searching faces

by Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams

Summary:

“I need your help,” Tim says. “I need - “ again, the liquid sloshes in his cup. He releases it to rub his hands over the fabric of his pants. “I need your help.”

“Do you?” She is usually not the one approached for these sorts of things. Jason gets the calls, and Roy charms his way into information. She is merely a companion, one that most people stay away from. “What sort of help do you require, Tim Wayne?”

There’s a flinch, so minute anyone else would have missed it. He lets out a harsh breath and grabs for his drink once more. He yanks his mask down in one swift motion and brings the straw to his lips. He drinks like someone who hasn’t had water in days, with a single minded determination Kori has seen plenty of men use to go at bottles in dark lit bars.

His face is flushed. The red comes through in blotchy patches made worse by the stark white that splatters the lower left of his jaw. On his cheeks are two reddened slashes. They start at the corners of his lips and cut up towards his ears in diagonal lines.

“Sanctuary,” he says, when his cup is empty and his mask is up once more. “I seek sanctuary.”

-

In the aftermath of Joker's torture, Tim runs to the only place left he can think of.

Chapter 1: for safe places

Summary:

I was walking through the valley of distress alone,
And no one could see me.
Once again, I need directions home, but asking seems impossible nearly.
I wanna be good to the people that I love,
I want them to think of me as someone that they can trust.
Walking through the valley of distress alone,
And no one can see me,
Or hear me or feel me.
—Finding your way home, The Front Bottoms

Notes:

this ship hit me like a tidal wave and I'm a terrible swimmer

my comic knowledge comes from video essays and what I've read in fandom so this is a hodgepodge of what I've found and liked. if you're looking for super accurate continuity of comic storylines this is not the place for you

Warning: this chapter discusses the scars left from Tim's torture and how they were made, including non-consensual drug use at the hands of the Joker. there is also mentions of a hospital bombing

Koriand'r is no stranger to the sensation of eyes. As a princess, she has always been watched; a fact that was only exacerbated when she became a slave. She has learned the subtleties of gaze through brutal training and survival instinct. She knows how to tell the curious from the calculating; how to detect wrongful intent.

As an alien on earth, she has not come across many in the human species who can harm her, save, perhaps, the two she spends so many of her days with. However, neither of her boys come with the biology that protects her from harm. While Roy shines brilliantly most days, he is no star - not physically. This is why she has become more conscious of threats. Her criteria is no longer of Tamaran quality, but of those that might try to take what family she has claimed for her own. As such, she becomes aware almost instantly of a brush of calculated intensity just outside of her peripherals. 

A simple turn of her head reveals a street she’s grown familiar with. There are several civilians walking along the sidewalk in close knit groups. Across the small side road is a cafe, with old metal tables and big umbrellas set into the middle to help relieve some of the heat. It’s that, that gives him away. 

While Kori has no problem with temperature, she has grown to understand that humans are much more particular. Too hot and they can burn up. Too cold and they will freeze. The man she sees is not wearing what one would expect for the coastal village. His sleeves are long and his pants are tucked into heavy boots. There’s a cloth mask on his face, sitting just below tired set eyes. She can see that he’s flushed, even from here. 

A glance up at the sky tells her that she has time before Roy will be ready to head back to the island. She makes her way across the street to take the seat across from him. 

“Hello,” she says. “You were staring.” 

He looks familiar, up close. Something tugs at the back of her mind but she takes comfort in the fact that it does not ring of alarm bells. 

“I was,” he agrees. 

She likes this. Humans are so tedious with their lies. 

“Why?”

He stares down at the iced drink in his hands but makes no move to take off his mask. The condensation is leaving pools of water behind; it drips between the metal grating of the table and darkens the sidewalk below. 

“I’ve heard stories about you, but we’ve never really met. Koriand’r, right?”

She blinks. He is one of few to wrap his mouth around the syllables without pause. His pronunciation is not perfect - no humans’ will ever be - but it is impressive in how close he gets. She wonders what motive he has for the effort. 

“Some call me Starfire. Others call me Kori.”

He drags his eyes up to look at her. “What would you have me call you?” 

She taps her fingers against the table. The metal smokes ever so slightly. “You may call me Kori, for now,” she allows.

“Kori.” He gives a dip of his head. “My name is Tim.” 

She does not know of any Tim, not personally. But there is a Tim she has heard of, one that Jason has ranted about. Kori looks him over with new eyes. 

“What stories have you heard of me, Tim?” 

“I’ve heard that you’re a member of The Outlaws. You’re a wanted criminal in several parts of the world, as well as a few different galactic ports. You’re a fierce warrior, a princess who has stood beside our heroes in the past.” He holds a hand up in a gesture of peace when her hair crackles. His voice softens. “I’ve heard that you love learning new things. That ice cream makes you smile and modesty doesn’t exist in your mind. I’ve heard that you’re one of the most honest people Dick Grayson has ever met and one of the few that Jason Todd trusts.”

“Flattery does not work on me,” she feels the need to tell him, past the sting that Dick’s name brings to her chest. She represses the memory, as she always does. “Why are you here?” 

His hands tighten around the cup in his hands, hard enough that some of the liquid shoots up into the straw. He eases up before it can breach the tip. “I need your help,” Tim says. “I need - “ again, the liquid sloshes in his cup. He releases it to rub his hands over the fabric of his pants. “I need your help.”

“Do you?” She is usually not the one approached for these sorts of things. Jason gets the calls, and Roy charms his way into information. She is merely a companion, one that most people stay away from. “What sort of help do you require, Tim Wayne?” 

There’s a flinch, so minute anyone else would have missed it. He lets out a harsh breath and grabs for his drink once more. He yanks his mask down in one swift motion and brings the straw to his lips. He drinks like someone who hasn’t had water in days, with a single minded determination Kori has seen plenty of men use to go at bottles in dark lit bars. 

His face is flushed. The red comes through in blotchy patches made worse by the stark white that splatters the lower left of his jaw. On his cheeks are two reddened slashes. They start at the corners of his lips and cut up towards his ears in diagonal lines. 

“Sanctuary,” he says, when his cup is empty and his mask is up once more. “I seek sanctuary.” 

This is not a term she is used to. However, she has learned in her days spent with her team, her Outlaws, and the phrase rings familiar. She remembers it in scared children and desperate mothers. In people left bloody and scarred from the wars of others. She does not know what sort of war it is that Tim runs from, but she can see the same sort of desperation in his eyes. His hands tremble minutely against the table and she gets the feeling that if she leaves him here he will have nowhere else to go. 

“I grant you sanctuary,” she says, slowly, carefully, feeling the words over her tongue. They do not bite or curdle. 

Tim caves in on himself. There is no other term for it. One moment he is sitting upright and the next he is curled over and clutching at his sides like that alone will keep him from shaking apart.  

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

She allows him a few moments of peace to compose himself. When a glance up at the sky reveals the sun in its full glory, she knows their time to linger is coming to an end.

Tim nods and goes to stand. His legs wobble, threatening to send him crashing to the ground. She scoops him up into her arms and shoots into the sky before he can make a sound. He’s painfully light in her arms. 

There’s a sort of sickness staining the air around him; she will have to scan him with the ship’s machines once they return. Perhaps Roy will know more. Jason, too, if he’s willing. 

She’s not entirely sure how he’ll take this but she is of the opinion that it is long past time for Jason to face his demons and put them to rest. If Tim is one, she will help make it so. 

Roy is waiting by the boat when she touches down once more. He squints at the bundle in her arms and then at her. “That’s not the kind of baggage we’re supposed to bring back, Kor. Please tell me you didn’t kidnap him.” 

“Nonsense.” She strides past with fond exasperation on her mouth. “He asked for Sanctuary and I granted it. This is what you do, yes?” 

“Uh, kinda? It depends on the situation.” Roy grimaces. “Who is it?” 

She lays Tim down in the shade of the captain’s quarters. He’s half asleep, already. His eyelids drag with every blink. 

“His name is Tim,” she says matter of factly. “Tim Wayne.” 

“His name is what?!” Roy gapes at her. “Do you have any idea what Jason is going to do if we bring a bat home?” 

“I suspect he will rage and break a few things before coming to his senses.” Kori frowns as she brushes Tim’s hair back from his forehead. There are misshapen, circular scars on his temples. “He is hurt.” 

Roy moves closer and curses under his breath at the marks. “You’re explaining this to Jaybird,” he warns as he gets out the healthkit. “Timothy Drake was not on our shopping list.”

“Very well.” She turns to hit the button that will take them back to the island. The engine hums to life as the boat glides away from the dock. “I will tell him.” 

The trip takes around an hour in earth time, one that is full of Roy’s mutterings as he ensures that their guest is not about to drop dead before she can get him to the ship’s machines. 

“He’s definitely dehydrated,” he declares, after poking about at Tim’s person. Tim barely stirs throughout the process, which is worrying in itself. The skin he’s pinched on the top of Tim’s hand is slow to move back into place. “He’s breathing pretty hard and he’s burning up. Might have heat stroke, too, but the dehydration is making it hard to tell.” 

She hovers over his shoulder and listens to the frantic beat of Tim’s heart. Roy’s is a steady pulse in comparison. 

“What must be done?” 

“We need to get him fluids. Getting rid of some of these layers should help, too.” He lifts a hand to take off Tim’s mask and curses at what he sees. “ Fuck .”

“He did not have these marks before,” Kori deduces. 

“No, he - “ Roy rubs at his mouth as if he’s tasted something foul. His eyes are pinched at the corners. “The last time I saw him he was fine. Jaybird is gonna hate this.”  

The scars look especially painful on Tim’s sleeping face. They’re raised and reddened slashes, still somewhat new. Kori can see where there had once been stitches keeping the skin together. 

“And the markings?” She asks, as she reaches out to trace the white that splatters his jaw. 

“New.” 

Roy’s jaw sets as he begins pulling Tim’s shirt up. There are more white splotches here, as if someone had thrown a can of paint and he’d been caught in the splash zone. She’s never seen such markings on a human before. 

There are so many scars on his skin for such a small body. She is no stranger to the cruelties of life but it seems excessive, even to her. Roy makes a miserable sound when he examines Tim’s arms; there are needle marks everywhere. The sides of his neck have been through a similar treatment, with haphazard dottings all along the length of it. 

“He was tortured,” Kori says softly.  

Roy makes what could be a sound of confirmation; he can’t seem to stop staring at Tim’s arm. She places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. In the distance, their island looms closer. 

He’s careful as he sets Tim’s arm back down. His brow furrows beneath the shadow of his hat. 

“What is it, dwisol’orp ?” 

“I’m just wondering why a bat is looking for sanctuary with us instead of with the rest of them.” He lifts a hand to squeeze her own and says grimly, “Jay has tried to kill Tim before, so why would he come here? I’m just not likin’ the picture I’m starting to see, that’s all.” 

She considers Tim and what she has heard from Jason of his origins. Jason has been so adamant in the past that Tim is his replacement; that the rest of the bats are busy playing happy family. A happy family does not send one of their injured running to the doorstep of a possible enemy. 

“We will discuss things once he is settled and Jason has returned,” she decides. 

The boat makes dock and comes to a pause. The engines shut off as Roy’s robots fix them in place. She slides past Roy to scoop Tim up once more. Roy grabs on to her shoulders when she offers her back and then they’re off. 

It is not much of a journey to the ship, but it is faster with her flying. Roy hops off her back when she floats down to the hatch and opens the door. The medical bed is bare and prepped already. She sets Tim down as Roy powers up the scanners and steps back. 

Muted blue lights start from Tim’s feet and move up to the top of his head. She watches the readings as Roy gets an IV prepared to help rehydrate their new guest.

There are several warnings on the screen. She frowns at the pain levels and taps the button to start the machine’s healing program. The settings Roy has put in tell her that Tim is too hot for a human, and that while there are no broken bones or outward wounds, there is something wreaking havoc on his body. He is malnourished and dehydrated, and sleep deprived as well, if she is to judge from the deep set bruises under his eyes.

“The drip is set up. I’m setting up some wet cloths for now to help bring down his temperature. We’ll have to keep an eye on the fever once he starts sweating again, and switch out the drip in about half an hour.”

Kori takes all of this in stride. It is not the worst set of instructions she has dealt with. 

On the console, there’s a proximity alert from the door before it slides open, allowing the only other inhabitant of the island inside. She supposes it’s better to get this over with while Tim is still asleep. 

“Hey, I saw the boat. Did somethin’ happen—“ Jason breaks off as he takes in the three of them. His eyes flick first to Kori, who is unfolding a blanket, to Roy who is tucking a cloth under the backs of Tim’s knees, and Tim, who still hasn’t stirred once throughout the entire process. 

“What,” Jason starts slowly, with the quiet hiss of anger at the back of his tongue, “the fuck Is goin' on?”         

“Picked up a stray, Jaybird.” Roy shoots him a lopsided grin before he grabs another cloth to tuck in close to Tim’s side. “Kori couldn’t say no to those big baby blues.” 

“He is hurt,” she says simply. “I have granted him sanctuary.” 

“Sanctuary - jus’ call one ‘a the bats t’ pick ‘im up!” 

“Look at him, Jaybird.” Roy gestures down at Tim. “Really look at him. Tell me what you see.” 

It’s obvious that Jason doesn’t want to. Jason would be much happier storming off and breaking something instead, preferably someone’s bones. But this is Roy and he trusts Roy, trusts Kori even - so he steps closer and looks down at Tim. 

He doesn’t like what he sees. 

His hand lifts to rub at his mouth as if he’s going to be sick. He drops it after a second to just barely touch the scar on Tim’s left cheek. 

“You and I both know whose call sign that is,” Roy says quietly. 

Jason’s jaw clenches. 

“He ran from Batman,” Kori observes, “from all of his fellow bats. Is it not best to hear what he has to say?” 

“Fine.” His voice sounds like he’s been gargaling gravel. He swallows convulsively and flexes his hands. “What’s wrong with ‘im?” 

“Dehydration and possible heat stroke. I’m going to run some blood samples because he’s covered in needle marks. Those scars on his face look pretty irritated and I have no idea what’s going on with those white splotches. Some kind of chemical burn, maybe?” Roy shakes his head. “He’s got electrical burn scars on his temples, too, so I’m gonna set up a brain scan. This really isn’t my forte but I can call Leslie if we need to.”

“Goddammit,” Jason mutters. “How many more Robins is it gonna take Bruce before he fuckin’ learns ?”  

“I will unload the ship if you are able to assist.” Kori places a hand on Jason’s shoulder. She offers a small smile when he meets her eyes. “I am also willing to pay this Bruce a visit, should you deem it necessary.” 

It’s enough to earn a sharp burst of laughter. His teeth flash as he gives a nod. “Yeah, okay, I’ll help clean up the replacement’s mess.” 

“Thank you, Jason.” 

“You’re really not the one who should be thankin' me.” He sighs and moves over to the decontaminator to clean his hands. The gloves are on the counter and he swipes a set before pulling out a pack of needles. “How many vials ya want?” 

“Two,” Roy says as he tucks the blanket in around Tim’s sides. “I’m gonna set up the scan.” 

Jason turns Tim’s arm over and grimaces at the marks dotting the inside of his elbow. He knows Tim would never do anything that would make him lose higher brain functioning and the haphazard nature of the marks is at odds with the careful precision he’s come to expect from his replacement. He’s gentle when he ties Tim’s arm off and feels for a vein, more gentle than he will ever admit to. He’s had his problems with Tim before, but nobody deserves this sort of treatment. Especially not if it came from who he thinks it did. 

At least he survived, a snide voice remarks, maybe daddy bats has learned that much.

The vials come slower than normal. The blood is thick from dehydration and despite how fast Tim’s heart is beating, it makes it harder to get a sample. By the time he’s done and pressing a bandage to the needle mark, Roy has the scan ready to go. 

“You think brain damage?” Jason asks as he tosses his gloves out. 

“I don’t know. The kid was out cold when Kori brought him over, but she said he asked for Sanctuary.” Roy crosses his arms and frowns over at the bed. “I really don’t like this, Jaybird. Something smells fishy.” 

“Well, we are on a beach—“ 

Roy’s elbow knocks into his side, stealing the air and the words out of his lungs. 

“I’m serious. I don’t like the fact that he came to us instead of Bruce. I thought he was one of his biggest fans.” 

Jason shrugs. “Replacement was lookin’ fer ‘im in the time stream, last I saw. I know Bruce is back so he must’ve succeeded.”

“He’s got no trackers on him. In fact, notice any bags?” Roy gestures to the empty space around him. “Kid is running on empty in more ways than one. Not a single trace of belongings, ‘cept for the clothes on his back.” 

“No tech?” 

“Nothing.” 

Jason frowns. “Replacement loves his tech. He would never leave it behind.” 

“That’s what I’m saying. Something doesn’t add up here, and I’m not looking forward to where it’ll leave us.” The scanner beeps and Roy moves over to check the readings. “No signs of brain damage. I’m not a neurologist so I can’t say much more than that, but it’s good news so far.”

He grabs the blood vials and looks back at Jason. “You good to watch him while I run these through the lab?” 

“Yeah.” Jason sighs and pulls over one of the chairs. “I’ll watch ‘im.” 

“We’ll figure things out, Jaybird.” Roy gives a two fingered salute. “Try not to make yourself go any more gray.” 

“Ha ha, very funny!” Jason calls after him. His eyes roll as he settles down into his seat to watch the rise and fall of Tim’s chest. It’s too fast, almost like the frantic beat of a robin’s wings. 

The last time he saw Tim he looked marginally less terrible. There were no scars on his face and even the bruises under his eyes hadn’t been so deep. His hair is shaggier now, too, which is even more at odds with what he knows of Tim. Timothy Drake-Wayne takes pride in his appearance and is the face of more than one tabloid or business magazine. He’s one of the top dogs of Wayne Enterprises and an enigma the public often like to boggle over. 

A look at his hands show that his nails are short and jagged around the edges, as if he’s been tearing compulsively at the keratin. Another alarm bell. He remembers watching Tim getting his nails done during the period he was stalking him. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types Tim’s name into the search bar with more than a little trepidation. His phone is encrypted to hell and back so he’s not worried about pinging anyone’s radar, but he is afraid of what he might find.

The results aren’t good. 

Article upon article pops up on the first page. He scans the contents, picking up words like missing , conspiracy and murder . There’s a headliner for an article from Vicki Vale. As much as he doesn’t want to read it, he clicks on it all the same. 

It’s been six months since the explosion that wiped out a hospital in the Fashion District, causing forty two injuries and nearly a hundred deaths. The attack has since been proven to be connected to Arkham Asylum's escaped convict, the Joker. Eye witness statements testify that Timothy Drake-Wayne, who was at the hospital to finalize a donation, was missing from the scene after the building was evacuated. 

Statements from Bruce Wayne, Timothy’s adopted father, have since corroborated this fact. Jim Gordon, the police chief and head of the search party, has been tight lipped about their operations in finding the Joker. 

Three months ago, there was another explosion at Amusement Mile, in which the Joker was confirmed dead. Harley Quinn, Joker’s accomplice, was also found at the scene and is confirmed to have sustained life threatening injuries that have kept her in a coma to this day.

Timothy Drake-Wayne was said to be at the scene in undetermined condition. When later questioned about Timothy’s wearabouts and current health status, Jim Gordon confirmed that the heir has been found and continues to recover alongside his family and loved ones.

It’s now, three months since, that the public is beginning to question the validity of this claim. Is Timothy recovering in solidarity, too scarred by his ordeal to brave the world just yet? Furthermore, is he even alive?  

It wouldn’t be the first time one of Bruce Wayne’s wards has died under mysterious circumstances. Seven years ago, Jason Todd -

“Fuck.” Jason’s fingers tighten around the phone in his hands until it gives the faintest creak in warning. That was a low blow, even for Vicki, which leads him to believe that Gotham is really the mess of questions she claims it is. 

A hospital bombing, a subsequent kidnapping and the death of the Joker? 

Jason can’t decide if he’s angry, horrified or relieved. He pushes the last feeling far, far down, where it can drown in the blood of all the rest. He’s not believing anything until he sees a body. Too many people have come back from the dead, especially the Joker. 

There’s a sour taste at the back of his mouth as he ponders how the hell the bastard died. Batman had to have been on scene. Did he finally do it? Did he finally cross the line? 

A hand lifts to run over the scar on his neck. A wave of pit green rage threatens the edges of his vision; he forces himself to breathe and gets up to change out Tim’s intravenous fluids. He shoves his phone deep into his back pocket, where he won’t have to think about it, and goes through the motions of cutting off the line and reattaching a new bag. He watches as the new fluid begins to drip and tosses the used bag into the recycling. 

Tim doesn’t look much better, but his color is starting to come back little by little. 

Jason looks away from the bed as the familiar clamber of Roy’s footsteps echoes up from the lab below. His face is grim when he meets Jason’s eyes. 

“You’re not going to like this.” 

“I seem to be hearin’ that an awful lot today,” Jason grouses. He crosses his arms and gives a go ahead gesture. “Lay it on me.” 

Roy lets out a slow breath. “His blood is clean, save for one thing. There’s faint traces of Joker toxin still lingering. I’ve never seen it mutate like this, I’m not sure if an antidote would even work at this point and I’m not comfortable doing anything until Tim can tell us what’s going on or how long it’s been in his system.” 

“Six months.” 

“Huh?”

“Six months,” Jason repeats. He clenches his fists against the urge to smash the supplies at his elbow. “Found an article from Vicki Vale. It said there was an explosion six months ago, and that Tim was taken by the Joker.”

Roy echoes his own internal thoughts with a choked off “ fuck .” He takes his hat off to run a hand through his hair, leaving haphazard strands standing every which way. He smooths it all down before putting his hat back on his head - backwards, this time.

“I really wish we could contact a bat without bringing them all down on our heads.” 

“Yeah,” Jason says grimly, as his eyes fix on the rise and fall of Tim’s chest. “I’ve got some questions of my own.”

Notes:

dwisol’orp - something like dear one in tamaranean. an entirely made up word of a made up language bc I couldn't find any sort of similar definition in any of the comics I looked at. if there are actual terms of endearment that kori has used in the past please let me know and I'll change it

Chapter 2: for truthful iterations

Summary:

“I want information before we do anythin’. Roy says you have Joker Serum in your blood.” Jason’s arms cross. If Tim didn’t know any better, he’d say that’s almost concern in Jason’s voice. “The fuck happened to you, replacement?"

There’s a lump in his throat. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Tim shakes his head. His eyes flicker down to Jason’s own quickly before looking up at the ceiling. The glance is more than enough. “You really don’t know.” What could be a laugh bubbles up from his throat before Tim smothers it viciously. He doesn’t trust himself not to break out into laughter not his own. “Of course you don’t. Bruce would never advertise it, it was bad enough the news caught wind of it.”

Notes:

Warnings for: mentions of 'parental' abuse (joker and harley), a panic attack, pretty blasé mentions of death, a video of Tim's torture

Tim wakes slowly. Something about this rings alarm bells, but he can’t place why just yet. His body feels heavy and warm - a pleasant warm, one unlike the feverish heat he’d sweltered under while trying to find the Outlaws. He’s tucked in too, which is another alarm bell. The last place he’d stayed at hadn’t even had a mattress , let alone a blanket. 

He frowns slowly, eyes still closed as he pats around with a hand that feels far too sluggish. He feels distant from his body, as if something else is moving the vessel he’s contained within. 

He has to - has to wake up.

Why does he have to wake up?

Lemme take care ‘a it, the voice that should not exist whispers. 

He needs to fight this voice. He does not trust it. But, once again, he cannot remember why. 

Go back t' sleep, the voice whispers. 

Tim goes back to sleep. 

---

He’s laying flat on a bed with a pillow under his head and a blanket wrapped around his body. Beds are not a good sign, but at least he’s not strapped down. Papa never lets him have pillows and blankets during punishments.

His cheeks don’t hurt every time he breathes and there’s a distinct lack of pain in his temples. Has Mama given him better painkillers?

He’s afraid to open his eyes, to find that this is another test, but there’s a pressure in his bladder and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold it. He forces his eyes open and stares up at a strange metal ceiling. He’s never been in this room before.

He can’t hear Papa’s laughter, or Mama’s soft singing. He’s alone. 

Junior has yet to decide if he likes being alone. 

The other one is a presence at the back of his head but nothing more. He’s sleeping in his nest, safe and sound where nothing can hurt him. Junior wishes he had the same comfort. 

He pushes himself up onto one elbow, and then the next. Something tugs at his arm. He turns his head and sees a bag hanging from a metal pole. He follows the plastic tube down to the the valve in the middle, to the point where it disappears into the needle in his arm -

Junior’s vision whites out in panic. 

One moment he is sitting in bed, staring at the needle and the next he’s halfway across the room, blood on his arm and chest heaving. 

Stupid . Papa doesn’t like it when he tries to escape the drugs. The last time he tried to get away he was shocked until his thoughts stopped being thoughts and he lost the hold on his bladder. 

The other one had consoled him as best he could. When he told Mama about the strange hugging sensation in his mind, she’d smiled gently before making him a dinner that had made him laugh until he passed out.

He learned not to mention the other one after that. 

There’s a stirring from the consciousness at the back of his mind. His panic is waking the other one from his slumber. 

Go to sleep, Junior thinks desperately. 

Papa is always crueler when the other one is at the surface. He makes strange comments about bats and birds, ones that make the other one cry out inside.

The bat…

Junior’s mind races as he starts to remember. 

The Island. Running. The woman that tried to make Junior disappear. The Bat.

Oh.

There are no more punishments. Papa is dead. 

He’s not given the chance to decide if this makes him panic further; moments later the sound of footsteps warn him of an approach. 

Junior pushes himself up off the floor and skitters sideways along the wall. He feels around for a weapon and ends up with the IV pole. His stance widens with instinctual memory, holding it just as the other one would hold his bo staff. 

The door opens to reveal not one, not two, but three possible enemies. His brain knows who they are, despite Junior never having met them before. 

Roy Harper. Koriand’r. Jason Todd. 

The last one sets off a ripple of awareness in his psyche that’s far too strong to suppress. Junior doesn’t fight it when the darkness comes. He doesn’t want to be here, anyways. 

“—hell you doin’?” Jason demands. 

Tim blinks sluggishly. He sways for a second, grip loosening around the rod in his hands - and then he’s in his body once more, if only barely. He looks down at his hands and frowns at the sight. He doesn’t remember grabbing anything. He doesn’t even remember getting out of bed.

“Did you hear me?” Jason says again, closer - and therefore - louder this time. 

“Yes. No.” Tim sets the stand down carefully and lifts his hands to rub at his face. His back is sore from laying down for so long and his arm hurts from where his IV was ripped out. He sees the needle in Roy’s hand and feels his stomach turn. 

He knows what happened now. 

“No needles,” he says firmly. He applies pressure to his bleeding arm with two fingers when he sees nothing else to use. “Especially not when I’m unconscious.” 

“You were dehydrated,” Roy explains, “couldn’t be helped at the time, but it shouldn’t be an issue now.” 

“You are feeling well?” Kori floats closer with a curious tilt to her head. “Roy said there was danger in your previous state. You lost consciousness in my arms.” 

Tim flushes. “Sorry. I, um, I haven’t eaten anything in a while and that drink was the first I’ve had in, well...” He grimaces when he realizes he doesn’t actually know. “Anyways, thank you for taking care of me.”

“I offered you sanctuary. I do not go back on my word.” 

“Yeah,” Jason drawls, “about that.” 

His shoulders stiffen. Tim forces them back and focuses his eyes on Jason’s forehead. He can’t handle looking into his eyes right now. Not when he knows just how good Jason is at zeroing in on his every flaw. Tim isn’t confident enough in his mask right now. “You’re taking it back?” 

“I want information before we do anythin’. Roy says ya have Joker Serum in yer blood.” Jason’s arms cross. If Tim didn’t know any better, he’d say that’s almost concern in Jason’s voice. “The fuck happened t’ ya, replacement?” 

There’s a lump in his throat. “You don’t know?” 

“Know what?” 

Tim shakes his head. His eyes flicker down to Jason’s own quickly before looking up at the ceiling. The glance is more than enough. “You really don’t know.” What could be a laugh bubbles up from his throat before Tim smothers it viciously. He doesn’t trust himself not to break out into laughter not his own. “Of course you don’t. Bruce would never advertise it, it was bad enough the news caught wind of it.” 

If anyone is surprised by the bitterness in his words, no one says anything. 

“I read an article,” Jason says hesitantly. 

“Yeah?” Tim’s smirk is humorless. “What are they saying now? Last I saw there was a rumor going around that I ran away because Bruce announced Damian as his heir.” 

“Isn’t he like, sixteen?” Roy shrugs when Kori nudges him. “What? It’s a serious question!” 

“Almost sixteen,” Tim corrects, before frowning. “Actually, what month is it? Maybe it’s already passed.”

“It’s October,” Jason says. 

“Oh. I guess he is sixteen, then.” 

Jason’s brow furrows. Just how long has Tim been gone from Gotham? 

“What happened?” Kori asks. 

Tim sighs. “It was stupid. There was a bomb planted in the hospital I was meeting with and I was too late to stop it. When I woke up the Joker had me. He tortured me, and - “ his jaw works, as if he’s chewing on something particularly foul. “Long story short, I eventually got out. And now here I am.” 

“How long?” 

“Hm?”

Jason’s hands flex. “How long were you there?” 

“Oh.” Tim smiles faintly. It pulls at the scars on his cheeks but no longer hurts. “Almost three months.” 

Roy curses viciously while Jason slams a fist down against the counter. “Let me guess,” Jason growls, “Bruce tried t’ put ‘im in Arkham and throw away the key?” 

“Something like that.” 

Tim waves a bloody hand as if to dismiss the entire thing. “Anyways, that’s not important. I came here because of the Joker Serum—“

“Not important?!“ Jason growls. 

“—and its mutation. I’ve studied it for several months now and the levels diminished at first, but have remained at a standstill for the past five weeks. Toxin levels read at thirty percent with the occasional spike.” 

“A spike?” Roy repeats. “What are the symptoms?” 

“Losing time. Hallucinations. Dissociation.” Tim counts them off on his fingers. “Sometimes I’ll come to in the middle of doing something I never even started. A couple months ago I realized I was making a chicken casserole recipe that I’ve never even heard of before. And that’s only one of the few things that’s happened.” 

“What did Leslie say about it?” 

“...she doesn’t know.” 

Roy’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “That seems awfully irresponsible for someone like you.” 

Tim lets the jab roll off of him. He’s used to it by now; he’s had lots of practice. “You don’t understand. Bruce was talking about sending me to Arkham . If he knew about Junior—“ 

“Junior.” Jason jumps on the name as if it’s blood in the water. “Who’s Junior, Tim?” 

He clams up. Normally he is more careful than this, but weeks of being on the run has exhausted his already depleted energy supply. He’d wanted to start off small, to ease them into it. 

He steps around Jason to wash the blood from his hands. He gestures to the computer by Roy. “May I?” 

Roy hesitates. A touch from Kori and a look from Jason has him squinting. “What’re you gonna do?” 

“There’s a microchip in my arm,” he explains, as he turns his wrist to point to a spot close to the crook of his elbow. “It has all my health records and it’s programmed to keep track of the toxin levels in my blood. I couldn’t risk keeping the information anywhere else. It’s too small to be detectable and I spent days making sure even Oracle can’t hack it.”

“You put a microchip in your arm ? That’s pretty sick.” Roy peers curiously at the skin. “Who did you convince to do that?” 

“I did it,” Tim says simply. 

“Is it common for humans to inject foreign bodies beneath their skin?” 

“Nah,” Roy throws an arm over Kori’s shoulders, “that’s just vigilanties for you.”

Jason snorts. “You do anythin’ else stupid we should know about?” 

“It wasn’t stupid .” Tim bites out. “I watched several surgeries conducted by world renowned surgeons, studied enough to pass a master class and then performed the procedure in a sterile environment. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just scan the chip. If it leads Bruce to us, I’ll shoot ya myself.” 

“I’ve been running from Bruce for the past month, Jason, if he shows up here I’ll take the gun and do it myself.” 

Tim turns sharply to hold his arm against the reader connected to the system. It takes several moments before a multitude of files appear to view. 

“You still haven’t told us about Junior.” 

He waves Jason off. “I’m getting there.” 

A scan of his vitals appears on the second largest screen in the room. The toxin level reads thirty percent, with a five percent spike ten minutes ago. Tim’s jaw clenches before a swipe of his fingers sends a video to the biggest screen. He hits play before anyone can protest and wraps his arms tight around himself.  

The three of them gravitate closer, as if pulled in by an unknown force. The camera goes fuzzy for a moment before a familiar grinning face appears.

“Helloooo? Is this thing on?” Joker cackles as he gives a little wave. “Today is a very special day, after all! We’re welcoming a new member to the family!” 

The camera shakes briefly before panning over to Harley who coos over something in the background. 

“Ohh, puddin’, he’s perfect! Are ya sure that batsy won’t mind?” 

“I’m sure he’ll be positively overjoyed by his present! We’re all family, after all, isn’t that right Timmy?” 

Jason’s stomach lurches as the camera focuses on what Harley is staring at. It’s Tim, bound to a mortuary table that’s been locked into an upright position. 

“Oh, fuck,” Roy whispers. 

The Tim in the video barely twitches beneath the sudden attention. “I’d hardly call us related. If anything, you’re the rat infestation in the house.” 

“Ohhh, you’re funny , funny, funny .” Joker moves closer to give Tim’s face a hard slap with every word. “But you’ve got nothin’ on what’s coming. Sweetheart, take the camera. Make sure you get my good side! Ha ha HA HA!”

“Sure thing, puddin’!” The camera jerks for a second before it zooms in on Tim’s sneering face. 

“Torture, then? That’s your big joke? Isn’t it getting a little old?” 

“Everyone’s a critic!” Joker shakes his hand in Tim’s face chidingly. “I’ll let that slide because you’re right. Only amateurs tell a joke twice. No, this is going to be my biggest joke yet! Bats won’t know what hit him!” 

Joker dances off screen only to reappear moments later, dragging a large metal table behind him. The surface is littered with electrical boxes and needles attached to toxic green bottles. The legs make terrible screeching noises against the uneven concrete.

“You see, the first Robin was meant to be a gift. A little reminder that nothing can get between me ‘an Bats, but the poor man just never seemed to get it. Here he is, collecting little birds left and right, forgetting all the lessons his old pal taught ‘im! So I thought to myself, what’s better than one caught bird?” 

“Two caught birds?” Harley suggests. 

Joker’s grin is vicious when he points back at her. “BINGO!” 

“You killed the first Robin,” Tim points out, “remember?” 

“Aw, is that anger I hear in your voice?” Ghoulish white hands claw at Tim’s cheeks and squish them together. “Mad I cut his wings? I’m sure the little birdie would be touched .” 

“The only thing he’s touchin’ is the worms!” Harley crows.

Joker breaks out into laughter. He lets go of Tim’s face to wipe at his own eyes, though there’s not a single trace of tears. “I thought about who I wanted. The blonde, the original, the tiny one… but then I thought: there’s one bird that’ll really show ‘im. See, you’re the smart one, yeah? You got the brains of the bunch.” He knocks lightly at Tim’s head as if to prove it. “And you’re the one that flew after the old one died. So I got to thinking...” 

“Ohh, tell ‘im, puddin’!” The camera bounces as if Harley herself is doing the same. “Tell ‘im the good news!” 

“You, son, are in for a treat.” Joker spreads his arms wide. “Welcome to the family!” 

The look on Tim’s face would be hilarious if the situation were different, Jason thinks. Beside him, Roy is clutching tightly at his shoulder. Kori hasn’t made a sound but her eyes are laser focused, as if something terrible will happen if she dares to look away.

“...what?” 

“Look at that! It’s so genius we’ve left him speechless!” Joker crows. He pulls something from his pocket and pushes it up against Tim’s mouth. “Open up, buttercup, don’t want you biting your tongue off!” 

Tim does so reluctantly, taking the mouth guard between his teeth. 

The table begins to lower back to horizontal as Harley moves closer. Joker resurfaces with two rods in his hands. The grip is rubber, while the ends are flattened metal. They’re the perfect size for Tim’s temples. 

“You’re going to be our son,” Joker informs him, as he positions the rods. “I can see it now: Joker Junior, the downfall of Batman!”

The electricity turns on as it touches skin.

Tim screams.

The recording comes to a stop as Tim reaches out to press pause. He clears his throat and avoids the rest of their eyes. 

“Right, well. He wanted to tell a new joke. So he used electricity and whatever drugs he thought would work to make my mind complacent enough to be reprogrammed. I still haven’t recognized every drug he used but everything was recorded if you think you might be able to help with classifying. His goal was to create a negative association with any known bat persona to ensure that JJ would kill them. Leslie was able to remove the worst of the triggers but I still get—urges.” Tim grimaces. “Jason doesn’t affect me the same way, since the Joker believed him to be dead.”  

“So this Junior,” Kori starts, “he is the programming?” 

“Sort of. The human brain has measures to withstand intense periods of trauma. It can fracture memories, sometimes even alter them, to ensure survival. In children, this can cause the mind to create separate personalities that can hold different sorts of trauma and behaviors.” Tim runs a hand through his hair and begins to pace from one side of the room to the other. He gestures as he goes, working through his thoughts with a frustrated twist to his mouth, as if he’s gone through this more than once before and still doesn’t like the answer. “It’s not supposed to be possible for adults to have it, but I believe the repeated exposure to electricity, as well as the mental programming and Joker serum, has caused a split.”

“Junior is the other half,” Kori surmises. 

“PTSD can cause gaps in memory and hallucinations,” Roy says slowly. “Are you sure—“

“Yes.” Tim shakes his head. “I’ve lost hours at a time before, Roy, and come back doing the strangest of things. Sometimes I hear a voice that isn’t my own and—and I think I can feel him. He’s been getting stronger and I’m worried about what he could do. Especially if he carries most of the mental conditioning.

I came here because I thought that you would be an impartial party—one that can understand where I’m coming from. I can’t risk being near civilians while I figure this out and if I go to anyone else the likelihood of Bruce finding out rises to nearly seventy five percent. I have very specific instructions and very few people will be able to follow through with them, either due to morals or greed.” 

“What type of instructions?” Jason, who has been silent until this moment, fixes Roy with a frigid glare for entertaining this crazy scheme. Roy holds up his hands. “Better to hear it all, Jaybird, even if you don’t like it.” 

“My body needs to be burned - I’m not taking the chance of the serum somehow bringing me back. The remains need to be discarded and the place where it occurs needs to be completely wiped of any DNA. No lazarus pits, no miracle serum, no second chances.” Tim gives a swipe of his hand as if he’s ending a matter in a corporate office. There’s not a single ounce of fear in his eyes, only a bone deep resignation that seems to weigh heavy on his very soul. 

Jason wonders how long Tim has been so tired, and if any of the bats ever noticed, ever reached out. 

“I’d like to avoid having to hire someone like Slade since there’s no guarantee that he’d follow through. But if I have to, I will.” 

“Why are you talkin’ like you’ve already lost?” Jason demands. “You’re actin’ like I might as well put a bullet in ya now.”

Tim’s answer is heartbreaking and honest all at once: “I didn’t think you’d care.” 

Silence descends over the room. Jason isn’t sure how to even begin to grapple with that and Roy’s version of dealing with feelings usually involves a very loud club, a possible bar fight, and some very vigorous sex - not always in that order. 

It’s Kori who finally speaks.

“I could fly your body into a star. The heat would burn it up and your ashes would be impossible to gather.”

“Kori, we’re, uh, not really supposed to be encouraging him,” Roy says awkwardly. 

“It is normal to have contingencies, yes? Jason always has a back up plan and it is a mark of a true warrior to acknowledge the dangers you could cause to your own people.” A shadow passes over her face as she reaches out to touch Roy’s arm. “I hurt you once when it could have been avoided. I understand the desire to protect others from yourself.” 

“You know that wasn’t your fault,” he insists. “I forgave you - “

“And is Tim not not at fault for this? He is a slave to this serum just as much as I was a slave to my own memories back then.” She looks past Roy to meet Tim’s eyes. “I will do this for you, Tim Wayne, should the need arise.”  

Tim’s flinch is minute but there all the same, just as it was the first time they met. “It’s Drake,” he says quietly, “and thank you.” 

His eyes turn to Roy, who groans and ruffles his own hair. “Aw, hell. Fine! But I’m not assisting suicide! There’s gotta be a real risk and no chance you’re comin’ back. Just ‘cause I kill criminals doesn’t mean I’ve got no morals.” 

Tim’s head dips once more.

And then there is Jason. Jason, whose team has already agreed to this crazy scheme; has already as good as signed Tim’s death warrant. 

He’s not stupid, he can see that Tim has little to no hope. He only ever came to the island as a last resort, probably banking on the fact that Jason has tried to kill him before and thus wouldn’t mind another go. The thing is, though, that Jason would mind another go. For all his bitching and complaining, he doesn’t have much of a problem with Tim anymore, save for the fact that he runs with the big bad bat.

Contrary to some belief, he’s not a heartless monster. He doesn’t indiscriminately kill. He has a strict code of who is and isn’t off limits and Tim is solidly in the first category. As much as he’s gotten on Jason’s nerves in the past, Tim has a good heart. He’s seen the kid scurry up the side of a building to rescue a goddamn balloon of all things before dropping back down to deliver it into the hands of the crying child that lost it. When everyone else thought he was crazy, he dragged Bruce back from the timestream. Jason’s eyes tighten when he remembers how he laughed when Tim asked him for help. 

He’s got some things he’s not proud of and the things he did to Tim when he was deep in pit rage are definitely amongst them. 

Jason sighs. 

“We’ll do it,” he says reluctantly, “but there’s gonna be a basis t’ go off of, just like Roy said. None of this offin’ ya at the slightest sign of the serum shit. We’re not animals and this ain’t an execution center. You got a problem with that, ya can take yer ass to Slade.” 

“I can agree to that. We can set parameters—I’ll get started right away.”

“The only thing you’re doin’ right now is sittin’ yer ass in the kitchen and eatin’ somethin’. I could count yer ribs earlier and don’t even try t’ tell me that that’s natural.” 

Tim makes a face, only for his stomach to let out a loud growl of agreement. He looks bashful for a moment before meeting Jason’s eyes. “Thank you, Jason,” he says with far too much gratitude. 

Jason’s ears burn. He turns his head quickly and stalks towards the kitchen. “Yeah, whatever.” 

He’s almost to the end of the hall when Roy yells out: “Can I put it in a special order?” 

Jason flips him off without looking back. 

The sound of Roy’s laughter follows him into the kitchen and mixes with the distant echo of Tim’s words. He pauses for a minute, hands braced against the counter and head bowed as he processes what he’s just agreed to. 

“Fuck.”  

He doesn’t give himself long to linger. He’s got pancakes to make and only so much time before the three of them fill up the kitchen. The ship holds their shared quarters, where he keeps the essentials. Normally he cooks for Roy and Kori at his house, further inland, but Tim had needed the life sustaining systems in the ship and Jason is hesitant to let him anywhere near a place he calls home. It’s far different from a safe house. Throwing away his actual house isn’t really an option that he wants to ponder. The Island is supposed to be a safe haven, after all. There’s a reason they live here. 

Jason is sifting the dry ingredients together when Kori opens the fridge to pull out the toppings. She knows better than to try to help—they both learned the hard way how vastly tamaranean taste can vary from a human’s. Half a week of being bent over a toilet bowl was more than long enough for him to declare that he would be cooking everything from now on. Roy isn’t an option, either. The last time he tried he nearly burned the house down when he was distracted with disassembling the toaster.  

“Tim’s taking a shower,” Roy declares to no one in particular. “I gave him one of Kori’s shirts and a pair of her pants. She’s way taller but they should fit better than either of ours.” 

Jason grunts. 

“I could have given him one of my dresses,” Kori points out, “then you would not have to worry about the fitting of pants.” 

Roy’s head tilts to the side. There’s a thoughtful look on his face when Jason looks over at him. The image of Tim in one of Kori’s skimpy, skin tight dresses is more than enough to deduce what has him distracted; Jason tries not to choke. He throws one of the strawberries Kori has beheaded at Roy’s forehead. Roy yelps and catches it before it can hit the ground. 

“Hey!” 

“Have some class for once and get the plates out.” He pours the wet ingredients into the well he’s made at the center. A good stir later and he’s pouring the first four pancakes out onto the griddle. 

“I think Jay might be a little protective of our newest bird.” Roy winks at Kori and tosses the strawberry up in the air. He catches it in his mouth before reaching up into the cabinets to pull out four plates. “It’s cute.” 

“I’ll kick yer ass, Harper.” 

“Whatever you say, snookums.” 

There’s the sound of a throat clearing from the doorway. Jason glances back over his shoulder to see Tim standing there, hair freshly dried and bound back by one of Kori’s fluffy hair scrunchies. The shirt he wears fits his shoulders fairly well, but with a lack of breasts the front is wrinkled and baggy. The hem falls all the way down to mid thigh, drawing the eye to the tight pants he’s clearly had to work to roll up enough to not trip on. 

“Do you happen to have a jacket or hoodie I could wear?” He asks tentatively. “It’s a bit chilly and I have to be careful not to get sick.” 

Roy coughs around what might be a laugh. “Why’s that?” 

“I don’t have a spleen anymore.” 

Jason’s mouth drops open. “Since when?!”

“Uh. A year or two ago?” Tim tugs at his shirt and gives a little shrug. “Actually, now that I think about it, it’s kind of a miracle I didn’t catch anything while I was being tortured. I don’t think Joker was being very careful about sanitization…” 

Jason waves his spatula in an attempt to dismiss the suddenly thoughtful look on Tim’s face. “Stop thinkin’ ‘bout yer own demise and back it up. You lost yer spleen when—“ He trails off as his mind makes the connection. A year ago, Jason had laughed in Tim’s face and sent him on his way to find Bruce. Alone. “Oh.” 

“The pancakes are burning,” Kori says pleasantly. 

Jason swears and turns back around to flip them. They’re darker than he’d like, but thankfully not black. 

“Here,” Roy says from somewhere behind him. “Sorry for bein’ a dick. I’ll probably do that a lot.”

There’s a smile in Tim’s muffled voice. “At least you’re honest about it.” 

“Is that a dig at me?” Jason asks. “I feel like that’s a dig at me. Maybe I shouldn’t feed your scrawny ass, after all.” 

“Of course not.” Tim draws closer; Jason can feel him even without turning around again. “I would never.” 

He plates the first four pancakes and shoves the stack at Tim’s chest without looking. A surprised squeak tells him that he hit his target. “Kiss ass. Take it before I change my mind.” 

Another four pancakes are poured out. Kori hums softly as she fills her plate with a strange concoction of condiments and sides. Strawberries dipped in mayonnaise. Marshmallows with a side of hot sauce. And a large pool of syrup in the middle, just waiting for her pancakes to float in. Alfred would never.

Jason uses the rest of the batter and adds some powdered sugar, strawberries and maple syrup on top of his own. It’s only when he finally turns around that he sees that Tim is swimming in one of his old hoodies. The sight does something odd to his stomach. Tim is so tiny that he’s practically swimming in the fabric. 

“Hey, Tim,” Roy says around a mouthful, “where’s all your stuff? You’ve gotta have somethin’ stored somewhere, right?” 

Tim, in stark contrast, keeps his mouth empty to speak. He sits prim and proper, pancakes drizzled in syrup and still only half eaten. “I left it in a cache. I figured that I could return to the mainland to bring it back once it’s been cleared of bugs.

It’s still only really the basics, though. The tech I couldn’t leave behind, the cash I still have and a few identities that even Bruce doesn’t know about. Though they’re a little hard to use with, you know.” He gestures up at his scars. “I’ll need to buy clothes at some point, if that’s acceptable.” 

“Yer not a fuckin’ prisoner.” Jason scoffs and shoves a healthy serving of pancake into his mouth. The kid in him, who remembers Alfred’s stern eyes, makes him wait until he’s swallowed to speak again. “You can do what ya want.” 

“I need someone to accompany me in case there’s a spike,” Tim retorts. “So, no, I really can’t.” 

Jason considers him. There’s finally a familiar gleam of fire in his eyes. It suits him much better than the tired resignation. “That’s really grindin’ on ya, huh?” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. “If you’re going to be an asshole,” Tim begins.

He holds up his hands. “Easy, replacement, I didn’t mean it like that.” He considers Tim’s situation and what he knows of Bruce. The words ‘Bruce was talking about putting me in Arkham’ ring through his head. “Ya really did run away.” 

“I’m sorry, was that in question?” Tim scoffs. “You think I’m here because I want to be? The last place I want to be is in front of you, where you can—“ 

He trails off, but it’s enough. Jason gets the picture. 

His anger flares. His lip curls as his mouth opens to say something biting in response—and then Roy is there to intercept with an easy grin on his face. 

“It’s a little early to be talkin’ ‘bout rivalries, dontcha think?”

Tim presses his lips together only to feel the pull of scar tissue. He ducks his head and pushes a bit of pancake around his plate. 

Jason huffs. “Whatever.”  

“I would like to go shopping,” Kori says smoothly. “If my company is acceptable?” 

Tim blinks. “I, yeah, of course.”

“Roy can search for these bugs while we are out, yes?” 

Roy gives a thumbs up in response and smiles as best he can around his full cheeks.

“Jason?” She turns her head. “Do you wish to come? You could do with some new clothing, as well.” 

He makes a face. Shopping for clothes is far from Jason’s favorite activity, especially with Kori. She’s far too excitable and far too fast. Then again, with two other people there to keep track of her, it might not be so bad.

“Yeah, alright.” He drags the last piece of pancake through the syrup remaining on his plate. “Might as well get it over with now.” 

“Excellent!” Kori claps her hands together and flashes them all a brilliant smile. “To the city then!” 

Jason can’t wait .

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, I adore you and you're very much appreciated

Feed the author more comments to keep the story going

Chapter 3: for supportive situations

Summary:

Like this, Jason can see the scar he left on Tim’s throat. The small pink dots where he was marked with needles sit close and Jason fights the urge to be violently sick. He hates seeing something he made next to the Joker’s scars. They’re nothing alike and yet – aren’t they? They both used Tim to make Bruce face his mistakes. They both hurt him.

Notes:

I ended up having to split this chapter into two parts because of how long it was getting. I'm getting surgery on my wrist next week and wanted to put something out before I'm stuck in recovery

Enjoy!

The boat ride back to the mainland is around an hour. This time, Tim is awake for it, though he’s uncertain if he’s glad for this fact. He’s never particularly liked the ocean - he was never the type of kid who got to associate it with family summers. Of the roughly fourteen years spent in his parents' care, he was brought on their trips a total of zero times. Some might even call his view of the ocean somewhat bitter. There’s only so many beach postcards you can receive in your life before the sight becomes grating. 

He situates himself at the back of the trawler, in the shade of the overhead roof, and watches the island disappear out of view. The mystery surrounding the place stirs his curiosity, but with everything else going on it’s easily ignored. 

Towards the front of the boat, Jason watches from the captain’s windows as Tim rests his chin on a hand. He looks so small, curled up in Jason’s hoodie and all alone. He’s not supposed to be alone. Last time Jason checked, he had a team and the bats to juggle. 

“You could just go talk to him instead of staring,” Roy suggests. He pokes around at the navigation system, double checking sensors and the status of his most recent upgrades. “I know ya love your old literature but people nowadays generally find brooding and staring to be a bit creepy.”

Jason grumbles. “I’m not broodin’. I’m seein’ if he’s doin’ anything suspicious.” 

“Yeah? How’s that workin’ out for ya?” 

“...he hasn’t done anything yet.” 

“Listen, I get bein’ wary of people, especially bats and especially someone who miiiight just be as smart as me,” Roy grins, earning himself an eye roll for the boast,  “but I’ve spent time with people that’re in a bad way and I recognize the signs. He’s got no one else and people with no hope have more of ‘a tendency to just, you know,” he mimes putting a gun to his head and pulls the trigger. "Fuck knows I came close a few times. You don’t have to be besties, but if you’re that invested in the kid then go talk to him while you still can. There’s no guarantee you’ll get more chances.” 

Jason sighs. His arms drop from their crossed position as he lifts a hand to run through his hair instead. “I hate it when you’re reasonable, ya know that?” 

“That just means you love me when I’m not.” He winks and dodges the swipe of Jason’s arm. “Try not to throw each other off the stern.” 

“No promises.” Jason steps down onto the ladder leading up into the wheelhouse. His boots meet the scratched wood of the enclosed cabin below before pushing open the side door to step out onto the deck. Kori is laid out at the front of the boat, basking in the sun as she always does. He leaves her be and heads to the back. 

Tim is still right where he saw him last. With his head turned away, Jason can see just how far up the scar on his cheek goes. It’s a few inches down from his eye, and an almost equal distance from his ear. The skin around where the blade must have cut looks uneven and bumpy, like whatever was used to hold it back together was ripped out again and again. Jason wonders when Tim got it and realizes that he’ll see it first hand if he helps try to identify the drugs in the videos. 

“Are you going to keep staring at me or do you want to sit?” 

Jason rocks back on his heels but shows no other outward signs of surprise. He shrugs despite the fact that Tim can’t see it and moves closer to take the seat next to him. 

Tim sighs and turns to face him. He tucks his legs under himself and grimaces. “Alright, have at it.” 

Jason blinks. “What?” 

He gestures up at his face. “All anyone can seem to do is stare at the scars, so get your fill. I’ll save you from having to ask any questions, too. No, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Yes, I can still smile and open my mouth, but it’s uncomfortable. No, plastic surgery can’t fix it. Yes, I’m sure.” 

“Wow. Been holdin’ that in long?” 

Tim huffs and drops his hand back into his lap. “I’m just tired of it. Dick was smothering when he was actually around and Damian was insufferable. Don’t even get me started on Steph.” 

