"Tim?"
At the sound of the voice and accompanying knock, Tim looks up from where he's sitting on his bed. He shifts the laptop propped up on his legs, glancing at the clutter of papers and books surrounding him. "Uh…yeah, come in."
The door to Tim's bedroom creaks open and Jason steps in, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as he enters. "Just came to tell you Alfred says it's time for dinner."
"Thanks, Jason," Tim says, keeping his eyes focused on his laptop as he types something. "Be down in a sec."
Jason walks over to Tim's bedside, staring down at the mess with raised eyebrows. "What the hell are you working on?"
"It's this thing called homework," replies Tim. "You wouldn't know, since you're far too superior for it."
"Ha ha," mutters Jason, pushing aside a stack of textbooks to make room on Tim's bed to sit. Tim ignores Jason, continuing to type away at what looks to be a very long intro paragraph to some sort of research paper. Not bothered by the lack of attention, Jason begins shuffling through the piles, skimming over the various loose papers and prodding open the covers to different books. He reaches out, plucking a small red notebook from the pile. Eyeing it curiously, Jason flips it open.
"Dēlitīscō," Jason reads, squinting at Tim's messy scrawls. "To hide away, conceal." He turns the page. "L'appel du vide. The call of the void." Jason looks up. "What is this?"
Tim taps his keyboard, keeping his eyes on the laptop screen. "Definitions."
"No shit," says Jason. "I mean, why do you have a notebook filled with random definitions?"
"I've always had it." Tim pauses, glancing down at the notebook. "My dad and I started it years ago. It was his idea. He thought it'd be good for me to expand my vocabulary, and so he made up this kind of challenge. Every week he and I would search for a new word. It could be in any language, but it had to be something unique – something with deep meaning behind it. At the end of the week we'd compare words, and whoever's was better was written down in the notebook." Tim grows quiet, and his tone is much more solemn when he speaks next. "After he…died, I didn't touch the notebook for a long time." He runs his hand along the side of his laptop. "It was only after you and I talked in the greenhouse a week after we had met that I started writing in it again."
Jason stares at Tim. "Really?"
Tim just shrugs.
Jason looks back down at the open notebook, suddenly holding it with much more care. Not sure what to say, Jason continues to thumb through it. Minutes pass in silence, with Jason reading and Tim reverting his gaze back to his laptop screen, though he doesn't bother to type anything else.
"Master Tim? Master Jason?"
Tim and Jason turn their heads in unison as the bedroom door is pushed open and a rather disgruntled-looking Alfred peaks his head in. "My goodness, with how long it's taken Master Jason to deliver news of dinner, I had assumed you had both taken ill."
"Is that a joke, Alfred?" Jason asks, grinning.
"It's a declaration of your lack of punctuality," replies Alfred. "Now hurry downstairs. Master Bruce is there already, and I'm afraid if I don't serve dinner within the next five minutes he'll slip back into his blasted cave for the remainder of the night without having had even a morsel to eat."
"What's sad is that he's right," Jason says, glancing over at Tim. Tim smiles, though a hint of the soberness that had encompassed him before still lingers in his eyes. Jason sets the notebook down and lightly smacks Tim's arm. "Come on. I'm starving, and if you don't come down, I'll have to give Bruce the silent treatment all on my own."
A soft laugh escapes Tim. "Well, I can't let that happen," he says, swinging his legs over the mess and onto the floor.
Alfred steps back, holding the door open as the two boys file out of the room and head towards the staircase, their stomachs suddenly growling loudly at the promise of food. Shaking his head, a small smile slips onto Alfred's mouth as he follows them downstairs.
/
Later that night, Jason and Tim sprawl themselves out on the couch in the living room, a giant bowl of popcorn wedged in between them as they watch the news.
"This isn't exactly popcorn-worthy entertainment, Tim," comments Jason, tossing a piece into the air and trying to catch it with his mouth. It hits his nose and bounces off, disappearing into the couch cushions. "I thought we were gonna watch Bruce Willis punch out actors with fake German accents."
"Okay, first off, Alan Rickman is legendary as Hans Gruber," replies Tim. "And second, the news is important. It's kind of a big deal for us especially to keep up with it. We're only watching for half an hour, and then we'll put in the movie. Now shush."
Jason kicks at Tim's leg, knocking it from the ottoman in front of them. Tim throws Jason a sideways glare, but quickly reverts his attention back to the television where a news reporter reads from the unseen teleprompter.
