Easy Math

by StoriesAreMagic

Summary:

Tim messed up, now he needs to fix it. He hurt his parents’ chances with one business partner, now he needs to help his parents with a different business partner. The fact that he gets hurt in the process has never been an issue. Then the “different business partner” turns out to be the Red Hood, AKA, the reason Tim hasn’t been allowed out as Robin for a month. That might be an issue.

Notes:

Me, quietly to myself: But what if enemy-to-caretaker and Jason-and-Tim and pre-Titans-Tower and out-of-proportion-abusive-but-hands-off-Drake-parents and-
Me: *blacks out, comes to an hour later with like 1.5k words*
Me: Okay then.

Chapter 1

The math was supposed to be easy. Tim was good at math, generally. Spending an afternoon helping the accounting department of Chapman Principles hunt through their documents for a miscalculation was good for everyone. It was good for the Chapmans' accountants because hopefully they would all get to keep their jobs, it was good for the Chapman family because their business would be able to be back on track quicker, it was good for Jack and Janet Drake because the Chapman family would be more likely to agree to their next business proposal, and it was good for Tim Drake because it gave him something to do to get him out of the house.

Normally, Tim wouldn't need anything extra to do, because he would have plenty to do as Robin, and normally, he wouldn't need so desperately to get out of the house, because he could stay out of his parents' way easily enough when they weren't too mad at him. But this wasn't normal.

For the past two months, a new villain had been stalking his way through Gotham, especially Crime Alley. If the duffle bag full of heads dropped off at the police station hadn't shown how serious the situation was as-is, the guy called himself the Red Hood. That was the Joker's old nickname. And much like the Joker, the Red Hood seemed to have a vengeance specifically against Robin.

And apparently that meant Bruce had to ban Tim from going out.

That part of the math didn't make sense. Lots of villains went after Robin! Robin fought plenty of bad guys all the time, even Rogues, even the Joker! Admittedly, Batman did his best to keep Tim away from the Joker, but that wasn't always possible. And that was okay! Tim could handle himself as Robin. Tim still preened inwardly when he thought of the moment he'd successfully faced off against the Joker one-to-one. He'd flipped the Joker into an open sewage tank and everything! Tim could definitely handle himself against the Red Hood. It all added up and made sense.

Yet Batman didn't seem to see it that way. He'd benched Tim just about a month ago. And when Tim had complained to Dick about it, Dick had taken Bruce's side, talking carefully around the history of the last time a villain had set out a plot so specifically against Robin.

Tim got a little more of the reasoning then. Jason had died at the hands of the Joker. Dick had lost his little brother, Alfred had lost his younger grandson, Bruce had lost his newer son. Tim had seen the aftermath of that more than anyone, probably, both on and off the streets of Gotham. Tim understood that, even though Bruce didn't love Tim, even though Tim wasn't Bruce's kid or really his responsibility, Bruce didn't want Tim to die. That was nice of Bruce. That made sense with who Bruce was. That math did make sense, some sense at least, even if Tim didn't like it.

The math of the accounting department of Chapman Principles, however, didn't make enough sense. When Tim finally found a discrepancy in the spreadsheets, he was rapidly and repeatedly hushed and shooed away. When Tim took that discrepancy further, that's when he learned of his mistake.

The discrepancy Tim found wasn't the one he was meant to be looking for. He'd found evidence of embezzlement, but he'd found embezzling that the Chapmans themselves were doing. He'd really messed up. The Chapmans scolded him and tried to convince him that it wasn't a discrepancy. That wasn't the worst part, though, because then the Chapmans told his parents that Tim had really messed up.

And that? That was when the math became no longer easy, but very hard.

Tim knew how that math worked. It was a rule of equivalents. It was balancing an equation. It was addition and subtraction, plain and simple. Tim had messed up with the Chapman Principles' accountants, so now the Chapmans, instead of being more likely to agree to Drake Industries' next proposal, were actually less likely to agree. Tim subtracted that possibility away from his parents. Now he needed to add a possibility for them.

And unfortunately, the possibility that Jack and Janet wanted was one that was really going to hurt. Not them, of course. They'd never do something to hurt each other. No, it was really going to hurt Tim. But he deserved it. That was just the way the math worked out.

"You need to behave perfectly for this business partner," Jack stressed, pacing back and forth. "He's not the forgiving type."

Tim nodded as he loosened his tie. "Yes, sir."

"And we do mean perfectly," Janet said from her seat. "Whatever he says, whatever he does, you smile and nod and go along."

No matter how much Tim loosened his tie, he couldn't get rid of the tightness in his throat. So he shucked the tie off fully. "Jacket on or off?"

"On," Jack said, at the same time Janet said, "Off."

Tim paused.

Jack and Janet traded glances, having one of those silent conversations between themselves that Tim could never seem to take part in.

"I suppose off," Jack said slowly.

Janet nodded. "And would you say on the chair or on the ground?"

Jack looked around the room, one of the secret meeting spaces they held onto. It had no windows, exactly two doors, and very little furnishings: a long metal table, six metal chairs, and a large metal single-door wardrobe.

Tim could already hear the door of the wardrobe opening, the distinct creak he tended to hear in his nightmares. He tried to ignore the thought. The wardrobe door would be open for real soon enough.

"On the ground," Jack said. "Kneeling."

Tim took off his suit jacket and handed it to Janet.

She nodded and set it aside, then gestured to down beside her chair.

Tim knelt. The fancy fabric of his suit pants did little against the cold of the floor pressing into his knees. Tim focused on that. Every time he was in here, the floor was cold. The cold was a constant, something that made sense in the whole equation. He could focus on that, not on anything else that was coming.

"He should be here any minute," Jack said. "Let's settle in."

"Indeed," Janet agreed.

Jack took the chair on Tim's other side, patting Tim's head and saying, "If this goes as well as your mother and I expect, I'd say we can talk shop on that new camera you were wanting, pal."

Tim nodded but kept silent. If the business partner was going to be there any minute, Tim wasn't going to risk saying anything that could be interpreted as disobedience. Honestly, Tim never wanted to say anything disobedient, but sometimes he ended up doing it anyway. Better not to risk it, especially not now.

That's when the door on the far side of the room opened.

Tim peered over the edge of the table to see a brutish-looking woman stepping in. A domino mask sat over her eyes, but it didn't fully cover a set of scars that stretched from her forehead down into her right cheek. She crossed her arms. "Mister and Missus Long?"

