Chapter Text
It’s common knowledge that Red Hood protects Crime Alley, particularly the kids in Crime Alley. Most patrol days Red Hood can be found escorting children back to their homes or vetted shelters and passing around packaged food to the street kids. Several memorable occasions find Red Hood beating the ever-loving crap out of abusive adults, whose kids seek asylum with the resident Crime Lord.
It’s also common knowledge that when in danger, you don’t call for “Help!” Especially in Gotham, calling for help is like a car alarm going off. No one is going to turn their heads, and most people secretly wish the sounds would stop without any intervention on their part.
Parents warn their kids about what to say and what to do if they are ever in trouble. (Mugging or individual attack specifically. Rogue related trouble isn’t covered under this protection plan.) Instead of yelling for Help, it’s better to yell out Fire! Most Gotham buildings aren’t up to fire-code, so there’s a high likelihood for someone calling the authorities at even the potential for a fire.
What no one says is that there is another word that works even better than yelling out Fire. The reason is that most people don’t realize how powerful this one word can be. It’s a word that gets thrown around liberally every day, and so it’s easy to overlook it. But the people that this word calls to, they immediately drop what they are doing and at the very least, turn to look at the source of the distress call.
Red Hood knows this word. He knows what it means when someone is so desperate that they call it out, voice tinged with audible terror. He’s responded to this particular call on a handful of occasions.
“MOM!”
Jason Todd is looking before his mind catches up. His gaze lingers on the young child, who appears to have tripped and skinned their knees and palms. He only relaxes when he sees an older woman fretting over the tearful child and start cleaning up the injuries.
Jason turns back around, satisfied that no one is in real danger, and he’s met with the sight of his brothers and their stupid shit-eating grins. Tim and Dick share an evil look.
Bright lights from the booths of carnival games shine like stars against the darkening sky. Barkers shout from their stations and try to get people to dish money over to play the rigged games. Groans of frustration and cheers of excitement fill the air. The aisle is teeming with people. Couples clearly on their first date, couples clearly on their last date, families with small children, friend groups of snarky teens.
They’re at a festival in Gotham to celebrate… something. Jason didn’t care much for festivals (and in his rightful opinion, Gotham should be banned from having festivals because of the rogues but whatever), but Dick and Tim had literally kicked down the door to his safehouse an hour ago and demanded he join them.
Jason, having been ripped from sleep at their dramatic entrance and nearly shot them both before his eyes opened, held out for only a minute before his horrible brothers had, in creepy coordination, invoked their puppy-dog eyes. He could ignore Dick’s puppy eyes with ease. Dickface was so annoying and used that tactic too much for it to have any effect.
But Tim’s? Timmy is his new little brother, and even though Jason had beat the crap out of him and used his kindness without thanks in those first few days, Timmy doesn’t hold it against him. Hell, the kid had apologized for not being more helpful. As if locating Deathstroke and Black Mask’s meeting or stopping Deathstroke from putting him right back in the grave, isn’t enough. Tim denies it, but Jason owes him for all the help he’d freely given.
It’s a burden that makes him extremely susceptible to Tim’s big baby blues. Now he’s here following behind them around this stupid festival and watching people fail all the easy games. Jesus Christ, he’s a goddamn sucker.
“What?” Jason grunts.
Jason is mentally preparing himself to pull (Bruce’s stolen) cash from his wallet to pay for whatever stupid game his dumb brothers want to play.
His brothers school their features into neutral expressions. That’s fucking creepy.
“Nothing!” Tim says, suspiciously. He points a finger. “Can you win that for me?” Jason looks to see a giant pink teddy bear, almost as big as tiny Tim, hanging from the top of a booth. It’s one of those balloon-popping games.
“You do it,” Jason replies. He might be willing to dish over (Bruce’s stolen) cash, but he’s not gonna do all the hard work when Robin is perfectly capable of doing it himself.
“Please, Mom?” Tim says fluttering his eyelashes evilly.
Jason chokes on spit. Next thing he knows, he’s bent over double coughing and hacking up a lung. Dickface cackles, and Jason shoots out a hand to punch him in the leg. Dick’s laugh is cut short with a yelp.
“The hell’d you just call me?” Jason demands. He’s not even entirely sure he heard it correctly.
“What do you mean?” Tim says. Oh god, this kid is such a manipulative gaslighter. Jason’s starting to understand how exactly this kid managed to con Bruce into letting him be Robin. He’s not sure anyone could stop this little menace.
“I guess you don’t want that pink bear then.”
