Chapter Text
Jason likes to think of himself as fairly well-adjusted these days. He’s got an apartment (five of them, if you count all his safehouses), he’s got friends (Roy), he’s got a steady job (as a mob boss), he gets a good workout every day (maiming people), and he even talks to his family (when they run into him in Crime Alley at night).
He is, for all intents and purposes, nailing this adult thing. And he’s barely eighteen, too. If things continue this way, then he’s got great things ahead of him.
Which is why, when he comes home tonight after carving a message onto a dirty cop’s forehead and realises that there’s someone in his apartment, his first reaction is not to open gunfire.
Not immediately, anyway. He’s gotten a better control on his little anger management problem (Lazarus-induced psychosis) these days. He saw a therapist last week, didn’t he? (Harley.)
(From afar.)
(In Crime Alley.)
So he knows that the best course of action is to stay calm, breathe in, breathe out, and approach this in a serene manner. There’s probably a good reason why Tim Drake’s sneakers have been dropped carelessly by his front door. Why Tim’s sweatshirt is draped over his coat rack.
Why the TV is running in the background.
And because Jason is well-adjusted now, the warning shot he fires doesn’t hit flesh. It just hits the ceiling.
Tim, who is lying on his sofa when Jason enters the living room, doesn’t look up from his phone. “You missed,” he calls out.
“I wasn’t aiming at you, moron,” Jason snaps. “If I had been, you’d be dead.”
Tim looks unconvinced. Transformers is playing on the TV, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, he finally turns his head so that he’s facing Jason. “Was there anything you wanted?”
Jason takes the phone away from him and dangles it over his head, just out of reach. “For starters, I’d like a good explanation as to what you’re doing in my apartment.” Better make that a really good one. Tim and Jason don’t hang out. Their most frequent form of contact is when they run into each other at night or, occasionally, when they both attend the same awkward family dinner. They definitely aren’t close enough for Tim to just come over.
“My dad grounded me,” Tim explains. "Said I'm not allowed to leave my room until he's ready to stand the sight of me again."
Jason looks pointedly around the room.
Tim shrugs. “He’s still in a wheelchair. What’s he going to do, go up and check?” In the wake of Jason’s speechlessness, he adds, “Besides, he hasn’t been to my room since I was seven. I doubt he’s going to start now.”
“So you came here,” Jason clarifies. Tim nods. “What, Bruce’s fifty-room-mansion not good enough for you?”
For the first time since this conversation started, Tim appears to be slightly uncomfortable. He makes another grab for his phone; Jason holds it up higher, wishes he could cross his arms, and waits.
“Bruce grounded me too,” Tim confesses eventually. “Different reason, obviously. Bruce doesn’t like the way I handled the last patrol. My dad just thinks I should spend more time on my English homework. Anyway, Bruce isn’t going to want me around for the foreseeable future, Dick is-“ He hesitates. Jason thinks it’s because Tim knows perfectly well that Dick is terrible at keeping secrets, but is too polite to say so. “Weird,” Tim finishes, and, hey, that’s not what Jason thought he was going to say. “About my dad. Doesn’t matter. Dick wasn’t an option, and your apartment was, you know. There.”
Jason takes all of this in. Considers it. Then he says, “I’m not a fucking hotel.”
“Good, because I don’t have any money,” Tim says. “Dad took away my credit card. Can we order a pizza? I’m starving.”
Just briefly, Jason thinks about calling – anyone, really. Not the kid’s dad, but Dick, maybe, no matter how ‘weird’ Tim thinks he is. Someone who’d know the best course of action for when a sixteen-year-old shows up at your doorstep to escape punishment. Shit, is Tim running away? Is this, like, a situation?
“Hey, shithead,” Jason says. He lets the phone drop. Had Tim’s hand not shot out in the last second, it would have hit him straight in the face. “You have until midnight. If you’re not gone by then, I’ll drag you out myself.”
Tim is already looking at the screen again, waving his hand in what might be agreement. On the TV, a car transforms into a robot. Jason turns it off.
“Move over,” he commands, flopping down on the sofa and shoving Tim aside.
“Pizza?” Tim repeats, sounding hopeful.
Jason is on the verge of telling him to go screw himself, but then he starts wondering how long Tim has been in his apartment and whether he ate dinner before he came here. Probably not. Did he eat lunch? Should Jason ask? What would Dick do?
“Fine,” he says eventually. “But I’m picking the toppings, and you can’t have dessert.”
There’s a beat.
“I didn’t want dessert,” Tim says, voice taking on a bewildered edge. “What are you talking about?”
Face red, Jason punches his upper arm and says, “Well, you’re not getting any, anyway, so you can just suck it up.” He orders an extra salad, though. Tim probably needs, like, vitamins and shit, and Jason is a legal adult now. This is basically his responsibility. Besides, helping him out is probably a one-time thing. Right?
