Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason doesn’t know what he expects to find in Gotham at two in the morning– but Tim Drake drinking in one of the most seedy bars in the Crime Alley certainly isn’t one of them. 

He heads into the run-down joint, looking for one of his contacts, when he spots the black-haired teen slumped over the bar, head hung low with three empty glasses around him.

A fourth half-empty glass is being nursed in his hands.

What. The. Fuck. 

There’s a familiar shift from shock into anger that has him stomping over and grabbing the drink ( whiskey on the rocks- what the hell) from his hands. The sixteen year old blinks languidly at the empty space between his fingers as if he hasn’t quite processed that his glass is gone. 

“Up,” Jason hisses. When Tim doesn’t reply, he lightly kicks the boy’s shin. He’s a little more vehement in his next order. “ Up.”

“Okay, okay,” Tim slurs, looking up at Jason with unfocused red-rimmed eyes. There’s a bruise along his jaw, and his lip is scabbed over from being split. Typical costs from their nightlife jobs. “No need to be a dick about it.” 

He hiccups, and Jason finds himself grabbing the back of his shirt, and hauling the boy to his feet. 

“You’ll wish I was Dick by the time I’m through with you Replacement.” 

“Doubt it,” Tim says with a small giggle. Holy shit– the kid’s absolutely plastered. 

Jason’s pretty sure he’d be seeing green if there wasn’t a small kernel of worry in his stomach. 

He doesn’t care about Replacement. He doesn’t. That would require having a heart, and Jason Todd got rid of his a long time ago. It’s just that Tim…doesn’t drink. Ever. Jason’s offered to grab him a beer before and instead of taking it, the boy had snubbed his nose at him. 

“Messes with my head,” Tim had said, ignoring the offered bottle in favor of his laptop. “Have to keep all of my mental capacities functioning clearly.” 

Jason drops a few twenties on the bar next to his empty glasses and drags Tim by the shoulder out the front door. The teenager stumbles beside him, still giggling without a care in the world. 

“Tomorrow, you’re so getting a lecture,” Jason hisses as he drags Tim into a nearby alleyway. He grabs the boy’s chin with his palm, squeezing his face and making him look up. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.” 

Tim’s glazed eyes slowly blink. 

“Anything could happen to you, and you’d just let it happen,” Jason lets go. 

“Nu-uh,” Tim says, shaking his head, and dislodging Jason's hand on his face. 

“Uh-huh. This isn’t something you can argue against baby bird.” 

Tim gives a blinding grin, and leans closer, whispering like Jason is a co-conspirator in crime. “I’ll come up with a plaaaaaan.” 

Jason deadpans. “Oh, you will–won’t you?” 

Tim nods, very sure of himself. He has the kind of confidence that only a man after three glasses of whiskey could have. “Do you wanna hear about it? It’s got five steps to it.”

Green tints the edges of Jason's vision. Look at him. Tim Drake. Thinks he's so smart, but ends up at the bad side of town, at three am, with no backup, and still thinks he's a clever genius. A part of Jason- a part that reeks of the pits and echoes with a mad laughter of a clown- wants to show the boy a lesson. There's no way he could protect himself while drunk like this. It would be easy. He could beat him up and throw him back to Bruce's doorstep before the hour was up. 

But another part of him held him back. Maybe it's because of what happened in the tower, but killing Tim Drake leaves a sour taste in his mouth. You're not being fair to him. The voice whispers in the back of his mind. 

So Jason takes a deep breath. He counts to ten. He lets Tim stare off into space, swaying on his feet, while Jason composes himself. Finally, the green leaves his vision. 

He's fine. Everything's okay.

“Maybe tomorrow” Jason says, not giving into the urge to say something snarky. Instead, he switches tactics. If he's not going to teach the Pretender a lesson. Then he can at least collect information. “What’s a baby robin doing so far from the nest?” 

Tim scrunches up his nose, “Don’t call me that.” 

“Why? You get tired of the old man? Decide to hop on over to the rebel side?” Jason is only half-teasing. His mind is still scrambling for reasons why Tim is here instead of safely tucked away in bed, and if anybody could drive a staunch non-drinker to a bar, it’d be Bruce. 

There’s a small whine, and Tim shakes his head. “Didn’t get tired of them. They got tired of me.” 

“Please, they’d be lost without you. You’re the smart Robin.” 

“I said don’t call me that. I’m not–” Tim stutters and then screws his eyes shut in pain. “I can’t fly anymore.” 

“Why, did they bench you?” Jason asks his voice edging just short of hostile. “Did they clip your wings? So what– you came to a dangerous part of town and decided to get so fucked up that you wouldn’t even notice if the Joker came around. You wanna see what happens when rogues find drunk kids like you? I knew you wanted to take everything from me. Wanna take the mantle of dead kid too?”

“Jason, please–” His body shakes like a leaf. If Jason was a better man, he probably would’ve stopped, but Jason isn’t a good man. And what he wants is to dig into the open, gaping wound in front of him. 

He wants this lesson to stick. 

 “Did you think this was a good idea? Coming to my part of the neighborhood.” There’s a gun on Jason’s belt. He makes his hand hover over it. “Add one more dead Robin to the line of fallen birds–” 

“‘M not Robin anym’re!” Tim shouts, leaning against the brick wall and looking up at Jason with glistening eyes. “I’m not— I won’t be a dead bird. Because I’m not a bird. I’m not Robin!

“What?” Jason feels the world shift around him, and the familiar hollow in his stomach starts to open up. That’s impossible. Tim is talking nonsense. 

They wouldn’t just take Robin away from him right? Dick’s had that done to him before, and it nearly broke his and Bruce’s relationship. Surely, since then, the old man’s learned his lesson. 

“What do you mean?” Jason grips the front of Tim’s shirt, watching as the boy breaks down with sobs in front of him. “What happened to Robin?” 

“He took it away from me.” 

“Who? I need names little bird.” 

“Stop calling me that!” Tim nudges Jason in the ribs in the weakest attempt of a struggle that the older boy had ever seen. “I– He– Dick did. He took it away.” 

“You’re lying!” Jason hisses, pushing Tim against the wall. Green returns to his vision, and his forearm braces against the teenager’s throat, gently pressing into his airways. “They wouldn’t do that!” 

“They did!” Tim hisses back, finally edging away from his happy-drunk. “Dick’s got a new Robin. They–” He gasps for air. “Don’t need me! I’m a Replacement.” 

Jason sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“I thought–” Tim rasps. “You’d be happy.” 

“You thought wrong,” Jason spits out. “How could I possibly be happy– Wait– Is that why you’re in my territory?” He lets go of Tim, but instead of meeting him in the eye, Tim glances away, looking at the empty air. “ Tim.” 

And it's the look on his face that makes him panic. The far-off gaze that Jason's seen on others before-- the gaze of people right before they jump off a building. Jason grabs the boy's face again and makes the teenager look him in the eye. “Why are you here Tim?” 

“You never call me by my name,” Tim shakes. 

“Yeah, well it’s hard to call you Replacement when we’ve both been replaced.” Jason says. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

The boy is uncharacteristically silent. 

“ Tim–!” Jason hisses.

“I thought–” The boy drunkenly stammers. “You would be happy.” 

He says it again like it’s important. Like Jason’s joy at finding out another Robin’s been carelessly tossed to the side is something he expects. Maybe he should have. Jason certainly hasn’t given him any reason to not think along those thoughts.  

