Chapter 1: wait, don't tell a soul
Notes:
I ended up splitting this into several chapters bc of how long it is. I know huge stretches of fics without any breaks can be daunting and it seemed to flow better with chapters so here we are
chapter title from Cape Life by I Know Where You Live, which can also be found on the playlist
Chapter Text
Jason Todd has the worst case of magic bleed Tim has ever seen. He’d say it’s fair play, considering the man died and all, but it makes it very hard to keep a straight face when tendrils of green are creeping in from the edges of his vision. Jason doesn’t seem aware of the fact; or, if he is, he’s doing a remarkable job of pretending otherwise.
He’s sitting slouched in one of Tim’s office chairs, arms crossed tight over his chest. Bruce Wayne sits beside him, hands clasped. His own magic is so tightly contained it’s hard for Tim to even tell it’s there. If he were anyone else he would say Bruce Wayne has no true latent ability in the magical arts, as all his previous doctors have done before him. As it is, Tim is not anyone else.
But this appointment isn’t about Bruce.
“Mr. Todd-Wayne,” Tim says, “I’ve gotten word that your most recent match is in the hospital and is expected to make a full recovery. After further investigation it has been determined that the actions that lead to her illness were caused by her own unprofessional behavior and so no legal repercussions are being pursued on her end. Do you wish to file a complaint?”
“I wish to end this fuckin’ farce,” Jason sneers. His bleed becomes stronger, filling the room like smoke. The back of Tim’s throat tickles with the warning of a sneeze. “I’m not meant to have a familiar.”
“Your opinion aside, after the Charity Ball incident, the court disagrees. It’s for your own health and safety that we find a match.”
“There’s no one left!” Jason throws his arms up. He hurls himself up out of his chair to pace from wall to wall, like a caged tiger. “Everyone is either too afraid or just plain incompatible.”
Tim bites back a grimace. “There is always the consideration of suppression—”
“No,” Bruce cuts in sharply, much to his relief. Tim hates suppression science. It’s a necessary evil for those few who can’t find balance but cruel all the same. To be cut off from your magic is to lose a part of yourself. “Anything but suppression. Everyone knows the after effects.”
“We’re running out of options.”
“I looked through your database,” Bruce says, “I think I might’ve found one.”
Tim raises an eyebrow. This is news to him, who has scoured the database for any feasible match. The last familiar he had to bring in from overseas. “Enlighten me.”
The folder Bruce pushes towards him is nondescript. Only the sudden shift of Bruce’s magic, like a cat stretching, alerts him to anything being amiss. He opens the front to find himself staring down at his own picture.
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” he begins, “I don’t perform matches myself—”
“Your status as a familiar is heavily redacted but your test scores are something else. You’re on par with the levels needed to match Jason and you’re unbonded. Your parents must have worked very hard to keep you off of the database and away from any recruiters.”
Fucking Batman. Tim should never have accepted this case. He should’ve fielded it off to one of the other labs to deal with. Except that would’ve been a black mark on DI’s success rate and Tim has fought tooth and nail to fix their reputation.
“Are you blackmailing me, Mr. Wayne?”
“Bruce, please.”
Tim smiles coldly. Something must register with Jason’s instincts, because he stiffens in place. “You didn’t answer the question, Mr. Wayne.”
“I would do anything for my sons.”
And well, that’s answer enough, isn’t it?
His eyes cut over to Jason, sharp enough to draw blood. “I’ll have my assistant reach out to you in the coming days to go over scheduling.”
Bruce nods. He’s smart enough not to thank him. He simply ushers Jason out, despite his protests, and leaves Tim to seethe in the leftover remnants of Jason’s bleed all around him.
He turns on the fan by his desk. It gets to work blowing the cloying wall of anger-shame-hurt away with the aid of a spray meant to dissipate magic. He made it himself after getting a sample of Batman’s formula.
He pushes the button for Iris, his secretary, who appears at the door several moments later. “I’m going to be taking leave for a couple weeks,” he tells her. “Emergency contact only.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re not dying, right?”
“No, I’m just going to be working on Mr. Todd-Wayne’s case.”
“Oh.” Iris’ shoulders slump with relief. This is normal for him. Everyone is aware of how seriously he takes his job and he didn’t help his mother scrape DI up off the ground just to watch it sink all over again. “I’ll let the clinics know. Is there anything else?”
“I need Jason’s schedule. I’m going to be working closely with him to sort out his case. I’ll need an appointment at least three times a week.”
“Understood. I’ll send you the details once it’s been finalized.”
She disappears back out the door, leaving him alone with Jason’s bleed once more. Tim frowns as he turns to his file on Jason. It’s on his computer, full to the brim of every test and familiar Jason has ever had. His total is twenty six, counting the latest. Comments from familiars range from observations on how withdrawn Jason is to complaints about his attitude. He’s never even vaguely connected with a familiar, according to his file, but Tim is missing an entire chunk of Jason’s life. It’s part of why it’s so hard to get a read on him.
He understands the challenges of a vigilante bonding. It’s a very vulnerable process, one that can’t be easy with so many secrets. But Tim is about as likely to get the truth as he is to get a bullet to the head should he try to get the Red Hood to fess up.
He considers talking to his mother. She’d know how to whip Jason into shape. But she’d also have words for Bruce blackmailing him.
He rubs at his weary eyes. He came in early to review the report on Jason’s latest familiar and hasn’t had a break since. It’s long past time for him to go home.
He packs up slowly, mind firmly fixated on how to go about the challenge ahead of him. He waves goodbye to Iris who is also packing up and makes his way down to the parking lot. He’ll grab takeout on the way home, he decides. It’s Friday and he anticipates a long weekend of planning ahead.
Monday has him sitting outside a bakery, waiting for Jason to show. His patience is already thin five minutes in. By thirty, he’s incensed. No one stands up Timothy Jackson Drake. Especially not when he was blackmailed into being here in the first place. He’s not going to let all of his and his mothers' hard work go to waste just because Jason is stubborn. Tim is stubborn too and Jason is in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can just ignore the problem away.
He goes to Wayne Manor first, despite being almost positive Jason isn’t there. It’s no secret that the Red Hood doesn’t get on too well with the Bats. Their relationship is still rocky despite Bruce’s involvement in Jason’s case.
It’s Alfred who answers the door with a polite smile. “Master Timothy, what can I do for you?”
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Pennyworth, but I was supposed to meet Jason over an hour ago and he never showed. I don’t suppose he’s inside?”
“Alfred,” he insists, even as a frown wrinkles his brow. “I’m afraid not. If you’d like to come inside, I’ll call him over. He’s certainly been taught better manners than that.”
“That’d be great, thank you.” Tim lets some of his relief show in his smile. He needs Alfred for this plan to work. Everyone knows how cowed the Wayne boys are by their butler. If anyone can get Jason to take things seriously, it’ll be Alfred. Plus, Tim is still feeling vindictive about being stood up. He’s not above playing dirty.
He takes his shoes off at the door before following Alfred through the hall and into the kitchen.
“Please, sit.” Alfred gestures towards the island and its stools. “I’ll set some water to boil and call Master Jason. It’ll just be a moment.”
Tim doesn’t try to listen in to that conversation, though he really wants to. He’s aware that there are cameras in the house and he can’t afford to be suspicious.
Alfred returns to make tea. “He’ll just be twenty minutes,” he promises, as he gets out some cookies for Tim to snack on.
“Will you have tea with me?” Tim asks. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. What can I help you with?”
“Mr. Wayne has requested that I make a bond with Jason. I think hearing from someone close to him will be beneficial in figuring out the best approach.”
He’s sure Alfred knows how unscrupulous that request was, but his poker face is brilliant. He gives absolutely nothing away. “Jason is complex,” he says slowly, “I’ve known him since before the accident that took him away from us as a boy. Finding out that he was alive was truly a miracle and we’ve all been trying to convince him of that fact.”
“He doesn’t see it that way?”
“He was hurt badly. In many ways, he is the same boy. In others, he’s different. He still loves books and swears far too much. He still likes cooking for others. He still has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen. But he’s also quick to expect the worst of people and lashes out in an effort to protect himself. Please, try to be patient with him. He will most definitely push you but he has reasons.”
“I’m trying to meet him halfway,” Tim assures. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“Thank you for not giving up on him. I know your altruism has not been returned in kind and for that I beg your forgiveness.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Alfred.” He’s telling the truth, too. Tim’s ire is directed towards Bruce and Jason.
Jason, who stalks into the kitchen several minutes later, looking equal parts resentful and embarrassed. He avoids Alfred’s eyes and looks straight at Tim, who proceeds to eat the last chocolate chip cookie without an ounce of shame.
“Jason.”
“Drake.”
Alfred clears his throat, pointedly; Jason’s shoulders curl up towards his ears.
“Sorry for being late,” he says to the floor.
Tim swallows back the acid on his tongue, if only because Alfred is present. “Don’t let it happen again and we’re fine.”
Jason nods.
“I must resume my duties now but I trust Master Jason can take care of you.” Alfred shoots one last warning look Jason’s way before disappearing out the door.
Without his presence to keep him in check, Jason’s face immediately transforms into a scowl. “I can’t believe ya came here.”
“Was I supposed to sit outside the bakery all day? This was the only place I knew where to look for you.”
“You were supposed t’ go home.”
“And do what?” Tim scoffs. “Twiddle my thumbs? Wait for Mr. Wayne to release my information to the public for not being compliant with our deal? I don’t think so.”
“Bruce would never actually do that.”
“Your word is not nearly enough for me to feel comfortable walking away. And rest assured, if you try to pull this again, I will come to the manor and I will sic Alfred on you. Do not try me on this.”
Jason’s magic surges as he bares his teeth. He towers over Tim, big and imposing. Green pushes up against Tim’s shields, searching for weakness. “I don’t need a familiar,” Jason hisses.
Tim stares him down coldly. His heart races in his chest, but Jason doesn’t need to know that. Jason needs to see that he will not be walked over, that Tim is his mother’s son and has plenty of teeth of his own.
“Liar.”
Jason’s bleed turns almost rabid. It claws at Tim’s shields, snarling and slavering for blood. Tim doesn’t give it a chance to get a grip. All at once, his shields expand, filling the room and clearing it of magic. Jason staggers back several steps, eyes wide and mouth agape.
“Down,” Tim snarls.
Jason’s knees hit the floor.
It’s a common misconception that mages have all the power when it comes to a user/familiar dynamic. A lot of people still believe familiars should be meek followers, there to support their chosen. But the bond goes both ways. Familiars are the fuel and the water; they stoke the fire and dim its embers as needed.
Jason and Tim are not bonded, so it’s hard for Tim to pin the thrashing beast that is Jason’s magic. Hard, but not impossible.
“If you ever try to overwhelm me with your magic again, I’ll personally see to it that you’re put through court ordered sensitivity training.” He slides off the bar stool to glower down at Jason. There’s sweat at his temples and at the back of his neck, but he’s far too stubborn to let Jason see how hard it is to keep him down. “The next time we see each other you’d better have grown the fuck up.”
He spins on his heel and stalks back into the hall. There’s the thump of Jason collapsing against the floor as Tim releases his hold on the room. He can’t take the chance to enjoy the view of him laid out on his ass though; not when his vision is swimming and his temples are throbbing. He’s definitely overexerted himself.
He shoves his feet into his shoes and stumbles his way to his car. He’s not entirely sure how he makes it home but he collapses into bed as soon as he does. Felicity, his calico, makes a home on his back as he passes out face down, still entirely clothed.
When he wakes up the next day, it’s to the mother of all headaches. He groans into his pillow in dismay. His pathways feel tender, like a muscle that’s been overused. The world feels on the wrong side of too much, scouring his senses like sandpaper.
He rolls onto his side. It's an ingrained habit to catch Felicity in the crook of his arm. She lets out a sound of protest before settling down in her new sleeping spot. She’s warm against him, and silky soft. He lets her presence steady him before the fullness of his bladder becomes too much.
She follows him into the bathroom, where she proceeds to try to stare him into turning on the faucet for her. He ignores her and she eventually settles for the water fountain beside it.
He brushes his teeth while the shower warms. By the time he steps inside, he feels a little less like warmed over garbage. He lets the hot water do its job in relaxing his muscles before he inevitably has to step out.
He fishes his phone out from yesterday’s pants. He’s got several messages from Ives and Bernard, asking about their next game night. Iris has sent him an updated calendar and there’s a message from an unknown number he doesn’t recognize.
Unknown 7/10 10:42 PM: Alfred says I’ve been an ass.
Unknown 7/10 10:42 PM: This is Jason, by the way.
Tim sighs. He supposes that as far as apologies go, it’s the best he’s going to get for now. He adds Jason as a contact and ponders over a response as he gets dressed.
Tim 7/11 12:10 PM: That man is very wise. You should probably listen to him.
It’s early in the afternoon, which means Jason is probably still sleeping off patrol. If any response comes it won’t be for a while.
Tim examines the state of his pantry and decides that ordering delivery is the best option. He’s too drained to try to make anything himself and he’s craving the fresh croissant sandwiches from the bakery down the street. Going out in his state sounds like a nightmare, too. He’s going to turn on the suppression shields he paid extra for and ignore the rest of the world for a while.
He’s half asleep, full on breakfast sandwiches and watching reruns of Star Trek, when his phone buzzes. He fishes for it in the blankets to squint at his notifications. It’s Jason again.
Jason 7/11 8:32 PM: How did you do that?
Tim 7/11 8:33 PM: You’re going to have to be more specific.
Jason 7/11 8:33 PM: How did you suppress my magic? No one’s been able to do that before.
Tim 7/11 8:33 PM: It’s not really something taught in high school. A lot of people still believe that familiars are nothing without their bonds. It doesn’t take a genius to trace the same pathways that would give a mage power backwards.
Jason 7/11 8:34 PM: So anyone could do it?
Ah. This is about the Red Hood. Tim can see how Jason would be concerned about being dropped in the middle of a fight.
Tim 7/11 8:34 PM: No. Only someone highly trained in the technique and with the same levels of the mage they’re up against could do it. Your chance of encountering it again is very low.
Jason 7/11 8:34 PM: Who taught you?
He really should have seen that coming. How to explain the less than legal teachers his parents threw at him as soon as he presented? To be a familiar was to be in the weaker position, according to most. His mother didn’t want that for him, both for her sake and his own. Both his parents were mages who were unbonded. They got by the same way many did; with monthly therapy sessions in which a guide-trained familiar would make sure their magic wasn’t causing any issues.
They took him on trips across the world under the guise of him accompanying them to their work sites. In actuality, he learned from the best around. From nulls to familiars to guides. His mother threw every resource at him to ensure his success.
When his tests came back far higher than average, she paid off the facilities to remove the information from the system. When the threat of recruiters from the government became an issue, she made sure he was filed as a mage.
She’s the reason he’s still unbonded to this day. Why he has a choice in what he does with his life.
To tell Jason any of that would give away too much.
Tim 7/11 8:36 PM: Everyone has secrets. If this is going to work, I need you to respect mine.
There’s no response but Tim gets the feeling that the conversation isn’t over.
Jason shows up to their next appointment. He’s on time and everything despite wearing what seems to be a permanent scowl on his face.
“Jason,” Tim greets. “Please order whatever you’d like and we’ll get started.”
He earns a grunt for that as Jason slinks away to the counter. He comes back with a grilled sandwich, a large cup of tea and a fruit pastry.
“I’m aware that you’ve done this quite a few times. I thought maybe we’d start simple.” Tim gestures to their surroundings. It’s past lunch and the lazy atmosphere of the coffee shop has settled. They’re secluded in a corner, with Jason facing the rest of the room. It seems to settle him, which is exactly what Tim had hoped for.
“Simple?” Jason echoes.
He nods. “I’ll start. What’s your favorite drink?”
“Seriously?”
Tim stares him down until Jason sighs in defeat.
“I like black tea. No sugar with a splash of milk.”
“Your turn to ask a question.”
Jason takes a bite of his sandwich. “Why did yer parents hide yer status?”
And here he thought they could start easy.
“They didn’t want any options to be taken away from me. Familiars with high capacity for magic are usually snatched up by the government and pressured into bonding. They made sure I had a choice.”
“If only everyone was so lucky.”
“I won’t apologize for what my parents did to protect me,” Tim says sharply. “I’m aware of how privileged I am and have worked hard to make sure those more disadvantaged than myself are given opportunities to protect themselves. I’m aware that it’s not enough, that it will never be enough so long as people are still suffering, but DI is doing its best to work towards that future.”
“I saw that ya have free clinic days,” Jason remarks.
“They’re one of our programs, yes.”
“Even WE has trouble gettin’ parts ‘a Gotham t’ trust ‘em. But people come to you.”
He’d have to be blind and deaf to not see the suspicion in Jason. He’s not sure why this is such a big issue now, when he’s been working Jason’s case for over a year. Until now, the Red Hood has tolerated DI’s presence in the area. Tim had had a clinic running before Jason returned from the dead to paint the streets red. He figures the community vouched for it enough that Hood had no reason to drive him out.
“I spent a lot of time in the Bowery as a kid. I’m aware that the Alley doesn’t get much help so I made sure to hire people familiar with the area, who the community could trust. The program has only grown since.” Tim waves a hand in dismissal. He’s getting annoyed with the second degree. At this rate, they’ll make no progress at all and he can’t afford an extended amount of leave. “Honestly, if you wanted a business meeting we could have met in my office. This is supposed to be about our personal lives.”
Jason’s eyes roll. “Fine. Ask yer next question.”
“Why are you so interested in DI now, when I’ve been working with you for over a year?”
“I thought you wanted t’ stay off‘a business?” Comes the sardonic answer; Jason huffs when he doesn’t take the bait. “It’s different now. B picked you outta all the clinics around. I trusted him t’ do his homework, but yer another story.”
“You trusted Bruce enough to go along with his choice of clinic, but not enough to go along with his choice in familiars?”
“Bruce is awful at personal relationships. That’s why he threatened ya.”
“Shouldn’t the fact that you could ruin my life comfort you? I can’t do anything with the threat of exposure hanging over my head.”
He chews and swallows the last of his sandwich. “People get nasty when they’re backed into a corner.”
Tim’s smile is flat. “I can’t imagine why.”
Silence falls between them, as Jason moves on to his pastry and Tim sips on his drink. He can feel Jason’s magic against his legs, tangling around his ankles like a stray cat. It’s watchful, waiting.
He can’t afford to let this fail.
“We both have reasons to distrust one another,” Tim finally says, “we can both ruin the other’s life. So can we agree that that puts us on equal ground?”
Jason stares at him for a few long moments. He looks surprised that Tim would address blackmail so casually and maybe even a bit impressed by his guts. “For now,” he agrees.
“Good. Favorite color?”
He snorts. “Blue. Yours?”
Tim watches the light catch on Jason’s green stained eyes. They were blue before the accident; he still has no idea why they changed. “Green.”
“Favorite Rogue?”
“Red Hood,” Tim says, just so he can watch Jason nearly choke on his pastry.
“What?” He croaks.
“Ivy is interesting but I don’t agree with her methods of forced arousal. Catwoman isn’t bad, though she’s a little stuck up at times. Harley has been doing better since she left the Joker...” He shrugs. “I could go on but Hood is the rogue that’s the closest. He protects the streets and his rules are fair. I’ve never had any problems with him.”
“He kills people.”
He waves a hand. “They all kill people. What would be your pick then?”
“Harley, probably. She’s worked hard to be better.”
“Favorite Bat?”
Jason looks like he wishes his pastry had in fact choked and killed him. “You first.”
“Black Bat.”
That was definitely not the answer Jason was expecting, judging by the way his head jerks. “Really? Usually people are scared of her.”
“She saved me from a mugging once,” Tim shrugs. “I think she’s cool. Definitely terrifying, but cool.”
Jason sighs. “If you tell anyone what I’m about t’ say, I’ll be obligated t’ kill ya.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Even still, he looks reluctant. “Nightwing.”
Wow. Definitely not what Tim was expecting either. His eyebrows fly up towards his hairline as he marvels over the answer. “He’s pretty cool too,” Tim admits. “That suit has definitely won awards.”
Jason makes a face. “Okay, okay, next question: what do ya do outside ‘a work?”
“I take gymnastic lessons at the community center; boulder when I can; take pictures for some of the galleries around the city.” He taps his fingers against the table as he thinks. “Sometimes I volunteer at the animal shelter? It’s where I got my cat from.”
“You have a cat?”
“Yeah.” Tim fishes out his phone. He pulls up one of the numerous photos he has of Felicity and shows Jason. “Her name is Felicity. I got her around two years ago, as a kitten. Her mother was killed and she had to be hand fed around the clock. Thankfully, she pulled through.”
“She’s pretty,” Jason says.
Tim snorts. “No need to sound so surprised.”
“It’s not that, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly off balance. There’s a complicated look on his face, one Tim can’t quite pick apart. “You save baby kittens, work for the community and aren’t afraid a’ me? Kinda seems too good t’ be true.”
“I could tell you that I’m addicted to caffeine, can be ‘scarily competitive’ at mario kart, once made a child cry just by looking at her and have been told I’m an arrogant asshole on more than one occasion if that makes you feel any better.”
Jason’s lips twitch. “Ya know what? Yeah. I think it does.”
“Have people being scared of you been a recurring issue? It hasn’t come up that often in your file.”
He shrugs. “I’m big and confrontational at times. I’ve been told that’s scary.”
“You’re confrontational about things that matter,” Tim finds himself arguing. “You’re trying to look out for the city. I don’t think people can hold that against you.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Idiots.”
Jason barks out a laugh. His smile is far more pleasant than his scowl; it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Yer a lot different here than you are in the office.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No. Just surprisin’.” He takes a drink. “What’s your favorite book?”
They devolve from there into a debate on classic over modern literature. Jason is very passionate about women's representation and has a particular soft spot for Mary Shelly and Jane Austen. Tim, who nearly got in a fight with someone in college over how responsible Dr. Frankenstein was for his ‘monster’s’ actions, is quick to agree. They end up ordering another set of drinks as Jason convinces him to give Pride and Prejudice a shot. Originally, Tim only read the spark notes for a class assignment, but he promises to read it if Jason gives the Wiedźmin series a try.
Before they know it, it’s getting dark outside. An alarm goes off on Jason’s phone, breaking the bubble they’ve made for themselves. The staff is starting to pack away any leftover pastries so they make their exit out onto the street.
“I’ll see ya Friday?” Jason asks.
Tim nods. “Goodnight, Jason.”
All in all, he’d call it a resounding success.
The next time they meet, it’s at the gym Tim uses whenever he wants to practice bouldering indoors. Jason meets him at the door, shoes in hand. It’s been almost a week since he’s been able to get to the gym. If he’s not moving somehow, he starts to feel itchy and restless. It’s a consequence of spending a lot of his childhood on Gotham rooftops, chasing after pictures of capes. His presentation cut that short, much to his own heartbreak, but he was given plenty of distractions from his trainers—both physical and mental.
