Chapter 20
Tim was going to need a new set of windshield wipers for the Bruise-baru.
Rubber scraped against glass like some sort of hellish metronome as he drove, nearly spurring him to claw at his ears. He cursed again at the seemingly endless list of inconveniences he'd endured over the last three months, the most consistently annoying one being that his motorcycle was strictly off-limits.
The only marginally positive thing Tim could say about the old 90's Subaru Outback was that at least it shielded him from the torrential downpour outside. In a city like Gotham, where it rained 90% of the time, the combination of rainy conditions and blistering heat was a recipe for frequent summertime thunderstorms. The city's skyline flashed overhead as he navigated the late-night traffic.
Tim had begun planning which warehouse he'd investigate earlier that evening. Ultimately, he'd narrowed it to one depot further south in the Cauldron. Initial research made the place appear innocent enough, but then again, so had the warehouse he'd struck the night before; he certainly hadn't anticipated running into Falcone thugs in a depot that claimed to be storing scented candles of all things.
He gripped the sides of his steering wheel. It was a testament to his self-control that he'd left that hideout without stirring up trouble for Falcone. He'd so desperately wanted to. But pulling a stunt like that when he was so close to the finish line wasn't worth it. And Tim knew that Cassandra would have it well under control.
"Five more days," Tim mumbled, repeating the countdown he'd started nearly at the beginning of his probation.
Five more days.
He pulled into a decently empty street and parked his car. The warehouse was still about six blocks away, but he'd walk the rest of the way. After grabbing his bo-staff and tucking it into the back of his dark jeans (just in case) he pulled on a black baseball cap.
Bruce had thought Tim having access to his Robin suit would tempt him to put himself in dangerous situations. He'd been right, of course, but Tim found the number of measures that people thought necessary to protect Tim from himself slightly absurd.
At least wearing civilian clothes meant Tim could walk around the streets like some average Gothamite. The thought of careening across the city's rooftops didn't sound particularly appealing considering he was already feeling the lack of sleep with a warning pressure building beneath his temples. Tim dug his hands into his pockets as he walked down the dimly lit sidewalk and dipped his head low to avoid the rain. Every now and then, he chanced a quick glance up at the rooftops, wondering if his follower would make an appearance tonight.
The first time that Tim had noticed someone tailing him was two months ago. He'd been lurking around a storage unit when he'd suddenly felt the prickly sensation of being watched. He'd turned around just in time to see a familiar outline of a red hood and two swords in the second story window, there and then gone before Tim even had the wherewithal to prepare for an attack.
He'd been twitchy during the nights that followed, always looking over his shoulder in case Jason decided to jump him. Because of course that had to be why Jason was lurking around. They'd betrayed each other before their parting, and if Jason was half as angry at Tim as Tim was at Jason, then he couldn't blame the man for wanting to get in a few good punches.
But Tim's nervousness had been unfounded; Jason didn't re-appear until over two weeks later at a different warehouse, and disappeared before Tim could pursue him.
That pattern continued; the nights that Jason appeared were sporadic and often separated between weeks. Tim couldn't begin to understand what Jason was thinking, but it was clear that at least (for now) attacking him didn't seem to be on the agenda. And at some point, Tim's initial anger diminished and began shifting into a feeling closer to curiosity.
It was only last night when the pattern had changed. Tim had been stuck hiding in a room full of Falcone thugs when he'd looked up to see Jason once again watching him. That had been an odd occurrence for two reasons. One, it was the first time that Jason had appeared two nights in a row. And two, Jason had lingered. He stayed perched in the rafters, perhaps entertained and curious to see if Tim would make it out of the dangerous scrape undetected.
At some point, Jason had disappeared, and Tim was able to focus again. He had just been about to call it quits on his stealth strategy and fight his way out when a car alarm outside the building went off. The disturbance had drawn most of the thugs out of the room and Tim had been able to escape out of the single window. When he'd gotten outside, he saw two civilians in an altercation over a fancy looking sports car with a shattered window… but Jason was gone.
Rationally, Tim knew that whatever kept Jason in Gotham likely spelled bad news. But honestly Tim had always been a sucker for mysteries and couldn't tamper down his growing anticipation as he approached the depot.
Would Jason be there again tonight?
Rounding the final alley towards the old two-story brick warehouse, Tim tapped the commlink at his ear.
"Oracle, I'm approaching 140 East Madison Street now. Anything I need to know?" he craned his neck to the roof's parapet. From this distance, it seemed sturdy enough to hold the weight of a grappling hook, but sometimes these old buildings could be unpredictable.