“You were right.” Tim continues in a ramble. “I came here to tell you that you were right. And I was wrong. And- And- then I got lost. And then there was the bar- And I didn’t want to remember–” He hiccups. “Dick says I can come back. But I don’t want to. Not like this. Not with my wings ripped away.” 

Jesus, he’s only sixteen. 

It’s hard to believe that Tim’s one year older than when Jason had died. Just another casualty in the Dark Knight’s crusade. Jason wipes away one of the boy’s tears, and he leans into it. 

Touch starved– a small part of his brain registers . Which definitely shouldn’t be a thing considering that Dick Grayson is an octopus in disguise, and is all too eager to claim his younger siblings into his arms. Or at least that’s how he was when he had been with Jason.

Did…Did Dick not like Tim? Why? Last time Jason checked everybody in Manor were happy with each other. 

Apparently, that's not the case. 

“Alright,” Jason says finally. “Okay.” 

“Jason, please,” Tim sobs again. “If anyone could kill me, I want it to be you.” 

“I’m not gonna kill you baby bird,” Jason says.

“I’m not–” 

“You are a bird still,” Jason reaffirms, gripping the boy’s shoulders. “You haven’t lost your wings just yet.” 

Theres a blowing sound, and Jason rolls his eyes to the sky as the drunk boy wipes his nose on the older man's sleeve. “I’m not going back!” 

“You aren’t,” Tim looks up with surprise. “You’re coming with me. We’re going home. Bruce doesn’t get a chance to fix anything. Not after this.” 

“Wha–” The teen’s mouth gapes open. 

“You’re the smartest Robin yet. They’ve made a mistake letting you go. Each one of them relies on you, and when you’re not there to catch their fall, they’re going to know how badly they’ve messed up.” 

“They don’t need me,” Tim shakes his head. 

“Oh, but Replacement they do.” Jason’s grin is a sharp thing, ready to carve into something at a blink of an eye. “They’re going to be helpless without you.” 

They're also going to be panicking. Jason gives it a few days before they start sending out the calvary to find him. And by then, it'll be too late. He'll be by Jason's side then. 

A half-baked plan starts to form in Jason's head. 

“I’m not–” 

“Don’t,” Jason says, green tinting the edges of his vision. But this time, the anger isn’t directed at the boy in front of him. “Don’t let them take it away from you. If it means that much.”

“But I’m not their Robin anymore–” 

“Then be mine.” 

Silence envelops the both of them, and the teenager’s eyes shine with something too akin to hope. “Red’s Robin?” 

Jason grins. “Look, I could use some help cleaning up Crime Alley. It’s not like I didn’t need the help before, but it’s about the principle of it. Don’t let Bruce and Dick get away with treating you like you’re replaceable. So, when they come crawling back, and they will– let’s show them what happens to Robins they’ve abandoned.” 

He takes a step back as the boy in front of him breathes deeply. “So, what do you say?” 

Tim’s silent for a while, and Jason can see the war waging behind his eyes. The loyalty to Bruce that’s always been in the forefront of his mind is slowly crumbling, ready to give in with one good push. 

It’s visceral. Intellect giving way to the hurting, aching wound in his heart. But the boy’s mouth quirks up into something resembling a smile and he nods. 

“Let’s go home little brother,” Jason says wrapping Tim’s arm around his shoulder. Together, they stagger to Jason’s apartment, leaning on each other the entire way there. 

Chapter Text

Tim wakes up to himself dying. 

His mouth feels like dry cotton, his head pounds, and his body aches from head to toe. Did he get attacked? Keeping his eyes closed, he quietly does a full-body scan, focusing on all the parts that hurt. His ribs ache. His mouth burns. There’s a sticky feeling all over that Tim is pretty sure is his dried sweat sticking to his clothes. 

What happened– Oh. Right. Damien. 

“You said we’d be okay! This isn’t what I call okay Dick!” 

Tim opens his eyes and blinks. This isn’t his room. He sits up. He’s in a room that’s covered in bookshelves and randomly strewn plants. The bed he’s sitting on is soft, but cheap, covered in homemade blankets and a thick quilt. The space is obviously loved, and is kept clean and tidy. 

(Much different than Tim’s sterile space that is a mix of a clothes-covered floor and a tower of coffee mugs.)

Tim grunts as he brings a hand up to his head and rubs his temples. He never gets migraines this early on in the day. Did he take a bat to the head or something? 

In fact…what did happen last night? 

All Tim remembers is stalking out of the Manor, a bag over his shoulders, and nobody stopping him from leaving. 

He…went back to his apartment near the Bowery. Then what?

It’s all fuzzy. 

Stupid. He hits himself in the forehead, before regretting the action when a wave of nausea overtakes him. Oh okay. No moving for now. That’s fine. He likes staying in one place, actually. 

“If you’re going to throw up, the bathrooms out this door and to the left,” A voice says. Tim whips his head up (woah– the room spins a bit) and sees Jason standing by the door with a glass of water in his hand and plate. “I’ve made omelets Repl–” 

Jason cuts himself off before uttering his favorite nickname for Tim, and the two make awkward eye contact. Tim blinks. Jason blinks back. Slowly, the boy finds himself reaching up and pinching his arm. 

Ouch. Okay. Not a dream. 

Well, this clearly isn’t his universe. An alternate reality then? Maybe some type of illusion conjured by a drug? Scarecrow has been making more diabolic cocktails recently– he could perfect a new toxin. 

There’s no other reason Jason would be bringing him food…in bed…in Jason’s bed?

“This is your room,” Tim states. 

“No duh Sherlock,” Jason rolls his eyes, strolling into the room and placing the water and plate on a bedside table. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?” 

“Sorry, if I suddenly wake up in your bedroom . I don’t even remember seeing you last night!” 

“Yeah, we’ll four glasses of whiskey will do that to a lightweight.” Jason says, a small tilt appearing on his lips. 

No. No, no, no, no, no. “I don’t drink.” 

“Oh boy, do I have news for you.” Jason’s mouth is now a full-blown smirk. He pulls out his phone, swiping a quick pattern on the screen to unlock it. Tim cringes at the sudden light. 

“No, I wouldn’t. I didn’t. ” Tim says realization drawing to his brain. “Absolutely the fuck not.” 

“The fuck yes!” Jason genuinely cackles. He then holds his phone out to Tim. He squints and his stomach does a tumble as he recognizes himself in the picture. He’s leaning on Jason, all smiles and no worries. Jason is smirking at the camera as if he’s caught something precious. “Don’t worry though, I’ll keep your illegal escapades into alcohol a secret.” 

What the hell happened last night? Jason’s never been this…open around Tim. He was always closed off, looking for any little mistake that Tim could make. Not– whatever this is. 

Did Tim actually get drunk? He remembers seeing a bar. The really seedy one that Tim knows serves to minors. 

He vaguely remembers going inside– looking for someone. 

Ugh, his head hurts. 

Jason hands him the glass of water, and Tim takes it hesitantly. He holds it up to the light to check for any drug residue. There’s nothing. No spots. No cloudiness. If there’s drugs in it, they’re undetectable. 

The older teen watches him inspect it with a smug grin, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Thanks,” Tim murmurs, sipping on the ice-cold water. It like heaven hitting his dry mouth, and it takes all of his willpower not to drain the entire thing. 

