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Tim knows, is the thing.
See, Batman thinks he’s got the whole secret angsting under wraps. But Tim knows. He’s seen the patrol deviations, the late night data tracking. The half-typed out theories. He’s watched Batman standing in front of the display case, hand up against the glass like if he reaches through he can pull his son right out of it, safe and sound.
The research doesn’t lie, when Tim gets over himself enough to actually pursue it. Batman is right. There’s a reason the Red Hood’s mannerisms seem so familiar.
Tim is used to being the second choice. He’s good at it even! He’s well practiced in the art of being perfectly behaved. So many times, there were last minute cancellations that forced his parents to stay home when they’d rather be out, and he’s applied every one of those ‘smile and nod’, ‘speak when spoken to’ and ‘minimize potential for disaster’ lessons with Batman. Tim’s a hard worker, and he knows this is just part of the job.
Sure, sometimes it doesn’t work, and Batman ends up blowing up at him anyway, but keeping Gotham’s resident vigilante together is like studying a new subject. Tim just needs to learn to ace these tests faster.
He knows it won’t be enough, no matter what he does. Even Tim Drake at his most irreproachable, at his most absolutely flawless, is not anywhere close to what Batman actually needs. He’s still just a stand in for the real thing.
Tim isn’t his son, and he’s never going to be. Doesn’t want to be, really.
He’s not Jason Todd.
He just thought…
It doesn’t do to get too comfortable. Satisfaction with your present circumstances is just a synonym for laziness.
But he thought he’d been doing well?
At least well enough not to be the cheese in the proverbial mouse trap, that is.
Sure, Batman says he’s been sent to the Tower for Tim’s protection. The Red Hood has been getting more and more aggressive. There have been too many threats about clipping Robin’s wings, and he’s worried about Tim’s safety. Gotham, he declares, isn’t safe.
But the facts don’t add up.
Fact number one: Batman has been Batman-ing for over a decade now. The Batcave is state of the art. The entire Manor is outfitted with the best defensive measures money can buy, and Batman has a heck ton of money. It’s built to protect them from every possible threat, and even a few impossible ones for good measure. It’s got kryptonite, an extensive armory, and Alfred Pennyworth with a loaded shotgun. The very idea of somebody getting in when they aren’t wanted is absurd.
Fact number two: in Gotham, allies are just a comm away. Oracle is ready for assistance whenever needed. Spoiler is probably already with him if there’s trouble, and even Nightwing is less than an hour’s travel away. In contrast, Titan’s Tower, while technically home to a slew of heroes, is still very much the base of a bunch of teenagers. Tim is their friend, but he is not their responsibility. They’d protect him with their lives, but they shouldn’t have to. It is absolutely not their job. That’s too much to ask of them.
It’s not really Batman’s job either. He’s not his dad.
But he is an adult. He shouldn’t be asking children to take care of children. Besides, Tim doesn’t need anybody to take care of him. He’s got independence in spades.
Exercising his independence, he’s been able to go out and observe Hood in action for the past three weeks. The fighting patterns, the familiarity with the Bowery, the clear care for the people he protects—it’s Jason. It’s all Jason.
That’s another thing. Tim’s seen Hood with the kids he helps in the Alley. Word is he’s built a whole set of rules around protecting children. Guess it’s just Tim who doesn’t count.
It’s fine. Tim knows care is a privilege, and he’s in Jason’s spot. Hood’s got a right to be mad at him.
Fact number three: Batman knows who Hood is. Disregarding the fact that he hasn’t told anybody about his suspicions (a discovery, it’s been long enough it qualifies as a concrete discovery), even though not telling people things about Jason is what got him and Dick into an enormous fight last time, he still hasn’t removed Jason’s codes from the system. Tim checked, back when he was still uncertain if his whole deduction was just paranoia.
It’s not. Batman knew who Jason was, he knew all the reasons why he’d have a grudge against him, he moved Tim into a distant, defenseless location, and he practically threw the door wide open.
So it’s not that far a leap, really. Tim is good at evidence. And the evidence says Batman doesn’t really care if he dies, not if killing him gets it out of Jason’s system. Not if it means his real Robin gets to come home.
Tim is expendable. It’s something he knows to be true, even though he hadn’t really thought about it that way. But even though it’s true, it still hurts.
When the lights flicker out, and the building enters lockdown, he makes himself a final cup of coffee, settles himself on the floor of the kitchen between the sink and the island, and waits.
He pulls up the camera feed on his phone to make sure no one gets caught in the crossfire, or tries to, but it’s blocked. In another app, his team’s vitals stay steady, if slowed. They’re asleep. That’s good. Hood’s done something, but it’s probably not permanent. Wonder Girl, Superboy, Impulse, they’re important. They aren’t allowed to disappear.
Tim’s been a good understudy, but it’s time to give his script back to the person who’s actually meant to play the role.
There’s footsteps in the hallway, slowly clicking across the floors. Tim grips his mug. It’s still too hot, but he drinks anyway, like he can burn the taste of his fear off his tongue.
