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The rooftop felt smaller than Tim remembered.
Maybe it was because he’d grown since the last time he’d been here. Maybe it was because the city felt heavier now.
This was where everything had started.
Years ago, Tim Drake had stood on this very roof with a pair of binoculars and a wild theory. He’d watched a boy flip through the air with impossible grace and land beside Batman.
Robin.
He’d been right, of course. He’d figured it out. Dick Grayson was Robin. Batman wasn’t meant to work alone.
Back then, Tim had believed something simple.
Batman needed a Robin.
And somehow Tim had convinced himself that meant Batman needed him.
The irony wasn’t lost on him now.
He sat on the ledge, feet hanging over the edge of the building as Gotham stretched endlessly below him. The wind tugged lightly at his jacket.
He thought back to the moment he’d confronted Bruce.
The day he’d basically forced his way into the suit.
Bruce had been different then. Harder. Sharper around the edges. Jason’s death had hollowed something out of him and filled the space with rage.
Tim had told him the truth anyway.
You’re becoming too violent.
Batman needs a Robin.
You need someone to stop you from going too far.
Dick hadn’t wanted the job. He’d said no.
So Tim had stepped in.
At the time it had felt like the bravest thing he’d ever done.
Now it just felt stupid.
Bruce had trained him hard. Harder than he probably should have. At the time Tim had thought that was just how it worked.
But Bruce had never adopted him. Never made it official. Never said the words Dick and Jason had gotten.
Tim had told himself it didn’t matter.
He wasn’t there to be Bruce’s son.
He was there to be useful.
Eventually Bruce must have realized he was pushing too far, because he’d shipped Tim off to a dojo overseas to finish his training.
That was where Tim had met Lady Shiva.
Tim smiled faintly at the memory.
Shiva had been terrifying.
She’d also been the first person who’d treated him like he might actually be capable of something.
Under her training the bo staff had become second nature to him. Balance, leverage, movement. He’d learned to turn the weapon into an extension of himself.
It had been one of the few times in his life he’d felt… confident.
The wind picked up slightly.
Tim looked down at the streets far below.
After that things had started to fall apart.
Jason came back first.
Not the brother Tim had idolized growing up through newspaper clippings and old case files.
Red Hood.
Jason had made it very clear what he thought of Tim.
You’re an imposter.
Just a replacement.
Tim rubbed his hands together slowly.
The attack on Titans Tower still played in his head sometimes. Jason tearing through the place like a storm, proving a point no one had needed to hear out loud.
Tim had survived that too.
He always did.
Then the losses started stacking up.
His parents.
Steph.
Kon.
Each one leaving another empty space behind.
Tim had kept going because that’s what Robins did.
Because Batman needed him.
Then Bruce died.
Or at least that’s what everyone believed.
Tim hadn’t believed it. Couldn’t believe it. Bruce Wayne didn’t just die.
So Tim chased the truth.
When he finally returned to Gotham, exhausted and half held together by stubbornness, Dick had already become Batman.
And Damian was Robin.
Dick hadn’t even told him.
Tim had just… found out.
That part had hurt more than he expected.
Not because needed to be Robin, that’s who he was. It was his only connection to his ‘family’.
But it hurt more because Dick had always been the one person who understood.
Or at least Tim had thought so.
Instead, Dick had been tired, frustrated, and done arguing.
When Tim kept insisting Bruce was alive, Dick had snapped and threatened Arkham.
Tim knew Dick hadn’t meant it the way it sounded.
But at the time it had felt like the ground dropping out from under him.
Still, Tim had kept going.
And he’d been right.
Bruce had been alive.
Lost in time.
Tim had followed the clues no one else saw and pulled together the pieces of the puzzle.
That path had taken him straight into the orbit of Ra’s al Ghul, which in hindsight should have been a warning sign.
He’d lost a spleen somewhere along the way.
Picked up a few bodies on his conscience too.
A couple friends didn’t make it back, but Ra’s would never bother the bats as long as his encrypted file stayed put.
He’d even helped bring Bruce back to the present.
Tim exhaled slowly.
No one had said thank you.
No one had really talked about it at all.
Things had just… moved on.
Batman was back.
Dick went back to Blüdhaven.
Damian stayed Robin.
And Tim—
Tim sat on a rooftop.
Jason Todd was not expecting to have to save a suicidal teenager.
He’d been crossing the neighboring roof when he spotted someone sitting on the edge.
Normally Jason kept walking. Gotham rooftops had a lot of people contemplating bad decisions.
But something about the posture felt wrong.
Too familiar.
Jason moved closer.
The kid sitting on the ledge didn’t look panicked.
He looked… finished.
Then he pushed off.
Jason moved instantly, vaulting the ledge and grabbing the back of the kid’s jacket before gravity could finish the job.
The sudden weight nearly dragged him over.
“Not a chance,” Jason grunted, hauling upward.
A second later both of them collapsed onto the rooftop.
Jason rolled onto his back, breathing hard.
Then he looked over.
Tim Drake stared up at the sky like he’d just been mildly inconvenienced.
Jason blinked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Tim turned his head slowly.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Hi Jason.”
Jason stared at him.
“You just jumped off a building.”
Tim shrugged faintly.
“Yeah.”
Jason sat up, staring harder now.
The kid looked wrecked.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Like someone who had been carrying too much weight for too long.
Jason tilted his head.
“You weren’t even hesitating.”
Tim watched the clouds move across the sky.
“I’ve been hesitating for years.”
Jason didn’t like the sound of that.
He leaned back against the ledge, crossing his arms.
“Alright, Replacement,” Jason said. “Start talking.”
Tim laughed quietly.
And for the next several minutes, he did.
Not dramatically.
Not emotionally.
Just a calm, tired recounting of everything that had happened since he first put on the colors.
Jason listened.
You see, Jason had always believed the same story.
Bruce Wayne had been a good father.
Not perfect. Not easy. But good.
He’d taken a street kid who should have ended up dead or in prison and given him a home, a purpose, and a future.
Jason had loved him for that.
Which meant the rest of the story had always been simple.
Jason died.
Bruce replaced him.
Tim Drake became Robin.
Replacement.
That word had made everything neat and easy.
