"Seriously Jason – you're the best," Tim mumbles through the chunks of red velvet waffles rolling around in his mouth.
Jason smirks, looking pleased with himself as he tosses two more waffles onto the already massive pile stacked in the center of the kitchen counter. It's almost eleven in the morning, but Tim had woken up only twenty minutes ago; immediately he had sought out Jason and began pestering him about the promised brunch. Having a lot less luck with his sleep, Jason readily agreed – anything to distract him from the dark thoughts once again bombarding his mind.
The two boys had offered to share the brunch with Alfred, but the butler had politely refused, looking rather mortified at the red velvet waffles lathered in cream cheese frosting. Bruce had taken one look at the mess in the kitchen before walking back out without a word. That was all perfectly fine with Tim and Jason – more for them.
"You probably shouldn't eat all of the waffles, Tim," says Jason. "Unless you want to throw up on whatever criminals you and Batman plan on punching out tonight."
Tim laughs. "I feel as though that tactic would be more effective in convincing them to abandon a life of crime than anything else I could do to them, don't you think?"
Scraping the bottom of the mixing bowl for the last of the batter, Jason grins. "It'd convince me, that's for sure."
"Whatever the tactic, I'd appreciate it if you strived to come home at an earlier time tonight, Master Timothy," Alfred says, pushing his way through the kitchen's swinging door. "Tomorrow is a school day, and I won't have you missing your morning classes again."
"I don't see why I still have to go to school and Jason doesn't," says Tim, waving his fork in Jason's direction.
Jason takes a large bite of his waffle. "I'm eighteen, Timbers. I don't have to go to school if I don't want to." A cocky smile spreads across his lips. "Besides, I've taught myself far better than those jokes at any public school could."
"But you wouldn't go to a public school," Tim points out. "You know we go to –"
"Those stuffy private schools?" Jason grimaces, then shrugs. "Still can teach myself everything I need to know."
Alfred raises an eyebrow, disapproval flickering in his eyes. "Master Jason, I am aware that neither myself nor Master Bruce can force you to do anything you do not wish. However," he continues, picking up a washrag from the kitchen sink and wiping at the batter powder covering the countertop. "I do agree with Master Timothy in his belief that having a completed formal education would be beneficial to you."
"Yes, yes," Jason says, waving his hand. Dropping the waffle to his plate, he plucks the washrag from Alfred's hand and begins scrubbing at the counter tiles himself. "You and Bruce have both given me this talk multiple times, Alfred. Maybe, okay? Maybe someday. But not now, not yet."
Tim's eyes flash to Jason's cheek for the slightest instant. The thought of Jason's scars being one of the contributing factors to his opposition to going back to school has crossed Tim's mind multiple times. Of course, he never asks Jason about it – trying to talk to Jason about anything relating to his scars is impossible. Jason will immediately shut the conversation down, and often times he'll disappear for hours after, managing to avoid both Tim and Bruce's frantic searching. There are many places Jason will go after such confrontations, the most common being Mercy Bridge. He never goes to Gotham High's baseball field anymore.
Tim shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and focusing back to where Jason currently stands in the kitchen. Watching Jason with a solemn gaze, Alfred gives the older boy a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Very well." His voice takes on a more cheerful tone when he speaks next. "I have some other news for you two, though."
"Yeah?" Tim asks brightly.
Alfred gives a rather smug-looking smile. The rare expression sends a jolt of nervousness through Jason and Tim, who glance at each other.
"Wayne Enterprises is putting on a charity event next week," says Alfred. "Volunteers will be going to The Thomas and Martha Wayne Home for Foster Children and spending the afternoon there, doing a variety of activities with the children. And Bruce Wayne's adopted sons are leading the event."
"What?" Jason and Tim exclaim simultaneously.
"Hold on there, Alfred," Jason says, dropping the washrag to the counter. "I don't think –"
"There will be no arguing about the matter," interrupts Alfred. "You boys need to involve yourself more in these types of things."
"Don't we already do enough helping of Gotham?" Tim argues. "At night?" Jason nods his agreement vigorously.
Alfred frowns. "The people of Gotham do not know it is you doing that. This is a chance for you to do some good for Gotham, as Jason Todd and Tim Drake. Do not worry yourselves – Master Dick will be joining you. And I must say, he was much more gracious about the idea than you two."
Jason moans, pressing a waffle batter-encrusted hand to his forehead. "Fantastic. Whose idea was this anyway? Bruce's?"
Alfred begins walking towards the kitchen door. "No. It was mine." Jason and Tim's mouths drop open, but Alfred ignores them. "Finish your meal, you two. And I expect this mess cleaned up within a quarter of an hour, Master Jason."
The door swings shut, leaving two flabbergasted boys to stare at each other over a pile of waffles.
/
There are some days Dr. Penelope Young absolutely hates working at Arkham Asylum. This is one of them.
Water drips from a leaky pipe above her head, splatting onto the cold floor and pooling at her feet. The room she is in is dim, as two of the six overhanging lights have burnt out; no one has bothered to change them for months now. Scum and dirt cover the walls, showcasing years of neglect.
