Chapter 8


Gotham City, Crime Alley

April 4, 2020 19:49 EST

Tim's fingers flashed over the keyboard as his eyes scrolled down the list of data files pre-uploaded onto his computer. He'd been at it for hours and was running on fumes of sleep, caffeine gum, and sheer willpower. He was quickly learning that sleeping in the same house as a man who'd made a solid attempt at killing him hours earlier did not make for a solid night's rest.

Tim didn't know if Jason had ever made it back up to his room, but he doubted it. Tim was, at baseline, a light sleeper and he was pretty sure he would have woken at the telltale creak of old wooden stairs. To be fair, Tim hadn't mustered the courage to go downstairs either, which was unfortunate because he was in desperate need of a cup of coffee. His jaw ached from the tacky hardness of old gum that he'd chewed on overlong, and he was getting more frustrated with every sticky bite.

Tim's data search was so far proving fruitless, even with the silver platter of files he'd been provided. He had to hand it to Ra's and his daughter, the two had delivered on their promise to provide all failed leads mined out so far… it was just that those leads were useless to him. Turns out it was fucking hard to look for something when you didn't know what the hell you were looking for.

Who would have thought?

Not for the first time, Tim rolled his eyes at the needless difficulty of it all. His search would be so much easier if they'd just give him some sort of indication that he was headed in the right direction. But so far, his search was like searching for a needle in a haystack, except that he hadn't been even told that there was a needle to look for in the first place; a state that left him blindly searching through straw.

With no other leads to go off of, Tim had started his search with Shade. He'd rewatched the footage that he'd seen in the warehouse so many times that he'd every frame committed to memory. But that had been a wasted effort; there was nothing more to it than what he'd seen the first time.

It was interesting, but unsurprising that it had been Shade to steal the weapon. Ra's al Ghul, himself, had introduced the meta human to The League of Shadows in the beginning, which made him indebted to the al Ghuls… but Tim knew there was little honor among criminals. Shade's knowledge of Infinity Island made him intimately aware of the heavily guarded island's infrastructure. And that made him the perfect man for the weapons retrieval.

But the question was why? Even with the al Ghul's stepping back from the League of Shadows, why would Shade burn the bridge of his beginning-most benefactors? It was a betrayal that the man must have known wouldn't go unpunished by the al Ghul's…

With Shade's motive still irritatingly unknown. Tim decided to then redirect his search towards Shade's most recent whereabouts. But even that was difficult. The man was slippery, and Tim was quite literally chasing a shadow. Just when he was sure that he'd pinned the man down to one location, Tim would find another lead that put the man on the other side of the world at the exact same timestamp.

Tim, therefore, had to focus on the people Shade would most likely be working with. World's most dangerous criminals or not, at least they didn't disappear into the dark. The Light was an ever-changing entity, the league of criminals certainly not known for their loyalty to one another and more than willing to ax members as soon as they'd lost their usefulness. Tim couldn't know who the latest members were, but at least he could count on his intel of the originals.

Vandal Savage, Lex Luthor, Klarion the boy witch, Queen Bee….

Deathstroke? Tim's fingers paused on the mouse, tapping on the plastic in a nervous undercaffeinated gesture.

Tim didn't quite know what to make of the man. He knew that he'd started out as the Light's Enforcer, and then even advanced to becoming the head of The League of Shadows. All that was intel they'd learned after retrieving Tara Markov, his manipulated apprentice who'd been kidnapped from her family years ago. From her they'd learned the mans secret identity and much of his ambitions.

But had Slade Wilson gone so far as to earn a seat at the table and become a member of the Light himself? And having been the one to take over the League of Shadows, maybe there was some lingering bad blood between him and Ra's al Ghul?

Tim sat in his swivel chair. His foot thrummed up and down on the floor in nervous energy. Though an unfortunate habit, he wished he were wearing his hoodie so he could chew on the tassels. That was his usual nervous outlet. But something about wearing Jason's old hoodie in a house that a maybe-Jason currently occupied? …That didn't much appeal to Tim either. Thus, the hoodie sat in his duffle, still neatly folded from when Alfred had returned it after mending its new injuries, and Tim resorted to bouncing his foot against the carpeted floor.

Suddenly, a message popped up on the screen with an annoyingly loud chime. Wincing, Tim searched the desktop screen for the volume settings. He was both confused and irritated to find there were none. Tim read the obscenely large text that, unfortunately, had no ignore option.