Jason picks up on the bitterness there easily. “Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise - we broke up a long time ago. We were friends but then she lied to me, let me think she was dead and then tried to convince me I was insane before almost blowing me up. You could say we’re not on the best of terms.” 

A long whistle leaves his lips. “Damn, replacement, tryin’ to upstage me in the most fucked up relationship department? That’s cold.” 

A small smile tugs at the corner of Tim’s mouth. It doesn’t last long, though. A second later, Tim is grimacing and grabbing at his leg. He hisses softly and nearly falls forward into Jason’s lap in his haste to get it out from underneath him. Jason catches him by the shoulders before he loses balance.

“Easy! What’s wrong?” 

“Muscle spasm,” Tim grits out. His hand rubs at the side of his leg, near his knee. Sure enough, when Jason looks down he can see Tim’s leg twitching in little uncontrollable spasms. 

“Shit, is that normal?” 

“Define normal,” he says dryly. His face pales as his leg jerks harder. “repeated exposure to electricity has - messed up my nerves. Oh fuck .” 

Jason doesn’t think. He reaches over to lift Tim’s legs onto his lap and gets his hands on the twitching muscle. 

“What’re you - “ Tim’s head falls back in a long groan as strong fingers massage his calf. He’s panting, teeth gritted and fingers curled tight into the fabric of Jason’s hoodie. Slowly, the pain eases with the loss of tension. 

Jason stays at it for a few long moments, chasing after any sign of a knot even after the spasms stop. His hands finally come to a pause when Tim’s chest stops moving like he’s just run a marathon. 

“Better?” He asks quietly. 

“Yeah.” Tim swipes a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that, but - I appreciate it. It passed a lot quicker than usual.” 

He lays back against the bench and just breathes. He’s drained and exhausted already. He wants to curl up into a ball and sleep everything away - which is saying something for someone who usually only allows himself a few hours of sleep at a time. 

“So,” Jason prompts. “Any other side effects we should look for?” 

“I get muscle spasms pretty often. Sometimes it’ll just be a twitch. It usually happens if I’m in one position for too long, or put pressure on the wrong nerve. Um,” Tim bites down on the ragged scar tissue inside his cheek. “I get pretty bad migraines? And sometimes my vision will go kind of funny. It can affect my speech sometimes and my fine motor controls. Pretty much every reason you can think of for someone not to be on the field.”  

As someone who hates being benched, Jason can see where Tim’s hopelessness comes from. Barbara has managed to make a new place for herself after her injuries, but Tim is different. Tim thrives on detective work and being in the thick of it. Jason has a hard time imagining him stuck behind a computer, even if he would be good at it. Not everyone can be an Oracle. 

“It’s permanent?” 

“Unless I take up Ra’s old offer and let him throw me in a Lazarus Pit,” Tim huffs. 

Jason’s hands tighten around his ankle. “He offered?” 

“He did more than offer. He was going to throw me in himself if I didn’t survive the splenectomy. Said I was too useful.” He sighs and stares up at the wood above him. “But I don’t plan on becoming his pet and I have no interest in seeing what mixing the Lazarus Pit and Joker toxin would do.” 

“Probably a good call.” 

Like this, Jason can see the scar he left on Tim’s throat. The small pink dots where he was marked with needles sit close and Jason fights the urge to be violently sick. He hates seeing something he made next to the Joker’s scars. They’re nothing alike and yet – aren’t they? They both used Tim to make Bruce face his mistakes. They both hurt him.

“Jason? You’re squeezing my leg really hard.” 

His hands loosen with a sharp exhale. He looks away to scowl in the direction of the cabin. This is all Roy’s fault. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You - “ Tim pushes himself up onto his elbows to stare at Jason with wide blue eyes. “What did you just say?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jason growls out. “For what I did back then. For using you to get to Bruce and almost killing you.” 

His mouth is open around a shocked o. “I’m - it’s - I mean, it’s okay?” He takes a deep breath. His eyebrows furrow in determination as he sits up fully. It brings him close, chest nearly touching Jason’s shoulder. “I forgave you a long time ago. But thank you for the apology.” 

Jason gives a jerky nod. 

“I’m sorry too,” Tim says softly. “that I couldn’t do what you did for me.”

“What - “

“Hey, lovebirds!” Roy waves a hand from further down the deck. “You two want any drinks?” 

Tim flushes brightly when he realizes what position they’re in and scoots backwards with a soft sound of embarrassment. Jason’s hands fall into his empty lap as he lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“I’m goin’ to kill you!” Jason shouts back at him. A pause, and then: “Bring over two waters!”   

“Promises, promises!” Roy disappears back inside the cabin and reappears a few moments later. He tosses two bottles at Jason; he catches one in each hand.

“Here.” Jason holds out one of the chilled bottles. “Should drink somethin’. Especially after that.” 

“Thanks.” Tim takes it carefully. He opens it like it’s a potential bomb but as soon as he takes his first sip he’s tipping it back and downing half the bottle in seconds. 

“Damn, take a breath, would ya? It’s not goin’ anywhere and if ya get sick I’m not holdin’ your hair.” 

A small smile plays along Tim’s lips. He recaps the bottle and sets it down before pulling Jason’s sweatshirt up and off. He folds it up into a makeshift pillow before laying down. The bench has plenty of space for him to get comfortable, even with Jason sitting next to him. 

“You let your accent out more here than you do in Gotham,” Tim says.

“Yeah?” Jason tries not to bristle. “Ya got a problem with it?” 

“No.” He smiles again and nuzzles into Jason’s hoodie. His eyes close as he relaxes into the faint sway of the boat. “I think it’s nice.” 

“Oh.” Jason feels his face heat and is suddenly glad that Tim isn’t looking. He unscrews his water and takes a long drink before settling back against the bench. 

He stays there the rest of the ride, a silent vigil to Tim’s rest. 

---

“Tim.” A hand shakes at his shoulder, rousing him from his previous slumber. He flinches back as he opens his eyes, only to find Jason bent over him. 

“‘ason?” 

“We’re at the mainland. We need you to show us where your gear is.” 

“Oh.” He sits up and rubs at his eyes. He still feels so heavy. He aches for coffee but ever since his forced withdrawal at the Joker’s hands, he’s been wary of getting addicted again and having to experience that all over. 

He fishes in Jason’s hoodie and pulls out the mask he shoved into the pockets. He can’t risk any cameras picking up his face. It also keeps the staring to a minimum, which is always a plus in his book. 

“Ready,” he says, as he stands with some wariness. Thankfully, no muscle spasms occur. He follows after Jason without delay. 

“It’s on the north side, by the cliffs,” he explains as they meet up with Kori and Roy. “there’s an old boat house down there.”

“I will fly you there and return,” Kori says. “It will be much faster. Have you flown before?” 

“Yeah, with - “ Tim swallows around the lump in his throat. It still hurts to think about Kon. “Yeah, I have.” 

She opens her arms and picks him up. Her skin is blazing against his own, almost hot enough to burn. It makes his skin tingle. 

He closes his eyes against the wind as she races across the ocean. It’s less than a minute before she’s lowering him down onto the half rotten boards of the old boathouse. He slips under a fallen beam and hoists himself up into the rafters. He pushes aside a board of wood and pulls out the duffle bag he stashed there before dropping back down to make his way back to her side. 

“Is this all?” 

Tim nods. “Yeah, I couldn’t risk taking anything else.” 

She scoops him up once more and rockets back to the boat. He tries not to stumble when his feet hit the deck in front of Roy. 

“Here,” he says awkwardly. “It’s, uh, all I have.”

Roy nods and disappears into the cabin to lock it away. “I’ll check it before we leave. Better to get to the shops before it gets too hot.” 

“Oh! I forgot to grab my money - “

“Forget it,” Jason grunts. He pushes at Tim’s shoulder, directing him away from the cabin and towards the dock. 

Roy winks. “Just call us your sugar daddies for the day.” 

Tim flushes, much to Roy’s amusement. Tim’s not used to being the one that doesn’t pay but he can’t deny that with his savings being closely monitored it’s a weight off his shoulders. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

“Don’t thank us until you’ve survived a day of shopping with Kori,” Jason says dryly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ll see.” 

---

Tim does see. Clearly. 

Kori is a force of nature that the locals seem to have grown used to. Only tourists stop and stare when she flies over the racks of clothes to sweep up something she deems worthy. Sometimes she takes Roy with her, who grumbles half heartedly about being treated like a toy but always carries a half smile on his face. 

In comparison, Tim is at a bit of a loss. He hasn’t really gone shopping for himself in years. All of his business suits have either been custom made or ordered online and his everyday wear always consisted of mostly stolen clothes from those he is - was - close to. 

As a child, he was never allowed to pick out his clothes, either, and after he became Robin it was just easier to let Alfred take care of it. The only times he’s deviated from this strategy was during undercover work, when he needed outfits for his alias’. That was different, though. He was shopping for a purpose, to shape himself into the person he needed to be. 

What kind of person is Timothy Drake-Wayne?

Debatably not a Wayne, for starters. If he ever really was in the first place. 

“You’ve been starin’ at the same shirt for five minutes like it’s goin’ to eat you,” Jason says from his side. “you good?”

“I’m… struggling with mission parameters,” Tim says without thinking. 

“Mission parameters,” Jason repeats skeptically.

His cheeks flush. “It’s just - there’s a lot of choices and I’ve never done this before. What’s the budget? Is the weather at the island always sunny? What is the expectation of dress? I’m flying blind and it’s - I’m not used to it.” 

“Wow,” Jason says. “you’re more fucked up in that brain of yours than I thought.”

Tim flinches. 

“Shit, no, that’s not what I meant.” He grimaces. “It’s just - shopping. Budget isn’t a factor so long as ya leave the insane couture to Kori. Sometimes it rains on the island but we don’t really gotta deal with storms. As for expectation - who the fuck cares? Wear what ya want.” 

This time, it is Tim’s turn to echo Jason. “What I want.” 

He turns back to the shirt he’d been staring at before and eyes it contemplatively; Jason groans. 

“For fuck’s sake - you’ve really never done this before?” 

“My parents were very particular about what I wore and I was never allowed to pick out my own clothes. After I moved into the manor it was just easier to let Alfred deem what was necessary for whatever trip Bruce sent me on.” He shrugs. “Between being CEO of WE and Red Robin I didn’t really have much time to go anywhere or do anything that would require my own choice.” 

“That’s kinda fucked up, replacement.” 

“So you’ve said.”

The look in Tim’s eyes rubs Jason the wrong way. It’s been hard enough getting him to wipe that kicked puppy look off his face. Seeing the corner of his eyes tighten with whatever flat smile is showing beneath his mask just seems wrong . 

“A’ight, what do ya like then?” 

“Hm?” 

“What do ya like in clothes,” Jason repeats. “soft ‘an light? Comfortable or practical? Any fabric or colors ya don’t like?” 

Tim fidgets with his fingers. “Soft and on the warmer side - I get cold easily. And I like more comfortable?” He peeks up at Jason as if he’s expecting some sort of reprimand for that. Jason thinks of Bruce and his demands for the practical and feels a little sick. “Nothing green. Or - or red. No purple, either.”

Jason nods. He gets the green and the purple, but the red raises some questions. He bites them back for now and walks deeper into the store. “Masculine or feminine?” 

Tim almost stumbles. “What?” 

“Do ya like to wear masculine or feminine clothin’?” He pauses. “Or both?”

His mouth opens and closes as Tim flounders for an answer. A surge of panic has his eyes flitting about, cataloging all the exits again, the bystanders in the way. “I, um, I don’t - I think - “ 

A warm hand comes down on his shoulder. Tim flinches before he realizes that it’s only Jason. The Joker’s hands had always been ice cold. 

“Breathe,” Jason orders, head bent low to keep his voice quiet. “Jesus, you’re all coiled up like a spring. Whatever’s goin’ on in your head, it’s fine. We’re fine. Just breathe.” 

Tim can do that. He can .  

“I like - both,” he whispers, hidden in the shadow of Jason’s bulk and trembling like a leaf. “had to go undercover sometimes as - some of it felt nice.” 

“Okay,” Jason says easily. “we can handle that. Kori’ll be thrilled.” 

“She will?” 

“You kiddin’? She keeps tryin’ to put Roy and I in dresses, no matter how many times I tell her that this chest is not meant for that sorta thing.” 

It’s enough to startle a soft huff of laughter out of Tim. He’s thankful that it doesn’t trigger an episode. 

“Split the seams the last time she tried,” he continues. “Roy had better luck but he’s more of a skirt guy, yanno?” 

More laughter, but this time with sound. Tim shuffles forward to muffle it into Jason’s shirt, where it’s less likely to draw attention. Jason stiffens at the contact before he listens closer. Tim’s laughing, but it’s nothing like the laughter he’s heard in the past. This is unhinged. Little ha ha ha’s that make Jason’s skin crawl and shake Tim’s shoulders with every exhale. 

Jason swallows and reminds himself that this is Tim and not the Joker. He glares at someone who gets too close and wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders, offering more coverage.

He never thought he’d be holding his replacement in a clothing store, waiting for an episode of Joker laughter to end, but here he is. He’s strangely concerned - more than he thought he’d be. He’s debating calling Roy for help when Tim finally surfaces. 

“S-sorry,” Tim gets out around a giggle. His lips twitch as he fights to get his expression back under control. “was funny and - hard to control it.” 

“It’s fine,” Jason says, though he’s not quite sure that it is. He squeezes Tim’s shoulder and flashes a little half smile. “s’ not a proper shoppin’ trip without a breakdown or two.”

Another giggle. Tim lifts his hand to smother it. “Okay, okay. I’m - ha ha - fine now. I can control it.” 

“You sure?” 

He gives a determined nod. “I can do this.” 

“Okay,” Jason says. He drops his hand away from Tim’s shoulders and takes a step back. “let’s get you some clothes, then.” 

They leave the previous racks behind and join back up with Roy and Kori. The former is holding a steadily growing pile of clothes in his arms, most of which are in various shades of purple. Tim swallows and quickly looks away. 

“Jason!” Kori’s joy is a starburst of light, one better suited for a reunion that has taken far more than a few minutes. “Where are Tim’s clothes? Do not tell me that you are being stubborn again.” 

“He’s a little challenged in the shoppin’ area,” Jason drawls. He steps closer when Roy pulls Tim into a conversation and lowers his voice. “you know more about this stuff than I do, and I was thinkin’ ya could help ‘im find some skirts an’ stuff.”

“Oh.” Kori blinks before another wide smile breaks out across her face. “He has asked this of me?” 

“Not quite. He’s a little, uh, shy?” He grimaces. “The Bats are big on suppression and bein’ picture perfect. Remember how we talked about it not always bein’ accepted to wear whatever ya want?” 

She nods. “A ridiculous practice. He has suffered due to this?” 

“Somethin’ like that. Maybe if ya can get Roy in somethin’ too, it’ll help.” 

“I think it only fitting that you join as well, since it was your idea.” Kori’s hand is almost hot enough to set off the nociceptors in his own. Jason breathes past it as he’s learned to do. She leads him back over to Roy and Tim, who have drifted further down the racks. 

“--orange is definitely not my color,” Roy is saying as he holds up a shirt that is more straps than fabric. 

“It would wash you out,” Tim agrees. “Kori wears it better.” 

He clutches at his chest. “Tell me how ya really feel, would ya? You’ll break a poor guy’s heart with honesty like that.” 

The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “I’m sure you’ll survive.” 

“He will,” Kori says firmly, as she deposits Jason back to Tim’s side. “Now then, I would like some skirts. Will you help me, Tim?” 

His eyes widen. He lifts a finger to point back at himself. “Me?” 

She nods. “Yes, you. Jason has told me that you’ve had experience with looking pretty.” 

Tim sputters as she takes his hand, though he does not fight the grip. He shoots a look back at Jason but he’s already turned away to hide the flush in his own cheeks. Leave it to Kori to word something in the most embarrassing and suggestive way possible. 

“If I didn’t have all this,” Roy lifts the bundle in his arms ruefully. “I would say that’s our chance to run away.”

Jason claps a hand down on Roy’s shoulder. “Don’t kid yourself, she’d catch up to you in a heartbeat.”

“You could at least try to pretend to believe in my skill!”

A flash of a smirk is all the answer he gets.

Notes:

If there's anything you'd like to see Tim, Jason or Roy try on, speak now or forever hold your peace

Chapter 4: for triggering confrontations

Summary:

A laugh catches in his chest; it’s just too perfect. Jason Todd, who knows Tim has Joker toxin in his blood, who knows about Junior , is trusting him to control himself. Jason Todd trusts him more than Bruce does.

Suddenly Tim doesn’t feel like laughing anymore.

Notes:

thank you to everyone who gave me their well wishes for surgery! My wrist is still sore but it's doing much better

everyone wanted Tim in big sweaters and fluttery skirts and I'm honestly here for it. he'll definitely be wearing some of the suggestions in later chapters as well

Warning: depictions of a panic attack and intrusive thoughts

Tim is… overwhelmed, to put it lightly. Up until now, his life has been weeks of looking over his shoulder at every turn. He’d had a head start but with the amount of surveillance Bruce had had on him after his latest episode, it wouldn’t have taken anyone long to notice his absence. It was ironic that the one time he didn’t want anyone to pay attention to him was the one time everyone did. 

He keeps looking in corners for cameras. Keeps eyeing everyone that walks past for any familiar silhouettes. It doesn’t matter that Jason is the last person anyone would expect him to contact, if he’s slipped up even a little… 

He’s not sure Babs will let him go, no matter how sympathetic she’s been in the past. Bruce’s speeches on people being a danger to themself and to others are notoriously persuasive. It’d worked in turning everyone against Jason, after all. Not that he’d had to do much convincing - he’d only missed the most important factor of all: pit rage. 

Tim still isn’t sure if it’s denial or just plain stubbornness that has made Bruce so resistant to the fact that pit rage only lasts so long; that the anger that stuck around was always linked to Bruce himself. Either way, he’s shown the same stubbornness in the face of Tim’s condition. 

According to Bruce, any problem can be strong-armed into being solved his way. Unfortunately, his way has been killing Tim slowly - for years now, even. It’s made it very hard to resist Junior’s conditioning any time Bruce is close. 

Here, in this coastal town, no one knows how dangerous he is. No one thinks twice about him touching a coat hanger – the hook is metal and dull, but he could take someone’s eye out with it all the same - or being within reach of a child - so small, so breakable . People trust him, whether they realize it or not. Sure, Kori is right beside him, and Roy and Jason are somewhere behind, but he’s dangerous enough to at least get in a kill or two before they could react. 

He trails further away just to see if he can. No one tries to bring him back. No one tells him that he should be careful, that he could hurt someone. 

They trust him , Tim realizes. They don’t know what he’s done. What he did to Damian, and Dick who got in the way - what he tried to do to Bruce - 

A laugh catches in his chest; it’s just too perfect. Jason Todd, who knows Tim has Joker toxin in his blood, who knows about Junior , is trusting him to control himself. Jason Todd trusts him more than Bruce does. 

Suddenly Tim doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. 

“I think this would look perfect on you,” Kori says, before thrusting a skirt into his line of sight. 

He blinks the wetness from his eyes and takes it into his hands. The softness of it brings him back into the moment as he marvels over the way it slides against his skin. It’s a soft blue color, and long enough to fall past his knees. “I like it,” he determines. 

She beams. “Shall we have Jason carry it for you?” 

“No!” Tim holds the fabric to his chest like she’ll take it away regardless. “No, I can - I can carry it myself. Jason doesn’t have to do that.” 

“Alright,” Kori says easily. 

If it were one of the bats, they would press to know more. It’s a relief to be around someone who respects boundaries and lets him have the little things. He has so few secrets, it’s nice to be given a choice. 

“There are pants in the same style. Would you like one of those as well?” 

“Please. I really like this fabric.” 

“I’ll grab some more - in different colors, too!” 

He isn’t given a chance to give his thanks. She speeds away and comes back just as quickly with an armful of various styles in various colors. Tim doesn’t complain about the load, he only drapes it over his arm and lets her lead him further into what appears to be the lounge wear section. 

“What do you think of this one?” Kori points to a cropped hoodie with not an ounce of humor on her face. She’s serious. 

“Uh, I don’t know, I’m used to covering up.” Scars are a pretty big no no for Timothy Drake-Wayne’s persona. But he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore, does he? As far as the world is concerned, Timothy Drake-Wayne is either deceased or a runaway. His facial scars are what make him recognizable now, and the public isn’t aware that he has them. He could, in theory, wear whatever he wants so long as he has a mask on to protect him from surveillance. In fact, it might even help him disappear further. “...I’ll try it.” 

“Excellent!” She claps her hands together and tosses one in black at him. Tim grabs it out of the air and adds it to the pile. “We should try these on - I just have a few things I think would suit you.”

“You don’t have to do that“ - he begins, hand outstretched - “annndd she’s already gone. Great.” 

“Take a good look, Roy,” Jason says from somewhere to his left. “that’s how ya look when Kori leaves ya behind - except much more pathetic.” 

“Aw, Jaybird, you think I look that cute?” 

Tim turns around to give the two of them an exasperated look only to pause at the sight of the bags hanging from Jason’s arms. “You already bought something?” 

“Just a few things.” Jason shrugs.

Roy grins. He looks between the swollen bags and Jason’s face before wiggling his eyebrows. The more determined Jason seems to be to ignore it, the more Roy leans in closer, until finally Jason lifts a hand and shoves him away face first. 

“Right,” Tim says slowly, over Roy’s loud laughter. Whatever Jason has bought is his business, anyways. He’s not really sure why it seems to be some big joke. “Kori wanted me to try these on?” 

“Changin’ room is back this way,” Roy gives a jerk of his head. “we can head over. By the time I get this stuff hung up, she’ll be back.” 

He’s definitely holding a mountain of clothes far larger than Tim’s own. 

“How did you meet, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

Roy snorts. “She pulled a jailbreak with Jason. Bulldozed through the walls and my heart.” He mimes something crashing into his chest and nearly sends Kori’s clothes flying. 

“You were in jail?” 

His smile dims into something more grim. “Sure was. Don’t regret my crimes one bit, either.” 

“You were - “ Tim grimaces as his head begins to ache. He knows this. He knows what happened, so why can’t he remember - 

“Hey, now, it’s not that important. It’s not like some big secret either.” Roy pats his shoulder as best he can. 

Has he been talking out loud?

“I made a mistake and trusted a team I shouldn’t have. They killed a lot of innocents, so I killed them. Easy peasy.” He says it lightly, as if it doesn’t matter, but Tim can see the lines of strain creeping up his jaw. Roy doesn’t regret his crimes, but he certainly regrets the circumstances. 

“The Iron Rule,” Tim says slowly, as if he’s hearing it from very far away. 

“The Outlaws have a better ring to it.” 

Roy leads them all down a small hall and pauses in front of an open white door. There are small seats to sit in outside the dressing rooms, set near three mirrors arranged to view all angles. 

Tim takes the next open door and shuffles inside the small room. He bumps the door closed with his hip and slides the lock into place. He hangs his clothes up on the hooks attached to the back of the door, freeing his arms and allowing him to finally take off his mask. He wipes the sweat off his face with one of his sleeves and grimaces. He’s not a fan of the heat - it makes wearing a mask ten times worse. His skin feels disgusting. 

“Tim, I’ve got the rest of your clothes!” 

Tim opens the door to take the bundle in Kori’s arms. He doesn’t bother with his mask; there are no cameras in the changing rooms. “Thanks, Kori.” 

“Make sure to show everyone!”

He gives a reluctant nod and closes the door once more. He surveys his selection and decides to go for the lounge-wear first; simple t-shirt and sweatpant combos with a side of the occasional skirt or shorts. He knows the skirt is probably what Kori wants to see so he sucks in a deep breath and tells himself it’s just like undercover work. Except, instead of a character, he’s playing himself. Whoever that is.

A grimace and then he opens the door. Kori is already wearing a shockingly revealing dress and is in the middle of twisting in front of the mirror to observe the way the fabric flows. She pauses when he sees him and beams. 

“Tim, you look beautiful!” 

He flushes. His head ducks as he avoids both the eyes around him and his reflection in the mirror. He knows his face gets blotchy now when he blushes. It mixes with the stark white of the chemical spatters on his skin and turns it into an ugly mess. Or, well. An uglier mess. 

“Lookin’ good, dude.” Roy grins and gives a thumbs up; Tim feels Dick’s absence like a knife in his chest. He misses his big brother. Then again, he’s been missing him for years now.

“Jason?” Kori asks, as if sensing his mood. “What do you think?”

He shrugs. “What I think ain’t important. It’s what he does.” 

“ Jason , that’s not very nice - “ 

 “No,” Tim interrupts. “It’s okay. I get it.” 

Who the fuck cares? Jason had said. Wear what ya want.

Tim smiles at him. It’s a pale imitation of what his smiles used to be, but it’s there all the same. He’s grateful that Jason is trying to help him, in his own roundabout way. Tim has spent so long worrying about the opinions of others in everything he does that he doesn’t know if it scares him or thrills him. 

“Thank you.” 

Jason sits up straighter. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with the sincerity in Tim’s voice. “Uh, yeah.” His eyes dart away. “Sure.” 

Tim returns to his dressing room. It’s when he’s alone that he realizes how fast his heart is racing. He takes a few deep breaths, like Dr. Thompkins taught him, and uses the clothes in front of him as an excuse to distract himself. He sets aside the other color variations of the skirt he’s just tried, as there’s no reason to try them on. A quick change of garments later and he’s deemed the shorts and lounge pants as acceptable. It’s from there that he has to really decide what he’s okay with wearing. He half wishes that Jason had been more of an ass about things. It’s much easier to just accept whatever’s in front of him if he has no other choice. Instead, he has to make decisions about himself he didn’t think he’d ever get to make, let alone as he is now. 

He knows he’s not nearly as picky as Timothy Drake-Wayne. Without the need to keep up appearances for business and Damian both, he cares little for labels so long as what he wears is comfortable. 

He’s not as slyly conservative as Caroline Hill, with her quiet beauty; nor is he as overly casual as streetwise Alvin Draper. And he’s certainly not Junior, who paints his face and wears overly loud colors. He’s just… Tim. Small, lonely Tim, who - for the first time in his life - has no role to play.

He sighs. 

Does it even matter? He doesn’t exactly have high odds of a continued existence.

Still, he finds himself sorting through colors. He wrinkles his nose at orange, firmly turns down fuschia and buries a pink that looks too close to red beneath all the other rejects. 

He’s left with an assortment of patterned whites, blacks, blues and a few pastel pinks. 

“Good enough,” he mumbles. 

A knock on the door has his head snapping up. 

“Tim, are you alright?” Kori asks. “You have not come out in quite some time.” 

He clears his throat and hurriedly shuffles into a loose blue jumpsuit with cuffs at the sleeves and ankles. It leaves him feeling bare in a disconcerting way, but feels nice in the heat. He opens the door and grimaces. “Sorry, I was sorting through stuff. I’m not used to stuff like this.” 

Kori is in a much less revealing crop top and skirt combo with brilliant bursts of color in patterns that are almost dizzying to look at. She leans closer and he has to crane his head up to not be eye level with the impressive amount of cleavage on display. Maybe the sight would have interested him once; now it elicits nothing other than a polite response not to stare. 

“As long as you are finding things, it is alright.” She smiles warmly. “Roy suggested that you pick something you like and wear it out of here. It’ll be much more comfortable.” 

Tim blinks. “Right. That’s - a good idea. Thanks.” 

“Come out when you are finished! In the meantime, I have something for the boys to try on. Don’t take too long or you’ll miss it!” She turns in a swirl of hair and skirt with an energy that has him reminded of Steph before - before. He swallows and closes his door once more. 

He looks at the rest of the clothes at his disposal and feels exhausted. His stomach growls, reminding him that - other than Jason’s breakfast - he hasn’t eaten well in a very long time. He needs to fix that. He can’t solve his toxin problem if he’s passing out from starvation. 

With waning strength, he gathers the clothes he doesn’t want and pushes open the door. There’s a rack with a sign proclaiming it’s where rejects go. He hangs them on it before returning to the room to scoop up what remains. 

Jason and Roy are no longer in their seats. Tim can hear some sort of commotion from the two closed rooms across from them, one of which belongs to Kori. He takes a seat in Jason’s vacated spot and smoothes a trembling hand over the fabric in his lap. He dreads putting the dampness of his mask back on but knows it’s necessary. 

“I think it’s a crime to cover up my arms,” Roy complains as Kori’s door opens. “though, I could probably take an eye out with these sleeves.” 

Tim looks up to see Roy donning a dress that has managed to drape itself over his impressive shoulders. The sleeves hang around his upper arms and trail down past his hands in long ruffles. The skirt hitches high up the side of his left thigh which is probably why he hasn’t ripped the seams. 

“You probably could,” Tim says distantly.

“Alright, you fuckers, ya better enjoy this because I’m not putin’ this on again.” Jason slams his door open and stalks out in a skirt that leaves little to the imagination. 

“What a shame,” Kori teases. “I think that may be akin to the crime Roy claims his sleeves are.”

Tim is aware that he’s gaping but he can’t seem to stop looking at the high slits on either side of Jason’s thighs. He’s still got boxer briefs on to keep it from being too indecent, but there’s no denying how impressive Jason’s legs are. Tim has first hand experience in feeling the power behind them, though he’s never gotten to see them quite like this .   

Tim wheezes as a thought occurs to him: the first time they ‘officially’ met, Jason could have shown up wearing this alone and probably would have stalled him long enough to incapacitate him. 

“Replacement?”

His hand lifts to cover his mouth. He applies enough pressure to keep his jaw shut. “Sorry, I’m fine. It looks - good.” 

“You - would you quit that!” 

When Tim manages to look back up, it is to the sight of Roy trying to whip his sleeve at the exposed skin of Jason’s thigh. He has his tongue between his teeth as he ducks Jason’s swatting hands to try again. 

“It takes a little practice, but - there!” He grins as a satisfying snapping sound fills the room. A light pink stripe appears on Jason’s thigh. “Knew I could do it.” 

“I’m gonna murder ya in your sleep, Harper.” 

Roy blows a kiss and disappears back into his - Kori’s - dressing room. She follows after, leaving Jason glaring after them. He turns and stalks back into his own before Tim is left alone once more. 

It doesn’t last long. Jason is in and out within a minute. He tosses the skirt onto the reject rack and sits down beside Tim with a soft huff. He radiates enough annoyed energy that Tim wisely keeps his mouth shut. A loud laugh emerges from Roy and Kori’s room; he hopes they’re not planning on doing anything in there. 

His stomach grumbles another complaint. 

“Hungry?” Jason asks. 

Tim nods hesitantly. “A little. I was still building up to a proper diet when I left.” 

“That why you’re half starved?” 

“I’m not - “ A glare from Jason has Tim looking away with a huff. “I was on the run. I didn’t have a lot of time to eat in between avoiding cameras and trying to ditch Bruce.” 

“Persistant bastard,” Jason mutters. 

He snorts. “I think you’re probably the only other person who knows what it’s like. How did you avoid him for so long in Gotham?” 

“A lot of plannin’ and a lot of findin’ good people to keep things runnin’. Ones that weren’t afraid ‘ta get on the Bats’ bad side.” 

Tim remembers how loyal the people of Crime Alley were to Red Hood whenever he had to cross over into Jason’s territory. “You looked out for your people and they looked out for you.” 

Jason’s eyes narrow. Tim can’t quite decipher the look on his face, and it makes him worried that his longing slipped through. “Yeah,” Jason says after a beat too long. “still do. They know how to get in touch if they need me.” 

Would Jason have been able to find him faster if Bruce had reached out? With his finger to Gothams’ pulse, could he have found what Bruce hadn’t? Could his methods have stopped all of this? 

The answer is so obvious it’s almost laughable. There wouldn’t have been a Joker around to kidnap him if Bruce hadn’t revived him. Again and again, Bruce just couldn’t let him die. Couldn’t let his heart stay silent. Why couldn’t he let his heart stay silent?  

Not that it mattered anymore. A heart means nothing when the brains are splattered across the concrete. 

“Tim?”

“I’m so tired, Jason,” Tim whispers. His eyes close against the tears that burn behind his eyelids. He leans the few inches it takes to rest the side of his head against Jason’s shoulder; Jason stiffens but doesn’t move. “I’m just - so tired.” 

Slowly, Jason lifts a hand to ruffle his hair. It’s the most gentle Jason has ever been to him and it has a lump forming in Tim’s throat. “I know, babybird.” 

The name startles a wheezing sort of laugh out of him. “Are you calling me a baby for crying?” 

“No!” Jason sounds defensive. He tugs at Tim’s hair, just light enough to pull. “Yer small an’ just flew the nest. Seems fittin’ to me.” 

Tim hums. “I like it.” 

Jason falls silent at that. He keeps his hand on Tim’s head in a show of silent support. Tim sniffles and works to get himself together in the space he’s been given. He wipes at his eyes and nose before sitting up once more. 

“Sorry.” 

Jason’s hand falls back into his lap. He shrugs. “I’ve dealt with worse.” 

Yeah, Tim bets he has. 

“Jason - “ 

“We’re done!” Kori announces as she opens the door wearing her original outfit. She flies her discards to the rack while Roy emerges with the pile of keepers. “Let us buy our things and acquire sustenance.” 

“I’m all for sustenance,” Roy grins. 

Standing feels like a monumental effort, but Tim manages. He reaches for his mask only for Jason to stop him. 

“Here,” he says gruffly, holding out a pale blue scarf. “it’ll be more breathable. And less obvious.” 

Tim stands still while he wraps it around the back of his head, over his nose and mouth and then ties it off. A wide sunhat is placed on top of his head next, leaving his face shadowed.

“I - thank you?” Tim peers up at Jason. “Is this what you bought earlier?” 

“Some of it.” Jason shrugs and picks up his bags. He walks after Kori before Tim can say much else, obviously done with the conversation. 

“Don’t take it personally,” Roy says, as Tim falls into step with him. “Jaybird is a little stunted in the conversation department. He gets shy.” 

Tim’s incredulousness must translate even past the scarf and hat because Roy laughs loudly. 

“I mean it! Kid never really got to socialize properly so he ditches when he isn’t sure what else to say.” 

“That makes two of us,” he mumbles.

Roy takes charge of the purchasing once they reach the cash register. The owner is more than pleased with their selection and is happy to tell them to come back anytime. Kori takes his bags before he can protest and then they’re outside and in the sun again. 

“I can carry my stuff - “

“Nonsense. Roy and I will return the bags to the ship while you and Jason pick a place to eat.” She offers a conspiratorial smirk. “It will keep Roy from choosing. They were both sick with food poisoning the last time that happened.”

“It was one time!” Roy whines. 

“My stomach disagrees,” Jason grumbles. 

Tim lets out a long sigh. “Alright, if you’re sure.” 

“Positive.” 

She nudges Roy down the sidewalk as Jason shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “So, whaddya wanna eat? There’s a place that has the best conch fritters around a little further ahead. Or there’s a sushi place near the city center. There’s a few stalls that set up shop in the busier fashion district that have mango spears and coconut crusted ice cream, too.” 

“The conch fritters sound good, but so does the mango spears and ice cream,” Tim admits. 

Jason hums. “FH has a dessert menu. I’m pretty sure they have at least one of those.” 

“FH it is then.” He gestures towards the sidewalk. “Lead the way.” 

Whether Jason has noticed him lagging or is simply going easy on him, Tim is grateful nonetheless for the shorter strides he takes. Normally, Jason’s legs can eat up ground - he knows from experience just how much of a pain it can be both to run after and away from him when he’s in a chase. 

Tim’s legs are trembling by the time they reach FH - The Fritter House , as it comes to stand for. There are tables set up outside with umbrellas for those that want to enjoy the heat. Inside, the decor is a welcome reprieve from the bright sun, with driftwood fashioned decor and dark blue paint. 

Tim searches the place for cameras and only finds one by the door. The waitress is happy to accommodate Jason’s request of a booth in the back due to the fact that they’ve come in before the lunch rush. The seat is blissfully cool against the thin fabric of Tim’s jumpsuit. He takes off his hat and pulls down his scarf as the fan above them dries the sweat on his face. 

“That feels good,” Tim sighs. “I don’t know how you deal with the heat all the time.” 

Jason clears his throat and ducks his head. “Ya get used to it.” 

He’s too busy enjoying the air conditioning to comment on the strange look on Jason’s face. Their server appears moments later with a cheerful greeting and a question of drinks. They both order water before she’s bouncing away again. 

“I wish I had my money, I’d tip her triple just for not staring,” Tim murmurs. 

“You sure you were in Gotham all this time? Scars aren’t exactly all that uncommon over there.” 

“These are a bit more distinct than your average scar and it would have been too easy for someone to pair Timothy Drake-Wayne with RR if anyone took my picture. Especially after I - “ Tim falters. His hands twitch against the table when he thinks about the gun. About the voices in his head screaming to do different things. The resounding echo of the bang! and the way Harley had screamed. 

Bad boy, something whispers. Wanna hear a joke?

For a second, Tim can’t see anything other than red on his hands, on the table; spreading out across the wood - little notches of grain far too easy to mistake for bits of brain matter. 

“I didn’t mean to kill him, I didn’t! B - Mama - “

Papa didn’t laugh. He’ll never laugh again.

A hand touches his own and Tim jerks, wide eyed and panting hard. He stares at Jason, at the shape of his mouth as it moves, and can’t hear him. He doesn’t understand, can’t even get his own thoughts in order let alone shape any words in his throat. 

“He’s fine,” Jason says. Is he talking to the waitress? Roy? Kori? 

“Who are you going to kill next?” Batman asks in his left ear. “It’s too dangerous. Your episodes are sporadic and the best place for you is here.” 

“You mean I’m too dangerous, just say what you really mean!” 

Tim can’t breathe. He feels like he’s suffocating in his own body, like he’s trapped in a cage too small and he can’t get out, can’t get out - 

The seat beside him dips and for a moment there’s something heavy wrapped around him too tightly, like his restraints, like the damned chair. It takes one thrash for them to loosen, to just rest around his waist. 

“Tim,” Jason says against his right ear. “Tim, breathe .” 

He’s so fucking pathetic, no wonder no one loves him - 

That heavy weight disappears from around his waist. A hand grabs the back of his head while another forces something past his lips. Tim seizes, thinks it’s the gag again - and then a burst of sourness spreads across his tongue and his nose is wrinkling, breath kickstarting in his chest as he absorbs this new sensation. He chokes for a second when he isn’t sure what’s going on and someone hushes him, strokes his hair and keeps whatever is in his mouth pressed up against his lips. 

Tim doesn’t hate the sourness per say, but it’s a lot all at once and he can’t focus on anything else. The voices slip away and his chest stops feeling like it’s being crushed. His eyes open to find Jason staring at him, eyes a little wild and tinged green around the edges. 

“You with me?” He asks hoarsely. 

Slowly, Tim nods. 

“You want me to take the lemon out?” 

Again, Tim nods. 

Jason puts the slice down on a napkin and brings the straw to the water it must have come from up to his lips. Tim drinks slowly, lets the water bring him further back into his body. 

“Did I hurt anyone?” He licks his lips and tastes a residual sourness. He takes another pull of the straw. 

Jason fixes him with an odd look. “No. Why would ya think ya did?” 

“Always do,” he explains. “Bruce, Dick, Damian - can’t help it, they get too close, don’t listen - “

“Yeah, that sounds like them.” Jason sets the water down and gives him a napkin to wipe his face with. He’s damp with cold sweat and grimaces at the feeling; he’ll be glad to take a shower again. “What caused it?” 

“What?” 

“Don’t bullshit me, Timmers,” Jason snaps. The green in his eyes flares for a second, mesmerizing him in the same moment that it makes his heart begin to race. It’s not Joker green, it’s Jason. That makes all the difference, somehow. “What caused it? Roy and I have plenty ‘a triggers too and we can’t avoid yours if ya don’t speak.” 

“Bruce said they’d go away. He acted like - like I’d get better.” Tim’s voice is so very small. He curls into himself and feels like a failure all over again. He’s smart, realistically he knows he went through something traumatic, something most people wouldn’t come back from. He has the scars and the physical ailments to prove it, but the mental ones are harder to accept. “He said I was dangerous.” 

“We’re all dangerous and I outta put a bullet in ‘im for ever sayin’ that shit t’ ya.” 

Jason’s accent gets thicker when he’s angry, Tim has noticed this before. But it’s different when he’s not the aim of that anger, when he’s not busy trying to fend off attacks. Jason is mad for him and it warms something in Tim’s half dead heart. 

“Sometimes when I try to talk about what happened I get flashbacks,” he says quietly. “it’s not really any one thing, but - red is a big factor. So’re guns.” 

“Red and guns.” 

Jason doesn’t point out that Tim has come to the worst place to escape those things. That red is donned by two out of three of the Outlaws and Jason himself wields guns. That he’s made it really inconvenient for them to go about their daily lives. 

Jason just sighs, runs a hand through his hair and nods once. “Okay. We can work with that.” 

It’s then that Roy and Kori appear, chatting briefly with the hostess before making their way over to the booth. Roy immediately picks up on the tension as he takes the spot closest to the wall and across from Tim. His eyes dart between the half chewed lemon and the arm still resting on the back of Tim’s head. 

“Everything okay?” He asks carefully. 

“Fine,” Jason grunts. “just a flashback. Avoid red and guns.” 

Roy and Kori take this so easily Tim is left reeling. It can’t be this easy, surely. There should be arguing, persuasion, efforts to convince him that he just needs to build a tolerance. 

He’s silent so long that the conversation has moved on to Roy describing something that one of the dock workers did. He waits, practically vibrating with anxiety before finally taking advantage of a lull to blurt out “that’s it?” 

Kori’s head tilts to the side. “What is it you mean?” 

Tim makes a gesture that encapsulates the entire table. “You’re just going to avoid red and guns while I’m around? Just like that?” 

“Yeah?” Roy’s eyebrow lifts. “We’re not assholes, dude. ‘Sides, I’ve got plenty of my own trauma and I’d hope you’d be willin’ to do the same. In fact, we all do. Workin’ around it is just part of what bein’ a team means. Hell, you can go further and just say it’s basic human decency.” 

It’s hard for Tim to swallow. He gets it, has certainly navigated around triggers for people before, but having the same care directed towards him feels wrong somehow. The mission comes first. He’s not allowed to have exploitable weaknesses. 

The longer Tim stays silent, the sadder Roy’s face becomes. 

“Look, I’m gonna be honest because that’s kinda what I’m know for. The stories Jay have told me alone have made me more than willin’ to put an arrow in the Bat. There are some disturbin’ similarities between how he and Oliver do things and that’s not a good thing. People like them, - rich sad boys who’ve never had a shortage of bein’ pampered, who no one says no to - they have a tendency to break things. And when they break things, they get angry, they try to fix ‘em the only way they know how - with money and demands - and when that doesn’t work, they replace ‘em.”

Roy holds up a hand when Tim opens his mouth. 

“I’ve watched it happen time and again. It’s not new and it’s not even all that rare. Bruce and Oliver, they see soldiers instead of people and when those soldiers get what pretty much every soldier gets - PTSD, trauma, ect. - they get new ones.” 

“Bruce wouldn’t - “

“They get new ones, Tim,” Roy insists fiercely. “and they don’t bother to take care of the old.” 

“What did he say to you about your trauma?” Kori asks gently. 

Tim swallows around a suddenly dry throat. “He, he said - “ 

“If you really want to help Tim, if you really want him to get better, you need to understand that there might not be a better. You can’t expect him to be the same person he was before. This could be his new normal, Bruce, and he needs all the support he can get.” 

Soft and terse, just barely audible to Tim’s spying ears. “I can’t accept that.”

“He said I was dangerous and unstable. He was afraid I would kill someone and didn’t want me on the field. Said that I needed to give it time, to keep trying. That I could do it, could get over it, I just needed to keep going.” Tim stares down at his hands, voice growing quieter and quieter with each admission. “He didn’t listen to me when I asked him to keep the others out of it and I - I hurt them. I almost killed Damian.”

“Let me guess,” Jason says gruffly. “he blamed himself and used you as the target.” 

Tim shrugs weakly. “I’m used to being a disappointment.” 

“None of that would have happened if he’d respected your boundaries and what you were sayin’. Especially after comin’ out of a situation where you had your autonomy taken away.” Roy reaches across the table to squeeze Tim’s hand. “I was a trauma counselor so I don’t want you to think I’m talkin’ outta my ass. I don’t know all the details but I can tell whatever situation you were in was wrong. We’ve all hurt each other on accident due to our own issues - hell, sometimes even on purpose. But we’ve got no room to judge and you’re safe with us. Okay?” 

Tim swallows past the lump in his throat and returns Roy’s gentle squeeze. “Okay,” he whispers. 

Roy nods once before grabbing the menu. “Now that that’s settled, let’s eat. Nothin’ better than some greasy food to recover from an episode.”

“Indeed,” Kori agrees. “I find myself quite ravenous. Jason, have you picked your meal?” 

“Yeah, figured I’d get a platter and let birdy try some of each dish.” Jason’s arm settles on the back of the booth behind Tim. It feels comforting instead of caging - like a silent support. If Tim leans back a little his head just barely brushes against Jason’s skin. 

“That sounds good,” he finds himself saying. “I trust your judgment better than Roy’s.” 

“Hey!” Roy swats at him with laughter in his eyes. “The food poisoning was one time, I swear!” 

Tim smiles shyly. “If you say so.”  

Notes:

next chapter will be from Jason's POV for everyone curious as to why he's acting the way he is! Do you think he's as chill as he seems?

Chapter 5: allies in unlikely places

Notes:

covid can be blamed for the time it's taken to post this chapter. I'm still kind of recovering from some of the lingering side effects but I finally managed to get this done

I think I've finally caught up with all the comments. Thank you so much for all the support this story has already received and if it takes me a while to reply or I miss you somehow know that I read every single one, sometimes more than once <3

Roy finds Jason in his house. There is a careful precision behind his every fluid movement as he systematically dismantles the modified .45 pistols he almost always has on his person. Knowing the Red Hood’s reputation, not many people would guess that the man behind the mask can move with such delicacy. While Jason is built like a brick house - and knows exactly how to use his size to his advantage - Roy has always seen the underlying grace. No one survives Gotham’s streets as long as Jason has without knowing how to move quick and quiet. There’s a heavy elegance behind his every step that Roy has always admired, both as a marksman and a friend. Jason moves like a predator. He’s a panther poured into human skin and right now he looks like he’s feeling every single shift of skin and bone like the cage it is. He’s wild around the edges and if Roy isn’t careful he’ll turn on him. 

“You’re going to Gotham, aren’t you?” 

A muscle in Jason’s jaw jumps. He’s grinding his teeth but doesn’t bother to confirm or deny. 

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Roy moves closer, steps carefully telegraphed to be within Jason’s line of sight. “If Bruce sees ya, he’ll know where Tim is immediately.” 

“ Bruce ,” Jason spits, slamming his fist down against the heavy wooden table. There’s green ringing his eyes as his chest heaves, once, twice. “Bruce should know t’ stay the fuck away from me.”

“When does a Bat ever do what they should?” Roy keeps his face open as Jason’s gaze swings over. He parries that glare with a crooked smile. Everything is fine, his body telegraphs. No one is going to hurt you.

“C’mon, Jay, walk me through what’s goin’ on in your head. I know you’re smarter than this.”

“Am I?” Jason sneers. “Then tell me why all I wanna do is put a bullet in ‘im.” 

They’re both aware that Jason already knows the answer, but sometimes he needs to be reminded that he’s not the heartless killer he plays at. Sometimes Jason has to be reminded that there are people that still see the good in him.

“What happened to you and what happened to that kid should’ve never been allowed.” Roy says quietly. “You’re angry that the man that was supposed to protect you didn’t. He’s makin’ the same mistakes all over again and seein’ it happen to someone else is triggering bad memories for you. Honestly, I might’ve tried to tell ya to sit this one out if I thought for a second you’d listen. Havin’ Tim here isn’t going to be easy, so I get it if you need to clear your head. But shooting Bruce isn’t going to change anythin’ and at the end of the day we both know you’d regret it.”

Jason’s knuckles are white with how tightly he grips the gun in his hands. His finger presses down on the trigger again and again but there’s no ammo inside. Just his own frantic energy and the need to forget everything that’s happened today. He wants to go back to thinking of Tim only in passing. He doesn’t want to remember the way he laughed like it was torture. He doesn’t want to see the Joker’s marks on him, doesn’t want to have the memory of Tim breathing harsh and heavy in his ears as he broke down in a restaurant booth. He shouldn’t be the one explaining basic autonomy like picking out clothes. He shouldn’t be the one pressing a lemon past Tim’s lips because he can’t think of any other way to bring him out. 

Jason tried to kill Tim on more than one occasion. And that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? 

No one is protecting Tim from the things that are bad for him. Jason, The Joker, Ra’s. Jason didn’t think Bruce could fail any harder than he’d failed him and finding out he might’ve been wrong is turning out to be far from a relief.

“It shouldn’t be us, Roy. It shouldn’t be me.” Jason forces his grip to loosen and sets down the gun. “He shouldn’t be here. He’s supposed ‘t have people, he’s supposed ‘t have Bruce, so why - “

His hands lift to scrub at his face. His fingers curl up into his curls, holding on tight. 

“He shouldn’t,” Roy agrees. “but he is. He’s here, Jaybird, and I need to know if you can handle that. If you can’t, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Find somewhere else, maybe.”

“We’re not kickin’ ‘im out,” Jason says with every inch of his heavy Crime Alley accent. “we kick ‘im out and he’s as good as dead, he said it ‘imself. He’ll go t’ Slade .” 

“So it’s guilt that’s making you agree?” 

“No. Yes. Fuck, I don’t know, Roy!” He groans into his hands. “When I see ‘im I can’t help but think ‘a that stupid, naive kid Talia told me about. The one I left half dead in Titan’s Tower. And then I think of myself and - “ he swallows. His voice is a whisper when he next speaks. “what if I’d survived? What - who - would I be?” 

“Questions like that’ll eat ya alive.” 

“I know.” 

Roy leans back against the couch and looks up at the ceiling. He lets out a soft sigh. “So, when’re you leavin’? And when’re you comin’ back?” 

“Tonight,” Jason says. “It shouldn’t take more than three days. I have some questions I need answers to.” 

“Alright, Jaybird. Three days - and if you’re not back by then, we’ll come for you.” 

The faintest of smiles curls Jason’s mouth. “Noted.”

---

Sometimes, Jason can’t see anything other than green. It’s a weird sort of colorblindness; one that leaves him feeling like the ghost he really is. He doesn’t like it, thinks it’s just further proof that he’s crazy, but he’s - mostly - come to terms with it. 

There’s a distant, resonate echo of the anger the pit had once given him, as if he’s standing at the end of a very long tunnel. Sometimes he misses it. It’s easier to be angry. Nothing can compare to the pure blindness rage had given him to all other emotions. He’s an empty husk these days, hollowed out and gutted like a Halloween pumpkin. He just can’t find it in himself to care as much anymore - and maybe that’s growing up, moving on, healing - but Gotham is painted in shades of green when he sees her again and it feels like sliding backwards and going nowhere at all. 

There’s a sort of weary resignation in his bones as he slips into the embrace of familiar shadows. Gotham is the mother he’s always had, the sort of the likes of Talia. She’s a brutal guardian but she never killed him. She did bury him, though. 

He goes over memorized routes in his head, does the mental math of passing time, of the shifts in routine that follows, and heads to Otisburg. With Arkham Asylum and Amusement Mile on either side, it’s not exactly the friendliest of places, but the botanical gardens are an occasional haunt for Ivy and safe for those that need it. He tries not to think about the fact that Tim’s patrol would take him past Crime Alley, were he still Red Robin.

He grapnels up onto the highest rooftop he can find and sits himself down, legs swinging out over the edge. He’s not wearing his helmet this time but he knows he’ll be spotted even without the red acting as a beacon. He stares down at the city, following the occasional car as it heads further in. He itches to do something but all he can do is wait. Thankfully, he’s not kept waiting long. 

The quiet whisper of fabric against concrete is only made for his benefit. He pushes himself up and turns to the shadows with a reluctant sigh. 

“Alright,” he says. “tell me about Tim.” 

For a moment, nothing moves, and then Cassandra Cain steps forward into the light. She stares at him and he forces himself not to flinch, not to try and hide the emotions he knows she can read plain as day. Nothing changes in her expression but there’s a lifting of pressure that tells him he’s passed. For now. 

“Come,” she says, with a turn of her heel. 

She launches herself off the roof; he follows after. 

It takes him a second to realize she’s leading him into Crime Alley. He’s not sure whether to be angry or amused at the audacity. He knows there’s a few batholes in his territory, but he’s never had it so blatantly admitted to before. He settles on resigned exasperation and follows her through the sky roof of an apartment complex he knows didn’t have that installed. 

His heavy boots thunk against the floorboards where Cass manages to be silent. He straightens to look around and finds that the place is surprisingly well maintained. There’s no dust on the furniture, no cobwebs on the ceiling, and when he looks into the kitchen he sees Cass setting some water to boil with practiced efficiency. 

There’s a computer setup adjacent to the couch, set up against the wall with three monitors arranged around an ergonomic desk. When he glances down at one of the files, he’s surprised to see notes jotted down in familiar handwriting. 

“Tim’s,” Cass says. 

He turns around to find that she’s taken her domino off. She looks softer without it, but no less dangerous. 

Cass gestures to his surroundings. “All Tim’s.” 

Jason’s eyebrows raise. “This is his safehouse? That little shit.”

“Felt safe here. Last place others would look.” 

And yeah, he can see that, but really? For someone who supposedly thinks Jason is still out for his blood, he’s walking a very dangerous line. In fact, he’s completely stepped off the line and walked right into the danger zone itself. 

“He’s not here now,” Jason says casually, as he follows her into the kitchen. He sits down at one of the bar stools and watches with tired bemusement as she makes his tea just the way he likes it. 

