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Jason had been obsessing over this for weeks. Planning. Although the word "planning" was perhaps giving the thing a bit more credit than he deserved. Fantasizing would be better.
He'd imagined it often enough that the details had started to blur together somewhat, but the general idea remained consistent: Jason would find his Replacement, corner the little shit, and scare him badly enough that the lesson would stick.
Maybe put him through the wall?
The green bubbled up every time he thought about Tim taking what was his, so the plan probably had a few holes, but Jason wasn't planning anything permanent.
For all that Jason was angry, he wasn't Bruce, and he wasn't interested in making the kid a corpse just because he decided to put on a cape.
Just…rough him up a bit. Make Tim realize that Robin did not make him untouchable, and walk away feeling considerably less like he'd been replaced.
It wasn't exactly mature, but Jason had never claimed to be mature.
There was exactly one problem with his fantasy. Tim Drake was not going to cooperate.
Jason found that out approximately a minute after punching in his code to the Tower. It still worked, so that was according to plan. And nothing else was.
Jason had expected to have to search for the kid's smell. The other Titans were out, because Jason knew how to pick his timing and didn't feel like fighting an entire team of teenagers when he'd come here for one particular one.
But instead, he could smell the kid everywhere. The air smelled of him, the old paper and citrus smell filling Jason's nose, and hell, it might have been a better defense system than Jason could imagine, because it left Jason stumbling around, clueless.
Then he heard footsteps above him, and Jason smiled.
Finally!
He took the steps two at a time, and found his Replacement standing at the end of a corridor, bo staff in his arms. Spoiled rich omega. Uncaring of danger.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Drake's eyes narrowed. "Red Hood."
Jason couldn't help himself. He grinned a toothy grin, the green rushing up to join him, and said, "Found you."
He moved. Replacement fled towards the elevator.
The next ten minutes were the most irritating game of cat and mouse that Jason had ever played, and that included that One Time with Catwoman.
Every time he thought he had him cornered, a door locked between them, giving the Replacement just enough time to catch his breath.
Drake knew the Tower intimately, and not just in the way a person knew where the kitchen was, and which elevator went to which floor. His knowledge was…deeper, in some way?
And Jason was beginning to suspect that it was going to be a problem. The thought made his teeth grind.
Finally, he cornered the Replacement. Or did he let himself be cornered? Jason didn't care. He was too in the green to think about it.
Stupid, Jason thought, ducking under the first swing, Arrogant little silver-spoon brat.
He'd not even been Robin that long, and he was trying to find Jason? Jason, who had battled for territory on the streets many, many times, and often won?
Idiot.
And, true to his thoughts, when Drake attacked, a textbook downward strike meant to pin Jason's shoulder, Jason caught him easily, stepped inside the arc and grabbed Drake by the collar and threw him onto the ground.
It should have ended there. Any sane omega would have yielded, popped a smoke pellet, and hauled ass to their fallback territory. And an omega as rich as Drake most likely had at least two.
So Jason was ready for anything.
Then Drake twisted, violently, nearly dislocating his shoulder to get out of the grasp, and Jason released him, rather than risk further harm.
Why won't you just run? Jason thought, an uneasy flicker of concern cutting through the green haze for a second. Just back off and run home to the Manor, you idiot.
Then the Replacement lunged again, rebounding off the wall, and used the rebound to drive the butt of his staff straight into Jason's helmet. The hit connected, and pain turned quickly into anger, devoured by the green.
"All right, Jason growled, "You want to play like that?"
The Replacement didn't answer. He was breathing through his teeth, his arms shaking slightly, but he wasn't retreating, not an inch. Jason raised his guard, just in time to catch a discharge across his braces, the shock biting into his forearms and numbing his fingers.
Jason swore, then swung, hitting empty air as Drake jumped above him, then dropped down onto Jason's chest, driving both his knees in.
They hit the deck hard.
"Get off," Jason snarled, pushing Drake back. The rage in him flared higher and higher still and Jason lost himself to the instincts.
