Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It isn’t that Tim can’t do the meeting.

He can. As Red Robin nee Regular Robin and CEO of Drake Industries, he’s office-houred his way through a lot of bullshit. He’s attended meetings with broken ribs, fractured tibias, and - on one memorable occasion - an untreated stab wound.

So, like. He can make it through the meeting. Objectively, that is something he is capable of. He’s not injured. He got an entire five hours of sleep, impressive by Tim-standards. He’s fine.

It just - hurts.

It’s not like he isn’t used to that, either. Tim knew, when he woke up this morning and felt the ache in his limbs, that it was going to be a rough day. Janet would still send him to galas like this, no matter how much he begged, legs on fire from standing, his head spinning. And he would mingle, because he is a goddamn professional.

But it’s just -

Dick keeps telling him. And Alfred, and even Bruce (except whenever Bruce says it Tim can call him a hypocrite - bolded, italicized, highlighted, in 100 point font).

Just because he can do a thing doesn’t mean he has to. And, in fact, it generally means he shouldn’t.

And, well. He gets impatient when he’s already in pain. He’s still got fifteen minutes until the meeting is set to begin, and the chances of him slapping Mr. Smith-Harguson so hard that the man’s toupee flies off are rising exponentially by the second.

If he does that, then it’s going to become a Situation, with a capital S and everything. His PR reps will have to do Damage Control. And - worst of all - Bruce will find out, because he always finds out, and he’s going to give Tim his I’m Not Mad Just Disappointed look.

Tim shudders, even as the movement sends spikes of pain down his side. He does not want to Just Disappoint his pseudo-father figure.

Yeah, that settles it. He needs an excuse to get out of here, and he needs it fast.

To: dick grayson

hey are you busy

i could use a distraction. need to get out of this meeting

One minute ticks by, and then the next. No response.

To: B

Are you busy?

Not urgent

Already tried Dick

Watchtower. I can be at your location in 45.

No that’s okay!! Thank you though :)

Are you sure?

Yeah. Just wanted to go get ice cream

Tim sits for a moment, stares at the typing bubble for a good sixty seconds.

We can go as soon as I get back on Thursday.

Deal :))))

Well. Fuck.

To: Alfred !!!! <3

Are you occupied at the momwnt?

*Moment

Automatic Response: This is Alfred Pennyworth. I will be out of town for the next five days, as per my agreement with Master Bruce.

• If something is on fire, call Master Clark. (620 XXX XXXX)
• If someone is in mortal danger, call Miss Leslie. (609 XXX XXXX)
• If any other circumstances arise, call them both.
• Please refer to our Doordash and Instacart subscriptions if you do not feel capable of sustaining yourselves.
• My return with souvenirs is contingent upon a good report of behavior. This applies to you as well, Master Bruce.

To: konnnn 💙♥️

u in metropolis?

no im helping pa out today remember!! :)

i’m soso excited :)

omg right!! how could i forget :facepalm:

good luck :)

thanks :)

see you monday?? :)

ofc <3

To: steph

what are you up to bitch

The message won’t deliver. Undercover with Babs and Cass, then, or she’s just let the phone die. Both equally likely options.

To: bernardddd 💛💚

down for lunch?

In Arizona atm

oh shit!! right, totally spaced.

Np

Call tn?

obviously <3

To: little freak boy

how much to steal the maserati and cause a scene

code yellow

i will trade chores

i will do the dishes for a week

it’s that serious

I thought you were supposed to be at DI today?

yeha

why do u think i need help.

Typical of you to need assistance with the most mundane of tasks.

u made me fake a health crisis last weke bc u didn’t want to be in pre algebra

i KNOW the damn league taught you how to do NORMAL algebra. let alone pre

…I do owe you a favor, Drake.

However, I am unable to cash in at this time, unless the situation changes priority to a red or higher?

Next period is my scheduled art presentation.

The oil pastel pieces.

Tim glances at the time. Three minutes until he can expect people to begin roaming into the conference room. He’s fucked fucked.

But he’s seen Damian work on this project for weeks. The kid has been camped out in the living room for hours at a time, coloring and recoloring each piece while Titus and Catfred sniff around the room and drape themselves over his feet. Damian even sent a few progress pictures to the family group chat, despite his insistence that it ‘meant nothing’ and he ‘did not care about their plebeian tastes in art’.

Plus, as Alfred’s automated reply so kindly reminds Tim, any car-wrecking (intentional or otherwise) will result in a loss of souvenir privileges, and Tim’s pretty sure Alfred is somewhere nice this week.

Drake?

no its okie

good luck on yr presentation!!

it looks rlly nice :)) <3

Of course it does.

Thank you.

3<

he a little lost but he got the spirit

I am putting you on Do Not Disturb now, Drake.

little freak boy has turned on Do Not Disturb. Notify anyway?

Yes / No

Tim rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, leaning over the back of the chair and feeling the weight of the world settle into his body. He’s - shit, he thinks he might actually start crying. Which is dumb. Drakes don’t cry.

As he sits there, taking deep breaths and blinking away the burn behind his eyes, he gets a bad idea. A fucking awful idea, actually.

From the hall, he can hear the faint click of expensive business shoes on linoleum. The words on the extensive dossier in front of him begin to swim.

Tim takes a deep breath, unlocks his phone, and makes a decision.

To: Red Hood 🙄👎

Extraction required immediately.

I’m in civilian mode. Tact required.

[4:22 PM - Location sharing turned on ]

Tim feels his stomach twist. They’re not… Hood works with the Bats sometimes. Whenever it benefits him, mostly. They’re not friends; they’re barely acquaintances.

On my way!

fuck

omw

[4:23 PM - Location sharing turned on ]

Tim takes a moment to inhale and exhale, as deep as he can get it. His ribs twinge with the motion, and his eyes start to water as the pain in his back and arms really hits him.

It’s okay, though. When he opens the map, reacting to Hood’s message with a thumbs up, the interface Babs set up proudly declares him to be 2 minutes and 4.8 seconds away.

Tim… isn’t really sure how Jason’s about to cover 15 miles in less than three minutes, but he’s never doubted Babs before and he’s certainly not about to start now. All he’s got to do is grit his teeth and hang on those 124.8 seconds until he can have an excuse to go the fuck home.

The elevator dings, and people begin shuffling in, gripping Tim’s hand in a way that sends fire lancing down his shoulder. Ding - Norman from R&D. Ding - Tamyra from Community Outreach. Ding - Fucking Gerald, who doesn’t think Tim is fit to be CEO and has spent the past nine months making sure everyone knows it.

“Timothy,” Fucking Gerald says. Tim sees Tamyra wince from behind him; she’s good people, he thinks to himself, he needs to make sure she’s selected for a pay raise the next time Budgeting sends that shit up.

“Gerry,” Tim says, voice slick as oil, giving the man what isn’t so much a smile as a baring of teeth.

“Drake,” says Red Hood from the elevator, and half the room drops to the ground.

Tim - freezes.

He sees Hood take in the scene. Analyze the shareholders clutching their drinks from the minibar, the ratio of women to men, the ratio of people that look like him to people that look like Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. It’s hard to read behind the helmet, but Tim’s getting good at it, and he notices the unmistakable way his eyes narrow at the sight of Albert Kingman cowering under the table.

(Tim fucking knows, okay, Tim and Dick both have been trying to get the domestic abuse charges to stick for weeks, but Albert has a lot of money and Gotham has a lot of corrupt cops, so things just… keep getting swept under the rug. Tim isn’t Hood, Tim can’t just take the guy out back and shoot him and have it done with, no matter how much he wants to.

…Which is a lot. Tim really wants to punch that guy’s teeth in and get someone competent on the board in his place.)

Tim realizes, in the moment of his freezing, that he may have implied to Hood that this was… more pressing. More mission-relevant. More ‘in mortal peril’ than ‘throwing a shitfit over having to do his actual job for once’.

“Uh,” Tim says, eloquent as ever.

Hood tilts his head towards Tim. “You’re coming with me, kid.”

“I’m,” Tim starts. His head is foggy; even though Tim knows he’s far from it, his body has declared Hood’s presence safe and has had about enough of thinking thoughts for today. “Sort of in the middle of something?”

Tamyra makes a strangled noise from below the table. Smart girl, Tim thinks, the sort of girl that survives in Gotham Fucking City. Maybe she’d punch Albert in the face, if he asked really nicely.

