Chapter Text
Tim was having a long week.
High school was turning out to be much harder than he first anticipated and he was only in ninth grade. Granted, he was in all AP classes. The next three years were decidedly going to decimate him. He’d had to switch out sleep with homework most days this past week and tonight would be no different.
He’d gone to bed at four every night that week, he was still healing from two fractured ribs, and he’d been trying to dispel a nagging headache for three hours now. His homework for the week was starting to pile up, but he supposed the recent Arkham breakout on Tuesday was a good excuse as to why he still hadn’t written the To Kill a Mockingbird analysis essay due Friday for his AP English class. Or that map of Eastern Europe highlighting the natural resources found in each country for his AP Human Geography class also due Friday. And he was fairly sure he also had to do something for AP Biology.
Arkham breakouts were a good excuse for Bruce as to why he wasn’t up to date on his homework, but it sure wasn’t for his parents. They expected him to excel in every class, and he wasn’t getting himself a C because Bane decided to terrorize a few people downtown.
Tim stared up at the red and yellow neon sign that glittered overhead, proudly named “Pepper’s Diner”.
He’d never heard about it before, he’d just passed by one night at four in the morning and found it still lit up and relatively empty. He’d ordered a coffee before heading home, and now, a week later, he was standing in front of that very same diner, out of his Robin costume and with his school bag slung over one shoulder.
He breathed in, lies already prepared if a waitress asked what he was doing here at half-past one in the morning, and pushed the door open.
The bell dinged and Tim quickly darted to the booth table most out of sight. He slid into the booth and set his bag next to him. His eyes skimmed the menu while he pulled out his notebook and pencil case.
“Hello,” a waitress said and Tim looked sharply. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Um…” he focused on the menu, scanning the list of drinks. “I’ll take the s’mores milkshake, please,” he said, eyeing her nervously, waiting for her to ask him why he was here, all alone, at this time, but she said nothing.
“Okay, let me know when you’re ready to order.”
She left quickly, a hand rubbing over her face. Maybe she was too tired to question why he was here. Maybe she was assuming he was a very short and scrawny college student. The diner was close to Crime Alley, so maybe that was why she hadn’t questioned him.
The last time Tim had tried to do his work in a diner after patrol so he wouldn’t have to do them in an empty and cold house, he had been kicked out. He didn’t know if it was because they had a policy against serving kids without adults at three in the morning, or if they thought Tim was bad news, but he hadn’t appreciated it either way.
The waitress came back with his milkshake just as he was starting his introduction and he ordered chicken nuggets.
And he got to work. The waitress brought him his chicken nuggets and glanced at the book sitting next to his milkshake
“Good luck,” she told him before letting him work.
He sure was going to need luck if he was going to finish his essay and his map and that short exercise in one night. He’d need to divide his work. He’d work on the essay and the map tonight since they were major grades and he couldn’t afford to be sloppy, and he’d catch an hour of sleep and do the biology exercise on the bus or during lunch since he had the class in sixth period.
He worked meticulously and checked his phone to keep track of the time maybe once too many times.
By four, he was done with the essay, his head was still pulsing in pain and his hand was cramping. He quickly shoved his English paper and the book back in his bag and pulled out his Human Geography textbook and colored pencils.
He was glad he’d at least already sketched the outline of it. He was definitely not in the right state of mind to trace out countries and borders, so really all he had to do was copy the information in his textbook back onto the map and make a legend and then he could go home and finally, finally get some rest.
Bruce was giving him Friday night and the rest of the weekend off since his parents were due to come back Saturday. And probably because Bruce felt guilty. Tim only went out with Robin three times a week on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays and he’d been out with Batman every day until crazy hours trying to catch everyone who’d escaped Arkham.
He was so focused on his work he paid little attention to the bell ringing cheerfully or the shape that moved in front of his field of vision, assuming it was the waitress here to ask him if he needed anything else.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” a deep voice asked.
Tim almost dropped his pen.
He looked up only to come face to face with Jason Todd. Second Robin. Red Hood. He glanced around in alarm, but none of the waitresses or the other patrons seemed in the least bit worried. He didn't even really know what he'd been expecting since Jason was in his civilian clothes, no red helmet or guns in sight.
He looked back up at Jason, how painfully familiar he looked and yet how unrecognizable. His face was still the same shape, his hair the same color, and if Tim hadn’t spent years chasing after Robin and Batman with his camera, he probably wouldn’t have known this was Jason. He was older, nineteen, now. And much taller, not quite as tall as Bruce, or as big, but close enough.
There were details Tim had missed when he’d briefly seen Jason without his helmet. His black hair was run through with a streak of white and his eyes were more green, and almost glowed the longer Tim stared at them.
He and Bruce had looked into Red Hood when he’d showed up. They’d even faced off a couple of times. But it was only Tim Drake who’d accidentally glimpsed Red Hood-- safely from the height of a building and taking pictures of Gotham at night-- pull off his helmet to reveal Jason Todd, very much alive, and very much older than he’d been when he’d died.
Tim’s mouth was hanging open. He closed it, at a complete loss for what to say.
Did he manage to find the one diner the undead Robin frequented? That would be just Tim’s luck.
“I have homework,” he managed to say without stuttering.
Both of Jason’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. “And you’re doing it now? At four in the morning in a diner?”
Tim scowled. “I’ll be done soon if I can actually go back to doing it.”
Jason chuckled and sat in the booth seat opposite of Tim.
Tim opened his mouth again. “I need to work,” he hissed, glancing at the waitresses. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
Red Hood had proven time and time again his hatred for Batman and Robin. And he seemed especially fond of hurting him. He called it justice and revenge. Tim called it dumb and annoying because recovery was a bitch and so was school. So sue Tim for being a little nervous that Jason might know who he was and had come here to lure him back to somewhere Jason would hold him hostage to taunt Batman. If that was the case, Tim was willing to negotiate they push it back to Monday.
