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Chapter Text

Tim can barely recall last night's patrol. The Arkham breakout was brutal on everyone- Nightwing had to be called in from Bludhaven, Batman was busy tracking down the Joker, and Batgirl had the unfortunate task of trying to find Mister Freeze- Tim feels sorry for Alfred and Leslie, who had to have had a long night of dealing with injured and tired bats and birds. But the thing is, he doesn't remember how he got here. The only clear memory he can recall is chasing Harley and Ivy to crime Alley, then receiving a swift lesson that hammers to the head hurt. 

 
Hell, where even was he? The bed he’s on is stiff, and the divot he’s nestled into is generally Bruce-sized, so Batman and Batgirl must’ve found him and brought him back to the cave, right? It feels like a medical cot. And it’s cold like the cave is, from what he can tell. A fuzzy blanket is covering and weighing his aching body down. Or maybe there’s multiple, he’s not entirely sure. Tim really wants to open his eyes to check. But the other thing about this, other than the ‘not remembering how he got here’ thing, is that Tim can’t open his eyes. They’re covered in some kind of cloth. He’s not sure where he is, or how long it’s been since he got knocked out. But what he does know is that his head is screaming at him to go back to sleep to give him reprieve from the pain. His pulse is pounding, shaking his skull like a drum. And his right shoulder also decided to join in on the pain train- it feels like someone sliced through it, which might very well be the case- if only Tim could see. 

Click! 
Eeeeeeeeer… When did the med bay's door get so squeaky?  

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Heavy boots, giving way to creaky floors.  

‘Not Med bay.’ Tim’s adrenaline starts to overcome his pain. He remains as still as he can as his brain repeats the same thoughts in his head. ‘Not Med bay.’ 

‘Not Batman.’ 

The footsteps stop, and he can hear the creak of an old wooden chair to his right. It’s followed by a low, animalistic huff of air. Tim’s reminded of a bull ready to charge at one of those men with the flowy red fabric. Soon enough an hour passes in silence- which realistically might’ve been mere minutes- when a low and gruff voice growls at him. 

“I know you’re awake, half-pint.” 

Realization smacks him in the face like a freight train, and Tim flinches at the voice as he scrambles to get up. A small gasp escapes from his mouth as the cold air from the room hits his bare chest, and his arm yells at him to stop using it before it explodes. Before he can sit up fully and swing his legs off the side of the bed; two strong, cold hands completely cover the top of his shoulders and shove him down on the bed. They keep him pinned down as Tim struggles to get up. 

“Hey! Hey, hey,” The voice is a little loud at first, then quiets to a normal tone. “I’m not gon’ do shit, slow your roll. Besides, don’t you know I don’t hurt kids?” The last part was tacked onto the end like a joke. 

“Could’ve fooled me-” Tim started to cough. His throat is dry, and aching. But his struggle continued.  “Ass.” 

Tim could hear a dramatic gasp. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Screw Tim’s sight- he can hear that smug ass smile leaking through his teeth. “To be fair, though, she deserves it. Cuss all ya need to here, squirt. No swear jars for miles.”  

Tim freezes. “What do you know about my mom?” 

Silence filled the room and made him scared that the man had left, if his hands weren’t still on his shoulders. Eventually, Tim was given a delayed response. “If you don't try to rip your stitches fighting me- the guy who's helping you, by the way, you're welcome- I'll tell you later.” 

The cold hands are slowly removed from his shoulders, and Tim refuses his urge to pick up the fight. “Good, I'm going to lift your head up so you can drink.” For a moment, there was the crinkling of plastic. Then one of the large hands returns, this time sneaking around Tim’s neck and lifting his head up. A plastic bottle finds a resting point on his lower lip. “It’s water. Drink now or forever hold your peace.” 

Tim pressed his lips together tight. The bottle was taken away. “C’mon, you gotta drink.” The man’s voice is annoyed, but not angry. 

Tim stayed silent and unmoving. The next few minutes pass and Tim can feel the spike of adrenaline fading away. The throbbing in his head returns, now paired with a stronger pain in his shoulder. Maybe that water would help. But, then again, maybe taking water from the Red Hood isn’t a good idea. 

“Please,” The voice was nothing but a whisper. “Please, just one sip Robin. I promise, it’s just water.” 

Tim felt chills roll down his spine. Why- how- could something so gentle fall out of this lunatic’s mouth? After all he’d done to B, to Tim, now he feels sorry? This has got to be a sick joke, that’s got to be it. He wants to keep him alive so he can try to kill him in front of Batman again, or ransom him off to another rogue, or something. But the thought from the scratch at Tim’s throat and the surrender of the relentless percussion in his head eventually makes him give in. The opening of the bottle is pressed to his bottom lip again, and he opens his mouth. The feeling of water sliding down his throat is as heavenly as he imagined. Though his head still had things to say, it was now a civil debate instead of a screaming match. Even with his urge to resist the water at first, Tim found himself leaning forward towards the bottle as it drifted away. He hears a sigh come from the crime lord. “You can have all the water you want in a second, let me see if you tore any stitches, first.” 

Tim’s head is lowered down onto the lousy memory foam pillow, and fingers prod at bandages that surround his hurt shoulder. “What happened?” Tim asked. 

“Too much,” Hood huffed again. Or was it a laugh? “I can’t believe half of what I saw. But to you?” the fingers stopped prodding. “You got your ass beat by Harls and Ivy. I saved said ass, and now I’m making sure the medicine I used on you don’t go to waste.” He thought for a moment, then puffed air out of his mouth. “Speaking of, I don’t see any blood, so I’d call it a win. What about your noggin? Feeling ok, not dizzy? Drugs still working?” 

“Drugs?” 

“Basic medical shit. Seriously, how’re you feeling, pipsqueak?” 

Tim thought for a moment. “Head hurts. My arm- how did it-” 
“Got clipped by one of Ivy’s vines as I grappled us out. My bad.” 

‘Shoot.’ Tim thought. “It was probably one of her toxic ones,” He explained as anxiety rose from his chest. “The antitoxin-” 

“Already administered. Second vial to the left on the 3rd pocket to the right, right?” 

The anxiety melted from his body, then reared its ugly head as he realized. “How did you know-”  

A swift hand poked his wound, making Tim hiss in pain and swat at Hood with his good arm. The chair creaked again and the thunking of heavy boots led away from Tim and towards the squeaky door. “It’s my job to know things. I’ll be back.” 

Eerrrr… 

Click! 

