Archive of Our Own

Even before he became Robin, Tim understood, perhaps better than anyone outside of the Wayne family, that Batman was human. 

Yes, he’d watched Bruce Wayne, and knew he was human. And yes, he’d stalked Batman, and knew he was human in the way his movements would stutter, sometimes, when Robin was in danger. He knew he was human in the way he would ruffle Robin’s hair for a job well done. 

And he knew he was human in the way he avoided Crime Alley most of the time. 

It was, perhaps, a bit counter intuitive to be avoiding a place literally called crime alley as a self proclaimed vigilante who fights crime. But Tim understood. Of course it was hard to patrol the place where your parents had gotten murdered. The place where one of your formative, traumatic memories was formed.

He understood, yes, but it didn’t stop Tim from judging. Batman should be a protector of Gotham, not Gotham sans Crime Alley. Over the years, he’d gotten better. He’d patrol more and more in Crime Alley, especially as criminals slowly started learning just how much he avoided that place. 

Things got a bit more difficult trying to follow Batman and Robin there, but he managed it most times, and he’d only been mugged once. He knew better than to look like a rich kid after that. 

The second Robin, though. The second Robin. He was from Crime Alley. He did the opposite of avoid it. And of course, Batman wouldn’t just let his Robin go off like that in one of the most dangerous places in Gotham. Crime Alley got… better. Not enough to regain the name Park Row, but better. There was hope there, still. Batman started paying attention, and Tim didn’t know it was possible to love someone more than he loved Jason Todd. 

He perhaps got more pictures of Jason’s Robin helping people in there than he had of all of his years of stalking Batman and Dick’s Robin from before. And that didn’t even count all the action shots of Robin hurting the criminals there, which were always awesome. 

That is what Robin is, after all. Hope in the darkness, and there’s few places darker than Crime Alley. 

And then he… died. Jason died. Robin died. It felt like hope had died as well. 

This time, Batman didn’t forget about Crime Alley. But Tim wished he had. He didn’t help people, he just hurt petty thieves. That was all he did in Crime Alley. If a mugger had shot someone, Batman would go after the mugger. But leave the victim behind, for someone— usually Tim, to call the ambulance for. 

Tim hated it. 

He tried his best, when he became Robin, to temper Batman. And it worked, at least a little. 

But most of all, he did his best for the people of the streets Jason grew up in. He had the money and resources for it. He kept an eye on the Wayne Foundation shelters, personally stalked and looked into every single employee that worked there, to see nothing nefarious was going on. Managed to get more donation bins. Less guarded ones, so people too afraid to go to the shelters would still have something. 

He was fairly certain some of the people there knew who he was. Maybe not his name, but knew that was the little kid with the camera who would try to help sometimes when Batman had been going rogue. 

The non Wayne Foundation shelters were harder to clean out, and didn’t remain so for long, but he did his best. A few days of respite for the children, teenagers, it was better than no respite at all. 

Tim was not Jason Todd, and he would never be. He would never measure up to that at all. But he tried not to let everything Jason had worked for down the drain. This was his home, it deserved better than just Batman’s wrath. It deserved Robin’s magic.

There was something about the Red Hood that reminded Tim of Jason. 

Tim had never left his stalkery roots behind, and sometimes, in civilian clothes, he’d try to stalk Red Hood. At first he was just trying to figure out what his motivations were, who he was, where he’d come from. 

But slowly, the more he watched, the more intrigued he grew. It became less about figuring Hood out and more about curiosity, more about the curl of something almost akin to contentment that filled him when Tim saw Hood talking to the working girls, talking to Trixie, under the dim glow of a flickering street light, when he saw Hood kneel down next to a child covered in dirt and blood and bruises, the way he wouldn’t take his helmet off, but turn off the voice modulation so as to not scare them. 

He was so gentle. The same way Jason Todd had been. 

He was so angry, in a way Jason… hadn’t been, not really. There had been sparks of it, here and there, hints of something that could ignite into something that resembled Hood, but not quite. It hadn’t been given a chance to before being snuffed out. 

League moves, and Bat moves. Hood’s fighting style was an amalgamation of the two, and something all his own. Tim might’ve told this to Bruce, but he was fairly certain he already knew. And Tim didn’t want to reveal he’d been going out into Crime Alley after explicit orders not to. And he really didn’t think Bruce needed to know about how much Hood reminded Tim of Jason. 

When the Red Hood broke into Titan’s Tower, when he beat down on Tim–

When he slit Tim’s throat–

When he wrote his name– Jason Todd– on the wall in his blood, as Tim bled out, black spots growing in his vision as pain sang through his nerves— 

All Tim could think was… of course. Of course, the Red Hood was Jason Todd. 

Of course. 

This was the first time Tim had gotten out of Wayne Manor in… months. Four months, eleven days, to be exact. The cast on his left arm had come off two days ago, which meant he didn’t have to use the wheelchair anymore. He wasn’t quite supposed to be using the crutches as much as he was either, but god, if crutches were bad for stealth, wheelchairs were worse. 

He felt smothered. Tim knew it was just because they cared. He knew it had been touch and go there, for a bit, when the blood loss had been a bit too much. He knew it had been touch and go with his voice, too, the kris cutting a bit too close to the vocal cords. It still hurt if he spoke too much or too loud. but he still had his voice, at least. 

