Chapter Text
Red Hood eased the window open, sliding past the swaying curtains. His boots landed silently on plush carpet. Well, technically on a sweatshirt. He frowned. The moonlit bedroom looked like a tornado had swept through. Had the place been ransacked? He turned to the bed, but it was empty.
Had someone gotten here first? The green welled up. This was exactly the point he was trying to drive home! Robin was a kid, constantly in danger, and Batman didn’t do shit! The Replacement didn’t even stay at Wayne Manor, and the Drakes had only the generic rich-people security they probably thought would protect their collectible snuffboxes or whatever. Literally any psycho with a gun could break in at any time, and Drake would be a sitting duck.
Heh. A sitting drake.
Jason shook his head. This was no time for wordplay. He had a Robin to beat some sense into.
The bedroom was a bust, and if he stayed in here much longer, he was probably going to catch something, sealed helmet or not. That bowl on the dresser appeared to be growing as-yet-undiscovered species of mold. He picked his way through the mess of notebooks and discarded jeans, easing the bedroom door open. Then yanking it open when it caught on a pair of tighty-whities.
Hood made it a few steps down the hallway before he heard a crash from downstairs. He picked up the pace, moving quick and quiet down the stairs, slipping Emma from its holster. The house was weirdly empty, even for the time of night. All white and echoey like a museum, and not in the fun, interesting ways. Though that was a pretty nice halberd…
The kitchen light was on, and someone was talking. The Replacement, standing in a puddle of spilled coffee and ceramic shards, muttering at the floor. Jason squared his shoulders and stepped through the doorway, pistol raised.
“Little birdies shouldn’t be up so late.”
Drake glanced up, eyes bleary, then crouched and started picking up shards of coffee cup like nothing was wrong. “Okay, take two.”
Jason stepped forward, lowering the gun to keep it trained on the Replacement’s forehead. “What kind of fucking training is the Bat giving Robins these days?”
Drake seemed to get lost halfway through picking up ceramic, dumping the pieces on the counter and grabbing a pod for the coffee maker. He switched it with the still-steaming pod from the machine and shoved a new mug under the spout, slapping buttons.
Jason stared at the kid for a long minute, then down at himself. He was alive, wasn’t he? He hadn’t just imagined the last couple years? Because he was feeling awfully ghost-like at the moment, given that the kid in front of him was acting like he didn’t exist. He yanked his helmet off, shoving it under one arm and retraining his gun on Drake.
“Do you have a damn death wish, kid?”
Drake blinked at him, still not moving. Still surrounded by a splash zone of coffee and broken cup. “Oh. Jason as Red Hood. That’s new.” He tore a couple paper towels off the roll and crouched to start mopping up the spill. “I better not have actually fallen asleep.” He pinched his own arm, eyebrows furrowing. “Nope. Hallucination. Good.”
Jason stared down at him. What the actual hell was happening? “Kid. In what universe?”
“Still got three reports to finish.” Tim dropped the soggy paper towels on the counter and grabbed a couple more. “Can’t sleep yet. Just…another hour.” He actually smiled – no, laughed – as he looked back at Jason. “Maybe you can help keep me awake. Harder to sleep with a gun on me, even a fake one.”
The coffee maker shut off, and Tim grabbed his new mug, leaving the half-cleaned mess on the floor. He picked his way over the remaining shards, walking right past a stunned Jason. Jason stared around the kitchen. Only the microwave and coffee maker looked like they were ever used. The kitchen table was coated with a fine layer of dust. He looked back at the pieces of broken mug, then turned on his heel, stalking after Tim.
The kid was halfway up the stairs, burning his tongue on the new coffee.
“The gun’s not fucking fake. Show Emma some respect.”
Tim didn’t break stride. Or maybe he did. He was stumbling enough from exhaustion it was kinda hard to tell. “Is…Emma the gun? Like after Emma Goldman?”
“What? No, after Emma Woodhouse.”
“Oh. I thought with all the red and black, and the fight the power thing, maybe…” Tim gestured vaguely and headed toward his bedroom.
He stepped over a pile of textbooks and sat at a crowded desk, waking a sleeping laptop. He shoved aside three empty coffee cups to make room for the current one, and started typing.