*
Perhaps two weeks after Tim broke into Jason’s apartment like the entitled rich asshole he is, Jason is in the supermarket when he hears it. A voice, familiar in the annoyance it immediately sparks in Jason, currently in the middle of arguing with a harassed employee.
Jason doesn’t have time for this. This is his favourite supermarket, partly because it’s far away enough from Bristol that chances are slim he would ever run into Alfred or Bruce (mostly Alfred, because let’s be honest, when has Bruce ever gone to a grocery store in his life), and partly because this store sells the organic orange juice Jason likes. So what if he cares about what he puts in his body? Is wanting to live a healthy lifestyle suddenly uncool now?
The point is, he actually likes going here, and he’s not going to have that ruined for him just because little Timothy Drake suddenly decided to go shopping.
At first he pretends not to hear, instead focusing on his grocery list and locating his preferred brand of oatmeal (whole-grain), but soon enough, the argument gets loud enough that it’s hard to ignore.
“-think this through,” Tim says. “I told you these aren’t for me. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you call my dad and check? I’ll give you his number.”
“I will call your dad,” the employee snaps, “and after that, I’m calling the cops.”
Great, Jason thinks. Bruce is not going to be amused if his latest pet project gets arrested. Then again, he supposes it’s nice if someone else is the black sheep for once.
There’s a brief silence, in which presumably the employee dials the number Tim gave him.
Jason’s phone rings.
Goddamnit, he’s going to kill the Replacement.
“Hello?” Jason asks in his most pleasant voice as he answers the call. He hears the supermarket employee’s reply twice: once spoken right into his ear, on the other end of the line, and once as an echo from three aisles over.
“Is this Mr Drake?”
“Yep,” Jason says, mentally cursing Tim. “This is him.”
“I’m working for the Whole Foods on Abbey Road. I’ve just caught your son attempting to buy a packet of cigarettes. He claims they are for you.”
Sixteen-year-old, straight A student Tim is buying cigarettes? For fuck’s sake. It’s beyond Jason why the kid didn’t just use a fake ID like everyone else, instead of making up an obvious lie and getting Jason involved on top of it. Goddamn Bristol kids. “Yep,” Jason repeats between clenched teeth. “That’s right.”
“So these are for you,” the employee presses. He sounds sceptical.
“Yep,” Jason says for a third time. “Is there a problem?”
“He’s a minor. I’m not permitted to sell tobacco products to anyone under the age of twenty-one.”
Jason knows this, of course he knows this. Tim must know this, too. “Sorry about that,” he tells the employee. “Next time, I’ll go myself. Is that all?”
“You need to come get him. Company policy. Either he leaves with you, or he leaves with the cops.”
Jason glances at his cart, half-filled with various items, and thinks about his evening plans, which mostly included sitting on the couch and watching Gossip Girl. He sighs. “I’ll be there soon,” he says, and hangs up.
He waits in the cereal aisle for a few minutes in order to make the story more believable. Then he zips up his leather jacket to hide the t-shirt that says FUCK THE POLICE and goes to join his idiot little brother and the supermarket employee at the check-out.
Tim is in the middle of what is undoubtedly an equally well-thought out and stupid argument on why he should just be allowed to leave on his own, but he falls silent when Jason comes to a stop beside them. “Jason?”
“Is that your father?” the employee asks. His moustache is too large for his face, and he doesn’t seem at all inclined to just let Tim go.
“Um,” Tim says, still staring at Jason, “yeah. Yeah, that’s him. But-“
“So, that’s it, right?” Jason interrupts, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders and smiling threateningly at the employee. “We can go now?”
“Not so fast.” The employee looks Jason up and down, taking in his combat boots, the jacket and the blood stains on his torn jeans. “I’d like to see some ID.”
“Why?” Jason demands, crossing his arms. “Don’t you trust me-“ He pauses to squint down at the name badge sewn on the guy’s shirt. “Keith,” he adds. “Don’t trust me, Keith? Do I not look like a trustworthy guy to you? Like a fucking respectable, upstanding citizen?”
“Jason,” Tim starts, but Jason ignores him. So does Keith, who has crossed his arms, too.
“If I don’t see some ID in the next ten seconds, I’m calling the police.”
“Alright, alright!” Jason holds up his arms in exasperation. “Whatever you say. Here.” He rifles through his pockets and holds out a card.
“That’s a library card,” Keith says, unimpressed. “Says here your name is-“ He stops.
“Timothy Drake,” Jason finishes smugly. Next to him, Tim whips his head around so fast that he nearly smacks it into Jason’s chin. Jason steps on his foot, then ruffles his hair a little harder than necessary. “Got my boy named after me,” he says. “Good family name.” He snatches his card back before Keith can look at his supposed date of birth, and tips his non-existent cap with one hand while guiding Tim away with the other. “See you around, Keith.”
