1/2.
Sorry to those who have seen this twice. Edited re-post.
Title: Circles and Semi-Circles.
Author: Jess.
Pairing: Jason/Bruce implied, Jason/Tim.
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognise; I am only borrowing for fun and am making no profit whatsoever.
Summary: It’s only after disaster can we be resurrected. - Tyler Durden, This Is Your Life from the Fight Club soundtrack.
Notes: Ages. I just avoided giving exact numbers like the plague (y’know, complicated canon, AUness, etc.). Anyone who knows canon vaguely will get the timeframe, and so know rough ages, same as I do. Beta read by the fantastic brown_betty, huge, huge thanks to her! All mistakes are mine.
Warnings: AU off A Death in the Family. Jason lived, Bruce didn’t. Violence.
Feedback: Yes! Please.
---
A warehouse of medical supplies, in a foreign land, and walls painted all white, with gashes of red. Clown's painted smiles, sprayed and dripping.
And sprayed again, with the wet slap thud sound of flesh meeting metal.
Jason Todd watches as the Joker beats his newly found mother to death with a crowbar. He wants to scream, but he can't. He wants to move, but he can't. Eventually he wants to laugh, but he can't. There's something holding him back, something that's smothering him... slowly cutting off his ability to speak... to laugh... to breathe...
---
Jason wakes up with an involuntary gasp, slapping his hand to his throat. The dream retreats with the slow steadying of his racing heart beat.
When he dreams, it's always of that. There are infinite variations that are all exactly the same. Sometimes Bruce is there. Sometimes just himself. Sometimes he dies in the explosion, before he wakes up.
Sometimes he's the one with the crowbar, and the Joker is the one who sprays the walls with bloody smiles.
Those are the good dreams, the one's he has on the rare occasions he sleeps well. But the best sleep is the one where he doesn't dream.
That sleep doesn't come often.
Sometimes he can work himself into it.
It's 11 p.m. on the clock next to his four poster bed. The pillows are amazingly soft, and the mattress feels like heaven against his scarred body. The room is covered in shadow, but its richness can't be hidden. He rolls over inhaling into the pillow, knowing there's no scent left there but his own.
Instead of giving in to the powerful physical urge to slip back into sleep, he gives into the powerful mental urge that screams for no more dreams.
Jason gets up, pulls on a pair of sweat pants, and heads down to the cave.
---
“How many hours sleep was it tonight, Master Jason?” Alfred asks, after silently descending the stairs to the cave.
Jason knows he doesn't expect an answer. He gives him one anyway.
“You worry too much Al.”
“And you rest too little, Master Jason.” Alfred says.
“You know about… you know I don’t sleep well.” Jason says. He never really has, even before Bruce’s death.
“Yes, I’m well used to… erratic sleep patterns at this late stage in my career. Will you be wanting something to eat before you go out?” Alfred asks, blandly.
Jason hasn't even put on the suit yet. But Alfred always knows when he's just working out, and when he's preparing. Sometimes before he does himself.
“No, I’m good.” Jason doesn’t want to look at Alfred.
Alfred turns to go.
“Alfred…”
“Yes, sir?” He turns back to face Jason.
“Sometimes I think… the dreams… just. Never mind.”
“Are you sure you don’t wish to talk about it now?” Alfred asks, in a very controlled tone. Jason wonders what emotion he’s trying to hide, but can only make guesses. He supposes that’s the point.
“Yeah.” He says.
“I am always here if you change your mind.” Alfred says, going to turn again.
“Sometimes, I think maybe it’s this house. This house is full of nightmares, so full of ghosts and dreams. I know that’s stupid, but sometimes…” Jason forces himself to choke the words out, though he feels queasy saying the thoughts out loud.
“This house has seen more than its share of pain. It’s a thought I have had myself. But you know as well as I, it’s not the manor that should be blamed.”
The look Alfred gives him is sad, Jason knows, without looking. He still can’t look.
“I know. I know. I don’t really mean it. I just… I try to find somewhere for all this guilt, and blame, and there’s nowhere for it to go but… myself.”
“Master Jason-“
“I have to go. Crime to fight. Asses to kick.”
Jason tries on a smile, but it's cracked around the edges, and he can't force himself to look at Alfred's eyes. He has no doubt they'll be showing the same depth of sadness mixed with pain and compassion as always. But there's something there. There's that little bit of blame, or just… hardness. Everything’s still an open wound.
---
It's always the same feeling. Every single time he puts on the suit. Every time.
It's the jolt of raw power when his eyes glide over the cowl, to the boiling anger that surprises him every time, when he finally pulls it on.
He doesn't think this is what it was like for Bruce, when he put it on.
Bruce was The Batman.
Jason's just a pretender.
But he's all there is, and if The Batman dies, then what's left? What’s left for… anyone. It's Bruce's legacy to Gotham. He'll hold it up. There's no one else who… wants it.
He closes his eyes, and deliberately loosens his clenched fists.
He can already hear the first dull slaps of his gauntlets on flesh. Adrenaline pumps through him, wiping out thought.
---
This is the second one he’s taken out tonight that’s wearing the make-up. Just like the first, this one is committing a violent, but petty crime. The guy is wearing a caked on, unskillfully done clown mask, with a grotesque red smile that’s cracking here and there. He’s trying to wrestle a handbag from a woman who is doing a decent job of keeping a hold, even though she should just let him have it. Jason can see the clown is about to get more violent, even from his perch on the rooftop.
Jason wants to say it’s not affecting him. The Joker’s dead. And it’s not like this is the first time he’s had to face up to guys who are wannabe Jokers. It’s Gotham. The second the rumors started flying about the Joker’s death, gangs popped up occasionally trying to cash in on his reputation.
Jason grits his teeth until he thinks he can hear a creak in his jaw. It does affect him. Every damn time.
The Joker’s as dead as Batman. Fucking pretenders, he thinks, and wants to laugh at himself.
He launches himself off the rooftop, slamming into the man feet first, using all his weight. He’s not Bruce’s size, but that thought really needs a ‘yet’ at the end. Jason lands in a crouch over the man who is scrambling backwards, obviously too scared to get to his feet.
Jason grabs the clown’s collar, and brings his face close to his own.
“I don’t think the lady finds you very funny.” He growls, quietly, in his Batman voice. He speaks quietly because he hasn’t perfected the voice yet, and he sounds more like Bruce’s Batman if he’s quiet. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever perfect it. He doesn’t talk much on patrol now, for more than one reason.
He flips the guy, and smacks his face down onto the pavement. Blood smears the make-up off, in places, and Jason wipes the guys face across the pavement a little, to pull as much make up off as he can. The sound of metal on flesh thuds in his ears, memory rushing up…
“Batman!” Dick calls out, from nearby.
Jason pauses.
“Nightwing.” Jason acknowledges. He lets the clown-painted man’s shirt go, and slams his boot into the man’s head as hard as he can. They’ll need a minute to talk, so there’s no point dragging it out. The clown disguised guy goes limp, and Jason stands on his arm to keep him there.
“Here you go, ma’am.” He hands the purse to the scared, frozen woman, who takes off as soon as she has her hand on the purse, as if she’s been shocked.
“He’s not going anywhere, Batman.” Dick says, and flicks his eyes down to the unconscious clown whose forearm Jason’s boot is crushing.
“I know.” Jason says, wiping a dot of blood off his chin.
Dick gives him a look. Jason knows Dick’s not quite comfortable with the amount of hurt he normally puts on criminals. Dick’s not quite comfortable with calling him Batman, either. Jason takes a perverse thrill in the fact that Dick sounds like he’s choking on the word every time. He deserves the discomfort. He was the one who should have…
No. The argument is old and useless. There’s more than one reason Alfred goes to visit Dick, not the other way around. Gotham is Batman’s. Batman is dead.
“Any reason you’re in Gotham tonight?” Jason bends down and zip strips the clown painted guy’s hands behind his back, around a lamp post with a broken bulb. He sees something sticking out of the guys back pocket, an envelope, and sticks it in his belt to check out later. Could be a new gang in town, he thinks. The first clown guy had one too, and he regrets not taking that one. When Jason stands up, he notices Dick glancing across the street, twitchily.
