Chapter 24

Tim might've been a little ambitious about the "next day mission" thing. Maybe before the head injury, he could've pulled an all-nighter and been ready to go the next day; he'd certainly done it on many occasions before Santa Prisca…

Post-Prisca, however, was a new experience entirely.

Tim slept in late until the following day, his body resisting the morning sun. Even after literally heaving himself out of bed and despite the very real threat of delaying his investigation even further, Tim found himself distracted. His eyes locked on the closed bedroom door across the hallway when he exited his room.

Jason had been oddly quiet the whole way home and went to bed so quickly that Tim hadn't even had the chance to say goodnight. It hadn't bothered him then, but now Tim found himself wishing they'd had that simple little interaction if only to break the tension of their conversation at the belfry. His eyes trailed up and down the door before he realized that he was stalling, for some reason, nervous about seeing Jason downstairs.

He shouldn't have worried. He wasn't in the kitchen. In fact, the only evidence that he'd come downstairs at all was the small, prepared plate of pancakes left out on the countertop. Figuring that he'd just gone back to bed for a late morning nap, Tim ate eagerly, his eyes glancing at the staircase periodically as he waited for his roommate to appear.

An hour turned into two and then morphed into three. And yet, Jason still didn't show. Tim might have worried that Jason had left the small townhome entirely if not for the creaking second-story floorboards that tracked the man's steps upstairs.

By the time hour five rolled around, Tim knew that he was being actively avoided.

More than a little put out by the emotional whiplash, he tried distracting himself by calling Stephanie. That was a huge mistake because, per her phrasing, she was "far too hungover to even begin dissecting why Tim was calling her cranky in the afternoon" when she was still actively recovering from her night out. The city's hottest new nightclub had apparently done a number on her and, in the background, he thought he heard the all-too-familiar sound of Tylenol clattering around in a bottle.

But that left Tim with a conundrum. Because he couldn't delay prepping for their mission, but now no one was there to stop him from stewing in his thoughts about Jason's sudden cold front.

Tim thought they'd made progress back at the belfry, that Jason was finally starting to trust him. Tim had even come home that night unable to suppress the hopeful little flutter in his chest that maybe their relationship had turned a corner. But perhaps he was wrong. Either way, he wasn't bold enough to march upstairs, bang on the door, and ask what Jason's problem was.

He finally resigned himself to research in the basement, figuring that if Jason was going to decide on one-floor separation, then, god damn it, Tim might as well make it two. And that's where he spent the rest of the afternoon until the late evening when he went upstairs to find another prepared meal on the countertop, this time a bowl of homemade mac and cheese.

A begrudgingly good meal and a horrible night's sleep later, Tim woke up early Monday morning, ready for a fight.

But Jason was already on the main floor this time when Tim came downstairs, innocently packing his gear into a large duffle bag. He looked up at Tim briefly before jerking his chin back down again. "Mornin'," he said gruffly, his expression guarded as he pointedly ignored Tim's glare, looking everywhere but directly at him.

Tim's eyebrows shot up, feeling a little vindicated that, at the very least, Jason seemed aware of his annoyance. "Morning," he replied dryly.

He stood at the landing awkwardly, fiddling with the Bruise-baru keys between his fingers. He'd been so fired up about Jason's sudden absence, but suddenly all that fire snuffed out like a candle against a breeze. He hesitated, before slumping his shoulders in defeat. "I'll go get the car," he mumbled, breaking the tense silence.

"Sounds good, meet you out there," Jason said to his back as Tim aggressively shouldered his way out the front door.

It was an overcast sort of morning in Gotham City. Clouds had rolled in overnight and hung low over the city skyline, a promise of a muggy afternoon. Thankfully, they wouldn't be around to suffer in it. Tim found the old car exactly where he'd left it, which was a pleasant surprise, considering he always halfway expected it to be stolen or at least scrapped for parts. He did live on the periphery of Crime Alley, after all.

He tossed his gear in the back and sighed as he brushed off the passenger seat. Tim was oddly particular about cleanliness in his living spaces. Stephanie Brown, however, was decidedly not. Chaos and crumbs inevitably followed wherever she went, nowhere more than his car. She was already banned from potato chips, trail mix, and Dippin' Dots, with cited infractions that Tim could list off for each.

He took the slow way back to his old apartment, though it didn't do much good. His heart rate still ratcheted up when he turned the final corner and saw Jason waiting on the covered patio of his front porch.

As soon as Jason registered that it was Tim slowing in front of the house, his complexion paled, and his mouth dropped open in abject shock. He swung his hand around in a frantic circular motion. His words were muffled by the car window, but Tim thought he saw him mouth something that looked an awful lot like 'Turn around.'

