Chapter Text
PART 1
He hasn't been spending much time in the Cave lately.
But today, Steph leaves on his work phone the message all hands on deck, in a firm enough tone that makes it difficult for Tim to ignore. For once, she's playing the middleman between Bruce and the rest of them, which is unusual enough in itself; Bruce is hardly ever on good terms with more than one of them at a time, and frankly Steph isn't typically that person.
It's only when his bike comes to a halt in the back of the Cave that Tim realizes he's vastly underestimated the gravity of the situation. All of them are present—save for one whom Tim won't even dare think about—including Dick who's supposed to be off-world last he heard.
He, Steph, and Duke are huddled behind Bruce at the Batcomputer, while Damian stands off to the side, arms crossed and restless. Cass sits perched nearby, of course the first to notice his approach, but she gives him an unreadable expression instead of her usual smile.
Tim's already-elevated heart rate ratchets up even further. What's wrong—where is he?
The 'who's injured?' refuses to unstick from the back of his throat, and instead what comes out is, "What's the situation?"
None of his contingencies will matter in a moment, his mind screams, unfair, unable to be turned off, never letting him rest. If no one tells him within the next five seconds whose body it is they need to bury, he's going to turn to stone.
Steph and Damian are frowning at the computer, but Dick turns towards him with a tight smile. "It isn't that anything's happened—yet," he says, before he lowers his voice and continues. "It's April 27th tomorrow."
It takes a beat for the words to register, which is a beat too long; Tim files that delayed reaction, carefully compartmentalizing, squeezing the feeling of inadequacy into a little room in the back of his head and throwing away the key. He feels it clouding his mind, compromising his judgment and reaction time. How long has it been? Over forty-eight hours without sleep this time? More?
Although Dick's frown deepens, Tim's already moving on, brushing the mistake away like second nature. "What's Hood doing?" he says, to the point. He stalks forward to the rest of them but stops just as he gets a partial view of the screen.
"He's heading there," Barbara's words come from the speakers, and although they aren't hidden behind Oracle's mechanical voice they're hardly any less blunt.
"Here?" Steph says sharply. "Why?"
"Tt," Damian makes his noise of disdain that, while only mildly irritating at the best of times, now grates harshly on Tim's nerves. "It is obvious. Hood means to make a scene, as he always does when he involves himself with us."
"ETA: four minutes," Barbara warns.
Dick curses under his breath. "Steph, Duke, get out of here. Damian, go upstairs too. He'll only feel cornered if he sees all of us here."
Tim feels far away and blank. Bruce hasn't said one word so far—Tim can't even see his face.
Protests come immediately from Steph and Damian while Duke sets his jaw stubbornly, and of course Cass doesn't leave either. Barbara signs off now that she's said her piece. Dick is growing increasingly frustrated at being ignored. It's escalating. Another argument amongst a sea of them, rushing to the surface, crashing against the shore like waves in a storm.
"Why does this matter?" he says abruptly, just as terse as Bruce ever is. They all turn to him, incredulous, but all he feels is his annoyance turning to something far uglier. "Is this what you called me here for?"
Steph's bafflement lasts for precisely two heartbeats before she says, "What the hell, Tim? It's the anniversary—"
"Of his death. I'm aware," he snaps back. "That's it? This was your 'all hands on deck'?"
Christ. Why are they wasting his time?
A roar echoes in the Cave. Faint at first, coming from a distance, but once it's right behind him he feels it in his bones, his head pounding, relentless.
The motorcycle revs once before cutting off. Tim turns around deliberately, clenching his fists by his sides, whether in nerves or in anger, he doesn't know.
Jason stands there, helmet tucked casually against his side, the prodigal son returned in all his glory.
"Nice little reunion we're having," he says casually, making no move to come any closer. "My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail."
There's a change in the air, a blanket of discomfort settling over all of them, palpable and suffocating. Duke is the newest and it shows, letting out an involuntary sound that speaks of guilt. Tim can hear Steph's low exhale from over here, and can feel the irritation radiating from Damian in waves. Even Cass seems to shift slightly, but he doesn't think it's in discomfort but rather uncertainty.
Bruce is the only one who doesn't move.
