Chapter Text
Jason used to think that he knew every inch of Gotham City. He was just as familiar with the most opulent mansions up north in Bristol as he was with the shipping infrastructure downtown in Tricorner Yard. He'd seen seedy deals take shape everywhere from boardrooms to back alleys.
The neighborhood he walked through was neither. No place in Gotham could be called really, properly safe, and here was no exception; he was so close to Robinson Park that he knew the residents had dealt with their fair share of Ivy attacks, and the Iceberg Lounge was within reasonable walking distance. But this part of midtown was clean, with functional street lights that bathed the sidewalk beneath his feet in a yellow glow, and Jason was the only one awake to take advantage of them. This was where the mid-upper class of Gotham lived, and though some of them would surely like to rise up the food chain and make something big of themselves, they knew enough about separating the business and the personal to keep the criminal element away from their quiet little oasis. The noise of the city was almost distant, here.
Jason was still getting used to it. He'd been staying here for almost two months, and it still felt somehow wrong. Gotham was meant to be unusual, almost a caricature of a city, but this wasn't an outrageous display of either poverty or wealth. There was just enough money put into this space to make a part of Gotham offensively normal.
It wouldn't last, obviously. These weren't Wayne managed buildings, meaning they weren't rated for Cataclysm level quakes. Gotham would eat this street into her underbelly just as readily as anywhere else.
It got to him, sometimes. The odd tranquility, the monochrome artificial lights, the knowledge that the very ground he stepped on didn't exist anymore. It felt unreal, like endlessly walking in a dream.
But here, he had a destination. Jason entered the right apartment building and headed to the elevator. He wasn't usually big on riding them (too enclosed, too little control,) but it was a better option than climbing the stairs to the penthouse every night.
As the floors ticked by, he wondered, for the millionth time, just what he thought he was doing. Why did he have to stick his nose in where it wasn't needed? Shouldn't he be focusing on his own problems, and not some kid's? What were the odds that anyone back home was even looking for him?
Questions without answers weren't useful. Jason squashed them down.
When he managed it, he found that he was strangely pleased with his lot. It had been a while since he'd been sure that there would be someone waiting up at home for him (because, unfortunately, he couldn't get the damn kid to go to sleep while he was out.) It was nicer than he wanted to admit. He occupied himself thinking about what to make for breakfast in the morning.
The elevator slid open, and Jason exited, stepping forward to reach the penthouse door.
Jason went to disarm the apartment's alarms, so he could unlock it.
The electronics didn't respond to him at all. The security system was completely down.
It felt like a shot from a damn freeze gun. A cold slap in the face that turned the blood in his veins to ice. Jason's heart skipped.
Barely thinking, he slammed the door open. No time to worry about stealth. He was in civvies, but Jason was always armed, and he had a handgun drawn and raised. Nothing was visibly out of place in the entryway.
Jason, pulse high in his throat, called out, “Timmy?”
“Jason!” said a familiar voice, happiness in its tone, and Jason felt like he could breathe again. He lowered his gun, not wanting to accidentally point it at the kid. The shout was followed by the patter of little running feet, and then Timmy skidded past the corner in the direction of the living room. He looked fine. He looked delighted, actually. He ran right at Jason, prompting him to crouch slightly and catch the kid when he jumped, hoisting him up in his arms. “You're back!” Timmy crowed while he hugged around Jason's neck.
“Sure am, squirt. Everything okay here? The door was–”
Timmy, evidently, was not fucking listening to him. “Come on!” He tugged at Jason's sleeve. “C'mon, you're not going to believe what happened.”
Jason's throat went tight with renewed anxiety, but he said, indulgently, “What, I don't get any hints?”
Timmy rolled his eyes, the movement exaggerated and overly intentional in that little kid way. “ I'm here,” he explained.
“Yeah, you sure are?” Jason agreed, confused.
“No, Jason,” Timmy huffed. “Like, big me.”
Jason felt himself go unnaturally still. “Oh?” he said, trying to sound blandly inquisitive.
“Yeah, he's super cool, just like you.” Jason's face must've given something away, because Timmy's enthusiasm was draining. “It's okay he's here, right? He's like you, and he said he was looking for you, and he's me , so I thought that maybe the usual rules didn't apply?” His voice went high on the question, then he added, too quickly, “And I didn't let him in, he turned off the window alarm.”
Leave it to Timmy to think he'd get in trouble over someone else breaking into his apartment. Jason shifted his grip and rubbed a hand up and down the kid's back, trusting Timmy to be fairly stable with his legs around Jason's waist. “Yeah, it's all good,” he said reassuringly. “Where's big you at?”