The computers Dr. Young are currently working on are of high quality though. That's because she has had them brought into this room by her own personal request. Their bright screens and smooth plastic coverings contrast starkly with their surroundings, only amplifying the grimness of the place. Frowning, Dr. Young keeps her eyes glued to the main computer monitor as she types.
"Look at me, bruja…"
The strained whisper sends a chill down Dr. Young's spine. The voice is still instantly recognizable to anyone who's heard it before, though now it has become cracked and worn – a ghost of the powerful thing it once had been. Stiffening, Dr. Young continues to type.
"Cobarde…" comes the withered hiss.
Straightening her shoulders, Dr. Young finally lifts her gaze to match it with that of the person hanging from the wall in front of her.
If he can even be called a person anymore.
He is hardly more than skin and bones; tubes run out of multiple areas of his body, fanning out in different directions like the legs of a spider. Discolored skin hangs from his limbs, looking as though even the slightest touch would break it open and spill whatever blood is left within. Which would not be much. Every breath he takes is hoarse and faint, and his bloodshot eyes are barely able to focus.
"You are doing science a great service, Bane," Dr. Young says, struggling to keep her voice calm. "This is a necessary sacrifice."
"You will…regret this…" wheezes Banes, his voice barely audible.
Dr. Young presses her lips together, hoping that her discomfort is not obvious. "I've come so far. I need you for this." She doesn't seem to be talking to Bane though – rather, the words seem to be a feeble attempt at justifying her own actions. Dr. Young swallows. "If it's worth anything…I am sorry."
His eyes burning with hatred, Bane spits weakly onto the floor between him and Dr. Young.
Dr. Young stares at Bane's shriveled form for a second longer, and then drops her gaze back to the computer screen. "Computer – begin record of today's procedure." Trying to ignore the twisting feeling in her gut, Dr. Young types in a new command into the keyboard. "Continuation of the Titan experiment. Subject is still responsive to tests and stimulation. Subject has passed his routine checkup and has been deemed stable enough to have another sample be taken today." She takes a deep breath. "I will begin."
/
After cleaning the kitchen, Jason goes down to the Batcave to find Bruce deeply immersed in work at the hologram table. The image of a new model for the Batplane's thrust reverser system hovers over the glass, which Bruce critically studies, adjusting parts here and there as he types notes into a small tablet. He doesn't bother to look up as Jason approaches, keeping his eyes focused on the project.
Stalking over to the table, Jason smacks the top button that reverts the holographic image back into the translucent surface. Bruce frowns and finally raises his eyes, his fingers still hovering over the tablet.
"Yes?" he grunts.
"You had Barbara track me again last night," accuses Jason. "After I asked you to not do that. And don't bother denying it; as good as Barbara is, my equipment is still able to pick her up." Jason gives a frustrated huff. "I'm eighteen years old, Bruce – I don't need a babysitter."
Bruce's frown deepens. "We're only looking out for you."
"I don't need looking out for," Jason says. "I can take care of myself. You should know that – you trained me." Jason gives the hologram table a hard rap with his knuckles. "Look, I did as you asked, and I hung around you and Tim for the first month I was the Gotham Knight. Even though three's a crowd and we probably looked like idiots, nearly tripping over each other as we took out petty car thieves. But I've been out there for over three months now, and I think I deserve some benefit of the doubt that I can handle this whole crime fighting thing without you or Barbara breathing down my neck."
"I have no doubt that you can handle the demands of the job," Bruce says. "I just want to be sure you are taking all the necessary precautions while out there."
"Of course I am," snaps Jason, his offense obvious.
Bruce purses his lips, and he seems to brace himself as he speaks. "I know you think you are Jason, but…you can be rather reckless at times. Before your…capture…"
Jason grits his teeth.
"And even now, after."
"So that's what this is, then?" Jason grinds out. "You think I'm still that stupid child who got himself caught? You think I haven't learned from that, Bruce?"
"Have you?" Bruce asks.
Fury burns in Jason's eyes. "You really are a piece of work." Clenching his fists, Jason spins around on his heel and walks back towards the elevators. "If I catch you or Barbara watching me again, I'll disable my tracking device."
The moment the elevator doors close, Bruce lets out a tired sigh and rubs a hand across his forehead. Abandoning the thrust reverser, Bruce instead pulls up the model for the latest tracer he currently has everyone wearing in their suits. Immediately he begins examining it, determined to have an updated version by the end of the week that Jason's equipment won't be able to detect.
Despite himself, Bruce can't deny the twinge of anxiety that had sprung up within him at Jason's threat. Jason wouldn't be that arrogant and stupid, Bruce tells himself. Disabling his tracking device before he had gone after the Joker last time had been his biggest mistake – and he knows it. But when Jason gets angry enough, it can be hard to predict what his next move will be.
