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As the son of socialites and the heir to Drake Industries, Tim was expected to have many talents. He picked up any skill that his parents wanted him to. He had perfect etiquette. He spoke French and played the piano. He was an accomplished trap shooter and shot under par on the golf course.
He studied the names and faces of every member of Gotham high society and memorized enough background information to make smarmy smalltalk at galas and events. Whether an occasion called for a welcoming host or a gratified guest, he played the role flawlessly. He smiled and laughed at exactly the right times.
Tim was an excellent actor. When he was nauseous and running a fever, he pretended to be fine. When a migraine threatened to split his skull in two, he ignored it. When all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die, he plastered a smile on his face and nodded along agreeably.
Lying came as naturally to Tim as breathing. He never told malicious lies. Quite the opposite. He lied to avoid trouble. He told people exactly what they wanted to hear. His teacher was relieved when he explained that the bruising on his face was from tripping over his backpack. The CPS worker relaxed when his ‘uncle’ answered the door and assured her that Tim hadn’t been alone all week. Jack’s temper didn’t spike when Tim gave him a fake curriculum that didn’t include ‘faggy’ classes like Stage Theater or Contemporary English.
Tim learned a lot of things to account for his father’s temper. Many were useful when he became Robin. Tim knew how to fade into the background. He could sense when there was trouble afoot and could usually evade it. When avoidance wasn’t an option, he could think on his feet. That’s what he had to do when Jack strolled into the kitchen looking irate.
It was early. Tim was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was running on only a few hours of sleep. (Now that he didn’t have school, he got to stay out later patrolling).
“You better not be pussying up your coffee,” Jack glowered.
Tim wanted to roll his eyes. He’d added milk to his coffee one time, and his father had never gotten over it. Tim hid his exasperation and put on a cheerful demeanor.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Tim kept his gaze on his drink, determined not to give his dad an excuse to go off. Unfortunately, the man already had one.
“What’s this?” Jack threw a copy of Emma at him.
Tim caught it, glanced at the cover, and feigned confusion. “I don’t know.”
Not his best lie, admittedly. If he hadn’t just graduated, Tim could’ve passed the book off as mandatory school reading. Jack still would’ve been furious, but the lie would’ve redirected some of his animosity towards the ‘homosexual agenda.’ He probably would’ve lectured Tim about ‘being a man’ and standing up for himself, and Tim would’ve listened passively, laughing internally about the irony of it all.
“I found it in your nightstand drawer.” The man had literally gone looking for a fight.
“I don’t know how it got there,” Tim shrugged and casually walked towards the door. He had to get out of there before -
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Tim stopped in his tracks. Trying to leave had clearly been a miscalculation. “Upstairs?”
“You think that you can turn your back on me? After I caught you reading this garbage? This bunk is for sissies.”
The telltale vein in Jack’s temple was throbbing in a way that meant he was about to start throwing things. Tim made one last attempt to pacify the man.
“I haven’t read it! They probably gave me the wrong book at the store, and I didn’t notice because I. Haven’t. Read it.”
“Bullshit!” Jack yelled. “There’s a bookmark, Tim.”
Jack grabbed a mug and threw it at Tim’s head. Tim made no attempt to dodge. It clipped him as it flew past.
Growing up, Jack had taught Tim a fun game called ‘don’t be a pussy.’ Essentially, any time Tim ticked him off, Jack took a two-bird-one-stone approach to punishment. He would hit Tim once to discipline him for his initial misbehavior and then again any time Tim flinched. The aim of the game was simple: don’t flinch.
Except all of Jack’s games had a rule in place that barred victory. That rule? Jack always wins.
Jack didn’t play mind games to teach Tim self-discipline. He did it for stress-relief. He found it empowering to bully someone who wouldn’t fight back.
Tim had figured out from a young age that nothing he said or did would deescalate the situation. All he could do was 1) not throw fuel on the fire, and 2) wait for his father’s anger to burn out.
When Jack had screamed himself hoarse and smashed every mug in the house, leaving Tim with a few minor cuts and bruises, he kicked Tim out. Typical. In a few hours, once he’d cooled off, he would summon Tim back and start sermonizing about the importance of masculinity. Tim decided to hang out in Titans Tower until then.
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Jason’s fury outweighed his integrity. If he hadn’t embraced the pit madness, then he might’ve given the replacement a chance to suit up and grab a weapon, might’ve given Tim a real, fighting chance. But he didn’t.
‘Robins should always be prepared for an ambush,’ he rationalized. Tim being caught off guard was simply another example of how he fell short as Robin.
Tim had taken up the mantle after Jason’s death. The arrogant prick had demanded to become Batman’s sidekick, and Bruce had welcomed him with open arms.
Even worse, no one had avenged Jason. He’d died a slow and painful death at the Joker’s hands, but Bruce continued to let the clown live. Batman finding a new Robin was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Tim’s attempts to fight back were downright pitiful. Even without the enhancements from the Lazarus Pit, Jason was bigger and stronger. He’d been training (first with Batman and then with the League) for nearly a decade.
Before that, he’d fought to survive on the streets in Crime Alley. What had Tim done? Eaten from a silver spoon while servants tended to his every need.
Jason was a fighter. Tim wasn’t. Although… to Jason’s great annoyance, Tim wasn’t begging for mercy. Jason wasn’t holding back either. He knew Tim was hurting right now, but the stoic bastard wouldn’t even whimper. Time to fix that.
Jason pulled out a knife. He grabbed a handful of Tim’s hair and wrenched his head back before pressing the blade to his throat. Tim’s eyes widened for a second, but that was his only reaction. He didn’t recoil as the cold metal shallowly cut into his Adam’s apple.
“Are you going to kill me?” Tim asked, keeping his voice level.