He barely remembered the next few minutes. Just flashes. The bo staff whistling in the air, his hands catching it and wrenching it sideways, dragging Drake off balance. Then Drake was twisting free, and that made Jason howl in rage, lunging after him. The jarring smash of impact—a door? A wall? The sharp crack of the staff against his helmet, the crunch of his fist against ribs, the wet, ragged sound of someone in pain.
Finally, Jason grabbed Drake, and shook him, hard. Drake slipped free. Jason caught him again.
And then his back was slamming into a wall, and he was on the floor and the Replacement was scrambling away before Jason caught him by the ankle and dragged him back.
"Stay down!"
Drake's heel kicked him, and Jason laughed in response. It wasn't a particularly safe laugh. He surged forward again. Drake kept getting back up, coming at him, and every single time he did, Jason's anger climbed another notch.
There was blood on the floor. Jason didn't care. The green was everywhere now, roaring in his ears, drowning out reason, and all Jason could think was Replacement.
A flash.
There was a hollow crack—the bo staff? A broken bone? He couldn't tell.
The red of his opponent's tunic filled his field of vision, and he punched, driving his fist into Drake's stomach. The bastard finally folded, choking and Jason caught the back of his suit, hauling him upright.
"You are a pathetic Robin," he snarled. Drake kicked him, weakly, scraping uselessly against Jason's shin. and Jason drove him into the wall.
Down. Stay down. Die, you useless parasite.
Drake moved again, limbs flailing, and Jason drove him into the paneling a second time.
And finally, no attack came. Jason stayed standing, boots planted wide, still holding the worm up by the collar, breathing heavily. His chest hurt, aching with every drag of air.
Then another second passed. And another.
Slowly, painfully, the green began to recede, seeping away in ugly little pieces, leaving Jason standing in the wreckage of what he'd just done.
He looked at Drake.
The polymer of the mask had cracked down the bridge of the nose, one side hanging half-torn from the skin, blood running from a split near his eyebrow and dripping down his jaw. One side of the Robin costume was torn badly enough that Jason could see the bruises forming underneath.
Jason let go as if the suit was burning him, stepping back in horror. Drake dropped to the ground like a puppet with broken strings, limbs folding limply. Jason stared at his own bloodied gloves. "Fuck!"
The kid wasn't moving. Jason waited for a minute. Nothing. Cursing under his breath, Jason ripped off his right gauntlet and crouched, reaching out, two fingers against the side of Tim's neck.
A pulse. Weak, but steady. Alive.
Jason let out a sigh, then shoved the panic down, forcing a sneer on his face. He hadn't lost control too badly. The kid wasn't dead. And maybe this would finally be the wake-up he needed to put down the mask.
Jason stood up and put one boot on Drake's chest, as he waited for the Replacements' eyes to flutter open. He even had a line ready in his head: Give me one good reason why I shouldn't finish this. He'd looked forward to saying it for weeks. Then Drake's eyes slowly opened.
And something about the way he looked made the words die in Jason's mouth. Drake wasn't looking at him. His eyes were wide open, but they weren't focusing on anything, and there was no stubborn spark in them. They were dull. Empty.
Jason's boot shifted against his Replacement's chest. "Robin?"
There was no response. Not even a moan. The anger fled, leaving behind a cold sensation Jason didn't particularly like. He crouched down, catching Drake's jaw between his fingers and turning his face towards him.
"Cut the crap," Jason snapped, grabbing the kid's shoulder and shaking him slightly. "Shift your baseline. Where's your other territory?"
Drake's lips barely moved. A thin line of blood ran from his lip. "Here."
"No it isn't, I just broke it," he growled. "Your other territory. The Manor. Where's your claim on the Manor?"
Drake's gaze remained fixed somewhere over Jason's shoulder. "Never…had one." The words were barely audible. "Father…wouldn't let me mark the house. He didn't like the smell."
Jason's hands locked tight around the kid. "Daddybats's place then. The cave."