Be brave, Timothy, commands Janet Drake, imperious and unflinching. Drakes are not afraid of anything.
It’s okay. He’s a poor model of the real thing in every other aspect of his life, he can afford to be a bad Drake too. It’s not like there’s going to be a point to trying to be better in a couple hours.
Will it be hours? He hopes not. He hopes it’s quick.
The footsteps pause in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Oh, Replacement…” croons a heavily modulated voice, deep and mechanical. “What, too scared to come out to play?”
Tim takes another sip of his coffee and puts the phone down. He’s been completely locked out of the majority of the Tower defenses, which shouldn’t be possible. It’s half his system at this point. He makes one small, cowardly attempt to text Dick for help, and the message is marked not delivered.
No signal, either.
Okay.
He doesn’t even try contacting Batman. He doesn’t think he can take the confirmation that this is all his plan, that he wouldn’t come because he put Tim here with the express purpose of eliminating unwanted dead weight.
Ha! Dead weight. Get it?
Tim huffs a laugh, and the footsteps stop.
“There you are,” says the Red Hood, the pleased tone eerie in it’s mundanity, and Tim has half a second to duck before the butt of a gun comes crashing through the air and tears through the cabinets where his head just was. He rolls to the side and takes off running.
Something slams into his back and he goes down hard, chin smacking into the tile so hard his teeth cut through his lip. There’s blood in his mouth, and he hurries to twist out of the hold, but his wrists are trapped and all his thrashing does is switch him from a knee on his back to it crushing into his chest, gasping for air as he looks up into that familiar red mask.
“Not so fast, Replacement. You know what happens to little birds that try to fly too soon.” His voice is still so congenial. Tim wishes he’d scream at him, or something. At least with the modulator he doesn’t sound like the boy Tim used to follow around when he was younger.
Still, he looks at the gleaming weapons strapped to his sides, and hears the easy-going cadence of his voice, and is left unnerved at the disconnect.
Hood draws a wickedly sharp knife from its sheath at his side and rests it almost lightly against the column of Tim’s throat, serrated edge catching on his skin and nicking it barely enough to sting. One move is death. If he so much as swallows, he’ll get cut clean open.
Tim shuts his eyes tightly, breathing carefully through his nose even as his lungs protest at the weight they’re under. He can feel his pulse pounding where Hood’s glove has forced his head back, half his face pressed into the floor.
He’s not going to cry. He’s not a little kid, and there’s no reason to be getting so upset.
The kitchen tile is cold against his cheek.
That seems unfair. It’s not enough that he’s going to die, he has to be cold, too?
Robin was never meant to be a permanent position for him. Putting on the suit was like slapping a piece of paper over the hole in a sinking boat. It was never going to be enough. And now…Batman doesn’t need him anymore. Nobody needs Tim, not really.
He’s a redundancy.
Batman doesn’t kill, but they’re all professionals. Tim can respect a little outsourcing.
Tim isn’t helpless. He’s trained with the best of the best. He’s definitely good enough to hold Hood off for a little while, probably even enough to find his teammates and get them back into action quick enough to take Hood down.
If they aren’t in on the whole thing, that is.
He pushes the thought away. They wouldn’t do that to him. His friends aren’t loyal to Batman and his mission, they’re loyal to Tim. He’s mostly certain.
They’d help him, if he could get to them.
It’s just that he’s tired.
“What, Pretender, not even going to fight back?”
Guess not. Fuck, he really is that useless.
Tim huffs out a hysterical giggle, and Hood stiffens.
“What the hell are you laughing at?”
Tim really, really wishes he could swallow. His throat feels uncomfortably dry. “Nothing. Myself, really.”
“The only thing I think is funny about all this is that Batman would pick a replacement as pathetic as you,” Hood snarls, and the pressure behind the knife increases like he’s only barely restraining himself from slitting his throat. At least he doesn’t sound polite anymore. That’s some small comfort. “At least the last Robin lasted a couple hours. Is he even training you before sending you out to fight?”
He laughs sharply, and Tim flinches almost imperceptibly. It isn’t a pretty sound. “God, it’s like he wants me to kill you.”
And that’s…a little too close to the truth for comfort.
Tim blinks, and something wet rolls down his cheek. He presses his lips tightly together to stop himself from crying, but the tears just keep welling up.
“Are you seriously just going to cry?”
Hood picks his head up only to slam it back into the ground. With the knife gone, Tim allows himself a small, shaky breath. There’s something warm and sticky pooling around where his head makes contact with the floor.
“Why aren’t you fighting? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jason still hasn’t killed him. He doesn’t know that it’s alright. Nobody’s going to mind.
“Sorry,” Tim whispers.
“Did you just apologize to me? Are you serious? I’m trying to fucking kill you—”
The knife isn’t anywhere near his throat now as Hood gesticulates angrily, monologuing on. That’s not good. Batman’s going to be so mad.
“It’s okay, Jason.”
There’s an incredulous pause. “I don’t want you comforting me. I want you to pick up a goddamn weapon and fight! I came here for a duel to the death, not—and what do you mean, Jason ?”