It justified the anger.
Justified the fights.
Justified breaking into Titans Tower and putting the kid through a wall.
Tim’s voice dragged Jason out of his thoughts.
“I told Bruce he needed a Robin.”
Jason blinked.
That… wasn’t how the story went.
“You what?” Jason asked.
Tim shrugged slightly.
“Bruce was getting worse after you died. More violent. Reckless. Someone had to stop him from going too far.”
Jason stared at him.
“You told Batman that?”
“Pretty much.”
Jason huffed a quiet laugh of disbelief.
“Kid, most grown adults won’t tell Bruce Wayne he’s wrong.”
Tim shrugged again.
“I had evidence.”
Of course he did.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck.
That was already messing with the narrative he’d built.
Then Tim kept talking.
“He trained me after that.”
Jason nodded slightly.
That part made sense.
Bruce trained his Robins hard.
Jason could still remember the endless drills, the bruises, the exhaustion.
But Bruce had always been careful too.
Demanding, but careful.
Tim hesitated slightly before continuing.
“It was… rough at first.”
Jason’s brow furrowed.
“How rough?”
Tim didn’t answer directly.
“Bruce was still dealing with losing you.”
Jason went still.
Ah.
That Bruce.
The one Jason never saw.
The one left behind.
Jason’s chest tightened, but he pushed the thought aside.
Tim continued.
“Eventually he realized he might be pushing too hard, so he sent me to a dojo to finish my training.”
Jason nodded slowly.
That sounded like Bruce trying to fix a mistake.
Then Tim added casually,
“That’s where I met Lady Shiva.”
Jason’s head snapped toward him.
“You met who?”
“Lady Shiva.”
Jason stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Bruce sent you to train with the most dangerous martial artist on the planet?”
Tim shrugged.
“She was actually a pretty good teacher.”
Jason dragged a hand down his helmet.
Sure. Why not.
Tim’s voice stayed calm.
“And then you came back.”
Jason stiffened.
There it was.
“You attacked Titans Tower,” Tim said.
Jason remembered that night perfectly.
The anger. The certainty. The belief that this kid had stolen something that belonged to him.
He’d looked Tim straight in the eye and said it.
You’re not Robin.
You’re a replacement.
Jason shifted uncomfortably.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
Tim didn’t sound angry.
“You called me an imposter.”
Jason winced.
“Sounds like something I’d say.”
Tim shrugged.
At the time Jason had assumed Tim was some glory-hunting kid who’d jumped at the chance to wear the colors.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Tim continued.
“Then my parents died.”
Jason nodded grimly.
He remembered the news.
“And Steph.”
Jason frowned slightly.
Right. Stephanie Brown.
“And Kon.”
Jason’s head tilted.
Superboy.
Jason hadn’t realized that one hit Tim that hard.
Tim rubbed his hands together absentmindedly.
“Then Bruce died.”
Jason exhaled slowly.
That had shattered half the family.
Tim had apparently taken it personally.
“I knew he was alive,” Tim said.
Jason huffed.
“Yeah, I remember everyone thinking you were losing it.”
Tim nodded.
“They did.”
Still no bitterness.
Just facts.
Then Tim said the line that made Jason’s stomach drop.
“Dick gave Robin to Damian.”
Jason blinked.
“…Wait.”
Tim continued quietly.
“He said Damian needed it. To help him move past the League training.”
Jason frowned.
That didn’t sound like Dick, the same petty Dick that didn’t want a relationship with Jason because Batman had given the colors to him without asking.
What the hell happened, he wondered.
“What about you?” Jason asked.
Tim gave a small shrug.
“He didn’t tell me beforehand.”
Jason’s jaw tightened.
Yeah.
That part sounded like Dick.
Tim continued.
“I kept telling them Bruce was alive.”
Jason nodded.
“And?”
Tim looked down at his hands.
“Dick threatened to send me to Arkham if I didn’t stop.”
Jason moved before he even realized it.
“HE WHAT?”
Tim flinched slightly at the sudden explosion.
Jason was already pacing.
“Arkham?” Jason snapped. “He threatened you with Arkham?”
Tim raised a hand.
“He didn’t mean—”
Jason wheeled on him.
“I don’t care what he meant!”
Jason’s hands were clenched now.
Arkham wasn’t a threat.
Arkham was a nightmare.
Jason had seen the inside of those cells.
He’d seen what that place did to people.
“You don’t threaten someone with Arkham,” Jason growled.
Tim looked uncomfortable.
“He was tired. I think he just wanted me to stop.”
Jason ran a hand through his hair under the helmet.
“Fantastic. Great solution, Dick. Threaten the traumatized teenager with the madhouse.”
Tim continued quietly.
“So I went to Ra’s.”
Jason stopped pacing.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
“You… went… to Ra’s al Ghul.”
Tim nodded.
“He had information.”
Jason laughed once.
It wasn’t a happy sound.
“Of course he did.”
Jason had dealt with Ra’s before.
The Demon loved desperate people.
He fed on them.
“What did he make you do?” Jason asked sharply.
Tim hesitated.
Jason’s stomach dropped.
“What. Did he. Make you do.”
Tim rubbed the back of his neck.
“…Some things.”
Jason swore under his breath.
“Kid.”
Tim added quietly,
“I lost a spleen.”
Jason’s head snapped up.
“You lost a—”
“A spleen.”
Jason stared at him.
“You lost an organ working for Ra’s al Ghul.”
Tim shrugged weakly.
“It grew back.”
Jason just blinked.
Then he remembered the Lazarus pits.
“Oh that is so much worse,” Jason muttered.
Tim looked faintly confused.
Jason was now pacing again.
“So let me get this straight,” Jason said.
“You lose your parents. Your friends. Bruce ‘dies.’ Dick threatens Arkham. And your brilliant solution is to go work for the world’s most manipulative immortal cult leader.”
Tim winced.
“When you say it like that…”
Jason stopped and pointed at him.
“There is literally no other way to say it!”
Tim looked mildly sheepish.
Jason dragged both hands over his helmet.
“Unbelievable.”
Then the final piece clicked into place.
Tim had gone through all of that.