Tim breathed the rest of the pain away and felt the area for any new bleeding. Not a single spot on the gauze, so his stitches were fine from the poke. But god, did that hurt. He lifted up his hands to his face slowly and up to his eyes. He sighed in relief as he felt the familiar edges of his domino mask under the blindfold. Tim lifted the scrap of fabric above his eyebrows with his thumbs and slowly opened his eyes. When they adjusted to the dark of the room, the first thing he noticed was the distinct lack of windows. Or any exit, safe from the door Red Hood left through. The shitty mattress was on the floor in the far corner from the door. An old, rickety-looking wooden dining room chair towered above him to his right, and behind it against the wall was a dresser more than fit for a dump- some of the drawers were missing, and an array of trash and stained dirty mugs littered the top as if it were the dump- but on the wall above the dresser was a newer, cleaner-looking, shelf. There were new paperback books that looked above the trash heap like how Jack Drake described Gotham’s elite against everyone else in this city. Tim squinted to look at the titles: 

The Outsiders, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, The Other Wes Moore, Flying Solo, Shakespeare’s Classics, Jane Austen Collection… 

Tim’s eyes rested on the last book, which was littered in sticky notes that shot out the pages like debris in the wake of a bomb. 

The Mysteries of Nan- 

Eeeeeeeeer… 

The door opened, blocking Tim’s view of the shelf entirely. Red Hood stood in the doorway wearing those clunky boots, gray sweatpants, and a maroon hoodie that read ‘Apologies” in blocky yellow letters across his chest. His helmet stared at Tim’s blue eyes emotionless. Tim sat up as they continued staring for a moment.  

“Welp,” Hood raised a new water bottle to his head and tapped at his helmet’s temple. “Glad I put this on when I did.” His voice was monotone, and lower in pitch. The gruff from his voice was filtered out from the modulator in the helmet. Tim kept staring as a response, his thoughts scrambling to organize themselves as they screamed at him at the same time. One thought managed to escape his mind and slowly rise from his throat. It blurted from his mouth before he could hesitate. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Hood took a step back and leaned against the doorway. “What.” 

Tim gulped down his sudden need to try to bolt out that door. There’s no way he could make it past him in time to find an exit. But Hood said it himself earlier, he’s not going to hurt him, right? Hopefully? 

He still remembers the first time they met a year ago. Those gloved hands wrapped tight around his neck as Hood held Tim’s limp body over a skyscraper’s roof in front of Batgirl. How just a minute earlier he pressed his emergency beacon as Hood whipped him with his pistols across the face. How, with every breath-taking punch to his ribs and face; a second one hit harder with embarrassment. B’s gonna be so disappointed when he learns Tim’s Robin couldn’t even handle a single guy alone. And then The Look. The look on Bruce’s face when he woke up in Leslie’s clinic beaten and bruised and on oxygen, like the pussy he was. The water in his eyes, and the slightly shaking lips that were pressed together to hide a painful frown. Tim felt a surge of anger every time someone gave him The Look. He didn’t need someone to try to be strong for him, he needed to be strong enough to make sure The Look would never be used on him again. He wasn’t someone to feel sorry for, god damnit. Tim should’ve been stronger and kicked Hood’s ass. He could’ve been, if he tried harder. Why didn’t he?  

He’s Robin. He can do better. He can do better now, if he wanted to. Red Hood is right there. Unarmed, from the looks of things. He didn’t even have his helmet on earlier, Tim can take him. He’s ready. He can do this. So why doesn’t he? 

B’s words echo in his voice. Information before Injury. Right. Why was Hood helping him? Focus, Robin. Hood’s been waiting for an answer, give him one. Ask your questions. 

“Last time we met you caved my face in. Now you want to coddle me and make sure I’m okay? What happened for you to grow a heart?” Tim crossed his fingers. A response he hoped matched the hostility of his first question to mask his fear, but hopefully not enough to make him angry. 

Red Hood just stood there, silently leaning his back against the doorframe. Eventually, like he was debating it in his head, he started to slide down to the floor. When he hit the ground his legs crossed, and his hands started to unscrew and screw the water bottle cap. “Do you remember the conversation B and I had the night we… met?” 

Tim shook his head confused. He didn’t remember any words spoken from Hood, just heavy rhythmic breathing as the leather gloves slammed- 

“Did he…” A pause. Tim saw Hood’s shoulders and chest rise and fall steadily. “Did he tell you what we talked about?” 

Tim shook his head again. Red Hood nodded absentmindedly, bobbing up and down a  good amount of times before he spoke again. “Well, um… I… Ah, fuck.” He lifted his hand that was fidgeting with the cap and rested his forehead in his pale, scarred palm. His shoulders and chest rose and fell slow again. His hand moved from his forehead to the wooden floor. “Listen, kid, I just need to talk to Bats again. I got no way of reaching him without duffle bags and heads, and this is kind of urgent.” 

Tim blinked. “So you decide to kidnap me after Harley and Ivy beat me up?” 

Hood sucked in air and held it in. The release of air let out a defeated shit from the crime lord currently in sweats, sitting criss cross applesauce across from Tim. “Just- when you get back to the cave, er, whatever-the-fuck home base is-” Hood took another one of those slow breaths. “Tell ‘im I’ll be at Thomlinson Park at 1 tonight. I’ll be at the playset near the High school. He can bring as much help as he wants, but I’ll be alone. We really have to talk.” 

“Why don’t you just tell me and I'll-” 

“No.” He growled. 

Tim flinches. Hood sets the bottle on the ground and lifts his knees up to rest his elbows on them, and bowed his head. A few more of those grounding breaths, then he lifts his head up with a heavy sigh. “Sorry, kid. I’m not gonna hurt ya. You’re okay. It’s just- right now, time isn’t on our side. There’s-” Another one of those heavy sighs. “Every minute I’m not out there is another minute- he- I need to talk to Batman,” He stands up slowly, grabbing the water bottle and tossing it at Tim. He catches it with his off hand and takes a swig. “And you can’t go tell him until you’re ready to hit the ground running.” 

Tim nods. “Okay,” Another sip of heavenly goodness. “I’ll tell him.” 

Red Hood returns the nod and points with his thumb over his shoulder. “The top of your suit is on the couch with your belt and comms. I cleaned it as best I could, but some dirt’s still in the crevices of the buttons and zippers. I’ll be in the kitchen making-” He thinks for a moment. “Do you have any allergies? Or, like… Diabetic?” 

Tim shakes his head. “No?” 

Hood makes a clicking sound with his mouth. “Cool beans. I’ve been making food while you’ve been out. I want you to eat some before I send you back to the belfry. Or, again, wherever home might be for ya.” 

Tim furrows his eyebrows. “What makes you think I’d ever eat your cooking?” 

—----------- 

“...And then he made me eat dinner with him, made sure I didn’t have a concussion, and he led me to the roof so I could come here.”  

Batman hummed as he pumped air into the blood pressure gauge as he listened to Tim’s story. “And he didn’t do anything else?” 

“No. Not even a tracker on my suit, I checked.” 