He was too calm. A fresh wave of Lazarus green surged through Jason, fueling his rage.
“Probably not.”
Jason blinked, and the green receded. The words had escaped seemingly of their own accord. It was true, he wasn’t planning to kill Tim, but Tim wasn’t supposed to know that.
“Then why are you here? What do you want?”
“To teach Bruce a lesson. To show him that he’s as incapable of protecting this Robin as he was the last one. And to prove to you that you’re a cheap knock-off.”
Jason growled. What was happening? He didn’t want to say any of that.
As Jason warred with his own thoughts, neither of them spoke. The only sound was Tim’s labored breathing. Tim inhaled deeply before speaking again.
“You know his identity. You know that Bruce is Batman.”
Jason didn’t reply. He’d run his mouth and shown too much of his hand. This is not how things were supposed to go. Why was he being so candid with Richie McRich?
“And you’re angry that Jason died.”
“Angry?” Jason let out a dry laugh. “You got that right. I’m livid.”
“Why?”
Jason’s laughter caught in his throat. He didn’t want to answer that question. He wanted to brush it off and resume beating the ever-loving shit out of his replacement. He wanted to keep doing that until Tim broke, until he understood and gave up being Robin.
But for some unfathomable reason, Jason couldn’t ignore the question. He had to give an honest answer.
“Because he couldn’t save me,” Jason snarled. “I won’t let him make the same mistake twice.”
Jason slit Tim’s throat, but he hit the panic button on his way out. Like he’d admitted, he didn’t actually want to kill Tim, just to deliver a message.
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The biggest upside of almost being murdered by Red Hood was that Tim got to stay at the manor while he recovered. For six weeks, Tim saw neither hide nor hair of his father. It was utter bliss.
Alfred was always available, although Tim tried not to be a needy patient. Bruce and Dick stopped by often, and Tim knew they’d stay if he asked them to, but they were busy investigating Hood.
The other Titans sent Tim their well wishes. He wasn’t sure when he’d see them again. Titans Tower was on lock down until they figured out how Hood had bypassed the security.
“He used Jason’s access codes,” Dick mused.
Jason had been dead for 4 years, but no one had removed his code from the system. No one had taken his books off of the bookshelf either. His mug was still in the kitchen cupboard. Back at the manor, his bedroom remained untouched. It was like a shrine.
Bruce wanted to believe Tim when he said that Hood was Jason, but he couldn’t.
“It was him,” Tim insisted.
“You don’t have any proof of that,” Bruce said in exasperation. “The access codes are circumstantial at best. Someone could have hacked into the mainframe and found them.”
Bruce was tired of coming up with secondary excuses when Tim’s theory was thoroughly disproven by the fact that Jason was long dead and buried. Nothing that Hood said would change that.
Attempts to gather intel on Hood had stalled. After leaving the tower, Hood had gone underground. Before then, he’d been sighted in Crime Alley, roughing up thugs who gave the working girls problems and killing suspected traffickers, but that was all that anyone knew.
Tim didn’t have any proof that Hood was Jason, only a mysterious conviction that the guy had been telling him the truth. An empty coffin would be compelling evidence, but Tim wasn’t going to ask Bruce to exhume Jason’s body. The grave was a monument to Bruce’s biggest failure.
Jason’s death had nearly broken the man. It probably would have if Tim hadn’t forced himself into the role of Robin. He helped Batman so that Bruce could focus on mourning the loss of his son. That grief was something that Tim couldn't help him with.
Tim had his own family. Well, he had Jack. Janet had died years ago. Her temperament had been antithetical to Jack’s. She’d embodied poise and self-restraint. Tim remembered how detached she’d seemed when she was covering the bruises on his face with concealer before his second-grade picture day.
Janet had been much better than Tim at avoiding Jack’s ire, but she hadn’t always escaped unscathed. That said, Jack had been much more careful with Janet than he had with Tim. A child covered in bumps and bruises was easy to explain away. A wife, less so.
Seeing how deliberately Jack had beaten Janet was what made Tim truly understand his father’s cruelty. The man was malicious but not impetuous. He didn’t lash out mindlessly while blinded by rage. Every one of his blows was purposely delivered somewhere where it would hurt without leaving a mark.
That realization completely changed how Tim acted around Jack. He stopped trying to reason with his father, stopped asking the man to calm down and think things through. Nothing would snap Jack out of his ‘frenzy’ because he wasn’t out of control. Jack knew exactly what he was doing. Tim didn’t beg him to stop. There was no point.
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Jason dreamed of dying. More accurately, he dreamed of the torture that preceded his death, of the Joker bludgeoning him with a crowbar. The man taunted him as he did it.
He struck him once. Thud.
“Wow. That looked like it really hurt.”
He struck him again. Thud.
“Now hang on. That looked like it hurt a lot more. So let’s try and clear this up, okay pumpkin? What hurts more? A,” thud, “or B?” Thud. “Forehand,” thud, “or backhand?” Thud.
Jason tried to speak, but no sound came out.
The Joker leaned in until that trademark smile of his was mere inches from Jason’s face.
“A little louder, lambchop. I think you may have a collapsed lung. That always impedes the oratory.”
Jason spat blood in the Joker’s face and smiled.
The Joker withdrew with a growl. He grabbed Jason by the hair and slammed his face into the ground hard enough to break his nose.
The Joker cleaned the spit off his face with a handkerchief and looked down at Jason with disdain.
“The first boy blunder had some manners,” he sighed. “I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps.”
The villain cackled maniacally, “or, I could keep beating you with this crowbar.” That’s exactly what he did.
Jason’s hope waned the longer the torture went on. No one was coming to rescue him. He was going to die at the hands of a sadistic monster.
Jason felt terror and desperation rising up in his chest, his bruised and battered chest. It hurt to talk but Jason finally managed to wheeze out one word. “Please.”
