Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Neal Caffrey interacts with the Red Hood, Diana is pretty sure one of them is going to die.
She’s befriended Neal since her transfer back to New York. It was hard not to like him. After years of hearing about the mysterious Neal Caffrey, she had been eager to see what kind of person he turned out to be. She found a friendly, sarcastic, and utterly brilliant young man who was definitely not in his mid 30’s no matter what his ID said. It was nice to have someone around that she could snipe remarks at who would give as good as he got. Peter was her mentor, they just didn’t have the same kind of peer relationship.
They were out for drinks, just the two of them, out to have fun and get to know each other better without superiors around. It wasn’t the nicest place around, but Diana had chosen it for the food and not the atmosphere.The drinks were good enough for the prices. Diana knew Neal’s stipend wasn’t exactly generous. It had been a relaxed evening until Neal set down his glass and peered into it, blinking.

“There’s something in this drink.”

Diana sat straighter, more alert, and noticed her own awareness a bit farther than it should be. Neal seemed more angry than worried.

“Fuck, how could I get drugged in a shitty bar?” He grabbed his jacket and stood up, reaching for Diana’s arm. “We have to go, now, Diana. Anybody could be here.” She stood up and they headed for the door. She could hear her heart beating faster in her ears. By the time they reached the door they were both leaning heavily on each other, and her vision started to swim out on the sidewalk. The last thing Diana remembered was tall buildings above her as she collapsed to the concrete.

_________

Diana wakes up to the noise of a crowd in a dark, small room. The crowd is muffled, as if behind a door. She’s in a side room, sitting on a floor, hands tied in front of her, and leaning against something. It–they–shifts as she comes to.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” the person whispers. She turns to look, eyes adjusting to the low light. It's Neal. “We’re in a bit of a pickle.”

Diana sits all the way up and starts shifting her hands, testing the bonds.
“What's the situation?”

Neal frowns. “We got drugged and picked up off of the street. This is some kind of auction, and we are among the goods.” He gestures with his hands, which are bound like hers. Neal’s hands are also bagged, limiting the use of his fingers. He shrugs at her raised eyebrow. “I got out of the first set of bindings they did.”

The door is thrown open. Their conversation is interrupted by a group of what must be auction workers coming in to collect them, dragging them to their feet. Neal sends Diana a reassuring smile. “It’s gonna be fine, Di.”

“And now folks, our final lot of the evening! As an unexpected but wonderful bonus, we have Agent Diana Berrigan and the notorious Neal Caffrey!” Diana fights a wince as the room explodes into noise as they’re shoved out into the light. She knows it should be terrifying, but she just feels numb and sluggish as her body fights the drugs still flooding her system. She scans the room and finds too many faces she recognizes, people of interest who would be all too happy to take out some past grievances on a White Collar agent. “I know many of you are here just for this delightful catch, so we’re starting out high and moving higher! No lowball offers here, what’s it worth for you to get your hands on Diana Berrigan or Neal Caffrey? What have they done to you? We’re starting at–” BANG!
A gunshot rips through the room. Diana jerks her head to the side to see a tall man wearing a gleaming red helmet standing at the back of the room. Her blood runs cold despite her sluggish, still drugged senses. Neal stiffens beside her.

“Fuck.” He breathes, eyes wide.

“Actually,” says the Red Hood’s modulated voice, “Caffrey and the fed are coming with me.” The crime lord strolls towards them, a handgun held loosely by his side.

“Hey!” A man in a suit that Diana recognizes as a businessman who’s luxury cruise line is under suspicion as a front for smuggling stands up indignantly. “You can't just march in here and take them like that! You can sit and bid fairly like the rest of us you fucking–” he cuts off with a shout of pain. The Red Hood’s gun is still pointed at him. He’s shot him through the knee.

“The paint in here is looking a little bit dull nowadays. Are you volunteering to freshen it up with your internal organs?” The modulator is flat and monotone, but Diana thinks that underneath it the mass murderer might sound cheerful. It might also be the beginnings of hysteria. The Red Hood turns towards Diana and Neal. He gestures at them with the gun. “Caffrey here is gonna do a nice little job for me, and his fed friend gets to be held as collateral. Wouldn’t want any more unseemly violence, now would we?” He steps to the side and bows them towards the door.
“Walk, Caffrey. Now.”

“You go first, Diana,” Neal whispers as he steps up to her, “I want to be between you and him.”

Diana feels a twinge of anger at Neal for making her go first, then a startle of shame as they step into the dark hallway, alone with the Red Hood, and she realizes that Neal isn’t protecting himself by standing behind her. He’s protecting her, placing himself between a mass murderer and a federal agent. It doesn’t make her feel much better.

The Red Hood shoves them into the back of a nondescript sedan and slips into the driver’s seat. “Fed, get his hands free. Both of you check for bugs ‘n shit, I left it unlocked.”

Neal nods and holds his hands out to Diana. They’ve just finished their sweep, finding nothing, and are sitting in silence, Neal silently tapping his fingers on his leg while the Red Hood drives when Neal suddenly jumps forward, shoving his hand underneath the Red Hood’s helmet and wrapping a forearm around his neck, pulling him back into the seat from behind. It all happens in less than a second.

“Diana grab the wheel!” Neal shouts as the Red Hood slams the brakes, trying to steer the car and pry Neal off at the same time. Diana startles into motion and reaches for the wheel as the conman and crime lord struggle.

“Hrk-stoppit-tm-chk-thy jacksn,” the helmet twists to the side as Diana pulls the car over, relieving some of the pressure on his windpipe. “I’m helping!” He gasps, “Leggo I’m just here to help! Calm down!”

Neal shifts his grip. “Let Agent Berrigan go.” His voice sends a shiver down Diana’s spine. It's cold and dangerous, completely unlike the cheerful conman Diana has come to know. The Red Hood nods quickly and Neal loosens his grip.

“Fuck, Bristol, I’m just driving you home! Calm down, jeez.” He shoves Neal’s arms all the way off and then slips off his helmet, panting. “What the fuck, dude?” Under the helmet is a younger man than she expected. He looks to be about Neal’s age, with dark hair and tan skin, a white tuft of hair flattened across his forehead. His eyes are hidden behind a red mask.

Neal sits back in his seat and crosses his arms. Diana leans back, out of the way of the crime lord in the driver’s seat.

“Why should I believe you? You just shot someone.” His eyes bore into the Red Hood’s face.

“I just shot someone for you, a simple thank you would suffice.” He rubs his neck, inspecting it in the rear view mirror. “When the fuck did your grip get like that, runt? That’s gonna bruise in the morning.”

“I hope your boyfriend gets the wrong idea.”

The criminal in the front seat grins. “I would be happy to tell you all about his ideas if you would like.”

Neal wrinkles his nose in disgust.

The Red Hood chuckles. It’s incredibly disconcerting. “You still want the agent to get out here, Neal? Next stop is your apartment.”

Neal leans forward. “Let me drive.”

“Not a chance, brat. You’re still drugged.”

Neal leans back sulkily in his seat. “Diana can do what she wants.” Both men turn to look at her. She is completely terrified, but bolsters up some courage. I am an FBI agent.

“Neal and I are both going to exit the vehicle, and walk away. You are going to sit there and let us exit the vehicle and walk away.” She manages to keep the wobble out of her voice.

The Red Hood laughs at her. Neal tenses.

“You lay a finger on her, Hood, and you will lose the finger.”

“Oh don’t worry, I like her already! She’s shaking in her metaphorical boots and still gave me orders, the gall! I see why you like her, she’s just your type. You just love the ballsy ones, don’t you?” He turns to look back at her. “Sorry little fed, Caffrey signed up for a personal escort home the minute he let himself get drugged in a bar.” The sentence is punctuated by him putting the car back into drive and pulling back onto the street.

“You don’t have to remind me, I’m already pissed enough at myself.”

“You are lucky to be still alive, Timbit, so don’t get fresh with me. You were completely unresponsive for six hours. They could have killed you. I need you to understand how bad this was!” the crime lord grinds out angrily.

Neal sulks. “What are you even doing in New York anyways?”

“Nice dodging of the subject, but actually I’m here following a very interesting new undetectable drug that has been making its rounds in Gotham. Its symptoms include disorientation, impaired mental facilities, and unconsciousness, which has led to fourteen comas, three of which died within the first 24 hours and the remaining 11 have not woken up.” He says with false cheer, then makes eye contact with Neal through the rearview mirror. “All of which you should already know.”

Neal holds his gaze for a moment before turning to look out the window.

“Thanks, Hood,” he says softly. “I owe you one.”

“Oh, this isn’t free.” Their driver replies. “I wasn’t kidding about the job, but your fed isn’t collateral. I just need that brain of yours.” Diana glances at Neal, who looks back, worried.

“What do you want?” He asks, resigned.

“What should I get S for her birthday? You’ve known her way longer.”

Neal blinks. The Red Hood keeps talking.

“I’ve never really done birthday gifts, y’know? B just always gets expensive shit for everyone but that's not how me and Bowery work, y’know? I don’t wanna get her something she won’t use but I also don’t wanna get something only practical, cause that's boring. We’re not that old yet. Do you know if there's anything she wants? We both hate asking B for money so-”

“You’re rambling, Red.” Neal laughs at him. “Is that all? I don’t know what to tell you though, we always get each other gag gifts. She always hated when I bought her nice things, said it made her feel unequal.” He turns to Diana. “What did you want when you were a senior in college, Diana?”

She tries not to gape at Neal, and ignore the turn the conversation has taken. This feels like a fever dream, she thinks.
“I didn’t want much, to be honest. My parents, uh, supported me through college.” She glances at the Red Hood, now casually navigating the streets of New York, busy even in the early hours of morning. “Does she have any hobbies? Who is she to you, exactly?”

“An old friend,” Neal says, at the same time as the Red Hood grins and says, “His baby mama.”

Diana feels her eyebrows shoot up and Neal sputters.

“His what?”

“The kid wasn’t mine!” Neal protests. “She was already pregnant when we started dating.”

“It seems I haven’t heard the whole story, hmm,” the crime lord seems inordinately interested in what appears to be old relationship gossip. The whole car ride has felt surreal. Diana isn’t sure if it's the drugs or her own mind trying to protect her from how terrifying the situation is. “She likes gaming,” he continues, moving back to their earlier topic, “would she think it's stupid to have multiples of controllers she already has? I could get her a set of purple ones.”

Neal nods. “She’d like that, that's a good idea.”

The car descends into an awkward silence as Diana tries not to think too hard about the events of the evening. Neal looks out the window.

Finally, they pull up to June’s house.

“Here we are, Sunset and Camden,” their driver sings as the car comes to a stop.

“I forgot how weird you are,” Neal mutters as he moves to get out. “‘The paint is looking dull, are you volunteering to freshen it with your internal organs?’ You’re so fucking dramatic. Once a theater kid, always a theater kid.”

“Bold words coming from you, nerd. Get out of my car.”

Neal grins as he shuts the door and drags Diana away towards the house. “Well, if you insist.” They’re halfway to the door when their criminal chauffeur calls after them through the passenger window.

“Hey, Caffrey, send me an analysis of whatever the fuck is in your blood, would ya? I’m building out my data.”

Neal doesn’t even turn around, he just waves over his shoulder and continues walking towards the house. The Red Hood doesn’t drive away until they make it inside. She and Neal don’t talk until they make it up to his studio where she collapses onto the couch. Neal pauses at the door, locking it behind them.

“Did that actually just happen?” Diana wonders aloud.

“Unfortunately, yes it did.” Neal answers as he turns around. His eyes are bloodshot and his suit and hair are dusty. His hat is missing. He looks around, jumpy and nervous. Diana thinks she must look much the same as the events of the night start to catch up with her.

“What the fuck?”

Neal nods in agreement. “What the fuck.” He takes a notepad out of a drawer and starts writing something. Diana flops back to stare at the ceiling.

“I just witnessed a crime lord shoot someone through the kneecap. He drove us home. We–we got kidnapped. Two times. Neal–we got kidnapped twice,” She sits up suddenly. “The auction! Neal, that auction could bust a dozen cases wide open! Where’s my phone, I have to call Hughes!” She starts patting down her pockets.

“I imagine they took your phone, like they took mine.” Neal says, still writing. “I’m missing everything but my ankle monitor. I bet they couldn’t get it off.” He looks up at Diana with realization on his face. “The tracking data! We can pinpoint the location of the auction with the tracking data!” He reaches for a laptop, sitting out on the countertop.
Diana stands up and wobbles towards the kitchen.

“Neal. You know the Red Hood.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know I’m drugged right now, but you can’t tell me that that wasn’t the Red Hood. He drove us home. He– he rescued us. Why did he rescue us?” Diana teeters onto a chair. Neal looks up at her. She doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he turns back to his computer and continues to work in silence for a moment. “Neal.” She says, seriously. “I know you know him. That was a familiar conversation. You know him well. You can’t lie your way out of this one, he called you nicknames! Neal,” she pauses, realizing the implications of that, “why does the Red Hood have nicknames for you?”

“Nobody calls him ‘the Red Hood’ you know,” Neal mutters. “It's usually just ‘Red’ or ‘Hood’. Sometimes ‘RH’. Sometimes it's just ‘Hey Asshole’.”

“Answer the damn question, Neal.”

He pauses to glance at her again. “We have mutual friends.”

“Mutual friends like your ex-girlfriend?”

“I guess. I didn’t realize they were hanging out, actually.”

“Neal. I know there’s more to this.”

He sighs and stands up, moving towards the stove. “Just, give me a minute, Di? My head is killing me and I cannot think.”

She frowns as she watches him fill the kettle and rustle through cabinets, then goes back to the couch, flopping back on the cushions. “Make me some too, I feel awful and my brain isn’t working.” They descend into silence and Diana feels herself start to drift in the haze of the mystery drug and whatever alcohol is left in her system.
Neal brings over a mug a few minutes later. It's warm, plain chamomile.
“I didn’t take you for a tea drinker.” She says.

Neal hums in response. Diana sips slowly at her tea, warmth seeping from the mug into her hands. Neal’s apartment is warm, and the lights are dim. She’s drifting off again by the time her cup is empty.

_________

Diana wakes up to sunlight streaming through the windows of Neal's apartment and a painful pounding in her head. She groans and rolls over to face into the cushions, away from the light. The pounding intensifies.

“Neal! I’m coming in!” Diana hears Peter’s voice through the door. Neal sits up in bed across the room, rubbing his eyes. He’s not even under the covers, just laying on top of the duvet in his clothes from the day before.

“Diana’s missing, Neal.” Peter says as he walks in. “Nobody’s heard from her since yesterday. Christie says she never made it home.”

“I’m here, Peter.” Diana wheezes out. Her mouth feels like sandpaper. Peter spins around to look at her, already halfway across the room to Neal’s bed.

“Diana!” Peter exclaims, kneeling next to her. “You’re alright. You look terrible, what happened?” He glances at Neal, then back at Diana. “Why are you here?”

Neal blinks owlishly for a couple of seconds, sitting up on the edge of his bed. He doesn’t seem much more conscious than she herself feels. Peter looks at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“I’m not sure…” Diana mumbles. Everything is foggy. Why is she at Neal’s apartment?

“Neal?” Peter asks, expectantly. Neal is silent as he turns on the coffee machine. His brow is furrowed as he stares at it. When did he get to the kitchen?

“We…went out. For drinks.” He looks up at Diana.

“At the bar with that horrific wood paneling.” She nods, the evening starting to come back to her. “Okay, I remember that. We had cocktails.” She flops back on the couch. “Did we go anywhere else? I don’t remember anything after that bar.”

Neal hands her a glass of water and some painkillers, suddenly at her side, trading places with Peter. “I remember leaving, but not how we got back here.”

Peter stares suspiciously at them from his place by the kitchen counter. “Are you two sure nothing happened? You’re both awfully…disheveled.” Diana’s still trying to figure out Peter’s meaning when Neal scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous Peter, you found us passed out fully clothed on opposite sides of the apartment.”

Peter splutters. “That’s not what I meant!” He huffs and turns towards the kitchen counter. “Your phones and wallets are here, at least.” Neal perks up and strides over.

“Oh? That’s good.”

Peter swipes up a piece of paper. “Dropped you and the fed off and retrieved your shit. Don’t forget about the blood. J.” Neal lunges for it but Peter twists out of the way. “What is this? Who’s it from?”

“I assume it's a note about whatever we forgot last night, give it here.”

“No, I’m analyzing it.”

“Peteerrr!” Neal whines. Diana winces. Her still throbbing head does not appreciate their volume increase.

“Would you guys knock it off?” She mumbles, burrowing back into the couch. It's too bright.

The bickering in the kitchen cuts off and she hears the rustling sound of curtains, blinds, and mugs. The room is dark when she sits back up to a mug of coffee, Neal and Peter both looking at her worriedly from the table.

“You alright Diana?” Neal asks as she sits down with them, coffee in hand.

She shrugs. “Just my head killing me. How are you not facedown right now?”

Neal grimaces. “Mine’s bad too, I’m just used to working through the pain I guess.”

Peter and Diana share a look, the room sinking into blissful silence as they sip the coffee. Peter breaks it a few moments later.

“I messaged Christie for you, but you should give her a call when you’re up to it.”

Diana nods.

“Who’s J?” Peter asks again. Neal looks up from his phone.

“An acquaintance.”

“You know I need more than that, Neal.” Peter says quietly.

Neal sighs. “He’s an old friend. I guess I called him for a ride last night, but I don’t remember it. He must’ve gone back for stuff we left at the bar, which is uncharacteristically nice of him.”

“What’s his name?” Peter asks.

Neal looks genuinely confused by the question. Diana glances between them at the back and forth questioning. “J? That's his name?”

“That’s just a letter, Neal. I need a name.”

“Not J as in the letter j, Peter, J as in J-A-Y. That’s his name.”

“Unusual. And you know him how?” Peter asks.

“How is that unusual? Jay is a perfectly usual name.”

“Don’t dodge the question, Neal.”

Neal slumps forward, finger tracing the rim of his coffee mug. It's almost empty already. “We were…neighbors.” He says after a few moments.

Peter hums. “In prison?”

“No.”

“When?”

“Before.”

“When before?”

Neal stays silent.

Peter looks back down at the note.

“What does he mean by ‘Don’t forget about the blood’?”

Neals lips quirk up a bit. “It’s an old joke, don’t worry about it.”

“I need an explanation, Neal.” Peter says, seriously.

“You’re so paranoid, Peter.” Neal sighs. “So we used to go to these cafes, right? And talk about art, you know, as you do, and we were comparing Caravaggio’s Judith to Gentileschi’s. I said the stylistic difference was because of a difference in period, and Jay said it was because Caravaggio was a man and Gentileschi was a woman, Artemisia Gentileschi, and we were debating over all of that. But there was this other guy in the group who kept bringing up the blood. We’re talking about the colors, and he brings up the colors they use for blood. We’re talking about the lighting and he talks about the lighting of the blood. We’re talking about the action and he talks about how Artemesia paints the blood spurting instead of just dripping and it was so annoying! It was all he talked about. So after that the rest of us would bring it up in other conversations. I guess Jay remembered that.” Peter stares at Neal. Diana thinks he must be trying to decide if Neal’s made it up or not. She isn’t sure either.

“It's not even a good point.” Diana says. “Caravaggio painted the blood spurting out too.”

Neal throws his hands in the air. “I know!”

Peter smiles a bit. “Gentileschi does light the blood much differently than Caravaggio, though. His is very bright.”

“Of course they’re different, Peter. The lighting of the paintings is a completely different style! The whole…….”

Diana smiles into her coffee as Neal and Peter bicker. Her head feels better already.

________

Why did you bring our stuff back - Tim sends Jason with his bloodwork results.

Your phone is full of sensitive information, dumbass - Jason replies.

Tim leaves him on read.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd’s day was honestly going alright, until he showed up at Tim’s apartment and found him unconscious, halfway out of bed onto the floor, with a dangerously high fever.

“Hey Two-bit!” Jason called out, letting himself into Tim’s apartment through the balcony.

No response.

“I know you're here, I checked your tracking data. I need you to look over my data set for that mystery drug.”

No response.

“Tim?”