“But, mom,” Tim whines. No, it does not make Jason’s heart lurch! “No one’s ever won me a prize from a festival before.”
Oh, damn it! Dammit all to hell.
First the kid calls him Mom. Which no! Does not make him feel warm! And certainly, doesn’t put confused feelings in his chest! Then Timmy has the absolute gall to pull the sad child card against him.
Even Dick’s expression of maniacal glee at the Mom-situation shutters into one of exaggerated upset at Tim’s words. Jason can already see the gears spinning in Dick’s head about winning every prize in the carnival for his baby brother.
“Don’t call me mom.”
“Don’t? But you answered when someone else said it. Do you care about me less than a random child?”
“Yeah, what the hell, Jay?” Dick adds.
Jason’s jaw works. He doesn’t deign to answer such a stupid question. He moves towards the balloon-popping game. Tim doesn’t mind the lack of answer when a few minutes later, he’s got his arms full of pink teddy-bear.
Tim leaves the festival with a dozen stuffed animals which barely fit in the backseat of Dick’s tiny car. The gruff exterior Jason maintains at all times is being steadily torn down by the contented smile on his new brother’s face.
Later that evening when he’s suiting up for patrol, Jason’s phone buzzes. Dick sent him a sneaky picture of Timmy grinning with his pink teddy-bear, mouth open as he thanks a red-faced Jason. Jason texts back a middle finger emoji, but he saves the picture to his phone anyways.
“You have to!” Dick’s voice warbles through the phone. Jason is tempted to throw the device out the nearest window and let the neighbors deal with Dick’s annoying voice.
“And why’s that again?” Jason huffs.
“Jaaaaayyyyyyy,” Dick whines. “I was going to go, but there was an emergency with my friends–” The Titans were called for some mega-death-world-destroying plot. Not something that can be expressed over an unsecure line. “– and B was supposed to go, too, but he’s been off with Uncle Clark–” JL is in space handling a mega-death-world-destroying plot for some other planet. “Which means that no one else can go! Alfred’s going, but you know how Timmy gets.”
Jason sighs. As much as he is loathe to admit it, he does know Tim well enough to know ‘how he gets’ so to speak. The kid is determined to bother Jason until the end of the time, refusing to accept Jason’s don’t-talk-to-me vibe seriously and helping out when he isn’t asked, but the moment that Tim wants or needs anything himself, suddenly it’s radio fuckin’ silence.
Red Hood stubs his toe during patrol, and Robin makes a goddamn welfare check at his most secret safehouse and bullies Nightwing into joining him for fear of Jason’s undead life. Tim gets an entire wall at an art gallery for his photographs, and he says not a single word.
“I’m busy tonight,” Jason says to mess with his older brother. He’s had tickets to Tim’s photo gallery opening night for weeks, ever since Alfred mentioned it in passing while they had their monthly tea. But he’s not telling that to dickface.
“Cancel your plans! This is more important! Timmy is more important than crime lording.”
“Who said that’s my plans?”
“Tim is more important than your books!”
Jason shakes his head. “Apparently, he’s not more important than your friends. Tell them I say hi.”
Dick revs like the world’s most high-pitched engine into his perpetual wordless whining. If they weren’t on voice call, Jason is certain that he’d be leveled with the most powerful of the puppy-eyes that Dick can muster. Jason lets him do this for a few minutes, happy that he’s filling out his monthly quota for distressing Dick.
The oven dings. Jason takes out the apple pie and sets it on the counter to cool. “That’s enough, Dickwad. Obviously, I’m going to go. I’ve had tickets for weeks; remind me how you’re the star pupil of the World’s Greatest Detective again? Mhm, ok, have fun blowing things up, try not to kill people and turn into a monster like me. Bye.”
He hangs up on Dick’s loud protests.
Tim has no idea he’s coming tonight. He had made sure to buy tickets under a pseudonym, namely Darcy Wentworth, which is something Tim would only link to Jason if he took the time to read any of the classics that Jason had given him. He might have made fun of Dick for not knowing, but the likelihood of Tim checking the ticket sales is high (paranoid birdie) and Jason intends to fully surprise him.
Jason loves surprising people. He won’t ever top the surprise of coming back to life as a crime lord, but, hey, a man can try.
Tim is standing by an open doorway at the back of the gallery. He’s dressed up in a suit, and he’s leaning against the wall with a flute of drink in his hand. His attention is on a group of adults talking about some of the photos on the other side of the room.
“That better not be champagne,” Jason says. Tim doesn’t jump, he’s too well-trained for that, but his eyes do widen in surprise when he sees Jason standing there.
