Chapter Text
Jason sulks on a Gotham rooftop, his recent fight with Bruce still weighing heavily on his mind. The altercation had ended with Dick, Bruce, and Damian all reprimanding him for his impulsiveness. They had been taking down a trafficking ring, and Jason had ignored their orders to wait for the signal, driven by his desire to save an innocent girl from harm.
The three of them had berated him endlessly for his headstrong approach, criticizing his recklessness and failure to follow orders. The criticism had gone on for hours, fueling Jason’s growing frustration. Eventually, he had reached his breaking point and stormed out of the cave, leaving behind his helmet and some of the weapons he had taken.
Now, perched on the rooftop, Jason finds himself almost defenseless, save for a few knives he always carries and his Red Hood suit. Engaging in breathing exercises, he hears footsteps approaching from behind.
"Look at what we have here, a bird so far from its nest," a voice echoes his own mocking words.
“Shut up, Replacement," Jason growls in response.
"Ugh, you weren't supposed to interrupt me. I wanted to do the whole Titans Tower speech, complete with birds straying from their nest and the clipped wings. But to be honest, you took the bird metaphor a bit too far. I mean, yeah, Robin, I get it, but you do realize I’m a human boy, right?"
Jason can't help but snort at the remark. "I’m surprised you even remember the speech."
"It’s kinda hard to forget. It was beaten into me," Tim teases, Jason can't help but flinch.
"Oh, come on, it was just a joke. Seriously, out of everyone, I thought you would appreciate humor about one’s trauma, considering the number of death jokes you make on average."
Jason knows he’s being hypocritical, because yes, he often makes jokes of his own death. However, when it comes to being the cause of someone else’s trauma, it’s harder for him to find amusement. Still, he tries to force a small smile, but Tim’s perceptive eyes know that something is amiss.
"You had a fight with B?" Tim asks, his face showing a hint of worry.
"No," Jason replies quietly, turning his head away.
"Yes."
"How would you know? You weren’t even there." Jason points at Tim, who slides down to sit beside him. Jason has noticed that Tim rarely visits the cave since Bruce’s return—since Tim brought Bruce back! The kid deserves recognition for accomplishing what everyone else thought was impossible. Tim had achieved it all on his own, despite others doubting him. It was typical of Tim Drake, the kind of audacious act he would pull off. Since then, Jason had tried his best to befriend Tim because Tim deserved someone in his corner, and because Jason cared about him. He cared about his little brother.
"Well, clearly I didn't miss anything important," Tim grins mischievously.
Jason chuckles, the tension easing momentarily. Both Tim and Jason gaze out at the Gotham skyline in silence.
"Did I?" Tim's face tightens, revealing his concern.
"Did you what?" Jason raises an eyebrow, looking over at Tim.
“Miss anything important?”
Jason lets out a sigh. "Just the usual. "Jason, you're too impulsive, too careless, too this, too that. Blah, blah, blah," He makes his voice high pitched and does the yapping thing with his hands. He knows that he's acting like a ten year old but it makes Tim laugh so he counts it as a win.
There is a lull in the conversation, signaling that Tim won't push Jason further, but he also lets Jason know that the option to share more is available. That's why Tim is Jason's favorite—because he never pushes. He leaves it up to you; it's always a choice.
"I’m just tired, Tim. Tired of them seeing me only as a cautionary tale. Seeing me as the same kid who ran off to Ethiopia," Jason scoffs. "Do they use me as an example for all the young heroes? "Hey kids, do you know what happens when you disobey orders? You get blown up, that's what." God, I must be a laughingstock, the hero who handed himself over on a silver platter to be tortured."
“That's not true, Jay."
"Come on, kid, let's be honest with each other. No one wants to be like me."
"I do," Tim turns to look at his brother, his eyes brimming with conviction.
"What?" Jason stammers, caught off guard. He feels a tightness in his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"I want to be like you. It's pretty much all I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. I know it may sound cliché, but you were my favorite Robin. I'm not shy about saying it: you were my Robin, the one I looked up to the most, my favorite hero," Tim's face beams with wonder and joy. "God, you were an amazing Robin. "Impulsive" my ass, more like passionate, Jay. You tried so hard, fought with everything you had, and cared so much. I saw you sit with victims rather than rush off to fight because you didn't care about glory; you just wanted to help people. You put Crime Alley on Batman's map. You made sure there was someone there to protect them."