If you don't stop tap dancing, I will come up there and break your legs.

Tim pressed his lips together as his eyebrow quirked up. His eyes scanned the screen, but couldn't find any reply option, the computer having apparently been set up for one way communication only. He briefly considered bouncing his leg louder against the floor, but ultimately decided against it. He was here to work with and gradually figure out this new Jason Todd. Being petulant and provoking the man was antagonistic towards his goals… satisfying as it may be in the moment.

Tim had surprised himself over the last couple of hours. While he'd never been one to seek out conflict, he wasn't one to totally shy from it either. But even while his stomach had rumbled in angry protest, he hadn't yet managed to unlock his door and venture downstairs to where the hopeful blessing of food lay stored. After nearly a full week of bordering on obsession with of the possibility of Jason Todd (hey, Tim wasn't anything if he wasn't self-aware) he could not bring himself to face the man now that he was in the very same house.

Some of it was probably due to guilt. In the wake of the boy's death, Tim Drake had undoubtedly become Jason Todd's replacement. It was a fact that Tim had avoided confronting for the nearing on four years since officially joining team as Robin, only three years after his predecessor's death.

And something about being in the same room as the man who wore Jason's face suddenly made that betrayal abundantly clear and unavoidable. Perhaps some part of Tim hated the fact that by simply the act of being Robin, he had manifested one of the greatest fears that young Jason Todd had ever had when he was alive. Tim wasn't about to apologize for it, being Robin was everything he'd always wanted after all, but it did leave an ashy taste in his mouth at the thought.

Tim's stomach rumbled for the umptieth time. His empty stomach curled and churned within his abdomen, having not have eaten since he had morning scones with Alfred the day prior. It was becoming distracting. Sighing, Tim took one more glance at the threat on the screen before standing up and stretching out his sore, computer chair locked muscles. His back and neck creaked and popped, inducing an audible sigh from between Tim's lips.

He then eyed the door, wondering for a moment how bad a decision he was making. It was pointless to starve when there was a perfectly functioning kitchen downstairs… he just had to convince his feet to take the first step. His stomach ultimately decided for him, letting out an audible growl that was far more dramatic than it needed to be. Groaning quietly, Tim unlatched the many locks along his door frame. He brought his staff with him. Just in case. It seemed like overkill but if Jason happened to be in the mood to try anything, at least Tim would be prepared for a fight.

Having been in a room where windows were sacrificed for screens, Tim hadn't realized that it'd already gotten dark out. He must have slept through most of the day. Sometimes Tim's body did that. On the days when he pushed it past its breaking point, it would revolt violently by forcing sleep upon him, completely screwing up his circadian rhythm in the processs. At this rate it would take him weeks to switch back to a daytime schedule.

On Gotham's best days, the most a Gothamite could hope for was a general state of overcast and rain. Today happened to be one of those best days. Outside, he could see a faint drizzle pattering against the double paned windows, a vast improvement from the downpour the night prior. The streetlights outside flickered, visibility diminished by a misty fog as evening descended upon the city.

Tim made his way down the small stairwell. He slowed over the final steps, cautious so that there was no chance of a possible ambush catching him off guard. But it was an unnecessary caution. As soon as his feet landed on the first floor, he saw Jason sitting at the kitchen counter.

Unlike the Infinity Island apparel that he'd worn last night, Jason's current outfit was much more akin to what he'd worn the day he attacked Tim all the way in Los Angeles. Dark blue jeans with hems worn around the edges scraped against the barstool rungs. His arms flexed under the cloth of a tight long black sleeve and a sleeveless red hoodie overtop.

The man's shoulders were taught. He'd clearly heard Tim coming down the stairs but made a point not to turn around to greet him. At the table, he sat precariously balanced on one of the barstools, one of the ones with uneven legs. One of his legs was propped out to keep him from tipping over. He was hunched over a bowl of half-eaten Choco Puffs.

It struck Tim how surprisingly human Jason Todd seemed in that moment. Up until that point the man had been a riddle to him; a mystery to be solved in absence, and an enemy to be fought in confrontation. But now, just sitting there in civilian clothes, and eating Choco Puffs of all things. Tim could no longer deny that this was his reality. Somehow, for better or worse, Jason Todd was here. Alive. And there was no way that Tim could stuff all thoughts of the man in the corner of his mind any longer, as he'd done for seven whole years.

