A/N: This story reached twenty chapters! I can't believe it's come this far, and that it's still going. Thank you for sticking with me this far, and I hope the rest of the chapters I have planned are just as enjoyable as the others.
Let me know what you think of this one!
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.
It was strange how comfortably quiet the safehouse could be. Half the time Jason and Tim filled the rooms with the beeps and clicks of the computer, the sound of metal colliding, and their banter back and forth. The safehouse was a busy place; Tim maintained their recon and Jason maintained their weapons. But there were those times when they both settled into their tasks in separate rooms, aware of each other's presence but busying themselves with their own priorities. Something about it allowed Jason to relax, which was a feat in itself.
The sun set a few hours before, darkness enveloping Gotham. Jason sat at the table in the kitchen, sharpening his knives and giving his weapons a maintenance check. He wasn't in a rush, either. After they'd gotten dinner a wave of calmness came over the safehouse, both of them realizing they didn't have to go rushing out the moment the sun dipped below the horizon. They had a chance to breathe for the first time in a while.
It wasn't surprising that the opportunity to relax didn't last very long.
"Hey Jason?" Tim called from his room, causing Jason to look up from his weaponry. "You might want to see this."
The words prompted Jason unprop his feet from the table and stand, setting his knife down. Already he felt the energy starting to spark within him, the impending idea that he may have to leave the safehouse enough to fuel it. He crossed the threshold of the doorway and immediately his ears picked up the sounds of yelling and gunshots. Tim pushed back from the desk, allowing Jason to stride over and get a good look at the video feed on the screen. It showed an old factory where a faction of thugs that had pulled away from Black Mask had holed up to stash their drugs and do their dealings.
While those who now took orders from Jason were inside, those still loyal to Black Mask had staged an ambush. It appeared to have turned into a shootout, with Mask's men taking over. Jason could see those who survived the shootout running, choosing to save their skin rather than stay and defend the factory. It was slightly disappointing, but understandable. As they escaped the gunfire, Mask's thugs entered the factory fully armed and prepared to sweep house.
"Figures that we'd still have some rebels," Jason said, straightening up as he patted himself down, mentally listing the items he needed to grab.
"I'll come help you out with them," Tim volunteered, standing up from his chair. "I need to pick up a few things afterwards, anyway."
A flicker of suspicion lit within Jason's veins, and he cast a hesitant look to Tim. Part of him wanted to question if the teen was up for a mission, but what right did he have to say no? Tim was a good fighter and put more than enough effort in behind the scenes. If he wanted to come out into the field then Jason couldn't be against it, even if the last time they'd fought side by side had thrown Jason through a loop.
"Get your gear," Jason said instead. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe Tim just had some pent up anger he had to release—Jason understood that. It wasn't that he was judging Tim's actions, either. The violence, the brutality...it just didn't look right on the teen. And neither did it sit well in Jason's memory. It was not an event that he wanted to recreate.
"I'll only be a few minutes," Tim said as Jason walked out of the room. "I'm prepared."
Jason didn't know how he could be ready for this, but he didn't question what Tim meant. He went out to the living room and grabbed his guns, taking his leather jacket and throwing it on. His helmet sat on the table, gleaming red, and Jason picked it up and paused, looking over the helmet as it stared back at him. It occurred to him that for some criminals this was the last thing they ever saw: a blood red, solemn face condemning them to death. Easy to understand, he realized, how quickly a mask could incite fear and legend where it didn't exist before.
The sound of Tim's door opening broke Jason from his thoughts. Jason looked over, and whatever he was about to say to Tim fled his mind. What he expected to see was Tim in his own leather jacket and mask, the getup that he'd taken on ever since he started going out with Jason way back in Bludhaven. They looked like quite the pair in their matching getup; a heavily armed motorcycle gang, someone had once said.
But that was not Tim's attire now, the teen ditching the laid-back style for a true uniform. It wasn't one that held any familiarity, truly brand new. Tim wore a red and black suit, a yellow and black bird symbol situated on the chest. Two yellow belt-like straps crossed over his chest, compartments for holding various items. A yellow utility belt fastened at his hips, and a black cape fell behind him. Jason recognized the material the material of the cape and it all clicked together in an instant.
"So this is your project, huh?" Jason said once he took it all in. "Definitely not a shower curtain."
"Like it?" Tim asked, adjusting the glove on his right hand and flexing his fingers. "I figured it was time for a change."