In the time it takes him to make that assessment, Hood crosses the room in two strides and presses one gun lazily under Tim’s ribs. “Guess it’ll have to be postponed, then. I’m under strict orders.”

“Well, then,” Tim says lamely. God, but his head aches. “If they’re strict.” And he takes a step forward, to comply, but today might as well happen because Tim’s bad leg buckles under his weight and sends him toppling to the floor.

Hood’s got him tucked under one arm before Tim can blink. Tim stiffens at the touch, Hood’s armor digging into the sore spot on his left bicep without even meaning to. His outfit’s just like that - it’s got pointy edges coming out the ass.

“We’ll be going now,” Hood says, voice mechanical and eerie through the mask.

“I’ll be fine,” Tim gets out, trying to give Tamyra something approximating a reassuring look. “Call the number, yeah? Everything will be sorted out by the end of the work day, I’m sure.”

“Come on, kid,” Hood says, bodily dragging him into the elevator. And then they’re -

Alone. Tim’s breath hitches as he slumps against the elevator wall, inching further away from Hood, who braces his hands against his knees, shaking with rage, and Tim -

“Sorry,” Tim says, words spilling out before he can stop them. He presses back against the wall, and Hood’s between him and the doors, but maybe he can still try -

“Sorry,” Tim babbles, “I’m sorry, I just - I shouldn’t have used, um, I know that number is just for when I’m in the field, I know, I’m so sorry - “

Hood unlatches his helmet. Tim lifts his hands in front of his face, dipping into a fighting stance.

“Hooooooly shit, dude,” Hood says, wiping at his eyes. He’s - laughing, high and amused. It, like, almost falls under the definition of a giggle. Tim immediately decides that it was less scary to be yelled at. “Holy fuckin’ - their faces, did you see their faces?

“You’re,” Tim tries. His tongue feels like dead weight in his mouth. “You aren’t mad?”

“Mad? That was fuckin’ great! You - “ Hood pauses, seems to really look at Tim for the first time, glee sliding off his face as he assesses. “Everything good, kid? You injured?”

“Mmmgh,” Tim says, letting his eyes slide shut. Great. Hood’s not going to leave him for dead in this elevator. Maybe he can still get a ride home, then. All the adrenaline floods out of him, leaving him exhausted and empty. “No, just. Hurts.”

Hood makes a soft noise that can only be described as tutting. “What does?”

Tim almost says everything, but he hears Bruce in the back of his head telling him to report, so instead he says, “Knee. Left arm. Head. Joints, mostly, and some old injuries. B’s got ‘em on file, I just need - ” He gestures vaguely in the air. “I don’t think I can drive.”

Hood frowns. “Why didn’t you call N?”

“Didn’t answer,” Tim says tiredly. He wraps his arms around himself; it almost helps. Lord, he’d do awful things for a heating pad right now.

“B?”

“Busy.” Tim leans forward with great effort, swiping his keycard to shut down the cameras and hitting the button for the garage. “Spoiler didn’t answer, A’s on vacation, Robin’s got a big thing at school, Bernard is also on vacation - you can see where this is going. Trust me, Hood, you were not my first option.”

Hood stares at him. Tim thinks something like hurt flickers across his face - but probably not. The domino still makes him difficult to read. “Bernard?”

“My boyfriend,” Tim says, leaning his head back against the cool metal wall as the downward movement of the elevator makes his stomach lurch.

There’s a silence, long enough that Tim cracks an eye open. “Don’t tell me the guy wearing the leather harness is homophobic.”

(Besides, he’s pretty sure Hood helped run security when Dick had that Nightwing pride float last June, but who knows. Maybe the Lazarus Pit makes you hate gay people. This is Gotham. Weirder shit happens.

Tim thinks fondly about the incident with the pink kryptonite and how hard he fought to name it a slur in the official records, just to make things difficult during Justice League meetings since Superman doesn’t feel comfortable reclaiming it. C’mon, Bruce, he’d said, it’s a little treat for your favorite son, and then Bruce had threatened to bench him for two weeks until Tim roped Dick into it and accused Bruce of committing a hate crime.)

“No, I just - “ Hood waves his hands, looking slightly panicked in a way that’s incongruous with the amount of heat he’s packing on his person. “I thought you were dating Superboy? Or is that - sorry if you broke up, I don’t really - ”

“I’ve seen you with Roy and Kori,” Tim says, squinting at him. “You have got to be familiar with the concept of polyamory.”

Hood makes a choked, spluttering noise, and Tim considers being a little shit - is that how Roy makes you sound - but Hood is fortunately saved from this fate by the elevator doors opening.

Tim buckles himself into the Jaguar, Hood letting out a low whistle and running a gloved hand reverently over the leather interior, and he’s asleep before they can even pull out of the garage.

—

When Tim wakes up, he’s tucked into his bed at the Manor, still dressed in business casual aside from the removal of his necktie. Hood’s nowhere to be found, but on his bedside table, Tim finds a bottle of his prescription painkillers, a glass of room temperature water, and a plastic coin purse that declares in garish rainbow letters: IT’S A GREAT DAY TO BE GAY!

—

To: Red Hood 🤨

Thanks.

:thumbsup:

anytime

Chapter Text

To: Red Hood 🤔

could u come kidnap me

i didn’t get to study for this test last night

patrol?

yah :eyeroll:

ivy whammied me

had to call in kon

ew i do not need to know

arent you supposed to be like

a genius

yeah in theoretical physics not bio II

i can reverse engineer a nuke, idk what a phylum is.

freak

omw

To: Red Hood 

kidnap?

alfred took the car to publix n my bike is still fucked from clayface two weeks back

steph, quote, “wants snackies”. we’re watching rocky horror

also thx again for yesterday. i got out of school again today lol

for the trauma

i bet b loved that

oh my god he DIDDDDDDD

he was like ‘please stop getting hood to kidnap you, you can’t just skip school, you were on the front page of the news again’ yadda yadda yadda

fuckin buzzkill

IKRR!!!!

To: Hood

we were on the front page of the news again

okay and that is on YOUUUU

THAT SHIT IS ON YOU!!!!

i used rubber bullets

YOU SHOT MY MATH TEACHER!!!!!!!!!!

with a rubber bullet

THERE ARE POSTERS AROUND GOTHAM ACADEMY

WITH YOUR FACE ON THEM

‘DO NOT ENGAGE WITH THIS MAN’

it doesnt look like youre obeying the signs :suspicious-squint:

if you keep that attitude up im going 2 stop showing up aand looming outside ur math teachers window at night for u

and disappearing before his wife believes him

YOUBE BEEN WHAT

To: Hood !

its been a week since your last kidnapping

my goons are getting worried

‘wheres that little boy at’

i can legally vote

i cant break the goons hearts, red

hood.

yes, red robin

i cannot skip this board meeting to go and play cards with your employees.

not my employees

my goons

i hire them on goons4u

that cannot be a real fucking thing

it is

babs coded it

youd be surprised how many people we catch trying to hire a murder on their fucming. 2004 chromebook with no anti-tracking no vpn not even an antivirus software

she’s raking em in like flies

anyway

my goons miss you

they are not your goons. you give them health insurance through waynecorp. above board and everything. bruce only doesn’t know because you make me fudge the paperwork when you have me as a captive.

yeah and samiya just went on maternity leave for a month. your point

im a crime boss not an asshole

fine.

but i don’t want to play go fish again. marco cheats

ok see u in 25

i’m in RPC 153, third door on the left if you get off the elevator on floor 17. i need at least 20 minutes to finish up this paperwork so we continue to get vital funding from the government. do not shoot anyone

[Read: 2:15 pm]

I HAVE SECURITY HERE. THEY *WILL* SHOOT BACK

HOOD. DO YOU HEAR ME. DO NOT SHOOT ANY OF MY EMPLOYEES.

you mean ur goons?

nvm i hope you die for rreal actually

To: Jason

i left my good tie at ur place last time

can i have it

big presentation today in english comp

marco knows abt it

yes omw

eta 10

what no

i will come pick it up

omw

KEEP YOUR ASS IN BED

eta 10

YOU FRACTURED BOTH YOUR ANKLES

im outside

stop shooting projectiles out the windwo. youre going to make Dick sad if u hit me ive got two broken ankles

damn this is what i get for trying to return your tie.

u know what fuck you. kidnapping you again

I HAVE SCHOOL

not any more.