Jason crept through the apartment on high alert. He should be here.

The bed came into view as he rounded the corner of the room. Abandoned, but messy. Jason stepped towards it when a lump of the blankets spilling onto the floor moved. He rounded the bed to find Tim, unconscious, tangled in the covers on the floor. Jason scoffed. “What, did you fall out of bed?” He nudged Tim with his boot. “Wakey wakey kid. Work time.”

No response.

He frowned, squatting down. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be at your FBI gig right now?” Shaking Tim only garnered him a vague groan. “Tim, come on, you’ve got to get up.”He felt Tim’s forehead. It was burning. He tried waking him up again, concern growing. “Tim, you gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

“Hood?” Tim mumbled, finally gaining some sort of consciousness.

“Yeah, Two-bit, it’s me. What happened to you?”

Tim just grumbled.

“Timberly, come on, you gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

No response.

Jason cleared his throat. “Robin, report.” He growled.

Tim twitched. “M sick.”

“What kind of sick, Robin?”

“Justa cold.”

“Just a cold doesn’t get you a fever this high.”

“S’cause I don’ have a spleen.”

“You don’t have a what?”

“Splns gone. M tired.” Tim’s voice drifts off from underneath the tangle of blankets.

“Hey, no, you gotta get up. Don’t drift off on me again.” Jason said, digging through the blankets. Tim’s skin was clammy and feverish. He sat him up against the side of the bed. “Stay here, okay kid? I’m getting a thermometer.”

No response.

105.3ºF.

“Okay,” Jason breathed shakily. “Hospital time.”

________

The second time Neal Caffrey and the Red Hood interact, Peter is worried that Neal might die. He would also be much more worried about the mysterious stranger who helped Neal if he had any idea who he actually was. He has no idea about their previous interaction, since Diana remembered none of it, but if he did know a distressing pattern might have started to emerge.

Neal had called out sick for the first time. He sounded terrible on the phone, so suspicious as he was, Peter gave him the day. It had been a nice change to drive to work in silence for once. By noon though, he was beginning to feel uneasy at the silence. He messaged Neal. No response. Diana and Hughes had asked after the absent conman, and after a day of silence Peter resolved to stop by the apartment. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Neal, it was that he was worried about him, he reasoned with himself. But the thread of anxious tension tightened over the course of the day. By the end of the day he was ready to snap. Hughes gave him a knowing look when he practically raced to the elevators.

He barely remembers the drive to June’s place. He’s my responsibility, I agreed to take him on, if he does anything it’s ultimately my responsibility. He thinks. If anything happens because of him it’s my fault. It’s not like he doesn’t trust Neal at all, it’s not! But he’s never called out sick before, and he didn’t look sick yesterday, and he hasn’t heard from Neal in over eight hours. Peter may trust Neal to help the FBI, and to keep himself out of prison, but he doesn’t trust Neal not to be a criminal.

June’s house is empty when he gets there. He lets himself in and up to the apartment, praying that Neal is there and bracing himself for an empty flat.

“Neal!” He calls out as he bangs on the door. There’s no answer. He steps inside to an abandoned room.

Peter’s finger hovers over his phone to dial the U.S. Marshalls for Neal’s location, but he hesitates. I don’t lie to you, Peter. Neal’s voice says in his head. Do you trust me?

Peter calls Neal. It rings. And rings. And rings and rings and rings and–

“Hello?”

“June.” Peter breathes. “Where’s Neal?”

“He’s here.”

“I came over after work to check on him and there’s no one here. Where are you?”

“The emergency room.”

Peter is moving before he even finishes registering the words.

“Which one, I’m on my way.”

“The close one, by the university. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Peter feels a bout of relief that Neal is not committing a crime before it’s buried under guilt.

____

“June!” Peter calls out as he runs up to the entrance. “What happened?”

“It was Neal’s friend, Jay. He came over and found him completely delirious with a fever of over 105.” June wrings her hands. “He drove us over and gave Neal’s medical information to the staff, but they won’t let either of us see him yet.”

The waiting room is full, but Peter follows June to a couple of empty chairs next to a younger man with dark hair. He watches them approach, tracing their path across the room.

“Jay, Neal’s FBI handler is here.”

Jay nods in greeting, eyeing Peter suspiciously. Peter takes in the dark clothes, faint scars, and shock of white hair and immediately categorizes him as ‘criminal-type’. He holds out a hand. “Agent Peter Burke.”

Jay shakes it. “I know.” He stands up. “I’ll head out now then. Keep June company.”

June sits elegantly in one of the empty chairs. “Take a seat, young man. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Ma’am, really I–”

“Sit.”

Jay sits. Peter’s quite impressed, if he’s being honest. He’s put off by Jay’s presence, but an opportunity to get information from one of Neal’s associates can’t be passed up. He opens his mouth to ask how the younger man knows Neal, but June beats him.

“Is there any news?”

Jay shakes his head. “No one came out while you were gone.”

“What happened?” Peter asks. “I came over to check on him after work and found the place empty.”

“Jay came downstairs carrying Neal, he looked terrible, and said he was taking him to the hospital. I came along of course. They took him back pretty quickly once we got here and we haven’t really heard anything since.” Peter turns to look expectantly at the mysterious Jay. He stays silent for a few moments before quietly sharing his side of the story.

“I came in and found him on the floor by his bed. Seems like he fell off of it. It took a few tries to wake him up and I barely got a sentence out of him before he was out again. I went after a thermometer and then brought him downstairs to the car. His temperature was at 105.3 back in the apartment.” Jay's speech isn’t what Peter was expecting. It’s more refined than he thought it would be, with an unidentifiable accent. He sounds educated. The report he gives is just on the edge of too professional. It's too detached, not emotional enough, Peter thinks. Suspicious.

“Thank you for bringing him in.” Peter says.

Jay just looks at him for a moment and doesn’t respond. The silence stretches on.

_________

Neal’s hospital room is even quieter than the waiting room, the occasional beeping of monitors breaking the silence. It feels like an eternity to Peter, but it's really no more than an hour before Jay quietly says, “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” and Neal tenses. Peter hadn’t even noticed he was awake.

“Where.” Neal asks. It doesn’t sound like him.

“Hospital.” Jay replies. “June and Burke are here.”

Neal finally opens his eyes. They dart around the room. “Why are you here?”

“Scrapped your sorry ass off the floor of your apartment.”

Neal scowls and sits up in the hospital bed. “Why were you in my apartment?”

“I was going to steal all of your dish towels.” Jay deadpans. “I was looking for you, obviously.”

“That’s suspicious.” Neal mutters. “Hello Peter. Hello June.”

“How are you feeling?” June asks.

“Sick.” Neal replies. “I called out of work this morning, why am I here?” He looks at Peter for an explanation.

“I came to check on you after work and you were already admitted. June and your friend Jay brought you in.”

“You had a fever of 105 and you were barely responding, what was I supposed to do?” Jay defends against Neal’s raised eyebrow.

“105 isn’t even that bad.”

“105 is very bad, Neal.” June cuts in.

“The human body doesn’t even sustain permanent damage until 107°F!” Neal argues.

“Which you would have reached within hours without treatment, since you’re missing part of your immune system!” Jay argues back.

“He’s missing what?” Peter asks, startled.

“Nothing!” “His spleen.” Neal and Jay answer at the same time.

Peter gapes. “That’s…not in your medical file.”

“No.” Jay agrees. “It isn’t.”

“Stop glaring at me, I had my reasons.” Neal sulks.

Peter’s protest is interrupted by a nurse coming in to check Neal over and change the IV bag. He steps out of the room to use the facilities while the nurse performs the check up. June must have stepped out as well, because he comes back to hear Neal and Jay quietly arguing. He pauses outside, out of view.

“- not going to give the demon any advantages! Why would I hand him information that would make it easier for him to successfully kill me?”

“Because you could have died if I hadn’t found you!”

“And I’m certain I would have died sooner if he knew all it would take to take me out was the flu!”

There is silence, then Jay asks, “What happened to your spleen, bristol?”

“…I lost it.”

“Lost it where?”

“I don’t think I should tell you that, actually.”

“Where the fuck is your spleen, red?” Jay asks again, and a chill goes up Peter’s spine. Jay sounds dangerous, and Peter would have gone into the room, but he knows if he interrupts the conversation will end and he’s already found out so much just from what he’s overheard.

“Nanda Parbat.” Neal admits. He sounds ashamed. Peter hears a sound like a chair being pushed back. Jay must have stood up.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking kill him this time, I swear to–”

“No, you aren’t, because we both know you’d only get yourself killed!”

“He took your spleen!”

“Trust me, I know! I am incredibly aware of that fact, actually, since it was my internal organ that he stole!”

There are a few more beats of silence before the chair creaks. Jay must have sat back down.

“Does your backup know, at least?” he asks Neal.

“What do you mean?” Neal sounds exhausted.

“Whoever your backup is, do they have an accurate medical file for you? Your little tower friends, I presume.”

“No, they uh, they don’t. Aren’t.”

“They don’t have an accurate file or they aren’t your backup?”

“Correct.”

“Who is your backup for this gig then, kid? This is the second time I’ve had to pull you out of hot water.” Jay says tersely. Second time? Backup?

“I’m working a desk job at the FBI, I don’t need backup. I’m safer than the rest of you are.”

“You could have died twice just since I’ve been in New York.”

“And I’m sure that would have been terribly inconvenient for you. What did you want from my apartment anyways?”

“I wanted to get your eyes over some data.”

“What, Roy couldn’t look at it?”

“He did.”

“Dickie’s better at data analysis than I am.”

“We uh, aren’t really talking right now.” It’s the first time Peter’s heard Jay sound unsure of anything.

Neal barks out a laugh. It’s sharp and bitter. “Welcome to the fucking club, I guess.” Blankets rustle. “Peter should be back soon.”

“He treatin’ you alright, Bristol?”

“It’s an FBI gig, why do you care?”

“Whatever.”

The room descends back into silence, and Peter takes it as his cue to go back into the room.

“How are you feeling, Neal? What did the nurse say?” He asks, eyeing their positions. Jay sits next to the bed just where he suspected.

“I’m stuck here until tomorrow, Peter!” Neal whines. “It’s awful. I won’t make it through the night in here, I’ll die of boredom.”

Jay stands up and heads for the door. “I’m out, Neal. Try to keep yourself alive, would you?”

“Now that’s a change of tune, coming from you.” Neal snarks.

Jay just leaves.

Peter spends the rest of the evening sorting through what he’s overheard and learned about Neal.

1. Neal is missing his spleen.
2. He wasn’t born without it, it was stolen by someone.
3. Said someone was/is in a place called Nanda Parbat and is dangerous.
4. At least one person unknown to Peter wants Neal dead.
5. Jay has been involved with Neal since he started working as a CI, and Peter has no idea who he is.
6. Jay knows much more about Neal than Peter does.
7. Jay is dangerous.

________

Jason sits on the edge of a building in New York City, the day’s events repeating in his mind.

Tim, unresponsive on the floor of his Neal Caffrey apartment.

The thermometer reading over 105ºF.

Tim, hooked up to IVs alone in a hospital bed.

I would have died sooner if he knew all it would take to take me out was the flu!

Peter Burke’s suspicious gaze and barely concerned demeanor.

I’m working a desk job at the FBI, I don’t need backup.

I don’t need backup.

Now that’s a change of tune, coming from you.

He could have died two times just since I’ve been in New York. He thinks. I am one of the last people who should be watching Tim Drake’s back, but he would have died two times if it weren’t for me since I've been in New York.

“Not on my fucking watch.” Jason says out loud to the New York City air. To no one. To himself.

Rule #1: No more dead Robins.

Chapter Text

It’s a simple surveillance mission when the FBI first hears one of Neal Caffrey’s aliases connected to the Red Hood. Neal had stayed overnight and into the next evening at the hospital, remaining out of work for the rest of the week. They’ve had him on light duty desk work in the weeks since, but their most recent case needs a bit of undercover work and Neal is unmatched. Peter is anxious about setting him loose in the field so soon after the hospital scare, but Neal insists he’s fine.

“Relax, Peter! I go in, hang around, your ambient mic picks up shit on the other side of the room, I leave! It’s literally a walk in the park!”
“There’s no such thing as a walk in the park with you around, Caffrey.” Diana says from the front seat of the van.
Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes at their antics. He finishes setting up the ambient microphone in the back of Neal’s jacket and steps back to check everything over again. Neal’s suit is missing, replaced with a worn-in, black leather jacket, straight cut jeans, and a pair of boots. His typically perfect gelled hair is swept over to one side. He pats Neal on the shoulder.
“Go ahead and step outside so we can check that mic, cowboy.”

Neal scowls. “I go to all this effort to blend in for you and you call me cowboy?” He slinks over to the door and closes it hard behind him. The agents in the van pull on their earphones in time to hear Neal mutter, “I get no respect around here. Cowboy!”

“Your mic’s working, Neal.” Jones says dryly. Neal sulks his way to the bar.

He’s chosen a seat at the far end of the bar, nearest to the booth that the group they’re trying to monitor is occupying. The van crew works on parsing the various conversations for the information they need while Neal plays his best inconspicuous background character. It’s all routine until about half an hour in when the first hint of something going wrong is picked up by the powerful ambient mic.

“Was it just me or did leather jacket at the bar order as Nick Halden?”

Peter and the others tense.

“Yeah, that’s Nicky alright.”

They trade worried eye contact.

“Come on man, we could get him in an alley.”

“Neal, you’ve been recognized as Nick Halden. Get ready to run.” Peter warns the conman. He gets a quiet hum in response.

“You crazy, man? I ain’t touching that!” The conversation continues, tension growing in the van. Neal can’t hear what the ambient mic picks up, Peter remembers. He’s relying on us.

“Come on, you know there’s plenty of people gunning for him.”

“Not now there ain’t. Word’s out he’s under the hood now. Got protection.”

“Halden? Working for the hood? I don’t believe it.”

“You’re safer to. I heard hood’s been around the city lately.”

“Red Hood.” Diana breathes, eyes wide in realization. “They’re talking about the Red Hood.” Peter’s blood turns to ice. What have you done, Neal?

“What’s he need Halden for?”

“I dunno and I ain’t asking. Not after the mess he made at that meeting when he grabbed Caffrey. Shits outta my bracket, I’ll tell you.”

“Maybe he needs Halden now that Caffrey’s a fed.”

“Caffrey’s a fed?”

“Come on, man, everybody and their sister knows that.”

Jones looks up at Peter. “You need to pull him out.”

Peter nods. “Neal, get out.”

Neal steps back into the van with a bounce. “That was going perfectly, why’d you pull me out? Did you get what we need?” He looks around at their stony faces and frowns. “What’s going on? You sounded worried.”

“Do you work for the Red Hood?” Peter asks, as calmly as he can.

Neal stills. “Do I what?”

“Do you, Neal Caffrey, or Nick Halden, or any other person you pretend to be, work for the Red Hood?” Peter repeats, standing now.

“No, I–what? What? Where is this coming from?”

“Word’s out he’s under the Hood now. Got protection.
Halden? Working for the Hood? I don’t believe it.
You’re safer to. I heard Hood’s been around the city lately.
What’s he need Halden for?
I dunno and I ain’t asking. Not after the mess he made at that meeting when he grabbed Caffrey. Shits outta my bracket, I’ll tell you.
Maybe he needs Halden now that Caffrey’s a fed.” Diana reads from their transcription. “That’s two known identities of yours connected with the Red Hood, Neal.”

Neal pales.

“Are you, or are you not, working for the Red Hood, Neal?” Peter asks a third time.

“I’m not. Peter, I swear I’m not. I wouldn’t.” His eyes are wide, darting around the van.

“Neal–” Peter takes a step forward. Neal backs up into the wall.

“Peter I’m not! I swear I’m not, you’ve got to believe me!”

Diana pushes out in front of Peter, hands placating. “Okay Neal, say we believe you. We need to know why they seem to think you are. Can you explain that part?”

“I don’t–I don’t know why.”

“Give us your best guess then.”

Neal takes a deep breath. “Okay, I can–I can do that.” He breathes again. “Can I make a phone call? I think I know who’s behind this.”

The other occupants all turn to look at Peter. He deliberates for a minute, then decides, “On speakerphone. Right now, here, with us all listening.” Neal nods. He fishes out his phone and dials an unsaved number. It rings for a minute before someone picks up.

“Hey what’s up?”

“Put your boyfriend on the phone, arse. I need a word with him.”

“Okay, okay. Testy.” The phone call is muffled, indistinct shouting on the other end.

“What do you need, kid?” It's a new voice.

“Why is the word that Nick Halden and Neal Caffrey are involved with the Red Hood going around?”

“It’s for your own good.”

“How DARE you!” Neal shouts into the phone, startling the others. “This could jeopardize my whole deal with the FBI!”

“Well, you already know how I feel about that, so I’m not seeing a downside so far.”

“You know why I’m here, you know what I’m trying to do! Let me make my own fucking way for once! I don’t need you to get me out of things that I choose to get myself into!” Peter’s never heard Neal swear so much.

“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, though. So I’m providing extra protection, since you decided to paint a giant fucking target on your back and disarm yourself by becoming a well known snitch for the fucking FBI with no fucking backup!”

“The FBI is my backup! This is my one chance to make up for everything and move on, so don’t you dare ruin it!”

“Make up for everything? You don’t owe them shit.” Neal sucks in a breath.

“That’s not how it works and you know it. Don’t get involved with me.”

“I’m already involved, kid.”

“Get uninvolved then. I don’t care how. Stay out of it.”

“If you wanted me to stay out of it, then I shouldn’t have fo–heard about Jay finding you half dead on your apartment floor with no help in sight.”

“If your stupid fucking rumors ruin my deal with the FBI, I will never forgive you.”

There's a beat of silence from the other end of the call. “Noted.” And the call disconnects, the van descending into a thick silence.

Neal slides down the wall and sits with his face in his hands. Peter’s only seen him like this once, after Kate left him. He doesn’t like it, seeing the sharp con man so out of character. It’s irritating, sometimes, how Neal is always so put together, so smooth, but seeing him like this is much worse. Peter’s come to rely on Neal for his unflappable charm.
He sits down on the bench across from him.

“Okay, Neal. I believe you.” Peter says quietly.

Neal looks up at Peter, face blank. “What?”

“I believe you.” Peter repeats. “I don’t think you’re actually working for the Red Hood. However,” he continues, “It’s obvious that you’re involved with someone well connected and powerful enough to spread that kind of rumor around. Someone close enough to the Red Hood to be believed. Is it Jay?”

Neal is silent.

“Am I going to have to hand you over to Organized Crime?” Peter asks, voice almost catching. He doesn’t want to. Neal is his CI. Organized Crime doesn’t get to have him. They’ll tear him apart.

“I don’t think I know anything they don’t already have.” Neal admits. “I don’t have real names or exact locations or anything.”

Peter sighs. “Who is it, Neal?”

Neal shrinks into himself. “Parks. Hood’s clean up.”

The three agents gape at him. “How?” Jones manages.

“It’s nothing you can still prosecute so it doesn’t matter.”

Peter glares.

“Okay, okay, fine! I might have done some stuff for him once. And I maybe helped fish him out of a situation overseas. Allegedly. Before I was ever even on your radar!” Neal defends.

“Neal–” Peter says in a strangled voice.

“And he wasn’t even working for Hood then! So you can’t hold that part of it against me!”

“Holy shit.” Diana whispers.

“How does this lead to you having his phone number and him giving you protection a decade later?”

“It wasn’t his actual phone number, just what I figured was the best shot at answers.”

“Why, Neal.”

He’s silent for a minute. “I may have been…young. At the time. He, uh, wanted to keep an eye out for me. See if I made it alright, y’know? He’s always looked out for kids, I think.”

“Wait–you said you didn’t have real names. Red Hood’s clean up guy isn’t called Parks Row?” Jones asks.

Neal and Diana both turn to him with incredulous looks. “Jones. Park Row is the name of Hood’s territory.” Neal says.

“I thought it was called Crime Alley!”

“Crime Alley and Park Row are the same place!”

“I’m not turning you over to Organized Crime,” Peter interrupts them, “but if a case ever comes up where your knowledge could be useful I’m not hiding this connection from them.” Neal nods, tension bleeding out of his frame. Jones and Diana nod as well.

