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The last six years had been eventful, to say the least. Between dying, coming back again, training with Talia, fighting Bruce, taking control of crime in Gotham, and trying to learn how to live while legally dead. Recently, though, things have been calmer.
At this point in time, Jason is mostly focusing on himself— minding his own life, and staying away from the Batclan as far as possible. Well, until tonight, that is. He’s on his way back to his safehouse in East Gotham when he witnesses some commotion. From a rooftop, he notices that his Replacement had got himself into trouble, outnumbered by goons of Black Mask. Considering Roman Sionis is mostly his bitch— Jason decides to give him a helping hand, feeling somewhat responsible.
“Need a hand, Replacement?” He calls while nailing down one of the men, going with a knife at another one. Jason, although violent and brute, is incredibly efficient— taking out much more men than Tim in the same time period.
Tim was out on patrol when Black Mask's men caught him off-guard. He managed to hold them off for a while, but his communicator was damaged and he knew there was no way he could make it out of here without some backup. He hoped that maybe Bruce would notice he went offline and come to see what was going on, but he never came, and Tim was going under quickly.
When he hears Jason's voice, his first instinct is to feel dread. For a moment, he thinks Jason is going to be the final straw for Mask's men and help them win. It takes him a moment, but he feels relief course through him nonetheless when he registers what is said to him.
"Yeah, thanks." he calls back, watching as Jason mows down his opponents in the corner of his eye as he continues to take them out as well, albeit at a slower pace than the Red Hood.
They're effectively working through the men until Jason notices something out of the corner of his eye. It’s a sniper on the roof, “Fuck— watch out!” The Red Hood calls out, pushing Tim out of the way, soon feeling the impact of a blast to his chest, and it becomes clear that this is no normal gun.
It takes him entirely by surprise when Jason pushes him out of the way of the shot. He rolls to his feet as soon as he can manage, then quickly takes out the last of the goons before moving to assess the damage done to his companion.
"I'm taking you somewhere safe to tend to this," he explained, lifting up the much heavier vigilante as best he could without risking irritating his injuries. He's not totally sure how aware Red Hood is of the situation going on around him at the moment, but he figures his voice offers some kind of assurance. He checks his utility belt and is thankful to find his GPS still intact as he makes his way back towards Jason's own safehouse that Bruce had found out just a few weeks prior, knowing the other would feel most comfortable there.
“Fuck— Replacement,” The Red Hood snarls, pushing Robin off of him, stumbling on his own legs. His voice is distorted by the helmet— making him sound much older than he actually is. Whatever hit him, it blasted right through his protective armor, and it burns.
“Leave. I can figure this out just myself,” He growls, stumbling forward. He knows there’s one of his safehouses close by. He could make it there on his own— only if The Replacement would fuck right off.
He wraps one arm around his upper abdomen, where he had been hit. With the other, he supports a gun, pointing it towards him now. “Fucking leave,” he hisses through gritted teeth, his face hidden behind the helmet.
Tim huffs in annoyance, "Could you cut it out? You're not going to make it anywhere like that, and you're not going to be able to treat it. It's me or be left at the mercy of whoever finds you." he snaps, taking advantage of Jason's clear lack of balance from blood loss to disarm him quickly and turn on the safety of the gun before putting it in his own belt.
He does his best to assess Jason's damage from afar, knowing the other likely won't let him close without trying to attack him and doing that would make his injuries far worse. He hesitantly takes a step toward him again, reaching out to offer a helping hand.
"There are safehouses in this area, yours and one of B's. Where do you want me to take you?" he asks, "Let me help you and I'll be on my way, I swear. You're not getting rid of me otherwise." he insists.
“Fuck you, Replacement! No way in hell I’m goin’ anywhere with you!” He barks, slapping Tim’s hand away. He already regrets coming in to save his ass, “Just leave me the fuck alone!” He barks with what seems to be his last amount of energy, his vision going black.
He wakes up in what he recognizes to be his own safehouse, he’d recognize the scent and feel of those sheets everywhere— but completely sedated and out of it. He didn’t know how long he’d been out or what exactly had happened, but he’s in bed, stomach bandaged just below his chest, the T-shaped autopsy scar on his chest still visible. He opens his eyes— things are blurry, but he tries to make out where exactly he is. His eyes fall on the IV-bag hanging from the side of his bed, shaking it slightly and finding it attached to him. Leslie must’ve paid him a visit— lord knows he hadn’t seen her in a while.
Tim came into the room with a glass of water for Jason, knowing the other would need it when he woke up. He had been almost grateful when Jason had passed out, because it allowed him to bring him to the safehouse with no resistance and treat him to the best of his abilities. Since becoming Robin, he had done his best to extend his medical knowledge in case of emergencies like this one.
He hadn't intended to still be around when Jason woke up, but he had been anxious to see if he treated him well. He’s relieved when he walks into the room and sees the other with his eyes open and looking around, though he knows he isn’t going to be permitted to stay much longer.
"Do you need anything else?" he offers, setting the glass down on his bedside table, "Food or anything? You should probably wait until your IV is done at least before you move around much, so I don't mind."
“Fuck,” he grumbles— although it's more of a slur. His vision becomes more clear and he stares down right at the new Robin; Bruce’s new little pet soldier.
Without a helmet and it’s voice distorting feature, it becomes apparent how young Jason still is and how there isn't much of an age difference between him and Tim. He wonders faintly if Tim has ever seen him without a mask or helmet.