"You look like shit," Jason's voice was thick with the roughness of sleep. He'd finally turned around and was looking at Tim through narrowed eyes, eyeing the retracted staff in Tim's hand.

Tim looked down at his clothes. He wore one of his basic sleeping t-shirts, soft with a graphic design that no doubt someone had taken months to design, but that Tim had never bothered to look at too closely. Athletic sweatpants were cinched at his waist, just below the line of his briefs.

"What do I look like to you?" Tim ignored the snide remark for a question.

When Tim had first woken up, he'd been curious to know how his glamour portrayed him. He'd first tried seeing his reflection through the camera of his phone, but only saw himself staring back at him. Initially, he'd worried that the glamour wasn't working, that it was all a ploy to reveal his identity to the al Ghul's. But then he recalled that year's ago, when Artemis had adopted the alias of Tigress to go undercover, her glamour hadn't changed her appearance to herself or Dick, Wally, or Kaldur'ahm either. Just everyone else.

Thankfully, the al Ghul's had anticipated his curiosity and prepared for it. One of the pre uploaded files on the computer was titled "Robin." When he'd clicked on the file a photo popped up. The picture displayed a doughy faced boy with shaggy blond hair, a button nose, and plump lips smiling animatedly at the camera. Tim had wrinkled his nose at the site. It was as if they'd taken the essence of a golden retriever and had transfigured it as human. The glamour was innocuous and ridiculously dopey looking, and Tim just knew that Jason had had a hand in coming up with it.

Jason just shrugged and turned back to his cereal, speaking between mouthfuls, "Same as you always do. Short. Black hair. Literal dad haircut. A sour look on your face like you always have a stick up your ass."

Tim glowered, resisting the urge to pick at his hair. It was a simple hairstyle, short at the sides and slightly longer on top spiked forward, and in no way resembling a "dad haircut." Whatever that was. But at least that solved one of Tim's first questions: Jason saw past the glamour. Part of him was somewhat relieved that Jason didn't see Tim as Golden Retriever Boy every time they spoke. That instead he saw Tim as… well, Tim.

"And the al Ghuls?" Tim asked.

Jason seemed to catch his drift, but he took an annoyingly loud slurp of cereal before answering. "They see the glamour. Ra's wanted to make it clear that he respected your hidden identity." A sly twitch of lips, "Hope you like it."

That answered two more of Tim's questions. So far it seemed that being in the townhouse unmasked hadn't compromised his identity. He had no doubt that hidden cameras were lying around everywhere. But at least all anyone would see was a blonde headed dope parked in front of a computer. A blond headed dope that Jason now confirmed he'd helped orchestrate.

"You still say my name often enough," Tim said.

Jason groaned in exaggerated frustration, his eyes rolling animatedly, "The place has cameras, but it isn't mic'ed Tim. Fuck. I forgot how fussy old Bats and his groupies were about their hidden identities."

Tim, once again, ignored the snide remark. He jerked his head in a quick nod before trudging to the kitchen. He gave Jason a wide berth, which only made the man's eyes roll harder; an annoying little gesture that only stopped when Tim set his staff on the countertop.

Tim opened the fridge door and was surprised to see it well stocked. He found some brand name juices and raw ingredients, but otherwise the shelves were mostly occupied by Tupperware, lots of them, filled with previously cooked meals. Tim briefly tried to imagine Jason cooking but was unable to even fathom what that would look like.

"You've been staying here awhile," Tim said as he looked over his shoulder. Jason was watching him intently, as if he were just as on edge about when this conversation would come to blows as Tim was. This conversation had already been the longest they'd been around each other without sharing punches and both were as taught as violin strings waiting to erupt into sound.

"Ever since LA," Todd said, speaking in between slurps of the remaining chocolaty milk from the Choco Puffs. "Didn't know when you'd finally wise up and track me down and had to be ready for when you did."

Tim had to fight down the ick he felt conversing with the man who was spluttering particles of milk with every word. Tim had eaten enough with Roy Harper, his best friend who certainly rivaled Jason in messy eating habits. He thought he'd learned to tolerate it… but for some reason Jason doing it was damn near close to setting him off.

Tim turned his head back to the refrigerator, tactfully ignoring the messy eater behind him. "All of that was unnecessary, you could have just come to me with the mission in the first place." Tim was feeling particularly rueful about all the hours of sleep he'd missed over the last week. Not to mention a rather embarrassing and misguided escapade to a graveyard that Tim swore he'd take to his own grave.