He doesn’t let go of Tim until they’re out of the store. As soon as they’re a safe distance away, Tim extricates himself from his grip and shoves at his chest. “Seriously? Stealing my identity?”
“Might want to try a little gratitude, kid,” Jason says mildly. “I did just save your ass. What are you buying cigarettes for, anyway?”
Tim glares at him. “What do you think?”
“I think that you’re an idiot. I think that if Bruce finds out about this little incident, he’s going to have a fit. And I think that you’re smarter than this. Why didn’t you use a fake ID?”
“I did,” Tim snaps. “The guy caught my bluff immediately, so I had to think of a cover story.”
Jason nods. “And you gave him my number because…”
“Because obviously I’m not going to tell my dad about this. Or Bruce.”
“Sure. Dick would’ve been happy to help out, though. He lives for shit like this. Swooping in and rescuing someone in need, that’s more his thing than mine.”
Tim stares at him like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Yeah, but he’s also the guy who saw me drink a flute of champagne at the last gala and sat me down to have a talk about alcohol abuse. Not sure he’d be too happy to hear about me smoking.”
“Well, good. He shouldn’t be happy about it. Smoking kills,” Jason says, pulls a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, takes one out and lights it. “What? I’ve been smoking since I was ten. It’s too late for me, but there’s no reason you should follow in my footsteps.”
“I already have,” Tim points out, which, hey, he’s not wrong about that.
When Tim next speaks, he sounds weirdly deflated, like all the fight has gone out of him. “So what are you going to do now? Are you going to tell anyone?”
“I’m no snitch.” And, because there’s a slump to Tim’s shoulders that wasn’t there earlier, and because Jason may not remember being sixteen but he sure remembers being fifteen, and because in the end he’s not Tim’s dad, despite what he claimed in the supermarket earlier – because of all of that, he pulls another cigarette out, lights it, and hands it over.
Tim’s mouth has fallen open, and he doesn’t take it immediately. “What are you doing?”
“First and last time,” Jason warns. “Never again until you’re old enough to buy your own.”
Slowly, Tim accepts it. Takes a drag. Coughs. Then he gives Jason a rare smile, just a tiny one, before he asks, “Can you do smoke rings? Can you show me how?”
Jason hits him over the head. “Don’t be stupid,” he says. “Smoke rings are for show-offs. I’ll show you how to roll your own cigarette, though.”
“Really?” Tim asks, eyes lighting up. Jason hits him over the head again.
“Of course not, moron. Now come on, I’m driving you home.”
*
True to his word, Jason tells no one about the incident. He doesn’t think there’s much to be concerned about, anyway. Tim is sixteen, of course he wants to try smoking. If anything, Bruce should be thankful that he isn’t smoking stronger stuff, or that Tim is only drinking champagne at charity events instead of getting wasted every weekend at college parties.
Dick, it turns out, does not agree with that sentiment.
They’re all at the annual Martha Wayne charity gala, Bruce because he’s the host, Dick because he wants to support Bruce, and Jason because he was guilt-tripped into it by his big brother. Tim is also around somewhere, but he’s attending with Jack Drake, and Jason has yet to see him. He’s spending his time hiding at the buffet table, eating his weight in shrimps and avoiding all the looks on him (“Is that Jason Todd?” “Are the rumours true, then?”), and that suits him just fine.
He has only just managed to escape a conversation with a wealthy donor when Dick spots him from across the room and immediately makes a beeline for him, looking stressed.
“What?” Jason demands, but Dick shakes his head, mouth set in a grim line, taking Jason’s arm and dragging him to a spot that’s more secluded, away from curious eyes and ears. “Seriously, what?”
“Tim’s here.”
“I know, you’ve told me. Are you on something?”
Dick makes a shushing noise. “Not so loud!”
What, Jason thinks. He takes another look at his brother. Dick is clearly tense, obviously unhappy about something, but he doesn’t seem like he just did coke in the bathroom. “Did someone slip something in your drink?” Jason asks, just to be sure.
“What?” Dick asks. “No! Why are we talking about me? We need to talk about Tim!”
“Well, did someone slip something into Tim’s drink?”
“No one slipped something into anyone’s drink! Why are you so obsessed with our drinks? Did someone slip something into your drink?”
Jason’s mind actually blanks for a second as he tries to keep up with the conversation. “No,” he says slowly.
Dick grabs his suit jacket with both hands and shakes him. “Are you sure? Because you are acting crazy.”
“You’re acting crazy.”
“No, Tim is acting crazy.”
They both pause to draw breath for a second, and Jason uses the respite to do a calming exercise in his mind, aka, imagine tearing the Joker apart limb by limb. Once imaginary-Jason has decapitated imaginary-Joker and left him lying for dead, real-Jason opens his eyes to find Dick peering at him from very close proximity. Jason flinches back, unnerved by Dick’s stare, but Dick only advances again.
“We need to do something,” he hisses. “Tim has been drinking.”
