You Don't Have to Be Alone Anymore

Jason Todd's soulmate mark says No, you can't be.

He's pretty sure that means he's doomed.

Then he meets Robin.

Things rapidly spiral into Jason accidentally becoming Tim Drake's safe place, Bruce discovering he's been lied to for nearly a year, Janet Drake taking over wedding planning, Alfred adopting another child against his will, and Gotham becoming convinced Jason Todd-Wayne runs the mafia.

Or: a soulmate AU where the marks don't stop changing after you meet, because sometimes your first words aren't the ones that matter most.

Work Text:

Jason had worn the words across his ribs for as long as he could remember.

No, you can’t be.

They stretched from one side of his chest to the other, pale against his skin like old scars. Every soulmate had first words. Some were sweet. Some were awkward. Some were mundane enough that people laughed about them years later.

Jason’s were a rejection.

Not I don’t know you.

Not Who are you?

Not even Get away from me.

Just four words that carried absolute certainty.

No, you can’t be.

As though whoever they belonged to had taken one look at him and decided he wasn’t enough.

He hadn’t needed anyone to explain what they meant. Even as a child, sleeping in alleys and stealing tires to survive, he’d understood.

Someone out there was going to meet him someday…

…and wish they hadn’t.

His father certainly never let him forget it.

“You know what those mean?” Willis would sneer whenever the marks were visible beneath the fraying collar of Jason’s shirt. “Means even the one person made for you doesn’t want your sorry ass.”

Sometimes Catherine would tell him to stop.

Most times she was too tired, too sick, or too lost to bother.

Jason learned early not to think about soulmates.

It hurt less that way.

When Bruce Wayne adopted him, he tried.

Not at first—not immediately. At first Bruce had bigger things to worry about than the strange, bitter words etched across the chest of the kid he’d taken in.

But eventually he’d noticed.

Jason remembered standing in the manor bathroom, fresh bruises fading under hot water, when Bruce had quietly asked about them.

Jason had shrugged.

“They mean my soulmate doesn’t want me.”

Bruce’s expression had tightened.

“That’s not necessarily true.”

Jason had laughed.

“It literally says no, you can’t be.”

“It could mean any number of things.”

“They’re rejecting me.”

Bruce had knelt so they were eye level.

“You don’t know that.”

Jason had wanted to believe him.

God, he’d wanted to.

Bruce spoke with the certainty of someone who always believed there was another explanation, another solution, another chance.

Jason wanted that certainty too.

But every time he caught sight of those words in the mirror, they felt final.

They felt like fate.

Becoming Robin helped.

Not because the marks disappeared.

They never did.

But because Robin didn’t have time to think about soulmates.

Robin had patrols.

Robin had school.

Robin had training until his muscles screamed.

Robin had Batman.

There were always criminals to chase, mysteries to solve, lives to save.

Jason got good at forgetting.

Or pretending to.

Sometimes, after patrol, exhausted enough to collapse into bed still wearing half his uniform, he’d catch sight of the pale lettering in the bathroom mirror.

He’d look away before he could read it.

Then came the Joker.

There wasn’t enough pain in the world to describe it.

The warehouse.

The laughter.

The crowbar.

Metal slammed into bone again.

Again.

His body stopped feeling like his own somewhere around the twentieth swing.

Every breath burned.

Every heartbeat hurt.

Blood filled his mouth.

He thought he’d scream.

Instead—

At least now you’re free of me.

It wasn’t directed at Bruce.

Or Dick.

Or Alfred.

It wasn’t even directed at himself.

It was for the stranger who had written rejection across his ribs before they’d ever met.

There.

Jason remembered thinking hazily as another blow shattered something inside him.

Now you don’t have to worry.

You were right.

I’m gone.

The explosion came afterward.

Then…

Nothing.

Death wasn’t the end.

Not for Jason Todd.

He clawed his way back into the world angry, broken, and wrong.

His memories came in pieces.

His body didn’t feel like it belonged to him.

His mind was worse.

And when he finally looked in the mirror—

The words were still there.

No, you can’t be.

Jason stared at them for a long time.

He laughed.

Then he punched the mirror hard enough to shatter it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He had died.

Actually died.

And apparently even death wasn’t enough to free his soulmate from him.

That should have hurt.

Instead—

It made him furious.

How could someone reject a person they’d never met?

How could fate be cruel enough to tie him to someone who had already decided he wasn’t worth knowing?

Then he learned Bruce had replaced him.

Robin wasn’t a memory.

Robin wasn’t gone.

Robin was alive and laughing and running across Gotham rooftops beside Batman as though Jason had never existed.

As though he hadn’t bled for that mantle.

As though he hadn’t died wearing those colors.

Timothy Drake.

Smaller than Jason had been.

Smarter.

Cleaner.

Better.

Everyone said so.

He fought like he’d been born for it.

Batman let him patrol alone.

Trusted him.

Relied on him.

Everything Jason had spent years trying to earn had been handed to someone else.

Bruce should never have put another child in a dead boy’s clothes.

Which was exactly why Jason found himself standing in Titans Tower.

The alarms had already been disabled.

The security cameras looped.

The Titans were scattered across the building, none of them aware that Red Hood was already inside.

Jason leaned against the doorway of the common room and watched the boy bent over a laptop.

Timothy Drake.

Robin.

His replacement.

Tim looked younger up close.

Tired.

Dark circles under bright blue eyes.

A coffee cup sat abandoned beside the keyboard.

Jason almost laughed.

Bruce really did have a type.

He pushed away from the doorframe.

The movement was enough.

Tim looked up.

Their eyes met.

Jason smiled beneath his helmet.

“Hello, Little Bird.”

Tim’s entire body went rigid.

His face drained of color.

His eyes widened—not with fear.

With recognition.

He whispered, barely audible,

“No… you can’t be.”

Pain exploded across Jason’s ribs.

He gasped.

It felt like someone had driven molten metal beneath his skin.

His soulmate mark flared, burning bright beneath armor and leather, the familiar words blazing with impossible heat before beginning to change.

Jason’s breath caught.

Across the room, Tim clutched at his own side with a strangled sound, staring at Jason as if he’d seen a ghost.

Maybe he had.

Because Jason had spent his entire life believing those words belonged to someone who would reject him on sight.

Instead—

They belonged to the boy standing over his grave.

—

Jason did what he had always done when the world became too much.

He ran.

He didn't answer Tim.

Didn't acknowledge the look of stunned recognition on the younger boy's face. Didn't ask why. Didn't wait to see if the words on Tim's skin had changed too.

He simply turned and disappeared.

Tim shouted after him.

"Jason, wait!"

His name echoed through Titans Tower, following him down the hallway and out into the night.

Jason never looked back.

He made it all the way to Gotham before he stopped moving.

The city welcomed him home with dirty rain, flickering neon, and the comforting hum of organized crime.

Red Hood slipped back into place like armor.

Jason buried himself in work.

If he wasn't sleeping—which wasn't often—he was planning.

If he wasn't planning, he was hunting.

Drug dealers who sold to children disappeared first.

Then the traffickers.

Pimps who thought the women working under them were property found themselves hanging upside down from bridges or tied to police station doors with every piece of evidence Jason could gather stuffed into their pockets.

The girls who worked Crime Alley learned quickly that Red Hood's territory was one of the safest places in Gotham.

No one was allowed to hurt them.

Not if Jason had anything to say about it.

His lieutenants noticed he was working longer hours.

No one commented on it.

They simply brought him more reports, more names, more places that needed cleaning up.

Jason welcomed it.

Paperwork was easier than thinking.

Violence was easier than feeling.

He threw himself into building his empire until there wasn't room in his schedule to remember the horrified look on Tim's face.

Until there wasn't time to wonder why fate had paired him with the one person he could never have.

The one person he'd sworn to break.

Because that was the cruelest part.

It wasn't that Tim was his soulmate.

It was that Jason had gone to Titans Tower intending to hurt him.

Maybe kill him.

He'd planned contingencies.

Escape routes.

How long it would take to disable Robin before the Titans could interfere.

He'd walked into that building prepared to spill his soulmate's blood.

Sometimes, late at night, when sleep refused to come, Jason would stare at the ceiling of his apartment and wonder what would have happened if Tim hadn't spoken first.

If those four words had stayed buried beneath their skin.

Would Jason have pulled the trigger?

...

He never let himself answer.

Months passed.

The city kept spinning.

Batman kept patrolling.

Robin kept appearing beside him.

And Jason kept pretending that nothing had changed.

Pretending the ache beneath his ribs whenever he thought about Tim was just another scar.

His illusion shattered on an ordinary Tuesday.

The meeting was being held in the back room of one of Hood's legitimate businesses.

Around the table sat six of his highest-ranking lieutenants, maps and financial reports spread between them.

"The east dock shipment is delayed," one of them reported. "Black Mask's people have been sniffing around."

Jason barely looked up.

"Move it to Pier Twelve. Double security."

Another lieutenant nodded. "Done."

"The traffickers from Burnley—"

The window exploded inward.

Glass rained across the room.

Every gun in the room was drawn before the last shard hit the floor.

Robin landed in a crouch amidst the broken glass, cape billowing behind him.

Bright green domino.

Yellow cape.

Bo staff already spinning into a defensive grip.

Timothy Drake.

Jason felt his heartbeat stumble.

His men aimed at the intruder immediately.

"Boss?"

"Say the word."

"We can drop him."

Robin's eyes never left Jason's.

Jason could see the exhaustion etched into his face now.

He looked thinner than he had at Titans Tower.

There were fresh bruises peeking out from beneath his mask.

Like he hadn't been sleeping.

Like he'd been searching.

For him.

Tim slowly raised one empty hand.

"I'm not here to fight."

One of Jason's lieutenants barked out a laugh.

"Funny way of showing it."

"I only want to talk."

Jason's jaw clenched.

Months.

He'd had months.

Months to process.

Months to convince himself he could ignore the bond.

Months to pretend Tim Drake didn't exist.

And now Robin had come crashing straight through the walls he'd built around himself.

Jason stood slowly.

His voice came out flat.

"Leave us."

Every head turned toward him.

"Boss?"

"I said leave."

His lieutenants hesitated.

Robin was still standing in the middle of the room.

Every instinct screamed that leaving their boss alone with Batman's partner was a terrible idea.

Jason's gaze hardened.

"Now."

One by one, they lowered their weapons and filed out of the room, though not without casting suspicious glances over their shoulders.

The door clicked shut behind the last of them.

Silence settled.

Jason folded his arms.

"You've got five minutes, Little Bird."

Tim let out a shaky breath.

"You ran."

"I noticed."

"I've been looking for you for four months."

Jason's laugh was sharp and humorless.

"Congratulations."

Tim took a tentative step forward.

"Our marks changed."

Jason looked away.

"I know."

"You didn't even look."

"I didn't need to."

Because if he looked...

If he acknowledged what fate had done...

Then he'd have to face the fact that the person he'd spent years hating, envying, and threatening was the one soul in the universe meant to be his.

And Jason Todd had no idea what to do with that.

—

Jason’s legs gave out before he consciously decided to sit.

He dropped onto one of the old warehouse crates with enough force that the wood groaned beneath him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, hesitantly, Tim lowered himself onto the crate beside him, leaving enough space between them that their shoulders didn’t touch.

Jason appreciated that.

He didn’t think he could handle being touched right now.

Up close, Tim looked awful.

His hair was longer than Jason remembered, sticking up in uneven tufts as though he’d been running his hands through it for days. There were dark circles beneath his eyes that even the domino mask couldn’t hide. His uniform hung a little looser than it had months ago.

He’d lost weight.

Jason didn’t need to ask why.

I’ve been looking for you for four months.

The words replayed in his head.

Four months of chasing dead ends.

Four months of patrols and stakeouts.

Four months of wondering if the ghost he’d found at Titans Tower had vanished again.

Jason swallowed hard.

He’d done that.

Not intentionally.

But he’d done it all the same.