"I thought maybe you'd just fix up the Robin suit," Jason said, leaning back against the table. He'd wondered a few times if Tim would attempt to take the Robin title back for himself. It had been unfairly ripped away from him in a way that Jason hadn't experienced. At least when Jason lost the title, it was because he died. It wasn't as though he'd been living and forcefully kicked from the nest, only to have to watch someone else take his place.
"Robin can't go the places that we go," Tim said, lowering his arm. "But Red Robin? That's a different story."
It was different. Clad in the unmistakable green and red of the Robin suit, Tim reminded Jason of a child. Maybe that was because Jason himself had been so young when he'd worn it, that Robin had always been passed down to a kid. But in this suit, Tim looked older-broader, taller, and much more menacing. There was an intimidating aura surrounding the uniform; it bled darkness with its colors.
"Red Robin and the Red Hood. That's gonna get mixed up," Jason said, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. He might have been surprised, but he did like the suit. "Has a ring to it though."
"You'll get used to it," Tim said, pulling the black mask over his face. Another mask to hide behind, another legend on the rise. "Everyone will."
By the time they'd made it to the factory, the ambush was over. Jason and Tim stood on the roof of the building, looking down through the dirty skylights and into the rooms below. Black Mask's men littered the factory, walking through the overhanging catwalks and on the main floor. They cracked open crates filled with weapons and drugs, arming themselves with both. Jason gave an exasperated sigh, "Great. Nothing like making a situation worse."
Tim peered down, his masked eyes narrowed as he thought, the wheels turning in his mind. "It's inconvenient but it shouldn't be that bad. We can still handle it."
"You're talking like you've got a plan," Jason said, looking up at Tim as he took hold of his guns.
"Give me five minutes to check the perimeter," Tim answered as he stood. Before Jason could ask him why, the teen dropped off the side of the building without a sound.
The Red Hood stared in the space where Tim had gone, furrowing his brow. There was nothing wrong with Tim having a plan. Plans were what made these types of events go smoothly. But really, what did they need other than to get in, deal with the thugs, and get out? The most complicated part would be avoiding getting shot, but even that wasn't so bad. They'd done it plenty of times before.
He knew he shouldn't be questioning Tim; it wasn't fair when the teen never doubted him. Jason looked back through the window, watching the thugs gather more of the goods. He shifted, scanning the activity as much as he could see through the grime. Shadows glided along the walls, and Jason swore he could see movement in the corners. Curious he leaned right, then left, trying to get a better look. But no matter how he angled himself to try and see further, the window wasn't wide enough for him to see the full length of the room.
Suddenly Tim's voice filled the comm, "Are you done dancing up there?"
Jason stopped moving. "I didn't ask to be judged. What's taking you so long, anyway?"
There was the clink of metal latching onto the roof, and Jason turned his head as Tim ascended, landing lightly and reeling his grappling back in. "Just being thorough."
"Right," Jason said and rose to his feet. "What's the plan once we get inside?"
"We're not going inside," Tim answered, his expression neutral.
The quizzical look that Jason shot him spoke for itself. Tim responded to it by reaching into his belt and pulling out a round mechanical object. It didn't look like much; it was the size of a tennis ball, a clear circle on the front that looked as if it would light up when activated. From the lines around it, Jason assumed that there was some sort of mechanism inside that would allow the object to attach where it was placed.
"Okay," Jason said suspiciously. "What's with your new toy?"
"Not that new," Tim admitted. "Just modified from Batman's arsenal. It's made to pack more of a punch."
Jason looked at the device as Tim pocketed it, trying to remember what Batman carried with him that was similar. The answer dawned on him as Tim pulled out another device: a small cylinder with a button on top. It didn't take more than half a second for Jason to realize what it was, his eyes widening.
Before he could say anything, Tim's thumb pressed down on the detonator. Jason looked down through the window, watching as red lights burst from the corners of the factory, setting the inside of the building in a threatening crimson glow. They made a deliberate line not only in the corners, but in the fundamental stress points of the factory. Jason looked back up at the teen, the red glow reflecting on his black mask, casting a sinister look over Tim's otherwise expressionless face.
"Move," was all Tim said before he took off, dashing across the factory roof. Jason's instincts kicked in faster than his thoughts, sending him surging forwards and following Tim's lead. The pair dove from the roof, firing their grapplings for a nearby building, the wire wrapping around its spires. Jason's feet lifted off the ground, and he cut through the air as below him the thugs rushed out of the factory, swearing and yelling as they searched for cover.
Jason and Tim glided through the air, landing on top of the building. As they touched down on the roof Jason turned, just in time to see the factory engulf itself in flames in smoke. The walls crumbled, a deafening roar filling the air, the soundwaves resonating in Jason's bones. In moments there was nothing left of the factory but burning debris and smoke, filling Gotham's night sky with ash and dust.