“Hate to break it to you, but this is my booth,” Jason said.
Tim blinked. “Well, your name wasn’t on it, so this isn’t on me.”
Jason chuckled but didn’t move. Tim felt a little nervous and apprehensive because Red Hood was literally sitting across from him and because he doubted he could concentrate with someone staring at him. He really wanted to get that one hour of sleep before school.
“I ain’t here to bother you, kid,” he said. “I had a long night and I needed something familiar.”
“Isn’t there….another booth?” Tim squeaked out, heat creeping up his cheeks.
Jason hummed. “There are. Because, surprisingly, not many people show up to a diner at four in the morning,” Jason replied drily, giving Tim a curious look.
Tim had kept tabs on Red Hood after their first encounter with the help of Babs. it hadn’t taken long to figure out that Hood’s goal was to keep Crime Alley in check and to keep an iron grip on the crime lords that used to run rampant. However he’d gotten them to listen to him, it had been effective. The death toll of innocent bystanders, especially that of children, had dramatically decreased since Hood showed up. It made sense that Red Hood had seen a kid alone at a diner at this ungodly hour and had probably assumed the worst.
Tim shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he assured Jason. “I’m not from nearby, and I can take care of myself.”
Jason snorted and waved a waitress over before Tim could reply.
“I’ll have a strawberry milkshake,” he said. “And the kid’ll have an apple pie.”
Tim had taken the opportunity to go back to making his legend but stopped abruptly and looked back up.
“How do you know I’m not allergic to apples?” he asked.
Jason snorted. “Are you?”
Tim pursed his lips. “No.”
“There ya go.”
Tim sighed and focused back on his work. He checked the time on his phone. It was almost four-thirty. He was so close.
The waitress came back with Jason’s order and Tim barely registered Jason thanking her.
He only had to label two more countries and he’d be done.
“Jeez, that looks tough,” Jason said.
Tim held back his growl of frustration. “It is. I need to finish this.”
He hadn’t even bothered to look up. He was so tired and his headache was distractingly painful, pounding against his forehead. He had Advil at home. He’d take some.
Tim violently snapped his textbook shut seconds after finishing the map.
“I hate AP classes,” he said, glaring at the offending textbook.
Jason laughed. “You should be more grateful,” he said. “Not everyone gets to go to school.”
Tim’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose not.”
Jason was slurping his milkshake annoyingly loud and when Tim finally leaned back against his seat he noticed the dark purple bruises peeking from the collar of his hoodie and the white bandage rolled around his left wrist, that he was clearly trying to hide by letting the cuffs of the hoodie rest up to his knuckles.
“So you gonna tell me why a kid like you is doing their homework at a diner in Crime Alley instead of at home?” he asked, his posture completely relaxed, his tone mellow, as if he were talking about the latest movie he’d seen. “Clearly you ain’t homeless. Clearly, you go to school. Clearly, you got money.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I need to go home. What’s it to you?”
His relaxed posture stiffened slightly and his eyes flashed just a bit brighter. “If you’re in trouble, I know people and places--”
“I don’t need nor want help,” Tim said, cutting Jason off. “My parents are out of town and I didn’t want to do my homework in a-- a--”
A big and empty house, cold because it was still only October and his parents were adamant that Tim try to avoid wasting money. It was ridiculous. They had money, it's not like turning up the thermostat would make any loss of it noticeable.
Thankfully, Jason dropped the subject. “Fine. Whatever. You need help getting home?”
Tim zipped his bag shut. “I can manage,” he said, then hesitated.
His eyes fixed on his untouched slice of apple pie and melting vanilla ice cream. He’d already paid for his food several hours ago.
“I can--uh-- I can pay for that--”
Jason waved his hand. “I ordered it. Don’t worry. I’m not allergic to apples either.”
Tim scowled, his cheeks burning. “It was nice meeting you--”
He stopped himself before he could blurt out Jason’s name. That would be very bad.
“Jay,” he supplied. “I’ll see you around.”
There was a certainty in his tone that made Tim worry Jason had finally pieced together that he was Tim Drake, Robin, Jason's Replacement, as he called him. He played it off, simply shouldered his bag, and headed out.
Tim didn’t see Jason until Sunday. He’d been busy enough with everything-- mainly catching up on some much-needed sleep and spending time with his parents.
Well, not really.
He’d hugged his mother briefly but she pulled away with a frown and had passed a hand over her skirt muttering about wrinkles. He hadn’t attempted to hug his father.
They were tired, he amended. They snapped at Tim when he asked too many questions, but their trip had been long and they needed rest. They could talk later.
And then they’d left. They’d left Sunday when they were supposed to leave Wednesday because Tim had a parent-teacher conference Tuesday, and they’d promised him they’d go. And that was fine, too. They’d had a long flight. They had to work. They couldn’t always make it. They’d make it next time. They’d just forgotten.
But that didn’t change the fact that Tim still wasn’t supposed to go back out until Wednesday night. Bruce insisted he stay with his parents when they came back. He wouldn’t come crying to Bruce that his parents had left not even two days after coming back without even mentioning the parent-teacher conference.
He wasn’t that pathetic.
He wasn’t incompetent.
He could take care of himself.
He just couldn’t stand the stifling emptiness of his house or its deafening silence.
Tim had sat on the bottom step in the main foyer, eyes burning and chest hitching with sobs and tears that refused to come.
Just a brief goodbye. No warm hugs, kisses on the forehead, barely any words spoken before his parents left. He wanted to know what his mother’s perfume smelled like. He wanted to know how his father’s stubble felt against his cheek when he hugged him. He wanted to know if long embraces felt as warm as they looked on TV.
Instead, he just sat there, on the marble step in his big, empty house full of everything except love and warmth.
Tim buried his face in his arms crossed over his knees.