“I was worried,” Tim admitted quietly.

Jason barked out a humorless laugh.

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough.”

“No.” Jason shook his head. “You know stories. Dick’s stories. Bruce’s stories. Maybe Alfred’s.” His voice turned bitter. “You know Robin.”

“I know Jason.”

“You know who I used to be.”

Silence settled between them again.

Outside, rain tapped steadily against the warehouse windows.

Jason scrubbed a hand over his face.

His thoughts felt tangled beyond repair, but beneath the chaos, three things stood solid and immovable.

Three truths he couldn’t ignore.

The first—

He wasn’t giving up Red Hood.

Not the helmet.

Not the guns.

Not his territory.

Not the empire he’d carved out of Gotham’s underworld with blood, sweat, and sheer stubbornness.

Crime lords feared him.

Kids in Crime Alley trusted him.

Women who had nowhere else to go knew his doors stayed open.

He had built something.

Crooked.

Violent.

Morally gray.

But his.

He wasn’t becoming Robin again.

He wasn’t crawling back to Bruce.

The second—

He didn’t want Tim to stop being Robin.

Months ago, he’d wanted to tear the mantle off the kid’s shoulders.

Now…

Now he understood.

Tim wasn’t wearing Jason’s costume.

He’d made it his own.

Robin fit him.

Jason still hated that Bruce had recruited another child.

He always would.

But none of that was Tim’s fault.

Tim had been trying to save Batman.

Trying to save Gotham.

Trying to save everyone.

Jason couldn’t hate him for that anymore.

Which left the third truth.

The one sitting beside him.

The one that made his stomach twist itself into knots.

He turned just enough to glance at Tim.

Fifteen.

Still fifteen.

Still legally—and emotionally—a kid in ways that mattered.

Jason was seventeen now.

He’d be eighteen in a few months.

He had died.

Come back wrong.

Built a criminal empire.

Killed people.

Seen things Tim hadn’t.

Done things Tim never should.

Whatever soulmates were supposed to mean…

Whatever fate expected from them…

Jason couldn’t look a fifteen-year-old in the eye and pretend any kind of romantic relationship between them would be okay.

He wouldn’t.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

Tim broke the silence first.

“So…”

Jason sighed.

“So.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

“There wasn’t anything to tell.”

Tim frowned.

“There is now.”

Jason finally met his eyes.

“No.”

Tim blinked.

“No?”

“No relationship.”

The words came out harsher than he’d intended.

Tim looked genuinely confused.

Jason forced himself to keep going.

“I don’t care what the marks say.”

“Jason—”

“I’m almost eighteen.”

Tim’s eyes widened slightly.

“You’re fifteen.”

Understanding slowly dawned across Tim’s face.

Jason looked away before he could read whatever emotion followed it.

“I’m not doing that,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to be that guy.”

For the first time since he’d burst through the warehouse window, Tim smiled.

It wasn’t teasing.

Or triumphant.

Just…small.

Relieved.

“I wasn’t asking you to.”

Jason looked back at him.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I kind of figured we’d start with… talking.”

Jason stared.

“You disappeared for four months.”

“You threatened to kill me the first time we met.”

Tim shrugged one shoulder.

“I figured friendship was probably the next logical step.”

Against every instinct telling him not to…

Jason laughed.

It was quiet.

Brief.

But it was the first genuine laugh he’d managed in months.

Tim smiled a little wider.

Jason immediately decided that made things far more dangerous than either of them being soulmates ever had.

—

In the end, they settled on something neither of them had expected.

An exchange of phone numbers.

Jason held up a finger before Tim could get too hopeful.

“One condition.”

Tim slipped his phone back into his hand. “Name it.”

“You don’t give this number to Bruce.”

Tim didn’t even hesitate.

“I won’t.”

Jason narrowed his eyes.

“That was awfully fast.”

Tim gave him a tired, crooked smile.

“I’ve been keeping things from Bruce for about a year and a half now.”

Jason couldn’t help the surprised snort that escaped him.

“Really?”

Tim shrugged.

“He’s… not exactly the easiest person to talk to.”

Jason huffed out a laugh.

“No argument there.”

Tim typed Jason’s number into his phone, then held it up.

“There. Just me.”

Jason nodded once.

“I’ll know if you lie.”

“You’ll probably just stop answering my texts.”

“…Also true.”

For the first time since they’d met at Titans Tower, the silence between them wasn’t strained.

It was merely quiet.

Jason expected the first text three days later.

Maybe a week.

Instead, his phone buzzed before he’d even finished removing his helmet that night.

He frowned at the unfamiliar number.

Unknown: What’s your favorite book?

Jason stared at the screen.

That…

Wasn’t what he’d expected.

Not Where are you?

Not Can we meet?

Not Why are you Red Hood?

Just—

What’s your favorite book?

He set the phone face down on the kitchen counter.

Walked to the fridge.

Opened it.

Closed it again.

By the time he looked back at the phone, five whole minutes had passed.

The message was still there.

Waiting.

Jason picked the phone up again.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Was he really doing this?

After everything?

After trying to kill Tim.

After running away.

After months of pretending the soulmate bond didn’t exist.

Was he really about to let someone in?

His gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, to the bookshelf lining one wall of his apartment.

Rows upon rows of worn paperbacks.

Dog-eared classics.

Books rescued from secondhand shops.

Volumes Alfred had quietly slipped onto his bedside table years ago.

Stories that had kept him company when people couldn’t.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Maybe…

Maybe one conversation wouldn’t hurt.

He started typing.

Jason: Anything by Jane Austen.

The reply came almost instantly.

Tim: …Seriously?

Jason frowned.

Jason: What?

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Tim: I just didn’t expect Gotham’s biggest crime lord to answer Jane Austen.

Jason rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt.

Jason: Don’t stereotype me, Replacement.

A beat passed.

Then—

Tim: Pride and Prejudice or Persuasion?

Jason blinked.

A smile, small and genuine, spread across his face before he could stop it.

Maybe…

Maybe Tim really had wanted to know.

—

The next time Tim came over, he looked almost painfully pleased with himself.

Jason had barely unlocked the apartment door before Tim blurted out, “I got you something!”

Jason blinked.

Tim stood in the hallway in civilian clothes, backpack slung over one shoulder, holding a rectangular package wrapped in vibrant red paper. A satin black ribbon crossed neatly over the top, tied into an elaborate bow that looked far too professional to be Tim’s handiwork.

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“The colors?”

Tim looked down at the wrapping before looking back up with the picture of innocence.

“What colors?”

Jason snorted.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told.”

Stepping aside, Jason let him in.

“You know,” he said as Tim wandered into the apartment, “you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know.”

Jason locked the door behind them.

“So… why did you?”

Tim shrugged one shoulder, suddenly looking a little shy.

“I wanted to.”

There was something so simple about the answer that Jason couldn’t find a response.

Instead, he sat down on the couch, the neatly wrapped package resting in his lap.

Tim hovered nearby, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

“You can open it.”

Jason rolled his eyes.

“I was getting there.”

“You were admiring the wrapping paper.”

“It is quality wrapping paper.”

Tim laughed.

Jason found himself smiling back.

He took his time undoing the ribbon, carefully sliding it free instead of cutting it. Then he peeled the tape away one piece at a time, smoothing the paper flat as he went.

Tim watched with open amusement.

“You save wrapping paper?”

“Good wrapping paper deserves a second life.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Finally, Jason lifted the lid of the box.

His breath caught.

Nestled inside protective tissue paper was a leather-bound book.

Old.

Very old.

Hands that had remained steady through gunfights and surgeries suddenly trembled as he lifted it free.

Stamped in fading gold across the cover were the words:

Pride and Prejudice.

Jason carefully opened the front cover.

His vision blurred.

Jane Austen.

Below the printed title was an elegant, unmistakably authentic signature.

A first edition.

Signed.

Jason stared at it for several long seconds, afraid that if he blinked it would disappear.

“…How?”

The word came out barely above a whisper.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck.

“It took a while.”

Jason looked up.

“No.” He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the book for long. “Not just… how did you find it.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“How could you possibly afford it?”

Tim winced.

“I’ve… got some money.”

Jason barked out a wet laugh.

“That’s an understatement.”

Another silence settled between them.

Jason ran his fingertips lightly over the worn leather cover, reverent enough that it almost looked like prayer.

Finally, he managed the question that mattered.

“…Why?”

Tim looked genuinely confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Tim.”

Jason gestured helplessly with the priceless novel.

“This isn’t just a gift. This is…” He laughed again, shaking his head. “This belongs in a museum.”

Tim crossed the room and sat beside him on the couch.

Not too close.

Just close enough.

His voice was quiet when he answered.

“You deserve nice things, Jason.”

Jason froze.

Tim continued before he could interrupt.

“I know you don’t think you do.”

His blue eyes met Jason’s without hesitation.

“But you do.”

Jason looked away.

“I tried to kill you.”

“I know.”

“I’m a crime lord.”

“I know.”

“I’ve done things Bruce would never forgive.”

“I know.”

Tim’s expression softened.

“And none of that changes what I said.”

Jason felt his throat tighten.

“You deserve nice things, Jason.”

A lifetime of being told he was too much.

Too angry.

Too broken.

Too reckless.

Too difficult.

Too damaged to keep.

And here sat a fifteen-year-old boy who had known him for less than a year, looking at him as though the statement were the most obvious truth in the world.

Jason had no idea what to do with that.

So he did the only thing he could.

He reached over carefully, wrapping one arm around Tim in a hesitant, almost questioning hug.

For a heartbeat, Tim went perfectly still.

Then he hugged Jason back.

Neither of them said another word.

—

After the book, everything changed.

Not all at once.

There was no miraculous moment where Jason stopped flinching at kindness or suddenly believed he deserved it.

But he stopped running.

The texts became a nightly ritual.

Sometimes they debated books until two in the morning.

Sometimes Tim sent him blurry pictures of pigeons he’d found on rooftops with increasingly ridiculous captions.

Sometimes Jason vented about paperwork, and Tim replied with dramatic condolences that somehow made Jason laugh every single time.

Somewhere between discussing Persuasion and arguing over whether Gotham had the worst public transportation system in America, Jason realized he wanted to do something for Tim.

The problem was…

Tim had set the bar impossibly high.

Jason couldn’t exactly buy him a signed first edition.

Not because he couldn’t afford it—his criminal empire was doing more than well enough—but because that wasn’t Tim.

Tim liked practical things.

Useful things.

Things he could put to work.

Jason thought about the way Tim fought.

The fluid spins of his bo staff.

The precision behind every strike.

The way the weapon seemed like an extension of his body rather than something he simply carried.

That gave Jason an idea.

He spent weeks designing it.

Another week finding the right metal.

Another arguing with the craftsman over microscopic details.

“It’ll hold,” the man insisted.

“It needs to do more than hold.”

“It could survive a truck.”

“What about an explosion?”

The craftsman had simply stared at him.

“…You’re serious.”

“I am.”

The final product exceeded even Jason’s expectations.

At first glance, it looked like an ordinary bo staff.

Elegant.

Minimalistic.

Matte black from end to end, the surface broken only by intricate crimson engravings spiraling along its entire length. They weren’t merely decorative—they concealed seams, reinforced joints, and tiny channels for the weapon’s internal systems.

It collapsed small enough to carry on a belt.

Balanced perfectly for Tim’s fighting style.

Made from a custom alloy significantly stronger than hardened steel without becoming noticeably heavier.

But those weren’t its best features.

With the twist of hidden catches beneath the engravings, the staff separated cleanly into two shorter escrima-length batons.

Each retained perfect balance.

Each contained an independent power cell.

With another switch, electricity hummed through the metal.

Not enough to kill.

Never enough to kill.

Just enough to hit with the same voltage as a police-grade stun weapon—or, as Jason’s supplier had more colorfully described it, “about as much kick as a pissed-off cattle prod.”

Jason had rolled his eyes.