Nonetheless, ignoring Tim’s plea to lay still, he pulls himself up, the unnatural Lazarus green eyes looking him up and down. “Right. I don’t remember much— care to help.. enlighten me on what happened?” He asks— surprisingly civil, but that might be due to the sedatives he still is on.
Tim nods slightly before explaining, "Once you passed out, I used my GPS and brought you here. I figured B wouldn't like it if he knew I was with you, and you wouldn't want him knowing either, so this was best. From there I just did what I can to treat your injuries so that they should heal well, and I wanted to be sure you would wake up. I disabled the trackers on my suit, too, and all my other tech, so B isn't going to come looking for me here," he explains, "I figured he'd be even less welcome than I am."
Tim can't help but be surprised at how civil Jason is being, even with the sedatives. He had expected something thrown at him by now. Jason listens to him, doing his best to have the words form some kind of sense in his clouded mind, “Right,” he speaks slowly “And I passed out... why exactly? This better not’ve been one of B’s new.. redemption intervention missions,” he says, annoyance lacing his tone.
When Tim takes a step closer, green eyes stare at him, following his every move. “Do not come closer,” he warns, voice hard and cold.
Tim nods and backs away again, "You came to help me with Black Mask's goons and pushed me out of the way of getting shot with some kind of optic laser gun. You spent the rest of your energy trying to shoot me when I tried to see how bad your wounds were so I could help." he says, taking Jason's gun from his belt and setting it on his dresser, "So not a redemption intervention mission, though I wouldn't put it past him. I just got lucky that you saw that sniper."
He takes a seat in the chair he's set up by Jason's bed, one of the ones from the kitchen and dining area in the other room, "Any other questions?"
He purses his lips, thinking it over, before letting out some sort of laughing cackle. “I saved your ass? That’s rich. I guess you owe me, Replacement,” he grins, running his fingers through his curls. They were getting too long and if he’d been in the manor, Alfred would’ve definitely cut his hair already. A stray, white streaked curl fell on his forehead.
“No, none come to mind.” He figures that— although the kid was the reason he was hurt, he still went out of his way to patch him up, so he decides to be civil today. The rage he had once felt at him had been long gone already— now it’s just pity left, pity that someone is stupid enough to take up his place as Bruce’s new little soldier. He just hopes for the sake of the kid that he’d be better than Jason had been. “This is the first time we see eye to eye, though” he meant without a mask or helmet, “Got any questions for me, kiddo?”
Tim hesitates, then nods, "Yeah, actually, if you don't mind." he says, frowning, "Was Bruce always, you know, how he is now? All stoic and cut off and kind of an asshole?" he asks, "Plus he's super... Let's call it cautious," he says with a slight sigh, "There's so much he won't tell me, even about missions and things I should know about, and even if it backfires on him what I don't know, like how I got ambushed tonight. And what's with the dinosaur in the Batcave? How long did he train you before he let you on the streets?" he hesitates, calming himself down in an attempt not to annoy Jason.
"Sorry, I just... I've looked up to Robin, to you, for a long time," he explains, "B didn't want me talking to you once you started shooting people and whatever, and you weren't so keen on me, so I've been waiting a while to ask you. And, don't call me kid, we're like the same age." he points out.
Jason is definitely caught off-guard by the sudden flood of questions flowing over him. He raises an eyebrow while staring at the other. “I don’t know how Bruce is now,” he answers truthfully. He hadn’t spoken directly to Bruce too many times after.. everything that had happened, so he didn’t know how to answer that question. “He’s always been stoic and kind of an asshole, though.” Jason shrugs, “Though he wasn’t careful with me. I could do.. whatever, basically. He took me along when I was— like 12, maybe?” He said. “The reason why he’s being careful with you is probably because he doesn’t want another fuck up staining his legacy,” he shrugged.
“As for the dinosaur— I don’t know. It’s been there pre-Dickwit, so, a while. He took me in when I was 9– I think I got the name when I was 12,” he explains, “So, three years, I guess.” He shrugs. “Also, you are definitely a kid, how old are you now? What year were you born?”
Tim frowns, "Dude, I'm eighteen! That's only like a year younger than you, right? Maybe a little less?" he asks, "It's not like you're some kind of grown up." he grumbles, "What kinds of weapons are you trained in? Do you just shoot guns, or are you good with a bow too?" he asks in return, "And Bruce doesn't think you're a fuck up. There's a memorial to you in the cave."
Tim sighs, thinking about the way the old Robin suit is standing in a case, never to be touched. He made that mistake when he first arrived, getting too close to the glass and asking questions. Bruce had yelled at him, and it had been a week before he would speak to him again, and longer before Tim could look him in the eye.
“Eighteen. You are a kid,” Jason responds with an eye roll, “I’m 20. That’s 2 years,” he corrects “From Bruce’s training— same shit as Dick, and probably you,” he comments, “However— I’ve been trained by Ra’s al Ghul & Co too, my expertise is.. broad, so to say,” he says with a smirk.
He snorts when he hears about the memorial, “Oh. Is that so? Well, that’s probably to satisfy his own guilt,” he states. “Has nothing to do with me— anyway, be a dear, and pass me the cigarette box and the lighter that are in the kitchen,”
Tim nods, moving to do as he's told, "It's not like that. He's super touchy about it. He yelled at me the first time I got too close, then wouldn't talk to me for a week. It's not a mistake I made twice." he says, coming back and setting the cigarettes and lighter on the bed.
