Chapter Text
It isn’t that Tim can’t do the meeting.
He can. As Red Robin nee Regular Robin and CEO of Drake Industries, he’s office-houred his way through a lot of bullshit. He’s attended meetings with broken ribs, fractured tibias, and - on one memorable occasion - an untreated stab wound.
So, like. He can make it through the meeting. Objectively, that is something he is capable of. He’s not injured. He got an entire five hours of sleep, impressive by Tim-standards. He’s fine.
It just - hurts.
It’s not like he isn’t used to that, either. Tim knew, when he woke up this morning and felt the ache in his limbs, that it was going to be a rough day. Janet would still send him to galas like this, no matter how much he begged, legs on fire from standing, his head spinning. And he would mingle, because he is a goddamn professional.
But it’s just -
Dick keeps telling him. And Alfred, and even Bruce (except whenever Bruce says it Tim can call him a hypocrite - bolded, italicized, highlighted, in 100 point font).
Just because he can do a thing doesn’t mean he has to. And, in fact, it generally means he shouldn’t.
And, well. He gets impatient when he’s already in pain. He’s still got fifteen minutes until the meeting is set to begin, and the chances of him slapping Mr. Smith-Harguson so hard that the man’s toupee flies off are rising exponentially by the second.
If he does that, then it’s going to become a Situation, with a capital S and everything. His PR reps will have to do Damage Control. And - worst of all - Bruce will find out, because he always finds out, and he’s going to give Tim his I’m Not Mad Just Disappointed look.
Tim shudders, even as the movement sends spikes of pain down his side. He does not want to Just Disappoint his pseudo-father figure.
Yeah, that settles it. He needs an excuse to get out of here, and he needs it fast.
To: dick grayson
hey are you busy
i could use a distraction. need to get out of this meeting
One minute ticks by, and then the next. No response.
To: B
Are you busy?
Not urgent
Already tried Dick
Watchtower. I can be at your location in 45.
No that’s okay!! Thank you though :)
Are you sure?
Yeah. Just wanted to go get ice cream
Tim sits for a moment, stares at the typing bubble for a good sixty seconds.
We can go as soon as I get back on Thursday.
Deal :))))
Well. Fuck.
To: Alfred !!!! <3
Are you occupied at the momwnt?
*Moment
Automatic Response: This is Alfred Pennyworth. I will be out of town for the next five days, as per my agreement with Master Bruce.
- If something is on fire, call Master Clark. (620 XXX XXXX)
- If someone is in mortal danger, call Miss Leslie. (609 XXX XXXX)
- If any other circumstances arise, call them both.
- Please refer to our Doordash and Instacart subscriptions if you do not feel capable of sustaining yourselves.
- My return with souvenirs is contingent upon a good report of behavior. This applies to you as well, Master Bruce.
To: konnnn 💙♥️
u in metropolis?
no im helping pa out today remember!! :)
i’m soso excited :)
omg right!! how could i forget :facepalm:
good luck :)
thanks :)
see you monday?? :)
ofc <3
To: steph
what are you up to bitch
The message won’t deliver. Undercover with Babs and Cass, then, or she’s just let the phone die. Both equally likely options.
To: bernardddd 💛💚
down for lunch?
In Arizona atm
oh shit!! right, totally spaced.
Np
Call tn?
obviously <3
To: little freak boy
how much to steal the maserati and cause a scene
code yellow
i will trade chores
i will do the dishes for a week
it’s that serious
I thought you were supposed to be at DI today?
yeha
why do u think i need help.
Typical of you to need assistance with the most mundane of tasks.
u made me fake a health crisis last weke bc u didn’t want to be in pre algebra
i KNOW the damn league taught you how to do NORMAL algebra. let alone pre
…I do owe you a favor, Drake.
However, I am unable to cash in at this time, unless the situation changes priority to a red or higher?
Next period is my scheduled art presentation.
The oil pastel pieces.
Tim glances at the time. Three minutes until he can expect people to begin roaming into the conference room. He’s fucked fucked.
But he’s seen Damian work on this project for weeks. The kid has been camped out in the living room for hours at a time, coloring and recoloring each piece while Titus and Catfred sniff around the room and drape themselves over his feet. Damian even sent a few progress pictures to the family group chat, despite his insistence that it ‘meant nothing’ and he ‘did not care about their plebeian tastes in art’.
Plus, as Alfred’s automated reply so kindly reminds Tim, any car-wrecking (intentional or otherwise) will result in a loss of souvenir privileges, and Tim’s pretty sure Alfred is somewhere nice this week.