Then bought it anyway.

The gift sat on his coffee table for three days.

Wrapped.

Unopened.

Waiting.

Jason kept walking past it.

Then walking back.

Maybe it was too much.

Maybe it wasn’t enough.

Maybe Tim would think accepting gifts from Gotham’s biggest crime lord was crossing a line.

Maybe Bruce would see it and throw the thing into Gotham Harbor.

Jason groaned, dropping onto the couch.

“What am I doing?”

He’d fought Batman.

Faced the Joker.

Taken over entire sections of Gotham’s underworld.

None of those things had made him this nervous.

Giving Tim a present?

Apparently terrifying.

When his phone buzzed with Tim’s usual evening text—

Tim: Can I come over?

Jason looked at the long package sitting innocently on the coffee table.

His stomach twisted.

Maybe tonight.

Maybe he could actually do it.

He typed back before he could overthink himself into changing his mind.

Jason: Yeah. Door’s unlocked.

Twenty minutes later, there was the familiar sound of footsteps in the hallway.

Tim wandered inside carrying takeout in one hand and looking entirely too comfortable in Jason’s apartment.

“I brought food,” he announced.

Jason eyed the bags.

“You bribing me?”

“Obviously.”

Tim kicked the door shut behind him before his gaze landed on the long wrapped package resting on the coffee table.

He tilted his head.

“…What’s that?”

Jason suddenly felt seventeen again.

Awkward.

Unsure.

Far too aware of his own heartbeat.

“It’s…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s for you.”

Tim blinked.

“For me?”

Jason nodded once.

“I figured…” He shrugged, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “You got me something because you wanted to.”

He looked anywhere but at Tim.

“So… I wanted to.”

For a moment, Tim didn’t move.

Then a smile spread slowly across his face.

Warm.

Bright.

Completely unguarded.

It was somehow even worse than Jason had anticipated.

Because now he desperately wanted Tim to like it.

And for reasons he couldn’t begin to explain, that terrified him.

—

Tim set the takeout aside before pulling the ribbon loose with surprising care.

Jason tried not to fidget.

He failed.

His knee bounced restlessly as Tim folded the wrapping paper instead of tearing it, setting it neatly beside the box before lifting the lid.

The apartment fell silent.

Tim didn’t move.

He simply stared.

Jason’s stomach sank.

Too much.

It was too much.

Of course it was.

Who gave someone a custom-built weapon as a present?

A crime lord, apparently.

Jason opened his mouth.

“If you don’t like it, I can—”

He never finished the sentence.

Tim crossed the room in three quick strides and threw his arms around Jason hard enough to nearly knock him off the couch.

Jason let out a startled “oof” as he instinctively wrapped his arms around the younger boy to keep them both upright.

Tim buried his face against Jason’s chest.

“Thank you.”

The words were muffled by Jason’s hoodie.

His voice sounded suspiciously wet.

Jason glanced down.

Tim’s shoulders were trembling ever so slightly.

He wasn’t crying.

Not quite.

But he was close.

Jason’s heart squeezed painfully.

He rested his chin lightly atop Tim’s head before he could second-guess himself.

“You’re welcome, Baby Bird.”

The nickname slipped out before he realized he’d said it.

Tim only hugged him tighter.

Unable to resist, Jason pressed his face gently into Tim’s hair.

It smelled faintly of rain, coffee, and the shampoo Alfred always kept stocked at the Manor.

For just a moment, neither of them moved.

Jason realized, with a strange ache in his chest, that no one had ever reacted to one of his gifts like this.

Not with tears.

Not with gratitude so profound it seemed to steal their words.

Tim finally leaned back, quickly rubbing at the corners of his eyes.

“I love it.”

“You haven’t even looked at it yet.”

“I already love it.”

Jason laughed softly.

“Well… let me tell you what it actually does before you decide it’s the greatest thing ever.”

Tim settled beside him on the couch, the staff resting carefully across both their laps.

Jason picked it up with obvious pride.

“So, first off, it’s made from a custom alloy. Stronger than steel, lighter than you’d expect, and balanced specifically around the way you fight.”

Tim’s eyes widened.

“You… watched how I fight?”

Jason shrugged, suddenly embarrassed.

“I might’ve… taken notes.”

Tim smiled so brightly it nearly derailed Jason’s train of thought.

He cleared his throat.

“It collapses like your current staff, but the locking mechanism is stronger. You won’t have to worry about it folding in the middle of a fight.”

He twisted one of the engraved sections.

With a satisfying metallic click, the staff separated cleanly into two shorter batons.

Tim’s mouth fell open.

“No way.”

Jason couldn’t help smiling.

“Way.”

He handed one over.

“The weight stays balanced whether you’re using one, both, or the full staff.”

Tim experimentally spun the baton through his fingers.

It moved as though it had been made for him.

Because it had.

“There are hidden catches under the engravings,” Jason continued, pointing them out one by one. “You can unlock the split even with gloves on.”

Tim listened with complete focus, turning the weapon over in his hands with obvious reverence.

“And…” Jason hesitated for dramatic effect.

“This is my favorite part.”

He flipped a nearly invisible switch.

A low electric hum filled the apartment.

Blue-white arcs crackled briefly along the crimson engravings before fading into an almost invisible current.

Tim stared.

“…Jason.”

“Non-lethal,” Jason assured him quickly. “About the same voltage as a police stun weapon. Enough to drop someone or make them seriously reconsider their life choices.”

Tim looked between Jason and the staff several times.

“You made all of this…”

“For you.”

Jason rubbed the back of his neck.

“I figured if anyone deserved custom gear, it was you.”

Tim’s expression softened into something so full of affection that Jason had to look away.

“You know,” Tim said quietly, “you keep giving me reasons to think you don’t see yourself the way everyone else does.”

Jason frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Tim smiled as he rested the staff across his knees.

“It means…” He looked down at the intricate red engravings running the length of the weapon. “…every gift you’ve given me says you were paying attention.”

Jason blinked.

“You noticed how I fight.”

Another blink.

“You designed this around my strengths.”

A third.

“You spent weeks making sure I’d have something that would keep me safer.”

Tim looked back up, blue eyes impossibly earnest.

“You love people by taking care of them.”

Jason’s throat tightened.

He’d built the staff to protect Tim.

He just hadn’t realized Tim would see that.

—

After the bo staff, their friendship settled into something neither of them questioned.

Every Friday, after patrol, Tim would disappear.

Not Robin.

Tim.

He’d trade the cape and domino for jeans and a hoodie, sneak out of the Manor—or wherever Bruce thought he was—and end up sprawled across Jason’s couch.

Sometimes they ordered takeout.

Sometimes they cooked together, though “cooked” was a generous term when it usually involved Jason making dinner while Tim stole ingredients and claimed he was taste-testing.

Sometimes they watched terrible action movies and argued over every tactical mistake.

Sometimes they simply read.

Two people in the same room.

Comfortably quiet.

Jason found himself looking forward to Fridays more than he wanted to admit.

What he didn’t understand…

Was how no one else seemed to notice.

Bruce never called.

Alfred never came looking.

Dick never texted.

No adult ever knocked on Jason’s apartment door asking why a fifteen-year-old kept vanishing for hours in the middle of the night.

It bothered him.

Enough that, one Wednesday, he decided to find out.

Jason shadowed Tim from the rooftops.

Far enough back that even Robin’s instincts wouldn’t pick him up.

Close enough that he never lost sight of the flash of yellow.

At 7:42 p.m., Tim left Drake Manor.

At 7:58, he slipped into the Batcave through an entrance Jason knew by heart.

Patrol began.

Jason watched from the edges.

Not interfering.

Just… observing.

Robin really was alone.

No Batman.

No Nightwing.

No Spoiler.

No Batgirl.

Just a fifteen-year-old with a bo staff swinging across Gotham by himself.

Jason had believed it before.

Seeing it was different.

It made something ugly twist in his chest.

Hours passed.

Robin stopped three muggings.

Interrupted a drug deal.

Talked a runaway into accepting help from Leslie.

He was good.

Too good.

By the time patrol ended, the sky was beginning to pale.

At 3:07 a.m., Tim climbed over the wall surrounding Drake Manor.

Alone.

No escort.

No Batman making sure he got home safely.

No one waiting with the porch light on.

No one at all.

Jason remained on the neighboring rooftop until Tim’s bedroom light flicked on.

Then he left.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The following evening, Tim was back on patrol.

Jason headed in the opposite direction.

Drake Manor was… disappointingly easy.

He slipped over the perimeter wall without tripping a sensor.

Reached the house without encountering a camera.

Opened a first-floor window in under thirty seconds.

No alarm screamed.

No silent alert pinged a security company.

Nothing.

Jason froze.

“…You’re kidding.”

He deliberately opened the window wider.

Still nothing.

He stepped inside.

Silence.

He moved from room to room with the practiced efficiency of someone who had broken into far more secure buildings than this.

The kitchen.

Empty.

Living room.

Empty.

Dining room.

Empty.

He checked the offices.

The guest rooms.

The upstairs hallway.

No staff.

No nanny.

No housekeeper.

No overnight security.

No parents.

No one.

The entire mansion echoed with absence.

Jason’s growing unease turned into anger.

“What the hell…?”

He found the security panel near the front entrance.

Or what passed for one.

It wasn’t disabled.

It wasn’t broken.

It simply…

Wasn’t armed.

Not even at three o’clock in the morning.

Jason stared at it in disbelief.

This wasn’t just negligence.

It was an invitation.

Tim Drake was fifteen years old.

His parents traveled constantly.

Bruce let him patrol until the early hours of the morning.

And when he finally came home—

There wasn’t a single adult waiting.

Not one.

No one checking if he was injured.

No one making sure he’d eaten.

No one making sure he’d actually come home at all.

Worse…

If someone decided to break into Drake Manor while Tim was asleep—

Jason looked around the cavernous, silent house.

There would be no alarm.

No security guard.

No witness.

Tim would be completely alone.

Completely vulnerable.

Jason’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

Suddenly, a hundred little things made sense.

Why Tim was always hungry when he came over.

Why he never seemed worried about getting home.

Why he lingered after movies had ended, after conversations had fizzled out, after Jason had started yawning.

He wasn’t avoiding home.

He was avoiding being alone.

Jason stood in the middle of the empty mansion, fury simmering beneath his skin.

Bruce had trusted this kid to protect Gotham.

But apparently no one had bothered to protect Tim.

Jason made a decision before he consciously realized he was making it.

Tim would never know Jason had been here.

He would never know Jason had broken into his house.

But starting tonight…

Someone would be watching his back.

Even if Tim never realized it.

—

Jason managed to keep his promise to himself for exactly nine days.

Nine days of shadowing Robin from the rooftops.

Nine days of making sure Tim got home safely.

Nine days of never letting the younger boy catch so much as a glimpse of a red helmet.

He never interfered.

Never stepped in.

Never made himself known.

He simply watched.

It was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

The mistake was almost laughably simple.

Jason spotted it before Tim did.

Robin landed on the fire escape overlooking an abandoned warehouse, crouching low as voices drifted out through broken windows.

Jason settled on the rooftop across the street.

Gang meeting.

Nothing unusual.

Tim listened for a minute before silently dropping toward the warehouse.

Jason frowned.

He hadn’t circled the building.

Hadn’t checked the roof.

Hadn’t counted exits.

Most importantly…

He hadn’t identified what weapons they were carrying.

Slow down, Baby Bird, Jason thought, watching Tim slip inside.

For nearly five minutes, everything went smoothly.

Shouts.

The crack of Tim’s bo staff.

Bodies hitting concrete.

Jason almost relaxed.

Then—

A gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

Not fired.

Cocked.

Jason was moving before he consciously made the decision.

Inside, Robin stood perfectly still.

His staff lay several feet away.

Five gang members surrounded him.

The largest pressed a pistol against the side of Tim’s head.

“Thought you were so damn smart, birdie.”

Tim’s jaw tightened.