"Alfie not here? Now that would've been a party." He tuts. "Unless none of you are helping him upstairs again. For shame."
"Jason," Dick says calmly, but he doesn't seem to have any other words for once.
This is so typical of them that it just fills Tim with disgust. Handling things with delicacy, playing one big happy family that's just concerned about protecting all of them, but when it actually matters, no one can say anything.
Jason raises an eyebrow, unimpressed and uncaring.
"You know, I was here about a case," he drawls, jerking his head towards the mountain of files at the far end of the Cave, "but clearly the rest of you have something else in mind."
There's expectation, a beat and a held breath—and, finally, a scoff.
"That it from you lot?" Jason's voice rises in disbelief. "… Yeah, no, I'm out of here. Not dealing with this right now."
Tim knows his faculties are compromised. He's been slow on the uptake today and this is no different, but it really only hits him when he has the thought that Jason doesn't have a domino to hide behind today.
Then Bruce says:
"Don't go."
Tim deliberately does not look at Bruce, but he can tell from the corner of his eye that he's finally turned away from the computer. He's looking at Jason intently, his voice as close to vulnerable as it ever gets. Tim doesn't understand why; of all of them, Jason is hardly the one that needs coddling.
Jason's eyes are a bright, fierce green, unyielding.
"We want you to stay."
Tim registers the words, but they couldn't have possibly come from Bruce.
They've always acted like this towards Jason, as though that hair-trigger temper is always ready to blow, and empirically, that theory is most likely to hold true. Treating Jason as an unknown, a volatile factor, simply makes the most sense.
Which is why the way Bruce says, "Please," makes Tim's chest tighten.
The two of them have always had something, a different sort of relationship than Bruce does with him, Dick, or even Damian. Tim doesn't have the right to make judgment on what constitutes as healthy boundaries or not, but what they have is a special kind of fucked up. He has his own baggage, of course, with Bruce and Jason both, but he tries so desperately to deny how needy he is when it comes to them. That he craves the pure, unadulterated love in Bruce's eyes to be directed at himself for once.
He's projecting again. Nip it in the bud, Tim, for Christ's sake.
"You know, I'm kind of inclined to agree," he finds himself saying without meaning to.
It startles everyone. Tim's imagining the little twitch from Bruce, perhaps, but for the first time in a good, long while, he finally has everyone's attention. It doesn't feel as good as it ought to be.
"He wants to leave. So leave," he directs at them and then to Jason, who's turned away and ready to go.
"What the hell," Steph snaps in the way she does whenever she thinks he's being more of an asshole than usual. "The Joker's out of Arkham, he can't just go out there!"
Tim hadn't known that, but it doesn't really make a difference, does it.
"He can do whatever the hell he wants," he says bluntly, annoyed at the way Steph's talking over Jason. Tim says it to all of them.
He finds himself staring at Jason's back, sturdy and strong as it always is. Tim wonders if he cares too little, or if the others care too much.
And Tim wonders how Jason feels.
"We're just worried about you, Little Wing. It's good that you came here," Dick says, somehow trying to placate them all at once.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Jason says bluntly. "I don't need this shit right now."
Tim doesn't pity him.
It isn't pity, because that implies that he thinks Jason's helpless in all this, which is obviously untrue considering he's making the rational decision to stay out of things tonight.
No, what Tim feels is empathy.
He knows what it's like to have every little action be scrutinized, like his so-called family is holding him to some impossible standard—which inevitably disappoints them when he can't meet their expectations.
To him, everything suddenly seems very simple.
"What do you need, then?" Tim asks, because it's the only thing that feels right. He looks at Jason plainly even though he can't see his eyes or expression anymore, even if he doesn't know whether Jason cares about what he says at all.
But Jason turns to look. His gaze flickers over to Tim, just as intense. He's waiting.
Everyone else is projecting, too. Projecting whatever hang-ups they have about this onto Jason, and Tim's as fed up with them as he is with himself. In the end, it doesn't matter what they think—it doesn't matter what Bruce thinks, either, and it sure as hell doesn't matter what Tim thinks.
It only matters what Jason does.
"What do you need?" Tim repeats.
A pause—
Then Jason grins at him, sharklike. Feral.
"I could do with some company. What do you say, Timmy, you up for a joyride?"