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Red Robin hates Jason. It’s not hard to guess why and, honestly, the hatred works out pretty well for Jason too. He wasn’t exactly at his best, the first time he met the little shit, and he’s not interested in thinking too much about that time in his life. So if Tim keeps his distance—if his words to Jason are strictly limited to relevant facts and brief sarcasm—if he turns around and walks out of a room when he finds Dick and Jason there together—it’s all good. It’s what Jason wants.
Yes, the hatred makes it a tad awkward when he ends up being the one trapped alone in a locked basement with Tim-the-civilian and Ivy’s just coated the idiot with her latest, when he’s the one who has to wrestle the skinny limbs into a pin and hold him while he shivers and glares and hates Jason so much that it looks like he might die from it. But. It’s fine. They’ll get through this, it’ll be an awkward few hours before rescue, and then they’ll never have to talk about it again. It’ll be fine.
“Shut up,” Tim grunts into Jason’s shoulder and that’s when Jason realises he’s been saying it aloud this whole time. It’s fine, you’re fine, you’ll be fine. He feels his ears heat up, under the helmet. His hand, stroking the back of the Replacement’s neck, curling through his hair, stops abruptly. The problem is that Jason only knows one protocol for Ivy’s pollen and it’s the protocol Bruce taught him, back in the day, when Bruce loved him and he loved Bruce. He doesn’t have a protocol for doing this with someone who hates him.
”Don’t,” Tim gasps, “stop.” He thumps his head against Jason’s shoulder, hard, as if he wants to knock himself out for saying it and Jason can’t help a small smirk. He resumes the gentle petting. The Replacement seems to get leaner every time Jason sees him, like he’s been whittling himself down somehow, down to these sharp edges and pointy elbows. He’s not exactly cuddly, but at least he’s starting to relax into Jason’s touch now, starting to melt a little. Jason’s just starting to think that this won’t be so bad—he’ll come away with a tiny new piece of banter fodder for the next time the kid gets too smug for his own good and no new scarring—when something changes, he has no idea what. Tim’s breath speeds up. His body stiffens under Jason’s hold and the grip of his hands on Jason’s shoulders tightens till it almost hurts.
”Let me,” he says. “Let me. Let me. Let me go.”
Jason releases his hold. It makes no difference; the kid’s still clinging to him like his life depends on it.
”Are you going to let go?” he asks and it’s maybe a little cruel but the kid did ask for it.
“I’m trying,” he gasps out and Jason sees that his knuckles are white with strain, as if he’s trying to force his hands away from Jason’s shoulders and failing. Jason leans his head back against the wall and watches him. He’s dimly aware that Dick would handle this differently—gentle words, reassurances, soothing touches—but he’s not Dick and this kid isn’t his little brother or whatever. Jason was willing enough to help him out, but if he hates Jason so much that he’s going to torture himself by trying to separate himself from the only warm body in the room, under Ivy’s pollen, let him knock himself out.
Tim is sweating, wild-eyed. He’s pale and the patches under his eyes are so dark that they look almost like the shadow of his domino, like the kid in his Robin days had just left his lenses up. Blue eyes, the same arctic blue as Bruce’s. A thin angry mouth, pursed lips. Trembling. He can’t draw himself away from Jason and eventually he stops trying and collapses back against his body.
“Great plan,” Jason says, sardonic, as he claps his hand around the kid’s neck again. “Really getting the whole genius rep now. That really helped.”
”I hate this,” Tim blurts out and it’s the most uncontrolled thing Jason’s ever heard him say. For no reason, it makes his own eyes and nose sting.
”I noticed,” he says and Tim curls into him and begins, horribly and in silence, to cry. Fuck. What the fuck. Maybe this is something other than the normal pollen.
“Uh,” he says, after a few beats of wondering whether he can pretend he hasn’t noticed the sniffling and the dampness growing on the left shoulder of his undershirt. “Is the—what’s going on, Tim? New symptoms?”
”I don’t know,” Tim says thickly. “I think. I think so. I don’t. It’s never. I’m sorry.”
Shit. Shit. This is not good. Jason’s way out of his depth here, without a life raft. Where’s Dick when you need him? How long could it possibly be taking them to figure out that Tim Drake-Wayne, civilian, was kidnapped tonight? Surely the kid had a tracker when he was taken.
”You have a tracker?” he asks, and Tim nods into his shoulder.
”If they,” he says and stops. Jason’s getting increasingly unnerved by every word that comes out of his mouth. Red Robin is normally clipped, yes, but he’s also controlled, dry, factual, precise. He never stutters. Jason’s never seen this much emotion out of him, ever, and he knows it’s just chemistry—the right cocktail of crap can pull any emotional display out of anyone—but it’s still disorienting.