“I have things to do.” Jason bluffs, hoping to make Dick get to the point as quickly as possible, he pretends to go for his grapple.
“There’s someone I think you need to meet.” Dick says.
Jason glances at the deserted street.
“Where--?” Jason starts, but as his eyes hit the spot where Dick had glanced, seemingly nervously a second ago, a shadow turns into a boy. He’s small, not too far into his teens, and thin, but surprisingly fit looking. He’s wearing an outfit that looks sickeningly and startlingly familiar, but at the same time all wrong. Jason feels like he’s been punched. He feels like he needs to punch something. He turns away from the boy, who’s walking over to them. “Robin.” Jason says, to the brick wall.
“Yes.” Robin answers.
The boy speaks quietly, and very evenly. Jason really wants to hit something.
“What the fuck is going on Di-Nightwing?” Jason asks.
Dick makes his way to an alley and climbs the fire escape with his usual grace.
The kid… Robin… follows, and moves up the fire escape using moves obviously taught by Dick himself, but his style isn’t the same at all. There are some moves that are really unfamiliar. Jason wonders if Dick’s had his friends training the boy, too. He’s not as suited to the acrobatic flare Dick puts on everything. But he’s still obviously competent, and well trained. But not enough.
It’s never enough. Or Bruce would…
Jason punches one of the alleys walls until he feels, and hears, a crunch through the gauntlet. Then he follows.
---
They beat Jason back to the cave, and the kid’s staring around at everything, blinking like he’s taking photos with his eyes, and every flicker of his eyelids is a flash.
Jason realises his domino is off. Robin has blue eyes.
“Jason.” Dick says.
”Dick, I’ll repeat myself: what the fuck is going on? I don’t have time for this.” Jason grimaces, as he pushed the cowl off roughly, and too quickly. His hair is starting to get too long for comfort.
“We… I’ve been watching you. You’re not getting better.” Dick says.
“I’m fine. My back is healed. My burns are healed. The scars are worse than they look. I don’t know what you mean.” Jason denies, knowing full well Dick isn’t talking about his physical recovery. He was there for the bigger part of it.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Dick’ expression is pure frustration, “Alfred told me about the nightmares, as if I didn’t know. I have them, too. But it’s not that, you know I’d never try and tell you… what’s normal… when it comes to grief. When it comes to… Br-Batman.”
Bruce, Jason thinks, you were going to say Bruce. He’s surprised Dick can even stand here, inside the cave, without the protection of the streets or a mask, and skirt that close to the huge, slicing knife to the gut of emotions that is mentioning Bruce.
They haven’t said his name to each other since Jason was able to walk again.
“No, you wouldn’t. You haven’t even introduced me to… your new partner?” Jason asks.
“He’s not my new partner, he’s…” Dick pauses, and seems to realize that the boy Robin is standing right there now. Not looking around anymore, but staring at them both, perhaps a little nervously, with his camera shutter eyes. “Jason,” Dick continues, “this is Tim. Tim, this is Jason.”
“What’s his other name?” Jason asks automatically.
“Robin. I’m Robin, Batman.” Tim says.
Jason keeps his eyes on Dick.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d call your partner something so nostalgic. I thought you’d abandoned… that life.” Jason knows he’s cutting a bit close to bone now. He smiles.
“Jason, for one fucking second, could you just… stop-listen-“ There’s a flush rising on Dick’s face.
“He didn’t name me, I named myself. And I’m not his partner. Robin is Batman’s partner. Batman, you… he needs a Robin.” Tim interrupts.
“No, he doesn’t. I don’t.” Jason says, finally looking at Tim, who is already staring at him intently.
“Jason, you’re hurting.” Says Dick, sounding calmer, “you’re not just causing record numbers of Batman’s catches to need hospital trips, you’re hurting yourself. Your back can’t be fully healed yet, You need help, if you’re going to keep trying to do this…”
“Trying? I’m not trying, Dick. It’s not about “try”. Gotham needs Batman. I’m doing what needs to be done. I’m doing what Bruce would have wanted. I’m going what you should have!” Jason’s voice raises on the last sentence, unconsciously.
“I was never going to be Batman, Jason. Bru-“
“Don’t, Dick. Don’t say Bruce never thought you would be. We both know it was always supposed to be you.” Jason forces his voice to even out.
“That… this isn’t why we’re here. You’re hurting, and Tim, Robin, can help. You need a Robin.” Dick says.
“Batman never needed a Robin, Dick. You of all people-- look where it got him? Bruce is dead, becau-he’s dead. You want a partner? Good for you.” Jason says.
“Batman, please. I can do this. I’m trained. You need help. You’re going to get hurt out there without someone watching your back. I’ve seen you.” Tim says.
“How old are you?” Jason asks.
“Old enough.” Tim replies, tilting his chin up, he gives an impressive impression of a ‘what’s your point?’ glare.
Jason shakes his head. Tim looks younger than Jason himself had been when he was Robin.
“There’s no way, Dick.” Jason says.
“Jason, he found out by himself.” Dick pauses for a second, giving Jason’s brain time to catch up. He couldn’t possibly mean… “When he came to me, you were still off the street, he told me all our names. All of them. He knew I was Robin first, he knew you were now, and he knew Bruce was Batman. He’s beyond good, Jason.
“He came to me after Bruce… after. And he said there needed to be a new Batman. He asked me to put on the cowl… and… I’ve trained him. Tim convinced me that you needed a Robin, eventually. You know I’d be happy to never be having this conversation.” Dick spits out the last sentence, pointlessly. It’s crystal clear he’d been convinced this was a good idea. Dick wouldn’t have thought of it, himself. Just like Jason wouldn’t have had he been in Dick’s position.
“He doesn’t sound good, Dick, he sounds dangerous.” Jason says, quietly. He’s… impressed.
“Does that mean you’ll have a trial period?” Dick asks.
Jason feels himself giving in. He… he thinks maybe he knows why Bruce needed him now. Why he couldn’t just let it go after Dick. He’s had more close calls since he put on the cowl than he had the entire time he was Robin, even at his most reckless. He does need someone out there. He just doesn’t want another life on his hands. Jason tries to flex his injured hand again. He doesn’t relish the thought of peeling the gauntlet off.
Jason glances at Tim, who takes that as his sign to speak up again.
“I’m trained, I know what I’m doin-guh!”
Jason cuts Tim off mid-word, by sweeping his feet out from under him. Tim falls to the floor and gets the wind driven out of him with a grunt. He’s back up and in a good stance in impressive time. Jason studies the new Robin (god help him, the kid really is Robin), and gets studied right back.
The new uniform is completely different. Jason realizes the only way he recognized it earlier was the ‘R’ on the chest. The colours are all wrong, it’s done in Nightwing’s black and blue, with a bit of yellow, and full length blue tights. There’s also blue in a slash across the chest, but the round emblem that holds the black ‘R’ is yellow. Tim’s domino is the same as Jason’s old one, only it’s black. His cape is black on the outside, and yellow on the inside, with a high collar to continue the theme of full body coverage. He’s got climbing (ninja, Jason thinks) boots, instead of pixie boots.
The uniform is a perfect compromise between Batman’s and Nightwing’s. Jason hadn’t been able to bring himself to modify the Batman uniform in any serious way when he finally needed one in his size. He’d only added more armor, more black, made the bat on the chest yellow, and the boots even heavier.
The ‘R’ on the chest of the new Robin uniform is also a shuriken, Jason discovers when he’s obviously taken too long looking.
He likes the new Robin, from the few bit he’s seen of him. He can obviously read people, he knows this is just a spar, and likely has a photographic memory. Probably has better detective skills than Jason himself, given how he found Dick. Given how he knew them (and Jason’s not sure he believes that. How could it be true?).
