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Things were about to get complicated. Jason hadn’t had such a complex-yet-simple undercover mission for years. After all, he’d be going as himself. But the stakes were very, very high.
There were traffickers on an international sale. The only way to dismantle them was from the inside, and they couldn’t do it alone. They were beyond even the Bats to take down, so they needed information. They needed an in. They needed to be part of the network.
So Jason would be going as the Red Hood, confident in how his crime lord persona had held up over the years, despite working with the Bats. His partner would be Tim, going as none other than Timothy Drake, CEO of WE, former heir to Drake Industries, and taking advantage of his parents’ (God fuck their souls) dabbling in the less than legal.
“So, Timmy. Let’s go over the plan one more time before we head into the lions’ den.” Jason waved his hand encouragingly. “Go on. Tell me.”
The two of them stood in the shadows of an alleyway just in front of the warehouse the meeting was set in.
“I’m spoiled, rich, yet clever Tim Drake. You know, me, but darker. I’m following Jack and Janet’s footsteps in the darker parts of Gotham, namely trafficking, both human and substance. You and I have worked together before on smuggling, but we’re not super close.”
“Good job.” Jason ruffled his hair in a distinctly condescending manner. “Remember, you’re a rich bitch, not Red Robin. You don’t know things. You’re new to this. Kinda like Brucie Wayne, but meaner. You cannot be too confident in there. Arrogant, yeah, but not confident.”
“I know, Jason. Relax.” Tim rolled his eyes and fixed his gelled hair irritably.
“Just be someone your mommy and daddy would be proud of.”
“Shut up!” Tim snapped with an edge of hurt to it.
Jason resisted the urge to mess up his hair again. “Stick to the plan - my plan. We’re not trying to take them down right now - we’re trying to be informed. Get invited back. Now, I’ll go in, and you come in after a couple minutes.” He kissed Tim on the forehead, pulled on his helmet. “You know the risks. Be careful and follow my lead if anything doesn’t go to plan.”
Tim nodded solemnly, but there was a calculating gleam in his eyes that Jason didn’t trust. “I know. See you there.”
They wouldn’t, really. It wouldn’t be Tim in there, just like it wouldn’t really be Jason. But it was close enough.
Jason saluted and walked into the lions’ den.
Right of the bat - heh, bat - he recognized some major players. The head of a local trafficking ring who’d gotten away when they’d shut it down, some men from Bludhaven - Dickwing must have missed a spot. But there were a lot of people he didn’t recognize. He snapped some photos with the lense of his helmet. He’d send them to Babs when his location was secure.
“Hood!” He was greeted by some men from Gotham and the surrounding areas. He lifted a hand, but he wanted to stay within eyesight of the door so he could see when Tim arrived.
“Glad you could make it!” A couple of them walked over. Jason vaguely recognized them as important, but they were already on the watchlist, so he wasn’t too concerned with them.
“Wouldn’t miss it. An operation this big? I’d be an idiot to give it up.” Jason tipped his head, already settling back into the familiar skin of the Red Hood.
“Yeah, I’m real pleased just to be invited. What about you, though? Thought you had a thing about trafficking.” The man’s eyes narrowed, and he recognized him as Mark Reed. Couldn’t remember for the life of him who he worked for, but he was high up on the pecking order.
Jason had come prepared for suspicion. “Yeah, but that’s Crime Alley. My turf, ya know? Everywhere else can go fuck itself. Don’t really care if they snatch some girls off in Metropolis or Bristol. Not my problem.”
Reed seemed to accept that, as well as his companion, who spoke next. “I see. Are ya gonna get involved, or are ya just scopin’ out the competition?”
Jason allowed himself a grin, even if they couldn’t see it. “Who says it can’t be both?”
Their replies were cut off by the sound of the door, and Jason turned to see Timothy Drake walk in, perfectly pieced together with steely eyes and slicked back hair. “The hell is that rich brat doing here?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Tim caught his eyes for a half-second of acknowledgement before he carried on, already greeting people coolly.
“Know ‘im, do ya? Yeah, his parents were into this, apparently. Guess he’s picking up where they left off. Don’t think he’s really got the stomach for it, but no one’s gonna say no to that money, ya know?” Reed said.
Jason ‘hm’ed, taking a little satisfaction in how it managed to sound menacing through the modulator. God, he loved that thing. “Met him once, smuggling operation. Could be worse, for a spoiled brat. Didn’t fuck us up entirely.”
“Such praise,” Reed’s companion said dryly.
