Chapter Text
Jason gets distracted for a little bit. It turns out that being a crime boss and a teacher is more exhausting than he expected. You think it’s all fun and games until it’s Sunday and your muscles are sore from hacking off a guy’s head with an axe, and you should really do laundry to get the blood out of your clothes and also so you’ll have something clean to wear to school tomorrow, and you’ve also got fifteen essays to grade, and instead of doing any of that you fall asleep on your couch watching Bridgerton.
So after Jason has to go to work with blood on his sweatshirt (he refuses to wear a shirt and tie like his colleagues, he’s not an asshole) two days in a row, he dials it down a bit. He’s putting himself first for once. It’s called self-care. He deserves to be number one in his life.
He stops stalking Batman at night, and he also stops assigning Tim’s class presentations based on his current mood and how many crimes their parents have committed and also how much Tim’s face annoys him in that second.
Instead, he does face masks, and he buys a yoga mat, and he starts something called a ‘mindfulness journal’, although he gives up on that one pretty quickly after he realises he’s mostly been using it to draw pictures of Tim Drake being stabbed.
His stress levels decrease, his skin is clearer than ever, and the only downside is that his students, too, are looking significantly less stressed, like they have any right to feel relaxed. He prefers them to live in a state of constant vigilance.
The only one who still looks perpetually stressed and tired is Tim. Usually, Jason would assume it’s because of Robin, but Robin hasn’t been seen in Gotham for ages. Batman must’ve benched the little bird, either to protect him from Red Hood or because that’s just what he does when he wants to punish his kids for something and can’t think of anything better to do.
But if Robin is not the reason Tim is looking like death warmed over, then what is? Is being rich and living in a huge-ass house and having two loving parents not enough for him? Well, it obviously isn’t. That’s why he had to steal Robin and also Jason’s dad, even though he literally already has a dad, because that’s what rich kids like him do. They steal and they steal and they give nothing back.
Jason knows Tim’s dad is loving because of the email. Apparently, Jack Drake prefers emails to letters, which is crazy because the only thing that’s better than having paper in your hand is having a gun. But apart from that weird character quirk, Tim’s dad has been perfectly polite, acknowledging his son’s bad grades and promising to talk to him about it, whilst also making it clear that Tim is a talented young man with great potential.
That’s obviously bullshit, but it’s the kind of bullshit parents tell themselves about their kids, so Jason gets it. He wonders if Bruce was ever like that about him and Dick. He must’ve been. Maybe he still is.
He's been emailing back and forth with Jack Drake. Apparently, Tim’s dad is on business trips a lot, which Jason already knew, and he’s had to decline Jason’s invitation for a meeting. Jason, by now curious enough to desperately want to meet Tim’s elusive family, suggested that his wife go instead.
The reply comes this afternoon, after Jason kept Tim in late for detention because he’s missed his homework three times in a row. (Seriously, how? Jason never missed his homework.)
Jason removes the cucumber slices from his eyes and turns around in his bathtub, foam blowing everywhere, to reach for his phone. Jack Drake’s email is apologetic, citing late business hours and some sort of work-related drama that he and his wife have to put all their time in dealing with at the moment. He offers to send his brother in his stead, though. Apparently Edward Drake is in town for a visit and is willing to meet with Tim’s teacher on Jack and Janet’s behalf.
Wait a minute, Jason thinks.
It's true that he hasn’t put that much research into Tim’s family once he realised Tim isn’t an orphan. But he makes it a point to know the basics of all the major fat cat players in Gotham, especially the CEOs, so it’s not like Tim’s parents are completely unfamiliar to him. And he’s pretty sure he read somewhere that both Jack and Janet Drake are only children, the respective sole heirs to their family fortune, which in turn makes Tim, their sole heir, a great kidnapping target and also probably a future methhead.
So who’s this Edward Drake guy?
He emails back, saying he’d love to meet Tim’s uncle, how about tomorrow after school?
He receives a reply almost immediately, this time from a different email address. Dear Mr Mason, I hope it’s okay that my brother forwarded me your contact, etcetera, etcetera. Edward Drake is apparently every bit as polite as his brother, he’s more than happy to discuss his nephew’s performance at school, and he thinks tomorrow is great.