Bruce always got that constipated look on his face whenever he looked at Tim’s throat, or his various casts, or the sheer number of medicines he was supposed to be taking. Alfred was far too professional to be making constipated faces, but he did get that particular… look, in his eyes, that made Tim feel both warm and his stomach turn. 

Dick had been staying over more as well, which meant Tim had to deal with three babysitters. 

He didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, was the thing. He'd been ecstatic, if a bit uncomfortable, with all the attention. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared so much. But that also meant he didn’t know how to deal with it, how to take it gracefully without chafing, without doing it wrong. 

Four months was too much.

The tracker he took with himself was disabled, and would only send out a signal if he pressed on the panic button; but it was better than not taking a tracker at all. He just needed to get out, for a bit. Hood hadn’t made any other threats, nothing except his regular operations in Crime Alley, if a bit more stilted than before. 

Something had changed there, on the streets, people were acting differently, but Bruce couldn’t put his finger on it. He hadn’t told this to Tim, of course, but Tim wasn’t bad at hacking, and Bruce had a habit of making extremely meticulous reports and documents. 

So, something had changed. They didn’t know what. Hood hadn’t come looking for Tim specifically even though he definitely knew a way into the manor if he was particularly determined. He’d lived in this place for far longer than Tim had. And even if Bruce had done his best to reinforce all defences, if Alfred took to walking around the place at odd hours, making sure the alarms were all on and the windows all locked, if Dick would sometimes sleep on the floor outside Tim’s door— well. 

Okay, maybe Hood wouldn’t actually be able to do anything, but he hadn’t even tried, not since the Tower. 

Tim knew this was stupid. He knew it. But just… once. He wanted to go out. And yes, there were many places he could have gone that weren’t the Red Hood’s turf, but he had to. He’d been working, the last couple months. He had a list, a whole document of names and places. He wanted to meet up with Trixie, or Scarlet, or maybe Madeline, if she was around. 

And maybe… maybe he wanted to see his Robin again. Try to reconcile two images. 

Maybe Red Hood had reminded Tim of Jason Todd, but it was proving quite a difficult task to reconcile the green eyed monster that had hit him over and over, even though he’d been down, over and over until there were jagged pieces of bone sticking out of his shin and he couldn’t breathe, and his body had been on fire, and then grabbed his hair, bared his throat— it was difficult, that was all. To reconcile the person he’d met in the tower to Hood or Jason, the person who had a soft spot for kids, who had the ability to crouch down and make himself smaller even right after he’d just beaten the shit out of some thug without breaking a sweat, the person who sometimes carried protein bars to give out to the too thin kids in Crime Alley, the person who laughed when he kicked a goon in the face, the person who had made Tim truly realise that Robin was magic. 

Difficult to reconcile the boy Tim loved to the man he was scared of. 

Something had shifted in Crime Alley, visibly so. Jason didn’t know what it was, but it felt indisputable. He’d have to be blind not to see it. 

He’d worked hard on his presence, here. Worked hard on making himself into both a feared crime lord and a protective force vulnerable people could turn towards. 

But somehow… somehow, only the feared crime lord persona remained. The protector was gone. People were scared of him, all the time. The people who shouldn’t be scared were scared all the time. He tried to go through the list of people he’d killed lately, trying to figure out if any innocents had been caught in the crossfire, but came up short. 

He hadn’t lost time either, so it couldn’t have been something he did in a pit rage either. He hadn’t done anything particularly violent after the heads in a duffle bag thing either, and the kids hadn’t been this damn scared of him in the aftermath of that. 

The kids hadn’t been scared of Jason in a long time. Not after the first month when he’d come back. The working ladies could talk to him without flinching. Drug abuse had gone down. People were actually coming to him for help. 

Then why the fuck did everything change? 

People scattered when he entered the streets. A little girl had burst into tears when he’d landed on a street, trying to save her from the man following her. The man was dead now, but the girl had disappeared as well. He hoped she was okay. 

It made him angry. Angry meant the pit, green creeping onto his vision. Angry meant aggression and that meant he was acting worse and worse, making people more afraid than they already were. 

He knew that, he did. But he still caught Sheryl by the wrist when he saw her alone. He knew he was coming across as the worst type of creep, but at least he also knew he wouldn’t actually hurt her. 

Sheryl paled drastically when she saw who it was that had caught her, and it made something ugly twist in his gut. She tried to pull away, but Jason knew how to hold a person without hurting them. His grip was firm, but not painful. He’d made sure of it. 

“Let me go,” she said, her voice thin but steady. He could see the way her eyes darted towards her bag, the one where she kept her pepper spray. But he was wearing his helmet, and the spray would do nothing against it. She tugged again, her breaths stuttering a bit. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jason soothed, then winced when he realised he’d forgotten to turn off the voice modulation in the helmet. He continued still, “It’s okay, alright? I just want to know what happened. Why’s everyone suddenly so— so different.” So afraid. 

Sheryl went still, then finally looked at him properly. Stopped trying to pull away. There was something else in her eyes now, something other than the panic and the desperate need to get away. She looked… angry. A sneer was creeping up over her face. 

He thought he’d finally get some answers, even if he ended up not liking them, but she just spat at him– she spat at him, “If you need to ask that, then you’re fucking worse than we thought.” 