When he got to the batcave Tim was immediately ushered into the med bay for a checkup and debriefing. Bruce and Babs were there gathering any information they could get on Tim’s last location before he was unceremoniously knocked out by Harley in the literal worst back alley to do so in. Bruce gave him The Look when he arrived, but switched into Batman with practiced ease. Dick, supposedly, was already heading back to Bludhaven. Tim didn’t mind, Dick had always been standoffish around him and downright silent as the air around Bruce. The tension was thicker than Gotham’s humidity when the two were around each other, so when Tim found out he didn’t stay, he felt like he could breathe easier. 

Babs was typing up a report furiously into a computer on a rolling desk. “So, dinner with the Red Hood?” She paused to look at Tim, who was now getting a light shone into his eyes by Batman. “What was that… like? Sad TV dinners?” 

“No, he made meatloaf and veggies. It was…” Tim couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “It was good. His kitchen was stocked to the brim with spices and stuff.” 

“Did he say why he needed to talk to me?” Batman turned off the light and set it down on the counter next to him. Tim furrowed his eyebrows and shrugged. 

“I mean, kind of? He kept repeating it being urgent. Was really shaken up about it.” 

Bats sat in the swivel chair still. His eyes blocked out by the white lenses of the cowl, making it seem as if he was staring into Tim’s very soul. The young boy shifted on the medical cot, averting his gaze to Babs, who looked at Batman when she was done typing. “So do we go to Thomlinson tonight?” 

Batman rose from his seat and turned away from the two, cape dramatically late to follow. He turned his head to look at the two over his shoulder. “You stay with Robin. Make sure he’s okay and the toxin screens come out clear. I’ll talk to Hood.” 

“Wait,” Tim hopped off the cot and landed with a small thud on the med bay’s tile. “Hood said,” His voice got caught in his throat. The throat that felt too tight when Hood dangled him 30 stories above the busy road. Those leather gloves slamming into his face, making Tim scared that his brains may actually break his skull and escape from whiplash alone. Focus, Robin. “Hood said you talked to him when he-” Focus. Breathe.  

Batman turned to face them again, this time putting a gentle hand on Tim’s unharmed shoulder. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now I want you to stay far away from Red Hood and rest. You did good, Robin.” 

 
You did good, Robin. 

Tim nods, and tries not to show how he preened at the compliment as it replays over and over in his mind. By the time he blinks back to reality, he notices the distinct lack of a 6’3 Bat. Barbara replaced his hand with hers. “Why don’t you sit back down while we wait for the results?”  

Tim nods, and Babs leads him back to the cot. 

Chapter Text

Tomlinson Park is a small thing- a clearing with a small women's club and park shelters that was nearby crime Alley, split in half by a small one-way road- one half was a large green field, the other littered with swings, monkey bars, and the likes that were end-capped by two large playsets. On one end, closer to the women's club, was one used for toddlers. Batman went towards the other, used for older children, closer to the parking lot of a high school. It had multiple black plastic platforms held up by large red metal poles, with a brown plastic straight slide next to a matching one that curled around. The slides matched the plastic roof, which covered the tallest platform the slides were attached to.  

As Bruce approached, he could see a large figure with a cigarette in his mouth dangling his feet off the edge of the straight slide, the majority of his face being blocked by his maroon hoodie. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew out the air in a big sigh. “The kidnapping was accidental,” he snuffed out the cigarette on the entrance of the slide, and shoved the rest in his pocket for later. “Just so you know.” 

“Robin said you needed to talk.” Batman took a step closer, and the figure curled his legs close to his chest so they wouldn't dangle on the slide anymore. His chest started to ache. 

He doesn't trust you. 

The Hood remained draped over the man's eyes, but his mouth and burn scars were visible in the moonlight and shitty orange street lamps. “Straight to business, huh?” He muttered. “I was gonna ask how the kid was doing, at least. That hit he took was rough,” Batman only nodded in response. Hood looked down at his hands, which he was leaning on. “There's a kid, B. He's in some deep shit, and I… Can't go alone.” 

Batman pauses for a moment. He studies Jason to see if his face went stiff, or started to fidget with his hands. Both tells of lying that he'd had since the two met. Tells that were absent. “Why?” he asked cautiously. 

Jason; Red Hood, His son , took in a slow deep breath. He can see green smoke linger out from the hood where his eyes are. They were thin and wispy, like green candle smoke. It glowed faintly, making the healed skin on his face cast shadows over his sunken in scar tissue.  Bruce tilted his head slightly and blinked in confusion and slight shock. It felt like ages before Jason spoke, and the air around them grew humid with anger emanating from the man on the playset. “I… I…” More breaths. His arms now hug his legs, his scarred hands gripping tight around each other. Bruce can see a memory of him sitting on the Manors floor like that flash across his mind. He was so small back then. Bruce's heavy heart sunk deeper into his chest, realizing how big he'd gotten. How, if not curled up like he was, Jason would be close to Bruce's size. 

“Jason.” He took a cautious step towards the man, whose eyes flashed a glowing green as his head whipped around to face Batman, hood falling down to reveal a streak of white hair that stuck out from the black like a sore thumb. Bruce froze still, now a memory of Ra’s fresh out of the pit flashed in his brain. He felt sick when realization hit him, and it felt like the air was taken out of his lungs, forcing a small gasp.  

Batman didn't look at the pit for an explanation as to how Jason was alive. He tried to force that little voice of possibility out of his brain so much he hadn't even realized it was there. Bruce should've been better. He was off-world with the Justice League when Tim was originally taken a year ago. leaving Batgirl to call in Nightwing from Blüdhaven to don the cowl for the night. When he got back, rushed into Leslie's clinic still in uniform, all he could remember was seeing Dick and Barbara's faces. Haunted, shocked, and hurt. His heart jumped from a 30 foot cliff when he saw those faces, and the only words Dick or Babs could muster to say were so quiet and small.  

 
‘Jason… Red Hood… He's alive… And angry.’ 

Bruce couldn't believe it. 

When he came back to reality, he realized Jason was scrubbing his face, the smoke dissipating and the glowing green eye color had been reduced to a normal, sage green. Then, his breathing started to quicken again, and his eyes twinkled. “He’s…” Jason trailed off, shoving the heels of his hands against his eyes, muttering a string of curses. 

“Take your time. Focus on your breathing.” B spoke gently. 

“Fuck you.” Jason snapped, though he did resume those deep breath exercises after a moment. 

It took longer than the previous times for him to settle. Or, at least, as settled as Jason could be. Now, instead of curled up, he leaned against the red metal railing opposite to the entrance of the slide. His legs were in front of him, one propped up to rest his elbow upon. He couldn't look at Bruce for more than 5 seconds, so he settled on staring at his boots, or the high school football field that lay beyond the chain linked fence. “The kid’s with Ra’s. Has been since he was born,” he says it like one would say the sky is blue. “I know you don't believe me, but he's a child. A good kid, really fuckin deep down, I know it. But he needs out. And as much as I really, really  hate to say it,” he huffs out air like a bull, and finally looks at his father’s eyes with disdain. “He needs you.” 