He stayed like that for a long time, until the lump in his throat lessened and he stopped shaking. The sun was setting and the shadows in the house were already lengthening.
He couldn’t stay in this house. Not when he’d planned on eating dinner with his parents, planned a movie night, and had even picked out a movie about archaeology so that his parents would stay interested. He’d planned board games, had pulled them out of their cabinet, he’d even considered telling his parents about photography club and show them his pictures.
Now, he couldn’t stand being in the empty house where he’d planned things with his parents they hadn’t gotten the chance to do.
He was being selfish. They were busy, they had to keep Drake Industries running, they had to do their jobs. Tim just got in the way, he knew that.
He would get better grades, he promised himself as he zipped up his fleece jacket. he’d be even better in class. They’ll take the time to congratulate him when they came back, he was sure of it.
He shoved his feet into his battered high tops and left the house. After locking the door behind him, he slipped his house keys in his camera bag and started making his way to the bus stop.
Gotham was usually overcast in the fall, with freezing torrential rains that came with living on the coastline. October was usually the month that brought the most rain, but Tim had gone out on one of the rare days where there was no rain, just clouds hanging low and threatening. The air in Crime Alley that usually smelled of rotting garbage and car exhaust was replaced with the strong smell of wet cement.
Tim splashed through puddles making the hem of his jeans slightly wet.
“Crime Alley isn’t safe to travel alone or at night, kid,” a low voice rumbled when Tim rounded a corner into a side street partially hidden in shadows.
Tim froze on the spot, wondering whether he should run or just try to diffuse the situation before it can escalate. The street he’d gone in was half blanketed by inky shadows where a streetlight’s fuse must’ve blown. Tim couldn’t see who the voice belonged to yet, just their dark shape further into the shadows, but they were in front of him and they seemed alone. He could turn and run if the need arose.
“Jeez, relax. I ain’t gonna kidnap you,” the voice said.
And Tim knew that voice. It was Jason’s voice. He relaxed a bit and then remembered that Jason’s voice was also Red Hood’s voice.
“Jay?” he asked softly
“The one and only.” Jason pushed himself off the brick wall and stepped out of the shadows. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”
Tim breathed out in relief and suddenly felt annoyed. “I’m pretty sure you did,” he snarked back, shoving his shaking hands in his jacket pockets.
Jason was still wearing the same red hoodie he’d worn Thursday when he’d sat at Tim’s booth, but this time he wore a leather jacket over it to protect himself from the cold wind blowing in from the harbor. Tim doubted the jacket and hoodie did much against the chill, though.
Jason chuckled at that, eyes flitting to the camera bag slung over his shoulder and back at his face.
“It’s getting pretty late for you to be out here, isn’t it?” he asked, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
Tim matched with his own glare of suspicion and set of his jaw. “It’s not that late, and I’m not the one who found you first. Twice. That was you both times, might I remind you.”
A semi amused smirk played on Jason’s lips. “Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.”
Tim narrowed his eyes. “Are you planning on seeing me a third time?”
Jason shrugged, once again leaning back against the wall and pulling out a knife from his hoodie pocket. Tim’s muscles locked at the flash of the blade, but Jason only began tossing it and catching it expertly.
“I don’t know. You tell me. You planning a third excursion in the most dangerous part of Gotham?”
One could easily argue that every part of Gotham was dangerous, Crime Alley merely more so than any other area. It was a term of relativity, really.
“I’ve been doing this longer than you’d think,” he replied evenly, his fingers finding the strap of his camera bag and clenched tightly around it.
Jason briefly looked up, eyes a little greener under the orange streetlight. “Your parents know you’re out here?”
Tim gritted his teeth and stared at his shoes. No. They would find a way to take it away from him. They would probably take away his photos, too. He remembered accidentally spilling paint all over his new overalls when he was seven and his parents taking away his art supplies and every one of his paintings. He was terrified of their reaction to him sneaking out and jumping from rooftop to rooftop across Gotham and Crime Alley chasing vigilantes. It was unbecoming of a Drake.
His silence was answer enough for Jason, apparently.
“They’re still away?” he asked, his hand stilling, the blade tightly held in his grip.
“They came back,” Tim said. And then left again, he didn’t say.
“I’m sure--”
“Can you please stop assuming you know what my parents think or what I want?” Tim snapped.
He’d come here to escape his parents, not be interrogated by Jason Todd about them.
Jason fell silent and Tim looked up in a panic.
This isn’t home, he reminded himself. You are allowed to talk back.
“S-sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t--”
“No,” Jason cut in harshly, making Tim flinch. From the way his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, Jason did not miss it. “No. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I was prying in stuff that was none of my business.”
Tim was dumbstruck. Jason was apologizing to him. Jason Todd was apologizing. Forget that, Robin was talking to him.
“It-- It’s fine,” he managed. “I just wanted to go out and take pictures. It’s the one bit of freedom I can’t lose.”
Jason set his jaw. “You aren’t just gonna go alone,” he said.
Tim blinked. “I’ve been doing this alone since--” since he was nine, which was probably not something he should tell Red Hood “--for a while. I was fine then, and I will be fine now. You don’t even know my name or where I live, so you can’t send me home.”
Jason sighed. “You aren’t going out alone,” he repeated.
Tim started backing away and Jason scowled. “If you run,” he warned. “I will break both of your legs.”
Tim swallowed. “You don’t hurt kids,” he tried.
Except when they’re Robin. Except when they were named Timothy Jackson Drake.
Jason exhaled harshly. “You’re aggravating enough that I just might.”
Tim stumbled back, tripped over a stray empty beer bottle, and careened backward. He would have hit the rough cement if Jason’s arm hadn’t shot out and grabbed his forearm. Tim regained his footing and put some space between him and Jason just as a precaution.
“Thanks,” he breathed.