Green tinged his vision at the venom in her voice, the way her spit landed at his feet, on his boots, and he tightened his grip on her further. More than he should, he knew. He could see the way her eyes widened, either at his grip or her own daring, and she was starting to tug away from him again, and Jason knew, he knew he should let go, but he just didn’t know what was happening—

“Let go of her,” a voice said from behind him, and he felt something poke at his back, between his shoulder blades. It felt like a knife. It wouldn’t do anything, considering he was wearing a kevlar vest beneath, but the poke jerked him out of the green haze enough that his grip around Sheryl’s hand slackened. Sheryl jerked out of his grip, taking several steps away from him. 

“It’s okay,” the voice said, and Jason recognised her. He still didn’t turn around to look at her. She wasn’t speaking to him. “Go, Sheryl, I’ll be fine.” 

Just a kid. Sheryl was just a kid. Only seventeen years old. Trixie was older, late twenties. People usually listened to her. Sheryl did too. She ran.

Jason turned around. Trixie had lowered her knife. Likely, she knew it wouldn’t have done anything to him. 

“What the fuck was that?” she asked, her eyes blazing fury. Her hands were trembling. She was standing outside of grabbing distance from him. “You’re usually better than this, Hood.” 

“No one would fucking tell me what’s wrong. I need to know,” Jason spat, and this time he didn’t bother with turning off the voice modulator. Let them be intimidated. Maybe then he’ll finally get some answers. 

For a second, Trixie looked caught off guard. “You mean you don’t know? ” 

“ What do I not know? Why the fuck would I go around asking that if I already fucking knew?” 

“What the fuck, Hood?” 

“ What?” he asked, irritated, and the words came out growled, mechanised. Menacing. He didn’t even realise he’d taken a step forward until he saw her take one back. The twisting in his stomach was starting to grow painful. “I’m not going to hurt you, damnit!” he snarled, and the modulator distorted his voice so much it barely sounded human. 

Slamming his hand against one of the latches at the side of his helmet, he turned off the modulation. Why had he thought sounding more scary with Trixie would help? 

“How am I supposed to know that?” she asked, staring at him intensely, like she could read his emotions through the helmet. 

It stopped Jason short. “What do you mean by that? When have I ever hurt any of you?” 

Surprisingly, she snorted, shaking her head. Her hand was trembling the slightest bit. She was still afraid. “Who does that you even include?” 

“ You!” Jason burst out, flinging his arms out, trying to encompass… everything. The alley. “Kids! The women! Anyone who needs help and isn’t a piece of fucking shit!” 

“Kids, Hood? Really? You don’t hurt kids?” She was inching away from him as she spoke, voice controlled, steps controlled. She was treating him like a wild animal. Like if she bolted, he’d give chase. He did his best to calm his breath down, to plant his feet, to relax his shoulders so he wouldn’t look like a fucking predator. But her words… they cut. 

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, and he knew he sounded like a broken record. “Of course I don’t hurt kids. I’d never hurt a child. You know that, Trix.” 

Unexpectedly, she just threw him a sneer, a look so full of disgust he almost flinched. “Lying too, now, are you? Let's ask something else, then. We don’t really know his age, after all,” she said, bitter and sarcastic, still with that ugly expression on her face, and before he could ask who she meant by him, she was already speaking further, “What about people who don’t deserve it? What’s your bar for beating the shit out of people? For torture? Who do you torture, Hood?” 

The questions threw him off. “I…” 

“Answer me!” she said, almost shouted. There was several feet worth of distance between them now, but she’d stopped inching away. 

“Only for information. Only people who deserve it. Child traffickers. Rapists,” he said. Why was she asking this? He thought people knew it. He thought everyone in Crime Alley knew his rules by now, his code of conduct. Why was she asking?

“Oh?” she said, a note of challenge in her voice now, “You gonna tell me Robin is a child trafficker? Is he a rapist? Does he torture puppies in his free time?” 

Jason froze. Everything— stopped. It almost felt like his heart stopped as well. 

He didn’t know he was making a low, growling noise deep in his chest until he saw the way Trixie went several shades paler. He stopped, and stared at her, green tinging the edges of the world an ugly colour. Of course this had something to do with Robin, something to do with the Bats, something to do with his fucking replacement. 

“Robin’s not a child,” he said, sneering, rough and cruel, “He’s just a soldier. He chose that life. He needed a lesson, so I taught it to him.” Maybe the lesson should’ve been firmer, maybe he should’ve hit harder, maybe he should’ve just killed him, actually. He just kept taking things away from Jason, like that was all Tim Drake knew how to do. 

Crime Alley was his, it was Jason’s, he’d made it his. How fucking dare the Replacement take that away from him? Wasn’t it enough that he took his family, his costume, his place? 

Laughter. There was high itched, hysterical, almost scared sounding laughter coming from Trixie. He stared at her as she kept laughing, voice hoarse, knife clutched in a white knuckled grip. “No fucking wonder!” she gasped out, loud and clear despite how out of breath she was, “God, you say that and still have the audacity to wonder why the kids here are scared of you? You’re so goddamn self obsessed.” 

Jason was the self obsessed one here? He took a step forward, his hand going almost unconsciously to his gun holster, but before he could pull it out, or even think about where his hand was, Trixie was already speaking again, something cold and hard in her eyes. 

“Go ahead, then, shoot me, Hood. Prove me right.” 

Deep breaths. In for five, hold for six, out for seven. Deep breaths, even as it felt like the helmet was running out of air. It wasn’t, but it still felt like it. “Leave,” he said. 

“What?” 

“I said,” Jason repeated, slowly, voice distorted again, this time even without the help of the modulator, “ Leave!” 