“You really want to shoot a kid?”

The man grinned.

“If that’s what it takes.”

Jason didn’t think.

The skylight exploded inward.

Glass rained through the warehouse.

Every head snapped upward.

Red Hood landed in the center of the room with enough force to crack the concrete beneath his boots.

For half a heartbeat—

No one moved.

Then all hell broke loose.

Jason shot the gunman holding Tim before the man could pull the trigger.

The bullet shattered his wrist.

The pistol clattered harmlessly across the floor.

Tim ducked instinctively.

Jason was already moving.

The first thug caught an elbow to the throat.

The second hit the ground with a broken knee.

The third reached for an assault rifle.

Jason kicked it out of his hands and slammed the stock into the man’s ribs hard enough to send him sprawling.

Someone fired.

Jason barely turned.

The round glanced off his armor.

He answered with a taser round that dropped the shooter instantly.

Another charged him with a machete.

Jason disarmed him in three motions.

Broke his nose in the fourth.

By the fifth, the man wasn’t getting back up.

It wasn’t a fight.

It was a demolition.

Tim had seen Red Hood fight before.

He’d never seen Jason angry.

Every movement was precise.

Efficient.

Brutal.

No wasted energy.

No hesitation.

Within two minutes, the warehouse was silent except for the groans of injured criminals.

Jason stood in the middle of the wreckage, chest rising and falling beneath his armor.

“You hurt?”

Tim blinked.

“…What?”

Jason stepped closer, already checking him over.

“Broken bones?”

“No.”

“Shot?”

“No.”

“Concussion?”

“I don’t think so.”

Only after Jason seemed satisfied that Tim was mostly intact did he finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Good.”

He bent to retrieve Tim’s bo staff, brushing dust from the black metal before holding it out.

Tim accepted it automatically.

Then he frowned.

Slowly.

“…Jason.”

“Hm?”

“How did you know?”

Jason froze.

Tim looked around the warehouse.

The shattered skylight.

The unconscious gang members.

The single entrance Robin had used.

There hadn’t been time.

No one had called for help.

No police scanner could have gotten Red Hood here that fast.

Tim’s eyes met the glowing white lenses of Jason’s helmet.

“You were already here.”

Jason didn’t answer.

“You followed me.”

Silence.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck beneath the helmet, a gesture so unmistakably Jason that Tim almost laughed despite everything.

“…Maybe.”

“Jason.”

“I was just—”

“Following me.”

“…Keeping an eye on you.”

Tim folded his arms.

“So you admit it.”

Jason sighed.

“I admit that you have the survival instincts of an overconfident raccoon.”

Tim’s mouth twitched.

“That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is that you walked into a warehouse full of armed idiots without checking what they were carrying.”

“I made a mistake.”

“You almost got shot.”

“I know.”

“You were fifteen seconds away from becoming a memorial plaque.”

Tim winced.

“Jason…”

“I watched a man put a gun to your head.”

The words came out quieter than anything Jason had said all night.

Raw.

“I wasn’t taking the chance that I’d be too late.”

Tim’s irritation evaporated.

Because suddenly this wasn’t about Jason invading his privacy.

It wasn’t about trust.

It wasn’t even about Jason following him.

It was about the sheer panic he’d heard in those last seven words.

I wasn’t taking the chance.

Jason had been terrified.

Not angry.

Terrified.

Tim stepped forward until they were only a foot apart.

“You’ve been following me every patrol.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jason looked away.

“…Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“…Since I found out you were coming home to an empty house.”

Tim’s breath caught.

Jason had been watching his patrols.

Watching him walk home.

Watching to make sure he made it inside safely.

Every night.

Without ever asking for thanks.

Without ever expecting Tim to know.

Tim wasn’t sure whether to scold him…

…or hug him.

Probably both.

—

The warehouse fell quiet.

The only sounds left were the groans of unconscious criminals and the distant wail of approaching GCPD sirens.

Neither of them moved.

Jason stood rooted to the spot, his helmet hiding whatever expression lay beneath.

Tim looked at him for a long moment.

At the tense set of his shoulders.

The way his hands flexed and unflexed at his sides.

The barely restrained guilt written into every inch of his posture.

Finally, Jason spoke.

“…Baby Bird.”

Tim looked up automatically.

Jason stopped himself.

With a quiet hiss of hydraulics, he reached up and disengaged the catches on his helmet.

The red hood lifted away.

For the first time since the fight had begun, Jason met Tim’s eyes without the barrier of glowing white lenses.

His blue eyes looked exhausted.

Worried.

Scared.

Not for himself.

For Tim.

He swallowed.

“…Tim.”

The change from nickname to name made Tim’s chest tighten.

Jason almost never used his real name when they were alone.

Not unless something mattered.

Jason glanced around the destroyed warehouse before looking back at him.

His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper.

“Let’s go…”

He hesitated.

Tim watched the uncertainty flicker across his face.

As though Jason was weighing every possible outcome.

As though the next word might ruin everything.

Then, softly—

“…home.”

The word came out careful.

Fragile.

Like something Jason wasn’t sure he was allowed to say.

As though he expected Tim to remind him that Drake Manor was his home.

That Jason’s apartment wasn’t.

That he’d overstepped.

“So…”

Jason rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Let’s go… home, okay?”

Tim felt something warm bloom painfully in his chest.

Home.

Not my apartment.

Not my place.

Home.

Jason had offered the word like it was a privilege Tim could take away.

Like he didn’t believe he had the right to use it.

Tim smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Yeah.”

Jason blinked.

Tim stepped closer, unable to stop smiling.

“Yes.”

His voice came out brighter than he intended.

“Home.”

For just a second, Jason simply stared at him.

Then something in his expression softened.

Not dramatically.

Not enough that anyone else would notice.

But Tim did.

The tightness around his eyes eased.

His shoulders relaxed.

The anxious line of his mouth gave way to the smallest, most relieved smile.

“…Yeah,” Jason murmured.

“Home.”

He reached out without thinking, brushing a piece of shattered glass from Tim’s cape before resting a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

“C’mon, Baby Bird.”

Tim leaned instinctively into the touch for half a heartbeat before catching himself.

Jason noticed.

He didn’t comment.

Instead, he picked up his discarded helmet and tucked it beneath one arm.

The two of them slipped out through the hole Jason had made in the roof just as the first GCPD cruisers screeched to a halt outside.

They crossed Gotham’s rooftops side by side.

Not Red Hood escorting Robin.

Not Gotham’s most wanted vigilante fleeing with Batman’s partner.

Just Jason…

Taking Tim home.

And for the first time in a very long time, neither of them had to wonder which home they meant.

—

After that night, Jason stopped pretending Tim was just a guest.

The second bedroom had always been more of an armory than anything else.

Crates of ammunition lined one wall.

Shelves of spare weapons covered another.

The closet housed enough tactical gear to outfit a small militia.

Jason spent an entire weekend emptying it.

Every gun was locked away in hidden compartments elsewhere in the apartment.

Every knife found a new home.

Every magazine, every grenade, every spare helmet disappeared.

By Sunday evening, the room looked almost… normal.

Jason painted the walls a soft gray.

Bought an actual bed instead of the battered cot that had occupied the room for years.

A sturdy desk sat beneath the window.

Bookshelves lined one wall, still mostly empty.

There was a comfortable chair in the corner and thick curtains that blocked Gotham’s relentless neon glow.

It wasn’t extravagant.

But it was warm.

Safe.

When Tim came over that Friday, Jason led him to the room without a word.

Tim frowned.

“I don’t remember this looking like—”

Jason pushed the door open.

Tim fell silent.

The room was waiting.

Empty enough to become whatever its occupant wanted.

Jason shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting.

“I… uh…”

He cleared his throat.

“I figured if you’re going to keep falling asleep on my couch…”

Tim looked slowly around the room.

“…You should have somewhere that’s yours.”

Jason shrugged.

“The furniture’s pretty neutral.”

Another shrug.

“You can decorate however you want.”

Silence.

Jason risked looking up.

Tim’s eyes were shining.

“You mean…”

“It’s your room.”

Tim spun toward him.

“My room?”

“Yeah.”

“Here?”

Jason nodded once.

“If you want it.”

Tim crossed the room in seconds and wrapped Jason in a hug that nearly knocked him backward.

“This is amazing.”

Jason laughed, hugging him back.

“I haven’t even bought sheets with dinosaurs on them yet.”

Tim snorted against his shoulder.

“I don’t want dinosaur sheets.”

“Space?”

“No.”

“Superheroes?”

Tim pulled back just enough to grin.

“Absolutely not.”

Jason gasped dramatically.

“I’ve raised you wrong.”

“You didn’t raise me.”

“…Fair point.”

For the next hour, Tim excitedly talked about bookshelves, desk lamps, and where he wanted to hang a corkboard for case notes.

Jason listened.

Mostly because hearing Tim plan a future in his apartment made something inside him settle.

Three weeks later, Tim answered his phone during dinner.

Jason watched the color drain from his face.

“…Oh.”

A pause.

“I understand.”

Another.

“…Yes, Mother.”

The call ended.

Tim stared at the dark screen for several long moments.

“They’re coming home.”

Jason set his fork down.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

The apartment suddenly felt much quieter.

Tim slowly pushed his untouched food around his plate.

“I should probably start packing some things.”

Jason looked at the room down the hallway.

The room that already had Tim’s books on the shelves.

His spare clothes in the dresser.

A mug with World’s Okayest Detective sitting on the desk.

It didn’t feel like a guest room anymore.

It felt occupied.

“Tim.”

The younger boy looked up.

“You don’t have to go.”

Tim smiled sadly.

“Of course I do.”

“No.”

Jason’s voice was gentle.

“You really don’t.”

Tim looked away.

“My parents are finally coming home.”

“They’ve been gone for months.”

“They’re still my parents.”

Jason couldn’t argue with that.

Instead, he took a slow breath.

“There… might be another option.”

Tim frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Jason hesitated.

This was dangerous territory.

Not because he doubted his feelings.

Because he didn’t want Tim to think he was trying to trap him.

“We’re soulmates.”

Tim nodded cautiously.

“Yeah.”

“There are legal protections for soulmate pairs.” Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Once one soulmate is an adult, the younger one can choose to live with them under certain circumstances, if everyone involved agrees and the court approves.”

Tim blinked.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Most people don’t.”

Jason looked down at his hands.

“So…”

Another pause.

“I’m eighteen in a few months.”

Tim was quiet.

Jason forced himself to keep talking.

“There’s… another problem.”

“What?”

Jason laughed once, bitterly.

“I’m legally dead.”

Tim’s shoulders slumped.

“…Right.”

“So let’s change that.”

Tim looked up sharply.

Jason met his eyes.

“I’ll deal with the paperwork.”

He smiled, small and self-conscious.

“Hell… for you, I’d even let the government put me back on paper as Bruce Wayne’s son if that’s what it took.”

The words hung between them.

Jason looked away almost immediately.

“I know that’s… complicated.”

His voice had grown quieter.

“I know you probably want to go home.”

Another pause.

“But…”

He swallowed.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Tim’s breath caught.

Jason wasn’t asking him to choose today.

He wasn’t asking him to abandon his parents.

He was simply offering something Tim had never really been given before.

A home with someone who wanted him there.

Not out of obligation.

Not out of duty.

But because Jason had quietly made space for him long before he’d ever asked him to stay.

Tim reached across the table and took Jason’s hand.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Jason squeezed his hand once.

“You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“No?”

Jason shook his head.

“No.”

He offered a small smile.

“Just… remember that wherever you end up…”

His thumb brushed gently across the back of Tim’s hand.

“…you’ll always have a room here.”

Tim looked toward the hallway.

Toward the gray walls.

The empty corkboard waiting to be filled.

The bed Jason had assembled by hand.

The room that had never really been about furniture.

It had always been about being wanted.

For perhaps the first time in his life…

Tim knew exactly what that felt like.

—

It took three weeks.