The Joker hummed gleefully. “What was that, sugar? Did the cat let go of your tongue?”
Jason shut his eyes. “Stop,” he gasped.
The Joker roared with laughter. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye as he composed himself.
“I’m afraid that’s not how this works, silly bird. You have to make me stop.”
“Can’t.” The word came out garbled, almost indecipherable. Unsurprising considering the countless injuries that Jason had sustained by now.
Somehow, the Joker still understood what he’d said. “Well, then your precious Bat-brain will have to save you, but, just between us, I don’t think he’s going to.”
It was true. Jason looked the Joker in the eye and used the last of his strength to make one final plea. “I… don’t want… to die.”
The Joker gave him a cold-blooded stare. “I don’t know what to tell you, chump. You shouldn’t have become a sidekick if you weren’t prepared for the repercussions.” The Joker smirked as he resumed beating Jason.
When he was finally done, the Joker ran a hand through his hair and let out a satisfied sigh. “Okay kiddo, I gotta go. It’s been fun though, right?”
Jason lay motionless.
The Joker shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me than you. I’m just guessing since you’re being awful quiet.”
Jason’s labored breathing was his only reply.
“Anyway, be a good boy. Finish your homework, and be in bed by 9. And hey, please tell the big man I said ‘hello.’” The Joker walked out of the warehouse and slammed the door behind him.
Jason tried to get up, but he swayed and fell. His legs were broken. He couldn’t give up though. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. HE DIDN’T WANT TO DIE.
His arms still just about worked. Slowly, Jason dragged himself towards the door, leaving a glistening trail of blood behind him. He somehow summoned the strength to reach up and yanked on the handle. It didn’t budge. The door was locked.
Jason was out of time. Something began to beep. Jason looked in the direction of the sound. There was a crate of explosives rigged to blow and a timer counting down.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Jason closed his eyes.
Four.
Three.
Two.
He accepted his fate.
One.
BOOM.
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Jason tossed and turned, trying not to think about the nightmare. No, not nightmare. Memory. Jason had died. That’d happened. He’d died scared, alone, and in pain.
He’d come back to life in much the same state, except he’d been submerged in the Lazarus Pit. The acidic, green waters had enveloped him and set his skin on fire. He’d inhaled gallons of the stuff before Talia had dragged him to the surface, satisfied with his resurrection.
Being revived was as miserable as being killed, and it’d all been for nought. Bruce had let the Joker live, and he’d found a new Robin, another overzealous teenager who was liable to meet the same demise.
If Jason were honest with himself, not all of his anger was directed at Bruce. A decent amount of it was actually self-loathing. He was ashamed that he’d fallen for the Joker’s trap, and it pained him how his last words had been begging that lunatic for mercy. Jason couldn’t imagine how pathetic he must have looked.
He’d expected to get a glimpse though when he’d had Tim’s life balanced on the tip of his blade, but Tim hadn’t been frightened. He hadn’t groveled or tried to barter for his life. It didn’t help that Jason had opened his big fat mouth and told Tim that he “probably” wasn’t going to kill him. Even so, Tim must’ve known that there was a chance he was going to die.
(Not really. The whole throat-slitting thing had been for dramatic effect. Jason had been very careful to avoid any major veins or arteries).
Jason grumbled as he rolled onto his back. It didn’t make any sense. Tim’s reaction, that level of impassivity, was fine for an emotionally constipated fart like Batman, but not for a Robin. Tim had a full life ahead of him. He should’ve been desperate to survive.
There must be something wrong with the dude. Fear was natural, especially a fear of death. Jason had expected Tim to break down because that’s what normal, healthy people did on death’s doorstep! Especially a teenager, someone whose life had only just - oh.
The epiphany hit Jason like a Mack truck. Jason’s resentment evaporated as soon as he recognized his own double standards. He’d given Tim permission to beg, but he wasn’t giving his fifteen-year-old self the same leeway.
Humiliating and pointless as it had been, Jason hadn’t done anything wrong by asking the Joker for clemency. It’d been his only option. Jason regretted begging, but if he’d died without trying to save himself by every means possible, then he would’ve regretted staying silent.
Jason’s self-reproach over how he’d acted during his final moments was replaced with immense guilt over what he’d done to Tim. This whole mess had nothing to do with the guy. Sure, he’d become Robin, but it was hypocritical of Jason to punish him for that.
Jason’s main concern was that Bruce would fail to protect Tim. The man wasn’t killing scumbags like the Joker, and that put everyone in danger. Jason wanted to knock some sense into Bruce, but if the death of a son hadn’t been enough to convince the man to change his ways, then he was a lost cause.
Jason’s time would be better spent clearing out the criminals polluting this city. Cleaning up Gotham was something that Jason could actually do, and it would help keep Tim safe.
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It was possible that Tim should’ve waited another week before pretending he was well enough to go on patrols again. Maybe two weeks based on the throbbing pain in his shoulder.
Tim sighed and pulled at his restraints for the umpteenth time. He’d been so excited to resume his Robin responsibilities that he’d been a little reckless. Now, he was tied to a chair in a janitorial closet in a drug cartel’s warehouse. Honestly, despite his current predicament, Tim still preferred it here to being back at home with Jack.
There was yelling and the sounds of a fight happening in the warehouse. Was Bruce here to bail him out? There was a lot more gunfire and blood-curdling screaming than you typically heard when Batman was involved.
Tim was wracking his brain, trying to remember this particular cartel’s rivals, when someone yanked open the closet door. It was Red Hood. He surveyed Tim for a moment.
Tim’s heart was racing, but he kept his breathing level. “Fancy seeing you here!” he said with a smile.
Hood visibly relaxed. He closed the gap between them in two strides and crouched down next to the chair. Every single one of Tim’s hairs stood on end, but he resisted the urge to lean away.