“If who what?” he asks. He doesn’t really care what Tim was going to say—he’s just keeping the thread of conversation going, giving the kid some touchstone of reality to hold on to, standard protocol—but Tim reacts like he’s been asked to reveal everyone’s secret identity on a public livestream. He turns his head and digs his teeth into his own arm, as if to stop himself from speaking. What the fuck. What the fuck is this? What has Ivy done to him?
“Stop that,” he says harshly, grabbing at the arm, and Tim turns wildly as if he’s willing to bite Jason too and it turns into another wrestling match on the floor and they end up with Tim face down and Jason behind him, gripping his arms behind his back. “Stop hurting yourself.”
”Ha,” Tim says and all the hairs at the back of Jason’s neck stand up. He knows that sound. It’s the worst sound in the world. “Ha ha ha. I’m sorry. Ha.”
Jason has to let him go. His vision floods green. He’s shaking. He can’t breathe. Tim turns and clings to him like a limpet and Jason hears himself think fucking parasite and has to stop himself from shaking him off and kicking him across the room. That fucking laugh.
“This isn’t Ivy’s normal shit,” he makes himself say, through the green rage, and Tim huffs into his shoulder.
”You think?”
It’s the first time tonight he’s sounded like himself. Jason’s surprised by the strength of the relief that sends through him.
“B’ll figure out an antidote,” he says, as coolly as he can with that horrible metallic laugh still ringing through his head, and Tim nods and curls up against Jason as if he’s trying to make himself as small as he possibly can.
”Sorry,” he mutters again after a while and Jason feels a twinge of irritation.
“Stop apologizing,” he says, through gritted teeth, and Tim falls silent. His fingers are still clutching at Jason’s shoulders, digging in. He’s got his bony knee thrown over Jason’s knee. The trembling starts up again. Then the tears. Jason ignores them as best he can, keeps his hand anchored on the back of Tim’s neck, and waits for rescue.
It’s Robin who kicks in the window and finds them. Of course. Jason scowls up at the small figure that lands lightly on his feet in front of them and heaves himself up, Tim still clasped in his arms.
”About time,” he says and Damian tries to peer into Tim’s face.
“What’s wrong with—”
”Toxin,” Jason says. If it was anyone else—Bruce, Dick, Cass—he’d shove Tim into their arms and never look back. But he can’t shove Tim into Damian’s arms. Tim’s short but he’s not that short and besides Jason doesn’t keep up with all the family gossip but he knows from Dick’s furrowed brow and mournful hints that something went down between Tim and his own little replacement, there’s bad blood or something there. He can’t shove Tim at Damian and leave.
”Where’s B? We need to get him to the Cave.”
”No,” Tim says in a high frightening voice that makes Damian blanch. “Not there. Not there. Not there.”
“Toxin,” Jason says, trying to reassure himself as much as Damian as Tim’s voice mutters on. “He needs an antidote. I thought it was Ivy’s usual — but —” He grimaces. “It’s some bad shit.”
Tim giggles. It’s not as unsettling as his Joker impression but it’s a close second. He turns his head and looks owlishly up at Jason and Jason realizes, with a jolt, that this is first time Tim has tried to make direct eye contact with him — well, with his helmet — since the first moment Jason took hold of him, just as the basement door slammed and the glitter of the pollen floated through the air and settled on Tim’s lips and in his hair.
“Bad shit,” Tim repeats. “You’re so funny,” he says, looking agonized, “J.” His teeth dig hard into his lip. He’s trying not to say Jason’s name. Damian looks wildly unnerved. He taps his comm.
”I have found them both,” he says. “Red Robin is compromised by an unknown compound.” He looks at Tim, who stares back at him, hollow-eyed, and swallows. “Hurry.”
It’s Dick who finally takes the weight of Tim out of Jason’s arms and loads him into the Batmobile. Tim’s gone back to his horrible shriek of not there not there not there, ascending in pitch. Dick looks back at Jason, over Tim’s head.
”You coming?”
Of course not. Why would he. Not there. Tim turns his face away and presses it into Dick’s shoulder. He’s shuddering. His voice dies away.
”Yeah,” Jason says and shoves his way into the car. Bruce, at the wheel, casts him a flicker of a glance in the mirror and Jason has to swallow down his instant desire to stick two fingers up at him and consciously turn his attention back to Tim.
“You’re fine,” he says stupidly, again, and Tim reaches out and grabs him. Dick makes a startled sound.
”Jason,” Tim says and Jason—he doesn’t know if he’s ever heard his name said like that before. It’s just some chemical thing, he tells himself, and puts his hand back on the nape of Tim’s neck and feels something ease in his own chest as Tim goes limp under the touch. Some chemical thing fucking with Tim’s brain and making him forget who he is, who Jason is, all the reasons he has to push him away. “Jason. Jason. Don’t leave.”
He meets Dick’s eyes. He doesn’t mean to. It makes everything worse, the look on Dick’s face.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says and Tim shuts his eyes.