"That'd be us," Janet confirmed. "And you would be Miss Crimson?"

"Yeah," the woman grunted.

"Excellent," Janet said. "And your boss, Mister Rider?"

"The boss'll be along in a mo'. Said he'd got some business to finish up first," Miss Crimson said, arms still crossed.

Janet sighed. "I do hope he does respect our time. It's of great importance in our line of business to be punctual."

"Yeah," Miss Crimson said. "But we aren't all in your line of business, are we?"

Janet paused. She gave a fake laugh. "Indeed!"

Miss Crimson didn't laugh. Instead, she just stood there, arms crossed.

Tim wished she wasn't wearing a domino. If she wasn't wearing one, he could tell where she was looking, try to get a good idea of what he was in for, maybe even be able to identify her later as a goon for some "non-specific" case once he was back to being Robin. And the fact that she was wearing a domino? It didn't add up to a good time for Tim. If her boss was paranoid enough or powerful enough that even his goons wore domino masks…

Tim tried not to shudder. Evidently he failed, because Jack's fingers dug into his shoulder sharply for a moment, then released, another warning to behave.

Miss Crimson cocked her head toward the cracked-open door behind her. "Boss's coming in."

"Excellent," Jack said.

Not excellent. Very not excellent. The very opposite of excellent.

The math not only didn't add up in an easy way, it splintered into fractions right then and there, just like Tim's careful control.

Because when the door swung open, in stepped the Red Hood.

Notes:

Standard promo: I'm fangirltakesall on Tumblr, and I'm always up to talk about my fics!

Chapter 2

Tim wasn't going to freak out. He wasn't. That wasn't allowed. It simply wasn't in the equation. So Tim knelt there, calm, cool, collected. Still and silent. Obedient.

But inside his head, Tim screamed.

Does he know? Does he know? Does he know?

How could he know?

None of it added up. None of the math made sense.

Red Hood couldn't know that Tim was Robin. He couldn't know, so Red Hood wasn't here because Tim was Robin and Red Hood wanted to…

But if Red Hood didn't know Tim was Robin, then what was Red Hood doing here? Red Hood was a murderer and a crime lord and a full-on villain, but Robin and Batman had heard about Red Hood's "code of honor."

Red Hood didn't hurt kids. He didn't.

But Robin wasn't a kid. Red Hood fought Robin, going out of his way to hunt and hurt Robin, which therefore meant Robin equaled not a kid in Red Hood's eyes. And Tim was Robin. Therefore, since Tim equaled Robin, Tim equaled not a kid. Therefore, Red Hood could hurt Tim.

Red Hood would hurt Tim.

All of this flashed through Tim's mind in the span of a few seconds as Red Hood made his way further into the room and came to a stop on the other side of the table.

Tim could feel Janet and Jack exchanging sideways glances over his head. For once, Tim thought he knew what they might be thinking. Red Hood wasn't who they were expecting.

Tim had caught on to the codenames used, both for and by his parents. That was normal. Drake Industries couldn't be found out doing something that could be potentially misinterpreted as underhanded, after all, and most people didn't seem to understand the kind of math that Tim had to do. So Jack and Janet used codenames. Their business partners often did too, and they were sometimes even "non-business" personnel as Jack and Janet referred to the underworld of Gotham. It was completely normal.

Having a business partner revealed to be this caliber of person, though? Red Hood had made a name for himself quickly, and he was practically a Rogue by now.

"Mr. Rider?" Jack said warmly, but his voice tilted up at the end with concern

"That would be me," Red Hood's modulated voice came through.

"Please, take a seat," Janet invited.

Red Hood's helmet turned slightly toward her, then turned straight forward again, more toward Tim. (Tim tried not to shake.) Red Hood didn't take a seat.

Jack coughed. He reached down for his briefcase and put it up on the table. "Well, here's the contract we had formulated together last weekend with-"

"Miss Crimson," Red Hood interrupted before Jack could open his briefcase.

The goon by the door stepped forward quickly until she was at the table as well. She pulled a small envelope out of a pocket and slapped it down on the table, then she took a couple of steps back.

Jack frowned. "What is this?"

"The new contract we formulated," Red Hood said.

"We haven't formulated anything new since last weekend," Jack said slowly.

"That's what you think," Red Hood said.

Jack turned toward Janet. "Did you-"

"I didn't make any adjustments," Janet said shortly.

"That's where you're wrong," Red Hood said. "You made the adjustments without knowing, right from the beginning, when you decided to sell off your kid, Jack and Janet Drake."

That's when Miss Crimson pulled a pair of guns and pointed one at each of Tim's parents.

Jack and Janet both froze.

"See, here's where I stand," Red Hood said. He sounded almost casual, although Tim wouldn't have believed the casual tone even if Miss Crimson wasn't standing there with her guns trained on Jack and Janet. Red Hood continued, "Selling people is wrong. Hurting kids is wrong. Selling your own kid for someone else to hurt is very wrong."

"Then why'd you agree-" Jack began.

Janet smacked him on the knee.

Jack shut his mouth for once.

"I agreed to meet with you for two reasons," Red Hood said. "One: to stop this from happening again. Two: to fulfill my own purposes, which are for me and the kid to know and for you not to find out. Miss Crimson?"

Miss Crimson took several steps closer. The gun barrels were mere inches from Jack's and Janet's respective foreheads. There would be no dodging, no missing, no chance to heal. A gunshot point-blank to the head would be the end.

Tim didn't move. He couldn't. He knew how to fight, he knew how to slide under the table and take Miss Crimson down, he knew how to twist her guns out of her hands, he even knew how he could maybe leverage her against Red Hood, who seemed to care about his goons. But Tim didn't know, at that moment, how to move.

"So here's what I'm thinking," Red Hood said. "The little mister Timothy Drake down there is going to stand up from the floor. He is going to come around the table and give me his hand. He and I are going to walk out of this room. You are going to stay here. You are going to wait for Miss Crimson to allow you to leave. You and I are never going to see each other again. Understand?"

Jack gulped. Janet glared.

Red Hood tilted his head slowly to one side. "Or, if you don't understand, I'd be happy to have Miss Crimson make you understand."

Miss Crimson flicked off the safety on both guns simultaneously.

"We understand," Janet said tersely.

"We understand perfectly," Jack ground out.

