Chapter Text
Jason didn’t go with Old man, Dick, Damian and Escobar to the ‘finding Bart’ quest, he needed some time to process the ‘forever getting rid of Joker’ thing, so he just hid in the cave for now, not trusting himself to be around people or riding a vehicle (especially his very cool, very fast and very expensive bike). He just hoped Alfie was busy enough with preparing dinner and another guest room for older Tim to come down here and find him.
Small steps revealed that workaholic baby bird ignored his strict orders to rest. Jason really wished little Tim didn’t take too long in the cave, yet objectively understood that he one (1) fearsome crime lord was now pathetically stuck for the foreseeable future, lest he wanted to embarrass himself or, worse, spook the baby bird.
The kid sat at the Batcomputer, yet suddenly turned over, looking back suspiciously. At first Jason thought it was his call to try his best to crawl out of his hiding place with a nice enough excuse not conveying that he was waiting on to suddenly attack the baby bird, when little Tim said. “Escobar? Didn’t you go with the others?”
The angular man as if emerged from the shadows in front of the kid. “Oh, I just needed to do one more thing over here, I told the others I’ll catch up with magic, so they already left.”
“Why are you here?” asked little Tim, suddenly sharply.
Jason didn’t like that. Baby bird sounded scared. Jason had to help him.
Jason couldn’t move from how strong he was shaking.
“Yeesh, chill.”
“You had to have a reason to stay here, alone with me,” said Tim gravely. “What’s it?”
“I just wanted to talk, no reference here this time.”
Jason had to move. Why wouldn’t his body move.
A bo stuff hit the man — adult Tim didn't dodge it, intentionally letting the weapon hit him. In his next move, Escobar launched and swiftly caught little Tim by the elbow. “I really just want to talk.”
“Then talk already,” grumbled little Tim, trying in vain to yank his arm away.
The older one made an amused huff, before preparing himself to something. “Give them a chance. Give him a chance.”
Jason felt all the little hairs on his back standing up. He had no doubts that older Tim talked about him, Jason. Older Tim wanted his little self to forgive Jason. As if that was an option, no matter if he talked about him or the Jason from Tim’s home. Was. Was this an option? Even after him failing the guy that much it nearly drove it to a suicide?
Little Tim was so surprised at the Escobar’s words, that he stopped struggling to get out. Then his face split into a broken, mocking smile. “Are you even serious? He killed me.”
Jason felt one second away from throwing up on the cave's batshit ridden floor.
Of course it wasn’t an option. Who would ever be stupid enough to trust their killer? Definitely not the smartest bird in the family. It was only fair.
Jason still couldn’t move; his shaking just grew worse. He felt his heart and breath quickening and tried to ground himself somehow to not end up with a panic attack in the middle of a cave (yeah, he got them so often Roy once made him learn the fucking word for this shit).
That predicament kept him busy for some time and made him skip a part of the conversation, yet it registered with him, when he heard a gut-wrenching sob.
Little Tim was crying. The adult one was no longer restraining him and more grounding, pressing the trembling body to himself and whispering something sickingly sweet, while unskillfully petting short unruly hair.
Little one’s knees gave out and his older self carefully lowered them down, tucking baby bird's face under his chin and humming something off tunish, his long hair covering the little guy like a veil.
“I read the files,” choked baby bird, his voice echoing loudly in the vast cavern of the Batcave. “He didn't just stop when he slew my throat. He used my blood to paint a message on the walls of my home. My teammates’ home. My friend's hands had to clean my blood off the floor when my body was taken away. How could he,” another horrible, awful sob, “How could he do that?”
The older Tim didn’t answer, he just squeezed the kid, pressing him closer, as much for his child's self benefit as for his own.
“He was my hero,” whispered little one defeatedly, through tears clogging his throat.
Jason closed his eyes and tried not to let out the scream that had been building inside his chest.
'Was'.
“He still can be, baby bird,” murmured the older one quietly. “Just. Trust me. A lot of shit looks really stupid from a time perspective. And a lot it starts looking salvageable. This? This doesn’t look like a lost cause just yet.”
The adult kindly smeared away little one’s tears as the boy kept weeping soundlessly.