In a single movement Tim knocks back the rest of his drink and passes it off to a passing waiter. “Guess you’ll never find out,” Tim smirks. Jason barks out a laugh.
“So where’s your shit?”
Tim tilts his head towards the open door. Jason slips inside, and he’s instantly taken aback. The entire room appears to be filled with Tim’s pictures. Four whole walls, not just a single one like he’d thought. There’s even a board stand with his name and a description of his work.
There are a few other gallery-goers in the room, quietly admiring the prints.
“The theme for the gallery is Community,” Tim says. He’s moved to lean against the wall on this side of the door.
Jason walks slowly around the room. There are sections for each part of Gotham. The Narrows, the Bowery, the Docks, the Diamond District, even Bristol. Photos of gatherings, markets, festivals, parks. Photos of a team of people rebuilding a beloved bodega after a rogue attack (Mad Hatter as the description says). Firemen and police officers working together to put out a fire, the blaze illuminating the skyline.
“These are incredible, Tim,” Jason says in awe.
There are a small handful of the vigilantes (including Tim’s Robin–he must have set up shots beforehand). The dynamic duo silhouetted against the Batsignal and the moon. A cinematic shot of Nightwing crouched beside an alley, face soft with a smile as he presumably talks to a child who is just out of frame.
He’d been mentally preparing himself for the last section, but it still takes him by surprise. The last section is for Crime Alley, or Park Row as the plaque reads.
Photos of various flowered shrines left by loved ones on the sides of the cracked pavement to commemorate the dead. Jason recognizes a few as memorials he’d set up for some civilians he was too late to save.
There’s a picture of Red Hood from the back. He’s got a gaggle of children hanging off his limbs and surrounding his legs. None of the faces are visible, but Jason recognizes some of the street kids from their attire.
Close up shot of a chalk drawing of Red Hood (though the lack of color options means he’s Pink Hood) holding a child’s hand with a rainbow and hearts behind them.
A picture of Jimmy (not Gordon), owner of Jason’s favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian takeout, standing outside his door after closing and handing out all the leftover pizza and breadsticks to the homeless folks waiting outside. Again, no faces other than Jimmy’s weary smile.
A soft click registers in his ears, and Jason turns to see Tim aiming his camera at him. He raises an eyebrow, and the kid has the sense of mind to look embarrassed.
“Sorry, you just looked happy,” Tim says. He turns the camera to show him, and Jason has to admit it’s amazing. He’s smiling absently, eyes focused on the photographs, and he looks so at ease.
“Alright, stalker,” Jason gruffs. “When you get home, I expect a copy of these.” He waves a hand at the Crime Alley section.
“Really?” Tim blinks, and his face is carefully neutral. It’s kinda creepy.
“Yeah, these are the best photos I’ve ever seen.”
Tim blushes at the praise. “It’s not like you have a lot to compare too. Dick can’t take photos for shit.”
“True. But he’s not as bad as B; you can tell it’s one of his if there’s fingers in the shot.”
Tim snorts. “They’re hopeless.”
“Good thing we’re competent enough for the both of them.” He gracefully ignores the bombastic side-eye Tim is shooting him. “But seriously though, Timbo, these are incredible pictures. You’re really talented.”
There’s a soft Thanks in return. Tim’s ears are steadily turning red, and his eyes are focused in the distance.
They’re quiet for a second, and Jason takes pity on the kid and turns the subject. “How long you have to stay?”
Tim glances at his watch. “A couple more hours. You about to head out?” And there Timbo goes sounded disappointed. As if Jason hasn’t cleared out his entire night and ordered his lieutenants to keep the peace so he can attend this gallery opening.
“I’ve got nothing else to do tonight. You should come stay at my place after. I made a pie to celebrate.”
“You made a pie? You’re such a mom,” Tim jokes.
Jason rolls his eyes. “How the hell does that make me a mom? Alfie makes food for you too, and I don’t see you calling him mom. Do you want pie or not?”
“You are such a mom. That’s such a mom thing, I swear. Are you going to pinch my cheeks and make me take a picture, too?” Tim snarks.
“You know what, punk?” Jason stomps closer, and he gets the savage satisfaction of watching Tim gear up for a fight. His little brother squeaks in protest when instead of a fist, his cheeks are met with pinching fingers.
“Time for that picture! Dickie will cry all over us if we don’t take one,” Jason says cheerfully. He takes Tim’s grumbles and groans in stride. “Say cheese!”