Once Jason has confirmed the meeting, he sinks back into his bubble bath, shuts his eyes, holds his breath, and ducks his head under the water. He stays like this for a few seconds, and when he emerges again, his mind feels a little clearer. His intel about the Drakes was probably wrong, and it’s as simple as that. Perhaps Edward Drake is the half-brother, or the stepbrother. He’s just going to meet with him and see, and if nothing else, he’ll still get his chance to tell a direct family member of the Drakes all about how much their precious Tim sucks.
*
“How’s my favourite Timboy?” Dick asks once he’s finally picked up his phone. When Tim doesn’t laugh, Dick adds, “Get it?”
“I got it.”
“There used to be a time when you laughed at all my jokes, you know. I miss that time.”
“Those were pity-laughs,” Tim tells him. “Are you home?”
“Yeah, why are you- hold on, actually, someone just rang the bell. I’ll be right back!”
There are two thudding-sounds, one from the other end of the line, presumably because Dick just dropped his phone on the table, and one coming from the inside of the apartment Tim is currently waiting outside of.
The door opens, revealing Dick dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants with a weird stain on them. Tim waves at him.
“Of course it’s you,” Dick says, shaking his head while Tim pushes past him and heads straight for the living room. “Don’t you have school?”
“Don’t you have work?” Tim counters. He plops down on Dick’s sofa and grabs Dick’s iPad from the couch table. It’s password-protected, but Dick is as predictable as Bruce with his passwords. By the time Dick joins him on the couch, now also wearing a pink shirt from the 2022 breast cancer awareness marathon, Tim has pulled up the website of Gotham Academy.
Dick, interested, points at something on the screen. “They’re having a photography competition! Is that what you wanted to show me? I think this is a great idea, Tim, especially now that you’re taking a little Robin break.”
“I’m not ‘taking a break’,” Tim says, “Bruce benched me and banned me from the Cave.”
“Only until we know more about the Red Hood,” Dick says soothingly. “Don’t take it too hard. This could be a good thing! A little break, some time to meet up with your friends-“
“Literally all my friends are Teen Titans, which, by the way, I’m also benched from, thanks to Bruce-“
“-and focus on your hobbies, like this photography competition thing-“
“Dick, I haven’t taken a single photo that wasn’t on my iPhone in three years-“
“- and, don’t hate me for pointing this out, but maybe this could also be a good opportunity to improve your grades a little bit.”
Tim stares at Dick. “What? Dick. No. Not you, too.”
Dick blinks. He sounds surprised when he says, “Did Bruce talk to you about your grades?”
“Of course not,” Tim says, annoyed. And then, because there is no way he could possibly explain to Dick that he has spent his past week creating an entire fake identity for an uncle that doesn’t exist, including hiring an actor to play the part, he says, “It’s just my parents.”
Dick’s face clears. He nods in understanding. For some reason, despite all evidence to the contrary, Dick has always been ready to believe every single one of Tim’s lies without question. He’s also created this weird false image of Tim’s parents in his head, which Tim only knows about because Dick sometimes asks him whether his parents have organised him a tutor yet, or what they thought about his latest project, or how they spent Christmas. At first, Tim took this as the ideal opportunity to practice his story crafting abilities, but for the past few months, his heart hasn’t been in it, so his stories have gotten a little lazy.
“Right,” Dick says, sounding sympathetic, “yeah, your mom is probably getting ready to say goodbye to that NASA thing, right?”
Oh, right, Tim thinks. He vaguely recalls telling Dick that his mom really wants him to become an astronaut.
“Um, yeah,” Tim says, “yep, it’s been a little tense at home lately.”
“Just remember that it’s your life, Tim, not your parents’.” Dick gives him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Don’t live for anybody but yourself. Besides, you’ve still got more than two years of high school left. You should tell your mom all’s not lost yet.”
“Thanks, Dick.” Sensing an opportunity here, Tim slowly turns on the iPad again. “Actually, speaking of school, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. The Academy has finally updated their website, and they took a staff picture that I think you should see.”
A few clicks and he’s pulled up the picture, taking in front of Gotham Academy on a bright day in Autumn, so it can’t be more than a couple of weeks old. The headmistress is standing in the middle, surrounded by lots of smiling, smartly dressed adults. It’s one of those photos where the smiles start to look more forced the longer you look at it, the kind that probably took a dozen or more takes before everyone finally kept their eyes open.