“No.” She takes a seat across from him and pulls off her gloves to wrap bare hands around her mug. “With you.” 

“Now why would he be with me?” Jason spreads his hands out in faux innocence. “Just heard from the grapevine that he hit some trouble, is all. Clown shaped.” 

“You lie badly.” There’s the barest of smiles against the rim of her cup. “Tim thinks safe with you. Won’t—hold? Keep down?” 

“Confine?” Jason offers. 

“Confine.” Cass nods. “Will listen. Help.” 

“Unlike Bruce.” 

“Bruce tries. Not good at healing hurt. Wants to protect but cannot protect against own minds.” She taps her temple. “Stubborn. Does not understand being a stranger in own body.” 

He grimaces. “Not like us, you mean?” 

She hums.  

Jason drinks his tea. It’s almost as good as Alfred’s and somehow he’s not surprised. The warmth starts to wash away some of the green. When he sets his mug back down he feels a bit steadier. A bit less ghost. 

“I need to know what happened.” 

Cass is silent for a few long moments, eyes cast down into her drink. She looks contemplative and he realizes with a jolt why it looks so familiar. Tim has the same expression. The faintest of furrow in the brows, the slightest of pouts. Did she learn it from him or vice versa? 

“Taken,” she finally says, “could not find. Given videos every week but took too long to figure out. Tried.” There’s a shadow over her eyes, a grief that shines through. This bat, at least, cares for Tim. “Tried to find, looked everywhere. Given location but Tim not the same. Save himself. Bruce could not handle different.” 

“Tim saved himself?” Jason echoes. 

Cass nods. “Trained to kill us. Tried to run but Bruce brought back. Thought could fix, make normal. Does not understand new normal. Hurt Tim, kept him locked up. Would not listen.” 

“Yeah, sounds like Bruce.” 

“Leslie removed worst triggers. Helped treat skin but couldn’t fix all. Being around us hurt Tim but Bruce would not let go. Held too tight. Tim attacked Damian, Dick tried to stop. Tim ran.” 

“And that’s why he came to me,” Jason surmises. 

Cass nods. “Cannot help Tim but you can. Safe with you.”

“Because he wasn’t brainfucked into wanting to kill me?” He scoffs. “That doesn’t make me safe, that makes me convenient.” 

She shakes her head. “No, Jason. Safe because you hurt him. Trusts you can do it again.”

The words hit him like ice water. The green melts away all at once, leaving him feeling vulnerable and too real in his own skin. 

“I didn’t think you’d care.” Tim had said, in his hopelessly honest way.

Exactly what kind of person does Tim see him as? And does Jason even really want to know?

Tim didn’t seem afraid of him when they talked. He didn’t balk at being alone or close. What exactly has Jason done to earn such fearlessness? Because he sure as hell can’t think of anything himself. 

“Here.” Cass slides a slip of paper across the table. There’s a number printed out on it in carefully neat handwriting. “Keep updated, please. Can answer questions if needed.” 

Jason takes it numbly. 

She rinses out both their mugs before pulling her gloves back on. Her domino is fixed back over her face and then Black Bat is standing in front of him instead of Cassandra Cain. 

“Tell Tim Dick and Damian okay. Not his fault.” She pauses briefly on her way past, the tilt of her head thoughtful. “Tim always gives second chances to people important to him. Sees good where others see bad. Sees good in you. Always.” 

She disappears back the way she’d came, leaving Jason to ruminate on that earth shaking knowledge.    

Well, fuck. He’s going to have to let Tim into his house after all, isn’t he?

 

He’s got another stop on his itinerary but he can’t decide if he’s going to actually go through with it. Cass seemed like an obvious choice, with how well she can read people and how easily she keeps secrets. But Barbara has been known to take sides and he’s not sure where she is in this. 

He retires to one of the safehouses at the center of his territory and sends out feelers through his men. He wants to know everything that’s been going on with the bats and he wants answers by morning. 

They tell him that Nightwing has been absent from duty for several weeks now. That Robin has been missing too, and Batman has been patrolling by himself. Red Robin has been missing even longer and word on the street is there might have been a falling out. 

No one has heard from the Joker since he kidnapped Timothy Drake-Wayne. Word on the street is the kid is as good as dead. That the Wayne’s are covering up whatever happened to him.

There’s a rumor that the Joker himself is dead too, but Jason ignores the flicker of sickly hope it elicits. 

He can’t go to Leslie himself. Word would definitely get back to Bruce somehow. Cass could help, but Barbara would be the best bet - if she’s on Tim’s side.

He’s always been uncertain about their relationship. Barbara seems to have some sort of soft spot for Tim but Tim has always seemed somewhat distant from it. He’s not sure about their history, he only knows that when it came time for Tim to try to find Bruce in the time stream, she didn’t believe him until he had proof.

Is there bad blood there now?

He scowls at his notes and finally ends up shooting a text to the number Cass had given him. A simple Barbara? that she answers with a thumbs up emoji.

Okay then. To the clocktower it is. 

---

He knows she sees him coming. He doesn’t try to stay out of camera sight, is even purposeful at some points. The sun does the work of keeping the bats away. They should all be asleep and ignorant. All save for Cass. 

He meets no resistance when he tries the roof entrance, and makes his way down the stairs with some trepidation. She’s waiting for him at the bottom, looking more exhausted than he’s ever seen her. Her hair is disheveled, as if she’s been running her hands through it continuously. 

“You look like shit,” Jason says as he bends to hug her.

A soft huff of amusement brushes against the skin of his neck as she returns the embrace. If she holds on for longer than usual, neither of them comment on it. “It’s been a hard couple of months. I’m glad to see you.”

“Heard about Dick and the kid. Cass said they’re good?” 

“Twenty seven stitches in Dick’s side. Tim was aiming for his heart but Damian pushed him away. Got a concussion for his effort and a broken arm. They’re both stuck in bed and neither of them is happy about it.” 

Jason whistles, long and low. “Replacement didn’t pull his punches.” 

“Dick startled him.” Barbara grimaces. “It was a bad move and he should have known better, but you know Dick. He’s touchy. Especially when people are hurting.” 

“Yeah,” Jason says. “I remember. I take it Cass filled you in?”

“She told me you’d be stopping by. I saw you on the cameras and figured our theory was right about Tim running to you. I lost him when he headed to the coast.” 

“Pretty sure he thinks you’re on Bruce’s side.” Jason gestures towards the kitchen with a tilt of his head. Barbara nods and follows after him. He turns on the kettle before leaning back against the sink. “He did some crazy stuff to keep you out of his files.”

Barbara’s eyes close in pained defeat. “I don’t blame him. I haven’t exactly been the best support. We all messed up when Bruce died.” 

“When Ra’s got to him.” 

“We left him vulnerable. We should’ve trusted him, but—“ she shakes her head. “When Bruce came back he wasn’t exactly happy about Ra’s involvement. It hurt Tim even further.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

Jason turns to get out two mugs. He goes through the familiar motions of making tea for two, just as Cass had done the night before. He places one in Barbara’s hands.

“He’s messed up, Barbie. Really messed up.” 

“I know.” Her lips tremble as she blinks past the tears in her eyes. “We all failed him, in more ways than one. You’re more alike than you think.” 

“So you really think this is a good idea? Puttin’ the two of us together like this? I’m not exactly the most sensitive.” 

Barbara shakes her head. A small smile curls her lips. “Don’t lie to me, Jay. You’re one of the best of us when it comes to helping those in need. You know how to help give people closure. You make them feel safe.” 

“The last time I tried to get closure for the clown’s crimes I got my throat slit,” Jason scoffs. “I’m not exactly gung ho for round two.” 

Her brow furrows. “What are you talking about?” 

“Killin’ the Joker?” He gestures widely. “Bruce would throw a fit all over again.” 

“Jason,” Barbara says slowly. “the Joker is already dead.”

His fingers go numb. Somehow, he manages to set his mug down on the counter before he can drop it. His chest feels too tight all of a sudden, like the air has gone thin. He’d seen the article, but he hadn’t dared hope. “What?” 

“He’s dead,” she repeats.

“The—the body?” 

“Burned. He’s never coming back.” 

Jason’s legs crumble beneath him without his permission. He slides down the side of the cabinet with a broken sound. His hands shake when he presses them to his face. He can’t breathe right, can’t seem to get himself under control. 

The Joker is dead. That nightmare of a man, the boogeyman of Gotham, the one Bruce could never let go. He’s finally gone. 

“Shh, Jay, I’ve got you.” At some point he’s pulled against Barbara’s chest. Her hands run through his hair as she whispers soft reassurances.

“He’s gone,” Jason chokes out. 

“He’s gone,” she repeats, her own voice thick with tears. 

They cry together for who knows how long, two people broken in different ways by a madman finally put to rest. He’s never going to hurt them again. 

“Who?” Jason eventually asks, when he’s cried himself out and all he can do is lean against her shoulder. 

Barbara shakes her head. “I don’t know. No one does. Bruce smashed the tape and Tim won’t talk about it.” 

Suspicious, but all that matters is he’s gone. 

He helps her back into her chair before ducking his head under the faucet for a few long moments. He pats his face dry with a towel and feels a bit more human. 

“Thanks, Barbie.” 

She smiles softly. “Anytime, Jay.” 

It’s then that Cass meanders down the stairs, sleepy eyed and mildly disheveled. She smiles at Jason on her way to the kitchen and gives his shoulder a surprisingly affectionate pat. “Jason safe.” 

“Jason safe,” he echoes under his breath. If it’s meant to be mocking, he does a poor job of it. 

“Now then, you came for information, right?” Barbara wheels herself over to her computer desk. Her fingers fly across the keyboard as she enters what looks like a very convoluted password. “I put together everything about Tim’s disappearance and recovery. It’s been a steadily growing file over the past few months. Cass has been sneaking into Leslie’s office to scan her files. I also had a few bugs planted on her, in case Bruce tried to hide anything.” 

“Good ‘ol bat paranoia.” Jason leans closer to squint at the files beginning to pop up. “Is it true that they can’t fix his face?” 

Barbara’s lips press together. “The cuts happened early on in his—torture. He kept ripping them open unintentionally and the scar tissue is really thick because of it. In theory, they could fix some of it but it would require a skin graft and the facial muscles wouldn’t function the same way. There’s already some trauma to the area so removing that tissue and reattaching new skin also has the potential to cause more problems down the line. Tim refused to see any other surgeons and Bruce agreed after it triggered Junior.”

“Replacement can’t catch a break, can he?” 

“Must you call him that?” Barbara sighs. 

“Not replaced.” Cass says by his shoulder. When she got there, he has no clue. “Passed on. Remembered.” 

The words twist a knife in his chest. “I didn’t come here to talk about me. What’ve ya got, Barbie?”

“Tim’s been on bad terms with Leslie ever since she faked Steph’s death. But there wasn’t anyone else to help with his triggers at the time. From what I can tell, therapy didn’t go the greatest, though she did manage to get rid of most of the conditioning. I have some recordings and notes but—“ Cass puts a hand on her shoulder. Barbara lifts one of her own to clutch at it. She takes a deep breath before looking up at Jason. “If I give you those, he’ll probably never forgive me. So you have to promise me, Jay. Promise me that you’ll protect him. That whatever feud you do or don’t have won’t affect this. You can’t use this to hurt him. Promise me. ” 

Her eyes are wet behind her glasses but no less fierce. She stares him down, just as defiant and proud as she was when she stalked the streets. 

“Shit, Barbie.” Jason runs a hand through his hair and blows out a heavy breath. His eyes lift skyward as he thinks back on Tim and how small and alone he’d looked. Does he want to add to his hurts? No. Is he still bitter about being replaced? Yes. But that’s on Bruce, not Tim and he would never have come to Gotham if his mind wasn’t already made up. “Okay. I promise.” 

“Honest,” Cass says. “Means it.” 

Barbara swipes at her eyes and gives a watery smile. “Thanks, Jay. I may have failed him but at least I can do this.”

“Yeah, well.” He reaches out to squeeze her hand. “You’re givin’ the kid his best chance. We’ll do what we can.” 

“Have some things.” Cass sets her tea down and disappears back up the stairs. She returns a few moments later with a duffle bag. “Cameras and photo albums. Some clothes. Will make him sad at first, but also happy.” 

Jason takes it slowly. “Should I tell him who it’s from?” 

“Yes. Will visit soon, when time is right.” Cass smiles faintly. “Needs to know others in his corner. Not alone.” 

He doesn’t bother arguing against the impending visit. It’s Cass , she’ll get in whether they try to keep her out or not.  

Barbara hands him a flashdrive. “Keep that safe. It’ll only connect to Roy’s network. Anywhere else and it’ll self-destruct. And keep your eyes open on the way back.”

“Traces of ninja last night,” Cass adds. “Ra’s still trying to find Tim.” 

“I’ll be careful,” Jason says. 

Barbara’s smile is fond. “No you won’t.”  

Jason grins. “No I won’t.” 

Notes:

What did you think of Jason's pov and Barbara's remorse? Dick and Damian are also benched for the foreseeable future - an intentional choice perhaps? What do you think are on the recordings that would make Tim hate anyone listening to them?

the writer is tired and comments are the softest of pillows

(I also added the playlists I use for this story and Tim to the main notes for those that are into that thing!)

Chapter 6: confessions of old faces

Summary:

The first time Junior officially meets Roy Harper, he tries to stab him with a fork.

Notes:

this chapter fought me tooth and nail before finally falling into submission towards the end. I rewrote the beginning at least three times and I still can't tell if I'm happy with it

thank you again to everyone who has commented, you guys are all amazing and I'm going to get to work replying to them soon. Life has been hectic but rereading your comments has definitely helped keep me on track with this story <3

Warning: This chapter contains a panic attack and triggered switches with a blink and you'll miss it mention of suicide ideation. As I said previously, I'm not looking to be scientifically accurate with DID because the way Junior came about is definitely not at /all/ how DID actually works. But I /am/ drawing symptoms very heavily from what I know from research and have seen from people with DID so just be careful reading if stuff like that bothers you

When Tim wakes up from a surprisingly peaceful sleep, he lays there for a moment to stare up at the ceiling above him. The paint is a soft yellow that fades into the blue walls like sunrise. It seems more Kori than Roy and it fills Tim with a sense of peace. The fan above circles lazily, circulating the island air slipping in through his open window. 

He sits up with a grimace as his aches and pains become known to him. His arms and legs hurt from the shopping trip; he has to take a few minutes to stretch them out before he can get out of bed. In the safety of the guest room, he doesn’t have to hold back the way his face contorts in discomfort. He fights against a few stray spasms as ruthless fingers knead at his calf muscles. He’s going to have to take it easy today if he wants to keep his legs from collapsing out from under him. Thankfully, so far that seems to be the most significant issue. Better that than migraines or hallucinations. 

He stands to pull on the hoodie Roy had given him the day before. He knows it’s Jason’s hoodie from the size alone. While Roy has impressive arms and shoulders, Jason is still built like a mountain in comparison. Tim isn’t sure if that’s a side effect of the Lazarus Pit or merely Jason’s genes. He’s probably never going to find out either. He’s regretted turning down Ra’s offer to take samples of the pit more than once before but he knows it was the right choice. Owing Ra’s anything is never a situation he wants to find himself in. 

His socked feet pad quietly across the wooden floor. He opens the door to step out into the hall, where the low murmur of voices drifts in from the kitchen. Roy and Kori are at the table, eating egg sandwiches and fruit salad. 

Tim hesitates in the doorway but is given little time to prepare. 

“Tim!” Kori smiles brightly and beckons him forward. “Come eat. You must keep your strength to continue your research.” 

“You don’t have to worry about the food bein’ poisoned,” Roy adds. “I’m not as helpless in the kitchen as someone like Dick.” 

He can’t help his quiet snort. He takes the seat next to Roy, where a plate has already been set out for him. Kori pushes the platter of cut up fruit towards him. 

“Eat what you like, there’s more if we need it.” 

“What do you want to drink?” Roy adds. “Didn’t you drink coffee? We have tea too.” 

“Not anymore,” Tim says to his plate. “Water is fine.” He spears a strawberry with his fork and lets the sweetness of it fill his mouth. He chews and swallows before looking at the empty seat across from him; there’s no plate out. “Did Jason already eat?” 

At this, Roy’s smile becomes almost sheepish. “Jaybird took off for a couple of days. He’ll be back soon.” 

“What?” Tim almost drops his fork. Panic grips his throat like fingers as breathing suddenly becomes difficult. “Jason left?” 

“He’s coming back,” Roy repeats. 

“This is because of me, isn’t it?” He drops his fork to run his hands over his face. The breath he lets out is shaky at best. “I never wanted - I didn’t mean to - this is his home .”   

God, he’d only come here as a last resort. He’d known this was Jason’s safe place and he’d still invaded it out of his own selfish needs. What didn’t Tim ruin? 

Bruce should have let him use the gun. 

“Whoa, hey, take a breath - “

His ears are ringing, his vision is blurring. His thoughts crash over him like a tidal wave and Tim doesn’t try to find the surface.

Junior opens his eyes. 

His vision is fuzzy from the sudden shift of consciousness and everything feels a bit to the left of what it should be. There’s a residual sensation of the panic that had sent Tim into retreat. His heart is racing and his skin feels clammy with cold sweat. His wrist is caught in a strong grip, his own fingers curled tight around the fork he’d grabbed on reflex. He blinks a few more times at the image before lifting his gaze to take in a man he knows but has never talked to. 

“Hello,” Roy says with a winning smile. “Gonna go off the green glow in your eyes and say you’re Junior. Am I wrong?” 

He shakes his head.

“Cool, cool.” Roy gives an absent bob of his head. “Can you let go of the fork, Junior? I really don’t wanna ruin breakfast by being stabbed.” 

Junior looks down at the fruit and eggs on the table and remembers snippets of why he’s here. Jason is gone - and it’s their fault?

“Jason,” Junior rasps. 

“Yeah, we were talkin’ about him a few seconds ago. I said he went away for a few days but he’ll be back. Do ya remember?” 

“...yes,” he says, words slow and laborious. He winces when a sharp ache starts in his temples. It’s enough to finally get him to release the fork in his grasp; Roy lets him go to move the utensil out of his reach. 

He becomes aware of yet another presence when Kori speaks up from across the table. “Tim left in quite a rush. Is he alright?” 

Junior can’t help the flinch. Nothing good has ever come from that name being spoken in his presence. “Scared. Worried. Didn’t wanna chase Jason away. Our fault.” 

“No one chased Jason away,” Roy says firmly. “he’s comin’ back in three days. If he doesn’t, I’m gonna go get him myself.” 

He runs his hands over the table, feeling the slight dips in the grain. Tim is getting further away and Junior is still struggling to feel real. He blinks heavy eyelids and takes a few deep breaths. His body aches from yesterday’s shopping trip. Despite the fact that they’d passed out as soon as they’d made it back to the island, he still feels exhausted. 

Of course, all of Junior’s existence so far has been conducted in a body that hurt in some way. He’s never known anything other than pain or discomfort.

“Junior,” Kori says. “while our meeting was unplanned, I welcome you to our home - so long as you mean Roy and Jason no harm.”

Junior’s cheeks stretch and ache with the tightness of his scar tissue. He fixes her with a smile that is all teeth and gives a slight dip of his head. “Nice ‘ta meetcha, sunshine. I got no plans ‘a hurtin’ your boys.” 

Her smile is warm in return. “Then I anticipate our acquaintance to be most advantageous.” 

His smile widens to the point of pain. “Glad ‘t hear it.” 

“That accent,” Roy says. “it’s Harley’s, isn’t it?”

Junior’s smile dims. His last memory of Mama is her blood splattered face as she’d reached for Papa’s falling body. “...yes.” 

The change in emotion does not go unnoticed. Roy switches tactics. “Well, since we’ve never actually met in person, I figure we should introduce ourselves.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Roy Harper.” 

Junior shakes it carefully, as if it's a trick. Kori reaches across to do the same; he can’t help his flinch when their skin touches. 

She withdraws instantly. “Have I hurt you?”

“No, no, it’s jus’,” Junior flexes the hand she’d held in silent marvel. “yer really warm. ‘M used to bein’ cold, was a shock.” 

“Do you need more layers?  I can fetch more blankets, as well.” 

He shakes his head. “No, ‘m comfortable right now. My cell just wasn’t heated and I only got blankets if I was good.” 

Something like anger flashes across both their faces. Anger is never good. Anger brings pain and suffering. Junior tenses, eyes darting for the door. Where has he got to go, though, and how would he even escape these two? One is far superior to his own strength and his body is still failing him. 

“You get blankets no matter what,” Roy says firmly. “There’s no punishment here, okay? As long as ya don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you.” 

Junior can’t help the skepticism that lifts an eyebrow. 

“I know, I know, I don’t blame you for doubtin’ us. But I hope that in time you’ll believe me.” He clears his throat and pops a grape into his mouth. “D’ya know when Tim’ll be back?” 

“The other one is - hidin’.” He grimaces. Tim is a ball of anguish in the back of their mind. His walls are like an eggshell: Junior could crack it if he wanted, could find the pressure points and break him open, but he’s too scared to do so. Tim isn’t supposed to exist. Junior’s not supposed to acknowledge him. “Dunno when he’ll be back. Sometimes it takes minutes, sometimes days.” 

“You seem to know much of how this works,” Kori murmurs. “Tim wasn’t sure what to make of you.”   

“There’s a wall ‘tween us. Papa didn’t like it when ‘e was out so we - broke.” Junior can’t help the giggle that spills from his lips like water as he makes a breaking motion with his hands. “Keeps us separate. We don’t get hurt when we’re separate.” 

“So you could talk to him if you wanted?” Roy asks. 

This time, Junior laughs, high and loud. “Why - ha ha - why would I ever - HA - do that?” He spreads his hands out in front of him and smiles so wide he swears he can feel the phantom pain of his skin tearing all over again. “‘e’s scared ‘o me. Scared of what we can do. Given half a chance, ‘e knows ‘e’d kill too.” 

---

Jason returns to the island the morning of the fourth day. Roy is waiting for him at the dock, a look on his face like he can’t decide if this is good news or not.

Instantly, Jason is on guard.

“What happened?” He demands, bags clutched tightly in white knuckled fists. 

“Nothin’ bad.” Roy holds his hands up. “Just a little bump, is all. But we should really talk about it before ya see Tim.” 

“Roy,” he warns.

“Just trust me on this, Jaybird. Ya don’t wanna walk in there blind.” 

“Fine. Explain while we walk. And make yourself useful.” 

Roy catches the bag Jason tosses at his chest. A grin breaks out across his face as he falls into step with Jason’s long strides. “Aw, Jaybird, I knew you’d miss me.” 

“Don’t think I won’t throw you in the ocean.” 

“You wouldn’t. Seeing all this wet?” He gestures down at himself. “The temptation would be too much to bear.” 

“Roy.”  

“Alright, alright. Down to the nitty gritty.” Roy exchanges the hand holding the bag and tosses it over his shoulder. “The little bird had an episode.” 

“What?” Jason stops to look Roy over for any injuries; there’s nothing. “Is Kori -?”

“She’s fine. He only tried to stab me once.” 

“Was it your charm that did him in?” 

“Ouch, that stings.” Roy’s expression turns serious. “No, actually, he didn’t take you leaving well. Started havin’ what looked like a panic attack and then boom , there was Mr. Smiles himself.” 

“Did you lock ‘im up?” 

“You kiddin’? Kori would have thrown a fit, especially after he told us he was kept in a cell and deprived of basic necessities like blankets and clothes.” 

Jason’s eyes are sharp as they cut over to Roy. “He talked to you?” 

“Sure did. He’s not so bad once ya get past the creepy laughter and homicidal tendencies. Kori seems to like him and he hasn’t done anything out of line yet. Seems more afraid of us than anything.”

“Wait.” He runs a hand through his hair and tugs lightly at the white streak in his bangs. “He’s still out ?” 

“Yeah, says Tim is upset and doesn’t want to come back. I was thinkin’ that maybe since you leaving is what set him off…” 

“Me comin’ back will help?” He shakes his head. “I dunno, Roy, I don’t know why the kid would be happy ‘t see me. It’s not like we’ve ever been friends.” 

“You seemed to be getting along well when we went shopping. I think ya should give yourself more credit.” Roy claps a hand down on his shoulder. “You’re charming when you wanna be, Jaybird, and he seems to look up to ya." 

“Fuck knows why.” 

Jason pushes open the door to his house and breathes out a sigh of relief. He feels more at ease surrounded by these walls. This is his home and there’s no chance of any bats sneaking up on him uninvited. 

“Did ya get what ya wanted?” 

“Talked to Cass and Babs. They corroborated Tim’s story and gave me some files to look at. Said Tim took Dick and Damian out and they’re on bed rest.” He hesitates as he opens his bag, eyes fixed on the guns inside. “Babs said the Joker’s dead.” 

Roy drops his own bag next to Jason’s. “No shit? Who killed him?” 

“No one seems to know, other than Bruce and Tim.” Jason shakes his head slowly. “Kinda hard to believe he’s finally gone. Feels like he might pop up at any time just like he always does, yanno?” 

“Yeah.” Roy wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. “Maybe Tim’ll tell ya if ya ask. He seems to be sweet on you.” 

He flushes. “He is not, don’t make it weird!” 

Roy dances away when Jason shoves at him. “Whatever ya say, Jaybird. I just call it like I see it.”

“Yeah, well, keep that shit to yourself then.” He shakes his head and yanks out his dirty laundry. “ ‘Sweet on me.’ Jesus.” 

“I’ll leave ya alone to do your come home ritual. Just lemme know when you’re coming over so I can do damage control if we need it.” 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll send an alert.”

---

There’s music pounding through the speakers in the kitchen, loud enough that Jason can hear it from outside. He would blame it on Kori except he’s never heard her listen to something like this before. Normally, her music is a strange mixture of discordant sounds and wailing words. This is grittier and actually tolerable to his human ears, even if it sounds a little like they’re trying to turn their house into a club. 

He steps into the house and takes his shoes off without anyone to greet him. He can hear voices coming from the kitchen but the music is drowning out most of it. They start to become audible the closer he gets, until he can hear someone singing. He stops dead when he realizes it’s Tim. 

He’s never once heard Tim sing. Not even when he was under surveillance, before anyone even knew Jason still existed. No one has ever mentioned him singing, either. Not Dick, or Alfred or even Steph. The idea of him doing it in front of two essential strangers is so incongruous with what Jason knows of his personality that he has to take a moment to reconcile it with everything else. 

It’s not a bad voice from what he can hear. A bit raspy, but pleasant. He can hear Kori laughing as she claps her enthusiasm. 

“Beautiful,” Tim croons from around the corner. “they said they did not want my face in their magazine. ‘Cause I’m not beautiful—”

There’s the sound of footsteps on wood and Kori’s delighted laughter. Jason risks a look around the doorframe to see Tim twirling her with a wide grin on his face. Roy is watching from the kitchen counter with a grin of his own, eyes fond as he nurses a beer in the other hand.

“Watch out, babe, he’s gonna seduce you if you’re not careful!” 

Tim throws his head back in a high pitched laugh. This time, Kori twirls him. Tim takes to it as easy as breathing, body moving like water.

“Am I the most fucking fantastic freak you’ve ever seen? Did I make you--”

Jason curses under his breath as Tim catches sight of him. He’d go back into hiding but the damage is already done. Tim stops moving and both Kori and Roy turn to look at the cause. Roy reaches over to turn the volume down on the speaker as Tim’s arms lower. 

“--scream.”

The smile is fading from Tim’s face as his eyes grow unfocused. He blinks several times in succession as Kori reaches out to steady him. 

“Junior?” 

“‘s alright,” he mumbles. “it’s jus’ the other one.” 

He’s coaxed into a chair. Jason steps closer carefully. He can see the moment that Tim returns because he tenses up all at once. His eyes lift to scan the room, looking frantic and a bit scared. They settle on Jason and widen. 

“Jason,” Tim says. “Jason, I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

His nose wrinkles as if Jason should know. “You left because of me.” 

“I left because I wanted to,” Jason corrects him. “I had some business in Gotham I needed t’ take care of, so don’t worry your pretty little head over me. Not everythin’ is about you.” 

“Right.” Tim’s face begins to close off, but not before Jason can catch the flash of hurt there. Fuck, he hadn’t meant to phrase it that way. 

“I got ya some of yer things,” Jason hurries to say. “courtesy of Cass.” 

“You saw Cass?” 

“Barbie, too. They said Dick and Damian are gonna be jus’ fine.” 

His shoulders slump in relief. “That’s good,” Tim says. A small, helpless smile touches his mouth. “that’s really good. I’m glad.” 

He’s blinking slow again, like the world is going a little foggy around the edges and he’s going along with it. It’s not quite exhaustion but Jason doesn’t know what else to call it. 

Roy and Kori share a look. 

“Tim,” Kori says gently. “why don’t you lay down for a bit? You can take the couch in the living room. We’ll be right here.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Tim lets her guide him up, towards the door, only to pause halfway as if he’s just remembered something. His head swings as he looks back over his shoulder with glazed eyes. “Jason?” 

He’s not sure what to do with the quiet desperation that comes with his name. Jason’s never really been needed by anyone before. Kori and Roy are his friends but they don’t need him, not really. If he disappeared he has no illusion that they could move on and find someone else. Then again, Tim knows all about that sort of thing, doesn’t he? Jason isn’t sure what to think about Tim needing him nearby. 

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he finally tells him. 

Tim hesitates; Jason sighs. 

“Come on.” He steps forward to take Kori’s place. She gives him a meaningful look before stepping away. His hand drops to Tim’s lower back to help guide him forward. This time, Tim moves. 

He sits down on the couch cautiously, like he’s never sat on one before in his life. His hands slide slowly over the surface, like he’s relearning touch all over again. His lips are parted around slow, deep breaths as his eyes drift in and out of focus. 

“What’s goin’ on with you?” Jason asks bluntly. 

“The switch,” Tim says slowly, like it’s hard to talk. “it’s - hard. To ground. Don’t feel like I’m here.” 

He frowns. “What can I do?” 

“Being here helps. Hearing your voice.” He lays down just as slow as all his other actions. It’s a bit disconcerting to see him acting like the slightest movement out of line could break him. “Touch. Smell. Taste. Things that remind me I’m real and so is everything else.” 

Jason grunts. He grabs the thick throw blanket off of the back of the couch and tosses it over Tim. The fabric is soft and fluffy. They don’t really need blankets like it, being on an island, but it’s so damn comfortable none of them have been able to get rid of it. They usually take it with them into space where they often end up falling asleep together, watching the stars. He wonders if Tim would like something like that. 

“I, uh,” Jason looks down at himself. “I just showered? I could sit on the floor, might be able t’ smell my soap.” 

A small nod has him settling on the floor beside Tim’s head. Tim’s face turns to him like a sunflower seeking sunlight. His sigh is slow and long when he catches the scent of Jason’s aftershave. 

“Thanks, Jason.” 

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and shifts in place. “No problem.” 

“Will you tell me something?” 

“Like what?” 

“Don’t care.” Tim burrows further into the blanket. “Anything. I like listening to your voice.” 

Jason isn’t sure what to do with that. He gets the feeling Tim wouldn’t disclose that kind of information if he wasn’t in this state and it makes him feel like he’s taking advantage of the situation somehow. 

“Sure, baby bird. Jus’ lemme think of somethin’.” 

He wracks his brain for a story that isn’t full of blood and pain. Something on the happier side, that will help Tim with whatever his brain is doing right now. 

“Okay, uh.” He clears his throat and draws his knee up to rest an arm on it. “I met Robin once, when I was a kid.”

Tim makes a curious sound. 

“I was workin’ a crowd of tourists, pickpocketing for dinner. Got a pretty good haul and ended up buyin’ a chili dog for myself. I was on my way back to my house and all of a sudden this idiot in panties yanks me into an alley. I don’t even know what he was gonna say because I panicked and threw the only thing I had on me.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“I did.” Jason’s lips twitch as a muffled giggle comes from behind him. “I threw my chili dog as hard as I could and got that fucker right in the face. He definitely wasn’t expectin’ it because he just kinda stood there with his mouth hangin’ open while I booked it.” 

“Oh my god .” When Jason looks back, Tim’s face is scrunched up in joy as his body shakes with silent laughter. It’s a far better look on him than the one from before. 

“Does Dick have any idea it was you?” 

“Not a damn clue.” Jason shakes his head. “Thought at first he knew, and that was why he hated me so much. Tried to apologize once and he looked at me like I was crazy, had no idea what I was talkin’ bout.” 

“Oh my god.”

He basks in the sound of Tim’s muffled giggles. Eventually, the sound peters out, until there’s only the sound of quiet breathing. 

“I met Robin once too,” he whispers. 

Jason’s eyebrows raise. “Yeah? The hell were you doin’ on the streets? Weren’t ya, like, six when Dick was Robin?” 

“He started when I was five, actually, but I wasn’t talking about Dick.” 

There’s only one answer to who it could have been. 

“Oh.”

“It was my tenth birthday and my parents forgot to call. Our housekeeper was out sick and I was miserable. I went out looking for Batman and Robin because I thought taking pictures might cheer me up, but everywhere I went I seemed to just miss them. I know I wasn’t supposed to cry but I just felt so lonely and defeated, I burst into tears on a fire escape on my way down. And then Robin showed up.” 

Jason’s memories are foggy at best about his time before the pit, but he remembers some things when prompted. There’s an image coming to him now, of a little kid crying in the dark. 

“I asked what was wrong,” he says slowly. “I thought ya were lost.” 

“I was so embarrassed that my hero was seeing me cry but I was so upset I couldn’t seem to get a hold of myself. I told you it was my birthday and everybody forgot and you said-” 

“-no one should be alone on their birthday. I offered a ride down and then told ya to wait for me.”

“Just getting to feel what it was like to fly with you was amazing in itself. Then you came back with ice cream. You apologized for forgetting to ask me what flavor I liked--”

“I felt so stupid for that, I thought I fucked it all up.”

“--but I would’ve taken anything from you and eaten it with a smile. It was a chocolate and vanilla swirl with chocolate sprinkles because you said the crunch balanced out the fluffiness of the ice cream perfectly. It was one of the best things I’d ever tasted.”

“You asked me a bunch of questions about how my gear works,” Jason remembers. The picture is getting clearer now, more vivid. He can practically see curious blue eyes peeking up at him from behind a dark hoodie, tiny fingers wrapped around a cone and ice cream smeared on a wrinkled nose. How had he forgotten that face? “I couldn’t answer a lot of them. You were so damn smart, even then. I had no idea how such a tiny kid could know the fundamentals of mechanics and how physics affects them.” 

“You walked me to the bus stop and wished me a happy birthday. You said that if I was alone again next year, to go to the same spot and we’d get ice cream again. I didn’t think you actually meant it but it made me so happy. My parents came back for my eleventh but the year after that I was alone again. I went to our spot but you were already dead, they just hadn’t released the news yet.” 

Jason exhales, long and slow. “I’m sorry, kid.” He freezes as slim fingers brush against the fine hairs of his neck. They card into his curls to scratch lightly at his scalp. It feels so good he’s not sure what to do with himself, whether he should pull away or stay. 

“You were always my hero,” Tim whispers. “even when you didn’t remember.”

“I don’t deserve that kind of praise.” 

“You do. You’ve always tried to help people. You’ve always tried to make life better for the people who don’t have anyone else. It’s why you were my favorite Robin. It’s why…” His voice is starting to drag now. His fingers are just resting against the back of Jason’s head. A yawn interrupts his words. 

“Why what?” Jason risks asking. 

“It’s why I forgave you. Why I know Bruce is wrong.” 

His breath catches in his chest. His lungs feel too small all of a sudden, like a balloon that’s been put in a vice. His hand flexes against his leg as he works to process everything that statement means. It’s monumental and Tim dropped it on him like it was nothing. It’s exactly why Tim infuriates him so much and yet. Jason can’t be mad at this. Not when Tim is breathing gently behind him, eyes closed as he drifts to sleep. Not when he’s so trusting. Not when he just told Jason that he’s his hero . 

Jason has fucked up a lot of things in his life and one of them is Timothy Jackson Drake. And yet here he is, somehow forgiven, somehow trusted. 

He’s starting to see that that just might make him the luckiest damn man alive.

Notes:

one of the reasons I was so late with this chapter is I was working on a piece for JayTimWeek2023. So if you'd like to read 15k+ words of fluffy jaytim and animals, feel free to check out my most recently posted fic!

Jason is starting to process things. He's a little behind but that's okay, so is Tim. What do you think of Junior after seeing a bit more of him? I wanted to give him a distinct voice separate from Tim so I thought the accent worked pretty well for that purpose

song is beautiful is boring by Bones UK. it's on Tim's playlist

(ps if someone draws dick getting pelted by a chili dog by kid!jason I'll love you forever)

Chapter 7: for unexpected secrets

Summary:

Jason swallows. “Bruce’s note - it said a week more would’a killed ya.”

“Probably.” Tim slathers his knuckles in cream and begins to wrap bandages around the torn skin. “I wasn’t doing well at that point.”

The toneless way Tim says it tugs at Jason’s awareness. “You thought you were going to die.”

“You did,” is the answer, though it is not unkind. “why would I be any different?”

Notes:

it's been a bit but after juggling dicktim week and getting carpal tunnel surgery on my / other / wrist, I'm finally back! I missed this verse and hearing everyone's thoughts so I'm excited to get back into it. I have an end goal now so we're going to start picking up in plot soon. Enjoy <3

Warning: depictions of torture

Tim avoids the bag Cass packed for him for several days. Part of it is distraction, part of it is self preservation. He’s not sure what she’s put inside but the odd look on Roy’s face after he declares it clear of any bugs tells him that it’s not as simple as clothes. It stays in the guest room by the bed, where Tim can stare at it on bad nights, weighing the pros and cons of opening it. 

He’s not sure what to think about the fact that Roy and Kori don’t have anything bad to say about Junior. If this were Wayne Manor, there would be cameras and footage he could watch. When he asks Roy if there is any surveillance in the house, he gets a strange look and a shake of his head. 

“We keep surveillance on the sky and shores but not in the houses. We have sensors on every window and door so it’s safe enough without it. Besides, this is supposed to be home.” 

Tim has never known home to not have eyes. He’s always been aware of surveillance and has always had to work around it to keep his secrets. To have nothing of that obstacle now is strange. Almost disconcerting. 

It leaves him with very little to work with as far as Junior’s fronting goes. 

Junior hadn’t tried to kill anyone. He was civil, albeit wary, going off of Roy and Kori’s recollections. He danced with Kori and helped Roy with dinner. 

Tim can remember nothing of it. 

The lack of control is terrifying. Experience has taught him that control is important above all else. People don’t like you when you’re not in control and he’s had plenty of rejections in the past to prove it. Bruce, always finding new tests to pick apart his mind and point out his flaws. Dick, who turned him away when he tried to ask for help. Alfred, who acted as a confidant only to go along with Bruce’s tests in secret. 

None of his training covered how to handle a foreign entity in his head. Not to this extent. 

He should be happy that Junior is settled here, that he has shown no violence. Instead, he is uneasy; waiting for a cruel joke to be played at his expense. Things don’t just go well for him. So the bag stays closed and his worries grow, looming over his shoulder in a shape reminiscent of Batman’s disapproval. 

---

Tim - Junior? No . Tim. Wait - wakes screaming. There are arms around him, searing hot. For a moment he thinks he’s in the vats again, before his brain registers the fact that the room is lit in firelight. Kori is holding his arms at his sides, away from his face. His cheeks sting from scratches; there’s a bit of blood caught in his nails. 

Roy turns the light on and sits in front of him, medkit in hand. “Hey,” he soothes. “it’s alright. You had a nightmare. Do you remember where you are?” 

“Island,” he - they? - say. “J’son.” 

“That’s right. Jason is at his house, hopefully sleeping.” Roy examines Tim’s hands with a critical eye. “You gonna be good if I trim these? I think it’ll be safer in the long run if this happens again.” 

Yes. 

No. 

Tim shrugs helplessly. 

“I will tell a story to take your mind off of it,” Kori suggests. She loosens her arms around him slowly, until he’s more leaning against her chest than anything else. It reminds him of the way Dick used to hold him during No Man’s Land, when warmth was scarce and they were so alone. Despite the awful memories that accompany the time, curling up together remains a good point amongst the bad. 

“On Tamaran, it is customary for a child of their seventh year to go through the  Glorthrob. It is a trial of honor, to prove that they are ready for the next stage of training with their K’Norfka.”

Tim winces as Roy dabs at his cheeks with alcohol wipes. The smell makes his nose burn and his eyes water. Thankfully, it’s not there for long. 

“During my Glorthrob, I was instructed to slay a nest of snervian blork worms. The smell was so foul that it took me almost an entire cycle to get it out! Afterwards, the zornian muck beetles ate and digested the corpses before being transported back to their homes, leaving my people safe once more.”

Despite the disgusting image, her voice is light and happy. Tim’s nose wrinkles at the idea of a smell so strong. 

“Snervian blork worms are like skunks?” 

“Skunks,” Kori says thoughtfully. “I do not know of this creature. Is it large?” 

“They’re pretty small but they have glands near their tails that they use to spray strong smelling odors to keep predators away.” The gentle click of the nail clippers fills the room as Roy takes care of the jagged edges of his nails. “It can last for a long time.” 

“Hm, where does one find these skunks? Are they on the island?” 

“No, they’re forest animals. They like more temperate climates, it’s too hot for them to survive here.” 

“I’ll show you a picture later,” Roy promises, as he examines Tim’s hands. He drops them with a satisfied sound and begins to brush the clippings together to be discarded. “All done! I haven’t got any nail polish on hand so you’ll have to settle with this.” He winks. “Feel free to leave a five star review.” 

Tim exhales a laugh. “Sure thing. Sorry for waking you.” 

“No problem.” Roy shrugs. “We all get nightmares.”

“It is no trouble,” Kori assures. “Are you feeling alright now?” 

“Yeah,” Tim says, and finds that he means it. The story managed to successfully take his mind off of things and he no longer feels like he’s being smothered by his own mind. The strange sensation of being two people at once has eased, too. “Thank you.” 

“We will leave you with pleasant shlorvax if you feel you are ready to rest again.” 

Unlike some nights when Tim is caged and desperate to get out, he feels settled enough to try. In fact, now that the mention of sleep has been brought up he can feel how heavy his eyelids are. He muffles a yawn in his hand. 

“Yeah, I’m going to try to sleep some more.”

Kori gives him one last squeeze before slipping off of the bed. Roy picks up the health kit and gives a little wave before he shuts off the lights. Tim lays down once more and manages to sleep for a few more hours. 

---

Jason is at Roy and Kori’s house while the two of them do their annual checks on the sensors guarding the island. Tim is in the living room sleeping under the weight of the blanket that should be too heavy for island weather. He doesn’t know if Tim’s always had such poor circulation or if it’s yet another tally on the long list of things the Joker managed to ruin. The deep bruises under his eyes are starting to recede finally and there’s color starting to return to his face. He’s still too skinny but they’re working to fix that. Three square meals a day with the snacks Kori is sure to push at him are doing wonders for his weight gain. 

He wants Tim to get better. He wants to see that spitfire of a Robin that was beaten to Hell and back and still had the audacity to say that he was better than Jason. He wants to see Tim confident and dangerous, body and mind ready to take down the next big threat. He’s not sure when he became so invested in Tim’s health but he is and Jason doesn’t do things by halves. 

This means he needs to start combing through the footage Tim gave them, as much as the very thought makes his stomach turn and his pulse speed with anxiety. He sits down in Roy’s office with his computer and opens the first file.

On screen, Tim is dirty and listing. He’s tied to what looks like an old gynecologist chair, feet caught in the metal stirrups. There are leather straps wrapped around calf and upper thigh, keeping him from being able to pull free. Similar bindings litter his upper body, from the width of his shoulders down to his slim hips. There’s no give, nowhere to run as the final strap is tightened into place: a strip of leather that wraps around Tim’s forehead to keep him still. It overlaps over the angry red rings on his temples. 

The circles under his eyes are dark bruises. There is no mask to be found. 

Jason hits fast forward and the Joker comes into view. He has some sort of modified oxygen tank hooked up to a mask he fits over Tim’s mouth and nose. 

“—think you’re looking a little glum,” his grating tone says. “They say laughter is the best medicine. Let’s see if we can’t cheer you up, shall we?” 

Tim’s entire body is straining. His fists are white as he tries to shrink back into the chair, to shake his head and push the mask off, but there’s nothing he can do. 

There’s a few moments when the air hisses on, when both Tim and Jason wait for the unmistakable laughter that comes with Joker gas. Tim understands before Jason, as his pulse begins to speed and his eyes begin to roll. He’s not inhaling laughter, he’s inhaling fear . 

“‘Course, can’t give you all the - ha! - fun.” There’s a vial in Joker’s hands as he bends over Tim’s body. Tim flinches and he straightens, syringe now empty. “That should last for a couple hours. I’ll check back when the gas has run out, eh? Try not to have too much fun without me!” 

His laughter echoes off of the walls as he disappears off camera. There’s nothing to distract from Tim’s face then, and the tears that are beginning to spill down his cheeks as his body starts to jerk with unrestrained laughter. His cries mingle with the helpless giggling, until it’s impossible to tell if he’s sobbing or screaming. Tim’s shaking so hard he’s sweating, limbs jerking against his bonds like a broken marionette—

Jason fast forwards. 

“—there we go,” Harley coos as she helps Tim loose. There’s blood in his mouth from where he bit his tongue and his legs won’t hold him. She strokes his sweaty bangs back out of his face and hums. “let’s get ya clean, sugar.” 

“Please,” Tim whispers around a dying voice. “help me.” 

“Come on, lean on me an I’ll help ya t’ the shower,” Harley says, as if he’s said nothing at all. “that’s it, darlin’.” 

Jason fast forwards. 

They’re in a laboratory and a familiar cloaked figure is moving around a chemistry table. The camera angle is awful and the voices are muffled; surveillance footage Bab’s found. 

“I can’t tell you if this will work, I work with fear not brainwashing as a whole. I’ve never used a formula for this before.” 

“You’ve got tunnel vision, Crane, you should live a little! This could bust your formula wide open!” 

“Perhaps.” Crane hesitates as he looks up at where the Joker stands off screen. “Are you sure about this? The Bats - “ 

“Don’t worry about the Bats. We’ve got our own protection, right here! Just imagine what our little bird will do once he’s grown back his wings! Why, the very thought puts a - ha HA - smile on my face!” 

“In theory, you should be able to overwrite the schema that revolves around the Bats. Put his brain under enough stress while exposing him to the thoughts you want and he’ll form new schema. The trick is figuring out how to trigger it again and again, to the point that it overrides any previous thoughts. However,” Crane cautions. “he could become volatile. He might turn on you just as easily as who you point him at.” 

“I can handle a broken bird,” Joker dismisses with a careless wave of his hand. “Tell me about the formula.” 

“We’re focusing on more than just the amygdala. You need to light the prefrontal cortex up as a whole to stress the brain out enough to give in.” They head deeper into the laboratory, where the camera can’t pick up their voices anymore. 

Jason clicks on the next video. 

Tim is crying silently, slumped over with his head in Harley’s lap. She’s giving him a shot of clear liquid with no discerning features. 

“Hush, little baby, don’t you cry. Daddy loves you and so do I.” 

Jason clicks a new document. 

There’s a read out in front of him, cool and impartial. 

Tim is suffering from psychosis. Leslie believes the detox of Joker venom and Fear gas will go a long way in his recovery. Alfred has agreed to keep visitors to a minimum. The sight of any of us throws Tim into a frantic state that endangers himself and others.

Blood screening shows a multitude of other drugs in his system, including oxycodone and fentanyl. The dangerous mix of chemicals in his bloodstream, combined with his asplenia, say that another week in the Joker’s hands and he would be dead. 

And then, at the end, like a curse: 

I’ve failed again.

Jason puts his fist through the screen. 

There’s a moment of disconnect, as everything goes numb. He’s staring at the cracked screen, but he’s not feeling the way the glass is biting into his knuckles. He’s watching his blood start to surface, but he’s not feeling any of the slickness. There’s a ringing in his ears and the world is tinged in green. Someone rushes into view to pull his hand free. 

By the time he’s back in his head again, there’re tweezers pulling tiny pieces of glass out of his knuckles. The hand that holds them shakes slightly. Jason traces the arm it belongs to, eyes moving up a shoulder, to the thin neck it connects to, then further still to pursed lips and furrowed brows. 

Tim is staring down at his hand in determination, the way he used to look when he was working to close a case. There’s a tightness around his eyes that comes from strain; Jason wonders how hard it is for him to make such accurate movements now. 

“Where’s Roy?” Jason rasps, because he can’t understand why Tim is the one taking care of him. 

“Still working,” is the answer. “I heard the crash and found you like this.” 

“I looked through some of what ya gave us.” 

There’s a faint hum. Tim pulls a shard free that has Jason biting back a wince; it went deeper than expected. 

“Watched some videos. Read one ‘a Bruce’s early notes.” 

Still no response. Tim wipes away the fresh blood on his hand and scrutinizes the skin for a few long moments before deeming him free of glass. He reaches for a fresh pair of gloves and the antiseptic. 

“My mom died of an overdose.” 

Tim pauses; Jason holds still through the sting of alcohol. 

“I know,” he eventually says. 

Jason swallows. “Bruce’s note - it said a week more would’a killed ya.”

“Probably.” Tim slathers his knuckles in cream and begins to wrap bandages around the torn skin. “I wasn’t doing well at that point.”

The toneless way Tim says it tugs at Jason’s awareness. “You thought you were going to die.” 

“You did,” is the answer, though it is not unkind. “why would I be any different?” 

“Three months,” Jason says, like he still can’t believe it. Part of him can’t. “He had three months.” 

Tim hums. 

“ Three months . He was seconds late for me.”    

“Must have skipped rescue training too many times.” 

The bandage is tucked into Jason’s palm; Tim turns to discard his gloves. For a moment, Jason sees Tim crying on the floor, hears his voice say “Please, help me.” His hands reach out to curl over his shoulders before he can help it. 

“Why do ya seem so defeated?” He demands. “I would be furious. Three months and ya lived through Hell, gave ‘im all the chances in the world t’ find ya. How are ya not draggin’ ‘im through the coals?’ 

“Jason,” Tim says. “if you think I’m not angry, you’re wrong.” 

His hands lift to curl around Jason’s wrists, shortened nails just barely scratching at thin skin. There’s a slow growing fury in his eyes; it’s a lot like watching a storm build in the distance. If Jason’s anger is a fire, Tim’s is a flood, too fast to escape, sweeping up everything in its path. 

“I’m angry at Bruce for a lot of things, but not saving me is nowhere near the top of the list.”  

“Then what is?” Jason can’t help but ask, voice dropped down into a whisper like the secret he knows the answer to be. 

Tim stares at him for a few long moments, the ice of those blue eyes slow moving glaciers. Finally, he lets out a soft huff of an exhale and smiles, small and bittersweet. 

“Forsaking me for doing what I had to do to survive.” 

He stands and Jason doesn’t try to stop him; lets him put away the medical supplies and disinfect the tweezers. Tim leaves him to sit with his thoughts without a backwards glance. 

Jason doesn’t miss the way his hands shake on his way out. 

---

There’s a heartstopping moment when everything is cleaned and Jason goes in search of Tim, when he thinks that he’s gone. He’s in none of the main areas and it takes Jason an embarrassing amount of time to think to check his room. 

Tim is sitting on his bed, staring at the contents of the bag Cass gave him. There are clothes set to the side in a neat pile; two cameras, one film and one digital; several photo albums of various thickness. 

Jason lifts a hand to knock lightly on the door. Tim’s eyes flick up to him before returning to stare at the albums as if he’s expecting them to come to life. 

He moves deeper into the room on hesitant feet. He stops by the bed, becomes abruptly aware of how much he towers over Tim and takes a seat on the floor instead. He curls the bulk of his body in close, knees drawn up and feet planted on the floor; a wolf trying to act like a domesticated dog, so big the point is almost moot. 

He sits there in silence; an invitation if Tim wants it.

“Cass is one of the few people that knows about these albums,” Tim finally says. “I destroyed the film reels. These are the only copies in existence.” 

Jason hums. “What’s in ‘em?” 

He picks up the thickest album to open to the front page. “You remember how we met when you were Robin? I followed you guys around a lot, starting way back when Dick was wearing the shorts.” He slides off the bed to sit beside Jason, where he can see the bright colors of Robin’s uniform on the page. “You both have your own albums.”

Jason’s breath catches in his chest. He’s there on the pages, young and alive the way few of his memories recall. He takes one half of the album to balance on his leg, while Tim holds the other side open. There are pictures of some of his first days as Robin: the grin on his face after he stopped his first mugging; the careful way he’d helped one of the working girls up after she was thrown down by a disrespectful John; his favorite gargoyle and the perch he found in its shadows. 

“You were my favorite to photograph,” Tim says softly. “you had the heart of the city and you were always so good . You knew what it was like to be forgotten by the rest of Gotham and you refused to let anyone else get eaten by her streets. You inspired people. You still do.” 

It’s hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. His eyes are watery when he tries to blink his vision free. “High praise,” he manages to rasp. “I don’t deserve it.” 

“You do, Jason. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” 

There are pictures of him and Bruce that twist the knife in his chest. Bruce smiling as Jason consumes a chili dog with haste. Bruce holding his cape up to shield Jason from the rain as he peers across the street with a set of binoculars. Bruce eating ice cream while Jason gestures animatedly about something that happened in school. 

“This is…” 

“You and Dick brought out the best in him. He was never the same after your death.”

Jason turns the page and knows when they’re nearing the end of his time as Robin. He’s sulking more in the pictures, body language tense. He’s expecting the pictures to stop when he turns the page on one of his last nights, only to freeze when a picture of the Red Hood greets him. 