I HAVE A PROJECT!!!!!!!!!!!

come here boy. get in my evil lair

JASON

From: Dickass, To: Jay

Jason. Please return Tim to school.

He has a presentation. Thanks!

u can tell tim hes a fuckin snitch

and i KIDNAPPED him. whats the point if i dont keep him.

god, you people

From: Oracle, To: Hood

Put Tim back in his classroom in 20.

ok yes yes maam on it right now

—

—

—

Allie Draper needs an extraction, and she needs it right fucking now.

The situation was already Not Great. Tim’s been at this party for hours, the clock ticking rapidly towards three in the morning, and every lead was turning into a dead end. Even with the amount of alcohol and recreational drugs going around - Tim flagged a few dealers to have Hood inspect more thoroughly - no one was talking, and as loathe as Tim was to admit it… maybe this place was working too well as a front, to the point where none of the clubbing 20-somethings knew a thing about the trafficking operation happening in the sub-basement below their feet.

He’s about to call it a night, sweat plastering his dress to his back, reapplying his lipstick for the nth time, when a door cracks in its frame and someone lets out a keening sound of terror and then Black Mask is in the middle of the dance floor, Cascada still blaring in the background.

It’s surreal in a fucking hilarious sort of way. Tim is going to have to send the security footage to Steph, provided he survives the next fifteen minutes.

Slowly, slowly, he reaches into his pocket and blindly taps out a message, keeping the motion angled away from Mask’s line of sight. His phone buzzes, reads the response out to him in Morse; he sends a follow-up.

“Someone’s been asking questions,” Sionis says, flanked by hired muscle - Tim counts nine, but there’s also four men scattered through the room that he won’t discount. “I thought I’d been nice, been generous to have you all here, as appreciative patrons of my fine business. But someone - “

Mask spins and unloads what looks like a full clip into the sound system. Everytime We touch fades into silence. The whole room holds its breath. The DJ looks at his trashed sound system with a reserved sort of longing.

Sionis laughs, hysterical and mean. “Someone is poking their nose into my shit! So here’s how this is going to go. Whoever tells me a name first…” He cocks the gun again. “Doesn’t get shot in the knee.”

To: Jason

C. 312

B.M.

9+ m 100 civ

omw

ty

ofc

Tim might have called B or Nightwing - should have, really. But this was her case, and she’d been working it for two months now, and if Batman showed up everyone was going to scatter like cockroaches.

…On the other hand, though, she really doesn’t want to get tortured and maimed tonight.

One of the girls Tim pressed for information earlier, giggling in her ear on the sticky bathroom counter, slides her gaze over to him. Tim meets her stare right back, silently begging her: don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t. She leans over to her friend, whispers something he can’t hear.

Then someone’s crashing through the skylight, a blur of black-and-blue striking Sionis in the temple while someone tugs at Tim’s hand. She whirls, ready for a fight, but it’s just Hood, wearing civvies and hissing, “Haul ass, kid, we gotta move,” and then they’re out the door and into the Batmobile before Tim can take a full breath.

Hood sits in the driver’s seat, Tim hastily shoved into shotgun. She notes that he’s not wearing a domino, even. Tim wonders if Hood was off-duty tonight; wonders if she should feel bad, if he was.

“You called Dick,” Tim says, but her voice can’t decide whether she’s upset or happy about this fact.

“One hundred civilians,” Hood says sternly. “Roman is a loose cannon. I can’t handle that alone, kid. I called Oracle.”

Somewhere in the distance, he sees the familiar shape of Batman and Robin, followed by Black Bat and Spoiler. Fuck. There goes the case - Sionis will have all his leads shut down by tomorrow morning at the latest.

Tim crosses her arms. “You weren’t alone. I was there.”

Hood snorts. “Yeah, and you were going to fight fourteen trained bodyguards wearing civilian gear?”

“Oh, I can’t fight ‘cause I’m a girl?” Tim says, mostly to be difficult, a little because Jack Drake kind of lives in the back of his head and tells him that Drake men aren’t sissies and other stupid bullshit like that.

“Save that shit for Cass,” Jason tells him, unimpressed. “You can’t fight because you’re unarmed and wearing six inch heels.”

“Eight inch,” Tim says. “And I have kicked major ass in these, I’ll have you know.”

A brief pause.

Jason sighs and hands her a package of makeup wipes from one of his many jacket pockets; Tim takes it gratefully and begins taking off the meticulous layers of eyeshadow and cosmetic glue. She doesn’t let people see her like this, normally, not her family, but - but that’s still Tim’s Robin. It’s fine. She’s fine.

Besides, he’s seen the way Jason cares for the trans kids in the Alley. Tim relaxes into the seat and scrubs at the crevices of his mouth to get off all the lip stain before Batman shows up.

“So,” Hood says. Without the mask and the guns and the bravado, he almost looks… small. Awkward. Definitely awkward, as he prompts, “You’re…” A girl? A boy? Neither? Both?

“I’m Tim,” says Tim.

“Okay.”

“Well. Allie, technically. But just for tonight.”

“…Okay,” Hood says. “So. You’re a boy?”

Tim glances down at his massive rack. Damn, he needs to wear this outfit to see Kon sometime soon. “Do I look like a boy to you.”

“Clothing and presentation do not dictate internal feelings of gender,” Hood says, monotone, like he’s quoting a gender studies textbook.

“Good job,” Tim says, amused despite herself. She shrugs, scrubbing at a stubborn bit of liner in the crease of her eyelid. “I dunno, man. I’m Tim. My tits are huge and my meat is massive and my swag is abundant.”

“I should’ve let you get shot in there,” Hood says without heat.

“Sure,” Tim says. “Did you bring my suit?”

Hood rolls his eyes. “We’re not going anywhere but home, kid. They’ve got it covered, and you know the rules. Patrol ends after you call a code 3 or above.”

“Last time you sent out a code 312, you kept running the mission for four hours with two broken ankles,” Tim points out.

“And what about that makes you think you should emulate my example,” Hood says with something like a smile. “Let's get you home, ya little freak.”

“That was transphobic,” Tim says automatically. “You’re transphobic unless you let me go punch Black Mask until his face caves in, actually. Sorry to break it to you.”

“Not going to work on me,” Hood - Jason, Tim thinks - says, tapping at the Batmobile computer console before rooting around in the backseat. “Dick already warned me about the pink kryptonite thing.”

“Sellout,” Tim says. Jason nails her upside the head with a pair of sweats and a t-shirt; Tim changes with minimal bitching as the Batmobile winds its way towards home.

“Do you, uh,” Jason says, gnawing at his lip, hands clenched around the steering wheel even though the car’s on autopilot. “Would you. Um. Want to go get burgers. Or something.”

Tim - stares at him for a long moment, frozen in place.

The thing is - the thing is that he does. He wants that so, so badly, so deep that he can feel the ache of it under his skin. Because - Jason is, that’s Tim’s Robin, that’s hers, and Tim has wanted Jason to be his big brother since the day he broke into the Tower and slit Tim’s throat.

Which.

Which is why she can’t let it happen.

He didn’t want to run the mission alone; he called in all the rest of the Bats. It’s - god, Jason isn’t even doing this for Tim, he’s doing it for Dick. Tim knows that in the back of her mind - this isn’t something genuine, it’s a pity invite. She’s only invited to the party because everyone in the class already agreed to attend.

And Tim will let himself be a lot of things, will let himself be spoken over and used and discarded, but he will not make a fool of himself by pushing himself into a place where he isn’t wanted.

(Not again, something inside of him says, thinking about that kid who blackmailed fucking Batman, who slid into the nest and shoved his way into being Robin.)

The truth is just that - they aren’t brothers. They don’t hang out outside patrol. Tim wants to. Damn him, he wants to.

But Jason doesn’t get to do that, just walk into Tim’s life like he’s always had a place there, ask him about his love life and school and take him to get fucking burgers.

(Tim thinks about being very, very young, and not understanding why his parents kept leaving.

He thinks about Dick, shoulders slumped, telling him that Jason never stays.)

Aloud, she says, a little sharper than she intends, “Patrol ends after a code 3 plus. Gotta follow the rules, right?”

Jason swallows, drums his fingers against the dash. “Right. Yeah. Course. Sorry.”

Neither of them speak for the rest of the ride back to the Manor. The moment the doors unlock, Jason swings onto his motorcycle, and he’s gone before any of the rest of them make it home.