”Okay,” he says. There are still tears sliding down his face but the agonized twist of his mouth and eyebrows eases. He falls asleep in the car, in Jason’s hold, and Jason is still holding him, hours later, when they’ve figured out the compound and its antidote and Alfred slides the needle into the big vein in Tim’s arm. Tim doesn’t wake up, even at the needle’s pinch. There are still tears dripping down his face, in his sleep. Jason very carefully disengages his arm from under Tim’s body and Tim makes a small sound but doesn’t stir or scream.
”What was it?” Jason asks in a whisper and Alfred looks up at him.
”The usual,” he says quietly. “Mixed with a compound that lowers inhibitions.”
”There’s got to be more to it than that,” Jason says, startled. “He was seeing things, Alfie.” He swallows. “Doing things — saying things — it wasn’t him.”
Alfred pushes the hair out of Tim’s eyes in a gesture so tender that it makes Jason’s throat tighten.
“There was nothing that should have induced hallucinations,” he says. “Memories, perhaps.”
That laugh. Tim’s memories. Sickness creeps into Jason’s throat.
“I have to go,” he says abruptly just as Tim opens his eyes and looks up at him. They stare at each other for a long moment. Tim’s blue eyes seem to cloud over in real time, going from wide and startled and open to opaque and shadowed and secretive within moments. The tears stop. Tim reaches up to swipe at his own face with both hands and then looks thoughtfully at the wetness on his fingertips. Then he looks at Alfred.
”What was it?”
“A new compound,” Alfred says. “We can discuss it in the morning, Master Tim. You need some rest now.”
Tim puts his bare feet on the floor, very neatly. Red Robin preparing to take flight.
”I should go home,” he says. “I’ll get some sleep when I get in, Alfred. I promise. And I’ll swing by tomorrow night to get a look at that compound.”
”Your room,” Alfred says, and stops. He sighs. “Very well. Go — home — if you must. But do take care of yourself, Master Tim. You’ve had quite the ordeal tonight.”
Tim’s gaze slides back to Jason. He smiles, tiny and wry, apologetic.
“I kind of think I was the ordeal,” he says dryly. “Thanks for the save, Hood.”
It’s crisp and dismissive and Jason almost takes it — he almost grunts and walks out — but then he just. Doesn’t. Don’t leave.
“Are you okay?” he hears himself say, and he’s bracing himself for Tim to laugh or spit in his face but Tim only blinks, once, twice, too rapidly.
“I’m fine,” he says and Jason snorts.
“Oh you are not,” he says and Tim glares at him but this glare doesn’t look anything like hatred. He’s embarrassed and pissed off and he wants Jason to pretend that nothing that happened happened because he’s trying to save face like the idiot teenager he is, trying to play it cool for Jason’s benefit. Because he doesn’t want Jason to think less of him.
”I can drive you home,” he says and Tim frowns at him.
”I have my gear in the Cave,” he says. “I can get myself home. And you don’t even know where I live.”
”So tell me and then I’ll know,” Jason says patiently and Tim blinks at him again in genuine confusion.
”I don’t need a ride home,” he says slowly, like Jason is an idiot, and Jason sighs as loudly as he can.
”Fine,” he says. “But I need to — I want to see you get home in one piece, all right. It’s been a shit night and you owe me one.”
”Why do you,” Tim says, his brow wrinkling like it’s an honest-to-God mystery and Alfred clears his throat.
“I think Master Jason has been rather worried about you,” he says mildly. “It would relieve his mind to see you safe at home.”
Tim laughs. An incredulous bark of laughter that cuts off as soon as it starts. He stares at Jason, at the look on Jason’s face.
“Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have — that’s not funny. Um. Okay. Thanks.”
”You apologize too much,” Jason tells him. He’s not going to pretend that laugh didn’t sting but it’s a sting he pretty much deserves. “Go get your gear and let’s get out of here.”
Red Robin gets on the Red Hood’s bike in total silence. His grip on Jason’s waist is light and controlled and his breathing in Jason’s ear is even and controlled. When they get to the apartment, he doesn’t take off his cowl.
”Thanks for the ride,” he says politely.
“This place is a shithole,” Jason says, looking around at the soulless white and grey and granite of it all, and Tim doesn’t take the bait.
”Thanks,” he says again, more dryly than ever. You’re so funny, J. Under the cowl, his mouth is unimpressed and calm, a straight line. “Good night, Hood.”
”You called me Jason before,” Jason says abruptly and Tim stills. “You know that’s my actual name, right.”
”I assumed you preferred,” Tim says and stops. Jason lifts his eyebrows. He takes off the helmet so that Tim can see him do it. He gets a tiny response to that, a twitch in the corner of Tim’s mouth.
”Why would I prefer to be called Hood all the time? Dick calls me Jason. Alfie calls me Jason. Even the brat calls me Todd.”