Tim's comm buzzed in his ear, "Closest CCTV I could tap into is nearly three hundred meters away. But honestly, the place looks pretty dead. It should be a boring night for you, Robin." Babs' voice was warm but a tad smug.
Tim smiled a little bitterly to himself, "Try not to feel too happy about it. Last night was the most fun I've had in weeks."
"Believe it or not, that's what we're trying to avoid, Tim," her voice took on that 'higher than thou' tone that Tim swore was an older sister-figure trademark.
Tim had to remind himself that everyone was looking out for his well-being, but damn, he couldn't wait for them to remove the kiddie gloves. He caught on to Babs' mumble on the other line, "What's up?"
"It's nothing, just…" she paused, and Tim's eyes narrowed in concern. It wasn't like her to mince words. "Have you heard from Batman?"
Bruce? Even though he hadn't answered Tim's calls early that morning, Tim had been sure that Oracle had gotten ahold of him by now. The fact that Orphan was on a mission tonight on Oracle's order alone without Bruce's input was unusual.
"I haven't," he answered, wondering how concerned he needed to be. It wasn't unlike the man to go off the radar. He could count on two hands the number of times the group had been thrown into a tizzy due to a prolonged absence from the Bat. But Babs also had a damn good intuition, and maybe it would be better if Tim scrapped the warehouse plan and dropped by the Manor instead.
"Don't worry about it, Tim," Babs said hurriedly, seemingly reading his mind. "Focus on tonight's target, and I'll work on getting ahold of him. He's probably just on Justice League time anyways."
"Okay, if you're sure." Babs didn't sound sure but didn't protest either. "Call if you need anything," he stressed.
"Will do." And the comm went dead in his ear. It was ungrateful, but Tim was somewhat happy that Babs was busy tracking down Batman. As much as he appreciated Oracle's help, sometimes he preferred getting things done without the presence of her watchful eyes.
Aiming his grapple hook for the rooftop, Tim fired and lifted off the ground. The self-retracting rope at his waist ascended to the top of the building easily. He lifted himself over the parapet and scanned the rooftop for threats. Finding none, he slinked to the angled glass skylight and looked inside.
Unfortunately, the view was rather disappointing. It looked like a regular warehouse. Rain pelted on his back as Tim lifted a black neck gaiter over his nose, removed one of the skylight panes with gloved hands, and carefully belayed down to the unit's center.
His initial assessment had been correct. It was a regular warehouse. Boxes lined along shelves nearly as tall as the ceiling. Grabbing his pocketknife, Tim cleanly ripped through one of the seams of the nearest one. His research had informed him that the building belonged to a recently opened shoe company. He'd chosen to pursue it because there'd been some evidence of shady dealings with acquiring the space and hints at laundering.
But Tim wasn't interested in white-collar crime, and that's likely all this place was. He came across various styles and sizes of sneakers within every box he opened. Somewhat annoyed, he repackaged the boxes and shoved them back on the shelves.
Damn. He'd been somewhat hopeful about this one.
He took a bit longer poking around the place, visiting the main office, perusing through file cabinets, and opening a few more boxes to ensure there weren't any guns or ammunition lying around.
Tim realized he was stalling. Two hours in, and there hadn't been a hint of anything pointing to his dealer, yet he lingered. With every flash of lightning, Tim expected to see the shadow of a figure following him… but no such luck. He was alone, and it bothered him how much that annoyed him.
He sighed, placing his hands on his hips. The headache he'd been nursing had grown stronger, and he'd long overstayed his welcome. But before he left, he placed a tiny camera in the far corner of the room, out of sight. Tim was a firm believer in not doing the same hard work twice, and warehouse turnover was frequent enough in Gotham that even though the owners were harmless this time, it was very possible that the next ones wouldn't be. Leaving a camera to tap into would make the job easier on himself if he ever needed to return here.
Then with nothing else to do, and nothing to linger over, Tim left.
He was in a foul mood as he drove home. A combination of frustration with the lack of progress in his investigation and annoyance at Jason's absence warred for priority in his mind. As Tim finally pulled into his neighborhood, his headache pounded behind his eyes. He needed sleep.
He parked his car in a nearby parking garage a few blocks away. Using it was an expense but highly worth it. Tim's area was sketchy at best, and it would be just Tim's luck to have his only mode of transportation broken into just because he'd been dumb enough to leave it on the street.
