Chapter Text
Tim's younger, alternate self is…odd. Where Tim is quiet and subdued, analytical and colder than he'd like to admit, even to himself, this small boy is bright. He's full of life, and Tim aches with an old grief every time he sees the warmth in his eyes and the joy in his smiles. That mourning feeling feels like a dagger to the heart every time he sees the way Jason smiles right back at him.
He refuses to call it jealousy.
Much as he hates it, he understands. This version of himself is young and unscathed, not weighed down by the life Tim has had to live. The hard choices he's had to make. The blood on his hands. He's innocent in ways Tim hasn't been in years.
Little Tim sits on the couch with his legs folded underneath him. He leans into Jason's side, and Jason has an arm curled around him. They're reading together. Jason holds a book in his free hand, lifted between the two of them. The kid is half asleep, but he keeps shaking himself awake. Tim watches the scene from his spot on the nearby armchair, knees tucked close to his chest. The position pulls at his injury, but he doesn't want to move for fear of breaking the delicate moment.
When Tim's alternate self eventually loses his battle against sleep and nods off against Jason's chest, Tim's own ribcage feels like it's strangling him. He doesn't know what he feels as he watches Jason gently brush hair out of the kid's eyes. The sheer fondness he sees in Jason's expression pulls at something wounded and bitter in Tim's heart.
He closes his eyes to block out the pain of it.
Tim will never be that boy again. He lost his spark a long, long time ago. He's scattered pieces of himself all across the world. Half of his bleeding heart lives in Gotham's shadows. His devotion has been trampled underfoot in the Batcave, ground to dust under Bruce's heel. He left his trust somewhere in a remote desert, along with his ruptured spleen. Tim doesn't have anything left to give. Not anymore.
Jason carefully stands up and gathers the sleeping child into his arms. He carries him into the bedroom, where Tim knows Cass is already asleep. Tim doesn't move from his spot on the armchair, watching the doorway for Jason's return. He doesn't have to wait for long. Jason shuts the door and moves back into the living room with a sigh. He looks exhausted but more settled than Tim can ever remember seeing him.
"They adore you," Tim murmurs quietly.
"Feeling's mutual," Jason replies, not missing a beat. He sits back down on the couch and scrubs a hand over his face. "Don't know what I'm doing half the time, but I guess I can't be screwing up too badly with them yet."
"You're great with them," Tim says. He rests his chin on top of his knobbly knees and studies Jason with a critical eye. "Really, Jason. I mean it."
"Thanks, kid," he says gruffly. Jason runs a hand through his hair with another deep sigh. "Fuck, I want a smoke."
Tim merely raises a brow at him.
"I quit as soon as I took in the first wayward bird," Jason explains, rolling his eyes. "I've gone soft."
"If anyone deserves it, it's those kids," Tim says, keeping his voice as even and light as he can manage. "Softness isn't always a bad thing."
"Yeah, yeah," Jason says, waving him off. The corners of his lips quirk upward. "You're part of the aviary now, too, you know."
"The aviary?" Tim snorts. "Is that what you call this place?"
"Needed a better name than Jason's shitty apartment."
"You're looking for a new one, though," Tim says. Jason nods, looking somehow completely at ease, as if this isn't one of the strangest conversations the two of them have ever had. "Who knew a Robin would grow up to become a mother hen?"
Jason barks out a laugh, and Tim manages to grin at him. For a moment, it feels like they could just be two brothers. For a moment, Tim can forget that he knows what the steel toe of Jason's boot feels like against his ribs. He doesn't see torn knuckles and teeth coated in blood when Jason smiles at him. He doesn't hear the low croon of Jason's voice as he mocks Tim, the replacement replaced. He doesn't feel the slice of a Batarang through his chest or the blunt impact of his own bo staff against his bones or the serrated edges of Jason's knife dancing against his skin.
The moment dissolves, and Tim feels the weight of their history settle around them again. The scar at his throat itches.