"Do you want me to open the window, too? And, by the way, eighteen is not a kid. We're not that far apart. Twenty is just barely an adult." he argues.
"Ra's Al Guhl? Like the immortal guy who leads the League of Assassins? What was that like?" he asks, eager to learn, "What kind of stuff did he teach you, just fighting or other stuff too?"
Jason pulls the needle attached to the IV bag out of his arm, not bothering to put a band-aid on the small trail of blood pouring down his forearm now, stumbling over to the window to open it up himself. He perches himself on the window frame and lit his cigarette, taking a deep drag, the smoke curling around his face.
“When I asked if you had questions, I didn’t think you would ask so many,” He comments, the cigarettes between his index and middle finger. “Two years, kiddo, it’s more than you think,” he shrugs, “And yes, Ra’s Al Ghul— the demon himself, although I was mostly trained by Talia and the others,” he comments, taking another drag. “They taught me anything that you could imagine,” he responds, smoke coming out of his mouth as he speaks.
Tim frowns when he sees Jason take out the IV, "I can stop if you want. You know the IV can come with you, right?" he says with a huff, bringing it over to the window along with an extra bandage sitting nearby from when he initially was treating Jason's injuries.
"May I?" he asks, "Your body needs it, so you should probably let me, or you can at least let me put a bandage on your arm so you're not dripping blood." he offers, frowning, "And you're not steady enough to be walking around a bunch. I can help you if you need me to, that's why I'm here."
“I don’t need an IV, Replacement.” He argues, flicking some ash from his cigarette outside the window, the unnatural green eyes setting on Tim again.
There’s a moment of silence. “You have ulterior motives, don’t you? That’s why you’re here. Maybe B sent you after me,” he says, then flicking his entire cigarette out of the window. He always only enjoys the first couple of drags, “I’m not in the mood to play, Timothy,” he said, “Whatever your scheme is, I suggest you drop it.
”Tim huffs in annoyance, "Seriously? You're back on this shit?" he snaps, "I already told you, B doesn't know I'm here. He doesn't want me around you because he thinks it'll put me in danger, which it probably would if you were still trying to kill me. You can check my tech, it's all off so he can't track me here." he defends himself, angry that he's being accused yet again, "I just wanted to help you because you helped me. So maybe cut the shit, please."
Tim sighs, not waiting for permission anymore to reach out and clean up the blood on Jason's arm and attach the short piece of bandage. Once he has, he detaches his GPS from his belt, handing it over, "Do you know how to tell if the tracker in there is off?" he asks.
Jason rolls his eyes in annoyance, hopping off from where he’s seated on the window frame. He doesn’t understand what Tim is still doing here. “I don’t fucking care for your sodden piece of equipment,” he huffs out, managing to stumble back to his bed.
“Fine, you helped me, kept me alive for whatever that’s worth at this point. Leave. DaddyBats would be /so/ sad, if you didn’t make it home, either.”
Tim scoffs, "Whatever. You're just being an asshole because you're too scared of letting anyone get close to you. And he's not my dad, and he doesn't expect me to be back for at least another two hours," he defends himself, glaring at Jason.
He shakes his head, "If you want to get an infection and die again, be my guest. But you're not at a good angle to properly clean and re-bandage your wounds, so you can either let me stay another while to fix it or let it get gross. Unless you suddenly have an extra arm and medical training?" he demands.
Jason scowls at him. “And you’re just being a snobby little teenager stuffing his nose into business it doesn’t belong,” he retorts, crossing his arms, wincing when he accidentally touches his injuries.
Jason can be brash, temperamentful and impulsive, but he isn’t stupid. He also knows that getting sepsis due to an infection isn’t a nice way to go meet the big guy in the sky again. “Ah yes, dying— if only I were so lucky,” he comments, figuring out that for the time being— he did need Tim, due both Kori and Roy, his only current companions, were out God knows where.
Tim frowns, "I made it my business. And you made it my business because you got hurt saving my ass. So sit down on the bed and deal with the fact that we're stuck together for now," he says, "And you should stop touching your injuries, unless you want that infection to set in quickly because you keep reopening them as they're trying to heal." he points out.
He raises an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms as well, "So, what'll it be? Am I staying or not?" he demands, knowing that Jason could decide he's getting on his nerves too much and it would just be easier to shoot at him until he leaves.
“I should’ve just let you get shot,” Jason grumbles to himself, running one hand through his dark curls. It wouldn’t take long until he’s healed and good as new again; taking a dip in the Lazarus pool had those kinds of benefits.
“You know what, Replacement, you can do whatever you want to,” he states, laying down again. “As long as I don’t get your Daddy dearest on my ass— whom you should, definitely, inform that you’re with me and not dead in a ditch somewhere. If not for B, then for Alf,” he spoke. Jason held no loyalty to /anyone/ in the Batfamily— except Alfred. The mere thought of having to come back to the Manor made Jason want to claw out his own eyes and eat them, but if Alfred asked for him, he’d come. Their bond always had been extraordinarily special, and Jason missed the British butler so much.
Tim hesitates, then nods a little. If nothing else, Jason is right about that. Alfred doesn't deserve to worry about him if he doesn't come home, "I'll call him and let him know, and I promise he won't show up." he says, tone a little softer, "And thanks, by the way. For the whole not letting me get shot thing."
“Do that,” Jason nods. The old man had suffered too much already with both Dick and him. He hopes Tim will be better.
Tim taps his arm lightly, "Raise your arms out of the way. I'm going to take off your bandages and clean it." he says, slowly starting to unravel the bandages.