Jason doesn't remember any of the things Tim is saying. The Lazarus Pit has twisted his memories, tarnishing the good and distorting it into something ugly. Every positive thing he did as Robin became a reminder of not being good enough, not being the Robin people wanted, not being Dick.
But now, hearing Tim speak about him like he's some kind of hero, tears well up in Jason's eyes.
"And don't talk about Ethiopia like it was just some big mistake on your part. You were the victim from start to finish," Tim's anger seeps into his words. "If Bruce ever accused me of killing someone after all I"ve done as Robin, I'd do worse than just run off."
Jason flinches at the memory, a prominent image from his trip to the Lazarus Pit.
"Garzonas," Jason recalls the name of the lowlife criminal, responsible for rape, corruption, extortion, and assault. He had driven one of his victims to suicide.
"Garzonas," Tim nods, his face taking on a nonchalant expression. Jason has never seen Tim be so dismissive about a human life, no matter how despicable. "He fell to his death all on his own. Quite fitting, really," Tim shrugs. Jason's surprised by Tim's cavalier attitude. "I was there, you know. Not when he fell, but when Batman accused you. I remember it clearly because I was so furious," Tim laughs. "I stomped around my house for days, huffing and puffing. I gave Bruce the stink eye every time he went on patrol, and it was hilarious because I know he felt my eyes on him. He kept looking around, trying to find me, but obviously couldn't. It was so funny." Tim bursts into giggles, as if he were still the ten-year-old running around Gotham, stalking vigilantes. Jason laughs along with him because, despite their closeness now, Tim rarely talks about his childhood. Jason knows the obvious parts that everyone knows—the stalking, how he became Robin, and his parents obvious neglect—but nothing beyond that.
"I decided I was going to send Batman hate mail. It was easy since we were neighbors and all. I would’ve done it if I hadn't found proof that Garzonas fell on his own."
"What do you mean, proof? You were looking for it?" Jason asks, alarmed that Tim's twelve-year-old self cared so much that he went searching for evidence.
"Of course, I was looking. I couldn't let my hero be defamed like that. After a lot of running around, hacking, and all that jazz, I found it. It was a reflection in a car's rear view mirror. It was a lot of work, but I did it, Jay. I found it and sent it to him. I was so happy because I would get to see you again."
Tim gives him a sad smile, and Jason senses where the story is headed.
"But it was too late."
"It was the same day I ran off, wasn't it?"
Tim nods. "A few days later, the news said that Jason Todd was dead. I didn't hear about Ethiopia until later, but I knew it was the Joker from Batman's reaction."
They both fall silent, with Tim revealing a ton of information. It's overwhelming for Jason, but he isn't angry because how could he be? He just learned how much Tim cared about him. Despite all his complaints about nobody giving a damn, he's sitting next to someone who clearly does—a lot.
"I was proud of you, though," Tim smiles.
Jason scoffs, "Proud of what, dying?"
Tim responds, "For fighting, for trying, and for being brave. You were a Robin till the bitter end, even trying to save your bitch of a mother. You should have left her to rot."
"Damn kid, you might hate Sheila more than me," Jason remarks.
"I do," Tim admits. “She took my brother from me. Why wouldn't I hate her?"
Jason took deep breaths, struggling to hold back tears. His eyes tingle, fighting back the emotions.
"I wasn't brave; I was scared shitless, actually," Jason confesses. "It was painful, every breath hurt. I desperately wished someone would save me. In the end, I was begging for it to stop."
Tim speaks softly, "Being afraid doesn't mean being fearless. It means being scared but doing it anyway."
Every conversation with Tim leaves Jason feeling gutted. Despite Jason's past cruelty, Tim had always been kind to him. It was difficult for Jason to face Tim, seeing the evident hero worship. Tim still looks at him as some kind of hero, and it pains Jason because of what he had done. Jason is haunted by nightmares, waking up in a panic, trying to stop the bleeding from where he had slit the kid's throat. Randomly, the memory of his actions would resurface, making him feel nauseous. Some days, the weight of his guilt made Jason despise being alive. He thinks about avoiding Tim, but he doesn't want to burden the kid with his own guilt. It wasn't Tim's fault and he didn't want him to think that it was. Tim deserves better. Moreover, Jason loves Tim and looks forward to their time together.
“Thank you, Tim," Jason says with a grateful smile.
Tim questions, "For what?"
