.” Jason ruffled his hair.
Tim leaned into the touch as Jason leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “You’ll be okay,” he said, almost to himself. “I’ll keep you safe, Tim.”