Three weeks of paperwork.

Three weeks of government offices insisting Jason Todd was deceased.

Three weeks of lawyers.

Three weeks of forged timelines becoming official timelines.

And one spectacular shouting match with Bruce on a Gotham rooftop.

“You expect me to smile for cameras?” Jason demanded.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I expect you to let the world know you’re alive.”

“They already think I died once. What’s another few years?”

“It matters.”

Jason barked out a bitter laugh.

“It matters now?”

Bruce didn’t rise to the bait.

Instead, he looked Jason squarely in the eye.

“It mattered then.”

Silence.

Wind tugged at Bruce’s cape and Jason jacket.

Bruce’s next words were so quiet Jason almost missed them.

“I failed you once.”

Jason’s jaw tightened.

“I’m trying not to fail you again.”

Jason looked away first.

“…Fine.”

Bruce let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like relief.

“But,” Jason pointed a finger at him, “I am not pretending I woke up in the Batcave.”

“No.”

“I am not saying Lazarus Pit.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“And if one reporter asks me whether I have plans to return to the family business, I’m walking away.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched.

“I can work with that.”

The official story was absurd.

Which meant the media loved it.

According to every major news outlet, Jason Todd had survived the boating accident that had supposedly claimed his life years earlier.

Rescued by commercial fishermen suffering from severe hypothermia and head trauma, he had been unable to remember his identity.

One of the fishermen and his wife had taken him in while he recovered.

Years passed.

His memories returned only in fragments.

By the time he finally remembered enough to search for Gotham, Bruce Wayne had already believed him dead for years.

The lawyers called it “the simplest explanation.”

Jason called it “the least unbelievable lie.”

Thankfully, no one asked him many questions.

People wanted happy endings.

A lost son returning home fit that narrative perfectly.

The press conference aired nationally.

Jason nearly skipped it.

Bruce somehow convinced him otherwise.

Standing beside Bruce in a tailored black suit felt stranger than wearing the Red Hood helmet ever had.

Camera flashes lit up the room.

Reporters shouted questions before the microphones were even switched on.

Bruce answered most of them.

Jason was grateful.

“…There aren’t words to describe what it feels like to have my son back.”

Bruce’s voice cracked.

“I mourned Jason for years.”

He paused, visibly collecting himself.

“I loved him every day he was gone.”

Another pause.

“And I love him now.”

Jason stared stubbornly at the floor.

“I am profoundly grateful that, against every imaginable odd, he found his way home.”

The room erupted into more questions.

Jason never looked at Bruce.

Because if he did…

He might believe him.

By the end of the week, the death certificate had been revoked.

Jason Todd-Wayne officially existed again.

He had a birth certificate.

Identification.

Bank records.

A social security number.

Legally speaking…

He was alive.

Which meant there was only one thing left to do.

The soulmate registry occupied an unassuming government building downtown.

Jason thought that was fitting.

Life-changing bureaucracy rarely happened in impressive places.

The clerk smiled politely as she accepted their paperwork.

“Both parties are here voluntarily?”

“Yes,” Tim answered.

“Yes,” Jason echoed.

“Neither party is under coercion?”

Tim snorted.

“If anything, he spent months trying to avoid me.”

Jason muttered, “Didn’t work very well.”

The clerk smiled without looking up.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

She stamped several forms.

Asked them to verify their identities.

Confirmed the soulmate marks.

Then slid the final document across the counter.

“Congratulations.”

Jason blinked.

“…That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Tim looked down at the certificate.

Their names sat beside one another in neat black print.

Jason Peter Todd-Wayne.

Timothy Jackson Drake.

Recognized Soulmate Pair.

Jason had imagined this moment his entire life.

He expected fireworks.

Some overwhelming certainty.

Instead…

Tim bumped his shoulder lightly.

“So…”

Jason looked over.

“I guess it’s official.”

Jason smiled.

“Guess so.”

Halfway across Gotham, Janet Drake happened to glance up from the breakfast table.

Tim was reaching for the orange juice.

His sleeve had ridden up just enough to expose the inside of his forearm.

She froze.

“…Timothy.”

He looked up.

“Yes, Mother?”

“What happened to your soulmate mark?”

Tim’s heart stopped.

Slowly…

Very slowly…

He looked down.

Months ago, the words had changed.

The rejection that had haunted Jason his entire life had disappeared the night they met.

In its place now were different words.

Let’s go… home.

Tim had gotten so used to seeing them that he’d forgotten they hadn’t always been there.

Forgotten that other people remembered what had been there before.

Janet stood from the table.

“You found your soulmate.”

It wasn’t a question.

Tim looked back up.

“…Yeah.”

Janet’s expression softened into genuine happiness.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

She crossed the room and hugged him.

“I’m so happy for you.”

Tim hugged her back automatically.

“When did you meet them?”

His mind flashed to Titans Tower.

To Red Hood standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Little Bird.”

To the warehouse.

To Friday nights.

To a gray bedroom waiting just down the hall of Jason’s apartment.

He smiled to himself.

“…A while ago.”

Janet pulled back.

“Well?”

Tim blinked innocently.

“Well what?”

“When do we get to meet them?”

Tim’s smile became decidedly more strained.

“…That’s…”

He cleared his throat.

“…A slightly more complicated question.”

—

Jason didn’t think about his soulmate mark much anymore.

For years, it had been the first thing he looked at every morning.

A reminder.

A rejection carved into his skin.

Then he’d met Tim.

The words had changed.

And suddenly the mark itself had become… unimportant.

He already knew who his soulmate was.

He knew the way Tim wrinkled his nose when he concentrated over a chessboard.

He knew Tim preferred tea when he was working and coffee when he was exhausted.

He knew Tim couldn’t watch horror movies without criticizing every tactical mistake the characters made.

He knew Tim smiled with his entire face whenever he was genuinely happy.

Compared to all of that…

A few words on his ribs hardly mattered.

So it had been months since Jason had actually looked.

The press conference left him exhausted.

His social battery had been drained somewhere between the third television interview and the twentieth question about his miraculous return.

Bruce had insisted on a family dinner afterward.

Dick had cried.

Cass had hugged him.

By the time Jason finally escaped to his apartment, all he wanted was a shower and eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.

He stripped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie before catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror.

For a moment, he simply stared.

Something was…

Different.

His soulmate mark.

Jason frowned.

He stepped closer.

The familiar lettering that had appeared the night he met Tim—

No, you can’t be.

—was gone.

His breath caught.

In its place, stretching across his ribs in elegant black script, were new words.

You don’t have to be alone anymore.

Jason forgot how to breathe.

His fingertips hovered just above the letters, too afraid to touch them.

The words were warm.

Not physically.

Not exactly.

But they filled his chest with a quiet heat that spread outward until it settled somewhere beneath his sternum.

He remembered saying those words.

Tim had been sitting at the kitchen table after getting the call that his parents were coming home.

Looking so small despite trying so hard not to.

Jason had looked anywhere but at him and stumbled through the offer.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

They’d simply been the truest words he could find.

Now…

Now they were written across his skin.

His soulmate’s first words hadn’t become the sentence that mattered most.

Jason laughed quietly.

It came out suspiciously shaky.

All his life he’d believed fate had condemned him to rejection.

That the first words between soulmates defined everything that came after.

Instead…

His mark had changed twice.

From rejection…

To recognition.

From recognition…

To love.

Not romantic declarations.

Not grand confessions.

Just a promise.

You don’t have to be alone anymore.

Jason rested one hand lightly against the mark.

“I meant it,” he whispered to the empty apartment.

Every single word.

A sudden thought made him smile.

If his mark had changed…

Then Tim’s had too.

Somewhere across Gotham, Tim was probably staring at his own arm in complete bewilderment.

Jason laughed a little harder at the image.

Then, unable to stop himself, he reached for his phone.

Jason: Check your soulmate mark.

The reply came less than thirty seconds later.

Tim: …Jason.

Jason grinned.

Jason: Yeah?

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Finally—

Tim: I think they’re supposed to stop changing once you find each other.

Jason looked down at the words warming his ribs.

His smile softened.

Jason: Maybe ours just have more to say.

—

Saturday morning arrived with an unexpected knock on Jason’s apartment door.

He frowned.

Very few people knew where he lived.

Fewer still knocked instead of using the spare key he’d quietly slipped into their pocket months ago.

Jason opened the door.

Tim stood in the hallway, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie.

He looked… nervous.

Jason immediately straightened.

“What happened?”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck.

“Mom wants to meet you.”

Jason blinked.

“…Huh.”

There were probably a thousand responses he could have given.

Instead, the one that escaped was,

“Is that… good or bad?”

Tim considered the question for a moment.

“Good, I think.”

The honesty of the answer made Jason smile despite himself.

“You think?”

“I’ve never introduced a soulmate to my parents before.”

“Fair point.”

Silence settled between them.

Jason leaned against the doorframe.

Before this went any further…

There was something Tim needed to know.

“I’m not going to hide who I am.”

The words came out without preamble.

No hesitation.

“I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not.”

Tim frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jason gestured vaguely toward himself. “I’m Jason Todd-Wayne.”

He ticked off points on his fingers.

“I read Jane Austen.”

Another finger.

“I ride a motorcycle.”

Another.

“I’m a resurrected vigilante.”

Another.

“And I run one of Gotham’s largest criminal organizations.”

His hand dropped back to his side.

“I’m not going to lie to your mother about any of that.”

Tim didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stepped closer until barely a foot separated them.

“I like who you are.”

Jason looked up.

Tim’s expression was calm.

Certain.

“That’s what matters.”

Something warm settled beneath Jason’s ribs.

The soulmate mark almost seemed to pulse in agreement.

Without another word, Jason turned back into the apartment.

Tim watched curiously as he disappeared into the bedroom.

A moment later, Jason returned wearing his worn brown leather jacket.

He was carrying two motorcycle helmets.

He tossed one toward Tim, who caught it automatically.

Jason grinned.

“Then let’s ride.”

Tim tucked the helmet under one arm.

“Ride where?”

Jason locked the apartment behind them.

“To your mansion, Soulmate mine.”

Tim’s ears immediately turned bright red.

“…You did not just say that.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You sounded like a medieval knight.”

“I’ve been reading too much Austen.”

“You’ve been reading too much everything.”

Jason laughed as they headed toward the elevator.

By the time they reached the parking garage, Tim was still quietly muttering,

“‘Soulmate mine,’” he repeated under his breath.

“I can’t believe you actually said that.”

Jason swung one leg over his motorcycle, “I thought it was romantic.”

“It was.”

Tim buckled the chin strap, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile.

“Which somehow makes it even worse.”

Jason’s answering grin was bright enough to rival the morning sun.

“Hold on tight, Baby Bird.”

Tim climbed on behind him without hesitation, wrapping his arms securely around Jason’s waist.

“I always do.”

Jason’s heart skipped.

He was very glad the helmet hid the ridiculous smile spreading across his face.

With the roar of the engine, they pulled out into Gotham traffic.

For the first time in Jason’s life…

He was on his way to meet someone’s parents.

Not as a problem.

Not as a burden.

Not as the kid nobody wanted.

But as the person their son had chosen.

And despite everything he’d survived…

That was somehow the most terrifying thing he’d ever done.

—

The deep rumble of Jason’s motorcycle echoed through the quiet street long before they reached the front gates of Drake Manor.

Jason couldn’t help noticing the difference.

Wayne Manor had security cameras hidden behind gargoyles.

Pressure sensors beneath the gravel drive.

Enough alarms to make the Pentagon jealous.

Drake Manor…

Still had almost nothing.

The front gate stood open.

The driveway stretched toward the mansion, unguarded.

Jason felt the familiar flicker of irritation.

He’d have to talk to Tim about that.

Again.

The motorcycle rolled to a smooth stop in front of the house.

The engine had barely fallen silent when the massive front door swung open.

Janet Drake stepped outside.