“Not sure why you’re here, buddy, but if it’s for another beatdown, I’m going to have to take a rain check. Now’s not really a good time.”
“I know,” Hood grumbled as he undid the restraints. “You haven’t recovered from the last one.”
Tim rubbed at his wrists and looked at Hood, who had retreated back to the doorway.
“Go home,” he instructed. “You shouldn’t be patrolling while you’re still injured.”
“Okaaaay.” Tim cocked his head to one side. “Is that it?”
“Yep.”
“That’s all you came here to do?”
“Yep.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean, I’ll grab a fuckton of cocaine on my way out, but that’s just a bonus.”
Tim stealthily reached for his panic button.
“Touch that before I leave, and I’ll throttle you,” Hood threatened.
Tim froze. No panic button then.
Hood slunk off. Tim waited a beat before following him. The man was tossing bricks of cocaine into a bag, muttering under his breath about teenage stupidity.
Tim felt the need to defend himself. “Hey, I’m eighteen. You’re barely older than I am.”
Hood stilled. He looked at Tim for a long time, but the helmet hid his expression, and his body language gave nothing away.
“You are Jason Todd, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Hood slung the bag over his shoulder and started making for the exit. “Didn’t realize you’d figured that out.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Hood waved at Tim over his shoulder as he walked out. “Finish healing before you go galavanting around Gotham again, loser.”
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The pile of corpses that Jason left in the warehouse had the desired effect. Bruce grounded Tim and kept him on a short leash when he was let out again two weeks later. Served the dipshit right for sneaking out on patrols before he was ready.
Jason had done the exact same thing when he was Robin, but that was different. Besides, Jason was older now. He was a responsible, twenty-year-old adult™. He had his shit together. He'd even started to get a grip on the pit madness!
Meanwhile, Tim was clearly a hot mess in need of supervision. Bruce was completely useless, so Jason continued keeping an eye on Tim.
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Hood’s reappearance worried Bruce. Things weren’t adding up. He’d tried to kill Tim only to turn around and help him the next time they met. Was he trying to send a message? Did he want a rematch? Did he want to be the one to kill Tim?
The most alarming thing was Tim’s attitude towards the villain. Tim insisted not only that Hood was Jason, but also that Hood hadn’t had an ulterior motive for helping him. The dead bodies and missing cocaine implied otherwise, but Tim was convinced that Hood had shown up explicitly to bail him out. Apparently, that’s what the guy told him, and, as before, Tim didn’t question it.
Tim was smart, but he threw out all logic and evidence when it came to matters involving Hood. The man had a hold over him, and Bruce did not like it. He didn’t want to lose another Robin.
/-/
Jason kept tabs on Batman and Robin when they were patrolling jointly, but he didn’t tail them. He only bothered with that when Robin was on a solo patrol. Except for the one time when he’d had to step in, Jason had managed to go unnoticed. But then Dick showed up.
There weren’t many people who could sneak up on Jason. Dick was one of them. Jason nearly jumped out of his skin when Dick appeared in front of him in full Nightwing attire, domino mask in place and escrima sticks in hand.
As they stared each other down, Jason came to the jarring realization that he was at least two inches taller than Dick. Dick had always seemed larger than life. He was someone who Jason had looked up to (literally and figuratively). That wasn’t the case anymore.
“What do you want with Robin?” Dick asked coldly.
“That’s none of your business,” Jason jeered. He kept his hands at his sides, fingers resting on his holster. He didn’t want to shoot Dick, but he wasn’t gonna let himself get dragged to Arkham.
“He thinks you’re his predecessor.”
“He’s told me.”
Dick scrutinized his opponent for a moment before speaking again.
“Well, are you? Are you Little Wing?”
Jason reeled back, the words an unexpected slap in the face. He’d been prepared to fight-on-sight, not to be addressed by a dumb nickname that Dick had given Jason when he was twelve.
Jason crossed his arms. The tension in his shoulders was unmistakable and communicated what the glare hidden under his helmet could not.
Dick took in Jason’s visceral reaction without saying a word. He furrowed his brows. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it. He licked his lips.
Jason made up his mind that, whatever Dick planned to say, he didn’t want to hear it. He ran.
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Bruce was waiting for Dick back at the cave. He frowned at his normally talkative son’s brooding.
“Any leads?”
“I don’t know,” Dick said, shaking his head. “Tim might be right.”
“Did you gather any evidence?”
“No. I talked to Hood, but only for a minute.” Dick ran his hand through his hair. “He barely said anything, but my gut is telling me it’s him.”
Bruce let out an exasperated sigh. He hadn’t thought that Dick would fall for the same tricks that Tim had. Somehow, Hood was convincing people he was Jason. Bruce wasn’t falling for it. He was going to solve this puzzle on his own.
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Tim was suspicious when Bruce started sending him on more solo patrols. The man was clearly working on a case that he didn’t want Tim getting involved in, and Tim didn’t like sitting on the sidelines.
He read through the restricted files on the Batcomputer and found out that Bruce was searching for Hood. Tim didn’t think that those two being in the same room together was a good idea. Not with the way Bruce had been behaving lately.
Despite Tim (and now Dick) suggesting otherwise, Bruce was adamant that Hood was not Jason. Hood was a criminal and a killer. Jason had been neither, and watching Hood sully Jason’s reputation was making Bruce angry.
Tim had never seen Bruce this upset before. He was worried what the man would do when he eventually caught up to Hood. Tim needed to buy Jason some time.
Tim carefully corrupted all of the leads that Bruce had found and set up false leads that would send the man on a wild goose chase. It took him a week, but once he was sure that Bruce would be busy doing other things, Tim set out to track down Jason.