Jason lifts his arms with a groan and rests them on his shoulders, his skin pulling tight over the wounds. “Fuck— be gentle, hot damn,” he exclaims. His wounds, however, seem to be healing fine already, without a sign of infection.
Tim hesitates, but follows his instructions, moving carefully to prevent injuring him further, "You're healing well, you'll be fine soon. A result of the Lazarus pit?" he asks, carefully setting out to clean it with the medical supplies from his utility belt, "Hopefully, that applies to infections too, and we won't have anything to worry about." he says, being as gentle as he can as he cleans the wound on his chest, trying not to let his eyes linger on the autopsy scar he so desperately wants to ask about.
He can't help but wonder about Jason's connection to Alfred as well. He knows the butler worries for both him and Dick almost constantly, not to mention Bruce himself, but he can't help but feel like maybe he was closer with Jason, and that's why he worries about it so much.
"I take it you and Alfred were close?" he asks, smiling at Jason a little with the hopes of keeping things from getting hostile again.
“Probably,” he shrugs. “Lazarus does a lot of shit to you— your brain, strength, healing— I haven’t found out yet if I’m aging properly, either,” he comments, allowing Tim to do his job.
He notices Tim’s eyes settling on the scar on his chest. “Pretty, huh? Present I got from the mortician, as if being blown up wasn’t a clear cause of death enough,” he chuckles. He frowns slightly when Tim brings up Alfred. “Alfred loved me.” He said quietly, quickly pulling up his faux cocky demeanor again, “I was the one that was.. literally, pulled from the streets— scrawny little kid, dangerously underweight. He and his amazing cooking nursed me to health. Besides— I liked having tea with him, I liked literature, and I liked asking questions about Britain and Europe,” he explains. His memories about his time with Bruce, before his death, were cloudy— although he remembers his interactions with Alfred so, so clearly.
Tim nods and keeps the same gentle tone as he speaks, never once pausing as he continues his task, "He's talked to me about you. About how you used to be. Told me you were the strongest kid he had ever met, stronger than B ten times over," he says, "He's the one who explained why B was so touchy about your memorial, and why Dick didn't want me to be Robin."
He sighs softly, thinking about the time he's spent in the last few years in the kitchen with Alfred, doing his math homework and helping him cook and talking, "He makes the manor feel kinda like a home. He made me tea after my first night as Robin, and he told me about his childhood," he adds on after a moment, smiling more fondly now, "I think he'll be happy to hear we managed to get along, and that you're okay. I'll let him know you're healthy, if you want."
Jason chuckles, “If it helps, Dick didn’t want me being Robin either,” He comments. “He’s just as bad as Bruce, Tim. Don’t be fooled. He hated me when Bruce first took me in, he hated me so much he ran off to Jump City,” Dick hadn’t handled Jason’s arrival well, at all— especially not when he found out that Bruce had been training him. Robin had been Dick’s nickname— and the name had been special to him, to see that it was so easily given away to a new kid had been infuriating, but instead of taking it out on Bruce, Dick took it out on Jason, “He’ll take good care of you, though. I know he knows I’ve died thinking he hated me, and his poor little heart couldn’t handle it— do you know how much fucking times he’s been here crawling at my doorstep for forgiveness? Ridiculous,”
He thought over Tim’s proposal, lips slightly pursed. “Thanks for the offer, but Alfred knows. I write to him sometimes.” It was the first thing Jason had done when the pit madness had worn off and he’d been thinking somewhat clearly; he’d written to Alfred.
Tim nods a little, "Good to know his weird hovering is guilt and not him being a creep." he jokes lightly, "Sounds like he doesn't handle his emotions well, also good to know." he comments, finally starting to rewrap Jason's injuries.
"I have to wrap it up kinda tight, this might hurt a bit," he warns, and starts to his task as carefully as he can with the new, clean bandages, "Dick has that same habit at the manor. He'll hang around like he's waiting for some kind of sign he's on the right track, pace around in his room or in the hall in front of my door when I stay there for about ten minutes before he either knocks or leaves me alone. I can tell he's trying not to repeat his mistakes he made with you."
“It is guilt,” Jason informs him, nodding and then wincing when Tim applies the bandages again. He bit on the inside of his cheek, trying not to groan.
“He broke down crying to me. Says that he was meant to be a big brother and he failed me just as horribly as Bruce did,” He states, “I told him it was fine, that he was a kid at the time too, and that he got what always wanted, which was me out of his life and out of the Manor,” he shrugs, “He won’t make the same mistake twice with you, though, besides— he’s.. how old now, since I died? Like, twenty-seven? twenty-eight? Old man.”
Tim nods slightly, "Twenty-seven. Grab my shoulder and squeeze if it hurts too bad, " he instructs, "Regardless of what his motivations are, it's a little weird. It feels like he's one bad day and breakdown from calling me your name and never letting me out of his sight again." he says with a roll of his eyes.
"Seriously, though, it's literally impossible to even say your name to anyone who's not Alfred. I wanted to learn the same fighting style you were using as Robin when I first got here, but B got this solemn look on his face, said no way and seemed pretty freaked while Dick just kind of shut down for a minute before changing the subject altogether. They wouldn't properly train me to go against you, either, when you came back. If I hadn't already collected my own research, I would have died the first time you came after me," he explains.
“Fuck— Drake—“ Jason groans, grabbing onto Tim’s shoulders tightly— whatever the guy had hit him with, this shit hurt like hell.
