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Tim Drake was tired. No, not tired. That was not a strong enough word to describe the bone-deep, penetrating, all-encompassing exhaustion that seeped into each and every crevice of Tim’s body and mind. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened; there were no breakouts at Arkham, Damian had not made an attempt on his life in over a week now, Bruce had even complimented his efficiency in handling the casework following Condiment Kings last attack. No, this tired was something Tim had long-since become acquainted with through long nights of loneliness, pressure, and betrayal. It had plagued him for years; ever since the second Robin—Tim’s Robin—disappeared from Gotham’s streets for good and Batman nearly drove himself into an early grave. Ever since Tim chose to pick up the pieces of a broken man, a broken family, and hold them together with no expectation of reciprocation.
On nights like these, there was one place Tim went, despite the guilt that ate away at his chest each time. One place that calmed the endless pit that made a home in his chest and stomach.
Jason Todd’s bedroom was little more than a shrine the first time Tim had stepped foot inside. Even now, not much had changed. Despite Jason’s return to the family, the Red Hood did not often spend nights at the manor, often preferring to abscond to a safe house and return whenever it was convenient for him. Tim was ashamed to admit that he had taken advantage of his absence in the space more than once since his return.
There was a framed poem on the wall across from Jason’s bed. It was hand lettered in black brushstrokes, each word sure and certain. Beneath the text was a watercolor of a pair of Canadian geese mid-flight, their wings open wide and necks stretch to the horizon just beyond the edge of the page. Tim had every inch of the creamy paper memorized after countless long nights spent curled up at the foot of his fallen Robin’s bed. Back when he first began to stay at the manor, when Bruce’s grief was fresh and violent and Tim sought out any ounce of comfort and stability he could get. Comfort he found in the shrine dedicated to a dead boy. His Robin.
Before Jason had returned, this had been his secret. He had not dared come back into this room since Red Hood had taken up residence in Wayne Manor.
Tim’s eyes traced each word, forcing his eyes to focus in on each letter, then the slope and shape of each brushstroke that made up the geese.
You do not have to be good.
A shadow loomed in the doorway. Odd, Tim hadn’t heard anyone in the hall. Jason wouldn’t be happy, he didn’t like people coming into his space. Tim let his eyes slip shut, the pounding in his head subsiding just for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the shadow was towering over him. He blinked, forcing his pupils to cooperate. The figure shifted into focus, and Tim couldn’t muster enough energy to care when he met angry green eyes.
Jasons lips were pulled back in a snarl and his brow was pinched. His hair was wet, and he had a towel slung over his shoulders. He must have come up from the gym in the cave.
“The hell are you doing in here, replacement?”
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
Tim’s eyes slid shut again, and he allowed himself one last moment to bask in the comfort of Jason’s presence. It might be the last moment he had with his Robin; if Jason didn’t beat him into next week for trespassing, then surely he’d convince Bruce that Tim was a creep and more trouble than he was worth. Then he’d be out on his own again in a too-big mansion with a too-big heart and an untethered guilt complex finally free to destroy Tim’s life without the guardrails of being Robin. Selfishly, he turned his face into Jason’s blanket, and allowed the soft fabric to soothe his burning cheeks.
“The hell is wrong with you?” Jason was really, truly angry now. Of course Tim had to go and ruin whatever even footing they had found themselves on following his recovery from he attack on Titans Tower.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
“I’m sorry,” Tim whispered, barely audible in the otherwise silent room. He forced himself up and away from he comfort of the blanket and allowed his muscles to slacken. When he opened his eyes, he was not met with the snarling face of the famously violent Red Hood. Jason Todd stared down at him, mouth pulled into a frown and brow creased.
Leave it to Tim to disappoint his hero.
“…Tim?”
“I’m sorry,” Tim said again. And, hell, there were tears gathering in the corners of his eyes now.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
“Hey.”
Tim must haven finally been losing it, because there was no way Red Hood—Robin, his hero—would speak that softly to him.
“Tim, come on. Work with me here.”
A rough, calloused thumb gently—oh so gently—swiped across the tender skin just beneath Tim’s right eye, spreading moisture in its wake. A hand began to gently pet through the short hair at the base of his skull, and he couldn’t help the strangled sob that escaped him. Tim bit down harshly on his bottom lip and did not allow himself to make the same mistake twice, to show his weakness in such a disgusting, mortifying way. The thumb on his cheek shifted to catch more tears. Tim allowed himself one last steadying breath, and pried his eyes open again.