Jason shrugged and strode off to find someone more important to talk to now that he’d made sure of Tim’s entrance. Networking wasn’t unfamiliar to him, though Tim was far better. Jason had never seen him this cold, chin held high in a way that was foreign to both of them. It was hard to correlate this Tim and the snarky, eager-to-please kid that Jason knew.
He kept one eye on Tim the whole time, but didn’t talk to him. There was no reason for Hood and Tim Drake to get along, or start a pointless conversation. Jason snapped a few more pictures as he waited for the interesting part to begin.
He didn’t have to wait for long.
The man who called for their attention wasn’t the leader of the ring - it was far bigger than that - but he was high enough up to be respected as a representative. If Jason and Tim played this well enough, they’d hopefully get eyes on the head honcho. “It’s a pleasure seeing all you fresh faces here. We’ve invited you because each one of you has the potential of becoming more involved in our operations. How does that sound?”
Jason joined the rest of them in cheering, but noticed Tim deigned not to, only clapping lightly with a carefully constructed look of superiority on his face. Jason would have almost believed it if he hadn’t seen Tim sobbing in the bathroom just last week because he’d never been enough, not for his parents, not for Bruce.
He was enough for Jason. As long as he did what he was supposed to for once in his fucking life.
“Good!” The man clapped his hands once. “As a show of good favor, we’ve brought some samples of our trade. Bring out the girls!”
Jason sucked in a breath, glad the helmet hid his face, when a few men ushered out girls, none of them older than sixteen, dressed in tight, skimpy shorts and crop tops. All of them looked scared, but remained stubbornly silent in the face of catcalls and wolf-whistles. Jason couldn’t help but note the dilated pupils and vacant expressions of the younger ones. Maybe not well-trained so much as drugged into submission.
Tim’s expression cracked for half a second. Jason barely caught it, the glint in his eyes that he got when he was about to do something stupid, but no one else did, gazes fixed on the newcomers.
The victims.
Oh, fuck.
Jason stalked closer to the girls as Tim did the same, both of them moving confidently. Jason moved with the confidence of a predator in a room full of prey, where Tim moved with the confidence of one bred to be better. His well-bred throat would get torn out. Jason might be the one to do it.
Jason couldn’t stop Tim as he corralled one of the younger girls, maybe thirteen years old, towards the exit. Hardly anyone paid notice, and Jason stepped in front of those who did, coincidentally blocking their view.
The representative stilled, eyes angled towards Tim. He whistled, and suddenly the girls were whisked back out the way they’d come, including the one with Tim. “It seems someone doesn’t know it’s rude to take other people’s toys. Who are you?”
Tim lifted his chin. “Timothy Drake. I assure you, I wasn’t taking your toys, as you put it. Merely getting a closer look.”
Tim had fucked up. He had fucked up bad. Because if this went wrong, if they started suspecting Tim, they were all at risk. This wasn’t just Gotham; this was worldwide. They had resources. If Tim became a problem, he would be eliminated.
If they looked too closely at Tim Drake and Bruce Wayne, bad things would happen.
Jason had to fix this.
“Oh? It seems you were getting a closer look while walking towards the door, Drake.”
“Was I?” Tim got on his toes, making a point of attempting to look over the heads of the men surrounding him. Score for short Tim. “I couldn’t see.”
Chuckles echoed from the men gathered. Jason tried to tamp down his temper, but he’d told Tim to save the heroics, to stick to the plan, and he hadn’t. Tim should have known better, not only than to go off-script, but to disobey Jason when it counted. Jason knew Tim was capable of sticking to a long con, he’d just fucking chosen not to after Jason had so clearly outlined the consequences of any potential failure on this mission.
Jason wasn’t the only one angry at Tim. The girls had been taken, and the men weren’t happy with their indulgences snatched from them within minutes. It didn’t bode well for their odds either; that meant the man in charge here was suspicious and cautious, a combination that Jason would appreciate under literally any other circumstance.
The representative didn’t look quite so suspicious as he had before, but his eyes were narrowed. “I think you have a lot to learn about the real world outside of your fancy little office, Drake.”
“Someone needs to teach him!” A man in the crowd crowed.
Jason had a reputation. He knew that. When Hood taught lessons, those lessons stuck. It didn’t mean he expected eyes to turn to him, first those from Gotham and the surrounding areas, and then everyone else wondering what that was all about.
“Hood? You’ve got a way with showing brats their place. Wanna teach this fucking upper class bitch a lesson in the real world?”
Tim’s eyes widened.