Chapter Text

They don’t really talk, after that. For a while. Not that they talked before, but. It’s.

It’s whatever. It’s fine.

Tim stops texting Jason, no matter how bad his body aches at the end of a long day of meetings, when all he wants is to go home and curl up with a heating pad and some painkillers until his body stops carving itself open.

Jason doesn’t text him, either. Tim even gets a concerned text from Goon Marco about it - Tim hasn’t been around, Jason won’t talk about it, Samiya is back from maternity leave now and they’re worried.

He doesn’t reply. Either Hood will figure it out, or he won’t.

It’s none of Tim’s business. Really, it hasn’t ever been.

—

Jason wakes up, and he doesn’t know where he is.

This is not new. This is, despite his best efforts, rather par for the course as far as his night job is concerned.

His wrists are tied behind his back - zip tied and triple cuffed, fuck - as are his ankles. The eyes of his helmet have been blacked out, and the external microphone produces only a low whine of static. Obviously not amateur hour, then.

Whatever. He’s dealt with worse. Jason keeps his breathing even, keeps up the appearance of unconsciousness as he tries to ascertain more about how he got here. He was… god, his head hurts - he was at home.

Not on patrol. Quadruple fuck. He was at home, exchanging stupid memes with Dick and watching a trashy horror movie on cable, and then he.. was here. Wherever ‘here’ is.

Jason thinks, forces his mind into the hazy shadows of memory from when he passed out. He remembers… gas, definitely, the click and hiss of some sort of aerosolized spray. He scrunches his nose a bit to check - no residue on his face, not like Joker or Ivy, and he’s positive he’d be seeing shit by now if it were Scarecrow, so -

Floral. Jason runs his tongue over the back of his teeth and it’s - floral, it smells sickeningly delightful in a way that he knows, that he recognizes, because he’s - because it’s a special formula, because it’s potent and specifically tailored to override the metabolism granted to him by the Pit, and he knows -

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, that’s League, this is League procedure, so where’s Tim, where’s Damian - Damian should be home, provided Jason hasn’t lost that much time, the kid shouldn’t be at school - he needs to keep his breathing under control, someone is going to see, they’re going to know he’s not unconscious anymore - but then Tim, living alone, walking to college and coffee shops and Steph’s - and Jason knows, he knows they can both take care of themselves but - but they’re his little brothers -

Unknown hands tug on his helmet, bypassing the explosive rig to get the whole thing off his face, and he goes slack, doesn’t let himself react to the light, doesn’t admit he’s been caught out until they -

“Todd. The effort of your deceit is appreciated, but you are quite obviously lucid.”

“Fuck,” Jason says with great feeling as he slumps against his bindings, glaring up at Damian, who glares right back. The kid is composed mostly of indignation with a little bit of baby fat still clinging to the corners. “Fuck, kid. Don’t do that. Shit, fuck, Jesus Christ goddamn shit fuck hell.”

“You shouldn’t swear,” Damian tells him placidly. “There are children present.”

“Child my fuckin’ ass,” Jason informs him. “What are you doing.”

They’re in a safehouse, only furnished with the bare minimum, but it’s not in Crime Alley and the place looks upkept enough. It’s not one he recognizes, but the living room branches off into a kitchenette, and there’s a door to his left - he can see through it into the bedroom, decorated like an IKEA showroom for sad beige babies.

“I hear you are transgender,” Damian says, apropos of nothing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Dick’s,” Jason continues, undeterred. He’s pretty sure the kid was signed up to be in Blüd on the Bat-Calendar that Alfred makes them all keep, but when he glances around, Nightwing is nowhere to be found. “Did you kill Dick. Is he under a bridge somewhere.”

“I am reliably informed that many people identify - “ Damian blinks, seeming to remember something. “Apologies. Would you enjoy a cupcake?”

“Fuckin’ hello?” Jason says, but the kid’s already gone, darting into the kitchen and back again. Clutched in his hands, looking a little unsure of himself, he holds a plate of obviously handmade cupcakes. They’re lumpy and misshapen, and each is meticulously frosted in the white, pink, and blue of the trans flag.

Jason squints at the plate. Maybe he’s still asleep.

“It’s okay if you do not want one,” Damian says after a long moment, eyes on the floor. The tips of his ears are bright red. “I merely thought - “

Fuck. Fuck! The kid made him cupcakes, with his flag, from scratch, and now Jason’s gone and made him feel insecure about it!

“Nah,” Jason says quickly, “by all means, cupcake me. I’d love one. Did Dick help you make these?”

Damian’s shoulders relax minutely. He picks one with a mound of frosting on top and holds it out to Jason. “He helped. Alfred did most of the hard work.”

Jason stares at the offered cupcake, and then over his shoulder at the double cuffs. “Can… I have my hands?”

“That defeats the point of the kidnapping,” Damian sighs, put out, “but since I’m being generous, I will allow you to have just one pair of zip ties. You can manage from there, I assume?”

“Sure,” Jason says with a shrug. Damian nods and unlocks the cuffs with a key from the depths of his pockets; Jason sets about perfunctorily breaking the zip ties.

Satisfied, Damian settles back into place, legs crossed on top of the oak coffee table, and resumes his spiel. “I am reliably informed that many people identify as a gender incongruous with the one they were assigned upon birth.”

It’s Damian’s Monologue Voice™, one Jason is intimately familiar with. It’s what the kid ended up with as an Al Ghul - the fucking villain monologue gene. It’s, like, hereditary or some shit.

Instead of pointing this out, Jason nods and picks up a cupcake.

“My upbringing involved a lot of… inadequate messages about the world. Richard says they were harmful, and I agree. Grandfather said men who desired other men were - were inferior, or, or sick. But… Richard is not inferior. And neither is Drake.” Damian pauses. “Well. Perhaps in other regards. Such as hand-to-hand. Or chess. Or Super Smash Brothers.”

“Gedd o’wit’ it,” Jason says around the half-cupcake shoved unceremoniously into his mouth. It’s pretty good. Alfred must have done a lot of heavy lifting.

“Do you have somewhere else to be?” Damian asks, incredulous. “No. No, you do not, as I have detained you for the night. Anyway.” A deep breath. “When I arrived in Gotham to live with Father, I learned about different ways to live. Not just a path without violence, but… paths I’d never heard of. Ones I’d never imagined.”

Jason points at him. “Dick got around to teaching you gender theory? Is that what this is?”

Damian ignores him. “I realized… there was no shame in pursuing the life that pleases oneself the most, provided it does not harm those one has sworn to protect. Richard says - and, and Drake, and Father - a person can just… choose. To be a girl. Or a boy. Or neither, or both, or whatever brings that individual comfort and - and certainty.”

“Mhm,” Jason says, encouraging. “They’re right.”

“I am… unsure. Of many things.” Damian looks down at his feet. Suddenly, Jason thinks, he looks very small. “It is hard to be twelve.”

Jason snorts. “Ain’t that the goddamn truth.”

Damian fidgets with the hem of his shorts. “Back home, masculine fashion can be more… loose.” He wrinkles his nose. “Flowy. Here, though - things are different. And I have - Brown helped me try on makeup, and heels, and Drake loaned me one of her dresses, and - “ His face scrunches up; his ears are fire-engine. “And, and Jon said he thought I looked pretty. “

It takes everything Jason has to stay supportive instead of teasing the everloving shit out of this poor child while he’s already down.

“Wow,” he says instead; he deserves a goddamn award for it, to be honest. “How did you feel about it? The dress and the makeup?”

“I.” Damian’s voice catches in his throat. The motion of his fingers against his hem increases in speed. “I liked it. I liked it very much.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Jason assures him. “Some boys wear dresses. Dick wears skirts sometimes, but he’s a guy. Hell, there are pictures of B back in the day, let me tell you - “

“What if it did.” Damian says, voice small. “Mean something, I mean.”

“Oh?” Jason prompts.

“What if I. Um. What if I think, maybe, that I am like - “ He swallows hard. “Like Drake.”

“Like me,” Jason supplies.

Damian nods. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I always knew,” Jason says, waving his hand. At Damian’s gutted expression, he hurriedly adds, “But plenty of people don’t! Especially if they haven’t been taught that it’s an option. And especially if they don’t want to just be a girl or a boy, but something completely different. That’s really hard to figure out, kid. It’s okay that you don’t know.”

Damian rocks slowly side to side. The small motion makes Jason so, so fucking happy; it took Dick months to even get Damian to consider the possibility of stimming. It’s just - nice. To see.