“So? Is this about him having a bit of champagne again? Because Tim told me about that, and just for the record, I think you’re overreacting.”
Dick looks around to all sides to double-check that nobody is listening, gives the potted plant in their immediate vicinity a deeply suspicious glare, and finally says, in a slightly calmer, slightly less paranoid tone, “This isn’t a bit of champagne. This is massive hangover tomorrow-levels of champagne. At the most important social event of the year.”
“Shit.”
“Shit’s right.” Dick barks out a rough laugh. He runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He doesn’t seem to care that it’s going to look like crap. “What now? What do we do?”
“Where’s the kid’s dad?” Jason asks and instantly adds, “Where’s Bruce?” That’s really the more important question, he thinks.
At the mention of Tim’s father, Dick’s face has notably soured. “Jack Drake,” he says, giving the name a weird emphasis, “is currently busy charming potential business partners. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even looked at Tim once tonight. As for his real father, well. Bruce is about go on stage and give a speech, so he hasn’t noticed yet. It’s only a matter of time, though.”
“We need to get Tim out of here.” They better be quick about it, too. God knows reporters would have a field day catching the underaged heir to Drake Industries drunk off his ass. “Let’s split up. You get Tim out of here, I create a distraction.”
Dick shakes his head. “No, you’ve only just re-joined the family officially. You’ve been getting stares all night. I can’t ask you to draw even more attention to yourself. I’ll do it.”
And he would, is the thing. Jason realises this now. If he asked, Dick would crawl over broken glass for him. Would do so for anyone, if it’s the right thing to do. Dick is good like that. And Jason is not like that, he can’t be, not if shooting someone else is a more efficient option than shooting his own foot.
So he wouldn’t do it for just anyone. But he’d do it for Dick.
“Relax,” he says, reaching out to squeeze Dick’s shoulder in support. “I’ve got this.” He winks. Then he rushes off before Dick can stop him. Bruce is about to give a speech? Well. The ideal moment to give a toast of his own then.
*
took Tim to your room
he’s really out of it
also im starving, can you bring snacks?
By the time Jason has finished stirring up enough of a ruckus that no one even thinks to look at Dick Grayson kidnapping Tim Drake and moving him to a secondary location, he has three new texts. Well, technically he has four, but Bruce just wants to know how he’s feeling and if inviting him to the gala was too soon and also promised that Jason can always count on him. Pathetic. Jason screenshots the text, then deletes it, then thinks about deleting the screenshot, but before he can come to a decision, Dick has texted him a fourth time.
Jason?????
Zero patience, that guy. Fine. If Dick really wants to get even fatter, Jason is not going to stop him. He'll raid the kitchen for snacks and go up to his- wait. Wait a minute.
Took Tim to your room. But Jason has no room in the manor, not anymore. He’s stayed over a couple times, sure, but he has always slept in one of the guest rooms or, on one memorable occasion, on Dick’s floor because Dick refused to give him the bed. Still, though. Dick’s message was pretty straight-forward. That can only mean one thing.
“Why the fuck do I still have a room?” he says a few minutes later as he flings open the door to what used to be his old bedroom, a lifetime ago.
What he sees in there is a shock on two accounts. First, because his bedroom looks exactly like he left it – same bedsheets, same posters on the wall, hell, even the same English homework on his desk, half-finished. Second, because Tim is on the floor, puking in Jason’s garbage can, with Dick stroking his back and murmuring soft encouragements. God, that’s disgusting.
Dick looks up when he enters, although he doesn’t pause in the back-stroking. “Did you get the snacks?”
In lieu of an answer, Jason throws a bag of chips, two apples, a jar of peanut butter and a knife at Dick’s head. Dick catches it all, and he catches the knife with his teeth, because he’s a show-off.
“I ask again – what’s up with the room thing? Why is it still here? Why didn’t anyone clear out my stuff? And why are you guys hiding in here instead of, you know, in one of your rooms?”
“Of course it’s still here,” Dick says, eyes wide and shining with hurt, at the same time that Tim takes a break from puking to mutter, “Don’t have a room here”.
Jason sits on the floor (cross-legged, because he’s been getting in his yoga practice lately, so Dick can stop it with the judgy look, yoga is good for you), albeit a safe distance away from the retching teen, and says, “Wait, so the kid doesn’t have a bedroom here, and meanwhile my old room is being kept here as, what, some kind of shrine? That is so fucking weird.”
“What are you talking about, Tim?” Dick asks, shaking Tim a little. “Of course you have a room here! It's right next to mine. You know this.”
Tim moans and tries to bat Dick’s hands away. His answer is droned out by another surge of vomit.
“Christ,” Jason mutters, “that is literally so gross.”
Dick does not seem to think it’s gross, or if he does, it does nothing to deter his appetite. He’s already tearing into the bag of chips Jason brought, and he offers one of the apples to Jason. Jason shakes his head, inching further away from Tim.