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Jason was perched on a rooftop lining up a shot when he heard someone land behind him. Jason frowned and put the safety on his gun when he saw that it was Tim.
“What are you doing here?” Jason asked.
“Looking for you.” Tim shifted from side to side. “What are you doing here?”
“I was about to kill someone.” It was pretty damn obvious what he was doing, yet Jason was forced to spell it out instead making a sarcastic comment like he wanted to.
“Right, yes, okay, um…”
“Can I get back to it, or are you going to try and stop me?”
“I can’t just let you kill someone,” Tim replied apologetically.
Jason weighed his options for a minute. He rolled his eyes and holstered his gun. He could come back for the slimeball tomorrow.
“Happy now?”
“Yes.” Tim sounded equal parts relieved and uncertain. It was weirding Jason out.
“Well, this was sufficiently awkward,” Jason grumbled, “so I’m gonna leave.”
“Wait! I need to know something.”
“What?”
“What was your favorite book growing up?”
“Catcher in the Rye,” Jason glowered and then jumped off the rooftop. He wasn’t going to hang around and play 20 questions, not when he had to give truthful answers.
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Much to his chagrin, Jason wasn’t able to avoid Tim. The tail and the tailed changed places overnight.
Jason couldn’t figure out what Tim wanted with him. He wasn’t looking for a fight. All the dork ever did was ask Jason to stop killing people and bombard him with weird personal questions about his childhood.
“What music did you listen to?”
“Alternative rock. Like Radiohead.”
Tim nodded and glanced down at his notepad. Wait. He had a notepad?
“How about this one: What house rule did you break most often?”
“No swearing. Are you writing this shit down? Did you make a fucking list?”
“No, and yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I can remember your answers, but it’s difficult to think of good questions on the fly.”
“And what exactly are ‘good’ questions, Timbits?”
Tim gave Jason a dirty look, clearly unhappy about the name drop while they were both in costume, but he answered Jason without making any snarky comments.
“Questions that only you or someone who knew you well pre-death can answer. The sort of stuff that isn’t in your file.”
“Huh?”
Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to prove to Bruce that you’re Jason.”
Jason scrunched up his face as he grappled with a whole host of emotions. This conversation had turned from one he didn’t want to have into one he really didn’t want to have.
Tim checked his notepad, and when he looked up, Jason was gone.
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Jason camped out in his safehouse for a few days, but he had to emerge eventually. He was running low on funds. Tim’s constant presence had prevented Jason from engaging in his usual criminal activities, and he wasn’t about to get a day job somewhere. Was that even an option? Legally, he was dead.
Jason decided that he was going to introduce Tim to the concept of ‘not having enough money to buy things’ when he showed up. Jason sat down on a rooftop to wait. It didn’t take long.
“Oh,” Tim frowned, plopping down beside Jason. “I can wire you some money if you need it.”
“If you’re that desperate to be someone’s sugar daddy, I’m sure we can find someone else for you,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “I’m a criminal, not a charity case.”
“Come on, I’m just trying to help. Quit being a jerk.”
“Quit getting in my way.”
“Getting in your way? I’m trying to stop you from committing murder.”
“Which you’re doing by getting in my way.”
“Fine, yes. I’m interfering. Sue me.”
“If I could afford a lawyer, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Tim let out a groan but didn’t hide the smile that flickered across his face. “You’re the worst.”
“Thank you. I try.” Jason rolled his neck and then cut to the chase. “Alright. Ask me your dumb questions and then scram so that I can find work.”
“Illegal work?”
“Probably.”
Tim huffed but begrudgingly started reading from his list.
“What cake did Alfred make on your birthdays?”
“Red velvet, but he made cupcakes, not cake, so that I could give them out on patrol.”
Those cupcakes had been next level. No one could compete with Alfred, especially not his baking. Jason missed it.
“Did you ever get to drive the Batmobile?”
“No, but Bruce made me think I did once. He got hurt on patrol and told me to drive us back to the cave, but he was steering with a wrist remote the entire time.”
Tim snorted.
“Hey, I was fourteen!”
“And you really thought he’d let you drive the Batmobile?”
“He was concussed. I thought there was a chance.”
Tim laughed. It was a playful laugh. Jason liked the sound of it.
“It was a mean trick. Bruce is mean,” Jason insisted. “Next question.”
“What was your go-to pizza topping?”
“Olives, but only because Dickie hated them, so he wouldn’t steal any from me.”
“Do you still get olives on your pizza?”
“Sometimes. And that’s a present tense question. I don’t see how knowing my current eating habits will help you on your mission to convince Bruce of my existence.”
“That one was for my sake,” Tim shrugged and put away his list. “I’m curious about the man behind the mask, or I guess, under the helmet.”
Jason pondered the position he was in for a minute. Tim already knew a lot about him and must’ve seen the photos dotted around the manor and in Jason’s file. There wasn’t really any reason for Jason to keep hiding.
“I guess, since I’ve seen your stupid face,” Jason grumbled as he unfastened his helmet. When it was off, he shook his hair out and then looked at Tim. Jason smiled cheekily and held out his hand. “Jason Todd. Tolerable meeting you.”
Tim’s expression morphed from shock to indignation. He smacked Jason’s hand away. “You know, you could have saved me a lot of time if you’d shown me your face, oh, I don’t know, three months ago,” he complained as he removed his domino mask. “Seriously, you are such an asshole.”
“Appreciate the compliment,” Jason replied with a laugh. He observed Tim closely, drinking in his appearance, marveling at how damn pretty he was.
Tim gave Jason a puzzled look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I like the way your face looks.” Jason clamped his mouth shut as soon as the words had passed his lips. Fuck, this was awkward.
“Um. Thank you?”
“I just mean, before, when I was all roided up on Lazarus juice and trying to not-quite-murder you, your face was, um, very punchable, but it’s not anymore.”