This had better not come back to bite me later, Peter thinks. He has a sneaking suspicion that it will regardless.
__________

“I don’t think Neal was honest about his connections earlier.” Jones says that night in the office after Neal has been sent home. The remaining members of Peter’s team are gathered in the conference room, completing paperwork their resident conman isn’t permitted to do.

“Oh definitely,” Diana agrees. “He made that up, I just can’t figure out which parts he made up.”

“Does he have real names and locations? Was it more recently than he let on? Was that his actual phone number? I know his friend Jay is involved with this somehow, but I can’t figure out how.” Peter says frustratedly, glaring at the paperwork strewn across the table.

“You probably should have tried to grab that phone number, Boss.” Jones says, handing Diana a file.

“I have a feeling that he would have managed a way out of that, somehow.” She muses. “Jay’s the one who took him to the hospital, right? You should try to get us a sketch, or a description of him at least.” She pauses, thinking. “The fear, when he was begging you to believe him about not working for the Red Hood, that was genuine. He really doesn’t want to lose this deal.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Peter says, “that's why I have to remind him sometimes about how easy it would be for him to get sent back to prison.”

“He can’t go back to prison, not now.” Jones realizes, setting his pen down and looking up. “Neal Caffrey is a known FBI informant. It wouldn’t be safe, they’d have to keep him in solitary for his own protection.” The others grimace at the thought.

“We keep him out of trouble, then, and there's nothing for any of us to worry about.” Peter says with finality.
_____________

The team’s pact to keep Neal out of trouble is effective for approximately ten days before it all goes to shit in an alleyway on the Upper East Side. Their suspect had answered the door, let them in, and taken a bat to Peter’s head as soon as the other three had gone deeper into the apartment to search. They heard Peter’s shout of pain, of course, but their suspect, now perpetrator, had fled the scene as soon as Peter went down. Jones and Diana pursued, leaving Neal to take care of Peter. The two agents trusted Neal to make sure Peter would be alright.
___________

Finding his handler out cold on the floor was not how Tim wanted this search to go. It would have been really, really nice for them to just do their search and seizure and go home on time, but Tim should know better than to trust his luck. He’s already on the phone with emergency services by the time he kneels next to Peter and begins checking him over, and is relieved to find no immediate signs of lasting damage. Peter is just unconscious, and an ambulance is on the way. He’s informing the other’s of Peter’s status when he hears the telltale creak of a window opening. He turns the corner of the hallway and just catches someone climbing out onto the fire escape and heading for the roof. Tim follows automatically. He races after them to the roof, realizing when he gets up there that he’s made several miscalculations. It’s broad daylight, Neal Caffrey can’t fight, and he has no backup and no way to subdue. He didn’t even pause to grab Peter’s handcuffs.
And they’re armed. Tim notes as he dodges the swing of a knife. Okay, plan B. Except that he–uncharacteristically–does not have a plan B since there was no plan A in the first place.
He glances around the roof as he dodges another swipe. There's a surprising amount of stones, rubbish, and boxes, the uneven townhouse roofs littered with crates of–oh, there's our stolen goods, Tim notices.
The nice thing about the unusual townhouse rooflines is that it's a much more difficult surface for an unskilled fighter, which Tim is not. The not so nice thing about it is that three more people have appeared out of fucking nowhere, likely to try and move goods before the remaining White Collar team members get back and successfully confiscate them, and Tim isn’t supposed to be Tim right now, he’s supposed to be Neal Caffrey. Neal Caffrey, the nonviolent conman who can’t fight.
Tim backs up to make a tactical retreat back down the fire escape. Two of the new people run at him. The remaining two rooftop occupants turn towards another figure that’s appeared who Tim barely glimpses before the two charging attackers grab him. Three things happen very quickly: his heel catches on some of the debris, sending him back and messing up his attempt at getting free; his captors use this to pick him up and they pull him to the edge of the roof; and Tim realizes just how tall a townhouse is when he is shoved off the roof of one with no suit, no wings, and no grapple.
He feels the freefall for only a second, ground racing up before something slams into his back, arms grip around him, and he sees the sky. He feels an impact a moment later, the person at his back grunting as the wind is knocked out of them and the two of them roll and fall another four feet to the pavement.
Tim is let go when they finally tumble to a stop in the alleyway. He pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, looking over at his rescuer. The other man is laid out flat, wheezing.

“Jason?” Tim asks, incredulously. He only gets a gasping cough in response. “Holy shit, are you okay?” He staggers to his feet and rushes to the older man’s side. “Breathe, slowly, in and out.” He instructs, rolling him into a recovery position. Jason gasps, slowly getting his breathing back. “You with me, Red?” Tim asks quietly. Jason nods, sitting up.

“Good thing for those recycling bins.” Jason says with a hoarse laugh.

“What the fuck, Jason.”

“What, I wasn’t just gonna let you go splat in an alleyway.”

“So you jumped off a roof?”

“I’m wearing protective gear, you’re wearing a couple of layers of suiting wool and nothing else.” Tim looks him over. He’s in a nondescript, all black getup lacking the jacket and helmet of the Red Hood or any other identifying symbols.

“I don’t understand.” Tim admits a beat later.

Jason’s reply is interrupted by a shout of “Neal!” from the upstairs window. Tim curses and tries to kick off the wall to reach the fire escape, but his dress shoes fail to find purchase on the brick wall and he falls back down, landing in a crouch.

“Here, I’ll give you a boost.” Jason offers, cupping his hands and squatting down a bit.

“Thanks.” Tim says emphatically, stepping into Jason’s hands. He tosses him and he swings up onto the fire escape. “Here, Peter!” Tim calls out, climbing back in the window. “How’s your head? The paramedics should be here any minute. Oh, I found our goods, they’re on the roof, but there were like four guys–”
___________

Why did you do that? - T
Were you okay? - T
Did you get someone to patch you up? - T
I told you to stay out of it - T

Im fine, Roy checked me - J
That would have ended very badly for you and you know it - J
If you want me to stay out of it I need proof that someone’s keeping an eye on you - J

Tim scowls. I have June - he types back.

Much as I respect the lady, that is not enough. - J

Well then, you can personally check on me once a month - Tim replies, sure he’s won since Jason won’t willingly see Tim in person if he can avoid it.

Every fortnight and you can’t miss standard check-ins - J

Tim almost drops his phone. He wants to ask why, wants to figure out Jason’s ulterior motive for his sudden involvement in Tim’s life, particularly this New York mission, but he knows Jason would never tell him the truth. He’s a detective though, and he’s already been piecing things together. It started with the auction, he knows, and his fever must have fit into it somehow in order to trigger Jason’s escalation to outright interactions with the Neal Caffrey alias. Tim has a timeline, Jason admitted on the phone that he was interfering and now this weird thing about checking on him? And the roof? He can’t figure it out. It’s the motive that he’s missing, because it doesn’t all add up. Tim’s not really concerned about his safety around Jason anymore, and he can’t exactly abandon his undercover mission to take on this case, so there’s only one avenue of information gathering still available.

Fine. Every two weeks. - T
Who even uses the word fortnight - T

Chapter Text

If he was being honest, Tim didn’t actually expect Jason to show up two weeks later to check on him. He hadn’t missed any regular check-ins but they didn’t actually talk beyond an acknowledgement that he was still alive. He assumed it was some kind of weird game of chicken on who would bail out of the agreement first, and Tim wasn’t about to lose. So when Tim gets home and opens his apartment door to Jason Todd making gnocchi in his kitchen, it's safe to say that’s not what he expected.

“Dinner in ten.” Jason says.

“What?”

“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Thought you were some kinda genius, what happened to that?”

Tim scowls. “What are you doing in my apartment?” Jason grins and opens his mouth to reply. “Other than making dinner.” Tim clarifies.

“Checking up on you in person.”

“Oh.”

Tim takes his shoes off and moves to put away his things. He hovers awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen.

“What, not gonna ditch the suit? I guess they are kind of your thing, Mr. CEO.” Jason comments.

Tim’s scowl returns. “I guess the company here isn’t exactly deserving of formal wear.” He says, taking in Jason’s hoodie and cargo pants. He heads off to the closet to change, eyeing Jason the whole time. What does he want?

Jason is serving the pasta when Tim comes back into the kitchen in sweatpants and his own oversized hoodie. He raises an eyebrow. “You’re drowning in that thing.”

“You’re not allowed to come back if you criticize my clothing choices.” Tim says petulantly.

“Okay, okay, jeez. Eat your pasta.” Tim accepts the bowl, but waits until Jason starts eating before taking his first bite. They eat in silence. Jason eventually asks about where to put the leftovers, and they clean up the kitchen together.

“You doin’ alright, kid?” Jason asks from the door as he heads out.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Tim answers. The older man just nods and leaves. Tim is left standing in his clean, empty, kitchen with no more answers than before.
________

He really thought it was going to be a one time thing, but two weeks later he’s eating spaghetti in silence with Jason Todd, realizing that he did, in fact, lose the game of chicken.
________

Two more weeks later, Tim finds Jason in his apartment washing dishes.

“There’s a ziti in the oven, it’ll be another fifteen-ish minutes.” Jason says in lieu of a greeting. Tim heads off to the closet to strip off his suit and change. The older man is drying dishes when he comes back. Tim takes them to put away, the two of them working in silence. The oven timer breaks it.

“Oven mitts are in the drawer on the island.” Tim directs at Jason’s searching. The baked pasta smells delicious, and Tim really appreciates it after the week he’s had so far, though he would be loath to admit that to the home invader chef serving it out. Their case has been an endless slog of warrants that take too long and recently cleaned hideouts by the time they finally get there. He’s sure that he could have solved it within days as Red Robin, but Neal Caffrey is so limited.

“How’s it going, Tim?” Jason asks. Tim looks up from his plate at him, wondering how to answer. His first thought is to brush it off, but he’s so annoyed at the case and Jason is quite literally the only person in New York that he can talk to about it. Well, he did ask.

“Our case right now fucking sucks. I could have finished it in days as Red Robin, but White Collar has to get permission and warrants.” He stabs a piece of ziti. “You have no idea how tempted I am to throw on a domino and do everything myself.”

Jason laughs. “Doesn’t Neal Caffrey tend to bend the rules a bit? Skirt around the edges of the law?”

“Neal can only do it if Peter lets him. Neal also can’t do half the things that I, Tim Drake, can. I have to just sit there and watch them request cell phone records and security system access and all these other stupid little things that I could get them in minutes! We would have had this guy over a week ago if I could just do what I need to do but no, I’m stuck watching a team of six federal agents fumble shit that I could do when I was fourteen!”

“Sucks to work inside the law, doesn’t it?”

Tim groans. “I’m never going legit again after this.” He sighs. “When I agreed to take over this job from Dick I really thought it was going to be a more relaxing change of pace. Not that I thought it would be easy, I just thought maybe a regular sleep schedule and a standard office workday would be a low effort backdrop to everything else I’ve got to be doing here. But I’m completely disillusioned, believe me. There’s nothing to do in White Collar! They just have shitty coffee and shitty paper crimes and occasionally a chase! There's never a satisfying outlet for it. Neal doesn’t get to do anything, I swear.” Tim laughs at himself. “What I wouldn’t give for a chance to just punch some goon in the face, stop some petty crimes, whatever.” The thought briefly flashes through his mind that it's weird for him to tell Jason all of this, but hey, Jason started being weird first.
And there's a part of him that's always wanted the attention of the boy he used to spend nights trying to catch a glimpse and a photo of. The boy he always looked up to, before everything happened between them. Tim knows what happened to Jason, what the League and the pit did to him. He’s seen their inner workings first hand. Tim also knows that his own hands aren’t as clean as they could be. But he still has the scars to remind him exactly what the older Robin is capable of inflicting on him. If anyone knows the score between the two of them, it's Tim, believe him. It’s weird for him to open up to Jason, but New York is lonely, and Tim’s far from home, detached from his friends and family regardless, and talking to Jason like this is kind of everything he’s always wanted.

“Need to let off some steam, Bristol?” Jason asks, laughing. It doesn’t sound as mean as Tim’s used to it sounding. In fact, it doesn’t sound mean at all.

“I keep myself active!” Tim protests. “It’s just not the same.”

“How about a spar then?” Jason asks nonchalantly. Tim’s eyes narrow. Jason’s voice had an edge of nervousness in it that’s usually beneath him.

“What do you get out of that?” He asks in return.

“C’mon, you know I’m always down for a little friendly violence.” Jason replies. Tim studies him for a minute, analyzing. It could just be a way for Jason to rough him up a bit, but Tim knows he can take it. It would be nice to spar with a real person, he thinks, besides, he hasn’t been poisoning the pasta.

“Okay.” Tim agrees, standing up from the kitchen island where they’ve been eating.

Jason looks surprised. “What rules?”

“Taps only.” Tim decides. If Jason wants to hurt him, he’ll have to break the rules. He would anyways, but Tim would know his intentions at least. Jason stands up and pulls off his hoodie, moving to the living room in his t-shirt and sweatpants. Tim follows. “Let's move the coffee table.”

Tim barely waits for Jason to settle down into a ready stance before launching forward. Jason meets his every strike. There’s just something about sparring with another Robin, who knows the same things he knows, who grew up under the same shadow. Their sharp quips and sharper grins, perfectly matched at the edges of streetlights, the childish laugh echoing off of alley walls. It had been Dick’s real laugh and real grin, but Jason and Tim? They’d had to learn to mirror their predecessor. They’re matched perfectly again, dancing around Neal Caffrey’s living room. Tim tries to keep his steps light, conscious of the other occupants of the house. Jason, annoyingly, is always silent unless he wants to be otherwise.
Jason manages to knock him off balance enough to go down, but he braces a hand on the floor and twists his legs upward. The older Robin dodges to the side only for Tim’s momentum to carry his legs around and sweep Jason’s feet out from under him. He goes down, hard. Tim dives forward to try to get him into a hold, except that the taller man has already recovered and gets Tim instead.

The door opens. “Neal?”

They both freeze and look up to see June in the entryway. She takes in their disheveled appearances, the chokehold Jason has around Tim’s neck, and the carefully moved coffee table, and raises one eyebrow. “Boys?” She asks neutrally.

Jason drops his hold and Tim scrambles away. “Pardon me, Ma’am.” Jason tries. “We were just, uh…” June raises the other eyebrow. Jason looks to Tim for help, and his slightly panicked face finally gets him to crack. Tim bursts out laughing, Jason joining him when June answers by turning around and leaving wordlessly. Their laughter follows her down the stairs.
________

How do you feel about Indian food? - Jason asks two weeks later.

You better bring garlic naan - Tim replies. The weather is unexpectedly warm, so they eat on the balcony.
_________

We had to wait three days for techs to do an analysis that I could do in an hour. It was physically painful - T

Just do it yourself. How would they know? - J

No, no, we have to follow ‘procedures’ and ‘chains of custody’ - T

Disgusting. Imagine being a law abiding citizen, couldn’t be me - J

I don’t understand how Dick lasted so long in the BPD, I would have quit - T

Oh, you have NO IDEA how many times he almost got caught for stuff - J
He only lasted long enough to quit because everyone was even more corrupt than him - J

I mean, does it really count as corruption? I feel like its not the same - T

Eh, still legally corrupt even if he isn’t morally. Laws are laws even if the person he’s feeding information to is Batman - J

Point - T
_________

Hey have you been to the Puertorrican place on 43rd by the bakery? - J

Its got good sandwiches - T
I thought we weren’t meeting till next week - T

Oh im just looking for lunch - J
Want anything? - J

Tim looks up at the agents mulling around the bullpen. It’s been a quiet enough day, Peter will probably let him go alone to lunch.

Yeah, lmk when you get here I’ll come down - T

What, don’t want me in your fancy office? - J

Considering that Peter has an ear on the ground for any mention of you, no - T
Also you’re still on the most wanted list - T

Eh, semantics - J

They find a bench near the FBI building to eat, Jason complaining about some director’s interpretation of an old play and Tim complaining about the FBI. “I can’t even tell them how inefficient they are because Neal Caffrey wouldn't know what I do about organizational effectiveness!” Tim groans, crunching up the wrapper of his jibarito. “Peter and the rest have been watching me like a hawk recently, I have no idea how they haven’t noticed you coming over all the time.”

“What, so doubtful of my skills, Bristol? I’m a highly trained individual, you know. I feel like you’re just robin me of my rightful credit here.” Jason grins and laughs, blocking the wrapper Tim throws at him. “Hey no littering, you’ll summon Ivy.”

“Let her come, I’m drowning in paperwork. She can destroy the FBI building and tell them to save the trees.”
__________

Tim comes back to the apartment on their regular meeting day expecting to find Jason either cooking something or a pile of takeout containers, as has become their routine. He looks forward to it more than he’d like to admit.
Instead, he finds the Red Hood sitting at his kitchen table in a domino mask.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tim hisses, quickly shutting the door and checking out the windows. Jason throws him a duffle bag that Tim catches and fumbles to hold at arm's length, heart racing.

“I thought we might get dinner while we’re out,” Jason smirks. “Open it, it’s not a biohazard.”

Tim sets the bag on the table and opens it cautiously. His breath catches seeing what’s inside. He pulls it out, face breaking into a grin. “Jay, you didn’t.”

“Obviously I did.”

“I get to go out?”

“Who’s gonna stop you, kid?”

Tim deflates. “The US Marshals, actually.”

Jason throws a small device at his head that he barely catches, forcing him to drop the red and black suit he’s been clutching. “Arsenal’s taken care of it. Go suit up, Red Robin. I think it’s a boys night out.”
Two hours later they’re sitting on a roof with chili dogs, looking over the lights of New York City. Tim’s more content than he’s felt in months. He bumps his shoulder into Jason’s.

“Thanks for this, Jason. I think I really needed it.”

Jason ruffles his hair despite his indignant squawk. “Any time, Baby Bird.”

Tim groans. “I’m literally twenty-four!”
__________

“Well known vigilante and Teen Titan’s member Red Robin reappeared last night after several years of absence in a dramatic chase with the notorious Red Hood in New York City. The two vanished from sight after several hours, though no statements have been released as to the results of the chase. The Teen Titans have refused to comment. Red Robin, who first made his debut almost a decade ago–” Peter changes the radio station.

“Just what we need,” he says, driving to work with Neal. “More villains in this damn city. Can’t they just pick one and stay there? Red Hood is supposed to be a Gotham problem.”

Neal just smiles.
__________

The White Collar team conspires to keep Neil occupied and out of mischief over a long weekend by going out for drinks spontaneously on Sunday night. He hems and haws and grumbles and lets them drag him out. El’s upstate for an event for the weekend and Christie agrees to share Diana’s rare time off for a good cause. Their team of four occupies a booth in a little pub-style place that Jones has chosen and settles in for the evening. It’s shaping up to be a good time; spirits are high after a couple of days off with the promise of another the next. They’ve worked their way through two rounds of drinks and several baskets of fries, unwinding together without the pressure of a big case for the first time in months. Diana watches the tension bleed out of her teammate’s postures and feels a smug satisfaction. It had been her suggestion, after all. Peter gets up for another basket of fries, leaving Diana and Neal facing Jones, ribbing him over his favourite team’s latest loss. A shadow falls over the table. Diana looks up to see a tall man with a hood pulled up standing at the end of their booth.
“Can we help you?” Jones starts to ask, but it’s interrupted by Neal’s exclamation of “Jay!”

“Sorry,” The man apologizes awkwardly. “I didn’t realize you would be–this was a bad idea, I’m just gonna–”

“What happened?” Neal asks, leaning over to grab the sleeve of his hoodie and pull him down next to him. He frowns. “You’ve been smoking.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jay says. “I really should go.”

“Jay.” Peter says, coming back with their fries.

“Agent Burke.” Jay nods back stiffly.

“Ugh, no agent stuff, we’re here to relax. Just call him Peter.” Neal complains, pulling back the taller man’s hood. He looks familiar, especially the white fringe, but Diana can’t place him. “Now, what happened? You’re all discombobulated.”

Jay laughs a little. “Who taught you that word, Goldie?”

“You’re dodging the subject.” Neal says mildly, taking another sip of his drink. Jay sighs.