Jason’s concern was painted across his face, an expression foreign from those usually directed Tim’s way by the older boy. He licked his lips, nervous, and Tim tracked the movement with rapt attention.
“What’s going on?” Jason was staring deep into his eyes now, as if they held to secret as to why the sixteen year old he had once tried to kill was falling apart in his room.
“You do not have to be good,” Tim whispered. The crease between Jason’s eyebrows deepened, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. “You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.” His tears were falling now, sobs tearing from his throat, loud and ugly. He wouldn’t have been able to continue speaking even if he wanted to.
Jason’s voice was softer now, and confused. “You do not have to…” He paused, and out of the corner of his eye, Tim watched as the older boys eyes darted around the room before settling on the wall across from the bed. When he spoke again, there was something heavy in his voice. “You do not have to be good.”
“Sorry.” Tim wasn’t certain the word was audible through the sobs that continued to wrack his body, but decided it didn’t matter and buried his face deeper into the blanket again and allowed it to block out the light. He wasn’t certain what Jason’s reaction would be; he had every right to be furious at Tim for invading his space and dirtying his blanket. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been thrown out yet, or at least beaten or kicked.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
After a long moment, those gentle fingers from before were reaching out and carding softly though Tim’s hair. The shock alone was enough to halt his sobs for just a moment, and he looked up into familiar-but-changed blue-green eyes.
“Hey there, Timbo,” Jason whispered.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.
Suddenly, Jason was shifting forward, and Tim’s entire field of vision was taken up by the soft gray of his sweatpants. Sure fingers traced down his cheek and hooked under his chin, tilting his face up to lock eyes with the older boy.
“Jason,” Tim whispered, voice hoarse.
“Rough day, replacement?”
A sob tore its way through Tim again and he squeezed his eyes shut. Jason winced.
“Sorry, sorry.” His other hand came up to card through Tim’s hair again and shifted him so that his head was resting on the meat of his thigh. “Bad timing, that was my bad.”
“S’okay,” Tim murmured, sinking further into the comfort of blunt nails on his scalp.
They sat there in silence for a long moment; just Tim, Jason, and something small and tender gathering in the space between their bodies. It was Jason who finally broke the gentle quiet.
“How long have you been coming into my old room, Timmy?”
Tim’s face heated. “A while. Feels safe.
Jason snorted, the movement jostling Tim’s head. “The Red Hood’s room feels safe to you? You know I almost killed you, right?”
“You were my Robin.” Tim certain he was crying again, but he couldn’t muster up the strength to care. “You’re my Robin, Jason. There is nowhere safer.” The fingers in Tim’s hair stilled
“Oh.” Tim shifted, and when he looked up, Jason’s eyes were wet with tears. “You— I—” He cleared his throat. “All this time?”
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.
“When it all starts to feel like too much, I come here. The poem helps.” Tim was the one to move, now, and shifted to wrap the blanket over the top of his body and around Jason’s back. “It’s so hard sometimes. Being Robin.”
Jasons chuckle was watery. “You’re telling me, kid.”
Unable to help himself, Tim snorted. Jasons responding smile was the brightest thing he had seen in weeks.
“I’m glad,” Jason said, suddenly. “I’m glad you’ve been able to come in here. When you needed to. And…” His hand moved to rest gently on Tim’s arm. “Fuck, Tim. I’m sorry. When I attacked you… I wasn’t angry with you, not really. Fuck, you’re just a kid.”
“So are you,” Tim pointed out. “Not like you were in your right mind anyways. With the Pit and Talia and all that.”
“Still… you deserve more than that kid. You deserve a brother who can man up and apologize before finding you mid-breakdown in his old room.”
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
“A brother?” Tim asked, voice trembling.
“Yeah, kid.” Jason was smiling down at him again, and his hand moved so his fingers could card through Tim’s hair again. “If you’ll have me.”
Tim didn’t bother responding, just shifted closer and allowed his eyes to slip closed. Jason’s quiet laugh was enough, it always had been.
Over and over announcing your place in the family of things.