“We had to come here,” Dick continues like he hadn’t been interrupted earlier, “because it’s the only place where Bruce never checks. I used to bring my girlfriends here, back when I’d just moved into Bludhaven and my apartment was a shithole.”
“Still – a – shithole,” Tim rasps.
“You did what?” Jason asks. “Eow. I cannot believe you did that. That’s, like, jerking off on my corpse.”
“You take that back,” Dick says. Next to him, Tim lifts a hand.
“Guys?”
Ignoring him, Jason says, “Fine, I take it back. It’s worse than that. It’s like digging up my grave, taking out my corpse, jerking off on it, and then not paying for its cab ride home.”
“I always pay for the cab ride home,” Dick says, offended.
“Guys?”
“So you did jerk off on my corpse,” Jason says, “is that what you’re saying? Because I think that’s what you’re saying.”
“It’s not-“
“Guys, I think I need to go home.”
“No,” Jason and Dick snap at the same time. Dick adds, in a softer tone, “You’ll spend the night here, and I’ll drive you home in the morning, okay?”
“I thought you’d pay for his cab ride,” Jason says. Without looking at him, Dick grabs the knife from the floor and throws it at his head. Jason ducks, and it hits the wall behind him, neatly spearing the paper-heart of his Jane Austen poster. His Jane Austen poster that Bruce got for his fifteenth birthday, and that’s apparently just been left exactly like this for the past few years. Jesus fucking Christ.
Tim has finally managed to move into an upright position. He’s pale, his face sweaty, although it’s hard to tell whether that’s from the booze or all the puking. “I’m serious. It’s pretty late. My dad is going to expect me to leave with him soon.”
“Your dad,” Dick says, voice sharper than Jason has ever heard it, “didn’t bother noticing how much his underaged son was drinking tonight. He hasn’t earned the right to take you home.”
Tim cracks a smile. “Are you kidnapping me, Dick? I thought that’s usually Bruce’s thing.”
Dick doesn’t smile back. “Maybe Bruce had the right idea.”
What the hell is going on here, Jason thinks. It suddenly occurs to him that, for all that he’d thought he and his family were on their way to reconciliating, he’s apparently missed out on quite a lot of family drama. Because this, whatever discussion Tim and Dick are having right now, does not sound like it’s new.
Later, he’s going to find some answers one way or another, and if he has to beat them out of Dick, so be it. But for now, he has to focus on the situation at hand first.
“Okay,” he says loudly, “calm down, Dickhead. Let the kid go home. You can check up on him tomorrow.”
Dick looks at him with the kind of absolute betrayal he usually reserves for people who’ve murdered his family, paedophiles, and cat people.
“Thank you,” Tim says pointedly. “Did you hear that, Dick?”
“Cut out the attitude,” Jason snaps. “Getting drunk at a gala, are you kidding me? Did you hit your head on your way here tonight? Dick was watching out for you.”
“Don’t snap at him,” Dick snaps at him. “Tim, you stay put, I swear to god.”
Tim, who had been subtly inching towards the door, freezes. “I just really don’t see what the big deal is,” he says, and for once, he sounds genuinely confused. “I’m sorry you guys got stuck babysitting me tonight, and I know I messed up. But thanks to you, my dad didn’t even notice how much I embarrassed myself tonight. That’s a good thing. So I don’t get the problem.”
“He should have noticed,” Dick says hotly. But that’s not the point, Jason thinks. Dick’s not wrong, but he’s not asking the right questions.
“Why did you drink so much?” he asks, and both Dick and Tim turn to him. “You go to a fancy private school. There must be way better opportunities where you can get drunk in peace. – Don’t look at me like that, Dick, it’s true. So why do it where your dad can see?”
Tim doesn’t meet his eyes. His next words are so quiet that Jason has to strain his ears to make them out. “Maybe I decided to be less of a buzzkill for once.”
“What the fuck. No, seriously, what the fuck? Who said that to you? Who called you that?”
Tim doesn’t reply. But Jason didn’t miss the way Dick’s head snapped up at Tim’s words, the way he clenched his fists. That wasn’t the kind of instinctive protectiveness over hearing someone call his little brother names. This felt personal. And recently, there’s only been one person in Tim’s life who has a track record in angering Dick.
“Alright, let’s go,” Jason says. “Better find your dad. If he asks where you were, tell him we gave you a tour or something. Dick, are you coming?”
“Yes,” Dick says. He sounds pissed, but Jason isn’t sure who it’s directed at – Tim’s father, Jason, or Dick himself for being unable to conduct a successful kidnapping.
Downstairs, most of the guests have already left, but Jack Drake is still there, in the middle of a conversation with one of the hundreds identical-looking middle-aged men in suits. He breaks off when Tim approaches, flanked by Dick and Jason. “Any reason you’re interrupting us, Tim?”
“I- I thought you might want to go home soon,” Tim says quietly. “It’s getting late.”