He was drenched by the time he made it to his townhome. The rain was still pelting down with thunder in the distance as Tim unlocked his door, stepped into his apartment's cool chill, and began taking off his shoes.
"I like what you've done with the place."
Tim paused, his second shoe still halfway on his foot.
So… this was how it was going to be.
Wordlessly, Tim tossed his keys onto the countertop, the clatter obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. Ignoring the intruder, he then slowly pulled his arms out of his jacket, jostling rivulets of rain from the waterproof material onto the floor. A small puddle formed beneath him; he ignored it.
Tim was stalling, waiting for the adrenaline that had ratcheted up his heartbeat by considerable levels to dissipate. His mind frantically shifted through many possible scenarios of what the man's sudden appearance could mean, though he kept his expression militantly neutral.
Only after Tim removed his water-soaked baseball cap, running his other hand through his wet hair, did he turn to face Jason. "How'd you get in?" he asked.
Jason was across the room, sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase. He was unmasked, wearing civies even. His fitted grey shirt was a touch darker over his neck and shoulders, and his faded, distressed jeans were also damp up to his ankles. He hadn't been there long then, Tim decided, still waiting for an answer.
Jason stood up, and Tim found himself again begrudgingly impressed by the sheer amount of space the man occupied. His shoulders crowded the stairwell and lifted in a shrug. "It's not like you made it hard," he answered, emulating Tim's neutral tone.
Tim supposed that was a fair point. After moving in, he'd been required to bulk up the security on the place. He couldn't risk some petty thief stumbling upon classified information. But instead of using state-of-the-art tech, he'd opted for older models. It was still lightyears better than any civilian security system on the market and served its purpose adequately enough… but anyone who'd spent time around the Batcave would find themselves somewhat familiar with it.
And that had been intentional.
Tim leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. He still trusted his intuition that Jason had already had plenty of opportunities to attack him if he meant to. But Tim still thought it was a bright idea to stay near an exit just in case their conversation came to blows. It had in the past.
"What're you doing here, Jason?" he asked.
The two regarded each other silently. Tim's townhome felt suddenly too small, claustrophobic, even with only two occupants. The quiet gurgle of Fin's tank, which Tim usually found soothing, sounded cloyingly loud in the corner. He felt the electric tension grow around them, not unlike the lightning that flashed outside, waiting for the inevitable roar of thunder.
"Your head," Jason finally asked, his tone closer to a mumble, "Did it get better?"
Tim's eyebrows shot up. And suddenly, all the electricity that had been building scattered within an instant. He hadn't expected that question.
He should have known that Jason would find out about his concussion. It wasn't exactly a secret, and despite all their talk about confidentiality, vigilantes were a gossiping sort of lot. Word had gotten around quickly that Robin was out of commission with an injury.
And yet, despite all that, Tim briefly considered denying it. It was what he'd do if Jason were an enemy. It was never wise to give away any weakness that could be used against him. But what was the point? The word was out, and honestly… Tim was just so damn tired of Jason being his enemy.
He sighed, wincing as his head bumped gently against the door behind him. "I've got about an hour before this headache becomes a full-on migraine. So, if you want to chat, better make it quick," his words came out sharp and somewhat resentful. He hadn't meant to say it like that but didn't regret letting his annoyance show. Perhaps some of the anger he'd felt in the earlier weeks lingered still.
Jason, to his credit, grimaced. He jerked his head to the side as if he couldn't face Tim. "It wasn't…" he paused, "I didn't mean to—" he cut himself off, unable to say more.
Tim let out a sharp laugh, marveling at the situation's absurdity. What? Was Jason trying to imply that he hadn't meant to hurt him? "You 'didn't mean to' the first or the second time?" he asked, using Jason's words against him.
Jason's face only darkened further. His right hand balled into a fist at his side. His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to respond but couldn't find the right thing to say.
Tim eyed Jason momentarily before he sighed, releasing the tension from his body like a pent-up yawn. "Yeah… you meant to," he said before stepping away from the door.
Jason tensed as if he thought Tim was about to attack him, but remarkably did not shift into a defensive stance. His mouth dropped open when Tim turned to the nearby couch and sat down instead. He'd clearly expected some sort of retribution on Tim's part, and Tim was quietly pleased to have surprised him. He gestured to the chair across from him, inviting Jason to sit down. If they were going to have this conversation, they might as well be comfortable for it.