Drake didn't answer immediately. Then, very softly, "Bruce was…still mourning him."
Jason went still. Drake continued: "Didn't want…my scent there. Intruder." His throat hitched. "Don't have…anywhere else."
Jason simply stared at him. That didn't make any sense. It couldn't. Most omegas kept two territories minimum. That way if one fell to a challenge, or burned down, or got ruined in the constant gang wars, you retreated to a backup so your body wouldn't eat itself alive. And this kid only had the one?
"You're Robin!" Jason shouted, furious at the kid, at Bruce, at the whole rotten world. "You should have the whole damn city!"
"Just here," the kid murmured. "Let me die…please. It hurts."
His eyelids drifted shut.
No. This wasn't happening, the kid should have a backup! But it was. Jason could smell the difference now that he'd stopped fighting, the way the kid's scent was fading now that the Tower had accepted his claim.
"Shit."
The kid didn't respond. His eyelashes fluttered weakly, and then went still.
Jason forced his brain to think.
The Tower was his now, and Jason couldn't walk away. If he did, then the kid's heart would probably give out before the hour was out. And Jason couldn't hand the Tower back, because biology had never accepted apologies and regrets. No, the only way a territorial claim could be passed was if it was lost. Or yielded.
He'd done this before, although usually under considerably less fraught circumstances. An omega without territory needed somewhere their body could recognize as safe. If they had no pack around to build them a defensive nest, then the next best thing was a subordinate pocket. Jason could make one. He could do it. He just needed to be fast.
He carried the kid carefully into one of the smaller rooms, and lowered him into a corner. Then he ran, feet pounding, tearing into the first room that carried the scent of others.
He ripped the blanket off the mattress of the ozone alpha's room, and brought it back, shoving it into the corner around the kid. The sun-and-leather beta's pillows joined it, wedged against the wall to make the boundaries more definite.
More. He needed more. A subordinate pocket was not simply a pile of soft things in a corner, no matter how much the idea of it appealed to the part of Jason that wanted to crawl under a blanket and pretend none of this had ever happened.
It needed Tim's scent, to make the owner clear, and something of Jason's, too, to make the protection clear and mark the nest as made with Jason's permission.
"Right. Okay. More blankets."
He wasn't panicking. He wasn't. Panicking involved screaming and running in circles and generally making oneself useless, whereas Jason was currently doing something extremely practical.
He tore through the rooms again. Blanket, then more pillows, then a pair of sweatpants. He dragged the mattress halfway off Tim's bed, then thought better of it because there was no way in hell he could carry that thing back across the Tower. Instead he grabbed a few more blankets, and headed back.
The nest he had built looked ridiculous, and far too small. Jason crouched next to it, and rolled the kid's unmoving body onto the blanket, then made sure the bottom of the nest was full of soft, comforting things that smelled like the kid's (presumably) pack. He adjusted the cushions, kneading them to make them softer, and made sure that the nest looked good before he added the final piece.
His own leather jacket, infused with his scent. Jason threw it across the kid's body, letting his scent spread through the tiny nest and envelop all others.
"Breathe, you little idiot," Jason ordered. "Breathe in. Take the fucking space, kid."
For a terrible, terrible moment, the kid remained limp. Then his chest hitched, and a sharp gasp tore out of his throat. He sucked in a lungful of air, and a slight flush returned to his cheekbones. His shivering subsided slightly.
Jason pulled a blanket over him, and Tim made a small, unhappy noise, fingers curling into the edge of Jason's jacket.
He should probably call someone. A doctor, maybe. Or one of the other Titans who knew more about whatever the kid was going through than he did, although that thought was immediately followed by the realization that he would have to explain exactly what he was doing inside a supposedly "impermeable" building, and why he was there. There were several ways that conversation could go, and none of them ended with Jason having a pleasant afternoon.
Besides, the kid needed time for his body to recover from the worst of the deprivation.
Jason breathed, leaning against the wall, keeping himself close enough that his scent continued to reinforce the pocket.