And Jason had shown up somewhere in the middle of it and told the kid he didn’t belong.
Jason glanced at the ledge again.
Ten minutes ago Tim had been falling off it.
Jason stepped firmly between Tim and the edge.
Tim blinked up at him.
“…You’re doing that again.”
“Yep.”
“You think I’m going to jump.”
Jason crossed his arms.
“Kid, you teamed up with Ra’s al Ghul after getting threatened with Arkham.”
Tim sighed.
“That was different.”
Jason pointed at the drop behind him.
“From where I’m standing, your decision-making track record is not exactly stellar.”
Tim opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Jason jerked a thumb toward the stairwell.
“C’mon.”
Tim blinked.
“Where are we going?”
Jason snorted.
“Anywhere that isn’t the place you tried to redecorate the pavement from.”
Tim slowly got to his feet.
Jason stayed firmly between him and the ledge as they walked.
Because Jason Todd had just realized something very unpleasant.
Tim Drake hadn’t stolen Robin.
He’d inherited a disaster.
And Jason had spent years making it worse.
Jason didn’t take Tim to the Manor.
That decision happened instantly and without debate.
The kid had tried to jump off a building ten minutes ago. The last thing Jason wanted was Bruce’s interrogation voice or Dick’s worried big-brother routine crashing down on him before Jason even figured out what the hell was going on.
So the Manor was out.
Instead Jason took the long way across Gotham’s rooftops.
Not fast. Not patrol-speed.
Just enough movement to keep them going.
Tim followed without complaint.
That was almost more unsettling than the rooftop had been.
Usually Tim Drake had commentary. Observations. Corrections.
Tonight he just… moved.
Jason slowed after the third building and glanced back.
Tim landed beside him with the same quiet precision he’d always had. The kid’s movements were still sharp, still controlled.
Robin training didn’t just disappear.
But there was a heaviness to it now. Like everything cost a little more effort.
Jason jerked his head toward the next fire escape.
“Down.”
Tim obeyed without question.
That was also new.
Jason led him through two back alleys, a locked maintenance door, and a stairwell that smelled faintly like old cigarettes before they reached the apartment.
Safehouse number three.
Jason unlocked the door and stepped inside first.
“Welcome to the glamorous side of vigilantism,” he said dryly.
The place was small but functional. Couch, table, kitchenette, a couple duffel bags of gear stacked against the wall.
Tim stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning automatically.
Jason noticed that too.
Even half-dead inside, the kid was still running threat assessments.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Jason said, tossing a towel and a folded set of clothes from one of the bags. “Go wash up.”
Tim caught them.
“…These are yours.”
“Congratulations, detective.”
“They’ll be big.”
Jason shrugged.
“Roll the sleeves.”
Tim hesitated a second.
Then he disappeared into the bathroom.
Jason leaned against the kitchen counter and exhaled slowly.
The quiet settled over the room.
For the first time since the rooftop, Jason’s brain had a moment to actually process what had just happened.
Tim Drake.
Robin.
Red Robin.
Genius strategist.
Had stepped off a building like it was just another problem to solve.
Jason rubbed a hand down his face.
“Fantastic,” he muttered.
The bathroom door opened a few minutes later.
Jason glanced up—
And immediately froze.
Tim had changed into the shirt Jason gave him, sleeves rolled up like expected.
Which meant Jason could see his arms.
Scars weren’t unusual in their line of work.
Jason had plenty.
Bruce had plenty.
Hell, every Titan probably had a few.
But these…
Jason straightened slowly.
Thin white lines crossed Tim’s forearms in a dozen places. Some old. Some newer. A few jagged enough that Jason knew they’d been deep.
Tim noticed where Jason was looking.
“It’s nothing,” he said automatically.
Jason didn’t respond.
Because he recognized one of them.
A diagonal scar across Tim’s left forearm.
Jason knew exactly when that had happened.
Titans Tower.
Jason’s knife had caught Tim when the kid tried to block a strike meant for one of the Titans.
At the time Jason hadn’t cared.
Now the memory sat in his stomach like a rock.
Jason dragged his gaze away before Tim noticed the recognition.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the couch.
Tim sat.
Carefully.
Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Take the shirt off.”
Tim blinked.
“…What?”
“You heard me.”
Tim frowned.
“Jason—”
“Humor me.”
For a moment Tim looked like he might argue.
Then he sighed and pulled the shirt over his head.
Jason immediately saw more damage.
Old bruising patterns along the ribs.
A faint surgical scar on the side of his abdomen.
Jason pointed.
“Spleen?”
Tim nodded.
Jason’s jaw tightened.
Then Jason’s eyes caught something else.
A cluster of narrow scars across Tim’s shoulder and upper chest.
Clean.
Precise.
Jason stepped closer.
“…Damian,” he said.
Tim glanced down.
“Oh. Yeah.”
Jason’s brow furrowed.
Those weren’t lucky hits.
Damian fought with swords. Fast, aggressive, but predictable if you knew what you were doing.
And Tim definitely knew what he was doing.
Jason crouched slightly, studying the angles.
One slash across the collarbone.
Another just under the shoulder.
A third that had barely missed something important.
Jason leaned back slowly.
“You should’ve avoided those.”
Tim shrugged faintly.
“They weren’t that bad.”
Jason stared at him.
“That’s not what I said.”
Tim didn’t answer.
Jason’s mind replayed the angles again.
Damian’s style was quick but straightforward. Tim had trained with Lady Shiva. He’d fought Jason himself.
Tim should have been able to dodge most of those strikes.
Jason looked up sharply.
“Why didn’t you evade?”
Tim looked confused.
“What?”
“Those,” Jason said, pointing. “You had to of saw them coming.”
Tim rubbed the back of his neck.
“Probably.”
Jason’s voice dropped.
“So why’d you let them land?”
For a moment Tim didn’t say anything.
The silence stretched.
Then Tim gave a small shrug.
“I moved wrong.”
Jason stared at him.
No.
That wasn’t it.
Jason had watched the kid fight before.
Tim Drake didn’t just move wrong.
Jason felt a slow, unpleasant realization creeping into his head.
Back on the roof, Tim had said something.
Sometimes I moved slower than I should have.