Climbing is a way to center and live in the moment. It takes concentration and control. He spent weeks with raw hands and aching muscles, learning the different grips and holds from a man in Egypt while his parents investigated an old ruin in the sand. Abubakar was strict but not cruel. He helped rub salve into Tim’s hands every night and walked him through the painful but necessary stretches that would keep his joints from going stiff. Whenever Tim fell, he never let him stay down for long. “Failure was necessary for success,” he would say, “now you know what not to do next time.”
After three months under his care, Tim was capable of bouldering most of the obstacles thrown his way. Then Abubakar brought magic into the mix and he was on his ass all over again. Turns out it was hard to focus on his own body and self when someone was drowning him in magic. Some people are louder than others, and some don’t have the manners or control to keep their magic contained. “Hamagi,” Abubakar called them.
When they eventually said their goodbyes, Tim didn’t stop climbing. It felt too much like those late Gotham nights to stop. Now, years later, he’s about to climb with the Robin he used to take pictures of. It’s both exciting and intimidating.
He says hello to the few regulars he knows on the way to the lockers. He exchanges his normal shoes for his climbing ones while Jason does the same. He brought his usual chalk to share; he’s not looking to tear up his hands today.
“Do you have a preference of wall?” Tim asks. “They try not to rely on grades here but we can go off of them if you want to.”
“Nah, just take me where ya usually go.”
They end up in front of a wall dotted in all kinds of holds. There are a lot of crimps and slopers that follow the shape of the face of the overhang. Jason is considerably bigger than Tim, which means any path he usually takes will be different for him. Tim, who is at home hanging parallel to the floor, has an easier time scurrying up oddly shaped surfaces but a harder time reaching distanced holds. He has to use a lot of energy to bound between large gaps in foot holds while Jason can just step over.
Jason tries to follow his path up the parallel face and lets out a wheezing laugh when his back hits the mats. “Damn,” he says without an ounce of shame, “yer like a fuckin’ spider.”
Tim holds out a hand to help him up. “I kind of have to be. I don’t have your reach.” He points towards one of the higher hand holds once Jason is back up. “Try hooking your heel and grabbing that sloper. You have the power and length to get there in one push. You just need the right grip.”
“Stop, you’ll make me blush.” Jason’s grin is lopsided and entirely too good at making Tim’s heart race. It’s even worse when Jason makes the climb up this time because it gives Tim a good look at the way the muscles of his arms flex and tense as they take his weight.
It’s really not fair, Tim thinks. Jason is still bleeding steadily, leaving smears of green behind everywhere he goes. A few familiars are steering clear of the area but the rest are mages who can’t see it but can sense it enough to also stay away.
Tim wipes what he can out of existence when it’s his turn on the wall. Jason isn’t the only one leaving pieces of himself behind, but he is the most prominent. The others at least disappear after a time, or can sense it enough to banish it themselves.
It’s his turn to end on his ass when Jason brings him to a set that starts low to the ground. It requires a dynamic jump up into an overhang and Tim has no idea how Jason gets the force required to shoot up so fast.
“I give,” Tim pants as Jason helps him up. “I have no idea how you did that.”
“Makes us even then.”
He’s overly aware of the heat coming off of Jason’s body. He’s like a furnace and for once his magic feels almost inviting instead of invasive. It’s all ruined the moment someone calls out, “Hey, Tim!”
Jason’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly while his magic pulls in tight. Tim turns to see Greg, another regular he occasionally climbs with, jog over. “Hey, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you here in a while. Who’s the new guy?”
“Jason Todd,” Tim says. “Jason, this is Greg. We climb together sometimes.”
Jason reaches out to clasp Greg’s hand. The magic flares around Jason, causing Greg to take a step back.
“You’re not replacing me, are you?” Greg jokes.
Tim is puzzled by the question. He’s been climbing with several different members of the gym and Greg has never approached before. Is it because Jason is a mage? He’s fairly certain Greg is a familiar but he’s not sure why Jason’s bleed wouldn’t chase him away when he looks so uncomfortable.
“No,” he says slowly, “I’ll still be climbing with everyone else.”
“Great! Do you have room for one more?”
“Actually,” Jason cuts in, before Tim can do more than open his mouth, “we were just finishin’ up. Maybe next time.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. See you next week?”
He gives a silent nod to Greg’s hopeful look before he follows Jason over to the lockers. They stop in the bathroom to wash off their chalk before they’re back out on the street.
“What was that about?”
“People think yer a mage, right?” Jason shoves his hands into his pockets. “He was interested.”
“What?” Tim blinks. “You must be mistaken.”
He’s fixed with a droll look. “No, princess, I’m not. He was givin’ off plenty ‘a signals.”
“Don’t call me that. And like what?”
“‘I hope you’re not replacing me’?” Jason quotes. “How about the big eyes and the way he tried t’ join? He’s inta ya.”
Tim frowns to himself. He’s been accused of being dense before when it comes to himself. It wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable for him not to have noticed something so obvious to Jason. He’s not very good with people outside of work.
“I never noticed.”
“I can tell.” He rolls his shoulders, loosening up some of the tension there. “Anyways, I’ll see ya next time?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Sunday.”
His weekly report comes around. It’s a form he’s read through plenty of times but ones he’s never personally filled out. The basic questionnaire asks how the relationship with his potential bond is going. It asks if they’ve connected yet, or done any of the recommended magic exercises.
Tim checks no for both.
Jason is a complex case. He’s only grown more and more difficult with every failed bond and if Tim comes at this the same way as all the rest, he has a feeling it’s not going to go any better. If he can get Jason to relax and trust him before any magic is involved, they might be able to figure out a way to fix his bleed.
On paper, it looks like they haven’t done much. If Bruce judges his work off of this, he’s probably going to think Tim is slacking. He can’t have that.
To: Bruce Wayne
From: Timothy Drake
Subject: Jason’s Case
Hello,
Attached below is the first week’s review. In order to build a magical bond, I am focusing on the regular, platonic bond first. If Jason sees me as a friend, his magic will likely be more accepting when it comes time to attempt a merge. Trust is important and he seems to think that most people fear him. I need to show him that I don’t.
His bleed is constant, though I am unsure if it is an after effect of his injuries or something else. I am requesting further information on Jason’s magical training. Was he trained after the accident? Did his teachers notice a difference? I’ve respected your request for privacy in this matter but the more information you can give me, the more chance of success I will have.
Regards,
Timothy Drake
Chief Operating Officer of DI Clinics
To: Timothy Drake
From: Bruce Wayne
Subject: RE: Jason’s Case
Hello Tim,
I appreciate your dedication. I understand your recommendation for a slower approach but I must ask if the Court will understand it should another incident occur?
I am troubled by your comments on Jason’s bleed. None of the previous matches have said much about it and the tests the doctors have run have not detected anything extraordinarily amiss.
It’s here that Tim frowns. That can’t be right. He’s read through complaints about Jason’s pull and the few times familiars’ passed out when trying to make a connection. Some have described an aura or presence that makes them unsettled.
He has to look back through his files to make sure he isn’t crazy. Sure enough, those accounts are there, but no one goes so far as to call the source a bleed. There’s no way he overlooked that, right?
Jason did have several teachers after the accident, but their methods are unknown to me due to him being lost for those years. If you want more information you’ll have to ask Jason himself.
Please reach out to me should you need anything else,
Bruce Wayne
Great. The chances of Jason telling Tim anything is probably slim to none. He’s not sure if it’s even worth trying. It might make Jason hostile all over again.
To: Bruce Wayne
From: Timothy Drake
Subject: RE: Jason’s Case
Hello,
Should another incident occur, the Court may try to add an additional prerequisite such as sensitivity training. However, due to Jason’s current compliance with matchmaking, the record should show that he is actively doing what the Court previously asked.
Regards,
Timothy Drake
Chief Operating Officer of DI Clinics
Tim sends the email off and sighs. He thinks it’s time to finally talk to his mother.
It’s been a while since he’s visited the DI building. He feels out of place in the bustling building despite belonging just by virtue of last name. He escaped this place by the skin of his teeth and coming back feels like tempting fate.
He shows his badge to security and gets waved ahead to the CEO’s elevator. It’s a long ride to the top, full of second guessing his decision. Security would have informed Allison, his mother’s assistant, that he’s on his way. If he ducks out now, his mother will find out regardless.
The doors chime as they open up onto the top floor. Everything is bright, with big windows and tasteful art. Allison is at her desk, talking to someone through her headset. She shoots him a smile and nods towards the big doors that lead into the CEO’s office.
He mouths his thanks and steps through.
The office space has come a long way since he was a kid. Before, his parents shared and it always felt like a constant battle of wills. Jack favored heavy, dark furniture while Janet liked a tasteful mix of modernity and antique. Gone is the imposing desk that took up almost half a wall. Gone are Jack’s sport paraphernalia and menacing statues. The space is airy and open but tailored for convenience.
His mother’s desk is a huge silver thing, with an adjustable table to raise or lower her four monitors. Her files are all neatly organized and placed in stacked silver holders. There are a few artifacts from her trips dotting the edges and a big greek sculpture of a woman with no head or arms. Hanging up on the wall is a picture of the two of them, at Tim’s first clinic opening.
She’s standing now and reading something from her monitors, but she looks up when he steps inside. “Timothy!” She greets warmly. “Give me just a moment, dear.”
He drifts over to her bookshelves while he waits. There are roman coins and native american arrowheads sitting beside a large book. A dead scarab sits in a display box, wings carefully spread and pinned. There are several cuts of precious stones and very delicately woven Indonesian jewelry. There’s a replica of a bejeweled dagger and a reprint of a page from an ancient text. He recognizes the beetle as the gift he got her in Egypt. He thinks Selina got her the dagger, though that throws into question whether it’s actually a replica or not. The jewelry was from Jack.
“Okay,” she sighs from behind him. Her heels click against the floor as she rounds the desk to draw him into a brief hug. “It’s been too long, darling. Someone else might think you’re avoiding me.”
“I’ve just been busy. The clinics have an increased rate of traffic of twenty percent and we’re looking into expanding.”
“We’ll have to schedule another interview soon. I know you can take your own pictures but you never take any of yourself. It’s difficult for publicity.”
Tim bites back a grimace. “Yes, mother. I’ll have Iris send over my schedule.”
“Good.” She leads him over to the soft white couch that leans up against the wall where Jack’s bookshelves used to sit. “Now, tell me what it is you need.”
“What?”
“You only ever come here when you have something on your mind. It’s terribly transparent of you,” she clicks her tongue, “it shouldn’t be so easy for people to guess your intention, Timothy. I’ve taught you better than that.”
“Sorry.” He forces his posture to remain perfect despite feeling like a scolded child, shoulders back and spine ramrod straight. “I’ll do better.”
“Good.” She pats his hand. “Now, what is it?”
Here, Tim hesitates. It’s the worst thing to do around his mother, who smells weakness like a shark smells blood in the water. Her magic is a cool, sharp thing, almost like mint; flavor so strong it stings.
“You’re aware that I’ve been working on Bruce Wayne’s son’s case?”
“Of course. It was an excellent PR move. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
“We’ve been having trouble finding a match. Normally I can’t tell you details, but there’s been a change.”
Her eyes narrow. “What kind of change?”
“Bruce Wayne discovered my presentation. He’s using the knowledge of it to encourage Jason and I to bond.”
There’s silence for a few long moments.
“Bruce Wayne,” she starts slowly, like the warning rattle of a snake, “is blackmailing you into a bond?”
Her magic expands, enveloping him in its cool embrace. He senses rage-protect-insult like the sting of a whip. He knows she’s incensed when she stands to pace back and forth across the rug. Janet is a firm believer in not giving away anything through body language. The fact that she’s pacing is alarming in itself.
“That bastard,” she hisses, “he thinks he can do what he wants just because his family helped build this city? We’ll hit him where it hurts. Allison!”
“Mother, wait—”
Allison opens the door. “Yes, Mrs. Drake?”
“Get me files on all of the Wayne boys. I want tabloids, rumors, report cards from middle school, you name it.”
“Yes, Mrs. Drake.” Allison ducks back out.
Tim feels like he’s in a plane that’s going down. “Mother!” He says, as sharply as he dares. “Listen to me, I didn’t come here to destroy Bruce. I came for advice.”
“This attack cannot go without retaliation, Timothy! I’m aware of your soft spot for the Wayne’s; I should have never humored you when it came to that boy’s case, no matter the good publicity. I will not let him ruin everything we’ve worked for!”
“Mother,” he repeats desperately, “you’re not hearing me—”
“Timothy—”
“I think it could work!” He shouts before immediately clamping a hand down over his mouth. He can’t remember ever raising his voice to his mother before. She looks almost as shocked as he does.
“Explain.”
He lets his hand down slowly. Sitting there with her staring him down, dissecting his every word and movement, is more terrifying than anything Gotham has thrown at him.
“We hid my status so I would have the choice to choose my own future. As of right now, I have just as much dirt on Jason as Bruce has on me. I could advocate for suppression and Bruce knows that. So long as Jason’s future is in the air, Bruce won’t risk actually revealing me.” Tim swallows and does his best to meet her eyes. “I think I can help him.”
She frowns. “You want to help him, you mean. It’s a bad idea to let that man walk all over you. He’ll only continue to do so in the future.”
“This isn’t a business deal, mother. It’s personal.”
“Everything is a business deal.” Janet shakes her head and sighs. She takes a seat beside him once more. “People don’t do things out of the kindness of their own hearts, no matter what they say. There is always something to be gained. I thought I taught you that. I thought your father taught you that.”
It’s a sore spot for both of them. After the plane crash and subsequent torture that left Jack paralyzed and Janet bedridden, everything started to come out. The money Jack was embezzling, the corrupt board. It all came to a head when Jack, bitter over his new disability and the subsequent death of his public persona, had a screaming episode that ended in Tim having a black eye and the nurse’s sedating him. Janet had the divorce papers served to him the next day.
Tim hasn’t had contact with Jack since he made it clear it was him or Janet. Last he heard, he was with a nurse several states away.
“I want to see if this can work. At least hold off on retaliating until I’ve determined one way or another. Please.”
“Very well.” Her magic curls back into her body like a coiling snake. The room feels several degrees warmer without it. “I want to meet him.”
“What? No, it’s too soon. Give me time before you scare him away.”
“Not Jason, darling, though I do want to talk to him as well.” Her expression darkens. “I mean Bruce.”
“Mother—”
“Hush, Timothy. I just need to have a discussion, that’s all. Nothing uncouth. I won’t interfere with your plans, for now. But you’ll tell me if you get in over your head.”
“I will,” Tim promises, though he’s fairly sure he’s already there. “I just wanted to ask about your experience with familiars.”
“Mine?” She purses her lips. “All of my appointments are quite professional. There was once, before your father, where I met a man who was compatible, but he was an artist and wouldn’t have gotten me to where I am now.”
“Did you ever merge?”
“Really, Timothy, what sort of question is that?” She shoots him a warning glare. “I’ll let it slide just this once, but you know better.”
“Mother,” he says, with exasperation.
“Alright, alright. I did, once.”
“How?”
“Well, we talked, danced. He painted me and I took him to museums to lecture him on history. He’d kiss me whenever I got too heated and it always made me lose my train of thought. I don’t know, he was comfortable. When he reached out, it was easy to do the same. I was young and foolish then.”
Tim smiles softly. “He sounds nice.”
“Yes,” she says, almost wistfully, “he was. But then I met your father and moved away. We never got together again after that.”
“Do you ever think about looking him up again?”
“Goodness no, could you imagine? I’m sure he’s bonded and in his own studio by now.”
“Never hurts to try,” he says lightly.
She pinches his cheek for that. “It can always hurt. Remember that, going into this. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Yes, mother. Thank you.”
“You’re always welcome here, Timothy. Why don’t you walk me through your plans for the clinic expansion? I’ll have Allison order lunch.”
“Okay,” he nods. “Here’s what I was thinking…”
On Sunday, when Jason has to cancel because he got caught up in a city wide chase after another Arkham breakout, Tim thinks it’s time to tackle the Red Hood. Metaphorically. He’s fond of his bones, thanks.
That night, he gathers his notes, digs out his trusty climbing backpack and dons some dark clothes. Jason may be too tired to hold up a morning meet-up but unless he’s direly injured, Tim knows he’ll be casing the streets.
He rides the bus to the Alley’s DI clinic and takes to the rooftops from there. He arranges himself high enough above the ground that he won’t be overlooked but defensibly so. He wants to attract the Red Hood, not your usual run-of-the-mill Gotham thug.
He’s got a flashlight he taped a red lens over. He points into the distance and starts signaling.
Click. Hold. Click. Click. Hold. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Click. Click.
Again.
R-E-D H-O-O-D. R-E-D H-O-O-D. R-E-D H-O-O-D. R-E-D H-O-O-D. R-E-D H-O-O-D. R-E-D H-O-O-D. R-E-D—
There’s a thump and then a growling voice: “This better be good. Any funny moves and I shoot.”
Tim turns slowly to look up at the man balanced on the edge of the roof. He hasn’t had any dealings with him since the first time Hood came sniffing around the clinic and warned him to follow the rules. They’ve had a truce since then, with the unspoken agreement that if anyone messes with the clinic, they mess with Hood.
“Hood,” Tim greets, letting his jacket fall back from his face. “Thank you for coming.”
“Drake?” The voice modulator takes a lot of emotion out of his words, but Tim can tell that he’s surprised just from the way his magic stutters. He hops down from the ledge to prowl closer, though his hand doesn’t stray far from the guns strapped to his thighs. “The fuck are you doin’ here?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the Alley clinic. Can’t exactly schedule an office visit.”
A harsh staticky sound comes through the synths; the helmet’s translation for a snort. “Yeah, alright. Someone givin’ ya shit?”
“No, your protection has kept us safe. This is about an expansion. I wanted to get your okay to add an additional building.”
“My okay?” Hood’s head tilts. “I’m not yer boss.”
“No, but you do run these streets. Everyone knows that you need to get Hood’s endorsement if you want to last. I want you backing this.” Tim reaches into his backpack to slowly pull out his notes. Hood doesn’t tell him to stop, so he holds them up. “I have building plans here. I’m considering buying the lots beside the current clinic. They’re all dilapidated.”
Hood crouches to take a look. “Couple’a folks use those fer shelter.”
“I was considering offering them employment if given the okay. It’s not the first time DI has done it; it’s part of our outreach. Plus, the community likes it when they see familiar faces.”
“When’re ya plannin’ on startin’?”
“As soon as possible. I want to finish it before winter hits so we have more resources when the cold starts.” Matchmaking is only a small part of what the clinics do, after all. They run food drives, help make healthcare accessible and work in community outreach to give at-risk individuals the support they need. Tim knows Hood’s gang dabbles in health drives as well. The safe use houses have already brought drug overdoses down by thirty percent.
“I’ll talk t’ ‘em. If they don’t want the job I’ll find a place t’ relocate ‘em.”
“So you’re approving it?”
“Yeah. You stick to the rules and help the community. S’ long as ya keep doin’ that, we don’t got no problems.”
“Thank you.” Tim’s smile is genuine.
“I’ll hook ya up with some guys who should be able ‘t get the demo done fast. Won’t charge ya extra fer bein’ in the Alley, either.”
“How are you going to do that? Should we set up a mailbox?”
“Funny.” Hood holds out a hand. “Give me yer phone.”
Tim does so. After a few moments, he’s handed it back with a new contact. The name reads Red.
“Inconspicuous.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t give out my real name until the third date.”
The comment is so unexpected, he flushes to his ears.
“Does that make this the second date?” He retorts. “Since the first time we met you threatened me and all.”
Hood’s laughter is a distorted nightmare. It should not make Tim feel warmer but, regardless of common sense, it does. “Cute. I’ll text ya the info. Can ya get back down without breakin’ yer neck?”
“I got up here just fine.” Tim zips his backpack closed and stands. “You can keep the notes, they’re copies.”
“For me? Ya shouldn’t have.” He tucks the papers away into one of many pouches on his person. He gives a little sarcastic tilt of a bow and grapples away.
In his wake, the roof is full of amused-confidant-thoughtful. Tim drops his head back on his shoulders and stares up at the smog filled sky. “Shit,” he sighs. He definitely can’t do this while Jason’s keeping his identity a secret. This is the most controlled he’s ever seen Jason’s bleed.
Jason is never going to trust him with only half of his life known; then again, he might not trust him at all if Tim reveals what he knows.
“Fuck,” he says again, for good measure. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
Tim wasn’t in Gotham when Jason died. He was in Hong Kong, learning Chinese and how to deal with the chaos of a world without rules. To this day, he’s still not sure if his mother knows the full extent of his training with Sandra Wu-San. Or how she met an assassin in the first place.
Sandra—or Lady Shiva, as most call her in the underground—was the one to teach him how to put a mage on their ass. Not many people know that she’s a familiar herself; how his mother got that information and convinced her to train him is yet another mystery.
Shiva took the groundwork of Abubakar’s teachings and showed him how to find the gaps in people’s defenses; how to watch the ebb and flow of someone’s magic; to manipulate it as his own in dire situations. He can sense the intentions behind a person because of her. He’s also pretty handy with a bo staff.
In another life, Tim would have become a vigilante. In this one, his parents were nearly killed and he returned to Gotham to support his mother in bringing DI back to its former glory.
He found out Jason died on a rare spot of down time, when he looked up news on Gotham’s capes and found articles about the death of Bruce Wayne’s son instead. Shiva used to call him a magpie whenever she found him chasing after scraps of information on the Waynes. She said he’d made them his family, whether they knew it or not. Magpies are highly territorial. He understood what she meant when he found out the Joker was the one to do it.
He doesn’t feel that level of rage and hopelessness again until the Obeah Man kidnaps his parents. Tim is the one who gets to his parents first, before Batman. He’s the reason his mother is still alive. He let Batman enact his justice with the knowledge that the Obeah Man would rot in jail. Then he escaped and all bets were off.
It wasn’t hard to kill him—that’s what Tim remembers thinking after all is said and done. It’s part of why he understands his mother’s ruthlessness and Jason’s kill rule. He thinks Jason would understand if he told him—would be a hypocrite otherwise—but it’s another secret in their already impressive pile.
Bruce wouldn’t be so eager to shove the two of them together if he knew. Then again, Bruce doesn’t exactly have any other options.
As it is, Tim is stuck in limbo, his mother’s teachings in one ear and his own knowledge of how Jason works in the other. The two cannot coexist.
He’s going to have to do something stupid. Something his mother would surely scold him for.
He asks Jason to spar.