"– earlier this morning a young college couple had been attacked while leaving their dorm building at Gotham University. The victims, a twenty year old man and a nineteen year old woman, had both been shot by the attacker; unfortunately, the man had died on the way to the hospital. The woman, now at Gotham General Hospital, is still in critical condition. The attacker has been identified as Scott Lyndon, a man who had been released from Blackgate Penitentiary one month ago after serving a five-year sentence for aggravated assault and robbery charges. GCPD had apprehended Lyndon after he had tried to rob a convenience store three miles from Gotham University's campus."
Jason frowns as the news report is read. No longer very hungry, he shoves the bowl of popcorn away. "More violence enacted by supposed 'reformed' criminals. What a surprise," he mutters. "This 'justice' system is such a fucking joke."
Grimacing, Tim lowers the volume of the TV. He glances at Jason nervously, wanting to say something but knowing it will only fire Jason up even more. And he really isn't up for that at the moment. "Let's just put in the movie," sighs Tim. Before Jason can say anything, Tim gets up and grabs the movie case from a nearby end table.
Jason's tension seems to ebb as the movie plays, but even after it's done and they get up to go change into their uniforms, Jason stays quiet. His frustration remains noticeable to Tim, who is at a complete loss as how to argue his and Bruce's side of this seemingly never ending disagreement with Jason.
/
"Miranda! I told you to stay on the corner of Fourth Ave and Redwood. Is that so fucking hard to do? Is that such a difficult thing to remember?"
The Gotham Knight turns his head towards where the sudden shout had come from, leaning forward from his perch on the rooftop of a nightclub. Below on the sidewalk a tall, beefy man walks up to a girl in a skimpy red dress and sparkling gold heels.
"I-I'm sorry, Danny," the girl stammers, taking a step back. "I just…this guy kept harassing me, and he wasn't gonna pay, so…"
"So you thought you'd walk off on your own, away from the spot I assigned you?" the man asks. He gives the girl a rough shove, who stumbles into a light pole. She grabs onto it to steady herself, her eyes wide with fear as Danny steps closer.
"I don't know why I bother with fucking dumbasses like you," he spits. "There are plenty of other bitches to take your place. And probably better looking. Maybe I should just dispose of you myself, like the worthless piece of trash you are."
"Danny…p-please –"
A loud smack echoes up the brick walls as Danny slaps Miranda hard across the face. "Stop your whimpering! All you fucking do is whine and cry and cost me money!" He gives her another shove; this time Mariana trips over the uneven sidewalk. She crashes to the ground and immediately begins scooting away from the advancing man.
"Danny –"
"Oh shut up, you worthless bitch!" Danny raises his arm once again, but before he can bring it down, something comes whirling through the air, impaling itself into the back of his hand. An agonized scream escapes Danny and he stumbles into the light pole, clutching his bleeding hand with wide eyes. Blood runs freely down his arm, and Danny looks up to see a dark figure flying directly towards him.
Booted feet slam into Danny's chest, and the man is knocked away from the light pole. He stumbles backwards a few feet before tripping over the curb and falling into the deserted street. The new figure lands on the ground in front of him and straightens, advancing towards him slowly.
"B-Batman?" Danny sputters, staring at the red helmet with wide eyes.
"Don't you wish," snarls the Gotham Knight. He reaches down with a gloved hand and wraps it in the front of Danny's suit, pulling the frightened man upright. "You like beating on defenseless women?" the Knight hisses. He throws Danny to the ground, who hits the asphalt with a pained grunt. Sitting up, Danny once more clutches his injured hand as he crawls away from the masked figure. But his attacker gives him a swift kick to the side, flipping him over into a muddy puddle in the street. "You like cheating them out of their rightfully earned money, their dignity, and their free will?"
The Knight knocks Danny onto his back and holds him in place with a heavy boot. He leans forward and yanks the Batarang from Danny's hand, prompting anther pained cry from the man. The Knight lifts the Batarang to Danny's neck and presses its sharp edge against Danny's sweat-soaked skin. "You're a piece of shit, Daniel O'Leary. You are no better than the dirt I walk on, and I don't believe there is one person on this earth who would be sad to see you go." The pressure increases on the Batarang, and a drop of blood dribbles out from beneath it.
"P-please…" Danny whimpers.
"How many times had you ignored that exact plea from countless women?" asks the Gotham Knight. "You showed them no mercy; neither will I."
"Gotham Knight. That's enough."
The Gotham Knight snaps his head up to watch a familiar figure step into a pool of light provided by the overhanging streetlight.
"Knight," Nightwing repeats. "Stop. He won't be hurting anyone else."
