Inspired by Envysparkler on AO3, who has the best Jason and Tim acting as reluctant brother fics.
*Passes around disclaimer tag* Neocolai is not making a profit from writing DC fanfiction.
Warnings for this story: Kind of dark, with pocketed doses of fluff and cuddles. Harm is dealt to a teenager. (Nothing NC-17)
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It was a bad night. Rain pooled in overfilled gutters, slicking the rooftops and muting the city in pelting static. There was just enough wind to drive the rain into needles. Traffic piled up for miles; the highway was an unmoving stream of glaring headlights and blaring horns, and another EMT car wailed to the south end. Even the criminals weren't out tonight. Neither was Batman, or anyone sane enough to patrol in the middle of Noah's flood.
For the record, it wasn't pouring rain two hours ago. (Eve of a rooftop, shelter, light patter overhead, warm. He just shut his eyes for a second.) By the time Tim jerked awake, shaking under a sudden leak in the tiles above him, the misting shower had turned into a roar and his phone was cluttered with worried texts and 'call me nows.' Oops.
Com interference in the storm, plus an impromptu nap. (He should really start taking sleep seriously. Although caffeine pills were a better idea.) It was the phone call from Bruce that finally jolted him away. They probably thought he'd drowned in an open manhole or something. Tim typed out a quick response to satisfy Bruce and stowed the phone, retrieving his staff from where it had rolled into the gutter. (Juvenile. Damian was ten and he knew better than to lose his weapon.)
At least there were no witnesses to tonight's flop. Tim could slip inside the cave, mangle an excuse, ditch the soggy uniform, and still catch two hours before it was time to get ready for work. (Skip that; he'd already lost a whole evening sleeping. Hot shower and coffee and he'd finish that case Jason was nagging him about. He was feeling more awake already.)
Nobody sane should've been out tonight, and Tim staggered momentarily when the streetlight flashed on red chrome. Either Jason personally wanted to make sure his petty project was finished, or ... Tim was really in trouble.
"Bruce sent you to fetch me?" Tim sighed. He didn't realize he was out for that long. "I already texted him. You didn't have to bother."
If Nightwing and Robin were out searching, he'd never get to hear the end of it. Bye-bye freedom, hello curfews and mandatory nap hours. Honestly, he was sixteen and managing a company. He could judge his own limitations. Tonight was an exception; he wouldn't botch it again.
"Fine," Tim grumbled, slogging by a silent Red Hood (and wasn't that just an indicator of how badly he'd messed up. Jason never lacked a snide criticism). "Show me up in front of B. You don't have to use me as an excuse to drop by the manor on occasion."
"You just can't shut up, can you?"
Okay, that was a little rude. Tim cast Jason a quick scowl. He really wasn't up to verbal sparring tonight. "You don't have to escort me to the cave. I'm fine getting back on my own."
There was a flash of tension in leather-clad shoulders. (Was the jacket new or was the lighting really that bad?) "Like I'd be caught dead in there."
Okay, one — the death jokes were really old, and there was way too much venom in that jest to make it funny. Two, Tim was cold and wet and he wasn't dealing with this tonight. He was perfectly capable of walking home without Bruce calling in backup. Flipping Jason one for the effort, he kept walking.
The bruising grip on his shoulder was the first indicator that tonight was about to get a whole lot worse. Tim realized belatedly that he might have underestimated the Red Hood's truce as Jason whipped him around, fist drawn back. There was no rough-housing jest as leather swarmed Tim's vision.
"Beating the sass out of you never gets old, Replacement."
Red Robin was so easy. It didn't matter which universe Hood dropped into, the pattern was predictable. The kid put up a scrap, danced around a little, maybe threw a few punches, but it always ended the same. He was small and light, and he didn't have the vivacity to keep up. Sometimes he went down silently, biting his lip until blood ran down his chin. Sometimes he cried, big fat tears that he tried to hide behind the mask. Always the same litany of questions followed: Why are you doing this? What do you want? What did I ever do to you?
This probably marked the first time he walked straight into Hood's punch, though. There was barely a flicker of bewilderment before knuckles met bone. Cartilage crunched and blood vessels burst in the eye as the Replacement staggered to one knee, staff rolling from his hand. He clutched at his splintered cheek and swayed, gasping wetly around a mouthful of blood.
Unbelievable.
This was supposed to be Gotham's Robin? If Hood had realized the kid would just take it, he might've pulled his punch. Any brat on the street would've known to duck. Either the Replacement was stupid enough to trust his worst enemy, or this universe's version of Jason Todd was a wuss. (There were, apparently, lamer versions than the baker in Crime Alley.) He ought to be able to stand more than a little love tap, though.