He’s knocking a handsy John away. He’s giving out hot chocolates and cookies to the working girls. He’s putting a drug runner in his place. He’s smoking on the edge of the roof, face lit by the flame. 

“You - when did you - “ 

“I’m not always smart,” Tim shares with a sardonic smile. “even when you were trying to kill me, I couldn’t help but watch you. Creepy, or so I’m told.” 

Sure, being watched without his knowledge makes his skin itch a little, but growing up with Bruce has since turned surveillance into some sort of twisted love language. Jason doesn’t feel as strong of an aversion as he probably should. He’s too stuck on the care and dedication behind the photos.

“Why?” Is all he can seem to ask.

Tim shrugs. “You were my Robin. Dick was amazing, sure, but he wasn’t the one that made sure to look out for the ones that are normally forgotten. He didn’t bring drinks to the working girls or direct the street kids to proper shelters. And he definitely wasn’t the one that got me ice cream on my birthday.” 

“Shit.” Jason runs a hand down his face. He lets out an embarrassingly choked laugh. “You don’t pull yer punches, do ya?” 

“I learned from the best.” 

“Little shit,” he mutters, when Tim knocks his shoulder against his in pointed silence.

“So Dickie has one but that doesn’t explain the other. Did you really make one for the demon brat?” 

Tim scoffs. “I’m not quite as masochistic as that. No, it’s,” he looks almost embarrassed as he reaches for it, fingers hesitant on the cover. “it’s mine. When Cass found out about the others, she said I should have one too.” 

Jason holds a hand out. He takes the album carefully and opens to the front page. The pictures inside aren’t the well framed art that the previous album had. These are mostly selfies, or amateur photos taken by whoever was nearby. There’s Tim and Dick, in one of his early lessons, obviously taken from camera footage. There’s the grin on Tim’s face the first time he flew on the trapeze. A picture of Alfred holding a cake out for Tim’s fourteenth birthday. Tim as Robin, with Impulse and Superboy grinning at the camera. A larger photo of the Teen Titans. Young Justice together. Robin and Nightwing swinging through the night. Cass and Tim learning sign language together. Spoiler and Robin getting ice cream. Batman and Robin surveilling an abandoned warehouse. 

There’s a noticeable difference in the pictures Tim has with Bruce. For one, their body language is closed off. There’s none of the comfortable care that was shown in Jason’s photos. Bruce isn’t smiling, he’s not sheltering Tim from the rain or acting as a caregiver. They’re partners but in nothing more than business. 

Jason feels a pang in his chest as he recalls all the times he’s accused Tim of taking his place. If Bruce was never the same after his death, what kind of mentor did that leave Tim? The type that chases him from his home and into the hands of the man that has tried to kill him more than once? 

“Cass was right,” Jason says. “you deserve one too. Ya should show Roy and Kori these sometime, they’d get a kick outta ‘em.” 

“Maybe,” Tim murmurs. “I’ll think about it.” 

Jason hands the albums back to him. Tim slides them under the bed and out of sight. 

Cass had said: “Will make him sad at first, but also happy.”

He looks down at his aching hand and then up at Tim’s distant expression. “Hey,” he says. “you want t’ help me make lunch?” 

Tim’s eyes flick up to his face in surprise. “Sure? If you don’t think I’ll get in the way.” 

“Nah. Can’t be worse than Roy, baby bird.” 

“Okay.” Tim stands to follow him out the room. There’s still a bit of sadness clinging to the corners of his eyes, but that’s fine. He’s focused on Jason, at least, and keeping him distracted is no sisyphean task. It’s the least Jason can do after he showed him one of his best kept secrets.

He pulls out the vegetables they’ll need to make a casserole and gives Tim the task of cutting up the cauliflower while he peels the potatoes. He doesn’t say anything when Tim’s legs begin to shake and he has to sit down to finish his task. The frustrated look on Tim’s face tells him more than enough. 

“I used ‘t get shakes after the Pit,” Jason says lightly, with a flick of the peeler in his hands. “phantom pains, too. Talia said it was probably psychosomatic, from when my body remembered dying.”

Tim looks gutted. “That’s - “ 

“Awful, I know. It doesn’t happen much anymore, but when it does I have ‘t take it easy. And no one blames me fer it. Ya get me?” 

He’s silent for a few moments as he looks down at his shaking legs and then back up at Jason. His sigh is long and heavy but he looks a little less weighed down when it’s over. “Yeah. I get you.” 

Jason switches the chopped cauliflower out for his peeled potatoes. “Slice ‘em ‘bout an inch wide. They’ll cook faster.” 

He transfers the cauliflower to the steamer and puts the meat on to cook. Tim hums softly in the background to some tune that seems familiar but alludes Jason’s brain. The potatoes are put on to boil when Tim is done, leaving them with nothing to do but wait. 

“You want to watch a movie?” 

“Huh? Sure.” Tim blinks at him like the very fact that he’s asking is bewildering. Damn, is it really that hard to believe Jason doesn’t mind spending time with him? 

“Any preferences?” He asks, when they’re settled on the couch and Tim is bundled under the blanket once more. 

“Star Trek?” He says hesitantly. “Bruce wouldn’t let me watch it when I first got back. He was afraid it would trigger something.” 

What the fuck , Bruce. 

“That’s fuckin’ stupid,” Jason mutters. “avoidin’ shit doesn’t make the triggers go away. It jus’ makes ya more miserable.” 

Tim doesn’t argue. 

Jason lets him direct the way to the right film. He leaves every now and then to check on the food. Half way through Tim falls asleep leaning against Jason’s shoulder and Jason is very glad that the casserole is in the oven and doesn’t need to be taken out for another thirty minutes. Tim needs as much rest as he can get. 

Roy and Kori come back sometime towards the end of the credits. Jason quietly directs them in what to do with the casserole so that he doesn’t wake Tim. The two of them bring the dish to the coffee table and settle onto the other loveseat. 

Jason starts the next movie before he eats his own plate. The smell eventually awakens Tim, who blinks at the three of them before taking his own portion of casserole with a sort of sleepy contentedness. He wakes a bit more to listen to Roy’s snide comments and ends up snickering into Jason’s shoulder. It doesn’t set off a laughing fit, thankfully, though it seems to take a lot out of him. Before long, he’s dozing again, belly full and expression relaxed. Jason tucks the blanket further around his shoulders and calls it a win.

Notes:

just some Outlaw bonding with a side of pain, as is usual. Tim's finally starting to get a chance to recover and relax but how long is that going to last?

(also realized I never linked Jason's playlist so that's been added to the others)

Chapter 8: for supplications

Summary:

"Jason,” Tim says with some bemusement.

“Hm?”

“Why do you have a rocket launcher?”

Jason’s head snaps up. He looks over to see that Tim has opened his other duffel bag, the one he keeps for Plan B type situations. “None of yer fuckin’ business.” He shoos Tim’s hands away to zip the duffel up once more. “That’s in case shit goes south.”

Tim’s mouth is twitching up into a smile. He looks up at the ceiling and says “drug money” to himself with an air of quiet amusement.

Notes:

for the sake of this story Tim's parents died in a plane crash and the whole Boomerang disaster didn't happen. Why? Bc I said so

warning: descriptions of torture, including that of children and mention of a suicide attempt (summary in end notes if you need it)

They get two weeks of peace before a distress call has the Outlaws staring at a file on screen, indecision clear on all of their faces. 

“I should go,” Jason says, because of all of them, he is the least helpful if Tim has an episode. Roy has training and Kori is a neutral party. Jason has triggers and a history of harm, even if he wasn’t in his right mind at the time. 

“The last time you left, Junior was triggered out,” Roy reminds. “not that that was a problem then, but it could become one. There’s still a lot we don’t know.” 

“I could go,” Kori offers. “the two of you could stay - “

“And leave ya without backup?” Jason scoffs. “Fuck no. If somethin’ goes wrong it would take too long ‘t get ta ya.” 

“If no one is going alone, then someone has to stay behind,” Roy says mildly. 

“It should be you,” Jason tells him. “yer the one with the most trainin’ if somethin’ goes wrong. Kori and I can kick ass while ya act as our eyes and ears.” 

“I don’t know that I like the idea of you two having all the fun without me,” Roy says, but what he really means is I worry. We all worry. This life is too unpredictable not to.

“Perhaps - “ 

“You should all go.”

They turn as one and it’s Tim, arms crossed in what looks like half defense, half agitation. His body can’t seem to decide if it wants to stand tall or hunch in on itself. There’s a furrow to his brow that’s familiar, a stubborn set to his mouth that warns off any argument; Jason has never been good at taking warnings like that at face value.

“Like Hell. We’re not leavin’ ya - “   

“Then take me with you.” Tim straightens all at once, as if that was the phrase he needed to system reset all along. His fingers tap against his forearm: once, twice. He nods to something in his head and looks Jason straight in his gaping face. “Take me with you. I’ll stay wherever your safe house ends up being and act as medical if needed. Then nobody has to be left behind.” 

“That is a most agreeable outcome!” Kori’s hair flares when she smiles brightly. “Tim is well enough for travel. I see no reason why we should not all go.” 

“Really. None at all?” Jason means for it to be sarcastic, but he should know better by now than to try that with Kori. Her eyes turn to stare at him, luminous and searching. 

“We have dealt with Pit Flare ups when traveling. It should be no trouble, should Junior surface.”

Roy snorts and punches his shoulder. “She’s got ya there, Jay. Alright, if we’re doing this we lift off in thirty. Grab all your toys and get your asses on the plane.” 

Jason bites back any further arguments and books it to his armory. When he makes it back to the ship, Roy has pulled the plane out and is finishing the last of his start-up tests. Tim is already on board and familiarizing himself with his surroundings. He’s running his hands over the interior, fingertips absorbing the soft thrum of the engine through the walls. 

“Not bad, huh?” Jason tosses his gear beside the rest and buckles it down. Just in case. “Amazin’ what drug money can buy ya.” 

If he’s expecting derision, he’s disappointed; Tim snorts. “I’ll bet.” 

“Alright, kids, seatbelts on.” Roy calls from the front. “Kori is going to follow us once we’re up.” 

Jason lets Tim take the copilot seat, if only because he looks so excited. He wonders how long it’s been since he’s been anywhere near a mission, let alone touched all the tech that tends to come with it. The thought is sobering, but the avid way Tim watches Roy pilot is enough to keep him from sinking any deeper. 

There’s the briefest tension when they lift off, one that would’ve gone unnoticed if he hadn’t been looking. He catches Tim’s eye when they straighten out and they both look down to watch Tim’s white knuckles get some color back into them. 

“Lift off and landings are when things are most likely to go wrong, statistically speaking.” And then, quieter, when that isn’t enough: “my parents died in a plane crash.” 

Fuck, they had, hadn’t they? Jason had completely forgotten.

“I’m okay now,” Tim adds. “I know it’s stupid, I just - “

“No.” It’s Jason, rough and cutting. “It’s not stupid. Ya saw me freak out over needles ‘cause ‘a my mom. ‘S the same, yeah?” 

“Oh.” He blinks a few times. “I - yes. Thank you?” 

There’s a smile on Roy’s face, the bastard. Jason’s face flushes as he unbuckles his harness to step into the back. 

“Hey, I didn’t turn the light on!” Roy calls after him. 

Jason flips him off, despite the fact that he isn’t looking.

---

They’re twenty minutes from landing; Jason is systematically checking and donning his gear. In ten minutes, it’ll be Roy’s turn. 

Somewhere down the line, Tim got tired of Roy and escaped into the back to join Jason. He’s not sure how he got into the position of letting Tim hand him everything out of his duffle, but he’s here regardless. Jason doesn’t usually let people mess with his stuff unless it’s for an upgrade, but he has a hard time denying Tim when he keeps remembering the album dedicated to his time as Robin, and Tim’s voice telling him that he was his hero . 

“Jason,” Tim says with some bemusement. 

“Hm?” 

“Why do you have a rocket launcher?” 

Jason’s head snaps up. He looks over to see that Tim has opened his other duffel bag, the one he keeps for Plan B type situations. “None of yer fuckin’ business.” He shoos Tim’s hands away to zip the duffel up once more. “That’s in case shit goes south.” 

Tim’s mouth is twitching up into a smile. He looks up at the ceiling and says “drug money” to himself with an air of quiet amusement.

“Don’t act like ya don’t wanna use it, ya fuckin’ pyromaniac. Yer not slick. I’ve noticed how much ya like ‘splosions.” 

Tim holds his hands up in mock defense. There’s a weird look on his face when he takes out one of Jason’s .45s, humor exchanged for something foreign. “Jason,” he says. “do you think there’s a difference between things that go ‘boom’ and ‘bang’?” 

It’s such a strange thing to come out of his mouth, almost childish in nature, and it rings all of Jason’s alarm bells. He watches the way Tim stares through the weapon in his hand and - right. Guns .

He takes it from Tim’s hand very carefully. It’s not loaded yet and the safety is on, but Tim is looking a little spacey and he doesn’t want to spook him. He slides it into his holster to be loaded when Tim isn’t looking. 

“Sure,” he shrugs, like everything is casual. “things that go boom explode. Things that go bang, don’t.” 

“They make things explode though,” Tim says, like he’s not seeing the plane at all. He’s somewhere else, somewhere that makes his trigger finger curl. Jason is starting to get a sick feeling in his gut. He really hopes he’s wrong about what it’s telling him. 

“Tim.” Jason reaches out, touches Tim’s shoulder - and Tim flinches so violently he would have smacked his head off of the side of the plane if he didn’t unbalance himself in the process. He’s breathing harder, staring at Jason’s hand and then at his face like he’s seeing it for the first time. 

“Sorry,” he gasps out. “sorry, I didn’t - “

“Hey,” Jason holds his hands out, palms facing forward. “‘s okay, yeah? No harm, no foul. Just breathe a sec. Shouldn’t have touched ya without askin’, that’s my bad.” 

“No, it’s - “ Tim laughs, broken and low. “you shouldn’t have to ask . I should be fine - “ 

“That’s bullshit - “

“Well maybe I don’t want it to be!” Tim’s shout echoes off of the metal interior, made louder in the silence that follows. Both their eyes are wide at the outburst. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets it all out. His shoulders curve inwards, like he’s trying to protect himself. His voice is soft when he repeats the words. “Maybe I don’t want it to be.” 

A tear slips down his cheek - fuck , Jason made him cry - before Tim is up on his feet. He scrubs at his face and turns back to the cockpit. “I’m just - going to see how far away we are.” 

He slips away before Jason can find the words to make him stay, hand clenched uselessly around nothing. 

A few moments later, Roy joins him to suit up. Neither of them talk, though the gentle touch to his shoulder is more than Jason feels he deserves. 

---

Tim is subdued and tired when they land. He stays quiet when they slip into a jeep to take them to a nearby safe house. The plane is cloaked and hidden until their departure, locked up tight with no way to get in. Jason shares a look with Roy when Tim falls asleep a minute into the drive; Roy makes it a point to avoid any potholes. 

Kori doesn’t join them until they arrive at the small shack in the desert, as she avoids enclosed spaces like cars and aircraft like the plague. She brushes a kiss to Roy’s mouth and one to Jason’s cheek in greeting. Tim gets one on his forehead, which has him awake and looking more like himself once he gets his bearings. He flushes at the affection, though it’s nothing like attraction. It’s more that it’s been so long since he’s been touched gently that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

He’s doing well with their uniforms so far, though he can’t quite seem to look at Kori head on. She doesn’t take offense. She knows it’s not personal.

“We’re going around half an hour away,” Roy tells Tim. “there are monitors for Jay’s hood and my dom but I really don’t think you should watch without someone here in case they trigger you. I’m going to give you an ear piece so you can listen in if you want - or need - to. Just don’t push yourself, okay?”

Tim takes the tech carefully and nods. “I won’t. Good luck.” 

Jason gives a rough salute on his way out, though it doesn’t feel like enough. He jumps back in the jeep with Roy and the mission takes over his brain, leaves room for nothing else. He’ll have time to apologize later.

---

Tim spends the time he’s left with familiarizing himself with his surroundings. The shack is small, with a tiny kitchen, one bed and bath, and a couch that’s seen better days. There’s a door leading down into the basement, where Tim finds Roy’s monitors. He forces himself to bypass them to take stock of the supplies they have. If something goes wrong, he wants to make sure he’s ready. 

He keeps track of the time, counting down the minutes until the Outlaws begin their mission. He knows that there’s going to be death; that it’s a hostage situation and Jason especially doesn’t take kindly to men beating on helpless women and children. The village they’re mobilizing to save is small and off most radar. The government isn’t sending anyone to fight back the terrorists. 

Tim turns his comm on when the thirty minute mark is up and listens in silence. 

“I’ve got hostiles grouped with friendlies in the square. Looks like they’re separating the women and children from the men.” Roy clicks his tongue. “Once I lay the bastards flat, I’m going to need some cover or they’re all sitting ducks.” 

There’s a grunt from Jason’s end and the crack of what could be a gun against someone’s skull. “Kori?” 

“Cover incoming,” she says pleasantly. 

“Holy shit,” Roy says, moments after the soft thwick of his bow sounds. “Is that a tank ?” 

“They no longer needed it.” There’s a crash and screaming as guns start to go off. He can hear the ricochet of metal bullets pinging off of what he assumes is the surface of the tank. “Hood?” 

“I’ve got the runners,” Jason reports. 

“Hostages accounted for,” Roy says a few moments later. 

Tim closes his eyes and turns off the feed. His hands are shaking when he opens them again. He has to remind himself to breathe. He wasn’t ready for the sound of gunfire, for the screams . He bends over the sink, unsure of exactly how he made it there in the first place, and does his best not to heave. He feels sick. 

He can see the Joker grinning. He can see Batman tied to a chair at the mockery of a dinner table. He can feel Joker’s hand on his shoulder, cold and clawed like bird feet. He can smell the acrid stench of his breath as he leans over Tim’s - Junior’s - shoulder and presses the muzzle of a gun to his temple. 

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” he whispers, as the gun moves between Batman and his ruined Robin. “catch a Robin by his toe. If he hollers, let him go .”  

He puts the gun in Tim’s hand, then goes to sit on the other side of the table where he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. 

“Heya, bats, you ever hear about the cuckoo bird? They’re parasites, see, the mother lays her egg in another bird’s nest so that someone else has to raise it. And d’ya know what happens when the egg hatches?” He slaps his knee and nearly brains himself on the table with his next round of laughter. “The little birdie carries all the - ha ha - other eggs to the edge, one by one, and - HA - kills ‘em all, so that it’s the only one left.”

Batman can’t respond, of course, not with the tape over his mouth. He can only stare at Tim, eyes raw and broken. 

“Figured I’d turn the story on its head a little, start with the parent in the scenario first.” Joker’s smile is wide and sickly as he waves a hand at Tim. “The eggs will come after.” 

No, Tim thinks desperately. No, he doesn’t want to see this again, doesn’t want to hear this - 

He closes his eyes shut tightly but there’s no escaping his own head. His hands fist into the hair on either side of his head as he tries to think of anything, anything else. 

What if feels like to fly - 

“Tim,” Batman says, when Harley yanks the tape off. “it’s okay, son - ”

Taking Robin’s photo, getting the perfect shot - 

“C’mon, Junior, it’s your turn.” 

“No,” Tim grits out. No.

“W-wanna hear a joke?” 

NO.

“ Bang .”

---

The shack is wrecked. Jason takes one look at it and bolts inside, half expecting to see Bruce as the culprit. They hadn’t passed any cameras but fuck , they’d left Tim alone where anyone could get to him - 

It’d taken three hours to sort through the hostages and make sure everyone was back home safe. Then another two hours tracking down a stray truck that had managed to flee with some of the kids before they’d gotten there. They’d tried to contact Tim to keep him updated but nothing had come back. Jason had hoped he was sleeping. He knows now that he was wrong. 

Someone had tried to clean up the mess at some point. What remains of the plates and cups are brushed carefully into a corner, left there after the sweeper realized there was a broom but no dustpan. One of the cabinet doors is half torn off, and there’s blood splatters in the sink. 

Jason keeps his gun at the ready as he stalks past and down the hall. The bedroom door is half open. He looks inside to see Tim laying on the bed, asleep after all. There’s the sound of running water from behind the closed bathroom door. Jason stalks over to it, meets eyes with Roy who nods and disappears into the bedroom, before slamming the door open. There’s a yelp and a curse as Jason puts the bullet meant for someone’s head into the wall instead. The fist aiming for his face on reflex stops dead mere inches away. 

“Kent?!” Jason glares hotly. “The fuck are you doin’ here?”

Kon’s eyes are wide behind his signature sunglasses. His fist drops as he rolls the tension out of his shoulders. “I could ask you the same thing,” he snaps back. “the bats are going crazy enough that ‘supes is starting to get involved. I’ve been listening for Tim everywhere since he ran but this is the first time I was able to hear him.” 

“Tim’s got bandages on his hands,” Roy reports from behind Jason. “can’t see anything worse, but he doesn’t look great.” 

Kon scoffs. “He was having a panic attack when I got here, so I’m not surprised. Maybe because you left him in the middle of the desert ?!”

“Replacement made the choice t’ be here all on ‘is own.” Jason’s lip curls back, though whether it’s in defense or over the bad taste the name leaves in his mouth is undecided. “And it’s awful suspicious that you snuck in after we were gone.” 

For a moment, Kon’s eyes flare with heat. His jaw jumps as he takes a breath. “Look,” he tries. “Rob is - Tim dropped off from the Titans before the Joker happened. I know I was - “ 

“Dead,” Jason says blandly. “Happens t’ the best ‘a us.” 

“ - gone for a lot of bad shit and by the time I got back he was pulling away from everyone. Then he was kidnapped and the bats wouldn’t let anyone see him, wouldn’t tell anyone what was really going on, until a week ago, when Batman told ‘supes that he ran away .” 

“If we’ve got ‘supers on our back we need to get out of here,” Roy says urgently. “they’ll have a hell of a hard time gettin’ to him on the island.”  

“He hasn’t decided if he’s going to intervene or not yet. A big part of that rides on what I tell him when I get back.” Kon crosses his arms. “So how about one of you explains to me why Tim is here with one of his would-be murderers .” 

Jason bares his teeth. It’s only Roy’s hand on his shoulder that gets him to take a breath, to breathe past the green . It’s Kori’s voice, soft and reassuring, that answers. 

“Tim asked for sanctuary and I granted it. If you are truly his friend, then you will respect his wishes.” 

“Look at him,” Roy adds. “I know it must’ve looked bad to find him alone, but he’s finally sleeping and eating regularly. He’s not as scared of himself. He’s doing better and it’s only been two weeks. You take him back and all of that’s gone.”

“Besides,” Jason can’t help but sneer. “there’s a reason he didn’t run to you , isn’t there?” 

Kon flinches; bingo. 

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Kon admits. “the only reason I was able to stay is because he was so distressed. He didn’t really see me , but I couldn’t just leave him when he was bleeding.” 

“He’s not bleeding anymore,” Jason points out. 

Roy knocks an elbow against his side. “What Jay means to say is, we’ll take care of him. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Tim is safe with us,” Kori confirms. “I am fond of him.” 

Kon sighs. He doesn’t look like someone who could melt Jason with a look; he looks like a sad teenager, one who’s missing his best friend. Too bad Jason is full up on sad teenagers.

“I’ll tell ‘supes not to do anything stupid. No guarantees, but it’ll buy you some time. Just - take care of him, okay? And tell him - “ he smiles sadly. “tell him the Titans are always just a call away.” 

Jason steps aside to let him walk past. He doesn’t relax until he’s seen Superboy lift off and disappear into the sky, and even then it’s a near thing. “Fuck,” he mutters, with a kick at the sand. 

“Seconded,” Roy says. “Kori is going to grab our distressed bird. Care to drive us back?” 

“Yeah, sure.” He catches the keys Roy throws at him. It’ll give him something to do at least. 

Tim is still asleep when Kori floats out to lay him down on the backseat. She sits beside him, which is telling enough as far as her worry goes. She smoothes the hair back from his forehead, fingertips light against the scarred circles on his temples. 

The ride back is quiet. Roy gets the plane going like they’ve got a super on their ass, after all, motions quick and precise. Kori stays close to the plane when it’s in the air, keeping an eye on the skies just in case. Tim wakes up sometime over the ocean, groggy and confused. 

Roy looks up from the arrow he’s sharpening to flash Tim a small smile. “Hey, sleeping beauty. You’re back on the plane and heading towards the island.” 

Jason double checks his duffle to make sure it’s blocking Tim’s view of the gun he’s dismantled and currently cleaning. 

One of Tim’s bandaged hands lifts to his head with a grimace. “Ow, fuck. I don’t - I don’t remember much.” 

“Tell us what you do and we’ll go from there,” Roy prompts. 

“I was - listening over the earpiece to make sure everything went okay. I wasn’t - “ Tim’s breathing speeds up as he remembers the screams. His body is so drained that that’s all he can manage past the throbbing in his head and the fatigue weighing down his bones. Small mercies. 

“Baby bird?” Jason tries, when Roy’s call of Tim’s name doesn’t work. 

“He made me kill civilians.” 

Roy and Jason exchange a look. 

“The Joker?” Roy says softly. 

“Who else?” Tim sighs tiredly. “He wanted me to kill all the bats. He called me his cuckoo bird. He knew making me kill was one of his main hurdles, so he made sure I could pull the trigger. He tried hurting me first. Said all I had to do to make the pain stop was to shoot, but I refused.”

He throws an arm over his eyes as if that alone could save him from the nightmares that make up his memories. The agony in his voice is glass shards and he feels them cutting into his throat with every syllable. 

“ Kids , Roy. He brought high schoolers, nurses, the elderly. Anyone he could get his hands on. And he said - he said I could make the pain stop. I could save them from him. All I had to do was pull the trigger.” 

He’s crying now, whole body shaking with the force. Jason swallows back bile. Roy’s face is pale as he clutches his arrow close. 

“I couldn’t save them. I tried - I tried to end it once, to shoot myself instead, and he made me watch him light a little girl on fire.” 

Jason is up and moving towards him before he’s even made the conscious decision to move. It’s nothing to crouch beside the bench Tim’s laid out on. Nothing to flex his hands and ask, rough and low: “can I hold ya, baby bird?” 

Tim’s head jerks in an affirmative. He flings himself forward into Jason’s lap as soon as he’s touched. He’s shaking and letting out these broken noises, sobs choked back like he never really learned how to let himself make noise. Jason has seen a lot of awful things, has experienced plenty of horrors, but he’s not immune to the awful reality of what has been done to the Robin that upheld his mantle. 

Roy is there next, a hand steady on Jason’s shoulder as the other holds Tim’s clutching hand. 

“Never again,” Jason says hoarsely. “yer safe here. Ya don’t gotta do anythin’ like that ever ‘gain.” 

“I’m a monster,” Tim chokes out. “Bruce - “ 

“Bruce wasn’t there.” Roy’s lip curls. “You survived. Whoever you killed, you granted mercy. It doesn’t make it easier, but it’s what happened. We’ve all been forced into making fucked up choices. We’re not gonna judge you for doing the same.” 

There’s a lost, broken sound. Tim hides his face in Jason’s shoulder and cries silently. His body is lax, like it’s given up on trying to do anything else. Jason’s knees are starting to ache from kneeling on the metal floor but he’s not about to let go yet. He owes this to Tim for all the mistakes he’s made in the past. 

There’s a beep from the front, signaling that they’re close to landing. Roy gives them both a squeeze of his hand before levering himself up to take the controls. 

“‘S okay,” Jason mumbles. He’s going for reassuring when he rubs Tim’s back, but he gets the feeling he comes off awkward instead. Either way, he gets no complaints. “sounds on the coms set ya off, yeah? Shoulda thought ‘a that but we’ll be prepared next time.” 

Tim sniffles. “Next time?” 

“Ah, I mean.” He grimaces. “If ya ever wanna try again.” 

“You’d let me? Even after this?” 

“None ‘a us would be where we are now if we’d given up at the first sign of a trigger. Ya learn and figure out what works for ya. Just like training.” 

“Training,” Tim echoes, before falling silent. 

“Seatbelts!” Roy calls from the front. 

Jason gets a hold on Tim and pushes himself up onto the bench. There’s no way to buckle up without letting go so he adjusts the harness to go over them both instead. If Tim thinks anything of the way Jason arranges his legs to sit on either side of his hips, he doesn’t say anything. 

Not for the first time, Jason wonders how he got here. And not for the first time, he doesn’t understand.

Tim tenses when they start to descend. Jason tightens his arms around his waist and makes a shushing noise in the hopes that it’ll help. The landing is smooth. The engine shuts down a few moments later before Roy emerges from the cockpit. He raises an eyebrow at their position but says nothing when Jason glares at him. 

The back opens up to the night, letting in a fresh sea breeze. Jason gets an arm under Tim’s thighs and holds him firm as he gets up. Tim’s too tired to argue, sniffling and miserable with a headache throbbing in his temples. 

Kori touches down with a sad look; she heard everything over the plane coms. She touches a warm hand to Tim’s shoulder before moving to help Roy unload. 

“C’mon,” Jason says for Tim’s benefit. “let’s get ya ‘t bed, must be tired.” 

He walks up the beach and into the jungle, where Roy and Kori’s house sits. The door unlocks after a retinal scan to let them inside. He kicks as much sand off his boots as he can before going in. Tim’s bedroom door opens silently when he twists the handle. 

“Sorry,” Tim mumbles, when he pulls his head away from Jason’s wet shoulder. He wipes at his nose with a grimace. “got you all gross.” 

 “‘S fine. I’ve had worse.” 

Tim’s smile is faint and barely there. Jason helps usher him under the blankets before turning to open his window. The distant sound of the ocean is a soothing lullaby. 

“Will you stay?” He whispers. “Until I fall asleep?” 

“Sure.” Jason sits beside the bed. His head tilts back against the mattress to watch the fan spin lazy circles into the darkness. 

“Thanks, Jay.” 

The nickname sends a slow spreading warmth out through his chest, like ink in water. Jason hums; Tim’s eyes close. 

---

“I want to try it,” Tim tells him, a day after their return. 

Jason, who is in the middle of plating several cooked chicken breasts, pauses to look up at him. “Try what?” 

“You said that figuring out what works around your triggers is like training. So I want to try it.” Tim’s chin lifts stubbornly, as if he’s expecting a refusal. “You’re going to have to go out again and I don’t want to be a liability.” 

“Okay,” he says. 

“You - really?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugs and sets the plate down on the counter. “Since figurin’ out the drug situation is a work in progress, it makes sense. You’ll have t’ face it anyways, might as well be now. Did ya have anythin’ in mind?” 

“Guns. I want - I want to watch you practice.” 

Jason hums. “Maybe ya should start with Roy first. Arrows are different ‘nough it might make it easier. Slower transition, ya know?”  

“If you think that’s best.” 

He twists at the waist to look at him. There are shadows under Tim’s eyes from the nightmares he’d had last night. His shoulders are tight, like he can’t quite convince himself that he’s safe enough to relax. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with the fact that he’s not getting a fight. 

“C’mere.” 

“Huh?” Despite the noise, Tim moves to stand beside him. 

Jason holds out a knife. “Cut the chicken fer me. Gonna mix this into a salad before Roy comes down with fuckin’ scurvy.”

He snorts. “Is he really that bad?” 

“He can be. ‘E’s like you. Gets lost in his head and forgets t’ take care ‘a himself.” Jason grabs the bowl of fresh greens he’s already prepared to set it beside Tim’s hand. “‘Sides, ya need it too.” 

There’s a hum but no argument. Tim cuts through the breasts systematically, leaving a pile of bite sized pieces in his wake. 

“Still don’t remember what happened in the shack?” Jason asks, when some of the tension has left Tim’s shoulders. 

“Not really. I remember someone helping me bandage my hands but I don’t know who it was. I just get flashes.” He sets the knife down to start scooping the chicken into the bowl. “Something I should know?” 

“Superboy was there.” Tim stills; Jason pretends not to notice. “Said ‘e was searchin’ fer ya. Wanted ‘t make sure ya were okay and told us ‘t let ya know the Titans are only a call away.” 

“Of course he did.” 

Jason pushes a lemon onto the empty cutting board. After a moment, Tim begins to cut it.

“Halves?” 

Jason hums an affirmative. His hands dip into the bowl to toss the chicken amongst the greens. When Tim finishes with the lemons, he instructs him to squeeze it over the mix. 

“Ya wanna talk about why ya didn’t go to the Titans instead ‘a us?” 

Tim huffs. “Not really.” 

Lemon juice spurts out from between his fingers. The cuts on his hands are closed but Jason grimaces to himself all the same. “Wash yer hands,” he tells him, once he’s done. “And tough shit, I have questions.” 

The water runs over Tim’s hands as he makes a weary sound of amusement. “There isn’t much to tell, Jason. He died. A lot of people died. I didn’t have anyone left and I did some questionable things. Then he came back. And Bart and Steph and Bruce. But none of them could understand why things were different. Why I was different. They didn’t understand the nightmares and the months I spent alone, trying to keep myself together. It was easier to keep my distance.” 

Jason absorbs that quietly. It’s not dissimilar to what he’d assumed was going on, but it is sobering to hear. 

“As someone who’s been on the other side ‘a the equation,” he begins. “yer bein’ kinda stupid.” 

“Wow,” Tim deadpans. “thanks.” 

He flicks a bit of water at his face and rolls his eyes. “Shut up. I know Steph and Bruce did some fucked up things so I’m not talkin’ ‘bout them here. I’m talkin’ ‘bout yer friends, who ya obviously missed and who obviously still care ‘bout ya. Havin’ someone ya love die sucks but so does coming back from the dead only ‘t be rejected by the people who ya thought cared. If they don’t understand what happened when they were gone, tell ‘em . Otherwise yer just pretendin’ they’re dead and makin’ both of ya miserable.”   

“That - makes a surprising amount of sense.” 

Jason scoffs. 

“No,” Tim hurries to explain. “I don’t mean that as an insult. I just - I guess it’s easier hearing it from you, knowing that you do understand. He really said it was okay to call?”

“‘Course. I wouldn’t make that shit up.” 

“I know.” He stares down at his wet hands for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ll think about it. I just - don’t really wanna get anyone’s hopes up right now. Not when I might be gone in the future.” 

It makes sense, in an emotionally constipated bat type of way. 

Jason sighs and shoos him towards the door. “Go grab Kori and Roy for lunch. We’ll talk about your training then and figure things out from there.” 

“Okay.” Tim flashes him a sweet smile. “Thanks, Jason.” 

He’s glad Tim doesn’t look back when his chest gives a strange kick and his face heats. 

---

“I think it’s a good idea,” Roy says, half way through his salad and with no complaints. Jason feels a thrill of satisfaction as he watches all of them eat. The starving kid he once was never could have dreamed of being able to provide like this. “Beginnin’ with arrows is a good start, too. It gives you time to get used to things.” 

“You don’t mind?” Tim asks.

“Nah, man, it’s hardly a difficult task. All I have to do is be my usual awesome self, after all.” Roy winks. “You get a free show.” 

Jason scoffs. “You’ll scare ‘im off actin’ like that.” 

“No, it’s okay.” There’s a small smile playing across Tim’s face. “I think it’s funny.” 

“Hear that? He thinks yer a joke.” 

“One of these days you’re going to hurt my feelings, Jaybird. Then Tim or Kori will have to kiss it better.” 

“Not on yer life. He has higher standards than that.” 

Normally, Tim might take offense to someone speaking for him. In this case, he stifles a snicker into his hand and eats another bite of his salad. Kori shares a knowing smile with him across the table and proceeds to drown a single solitary leaf in a pool of dressing.   

“We can start tomorrow,” Roy says, when Jason has given up on his ribbing. “I’ll show you the shooting range and we can go from there. Sound good?” 

“Sounds good,” Tim agrees. 

If it were Bruce, he would be refusing Tim a chance to be anywhere near any weaponry. He would tell him he’s still too unstable, that he can’t be trusted. It’s freeing to be around people who know and accept that he might not be okay but are willing to let him try regardless. He’s not sure how Bruce thought keeping him confined was a sure fire way to return him to ‘normal’. It all seems so naive now. 

Did Bruce have an actual plan? Any time he asked he was always circumnavigated, to the point where running seemed the better option. He doesn’t regret leaving, but he does wish it could have been done with understanding instead of secrecy. 

Maybe by the time he sees him again, Tim will have proven him wrong in his assumption that he is uncontrolled and volatile. He’s not a danger to society; not a monster. 

With the Outlaw’s help, maybe he can find a way to be a part of a team again, after all. So long as the serum in his veins doesn’t necessitate his kill order.

Notes:

Spoilers: Tim talks about how the Joker tried to desensitize him to killing. He tells Roy and Jason that Joker brought innocent civilians in to be tortured, including children. Tim was given the choice to shoot them as a form of 'mercy' or to allow them to be tortured to death. After trying to shoot himself instead, the Joker forced him to watch as he lit a little girl on fire.

Some heavy stuff in this chapter but Jason is getting closer to the truth and Tim is getting more confidence in himself. Do you think it'll last through exposure therapy?

As always I adore hearing from you guys <3

Chapter 9: for strange celebrations

Summary:

To: Connor Kent > Tim Drake

I’m sorry.

To: Tim Drake > Connor Kent

Don’t hang up.

Notes:

don't ask me how I'm getting these out so fast bc I don't know

oh look, it's one of the moments you've all been waiting for

The targets are shaped like people. Tim knows that this is normal, knows that none of the Outlaws practice simply for fun. Their skills are honed to assess and retaliate against danger, if needed. You don’t earn accuracy ratings like Roy and Jason by only shooting at bullseyes. 

But the targets are shaped like people.

Not all of them, of course, but enough to draw Tim’s eye. Enough to notice the holes punched into the dummies; the marks of past practice. The Joker didn’t have dummies. He set up cardboard cutouts in all shapes and colors: Batman, Robin, Nightwing, Batgirl. And when Tim shot, when he thought it was safe because it was just cardboard, please, it hurts so much, surely just a cutout would be okay - The Joker brought him into the shooting range, let him see the bodies hidden behind the cutouts and laughed in his face. 

There is always a catch. 

Roy’s voice is cautious as he calls out, “Tim?” 

Tim becomes abruptly aware of the fact that at some point he’d approached one of the dummies. He can see the marks clearer now; little pockmarks from where this dummy has been well used. He has to nudge it, has to put his fingers in one of the holes and make sure . 

“It’s fine,” he says faintly. “I just - “ 

He turns and there is nothing but sad understanding on Roy’s face. It’s different from the looks he kept getting from Dick. Those were pitying, with a lack of comprehension. Dick is someone who can do terrible things when he is driven by emotion, but he always comes back from it with regret. Tim doesn’t regret what he did to the Joker. It is the fundamental difference that turned Bruce against him. The reason he lost what little he had left of his big brother. 

In the darker parts of him, the parts that know Junior is not so different, he knows that he took Dick and Damian out the way he did on purpose. If Dick was able bodied, he would never stop chasing him and Damian would never let him go alone. 

“I had to make sure.” 

“Come on, I’ll show you what’s in the rest.” 

Humiliation burns Tim’s face, but Roy doesn’t comment. He lets Tim prod at the dummies; opens bags to show him the sand inside; lets him look behind bullseye’s to make sure there’s nothing but air. It settles the anxiety in his veins, the nerves that thrum like a live wire. He feels less like he’s about to suffocate and more like he’s capable of handling what comes next. 

“I’m gonna shoot at the targets for now, instead of the dummies. If it gets to be too much at any point, just yell, okay?’ 

Tim nods. 

It’s clear from the moment that Roy takes up his bow that he was made for this. He exudes confidence in a quiet sort of way. His body seems to settle as he notches the first arrow, concentration narrowing in on the task at hand. It’s something of beauty, watching him shoot. It makes it easier to sit in the sand and watch. 

He flinches at the first thunk, and the second. Part of him expects a scream, but nothing comes. It gets easier as time goes on, as the flinches recede and the repetitive sound of arrow-leaving-string-to-meet-target matches in time with his heartbeat. 

When Roy turns to look at him, his grin is like sunshine. He practically glows , sweat damp and perfectly at ease. “Come on,” he says, as he swings his bow over his shoulder, “you can help collect ‘em.” 

It’s not an order, but a way out. Gratitude mixes with residual shame when Tim peers behind the targets to see nothing but air. 

“How was it for you?” Roy asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Because it was pretty great for me.” 

Tim snickers, sharp little ha ha ha’s that are there and gone in an instant; his face smoothes back into impassivity. “It was good. The targets were a solid start. I think I might be okay if Jason does something similar.” 

“Baby steps.” He throws an arm over Tim’s shoulders. “This was a huge win, dude, give yourself some credit! No panic attacks, no flashbacks. That’s amazin’!” 

“Oh.” Tim’s head ducks. He stares down at the ground with the barest of smiles, unable to hide how much the praise means to him. He’s not used to people giving him so much for so little. “I guess it is.” 

Roy jostles him lightly. “You’re damn right. I bet if you ask, Jay’ll make you a cake to celebrate.” 

“If you want cake that much, you could just ask him yourself.” 

“And miss out on the chance to see him trip all over himself to make it special? Nah.” 

“Why would he - “ Tim breaks off as the sight of the house comes into view. Jason is waiting on the porch, looking restless. His eyes fly over to them as they approach; some of the tension in his shoulders eases at their own lack of strain. 

“How’d it go?” 

“Well,” Tim says. 

Roy scoffs. “Try amazing! He watched me shoot at the bags and bullseyes for close to an hour without any problems.”

Jason’s grin is sharp and fleeting, like a shooting star. Tim finds himself smiling helplessly in its wake. “That’s great, baby bird.” 

“Yeah, thanks. I, uh,” he gets distracted by the pointed wave of Roy’s hands as he gets behind Jason. Roy mimes holding out a cake with his hands. He’s in the process of blowing out the imaginary candles when Jason turns to follow the focus of Tim’s eyes. 

“What’re ya doin’?” Jason says flatly. 

“Blowing you kisses,” comes the answer, without an ounce of shame. 

Tim snorts. “I was thinking maybe we could have a cake? To celebrate? If you’re willing to help make it, of course.”

Jason glances back at him. “Yeah, sure. What kind?” 

“Marble?” Roy starts miming something again. Tim squints in confusion. “With… whipped frosting?” 

Jason swats at Roy without looking. “Cut it out. It’s ‘is cake, not yers.” 

“I don’t mind whipped frosting,” Tim tells him. “Maybe with a strawberry layer?” 

“We’ve got strawberries left over, I can make a jam.” Jason turns to head inside and nearly collides with Roy in the process. “Goddammit, Roy, yer like a fuckin’ mutt, always underfoot.” 

“I’ve been called worse.” 

Tim follows them both up the stairs. He pauses to kick the sand from his shoes before setting them beside the door. “Do you need help?” 

“Nah, it’s yer cake. Not lettin’ someone work on their own cake is like an Alfred golden rule.” 

Something twists in Tim’s chest. He misses Alfred. “If you say so.” 

He parts from the two of them to go to his room. His laptop can hook up to the wifi now that he’s proven he’s not some sort of Batman ploy. He opens it, only to hesitate on the message app he used to use all the time. 

It’s hard to see all the old messages there. He clicks on Kon’s name and starts a new one before he can get sucked into the past. His cursor blinks back at him almost mockingly. 

To: Connor Kent

I don’t know what to say to you anymore

Sometimes I think about the old days, and I don’t recognize myself

I miss you

He takes a deep breath and presses his palms to his eyes. There are tears there, ones that slip past his closed eyelids to wet his scarred cheeks. He can feel the cuts on his hands and that’s enough to get him to take a deep breath, to wipe the tears away and put his fingers to the keyboard once more. 

To: Connor Kent > Tim Drake

I heard you were the one that helped wrap my hands in the desert. Thank you for not telling Bruce.

Tim doesn’t know if Superboy is out somewhere, saving the world. He has no idea if Kon will even want to talk to him, regardless of what Jason told him. He worries at the scar tissue on the inside of his cheek before bringing the laptop over to his bed. The sound is on, he’ll get an alert if there’s a reply. 

He’s barely laid down before a ringing bell has him jolting upright in surprise.

To: Tim Drake > Connor Kent

Dude!!!! We’re going to have a serious discussion about your communication skills. 

Of course I didn’t tell Bruce, you should know me better than that.

Guilt floods him. There was once a time when there was no doubt in his mind as to whose side Kon was on. He’s not sure when he started pushing away the people closest to him as a means to protect himself. Maybe it started even before Kon died. 

To: Connor Kent > Tim Drake

I’m sorry.

To: Tim Drake > Connor Kent

Don’t hang up.

Tim stares at the message in befuddlement before his screen lights up with a call. His heart seizes in panic but he can’t bring himself to reject it. His hand shakes as he accepts. 

His own image stares back at him from the corner, uncomfortable and dysphoric. He doesn’t like looking at himself anymore, if he ever did. Thankfully, the rest of the screen is predominantly made up of Kon’s face. He looks worried, brows knit and hair tousled like he’s been running his hands through it. 

Tim feels tears burn his eyes once more. 

“ Kon ,” he chokes out. 

“ Tim ,” he returns, with just as much emotion, “you really know how to scare a guy, you know that? Still just as reckless as ever.” 

His laughter is wet. “I’m not really jumping off buildings anymore.”

“No, just kicking it back with the Red Hood .”  

“I really don’t want to have another ‘what were you thinking’ lecture.” He wipes at his eyes uselessly; the tears just keep coming. “The Outlaws have been helpful, especially Jason.” 

“What’re the chances they won’t shoot me down if I come over there?” 

“Right now?” Tim snorts. “Miniscule. I could probably convince them with notice.”

“Would you?” 

He hesitates. If it were anyone else, he would say no. But this is Kon, his best friend, the man he almost cloned just to get back. “If you asked? Yes.” 

Kon lets out a shaky breath. There are tears running down his face and the sight puts Tim’s heart in a vice. He never wanted to cause pain, only to prevent it. “Gotta say, Rob, of all the ways you coulda left Bruce, this didn’t make the top of the list.” 

“I’m not Robin anymore,” Tim says softly. “I don’t think I ever will be again.” 

The knowledge seems to gut him. “Okay, that’s - okay.” He takes a shaky breath and scrubs at his face. “But you’re coming back, right?” 

“Kon, I’m compromised. I can’t - “ his jaw quivers as he blinks up at the ceiling. “My hands shake. My legs get weak. I get headaches and spasms. I can’t fight like this.” 

“Tim,” he whispers, “what happened, really? Bruce wouldn’t tell and I tried everyone. Dick, Cass, Babs. None of them would give me anything other than that you were back and recovering.” 

“It’s not a pretty story,” Tim warns. 

“I didn’t ask for pretty. I asked for the truth.” 

There’s a faith in Kon’s eyes that hurts. It’s the same faith that lead Tim to take up the mantle as leader of the Titans. There is a message in Kon’s eyes and it says I’m with you, no matter what. 

Tim closes his eyes and tells him. It’s not pretty and it’s not simple, but Kon listens through it all, cries with him through the deaths and torture. There’s no judgment when Tim tells him that he shot the Joker, only a savage approval that mirrors what Tim feels inside. 

He comes out of it with swollen eyes and a stuffy nose, temples throbbing in time with his heart beat; he’s tired and drained in more ways than one, but he comes out of it with his best friend, which leaves the rest irrelevant. 

“Don’t shut me out again,” Kon says fiercely, “you can’t do that to me again, Tim. Promise me.” 

“I promise,” he whispers. 

“I still want to know about your plans, but I have to go - there’s a Titan’s meeting.” He touches a hand to the screen, as if he could touch Tim through it. “Message me, okay? And think about talking to Bart, he misses you too.” 

“I will. Good luck.” 

The screen goes dark. Tim collapses back against his mattress and closes his eyes, feeling lighter somehow, as if an invisible weight has lifted off his shoulders. Kon isn’t the only one he needs to make things right with, but he’s all the energy he has for right now. 

His breathing evens out as he drifts into exhausted sleep. 

---

Junior opens his eyes to a darkened room. Outside, the shadows have overtaken the light as night falls. Tim slept through dinner. 

He lays on his back for a few long moments, staring up at the fan and wondering if it’s worth the effort of getting up. His head still hurts from Tim’s tears and his face feels sticky. His grumbling stomach weighs in to win the battle. 

His feet hit the floor. He doesn’t have training memories like Tim does, but their body remembers how to be silent on its own. He moves out of his room and down the hall soundlessly; a ghost haunting the living. 

There’s a plate set out for him on the counter with a little note. It says: For when you wake up. He ignores it to dig in. 

Fresh green beans crunch under his teeth. The butter on them melted hours ago, but it paints Junior’s lips in its oils. It feels almost like lipstick and the sensation puts him further at ease. The leftover chicken follows as his gaze wanders. It catches on another plate, further to the side. There’s a slice of cake on it, thick and run through with strawberry. The whipped frosting has melted some in the heat, but it looks no less delicious. Junior forces himself to finish his dinner before moving on to dessert. 

This was for Tim, he knows. For managing to sit through Roy’s practice. 

Junior scoffs. 

He’s never gotten cake before. Not for his first kill, not for the days he made his papa proud, and certainly not for when he just sat in one place. Junior was good. He did everything he was asked to do. He did his best to make the pain stop, to protect the body he was forced into. Nobody made things easier for him. Nobody offered to make him a cake for doing something so small. 

The cake turns to ash in his mouth. He shoves away from the stool to gulp down a glass of water instead. It takes a second glass to get rid of the sweet aftertaste. 

He doesn’t want to go back to Tim’s room yet and he doesn’t want to stay in a house where he does not belong. Roy and Kori were kind to him but he’s not the one they want around. 

Junior leaves out the front door. He follows the path back down to the beach and veers off towards the cliffs. It’s colder at the peak, but he’s never been outside like this before. He’s never seen the stars. 

They stretch out before him in all directions; the reflection of the water turns them into an endless expanse that dances over the breaking waves. The ocean is a dark sheet from up above, broken only by the froth of water meeting rock. He can hear the distant sound of it, a rumble with a never ending beat. He breathes in sea salt and fresh air. It’s so different from Gotham. He’s only ever been kept in rooms, inside and contained. The cuckoo bird his papa wanted. 

He draws his knees up to his chest to wrap his arms around them. His chin rests on top as the wind toys with his bangs. His hair is getting long again, after Tim cut the bleached strands off. The black is so boring but he doesn’t want to be green like papa, or pink and blue like his mama. Maybe red, if they could stomach it. The white wasn’t bad before it was dyed green, but would Jason think he’s making fun of him? 

Speak of the devil. 

There’s the crunch of rock behind him, purposeful in how loud it is. Junior turns his head to look and it’s Jason standing there, making his way closer one big step at a time. 

Junior swallows. Roy and Tim seem to think meeting Jason is a bad idea, but he can’t exactly run now. What’s going to happen to him if he introduces himself? He knows very well papa killed Jason. Will he want revenge? 

Junior is so tired of hurting. 

“Late t’ be out, doncha think?” 

Junior makes a low humming sound. Shit. What would Tim do? 

His arms wrap tighter around his knees as a shiver wracks his frame. He’s scared. He wants to go back to the house where he’s not wanted, to the room that isn’t his, where at least he won’t be held liable for his papa’s mistakes.  

There’s the rustle of fabric. A moment later, heavy leather falls over his shoulders, smelling of gunpowder and smoke. Junior stares down at it in utter bewilderment. 

“Said ya get cold easily. Stupid ‘t be out without a jacket.” Jason sits down beside him. A lighter is tossed between his hands, switching on and off at the swipe of a finger. 

“Sorry,” Junior mumbles in Tim’s voice. He watches him out of the corner of his eye, confused as to what’s happening. The jacket is warm though and he wraps it further around himself when Jason doesn’t try to take it back. “How’d ya - how did you find me?” 

“Set up an alarm the first night ya got here. Tells me if anyone leaves the house.” 

“Oh.” Batman had surveillance too, though his was much more invasive. Microphones, cameras. Even an ankle bracelet, at one point. “Sorry.” 

“Said that already.” 

He ducks his head further under the jacket collar. 

It’s quiet for a few long moments, with nothing but the sound of the lighter and the waves below between them. 

“I don’t smoke anymore,” Jason finally muses, “but it's habit t’ carry the lighters. Gets some ‘a the tension out when my fingers itch for a cig.” 

Junior prods at the sleeping part of his mind that he knows as Tim . It stirs but does not wake. 

“Here, try it.” 

He finds himself staring once more. Jason’s hand is huge compared to his own; thick where Junior’s are slender, with plenty of scars. His knuckles are shiny and the skin is uneven from where it’s healed over and over again after breaking on someone’s face.

Junior reaches out slow, like it’s a trick. When his fingertips touch the warmed metal, he retreats with in tow like a wary animal taking food from a stranger. The surface is scratched. The metal is discolored with age, in what he can make out through the shadows. It’s old; well loved. 

Is this a test? 

He flicks the striker, half expecting it to blow up in his face. Papa had a lot of tricks like that. Flowers that spat poisons at you when you smelled them; guns that shot everything but an actual bullet; gas that made you laugh instead of die. The flame lights. The line of it wavers under the sea breeze, threatening to go out. He lets go of the button giving it fuel and does it again. And again. It hurts the tips of his fingers but he finds it distracts from the anxiety.  

Jason gives a satisfied sound and picks up a stray rock to twist around instead. “What’re ya doin’ out here, anyway? Have a nightmare?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Don’t wanna talk?” 

Not true, but it’s the safer option. 

Jason picks up on his hesitation. “No nightmare, but ya wanna talk. Okay.” His shoulder bumps against Junior’s. “Ya gonna give me more t’ go off of there?” 

“Dying,” he says, careful to match every syllable to Tim’s perfect diction, “what was it like?” 

There’s silence. 