“Don’t crack your head open on the pavement, kid. Leslie’s clinic closes at 6 on Sundays.”
Tim’s face twitched. Yeah, he knew that, he knew when her clinic closed at night and when it opened in the morning. He didn’t tell Jason that, just kept quiet.
“My--” he licked his dry lips, knowing just how bad of an idea this was. “My name’s Tim,” he said. “Uh-- I know yours and you don’t know mine.”
Jason squinted at Tim and he froze. Jason knew his name as Robin, he’d called it across the rooftop when they’d been locked in a heated fight three weeks ago. He’d froze when the Red Hood had called his name loud and clear and Jason had taken the opportunity to shoot Tim in the shoulder, dangerously and deliberately close to the artery. If Jason had known his name, then he knew they’d been neighbors, he knew his parents were Jack and Janet Drake of Drake Industries, he knew he had black hair and blue eyes and that he’d turned fifteen three months ago.
And Tim had just told Jason his name. He was such an idiot. He prepared himself to bolt, to lose himself in the crowd and go back home, screw taking pictures tonight. A rematch with Red Hood without his body armor or his staff would not end well. He’d seen how well the second Robin could out in a fight, and how much better he’d gotten as Red Hood, and Tim knew he had no chance of winning.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, daring to hope Jason wouldn’t recognize him.
Jason sighed and shook his head. “You just-- have the same name as someone I know.”
Tim laughed, half in the hysteria he’d worked himself into and half in shock. “Is your friend nice?”
Jason scowled. “He ain’t my friend,” he growled, and Tim dropped his smile.
He knew Jason didn’t like him-- all their encounters were proof of that -- but it still hurt deeply to have him actually say it. Robin, his hero, hated his guts because he thought he’d taken his place. Jason could have Robin back. Tim would give it to him, as long as it meant he wouldn’t hate him.
“Don’t look so down, Timmy, it’s not you I don’t like.”
Tim almost laughed again, but he was definitely going to start crying if he did. He was really not having a good day.
“Please don’t send me home,” he said, ignoring the forming lump in his throat. “I really don’t want to go home right now.”
He couldn’t go home.
Jason heaved a deep breath. “Fine. but you still aren’t just gonna go out on your own.” Tim opened his mouth to protest but Jason held up his finger. “I’m tagging along to make sure you don’t die.”
Tim stared at him, speechless, and Jason scowled again, a crease forming between his eyebrows.
“Jesus, does anyone do anything nice for you just because? For no reason other than the sake of being nice? I’m just being nice, I’m not asking you to sell your fucking soul.”
“I-- I like to-- to take pictures from-- usually from above,” he said, choosing to ignore Jason's questions.
“Well then, the fire escape is right there, all you gotta do is climb.”
Tim blinked. He’d expected Jason to be more-- against the idea of Tim scaling buildings to take pictures. Jason stepped past him and jumped, grabbing hold of the rusty fire escape and pulling it down with a thunderous creaking that made Tim cringe. Jason practically ran up the rickety staircase and Tim followed after him quickly, while trying to remain as quiet as he could. It was only ten, but this was an apartment building, and he didn’t want to wake anyone up. A worry that Jason very clearly didn’t have.
Tim was slightly out of breath by the time he joined Jason on the roof, but that was quickly forgotten when he took in the sights of the city around him.
It had been forever since he’d gotten the chance to go out as Tim Drake and just take pictures of Gotham without worrying about getting shot by a mobster. It was nice. He felt relaxed and calm. He’d been so stressed this past week, and this excursion was long overdue.
He unzipped his camera bag and pulled out his camera, first slinging it around his neck before adjusting the focus and zoom.
He went around the roof, taking in different angles, starting with the perfect view of the downtown skyscrapers in the distance. One of them had purple and red LED lights running up its sides. On the opposite side, Tim had the perfect view of the building that had blown up during Firefly’s attack last Thursday. There was always something haunting about capturing an image of an apartment building that had been blown up and not yet fixed-- the concrete pillars holding up the structure like bones, crumbling stone still partially forming what used to be walls.
He looked up and glanced behind him only to see Jason standing exactly where he’d been, eyes following Tim’s moves.
He shot him a nervous smile and Jason inclined his head slightly.
Tim peered over the sides of the building, trying to see if anyone was out and about. He couldn’t see anyone under the bright streetlights, but he wasn’t too disappointed. He’d snapped pictures of a couple and their dog sitting at a cafe table earlier, and a little boy asleep in his father’s arms. He stood there, the cold wind whipping his hair in his eyes, as he flicked back through his pictures, smiling faintly.
“Can I see?” Jason asked from right behind Tim.
He jumped, startled and a little alarmed that he hadn’t heard him approach.
“Um, y-yeah. Sure.”
He angled his camera to the left so that Jason could peer over his shoulder as he reviewed all the pictures he took, mentally sorting out the ones he was going to print out. Tim didn’t delete any photos. Not even the blurry ones. He digitalized every single one, but only printed out a select few that he preferred.
Jason whistled. “Damn, you ain’t half bad at this, kiddo.”
Tim flushed brightly. “Thanks,” he said lamely. “Um, I--I was actually planning on heading home, so yo-- you don’t have to….follow me.”
Jason made a face. “Aw, and just when I thought my Sunday was gonna get exciting.”
Tim shrugged, shoving his camera back in its bag with shaking hands. He was still terribly anxious that Jason would find out he was Robin at any given moment, and at the same time he was living on cloud nine because Robin had just told him he was good at taking pictures.
“Hey, look, if you aren’t in a rush to get home, I could buy you a chili dog, there’s a stand nearby--”
Tim almost dropped his camera bag.
“Chili dogs?” he asked, immediately shooting to his full height. He regretted it, with the sudden rush of blood to his head that made him dizzy.
Tim could see the second Jason went on the defensive, the way his jaw tightened and his dark eyebrows tugged together.