"Get up, Replacement," Hood snapped. "I thought the Bat trained you to fight the real bad guys."
"What the heck is wrong with you?" the Replacement groaned, stumbling back far enough to fumble for his staff. He straightened warily, blinking past what was probably some superb double-vision, and settled into a beleaguered stance. Good; it was going to be one of those fights. Hood wasn't imperiling his existence with each multiverse jump just to replay an episode of One-Punch Man.
"If you have to ask, you're hanging out with the wrong friends," Hood said. He ambled up the slanted roof and the Replacement retreated step for step. He was walking up an incline, however, and those boots could only provide so much friction against wet tiles. "Watch your step, Starling. Hate to see you clip your wings early."
Even behind the white lenses, he could feel the Replacement assess; ponder; jump to conclusions. "You're not the Red Hood."
"Really?" Tilting his head, Hood tapped a finger against his chin. "Is it because I gave up the fight? Started playing nice? Warmed up to Batsy?"
The Replacement twitched. Ah, so it was one of those universes.
"Maybe I'm an impostor in a helmet," Hood suggested. "A botched clone. A new punchline in the Joker cycle."
Another grimace was veiled under a paltry attempt to staunch the bloody nose. The kid was starting to shiver, shock blending with caffeine jitters and a cold shower. Hood prowled closer, stealing two more inches of neutral ground. "Do I need to prove myself to you, Replacement? Or did you really think I didn't notice the lack of backup?"
There was a full-bodied flinch this time, but Hood didn't need confirmation. Empty rooftops for miles around. Desperate grip on the bo staff. Wobbling stance that still pleaded, friendly ground . There wouldn't be any reinforcements — not while Jason Todd could retract from the cozy family dynamics. He was part of the joint around here. Bruce's kiddo. Big Brother Hood. Backup to the backup in case something went wrong. The Red Hood couldn't be evil because that would shiver down every wall of trust the kid had stacked around himself like sand bricks on a low dock.
"Who could believe that good ol' Jay turned out to be a bad egg after all," Hood taunted softly. He reached slowly for the latches of his helmet, giving the Replacement the full, dramatic reveal. Maybe he was a little sharper around the edges in his universe. There was more white bleaching into his hair every time he passed a mirror, and his eyes were a permanent shade of sharp green. It was hard to tell in the dark, though, and the Replacement was definitely stuttering each breath.
"You're really going to make me prove it, aren't you, Timmy?" Hood set down the helmet and sidestepped, satisfied when the Replacement braced his staff between them. Decent reflexes, at least; Batman didn't waste his training this time. "Let's start with the preliminaries."
Nothing circumstantial — too many factors could shift in a single timeline. The Replacement's parents could still be alive, or he could've been orphaned for years. Maybe Bruce never adopted him. Maybe the fourth brat never showed up. There were some constants in every universe, however, and one of those predictable patterns was Tim. No matter the multiverse, or the environment, the third son of Batman was an irreversible tide of uncertainty.
"I know you lie awake in your room wondering if this is the last time you fumbled a case," Hood taunted, claiming the next roof tile. "I know you check your bike every night before patrol, just in case someone split the wires. I know you're waiting for the moment when you step into the manor and find the place empty for the summer."
"This isn't funny," the Replacement hissed, skittering to find unscathed ground.
"No?" Hood stole two tiles and cornered the kid at the edge of the roof. "Then call B. Tell him you're scared of the Big Bad Hood. I'm sure he'll understand. After all, family always comes first."
And, bingo. The quick, desperate flash of fear implying that family never included him . Hood seized his moment, reaching out to cuff the Replacement's collar. Too slow: the kid snatched his own opportunity and snapped a kick to Hood's thigh, twisting sharply to the right and lunging off the rooftop with the snap-hiss of a grappling gun.
Soggy teenager throwing himself into empty space with a concussion and a severe case of emotional turbulence. Hood winced when the clatter of a poorly aimed line accompanied a dull thud and a muffled cry. Yep, that probably hurt more than the first punch. Idiot kid always had to mess up everything.
Sighing, Hood tethered his own line and followed the Replacement's plunge, taking his time releasing the line. Puddled rain mixed with street grime, staining his boots like grime in a rusty crate. Or old blood.
"Going somewhere?" Hood posed, taking an exaggerated step out of the puddle and shaking water from his boots.