Bruce didn’t know what to say, until his brain scrambled around looking at the clues he'd gathered in the pile of unspoken words said tonight. 

“You saw him with Ra’s when you were…” Crap. Bruce wouldn’t be able to keep down the bile in his stomach if he finished that sentence. The image of Ra's from the pit was slowly morphing into Jason engulfed in the green pool, only to emerge flailing around and screaming as if he were a wild animal. The amount of pain Jason must've been in afterwards.  

“Yeah. Something like that,” Jason stood up and walked down the platforms onto the blacktop. He stood with his back to Batman and his hands in his pockets. “Kid’s in Nanda Parbat. Are you gonna come or not?” 

Batman bit down at the questions he had and nodded. “Give me three days prep.” 

Jason kept walking away. “I'm giving you one. Catch.” 

A black box was flung over Jason's shoulder, arching high in the air until it landed with a plat in Bruce's gloved fingers. It was an old flip phone, all black and had a chipped front. Bruce flicked it open to find four contacts staring at him. 

Red Hood  

Nightwing  

Bat Girl 

Kid #4 

Looking back up, Jason was nowhere to be seen. A tone came from the phone, and he looked back down at the contacts. 

Red Hood (1) 

Nightwing 

Bat Girl 

Kid #4 

He clicked on Hood’s contact using the arrows on the keypad and pressed his lips into a thin line. 

Details of rendezvous are gonna be sent through here. The other contacts have their own phone waiting for them, if they wanna join.  

Another tone rang. Another message. 

Thank you. 

Bruce clicked the phone shut and disappeared back into the night, shoving down his ever growing concern for his son back into its mental compartment. 

—-- 

Tim was thoroughly done with being poked and prodded for the night. Nope, scratch that, for the rest of his life . He knew that Bruce can be paranoid, and can over focus, but this was overkill. Toxin screens be damned, Tim was fine. Babs should know this, too. But she’s probably doing what he says so she won’t get an earful. Tim knows the feeling. He hates when things are complicated, but if it saves him from his parent’s disappointment and yelling, going along with it is worth every bit of the long way around things. That’s what he has to remind himself, even now, as the toxin screens came out clear. Batman still asked Tim to stay the night. Babs stayed behind to watch over him and debrief Bruce when he made it back after meeting with Hood. 

Babs stayed next to Tim in the med bay, typing away at that computer on the standing desk, and occasionally showed him funny videos or other things that made the drudge of passing time bearable. The two went into a comfortable silence sometime between the last video and the time Bruce was to meet up with the Red Hood.  

Well, it was as comfortable as it could be.  

When it came to Red Hood, Tim couldn’t stop thinking of the night they met. How quiet he was, looming over him. Then he lunged at him, swinging his guns clutched in squeaking leather  gloves, until he threw them away and started going for his throat. Waking up in Leslie’s clinic felt like he was waking up in a vertigo-laden heaven, because he could breathe , and things weren't as painful as they were on that rooftop. But again, it was way too quiet. And everyone was there. Including Bruce, who was definitely off-world, last time Tim had checked. Why would he come back? Because Tim couldn't take on a single guy? And what did Hood mean when he and Bruce talked that night? Sure, he could make it to Tim after he woke up because he was out of it for a while, but- wait… 

He talked to Batman . 

 Dick was Batman that night. 

“Hey Babs?” Tim asked, studying his hands looking for a hangnail to pick at. 

“Hm?” She said, looking up from her computer screen. 

Tim thought for a moment, before he spoke. “What did Hood say to Dick?” 

Her blue eyes darkened a second before her eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“The night he and I… met.” 

The Look. Oh, Tim should've asked this sooner. Or snuck a look at the file, instead. Anything but ask Babs to receive The Look in reply. “Nobody's told you?” 

 He shook his head. “Were they supposed to?” 

Babs continued to stare at him with The Look in response, now watered down with what Tim thought was anger, or annoyance. Great, he messed things up, didn't he? Way to go, Tim. Now she's gonna yell, and- 

“Bat Girl. Report on Robin.” 

Oh. Tim forgot to take his com out. “I'm ok, Batman. Screens came up clear.”  He said with a shrinking voice. 

Silence for a few beats. “Where's Bat Girl?” 

 “Right here. I can confirm what Robin said, he's good.” 

 “Change to line 3. Robin, take your com off and give it to Bat Girl.” 

 “What?” Babs said. “Are you ok? Did something happen with Hood?” 

 “I’m fine,” Batman paused for a moment. “I need to talk to you.” 

 Babs put a hand on her hip and scowled. “If it's about Hood, Tim can listen. He needs to know these things.” 

 Batman sighed. “I- “  He interrupted himself with a low and drawn out grunt. 

 “What is it?” Tim asked. 

 “Robbery on 2nd and Front, armed suspects entered a yellow Chevy Camaro. I'm in pursuit.” 

 “I'll help you track it, hold on,” Babs put a finger up, like he could see her. “But we're talking about this when you get home.” 

 “Fine.” 

Babs gave Batman an eye roll, and then turned her finger to Tim. “I know I just said you’re clear, but you should still take a nap. You’re gonna need it,” Her hand was on the silver door handle, pushing down and pulling it to open the door into the cave. “I’ll be back when we’re done with these guys, alright?” 

Tim nodded, then Babs shut the door with a click.  

------- 

The best, and worst part of the med bay, is that it only gives off the illusion of privacy. Sure, it had four white walls and a linoleum floor that contrasted the rest of the cave’s dark stone, but the adjustable fluorescent lights were fixed onto metal beams that rested on the tops of the walls. It was great to hear if someone was low on oxygen, or if their heart rate spiked too high from across the cave, but it wasn’t so great when they were talking about you behind the walls. It made Tim squirm a little the first time he spent the night in the med bay. He thought the sound of his own breathing was too loud, especially knowing that Batman and Barbara could hear it, too. This time, though, Tim was thankful that he could look up and see the stalactites on the top of the cave past the dimmed down lights. Because although Babs could hear his breathing, Tim could hear hers, too.   

It was a sigh, stretching into a groan, then ending its life as a big yawn that made Tim hold back his own in response. Babs shook out the tiredness in her voice before speaking. “That should be it. Now, where were we?” 

“Where’s Robin?” Batman asked. Oh my god, Tim thought, one day he’s going to shower with this thing in if he keeps forgetting it’s there.  