"Then we've all come to an understanding," Red Hood said, looking at Tim again. "Now let's make it happen. Stand up."

Tim still didn't know how to move. Thoughts whirled through his mind. Was there a chance Red Hood didn't know Tim was Robin? Was there a chance Tim was going to be okay?

"Stand," Red Hood commanded.

Tim stood. He rounded the table. He held out a hand.

Red Hood grabbed Tim's hand, squeezing it to the point where Tim had to bite back a whimper.

And no. There was no chance. After that whole speech about hurting kids being wrong, the way Red Hood had Tim's hand in a hurtful death grip definitely meant Red Hood somehow knew Tim was Robin.

That could only add up to one thing.

Red Hood still wanted what Jack and Janet thought he'd come for; he just didn't want them to know. And that equaled a world of pain for Tim.

Chapter 3

Sometimes, when it came to these special meetings, Tim's usually-stellar-if-he-did-say-so-himself ability to do the math was a bit skewed. Usually, it had to do with counting time. Usually, something that should have taken five seconds felt like it took five hours, or something that would take ten minutes happened in the blink of an eye with Tim not even able to remember parts of the event or of the time passing. Usually, it happened once the pain started.

Usually, it didn't involve Tim being taken away by the Red Hood.

And yet, just like that, the math went sideways, and time acted weird. Tim blinked, and he and Red Hood were walking toward the door. Tim blinked, and he and Red Hood were out in a hallway. Tim blinked, and he and Red Hood were dismounting from a motorcycle.

Tim blinked, and he and Red Hood were standing facing each other. Red Hood was taking his helmet off with one hand, but his other hand still had a grip on Tim's own hand. Well. The word "still" might not be right. Tim thought he vaguely recalled Red Hood letting go of his hand to open a door, and probably Red Hood couldn't keep a hold on him in the same way while driving a motorcycle. So it was a grip on Tim's hand still, it just wasn't the same grip as before. It was a looser grasp now, not even painful, and that was probably even more terrifying, because that means Red Hood had a different way in mind to cause Tim pain.

Red Hood probably had many different ways in mind to cause Tim pain, having taken him to a different place, a place of Red Hood's own choosing. Even without looking around, Tim could tell they were in a room Tim had never been in before.

With a deep ache, Tim missed the secret meeting room, agonizing contents of the wardrobe and all. At least in that familiar room, Tim knew what to expect.

He guessed he knew what to expect here, too: pain. Lots of pain. Probably so much pain that he'd eventually die, here in this unfamiliar room, at the hands of Red Hood.

The thought sparked something in the mix of calm and panic and everything-nothingness of Tim's brain.

Tim…

Tim didn't want to die. But Red Hood probably wanted Tim to die. Tim was Robin, after all.

Tim was Robin. He should… He should do something. Twist out of Red Hood's grasp. Kick Red Hood in the knee. Fight or strategize or manipulate or prepare, or something. Anything.

Tim couldn't do anything. The math for everyone and everything else in the situation made sense, even if it was in a twisted way, but the math for what Tim was doing and was not doing right now was nonsense. Tim wasn't supposed to panic, he was smart. Tim wasn't supposed to be passive, he was Robin. Tim wasn't supposed to fight back, he was a good son. Everything was wrong, the sharp edges of the parts of the problem all scraping up against each other to make an awful cracking sound in Tim's brain, like something was breaking.

Maybe that something was Tim?

Tim needed to not be here. Tim needed to be Robin. Tim needed to be a good son. Tim needed to be both Robin and a good son. Tim, Tim needed…

Tim needed Bruce.

The realization hit him like the final part of an equation snapping into place.

Tim needed Bruce there to stop Red Hood and help Tim. But Tim was supposed to be the one helping Bruce. What a failure he was. A failure of a Robin for Bruce, a failure of a son for his parents, a failure at existing.

Bizarrely, a parody of a meme came to mind: Tim was going to get a bad grade in existence, something that was both normal to not want and possible to achieve.

Unable to help it, Tim snorted a little at the thought.

"This is funny to you?" Red Hood's drawl cut through the moment of almost-levity. Tim was pretty sure he could hear pure rage in the tone, much more clearly now that the helmet was off and the voice modulation wasn't in effect. Tim imagined Red Hood's eyes squinting in anger behind his red domino mask, as Red Hood said, "What, this is normal?"

'Normal to not want and possible to achieve,' Tim barely managed to keep himself from saying hysterically.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, then hesitated over whether that was the right thing to say. Some business partners wanted him apologetic. Some wanted him defiant. Some just wanted him silent, while others wanted him to scream. It was always best to do what they want, but it could be hard to tell what it was they want, especially at first when he was with a new business partner.

Besides, Red Hood wasn't exactly a business partner, was he? Not anymore. Not after having his henchperson point her guns at Tim's parents, not after promising never to see them again, not after taking Tim away.

Right, Tim's sluggish mind remembered. That, that had to be the end of that potential business partnership. It was over. So maybe Tim didn't have to be making up for his mistakes anymore, at least not in this scenario. Maybe Tim could do something.

Tim swayed a little, trying to get Red Hood's guard down, trying to appear more affected by the situation than he was.

Apparently it worked, or maybe it didn't work, because Red Hood cursed and shoved Tim backward.

Tim fell back, but only a little bit, because he caught himself halfway and spun into a kick, driving his foot right into Red Hood's crotch.

Okay, it was a dirty move, but it tended to be an effective one, even through armor. Red Hood cursed more and stumbled away.

Tim readied himself for an attack.

Which, oddly enough, hadn't come before then.

And, even more oddly, still didn't come.

Red Hood mumbled angrily and indistinctly for a moment, then he made a twitchy motion toward something behind Tim. "I was just trying to get you to sit down!"

Tim didn't look behind himself, knowing better than to take his eyes off of his enemy.

Red Hood stalked forward.

Tim kept his ready stance.

Red Hood jolted a fist toward Tim's face, which Tim leaned to avoid-

Which was his mistake, because it had been a faked punch, as Red Hood's fist changed direction at the last moment and grabbed Tim's shoulder, at the same time Red Hood's foot swept Tim's own feet out from under him.

Tim started to go into a defensive roll so he won't be put all the way to the ground-

But he didn't make it through his roll. He didn't make it to the ground either. His back and butt hit the cushions of a couch, and Tim awkwardly fell into a sitting position.