Jason throws an obvious punch at Tim, and as Tim dodges, uses his momentum forward to grab Tim and spin him around, then flip him to the floor again.
Tim’s on his feet like the floor is electrified, with a spinning kick on his way up that almost catches Jason unaware.
Tim finally goes on the attack, and Jason lets himself be pushed against the cave wall, one or two punches grazing his jaw in the same place. He knows it’ll bruise. There’s some good force there, for Tim’s size. Tim goes for another punch to the same point of Jason’s jaw, and puts himself right in range for Jason to grab Tim’s well-guarded throat. He spins them around and slams Tim against the wall. The cape’s throat guard is hard as steel, but Jason can hear it creak as he squeezes, testing.
Tim’s flushed, and breathing more heavily than he should be from their little skirmish. No one’s motives are purely altruistic, and Tim’s good at hiding himself. But not this close up. Jason wonders if he’s seeing Batman or Robin right now.
Tim’s eyes snap away from Jason’s considering gaze, uncomfortably. Jason keeps his eyes on Tim’s face.
“You’re bleeding.” Tim says, voice very even in contrast with his body language.
“What?” Jason says, blinking.
Tim glances at Jason’s eyes, and back to the arm holding him against the wall.
“Oh, fuck.” Jason says, dropping Tim.
There’s blood dripping out of the gauntlet he was holding Tim up with, and he flexes his fingers as much as he can. It’s not much. He must have screwed something up pretty nastily for it to bleed, when he was protected by the gauntlet. He focuses on the fact that he’s only just feeling the pain now he’s seen the blood.
Dick is still standing in the same place from as earlier, watching them. He raises an eyebrow.
“Okay.” Jason says.
“Are you serious?” Tim says, still a little breathless.
“Yeah. But you do need more training. And I need to see you in some real action.” Jason says.
“I’m ready for it.” Tim says.
Tim really does need training. But… Dick’s right. He’s trained enough to be out on the streets already, at least, Jason admits to himself.
“First job for you, Tim.” Jason says.
“Yeah?” Tim says, smiling just a little now. He looks nervous, almost.
“Know how to set broken fingers? Stitch?” Jason says, smirking. He pulls one gauntlet off to reveal his index finger’s mangled form. A tiny shard of bone pokes out of the main part of the break.
“I…” Tim starts. He pales, ever so slightly, at the site of the blood and bone.
“It’s okay, Timbo.” Dick’s smiling, “He’s joking. Alfred’ll be down in a minute.”
“But… I do know how.” Tim says.
Jason just laughs. He hasn’t laughed happily since Bruce died.
---
Jason stands in the shadows of a fire escape, just above an alley, and watches Tim take out a drug dealer. Dick stands next to him. Jason watches a buyer slink off, and break into a run, but ignores him.
Tim watches the guy underestimate him, and Jason watches Tim notice that. The drug dealer laughs, says something flippant about freaks in Gotham, and launches himself at Tim.
He has a gun, Jason notices as the dealer’s jacket flaps up. He’s about to step off the fire escape and help Tim out, but Dick stops him with a hand on his arm. Dick puts a finger to his lips in a ‘shh’ gesture.
Tim drops the guy, ends up five feet away with the gun in his hand, and its clip on the ground.
Dick smirks at him.
Jason grits his teeth at Dick, and is silently impressed by Tim.
The only thing he says to Tim when they get back up to the roof is “don’t look so tense, Robin. You’re not getting graded, here.”
Yes. Robin is good.
---
Jason’s never loved Dick the way a lot of people (Bruce. Everyone) who know Dick do. They’re rapidly building up a catalogue of issues with each other to rival Bruce and Dick’s old ones, but he can’t help but appreciate Dick’s way of moving. Especially as Nightwing.
More especially when he’s moving out the door. Therefore leaving, and can’t give Jason anymore unexpected and amazingly life altering things for one night.
Jason wonders for a second where Tim lives, and how he’s getting home without a lift from Dick.
It’s been a long night’s patrol. Even with two of his fingers bound together so he didn’t aggravate the break, his index finger is now throbbing so much he’s almost sure he can hear it.
But it’s a patrol he would have had to put off, or at least severely hampered and possibly cut short, if Tim (and Dick) hadn’t have been there. He ignores the fact that the interruption in the patrol was, actually, their fault. And the fact that had they not turned up, his hand would have been fine.
---
It’s a night he would have had to let Gotham slide back a little more, into darkness. Away from Batman.
Batman really does need a Robin. He thinks Bruce would maybe be happy for him to have someone watching his back.
Tim is on his way out up the stairs, with small, sad smile and a nod for goodbye.
Away from Dick’s smirk, Jason finally brings himself to say what he knows he needs to.
“Tim,” Jason calls.
“Yeah?” Tim pauses on the stairs, but doesn’t turn around.
“You really kicked ass out there, you know. It actually makes me a bit sick, when I think about it compared to my first time out with Batman.”
“It wasn’t my first time out,” Tim points out, turning.
“I suppose you’re not just trying to make me feel better, huh?” Jason says, evenly.
“I… it’s true.” Tim says.
“Kidding,” Jason smiles, “I know Dick’s been taking you out. It’s pretty obvious you know how to work as a team, too.”
“I guess I do. All my… professional activity has been with other people. It’s probably not the same as being out as just Batman and Robin.” It’s almost a question.
“No. It’s not, really.” Jason says.
“Oh.” Tim says, looking a little uneasy.
“Not to give you the wrong idea,” Jason says quickly, “consider yourself partnered, Robin.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.” Tim says.
Jason raises an eyebrow, and crosses his legs out in front of himself.
“Forget who gives the orders already?” Jason asks, with a smirk.
“Is that a ‘yes’, Batman?” Tim replies.
“Yep.” Jason finds he’s feeling pretty good about this, all things considered.
---
Jason wakes up from a dreamless sleep feeling vaguely sick, and rolls over to inhale into the pillow next to him before thinking.
There’s no scent left there, other than his own and dust. It’s an unthinking habit.
He wrenches himself to his feet. It’s dark outside, and his finger has bled through the bandage. He must have torn a stitch on the second half of patrol last night with…
Robin (flying, and kicking, and putting guys down on their asses with the perfect mix of strength and skill and never doing more damage than he really needed and watching Jason, and not noticing Jason watch him, watching Dick because Robin is good, but Dick steals his focus, and makes Tim say things with his body language so loudly anyone could read him…).
Jason groans quietly to himself, flexing his toes in the thick carpet.
---
When Jason gets to the cave, Robin is already there, sitting at the computers in full uniform. He’s got a card face down on the desktop, next to an envelope Jason recognizes from last night. He’s reading something on the computer.
“Robin. So it wasn’t all just a horrible dream.” Jason greets.
“No.” Tim says.
“So… do you have a home, somewhere?” Jason asks, hoping like nothing else the answer is ‘yes’.
“Yeah. It’s not far from here. I mean, really not far. Neighbour.” Tim says, “I live with my parents.”
”Christ! Don’t do that.”
“Sorry?” Tim asks, confused.
“Don’t be. I just remembered you’re really young.” Jason says.
“I’m only a couple of years younger than you.” Tim says.
Jason pauses for a minute to see if Tim will get the stupidity of that statement. Maybe that’s Tim being funny.
“Really, really young,” Jason says. “I suppose I should ask you how you got in here without me, too? Though I’m not surprised, considering your… old hobbies.”
“I met Alfred.” Tim says, simply.
That explains a lot, Jason thinks.
“He made pancakes. Yours are over there.” Tim says.
Jason smiles at the pile of pancakes, steaming on the bench. Alfred must like Tim. “Alfred must like you,” Jason says, “I’m definitely going to get a lecture later.”
“He did mention he need to ‘have a serious discussion with Master Jason’” Tim says, mouth twitching. Tim must like Alfred, too. Jason was in serious trouble.
“I bet he did,” Jason groans.
Those are Alfred’s exact words. Jason can hear the quotation marks. Tim keeps reading, form the computer. It’s Killer Croc’s file.