Jason is either nice enough not to shoot him down outright or determined enough to keep his identity a secret that he agrees. They meet at Tim’s place, where he has his own gym set up and no one can bother them; he completely gutted the old basement to build it. What was once dusty storage for props is now brightly lit and full of high tech equipment. There’s an entire floor of mats for when he wants to practice his gymnastics and it works just fine for their purpose.
“Ya know,” Jason drawls, “when I said most people are afraid ‘a me, I didn’t think you’d take it as a personal challenge.”
Tim raises an eyebrow and starts to stretch. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t—and will not—scare me?”
“Tell me again at the end of this and maybe I’ll consider believin’ it.”
“Deal.”
“How do ya wanna do this, anyway?”
“I was thinking the winner pushes the loser out of bounds.”
“You sure? Have ya ever actually been in a fight before?”
Tim’s eyes roll. “I’ll be fine, Jason. Now start stretching before you end up pulling a hamstring and Bruce thinks it's sabotage.”
“You give him way too much credit,” he grumbles, though he starts to warm up all the same.
Tim outlines the box they’re meant to stay in with pieces of tape. “No groin shots, no head shots, and no hair pulling or biting.”
“Take all’a the fun outta it, why don’tchu?”
He fixes him with a tolerant look, says, “Your imagination must not be very good, then.” and falls into a relaxed stance before the shit eating grin on Jason’s face can turn into words that will surely have him blushing. “Ready when you are.”
It’s obvious from the start that Jason is cautious of hurting him. It’s almost sweet, the way he pulls his punches like he’s expecting to make contact. But this isn’t about sweet. This is about showing Jason that he can match him, that they’re equals.
He puts Jason on his ass for it, crouched over his chest, arm drawn down against his throat; not enough to choke, but enough to warn him to stay down. “You may have the public fooled but I know you can do better than that. No street kid fights that nicely.”
It strikes a nerve, as expected. Jason’s lip curls. His muscles tense, but Tim is already up and off him. “What the fuck would you know about—”
Tim goes under his arm when Jason punches. Tim hits him hard enough in the ribs to send him staggering; hard enough to hurt but not break. “My parents weren’t around a lot, early on. I spent my nights running those streets, meeting Gotham’s forgotten, before I presented and my parents started taking me on their trips.”
“You think that means ya know me?” Jason snarls. His eyes are focused now, bleed sweeping out along the floor. It’s a dangerous place to be. He stops pulling his punches as he chases Tim around the mat, long legs eating up the space between them in moments.
Tim ducks and dodges. He tumbles past, fluid even as his body starts to register the threat. “No,” he says, “it just means that I understand, to a degree.”
“What do you understand?” Jason mocks, as he catches Tim’s shoulder in a glancing punch. Even that hurts. Tim is really glad that he initiated the no face rule. “Rich kid like you, riding in on the coattails of mommy and daddy, protected while the rest ‘a us starve.”
My parents left me alone until I presented at age nine, he doesn’t say. I got second degree burns because no one was there to supervise the first time I used the stove. I kept a food stash in my room because once they forgot to renew the grocery delivery and I went hungry for over a week. Gotham’s streets felt more like home than that empty house did. And then when I did present, when they did take me with them, they left me with strangers who taught me how to be a weapon.
Jason is like his mother. He smells weakness and hones in on it like an attack dog, teeth bared, ready to rend meat from bone. “I hate all’a you rich fucks, who think yer so much better just ‘cause yer not down in the gutters with the rest ‘a us.” He steals the breath from Tim’s lungs with a shoulder to his solar plexus. They both go down a couple inches from the tape line. Tim scrambles to get his leg hooked up around Jason’s shoulder, to get a hold so he can roll away, but Jason is stronger.
“I never said that,” Tim grits out, “never thought that, either.”
His laughter is harsh and barking.
“Jason—”
The magic is thick and cloying around him. It rises over his head, threatening to suffocate. Tim can feel it searching for a hold, hungry and wanting. If he lets it, it’ll drain him dry.
“My life is not nearly as glamorous as you think.”
Jason’s got his arm in a lock, one that could easily break it. He’s pinned but Jason’s not trying to roll them past the tape line; his eyes are almost glowing as he stares down at Tim.
“Jason, let go.”
He bares his teeth. “Make me.”
Bingo.
Tim rips him away with the added force of magic. Jason goes tumbling backwards, well past the line. He takes the chance to shake out his arm, hand on his shoulder as he tests the socket. That’ll bruise, for sure.
Jason gets up quickly. Neither of them calls out the end of the match. The line is crossed but they’re not done yet.
Tim rips at Jason’s bleed with magic and hands. Pieces of it stutter and gasp as they’re broken away from the whole, before going out like a candle in the wind. They make contact, again and again, rolling across the mats as they fight for the upper hand. He’s made a decent dent in the bleed when Jason gets him on his back, a hand wrapped tight around his throat. His other arm pulls back, like he’s going to hit Tim in the face.
Tim reaches up to place a hand on his chest and tears at the most stubborn of the bleed. Jason seizes like he’s been electrocuted; his eyes flare brighter for a moment before his fingers are loosening and his hand is lowering away.
“What—” he rolls off of Tim, head shaking like a confused dog.
Between Tim’s fingers, sits a piece of metal. The tip is hooked, and it’s broken off at a jagged angle, almost as if there was another piece meant to mirror the first. His hand is bloody when he opens it.
Jason sees what he’s holding and goes pale.
“Well,” Tim says, as he examines the piece of crowbar, “that explains some things.”
“The fuck it does,” he rasps. “Where did ya learn t' fight like that? And if you say self defense classes I might jus’ try t’ strangle ya for real.”
“You first,” Tim counters, as he struggles to sit up. He feels like one big bruise; it’s been a while since he’s had to fight someone like Jason. Shiva would be disappointed.
“The streets—”
He makes a buzzer sound with his mouth. “Nice try, but no. That was trained in a way you’ve never shown the public. Even when kidnapped.”
“Watch a lot of me gettin’ kidnapped?” Jason retorts.
“Who hasn’t? The Wayne’s are a hot commodity.”
He looks off to the side, obviously fuming. His magic flutters weakly around him; Tim can see that he’s starting to flag. His bleed has decreased to almost nothing for the time being.
“A woman in Hong Kong,” Tim says, because he can tell Jason isn’t going to fold first. “Her name is Sandra.”
His head whips around. “Got a last name?”
“I can’t remember.” He stands with a grimace. His hand is tingling where he was cut. The piece of metal feels wrong; hungry in a way. Tim didn’t know the Joker had an artifact. “I need to make some calls.”
He takes a step forward and nearly ends up back on the floor. Jason catches him. “Like hell.”
“Huh. Guess working through your bleed took more than I thought.”
“What?”
Tim’s vision goes black around the edges, his legs start to lose whatever strength they had left. “Just need,” he starts to slur, “to rest.”
“Whoa, Tim, hang on—”
The world goes dark.
The next time he wakes up, he’s in an unfamiliar room with several machines hooked up to him. There’s a weight on his chest that meows when he lifts a hand to touch it. “Felicity?” He mumbles in confusion.
“No,” someone says, “that’s Alfred the cat.”
Tim turns his head slowly. The rest of the room comes into focus as he squints over at the person perched on the dresser. There’s too much personality to be a hospital room, but it’s definitely not his house he’s looking at. Damian Wayne only further drives that home when he jumps down from his previous crouch.
“I’ll get the others.”
He’s gone before Tim can ask any questions.
His body feels heavy when he goes to sit up, much to the displeasure of Alfred the cat. There are bandages wrapped around the hand that had held the artifact shard. It throbs when he flexes his fingers. He feels drained in a magical sense. Without a bond to complete the loop that would return his reserves, it takes much longer to recover from large acts of power.
The door opens as he’s swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Bruce, Jason and a woman he recognizes as Leslie Thompkins walk in.
“Tim,” Jason says, with obvious relief. “Yer finally awake.”
“Finally?” Tim repeats.
Leslie moves to examine the readings on the machines hooked up to him. “Hello, Tim. My name is Dr. Thompkins. Bruce asked me to take a look at you after Jason said you collapsed.”
“You’re at the manor,” Bruce explains. “Your mother agreed that keeping this from the press was in all of our best interests.”
“My mother knows?”
“She’s your emergency contact. We had to get her permission to treat you.”
Tim barely suppresses a groan. “Great,” he mutters. “What about the artifact shard?”
Even with his reserves running low, he can feel the way the room seems to hold its breath. Jason won’t meet his eyes and Dr. Thompkins busies herself with taking notes on what the equipment says as Bruce tilts his head to the side in true Brucie fashion.
“What are you talking about?”
“The artifact,” Tim repeats, “the piece I pulled from Jason? The reason I passed out?”
“You hurt yourself while you were sparring, don’t you remember?” Bruce claps Jason on the shoulder. “Things got a bit too rough when Jason knocked you down.”
He stares Jason down, but he still won’t meet his eyes. “Really,” Tim says flatly.
“Your wrist is sprained and your palm is scraped. Magic reserves are quite low, so I’m prescribing a replenisher, three times a day.” Dr. Thompkins begins to take off the sensors taped to his skin.
“No magic decay?” He asks.
“No, just normal exhaustion.”
“Alright. I’d like to go home now, then.”
“Hang on,” Jason protests, “you jus’ woke up, shouldn’t ya wait a bit and see how ya feel after eatin’ somethin’?”
“I have a sprain, some scrapes and magic exhaustion,” Tim says with cold frigidity. “Why would I need to be monitored for that?”
There’s silence for a few long moments, before Bruce gives a single clap of his hands. “Alright, champ, we’ll get you on your way no problem. I’ll have Alfred pack you something to go.”
“How kind.” He says flatly. “Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Thompkins.”
“Of course. I’ll give you my number in case you start to feel any worse.”
The rest of his visit is a blur. Jason tries to convince him to stay, to which Tim steadfastly ignores him. He uses all his etiquette training to bite his tongue when Bruce continues to lie to his face. By the time Alfred drops him off back at his house, he’s so angry he’s practically vibrating with it.
“Idiots,” he hisses as he stomps into his apartment. “Every single one of them.”
The audacity to blackmail him into helping Jason only to turn around and lie to him about something so important. The nerve to attempt to convince him that the blackened cuts on his palm are simple scrapes.
Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he’s allowed Bruce to walk over him by letting his blackmail go by unchecked. They’re only going to keep lying to him if this continues.
On his phone, with a timestamp sometime after he must’ve passed out, is a message from the Red Hood.
Red 7/31 10:52 PM: These are the guys I told you about. Let me know if they give you any trouble.
Attached is a file, with rates and contact information for a construction company located in the Alley. Tim is sure it’s full of Hood’s own men.
Because Hood is helping him, Tim doesn’t take his anger with Jason out on his vigilante persona. But only just.
Tim 8/2 4:05 PM: Thanks.
Chapter 2: if I only had your heart, I could beat the system
Notes:
chapter title from come around by Omri, also found on the playlist
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He gets a call as he’s having a meeting with the head of Alley Construction and Co., two days later. He sees Jason Todd written across the screen, smiles politely at Davis Trent, aforementioned head, and sends it straight to voicemail.
He cancels his next meeting with Jason to do a walk through of the property he’s already gotten the building rights for. Like his mother, his anger runs cold, building upon itself like a glacier. He doesn’t want to see Jason right now. It’s bad enough that every flex of his hand throbs with betrayal.
It’s not the first time Jason has lied to him, obviously. He keeps half his life a secret, it would be impossible to expect him not to. But it is the first time Jason has lied to him about something between them. Something of importance.
So he takes the supplements Dr. Thompkins prescribed him and delves into work to keep the surprising mix of hurt and anger at bay. He knows he can’t run away from Jason forever but he just needs time. It’s bad enough his mother knows about his ‘accident’ and wants an explanation.
Despite his previous request for leave, he’d come through the clinic doors the past few mornings, desperate to do anything other than sit at home and fume. At this hour, he's the only one left in the clinic. Even Iris has gone home.
Tim sighs and finally packs up.
Outside, the skeletal shapes of construction equipment sit like sleeping giants. The street lights glance off their metal bodies and onto the empty parking lot. He’s in the process of opening his car door when a familiar hiss and thump comes from behind him. The reflection in his window tells him it’s exactly who he thinks it is.
“Fancy seein’ you here,” Hood drawls. “Burnin’ the midnight oil?”
“Something like that,” Tim says tonelessly. He opens his car door to set his bag inside before turning to look at him.
“I never heard back from ya, ‘bout the guys. They doin’ okay?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “You really expect me to believe you don’t have eyes in that company?”
The helmet tilts to the side. He can practically feel Jason scrutinizing him from inside; it does not help to lower his hackles. “What’s with the third degree?” He thrusts a cup forward into Tim’s chest, forcing him to catch it before it spills all over him. “Somethin’ happen?”
Tim scowls down at the drink. Warmth seeps into his palm through the paper; when he breathes in he can smell coffee. “Just tired of dealing with secrets.”
“Secrets?” Hood echoes. “If that was yer way ‘a askin’ fer the helmet off, I gotta say it’s not yer best work.”
“No.” He’s suddenly tired as he takes a sip. It hurts when he realizes that Jason has put the perfect amount of cream inside, just how he likes it. This is all so stupid. “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way—”
“Wait!” A hand closes around his wrist only to release as soon as Tim winces. His palm throbs in time with his pulse. “What happened? Are ya hurt?”
“Just another case of secrets,” Tim mumbles. “But, hey, can I ask you a question?”
Hood seems thrown off by the sudden switch. His fingers twitch but he doesn’t try to reach for Tim again. “Try me.”
“What do you do when someone lies to you about something important?”
There’s silence for a few long moments.
“I’m guessin’ it’s someone I can’t just shoot and be done with?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Someone you care about.”
“Well,” Hood drawls, “I guess I’d confront ‘em. Find out why they lied and go from there.”
“And if they keep lying?”
“I’d make it so they couldn’t. Can’t argue against cold hard proof, can ya?” He puts his hands on his hips, thumbs tapping against his holsters in a way that’s more thoughtful than threatening.
“What if the answer is something you don’t want to hear?”
“Well, shit, that’s ‘bout ninety percent of my life right there, princess.” He leans back against the car, a couple inches away from where Tim does the same. He smells like smoke and gunpowder, a scent that shouldn’t feel comforting but is. His magic is tangling around Tim’s legs again, like it's trying to get his attention. The notion is ridiculous, considering the fact that Jason always has his attention whenever he’s in the same room. “You want t’ talk about it?”
No, not really. Especially not with the subject. So, of course, Tim finds his mouth opening without his permission.
“I thought he trusted me, at least a little.” He says quietly. “I thought he was starting to see me as an ally instead of an enemy. But now…” He looks down at his bandaged hand. “I should’ve known better.”
“Sounds like an asshole.”
Tim laughs. “He is. He’s the biggest asshole but he’s also kind. He’s the type that would curse you out and then turn around and help an old lady cross the street. He’s infuriating. And I thought, maybe, we were friends. Or at least getting there.”
He’s horrified to realize that his eyes burn. He’d never let himself cry like this but the sensation alone is enough to tell him how deep he is. Jason’s magic creeps up his legs, leaking concern-guilt-comfort which doesn’t help any.
“Why d’ya wanna be his friend in the first place? Maybe you’d be better off forgettin’ ‘im.”
Because it’s you, Tim doesn’t say. Because no one else can seem to help you and I think I can. Because you and all the other bats have always mattered to me.
“Blackmail, mainly. But then we started getting to know one another and it was—easy. Fun.”
“Someone blackmailed ya and you decided t’ become their friend?”
“His father did it,” Tim dismisses, before taking a long drink of his cooling coffee. “He never would’ve done it himself. That’s part of the infuriating bit.”
“And that’s not why yer mad at ‘im?”
“Oh, I’m furious,” he says calmly. “My mother wants to ruin his family for it but I’ve convinced her not to intervene. The only reason I’ve gone along with this farce is because we wouldn’t even be in contact if he had his way. He’d prefer that the world forget all about him.”
Hood holds up a hand. “Lemme get this straight: yer friends with him because he doesn’t want ya around?”
“Hmm. Yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”
A harsh grating noise comes through the synths as Hood lets out an incredulous laugh. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Drake, but ya might jus’ be as fucked in the head as I am.”
“You think I should wear a helmet too?”
He shakes his head. “The world isn’t ready for the day you put on a mask.”
Tim hides a smile in his cup. It’s empty now, but the warmth of it remains. He feels some of his anger melting away. Why is it so easy being around Hood, even knowing who’s under that helmet?
“I need to head home before my cat stages a riot.” Tim turns to look up at him. “Thanks for listening to me. And for the drink.”
“What’s a friendly neighborhood vigilante for if not a late night pick-me-up?” He opens Tim’s door with a flourish, which earns another reluctant smile. “Keep me posted on the construction. And if ya ever need yer mystery guy’s face punched in, I might be willin’ t’ do ya a favor.”
Tim laughs, if only because the image of Jason punching himself in the face is so ridiculous. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
That night, when he lays in bed, he finally opens the notifications on his phone under Jason’s name.
Jason 8/3 3:55 PM: How are you feeling?
Jason 8/5 5:24 PM: Iris just told me you canceled tomorrow. Is your hand still bothering you?
Jason 8/5 9:30 PM: Don’t make me come over there.
Jason 8/6 1:03 AM: For fuck’s sake, give me a sign of life at least.
Jason 8/6 1:30 AM: I know you’re probably still awake, you insomniac. If you don’t respond today I’m coming by to make sure you haven’t croaked.
Jason 8/6 12:06 PM: Iris said you’re at the office. You bring Alfred in when I cancel and now I’m just supposed to ignore it when you do the same?
Jason 8/7 6:32 PM: You canceled tomorrow too?
Jason 8/7 9:42 PM: Tim, come on. Are you really going to give me the silent treatment for the rest of our lives?
It’s the last message before Jason later appeared as Hood. Tim lets out a slow breath and rolls onto his side.
Tim 8/8 2:17 AM: Meet me at my place at 4pm.
Jason 8/8 2:18 AM: See you then.
Tim waits for Jason at his desk until Felicity jumps up onto his lap, leaving him feeling like a cheesy Bond villain. She’s ignorant to his internal strife; a simple puddle of purring fur that has no problem being scooped up into an arm. The claws of her front legs prick at the back of his shoulder every now and then, as she nuzzles into his neck. It makes it very hard to remain upset.
She’s still there when he lets Jason in; side vibrating against his ear. Jason takes one look at them and gives a crooked smile.
“Felicity, right?”
“Right,” Tim confirms, as he locks the door behind them.
Jason follows him up the stairs and into the living room. When they take a seat, Felicity leaves Tim’s arms to investigate. She sniffs at Jason’s knuckles, licks him once and decides that he’s good enough to give her ear scratches. Jason, who doesn’t seem to have any sympathy for the massive betrayal that is occuring right in front of him, chuckles as she crawls into his lap.
“Cuddly fucker, ain’t ya?”
Tim tells himself he’s still very angry at Jason and not at all jealous of his cat. Who wouldn’t want to cuddle with Jason, really? His thighs offer more than ample space and his chest is ridiculously defined. Pair that with how warm he usually is and Tim doesn’t blame Felicity for claiming him for her own.
“So, how’re ya feelin’?” Jason prompts. “I see the bandage is still on.”
Tim looks down at his hand; he flexes his fingers and feels a distant throb. “I don’t know. Are you going to continue lying to me?”
“Tim—”
“Don’t.” He hisses. “I sat there and let Bruce treat me like a fool but you and I both know what really happened.”
Jason’s jaw clenches. His magic flares, flickering under some unseen wind. “It’s not that simple.”
He shakes his head. Tim hadn’t wanted to do this, had hoped he wouldn’t need to, but he’d set it up all the same. He hits the TV remote and the CCTV footage from the basement appears. They both watch in silence as two figures grapple on the mat. Tim pauses it when he starts bleeding.
“Last chance.”
“I don’t know where the shard is,” Jason says.
Tim exhales. “Get out.”
“Tim, wait! Just listen ‘t me, would ya—” Felicity meows her protest when he gets up to chase after him. Tim crosses his arms and shakes him off.
“Why did Bruce lie?” He demands. “Artifacts are unpredictable but what I pulled out of you was only an echo. There was no reason to hide it.”
“That artifact belongs t’ a monster. You shouldn’t be in contact with it—with anythin’ t’ do with ‘im.”
“Who decides that, Jason?! Because last I checked, Bruce was the one that wanted me to help you. And now you’re both actively sabotaging my attempts!”
“I do!” Jason yells. He stands there, fists clenched and chest heaving, magic writhing like a wild thing. “I decide who gets involved. I don’t want you anywhere near that bastard.”
He throws his hands up. To Jason, it might appear as disbelief. To Tim, it is out of sheer frustration. There are too many secrets between them. They clog up the space, like mold. “Who?” He presses. “Who are you so afraid of, Jason?!”
They stare at one another for a few long moments, Tim desperate and Jason slowly wilting.
“You were right,” he says hoarsely, “I should go.”
He turns to leave and then it’s Tim chasing after him, clutching desperately at the sleeve to his leather jacket.
“Jason, wait! You can’t just—”
“I’m sorry. I never should’a gone along with this,” he says abruptly. “Bruce won’t do anythin’ with the paperwork, I promise. Yer off the hook.”
“Jason,” he tries again, “please, just talk to me!”
Jason’s hands are impossibly gentle as they detach Tim’s fingers from his sleeve. He can’t quite meet Tim’s eyes as he leans down to brush the ghost of a kiss to Tim’s temple. “Thanks fer everythin’, princess. Feel better soon, yeah?”
Tim stands there numbly as he leaves out the door he came. Silent. Cold.
It takes a very long time for him to move.
“You look like hell,” Ives says, as soon as Tim trudges inside his apartment.
“I feel like it,” he mutters, hands jammed down into the deep pockets of his hoodie. His hood is up, hiding the disheveled mop of his hair. The bruises under his eyes are even more noticeable than usual and his lips are bitten bloody in some spots.
“Jesus,” Bernard breathes, when they come into view of the living room. “What happened?”
“Tim has been keeping secrets, as usual. This calls for wine.” Ives disappears into the kitchen. He returns with three glasses and a bottle.
“It’s not your mom, is it?” Bernard asks.
“No.” Tim flashes a faint smile. “She’s fine. No flare ups in a while.”
“What’s up then?” Ives places a glass into each of their hands. Tim takes a sip and makes a face at the overly acidic taste. “I saw that!”
“You have shit taste in wine,” Tim mumbles, not for the first time.
“And you’re deflecting.” He gives a ‘go ahead’ gesture. “Now spill.”
“Ugh.” He takes another gulp, despite the flavor. He doesn’t want to be sober for this. “You remember when we talked about bonding, that one time?”