“Also, yeah, I’m kinda’.. sorry for that, you didn’t deserve me raining hellfire upon your ass. I should’ve directed that to Bruce, not you.” He says, almost sheepishly, “Also, the reason they’re not training you like me is because they don’t want you walking down the same road.”
Tim grits his teeth but doesn't wince at Jason's tight grip, securing the bandages in place and carefully running his hands over them now to make sure everything is smooth and correct, tugging in certain places to be sure he didn't make them so tight they would restrict his circulation. He goes over his mental checklist, making sure he's done everything correctly before cutting off the strip of bandage and sticking it down.
"We're not the same person," he points out, "They're taking a long time to figure it out. I want to learn your fighting style because it was cultivated for someone slight with the intention of using quick and accurate strikes to take down an opponent, with room for the user to grow in strength and mass as their training continues. It allows for the use of weapons without relying on them, and has a mostly even amount of offensive, defensive, and evasive moves. I won't make your choices because we don't think the same. But I was about where you were physically, when I started, and Bruce was just too stubborn to trust me." he says, getting a little heated as he speaks but calming himself down.
"Sorry. Like I said, I had done my own research. That's how I became Robin in the first place. And I knew what I needed, but I couldn't learn off of old pictures and videos alone, and they were too scared to teach me," he sighs slightly, shaking his head, "Anyway, I'm not mad about it. You don't have to apologize. I get it, they did you dirty, I'd be pissed too. In fact, if our roles were reversed, I probably would have had a similar reaction. But I would have gone about the whole killing thing a different way, " he says, the forgiveness that had happened long ago coming easy to him. Tim had never truly blamed Jason for what happened when he returned. He knew it was anger and pit madness making him react irrationally, and he couldn't hold it against him.
“Care to fight me on my ideology, Drake?” Jason hisses, the environment turning hostile very quickly. “You think I’m killing because I like killing? Do you think I like shedding blood?” He snaps, looking him in the eyes. Tim leans back slightly, startled by Jason’s sudden change.
“I’m cleaning up Gotham!” He barks. “More than you or Bruce ever will! Putting drug dealers— or human trafficking scumbags in jail isn’t going to do shit if they break out and start right from the top again!” Jason hisses, “I’ve seen Crime Alley— I’ve grown up there. Not everyone can be saved, Tim. I’m saving life by putting an end to them.”
Tim shakes his head, "That's not what I meant, Jason," he says, staying calm as best he can, knowing that getting defensive will only escalate the situation, "I know what you're doing. I know why you're doing it. I don't think it's personally my place to decide who lives and dies, but I don't think any less of you for it." he explains.
"You're doing what's best for the citizens of Gotham, and you're right- what you're doing is working better than what Bruce does. His unflinching rules enforcing his own moral code limit him from seeing the bigger picture. I wasn't questioning you or saying you're wrong in what you're doing. I was saying I get it but I would have done things a little differently," he says, careful to keep his tone from being anything other than kind.
“You’re just like all the rest of them,” Jason snaps, his eyes focused on the window, the fury and rage slowly ebbing away. He still didn’t look particularly happy about it, though, “You start with.. condescending words and faux understanding— but you have no idea what it’s like, to grow up there— you and Bruce, both have known nothing but wealth.” He hisses out through gritted teeth, falling quiet.
“He wants to put me in Arkham,” he then blurts out, out of nowhere, “Bruce. That’s why I’ve been weary of both you and Dick, he’s been threatening me.”
Tim looks furious, standing up and knocking the leftover medical supplies out of his own lap, "What the hell?" he demands, "We'll get back to the first part of what you said in a minute, he wants to put you in fucking Arkham?" he asks angrily. This is clearly new information, and he starts pacing before suddenly pausing to take off his communicator.
"That asshole," he grumbles, starting to quickly type, "I'm wiping all current knowledge of you from his systems. He may be a good detective, but I can cover my tracks. Plus, I hacked his for-his-eyes-only files in my first week being Robin. He's not dragging you to Arkham," he says firmly, "You don't deserve that shit hole."
After a few minutes, he lets out a soft laugh, "Done. And anything under the key words Jason Todd, Red Hood, or any other things that can be traced back to you will auto delete. He won't be able to build a proper case on you if he can't hold his information." he says, starting to pick up the mess he made, "Sorry about all this. That's just... He lied to me. He told me he wanted to help you and bring you home." he says, sounding disappointed.
Jason looks at him wide eyed, he didn’t expect for Tim to do something like this. A part of him is grateful— although he knew that Bruce also probably kept a hard copy record of him somewhere.
“He does. He wants to help me. He thinks Arkham will help me,” he said, gritting his teeth. “He thinks I’m insane, Drake. He thinks that whatever the pit, Ra’s and Talia— has caused me to be what I am today, “ he grits out, “He doesn’t, however, consider that maybe, just maybe,” he snaps, “it’s his own fault that I am the way that I am,”
Tim shakes his head, frowning, "As far as I know, that's what he's told Dick too. I can't believe I didn't see this sooner, he's been manipulating us," he says, huffing slightly, "Whatever. Let him think he's still winning. I'll search the batcave for anything else on you when I'm alone. And of course he doesn't think it's his fault- he's a control freak with a God complex. He simultaneously thinks he is responsible for all of the world's problems and that he can do no wrong, " he says, tone sour. He taps on his communicator a few more times to message Alfred and let him know he's safe before turning it off, "Alfred knows I'm all good, and that I'm with you, and we both know he won't spill a word to B." he says, sighing softly.