"Are you—" Tim hesitates, chewing on his lip. Jason looks at him, waiting patiently for him to gather his thoughts and find the right words. "Are you doing better, Jason?" He twists his fingers, feeling wrong-footed and more uncertain than usual. He doesn't know which parts of Jason are still raw and angry, festering like an infected wound. He's not sure where not to step in a conversational minefield.
"Yeah, Tim," Jason replies. His teal eyes meet Tim's own, and he offers Tim a rare, unguarded smile. "I really am. Things aren't perfect by any means, but yeah. I'm happy here. I think I'm doing right by the kids, and that matters to me more than anything."
"Good," Tim says around the lump in his throat. "I'm glad."
"Have you thought any more about what I said?" Jason asks.
"I'm not staying forever," Tim replies immediately. "I don't belong here. Not like you do."
"There are two Jason Todds here, Tim," Jason says with a laugh. "I don't belong here, but I made a home for myself, regardless."
Jason stands and moves to the kitchen. Tim keeps an eye on him, still hyper-vigilant and wary, despite himself. He trusts Jason with his younger self, but he isn't convinced Jason won't hurt him, if he pushes him too hard. Jason busies himself with making a pot of coffee. It's late, but their sleep schedules have never been normal, and Tim is feeling a subtle ache behind his eyes from the lack of caffeine. He wonders if Jason could tell.
"Does he remind you of yourself at all?" Jason asks as he reaches for two chipped mugs.
"Yeah," Tim manages. His voice comes out shakier than he expects. "I guess. I don't know if I was ever that young."
Jason hums in acknowledgement and stirs some cream and sugar into both mugs. Tim didn't know Jason likes sweetened coffee. His heart hurts a little at the thought. Each new piece of information about the man who would have been his brother in a kinder world—in a world like this one—feels like a gift and a burden at the same time. He hoards them, breathes them in with greedy lungs. Jason passes him a mug and sits down on the couch again, a little closer to Tim's armchair, this time.
"I get it," Jason finally says. He gently nudges Tim's socked foot with his own. "Seeing myself as Robin again was weird as fuck." He frowns down into his coffee, watching the steam curling up into the air. "B is screwed up in this world, too. Maybe not as badly as he is in our universe, but still. He accused little Jay of killing Garzonas. He punched Dick in the face a couple of weeks ago."
"You mentioned Jay and Dick stop by, sometimes. Is that why?" Tim asks, eyeing Jason warily. When Jason nods, Tim forces himself to keep a neutral expression on his face. Dick is a touchy subject for him still. He swallows thickly. "They know they can rely on you, too? Like the others?"
Another nod. Something in Tim relaxes, at that. He doesn't fully understand why.
"It's weird," Jason says, "I'm older than Dick, in this world."
"Definitely weird," Tim agrees. He pauses again, feeling the silence grow heavy with things unsaid. "For all his mistakes, he was still our eldest brother."
"Yeah, well," Jason sighs, shrugging. A muscle in his jaw twitches. "He didn't always do a great job, did he?"
"Not always, but he tried."
"More than I can say about myself," Jason mutters. Something bitter seeps into his tone. Tim shifts uncomfortably at the sound of it.
"Speaking of trying and—and helping, um, I can help teach the kids sign language, while I'm here. Or I can help with comms during your patrols." He offers a smile alongside the assistance, but he worries the expression falls flat.
Jason looks at him, and Tim feels a bit like a bug under a microscope—or caught under the lens of a magnifying glass, burning. He gets the impression that Jason knows exactly what he's thinking. Jason is, after all, the son of the world's greatest detective, and he's always had a brilliant mind. Tim understands better than most just how analytical Jason can be, how calculated his plans are when he wants them to have the most impact.
Tim picks at his nails and tries very hard not to appear as anxious as he feels. He's always been defined by his wealth of knowledge, and he hates not knowing what to expect from the man in front of him. The lack of information feels like an itch he can't scratch. It grates at his nerves. Eventually, Jason leans back with a sigh, shaking his head.
"You don't have to earn your keep," he says, and of course, he sees right through Tim. "Look, I know I've been a shit brother to you, but you're family. You're welcome here."
They study one another for a long moment before Tim finally relents with a nod. Somehow, it feels like a concession and a triumph all at once.