“You said you couldn’t,” Bernard remembers.
“Well, turns out I can. Just not with familiars?”
Ives stares at him for a few long seconds and then snaps his fingers. “Shit, Claire owes me twenty bucks now.”
“What?”
“You’re a familiar,” Bernard says. “We know.”
“What?” He repeats, with feeling.
“You told us on your nineteenth birthday party, after you ate all those edibles.” Ives snorts. “Swore us to secrecy and everything.”
“So what’s the money for, then?”
“Oh, it was on how long it would take you to ever bring it up again. Claire said ten years.”
Tim downs the rest of his glass. “I hate you all.”
“So, what’s that got to do with bonding?” Bernard prompts. “Did you find someone?”
“Something like that.” He slumps further back into the couch and holds his glass out for a refill. “You know how I take match cases sometimes? And you know how I took on Jason Todd’s?”
“No,” Ives gasps.
“Yeah,” he says glumly.
“How did that happen?”
“Blackmail, mainly. I’ve been meeting with him regularly for almost a month now but then, well.” He finally holds up his bandaged hand. “I pulled an artifact shard out of his bleed. Passed out and when I woke up, he and Bruce lied to me about it. Pretended that I just got knocked out from sparring.”
“An artifact?” Ives echoes. “Shit, those are super rare. I did a report on them a few years back.”
“What happened?” Bernard asks. “After he lied?”
“I ignored him for a while. Then I confronted him with the CCTV footage. He said he was trying to protect me from the owner of the artifact and walked out. He,” Tim swallows, takes another drink and swallows again. “He said I was off the hook. No more blackmail.”
“You didn’t want that.”
“No. Yes. I just—” he pushes his hand through his hair, disturbing it further. “I’ve always kept myself distant from people, you know? And then he comes in, this total asshole who stands me up at our first meeting and then later brings me drinks just to check up on me. He calls me pet names and thinks my cat is cute. He appreciates the work I do. He apologizes for what Bruce did. He’s just so—so—frustrating!”
Ives and Bernard share a look over his head.
“Tim,” Bernard says, “do you want to bond with him?”
He’s silent for a few long moments. “Maybe?”
“Shit. That’s basically a proposal.” Ives shakes his head. “Do you have any idea who he’s trying to protect you from?”
“I’ve got some idea.”
“Is it justified?”
“It’s Gotham!” He grumbles. “Everyone is dangerous.”
“So yes.”
Tim glares up at him. “I can take care of myself.”
“You’re, like, a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet.”
“I am not!”
“As fun as an argument this is,” Bernard interrupts, “he might have a point. You have a low sense of self preservation.”
“I survived years on my own!”
Ives wipes a fake tear away. “And we’re all very proud.”
“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that he’s trying to protect you? You could do with having someone look out for you for a change.”
Tim slides further down the couch. “He can’t do anything if he’s avoiding me.”
“So call him,” Ives suggests. “You’re usually annoyingly persistent when you want something.”
Tim, who has had two and a half glasses of wine at this point, considers this. “You think?”
“Definitely.”
“Ives,” Bernard warns.
“But not before pizza and mario kart. Bros before himbos.”
“You’re the worst,” Tim sighs.
Unfortunately, Tim does not forget Ives’ suggestion. Tim, in fact, remembers it as he’s fumbling with his phone while Ives and Bernard argue over what to put on the TV to inevitably fall asleep to.
His vision is somewhat blurry. He squints at the brightness of the screen and hides away in Ives’ bedroom while the phone rings. There’s a long pause and then a mysterious crackle.
“Kinda busy, right now,” is barked down the line, so distorted it takes Tim too long to realize it’s not just a bad connection. “Hello?”
“This is awkward,” Tim says to no one in particular.
“Ti—Drake?” Hood asks. “Is there a reason yer callin’?”
“There is.” He takes a seat on the bed, waits for a few seconds and then realizes that he’s meant to continue. “I need to tell Jason that he’s stupid.”
There’s a grunt and a sound like a fist meeting something meaty. “What?”
“Jason,” Tim repeats, “he’s stupid. I meant to call him.”
“Look, princess, as much as I enjoy bein’ butt dialed—” there’s another grunt and what sounds like glass breaking, “I didn’t give ya this number t’ complain about boy troubles.”
“You did, though. You said to contact you if I had any problems. Ergo, you gave me this number to complain about boy and girl troubles.”
Someone screams. Hood mutters under his breath, “Jesus Christ.”
“Are you fighting someone right now?”
“Several someone’s actually.” There’s a painful crunch, what might be a gunshot and then silence. “Okay, so walk me through this again. You meant to call someone named Jason?”
“Yeah. To tell him how stupid he is.”
“So you’ve said. What’d he do?”
“He lied to me!” Tim says, suddenly incensed. “I did what you said, confronted him with proof and he just—broke up with me! I think? Can you break up if you were blackmailed into a potential bond and never really together in the first place?”
Hood makes an unintelligible sound.
“He thinks he’s putting me in danger when just being in Gotham is a danger in itself! I’m just as likely to die getting a coffee from the bakery down the street as I am from a Rogue attack! He’s so—so stupid!”
“Are you drunk, princess?”
“No,” Tim says, with far too many o’s.
“Are you out somewhere?”
“I’m at my friend’s apartment. I’m staying over. I’m not stupid.”
“Uh huh. Well, maybe yer better off without Jason. It’s important t’ be with someone who respects ya.”
“He respects me too much,” Tim grumbles.
“What was that?”
He flops onto his back with a groan. “You’re a vigilante. Aren’t you supposed to fix people’s problems?”
“The fuck do I look like, cupid?”
“I bet you’d be very convincing. No one would dare argue against your matches.”
“That desperate t’ get laid?”
“No.” Tim rolls onto his side and sighs. “That’s not it. I guess I just, kinda miss him.”
Hood hums.
“Not a lot of people can challenge me and despite how infuriating he can be it was kind of nice being around someone who knew what I was, you know?”
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “I know.”
“I really wanted to help him. I still do. I just don’t know how to tell him that the Joker isn’t going to scare me away from him.”
There’s a sudden hitch on the other line. “What do ya mean, the Joker?”
“It’s pretty common knowledge he was hurt by the Joker,” Tim mumbles. “The timelines match up. You can find it on most theory sites. There’s a whole reddit page dedicated to it.”
“If he’s mixed with the Joker, ya should stay far away.”
Tim sighs. “You know, my mother always tells me any decision you make can always hurt. You have to decide what you’re willing to risk and then you have to give it your all. Drake’s don’t half ass things.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t want to give up on Jason. Even if he’s given up on me.”
There’s a burst of static, like a huff. “He’d be an idiot t’ give up on ya, princess.”
Tim smiles. It’s easy, so easy, to close his eyes and listen to the soft sound of Jason’s breath. With the phone cradled to his ear, he could almost fall asleep like this.
“I know. Thanks, Hood.”
“Yeah.” Hood’s voice sounds raspy soft. “Drink some water. Consider it advice from yer favorite vigilante.”
“Who says you’re my favorite?” Tim teases.
“You got another vigilante on speed dial, willin’ t’ listen t’ yer nightly woes?”
“Maybe, Black Bat always seems like a good listener.”
He snorts. “Whatever, ya little shit. Hood out.”
The line clicks.
Tim rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. At his side, his hand throbs. He feels too heavy to get up. The door to the bedroom creaks open and Ives pokes his head inside.
“Are you making good choices?”
He flips him off half heartedly.
Ives climbs up onto the bed, where he notices Tim’s phone. “So you called him, huh?”
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
He waves a hand in dismissal. The door creaks again as Bernard joins them. “What’re you two doing?”
“Talking about Tim calling Jason.” Ives pats the bed. “Come on.”
There’s shuffling. Tim is jostled as Bernard settles on one side of him while Ives takes the other. They all lay on their backs, staring up at Ives’ pebbled ceiling.
“So you called him?” Bernard prompts.
“Sort of,” he repeats.
“What?”
“He said someone would be an idiot to give up on me,” Tim says, ignoring the question completely. “But he’s stupid, so the point is kind of moot.”
“Well he didn’t hang up, so that’s already progress,” Ives points out. “It’s, like, one AM so he must really like you.”
“He was just at work. These are his normal hours.”
“He took your call at work? And didn’t tell you off? That’s even better.”
“Is it? Fuck, what am I going to tell my mother?” Tim groans. “I have a meeting with her in two days. She’s going to be able to tell something is wrong.”
“What if you tell her the truth?” Bernard suggests.
“If I tell her the truth she’ll try to destroy the Wayne reputation,” he says glumly. “Sabotage is practically her love language.”
“Your mom’s scary,” Ives agrees. “You think Jason will be intimidated?”
“Probably not. Then again, he can’t be anything if he’s avoiding me.”
“Well, only one way to fix that.” Ives snatches up Tim’s phone and switches on the camera. “Everybody smile.”
“Wait, what’re you doing—”
The camera snaps, just as Ives pokes Tim’s side, causing him to erupt into giggles.
“You’re in bed with two other men. If I was Jason, I would care.” Ives scrolls through his contacts while Tim fights to snatch his phone back. He clicks on Jason’s name and sends the picture before giving it back.
It’s not a bad picture, Tim supposes. Bernard is half smiling in exasperation as he avoids Tim’s flailing elbow; Tim is caught mid laugh, cheeks flushed and hair falling into his face, while Ives is grinning smugly, half leaned over them both to keep the phone away.
“I hate you,” Tim informs him.
“You’ll thank me later.”
“Whatever happens, we’ll be here,” Bernard promises.
“Plus, I’m not afraid to stalk someone. It’s practically in the job description.”
Tim sighs. “Let’s talk about something else. Ives, how’s your current story going?”
“I’m meeting with an informant tomorrow. He’s got info on the most recent drug bust at the docks. We’re doing a piece on mob activity and how the hostile socioeconomic state of Gotham leads to increased drug traffic.”
“Are you meeting him alone?”
“Yeah, unless you want to come. We could get lunch, fight off the hangover you’ll have tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” Tim considers. “Bernard?”
“I’ve got to take the train back to Metropolis. I’m supposed to TA for a conference.”
“Nerd.”
“As opposed to you?”
“Well—”
Tim’s eyes close as they bicker. He feels warm between them and hazy from the alcohol. The world feels less harsh. He falls asleep between one breath and the next.
Ives’ informant has them in Somerset, closer to the Bowery than to East End. They stop at Tim’s place first, so he can change and make sure Felicity is okay. She has an automatic feeder just in case work keeps him late but he still likes to check. Satisfied that she’s taken care of and feeling less like warmed over garbage after a shower and a change of clothes, Tim braves the world once more in a pair of sunglasses.
Beside him, Ives is far too chipper for someone who drank just as much the previous night, but he’s always bounced back fast, the bastard.
“Hey,” Ives says, when they reach the street they’re supposed to. “I don’t want to spook him so you can hang out until I’m done. You still look way too upscale for this place.”
Tim, who is in a simple t-shirt, hoodie and jeans, and who has, in fact, survived traversing the streets of Gotham since he was seven, is deeply offended. “I look normal, what are you talking about?”
“You’re too pretty, it makes you stand out.” Ives ducks inside a relatively empty diner. “I’ll text you when I’m done. Don’t get kidnapped.”
Tim ducks away from the few eyes he’s accrued, thanks to Ives. It’s been a while since he’s had time to wander the streets. Between his job and Jason, he hasn’t had much free time to himself. He stops at a churro stand to get lunch and coffee. The caffeine is like a balm to the pulse in his temples; he feels a little more human when it’s gone.
He wanders towards Robinson Park. It’s been quiet lately, with Ivy getting ready for winter hibernation. It’s still a few months out, but she’s been a lot more laid back since she got together with Harley. There’s been less man eating plants about.
There are people jogging on the trails. Dogs chase around toys as their owners throw frisbees and balls. There’s a comfortable lull; a sense of peace in everyone coexisting in one space.
He shrugs his hoodie off and ties it around his waist when it starts to get too warm. He snags another coffee from one of the many vendors that frequent the park and meanders on.
There’s no response from Jason to the picture Ives sent. Tim tries not to let that get to him. He’s just thumbing through some of his work emails when a yell comes from behind moments before he finds himself falling.
Strong hands catch him before he can hit the ground but they can’t save his things. Tim watches in dismay as what's left of his coffee spills across the pavement. His phone, at least, lands in the grass, clear of the mess.
“Sorry,” someone apologizes as they right him once more. “I told Damian not to throw it that far—are you okay?”
Tim blinks when his phone is picked up and thrust forward. He takes it and looks up into a set of familiar sky blue eyes. He didn’t know Dick Grayson was back in town. “I’m fine,” he says automatically.
Behind Dick, he can see Damian approaching with his dog, Titus. Tim has never actually met Titus in person, but he’s seen pictures.
“Richard, you’re as clumsy as usual,” he scowls. “Drake, what are you doing here?”
“I was taking a walk?” He puts his phone back into his jeans pocket, unsure of where the sudden animosity has come from. The last time he saw Damian he seemed tolerant. He’s not sure why he’s being glared at, now. Then again, Damian has always been unpredictable.
“Us too!” Dick grins his sunbeam smile. “You’ve been helping Jason, right? Damian has been catching me up on everything I’ve missed. He’s not getting into any trouble, is he?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says, somewhat awkwardly. “He decided he didn’t want to continue the current arrangement.”
“I told you,” Damian hisses. “Todd has been insufferable for the past few days. I knew it was due to his own idiocy.”
“Jason stopped seeing you?” Dick’s smile fades into a frown. “Won’t the court have an issue with that?”
“Most likely. I haven’t filed anything yet but his bleed is still there.”
“Bruce mentioned you saying something about that. I’ve never seen any bleed, though.”
“You’re apparently not the only one,” he mutters. “You’ve felt it, though, haven’t you? That sense of pressure when he’s around, like he’s taking up more space than it looks like? Maybe it manifests as a feeling, a sense of unease or danger? I’ve seen it in public. Familiars and mages stay away from him.” Tim looks at Damian, whose magic is green like Jason’s. “You have something similar, but it’s nothing like Jason’s.”
Dick and Damian share a look. Abruptly, Damian shoves Titus’ leash into Tim’s hand while Dick threads their arms together and steers them further away from foot traffic.
“What does it look like to you?” Dick asks.
“It’s a lot more alive than most magic, and green—what?” Tim looks between them. “What was that look for? Do you know something?”
“Damian and Jason have been through a similar experience,” Dick says slowly. “I can’t tell you what it is, but it might explain some things.”
“What is Todd’s magic like?” Damian demands.
“It’s hungry,” he finds himself saying. “It’s always feeling around, looking for someone to latch on to. I think that’s why he’s had familiars pass out before when trying to connect. It’s too much, too fast. I pulled an imprint of an artifact out of it the other day.”
“What kind of artifact?” Dick asks, like he doesn’t already know.
“Some kind of metal. Maybe a tool, like a wrench or crowbar.”
“Is it possible that an artifact could worsen another condition?”
“It depends on the artifact,” Tim admits. “But this one definitely felt malicious.”
“Your hand.” Damian gestures to Tim’s bandages. “Does it still hurt?”
He looks down. Now that Damian mentions it, his hand is aching. “Yeah, actually.”
“Can I see?” Dick asks. Tim shrugs and holds out his hand. Dick’s fingers are careful as they unwind his bandages. The patch Dr. Thompkins put on is still there underneath, though it’s nearly peeled off. Tim nods his consent and Dick pulls it off.
The skin of his palm is white where the bandage was. There’s a cut in the center of it, scabbed over and healing. What’s most alarming, however, are the little purple lines starting to crawl out from the center.
“What the fuck?” Tim breathes.
“We need to see Leslie.” Dick yanks his phone out of his jeans and snaps a picture. He turns to Damian, who looks as stern faced as ever. “Take Titus to Babs’. I’m going to take him over on my bike.”
Damian nods sharply. He takes the leash back and jogs off before Tim can say anything. Dick starts to usher him along, towards the parking lot.
“Hey, wait, you don’t have to—”
“Artifacts can kill you,” Dick says gravely. “Magic toxicity is rare but it still exists. We need to get this looked at right away.”
“I need to tell my friend where I’m going,” Tim protests. He gets his phone out as he stumbles after Dick. He manages to type out a text informing Ives of where he’ll be before they’re in front of Dick’s motorcycle and he’s having a helmet shoved down over his head.
Tim doesn’t even get to enjoy the ride. His pulse is pounding. He keeps thinking about the lines on his palm, about how the shard felt when he pulled it free.
They have to wait for Leslie to work through her current patients. Dick types furiously on his phone the whole time, while Tim stares at the smiling faces on the graying posters on the walls. When they’re finally taken into a room, Leslie takes one look at Tim’s hand and frowns.
“I’m going to take some bloodwork,” she says, “and then I’m going to perform a few tests on your magic. We’re limited on what we have here but I’ll do what I can.”
He sits still for the blood draw, lets her examine his hand and dress the wound once more.
“Any tiredness?”
“Nothing unusual. I’ve been taking the supplements you gave me and only slept through the first day back.”
“Nausea, dizziness?”
“No.”
“Pain?”
“My hand always hurts. Especially when I use it.”
“What about when you use magic?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Try it now.” She wheels over a machine that hooks up to several places on his body via electrodes. There’s a small apparatus on top, with balls sat on a horizontal wire. “Move those.”
He focuses on all three and moves them over, one by one. It should be child’s play, but he feels strangely tired after it. He winces when his hand burns; they all look down to see the purple lines grow the tiniest bit larger. Dick goes back to typing frantically on his phone.
“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”
“A four, usually.” Tim holds still as she takes the wires off of him. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
“It appears that your magic is draining at an increased rate. Without doing any imaging I can’t say for sure, but my running theory is you’ve got some sort of parasitic virus. Did anybody touch the object that hurt you?”
Tim glances over at Dick. “I don’t know.”
She follows his gaze with a raise of her eyebrow.
“No,” Dick answers.
“Good. Keep it that way. For now, I’m going to prescribe you medication to hopefully stop the virus. It’ll give you time to get further testing done.”
“Okay,” Tim says numbly. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
She leaves to get his paperwork and then it’s just Dick and Tim. He stares down at his hand. He’s not sure what to feel or what to think. He’s going to have to tell his mother. There’s no way he can hide this from her.
When they leave the room, Ives is waiting for him in the waiting room. “Tim!” He shoots up out of his seat to hurry over. “What happened? When I said don’t get kidnapped, I thought it implied not to do anything else stupid, either.”
“I’m fine,” Tim says automatically. “Just tired.”
Dick pushes open the door and there, standing on the sidewalk, is Jason. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and looks tense enough to hurt. He looks up as soon as he hears the door and zeroes in on Tim.
“Are you okay?” He demands.
“Whoa, who are—” Ives’ eyes widen as he gets a good look at Jason. He recognizes him if the way he looks back at Tim says anything.
“I’m fine,” Tim repeats. “I just need to pick up my prescription.”
“Magic virus,” Dick says, brow furrowed as he reads what’s on his phone. “Babs is on it.”
“Magic virus?” Ives waves his hands. “What the hell, man?”
“It’s being dealt with. You,” Tim stabs a hand towards Jason’s chest, “are going to help me explain this to my mother.”
“Me?” Jason repeats dumbfoundedly.
“Yes. You.” He sniffs. “Since it’s your fault in the first place, it’s the least you can do. You can go back to avoiding me like a coward right after.”
“Princess—”
“I don’t want to hear it! I’m tired and stressed and you’re more than half the reason why!” Tim turns to Dick, who looks rather bemused by the entire situation. “Could you take Ives home?”
“Oh, sure. Where to?”
“Chinatown,” Ives says, before getting in close to Tim. “I’ll go along with this only because you and loverboy need to talk,” he hisses, low enough that no one else can hear, “and because I can now spend time behind Grayson. But! You will be telling me the details later!”
“Yeah, okay.”
Ives points two fingers to his eyes and then back at Tim before following Dick over to his bike. Tim shakes his head.
“You two seem close,” Jason says.
He sighs. “We went to highschool together. He’s a pain in my ass.”
“Looked pretty cozy last night.”
“Did we? You never responded, I thought you hadn’t seen it.” Tim gestures ahead. “Is your bike nearby?”
“Yeah.” Jason starts the walk down the street. “And what was I supposed t’ say? It’s not like you said anythin’ either.”
“Ives sent that photo.”
“What? Why?”
Tim’s cheeks flush. There’s no way he’s telling him the real reason. “None of your business.”
“Real mature.”
“What can I say? You bring it out in me.”
Jason blows out a harsh breath. “Look, I’m sorry I hurt your feelin’s okay? But my point still stands. You wouldn’t be goin’ through this right now if it weren’t fer me.”
“But I am. That isn’t going to change just because you run away from me, Jason. You’re only making things worse for both of us.”
They round the bend. Jason leads him into an alley, where his motorcycle sits. He pulls a second helmet out of his saddlebag and hands it to Tim, who shoves it down over his head.
“Where to?” Jason asks, startling Tim when his voice comes in through the helmet, far louder than expected.
“The DI building,” he says grimly, climbing up behind Jason. He tries to maintain some distance but it’s clear he’s not going to be able to as soon as they take off. Jason drives fast and borderline reckless. Tim is left clinging to his waist, legs spread wide on either side of Jason’s as he follows the shift of his body through turns. It’s intimate and over far too soon. It takes every ounce of self control to let go and dismount.
He tries to get his hair into some form of appropriate as Jason puts away their helmets. As it is, he’s already going to get it for showing up in less than his best. It’s times like these that he’s thankful for the CEO’s elevator, which allows them to avoid everyone else.
“So yer mom,” Jason says casually. “What should I expect?”
“War, most likely.”
“Huh?”
The doors open to Allison, who looks surprised to see them. She eyes Jason curiously before waving them on ahead. “She’s in a meeting but she should be out in ten minutes. You can wait for her in her office.”
“Thanks, Allison.”
They move deeper into the room and through the doors to his mother’s office. He immediately swerves towards the standing dresser in the corner, which has several backup outfits for both him and his mother. He strips.
There’s a strangled noise from behind him. “Whatchu doin’?”
“Making myself more presentable.” He shucks off his jeans and yanks on a pair of slacks. His hair is left disheveled all over again as he pulls his shirt off to be replaced with a button up. He shoves his previous clothes into his backpack and gets to work fixing his hair in the mirror. The tie comes next, and then the shoes. He’s done in five minutes, tops.
“Okay. You,” he closes the dresser doors and points over at Jason, who is staring at him like he grew another head, “she hates being called ma’am, small talk and overly emotional people. She already wants to destroy your life, so try to be nice.”
“I’m always nice, I’m a ray ‘a fuckin’ sunshine.”
Despite being an atheist, Tim shoots a despairing look to the heavens. He thinks that says a lot about Jason, really.