“Not here, Two-bit.” Diana has a rush of deja vu, but she doesn’t know why.

“So, where do you know Neal from?” Peter asks, completely unsubtly. Neal groans, throwing his head back against the back of the booth.

“You couldn’t wait five minutes?” The other two agents laugh at Neal’s protests, but Jay just smirks.

“Oh, Neal and I go way back. Used to be neighbors.” Diana’s eyes narrow. Either they’ve practiced their story, or they’re telling the truth.

“Did you? Where were you neighbors?” Jones asks. He doesn’t bother trying for subtlety, leaning forward towards them.

“Hmm, back when we were kids.” Jay says with a wicked grin. Neal elbows him, but Jay has the undivided attention of the three agents. They’ve never found someone who knew Neal before.

“What was he like as a kid?” Diana asks.

“He was the sneakiest little shit you’ve ever seen.” Neal elbows him again, but Jay continues. “He was also tiny and scrawny and he always wore fucking polo–ow, fuck, that hurt Two-bit!”

“Two-bit?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, cause he’s a two-bit criminal, come on, bond forgery? Pathetic.”

“Shut up, Jay.” Neal hisses, but he doesn’t actually seem angry.

“So you’re not a two-bit criminal, then?” Peter asks lightly. Jay smiles and takes a sip of Neal’s drink.

“Nice try, agent.”

Neal laughs.
__________

Tim’s worried about Jason. There’s definitely something wrong, and he knows it, but Jason won’t talk about it in front of the agents, which means it's something serious, which worries Tim more. He can smell the cigarette smoke on him, and he took a sip of Tim’s drink, which could have been him checking it for substances in a fucked up way or it could just have been to annoy Tim or to punctuate his conversation with Peter or all of it but something’s definitely wrong with Jason and Tim can’t figure out what. He knows Jason wouldn’t have stayed if it was time sensitively serious, and he wouldn’t drink if it was dangerous, so he tries not to dwell on it. It’s not a very successful attempt, but he does try. It is admittedly kind of nice to have all of his remaining friends in one place.

“So you two just kept in touch the whole time then? Friends forever?” Jones jokes.

Every single time Jason’s harmed him flashes through Tim's mind. He cringes.

“Not exactly,” Jason says carefully. “We lost touch for a long time. Neal was my–” and Tim suddenly knows what’s coming, how the sentence will end. He braces for it, realizing that even after every time it's been said to him, now that he and Jason are on good terms it’s going to hurt so much more. That even when he thought Jason was finally warming up to him, this is how he really feels.
“–successor.” Jason finishes after a pause. Tim stills. He turns to look at Jason, who meets his eyes. His gaze is fragile. “He was my successor,” Jason repeats quietly, “in a position when we were teenagers. He did a fantastic job of it, too.”
________

“We’ve only really reconnected in the last couple of years.” Jay finishes, but Diana isn’t listening anymore. All of her attention is on Neal, who has the most brilliant smile on his face that she’s ever seen, and also looks like he’s about to cry. Something very significant has obviously just happened, and she has no idea what it was. She glances between the two of them. Jay’s smile is soft. He seems tentative. Diana mulls over the exchange. He was my successor…He did a fantastic job of it, too. Something about Jay’s approval must have been what made Neal so emotional. Peter and Jones haven’t missed it either, the three of them trading significant glances, no one willing to break the silence. Jay breaks eye contact first, stealing another sip of Neal's drink. Neal reaches for more fries, the spell broken. The conversation eventually moves on, but Diana can see the ghost of that smile haunting Neal’s face. There's history there, she thinks. There’s a whole lot of history there. Whoever Neal Caffrey really is, Jay is very, very important to him.
________

They wrap up at the pub late in the evening, debating over cabs and everyone but Jay quite a ways past tipsy. Neal, Jones, and Jay argue in favor of public transportation, while Diana and Peter vote to hail a cab. The three younger men win by walking towards the train station. Peter and Diana contemplate calling a cab and abandoning them, but quickly race after them. Neal and Jay are no doubt going to get into trouble with only Jones to keep them out of it, and none of the agents trust Jay in the slightest.
They find the three of them in a convenience store. Jones is standing in the chips aisle staring blankly at the colorful bags. Neal and Jay are by the drinks with a basket containing milk, eggs, and butter, arguing about energy drinks.

“–would you need a caffeinated alcoholic drink? It’s a bad idea all around!”

“It’s fun is what it is!” Neal argues back, gesturing with a bright green can of something in each hand.

“There is a reason most of the colleges in the country have banned them!” Jay spits.

“You didn’t even go to college, why do you care about that?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I literally have two Bachelors degrees!”

Neal gapes. “When did you go to college?”

“Ooh, pissy that you don’t know everything, stalker boy?” Jay croons.

“I don’t care. Besides, I’m not talking about Four Loko, I’m talking about espresso martinis.” Neal sniffs.

“Who the fuck introduced you to espresso martinis?”

“Tam Fox.” Neal giggles.

“Weren’t you literally seventeen?” Neal giggles more. Peter’s never heard him giggle before.

Diana and Jones join Peter where he’s spectating at the end of the drink aisle. “Are they still going?” Jones asks. “I left them here five minutes ago.”

“Apparently Jay has two college degrees that Neal didn’t know about and Neal was introduced to espresso martinis at age seventeen.” Peter fills the others in. The rest of their conversation is interrupted by the chime on the door and their evening goes from good to bad with the glimpse of a black ski mask and the barrel of a gun.

“Everybody put your hands up!”
_________

Jason Todd has been a hostage many times in his life. He may be a notorious crime lord that strikes fear into the hearts of Gotham’s underbelly, but he still made his debut as Robin, the boy hostage. He also knows that Tim Drake, a fellow Robin, has been through the hostage rodeo a time or two. What he expects from their FBI companions is cool heads, smart reactions, and even the smallest amount of good hostage etiquette.
What he does not expect is that an intoxicated Peter Burke has stronger morals than he has survival instincts, because he reacts to the convenience store hold up not with good, calm, following of instructions, but with a shout of “FBI!” and reaching for his own gun, which he does not have, because they were out drinking.
________

The gunman turns in a panic towards the shout of “FBI!”

Jones grabs Peter and pulls him behind the shelf where Diana is already crouched, realizing with horror as soon as he does so that that leaves Neal and Jay as the only visible targets with no cover.

He closes his eyes as shots crack through the air.
________

Jason would love to say that he dashed forward and single handedly disarmed the gunman, preventing anyone from getting hurt and using his almost two decades worth of elite training to control the situation in the manner befitting of a former Robin, League of Assassins member, and apprentice to Deathstroke the Terminator, and current crime lord, vigilante, founder of the notorious Outlaws, and last living member of the legendary All-Caste.
He doesn’t, though.
He drops his basket, lunges for Tim, and tackles him to the floor. Glass shatters behind them.
He really regrets not wearing a better jacket as the bullets bite into his back. Tim’s terrified gaze meeting his will definitely be joining the reel that parades through his nightmares.

At least the blood on Tim’s face is Jason’s this time.
________

Tim sits up, clutching Jason as the older man slumps forward into him. There's already blood on the floor.

“GAUZE! I NEED GAUZE!” He frantically searches Jason’s back for entry wounds. Five shots. One in the floor, two in the glass. Two in Jason. Diana slides to her knees next to him, arms full of supplies. “Cut his hoodie around my hands,” Tim instructs, flooded with relief that she’s grabbed scissors. Every second is going to count. “The one at his side is a graze, but his shoulder was a direct hit.”

“Bullet’s still in there,” Jason grinds out. “Can feel it. Not deep.”

“Don’t talk.” Tim snaps. “Okay, Di, do you know how to pack gunshot wounds?”

“I can,” Jones volunteers.

“Okay,” Tim breathes out. “Get ready. On three, I lift my hand and remove the bullet, and you start packing.” Distantly, he notes Peter and the lone cashier on the phone with police and emergency services, the would-be thief long gone. “One–” but then Jason moves, and reaches back to pull the bullet out himself.

“No countdowns.” He gasps, dropping a bloody hand and bullet to the floor and putting more of his weight onto Tim as Jones works.

“What the fuck, Jason.” Tim hisses, clutching him, useless now that Jones has taken over.

“I can’t do countdowns,” Jason admits. “Not after…especially not if I’m injured.”

Tim grips him harder.

“Don’t worry, Jackie O, I won’t get too much blood on your clothes.” Jason wheezes. “S’not that bad, really. Probably walk it off, no problem.” Tim feels him feeling around the bullet on the floor. “Damn, just a thirty-eight? All this for a fucking small caliber, shoulda just worn a fucking jacket, damn.”

“Stop fucking moving you bastard!” Tim orders, panic rising up now that he has no job to focus on.

“Hey, it's all fine, see? Jones is all done, thanks Jones, s’all good now Timbit!” Jason pats him on the back and begins to stand up.

“Stay down!” “Don’t move!” “Stop!” The three of them warn him, but Jason doesn’t stop, staggering to his feet. Tim jumps up to keep a hold on him. “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Ambulance and police are almost here.” Peter reports, stepping back to the group.

“No cops and no hospitals, sorry Jackie.” Jason winces, hand pressed to his side. “Thanks again, Jones.” He strides for the door. Peter tries to stop him.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t take an ambulance, no health insurance.” Jason waves him off, steps quickening as the sirens in the distance get louder. “Don’t worry, I’ll go to a clinic.” Tim can only watch as he disappears. He’s left standing dumbfounded in the dingy convenience store, heart pounding with blood drying tacky on his hands and clothes, staring at the trail of bloody footsteps Jason left across the dirty white tiles.
________

Tim should have known better than to expect Jason to have gone to an actual clinic. He steps back into his apartment to find Jason’s shoes in his entryway and the light on in the bathroom. He drops the coat in his arms and rushes to the bathroom. Jason is sitting shirtless inside of the bathtub surrounded by bloody bandages and gauze, suturing the graze in his side.

“Fucking bastard.” Tim mutters, and goes to sanitize. “Let me finish it.” He says once he’s gloved. Jason hands over the suture without protest. Tim finishes off the row and moves on to Jason’s shoulder. He prepares the supplies before carefully peeling away Jone’s makeshift, convenience store dressing. Truth be told, Jones and Diana had done very well with what they’d had. Tim works on cleaning the wound.

“You should get an x-ray, to check for a fracture in your scapula.” He says finally.

“It’s not broken,” Jason says offhandedly. Tim tries to tamp down the flush of anger at his disregard.

“You should still check.” He pushes.

“It's fine, really, the bullet hit the plate in my shoulder. That's why it got stuck.” Jason placates.

“You’ve got a plate in your shoulder?”

“Yeah, since I was like sixteen, I think.” Jason explains. “I don’t really remember, to be honest.”
They fall back into silence, Jason tensing silently every so often as Tim makes a new dressing. “It’s really not that bad, Tim. You don’t have to fuss over it.” Tim ignores him. He finishes taping off the new bandages and lets Jason go.

“You’re done,” he says. “We’ll have to change it in the morning, though.” Jason nods and hauls himself up. Tim kicks him out of the bathroom when he tries to reach for some of the bloody bandages. “Go change.”
Tim takes his time cleaning up the bathroom.

He finds Jason in the kitchen wearing sweatpants that Tim must’ve stolen from someone else and one of Tim’s oversized hoodies. Jason’s making tea.
“You shouldn’t be moving so much,” Tim scolds, “go sit.”

“I’m not an invalid, I can make tea with one hand.” Jason protests.

“I will force you into a sling if necessary.” Tim warns. “How’s the pain?”

“Not bad, I took something before I started in on things.”

Tim finishes making the tea, and brings it over to the island where Jason is set up on a stool. His thoughts race as they drink it in silence, replaying the entire evening, every meal they’ve had together, every time he’s interacted with Jason since that now fateful underground auction.

“Why did you show up earlier?” Tim asks.

Jason stares into his tea, circling the handle of the mug with his thumb. “Lian called me papa.” He whispers.

“Oh.”

“We finished putting her to bed, and I just told Roy I was going out and I left. I tracked you down at the bar. Sorry for crashing your team night out,” he apologizes. “I just didn’t know where else to go.” Tim doesn’t respond, so he continues. “I can’t be her dad, Tim. I’m not a good person, I’m really not, and Roy is, I know I don’t deserve him, but Lian? She’s incredible, and she deserves the best, and she’s already picking things up from me. But I can’t give her that, I can’t show her that, I can’t. It’s too late for me. I’m afraid I’ve been too much of an influence on her already.”

“You aren’t a bad person, Jay.” Tim says.

“Doesn’t make me a good one, either.” They fall back into silence. Tim doesn’t know what to say, how to break it. He hoped that whatever Jason’s answer was would give him the clarity he needed, but it didn’t. He’s still fitting pieces together and missing the whole picture.

“Why did you do it?” He asks, conceding defeat.

“Do what?” Jason returns.

“All of it. The auction, the protection. Taking me to the hospital.”

“Someone had to do it.”

“I’m really racking up the debts here.” Tim says, and saying it aloud blossoms a theory that he’s been missing. Debt.

“You’ve never owed me anything, Tim.”

“Is that what this has all been about, then? Life debts or something?”

“That wasn’t why.” Jason insists.

“Then why? I don’t understand! You always hated me, and then this?”

“That scar on your neck is why!”

“And I know you have a matching one! I know what happened on that rooftop! We’re even!”

“That's not what this is about, Tim!”

“Then why are you here?!” He shouts.

“Because you were fourteen, you were a just a kid, and you were so fucking small, and I did that to you!” Jason lets go of his mug, hands shaking. “I did that. I barely remember those three years but I remember every second of it. I have more nightmares about it than I do of fucking dying, Tim. Every time, I go too far, and you’re dead, and I know it isn’t real but I remember it, I remember the fucking blood cooling with you and–” he breaks off. “And I’ll never recover from it. I know I won’t, I deserve to see it every night. But, Tim, I–”

“I forgave you.” Tim says. He didn’t think he’d ever have to tell Jason this. He didn’t think Jason would ever care.

“What?”

He pushes on. “I forgave you years ago. When I realized the full scope of what had happened to us, seeing the inside of the League. I was fourteen, yeah, but you were only seventeen, and missing two years of memory, so really you were still fifteen, and horrifically traumatized, manipulated, and abused, and out of your mind from one of the most powerful magic influences in the world, and you were only seventeen, and no one tried to help you. You were still a kid too. And you didn’t kill me,” he adds, “you’re one of the most effective assassins in the world when you want to be, and I was completely outclassed. If you had wanted me to be dead, I would have been dead, Jay.” It hadn’t been for the older Robin’s sake, either. He realized that in order for him to come to terms with the mess that his vigilante career had been, he had to make peace with it. He had to let it go.

Jason stares at him. “Are you defending me?”

“I’m not defending your actions, we both know how horrific it was. But it wasn’t entirely your fault and yours alone.” Tim laughs bitterly. “I’ve been seventeen and had Robin stripped from me. I wanted to hurt Damian so badly, I can’t imagine if I had died in those colors, been brainwashed, and had the Lazarus waters to deal with on top of it all.” Tim turns to stare out the windows. “It’s been ten years, Jason. I’ve moved on.” Bruce and Dick and Jason had never moved on from a thing in their lives, and Tim, the third son, had watched it all. The forgotten middle child always knows more than anyone, no one hides their worst sides from them. Tim had a front row seat to everything the oldest Wayne men did, and when he watched his own life go down the drain, he did what his predecessors hadn’t. He learned from their mistakes.

“You were always the best of us, Red.” Jason says quietly.

“You don’t have to try to make up for it anymore. Jumping off a building after me? I can’t do it, Jay. I can’t be the reason you get yourself killed again. I won’t be able to deal with it. You weren’t there the first time,” his voice breaks, “you didn’t see what it did to them, what it did to us all. I won’t be able to cope with it. I can’t go through that again, I won’t make it out.” He looks back, meeting Jason’s eyes. “So don’t ever take a bullet for me again.” Jason holds his gaze for a few more moments than is comfortable. It’s vulnerable, which is Tim’s least favorite position to be in.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’d do it again.” Jason says.

“You don’t have to do this anymore, you’ve already saved my life more times than you’ve ever tried to end it!” Tim tries not to think about what that would mean, if Jason wasn’t checking up on him anymore. If he was left alone again in New York, completing the mission once again his only objective in life, with only the FBI agents that he’s lying to to keep him company.

“It’s not about keeping score, Tim, I’m here because you’re my brother and I love you!”

“What?” He says, shocked. It feels like something has shattered, but he doesn’t know what it was.

It’s Jason’s turn to stare out of the window. “I don’t know if I can get myself to say it again, to be honest.”

“But…you meant it?” Tim knows what he heard. He can’t believe it though, not without confirmation. He doesn’t let himself hope very much anymore, but if Jason meant it, if Jason really meant it–

“Yeah,” Jason admits in almost a whisper. “I meant every word.”

Chapter Text

Tim wakes up the next morning to Roy yelling at Jason on the phone.

“–shot in a fucking gas station!”

“It was a convenience store!”

They redo Jason’s dressings from the night before. Neither of them have much to say after the emotional revelations of last night. Roy comes to pick his boyfriend up mid-morning. Tim spends the rest of the day cleaning and doing other chores and resolutely avoiding the messages and calls he receives from the White Collar team.

As anticipated, he’s ambushed at work the next morning.

“Look, I know something was going on with why Jay wouldn’t talk to the police, but I don’t care, and I won’t ask. I just want to know if he’s going to be alright.” Jones asks, cornering him. He pats him on the arm.

“Don’t worry about it at all, Jones, he’s going to be completely fine.”

“Is he alone? Does he have someone to help while he recovers?”

Tim nods. “He’s got a long-term partner, he won’t be alone.”

Jones relaxes. “I’m glad he’s going to be alright. I’ll pass it along to the others, but you might want to say something to Peter. I know he’s blaming himself.”

The rest of the week continues at odds with the beginning of it, completely mundane.
_________

There are voices in Tim’s apartment. He creeps up the stairs, concern turning to confusion when he hears a child’s voice. By the time he reaches his door he’s recognized the voices.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, opening the door. His table is covered in takeout boxes, June and her granddaughter sitting at the table across from Jason.

“Every two weeks, baby bird.”

“You should be resting.”

“I am resting, I brought takeout, see? No cooking.”

“How did you even get here?”

“Roy dropped me off, June helped me carry things upstairs. June, you’re an angel.”

“Don’t enable him, June.”

“I think he’s a lovely young man, make him bring your niece around soon, won’t you Neal?”

“Fine, fine, I can see when I’m being ganged up on.” Tim grumbles. “Wait a minute, how did you–”

“Shout at each other more quietly next time, Timothy. It’s an old house; the walls are thin. Enjoy your dinner!” June wishes as she and her granddaughter leave.

Tim gapes after his landlady, then turns to Jason as he divides the takeout. It’s thai. “My niece?”

Jason blushes. “Roy and I talked.”

The most surprising part of it turns out not to be that Jason showed up ostensibly to check on Tim with two healing gunshot wounds, but that the two of them just…move on. Maybe it's the patented Wayne technique of ignoring uncomfortable things until they go away, but things aren’t uncomfortable between them. There’s no awkward strain, no dancing around subjects, no tension around their relationship. They just continue as they have been.