There, banned to the last row because of his height, standing between Mr Hill and Ms Brennan, is Tim’s English teacher. He’s the only one who is not wearing a shirt and a tie, so he’s pretty easy to spot, but just in case Dick’s detective skills are failing him, Tim helpfully points him out.
“That’s Mr Mason.”
Dick plainly isn’t listening. He is too busy zooming in on faces he recognises from his own time at Gotham Academy, laughing or shaking his head or telling Tim anecdotes that are really only funny if you were there, and probably not even then. Tim gives him a few minutes, and then, losing patience, he takes the iPad away from Dick to zoom in on Mr Mason’s face.
“Does this guy look familiar to you?”
Dick barely glances at it. “Yeah, I guess- he’s standing so far back that it’s a little hard to tell. Who’s that again? Your PE teacher?”
“English,” Tim says morosely, instead of shaking Dick by the shoulders and yelling that this is clearly Jason Todd. It's over. He’s lost another round. Goddamnit.
He stays for a few more hours. They order pizza, and then Dick suggests they watch Inventing Anna which he is apparently obsessed with, and by the time Tim takes the train back to Gotham, he’s feeling a little better, a little more grounded. Dick doesn’t believe him, so what? That’s fine. Tim is fine. He doesn’t need to be believed. He knows he’s right, and that’s enough for him.
Besides, it’s about time he got home to ask Uncle Eddie how the meeting with Jason went.
*
There’s something off about Tim Drake.
Jason was blinded at first, he’s man enough to admit that. He was so focused on his anger, on his mission to mess with the new Robin by any means necessary, and then later, he was, perhaps, a little blindsided by Tim’s truly abysmal performance at school. He hadn’t expected the kid to not be able to string together three coherent sentences for an essay, and, yeah, maybe that threw him off his game for a while.
But now they’re over two months into the new term, Thanksgiving is fast approaching, and Jason can’t help but notice a few things.
Last month, he met with Edward Drake. It’d been a highly productive meeting where almost nothing of real importance was said, exactly the kind of conversation Jason expects from high society folks. Nothing out of the ordinary, if perhaps somewhat disappointing.
Since then, Tim has been doing just as terrible at usual. Jason spoke to some of the other teachers and learned that aside from English, Tim is also failing Physics and, for some reason, Art, which Jason didn’t realise it was actually possible to fail at.
He's done what he maybe should have done right after he started this job, and questioned his colleagues about the discrepancy between Tim’s old report cards, which depict a stellar A-student with a bright future, and Tim’s grades this year, which suck. A part of him is thinking that maybe there’s a reason for Tim’s grades having slipped. That’s a warning sign, right? Perhaps there is something wrong.
Except what he mostly learns is that no one really has an explanation for this. Most of his colleagues remember Tim Drake as one of those students who’re generally smart but also generally uninterested, or, as Jason has dubbed it, the too-cool-for-school kids. So how did Tim end up with A’s anyway? Blackmail? That’s the only thing that makes sense, right?
And then there are the dark bags under the kid’s eyes. If he’s not Robin, and he’s not studying, then what is he doing? And why the hell hasn’t Bruce noticed? Or his parents?
Faced with this mystery, Jason puts off his Maim Robin-plan for another few months. He texts Talia about it, just to keep her updated, and she leaves him on read, which figures. Some days, he goes to work and comes home and passes out on his couch and he feels completely normal, like he was just in a coma for a couple of years and he’s all better now. Other days, he’s so furious with Bruce, Gotham and the world that he has to call in sick at school and go murder some criminals just to let off steam. It’s complicated. Jason is a complex individual, and he’s accepted that about himself.
He's starting to realise that perhaps Tim is a complex individual, too.
Right before Thanksgiving break, he has his class write a test. Tim’s is the first one he grades, and it’s an F again. Did Tim even read A Tale of Two Cities? Actually, now that Jason thinks about it, he isn’t sure he’s seen Tim bring that book to class even once. Maybe he hasn’t bought it. That would certainly explain why he couldn’t even name the author.