Tim rolled down the window. "What?" he asked, annoyance again bleeding back into his voice. Whatever Jason's problem was, Tim wasn't in the gracious sort of mood to deal with it.

Jason strode to Tim's window and dropped his bag outside the driver-side door. "What is this?!" he gestured wildly.

"What is what?" Tim snapped as he looked up at Jason.

"The car, Tim! The car! Please tell me this isn't the old Bruise-baru." Jason's voice was incredulous, naked horror splayed across his face as he surveyed the beat-up rig. "This thing was on its last leg even before I kicked the bucket!"

Tim slumped back in his seat as he threw his hands up impatiently. "I mean, obviously, it's still around," he scowled. "Just get in the car. It runs totally fine." He wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to suddenly come to the car's defense when he bitched about it in his head half the time anyways.

Jason shook his head resolutely, "Nope. I refuse to travel in this. Safety hazard. We'll take something else- Don't look at me like that," Jason said as he caught the roll of Tim's eyes. "There's no way Bruce hasn't given a goody two shoes like you the keys to the kingdom."

"Jason, that's not happening—"

"Tim," Jason warned, his expression not leaving room for debate. He propped his forearms on the windowsill and leaned into the open window. "Listen. We either drop this lemon off at Wayne's to finally die a lonely death. Or you drive this, and I'll walk the whole way down."

"You have your bike."

"Bikes outta commission," Jason lied, his eyes glinting mischievously though his face was otherwise dead serious.

Tim groaned, his mind hemming and hawing on whether this was a battle he really wanted to fight. Eventually, he gave up, sighing as he lightly shoved Jason's arms off the windowsill. "Fine. We'll go get another one. Now, will you please get in the car?" And god, if Jason didn't have the most textbook shit-eating grin that Tim had ever seen…

The smile lasted even as Jason straightened up. "See Tim? I don't know why you didn't suggest that in the first place." He strode, a little too happily for Tim's liking, around the car before swinging the door open and slumping into the front seat.

Tim glared at him out of his periphery. "You know what? You're really the most dramatic person I know ninety-nine percent of the time."

Jason's grin only stretched wider as he leaned in conspiratorially, "Better get used to it, Birdy. I've heard from reliable sources that I'm a bit of a drama king," he winked.

And god damn it, Tim had a hard time fighting his smile even as he tried to hide it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. He realized that if it meant Jason was sticking around, he didn't really mind "getting used to" it at all.

The drive to Bruce's took a little longer than expected, certainly enough time for Tim to notice Jason's growing quietness as they neared the property. He wondered if Jason had ever ventured this close to the old manor in the seven years since he'd been gone.

Probably not, he decided, noticing Jason start to fidget more in his seat, nearly changing positions every few seconds. When Tim pulled to the side of the road a quarter mile from the gates, he half expected Jason to roll out the door and start running in the opposite direction. He reached into his backseat, pulling out the neck gaiter he'd used for his summer investigations.

"Here, put this on," he tossed the gaiter onto Jason's lap, satisfied when he didn't question him and simply pulled the fabric over his head. "I'll pick you up on the way back," he ordered, though his eyebrow quirked up when Jason didn't immediately open the door. "What's wrong now?"

Jason's eyes crinkled in the way they always did when he was thinking over something. Tim braced himself, knowing that whatever Jason was considering likely spelled trouble for him. "Tim…" he said slowly, even slightly hesitating, "Think you could do me a favor?"

Tim cast Jason a long look. He was going out on a limb for him by even being here; what more could he possibly want? His eyebrow lifted, not saying anything but expressing his skepticism very clearly.

Jason rolled his eyes, "Can you stop glaring at me like that? Look, I know this is a long shot, but," he sighed as he rubbed his hand roughly through his dark hair, the unruly pieces tumbling characteristically over his forehead. "Look, it's just that I know Damian's in there, and-" he sighed again, anticipating Tim's refusal before even finishing the question. "Think you could figure out a way to sneak me in?"

"Jason."

"Not for long!" Jason amended, sensing Tim's growing discomfort, "Just for ten minutes. Just so I can see that he's okay." He lifted his hand as if to place it on Tim's shoulder but then hesitated before letting it fall back into his lap.

Tim looked down at the wayward hand and then back at Jason, realizing he must have a soft spot for him the size of a large practice target. One ounce of vulnerability, and like a shot through the heart, he let Jason get away with things he'd never tolerate in any other setting. Even without thinking about it for more than ten seconds, Tim knew he'd do as Jason asked.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, considering his game plan before he over-promised anything. "This is a seriously bad idea."