Red Hood stepped back. "There. See? Sit down before you fall down. Wow, what has he been teaching you, kid?"

'Sit down before you fall down,' Tim mouthed to himself. Also… This part he couldn't stop himself from saying out loud. "Kid?"

"Kid. Teen. Juvenile. Youth. Whatever you kids call yourselves these days," Red Hood said with a humorless laugh.

Tim. Tim did not know what to make of that. He ignored that, and he faced the main part of the problem. "What do you want with me?"

Red Hood scoffed. "Oh, I want nothing to do with you, Timothy Drake. Or should I say Robin?"

That doesn't faze Tim. He already had been certain Red Hood knew he was Robin. That had been the whole reason he'd gone on the attack against Red Hood as directly as he had.

"You could say Robin," Tim said. "You could also say I'm clearly not Robin right now."

"The groin shot would say otherwise," Red Hood said quickly.

"Well, I wasn't Robin when you apparently tracked me down to make a deal with my parents to hurt me then backed out while also not backing out," Tim fired back, then immediately regretted it when Red Hood's nose flared and his teeth bared in a terrible grin.

"Oh, right, of course, because that's what matters," Red Hood said sarcastically. "Because you weren't Robin, you let them sell you off to get tortured for no reason and terrified me."

Tim sputtered for a moment, not sure what part of that to address first: the apparent doubt that Tim wasn't being Robin, the accusatory tone evidently and bewilderingly focused toward Tim's parents, the use of the word "torture," the use of the word "terrified…" "They- I didn't- You didn't- It wasn't for no reason!"

Red Hood basically sprinted forward, towering over Tim's spot on the couch, the couch being another thing Tim just didn't know what to think about, so he didn't. Red Hood leaned down over Tim and spat out, "Do you know any good reason for a parent to sell their kid into torture?"

Tim didn't answer. Instead, he headbutted Red Hood in the nose.

Red Hood staggered back, cursing and clamping a hand over his blood-spewing nose as Tim leapt up from the couch.

Feeling a tiny bit more in control, Tim decided to change the subject back as he took a careful defensive stance. "I wasn't Robin!"

"You are Robin!" Red Hood snarled, although it was a little dulled by his hand clasping his nose shut. "That's the whole problem!"

"I know, you've got a problem with Robin, big deal, so do most other villains," Tim retorted.

Red Hood let go of his nose (which, somewhat to Tim's disappointment, had stopped bleeding) and growled, "More like I've got a problem with Batman!"

"Big deal, so does every other villain!" Tim said.

Red Hood full-on roared, "I've got a problem with Bruce!"

Silence reigned for a moment, but Tim couldn't let that sentence go. He'd realized Red Hood had figured out Tim was Robin.

He hadn't realized Red Hood had figured out Bruce Wayne was Batman. That changed things.

Tim launched himself at Red Hood, trying to surprise him and get the upper hand enough to change things back into Tim's favor (as if they'd been in Tim's favor at any point during this whole encounter).

But instead of Tim tackling Red Hood down across the messy coffee table behind him, Red Hood dodged, then he grabbed Tim by the still-extended wrists and heaved Tim's arms into the air, twisting their two bodies and walking the two of them back until Tim's hands were pinned into the wall behind and above him.

That wasn't what Tim meant by the upper hand, Tim mused briefly, and then promptly scolded himself for listening to Dick's puns enough that a pun was the first thing to come to mind. He squirmed and jolted and kicked out, but Red Hood had him pinned solidly.

Then, when Tim paused his struggling for the shortest of moments to reconsider other options, Red Hood scowled, sighed, and stepped back, letting go.

"Just. Just stop, kid," Red Hood said, sounding tired.

Tim was more filled with confusion than ever, but he refused to stop fighting. "Robin doesn't stop!"

"Robin stops. He did stop, right when the Joker beat him up and blew him up until his heart stopped with him," Red Hood said tiredly.

No more confusion filled Tim. Now, he was filled with rage. "Don't talk about him like that!"

Red Hood scoffed again. "Who, Jason Todd? Oh, I'll talk about him however I please."

Subtly, Tim readied himself to launch at Red Hood again.

Red Hood must've noticed, because-

Huh. Red Hood put his hands up in the near-universal sign of surrender. Maybe he hadn't noticed Tim's readying stance?

"Cool it," Red Hood said.

Okay, so he had noticed. That meant Tim was rapidly losing the ability to surprise him, not a good sign for Tim's chances in this fight.

Not that it had been much of a fight to this point. After all, Red Hood hadn't really been fighting back. Or fighting much at all. In fact, as Tim thought back quickly through the events in that room, which bizarrely enough seemed to be a full-on living room, with the couch and the coffee table and even a stupidly-old-looking TV in one corner as Tim looked around carefully for clues as to what this entire weird situation was about.

Tim looked back at Red Hood all the way, having not taken his eyes off of him fully while looking around. Tim revised his earlier question, asking more quietly this time, "What do you want?"

Red Hood paused. He sighed. He grabbed a small tube off of the mess on the coffee table.

Tim tensed, expecting a bomb or a gas or a toxin or something like that.

Red Hood squirted a bit of something slimy-looking out of the tube, rubbed it around his domino mask, and started to peel the domino off. "I want a lot of things, kid, but most of what I might want, you can't give me. Nobody can."

"What?" Tim pressed, watching closely.

The domino mask came all the way off.

"I want things back the way they used to be when I was Jason Todd."

Chapter 4

Notes:

AN: *singing absentmindedly to myself* These characters refuse to do what I tell them to do! Now my story plan needs review! Do do dooo!

Now the math worked out more clearly.

Red Hood was Jason Todd. More to the point, Jason Todd was Red Hood.

Tim's thoughts took flight, speeding around and around him. Jason hadn't died? But no, Red Hood had just said that Robin's heart stopped at the hands of the Joker. So Jason had died, but then he had come back to life.

Somehow, though, that wasn't the most confusing part of the equation.

Most things made sense once Tim factored in that Jason Todd was Red Hood. After all, Jason had died basically in Batman's arms, of course Jason might have some issues to work through with Batman now. After all, Jason had always had a protective streak, especially for those in Crime Alley, of course he would attack criminals who targeted the unfortunate people there. And after all, since Red Hood had appeared not too long ago, well after Tim became Robin, of course Jason would be mad that Tim had become Robin while Jason was dead. Tim had stolen his spot!