Jason mentions it to Roy after a few weeks, because Roy is the one person he actually does open up to, but all he gets is an “It’s because you were already brothers before you decided to talk about it, dipshit,” which doesn’t exactly help, but then again, what’s there to help? Things are going fine, that’s the whole point. They don’t miss standard check ins, they complain over text, Jason comes over every two weeks and occasionally shows up in between.
They don't talk about it. Tim’s mission slogs onwards; Jason haunts the fringes of it, a steady presence keeping him company in the gridlocked streets of New York City.
His older brother, watching his back.
_________

Peter’s CI takes the whole ‘childhood friend saves his life by literally shielding him from bullets with his body’ thing almost too well. He really doesn’t seem worked up over it. He doesn’t ask for time off, he doesn’t look like he hasn’t been sleeping, in fact he looks happier and more content than Peter’s ever seen him.
Peter checks on Neal, of course. He asks him how he’s doing, how he’s coping with the incident. Neal brushes it off with a brief, “Jay and I talked, we’re good.” and continues as normal. As if he hadn’t gone home with someone else’s blood staining his suit from a random shooting after a night out with friends.
He thought that Neal’s aversion to guns was indicative of some kind of trauma in his past, but Neal isn’t showing any of the signs that he would expect after the incident. Something like that would surely have opened old wounds if there were old wounds to be opened, wouldn’t it? But the more Peter replays the events the more he notices that doesn’t add up.
Neal was alarmingly competent in the moment.
He had known exactly what to do. He had taken charge of the situation. He immediately found and assessed the wounds, started treatment, directed the others, and he hadn’t lost his composure beyond the unusual amount of swearing that Jay always seemed to bring out of him. Neal handled everything better than Peter had seen some trained agents handle that kind of situation. He was calm, methodical, and practiced. Practiced, Peter latches on to that thought. Neal was more than practiced, he seemed trained. Why was Neal trained in field treatment of gunshot wounds? He pales at the implications. What happened to Neal that he had the experience to be practiced in treating gunshot wounds?
And Jay? Jay hadn’t even been alarmed at being shot twice, he’d just been annoyed. Inconvenienced. What kind of a person is only inconvenienced at being shot?
The kind of person who shields someone else with their own body, Peter thinks, remembering how quickly Jay had moved to tackle Neal. There had been no hesitation. He also remembers Jay’s reaction to the bullet that he pulled out of his own shoulder, the surprise. Damn, just a thirty-eight? Which meant that Jay hadn’t known what kind of firearm the gunman had. He’d been surprised at the small caliber.
He’d been ready to die for Neal.
Who is he to you, Neal? Who are you to him?
_________

For most people, being involved with a shooting is probably the biggest thing to happen to them in a given time period. But the White Collar team are FBI agents, and it doesn’t take long for blood splattered tiles to be swept aside for blood splattered paintings found in a storage unit with a body and a joint investigation with the NYPD’s homicide unit.

The cause of death is pretty obviously the point blank gunshot wound, so the body has been removed from the scene by the time New York’s resident experts on art related crimes arrive at the storage complex. It's a rent-a-space style place, a popular format in a crowded city of small apartments. Neal and Peter glove up and step into the small unit, careful to avoid the splatter on the floor. It’s dried, luckily. Neal crouches down, examining the first painting in the stack, leaning against the wall. He tilts his head, shining a small flashlight across the canvas. He stands up, brushing dust that isn’t there off of his suit.

“I have good news and bad news.” Neal announces.

Peter sighs. “Go on.”

“The good news is that it isn’t an original, so no damage was done to irreplaceable art by the, er, bodily fluids.” He pauses. “The bad news is that we’ve got a pretty good forger on our hands, not my alleged skill level, of course, but not a style I recognize, either, which makes this harder.” Neal breaks off, looking around the storage space, analyzing. Peter knows that look.

“Spit it out, Neal.”

The conman still seems hesitant, “I mean, I’m not exactly the authority on the subject of homicide, but my first guess is that whoever was here to receive these paintings also recognized that they weren’t originals, and killed the fence. So your murder suspect is also good enough to recognize forgeries, and only wants originals, and isn’t afraid to murder a fence over it. Because they left the paintings here.”

The crime scene has gone silent, CSIs and police detectives staring at Peter’s criminal informant in his stupid vintage suits with his stupid hat. One of the detectives swears under his breath. Peter wants to. Of all the times for Neal to reveal a skill he shouldn’t have, he had to do it in front of another agency?

“Sure we can’t borrow him?” One of the detectives calls out as Peter removes himself and Neal from the scene.

“No more homicide detective work for you,” Peter mutters to Neal. The conman protests.

“You asked!”

The worst part of it, for Peter, is when the actual homicide detectives come back with the exact same theory and proof behind it, once the victim is identified. Neal was completely right, after less than five minutes on the scene. It’s chilling, to say the least.
_________

The forgery case cheers Tim up, honestly. It’s interesting, and solving the murder on his first theory had been so gratifying. He brags about it to Jason.

Still got it! - T

Go ahead and show off, boy genius. It’ll bite you in the ass sooner or later - J

Tim sticks his tongue out at Jason even though he knows he can’t see him. It’s the principle of it.
_________

Neal manages to connect their forger to some other counterfeit art that they’ve picked up in the past. It’s a good step, but their priority is identifying the actual murderer. They spend weeks tracing connections to their dead fence to try and find out who their buyer is. Neal is their man on the ground, slipping into meetings and tracking down information. It feels like they’re chasing a ghost, sometimes, but day by day, piece by piece, the picture comes together. Their break finally comes through when they get an idea of the next piece their suspect is gunning for, and Neal manages to get it first.
It’s exactly what they need. Peter watches as Neal exits the building, pausing briefly to salute the security camera that he knows they’re monitoring from the van a couple blocks away. He gives the all clear into his comms, the van crew acknowledging and relaxing slightly as they wait for Neal to reach them.
He never arrives.
Fear grips the team as they hear the scuffle, and Neal’s shouted code word. There’s no threats or bargaining, the attackers going straight for him. The scene is abandoned when they arrive, Neal and the painting both gone. The comms are still running though, so Neal knows they’re coming. Unless he’s unconscious, Peter thinks traitorously. The search is on.
_________

Would he really be a Robin if he didn’t get kidnapped so fucking often? Jason grumbles to himself as he grapples to his bike, stashed nearby while he monitored Tim’s operation. He doesn’t follow him around all the time, he’s not a stalker like his successor, but something about this murder forgery case made him uneasy. He’d followed Tim tonight when he found out that they were going after an original painting, glad that he did so when he heard the altercation on the comms the FBI doesn’t know he’s listening in on. He listens to Tim’s breathing and the ambient sounds for clues. The tracker in Tim’s phone will give him a location to his helmet, but his helmet is stashed with his bike, so he has to get there first. He finally drops down into the alleyway and pulls back the tarp. He retrieves his gear from the saddlebags, throwing on his leather jacket and fitting the gleaming red helmet on. He tears out of the alley and onto the streets of New York, chasing the dot of Tim’s tracker.
Neal Caffrey was under the Hood’s protection. They should have known better than to take him.
_________

Two groups race after Neal, the FBI mobilizing after their informant and the Red Hood chasing a wayward bird, converging on a garage next to the river.
_________

Tim would be completely unimpressed by his captors if it weren’t for the actual danger they presented to him. He had to give them some points for that. Their whole operation had hinged on getting original works to copy perfectly, but the boss of things was a loose cannon. When the now deceased fence had tried to swindle the swindler he had murdered him on the spot and left the body, unraveling the whole scheme by catching the attention of the feds. All he had to do was just not murder the fence and they could have kept this thing running for years, Tim grumbles to himself. Its so easy, just don’t murder people. They didn’t even try to hide the body. Pathetic.

“Who do you work for?” One of his captors questions him. He’s tied to a metal folding chair, behind a garage next to the river. They’ve stripped him of everything but his shirt, pants, shoes, and anklet. His phone and comms are gone, abandoned inside the garage with his jacket.

“Completely unoriginal questioning, boys, surely you can do better, frankly I'm underwhelmed.” He suppresses a shiver, spray from the water dampening the back of his shirt and worsening the wind chill.

“Is it one of the families?”

“The vague wording is a little more ominous but it leaves room for error, I recommend–” Tim cuts himself off as someone tips his chair back over the river. He stops himself from turning his head to look, but he can hear the water behind and beneath him. “Okay, okay, no constructive criticism, got it.” The roar of a motorcycle approaches. Tim feels a rush of relief at the familiar sound. His brother is coming for him.

“Start giving us reasons to keep you upright or you’re going for a swim.”

Tim doesn’t get a chance to answer before a van pulls up behind the garage at high speed.

“FBI, hands in the air!” Jones shouts as the team jumps out of the van. Tim’s interrogators surrender or scatter, the one holding his chair throwing his hands up when faced with the FBI agents’ service weapons.

Tim leans forward to bring the front legs of the chair down to solid ground, but it’s too late.
He tumbles backwards over the edge into the water, icy darkness enveloping him almost before he has a chance to take a breath. The stupid chair drags him downwards like a stone tied to his feet. He frantically frees his hands, but his lungs burn and his fingers refuse to respond as he tries to get his ankles free. The cold seeps into his already chilled body, slowing his movements. He gets one leg free. Almost there, he thinks, twisting to reach for the other. He feels the chair lodge in the sludge of the riverbed, total darkness surrounding him in the murky silence. He feels for the other bond, looking for a knot.
No, no, no no no–it’s a zip tie.
His fingers scramble at it, losing strength as panic floods him. His lungs and thoughts scream. Not like this, he thinks frantically, not in a fucking accident, a river in New York, not as Neal Caffrey. It can’t end like this. His lungs finally give out as the last of his vision fades and he loses his breath control, at the edge of unconsciousness. He chokes, inhaling the freezing, polluted water. Fuck, I’m sorry Jay. I tried, I promise I tried.
_________

The White Collar team tears through the city, Peter on the phone with the Marshals. It’s not exactly a conventional use of the tracking data from his anklet, but it can get them Neal back. Diana has her most professional mask on, completely focussed to quash the fear at Neal’s capture. Whoever has him is perfectly willing to kill, and she’s terrified that Neal’s connection to the FBI won’t be enough to spare him. She shoves the thoughts down and does her best to prepare for whatever they find.

“He’s stopped moving,” Peter announces, and rattles off the location relayed to him by the Marshals.

They pull up to the back of the garage a few minutes later and run for the group they can see at the edge of the walk along the river.

“FBI, hands in the air!” Jones shouts as they run forward, guns drawn. The group scatters, some running, some surrendering. The one holding Neal’s chair lets go, and the world slips into slow motion as he tips backwards over the edge. Diana dives forward with Peter even as she knows they’ll never make it in time. Neal falls backwards, the chair and its prisoner swallowed by the swirling, freezing water.

“NEAL!” Peter shouts, still moving forward past where Diana is frozen in horror, staring at the place in the dark water Neal has vanished into.

“Peter, you can’t!” Jones stops the older agent who’s preparing to dive in after their CI.

“Let me go!” Peter tries to push past him.

“Peter, Peter listen to me, you go in that water and you aren’t coming out alive. We can’t get both of you out of there. You won’t be able to pull him up, Peter, please.”

“I have to try, let me go Jones, I can’t just give up on him!”

“I’m not telling Elizabeth you drowned, Peter.” Peter finally gives up the struggle, instead sinking to his knees on the concrete.

“Oh God, Neal.”

Diana is startled out of her horror by the slamming of a door behind them. She spins, gun still drawn, to face whatever the new threat is. The kidnappers are long gone, the rest of them slipping away while the FBI team focussed on Neal. A dark figure sprints forward, shucking off a tan jacket and throwing a bright red helmet to the side before diving head first into the freezing water.
_________

Jason kicks in the door to the garage and stalks inside. It’s abandoned for only a moment before a back door slams open and someone runs inside. They freeze at the sight of the Red Hood.

“So the rumors were true, Hood’s got his eyes on some art boy.” The woman cackles, halfway to hysteria. Jason hears Tim’s FBI agents shouting outside.

“Where’s Caffrey?” He growls.

“You’re too late,” she gasps, eyes darting around for an escape route with Jason blocking the front exit, “he’s in the river.”

Jason is already running for the back door.

Please, please, let me reach him in time.

He dives past the agents, straight into the water.
It’s just as dark and cold as he expected it would be.
Please, he has to be alive. He crushes the thoughts of a bullet in his younger brother’s brain, a body dumped in the river. He’s alive, they just pushed him, he has to still be alive.
Hope blossoms as the infrared in his domino mask catches warmth ahead of him as he descends. He can’t really see, but he can feel, finding Tim’s arm first, reaching upward. He grips it but gets no response. Fear, colder than the water around them fills him at Tim’s cold, limp features. He’s floating at an awkward angle with a metal chair, one leg stuck. Jason follows it down to his ankle, stuck to the chair, stuck to the mud. He pulls a knife and cuts the zip tie as his lungs start to burn, hauling his brother into his arms and kicking desperately for the surface.
_________

Jones stares into the water someone has just dived into, hand on Peter’s shoulder. He’s not hopeful that either of them will resurface, already filled with guilt at stopping Peter. He knows Peter couldn’t survive that water, nevermind rescue Neal. All of his years in the Navy didn’t teach him nothing. But he also knows that by stopping Peter, he’s damned Neal. Looking down at the older agent, he realizes he’ll probably have to be the one to pick up the pieces as well.

“That was the Red Hood.” Diana breaks his silent reverie.

“What?” He finally looks away from the water, turning to his teammate. She’s standing next to a tan jacket on the ground, looking between it and a gleaming red helmet several feet away.

“That man, that was the Red Hood.”

The crashing splash of someone surfacing the water sounds behind them.
_________

Tim doesn’t have a pulse. The FBI agents at the shoreline helped Jason haul Tim out of the water and lay him down, but he’s cold, his skin is turning blue, and he doesn’t have a pulse.

Jason starts chest compressions.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10

He tries really, really hard to ignore the way Tim’s limp body jerks under his hands.

21-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30.

Please breathe.
_________

Peter watches the Red Hood perform chest compressions on his criminal informant. His mind is mostly blank, staring at Neal’s lifeless body. He wishes he could hope, but he looks at his friend’s pale, bluish skin and knows he’s already gone.
_________

11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20

Tim’s cold. Jason’s arms shake, from fatigue, from adrenaline, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he has to keep counting.

21-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30.

Salty tears slip through his domino and mix with the drops of river water streaking down his face.
_________

They watch the Red Hood perform CPR on Neal’s body in silence for almost five minutes before Diana finally calls for backup and an ambulance.
_________

Jason keeps counting. He has no idea how long it’s been, how many rounds he’s done. It doesn’t matter anyways, because he has to keep going. He has to keep going until his little brother comes back. He has to, because if he doesn’t–

If Tim doesn’t–

Tim shudders and chokes underneath him, back arching as he tries to roll over. Jason pushes him into a recovery position as he coughs and throws up, expelling the water he swallowed and inhaled. Jason has a hand on his pulse, counting beats as hacking coughs turn into shuddering gasps. He counts breaths out loud, helping Tim wrestle his breathing under control. He barely manages to sit up before Jason pulls his younger brother into his chest, holding him as tightly as he dares.
_________

Tim’s always wanted a hug from Jason. The circumstances could be improved upon, since he remembers saying sorry to Jason and inhaling water and the tell-tale ache of CPR cracked ribs means he’s pretty sure he just drowned. But he’s awake now, and Jason is wet and clinging to him, so he knows his brother made it in time. He clings back, buried in his big brother’s arms.

“What happened?” he rasps, throat raw from coughing. Jay’s arms tighten around him.

“You drowned.” Tim barely catches it, but he hears the break in Jason’s voice.

“Are you crying?”

“No–”

Tim leans back to look at his older brother’s face. “You think I don’t know what it looks like when someone cries in a domino?”

“You died.” Jason sobs. “You were dead.You were cold in the water, no pulse–” His breath hitches. “I did–I did CPR, fuck, I haven’t tried to do CPR since my mom–”

“I’m alive, okay? I’m alive, you–” Tim’s voice catches on the emotions caught in his wrecked throat. “You made it in time.”

“You were so limp, Red. I didn’t know if I could get you back. You were gone.” He tucks Tim back into his chest, cheek resting on his hair. “Please, please, never again. You’re alive. You have to–you have to stay alive.” Tim just holds his brother tighter, listening to the beat of his heart through his sodden body armor. “Fuck,” Jason whispers, “I have to–I think I have to apologize to B.”

“What?”

“The warehouse depot…It was–it was at least three miles from…” His breath hitches again.

“He must have carried me.”
_________

Jason’s grip on his brother tightens almost imperceptibly when the sound of sirens reaches them.

“Hood, you’re going to have to let me go.” Tim says, but Jason can feel his grasp tighten as well. “Are you–are you okay?”

“No,” Jason admits. “I’m going to go throw up in an alley and then cry on my boyfriend’s couch.”

“Fuck, I’m going to have nightmares about water for weeks.” Tim grumbles.

“It’ll be years for me, I think.” Jason tries joking, but it comes out more honest than he intends. He presses a kiss into Tim’s damp hair and lets him go when the flashing lights come into view.

“Peter Burke,” He says, the FBI agent’s attention snapping to him as he steps away and gathers his discarded gear, “if anything happens to him, it’s on your head, got it?” But he’s gone into the shadows and rooftops before he gets a response.
_________
Jason creeps into the apartment he shares with Roy and Lian in New York, silent so as to not wake the sleeping inhabitants. It used to be just Roy’s apartment, he still thinks of it as ‘his boyfriend’s place,’ but its really as much Jason’s as it is Roy’s at this point. He forces himself to drink a glass of water, knowing he needs it and trying in vain to not hear Tim’s choking coughs. He sets down the glass on the table when the shake in his hands becomes too much. He suppresses a shiver, clothes still wet. He doesn’t know if the chill in his bones is from the trip across the city in wet clothes, the river itself, or the fading adrenaline and fear.
Someone shifts in bed, audible through the thin apartment walls. It’s probably Lian, she’s always a restless sleeper. My kid. Jason thinks idly, counts of thirty echoing in his mind. My family.
And I almost lost one tonight. I almost lost Tim for good, he shudders, tears welling up again. He tries to force them back, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was so close. He was almost gone, slipping away under my hands. I’ve never performed CPR successfully before. What if I didn’t do it right? What if I hadn’t– what if I couldn’t–

Jason doesn’t sleep that night.
_________

Neal spends over a week in the hospital. Turns out he doesn’t have a spleen and is thus at a much higher risk of pneumonia or other respiratory complications. The superiors aren’t exactly happy about the CI’s stint in the hospital, but what can they do? Neal almost died on the job. He did die, would still be dead, if it weren’t for the actual goddamn Red Hood.

Yeah, the superiors aren’t happy about that part either.

Peter, Diana, and Jones spend the week trying to get any of their normal work done, dragged in and out of Organized Crime for interrogations barely disguised as debriefs for professional courtesy. It comes to a head with a shouting match between Peter and Agent Ruiz in a conference room, Jones and Diana spectating.

“I did not deliberately hide the fact that my CI has some kind of connection to the Red Hood from your division, I updated all of the relevant files as soon as the information became available to me, so short of hand-delivering a couple of brief updates to you on a silver platter, I do not believe I could have been more transparent.”

“You didn’t think that maybe the convict you have working in your office being involved with one of the most notorious criminal organizations on this coast was a concern, Burke?”

“No, since he was not willingly involved in any of it, and his only personal connection was not to the actual leader but was a passing acquaintance with a secondary member of the organization over a decade ago!”

“The Red Hood showed up acting as his personal bodyguard and you’re telling me he only has a passing acquaintance with Row?”

“There was never any indication that Neal had even met the Red Hood until he was actually there jumping into the water after him!”

“And why didn’t a single one of you attempt to apprehend him?! It’s disgraceful.”

“I don’t know, maybe because for the first seven minutes he was performing chest compressions on my CI’s dead body? My CI who is still in the hospital, who only made it out of that river because of him?”

“So what, as a thank you you just let one of the most dangerous men in the country walk away? Is that how it works for you, Burke? Your criminals do you a favor and you let them go?”

“Peter is an accountant! We’re from the White Collar division!” Diana cuts in. “We assessed the situation and determined that the most likely scenario in which we all survived, in which all four of us survived, was where we did not attempt to apprehend one of the most dangerous men in the country. We were supposed to be doing surveillance! No one was prepared for this!”

“There were almost ten minutes while he was preoccupied with the CI in which any one of you could have done your job.” And that's where Jones realizes what the Organized Crime agent is really saying to them.

“You think we should have let Neal Caffrey die.” Jones says, voicing his thoughts aloud. “You think we should have sacrificed Neal’s life to capture the Red Hood.” He stands up from the table in disgust. “I understand where your priorities lie now, Agent, and this team does not share them when it comes to the life of a man who is under our responsibility.” Jones marches out of the conference room straight for the elevator, Peter and Diana following. The ride is silent, no one speaking until they file back into Peter’s office. It's like they don’t even consider Neal to be a person. Jones thinks. He’s just a tool. A criminal informant, not a member of our organization. He’s just a convict to them, a prisoner. A criminal. Shame fills him as recognizes the thought, the things he said to Neal, the way he treated him. What did I do to Neal? How could I have treated him like that? How could I have been like that? I’m no better than Ruiz. That isn’t who I should be. I have to be better.