He shrinks further into himself, sure that he’s overstepped somehow. Jason sighs and tosses the rock in his hand over the edge. 

“Painful, until it wasn’t. Not really peaceful. You have t’ exist t’ be peaceful, and death is just nothingness, ya know? I remember I was scared and then it was over. And then I was wakin’ up in my grave and scared all over again.” 

Junior hums. 

“Why’d ya ask?” 

“He,” Junior says, because he cannot trust himself not to say papa , “he was scary.” 

“Yeah. He was.” 

I didn’t want to kill him but I didn’t want him to live either. I just wanted to be free. 

“The vats,” he gestures up to the splatters of stark white that still stain his face, “they were the worst.” 

“The vats,” Jason echoes. His eyes widen as he connects the dots, “the chemical vats? The ones that made him inta that?” 

He nods. 

“I think - I think I drowned. He tossed me in and I tried so hard not to panic, but he - “ these are the memories that hurt the most. The points in time when it’s undeniable that the Joker was papa and papa was the Joker. Junior wasn’t made out of the type of love that nurtures, if he was made out of any sort of love at all. He was an obsessive note to the Batman, signed in bloodstained hearts with a cut out smile. “Sometimes he would throw buckets of it on me and laugh when I screamed. He stopped after ma - after Har - after she told him it could infect the cuts on my face.”

Sometimes the burns felt like things to be proud of; lessons he’d endured. Other times they felt like shame.

“I remember, though. I remember being scared and then feeling nothing, only t’ be scared again. Just like ya said.”  

“Shit.” Jason drags a hand down his face. His laugh is helpless. “We’re a hell‘a a pair, ain’t we?”

Junior giggles, high pitched and reckless. He muffles it in his knees, where he can hide his smiling face. The lighter is warm against his palm when he squeezes it. It takes a while for his laughter to taper out. When he finally lifts his face, Jason is looking at him with an expression he doesn’t understand. 

“Come on,” Jason says, as he hefts himself up. He holds out a hand to help Junior up with him. “‘S late. We should get back before Roy ‘an Kori find ya missin’ and have a conniption.” 

Junior nods and hands the lighter over. He goes to do the same to the jacket only to earn a shake of the head. 

“Keep it fer now. Don’t need ya gettin’ a cold.”

His fingers close around the edges of the jacket, holding it closer now that he’s been allowed. It’s big and heavy on him; he loves it. 

“Thanks,” Junior says, when they make it to the door. 

“No problem. And Junior?” 

He realizes he’s fucked up even as he’s turning back to respond to the name. His eyes meet Jason’s and instead of anger, there’s a strange smile on his face. 

“Suprisin’ly okay ‘t meetcha. Don’t stab my Outlaws.” 

“I won’t,” Junior tells him, before he’s even come up with a response in his head. 

Jason’s smile widens into a smirk before he turns to walk away. The click of the lighter follows him before Junior slinks back into the house, a ghost once more. 

Notes:

I'm going to be honest, this chapter went a lot of places I didn't expect but it's one of my favorites. Kon inserted himself in there without asking and who was I to deny him? As for Junior and Jason, they did their own thing. I know a lot of people wanted to see more of him, so I hope you enjoyed it!

If you've noticed the chapter count, I can say that I've outlined the rest of this story and am reasonably certain it'll cap at 18 chapters, maybe with an epilogue for 19.

PS: if you've left a comment and I haven't responded yet I am a terrible procrastinator but love and appreciate all of them

Chapter 10: for communicative traces

Summary:

He’s still fuzzy about the end of his torture, but he’s pretty sure both of them pulled the trigger that ended the Joker’s life. Maybe it’s time he stopped treating Junior like a monster and more like another victim. 

Notes:

I know it hasn't been that long since the last update but you know what it's been an awful few days and I need the serotonin so fuck it

thank you to everyone who has left comments, whether you're a repeat offender or a first timer. They all make me smile and are the reason this was written so quickly <3

Jason’s opinion on Junior probably shouldn’t matter as much as it does. In fact, Tim is almost positive that it definitely shouldn’t. Then again, Tim is arguably insane some days, so he isn’t sure that it actually matters. 

He thinks that some part of him was holding out hope that Jason would take a fierce aversion to his other half. With the approval of Roy and Kori, Jason was his last real hope. It’s hard to view Junior as pure evil with three people who have every right to hate him telling Tim that he’s okay. 

He doesn’t really have any reason to hate Junior, anymore. The torture wasn’t his fault and the conditioning wasn’t his idea. The attack on Dick and Damian wasn’t premeditated. It was a reflex; one that Tim knows very well could have been deadly. 

He doesn’t remember much of his days back at the manor; that period of time was when Junior was at the forefront and Tim has a lot of holes. He knows that Junior hurt Bruce, only because he remembers bruises on his face. He knows that Junior screamed at them all, only because his throat hurt the next day. He knows that the predominant emotion throughout it all was fear, because it lingered in his bones hours after Junior gave way to Tim . 

Not being in control of his body for even a small period of time is terrifying to Tim. He hates not knowing what’s happening. He hates opening his eyes to unknown amounts of time lost to him. He hates being scared that one day he won’t open his eyes at all - or, worse still: that one day he’ll open his eyes to find that everyone around he loves is dead. 

He’s still fuzzy about the end of his torture, but he’s pretty sure both of them pulled the trigger that ended the Joker’s life. Maybe it’s time he stopped treating Junior like a monster and more like another victim. 

---

Tim goes to Jason because out of all of the Outlaws, out of all of the Robins , he thinks his opinion in this is the most important. Jason was killed by the Joker and if he can look at Junior - Joker Junior - and say that he’s okay, then Tim will take his word for it. He trusts him more than Bruce, who cannot look past the blood on his hands. He trusts him more than Dick, who is biased due to the fact that the body Junior is in is Tim’s too. More than Alfred. More than Babs. Maybe not more than Cass, but just as much. 

It’s why he waits halfway down the path to Jason’s house, just on the verge of seeing it through the trees. He knows that Jason is protective of spaces that are his own and the fact that Tim has not seen the inside of his house is a very pointed choice. He knows what it’s like to have the few boundaries he has pushed and he doesn’t want to hurt Jason that way. He doesn’t want to hurt Jason at all.  

So he waits, bundled up under the jacket Jason gave Junior, because ever since then it’s been hard to feel warm without it. Roy told him Jason was working on something at his house. It takes maybe an hour for Jason to come down the path and by then Tim has sat down, back pressed up against a palm tree as he verges on the edge of a doze. He scrambles up to his feet as soon as he notices Jason, who looks a little like a deer in the headlights. 

“Tim?” He pauses to take him in, head cocked to the side like he’s trying to solve a problem. “Why’re ya here?” 

“I was waiting for you,” Tim says, “I didn’t want to impose.” 

There’s a complicated expression on Jason’s face. Shock, embarrassment, gratitude. A multitude of microexpressions that Tim is still learning how to decode. “You could’ve knocked.” 

“It’s your house , Jason.” 

Tim has never really had a chance to figure out what making a home means, but his own lack of experience does not make him blind to how important a home is to people like Jason. 

Jason reads between the lines, like he so often does. His eyes soften, though his mouth pinches with embarrassment. He thinks wanting to keep something to himself is a form of weakness; Tim can understand why, having grown up with Bruce. 

“Thanks,” Jason mumbles. “What did ya need?” 

“I wanted your help. I know it isn’t exactly fair to you, knowing what the Joker did, but you’re the most impartial partial party I could think of.”

“Okay. What does that mean?” 

“I want to try to connect with Junior and I want you to be there in case things go bad.” 

Jason stares at him for a few long moments. There’s another complicated expression, this one harder to dissect and gone faster than the first. “Okay,” he says again, “but first I have somethin’ t’ show ya.” 

Tim blinks as Jason turns back the way he came; it takes him a moment to realize he’s expected to follow. He thinks he’s probably more nervous than Jason is when they approach the front porch. This is new territory, territory that Tim knows little of how to traverse. 

Jason stomps up the stairs, loosening the sand from his boots. Tim follows the action, but a bit quieter. When Jason takes off his shoes and sets them just inside the front door, Tim does the same. Then they’re inside and Tim can’t help but stare. 

Everything looks so… normal, at first glance. The walls are painted a soft gray, with wood trim painted in a darker accent shade. There are photos on the walls of Roy and Kori; Bizarro and Artemis; Babs when she and Jason were younger; Alfred. Beside them are others Tim doesn’t know: a wizened old woman next to a Jason Todd that could not have been long from the pit; another woman, this one almost alien with white braids and a pitch black expanse for eyes; someone who bears a distant resemblance to Slade Wilson, who is probably one of his sons; a group of people that look like they could be members of the RH gang. Everyone one is a look at a side of Jason Todd Tim has never seen and he immediately understands why Jason didn’t want him here.  

There are a few weapons hanging up that seem to hold some sort of importance. A set of ancient looking swords; a gun that has seen far better days; a few odd looking shuriken. They dot the walls like artwork and Tim finds himself quietly enchanted. 

The kitchen is large and one Alfred would approve of. There’s a double set of ovens, what Tim thinks might be a chiller, and several other appliances he doesn’t know the name of; all look spotless against the dark countertops. There’s a table to match the largeness of the kitchen, with comfortable looking benches on either side. The rest of the room opens up into a living room, with a huge L-shaped couch.

There’s a subtle lack of green, save for the large leafy plant that sits beside the TV. 

Jason looks distinctly embarrassed as they pass it all. 

“It’s in my office,” he tells him, as they move down a hallway and into a side room. There’s four large monitors set up in front of an equally large desk. Maps dot the room, with pins in some places and taped up evidence beside them. It feels comfortable, like falling back in with an old friend. 

Jason takes one look at the single desk chair and spins around to grab one of the kitchen stools. “Probably wanna sit down fer this,” he mutters, “jus’ try not t’ break anythin’.” 

The comfort is starting to fade as it’s replaced with concern instead.

“When I went to Gotham, I met with Babs.” Jason leans down to let one of the top drawers do an orbital scan. There’s a code next before it opens to allow him to procure an innocuous looking flash drive. “She gave me this; said it had some recordings on it of your recovery.” 

“Okay,” Tim says slowly. “Why would I be mad about that?” 

“She said some of ‘em are from Leslie.” 

All at once, he understands. There’s a wave of dismay and betrayal, but it’s not directed at Babs, exactly. Yes, he hates the idea of anyone but him seeing such awful, vulnerable moments, but he’d known when he gave the Outlaws videos of his torture that he’d have to get over it. It’s more that Bruce got Leslie to break the rules, to record him at his weakest so he could judge his progress. It’s not a surprise, exactly. But it does hurt. 

“Why’d she give them to you?” 

“I think she wanted me ‘t know what we were dealin’ with, if we ran into any problems. She asked me ‘t watch out fer ya and not t’ use it against ya but I haven’t been able t’ bring myself t’ look at any of it.” Jason shrugs. “It felt wrong, you not knowin’.” 

Tim’s throat closes up. It’s hard to say anything past it, but he tries. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has done for me, since what happened. Maybe even before.” 

“Yeah,” Jason says, with the full knowledge of what Bruce is capable of, “I bet.” 

“You think that’ll help me understand Junior?” 

“I don’t know, I haven’t looked. But it’s a start, right?” 

“Yeah. I guess it is.” 

 

He’s lying on a hospital bed in the batcave. His wrists and ankles are strapped down and there’s an IV in his arm. He opens his eyes to stare at the woman at his bedside. 

“Tim?” She asks. “Are you with me?” 

His mouth stretches wide, threatening to tear the stitches in his cheeks. Leslie sucks in a sharp breath and Junior laughs and laughs and laughs. 

 

“Antidote administration, dose three,” Bruce says to the camera. 

Junior screams when he approaches. He thrashes against his bindings as Alfred and Leslie try helplessly to hold him down. Bruce has to switch off with Alfred just to hold him still enough to get a proper vein. 

His screams turn into sobs as the syringe depresses. 

“No,” he moans, “no, I don’t want it. Please.” 

Bruce comes back to the camera, grim faced. “Dose four to be administered in six days.” 

 

“I’ll kill ya!” Junior screams at Bruce, as his fists hit against the safety glass of his cell. “I’ll kill ya all!”

Bruce is sporting an impressive black eye and a broken nose. He cuts the sound out on the cell as Dick hands him an ice pack. 

“He’s going to hurt himself,” Dick says. 

Bruce sounds exhausted as he slumps down into a desk chair. “I can’t tie him down. He was fighting the restraints so hard he almost broke his own wrist.”

Dick watches as Junior paces from one end of the cell to the next. He pauses as his head swivels to track something unseen before he laughs and starts to pace again. Ten minutes ago Junior was covering his ears and screaming. Thirty minutes before that he was talking to someone who wasn’t there. His moods are erratic and confusing. No one knows how to help. 

“Tim,” Dick says over the speaker, “we’re just trying to help. Try to calm down.” 

Junior crawls under the bed and covers his ears. 

 

"Tim, do you know where you are?” Leslie asks, from her chair across from the couch. 

Tim stares blankly at something to her left. 

“Can you tell me what you remember?” 

Still nothing. 

“I heard you’re going to be moved to your room soon, how do you feel about that?” 

“Not my room,” Junior says. 

“Tim - “

His expression changes, becoming twisted with anger where it was blank before. “Not my name.” 

“What is your name, then?” 

“Papa called me Junior,” he says, as his eyes start to slip away again, “but papa is dead.” 

“You don’t have to be Junior anymore. You can be Tim again, if you want.” 

Junior’s breathing starts to pick up. “Stop it! I don’t wanna be punished!” 

“No one is going to punish you - “ 

“I want ta go home!” He yells. “Where’s Mama? I’ll kill the bats and we can - we can be free - “ 

“Harley is in the hospital,” Leslie says gently, “killing the people that care for you won’t help. Do you understand that?” 

“I don’t - “ Junior’s face contorts. He clutches at his head with a pained grimace. “Stop it!” 

“Tim - “

“Not my name!” 

“Junior,” she tries again, “I’m trying to help you - “ 

“That’s what they all say before they stab me with needles and - and tie me down and lock me in boxes - “ 

“I can see why that would be upsetting, but the antidote is helping you get better and the restraints were for your own safety.” 

Junior’s eyes begin to sweep the room, looking for an escape. There’s no windows, only a single door. He gets up to try it and finds that it’s locked. 

“Junior, I need you to sit down.” 

“Let me out! I don’t wanna be here!” 

There’s a buzzer and the sound of a voice: “Leslie? Are you - “

She hits the mute button, but it’s too late. Junior has heard Bruce Wayne’s voice, and he’s inconsolable. He throws himself against the door, again and again, before he sinks to the floor with his head in his hands. His sobs turn into laughter until Leslie puts on the rebreather Bruce gave her and the room fills with gas. 

 

"Papa kept me locked up too, ya know,” Junior tells an agonized looking Bruce, “in a room with no windows, jus’ like this one. When I was bad, he’d keep me there fer days.”

“It’s for your own safety.” 

“No.” Junior’s teeth flash in an unkind smile. “It’s fer yers.” 

 

Small traces of Tim continue to surface with every day that passes. Whether this is due to the antidote or due to his healing mind is unknown. His symptoms present similar to that of someone with DID, but science says this is impossible. The alter who has told me his name is ‘Junior’ does not like discussing Tim. He grows frantic and scared when asked about him and is sure he’s going to be punished. I assume this was part of the Joker’s conditioning. 

I’ve broached the topic of J’onn with Bruce, but he seems reluctant. He doesn’t want anyone else involved, but I fear this is not a case I can solve on my own. Only the Joker and Harley know what Tim was put through, and one is dead, the other comatose. 

I fear the kindest thing might be to let Tim remain in his own mind. Bruce, of course, will hear nothing of this. 

I can prescribe no medication at the moment, for fear of how it will interact with the drugs already in his system. There are still too many unknowns. All I can do is continue to encourage him to talk and work through his conditioning against the bats.

 

“Timmy, you need to eat,” Dick says. 

Junior does not move out from under the bed. “No.” 

“Tim - “ 

“I’m not Tim and I’m not takin’ anythin’ from ya!” 

“Okay, little bird, I won’t call you that. But you need to eat.” Dick pushes the plate on the floor a bit closer to the bed. “If you won’t eat, we’ll have to use a feeding tube. You can’t keep going like this.” 

“Maybe I’d eat if ya’d let me go,” Junior snaps. 

“You know we can’t do that.” 

For how sick he is, Junior moves fast. One moment he’s under the bed, the next he’s picking up the plate to launch it at the glass wall. The plastic bounces off harmlessly, but the same cannot be said for the rice dish Alfred made with a recovering stomach in mind. 

“Get out!” He screams. “Get out, get out, get out!” 

Dick makes the mistake of trying to touch him and his screams turn into sobs. He flinches back and away, arms held up as if to ward off a blow. Dick looks sick as he picks up the plate and spoon before hurrying out the door. 

“Mama,” Junior cries, “I’m sorry, Mama, please don’t leave me here.” 

 

There are tears rolling down Tim’s cheeks but he’s not sure if they’re his or Junior’s. There’s a sort of awareness forming at the back of his head, edging closer inch by inch, as if unable to resist the pull. It feels heavy and a bit scary but not in a way that makes him feel like he’s dangerous. More in the way that loss of control unsettles him. 

He wipes at his face and nods for Jason to keep going. 

 

" Junior,” Leslie says softly, “can you tell me why you hate Bruce?” 

“I - I don’t - “ Junior looks awful. His hair is greasy, like he hasn’t showered in several days, and there are deep bruises under his eyes. His face is gaunt and there are scratches on his cheeks near where his stitches are. His focus seems to face in and out, from something that is more Junior-Tim than solely Junior. “He left us. Everythin’ - it all happened ‘cause ‘a him.” 

He buries his face in his hands as he begins to laugh helplessly. “Three - ha ha - three months. He didn’t come, he never comes when we need him. NEVER!” There are tears spilling over onto his cheeks and yet his smile is more grimace than mirth. “Did everythin’ right, even kept ‘im safe an’ - ha HA - ‘e locked us up!” 

“Your containment isn’t forever,” Leslie tries to tell him, but Junior is past the point of listening. 

His head twists around the room, as if trying to find the camera he’s sure is there. “Ya hear that, ya bastard?! Even after everythin’ we kept ya alive and ya did this to us! Ya coward! I’ll gut ya with my bare hands! I’ll shoot ya full ‘a holes! I’ll - “ his words turn into indistinguishable screams. His cheeks start bleeding as he rips his stitches and Leslie hurries to hit the switch for the gas. 

Junior doesn’t try to fight back. 

 

“I don’t want to be here,” Junior says listlessly. It’s clear he’s not really talking to anyone. His head is leaned up against the wall and there’s no one in sight. “I want - I want to go home. Take me home." 

No one answers as he begins to cry.

 

Somehow, Tim ends up on the floor. There’s what could be shouting as careful hands cradle the back of his head. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s having a seizure and the hands are Jason’s, keeping him from braining himself on the floor. There are tears still streaming down his face and it’s hard to breathe as his limbs jerk without his control. 

The awareness at the back of his mind shies away from the distress. There’s a distinct feel of loss or loneliness, like he’s lost something. It makes his head hurt. 

He’s exhausted by the time the seizing stops. He can’t find much energy to do more than grasp weakly at Jason’s shirt when he’s lifted up into his arms. 

“Sorry,” Jason is saying, “fuck, I’m sorry - “

“S’okay,” Tim thinks he slurs. 

“It is so not okay - “ 

He wants to comfort him but he’s so, “Tired.” 

The world fades to black.

---

Tim isn’t entirely aware for the next few days. His consciousness swims in and out between periods of blinding pain. He’s vaguely aware of hushed voices around him and intermittent touches. Someone cleans his face with a wet towel and lays a cool cloth over his eyes; it feels nice in the blurry minutes that he is aware of it. Every now and then a hand will hold the back of his head to help him take small sips of water. He thinks maybe he takes a few bites of something, or even drinks some soup, but he’s not sure. 

For three days, he sweats and shakes and endures through one of the worst episodes he’s had since his initial recovery.

When he wakes on the fourth day, he’s exhausted. His head is blissfully, wonderfully, painless. Every other inch of his body hurts and he is full of aches and pains, but he is without headache. 

He takes a moment to flex his sore jaw. He curls and uncurls his fingers and toes. His legs are shaky when he moves to get out of bed; they nearly collapse from under him when he stands before he manages to stagger forward, towards the bathroom. 

He resolutely ignores the mirror inside to head immediately for the shower. While the water warms, he empties his protesting bladder. Sometimes he has trouble with water but his body is too exhausted to put up a fuss when he steps under the shower spray. He’s spent, physically and emotionally. He has to sit down on the shower bench and just breathe as the water does the work of untensing his muscles.

He thinks maybe he got sick at some point, but he can’t really remember. His mouth feels disgusting though, so he forces himself to stand to grab his toothbrush from the counter. He tries to remember what happened as he slowly and mechanically scrubs at his teeth. 

Jason, sitting beside him as they went through Babs’ flash drive. Jason’s hands on the back of his head, keeping him from hurting himself. Jason’s arms carrying him as he fell asleep.

He supposes the episode makes sense, in some ways. There’s a reason Junior exists and if he functions similar to how Tim knows dissociative disorders to work, then Tim isn’t supposed to have the memories that he does; in doing this, he’s messing with the parts of his brain that are trying to protect him. He’s come across similar issues when watching some of the videos on his later torture, when he was far less aware. He’s not sure if what he’s done is progress but the part of him that he knows as Junior feels less distant. It’s not exactly contact, but it’s a start. 

He spits into the drain and rinses his toothbrush before going through the slow process of washing himself. It feels good to get rid of the sticky feeling of sweat. His eyes are still puffy and exhausted when he washes his face, but he feels more alert when he’s done. 

He leaves his clothes in a pile to be dealt with later. When he exits the bathroom, Kori is waiting on the other side. 

“Tim,” she says, “how do you fare?” 

“Tired but okay, I think.” He sits down on the bed with an obvious air of exhaustion. Getting dressed seems like a monumental task. “Sorry to worry you.” 

She shakes her head. “I am simply glad you’re well. Would you like clothes?” 

“Please.” 

He’s too tired to be embarrassed when she helps slide a soft sweater down over his head. He scrubs the water from his hair before it can wet the collar and lets her help him into a set of soft gray sweatpants. 

“I will bring you food,” she tells him, “you must rest more. Your hands are shaking.” 

He stares down at his fingers to find that she’s right. He must lose time, because the next time he looks up, she’s there with a plate of toast and some fruit. He mumbles his gratitude and eats slowly. He gets through half the plate before his eyes start to droop. He has to lay down again, or risk falling down. 

Her fingers brush against his forehead as he slips back into sleep. 

---

The next time he wakes, he feels more alert. He has to use the bathroom again before he goes wandering down the hall to look for the others. He finds Kori on the porch, soaking up the fading sunlight. She beams at the sight of him and sits up. 

“Tim! You are awake once more!” 

“Yeah, thanks for taking care of me.” He smiles sheepishly. “Where’re Roy and Jay?” 

“Jason is having a bad day,” Kori says sadly, “he doesn’t like leaving his house on bad days so Roy has been keeping him company. It is hard for him to be near me because the fire reminds him of the explosion.” 

“Oh. I didn’t even think - “ he sits down beside her. “That sucks. For both of you.” 

“I believe an earthling might say something along the lines of ‘it is what it is.’” 

His mouth twitches. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

“Roy will need to make dinner soon. I think he’d feel better about things if someone was able to sit with Jason while he’s away.” 

Tim hesitates. As much as he wants to see Jason and apologize for his episode, as well as the ‘bad day’ he has a sneaking suspicion is his fault, he’s hesitant to cross any potential boundaries. Being welcomed into Jason’s house once doesn’t automatically give him a free pass.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make things worse.” 

“If Jason does not want you there, he will say so.” 

He doesn’t tell her that being rejected by Jason Todd is a terrifying experience and one he’s not eager to experience again. She’s looking at him with open, kind eyes and he can’t deny her or his wish to make sure Jason is okay. 

“Alright,” he says, before standing. “I’ll go check on them.” 

“Thank you, Tim.” 

He nods and starts down the path. He does his best not to think on his way to the house, sure that he’ll work himself into a panic if he does that. The front steps come both too soon and not soon enough. He doesn’t forget to take his shoes off before stepping inside. There’s the sound of voices from deeper in the house before what he assumes is Jason’s bedroom door opens to let Roy peek out into the hall.  

“It’s just Tim, Jaybird,” Roy calls over his shoulder, “give me a sec to talk to him and I’ll be right back.” The door closes behind Roy as he fixes Tim with a tired smile. “Nice to see you up and about. Did Kori send you?” 

He nods. “I don’t want to impose, she just - she said you had to make dinner and maybe I could sit with Jason while you do that?” 

“It’d make me feel better,” Roy admits, “let me ask him.” 

He disappears back into the room. There’s the sound of a hushed conversation, one that Tim does his best not to listen to, before the door opens once more. 

“Okay,” Roy says. “I’ll be back in, like, thirty minutes tops. Yell if something happens.” 

Tim nods again and then he’s gone. He hesitates outside of Jason’s room for a moment before forcing himself to take a step inside. The bathroom light is on and there’s a night light beside the dresser. The walls are white and one of them is taken up by a large bay window. It is, Tim realizes, as open and airy as possible. The opposite of a coffin. 

“Jay?” He says softly. 

Jason makes a small sound. He’s laying on his side on the bed, but his eyes are open when Tim bends to look. He looks as exhausted as Tim feels, with dark circles and bloodshot eyes. He keeps looking at something over Tim’s shoulder before dragging his eyes back to his face. 

“I just wanted to - I didn’t mean to intrude.” Tim chews on the inside of his cheek. “Do you need anything?” 

There’s the briefest shake of his head. 

“Okay,” he breathes, “that’s okay. I’ll, um, I can wait outside until Roy gets back if you don’t want me in here?” 

“Stay,” Jason croaks. His voice sounds awful, like he’s been screaming just as much as Tim has. 

“Okay,” Tim repeats, “can I join you?” 

A miniscule nod.

Tim crawls into the empty side of the bed. He’s careful not to touch Jason as he lays down on his side, facing him. He lays one hand on the bed, in the space between them. His other, he tucks under his cheek. 

It’s an eternity of watching Jason watch him, breathing in the same air, feeling the minute shivers of Jason’s frame shake the bed. Slowly, Jason’s hand shifts. His fingers curl around Tim’s and squeeze, ever so slightly. 

Tim exhales and squeezes back. 

“Stay,” Jason says again. 

“I will.” 

It takes a long time for Jason’s eyes to close. Tim never lets go of his hand.

Notes:

watching all this torment is starting to affect Jason more than he can hide - I figured it was about time he got some comfort as well

Chapter 11: for victorious salutations

Summary:

"We didn’t do things right. We didn’t listen to you, I can see that now. I’ve had a lot of talks with Barbara and Cass and I can see why you thought it was better to run. I just wish I wasn’t the one to push you to do it.”

“You weren’t. No, listen, Dick, you weren’t .” He leans forward towards the screen and slices his hand through the air before Dick can argue. “It was hard, yeah, being around any of you, but you’re not the one that locked me in a cage. I know Bruce is convincing when he wants to be so I—I know you were doing your best.”

“Tim,” Dick says softly. “You don’t have a great track record of holding the ones who hurt you accountable.” 

Notes:

The only thing I'm going to say about this chapter taking so long is: depression? we know her. Chapter plan? Don't know her.

I went back and did some editing on previous chapters to fix some continuity errors. Nothing huge that should require a re-read but you can if you want.

This chapter was up and down all the way and I honestly just wanted it to be over despite it having some of my favorite scenes. I've been reading a lot of Ionaperidot's JJ!Tim fics to get back in the swing for this and I can definitely recommend. They're batfam centric but worth a read.

There’s a notebook on Tim’s desk. It has no locks, though he itches to fix that. It’s simple stationary, with an elegant leather cover. If he flips through the pages fast enough, the scent of it is enough to cause a twinge of nostalgia. Leather doesn’t smell the same as kevlar but it reminds him of other things—learning how to drive with Dick, mainly. 

Somewhere in his closet back at the manor, he still has the first motorcycle jacket Dick ever gave him; a graduation present for the first ride they ever took together. It doesn’t fit that well anymore, now that Tim has grown a few inches and his shoulders have gained the small bit of broadness puberty deemed fit to grace him with, but he’s never been good at getting rid of the gifts given to him by people who seem to care. 

In the manor, Tim would hide the notebook behind no less than three locks and two hidden compartments. Letting it sit out feels like he’s just asking for someone to rifle through his things and for close to a week, he compulsively checks every angle and page for any sign of disturbance. For six days, the notebook sits on top of his desk, in plain sight, and for six days, no matter how long he spends outside of his room, no matter how many chances he gives for someone to sneak in, nobody tries to sneak a look. 

He feels a bit ashamed when it’s all over and done with. It’s something Bruce would do, with his mind games, and he’d probably find a way to spin either scenario a negative way. Touch the notebook and you don’t trust him enough. Don’t touch the notebook and you trust him too much, what if he was an imposter? Tim doesn’t want to be like Bruce, so he forces himself to open to the second page and put pen to paper.

Hello, I am writing to you to—

No. Too business-like. 

Hello, he tries again. I think we should—  

Is it too presumptuous to use that kind of language? He’s been told before that he can be pushy—mainly by Steph—and she would know, wouldn’t she, having dated him? 

This is why he always keeps his emails short and business-only. He’s never written a letter before and he certainly doesn’t know how one goes about addressing their-traumatized-other-half after they were traumatized further by the people that were supposed to have Tim’s best interests at heart. 

I’m sorry feels like too heavy and too blase a statement all at once. Tim knows what happened wasn’t his fault and this is supposed to be a healthy form of communication, he can’t let himself become a target of flagellation. 

He huffs out a breath and forces himself not to rip out the page even as he crosses out all the lines. He closes the notebook and sets aside his pen. 

He’ll try again tomorrow. 

---

Hello, Tim writes, as we have not been properly introduced before, I am Timothy Drake. It is my understanding that you like to be called Junior, but please correct me if that remains false. I am writing to you because I think I have done research on the topic of dissociative identity disorders, but as we are not in the age range of when these disorders form, I am hesitant to claim the diagnosis. Our situation should be impossible, from science’s standpoint. We are a unique case, and I am at a loss as to how to handle this. It would please I would like to get to know you better, if you’re amenable. 

We should not 

I do not think

We’re stronger together. Please write back with your thoughts. 

“How’s it comin’?” Jason asks, as he checks over one of his pistols. He’s been a lot more subdued in some ways, since the night Tim spent helping him through an episode, and a lot more open in others. Whatever test Tim passed, he’s glad of it. 

“It’s getting there,” Tim sighs. “It’s just—difficult. What do you say to someone you don’t know, yet continues to inhabit your body? Everything sounds too forced, or impersonal.” 

Jason loads the gun with well practiced fingers. “Maybe it’s supposed t’ be impersonal. Like meetin’ someone for the first time. Or maybe ya should treat it like havin’ a penpal.” 

“I’ve never had a penpal.” 

“Well, fuck, neither have I but I know how it works.” He tosses a set of noise muffling headphones his way; Tim catches them out of the air. “Treat ‘im like a person. Let ‘im get ‘t know ya.” 

“Like a diary,” Tim says skeptically. 

“Yeah, sure. You ready?” 

He nods and sets his book aside. He slides the protection over his ears, gives a second nod and watches as Jason takes up a normal stance. Strong core, shoulders and back straight, hands steady. The gunshots are muffled. They don’t light Tim’s stomach up with panic anymore. Instead, there’s something else in its place. Something warm and a bit fizzy, like pop rocks dissolving.

Tim focuses on taking deep, even breaths. He matches it to Jason’s own breathing unconsciously. It isn’t until he’s watching Jason’s chest rise while he feels his own do the same that he even realizes he’s done it in the first place. 

Jason glances over when he’s run out of bullets. One of his eyebrows quirks when he finds Tim already staring at him. “You fallin’ asleep on me, babybird?”

Tim reaches up to tug his ear protection off. He catches the tail end of the sentence, low and raspy in ways he tries not to linger on. He’s used to reading lips, so he has no problem answering. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Still, ya seem t’ be doin’ better. Haven’t seen ya flinch once.” 

“It’s getting easier,” he admits, “you were right about finding ways to work around triggers.” 

“Yeah? Maybe we should try somethin’ different then.” 

“Like?” 

Jason puts the gun down. His shoulders roll before he falls into a deceptively relaxed stance. “Spar with me,” he says, as he reaches down to help him up.

Tim already has his hand in Jason’s when he registers what’s just been said. He stiffens, but the tightening grip ensures he can’t retreat. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Dead serious.” There’s the flash of a canine; a flicker of humor that’s there and gone in the next instant.

“That’s not funny.” 

“I disagree.” 

“Jason,” Tim warns, as he’s tugged towards the indoor mats, “I can’t spar with you. It’s been almost half a year since I trained seriously and I’ve lost way too much muscle to keep up. Not to mention the fact that some days I can barely stand.” 

“Okay,” Jason says easily. “You’ve listed all the reasons ya shouldn’t. Now how about the reasons ya should?” 

“The reasons why I—should?” 

“Yeah. Use that big brain of yers and tell me why sparrin’ is a good idea.” 

His lips purse as he gives Jason a truly dubious look. When all he gets is an expectant raise of an eyebrow, he relents. “It’s, uh, good exercise?” 

“Go on.” 

“Cardio helps train the lungs and heart. It reduces the risk of decline in brain function as well as strengthens your immune system. It can also help reduce the risk of injuries caused by hypertension.”

“Which is helpful t’ ya, how?”

Tim sighs. “My immune system needs all the help it can get. My memory also isn’t what it used to be, so the stimulation might lead to an increase in function. Do I need to go on?” 

“Humor me.” 

“ Jason —”

“Come on, babybird. Tell me the rest.”

“Ugh, fine . Improved mood. Better muscle control and flexibility. Higher sexual drive.” Tim glowers at him; the widening of Jason’s eyes is ever so slightly mollifying. “I get it, okay? But none of that changes the fact that I can’t keep up with you.” 

“I’m not lookin’ t’ use this as combat trainin’. I’m lookin’ at it as a way t’ have fun . Ya do know how t’ have fun, dontcha, sweetheart?” That lazy smirk has no business being on Jason’s face, Tim thinks, as he does his best not to blush over the way the pet name makes his stomach flip. 

“I know how to have fun! I just also know my limits!”

“I think yer wrong.” 

He gapes. “What did you just say?”

“I said,” Jason begins, as his arms spread out in an universal ‘come get me’, “that I think yer wrong.” 

Oh, it’s on .

For just a moment, Tim allows himself to stop thinking. For just a moment, he doesn’t calculate the odds of his success. For just a moment, he lets himself act . 

Jason’s eyes widen when he launches himself forward before almost immediately crinkling in delight. His laughter is like sunlight, almost blinding in the way it takes Tim’s breath away. He catches Tim’s weight in his arms and lets it send him to the ground. From there, it’s a scuffle of flailing limbs and shrieking laughter. 

Tim pushes a bony elbow into Jason’s solar plexus, knocking the air out of him in a rush. Jason retaliates by pushing his fingers into Tim’s sides, right where he’s most ticklish. 

“Jason!” He gasps, after a few long moments of useless struggle. “Jason, I— ha, ha —I give!” 

“What was that?” 

“I said I give, you absolute”—Jason’s fingers pause and Tim amends his statement in a rush—”ly angelic man.” 

There’s a snort and then a sweaty face is nuzzling into his equally as sweaty neck. Tim leans back against Jason’s chest and allows his breathing to calm down. In the following peace, he takes stock of his body. His legs and arms are shaky in that new-born-fawn sort of way and his temples throb dully with the fast beat of his heart. All in all, he’s okay. No attacks, no collapse. Just Jason. 

“I think I forgot what it was like, to be able to do things like this,” Tim admits. “I wasn’t that close to the bats in the days before the attack and I haven’t done training with any of the Titans since I quit. It’s been a long time since sparring has been anything other than having to watch out for Damian’s knives.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” His sigh ruffles the hair at the back of Tim’s neck, sending goosebumps cascading down over his arms. “I meant what I said b’fore. It don’t gotta be about survival. It’s okay t’ jus’ have fun.” 

“Is that what Roy and Kori taught you?” Despite the innocent tone, Tim feels him stiffen. There’s a pause, a slow exhale and then a rumble of a chuckle.

“Intuitive little fucker,” Jason mumbles, like it’s just another pet name. Tim smiles, safe in the knowledge that he can’t see it. “Yeah. It’s one of ‘em.” 

“They’re nice,” he says into the comfortable lull, even knowing it isn’t enough. Roy and Kori are a wonderful sort of different that he doesn’t know how to put into words just yet. Thankfully, Jason seems to get it.

“Yeah, babybird,” he squeezes his waist, “they are.” 

---

He’s not sure exactly how she does it, but Tim goes to bed and wakes up to find Cass sitting on one of the kitchen barstools, eating Jason’s pancakes like she’s always been there. She gives a little wave and pats the seat beside her. He stumbles into it, still blinking blearily in his usual early morning haze. 

“Are you real?” He asks, once he’s collapsed onto the stool. He hasn’t had hallucinations in a while, especially not nice ones, but better safe than sorry. 

“She’s real,” Jason confirms, before setting a plate down in front of him. “Snuck in while I was makin’ the batter. Almost gave me a damn heart attack.”

“Hungry,” she says. “Jason’s food good.” 

“Jason’s food good,” Tim repeats, with feeling. He drags his plate closer to himself to inhale one of his pancakes. He’s not aware of the fact that he’s being stared at until he looks up to find Cass smiling at him. 

“Eating. Good to see it.” She pats his arm, fingers curling around the growing meat on his bones. “Less skinny.” 

A wave of guilt crests over his head, threatening to drown. “Cass—” 

“No.” She shakes her head firmly. “No sorries. Many sorries to be given, but—none should be from you. Not your fault.” 

Tim’s eyes burn. He leans against the strong length of her side. There is very little of Cass that is outwardly soft and the hard muscle of her body is a familiar comfort. “I missed you,” he whispers. 

She leans into the contact. “Missed you too, little brother. Now eat.”

Roy takes the new arrival in stride when he finally emerges from his room, just as bleary eyed as Tim. Kori trails after him, far more chipper in comparison. 

“There’s an intruder,” he announces, to no one in particular. “Are we cool with this? We seem cool with this. Thank god for pancakes.” 

Jason’s eyes roll as Roy nearly faceplants into his plate. “Real good awareness, Roy. She’s only had the chance to stab ya ‘bout ten times now.” 

He waves him off with a lazy hand and shoves half a pancake in his mouth. “Jus’ jealous.”

“Of?” 

No answer is forthcoming as Roy ignores him in favor of his meal. Jason huffs. Kori pats him on the back and proceeds to create her own monstrosity of a breakfast. 

“I am Kori,” she says with a smile. “You are?” 

“This is Cass,” Tim tells her, when Cass nudges his side. “She’s one of the bats.”

“I am glad to meet someone who cares for Tim. Have you also left?” 

“Ah, that’s—”

“Other brothers still need me,” Cass says, before Tim can fluster any further. “Not all bad there—but Tim needs me more.” 

“You don’t have to uproot everything for me,” he tries to tell her, only to find a finger pressed to his lips.

“Hush. Here because—want to. Besides,” her lips twitch, “is good vacation.” 

The words ease him, as they both knew they would. It’s easier to accept care when it’s disguised as self interest; a token left behind by an empty childhood. 

“Have you slept? I can show you my room after you’re done.” 

“Sleep sounds good. But—just a little. Want to catch up.” 

Jason puts Roy on dish duty so that Cass and Tim can retreat to his room when they’re done. Roy takes the chore goodnaturedly, with minimal ribbing. 

He’s a bit nervous when he opens the door, afraid of what she’ll see. He knows he’s a guest but they’ve all been trying to make him feel at home. His room feels suddenly too much and not enough under Cass’ dark eyes. 

She goes immediately to his bed, where she plops down cross legged. “Nice. I like the paint.” 

“Kori did it.” Tim sits beside her. “I like it too.” 

“Different—from manor.” 

“Yeah,” he says dryly, “you could say that again.” 

Her shoulder bumps against his own. “Tell me about life here. Want to know how things going.” 

He takes a deep breath. “Okay. I can do that.” 

---

She sleeps in his room the way they used to, despite the fact that Roy has another guest bedroom. When Tim was allowed back in his room but was still too afraid of touch, she’d curl up at the foot of his bed like a cat. Sometimes he’d forget she was there and get scared; other times he’d find himself laying down beside her, a foot of space between them as he just stared. There was always a catch with the Joker but no matter how many times he watched her, she never did more than watch back. 

He didn’t have to use words with Cass. She knew what he wanted to say without him having to unscramble the chaos in his head.  

Now, they sleep nestled together. Two feral cats that have learned they can trust one another, if no one else. 

He sleeps easier with her there to help chase away his nightmares and he talks easier now that he’s not in Wayne Manor. She listens to him whisper about Jason’s kindness and Roy’s cheer. About Kori who helped him try on clothes he was too afraid to try before his life was turned upside down and he was left with no one to try to impress. He tells her about his triggers and the work he’s done with arrows and guns to get better. He talks about his cooking lessons with Jason and the way he convinced him to talk to Kon. He also tells her about Junior, the anomaly in his head he’s not sure he can trust. She already knew about him, of course, but things have changed and no one knew Junior could be anything other than violent before now. 

“Doing better,” she tells him. “Proud.” 

“Thanks, Cass.” 

“Think you should talk to Dick. Told him—would ask, if you seemed okay.”

It’s because it’s Cass that he doesn’t refuse outright. “You really think that’s a good idea?” 

“Need it. To heal.” 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Okay. When?” 

“Tomorrow?” 

He nods. If he could handle Kon, he can handle Dick. “Tomorrow.” 

---

The loading screen seems to mock his racing heart. Every moment it remains black is another moment given to panic. His pulse pounds in his ears, his hands are damp from where they shake against his legs. He nearly calls it off there and then before the image clears and he’s left staring at the weary face of his older brother. 

“Dick,” he whispers. 

Dick’s smile is tired in the way the last light lingers in the summer. Warm, but muted. “Hi, Timmy. I’m glad Cass convinced you to call.” 

Guilt flares, hot and rancid like rotten milk. “Are you—is your—”

“Almost good as new. See?” Dick shifts to the side. He hikes up his shirt to show off the remaining stitches in his side. “Doc says I can get the rest of ‘em out in a week and then start physical therapy from there. She doesn’t think there’ll be any lasting damage. Just a scar.” 

“I’m sor—” 

“Don’t.” Dick’s eyes sharpen alongside his voice. “I made a stupid move and you reacted. If anyone is to blame, it’s the bastard that caused those triggers in the first place.” 

Tim lets out a shaky breath. He tugs at the sleeves to Jason’s hoodie, wrapping and unwrapping the extra fabric around his hands. “Amd Damian?” 

“He’s fine. The concussion is mostly gone and you didn’t break his favorite arm so he’s been spending most of his time painting.”

“Favorite arm?” 

“He’ll say they’re both the same but he grumbles more if he has to rely on his left.” Dick winks. “Don’t tell him I said that. Trade secret.” 

“Oh. That’s—that’s good.” 

“Enough about us, though, I wanna hear about you. Tell me what you’ve been up to, little bird. How are you doing?” His eyes scan over what he can see of Tim through the screen. “You look like you’ve gotten some sleep and food in you.”

“I have. The—others are making sure I stick to my meal plan.” Tim thinks over his words carefully. They both know that Dick has an idea of where he is, but the less obvious he is about it, the less of a chance Bruce will have reason to try to find him. “It’s nice here. It’s not—there’s not a lot of people and not a lot of things to—to trigger me. Ja—one of the people who lives here, he’s been helping me work through some stuff. I’ve made progress.” 

“You seem happier.” Dick smiles sadly. “I’m sorry I failed you so badly, little bird.” 

“What? You—you didn’t—”

“We both know I did. Between Robin and how we all reacted when we got you back.” He runs his hand through his hair and lets out a heavy sigh. “We didn’t do things right. We didn’t listen to you, I can see that now. I’ve had a lot of talks with Barbara and Cass and I can see why you thought it was better to run. I just wish I wasn’t the one to push you to do it.” 

“You weren’t. No, listen, Dick, you weren’t .” He leans forward towards the screen and slices his hand through the air before Dick can argue. “It was hard, yeah, being around any of you, but you’re not the one that locked me in a cage. I know Bruce is convincing when he wants to be so I—I know you were doing your best.” 

“Tim,” Dick says softly. “You don’t have a great track record of holding the ones who hurt you accountable.” 

And that’s—

Tim has to close his eyes when the blow hits. His eyes are wet when he looks at the screen again. He has to swallow and flex his hands before he can speak again. “That’s—that’s not—” 

“Timmy,” he says, not unkindly. 

His shoulders hunch. “I’m not—I don’t want to be angry at you,” he whispers. “I’m so tired of being angry, Dick. You took away the only thing I had left at the time and I still don’t know that I’m okay after that. And then the Joker—no one listened to me. You wanted me to be the person I was before when I didn’t even know if that was who I really was to begin with! I’ve spent so long being what other people want me to be and I just—I couldn’t handle it anymore. I had to get away, before I killed all of you or myself. It was suffocating .” 

Cass’ arms come around him as she gives up on pretending not to listen and holds him through his tears. “Hurt birds do not—do not relearn how to fly in cages.”

Dick’s voice is wrecked when it comes through the speakers. “Timmy, I’m—sorry isn’t enough. I know we’re all terrible at handling things like this. I should’ve stood up for you, should have fought with Bruce more, I just—” 

“Scared,” Cass murmurs, “both so scared.”  

“I didn’t want to lose you again. I thought that if we could at least get the worst of the triggers out, could get you healthy again—Fuck, Tim, you didn’t see yourself when you first came back. You were catatonic and when you weren’t, you were hallucinating. You tried to hurt yourself and the only way to keep you safe seemed to make you worse. I would’ve done anything, anything to make it better for you.”

“I just wanted to come home,” Tim chokes out, “but when I got there it wasn’t home anymore. I don’t know that it ever was.” 

There’s a broken, hurt sound through the speakers. He loses time as he cries, until he finally lists against Cass, too tired to speak. Dick’s eyes are red and there are tear tracks on his face. Tim would feel guilt for that if he wasn’t so numb.

“I love you, little bird,” Dick tells him, before Cass ends the call. 

Tim closes his eyes and tries to remind himself that that means something.

---

Tim is despondent for the next few days. Jason tries not to blame Cass, but it’s hard. Tim was doing so well without any Bat interference and now it’s like he’s retreated into himself. He’s distant at meals and eats mechanically. His eyes are unfocused and there’s a bone deep weariness about him, no matter how many naps he takes. Jason doesn’t know how to fix it and it bothers him; it’s surprising to realize just how much .

He notices the few times Tim’s fingers linger over different textures; the smooth marble of the countertops, the fabric of the hoodie he never seems to take off, the soft fur of the couch blanket. He moves slow, the way he did when he switched back from Junior and told Jason it was hard to feel real. 

It takes a consultation with Cass to get his idea off the ground before he goes to Tim with the noise canceling headphones that’ve been collecting dust in his bedside drawer. 

“Sit up for a sec,” he tells Tim, who can’t seem to find the energy to argue. He brushes Tim’s hair off of his ears before slipping the headphones down over his head. He helps Tim lay back down, the top of his head pressed against the outside of Jason’s thigh. When the music starts, Tim tenses. Jason knows what he’s thinking because it’s the same problem he has with using them; being deaf to your surroundings means anyone can sneak up on you. It’s dangerous. But Jason has thought this through and he’s hoping that he can make it work. 

“I’ll keep watch,” he says, when he offers his hand and Tim looks up at him. He repeats it when he gets a sluggish blink. Slowly, Tim nods. He takes Jason’s hand and holds on tight. It takes a few songs for Tim to start to relax, and another few for him to close his eyes. 

Cass takes one look at them on her way to the beach and gives an approving smile.

Jason picks up the book he brought in the hopes that this would work, and settles down to read for as long as he needs to. 

When it comes time for dinner, he squeezes Tim’s hand. “Have to start dinner,” he mouths slowly. Tim’s eyes seem to track faster; his nod is less sluggish. “Do you want to keep listening? I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

Tim reaches up to pull the headphones down around his neck. Soft streams of music fill the air, now that the speakers are unblocked. 

“This is okay,” he murmurs. 

Jason hands him the phone he’s downloaded all of Tim’s favorite music to—according to Cass—and stands. 

Tim eats more that night; it feels like the victory it is. 

---

“I don’t want you to go,” Tim admits, when Cass has spent more than a week at the island, “but I know you have to. And I—I need a favor.” 

Cass’ head tips to the side. He’s sure she can see the anxiety in him, the way his nerves feel like they’re about to jump out of his skin. His request isn’t easy and it’s not one he asks lightly. 

“Tell me,” she says simply. 

He takes a deep breath. “I need some samples.” 

Notes:

For anyone that likes to know the math, I did some calculating for the timeline:
Chapter 1 takes place after 3 months of being back at the manor and a month on the run (4 months free of Joker)
Chapter 8 is around a month with the Outlaws
And this chapter places Tim at around 2-3 months with the Outlaws

What do you think the samples Tim wants are for/from? Will Junior write back? Will Jason and Tim ever do more than hold hands and how is the author that is notoriously bad at slow burn managing this? We may never know.

Chapter 12: for dangerous expectations

Summary:

“Let me rephrase: your pacing is going to drive me insane faster than the Joker ever could. So let me distract you.”

Jason looks like he doesn’t know if he should be offended or amused. “I think I understand why people look so constipated when I joke about my death.”

“Congratulations.” Tim inclines his head towards the loading bay. “Shall we?” 

Notes:

I think I've finally caught up on all the comments--if I missed you it's either bc I'm awkward or forgetful. I appreciate every one regardless <3

*I also messed with some settings so you might have to re-add this to your collections? The system was acting weird about it but it should be good now

Writing to someone who can only respond when you’re not conscious and in control of your own body turns out to be a tedious and frustrating experience. Replies can take ages, threads of conversations can be hard to follow and there’s no guarantee there’ll even be a response in the first place. It has Tim practically tearing his hair out in frustration when after a week of anxiously waiting for some sign of Junior having read his letters, a scratchy: This is stupid. Do you always talk like an encyclopedia? finally comes in. 

Tim stares at it for a few long moments, still slightly disoriented from waking up in bed when the last thing he remembers is eating lunch the day before. He feels a flare of offense when he finally manages to register the text. 

No, he writes back before he can help it, then proceeds to feel abruptly like a child. He puts his head in his hands and sighs. He can’t scratch it out because Junior will see it regardless and he can’t rip the page because it’ll remove the conversation. 

I was trying to be polite. As talking to each other is meant to be beneficial for both of us, I would appreciate it if you didn’t call it stupid. You never answered whether you like to be called Junior, either. 

There. Straightforward and to the point. 

The response comes a day later, when a nightmare triggers Junior into the front. He writes in sloppy letters, uncaring of how legible they are when his head is pounding and then promptly goes back to sleep. 

Junior is fine. What do you want?

In the morning, Tim asks for patience and reminds himself that it’s going to take time. It certainly took him long enough to even consider Junior as anything more than an enemy. 

I want to reach an understanding.

That’s rich. Isn’t that what daddy bats tried to do? Wasn’t all that fun the first time.

The ink pools in some places and the letters are pressed into the paper so hard it’s nearly ripped. He’s angry and Tim can’t fault him for it after watching the videos of their confinement. He doesn’t remember much of that time himself. 

I’m sorry he hurt you. That no one listened to you. No one really understood that you were a person and not some kind of trap the Joker put in my head. It shouldn’t be possible for you to be more but now that I know I want to try to find a way to coexist. 

You wanted to kill me. 

I know. I thought you—we—were dangerous. It was unfair of me to treat you like a monster. You had as much say in your creation as I did. 

We are dangerous. Isn’t that why you ran away?

Partly. Things would have been worse at the manor. Do you… prefer it here?

I’m free here. I can walk around without wanting to murder anyone and people listen to me. I don’t want to go back to the bats. They all hate me and I hate them.  You would hate them too if you were as smart as they think.

Okay, we won’t go back to the manor. Do you like the Outlaws? 

They’re nice.

They seem to like you. I’m working on a way to analyze what the Joker did to us. I’ll keep you updated, if you want?

Knock yourself out.

Tim makes a face at the flat response. It’s hard to get Junior to talk to him. According to Kori and Roy, Junior is bubbly and playful. According to Jason, he’s wary and anxious. None of them say he is shy. Clearly, Tim has work to do as far as trust and communication goes, but he’s pleased with the start they’ve made. It may have taken two weeks to finish the conversation but it’s progress. He’ll take anything at this point.  

Of course, he’s making progress in other fields, as well. After a week of watching Jason shoot at simple targets, he’s able to watch him shoot at some of the other human-shaped ones without having a meltdown. He still has to check the dummies every time but no one makes him feel less for it. Until now, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be accommodated and treated gently. He’s so used to pushing himself past his own limits to keep up with Bruce’s expectations that it’s sometimes hard to believe he’s doing enough. 

When voiced, Roy informs him that this is unhealthy; Tim makes a face, adds the information to all the other hard-to-swallow pills he’s accumulated and does his best to move on. 

On his good days, he begins adding pilates into his normal yoga sessions. The difficulty of such simple exercise frustrates him. It’s difficult not to push himself too hard, especially on the bad days, when it feels like all his progress has been for nothing. No matter how strong he gets again, he’s always going to suffer from the symptoms of extended electric and drug abuse. It makes it hard to see much of a point in trying. 