A few big things, however, did not make sense. The obvious one was how Jason was back to life again, but that didn't seem particularly relevant at the moment as Tim stared up at Jason's furious green eyes (even though Jason's eyes had been blue when he was alive the first time). Instead, what seemed relevant was-

"Why didn't you go back to being Jason Todd?"

Jason stared at Tim.

Tim stared at Jason.

Jason cursed, letting out a loud string of expletives, then he added, "You can't ask that!"

"Why not?" Tim asked. He was already probably in as much trouble as he could get into at this point. It was kind of a "here goes nothing" kind of thing.

Jason sputtered. "Because!"

"You could've gone back to being Jason Todd. You could've returned to Wayne Manor from the start, whenever you came back from the dead, and fought out your issues with everybody from there. And you know, you still could go back to being Jason Todd," Tim said reasonably.

"No?! I can't?!" Jason said.

"Yes, you can. They all love you and miss you so much," Tim said.

Jason scowled. "If they love me so much, why is my murderer still walking around? Why didn't they avenge me and kill the Joker?"

"To be fair, both Bruce and Dick tried," Tim offered.

Jason blinked. "What."

"Bruce tried, but Superman stopped him. Dick tried, and I think the only thing that stopped him was Bruce getting there shortly after I did," Tim said thoughtfully.

Jason was staring at Tim again.

Tim continued, taking a careful step away from the wall he'd been backed against just minutes before, "And really, I think there are a couple reasons why Joker is still alive. For one, if Bruce started killing, he'd get really messed up. I don't think he could keep being Batman. For another, if Batman started killing, the public would probably stop trusting him, and no vigilante would be able to operate in Gotham, which would be really bad given how much crime goes down here. For a third reason, there's this whole theory about how if the Joker dies, whoever killed him becomes the Joker? Like, we're not certain the Joker is the original Joker, or if he's not, how many versions of him there's been. So if Bruce or Dick or even Alfred killed Joker, they'd become the Joker in some messed-up way, which I feel like is worse than the Joker continuing on as he is."

Jason kept staring at Tim. Honestly, it was getting a little concerning at this point.

"Do I have something on my face? Or in my teeth, or something like that?" Tim asked, reflexively swiping at his face with one hand. "You keep looking at me like that, like there's something wrong."

"Everything's wrong!" Jason exploded, his arms flailing.

Tim readied himself to drop into a fighting stance, but before he could even shift his footing slightly, Jason deflated and slumped backward, sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

"Everything's wrong," Jason muttered, looking down at his still-gloved hands. He looked up at Tim. "Tell me this, then. If Bruce loved me, why did he take another Robin?"

"Just, you know, theoretically, do you think he stopped loving Dick when he took you as Robin?" Tim asked.

Jason's whole face convulsed.

"Also, like, Bruce was going off the rails. He was on the verge of killing criminals constantly," Tim said. "Dick wasn't really talking to him, and Alfred was trying to pretend everything was okay. Bruce needed someone to bring him back from the edge. He needed Robin, and you were dead. So I made him make me Robin."

"Nobody makes Bruce do anything he doesn't want to do," Jason said tiredly.

Tim nodded a little. "To an extent, yeah, I know. It took a lot of convincing, and a couple of times sneaking out into battles, and maybe some sort-of psychological warfare-"

Jason huffed a broken sort-of laugh, which Tim counted as a win.

"And I don't know why he accepted me being Robin at all, still," Tim admitted, regretting it as soon as he said it. With the shame of it, his shoulders rose up like they were trying to get past his ears. But he thought this might be what Jason needed to hear. "I'm not good enough. I've never been good enough. But I was all there was. So."

"So," Jason echoed.

Tim shrugged, trying to get his shoulders to settle back down. He stepped forward a little, resting a hand on the back of the couch, fidgeting with the cushion. "So."

"And your parents apparently selling you off to be tortured on a regular basis for no reason has nothing to do with any of this," Jason said dryly, something steely making its way into his gaze.

"Not for no reason," Tim said again. "And, and it's not torture. It's business. It's discipline. It's the math of it all."

"The math of it all," Jason said. "Do explain."

Tim floundered for a moment. He had never really needed to explain any of the math before. Everyone else just seemed to get it. "Well, if you take something away, you have to give something back. That's how the math of relationships works."

"Who's doing the taking away?" Jason asked, propping his elbow on one knee and propping his chin on his hand.

"Me," Tim said after a moment. "Obviously. I messed up, I prevented my parents from being able to make a big deal with a business partner, and so I needed to give my parents something back."

"And that 'something back' is what?" Jason said.

Tim felt his cheeks warm. He didn't really want to say it.

"What?" Jason repeated.

"You know," Tim said. "Giving them a way to connect with other business partners."

"And that way is you," Jason said. His voice began to get louder. "Specifically, that way is giving you over for them to-"

"If you say torture one more time, I am going to throw this at you," Tim informed him, raising up the couch cushion he was fidgeting with.

"A slightly-musty cushion, I'm so scared," Jason said. He met Tim's eyes and lifted his chin. "Torture."

Tim threw the couch cushion with all his might.

The couch cushion sailed toward Jason, who caught it easily then met Tim's eyes again. "Torture."

Tim threw the other couch cushion.

"Torture," Jason said again as he batted it away with the cushion he was already holding.

"Stop saying that!" Tim said, fumbling for something else to grab. In lieu of anything else, he scooped up the Red Hood helmet from the floor and reared back with it.

"Okay, actually, don't throw that one, it has a bomb in it," Jason said hurriedly.

Tim looked at the helmet. He looked at Jason. "You wear this on your head."

"And it has a bomb in it," Jason said resolutely.

"That kind of sounds self-destructive and like a cry for help," Tim said, lowering the helmet very carefully to the floor again.

Jason wagged a finger. "Don't change the subject. We're talking about your own self-destructive cry for help right now."

"And what is that?" Tim challenged.

"Not telling Bruce that your parents are having you…" Jason paused and stared hard at Tim. "Tortured."

Tim launched himself at Jason.

A decent scuffle later, with casualties including the shattered screen of the old TV (Jason's foot), a torn couch cushion (Tim's teeth), and several bruises (from and on both Jason and Tim), regrettably, Tim was stuck in place, not like he had stopped struggling.

"Kid," Jason said flatly, like he didn't have Tim in a headlock. "I have several years, several inches, a good hundred pounds, and plenty of League of Assassins training over you. Chill out."