Jason allowed satisfaction to enter his voice, practically dripping in it. He’d been the one to introduce Tim to the real world. “It would be my pleasure.”
This was bad. This was really bad, but the girl had looked so scared, and she was just a kid, and Tim was meant to be a hero. But he wasn’t really, not right now. Right now he was supposed to be Timothy Drake, and he had fucked up.
And Hood had been volunteered to ‘teach him his place.’ Hood, who already had to be mad that Tim hadn’t followed the plan, and knew how to make Tim break. Had put some of the weak points there himself.
Hood stalked towards him. Tim just managed not to flinch
“Hood, be reasonable,” Tim said. He had to keep his cover. He’d already nearly broken it. “If it’s money you want, I’m willing to share.” He allowed a tinge of fear into his voice. Desperate upper class bitch, check.
Hood laughed lowly and it - it didn’t sound entirely fake. Tim told himself he allowed the flinch as Hood reached out and grabbed his chin. “It’s not money I want, mousie.”
Tim knew that.
“Then what -” Tim’s face whipped to the side as a sharp pain exploded across his cheek.
It took Tim a moment to process the pistol Hood flipped expertly in his hand, and another to realize what exactly that meant for the would-be bruise across his face. He winced, feeling freshly split skin tug at the corner of his mouth as he waited for the worst of it to fade.
“I -”
Hood’s hand fisted in his hair. “Do you really think talking’s a good idea right now?”
Tim swallowed and said nothing. Hood pushed down, hard, until Tim’s knees buckled under the pressure, and he was on his knees in front of a crowd of criminals. It wasn’t as unfamiliar as he would’ve liked.
But it was Tim Drake’s first time, not Robin or Red Robin. Tim had to play along, play it up, because this was for the mission. Tim had messed it up, and Jason was fixing it. He had to stay in character, and it would be okay.
“In the real world, pipsqueak, you don’t touch other people’s stuff. Unless, of course,” Hood chuckled, “you’re stealing. But you weren’t doing that, were you?”
Tim frantically shook his head, allowing his eyes to widen with fear. Play the part. He had to be Timothy Drake, not versed in the criminal, not toughened to humiliation and pain.
“That’s what I thought. But still, Drake, you should know not to play with other people’s toys.” Hood tipped his head up lightly. The crowd stirred, dissatisfied.
Tim had to fix that, because it was his neck on the line, and he couldn’t disappoint them more than he had. If he - if he let Hood do this, would it be okay? It had to be okay.
“Really, Timothy. I expected better from you.” The words rang through Tim’s head, oddly dissonant, and punctuated by an open palmed slap that rattled Tim’s teeth in his jaw. Tim’s stomach dropped with a sense of profound disorientation.
That was his mother’s voice, his father’s hand, and - and Tim had told Jason about it just last week, he was doing it on purpose -
Shit. He was doing it on purpose.
Jason had told Tim to follow the plan. And Tim hadn’t listened, and this was going to be bad, because everyone around him wanted blood and - so did Jason.
This was not going to go well for Tim. He couldn’t stop it. Not for the mission, not when it was Jason. Not even for himself.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut for a half-second. He could feel the gravel digging into the high-quality, impractical pants. He could feel stinging pain on both his cheeks, one from the pistol whip, one from the slap. The suit against his skin was scratchy. He wasn’t in Drake Manor.
“Open your eyes, little mouse. The fun’s barely started.”
Mouse. Cat and mouse. This was a game. And the edge to Hood’s voice, the tension along his shoulder, all of it spelled Lazarus Pit and Tim - he had to play along now, because he didn’t have a choice. He wished he could see Jason’s face. His eyes.
“Another lesson for you: actions have consequences. Right, boys?”
The men surrounding them cheered. Tim dared to open his eyes again as Hood wrenched his head back up. “Any suggestions?”
There were a few that made Tim’s cheeks burn, but that wasn’t Hood’s deal. They all knew it, but even just the hypotheticals cut - if Jason wasn’t the one punishing Tim, maybe - but it was Jason. Tim would be safe. Someone tossed Jason a rope, and it was hastily tossed up and onto one of the metal beams supporting the roof, and the other end wrapped around his wrists, tight enough to nearly cut off the blood flow.
Hood laughed, and then he pulled. Arms first, Tim stood as he was lifted up until he was almost off the floor, desperately trying to hold himself up by his toes, because if his shoulders dislocated, that would be horrid. Possibly deadly. Not that Jason would let him die, it just - it could be bad. If he was going to die, Jason would do it himself. Not in front of a crowd.