“Hi, Jay,” said someone at the end of the hall, having approached completely soundlessly. There, in full vigilante costume, sans mask, stood Red Robin. He stared Jason down, and said, “Nice place you got here.”
–
It was a struggle to get Timmy down for bed. He chattered excitedly, telling Jason stories that Tim had been sharing with him and telling Tim stories about Jason's recent escapades. He complained incessantly that he wasn't even tired. Jason made him brush his teeth and then tucked him in with a vengeance, bouncing his bed a little to make him giggle before pulling the covers right up to his chin. He let the kid keep talking, but made sure that his own responses were low and slow, and petted his fingers through soft black hair. Timmy's words got more sluggish, and when he yawned, Jason knew he'd won. He gave one last light scritch at the kid's scalp and said good night, making sure to turn the light out and shut the door behind him.
Tim stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter to wait for Jason. He had a mug in his hands that was still trailing the tag of a tea bag. Smelled like peppermint, which was herbal, so at least he wasn't having caffeine at 2:30 am. “You're babying him,” Tim accused. “Isn't he like, ten?”
“I don't know if you know this,” Jason said while he checked the kettle, finding that there was still hot water left, “but ten year olds fucking love being carted around like sacks of flour. It's pretty much their favorite activity.” He deliberated for a moment, and selected chamomile for himself.
“Not me,” Tim muttered.
Jason tried to ignore the implications of that. He busied himself with his tea, avoiding looking at Tim.
“This is one of the last places I would've expected to find you,” Tim said. His voice was neutral.
Jason didn't turn around, only acknowledging Tim with a shrug of his shoulders. “It just sort of happened,” he said.
“How in the hell does one ‘accidentally’ move in with a ten year old?” Tim asked scathingly.
That was a direct challenge, and Jason had run out of things to do with his hands. He faced Tim. Then he stalled for another moment by taking a sip of his under-steeped tea. “It was surprisingly easy, all things considered,” he said, not really as a joke. Tim just waited, a judgemental look on his face. Jason sighed. “I caught him out bat stalking. Only because I was also bat stalking – he's a sneaky little shit. And I may have freaked out. A little.”
Tim frowned. “‘Freaked out’?”
Jason just stared at him.
“What?” Tim asked.
Jason said, “He's untrained. And unsupervised. And ten.”
“Oh,” Tim said, and rolled his eyes like, is that all? It was the exact same thing that Timmy did whenever Jason tried to explain why he needed to stay home. The deja vu distracted Jason, and Tim took advantage of that by changing the subject. “Why the bat stalking, anyways?” he asked. “Why haven't you asked them for help getting home?”
Jason's eyebrows shot up. “Did you not do your research? The bats here aren't all that interested in helping me out.”
Tim hummed while he sipped his own tea. With the mug still held in front of his mouth, he said, “Maybe they would have if you, even once, tried talking to them.”
It felt like Tim was trying to start a fight with him. In that case, why come looking for Jason at all? He could get defensive, snap back, and usually, he probably would have. But God, he just didn’t have the energy. Besides, Timmy was trying to sleep.
Jason just sighed. “You aren’t getting it,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair. “The very first thing I did when I found myself in this universe was kill someone.”
“True,” Tim said, “though I would call that a reductive reading of the circumstances.”
Okay, actually, fuck him. “In what fucking way is that reductive? I hunted someone down and killed him. End of story, especially where B is concerned.”
“If you just explained yourself–”
Jason’s mug slammed on the counter, and he was just glad he hadn’t shattered it. “Are you fucking joking?” he seethed. “What delusional world are you living in where that has ever worked?”
Tim took a deep breath and let it out. “No, you’re right,” he admitted. “Just because I think it’s reasonable doesn’t mean Bruce would, especially not a Bruce we don’t even know.”
“You… you think it was reasonable?” Jason asked, feeling stunned.
“Obviously,” Tim said, when Jason did not think it was very obvious at all. “What, am I supposed to be mad that you messed up your streak?”
“What? Yes!” Jason argued. He didn’t want to, it was ridiculous to play his own devil’s advocate, but Tim wasn’t making any sense. “You’re talking like I started smoking again or some shit – I killed someone.”
Tim was drinking more tea. Jason wanted to strangle him. Then he said, “You killed the Joker, Jason. And, as much as I’m not a believer in preemptive punishment, he posed a very credible threat to an alternate version of you. As far as I’m concerned, that’s basically self defense. Totally justifiable.”
Jason nearly gaped at him.