Tim did pause struggling then. "League of Assassins?"

Jason shrugged and said sarcastically, "Between the fumes of the Lazarus Pit, the creep factor of Ra's, and Talia's 'mothering' skills, you must be shocked that I left."

Ah. Several things made more sense now.

Tim returned to the previous topic, hoping to catch Jason off-guard. "It wasn't torture."

"Why not?" Jason asked.

Tim floundered again. "It wasn't!"

"Why not?" Jason asked again, calm and clear.

"It, it just wasn't!" Tim said. To his horror, tears pricked at his eyes. "So back off! It wasn't torture!"

"Maybe not," Jason said, and he released Tim. "Technically, I think torture is defined as being done by organizations or groups. It was definitely abuse though."

"It wasn't abuse," Tim said. His voice sounded weak even to his own ears. "It made sense."

"Bad things often make sense when you're in the middle of them," Jason said, not looking at Tim and slowly easing down to sit on the cushionless couch.

Somehow, Tim didn't know if they were just talking about Tim's parents any more.

"It made sense," Tim said quietly.

"You know what would make sense?" Jason said. "You should call Batman to come pick you up."

"No way!" Tim said.

"How does refusing that make sense?" Jason challenged, and now his voice was the one that sounded weak. "You want me to go back to being Jason Todd, and I can't. I want you to leave your crappy excuses for parents, but I'm guessing you won't, not on your own. The most obvious person to solve both of those problems is Bruce, who'll tell you I can't be Jason and you can leave."

Tim considered it. He looked at the Red Hood helmet, then at Jason. "You call Batman. We both explain ourselves. Batman says what's right, which is that my parents are fine and that you're fine to go back to being Jason."

"Or that your parents are crap and I can't be Jason," Jason retorted.

"That's up to Batman," Tim said. He stuck out his hand. "Deal?"

Jason took it in his own hand with a fierce grip and swung it with such force Tim could feel it in his teeth. "Deal."

Chapter 5

As soon as they'd shook on the deal, Jason let go of Tim's hand and started rummaging around in a drawer in the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" Tim asked, watching Jason pull out and put aside various papers, household wares, small mechanical items…

"Looking for a burner phone," Jason replied.

Tim blinked. "And why are you looking for a burner phone?"

"So you can use it to call Batman, duh," Jason retorted, looking up from his search.

Pulling his own phone from his suit pants pocket, Tim held his phone up. "Or I could use this?"

Jason sat back on his heels. He stared at Tim and said flatly, "You had a phone. In your pocket. The entire time. You could've called Bruce for help the entire time."

"And why would I have called Bruce for help?" Tim challenged.

Jason continued to stare at Tim. "You're an idiot, and as soon as you are done talking to Bruce, I am going to strangle you."

"Rude," Tim said. "Also, that'll probably get you grounded or something. You know, once I go back to my parents and you go back to being Jason Todd."

Jason made a strangling gesture with both hands toward Tim.

Being the metaphorically bigger person, Tim ignored that gesture. He unlocked his phone and pulled up Bruce's personal number, pressing "call."

Jason promptly stole the phone out of Tim's hands and sprinted several steps away.

"Hey!" Tim said, sprinting after him. "What-"

Jason stopped, tapped on the phone's screen for a moment, then tossed the phone back to Tim.

Tim had just enough time to look down at the screen and recognize that Jason had turned on speakerphone mode when Bruce picked up.

"Hello, Tim," Bruce said, sounding a little concerned already. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course, everything's fine," Tim said, watching Jason.

Jason placed a finger at his own lips, clearly indicating he planned to remain silent.

Too bad for him. Tim said loudly, watching with interest as Jason's face spasmed, "Yeah, it's all fine, and you're on speakerphone!"

"Ah," Bruce said, pausing for just a fraction of a second before his voice brightened. "Then hello there, Jack, Janet!"

"Sorry, they can't come to the phone right now," Tim said.

"Why? Because they're dead to us," Jason muttered.

"I don't think I quite caught that last part," Bruce said mildly as Tim shoved Jason and Jason shoved Tim back so hard that Tim almost fell over. Bruce continued, sounding more concerned now, "And I thought you were out with your parents today, Tim. Something about the opera?"

"An opera of pain," Jason muttered.

"For a guy who was going to be silent at first, you sure have a lot to say," Tim hissed.

Jason shoved Tim again, and this time, Tim really did fall over.

"Hey!" Tim yelped as he banged his knee on the coffee table's still-open drawer, dropping the phone.

"Tim?" Bruce asked, although it was more like a demand than a question. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing much," Tim said casually, glaring at Jason from the floor. "Well, actually, a lot, but not for me. Hey, could you come meet us?"

"Us," Bruce echoed, his voice hardening. "Tim, what's going on?"

"Hey, where's he going to meet us, anyway?" Tim asked Jason.

Jason sputtered for a moment. "You don't know where we are?"

"Well, you see, sometimes, when you get kidnapped by a crime lord, you kind of maybe dissociate just an itty-bitty bit and miss things like whether or not he told you where he took you or not!" Tim hissed back.

From the phone, also still on the floor, Bruce was saying something, but Tim wasn't paying much attention to it, because Jason was hissing back, "Your training! Remembering street signs! Looking for landmarks! Keeping track of basic directions! Any of that ring a bell?"

"Again, maybe a bit of dissociating," Tim repeated. "It makes sense, okay?"

"Ah, because Robin dissociating the same instant a crime lord shows up makes sense," Jason said snidely.

"It wasn't that same instant!" Tim objected, flinging his arms out and banging his hand on the coffee table itself this time. "Ow! And there were a bunch of other extenuating circumstances! Like, uh, my parents being at gunpoint! And also you being you! And also-"

Stalking forward, Jason raised his voice in interruption, saying, "Number 1989, 442 Lone Place! On the edge of Crime Alley, obviously!"

Bewildered, Tim blinked for a moment as Jason repeated himself.

"Number 1989, 442 Lone Place," Jason said just as loudly. "You didn't know where we were, now you do, congratulations, do you want a prize?"

"In fact, I do," Tim said back equally loudly, laying on the sarcasm thickly. "And as a prize, I would like… For you to shut your big mouth and butt out!"