“Easy there, you don’t want to throw up.” Jason’s voice is surprisingly gentle, and he hands Tim two little white pills. “I decided to let you drug yourself– you know–like an adult.” 

“Oh gee, how ever will I repay you?” Tim asks without any tonal inflection. His deadpan stare makes Jason raise an eyebrow. He takes another sip of water and downs the (ibuprofen?) pain pills. 

A wave of nausea hits and Tim holds his closed fist up to his mouth. 

“Not throwing up on my bed would be good, for starters.” 

“Got it,” Tim mutters after the wave subsides.  

“I made you an omelet, but you’re probably not up for it huh?” Tim shakes his head at the question. “That’s okay.” 

Okay, yeah. That’s it. This isn’t Jason. Or if it is– one of them is drugged or being brainwashed.  “Why are you doing this?” 

“Hangovers suck without some food–” 

“No, not that. This.” Tim motions to the bed, the water, the food. “Why are you being nice to me?” 

Jason stills. “What? You fucking want me to be mean to you or something?” 

It would be normal. Whatever this dynamic is between them– it’s new. And Tim still isn’t sure where it came from. Last time he saw Jason the guy had pointed a gun in between his eyes and told him to scram. 

The personality difference is startling. In more ways than one. 

The older teen’s smile drops. “I’m not doing that.” 

“You did before,” Tim frowns. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong before.” Jason sneers. Okay, this has to be an alternate reality then. Jason Todd just apologized? Or as close to an apology as Jason can get. Tim thinks the man might shoot himself in the foot rather than say an actual, I’m sorry. 

“No you weren’t.” Tim counters. “You were right.” 

“You can’t be seriously arguing with me right now that you deserve cruelty!” Jason slams the glass on the bedside table, and Tim is surprised it didn’t crack. “You want me to cave in your skull? Do you want me to beat you up and leave you for Bruce to find just like the time we met–” 

“It’s better than whatever the hell this is!” Tim says. Jason starts– and Tim scrambles back on the bed, kicking the covers off of him, and putting distance between them. 

Jason stops. 

The older teen looks stricken. 

Tim opens his mouth to speak again, but abruptly closes it when another wave of nausea hits. Ahhh shit. Bile builds up in the back of his mouth. He quickly swings his legs off the bed and runs to the door.

“Fuck!” Jason curses. Then he calls out after him. “The bathrooms to the left!” 

He finds it, throws open the door, and crashes to his knees in front of the toilet just in time to throw up. Vile expels from his stomach, his muscles spasm, and he chokes on air as he finishes. By the time he reaches up to flush it down, he’s shaking like a leaf and gasping for breath. His skin is cold against the freezing tiles. And he leans an arm on the toilet, trying to get the room to stop spinning. 

A hand lays on his shoulder and Tim jerks back. Jason quickly places his hands up in a mock form of surrender. “Easy there Replacement.” 

“I just–” Tim gasps, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. 

“It’s okay,” And that’s Jason’s Robin voice. He’s heard it before. Back when he was little. It’s soothing to hear it now. 

Tim remembers a time he’d do anything to have that voice directed at him. 

He didn’t think he’d ever hear it again. 

“Focus on breathing with me, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” The sixteen-year-old croaks, listening to the deep exaggerated breaths that Jason is making. “Okay.” 

“That’s in. In for four, out for six,” Jason says as Tim tries to time his breathing. When he’s finally no longer gasping on the floor, Jason places his hand on his shoulder. This time Tim let’s it stay. 

He coughs. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry,” Jason crooks a grin. “It happens. You should’ve seen me the first time I got drunk. I threw up in Dick’s dresser.” 

Tim snorts. “No way.”

“He was a priss about it for months afterward.” Jason pauses. “Think you’re going to throw up again?” 

The teenager thinks about it, “ No?” 

“We’ll bring a bucket just in case.” He holds a hand up, and Tim takes it, being gently guided to his feet. Before he can blink, Jason is tipping a bottle into his hand, and dispensing something. “Hand sanitizer.” 

Ah. Tim rubs it over his hands, ignoring the small stings from cuts he had gotten the day before. Another glass of water appears in front of him. 

“For the taste,” Jason says. “Swish some in your mouth and spit it out.” 

Tim almost gives into the urge to snatch the glass from the man’s hands and snap at him to ‘ stop treating him like a child.’ But his migraine is still pounding in his skull, and with the way the lights are burning and he’s shaking from vomiting, he’s in no condition to start a fight. 

He does as he’s told with only a slight grumble. He hates the satisfied smirk on Jason’s face as he does so. However, that look of smugness quickly disappears. 

When he looks up he sees the older teen scrutinizing him. Tim turns and raises an eyebrow at him as he sets the glass down on the counter. “What got something on my face?” 

Jason leans over and taps him on the underside of his jaw, “Who did that?” 

A fight. Dick pulling Damien off of him. The demon brat coming back with knives– 

“Nobody,” Tim says instead. 

“Nobody has one hell of an upper hook,” Jason murmurs. “Did Dick–” 

“He didn’t do it.” But he hadn’t stopped it either. Not until it got too deadly and Damien started aiming for the throat. 

Jason hums. He then points at his own lip where Tim’s was split. “Nobody do that to?” 

“Why do you care?” Tim huffs, he leans against the blessedly cool wall. 

“No one’s allowed to touch anyone under my protection,” Something dark glimmers in his blue eyes– burning in his gaze and charging the air. “And you’re one of mine now. We take care of our own.” 

“Since when am I one of your men?” Tim gapes. He takes a step back, and Jason doesn't move, standing still and crossing his arms. His heart lurches in his chest. “I never agreed to that.” 

“Yes you did. Last night,” There’s a growing ring of green around Jason’s eyes, and his smile turns sharp. 

“I–” Tim stutters, his mind reeling. “What?” 

“When I dragged you out of that bar, and we talked in the alleyway, you agreed to become my Robin.” There’s a raise of his eyebrow. “Any of that ring a bell?” 

“You can’t hold that against me I was drunk!” Tim sputters.

A finger taps him on the nose as if he was a small child. He scrunches his nose at the action. Jason smirk stays vicious. “No take backsies. You’re mine now. So best get used to the idea.” 

“I’ll– I’ll go–” 

“Where?” Jason asks, tilting his head. “Back to the manor? Back to the people who replaced you? Let you leave? Shit, baby bird, did anybody even try to stop you?” 

They hadn’t. He had felt Dick’s eyes watch him leave without saying a word. He wasn’t needed there anymore. To be completely honest, he hasn’t been needed in a long time. Tim had been a placeholder. A band-aid that plastered over Jason’s death. Now Jason is back. And Dick has Damien. 

So where does that leave Tim? 

He could try to make it on his own? But then what? He had experience in Wayne Enterprises, and that would treat him well. But it’s not as if he’s gone to college. He dropped out and got his GED, so he could stay being Robin longer. (Good lot that did him.)

“Or you could stay with me,” As if he could read Tim’s thoughts, Jason grins. “Be my partner. No more side-kick stuff. You’ll be my equal. My Robin.” 

“I won’t kill,” Tim’s words come out raw and aching. His adam apple bobs as he dry swallows. “Not for you. Not for anyone.” 

“Then I won’t ask you to,” Jason softly agrees. “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Even if you never step back onto the field.” 

“Who would want a partner like that?” Tim snorts.