“You hadn’t been through puberty,” Damian says. “When you died.”

And damn, Jason thinks with another bite of cupcake, he respects the kid for being the only one in the family to say ‘died’, instead of some shitty euphemism like gone or away.

“Yes.”

“But you were still…” Damian chews on his bottom lip, gives his left hand a little flap as he tries to think of the right word. “Presenting. You presented as a boy, back when you met Father.”

“Yep,” Jason says again. He thinks of Catherine, giving him the hand-me-down boxers and cargo shorts of the older boys in the apartment building. He thinks of being younger, and knowing that Crime Alley wasn’t kind to anyone, and it was worse to girls than it was to boys, and it was even worse than that to girls who got caught trying to be boys.

He thinks, inexplicably, of Tim, scrubbing at her face in the Batmobile with a makeup wipe. She didn’t have to feel afraid. She got to go home to a family who loved her, a place where she could put her glittering dress in the laundry pile alongside her tuxedo.

Years ago, that would have made Jason furious. Now, he just feels a sort of warmth emanating from his chest.  

“I didn’t even tell B,” he says to Damian, intoning it like a secret. The kid, for his part, leans in. “Until we were in the middle of a gala, age thirteen, and I got my period for the first time.”

Damian nods solemnly. “A time of great turmoil, even for women in the correct bodies.”

Jason bites back both a snort - it seems Steph has been teaching the kid well - and a word of advice - it’s a bit of a restrictive framework to think of bodies as ‘correct’, but also, Damian’s twelve and he learned about nonbinary people for the first time, like, last week.

“Yeah,” he says instead, “you can say that again. ‘n I ended up bleeding through my suit pants, and when Vicki Vale noticed, I panicked and told her I’d been stabbed.”

Damian makes a soft noise that Jason thinks is probably a laugh. He grins at the kid in return. “Yeah. I know. B was great, though. He read all these parenting books about gender-diverse children. Which, you’d think he’d have gotten there sooner, with the shit Dick was wearing in the nineties, but whatever.”

“It was atrocious,” Damian says with a grimace. “Sometimes West shows me old photo albums. I understand, in those moments, why all of us ended up with a suit that glows in the dark.”

Jason laughs, easy and bright. “Right? Like, why the fuck does it look like that?”

“It is not intimidating,” Damian nods. “Until I bring out the swords.”

Jason cackles, pressing his face into a pillow to muffle the sound. Damian, face slowly settling into a pleased smile, waits patiently for him to calm down.

“Okay,” Jason says after a long moment of composing himself. “So, you think you might not be a boy. Do you want to try anything out? New pronouns, a new name? It can just be at home, for now. Everything goes at your pace.”

Damian considers it, in a way that tells Jason he already knows the answer because he’s been thinking about it nonstop for going on seven days now.

“I like my name,” he says finally. “I got it from my mother. It is mine. When someone says Damian, they don’t mean a boy or a girl - they just mean me.”

Jason nods. “Sounds good.”

“I,” he chews his lip again, “I would like to try being a they. Just, just for now. Just at home. To see.”

Jason nods again. He is trying very, very hard to be encouraging in the easy brotherly way that Dick exudes at all moments of existence. Instead, with all the nodding, he feels like one of those birds that dip their heads into water on an office desk. Either way, it seems to be working on Damian.

“They/them,” he confirms, “as a test run. I can do that. Around the whole family, right?”

“Correct.” Damian hops off his - their perch on the coffee table. Their feet don’t reach the ground when they’re up there. It’s kind of adorable. “This has been… helpful. I greatly appreciate your firsthand insight, Todd.”

“Course,” Jason says, licking frosting off his fingers. “But, like - can I ask a question?”

Damian gestures for him to continue.

“Why the fuck,” he says around a laugh, “did you League gas me?”

Damian frowns at him, looking slightly off-balanced. “You…” they try. “This is how Drake asks you to spend time with him. Did - is that not how this works?”

Jason blinks at them.

He doesn’t - that’s not - Tim just needs him for dumb shit, like getting out of work and school, he doesn’t - they don’t -

“I ran it by Richard,” Damian insists, a faint tinge of distress creeping into their voice.

“No, kid, you’re okay,” Jason soothes, automatic. “Everything’s okay, you did a good job.”

Damian relaxes.

“I…” Jason pauses to consider his words. “Would appreciate a heads-up, next time, is all. Tim usually sets a time and place that we’re both aware of.”

Damian frowns. “Richard said he inquired earlier today.”

He blinks once, twice. “Did he, now.” Jason is going to kick his brother’s ass into the next century. He can do it, too; Dick’s getting slow in his old age. “Well, I must have missed it.”

Damian presses their lips together into a line. “Apologies for any undue distress. He… lives up to his namesake sometimes, I fear.”

Jason laughs. “Glad you’re around to even the score, then.” He gathers his cupcake wrappers in a pile and sets them neatly on the plate in front of him. “Did you want one?” he asks, pointing to the pile. “Cause, like, feel free, but if you don’t stop me I’m going to demolish this shit.”

Damian shakes their head. “Drake accurately assumed that you would consume an equal or slightly lesser amount of dessert than Kon. Because of the metabolic differences.”

“Sweet.” Jason starts unwrapping another cupcake.

Damian taps their fingers idly against their collarbone. “Do you wish to play Mario Kart.”

Chapter Text

Dick shows up somewhere around the twenty-eighth round of Mario Kart to free Jason, read: pick Damian up and get him home by curfew.  

Dick unlocks Jason’s cuffs - Damian insisted on redoing them after he finished the cupcakes - and presses a kiss to Damian’s forehead.

“There,” Dick says to Jason. “You’re free from their reign of terror.” Damian, eyes glued to the screen, flushes a little at the pronoun.

Jason makes a mental note to talk about Damian over comms in the third person, like, at least seventy times. Maybe more.

“Forever in your debt,” Jason says, massaging circulation back into his half-numb fingers.

“The score is twenty-seven to one,” Damian informs him.

“Good work, Dames.” Dick ruffles the kid’s hair; they lean into it with a pleased trill.

“They wouldn’t take off the handcuffs,” Jason complains. “I had no chance.”

“I would never flout proper captive procedure,” Damian informs him as they speed over the finish line. They’re playing Tanooki Mario. Jason, as Bowser, is getting his ass soundly kicked by Mario in a fursuit. “Twenty-eight to one, now.”

“We gots to get home, bud,” Dick says, gathering the scattered cupcake wrappers and soda cans into a plastic Walmart bag. “C’mon. Hop to it. Grab your stuff.”

Damian obediently turns off the Switch and goes to the bedroom, presumably to gather their things. Jason hands Dick his Switch controller obligingly.

“Don’t forget the swords you hid under the bed!” Dick calls after them. “I’m not going to have time to bring you back here until tomorrow afternoon if you do.”

Damian makes an affirmative noise. Satisfied, Dick turns back to the couch and attempts to plaster himself to Jason’s side like some sort of leech. Jason half-heartedly attempts to kick him in the balls; Dick dodges with ease.

“Could’ve fuckin’ warned me they were coming,” Jason gripes. “Almost shit my pants when I woke up.”

Dick grins. “That’s revenge for eating all my orange chicken.”

“Okay, Dickhead, how was I supposed to know it was yours?” Jason says, putting large air quotes around the last word.

“You - “ Dick says, reaching up to flick him on the forehead. Jason snaps at his fingers like a dog. “You broke into my apartment. They were the leftovers in my fridge.”

Jason huffs. “Your point?”

“Why were you even in Blüdhaven? That’s, what, a two hour drive?”

“I heard there might be orange chicken up for grabs,” Jason says with a shit-eating grin, and then they lose several minutes as Dick attempts to detach Jason’s shoulders from his body and Jason attempts to stick his entire foot in Dick’s mouth. It almost works, but he’s not quite as flexible as he imagined.

Finally, they end up back where they started, Jason sitting upright on one couch cushion and Dick sprawled across the other three, face smushed into Jason’s ribs.

“It’s nice,” Dick says, voice gone all warm and mushy. Jason rolls his eyes; he has a reputation to uphold. “To see you with the kids. They really look up to you, y’know, even if they don’t say it.”

Jason snorts. “God, they shouldn’t.”

Dick keeps his eyes closed, shrugs. “I mean. If they all just emulated Bruce all the time, the Stick-Up-Your-Ass Remover would have himself a full time job.”