And Jason is smart. It's only a matter of time before he finds the second tracer Bruce had secretly installed into Jason's helmet. Bruce frowns at the hologram, a sudden sense of urgency gripping him as he begins to update the current model. He'll put this new tracer into Jason's suit by the end of the weekend, damn the consequences if Jason finds out.
Which he won't.
He can't.
/
The heavy thud of leather being stricken echoes throughout the training room, giving sound to Jason's rage as he hits a punching bag over and over. Sweat runs down his brow, dripping into the corners of his eyes, but he doesn't bother to wipe the moisture away. All he focuses on is the satisfying sound of his fists connecting with the solid material.
He still doesn't trust me.
The thought burns in Jason's mind as he twists, delivering a sharp kick to the punching bag. The bag flies outwards and swings back in to meet another one of Jason's punches. Gritting his teeth, Jason continues his attack, his breath getting more ragged as he works off his anger.
"Careful there, you might break something."
Snarling, Jason spins around, throwing his leg out towards the sudden voice. Tim easily blocks the kick and retaliates with a thrust of his hand, but Jason knocks it aside with little effort.
"What do you want, Tim?" snaps Jason.
"I could almost smell your anger down the hall, so I thought I'd come to offer myself as your personal rage outlet," Tim answers. He lunges forward, ducking a punch and jabbing his elbow into Jason's stomach. Jason grunts and stumbles backwards, but he regains his balance just in time and flips backwards over a pile of weights; a moment's hesitation and he would've crashed right into them.
"Nice," Tim comments, watching Jason land on a stack of yoga mats placed behind the weights.
Jason doesn't reply. Instead, he launches into the air and grabs onto a pair of hanging rings, using them to flip himself onto the other side of Tim.
"I'm guessing Bruce is the cause of your little temper tantrum?" Tim asks. Jason picks up a sandbag and chucks it directly at Tim, but Tim jumps into the air out of harm's way, kicking the sandbag down as he flies over it. "I mean, Bruce always seems to know exactly the right thing to say."
Jason grits his teeth, bracing himself as Tim rushes towards him. "He's just –" Jason begins, blocking another punch from Tim. "He's so…"
"Frustrating? Lacking in any ability to hold a normal conversation?"
Jason knocks away another one of Tim's kicks. "Something like that."
Tim throws himself to the left and gives a hard push to the punching bag Jason had been using. The bag swings out and slams into Jason, who is knocked onto his back with a loud thud. Tim snorts and struts over to Jason's side. "So do you wanna tell me what our brilliant detective said to piss you off?"
"No," Jason grumbles. "I don't." Jason suddenly whips his foot out, kicking Tim's legs out from beneath him; with a cry of surprise, Tim crashes to the floor mat. Groaning, Tim rolls over beside Jason, but neither of the boys bother to get up.
A few minutes pass, with both of them staring up at the ceiling of the training room. Finally, a low sigh escapes Jason. "He…doesn't trust me."
Tim sits up, bending his legs and wrapping his arms around them as he leans forward to look down at Jason. "What do you mean?"
Jason shrugs, linking his hands so that they're lying on top his chest. "He and Barbara still watch me through their stupid tracking equipment when I go out as the Gotham Knight. And I guarantee you Bruce has other tracers on my suit I haven't found yet. It's so…insulting. I mean, Dick was younger than I am now when he went out on his own. And Bruce didn't follow him everywhere."
Sympathy flashes in Tim's eyes as he rests his chin on his knees. "He just worries about you, Jason."
"He's waiting for me to screw up again," Jason corrects. "With a tracer, it'll be easier to save my stupid ass next time."
Tim bites his lip. "We all have tracers, Jason – it's standard. It's Bruce's way of looking out for us."
A frown slips onto Jason's mouth. "It's his way of keeping us in line."
"Jason…"
Jason sits up, waving his hand. "Yeah, yeah. I just…I wish he'd let me do my own thing." He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt. "Maybe I should do what Dick did – go off on my own, settle into a new city."
Tim shuffles his feet, suddenly looking a bit apprehensive. "You don't need to leave to prove yourself to Bruce," he says quietly. "Gotham needs more than just Batman and Robin to protect it."
Jason shrugs. "Maybe. Or maybe I've just finally worn out my welcome here at Wayne Manor."
Tim's lips press together at that. "You know that's not true, Jason." Jason doesn't say anything, and Tim lets out a sigh. "Just don't do anything rash, okay? And…keep your tracer on." He pauses. "Or Bruce will make it hell for everyone by loading us down with a bazillion more of them."
Jason doesn't answer; pushing himself to his feet, he silently makes his way out of the training room. By the time Tim gets up to follow, Jason is already in the shower, where he stays for the next thirty minutes.
/
/
/
Looking at the video games and current comics, I'm not sure which of the Robins Bruce has officially adopted in the New 52, if any at all. Since my story is an AU, I'm making it that he has officially adopted Dick, Jason, and Tim. However, the boys all keep their original last names. Because reasons I guess.
(also, "Timbers" is not a nickname I made up. It's canon; Jason has sarcastically called Tim it in the comics lol)