“It’s just an offer, seeing as how your folks don’t seem to care whether you’re home or out here.”
Tim scowled, but the pressure in his chest was back. It was at this moment that his stomach chose to rumble and remind Tim that he’d been hoping to have dinner with his parents tonight but left before getting the chance to eat anything.
“I wouldn’t mind a chili dog,” he admitted. “But I can pay.”
Jason looked like he was about to argue, but eventually let it slide. “Fine. Let’s just get off this roof before a gust of wind blows your skinny ass away.”
Bruce and Dick didn’t talk much about Jason. It was their way to deal with the grief, and Tim respected that. He never asked questions when he was told to stop, no matter how much he was burning with the need to know, the need to find out what kind of person his hero had been.
And maybe that was why he hadn’t yet told Dick and Bruce that Jason was alive and was the Red Hood.
Babs knew. She didn’t tell Tim she knew, but she was Oracle. She must’ve seen that footage. And maybe there was a reason why she hadn’t blabbed. Whatever it was, Tim was grateful for her.
But there was one person who talked about Jason.
Alfred didn’t deal with his grief by crying and then locking it away so it wouldn’t be able to hurt him. Alfred talked about Jason, and Tim supposed that no matter how grateful Tim was to have someone willingly tell him about the second Robin, Alfred must have been infinitely more grateful to have someone to listen to it.
Tim had never experienced grief that way. His grandmother had died when he was eight, and he remembered the funeral, and his mother’s carefully blank face, never betraying grief for her mother. All his other grandparents were already dead and his parents had been only children, so as far as Tim knew, there would be no funerals to attend. He’d grieved Jason as his hero, as someone he’d wished he could have gotten to know better, but he would never grieve him like a brother, like a son, or like a grandson.
Alfred told him that Jason loved cooking. Apparently, he’d cooked for himself and his mother when she was unable to move in her drugged state, and Alfred had been glad he was even willing to cook after that. Tim had found out that Jason had loved school, and that he’d loved reading. He devoured the classics in the library just as avidly as the books Dick brought whenever he came to visit the Manor and for holidays. He’d found out that Jason had made a tiramisu for Bruce on his birthday once. He’d found out that Jason’s favorite classic novel had been To Kill A Mockingbird, and that his favorite novel of all time was The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman.
Which was exactly why Tim was sitting in the same diner booth where Jason had first found him, with his study packet on To Kill A Mockingbird, hoping Jason would come by and help him study for his test in two days. He knew he could ace that test and that the more time he spent around Jason the likelier it became Jason would find out that he was Timothy Jackson Drake, Robin. Except, the chance to hang out with Jason had fallen in Tim’s lap and he wasn’t sure he was ready to give it up so easily.
It was around eleven-thirty, so the diner was bustling with activity, though the company was slowly dwindling. It was raining hard outside, the streets empty and lit up by orange streetlights and the occasional passing car. Tim stared at the rain, his cappuccino warming his cold hands. He’d set the study packet and his pencil case on the table and his bookbag and raincoat on the bench next to him.
“You’re here again?” Jason’s familiar voice asked.
Tim glanced over and smiled. “Yep! I was actually waiting for you.”
Jason raised an eyebrow as he took a seat. “Oh? Is that so?”
Tim nodded. “Best way to do that is to steal “your” booth,” he explained, making air quotes.
“Har har, make fun of me. Why were you waiting for me?”
Tim shoved his coffee to the side and slid his packet to Jason. “I need help for my test in English on Thursday.”
Jason blinked at the packet, before looking up sharply. “So you come to me?”
Tim shrugged. “My parents think I can study on my own,” he said. “And you’re always hanging around me whenever I go to Crime Alley.”
“So you equate that to me becoming your private tutor?”
Tim grinned. “No. Tutors get paid.”
Jason glared at him. “Don’t poke a sleeping bear, kid.”
“If you’re not gonna help me, then I‘ll just go home,” he said. “You really don’t have to.”
He reached for the packet, but Jason pulled it closer to his chest.
“You’re lucky I liked English, kid,” he spat out and Tim brightened up at that.
“So you’re gonna help?” he asked, unable to keep all of the giddiness out of his voice.
“Only because I like this book and got the best grade on the fucking test, okay?”
Tim nodded, eyes wide. Jason leafed through the packet, glanced over the questions and excerpts and the essay prompts. Tim had finished the packet just yesterday, and no matter how confident he was that he would get a good grade, getting someone to proof-read settled his buzzing nerves. His brows furrowed as he read over some of Tim’s sentences.
“Good evening, can I get you anything to eat?” a waitress asked.
Jason didn’t look up. “Just a tea and chocolate chip pancakes.” He nodded at Tim, eyes still fixed on the packet. “Order what you want. You’re paying.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “More coffee, please?”
The waitress snapped her notepad shut and left with Tim’s empty cup.
“I was kidding,” Tim said. “I can pay you.”
At this, Jason did look up, only to give Tim a look that asked, ‘are you being serious right now you idiot?’
“Do I look like I need your money?” he asked.
Seeing that Jason was still wearing the same red hoodie frayed at the sleeves and hem, Tim wanted to answer yes.
Seeing that Tim valued his life at the moment, he muttered, “no.”
“Good. I don’t need money, payment is buying dinner.”
Tim could do with that. He fiddled with his mechanical pencil, tapping the tip against the table softly, occasionally casting a glance at Jason.
“Is it...good?” he eventually asked.
Jason set the paper down. “Overall, it’s pretty good,” he said.
“But?” Tim prompted.
"But you could use some stronger arguments in your mock essay. In your essay in general. The questions, you’ll do great. It’s the essay that I have a few issues with. your arguments are too weak, your examples too broad, and your conclusion is both an absolute mess and just a pleasant rewording of your introduction.”