Trixie left, but not without throwing one last condemning glance at him, something that made his hands slackened around the gun, that made the green recede enough for the shame to wash over him. The way he’d treated both Trixie and Sheryl today… maybe Crime Alley was right to be scared of him, even the people he swore to protect. 

He couldn’t even pinpoint what he’d gotten so angry about, what had been worth threatening Trix over, what had been worth possibly hurting Sheryl over. Disrespect? What kind of stupid, bullshit excuse was that? Disrespect was the reason Willis Fucking Todd had given to beat the shit out of Jason and his mom. 

Jason was supposed to be better than that. He was supposed to do better. He was supposed to kill people like his father, not become like them. 

Throat hurting from how harshly he had to swallow, Jason grabbed onto the grapple gun strapped to his waist, moving onto a roof instead. Less of a chance of someone seeing him have a breakdown, unless they were a Bat. And if there was a Bat in Crime Alley, he’d have other problems anyway. 

The motel room smelled musty and damp underneath the overpowering scent of cheap air freshener. 

In his haste to get away without being noticed by Bruce or Alfred, Tim had forgotten his medicines, and now his leg was throbbing, in sync with his heartbeat as he propped it up on the bed, his crutches leaning against the wall. 

“Hey kiddo,” Trixie said, brushing her dress like it would get rid of the wrinkles that seem to have made their way permanently onto them. “Been a while, hasn’t it?” 

Tim hummed, trying to unclench his teeth so he wouldn’t give himself a headache on top of all the other pain. “Yeah, sorry about that. Meaning to make up for it, though.” He handed her the new list he’d made, along with an envelope full of cash, and several grocery store coupons. It had taken him a while to get a hang of exactly what kind of things the people in crime alley needed, and even longer to find ways to get those to them. 

He thought he did pretty okay, now. Most people here were glad to see him coming and accepted his help without anger, sometimes even giving him pointers about things that could be more useful. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to make up for anything,” she said gently, ignoring his outstretched hand as she took a seat beside him, the bed sinking in far more than normal. Tim flushed, knowing the way she must have been eying his cast and the raised pink line across his throat. He’d been wearing a scarf when coming here, but most materials, even the softer ones, felt coarse and harsh against the still too tender scar. 

What an awful, ugly reminder of how weak Tim was, what a stark proof of how Jason was right, he was an inferior Robin, he couldn’t even outrun Hood in his own turf, at the tower, which Tim was supposed to know inside out. 

Which Jason also knew inside out. But that didn’t matter, did it? Tim had worked on upgrading the security there, and there had been several changes since Jason… died. He should've been at an advantage. 

Jason was trained by the League. And Tim had been trained by Lady Shiva. 

How many excuses could his bruised ego make before Tim finally stopped beating it to the ground? 

Tim cleared his throat, shoving the envelope and notebook down at Trixie’s lap and getting a tablet out of his bag. He didn’t look at her face as he rattled off, “It’s been some months, so I don’t know where Myra’s currently at in teaching those kids, but I’ve added as much stuff as I could reasonably stuff into this tab and still have it be easily operable. Still, if she faces any issues, I might be by again next week—” 

“Robin.” 

Tim’s mouth snapped shut and he took in a deep breath through his nose. Trix took the tablet from his hand, putting it aside with the rest of the things. “Myra’s doing fine, so are the kids she’s teaching. I’m sure whatever material you brought her would be enough to tide her over for more ‘en few months, just like every single time you bring in another expensive electronic device here. And don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. Just because we said no to you providing everyone with their own devices doesn’t mean you can just sneak 'em in one at a time.” 

“It just makes things easier,” Tim mumbled. 

“I’m sure,” Trixie said, but then the amusement leached away from her face and voice, making Tim stiffen. “You can’t come here next week.” 

“I—” 

“Hood is dangerous.” 

Tim couldn’t help it– he snorted, loud and ugly and completely undignified. 

Instead of being offended, Trixie just sighed, “I know,” she said. “Of course you know that already. I’m not trying to patronise you or anything, I promise. It’s just… he’s dangerous. Us people here, we thought that maybe he was good, meant what he said, but… well. He didn’t.” 

Tim blinked. “What?” 

“Robin,” Trixie said, looking at him with a frown, “His entire M.O. revolved around not hurting kids or women or— you know, making crime alley safe. Or at least safer. ” 

“Is he… not doing that anymore?” From what Tim had seen, Hood hadn’t really done many, if any, changes into his designs and plans for the streets. He still worked the same, his plans remained the same, he was still controlling the drug trade, he was still protecting the sex workers, and he was still working on cleaning up safe houses and shelters so they’d be habitable and not human trafficking fronts. 

Trixie was silent for a bit, something almost unreadable on her face, something sad, almost grieving, and Tim felt cold. Had Hood done something? Something to her? Or other kids in the alley? Was it the Pit’s influence? Or was it something else? Maybe a clone, or some kind of mind control, because Jason would never—

“How old are you?” 

“What?” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Trixie continued on as if Tim hadn’t said anything, as if she hadn’t asked the most inane question ever. “But you look about thirteen or fourteen. You can not be older than fifteen, at the most, and that’s stretching it—” 

Tim didn’t know whether to be impressed at her guessing skills or offended by her placing him at thirteen years old. He knew he looked small for his age, but it never failed to make him bristle. 

“Where is this going?” Tim cut her off. 