"You're still a brat," he informed the unconscious body. "Just so we're clear."
Tim whimpered and buried his nose deeper in Jason's jacket where the scent was strongest. He didn't look like a smirking usurper. More like a tiny pup, battered, struggling to survive.
Jason slid down the wall until he was on the floor, forearms on his knees. The silence pressed down on him, interrupted only by the muffled, ragged sounds of the kid's breathing.
How was this possible? Tim Drake was supposed to be an omega who wore silk underpants and went to private boarding schools. He was supposed to have at least three territories! Jason had more than three territories. Five safehouses, a claim under Ra's in Nanda Parbat, his territory in Crime Alley. Was he the rich bastard in this case?
Was he?
Jason knew he was lucky. There were omegas in Crime Alley who slept in batches of six in abandoned boiler rooms to keep their hearts beating. He'd watched other kids his age die after having their territories taken from them by bigger, stronger omegas. He’d seen desperate runaways forced to sell themselves to the worst scum in the Narrows just to earn a corner of a damp, rat-infested room. It was why he had set up so many subordinate territories for them. Why one of his rules was No territory battles.
And in the green rage, he hadn't noticed the signs of a Last Territory defense. He should have.
How many more decisions had he made under the influence of his madness? What else had it fabricated? Had he killed those who were just desperate, had he punished other cornered omegas just because he had seen a threat that wasn't really there? Was anything he knew really true?
Jason's eyes drifted back to the kid. The no-territories, no-riches, not-Replacement kid.
Talia had lied.
The thought hurt. Maybe she just hadn't known? Tim Drake was Robin. He was a Drake. Nobody looked at a kid like that and expected him to be the sort of omega who only had a single territory to keep his heart beating. Jason looked away, a sick feeling twisting in his gut.
He knew why Tim had hidden it. You didn't just…broadcast the fact that you only had one territory. It was like handing someone the knife to slit your throat. It told everyone how vulnerable you were, that you couldn't be challenged, that you would do anything to avoid that.
Jason stared at the nest. Tim had barely moved since he'd started breathing properly. Ever so often there was a shudder beneath the blankets, or a little twitch of his fingers, but otherwise he remained curled as he was, the bruises and blood from the territory battle still covering him.
How was he supposed to do a territory battle in this case? One strong poke would knock him down! Jason felt a twinge of guilt. He had done that. Had beaten the kid black and blue.
He needed to fix this. But how?
He leaned his head back against the wall. Tim's breathing was still the only thing interrupting the silence, which probably meant he would wake up soon. Jason still had no idea how to explain any of his actions. Or what to do next.
He'd been so certain when he had come here. Certain that Tim was spoiled. That the kid had taken everything Jason had and done so with a grin. And now he was just…he didn't know. Jason's mouth twisted.
"Fuck."
He wanted to be angry. It was so much easier, because anger was freeing and anger had a target and anger didn't let you think about right or wrong and if there were any other options.
This was just…unpleasant.
Hours seemed to pass, although Jason lost track of time somewhere between the fourth time he checked Tim's pulse, decided that checking for the fifth time was ridiculous, and checked it again anyway. At some point he got water, rummaging around in the kitchen that seemed to contain an unhealthy amount of sweets, frozen pizza, and ramen packets.
Then again, these teenagers probably didn't have the skills to cook anything harder.
When he returned, Tim was still asleep, so Jason sat down next to him again. The kid looked younger when he was unconscious which was…annoying. When he was awake, he had that whole smug thing going on, that expression that seemed to say he was always three steps ahead of everyone else, always winning.
Asleep, he looked about fifteen.
Which, Jason supposed, was because he was about fifteen. "Just a kid," Jason muttered. Tim's nose wrinkled, as if in response, and Jason straightened. His eyelids fluttered once, twice, then they stopped, and Tim turned to the other side. Jason fought the grin that threatened to emerge on his face, and turned away.