"For being yourself, for saying all the things you said," Jason replies, pausing. "I can't imagine how you can be so kind after everything I’ve done."
"Kindness can be its own punishment," Tim responds hollowly.
Confused, Jason asks, "What do you mean?"
"I can never inflict as much pain on you as you inflict upon yourself, Jay," Tim explains, his smile turning eerie and his eyes empty. "Guilt is the worst punishment. It consumes you, stifles your breath, and never leaves your side. The more you try to make things right, the heavier the guilt becomes. I could have sought revenge to inflict the same pain you caused me, but then we would be equal, owing each other nothing. Our relationship exists because of your guilt. You actively strive to improve our relationship because you believe you owe it to me," Tim’s face sharpens, his eyes flashing with anger. "And you do."
Jason can't say anything because it is the truth. Everything Tim has said is the truth and Jason can't do anything except sit there in silence.
Jason nods his head to tell Tim that he understands.
Tim's face softens, it's a little sad now. “Your greatest enemy is your mind. Nobody is as cruel as you are to yourself. I know that better than anyone else,” Tim whispers the last part.
Tim exudes sadness and wisdom that he didn’t before. Nobody knows what happened to him in those six months he was looking for Bruce, but it must have been something to change him so drastically.
“Bruce is probably just worried, Jay,” Tim says, shifting the weight of the conversation away, like he always does. “They all are. Don’t take it to heart. Go home.”
With that, he stands—too quickly, like he can escape the subject if he just moves fast enough.
“Why don’t you come home anymore, Tim?” Jason asks, softer than he’s ever said anything in his life. The words slip out before he can stop them.
Tim freezes. His back stiffens, his shoulders lock. He doesn’t turn around when he answers, and Jason can see the way it hurts him just to get the words out.
“The manor is not my home, Jay. It never was.”
“Tim—”
“If it was, it wouldn’t have been that easy to drive me away.” His voice cracks on the last word, the whisper shredding into silence.
Jason’s chest caves in. “I’m so sorry, babybird. I know I wasn’t the best—”
Tim cuts him off, shaking his head. “It’s not you, Jay. You’re the only person I’d even go to the manor for. You hurt me, yeah—but you apologized. You try. That’s more than I can say for the others.”
Jason’s throat tightens. “What do you mean, kid?”
“How much do you know of what happened when Bruce was missing?”
Jason frowns. “Practically nothing. I know you disappeared for six months and came back with Bruce in tow.”
“Hmm.” The sound is bitter, almost hollow. “I didn’t leave. I was kicked out.”
Jason’s heart stutters. “What?”
“I told Dick I thought Bruce was alive, and he thought I’d lost my mind. He tried to have me institutionalized. I begged for help from anyone else, but Dick got there first—told them all I was crazy. Told them not to listen to me. And worse of all… he took Robin away from me. Handed it to Damian.”
Jason’s vision goes green. “HE DID WHAT?”
Tim hums, as though even his rage has burned itself out. “That one hurt the most. But I understood. It was inevitable. I just wished… I wished we could’ve broken the cycle. Robin always being ripped away from whoever wore it last. It might’ve been nice to give it to Damian myself, y’know? Maybe it would’ve even helped our relationship.” He laughs, dry and sharp. “Might’ve avoided all the attempts on my life.”
Jason blinks, stunned. “He… he tried to kill you?”
“Mm.” Tim’s lips twitch into something not even close to a smile. “More than once. But Dick? Dick just called it sibling rivalry.”
Jason’s jaw clenches. “He told me that too.”
Tim lets out a laugh so sharp it scrapes bone. “Of course he did. Dear old big brother. Every time I went to him—‘Tim, Damian’s adjusting.’ ‘Tim, be more mature.’ Always Tim. Never Damian. Do you know what it’s like, Jay? Having to watch your back in your own house? He poisoned my food. Set traps in my room. Pushed me off the dinosaur. Cut my line mid-patrol.”
Jason’s stomach twists.
Tim’s voice softens, almost breaks. “Home is supposed to be safe. You’re supposed to breathe there. Relax. But I couldn’t. I never knew what he’d do next. I couldn’t even eat Alfred’s food. Didn’t know if Damian had tampered with it. So I lived on granola bars and bottled water, tucked away where no one else would touch them.” He smiles sadly.
Jason whispers, horrified, “Oh my god. This isn’t right, Tim. You should tell Bruce.”