“That’s not a fucking phrase,” Jason tells him, looking down at the top of his head with disgust. “That’s not a thing anyone alive has ever said.”

Dick doesn’t deign to respond. Instead, he takes advantage of Jason’s despair to sling an arm over his shoulders. The angle really can’t be comfortable - but then again, it’s Dick.

“You are a freak,” Jason says, but he lets his hand rest against the top of Dick’s head.

“I mean it, though,” Dick continues. “I do my best with Damian, but kids really need to see people that look like them, you know? Need to - to be able to see that they can grow up and have a future, just the way they are.”

Jason hums in agreement. “Weird as shit, though. To be the one they imprinted on.”

Dick snorts. “Diversity win, local crime lord is transgender!”

Jason huffs out a laugh; Dick presses his face into Jason’s side to hide his cackle. It’s - nice. The whole thing is just. Really nice.

“I know Tim’s not really a kid, anymore, but I appreciate what you’re doing for him, too,” Dick concludes. “All of us do.”

Jason frowns. “What?”

Dick nods encouragingly. “B and Alfred and I can’t - we can’t always be there, in the way she needs, so it’s just… We all appreciate it. The effort.”

Jason shakes his head. “Not that. What the hell have I allegedly done for the Replacement?”

It’s Dick’s turn to frown, looking up at him with a confused squint. “Huh?”

“Kid hates me,” Jason says. “Like. He literally cannot stand me.”

Dick matches his frown. “Tim called you last month, during that undercover mission. In - in girl mode, as he calls it. And - “ Dick twists to face him fully. “It’s not like that normally, Little Wing. It’s - “ Dick waves his hands in the air, frustrated, as he tries to think of the proper words. “He doesn’t - she won’t debrief afterwards until she’s got the makeup off. Insists on doing the mission itself with Steph, Kon, or alone. Never with us. Never with me.”

“Hm,” says Jason. Fuck, he sounds like Bruce.

“Yeah, hm,” Dick says. “Did you - you really never picked up on this? He’s got, like… a lot of shit leftover from his parents. He didn’t even tell anyone when he started dating Kon. Stopped bringing him to the Manor entirely, when before it had been, like, weekly game night, movie night, Saturday sleepover, like clockwork. Alfred thought they got into a fight, and when B tried to ask about it, Tim freaked the fuck out.”

Jason stares very hard at the wall. Thinks about - I’ve seen you with Roy and Kori - Oh, I can’t fight ‘cause I’m a girl? - about Tim, eyes glossy, scrubbing off his eyeliner in a series of practiced motions.

Jason… Tim thinks Jason’s safe. He has no idea what to do with this knowledge. He just sits there and holds it, dripping through his fingers, sticky and uncomfortable and way too much.

“I went over to Uncle Clark’s for the weekend,” Dick continues, “to help with some work stuff - and also to see Ma, because I would die for that woman - anyway, I walked in on Tim and Kon kissing, and he - “ Dick’s face takes on that weird, pinched look he gets sometimes when Jason talks about his time with the League. “He told me he was sorry. Said he’d never do it again, and to just not tell Bruce, and we - “ A deep breath. “I had to sit with him for the rest of the night. Just, talk him down, make sure he knew that he wasn’t in trouble, not for that. Never for that.”

Dick takes a very long, very deep breath. “It still took him three months before he brought Kon to dinner again.”

“…Huh,” Jason says, looking at a piece of popcorn ceiling that is suddenly very very interesting.

“You have picked him up from school,” Dick says, incredulous, “twelve times this month. I know that, because Bruce was off-world, and I had to sign the paperwork to get you registered as one of his approved guardians.”

Jason’s brow furrows. “They weren’t - those were kidnappings,” he pleads.

“They fucking what.”

Jason wisely chooses not to pursue that avenue of discussion. Instead he says, faintly, “I don’t… pick him up. As me. I always go as Red Hood.”

“No shit,” Dick says. “I put your name as ‘Hood, Red’, your occupation as ‘fiend’, and your home address as ‘Hell’.”

“I shot the math teacher,” Jason insists weakly. Because hey, his fucking street cred.

Dick stares at him, agape. “You really think that Gotham fucking Academy hasn’t figured out by now that the mask that shows up every week - to abscond with their student who has a net worth of eight hundred and fifty million dollars - isn’t actually there to kill anyone?”

He purses his lips. “…Well, when you put it like that, it sounds sorta stupid,” Jason says.

“Does it now,” says Dick. If he had heat vision, Jason would be bottoms-up.

“I am ready to go,” Damian says, their head barely clearing the back of the couch. “Why do you look like you’re going to divest Todd of all his bones.”

“Damian,” Dick says, very, very slowly. “Could you please tell me what Tim thinks of Jason?”

Damian frowns. “She respects him very highly. And - “ They pause, flap their hands for a moment. “I don’t think I have the proper words. Last month, when Todd broke both his ankles, Drake refused to leave until the bones had been set.”

Jason… doesn’t remember that. Or - he does, but he was on a metric fuck-ton of morphine, and he… sure, Tim was there, but Jason had assumed - usually, they all take shifts, and -

Damian reaches out; Dick immediately slips his hand into theirs. “He - he told me that he did not want Todd to wake up alone. Especially if… if he was underground. Drake, um.” They screw up their face. “She and Gordon make sure Todd is always away from any collapsing buildings, any fires. She says - you don’t do well. With debris?”

And Jason - stares at them, feeling rather like he’s being crushed under a thousand tons of concrete right now.

“We have to go,” Dick says neutrally, getting to his feet and ruffling Jason’s hair, one hand still intertwined with Damian’s tiny fingers. “See you around, Little Wing.”

“I need to fucking go,” Jason says, eyes fixed on the blank TV screen. Ohhhh, he fucked up, and he doesn’t even know how. And Tim’s just - and Tim won’t talk to him -

“That’s what I thought,” Dick says, pleased. He reaches into his pocket and tosses Jason his keys, the ones with the Kuromi keychain and a fob from Roy that just says MILF. “Your bike’s parked outside. Full tank of gas for your troubles.”

Jason stands up resolutely, flicks Dick on the forehead with his considerable hand strength, tugs Damian briefly into his side with another murmured thank-you for the cupcakes and a promise to come by the Manor soon.

Then, he gets on his bike and floors it.

—

“HeyIdon’tknowifIevertoldyoubecauseIassumedeveryoneknewbutI’mtransgender,” Jason says, crashing through the window and into the living room of Tim’s apartment.

“Congrats,” says a blond kid about Tim’s age, sprawled across the couch. Bernard, Jason thinks. “You’re not the DoorDash guy.”

“…No,” Jason confirms. For the first time since leaving Dick’s safehouse, he starts to feel like maybe he should have had a better plan. Or - like, any plan at all, actually.

Bernard squints up at him, color flashing over his face in the dark room from the TV. “Oh. Hey, Jason.”

That throws him for a loop, because he definitely has never met this kid before. Or - yeah, no, they’ve been at Wayne-sponsored galas but never at the same time, and Jason only recognizes him because of the occasional family group chat selfie alongside the fact that he’s sprawled across Tim’s couch like he’s grown roots there. And he’s - Jason’s still wearing the helmet -

Instead of forming words to ask this question in a normal way, Jason lets out a noise he can only reasonably transcribe as horghh?

It’s been a long night. Fucking sue him.

The kid snorts. “Yeah, yeah. I recognize my own future brother-in-law, dipshit. Tim talks about his photos of you the most, he had to get some sort of fancy-ass filter to counteract your tapetum lucidum - because you’re a freak of nature - do you happen to have money to pay the DoorDash guy?”

Jason squints at him, unmoving from his position leaned against the window. “You’re dating, fuckin’. Timothy Drake-Wayne. He’s got, like - trust funds worth more than my house.”

“It’s my night to pay,” Bernard tells him placidly. “Can’t a guy want to spoil his girlfriend?”

Jason snorts, but he untenses and goes to dump his jacket and guns in an unoccupied corner. “Not when his girlfriend has the GDP of a small island nation.”

That gets Bernard to laugh proper, head tilted back, and Jason allows himself a small grin.

“Hey, Hood,” Kon says, rapping the doorframe twice as he walks into the living room, hair wet from the shower. He stares at Jason curiously. “Here for date night?”

“Kon,” Bernard says. He’s sunk so far into the couch that Jason thinks they may never be able to retrieve him. “Can you Venmo me five dollars.”