Jason raises an eyebrow. “You’re smart, I’m not kidding when I say that Rep– Tim.” His name still sounds so wrong coming from Jason. He’s starting to think he would refer the Replacement moniker. 

Jason continues, “You could stay inside one of the safe houses nearby. Keep an eye out for things. Make plans. You’re good at that. The only one who can beat you at all the computer shit is Oracle.” 

Tim does love making a good plan. It’s kinda his thing. Frowning, he crosses his arms. Shit. He’s not actually considering this is he? Jason’s on multiple occasions tried to kill him. 

(But he never did–fingers hesitating on the trigger.) 

Tim would still go out into the field. He loves the action, the wind on his face, the adrenaline when he faces a fight. Moreso, he loves helping people with his feet on the ground. He screws his eyes shut. 

But Bruce never even offered it to him, never gave him a way out. 

“I–” Tim inhales sharply. “I don’t know.” 

There's a piece of him that feels as if he's admitting defeat. The unsureness of it all makes his body tremble. Tim's never thought about what came after Robin. But the picture in front of him doesn't seem as hopeless as it had the day before. Going to be a vigilante with Jason though...becoming Red Hood's Robin...that's going to require a lot more trust then the two of them have at the moment. 

It's going to require Tim trusting Red Hood with his life. Something that has proved perilous in the past. 

He hates the fact that he almost already does trust Jason that much. He shouldn't. But he does. 

Shit. 

“Think about it,” Jason orders. “Take some time to mull over it in that big head of yours. For now? How are you feeling?” 

That’s never an actual question. Or at least it wasn’t with Bruce. It’s a thinly concealed way of asking for a status report. Tim complies: 

“Still nauseous, left hand and ribs are sore, but still functional. Should be field ready–” 

“No,” Jason places his hands on his shoulders. “You’re not going anywhere kid. Calm down. It’s okay to say you feel like shit.” 

“Well then–” Tim lifts his chin defiantly. “I feel like shit. Happy?” 

“Just fucking peachy Replacement.” Jason murmurs with a raise of his eyebrows. “Just peachy."

The conversation dies as they stumble out of the bathroom, but Tim's intuition tells him that this is just the start of something that he doesn't understand. 

Chapter Text

The next few hours are like stepping into an episode of the Twilight Zone. (Uncanny, odd, and completely hard to believe.)

Not once has Jason tried to kill him. 

And trust Tim–he’s been waiting for it. 

Instead of being hog-tied and murdered though, Tim ends up on the couch, wrapped in blankets, with a cup of steaming tea in his hands. He’d be worried the drink was poisoned, if he hadn’t watched the older man make it in plain sight. In the corner of his eye he watches as Jason mops the floor. A zesty smell of lemon-scented cleaner wafts over to his sitting area. 

But with the exception of the mop, Jason hasn’t reached towards anything that could be a weapon. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the longer it takes, the more antsy Tim grows. 

He’s still not quite sure about this whole Red Robin business. Not only is it a complete turn around from how Jason’s treated him, but it’s also weird that Jason chose him of all people. Sure, they both have bat training. They know the ins-and-outs of working under Batman. But it still doesn’t make sense. 

And it still doesn’t explain why Jason keeps being so nice to him. 

“Think you’re going to throw up again?” Jason asks out the blue. Tim shakes his head and the man leans his mop against the wall and heads to the kitchen. He comes back a few minutes later carrying water, a cup of applesauce, and some pills in his hand. “Let’s try this one more time.” 

“Sorry,” The teenager mumbles. 

“Don't be. Shit happens. It's not like i haven’t dealt with a little vomit before.” Jason says, sitting down on the couch next to him. “Here, eat this first, taking pills on an empty stomach is asking for nausea.” 

Tim hesitantly nods and takes the applesauce. As he eats it slowly, no more than a few bites, Jason reaches over to the table and grabs his phone. He swipes the screen on, and pulls up his video gallery. 

His grin is way too smug. “While you eat…Wanna see videos of you absolutely plastered?” 

“You did not–” 

“I did.” His smile shows all his teeth. Tim groans, wishing the couch would swallow him. But fuck– he’s curious and Jason knows it too. 

“Fine,” Tim murmurs, leaning closer, almost touching Jason’s side. 

He pushes play and Tim blanches in silent horror. 

A loopy grin stares up at the screen, and he watches his drunk self from the previous night sway on his feet. His voice slurs through the phone. “You were my favorite Robin!” 

“Was I?” Jason’s voice comes out in a slight wheeze of laughter. 

“Mmm-hmm!” Tim nods as if he believes it with his entire heart. “You were–” Hiccup. “So cool!” 

“Watch your step–” Jason grumbles as they take a step onto a curb. “But–Yeah– I was pretty awesome, wasn’t I?” 

“Don’t worryyyy~” Tim sing songs. “I’m not as think as you drunk I am. Wait. No–” Jason erupts into laughter while Tim’s eyebrows furrow and he concentrates on his words. “That dinnit come out right. W’as wrong with it?” 

“You’ll figure it out.” 

“I will. I’m smart!” 

“Well, at least your confident,” Jason mutters as they approach his apartment complex. 

“Gotta be confident. Or else Bruce– Oh wait– Jason! I don’t have to be confident anymore.” 

“Don’t think that's how it works baby bird.” 

“Please kill me,” Tim says, placing his food aside and sinking down into his blankets. Jason raises an eyebrow. 

“Being dead is my thing. Get your own schtick.” Jason says. “Besides, it’s way too late for that buddy. I’ve already made copies.” 

Tim shoots up straight. “Jason! Delete those!” 

“I don’t think I will,” Jason smugly says as he stands up, holding the phone out of Tim’s reach. 

The video is still playing in his hand, and he can barely hear his past-self slur, ‘Have I ever shown you the pictures I took of you?’ ‘When you were Robin?’ ‘No- when youuu were Robin.’ 

“No-!” Tim shouts as he rushes to his feet and tries to grab the phone. The motion makes him nauseous, but he pushes the feeling to the side. He’s on a mission. 

Drunk-him is talking about his stalker years. Memories that Tim’s worked very hard to ensure never saw the light of day. Least of all to Jason. 

“Yes!” His brother cackles dodging out of reach. 

‘I used to follow you guys– you know– you and Batman– when I was little! And take pictures!’ ‘Did you now?’ ‘Yeah! They ‘ere p’etty good!’ Crackles through the air. 

Heat travels up Tim’s neck and he winces. 

That’s something he never thought he was going to admit to the bats. Fuck. Jason was probably freaked out. There’s no way he could face him now that he knew he was being stalked for years. Right? 

He looks at the man more closely. But…Jason doesn’t seem all that weirded out at all? In fact he was still teasingly grinning at Tim. He learned about Tim’s younger years, and he didn’t care? That didn’t make sense. Tim took pictures of him as Robin without his consent. 

A wave of nausea washes over him and Tim stops their little game, tilting himself back onto the coach and running both his hands through his hair. “I'm never showing my face again!” 

“But you were so happy!” Jason teases, looking back at the screen. Then he shifts on his feet.  “Did you really follow us around when you were like what…five?”

“Nine,” Tim corrected. 

“Same difference.” It really wasn't.

Jason cuts the video (--how fucking long was that thing–) and sits back down on the couch. 

“What the hell were you doing following two vigilantes…around Gotham …at nine?” His voice is incredulous 

“Obviously following you–” 

“You little shit. You know that's not what I mean.” 

“Should be clearer then.”