This is getting ridiculous. Jason started this whole thing to fuck with Tim and also to get some first-hand intel. But right now, he’s gotten so caught up in Tim’s crap grades that it doesn’t even count as espionage anymore. At this point, he’s just morbidly curious.
He writes Tim’s dad another email, asking for a meeting after the break is over, and goes to bed. He doesn’t really have Thanksgiving plans besides grading, sleeping in and working on his kakasana. He’s even putting the whole crimelord thing on hold for the week. His needs come first. He isn’t even planning on checking his inbox until Monday, but then curiosity gets the better of him.
Tim’s dad has replied, saying that unfortunately he and his wife are too busy at work to have an in-person meeting. Perhaps Jason can just tell him his concerns over email.
Jason tells Jack Drake that an in-person meeting is not only preferred, but also school policy. The reply arrives promptly: an in-person meeting is out of the question, but perhaps they can arrange to meet over Zoom.
The fuck is Zoom, Jason thinks, googles it, thinks, fuck, no, and considers telling Tim’s dad that he’d literally rather kill himself. Instead, because he’s trying to be professional about it, he says he’s happy to let Jack Drake pick a time and date, doesn’t matter when, weekends, holiday, middle of the night, anything goes.
It’s past midnight when he sends this email, and then something unexpected happens. Jack Drake goes radio silent. One day passes, then another one, and then the break is almost over and still there is no reply in his inbox. Maybe the guy is just busy spending time with his family, but that strikes Jason as slightly unusual, considering his answers had always come instantaneously until now.
To pass the time, Jason finishes grading. Three more students receive an F, seven students get a D, three a C, and only one girl actually manages to score a B, which strikes Jason as almost more concerning than the D’s and F’s. Does she not have a life?
On Thanksgiving Day itself, Jason orders pizza and thinks about his last Thanksgiving at the Manor. Alfred had prepared a giant turkey and a million sides. Dick had visited, and at first he’d announced weeks prior that he was going to bring his girlfriend, but then on Thanksgiving Day he’d showed up alone, and Bruce told Jason not to ask so naturally Jason had spent the entire day tormenting Dick mercilessly about it. Dick had finally snapped and started to needle back, and in the end Bruce chucked them both out into the garden and told them to figure it out before dessert.
It had been a good day, Jason thinks. Christmas had been good, too. After that, it had all gone downhill, but, yeah, Thanksgiving and Christmas were good.
He wonders how Bruce and Dick are spending it today. Maybe Dick has brought a real girlfriend this time, or maybe he’s on his own again, just enjoying the family time. It’s tempting to imagine that they’re sitting at that big table in the dining room right now and talking about how glad they are that Jason died, how much better things are without him here. But even with the pit running through his veins, Jason recognises that thought as slightly hysterical, just like most of the other things he dreams about. Probably Bruce and Dick aren’t actually drinking champagne while throwing ripped-out pages of Jason’s books at his gravestone.
He wonders, too, how Tim is spending Thanksgiving. There is no way he’s spending it with the Waynes, because his parents would definitely be questioning that. That thought gives Jason a weird rush of joy – at least Tim’s not taken over every aspect of Jason’s life.
And then Jason suddenly thinks, I could find out.
It’s crazy. Slightly unsettling, too. But it’s not, strictly speaking, crazier or more unsettling than anything else Jason has done so far.
Besides, it’s not like he had any plans for today, right?
He puts his leftovers in the fridge, puts on boots and a warm coat, grabs his gun, and leaves the house. His bike is waiting for him right where he left it, which shows that the people in this neighbourhood have a healthy respect for him even though they don’t know that he’s the Red Hood. Good. Next stop: Bristol.
*
“Happy Thanksgiving, son,” Dad says over the phone.
Tim grimaces. He’s only picked up because his parents expect him to, but- “Dad, this isn’t a great time.”
“What’s that? The connection is a bit shaky, so- Janet, do you want to say Hi to Tim? Tim, say Hi to your mom.”
“Hi, Mom,” Tim says.
On the other end of the line, his mom, her voice crisp and efficient as ever, says, “Jack, can’t you see I’m busy? Palmer needs these documents ready by the end of the day, so- Tim, honey, talk to your dad for a while, okay?”