Tim hums. “Bruce. Good ol’ Dad.” His tone turns mocking, broken at the edges. “Did you know he called me Jason so much I started answering to it? My parents were gone. It was just me, Alfred, and Bruce—and he never used my name. I was ‘Robin.’ Or I was you. Never Tim.”
Jason’s fists clench until his nails bite his palms.
Tim lets out a laugh with no joy in it. “There was a point where I forgot my name was Tim. At school, I wrote ‘Jason’ on a test instead of my own. I failed, because I couldn’t stop writing your name.”
“Tim—” Jason can’t hold back the tears this time.
“Do you remember the Tower?” Tim’s voice dips lower, almost dangerous. “Of course you do. When I was lying in the medbay—broken, bleeding, because of you—do you know where Bruce was?”
Jason can’t breathe.
Tim looks him dead in the eye, and the truth cuts sharper than any blade.
“He was chasing after you. Trying to bring you home. That same home I was in—alone, shattered—and still, he ran after you.”
“So tell me Jason, why do you think I never come home?”
Jason had nothing to say to that. He is so weighted down by what he’s learned that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to move anytime soon.
Tim just smiles at him and taps his ear twice, “I’ll see you around Jason,” and then he is gone.
Jason touches his ear and realizes his comm is still in—and still on.
I doubt anyone’s listening. They should all be in bed by now.
He starts making his way back to the Cave, Tim’s words still circling his mind like restless ghosts. Everything Tim told him tonight clashes violently with everything Jason’s ever been told about him. It doesn’t fit. None of it does.
He walks into the Cave—and freezes.
They’re still there. Damian, Bruce, and Dick. Just like he left them. But something’s off. The air feels wrong, heavy. Dick looks wrecked, eyes red-rimmed and hollow. Damian’s posture is stiff, guilt written in every tight line of his face. And Bruce—Bruce looks constipated, which Jason knows by now means he’s feeling something he doesn’t want to admit.
“Why are you guys still up?” Jason says casually, trying to mask the tension as he starts putting his gear away.
“Jay, I—” Dick’s voice breaks. He doesn’t even try to finish the sentence.
“What the hell’s wrong wi—” Jason stops. The realization hits him like a gut punch. His comm was on. They heard everything.
“You heard everything?”
Bruce nods silently.
Jason lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Bruce’s voice is low. “What can I do? What can we do?”
“I don’t know, dad,” Jason spits. “I didn’t even know you were capable of fucking up this badly.” He shakes his head, jaw clenching. “I thought the way you handled me was bad. But this? This was all of us. You, me, Dickie, Damian. And I honestly don’t know if you can come back from it.”
He exhales through his nose, the anger softening into something heavier—grief, maybe. “I’m pissed on his behalf. I just learned that the kid did so much for us—for me—and in return he got nothing but pain and misery. So no, I don’t know if I want to drag him back into this shit hole. I’ve got a good relationship with him now, and I’m not screwing that up trying to help you. You’re on your own for this.”
“Jason, you can’t—” Dick starts, desperate.
“I can, and I am,” Jason snaps. “This is your mess, big brother. You clean it up.”
He turns to Dick, voice quieter now, but sharper. “What happened to you? You used to dote on that kid. He was your only brother for the longest time. You promised to do better by him. What happened? You were the last person I’d ever expect this from. You were supposed to be better than this.”
“I—” Dick chokes, hands clutching at his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know how it went so wrong.”
“It wasn’t Richard’s fault. It was mine—”
Jason cuts Damian off with a glare. “No, it was his fault. And yours. And yours.” He points at Bruce. The older man at least has the decency to look ashamed.
“Why would you go looking for me after what I did to him?” Jason demands. “Why would you abandon him like that, in that state?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Bruce says, voice low, weary. “I thought if I got you, it would put him at ease. Having you safe—subdued—would make him feel safer. I didn’t think I was abandoning him. I came back that night to stay with him, but Alfred told me he insisted on going home. I thought he’d rather be with his parents. I didn’t know.” He swallows hard, looking every bit his age. “I didn’t know.”
Jason’s lip curls. “You should’ve known, world’s greatest detective.”
Bruce flinches. Jason feels a bitter satisfaction bloom in his chest.
“Like I said,” he mutters, turning away, “I’m not helping you. And I refuse to stand here and listen to you justify abuse. Save your excuses for someone who cares.”
He walks out of the cave without another word.