“Okay, fine. Where were your parents?”

Tim almost shoots back with a, ‘ Where were yours?’ But there's a difference between baiting Jason to kill him and asking for it. 

Tim likes all his limbs attached, thank you. 

He sighs, his eyebrows pushing together. “Can't you just drop it? It's in the past and they're dead. Not much you can do about it now.”

Jason's eyebrows knit together like he obviously wants to press the issue. There's a pause. “And… you're sure they are dead?”

“What the actual fuck Jason? Yes!”

He raises his hands placatingly. “Just making sure.”

“I wouldn't have let you kill them!”

“Who said anything about killing? I'm not an amateur Timbo. There wouldn't even be a visible mark when I was through them.” Jason's smile seems too honest for this conversation. A flash of green enters his irises. “Unless you wanted that, of course.” 

A charge enters the air, sending a fearful shiver down Tim’s spine. Suddenly, he is reminded of exactly who is sitting next to him. Just because Jason isn’t hurting him right now, doesn’t mean he can’t. He’s still the insane man that had broken into the Teen Titans Tower a few years ago and had slit Tim’s throat. 

He has to force himself not to reach up and touch the scar that lingers there. From past experience, Tim knows that Jason doesn’t like looking at it. Each time the older man notices it, he tenses up before going into a fit of rage and leaving. 

Tim hates that Jason leaving is the main thing that would bother him if that had happened right now. 

Turning on the TV, Jason lets himself sink into the couch a little. Then all of his previous words align in Tim’s head. The boy freezes. 

Jason isn’t…serious? Is he? Jason wouldn’t kill for him right? Tim just now barely trusts Jason not to try and kill Tim. There’s no way he’d go through such lengths to protect him. 

What the hell changed Jason Todd so much? Because whatever it is– it’s dangerous. 

This is a version of Jason that Tim could see himself following– all the way to hell and back. This is the type of hero that caused Tim to become obsessed with heroes in the first place. He had liked Batman as a kid, but Jason had been his Robin. 

The person in front of him had been Tim’s inspiration to take to the streets. He used to see Jason as the biggest ray of light in Gotham. His own personal hero. 

He inhales sharply. None of this makes sense. He has to ask. Even if the outcome is bad. “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean what?” Jason asks as he watches the TV in front of him. Light flickers across his skin. 

“You would…kill my parents for me?” 

There's a pause. But, it isn't hesitation that swims in Jason's eyes when he turns and looks at Tim. It's determination. 

The man almost seems casual as he runs a hand through his hair. His words are anything but. “Yeah. Like I said before. Nobody hurts one of mine. Everyone in my crew knows that.” 

It feels like there’s more to it than that. But Tim just lightly hums in response. 

“They shouldn’t have let you follow us at night. It was dangerous, and you were just a kid. Though– that means little to Robins. You’re still a kid.” 

Wait one fucking minute.

“I am not!” Tim hisses. 

Jason finally glances at him. “You’re mature for your age. You can handle yourself. And you’re more capable than most adults out there.” He then turns towards him. “But, you’re just sixteen Tim. You’re just a kid. There’s nothing wrong with that. I was one too when I died. I get it.” 

There’s a part of TIm that wants to bark out that Jason doesn’t get it. But that’’s not entirely fair, is it? He was Robin once too. He had known the duality of the mask. The torn feeling of going on clueless high school proms one day and fighting homicidal maniacs the next. 

There’s a gray area between kids and adults, and that’s where Robins operate. 

Tim huffs and crosses his arms. “It’s different, okay? I brought Bruce back. I faced the League to get him home. Kids can’t do that.” 

“Kids who have had been trained as a soldier for years by a paranoid superhero can.” Jason pauses. “What do you mean you faced the League?” 

Oh shit. That had just kind of slipped out. He is getting too lax around Jason. The blankets, the tea, the warm atmosphere, it’s all becoming too much of a slippery slope.  Tim can’t just open himself up and reveal all his secrets.

(They’ll see how much of a failure he is. How he could’ve done more. Be more. But still was the weakest link of them all at the end.) 

Tim snorts. “It’s not anything important.” 

“If it’s not important, then you can tell me.” The words spoken are cold. Final. 

Tim swallows the lump in his throat. He turns and looks at the TV, breaking eye contact with his brother. “You don’t really want to hear–” 

A hand reaches out and grabs his chin, forcing him to turn his eyes back to Jason. It’s only then that Tim recognizes the toxic green swirling in them. The sight of them sends a spike of fear through his heart. 

Suddenly he’s back at the Tower, lying on the floor, choking on his own blood–

“Listen here, you’re important, so you’re going to tell me….Tim?”

There’s the Tower alarm beeping in the distance. Thank goodness everybody else is out right now. Nobody else should get hurt. It’s Tim’s own fault he’s in this situation. That shouldn’t become anybody else’s problem. 

“Shit. Where are you right now, baby bird?”

Couldn’t he see they were at the Tower? The Hood’s still here. They’re both in danger. He’s going to kill Tim. Then he’ll kill Jason too. Tim is going to die. And it’s nobody’s fault but his own. 

He should’ve been stronger. Better. Dick wouldn’t have let somebody get the drop on him. Especially not at a base like the Tower. Especially not asleep.

“Hey, you’re safe here, Timbo. I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

He tried. He tried so hard to fight his assailant. But they were stronger. Faster. Older. More trained that Tim could ever hope to be. Shit. He should’ve took his training more seriously. Then maybe… maybe…

Something warm drapes around him. 

“Hey Tim, there’s a blanket wrapped around you. Can you feel that right now?” 

Is there? There’s something heavy on his shoulders. Is he pinned to the floor? Tim runs his fingers along the stitches and no– those aren’t hands– it’s soft. He realizes with a start that he’s crying. When did this blanket get into his Tower room? It’s not one he recognizes buying. 

Warm hands brush away the tears on his cheeks. 

Tim jerks back. A plea leaves him almost immediately. “Hood, no!” 

Immediately the hands on his face vanish. There's a pained noise that Tim doesn't recognize. 

He wraps the blanket around himself tighter. If he pretends hard enough, he can almost imagine it as a hug. 

Dick gives the best hugs. But Dick isn't here. Why isn’t he here?

The voice returns, but it's shaky and distant. “That’s it, baby bird. Can you…Can you list what you can smell?” 

“Uh,” Tim coughs and it’s a wet, achy thing. “Tea…lemon cleaner…” 

They don’t use lemon cleaner at the tower. It’s too powerful. It messes with the meta-humans that have enhanced senses, so they had switched over to a non-scented commercial cleaner to use. 

Is he at the tower? 

Jason’s face swims into his vision. Blue wavering eyes. White streak. Small, shaky smile. 

Not the Red Hood. 

“J-Jason?” Tim asks. 

Then he’s back at the apartment. He’s huddled into the corner of the couch, curled into a ball, and making himself look smaller. His brother is further back than he had been a few minutes ago, there’s a wide distance between them that Tim doesn't remember placing there. Jason’s shoulders are trembling as he folds his hands together, his knuckles turning white from a painfully tight grip. He's holding himself back from doing something…but why?

“There you are,” He says softly, eyes swimming with an emotion Tim can’t place.“Yeah, it’s me Timbit.” 

The Red Hood doesn’t call Tim fun nicknames. It’s only Replacement. This isn’t Hood though. It’s Jason. Just Jason. 