He takes a shitty selfie in front of the board stand, but with Tim fighting the headlock like a feral cat, blurry is the best he can expect. After a few minutes of light scuffling (enough to gather the attention of a few gallery-goers outside the room), Tim relents and actually takes a nice picture of them.
Then he gets the kid to rant about the photos in the gallery, talking about the lighting and lenses and angles, and which ones were a straight up pain in the ass to get. Jason tries to hide his terror at hearing one harrowing story of Tim nearly getting shot in his civvies when he stumbled on a drug trade somewhere in the Narrows when trying to line up a shot of a community mural. He thinks he did a good job, but Tim’s exasperated sigh tells him he didn’t.
A few days later when Dickie returns, he does sob loudly all over the two of them and demands a million prints of the picture they took together.
“No! Put that down, you heathen!” Jason shouts. He grabs the dish towel off the oven handle and uses it to swat at Tim’s thieving hands.
Tim squawks indignantly and the fresh-out-of-the-oven hot cookie drops back onto the baking sheet with a wet thunk.
“You asked me to make cookies for your stupid bake sale tomorrow, Timberlina, NOT for your consumption!”
Jason ushers Timmy out of the safehouse’s small kitchen. The little shithead grumbles and tries to deadweight drop. Jason grabs the idiot before he can smash his head open on the floor. Not only would Jason have to scrub blood out of the shining tile (which he’d just done literally a day ago), but Dickhead would somehow know immediately (via creepy older brother ESP) and psycho-kill Jason for letting harm come to the baby bird.
Jason bemoans his hardships to the universe in an overdramatic monologue that has Tim groaning loudly to try and drown him out. Timbo lets himself be dragged through the kitchen like a ragdoll, his body limp and slippery like he’s freaking liquid. This is the kind of shit that cats do when they don’t want to be held anymore. Jason wonders if Tim got tips from Selina recently.
Eventually he gets the baby bird draped over one of the barstools outside of the kitchen, far enough away from the cookies to protect the precious cargo from theft attempts.
They are Jason’s ultra-special snickerdoodles. It’s Alfred’s recipe with a Jason-only secret ingredient that no one (not even dear Alfie) knows about. Not to brag, but he’s pretty sure that the cookies are going to be a smash hit at Tim’s school bake sale.
They’ll definitely out-sell Jeanette’s choco-dough brownies. What the hell is choco-dough supposed to mean, Jeanette!? Just make up your mind and make one dessert not a Frankenstein monster of desserts. Cobbling together pieces into a new creation didn’t work for Victor, so why would it work for you?
By the time Timbo is on the barstool, the cookies have cooled enough to be packaged. Jason begins the work of putting cookies into individual baggies and twisting a plastic tie around the top. He would normally force the baby bird to help (what with them being Tim’s responsibility) but he doesn’t trust him not to steal cookies. Jason is determined that Tim will get the most sales and show up that stuck-up bitch in the PTA. Just because your kid is on the debate team and student council doesn’t make him less of a moron, Jeanette! Your brat never took down a gang of criminals or bested The Fucking Riddler at his own game while also getting the best grades in class! (Except English, Timmy really needed to get better at English). Not that Tim is Jason's brat or anything... you get the point!
The timer beeps as the second batch finishes baking. He pulls the sheet out of the oven and puts it on the other counter. When he turns around, Tim freezes like a statue.
Jason pins him with the best batglare he can manage, even though the situation is actually really funny. Tim has crawled on hands and knees over the kitchen bar and has a grubby hand outstretched for one of the remaining cookies of the first batch.
Tim stares at him unblinking, as if Jason’s not going to see him if he’s still enough.
“Whatcha doin’?” Jason asks, faux casual.
Tim blinks. Jason slowly raises an eyebrow in return. His arms cross, and his hip juts out sassily.
Then Tim’s body language shifts. His lower lip sticks out, and he tilts his head so he’s looking at Jason through his lashes.
“Please, Mom?”
Jason sputters. It’s been over two months since the festival incident. Why the hell is Tim pulling that back out now?
Taking advantage of his moment of surprise, the menace snagged two (TWO!) of the cookies and started gobbling one down.
“They’re so good, Jay,” Tim moans, his mouth full of stolen loot.
“You better put money in your sale’s jar for that. I’m telling you, these cookies better be the best sold thing at your bake sale or we’re burning your school down.”
“Can you burn the school down anyways?”
“Absolutely not. School is very important, and you, especially need it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, dumbass, that you’re an idiot. School helps with things like that.”