He drifts closer. He can’t help the way he reaches out to straighten the collar to Jason’s leather jacket. This close, he can smell his aftershave and it does not help him resist the urge to press closer still.
Jason catches his wrists as he’s brushing off imaginary dust. “Tim, what are ya so nervous about?”
“It’s my mother, Jason. Only a fool wouldn’t be nervous.”
He looks up in time to see Jason’s crooked smile. “You keep callin’ me stupid and I might get a complex about it.”
“Stop doing stupid things then,” he says lightly, hands laid flat against Jason’s chest.
They stare at one another for a few long moments. He’s not sure who does it first, but suddenly he’s aware of Jason looking at his lips as he looks at Jason’s in turn.
“Princess,” Jason murmurs, voice gone raspy and soft. “I—”
“Oh my.” Tim freezes in place as his mother’s voice washes over them. He turns his head woodenly to stare at the door, where he never noticed her coming in. “When Allison said I had guests, I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”
Tim backs away from Jason like he’s been burned. “Mother, I apologize for the short notice—”
“Oh, it’s alright.” She waves a hand and rounds the desk to put down her briefcase. “I was expecting you to attempt to get out of dinner tomorrow so this is a welcome surprise. Well done on keeping your actions unpredictable.”
Jason mouths a simple, ‘what the fuck’ at the side of his head. Tim ignores him to step forward. It’s a common enough reaction to Janet.
“Mother, this is Jason Todd. You’re already acquainted.”
“As acquainted as one can get at those old galas.” She holds out a hand for Jason to shake. Her eyes look him over, dissecting him in a decidedly scientific way. “What brings the two of you here?”
“The day you gave Dr. Thompkins permission to treat me while I was unconscious,” Tim begins, “there’s been a new development.”
She takes the discharge papers from him and reads them over. Her eyes flash up, first to Tim and then to Jason. “Twenty two years healthy and the first time you come into contact with a potential bond you get a virus. It seems a bit suspicious, don’t you think, Mr. Todd?”
“Mother—”
She slices her hand through the air, ending his protest. She folds her hands and stares Jason down sedately. “Well?”
“If you’re trying to say I did it on purpose, you’re wrong.” Jason squares his shoulders and steps forward. His Alley accent is noticeably missing. “I tried to end this before Tim could get hurt. I never planned for any of this to happen.”
“And yet he is and it has. Not only have you threatened to out my son, you’ve endangered his life. I even spoke to Bruce the other day and he said you’re considering giving up, after everything Timothy’s done for you. Is this true?”
“It’s to keep things from getting worse,” Jason insists.
“Did you know, I was fully prepared to destroy you for what you dared to try to blackmail us with. And did you know who stopped me? Tim.” Her smile is cold as ice. “I don’t like leeches, Mr. Todd. My son is not a fool. Normally he does not let his emotions rule him, yet he has advocated for you from day one. Why do you deserve it?”
“I don’t,” he says hoarsely. His eyes flicker over to Tim, who is frozen. “That’s the point.”
“Then you best set about earning it.” She turns to Tim. “The more tests we do, the trickier it will be to keep your dynamic hidden. We may have to go public.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll make an appointment for that clinic in Metropolis. I’ve got back to back meetings all week and won’t be able to come with you.”
“I’ll go,” Jason says. He doesn’t back down when she fixes him with a gaze that would make lesser men cower.
“I don’t approve,” she tells Tim, “but the choice is yours.”
It’s the best he could hope for.
“Thank you.”
She gets up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Allison will send you the details. We’ll cancel dinner for now, until you’re back.”
“Understood. I’ll keep you updated.”
“See that you do.” She sits back down in clear dismissal. Tim grabs Jason’s wrist and gets the hell out. Outside, Allison is thankfully on a call, leaving them to exit the way they came.
“What happened to staying away?” He hisses, once the elevator doors have closed. “Now you want to come to Metropolis?”
“It’s my fault yer here t’ begin with.”
“So you’re ready to stop lying to me?”
Jason lets out a gusty sigh. “B squirreled away the shard. He’s paranoid and has a lab lookin’ at it. He didn’t want to say anythin’ until he had answers.”
“So he gaslit me instead?”
“Social interactions ain’t B’s strong suit.”
“You don’t say.”
“So, what’dya say?” He prompts. “Let me take ya t’ get yer prescription and you can think about lettin’ me tag along t’ Metropolis.”
“Fine,” Tim sighs. “You can buy me dinner too, while you’re at it.”
Jason grins and holds out his helmet. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He shows a remarkable amount of control when he waits until after they’ve picked up Tim’s prescription and have their chinese tucked away safely in the saddlebags to broach the silence between them.
“So yer ma is somethin’,” he starts, voice coming through hesitant through the coms.
Tim scoffs. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Was she really gonna try t’ destroy B’s reputation?”
“Oh yes. She has files on all of you. She did previously, of course, since it’s common business practice to know your enemy, but yours are especially detailed now.”
He doesn’t seem sure what part of that to tackle first. “Enemy?” He finally settles on, when they come to a red light.
Tim shifts with him when Jason’s legs drop down to keep the bike steady. He’s glad that he’s in a helmet and Jason can’t see his face; no one is privy to the way his cheeks flush when he ends up sliding that much closer. “WE is our largest competitor. Bruce offered to absorb the company, back when my father almost sank it. My mother has never quite forgiven that.”
“He probably saw it as helpful.”
“It was an insult,” Tim says sharply. “Half of her recovery was fueled by pure spite after that.”
They take off again when the light turns green. Jason hums. “What happened with yer father?”
Right. Jason was dead for that bit. Tim can’t blame him for not knowing, even if he hates talking about Jack.
“After Batman rescued my parents and it was declared that my father may never walk again, a lot of things came to light. The board was corrupt and he was embezzling behind my mother’s back. They were always at odds but the fact that he was paralyzed and she wasn’t made him even more bitter. He attacked me, my mother divorced him, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Whoa, hold up. He attacked ya?”
“He didn’t like some of the things I had to say about his choices or the fact that I was backing my mother in cleaning out the company and kicking him out. He was bedridden though, and only managed to hit me.” He feels Jason tense against him; there’s thinly veiled violence in the flex of his muscles. He squeezes Jason’s waist when he gets a hint of protect-anger-outrage. “It was a long time ago, Jason. I’m fine.”
“Where is he now?”
“Somewhere with the nurse he hooked up with, far away.” He squeezes him again. “Don’t go looking.”
“Now where’d ya get an idea like that?” Jason drawls. “I’d never go after someone that’d smack his kid around. A real pacifist is what I am.”
“Uh huh.” He doesn’t bother biting back his smile when no one can see it. “A real knight in shining armor.”
“Exactly.”
Jason pulls off onto the sidewalk when they reach Tim’s place. Tim dismounts, pulling himself away from both Jason’s warmth and the magic that had been tangled around him like a hug.
“Thanks for the ride. And dinner.” He pulls his helmet off, leaving his hair ridiculously disheveled. “I’ll let you know about Metropolis.”
“Not goin’ t’ invite me in?” Jason asks, making no move to get off his bike.
He bends to grab his things and puts his helmet into the saddlebag. “I think that’s a bad idea.”
“Yeah, why’s that?”
“Because this time, Felicity won’t be as willing to let you go.”
It’s clearly not the answer Jason was expecting. He throws his head back and barks out a laugh.
“Yeah, alright, princess. Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight, Jason.”
Notes:
as someone who had to get surgery on both my wrists bc the pain was literally making me nauseous and unable to do daily tasks I can confirm that hand injuries/chronic hand pain is one of the most frustrating and debilitating things out there. so you know I had to give it to tim
Chapter 3: I'll be here waiting while you let it out
Notes:
chapter title from guide by Mitchell Zia which is also, you guessed it, on the playlist
Chapter Text
There are a lot of reasons why he boards the train to Metropolis with Jason Todd—or, at least, he tells himself there are. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that a lot of it begins and ends with I want; nor how varied the tag ons to that are: to help him; to be closer; to gain his trust; to kiss—he firmly shuts down that trail of thought.
Jason wants to be here, whether it be out of some sense of duty or guilt. And despite Tim’s attempts to the contrary, he is just a man like everyone else. Jason became one of his weaknesses long ago, when he had a camera in hand and nobody to look after him. When the streets were far more of a home than the hauntingly empty Drake Estate. When a boy in a silly cape and shorts opened his eyes to the goodness of humanity. Jason Todd was and has always been his favorite Robin. Even when he was sitting in Tim’s office, busy making his life miserable.
He fields Ives’ and Bernard’s questions in their group chat, promising more answers when he gets back. Ives’ has taken Felicity for the time being, which takes a weight off of his chest.
On the train, Jason lets him take the window seat. Though Tim attributes it to vigilante instincts, it still feels nice to have a buffer between him and the rest of the world. People don’t normally recognize him the way they recognize Bruce Wayne or Dick Grayson but occasionally he gets spotted if they're looking hard enough. With Jason glaring the rest of the world down, he’s in no danger of anyone doing that now.
“You look tired,” Jason comments. “Didn’t sleep?”
“I keep having weird dreams,” he mutters. He rubs his thumb against his palm, where the normal pulse of pain is somewhat dulled. “I can’t seem to stay asleep.”
“I can wake ya when we get close if you wanna try t’ nap. Promise my shoulder’s comfortable.”
There’s no reason why Tim should lean on Jason. They’re in first class, with reclinable chairs and attendants that would surely be willing to get Tim a pillow if asked. None of this dissuades him from curling into Jason’s warmth, nor does it stop Jason from wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady.
He finds himself dozing almost instantly. The scent of leather and smoke fills his nose as small tendrils of green wrap around his limbs. They’re phantom things, barely noticeable but there all the same. Comforting.
It’s far too soon when Jason starts nudging his shoulder, voice low in his ear. Tim struggles to open his eyes, visions of bubbling vats and echoing laughter playing in his head. There are fingers carding through his hair, pushing his bangs back from his eyes that Tim can’t help but lean into.
“Come on, princess,” Jason husks. “We’re arrivin’ at the station in five minutes.”
Tim grumbles as he pulls away. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets to work making himself presentable. It’s halfway through that he registers how intimate their previous position was, which has him ducking his head to hide a flush.
“Mother said a car will be waiting to take us to the hotel.”
“Handy.” Jason pulls their bags down from the overhead storage. He shoulders ninety percent of them before Tim can protest, leaving him with just his backpack.
“I can carry my own things, you know.”
“Yer sick. Alfred would skin me if I let ya overexert yerself.”
“Contrary to your belief, I’m not actually a fainting waif.”
Jason gives him a considering look that immediately has Tim’s hackles raised. He gives a crooked smirk before Tim can open his mouth, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and says, “that remains t’ be seen.”
Tim huffs and follows him off the train.
Their car is waiting as promised, with a driver holding a sign that says Drake. They load in, take the twenty minute drive to the hotel and find themselves in one of the suites sometime later. It’s then that he realizes what’s happened, as he stares at the single solitary bed in the room.
“Mother,” he groans in despair. “Why are you like this?”
“Huh?” Jason comes in behind him. He pauses when he takes in the room before giving a shrug. “It’s a big enough bed, it shouldn’t be a problem. Unless ya want me t’ take the couch.”
“No,” he says quickly. “I’m not that heartless. Sharing should be fine.”
“Sounds good t’ me.”
He drops their bags onto the floor beside their bed and scans the room. Tim is aware that he wants to search for bugs, so he ducks into the bathroom to give him time to quell his instincts. He takes his time inspecting the space, noting the large shower and deep jacuzzi. There are massive mirrors hanging over the sink, where he can get a full view of his worsening eye bags and helmet hair. Thankfully, they don’t have to be anywhere else tonight.
He flushes the toilet, takes extra long washing his hands and makes his steps purposefully slow as he swings the bathroom door open. When he returns, Jason is lounging on the bed, flicking through tv channels like he hasn’t just thrown the room upside down in pursuit of potential security risks.
“You want to use the bathroom before I shower?” Tim asks, dipping down to grab his bag.
Jason, who must be itching to check the bathroom over, does a remarkable job of appearing casual when he nods. He lopes inside while Tim pulls out his toiletries, his sleep shorts and the salve Dr. Thompkins gave him for his hand.
Jason looks noticeably more settled when he leaves the bathroom. He drops back down onto the bed and returns to channel surfing. When Tim emerges from his shower, pink faced and damp, he finds that he’s settled down to watch a nature documentary. Tim is a night owl himself, so it’s surprising when he finds his eyelids dragging mere minutes into settling into bed. Jason’s magic feels settled-relax-safe; it is the perfect lullaby.
His dreams are not so peaceful.
Lately, they’re always confusing. Disjointed and dizzying with their intensity. There are flashes of viscera; boiling vats of what look like acid; a chorus of screams; buildings on fire; ashen-fear faces. Above all else though, there is laughter. Always laughter.
Voices filter in and out, too distant to make out any words. His hand wraps around something metal and sturdy as he turns to look into the empty space behind him. There’s something there, but like the voices, he can’t make anything out.
He’s doing this, Tim realizes, not because he’s scared, not because it’s necessary, but because he can. Because he can and it’s fun.
His arm raises, his mouth stretches.
HAh HA HA HAh—
Tim wakes up soaked in sweat. It takes him a while to realize that Jason is leaning over him. The bedside lamp is on, casting shadows across his face. His mouth is moving but everything is white noise. He doesn’t recognize his surroundings and he is terrified.
“I need you to breathe,” Jason tells him.
He sucks in a breath and sobs. He will be embarrassed for it later, surely. But right now, Tim, who has not once ever had anyone there to comfort him after a bad dream; who still feels a phantom smile stretching his face, lurches forward to wrap his arms tight around Jason and cries. Jason wraps his arms around him in turn. His sobs peter out into disgusting sniffles eventually. He tries to wipe his nose discreetly on his shirt but at this point he’s basically thrown all sense of propriety out the window.
“I was dosed with Joker Venom once,” Tim finds himself rasping.
Jason, who has been making big, sweeping circles against his back, hums. He probably already knows; has seen it in Tim’s file. But Tim has never really talked about it with anyone else before.
“It wasn’t even the Joker. Some of his men went on a mad spree while he was in Arkham; gassed everyone they could get their hands on. I was on my way back from classes and the alert didn’t get out fast enough. I don’t remember much, but I woke up in the hospital later feeling like someone had peeled back my face.”
“There was a story about it,” he says quietly.
“My mother was furious. She shut down at least five different news sites while she was waiting for me to wake up. ‘Drake-heir Jokerized’, it was everywhere.”
“Assholes.”
“Yeah.” Tim sighs. “Sorry about your shirt.”
“No sweat, princess. B can afford it.”
That earns a weak laugh.
“I think I’m going to shower and scrape what remains of my dignity up off the floor.”
Jason catches his wrist when he goes to roll away. “Hey,” he says softly, “we’re fine, yeah? I gotchu.”
He stares at him for a few long moments.
“Yeah,” he finally returns. “Thanks.”
His appointment with Dr. Zhang is right after lunch. The facility is state-of-the-art, encapsulated in a dome made up of several different floors. He’s heard stories about Star Labs’ electromagnetic processor, which is supposed to be able to map the way magic interacts within a body. They released a groundbreaking paper on the intricacies of neural pathways and how magic affects the mapping of individuals. Tim has itched to check it out for himself, he just never thought he’d get first hand experience in being the subject.
She’s warm smiles and firm handshakes as she walks him through the many tests they have scheduled for the rest of the day. He gets taken to blood work first, who give them a print out of his results. He’s got a vitamin deficiency, but that’s nothing new. He’s always been borderline anemic, no matter how many supplements he takes.
They do imaging next. She asks him to do a test similar to the one that Dr. Thompkins did, only this one is much more extensive. He goes through several different puzzles, gets on a treadmill to be monitored while he runs and gets put into a CT scan type machine.
He’s exhausted by the end of all of it. They break for a snack and then settle into her office, where she walks him through the results.
“It appears that your physical tests are fine, however, your nerves are another story. You see this?” She circles the web of nerves branching out from his hand; it looks almost swollen in the photo. “It seems that your magic is being directed to this place. The virus is feeding on it to sustain itself. How do you feel right now, after using your magic today?”
“Tired,” Tim admits. “Really tired.”
“The virus is attacking your nerves, parasitizing the pathways that direct your magic. Your system is doing its best to fight it off but it’s spreading.” She pulls up a full scan of his arm and points to where the inflamed nerves are. They’re beginning to stretch up his wrist, now. “It’s burning through your reserves faster than you can replenish them, which is why you’re so tired. However, I did notice something else.”
His CT scan is next. She points to his brain stem. As humans evolved, additional neuron structures evolved with them, making magic possible. Tim has seen pictures of what different influences can do to these pathways. A bond, for example, lights up the entire prefrontal cortex.
He shouldn’t have one, but the proof is sitting right in front of him, lit up like a christmas tree.
Beside him, Jason sucks in a sharp breath.
“It’s not fully formed yet,” she begins, “but bonds have been known to help fight a plethora of medical complications. The science isn’t as sound as we’d like it to be, and there is still plenty of research going on right now to figure out why as well as how this can be used, but in the case of an artifact it’s a promising venture. I’m afraid we’re looking at two topics that aren’t fully explored just yet, and we have limited options. Am I right to assume Mr. Todd is the other half to this bond?”
“Yes,” Tim says, when Jason remains silent.
“I’d like to run some further tests on both of you, if you’re agreeable. I want to see what happens when the two of you interact, magically speaking. It could be the additional push your system needs to fight this virus.”
“Are there any risks?”
“No, it’s a fairly straightforward procedure, like the tests you did today. Only instead of completing the exercises on your own, you’ll do it together.” She looks between the two of them. “Thoughts?”
“I’ll do it,” Jason says abruptly. “It’s our best shot, right?”
“I can’t say for certain right now, but it will certainly give us more data to go on.”
He nods, like he’s coming out of a debriefing with Batman. Tim gets up to shake her hand again and say their goodbyes. Beside him, Jason is an anxious presence. He keeps flexing his hands like he wants to hit something, shoulders and jaw tense.
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Tim says, as soon as they’re outside. “I’ll figure something out.”
Jason gives him a flat look. “Like what? Pray fer divine interference?”
He shrugs. He hasn’t really thought that far ahead yet.
“Let’s jus’ go,” Jason mutters. “Ya look like yer about t’ pass out.”
“I’m fine,” he protests, even as his legs fight every step.
“Sure, princess.” He hails a cab and ushers him inside. “Olander Hotel.”
The ride back is silent. When they get back to their room, Jason goes for his bags immediately. Tim drops into bed.
“I’m goin’ t’ the gym,” he announces.
Tim hums his assent, already half asleep.
He wakes up later, when Jason slides into bed. It’s dark, with only a sliver of light coming in through a crack in the curtains. He doesn’t know what time it is, but his limbs still feel heavy, begging him for more sleep.
“Jason?” He whispers.
“Yeah.”
He reaches out and finds a hand reaching back. Their fingers tangle together underneath the covers.
“You really don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” Jason murmurs, “it’s not the tests that’re the problem.”
“What is it then?”
Jason tugs his hand lower. There’s a pulse of awareness as his fingers touch bare skin, impossibly warm. They twitch but he forces himself not to move. “I’ve got scars I’d rather people not see.”
His thumb runs over an uneven bit of skin; he can feel the way scar tissue shifts into healthy flesh. Jason’s stomach tenses under the touch.
“I don’t care,” Tim says. “It doesn’t matter to me that you have scars, but I want you to be comfortable.”
“I’ll be fine.” He lets go of his hand to drape an arm over his waist. Tim’s palm smoothes over his stomach, coming to rest on his chest, where he can feel Jason’s pulse beating too fast.
“You’re nervous,” he whispers.
“Not about the test,” Jason whispers back.
Tim can feel his breath on his face. He can just barely make out the shape of him in the darkness; quiet and waiting. His magic says longing-close-safe. Tim closes his eyes and kisses him.
It’s not fireworks and heat; he’s far too tired for that. It’s a pulse of warmth, a bridge finally crossed and a friend made on the other side. Jason is big and safe, mouth almost heartbreakingly gentle against his own. Tim wants to tell him that he’s not going to break but there have been so very few times he’s ever been treated gently in his life. He finds himself unable to do anything other than bask in it.
Jason’s thumb runs over the slope of his cheek. Tim wishes he could see his face; wants to imprint this moment into his brain so he’ll never forget a single second.
“We’ll do the test together,” Jason says softly. “Now go back t’ sleep. Didn’t mean t’ wake ya.”
Tim is helpless to disobey.
They meet Dr. Zhang early in the afternoon again. Jason has to have some baseline tests performed, to record how his magic interacts within his own body and the world. The screen shows some of the bleed, but only when he’s actively using his magic. It’s bizarre. Tim doesn’t say anything, because it likely has to do with Jason’s death, but he keeps it in mind to hopefully ask about later, when they’re alone. There aren’t any signs of the virus in Jason’s system, which is just as odd, really, considering the shard that infected Tim came from him. Yet another mystery to the already massive pile.
Eventually, they’re put into special suits with electrodes dotting their entire bodies. There are wires coming off of each limb, making it almost impossible to move without pulling on anything. They’re instructed to sit on the floor, facing one another while everything calibrates.
It’s uncomfortable, but not the worst thing he’s ever been through. Jason, who looks like it’s causing him actual pain to sit still, cannot seem to say the same thing.
“Okay, Jason, Tim, can you hear me?” Dr. Zhang asks over the loudspeakers.
“Loud and clear, doc,” Jason replies; Tim gives the barest of nods.
“I want you to look at the opening in the center of the room. It’s going to release a ball; I want you two to pass it back and forth for now with your magic. Nothing fancy, just go at your own pace.”
There’s another round of affirmatives. Through some unspoken agreement, Jason is the first to catch the ball when it shoots up into the air. He tosses it gently across the room, where Tim catches and returns it. They go back and forth for several minutes, while nurses fuss with the wires around their bodies until the machines are satisfied. The room empties once more, leaving just the two of them.
“Second ball,” Dr. Zhang warns.
There’s no hitch to their movement. Jason tosses one ball, while Tim tosses the other, over and over again.
“So about last night,” Jason eventually says.
Tim nearly fumbles the next catch. “Really?” He hisses. “You want to talk about this now?”
“No,” he grins, “I just wanted t’ see ya blush.”
He glares over at him. His next throw is particularly hard but Jason stops it before it can hit him in the face. “And here I thought ya liked my face.”
“I’m going to strangle you,” Tim threatens.
“Third ball,” Dr. Zhang says, before Jason can open his mouth. They adjust accordingly.
“Really, though, let me take ya t’ dinner after this.”
“As in, a date?”
“Yeah, exactly like that.”
“Fourth ball,” comes from the speaker.