"Oh, sure, you want me to butt out," Jason said sarcastically back, crouching down and placing his hands on his knees, like Tim was some little kid to be talked to like that. "Maybe I should've done that in the first place! Maybe I should've butted out before I offered a deal to your parents, back when I found out that they were selling you to random people for torture-"

"It wasn't torture!" Tim screamed. "I know it! It can't, I don't, it wasn't torture!"

"Oh, right, because we had this conversation already! It wasn't torture, it was just betrayal of familial trust and a bunch of completely horrifying abuse!" Jason yelled back.

"No! It! Wasn't!" Tim shrieked, and he scrambled toward Jason on all fours, intent on getting Jason to shut up-

A loud beep.

Tim froze mid-scramble and looked down.

His hand had landed on his phone, which now read "call ended."

Oh. Right. Bruce.

Oops.

Tim looked up at Jason.

Jason looked down at Tim.

"Uh, that didn't add up to how I thought that conversation with Bruce was going to go," Tim admitted.

"To be fair, I don't think Bruce had much of a part in the conversation," Jason mused. He straightened into standing but put out a hand.

Tim eyed the hand warily for a moment, then he sighed and accepted it, pulling himself into standing as well. "So now what?"

"Now we wait for Bruce," Jason said. Then he winced. "But, uh, given how that 'conversation' went… I'm certain we're waiting for Batman."

"We're waiting for Batman. And I repeat," Tim said flatly. "So now what?"

Jason gave a thoughtful hum. "Well, since you broke my TV-"

"No, you broke the TV," Tim said, pointing at it. "That break is clearly shaped like a boot-"

"Since you stole my boots and you broke my TV while wearing my stolen boots," Jason continued without missing a beat, "Clearly watching TV is out."

"Clearly," Tim said. He looked around for a moment. "Wait. The TV. Your TV? Is this where you live?"

Jason gave him a look. "What, are you dissociating again? Do I have to spell this one out for you too? Duh, I live here."

"And we just…" Tim said, his voice trailing off as he gestured around himself at the chaos.

Jason looked around. He made a little grunt, as if he'd just now seen for the first time what they'd done to the place. "Ah. Yeah. We trashed it all, didn't we."

"Yup," Tim said, even though it hadn't sounded like too much of a question. "Whoops."

Jason sighed deeply. Then he bent over and picked up a couch cushion, dusted it off absentmindedly, and placed it back on the couch.

Tim watched thoughtfully and a little guiltily for a moment as Jason began to put away other things. Then Tim picked up the other couch cushion, dusted it off (wincing at the large tear he'd made in it by biting it when Jason had thrust it forward defensively during their earlier fight), and placed the couch cushion back on the couch.

Tim looked up from the couch to see Jason staring at him.

"What?" Tim challenged.

Jason shook his head and kept on cleaning but now with a smirk. Wait, no. Not with a smirk. With a little smile? It almost looked like a little smile.

Huh.

So Tim kept going.

Chapter 6

Tim peered at Jason, trying to remain calm, trying not to give anything away.

Jason stared him down with a cold ferocity Tim had to imagine Jason usually reserved for, like, people who sold drugs to children.

Finally, Tim gave in. Cracking a smug grin, Tim declared, "Go Fish!"

Jason huffed and drew another card.

"Got any threes?" Tim asked.

Jason shook his head easily. "Go Fish."

Tim drew a card and placed it in his hand, gesturing with the other hand for Jason to go next.

"Got any fours?" Jason asked.

Tim slowly looked down at his hand and made his face a picture of disappointment, gingerly pulling one card a little out from amongst the others in his hand.

Jason grinned and reached for that card.

So Tim popped the card back among his hand and crowed, "Go Fish!"

"Go Fish, how about you go-" Jason began heatedly, pressing his arms down against the table.

That's when the window behind Jason burst in with an explosion of splinters and black body armor as Batman barreled into the room.

"Whoa, whoa, hold it!" Tim yelped, popping to his feet and dropping his cards (face-down, because he wasn't an idiot) to wave his hands for Batman to stand down.

Jason sighed and plopped his head down on his folded forearms.

"It's okay, it's fine, really," Tim said, still waving his hands downward in a "cool it" kind of motion. "Batman, it's all right, I'm fine."

"You're fine?" Jason repeated cynically, pulling his head up to glare at Tim. "That would've been nice to know before I kidnapped you for your own good."

"Yeah, well, I was fine then too," Tim shot back.

Jason flung his arms in the air, scattering beat-up Go Fish cards everywhere. "No, you weren't!"

"I was fine and I stand by it," Tim said. "Batman, tell him he's being a moron."

Batman just stared at Tim.

"Batman?" Tim asked after a moment. "You okay?"

"I think he's having an internal meltdown that his whole internal meltdown about you being kidnapped by a crime lord wasn't needed," Jason said. "Although he really should've been having an internal meltdown the whole time about you not telling him your parents have been selling you out to random people to let them torture you, right, kid?"

A sharp inhale came from Batman.

"That wasn't helpful," Tim hissed at Jason.

Jason smirked. "It wasn't meant to be helpful, not for you."

"Tim," Batman said. The word came out quietly, but with a significant amount of force. "What-"

"It's not torture," Tim said, rather valiantly, if he did say so himself.

Jason laughed. There was acid in the sound. "Then what is it? They offered me a range of price points, you know. For such-and-such amount, I would've been allowed to break two fingers, but for this-and-this amount, they'd let me break your forearm. The list went and on, like they'd done it a billion times and had exactly the price for every act planned out. What do you call that except torture?"

Heat rushing to his cheeks as he could practically feel Batman's gaze pressing into him, Tim said carefully, "I call it good business mathematics."

Jason cursed loudly and stood, spinning around. "You see this? You see what I'm dealing with, old man? If you had to replace me as Robin, how in the world did you pick this total-"

"Jason."

Batman barely moved. The name came out as more of a breathy whisper. A moment later, he fell to his knees.

Jason faltered at that, stepping back several steps until he was right up against the coffee table. He turned his head to the side and spoke back toward Tim. "Did you have a plan at this point?"

Tim shrugged emphatically. "I mean. I figured the math would work itself out?"

Jason cursed again, quietly this time.

"Jason," Batman said again, more of a gasp this time. "Is… Is that…"

"Yes, it's me, and also I'm the Red Hood, so the whole duffle bag of heads thing might make more sense now. Or not, I never know what's up with you," Jason said brightly, but Tim could tell the brightness was fake and he was pretty sure Batman could too. "Oh, and by the way, Talia says hello. Maybe call her next time you get one of your kids killed, you know? Give her a little warning that way."