Clarity was forced back in painfully sharp colors by Hood yanking on the rope, pulling him entirely off the ground for a terrifying moment. “You,” Hood growled, “stay here.”
Tim nodded once, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe.
“Ya see, boys, the gun was just to get his attention. Now,” Hood spun his kris expertly, “we have time to really make the lesson sink in.”
This was bad. And this was Tim’s fault.
With remarkable ease that confirmed Tim’s Pit theory, Hood ripped open Tim’s (expensive) button-up and flicked the knife across his ribs, leaving a vicious sting in its wake. Then again, and again, until Tim’s eyes watered as blood dripped from his ribs, wrists, silver dancing along his collarbone as it was sliced open. It hurt, but Jason was being careful; Tim was bleeding but nothing uncontrollable.
Finally, Tim spoke. “Hood, please -”
Tim gagged, almost threw up, as Hood slammed his fist solidly into Tim’s stomach, effectively shutting him up and forcing him to scramble upright as it knocked him off balance. Tim groaned with what little air remained in his lungs.
Hood reached up and carefully wiped away a drop of blood that had splattered on Tim’s face. “I thought we’d established that you don’t talk unless I let you.”
It was for the mission. It was to salvage all that remained of their cover.
Tim let a tear fall.
“Are you going to be good for me, Timothy?” And it was his mother, eyes cold, it was his father, staring down at him, it was Bruce, disappointed again, it was Jason, splattered in Tim’s blood in Titan’s Tower, it was Hood, punishing Tim for his mistakes.
Mistakes he’d told Tim not to make. But Tim had disobeyed. He was going to get burned.
Maybe this was the Pit talking. And Tim had gotten good at providing for its rage. There was only one real answer: whatever made Hood satisfied.
Tim nodded once, letting his gaze drop.
Hood laughed again, pulling his hand back and circling him with slow, easy steps. “Now, Timmy -” and he sounded just like he did when he ruffled Tim’s hair, “why do you find yourself in this situation? What was your mistake?”
Tim played his part, and it was easier than he’d like. “I touched what wasn’t mine.”
“Good,” Hood purred, striking swiftly as he left a thin trail of blood over Tim’s throat with the sharp edge of the blade. He ran his thumb over it, watching as more blood welled in its place. Tim winced as he smeared it over the bridge of his nose. “I’m glad someone’s starting to learn his lesson.”
Hood would get them out of this. Even if it was at Tim’s expense, it was his fault their situation was so precarious anyway. Tim had to trust Hood. He had to trust Jason.
“Who’s in charge here, mousie?”
Tim didn’t have to think. It was obvious and it was true. “You.”
“I like that reaction time,” Hood said, just before putting one hand to the back of Tim’s head and the other over his mouth. Tim couldn’t breathe. The rest of the warehouse faded to just Hood’s expressionless helmet.
It was possible that Tim was in even deeper than he’d previously imagined.
Jason wasn’t a good man. He wasn’t a bad one, either, but he certainly wasn’t a good one. A good reason for that was just how much fun he was having taking his bratty little brother down a peg or two. Or three. Or five.
The way his eyes widened when Jason cut off his air was delicious, and the red spreading across his cheeks had been a constant since they’d started, which meant it was working. Tim was learning his place. Learning to follow Jason’s lead, to stick to his plans.
Maybe there were kinder ways to do this. Surely there was some way to keep their covers after Tim’s fuck up that weren’t so cruel, if Jason bothered to think about it.
But that was half the fun, wasn’t it? And those methods wouldn’t work nearly so well in teaching Tim his lesson, anyway. If there was one thing Jason had learned with the kid, it was that Tim didn’t respond to positive reinforcement. Hell, it didn’t even register to him. Half the time he thought a genuine ‘well done’ was a bribe or back-handed criticism. But you know what worked wonderfully? Punishment.
Jason knew that after this, it would be a long time before Tim even considered going off-book.
Learning could be fun, though! For Jason, that was. No, Tim was certainly not having a pleasant time, but it had been brought on by his own thoughtless actions. His thoughtless heroic actions, which was why Jason would never call himself a hero again - heroes didn’t have what it took to get the really hard jobs done.
It had been a while since Jason had given Tim a breath, he realized. Absently, he lifted his hand, watching as Tim gasped in air desperately, eyes wide and wet and trusting.
Tim trusted him. He still had faith even as he was suffocated without a care.
It was addicting. Jason wanted more.