“And I know it hurts. And it will, for some time. And not everyone deserves a second chance. But if people are trying, really trying. It counts as a ticket to give them a second chance.”
Jason slumped down the wall, shuddering and feeling tear tracks on his cheeks.
The cave was filled with awkward shushing noises until everything went quiet.
A cold hand touched Jason's shoulder so suddenly, he jerked back, nearly falling into the lake.
"Easy," said older Tim, suddenly right near him. “I'm not gonna hurt ya.”
“How?– "
“I'm a magician, and you're a living person with a toxic green beacon on you in a dark cave. Go figure.”
Jason flushed. So much for not getting embarrassed.
The adult Tim wasn't angry, surprisingly, at Jason hearing all that private heart-to-heart. Escobar looked thoughtful before he said, “You will try, won't you?”
Jason finally raised his head and looked the guy right in the eyes. “Yes. I swear on my life.”
He couldn’t erase or change the past, but the very least he ought to do was to do better.
“Good!” chirped Escobar.
Jason nodded and then panicked for a second when he realized he didn’t see the kid anywhere. “Where's the baby bird?”
“In the MedBay, sleeping. He's still not exactly fine, and probably will be weak and emotional for some time after all that happened. He needs support. And care. Looots of care. Anywho, take him to his room, I gotta go now, look after him, okay? Baby bird is a baby. Oh, and call him baby bird to his face too, as often as you can. I swear he likes it.”
Escobar stepped away and turned to go, when Jason got enough bravery to call him. “Tim?”
“Escobar!”
“Sorry, Escobar.”
“Yeah?”
“I— Oh. Was—Was the baby bird right? About our Tim—”
“Suicidal? Yeah. I mean, I'm too, it's just this option is unavailable for me, so shit's all good?” The second part was hastily added after the man witnessed the anguish on Jason’s face at hearing that there was not one, but two stupid birds that he had to do something with in the future.
“Anywho, as I said, gotta go, bye—Wait!”
The older Tim walked back to Jason uncomfortably close and whispered to his ear reverently "If you don't cook him the waffles, I'm gonna turn you into a toad”. And then smirked. The bastard.
“You get it? Toad Todd!”
Jason wanted to slap him.
Hard.
The nerd.
Before Jason had the time to take his revenge, the guy was gone, so he was left to pick the baby bird upstairs. Not the most difficult task. The kid was still tiny and light as a feather. Didn’t even stir when Jason carefully pulled him up. The little guy was sure tired to sleep so deep.
Alfred met him in the manor, smiling in that all knowing way of his, and Jason felt heat once again crawling to his face. One terrifying crime lord he was, huh.
He gently laid the baby bird on the bed in his room. Got some more heavy blankets on him, to help the kid sleep, since he started slightly wiggling somewhere on their climb up. Could he get sick? Jason put his scarred hand on the baby bird’s forehead, but the temperature seemed allright. The kid kept tossing, now making little whimpering noises and breathing fast.
“Tim?”
Was the kid having a nightmare?
“Baby bird?”
Tears glanced on the puffy cheeks, and that was an answer enough.
“Kid? Kid, wake up!”
Tim's eyes opened in panic, and then the child looked at him and screamed in horror, weakly trying to cover his face from the hits, scrambling away untill he hit a wall and there was nowhere else to go. Clutching his throat. Holding his once broken hand awkwardly, painfully, to his stomach that once had a gun wound. His other, once dislocated arm, flailing uselessly.
They checked the kid. Physically, he was fine.
It just looked like his body did not get the memo.
The kid was breathing so fast it was as if his heart was on his way to give out.
“Bruce! Dick!” screeched the kid. “Kon! Bart! Help! Please! Please!”
More names in that crying voice, a hand grappling for his throat. The kid in his hysteria couldn't breathe from crying and it must have added to his conviction of having a slash again on his wind pipe.
“Alfred!” roared Jason, not knowing what to do.
“Help!” kept going the child. “Help! Somebody, please, help!”
“Kid, kid, I beg you, calm down, I'm not going to—”
The window in the room shattered in fireworks of pebbles.
There was a very upset Superboy staring down at a crime lord cornering a panicking teenager. His panicking teammate.
“I can explain.”