The sigh that left Trixie’s mouth made Tim uneasy. “Robin, darling, Hood says he doesn’t hurt kids. But he hurt you, bad enough that you were out of commission for months. Bad enough you still haven’t recovered. And you’re a kid. A child. He hurt you. For no good reason I can think of.” 

“Huh?” Tim said eloquently. It felt like his brain was buffering, like the time he had tried to hack into the Batcomputer using his first shitty mobile phone that started overheating and sputtering and making some very concerning noises at his attempts. 

He’d had to get a new phone after that. 

“He– you don’t know his reasons,” Tim tried after a few moments of trying and failing to parse through whatever he was thinking or feeling. 

Trixie just looked at him sadly, “There can’t possibly be any good reason for him to have hurt you.” 

“You don’t know that,” Tim said weakly, but even his own argument felt flat. Did Jason have a good reason? He’d died— no, he’d been murdered. Tortured, then murdered. And then he’d come back to another kid in his place. Didn’t he deserve some sort of catharsis? Then of course, there was the Lazarus Pit as well. Maybe they weren’t good reasons, but weren’t they reasons still?

Reasons enough to justify the nightmares Tim had every week? Reasons enough to justify the sheer amount of pain he had been in for the first few weeks? Still was if he overexerted himself or forgot his medicines? 

Tim knew what he was signing up for when he became Robin. He reckoned he knew it better than the previous Robins, actually, considering he stepped into the shoes of a murdered boy. He’d accepted it, accepted that Gotham already did not care all that much for its kids, and cared even less for vigilante children. He knew it. It had been very clearly and painfully beaten into him that he was Robin first and a child second, if at all. 

“He… has he hurt any other kids?” Tim asked. 

“He hurt you.” 

“But it's different with me.” His voice sounded small, lost in a way that Tim hated. It sounded similar to how he’d said Jason’s name when Hood had revealed himself. 

“It’s really, really not, Robin,” Trixie said, her voice soft, sad, pitying. She shifted closer to him, taking his hand in hers, “You’re a child. Hood isn’t supposed to hurt children. He hurt you. He can decide to go back on his word anytime he wants, he can decide he wants to hurt kids, or rape people, or get into the human trafficking business any time he wants, and none of us would be ready for it.” 

“He’d never—” Tim said, eyes widening, because Jason could never—

“But he already did!” Trixie said, raising her voice for a split second before lowering it again, “He already did. Maybe you don’t think too highly of yourself, sweetheart, but people in Crime Alley know an unstable man when we see one. Don’t you think we’ve dealt with enough of them? Dealt with enough lying assholes who’ll go back on their word the second it doesn’t suit them?” 

Tim… couldn’t refute her. He didn’t have any good arguments. What could he say to her? Tell her that Jason’s reasons were a magical rage enhancing pit? That just made him sound more unstable. Tell her he was upset with his family? That was worse, to know he could do that to his own family. Tim wasn’t stupid enough to think that the Tower was just because of Jason’s hatred of Tim. At least half of it had been anger towards Bruce, it had been a lesson for Bruce. 

“But he’s helping you all still, isn’t he?” 

“Yes,” Trixie said, a little unconvincingly, “But we don’t know what price that help comes at anymore.” 

Before Tim could reply, there was a shift in the air, a raising of the hair at the back of his neck, and he felt more than heard the window slide open, despite the creaky hinges and screeching noise it made. He barely even thought before he was throwing a batarang at the person trying to climb inside, his wrist protesting quite insistently at the manoeuvre. He ignored it to the best of his ability, even as a hiss of pain escaped him. 

“Well, well, well, Replacement,” Hood drawled, “Where was this sharpness during the Tower?” 

That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. He hadn’t meant to start off on an antagonising note right off the bat. 

Yeah, like that ship hadn’t already sailed. 

Something was curdling in Jason’s stomach. He’d been hanging onto the window ledge for a while now, listening in on the conversation between the Replacement and Trixie. Who he had decided to follow instead of having a breakdown. 

Productivity, right? Better to distract yourself than give yourself a headache from crying. He wanted to know. To know more. To see… was that what they all thought of him now? Like he was someone who went around hurting kids because he couldn’t keep a lid on his emotions? 

He just… couldn’t bear it anymore, listening to them talk about him like that. Listening to Trixie talk about him like that, like hurting a single kid suddenly meant he’d become irredeemable, that it meant he’d gone off an edge he could never come back from, like it meant there was no saving him. 

Listening to them talk the way Bruce talked about killing. Slippery slopes and what not. But he wouldn’t. He knew he’d crossed a line when he started killing. Maybe his murders during his time in the League would’ve been forgiven, but his murders in Crime Alley had all been very conscious choices.  

He’d thought that would be the point of no return. But somehow the people had accepted him, seen him, if not as a hero, but at least theirs. They’d trusted him. And he’d felt good. He’d felt good in a really long time. He’d felt satisfied, content, like the gaping hole within his very soul wasn’t all that there was to him. 

Then he’d decided to go chase down a little bird. Was that satisfaction? It had caused the green to recede for a bit, at least. He hadn’t even thought of Robin as a kid. Robin wasn’t a kid. He was just a soldier. And soldiers were meant to die, to martyr themselves for the cause. And he hadn’t even killed the Replacement! 

Only tortured him. Only slit his throat. 

It wasn’t by virtue of Jason that he survived. 

But it was a single kid. And it had taken care of most of the Pit Rage. He hadn’t gone after the replacement ever since, he hadn’t even antagonised the Bats all that much in the last several months. He’d been taking care of Crime Alley and its people as usual, if not better. 