He put his hand back, enjoying Tim’s feeble protests, wordless as they were. Just a jerk of his head, right back into Jason’s other hand, unyielding.
This was power. The crimson blood contrasting the green coating the world, his brother twitching helplessly under his hands, at his mercy, right where he was meant to be. Where they had begun. And maybe where they would end. People all around, in awe, but they would never get to touch. Only Jason could hurt Tim.
That was when the unexpected happened.
Tim fought.
It was mostly instinctive, Jason could tell, disjointed and not nearly as effective as Tim was capable of, but fight he did. Everything turned a shade greener. Jason grinned. Actions have consequences after all.
He slammed the front of his helmet against Tim’s forehead, hard enough to give him a concussion if he wasn’t lucky. Tim cried out, arms twitching as if he were trying to clutch at his forehead, but he couldn’t, not with Jason pulling at the rope even more and removing even the last precarious support.
Jason could see the pain twisting Tim’s face. It was glorious. And then something wonderful happened.
Tim gave up.
Jason recognized the way the spark in his eyes went dull, how his head tipped back, how his body went lax, even as it pulled at his shoulders. Kid was lucky he was so scrawny. Jason released the rope until it was back in its original position with Tim on his toes. Blood trickled down his face from where Jason’s helmet hit him.
“There you go,” Jason purred, cupping his cheek with a gloved hand. “Tell me, Timothy, have you learned your lesson?”
They both knew just what he meant by that.
Tim nodded, but Jason wasn’t satisfied. “Words.”
“Yes. I have,” Tim rasped.
“And that, boys,” Jason turned back to the gathered men with a mocking bow, “is how you teach a Bristol bitch his place. Take notes.”
“Ya know, Hood,” a man said, a tattoo running down his cheek, “I heard you were good. I didn’t think the show would be this good, though.”
Jason knew Tim wasn’t entirely present, but he decided to allow him the refuge. For now, anyway. He was sure the lesson had hit it where it hurt. Jason could feel the Pit washing away, sated. “I do have a certain flare for it.”
“You sure you won’t lose us his money, Hood? We need his shit to get into this.”
Jason took Tim’s head in his hands and turned it side to side, like he was inspecting him. There was no point. He knew the answer. “Yeah. Brat knows better than to try and leave now. Don’t ya?”
Tim blinked and nodded once. Jason left it at that.
“Hey, Hood!” Someone else called for his attention, though Jason remained stubbornly by Tim. No one else would touch him. “Could we hire you to do this for us? I gotta couple trouble-makers I need to put back in line.”
Jason laughed. Tim started twitching. Jason almost felt bad. “Even the rich boy here couldn’t keep me. Trust me, you can’t afford this. You boys just got a free peak at a premium show.”
“Please,” Tim gasped out, drawing everyone’s attention back, “please, no -”
Jason settled his palm easily over his mouth and nose again. Tim shuddered and fell silent. “Shh, Drake. Already got what I needed from ya.”
The representative stalked forward, past the crowd and in front of Jason. “I admire your skill, Hood. You may have a future with us. But we need to make sure Drake comes back. You certainly have a way with our upper class brat; why don’t you take him with you? Bring him back next meeting. Should be tomorrow or day after next. What do you say?”
Tim’s eyes widened. Good. He was still here. Really, it provided an easy way to keep Tim close and arrive together. “I’ll do it. Are we done here?”
“Just about. Your little performance took up much of our time.” The representative didn’t seem too upset. Jason wasn’t surprised. He’d always been a showman.
Without ceremony, Jason sliced through the rope holding Tim up. He landed on his feet and stumbled, right into Jason. Jason hauled him upright, not as gently as he might’ve. There were appearances to keep up, after all.
“I hope all of you enjoyed the show. Free of charge. This time, anyway. I do it for the fun of it.” Then he walked both of them out of the door.
He could feel Tim relax minutely, but he kept walking with the same easy strides until he reached his bike. He hesitated, then decided to load it in the indiscreet black car Tim had driven, too clean to be inconspicuous.
“Keys,” he said, holding out a hand. Tim dug through his pockets and dropped it in Jason’s palm, albeit slowly. He was running mostly on autopilot. Jason could use that.
He unlocked the car, aware of eyes on him, and set Tim in the front seat. “Stay here. You understand me? If you’ve moved so much as an inch by the time I get back, there will be consequences.”
Tim blinked, his eyes clearing as he nodded and went limp against the seat. Unquestioning. He followed Jason’s order without a second thought. That was what Jason had been hoping he’d do the entire night - at least, plan-wise - but he’d take what he could get. Apparently, the lesson had sunk in.