Jack Drake says, “I’m a little busy right now. I think you can stay up past your bedtime one night, son.” He turns back to the conversation, Tim effectively dismissed.
Jason doesn’t think twice. He puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder, just as Dick does the same, and says gently, “Let’s go check up the buffet table, get something in your stomach.”
They do, and Tim doesn’t even vomit the food back up, which is a success.
Jack Drake doesn’t look over for the rest of the night.
*
Strangely enough, Jason has almost gotten used to saving Tim’s ass. It seems almost weird, then, when Tim saves his ass instead. And he does it in civies, too, which might just be the worst part.
It’s Wednesday evening and Jason is getting pizza. Dick’s waiting back in Jason’s apartment, because growing up with Bruce has him used to getting waited on hand and foot, and apparently he thinks Jason is his own personal servant or something. It’s oppression, is what it is.
“It’s not oppression,” Dick yells after him just before Jason closes the door, “it’s called losing a coin toss, asshole!”
“You’re an asshole,” Jason yells back and vows to get Dick pineapple on his pizza as revenge.
Earlier when Dick arrived, Jason had asked, as nonchalantly as possible, if Tim’s coming. Dick, who has never been nonchalant in his life, had stared at him and said, “Since when do you want me to invite Tim to movie night?”
“I don’t,” Jason had said, “but I thought that you’d have invited him anyway.”
“Of course I invited him anyway,” Dick had said immediately, “but usually he declines. This week he’s in Metropolis, though, so I didn’t bother.”
“Metropolis? The hell is he doing in Metropolis?”
“Class trip,” Dick had replied, shrugging, and added, “So, coin toss?”
Metropolis. That kind of sucks, Jason thinks when he enters the restaurant. If he were to go on a class trip, he’d want to go somewhere cooler, like Concord, Massachusetts. Does Metropolis even have any sights? For all Jason knows, the only thing that dump of a city can brag about is its low pollution and almost non-existent crime rate and the Happiest Citizens prize it’s won four times in a row. Probably those stuck-up assholes only have low pollution levels to be able to spite Gotham, like they’re so much better.
Whatever. Jason literally could not care less whether Tim has a good time. Did Jason have a good time when he was beaten to death with a crowbar? No, he did not. If Tim is forced to go to the Cleanest City in America, he can just suck it up.
He orders two pizzas and is directed to wait at one of the tables until the food is done, and that’s when he hears it. The unmistakable click of a gun.
Goddamnit.
“Everybody on the floor.” The order comes from the guy who was just standing in line behind Jason. Standing way too closely, in fact. Creep.
The guy doesn’t even look like a robber. He looks like a college student. Sure, he’s wearing a hoodie, but everyone wears a hoodie these days. Jason is wearing one right now. So is the girl two tables over, who has raised her arms over her head immediately. So is the cashier, who’s currently being held at gunpoint. So is the bored-looking teen who’s leaning against the counter as he waits for his food, back to Jason, black hair looking like he just rolled out of bed. Point is, either Jason is losing his touch, or Gotham is really slumming it in the criminal department.
“I said everybody down! You there, come over here.”
It takes Jason a second to realise that College Dude is pointing the gun at him. “What, me?” he asks slowly, incredulously.
“Damn right,” College Dude says. “Unlock your phone and hand it over.”
“No way. You’re not getting my phone.”
“You better comply, Mr Wayne,” College Dude says, and, oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s been a while since this happened. Definitely not since his death.
“Seriously?” Jason asks. “You’re gonna hold me for ransom?”
College Dude smiles nastily. “I don’t know where they’ve kept you hidden these past few years, but they made a mistake letting you out. Everyone has heard about it, and we all want a piece of the pie. I just got in first.”
As soon as he gets out of this, Jason is going to get into gear and torture a few answers out of his buddies in Crime Alley. Well, he says buddies. If what this guy is saying is true, he’s even more of an idiot than Jason assumed.
Shit. Does this mean Bruce is going to want to hire him a bodyguard again?
“Now hand over your fucking phone,” College Dude says, “or else the kid gets it.” He points the gun at the teen, who finally turns around. And just like that, Jason, who had been feeling relatively chill about this whole situation, all things considered, feels himself tense.
Because the teen who’s being held at gunpoint is Tim.
Tim, for his part, doesn’t even glance at Jason. He looks straight at College Dude, voice utterly calm as he says, “You don’t want to do that.”
“Yeah? Why not?”
“Because I’m Tim Drake, heir to Drake Industries. Don’t believe me? Look me up.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jason says, but Tim ignores him. He even hands over his phone.
“That’s the Wikipedia entry of our company, and this-“ – Tim swipes – “-is a photo of me and my dad at the Wayne charity gala two weeks ago, and here I am-“ – Tim swipes again – “-at the photography competition my school did last week.”
College Guy doesn’t let go down of the gun, but he squints down at the screen. “First place?” he says.