Jason straightened slowly.
“You let him hit you.”
Tim’s eyes flicked away.
That was answer enough.
Jason felt something cold settle in his chest.
Because suddenly those rooftop words made a lot more sense.
He always survived.
Jason crossed his arms.
“…Kid.”
Tim looked up.
Jason didn’t soften the question.
“Were you trying to get yourself killed before tonight?”
Tim blinked.
Like the thought had genuinely never occurred to him.
Then he looked down at the floor.
And didn’t answer.
Which, unfortunately, was also an answer.
Jason stared at Tim for a long moment after the question.
Were you trying to get yourself killed before tonight?
Tim didn’t answer.
Instead he kept looking at the floor like the pattern in the cheap tile was suddenly very interesting.
Jason exhaled slowly through his nose.
Yeah.
That was answer enough.
Jason pushed himself upright and walked to the kitchenette.
“Stay there,” he said.
Tim frowned slightly.
“I wasn’t planning on—”
“Good.”
Jason opened the cabinet and started digging through supplies.
There were a few things in the safehouse he always kept stocked: water, protein bars, canned soup, basic medical supplies.
He grabbed two bottles of water and tossed one across the room.
Tim caught it automatically.
Muscle memory.
Jason watched him twist the cap and take a small drink.
Small.
Way too small.
“Drink more,” Jason said.
Tim blinked.
“…I am.”
Jason gave him a flat look.
Tim sighed and took a longer swallow.
Jason nodded once and went back to the counter, opening a protein bar and shoving it toward him.
“Eat.”
Tim stared at it.
“You’re very bossy.”
Jason crossed his arms.
“I’m a crime lord I’m supposed to be bossy….also you tried to jump off a building.”
Tim considered that.
“…Fair.”
He took a bite.
Slowly.
Like chewing required effort.
Jason watched the whole time.
The more he looked, the more obvious it became that Tim was running on fumes. His shoulders slumped further into the couch with every passing minute, and the dark circles under his eyes looked even worse under the safehouse lighting.
“How long since you slept?” Jason asked.
Tim frowned slightly.
“I sleep.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Tim rubbed one eye.
“Couple days.”
Jason’s eyebrows shot up.
“A couple days?”
Tim shrugged weakly.
“Give or take.”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Fantastic. Just fucking fantastic.”
Tim looked mildly offended.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah,” Jason muttered. “Nearly dying takes a lot out of a guy.”
Tim huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.
Jason grabbed the first aid kit from the counter and tossed it onto the coffee table.
“Lean forward.”
Tim obeyed automatically.
Jason cleaned a couple of half-healed cuts along his shoulder, more out of habit than necessity. Tim barely reacted to the antiseptic.
Another bad sign.
People usually flinched.
Tim just… existed.
Jason finished wrapping the worst of it and leaned back slightly.
“That should hold.”
Tim nodded.
“Thanks.”
The word was so quiet Jason almost missed it.
Jason waved it off.
“Don’t get used to it.”
Tim’s head tilted back against the couch cushion.
For a moment he looked like he was just resting his eyes.
Then his breathing slowed.
Jason blinked.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The kid had fallen asleep mid-conversation.
Jason watched him for a few seconds.
Tim looked younger like this. Without the constant alertness in his posture or the calculating look in his eyes, he looked closer to the teenager he technically still was.
Jason grabbed a thin blanket from the back of a chair and tossed it over him.
“Don’t drool on my couch,” Jason muttered.
Tim didn’t respond.
The safehouse fell quiet again.
Jason leaned back in the chair across from him and folded his arms.
His brain kept replaying the night.
The rooftop.
The scars.
The way Tim had said I’ve been hesitating for years.
Jason scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Great job, Todd,” he muttered under his breath.
Across the room Tim shifted slightly.
His breathing changed.
Jason straightened a little.
Tim’s eyes cracked open slowly, unfocused.
For a second he just stared at the ceiling.
Then his gaze drifted toward Jason.
“…Hey,” Tim murmured.
Jason raised an eyebrow.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.”
Tim blinked at him.
Slowly.
Like his brain was still catching up.
Then he frowned faintly.
“…Did I succeed?”
Jason’s expression went flat.
“Succeed at what.”
Tim looked around the safehouse slowly.
The couch.
The blanket.
Jason sitting nearby.
“…Jumping,” Tim said.
Jason stared at him.
Tim tilted his head slightly, studying Jason like he was a puzzle.
“Huh.”
“What.”
Tim rubbed his eyes sleepily.
“I guess this is my version of heaven. Or hell. Hard to tell.”
Jason’s eyebrow twitched.
“Kid—”
“I always knew I wanted Jason to be my real brother,” Tim mumbled, half-asleep.
Jason froze.
Tim frowned slightly at the ceiling.
“But I didn’t know I was this pathetic about it.”
Jason just stared at him.
For a long moment he didn’t say anything.
Then Tim’s eyes drifted closed again.
The exhaustion dragged him under before Jason could respond.
The room went quiet.
Jason leaned back slowly in his chair.
“…Wow,” he muttered.
He looked at the sleeping teenager on his couch.
The kid who had bullied Batman into taking him as Robin.
Who had fought the League of Assassins.
Who had dragged Bruce Wayne back through time.
And who apparently thought the only way he’d ever get Jason Todd to treat him like a brother was if he died first.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck.
“That is… deeply messed up.”
Tim didn’t wake up.
Jason glanced toward the door of the safehouse.
Then back at the couch.
“…Yeah,” he sighed.
“No way I’m letting you out of my sight tonight.”
He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms.
And for the first time in years, Jason Todd stayed awake not because he was hunting criminals—
but because someone else needed him to keep watch.
Jason expected Tim to bolt sometime during the night.
Or at least by morning.
Tim Drake wasn’t the type to sit still. The kid had built his entire reputation on outthinking everyone around him and disappearing before they could argue.
Instead Jason woke up on the safehouse chair with a stiff neck and the realization that Tim was still on the couch.
Still asleep.
Jason checked the time.
Nine hours.
Jason blinked.
“…Huh.”
He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned.
Tim didn’t even wake up when Jason moved around the apartment making coffee.
That part concerned him.