“So, help me out here. I don’t know a thing about you.” Jason says.
“Dick told you last night.” Tim replies, reading still.
Jason snorts. “Not hardly. I want it in your words, then.”
“There’s… nothing much to tell.” Tim says.
There’s a voice in Jason’s head that wants him to just laugh, right at Tim. Like hell there’s nothing much to tell.
“How about we start with your hard-on for Nightwing?” Jason says, a little meanly.
Tim doesn’t react, other than the flush on his cheeks.
“I… don’t see how that’s relevant.” Tim says.
“You stalked Batman and Robin for years. Br-Batman didn’t even know, apparently. You gotta admit, it’s a little freaky.” Jason says.
“I didn’t… it wasn’t like that.” Tim’s blushing more now.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jason says, “I don’t know anyone who watches Nightwing and doesn’t feel... something.”
“You don’t.” Tim says.
“Maybe I don’t swing that way, Stalker Boy Wonder.”
Tim doesn’t twitch, or blush at the name. He’s either gotten himself under his surprisingly tight control, or he’s just used to it from Dick. Or someone.
“But you and Bruce-“ Tim starts.
“You saw us?” Jason snaps. “I thought you said it wasn’t that way. Jesus Christ! Do you get how fucked up that is? That… it was?” Jason is suddenly very angry.
“I’m sorry, but you weren’t… subtle. Sometimes.” Tim says.
“No, we really, really were. You’re just… the freakiest stalker ever.”
“Sorr-“
“Don’t say it.” Jason snaps. “Lets spar before we got out tonight. I still need to know what you can do. Petty criminals are one thing, but that’s not all we’re up against.”
Jason knows that’s just an excuse, pure bullshit. The kid would have sparred with Dick hundreds of times, and Dick’s more than a match for himself. He’s angry at Tim for seeing things that were just his, even if it’s his own fault.
It’s irrational, and a little voice asks very sarcastically if this is really the time to be sparring with the new Robin.
“Jason, first I have to show you-“
“Later, Robin.” Jason says, using his best impression of Batman’s command voice. Even out of uniform, Tim, to both their credits, shuts up and gets up.
---
They’ve been sparring for a couple of minutes, Jason letting his anger make him clumsy, because it’s the only thing he can do to slow himself down.
It turns out Tim’s actually better with a weapon. Or three. He’s already thrown more than one shuriken at Jason, pulling them from somewhere in his civilian clothes. Just trusting Jason’s ability to dodge them. When out of uniform, they’re potentially enough to put him out of commission for the night at the very least. That’s if they didn’t hit where Tim aimed.
He’s not (quite) as flexible as Dick (but who is), and he’s got nowhere near Jason’s strength, but he’s admirably quick, particularly good at using what he’s got, and obviously sneaky as fuck.
And he’s mean, when he needs to be.
And he does need to be, right now.
Jason throws a punch that, if it had connected, might have meant Robin wouldn’t be making his debut with Batman tonight.
He knows he’s probably overreacting, but while one part of his mind says that, another angrier part keeps reminding him of all the things he’d had taken away from him. And now… privacy.
When he gets too close, Tim back flips away from the mats to where the bag that presumably holds his uniform is. He grabs a staff from beside it.
“Out of bounds, Robin.” Jason calls.
“I wasn’t aware there were boundaries in a fight, Batman.” Tim smirks.
Jason again wonders about his ability to read people, because he’s pretty sure Tim knows how dangerous baiting him is. He probably looks as angry as he feels. Tim swipes at Jason’s head with the staff. Jason ducks quickly, because his head in completely unprotected. He shouldn’t let the fight continue until they get on some padding and headgear, but he thinks to himself, why not, this just makes them a little more even.
“But there are in a spar, and you’ve just set ‘em.”
Jason ducks another head shot, and feigns an opening for Tim to go for a third, catching the staff as it whistles past his face. It stings his palm, and jolts his injured fingers, but he grabs it tightly, ignoring the pain for the moment. He switches hands to haul Tim in close, by the staff.
He’s surprised when Tim doesn’t let the pole go. Tim blinks, looking a little shocked. He swipes Tim’s legs out from under him, and rolls him, throwing the staff away and pinning Tim’s arm behind his back. He sits down on Tim’s ass and pulls his arm up high enough that he knows it’s painful, off and on, with every shift. He smirks to himself.
“That hurts.” Tim says.
“Yeah, and it means I win.” Jason says.
“No, the staff. Catching the staff like that, with bare hands, seriously hurts. I tried once when Dick and I were sparring. It made my palm bleed.” Tim says.
Jason winds the fight back a bit. He looks at the palm of his unoccupied, injured hand, which has a red welt building up on it.
“One word, Tim: Calluses.”
“Even so, that was your injured hand.”
“No one ever did the old pain management trick on you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You stub your toe, right? Ow, you say. Then someone’ll say ‘I know a way to make you forget all about the pain in your toe,’ and they grab your hand, and bend a finger back really hard.” Jason keeps his voice as even as he can, but feels his lips twitch.
“That’s… ridiculous. Did… Batman ever do that to you?
“Oh man, no way. That’s something from… before I was here, I guess.” Jason gives up, and laughs out loud. When he stops, he’s no longer angry.
It’s not Tim’s fault that he and Bruce were careless. Or, not careless, but… not perfect. Tim’s not taking anything away from him by knowing. He likes Tim, despite himself. Despite many, many things.
“Are you… uh, going to let me up?” Tim says, after a silent minute.
“Oh.” Jason realizes he’s been sitting on Tim’s ass for the last couple of minutes for no reason. He’s… actually, good with that. “Nah. You gonna get up, Robin?”
Tim makes a noise that was maybe a laugh, before it was caught between lungs and the weight of Jason shifting on him. Tim’s breathing is getting heavier. Jason tells himself it’s obviously just the pressure of his weight, now on Tim’s back.
Tim twists a little, and makes a noise that’s between a laugh and a groan this time. Jason wonders half seriously if he’s getting enough air.
“Come on Robin,” Jason says, leaning down to Tim’s ear, “you’re not even trying.”
Tim jerks, and tries to roll them. Jason laughs, and lets Tim’s momentum throw him. He stands over Tim, who lies still a minute, until Jason thinks he should say something, or maybe he hurt him. But Tim rolls over, propping himself up on this elbows to look up at Jason from under sweat heavy bangs. His hair doesn’t fall like that in costume, he must gel the heck out of it when he’s Robin. Tim’s cheeks are flushed, and pupils blown.
Jason does him a favour, and doesn’t do a full body tour with his eyes. Sweat pants actually hide absolutely nothing. Jason knows that, intimately.
Tim looks him in the eyes, and puts out a hand to be pulled up. Deliberately distracting from Jason’s not-a-full-body-tour-with-his-eyes.
Jason laughs at the screamingly obvious, yet silent, rebuke for staring. He’s impressed with Tim’s control, even. He’s not even close to being angry at Tim now, though if he thinks about it too closely, he’s still freaked out by the boy.
Even if he maybe isn’t Robin like Jason himself was, or like Dick, he… he’s made Jason laugh more in the last two nights than he has for months.
“Jason, I-this isn’t a problem, is it?” Tim’s cool falters, a little. He’s obviously forcing himself to look Jason right in the eyes, and scowling.
“Are you joking? You think I’m one to judge, man?”
“No, it’s just… I can’t…”
“I can’t believe it. Is it the lack of control?” Jason asks. He really hopes Tim isn’t freaking out. That’s would just be…
Tim nods, barely.
Jason sighs. Fucked up, but he can deal with that kind of fucked up.
“You do realize that you’re a teenage boy, right?” Jason asks.
Tim just stares at him.
“Right. Never mind. Ever effect you when you were out with Nightwing?”
“Well…”
“No, Tim. I mean, ever make any life threatening mistakes ‘cause you were busy staring at Nightwing’s ass?”
Tim blushes, while his scowl deepens, “no.”
“Then it’ll be even less of a problem with me, won’t it?”
“Uh-“
“Come on, let’s suit up.”