"The al Ghuls don't make deals unless they're sure it's in their best interest. They like to know their investments are worth their salt before working with 'em," Jason said behind him.

That brought up another point. Last night, Talia said that Jason had been the one to vouch for his skills. Why? The boy Tim remembered had hated him for one, but also had never paid enough attention to Tim to ever know about the talents he'd possessed as a burgeoning investigator then, much less how he'd meticulously cultivated those skills up till now.

Avoiding the filled tupperware, which actually looked decent but he couldn't bring himself to trust, Tim grabbed an innocuous looking microwave meal from the fridge and turned around. He placed the cheap meal in the microwave and set it to QuickStart. The machine's hum filled the silence.

"Why me? Why not Dick or Bruce? They're way better known for their detective skills than I am." Tim asked.

Jason jerked his chin, eyebrow raised and looking at Tim like he was the idiot. "Sure. Because that's a smart idea, Tim. Let's go tell old Brucie that the street kid he pity-adopted years ago is still alive and working for his enemy of all people…because I'm sure that'll go over well," he sneered. "And don't even get me started on that idiot Dickhead who's fucking responsible for my death in the first place. Let's take a minute to use that wiz-brain of yours and picture how that conversation will pan out." Jason's arms crossed over his chest haughtily.

Tim strode to the countertop, opposite side from Jason. "Say whatever shit you want about me. I could care less," Tim snarled, "But when it comes to Dick, you're way off base. Do not insult him while I'm around. You got that?"

Jason smirked, his mouth puckering like he'd tasted something sour, "You always had such a hard-on for Wonder Boy. Him and Super Boy, who, did I hear right? Went and got himself blown up?—"

Crack!

Tim's slap came out of nowhere. Already Jason's right cheek was reddening from the blow struck across his face. Under the man's right eye, Tim could see a faint bruise from where he'd punched Jason only the night before; blue now further accentuated against red.

So much for surviving a single interaction without coming to blows…

"Do not bring up Connor Kent ever again," Tim seethed, "You hear me?"

Jason at least had the decency to look somewhat surprised. He clearly hadn't expected Tim's violent reaction. His grey eyes fluttered with shock for a second before darkening. His mouth curled up in a nasty smile.

"Careful there, Robin," he sneered, his words slow and mocking. "All that pent up rage of yours is starting to make me think you resemble Boy Wonder the sequel more than the original flavor," Jason's eyes darkened further into pits, "Wouldn't want to end up like me, now would you? I don't think the high and mighty Dick Grayson would be—"

Tim lunged for Jason's collar. His eyes saw red.

The microwave dinged.

Tim glared down at Jason, whom he'd pulled hallway across the countertop. The bowl of cereal had tipped over at Jason's side and chocolaty milk dribbled from counter to linoleum floor. Tim let out a frustrated snarl as he released Jason's collar, pushing him back into the bar stool. Ignoring Jason's triumphant and goading smile, Tim turned to the microwave and pulled out his meal.

Both men didn't say anything as Tim grabbed the nearest clean fork, his staff, and went upstairs.

Inwardly, Tim chastised himself. It was unlike him to let thing's get to him so easily. Even Roy Harper, who certainly hadn't been a ray of sunshine in the beginning months of their at-first tenuous friendship, hadn't set him off this badly. But something about Jason just made him so angry.

No. That wasn't right. Jason didn't make Tim angry. He unearthed rage that was already there. Rage that Tim had spent his whole life trying to keep in check.

And that was even worse.

He sighed as he slumped into his desk chair, anger leeching out of him. He had to get it together. Nothing that came out of Jason's mouth was ever good, he knew that. Jason always intended to provoke… and Tim was letting him. With the trajectory they were headed, they'd never find the weapon without killing each other in the meantime. Tim didn't kill people. Never had. But fuck did Jason make him want to reconsider that moral choice.

He winced when he heard the creak of the stairs behind him, followed closely by footsteps coming into his room. Tim's shoulders tensed as he swiveled around in his chair.

"Easy," Jason raised his hands in surrender, "I come in peace." He sat on Tim's bed, which definitely did not make Tim's teeth grind in annoyance. "Talia just requested a status update. Figured it'd be better to ask than try to conjure up an explanation for your search history."