"But it's not like I pulled any punches either," Tim continued as Jason took his offer and settled into the large armchair. The man's posture was slightly awkward and stiff as if he were still bracing himself for Tim's wrath. "You just happened to get in two really good shots," Tim muttered a little sourly.
It was the truth. Multiple times during their brief mission, they'd fought intending to harm. Tim didn't think Jason had enjoyed being electrocuted any more than Tim had enjoyed getting his head rocked by concrete twice. It was only that Tim's injury had more lasting consequences.
Jason still hadn't spoken, but he hadn't run either. So Tim decided that maybe it was okay to press him a little bit. The encounter was wildly different from any scenario he'd expected. If they were going to have what was starting to resemble something close to a civil conversation, he might as well get the most out of it. "My question is, what changed? It's not like we ended on the best of terms, and I didn't expect… this." Tim gestured between them.
Jason's eyebrows twisted, and his eyes narrowed in such a way that he clearly thought the answer obvious. "You let us go. I didn't expect you to. And you haven't told anyone about Damian… or me," he said after a pause.
That wasn't exactly true. Tim had told Steph and later Cassandra, but it was only because he knew he could count on their discretion. But he knew what Jason meant. Tim hadn't told Bruce, Dick, Alfred… or anyone that mattered to Jason Todd.
"How's the kid, uh—Damian doing?" Tim recalled the small toddler with his disheveled black hair, wide eyes, and dirty little toes. He'd clearly been frightened by the whole ordeal.
Jason let out a huff of a laugh, his mouth actually quirking up at the edges. "The kid's a resilient little monster. Hardly even fazed him once he was home." Jason's words were affectionate, but his eyes were still hard. He obviously still blamed himself for the kid's kidnapping, and Tim didn't want to open that can of worms.
So he chose another can instead.
"He's… Bruce's, isn't he?"
Jason's small smile suddenly turned nasty, and Tim watched as the man's behavior became steely once again, but it didn't bother him. He knew that nastiness was one of Jason's defense mechanisms, and somehow, knowing that took some of the bite out of it. Jason's words were taunting, "You think you're so smart, but it's gonna get you into trouble one day, Timbers. He's Talia's."
"I gathered that," Tim spoke calmly, not rising to the bait, "But Talia and Bruce—" It was no well-kept secret that they were lovers, and Bruce's resemblance to the child was uncanny. Tim didn't believe in coincidences.
"Bruce doesn't get to have another son," Jason interrupted, his voice hot and angry, "Bruce hasn't been there. I've been—"
"Alright, alright." Tim threw his hands up in surrender. Obviously, he'd touched on a sore spot and needed to get them back to safer ground. The kid was clearly important to Jason; when they'd been on Prisca, he'd been nearly out of his mind with worry. The man didn't like being separated from the toddler, which begged the question, "So what are you doing here in Gotham?"
Jason's breathing was still hard, his chest straining rhythmically against his shirt. Tim kept his eyes decidedly locked on Jason's as he waited for the man to calm down. With a hard swallow, Jason leaned forward in a familiar way when he meant to talk business. "You're going after the arms dealer," he balanced his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. "I wanna help."
Jason had been tailing him long enough that Tim figured he knew what he was up to. But the offer still surprised him. "Why?" he asked, suspecting the answer but genuinely curious to hear Jason say it aloud.
"Simple," Jason tipped his head on clasped hands, "That dealer is the only reason the League of Shadows has the upper hand right now. Sooner we take him out, the sooner I can go home."
So it was true. Tim had heard rumors that Infinity Island had been recently evacuated, but he hadn't been able to check to confirm. Following that fateful day on Santa Prisca, Shiva had moved to take complete control of the League of Shadows, a coup that successfully put Slade Wilson on the run. Her first act had been waging war against Infinity Island, her only other threat to her position. Her second had been kidnapping Cassandra to groom her to be her second in command.
Her first mission had been decidedly more successful. And worldwide, regions were feeling the effect of Shiva's ruthless control on the League. Reports of peculiar bombings or firefights had been popping up. It was tough to pin down who was behind them, therefore, difficult to raise the Justice League's interest, but Tim was convinced it was Shiva trying to root out either the al Ghul's faction or Deathstroke's hideouts.
Deathstroke, for all the work he'd put into joining the Light's ranks, seemed to have had trouble garnering any assistance with winning back his wayward Shadows. Tim had no idea where he was hiding now.
He considered Jason's proposition. It wasn't a bad idea. Their last mission had proven that when they weren't at each other's throats, they actually worked really well with one another. Jason was also ridiculously smart, and Tim could use his perspective in narrowing down his list of warehouses which, honestly, he'd been progressing through nowhere near fast enough.