The first two days were mostly sleep.
Tim slept on the couch, then the bed once Jason finally convinced him to use it. He woke up long enough to eat, drink water, mumble something sarcastic, and pass out again.
Jason didn’t comment on it.
He just kept handing him food.
“Eat.”
Tim squinted at the bowl Jason shoved toward him.
“…Is this soup?”
“Congratulations.”
“You made soup?”
Jason pointed a spoon at him.
“Don’t push it.”
Tim ate anyway.
By day three Tim started staying awake longer.
Which meant he also started trying to leave.
Jason caught him halfway to the door that morning.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Tim blinked.
“Patrol.”
Jason leaned against the doorframe.
“No.”
Tim frowned.
“Jason—”
“You tried to jump off a building four days ago.”
“I’m fine now.”
Jason stared at him.
Tim stared back.
They held eye contact for about ten seconds.
Tim sighed first.
“…You’re not going to let me go, are you.”
“Nope.”
Tim looked mildly offended.
Jason crossed his arms.
“You’re welcome to try fighting me about it.”
Tim considered that.
“…I’m too tired for that.”
Jason nodded once.
“Smart decision.”
By day five things started feeling… normal.
Not Batcave normal.
Something quieter.
Tim sat at the small kitchen table with Jason’s old laptop open, half a dozen news windows pulled up while he picked apart crime patterns out of habit.
Jason leaned against the counter cleaning a gun.
“You know,” Tim said without looking up, “most people would consider this kidnapping.”
Jason snorted.
“Most people didn’t try to swan dive off a building.”
Tim hummed.
“I was aiming more for pencil but fair.”
Jason snorted.
A moment passed.
Then Tim spoke again, quieter.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
Jason looked up.
“Do what.”
Tim gestured vaguely around the apartment.
“...All of it.”
Jason shrugged.
“You were the closest problem.”
Tim blinked.
“That’s not a real answer.”
Jason went back to cleaning the gun.
“Sure it is.”
Tim watched him for a second.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
It wasn’t a big smile.
But it was real.
Jason noticed.
And pretended he didn’t.
By day seven Tim was moving like himself again.
Quicker. Sharper.
Still tired around the edges, but no longer hollow.
Jason caught him doing a quick balance drill with a broom handle in the living room.
“Really?” Jason said.
Tim froze mid-spin.
“…It’s not a bo staff.”
Jason crossed his arms.
“You’re still not patrolling.”
“I know.”
Tim lowered the broom slowly.
Jason watched him for a moment.
Then the burner phone on the counter started ringing.
Jason frowned.
Almost no one had that number.
Tim glanced at the phone.
Jason picked it up.
The caller ID made his expression darken immediately.
Bruce Wayne.
Jason answered anyway.
“What.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Bruce’s voice came through the speaker.
“Jason.”
Jason leaned back against the counter.
“Bats lose something?”
“We’re looking for Tim,” Bruce said.
Jason’s jaw tightened.
Across the room Tim went very still.
Bruce continued.
“He hasn’t checked in for over a week.”
Jason barked a short laugh.
“Oh, now you’re looking for him.”
“Jason.”
Dick’s voice joined the call.
“Have you seen him?”
Jason glanced at Tim.
Tim was watching him carefully.
Not panicked.
Just… waiting.
Jason’s grip on the phone tightened.
“Funny thing,” Jason said. “You two suddenly remembering he exists.”
“Jason,” Dick said, voice strained, “this isn’t the time—”
“The hell it isn’t.”
Jason pushed off the counter.
“You know where the kid was last week?”
Neither of them answered.
Jason’s voice sharpened.
“On a rooftop.”
Silence filled the line.
Dick spoke first.
“…What.”
Jason looked at Tim again.
Tim shook his head.
Just slightly.
A silent request.
Don’t.
Jason clenched his jaw.
Bruce’s voice was lower now.
“Jason. What happened.”
Jason stared at the wall for a long moment.
Then he forced his voice flat.
“Haven’t seen him.”
Tim’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
Bruce didn’t sound convinced.
“If you hear from him—”
“Yeah,” Jason interrupted. “I’ll send a postcard.”
He hung up.
The room went quiet again.
Jason tossed the phone back on the counter harder than necessary.
Tim spoke carefully.
“…You didn’t have to lie.”
Jason scoffed.
“They don’t deserve the truth right now.”
Tim leaned against the table.
“They’re worried.”
Jason shot him a look.
“Were they worried last week?”
Tim didn’t answer.
Jason ran a hand through his hair.
“They threatened you with Arkham, Tim-Tam.”
“He didn’t mean—”
“I don’t care what he fucking meant!”
The words echoed through the small apartment.
Jason took a breath.
Then another.
Across the room Tim studied him quietly.
“…You’re really mad about that,” Tim said.
Jason snorted.
“Yeah. Weird, right?”
Tim looked down at the floor for a moment.
Then he said softly,
“…Thanks.”
Jason frowned.
“For what.”
Tim shrugged.
“For being on my side.”
Jason leaned back against the counter again.
“Don’t get used to it.”
Tim smiled faintly.
And this time Jason definitely noticed.
The phone vibrated.
Dick Grayson.
Jason snatched it up like he was about to throw it through the wall.
“What.”
“Jason,” Dick’s voice was tight, wary. “Where’s Tim?”
Jason snorted. “Oh, now you’re looking for him. Now. Funny how that works.”
“Jason—”
“No! Don’t even start with that soft-shoe bullshit. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
Jason let out a long, sharp laugh. “You let him fucking waste away! Do you have any idea how long he’s been running himself into the goddamn ground? Missing sleep, starving himself, taking hits that should have killed him—and you just—what? Thought he was fine because he didn’t cry?”
Dick swallowed. “…Jason, I didn’t—”
“Oh, you didn’t notice, huh?” Jason’s voice cut like a whip. “You didn’t notice the bruises stacking up, the cuts, the goddamn spleen he lost working for Ra’s? You didn’t notice he was letting himself get hurt, that he was carrying the weight of everyone around him and no one even blinked?”