“Good.” Jason rubbed his thumb over Tim’s cheek, watching him lean into the touch slowly. “I’ll be right back.”
Tim watched him through the window as he shut the door, then managed to fit his bike into the back of the car. When he circled back around, Tim was exactly where he’d left him as he slid into the driver’s seat.
He reached over and rested his hand on Tim’s head. “I see that you stayed. Good bird.”
Tim looked at him with wide, glassy eyes. “Yeah.”
He was talking again. Jason didn’t have too much time before he was back, and probably a little pissed. But he wouldn’t lash out, not bleeding and bruised because of the last time he’d acted rashly.
Jason drove.
Jason pulled into his nearest safehouse. Tim was staring aimlessly out the window, but he focused on Jason when he went to pull him out. “C’mon, birdie. Gotta get up to the safehouse.”
Jason was feeling light-headed in the way he always did after a Pit episode coming and going so fast, and so very aware of how easily he could crush the body he was helping up the stairs. He inhaled sharply and led Tim down the hall and into the apartment.
“I hope you learned your lesson, Tim,” Jason said, watching as Tim’s expression turned outraged.
“You -”
“I did what was necessary to protect our cover. You know that, obviously. But that should serve as a lesson, Tim. Follow the plan.”
Tim looked away, frowning. “Yeah. Okay. I’m sorry, Jason.”
“You should be. C’mere, Timmy, gotta get you cleaned up.” Jason snagged some wipes, and sat Tim down on the counter. “Look at me.”
Tim tipped his face up towards Jason, holding perfectly still as Jason started to wipe away blood. “You did very good though, during that.” Maybe Jason wasn’t entirely in his right mind yet after all. That wasn’t his problem, though. “Did what I said, right off.”
Tim’s eyes focused on him, but it was shaky. He made a questioning noise, easily obliging as Jason tilted his head a little.
“You took it so well, too. Hardly even fought, and you figured out quick not to do it again.” Jason traced his fingers lightly over the bump where his helmet collided with his forehead. “Such a good birdie.”
Tim closed his eyes when Jason covered them with a hand. He could feel his eyelashes brushing against his palm. “Didn’t even scream. You always do listen so well, once I remind you of your place. You do know where that is, don’t you?”
Tim nodded, breathing slowly and carefully.
“Tell me.”
“Wherever you want me.”
“Good bird.” Jason lifted his hand to run through Tim’s hair once, then wiped away the last of the blood. “Hold still, I’m gonna start cleaning out those cuts.”
“I can - okay.” Tim sat still while Jason meticulously disinfected the very wounds he had left. None of them were big enough to require stitches. They must’ve stung, though. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when Tim hissed but didn’t move.
It didn’t take long before they’d finished.
“You’re still covered in blood, sweetheart. C’mon, there’s a bath. I’ll help you, yeah?”
Tim nodded, and Jason waited until he seemed alert to help him off the counter and towards the bathroom, shrugging out of his jacket and torn button up. He stepped out of his pants and studied himself in the mirror as Jason started the bath.
“Easy there. You’re hurt.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Jason knew the answer wasn’t entirely correct and gave it anyway. Tim wouldn’t argue. “Yours.”
Tim hummed noncommittally.
“Get in. The water’s warm.” Jason smiled as Tim obliged slowly, sliding into the tub with a low groan. “There we go. Doesn’t that feel nice?”
Tim dropped his head back against the edge in reply. Jason cooed and splashed his face lightly with water, enjoying the way his nose wrinkled like a disgruntled kitten. “You’ve got all sorts of shit in your hair, birdie. I’ll get it out for you, yeah?”
Tim sighed. “I wonder why. Go on, then.”
Jason snatched a cup from underneath the sink and filled it with water, tipping Tim’s chin back with one hand. Tim was entirely lax, watching him with half-lidded eyes. It was late, after all, and he’d had quite a day.
Jason was more than satisfied with how Tim had responded to his guidance. Already he was seemingly apologetic, and willingly following along, though it would have been better if he’d done that from the start.
“Tim,” he said as he started scrubbing shampoo thoroughly through his hair, taking care to keep it out of his eyes, “I’m not going to apologize for what happened.” Tim stiffened, but a tug at his hair relaxed him again. “My hand was forced.” It was, for the most part. Jason wasn’t lying.
Jason rinsed out the rest of the shampoo as Tim looked at him and wondered if he had conditioner.
“I know.” Tim’s voice was soft, crumbling at the edges.