Tim jerked his head in a curt nod. He'd wondered when she'd be sticking her nose in his work. He turned around in his chair and tried to stifle the unsettling feeling of having Jason at his unguarded back.

"Talia seemed convinced last night that it was the light that stole from them. Why?" Tim asked. His fingers tapped on the mouse as data files popped up on the screen. Vandal Savage's face at the center of it all.

"Blood between Ra's and The Light has been bad lately," said Jason. "Until recently, interactions between him and the members had been cordial, but just within the last month we've been getting the cold shoulder. They've been angry about Ra's unwillingness to join them."

Tim bit down on the frustration that erupted from his gut. His fingers tensed over the keyboard. See, that was information that would have been helpful to have been told from the start.

Or maybe he should have gotten his ass downstairs earlier and asked?

Tim suppressed that though. He didn't need his conscience butting in right now. "But why the Light as the primary suspect? Not the League of Shadows? It was Shade who stole it and he's a Shadows pawn isn't he?" he asked.

The old cot creaked as Jason stood up. Tim tensed as the man came to his side and placed one hand on the computer desk, looking up at the screen. Jason's body hovered just inches over Tim's right shoulder. Tim's fingers itched to grab for his staff which just within reach. "We thought of that," Jason said slowly, his eyebrows knitted in concentration, and paying Tim no attention. "But we don't know who Shades working for these days…not since we stepped back. It could be the Light or Shadows. And even if Ra's isn't the leader of the League anymore, he still commands respect. There's still loyalty there," he said with absolute conviction.

Tim scoffed. "Loyalty amongst criminals? Seems farfetched."

Tim ignored the pointed glare boring into him from above. Jason's annoyance was clear in his voice. "It may seem 'farfetched' to people like you, Timmy. But The League of Shadows has principles, and one of them is respect," his words were dipped in spite. "Besides, what was stolen is way more trouble than it's worth to them. It's much more the Light's schtick. Ra's leaving the Light wasn't their idea and they could be using it as leverage to compel him back in. That's what made sense so that's where we went for with our search" Jason said, his neck hovering so close Tim's ear could nearly feel the reverberations from his throat as he spoke. "Don't get me wrong, we looked into the league as well. But it was surface level, and nothing we came up fit the bill."

Tim looked over his shoulder, fixing the taller man with a pointed glare and discretely scooting away as he did so. "All of this would be so much easier if you'd just tell me what we're looking for."

Jason shrugged nonchalantly. "No can do, Timmy. That's classified," he said as he stepped back from the table and flopped back onto Tim's bed. He propped his hands behinds his head as he leaned against the wall. His dirty socks made themselves right at home on Tim's sheets. The man was totally oblivious to the internal war currently raging in Tim throw the intruder off his bed. Jason's mouth quirked.

Or maybe he wasn't so oblivious after all.

Ignore it. Tim thought to himself, trying to reorient. He looked up at the screen. In the corner a white bearded man's face stared back at him.

"What are your thoughts on Deathstroke?"

"Slade?" Jason's eyebrow shot up as the profile on the screen magnified. "He's one of the few who has connections to both the Shadows and The Light… But he has no motive. He and Ra's have a complicated relationship but it's not totally antagonistic. Besides we looked into him already and nothing we came up with was worth following up on." His focused eyes shifted from screen to Tim. "Why? What are you thinking?"

Tim propped his elbows against the table as he folded his hands together. His index fingers pointed up and brushed against his lips in thought. He was thinking that something didn't feel right. That he was missing something. Something that he wouldn't be able to figure out at a distance.

After a few more moments consideration, frantically weighing pros and cons and ignoring the ringing alarms that sounded off in his head, Tim rested his cheek on his folded fists and turned to Jason. "How available are resources for recon missions?" he asked.

Jason's mouth curled into a wicked smile. "Anything we need. Damn. I was wondering if I'd just be sitting around plying babysitter all day while you fucked around on the computer." He hopped off the bed with unnecessary pep, "I'll call Talia and get us what we need," he said as he confidently strode out of Tim's room into his own.

Tim winced. The warning sirens in his head were now unavoidable as reality settled around him. He pressed his eyes against his open palms.

Tim was going on a reconnaissance mission… with Jason Todd.


Would there be any kind soul out there willing to write my first review T.T I'm dying to hear all of your thoughts and theories on the story so far! What do we think of Jason? What do we think of Tim? I'd love to know!