Dick’s voice rose, defensive. “Jason, I—he’s Robin! He was being reckless! He’s been pushing everyone, and—”
“Bullshit!” Jason shouted. “That’s not the fucking point! He’s a kid, Dick! He’s sixteen, maybe seventeen, and you let him think he’s expendable! You let him think he was worth less than a damn title! And then you have the nerve to threaten him with Arkham?!”
“I didn’t mean it that way—”
“Didn’t mean it?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” Jason screamed. “You’re supposed to be the big brother here! The one who’s supposed to see the shit no one else does! You’re supposed to notice when the kid is about to fucking jump off a roof, and you didn’t! And then you wonder why he ran! Wonder why he didn’t tell anyone how bad it got!”
Tim’s footsteps were faint behind the bathroom door. Jason didn’t even notice. His voice was tearing through the apartment.
“You didn’t see the cuts he was hiding! You didn’t notice the bruises from Damian! You didn’t see the splintered ribs! You didn’t see the fucking hemorrhages from Ra’s al Ghul’s bullshit! And don’t even get me started on the fact that he’s carrying all this on top of losing his parents, Steph, Kon, and Bruce! Do you have any idea what that does to a kid?!”
“Jason—”
“I don’t want your ‘but I was tired’ excuse, Dick!” Jason’s hands shook, voice raw. “I don’t want the sob story about how you had to train Damian or whatever the fuck you think justifies this. He’s your kid! Or at least he’s supposed to be! And somehow, in the middle of all this, you just… didn’t fucking see him!”
There was a pause on the other end.
“…Where… where is he?”
Jason froze mid-pacing. He turned, voice low, dangerous. “I don’t know. And if I find him somewhere stupid, Dick, I swear to—”
“You’re telling me you don’t know?”
Jason’s fists clenched, knuckles white. “No! I don’t know! And maybe if you’d been paying attention instead of treating him like a damn machine, he wouldn’t have had to escape through a bathroom window in the first place!”
Dick went quiet. Jason could hear him breathing hard, the pause stretching.
“The Manor,” Dick finally muttered.
Jason’s stomach dropped. “…He went home to Bruce?”
Dick’s voice cracked. “…No not that manor, Drake manor. I—I didn’t… I didn’t think he’d do that…”
Jason snorted, bitter. “Yeah, no kidding. You didn’t think. You never think until something blows up in your face, do you?”
“Jason—”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, pacing faster. “Goddammit, Dick, how did you not know he was suicidal?! How did you not notice he was literally letting himself get injured? How the hell did you not notice he was missing a spleen and still working his ass off like nothing happened?!”
“Jason, calm down!”
“Calm down?! You think I can calm down after this shitshow?!” Jason’s voice cracked with anger. “He’s out there, probably thinking no one gives a damn! And you’re worried about—what? Your own guilt? You should be worried about the kid you let get to the point he’s running to a goddamn window to escape!”
Tim, somewhere at Drake Manor, was slipping through the shadows unaware that his older brothers were screaming across the city.
Jason grabbed his jacket. “Tell me everything in that damn place. Every window, every roof, every access point. He doesn’t get lost. Not tonight. Not ever.”
Dick swallowed hard. “Okay… okay. I’ll help. Just… just find him first.”
Jason let out a low growl, grabbing his grapnel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Oh, we’re finding him. And Dick… you better be paying attention from now on. Or so help me, I swear to God—”
He didn’t finish. Words weren’t enough. Actions were.
Jason Todd was about to tear through Gotham rooftops like a storm. And nothing—no window, no locked door, no corner of Drake Manor—was going to stop him from getting to Tim.
The air inside Drake Manor was cold.
Jason had expected it to be quieter than the city outside, but it was worse than he imagined. Silent. Empty.
He moved fast, every sense alert. Roofs, fire escapes, and hallways scrolled through his mind like a mental map. Tim wasn’t going to stick to the obvious paths.
Jason stepped lightly into the entryway, noting every shadow, every reflective surface. The place smelled faintly of old wood, dust, and memories.
“Kid,” Jason muttered under his breath. “If you even think about running, I swear—”
The sound of distant footsteps upstairs made him freeze.
“Dick,” he muttered, bitter. “Of course.”
Jason didn’t have time for pleasantries. He vaulted the stairs two at a time, ignoring the creak of the wood beneath his boots.
At the top floor, he slowed. The hallway split in two directions. He followed the instinct that had kept him alive in far worse situations than this one.
The door to Tim’s old bedroom was closed.
Jason approached silently, ears straining. No movement at first. Then… a faint rustle.
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Found you,” he whispered.
The door was unlocked. He eased it open.
And froze.
Tim was sitting in the closet.
Not just sitting. He was huddled against the far wall, knees pulled up, head resting on his arms.
Around him were stacks of photographs and a small box. Jason’s eyes flicked over the items carefully arranged in chronological order—oldest to newest. Pictures of Batman and Robin. Dick as Robin, Jason as Robin, Tim in red and black, Robin masks, Batcave schematics.
The boy hadn’t moved anything in a hurry. He had methodically recreated his life in that tiny space, his history tucked away where no one could touch it.
Jason’s chest tightened.
“Kid,” he said quietly.
Tim’s head snapped up. Wide, fearful eyes staring at him.
Jason took a step closer, hands open, careful. “It’s me. Jason. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Tim flinched, shrinking back deeper into the corner. The box clutched to his chest.
“Don’t come closer,” he whispered.
Jason stopped. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Kid, you’ve been hiding here like this for what, a few hours?”
Tim swallowed, eyes darting to the photographs. “I… I wanted to be alone.”
“Alone? You were almost dead alone, Tim. You jumped off a building. You didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep, you didn’t tell anyone. And you thought hiding in a closet would make it better?” Jason’s voice cracked with anger and frustration.
Tim shook slightly, looking down at the box. “I… I just… I wanted… I wanted to remember.”
Jason’s gaze softened slightly. “…Remember what?”
Tim’s fingers fiddled with the edge of the box. “Everything. Bruce. You. Dick. Jason. I… I needed to see it all in order. The pictures. The masks. The… the plans. I thought if I kept it right, maybe I’d… maybe I’d feel like I belonged.”
