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“Look, it’s okay. I’ll ask Cyborg for a ride home. Good luck.” Tim disconnected the call with Bruce and frowned. League business always took precedence, but this just made him wonder how soon it would be before the rest of the teams would be called in to assist. Martian Manhunter was a powerful alien, debatably on the level with Superman, so if he was missing, then it was some serious business. Fiddling with his phone, he stared out the windows, looking out over San Francisco Bay and the night beyond.. Whoever had taken J'onn out of the picture was a force to be reckoned with.
After a busy weekend with everyone, the Tower was quiet now that the others had left. Cyborg was around somewhere, and Beast Boy probably was too, so he had options. Worse came to worse, he could try to convince Kon to come out and pick him up. At some point, he’ll understand that Tim was never mad at him for what he did. None of them are.
Crouching, he put away his phone, turning his back to the bedroom door.
Big mistake.
"Hey, Tim," an unknown voice said from behind him. Tim spun fast to face whoever snuck up on him. This was Titan’s Tower, people couldn’t just walk in here off the streets. What concerned him more was the fact this person knew his name .
A big dude dressed in oddly fitting clothes and a red helmet stood in the doorway. "I was here first."
Falling into a defensive stance, Tim pulled his bo-staff out and extended it with a quick snap. The helmet was a dead giveaway for the other person’s identity. "You're the Red Hood. You've been cleaning up Gotham, the easy way."
"Easy? What do you know about easy, Tim? You had a father that looked after you. You went to private school, right? You slept in a bed."
Tim didn't think the word meant quite what Jason thought it did. Clearly, Jason's idea of easy and his own didn't quite match up. Sure, he had all of these things, but given the choice, he'd rather have the love and attention of his parents than their store bought affection.
The stranger removed the helmet to reveal an oddly familiar face somewhat obscured by an obligatory domino. A face that was a little older, a lot harsher, but still one that occasionally appeared in Tim’s dreams of when life was a lot more simple.
Jason Todd.
"I slept on the streets. I lived in the alleyways in Gotham. Trying to survive." Jason set the helmet down on the desk, still speaking. "Until Bruce took me in."
He tore off his outer layer of clothing in a theatrical reveal that would do Superman proud to expose a version of the Robin costume. A very familiar version of the Robin costume, one that Tim had more pictures of than any other version sans the hideous yellow tights that were not doing a thing for him.
"I trained as hard as I could. I did whatever he asked… at least at first. But it didn't matter.” The Red Hood monologued as though he were some third-rate villain rather than the Shakespeare nerd Tim knew he to be. There had been a sad look in Alfred’s eyes when he mentioned that about Jason, one that made Tim never want to press for more even though he loved learning little things about his hero. “They said I wasn't tough enough to be Robin. But today, they say you are."
Jason, Red Hood -- whatever he was going by these days -- charged forward while he roared. "Show me, Tim! Show me what you have that I didn't."
Tim knew he couldn't meet the other's charge head on and somersaulted to get out of the way. It didn’t do any good and he slammed into the wall, which Jason just charged through like it wasn’t even there. What the hell was he on? Venom? Or was this just pure, unadulterated rage? A few more solid but not flashy acrobatic moves kept him out of range as they fought through the halls and rooms of the Tower. Jason was a powerhouse who just kept on coming.
Landing on the stairs leading down into the Hall of Heroes, Tim tried to regroup as Jason’s mouth kept going. Seriously, did he ever shut up?
Jason stalked forward, intent on his prey. "You were this kid, worried about how Batman was spiraling down into darkness."
Tim knew a good cue when he heard one and threw down some smoke pellets. He didn’t expect them to do much good against someone trained by Bruce and Jason didn’t disappoint. Oh well, it was worth a shot.
"You spent weeks tracking the Dark Knight."
Swinging his staff, Tim hoped to connect with something vital, but Jason blocked with his wrist. What was he wearing, steel-reinforced gauntlets? How heavy were those and where could he get some?
"Solving a mystery no one else could."
Tim swung again, this time with a little more desperation, and was blocked once more.
"You discovered who he was behind that mask -- Millionaire Bruce Wayne. You were so pleased with yourself, I'm sure that you forgot who you were really dealing with."
Tim knew then that he was outmatched. This resurrected Jason fought like Batman at his peak. A tactical retreat was his only hope at this point, so he leaped away using a back handspring routine Dick had taught him, aiming for the main floor of the Hall of Heroes. A plan, he needed to come up with a plan and fast because Jason wouldn’t be distracted by flashy movements.