The Outlaws are good encouragement. Kori finds yoga and pilates interesting. Sometimes she drags Roy into it, who complains loudly about how he is ‘not meant to stretch that way, Kor, I promise!’ If Jason is around during these sessions, he’ll usually join in just to taunt Roy. From there it devolves into competition and shit talking, in which Tim or Kori has to intervene before the two of them hurt themselves. Jason usually wins, having grown up with some of Bruce’s Grayson-Approved-Stretching-Routines. Other days, he exhibits a strange stiffness and Roy manages to inch ahead. 

“Psychosomatic pain,” Jason explains, when Tim gets him alone. “The Pit healed my body but sometimes I get aches and pains from where I can remember things bein’ broken; usually goes away after a day or two.” 

It’s a reminder of the fact that Jason was in fact beaten and blown up as a child. Jason doesn’t wear his scars on his face the way Tim does. It’s easy to look at him and forget that he was once at the mercy of a madman who turned out to have none at all. 

“What helps?” Tim asks. 

“Rest, usually. Distractions. If I try to push past it it can get a little,” he makes a half aborted gesture towards his head, “confusin’, I guess.”

“Do you wanna watch a movie with me?” 

“Huh?” 

“You said distractions help,” Tim says patiently, “so do you wanna watch a movie with me?” 

Jason’s face softens. “Sure, babybird. Thanks.” 

They end up on the couch, huddled together under the blanket Tim favors. Jason asks for Pride and Prejudice and Tim clicks on it without argument. He admits to never reading it halfway into the opening scene and from there Jason takes it upon himself to give the background the movie doesn’t, sometimes even with direct quotes. Tim doesn’t realize he’s smiling until his face starts to hurt, and even then he finds it difficult to stop. 

He likes listening to Jason’s voice, especially when he’s passionate about something. The cadence is soothing and the low rumble of his baritone could put Tim to sleep if he weren’t so invested in watching the minute details of Jason’s face. 

By the end of it, Jason is much more relaxed. Tim is pleased by a job well done.

---

Another mission comes their way, this time built for Roy and Kori. It’s an infiltration. A party on an island, held on the estate of a prolific pharmaceutical tycoon by the name of Garrett West. Garret West Senior died a month ago, leaving his amass of wealth to his son. Not even a few weeks after putting his father in the ground, Garret West Jr. is already looking to branch out into a series of profitable drug trials that read as less than legal and are sure to take advantage of the poor and desperate.  

“We’ll have to go in by boat, they’re not allowing aircraft in.” Roy frowns as he pulls up the blueprints to the island. “There’s a grid set up around the ocean perimeter to track anyone coming and going. The guard tower overlooks the docks, so escaping back the way we came is going to be risky if we’re found out.” 

Kori’s voice is pleasant when she says, “It’s a good thing I can fly then, yes?”

“You’ll have to haul ass to avoid bein’ an easy target.” Jason crosses his arms. “Weather says it’ll be clear skies.”   

Roy nods sagely. “Clear skies take lives.” 

“No one says that,” Jason retorts. 

“I just did.” 

“You—”

“Reinforced suit jackets,” Tim interrupts, before they can devolve into an argument, “put the plates in between the fabric on the chest and sternum. It won’t save you from a headshot, but it’ll help protect the largest of your vitals. The guards shouldn’t notice anything amiss if they do pat downs and it won’t show up on metal detectors if you use a ceramic base.”

“Will it not add bulk?” Kori asks. 

“Black is forgiving, it shouldn’t look much different. You won’t be able to use anything above a level three without the weight coming into question but it’ll be enough to stop most rounds.” 

“Smart.” Roy gives an approving nod before looking to Jason. “The two of you can hang tight in the air with the ship’s shields on. They shouldn’t have anything capable of detecting it.” 

“Getaway drivers.” The corner of Tim’s mouth twitches. “I’ve been worse things.” 

“I’ll recheck our masking tech for Kori. The party’s in three days so we’ve got time to double check the recon.” 

“I’ll get on that while you two nerd out.” Jason collapses into the desk chair in a lazy sprawl. Tim tears his eyes away from the jeans hugging Jason’s thighs to shoot Roy an inquisitive look. 

Roy grins almost manically. “Let me show you my workshop.” 

---

Roy’s workshop turns out to be an extension of the house Tim hadn’t even noticed before; mainly because the only door leading into it is in Roy and Kori’s bedroom. It opens up into a large room with bright lights above to compensate for the lack of windows. Tables dot the landscape, full of different kinds of projects and parts. The air smells distinctly of oil and metal. 

“The lab is down the stairs,” Roy tells him, as he leads the way past the first few tables. “You can use it to help with the tests you’re doing on your blood. Hematology, biochemistry, chemiluminescent immunoassay—you name it, we’ve probably got it. I’m into machines more than chemistry but I learned a few things in order to help Jaybird with the Pit effects.” 

Tim is immediately interested. “You’ve examined samples of his blood?” 

“Yeah. We didn’t have any samples from before he was dunked but I compared his to mine to pick out the most obvious differences.” 

“Do you think I could look at your research?” 

“You’d have to ask him. I promised that the only people that have access to those files are people he’s given the green light. It was the only way he agreed to testing in the first place.” 

Tim makes a mental note to follow up with Jason later on the subject. 

Roy drops down onto a rolling stool in front of a large case. He opens it up to reveal the photostatic veil Kori will be using to hide her alien heritage. Tim is familiar with the intricate layer of holographic cells. Placed onto a calibrated face, each will work to form the mask of an entirely different person; this version comes with a bodysuit. He’s used something similar a few times on undercover missions, when he couldn’t take the risk that someone might even vaguely recognize him. It was one of the options Bruce had for keeping Tim’s facial scars a secret but the very idea had seemed even worse than the face masks. What good was pretending the problem away, when Tim would know every second of interaction with the world was stained in a lie? It hits far too close to home. 

“I’ve gotta double check the heat sensors to make sure they can withstand Kori’s temperature. You wanna look at the program and pick out a face?” 

“Sure.” Tim grabs another rolling stool from a different station and sits down in front of a grouping of three monitors. “Any preferences?” 

“As forgettable as you can make an alien princess.” 

He snorts. “I can’t work miracles.”

“Not with that attitude.” Roy reaches over to input the password. The screens light up with the veil’s interface. “Go nuts.” 

“I think I’m already there.” 

Roy throws his head back and laughs, deep and hearty; the corner of Tim’s mouth twitches against a pleased smile. 

It takes a few hours to perfect the disguise. Kori drops by with lunch before proceeding to model the veil with steadfast patience. Adjusting the cells to fit smoothly against her bone structure without any noticeable edges reminds Tim of editing photos. It brings an old nostalgia to the forefront that he does his best to ignore. 

As the minutes pass, Kori becomes more and more ordinary. Her orange skin is replaced with a warm brown; her brilliant eyes exchanged for a deep black. Fiery tresses are masked with tight curls of ink, doing away with the brilliant reds. She is completely different and utterly unlike herself. 

Roy claps a hand to his shoulder with a grin. “And you said you couldn’t work miracles.” 

Kori does a little spin, giving them one last look. Neither finds any faults; the tech is as ready as it can be. 

Tim helps Roy program the synthesizer to make his armored suit jacket. It hits him as he’s watching the fibers get woven together: this is the closest he’s been to the tech he used to live and breathe as Robin. Besides his confinement in one of the Cave’s cells, he was never allowed near the Batcave and its many instruments. Systems that he helped create; equipment that he engineered and pieced together himself; overrides he programmed that no longer exist. The Batcave was never a home, but it meant something . That’s all gone now. 

“I’m going to go for a walk,” Tim says abruptly. 

Roy makes a distracted sound from across the room and waves him off. He escapes out the door, ducks into his room and promptly vaults over his windowsill. Shoes are required in the lab, which means he’s at least semi prepared when his feet hit the ground a few feet below. His knees bend to absorb the impact before he’s off, breathing a bit too fast for a simple walk. He shakes his hands out and then his arms, head rolling on his neck as he chases after the source of the buzz beneath his skin. 

His walk quickly turns into a run as he bolts through the trees. It’s stupid, definitely, but he’s on an island, he can’t exactly get lost all that long. Sooner or later he’ll end up at the shore.

His legs ache with disuse; his lungs fight valiantly to keep up. There’s a familiar comfort in the burn of exercise. When he was younger, he fought so hard to shape himself into someone that could stand as Batman’s brighter shadow. The days were agony and the nights were even worse. Despite his general athleticism, there was a difference between chasing after vigilantes in the night and being able to do what they did. The diet was difficult, the training was brutal and he had to do it all whilst pretending to be the good Drake his absentee parents expected him to be. He’s not sure when the pain turned into something exhilarating but his mind remembers what his body has forgotten. 

He forces himself to slow down before he ends up collapsed and in need of rescue. His head throbs a bit with how fast his pulse is racing but it’s nothing unmanageable yet. He takes in the shadowed pockets around him, born from jungle flora and skyscraper trees. It’s easy to turn back the way he came; there are imprints in the dirt from his run. The walk back is calmer. He wipes the sweat from his face and manages to pull himself back up through his window. 

It feels a bit like victory when he lays on the floor, breathing hard as he stares up at the painted yellow of his ceiling. Despite the fact that his muscles tremble, he managed without collapse or need of rescue. 

A conversation plays in his head again: “Okay,” Jason says easily. “You’ve listed all the reasons ya shouldn’t. Now how about the reasons ya should?”

“The reasons why I—should?” 

“Yeah. Use that big brain of yers and tell me why sparrin’ is a good idea.” 

It’s not sparring and it’s not exactly for fun, but he can admit that there’s no real issue with branching out into more exercise. As long as he takes it slow, there’s no real harm. The worst he can trigger is a migraine or seizure. It feels bad to not be able to do what he used to, so why not try to fix that? Maybe not to be a vigilante, but for himself, for his own peace of mind. He made himself strong once, despite everything standing in his way. He can do it again, surely. Isn’t that what all the pilates and yoga has been about? Getting back into things? 

There’s a knock on the door. Tim calls out an absent assent to come in and it cracks open to reveal Jason’s face; the crack widens when Jason finds him on the floor. He takes him in, sweat flushed and trailing dirt in from his sneakers. His eyebrows raise. “Ya good, babybird?” 

“Yeah,” Tim says and finds that he means it. He leverages himself up onto his elbows to look up at Jason. “What’s up?” 

“Just lettin’ ya know dinner will be ready soon. I already dragged Roy away from the labs—was surprised ya weren’t still in there nerdin’ out.” 

“I needed some air but I’m okay now.” He offers a small smile. “I’ll be out soon. I’m gonna shower first.” 

He earns a hum and a nod before the door closes once more. Tim takes a moment more to just lay there before forcing himself up, albeit with much more resolve than when he started. He may not be Red Robin anymore, but he’s certainly still Tim Drake. He gets to decide what that means now; no one else. It’s both freedom and terror all in one. 

---

The night of the op comes. They follow Roy and Kori’s boat for as long as they can before dropping back to hover on the outside of the island’s perimeter. They can’t get into the camera system without risking the entire mission which leaves them with only the audio from Roy and Kori’s earpieces. The party is due to last for at least four hours; it should allow enough wiggle room to find evidence of malpractice—’should’ being the key word. Tim has been on enough ops of his own to know that things are rarely that easy. 

Jason is taut with nervous energy, which serves to make Tim nervous in turn. It’s clear that he hates not being with his team just as much as he hates being stuck in the air waiting for news. 

“Do you want to spar?” Tim asks. 

He pauses, half way out of his chair to start the third perimeter check of the hour. His eyebrows raise up towards the tousled white of his bangs when he finds not a trace of joking on Tim’s face. “You want to spar?” 

“Let me rephrase: your pacing is going to drive me insane faster than the Joker ever could. So let me distract you.” 

Jason looks like he doesn’t know if he should be offended or amused. “I think I understand why people look so constipated when I joke about my death.”

“Congratulations.” Tim inclines his head towards the loading bay. “Shall we?” 

“Man, I forgot how bitchy ya can be.” Jason turns up the volume on the coms before following after him; he sounds far too delighted by the revelation. “Roy’s goin’ t’ be sorry he missed this.” 

“He’ll live.” 

Tim sinks down into the stretching program he’s been working on for the past two weeks. He’s not stupid enough to think he’s in any shape to take on Jason and he’s going to need to prepare his body as best he can for the utter destruction it’s about to face. 

“How’d ya wanna do this?” 

He considers it for a brief moment. “I want a knife.” 

Jason riffles through one of his duffle bags before emerging with his sheathed kris. He hands it over without a hint of wariness. “Do I get one?” 

Tim fixes him with a tolerant look. “I’m only just getting back into training. If you want this to be interesting, you’ll take the handicap.” 

“I think yer underestimatin’ yerself but alright. Pins and death blows?” 

He stands and gives a nod. His wrist twists, testing the weight of the kris to adjust his movements properly. He sinks into a stance that feels familiar despite how long it’s been. Another incline of his head starts the fight. 

Jason is fast but Tim was expecting that. He ducks out of the way of the first swing, though the second sends him stumbling. He grimaces into the roll he tucks into, all the while pushing himself to go faster. His body isn’t used to it anymore and he can feel it in every movement. He can’t hold up against any of Jason’s blows which means he’s on the defensive. He can’t maintain the strategy forever, though. Jason has stamina that he doesn’t and Tim can’t wait him out. 

He swipes high and kicks low, but not hard enough. Jason stumbles before righting himself, instead of going to the one knee Tim was hoping for. He gets a hand on Tim’s wrist and pushes backwards until he has no choice but to let go of the blade with a hiss. Jason’s other hand catches it to earn the first point in the touch of the sheath to Tim’s neck. If either of them thinks of the scar on Tim’s neck, neither of them say anything. They separate before Jason hands the blade back over. 

Tim takes a deep breath and recenters. “Again.” 

The round is over frustratingly fast. 

Jason has always been bigger and stronger than him but he hasn’t felt the difference so viscerally since the day Jason beat him unconsciousness in Titan’s Tower. Tim feels clumsy and stupid trying to keep up with him. It’s like being a child in the Batcave all over again, panting and straining beneath Batman’s hard gaze. Except there’s no judgment in Jason’s eyes, only a narrow look of focus and a half smirk of enjoyment. It makes it easier to take the second loss and say, “again.” 

Tim stops playing by the rules in the third round. He goes for nasty hits and dirty tricks. He targets Jason’s vulnerable spots like they’re fighting for their lives, kicking out knees and aiming for pressure points. Jason’s smirk grows into a full blown grin as he chases after him. He’s getting close and Tim’s starting to tire. His legs are beginning to shake and his temples pulse with a dull headache. 

He grits his teeth as he ducks under Jason’s arm. Jason isn’t expecting the sheath to come flying at his face and it shows. The split second of distraction is long enough for Tim to go to his knees. Jason freezes when he feels the press of the blade against his femoral artery. He looks down into Tim’s flushed face and then at the knife. 

“Damn, babybird, that was dirty.” His legs bend as he collapses back onto the ground, arms propped up on his knees. He pushes his bangs back from his sweaty face as Tim resheathes the blade. “I knew ya had it in you.” 

Tim lays down on his back with an unintelligible sound. The metal feels good against his heated skin. He can feel the thrum of the engine through the floor, comforting and grounding all in one. He presses his palms down against it so he doesn’t have to think about the way his hands shake. 

He’s biting the inside of his cheek out of habit. It isn’t until he sucks in a deep breath that he realizes he’s fighting a smile. 

“Sorry,” he says, “for the cheating.”  

Jason scoffs. “No yer not.” 

“No.” He loses the fight against his smile. “I guess not.” 

“Ya shouldn’t be, anyways. Rules don’t mean shit in the real world. Ya do what ya have to ‘t come back each mornin’.” 

“Bruce didn’t think so.” 

“Bruce is a fucking hypocrite who’s too focused on the mission to realize he’s makin’ a martyr out of each and every one of ‘is birds.” 

“I would have died for him,” Tim says idly. “I was ready to. Maybe even from the moment I told him I was going to be Robin.” 

Jason is quiet for a few long moments. “How old were you?” He finally asks. 

“I started training shortly after my thirteenth birthday.”

“Jesus.” 

“You started at twelve, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And Dick at eleven.” 

“With Damian, Bruce has got the whole set.” Jason’s lip curls in disgust. “I never really thought about how fucked it was t’ put a kid in the costume until I came back.” 

Tim hums. “Tell me about it?” 

“Not that much ‘t tell. I came out ‘a the Pit mad and Talia gave me somethin’ t’ focus that on. At first it was about the Joker walkin’ free and bein’ replaced, but eventually it was more about preventin’ another kid from dyin’ fer nothin’. When was the line gonna come? Your death? Dick’s death? Damian’s? What was the point if there was no consequence? We deserve better than bein’ good soldiers. We were kids .”

Tim isn’t entirely sure what to do with the emotions clouding the room. It feels heavy, like a weight bearing down on his chest, but he can’t fully understand it. From birth, he was always expected to be what his parents shaped him to be. They set the groundwork and then left him to wander aimlessly, without love or direction, searching for a place to belong. He doesn’t know where he would be if he hadn’t convinced Bruce to continue their work; to shape him into the perfect vessel for the mission. He doesn’t understand the anger over his circumstances because he doesn’t know anything else; cannot imagine anything else. It is only now, as an adult, that he is learning what it means to deserve more. 

“I killed the Joker.” 

Jason’s head snaps up. “What?” 

“I killed the Joker,” Tim repeats; it is suddenly so easy to say. He pushes himself up onto his hands to meet Jason’s wide eyes. “He told me to shoot Batman so I shot him instead.” 

“You—” He shakes his head slowly. “That’s why ya said Bruce judged ya for what ya had t’ do t’ survive?” 

He nods. “Among other things. Are you upset?” 

“Upset?” Jason’s laughter is quick and disbelieving. “I’m a lot of things, babybird, but I’m not upset that ya killed the Joker. Honestly, I—I kind of want t’ hug ya.” 

“Oh.” Tim blinks. “You can, if you want.” 

He gets another huff for that. Jason leans towards him and Tim follows suit. His arms come up around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him in to a warm embrace. They’re both a little sweat damp but Tim can’t find it in himself to mind. Jason’s breath is warm against his neck, sending little waves of goosebumps over his skin. 

“Thank you,” Jason murmurs, “and I’m sorry ya had t’ do it.” 

“I’m not,” Tim whispers, like the secret it is. 

There’s a spike of commotion on the audio feed. They both pause to listen for more information. All it takes is the pop of gunfire for both of them to be up and running to the front. 

“Roy?” Jason demands, as he turns his com link on. “What’s goin’ on?” 

Roy’s voice comes in slightly winded. “Hey, Jaybird. Turns out we’re gonna need that extraction after all.” 

“Kori, status?” 

“Trying to find clear skies.” 

Tim sits down in the empty chair. Now that their cover is blown, there’s nothing stopping him from hacking into the security feeds to aid their escape. He finds Roy and Kori in the chaos as more gunfire sounds across the line. 

“Shit,” Roy curses. “I’m hit.” 

“Turn left,” Tim orders. “Go straight down the hall and then go through the first room on the right. There’s a set of windows on the south side that’s facing away from the security tower. If you can get out we can meet you for pick up.” 

Jason is already turning the ship towards the island. The engine hums as they pick up speed. “Ya die in there and I’ll never let ya live this down. Ya got that?” 

Roy grunts. “Loud and clear.”

There’s the sound of a door being slammed shut and then the shattering of glass. Tim watches as Roy and Kori disappear out the window while security is stuck trying to break through the door Kori barricaded. Tim hits the button to the back to let Kori in. She’s barely landed before Jason is rocketing the ship back out and away. 

Tim stumbles out of his seat, catches himself on a hand in the doorway before rushing to the back to help Kori with Roy’s wounds. There’s a spread of red high up on his right shoulder, and another on his upper thigh. Kori rips his suit apart with her hands as Tim gets out a trauma kit to stop the bleeding. 

“We need to get him to the scanner to see if the bullets are still inside.” 

Roy hisses when Tim presses down on his shoulder with a wad of gauze. He keeps the pressure up as Kori carries Roy over to the medical table Tim woke up on all those months ago. He has to back away for the scanner to do its job before he’s back to applying pressure to the wounds. Jason joins them when Tim’s in the process of setting up Roy’s IV. 

“Damage?” He asks briskly. 

“Two gunshot wounds. The one in his shoulder is lodged near his collarbone. The thigh is just a graze. They’ll both need stitches.” 

Kori hovers by Roy’s head, hushing any sounds of pain as the morphine begins to kick in. 

Tim dons a pair of gloves as Jason follows suit. “I’ll take the leg,” Tim says, “your hands are steadier.” 

He takes up a needle and thread as Jason gets to work on the bullet in Roy’s shoulder. From there it’s the simple process of weaving the skin back together with careful, precise knots. He finishes as Jason gets the last of the bullet out. Jason switches out his bloody gloves for new ones before taking the needle Tim offers to close the wound. 

When they’re done, Jason lets out a breath. Tim feels his shoulders relax at the sound, as if he, too, was holding his breath throughout the procedure. 

“He’ll be okay,” Tim says, for all of their benefit. 

“Yeah.” Jason closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m going to go make sure we make it back okay.” 

Tim disposes of the used gauze and drops the tools into the sanitizer. Kori touches his arm on his way past and murmurs a quiet sound of thanks. Tim offers the slightest quirk of his mouth in return before exiting the room.

It isn’t until they’ve made it back to the island that Tim realizes he wasn’t triggered by the sight of blood, nor by the gunshots and violence.

Notes:

the secret is finally out! I know it may not have been as dramatic as some of you may have been expecting but Tim said the time was right pft

what do we think of the communication finally happening between Tim and Junior? The plot is only going to keep picking up from here

Chapter 13: for lingering evasions

Summary:

“Tim,” Jason says seriously, “when was the last time ya ate?”

He squints at the blurry teal of Jason’s eyes. “I don’t think I should answer that question.”

“What are ya even doin’ down here—”

Right. The samples.

Notes:

shout out to my partner who helped beta this and talk through the intricacies of addiction and anti-medicine rhetoric. this chapter would not be the same without their input

I had a lot more planned for this chapter but there was a lot that needed to be said in order to resolve the issues being discussed so I decided to save the rest for a later date, where it wouldn't take away from the importance of what's happening

In the wake of Roy’s injury, Tim descends into bad habits. His excuse comes in the form of a note on his bed that reads: In lab—C. With Kori and Jason fretting over Roy, it’s easy to slip through the door and into the workshop beyond. How Cass got in without being detected, he doesn’t want to know. All that matters is that when he checks the fridge, there’s four vials of liquid labeled neatly and set into the built in casing; two JV and two FG : Joker Venom and Fear Gas. The samples he asked for. 

He uses the phone Jason gave him to turn on some music for background noise and gets to work. There’s a bit of a crisis when he has to take his own blood and the flashback of needles being forced under his skin nearly makes him pass out. With the Joker, he had needles put into a multitude of uncomfortable places and every one of them was unwanted. The worst were his neck and face; he still can’t handle having anything around his neck because of it. Unless, perhaps, it’s armor—but that’s a thought for another day. 

He breathes through the nausea and panic. He comes out with two vials of blood, shaky but victorious. He immediately gets to work pulling up his health records on Roy’s system, including all the information he has on Joker Venom and Fear Gas. 

He feels a pulse of awareness at the back of his head, not unlike someone leaning over his metaphorical shoulder. There’s a sense of wariness paired with a resistance when he tries to reach for one of the vials. It can only be Junior. 

“I’m not going to hurt us,” Tim says, in the hopes that he’ll hear. “This was what I was talking about when I said I was going to analyze what happened to us. All the experiments will be conducted through our blood, not our body.” 

The resistance lessons, but does not disappear completely. It’s a bit like having weights wrapped around his wrists. It’s difficult, but not impossible to move. He’s being trusted then, if only a little. 

He knows from Bruce’s notes that his body fought the antidotes he was given. New strains had to be created with each shift in his chemistry, due to how much had been introduced to his system for so long. Tim believes it was an addiction of sorts, which explains why Junior was so sick in the weeks that followed. Not only did they not come off of it organically, their body was forced to reject it at an advanced rate. If his theory is right, he might just have an explanation for some of his worser symptoms. He only has to prove it. 

---

He spends two days in the lab without interruption. There’s a bathroom connected and a few stray snacks hidden away in one of the desk drawers. He’s awake on pure manic spite by the time Jason thunders down the stairs to take him in. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

Rude.

Tim blinks heavily at the sample he’s got in the microscope. He’s testing strain twenty seven—or is it twenty eight? He squints at his handwriting and deduces that the final letter is a seven after all. 

He’s unceremoniously yanked around by the back of his chair. He nearly knocks the microscope over in his surprise before his shoulders are caught in two large hands. 

“Tim,” Jason says seriously, “when was the last time ya ate?” 

He squints at the blurry teal of Jason’s eyes. “I don’t think I should answer that question.” 

“What are ya even doin’ down here—” 

Right. The samples. 

“Jason!” Tim nearly smacks his forehead into Jason’s chin with the force of his sudden excitement. It’s only Jason’s reflexes that saves them both from the painful meeting. “Cass got me the samples I needed and I—well, I’ve been doing some trials based on a theory that Bruce would never approve of—but Bruce isn’t here, so I’ve started and the results are pretty good, even in preliminary trials—”

“Tim.” 

“If you just look at the way the cortisol and clostridium tetani interact—” 

“ Tim .” Jason shakes him lightly. “Breathe!” 

He inhales all at once and practically shouts, “withdrawal!” into Jason’s face. Jason rears back like he’s been slapped, looking distinctly bewildered. 

“Words, babybird, I need ones I can understand. Should I bring ya t’ Roy?” 

Tim turns to grab a notebook full of barely intelligible scribbles. He waves it in Jason’s face like it explains anything, looking far too triumphant. Jason sighs and throws him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Tim squawks but no amount of complaints can convince Jason to let him down. They emerge from the workshop stairs, go through the empty bedroom and straight on to the bathroom attached to Tim’s room. Jason sets him down once they’re inside, and only once he’s sure Tim can’t escape past him. 

“Shower,” he says sternly, as he takes the notebook from Tim’s shaking hands. “I’ll show Roy so he can explain. Or do I need to get in with ya?” 

Tim’s face takes on a vibrant hue of red as nervous stutters start to fall from his lips. Jason gives a decisive nod and turns for the door. 

“Shower,” he repeats over his shoulder, “or I really will drag ya in myself.” 

He waits at the door for a few moments, just to be sure that Tim listens. When the water starts up, he continues on his way. 

Roy and Kori are sitting on the living room couch when he comes through.

“What was that?” Roy asks. 

“A bird bein’ taken to the birdbath.” He shoves the notebook into Roy’s hands. “Can ya translate this? He’s been workin’ on somethin’ in the lab and I couldn’t understand half his ramblin’.” 

“I can try.” Roy opens the book to take in the words. The script appears to become more and more chaotic as the time passes and Tim’s lack of sleep starts to take its toll. It’s Roy’s steadily pensive expression that concerns Jason the most, though. 

“This…” Roy starts, before shaking his head. “This is dangerous, Jaybird.” 

Kori leans closer. “What is it?” 

“He’s running off of the theory that his body came to rely on the mix of chemicals in his system and that the forceful eviction of all that has caused more problems. I can see how he could come to that conclusion, looking at how bad things were with the antidotes, but this—this could lead to something bad. We’re talking about addiction here.” 

Jason sits down on the coffee table with a hard thud. He presses bloodless lips together as a ringing starts up in his ears. “Addiction,” he repeats numbly. 

“He’s looking to stabilize his blood but he’s using Joker Venom and Fear Gas to do it. I don’t even know if it’s possible, let alone if it’ll make him worse. But the fact that the toxin is still in his system even now… I think he’d be looking at monthly doses. Maybe for the rest of his life.” 

“Jason found ways to work with the Pit, did he not?” Kori reasons. “Would this not be medical in nature? I think it may be a disservice to label it as an addiction. Are those on daily medications not doing it for better health?” 

“People generally put things that are good into their bodies to get better, Kor. Or at least somewhat good, anyways. Both of these drugs are toxic.” Roy grimaces. “They might kill him.” 

Jason stands abruptly. “I need to go,” he announces. “I need to—I—just make sure he eats.” 

“Okay, Jaybird,” Roy says softly. “We’re okay. So is Tim. He’ll be here after you do what you need to.” 

He gives a short nod and practically runs out the door, eyes wild around the edges. Roy sighs and leans back against Kori’s side. 

“This is hard for both of you,” she notes, as she rubs gentle circles between his shoulder blades. Her warmth makes the massage all the more impactful. His eyes close as he soaks it in past his other hurts. 

“His mom died of an overdose, and ya know about my past. It’s a touchy subject.” 

“Do you think Tim knows?” 

“Yeah, he does. I just don’t think he’s put together the connotations. He hates upsetting Jason, he’d never try to do it on purpose.” And wasn’t that a whole other can of worms? It was hard enough convincing one wayward bird that he was wanted, let alone two. 

“Should we tell him?” 

“I think we should wait and see what Jaybird does. He’s not a fan of havin’ other people have conversations for him, you know that.” 

She sighs. “I wish he would lean on us more.” 

“You and me both.” 

Soft footsteps come down the hall, revealing their other wayward bird. He’s looking small in Jason’s hoodie and there are deep circles under his eyes. He’s swaying on his feet like he’s about to fall over but the growl of his stomach makes it obvious why he’s still up. 

“Jeez, kid, come here before you fall down.” Roy pats the space beside him as Kori lifts off the couch to fetch some of the leftovers from dinner. 

“Jason made me shower,” Tim says a bit dazedly. 

“Probably a good call.” 

He sits slowly, as if only now feeling the ache in his bones. He blinks at Roy. “How—are you feeling okay?” 

“Right as rain.” Roy fixes him with a winning smile. “Especially now that you’re back up and about. We were worried.” 

“Oh,” he says, like the thought never occurred to him. It probably hadn’t. “Sorry.” 

“No worries, you can make it up to me. I’ve got a movie marathon planned tomorrow and it’s up to you to convince Jaybird to sit still for that long.” 

“Me?” 

“Yup. I fully expect you t’ use those big blue eyes to your advantage. Maybe wear a dress to really make him sweat.” 

“You—are you making fun of me?” 

Roy feels something hurt deep inside his chest. Tim looks so lost and vulnerable, eyes half closed and expression pinched. “Nah, I wouldn’t make fun of this. I’m serious.” 

“You are attractive,” Kori announces, as she drops a plate into Tim’s lap. She places a fork in his hand shortly after, before taking her place on Roy’s other side. “Jason notices.” 

“That’s—that can’t—” 

“I think you broke him.” 

“You brought it up,” she says primly. 

Tim closes his mouth slowly. “Jason wouldn’t—no. You’re wrong.” 

“Listen,” Roy says sternly, “and eat your food while you do it.” A fork spears through a piece of potato and places it in Tim’s mouth as if on auto pilot. Roy’s mouth twitches at the look of bewilderment on Tim’s face. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s Jaybird and Jaybird is soft on you.”

“Agreed,” Kori chimes in. 

He’s pretty sure Tim isn’t even tasting the food he’s putting in his mouth at this point. His eyes are growing comically wide as his face flushes red. 

“You don’t gotta do anything about it if you don’t want to. Fuck knows Jason won’t ever push it. But it’s an option and I’m telling you now, so you know.” Roy wags a finger. “Don’t go breaking our Jaybird’s heart. Either of you.” 

“Either of—” Tim boggles. His voice is faint when he sets his plate aside. “I think I need to go lay down.” 

Roy watches him walk away, satisfied with the fact that the plate is nearly empty. “I think that went well, don’t you?” 

Kori laughs softly. “I will take your word for it, dwisol’orp.”

---

The thing is, Jason knows that he tends to have tunnel vision when it comes to terms like addiction. The little kid who grew up watching his mother waste away in drugs and poverty is never going away. He’s never going to forget what it was like to kneel next to his mom, reach out and realize that she was cold not from a lack of heating or proper clothes, but from death. He’s never going to forget how she wasted away even before that, trembling and small and still doing her best to take care of him. Every dead drug dealer is a love letter to that little kid and his innocent mom. 

So hearing the word addiction be thrown around in Tim’s direction? Yeah, it scares him. 

Tim is smart but so was Catherine. She knew all the ways to get by on what little money they had and did her best to keep him a child while she did it. Free days at the museum; milkshakes-for-a-dollar hours; library weekends, where he could read whatever he wanted; long walks in which she would challenge him to lead her home in new and exciting ways. Looking back, he knows now that she was making sure that he knew the streets and her people. The working girls that always ruffled his hair and welcomed them into their group huddles. What areas to avoid to keep from getting mixed up with any of the gangs that ran through. She was making sure he could survive without her—and she succeeded, too. 

But all of those smarts eventually faded away under the flood of drugs. 

He sits up late that night, flipping through Tim’s haphazard notes and doing his best to quell the panic in his veins. He has to fight not to destroy the samples in the lab; to not burn the notebook in his hands before it can poison anything else. He’s aware that he’s not an objective party, so he does his best to understand. 

Tim’s hypothesis is sound. His findings are mostly positive. Still, Jason is afraid. 

He sighs down at the pages, eyes heavy with weariness. A scuff of a foot against wood has him looking up at the hallway, where Tim’s silhouette stands in shadow. 

“Jason.” He steps forward into the small halo of light blooming out from the living room lamp. His hand lifts to muffle a yawn. “What’re ya doin’ up?” 

Ah. Junior, then. 

“Lookin’ at Tim’s notes.” 

Junior circles around him to peer over the back of the couch. “Shouldn’t ya be sleepin’?” 

“Probably.” He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Couldn’t sleep, though.” 

He stays still as Junior perches on the armrest. He’s not unaware of how wary Junior is of him; their interactions are always a bit like trying to befriend a stray cat. He’s not looking to spook him.

“Yer upset,” Junior deduces. His fingers run up and down the crook of his elbow, where several track marks sit. Jason isn’t sure if it’s intentional. “Why?” 

“Drugs are a touchy subject.” 

“They weren’t fer my parents.” 

Jason swallows. To think of Harley and Joker as parents is almost sickening but it’s exactly how they trained Junior to think of them. “There are different kinds. Some help and some harm and both of them can be addictive.” 

“I know how drugs work, I’m not stupid .” Junior taps a vein in his arm with a huff. “I think yer bein’ kinda stupid, though.” 

His head swings around to stare up at him in shock. It’s a big step for Junior to say anything even mildly aggressive to him. He can see the cost of it in how tensely Junior holds his body, like he’s getting ready to bolt at any hint of violence. “How,” Jason wets his lips and starts again, “how do ya figure?” 

“Roy was on morphine to help the pain and ya didn’t freak out ‘bout that. We would probably be on medication if we hadn’t ran—they were waitin’ fer the other drugs t’ leave our system, yanno?” Junior shrugs. “We don’t like bein’ scared, or bein’ made to laugh. The other— Tim , is workin’ to reduce or stop those effects. We seem to have a tolerance built up. But we’re here ‘cause he trusts ya. If ya tell ‘im t’ stop, he will.” 

“I don’t know if he should stop.” Jason runs his hands over his face. “It would—I know the symptoms are hard on ‘im, I just—I don’t want t’ watch ‘im waste away.” 

“So don’t.” 

“What?” 

“So don’t watch him.” Junior shrugs, like it’s as easy as that. “Help him. Listen t’ ‘im. Work with ‘im t’ see if his ideas can do what ‘e thinks they can. We ran ‘cause the bats wouldn’t do any a’ those things. Don’t be a repeat, be a support.” 

“You’re pretty smart, ya know that?” 

He flashes an almost disturbingly wide smile; it’s there and gone in an instant. “I know. Feel better?” 

“Yeah.” Jason sighs. “A bit. Thanks.” 

He gets up from the couch and shrugs. “Jus’ tell ‘im yer scared. Yer not the only one.” 

He disappears before Jason can ask what he means. 

---

The movie marathon goes on without him when Tim suffers a migraine as a result of his lack of self care. It takes him out for a day and leaves him feeling displaced in his own skin. He feels like someone has poured wet sand into the hollows of his bones; every movement weighs him down, as if gravity itself has been turned up. He doesn’t want to get up but he knows he has to. 

He slips on the sunglasses Cass left behind and stumbles to the bathroom to do his business. Making the walk to the kitchen is awful but so is the empty gnawing of his stomach. He puts a hand against the wall and lets it lead him. 

Roy is dozing on the couch. Jason is at the kitchen counter, bent over a book. Tim leaves him be as he opens the fridge door. He stares at what’s on offer without any real desire to eat. Finally, he grabs a bowl of leftover fruit salad and slumps down into the stool across from Jason’s. 

There’s a dull echo of laughter in his right ear as he picks at a piece of strawberry. He pops a grape into his mouth and does his best to ignore it. He turns his body to watch the exits and entrances; his eyes keep trying to play tricks on him. It makes him tense. 

Jason takes one look at him, turns a page and starts to read aloud: “What are you doing back here? Addie said. 

I thought it would be less likely for people to see me.

I don’t care about that. They’ll know. Someone will see. Come by the front door out on the front sidewalk. I made up my mind, I’m not going to pay attention to what people think. I’ve done that too long—all my life. I’m not going to live that way anymore. The alley makes it seem we’re doing something wrong or something disgraceful, to be ashamed of. 

I’ve been a school teacher in a little town too long, he said. That’s what it is. But all right. I’ll come by the front door next time. If there is a next time. 

Don’t you think there will be? she said. Is this just a one-night stand?

I don’t know. Maybe. Minus the sex part of that, of course. I don’t know how this will go.

Don’t you have any faith? she said.

In you, I do. I can have faith in you. I see that already. But I’m not sure I can be equal to you. 

What are you talking about? How do you mean that?

In courage, he said. Willingness to risk.

Yes, but you’re here.

That’s right. I am.”

Tim closes his eyes and breathes slowly. The laughter fades out, into a barely heard whisper. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. The world feels less scary with Jason’s voice filling in the blanks. If Jason is calm and reading, then there can’t be anything to worry about, surely. 

He makes his way through the fruit in his bowl, slowly but surely, until his fingertips brush porcelain and he’s stuck blinking down at the empty space in surprise. 

“Tell me the truth,” Jason says. “The truth is I like it. I like it a lot. I’d miss it if I didn’t have it. What about you?

I love it, she said. It’s better than I had hoped for. It’s a kind of mystery. I like the friendship of it. I like the time together. Being here—” 

“What book is that?” Tim interrupts, aware that he’s being rude but unable to help it. He’s drifted in and out of the world listening to pages go by and the parts that he remembers stick out in his mind. 

“ Our Souls At Night ,” Jason tells him. “I’m gettin’ caught up on more modern works. I like this one so far.”

“It sounds nice in your voice.” 

“Is that yer way of askin’ me t’ read it t’ ya?” 

He shrugs. 

Jason watches him trace shapes into the marbled countertop for a few long moments. “Babybird,” he starts, “are you okay?” 

“No,” Tim says. “I don’t think I am.” 

“What do ya need?” 

He hums absently. He’s not really sure how to answer that question. He’s tired but he doesn’t want to have any more nightmares. He’s cold but he can’t find the energy to fix that. 

“I think the book is right.” 

“About?” 

“I think companionship is important, no matter your age. I think—I think I want to lay in the dark with you and listen to you talk.” 

“Okay.” Jason’s voice is impossibly gentle. “Ya want me t’ carry ya?” 

He nods. He finds himself unable to lift his head to look at him. He can only listen to the stool legs scrape against the tile as Jason gets up. There are soft footfalls and then arms wrap around his waist, pulling him up into Jason’s chest. Tim’s legs wrap around Jason’s hips as his arms follow suit around his neck. He would say that he feels like a child but he can’t ever remember a time when he was held like this. His parents were not tactile creatures. 

He rests his head on Jason’s shoulder. His pulse is a steady beat; one he does his best to sync his breathing to. 

Jason carries him down the hall and into his bedroom, where he keeps the lights off and lays down. Tim’s legs have to be guided into tangling loosely with his own but he gets the program after a few nudges. He shifts to lay his head on Jason’s chest, where he can feel the strong beat of his pulse beneath his cheek. 

“What’dya wanna talk about?” 

“Tell me about the world,” Tim whispers. “I want to hear about the places you’ve been; the people you’ve met. I’ve never gone anywhere that wasn’t for the Mission. Tell me what I missed.” 

“Alright.” Jason runs his hand over Tim’s hair, down his spine and back up again in long soothing strokes. It helps him feel real again. “One time in Moscow…”

---

He’s told the next day that Kori had to leave to check up on a distress signal from Tameran. Neither Jason or Roy are happy that she went alone, but taking the ship into space would put more strain on Roy’s wounds. She’s due to be back in two weeks’ time at the latest. Everyone feels the absence of her warmth. 

Jason helps Roy down the stairs and into the lab, where they can all work on Tim’s research together. Jason gives Tim permission to look at his bloodwork and the tests Roy ran on the Pit’s effects. 

Tim’s aware of the heaviness in the room as he scans the notes, but he isn’t sure of the cause. He lets the two of them have their silent conversations behind his back, waiting for one of them to break the quiet. It becomes abundantly clear that he’s going to have to be the one to do it. 

“Alright,” he sighs. “What’s going on?” 

Jason looks a lot like a deer in the headlights when he swivels his chair around to look at them. “What’dya mean?” 

“You two are being weirder than usual. If you don’t want to be here, that’s fine, I just wish you would tell me instead of talking behind my back—” 

“We want to be here,” Roy cuts in; his voice is firm and unyielding. His fingers rub at the crook of his arm as he thinks over his words. “We want to help. It’s just—” 

His fingers rub again, harder, and Tim puts the pieces together. “Oh,” he says, as he looks between the two of them. “Is this an intervention?” 

“ No .” Jason holds his hands up. “Fuck, babybird, we’re just worried.” 

“Okay.” Tim crosses his legs and places his folded hands on his knee. It’s a familiar pose, though he hasn’t used it in quite some time. It’s one he used all the time at WE. “Explain.” 

Roy matches his energy when he places his elbows on his knees and leans forward in his seat. His hands hang between his legs, fingers twitching restlessly. “The drugs you’re experimenting with are toxic. Their casualty rate is high and they’ve clearly done a number on you already. We’re concerned that this might do more harm than good.” 

“You’re smart,” Jason adds, “we know ya wouldn’t do anythin’ like that on purpose. It’s just hard t’ reconcile the possible good with the known harm. Lots ‘a people use drugs for good times but there’s always a come down.” 

“You’re talking about your mother.” 

He swallows. “Yeah. I guess—yeah. I am.” 

“I’m not your mother, Jason,” Tim says not unkindly. 

“I know . I just—I don’t wanna see ya waste away. I can’t do that again.”

“And you?” Tim turns to Roy. 

His voice is quiet and defeated; he won’t look Tim in the eyes. “I know what it’s like to search for answers in a substance, kid. It never ends well.”

Tim’s exhale is small, yet frustrated. “Jason, your mother was a victim of substance abuse exacerbated by poverty and stigma. She was alone and struggling and though I know you did your best to help her, you were a child fighting a monster far bigger than you. 

Roy, you sought out ways to ease the pain and loneliness you were feeling. You were not given the proper support you needed and the pressure you and others put on you at a young age only pushed you further into seeking an escape. While I recognize you’ve both struggled, I feel I must remind you that I am not you .”

Tim holds up a hand when they make as if to speak. 

“I was forcefully administered toxins that merged and changed my body’s chemistry. I was then forcefully purged of these, at an accelerated rate. I am not doing this because I want the feeling back. I am doing this because I believe my symptoms will get worse the longer I am without it. Think of it like someone who needs to take antidepressants, or a cancer patient who needs supplemented treatment. This is medical in nature.” 

“It’s Joker Venom and Fear Gas, though,” Jason points out, “neither of those substances are made to help people.” 

“In their current strains, no. But what makes them bad? Are you against them because you know their potential side effects, or are you against them because they’re inventions of the Joker and Scarecrow? All drugs have the potential to harm. I’m only asking you to let me pick the dosage this time.”

Roy’s exhale turns into a low whistle. He shakes his head slowly, with a grudging smile. “I think he’s got us beat, Jaybird.” 

“Shit,” Jason mutters. “ Shit .” 

Tim stands to catch his arm, before he can go back to pacing like a caged tiger. “Trust me,” he pleads. “I’ll stop if it doesn’t work, just let me try first.”

A muscle in Jason’s jaw jumps. He stares down at Tim, broken and hopeful all at once. “Ya promise?” He asks roughly. “Promise you’ll stop if it goes bad?” 

“Promise.” 

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s in pain. His shoulders straighten as he opens them again with a decisive nod. “Okay, babybird. Let’s do this then.” 

The three of them crowd in around the monitor. Tim explains the tests he’s already conducted and what markers he’s looking for. It goes much faster with an additional two sets of hands. None of them are doctors but they’re not exactly average civilians either. They’ve dealt with toxins and antidotes enough to understand the chemistry behind it all. Tim and Roy are arguably geniuses in their own rights, while Jason is whip-smart; he catches on quickly once things are broken down for him.

Their questions are probing and thought provoking. Roy’s suggestion to combine SSRIs to combat the heightened sensation of fear Scarecrow’s toxin causes is a good one and a nod to the medication debate that was already underway back at the manor. Medication reliance is a problem with the mission, due to the fact that withdrawal cannot always be avoided. Undercover work makes keeping a schedule difficult and creates weaknesses if you’re ever captured. But Tim isn’t capable of doing any type of undercover work anymore, which makes the problem moot. 

Of course, straying into the territory of antidepressants and antipsychotics raises the issue of none of them being trained in the prescription of them. 

“Let me talk to Dinah,” Roy suggests. “I’ve kept in touch with her over the years. She knows a lot about this stuff and even helped with the Pit research.”

“She won’t have any problems with Bruce, or my being here?” 

He scoffs. “Dinah isn’t afraid to stand up to Bruce. She helped me when Oliver wouldn’t and kept it a secret when I asked. She’s good people.” 

“He’s right,” Jason says, when Tim looks at him. “I talked to her some, when things were bad. You can trust her.” 

“Alright. I trust you two, which is enough. Can you—I’m not ready to talk to anyone else yet. Do you mind if—?” 

“I’ll take care of it,” Roy promises. 

Tim’s smile is relieved. “Thank you.” 

“What can I say? I look out for my birds.” Roy turns back to the computer, leaving Tim to absorb the weight of those words. He looks a bit lost, which is what has Jason coaxing him up the stairs to help him make lunch. 

“Talked to your friends lately?” 

“Just Kon. He wants to visit sometime but it’s been busy lately, with the Titans and he’s giving you guys space.” Tim accepts the ciabatta rolls Jason puts in his hands and gets to work cutting them in half. “I haven’t reached out to Bart yet. I know he’ll be here in an instant the moment I do.” 

“Just give us warnin’ and it should be fine.” 

“You don’t mind having strangers here?” 

“I mind,” Jason corrects, as he gets to work grilling slices of zucchini, “but they’re not strangers t’ ya. And I trust that they won’t tell the Bat anythin’.” 

“Definitely not.” Tim snorts. “They always complained about him when I was on the team.” 

“They must not be that bad then.” 

“Careful,” he grins, “your bias is showing.” 

Jason rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, babybird. Or no sandwiches fer ya.” 

“Oh no, not the sandwiches.” 

He gets an absent swat for that. Tim dances away from it with a bubbling laugh. 

“Seriously though, if ya want ‘em here, just let us know. We can even meet on the mainland if we need ‘ta.” 

“I’ll think about it. Thank you, though. I know you don’t like your space invaded.” 

Jason shrugs. “‘s yer space now, too. Ya can invite who ya want.” 

He starts layering the zucchini down onto the bottom halves of the rolls. He seems ignorant to the shock of what he’s just said. Did he mean it to come out that way, or is Tim just reading too into it? This was all only ever supposed to be temporary. Tim never expected to be welcomed, let alone offered to stay . 

---

For how busy Dinah is, she manages to fit them in only a day later, late into the afternoon. Tim sits off to the side, where he can observe and let Roy do the talking. He’s never had much contact with the masks of Star City. He’s seen Green Arrow in passing, due to Bruce being in the Justice League but they’ve never officially talked. He recalls a muted memory from when he was younger, of a dinner party and his mother welcoming Dinah home. That relationship fell apart before his parents died. As far as he knows, Dinah was his mother’s cousin. That makes her one of the only living relatives he has left, though neither of them has ever reached out. He’s been burned too many times by those that wear the title ‘family’ and they’ve been in separate lanes ever since he became Robin. Facing her now doesn’t exactly fill him with joy. 

“Roy,” she says warmly, “it’s good to see you. You’ve been calling less often, you had me a bit worried.” 

“Sorry, things’ve been busy. I’m couch bound right now, so you know how it goes. How’re things?” 

“Busy, as always. But I know you didn’t call to catch up on gossip.” Her face turns serious as she looks down at the digital pad in front of her. “I read the file you sent me. Is he there?” 

Roy glances back at Tim; Tim gives a grimace of a smile in return. “He’s here, Di, he’s just not really up for much talking.” 

“I understand, but if I’m going to help you with this, I need to have a discussion with the patient in question. This may be mask business but there are still protocols I need to follow.” 

Tim slides his chair over with a gentle push of his foot. His face comes into view on the corner of the screen; he does his best to ignore it. “Hi, Dinah,” he says quietly.

“Tim.” Her smile is soft and pained. “I’ve read over the notes you sent, as well as your medical file. Normally, I would reach out to Dr. Thompkins for her notes but I’m aware Bruce has them under lock and key. In order to bypass that obstacle lawfully, I’ll need your signed consent.”

“Won’t Bruce come after you?” 

“He can try,” she says dryly, “but I’m not afraid of Bruce Wayne, or the Bat. I’m aware that I’ve been an awful cousin to you, but I can do this much at least.” 

“He’ll argue against it. He’ll try to say I’m not capable of making decisions for myself.” 

“He can try,” she repeats. “I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve, the question is if you’ll let me fight for you?” 

Tim hesitates. He glances between Roy and the screen display. Roy gives a nod and a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder. “Okay,” he says cautiously. “I’ll sign it.” 

“I’ll send the form over. In the meantime, I want to make sure you understand what you’re doing here. You’re talking about an entirely new drug trial, one that can’t even be conducted on anyone or anything other than you, due to your changed chemistry. Normally this process takes years before it even goes to human trials. The very idea of it screams medical malpractice.”

“I’m aware.” 

“The side effects could be dangerous,” she persists. “I understand that you have an alter of sorts. What’s his opinion on all of this?” 

“He’s scared.” The moment the words are out, he knows that it’s true. He can feel it. “But we have nothing to lose other than our life and our questionably intact sanity.” 

“What happened to you does not diminish the sanctity of your own life, Tim.” 

“I know. I’m not—I’m not suicidal.” He waves the thought away like an errant fly. “I’m just tired of being in pain. If the symptoms get worse the way I think they will then I might end up losing those two things anyways. I’d rather lose on my own terms than on the Joker’s.” 

“He’s been working hard to get better, Di,” Roy says quietly. “He’s made a lot of progress with triggers and physical health. He’s not purposefully causing harm to ‘imself.” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” She lets out a soft sigh and sits back in her chair. “I’m willing to help you, as best I can. But what you’re doing is dangerous and you need to be aware of that. You’re going to have to keep a very strict record of your symptoms. I would rather have you in a lab, under surveillance, but I know that’s not in the cards right now.” 

Tim swallows around bile at the thought. 

“Get that form signed and I’ll get things started on my end. Roy can set up a line to share our research on.” 

Roy gives a grinning salute. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Thank you,” Tim says softly. 

“Thank you for reaching out,” she returns. “I know it wasn’t easy. I’m going to do my best to help you in whatever way I can, just keep your chin up until then. And feel free to reach out if you ever need to talk. I’ve helped both Roy and Jason in that regard.” 

“It’s true,” Roy agrees, “she’s the best.” 

“I’ll think about it,” he promises. 

“That’s all I ask.” Dinah smiles gently. “Until next time, nephew.” 

The screen goes black. Roy pulls up the form she sent for Tim to sign, which he sends back once he’s done so.

“Take a breath,” Roy advises. “You did fine. Why don’t you go find Jason and let ‘im know? I’m sure he’s anxious to hear how it went.” 

“He could have just sat in,” Tim sighs. “He didn’t have to run off.” 

“He’s probably avoiding Dinah. He knows he’s due for an appointment.” Roy shakes his head. “Poor bastard should know better by now.” 

He lets out a soft huff of a laugh. “That bad?” 

“Worse. Dinah is scary when she has to mother you. Fighting against it is like fighting against the tide: impossible.” 

“Maybe it’s a family trait,” he mumbles. “Janet could be pretty immovable too.” 

“What’s the deal with that, anyways? I didn’t realize the two of you were related.” 

“It’s not common knowledge. There was a falling out, though I’m not sure what it was over. Dinah was out of the picture before my parents died and I never really got to know her. Neither of us reached out so we kinda stuck to our own circles.” Tim shrugs. “I didn’t think it really mattered. We’re essentially strangers, there was no reason to expect anything more.” 

“You never wanted to reach out?” 

“I was busy,” he says, aware that it’s not an answer. He stands, far too eager to escape the line of questioning. “I’ll go tell Jason what’s happening. Thanks for helping me.” 

“Don’t mention it, kid. You’re basically an Outlaw now and we look after our own.” 

Again, Tim finds himself off balance. He’s glad that he has an excuse to escape quickly. It saves him from having to try to control the complicated expression on his face. 

Notes:

Our Souls At Night is a book by Kent Haruf, about two old widowers who find companionship in one another. I wrote a paper on it in college and realized as I was flipping through it that the premise of it never being too late to find happiness, regardless of what society or your family thinks, can relate very well to Tim and Jason. It's a very bittersweet novel and I think they would both enjoy it whilst railing at the ending.

a lot of communication and making sure everyone is on the same page for this one. How are we feeling about Tim's plan and Roy and Jason's concerns? Dinah also wormed her way into this and I couldn't say no.