Drake?
no its okie
good luck on yr presentation!!
it looks rlly nice :)) <3
Of course it does.
Thank you.
3<
he a little lost but he got the spirit
I am putting you on Do Not Disturb now, Drake.
little freak boy has turned on Do Not Disturb. Notify anyway?
Yes / No
Tim rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, leaning over the back of the chair and feeling the weight of the world settle into his body. He’s - shit, he thinks he might actually start crying. Which is dumb. Drakes don’t cry.
As he sits there, taking deep breaths and blinking away the burn behind his eyes, he gets a bad idea. A fucking awful idea, actually.
From the hall, he can hear the faint click of expensive business shoes on linoleum. The words on the extensive dossier in front of him begin to swim.
Tim takes a deep breath, unlocks his phone, and makes a decision.
To: Red Hood 🙄👎
Extraction required immediately.
I’m in civilian mode. Tact required.
[4:22 PM - Location sharing turned on ]
Tim feels his stomach twist. They’re not… Hood works with the Bats sometimes. Whenever it benefits him, mostly. They’re not friends; they’re barely acquaintances.
On my way!
fuck
omw
[4:23 PM - Location sharing turned on ]
Tim takes a moment to inhale and exhale, as deep as he can get it. His ribs twinge with the motion, and his eyes start to water as the pain in his back and arms really hits him.
It’s okay, though. When he opens the map, reacting to Hood’s message with a thumbs up, the interface Babs set up proudly declares him to be 2 minutes and 4.8 seconds away.
Tim… isn’t really sure how Jason’s about to cover 15 miles in less than three minutes, but he’s never doubted Babs before and he’s certainly not about to start now. All he’s got to do is grit his teeth and hang on those 124.8 seconds until he can have an excuse to go the fuck home.
The elevator dings, and people begin shuffling in, gripping Tim’s hand in a way that sends fire lancing down his shoulder. Ding - Norman from R&D. Ding - Tamyra from Community Outreach. Ding - Fucking Gerald, who doesn’t think Tim is fit to be CEO and has spent the past nine months making sure everyone knows it.
“Timothy,” Fucking Gerald says. Tim sees Tamyra wince from behind him; she’s good people, he thinks to himself, he needs to make sure she’s selected for a pay raise the next time Budgeting sends that shit up.
“Gerry,” Tim says, voice slick as oil, giving the man what isn’t so much a smile as a baring of teeth.
“Drake,” says Red Hood from the elevator, and half the room drops to the ground.
Tim - freezes.
He sees Hood take in the scene. Analyze the shareholders clutching their drinks from the minibar, the ratio of women to men, the ratio of people that look like him to people that look like Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. It’s hard to read behind the helmet, but Tim’s getting good at it, and he notices the unmistakable way his eyes narrow at the sight of Albert Kingman cowering under the table.
(Tim fucking knows, okay, Tim and Dick both have been trying to get the domestic abuse charges to stick for weeks, but Albert has a lot of money and Gotham has a lot of corrupt cops, so things just… keep getting swept under the rug. Tim isn’t Hood, Tim can’t just take the guy out back and shoot him and have it done with, no matter how much he wants to.
…Which is a lot. Tim really wants to punch that guy’s teeth in and get someone competent on the board in his place.)
Tim realizes, in the moment of his freezing, that he may have implied to Hood that this was… more pressing. More mission-relevant. More ‘in mortal peril’ than ‘throwing a shitfit over having to do his actual job for once’.
“Uh,” Tim says, eloquent as ever.
Hood tilts his head towards Tim. “You’re coming with me, kid.”
“I’m,” Tim starts. His head is foggy; even though Tim knows he’s far from it, his body has declared Hood’s presence safe and has had about enough of thinking thoughts for today. “Sort of in the middle of something?”
Tamyra makes a strangled noise from below the table. Smart girl, Tim thinks, the sort of girl that survives in Gotham Fucking City. Maybe she’d punch Albert in the face, if he asked really nicely.
In the time it takes him to make that assessment, Hood crosses the room in two strides and presses one gun lazily under Tim’s ribs. “Guess it’ll have to be postponed, then. I’m under strict orders.”
“Well, then,” Tim says lamely. God, but his head aches. “If they’re strict.” And he takes a step forward, to comply, but today might as well happen because Tim’s bad leg buckles under his weight and sends him toppling to the floor.
Hood’s got him tucked under one arm before Tim can blink. Tim stiffens at the touch, Hood’s armor digging into the sore spot on his left bicep without even meaning to. His outfit’s just like that - it’s got pointy edges coming out the ass.
