Ohboy! Jason's actually more than just a cameo in this chapter! Wooooo~ Enjoy this! I actually really, really liked writing this chapter. Interactions between a silent Tim and a loud Jason is just so much fun. (Though he's not particularly loud in this chapter. But you know what I mean.)
Dick's laptop has some of the worst security Jason has ever seen. It's probably his personal laptop, but that doesn't mean he ought to just have a password lock. (And Dick's password is Nighting backwards with no caps. Simple. Baby simple. Replacement-Robin—Tim—has probably already added a modification that if Dick types in a certain word, his computer will crash.)
Because of that piss-poor security, Jason has decided about fifteen minutes ago that he was going to play around with Dick's computer. So here he is. It seemed like the perfect opportunity, since Dick and Bruce and that little runt all went out to see what had gone down with Dent. ("Why hadn't Drake noticed? Isn't he out on patrol?" "Damian, not even Bruce is omnipotent. What makes you think Tim will be?" "Tt.")
It just so happens that at this very moment, Tim has decided to grace the manor with his presence by quietly opening the front door and showing himself. He isn't in his Red Robin getup (Jason's Red Robin getup). He is breathing in heaving gasps and the front of his T-shirt is showing signs of sweat. He hasn't noticed Jason yet, because he's heading for the stairs after he shuts the wooden door behind him.
Jason stands, without thinking, and calls out, "Hey, what are you doing back?"
Tim freezes. Not just a tensing of the shoulders, or a flinch, but he freezes, right the fuck where he is, foot poised to climb the first stair, tension everywhere. Jason wouldn't be surprised if he ran back out the door.
As Jason moves closer, Tim turns around, still oozing tension and discomfort. And he smells. He smells like his sweat and other people's sweat. Jason even catches a whiff of cigarettes and booze. And it's not of the strength that indicated that Tim smoked or drank. But he was definitely crammed in with people who were. And still another smell. The smell of ashes, explosives.
And now Jason has a really good look at him. A bruise is forming on his cheek, deep furrows from someone's nails are on the other one. Dried blood overs around them. There are many bruises on Tim's arms, and one of them is shaped like a human hand. Tim just stands there, letting Jason stare at him, probably because he's already been seen and running would just make whatever-the-fuck he did worse.
Jason raises an eyebrow. Tim's hands make words and thoughts in the air.
"Don't tell Bruce."
"Tell him what? And why? Where the fuck have you been? You're supposed to be with the rest of ou—your hero family. You were supposed to be out on patrol." Shame layers itself over Tim's face. He looks like he might be sick. His hands work again.
"Don't tell Bruce."
"That doesn't tell me why I shouldn't." It doesn't tell him what he shouldn't tell Bruce either.
"Don't tell Bruce."
"Why, Replacement?"
Tim flinches. His hands move again, "Don't tell Bruce." Then he uses the alphabet to emphasize his request. "P. L. E. A. S. E." Jason sighs, noticing the way that Tim keeps clenching and unclenching his jaw. Jason remembers shattering the left side of that jaw with his fist, feeling the bone crack and splinter beneath his knuckles.
And rage boils in him, just like it did when he found out Bruce replaced him with a deaf kid. Jason clenches his fists. Thinking about it makes him so angry, because, really, Bruce couldn't do better than find some kid who can't even hear orders to replace him? (Then again, Jason could hear orders and he just ignored them. But that's a different point entirely.) Jason has to stuff down his anger.
Tim notices. The nervousness and shame that had been on his face a moment ago have disappeared into careful mask of blankness. It's the face that Jason most often sees. And Tim must have seen the anger in Jason because he has taken a step back, up one stair. Jason reaches out towards him, because it's not like he's going to just fucking sock in him the face.
His fingers wrap around Tim's wrist. Jason is curious. What was he doing out, if not out being a hero?
A note screams, high and clear and loud, in his head. Tim jerks away and dashes up the stairs as if Jason had hit him. And he hadn't hit him. Jason would know and remember if he had hit Tim. (He remembers every confrontation and every punch, from both sides.)