As always, I love hearing from you guys and comments help the muse

Chapter 14: for bloody reservations

Summary:

Tim grits his teeth hard enough his jaw begins to hurt. “I’ll do anything,” he says hoarsely, “anything if you work with me. Just help me save them. Please.”

The resistance eases; the needle slides home and the plunger is depressed. There’s a sick, cold feeling at first. It spreads out from his neck and turns his face numb. He closes his eyes against the nausea and does his best to breathe through it. He’s not sure how long he kneels on the roof before the cold turns hot with the thundering of his pulse. 

Notes:

this is the chapter that started this entire story and I've been waiting for forever to finally write it. A few things before we get started:

I was struggling to find a way to portray Tim and Junior being aware at the same time. So when Tim and Junior are both fronting, they're called 'they'. When Tim does something separately and vice versa, I use their names. Hopefully this is clear enough, I did my best.

I have not read over this as strictly as I normally do bc I honestly just wanna get this out. You'll have to forgive any glaring mistakes

“Dinah asked Bruce for your file,” Dick says casually, on their next call. He’s off of bedrest and into PT now. The same cannot be said for Damian, who still has to wear a cast. 

“Is he going to give it to her?” 

“Didn’t sound like he had much of a choice.” 

“Good.” 

“Good?” He echoes; his eyebrows raise in a pointed look. “You’ve gotta give me more than that, little brother.” 

Tim sighs. “Dinah is helping me with my side effects. Roy convinced me to talk to her.” 

If he was expecting any argument, he’s left disappointed. Dick simply rests his chin on a hand and smiles. “I’m glad you’re focusing on your health, Timmy. I was worried.” 

“You are?” 

“Of course. Did you think I’d be upset?” 

“I don’t know. I just—” He’s so used to Bruce wanting to control everything, to keep it all close to home. Bringing Dinah in exposes his weaknesses and could do the same for the others depending on what he tells her. 

“I get it,” Dick says gently, “but it’s your health. The only thing I care about is that you’re getting better—and having a doctor on board makes me feel more at ease. I know Dinah will take care of you.” 

“Thanks.” Tim ducks his head, feeling oddly pleased. “Speaking of, how is PT going?” 

“Good! I’m a little stiff but that’s to be expected. I’ll be back in the field in no time.” 

“There’s no complications?” 

“Nope. Scar tissue is healing nicely.” Dick winks. “You wanna see?” 

“I’m good,” he says dryly.

“Your loss.” 

They talk some more about Alfred, and how he’s fairing amongst the madness. Dick steers clear of mentioning any of the others, save for an update on Damian’s recovery. It’s peaceful, and a bit like how it used to be. Dick isn’t giving him those pitying looks anymore and he doesn’t wince whenever Tim laughs. It’s another step towards normal. 

They end with a promise to call again soon. Tim closes his laptop and sets it aside with a soft sigh. 

Outside, on the mats Tim helped set up, Jason is wrestling Roy into his stretches. The stitches on his leg are out, which means he’s being a gigantic baby about working the stiffness out of his joints. His shoulder still has a few days before he can start safely doing the same. 

It’s hot out, even under the shade of the trees. Tim can feel a wave of humidity as soon as he steps out the door. Jason and Roy are stripped down to tank tops and shorts, though Roy’s is so cut out it might as well not even be there at all. Tim does his best to ignore the fact that the humidity is only making the fabric stick further to Jason’s chest and abdominal muscles. For his sanity’s sake, he’s been avoiding thinking about what Roy and Kori told him. He’s not ready to open that can of worms, especially when it’s almost a decade old at this point. 

Jason and Dick both share a similar place when it comes to his sexual awakening, not that he’d ever tell them. Time has transformed what he felt for Dick into the family bond he’d always wanted, but he’s never had that opportunity with Jason. His feelings for Jason are still tangled, caught somewhere between childhood admiration, the grief of losing his hero, the betrayal of Jason trying to kill him and whatever friendship they’ve built up over the past few months. Nothing about Jason is easy . That’s part of what drew Tim to him in the first place. 

The idea of Jason being sweet on him makes Tim’s stomach twist and his face heat. It’s a heady, terrifying feeling. He doesn’t know what to do with it, let alone himself. 

He tears his eyes away from the shift of Jason’s forearms when Roy takes a break to wave him over. The look he gives him is knowing, even if Tim chooses to ignore it. 

“Have a good talk with Dickiebird?” Roy asks. 

“Something like that. He’s glad Dinah is on board.” 

“Aren’t we all.” He rolls over onto his back with a wince, injured arm held gingerly while the other flings out beside him. “Why don’t you two spar while I recover from Jaybird’s torture?” 

“Yer not gettin’ out ‘a those final stretches,” Jason warns. 

Roy groans. “Tim, please distract him. For my sake.” 

“Well, if it’s for your sake,” Tim drawls, lips quirked up at the corners. He doesn’t let himself think about it when he pulls the blouse he’s wearing off. It’s a pretty blue with whales embroidered onto the collar and he doesn’t want it to get ruined. 

It’s the first time he’s gone shirtless around either of them. If the two of them are aware of it, Roy does a good job of pretending otherwise. Jason, meanwhile, takes a step closer. His hand reaches out as if to touch before withdrawing. 

“Is that,” he gestures to the white splash that starts to the left of Tim’s belly and disappears under his shorts, “more burns?” 

Tim looks down. He’s so used to ignoring his own body that it’s almost a surprise to see all the scars. “Yeah. He submerged me at one point—pulled me up and left me in a puddle after I passed out. Most of it was reversible but the spots that had longer exposure couldn’t be fixed. Does it bother you?”

“‘Bother me—’” Jason shakes his head wildly. “Why the fuck would it bother me ? Yer the one thats gotta live with it. I should be askin’ ya that.” 

He shrugs. “I’m aware that the way I look makes a lot of people uncomfortable. You don’t have to lie to me if that includes you.” 

“Fuck ‘em,” he says vehemently. His fists clench at his sides, like he’s ready to deliver the message physically and with great prejudice. “They don’t matter. Yer still you, no matter what that bastard did. Yer scars don’t bother me.” 

Tim looks away. He wants to believe it but he’s far too used to being disappointed. It’s better in the long run to keep expectations low, to avoid unnecessary hurt. 

Jason huffs. He yanks his own shirt off and throws it to the side almost violently. “Yer not the only one with scars that make people uncomfortable.”

“Jason, you don’t have to—” 

“I know.” His voice softens. “Ya can look, babybird. I promise.” 

Slowly, Tim’s eyes lift from the ground. His throat is dry as he takes in the deep ‘Y’ incision cut into Jason’s torso. It slices through the muscles of his chest, leaving the skin uneven. The Lazarus Pit couldn’t take away all the scars of the past, it seems. 

He wonders if Bruce knows. He’s abruptly aware of the fact that up until coming to the Island, he’s never once seen Jason in anything less than a full body suit and armor. He’d always chalked it up to how guarded he is around all things Bat, but he’s starting to wonder if there’s more to it, after all. He can see the discomfort in the pinch of Jason’s brow; the tension in his jaw. Having his scars revealed seems to feel just as horrifically baring as it does for Tim—but he’s doing it regardless, for Tim’s sake. 

With the weight of that knowledge, it seems only fair that he say: “Thank you.” He forces himself to meet Jason’s eyes, to let him see how much the action means to him. “Really, Jay. I appreciate it.”  

Some of the tension drains from Jason’s shoulders. “Yeah,” he says softly, “anytime.” 

The silence lingers between them. It would feel comfortable, normally, but with Roy and Kori’s words in his head, Tim finds himself suddenly flustered. He clears his throat and ducks his head with the excuse of nodding towards the mats. “So, you want to spar?” 

Jason’s grin is bright and feral. It’s also incredibly bad for Tim’s heart, judging by the way his pulse jumps. “Always.”

It’s getting easier to move the way he wants to whenever they do this. His flexibility is coming back in spades, though his strength is a slower process. He’s still putting weight back on. He can’t do strength training to the degree he would like, either, with how often he gets headaches from exertion. If it isn’t his head getting in the way, it’s the tremble of his legs. It’s incredibly frustrating which is why sparring has become a fun escape from it all. 

He’s aware of his faults, of course, but it’s easier to forget how much he’s lost when there’s another person laughing beside him. Jason doesn’t pressure him to be Red Robin. He teases and ribs to push him outside of his head, where he can stop overthinking and just do . 

It’s why Tim doesn’t hesitate when Jason makes no move to bring a prop into their practice. He simply moves into his space to grapple the way Jason clearly wants. It’s not easy, when he’s smaller. He has to rely on speed to keep him away from Jason’s powerful grabs. He’s grown up learning how to use someone else’s mass against them. It’s part of why sparring with Damian has always been so challenging, murder attempts aside. Tim doesn’t often fight someone smaller than him. He’s half glad that Damian is quickly growing into his father’s genetics. It makes countering him much easier, should he ever need to. 

Jason grunts as he earns an elbow to the gut. They both go down when he gets an arm around Tim’s waist and it’s Dick’s trained flexibility that allows Tim to get a leg around his neck and squeeze. Jason uses his bulk to roll them over, hand closing tight around Tim’s ankle as he shoulders further in between his legs. Tim squirms fiercely, aware of just how bad a position he’s in. In a few seconds he’s not going to be able to get free, no matter how much he thrashes. 

He plants a heel in Jason’s thigh and a hand under his chin. Jason’s head goes back with the push but his reach is longer. He gets a hand under Tim’s other arm to twist him onto his side. The lock Tim had on his own elbow falters under the sudden shift; Jason wastes little time in slamming his other arm down onto the mat while the rest of his weight works to pin Tim in place. 

Tim wiggles for a few strained seconds before going limp. “I give,” he pants. 

Jason loosens his grip and sits back with a breathless grin. “That leg hold was impressive. Probably woulda dislocated a hip if I tried ‘t do it.” 

“Yes, well, you have more,” Tim makes an absent gesture, “mass. You don’t have to be flexible to choke someone with your thighs.” 

There’s a coughing laugh in the background that reminds them both that Roy is still there. Tim’s face flushes scarlet. They’re both sweaty in the heat and Jason hasn’t quite fully moved away yet. He’s still pressed up against Tim’s legs which is suddenly all Tim can think about. 

It’s a bad time for his libido to rear its long forgotten head. 

“I, um, I’ll get some waters,” Tim stammers, as he wiggles out from under Jason. He grabs his blouse on the way and practically flees inside. If he takes longer than normal coming back, Roy and Jason are nice enough not to mention it. 

---

It’s two days before Kori’s expected return when Jason’s computer gets a ping for a new mission. Tim is made aware of this when Jason joins him in the lab. It takes a while for Tim to realize that his mumbled greeting hasn’t been returned. He blinks down at the slide in front of him, swivels in his chair to look at Jason and takes in the pensive expression on his face. 

“Jay?” He searches for the water bottle he knows he brought down with him in the morning and finds it in the fridge with the samples. He sheds his gloves to crack it open; by the time he’s taken a sip, Jason still hasn’t said anything. 

“Jason,” Tim repeats, as he stands to move closer. “You okay?” 

Aware of just how bad an idea it is to approach a distracted vigilante, Tim sends his chair rolling across the floor. Jason flinches when it bumps against his legs. His head jerks up and his hands follow on instinct; he relaxes when he sees that there’s no danger. 

“Sorry,” Jason says, when he realizes what’s happened. “Just thinkin’.” 

“About?” 

“Got a mission ping. It’s time based and can’t wait until Kori gets back.” 

“You’re worried about Roy?” Tim surmises. 

“And you. We screwed up last time, I don’t wanna leave ya hangin’ again.” 

“I could ask Kon to stay with me this time? He’d probably be happy to have an excuse to hang out in person.” 

“He won’t have an issue with how we do things?” 

He shakes his head. “Not everyone is as strict as Batman. Kon doesn’t mind killing with a cause, if it’ll help people. A lot of the newer generations are like that. They know how limited a black and white view can be, especially when it comes to humans.” 

Jason exhales like there’s a weight on his chest; it seems to recede as he takes in Tim’s words. “And you?” He asks, without looking at him. 

“Me?” 

“How do you feel ‘bout it?” 

The answer is remarkably easy. “I did the math when Red Hood took over the Alley. Fifteen percent crime drop in just the first few months. Drug overdoses went down just as drastically after you got rid of laced suppliers and instigated safe-use houses. Sex workers have never been safer than when you’re around, and health care has skyrocketed with your health drives. A lot of it has to do with you in general, but I can’t argue that your methods don’t also play a role.

I’ve always said Batman can’t kill, and I still believe it. He’s a hope for a brighter future, one where people get second chances. But he’s also flawed. He’s always going to need someone on the other side, doing what he can’t. Robin keeps Batman in line but Red Hood keeps him from being obsolete.” 

Jason looks like he’s been struck and is supremely startled by it; Tim smiles gently. 

“I don’t look down on you for killing people, Jason. I guess—now I even understand it, on a personal level. Having bloody hands doesn’t diminish the fact that you’re a hero.” 

There’s silence for a few long moments. Finally, Jason stands to wrap him up into a hug. “Thank you,” he says hoarsely. 

Tim hums into his chest. “Anytime.”

---

Kon is more than willing to spend time with him, when he asks. From there it’s a simple process to plan what safe house will be used and where. Roy still has a few stitches in his shoulder but he’s moving with only a bit of stiffness. He shrugs off any worry with a smile and gets his gear together for the ride over.

They’re going to Germany, where there’s been rumors of League activity. There’s alien tech being sold through one of the ports, which never means anything good for anyone. Their main goal is intel, but if they can get away with the prize of the bunch then they’re going to. 

It grates that Tim can’t join them. Nor can he do much to help them from the sidelines when they’re going undercover. It makes him restless, no matter how much Roy and Jason promise to be back soon. 

Kon takes one look at him when he arrives and holds up the bag in his hands. “I’m glad I brought video games,” he announces. “I can practically smell your brain overheating from here.” 

Tim rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t move away when Kon flops down onto the couch beside him. “There’s pizza,” he gestures to the warmed boxes on the table. “I’m not really that hungry.” 

Kon drops a remote in his lap with his TTK. The TV starts up as the console comes to life. “You gotta have at least one slice, man, they’ll kill me if you waste away in my care.” 

He snorts. “Jason didn’t bring kryptonite. I checked.” 

“Speaking of,” Kon says, as he pulls up the game list. His tone is overly casual, which puts Tim on guard. “What’s up with you two?” 

“What? Nothing.” 

The look he gets is all side eye. “You’re aware that I can hear your heartbeat, right? It gets faster around him and it’s not from fear.”  

“It’s nothing ,” Tim insists. “He’s not—I don’t—I can’t think about that right now.” 

“But you have been thinking about it?” 

He groans and picks the first game he sees out of pure desperation; it’s an action based game focused on team play. “Roy and Kori may have mentioned that he finds me attractive. But nothing has happened and I need to focus on figuring out the serum stuff.” 

“Because you think you’re going to die.” 

“Kon…” He reaches out to place a hand on Kon’s tense arm. “It’s not not a possibility. It’s why I didn’t want to get anyone else involved until I had answers.” 

“I thought you said things were going well? You’re talking to Junior and Dinah is helping—doesn’t that mean things are looking up?” 

“Maybe.” Tim looks down. He’s spent so long afraid of himself, sure that the only solution was death. When the Outlaws took that idea and essentially kicked it half way across the world, he didn’t know what to do. He still doesn’t really know what to do. 

Kon softens as he leans into his side. “They’re not the Bats,” he says softly, “you don’t have to be scared of them. I can tell they care about you.” 

A prickle of anxiety fans out over his skin. The idea of trusting a team again is terrifying. He left the Titans behind and he ran from the Bats. Nothing has ever not hurt in some way and he doesn’t want to have to find a new place to go. He doesn’t want to lose the peace he’s found.

“I can’t think about it right now,” Tim repeats. “Another time, maybe. Once the serum is finished.” 

“I’m gonna hold you to that, bird boy.” 

He nudges Kon’s ribs and looks back at the TV screen. “Whatever. It’s your turn to flip the switch.” 

They devolve into easy banter as their characters progress. Tim manages to eat two pieces of pizza in the interim while Kon devours the rest. He’s half managed to forget his anxiety when Kon’s phone gives an ominous beep.

“That’s my Titan’s signal,” Kon frowns. He pulls his phone out to scan the screen; it’s nothing good judging by the way his jaw tightens. 

“You have to go,” Tim guesses. 

“I have to go,” he confirms, albeit reluctantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I don’t want to leave you here.” 

“I’ll be fine. Go do what you have to, they should be done in a few hours. I can handle being by myself in the meantime.” 

Kon looks as if he might argue, but another urgent sound from his phone has him closing his mouth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. 

“Just come out of whatever it is in one piece and we’ll call it even.” 

“Deal.” 

He bolts out the door to take to the sky, leaving Tim with several empty pizza boxes and a game screen. With no one around to stop him, he can’t help but check Roy and Jason’s signal. Their trackers have them right where they’re supposed to be and there’s no sign of distress. 

Tim falls back onto the couch with a sigh and closes his eyes. He’s not planning on sleeping, but when he opens his eyes again it’s dark out and the only light in the room is from the TV. He jolts upright with a curse when he realizes the time. 

Roy and Jason should’ve been back two hours ago. 

He tells himself not to panic when he goes to check Roy’s setup. It’s a hard task when he realizes they’re not where they’re supposed to be. He pulls up any CCTV footage he can find around the area. There’s a tail end of a group of men shoving two people into the back of a car. It’s grainy, but Tim recognizes Jason’s scowl before the door slams in his face. 

The trackers follow the route of the car and deposits them in an old warehouse. From what he gathers before they disappear inside, Roy is bleeding and Jason isn’t much better. They must’ve been found out, somehow, while Tim was sleeping.

Stupid.

Had they called for help? Could he have gotten them out? 

The thought makes him sick. 

Peace never lasts forever. Tim thought he knew this. Perhaps his recovery made him complacent. Perhaps he got too used to not having to fight for every scrap of good in his life. He let himself grow soft. Comfortable. The consequences of this will be his own—and he’s fine with that. But only at the cost of himself. He took up the mantle to protect people, to save Batman . Despite everything his parents tried to instill in him, Tim Drake has never been someone to walk over others. 

A plan is taking form in his head the longer he stares at the two unmoving dots on the screen. It’s unadvisable but he doesn’t have any choice. Kon is gone, Kori is in space and no one else can get here in time. Tim doesn’t know how long they’re going to leave Jason and Roy alive and he can’t risk being too late. 

So it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t trained seriously in months. It doesn’t matter that he’s one of two minds these days. It doesn’t matter that he’s still recovering from two separate occasions of captivity. No one else can step up and get to Jason and Roy in time without risking their lives even further. It’s up to him now and if there’s anything he’s good at it’s planning contingencies. 

It’s why he already has a suit ready, complete with new colors and the body armor to match. He rummages in his bag and pulls out the bodysuit that makes up the base layer. It’s almost entirely black, save for the white that accents his sides and inner thighs. It also covers him entirely. The only reason he can stand the turtle neck and tight hood he slips over his head is because it protects his neck from any potential needles. He can stand the tightness over the potential of being drugged and vulnerable any day. 

His belts and harness are a thick white leather that criss-cross across his hips and chest respectively. Both are familiar and reminiscent of his Red Robin days, save for the thigh holster on his right leg. Of course, also unlike his Red Robin days, his pouches are filled with decidedly deadly tools. His upper arms are circled by easily accessible throwing knives. A gun is tucked into the new holster. 

He’s not playing nice anymore. 

He does a couple stretches, fixes the position of his gauntlets, and deems himself ready. He doesn’t have time to make a mask—the prototype is still sitting back in Roy’s lab, tucked away where no one will look—but that’s fine. He’s not planning on letting anyone walk away with the knowledge of his identity. 

He pockets the bottle of unfinished serum for last and does his best not to think about it. He has to get to the warehouse Jason and Roy are being held at before he injects. Luckily, the vehicle they took to the safe house is still sitting in the garage. Tim slips into the front seat with a headspace he hasn’t felt in a long long time. 

The drive is silent but not peaceful. Tim’s brain runs through a series of systematic plans. What to do if the targets are grievously injured. How to avoid any further injury. What to do if one can’t be saved—No. Unexceptable, even in theory. 

His hands tighten around the steering wheel. The leather lets out a warning sound of protest but he can’t find it in himself to relax. 

He parks in the shadows a building down. No one notices him slip out of the driver’s seat and into a side alley. He gets himself up onto the roof with some difficulty. The adrenaline in his veins is making his hands shaky and his breathing harder. He scowls down at his arms as he pulls out a vial of pale green liquid. There’s a sense of trepidation as he reaches up to tug his bodysuit down enough. He’s not thrilled with a neck injection but it’s the best he can do. 

There’s resistance when he tries to lift the needle. He strains for a second before it clicks. 

“You cannot be serious right now,” Tim snarls. “We are not sitting this out.”

The sensation of fear blankets his thoughts. He shakes his head like a dog, as if that’ll get rid of it. 

“I don’t care what it does to me, it’s worth it if Jason and Roy survive.” 

Not the only one in this body, comes whisper quiet. 

Tim grits his teeth hard enough his jaw begins to hurt. “I’ll do anything,” he says hoarsely, “anything if you work with me. Just help me save them. Please.”

The resistance eases; the needle slides home and the plunger is depressed. There’s a sick, cold feeling at first. It spreads out from his neck and turns his face numb. He closes his eyes against the nausea and does his best to breathe through it. He’s not sure how long he kneels on the roof before the cold turns hot with the thundering of his pulse. 

It’s like a dam inside of him breaks; one he didn’t even know was there. It washes over him and pulls him under. 

He drowns. 

---

There are two guards at the front doors. Their guns lean against the table they sit at as they play cards. One is smoking in between turns while the other grumbles over his hand. Two paralyzing darts take them out for the night; two snapped necks take them out permanently.

Tim-Junior-both slink past their bodies without a sound. The world has a bit of a strange tilt to it, as if everything is ever so slightly off but their mind is crystal clear. Rescue the targets, get out, leave no one alive. 

Easy. 

It’s around the third set of guards that someone catches on to something being amiss. A shout comes from the front and suddenly everyone is up in arms. They swing up into the rafters and continue to move deeper into the warehouse, in the opposite direction of the commotion. 

They find an armory and amongst the stockpile sits Jason’s pistols and Roy’s bow. Tim isn’t very good with a bow and Junior never learned in the first place. They leave it for now, but sling Jason’s holsters over their shoulder. Carrying anything else will impede them too much. They move on to the locked doors beyond. 

“Perimeter sweep!” Someone shouts in the distance. “Check on the prisoners, the boss wants them ready to go!” 

They’re alive then. Good. 

They shoot the first man that comes around the corner. The second barely has a chance to shout before he follows after. There’s a cry of dismay from someone out of sight but they’re slipping into the now open door and locking it behind them before anyone else can take a shot. 

The first few rooms they check after that are empty. It isn’t until they check the very back ones that they hear voices. 

“You’ve been a real pain in the ass, you’re lucky we need you alive.” 

“I feel real lucky,” Jason drawls. 

Tim’s breath catches in his chest at the sound. He’s alive! He knew he had to be, but— he’s alive!  

He scurries up into the rafters to forgo the door. When he tugs the vent top away, Jason is tied to a chair below, wrapped up in chains from shoulder to ankle. His face is swollen with two black eyes and what’s surely a broken nose. His clothes are in tatters around what looks like knife wounds. One of his arms sits at an odd angle—dislocated maybe? 

The man in the room with him scoffs and shoves back from his own chair. He hits Jason in the stomach and earns a reluctant wheeze for his efforts. 

Admittedly, this is when the serum begins to hit and they start to lose it. The man’s face is introduced rudely to the pavement when they drop down onto his head, feet first. There’s a wet crunch and a growing pool of blood. They bend to rummage in his pockets for a key. 

“Babybird?” Jason boggles. “What the fuck—am I hallucinatin’?” 

Junior snickers under his breath. Tim stands with his acquired key and begins to unlock Jason’s chains. “We’re real. Where’s Roy?” 

“Next room over. They wanted us t’ hear the other get beat.” Jason grimaces as his shoulder comes loose. Tim pauses to assess; they don’t ask for permission before setting it, they just do. Jason swears under his breath. 

They’re working on his legs when there’s a commotion from outside. They put Jason’s pistols in his lap. At least with his arms free, he can shoot. 

“Be back,” they tell him, “don’t die.” 

“Since ya asked so nicely.” 

They shoot their grapnel up into the rafters to transfer into the next room over. Roy’s captor is met with the same treatment as the first, though he’s admittedly less conscious than Jason. The wounds that were almost healed have been reopened. There’s a nasty gash above his eyebrow that makes him a concussion risk. They work on de-chaining him as several gunshots go off in the next room. 

“Come on, come on,” Tim mutters. The final lock clicks open but they can’t carry Roy. They need Jason for that. “Stay here,” he orders; Roy blinks dazedly. It’s the best he’s going to get right now. 

He approaches the door. The moment he hears a key being placed in the lock he shoves the door open with all his strength, pushing back the man trying to open it. He shouts as they open fire with the gun they stole from Jason. A hysterical giggle spills free from Junior’s— Tim’s? —lips. 

“Run, run, run, while you can,” they sing. No one takes them up on it, but that’s fine. They’ll learn. 

They sink a blade into someone’s eye and send him screaming into his colleagues. Smoke pellets burst beneath their feet, adding more confusion to the mayhem. Shots go off wildly. It’s fine; their cape is bulletproof and they need to open a path for Jason to get to Roy. 

Dead, dead, dead, Junior sings. 

Shouldn't've come for our friends, Tim thinks darkly. 

He snaps a man’s arm, takes him out at the knee and shoots him in the head. Blood and brain matter splatter his suit, leaving red trails on the white. The panic is starting to grow now. People are scattering as they take them down one by one. 

Of course, they can’t keep things up forever. They’re not in shape the way they used to be and the serum is a prototype. Their pulse is pounding in their temples with the beginning of the mother of all migraines. Their hands shake when they take aim. They’re sweating too hard for it be anything other than a side effect. Every harsh breath has the lilt of laughter to it.

Tim sends a fresh wave of smoke pellets into the fray as he makes his way back to the rooms where he found his friends. He finds Jason halfway down the hall with Roy’s arm hooked over his shoulder. He shoots at anyone in his path; they speed up to offer the protection of their cape. 

“There are better ways to throw us a party,” Jason grunts at the sight of him. 

“But this is so excitin’,” Junior chirps. His grin is wide as he blows a hole in someone’s skull. 

“We’re talkin’ about this later,” Jason warns. 

Tim’s giggle strays on the maniacal side. “I know. Now let’s get out of here before it blows.”

The first explosive goes off, back where they came. More screams join the chaos as Jason speeds up. They cover his back as they give him directions to the car. 

“You should definitely drive,” Tim tells Jason, before he promptly throws up onto the sidewalk. 

Jason swears. 

I feel awful, Junior moans. 

Tim pushes against the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there. It’s agony to get in the car but he’s not done yet. He needs to make sure Jason and Roy are safe. 

He swallows back bile as Jason starts the engine. They take off with a squeal of tires. Tim watches for any gunners. It’s only when they’ve disappeared into city traffic that he starts to relax. It’s then that the nausea hits full force. He bends double and sees spots with how hard his body heaves. 

Jason is cursing again. 

Roy groans from the back. 

Both of them are alive, therefore, mission accomplished. 

Tim and Junior fade to black. 

Notes:

Tim finally got to go a little feral but I wonder what the consequences will be?

Comments are the life fuel running through my veins

Chapter 15: for hidden implications

Summary:

Tim settles back against the pillows with a slight wince. There are bandages wrapped around his thigh and upper arm where he must’ve been shot. If he concentrates, he can feel Junior at the back of his head, as an exhausted presence.

Thank you, he thinks towards him. There’s no response, but that’s okay. They have time. 

Notes:

this chapter has taken me forever to write I s2g. I've been dealing with medical stuff and have finally(!) gotten a diagnosis for a sleep disorder that makes me tired all-the-fucking-time which makes writing as hard as you can probably imagine. BUT we're kicking off into the final action sequence and I'm excited to show you guys what I've got in store

(also a big thank you once again to everyone that has left lovely comments, I'm super tired and might not reply to each one but please know I appreciate them all and re=read them when I need motivation)

Everything is a haze for a while. The world passes by in stop motion pictures, both too slow and too fast to fully comprehend. 

Click . Jason helps Tim out of the car. Click . Tim is bent over a bucket, watching through bloodshot eyes as Jason gets Roy onto the plane. Click . He’s sweating, face against the metal of the floor as someone tries to convince him to—say? do? something. Click . His face is pressed into Jason’s shoulder as he’s carried down the plane ramp; everything is swirling in a dizzying rush of color and sound but Jason’s arms are so gentle. Click . There’s a wet cloth running over his skin as he’s peeled out of his suit. There’s swearing as the red stains are revealed to not just be blood splatters. Click . He’s shivering as a needle works through his skin; it doesn’t hurt, but he can feel the tug and pull. There’s a soft voice telling him it’s okay, babybird, it’s just me, you’re okay . Click . He’s laid down onto soft sheets. The ceiling is white instead of yellow and the walls are the palest shade of blue when he turns his head a certain way. There is a large bay window taking up one wall, but the curtains are drawn to limit the amount of light. It’s familiar, but he’s too out of it to put the pieces together. Click . He falls asleep. 

When he wakes again, he’s trembling and exhausted. He feels weak in a way he hasn’t since he first came to the island and it’s disconcerting enough to get him to open his eyes. There’s a weight on his side and on his legs. When he turns his head, he realizes that Roy is horizontal on the bed, legs dangling half off the mattress with his head propped up against Tim’s calves. Jason is in front of Tim, with an arm slung over Tim’s waist. They both wake when he moves. 

“Wha?” Roy grunts.

“Tim,” Jason says, far more eloquently. “How do you feel?” 

“Like I got hit by a truck,” his mouth says without his filter’s permission. 

The skin around Jason’s eyes tightens. “Ya need t’ tell me what ya took. All I found was an empty vial in yer belt and I couldn’t— you couldn’t even speak until now—” 

“Hey,” Tim puts a hand on Jason’s chest. He can feel his heart racing against his palm, faster than it should be. His own alarm rises as he realizes what it must have looked like. “It was an early days serum. A mix of pure Joker Venom and Fear Gas, among other things, tweaked to act more like a fast-acting steroid. It was designed to allow full function without any of the side effects I normally experience, but only for a brief amount of time. Emergency use only.” 

“Hell of a drug,” Roy remarks. He sits up with a wince; there’s bandages wrapped around his shoulder and a bruise on his jaw; another bandage peeks out from the curtain of his hair. “Do you remember what happened?” 

“Most of it. It gets a bit blurry at times, but that’s to be expected when working with Junior.” 

“How much is most?” Jason presses. 

Tim shoots them both a quizzical look. Roy’s lips are pressed together into a thin, stressed line. Jason’s brow is furrowed, despite the fact that it surely irritates his bruised skin. It hits Tim all at once that they’re concerned .

“Oh,” he says, “you think I regret killing them.” 

They share a look over his head. 

“Tim,” Roy starts, “you weren’t in your right mind—” 

“I was aware,” he dismisses. “I chose what happened. I convinced Junior to work with me. I don’t need you to make excuses for my actions. I’m not guilty and I don’t regret getting the two of you out of there. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“It’s a little hard to believe that after seeing you so scared of target practice,” Roy says, not unkindly. 

Tim’s exhale feels like it’s been punched out of him. “It’s not—you don’t understand. He used targets to mess with my head. He hid people behind them so that when I shot at cardboard I actually shot at living bodies. I wasn’t aware, it wasn’t my choice. This was my choice. I knew what the plan was before I even injected myself.”

“Fuck, babybird, I’m still sorry we put ya in that position—” 

“ Don’t ,” he says sharply. “Don’t try to take responsibility for my choices. I would have done the same for Dick or Kon or Cass. I didn’t do it so you would feel guilty and I’m so tired of people trying to use me as a form of self torture. I got enough of that with Bruce .”

There’s a moment of silence as the full weight of that name hits the sanctity of the room like a bomb. Jason’s eyes flare green for the briefest of moments before he closes them with a shuddering breath. 

“I don’t regret killing the Joker. I don’t regret killing the people that hurt you. Understand?” 

“Yeah,” Roy answers for them both. A crooked smile crosses his tired face. “I guess this is the point where I should say thank you, then.” 

“You’re welcome.” Tim offers a faint smile in return. “Try not to do it again, okay?” 

“I make no promises. Everyone wants a piece of this.” Roy slides off the bed and stretches with a wince. “Anyways, now that you’re awake and not dying, I’m going to go wait for Kori to get back. Your blood came back okay an hour or so ago but Dinah said you’ll probably feel shaky for a day or two. Increased anxiety response, maybe a flare up of usual symptoms. Nothing too big, though it wasn’t looking good in the beginning.” 

“Sorry I worried you.” 

Roy waves him off. “Figure we’re probably even at this point. Just yell if you guys need anything.” 

The door closes behind him and Tim realizes just where he is. The room is familiar because it’s Jason’s. The open, airy space, the nearly white walls, the huge window. Widened eyes find Jason’s bruised face, to see him looking back. Jason heals faster than most, which has left the skin around his eyes a molted yellow and brown instead of black and blue. It has done little to make him any less attractive, which is truly unfair. 

“Are you okay?” Tim asks softly. His hand reaches out only to hesitate a few inches away from Jason’s face.

“Am I okay?” Jason lifts a hand to catch his hovering one. He tugs him closer to settle the curve of his cheek into Tim’s palm; Tim’s breath hitches. “Ya took an untested drug, shot up a warehouse full of trained mercenaries to rescue our stupid asses, got shot in the process and then got so sick I thought ya were havin’ a stroke.”

“I’m—it wasn’t that bad,” he tries to argue, only for Jason to shake his head. 

“Ya threw up so hard ya burst the blood vessels in yer eyes. Ya could barely talk and when ya did I couldn’t tell who it was. It was bad, babybird.” 

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

Jason’s eyes close. He presses harder into Tim’s palm, fingers curled tight around his wrist but not tight enough to bruise. It’s a secure hold; almost comforting, even. “Ya did,” he breathes. “Fuck, ya really did.” 

“Is that why you took me here?” 

“My bed’s bigger and I—I was havin’ trouble with the pit. Couldn’t settle down until I had ya both in my house, where I could turn on all the security measures and watch ya.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tim repeats. “I didn’t expect the side effects to be so bad. I should’ve left instructions.” 

“I don’t know that they’d’ve made me feel any better. Just don’t do it again, okay? I don’t want ya fuckin’ with yer health because we make stupid mistakes.” 

“I’m working with Dinah to make a better formula. It won’t be like this next time.” 

He sighs. They both know that’s as good as he’s going to get. 

“Ya hungry?” 

“A little.” 

“Let me grab ya some crackers an’ soup. I’ll be right back.” 

Tim settles back against the pillows with a slight wince. There are bandages wrapped around his thigh and upper arm where he must’ve been shot. If he concentrates, he can feel Junior at the back of his head, as an exhausted presence. 

Thank you, he thinks towards him. There’s no response, but that’s okay. They have time. 

---

Kori returns to what is, admittedly, a bit of a mess. 

“You are nothing but trouble,” she declares, once she has sufficiently hugged the life out of Roy and Jason. “And you,” she turns to Tim with a grave expression, and open arms, “thank you for getting them out.” 

Tim is stiff in the embrace for a few moments, before his brain registers what’s been said and his aching body takes full advantage of her warmth to ease his pain. “You don’t have to thank me. Anyone could have done it.” 

“You protected them, at great risk to yourself.” She pulls back some to meet his eyes. “Sanctuary aside, you will always be welcome among us. Both of you.”

Surprising them all, he bursts into tears.

“Whoa,” Jason says with rising alarm. “What’s wrong?” 

“He’s clearly overwhelmed by the honor of being an Outlaw,” Roy jokes, though he leans in closer to look for any signs of pain.    

“Have I hurt you?” Kori asks. 

Tim shakes his head. He hides his face away in her shoulder before she can think to remove her embrace. She’s a lot like Steph or Cassie with her warmth and curves and the reminder sends an old, aching pain out to join all the rest. 

How to explain that he doesn’t know how to belong anywhere? How to explain how much it means to him to have a place to always return to, regardless of his bloody hands? The relief of not being alone, of being welcomed into a home already made, is too much after everything. 

“It’s—I’m good,” Tim blubbers. 

He’s mildly aware of Jason’s hand settling big and comforting on his back. Roy leans against Kori, the length of his thigh pressed up against Tim’s own. It all feels so good it hurts. 

Roy and Jason have both welcomed him into the fold in various ways but Kori’s acceptance makes it impossible to write it all off as pity. They want him— accept him even, Junior and all. There’s a hesitant bloom of joy at the back of his mind, tinged over with confusion like it’s been dipped in dye. NeitherTim nor Junior know what to do with this. 

Kon accepted him but it’s different with him. Tim meant it when he said he would never be a Robin or a Titan again. There’s too much history there and still bridges to mend. The Outlaws are people who have no pressure to accept him. There’s no expectation, no legacy to back him up. There’s just Tim and Junior, broken but trying. 

“Thank you,” he says, for both of them. 

They sit like that for a long time, tangled up in one another. Eventually Tim’s tears dry and he’s left feeling lighter than he has in a long time. There’s no judgment when he meets the others' eyes, only concern. It makes his next decision easy. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like your help with something.” 

“Sure, babybird,” Jason agrees, “what d’ya need?” 

“Bleach and hair dye.” He smiles impishly. “I think it’s about time I met Junior half way.” 

---

Jason and Roy have plenty of experience with the dying process, as it turns out. 

“Comes in handy when you’ve got such distinctive colors,” Roy says with a rueful tug at his ponytail. “Jaybird especially.” 

“Most of my deep undercover work has been as a woman,” Tim admits. “I used wigs and extensions.”

He nods sagely. “You have the body for it.” 

Jason throws a pair of gloves at his face. “Can it. Tim, how much did you want bleached?” 

“I was thinking streaks. Maybe a thicker one up here,” he taps the longer hair by his temple.

“Subtle, yet in your face at the same time.” Roy snaps his gloves on. “I like it. Jaybird?” 

“Yeah, sounds good.” He beckons Kori closer, who up until now has been staring at the bleach concoction he placed in her hands. “We’ll see how your hair takes it and go from there. Let me know if anything burns too bad.” 

Tim holds still as they begin picking through his hair. Junior is a cautious presence throughout the process, as if expecting this to be a trick. 

You still get to pick something in return for helping me rescue them, he tells Junior. This isn’t supposed to be a manipulation. What color do you want?

…Red and white.

Done.

He tries not to wince at the feeling of skepticism that comes through. He knows he has work to do in getting Junior to trust him and he’s going to do his best to make up for his own biases. He’s aware that he’s been influenced by Bruce’s opinion of Junior being a monster and he wants to fix it; starting with making their body more welcoming to his other half. He’s not doing undercover work anymore and he’s out of the spotlight in Gotham; he can afford to look more distinctive—especially since his scars give him away regardless of hair color. 

“We do not have this on Tameran,” Kori admits, as she watches the process. “It is interesting.” 

“If you really wanted to try it we could probably come up with something temporary that works with your biology,” Tim offers. 

Roy hums. “Could be a fun project.” 

“Perhaps,” she says thoughtfully. “I will consider it.” 

“Done,” Jason announces, as he folds the last piece of hair up into foil. “Now we wait. How’s your leg doing?” 

“Hurts,” Tim admits, “but it’s manageable. It’s just more comfortable to be laying down.” 

“We can move ya t’ the couch.” 

He moves to stand only to squawk when he finds himself swept up into Jason’s arms. “Jason! I can walk!” 

“I hadn’t noticed.” 

Roy shoots him a grin when he looks back at him over Jason’s shoulder. Kori bobs serenely as she floats after them. 

“I’m fine,” Tim insists, as Jason sets him down gently onto the couch cushions. 

“Ya can continue t’ be fine right here. I’ll go get yer lunch.” 

Kori rests his legs on her lap. Her hands fall onto the tense muscles there, bringing warmth and relief where he cannot properly stretch due to his stitches. It helps distract him from the unpleasant smell of bleach; it doesn’t bring good memories. 

“We’ll have to get hair dye,” Roy muses as he sits down in front of the couch. “A day or two more and you should be good to up your activity.” 

“I wanted to get some cosmetic products too.” Tim remembers Junior feeling much more at ease with make-up on. “Maybe some clothes.” 

Kori’s grin is brilliant. “I would be most happy to join.” 

Jason returns with a plate whose smell has Tim’s mouth watering. He sits up some so Jason can take a seat on the far side of the couch before leaning back against his side. The chicken pesto panini placed in his lap is devoured quickly; honestly, he’s surprised how much his appetite has come back while on the island. He used to always have to fight to keep his body well fed. 

“By the way, I found this in the lab,” Roy reaches towards the coffee table to hold up the mask Tim had been too distracted to notice. It’s rather simplistic for a first draft, with a circular top and a bottom that comes down into a sharp point, reminiscent of a beak. There are feather patterns etched into the majority of it, forming the face of a bird. It’s not painted yet but Tim itches to get back to work on the design. “It’s pretty sick.” 

“Ya were wearin’ a white suit when ya came an’ got us,” Jason recalls. “How long have ya been thinkin’ ‘bout this?” 

Tim shrugs. “After Dick took away Robin and Bruce was back, I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted my identity to be. I didn’t feel like a bat anymore but it felt fitting to stick to the bird roots. It’s, uh, based on a pied crow from the corvidae family. So, you know. Corvid.”

“Corvid,” Kori echoes thoughtfully. “I like this.” 

He avoids looking in Jason’s direction. He’s afraid of what he might see there. He’s not ready to be judged for this and Jason’s eyes always see exactly what you don’t want them to. 

“It suits ya,” comes from his side, putting his fear to rest. 

“The suit looked badass from what I remember,” Roy enthuses. “You’ll have to walk me through the design later. I’m sure we can add plenty more surprises in there.” 

Tim ducks his head to hide his pleased smile. “I’d like that.” 

The rest of the evening passes by in a pleasant haze of warm company and soft bickering. They all end up staying at Jason’s house, tangled up in the large space Kori clears out in front of the tv. It feels good, especially with old memories of team piles at the forefront of his mind. 

The bleach turns out well. After Roy helps tone it, Tim is left with stripes of soft white peaking out from the black of the rest. 

It takes another three days before he feels confident enough to be able to walk around the village. He spends the time catching up with Kon, who apologizes profusely for not being there and talking to Dinah about any after effects of taking the serum. 

Jason and Roy get pulled into ship maintenance, which leaves Kori and Tim on their own to go to the mainland. Tim promises to be on his best behavior, if only to watch the way Jason squints at him. 

He spends the time on the boat relaxing on the deck with Kori, though he stays in the shade where she reclines in the unbroken sunlight. 

“Is there anything special Jason likes from the mainland?” He finds himself asking. “I want to get something nice for him for taking care of me while I was out of it.” 

She hums. “He is fond of the mango spears near the shopping center. Though if you wanted to take him out, you need only have asked.” 

His face flushes with a heat that has nothing to do with the sun. “That’s not—I just want to show my gratitude, that’s all.” 

“Hm,” her eyes stay closed, though her lips curl up into a smirk. “I’ll show you the stall.” 

He spends more time in the cosmetics store than he anticipates, with Junior an eager presence at the front of his head. It’s a bit like being crowded, only the feeling is in his brain. It makes it hard to hear himself think—or to remember that he’s in public and arguing to himself over lipstick choices is not something someone otherwise sane would do. 

They settle on a deep red hair dye, with several different shades of lipstick to match. There’s a whole host of other products Junior insists they get, which leaves his leg aching by the time they’re done. Kori takes one look at him and offers to get the mango spears for him while he walks back to the ship. He takes the offer reluctantly, aware that his offering for Jason won’t be much of one if he returns with ripped stitches. 

The back of his neck heats with sweat under the sun but it’s nice to be able to walk down the city streets. The quiet chatter of the harbor filters up from the sea in a comforting rhythm. 

He’s not expecting it when he’s grabbed from behind. A foot kicks his bad leg out from under him without mercy, sending him crashing to the floor. There’s a hand in his hair, preventing him from rolling away with the momentum. The bags in his hands fall to the ground with the sound of breaking plastic. 

“Target found,” someone says from behind him. 

A cloth descends over his face before he can so much as shout, bringing with it the stench of chloroform. 

“Tell the Demon’s Head we’re on our way.”

Notes:

welll.... were you expecting Ra's to /not/ make an appearance?

Chapter 16: familial obligations

Summary:

“The Cave has visitors. I need you two to get down there now.”

“Intruders?” Damian asks.

“Non-hostile. Mostly.” There’s a pause and then: “Jason’s with them.” 

Notes:

someone asked about Damian's side of the story and my brain just ran with that

I'm participating in JayTimWeek and DickTimWeek so I didn't think I'd have the time to update this story before the end of July but I got the inspo to finish this chapter and tide you over until then

I also created a DC series that you can follow if you only want alerts for when DC works are posted

(thank you to everyone that commented last chapter, your comments about ra's were sending me)

Damian wakes to Titus and the distant murmur of voices. His alertness comes on all at once, as has been ingrained into him from an early age. There are no scheduled visitors as far as he knows. 

Titus jumps to the floor when he sits up to survey the time of day. It’s still fairly early, judging by the sunlight trickling in through the clouds. He bypasses the easel he’s set up by the window and opens the door leading out into the hall. They’ve been living in the penthouse for several months now and the lack of Alfred still puts him off balance some days. He’s grown used to his presence over the years and to be without him feels strange. 

He finds Dick in front of his laptop, eating cereal at the bar and gesticulating wildly. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of him,” he’s saying, “he’s never missed a call before without giving me a raincheck. I’m worried.” 

Barbara’s voice comes in through the speaker: “I can’t do much—I don’t have eyes on them most of the time. I’ll see what I can pick up from the mainland but the camera system there isn’t that great. Worst comes to worst I’ll try to reach Jason.” 

“Thanks, Babs.” Dick’s eyes flick up as Damian pads closer. “Keep me posted, okay?” 

“Don’t I always?” 

The connection cuts. Damian feeds Titus before getting ready to make his usual breakfast smoothie. 

“Sorry, D, did I wake you?” 

“I would’ve woken regardless, you only sped up the process.” The blender roars to life, cutting off any further discussion. He pours two glasses and pushes one towards Dick with a pointed look. “This is about Drake, isn’t it?” 

“I tried calling him two days ago, like we planned, but he didn’t answer. I haven’t gotten anything back since I last talked to him. Not even a text.” Dick runs a hand through his already messy hair. “It’s not like him.” 

“If anyone can find anything, it’ll be Oracle. I can reach out to mother if necessary.” 

“Just as a last resort, okay? I don’t like putting you at risk.” 

“Honestly, Richard, I’m capable of taking care of myself.” He takes a slow sip of his drink. “I’ve subdued every present mother has sent without fail. It is not I you should worry over.” 

“How’s the arm, by the way? Still sore?” 

Damian looks down at the appendage thoughtfully. “It’s less stiff than before. Dr. Thompkins said that I can start getting back into work.” 

“And your head?” 

“Fine. I haven’t gotten a headache in almost a month, you know that.” 

“Just checking.” Dick’s eyes shine with worry as he looks him over. “That concussion was nasty, little D.” 

He huffs, as he always does when called that name. “I am perfectly alright now. I wasn’t the one that was nearly eviscerated.”

That gets him a rueful smile. “We’re quite a pair, huh?”

“Tt.” He ignores the flutter in his stomach and finishes his drink. “Indeed.” 

“You know,” Dick starts carefully, as Damian washes both their dishes, “you could talk to him too. If you wanted.” 

It takes a moment for Damian to realize that he’s talking about Drake and not his father. “There’s nothing to discuss.” 

“He asks about you. He was glad to hear that you’re recovering well.”

“Richard,” he sighs. “What is this really about? You’ve never tried to bring this up before.” 

Dick hesitates, an uneasy grimace twisting his lips. “I just—I’ve been thinking about how spread out everyone is lately. Jason is gone most of the time, I only see Tim every other week through a screen, Cass is always on the move and Steph has distanced herself since everything went down. I miss having everyone together and I’m worried about how isolated you’ve been since following me out of the manor.” 

“I’m not isolated,” Damian says instantly. “I see Cass and Brown almost weekly. I join Jon on the farm and talk to father during my internship. I hang out with you. My social life might not look like yours but it’s hardly nonexistent. If either of us should be concerned, it should be me about you.” 

“Wait a minute— me ? Why would you be worried about me?” 

His eyes move over Dick’s worn joggers and stained t-shirt. His hair is a mess and there are signs of bruises under his eyes. He looks tired—worn down, even—and his smiles have lacked their usual brilliance since Tim was first taken. Of all of them, Dick took Tim’s conditioning the hardest. Seeing him flinch away from contact seemed to break something in him and Damian has been trying to repair it ever since. 

“You are not yourself. You are sad and lonely and you will not let anyone help. Your pain does not make Drake better; no one has asked you for this penance.”

“Dami,” Dick’s sky blue eyes shade over with clouds. He flashes a weak smile. “I’m getting there, okay? Being around you and away from Bruce helps. It’s not your job to worry about me.”

“Tt. Get dressed. We are taking Titus for a walk.” 

---

The air is brisk the way Gotham is when she’s just waking up. Walking the streets, Damian does not understand the love his family has for this city. It is dilapidated at best, with patched together wounds made of lazy sutures. Gotham bleeds constantly and it is a never ending battle to stave the flow of lifeblood before she perishes. The ground is dirty and the people are crass. It is nothing like the cities he grew up in, where the walls were carved of stone and everything had a purpose. He learned early on not to get attached to places or people. Gotham’s only saving grace comes in the moments when he takes paint brush to canvas. 

He protects the city because it is his birthright. The fact that his family loves it is what keeps it from being a chore. 

“Excited to be back on patrol?” 

Damian hums as he pauses to let Titus sniff at a nearby tree. “That answer should be obvious.” 

“I asked Babs if she could put us on patrol together. It’ll be like old times.” 

His chest warms. He ducks his head against the sunbeam kindness on Dick’s face and clicks for Titus to move on. “I look forward to it.” 

It’s still early enough that the only ones about are joggers who couldn’t care less about their presence and other dog owners, out for a morning walk. They’ve all been under heavier scrutiny after Tim’s kidnapping; it is exhausting. The rumors flying around after they moved out of the manor and into the penthouse were bad enough. Damian hates feeling like he’s under a microscope. 

The amount of questions he’s had to field at WE have given him a healthy respect for what Drake had to deal with whenever the press was feeling especially hungry for a story—though it was nothing he wasn’t already used to. The League had its own thirst for weakness. Anything has the capacity to be used as leverage if you’re not careful and Damian is aware that he has far too many weak points these days. His only comfort comes in the fact that they all know how to handle themselves.

“How’s work?” Dick asks, far too casually for the field of landmines that is the topic of WE. As is usual, he steps into it without a care, graceful, acrobat strides just barely avoiding the danger. 

“It is fine.” Damian forces himself to stay relaxed. Dick does not need to know how tense things are in the office whenever his father is around. Realizing his father is not the infallible powerhouse he was raised to believe has been a painful lesson. He still fights against the desire for Bruce’s approval; despite everything, he fears he will always want it. “I have taken on the Research and Development team in Drake’s absence. It has been—enlightening, following in his footsteps.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve been reading over his past projects and employee reviews to best learn how to get optimum results from the team. They are quite loyal.” It’s taken over a month of earning their trust. Once he might have suspected Drake of purposeful sabotage but he knows now that that is not the case. It’s obvious reading over Drake’s notes that he’s always been planning for the moment when he has to step away. Everything is clear and concise, with steps for the next person to follow in order to ensure a smooth transition. He’s even found a folder full of notes just for him, explaining the hierarchy of the office and who to look out for. If he’s being honest, Drake has done more to ensure his success than father has. “Lucius has also been using our lunch break to teach me what he can.” 

“You mean Bruce isn’t helping?” 

“Father is often busy,” Damian says carefully, aware of the thundercloud beginning to shade Dick’s face. “I do not mind learning from someone like Lucius. He is very wise.” 

“I can’t believe him,” Dick seethes. “You’re doing this for him and he can’t even find the time to—”

He reaches out to place a hand on his arm; the muscles there are spring-loaded tense. “Richard, it’s alright. It is—a bit of a relief. Things have been tense since Drake left and I would prefer not to have to put on an act for staff.”

“You shouldn’t have to in the first place. He’s your father .” 

“He’s yours too.”

There’s an ugly twist to his mouth. A look of pain flashes across his face, quick as lightning. Damian places Titus’ leash in Dick’s hand, before he can run off. “Come. Titus could use a good run.” 

“I know what you’re doing,” Dick warns, even as he speeds up. 

“Good. I would worry, should you miss something so obvious.”

It takes a good half hour for Dick to relax again. Titus is panting by the end of it, tongue lolling as he pushes his face forward into the water fountain made for dogs. Damian is just congratulating himself on a job well done when both their phones go off with Oracle’s alarm. They share a look and crowd closer together as Dick answers the call. 

“Babs? What’s up?” 

“The Cave has visitors. I need you two to get down there now.” 

“Intruders?” Damian asks. 

“Non-hostile. Mostly.” There’s a pause and then: “Jason’s with them.” 

Dick’s eyes widen. “Tim?” 

“Not yet.” There’s the sound of typing before she huffs. “I’ll meet you over there. It’s not looking good.” 

They share another look as the line cuts out and take off at a run at the same time. Titus races after them without complaint; Damian resolves to ensure he is given the proper pampering after this. He hurries to get Titus inside as Dick grabs their bike jackets. A quick check to make sure there’s proper water available and they’re back out the door. Dick is the better driver between them, though Damian is beginning to close the gap. Normally he would thrill over being able to ride behind him but Damian’s mind is far too focused on running through possible scenarios to fully enjoy it. His body leans with the bike on autopilot, following Dick through sharp corners and city traffic.  