For a minute all Jason could do was stare at the aftermath of the explosion. Then his thoughts all came rushing back at once, snapping him back to attention. He whirled around to face Tim, voicing the only full thought he could produce. "What the hell was that?"
"The location was compromised," Tim said as he attached his grappling back to his belt, the words falling undisturbed from his mouth, easy as breathing. "Even if we took care of those thugs, it's likely they already shared the information with others. It would just become a warzone, and anything stored there would be stolen. There's no way we could have gotten control back."
It was so cold, so logical and calm, that Jason could only stand there in astonishment. The unsettled feeling crept up on him yet again, but this time it was different. Jason wasn't sure he was even looking at the same person that he'd gotten to know over the past months. There was such a detachment from Tim, a distance that he hadn't felt even when they'd first met. Tim gave off such an air of indifference-so apathetic that it was chilling.
Because even Jason, who was all for killing criminals, at least felt emotion when he did it.
Jason gestured to the decimated factory with one hand, still facing his partner. "So blowing everything up and causing a scene was the best solution?"
"Why does it matter? You would have killed them anyway," Tim said, not sounding accusatory. He was simply stating a fact, one that he was confident in.
Jason tried to reason with himself, tried to not be hypocritical. How could he be? Tim wasn't wrong-he probably would have decided to kill them off if they proved to be dangerous enough. But that was Jason's code. It was his philosophy, which had reasons, rules, and boundaries. He did not kill just to kill. He wouldn't have blown up a whole factory of thugs without assessing and deciding if it was needed. But Tim had given them thirty seconds to run for their lives and turned away without wondering if they'd make it or not.
This wasn't Tim. It couldn't be Tim.
"It was efficient," Tim said, shrugging his shoulders. Sirens came to life, growing from a soft hum to a piercing screech as they drew closer. Soon the entire area would be another crime scene, for the GCPD and Batman. They'd have to escape before someone saw them-as Jason had no doubt that he'd be the first suspect on Batman's radar.
Tim regarded Jason for a moment, and when Jason said nothing the teen blew out a breath. "I have to go and pick up some hardware for our tech. I'll meet you back at the safe house, alright?"
He headed to the opposite side of the rooftop, towards the inner city. Jason watched, not knowing what to say, and finally let out a simple, "Yeah, okay."
Tim gave a wave to show that he heard, without turning around, and then stepped off the roof, escaping the chaos. Jason turned back and looked at the burning remains of the factory. Cop cars, firetrucks, and ambulances came rolling in, uniformed men and women rushing the scene. Jason glanced upwards, and through the rifts of smoke, he could see the Bat signal glowing faintly in the sky.
It was enough to spur Jason into movement, and he melted in with the shadows and disappeared without a trace.
The trek back to the safehouse did nothing to clear Jason's head. He spent the whole time unable to shake the knowledge the something was clearly wrong with Tim, in a way that he did not expect. Jason understood grieving, he understood a shifting focus to align more with the type of work that he did. But this was way more than accepting Jason's lifestyle. This was a change in Tim's morality that left Jason at a loss for words.
It was crazy, in a way, since this was what Jason had envisioned in the beginning. Pulling Tim away from Bruce, getting him to join the Red Hood crusade-making Bruce lose the partner he'd replaced him with and getting the new bird on Jason's side instead; that had been his perfect vision. And here it was, right in front of him, and instead of being proud, Jason was horrified.
If only Tim hadn't gotten to him. If only he'd never empathized with him, never saw him as anything more than a pawn: then everything would be as it should. But instead Jason was left with a pit in his stomach and the worry of what line Tim would cross next. He worried that if Tim actually did take a life, he'd lose himself for good.
Jason took off his helmet and belt, running a hand through his hair as he looked around the empty safehouse. He didn't like the suspicious sense that he felt. Jason always had decent intuition; it came with living on the streets. Tim's behavior was enough of a warning sign that something was seriously wrong. Jason wanted answers before he discovered what was going on too late.
Talking to him would produce nothing. Tim made it clear he didn't want to discuss his actions anymore than why he did them and how effective they were to their cause. If it were that easy, that simple, Jason would do it. But he knew that the teen wouldn't cooperate. If he was going to learn anything, he'd have to do some digging. Jason glanced towards Tim's door, and after a minute of internal debate he walked over and pushed it open, going into the teen's room.