She descended the front steps with the effortless grace of someone accustomed to hosting diplomats and billionaires alike.

If she found it unusual that her fifteen-year-old son had just climbed off the back of a motorcycle driven by Gotham’s recently resurrected billionaire heir…

She didn’t show it.

Instead, she simply waited.

Hands folded neatly in front of her.

Watching the two boys approach.

Jason pulled off his helmet, running a hand through wind-tousled white hair before hanging the helmet from the handlebars.

Tim removed his own more slowly.

Jason noticed the slight tension in his shoulders.

He bumped Tim’s elbow lightly.

“You’ve got this.”

Tim smiled gratefully.

Together, they climbed the front steps.

“Mother,” Tim began.

There was a hint of nervousness in his voice that Jason rarely heard.

“This is Jason Todd-Wayne.”

Tim glanced sideways at Jason before continuing.

“…My soulmate.”

For the first time since she’d opened the door, Janet’s composure slipped.

Not dramatically.

Just enough that genuine surprise flashed across her face.

Her eyes widened.

Then slowly drifted between the two boys.

“…Oh.”

A beat passed.

Janet’s expression softened into understanding.

“Well…”

The corners of her mouth lifted.

“That explains several things.”

Tim blinked.

“It does?”

Janet looked positively amused.

“I’ve been wondering why my son suddenly started smiling at his phone.”

Tim’s face immediately flushed crimson.

“Mother.”

“And why Friday nights mysteriously became unavailable.”

Tim made a strangled noise.

“Mother.”

“And why your soulmate mark changed to ‘Let’s go… home.’”

Jason bit the inside of his cheek.

Very hard.

Because Tim looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Janet finally turned her attention fully to Jason.

He met her gaze evenly.

Whatever happened next…

He wasn’t going to pretend to be anyone else.

Jason offered a polite smile that never quite lost its familiar edge.

“Mrs. Drake.”

He extended his hand.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Janet accepted the handshake without hesitation.

Her grip was firm.

Confident.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you as well, Jason.”

She studied him for a quiet moment.

Long enough that Jason wondered what she saw.

The white streak in his hair.

The old scars peeking above the collar of his jacket.

The wariness he never quite managed to hide.

Finally, she smiled.

“I’ll admit…”

Her eyes twinkled with gentle humor.

“I wasn’t expecting Bruce Wayne’s long-lost son.”

Jason laughed.

“I wasn’t expecting to be Bruce Wayne’s long-lost son either.”

To his surprise, Janet laughed too.

The tension dissolved almost instantly.

She stepped aside, opening the front door wider.

“Please.”

She gestured inside.

“Come in.”

Jason looked toward Tim.

Tim gave him an encouraging nod.

For someone who had spent most of his life convinced parents could never truly want him around…

Crossing the threshold felt strangely significant.

He wasn’t entering Drake Manor as Robin.

Or Red Hood.

Or Bruce Wayne’s resurrected son.

He was entering as Jason.

And somehow…

That felt like enough.

—

There were many conversations Jason had been dreading.

Telling Dick he was alive had been one.

Telling Alfred he was alive had somehow been worse.

Telling Janet Drake that he intended to spend the rest of his life making sure her son never felt alone again had nearly made him throw up.

But telling Bruce?

That he’d found his soulmate.

That his soulmate was Tim Drake.

That they’d known for almost a year.

That Bruce had unknowingly been sending Robin out on patrol with Jason secretly watching his back.

That Tim had been spending every Friday night at Jason’s apartment.

That Tim already had a bedroom there.

That they had legally registered their soulmate bond.

Jason would rather fight Bane with a paperclip.

Unfortunately…

Tim thought this was hilarious.

Jason could hear him snickering from where he stood behind Bruce’s shoulder.

Traitor.

Bruce, blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, motioned toward Tim.

“Jason.”

His tone carried the unmistakable cadence of someone trying to broker peace.

“I need you to stop being angry about Robin.”

Jason had to bite the inside of his cheek.

Bruce continued.

“This is Tim Drake.”

Tim made the mistake of looking at Jason.

One look.

That was all it took.

Jason saw the laughter dancing in those blue eyes.

Oh.

We’re doing this?

Fine.

If Tim wanted chaos…

Jason had been born for chaos.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a distinctly Red Hood smirk.

He looked directly at Tim.

“Hello, Little Bird.”

The words echoed through the Cave.

Silence.

Tim’s laughter died instantly.

His cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red.

Jason felt absurdly pleased with himself.

Across from them, Bruce frowned.

Then his eyes widened.

Slowly…

Very slowly…

He turned to stare at Tim.

Jason watched realization begin assembling itself behind Bruce’s eyes.

He knew exactly what Tim’s original soulmate mark had been.

No, you can’t be.

Bruce had spent years trying to convince Jason those words weren’t necessarily a rejection.

Now Jason had just greeted Tim with the exact phrase that had replaced those words.

Bruce looked between them.

Waiting.

Expecting Tim to complete the other half.

Maybe—

“No, you can’t be.”

Instead…

Tim recovered far faster than Jason had expected.

A slow, positively mischievous smile spread across his face.

Oh no.

Jason knew that smile.

That was Detective Drake deciding revenge was in order.

Tim folded his arms.

Looked Jason directly in the eyes.

And with entirely too much satisfaction, said,

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Jason’s smug expression vanished.

“…Baby Bird.”

Tim beamed.

Bruce looked like someone had hit him over the head with the Batmobile.

His gaze snapped from Jason…

…to Tim…

…back to Jason…

…then to Tim again.

Finally—

“You…”

Bruce pointed at Jason.

Then at Tim.

“You two…”

Neither of them helped.

Bruce closed his eyes.

Took one very slow breath.

“When.”

Jason and Tim looked at one another.

Jason sighed dramatically.

“…About eleven months ago.”

Bruce’s eyes flew open.

“Eleven—”

“We met at Titans Tower,” Tim supplied helpfully.

Bruce turned to him.

“You met him at Titans Tower.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve known he was your soulmate for almost a year.”

“Yes.”

“You never told me.”

Tim had the decency to look slightly guilty.

“…No.”

Bruce looked at Jason.

“You knew.”

“Yep.”

“You also didn’t tell me.”

“Nope.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose so hard Jason was mildly concerned he might actually bruise himself.

“You’ve been keeping this from me…”

Another long inhale.

“…for almost a year.”

Jason shrugged.

“In fairness, I was avoiding him for the first four months.”

Tim nodded solemnly.

“That’s true.”

Bruce stared at them both.

“You are impossible.”

Jason grinned.

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

For one long, exasperated moment, Bruce simply looked at the pair of them.

Jason, trying—and failing—not to look amused.

Tim, no longer even pretending to hide his smile.

Then Bruce let out a weary sigh.

“…I suppose this explains why Robin suddenly stopped arguing every time Red Hood showed up on patrol.”

Tim coughed into his fist.

Jason looked suspiciously interested in a stalactite.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“…You were watching his patrols.”

Jason winced.

“…Maybe.”

“You built him that staff.”

“…Yes.”

“You gave him a bedroom.”

Tim’s head whipped toward Bruce.

“…How did you know that?”

Bruce gave him a flat look.

“I am Batman.”

Jason groaned.

“See? This is why we didn’t tell you.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched.

Just slightly.

“…I’m still offended.”

“I know.”

“…And I will be having several conversations with both of you.”

“We figured.”

“But…”

Bruce’s gaze settled on the two soulmates standing shoulder to shoulder.

For all his exasperation…

For all the secrets…

For all the frustration of learning he’d been the last person to know…

Tim looked happier than Bruce had ever seen him.

And Jason…

Jason looked like he’d finally stopped expecting to be left behind.

Bruce’s shoulders relaxed.

“…I’m glad you found each other.”

Jason blinked.

Tim smiled.

Neither of them had expected that answer.

Bruce looked away before either of them could thank him.

“Now,” he muttered, already walking toward the Batcomputer, “someone explain why my son apparently owns a criminal empire.”

Jason sighed.

“…I knew the nice part wouldn’t last.”

—

The text came through the following Wednesday.

Jason was halfway through reviewing reports from Crime Alley when his phone buzzed.

Tim: I’m sorry. She was very insistent.

Jason frowned.

He read the message once.

Then again.

Then a third time.

“…That’s ominous.”

Before he could type a reply, his phone lit up with an incoming call.

Unknown Number.

Jason debated letting it go to voicemail.

Curiosity won.

“…Hello?”

“Hello, Jason.”

The woman’s voice was calm, warm, and unmistakably familiar.

“It’s Janet Drake.”

Jason sat up straighter.

“Mrs. Drake.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Jason glanced at the crime reports spread across his desk.

A lieutenant was probably waiting for an answer regarding Black Mask territory.

“…Not at all.”

“Wonderful.”

There was a rustle of paper on the other end of the line.

“Jack and I will be leaving for another expedition in a few weeks.”

Jason nodded before remembering she couldn’t see him.

“I remember Tim mentioning that.”

“I wanted to discuss arrangements for you and Timothy while we’re gone.”

Jason didn’t even have to think.

“Tim is always welcome at my apartment.”

The answer came so quickly that Janet chuckled softly.

“I believe you wholeheartedly.”

A pause.

“But that isn’t quite what I meant.”

Jason frowned.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a prenuptial agreement…”

Another tiny pause.

“…and the wedding.”

Jason’s brain stopped functioning.

“…The what?”

“The wedding.”

Jason actually choked.

“The wedding?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Drake,” Jason managed after coughing into his fist, “Tim turned sixteen a month ago.”

“I know.”

“…He’s sixteen.”

“I was there.”

Jason closed his eyes.

“I’m… fairly certain that means he shouldn’t be getting married.”

“Oh, Jason.”

Janet sounded almost amused.

“You already registered your soulmate bond.”

“…Yes?”

“In the eyes of the law, that’s the legally significant part.”

Jason blinked.

“The ceremony is largely ceremonial.”

Another beat.

“So the wedding is simply a formality.”

Jason stared at the wall.

“…What?”

He’d fought assassins.

He’d negotiated gang truces.

He’d once talked Killer Croc out of eating someone.

None of those experiences had prepared him for this conversation.

“I…”

He tried again.

“I think there might be…”

His words tangled together.

“…another… small…”

He made a face.

“…actually rather large problem.”

Janet’s tone sharpened immediately.

“What problem?”

Jason sighed.

“Please don’t hang up.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“I may…”

He took a deep breath.

“…or may not…”

Another deep breath.

“…be the leader of roughly one-third of Gotham’s criminal underground.”

Silence.

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose.

“…Hello?”

“I’m still here.”

More silence.

“…I confess,” Janet said slowly, “that was not the complication I expected.”

“Yeah.”

“If the two of you eventually decide to hold a ceremony…”

Another thoughtful pause.

“…I assume your associates would expect invitations.”

Jason groaned.

“My lieutenants would riot if they weren’t invited.”

“I see.”

“And they’d insist on providing security.”

“I see.”

“They’d probably argue with Bruce’s security team.”

“I suspected as much.”

Jason let his forehead thunk gently against the desk.

“I’m really selling myself here.”

“No,” Janet replied thoughtfully.

“You’re being honest.”

That surprised him enough that he lifted his head.

“I appreciate honesty.”

Jason didn’t know what to do with that.

Janet continued.

“Timothy has always surrounded himself with people who hide parts of themselves because they think it’ll protect others.”

Her voice softened.

“You didn’t.”

“…No.”

“I appreciate that.”

Jason smiled despite himself.

“There is one more concern.”

Janet’s tone became distinctly maternal.

“If Timothy is going to continue involving himself in your… admittedly unusual life…”

Jason winced.

“…Yes?”

“He’ll need to know how to defend himself.”

Jason blinked.

“…He already does.”

There was a brief silence.

“Jason.”

“…Yes?”

“My son practices martial arts.”

Jason bit back a laugh.

“So much more than that.”