He hears Tim's door open and shut. Then he hears the softer sound of Tim's bathroom door opening and closing. And then the water starts.
Tim is fucking strange.
Jason runs his hand through his hair, heading back to his place on the couch in front of Dick's laptop. He could probably find some really illicit porn for Dick to find. That would be fucking hilarious. Alfred walks by and up the stairs (probably to check on Tim) but not before ruffling Jason's hair, once. Alfred has always been relatively free with small bouts of affection.
It is one of the reasons that he hasn't left yet, burning the manor down behind him.
Jason tries to focus on the project of ruining Dick's computing experiences for the rest of his fucking life. But it isn't panning out the way he would like. That screaming note is still hovering around in the back of his mind (and it hurts, a little bit, as if a headache is starting to form around his temples).
Forty-five minutes go by (and Dick's browser history is trashed) and the hero-family returns triumphant. Alfred is there to greet them.
"Hey, Jason, has Tim come home?" Dick's computer is on the loveseat where he had left it. Jason never touched the thing, as far as anyone is concerned.
"Yeah. He was beat up," and technically he's not telling whatever Tim doesn't want him to tell (even though he doesn't know what it is) "and took a shower and is presumably sitting in the dark doing some shit that the rest of us can only guess at."
Bruce is scowling. He is still scowling when yanks the cowl backwards. Dick looks concerned and Damian just looks pissed and generally unhappy with life as fucking usual. Nothing makes that kid happy (except maybe Dickiebird's return).
"Something the matter?" Jason asks, flopping back on the couch.
"No, just..." Dick trails off.
"Drake is slipping in his patrol duties because the police frequencies were a mass of reports that Two-Face was hunting Catwoman tonight and he missed this information, resulting in damage to a nightclub."
Well. That explains a lot. Tim is slacking. But it didn't even look like he went on patrol tonight. It looked like he got in a street fight. Jason doesn't say anything and the three of them go on their merry happy way to the Batcave to discuss how fucked up in the head Tim is (because Jason can tell, and anyone who thinks Tim is perfectly fine needs to be beaten).
Jason pushes himself off the couch and heads upstairs to his room (even though it's not like there's anything special in there because Alfred found his stash of alcohol again). Tim is in the hallway, standing around like a freakish shadow. Silent like one too.
"They want to talk to me, don't they?" Jason thinks that today is the most they've ever said without punching each other. Or. Signed. Whatthefuckever.
"Probably. What were you doing? Because you were not out patrolling." Tim's eyes move to the floor. There is silence. Tim is probably used to it, but Jason isn't. He taps the toes of his feet against the floor, just for the need of sound.
"Nothing." Tim's hands finally say. "I wasn't doing anything, but I couldn't stay here. The people that were injured are my fault." Jason wants to ask how Tim got his injuries.
And Bruce and Dick hadn't mentioned and injuries.
Tim presses himself closer to the wall, as if he wants to seep into it and hide. Jason should say something. He looks fucking miserable.
"Uh, I'm... sure they won't hate you." Tim looks up, his eyes fixating on his lips. (It's discomforting. But. He does that to everyone. He reads lips, right? So. It makes sense.) "I mean. They won't hate you like. They hate me. You know."
Tim arches an eyebrow. And a wan, self-depreciating smile picks up the corners of his lips.
"They don't hate you," Tim gestures. And then he opens his door and slips into his room. It's like he was never out here, that's how quiet it is. Tim is a shadow.
Jason wonders, for a moment, what it's like to go through life in silence. Jason's always been loud. He has never been a shadow, a spirit, not like Tim.
But the thought makes him uncomfortable and he retreats in his room. He hopes Alfred hasn't found his cigarettes. Jason could really use a smoke.
(But he has. Fuck. He needs to get more. That and alcohol. Especially if he ever runs into Tim like this again. That kid is just so... disconcerting.)