Tim puts away all of his medical supplies, "And you're right about that too, it's absolutely his fault. From a third party perspective, I mean," he agrees, "And Arkham doesn't help anyone. It's practices are inhumane. It's just a prison at this point, charading as something better as an excuse to do much worse. I thought B and I were on the same page, that it was an unwelcome necessity because of the state of Gotham, but I guess not." Jason snickers at Tim’s speech due to how true it is. Bruce definitely is a control freak with some kind of God complex. Tim had hit the nail right on his head with that remark.
“If he had truly agreed, Arkham wouldn’t have existed anymore. He owns Gotham, Drake. Whatever Bruce Wayne says, goes— he holds most shares, the biggest stakeholder. If he truly wanted change, there’d be change.” He says, “He just likes Arkham because it’s a dump for the people he doesn’t want to deal with— under the cover of ‘getting them mental help’.”
Tim sighs, shaking his head, "I know you're right, I'm just disappointed. I want things to get better, truly better, and I know that Arkham is the start of that," he frowns and gives a small, determined nod, "When I take charge of Wayne Enterprises in a few years, Gotham will really change. No more fake help bullshit, no more letting criminals back on the street. I'll get the truly mentally ill the help they need and get the murderers in a real jail," he says, eyes cast down as he speaks, and it sounds like a promise, though it's unclear if he's promising himself or Jason.
He knows Wayne Enterprises is going to be his someday, probably sooner rather than later. Bruce hates managing it on top of being Batman, and he has plenty of money to keep up with his lavish lifestyle as long as he still gets a little revenue from it, which he will. But Tim has an actual passion for the work, wants to make the city better and thinks the company can do it, plus his own intelligence means that he'll be able to keep up with his head scientist. He knows Bruce has already decided that Tim is his successor, and now he's just waiting for a good time to step down.
Jason watches him with an eyebrow raised. “You want to take over that shit show? Why would you? Sure, the money is nice— but you’ll be in the public eye like, all the time.”
Dying had been a terrible experience, to say the least, but now he’s legally dead, no one is on the look for him anymore— as he didn’t exist. Jason basks in that anonymity, especially as he had been continuously in the spotlights during his time with Bruce.
Tim sighs, shaking his head, "Maybe, but I'll also be able to really help people in a way that I can't do now. I can handle the media if it means rebuilding Gotham. Plus, I like the work. I like to keep busy. So being CEO on top of... Whatever else I'm doing for my night life, it'll be a good fit," he explains.
He changes the subject smoothly after that, "Speaking of the public eye, how do you feel about being legally dead? Isn't it difficult, managing to go about your days without being able to tell people who you really are?" he asks.
“You got big ambitions, kiddo,” Jason shrugs. The mere thought of having to spend most of his life in a suit or a tux, like Bruce, made him want to shudder. But then again, Tim was a kid that came from wealth, he was probably already used to it and didn’t know any better.
“Why would people care who I am? What people would I meet that care that I am Bruce’s dead adopted son,” he shrugs, “I don’t need a name to make a name. Besides, pure anonymity is best. Who knew that killing people would make so many enemies?”
Tim snorts out a laugh, "Yeah, who would have guessed?" he asks jokingly, "And stop calling me a kid! I outsmart and outfight adults older than you and probably older than Dick every night. I don't count as a kid anymore." he argues, "And what about buying stuff? Like, I don't know, you smoke, right? Do you just steal it? And your lighters, you're old enough to buy those, but do you even have an ID?" he asks.
“You are seventeen years old. You are like.. 5’7, you’re scrawny, I hope for you that this isn’t your.. big boy voice— you are a kid. I really don’t care how smart you are,” He comments.
“And of course I have an ID. Do I look stupid to you? I’m right up in every system,” he grins.
Tim rolls his eyes, "My voice is fine." he defends, but leaves it at that. He perks up when he hears that he has a fake ID, "Let me see, where did you get it? How'd you get yourself right in the systems? Did someone do it for you?" he asks quickly, leaning closer. He takes a second to taper his curiosity, smiling a little more sheepishly, and leaning back out of his space.
“Chill,” Jason says. “You do realize that’s illegal, right?” Jason said. “I got a bunch laying around here. If you know what person to pay, you’ll find someone to do it for you,” he responds.
He leans back and looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Why so close, Drake?”
Tim clears his throat and flushes brightly, clearly embarrassed by his actions, “Shut up, I just got excited. And yes, I know it’s illegal, but so is being a vigilante. So is hacking people’s phones, and half the other shit I do nightly,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t cuss, kiddo. Didn’t Alfred teach you any better?” He grins teasingly. “Either way, if you know the right people— they’ll get you in the system. I got multiple aliases— mostly stole them from the books I read growing up,” he grins. The vibrant green eyes watch everyone move Tim made, one curl falling back over his forehead, reaching his left eyebrow.
Tim huffs in false annoyance, smiling. He notices how Jason is watching him, and does his best to seem at ease under his gaze, "Didn't Alfred teach you better than to let your hair get so long?" he teases in return, laughing softly, "What books? Maybe I've read them?" he asks, his head tilting to the side curiously.
“He did,” Jason shrugs, “But I can’t cut it myself and I haven’t bothered to go to a hairdresser,” he explains, “Also, it’s beautiful— and it’s nice, especially during sex,” he comments— both his ginger-headed companions love nothing more than tugging at his curls.