“He’s sleeping. Told him to get some rest before you got back and had the conversation you should’ve had with him a literal year ago?” Oof, that sounds like she’s not happy. “Bruce,” 

Tim froze at the use of Batman's real name. Batgirl was more of a stickler for that kind of stuff than the biggest bat, which was saying something. He must’ve screwed up royally for not telling Tim something. “When were you going to tell him about Hood? When he comes over for dinner? ‘Hey, Tim, I’m alive and also the Red Hood. Glad to be back at the manor. Sorry I beat the shit out of you the first time we met. Can you pass the potatoes?’” 

Sorry, come over for what? No way was that going to happen. Red Hood sitting across from him in the dining room, dripping blood from his freshly stained jacket onto the rug under the table, cutting open one of Alfred’s famous roasts with those big grimy gloves gripping the dainty silver fork and knife. The leather squeaking as he grips tighter . Tim gasps for air he didn’t realize he didn’t have. 

“He was going to learn in time,” Bats said. “When he’s better.” 

When he’s better. 

What? 

You did good, Robin. 

Oh, no… 

Bruce lied to Tim, didn’t he? 

Robin, Focus! 

Crud, Tim missed something. Babs asked another question? He was too lost in thought to eavesdrop. C'mon, focus. 

 
 
“Bull,” Babs said, sighing and typing away at the keyboard to the batcomputer. “So, how do we break  this to him?” 

“When I get home, we'll talk about it. Are you on Hood’s file?” 

 A few seconds pause, then a hum of confirmation. 

 “Update it for me. Medical history.” 

 A click echoed in the cave. “Ready,”  Babs confirmed. “But I really think we should-" 

"He's been affected by the Lazarus pit.” 

 “What?” Tim and Babs both said aloud.  

 Seconds went by, which felt like hours.  

 They definitely heard him this time. 

Shit. 

“Robin,” Batman started to scold. 

 “...Yes?” Tim said, meekly. 

Babs chimed in before Batman could continue. “How much of that did you hear, boy who’s supposed to be asleep ?” 

Tim’s brain searched for a feasible excuse for a little too long. 

“Robin, report.” Batman said firmly. 

“Who’s Red Hood?” Tim blurted on instinct to follow Batman's command. And added on a question he should've asked himself, if he wasn't so busy focusing on the wrong piece of information. “What did Batgirl mean by ‘Glad to be back?’ Do we know him? Like… Under the Red Hood?” 

Silence. 

“Now or never, Bats. Who's gonna break it to him?” Babs broke it. 

“I'm close to the cave. Give me more time.” 

“You're not going to tell him when you get here, are you?" 

“Batgirl…” he said warningly. 

“Tim, get out here, please.” Babs called, ignoring Bruce. 

He hopped off the cot and gently opened and closed the door, closing it without sound. Anxiety spiked in his chest as he walked over. Babs was at the computer in the big seat, a list of Rogue names in the ‘R’ section loomed over her on the massive screen. The mouse hovered over Red Hood, with a lock icon and Robin’s ‘R’ next to it. A signal to him that he wasn't allowed in.  “So,” Babs started, patting a smaller chair’s seat cushion. Tim sat down carefully, like it would explode at the slightest touch. Babs took a deep inhale through her nose. “I'm gonna give you two options.” 

“Batgirl wait for-” 

Babs pressed a button on the keyboard, silencing Batman, and took out her com. Tim went ahead and followed suit, giving it to her. She placed them both on the desk, and turned to face him with a serious look. “Options. One, I can tell you. I'll just come out and say it, no dancing around. Two, I'll let you read Hood’s file.” 

“Tell me.” 

Babs changed her face. What she now wore was scarily similar to something Tim referred to as the Graveyard Look. A.K.A, someone died or got really hurt tonight and we have to tell you, look. Tim braced himself, clenching his elbows to nestle into his sides and inhaled, holding a little of his breath in. 

“Tim,” Babs paused. Either to take a breath or mentally prepare, Tim wasn't sure. “Jason Todd is Red Hood.” 

He almost wanted to laugh. “But Jason's…”  

Babs' look made him stop in his tracks. She nodded slowly. “The night he attacked you, he took off his helmet, and...” She started to stare off into space, leaving the two in an uncomfortable silence in an echo abundant room. “We never knew how, or why. But I swear to you, Tim, I would never lie about something like this. We were even able to do a DNA scan. He's the real deal.” Tim’s hair stood on the back of his neck as a dark presence was suddenly brushing against his back. He didn't even have to look to know what made him feel so on edge. Behind them, up above the bat and bird was the trophy case of retired suits. Jason’s bloodied, burned, and torn suit stood, looming over them and making the whole cave darker than it usually was. Shadows seeping into the light, the feeling of dread and death turning into something more physical than Tim and Barbara would like to admit. Something that probably would’ve drowned them if it had the means to do so.  

Tim couldn't believe it. His inspiration, his muse when it came to his photography for his entire life. Jason... The guy who- 

There has to be another reason why.  

Tim remembers when he met Robin. 

"I'm not here to hurt you, little dude. I'm here to help." 

The stars in his eyes, and the bravery he emitted as he helped swing him home. 

How much laughter filled the space, in spite of the people who had grabbed Tim. 

How much light illuminated Batman as he quipped and stood proud next to the brooding mass of darkness. 

His Robin. 

His idol. 

His attacker. 

“So,” Tim gulped, though his mouth went dry a while ago. “He came back to life... with the Lazarus Pit?” 

Babs shrugged. “We’ll see what Bruce has to say when we debrief him, which will be after the 'you broke my rules' talk. But Tim,” she put a hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you ask Dick or Bruce what happened? Bruce always says communication is important, you realize that, right?” 

Tim’s brain drifted back to the morning he woke up. “I don’t know, I just-” He took a breath. “They all seemed so upset. And I was there, you know? I should know what happened. I should be better at remembering these things.” 

Babs sighed, and slumped her shoulders. 

Shit. 

The fucking Look. 

She opened her mouth to say something, but then the bat mobile roared into the cave, announcing Bruce and his seething anger as it mixed into the pungent smell of death and disbelief in the dark echoing cave. 

"Barbara. Tim." His voice boomed like thunder in the cave, ringing in their ears. Tim tensed even more, trying not to bruise his sides with how hard his elbows jammed into his sides. Babs took in a deep breath and folded her arms, radiating her own fierce and intimidating aura in preparation.  

Chapter Text

There were three rules. Serious rules. Ones that you do not break unless you want to get either benched or stop working with Batman. The rest did not matter if those three rules were broken. 

Rule #3: When Batman says something, do it. 

If he tells you a plan, you have to follow it. If he says you're benched, you're benched. That's how Bruce makes sure you're safe during patrol or missions. 

Barbara and Tim broke Rule 3. 

Rule #2: Don't turn off comms or block people from channels. 

In case an emergency arises, you need to be available. That's why channels are always open. That's how Bruce can check if you're okay.  