“Jesus,” Kon says, rolling his eyes with great affection. “I told you to just let Tim pay.”

Bernard crosses his arms. “It’s my night to pay!”

Kon rolls his eyes again, and then he lightly slaps at Bernard’s legs until Bernard moves them and lets him immediately occupy the vacated space.

“If you don’t have money,” Bernard says to Jason, “can you maybe like go scare off the DoorDash guy, or - “

“I have five dollars,” Jason volunteers from the space next to the couch where he’s sat, cross-legged. “What’s your, uh, username?”

“Batmansux - that’s S-U-X - Supermansux - again, with an X - 311,” Bernard recites dutifully. Kon laughs and presses a kiss against his hairline.

“Hell yeah,” Jason says with a laugh. He taps on his phone for a minute, and then -

Bernard cackles, bright and pleased. “Thanks for the five, WonderWomanLover3000.”

“Of course,” Jason tells him. “What are we having?”

“Sweet, steamy gay sex,” Tim says tiredly, presumably manifesting out of thin air. If Jason were a lesser man, he would have jumped seven feet in the air. “Which you are not invited to have. Why are you in my fucking house.”

Right. Right. He’s here on a mission. Um. Uh. Fuck, plan -

“Jason’s transgender,” Bernard supplies at the terror in his eyes. “Was real adamant about it, too, when they came through the window. I was like, wow, okay, don’t normally get that intimate with the DoorDash guy.”

“Don’t let Stephanie hear you saying that shit, babe,” Kon says to Jason with a huff of laughter.

Jason frowns at him. “Steph ran the Pride float with Dick last year?”

Kon fakes a shudder. “The first time I wore a skirt, she hunted me down in the middle of deep-cover in Marrakech and asked me if I wanted to learn the t-girl handshake that her and Dreamer have. And then she made me sit through her list of alternatives to Supergirl, since that was already taken.”

“I really liked Superbitch,” Bernard says into a pillow. “Like, I know you aren’t a girl all the time, but I really liked it.”

“Other way,” Jason says. “I’m a guy.”

Kon and Bernard both make little Ohhhh noises.

Tim just stares at Jason with something undefinable in his eyes. They’re - a little too glossy, his lips a little too thin, and - and Jason doesn’t know what he did, now or a few weeks ago, and he thought maybe -

“So I’m,” Jason continues. “If I - I thought you knew, so I didn’t - if, if you freaked out in the car because, because you were wearing makeup around me, it doesn’t bother me. Like - I get it. That didn’t even cross my mind.” He swallows hard. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Jason breathes in, out. “I had - they said they were out to you first - I had dinner with the demon, and we - we talked. About gender, which, okay, wild chat for a twelve year old, and then they also had so many swords.” Another deep breath. Focus. “But yes. I talked - to Damian. It was nice. And then I talked to Dick.”

Tim’s hand shakes. Just the tiniest, smallest amount, his phone rattling in his grip, but they’re all well-trained enough to see it; Kon’s by his side in an instant, one arm braced around his shoulders, whispering comfortingly in his ear, face pinched with concern.

Tim drops to his knees, and Kon and Bernard both follow him down. Jason stays where he is, even though his hands twitch to reach out, to help. He sits there, a good five feet away, and resists the urge.

“Um.” Jason swallows. His throat feels very dry. “I can leave, I just…”

Tim shakes his head minutely, the barest hint of a back and forth. “It’s just not fair,” he whispers, voice wet.

“What isn’t?” Bernard prompts, face pressed against Tim’s collarbone. His and Kon’s touches have all the marks of a well-practiced dance; it makes Jason’s chest ache. Fuck, but he does miss Roy and Kori.

“You’re being mean, Jason,” Tim says. His voice is very, very small. “Because. B-because.” He breathes through the slight hiccup, tries again. “I’m trying. I’m trying to respect your wishes, really, I really really am.”

Jason frowns; Kon’s face mirrors it.

“What?” Jason says. He - he doesn’t get it - when did he ever make Tim think -

Tim’s face is pinched, tight in a way that Jason never wants to see again, never wants to be the reason for again. “Everyone wants us to get along,” he whispers. “They - and that’s fine. When we get along, it makes Dick happy. Bruce. But - but you don’t have to do that, Jason.” He makes a soft, wounded noise. “I know you don’t like me. We both know that. There’s no reason to pretend.”

“What?” Jason says again. Tim is - Tim thinks - “Wait, so I’m - what - only here because of Dick? For - not for you, for Tim, but for our fuckin’ night job, and I’m taunting you with the fact that I’m having trans bonding hour with our youngest sibling, just because I fucking hate you?”

Tim makes a caught-out face like that is, in fact, exactly what he thinks.

“What?” Jason sputters. “Why the fuck would I ever - When have I ever tried to hurt you on, on purpose - “

“Slit his throat,” Bernard and Kon say in unison. Sooo maybe not everyone is as over the Titans Tower thing as Tim seems to be. He earned that one.

“…Okay, yeah,” Jason says. “Fair.” Because - okay, yeah, fair.

“You don’t hate me,” Tim says into Bernard’s shoulder. “You just don’t like me. It would be easier, if you hated me. It would hurt less.”

Kon makes a wounded noise and hugs Tim closer to his chest.

Jason makes a frustrated noise deep in his throat. He’s - a fixer. He fixes things; he sees things that are wrong and he tries to make them better until his fingers are bloody. Granted, usually not - usually fixing his family tends to not go well, but - “You’re the one that doesn’t like me, you little shit.”

Tim curls in on himself; Bernard leans over and smacks Jason on the arm. Damn, they’ve taught him how to whoop ass. His arm actually stings.

“Bernard and Kon are right, kid,” Jason says, making an effort to gentle his tone. “I came to town and fucked things up for you for, like - a while.” He waves his hand in the air. “And, and - you never tried to hang out outside of work, so I just - I was trying to give you space!”

“Idiot,” Tim says wetly, “you’re such an idiot,” and then he’s gone and wrapped his arms around Jason like an octopus. Jason sits there, stock-still and stiff, and does not move a muscle.

“You’re supposed to wrap your arms around him too,” Bernard stage-whispers. “It’s called a ‘hug’.”

Tim laugh-cries into Jason’s shoulder; Jason flips Bernard off, but he wraps his arms around Tim in response.

“I did talk to Dick tonight,” Jason says, quiet. “And he thanked me for being a good role model for you, and I told him you hated my fuckin’ guts, and he looked at me like all my skin’d melted off.”

“Idiot,” Tim says again. “...It’s dire straits when your middle-man for relationships is Dick Grayson.”

“I know,” Jason scoffs. “I know.”

“He took,” Tim says, laughing softly, “he took all the emotional intelligence from Bruce before we could get there.”

Jason nods solemnly. “That’s why B’s like that now. Dick left him as a desiccated corpse.”

Tim sniffs, rubs at her eyes. “Why was Dick there? I thought it was his weekend with Damian.”

“Damian kidnapped me,” Jason says flatly, “because, and I quote, that’s what Drake does.”

Tim snorts, then takes a few deep breaths along with the rise and fall of Jason’s chest. A few feet away, Bernard puts his head in Kon’s lap and watches - Kon intently, Bernard in a casual way that almost scares Jason more.

“Didn’t know you were trans, though,” Tim says after a moment. “S’cool. Me too.”

Jason laughs. “Oh, really?”

Tim nods against his shoulder. “Sorta worried I was, uh. That I’d ruin Robin.”

And Jason has a lot of choice words to say about that - how Robin was ruined from the start, how Jason himself ripped it to shreds with his bare hands in ways Tim could never, some jokes about Dick desecrating the position with his choices in costume - but instead, for right now, he just tugs Tim a little tighter and says, “Course not. Of course not.”

The moment is silent and soft and sweet.

It is immediately broken by the doorbell ringing seven consecutive times.

Kon winces, Bernard flinching in his lap. “Sorry. The DoorDash guy.” He pulls Bernard up onto the couch with one arm, following suit with Tim when she detaches from Jason and makes grabby hands at him from the floor. “I’ll get it.”

“...Well,” Jason says, embarrassed. Oh, Jesus Christ, he’s had an emotional moment at his little brother’s fucking date night.  “I guess I should, ah, leave you guys to it. Sorry for crashing.”

Bernard sighs, rolls his eyes. “C’mon, man. You can stay for dinner. We’re all too tired for sweet steamy gay love, anyway.”