Then again, how could they trust that? Jason certainly never trusted Willis, not the time when he’d come home two days after breaking Catherine’s arm with medicines in his hands and apologies on his tongue. Especially considering he’d gotten drunk the next night and beaten the shit out of Jason still. 

One slip up was one too many. Is that not what Bruce always said? One slip is all it takes. 

Just one push. 

“How the fuck did you get here?” Trixie snarled, and oh, there was that knife again. He wondered where she stored it. She was crazy quick with drawing it, after all. 

“I followed you,” he said calmly, looking at Tim instead, who’d gone ashed. Jason’s throat felt tight. All his guns were holstered, he had no weapons in his hand, yet Tim’s eyes kept steady track of Jason’s hands. 

Trixie, on the other hand, was standing now. Almost like she was trying to get in between Jason and Tim. Tim, who’d grabbed one of his crutches in a white knuckled grip, like he could use it as a makeshift staff if he tried hard enough.

Jason recognised this scene. 

It was a painfully familiar scene, actually. Huge, big aggressor. Willis Todd. Angry, eyes sparking, hands in fists. Hulking, towering over the much, much smaller forms of Catherine and Jason. One trying to get in front of the other, to protect the other. Sometimes Catherine would be too high to do much other than lie there crying as Jason tried, desperately, to take his father’s attention off of her. 

Sometimes Jason was too injured to stand, and Catherine would yell at Willis, scream and tell him to leave them alone. He remembered one memorable occasion when she’d thrown an empty whisky bottle at him. It was not a good memory. She’d missed, and Willis had only gotten angrier. 

Familiar scene. He’d been here before. Many times. Just not on this side of it. Not in Willis’ shoes. Not the taller one, the bigger one, not the one with armour and steel toed boots and guns and knives. He was supposed to be the bruised one in this scene, not the one who did the bruising. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Either of you,” Jason said softly. Only to hear a scoff in return. 

“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” Trixie said, not moving an inch, not lowering the knife. Her angry, red face was a stark contrast to Tim’s, who still looked white enough to pass out any second. Tim made an aborted movement with his free hand, towards Trixie, when he heard her spit out those words, almost like a flinch. 

Almost like he was afraid Jason would hurt her. 

Scrap the almost, something hissed in Jason’s head, that’s exactly what he thinks. 

Like he could protect her from Jason with his leg still in a cast. 

“I won’t,” Jason said, trying to sound convincing but he didn’t know how to anymore. How many times had he said the same words to people here? Scared, hurt people? There had been a time when he barely even had to say them anymore. Because people just knew he was there to help. 

How far had he fallen, and how did he never realise it? 

“What do you want?” Trixie asked, still harsh, still protective. Still scared. Tim was trying to stand up. 

“I…” Jason didn’t know. What did he want? To talk? To reassure them? To apologise? 

Tim collapsed with a small cry, too focused on Jason to stand correctly, and Trixie was immediately at his side, helping him up even as both their gazes remained fixed on Jason. He must have pressed his distress beacon by now, hadn’t he. Batman would be here soon. And if Jason was particularly lucky, he’d bring Nightwing with. 

“Well?” Trixie hissed at him. 

“I don’t know. To… to talk, maybe.” 

Tim was still looking at his fucking hands and he couldn’t bear it. Jason reached up and slowly unlatched his helmet, grateful that he’d decided to wear a domino under it today. As he wanted, Tim’s eyes finally went up to his face, his eyes. Jason didn’t know what colour they were. Green? Blue? A mix? 

He’d avoided mirrors a lot since coming back. He could barely recognise himself anymore. 

“Trixie…” Tim said finally, “I think you should leave.” 

Trixie just threw him a dirty look that stated it clearly that she was not even going to dignify that with a response. 

“I just heard you talking.”

“Wow, like that’s not creepy at all,” Trixie said, carefully manoeuvring Tim back onto the bed. 

Jason pursed his lips for a second, taking a deep breath to calm himself down, to swallow the frustration, to exhale it out if possible. “I didn’t realise–” he began, but then cut himself off, because that sounded so stupid. Didn’t realise what? That he’d built half his trade on the concrete promise of protecting kids? That he’d let it all go to hell to get revenge? To teach the Bats a lesson?

Because he felt jealous? Because he felt unloved? 

What right did he have to have deserved that love anyway? Batman need not have taken him in at all. Bruce never needed to take care of him. He could’ve just stuck Jason in one of the legit foster homes and been done with it. 

And then Jason had gone and gotten himself killed anyway. 

He realised that they were waiting for Jason to continue. But words had abandoned him. What could he possibly say to make this right? What could ever justify Jason going back on the one thing he’d promised he’d never do?

What could ever justify Batman going back on his singular, paramount rule? 

It’s not the same thing at all. Joker deserves to die. He needs to die. 

You thought the Replacement needed a lesson as well. 

Sometimes Jason wished the voices in his head would shut the fuck up. Or that the second voice had started before he’d gone and fucked it all up. 

“I shouldn’t have hurt Robin,” Jason said, bracing himself, because at the very least, Robin should hear that. Should know that he didn’t… deserve it, however much Jason tried to justify to himself that he did. 

Robins were made to take hits, weren’t they? They got into this whole business knowing they’d be hurt. He should’ve expected it. Jason was just doing what any other Rogues would’ve done. 