And he was so delightful, not questioning him at all. Tim always did react so wonderfully to negative reinforcement. “Good. But we can avoid going through all that again if you just follow my lead and do as I say next time. Does that sound alright to you? Can you be good for me?”
It wasn’t fair to ask Tim that and Jason knew it. But he did anyway.
Tim didn’t disappoint. “Yeah. I can.”
Jason leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “That’s why you’re my favorite. We can salvage this, yeah?”
Tim’s eyes fluttered shut with a content little exhale. “Yeah.”
“Good bird. Tomorrow’s a new day. We’ll be okay.”
“They’re going to expect a show, Tim. And you’re going to give it to them. We’re going to give it to them. To show what you’ve learned. You’ll do what I tell you, understood?” Jason paused before they entered the same warehouse, looking Tim in the eye, gauging how hazy he still was.
Tim nodded. “I know, Jason. I’ll do better this time.”
Jason rewarded him by cupping his cheek with one gloved hand. “I know you will. Let’s go.”
Tim leaned into the touch before they walked in, side by side. Jason settled his hand on the small of his back, both guiding him forward and staking a claim. Tim slowed almost imperceptibly, increasing the pressure of Jason’s hand. Jason wasn’t seeing green any more but Tim was clearly still feeling the night before. The room silenced as they entered, or at least quieted.
“Hood, Drake! Glad to see you’re back, looking no worse for the wear.” Indeed, Tim had cleaned up well after the bloody mess he’d been last time, new bruises a sharp contrast with his nearly translucent complexion, and Jason’s face was hidden in his helmet, as usual.
“We certainly are.”
Tim simply nodded, his gaze still steely, but less arrogant than he’d presented himself before. Jason couldn’t tell if it was a genuine loss of pride or merely calculating how the effects of last night’s humiliation would change Timothy Drake. Maybe both. Jason knew his punishments had a way of sticking close to Tim.
Jason walked them towards the wall, leaning easily against it. Now that he had an excuse to keep Tim close, he would certainly use it. Better than letting him be drawn into a conversation that offended his delicate little morals.
Jason was the only one allowed to mock him.
He wished he could enforce that without breaking cover.
Someone approached them, swaggering with the arrogance of someone who had money and a few fights in them, but not enough to teach them to be cautious. The newcomer grinned widely. Jason immediately disliked him. “Hey, Hood.”
“I don’t know you,” he said flatly.
Tim observed with similar distaste but said nothing. Jason rewarded him with a light squeeze to the back of his neck. Good bird, learning his lesson.
The man smiled in what he seemed to think was a charming manner. “The name’s Landon Foster. Personally invited by the guy over there.” He nodded towards the representative, whose name Jason still hadn’t bothered to learn. Pity. He’d been distracted. “I’d just like to give you an extra round of applause for the show last night. You really put him in his place. You know it now, don’t you, Drake?”
Jason knew Tim was burning to return the dig with an even more biting one, to allow his expression to turn sharp. But he knew better. Tim dropped his gaze. “I do.”
Jason rubbed his thumb over the jut of Tim’s vertebrae. “Thanks, Foster.”
He pointedly said nothing as the man chattered about one thing or another, before finally taking the hint and leaving. Jason leaned closer to Tim to say quietly, “You’re doing so good, birdie. Keep it up, yeah?”
Tim gave him a hesitant smile and nodded. Jason gently squeezed the back of his neck again, before dropping his hand and waiting. The meeting picked up soon after that, with the representative talking about the benefits and uses of being one of their members. Jason recorded it with his helmet.
“In short, not all of you can continue with us. But those who do will profit. Now, I believe all of us certainly profited from observing the Red Hood at work at our previous meeting. I think it’s high time we see if it stuck. Hood?”
Jason stepped forward, not even checking to see if Tim followed. He knew he would. It would appear that Jason had worked Tim over even more after the last meeting, but he knew Tim was just aware of the expectations. “Tim’s here again today, and much more respectful. Aren’t you, Tim?”
Tim nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground. That was good.
“He’s very sorry, you’ll find, and he understands what he did wrong.” Tim nodded again, but that wasn’t enough this time. Anyone could do a bobblehead impression. “Go on, Tim. Apologize and tell them what you did wrong.”
“I shouldn’t have tried to take what wasn’t mine. I was cocky and rude, and a shame to my family legacy.” Jason hadn’t mentioned that. Tim had added it all on his own, and damn if that wasn’t a tad concerning. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“What did you learn, mousie?” Jason allowed affection to slide into his tone, just enough for Tim to pick up on.