“Only because everybody else’s entry sucked,” Tim says. “It wasn’t nearly my best photo, anyway. They practically give these prizes away these days.”
“Aw, man, don’t be too hard on yourself,” College Guy says soothingly. “I think this looks pretty good.”
“Really?” Tim asks shyly, ducking his head a little and – what is happening – curling a lock of hair around his finger. “You think so?”
“Definitely. You’ve got some real talent there, kid.” College Guy pats Tim on the shoulder in what he must think is encouragement, but which in actuality makes him seem like a creep. Tim doesn’t flinch back, though. He accepts the pat, actually leans in a little, and when he’s close enough, he takes the gun from College Guy and throws it away without even checking where he’s tossed it.
It lands directly in front of Jason. Slowly, Jason goes to pick it up.
“Sorry about that,” Tim says without sounding very apologetic. “Can I get my phone back now? I’m going to call the cops.”
For one second, it seems that College Guy is actually going to do it, stunned into obedience by Tim’s tranquillity. Then he drops the phone and punches Tim in the face in the same moment that Jason presses the trigger and realises that in the five seconds he had it, Tim has done something to disable the firing mechanism. Because of course he has.
“Don’t hit me again,” Tim orders.
College Guy hits him again.
“That was a mistake,” Tim says in the same moment that the cops storm the building.
*
By the time that everyone has given their statement and they’re all allowed to leave, it’s gotten late. Really late. Close to midnight-late. Dick sending a million concerned texts until Jason texts him back just to shut him up-late. College Guy has been arrested, they’ve all been dutifully interrogated, and now he and Tim walk out of the restaurant, sans pizza, and Tim nods at him before taking off in the opposite direction of Jason’s apartment.
Jason catches up with him in a few steps. “Where are you going?”
“Bus stop?” Tim says, a note of uncertainty in his voice.
“You’re coming back to my place,” Jason says. He can’t believe he has to spell this out. Tim was just held hostage and then interrogated by the police for a few hours. Of course he’s coming with Jason.
Tim stops and turns to stare at him. “No, I’m not. I’m going home and you’re going to finish your movie night with Dick.” He explains this very patiently, like he thinks Jason is stupid.
Jason crosses his arms. “Are you going home?”
“What? Why wouldn’t I? Where else would I go?”
“How about Metropolis?” Jason suggests. He notes with satisfaction that Tim pales.
“Oh. Um, Dick told you about that?”
“Sure did. So either you can explain this to me, and if I like what I hear, I’ll let you come up with a cover story on why, exactly, I caught you in downtown Gotham when you’re supposed to be three hundred miles away. This way, the only lecture you’re getting is from me. Or,” he says, giving Tim a threatening smile, “I can drag you to my apartment immediately, and you can tell Dick the truth, and you’ll get a lecture from both of us. Your choice.”
Tim deflates. He looks tired all of a sudden, and Jason has a feeling it’s not merely from the hostage situation. “It wasn’t a complete lie. My class really did go on a trip to Metropolis. I was going to go, too, but then my dad said I should accompany him on a business trip to New York instead, help me learn the company better. Got permission from the school and everything. And I’m not stupid, I know Dick doesn’t like my dad very much, so I told him that I’d be on the class trip.” Tim falls silent.
While he’s been talking, Jason has been slowly steering him down the street, walking past the bus stop and taking a left at the next crossroads, setting them back on the route towards his apartment. It'll be a few extra minutes this way, but that’s fine. Gives him an opportunity to get his steps in.
“So?” Jason prompts after half a minute has passed without Tim continuing. “What happened? Your old man leave without you?”
Tim’s ensuing silence tells him that that’s exactly what happened.
Jason whistles, low and drawn-out. He can’t help but be a little bit impressed. “Damn, that’s cold. I thought Bruce was bad, but your dad takes the cake.”
“It’s not like that! He was going to take me! But we got into a fight on the way to the airport. It got really loud, too. We both said some things we didn’t mean. And eventually, my dad told the driver to stop and…” Tim trails off, once again leaving it to Jason to fill the blanks. When he does, even he is surprised by the rage that overtakes him.
“He told you to get out? What the fuck.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Tim hastens to say. “The highway wasn’t that busy, anyway.”
“He left you on the highway?”
“And I hitchhiked back, so I wasn’t even out in the rain that long. Dad knows I can take care of myself.” Tim sounds defensive.
“So you stayed in Gotham,” Jason summarises. Tim nods. Something sharp and painful twists in Jason’s chest, both because he thinks Tim’s family really sucks, and because he realises he is about to face one of man’s greatest challenges: attempt an awkward heart-to-heart with his little brother. Jason is so not the person for this.
Well, that’s ridiculous. Jason shouldn’t put himself down like that. He’s maybe not as good as Dick, but he’s definitely better-equipped than Bruce. Bruce would probably give Tim a hearty clap on the shoulder, tell him not to worry before announcing he’s going to go back to the cave. You know, like a psychopath.