The Replacement hobbled back against the wall, leaning heavily on one leg. There was only tentative weight on the right heel, the arch braced at an angle. He took the brunt of the fall on one foot, then. Probably sprained his knee, too. There would be no merry chase through the alleys tonight, but Hood could make do with a shorter episode. He was drenched through as it is.
"End of the line, Replacement," he goaded, spreading his hands out. "Nowhere left to run. Now why don't you put down the stick and let Uncle Jay finish the job."
"You really aren't the Red Hood," the Replacement snorted. His hand whipped out and Hood ducked the first batarang, catching the second and flicking it back at the kid's shoulder. The staff clattered as the Replacement dropped into a clumsy roll, nearly detonated by his own arsenal.
Explosive batarang to the face. Someone was playing nasty.
"Wanna take that bet?" Hood challenged, plucking up the fallen staff. A double handful of missiles pelleted the wall behind him, filling his vision with concrete chips and smoke. Puddles sloshed under desperate flight.
"Smoke pellets in a cloudburst?" Hood called after him. "Who trained you?"
The chemical screen was already dissipating, but Hood didn't need his sight to follow the clumsy sloshes ahead. The kid had lost his grappler, taken out one leg, and ditched his staff. This was way too easy.
"Run, run, as fast as you can..." Hood singsonged, kicking at the puddles as he approached. A soft glow betrayed the Replacement's position: a phone screen glaring behind a dumpster. Kid had managed to corner himself against a brick wall.
Hood's phone started pinging.
Huh. What were the odds that he picked the same model as his counterpart in this universe? There was a higher chance of Dick and Harley producing identical triplets.
Smirking, Hood swiped the screen.
The audio immediately swamped with interference; probably due to the shared line. He could still hear the tremulous, "Jason?" followed by shaky breaths.
"Yeah, Kiddo?" Hood said gently. Who knew what he called the brat in this universe. Maybe Timmers or Timmy or even Tiny Tim. Abstract was safer than guesswork.
There was a hesitant puff of relief. "Jason, I... sorry to bother you, but … I need... I need backup."
Trust without confidence. Good to know this Jason wasn't a total loser for nestlings.
"Okay, where are you?" Hood crooned. He edged forward, planting his feet deliberately in wet, sucking patches of muck. There was a gasp and a light shuffle on the audio, while the shadow of Red Robin curled further behind the dumpster.
"Off Vince avenue... I think..." the Replacement whispered. "You don't have to ... I mean... is everyone there with you?"
He probably meant, ' are you safe at home and not hounding me ,' but Hood didn't care for the implications. Everyone could include the Bats, the Titans, the League... any combination could mean a host of problems. He didn't pack for Supers. Maybe it was time to wrap up the night's project.
"Just me," Hood said. He stepped around the corner and lowered the phone, letting the screenlight play on the kid's face. Hope fled before despair and the Replacement scrambled to stand, latching onto another batarang,
"Jay — Why are you doing this?" he choked, bravado a futile front against the enemy.
"I've been running you down for the last hour and now you ask why," Hood deadpanned. "Wrong question, Replacement. Why not?"
"You told Batman you didn't want to fight anymore," the Replacement accused, his voice wrought like a child walking in on a hacked Christmas scene, shredded wrapping strewn around limp bodies and a red tree. "Why now? What did I ever do to you?"
"Now those are the right questions," Hood praised. Finally, they were back on script. Too bad he was out of time. "Let's just say this is long overdue." He raised the staff over his head, clacking his tongue when the Replacement skittered away like a dang eel, hugging the wall.
"This isn't you, Jason," the kid insisted. It might sound more convincing if he wasn't trying so hard to reassure himself. "It's Crane, isn't it? We can call Batman; he'll fix you."
Oh, that was the wrong thing to say.
"I mean — he'll fix this! " the Replacement pleaded, hurling himself to the side as the staff whistled past his stomach. "There's nothing wrong — I didn't mean — Jason, just stop!"
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with me , Replacement," Hood snarled, whirling the staff in an arc. He snapped it back, feinting a strike, and planted a foot in the kid's stomach as he tried to shimmy for the open alley. The staff cracked down on narrow shoulders and the Replacement fell with a cry, tripping up over his own cape.
"There's nothing wrong that he didn't create!" Hood emphasized, rage burning into his stomach as he punctuated each word with another kick. Another snap to the nose and the Replacement toppled, whimpering as he cupped his bloody face. Finally.
"Besides," Hood considered, hefting the staff with some contemplation, "If you really thought the Bat would save you, you would've called him first."
He smiled thinly and raised the staff over his head.
The screams never got old.