Sure enough, he wasn’t. Jason moved with an effortless grace that belied his size. For an enraged tank, someone was remembering to do their yoga. He still wasn’t shutting up either. Had he always been this chatty?
"I know Bruce Wayne. If someone was trying to find out who Batman really was, if someone was trailing him for weeks -- he'd know about it. And let me tell you, Tim …" Jason swung a punishing haymaker that would have really hurt had it connected. "You can't be that good."
Tim moved fluidly, using the momentum he'd built up from evading the punch to launch and connect with a right cross of his own. " I am ."
Blood flew from Jason's mouth and for a brief second, the only sound that could be heard were their harsh gasps.
Jason recovered faster and kicked out, connecting and tossing Tim several feet into a strategically placed decorative urn. Tim felt something crunch beneath him that wasn’t entirely made of porcelain. Dammit, he needed to act now.
Scoffing, Jason’s mouth kept going. "He let you find him. And I bet he said the same thing to you that he said to me, didn't he?" He punctuated the accusation with a batarang that Tim narrowly managed to deflect.
A plan. He needed a plan. He needed… An idea came to him. All he needed was a single opportunity to make it work, but for that to happen, he needed to open himself up to an attack. Oh, this was going to hurt.
Jason advanced, kicking aside shards of pottery like they were nothing. Heck, they probably weren’t anything to him, them and the small sapling his smashing of the urn had uprooted. It wasn’t, but still... "That you had the talent to make a difference in Gotham. That he needed someone he could trust in his war on crime. That you were one of a kind, the light to his darkness. Robin the Boy Wonder."
Almost there. Tim barred Jason from getting any closer with his staff, but it was ripped out of his hands, clocking him a good one across the jaw as he did. Dammit, that was going to hurt when the adrenaline disappeared. Head ringing from the strike, Tim fell to his knees, facing away from Jason. His cape draped over his body, hopefully concealing his hands enough that the fumbling at his utility belt would go unnoticed. Or unheeded because there wasn’t much more he could do at this point and Jason knew it.
Looming over him in a way that only someone trained by the Bat could do, Jason brandished Tim’s staff. "Now… Let me show you what the Joker did to me. And let's find out how tough you really are."
Okay, he was officially out of time. This was it. Tim reared up, twisting from his position on the floor, and slapped Jason's thigh with the small dart he had palmed. Here’s to hoping the yellow tights weren’t reinforced like his were.
They weren’t.
The drug acted fast. "What?" Jason began to stagger as the sedative took effect. "What the fucking-"
He collapsed, unable to finish what he was saying. About damn time.
“Didn’t you ever learn that silence is golden?” Tim gasped brokenly.
He took a moment to catch his breath, hoping the ringing in his head would settle enough to give him the energy to keep going. Reaching for his abandoned staff, he used it to regain his feet. Crap, but Jason hit hard.
Looking down at Jason's collapsed form, he sighed. Getting him back up to his room and secured was going to be a real bitch in this condition. Still, the sooner begun, the sooner he’d be done. Kneeling, Tim leveraged Jason into a fireman’s carry and made his way to the hidden elevator at the far side of the room. “Screw the stairs, my legs have had enough of a workout tonight.”
"Nnngh." Jason woke slowly and not fully in command of his own reactions if the noise he’d just made was any indication. Damn, he'd been drugged - this wasn't good. The Pretender was more underhanded than he’d given him credit for, a mistake he won’t be making again. Playing off the whole drugged act, he let his head loll around a bit with his eyes barely slit to figure out just how badly he was fucked. It didn't take him long to realize it was bad.
Very bad.
He was strapped to a metal chair with a multitude of zips strips and duct tape anchoring him in place. Ankles, knees, waist, wrists, elbows, shoulders, and neck… it was ridiculous and over the top, but considering the beating he’d given Drake, it was warranted. There was no way he was going anywhere anytime soon. Blinking, he realized his gauntlets and domino were gone too. Shit. Well, it wasn’t like he was an unknown quantity after the little speech he’d given earlier, now was it?
Discarding the idea that he could find any physical advantage, Jason opened his eyes fully and openly looked around.
There was his replacement, Tim Drake, sitting calmly at a workstation typing away.
"Fuck."
Speaking aloud, he became aware of just how much his head hurt from whatever the hell Drake dosed him with. Felt like a fucking elephant tranquelizer, damn. His stomach roiled as he groaned again, this time more about the pain he was in than just the waking up.
