Chapter Text
Tim could really use a fucking smoke break.
He’d been back in Gotham less than a week and already he was missing the freedom afforded to him on his three month-long business trip to their new Canadian Wayne Enterprise location. Since stepping foot back on American soil Tim had felt nothing but annoyance. It started with Robin’s defaming quips and superiority complex. It was reinforced by B’s refusal to keep the brat-bat in check. And it was solidified by a bad tip that was delivered to him by Oracle, landing him with a few too many cuts and bruises for comfort. Yes, everything and everyone was bothersome, even Nightwing and Spoiler who for some reason couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that Tim didn’t want to hear 3 months worth of gossip while jet lagged and recently-beaten.
In short, Tim could complain about a lot of things things, but he wouldn’t. Instead, he would go home, roll himself the perfect joint, grab his plasma lighter and disappear to his balcony for the next hour.
At least, that was the plan.
When Tim arrived at the penthouse he shrugged off his jacket, rolling back his shoulders and cracking his neck from side to side. He made a b-line for the bedroom, dropping to his knees and reaching below the bed. When his fingers brushed the outline of the lockbox, Tim dragged it forward, pulling it into his lap. He excitedly entered in his 7 digit combination and the two-factor authentication code sent to his iphone.
It may have been a bit overkill to some, but the contents of the box were heavily guarded to protect Tim’s reputation in the family.
After finally releasing the safety measures, Tim opened the box, greeted by a rich earthy smell. He took a deep inhale, enjoying the notes of diesel and lemon. The box contained rolling papers, filtres, a grinder and his lighter as well as an old rolling machine from before Tim knew how to do it himself. It also held three canisters for keeping different strains separate and mostly air tight. The smell of the box itself showed the airtight seals seemed to be failing.
Today this didn’t worry Tim, Batman and Robin were out on a mission, unlikely to stop by any time soon. Plus Tim had a mission of his own.
He popped the cap off the first canister only to find it empty. Shit, that was right. Tim had finished the last of his Purple Haze before his trip. It was disappointing, he had been hoping to enjoy some Hendrix vibes tonight while he unwound.
Okay, next option. Canister 2. Tim picked up the cylinder, and threw his head back in frustration as he felt the lack of weight. $10 says this one was empty too. Tim released the seal and peeked inside. Sure enough, he owed himself $10.
With fingers crossed, Tim turned his eyes upon the final canister. Maybe this was his goldilocks moment. Tim could use a win after all. He reached for it, praying to a god he doubted was listening for this canister not to be empty.
For once in his life it looked like fate was on Tim’s side. He felt the shift of the bud moving around the canister. He said a quick thanks to whatever malevolent being took pity on him that night and opened the canister, his nose inches from the opening to take a large inhale. As he did though, something was clearly wrong.
Tim gave the jar a slight shake, rolling the weed over and shining some light into the open end. White wispy fibers wrapped around the pieces, bits of powder flaking off them.
“Goddamnit!” Tim said to the empty loft as he shut the lid back onto the canister. “Now what do I do?”
__________
Tim’s knuckles met the wood of Jason’s door at nearly 2:30am. If Jason’s apartment had been anywhere but Park Row, he would be waking up to noise complaints. Lucky for both of them however, 2:30am really wasn’t particularly late when you’re a Gothamite.
Tim kept his chin down and his feet light, shifting his weight back and forth between them. He was feeling antsy, second guessing his presence. Would Jason be pissed off to see Tim standing at his door? Probably. Maybe this was all a mistake.
Just then the door swung open to reveal a barefoot and bare chested Jason wearing only his boxers and maroon housecoat. Tim couldn’t help it as his eyes scanned over the other man’s body and fought the flush threatening to bloom across his cheeks. Hidden behind his crossed arms Tim began to pinch his arm, effectively grounding himself in the sensation. It helped to ease his nerves a bit, but not as well as it would’ve if he’d been able to smoke a bit before coming over. That was usually the way Tim dealt with seeing Jason these days.
“Replacement?” Jason asked. “I thought you were the pizza guy.”
“Well I’m sorry to disappoint,” Tim retorted.
Jason signed and retreated back into his apartment leaving the door open as an unspoken invitation. “What do you want Tim? Or are you here for B?”
Tim chuckled. “No, I'm definitely not here for B,” he said. “I’m here cause I want weed.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Okay so you’re definitely here for B,” he said, deadpan.
Tim rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not here as a bat, I’m here as a guy who just discovered his stash had gone moldy and really doesn’t want to be sober tonight. if you’re not going to help then I’ll go down the street. I’m sure there are dozens of dealers ready and willing to sell to me. I just figured I’d check with you rather than accidentally supporting one of your competitors.”
Jason seemed to contemplate this for a moment before nodding and sauntering off to retrieve a miniature briefcase from the closet. He popped the latches open and turned the case around to face Tim.
“Help yourself,” he said, wrapping his house coat around him.
Tim scanned the supply in front of him, opening some packets to smell their contents. “Most of these are barely mids. There’s only one that smells fairly decent here,” he continued with a wrinkle of his nose. “Are you holding out on me here, hoarding the good stuff for yourself?”