Tim’s safe. He’s safe. Nobody is hurting him. He's fine.

Right?

“I–I’m,” Tim inhales sharply, acutely aware that he’s close to hyperventilating. “Sorry. I'm sorry–” The words tumble out of his mouth like a broken record. “I'm so, so sorry–”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jason cuts him off with a stern tone of voice. “I-” 

There's a pause. His knuckles grow even more pale as his hands begin to shake. Briefly, his eyes glance to the doorway.

Puzzle pieces click into place. Then everything becomes so obvious. Tim's stomach drops. 

Jason wants to leave. 

Immediately shame flushes through him.  

Of course, Jason wants to flee Why wouldn’t he?. His older brother didn't sign up for this.  The teenager would've never had a breakdown like this in front of Bruce . Why had he had one in front of Jason? He’s been lucky that Jason’s already done so much for him. He shouldn't be wanting more. 

(There’s a cloud of hunger in his mind that is desperately grasping towards what he’s already been given. Starving for more. It’s tempting to walk into that cloud in his mind. To leave his preconceived notions of being polite, hidden away, and invisible.) 

I don't want him to see me this weak. Tim's cheeks flush and he turns his head away, nuzzling his nose deeper into the blanket around him. From the corner of his eye, he can see Jason's shoulders slump further, curling a bit into himself.

Disappointment. 

It’s the same look that Dick gave him back at the manor, the one his parents used to sneer down at him, and now…it’s apparently Jason's turn to have it. 

That’s the problem with me, Tim thinks with a sour note, I always try to cram myself into places I don’t belong. 

But where does he belong? He meant what he said before– he doesn't want to go back to the manor. But could he really stay here? No. Tim takes a deep breath. He isn't staying where he isn't wanted anymore. He isn't going to do that again and force himself into a family that doesn't care for him.

Shakily, Tim rises to his feet, forcing himself to shuck off the blanket and fold it in his arms. 

“Tim?” Jason’s voice is quiet beside him. Barely a whisper. 

“I should go,” Tim notes, hating how much his voice is still shaking . The words scrape up his throat, cutting it like broken shards of glass. “I don’t think staying here is a good idea after all.” 

This way, when he leaves, he won’t be able to screw things up more. He’ll stop being a burden to everyone around him. 

Jason shoots to his feet, mirroring him, with his shoulders straightening. His jaw clenches as he starts to speak. 

“If it’s because of me–” 

“No!” Tim shuts that down immediately. Jason’s been nothing but nice to him. It’s not his fault that Tim’s...well, Tim. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me. You just had a flash back because I scared the shit out of you.” Jason snaps before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Look, I know an apology doesn’t exactly make what happened before right–” 

“You don’t have to apologize–” 

“Dammit Tim, let me finish!” Jason says, but his voice is not as heated as it was before. “You deserve an apology. I shouldn’t have broken into the Tower that night. I regret it. I think I’ll always regret it. And yeah– I wasn’t in my right mind at the time– but that isn’t an excuse.” He takes a step forward, gauging Tim’s reaction. When the boy doesn’t move, he takes another step until he’s in front of him. “I need you to hear me out.” 

Tim tries to appear calm as he gives a nod, but inside his heart is pounding. Adrenaline pumps through his veins. “I’m listening.” 

There’s a long pause then. Quietness encompasses the room and it stretches between them, like a rubber band being pulled back, waiting to release and snap at the nearest person. Just when Tim starts to wonder if he should break the silence, Jason finally speaks. 

“I’m… sorry.” Jason says, his eyes turning downcast, staring at the floor. In a rare display of nervousness, he shifts on his feet. “I am so fucking sorry–” His breath hitches. “And even if you don’t accept it. Know that I’m not going to hurt you like that again. No matter how angry I get, okay?” 

Something catches in Tim’s throat and when he opens his mouth to speak, he opens his mouth and then closes it. No sound comes out. 

To be honest, Tim hadn’t expected an apology. Not like this. The best he dared to hope for had been for them to silently agree never to speak of it again. He couldn't have dreamed that Jason would actually want to make amends to him. 

‘ I forgive you’ is what Tim wants to say, but the words won’t come out. They stop just before they make it to his throat. Instead, all he can manage to do is to shrug his shoulders and say, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Jason asks, his voice still slightly wet and aching. 

“Yeah… okay.” He nods, picking at a loose thread from the bottom of his sweater. He twists it in his fingers anxiously.  

“That's,” There’s a hitch in Jason's words. “That's awesome.” Like a balloon deflating, all the tension leaves Jason's body. His shoulders slump a bit and all the lines in his face relax. Then, almost hesitantly, he opens his arm in an open invitation for a hug. 

Tim eyes it wearily. “You don't have to get sappy. We aren't Dick.”

“So what? Grayson has a monopoly on hugs? Screw that. Get over here.” 

Slowly, like approaching a bear, Tim takes a step forward. Then, when it's apparent that Jason isn't changing his mind, he takes another one. Finally, Jason gets impatient with his gradual approach, and rolls his eyes before sweeping Tim up into a tight embrace.

Every part of Tim stiffens at the initial contact, but after a second passes, he allows himself to relax in the hold. His arms hang uselessly by his side as he presses his face into the shoulder of Jason’s sweater. Despite not having gone out tonight, the man still smells like leather and gunpowder like Red Hood does. 

A thumb idly brushes along the back of Tim’s hair, and the boy hates to admit just how nice it feels. It’s been a year since he’s had a proper hug. Back before the Tower had happened– and Damien arrived– and Bruce had gotten lost. (The starving cloud in his mind basks in the gentle touch like a starving man being sat before a banquet.) 

Another second passes and Tim presses further into the hold. He finally wraps his arms around his brother and grasps onto the back of his sweater. Warmth surrounds him and he blinks rapidly to staunch any tears. 

Is Tim allowed to have this? Is he allowed to feel this safe? 

Finally, it all gets to be too much, and Tim withdraws. Jason must see the almost-shed tears in his eyes, because he opens his mouth to say something, but Tim beats him to it. 

“Don’t get sappy,” Tim snippily says. 

This draws a laugh out of Jason, who simply slings an arm around his shoulder and leads him back to the couch. The man shakes his head with clear mirth. 

“Now being mushy, that, Dick can have a monopoly on.” 

Chapter Text

It's been weeks since Tim started staying at Jason's and they've had their fair shares of ups and downs. 

Sometimes Jason pushes too far into an issue– digging into graves that Tim wants left buried. 

Sometimes Tim isn't careful enough of what topics he brings up and triggers the Lazarus Pit Rage. (Mentioning times with Batman– Not Bruce. It never triggers with Bruce.) Jason storms out of the apartment during those moments. He shows up days later, with a ducked head and hanging bags of take-out from his arms.

Each time Tim quietly lets him back in.

The silent apology is always forgiven. 

Dick tries to call Tim multiple times. His older brother's contact photo (-Dick doing a handstand–) and his circus ringtone becomes a familiar companion to his smartphone screen. 

Tim swipes to ignore it every time. 

He receives a barrage of texts from Dick ranging from pleading for him to come back to the manor to the newest updates on how the new demon brat is settling into his old role. (“Please Tim, he could really use another mentor.”)

The latter ones make both Tim and Jason grit their teeth in anger.

The only calls he takes are from Alfred, not having any ability to deny any request from their grandfather figure. He answers the butlers request for family dinners with maybes instead of fuck no’s. 