“Probably, I’m talking shit like— Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Davinci Code, Pride & Prejudice, Lord of the Rings— you name it,”
Tim blushes brightly at the mention of Jason's sex life, "I can cut it, if you want." he offers, trying to move past the comment smoothly, "And are you seriously telling me you stole names from Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings and no one's noticed?" he asks, laughing lightly.
He goes over that hypothetical interaction in his head, the deadpan stare or outright laughter he would give someone if they gave him a name out of one of these books to pass off as their own.
“I didn’t keep them the same, you idiot. I took some inspiration, but I made them more.. normal,” Jason responds, rolling his eyes “I turned Regulus into Roger Black— who is gonna know?” He asks him with a smirk. He runs his fingers through his curls again, leaning back slightly, ignoring Tim’s comment about his hair.
Tim grins, "That's pretty cool, then, actually," he relents. He can't help but think, with how well they're getting along, how nice it would be if they had been able to grow up and train together. He could almost picture it. If Bruce wasn't so hellbent on his ways, maybe they could fix things. Have Jason around more, let them hang out, help Alfred make dinner and work on the same cases. It could be nice. He pushes the thoughts from his head, reminding himself that, at least for now, it's not possible. There were way too many issues to work out before it could maybe work, and certainly not enough time in the day to fix them anytime soon.
He forces himself to focus once again on the here and now, trying to keep the conversation going and hoping Jason won't notice he's probably overstayed his initial welcome, "So, who do you get your IDs from?" he asks.Tim nods in response to his question, "Yeah, I've read it. My favorite character was always Remus Lupin." he says, smiling, "He was kind of a badass."
“Ah, Lupin, I liked Lupin too. His ending was so sad,” He nodded. “What house do you think you’d be sorted in, were you to go to Hogwarts? I always thought Slytherin of myself— but Alfred insists I’d be a Gryffindor,” he spoke, “And I get my ID’s from a college kid, and I pay off his student loans in return.”
He listens intently as Jason explains, "How are you paying off his loans? Unless Red Hood has a day job, I don't think that adds up," Tim shrugs, "I've never been totally sure. Probably Slytherin, I mean, I think I'd say I'm pretty cunning, but I've also considered Ravenclaw," he smiles, "You're definitely a Gryffindor, no doubt about it. Don't you know better than to argue with Alfred?" he asks.
“I’ll tell you later how I make my money, kid, I don’t kiss and tell so much on the first date,” he teases.
Tim flushes when Jason calls this a date, "Didn't mean to pry." he excuses, chuckling a little.
“I always argued with Alfred,” Jason shrugged. “But you’re probably right, whatever he says, goes,” he shrugged, “You didn’t mean to pry? So, you consider your game of 101 questions not prying? God, you really still need to learn a lot.”
Tim rolls his eyes, "Okay, maybe I meant to pry a little," he admits, "But to be fair, you told me I could ask those questions. And I've been waiting like five years to ask you, so I think I kind of earned them at this point." he says, checking the time.
“A little,” Jason scoffs playfully, “Whatever, I guess that’s fair enough,” He decides, “I don’t understand why you’ve been so interested in me— especially considering I’m the one that got himself killed. You can ask Dick probably everything, and if he doesn’t reply just guilt trip him into telling him you think he doesn’t like you.”
Tim sighs, shaking his head, "Dick and I have never been in the same place. He started out at Robin already having incredible athletic ability, a predisposition to do it, and being B's only son and golden boy. We started physically in the same place, and you're about ten times easier and more fun to talk to. Besides, you didn't exactly run out and just get yourself killed. You went after the Joker in an attempt to do the right thing and he murdered you. That's no fault of yours," he explains, glancing down for a second and feeling a little embarrassed that he's apparently bothering Jason with his questions, "You're just better to ask, I guess. Sorry if I was being a bit overbearing."
“Ten times easier and more fun to talk to? Have we been living on the same planet? Didn’t I try to murder you like... 3 times, atleast?” He snorted, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, “Yeah, yeah— I know how I died, it wasn’t really my own fault— but it was still stupid and naive,” he shrugged.
Tim huffs out a soft laugh, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, maybe you did, but at least you're not an uptight asshole. Dick is a bit of a mother hen, and that makes him hard to talk to," he points out, "Besides, it's not like you're doing that anymore, right? We're cool now?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I am an uptight asshole, just in a different way,” Jason retorts, running a hand through his hair. “I know you’re a teenager and all— and those hormones are not doing your mood well, but you should definitely try to talk to Dick. The more comfortable he is around you, the easier it is to... live with him. Roy told me that,” He shrugs, “And sure Replacement, we’re cool now. But maybe, I wake up tomorrow, and I decide something completely different,”
Tim nods slightly, "Yeah, I'll try." he agrees, frowning and letting out a soft sigh, "And my mood is not the problem. I'm doing just fine," he insists. He nods again in understanding, "Eh, that'll be half the fun," he jokes, shrugging it off, "Some days you'll shoot at me, some days you won't, it'll be luck of the draw."
“Doesn’t every teenager say that?” Jason grins, “Everyone is the problem, but the mood of the person in question,” he commented, remembering how he felt around that time— or well, the brief form of puberty he got to experience— it was cut short at the mere age of 14, “Yeah, the luck of a draw,” he chuckled. “Listen, kiddo. I won’t be around for long, anyway, so don’t sweat it,” whether he means around Gotham, or being around in general is left unsaid and therefore up for debate.