“I’m not entitled to anything, and I should appreciate being allowed to be here.”
Jason lifted his glove to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Knew you could learn. See? He knows to speak only when spoken to now.”
“That was fast, Hood.” Someone looked dubious. That wouldn’t do.
“I’m good at what I do. D’you wanna be the next example? I’m sure the little Drake here wouldn’t mind the company.” Jason did not take well to his skills being questioned. The threat got the skeptic to back down easily, though. Tim stubbornly refused to make eye contact.
Jason wasn’t lying. He had a talent for breaking people. He didn’t often employ it on his brother, though. Only when strictly necessary, and even then, it was a softened version. He didn’t want to break Tim, only remind him who he owed his allegiance to.
Jason snagged a seat, just a fold-up, but one of the only in the room. Tim automatically followed to stand by his side. Tim glanced at the ground, before his knees began to fold, and Jason wasn’t upset, because it was nice to see how well Tim had taken to his preferences, but now wasn’t a great time. He thrust his hand out and halted him.
“That’s not necessary right now, mousie.”
Tim blinked and nodded, straightening easily. He was behaving so nicely, accepting whatever Jason told him without complaint, that Jason nearly missed the gang leader beside them, staring.
“What did you do to him, Hood?”
Jason tipped his head slowly to the side, aware of just how eerie the expressionless helmet looked in dim light. “We’re from Gotham, kid. Whaddaya think I did to him?”
Tim stared at the man with wide, unseeing eyes. The gang leader - keeping their cover really had been a distraction, Jason still didn’t know his name - shuddered and hurried away, as Jason reached out and patted Tim on the leg for the show. He knew the expression was on purpose to scare the newcomer off, and it worked.
Tim glanced at him before letting his eyes settle on the floor again. He was probably listening in to the conversations around him. Always such a clever bird. He was doing just as he was supposed to, now, even if the plan had changed with the new circumstances. Jason was smug with how much better Tim was behaving.
After all, when all was said and done, Jason would protect Tim. And that was a hell of a lot easier when Tim did what he was told.
By the time they were finished, Jason had sent Babs the photos and the recordings. Tim was still a bit hazy, but changed out of his formal attire and into Jason’s hoodie without prompting. Jason smiled at how he drowned in it, already in more comfortable clothes.
“C’mere, birdie.” Jason sprawled on the couch, already holding up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “One last time cleaning those out.”
“They’ve almost scabbed over,” Tim said with a roll of his eyes, but settled under Jason’s arm regardless.
“You don’t have a spleen,” Jason countered, leaning to kiss his forehead. “Take the hoodie off.”
“Strip, strip, strip!” Tim muttered under his breath as he obliged.
“Brat.” Jason pushed Tim to lay down, his shoulder blades resting on Jason’s legs while his head hung off them. “Hold still.”
Tim went lax, watching absently as Jason ran his hand down Tim’s front soothingly before dabbing a damp cotton ball carefully along the cuts on his ribs. Tim stiffened slightly, but Jason shushed him and he stilled again.
He did this to all of the wounds, careful over the one on his neck, as he marveled at how easily Tim relaxed. Laid out, vulnerable, in front of Jason, who was more than capable of hurting him, and had just done so, yet unflinching under Jason’s hands.
Jason was overcome with a sudden rush of fondness, which was hardly unfamiliar relating to Tim. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Tim’s neck, practically folding in half. “Always so sweet. I’ve gotcha, ya know that?”
Tim sighed softly, lifting a hand to drop it on Jason’s back. “I know.”
“You can come back now, all the way, baby bird. It’s okay. We did it. We’re done.” And they were. The mission was over, the green was sated, and Tim was safe.
“I - okay.”
Jason straightened and stroked his thumb over the scar on his neck until Tim blinked a few times and heaved another sigh. “Hi, Jason.”
“Hi, Timbit.” Jason ran his hand through his hair. “Good bird.”
Tim smiled and tipped his head into the touch. “Can we watch a movie?”
How could Jason deny him? “Of course we can.”
Jason expected him to move, to sit up and pull his hoodie back on, but Tim seemed perfectly content to lie there, sprawled over Jason’s lap. Jason settled one hand just below Tim’s chest as he turned on the TV with the other. “Preferences?”
“Dunno. Something Dick would like.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “You have bad taste.”
“Must be why you’re my favorite brother, then.”
“Yeah,” Jason mused, looking down at Tim with a little bit of awe, “must be.”