Jason was just doing what any other Rogues would’ve done. God, was this the shit Jason was telling himself when he went into the thrice damned Tower?

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Trixie’s voice was cold, but there was a hint of surprise in her eyes, though clouded by a healthy layer of suspicion as well. 

Jason continued, “And I’m sorry that I did.” He looked at Tim, who was looking very startled. It would have been adorable if it weren’t for the guilt tightening around Jason’s ribs. 

“Then why did you?” Trixie asked when Tim remained quiet. 

What should Jason say to that? Explain to her his reasons? How could he ever put it to words? They all still sounded more or less justified still, even as regret ran through him. 

“Robin knows why,” Jason said, and then hurriedly added before Trixie could start yelling at him, “And it doesn’t justify it, I know, but he knows the reasons.”

“I do,” Tim said slowly, hesitantly, very unconvincingly, which made Trixie raise her brows. He repeated himself, “I do know the reasons, it’s… I know them. It’s okay, Trix.” 

“Considering those reasons might put the kids in Crime Alley in danger, I feel like I should know them,”  Trixie muttered, not forcefully, but still unhappy. She hadn’t raised her knife again. 

That was… fair. It stung, but fair. He couldn’t just go about spilling his entire backstory to her though—

“He won’t,” Tim piped up, a lot more certain and firm than he’d sounded before, “He won’t hurt any other kids, I know he won’t.” 

Where the fuck did he find his faith from? Jason would like to know so he too could buy some. Or maybe steal some. Or loads, actually. Why did he think Jason won’t hurt other alley kids? Jason knew he wouldn’t (or at least, he thought so. Hoped so, desperately.), but why did Tim think that, someone Jason had already hurt, enough that he was still in a cast several months later? 

“You can’t possibly know that,” Trixie said, but she was frowning, and Jason felt hope stir. If he could convince Trixie that he was not a threat, he could convince the rest of the alley as well. 

Was he, though? Not a threat? Maybe they were right to be scared, to be wary, to not engage with him as much as possible. 

“I do,” Tim said calmly, “I know him. I know he won’t hurt anyone else. He wouldn’t. I’m sure of it.” And then, finally, an expression better suited to a kid who’d been brutalised for no good reason facing their tormentor– something angry, something determined, something fierce. “And if you do,” Tim said, staring right at Jason, eyes sparking enough that it almost offset the pale cast of his skin, “I will stop you.”

Jason… he believed him. He believed that Tim would find a way to stop him. Maybe not in a physical one on one fight, no, that Jason had already proved Tim couldn’t best him at. They didn’t call Tim the smart Robin for no reason, he surely had some tricks up his sleeve. Jason had lost any advantage he might’ve had from being an unknown Rogue, the Bats knew exactly who he was.

And wasn’t that a humbling realisation? To know that the only reason his operation had been allowed to continue as it is was because the Bats decided to let him? That they could have made his life a hell of a lot harder if they wanted to?

Why didn’t they want to? Why didn’t Tim want to?

Jason stared at Tim for a bit, remembering the reason why Trixie had been meeting him in the first place. To help the kids. He hadn’t even realised that Robin had been the one providing materials for Myra’s classes. How many other things had Jason missed? 

He knew a bit now, though. He knew enough, and the gaps were filled in with whatever lurked in Tim’s eyes. He’d protect Crime Alley from Jason when it came down to it. If it came down to it, because Jason won’t– he wouldn’t— 

Either way– “I know you will,” he said, sounding as sincere as he could without it seeming fake. 

Tim, once again, seemed surprised. Like he hadn’t expected to be taken seriously. At least his death grip on his crutches had loosened a little. He was still shaking though, and far, far too pale. And a little green, actually, like he was about to throw up. 

Jason took a step forward, and was gratified to see that Trixie’s only response was tensing up, instead of threatening him again. “Are you… alright?” 

This didn’t seem to be a simple fear reaction, Tim actually looked a little sick.Trixie’s gaze snapped to him and her brows raised in concern, her hand immediately lifting over to his forehead, to check his temperature, and Jason couldn’t help the lump that formed in his throat at the gesture. The last time… the last time someone had done that for him was Alfred, with that trademarked frown on his forehead as he talked about soup and rest and blankets and— 

“Robin,” Jason said softly, trying to choke down the memories that threatened to swallow him whole, “Let me take you home.” 

Trixie narrowed her eyes at him, like she was about to say something, but then she caught the look on his face– whatever it was, and her shoulders slumped, tired lines tightening across her face. 

She didn't move away from Tim, though, who was still looking… not very good.“Robin?”

“I’m fine,” Tim said automatically, before grimacing. He was leaning his head into Trixie’s hand, breathing heavily. What was wrong with him? 

“You’re… kind of not, sweetheart,” Trixie said gently, “You don’t seem to be running a temperature, though. Do you know what’s wrong?” 

“Um, I–” Tim's eyes darted to Jason, and then back to Trixie, before he took in a deep steadying breath, “I'll be fine.” He gave her a small smile, then looked at Jason, with… was that a smirk? No, it can’t be– “Hood can take me home.” 

Huh. That was… unexpected. Yes, Jason had offered, but he hadn’t truly expected Tim to take him up on it. He’d thought someone would be on their way to pick him up soon. He’d blurted his offer out on the small, foolish hope that he might see Alfie again. 

Trixie blinked, looking as surprised as Jason felt. “He… are you sure?” 