The computer light filled the otherwise dark room, the curtains shut tight, blocking out any street light outside. Jason pushed the chair back and sat down, putting in the passcode that gave him access to the computer. But Jason wasn't foolish; he'd learned a few things from Tim about code in their time as partners. Jason searched the computer system, finding files that were locked from normal access. That raised enough of a red flag to him, and Jason cracked his knuckles and set to work on hacking into them.
It took him longer than he wanted, but Jason was smarter than people gave him credit for. Eventually the files unlocked-he probably only had a few minutes before the computer realized he'd bypassed the security and quickly locked him out again. Jason leaned forwards, clicking on one of the files and opened it.
He was met with still images, captured from their feeds. All of them featured the new Robin, alongside either Batman or Nightwing. The most recent, Jason noticed, were from when the trio investigated the docks only a few nights earlier. Jason frowned, sorting through the pictures before he dismissed them from the screen. He knew what looking at pictures like that did: it made the anger and resentment burn hotter inside, making it flow through the veins until it was nothing short of an obsession. He hadn't expected Tim to let it go, but he'd hoped that working with him would at least give him a reprieve from the thoughts.
Apparently, he'd been wrong.
Jason clicked open another file, named only with a string of numbers. Different documents came onto the multiple screens, and Jason scanned over them, his brow furrowing as he read. They were police records from Iron Heights prison, documentation of the crime and sentencing of George Harkness. Captain Boomerang, Jason remembered. The man who had killed Tim's father. The document contained his prison photo: long blonde hair and a smug look on his face, not a hint of regret. Seeing it made Jason's eyes narrow in distaste at both the criminal and the thoughts he had about the file so far.
The fact that Tim had all of this stored on his computer did not bode well. Jason kept reading, going to the next document and quickly reading through the legal jargon. It took him a minute to realize what it was: a forged order for Harkness to be transferred from Iron Heights to Gotham City. According to the report, the transport went into effect a few days prior. But why bring him to Gotham? Why would Tim want his father's murderer in the same vicinity when he was tucked behind bars miles away?
It took seconds before it all clicked, how every piece of connected and made sense dawning on him. It was not a slow connecting of the dots that led him by the hand to an answer. No, it was as though a semi truck had rammed into him full force, the impact forcing the understanding through every possible wall of denial his mind tried to conjure. Jason's widened, jaw falling open as everything came together, and he finally knew what it all meant.
Tim planned to kill Harkness.
The reckless behavior, the violence he demonstrated-it was all preparation for this. It was a matter of revenge, something that he probably wanted for a long time. Under Batman, he couldn't have done it. But under Jason? The opportunity was there. No code to hold him back. No judgment for having those thoughts, let alone wanting to go through with them. It was the prime situation to pull this off, and Jason knew it.
This was far more than he had bargained for. Jason fell into the back of the chair, looking at the screen as the understanding sank in. The way he saw it, he had two options: do something, or let Tim be. The latter was out. Letting this go, sitting back and watching, was never possible for him. Now that he had all of this information at his disposal, the ache in his bones to act was far too strong to ignore. What he could do about it, however...
Jason pressed his lips together, debating. He could help Tim get his revenge, help him give Harkness what he deserved. Jason knew full well what that want was like, what that desire did to a person. It was in his power to make sure that the plan went through without any interference. For Tim, it would be a life for a life, taking the vengeance that he deserved.
But once Tim crossed that line, what would be left of him?
It was so hypocritical, so unfair in a way. Jason crossed the line long ago. For him there was no going back, no pulling him from that edge; he'd jumped on his own accord long before anyone had the chance to talk him out of it. But it wasn't too late to pull Tim back. Even if that wasn't what the teen wanted, even if he really did want to go through with his plan, Jason couldn't let it happen. This was his fault-he poisoned Tim's mind and morality, causing all of this to spiral out of hand. It was all his doing that Tim had lost himself to this madness. Jason was the one solely responsible. And that meant he had to put a stop to it.
But Tim was smart, having all the phases of his plan in motion by now. It was too late to stop Harkness from coming to Gotham. Tim was probably two steps ahead already, just to make sure he could go through with it. Knowing that left the Red Hood to wrestle with what to do next, including swallowing his pride. Jason didn't want to admit it, but he had no choice but to reconcile with the fact that he couldn't do this on his own. If he was going to stop Tim, he needed outside help.
Jason checked the time; it was only a little after twelve. Early for people like him. If he worked fast, he could catch an audience that night. Preferably a small one. But Jason didn't have the right to ask for much other than a chance. He'd rather shoot himself in the foot than send out a distress signal, but unfortunately it was necessary. Shaking his head he sat forwards, hands gravitating to the keyboard once more.
He had a message to send.