"Yeah, the hangover from those drugs is a bit of a bitch, sorry." Drake didn't even bother looking at him and continued working on whatever he was doing that was clearly more important than the man hogtied behind him.
Jason growled. “You little shit.”
"Yeah, yeah, get over it. You didn't exactly give me much of a choice, did you? Threatening to beat me to death with my own bo-staff like the Joker did to you with a crowbar? Did you really expect me to just roll over and take it?"
Before he had a chance to reply, something beeped off to the side and Tim stopped what he was doing on the computer with a little satisfied grunt. Shoving away from his workstation, he left the room.
What? Someone was feeling confident in his restraints, but before Jason could do more than test them again, Drake returned with a single dose injector the Bats regularly used in one hand, already loaded.
Jason protested as his replacement approached him, his boots implacable across the floor. "Wait! What is that?"
"I ran your bloodwork and found a very interesting little cocktail swimming through your veins," Drake replied in a tone that was far too calm for someone who still had tissue wadded up his nose. "This is just something I synthesized to help counteract it."
“Don’t,” Jason warned, but there was nothing he could do. Completely stuck, evasion was out of the question, so he gritted his teeth as Drake placed the injector against his jugular. He jerked as he felt whatever concoction the Pretender had cooked up flow into the vein.
"Fuck, that's cold." He wasn't sure he was talking more about how the drug felt or about Drake's demeanor while administering it. Both were icy to the extreme.
"Let me know when it starts working." Jason opened his mouth to scathingly ask how he was supposed to know but Drake cut him off as he tossed the now empty injector into the trash. "Don't worry, you'll know."
And he did.
Within minutes, the ever-present green haze that had clouded his vision since his little dip in the Lazarus Pit faded.
Jason was stunned as the haze lifted, his mind clearer than it had been in, well, since he woke up six feet under. It had never occurred to him how messed up his thought processes were until they were freed by the Pretender's creation. He didn't think that whatever Drake had synthesized was possible, hadn’t believed there was anything out there that would fight the pit madness.
Of course, he hadn't looked either, so that was the first roadblock, but that’s beside the point. The fact that Drake had even thought to try to block the pit madness in the first place, never mind actually doing it -- well, Jason was beginning to understand why Tim Drake was so highly thought of by the hero community.
He cleared his throat, letting the kid know that it was working as requested. "You were right."
"Good." Tim made no move to untie Jason. Smart boy.
"So now what?"
"Now that you're back for what passes as your right mind, we talk -- like real people do -- with only words."
Jason fought back a chuckle. Wow, the sass was strong in this one, wasn't it? "Alright."
It wasn't like he could do anything else with the way the kid had him all tied up with nowhere to go. And right now, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. This was turning out to be a much more interesting visit than he’d expected.
"What do you want ?” Drake asked, eyes still hidden behind his own mask. “Do you want to be Robin again? Is that what this was about?"
Jason barked out a dark laugh. "Why in the hell would I ever want that ? Don't you get it? When I died no one cared! No one remembered me."
Drake stared at him blankly for a moment before he burst out. "You are completely insane. No one could forget you! I've spent my career wearing this mask under your shadow." The kid’s hands seemed to move on their own as he expressed his frustration. "Hell, the only reason I'm in this mask at all is because what happened to you destroyed Bruce. He was going completely off the rails and becoming exactly what he fought against each and every night. I had to convince him that Robin was needed to pull him out of that."
Jason scoffed. "You're trying to say that you actually did save him? That the story I heard about you being Batman's personal paparazzi for weeks is true? That you figured out the big secret all on your own while Batman never noticed you? Yeah fucking right, I wasn’t born yesterday. Pull the other one, I’m all ears."
Tim’s eyes narrowed as he glared, then he huffed out a dark laugh of his own. He rummaged on his desk briefly, then, finding what he was looking for, he turned back to Jason and held out a picture. "Not just Batman's personal paparazzi, Batman and Robin's. And it wasn't weeks, try years."
Jason stared in utter shock. It was a picture of him back when he was still Robin. The Bat-Signal was lit, painting the sky with the infamous symbol, and Batman was in the background talking to Commissioner Gordon. But it was clear the focus of the camera was on him, seated as he was in the foreground in his old Robin costume on the edge of the roof while in the midst of lighting a smoke. Drake had caught him with the lighter illuminating his face while the majority of him was draped in shadows.
Even he had to admit it was a fantastic photograph.
"Huh, that’s a fuckin' amazing shot." Jason dragged his eyes away from the photo to meet the whiteouts in Robin’s mask. He was good at reading through them, but Drake was still an unknown quantity. "Years, eh?"