"I know."

"Bruce is probably in there."

Jason tensed, "I know that too."

Tim groaned, knowing there was no way he was getting out of this. "The pathway in the northern arboretum. You remember the way?" He tapped back against the headrest and tilted his head.

Jason paused, thinking for a second before his eyes lit up. "The one with the wonky-facing cam? You know about that? Hell, it's even still around?! I always thought Dick would've been all over getting it replaced if he ever found it."

Tim smiled. As much as Jason liked to call him 'goody two shoes,' he didn't know everything about him. "No, I never mentioned it. And unlike someone, I didn't use it often enough for it to become suspicious." He side-eyed Jason, referencing Jason's childhood habit of sneaking out. He smothered his chuckle at Jason's expression, who clearly hadn't realized his excursions had been found out years ago.

"I'll get Bruce out of the way somehow. Wait for my text and then meet me at my window. You get five minutes to be there, or I'm out."

Jason scoffed. "That'll be easy. But Bruce hasn't gone all paranoid since I've been around, has he? I know he's bugged the property, that I can manage. But he doesn't have any cams installed in the house, right?"

Tim shook his head no, "He's far gone but not that bad. Believe it or not, I think he likes to keep some things private." He nearly shuddered at the thought of Bruce bringing Talia to the manor and having it caught on film. Tim made a desperate point of pretending that Bruce wasn't sexually involved with anyone at all, but having evidence of his trysts in the form of a small child did make it slightly more challenging to maintain willful ignorance.

Apparently, in agreement with the plan, Jason cracked his knuckles, "Okay. I'll make it four minutes tops. You say the word, and I'll be there." He opened the car door and stepped outside, his feet crackling loudly on the gravel shoulder. He paused just before closing the door all the way and leaned back in, "Thanks, Tim," he said sincerely, "For all of this. I owe you one."

Tim made a squeaky sound with his throat that was meant to come out as 'no problem.' Thankfully, Jason slammed the door shut before he could hear it. He watched as Jason stepped back from the road and disappeared into the forest line, out of sight of any wayward civilians traveling to the historic property for a look-see.

Finally alone, Tim folded his body over the steering wheel as he rested his head against his elbows. "This is such a bad idea," he muttered, mentally chastising himself for being such a pushover.

He gave himself precisely five seconds to quell the growing panic at just how bad an idea this was before he sat up, took a deep breath, and shifted gears, pulling off the gravel shoulder with a loud screech.

He spent the rest of the drive trying not to beat himself up. They were being so stupid to attempt this little reunion, yet the foolish side of Tim's mind didn't care, still replaying Jason's thanks repeatedly in his head.

The rock driveway crackled under his wheels as he pulled in front of the large manor. Alfred was already stepping outside the door by the time Tim walked up the stairs, having been alerted of his arrival by the property's front gate. "Master Tim," he called, "We weren't expecting you." A small smile crept upwards underneath the man's mustache; clearly, he wasn't upset about the intrusion.

Still, Tim rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "The old Subaru's having more trouble; I think it might be the alternator again." It wasn't an outright lie. The car did have a subtle shake that was more pronounced when it idled, though it was far from the worst of its breakdowns.

Alfred's eyebrows creased together, "How unfortunately unsurprising," he said with the disparaging tone of a man who'd also been burned by the car's many failures. "I'll alert Master Bruce. I'm afraid you just missed him. He just went to pick up some paperwork from the office so he can work from home... I've been told that Barbara informed you of the situation?"

Tim nodded, suppressing the tiny sting that had lingered over the last few days. Bruce had never called to tell him about Damian.

He knew the man was probably in over his head. Although he had his fair share of raising children, a toddler was a totally new experience… even for him.

But still, despite knowing that, the irrational voice in Tim's head argued that, at the very least, Bruce could have made a simple phone call.

"Babs told me," he said, pausing as a new plan suddenly took shape in his head. "Do you… I don't want to intrude, but do you think Bruce would mind if I came inside to meet him?"

Alfred's eyebrow lifted, his mustache twitching with the gesture. "This manor is just as much yours as that child's, Tim. I hope you are aware of that. I just put him down for a nap, but you are more than welcome to take a peek if you'd like. If you could just," he cleared his throat loudly, and only then did Tim notice that his clothing was slightly more disheveled than average, "—Not wake him, I would appreciate it."

Tim smiled, "Sure thing." He wasn't entirely surprised that Damian was apparently a handful. Any child that Jason helped raise was bound to be.

Alfred nodded gratefully. "He's in the corner room two doors down from yours. Stop by the kitchen on your way out. I have some things I've meant to return to you," he said as he closed the large front door behind Tim.