There’s a shuffling noise as his dad presumably takes back the phone. It strikes Tim as slightly unfair that his mom is allowed to be too busy to call, but when he says it’s not a great time, he’s ignored.
“Okay, bud, I’m back now,” his dad says. “Just a good ol’ man-to-man conversation, eh?”
“Sure,” Tim says, a little distracted from the case files he’s looking at. If Bruce knew that he’s working on a case from home, he’d go nuts, but Tim reasons that it’s cool because he’s not doing it for Batman, he’s actually helping out the League. It’s not his fault that Bruce has been so preoccupied with the Red Hood thing that he hasn’t gone to a League meeting in ages.
“Although to be honest with you, I’m actually a little busy right now, too,” Dad says. “Listen, do you mind if we just call you in a few days?”
Tim thinks he should mind, probably, and usually he would, but right now he’s busy enough that his parents are just a distraction. Is that what it’s like being an adult? Going about your day with the occasional interruption of a bit of five-minute parental small talk?
“It’s cool,” he says. And then he adds, “actually, hang on,” because he’s just remembered something.
“Yeah?”
Tim closes the case file and pulls up his inbox, staring at the last email that he has yet to answer. “Do you think you and Mom could- I mean, do you know when you’ll be home? Do you think you’ll be home before Christmas?”
“Jesus, Tim.” His dad actually sounds offended now. “You’re making us sound like we’re neglecting you.”
“Okay,” Tim says, relieved, “great, so you’ll come back soon?”
Silence. Then, slowly, awkwardly, his dad says, “Actually, a job opened up here that’s- long story short, I think we should be home in January.”
Tim has no idea where ‘here’ even is. He could check his parents’ flight records, but it doesn’t even matter. They’re not in Gotham, that’s all he needs to know.
He closes his eyes. Then, trying hard to sound casual, he says, “That’s- yeah, cool, no problem, Dad, it’s just- there’s this teacher in my school who’s been wanting to talk to you, and-“
“Did you tell him to email us?” his dad interrupts.
Tim almost laughs. “Yeah, no, I did. But he says he wants to talk to you guys in person. It doesn’t have to be immediately, but there’s this parent-teacher conference coming up in a couple of weeks anyway, and I thought maybe you could go to that, and stay for Christmas.”
There’s more shuffling, and suddenly his mom is on the phone again. “Tim, what’s this I’m hearing about a conference?”
“Tim’s teacher wants to meet with us,” his dad explains in the background.
“Why?”
Tim swallows. “My grades haven’t been great lately, so I guess he wants to discuss that.”
For one moment, he thinks that maybe this is it, maybe he’s finally gotten through to his parents.
Then his mom says, “Did you tell him to email us?” and his dad says, “Janet, if his grades are slipping, perhaps a tutor-,“ and his mom says, “I never needed a tutor, this must be your genes, Jack,” and his dad says, “the boy is fifteen, anyway,” and his mom says, “exactly, does this man want us to hold Tim’s hand through every exam?” and his dad says, emphatically, “right?"
Finally, his mom, now addressing Tim again, tells him, “I’m sorry, honey, but there’s just no way we can fly back to Gotham right now.”
“Okay, Mom. Thanks anyway. I’ll see you in January, okay?”
Tim hangs up. He should really get back to the case, but instead, he just stares at his laptop for several minutes, mind weirdly empty.
He's not sure what to do, is the thing. This is new, because usually he’s always sure what to do. Jason’s insisting on a meeting, and Tim can maybe hold him off for a little bit longer, but he knows the upcoming parent-teacher conference is D-Day.
Last time, he did the whole actor thing, but that was already a risk once, and this time, Jason was explicit about wanting to meet a guardian. Tim would just hire another actor who can play his mom or dad, if his parents weren’t relatively well-known public figures in Gotham. He can’t even blackmail Jason about revealing his identity, because no one will fucking believe him about that, and Tim’s given up trying.
It’s just…it would have been really good if his parents had just agreed to come. Deep down, he knew they weren’t going to, but this would’ve solved everything. Part of Tim wishes all the lies he’s told Dick about his family were true. If his mom wanted him to become an astronaut, at least that’d be an aspect of his life she’d be interested in.
Okay. This is bad, but Tim will figure something out. He always does. He has to. He’s not going to let some back-from-the-dead asshole ruin his life. Tim is better than that. Robin is better than that, or at least the new and improved version is.