Jason was going to die of embarrassment. He reached to put his helmet back on, but Tim caught his arm in a deceptively strong grip.
“You know, you don’t have to be Red Hood. You could go back to being Robin. Or you could stay as Jason.”
“Robin’s your thing now, Timbucks. No going back. Only forwards,” Jason grinned. “I can’t exactly un-murder people. I mean, obviously, it’s possible,” he gestured to himself, “but I sure as shit don’t know how to do it. And I don’t want to.”
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. Bruce would understand,” Tim insisted, letting go of Jason. “He’d take you back. You're his son.”
“Well, a little bird told me that Bruce still thinks I’m dead, so excuse me for being skeptical.” Jason stood and brushed the dirt off of pants. “For now, I’m going to stick to a life of crime.”
Jason offered Tim a hand and pulled him to his feet. Tim was pouting. The sight of it made Jason’s heart flutter. He genuinely did like Tim’s face.
“I’m trying, but I don’t think I can convince him without real evidence,” Tim said. “A photo would probably be enough.”
“No fucking way. I’m not a zoo animal.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Tim said in a rush. “I just mean, I mean, like, we could take a selfie together. That would be good enough.”
Jason was about to shoot Tim down, but the manipulative bastard gave him the most pitiful look that Jason had ever seen. Seriously, actual puppies didn’t have puppy-dog eyes like the ones Tim was giving him.
“It can be payback for when you almost killed me,” Tim suggested.
“Fuck. Fine,” Jason crossed his arms, “but, for the record, I wasn’t going to kill you. I knew what I was doing.”
“You say that as if it’s any better.” Tim opened the camera on his phone and shuffled over to Jason. “Smile.”
Jason was mid eye-roll in the photo, but he shoved his helmet back on and refused to let Tim take another. Tim was all smiles regardless. He slipped his domino mask back on.
“Don’t go showing everyone my face,” Jason said. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, and toughened criminals don’t pose for selfies.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just the family,” Tim waved him off dismissively. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with? I can guarantee you that Dick’s going to cry when I show him this. Can’t imagine how he’d react if you showed up in person.”
“Hard pass,” Jason replied. “Now get out of here. I’ve got crime to do.”
Tim raised an eyebrow and withdrew a roll of bills from his utility belt. He handed it to Jason. “Go buy groceries or something.”
“You seriously carry around stacks of cash everywhere you go?”
“Yep. Gotta be prepared.”
“Fucking rich kid.”
“You’re one to talk. Your dad’s even richer than mine.”
Jason wanted to argue that point, but Tim wasn’t technically wrong. Not unless Jason dying and coming back to life had messed up the adoption paperwork. Maybe it did. Jason didn’t care enough to get into a lengthy debate.
He shooed Tim away and headed back to his safehouse to change into civvies. He was going to order a pizza. He wasn’t sure whether or not to get it with olives.
/-/
As predicted, Dick burst into tears. Alfred went misty-eyed, and Bruce’s face crumpled. Jason had grown up and changed, but that was undeniably him in the photo.
The three of them were quiet and attentive as Tim regaled them with all the trivia and childhood memories Jason had told him. Tim talked for hours before he ran out of things to say. He left after Bruce confirmed that they’d be taking the night off from patrolling; the trio clearly had much to discuss, and it would be unwise to patrol when so preoccupied.
Tim was dead on his feet when he got home. He was physically and mentally drained. Jason’s memories were a mixed bag, some happy, some sad. Narrating all of them had been an emotional rollercoaster, but it was worth it to see the unwavering love that Jason’s family had for him.
As he headed upstairs to his room, Tim took out his phone and looked at the selfie affectionately. Warmth blossomed in his chest. Jason’s arms were crossed, but the small smile tugging at his lips belied any hostility. He looked happy.
Tim grinned to himself. What had Jason said? ‘I like the way your face looks, not punchable any more.’
Tim was replaying their conversation in his head and wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. He nearly walked into Jack, who was blocking the top of the stairs.
“What’s got you grinning like an idiot?” Jack asked.
Tim opened his mouth to lie, but nothing came out. Jack had caught him off guard. Maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe it was because he’d gotten used to being honest around Jason, whatever the reason, Tim couldn’t think of a cover story.
Jack snatched Tim’s phone away and looked at the photograph. His eyes narrowed.
“Who’s this?”
Tim didn’t respond.
“Who the hell is he?”
Tim’s brain was doing its best impression of the Spinning Beach Ball of Death that appeared on his MacBook anytime Tim asked it to do too many things at once.
“You have a boyfriend,” Jack accused.
“It’s not like that.” Tim couldn’t stop the blush that spread across his features.
“It’s exactly like that,” Jack sneered.
“It’s not,” Tim mumbled, but the denial sounded weak even to him.
“Admit it. You’re a faggot.”
That word was what made Tim snap. He was sick of Jack’s bullying, the homophobia, the machismo. Tim had put up with it because he didn’t want to get in a fight with his father, but enough was enough.
Jack’s scorn, experienced subsequent to the love and acceptance of the Wayne household, was too much to bear. The stark contrast between the two comportments made Jack’s attitude all the more repugnant. Tim couldn’t endure it any longer.
“Fine,” he said bitterly. “You’re right. I like dudes. So what?”
Jack pushed him.
/-/
Jason woke up to stray rays of sunshine spilling in through his bedroom window and an angry older brother standing at the foot of his bed.
“Hello, Dickhead. What’re you doing here?”
Dick ignored the taunt. “What happened to Tim?” he asked icily.
Jason’s breath caught in his throat. He switched from teasing to serious in an instant. “I don’t know. What’s wrong with him?”
Dick eyed Jason, assessing him for a minute before coming to some unspoken decision. “He has a broken arm, and he won’t admit how he got it.”