---
PART TWO.
Title: Circles and Semi-Circles.
Author: Jess.
Pairing: Jason/Bruce implied, Jason/Tim.
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognise; I am only borrowing for fun and am making no profit whatsoever.
Summary: It’s only after disaster can we be resurrected. - Tyler Durden, This Is Your Life from the Fight Club soundtrack.
Notes: Ages. I just avoided giving exact numbers like the plague (y’know, complicated canon, AUness, etc.). Anyone who knows canon vaguely will get the timeframe, and so know rough ages, same as I do. Beta read by the fantastic brown_betty, huge, huge thanks to her! All mistakes are mine.
Warnings: AU off A Death in the Family. Jason lived, Bruce didn’t. Violence.
Feedback: Yes! Please.
---
A warehouse of medical supplies, in a foreign land, and walls painted all white, with gashes of red. Clown's painted smiles, sprayed and dripping.
And sprayed again, with the wet slap thud sound of flesh meeting metal.
Jason Todd watches as the Joker beats his newly found mother to death with a crowbar. He wants to scream, but he can't. He wants to move, but he can't. Eventually he wants to laugh, but he can't. There's something holding him back, something that's smothering him... slowly cutting off his ability to speak... to laugh... to breathe...
---
Jason wakes up with an involuntary gasp, slapping his hand to his throat. The dream retreats with the slow steadying of his racing heart beat.
When he dreams, it's always of that. There are infinite variations that are all exactly the same. Sometimes Bruce is there. Sometimes just himself. Sometimes he dies in the explosion, before he wakes up.
Sometimes he's the one with the crowbar, and the Joker is the one who sprays the walls with bloody smiles.
Those are the good dreams, the one's he has on the rare occasions he sleeps well. But the best sleep is the one where he doesn't dream.
That sleep doesn't come often.
Sometimes he can work himself into it.
It's 11 p.m. on the clock next to his four poster bed. The pillows are amazingly soft, and the mattress feels like heaven against his scarred body. The room is covered in shadow, but its richness can't be hidden. He rolls over inhaling into the pillow, knowing there's no scent left there but his own.
Instead of giving in to the powerful physical urge to slip back into sleep, he gives into the powerful mental urge that screams for no more dreams.
Jason gets up, pulls on a pair of sweat pants, and heads down to the cave.
---
“How many hours sleep was it tonight, Master Jason?” Alfred asks, after silently descending the stairs to the cave.
Jason knows he doesn't expect an answer. He gives him one anyway.
“You worry too much Al.”
“And you rest too little, Master Jason.” Alfred says.
“You know about… you know I don’t sleep well.” Jason says. He never really has, even before Bruce’s death.
“Yes, I’m well used to… erratic sleep patterns at this late stage in my career. Will you be wanting something to eat before you go out?” Alfred asks, blandly.
Jason hasn't even put on the suit yet. But Alfred always knows when he's just working out, and when he's preparing. Sometimes before he does himself.
“No, I’m good.” Jason doesn’t want to look at Alfred.
Alfred turns to go.
“Alfred…”
“Yes, sir?” He turns back to face Jason.
“Sometimes I think… the dreams… just. Never mind.”
“Are you sure you don’t wish to talk about it now?” Alfred asks, in a very controlled tone. Jason wonders what emotion he’s trying to hide, but can only make guesses. He supposes that’s the point.
“Yeah.” He says.
“I am always here if you change your mind.” Alfred says, going to turn again.
“Sometimes, I think maybe it’s this house. This house is full of nightmares, so full of ghosts and dreams. I know that’s stupid, but sometimes…” Jason forces himself to choke the words out, though he feels queasy saying the thoughts out loud.
“This house has seen more than its share of pain. It’s a thought I have had myself. But you know as well as I, it’s not the manor that should be blamed.”
The look Alfred gives him is sad, Jason knows, without looking. He still can’t look.
“I know. I know. I don’t really mean it. I just… I try to find somewhere for all this guilt, and blame, and there’s nowhere for it to go but… myself.”
“Master Jason-“
“I have to go. Crime to fight. Asses to kick.”
Jason tries on a smile, but it's cracked around the edges, and he can't force himself to look at Alfred's eyes. He has no doubt they'll be showing the same depth of sadness mixed with pain and compassion as always. But there's something there. There's that little bit of blame, or just… hardness. Everything’s still an open wound.
---
It's always the same feeling. Every single time he puts on the suit. Every time.
It's the jolt of raw power when his eyes glide over the cowl, to the boiling anger that surprises him every time, when he finally pulls it on.
He doesn't think this is what it was like for Bruce, when he put it on.
Bruce was The Batman.
Jason's just a pretender.
But he's all there is, and if The Batman dies, then what's left? What’s left for… anyone. It's Bruce's legacy to Gotham. He'll hold it up. There's no one else who… wants it.
He closes his eyes, and deliberately loosens his clenched fists.
He can already hear the first dull slaps of his gauntlets on flesh. Adrenaline pumps through him, wiping out thought.
---
This is the second one he’s taken out tonight that’s wearing the make-up. Just like the first, this one is committing a violent, but petty crime. The guy is wearing a caked on, unskillfully done clown mask, with a grotesque red smile that’s cracking here and there. He’s trying to wrestle a handbag from a woman who is doing a decent job of keeping a hold, even though she should just let him have it. Jason can see the clown is about to get more violent, even from his perch on the rooftop.
Jason wants to say it’s not affecting him. The Joker’s dead. And it’s not like this is the first time he’s had to face up to guys who are wannabe Jokers. It’s Gotham. The second the rumors started flying about the Joker’s death, gangs popped up occasionally trying to cash in on his reputation.
Jason grits his teeth until he thinks he can hear a creak in his jaw. It does affect him. Every damn time.
The Joker’s as dead as Batman. Fucking pretenders, he thinks, and wants to laugh at himself.
He launches himself off the rooftop, slamming into the man feet first, using all his weight. He’s not Bruce’s size, but that thought really needs a ‘yet’ at the end. Jason lands in a crouch over the man who is scrambling backwards, obviously too scared to get to his feet.
Jason grabs the clown’s collar, and brings his face close to his own.
“I don’t think the lady finds you very funny.” He growls, quietly, in his Batman voice. He speaks quietly because he hasn’t perfected the voice yet, and he sounds more like Bruce’s Batman if he’s quiet. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever perfect it. He doesn’t talk much on patrol now, for more than one reason.
He flips the guy, and smacks his face down onto the pavement. Blood smears the make-up off, in places, and Jason wipes the guys face across the pavement a little, to pull as much make up off as he can. The sound of metal on flesh thuds in his ears, memory rushing up…
“Batman!” Dick calls out, from nearby.
Jason pauses.
“Nightwing.” Jason acknowledges. He lets the clown-painted man’s shirt go, and slams his boot into the man’s head as hard as he can. They’ll need a minute to talk, so there’s no point dragging it out. The clown disguised guy goes limp, and Jason stands on his arm to keep him there.
“Here you go, ma’am.” He hands the purse to the scared, frozen woman, who takes off as soon as she has her hand on the purse, as if she’s been shocked.
“He’s not going anywhere, Batman.” Dick says, and flicks his eyes down to the unconscious clown whose forearm Jason’s boot is crushing.
“I know.” Jason says, wiping a dot of blood off his chin.
Dick gives him a look. Jason knows Dick’s not quite comfortable with the amount of hurt he normally puts on criminals. Dick’s not quite comfortable with calling him Batman, either. Jason takes a perverse thrill in the fact that Dick sounds like he’s choking on the word every time. He deserves the discomfort. He was the one who should have…
No. The argument is old and useless. There’s more than one reason Alfred goes to visit Dick, not the other way around. Gotham is Batman’s. Batman is dead.
“Any reason you’re in Gotham tonight?” Jason bends down and zip strips the clown painted guy’s hands behind his back, around a lamp post with a broken bulb. He sees something sticking out of the guys back pocket, an envelope, and sticks it in his belt to check out later. Could be a new gang in town, he thinks. The first clown guy had one too, and he regrets not taking that one. When Jason stands up, he notices Dick glancing across the street, twitchily.