Alfred never pushes him on it. 

Bless him. 

As time continues, Tim channels all of his effort into creating a new vigilante identity. Robin means something different to him now. Like shoes that he's outgrown and can barely squeeze onto his feet. Dick was right that he needs something new. Something with room to spread his wings. 

It's the fact that his choice in the matter was taken away from him that drives Tim into a silent fury.

He approaches Jason the next day with his new ideas outlined on a PowerPoint. 

“I've been thinking about what you said and you were right.” Tim acknowledges through furrowed brows and a curl of his lips. 

Jason wheezes in laughter. “Can I get that in writing?”

Tim ignores him, moving on, and purposefully forgetting that his last words were ever spoken into existence. He hopes with time, Jason can forget he’s ever spoken them too. 

“I don't want them to see that they can take something from me so casually. But at the same time…I don't want the old colors back. I want something new. Something better.” 

The colors of Robin mean something different to Dick than it does the rest of them. They're Dick’s family colors, and even though Tim's pissed at the older vigilante, he can't bring himself to use something so personal against him. 

“A better Robin,” Jason's smile is nothing short of vicious. 

Tim swallows as he makes a decision and hammers the final nail in his coffin, “Red Robin.” 

A swirl of green flashes in Jason's eyes. Yet Tim feels completely at ease. There's been a shift in the Lazarus Pit Rage lately as if the green-rage-anger isn't directed at him, but rather for him. 

(He doesn't bring it up to the older teen– afraid if he mentions it, the protectiveness would phase back into rage like a broken spell.) 

He's sure it's fine. 

Tim flips onto a new slide. 

“My old costume?” Jason’s lips part into a small ‘o.’ 

Tim can’t exactly tell if it’s a good expression or a bad one, so he doesn’t dwell on it. “You only went by Red Robin for a little while right? You didn’t exactly make as big as a splash as your debut with Hood did. If you haven’t gotten rid of anything, I thought, well–” 

“I haven’t,” Jason pauses. “Thrown out anything, I mean. It should still be laying around one of my old safehouses. The tools will fit your style just fine. The costume will be a little too big for you though.” 

“We’ll definitely have to make some adjustments,” Tim admits. 

Jason goes quiet. He runs a hand along his cheek in a thinking motion. His eyes linger on the outfit before flicking back at Tim. 

The sixteen year olds stomach drops. 

He doesn’t like it. 

That makes sense. It is his old outfit after all. It’s entirely unoriginal. 

“If you don’t want me to be Red Robin, I’ve come up with some other ideas.” Tim hastily says, preparing to flip to another slide he’s prepared. None of the other ideas have stuck with Tim as much as Red Robin’s had, but he’s willing to make the sacrifice for his brother’s comfort. 

“No!” The refusal is immediate. Tim stops trying to change the slide as Jason shakes his head. “I like it. You’re showing all the others who you’re running with. You’ll make your connection to me as plain as day.” 

There’s a question lingering under that statement.

Tim isn’t quite sure what answer Jason wants. 

“They’d find out sooner or later that we’re working together. We’re partners in this aren’t we? Unless you were lying about that part.” 

“I wasn’t. No sidekick shit. We’re equals.” 

“Then they’ll know eventually. I’m just…speeding up that process a little bit.” Tim shifts uneasily on his feet. “If they know that I’m taking your side. Then they won’t–” He stops a second to gather his thoughts, “They won’t have any lingering doubts about what they did to me. I don’t want them to be confused. I want them to know exactly who they drove away.” 

“Well then,” Jason’s smile shows almost all of his teeth, stretching into a feral grin. “Welcome to Team Red, Red Robin.” 

Tim wipes the palm of his hands on his jeans. 

There will be no turning back after this. 

“As soon as I'm equipped I should be field ready,” Tim concludes.

Jason stands up. “Then I say,” He walks over to his helmet and slips it on. The voice modifier instantly scrambles his voice lower, “Lets go get you equipped.”

Tim doesn’t question where Jason gets the gear from, but in a span of two days Tim has everything he needs for his new identity. Well almost everything. 

“What’s this?” He picks up his new bulletproof cape, and holds it to where his cowl was supposed to be. Instead of his original design there is a black hood that is lined with red. 

“It looks better,” Jason off handily remarks. 

Tim deadpans, “The cowl was practical. That way I didn't have to wear a domino mask every time I decide to go out.”

Jason takes off his helmet and stares at him from his own domino mask. “What's wrong with masks?” 

“Nothing inherently, but the adhesive gives me a rash if it's left for days.” 

“Why would you wear it that long?” Jason sounds incredulous. 

Tim doesn’t mention the times he's been kidnapped or the times he's worked on cases alone for days on end and forgot to take it off, but his silence does him no favors as Jason leans forward with an angry downward tilt of his lips. 

“I've left it on for that long before but it's only been during emergencies. How many times–” 

More than Tim cares to count. “Unimportant,” He quickly changes subjects. “Stop worrying about me idiot. Did you really have to make it a hood? You know all the Red Hood Junior jokes I'm going to get about this?” 

Jason snickers, “Little Red Riding Hoo-”

He doesn't finish before Tim throws the cape in his face, grinning as the man catches it easily. “You absolute bastard! You already thought of names, huh?” 

“Came up with that one on the fly,” Jason boasts. “Besides, nothing wrong with people knowing you're one of my men.” 

Tim blinks slowly. “Please tell me you didn't redesign my cowl just to stake a claim against the rest of the family.”

The smile Jason wears is all too telling. 

“Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You're a dick.”

Jason points a finger at him. “Hey, you take that back, I'm nothing like Richard.”

Tim laughs, the hood almost all but forgotten. It's kind of funny, in a way, how much Jason is willing to commit to “sticking it to the man.” In this case, the man being Bruce. 

He shakes his head lightly as he looks down at the outfit in his hands. When he goes into the bathroom to change, it fits like a charm. The adjustments that Jason made were precise and while there are some loose bits of fabric around the elbows and knees, Tim feels combat ready as soon as he slips it all on. 

When he looks into the bathroom mirror, he barely recognizes himself. 

It’s weird to think about how much of his identity has been tied into the Robin suit. How he started seeing himself as half Robin and half Tim Drake. 

He knows that he’s not the only Robin that has felt that way either. 

When Dick wore the colors, he had no idea that they would be passed down. He created Robin. Looked at crime-filled Gotham and carved a space for himself. Robin was Dick just like Dick was Robin. Even the outfit’s colors were a memento to Dick’s family– similar to the leotards worn at Haley’s circus. The name itself was given to him by his mother.

And Jason– fuck– Jason died in the outfit. He wore the Robin cape from the time he started staying with Bruce to death’s door. If anybody was entitled to feeling complications with the Robin title it’s him. 

In comparison, Tim knows he doesn’t have the right to be as attached to the role as the previous heroes did. But at the same time, he still couldn’t believe that part of him was gone. Robin drove him through his mother’s death, had held together through his father’s murder and kept him sane through the fall of many of the Young Justice members. 

Now it’s gone. 

So what did that leave behind? 

Batman didn’t exactly inspire healthy boundaries in keeping the suit from joining their identities. Bruce is Batman. He is the man in the cape. That’s a key component of his identity. 

Tim fixes the domino mask over his eyes in the mirror. He’s no longer Robin. There’s no changing that. 

But he’s Red Robin now. 