They roar into the Cave less than fifteen minutes later. Dick kicks out his bike stand and follows Damian off the side. They climb the steps together to find Cass already waiting in the shadows. Further in, the sound of arguing can be heard. Dick pauses for a moment when he sees Koriand’r hovering beside Roy. Damian continues on without him, approaching the computer where Jason is snarling in Bruce’s face. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” He asks, interrupting whatever age-old argument he’s surely imposed upon. 

Jason steps away from Bruce with a sneer. His eyes are glowing pit green; it's a miracle Bruce is unscathed. 

Roy steps forward to speak, giving Jason time to cool down. “Kori and Tim went to the mainland together three days ago. They split up briefly and when Kori came back—Tim was gone.” 

“Drake is missing?” Damian echoes. It feels like a cruel joke. There’s a distant ringing in his ears; all he can think is, not again. Please . He and Drake have never been particularly close and he’s aware that that is his fault—but losing Drake nearly ripped them all apart. He does not think they will survive a second go. 

“What?” Dick gasps, seemingly recovered from the sight of his ex-fiance. “Tim is missing?” 

Behind them, there is the sound of a car pulling in. Brown and Gordon have arrived. 

“We have reason to believe it involves the League. Before this happened we were investigating a weapons trading ring that involved them.” 

“You’re hurt,” Cass says. “Bad mission?” 

Roy grimaces. Now that Damian is looking closer, he can see the faintest amount of bruising around Jason’s nose. There’s a small butterfly bandage at Roy’s hairline and he’s holding his shoulders a bit stiffly. 

“We were compromised. Kori was off planet and Tim—”

“He came after you,” Barbara says, as she and Steph join them. “Didn’t he?” 

Kori places a hand on Roy’s shoulder. Next to them, Jason paces like a caged lion. “He did. When I returned, they were all injured but safe. Tim suffered from a leg injury; that was why we split up. I bid him to rest while I finished the shopping. However, when I returned he was not on the ship. I only found his crushed purchases.”

“You let him into the field?” Bruce accuses. 

It is the wrong thing to say. 

Jason whirls with a snarl, a predator that has smelled blood. “Would ya prefer we make him scared ‘a himself? Lock ‘im up and throw away the key like you did? Deprive ‘im of the things he loves jus’ ‘cause it might have some small chance ‘a triggerin’ ‘im? Or how about we berate ‘im for survivin’? How about we convince ‘im he’s too dangerous ‘t live anymore? Yeah,” he scoffs when Dick sucks in a sharp breath; when Steph wraps her arms around herself and Bruce’s jaw tightens, “he came ‘t us ‘cause he wanted t’ die , Bruce. Convinced Kori ‘t fly ‘im inta the sun if he snapped ‘cause he was ‘fraid of comin’ back somehow. And now he’s with Ra’s, with the pit, with exactly what he was afraid of! So how about ya shove yer self righteousness up yer ass an—” 

“There’s a new file on the computer,” Babs interrupts. “Looks like it’s from—the Nest?” 

“How is that possible?” Stephanie asks. 

“Bruce knows,” Cass says, clocking the minute shifts in Bruce’s expression. “Explain.” 

With everyone staring him down, there’s nowhere to run. No way to deny. 

“Ra’s broke into the Nest,” Bruce begins, slow like every word is a pulled tooth, “back when Tim was missing. Nothing was taken, but he left a drive behind. It had coordinates.” 

Dick sucks in a sharp breath. He’s the first to put it together, to understand what that means. “ That’s where you got the Joker’s location from? And you didn’t think to tell anyone ?” A harsh barking laugh leaves his lips as he shakes his head. “What am I saying, of course you didn’t. That’s why you really went alone, isn’t it?”

“It was unclear whether it was a trap.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I was uncertain if Tim was even still there.” 

“You risked Tim’s life on a maybe,” he hisses. “Worse still, you gave the Joker yet another mind game to play. You might as well have put the gun in Tim’s hands yourself.”

Bruce’s shoulders twitch; on him, it’s akin to a stagger.

“There’s a report and a video,” Babs says, with some confusion. She wheels over to the computer to pull it up on the big screen. 

Damian steps closer along with everyone else. His eyes scan over the words there; he and Jason are the first to understand why the names listed are so familiar. 

“It’s a list of League bases and their populations.” Damian tells them all. “There was significant losses over four years ago.”

“Wasn’t that when—?” Steph starts, only to fall silent. 

“It was when Tim was with Ra’s, looking for Bruce.” Dick bows his head. “When I chased him away.” 

“That must be how he escaped,” Damian realizes, “some kind of system shutdown. If he had access to the League’s network, he could pull the self-destruct switch. Grandfather keeps it for emergencies, when he needs to erase his tracks.” 

“You’re saying Tim killed all those people?” Steph whispers. 

“Indirectly, but yes.” 

The video is surprisingly good quality for a security camera. It tracks a white and black shape through a warehouse as it systematically takes down the people inside. It’s not until Jason and Roy appear that it shows Tim’s face, half smiling and splattered in blood. 

“He killed them,” Bruce says. 

“He killed them to save us,” Jason scoffs. “Should’ve known it was a trap. Fuck, we led that old bastard right to Tim.” 

“It’s not your fault, Jaybird.” Roy places a hand on his tense arm, careful like he might spook. Or lash out. “We couldn’t’ve known. Besides, it’s obvious why this was sent. Ra’s wants to convince Batman that Tim is a lost cause so he doesn’t come after him.” 

“It’s not unlikely that Grandfather gave you the coordinates in the hope that you would abandon Drake after seeing what had become of him,” Damian admits. “If he died in the process, somehow, he always had the pit on hand. It was a win-win scenario for him.” 

“And you played right into it,” Jason sneers. “Are ya gonna let him do that again?” 

Bruce looks conflicted. His eyes stray to the footage on the screen, painting Tim as the killer he tried to prevent him from becoming. 

“I’m going,” Dick declares. 

“As am I,” Damian says. He meets his father’s eyes, unapologetic in the words he next speaks. “There’s a reason I let Drake attack me. Grayson getting hurt was not part of the plan, but it was enough distraction to allow Drake to escape. He deserves the freedom to make his own choices. He has earned that from you, at least.”

“With you,” Cass agrees. 

“I’ll do what I can,” Barbara tells them. “I’ll need a way into their network.” 

“I will contact mother.” 

Steph steps forward. “I’m coming with.” 

“Kon, Bart and Cassie are on board,” Roy says. “We just need to find the right base.” 

They pile closer to go over what they know, voices weaving over one another as they form the basis of a plan. Bruce watches on from the sidelines, a silent vigil to their dedication. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, materializing at his side as usual. “I believe your family needs you. Are you truly going to abandon your sons?” 

“No.” Bruce takes a deep breath. “I’m not.”

Notes:

you have no idea how long I've waited for that Damian confession. It's finally all coming together

Next chapter should be much longer and full of Tim

Chapter 17: for helpless situations

Summary:

“They’ll look for me,” he says.

“They looked for you when the Joker took you, didn’t they?” Ra’s makes a show out of pausing. “How long did it take, again? Three months? And they didn’t even do it on their own.” 

Notes:

I'm so sorry I did not expect to be gone for so long!! Whoever's idea it was to put all the writing events in late summer/early fall was a sadist. I've been working my ass off to finish the pieces I made for them but I'm finally done and finally ready to get back into this baby.

I also come bearing gifts!

ky-landfill did an amazing picture of Roy and Tim that can be found here, please go give the original link some love!

 

 

I also got a Halloween com of the searching faces boys by justnaido that can be found here

 

 

And finally, while it's not for searching faces, if you love JJ!Tim here's a gift I got from ari000 for the jaytim gift exchange

as well as another gift I got from kingmomustthethird

 

 

TW: Ra's being his usual creepy self

Tim is—unfortunately—used to being drugged. Boy hostage had been a name Jason used to throw around, whenever Dick, Tim or Damian were snatched to blackmail Bruce. There used to be a chalkboard in the cave, one that Steph gleefully erased whenever the ‘it’s been 0 days since a kidnapping’ had to be changed.

After the first few times, Tim became known as the chill one. He was preferred over Damian, who was feral, and Dick who was both full of puns and far too bendy for normal restraints. Tim was the one who would play chess until the ransom came through; who would listen to the woes of the newest goon’s situation and give advice on where to go for resources. Back in Gotham, a kidnapping was an average Tuesday. He had at least one day a month set aside on his schedule for when he was inevitably snatched again. It was a fact of life before the Joker. 

After the Joker? Let’s just say it’s a very good thing for those around him that his hands and feet have been bound to the chair he’s sitting on. 

The scent of fresh cooked meat and spiced vegetables fill his nose when he takes a deep breath. He’s leaned forward onto a table, cheek pressed against the wooden surface. He blinks slowly and works each one of his limbs. It takes genuine effort to sit up and even then he lists a bit to the side. 

“Detective,” Ra’s says from the other end of the table, looking far too pleased with himself. “You’re awake earlier than expected.”

The way he says it like it’s praise has Tim grimacing. “You could’ve sent a dinner invitation,” he deadpans, “then I could’ve said no and you’d have been spared all this trouble.” 

“Come now, you know me better than that.” A gesture has one of the guards stepping forward. They fill Tim’s plate and place it in front of him before fading back into the shadows once more.

“There’s no silverware.” 

“Can I trust you with some?” Ra’s smiles knowingly. “As delighted as I was to learn that you’ve abandoned your previous morals, you must know that trust is earned. Until then, you’ll have to do without.” 

It’s demeaning. Tim can hear his mother telling him not to do anything that will embarrass—she hated finger foods specifically—but he’s not getting food any other way. If he doesn’t eat, he makes himself weaker and gives Ra’s an advantage. If he does eat, Ra’s wins but Tim gives himself his best shot at escape. 

That is, if it isn’t poisoned.

He lifts his hands only to come short of the plate by inches. 

Ra’s picks up his own fork. He spears a piece of meat and brings it to his lips, where he then seems to notice Tim’s hesitation and raises an eyebrow. “Is it not to your liking, Detective?”  

Tim hates him. Hates him more than he did when he used Pam to keep him with the League; hates him more than the time he almost had Tim raped; hates him with the same level of earth shaking rage that had come with the realization that Z and Owen died out of some form of sick manipulation.

His heart is racing, burning through the drugs in his system. Junior finally stirs at the back of his mind, heavy and confused. Tim leans down to get a mouthful of spiced vegetables. He uses the motion of chewing to work out some of his anxiety. He hates being tied down now. Hates it to the point of panic. His fingers curl into fists to hide the shaking. 

“What do you want, Ra’s?” He meets his eyes across the table, chin lifted in defiance even as sauce drips from his face. He refuses to be cowed. He is his mother’s son and this weak attempt at humiliation will not break him. “Why take me now?” 

He was on the run for almost a month. There was plenty of time to snatch him then. 

“I wanted to see what you would do without Batman looming over your shoulder. I was growing rather impatient until you slaughtered my men.” 

“The warehouse,” Tim realizes. “They were going to bring the Outlaws to you.” 

“I wasn’t expecting you to enter before the stage was set,” Ra’s admits, “but I do enjoy your surprises. It required some extra leg work in the end but you spared me from having to deal with that abomination my daughter so loves.” 

He’s talking about Jason?

Yes.

“It was a beautiful showing. You were as vicious as I knew you’d be. We’ll have to go over the tapes later.” 

Tim could slap himself for being so foolish. Of course there were cameras. How could he forget something so important? Being desperate was no excuse. 

He gets through his next bite by imagining the many ways he could suffocate Ra’s with his own plate.

Junior is fully awake now, and getting more vocal. His panic is starting to affect Tim, who needs to get him on board with the situation yesterday. 

We can panic later. Right now I need you to be on your guard. This is an enemy that rivals the Joker. 

That’s supposed t’ stop me from panicking?

I’m being honest. He could kill us now and throw us in the Pit and we’d come back, over and over again. 

That’s what happened to Jason?

He went in once. Imagine what will happen if we’re thrown in multiple times. 

Yeah, okay. I got it. So what do you want me to do?

Watch. Listen. I don’t know if he knows about you yet and if he doesn’t we should keep it that way. 

There’s a wave of acceptance, tinged over with fear. It’s not fair that they’re going through this again but Tim can’t do anything about it right now. 

“They’ll look for me,” he says. 

“They looked for you when the Joker took you, didn’t they?” Ra’s makes a show out of pausing. “How long did it take, again? Three months? And they didn’t even do it on their own.” 

It’s an obvious bait. Tim wouldn’t normally fall for it, but it’s both of them when he asks, “what are you talking about?” 

Ra’s simply smiles. “Eat, detective. You’ll need your strength.” 

---

He’s more alert after dinner. The guards uncuff him from the chair and clip his hands together behind his back. Instead of regular metal cuffs, there are cushioned leather bracelets with a padlock each. They remind him of the Joker’s chair if he looks too long so he does his best to take shallow breaths in through his nose and ignore them. 

They make him stand still as Ra's approaches. He takes a wet towel from an offered bowl to clean the food off of Tim's face. He lingers on the scars on his cheeks, tsk'ing softly to himself.

"What a shame, to see beauty so marred. Do they hurt?"

"As if you care."

"Come now, Timothy, I've always had a vested interest in seeing you succeed. You came so close to your true potential, before your little stunt blew up my people and you ran away. I'm hoping you'll be more reasonable now that you've been shunned by the Batman."

He tosses the cloth aside and turns in a billow of robes. A crooked hand has the guards shoving Tim forward after him.

"I was watching, you know. The Joker was not as clever at hiding as he thought."

There's a beat of weighted silence. The hint has been dropped and it's up to him to put the pieces together. He just doesn't like the picture it makes.

"You cleaned up after him," Tim realizes, with sudden horror, "that's why they never found me. All the clues I left, all the times I made sure to leave traces—I knew the timeline didn't make sense. They should've found me within weeks, not months."

"You were clever, as always. Your clues led me straight to you, but I confess I had an interest in watching things play out. It wasn't until I was sure that you wouldn't survive that I told Batman where to find you."

"You told…?"

Ra's smile is sharp. They both know that right now, he has the winning hand. Tim is made a puppet once more, limbs jerking underneath the pressure of invisible strings.

"Why didn't you just take me yourself?"

"Because, Timothy, I knew that you would never go willingly. So long as you thought you had a place at Batman's side, I knew you would always run back to him. You had to learn that you don't belong in Gotham."

It hurts to hear it voiced out loud. Tim has know this, of course, even before he ran away. He's always been a placeholder, an outsider, a pretender. The cuckoo bird inside the bat nest. This has never been more apparent than when Dick took away Robin, or when Bruce considered sending him to Arkham.

They walk through long halls of cut stone. The windows looking out give no landmarks away. The best he can guess is that they're underground; it would make the most sense for preventing any kind of escape. He's taken to a hole in the floor that, upon closer inspection, is actually part of the ceiling to what appears to be a guest room. His hands are uncuffed as Ra's gestures down to the rope the guards drop into the hole.

"Rest, detective," Ra's says, "we will reconvene tomorrow."

Tim debates the merits of fighting back but injured and still a bit dizzy from drugs, he will surely fail. He bends to get a grip on the rope and climbs down. It's pulled back up as soon as he's on his feet, leaving him no way to get back out.

Above, he can vaguely see the shadows of the guards as Ra's footsteps move away.

Great.

The interior of his prison is bare bones. There's a bed and a dresser bolted into the wall. When he opens it, he sees rows upon rows of what can only be Ra's choices for him. They are all billowing, intricate things that would suit a concubine more than a prisoner. Tim swallows bile and moves into the bathroom.

There's a toilet and a sink. A shower is tucked into the far corner with several towels hanging up on the wall.

There are probably cameras around, knowing Ra's, but Tim feels disgusting and as much as he wants to get out as soon as possible he knows that he will surely be here for a while. Being clean will help him in the long run.

Junior is a silent presence in his head, watchful and full of trepidation.

What does he want?

"Me to join his side," Tim mutters, as the sound of running water fills the room.

We're not going to, right?

No, never.

His shower is mechanical and quick. He's in and out in less than five minutes to reduce the amount of time he's left vulnerable. He finds a crop top and palazzo set that reminds him of Jason's eyes and puts it on reluctantly. It's the most skin he's shown since being tortured and he hates that he has to do it for Ra's. If anyone was going to see him like this, he'd wanted it to be the Outlaws, who wouldn't look at him differently for all his scars. Jason, in particular, who might even look at him with want if Roy was to believed.

Here and now it makes him feel too exposed. His skin crawls as he climbs into bed, where he can hide away under the covers. There's nothing else to do in the room and Tim can admit to being exhausted. He needs his strength to keep up with Ra's games. He just hopes that this time he isn't left waiting for months on end for a rescue.

---

Breakfast the next morning is lowered down to him on a platter. He eats it himself before a rope is dropped down to allow him up. He's taken through several halls to Ra's private training quarters.

"Timothy," Ra's greets, "join me for my morning meditation. I've missed your presence."

Tim folds his legs under himself, across from where Ra's sits. He already knows that no is not an answer.

The guards back away into the shadows once more, leaving them sitting beneath a sky light inset into the high ceiling. Sunlight trickles in through the cut stone, warming the rug where they rest.

Ra's closes his eyes and Tim follows suit. It is against all instincts to take away his own sight, but he does it to avoid punishment. He needs to stay in Ra's good graces.

Back when he was fighting desperately to bring Bruce back, these quiet moments felt so painful. He needed to do more; he couldn't afford to sit still for so long—but Ra's had made it so he couldn't afford to not sit still either. It is slightly less painful now, knowing that there is no one relying on him to save them.

He matches his breathing to Ra's', allowing his mind to become as empty as it can since Junior's arrival. Junior has questions but Tim can't be distracted right now.

Later, he promises.

Eventually, Ra's stands and Tim follows suit. Tim learned the kata they fall into back during his first League visit. He's aware that this, paired with the daily meditations, are some of Ra's ways of battling the pit madness.

The intensity of their movements rise with each subsequent completion. Before Tim could do fifty rounds, at least. Now, he finds himself stumbling at twenty five, leg on fire from where he was shot.

He falls to a knee on the sandy floor and wills his hands to stop shaking. Ra's pauses to take him in.

"How far you've fallen," he remarks, "it is frustrating, is it not, to have one's own body fight against what you know. I could fix this, if only you'd let me."

"You want to turn me into a monster," Tim grits out.

"We are all already monsters, detective. I only wish to see you reach your full potential."

"The answer is no." He forces himself back up to his feet. "It will always be no."

"We shall see."

---

Tim's world narrows considerably. He is brought to Ra's table to eat his meals, where he is chained like an animal and made to humiliate himself again and again. In the morning, he meditates and runs through kata with Ra's. When his leg inevitably gives out, he is then forced to allow Ra's to examine his wound and dress it while Tim remains stripped down and far too vulnerable. He never does anything other than that, but it still leaves Tim's skin crawling for hours afterwards.

Between meals he is put back into the prison that is his room, where there is nothing to do and no one to talk to other than Junior. It's isolating, but at least he's away from Ra's. He knows that it's a conditioning tactic; Ra's is a stimulant amongst monotony and if Tim behaves, he is allowed more freedom.

It doesn't work so well when Tim isn't alone in his head anymore.

Would ya rather turn into a fish whenever ya get wet or have to say everything backwards?

Can I still breathe air as a fish or do I suffocate?

I guess ya can breathe.

What kind of fish?

I dunno, something cool?

Speak backwards. There are ways to get around that.

What was the point of askin' questions if you already knew yer answer?

I wanted all the variables.

Ugh, whatever. Your turn.

Wait, I hear something. Tim sits up from where he's lounging on the floor. His head tilts to the side as he listens for the voices of his guards. There's no shadows when he looks up, only an empty hole. Something is tossed down. It lands on the floor with a small clunk.

He approaches cautiously and snatches it up as soon as he sees that it's a note wrapped around the smallest of blades. It's barely as long as his finger, but razor sharp. Tim can do a lot with even that much.

The note is written in elegant, almost jagged script. It says only this: use it wisely.

Tim tucks the blade away and destroys the note.

---

On the fifth day, Tim wakes up from a nightmare covered in sweat. Junior is blanketing his mind like a heavy blanket, furthering his distress. He can't move properly, he can't think properly, he's scared.

There are no windows in his prison. No doors to remind himself that he is no longer in the tiny room the Joker used to keep him in.

They stumble, fall, get up and stumble again. They crawl to the shower where they sit, shivering beneath the warm spray.

Tim puts his hands over his ears but he can still hear echoing laughter. Junior sob-screams into their knees.

They want their room back on the island with its sunrise walls. They want Roy, hand clasped in his own as he gesticulates with his other. They want Kori, arms wound around their waist, so warm it almost hurts. They want Jason, reciting passages as they lay against his chest. Jason, in the kitchen, guiding their hands. Jason, keeping watch as they drown the world out with music. Jason, always so understanding. Jason, Jason, Jason.

They know the Outlaws are looking for them. They just have to hold on until they're found. They did that for months before, they can surely last longer than a few days.

But they're so tired and so afraid.

"I want to go home," they whisper.

That insidious voice inside tells them that maybe they've been forgotten. That maybe the Outlaws were only putting up with them all this time. Maybe they've washed their hands of them. Maybe no one is coming.

Dinah told him to list the things around him when he's scared, but how can he do that when he's not sure what's real?

"We killed him," Tim says, rocking in place as the shadow of the Joker moves closer. "He's dead, we killed him, he's dead—!"

A hand grabs their arm and they scream. They're pulled out from the shower, fighting the whole way. Water splashes everywhere as they spit like an angry cat. Someone is speaking but nothing is registering in their head.

Arms wrap around their own, keeping them from clawing at themself and others. They're wrong, though. They don't belong to Roy or Jason or Kori. They don't even belong to Cass or Dick.

"Detective," Ra's says above him, "calm yourself. You are safe."

"Fuck you," Junior spits, "let us go, get off, let go!"

"You're bleeding."

Are they?

They thrash uselessly until there is nothing left. Energy spent, they list in Ra's arms, shivering and miserable.

Ra's carries them to the bed, where they are placed. Hands tug at their clothes but they can do nothing other than whimper. There are towels thrown at them and then hands that tend to their skinned knees and palms.

Tim tries so hard to stay present throughout it all, aware that they need to keep Junior hidden, but it is a losing battle. Junior takes the front, dazed but somewhat present.

"Don't touch me," he mumbles, as a shirt is tugged down over his head. He pushes uselessly at Ra's chest when he's picked back up. "Ya fuckin' bastard, I said no!"

Ra's ignores him as his bed is remade and the wet towels are taken away.

"Stupid, wrinkled old skeleton," Junior rants all the way, "dust sucking, narcissistic, bad-touch demon fucker—"

"My, detective, your language has changed since your incarceration. Then again, that's not actually you, is it?"

He tries to bite him as he's set back down on the bed once more. Ra's ignores him in favor of pushing him down and pulling the blankets up, like some sick rendition of the way a parent might tuck in a child.

"Harm yourself again and I will have you restrained," he warns.

"I hate you," Junior seethes.

Ra's gives no sign that he has heard. He leaves back the way he came, as if he'd never been there in the first place. The only sign that any of it happened at all rests in the sting of their wounds and the dampness of their hair.

"Tim?" He whispers.

There's a flutter of awareness. Tim rises sluggishly, fighting through blankets of consciousness.

Yes?

"I know what I want."

It takes him a second to understand what Junior is referring to. It’s only been a few days since Tim made the deal, desperate to save Jason and Roy, but it feels like months. 

Yeah? What is it?

Junior tugs the blankets up further around his chin. "I want Ra’s dead."

There's silence for a few long moments. There are reasons Tim left Ra’s alive the first time around; reasons that boil down to Batman and the Rule. This time, he’s already broken the Rule and there’s no one on the line but himself. 

I think that can be arranged.

Notes:

I'm still catching up on comments but I always welcome more. I've missed this story and hearing from you guys!

Chapter 18: unwavering convictions

Summary:

"The trick, Junior, is t' keep em' guessin'," Mama once told him. "Ya get inta a routine and things stop havin' much effect. Hit 'em where it hurts but never in the same way."

Ra's weakness is in thinking that he's untouchable.

Notes:

hello!!! This chapter fought me so sorry if it's fragmented everyone wanted their time in the spotlight

super behind on responding to comments but I've seen and adore them all

I've also been/planning on posting some bonus content for this story on my tumblr so check that out if you want (takemetomyfragiledreams)

Tim's absence is like a wound just out of reach, swollen and oozing with infection. It hurts, it's dangerous left untreated and it comes with a myriad of symptoms. Of them all, Gotham's downcast sky is not amongst their number. Kori thinks it to be fitting, regardless.

She did not know Tim Before. She does not share the memories that weigh down the others, just as she did not know Jason before his death. Kori has been through far too much herself to do Tim the diservice of thinking his trauma makes him weak. She spat in the face of her slavers when she had no hope of escape and she's sure Tim is doing the same to Ra's.

She herself has never met this Ra's al Ghul but from Jason's recount alone, she would gladly put his head on a pike. She does not appreciate those who seek to harm her human family. On Tameran retrubution is to come swift and ruthlessly. She is not a princess for nothing. To have snatched Tim right from under her nose is a slight that will not go unpunished, regardless of who joins the fight. Batman is not her commander, after all and Nightwing is no longer the man she loves. That title is now bestowed upon Roy, who is just as hungry for bloodshed as she is, though he is much better at hiding it.

Someone has to be the rock Jason can anchor himself to right now and Roy is best at it when it comes to words. In actions, Kori is the best for a spar. She is far more powerful than Jason. It would take much more than his pit rage to hurt her. This proves to be a lifesafer—perhaps even literally in this case—considering how much being around Bruce sets him off.

Kori doesn't like seeing Jason suffer. She would much rather go somewhere else but Roy and Jason both say this is their best chance at finding Tim so she does not whisk them away. She stays by their side and makes sure Jason is never left alone with Bruce, who seems far too conflicted about the mission for her taste.

Alfred is a seasoned warrior, and Jason's favorite. Damian is a valuable and powerful ally with connections that will help locate their missing bird. Cass is an immovable shadow, just as set on protecting Tim as they are. Dick is a painful reminder, but a devoted brother. Bruce? He is rutha clorbag varblurnelk. One who is weak.

Bart and Connor come with Cassie in tow. If Bruce has anything to say about the supers being in the city he wisely keeps it to himself.

It takes them almost a week to locate Tim. A week of barely restrained rage and mounting tension.

They gather around the Batcomputer, grim faced and vibrating with the urge to move.

"Okay, people," Kon says, "let's go get our Robin."

"Corvid," Jason corrects, as he checks his guns one last time.

"Huh?"

"'is new name is Corvid."

"That'ssocrash!" Bart exclaims.

Kon gives a nod. "Alright, man. Let's go get our Corvid."

---

Junior is really getting tired of being used for other people's gain. In fact, Junior is of the opinion that everyone who thinks they can decide his fate can go fuck off. He finally had a place where he was comfortable, finally had something close to what an actual family is supposed to be like and now it's all being threatened by an eglomanical old man who doesn't believe in the existence of bad touch.

He doesn't appreciate being kidnapped. He especially doesn't appreciate being chained like a misbehaving dog while the proverbial poison covered treat is dangled just out of reach.

Junior doesn't think Ra's understands what being raised by the Joker means.

That mind he lauds Tim for? Scrambled. That skill in combat? Shaky. The idea that the pit will make them anything other than hungry for his blood? Laughable.

Junior tortured people for days under his papa's guidance. He learned how to inflict hurt, how to drive people to the brink of their minds. He knows how to work through insanity. He knows how to kill even while his brain is so scrambled he can't even see straight. He knows how to bite until there's blood and bone; bad dog.

"The trick, Junior, is t' keep em' guessin'," Mama once told him. "Ya get inta a routine and things stop havin' much effect. Hit 'em where it hurts but never in the same way."

Ra's weakness is in thinking that he's untouchable.

Junior's is in no longer being able to play the role of the follower.

They're halfway into their escape when the alarms start to wail and everything shuts down. Somebody deviated from the schedule and found Ra's with his throat slit. An impermanent state but one that will keep him down and out while they work on blowing the place to smithereens. Or, it was supposed to. They were supposed to have more time.

Junior kills at least five guards in the ensuing struggle but their body is weak. They can't keep up with ninja in their peak.

He's dragged, kicking and screaming to Ra's feet. Ra's is still wet from the pit, eyes lit with demonic green as he fingers the blade Junior used to kill him.

"Excellent," he purrs to himself. "Quite the show you've put on, detective. Even my daughter hasn't drawn my blood."

Junior spits blood in his direction.

Ra's laughs and beckons a guard closer. "Hang him up and don't let him fall asleep. It wouldn't do to keep him bored."

Fuck, Tim thinks.

Junior really hates it when they agree.

---

Tim is dragged to the pit, exhausted and bleeding in places where he was cut with knives. He's bruised all over and his shoulders scream from their time spent supporting all his weight. He doesn't know how long it's been. His best guess is at least a day.

There are strange rumblings from the walls every now and then as they move deeper. Everyone seems tense whenever they pass.

Something's happening, Tim thinks.

Rescue? Junior hopes.

I don't know.

He gets dragged down the stairs when he stumbles. There's a stronger shake and the sound of a distant explosion.

We have to go!

Tim does his best to get his feet under him but there's no strength in his body.

I can't.

There's guilt.

Fuck. I fucked it all up, m' sorry—

Stop. Tim closes his eyes tiredly. I don't blame you, Junior. I just wish I could protect you for once. This is going to get ugly.

We're gonna kill 'im again. First thing we do, outta the pit—

—is take his head.

Tim's lips stretch around a smile. He can't help the little giggle that echoes off the stone.

He can hear shouting from behind them and gunfire as they reach the end of the stairs. He's dragged to a door and then beyond, where the pit bubbles.

It's almost rancidly hot inside with a sulfuric smell that makes his stomach heave. Everything is painted in green.

He's pushed to his knees in front of Ra's.

"It seems your friends came for you," he says, "but I'm afraid they'll be too late."

His bindings are tightened around his wrists. One of the guards hauls him up as Ra's pulls his sword free from its sheath.

There's a loud explosion from behind him that sends everyone staggering. Tim is dropped once more, knees meeting rock with painful force.

"You," Ra's snarls from somewhere to his right. There's a hand in Tim's hair, yanking him up and back against Ra's chest. His own explodes with a mix of euphoric joy when he catches sight of Jason, Roy and Kori.

"Me," Jason mocks. He lifts his gun as more footsteps come in from behind Tim; Ra's backup. "Yer done, Ra's. Fer good this time."

"You think you can kill me, boy?" Ra's scoffs. "An al Ghul does not fall."

"We'll see about that."

There are more shapes slinking in through the hole in the wall. Tim catches a glimpse of Dick, Damian and Kon before a sharp pain laces through his front.

He chokes on a cry as something twists in his chest. When he looks down, there's a blade sticking out of his skin.

Kori screams in fury as Jason lurches forward. Roy swears and Kon's eyes light up in red.

"Enjoy the swim, detective," Ra's whispers.

A hand plants itself in the small of his back and shoves. He falls forward into the pit.

He hits the water and it's like he’s in the vats all over again, burning from the outside in. He can feel it spilling into the wound in his chest, so hot it feels like he’s being cauterized. His scars light up with a thousand pins and needles. His legs kick to get him to the surface except he can’t tell what way that is. Everything is a blazing, sickly green, flooding into his pores and consuming him like rot. 

His body jolts when the water is disrupted by what could be a splash nearby. His wrists yank frantically at his bindings but he can’t feel the rope anymore. It’s like his nerve endings have been scraped over with sandpaper, leaving him raw. Something clasps his arm and he screams like his skin is peeling off under the pressure—because it certainly feels like it is. The Pit floods into his mouth, choking him with an acrid taste not unlike blood. His head breaks the surface but he barely notices. 

Something drags him to the steep edge. He thrashes like a fish against the side, too frantic to care that he’s scraping his skin off in the process. There’s what could be a curse, a heave, and then he’s being shoved up into the air. He falls against the rock with a thud he barely feels, bare feet catching weakly on the lip to keep from falling back in. 

He chokes as he coughs up what’s made it into his lungs, feeling every motion like shards of glass against the inside of his throat. He shakes against the ground, waterlogged and half sobbing, unsure of where he is or what he’s feeling. 

Everything is too much. His skin tingles and burns where the water drips free. He blinks and can’t tell if there’s still water in his eyes or if the room is dyed green from his submersion. Something yanks on his wrists before he finds that he’s free. 

He levers himself up onto his arms to crawl further away from the Pit, hacking and spitting the whole way. He’s scared and angry of being scared, of being put in the same position as Before. 

Hearing starts to come back as a pressure makes itself known against his cheek. It lifts his head, turning his gaze to the side where he can make out the shape of a man. He blinks a few times until the shape turns into familiar lines and angles. The sharp jawline; the thick eyebrows and crooked nose; the mouth that guards a silverquick tongue; the eyes that stare back at him with a brilliant burning green.

“Jason.” 

Jason’s mouth moves but the sounds come in funny. There’s so much happening in his head, Tim can’t seem to focus. It’s like Junior is screaming through a poorly tuned radio, words coming in in bursts of static. 

Jason is wet. Tim watches a drop of green slip down his nose and realizes that he’s soaked in the Pit.

Jason is wet from the Pit, which means—

It means—

“Babybird,” Jason’s voice says, “are you okay?” 

Tim blinks. His eyes lift away from Jason’s face to follow the dance of shadows against the wall. He opens his mouth to speak only to find that he has no words. There’s a shout and the clatter of footsteps on rock. His head falls without the support of Jason’s hand. 

—up! Junior screams. Get—

His eyes struggle to focus as he searches Jason out. He pushes himself back up onto his knees, lifts his head and finds the source of Jason’s sudden disappearance. Ra’s is grappling with him, sword forgone for a wicked curve of a blade that swipes for Jason’s arteries. 

On the ground, there’s a sword in front of Tim. It’s not Ra’s’, which means it must’ve been lost or thrown by one of the other members of his guard. Tim wraps his hand around the handle as Jason’s skin splits beneath Ra’s blade. 

Get up, Junior demands. 

Tim gets up. 

He’s starting to get his strength back. He no longer feels weak and helpless. No, he’s angry. He can feel it pulse in time with every beat of his heart. The room is green, Ra’s is green, and Tim wants to kill him. 

The thought comes easy as breathing. It’s got none of the hang ups killing the Joker did and none of the potential conflict of the rescue he staged for Jason and Roy. It’s simple. Matter-of-fact.

Ra’s put him in the Pit and now Tim is going to kill him. 

Ra’s made Jason bleed and any mercy that may have still existed from his Robin days is long gone now.  

Ra’s hurt them and now he’s—

Dead!

A hysteric giggle spills free from Tim’s lips as he sinks the sword into Ra’s back. He angles it up, into his heart, where the tip spears through muscle and tissue before hitting the Pit heated air once more. Ra’s lets out a surprised, choking sound as Tim steps away. 

“Poor Ra’s,” he—they—say. “Beaten again. If only you hadn’t hurt our family.” 

Ra’s turns with a snarl, knife raised high above his head. They aren’t afraid. The Pit is right beside them, calling out for their return, and neither of them is going to drown this time. 

There’s a shout, in a voice that might be Bruce’s. Tim smiles as the blade descends; Junior laughs. 

Red splatters onto their face, spat out by the wound cut through Ra’s neck. They get one look at the frozen rage on Ra’s face and then his head is falling away, caught by a familiar heavy boot before it can roll into the Pit. 

Jason is breathing hard, arm outstretched and hand wrapped around the handle of a blade that appears lit in fire. Tim watches with wide eyes as it shrinks and recedes back into Jason’s skin as if it was never there in the first place.

“Wasn’t sure that would work,” Jason says as he looks down at Ra’s body, “but the blades felt willing.” 

Around them, the sounds of a battle won rings out. Ninja are disarmed and made to surrender as the last of Ra’s guard falls. Tim sways on feet that are becoming fast drenched in Ra’s blood. 

“Jason,” he breathes. 

The world goes dark. 

Notes:

I've had the end of this chapter written for so long and I'm so glad to finally be able to post it. A few people said Tim was going to end up in the pit and you were right!! Where do you think he'll go from here?

I have a couple house keeping things as well:

1 - I started posting my book to ash and it can be found under this account. If you like this story I think you'll like that one. It's found family and trauma recovery and I'd love it if you checked it out!

2 - I've had some questions about the rating of the story. When I originally started this I planned on writing Tim and Jason having sex eventually. However, with the way this story has gone I think it would drag on far too much to get to that point. So, I'm considering writing a separate piece about their journey through intimacy and triggers. Would you guys be interested in that?

Chapter 19: for new beginnings

Summary:

The entire time Tim was missing all he could think about was the Joker, bloody and dead beneath his fists only to be resurrected by Bruce.

Notes:

Enjoy <3

Talia has never felt safe in her father's halls. Even now, she knows that danger lurks in those who are loyal to Ra's. Currently, her main goal is to weed out the followers of old like snakes in tall grass. None shall escape her reach—she will not allow it. Not when they put her son at risk.

She'd been surprised when Damian had reached out to her for her help. The original disappearance of The Robin That Stood in His Way had been kept hushed. She'd half hoped Damian had finally removed Tim Drake from the family until she'd caught on to her father's schemes.

Now, she half owes Tim for her seat on the throne and it burns her. She does not like to be in debt. Especially not to someone so dangerous.

It's clear both Damian and Jason would come for her, were she to make a move against the boy. It's why she keeps guards stationed around his quarters so none may harm him or his companions while she sorts out the issues that come with such a sudden shift in power.

She's looking over her father's files and determining what projects are worth keeping and what need to be scraped entirely when Damian slips in to her new office.

"Mother," he says, with a tip of his head.

She smiles. "My son. Have you come to take your place as heir once more?"

"You know I can't."

"I know that you've left your father's house. I know that you are graduating high school this year and that you cling to your father's prodigy the way you've never clung to anyone else."

Damian's eyes sharpen. In that moment, he looks every inch the deadly assassin she raised him to be; she is immensely proud. "You will not touch Richard."

"No," she agrees, "he is a worthy partner, should you manage to convince his morals to love what you will become."

He circles around the table to thumb through one of the many binders on the desk. "I left one parent's rule behind and I will not put myself under another. Leading the League has always been your dream, not mine. It's time for me to find my own."

This displeases her. "You are going to chase after that boy when he should be chasing after you. I would hardly call that a dream."

"Like mother like son. What was I, if not a cage for my father?"

She catches him, before he can move away from her. The distance between them feels like oceans. She sent him away to keep him safe and she knew in doing so that she would lose the bond they might have had otherwise. Damian looks at her like a stranger and it hurts more than any physical wound she's ever sustained.

"Once, before I held you, you were a means to an end," she admits, "but now you will always be my greatest joy. We live very long lives. I will wait for the day you return to my side, though I hope he does not break your heart the way your father broke mine."

Damian leans into her touch for the briefest of moments, before pulling away. "Look into the Tahiti project," he recommends, as he heads for the door. "I will be leaving as soon as Drake is ready."

---

Dick can't stay still. This does not come as a surprise to anyone around him, since this is usually the case, but there is a certain frantic energy behind his movements that is not normal. He feels caged in underground, in a place he is not as familiar with as he would like. An enemy could be lurking around any corner and he cannot watch every one's backs.

He doesn't like not being able to keep his family safe. With Tim's fate unknown, Jason's second dip in the pit, several wounded teammates and Damian's future up in the air, he's about as stressed as he can be.

"Dick, man, you've gotta stop trying to stare a hole into the wall, you're making even me nervous." Roy, who is sporting bandages on his still healing shoulder, claps a hand onto Dick's stiff back. "Come get some grub with me."

"But—"

"No buts. Jaybird isn't letting anyone in that room right now and lurking outside is only gonna put him more on edge. Besides, we need to talk."

He doesn't miss the fact that Kori is absent from Roy's side. Nor that this is the first time Roy has really gone out of his way to interact with him since this whole mess started. He's made mistakes with both of them, hurt them in ways he can't take back, just as they've hurt him in turn. It's been several years since they've been teammates but when it came time to rescue Tim, it felt natural to fight by their side. It's another wound he's trying not to think about right now.

Roy nods to the ninja standing at the end of the hall and steers Dick to where all their meals have been served. Talia has given them an entire wing of the underground palace and Damian had said her actions were trustworthy for now.

Kon, Bart and Cassie are all eating in a corner with Steph and Cass. They nod and wave their hello's but don't question it when Roy picks a table on the other side of the room.

"Eat," he says, pushing Dick's plate closer to him. "You look like shit."

Dick gives him a halfhearted scowl. His stomach rumbles in appreciation on his first bite, immediately minimizing his ire.

"Where's your shadow, anyways?"

Dick would argue that Damian isn't his shadow but the fact that they both know who Roy is talking about from that descriptor alone makes the point moot. "He went to talk to his mother."

Roy hums.

Silence falls as they both shovel food into their empty stomachs. It's when Roy is half way done with his plate that he finally speaks again.

"Look, I need to know what your intentions with our bird are."

"'Your bird'?" Dick can't help but push.

Roy fixes him with a narrow eyed look. "He came to us. Half dead, by the way, and looking for us to do that other half. As far as I'm concerned, you Bats have lost your visitation rights. The only reason you're here is because we had no other choice."

"And the video calls?"

"Tim wants them to happen, so they happen."

Dick's fingers curl into tight fists. He tries, he really does, not to get angry, but there's been so much happening lately he's at his wits end. Maybe Damian was right. Maybe he is the one that hasn't been coping, but come on. He lost his little brother to a mad man years ago and then that same mad man had the audacity to take another one.

The entire time Tim was missing all he could think about was the Joker, bloody and dead beneath his fists only to be resurrected by Bruce.

He should've stayed dead. Dick should've taken the guilt; he should've made sure there was nothing left to resurrect in the first place. It was his fault again and Bruce by proxy. They'd both been too cowardly to accept the sacrifice, even going so far as to stop Jason from taking his revenge, and instead Tim had had to bloody his hands.

Dick will never forgive himself for that.

Tim is one of his Robins', one of his brothers'. They trained together, went through the aftermath of Jason's death and No Man's Land together.

"He's my brother," Dick says, both plea and statement all in one.

"Funny, you said the same thing about Jason."

He's swinging before he's even fully conscious of the decision. Roy turns his head, diminishing the blow as Dick's knuckles skim over his cheekbone. He jumps back from the table as Dick vaults over it, sending their plates shattering to the floor.

There's a cry of alarm from the other side of the room as Dick lands a knee to Roy's solar plexus.

"I'm not losing him again!" Dick snarls.

Roy gets a lucky hit in on his face, splitting the side of his lip. Dick launches himself at his waist and takes them both down into another table.

"It's his choice!" Roy retorts, arms lifted to protect his face from the blows raining down on him. "You can't just decide for him!"

"Like you are?!"

Arms close around Dick from behind. He struggles against them as he's pulled off but they don't budge. Steph and Cass bend by Roy's side to help him up.

"You've gotta calm down, man," Kon says into Dick's ear. "If Tim wakes up to all of you fighting he's gonna be pissed."

"What the hell, Dick?!" Steph shoots him a glare. "I thought you said we had to be a unit!"

"I'm fine," Roy says, waving off any prodding hands.

Dick is just trying to breathe.

"Not the way to do it," Cass scolds them.

"Do you, uh, think the evil assassin lady is gonna be mad about the plates?" Bart asks.

"We'll figure it out," Cassie answers.

"She wouldn't give us special ones right?" Kon reasons. "It should be fine."

"Sure, but bad guys are weird about these kinds of things—"

"—not that weird—"

"—eh, a little weird—"

Damian's voice cuts through it all, silencing the many conversations happening in the hall and knocking Dick out of his inevitable breakdown. "What is going on?" His eyes flick from one party to the next, cataloging the many clues before him. Dick's fingers twitch and his eyes narrow in on his bruising knuckles; Dick spits a bit of blood onto the floor and grimaces.

"Let him go," Damian tells Kon.

Kon hesitates, glancing down at Dick to make sure he's calm, before letting go.

Damian crosses his arms and raises a single eyebrow. It's that look that he gets from his parents, regal and serious all in one; the look that Dick can imagine in a board room, taking care of the business in ways he never could, just like Tim. "I assume there was a reason for this show of idiocy?"

Cass jabs a finger into Roy's ribs. "Speak."

He winces but doesn't argue. "Tim can't go back to Gotham."

There's silence for a few long moments and then, half strangled, Dick manages a single, disbelieving: "What?"

"Come on, Grayson, don't be stupid," Roy argues hotly. "Gotham is only going to make him bad again, I know you can see that—"

"Yes," he interrupts.

"—you can be more than a pretty face—" He blinks, as if just realizing Dick has said something. "What did you just say?"

"I said yes." Dick feels that familiar boil of anger start to die down into embers. He's suddenly very tired. "I know that Tim can't come back to Gotham. I didn't plan on asking him to."

"But you—I thought that was what you all wanted?" Roy looks between them all. "You kept talking about the old days while Tim was missing."

"It made him feel closer," Cassie tells him, before looking first to Kon and then to Bart. "We know he isn't Robin anymore but he'll always be our teammate."

"Totally!" Bart nods frantically. "He's not getting rid of us that easily!"

"Tim hasn't been happy in Gotham for a long time," Steph says with an unhappy smile. "We don't have to be on speaking terms for me to see that."

Damian closes the space between him and Dick. A piece of cloth emerges from his robes to press to Dick's bleeding lip; he mumbles his thanks. "We're here to ensure that you all leave safely. My mother has given me her word but it's best to ere on the side of caution."

"What about Bruce?" Roy asks.

"Bruce is out numbered," Dick says darkly. "And in Gotham. I made sure he didn't stay. Tim doesn't need that right now."

For the first time in a long time, Roy looks at him with something resembling respect. "You really finally stuck it to your old man?"

He sighs. "Yeah. I guess I did."

"Good for you. And uh," he gestures up at his face, "sorry for the lip."

"I would've done worse if I was in your position." Dick shrugs. "Sorry for the cracked rib."

"Boys," Cassie t'sks.

"Boys," Steph agrees, with feeling.

Damian threads an arm through Dick's and starts to lead him away. "I can't leave you alone for even a minute," he says, once they're out of earshot. There's obvious fondness in his voice and normally Dick would tease him but he's far too emotionally exhausted to do that now.

"Dami, I don't think I want to go back to Gotham either."

The fingers on his arm tighten. "What are you saying?"

Dick heads for the bed as soon as they're inside their shared room. He collapses onto his side and closes his eyes. "For the longest time, I thought I would have to take Bruce's place. I never wanted it but I knew it was my responsibility. And then you came, this little kid who knew nothing about how our world worked, who actually wanted the helm. You've opened my eyes to a lot of things, babybat."

There's a dip in the bed near Dick's hip as Damian sits down beside him. "Like what?"

"When Tim brought Bruce back from what we thought was death, I knew I had to step down from training you. And when Bruce asked me to back off even further, I told myself it was for your own good, that you two needed to bond. Looking back on it, I did that a lot. Gave up on the things I'd built just to make up for what Bruce was lacking." He sighs and looks up at Damian. "I'm sorry I let you think he was everything your mother told you he was. I know this past year has been hard when it comes to how you view your father. I shouldn't have let you put him on a pedestal."

"Richard, none of that is your fault," Damian argues. "I am aware that I was a—capricious and stubborn child. And I know that I did not make things easy for anyone, especially Drake. You tried to give me room for the childhood I did not have and the father I should have had. It is not your fault that he failed at both."

"I just—looking back on everything, was I stupid? How could I not see everything with Tim, with Jason when he came back, with you when you arrived?"

"You are not responsible for us." He reaches out to lace his fingers through Dick's bruising ones. "You did the best you could—are currently doing the best you can."

"I guess." He sighs and closes his eyes once more.

"Tell me where you want to go," Damian pushes. "If not Gotham, then where?"

"We used to travel everywhere you know," he murmurs, "my parents and I. The circus went from continent to continent. I miss that life. I miss flying."

"Then we'll go," he vows. "Wherever you want. We'll see the world."

Dick's lips twitch up at the corners. "That sounds nice," he breathes, already half asleep.

Damian runs his fingers over Dick's swelling knuckles and begins to make a mental list of all that they will need to make it happen.

---

Tim wakes up fine.

That is to say, he wakes up without aches or pains, without nightmares or hallucinations. It's almost enough to convince him that he's dreaming. Except, he knows the sandstone walls around him and those only ever show up in his nightmares.

He's in a plush bed, clothed in soft pajamas that actually cover him from head to toe. There's a strange tint to the world that he can't blink out of his eyes, an almost green that sends alarm skittering up his spine but isn't enough to make him panic just yet.

Junior? He asks.

There's a stirring at the back of his head, sleepy and unobtrusive.

What?

We're okay.

There's a pause as they both feel out their own body. Then a bloom of surprise.

Wait, but Ra's—?

Tim tries to think back but all he can remember is falling into the pit. He sits up and becomes aware of the second body beside him. It's Jason, who stares up at him with bright green eyes.

"Jason," Tim breathes. "You're okay."

"So're you," he returns. "How do ya feel?"

"Good," he reports, "is that normal?"

"Define normal."

"Fair point."

Jason sits up to brush his thumb along one of Tim's cheek scars. "Should probably look in a mirror. That's the main difference."

"The others!" Tim realizes, as he wobbles to his feet. "Is everyone—?"

"All okay," Jason promises. "Just worried about you."

He breathes out his relief. A warm hand settles on his lower back and leads him into the bathroom, where he can take a good look at his face. His eyes are green; that's the first thing he notices. They're not terribly bright, like Jason's. The green has more bled out from his pupil to mix with the blue of his iris in certain spots. It's quite pretty if he ignores what it all means.

"Guess I wasn't in long enough to heal everything," Tim murmurs, as he touches a hand to his cheek. The scars look less fresh but they're still definitely there. Though Tim does notice that some of the shallow needle marks on his neck are gone.

That reminds him, though.

"You jumped into the pit for me." Tim turns to stare up at Jason with wide eyes. "You—I remember falling into the Pit and then you grabbed me. You jumped in after me."

Jason looks distinctly uncomfortable with the quiet awe in his voice. "I wasn't goin' t' just let ya drown."

"Jason." His hand lifts to lay over Jason's chest, where his heart beats a strong rhythm. "It's the Pit."

"Yeah, well," Jason's fingers wrap around his wrist. He leans down to bump Tim's forehead gently with his own. "It's you."

He says it with the same sort of weight that Tim gives the Pit, like he is somehow as terrifying and encompassing as the cursed healing waters. Tim thinks he gets it. He feels the same way about Jason, after all.

He searches Jason's green lit eyes, the same very eyes that prove that Jason doesn't just put up with him out of obligation or guilt. Jason jumped into the Pit to save Tim and that means everything. More than either of them can really put into words.

So Tim does his best to match it.

He lifts up onto his toes to close the space between their mouths. There's a pause where he's just pressing his lips to Jason's as Jason processes what's happening, where they're both just leaning into one another, sharing the same space. Then Jason lifts his free hand to cradle Tim's face in his palm and they're kissing.

He's so careful with him, like Tim might break if he goes too fast and Tim is too lost in the moment to feel any sort of offense. Junior is quiet on his side but he feels content. They both know exactly what they want from here.

"Jason," he breathes, once they've parted for air, “I want to go home.” 

Jason tenses like he’s been hurt. “Yeah,” he says shakily, and begins to slide away, “I can—yeah, okay. I’ll let the others know.” 

“No, Jason.” Tim catches him before he can get out of reach and reels him back into their shared space. He takes in his ashen face and furrowed brow and shakes his head. “I—we—want to go home. With you.”

There’s comprehension beginning to bloom. It spreads out like ink in water, wiping away the hurt and confusion from before. “Ya mean you—the Island?” 

They smile sweetly, press another kiss to Jason’s mouth and say, “Yes.”  

Notes:

I wanna settle down;

 

I want you to settle down with me.

 

You do the breathing exercise;

 

I’m in the other room, sleeping.

 

The crisis is averted, now on to the next. 

 

Disaster deserted, a weight off my chest.

 

I wanna settle down; 

 

I want you to settle down with me.

 

(If that means, finding your way home,

 

You gotta go.

 

And if that means, running far away,

 

I’ll let you know.)

 

—Finding Your Way Home, The Front Bottoms

 

And here we are, two years later. I have a lot of things to say but it really all just boils down to thank you. This story and this fandom reignited my love for writing and fandom and everyone that has taken the time to interact with this story, from comments to kudos to fanart has a soft place in my heart. I appreciate you all and I'm so grateful to all of you for coming along on this journey with me. I didn't intend for this story to get as big as it did but I thank you for sticking it out with me until the end.

But! While it's the end of searching faces, it's not the end of the series. Due to popular demand, I will be making an additional installment exploring Tim and Jason's future. I may also write something for Dick and Damian but we'll see how it goes. I have an additional possible one-shot idea in my head for an outlaw/jaytim poly situation in this verse so keep your eyes peeled and subscribe to the series for any future updates. I can't say when those will start posting but I'm hoping it'll be sometime soon. (I'll also be posting a talon!tim story soon that will be my next big project)

I hope the ending was satisfying and I hope to see you guys on the next one. Until then <3

(also for anyone maybe disappointed in certain confrontations that didn't happen with say, Bruce, just remember there's more to come ;)

Notes:

I'm always open to comic suggestions to story lines you think might be interesting/could help further this fic! I'm new to this so help is welcome and appreciated <3

you can find me on tumblr @ takemetomyfragiledreams for story updates and future projects

Comments are greatly appreciated and help keep the story updating

story playlist can be found here

Tim/JJ's playlist can be found here

Jason's playlist can be found here

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of finding your way home
• Part 1 of DC works