“I assume,” Janet continued, blissfully unaware, “that you’ve already arranged for someone to keep an eye on him when necessary.”

Jason opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Technically…

He had been the one keeping an eye on Tim.

He just hadn’t told anyone.

“…We’re working on improving that,” he said diplomatically.

“Good.”

Janet sounded satisfied.

“Now.”

Jason felt a surge of dread.

“The prenuptial agreement can wait.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“But the ceremony should probably happen sooner rather than later.”

Jason froze.

“…Excuse me?”

“What are your thoughts on a winter wedding?”

Jason’s soul briefly left his body.

“It would give us about three months to plan.”

Three months.

Jason had once planned the takeover of an entire criminal syndicate in less time than that.

“…Mrs. Drake.”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t even asked Tim whether he wants a wedding.”

Janet laughed.

A genuine, delighted laugh.

“Oh, Jason.”

“What?”

“I already did.”

Jason’s eyes widened.

“…You what?”

“He said he’d like whatever made the two of you happiest.”

Jason buried his face in one hand.

Somewhere, he just knew, Tim Drake was laughing.

Again.

“I’m going to have words with your son.”

“That’s my son-in-law,” Janet said pleasantly.

Jason made a strangled noise.

On the other end of the line, Janet’s laughter only grew louder.

—

Somehow, Jason found himself spending the next hour discussing wedding colors.

He had opinions now.

Apparently.

“No ivory,” he said, because Janet had asked.

“Too close to white?”

“No,” Jason replied honestly. “Crime Alley is filthy. Someone will spill coffee on it.”

Janet hummed thoughtfully.

“Practical. I appreciate that.”

Then came flowers.

Venues.

Guest lists.

Table settings.

Cake flavors.

Jason would have rather coordinated a hostile takeover of Black Mask’s remaining territory.

At least those meetings involved fewer discussions about napkin folds.

By the time Janet began asking whether he preferred silver or gold accents, Jason had reached his limit.

“…Mrs. Drake.”

“Yes?”

“I know someone far more qualified than I am.”

“Oh?”

Jason opened his contacts.

“I’m about to give you Alfred Pennyworth’s personal phone number.”

There was a delighted little gasp on the other end.

“The Alfred Pennyworth?”

“The very one.”

“I’ve heard wonderful things.”

Jason laughed.

“I’ll pray for him.”

He texted Alfred immediately after hanging up.

Jason: I’m sorry.

The reply came less than a minute later.

Alfred: For what, Master Jason?

Jason: I may have given Janet Drake your personal number.

There was a noticeably longer pause this time.

Finally—

Alfred: …I see.

Jason couldn’t help grinning.

Jason: She’s planning the wedding.

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Alfred: I accept your apology.

Jason laughed out loud.

He knew Alfred could handle Janet.

If anyone could survive being caught between Janet Drake and Bruce Wayne while planning an event, it was Alfred Pennyworth.

Still…

Jason felt just a little guilty.

Only a little.

He scrolled down to Tim’s contact.

His thumb hovered over the call button for exactly three seconds before he pressed it.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Tim answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Jay.”

Jason smiled automatically.

“Hi, Baby Bird.”

There was a comfortable silence.

Then—

“You told your mother you were okay marrying me?”

The words came out more bewildered than accusatory.

Tim didn’t hesitate.

“Of course I did.”

Jason waited.

“As long as you wanted that too.”

Another pause.

Then, quietly—

“I love you, Jason.”

Everything inside Jason stopped.

The world didn’t end.

The apartment didn’t disappear.

His heartbeat didn’t even speed up.

It simply…

Paused.

He realized, distantly, that neither of them had ever actually said the words before.

Not out loud.

Not directly.

There had been soulmate marks.

Gifts.

Bedrooms.

Late-night conversations.

Promises.

Acts of devotion so natural neither of them had thought to name them.

But never…

This.

Jason swallowed.

“I…”

The word refused to become anything more.

His throat felt strangely tight.

On the other end of the line, Tim chuckled softly.

“You don’t have to say it back.”

Jason closed his eyes.

“I know.”

There wasn’t disappointment in Tim’s voice.

Only understanding.

“You don’t say things until you’re completely sure.”

Jason laughed once, quietly.

“You know me too well.”

“I’ve had almost a year to study.”

That made Jason smile.

He leaned back against the couch, searching desperately for something—anything—to keep himself from spiraling over the fact that Tim Drake had just casually rearranged his entire emotional landscape.

An idea occurred to him.

“You know…”

“Hm?”

“I’m still going to ask you properly.”

Tim sounded genuinely confused.

“…Ask me what?”

Jason rolled his eyes.

“To marry me.”

A pause.

“…Oh.”

“I know the law already considers us bonded.”

Another pause.

“I know your mother apparently considers this a scheduling issue.”

Tim laughed.

“But you deserve someone to actually ask.”

Jason looked down at his hands.

“You deserve the choice.”

His voice softened.

“You deserve someone who gets down on one knee because they want to.”

Not because the government had already filed paperwork.

Not because fate had written their names together.

Not because everyone else assumed it was inevitable.

“But…” Jason continued quietly, “I’m going to wait.”

Tim frowned.

“Wait?”

“Until you’re older.”

The words came easily.

“I’m not asking a sixteen-year-old to make that decision.”

“But—”

“I know what the law says.”

Jason interrupted gently.

“I also know what I say.”

He smiled to himself.

“When I ask you…”

His voice warmed.

“…I want you to have had enough time to become whoever you’re going to be.”

“So that if you say yes…”

He let out a quiet breath.

“…I’ll know you’re choosing me.”

Not fate.

Not obligation.

Not paperwork.

Just…

Him.

There was silence for several seconds.

When Tim finally spoke, his voice was suspiciously thick.

“…You really are impossible.”

Jason laughed.

“I’ve heard that.”

“I love you.”

Jason smiled.

This time…

The words didn’t make him freeze.

They settled somewhere warm beneath his ribs.

He still wasn’t ready to say them back.

Not because they weren’t true.

Because they were.

So overwhelmingly true that he wanted the first time he said them to be while looking Tim in the eye.

“I know,” Jason said softly.

“And when I finally answer…”

He smiled to himself.

“…I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

—

The wedding became the talk of Gotham.

Then it became the talk of the country.

No one could decide which headline was more outrageous.

Billionaire Heir Returns from the Dead.

Wayne Son to Marry Drake Heir.

Soulmate Ceremony Planned for Gotham’s Most Eligible Couple.

Sixteen-Year-Old Drake Heir Registers Soul Bond.

Every newspaper had an opinion.

Every gossip columnist claimed to have inside information.

Half the internet insisted it was the greatest love story of the century.

The other half insisted something sinister had to be happening.

Jason ignored it.

Mostly.

Until Bruce insisted he attend a charity luncheon at Wayne Enterprises.

“It’s good public relations.”

“It’s torture.”

“It’s two hours.”

“It’ll feel like ten years.”

Bruce had simply looked at him.

Jason had gone.

Exactly two hours later, he escaped the building through the front entrance.

Unfortunately…

So had every reporter in Gotham.

Flashes exploded the second the revolving doors opened.

“Jason!”

“Mr. Todd-Wayne!”

“Can we have a statement?”

“How did you meet Timothy Drake?”

“Have you set a wedding date?”

“Will Bruce Wayne be walking you down the aisle?”

Jason kept walking.

He’d almost reached his motorcycle when one voice cut through the chaos.

Louder than the others.

“Mr. Todd-Wayne!”

Jason paused.

The reporter raised his microphone.

“Is it true you’re taking advantage of the fact that Timothy Drake is only sixteen to pressure him into a marriage?”

Silence fell.

Every camera turned toward Jason.

His expression emptied.

The easy smirk disappeared.

The warmth vanished from his eyes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

Dangerously quiet.

“If you ever imply that I would manipulate my soulmate…”

He took one measured step toward the crowd.

“…or use the bond between us to make Timothy Drake do something against his will…”

Another step.

“…we are going to have a problem.”

The reporters instinctively shuffled backward.

Jason continued.

“I have spent the better part of a year making absolutely certain that every choice Tim has made has been exactly that.”

His gaze swept across the assembled media.

“A choice.”

“I waited until I was legally alive again before we registered our bond.”

“I have repeatedly told him that every significant decision about our future is his to make freely.”

“I have no interest in a relationship built on obligation.”

His voice hardened.

“If Timothy Drake woke up tomorrow and decided he wanted nothing more to do with me…”

A faint smile crossed Jason’s face.

“…he would tell me.”

Several reporters blinked.

Jason almost looked amused.

“And he’d probably hit me with that custom bo staff I made him if I argued.”

A few nervous laughs rippled through the crowd.

Jason didn’t smile back.

“Tim is one of the most stubborn people I have ever met.”

“He is smarter than I am.”

“And more than capable of telling me exactly where to shove my opinions.”

His eyes narrowed.

“So let’s be perfectly clear.”

“No one is coercing Timothy Drake.”

“No one is taking advantage of him.”

“And if you continue suggesting otherwise…”

His smile returned.

It was all sharp edges.

“…I will devote every legal resource at my disposal to proving exactly how false those claims are.”

A chill settled over the crowd.

Jason looked directly at the reporter who had asked the question.

“And if anyone decides Timothy is an easier target than I am…”

His tone became almost conversational.

“I’ll personally make sure Janet Drake sees every article, every recording, and every rumor.”

He tilted his head.

“You’ve met Mrs. Drake.”

No one answered.

Jason nodded once.

“I thought that might get the point across.”

Several reporters visibly paled.

Everyone in Gotham had already learned that Janet Drake possessed a terrifying combination of limitless resources, impeccable manners, and an absolute refusal to tolerate anyone mistreating her son.

Jason slipped on his helmet.

One last thought occurred to him.

“Oh.”

He looked back over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking for a scandal…”

The white lenses of the helmet reflected a sea of cameras.

“…try asking whether Bruce cried when I got engaged.”

Behind him, someone heard an unmistakable choking sound from the entrance to Wayne Enterprises.

Dick Grayson burst into laughter.

Bruce Wayne closed his eyes.

The reporters forgot all about their previous question.

By the next morning, every newspaper carried a different version of the confrontation.

Most praised Jason for defending Tim so fiercely.

A few questioned why Gotham’s newly resurrected billionaire heir sounded remarkably comfortable discussing organized security, legal leverage, and investigative resources.

Then anonymous posts began appearing on Gotham forums.

Anyone else notice Todd-Wayne talks like a mob boss?

He said “legal resources”… but somehow I don’t think he only meant lawyers.

Has anyone actually looked into who controls Crime Alley these days?

Within a week, the whispers had spread across the city.

No one had any proof.

No one dared print it.

But the rumor persisted anyway.

Somewhere beneath the polished suits and billionaire smiles…

Jason Todd-Wayne was said to be running Gotham’s mafia.

Jason read one headline over breakfast, snorted into his coffee, and texted Tim.

Jason: I think I’m accidentally developing a reputation.

Tim’s reply arrived almost instantly.

Tim: Accidentally?

—

Jason stared at Tim’s last message for a full minute.

Then he started typing.

Jason: Hypothetically…

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Tim: Hypothetically?

Jason: Would it be a bad idea to encourage the rumors?

A few seconds passed.

Jason: Drop a few really obvious hints?

This time Tim replied so quickly Jason suspected he’d been waiting for the question.

Tim: Yes.

Jason sighed dramatically.

He knew it.

Then another message appeared.

Tim: Do it.

Jason barked out a laugh.

Jason: Baby Bird.

Tim: It’ll be hilarious.

Another message.

Tim: And honestly? It’ll probably protect both of us in the long run.

Jason leaned back in his chair.

That…

Actually wasn’t terrible logic.

If people genuinely believed Jason Todd-Wayne had one foot in Gotham’s underworld, they would think twice before harassing Tim.

Criminals wouldn’t see Tim as an easy target.

Reporters might decide anonymous internet rumors were safer than staking out Drake Manor.