It took four hours, but Jason heard the blankets shift, and Tim's breathing hitch. He looked over just as Tim scrambled backward, his spine slamming against the back wall of the alcove, arms snapping up.
Jason watched the kid’s face change. First, the instant terror of smelling another omega's dominant claim everywhere in the air. Then, the confusion as Drake looked down at the bright red jacket, the black duvet, his own pillows, and finally, his own white-knuckled grip on Jason himself.
"You," Tim rasped. "What did you do?"
Jason leaned back against the wall opposite the nest, making sure to keep his hands where Tim could see them. "Kept you alive."
The kid's eyes narrowed, and he kicked the blankets away. "You took the Tower," he accused. There was no question, and Jason didn't insult him by pretending otherwise.
"Yeah."
Tim's fingers tightened around the edge of one of his pillows, his knuckles going white again as he looked past Jason toward the open doorway. Jason could see him taking in the scent of the hallway, the unfamiliar weight of Jason's claim layered over everything that had once belonged to him, and something about the way his shoulders drew inward made Jason's stomach twist.
"The Tower's mine," Tim said quietly. Almost plaintively.
"Was."
Tim's head snapped toward him, and Jason immediately regretted saying anything. He couldn't take it back, though, and besides, lying about this would have been worse. He still felt the need to explain. "You know how territorial claims work."
"I know."
"Then you know I didn't choose it."
Tim's laugh was bitter. "You didn't have to do it."
Jason frowned. Didn't have to do what? Save the kid? Of course he did. That was just the decent thing to do.
"You could have stopped," Tim continued, wincing in pain.
Oh.
That hit harder than Jason expected. He looked away for a moment, jaw tightening, because the kid was right and they both knew it.
"I should have," he admitted after a minute.
Tim stared at him, eyes wide, but Jason didn't elaborate.
There wasn't much point.
He'd come here intending to scare Tim. Hurt him, too, and somewhere along the way he'd let anger take over, and the result was that Jason now owned the only place in the world where this particular omega could safely exist.
That was not something he particularly wanted to think about.
Tim looked down at himself, blinking under the fluorescent lights, looking down at the tangled nest beneath him. His face tightened.
"You made this," Tim said, voice cracking, "Why?"
Jason shrugged. "Why not? You needed somewhere, and it didn't take much effort."
The kid's eyes remained fixed on him, unblinking, unreadable under the domino mask. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
"No." Tim shook his head in a jerky motion. "No, it isn't. Why?"
Jason let out a rough, exasperated breath. "Why can't you just be grateful? You were dying."
"Because you beat me."
"Yeah."
"And then you made me a nest."
Jason grimaced. Nest sounded way too intimate. Like he was pack, like family, like something soft and gentle that Jason hadn't let himself think about in a long time.
"Emergency territorial pocket," he corrected.
The kid stared at him, mouth slightly open. "That's still a nest."
"Whatever you want to call it."
Silence stretched between them. Then Tim looked down again, his bruised knuckles resting against the red leather, and Jason watched his fingers slowly relax against the blanket.
"You put your scent in it," the kid said.
Jason's eyes tracked the fabric. "Had to."
"Why?"
This was clearly a little kid. No one asked the Red Hood "Why" as many times as he did. Was the kid actually eight?
"Because otherwise your body wouldn't recognize the place as valid," Jason said, as he had many times before. "A pile of blankets isn't territory. You need something from the protector, otherwise it wouldn't work.
Tim's eyes lifted sharply, and Jason realized, belatedly, that he was probably explaining more than he needed to.
"Look, I know how these type of things work," he said, resting his head against the wall in a deliberately casual gesture. "You don't have a territory anymore, so I made you a subordinate pocket inside mine. Think of it as a safehouse."
Tim looked down at the blankets again, and Jason could practically see the thoughts forming in the kid's mind as he grasped the reality.
Then Tim's expression hardened into one Jason saw often in the mirror. Spite.
"No."
Jason blinked. "No?"
"I don't want it."