Barbara and Tim broke Rule 2. 

Rule #1: Confidentiality.  

If someone isn't supposed to know something, you don't say anything about it. End of story. That's how they keep their secret. How civilians keep safe. How triggers aren't mentioned in front of victims.  

Barbara and Tim broke all three Rules. 

"Barbara. Tim." 

Bruce knew how he sounded. He sounded furious, and that's because he was. Not only were his rules broken, but Tim must be going through hell right now, reliving what happened not that long ago. What if he's triggered by anything said? Anything that will be said. It broke his heart when he saw his kids hurting. And it angered him that, at least for Tim, it wouldn't have happened if they followed his rules. Rules that would've prevented Jason's death if he had followed them. Rules specifically highlighted by Bruce to keep Tim and Babs safe. And there Babs sat in the bat computer chair with her arms folded and posture perfect, contrasting Tim's shrunken comportment.  

"I told you to wait." 

"So you could convince me not to tell him?" She stood up and bore her fiery stare into Batman's white lenses, keeping her stance wide and arms folded. "You should've told him sooner." 

"Barbara-" 

"No, you don't get to hide something like that to him. You say communication is important. It's time to practice what you preach, Bruce." 

"He's-" 

"He's right here." Tim stood straight. Elbows still locked to his sides, jaw tense, and eyebrows furrowed. But the confidence in his voice shocked both Babs and the angry bat, even if it hid a small tremor in his voice. "And he wants to know why you didn't tell him Jason was alive. AND what you meant by 'when he's better.'"  

Shattered. 

Bruce's heart shattered. He knows well that Tim craves his approval, praise, and affection. He tries not to show it, but Tim always has a burst of energy and confidence after Bruce gives him a compliment on his form, or when he does well on a mission. He also knows how fast he can spiral when he messes up. They'd been working on it, but at the beginning Tim was always fast to apologize and shrink into himself. One time, after Bruce invited him to a late meal after a mission, Tim was so tired he dropped the bowl of peas, and it was like Tim was a sleeper agent. He snapped to attention and scooped the rolling peas into the bowl, and bent down to pick up ones from the carpet, frantically apologizing for his mistake. Bruce told him to stop, and he did. Dead in his tracks, even. He sat back down slowly, jaw clenching and shrinking into himself, waiting for something. Holding back tears and trying desperately not to shake.  

If he heard Bruce say that through the comms, behind Tim's back, especially after complimenting him earlier that night... 

All that hard work might've just gone down the drain. 

Bruce took in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. His heart can mend. His relationship with Babs and Tim, however, is on thin ice. He pulled his mask off, and knelt down so the two could be eye to eye. A move that neither of them expected him to do. Bruce looked over at the file selection screen behind him, and spotted Robin's signature R. He looked backed to Tim, seeing a look that was mixed with confusion and a hint of fear. A look he saw in Jason a few times, as well. When he was new, and wondered why Bruce hadn't beaten him yet for slip ups in the field. 

"Tim, I..." He took a breath, trying to rephrase it in his head. 

"What happened to you with Red Hood was traumatic. Not just physically, but mentally. I'm proud of how you've handled things so far, don't get me wrong. You've come a remarkably long way, and I am amazed at that. But healing from something like this isn't linear, and it takes a long time. And I know how much you looked up to Jason before he..." Bruce swallowed back his hesitation. "Before he died. Not just as Robin, but I've seen you hang around him at galas, too. And I..." Bruce sighed, fumbling for words to say. "I didn't want to send you spiraling every time you thought of Jason. Or Robin. That's what I meant by not ready. I worded it so, so, wrong. I'm sorry, Tim." 

Tim swallowed dryly. His confidence had faded away, and he started to shrink back down. Barbara untangled her arms and reached out a gentle hand to the young boy, but she thought differently, and placed her hands on her lap. The three waded around in the silence, tension bleeding out from the cave like syrup out of its bottle. Honey hemorrhaging from delicate combs. Remnants of it still stuck to the walls, as it always did, but the majority of the stench of death and destruction had spiraled down the drain slowly. Tim picked at a stray thread coming from a pocket on the seam of his Robin suit. Something, he realized, he'd been wearing since 10 pm last night. It stunk, and stuck to him where the sweat had culminated and dried.  

Babs yawned. Tim and Bruce both fought the urge to copy as all three realized how long they'd been awake. Bruce looked over to Barbara and stood up. "We need to get debriefing. I have until this time tomorrow before he does something reckless on his own." 

Babs' face paled, but recovered swiftly. She turned to the bat computer and threw open a new tab, ready to type Batman's record of what had happened.  

Tim excused himself, and got ready for bed by showering, changing into civilian clothes, and going up to the guest room that was dubbed 'his' when he stayed the night. The wall color relaxed him. The deep, rich shade of emerald was always one he loved. And the rustic cherry bookshelves and matching wooden frame on the bed and desk made the room feel that much warmer. He felt so tired, and his body wanted to do nothing else but sleep. But then he noticed the window was open, gazing out over the hill Bristol was on and into the depths of Gotham below.  

Jason Todd was somewhere down there. His idol. His Robin. 

It was on instinct, almost. There wasn't a better way to describe it. All of a sudden... 

...Robin needed to fly... 

-------- 

“Nanda Parbat is home to not only a home of peaceful, isolated monks, but also home to a myth that dates back thousands of years to a ‘fountain of youth’ deep in the caves of the mountains used to heal the sick and dying. Many paintings over the years before the sanctuary was built have depicted it as a large rectangular pool with spiraling columns of braided stone coming up from the waters, holding the cave ceiling up. In the center of this pool stands a stone podium barely above the waters. One theory by Dr. Darian Bushman of Gotham University states that this podium was used by locals to sacrifice people to keep the fountain’s magic alive. Another theory by Dr. Tyler Leach from Central City State, however, states that it was used to place dead bodies of kings in an attempt to revive their beloved leaders using a ritual that would last several days.” 

-TMoNP 

-------- 

He finished his cigarette from the park on the fire escape outside his apartment and started a new one as the sun started to rise from its slumber, painting the grey smog vibrant and royal and threatening shades of orange and red. Jason sighed as his mind wandered, ignoring how tense his muscles felt and how he could still see that sickening green color out of the corner of his vision. 

It’s funny how he smokes. It started before his mom died, with her dealers giving him a pack of cheap Marlboros to smoke outside while the ‘adults talked’. Jason didn’t care, it was nice being alone. It meant he didn’t have to see his mom get high, and whatever else she did in order to pay for her doses. It meant that he could let go a little, on the roof of that condemned building they holed up in. At least until the dealers left, with their money in tow, and his mom would be too high to breathe. But the funny part isn’t just the reminder of his mom, or the instinct to go check on her after this last cigarette even though she’s been dead for years, but the memory of the explosion. 