“They’re family,” Tim says. Another tiny flinch as he sees how Jason hears that. “I don’t mean—it’s just a fact. I know I’m not your family. I’m not trying to be. Okay?”
He sounds like his usual self now, clipped and condescending. But it’s impossible to forget the way he looked in the car, the way his voice cracked when Jason took hold of him. Jason puts one hand on his shoulder now, very carefully, and Tim doesn’t react at all except in his stillness. His shoulder is tense as a rock under Jason’s touch.
”Do you want to be?” Jason asks and Tim flinches, then, and jerks away from his touch.
”It was pollen,” he says and now he sounds less like a robot, angry at last. “It was nothing personal, okay? You don’t have to — I’m not going to — I know you don’t like me. It’s fine. It was just pollen.”
”I don’t not like you,” Jason points out after a moment. “I don’t know you that well.” He scratches the back of his neck. Tim’s spilled his guts everywhere tonight, against his will. Jason can give a little too. “I figured you wouldn’t want me to, after I —” He gestures. “You know. We had that fight.”
”After you attacked me, you mean,” Tim says snippily and Jason nods.
”Yeah,” he admits. “After I attacked you. I figured you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”
This is Tim’s cue to say I don’t, to tell him he’s really reading too much into some random ramblings under the influence of a bad batch of pollen, to kick Jason out of his apartment and tell him never to come back there. He doesn’t. He takes off the cowl instead and rubs at his eyes.
“Lots of people have attacked me,” he says tiredly. “That doesn’t mean—I’m not, like, holding a grudge.”
”You should be,” Jason says and Tim shrugs.
”Not really my thing,” he says, lightly. “Holding grudges. Plotting revenge. I’ve got actual shit to do.”
“You little fucker,” Jason says, almost-admiring, and Tim grins at him suddenly, blindingly.
“On which note,” he says, “I have a meeting in the morning and, as you can see, I’m home in one piece.” He twirls. “So thanks for the ride and good night, Jason.”
“Yeah yeah,” Jason says and turns to go. Then out of the corner of his eye he sees a tiny movement — Tim’s hand twitching towards him, reaching out before it drops back — and he turns. He grabs him firmly by both shoulders and pulls him into a hug. Tim is stiff and startled in his arms, unmoving. He’s not used to being touched with affection. Dick’s dropped all kinds of dark hints about the Drakes over the years and tonight has shown Jason something of what all that’s about.
“Don’t get kidnapped again,” he says, letting him go. It’s surprisingly difficult to do. Tim nods silently, speechless, and Jason swings out of the window and goes home.
The next Sunday, Jason shows for brunch at the Manor, for once. He finds Dick and Tim and Damian and Cass in the kitchen. Cass is hugging Tim.
“Hey Jason,” Dick says. His gaze is warm and concerned but it lightens when Jason nods to him and heaves himself into his own usual chair. Cass turns to look at him for a long moment and then she takes Tim by the shoulders and turns him to face Jason, like he’s a kid on the first day of school and he’s being made to say hi to the class.
”Hey Tim,” Jason says as casually as he can and Tim doesn’t walk out of the room or break eye contact or throw a punch. He sort of smiles, a half-smile kind of thing, very tentative.
“Jason,” he says and Jason grins at him.
”So,” he says. “Turns out you think I’m hilarious.”
For a moment, he thinks he’s miscalculated, that it’s too soon. Tim goes white and then pink and then bright red. But then his shoulders relax and he sits back down in his own chair.
”Funny can have more than one meaning,” he says. “I’ve never pretended I didn’t think you were a weirdo.”
”Bullshit,” Jason says and puts some bacon on his plate. “You think I’m the funny one.” He grins at Dick. “How’s that feel, Golden Boy?”
Dick looks like he’s trying not to cry with happiness.
”You can’t believe what people say under pollen, Jay,” he says. “When he’s in his right mind, Tim thinks I’m hilarious.”
”When I’m in my right mind,” Tim says, “I hate you all.”
Jason laughs and Tim scowls at him as he helps himself to porridge but it’s not a real scowl. There’s a glow of tentative hope in his face, as he bends over his porridge and starts to eat, listening to Dick ramble on about some scandal that went down at some gala and occasionally glancing at Jason as if to check he’s still there.
At some point, Jason’s going to have to think about what it means that Tim doesn’t hate him. He’s going to have to think about the year he came back, and Tim’s blood on his knife, and that unexplained and hideous Joker impression. It would be easier if he could just keep pretending not to care — not to need to care — but. Easy is overrated. For now, he’s at brunch at the Manor with his family and none of it is easy — he can feel the tension in his own back, waiting for Bruce to come in — but Dick is smiling at him and Alfred pats his shoulder in passing and Tim doesn’t hate him. For now, he’ll take complicated and family over easy and alone.