“I have things to do.” Jason bluffs, hoping to make Dick get to the point as quickly as possible, he pretends to go for his grapple.
“There’s someone I think you need to meet.” Dick says.
Jason glances at the deserted street.
“Where--?” Jason starts, but as his eyes hit the spot where Dick had glanced, seemingly nervously a second ago, a shadow turns into a boy. He’s small, not too far into his teens, and thin, but surprisingly fit looking. He’s wearing an outfit that looks sickeningly and startlingly familiar, but at the same time all wrong. Jason feels like he’s been punched. He feels like he needs to punch something. He turns away from the boy, who’s walking over to them. “Robin.” Jason says, to the brick wall.
“Yes.” Robin answers.
The boy speaks quietly, and very evenly. Jason really wants to hit something.
“What the fuck is going on Di-Nightwing?” Jason asks.
Dick makes his way to an alley and climbs the fire escape with his usual grace.
The kid… Robin… follows, and moves up the fire escape using moves obviously taught by Dick himself, but his style isn’t the same at all. There are some moves that are really unfamiliar. Jason wonders if Dick’s had his friends training the boy, too. He’s not as suited to the acrobatic flare Dick puts on everything. But he’s still obviously competent, and well trained. But not enough.
It’s never enough. Or Bruce would…
Jason punches one of the alleys walls until he feels, and hears, a crunch through the gauntlet. Then he follows.
---
They beat Jason back to the cave, and the kid’s staring around at everything, blinking like he’s taking photos with his eyes, and every flicker of his eyelids is a flash.
Jason realises his domino is off. Robin has blue eyes.
“Jason.” Dick says.
”Dick, I’ll repeat myself: what the fuck is going on? I don’t have time for this.” Jason grimaces, as he pushed the cowl off roughly, and too quickly. His hair is starting to get too long for comfort.
“We… I’ve been watching you. You’re not getting better.” Dick says.
“I’m fine. My back is healed. My burns are healed. The scars are worse than they look. I don’t know what you mean.” Jason denies, knowing full well Dick isn’t talking about his physical recovery. He was there for the bigger part of it.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Dick’ expression is pure frustration, “Alfred told me about the nightmares, as if I didn’t know. I have them, too. But it’s not that, you know I’d never try and tell you… what’s normal… when it comes to grief. When it comes to… Br-Batman.”
Bruce, Jason thinks, you were going to say Bruce. He’s surprised Dick can even stand here, inside the cave, without the protection of the streets or a mask, and skirt that close to the huge, slicing knife to the gut of emotions that is mentioning Bruce.
They haven’t said his name to each other since Jason was able to walk again.
“No, you wouldn’t. You haven’t even introduced me to… your new partner?” Jason asks.
“He’s not my new partner, he’s…” Dick pauses, and seems to realize that the boy Robin is standing right there now. Not looking around anymore, but staring at them both, perhaps a little nervously, with his camera shutter eyes. “Jason,” Dick continues, “this is Tim. Tim, this is Jason.”
“What’s his other name?” Jason asks automatically.
“Robin. I’m Robin, Batman.” Tim says.
Jason keeps his eyes on Dick.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d call your partner something so nostalgic. I thought you’d abandoned… that life.” Jason knows he’s cutting a bit close to bone now. He smiles.
“Jason, for one fucking second, could you just… stop-listen-“ There’s a flush rising on Dick’s face.
“He didn’t name me, I named myself. And I’m not his partner. Robin is Batman’s partner. Batman, you… he needs a Robin.” Tim interrupts.
“No, he doesn’t. I don’t.” Jason says, finally looking at Tim, who is already staring at him intently.
“Jason, you’re hurting.” Says Dick, sounding calmer, “you’re not just causing record numbers of Batman’s catches to need hospital trips, you’re hurting yourself. Your back can’t be fully healed yet, You need help, if you’re going to keep trying to do this…”
“Trying? I’m not trying, Dick. It’s not about “try”. Gotham needs Batman. I’m doing what needs to be done. I’m doing what Bruce would have wanted. I’m going what you should have!” Jason’s voice raises on the last sentence, unconsciously.
“I was never going to be Batman, Jason. Bru-“
“Don’t, Dick. Don’t say Bruce never thought you would be. We both know it was always supposed to be you.” Jason forces his voice to even out.
“That… this isn’t why we’re here. You’re hurting, and Tim, Robin, can help. You need a Robin.” Dick says.
“Batman never needed a Robin, Dick. You of all people-- look where it got him? Bruce is dead, becau-he’s dead. You want a partner? Good for you.” Jason says.
“Batman, please. I can do this. I’m trained. You need help. You’re going to get hurt out there without someone watching your back. I’ve seen you.” Tim says.
“How old are you?” Jason asks.
“Old enough.” Tim replies, tilting his chin up, he gives an impressive impression of a ‘what’s your point?’ glare.
Jason shakes his head. Tim looks younger than Jason himself had been when he was Robin.
“There’s no way, Dick.” Jason says.
“Jason, he found out by himself.” Dick pauses for a second, giving Jason’s brain time to catch up. He couldn’t possibly mean… “When he came to me, you were still off the street, he told me all our names. All of them. He knew I was Robin first, he knew you were now, and he knew Bruce was Batman. He’s beyond good, Jason.
“He came to me after Bruce… after. And he said there needed to be a new Batman. He asked me to put on the cowl… and… I’ve trained him. Tim convinced me that you needed a Robin, eventually. You know I’d be happy to never be having this conversation.” Dick spits out the last sentence, pointlessly. It’s crystal clear he’d been convinced this was a good idea. Dick wouldn’t have thought of it, himself. Just like Jason wouldn’t have had he been in Dick’s position.
“He doesn’t sound good, Dick, he sounds dangerous.” Jason says, quietly. He’s… impressed.
“Does that mean you’ll have a trial period?” Dick asks.
Jason feels himself giving in. He… he thinks maybe he knows why Bruce needed him now. Why he couldn’t just let it go after Dick. He’s had more close calls since he put on the cowl than he had the entire time he was Robin, even at his most reckless. He does need someone out there. He just doesn’t want another life on his hands. Jason tries to flex his injured hand again. He doesn’t relish the thought of peeling the gauntlet off.
Jason glances at Tim, who takes that as his sign to speak up again.
“I’m trained, I know what I’m doin-guh!”
Jason cuts Tim off mid-word, by sweeping his feet out from under him. Tim falls to the floor and gets the wind driven out of him with a grunt. He’s back up and in a good stance in impressive time. Jason studies the new Robin (god help him, the kid really is Robin), and gets studied right back.
The new uniform is completely different. Jason realizes the only way he recognized it earlier was the ‘R’ on the chest. The colours are all wrong, it’s done in Nightwing’s black and blue, with a bit of yellow, and full length blue tights. There’s also blue in a slash across the chest, but the round emblem that holds the black ‘R’ is yellow. Tim’s domino is the same as Jason’s old one, only it’s black. His cape is black on the outside, and yellow on the inside, with a high collar to continue the theme of full body coverage. He’s got climbing (ninja, Jason thinks) boots, instead of pixie boots.
The uniform is a perfect compromise between Batman’s and Nightwing’s. Jason hadn’t been able to bring himself to modify the Batman uniform in any serious way when he finally needed one in his size. He’d only added more armor, more black, made the bat on the chest yellow, and the boots even heavier.
The ‘R’ on the chest of the new Robin uniform is also a shuriken, Jason discovers when he’s obviously taken too long looking.
He likes the new Robin, from the few bit he’s seen of him. He can obviously read people, he knows this is just a spar, and likely has a photographic memory. Probably has better detective skills than Jason himself, given how he found Dick. Given how he knew them (and Jason’s not sure he believes that. How could it be true?).
Jason throws an obvious punch at Tim, and as Tim dodges, uses his momentum forward to grab Tim and spin him around, then flip him to the floor again.