Tim let a faint smile slip through his blank mask. Robin was helping him with his English! He’d wondered what it would be like to have had Jason around if he’d gotten the chance to talk to him. Sure, then Tim wouldn’t have become a placeholder for Jason, but Jason himself would have lost a lot less.
Jason waited until their waitress brought them their drinks and food before they got to work.
“If you’re gonna take pictures of the people, you should get to know some of them,” Jason drawled, his legs swinging over the edge of a building. “Have you even talked to any of them, or do you just sit up on your rooftop and take pictures of them?”
Tim blushed, but the cold wind that already tinted his cheeks and nose bright pink thankfully hid it.
“I do talk to them,” he said, focusing his camera on a little girl petting a stray dog with thick matted fur.
Jason snorted and Tim tried his best not to look up to snap at him. Pictures, he reminded himself. He had patrol with Bruce tomorrow night, and he had too many upcoming tests to go out this week, so this was the only opportunity he had.
He actually had talked to some of them. He was friendly with some of the kinder nightclub owners. The prostitutes on Oakley Street who’d caught him taking pictures of them when he was ten had quickly warmed up to him. He had money to give and always tried to give what he had to a few of the homeless people he passed by and sometimes asked if it was okay to take a picture of them. He was familiar with most of Crime Alley’s most down on their luck, so yes, Tim talked to them.
He took a few more shots while ignoring Jason’s quips before he decided he’d gotten enough shots from that rooftop.
“We need to go to Oakley,” he said.
Jason’s mood shifted immediately. “Timmy, have you ever been to Oakley Street?”
Tim scowled. “I can keep myself safe,” he snapped. “I know most of the women there, anyway. They caught me taking pictures of them.”
He flushed brightly the second he realized how that sounded.
Jason’s scowl remained firmly in place, but he raised a single, amused eyebrow. “Oh? Taking pictures?”
“It didn’t come out right, okay?”
Jason scoffed and Tim’s face only reddened further.
“I’ll agree to take you to Oakley if you promise not to leave my side, okay?” Jason asked in a more serious tone. “The girls are nice, but it’s the men you have to watch out for. They’re all creepy bastards.”
They made their way back down the fire escape, avoiding the potted plants, jump ropes, and battered boxes of chalk left there by the inhabitants.
They made their way down the streets, towards Oakley. Tim wasn’t planning on taking pictures, he’d just hadn’t gotten the chance to actually walk around Crime Alley very often since the new school year.
“Do you know them?” he asked Jason.
Jason sighed, and Tim couldn’t tell if there was a hint of sadness in it. “Yeah. A long time ago. There’s only so many ways a kid can find money to pay rent when his mom is drugged to high heaven, you know? But everyone was always very nice--’
He stopped talking and took a deep breath.
“I’ve been around since I came back. I’ve been going around, helping where I could, you know? Some of these people need all the help they can get.”
On a whim, Tim leaned over and hugged Jason briefly before quickly pulling away. Jason’s steps faltered, but he kept on walking.
“You didn’t deserve that,” Tim said. “No one deserves that.”
Jason laughed, tilting his head up at the overcast night sky. Tim knew exactly why he was doing that but didn’t say anything.
“Can’t argue that,” he said. “But no one is doing anything about it.”
“Red Hood is,” Tim said. “He’s been-- he’s been good around here. People are less afraid.”
Jason stopped walking this time, and Tim didn’t acknowledge that either. He stopped, too.
“Look, we’re here,” he said.
Tim waited for the red to turn green and crossed the street, letting Jason collect his thoughts in peace. The curb was already crowded with women, most leaning against the wall and chatting with each other. A few were smoking. Jason caught up with Tim and matched his pace, his expression carefully blank.
Tim knew a few of them by name. Not all of them, but he didn’t mind. He would often come here just to talk with them because he felt safe with them. They were nice and always delighted to have someone to talk to.
“Timmy!” one of the women, Valerie, said, making her way towards theme with a bright smile. “Haven’t seen your face in a while.”
She brushed her hand through his hair and he smiled. Her thick auburn hair swept over a pale shoulder and her teal strapless dress made her hair stand out even more. She always looked pretty.
“I’ve been busy with school,” he said sheepishly. “I have a lot of work.”
Valerie smiled brightly. “Stay in school, kid. It’s important.”
Tim just ducked away, cheeks flushing. Jason was staring at him with raised eyebrows and a smirk. Valerie glanced up at Jason.
“Hello, stranger,” she said. “You’re apparently quite popular around here.”
Jason shrugged. “You gotta watch out for your own, you know?”
Her eyes softened. “I’m glad you got out, Jason.”
Jason didn’t reply, he just shoved his trembling hands in his pockets. Once again, Tim pretended he didn’t see it. He wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea, after all, to go here with Jason. It was clear he’d been here, that he’d also had to resort to selling himself just to get by.
“I hear little Timbo here has been lurking around here taking pictures,” Jason said, collecting himself, winking.
Tim scowled and elbowed Jason in the ribs.
Valerie laughed. “He’s been doing it since he was nine,” she said, shaking her head. “Hen was the one who found him lurking about, actually.”
Tim’s smile faded a bit. Hennessy had been well into her forties, with dark curly hair and she was always wearing orange when Tim saw her. She’d cared a lot about Tim and he had basked in that attention and care. She would always purse her lips in disapproval whenever he mentioned his parents. A few weeks before Jason had gone off to Ethiopia, one of Nessie’s friends had told Tim she’d been murdered by one of the men she’d left with.
Tim wasn’t stupid. Not after spending years chasing after Batman and Robin across Gotham and taking pictures of Gotham’s nightlife. Not after years spent in Crime Alley. He knew that prostitution was dangerous, and even more so in Gotham City.
“I miss Nessie,” Tim said softly.
Valerie sighed. “She’d be so proud to see how much you’ve grown, kiddo.”
