Chapter Text
Jason came to fight Robin.
The stubborn kid who followed Batman until he became Robin.
The leader of Young Justice and Titans
The fearless kid he heard about.
And instead he finds…
someone gentle.
Someone who quietly waters roses, spends evenings playing chess with Alfred.
He excuses himself from arguments and leaves a room the moment voices start rising.
Jason hates it immediately.
Not because Tim is weak.
Because Jason thinks Batman broke him.
The first meeting goes badly. Jason corners Tim in an alley after school. Realization flashes across Tim’s face. He shoes relief, genuine relief.
“Oh.”
Jason freezes. He expected fear or shock, not happiness.
“You came back.”
Jason had rehearsed speeches, accusations, threats, questions. He did not expect this.
“You aren’t surprised?”
Tim shrugs.
“A little.”
Jason stares. Tim looks exactly the same, just older than on the photos.
But something feels, different, quieter and smaller, as though he’s was trying to take up least space possible.
Jason suddenly hates Bruce even more.
Jason starts watching him, because something is wrong.
Tim doesn’t patrol, fight, train with the others, or even seem interested in becoming Robin again.
Everyone treats him like glass. Especially Bruce and Barbara. That bothers Jason more than anything. Bruce barely protected him when he was Robin. Now suddenly he’s hovering?
One evening Jason sneaks into the Manor.
Tim is in the greenhouse. As usual not training, studying case files or doing anything ‘useful’. He was just repotting a fern.
Jason can’t help it and asks.
“What happened to you?”
Tim blinks.
“What do you mean?”
“You used to be Robin.”
“I know.”
“You were good at it.”
“I know.”
“You could still do it.”
“I know.”
Jason throws his hands up.
“Then why aren’t you?”
Tim looks down at the plant.
Long silence.
“I don’t want to.”
Simple and honest.
Jason doesn’t know what to do with that answer.
The thing is, Tim isn’t afraid. Jason expects fear, shock, or at least panic, maybe even nightmares. Instead he finds avoidance.
The moment something becomes uncomfortable…
Tim leaves.
Not runs.
Leaves.
Quietly.
Deliberately.
Like somebody extinguishing a candle.
Arguments?
Gone.
Mission discussions?
Gone.
Loud parties?
Gone.
Media attention?
Gone.
Jason eventually mistakes it for weakness.
Until he sees Tim relapse.
Nothing extraordinary, a kidnapping. Some gang thinks Bruce Wayne’s adopted son is easy prey. Jason hears about it afterward. Figures Batman will handle it.
Then he sees the security footage.
Five armed men.
Tim alone.
No costume.
No equipment.
No warning.
For the first few seconds Tim looks terrified, actually terrified, then something changes. Jason can’t explain it. The fear vanishes, but he doest see courage or confidence. It turns simply into nothing, emptiness. It feels like somebody flipped a switch.
Thirty seconds later all five men are on the ground, two unconscious, one got dislocated shoulder, other one got broken wrist and the last one got concussion.
Tim walks away.
Expressionless.
Jason watches the footage three times. Because the movements don’t match the person he knows. They are efficient. Professional. Brutal.
Bruce arrives halfway through the replay and Immediately turns the monitor off. Too late, Jason already saw.
“What the hell was that?”
Bruce says nothing.
Barbara looks sick.
Actually sick.
Suddenly Jason realizes, they aren’t protective because Tim is weak. They’re protective because they know something Jason is missing.
The truth comes out eventually. Not from Bruce or Barbara. It comes from Joker in form of taunting, because of course it does, because Joker can’t resist ruining things.
Afterward Jason understands, somehow it makes everything worse, because the person tending flowers, drinking tea with Alfred, reading fairy tales as well as the person quietly leaving uncomfortable situations isn’t him pretending.
It’s who Tim chose to become. He fought to become what he is now. Enjoying simple things.
The next time Jason sees him in the greenhouse, he sits down beside him. No jokes, teasing or lectures, just silence. Eventually Tim offers him a cup of tea, Jason takes it. They sit there for nearly an hour.
Finally Jason asks.
“You could still be Robin, couldn’t you?”
Tim smiles slightly.
“Probably.”
“And you don’t want to.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Tim looks around the greenhouse.
At the flowers.
At the book beside him.
At the open window.
At the sunlight.
At the life he’d built.
Then he says:
“Because I like this better.”
And Jason can’t think of a single argument against that.