Mind made up, he gets back to work, fuelled by determination. At some point, he thinks he sees something moving outside the window, but when he goes to check, there’s nothing there, so he probably just imagined it.
*
Dick has decided to give Bruce until New Year’s, and if nothing has changed then, they’re going to have a serious conversation about Robin. This is getting ridiculous, it really is. Their Red Hood investigation is clearly going nowhere, so they might as well allow Tim out on the streets again. Him sitting around at home all the time isn’t helping anyone or anything.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Tim hung around the Manor sometimes. But every time Dick has been visiting recently, he was told that Tim is at home. On the one hand, when Dick was Tim’s age, there were times when he totally would’ve relished the opportunity of going back to his own house just to get away from Bruce. On the other hand, Tim already has a dad. Shouldn’t he relish the opportunity to get away from Jack Drake instead?
A few months ago, he totally did. Dick knows he did. Tim’s always been independent, but he’s also always liked company, even if he wouldn’t even admit to it under torture. There was a time when Tim was at the Manor all the time, and if he wasn’t, he was hanging out at Dick’s flat in Bludhaven instead. Granted, getting to Bludhaven is a little tricky right now, what with Bludhaven having introduced passport controls outside city borders to prevent Gothamites from entering, but Tim could just call and ask Dick to come visit like he used to!
Maybe, Dick thinks, he hasn’t been the best brother recently. Somehow, without him noticing, they’ve reverted back to those days when Tim had only just become Robin, when Tim kept his distance and Dick didn’t know how to talk to this kid, this strange kid who wasn’t Jason but was wearing his suit.
He'll talk to Bruce about the Robin thing, but that’s for later. Robin is important, but he’s never been more important than the person inside. Dick would know, and it’s about time he reminds Tim of that, too.
He called Tim a couple of times over the Thanksgiving break, but Tim always sounded really busy, probably because he’d been spending some quality time with his parents, so Dick hadn’t pushed. But now the break is over and there is nothing stopping Dick from spending time with his little brother, at least once he’s made it through the passport control.
He gets to the Drake’s residence earlier than planned, so he lets himself in. He spends some time going through Tim’s fridge while he waits, eating a cup of yoghurt and an apple and the leftover Chinese food that’s in there, and then he calls Tim again.
Tim doesn’t pick up, but a second later he receives a text. School’s is over, but Tim is in detention for some reason, and he’s wondering whether Dick calling him is urgent. Dick texts him that if Tim is even thinking of skipping school, he shouldn’t announce it over the phone at least, and Tim replies with a middle finger emoji.
Since it’ll obviously be a while until Tim gets home, Dick makes himself comfortable. He eats some more yoghurt. He watches a little TV. He sends a selfie into the family group chat with a cute dog filter. Then, bored, he goes hunting for Tim’s laptop so he can watch Youtube instead. Tim’s laptop is password-protected, but Tim is as predictable as Bruce is with his passwords.
The laptop had been on stand-by, so when Dick successfully logs in, the first thing he sees is an email Tim started but hasn’t sent yet.
He isn’t going to look, he swears he isn’t. But the sender at the top draws his attention. It looks like Tim is sending an email from his dad’s email address.
The email itself is straight-forward, if apologetic. Tim’s dad is explaining that he and his wife won’t be able to make it to the upcoming parent-teacher conference. He’s suggesting a meeting in January instead.
Huh.
Without even thinking about it, Dick scrolls down to the reply-chain. It looks like Tim’s teacher has been requesting a meeting for weeks now. Jack Drake has declined every single time. Why? And why does it look like Tim’s been writing these emails on his dad’s behalf?
Dick closes the laptop and takes out his phone. He googles Jack and Janet Drake. He scrolls past their Wikipedia page straight to the latest article about them. The article was published three days ago, just a short piece about the Drakes’ charity efforts in Belize.
Three days ago, Tim told Dick he was too busy to hang out.
Dick has no idea what that was about, but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t because Tim was in Belize.
He reads another article, and another one. The Drakes are frequently travelling on business. He knows this, of course he does, he’s always known this. It’s why Tim was able to become Robin in the first place. He supposes that he just sort of assumed that while Tim’s parents were travelling a lot, they were short trips, not this three-month dig he’s just found out about that apparently took up their whole summer.