“Is that why you liked school so much?
“Alright, punk,” Jason growls. “Put that other cookie down.”
Tim looked at the other cookie he stole. “It’s for you, mom.”
“Quit calling me mom!” Jason is NOT FLUSTERED! It’s hot in the kitchen. With the oven and the fresh cookies. Not to mention it’s a small space. All the heat is being trapped right here. That’s all!
“Right, right,” Tim says sagely. He offers the cookie out anyways, waving it enticingly. Jason huffs and takes the cookie.
“Damn, am I good,” Jason praises himself. The cookies are perfection. “You have to let me know how they do at the sale. I’m being serious, Timbo, you better sell every one of them. If you let Jeanette outsell you, I’m never baking for you again.”
“Who’s Jeanette?”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Who’s Jeanette?” he mocks in a high-pitched voice. He ignores Tim’s raised eyebrow to finish packaging the cookies. Thankfully, Tim drops it and starts helping bag the goods. He does steal another cookie, but Jason just smacks him in the head and forces him to cough up a few bucks for the sale.
Tim does outsell Jeanette by a good margin, and it’s Jason’s cookies that were all the rage with the PTA moms for weeks. (Not that Jason is part of the PTA or anything; he just so happens to know someone who knows someone who’s kid goes to Gotham Academy who happens to be friends with a kid whose mom is in the PTA, that’s all!)
The secretary offers Jason a small, tired smile as she directs him to Gotham Academy’s nurse’s office. Apparently, Jason is listed as Tim’s emergency contact.
Jason was not consulted on nor informed of that decision, though he has a sneaking suspicion that Bruce doesn’t know either. He and B might have been getting along better lately, having come to a truce for their nightlife patrols, but they’re still a far cry from being on good terms.
But it’s not like Jason is third or fourth down the emergency contact list. Bruce, as Tim’s adoptive father, should be at the top, and, for once, Bruce is in Gotham. For all his faults, Bruce would not hesitate to leave WE if summoned by Tim’s school, which means that Jason is somehow higher than Bruce on the emergency contact list.
Tim is definitely to blame for this development.
He finds the kid curled up on the sick bed in the nurse’s office.
“Tim?” He asks. The kid bolts upright, eyes wide as he looks at Jason, as if not believing that he’s there.
“Hello, are you Mr. Wayne?” The nurse says, standing from her chair in the corner.
“Jason.” Being called Mr. Wayne is way too weird; it’s giving him the heebie-jeebies.
“Well, thank you for coming so quick. Timothy passed out in class today. He doesn’t have a concussion, but I would recommend taking him to the doctor for a follow-up.”
Jason thanks her and turns back to his brother. “Timbers, you ready to head out?”
Tim nods quickly and hops off the table. Their footsteps are the only sound as they head through the empty halls back to the parking lot.
“Why are you here?” Tim asks as soon as they’re out of earshot of the nurse’s office.
Jason levels him with an incredulous stare. “Because they called and said you passed out.”
“So? It doesn’t mean you have to come down here. You could have ignored it. I would’ve been fine; and they would’ve eventually let me get back to class.”
“You mean to tell me that you expect me to get a call from your school telling me my little brother fainted in class, and that I should have ignored it?” Jason asks incredulously. “Timmers, it’s important to me that you know I would come get you if you need me.”
“I do know that,” Tim says, rolling his eyes. “But I didn’t need you to come here. I was fine. Had a late-night last night, overslept this morning, and forgot to get any caffeine. I’m perfectly fine, especially since I got a Zesti from the teacher’s lounge.”
“You passed out, Tim,” Jason says slowly. He needs to get this through Tim’s head. “You could have had a head injury, or something. And even if you didn’t, if the school calls me to come get you, I’m going to do that.”
“Whatever.” Tim won’t believe anything Jason says; he needs actions as proof. Jason intends to follow through in a language Tim actually trusts. He’s already done the first step, with showing up when the school calls.
“Not whatever. This isn’t just me, either. B and Dickface would do the same thing! And speaking of, Timbo, why am I listed above Bruce in your emergency contacts?”
Tim shrugs and averts his gaze. Jason sighs. Tim is stubborn when he doesn’t want to explain things, and Jason, for all his failed plans and mistakes, knows when to pick his battles.
“Where’m I takin’ you?”
“Back to the manor is fine,” Tim says.
“Just fine? Bruce could have come and taken you to the Manor. Alfie, too.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” Tim says, his voice going soft at the end that Jason had to lean in to catch them.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Timberlina. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Tim shrugs again. What’s going on with this kid?