Tim’s on his feet like the floor is electrified, with a spinning kick on his way up that almost catches Jason unaware.
Tim finally goes on the attack, and Jason lets himself be pushed against the cave wall, one or two punches grazing his jaw in the same place. He knows it’ll bruise. There’s some good force there, for Tim’s size. Tim goes for another punch to the same point of Jason’s jaw, and puts himself right in range for Jason to grab Tim’s well-guarded throat. He spins them around and slams Tim against the wall. The cape’s throat guard is hard as steel, but Jason can hear it creak as he squeezes, testing.
Tim’s flushed, and breathing more heavily than he should be from their little skirmish. No one’s motives are purely altruistic, and Tim’s good at hiding himself. But not this close up. Jason wonders if he’s seeing Batman or Robin right now.
Tim’s eyes snap away from Jason’s considering gaze, uncomfortably. Jason keeps his eyes on Tim’s face.
“You’re bleeding.” Tim says, voice very even in contrast with his body language.
“What?” Jason says, blinking.
Tim glances at Jason’s eyes, and back to the arm holding him against the wall.
“Oh, fuck.” Jason says, dropping Tim.
There’s blood dripping out of the gauntlet he was holding Tim up with, and he flexes his fingers as much as he can. It’s not much. He must have screwed something up pretty nastily for it to bleed, when he was protected by the gauntlet. He focuses on the fact that he’s only just feeling the pain now he’s seen the blood.
Dick is still standing in the same place from as earlier, watching them. He raises an eyebrow.
“Okay.” Jason says.
“Are you serious?” Tim says, still a little breathless.
“Yeah. But you do need more training. And I need to see you in some real action.” Jason says.
“I’m ready for it.” Tim says.
Tim really does need training. But… Dick’s right. He’s trained enough to be out on the streets already, at least, Jason admits to himself.
“First job for you, Tim.” Jason says.
“Yeah?” Tim says, smiling just a little now. He looks nervous, almost.
“Know how to set broken fingers? Stitch?” Jason says, smirking. He pulls one gauntlet off to reveal his index finger’s mangled form. A tiny shard of bone pokes out of the main part of the break.
“I…” Tim starts. He pales, ever so slightly, at the site of the blood and bone.
“It’s okay, Timbo.” Dick’s smiling, “He’s joking. Alfred’ll be down in a minute.”
“But… I do know how.” Tim says.
Jason just laughs. He hasn’t laughed happily since Bruce died.
---
Jason stands in the shadows of a fire escape, just above an alley, and watches Tim take out a drug dealer. Dick stands next to him. Jason watches a buyer slink off, and break into a run, but ignores him.
Tim watches the guy underestimate him, and Jason watches Tim notice that. The drug dealer laughs, says something flippant about freaks in Gotham, and launches himself at Tim.
He has a gun, Jason notices as the dealer’s jacket flaps up. He’s about to step off the fire escape and help Tim out, but Dick stops him with a hand on his arm. Dick puts a finger to his lips in a ‘shh’ gesture.
Tim drops the guy, ends up five feet away with the gun in his hand, and its clip on the ground.
Dick smirks at him.
Jason grits his teeth at Dick, and is silently impressed by Tim.
The only thing he says to Tim when they get back up to the roof is “don’t look so tense, Robin. You’re not getting graded, here.”
Yes. Robin is good.
---
Jason’s never loved Dick the way a lot of people (Bruce. Everyone) who know Dick do. They’re rapidly building up a catalogue of issues with each other to rival Bruce and Dick’s old ones, but he can’t help but appreciate Dick’s way of moving. Especially as Nightwing.
More especially when he’s moving out the door. Therefore leaving, and can’t give Jason anymore unexpected and amazingly life altering things for one night.
Jason wonders for a second where Tim lives, and how he’s getting home without a lift from Dick.
It’s been a long night’s patrol. Even with two of his fingers bound together so he didn’t aggravate the break, his index finger is now throbbing so much he’s almost sure he can hear it.
But it’s a patrol he would have had to put off, or at least severely hampered and possibly cut short, if Tim (and Dick) hadn’t have been there. He ignores the fact that the interruption in the patrol was, actually, their fault. And the fact that had they not turned up, his hand would have been fine.
---
It’s a night he would have had to let Gotham slide back a little more, into darkness. Away from Batman.
Batman really does need a Robin. He thinks Bruce would maybe be happy for him to have someone watching his back.
Tim is on his way out up the stairs, with small, sad smile and a nod for goodbye.
Away from Dick’s smirk, Jason finally brings himself to say what he knows he needs to.
“Tim,” Jason calls.
“Yeah?” Tim pauses on the stairs, but doesn’t turn around.
“You really kicked ass out there, you know. It actually makes me a bit sick, when I think about it compared to my first time out with Batman.”
“It wasn’t my first time out,” Tim points out, turning.
“I suppose you’re not just trying to make me feel better, huh?” Jason says, evenly.
“I… it’s true.” Tim says.
“Kidding,” Jason smiles, “I know Dick’s been taking you out. It’s pretty obvious you know how to work as a team, too.”
“I guess I do. All my… professional activity has been with other people. It’s probably not the same as being out as just Batman and Robin.” It’s almost a question.
“No. It’s not, really.” Jason says.
“Oh.” Tim says, looking a little uneasy.
“Not to give you the wrong idea,” Jason says quickly, “consider yourself partnered, Robin.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.” Tim says.
Jason raises an eyebrow, and crosses his legs out in front of himself.
“Forget who gives the orders already?” Jason asks, with a smirk.
“Is that a ‘yes’, Batman?” Tim replies.
“Yep.” Jason finds he’s feeling pretty good about this, all things considered.
---
Jason wakes up from a dreamless sleep feeling vaguely sick, and rolls over to inhale into the pillow next to him before thinking.
There’s no scent left there, other than his own and dust. It’s an unthinking habit.
He wrenches himself to his feet. It’s dark outside, and his finger has bled through the bandage. He must have torn a stitch on the second half of patrol last night with…
Robin (flying, and kicking, and putting guys down on their asses with the perfect mix of strength and skill and never doing more damage than he really needed and watching Jason, and not noticing Jason watch him, watching Dick because Robin is good, but Dick steals his focus, and makes Tim say things with his body language so loudly anyone could read him…).
Jason groans quietly to himself, flexing his toes in the thick carpet.
---
When Jason gets to the cave, Robin is already there, sitting at the computers in full uniform. He’s got a card face down on the desktop, next to an envelope Jason recognizes from last night. He’s reading something on the computer.
“Robin. So it wasn’t all just a horrible dream.” Jason greets.
“No.” Tim says.
“So… do you have a home, somewhere?” Jason asks, hoping like nothing else the answer is ‘yes’.
“Yeah. It’s not far from here. I mean, really not far. Neighbour.” Tim says, “I live with my parents.”
”Christ! Don’t do that.”
“Sorry?” Tim asks, confused.
“Don’t be. I just remembered you’re really young.” Jason says.
“I’m only a couple of years younger than you.” Tim says.
Jason pauses for a minute to see if Tim will get the stupidity of that statement. Maybe that’s Tim being funny.
“Really, really young,” Jason says. “I suppose I should ask you how you got in here without me, too? Though I’m not surprised, considering your… old hobbies.”
“I met Alfred.” Tim says, simply.
That explains a lot, Jason thinks.
“He made pancakes. Yours are over there.” Tim says.
Jason smiles at the pile of pancakes, steaming on the bench. Alfred must like Tim. “Alfred must like you,” Jason says, “I’m definitely going to get a lecture later.”
“He did mention he need to ‘have a serious discussion with Master Jason’” Tim says, mouth twitching. Tim must like Alfred, too. Jason was in serious trouble.
“I bet he did,” Jason groans.
Those are Alfred’s exact words. Jason can hear the quotation marks. Tim keeps reading, form the computer. It’s Killer Croc’s file.
“So, help me out here. I don’t know a thing about you.” Jason says.