"Yeah, years. I figured out the secret when Dick was still Robin actually. The two of you were my heroes.” Drake paused and murmured, “More you than Dick,” in a tone that indicated he probably hadn’t meant for Jason to hear this. Well, he technically didn’t, but all Robins could read lips, so it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks. He’d been the kid’s hero? Since when was he anyone’s hero? He was the Robin who failed, the Robin who died. What the fuck was this kid on?
"Since Dick was…" Jason choked, latching on to the other part of what Drake had actually spoken because the rest he didn’t want to analyze too closely, clear head or not. "That means you were following us around the whole time I was Robin!"
"Yep." Drake smirked a little at that.
"Holy shit!” Jason shook his head. Then, just because he was an asshole like that, he continued, “No wonder we never saw you, you must have been tiny!"
Heh heh, Tiny Tim. Bet his replacement hated that name. He’ll have to remember it for later when he wasn’t trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Drake’s smirk morphed into a scowl, clearly not impressed.
Jason laughed because he could --and not much else really, so why not?-- , and the scowl grew worse.
"Who told you that warped version of the truth anyway? Ra's or Talia?" Drake demanded, narrowing his eyes.
Jason wondered why the kid had thought of those two in particular to blame and then remembered the bloodwork he’d run. Considering that he was probably connected to the Batcave’s computer, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d pulled an older sample of Lazarus Pit exposed blood to compare his to. He didn't see a reason against answering either. "Talia. Ra's wasn't exactly in favour of my little swim."
Understatement. While he had a shit ton of nightmares to contend with, getting thrown off that cliff by Talia still liked to crop up every now again. Tame by comparison to the others, but he never knew what he was about to land in as he fell through the darkness.
"What the hell would she gain from winding you up and sending you after us?" Drake asked in a tone that seemed more wondering than anything else.
Still, it was a question that Jason had an answer to and he didn’t see a reason to hide it after the big solid the kid had just done for him. He tried to shrug, but was prevented by his zip ties and duct tape. He bit back his irritation as he replied, "I dunno. This is the first time I’ve had a chance to think clearly in a couple of years, so gimme a few minutes."
Not to mention that on top of everything, they’d had sex. Holy fucking hell, he’d had sex with Talia. How the fuck did he rationalize that as a good thing? Christ, he had a ton to unpack, so perhaps he needed more than a few minutes to give Drake the answer he was waiting for.
Seeing that Drake was preoccupied -- the kid’s brain must be like a super-computer, geez --, Jason took a chance to ask a question of his own. He was so not ready to deal with his shit right now. "So the stuff you injected me with, is it permanent?"
"No,” was the blunt response.
Goddammit. He’d barely been able to claim this level of clarity for five minutes and already he was regretting its loss. Go fucking figure that he was always getting the short end of every stick.
But then the Pretender spoke again, absently as though he was still thinking about something else, and his heart returned to its proper place. "But I think we can come up with a version that would work kind of like insulin. Or maybe more like a combination of insulin and anti-depressants. We'll have to run your bloodwork again to get the balance right. The knockout cocktail might have skewed the original results."
Shit, how many levels did this kid think on? His earlier thoughts about a super-computer for a brain apparently weren’t that far off the mark. That was one hell of a detailed answer to get from someone who wasn't even paying attention. What was he even thinking about? Although, it did remind him of another question he wanted an answer for.
"Why would you even have that kind of fast acting knockout shit for someone of my size anyway? Were you expecting me or something?" Then something else occurred to him. "And how did someone as small as you get my unconscious ass from the Hall of Heroes to your room?"
If Drake weighed a buck twenty-five soaking wet, he’d be surprised.
Oops, he had the kid's full attention again now. Jason just hoped he was about to get some answers that required more than half the brain cell he was getting.
Drake hit the switch on his mask to retract the whiteouts and stared blankly at him with his naked eyes, like he was seeing something different that way. It seemed he did because he laughed dryly. "I’ve done it to Bruce before and you’re about the same size.”
Jason blinked because no, this just didn’t compute.
The Pretender continued as Jason tried to work out just how he’d managed that with the hits he’d taken during their fight. “And no, I wasn't expecting you. But what part of Bruce was highly unstable when I started being Robin did you miss?"
Wait, what? Like seriously… What the actual fuck?
"So you're saying you regularly carry a fast acting tranq cocktail just to take out Bruce?" Not gonna lie, he was a bit freaked out by such a ballsy move, especially from someone who said they practically saved Bruce from himself. "Why?"