He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and-
“Hey.” Tim gives Jason a hearty clap on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll be fine. I’m going home now.”
“I thought we already had this conversation, Timbo,” Jason says, catching Tim by the arm before he can run off. “My place is only one block away.”
“But-“
“Tim.” Jason waits until Tim has shut up before he says awkwardly, “Look. You realise you could have told one of us, right? Maybe not me, definitely not Bruce. But you could’ve told Dick. You didn’t have to hide in your house for a week just because your plans fell through.”
“I couldn’t, though,” Tim says. “Dick and you don’t hang out that much. I know how much he was looking forward to you two spending time together this week. If I’d told him, he’d just have been stuck babysitting me. Again.”
“Well, that’s a load of crap.” Jason delivers a friendly punch to Tim’s upper arm that has Tim nearly doubling over. “I know for a fact that he always invites you along.”
“Because he’s being polite! Not because- oh my god, will you cut that out?” Tim clutches his arm again where Jason just punched him a second time.
“Stay something stupid, get hit,” Jason says, shrugging. “It’s the rule. I don’t make the rules.”
“You do, though,” Tim wheezes. “You do make the rules! They’re your rules!”
“Dick isn’t inviting you to be polite, moron,” Jason snaps, ignoring the way Tim is pulling up his sleeve to inspect his new bruise. “Stop acting like an angsty teenager. If he invites you, it’s because he wants you around. Jesus.” They’ve finally reached his apartment building. Jason digs out his key but doesn’t enter yet, instead turning to fully face Tim. “Alright, you have sixty seconds to think of a cover story. The clock starts now.”
Tim looks like he’s about to protest, but then his gaze flits from Jason to the front door, then back to Jason. Apparently realising that this is, indeed, happening, he shuts up. When the time is up and Jason asks him if he’s got something, he doesn’t answer, ripping the key from Jason’s hand and shouldering past him inside, clearly pissed. Jason is never ever ever having kids, ever.
“I cannot believe you got kidnapped at a pizza place,” Dick yells when they enter the apartment. It does not look like he has moved from the sofa since Jason left six hours ago. The TV is on; an episode of the Bachelor is playing. “Are you okay? Did you bring pizzas?”
“Nope,” Jason says. “Brought something else, though.”
“What is it? Is it donuts? I really want donuts.”
“It’s small,” Jason says, clamping a hand over Tim’s mouth to keep him from speaking, “and scrawny, and in a bad mood.”
“Um,” Dick says. “You lost me. Did you adopt a cat?”
Jason laughs, only to howl in pain a second later. Tim has bitten his hand.
“Jason?” Dick asks, alarmed, finally getting off the sofa. His face lights up when he sees Tim. “Tim!”
“Hey, Dick.” Tim waves sheepishly at him, only for Dick to nearly tackle him to the floor in a bone-crushing hug. It’s been, like, ages since Dick greeted Jason that enthusiastically. Does he think Jason is just a stand-in for his real favourite brother? The back-up? The-
Dick lets go of Tim to tackle-hug Jason, too.
Tim, now that he’s been released, straightens up, lips set in a determined line. Oh, no. Jason has seen that kind of determination before. It never bodes well.
“Wait,” he says, but Tim is already speaking.
“I was on my class trip,” he says, “in Metropolis, but then Jason called because he needed help with a case. I told him that I’m busy and he should ask someone else, but it turns out Jason lost the lab samples I helped him take recently for the drug shipping case, and I asked how he lost them but he wouldn’t tell me so I think he just dropped them to the ground because he’s always so clumsy, and I asked if this could wait and he insisted that I had to come right now, and when I said I’d be there tomorrow he threatened to break my legs again.” Tim’s eyes are shining suspiciously, and, yep, there they are, the two drops of tears that well up and slide down his cheeks, perfectly synchronised.
“Tim,” Dick repeats, gutted. “Jason, I can’t believe you!”
“I,” Jason says pleasantly, “am going to murder you, Replacement.”
Tim cringes back and goes to hide behind Dick. “Dick, are you hearing this? And that’s after I helped him, too!”
“Jason, be nice,” Dick scolds. “I think you should go out and get all of us new pizzas, since you messed up the last order-“
“I got held for ransom!”
“- while Tim and I stay here and pick a movie.”
Tim wipes his eyes and sniffles pathetically. “Okay,” he whispers. “We can do that.”
He follows Dick to the sofa. As soon as Dick is occupied with the remote, Tim turns around to smirk at Jason. Jason leaves, fuming.
Tim wants to throw him under the bus? Fine. Jason is going to make them regret that. He’ll -
What, leave him on the highway to hitchhike his way home? Says a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Dick.
Ugh. Jason can’t believe Tim’s dad is turning out to be shittier by the minute. This way he can’t even hate Tim in peace. Life truly is hell.