Lately, Wayne Manor had started feeling a little different. It was a subtle change, something that he hadn't paid much attention to over the last few months. But at some point, somehow, the large manor had stopped being a place he dreaded visiting and became something closer to a home away from home.

It was a different feeling than the one he had returning to his little townhome at the end of a long day. That one, at least, had been painstakingly curated to his preferences. However, while Wayne Manor was distinctly unique from his generally preferred aesthetic, it wasn't necessarily a bad sort of different.

Wayne Manor felt old and lived in. He couldn't put his finger on it, but somehow, the twisting hallways, aged décor, and intricate woodwork had stopped reminding him of the sterile atmosphere he'd grown up in. Sort of a "what could have been," if only there'd been a few more people around to make it a little less unbearably lonely.

Tim now willingly allowed himself to be lost within the twisting hallways when he needed an escape. The intricate paintings that adorned the walls were of the Wayne family and held personal significance; they weren't simply prizes that'd been pillaged from archeological sites, meant to be admired but not relatable. And even in the gaudy woodwork, Tim started noticing the chippings, which, for whatever reason, hadn't been repaired. They were the tell-tale signatures of the accidents that followed the children who grew up in the house (with Tim having contributed to a fair share of them in his skateboarding days.)

At one point in his life, Tim couldn't wait to join The Team, to escape this sort of place, or Gotham altogether.

But maybe it wasn't so bad coming home.

Jason was quicker than Tim had anticipated, already perched outside his window by the time Tim made it back to his room, only three and a half minutes after his text on the dot. Tim shoved the old wooden frame open, helping Jason in as he scrambled through the opening with a grunt.

He felt slightly shy when Jason's head immediately swiveled, appraising his bedroom. "Well, you haven't done much since I left," he commented, his eyebrows pinching in thought as he glanced at Tim.

Tim shrugged, "Never really spent much time here, honestly," he responded. He wasn't really in the mood to share why, so he jerked his head to the door. "Alfred's waiting for me in the kitchen. You have five minutes."

They paused just outside of the door to Damian's new room. "Are you sure about this?" Tim asked. "He's asleep, I guess. But if he wakes up and sees you… He might bring up your name to Bruce or something." He really couldn't believe that Jason was willing to take the risk. It was reckless and illogical.

But also entirely congruent with the bone-deep loyalty that Tim was quickly learning was a defining feature of Jason Todd.

It took one firm look from the man to know that he'd already decided. "I just… need to see that he's okay," he mumbled as Tim stepped aside.

Tim followed Jason through the door, his eyes landing on the old baby monitor innocently perched on a door-adjacent end table. He turned it off, hoping that Alfred wouldn't notice the absence of white noise, and took a moment to appraise the room.

He was honestly a little surprised. Considering how wealthy Bruce was, Tim had expected state-of-the-art toys and furniture. But between the dated-looking crib, the flowery changing table, and the beat-up toys that littered the floor, nothing appeared younger than thirty years old.

Tim bent over to pick up a particularly old-looking train model and, with a start, realized that everything had probably belonged to Bruce when he was a child. He turned over the smooth blue toy gently between his hands. They were all precious mementos that had been tucked away in storage, now resurfacing to care for the very child of their prior owner.

Tim set the old train engine on the table.

Unlike him, Jason wasted no time idling in the room; he strode straight to the old wooden crib at the far end and stood for a moment before he leaned down. He rested his chin on his arms that he propped flat over the rails.

As Alfred promised, Damien slept in the small crib. A ratty old teddy bear that undoubtedly once belonged to Bruce lay cast aside at the sleeping toddler's feet in favor of an equally old blanket clutched between his tiny fingertips. His other fist was closed tight and pressed against his cheek, gently moving with every small breath.

"Hey, you," Jason whispered with a smile so affectionate that it nearly made Tim's heart ache.

Jason dropped his hand into the crib, brushing back some of the hair from the toddler's face, "God, you get bigger every time you're away…" His finger trailed along the child's hairline before it traveled medially, stopping at the center of his cheek where there was a tiny indent; he pressed in gently. "He was such a serious baby; we didn't even know he had dimples until he was a couple months old."

Tim didn't know if Jason was addressing him or speaking more to himself. He nodded along anyway; his eyes locked on Jason as he stayed like that for a moment before his hand dropped back to the rail. "Stop growing up on me, kid. My heart can't take it."

Something ugly unfurled in Tim's chest, but he stamped it down before he could even name the feeling. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat as he stepped back, for some reason feeling like an obtrusive eyesore butting into an intimate family moment. He glanced down at his watch. "That's three minutes," he muttered, his voice somewhat gravelly. "I should catch up with Alfred and get us that car. Don't forget to turn on the monitor when you leave."