Tim’s birthday is in summer, Dick thinks.
He's starting to get a bad feeling about this. The same feeling he gets when a case is turning out to be bigger than he expected, like that simple robbery last month that turned out to have ties to a trafficking ring. This email is that robbery, and it’s looking like Tim’s parents might be that trafficking ring.
From the other room, he hears a key twisting in the lock, and then Tim yells, “Dick?”, not because he’s mad, not yet, but because he’s at that age where yelling is his default.
“In here,” Dick says. He gets up calmly, puts the laptop back exactly where he found it, and by the time he walks into the foyer, Tim has finished throwing his shoes, backpack and coat into a corner and smiles at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to hang out,” Dick replies honestly. Tim’s smile gets a little wider, and usually seeing that makes Dick happy, but right now, he doesn’t know what to feel other than this building sense of dread and doom, coupled with the guilt that somewhere down the line, he’s made a mistake.
“Do you want food?” Tim asks, heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge. “I’ve still got some- did you eat my leftovers, asshole?!”
“It’s called the little brother tax, Timmy,” Dick says. “I’ve told you this.”
Tim groans. “Not again with your stupid made-up tax.”
“It’s not made-up, it comes from a long an honourable tradition that-“
“Oh my god, just shut up-“
“-generations of brothers have benefited from, and-“
“Literally nobody cares, Dick-“
“-even King Arthur was known for-“
It's so easy, falling back into their familiar dynamic, Dick thinks. He’s going to do what he always planned, which is spend the day with his little brother.
But after the day is over, he’s going to talk to Bruce, and he won’t wait for New Year’s.
*
For the past two weeks, Jason has, maybe, been feeling just a little bit guilty. Seeing your sworn archenemy (one of them, anyway) celebrate Thanksgiving on his own in a big empty house might be satisfying in its own right, but when he takes into account that said enemy is only fifteen, suddenly it’s starting to feel like Jason is the asshole here.
So, yeah. Guilty.
It’s made him a little pissed at Dick and Bruce, too. Tim’s parents are busy people, as they’ve told him over email a hundred times, and he supposes that perhaps rich busy CEOs are bound to miss the occasional holiday eventually. But that’s what Tim has wormed his way into Jason’s family for, right? Why does he have a back-up family if he doesn’t use it? Why didn’t Dick and Bruce insist on it?
At least his little stalking trip has solved one mystery, if nothing else. It turns out the reason Tim looks perpetually ready to faint is because he’s been working on cases from home. Seeing that actually made Jason laugh. There is no way Bruce knows about this. Tim must’ve lied to him about it. Good for him, he thinks. Perhaps he’s not completely useless as Robin.
The Drakes still haven’t replied to his invitation to the parent-teacher-conference. He’s even resorted to handing Tim a couple more letters to take home, but nothing came off that. Whatever. If they don’t show up today, Jason might just show up at their house again and- what? Yell at them about their son’s bad grades? They already know about that. Demand they hire a tutor? Tim’s probably a lost cause at this point. Also, Jason suspects, deep in his heart, that maybe it wouldn’t matter even if Tim started taking English seriously. At this point, Jason’s going to fail him on principle just to save face.
Okay. It’s possible that Jason hasn’t been the best teacher in the world.
In his defence, most revenge schemes don’t tend to take this long. Is it possible that Talia was right and he should’ve just gone with the Titans Tower plan in the first place? Yes. But is Jason a monster for wanting to put some effort into this? No. Good things take time.
And it’s been worth it, hasn’t it? He’s been able to gaslight Tim a bit about this whole Back from the Dead thing, he’s been able to make his days miserable with constant assignments, and he even has an in with the kid’s parents. That’s not nothing. It’s not like Jason has been wasting his time or anything with this, right?
It's just that perhaps, once this conference thing today is over, it might be time to retire Mr Mason. Text Talia that he’s back in the game, then beat the kid up to teach Batman a lesson, and then everything can go back to normal, maybe, and Jason can stop feeling like the bad guy here.
That’s decided, then. One last hurrah and then he’s done. Now, which silver spoon parent is first?