Jason smoked because it was hard to quit the habit, but he had to be careful with how long he took a drag. If it was too long he’d start gasping for air, seeing and almost feeling the rocky rubble that encased his crushed body like a tomb. God, it was a tomb, wasn’t it? It wasn’t a weird ass, coma-induced, fever dream. He died. And it wasn’t the bomb that killed him. The taste of smoke on his tongue and in his lungs was so familiar it was almost comforting while his life drained out of him. Seeing blood and rusted support beams and how close they were in color, despite how dark it was. The ashes and smoldering end of the cigarette whispers memories of  the warehouse  rubble, even. So when he took too long to expel the smoke from the tobacco… Well, you get the gist. All he could taste was bloody copper and rubble.  

And in a few hours, he’ll be trapped on a plane with the man he ran away from, toward his death like he wanted it. All to save a kid who’s most likely going to be Robin when the re- Tim- gets into a giant fight with Bruce and enters his “Fuck Batman” Era, or dies. The green in the corner of Jason’s eyes grew a little, thinking of a fourth kid playing Batman's little soldier. He could feel the pressure in the back of his eyes with the buildup of pit-rage smoke. He scoffed, pushing his feelings down, and the pressure faded.  

Jesus, that’s enough mind-wandering. 

He snuffs the cigarette out on the railing and stares at the semi-crushed bud for a moment, going back and forth on whether it’s worth saving the rest for later or to throw it out now. After some casual deliberation, watching the embers on the end die out, he flicks it off the edge of the railing and into the dark alley below. He watches it hit the concrete three stories down with nary a sound before stepping into his apartment through the broken window into the main room. 

It wasn’t a dingy safehouse, kept in a state of disarray to make anyone gag for appearances. Jason actually called this shit show home. Dark clothes strewn about the floor were easily mistaken as mystery stains in the carpet, which already looked like an inkblot test gone wrong. The little furniture that was there were covered in stains that were there when he dragged them out from the dump. It was nothing like what the manor is, which was comforting to him. He sat down on the raggedy brown couch which sagged and creaked under his weight, swung his feet over the armrest, and laid his head on the other. Then, he crossed his legs and threw up an arm over his eyes, so the crook of his elbow rested on the bridge of his nose. Sleep sounded good right now, all things considered. And he had the free time. All he needed to do was make sure he got up and ready for his last patrol of the neighborhood before meeting up with B to get the kid...  

...Jason’s mind started to wander again. 

 His mind flashed memories of Nanda Parbat and the pit. Burning like fire and acid and ice coursing through his veins and pushing bile out from his stomach into his throat. He started to imagine a small kid with umber skin and brown eyes, small with sharp features. Talia’s jawline, and most likely Bruce’s resting bitch face. A young boy dressed in black League robes adorned with gold embroidery like Ra’s gaudy clothes. A green cape pinned with a simple golden pin on his shoulder to emphasize he was the Demon's heir. How many scars would he have? Would there be one splitting his eyebrow like Bruce has? Maybe some along his sides, from those spinning blades he'd seen assassins use to train dodging. The pressure behind Jason’s eyes grew again, and his black vision slowly grew green with every thought. 

The kid’s back burning, flesh boiling. 

The kid collapsed from the exhaustion of running ragged. 

Ra’s manipulation on a child. 

Soft brown eyes shifting in color. 

Poison green. 

The Pit. 

Burning. 

Beating. 

Boiling. 

The green grew so bright and blinding he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open, and he could feel the rumble of a growl in his throat but couldn’t hear its sound. His head building pressure, making it hard to think and grab hold of control. 

The rage eventually sank away as he felt something crush under his boot heel, and saw the poor coffee table broken in half as green melted away from his vision and the pressure in his brain relieve itself. He looked around his apartment to see if anything else was broken, but all he could find was a coffee mug that he had supposedly thrown at the wall. It was filled with coffee, as the stain had already started to set in the peeling wallpaper. He’d find a poster or something to cover it later, when he had time. He closed his eyes and felt the pressure of smoke buildup behind them again.  

Then his flip phone chimed in his sweatpants pocket. Jason fished blindly for it, and opened his eyes when the feeling of the warm phone was in his hand. A wave of green smoke escaped from his eyelids. It was like when he opened the bathroom door after a shower, the steam racing for freedom and dissipating as it rose to the ceiling. He waved remnants of it away, and flipped the top of the phone open with his thumb.  

Babs 

Bat Face (2) 

Kid #4 

Pony Boy 

He clicked on B’s contact with a sigh. 

Rendezvous point confirmed. 

Nightwing is coming. 

What about BG? 

Looking over Gotham and Robin. 

K 

Jason hesitates asking, knowing it's probably not his place. And, of course, the sick irony of it in the first place made Jason's mouth dry. He quickly types his question and presses send before he changes his mind.  

Is he OK? 

An immediate response, almost like he'd knew he'd ask. 

Not important. Focus on the mission. 

Jesus, he still says that? Get some new catchphrases, B. 

 Ok. See you tonight. 

He checked the time on the phone and saw 10:30 staring at him. Crap, he's late for patrol. He throws the flip phone on the couch and moved to the short hall next to the tv, which held two doors both to his right. He went into the furthest door into his bedroom. In one of the drawers was the majority of his equipment, safe for his guns and his helmet, which was in a safe hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets. He grabbed and put on his Kevlar padding, black shirt, dark grey cargo pants, and brown leather jacket, belt, holsters, and gloves. He moved to the kitchen and grabbed  his guns and two flip phones. One of them had a blue dot sticker on the bottom, while the other matched with a green one. He shoved them into one of the many pockets on the inside of his jacket.  

Then, he moved to his domino mask and helmet, which rested in the safe. The domino was easy enough, adding some latex adhesive to the bridge of the mask's nose and dotting along the edges of the rest of the mask. As he waited for it to dry on his face, it was time for the hard part.  

The helmet was intricate, to say the least. Full of hidden tricks that he had to be careful trying not to trigger. A string of hidden buttons along the back of his head disarming the security system, and another hidden button system to confirm the disarming along the jawline. The helmet fit snugly, and hissed as the helmet pressurized. He took in a deep breath, and exhaled with a sigh.  

Double checking his pockets and belt for all of his equipment, the Red Hood set out for his last patrol of Crime Alley. 

… 

… 

…. 

Welp...  

...Jason didn't want to say it. Hell, he didn't even want to think it, because he knew that the miniscule action could jinx it. But tonight was quiet. Even the girls he protected at night reported that business was slow, despite their own superstitions. The only thing he could find was a mugging that was easily stopped once he stepped in. He didn't have to throw a single punch to get the criminal tied up and waiting for police. But he didn't want to turn in just yet. Yes, it was quiet. But that only meant the other shoe was going to drop. When the quiet stopped, Hood needed to be there. So he headed to the area where he was going to end patrol in; The warehouse. 