“You dying?”
Tim scrunches his nose and side-eyes Jason. “No.”
“Let’s go to Batburger, then,” Jason says. He tosses the spare helmet to Tim and hops on the motorcycle. “You’re buying.”
That gets a scoff and a tiny smile out of the kid. Tim holds tight to Jason’s midsection as they roar through the afternoon traffic. It’s hard to hear over the rumble of the bike and the whoosh of air, but the words fall on Jason’s ears with the clarity of drums in a parade.
“Thanks, mom,” Tim whispers. Soft enough that Jason’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to hear it.
Jason ends up paying for lunch. He monologues about how cruel ‘twould be of him to force his ailing, possibly dying, little brother to cough up the measly cents he’s scrounged up for this bountiful feast. It makes Tim groan and grumble, but Jason can’t help but feel the warmth in his chest.
Jason hums quietly as he sets up his evening. His current book sleeps in his favorite armchair, waiting to be resumed, and steam whirls in the air above a fresh cup of tea. There’s a flash of lightning outside the window. He finished patrol early. It was an easy night with the impending storm, and he decided to head back before the rain could start. He’s happy with this decision as he stares out at the sudden downpour, like the rain had been holding back until it could slam a punch to the ground.
He’s still in his suit. Jason heads to his room. He pulls out –
“MOOOOOMMMM!”
The soul-wrenching sound rips out Jason’s heart. That voice. He knows that voice.
His helmet somehow found its way back on his head and then he’s in the rain. The grey downpour on top of Gotham’s already grim atmosphere makes it almost impossible to see.
There’s no indication of Tim’s location. Red Hood is about to call out when the scream comes again. A litany of Mom! echoes off the buildings. He has never moved so fast in his entire life. He follows the cries to a condemned building a street away. Broken glass explodes around him as he flies through a window.
Red Hood finds Robin curled up on the ground surrounded by a dozen goons. He hones in on blood spatter on the ground and an incriminating crowbar clutched in a goon’s hands. The crowbar rattles to the concrete floor as it falls from dead fingers.
Green overtakes his vision. When it clears, a dozen goons, all dead, surround Robin. Jason is beside his little brother in an instant.
“Robin?” He carefully puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder, eyes sweeping for injuries. There’s a gash on the side of his head right above where half of his mask had broken off. Tim curls protectively in a tiny ball, pressing his shoulder into Jason’s hand, his breaths fast and panicked.
“Timmers, I’m here,” Jason says, his voice definitely not wavering. He rips off the remaining half of Tim’s mask. The kid’s pupils are dilated, and he’s staring through Jason.
Jason finishes his injury check but aside from the head trauma, there’s nothing. He pulls away, hand reaching for his comms, but stops short at the agonized cry.
“No! Please… Please don’t leave,” Tim sobs, his voice broken. It’s enough to shatter Jason’s heart.
“Right here, Timmy. I’m not going anywhere,” Jason says gently, though the voice modifier in the helmet strips the emotion from his words. He puts a hand in Tim’s hair, and the kid slumps, going completely boneless. There’s a quiet shuffling as Tim scoots so that he’s plastered to Jason’s side.
He turns on his comms, hearing the click as he’s connected to Oracle, and he starts taking in his surroundings. The goons have light green skin and are dressed up in leaf-covered clothes. Withered vines litter the floor, and there’s a trampled cuddle-pollen bloom a few feet away.
Well, shit.
He gathers Robin into his arms, letting the kid press himself against his chest as though trying to climb into his skin. Cuddle pollen will do that to you.
“-d Hood?” Oracle repeats. Jason shakes off his inattention.
“Hey, O. Received a distress call from Robin.” Understatement of the year. “He’s been hit with cuddle pollen, and has a head injury, potential concussion.”
“Understood. Can you bring him to the cave? B’s already turned in for the night.”
“Why was Robin still out?”
The frustrated exhale is enough of an answer for Jason. The kid went without telling anyone. Not surprising, even if it is upsetting.
“Is Ivy out of Arkham?” he asks instead.
“No. She’s still there,” Oracle reports. “There have been increased reports of eco-terrorism lately. Robin may have been following up on something.”
“Hn,” Jason grunts. He immediately regrets this. It sounds too much like Bruce, and he wants to punch himself. “She’s gearing up to breakout then.”
Oracle hums in agreement.
The journey is long but thankfully uneventful. Robin is pliant so long as Jason keeps a hand on him. He has to carry Robin (with a spare domino on his face) a few blocks to the nearest hidden garage with his motorcycles. Robin is aware enough to hold onto Jason’s torso on the ride to the cave, but Jason still pushes the bike to the max to get there as quick as possible.