"Well, you're going to need somewhere to be while you recover," Jason said, voice rising, "Unless you somehow have another territory and you just wanted to die really badly for some reason?"
"I don't want your territory."
Jason stared at him, temper flaring, the green stirring up from its slumber once again. "You're not exactly overflowing with alternatives."
Tim's jaw clenched, hard enough that the muscles in his cheek jumped.
"I don't need your pity."
Pity? What was the kid talking about?
"I don't pity you." The words came out before Jason had time to reconsider them, and for once he was glad they had. "I think you're confusing pity with the fact that I don't want the entire JL led by Daddybats hunting me down for your death."
Tim's lips pressed into a tight line as he pulled his knees up towards his chest. It was a defensive position, but Jason could see the shift, the way the fight was crawling back into him. He couldn't leave the kid like this. Tim was too proud, too stubborn to accept a charity subordinate pocket, and if he went out to fight for it for real, he'd die.
How to trigger a transfer without breaking him?
The answer came in a flash. If the kid defended his territory, if he won and Jason conceded that win, Jason would have lost a territory battle. Then he could give the Tower back, and leave, and pretend none of this had ever happened.
Jason just had to give the kid a fight he could win. With that in mind, Jason shifted his posture, pushing off the wall and rolling his shoulders back in a pose that screamed dominance.
"You want it back?" Jason asked, voice dripping with disdain. Tim looked at him, the longing on his face obvious.
"Yes," he hissed. Jason took a slow, heavy step forward, planting a foot deliberately over the edge of the boundary. Tim's eyes widened, mouth falling open. Jason was being unspeakably, breathtakingly rude, and Alfred would have had his ears, but he needed to provoke the kid right now.
"What's wrong, Robin?" Jason sneered. "Are you too weak to defend even the scraps you have left?"
"You can't just—" the kid started.
"I can," Jason interrupted, placing his other foot in, making it clear that this was a deliberate invasion. "You're sitting here crying about pity, and I think that if you can't even defend this much, maybe you deserved to lose the Tower."
Tim snarled, and launched himself forward, throwing his entire weight into Jason's chest, and Jason let his feet slip. His boots slid across the floor as the kid panted, his heels digging into the blankets, shoving with every desperate ounce of strength he had.
"Get out!" Tim screeched. "Get out of here! Get out!"
Jason knelt, letting the kid stumble into him, then back into the nest. Tim was gasping for air, but he was alert, clearly ready to spring up again if Jason invaded, but Jason stayed on one knee, breathing slowly.
Good, he thought, Now to end this.
He bowed his head, and tilted his chin to the left, baring his neck in symbolic defeat. In his mindscape, his territories drifted forward, letting him pick the one he conceded.
"Well," Jason said, loud and clear. "Looks like you win."
And with that, he let go of the thread tying him to the Tower. He didn't even need to look up to feel the kid staring at him, tracing his posture, knowing damn well that Jason had handed him the victory on a silver platter. But that didn't matter. Biology didn't care about Jason's motives. It only cared about what had actually happened.
In the nest, Tim let out a broken sound, halfway between a gasp and a sob, and Jason decided that now would be a good time to leave. He pushed himself up off the deck, wincing slightly as his bruised ribs protested the movement. He dusted the floor wax off the knees of his cargo pants and rolled his shoulders back, stretching the stiffness out of his spine.
"Happy?" he asked.
Tim stared at him for a long, silent moment. Jason could see the anger still there, but it was buried under exhaustion. The kid looked ready to collapse back into the blankets.
"Get out," the kid said. Calmly, regally. It was the order of someone who had the right to kick an intruder out.
"Already going," Jason said smoothly, hands behind his back, and walking slowly, the kid's gaze not lifting off him for a second until he disappeared out of sight. Jason stopped before the elevator.
He was fine. The corridor was silent, the rest of the Titans were still a few hours away, and there was no one around who knew him well enough to see him tremble.So, as the elevator doors chimed open to let him leave, Jason Todd started whistling a cheerful little tune, his boots echoing against Tim Drake’s floor.