The Knight stares at Nightwing for a long second, the rage coming off of him palpable. He emits a low growl and then spins back to Danny, swinging his fist directly at the man's face. The punch connects with Danny's jaw and his head is thrown backwards, striking the street and immediately rendering Danny unconscious.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the Knight demands, stepping away from the limp body.
Nightwing stares at Danny, the unease evident on his face despite his mask. "I thought you knew. The 'event' you, Robin, and I have coming up." He turns his gaze to the Gotham Knight. "I figured I'd get here early."
The Knight nods. "Yeah, I know about it," he grunts. He looks back to where Miranda had been, but she's gone. The Knight glares at Nightwing, even though he knows his expression is unreadable behind the helmet. "Let me guess, you used Batman's little tracers to locate me? Did Daddy Bats ask you to watch me?" He shoves the Batarang back into his belt. "You know, I'm really fucking sick of being followed around by everyone."
"Actually, I'm just really good at what I do – like finding people," says Nightwing. "I thought I'd drop by tonight instead of tomorrow morning. Looks like I came just in time." He crosses his arms. "Do you always threaten to slice open criminals' throats before leaving them for Gordon? Or was this just a one-time thing?"
"I really don't feel like dealing with your crap right now, Nightwing," the Knight sneers. He turns away and begins pulling out a grappling hook.
"Knight," Nightwing says. "Can we talk? Please?"
The Gotham Knight pauses, his hand resting against the grappling hook on his belt. Then he unhooks it and shoots it upwards, launching himself towards the rooftop of the nightclub. Sighing, Nightwing follows.
/
"Look, Jason, I know I had promised to be around Wayne Manor more, but it's just been really crazy in Blüdhaven lately. I simply haven't had the time."
Jason drums his fingers against the top of his helmet, which rests in his lap. "Yeah, I know." He gives a bitter laugh. "After all, how many times had I heard that exact same excuse when I had been Robin?"
Dick rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. "I…I know. But I'm trying. It's just…there's a lot on my plate right now."
Jason just nods.
The two of them are sitting on the edge of an apartment building rooftop, their legs dangling over the side as they stare out over the busy streets thirty levels below. A light breeze brushes against them, bringing some comfort to Jason, whose heart is still pounding with leftover rage clinging to him from his confrontation with Daniel O'Leary.
Dick looks over at Jason, studying him with an apprehensive air. "Jason, what's going on? I've never seen you act like that before. I mean, I've seen you get angry with criminals, and I totally get that, but…not like what had just happened. That…that's not okay."
"Not okay?" Jason repeats, staring at Dick. "Are you kidding me, Dick? I've been watching O'Leary for a while now, and I promise you, his multiple trips to Blackgate have not changed him. These criminals…they have no respect for the law, for rules, or for other people's lives. They will never reform, they will never repent."
"Even if that is true, it doesn't matter," says Dick. "We still have to treat them –"
"As what, humans? Dick, that's not what they are. Humans don't hurt other people simply for their pleasure or personal profit. Humans don't do the things that these scumbags do. These criminals – they're animals. They lie, steal, kill – whatever it takes to accomplish their sick goals. And our justice system is so screwed up that there will always be the ones who slip right through it and get back out onto the streets."
"That doesn't matter, Jason. We still have to show them that we are better than that. We –"
"Save the self-righteous speech for someone who actually cares," cuts in Jason.
Dick frowns. "Jason, I just…I don't want you to do something you'll regret."
There's a beat of silence. Jason presses his lips together, staring down at the interweaving cars below them. "Sometimes you need to do things you'll regret," he finally says, his voice unexpectedly soft. "If it's the only way to help others."
His expression pained, Dick lays a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Killing them won't stop crime."
"You don't know that," Jason says quietly.
Dick's grip on Jason's shoulder tightens; not in warning, but in a way meant to be comforting. Surprisingly, Jason's tension seems to ease a bit beneath Dick's touch. They stay like that for a few minutes, allowing the sounds of the busy streets to seep up between them.
Not knowing how to continue the conversation, Dick decides to just change the subject. "Well, despite how we met up tonight, it's good to see you again, Jason. I've missed you and Tim."
Jason kicks his boots against the edge of the building's wall. "Tim's missed you too," he mutters. And so have I. Of course, he doesn't say the lingering thought out loud. But it's implication is clear enough to Dick, who smiles gently.
"Mind if I hang around you for the rest of the night?" Dick asks. "I know you're a bit touchy about that, but I just get so damn lonely sometimes…" The sarcasm on the last bit of the statement is evident, and Jason can't help but smirk a bit as he shakes his head in exasperation.