Batman breathed heavily for a few moments. Then he levered himself up to his feet and stalked toward Jason.

Jason stood there, just letting Batman approach, but Tim could see Jason's hands shaking.

Batman stopped right in front of Jason. He raised one gauntleted hand toward Jason, then he froze, pulling his hand back.

"Do it," Jason challenged, full of bravado that was just as fake as the brightness, Tim was sure.

Jerking with the haste of his movements, Batman tore a gauntlet off and cupped Jason's face with a hand. His thumb stroked over a spot just below Jason's jaw, one of the places Batman had taught Tim to check for a pulse, Tim realized.

Jason's hands stopped shaking. Jason stopped moving entirely. Really, Jason seemed to stop breathing.

Tim took several quick steps closer and to the side, now able to watch Jason's face as carefully as he was watching Batman.

"My boy," Batman whispered, but that was Bruce, that voice was all Bruce. "You're here."

Jason swallowed audibly. "Yeah? And?"

"And you-" Bruce's voice wavered. "Why didn't you come home?"

Jason's face contorted.

"It doesn't matter, Jaylad," Bruce said quickly. He brushed his thumb over Jason's cheek. "You can come home now."

Inexplicably, a wave of something dark rushed through Tim, and that didn't add up. This was what Tim had wanted. Tim had said Jason would get to go home, and then Tim could go home too, back to his parents. This was what Tim had wanted, right? Right. So why did it feel wrong?

"You can't just say that," Jason said, his own hand coming up then pausing at Bruce's exposed wrist, like he wanted to push Bruce away but just hadn't yet for some reason. "You can't say that! I'm, I said I'm the Red Hood. I've killed. I've done things you'd never imagine. I'm-"

"You're my son," Bruce interrupted. "I can say that much. And I can say I want you home. Just come home. Nothing else matters."

Jason shifted awkwardly in the silence that followed. "Well, actually, one other thing matters?"

Bruce's head turned, and Tim felt the Batman cowl's gaze fall fully on him.

Tim knew what that had to mean. He took a deep breath and offered up the last thing he had to offer. "I don't have to be Robin anymore."

Jason sputtered incoherently, probably mad beyond belief Tim thought that needed to be said.

"You've got your real- you've got Jason back," Tim said. He stepped back a little, trying to give them room. "You don't need a placeholder anymore. Probably you never did. Sorry. Um, I can grab anything I left in the Cave soon enough, maybe-"

Batman took several quick steps and wrapped his arms around Tim.

Tim stared into the darkness of Batman's body armor from where Batman was cradling Tim's head against his chest. What?

"Tim," Batman said, and Tim could feel the rumble of that deep voice making its way out of the chest Tim's face was pressed against. "Jason… He was telling the truth."

It didn't sound like a question. Tim didn't know what it meant, though.

"About what?" Tim asked hesitantly.

"About your parents," Batman said.

Oh. Damage control time. Tim hurriedly said, "It's not, it isn't like that. It's all fair. If I mess up, I have to pay them back, you know? And it's best if it's for their business, so-"

"B, they told me I could do anything short of killing him," Jason cut in.

Batman grunted. It sounded… Pained? Heartbroken, even? What, was Tim showing himself to be that bad of a kid to his parents that Bruce was offended to have had Tim in a position even adjacently similar to being Bruce's kid? Or was he thinking like Jason, believing that Tim was being sold into torture?

"But it's not bad," Tim tried. "I mean, I don't have to do it that often. And they've got a couple of weird specific artifacts that always get me healed up afterward, and really, at least this way they're spending time with me?"

"Tim," Bruce said. He did sound heartbroken, Tim concluded. "That's… That's wrong. Your parents… They're wrong."

Tim tried to shrug, but the tightness of Batman's arms around him made that pretty difficult. So he settled for saying weakly, "How so?"

"They're abusing you," Batman said. "And they're letting other people abuse you."

"I wouldn't call it-" Tim began, puffing up.

Batman pulled back a little, pulling off his cowl with one hand while still holding Tim tight with the other. He fixed Tim with the full weight of his gaze as he wrapped both arms around Tim again. "If a child told Robin the story you and Jason are telling me now, what would you say? Would you call it something other than abuse?"

Tim wilted.

Batman's face softened, and suddenly, he was Bruce, the same Bruce who asked about Tim's day and really seemed to listen to the answer, the same Bruce who adjusted his training schedule because Tim mentioned wanting a nap, the same Bruce panicked every time Tim got even a bruise as Robin. He was Bruce, and Tim wanted nothing more in that moment than to never leave the safety of his arms.

"It's not that simple," Tim began, then he cut himself off.

"Explain it to me, then," Bruce said. "Make it simple."

Tim had nothing to say, because he couldn't make it simple. He couldn't make it right.

"It's wrong, Tim," Bruce said softly. "You know it's wrong."

"But it made sense," Tim burst out. "I made it work, I made the math work when it didn't work any other way."

"You're a child," Bruce said. "It shouldn't have been on you to make it work. It shouldn't have been on you to bear that kind of treatment. And now, it'll be on me to make things work."

Tim blinked up at Bruce.

Bruce smiled sadly down at Tim. "Let me take care of it, okay? Let me handle everything. I'll take care of it all. Come back to Wayne Manor with us. Just come home."

Tim swallowed hard. After a moment, he pressed his face back into Batman's chest, and Tim gave a tiny nod.

Bruce heaved out a relieved sigh. He turned his body, turning Tim with him, and put the cowl back on with one arm, then held that same arm out. "Jaylad?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Jason said, sounding irritable. He didn't take Batman's hand, but he followed Batman out of the apartment as Batman pulled Tim gently along with them

Tim came along quietly, rotating the equation of the whole situation around and around again in his head. Bruce wanted Jason to come back as Jason, that much worked out, but Bruce wanted Tim to come along too? Bruce wanted to take care of things for Tim? Bruce told Tim that they were going home, the same way he'd told Jason? Was Tim on the same level as Jason to Bruce? It couldn't be. The math just really didn't make sense.

Tim rested his cheek on Jason's shoulder as they slumped together in the backseat of the Batmobile, suddenly exhausted, watching Bruce glance back at them at every stop sign as if to make sure they were both real.

The math didn't make sense.

But for once, maybe he didn't have to do the math.