Tim frowns, "You're not?" he says, raising an eyebrow at him, "Where do you plan on going?" he asks, leaning forward apprehensively much like he did earlier, "Why aren't you staying?" he demands. He doesn't want Jason to leave, not when they were just starting to get past the point of murder. He wanted a chance to get to know him. He'd looked up to Jason for so long, and he couldn't help but think about how nice it's been talking to him, and he wants to be able to see him more.
“Jesus Christ— I didn’t know that it was going to strike that big of a cord,” he grins, “I don’t know, man. Gotham’s... really boring when you’re the one calling the shots, actually,” he shrugs, “There’s international organizations, similar to the Justice League— that share my ideology,” he chuckles “It’d be nice to leave this shithole and do more... nationwide gigs,” he responds.
Tim nods a little, understanding his want to leave, but doesn't back away yet, "But isn't it worth it to stay?" he asks, his head tilting to the side curiously, "Really clean up Gotham, watch as it's rebuilt into a better city? Don't you want to see it?" He smiles a little as he speaks, and it shows in his tone that he's determined to make his words reality, "Between what you're doing and my projections for WE in the first five years of ownership, Gotham will basically be a whole new not-shit hole city," he points out.
“It’s boring,” he complains with a shrug, “It’s all the same old, same old. I don’t necessarily care what happens to Gotham. I just don’t see myself here forever,” he states.
“You sure sound confident and ambitious kid, but Gotham won’t change— Gotham is Gotham, it will forever remain the same shit hole,” He sighs, “You can’t stop crime,” He insists, “That’s what you— B, Dick- you’ve never understood, you have to control it.”
“Maybe your plan of reintegration will work,” he says, “But crime will never seize. No matter how good it is.” He spoke. “As for me, I’m doing the best that I can, I’m not as smart as you are and I don’t have yours or B’s resources, but I am, in my own, very effective way, cleaning up Gotham— but Gotham’s getting so boring. I gotta have something to keep me satisfied.”
Tim huffs, "I never said I'm trying to stop crime, just bring the crime rate down. That's controlling it," he points out, "And when it's all mine, I can make sure you have whatever resources you need or want," he offers, "And who cares if it's boring sometimes? Boring means it's a little safer. I think Gotham will be better off if you stay." he says, then flushes lightly.
“Hmh, whatever you say, Kiddo,” he brushes him off with a grin, pulling his legs up and folding them underneath him.
He sighs, "Is there anything I can do or say to make Gotham interesting to you again?" he asks. He wants Jason to stick around, though he can't quite explain why.
“I care, I’m just really bored,” he says with a shrug. Why is Tim so keen on trying to have him around? He didn’t understand. “Really, Drake, don’t sweat it. I wouldn’t know why you’d want me around anyway?”
Tim has to take a second to think on the question, taking off his boots so he can turn with his feet on the bed and sit cross-legged facing Jason. A couple of different, perfectly reasonable answers float around in his head, but none of them are quite as good as what ends up coming out of his mouth when he does speak.
He finally frowns, shrugging, "I don't know. You're helping control crime, stories about you make really ridiculous headlines in the Gotham Gazette, sometimes you jump into a fight and save my ass, and maybe sometimes you're not a total asshole?" he says, sighing, "There are a lot of reasons, Jason. I just think that maybe being in this city has been a little less miserable since you came back."
Jason listens to him, his lips slightly pursed. He always purses his lips when he’s thinking. “Whatever kid, I still don’t adhere to your rules, nor to B’s. Maybe you like me now because I look cool and interesting, but once you get to B's level I’d be nothing but a pain in the ass.”
Tim rolls his eyes, "Will you stop assuming I'm just like him?" he demands, "Bruce has his morals, I have mine. Just because I work with him doesn't mean I agree with everything he says and does. I don't just like you because I think you're cool and interesting. I like that because you're doing something for the general public good instead of to satiate your own selfish motivations, and you're not letting anything get in the way of what you think needs to be done to protect people. Bruce is motivated by vengeance, as much as he preaches against it, making him a hypocrite playing dress-up, no matter how much I may look up to him. I follow his rules, I have respect for him, and I've even come to view him like a member of my family, but that doesn't mean I agree with his ways all the time. I adhere to his rules for now because it's the best for everyone in Gotham, Bruce included."
Jason listens, the green gaze seeming to stare right into Tim’s soul. “Well forgive me, but you two seem an awful lot alike,” He shrugs, and then decides to drop it at that. He looks away again, out of the window for a moment, seeing that dawn is nearing upon them. “You should go home, kiddo. It’s bedtime.”
Tim looks out the window and his eyes go wide for a second, "Shit, I didn't mean to stay all night." he says softly, getting his shoes on and doing a once-over of the room to make sure he's not forgetting anything, "If that gets any worse, call me and I'll come by to help." he instructs, giving a quick wave as he hurriedly opens Jason's window and hops out, rushing to get back to the manor so he can get ready for school. The whole next day, he can’t get Jason out of his mind. He thinks of his old crush, the one he had when he was just another kid on the rooftops, following around Batman and Robin because he hero worshipped them. He can feel those feelings, long forgotten though they may be, stirring in his chest again.
Meanwhile, after getting a few hours of rest, Jason can’t help but allow his thoughts to continuously circle back to his replacement. After so much time harboring misplaced anger, then pity for the kid, it was strange to actually have him standing there, a whole person in front of him instead of just a concept in his mind. He deliberates on it for a while before deciding that maybe Tim wasn’t as bad as he thought.