Tim sighed. “I'm not Bruce, Jason. I understand the concept of making exceptions. It's not–” he huffed, seemingly frustrated with trying to explain himself “–it's not that I agree with what you did, or that I would do it myself. I think that Bruce's way is valuable, that it's good when powerful people believe that no human being can lose their right to life. But I know that you had reasons, good reasons, and I respect that. And I…” Tim leaned back, cradling his mug in his hands. “I don't know, I guess I'm kind of happy for you?”
“What?” Jason asked, still completely incredulous at the direction of this conversation.
Tim shook his head, and a smile ghosted over his lips. “It's been a long time coming, hasn't it?” Then he looked over at Jason, as if assessing his reaction. “I know that it wasn't really him, but still. And as far as I can tell, you did it quick, and clean, and you haven't killed anyone since then. You made a rational decision to take a single life, and then stopped.” His expression turned darkly amused. “It's the exact thing that Bruce said he could never do, and you're doing it. Would it sound patronizing for me to say I'm proud?”
Jason cleared his throat and retrieved his tea from the counter, leaning back and trying to look unruffled. “Yes. It would. So don’t.”
“Rational decision” was giving Jason far too much credit. He’d seen his younger self, he’d seen Robin, and he’d known that he couldn’t let it happen again. Not when there was something he could do. Not acting would’ve made him just as bad as Sheila, as bad as anyone who could stand by and let a child be hurt like it wasn’t their problem. It hadn’t been a choice at all.
He wouldn’t have expected this from Tim, though. Not at all. Maybe tolerance. Hopefully forgiveness. Never absolution. It was sending him reeling.
Tim huffed a laugh. “Understood,” he said. Then he looked away, out the kitchen window and into the smoggy Gotham night. “Now, do you want to explain to me what all the rest of this is about?”
“The rest of what?” Jason asked, cautious. Tim’s posture was too casual.
Tim looked back at him and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Then he pointedly gazed around them, implicating the room, the apartment, the entire universe they stood in.
Jason shrugged. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked, and sipped at his tea.
Tim went from placid to outraged in moments. “What were you–? Anything!” he said, throwing his hand up. “Were you even trying to get back home? It’s been months, Jason. We thought you were in trouble, or–” he cut himself off with a harsh breath, like he couldn’t even say it.
Jason wasn’t exactly comfortable with that. It was good to know his absence had been noticed, but he didn’t like to think about people missing him when he was gone. “I already told you, it’s not like I could talk to the bats,” he argued.
“Then go to the Justice League,” Tim said. “Find John Constantine, steal some tech from Lex Luthor, I don’t care. I can’t believe that I spent weeks trying to track you down, working my ass off and worried out of my mind, just to find you doing–” his face twisted in disgust, and he gestured vaguely “– this. ”
“And what is that supposed to mean,” Jason asked darkly, flatly, immediately put on the defensive by the judgement on Tim’s face.
“Why don’t you tell me?” Tim said, glaring at him. “I have literally no idea what you think you’re doing. Playing house, maybe.”
For the second time this conversation, Tim had rendered Jason speechless. His words and the venom in his gaze were so incongruous, Jason didn’t know where to start.
Was the situation awkward? Yes, obviously. But what the hell was Tim even mad about? That Jason was freeloading off of his alt universe rich-ass parents, maybe?
He pinched between his brows. “Look,” he said, “the kid was here all by himself, I couldn’t just–”
Tim had the gall to roll his eyes. “Don’t make excuses. He’s fine,” he stressed. “I was fine.”
And there it was. Jason's confirmation that back home, things had gone down the same way. Timothy Drake had grown up almost completely alone.
Other kids in Gotham had it undeniably worse. Jason had had it worse, after his mom died. Timmy was living in a goddamn penthouse, not jacking tires for food money.
But for some reason, Jason couldn't stand it. Because maybe Catherine had fucked up, bad, and left him alone, but at least as a kid he knew what it felt like to be loved. And, despite it all, he wouldn't trade those years with his mom for anything.
So he said, “It’s not fine. ”
“Explain it to me then,” Tim snapped. “What is this? What’s the motive?”
“‘Motive?’” Jason asked. “What the hell are you accusing me of?”
“I don’t know!” Tim shouted. “I just have no idea why you would be here when you’ve always hated me!”
There was a high sound of distress from the hall, and both Tim and Jason’s heads swiveled to look for the source.
“Timmy?” Jason called softly. “Did we wake you up?”
The kid peeked past the corner, eyes wide.
“Or he’s been standing there the whole time,” Tim said with a wry twist to his mouth. “It’s what I would’ve done.”
Timmy just stared for a moment. Then he ran up to Jason and threw his arms around his legs.