Jason frowned. “And you’re interrogating me because?”
“Well, you once beat him half to death,” Dick’s lips twitched, hinting at the faintest of smiles, “and despite that, he’s very protective of you. He’s been hiding you from Bruce.”
Jason started to smile but quickly schooled his expression. He should have realized that Tim was responsible for Bruce's inability to find him. The revelation pleased Jason to no end.
“It’s actually pretty impressive. It didn’t take Bruce long to catch on to what Tim was doing, but even then, he couldn’t find a way around it.”
“Whatever,” Jason muttered. “You’re the world’s best detectives, and he’s a god-awful liar. It shouldn’t be that hard for you lot to figure out what happened to his arm.”
“You think Tim’s a bad liar?” Dick asked, giving Jason a quizzical look.
“I don’t think he even knows lying is an option. He’s an open book. If you wanna know something, just ask him outright.”
Dick made a contemplative noise. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you ask him?”
/-/
Dick brought Jason back to the manor with him. Jason only weakly resisted. The manor played with his emotions, and he was afraid being there would undo all the progress he’d made compartmentalizing the pit madness. But Tim was at the manor, and he was hurt, and, as much as Jason wanted to deny it, he was the tiniest bit worried.
Seeing Tim in one piece was a weight off of Jason’s shoulders. He was curled up in an armchair with a fresh cast on his arm and a spattering of stray bruises.
When he saw Jason, Tim perked up, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything before Dick started questioning him.
“How did you break your arm?”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Tim groaned. “I tripped and landed wrong. It was embarrassing. Please don’t tell me you brought Jason all the way here to -”
“How did you actually break your arm?” Jason interrupted.
Tim’s answer was immediate. “My dad found out I’m bi and pushed me down the stairs.”
The room was painfully quiet for a beat while all three of them processed what Tim had said.
“He what?” Jason roared.
“I didn’t want to tell you that,” Tim grumbled.
“That piece of shit,” Jason fumed. An image flashed through his mind, a smiling man standing over a battered teen. Jason shook his head side to side to clear the image.
“Tim?” Dick asked in a tone that didn’t quite hide his anger. “Is this the first time that he’s hurt you?”
“Yes.”
Jason glared at Tim. “Same question.”
“No. He’s been doing it my entire life.”
Jason swore. Dick made two fists, clenching his hands so much that his arms shook.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Jason growled.
“Jay, don’t,” Tim said.
“I’m popping a cap in his ass.”
“No!”
“He can wish his kneecaps goodbye.”
“Honestly, that seems reasonable to me.” Dick chimed in. “He can stand to lose at least one kneecap.”
“Dick!” Tim looked between the two brothers in horror. “No killing. No torture.”
“There are exceptions to every rule,” Dick assured him.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m legally an adult. You guys don’t have to do anything. I can just move out.”
“Is pushing you down the stairs the worst thing he’s done to you?” Jason asked.
“Not even close,” Tim grimaced. “Stop asking me questions. I don’t want to get into this now.”
“Too bad,” Jason said. “Why didn’t you tell anyone what was going on? You could have told Dick. Or Alfred. Or Bruce. Hell, you could have told me at some point over the last few months.”
“It didn’t seem like a big deal.”
Dick’s face crumpled. The edges of Jason’s vision were starting to turn green.
“Not a big deal!” Jason screamed. “Why the hell would you think that?”
“I have more wealth and privilege than 99.9% of people,” Tim argued. “I wasn’t going to make a fuss over my dad having a temper when it’s literally the only thing wrong with my life. Besides, I learned how to deal with it.”
All the pieces fell into place in Jason’s mind. Tim didn’t show it when he was afraid. Tim didn’t flinch. He shouldn’t be able to control a reflex like that after only a few years of being Robin.
“God fucking damn it,” Jason cursed. He started pacing.
The green was gaining ground, and he was hearing things: manic laughter, the thud of a crowbar, a sadistic voice asking him, ‘A or B? Forehand or backhand?’ Jason ground his teeth and forced himself to focus on the present.
“Tim, that’s not okay.” Dick said, crouching in front of the armchair. “Do you really think we wouldn’t have prioritized your wellbeing? That we would have let it keep happening if we’d known?”
Tim focused intensely on the Persian rug on the floor. “You had more important things to worry about.”
“Like what?” Jason snapped.
“You died.”
That statement froze both Jason and Dick in place.
“You died, and Bruce fell apart. He couldn’t be Batman without a Robin. Gotham was suffering.” Tim’s voice was thick with emotion. “He needed help, so I took over as Robin, and being Robin is more important than dealing with a shitty dad.”
“You didn’t have to choose,” Dick said quietly. “You could have told us.”
“I didn’t want to. I still don’t want to. I don’t know why I’m spilling my guts all of a sudden.”
“Sorry Timbo,” Dick smiled gently. “You can’t lie to your soulmate.”
Tim’s eyes went wide. Jason whipped his head around to look at Dick.
“Soulmate?” Tim squeaked.
Tim and Jason looked at each other and then back at Dick.
“Since when are soulmates real?” Tim asked.
“They’re not,” Jason asserted.
“They are. They’re rare though,” Dick affirmed. “People only get soulmates when Destiny decides to interfere. That doesn’t happen often.“
“Who told you that garbage?” Jason asked.
“Madame Mystique from the circus. When she read your palm, she could tell if you had a soulmate. If you did, you could hire her to help find them.” Dick grinned widely. “Most people need a fortune teller’s help, but you two just bumped into each other.”
“I don’t think ‘bumped into’ is accurate,” Tim mumbled. “He tried to maim me.”
Jason’s heart was racing. The walls were closing in around him. His breathing became ragged. This was too much for him to deal with. His irises weren’t blue anymore; they were solid green. Without saying a word, Jason turned on his heel and fled. He had to get out of there.