Bruce and Alfred are waiting in the medbay. Jason tenses under Bruce’s scrutiny, but he can’t leave with the way Tim desperately clings onto him.
He sits with the kid in his arms as Alfred looks him over. The head abrasion is sutured and bandaged, and a concussion is ruled out. Then there is nothing left to do but wait for the cuddle pollen to wear off.
Jason tries to hand Tim off to Bruce. Tim leans into Bruce’s touch, but the moment Jason tries to sneak away the kid practically leaps into his arms koala-style and holds on with stubborn determination.
“Mom, don’t go!” Tim cries into his neck. Jason is frozen at being called Mom again, and he reflexively hugs back. From the look on Bruce’s face, he’s just as startled.
“Tim, let your brother go,” Bruce chides.
Jason’s shoulders grow tense. “Timmers is perfectly fine right here, asshat!” Jason snaps. Bruce isn’t going to tell him or Tim what to do! He tightens his hold on the baby bird and is rewarded when Tim melts in the embrace and hums.
Bruce sighs again and moves to leave.
“You should call dickface. He’ll want to know his baby bird is in need of cuddles.”
Bruce grunts in acknowledgement. His phone is in his hands as he heads out of the medical bay. Then it’s just the two of them settled onto the cot. Tim nuzzles against his chest.
No, it doesn’t make Jason super-duper happy to see his brother safe and alive and breathing. Shuddup, he’s not getting sappy! Anyone who says so is getting a bullet between their eyes.
Jason can already imagine the gross cooing noises Dick is gonna make when he gets here. Ugh.
They pull up a movie to watch and settle in for the night. Dickface joins the cuddle pile when he arrives. Jason doesn’t get to leave, what with Tim’s tight hold on him.
“I don’t want to,” Tim says. His arms are crossed and his hip juts out defiantly.
“You literally don’t have to do anything,” Dick says. “It’s called a break for a reason, baby bird. When was the last time you slept?”
“You just woke me up!” Tim complains.
“You were drooling on the batkeyboard, Tim! And a ten-minute caffeine-induced coma doesn’t count as sleep.”
The three brothers are gathered in the Batcave around the Batcomputer. Tim still has a line of dried drool on his chin, and the dark bags under his eyes give him the look of a crazed raccoon. He’s huddled up in one of Dick’s old hoodies that’s a couple sizes too big on his thin frame.
“He’s right, Timmers. According to Alfie, you haven’t been in your room in days,” Jason adds.
“Not you, too! Neither of you are exactly paragons of self-care.” Tim points an accusing finger at them. “Dick, your fridge only has expired eggs and milk!”
“And an apple!” Dick tries to interject. Jason scrunches his nose at his brother’s attempt at defending himself. Expired milk, eggs, and an apple in his fridge? Jesus Christ, did Jason need to go over there and bully his brother into taking care of himself again?
Tim bulldozes right over Dick’s interjection. “And Jay, you didn’t even sew up that knife wound the other day until I went over there!”
Jason shook his head. The knife wound wasn’t that terrible. Some asshole got a lucky slice along his ribs, nothing to cry over. He’d been too tired to deal with it that night, and besides with his slightly accelerated healing, the injury would have been fine ‘til the morning.
Jason opened his mouth to say as much, but Tim beat him to the punch. “No! Don’t want to hear about Laz pit healing or whatever bullshit. You should have sewn it up. Don’t make me tell, Alfred.”
Jason’s mouth closed with a click. Alfred would be disappointed if he knew.
“Timmy, you’re going to burn yourself out. Take a week off. Your school is on break; Jay, Babs, B, and I can take care of the city for a week. It’s just a week, baby bird,” Dick pleads.
“I don’t want to.” Tim is unphased by Dick’s puppy-dog eyes. Big bird needs to learn some new moves because no one in the family (with the exception of Bruce) is swayed by the fluttering eyelashes and pout.
“For your dear brothers, Timmy?” Dick tries.
It sparks a sudden idea in Jason’s mind. He schools his face into an expression he’s seen both Talia and Selina adopt when conveying their disappointment.
“If you don’t want to, Tim, you don’t have to. I won’t be angry if you decide to work yourself to death,” Jason says. Tim narrows his eyes, clearly sensing a trap. “But I will be disappointed.”
The flash of emotion on Tim’s face is satisfying. He’s been successfully rattled.