“I’m going to submit a complaint about Ruiz.” Peter says, breaking the silence from where he’s sat behind his desk, the other two in the chairs facing him. “Some of those implications were…concerning.”

“I shouldn’t have spoken for the department like that,” Jones apologizes. It had felt right, when he realized what the Organized Crime agents meant, but he didn’t have the authority to back up his words.

“No, you did the right thing, Jones.” Peter says. “I’ll explain the situation to the higher ups. I can’t cover Neal for this one, I won’t, he has to answer for whatever that was. I know what I saw, what I heard. But Ruiz’s stance was completely inappropriate.” He sighs. “We’re probably all going to get some kind of heat for the confrontation though, even if it’s only from Hughes. A shouting match in a different department?”

“To be fair, Ruiz definitely started it.” Diana mutters. “He had it coming, too.” Peter leans forward onto his desk, elbows propped up and face in his hands.

“Neal’s in for hell when he gets back.”

“I want to be mad at him, he outright lied to us about his connections to the Red Hood. Look at the mess it’s made!” Diana says, clenching her fists. “Those two are close. Those two are incredibly close, Neal was protecting him from us. He wasn’t even trying to save his own skin, he was worried about the Red Hood. How can he even look at him? Neal’s so–so Neal! He hates violence, he hates guns, you’ve seen how he reacts to some of our more grotesque cases. But there he was, clinging to a man with more blood on his hands than anyone knows.” she takes a deep breath, shuddering a little. “But I can’t stay mad. I keep seeing his limp body on the concrete every time I close my eyes. I thought he was dead,” she finishes in a whisper. “I really thought he was dead.”

“How does he really react to violence, though?” Jones wonders aloud, remembering the convenience store. It seems like so long ago now. “When Jay got shot, Neal was the coolest headed I may have ever seen him. That was real, you can’t fake a reaction in a situation like that.”

“I’ve been thinking about that too.” Peter admits. “Neal took charge immediately and knew exactly what to do. It’s strange to say, but I can’t help but feel like Neal and Jay would both still have walked out of that store even if none of the rest of us were there.”

“Are you two saying you think Neal’s been faking his reaction at the worse crime scenes to cover up his extensive experience with violent crime?”

“Well, when you say it like that–” Jones starts, but Peter cuts him off.

“Yes, I think that's exactly what I’m trying to say.” Diana and Jones trade glances at Peter’s statement, but he isn’t looking at them. He stares down at his desk, face unreadable.

Once a conman, always a conman, Jones thinks traitorously.

“Neal’s in for hell when he gets back.” Peter repeats.
_________

Neal never gets back. Peter drives him home from the hospital when he’s released, Neal promising updates if he needs anything. Peter hates to leave him, he’s been having nightmares of Neal’s blueish face and limp body and he just wants to see the younger man walking around, alive and well. Peter offers to stay the night, but Neal declines.

“I’ve been in a fishbowl all week, I just need one night of calm and privacy before I go to the wolves tomorrow.”

So Peter agrees, says he’ll see him tomorrow, and goes home to where El is waiting.

He’s woken in the middle of the night by a call from the US Marshals. There's been some kind of malfunction with Neal’s anklet, but it hasn’t left the 2 mile radius. In fact, it’s still at June’s place. But the code it’s giving means someone’s tried to cut it. Peter is in his clothes and out the door in minutes, dialing Neal.

He doesn’t answer.

Neal, what have you done?
_________

Neal’s apartment is trashed. The table is pushed haphazardly, chairs and lamps are strewn around and broken. Everything on his counters has been swept onto the floor. The covers on his bed have been thrown back, as if he got out in a hurry. Glass crunches underneath Peter’s shoes. Every knife from the knife block is somewhere around the room.
Far too many of them are bloody.

Peter crosses the room in a daze of horror at the scene. Neal’s ankle monitor is hanging from a knife stabbed into a cabinet, pinning a piece of paper. It’s not a kitchen knife. He reads the note, gripped with fear.

The Black Mask has Neal.

Chapter Text

Glass shatters at Jason’s feet, eyes glued to the television behind the cashier in the small family grocers. He’s out getting food for Tim. He went home from the hospital the day before, and Jason’s due over for dinner the next day. It’s been less than twenty four hours since Tim was released. He never anticipated that something would happen, could happen. Jason hasn’t even seen him in person since that night at the river.

Olive brine pools around the soles of Jason’s shoes. The reporter on the television continues her news update, shattering Jason piece by piece.

“–continue their search for a missing criminal informant, kidnapped from his apartment on Riverside Drive last night between two-fourty and three am. The public became aware of the incident this morning when Black Mask uploaded a video of Caffrey’s captivity as instigation for rival drug lord Red Hood. Nothing has been heard from the Red Hood at the time of this broadcast. Caffrey’s connection to the Red Hood remains unclear, the FBI refusing to comment. Officials first became aware–”

He’d left his Red Hood phone at home when he went out that morning. Roy and Lian were in Star, Tim was out of the hospital, and he’d left his Red Hood phone at home without checking it before he went out that morning. Black Mask had taken Tim in the middle of the night, Tim who was barely out of the hospital, Black Mask, one of his worst enemies, had taken his brother, and he hadn’t know, because he didn’t check his Red Hood phone before leaving that morning.
Jason would say he’s familiar with strong emotions. He might even go so far as to say he’s more familiar than most are with very, very strong emotions. It’s one of the side effects of being resurrected by something that does a different kind of damage in return. Many would be surprised to learn that anger isn’t usually his strongest emotion. He made quite a name for himself in his teenage years, but he’s beyond that time now. His control is something hard won and he is, admittedly, proud of it. And right now? In a mom and pop grocery store in the Bronx? It’s stretched to a thread. Jason stalks out of the shop, throwing cash on the counter for the ruined olives. He races back to Roy’s place, suiting up while finding the trail Black Mask left him. He watches the video, shaking. The thread snaps.

Black Mask has my brother.

Jason burns.
_________

Peter’s never hated anything as much as the video Black Mask releases of Neal. It’s like something straight out of every probie’s kidnapping nightmares. A dark room, one single light above Neal. He’s duct-taped to a chair. Peter can see bruising and scrapes on the skin his black t-shirt and sweatpants don’t cover. He doesn’t have shoes. Dark hair flops into his face, head tilted forward. It's longer than Peter thought it was. He feels sick.

Black Mask, the Black Mask, stalks in a circle around Neal, stopping at his side. He grabs Neal’s chin and forces his head up to look at him. Neal’s face is completely blank, expressionless. Black Mask smiles. He jerks Neal’s face toward the camera.

“Our friend Hood doesn’t seem to have gotten the messages. I guess he wasn’t taking very good care of you after all, such a shame. We’re sending him some more motivation, what do you want to say?” Neals blank expression shifts into determination. There’s rebellion and fire in his face.

“Don’t come. Don’t you dare come for me, Hood, it’s a trap, he’s waiting–” Black Mask grips Neal’s throat to cut him off.

“You’re not co-operating very well, little artist.” He lets go of Neal, pacing back around behind him while Neal gasps for breath. He grips Neal’s hair and pulls his head back, exposing the pale line of his throat. His nails scrape along a faint scar. “The longer you take, the sharper the things I draw on his neck with are, Hood.” He hums. “Did you like that? Draw? I thought it was appropriate, an art forger and all that. Is that what you talk about with Hood, Caffrey? Discussing art? He’s an educated man, you know.” He lets go of Neal’s hair and his head slumps forward again, chest heaving. “Do you want to try again? Will you encourage Hood to hurry the fuck up, or the pretty little conman dies?” Neal looks up. His eyes stare straight into the camera, but it feels like they’re looking into Peter’s soul.

“Remember what I said in the kitchen, Red? After you got shot? That hasn’t changed, so don’t you dare forget it. We’re already even. Don’t you fucking dare forget it, Park Row.”
_________

Tim hates Black Mask. He doesn’t have the same history that some of the others have with him, but right now? Tim fucking hates Black Mask. The man just keeps pacing, trying to goad him into something, taunting him. Black Mask doesn’t give a shit about Neal Caffrey, he’s just using him as bait to try and get Jason.
Tim also fucking hates being used. So yeah, he is beyond angry.
He’s also terrified. Of course he doesn’t want to die, but he thinks Jason showing up and getting caught and dying instead would actually be worse, because then Tim would be the one who has to live through the aftermath.
There's also the small issue of his missing tracking anklet, which he hasn’t had since they took him from the apartment. There goes his Neal Caffrey mission. The FBI looking for him might be a good thing, if they manage to get to him before someone else does, but that leaves the very real possibility of Sionis just killing him outright since he didn’t get the Red Hood like he wanted to. Just a fucking stellar situation all around.
He’s been trying to test the tape subtly, but it's just that, duct tape, and his limbs are completely immobilized. It's humiliating, frankly, but he did everything he could. He’d been completely overwhelmed, and Black Mask had clearly planned very well.
The worst part, for Tim, is knowing exactly where he and Jason went wrong. Tim had needed saving, Jason had saved him. Neal Caffrey was a target, but when Jason extended the Red Hood’s protection to him, and stayed in New York, it had attracted a different kind of attention. He knows no one but June’s noticed their regular meeting schedule, but a random art forger working for the FBI suddenly having protection from a Gotham crime lord? It hadn’t caught FBI attention, like Tim had feared, it had caught Gotham attention. But Gothamites were weird, so nobody had probably thought anything of it, assuming Hood was infiltrating the FBI or commissioning forged paintings or something else.

Until Jason had jumped into the river after Tim.

That was the escalating factor, why Black Mask would kidnap Neal Caffrey to use as bait. Because Jason had inadvertently shown his enemies that the Red Hood would put his own life on the line for Neal Caffrey.
_________

A phone rings. Tim thinks it might be his, the tone sounds familiar.

“Hello there, Hoodie, glad you got my messages!” Sionis says.
_________

“Sir, we’ve got a call to Caffrey’s cell phone!”

“Patch us in, trace the call, someone go get his team–”
_________

“Let him go, Sionis.”

“Now, now, you’re not the one who gets to make the demands here, Red.”

“Of course, of course, let me rephrase that: Let him fucking go, Roman, or I will raze everything you’ve got to the ground, and then after that, I’ll fucking string your still breathing corpse from the top of–”

There’s the telltale click of a gun’s safety being switched off. Every agent listening in on the call tenses.

“I can blow his brains out right now, Hood.”

The Red Hood lets out a string of curses.

“Or how about this, I strangle him slowly and you get to listen on the phone? You can always hang up, too, and let him die alone with me. Oh! An even better idea! What about a crowbar? You’ve got such a special history with those, don’t you? Think you’re over that now that you’ve killed the Joker? We could make some new memories, you and I and pretty little Neal Caffrey. He looks just like a bird, too.”

The other end of the call is silent. Peter feels like he’s going to be sick.

“If he dies, Sionis, there will be nowhere and nothing in the universe that could protect you from me.”

“Why’s he so important to you anyways, Hoodie? You into pretty little two-bit criminals now? What happened to your red archer?”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Of course! I’m nothing if not accommodating, you know.”

There’s some footsteps and shuffling.

“Hey Asshole.” Neal’s voice says. It sounds raw.

“You alright, Bristol?” The Red Hood asks. Diana gasps, other agents turning to look at her.

“Holy shit, it’s Jay.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t give it five stars, but I’ve still got all of my remaining internal organs so as far as kidnappings go it's not the worst I’ve ever experienced.” Neal jokes.

“There’s no way–” Jones starts, but others quiet him.

“Don’t give him any ideas, kid.”

There's silence again, for a minute.

“Y’know, none of this would have happened if you had fucking listened to me in the first place.” Neal says.

“If you wanted me to stay out of your business, you shouldn’t have taken my name.”

Neal laughs. “I mean, I stole it for the same reason you stole yours, so this really wasn’t my intended outcome. Don’t come for me.”

“Sorry kid, you broke the first rule too many times already. The club’s not accepting new applicants.”

“Rule number one is to carry a spare respirator, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Not B’s rules, MY rules, which you agreed to when you took my colors. Rule #1 is no more dead robins.”

“We’ve traced the location, sir.”

Neal audibly sucks in a breath. “Don’t you fucking dare come after me you bastard, I already told you you’re not allowed to–” The line to Neal’s phone cuts off, but Red Hood’s end stays open.

“I hope you feds got what you needed, we kept it open as long as we could.” Click.

“Is the Red Hood going to go after Caffrey, Agent Burke?” Peter, Jones, and Diana look at each other.

“You’re certain about your theory on Red Hood’s identity, Agent Berrigan?” Peter asks Diana. She nods.

“I am.”

Peter can see Jay tackling Neal in a convenience store, can see him comforting Neal when he was the one who got shot, can see a blur diving after Neal into icy water, can see the Red Hood performing CPR helmetless in front of FBI agents for seven minutes, can see him and Neal clinging to each other on wet pavement behind a dingy garage. He remembers all those months ago, a crowded waiting room and a whispered conversation in a hospital bed.

Scrapped your sorry ass off the floor of your apartment.

Damn, just a thirty-eight? All this for a fucking small caliber, shoulda just worn a fucking jacket, damn.

No cops and no hospitals, sorry Jackie.

Please, please, never again. You’re alive. You have to–you have to stay alive.

Peter Burke, if anything happens to him, it’s on your head, got it?

“Yes,” Peter answers. “He will.”
_________

Jason’s camped out on a rooftop next to where Black Mask has Tim. He has several different plans and the knowledge that none of them will actually end up playing out. The phone call caught the FBI onto things, he doesn’t know if Sionis knows Tim’s phone was tapped by the feds or not, but he’s counting on not. As soon as he sees the first dark vehicle enter the three block radius he’s monitoring he moves into position.

He’s going to get Tim out. But if Jason doesn’t get out, doesn’t get Tim away, the FBI will be able to.
_________

It begins with an explosion. Black Mask turns to Tim with a wild glee. “I guess he’s decided to join us!” Tim feels sick with dread. There are shouts downstairs, and gunfire. A lot more gunfire than Tim would expect from a one-man assault on a building. Jason must have brought backup, which is a huge relief. Black Mask must think the same, since he sends some of the men with them out to see how many attackers there are. The ones behind Tim move forward, stationing themselves between him and the door. Whoever comes through the door to rescue him will have to get through Black Mask and his gang to get to Tim.

The gunfire and shouts get louder. Tim smells smoke. Black Mask and his men settle into their best intimidating positions, waiting for the Red Hood to charge through the door.

Tim resolutely does not so much as breathe when the razor sharp blade drags carefully through the tape restraining him.

Jason is always silent unless he wants to be otherwise.

The volume of the assault downstairs covers the sound of duct tape being ripped off of Tim’s skin and clothes. He doesn’t even wince at the pain. Jason helps him out of the chair and supports his weight as the feeling returns to his numb limbs that haven’t moved in hours. They creep backward, silently. Footsteps thunder up the stairs, the brothers moving faster to the window Jason must have entered through. Smoke is visible in the air now. Almost there, Tim thinks, and the door slams open.

“It’s the FBI!” The gang member shouts, “it’s not–RED HOOD!” He throws an arm forward, pointing to the back of the room, straight at Tim and Jason.
_________

Jason throws Tim a gun and hell breaks loose. He loses track of the younger man as they fight their way through the room. There’s no way to safely exit the window now that live ammunition is in the air, so they try for the door. They’ve downed most of the others in the room with Jason’s weapons and almost meet up again near the door, on opposite sides of it. If we can just make the stairs we can bottleneck them. Jason thinks, but the door bursts open, federal agents sweeping into the room, smoke swirling in behind them. Jason can hear Tim wheeze at the smoke in the chaos.
The new players turn it into a three way, wide open door letting smoke pour in and decreasing visibility as the fire worsens on the ground floor. Jason’s trying really hard not to hit the agents even though his bullets aren’t live, but they’re trying to hit him, and he’s lost Tim.

He finds Tim again. But Black Mask’s found him first.

“FREEZE OR I KILL CAFFREY!”

Tim’s on his knees in front of Sionis, a pistol against the back of his head. Jason’s blood turns to ice in his veins.

“Guns on the ground.” The other crime lord orders. None of the agents move. Jason lowers his gun. Tim’s frozen.

“Gun on the ground, Hood, or I execute him on the spot.”

“Let him go.” Jason snarls.

“I don’t know, I’m liking this situation where I hold all the power.”

“You have me!” Jason falls to his knees and throws his hands out wide. “Look, no guns, I’m surrendering, let him go! The feds want Caffrey, the feds can take him, you get me. Fair trade. Let him go!”

“Don’t, Red, please,” Tim begs him. “I said you’re not allowed to die for me! Please go, I can’t go through this again, I can’t. Let it be me this time!”

“My colors, my rules, kid.” Jason breathes, eyes locked on the gun pressed into his brother’s hair. Sionis has his finger on the trigger.

“Helmet off, Hoodie. Let’s see that face.” He reaches up slowly for the latches and pulls his helmet off.

“Keep your damn helmet on you motherfucking bastard.” Tim rants.

“Factually untrue moniker, actually, no matter what anyone says, don’t believe them. Except for the bastard part, that’s probably true.” Jason says.

There’s a beat of silence. Black Mask tilts his head. Take the bait, Jason wishes.

“Huh?”

“I mean, I feel like I was pretty explicit, actually. Neal understood me, right Neal?” At the mention of his name, Black Mask glances down at his captive. Jason takes the opening and throws his helmet at Black Mask, who looks back up at the brilliant red improvised projectile, and Tim dives forward and away into a shoulder roll.
_________

Someone grabs him and drags him out, down the stairs into the smoke. It must be Jason, because a rebreather is shoved into his mouth as they run down the stairs. The ground floor is open, and on fire. There’s still shouts down here as casualties are removed and the fire spreads. The thundering of feet echo on the stairs behind them as the federal agents evacuate from the higher floor. Tim doesn’t know what’s happened to Black Mask. Jason pulls him forward towards the outside door. They’re almost there.

“I’m going to get casualties out, my domino’s got infrared.” Jason shouts, Tim stumbling forward as he’s pushed out, eyes burning from the smoke.

“Wait–” He tries to turn back but the fleeing group carries him away. Someone grabs him, pulling him away from the building. He’s blinded and disoriented from the combination of flashing lights from emergency vehicles and toxic black smoke. Something in the building is on fire that really should not be on fire, but who knows what Black Mask had in there. And Jason is still inside.

“Let me go, I have to–” Tim spits out the rebreather, struggling against the arms holding him back. It's more than one person.

Something crashes inside the building. Tim tries to run forward, but they’re still holding him back.

“Neal, Neal stop, you can’t–” Jason hasn’t come out yet.

“Let go! Let me go, he’s still in there!”

The second floor collapses.

The rest of the building explodes.

“JASON!”
_________

Diana stares at Neal. He doesn’t seem to notice.
He hasn’t seemed to notice anything since the explosion.
They’re on their way back to the FBI building. Neal hadn’t actually been injured enough to warrant a hospital visit, so the paramedics had treated him on the scene and he was returning with them. Anyone uninjured enough was going back, to sort out the insane mess the operation had become.
No one seemed to have a clear idea of what happened.
Neal hasn’t spoken.
They’d had to drag him away from the site of the explosion. He’s been silently crying ever since, tears tracking through the soot on his cheeks. His eyes stare ahead, unseeing. There’s a shock blanket over his shoulders, covering the black t-shirt he’d been taken in. He doesn’t have shoes.

They make it back to the Manhattan office, a cluster of sooty, shell shocked agents and SWAT teams and one rescued criminal informant. It doesn’t feel like much of a rescue, though. Diana can still hear Neal’s screams and sobs when the building came down.

She’s never witnessed such utter devastation in her life.

She goes to find him a pair of shoes.
_________

“Hey, you guys in Counterintelligence gonna be here late?”

“All night, probably. Why?”