Tim frowns over at Jason. His stomach is warm and tight with anticipation, but he can’t help but be suspicious. “I thought you were busy martyring yourself into staying away from me.”
“Yeah, well, it looks like stayin’ away might be bad for yer health.”
“And after this virus is over? What then, Jason? You can’t just decide we’re better off apart again. If we do this, I’m not going to just let you walk away.”
“What if I don’t want ya t’ let me walk away?”
They stare each other down. The toss of each ball is easy; unthinking. Jason’s magic kisses Tim’s own in the briefest of touches between each throw; it says stay-want-protect.
“...What restaurant?”
Jason breaks out into a brilliant grin. It’s not blinding, the way Dick Grayson’s is, but it’s enough to take Tim’s breath away all the same.
“Alright,” Dr. Zhang says, “you can put the balls back. I’m going to wheel in one of the puzzles.”
There’s another rush of activity. A metal structure is set before them, with two metal rods that run perpendicular to one another. She holds up a thin wire connected to two small light-up balls.
“You’re each going to take one end of this. You need to work together to bring the balls to the end of the course without touching the wire against the metal. If you don’t,” she lets the wires touch; the balls light up, “this will happen. Take your time, there’s no rush. Grab an end and I’ll let go when you’re ready.”
They both do so. She steps back out to the monitors.
“You go up,” Tim says, when they reach the first bend, “I’ll follow.”
They pivot the wire through the space, making sure to keep it taut so it doesn’t hit either metal sides. Jason seems comfortable letting him take the lead, which makes everything easier. They’re at the end of the maze in no time.
There are a few similar puzzles after that before she has them sit down again, much closer this time.
“I want the two of you to use your connection,” Dr. Zhang instructs. “Nothing crazy. Just work together to hold this ball steady in the air.”
It’s much harder than it looks. Jason’s magic is a pulsing, animal thing. It crowds Tim’s, making it difficult not to stumble or push back. The ball twists in the air, bobbing unsteadily.
“Relax,” Tim tells Jason, reaching out for his hand. Their palms press against one another, though it’s almost embarrassing how small Jason’s makes his own seem. “Try to let me in.”
“It’s not lettin’ ya in that's the problem,” Jason grumbles, so low he has to strain to hear it.
He decides to let it slide for now. He’s reaching out with his own magic the way he never has before. Normally there’s a wall between him and the rest of the world; maintained both so no one can detect his dynamic and so he can’t connect with anyone else. It doesn’t feel natural to let it down, but he does it regardless.
It takes a second for Jason’s magic to take notice. It’s so used to bumping up against his shield that it almost shies away before it can even touch where it used to be. It feels carefully at the empty space, crawling ever closer. Tim doesn’t snap his shield down, doesn’t push it away, even as it begins to crawl up his legs. He’s getting more impressions now, normal things like safe-warm-protect and a deeper, almost howling, let-me-in.
The lights flicker above them. Tim reaches back with hesitant-open-trust. He doesn’t want to be left alone again.
They tangle with one another. When Tim opens his eyes, he can see the ball floating above their hands, vibrating but otherwise still.
“Excellent,” comes breathed into the speakers. “You can stop when you like.”
Jason seems surprised when his eyes open, like he thought it was all a dream somehow. “I can feel you,” he says wonderingly.
Tim smiles softly. “I can feel you too.”
It hurts to let go, to not let the bond solidify completely. Something has broken down, though. Putting up his shield does not have the same effect. Now, Jason’s magic joins in, keeping the rest of the world out. Tim can even see a shadow of it encasing Jason as well. There is a tether between them, not quite formed but there all the same. He can feel it still.
There’s a rush of detaching wires and peeling off electrodes. The gel they used to help them stick is goopy and thick. There are showers they’re directed to, where he scrubs it all off as best he can. He emerges in his own clothes and waits for Jason to join him in Dr. Zhang’s office. He’s there shortly after, hair still damp.
“Good news,” she announces, as soon as they’re all settled, “it seems that the bond is helping. This is a picture of your nerves before you connected, and these are them after.”
Tim stares at the two pictures. The parts she’s circled look noticeably less bloated. He looks down at his hand and realizes it hasn’t hurt as much in Jason’s presence. There’s been no spread of the sickly purple lines, either.
“Of course, there are other avenues to explore if you don’t want to complete the connection. It’s entirely up to the both of you.”
Tim looks over at Jason, who seems lost in thought. “Can we think about it?”
“Of course. I’ll have the front desk schedule you for two weeks from now, if that sounds good?”
“That would be great, thank you.”
“Call me if you have any sudden symptoms, or concerns. I’ll be happy to have you in earlier, if need be.”
He shakes her hand and nods.
“So,” Jason prompts, when they’re back out on the street, “whatd’ya wanna eat?”
“Sushi,” Tim says. “Lots of sushi.”
“Sushi it is.”
He’s acting weird, Tim notes. He’s sticking close enough that Tim can feel his warmth; close enough that their arms brush with every step. He’s always taken the side closest to the road, which Tim figured was vigilante instinct, but now he’s even glaring down anyone that gets too close on the sidewalk. People already give Jason a wide berth, now it’s almost comical.
It makes Tim flustered. He doesn’t know what to do with this behavior. Is it because of the kiss or because of his prognosis? He hates not knowing.
He manages to keep his questions inside until they’re sat at a little booth in the back of a sushi and ramen restaurant, relatively alone.
“What’s going on with you?” He finally asks, somewhat suspiciously. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”
Jason blinks at him. “I’m always nice, asshole.”
Case in point.
“Not like this. I need to know if you’re just doing this out of a sense of—of pity.”
“Pity?” He echoes. “The fuck did ya get that idea?”
“Until you found out this virus could kill me, you were content to keep ignoring me. Now you’re following me across cities, kissing me, connecting with me and taking me out on a date?” Tim’s arms cross. “It doesn’t exactly look good, Jason.”
His shoulders are getting tense the way they do when he’s feeling particularly defensive; he’s a dog backed into a corner and it’s only a matter of time until he bites back. “Is it really so hard t’ believe that I might’ve already wanted t’ do those things?”
“Yes. It is.”
No one wants Tim, not for who he really is. People want him for what he can do for them, because he’s useful; because he has money; because he’s some pretty twink to hang off their arm. Not even his parents wanted him until he was old enough to start pulling his own weight in the company. He is wholly convinced that were he to walk away from DI now, his mother would never speak to him again. He only got this far because Bruce saw his test results and thought he could help Jason.
It is never just about Tim.
Jason must read some of this in his expression, because he goes from a dog snapping his teeth to showing a sliver of his throat. “Tim—”
“Are we ready to order?” Their server asks, cutting in at both the most and least opportune time. Tim resolves to add another hundred to her tip just for that.
“I’ll have the crunchy dragon roll, the eel and avocado, four pieces of unagi and the number 6 ramen with chicken.” He folds his hands and looks to Jason, who gives his own list and hands over his menu.
“That’ll be right out!”
“Tim,” Jason says again, once she’s gone, “you’ve been infuriatin’ since day one, the biggest fuckin’ pain in my ass and the most annoyingly persistant fuck I’ve ever met—”
“Thanks,” he says dryly.
“—but,” Jason continues, as if he hasn’t said a thing, “you never gave up on me. You have a cat that eats better than you; a clinic that takes care of the community most people have turned their back on; the driest and most fuckin’ morbid sense of humor; an insane amount of smarts and the ability to pick whoever ya want fer a bond. If anyone should be doubtin’ this whole thing, it should be me. And let me tell ya, I have.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Tim argues. “You’re kind and brave and you fight to help people. You have more heart than anyone else I’ve ever met and despite everything you’ve been through, you’re still here, trying to do good. You’re amazing, Jason.”
Tim doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jason look bashful before but there is no other word he can come up with for the look on his face.
“Well, fuck, princess, why can’t ya believe I think yer amazin’ too?”
He falls silent at that. It’s just not done, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t know how to explain just how much he lacks in comparison.
Jason reaches across the table to take his hands. “The virus gave me a kick in the ass but it’s not why I want ya. It just made me realize how stupid it was t’ leave.”
“You can’t do that again,” he whispers, “you can’t just—” His throat closes up. Abandon me. “We have to talk about things. No more secrets.”
“No more secrets,” Jason echoes. “So how do you feel about the bond?”
“I think it makes sense, logically. But that’s not what you’re asking.” He leans back in his seat and sighs. “I never pictured myself having a bond. My parents were pretty adamant that it remain a secret, so the idea of eventually getting to choose never really registered.”
“Until B fucked it all up?”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “I wouldn’t say he ‘fucked it all up’ exactly. I just never allowed myself to consider it. He wasn’t wrong, in the end. We are a good match. And I… like you.”
Jason’s grin is entirely too smug. “Yeah? Wanna pull each other’s pigtails and trade valentines on the playground?”
“Shut up,” he grumbles. “I’m trying to tell you that I wouldn’t mind bonding with you. Your teasing is not appreciated.”
“Not even a little?”
“Jason.”
“Alright, alright.” His thumbs run over Tim’s knuckles as his brow creases in thought. “I guess I was kinda the same. Didn’t think I was good for any familiar; didn’t think I needed one, either. The idea of it felt hopeless until you came along.”
“You are,” Tim says softly, “good, I mean. Your magic feels safe now.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He smiles hesitantly. “I wanna give this a shot, princess. Can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I think we can make it work. If you wanna.”
Tim searches his face for any trace of lie or deceit; he can’t find any. Jason’s magic says care-protect-safe when it reaches out for him.
“Okay,” Tim agrees. “Let’s try it. We can start doing more of the connection exercises and go from there.”
Jason squeezes his hands and lets go. “It’s a plan then.”
Tim tries to look at the rest of his time in Metropolis as a vacation. For him, who was practically raised a workaholic, it does not come easily. He can see it eating away at Jason, too, who takes what must be RH calls from the balcony where Tim can’t hear him.
They last exactly two days doing normal, touristy things, before Tim broaches the subject during lunch.
“You know,” he says, “we don’t technically have to stay here. We can do bonding exercises anywhere.”
Jason looks at him across the table and snorts. “Goin’ stir crazy too, huh?”
“Immensely.”
“Ya sure though? The doctors are here, it might be better to stay.”
“Jason, the addition to the Bowery clinic is almost done and I had to leave it in the hands of my mother. If I come back to find that she’s painted the walls white and filled it with pretentious art I’m going to lose it.”
Jason does a poor job of muffling his snicker. “Yeah, alright, I see yer point. So what’dya wanna do?”
“I’ll book us seats for tonight's train. We should be back in Gotham before midnight.”
He nods and shovels an eggroll into his mouth. “Alright, sounds like a plan. I’m in.”
Tim pulls out his phone to buy the tickets there and then. He feels remarkably more settled once the purchase has gone through. Metropolis is fine and all but there is something about Gotham that beckons. It's hard to stay away from her for too long. He felt that itch back when he was pulled from school to travel the world, learning control and how to hide himself away. He always knew he would come back.
"Have you told Bruce about what's happening?"
"Nah." Jason scoffs. "I think Dickie got on his ass, since he hasn't been harrassin' me fer answers. That or yer mom got ta 'im."
"She did say she wanted to talk to him," he admits. "I kind of wish I'd been able to watch."
"There'll be more opportunities, I'm sure. Especially with the bond."
He hums an assent around the last of his lo mein. It's becoming second nature to stiffle any lingering traces of Jason's magic when they get up. It helps that ever since they connected in the lab, his bleed seems to cling to Tim instead of their surroundings.
They walk hand in hand back to the hotel. Tim finds the fact that it makes his nerves jump like he's being electrocuted frankly ridiculous. He shouldn't be so affected by Jason's touch but he's touch starved at best and has no real hope of any defense.
They've been taking it slow since their late night kiss and the bonding agreement but Tim catches Jason looking at him sometimes, in a way that sets his belly on fire. It's only a matter of time before the tension snaps.
If he has his way, there won't be any secrets left between them when it happens.
Their things are already mostly packed since they're both used to being on the move. They end up splayed out on the bed while they wait, watching a rerun of Metropolis Housewives. It's remarkably tame in comparison to Gotham's. Tim finds himself drifting in and out with his head on Jason's chest until they have to leave for the station.
It's not as busy at night; though the foot traffic is much the same, everyone is tired and just looking to get to their destination. They get on and take their seats in business class without issue.
The ride into Gotham is around two hours. They're half way there, in the middle of Jason telling him a ridiculous story about the time Damian tried to bring a family of raccoons into the manor, when the train behind them explodes.
The force of it sends Tim flying forward into the seat in front of him. He manages to protect his face with his arms as the cabin jerks, sending luggage and people tumbling to the floor. The metal of the track screams as the wheels derail, sending them sliding sideways down the tunnel. There's a shudder when they slam into the concrete wall and a lurch when they come to an abrupt stop.
There’s screaming in his ears as he staggers upright. Above, the lights flicker madly, plunging them in and out of complete darkness. He can vaguely see someone try to open the cabin door furthest from the explosion but it’s jammed.
“Gas!” Someone shouts.
Immediately, the gothamites riding the train begin pulling out their masks. The few tourists aboard look shellshocked. A couple people start showing them where the emergency masks are located under their seats; a necessary mandate that started back when Scarecrow thought it would be fun to gas every train coming in and out of Gotham.
Jason’s hands are at the back of his head, tightening Tim’s straps with brutal efficiency. He’s feeling for any breaks in the seal when Tim swats him away.
“I’m fine,” he insists. “Are you?”
Glass shatters somewhere behind them as canisters of gas are thrown into the train car. There’s more screaming; those that haven’t gotten their masks on properly start shrieking with laughter, sending a chill down his spine.
Fear gas is one thing. Joker Venom is another.
In the tunnels, there’s no service, no way to call for help. His phone is useless.
Jason reaches above them to yank his bag out of the overhand before putting a hand on Tim’s back to push him down. They crouch there as Jason rummages in his bag. There’s more shattering glass, more screams. Tim holds his arms over his head to protect his face from any projectiles.
It’s getting hard to see through all the smoke. Jason pulls out a familiar shape and Tim’s mouth drops open.
“You brought a gun on the train?” As soon as the words are out, Tim shakes his head. Of course he did. There’s no way Jason would go around unarmed.
“Rubber bullets,” Jason explains, as he double checks the clip. “Won’t set off any incendiaries but’ll still work in a pinch. You know how t’ use one?”
“Yes,” he admits, “but it’s been a while.”
Jason pushes a second gun into his hands. Fracking hell, he’s holding one of Hood’s famous pistols. Tim can see the red and black decals, even through the smoke.
He shoves a handful of something into Tim’s jacket pocket. “Smoke pellets,” he explains. “Just in case.”
There’s a loud crash from the front of the car. Jason’s body jerks in that direction, like a bloodhound on the scent. There’s the sound of boots crunching over glass. Someone is sobbing nearby, while a chorus of shrieking laughter joins the train alarm.
“Stay down,” Jason hisses, as if Tim could squeeze past his bulk in the first place.
“Round ‘em up!” Someone shouts.
There’s more screaming. Tim can vaguely hear what must be bodies being dragged out of the car. Several dark shapes begin to make their way closer, shining lights through the smoke. Jason tenses beside him, muscles coiled up into contained violence.
Tim barely breathes as the seconds tick on.
“Hey,” one of the strangers starts to say, as their lights catch on the seat beside them.
Jason leaps into action. There’s a startled shout, the sound of cracking bone and the thud of bodies hitting the ground. Then Jason is back, hauling Tim to his feet and shoving him in the opposite direction of where all the voices are.
“Go,” he hisses. “Stay low and try to keep quiet.”
Tim goes without protest, falling back into the training that was drilled into his muscle memory as a child. He feels guilty about leaving behind the people still cowering in the shadows, but he can’t do anything to help them if he’s captured too.
They reach the other end of the car, where more of the damage is. The door is stuck. The entire left side of the next car is caved in. Jason hands his gun to Tim and starts pushing.
Tim’s mouth opens to tell him that there’s no way he can brute force it when the metal starts to groan. He’s left gaping as Jason pulls it open, inch by inch. It’s noisy though, and there are shouts from the other end of the car as the men Jason took out are found.
“Go,” Jason grits out, when the door is open wide enough for Tim to fit through. Tim; singular. There’s no way Jason’s bulk can follow.
“I’m not leaving you!” He protests.
“I’ll be right behind ya, just get t’ the other side!”
There are dark shapes moving behind them. Tim lifts his arm and starts shooting. “We go through together,” he snaps.
A string of curses answers him, but the groan of warping metal continues.
There’s more shouting as Tim’s shots aim true. Someone throws another canister of gas; this one spills out smoke so thick he can’t see. He fires wildly into the dark of it, hoping that he’s not hitting civilians in the process. A hand grabs him from behind and yanks him backwards into the open door.
“Come on!” Jason hisses.
They half crawl, half run out of the gap in the cars. Their feet thump down onto the rail below. In front of them, the train is mangled. Its body was thrown sideways in the explosion, blocking the entire way back. The only way to go is towards the voices of what Tim assumes to be Joker goons.
Jason swears under his breath.
They inch around the side of the car they just came from, avoiding bits of glass and jagged metal as they go. There should be a maintenance tunnel nearby, but that may be where the attack came from in the first place. Tim thinks back desperately to what he knows of the underground blueprints. They’re on the outskirts of Gotham, passing through Burnside and into Gotham proper. There aren’t any immediate stations nearby and the next train won’t be through for another hour at least. If they can get to the maintenance tunnel, there should be an emergency line, but it’s probably crawling with enemies.
“Jason,” Tim whispers, “we’ve got to get to the maintenance tunnel to call for help.”
“I know,” he whispers back. “We’re gonna move low and quiet like, ‘kay? Stay close. I’m gonna getcha outta this.”
Tim curls a hand into the back of Jason’s jacket. There are a lot of things he wants to say. Things like, I trust you, I know you’ll do your best; like you were Robin, you’re still Robin, and Robin is magic; like please make it through this, there’s so much I have to tell you still.
He nods; they move.
The darkness of the tunnel does them favors as they creep down the side of the railway, closest to the wall. Tim can just barely see a group of people huddled together on the ground, surrounded by goons with guns. They seem to want hostages but he gets the feeling that they’ll shoot over asking questions if they catch them escaping.
“The boss wants ‘em ready for transport,” one of them yells, face covered in a crude smiling mask. “Tie thems and get thems in the truck!”
Where could they be taking them? Tim wonders. They’re far from Amusement Mile, which is the Joker’s usual haunting grounds. He hadn’t even known that the Joker was out of Arkham to begin with, which brought up a new host of problems. Had anyone even noticed that he was out?
“I’m goin’ to distract ‘em,” Jason tells him. “If they see you, run. Get t’ the emergency line and don’t look back.”
Tim wants to protest, but he knows it’s their best shot.
He nods.
Jason slips off into the shadows and starts making noise.
He scurries through the shadows as fast as he can; climbs up the ladder on the side of the tunnel and bolts for the maintenance tunnel, where a blinking red light directs him to the phone.
There are shouts from behind him and the sound of a scuffle. Tim forces himself not to look back and dials the emergency number. It rings for long, painful moments. His pulse is so loud in his ears he can barely hear it when someone picks up.
The click of it is painfully similar to the sound of a safety being switched off, he realizes, as the muzzle of a gun is pressed to the back of his head.
“Well, well, well,” the Joker croons, “lookit what we have here. Someone trying to play hero, huh?”
Tim drops the phone and slowly raises his hands. He hopes they can hear what’s going on. He hopes that they’re at least sending help.
“Walk,” he demands, shoving Tim forward. He walks.
The view of the tunnel is a sickening one. Jason is restrained, arms twisted painfully behind his back as several guns are pointed his way. He’s bleeding from the face and his gun is missing.
“You missed one,” Joker says, almost boredly. That might just be more terrifying than if he’d laughed.
Tim isn’t given a warning for the next shove. One moment he’s standing at the edge of the platform and the next he’s falling through the air. His training lets him roll with the momentum, but it doesn’t save him from the contact of the metal railway. Something in his arm snaps as he comes to a stop a few feet away from the rest of the hostages.
He’s given mere seconds to try to meet Jason’s eyes before someone kicks him in the head and the world goes dark.
He wakes slowly, painfully. There’s a slickness on his forehead, a wet spread of what he doesn’t yet register as blood. He can hear the quiet moans of others in the distance, as well as the horrifying laughter that comes with inhaling Joker gas. He opens his eyes slowly to find that they’ve been moved into a building of some kind. He sees Jason next to him, devoid of his jacket.
He reaches out with his magic, feeling over Jason’s body. Jason’s magic stirs in recognition, pressing reassurance back. He’s bleeding from a few cuts and scrapes but he seems otherwise fine. What isn’t fine is the fact that both their masks have been taken off.
“Jay?” He whispers as he squirms closer. His arm throbs and his hand feels like it’s on fire. His head isn’t much better; he’s pretty sure he has a concussion.
Jason groans a response. His eyes open slowly, catching Tim’s gaze with little slivers of green. He blinks a few times before snapping into alertness. “You okay?”
“My arm’s broken and my head is hazy but that’s it. You?”
“Think the fuckers broke my nose,” he scowls. His arms flex as he tests his bonds. “Listen, I’ve got a knife in my boot.”
“Already ahead of you.” Tim cuts through his zip ties with the knife Shiva gave him. It’s always tucked somewhere on his person, no matter what. He’s glad for it now.
They’re both loose in no time. Jason sits up to feel around his nose with a grimace. His eyes sweep around, taking in their surroundings. “Didya get that call out?”
“It connected but I couldn’t say anything. I’m hoping they heard the Joker and got the memo.”
“Great.” Jason sighs. “There’s a beacon in my shoe, it should be transmittin’ an SOS.”
Tim isn’t sure if Jason has given up entirely on leaving him in the dark or not, but he’s certainly doing a poor job of hiding his secret identity if he hasn’t.
“Your guns looked familiar,” he tries.
“Yeah?” Jason frowns at the locked door. There’s not much they can do other than wait. There are armed men everywhere and additional hostages. Attacking now would be a bad move.
“Are you a fan or something?”
“What’re you talkin’ about?”
“It’s just, I’ve had a few conversations with him, about the clinic and all. I’ve seen them before.”
“Still don’t know what yer gettin’ at.”
Tim watches him for a few long moments. Jason is distracted, feeling over their surroundings for any potential weapons or weaknesses in the walls.
“Hood.”
“Yeah?” He says, almost on autopilot. Tim can see the moment he realizes what he’s done, though he does a remarkable job of recovering. There’s the barest tensing, the briefest pauses.
“Jason,” Tim sighs, “I know.”
“Know what?”
“Jason.” He waits until Jason finally turns to meet his eyes. He gives him a meaningful look. “I know.”