Jason’s face was carefully blank, his eyes dark and calculating, going from Tim to Valerie. Tim felt a spark of hope. Maybe he’d go out as Red Hood and bring that asshole to justice. It was clear that Jason had known Valerie since he’d been young, and probably had known Hennessy.
Jason focused back on Valerie. “No one give you any trouble?”
She grinned proudly. “Nothing me and my girls couldn’t handle, Jay. And not since Red Hood showed up.”
Jason relaxed, his tense shoulders slumping. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “It’s--”
“I’m glad the Red Hood is keeping people in Crime Alley safe,” Tim piped in. “Everyone has a right to feel safe.”
Valerie’s eyes crinkled. “I’ll let you in on a secret kid, caring this much about us is the reason everyone loves you.”
Tim laughed, choosing to ignore how sad that sounded. “I thought it was because I was so adorable everyone wanted to adopt me?” he asked sweetly.
Valerie’s warm hand rested on the crown of his head and he smiled at the touch.
“There’s that, too.” She winked at him. “Where are you two headed?” she asked, turning to Jason.
He shrugged. “We haven’t really decided yet.”
“IHOP is open,” he said. “They have great waffles.”
Jason didn’t need to know that he knew that because he and Steph often snuck out after patrol and went to IHOP until they either left to go home or were forcibly removed from the premises for being too rowdy.
Valerie raised an eyebrow. “Make sure he still gets home at a reasonable time,” she said.
Tim frowned. “I’m fifteen,” he snapped.
“And you haven’t been keeping to a steady sleep schedule from your height,” she replied dryly.
“My mom is short,” Tim shot back. “I inherited her genes. And I have a fast metabolism. I eat enough.”
Nessy softened. “Just make sure he stays safe,” she told Jason, her voice wavering slightly.
Jason nodded, and even Tim didn’t say anything. Too many kids vanished off the streets, and rich kids were the most likely to get grabbed for a ransom call that Tim’s parents probably wouldn’t answer in time. Tim was very well aware of the risks.
“Don’t worry, Val,” Jason smirked. “When have I ever failed to keep a kid safe?”
“Bye Valerie!” Tim called. “See you later!”
He waved as he and Jason crossed the street, and a few women on the sidewalk gave a quick wave. They walked in silence after that, Tim’s hands shoved firmly in his pockets and curled into fists.
“I didn’t know you were so familiar with Valerie and the girls,” Jason finally said.
Tim couldn’t detect a hint of anger or disappointment but he couldn’t fully suppress the flinch.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ve, uh, seen them around. ‘Specially Valerie. I like taking pictures of people. Um, they-- they each have a story, you know? People can be very expressive when they don’t think anyone’s looking at them.”
He fiddled with his camera strap.
Jason hummed. “That’s a nice sentiment.”
And Tim knew he was screwed. There was definitely a note of anger in Jason’s voice. He bowed his head in shame and followed after him.
Ten minutes later, they stepped inside an IHOP and sat in a booth.
Tim firmly looked anywhere but at Jason. A waiter came over and Tim simply ordered a sweet tea, his stomach too knotted for any food. Jason ordered a latte for himself and turned back to Tim.
“Kid,” Jason sighed. “Please look at me.”
Tim kept his eyes glued to the table.
“Fine. I’ll ask questions. All I need from you are simple yes or no answers, ‘kay?”
Tim nodded stiffly, eyes burning. He knew exactly where this was headed. He’d had this conversation with principals and counselors countless times. “Are your parents home?” “Are they gone often?” “Are you alone?” “Is everything okay at home?”
He’d learned to lie to them. They were strangers. He never saw them outside of convocations. But this was Jason. This was the Robin he’d idolized. This was his, dare he hope to assume, friend. Lies wouldn’t stand a chance.
“You’ve been going out taking pictures at night since you were nine?” he asked.
Tim nodded.
A sigh.
“Do your parents know?”
He shook his head. Of course they didn’t. They would take it away from him, just like they’d take Robin away if they found out. If not for his safety, then for their reputations.
“Are you scared to go home?”
At this, Tim looked up sharply, a hint of panic blooming in his chest.
“They don’t hurt me,” he said.
Jason was calm, his face a mask of calm.
“Everything is fine at home,” Tim went on. “My parents don’t-- don’t hit me, or anything. I-- nothing even happened, okay? A lot of the people here are nice and I know how to avoid trouble. I can take care of myself.”
Jason didn’t groan in frustration, or roll his eyes at him, or call him out on his bullshit, call him a liar. He didn’t even get angry.
“Okay,” he said. “I believe you.”
Tim felt like he’d been struck by lightning. He felt a pressure build in his chest and a knot in his throat. Jason mistook Tim’s stunned silence for disbelief.
“Tim? I believe you, okay? If you say everything’s fine, then I won’t question it, okay?”
“Yo--you won’t?” Tim asked, and God, he really was going to start crying.
“No. It’s just--”
“I’m fifteen, I’m not completely clueless,” he said softly. “I know Crime Alley is dangerous. I’ve heard every variation of that. Trust me. I got the memo.”
Jason cracked a smile. “You need to go home soon? Your parents won’t notice?”
Tim shrugged, finally unfreezing. “Nah.”
They really wouldn’t. They were currently somewhere in Greenland. Some remote town whose name Tim couldn’t pronounce and his parents hadn’t written it down.
“You got anything else going on in English?” Jason asked, pouring sugar in his tea.
“You could’ve asked for sweet tea,” Tim said, watching him pour the equivalent of at least six spoonfuls of sugar.
Jason wrinkled his nose. “That shit? Not in fucking October.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “We started reading--” he froze, glancing up at Jason. “Well-- we--we’re only talking about the author, for now, Edgar Allan Poe, but we’re… we’re gonna-- we’re reading the Cask of Amontillado.”