Jason chuckled. “Okay stoner,” he said mockingly, apparently adding a new nickname to his seemingly never ending list, “this is a side of you I didn’t expect.”
“Seriously? Just because I play nice at Wayne Enterprises doesn’t mean I have to be a stuck up suit all the time.”
“Clearly not,” Jason quipped, a smirk spread across his face.
“So?” Tim probed further. “Are you going to let me have some of your personal supplies?”
“Would you believe me if I said there wasn’t one?”
Tim was confused. “One what?”
“A personal supply. I only keep this stuff around for guests. I was told it's “party weed”, cheap to buy in bulk and decent enough that partygoers wouldn’t complain too much. But otherwise that’s all I got. I don’t partake.”
Tim’s jaw had hit the floor. “You don’t ‘partake’? Seriously?”
Jason’s grin widened, “looks like we’re both surprising each other today.”
Tim sat down at the table taking out his supplies and arranging them in front of him. He grabbed the grinder and set to work. “I don’t believe you. I’ve seen you smoke weed before, that’s how I knew to come to you.”
“Yeah, I had a phase a while back where I wanted to like it. Maybe it was because it made B so goddamn pissed. I’m not sure. I never really enjoyed myself though. I got way too paranoid on the stuff.”
“So you have access to the entire underground of Gotham and you’re not taking advantage of one of the biggest perks?” Tim asked while folding his filter. “That’s a tragedy.”
“Eh, maybe I was just doing it wrong. I had a hard time staying in the pleasantly high zone and not getting to the point where I started to imagine B’s disapproving face. Funny coincidence actually. Started smoking to piss him off but stopped because it did.”
In a way Tim could understand that. Back when he was a teenager living at the manor he himself had nearly given it up after one too many close calls with Bruce. For someone who cared so much about his own personal space, B had very little respect for that of his ward’s. He probably thought that his regular room searches would help keep his kids out of trouble, but in Tim’s case, it just taught him to be better at hiding it.
Jason’s eyes were glued to Tim’s hands as he pinched the weed, transferring it into the papers. Tim was grateful for the muscle memory he had accumulated through years of practice, he had never been one to perform well under pressure. Especially when the pressure was Jason Todd’s judgmental glare. He glanced up to assess Jason’s mood and was surprised to see a face of genuine curiosity rather than the disgust he usually reserved for his “replacement”.
Jason’s eyes met Tim’s for a moment as the younger man licked his paper and rolled in the final edge. Bringing a hand up to the back of his own neck, Jason turned away from Tim taking a few aimless and uncertain steps around his apartment.
Odd. Tim rarely saw Jason looking unsure.
Placing the finished joint behind his ear, Tim rose to his feet. “Okay, what’s your deal?” he asked.
Jason leaned against the kitchen’s door frame, hands behind his back. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, ” Tim stressed, “what’s your deal? You’ve been staring daggers into me and not in the usual murdery way. If you’ve got something to say then out with it.”
They both knew the confidence in Tim’s voice was nothing more than a challenge. The hesitancy he still felt around the second Robin hadn’t faded yet despite their somewhat more amicable terms. Call Tim crazy, but when someone tried to kill him on multiple occasions, he tended to remember it.
Jason seemed to assess the situation before finally speaking, “you just… look like you know what you’re doing. That’s all.”
“God damnit.” Tim retorted with a scoff. “You’re not seriously about to be on my case about this too are you? It’s just weed!”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” he reassured. “I guess I’m just curious that’s all.”
“Curious about what?’
“About what it feels like. Y’know, when it’s good. When it’s not anxiety and greening-out under a blanket in Roy’s basement.”
Tim tried to choose his words carefully. “It’s… nice?” Well that was a horrible description. Tim tried again. “It’s really nice actually. It’s warmth and it’s calm and it’s finally a bit of a break from all the bullshit we have to deal with. It’s the satisfaction you get slipping into bed after patrol. It’s finally having some time to yourself without the weight of the city or WE on your shoulders. It’s watching a movie you’ve seen a hundred times and laughing harder than you ever have before. And it’s eating McDonald’s like it’s got five Michelin stars.” Tim smiled to himself. “Yeah, It’s really really nice.”
Jason considered Tim’s words and then grabbed a bag of the weed from the table. “Can you show me how to roll one?” He asked.
Tim laughed a bit but cut himself off when he noticed a redness blooming on Jason's cheeks. Was he… embarrassed? “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just that there’s no way I’m letting you smoke this shit if you’re trying to have a good experience.”
Jason tried to hide the way his face fell, but Tim had always known how to read people.
“Look, how about we make a deal?” Tim started. “I’ll take the rest of this bag off your hands to tide me over until I find someone in this city with decent weed. Once I do, I’ll let you know and if you still think you want to try this again, I’ll take you to one of my smoking spots and we can do this the right way. Deal?”
“What’s the right way?” Jason asked.
“You’ll just have to wait and find out. Now answer the question ‘cause I want to go home.”
Jason tossed the bag to Tim. “Deal,” he conceded.
With that, Tim took his leave, calling once over his shoulder, “pleasure doing business with you Hood.”