"Sometimes in the early days after your death, Bruce would… Well, I guess the nicest way to say it is, go a bit overboard when he was on patrol. The knockout cocktail was something that Alfred and I worked on together to help Bruce when your loss got to be too much for him and he got overly violent. It's very carefully calibrated to knock him out, and since you're about his size, I wasn't too worried about overdosing you."
Okay, that was good news. Of course, until Drake offhandedly mentioned that it might have been a problem, he hadn't even considered it a possibility. Shit, with those kinds of fast acting sedatives he could have died - again - if the kid's estimate of him and Bruce being very close to the same size wasn't right. Jason felt his admiration for his replacement increase as he realized that Drake hadn't even hesitated to use the Bruce-cocktail on him.
That was cold.
Ruthless.
More than a bit of a turn on too, he had to admit, albeit in a fear boner kind of way. Which was kinda par for the course with him.
Then his curiosity reared its ugly head and he had to ask, "Have you actually used it on Bruce?"
"A few times. Your birthday and the anniversary of your death being the standout occasions." Tim’s pale blue eyes seemed to drill right into Jason's as he said very pointedly, "Something for you to think about in case you still believe you weren't remembered."
Jason didn't know what to think. He'd been told very explicitly that Bruce hadn't wasted any time in replacing him. That he'd been expendable to Bruce's mission. That… fuck. He'd obviously been fed one hell of a pack of lies with just enough truth mixed in to get the reaction Talia wanted. And he'd swallowed it whole, like a good little Trojan horse hadn't he?
What pissed him off even more was how easily he’d been willing to believe her. Talia al Ghul had never been on anyone’s side but her own. Why would that have changed just because he took a dip in the Lazarus Pit? Fuck, that should have been his first clue. It was because of her that he’d taken the swim in the first place.
Dammit. Things were so much clearer without the green haze fogging his mind.
Not wanting to think about that, Jason pressed on. He didn’t know how long he’d have a clear head and he found himself wanting to make the most of it.
This kid really was something else. Smart, strong, ballsy... He didn't know if he'd have been able to deal with such a different and damaged version of Bruce if Dick had been taken out of the picture like he’d been. And by all accounts, it sounded like this kid just fucking rolled with it like it was no big deal. Okay, that was a lie, because Bruce was a handful at the best of times, but still. Total fucking trooper.
That pesky admiration was back, and growing a hell of a lot stronger. It made him want things, things that the kid was still too young for no matter how mature he was. Goddamn, Tim was really hitting all his buttons. His liking for pretty and dangerous things was really going to bite him in the ass someday wasn't it?
"Fuck," Jason blurted out. "Be my Robin."
Shit, that bite in the ass was apparently now.
Asking Tim to be his Robin, did he mean it? He wasn’t looking for a partner, wasn’t looking for anyone for that matter, but… Yeah, yeah he did, even if he knew the answer already. That’s fine. He’ll ask again and again because this kid was utterly wasted on Bruce.
Tim just stared at him impassively, but despite all his training, he couldn't control the blush spreading over his face where it wasn't hidden by the domino.
Jason saw the blush and grinned knowingly.
Tim cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something, but didn't quite manage to get it out.
"Got a little something in your throat?"
Tim didn't dignify that with a response. He just cleared his throat a second time and then finally managed to say cooly. "Ask me again when your head is back on straight. Batman still needs a Robin."
Loyalty was all well and good, but was it to Bruce himself or the mission? Either way Jason could respect that. Actually, he respected a whole lot about the guy who'd replaced him. Tim was pretty much the total package; pretty, ruthless, smart, vicious, and as he'd already noted, loyal.
He would be lying if he said he didn't envy Bruce for having Tim at his side.
What surprised him though was Tim's response. It implied that he could shift that loyalty, and everything else that came with it, to him. The thought was headying, because damn, to have Tim at his side as his partner… Well, the world would be theirs for the taking, wouldn't it? And he could have it, the foundation was there. Tim's little slip back when he was talking about following them, him , and Jason being his hero was a lot more telling than he’d probably thought.
All he had to do was not fuck this up. Which, if he was in his right mind thanks to the cocktail swimming through his veins courtesy of the little bird across from him, gave him a chance. The little love taps they’d exchanged earlier could be forgiven. It wasn’t like he’d actually stabbed him or anything.
"That's not a no, baby bird."
Jason smirked, feeling rather smug as Tim's blush intensified.
Yeah, that definitely wasn’t a no.
-fin-