“Disappointed?” Tim sputters for a moment. “You… No, I can’t take a break. I’m so close to solving this case with Scarecrow. I just need a couple more days…”
Jason sighs as big and dramatic as he can. “That’s ok, son. Your mom can take the heartbreak.”
Tim makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Dick watches the interaction from the sidelines, clearly trying to figure out what’s going on, and unwilling to intervene because Tim is actually getting out of the Batchair without a fight.
Tim shuffles uncertainly in front of Jason and tries to read his expression.
“Jay…”
“Now, I’m just Jay,” Jason says dramatically. He closes his eyes and tips his head to the ceiling.
“You… you know I was joking about the mom thing, right?” Tim says. His voice wavers, like he doesn’t even believe the words himself. But it feels no less than a bullet to Jason’s heart.
“It was all a joke?” Jason asks. The disappointment in his voice is real. He knew it’d been a joke from the beginning, but over the months, being called Mom, even quietly, has grown on him. It was endearing to be called that.
On nights when Jason can’t sleep, when the monsters in his mirror bare their teeth and choke him, the memory of Tim calling him Mom helps to ground him. Moms are powerful and trustworthy. They don’t have to be the actual biological mom to be a Mom to someone. Janet Drake didn’t deserve the title with her constant neglect and disregard for her son.
For Tim to give that title to Jason means the world. It means that Tim believes Jason to embody those characteristics, someone who will burn the world down to protect him. Because Jason would do that. He would destroy the universe if anything happened to Timmy.
Jason has been fighting hard the past couple months to be worthy of that title.
“That’s not what I meant!” Tim squeaks.
Jason looks down at his little brother. His face is steadily getting red, and he’s tugging at the sleeves of his sweatshirt with trembling fingers.
“Then what did you mean?”
Tim opens and shuts his mouth a couple times. He sniffles and rubs at his teary eyes. Fuck. The sight breaks Jason’s stupid heart.
“No, wait, I’m sorry, Tim. I’m sorry, baby bird. Come here.” Jason hugs him, pulling the kid to his chest. Jason’s being stupid. He took the Mom Disappointment card too far. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
“I’m sorry, too, Mom,” Tim sobs. Jason squeezes hard when he hears the title. He is silently grateful that he didn’t lose it, not yet at least.
“You could never disappoint me, kiddo,” Jason whispers. If he speaks any louder then, his voice will break. “I didn’t really mean that. I was just trying to convince you into taking the break.”
“I know, I know. I got that part, but I just didn’t… I wasn’t expecting…”
Tim wipes his eyes on Jason’s shoulder.
“I know,” Jason whispers. He doesn’t need Timmy to say it out loud. He knows what’s being left unsaid, and the feeling was mutual. Tim was surprised that Jason was out-loud accepting the title of Mom. He’d been saying it off-handedly for months, never expecting Jason to actually accept it.
Only for Jason to take that title and twist it for his own uses. He needs to make it up to the kid and make sure he knows that the mantle of Mom is sacred to him.
“I love you, Timbo.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
They stood there hugging for a minute. Then a pair of octopus arms wrap around them. Oh shit, they forgot about Dick.
“Am I the dad in this scenario?” Dick asks. Jason and Tim immediately make gagging noises.
“Gross! Never say that again, Dickface.”
“Yeah, just no,” Tim adds with a shudder.
Dick makes a very unhappy face. “Fine, but does this at least mean you’ll take the break?”
“…” Jason holds in the sigh at seeing Timmy shutting them out again. The kid truly doesn’t want to take a break. It was commendable and stupid in equal measures.
Dick furrows his brow, but then there’s that glint in his eye. The evil one that he gets right before he says something truly diabolical. “What about a mother-son bonding vacation, then?”
“What?” Jason asks incredulously. Can you seriously believe this guy? There’s no way that would–
“Yes!” Tim’s eyes light up at the suggestion.
“Wait, what?” Jason asks again. By this point, Dick and Tim have walked off, discussing good vacation ideas for a mother-son bonding trip. Jason is pretty sure he got duped somewhere in there.
He listens to them chatter, something about a spa or a cruise? What the hell did Jason get roped into? He’d been expecting Dick’s jealous streak to rear its ugly head and ruin everything, but now he’s up there planning a mother-son trip that he’s not included on? That’s suspicious as hell. Maybe he’s doing it just to fuck with Jason.
Despite his misgivings, a small part of him is excited on getting a chance to hang out with Tim, his son and also brother. Their family is so weird. But Jason wouldn’t have it any other way.