It also meant that Tim could bring Cassandra and Stephanie into the fold. He'd never intended on keeping them in the dark for long; he'd just wanted to understand why Jason was lurking around before telling them. He was sure Cassandra would be pissed; she didn't trust anyone with ties to the Shadows, Shiva's faction, or the al Ghul's. But she'd get over it… he hoped.
"Okay," Tim said finally, and then, "Okay," he repeated quieter to himself. His headache was starting to strengthen, the overhead lights becoming a little spotty around the edges, the sure sign of the impending migraine. He brought his fingertips to his temples, "I'm guessing you're going to need a place to stay?" When he first walked in, he hadn't missed the duffle bag beside the staircase. Polite of Jason to not just dump it in his old room already. Tim wouldn't have put it past him.
"Yeah," Jason's voice was gruff, and Tim looked up. Sure enough, he was making a face again, a mix between defensiveness and guilt. Tim almost laughed. At least reading Jason was coming a little easier now. He dropped his fingers from his temples and pointed towards the staircase.
"Your room's still upstairs."
Tim technically didn't need to show Jason around; the man was just as familiar with the place as Tim was. But Jason waited at the bottom of the staircase as Tim reset his security system and turned off his lights.
He didn't quite know what to make of their newfound arrangement. The most he had hoped for was that they wouldn't be back to square one, a hair's breadth away from killing each other. He hadn't even considered they could pick up where they'd left off before their mutual betrayals. It seemed almost too good to be true.
It couldn't be that easy… could it?
Tim's memory briefly flashed to that last encounter in the forest. To Jason as he hobbled away with an injured leg and a toddler in his arms. He remembered how Jason had hesitated… How he'd looked back.
"Your room," Tim said roughly, swallowing down the emotion in his voice as he motioned to the door at the top of the stairs. "It hasn't changed much. Just got a new mattress and bedding. There are some spare towels in the bathroom."
Tim hoped Jason wouldn't read too much into how he'd left the room empty. Truthfully it hadn't felt right using it for anything else. That had been Jason's room; converting it to something else would have felt like he was erasing evidence of their mission together. That Jason was alive, and their mission hadn't been some conjured-up memory born from grief and a head injury.
If Jason had any judgments, he didn't voice them. He simply nodded as he shouldered his duffle into the room. He only paused when he noticed books stacked neatly on the dresser. "Are those?" he grabbed the top book and gently fingered through the pages before turning to Tim.
"Ah," Tim scratched the back of his head, his ears heating in embarrassment.
Those were the three books he'd found just before he'd bought the place. He'd never admit it, but upon opening them and finding detailed annotations, Tim had read and re-read them repeatedly, just as he'd done with all of Jason's books before they were lost in the Mount Justice explosion. "I found those under the bed. Figured they were yours… Didn't seem right throwing them out."
Tim realized that heat had spread to his cheeks and was horrified when Jason looked at him with renewed interest. His steely grey eyes were curious… probing. His eyebrows were knit together in thought as his eyes flickered between the book in his hands and back to Tim.
Tim suddenly felt itchy and uncomfortable under Jason's scrutiny. It wasn't the first time that Tim had collected remnants of Jason Todd since his death, and though illogical, he worried that somehow all of those little hidden treasures would be revealed from his expression alone.
He backed towards his bedroom door, not even caring if the exit was awkward. He just wanted to escape Jason's gaze as quickly as possible. "We'll… get to work tomorrow," he said as he slammed the door before he could say something embarrassing.
With his back to the door, Tim slid to the ground and put his head in his hands. The heat gathered on his neck and cheeks finally cooled once the hallway light turned off and he was sure Jason was sleeping.
His pulse, though? That didn't stop thudding within his chest until much later.
A/N: Hello Phantoms!
I think this chapter really highlights why I love writing for the YJ fandom. In the YJ animated series, the creators were notorious for taking familiar backstories, twisting them, but somehow achieving similar outcomes to what we see in other canons! Obviously in this world there is no Teen Titans tower fight, but I still wanted there to be a reckoning where Jason and Tim realize they've hurt each other (if unevenly), and try to navigate where they go from there. I -cannot- wait to show you.
Work starts for me next week and as usual, updates might be a little sporadic. But thank you so much to all of you for following along! If any of you would like to leave a review to share your thoughts/predictions, I would love to hear them! -Green