“Dick told you last night.” Tim replies, reading still.
Jason snorts. “Not hardly. I want it in your words, then.”
“There’s… nothing much to tell.” Tim says.
There’s a voice in Jason’s head that wants him to just laugh, right at Tim. Like hell there’s nothing much to tell.
“How about we start with your hard-on for Nightwing?” Jason says, a little meanly.
Tim doesn’t react, other than the flush on his cheeks.
“I… don’t see how that’s relevant.” Tim says.
“You stalked Batman and Robin for years. Br-Batman didn’t even know, apparently. You gotta admit, it’s a little freaky.” Jason says.
“I didn’t… it wasn’t like that.” Tim’s blushing more now.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jason says, “I don’t know anyone who watches Nightwing and doesn’t feel... something.”
“You don’t.” Tim says.
“Maybe I don’t swing that way, Stalker Boy Wonder.”
Tim doesn’t twitch, or blush at the name. He’s either gotten himself under his surprisingly tight control, or he’s just used to it from Dick. Or someone.
“But you and Bruce-“ Tim starts.
“You saw us?” Jason snaps. “I thought you said it wasn’t that way. Jesus Christ! Do you get how fucked up that is? That… it was?” Jason is suddenly very angry.
“I’m sorry, but you weren’t… subtle. Sometimes.” Tim says.
“No, we really, really were. You’re just… the freakiest stalker ever.”
“Sorr-“
“Don’t say it.” Jason snaps. “Lets spar before we got out tonight. I still need to know what you can do. Petty criminals are one thing, but that’s not all we’re up against.”
Jason knows that’s just an excuse, pure bullshit. The kid would have sparred with Dick hundreds of times, and Dick’s more than a match for himself. He’s angry at Tim for seeing things that were just his, even if it’s his own fault.
It’s irrational, and a little voice asks very sarcastically if this is really the time to be sparring with the new Robin.
“Jason, first I have to show you-“
“Later, Robin.” Jason says, using his best impression of Batman’s command voice. Even out of uniform, Tim, to both their credits, shuts up and gets up.
---
They’ve been sparring for a couple of minutes, Jason letting his anger make him clumsy, because it’s the only thing he can do to slow himself down.
It turns out Tim’s actually better with a weapon. Or three. He’s already thrown more than one shuriken at Jason, pulling them from somewhere in his civilian clothes. Just trusting Jason’s ability to dodge them. When out of uniform, they’re potentially enough to put him out of commission for the night at the very least. That’s if they didn’t hit where Tim aimed.
He’s not (quite) as flexible as Dick (but who is), and he’s got nowhere near Jason’s strength, but he’s admirably quick, particularly good at using what he’s got, and obviously sneaky as fuck.
And he’s mean, when he needs to be.
And he does need to be, right now.
Jason throws a punch that, if it had connected, might have meant Robin wouldn’t be making his debut with Batman tonight.
He knows he’s probably overreacting, but while one part of his mind says that, another angrier part keeps reminding him of all the things he’d had taken away from him. And now… privacy.
When he gets too close, Tim back flips away from the mats to where the bag that presumably holds his uniform is. He grabs a staff from beside it.
“Out of bounds, Robin.” Jason calls.
“I wasn’t aware there were boundaries in a fight, Batman.” Tim smirks.
Jason again wonders about his ability to read people, because he’s pretty sure Tim knows how dangerous baiting him is. He probably looks as angry as he feels. Tim swipes at Jason’s head with the staff. Jason ducks quickly, because his head in completely unprotected. He shouldn’t let the fight continue until they get on some padding and headgear, but he thinks to himself, why not, this just makes them a little more even.
“But there are in a spar, and you’ve just set ‘em.”
Jason ducks another head shot, and feigns an opening for Tim to go for a third, catching the staff as it whistles past his face. It stings his palm, and jolts his injured fingers, but he grabs it tightly, ignoring the pain for the moment. He switches hands to haul Tim in close, by the staff.
He’s surprised when Tim doesn’t let the pole go. Tim blinks, looking a little shocked. He swipes Tim’s legs out from under him, and rolls him, throwing the staff away and pinning Tim’s arm behind his back. He sits down on Tim’s ass and pulls his arm up high enough that he knows it’s painful, off and on, with every shift. He smirks to himself.
“That hurts.” Tim says.
“Yeah, and it means I win.” Jason says.
“No, the staff. Catching the staff like that, with bare hands, seriously hurts. I tried once when Dick and I were sparring. It made my palm bleed.” Tim says.
Jason winds the fight back a bit. He looks at the palm of his unoccupied, injured hand, which has a red welt building up on it.
“One word, Tim: Calluses.”
“Even so, that was your injured hand.”
“No one ever did the old pain management trick on you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You stub your toe, right? Ow, you say. Then someone’ll say ‘I know a way to make you forget all about the pain in your toe,’ and they grab your hand, and bend a finger back really hard.” Jason keeps his voice as even as he can, but feels his lips twitch.
“That’s… ridiculous. Did… Batman ever do that to you?
“Oh man, no way. That’s something from… before I was here, I guess.” Jason gives up, and laughs out loud. When he stops, he’s no longer angry.
It’s not Tim’s fault that he and Bruce were careless. Or, not careless, but… not perfect. Tim’s not taking anything away from him by knowing. He likes Tim, despite himself. Despite many, many things.
“Are you… uh, going to let me up?” Tim says, after a silent minute.
“Oh.” Jason realizes he’s been sitting on Tim’s ass for the last couple of minutes for no reason. He’s… actually, good with that. “Nah. You gonna get up, Robin?”
Tim makes a noise that was maybe a laugh, before it was caught between lungs and the weight of Jason shifting on him. Tim’s breathing is getting heavier. Jason tells himself it’s obviously just the pressure of his weight, now on Tim’s back.
Tim twists a little, and makes a noise that’s between a laugh and a groan this time. Jason wonders half seriously if he’s getting enough air.
“Come on Robin,” Jason says, leaning down to Tim’s ear, “you’re not even trying.”
Tim jerks, and tries to roll them. Jason laughs, and lets Tim’s momentum throw him. He stands over Tim, who lies still a minute, until Jason thinks he should say something, or maybe he hurt him. But Tim rolls over, propping himself up on this elbows to look up at Jason from under sweat heavy bangs. His hair doesn’t fall like that in costume, he must gel the heck out of it when he’s Robin. Tim’s cheeks are flushed, and pupils blown.
Jason does him a favour, and doesn’t do a full body tour with his eyes. Sweat pants actually hide absolutely nothing. Jason knows that, intimately.
Tim looks him in the eyes, and puts out a hand to be pulled up. Deliberately distracting from Jason’s not-a-full-body-tour-with-his-eyes.
Jason laughs at the screamingly obvious, yet silent, rebuke for staring. He’s impressed with Tim’s control, even. He’s not even close to being angry at Tim now, though if he thinks about it too closely, he’s still freaked out by the boy.
Even if he maybe isn’t Robin like Jason himself was, or like Dick, he… he’s made Jason laugh more in the last two nights than he has for months.
“Jason, I-this isn’t a problem, is it?” Tim’s cool falters, a little. He’s obviously forcing himself to look Jason right in the eyes, and scowling.
“Are you joking? You think I’m one to judge, man?”
“No, it’s just… I can’t…”
“I can’t believe it. Is it the lack of control?” Jason asks. He really hopes Tim isn’t freaking out. That’s would just be…
Tim nods, barely.
Jason sighs. Fucked up, but he can deal with that kind of fucked up.
“You do realize that you’re a teenage boy, right?” Jason asks.
Tim just stares at him.
“Right. Never mind. Ever effect you when you were out with Nightwing?”
“Well…”
“No, Tim. I mean, ever make any life threatening mistakes ‘cause you were busy staring at Nightwing’s ass?”
Tim blushes, while his scowl deepens, “no.”
“Then it’ll be even less of a problem with me, won’t it?”
“Uh-“
“Come on, let’s suit up.”
---
PART TWO.