"I guess," he huffs out, using equal – if not more – sarcasm. "I'd been wondering what it'd be like to have a sidekick of my own for a while now."
"Oh shut up," laughs Dick, smacking the back of Jason's head.
Jason snorts. Burying his feelings on the unfinished initial conversation, he pulls his helmet back on. "Well let's go then." He stands and pulls out a grappling hook. "If you think you can keep up." Then he jumps off of the edge of the building, twisting around in midair to watch Dick launch himself off the rooftop in a graceful arc after him.
/
"I'm worried about him, Bruce."
Bruce turns to look at Dick, who is standing in front of the computer monitors in the Batcave. Dick and Jason had come in from patrol about half an hour ago, followed up by Bruce and Tim. Jason and Tim went to bed not long after, but Dick had stayed, taking this moment of privacy between him and Bruce to talk.
Dick turns his domino mask over in his hands. "He's been getting more violent. Tonight he…I was really nervous, Bruce. I don't know what to say to him. What to do, how to prevent him from going too far."
"It's not your responsibility to do that," Bruce says, sounding weary.
"I'm his brother – of course it's my responsibility."
Bruce pulls back his cowl, rubbing a hand against tired eyes.
Dick bites his lip, hesitant to say his next words. "Bruce, do you think…what Joker did to Jason…do you think it…"
"No," Bruce says, his voice sharp. "That's not what this is at all." He pauses, clenching his hands. "This is a result of the environment Jason had been surrounded by as a child. Violence had rooted itself into that world long before Jason had been born into it. It had settled deep into the people there, and thus that was what Jason had grown up knowing." Bruce closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. "I've tried to rid Jason of it. I've tried to steer him in a different direction, but he…" Bruce gives a frustrated sigh. "All he had as an example in his younger years was his father, and –"
"Jason is not his father," Dick says darkly. "Barbara and I had researched Jason's parents long ago. We dug deep, wanting to find out everything we possibly could about the kid you had chosen as the new Robin. The things we learned about Jason's father…" Dick grits his teeth. "Jason is not that man." His jaw tight, Dick leans back against the computer chair. "Look, in some ways, I can understand where Jason is coming from. When he'd been living with his parents, he'd seen many people go to jail only to come back exactly the same, or even worse. Including his father. From that limited perspective he had been subjected to because of his circumstances, I can see how he doesn't expect criminals to change. We just…we need to convince him that what he had witnessed as a child does not apply to everyone in Gotham."
Bruce places his palms on the computer desk, staring up at the monitors grimly. Dick waits, but Bruce doesn't speak. Vague frustration settling into his expression, Dick crosses his arms. "Is Jason still seeing Dr. Leslie?"
"He has his psychotherapy sessions with her every three weeks."
Dick's eyebrows draw together. "I thought it had been every other week."
Bruce shakes his head. "His nightmares and night terrors have reduced significantly, and he continues to improve in all other psychological aspects. Leslie agrees with my decision that once every three weeks is enough."
Nodding, Dick shifts, suddenly looking rather uncomfortable. "I don't know if it's my place to ask, but…do you think it's safe for Jason to be going on patrol? Can he handle it?"
"He's proven to be able to so far," replies Bruce. He glances away, and an emotion Dick can't quite place flashes across his face. "I can't take him off patrol. When he's out there, he…it's like…"
"Like those nine months had never happened?" Dick gently finishes.
Bruce's shoulders droop slightly. "That darkness he always carries – it seems to lesson out there. He needs it. I can't tear that away from him unless I know with absolute certainty that he has become a danger to himself or to the people of Gotham."
Dick watches Bruce solemnly. "I think that time may be coming sooner than you expect, Bruce. Jason's only getting worse. The thugs he takes out, the crimes he puts a stop to…it's seriously wearing on him; his rage only seems to grow with time. He'd never admit it, of course, but it's obvious. Unsurprisingly, Tim's noticed it as well; he's talked to me about it multiple times."
Bruce runs a hand through his hair. "I know," he says. "I'll…I'll talk to Leslie about it. Tell her about Jason's increasingly violent behavior. Maybe she can come up with something."
"You need to come up with something," says Dick. "You're his father, Bruce. Maybe not by blood, but much more than Willis Todd ever was."
Bruce's hands curl over the computer desk's surface. A long moment of silence passes. "Get some sleep, Dick," Bruce says tightly.
Dick opens his mouth to argue, but then he seems to think better of it. Shaking his head, Dick turns towards the elevators. "See you in the morning then."
Bruce doesn't answer. He only moves once he's alone in the Batcave, and then sinks to the computer chair, pressing his hands to his face in exhaustion.