Over the course of the next few hours, Jason meets more criminals than on an average night as the Red Hood. He turns down three bribes. He doesn’t shoot anyone. But he makes them nervous, these Wallstreet assholes, he knows he does. Cute. He can’t wait to meet them again, suited up this time.
And then it’s 9 pm, he’s talked to almost everybody, and the last name on his list, scheduled for the 9-9:15 pm slot, is Drake.
Jason waits. A few minutes pass, a few more. He checks his email. Nothing.
The door to the classroom opens, Jason looks up, surprised – and sees Tim Drake and no one else.
Tim, hair a mess as always, bags under his eyes present as ever, looks him right in the eyes, back perfectly straight, chin held high. Jason’s seen this before. It’s the posture of a man who’s out of options, before the bullet hits their skull.
“Where are your parents?” Jason asks mildly.
Tim swallows. “They-“
And then the door opens again, and in walks Bruce Wayne.
Jason stands automatically, the chair clattering to the floor. Absently, he realises that he’s as tall as Bruce now. He also realises that this is the first time they’ve seen each other, actually seen each other, without masks, since Jason died.
Bruce is wearing jeans and a black turtleneck, which must be his idea of casual. He doesn’t even look at Jason. His eyes are on Tim.
Tim is staring back at Bruce, mouth open. “Bruce? What are you doing here?”
“Dick told me it’s parent-teacher day,” Bruce says. “I wouldn’t miss that, chum.”
“But it’s parent-teacher.”
Bruce’s face is unreadable as he says, “I know,” and Tim shuts up.
Jason’s heart is beating hard and fast. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.
All business now and apparently ready to get this over with, Bruce turns to Jason – no, turns to Tim’s English teacher, because that’s what Bruce is here for. He freezes. Then, the word almost too quiet to make out, he whispers, “Jason?”
Jason looks at Bruce, who looks like he’s seen a ghost, to Tim, whose eyes are very wide. Slowly, Tim’s expression changes, going from surprise to something like smugness.
There is a choice here, Jason knows.
He draws himself up to his full height and extends a hand.
“I’m Mr Mason,” he says. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
*
3 years later
“-most annoying person I have ever met in my life,” Tim is saying. He has been ranting for the better part of an hour, though, so Jason is, admittedly, not really listening.
If he’s honest, Tim is almost always ranting. Jason has no idea why they even do these movie nights anymore. They never get to watch a movie anyway, or if they do, then Tim will just talk right over the actors the entire time.
“Are you even listening?” Tim asks, annoyed.
“Nope,” Jason says blithely. “Be more interesting.”
“I am super interesting.” Tim sounds a little offended. “I mean, I’d be more interesting if you’d let me drop out of high school, but-“
“Not this again. It’s time to get over that. You literally graduated a month ago.”
“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Tim mutters, even though Jason hasn’t been employed at Gotham Academy in over two years.
The bell rings, and Tim loses rock-paper-scissors, so he has to go get the pizza. While he’s occupied, Jason dares to turn on the television, hoping that it’ll be a hint to Tim. He also texts Dick that there’ll be no excuses next week, but of course there will be. In their line of work, it’s hard to stay mad at people for missing appointments when lives tend to be on the line.
He wonders how things would’ve turned out if Jack and Janet Drake had had more dangerous jobs. If they’d actually had an excuse. Perhaps nothing would’ve changed. Perhaps everything would’ve happened exactly the same way. Jason hopes so.
“Anyway,” Tim says as he comes back, carrying two pizza boxes and apparently ready to pick up right where they’d left off, “I’m not pointing fingers or anything, I’m just saying, I think he might be the devil.”
“He’s ten,” Jason says.
“A young devil,” Tim amends.
Jason sighs. Was he ever this annoying about Tim? Well. He probably was. Actually, come to think of it, he was probably more annoying. At least Tim hasn’t reached lunatic-levels yet. At least Tim hasn’t-
“So I’ve been thinking,” Tim says in between bites of pizza. “Now that I’ve graduated, I think it’s time to actually do something with my life.”
“Great,” Jason says distractedly. “Like what?”
Does Tim even have any ambitions? Any plans? If he does, that’s news to Jason.
Tim smiles. “Damian will be going to Gotham Academy once summer break is over. I bet he’d like a new English teacher.”