Jason’s jaw clenched. Rage and something else—a mix of guilt and protectiveness—wrote itself across his face. “You don’t need to hide your life in a closet, kid. You’re not… disposable. You’re not just some collection of memories for other people to ignore.”
Tim’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “But no one noticed. No one… cared.”
Jason crouched in front of him, voice low and sharp. “I notice. I care. And I’m not leaving until you see that.”
Tim’s hands shook as he pressed the box tighter to his chest. “…You mean it?”
“Yeah, I mean it,” Jason said, forcing himself to stay calm. “…You’re my brother, whether you like it or not. You survived all the shit that should have broken you, and I’m not letting anyone—least of all Dick—treat you like you don’t matter.”
Tim blinked. “…Really?”
Jason’s lips twisted into a half-smile. “…Really. Now, come on. We’ve got a little problem with someone else showing up. Dick’s probably somewhere in the house, and he has questions. Big questions.”
Tim hesitated, looking at the closet, at the box, at the photographs. “…Do I… have to go out?”
Jason’s expression softened. “…Yeah. But I’m with you. I’m not letting you face him alone.”
Tim nodded slowly, clutching the box. For the first time all week, Jason saw the tiniest spark of relief in his eyes.
Jason got to his feet, holding out a hand. “Come on, kid. Let’s face the music together. And if Dick tries anything… I’ve got words that will make him regret every day of his life.”
Tim’s lips curved faintly. “…Okay.”
Jason’s grin was feral. “…Good. Let’s go wreck some guilt.”
Jason didn’t get far before the floorboard creaked behind them.
“…Tim?”
Tim froze.
Jason shifted immediately, stepping just slightly in front of him—not blocking, just… there.
Dick stood at the end of the hallway.
He looked wrecked.
Eyes bloodshot. Shoulders tight. Like he’d been running on adrenaline and guilt for too long.
“Hey,” Dick said carefully.
Tim didn’t answer.
His grip tightened around the box in his hands.
Jason crossed his arms. “Took you long enough.”
“Jason—”
“No,” Jason cut in. “You don’t get to start soft now.”
Dick ignored him.
His eyes stayed locked on Tim.
“I’ve been looking everywhere,” he said.
Tim let out a quiet breath.
“…Okay.”
That was it.
No relief. No emotion.
Just… okay.
Dick flinched.
Jason’s expression darkened. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Tim shrugged faintly.
“What do you want me to say?”
There was no bite to it.
That made it worse.
Dick took a step closer. “I want you to come home.”
Something in Tim’s posture shifted.
Not movement.
Tension.
“I am home,” Tim said quietly.
Jason didn’t miss how his voice dipped on the word.
Dick did.
His jaw tightened. “Tim—this isn’t—”
“You didn’t tell me,” Tim said.
Flat.
Dick stopped.
“…What?”
“You gave Robin to Damian,” Tim said, still staring at the floor. “You didn’t tell me.”
Dick exhaled. “Tim, that wasn’t—”
“You threatened Arkham.”
Jason’s head snapped toward Tim.
Dick froze.
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“I know,” Tim said quickly.
Too quickly.
Like he needed to say it before Dick could explain.
“I know you didn’t mean it,” Tim repeated, quieter now. “You were tired. You were stressed. I get it.”
Jason frowned.
This wasn’t right.
Tim wasn’t fighting.
He was… excusing.
Dick stepped forward again. “Then you understand—”
“No.”
Tim’s voice cracked.
Just slightly.
Everyone went still.
Tim swallowed hard, like he hadn’t meant for that to slip out.
“I don’t,” he said again, weaker this time.
His hands tightened around the box.
“I tried,” he added. “I tried to understand.”
Jason felt something twist in his chest.
Dick’s expression softened. “Tim—”
“I kept telling you Bruce was alive,” Tim said.
His voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
“I had evidence. Patterns. I wasn’t guessing.”
Dick rubbed his face. “You were pushing yourself too far, I thought if I could just get you to stop—”
“So you threatened me,” Tim said.
Dick winced. “I didn’t think you’d take it like—”
“How was I supposed to take it?”
That one landed.
Tim finally looked up.
His eyes were glassy.
Not angry.
Just… worn down.
“You think I didn’t know I sounded crazy?” he said. “You think I didn’t know how it looked?”
Dick didn’t answer.
Tim laughed weakly.
“I knew. I just thought… you’d still believe me anyway.”
That did it.
Dick’s face cracked.
Jason didn’t move.
Didn’t interrupt.
Because this—this was the part Tim needed to say.
“I thought if anyone would,” Tim continued, voice thinning, “it would be you.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Dick’s voice dropped. “…I was trying to protect you.”
Tim shook his head.
Slow.
“I didn’t need that.”
His grip slipped slightly on the box.
“I needed you to stay.”
That word broke.
Stay.
“I needed you to trust me,” Tim said, barely holding it together now. “Just… once.”
Jason’s jaw clenched.
Dick stepped forward instinctively. “Tim—”
Tim flinched.
Actually flinched.
And that—
That hit harder than anything else.
Dick stopped like he’d been struck.
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know!” Tim snapped.
And there it was.
The anger.
But it didn’t last.
It collapsed almost immediately.
“I know you weren’t,” he said again, voice unraveling. “That’s the problem.”
His breathing hitched.
He looked down again, blinking too fast now.
“I keep telling myself that,” he said. “That you didn’t mean it. That Bruce didn’t mean it. That none of you meant any of it.”
Jason went very still.
Tim’s voice dropped to almost nothing.
“But it still happened.”
A tear slipped down before he could stop it.
He wiped at it quickly, like it annoyed him.
“I just—” he started, then stopped.
Tried again.
“I just wanted someone to actually—”
His voice broke completely this time.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes hard, like he could force it back.
“…care,” he finished.
Silence.
No one moved.
Tim’s shoulders shook once.
Then again.
He let out a small, frustrated breath, like he was mad at himself for this.
“I’m so tired,” he said quietly.
Jason looked away for a second.
Because that one—
That one hit too close.
Tim laughed weakly through it, voice hollow.
“I did everything right,” he said. “I figured it out. I brought him back. I didn’t quit.”
His hands tightened again.
“And it still didn’t matter.”
Dick looked like he couldn’t breathe.