“White Collar’s CI is on a work release but his anklet got destroyed. He needs babysitting and Organized and Violent Crimes are fighting over him. We’d rather he goes somewhere uninvolved.”

“Organized and Violent Crimes are fighting over him? Shit, what’d he do?”

“You haven’t heard? He got kidnapped by Black Mask and held hostage as a trap for the Red Hood.”

“What?!”

“That’s not even it! The Red Hood actually showed up to rescue the guy, the whole thing ended in fire and an explosion, nobody seems to know if Black Mask and the Red Hood are even still alive, and the CI refuses to talk.”

“I thought the guy was an art forger!”

“Well, he was supposed to be.”

“Shit, I–yeah, we can take him in Counterintelligence. Damn, what a night.”
_________

“Package for you, Caffrey.” A combined group of Organized Crime and Violent Crime agents enter the conference room that he and his Counterintelligence babysitter have been holed up in and slide a box across the table to him. Neal would probably snipe something like still fighting over jurisdiction, boys? at them, but Tim doesn’t have it in him to try sarcasm. He’s spent the last few hours staring at the wall in front of him, trying not to fall apart. He’s been seeing the explosion, the building going down, over and over and over and over, every time he closes his eyes, and sometimes even when they’re open. He doesn’t know where Jason is, doesn’t know what happened to him, doesn’t know if anyone is coming. Doesn’t know if anyone else even knows. It doesn’t matter what people know, if they don’t care. Tim doesn’t even know if his family still cares. And he wouldn’t know that, either, since he’s been stuck in this stupid conference room, in this stupid building, in this stupid city, on this stupid mission, and the FBI won’t tell him anything.
Tim’s a detective, Tim’s one of the best detectives in the damned world, but he needs something, anything, to work with. He’s analyzed and categorized everything he knows already, and it boils down to a few things.

Both Black Mask and Jason could be alive. They could also both be dead, but Tim is resolutely not thinking about that possibility right now, because if–if Jason’s dead–
So, alive. If they’re alive, they’re probably both missing since no one has come to officially question Neal Caffrey yet. That means the FBI is still sorting out the jurisdiction, and nothing has escalated the situation enough to push things through. That means that everyone is lying low, and the officials haven’t found anyone’s body yet. So both of them are alive. And that's it, that's all he has.

“Open it up, Caffrey.” one of the Organized Crime agents orders him. They’ve always seemed to have it out for Neal.

Tim tears the packing tape off and opens the box. Every emotion he’s been trying to suffocate since they carted him back to the FBI after the warehouse breaks free at the contents of the box. He lets out one terrible, gasping sob that he can’t suppress and reaches into the box with shaking hands. His fingers wrap around the smooth, worn handle of one of Jason’s favourite handguns and the frayed straps of his utility belt and pretends the drips that fall onto his hands aren’t tears. There's a note thrown in with Jason’s gear.

Thanks for helping me get Red, Caffrey. Good luck with the feds!

“Shit, is that the Red Hood’s gun?” Tim nods jerkily, swallowing tears, unable to speak yet.

“So Black Mask came out on top and finished Red Hood off then. Damn.” An agent mutters.

“No.” Tim says, barely speaking past the jumble of fear-guilt-anger. “He’s got Hood alive.” He swallows again, forcing himself to set the gun back in the box, digging through the rest of Jason’s gear. “If he was dead Black Mask would have sent me his hands or something. He’s cruel. He’d want me to find out in a way that hurt. This is just him taunting me.” He takes a deep breath, feeling a smooth metal cylinder on Jason’s utility belt. Tim’s hands know that shape better than anyone else on earth. Jason’s still alive. Black Mask’s got him, but he’s still alive. I can still make it in time. He grips the collapsed staff.
It’s not a normal Robin staff, not one of Jason’s either. It’s Tim’s.

“You want Red, Sionis? You’re gonna fucking get Red.”

Chapter Text

“Agent Burke! We need your team downstairs, Caffrey’s gone.”

“Excuse me?”

“Caffrey ran, you know him the best, we need to find out where he’ll go.”

“You lost him? He’s been out of my custody for barely a few hours and you already lost him?”
_________

“You know, I’m honestly a bit surprised this all worked out the way I wanted it to.” Black Mask says, pacing in circles around Jason. The last thing he remembers is hauling casualties through the back door of the building before it blew. The blast had knocked him forward into the wall across the alley. It must’ve knocked him out, because he woke up strung up in some other Black Mask hideout. It’s another unoriginal interrogation room with light only in the center. Sionis had never been particularly creative. Several dark figures shuffle around the dark edges of the space, extra henchmen and goons no doubt. He’s sore and singed from the explosion, helmet, guns, and other tools gone, sans the ones well concealed enough that Black Mask hadn’t found them. Their concealment, however, also means that Jason can’t easily access them either. He’d gotten Tim out though, so the mission was a success.
He’s not giving up hope for himself yet, though. The fact that he woke up at all means that Sionis wants him alive, at least for a while. Maybe he wants to gloat, or try and torture some secrets out of him, who knows. For now though, he needs to get his captor to either leave or get close enough for Jason to try and take him out.

“Who is he, Hoodie boy?” Black Mask asks, still circling. “I thought he might have just been eye candy, you know, when the rumors started coming around that Hood was protecting some Manhattan forger. Just something pretty to distract poor Hoodie while he’s exiled from Gotham.” He changes direction. “But then, here comes one of my guys, says Hood jumped into the river after the artist, resuscitated him in front of a team of feds, helmetless. And well now, that seemed like an opportunity for me. How far would the Red Hood go for his new boy toy? So I grabbed him. And my oh my, it looks like your little conman had more than just me fooled, since the boy dropped six of my guys. And he was on an anklet? That was audacious of you, dancing around the feds like that, so soon after you knocked the Joker out as well.” He stops, back to Jason, and draws a long knife. “So who is he, Hood? Now I’m interested. He’s damned loyal to you too, you know, wouldn’t say a word, but I know eyes like those. A non-violent art forger? No way in hell.” Black Mask turns around and resumes his pacing. “You two are up to something, and I don’t know who this Neal Caffrey is. I don’t like not knowing things, you see.” He pauses, and in the silence Jason realizes that he can’t hear anyone other than Black Mask. “So what’s your master plan? You going after the Bat again? I thought you were in hiding, we all knew it was you, figured you’d run when they found the body. But you’d never give up Gotham to ol’Batsy, and ol’Batsy will never let you back after you offed his best friend, so it boils back down to the two of you. BUT THEN, here comes Hoodie to trade his life for a pretty little art boy who works with the feds, and it all falls apart again, all my careful deduction. You’ve absolutely ruined my case, Hood, even though I wanted you to. So who’s Caffrey, and why is he so important?”

Jason smirks, splitting open a cracked lip. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
_________

“–continued going through the items, then said, ‘You want red, Sionis, you’re gonna fucking get red’ outloud. What we can’t figure out is how he disappeared so quickly.”

“Where do you think he’ll go, Agent Burke?” Peter shares a look with his team. It's so obvious.

Peter looks back to the other agents in the room, the ones who had been responsible for Neal. The ones who clearly didn’t know the first thing about him. Peter’s beginning to wonder, as it all comes crashing down, whether he ever knew a thing about Neal either. But Peter’s seen Neal go through a hell of a lot, Jones had been right, you can’t fake a reaction in a situation like that.

“He told you where he was going,” Peter says. “He’s going to get the Red Hood.”
_________

Tim’s anger is different from Jason’s. Jason’s anger is violent, explosive, and destructive. But where Jason runs hot, Tim runs cold. When Jason is angry, everyone knows it. When Tim’s angry? They find out while sifting through the ashes. Tim’s anger is sharp, precise, and calculated. When Tim’s angry, it frays at the commitment he has to what society has generally accepted as ethical and moral. What always works, though, is his personal moral compass. That’s what happens when one is forced to raise themselves, their code of personal ethics isn’t instilled in them by others, but by themselves. So no matter what, Tim never, ever strays from his own code. What too many don’t realize, though, is that Timothy Jackson Drake’s personal code of ethics is not as closely aligned with the generally accepted one as he’s led them to believe it is.
And right now? He’s out for blood.

Tim enters through the roof. He drops the two guards Black Mask has on the top floor with quick, silent strikes and moves downwards. It’s not a big building, three stories and a basement. His reconnaissance tells him that Jason’s being held on the second floor. He slips around the occupied second floor, heading lower to clear the first floor and basement. Black Mask has been nice enough to be entirely predictable, so Tim’s making sure nothing like the previous disaster of a rescue is repeated. He ignores the little voice in his brain that tells him that Jason probably considered the rescue a success, since Tim had gotten out.
The first floor proves to be the most heavily guarded. Tim takes out the guards one by one, a shadow flickering in and out of sight. None of them ever realize he’s there.
The basement is the easiest, only three guys, barely armed. Tim makes quick work of one with a strike of his staff, knocking out another on the upswing. He sweeps the legs out from under the third before cracking down with his staff while he’s on the way down. No one gets the chance to raise an alarm.

Three floors down, one to go.
_________

A childish laugh echoes through the room. Black Mask turns quickly, searching for the source, but Jason knows that laugh in his bones. Something taps on the floor, a figure stepping out into the light.

“A bird.” Black Mask hisses. “Get him, boys!” He pulls a gun and cocks it.

Red Robin giggles again. Jason can see his utility belt and holsters strapped on over his brother’s t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s finally got shoes, a pair of nondescript government issue boots, and one of Jason’s spare red dominos is slapped on over his eyes.

“What boys?” Tim asks. “Seems like you’re alone to me.”

“Red Robin.” Sionis growls, taking in Tim’s clothes, the items Sionis had sent as a taunt to the FBI informant. “Neal Caffrey is Red Robin? The missing bird? He’s not some boytoy, he’s your sidekick!” He laughs wildly, and throws up his arm to press the muzzle of his gun into Jason’s forehead. “How do you like this, Red Robin, I still hold all the cards.” Jason closes his eyes.

Three gunshots echo in the dark room.

Jason falls to the floor.
_________

Tim watches the rival crime lords drop to the floor. He walks over to Black Mask, inspecting the fresh gunshots blooming red on his suit.

“Don’t be stupid, Sionis, though I guess it’s too late for that.” Tim leans down, tilting his head like a bird. “Robins aren’t sidekicks, they’re partners.” Black Mask gurgles in response.

Jason rolls to his feet, pulling the chain, now slack since Tim’s bullet severed it, off of his wrists. He squats next to his downed captor, feeling the man’s neck for a pulse. Tim watches him, a little wary, a little numb. He knows he’s just saved Jason’s life, but he’s also not sure how he’ll react to it after so many times of it being the other way around. Tim braces himself, for what, he doesn’t know. That’s the whole problem. Jason would be a hypocrite to have a problem with him killing, but Tim also knows that his brother doesn’t want the others to become like him. He wants Tim to be better. Jason closes Roman Sionis’s unseeing eyes, and stands.

“Timothy.” He says. “Thank you.” Jason looks up, meeting his eyes. His gaze is fragile. He takes a step forward, and Tim rushes to meet him, arms open. Jason’s breath hitches, and he buries his face into his older brother’s chest, arms clutching his back. He doesn’t want to see Jason cry. It’ll make Tim cry, and he hates crying in a domino. Jason must’ve peeled his off, because Tim can feel drops hit his hair as Jason folds him into his arms. It’s secure, and warm, and Tim realizes with a rush that it’s over. The unending ordeal, dragged on since he was attacked in his apartment in the middle of the night before, is over. Jason’s here, he’s safe, they’re both safe, and Black Mask is dead. He holds on tighter to the taller man. “Thank you, Tim. Thank you so much.” He’s whispering into his hair. Tim leans back a little to look at Jason.

“I love you too,” he says, and blinks back the tears that well up in his own eyes. “You said it all that time ago and I–I never said it back.” He swallows. “You’re my brother and I love you too.”
_________

They leave Black Mask’s body where it fell.

“You know,” Jason says once they’re outside, tears dried and dominos back on, “You could’ve switched to red masks and guns earlier, since you’re into being a thieving, name-stealing, copycat now.”

“Again, that’s not why I took it. I already told you, I was doing the same thing you did.” Tim replies, handing Jason’s gear back.

“Seriously? I thought you did it to piss off the golden boy.”

“Oh, that too, I mostly figured I could make everyone mad in one fell swoop, y’know?”

A dark figure drops into the alley in front of them. They both tense, drawing weapons and settling into defensive stances.

“Found them!” The person darts forward.

“Steph?!” Tim asks, shocked.

“Are you both alright?”

“What are you doing here?” Jason splutters, relaxing.

“Pickup.” Cass says, suddenly at his elbow. Jason barely manages not to jump.

“You came for us?”

“Of course we did, dumbass.” Stephanie swats at Jason’s shoulder. “We’re just sorry it took us so long,” she apologizes. “We were literally all on the west coast and their zetas are down. We had to take commercial flights, it was ridiculous.”

“Why didn’t you take the jet?” Tim asks as Cass checks him over for injuries. Stephanie cringes a bit.

“This isn’t exactly an…authorized pickup. Besides, if there's a worser emergency and the rest of the teams need it while the zetas are down, and we snuck out with it…biiig trouble.”

Jason pauses. “Does anyone know you two are even here?”

“Three.” Cass corrects.

“Duke’s circling with a car.” Stephanie finishes for her. “Middle siblings gotta stick together.”

Jason huffs, but he’s smiling.

“Right, Cass, if you’ve got them, I’m gonna go take care of Sionis and the rest of the scene. Meet back up at Roy’s apartment?”

“Wait, what–” Tim starts to ask, but Stephanie cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder.

“We stick together, Tim. I’ve got this part, go with Jay and Cass.” She says, seriously.

He stares at her, then smiles and nods. “Thanks, Steph.” She disappeared with a two fingered salute and Cass ushers both of them to the car where Duke is waiting. They’ve driven a few blocks, the other three chatting quietly when Tim speaks up. “Let me out at that bus stop.”

“What?”

“Let me out at the bus stop,” Tim repeats, taking his mask off. “I’m going to call Peter.”

“Why?” Jason asks.

“If I disappear, he’ll never let Neal go. It could very well ruin the rest of his life, he’ll never stop looking. He doesn’t deserve that, to be collateral in a mission like that. I’ve got to put Neal Caffrey to rest.”
_________

The room is a whirl of barely controlled chaos as they search for Neal.

Peter’s phone rings.

“Hi Peter.”

“Neal.” Peter breathes.

“I’m at the bus stop on 5th and 135th. Can you come pick me up?”

He stands up and rushes for the door, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’m on my way. Just–just stay there?”

“Don’t bring a bunch of guys, Peter. It’s just me. I’ll wait here.”

“Okay, Neal. I’ll do my best.”

Neal is sitting on the bench in the bus stop when Peter arrives. Against his wishes, there’s a whole team with him, but Peter approaches alone. Neal looks terrible. He’s dusty and bruised, angry red patches on his arms from where the duct tape was ripped off hours earlier. It feels like a dream to Peter, so much has happened, but the evidence is all there. Neal’s still wearing the black t-shirt and sweatpants he was taken from his apartment in. There's a slight spray of something suspiciously like blood across his hands and face. Peter really, really hopes it isn’t blood. Neal’s feet tap randomly on the ground in the standard issue boots Diana found for him after the warehouse explosion.

“Hello, Peter.”

“Hello, Neal.” The conman taps the bench next to him. Peter sits.

“You got comms in?” Neal asks. Peter shakes his head. Neal leans back against the bench, looking up at the plexiglass ceiling of the bus stop.

“What did you figure out, Peter?”

“You aren’t a nonviolent conman, that’s for sure.” Neal snorts.

“I am a nonviolent conman.” He corrects. “I just don’t necessarily have to be. Maybe I wasn’t always one, either.”

“You lied to us, after that sting, when you said you didn’t work for the Red Hood.”

“Did I?”

“Neal–”

“I still don’t work for him. Don’t want to either.”

“Then how do you explain any of this?”

“Come on, Peter, after all these years? You know me better than that. You know you know me better than that.”

Peter is silent for a moment, debating what to say.

“Jay,” he says, finally. Neal tenses, then slumps down. “Jay’s the Red Hood. Based on Black Mask’s comments, most of the New York office thinks you were in a romantic relationship with him, or at least sleeping together.” Peter pauses. “They’re wrong.” He was my successor. “He’s your older brother, isn’t he?”

Neal smiles. It’s not happy or sad. “You know me, Peter.”

“His real name is Jason, then.” Neal doesn’t answer. “And yours is Jackson. Jason and Jackson.”

“You know me.” Neal repeats.

“Why did you come back, Neal? You know we won’t be able to keep working together.”

“I had to. Someday–someday you’ll understand.” Neal says. “It’s not your fault, Peter. I just can’t do this without him.” He continues softly. Gently. “I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into. But we’re running out of time, you know. The other divisions are never as patient as White Collar.”

“I’ll visit you this time.” Peter promises. “I’m sure it won’t be so long.”

“You won't, Peter. You have to let me go.”

“Neal, I–”

“El deserves a husband, Peter. Jones and Diana deserve a proper team leader. You solved the Neal Caffrey puzzle, now you have to cut your losses, salvage your career, and move on.”

“You won’t be in prison forever, Neal.”

Neal just smiles. This time it’s sad. “You sacrificed so much over me the first time, Peter. Don’t lose it again.”
_________

Hughes calls the team into Peter’s office a week later. He asks them all to sit down.

“I wish I knew how to ease you all into this, but I don’t, and I’m sorry. Neal’s gone.”

“He escaped again?” Peter asks, incredulous.

“I–not that kind of gone.” Their superior explains gently. “He’s dead, Peter.” He feels the world drop out from under him. He can’t be. He isn’t–He couldn’t have–

“How?” Diana manages to ask. Her voice is thick. Peter can barely hear it over the rushing in his ears. “I mean. Was it–” Her voice breaks. “Did he–?”

“Another inmate,” Hughes explains, “It happened last night, I found out this morning.” Diana nods, swallowing thickly. The room falls silent. “The investigation is ongoing, of course, but,” He pauses. “The motivation seems to have been revenge of some kind, either for his work with the FBI or his connection to the Red Hood.”

“Thank you for telling us, sir.” Jones says finally. “Could we have a few minutes?”

“Of course. The rest of the department will find out soon, but I thought you three should know first.” Hughes leaves them alone in Peter’s office. They sit in silence for a long time.
________

Peter thought it was bad the first time he lost Neal. He remembers all of the fury and frustration when he got the call that Neal Caffrey had escaped from a supermax, the anger at others for letting him get away.
He misses that now. He wishes he was angry at Neal, he wishes he was tearing his hair out in frustration, wishes he was chasing the shadows of a mouthy conman who fancies himself a gentleman thief.
He wishes he had never caught him in the first place. He wishes he had sat at that bus stop and told Neal to run. He wishes that Neal had never come back, because now he’s gone.
He wishes he could argue with Neal over radio stations on the way to work. He wishes he could see one of Neal’s stupid hats on the street without losing the ability to speak. He wishes he could drink wine with El without knowing exactly what Neal would say about it.
Neal Caffrey is a damned ghost, haunting Peter’s life, and Peter wants to blame him, wants to hate him for it, because Neal knew. Neal tried to warn him, gave him instructions, and he didn’t realize what they meant until the younger man was dead.
There hadn’t been a funeral.
Peter never got the chance to stand stoically and hold Elizabeth while she cried by a graveside, mourning silently while trying to support his wife. He never got the chance to go back and visit in the rain so he could explain away his own tears.
Peter doesn’t know what happened to Neal’s body. He doesn’t know if there even is a grave.
He’s forced instead to live through the loss of a partner, to try and go on as usual when he should have his friend there every step of the day.
And Neal knew. Neal knew exactly what was going to happen in that prison. And he’d come back, to see Peter, to say goodbye. Peter doesn’t want to call it suicide, but–

I just can’t do this without him. I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.

Neal had told Peter that someday he would understand. Peter doesn’t think he ever wants to.
________

“I can’t help but feel like we missed something. There’s just so many pieces that don’t add up.” Jones says, staring into his glass, weeks later. They’re holed up in Diana’s apartment, splitting a bottle between the two of them. Peter isn’t with them. He can still barely talk about Neal.