And Tim was an idiot. The Cask of Amontillado? They talked about the story. And Tim knew that Jason had to have read it. Or heard about it. Jason froze.
“The Cask of Amontillado?”
Tim grimaced. “I don’t really like small spaces,” he admitted. “I’m not super excited to read it.”
Jason snorted. “You and me both, kid.”
When the teacher talked about the story, notably its ending, Tim swore he’d stopped breathing. Because how could he get through that story? When Jason died buried in rubble and then woke up buried six feet in the ground? When Tim’s parents would lock him in the cellar whenever he had a tantrum when he’d been younger? When he still had nightmares of the door closing and leaving him in the dark, screaming and crying for hours before they let him out, asking him if he’d learned his lesson.
“I could call in sick,” he mused, poking the ice cubes in his tea with his straw. “The day we’re supposed to read the story.”
Jason drummed his fingers on the table tensely. He looked a thousand miles away, in his own head.
“Don’t do that, kid,” he said. “It’s not that bad.”
Tim huffed. “You’re not the one reading it.”
Jason didn’t reply, and Tim was starting to feel guilt pool in his stomach. He wanted to say something-- anything-- to make that faraway look in Jason’s eyes go away, but he’d reached his quota of empathy for the night. He wasn’t sure he could muster emotional support right now.
“You should get home, Tim,” Jason said softly.
The corners of Tim’s lips curled downwards. “Right,” he said.
He fished around his pockets and set a crumpled ten-dollar bill on the table before leaving, guilt ravaging his insides.
“So? What do you think?” Tim asked, swirling one of his fries into his chocolate milkshake before shoving it in his mouth.
Jason’s eyes were still scanning the words on the page. “That you’re an idiot,” he said.
Tim stared at him flatly. “You agreed to help. This isn’t helping.”
They were sitting in their usual booth in the back of Pepper’s Diner, and despite Tim’s protests, Jason had insisted they work on his short essay for The Cask of Amontillado together.
Jason pushed the paper back towards Tim. “I am helping. I’m telling you it’s stupid. The prompt. Pick the second one. There’s more material there. Better ideas.”
“This one inspired me,” Tim said, tapping his pen on the rim of his milkshake.
Jason raised an eyebrow. “What I read didn’t sound very inspired,” he pointed out, stealing a few fries from Tim. “There are no real ideas and arguments provided, you’re just describing what Poe wrote. The question was clearly to identify the elements that created the story’s specific mood. Your arguments are weak.”
Tim glanced over his essay, frowning. “This story doesn’t inspire me,” he said.
In fact, The Cask of Amontillado did the very opposite of that. Tim felt shivers crawl up his skin whenever he thought about that story. The story itself had been unsettling enough, but even more so for Tim. He hadn’t mentioned what they were working on in English to Bruce and Dick for this specific reason, actually. Not after Jason’s reaction when Tim had told him.
“Yeah, there’s a creepy feeling around the whole thing, sure, but this one. Okay, just listen with your thick head for a sec.”
Jason plucked the paper from Tim’s hands. “Fortunato is dressed as a fool, and Montresor wears a ‘mask of black silk’. Explain why these costumes are appropriate for the roles they play in the story.”
He gave Tim a pointed look. Tim remained silent until he realized Jason wanted him to give him arguments.
“This isn’t fair,” he complained. “I can get a good grade with the prompt I chose! It’s not that bad.”
Jason frowned. “It’s not. It would get you a 93. 95 if you have a nice teacher. If you’re fine with that, then go for it. You’re the one who told me you wanted hundreds everywhere.”
Tim scowled. He wasn’t expecting to be bullied for those hundreds. But his parents would notice. His grades would be perfect. They would notice and they’d stay home longer. It was all part of Tim’s plan, even if that meant suffering through analyzing one of the worst stories he’d ever read and Jason’s taunts.
“Fine,” he spat venomously. “In the eyes of Montresor, Fortunado is an idiot, and he’s in the wrong while Montresor is in the right and the self-proclaimed hero.”
Jason set the paper down, stole a pen from Tim’s case, and jotted down what Tim said. “We’re off to a good start. Don’t let me stop you.”
Tim read over the text and bounced ideas at Jason. Of course, for each Jason shot down, Tim had to find another one. He was quickly starting to reconsider his foolproof plan of getting only hundreds this six weeks.
They sat there for two hours. Two whole hours of reading that fucking story over and over again, scanning words and having Jason ask him to develop his arguments more.
“I hate you with every fiber of my being,” Tim said, letting his head drop onto the table.
Jason made an amused noise. “Sure. if I get you another diabetes milkshake, will you forgive me?”
Tim exhaled harshly. “Fine,” he bit out. “But I still hate you.”
Jason laughed. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
“And I definitely won’t be the last if that’s how you treat all your friends,” Tim grumbled, closing his stinging eyes.
What time was it? Definitely had to be one in the morning. He was pretty sure it had been two hours, but it could’ve been longer--
“Look, I don’t care as long as we never have to talk about this cursed story ever again,” Jason said.
Tim laughed wearily. “You said it.”
Tim had taken to sleeping with his light on, unable to sit in the dark without terrible memories surfacing. He’d slept terribly, plagued by nightmares, and Bruce had voiced his concern about Tim’s need for sleep enough that it was safe to assume the shadows under his eyes were visible.
Jason didn’t look much better. He was acting cheerful, but Tim saw a certain weariness in the tight press of his lips and his furrowed eyebrows. He could see veiled pain in his eyes.
Tim tilted his head so that his cheek was smushed against the cool tabletop instead of his nose and stared out the window.
“D’you think it’s gonna snow this year?” he asked, voice muffled by his position of choice.
“It sure is fucking cold enough for that,” Jason grumbled.
Tim smiled faintly, watching the people hurrying past the diner, clutching their jacket collars close around them against the strong gusts of wind that had been blowing through Gotham all day.
Tim hoped it would snow.