Jason watched him in horrified silence for a few more seconds before he holstered Emma and took a few quick steps forward. He slammed the laptop shut and dragged Tim’s chair back from the desk. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Hey!” Tim yelped, then went still, staring up at him. “Jason?”
“Yeah, nice of you to finally notice. Where are your damn parents?”
“Bora-Bora I think? Jason?”
“Still me. You live like this? Just fucking feral? Where the hell is Dick? Where the hell is Alfred ?”
“At…the manor?” Tim’s frown deepened. “You’re alive?”
“Jesus Christ. I thought you were the smart one. The shiny new model.”
“Haven’t slept in 68 hours,” Tim said vaguely, studying Jason’s hair. “Just got to finish these reports. And get to 69. ‘Cuz, you know, nice.”
Jason closed his eyes. “Where the fuck is Batman?”
“Manor? How are you alive?”
“Does Batman know you haven’t slept in 68 hours? Or that your parents aren’t here? Or that you apparently hallucinate me on a regular basis?”
“Pshh,” Tim waved a hand. “Batman doesn’t sleep. And we all hallucinate you.”
Jason covered his face with both hands. “Okay. I’m not…” He couldn’t beat this kid up. It would be like stepping on an overcooked spaghetti noodle and calling it a fair fight. There was no point to be made here. However, he had somehow become even angrier with Batman, a thing he hadn’t thought possible.
He heaved the kid up over his shoulder and wound his way across the room, back out the still-open window. Tim wriggled, trying to get a shot in, too tired to do much besides flop like a landed fish.
“Lemme go, you asshole!”
“Not until I’ve had words with Batman.”
A few minutes later, Jason was marching up the front steps of the manor, a flailing Tim pinned to his side. He slammed open the front door. “B, get your furry ass down here!”
There were a couple beats of silence, then the door at the top of the stairs flew open. Bruce stood there in his raggedy boxers and the Gotham Turkey Trot tee he’d had for longer than Jason had been alive. His hair was a mess and he looked like he was seeing an actual ghost, and if maybe Jason’s throat suddenly closed up and he felt smaller than Tim, that was nobody’s business but Jason’s.
“Jaylad?” he breathed, frozen at the top of the steps.
Jason shoved Tim forward. “Want to tell me why the hell I was able to break into Drake Manor in five seconds flat and aim a gun at your new bird’s head? Or why he didn’t even seem to fucking notice because he hasn’t slept in 68 goddamn hours, and lives alone in an absolute hellhole of a bedroom in a museum of a house, leaving broken cups lying around like a goddamn gremlin?”
“Hey,” Tim protested, but he was soundly ignored.
“Jason, you’re alive?”
“Yes, and we’re focusing on the other one right now!” Jason snapped. “Tim, do you have a room here?”
“Of course he does.”
“Great. Get to bed, kid. If I see you out of bed before 9 am, Emma’s coming back out to talk.”
Tim scowled. “You kind of suck as a big brother.”
“Tough shit, and I’m not your brother. Right now I’m your boss. Bed. Now.”
“Ugghhhh.” Tim dragged himself up the stairs, past a shell-shocked Bruce.
Jason folded his arms and faced down his- Bruce. “Alright, Bats. I had a whole plan, but that went out the window, because it turns out things are somehow worse than I thought, and I thought they were pretty damn bad. So the kid is going to sleep, and you and I are gonna have a talk about his living situation, and I’m putting parental controls on everything in the Batcave because Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, you all need supervision. Alfie!”
“Yes, Master Jason.” Alfred was standing in the hallway, dressed in his neat blue pajama set, beaming at Jason.
Jason folded his arms. “Cup of tea? I’m gonna need it.”
“Right away, Master Jason. Two sugars, no milk.”
“Thanks, Alfie. No coffee for the replacement until we figure out how close he is to caffeine poisoning. No coffee for Bruce because fuck him. B!” Jason strode toward the study. “Get Dick over here! I gotta kick his ass too! How the hell are you all still alive…” His voice faded as he disappeared down the hallway, still ranting.
Alfred brushed tears from his eyes and made his way to the kitchen to start the kettle. He would be having words of his own with Master Tim. Had already had a few with Master Bruce. For now, Master Jason was handling things just fine. And what a joy it was to hear him ranting in the corridors once more.