“I don’t think we could have changed anything.” Diana admits.

“No,” her colleague agrees, “I don’t think we could.”

“I don’t know if this is a bad thing to say, but I can’t help but think that he knew what was coming.” He continues. “I keep thinking about how he looked at that bus stop. The way he looked at Peter, the sad, knowing smiles, that stupid voice. I don’t know what it was about his voice, but it was awful.”

“It was his victim voice,” Diana says. “Whenever he talked to victims, people who were really hurt, that's the voice he used.” She pauses, then adds, “I think you’re right. He knew what was coming. He looked so sorry. Like he knew it would hurt Peter, more than everything else that happened did. And he was right, Peter is completely shattered.”

“‘It’s not your fault, Peter, I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.’ He had to have known, Di. The future tense? ‘It’s not your fault’? I just have to believe that he knew.”

Diana sniffs. “Neal was the first one to call me Di since I was a teenager,” she shares. “I don’t even remember when he started doing it, he slipped it in without me noticing.”

“He always did.” Jones says. He takes another drink. “Everything he said to Peter at that bus stop, it was his damn final message and he knew it. How did we miss it?”

“He told Peter outright that he wouldn’t visit him. Always ten feet ahead of the rest of us.” They both pretend that Diana’s voice isn’t watery. “I don’t understand, he was–if he knew he was going to–why? Why say what he did? To give us closure?”

“Peter spent so long chasing him, he must have known it would drive him insane if he never solved it. If he knew what was coming, then he knew Peter never would.” Jones realizes.

“Peter had to get to the bottom of Neal Caffrey, and Neal knew he was running out of time.” She looks up at Jones. “Neal gave Peter what he thought he would need to move on. He even set it up so Peter figured it out himself. Closure.” She laughs, once, but it's more of a sob. “He really did care.”

“Do you think it was true?” Jones asks once he knows he can speak past the lump in his throat. “The names, at least. Or was he just giving Peter what he needed?”

“He confirmed it, didn’t he? ‘You know me, Peter.’”

Jones stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t know if it's wrong, to talk about him like this now that he’s gone, but I just feel like he was trying to tell Peter something and Peter wasn’t getting it. I don’t know if the names were real or not, but I don’t think that that’s what Neal meant.”

“Maybe they could be real if they needed to be, but they could just be the answer Peter needed for himself.”

“What do you mean?”

She frowns down at the table, and takes another sip. “Jackson and Jason was the conclusion Peter came to. The puzzle he solved. And Neal gave him the acknowledgement he needed so that Peter would be able to move on with his life. But what if that wasn’t the puzzle Neal wanted Peter to solve?”

“You mean, that Jackson wasn’t Neal’s real name?”

“Maybe. I just–the way he kept saying ‘You know who I am.’ It’s so ambiguous of a statement, what did he mean? You know my name? You know me as a person? You know who I really am, regardless of whatever name I’m going by?”

“You know who I am.” Jones repeats. “We’re thinking too small, too specifically.” He reaches for a notepad and pen, but pauses. “Is this wrong?”

“I mean, Neal always did love to be the center of attention.” She says, taking a sip. “And I feel like we owe it to him to try and figure out what he was saying. His last message and all that.” She adds, more somber.

Jones nods. “So we’re starting out from the assumption that Neal wanted us to know. That he left us clues.” He knocks back the rest of his drink. “Peter was looking at names, it always comes back to names, but I don’t think Jackson is the end of the trail, you know? Or if it is, there's something in between that we’re missing.”

“The Red Hood is the beginning of the trail. It started there.”

He taps the page. “How did Peter get to Jackson?”

“Jay called Neal Jackie a few times, I think. And Neal called Hood Jason. Jason and Jackson. They fit.”

“They do,” Jones agrees. “The first time, when he got shot, Jay was making a reference to Jackie Kennedy, but then he kept using it. Like a slip up that got stuck once he thought he’d covered it.” He scribbles down more names.

“On the phone, Hood, er–Jason, said something to Neal about stealing his name. I thought he meant stealing the name Neal Caffrey, but maybe he meant something different.”

“How do you mean, stealing Neal Caffrey?”

“Neal wasn’t old enough to have been the Neal Caffrey behind some of his earliest heists, he would have to have been a young teenager, and there’s no way people wouldn’t have caught on to that.”

He blinks at her. “What?”

“Jones, there’s no way Neal was a day over 30. I would guess years younger, actually.”

“What?”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyways.” She says softly, and clears her throat. “I’m trying to remember what they said about the name stealing, but so much has happened since.”

“Wasn’t it something about the protection?” Jones suggests. They both try to recall the conversation they had essentially eavesdropped on. “Hood mentioned it first, I think.”

“He told Neal that if he didn’t want him to be involved, Neal shouldn’t have stolen his name.” Diana glares at the tabletop, wracking her memory. “And Neal said that that wasn’t why he had taken it. I remember something about why Hood had taken his name, too, but I’m not sure what that was about either.”

“I think the name Red Hood was originally used by a different crime boss, let me look that up.” Jones offers. “The Joker originally went by Red Hood, before he became the Joker.” Diana winces. “No first hand sources or anything, but it seems like the current Red Hood chose the name to get the attention of the Joker. They had a lot of issues, I suppose.”

“First hand sources? Jones, this is conspiracy theory territory we’re in now.”

“You can’t blame me for good practice.”

“Neal said he took the name for the same reason Hood had taken his,” Diana remembers. “So Neal wanted to get the Red Hood’s attention.”

“Then why was he so mad about getting it?”

“That just backs up my theory that Neal Caffrey wasn’t the name he took. He wanted to get his attention, he just didn’t want to get it as Neal Caffrey,” she muses. “So Neal Caffrey wasn’t the stolen name. What other name has Neal stolen?”

“Maybe it’s not names Neal stole that we need to look at, but names stolen from the Red Hood. We know he wasn’t really Neal Caffrey, so we’ll miss something if we start from there.” He remembers the rumors about the state of the building Hood had been held in. They’d tried to keep Neal’s former team out of things because of the conflict and possible contamination for the internal investigations, but Jones had still heard enough. He’d seen the blood on Neal afterwards, and the calm, and how he tried to give his team closure, and his victim voice.
Peter was right, about Neal’s history with violent crime, that much was evident. Peter obviously thought that Neal had been involved with Red Hood’s gang and other Gotham-type organized crime, but that's not how it all adds up to Jones. At least, not involved in the way Peter thinks he was.

“You know who I am…I am a person that you know. Someone that you already know, a name you’ve already heard. A person that you know about the existence of. A recognizable person that you know about the existence of outside of the Neal Caffrey name.” Jones doesn’t have many eureka, lightbulb moments, but he thinks this probably counts as one. It’s like every piece clicks into place, even the pieces he didn’t know he had collected.
Organized crime wasn’t the only thing the Red Hood did in Gotham.

He was the sneakiest little shit you’ve ever seen.

He was my successor, in a position when we were teenagers.

Your murder suspect is also good enough to recognize forgeries, and only wants originals, and isn’t afraid to murder a fence over it. Because they left the paintings here.

You think I don’t know what it looks like when someone cries in a domino?

Remember what I said in the kitchen, Red? After you got shot? That hasn’t changed, so don’t you dare forget it. We’re already even. Don’t you fucking dare forget it, Park Row.

You alright, Bristol?

Rule number one is to carry a spare respirator, what the fuck are you talking about?

Not B’s rules, MY rules, which you agreed to when you took my colors. Rule #1 is no more dead robins.

He makes another search. Bristol is a suburb of Gotham City, New Jersey.

You want Red, Sionis? You’re gonna fucking get Red.

“Red. That’s the name he took.” Jones whispers. Diana looks up. He swallows. “Remember what you said about conspiracy theory territory?” He asks, pouring another shot’s worth into his glass and knocking it back.

“Red Robin. The Gotham vigilante. Neal Caffrey was Red Robin.”
_________

Tim and Jason hide out in New York for about a week after Tim fakes his death in prison, wrapping up loose ends, before moving on to Star to meet up with Roy and Lian. Tim runs a couple of off planet missions with the Outlaws, running tech so Roy can stay with Lian. The two Reds manage to avoid Gotham for several months, bouncing around the globe, on and off planet, until an all hands on deck from Babs calls them home. They get it sorted, but Tim gets himself stabbed, so he’s forced back to the cave for treatment. Jason goes with him.
Dick grabs him into a hug when he walks in. Barbara, Stephanie, Cass, and Duke are already there, positioned around the room in various states of medical care and disarming.

“Thank you, Jay.”

“Let go, Dickhead.”

“Nope.” He squeezes tighter. “B’s gonna come back and be mad but you never answer my messages so I have to say it now. Thank you for protecting Tim, back in New York. It should have been my mission, I know it was my responsibility, but they needed me off-planet, so thank you.” He stands up on tiptoes to whisper in Jason’s ear. “I know what you did for him. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for bringing him back alive.”

Jason finally hugs back, if much more tentatively. “Yeah, well, he’s my little brother too, Dickie.”

They’re interrupted by the roar of the Batmobile arriving, Batman and Robin stepping out.

“Red.” Batman growls, pointing to the exit. “Out.” Jason squeezes Dick one last time, then turns to leave, not looking at Bruce once. He marches to his bike, head held high.
_________

Tim sits up, watching Jason walk out, and makes a decision. Well, really, it's a decision he made months ago, but it comes to fruition now. He swings his legs over the side of the medical bed and slips down onto the floor.

“Master Timothy, what are you doing?” Alfred asks. Tim pats him on the arm placatingly.

“Heading out, Alf, thanks for the stitches, you’re always the best.” Jason freezes next to his bike, pinned under Alfred’s stare. The old butler looks long and hard between the two of them, then nods, squeezing Tim’s arm, and whispers, “Good luck, my boy. It’s about bloody time.” Tim almost falters at the shock of Alfred’s language. “Swear jar.” He whispers back, before straightening up and striding across the cave towards the garage. He ignores the twinge of stitches, numbing cream starting to wear off. Bruce turns towards him.

“Timothy. Where are you going?”

“Out.” Tim answers, shortly. The cave is silent, everyone else frozen, watching Bruce and Tim.

Bruce sighs. “I understand that it has been some time since you operated in this city, Tim, but you should know better. You need to stay for debrief, and for medical care.”

“I’m just following orders, B. You told me to go.”

One of his siblings sucks in a breath, the rest finally catching on to what he’s doing.

Bruce scowls. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“What’s my name, Batman?”

“Your name is Timothy.”

“Uh uh, mask’s still on. Try again.”

Bruce sighs again. “Your name is Red Robin.”

“‘Red. Out.’ is what I heard. I’m following orders.”

“Tim, you know what I was talking about.”

“Yes,” Tim agrees. “I do. In fact, I know what you’re talking about better than you do. Where the fuck do you think the Red in Red Robin comes from, Batsy?”

Something clatters. He thinks Steph might have dropped her phone. Bruce turns to glare at Jason, who’s still frozen by his bike like a deer in headlights.

“Is this how you’re repaying me, then? I looked the other way, I let you go, I didn’t even dismantle your criminal operations while you were gone, and this is how you’re repaying me?” Bruce clenches a fist. “I know it was you, I know you killed him. I’ve known for months. And I was content to let you be, rather than tear the rest of it apart. But you could never be content. You couldn’t get enough of it. First the Joker, then Black Mask, dragging Timothy into it and almost getting him killed!”

“He was going to target a childrens’ hospital!” Jason shouts. “I don’t care if you hate me, you can cut my fucking throat with a batarang again, I don’t care! I’m glad I did it, I’m proud of it, and I’d fucking do it again! If its me, my life, my position in this fucking family, or a childrens’ hospital,” Jason gasps. “You can bet your damn soul that I would do it again, every single damn time!”

“And I let you go for it! I knew it was you and I let you walk, and you kill Black Mask less than a year later!”

“He was going to kill Tim!”

“And your intrusion into his mission got him involved in the first place!”

“I only got involved because you didn’t assign him any backup! Have you even looked at the medical records for the Caffrey case?”

“Tim is an extremely capable individual who knows how to take care of himself! Your example, however–”

“I killed Black Mask!” Tim shouts. Both older men turn to him. Jason shakes his head rapidly, signaling for Tim to stop, but Tim won’t do it. He won’t let Jason take the fall for him. “I killed Black Mask.” Tim repeats. “I shot him in the chest. Twice. And,” he continues, staring Bruce in the face, forcing himself to see his reaction, the rejection he always knew awaited him eventually. “I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. You haven’t got any siblings, Bruce. But if you can tell me you’d let someone kill your brother, again, when you could stop them, then I’ll accept your condemnation. I won’t share it though. If it's Black Mask or my brother,” Tim looks past Bruce at Jason, “you can bet your damn soul that I’d do it again, every single damn time.” Tim walks forward again, towards Jason. He mounts his bike.

“There are other ways,” Bruce grips Tim’s arm when he walks past him. “You’re skilled enough to have incapacitated him dozens of nonlethal ways.”

“Yes,” Tim agrees, pulling his arm free and climbing onto the back of Jason’s bike. “I am skilled enough to have incapacitated him nonlethally.” He catches the helmet Jason tosses into his hands. “The thing is, I wanted him dead. Where the hell do you think the Red in Red Robin comes from, Bruce?”
_______

They ride to the Nest. Tim’s been gone so long he has no idea what state it’ll be in, but he’s also still stabbed, so they don’t want to go far. The garage is dark when they pull in, but everything seems to be functioning normally when they take the elevator up. What they step out into, though, is much different from what Tim left. It’s obvious that others have been using the space. One of Steph’s capes is draped along the back of a chair that Tim doesn’t recognize. The ballet barre standing up in the living room is obviously Cass’s addition, and the truly absurd amount of baseball caps and sunglasses strewn around every available nook have Duke written all over them. Tim swipes a finger along the dustless keyboard at his computer setup. Babs has been there too. He huffs a laugh. “Guess the other birds settled in.”

“They never stay out of anywhere for long.”

“You were hiding in New York because you killed the Joker.” Tim says after a minute.

“Yeah, I was.” Jason agrees, digging through cabinets and the refrigerator for who knows what. “Sit, I'll make tea and dinner.”

Tim boots up the computer. The action feels more like coming home than anything else. “It’s almost five in the morning, Jay. I think it counts as breakfast.”

“Well, we didn’t eat dinner, so obviously it’s dinner.”

“We skipped dinner. This is now breakfast, we are breaking the fast from having skipped dinner.”

“No, cause we’ll eat again later, then that will be breakfast.”

“That one would be second breakfast, since we’re already breaking our fast now.”

“If we wait long enough,” Stephanie says, stepping off of the elevator, “It’ll be elevensies, not second breakfast.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asks, watching his remaining siblings pile into the Nest.

“We all confessed to aiding and abetting,” Babs says, rolling up to the computer. “Let me show you what updates I did.”

“You all what?” Jason asks.

“I told Bruce that I was the one who dumped Black Mask’s body, Duke was the getaway driver, Cass kept mum, all of that–” Steph starts.

“And apparently Babs covered up Joker for you, and Damian helped, and Dick said he’s already murdered the Joker once, years ago, which I’m still reeling from, and was a mercenary for a while? What the fuck, Dick. So we all left.” Duke finishes.

“I was wondering why he said he knew for months,” Jason says, turning back to flip the pancakes that he’s started making. “I definitely didn’t hide the body, and it was over a year ago. Thanks Barbie, you’re always the best.” He points his spatula at Dick. “Finally came clean to the littles about your whole Renegade bit, then?” The room is silent. Dick buries his face in his hands.

“Wait a damn minute–” “So THAT'S why Deathstroke always–” “No way you two fucking call us the littles–”

“Jaaay,” Dick groans, “I said I was a mercenary for a while, I never told them I was Renegade!”

“Oops.” Jason says, unapologetic. Babs laughs. Stephanie pulls a waffle maker out of the cabinet, siphoning Jason’s pancake batter. He swats at her with the spatula.

“I commend you on your efforts to correct Father’s hypocritical thought patterns, Drake.” Damian says incredibly awkwardly, appearing next to the computer. “I find it difficult to predict which transgressions will or will not demand recompense.” Tim turns to face him. Damian’s face is stony, but his stance is unsure. Tim doesn’t know what to say. He looks at this kid, now an adult, who ruined so much for him. Jason and Steph’s bickering over the pancake batter filters from across the room. I was just a kid. He thinks. I didn’t deserve it. But you were just a kid too. He looks up to see Dick watching them warily.
It’s funny how your perspective changes, when you’re an adult, Tim thinks. Yes, having Robin ripped away from him had pretty much ruined his life at the time. But if it hadn’t been, Tim would never have become Red Robin. Part of being siblings is causing each other trauma, he guesses. The pain of growing up together leaves lasting scars on each other's lives.
They had all been ruined by the grief of losing Bruce. They had all been broken, and grieving, and they’d all taken turns destroying each other over the man they’ve all now left behind, for each other.
Now? All Tim wants is to be himself, and to be home.
I forgive you, Tim thinks. I forgive you all.

I forgive me, too.

“Yeah, you’re welcome, Damian.” He says aloud. Damian splutters. “I offered commendation, not thanks–” Tim stands up and walks into the kitchen, leaving the computer to Babs and flicking Damian’s forehead on the way past. The damn brat is taller than he is now. Tim swipes a pancake from the pile.

“We should put chocolate chips in them. Hey, everyone’s an adult now! I’m making martinis, you guys had better not have used up my stashes while I was gone. Steph, where the fuck is my espresso machine?”

“Ugh,” Jason groans, “not the damn espresso martinis again–”

Chapter Text

“Jones!” Diana shouts, rushing into the office the next morning. “Jones, did you see the news from Gotham?!”

“What is it, Di?” He asks. She plays a news video on her phone rather than responding.

“Last night’s catastrophe was averted by the notorious Bats, however it also marks a significant milestone. This was the first time the entire clan has been seen together in the city in several years. Aside from a brief fight in New York City over a year ago, both Red Hood and Red Robin haven’t been seen publicly in years. Rather than fighting, as we last saw them, Red Hood and Red Robin were reported as working together seamlessly, rivaling the dynamic duo themselves.”

“Is it really him?” Jones asks.

“Look at the video!” The news clip cuts to a shaky cell phone video of Red Robin.

“We missed you, Red!” a bystander shouts.

“Aww, thanks!” Red Robin replies. “It’s good to be home!” He says, before shooting off a grapple line and flying away with a two fingered salute.

“Holy shit, it’s really him.” Jones breathes. “He’s alive, he’s really alive.” He looks at Diana, who answers with a jubilant grin and a real laugh. It’s filled with a completely unexpected relief.

“He’s really alive. I don’t know how he did it, but our boy’s alive.”
________

Elizabeth is pregnant. She and Peter are over the moon, but the lingering ache of someone ripped away far, far too soon haunts them both.
There’s only one thing to name the baby, once they find out it’s going to be a boy.

Peter’s home alone on a Sunday afternoon when a knock comes at the door. He opens it to see Neal Caffrey standing there with a bottle of wine.

Peter closes the door.

“Hey!” Neal shouts, knocking insistently. “Peteeerrrrr! Come on, please? I have to tell you something!”

“What the fuck is this?!” Peter says, opening the door again and grabbing Neal by the collar.

“Hi Peter.” Neal chirps. “You absolutely cannot name your baby Neal.” Peter drags him inside.

“You’re Neal Caffrey. You’re the man I first arrested all those years ago.” He says. “But you're not the Neal that was released, that I worked with. Who the fuck are you and what’s going on? How did I not notice before?”

Neal, but not his Neal, sets the bottle of wine on the side table. “Hi,” he says, offering his hand, “I’m Grayson.” Peter stares down at the hand.

“Grayson, Jason, and Jackson.” He runs a hand down his face. “Fuck.”

“Wow,” Grayson laughs, “You even got us in the right order. That’s pretty good, a lot of people think Jason’s older than me, just cause he’s taller, which sucks, because I am fully five years older. Nobody ever thinks Jackie is anything but the baby out of the three of us, though.”

“Was.” Peter corrects.

“Is.” Grayson repeats, and something that might be hope blooms in Peter’s chest. “Can we sit, Peter? We have a lot to talk about.”