/-/
Jason made it back to his safehouse before surrendering to the pit madness completely. His blood boiled, and all he saw was green. This soulmate crap was a cruel, cosmic joke.
Jason screamed. He shattered the bathroom mirror with his fist. He trashed the room and moved onto the next one. He ripped the curtains down and broke the windows. He systematically and violently destroyed every piece of furniture he owned.
Why wouldn’t the universe leave him alone? He’d been dealt a shitty hand from the beginning: a low-life dad, a druggie mom, and a childhood spent living on the streets, fending for himself. He’d been miserable, and yet, somehow, his life had only gotten worse.
He hadn’t had anything to lose when Bruce found him, but under the man’s guardianship, Jason had started to have hopes and dreams. He’d thought of the Robin personna as a gift, but it’d been a harbinger of his death, a death that the universe had made all the more painful by giving Jason hope only to snatch it away at the last second.
More memories forced their way to the forefront of Jason’s mind. The Joker loomed over him, crowbar in hand. “Please tell the big man I said ‘hello,’” the clown cackled. The villain laughed incessantly, while the timer on the bomb counted down.
Jason grabbed his helmet and threw it on the ground. He stomped on it until it cracked and split into pieces. He crushed those pieces into smaller pieces. He ground his heel into the remaining shards until they were unrecognizable. It still wasn’t enough.
The Pit demanded blood. Jason punched the wall. His knuckles burst open. He drew his arm back and punched it again. And again. And again.
Jason’s lungs burned. He was back in the Lazarus Pit, and he was drowning. Talia watched in amusement. She looked over her shoulder and smiled in greeting as someone else joined her. She gestured to the pit, inviting Tim to take a dip. Jason tried to scream a warning, but there was no air in his lungs.
Jason had passed through hell in both directions, but he had done so alone. Now, the cosmos were getting Tim involved, saddling him with Jason as his soulmate. It wasn’t fair. Jason wasn’t even sure if he had a soul anymore or if he’d left it in his grave.
He’d come back, but he’d come back wrong. He heard laughter, saw green, and felt acid running through his veins. He aimed another punch at the wall, but someone grabbed his wrist. Whoever it was had a deathwish. Jason turned to face them. It was Tim.
“Breathe,” Tim instructed.
He held onto Jason’s wrist, grounding him, while Jason took deep breaths and wrested control over his psyche, dispelling the green haze that had overcome him.
It took a while, and by the time Jason came back to his senses, he was trembling. His hand was in agony. It was definitely broken in multiple places.
“Thanks,” Jason muttered when he could finally speak again.
Tim eyed him cautiously before releasing his hold.
“We should get some antiseptic for your hand. Among other things.”
Jason laughed. It came out as a bark. “Among other things.”
Tim smiled at him. “I’ll sign your cast if you sign mine.”
Jason slowly shook his head and grinned. Now that he wasn’t angry, he was tired. His shoulders drooped.
“Come on,” Tim said, noticing the change in posture. “Let’s get back to the manor. Alfred can X-ray your hand.”
Jason stiffened. He didn’t want Dick to start talking about soulmates again. What if Tim listened to him? What if Tim tried to make it work?
“What’s wrong?” Tim frowned.
“I don’t want to be your soulmate.”
“Why?”
The question ripped through Jason. Tim sounded devastated. Jason hadn’t known it was possible to convey so much hurt with a single word.
“You deserve someone better.”
Tim reached out, but Jason recoiled.
“Tim, I’m serious. I like you. I care about you, okay? I’m not going to let the universe stick you with a psychotic soulmate.”
Tim looked at him with a pained expression but didn’t interrupt Jason’s rambling.
“The universe has a personal vendetta against me, and I don’t want you getting involved. You’re gonna get hurt. Hell, you have gotten hurt. I attacked you.”
Jason’s breathing was starting to speed up again. He felt himself slipping until Tim put a hand on his shoulder and demanded his attention.
“Jason, look at me.”
Jason did. Tim smiled weakly.
“Having you as my soulmate isn’t going to kill me. Except for the throat-slitting thing, which, don’t get me wrong, was awful, you’ve had my back. You’ve looked out for me. If anything, I’m in less danger when you’re around,” Tim smiled. “And I care about you too. If I got to choose my soulmate, I’d choose you.”
Jason felt butterflies in his stomach. He nodded slowly. It sounded like poetic bullshit, but, by the universe’s own laws, it had to be true.
“Regardless, you’re gonna have to learn to deal with it, Jay, because the universe already made up its mind, and you can’t fight the universe.”
“I can fucking try,” Jason whispered.
Tim laughed. Jason loved that laugh. He loved the way Tim looked when he was happy.
Tim tilted his head to one side and grinned mischievously. “Admiring my face again?”
“Yes, it’s pretty.” Jason replied automatically. He scowled. “You’re gonna be a little shit now that you know about the forced honesty thing, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“You know it goes both ways?”
There was a glint in Tim’s eye as he hummed in acknowledgement.
“Prepare for war,” Jason threatened playfully. “But not until after I’ve merked your dad.”
Tim sighed. “Dick might’ve beat you to it.”
“Damn it.”
“He’s at my place right now ‘packing up my stuff,’ and Alfred’s getting a room ready at the manor. Two rooms, actually. One for each of us.”
Jason pursed his lips.
“They missed you, Jay. They want you home.”
“They’re gonna change their minds when they see what dying did to me.”
“Jason, I hate to break it to you, but you come from a family of vigilantes who dress up as bats and beat up criminals in the middle of the night. I don’t think they’re going to be weirded out in the slightest, and if something’s actually wrong, we’ll figure it out together. Trust me.”
“Alright then, pretty boy. I’ll take your word for it. It’s not like I have another option.”