He backed away to the door. "I can buy you a couple more minutes, but… You need to leave soon." Already, they were playing a dangerous game, and every passing minute put them both in riskier territory.

Surprisingly, Jason didn't fight him on it, suddenly very docile when in the presence of his charge. "I'll meet you back where you dropped me off?"

"Sounds good." Tim couldn't get out of there fast enough. His breathing had become shallow, and he felt the walls closing on him. That feeling in his chest grew heady and impossible to ignore.

He was nearly out the door when Jason quietly called to him. "Hey, Tim." Tim paused, turning back to see Jason's cool gaze directed solely on him, and was horrified that the sudden attention felt… good. "Pick out a good one, yeah?"

Tim didn't answer, nodding slightly as he shut the door.

His breathing slowed the further he got from the room. And by the time Tim reached the kitchen, palpitations had stopped thudding heavily in his chest. Mostly.

Alfred had his back to him, busy rummaging for things in the tall cupboards. "Master Tim," he greeted, glancing quickly over his shoulder. "I have some non-perishables that I picked up for you, as well as some laundry." He stepped away from the cabinets, a pile of oddly healthy-looking snacks in hand which he promptly loaded into a large paper bag on the countertop. Seemingly satisfied, he pushed it towards Tim. "He's quite something, isn't he? Looks just like Master Bruce when he was that age."

Tim smiled tightly as that ugly and unwelcome feeling flickered once again. If there was anyone he could share his feelings with, it was Alfred. But even that felt risky, and he suddenly worried that he could come off as ungrateful if he complained.

"I wish Bruce would've been the one to call me about him," he said finally as he pulled the paper bag to his chest.

Alfred considered him seriously before letting out a little "Ah," seeming to understand what Tim wasn't outright saying. His answer was slow and deliberate. "I'm inclined to agree. By all rights, he should have been the one to inform you of Damian." He lifted his hand to his mustache, grabbing it lightly as was his habit.

"Seeing your relationship repair over the last few months has brought this old man's heart quite a bit of relief... I believe Master Bruce shares that sentiment. But he is still human and capable of mistakes. He holds you in high regard, Master Tim. And if it isn't impertinent of me to say, that man is the bravest person I know, but even he fears some things. I believe he might be afraid of disappointing you."

Tim accepted Alfred's explanation with a grateful nod… even if he doubted it. In any case, he wasn't in any place to blame Bruce for keeping secrets when he was guilty of a piling stack of his own.

"Thanks, Alfred," he said, really meaning it. "I should probably get going. You think Bruce'll mind if I take one of his cars?"

Alfred's handlebar mustache twitched up with a wry smile, "I think the only thing he'll mind is not being here to see you drive off in one. You know he's been waiting for you to take him up on his offer for quite some time."

Tim laughed, "Okay, I'll be back the next time we have brunch then," though honestly, he wasn't sure if their growing tradition of waffle brunches would continue now that Bruce was busy raising a small child. He decided not to raise that concern for the old man's sake.

Paper bag in hand and stuffed full with snacks, Tim made his way to the garage, opening the door with a heavy push.

The cars were just where he'd left them. The last time he'd been in the large garage had been before his misguided trip to the graveyard, back when he'd been on the hunt for a clone of Jason Todd, miraculously back from the dead.

He had to laugh about the irony of it a little bit. So much had changed since then.

And yet, some things were the same. The cars were as glorious as ever, and Tim's shoes clicked over the epoxy floor as his eyes scanned over them. Spectacular glossed coats reflected the overhead fluorescent lights as he passed through the parking spaces.

Tim knew exactly what car was the most practical for him to take. A large, black SUV sat in the back of the garage, looming closer with every step. It was big enough to fit both men and their bags comfortably, and it wasn't even a bad car, per se. Just one of those luxury models that was honestly way too pricey for what it offered.

And yet, Tim hesitated as he passed the fourth row of cars, turning slowly as a cherry red paint job flashed in his periphery.

His eyes traveled hungrily over the stunning Ferrari 458 Speciale, with its signature flashy red exterior and a blue and white stripe that stretched from front to back.

God, he really loved that car. But it was too impractical; and his mind prattled off all the reasons the Ferrari was the exact opposite of what they needed.

It would only fit two people. There wasn't any trunk space. They'd be police magnets if they took it out on the highway. Not to mention, it would be totally conspicuous if they showed up in a small town with a car like that.

He couldn't take the car. He shouldn't take the car.

Pick out a good one, yeah?

Tim took the car.