They’re interrupted before they can continue. The door swings open, letting in four goons and the Joker himself.
“Ohh, couple’a escape artists, huh?” He grins. “Leaving before the punchline isn’t funny at all. I hate party poopers.”
Two goons grab at Tim, jarring a cry of pain when it moves his broken arm. Jason snarls, yanking hard against his own restrainers.
“You two changed this whole operation, you know,” he says casually, as he turns to walk back down the stairs. The two of them are forced to follow. “I wasn’t planning on bagging celebrities but sometimes the punchline just comes to you.”
He gestures to two chairs set up under a spotlight, facing the distant huddle of hostages. They’re both forced down into one and restrained once more. There’s a camera set up, ready to go. None of it bodes well.
“You two are going to be my main attraction!” He cackles as he messes with the camera. The red light blinks on as it begins recording. “A Wayne and a Drake walk onto a train. The train says BOOM and now they’re here with Uncle Jay. What comes next, I wonder?”
He makes a show of pointing his gun first at Jason and then at Tim.
“For every half hour that passes, I’ll shoot two hostages. In the meantime, I think I’ll see who can scream the loudest.” He bows to the camera. “Don’t keep me waiting!”
Tim holds still as he approaches. He’s terrifying up close, all sallow skin and yellowing teeth. His breath is rank as he leans in close to drag the muzzle of his gun down over Tim’s face.
“The little ones always break so fast.” Joker sighs. “Maybe I should get the boring one over with.”
“Hey!” Jason shouts. “Leave ‘im alone, ya fuckin’ freak! If ya want a show, I’ll give ya one.”
The Joker straightens slowly. “Hm, you sound familiar, do I know you?” He turns around abnormally fast. A knife emerges from his pocket as he closes the distance to plunge it down into Jason’s thigh. “Scream for me so I can see.”
Tim shouts; Jason lets out a strangled grunt. He’s glaring the Joker down, eyes almost glowing. Joker twists the knife thoughtfully.
“Something about those eyes…”
“What do you want?” Tim asks desperately. “Money? The ransom won’t go through if you kill him.”
“I’m thinking,” he snaps. “Wait your turn.”
Someone grabs his hair from behind. A rag presses against his lips; Tim clenches his jaw against it. Fingers dig into the bones of his face, until he’s forced to open his mouth; he yanks against his bonds as the rag is tied tight behind his head in a mockery of a bridle.
He reaches out desperately for Jason with his magic, coiling around his body in an attempt to protect and soothe. The Joker’s own magic is a sickness, leaking across the room and bubbling like rot. It’s a putrid purple, clinging to everything it touches like oil. Everything in Tim screams danger. This is a mage too lost to help.
There are more words, more twists of the knife. Tim’s entire focus is on the magic creeping up Jason’s legs; he stomps it out best he can with a half formed bond. The Joker’s head swings his way, as soon as he touches it.
“Oh,” he breathes, with a manic look of delight. “Little Drake has got a secret, huh?” He leaves Jason with the knife still in his leg to stalk back over to Tim. “An unbonded familiar. My favorite.”
Cold hands lift to claw at either side of Tim’s face. Jagged nails prick into his cheeks as that nightmare face bends closer, filling up the entirety of his vision. Tim’s breathing comes faster, despite his best attempts. He knows what’s about to happen. He’s heard stories, even seen some of the aftermath. He was brought on to a case with a familiar who had a run in with the Joker. She was losing control and needed a bond to stabilize her but the day he was supposed to meet her she killed herself.
Harley Quinn was changed by the Joker, taken from a life of normalcy and warped into who she is today. She’s doing better, now that she’s with Ivy, but everyone has seen the way he’s eaten at her mind throughout the years.
And now Tim is facing down the reality of it himself.
Jason shouts in the background but all Tim can see is the crazed expanse of green that makes up the Joker’s gaze. It’s nothing like Jason’s. These eyes are bloodshot, pupils narrowed down to pin pricks.
Memorize yourself, Shiva once said, so none may replace who you are. There is no need for fear if you are sure of where your anchor is.
Tim can admit that in this moment, he is very afraid.
“Knock knock, sonny boy,” Joker laughs, “time to play!”
Chapter 4: pulling me from fatal voices that kept my soul bleeding
Notes:
title from kiss me with your eyes by Morgan Clae, also on the playlist
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tim is screaming. Jason might be screaming too.
Half formed as their bond is, he can see Tim’s shields; has a front row seat to the spider webbing cracks of purple in it, even. Tim is the strongest familiar Jason knows and even he can’t stand up against the Joker; not alone.
He curses himself for not bonding him when he could. Jason has had weeks to claim Tim and he’s been stupidly putting it off due to his own cowardice. He wanted to do things right. Wanted to bring Tim into the fold as soon as they got back to Gotham; to lay out his secrets so Tim could decide if he truly wanted all of him. He’d promised that there would be no more lies and he had meant it.
Not that it had mattered. Not if Tim’s comment about knowing had anything to say about it.
How long has he known? Why didn’t he say anything sooner? He’s not going to get to ask these questions if he doesn’t figure out a way to get out of this mess.
He yanks at his bindings, rocking back on the chair to test the strength of it. It’s old metal; he can probably get through it if he heats it enough to warp. It’ll hurt like a bitch but he’s past worrying about that now. Tim needs him.
Everyone’s eyes are on the pair of them; no one is paying any attention to Jason anymore. He concentrates his magic around his wrists and ankles and thinks burn. He’s almost out when the lights flicker. He grits his teeth and yanks against the chair; it’s about fucking time Bruce got here.
He breaks free and immediately takes a swing at the nearest goon with the remnants of the sizzling chair. Despite his desire to yank Tim away immediately, there are guns he needs to get out of the wrong hands.
Goon number one goes down like a sack of bricks. Goon number two rushes over and gets his head bashed in with his own gun. Three and four get a bullet in the kneecaps. Five gets smacked with the butt of the knife he yanks out of his own thigh. Glass shatters somewhere in the distance as two dark shapes land in the warehouse. Jason lets them take on the rest while he rushes towards the Joker.
He’s cackling madly, eyes rolled back in his head as he drowns Tim in sickly magic. Tim is bleeding from where he’s thrashed against the hands on his face, tears cutting lines through the red smeared into his skin.
Jason hits the Joker like a freight train. They go sailing past Tim with the momentum, hitting the ground with a hard thud that does nothing to stop Jason from getting a fist in the Joker’s collar and smashing his face in with the other. The Joker goes limp, laughter dying off abruptly.
He scrambles back over to Tim, whose eyes are flickering about the room but seeing nothing. He gets the gag off, breaks the bonds and has Tim cradled in his arms in moments.
“Tim,” he breathes, “come on, princess, look at me.”
He cups the back of Tim’s head, thumbing away the tears still streaking down his face. He’s letting out broken, animal sounds that tear at Jason’s heartstrings.
Jason knows the statistics of familiars that fall prey to the Joker. He’s seen the aftermath, seen how rarely any of them come back. For Tim, who is so sensitive to magic, Jason can only imagine how hurt he is right now.
He reaches out with his magic consciously, attempting to soothe invisible hurts. Tim flinches bodily at first, before he seems to recognize who it’s coming from and latches close with his uninjured arm. Jason catches his hand in his own only to frown at how cold it feels.
He leans back to look at it and sees purple veins covering the entire surface, bleeding almost black into Tim’s normally pale skin. He hurries to get Tim out of his jacket, where he can see the marks have gone all the way up to his shoulder. They continue to creep up onto Tim’s neck as he watches.
“Tim,” he says urgently, “can you hear me?”
Tim’s head rolls on his shoulders. He blinks dazedly. “J’sn?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” He runs a hand down Tim’s back. “Listen, I need ya t’ do somethin’ fer me, okay? Can you do that?”
There’s an unsteady nod.
He squeezes Tim’s infected hand and gives a crooked smile. “I need ya t’ complete the bond with me. Jus’ reach out an’ I’ll do the rest.”
Tim’s bottom lip trembles. He looks scared but who wouldn’t be after having their mind fucked by the Joker?
“I gotchu,” he promises, “not gonna let anythin’ bad happen again.”
“J’sn,” Tim cries, clutching at his hand with what little strength remains. And then, breaking his heart even further: “R’bn.”
“That’s right, princess, I’m right here. Ya jus’ gotta reach out, ‘kay?”
Tim shivers violently. His shields drop, magic reaching out more hesitantly than he ever has. Jason reaches back with warmth-safety-promise.
“There ya are,” he murmurs, ushering Tim in, “I gotchu, yer alright.”
The bond snaps into place almost anticlimactically. One moment he is reaching and the next he is whole. He can feel Tim like never before; can see his own magic like a living, breathing thing as it circles around his familiar to help mend his shields. He’s no longer aware of the fight going on around them, or the danger they’re still in.
“Tim,” he whispers.
Tim, who is lost at sea. No ship, no land in sight. Just a roiling mass of purple below him as he struggles to remain afloat. He sees faces in the waves. Hears laughter and voices every time his head goes under.
He is the Joker—no, he is Tim—no, the Joker—no, Tim—
There is a goal. Something he is fighting for. Does it rest in gentle hands and a coaxing voice? Does it wear a caring face and soft green eyes? Does it ask to be let in when doing so will surely mean falling apart?
A trick, just like the others bashing at his shields. Nightmare promises of a future where he is unmade.
But he is so tired. And the voice is so familiar.
He cannot give in. He has to remember his anchor—but he has no ship. He is lost. He is laughter. He is hurt. He is—
Jason’s.
He latches onto the brush of familiar magic and lets himself drown. It is safety-warmth-protection. It is death-resurrection-life. He is found.
“Jason,” Tim whispers, as his eyes finally start to focus on the now. He looks up at his mage, marveling at the bond thrumming strong between them. “I—”
Laughter: not in his head this time. He looks over Jason’s shoulder to stare at the body beginning to stagger upright. The Joker’s face is bloody. He’s bleeding from the head, teeth stained crimson as he smiles.
“That’s, ha HA, where I know ya from,” he cackles, “little broken bird, all grown up. Should we revisit the age-old question?” Something materializes in his hand, long and noticeably missing a chip at the end. “Forehand or backhand?”
Oh.
Tim gets a rush of dual memories. Of a warehouse and a crowbar and the pain of a broken body.
He won’t stand for this.
Jason’s arms are tight around him. He’s saying something but Tim can’t hear him. There are dark shapes moving in his peripherals but nothing is more important than the nightmare made manifest before him.
Tim has never had the stability of a bond to try to change himself before but he finds it remarkably easy now. He tugs Jason’s magic close and yanks at his own frame, unmaking and remaking his body all at once. He is on the Joker in three great bounds, teeth bared. He doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left. Until viscera paints the walls and hardly a shape remains at all.
There’s shouting when he turns to see Jason facing off against a shadow. Tim shrinks as he lopes over, becoming small and feline as he climbs up onto Jason’s shoulder. He hisses softly at Batman, who frowns and shakes his head.
“I’m takin’ ‘im t’ the cave,” Jason announces, “I want Alfred t’ check ‘im out. Don’t try t’ stop me, old man.”
“He just killed someone.”
“He killed a monster who attacked him first.” He scowls fiercely. “Now get the fuck outta my way.”
Nightwing steps forward to put a hand on Batman’s arm. “We can talk about this later. The hostages still need to be dealt with and Gordon is on his way.”
Batman gives a small, reluctant nod. It’s all Jason needs to stomp off.
Tim huddles close as they break out of the warehouse. He shivers, ears twitching wildly as snippets of purple leak into the world. He is aching with violation. He feels rung out and drained; he isn’t sure he has the capacity to turn back—or if he even wants to in the first place.
Things feel simple, as an animal. He is free to curl up against Jason’s neck and let him take care of the rest. Jason can get them home. Jason won’t let anyone touch him.
The journey to the Cave is a blur. Jason keeps up a low murmur throughout it all, which helps to distract from remnants of a mind not his own. There are concerned voices, a flash of Alfred and a bed he’s laid out on for some scans. He goes right back into Jason’s arms when it’s done, shivering like the world has lost all warmth. There’s more voices, a shift in scenery and then he’s laid down on a bed, encased in Jason’s arms.
Sleep does not come easy, but it does, eventually, come.
He rests.
Jason thinks he’s doing a fairly poor job as a bonded mage, all things considered.
He let Tim be hurt, first by pulling out the artifact shard and then by being tortured by the Joker. He is the reason Tim has almost died at least twice now, all in the span of several weeks. Tim is haunted because of him. He is stuck in an in-between state because of him.
He keeps seeing nightmare images behind his eyes. Reports of familiars that have crossed paths with the Joker, driven mad and most often to suicide. None of them had bonds to help anchor them but Jason isn’t sure that he’s much help.
Tim clings the way he’s never done in human form. He is distressed if he cannot see Jason and only seems to calm if their skin is in contact. Alfred and Leslie both say that it is a defense mechanism. Jason is safety. Being so close to his magic should help Tim since he is still repairing his shields.
He can feel how lost Tim is through their bond. Jason isn’t sure if he even registers what has happened or what he’s doing. He’s so used to Tim snarking at him that it’s surreal to be without his voice.
Janet calls Tim in sick to the clinic and agrees to continue to cover temporarily. Jason texts Ives and Bernard when Tim’s phone continues to blow up with notifications, letting them know that Tim is recovering and currently unable to talk. That devolves into a phone call where Jason finds himself being threatened by civilians if he doesn’t show proof of life. A selfie with Tim-the-cat quells some of the suspicion and Ives promises to watch Felicity until Tim is recovered.
He reads all he can on familiars and what happens if they get stuck in a transformation. Most people say you have to wait and let it run its course. The few stories of some never changing back do not make him feel better about any of it.
Tim is nebulous most days. While he so often uses the form of a cat to stay close, it is not all he shapes himself to be. The giant beast that had torn apart the Joker surfaces occasionally around Bruce, when Jason gets particularly upset. There are birds; a snake; what he thinks is a wolf or else a particularly large dog; even a raccoon on one occasion. Jason would find it all very entertaining if the underlying cause didn’t mean Tim was suffering.
He lasts a week playing it safe, hiding away in the manor with Tim, before he starts going stir crazy. He doesn't think Tim is all that pleased about their surroundings, either. He paces back and forth when he can stand to be away from Jason, like an animal in a cage.
"We're goin' out," Jason announces for Alfred's benefit only. The others are either sleeping off patrol or already at school, in Damian's case.
"Take this with you," Alfred says, pushing a lunchbox into his hands. Tim peers over Jason's shoulder to sniff curiously at it. "And be sure to alert me should anything unusual happen."
"Will do. Thanks, Alfie."
His bike is in the cave. Since being brought back to the manor, Tim has never once seemed surprised about the secret below, though Jason has been putting off that official talk for when he's verbal again.
He puts the lunchbox in one of his saddlebags and shrugs on his leather jacket. "I don't gotta helmet that'll fit ya, so hold on tight."
Tim curls around his neck as a snake, head just barely peeking out from Jason's collar. It'll have to be good enough.
He pulls his helmet on and welcomes the familiar purr of his bike's engine. He roars out of the Cave and winds through the tunnels leading out into Gotham. It feels nice to be able to feel the wind again. He finds himself heading towards his turf on auto pilot.
Tim hisses and constricts around his throat when they near the clinic. It's the most input he's given in where he wants to go, so Jason turns into the parking lot without arguing. The addition is almost done from what he can tell. All the construction equipment is gone and the outside looks freshly painted. Jason heads around the back to slip inside.
The air smells like fresh wood and drying paint. The walls have all been redone and the windows have been replaced with reinforced glass. There's no creak when Jason steps; no sign that this building was dilapidated before this.
There's tiled floor and rooms that are still being filled with different kinds of furniture. Tim hisses at the sterile looking white walls, tugging a chuckle out of Jason's chest.
"You can fix the walls once ya can walk on two legs again."
Tim hits the ground on two legs; he stares up with judging, raccoon eyes.
"Ya know that's not what I meant."
He huffs and slinks forward as a cat to inspect the floor.
He seems more energetic today, which is good. None of the scans of Tim's nerves have seemed all that promising. They—'they' being Leslie and Babs in this case—hypothesized that Tim might be sticking to animal form because of this, but it's impossible to know for sure. The healing human body is tricky enough on its own; throw magic into the mix and you're adding even more chaos.
J'onn looked at the artifact echo when Bruce first brought it to him. He reported an insidious amalgamation of magic and memory inside that had made Jason sick to hear about. Tim's nightmares made sense. He must've been dealing with echoes of the Joker even before his mind was ravaged.
Alone.
Because Jason had left him that way, up until Dick texted him photos of Tim's hand and told him to book his ass to the clinic. Tim probably wouldn't have told him about any of it if it weren't for Dick. If Jason hadn't weasled his way into coming to Metropolis with him, who knows where Tim would be right now or if he would have ever told Jason about the possibility of the bond healing him.
He's aware now, of some of Tim's abandonment issues. He hadn't fully comprehended just how much he'd hurt Tim in walking away until recently. It hurts whenever Tim lifts his head to seek out Jason, as if he might vanish if he takes his eyes off of him for too long. The bond is strong between them, like a tether, but even that doesn't seem fully capable of telling Tim he's here to stay.
Jason is stubborn, though. Some might even say too stubborn. He'll convince him eventually.
Tim takes to flight and flies back to his shoulder. Below them, there is the sound of voices and footsteps. Time to go then.
"I need to check on something," he tells him, when they've hit the streets once more. "It could be dangerous."
Tim nips at the shell of his ear, as if to say don't even think about leaving me behind.
He takes his bike further into Park Row and stashes it in a side alley. If anyone tries to touch it they'll be in for a nasty shock.
He scales the fire escape above to jump the few roofs over to one of his safe houses. It takes him a minute or so to disarm the security on the window before he ducks inside. It's been a while since he's been here and it shows in the growing dust. He prowls deeper into the small space to pull his stash out of the kitchen wall.
"Mi casa es su casa," he says absentmindedly.
Tim drops to the floor on four legs to inspect the place. He scampers about, nose lowered to the ground as he sniffs at piles of weapons and the remnants of scrubbed out blood stains.
Jason starts stripping. He gets the lower half of his body armor on before he becomes aware of Tim's eyes. He looks over to see him staring at the vast scarring on Jason's chest. A whine rises in Tim's throat.
"Comes with the territory." He bends to ruffle Tim's ears. "Besides, haven't kicked it again yet."
Tim nips at his fingers.
Jason straightens to pull the rest of his underarmor on. Unlike Dick, who wears the thinest of layers between him and the world, Jason has plenty to help protect him from most hits—or gun shots. He pauses at his holsters and glances back at his familiar, who has taken up residence on the lumpy couch.
"We haven't talked about this," he says hesitantly, "an' I've been hopin' t' do it when you can actually talk back."
Tim fixes him with a look that screams what are you on about now?
"We talked about the rogues before, an' ya didn't seem fazed by the killin'. But it's different, seein' it up close. Are ya sure ya wanna come?"
It's a stupid question, all things considered. Tim killed the Joker and has yet to show any signs of agitation over the fact. Jason can practically hear Tim telling him that he's not going anywhere.
In fact, it feels so visceral that it takes him a second to realize that it's not just in his head. He's getting imprints of thoughts, feelings. Nothing concrete but enough to go off of to guess what Tim is trying to say.
"I can understand you," Jason breathes.
Tim looks rather pleased. There's a sensation of finally as he slinks closer to climb up onto Jason's shoulder.
"I don't have armor for you, if yer gonna come with me ya gotta stay small."
There's a soft huff. Tim shrinks, slinking under the collar of his jacket to hide where no one can see him. Happy?
Jason puts the hood on. "Immensely."
He takes to the streets. The Alley is never left truly undefended when he's gone, but seeing him around helps keep the worst offenders in line. People who might think they're safe since they haven't seen him in a while; people who think his rules are only suggestions. As if the dufflebag full of heads he initially opened up with was just fantasy.
He checks in with the working boys and girls first. They've got the lay of the land and chances are, if something is going down, they know about it. Besides, everyone knows he has a soft spot for them. He was almost one of them once, before Bruce uprooted his entire life, and his mom was one of their ranks. His real mom. The one who did her best to raise him despite the world being against her. The one who he likes to think would never sell him out to the Joker the way Sheila did.
He stops to grab a large bag of breakfast sandwiches and hot drinks. People in the Alley are wary of free food, considering just how often the rogues use them as test subjects, but he's a trusted source. No one thinks twice about taking anything from him anymore. They know what he does to people who drug food.
"Hey, handsome," Daisy, one of the older girls greets, "was startin' ta think ya forgot 'bout us."
"Who, me? Never." He pulls a drink from the cardboard carton he's got balanced in one hand and holds it out with a dramatic bow. "Your drink, my lady."
The others start to circle in as soon as they hear his voice and smell free food.
"Hood? Thought you's was outta town."
"Just got back." He hands Sugar, one of the younger girls, a sandwich—bacon and eggs with no cheese, just how she likes it. "Anyone causin' trouble?"
"There was a creep circlin' round some'a the younger boys but Marcus sent 'im runnin'."
"Did he now? Any sign of 'im since?"
Ginger scoffs. She's got tall fuck-off heels on and ripped fishnets that make him push a hot drink her way in an effort to warm her up. "Fucker was lucky he could limp away after they was done with him." She takes a long drag of her cigarette and downs some hot chocolate. "Everyone else been behavin'."
Jason opens his mouth only to be interrupted by a squeal.
"Is that a ferret?" Sugar coos in the direction of his jacket collar. "What a cutie. Is he your new mascot?"
Tim's head pokes further out of Jason's jacket. There's amusement coming from him as he sniffs at Sugar's hand before reaching out a tiny clawed one of his own to wrap around her finger.
"That's Tim," Hood sighs. "Found 'im and haven't been able to let 'im go since."
"Can I hold him?"
He looks down at Tim, who looks back. Jason gives a shrug; it's up to Tim if he wants to be manhandled. He won't stop him.
Slowly, Tim crawls onto Sugar's outstretched hand. She's quick to cuddle him to her chest, drink handed off to Ginger to hold him with both hands.
"He's so soft," she marvels. "I used t' go to the shelter with my brother to play with the ferrets there. They need a lot 'a care, you know?"
"He's spoiled rotten," Hood assures her. "Fucker barely walks anywhere these days."
"Really thought you'd be more of a dog guy," Ginger muses, as she leans in over Sugar's shoulder, "not very ferocious is he?"
Tim grows to let out a rattling hiss. Ginger rears back from his teeth while Sugar gasps at the sudden armful of rather large cat.
"Oh," Daisy says. "Is that—?"
Tim jumps out of Sugar's arms and into Jason's. His claws dig into his armor, keeping him steady as he sits on his favorite perch: Jason's shoulder.