And maybe it’s time to forge a new identity of his own. 

Tim’s debut is on a quiet night. 

Besides stopping a few burglars and muggings, the streets are fairly quiet. It gives him more than enough time to get back into the– heh– swing of things. But he still kind of wishes something more exciting would happen. 

Red Hood tags along with him for the first part of the patrol, before breaking off to talk to a few working girls on the corners. They’ve decided early on to let Jason do most of the talking around Crime Alley. 

The residents there don’t know Red Robin yet. There’s going to a lack of trust there until Tim proves himself to be just as good as a protector as Jason is. But that’s going to take time. 

So, for now, Tim sticks to the rooftops, looking for trouble. 

Unfortunately, trouble finds him, in the form of a black suit with blue stripes. As soon as Tim hears the tell-tale sounds of feet softly landing on the roof behind him, he eyes the edge of the building, wondering if he took off it he could make it out without talking. 

“Tim?” 

Apparently not. 

Tim turns and looks at Dick, the man stands unsure of himself. A rare sight from the usually infallible acrobat. He’s lost the Batman outfit in the time that Bruce has come back from being away. The teenager couldn’t be more relieved about the fact. 

Talking to Nightwing is vastly different than talking to Batman. 

Even if it is the same person behind the masks. 

“No names in the field,” Tim gently reminds him. It’s a common admonishment from Bruce. One that Nightwing and Tim had ignored many times in the past. 

Dick’s shoulders roll back into a more confident stance. “And what’s your name now?” 

‘Well you made sure that it wasn’t Robin.’ Tim thinks. He wisely doesn’t say that and instead says, “It’s Red Robin now.” 

It’s hard to tell what Dick is thinking behind the mask. His eyebrows are furrowing together though, so Tim can imagine the expression probably isn’t good. The man’s lips twist up into a scowl. “Like Jason’s old costume?” 

It is Jason’s old costume. Just modified. Tim gestures to himself, and he can see the moment everything clicks. 

“You’re running with Red Hood now?” 

Tim's silence is telling. 

“Have you forgotten he tried to kill you?” Dick asks, his voice rising a pitch. 

“No, Nightwing, I haven't forgotten. But in case you didn't know, he's apologized.”

“And what? You've forgiven him? Just like that?” 

“Yes, Nightwing, just like that.” Tim can't help the bitter tone finally seeping into his voice. “At least Jason admitted his murder attempts towards me were wrong. Unlike your new Robin.” 

Nightwing angrily snorts. His composure is shifting from the anxious one it held before to a more defensive pose. “There's no excusing him for what he did, and you're totally valid in being upset–”

Tim immediately steps up to Dick, until they're standing chest to chest “He pushed me off a twenty foot drop in a botched assassination attempt!”

Dick opens his mouth, probably to give a witty retort, but he's cut off by a new voice coming from behind them. 

“He did what?” The question is asked in a quiet, hushed tone. As if the person couldn’t believe what they just heard.

Tim glances over before going completely rigid. 

Jason has his hood off. Jason's domino mask doesn't conceal his furrowed brows or his tightened jaw. Jason's hand is hovering over his gun.

Oh fuck. 

Tim instinctually takes a step back from Dick. 

“Do you care to repeat that?” His unmodulated voice leaves no misinterpretation of how he feels. 

But Tim has never heard Jason this angry before. It's cold and distant, a far cry from the short pit-fueled outbursts from their usual arguements. 

Even Dick looks torn between being hopeful in seeing Jason and nervous about what he might do. 

“The new Robin was raised by assassins,” Dick states. “There’s currently an adjustment period.” 

Tim snorts. 

The situation seems less funny, when Jason’s shoulders draw back though. Tim has no doubt that if they peeled back his domino mask that Jason’s eyes would be a toxic green. 

“Oh, so I come back from my stint with the League of Assassins with magical mind-fuckery going on, and Bruce hides Tim away from Gotham to protect him. But a child does it? And no– that’s different. Let’s give the brat one of the only pieces of protection that Tim has.” Jason stalks over, protectively standing in front of Tim. 

The teenager hates how much the action makes his heart soar; how desperate he’s been for one of his older brothers to stand up with this amount of protectiveness for him. 

“We’ve been working on it,” Dick says. Tim hopes the excuse sounds just as weak to his older brother as it does to them. “He won’t kill as Robin. Not with the threat of taking it away over his head. It’s one of the only ways we can protect Tim.” 

“Don’t act like this is about protecting Tim!” 

“Of course I’m protecting him! I’d protect you too, if you would just–” Dick clenches his hands together and draws a deep breath. “Look, I made mistakes in the cowl, I’m not going to say I didn’t. I regret handling everything how I handled it. I just want–” 

He pauses. 

Jason raises his gun. 

For a moment, nobody moves. They all stand in silence, the heavy threat of force hanging over them like an oppressive cloud. 

Then finally, Jason breaks the silence. 

“You have five seconds to get off my roof.” Jason seethes, aiming the muzzle of his firearm straight towards Dick’s chest. 

Dick balks, looking straight towards the barrel with a slacked jaw and raised eyebrows. He looks past Jason at Tim. His eyes look as if they’re trying to convey a message. But Tim can’t understand what he’s trying to say. 

A small part of him didn’t even try to begin to. 

“Five.” 

“Jason please–” Dick takes a step back onto the ledge, holding his hands out in front of him. “You don’t have to do this. We can all talk–” 

“Four.” 

Dick looks at Tim pleadingly, as if Tim had any power here. He knows better. He's just as helpless as Dick is in this situation. 

There's no stopping Jason once he's made up his mind. 

“Three.” 

“Fine!” Dick yells, jumping onto the edge of the roof with a little hop. “I'm leaving. But just so you know–”

“Two.”

“You guys are gonna come back to the family eventually.” There's an undercurrent to Dick’s voice that Tim can't place. “We'll talk about this later.”

Then with the sound of rushing wire and a step– he's gone. 

“Prick,” Jason snaps, lowering his gun. He looks back over his shoulder towards Tim. “You alright baby bird?”

Tim lets his shoulders relax as he sees Nightwing disappear in the distance. Oddly enough, he feels completely calm with Jason standing by his side  with his gun out. Weeks ago he would've been nervous until Red Hoo- Jason put them away. 

“Yeah. I just wasn't expecting to see him so soon, I guess. I knew it was going to happen though. Best we got it out the way now.”

“You still good to patrol?” Concern drips from his older brother's voice. Tim rolls his eyes. 

“I'm not a baby Red.” He breaks towards the ledge, dashing past him, only to turn around at the last second and snarkily grin. “Are you?” 

“Please I'd wipe the floor with you.” Jason retorts, walking towards the edge as well. 

“You can try.”

“What the fuck you mean I can try? Baby bird, it's not even a contest. I'd be halfway across the Bowery before you can even wipe your snotty nose.” 

“Yeah right,” Tim deadpans. “You think you could beat a 145 pound aerodynamic,” He gestures to his lean statute, “body like this?” 

“What in the actual living hell is that supposed to mean?” He asks incredulously.

“ Well,” Tim hums and trails off, looking up and down at Jason's hulking 250 pound frame. 

“Are you calling me fat?”

“You said it,” Then with careful aim, Tim steps off the ledge and shoots his grappling gun. 

“You take that back, you lil–” But Tim can't hear the rest of what Jason says over the howling wind. 

Overall, it's shaping up to look like a good first patrol.