Even politicians tended to become remarkably polite around people they suspected might have dangerous friends.

Jason grinned.

Jason: You are an evil little genius.

Tim: I learned from the best.

It began innocently enough.

Jason accepted an invitation to lunch with Oswald Cobblepot.

Technically.

The invitation had been a demand.

Cobblepot wanted to discuss shipping routes that crossed territory Jason quietly controlled.

Jason wanted Cobblepot to stop extorting small businesses in Crime Alley.

Neither man expected to enjoy the meal.

Unfortunately for Gotham’s gossip magazines…

They chose a restaurant with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Someone recognized them.

The photographs hit the internet before dessert.

RESURRECTED WAYNE HEIR SPOTTED DINING WITH OSWALD COBBLEPOT

The article offered six different explanations.

Business investment.

Political fundraising.

A chance encounter.

A family friendship.

No one suggested the truth.

That two crime bosses had spent forty-five minutes arguing over neighborhood protection rackets before agreeing that neither of them wanted to deal with the paperwork involved in a gang war.

Jason sent the article to Tim.

Jason: Oops.

Tim: I’m framing this.

A week later, someone photographed Jason and Roman Sionis outside an abandoned theater.

The picture captured the exact moment Jason jabbed a finger into Black Mask’s chest.

Roman looked furious.

Jason looked even worse.

The accompanying video contained no audio.

Which was unfortunate.

Because if it had—

The internet would have heard Jason saying,

“If one more shipment of yours ends up within five blocks of Crime Alley, I’m feeding that stupid mask to Killer Croc.”

Instead, the grainy footage looked exactly like two powerful men threatening one another over organized crime.

The headline practically wrote itself.

JASON TODD-WAYNE IN HEATED CONFRONTATION WITH BLACK MASK

The speculation reached absurd levels.

Some people insisted Jason was buying the False Face Society.

Others claimed Black Mask had refused to work for him.

One particularly creative podcast theorized Gotham’s criminal underworld had been divided between the two men for years.

Jason listened to that episode while cleaning his guns.

“…They’re actually not that far off,” he admitted.

Within a month, the rumors had taken on a life of their own.

Restaurant staff began treating Jason with exaggerated politeness.

Low-level gang members crossed the street when they saw him.

A city councilman who had publicly criticized the wedding abruptly withdrew his comments after accidentally making eye contact with Jason at a charity gala.

Jason hadn’t even spoken to him.

He’d simply raised an eyebrow.

Tim nearly laughed himself sick when he read the apology the next morning.

Bruce, on the other hand, cornered Jason in the Batcave.

“You are encouraging this.”

Jason looked up from cleaning Red Hood’s helmet.

“I have never confirmed a single rumor.”

Bruce folded his arms.

“You met with Cobblepot in public.”

“I did.”

“You argued with Black Mask in front of cameras.”

“I certainly did.”

“You smirk every time someone asks if you’re a mob boss.”

Jason considered that.

“…That’s not technically a crime.”

Bruce sighed the sigh of a man who had raised far too many dramatic children.

“You are impossible.”

Jason grinned.

“I know.”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment.

“…Are you actually trying to become Gotham’s most intimidating billionaire?”

Jason thought about it.

Then shrugged.

“I mean…”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“It does seem to be working.”

Across town, Tim looked up from his phone after reading another article.

The headline read:

IS JASON TODD-WAYNE GOTHAM’S SECRET KINGPIN?

Tim snorted.

Then he texted Jason.

Tim: You’re never beating the allegations.

Jason’s reply came almost instantly.

Jason: What allegations? I’m just a respectable businessman.

Tim laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair.

—

The wedding arrived far faster than Jason had ever expected.

One minute he was arguing with Janet over whether black roses were “romantic” or “slightly threatening.”

The next…

It was December twenty-first.

His wedding day.

Outside, fresh snow blanketed Gotham in white, softening even the city’s jagged skyline. The venue glittered with thousands of tiny lights reflected off crystal chandeliers and frosted windows. Somewhere beyond the walls, Gotham’s elite mingled alongside vigilantes, politicians, socialites, detectives, and more than a few people who definitely belonged on one side of the law or the other.

Alfred had somehow seated everyone without starting a gang war.

Jason was almost more impressed by that than anything else.

He stood in the groom’s suite, absently adjusting the cuffs of his black tuxedo for what had to be the tenth time.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened quietly.

Janet Drake stepped inside.

She was breathtaking.

Her gown was a deep sapphire blue that shimmered every time it caught the light, the color reminding Jason strangely of Gotham’s harbor just after sunset. Elegant silver embroidery traced the sleeves and neckline, catching against the diamonds at her throat.

Jason straightened instinctively.

“Mrs. Drake.”

Janet looked him over from head to toe.

The tailored tuxedo.

The white streak in his hair.

The nervous way he kept fidgeting with his cufflinks.

A fond smile spread across her face.

“You clean up very well.”

Jason snorted.

“I’ve had years of Alfred threatening me with tailoring.”

“I can believe that.”

She stepped farther into the room, gently closing the door behind her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Janet asked quietly,

“Are you ready for this?”

Jason let out a slow breath.

“The whole of high society is watching today.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“The press is already calling it the event of the season.”

Jason groaned dramatically.

“I hate that sentence.”

Janet laughed.

“I suspected you might.”

Jason looked down at his polished shoes before admitting,

“I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be…”

He smiled sheepishly.

“…Mrs. Drake.”

Janet’s expression softened.

“Oh, Jason.”

She crossed the room until she was standing in front of him.

“Gently now.”

She reached up and brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his lapel.

“It’s Janet.”

Jason blinked.

“Janet?”

“I’m your mother-in-law, darling.”

The words were spoken so naturally.

So matter-of-factly.

As though she’d been waiting to say them.

Jason felt something tighten painfully in his chest.

His own mother had loved him.

He remembered that much.

But she’d been too sick for most of his childhood.

Too exhausted.

Too consumed by pain.

There had never really been anyone after that.

Not until…

Janet smiled at him.

“You’ve been calling me Mrs. Drake for months.”

“I… have.”

“I think you’ve earned first-name privileges.”

Jason laughed quietly, though it came out a little unsteady.

“I’ll… try.”

“No.”

Janet reached up and straightened his tie with practiced hands.

“You’ll succeed.”

She stepped back to admire her work.

“There.”

“My handsome son-in-law.”

Jason looked away before she could see how much those words affected him.

“…You know,” he admitted after a long silence, “I never really pictured this.”

“The wedding?”

“The family.”

Janet’s smile turned impossibly gentle.

“I know.”

She rested a hand lightly on his arm.

“But you’ve had one for longer than you think.”

Jason frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always had Bruce.”

Jason opened his mouth to object.

Janet raised an eyebrow.

“You may argue with him.”

“I do.”

“You may ignore him.”

“Frequently.”

“You may drive him absolutely insane.”

“Almost daily.”

“But if someone tried to take you away from him…”

She smiled knowingly.

“…the entire city would discover exactly how frightening Bruce Wayne can be.”

Jason couldn’t argue with that.

Janet squeezed his arm once.

“And now…”

Her eyes shone with quiet affection.

“…you have us, too.”

For a long moment, Jason couldn’t find any words.

Finally, he managed a quiet,

“…Thank you.”

Janet smiled.

“Come along.”

She offered him her arm with effortless grace.

“My son has been pacing holes into the floor for the last twenty minutes.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot upward.

“Tim’s nervous?”

“Oh, darling.”

Janet laughed as Jason accepted her arm.

“He’s absolutely terrified.”

Jason couldn’t help smiling.

Somehow…

Knowing that made his own nerves seem a little easier to bear.

—

The wedding went perfectly.

Jason had spent months waiting for disaster.

Someone would object.

Black Mask would choose today to start a war.

The press would find a way inside.

Bruce and Jason’s lieutenants would argue over security.

Dick would accidentally set something on fire.

Something.

Anything.

Instead…

Everything simply… worked.

The ceremony was beautiful.

The vows were simple, spoken with quiet certainty rather than grand theatrics.

The reception was somehow even better.

Music drifted through the ballroom while snow fell softly beyond the tall windows. Gotham’s elite mingled with Crime Alley residents Jason had quietly invited, and somehow Alfred had managed to arrange the seating so that no one started an international incident.

Jason still wasn’t entirely sure how.

Tim smiled through the entire evening.

Not the polite smile he wore for cameras.

Not the practiced Drake gala smile.

His real one.

The one that reached his eyes.

The one Jason had fallen in love with long before he’d admitted it to himself.

Jason found his gaze drifting back to him over and over again.

Across the dance floor.

Across dinner.

During speeches.

Every single time, Tim caught him looking.

Every single time, he smiled a little wider.

Dick noticed.

Cass noticed.

Even Bruce noticed.

None of them said a word.

They simply watched Jason smile more in one evening than he had in years.

Then…

It was over.

Guests drifted home.

The orchestra packed away their instruments.

Flowers were gathered.

Tables cleared.

The photographers finally stopped asking for “just one more picture.”

Jason stood outside the venue beneath a sky dusted with fresh snow.

The cold bit pleasantly at his cheeks.

He looked down at the gold band resting on his finger.

Husband.

The word still didn’t feel real.

For so long he’d been certain he’d die alone.

Then fate had handed him Tim.

Now…

Now they were husbands.

It felt impossibly surreal.

The town car waited at the curb, engine idling quietly.

Alfred stood nearby, pretending not to watch them while very obviously watching them.

Bruce had tactfully ushered the rest of the family several yards away.

Giving them a moment.

Tim stepped beside Jason, his own breath curling into the winter air.

“You okay?”

Jason laughed softly.

“I think so.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m…” Jason searched for the right word.

“Overwhelmed.”

Tim nodded in understanding.

“Good overwhelmed?”

“The best kind.”

Silence settled comfortably between them.

Jason turned toward him.

Really looked at him.

Tim’s hair was slightly mussed from hours of dancing.

A few snowflakes had settled on his shoulders.

There was a faint flush in his cheeks from the cold.

He looked happy.

Safe.

Home.

Jason reached out slowly.

His hand came to rest gently against Tim’s cheek.

Tim leaned instinctively into the touch.

Blue eyes searched Jason’s face.

“What is it?”

Jason smiled.

He’d rehearsed these words for months.

Countless nights lying awake after Tim had fallen asleep in the room down the hall.

Hundreds of different versions.

Long speeches.

Poetic confessions.

Perfect declarations.

In the end…

None of those felt right.

So he told the truth.

“Timothy Drake.”

Tim’s breath caught.

Jason had only ever used his full name when something truly mattered.

“I love you.”

The words settled gently between them.

No fireworks.

No dramatic swell of music.

Just three words Jason had carried in his heart for far too long.

Tim’s eyes filled immediately.

“You…”

He laughed through the tears threatening to spill.

“You picked now?”

Jason smiled sheepishly.

“I told you…”

His thumb brushed lightly across Tim’s cheek.

“…I wanted to say it while I was looking at you.”

Tim closed his eyes for just a second.

When he opened them again, they were shining.

“I’ve been waiting months.”

“I know.”

“I almost said it every day.”

“I know.”

“You made me wait until our wedding?”

Jason chuckled.

“I might be a little dramatic.”

“A little?”

Tim laughed, the sound bright enough to warm the winter night.

Then he reached up, covering Jason’s hand with his own.

“I love you too.”

Jason’s eyes closed.

Not because he was trying not to cry.

Because, for the first time in his life…

He felt completely, utterly, and unquestionably loved.

When they finally climbed into the waiting car, Jason glanced once more at the venue disappearing behind them.

He thought about the boy who had once looked at four words across his ribs and believed they meant he would never be enough.

He almost wished he could go back and tell that frightened child the truth.

That fate hadn’t rejected him.

It had simply been waiting.

Waiting until a stubborn fifteen-year-old detective looked at a ghost in Titans Tower and refused to let him be alone ever again.

Archive of Our Own

Actions

Work Header