Archive of Our Own ^beta

None of the others can believe Tim is the Red Hood, but Steph can. Even as Robin there was always a cold analytical part of Tim he could never suppress. The Red Hood is all of that plus rage.

She wasn’t expecting him to shoot at Jason though.

She’d never expect him to shoot at a defenseless kid.

It haunts her and reminds her the killer wearing her friend’s face isn’t actually the kind boy she hit in the face with a brick once upon a time.

She still understands him better than anyone else.

Black Mask still walks free.

She’s actually curious to see if Tim does anything about him. Tim’s been slowly taking out the villains he views as irredeemable starting with the Joker. Steph wonders if permanently disabling her, leaving her with chronic pain and only able to walk with leg braces and forearm crutches, is enough to be irredeemable in Tim’s eyes.

A dark part of her hopes so.

The more rational part of her brain hopes not. She doesn’t want to be the reason more blood ends up on Tim’s hands. She loves him too much to want that for him.

After all these years he’s still her first love. When she imagines him she still imagines Robin the Boy Wonder.

She sees his crooked smile and the slight chip in one tooth from Two-Face getting a good hit in. She sees his chubby cheeks and the hoodies he always stole from Damian.

She sees the fifteen-year-old who died much too soon.

She’s been following Tim for days without telling Bruce so she sees the blip on the map when he hops up on her windowsill. She could stop him from getting in to her apartment easily.

She doesn’t.

It’s a gross mirror to when they first met. She doesn’t hit him with a brick this time partially because he has more guns on him. Mostly because she really missed him.

Instead she opens the window and helps him climb in to the best of her abilities.

“Tim,” she says slightly breathlessly when she truly takes in his frame. It’s him for sure, but he’s different. Older. He’s filled out during his time with the League of Assasins, but he’s still short and slight. He has the build of a silent and quiet killer.

Steph wonders how many people he’s killed.

She wonders if she’s next.

She finds she doesn’t care. Not if it means getting the chance to see him again.

“No names in the field,” he reminds her even as he takes the stupid helmet off, and she gets a partial view of his face obscured only by the domino mask he’s wearing underneath. The scars on his face from the Joker remain.

“We’re in my apartment,” she says drily, “I hardly call this the field.” Tim shrugs.

“B would, but I know you’ve never followed his rules.” He grins at her roguishly pulling on his scars and by instinct alone Steph grins back. He used to drag her into the dumbest shit just by flashing that smile.

“Are you here for a reason?” She asks struggling to her feet. Tim comes to help her up like he always did before he passed. “I’ll make us some food.” Tim hums.

“Feeding a known criminal? What’s gotten into you?” He asks. Steph rolls her eyes.

“The known criminal happens to be my best friend who I missed more than anything in this world. You could’ve come back as an actual fucking zombie, and I’d still welcome you back with open arms,” she says. She hadn’t meant to get so sentimental, but Tim seems to appreciate it. He grins a bit at her.

“I’ve missed you Steph,” he says genuinely. He makes sure she’s steady where she’s leaning on her crutches before letting go. He laughs as she gets out her leftovers from last night.

“Still making the same old shit?” He asks rhetorically. She rolls her eyes.

“Oh please,” she says, “you used to make the same type of Pho every week.” He takes a moment to consider this and then shrugs before jumping to sit on her counter. She thinks of scolding him but decides it isn’t worth it.

She heats up her leftovers and lets the silence fill the room. It’s almost the same as before just as long as she ignores her leg braces, her arm crutches, and the scars on Tim’s face. Everything is just to the left of normal. He’d started growing his hair out before he died, but it hadn’t been to his shoulders like it is now. Hadn’t had that long white streak breaking up his bangs either.

She tries to ignore it as she heats up the rice she cooked. Tim kicks his legs in the silence. She finishes reheating their dinner soon enough and settles down with him.

They eat in silence and Steph tries to take the moment just to absorb it. She wants to live in this moment forever. Her dead-murderer-ex-best friend eating lukewarm rice Steph always makes too soggy.

Eventually it has to come to an end.

“I’m actually here to warn you about something,” Tim says. Steph nods having expected this. She sets down her now cold rice.

“Roman Sionis is dead,” he says coldly. “The Black Mask and his gang have been taken apart. Some of them scattered to other gangs in Gotham and some straight up disappeared. I figured you should be the first to know.” Steph is immediately torn with the violent emotions whipping through her.

Rage for not being the one to do it.

Guilt for putting more blood on Tim’s hands.

She wants to hug him.

She wants to punch him.

She settles for sighing and settling her head in her hands. “What did they do to you, Tim Drake?” She whispers. Tim grins, and it stretches his scars.

“What didn’t they do to me?” He asks. He hops off her counter and is out the window faster than she can reply.