"You bonded?" Ginger squints at Tim. "It's about time someone locked ya down. Was startin' ta think we'd have t' step in."
"You doubted my wooing skills?" He holds a hand to his chest. "I'm hurt."
Tim lets out a skeptical sounding meow.
Ginger barks out a laugh.
"I think it's great!" Sugar enthuses. "You should bring him 'round sometime, so we can meet properly."
"And let ya chase 'im off? I don't think so." He shoots his grapnel at the next building over and starts to tighten the line. Tim takes to the sky as soon as he's airborne, wings working to keep them side by side. There are a couple cat calls from the girls below before they're swallowed by the shadows and out of sight.
"They're never gonna stop askin' about ya now," Jason tells him.
Tim thrums with hesitant-pleased-satisfied.
"You know," he says carefully, "it's dangerous to be associated with the Red Hood."
I know.
"You could be targeted."
Already have.
He winces; Tim ducks down to peck gently at the top of the hood.
Targeted as Drake. Part of life. Like part of being Wayne. Boy hostage.
Just because he knows that doesn't mean he likes it. But he knows he can't be like Bruce. He can't suffocate Tim under paranoia. He can't try to make Tim smaller, he can't forget that he's talking to the same person that put him on his ass before they were even bonded; the one who not only survived the Joker but killed him to protect them both.
For so long, the Joker was Jason's boogeyman, in more ways than one. Before Tim, no one noticed the artifact shard in him. No one was crazy enough to challenge him to a fight and then yank it out without even knowing what they were facing, either. He's knocked familiars out before just trying to establish a connection and Tim has never once flinched away from him for that. He had full access to his file, has probably read pages upon pages of people complaining about Jason. And yet, he's never so much as looked down on him for it.
Jason owes him a lot of things. The least he can do is respect his decision in this.
"We'll talk later about fail-safes. For now, we're heading over to see Marcus and Rochelle. They're my right hand man and woman. Marcus takes care of the working girls and boys and the health drives while Rochelle runs the drugs and safe use houses."
Tim gives an interested chirp.
"I can introduce ya officially, once yer human again," Jason offers. "I can practically hear ya plottin' how t' pick their brains."
Yes!
There's a loop of excited-curious-pleased returned by amused-fond-affection. Tim trills, feathers fluffing as he lands on Jason's shoulder just as his feet find the pavement of the street. He raps on the door to their main warehouse and is met with cries of "boss!"
He saunters in, nodding to people as he goes.
Rochelle is already waiting at the top of the stairs by the time he makes it to the back, arms crossed as she glowers down at him. She's got tight braids running up one side of her head, leaving the rest of her hair to fall in curls over the other side. What parts of her skin that aren't covered by her shirt and combat pants are inked. "Your family emergency better be over with if you're here."
"Yes and no." Jason lifts his hands to take off his hood. He raises an eyebrow at her from a step below where she's blocking him. "You gonna let me through, Roch?"
"Bastardo estúpido," she mutters. "Disappears for over a week and then the Joker dies. Cristo."
"Aw, were ya worried about me?" He dodges her sharp elbows and ducks into the office, where Marcus is working at his computer, looking the same as ever with his light hair and numerous piercings.
"Good to see you in one piece," Marcus remarks. "People have been torn between celebration and being uneasy since the Joker announcement. Did you do it?"
"Who do ya think I am?" He flops down into a seat and kicks his legs up on the table. "You think I'd have killed the bastard and not paraded around his corpse?"
Rochelle smacks the back of his head on her way past. "That pedazo de mierda was ripped to shreds. People are wondering if we have a new player on the board."
"There's nothing to worry about," Jason dismisses.
"Really." Marcus' eyes narrow. "You know that we know you were there, right?"
"Still didn't kill 'im."
"Then who did?" Rochelle demands.
It's then that Tim emerges from Jason's jacket with a soft meow. All eyes are fixated to the sudden emergence of a cat, black body long and sinuous. Jason settles a hand over Tim's back, earning a bubbling purr.
"This is my familiar," Jason announces. "Tim, meet Marcus and Rochelle. Marcus and Rochelle, meet Tim."
"You went and got yourself bonded and didn't tell us?!" She aims a second smack at the back of his head for that.
"For fuck's sake—it's not like we had a ceremony! It was kinda life or death at the time."
"He killed the Joker?" Marcus asks.
Tim gives a soft meow in answer.
"Is he a Bat too?"
"We haven't talked about it yet." Jason scratches at Tim's ears in an attempt to ease the sudden tension in his spine. "But we keep this information between us for now. Got it?"
"We got it."
Rochelle sighs. "I hope he has better manners than you."
"You'll find out. He's still recovering right now, but I promised to introduce you again once he's changed back. He's very interested in the health drives and safe use houses."
"I'll hold you to that."
"It's nice to meet you, Tim," Marcus says, "in any capacity. We were starting to think Hood would never find someone."
Tim gives a coughing sort of laugh. He lays in Jason's lap as Rochelle and Marcus go over what Hood has missed, legs tucked under himself and eyes half closed. Jason's magic is calm around them, mingling with Rochelle's shades of red. Marcus is a familiar; Tim notes the way Rochelle's magic coils around him and realizes they're bonded.
These are Jason's people. He trusts them to run the Alley while he's gone and right now he's trusting Tim with the inner workings of everything he's built over the years. He's including him, making sure people know he exists. It helps settle the fear that Jason could disappear once this is all over with.
The meeting ends with a report on some gang activity down by the docks. It's usually the first place to get antsy whenever Hood isn't around for a while, since all the boats coming in and out are easy smuggling marks. It makes things a little too tempting for the morons who think they can cut Hood out of a deal or try to take over.
Most of Black Mask's old crew were absorbed by either the Falcone's, Two-Face's gang or Hood himself. But there are a few that have scuttled under the floorboards and into the underbelly of Gotham, who occasionally peek their heads out to make a grab for power.
Arms deals are Hood's specialty. He runs most of that side of the RH gang, alongside a task force he trained himself. Occasionally, he—begrudgingly—lets the bats in on anything particularly large or alarming coming through his territory but for the most part he handles things internally.
"So," he drawls, as the meeting wraps up and Tim stirs from his place in his lap, "put the fear of Hood back into the docks? I can do that."
"Try not to blow anything up," Marcus says. "It's a bitch to get the property rights for anything involved in a crime scene."
Tim shakes himself and flutters up to perch on Jason's shoulder. He chirps a sound in neither denial nor confirmation.
"Don't die either," Rochelle orders. "I will take it personally."
"And that's a threat," Jason tells Tim, before putting his hood back on. "I'll see you two later. Try not to burn the place down."
Rochelle makes a rude gesture at his back. Jason flashes her the finger on his way out.
"It's a toxic relationship but it's ours," he says, with obvious humor. "She'll love ya soon as she gets a taste 'a that snark, baby bird."
Tim warbles skeptic-amused-humor as they hit the streets once more.
"I'm tellin' ya," he insists, "she's a sucker for big attitudes in small packages. You'll see."
He picks his bike back up to take them over to the docks. It doesn't take long to find the offenders from there. They're right where the reports put them, gathered inside one of the many old fishery warehouses with two guards posted outside.
"If ya won't stay outside, stay small and hidden," he whispers as he checks his guns. "Stayin' on me is dangerous, that's where they'll aim. Hang by the door, where ya can get out fast."
Tim flits into the darkness above the goons. Jason takes a deep breath and makes his move. He comes fast from the shadows, slamming the butt of his gun into one of their heads while he kicks out the legs of another. The first falls to the ground without a sound. The second he punches in the throat and knocks out while he's still wheezing for air.
He inspects their guns once they're out. They're both sporting ZF-5's with the serial numbers noticeably filed away. The 9mm rounds will do fine against the common thug but his armor should do the work of keeping anything from being lethal. That is, if all of them are stupid enough not to have better rounds inside.
He scales the wall to get to the roof, where he can drop down to the metal walkway hanging from the ceiling. He counts off the men he sees. There are ten with guns and at least six workers sorting through something that looks a lot like cocaine. Rochelle is going to be pissed about that.
He can feel Tim hovering somewhere nearby, out of sight. He flicks the safety off his guns and knocks the metal rail with a steel toe. "Havin' a party without me? Fellas, I'm hurt."
He ducks away from the gunfire that follows, vaulting over the rail and to the floor below. The workers scatter with various yells as the warehouse lights up. Some of the bundles get hit in the process, sending puffs of powder out into the air. Jason is fine inside the Hood but Tim isn't. All the more reason for him to stay out of the fight.
He takes out several kneecaps on his way. The ones stupid enough to stay and fight start to swarm him, making their guns useless. They learn quick just how deadly he is up close, with fists, legs and guns alike. Someone gets a stray hit off, catching part of the shipment on fire. There are further shouts as thick smoke begins to fill the warehouse.
"Settin' yer goods on fire isn't a business practice I've heard of," he drawls, "but it definitely makes my job easier."
The few gunman remaining are starting to show the effects of breathing in tainted air. Their pupils are blown as they shoot wildly. He hears a howl from the doorway, where Tim is herding an attempted runaway back into the building.
Jason sees one of the men do a double take at the sudden mass of flashing teeth. He can practically hear him working through the math as he decides who is a bigger threat: the Red Hood or the unfamiliar beast. A shout rises in his chest as the RH loses the figurative battle and a gun is leveled Tim's way. Both magic and his gun rise in a roiling fury, both finding their mark just a moment too late. The goon's finger closes around the trigger even as his brains splatter the pavement, sending off a line of bullets in Tim's direction.
There's a pained yelp when one of them hits. Any trace of mercy is gone after that. Jason puts the rest down hard. He has enough sense to ping Gotham PD and Oracle before he drops to his knees beside Tim's frame, where he's shrunken down into a regular dog. Jason yanks off his gloves to feel around the place the blood is coming from. It's a non-vital hit, and a clear through one. Relief hits him hard as he bows his head.
"Christ. Never do that again," he says, voice harsh even as he lifts Tim oh so gently into his arms. "This thing goes both ways, we protect each other. No one is worth ya puttin' yer life at risk like that."
Tim whines softly. He is stubborn-apologetic-pain where he twines with Jason's magic. Jason thinks he might understand Bruce just a little bit more.
He drives careful with Tim cradled on the bike in front of him. They both need a decontamination shower when they get back to his place and some stitches in Tim's case. Jason wraps his own stray cuts before settling into bed with Tim in his arms once more.
There are certain advantages to being bonded. Tim should heal faster than he did previously, though with his recovery already taking place before this, it's uncertain if the gunshot will follow this rule. All he can do is wait and see.
The next morning, Tim wakes up feeling sore in a full body kind of way. His muscles all feel a bit like pulled taffy and everything just kind of aches. There's a line of warmth down the side of him that makes it feel better, one that he presses up against with greedy intent. A gust of air travels over the top of his head as an arm draws tight around his waist.
"G'back t' sleep," Jason mumbles.
Tim opens his mouth and finds that he can talk. "Jason?"
There's a pause and then, "Tim?"
They both look at each other with expressions of simultaneous shock. Jason's quickly gives way to relief as he pats Tim's body down, as if looking for anything out of place. This makes it immediately apparent that Tim is, in fact, naked.
His face flushes as he pulls the blankets further around his waist.
"How do ya feel?"
Tim looks down at the hand that was cut and infected by the artifact shard. There's a pink scar on his palm now and the tiniest traces of white spider webbing out from where the rot used to be. "Good?" He says with some surprise. "My memories are kind of hazy right now but I feel—better than before, at least."
His mind aches from where his defenses were torn away. He can still see parts of where his shields hang in tatters if he focuses, though they've been mended and patched by Jason's magic. There are still corners of himself that feel foreign to him but he was able to keep the worst of the invasion at bay thanks to Shiva's teachings. The Joker is a stain on his mind but he is just a stain. He still has his sense of self left; he still has the bond.
"Are you okay?"
Jason barks out a laugh. "Me? I got off easy. You almost died. Twice. Do ya remember what happened?"
"We were taken by the Joker. He—invaded my mind. You said we had to complete the bond and it helped center me. Then he—I attacked him?" He frowns, struggling to remember. "He was going to hurt you."
"You killed him, baby bird. He can't hurt anyone ever again."
"Oh." He does remember sinking his teeth into something, now that he thinks about it. "You—Batman was there?"
"Late, as usual." Jason pushes some of his hair back from his face. They're both sitting up now, shoulders touching as their bodies bend to one another the way a tree bends to the sun. "He won't do anythin'."
"We were at the manor. You took me to meet your business partners."
He snorts. "If that's what ya want t' call 'em."
"Then the warehouse—the gun?" Tim looks down to see that his arm is healed. There's only the faint imprint of a starburst scar.
"Yeah, we're gonna talk about yer self preservation skills on top of everythin' else. First though, I want t' know how ya knew about Hood."
"I've known about all of you, Jason. I have since I saw Robin do a trick only Dick Grayson was capable of, back when I was eight. I put together the pieces when you came back to Gotham, after everything happened. You act and move in similar ways to when you were Robin. Not to mention the fact that Bruce rescinded your death certificate."
"The whole time? From the moment I stepped into the clinic?"
"Yes. I never told anyone, though!" Tim hurries to reassure. "I really did just want to help you."
"So when B tried t' blackmail you…"
"I kind of regretted letting Batman close, yeah." He smiles wryly. "It wasn't exactly the thanks I was expecting."
"Shit." Jason breathes out, head tipping back on his shoulders. He's silent for long enough that Tim starts to get nervous.
"It doesn't—does it make you regret the bond?"
"What?" His head whips around. "No!" He reaches out to catch Tim's hand, fingers loosening the tight hold Tim has on the sheet to tangle their fingers together instead. "I'm just kinda shocked at how much this solves. I'm thinkin' about how everythin' could have gone a lot smoother if I'd gotten my head outta my ass sooner."
"So you're not mad?"
"I'm a lot of things, but mad is not one of them. There's just things about ya that are startin' t' make sense now."
"Like?"
"Like how easily ya took on my case. Or how unfazed ya were when B blackmailed ya. You didn't flinch once when we sparred and you've been unwillin' t' take any 'a our shit since day one. It also explains the way you reacted t' Hood."
"Can I ask how that happened?" Tim touches a finger to the long scar on Jason's jaw. He hadn't had that as Robin. "Everyone said the Joker killed you. I saw your funeral in the paper."
"He did. Crawled outta my grave and everythin'." Jason squeezes his hand. "It took a while to be me again. Had a run-in with some assassins that fucked with my head. Doc says I'm as good as I'm gonna get now."
"That's why your magic is green? But then that means—" he frowns.
"Hm?"
"Damian's magic is like yours. Dick said you went through similar experiences, which means Damian died at some point."
"Damian's family is their own brand of crazy. Don't go diggin' deeper, you don't want those types a' eyes on ya."
He decides to let it go for now. "Do you have clothes that I can wear? Now that I'm human again, I should really talk to my mother. And see how Felicity is doing."
"'course. Let me go grab some." Jason jumps up from the bed to rummage around in his dresser. "Yer ma has been coverin' for ya at the clinic. Felicity is with Ives—yer friends demanded photographic evidence to make sure ya weren't dead or kidnapped."
"Sounds like them." Tim pulls on the shirt Jason tosses him. It's obviously Jason's, by the way it hangs off of him. "Did they interrogate you?"
"I've been interrogated before, baby bird, and let me tell ya, that was not it. Yer friends gave me the shovel talk. I had t' video call 'em just to prevent 'em from comin' in person and even then I've been sendin' daily updates."
He groans into his hands. "I'm sorry, they can be a lot. Ives is naturally nosy and Bernard heard about my childhood and basically made it his mission to mother me."
"Nah, I'm glad you got people lookin' out fer ya." He pauses to eye a pair of sweatpants somewhat skeptically. "This might work for the trip over t' your place."
Tim takes it from him. Jason looks away as he wiggles into the pants and is nice enough not to laugh when Tim has to roll up the ankles and double tie the waist.
"You're built like a brick house," Tim informs him. "This is not normal."
The grin Jason throws over his shoulder is dangerous for multiple reasons. "Are you sayin' you don't like me for my body, Drake?"
"No," he says, with as much dignity as he can muster, "that's not what I'm saying at all."
Jason prowls closer. His magic slides playful-affection-heat against Tim's own. It feels a lot like facing down a cat while you're the defenseless mouse. "No?" His hands are so warm on Tim's hips, even through the baggy fabric of his borrowed clothes. "What are ya sayin' then?"
Tim's hands slide up Jason's chest. "I'm saying that despite your ridiculous shoulders and the fact that this shirt is practically a dress on me, I like the way you look. I like," he hesitates, tongue flicking out to wet his lips, "how strong you are."
"Yeah?" There's a surge in the sense of playfulness and then Tim is letting out an embarrassing squeak as he's lifted into the air. Jason grins up at him. "Gotta say I don't mind it either. Yer pretty fun to toss around. Especially knowin' that yer lettin' me do it."
Tim practically shudders when Jason's hands squeeze. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, they just sort of rest on Jason's shoulders uselessly; it's not like he thinks Jason will drop him. His face feels far too hot as he looks down into his mage's smug expression. It's strange to be the one taller for once, Tim finds himself curling down almost unconsciously, drawn to Jason's smiling mouth.
"Maybe everything can wait a bit longer," he finds himself saying.
Their noses brush. Jason's eyes go heavy lidded as his head tilts to line up their lips. He drops Tim a few inches, earning a shocked moan when it drags Tim's pelvis down the line of Jason's stomach. Their mouths crash together and suddenly Tim knows exactly where to put his hands. They tangle in Jason's unruly curls, fingers tugging to earn a moan of his own.
Jason steps forward until his knees hit the mattress and then they're falling. Tim gasps when his back hits the bed, though he is not crushed. Jason is careful to catch the weight of himself on a hand, knees spread to help keep himself from flattening Tim with his bulk. He's still there though, pushing Tim's thighs wider with his hips, free hand delving under the drape of his borrowed shirt to run a hand up Tim's side.
"You drive me crazy," Jason mutters into his throat. "Always gettin' into trouble."
"You're one to talk," Tim gasps. "Pot meet kettle."
"Thought you were dead." His mouth searches him out, leaving him feeling lightheaded and out of his own body—in a good way. "Thought ya might not turn back. It's been almost two weeks, no one knew what t' expect—"
"I'm here," he promises, hands running up the strong line of Jason's back. There are so many scars along the way, places he wants to map with hands and tongue. "I'm here, Jay—"
Jason gets a hand into his borrowed sweatpants. Tim feels a bit like a bug, pinned and half crushed under Jason's bulk but it feels far too good to ask him to stop. The tightness in his lungs is worth it to be able to have this; to clutch Jason close and share their own breaths. To feel just how alive he is, even after the Joker's violation.
Their bond thrums strong between them, in a loop of worried-mine-protect-Tim-Jason-TimandJason and I was scared/I'm here/don't go/I won't.
Tim thinks he's crying—or maybe that's Jason. Hell, maybe that's both of them. He wants to touch Jason too but he can't get a hand down between them. The best he can do is rock up against him, to feel the shape of him through layers of clothes.
Jason is kissing him like he's afraid it'll be the last time. Tim can barely get a breath in in between the hand moving over his cock and the frantic kisses.
"So good," Jason is mumbling against him, "perfect, gonna keep ya safe—"
Shit. Now Tim is definitely crying.
His mouth opens around a wail, body curling inwards but with nowhere to go when Jason is keeping him pinned. He shakes with his orgasm, so utterly surrounded in Jason it almost hurts. He's vaguely aware of having his tears kissed away, of a soft gravel voice saying, "I gotchu, princess, yer alright, I gotchu." All he can do is cling tight to Jason and cry with the realization that he is here, alive, bonded.
Eventually he comes to with his head on Jason's chest, warm smooth lines moving up and down his spine courtesy of Jason's hand. He blinks tiredly, feeling like a riverbank overtaken by swollen floodwater.
"Oh, you didn't…"
"Huh?" Jason's voice rumbles beneath his ear. His hand pauses for the briefest of moments before he puts the pieces together and snorts. "Don't worry about it. There's always next time."
"But—"
"Seriously," he cuts in. "It's not a big deal. I'd rather take care of ya than worry about comin' right now."
It's so strange to Tim, who is not used to people being so gentle with him, but he can feel Jason's sincerity. There is nothing Jason wants more in this moment than to hold him and make sure he is okay.
Tim settles back down, somewhat bemusedly. He wonders if the bond is the reason why he was so overwhelmed, or if that's just Jason's effect in general. Either way, he's in trouble if it's going to be like that every time.
"What're ya thinkin' about?"
"I'm thinking," he says slowly, "that your ego is going to be insufferable if it's like that every time."
Jason barks out a laugh that shakes them both. "That good, huh?"
"Don't push it."
"Seriously, though," he pulls him tighter against his chest, "I'm glad yer back."
"Yeah, me too. Life was easier as an animal but it wasn't the same. It helped with not getting lost in the Joker's influence, though. I think—I think I want to try it again sometime, but without the potential peril."
"Whatever you want," Jason promises, "jus' let the doc take a look at ya first, okay? We think the artifact has been burned out of your system but it can't hurt to double check. Plus—I'm alive 'cause a' some fucked up magic. I wanna make sure that that hasn't transferred t' ya."
"Okay." He closes his eyes and tries not to think about bubbling vats and echoing laughter. His stomach growls, reminding him that he hasn't eaten since the day before.
"Come on. We can go t' yer place and I'll make ya pancakes while ya update everyone."
"With cinnamon?"
"Yeah, sure."
"It's a deal."
Notes:
honestly, this could have gone on for much longer but the deadline for the exchange is here and I need to work on other projects. What you don't see:
- Tim comes out as a familiar when he files the paperwork for his bond with Jason; everyone is suitably surprised but with Bruce and Janet on their side no one trashes Tim and gets away without some sort of repercussion
- Rochelle and Marcus are both charmed by Tim when he meets them as a human; they have a long discussion on how the RH gang conducts their business and it isn't long before Tim is partnering with them to help increase the effectiveness of their programs
- Janet looks up her old mystery familiar and reconnects; Tim knows there's something going on there but she's keeping her cards close to her chest for now
- Jason gets Tim some proper gear to help protect him and the bats get in on training with Tim; Dick is delighted when Tim puts him on his ass the first time they spar
- Tim and Cass are fast friends but no one is surprised there
- Ives and Bernard finally meet Jason in person on one of their game nights, where they get brilliantly drunk, get far too competitive with mario kart and eventually all pass out in the living room. in the morning, jason cooks them all breakfast and ives tells tim in full earshot of jason that he approves his taste for once
- Tim suffers from bouts of psychosis due to what the Joker did as well as chronic pain where the rot was the worst; Bruce gives him bat-patented numbing/pain cream and he stays in with Jason on bad days
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