Tim nodded, and then started trying to get up again. Jason couldn’t help himself, his instinctual reaction was to rush forward and help, and god, Trix didn’t even tense this time, backing away when Jason grabbed a hold of Tim and helped him up, frowning down at him. God, was the kid short. 

“I can carry you,” Jason said, looking skeptically at the way Tim was shaking. 

Tim frowned up at him back, looking for a moment like he was going to argue, and then his shoulders slumped, and he shrugged. “Alright.” 

Well. This was going. Surprisingly easily. Jason looked at Trixie. Who looked back at him. He looked down at Tim, who had grabbed his crutches in one arm in preparation to be lifted up. 

So Jason lifted him up, letting Tim latch his free arm around Jason’s neck. God the kid was tiny. It felt like most of his weight came from the heavy cast wrapped around his leg. Which made Jason’s stomach twist, but he ignored it, slowly walking towards the door, wondering if this was a trap. He could see Trixie’s eyes fixed on him, and wondered whether she was glaring. 

Tim looked absolutely content in his arms though, which was starting to freak him out a bit, actually. 

Outside the motel, Jason set Tim down for a moment, who wobbled before bracing himself against the car Jason was trying to steal. He didn’t say a word about it, either, which surprised Jason. He thought the boy would subscribe to the strict moral code Batman ran by, but there was nothing. He even managed to climb onto the passenger seat by himself. 

Jason got onto the driver’s seat, but instead of starting to drive, he turned towards Tim, “I thought you’d be more wary than this.” 

“Are you taking me to your creepy torture dungeon or something, then?” Tim asked lightly. 

“What?” Jason reared back, “No, of course not, why the–” 

“Then why do I need to be wary?” 

“I literally tortured you, kid,” Jason said, flinging his arms out as dramatically as he could within the car. 

“Yes, I know. I was there, remember?” Tim said, rolling his eyes before clapping a hand over his mouth like he felt nauseous. Jason flinched. Tim groaned into his hand, before slowly dropping it, “Look, I know you won’t hurt me, not again, at least. Not right now. Your eyes aren’t even green.” 

Jason’s eyes automatically leaped to the rearview mirror, and sure enough, his eyes looked the closest to blue he’d seen them since his little murderous, magical dip. “Oh.” 

“I’m not saying it’s all okay, of course,” Tim added, that little furrow between his brows back, “But… for now, I know you won’t hurt me. It’s enough. It’s a start.” That last bit was added softer, so very soft that it almost felt achey. Jason looked away.  

Jason didn’t say anything, only started the car. Eyes on the road, for the most part. Tim stayed quiet too.

The manor looked painfully familiar. The rose bushes smelled painfully familiar. The paint, the colours, the air– it was almost like stepping into a photograph. 

Tim had insisted on hobbling over to the door instead of letting Jason carry him, but insisted Jason follow so he wouldn’t fall and break his head somewhere. 

Tim’s words, not Jason’s, said with a remarkable amount of glibness. 

They rang the bell. And even the sound was enough to send that pang of absolute, colossal yearning through him. Jason wanted to cry. He wanted to go back home. Come back home. Stay here. He wanted to never have crawled back out of his grave. 

He wanted to never have died. 

The door opened, and there he was. Alfred. For a second, Jason felt like he couldn’t breathe. He looked the same as before, and he looked so, so different. New lines on his face, new grey hair. Same eyes, same pressed, starched clothes. 

Alfred’s eyes widened when it fell upon them, “Master Timothy,” he said, and there was something undoubtedly relieved about it, something that made Jason wince. And then Alfred’s gaze was turning towards Jason, something a little rigid entering his posture, “And Master Jason.” 

His eyes were rapidly scanning the two of them, the hold Jason had on Tim, supporting but not hurting, not confining. Tim, looking pale and trembling, but otherwise unhurt. The lack of panic or fear on Tim’s face– or at least, that’s what Jason hoped. Who knew, maybe there were new codes, and Tim was projecting DISTRESS in screeching red letters right now and Jason was about to find himself tranquilized and shoved into one of the containment cells in the Batcave. 

“Hey Alfred,” Jason said with a lightness he did not feel in the slightest, “Long time, no see.” 

“A very long time indeed, Master Jason,” Alfred said, and despite the coolness in his tone that made Jason feel small and cold to the bones, the use of the honorific made something squirm inside him too, something that felt dangerously close to longing. 

He was still Master Jason, he still belonged to the family. Or at least, Alfred thought so. 

“Hey Alfred,” Tim said cheerfully, or as cheerfully as he could while still looking like he was about to vomit all over the front door, “I forgot to take my meds before leaving. Jason helped me back.” He was still smiling though, showing all of his teeth. It honestly looked a little creepy. 

Alfred tilted his head to the side, staring at Tim for a second, then switching to Jason. “Is that so?” 

Was that wishful thinking, or had some of the coolness started thawing? It had to be wishful thinking, but Alfred hadn’t kicked him out yet, and he still wasn’t kicking him out, he was actually moving away from the door, gesturing inside, “Well then,” he said, still looking at Jason, “Would be rather impolite of me to not offer at least some tea and snacks.” 

It would, wouldn’t it? And god forbid Alfred ever be impolite, even to a violent murderer like Jason. 

He didn’t cry, not at all, he didn’t shed a single tear as he helped Tim inside, both of them, slowly, glacially, limping to the cozy family kitchen, the one that smelled like pastries and scones and cakes, the one that smelled like food security, the one that smelled like—

Home.