“It’s okay,” Tim repeats. He sniffs and tries to collect himself. It’s easier to be the calm one when Jason is freaking out. It’s hard to look dignified while pinned to the floor, but he does his best. “I’m not going to fight you. You can kill me and be Robin again. You don’t have to worry about it. I understand, I don’t mind.”
“You don’t mind. ” Jason’s voice is thick with disbelief. He backs up off of Tim, crouched in front of the kitchen island with the knife loose in his hand, which is exactly the opposite of what he’s supposed to be doing. Tim’s messing this up. He messes everything up. He sits up hurriedly, blood dripping down his throat in slow rivulets that he ignores because, really, he should already be dead by now.
“Really, I don’t! You can kill me, you can have your job back, I promise! It makes perfect sense for you to be mad, I took your spot, I took your family, I practically spat on your grave—”
“If this is some weird, convoluted way of trying to convince me to let you go, this is really not the way to go about it, Pretender.”
“But that’s just it! I’m not! You can be Robin again, you can do it, they miss you so much—”
“I don’t want the fucking uniform back, I want to kill you violently and with prejudice,” Jason says angrily, although he sounds a little unsure about it. “Plus, I don’t imagine Bats would be exactly thrilled to have a murderer on his team, genius.”
“He wouldn’t mind! He doesn’t mind, he’d be so happy, he—” the first part of his sentence processes and he pales. “You don’t want to be Robin?”
“Why the fuck would I want to be Robin? Like I’d ever want to work with that asshole again.”
“But-but he…” Tim’s breathing is a shuddering, broken mess as his eyes well up again. “But he’s going to be so upset!”
“What—”
“You don’t understand, he made this whole plan, you’re supposed to be happy you got what you wanted so he could convince you to come back, there’s a whole plan and you’re completely ruining it! ”
He can barely see through the tears running down his face, arms clutching his knees desperately. This is bad. He didn’t see this coming, Batman is going to be so disappointed, Tim can’t believe he’s failing at dying, how worthless can he be, he—
Jason is backing up, hands raised. It isn’t threatening. It’s more like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
“What the fuck, ” he says, with feeling.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all.
He looks up at Jason. “Look,” he says, wiping his face with the cuff of his sweatshirt, “Can you just get on with it already?”
“What the fuck, ”Jason whispers.
“Sorry, that was rude.” Tim sniffs. He’s being really unprofessional. “Sorry. I’m just kind of nervous, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“Why are you apologizing to me? I’m trying to kill you!”
“And you’re doing a really good job,” Tim tells him supportively. “Look, don’t worry, it’s okay.”
“I really, really don’t think it is,” Jason says, taking off his mask and looking at him. “And what was that about a plan? Because we need to circle back to that like, right now—”
And God, is it too much to ask to just get this over with?
Tim lunges for the knife and fits it back against his throat, fingers shaking. Jason freezes.
“It’s okay,” Tim says. He’s not sure if it’s to Jason or himself.
He adjusts his grip on the hilt.
“Replacement,” Jason starts.
That’s all the warning he gets before he’s being tackled to the ground again, the knife wrestled out of his grasp before he even knows what’s going on. He yelps and scrabbles for purchase, for something better to use, but Jason has his arms trapped, and drags him up from the floor towards the common area like the world’s most ungainly sack of potatoes.
“You’re ruining everything!” Tim screeches, too furious to bother with decorum.
“I changed my mind,” Jason says, propping him up on the couch with pillows, restraining him again when he tries to break free, and wrapping his limbs securely with blankets till he can barely move. He’s taken his mask off, and Tim doesn’t know when. “You’re perfectly qualified to be a Robin, because you are a. Fucking. Idiot.” He punctuates each word of his statement with a finger pointed in his face for emphasis. “Don’t you ever do that again. Scared the hell out of me. I’m the only one who gets to kill you, dumbass.”
Tim glares up at him balefully.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because you ruined the fucking vibe, that’s why.”
There’s something quivering in his chest.
“You, you—”
“I what?”
“You—” Tim bursts into tears again, and Jason bundles him in his arms tightly. He’s too exhausted to try and break free.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it fast enough, he’s going to be so mad. ”
Jason rubs his back, making shushing noises even as he glares at the wall. Tim buries his head in his neck, crying.
“I’m sorry, ” he chokes.
“Stop fucking apologizing,” Jason says, annoyed but still more gentle than Tim can take at the moment. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in wet, halting gasps of air.
There’s a raw, aching pain in his throat, in his chest. He’s not sure what Jason thinks he’s doing. Tim doesn’t need to be comforted.
But it’s nice, to be held. And he’s not cold anymore.
They sit there a while. Finally, the tears slow, and Jason eases up on the pressure of the hug, drawing back. Tim turns to face him, already missing the brief feeling of safety.
“Now,” Jason says, voice abruptly dangerous again, “What did you mean, Bruce had a plan?”
And that’s…unexpected.
Tim frowns.
“Bruce? Who’s Bruce?”