His face was pressed into the fabric of Jason’s pants, so he barely heard him when he said, “Is that true? What he said? Do you–” he hiccuped a little sob “–do you hate me?”
Jason’s chest cracked open. “Oh, sweetie, no,” he said, and crouched down to take Timmy into his arms. The kid still wouldn’t look at him as he was lifted, just pushed his face into Jason’s shoulder instead. Jason let him, putting a hand on his back and rubbing it soothingly. “I could never hate you. And…” Jason looked up and met Tim’s eyes over Timmy’s head. Tim was stock still, staring at them. “I never hated big you either. I did some bad things when we met, some really bad things that I didn’t think I could fix. So I let it be, and didn’t apologize, because I–” Jason’s breath caught, and he cleared his throat, “–I was scared.”
Timmy’s muffled voice said, “That’s a dumb reason to be scared,” into his shirt.
Jason chuckled and broke away from Tim’s gaze, pressing a kiss to the top of Timmy’s head. “When you’re right, you’re right.”
Timmy finally turned his head, still not looking at either of them, but sounding much clearer when he said, “You should get better at apologizing. I’m really good at it. It makes you get in way less trouble.”
Jason laughed for real. “Oh yeah? You gonna apologize for sneaking out of bed and eavesdropping?”
He felt Timmy shrug. “Maybe. It was really interesting, though.”
“You're a menace, Timothy Drake,” Jason told him.
–
Jason washed Timmy's face, even though he hadn't really cried much. But he was red and unhappy, and sometimes being clean was a good reset. He complained about it, but he let Jason do it.
Timmy got hot chocolate while Tim and Jason finished their tea. They moved from the kitchen to the living room, Jason and Timmy on the couch and Tim sitting in the adjacent armchair. As they sipped, it became clear just how different this was from earlier, when conversation flowed easily. Timmy was flagging, and Jason and Tim were both quiet. Tim kept watching them, but his gaze didn't feel heavy and assessing like it had when he'd shown up. If anything, he looked a little lost.
Timmy fell asleep against Jason's side before the cocoa was half gone. Jason maneuvered him gently, laying him down and letting him rest his head on Jason's leg.
He looked up at Tim. “You're the expert,” he said quietly. “What are the odds that he's actually asleep?”
“Pretty good,” Tim said. “He looks conked out to me.” Tim's expression was uncomfortable. “I don't know that you could call me an expert, though. You're better with him than I could ever be.”
“I've always liked kids,” Jason said in explanation. He brushed a hand over Timmy's feathery hair.
“Jason…” Tim trailed off, and then rallied himself. “We have to go home.”
Jason went still, his hand resting on Timmy's head. After a moment, he looked down at the boy, and moved to cradle the back of his little skull. He whispered, “I don't know if I can.”
Tim took a deep breath, then said, “I can tell that you care about him. But what about everyone else? Artemis and Bizarro. Kori and Roy and Lian. Babs. Cass. Duke. Dick.” He swallowed. “Even Bruce. He misses you. He's been terrible since you disappeared.”
There was a lump in Jason’s throat that had formed the second that Tim started listing names. He shook his head. “You don’t get it,” he said. “He needs me. His parents are in Malta. He was living in this apartment completely alone for a month before I got here.”
Tim hummed. “I think I remember that,” he said. “They’ll get back in what, two more weeks? They’ll move to the downtown condo then. They always liked to be as close as they could to the social hub of the city.”
“What then?” Jason asked, trying not to get tense and bother Timmy’s sleep.
Tim shrugged. “They’ll spend a couple of months there, and then there’ll be another dig site that they have to see. They’ll move him to another place when they do, somewhere he can be comfortable. Rinse and repeat. It’s how they balance business and their archaeological passion.”
“What about being parents, ” Jason seethed. Then he breathed deeply, forcing himself to calm down. “Sorry,” he said. “Just– it’s not okay. And I can’t– I can’t up and leave him to that.”
“What’s your plan when his parents get here?” Tim very reasonably asked. “You won’t be able to keep living with him then.”
Jason sighed and leaned further back into the couch. “I don’t know,” He admitted. “I was considering kidnapping.”
Tim snorted, and when Jason looked over at him, his amused smile was genuine. “Of course you were,” he said.
Jason nodded, playing into it. “My criminal aptitude is one of my charms.”
Tim grinned at him, and then his expression became thoughtful, a little hesitant. “I have an idea,” he said. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it much.”
Tim’s plans were brilliant and disastrous in equal measure. Jason was sure that it was a good idea, and that he was going to absolutely hate it. “Lay it on me,” he said.
“Well,” Tim began, “we need to go back to the location that I portaled in at, anyways.”