“We’ll be going now,” Hood says, voice mechanical and eerie through the mask.
“I’ll be fine,” Tim gets out, trying to give Tamyra something approximating a reassuring look. “Call the number, yeah? Everything will be sorted out by the end of the work day, I’m sure.”
“Come on, kid,” Hood says, bodily dragging him into the elevator. And then they’re -
Alone. Tim’s breath hitches as he slumps against the elevator wall, inching further away from Hood, who braces his hands against his knees, shaking with rage, and Tim -
“Sorry,” Tim says, words spilling out before he can stop them. He presses back against the wall, and Hood’s between him and the doors, but maybe he can still try -
“Sorry,” Tim babbles, “I’m sorry, I just - I shouldn’t have used, um, I know that number is just for when I’m in the field, I know, I’m so sorry - “
Hood unlatches his helmet. Tim lifts his hands in front of his face, dipping into a fighting stance.
“Hooooooly shit, dude,” Hood says, wiping at his eyes. He’s - laughing, high and amused. It, like, almost falls under the definition of a giggle. Tim immediately decides that it was less scary to be yelled at. “Holy fuckin’ - their faces, did you see their faces?
“You’re,” Tim tries. His tongue feels like dead weight in his mouth. “You aren’t mad?”
“Mad? That was fuckin’ great! You - “ Hood pauses, seems to really look at Tim for the first time, glee sliding off his face as he assesses. “Everything good, kid? You injured?”
“Mmmgh,” Tim says, letting his eyes slide shut. Great. Hood’s not going to leave him for dead in this elevator. Maybe he can still get a ride home, then. All the adrenaline floods out of him, leaving him exhausted and empty. “No, just. Hurts.”
Hood makes a soft noise that can only be described as tutting. “What does?”
Tim almost says everything, but he hears Bruce in the back of his head telling him to report, so instead he says, “Knee. Left arm. Head. Joints, mostly, and some old injuries. B’s got ‘em on file, I just need - ” He gestures vaguely in the air. “I don’t think I can drive.”
Hood frowns. “Why didn’t you call N?”
“Didn’t answer,” Tim says tiredly. He wraps his arms around himself; it almost helps. Lord, he’d do awful things for a heating pad right now.
“B?”
“Busy.” Tim leans forward with great effort, swiping his keycard to shut down the cameras and hitting the button for the garage. “Spoiler didn’t answer, A’s on vacation, Robin’s got a big thing at school, Bernard is also on vacation - you can see where this is going. Trust me, Hood, you were not my first option.”
Hood stares at him. Tim thinks something like hurt flickers across his face - but probably not. The domino still makes him difficult to read. “Bernard?”
“My boyfriend,” Tim says, leaning his head back against the cool metal wall as the downward movement of the elevator makes his stomach lurch.
There’s a silence, long enough that Tim cracks an eye open. “Don’t tell me the guy wearing the leather harness is homophobic.”
(Besides, he’s pretty sure Hood helped run security when Dick had that Nightwing pride float last June, but who knows. Maybe the Lazarus Pit makes you hate gay people. This is Gotham. Weirder shit happens.
Tim thinks fondly about the incident with the pink kryptonite and how hard he fought to name it a slur in the official records, just to make things difficult during Justice League meetings since Superman doesn’t feel comfortable reclaiming it. C’mon, Bruce, he’d said, it’s a little treat for your favorite son, and then Bruce had threatened to bench him for two weeks until Tim roped Dick into it and accused Bruce of committing a hate crime.)
“No, I just - “ Hood waves his hands, looking slightly panicked in a way that’s incongruous with the amount of heat he’s packing on his person. “I thought you were dating Superboy? Or is that - sorry if you broke up, I don’t really - ”
“I’ve seen you with Roy and Kori,” Tim says, squinting at him. “You have got to be familiar with the concept of polyamory.”
Hood makes a choked, spluttering noise, and Tim considers being a little shit - is that how Roy makes you sound - but Hood is fortunately saved from this fate by the elevator doors opening.
Tim buckles himself into the Jaguar, Hood letting out a low whistle and running a gloved hand reverently over the leather interior, and he’s asleep before they can even pull out of the garage.
—
When Tim wakes up, he’s tucked into his bed at the Manor, still dressed in business casual aside from the removal of his necktie. Hood’s nowhere to be found, but on his bedside table, Tim finds a bottle of his prescription painkillers, a glass of room temperature water, and a plastic coin purse that declares in garish rainbow letters: IT’S A GREAT DAY TO BE GAY!
—
To: Red Hood 🤨
Thanks.
:thumbsup:
anytime