“Please,” Jason says, making exaggerated gagging noises into his hand, “please don’t ever say that to me again.”

“I meant what I said about Roy and Kori,” Tim mumbles. “Pot, kettle.” Bernard cackles.

“You wanna stay?” Kon asks, walking back in with the food balanced against his hip. The look he fixes on Jason makes it clear that is not a question.

“…Yes,” Jason says, sliding onto the end of the couch. “What’re we having?”

“We are having Gianelli’s,” Bernard says. “You can have two halves of a mozzarella stick, if you behave.”

Jason makes an offended noise. “I gave you five fucking dollars!”

“Bernard,” Tim says, still soft, still too quiet, “I told you I could pay.”

“Shhh.” Bernard presses a finger to his lips. “He’s not behaving. I’m demoting him to one half of a mozz stick.”

Jason slowly, slowly leans until Tim’s head is against his shoulder. It’s so awful, actually, every part of him is so sweaty and he is going to die a second time.

“So,” Tim says, voice a little too casual. “…Does this mean I can stop asking you to kidnap me when I wanna hang out?”

Jason puts his head in his hands.

Chapter Text

Another day, another fucking meeting.

Albert Kingman’s tragic death, which Tim has not looked into for the sake of his health, has resulted in a lot of board meetings. To fill the vacuum left by his sudden departure, and the positions left vacant by that switch, and while they’re changing things up, they might as well just reconsider everyone’s position while they’re here, and Dora The Liaison with LexCorp has some thoughts and she’s made a Powerpoint -

Anyway. Long story short, Tim sends out a quick text on his smartwatch, and the elevator doors slide open before Dora The-Liaison-with-LexCorp can even reach Slide 12, to reveal a petrified security guard and a familiar red helmet.

“I’m only here for one of you,” Hood says, voice crackling through the modulator. From the floor, Mr. Smith-Harguson makes a high-pitched noise.

“Could we maybe do this some other time,” Tim says, because he has to play the damn part, has to put up his token resistance. The board members stare at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Not that I’m not appreciative,” Tim continues. “Really. I’m sure a lot of effort went into this scheme. But a lot of effort also went into scheduling this board meeting, soooo - “

“Shut the fuck up,” Hood snarls, slamming his fist against the table.

Someone whimpers. Someone swallows. Someone shuffles with a slight crinkle of paper.

Someone crashes through the window.

Everyone turns to look, Hood swinging around and pointing his gun at the newcomer, and Tim can see the moment his grip falters, just for a fraction of a second, because it’s -

“Batman?” Tim says.

Batman stares at him, which is when he remembers that he’s supposed to be getting kidnapped. Tim coughs and tries again. “Batman! You’re here to save us!”

Judson Hall of the Environmental Impact Advisory Committee moves his hands behind his back, just enough so that Tim can see it. Just enough for Tim to notice the small button flashing in his cufflink. Which, fucking bless the man, he’s wonderfully enacted the Tim Drake Kidnapping Protocol, Tim needs to give him a pay raise effective immediately. The whole thing works great, alerting the GCPD the moment a hostile enters any of their buildings.

…Except when Tim has elaborately built a situation based on a fake hostile fake-kidnapping him.

“Put down the gun, Hood,” Batman says, because apparently he’s gotten his shit together faster than the rest of them.

“...No can do, big guy,” Hood says. “I have my orders not to leave here without the Drake kid.” There’s a little upturn to the end of the sentence even through the modulator, like Jason’s not quite sure how to play it from here. Like he’s waiting for Tim to give him his next line.

Unfortunately for both of them, Tim’s not sure, either. Will they let him out of the meeting for an attempted kidnapping, or will they consider it their sovereign duty to make sure business goes on as usual in the face of such reprobate behavior?

Fuck, definitely the latter.

Batman takes a step forward. Hood takes a step back. Tim looks between them, and -

Another window bursts open. Several of the board members shriek with terror, this time. Inwardly, Tim laments the amount he’s going to have to upcharge the facility repairs budget this month.

“No one told me we were having a party,” Nightwing says, standing there in what Tim definitely recognizes as an embarrassed stance. “Little upset I wasn’t invited, if I’m being honest.”

Tim blinks once. Twice.

“Nightwing!” Tim says, launching himself into Nightwing’s arms. Dick catches him, easy muscle memory kicking in, and Tim fake-sobs against his shoulder as he whispers into his ear, “Fucking get me out of here take me out of the fucking window grapple me out of here, give me the fucking comm link - “

“I won’t let you escape,” Batman is saying, which both Tim and Jason must take to mean that that’s exactly what the plan is, because Hood launches himself towards the doorway and takes off at a sprint. Batman gives chase, and then it’s just Tim in Nightwing’s arms, in front of a room of his baffled, terrified business associates.

Nightwing opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“Well then,” he says. And then he drops Tim flat on his ass and jumps out the window, the goddamn coward.

A long moment of silence passes.

Slowly, everyone gets to their feet. Tim pages someone to come and clean the glass from the two shattered windows, makes a mental note to fix the budget for that before he goes home.

Speaking of which -

“I think,” Dora The-Liaison-with-LexCorp says stoically, “we should consider it our sovereign duty to make sure business goes on as usual in the face of such reprobate behavior.”

Jesus Christ, Tim thinks.

—

From: Jason, To: Tim

tim get me OUTTA here

code purple. it’s bad

the gala?

yes

its just. this suit is too tight all these people fuckn suck

b isn’t here to ward off the vultures

idc what send alf over. claim that our aunt has been struck by lightning. if i leave without a real good excuse the press is going to be all over it

open to the press? ew

yes i’ve been trying to get clark’s eye for like ten minutes but he’s on his phone and he own’t look up

okie

i’ll be there in 15. camp out by the hors d'oeuvres

i owe you one

you always do

actually nvm i’ll just throw myself into the chocolate fountain

okay and i will get all 103 articles about it framed

From: Red Robin!!!!! <3, To: Marco, Samiyah

hey

i need a favor

From: Jason, To: Tim

are

are your goons on comms using their REAL NAMES

ARE YOUR RED HOOD ORG EMAIL ADDRESSES FIRST NAME PERIOD LAST NAME?????????

REAL LEGAL NAMES??????????????????????????????????????????????

uh

JESUS CHRIST. BE THERE IN FIVE

From: Tim, To: little freak they

i am going to crash the gala

do not be alarmed

I am going to start a petition for you to be euthanized.

It is the humane option.  

From: Clark 🤓, To: Bruce

Yeah. Candace Johnston keeps trying to touch my ass

She thinks she is being discreet

She is NOT being discreet

Not even as like a Superman thing. She is telegraphing it from a mile away

I meant important updates, Clark.

This IS important

My ass is in danger

An ass that has inspired millions

Please stop sending me messages about your ass. This is a secure line.

What, am I supposed to send you messages about my ass on a line that ISN’T secure

I think y

Hold on

Clark?

Clark.

You have sixty seconds before I call in Diana.

No

We are good

Let me paint a word picture for you here Bruce

Jason Todd and Damian Wayne are very valiantly doing PR for you

Oh, God.

No no

They’re doing fine actually

Well. Relatively. Damian is giving their spiel against ‘vegan’ leather

I think they quoted my article…

Clark. Focus.

Right yes

Well uh

I heard a single gunshot from outside

And I think

Kent.

Everyone is fine

Let me paint you the word picture

Jason is staring at the window like a cat with a beetle

He has three different tapas in his hand and he looks very uncomfortable

He should have just come and talked to me! Anyway

Someone is rustl- Oh

Red Hood is here

???

Red Hood is demanding that Jason Todd be given over

CLARK.

For ransom

Damian has their head in their hands

The lady next to them is patting them because she thinks they’re young and scared

I think they’re trying to hide that they are cry laughing

WHO IS IN THE SUIT.

Either Tim or Steph

Oh NVM it’s Tim for sure

It does not fit at ALL. In a bad way. People are noticing

I am going to ground them forever.

I don’t care that they’ve both moved out. Forever.

Hood has a gun to Jason’s head and they’re easing out the back door

Looks like a water gun

I think Tim just tripped over the pants but he made a good recovery

I owe them both a solid though

Candace Johnston is def too distracted now to think about my ass

From: Jason 📚, To: Bruce

whatever uncle clark is telling you he is LYING

superman is a FILTHY LIAR