“…It matters,” he said hoarsely.
Tim shook his head.
Not angry.
Not dramatic.
Just… certain.
“It doesn’t,” he said.
That was the bleakest line in the room.
Jason pushed off the wall slightly.
Ready.
Just in case.
Dick finally stopped trying to explain.
Because there was nothing left to defend.
“…I failed you,” he said.
The words were quiet.
But they stuck.
Tim didn’t respond.
Dick swallowed hard.
“I should’ve listened. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve—” his voice cracked slightly, “—been there.”
Jason watched carefully.
This was different.
No excuses.
Just truth.
Dick took a slow step forward.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Not the easy kind. Not the ‘I didn’t mean it’ kind.”
Tim’s shoulders tensed.
“The kind where I know I hurt you anyway,” Dick continued. “And I don’t get to undo that.”
Silence.
Tim lowered his hand slowly from his face.
His eyes were red now.
Exhausted.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
Not forgiveness.
Not acceptance.
Just… he heard it.
And that was all he had left to give.
Jason exhaled quietly.
Yeah.
That was real.
The safehouse was quiet when they got back.
Not tense.
Just… still.
Tim made it a few steps inside before stopping like his body had run out of instructions.
Jason locked the door behind them out of habit, then glanced over.
“…You planning to stand there all night, or—”
Tim blinked.
Right.
He moved, slower this time, and dropped onto the couch without a word.
Jason watched him for half a second.
Then turned toward the kitchen.
“Stay conscious,” he said. “I just found you and I’m about to feed you. Don’t make it a waste of resources.”
Tim let out a faint breath that might’ve been a laugh.
“…No promises.”
“Unacceptable.”
Cabinets opened. Something clinked.
Tim leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
Everything felt… quiet.
Not peaceful.
Just… empty in a way that didn’t hurt as much.
Jason came back a minute later and shoved a bowl into his hands.
“Eat.”
Tim looked down.
“…Pasta.”
“Yes, Detective. You’ve cracked the case.”
Tim glanced up at him.
“You cooked.”
Jason gave him a look. “I can read Dostoevsky. I can boil water. I contain multitudes.”
Tim huffed softly despite himself.
“…That’s not how that quote goes.”
“It is now. Eat.”
Tim did.
The first bite hit harder than he expected.
Warm. Simple. Real.
Jason sat across from him, watching just long enough to make sure he kept eating, then started on his own.
They didn’t talk for a bit.
Just the quiet scrape of forks and the low hum of the safehouse.
Tim’s shoulders dropped a fraction more with every bite.
Jason noticed.
Filed it away.
Didn’t say anything.
When Tim finished, he held the bowl for a second before setting it down.
“…Thanks.”
Jason shrugged. “Don’t make it a habit. I have a reputation.”
Tim glanced at him.
“…You absolutely do not.”
“Rude.”
Jason stood, took the bowls, and dumped them in the sink.
Then he walked over to the TV.
Tim frowned faintly.
“…What are you doing.”
Jason didn’t look back.
“Intervention.”
“That sounds concerning.”
“It should.”
A few clicks.
Then—
Soft piano music filled the room.
Tim blinked slowly.
“…No.”
Jason sat back down like nothing was unusual.
“Yes.”
Tim stared at the screen.
“…You’re putting on Pride and Prejudice.”
“Correct.”
“The 1995 version.”
Jason pointed at the TV without looking at him. “Best adaptation. Strong visual language. Efficient emotional pacing. Darcy’s arc actually lands. And it follows the novels plot.”
Tim turned his head, studying him like a new species.
“…You have a thesis prepared.”
“I’ve had this argument before.”
Tim shook his head slightly.
“…You’re serious.”
Jason finally glanced at him.
“Tim. I’ve read worse men than Darcy try to justify themselves in three volumes. This is relaxing.”
Tim let out a quiet, tired laugh.
It slipped out before he could stop it.
“…Okay.”
They settled into silence after that.
The movie played.
Rain tapped lightly against the windows.
Tim shifted sideways on the couch at some point, pulling one leg up without really thinking about it.
Jason didn’t comment.
He just grabbed a blanket from the chair and tossed it at him.
Tim caught it automatically.
“…Subtle.”
“Don’t read into it.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
Tim wrapped it around himself anyway.
Halfway through the movie—
“…You actually like this,” Tim said.
Jason didn’t look away.
“It’s structurally sound.”
Tim blinked.
“…Structurally sound.”
“Yes. Two intelligent people misread each other, double down, suffer consequences, then correct course. Classic.”
Tim tilted his head slightly.
“That is… weirdly on brand for you.”
“I’m offended you’re surprised.”
Tim’s lips twitched.
“…You’re comparing Gotham to Jane Austen.”
“I’m saying emotional incompetence is a universal constant.”
Tim snorted softly.
That one stuck.
The room went quiet again.
Comfortable.
Steady.
Tim’s head tipped back against the couch.
His eyes were open, but unfocused now.
Not thinking.
Not spiraling.
Just… resting.
Jason glanced over.
Took in the blanket. The posture. The fact that Tim hadn’t moved toward the door once.
Good.
Jason leaned back in his chair.
“…Hey.”
Tim hummed faintly in response.
Jason hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—
“You did good.”
Tim went still.
Jason didn’t look at him.
“You figured it out,” he said. “Bruce. The timeline. All of it.”
A pause.
“That’s not nothing.”
Tim’s fingers tightened slightly in the blanket.
“…Didn’t feel like it mattered.”
Jason shrugged, eyes still on the screen.
“Darcy spends half the story thinking he’s already screwed everything up.”
Tim blinked.
“…You’re not—”
“I’m saying,” Jason cut in, “being wrong about the outcome doesn’t mean the effort didn’t count.”
Tim stared at him for a second.
Jason finally glanced over.
“…You brought him back,” he said, simpler this time. “That matters. Whether they said it or not.”
Tim swallowed.
The tightness in his chest didn’t disappear.
But it… shifted.
Just a little.
“…Okay,” he said quietly.
Jason nodded once.
That was enough.
They went back to watching.
No big moment.
No pressure.
Just—
A movie.
A blanket.
And someone who stayed without being asked.