Right now, the warehouse was the base of operations for his semi-organized crime. His 'office', a small room in the back corner, held a couch, desk, and computer. A minifridge was added at the request of one Matthew Sivard, a loyal and incredibly smart man Hood had hired and trusted as a second in command. He had dirty blond hair and almond brown eyes hidden behind thin-framed glasses. He liked to keep a variety of different snacks and drinks on hand for him and Jason both, knowing how little they had time to eat while working. When Jason entered his office, he spotted Matthew at the desk. He was typing away at the computer, wearing a navy blue striped shirt and ripped blue jeans with dirty white converse shoes. He had already looked up when the doorknob turned, and looked relieved to see Hood standing there. When the door closed, he took the time to unlock his helmet and disarm the bomb, taking it off and setting it on the desk. Jason sighed and sat onto the couch, slowly transitioning to his reclined position he took earlier in his apartment. 

"Has it been the q-word tonight?" Matthew asked, turning his chair around to gaze at his business partner. Jason only groaned in response, leaving Matthew to nod in understanding. "Well, if it'll entertain you, we have a visitor." Jason furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Matthew nodded again. "He's waiting for you in the conference room." 

Jason sighed as Matthew handed him his helmet with a strong, calloused hand. Jason took it and started to rearm the bomb with the buttons along his jawline. "Better not be Falcone again." 

Matthew chuckled. "It's not. I don't think the kid belongs to anyone." 

Jason hesitated standing up. "Kid?" 

Matthew gestured toward the door. "Don't want to keep him waiting, boss." 

Jason moved from his office over to another room in the back of the warehouse. It was bigger, set with a large table that could seat more people than the table inside Wayne manor. A bloodstain sat dried and fading in the middle, a centerpiece that Jason didn't like seeing, remembering what he had done for the stain to emerge there. But nothing could remove it from the table, so he had to stare at that memory of a pool of blood every time he held a meeting in this room.  

Jason spotted the kid- Tim fucking Drake, out of costume- after looking up from the bloodstain to the figure standing at the head of the table. He was in black sweatpants and hoodie, which had a band logo on it. He stared at Jason in a mix of shock and shyness. Jason shut the door and stared at him, mouth agape with a loss for words, but hidden by the helmet. Eventually, he was able to make a sound. "What the hell are you doing here?" 

The boy just stared at him, much like he did earlier. 

Jason snapped at him. "Get the fuck out. I got nothing to say to you." He made his way to the door by pivoting on his heels. Only when he had placed his hand on the door did Tim say something.  

"J-Jason?" 

That made him stop completely. Not the name, no. Even Matthew calls him Jason, on occasion. But the sheer hesitancy in Tim's voice. The disbelief. It made him turn around to confirm his suspicions. The boy looked scared, picking at loose hangnails on his fingers subconsciously, but his eye contact was throwing fear and hope at Jason like a catapult. "Wait," Jason said, slowly taking a step forward. "You didn't know? B never told you I'm-" 

"Babs told me against Bruce's orders when I got back from your place." He blurted. "And I have questions. But... I don't think I can trust Bruce to answer them straight. I'd thought it'd be better to hear it from the source? And it's okay if you don't want to answer them!  I'll leave. Just say the word." 

"Kid, I literally said that when I walked in." Jason sighed. "But, I'll answer what I can- however- there are some things that're off limits," Jason sat down reverse in a chair, so he could lean his chest against the backrest. "As long as they're not off limits, I'll tell you the truth." 

"Like what?" 

Jason thought for a moment. "I'll tell you if you ask. Go on, Tim, hit me. Rapid fire, I gotta meet the bastard soon." 

It was Tim's turn to think. "How long ago did you... Come back?" 

Jason shrugged. "I have no clue. Time at the beginning wasn't something I could... Comprehend? And I couldn't look at a clock, or calendar. That shit wasn't where I was." 

"Where were you?" 

 "Nope. Next question." 

"Why can't you go alone?" 

"It's stupid to go alone." 

"Why are you going?" 

Jason thought for a moment, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "How much time do we have until B realizes you're gone?" 

Tim shifts in his seat. 

"Tim," Jason says sternly. "I know protocol. You know I know protocol. Please tell me you've covered your tracks, at least." 

The young boy threw his hands up in surrender. "I don't live in the manor! Alfred picks me up after I get home from school on my own for patrol, but Bruce gave me the night off tonight because he thought I'd need it." 

Jason perked up, his lax position slightly going straight. "You still live in your parent's house?" Tim nods his head. Jason sighs, nodding his head up and down a few times. "You should tell him, you know. He can help."  

Tim tilts his head and lifts a brow. "You... Remember everything before..?" 

"If you're asking if I remember the Orchard Hotel, I do. And it's fucked up. Now, don't get me wrong, B's still a shitshow of a parent. But he wouldn't think of doing that even if it meant he'd get bullets to the brain. That's why I'm..." Jason sighed, and put his hands to his helmet's jawline. After a few seconds of pressing against it did he lift it off of his head and onto the table. He shook his head to let his hair fall and his bangs curl over his forehead. Tim couldn't stop staring at the white streak against his raven hair. Or the amount of boiled skin across his face. It looked as if he had just gotten up from laying across gravel, imprint fresh on his face. Eventually, Tim made eye-contact with the white lenses of his red domino mask. "I'm going to go save someone from a bad time. One I wouldn't wish on anyone. Not even," He took a deep breath in, and out. "Not even the Joker. It's... What made me what I am now. And as you can see," He huffed air out from his nose, a tiny, unnoticeable amount of smoke pushed out and curled toward his face. "It's not a fun time. Long story short, I'm saving him from someone who makes Bruce seem like a saint of parentage. Like Superman levels of parenting." 

Tim nods. "Can I know who this guy is?" 

Jason shrugs. "You'll meet him eventually. He's a good kid. Might want to rip your head off at first, though. I'd watch your back for a hot minute, until he gets comfy in the manor." 

Now that threw Tim off guard, leaving him stammering for a moment. "A kid?" 

Jason pointed at him, a sad smirk on his lips. "Yeah, that's what I thought." 

"And you want him... In the manor? With Bruce? Even after..." 

He nodded. "I know, I'm a hypocrite. But Gotham's foster system sucks ass, and I'm definitely not a better option. But I know there's a sliver of a chance with B. With you, too. Better than where he is now." 

Tim nodded absent-mindedly. "A chance of what?" 

Jason took in a big breath, and put the helmet back on after a few seconds of fidgeting with the jaw.  

"A chance to survive." 

Jason didn't stay long after that. He left Tim in the conference room, telling Matthew to give him a ride home with no questions asked, and he left for the rendezvous point.