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Chapter Text

"Alright," Jason said, "What the hell is this?"

He wasn't sure if he was crashing the Titan’s Halloween party or not. Were temporary members, whose tenure had been cut short by their untimely demise, still invited?

It was Tim who still worked with them, so, of course, here he was. His outfit was unparsable, though.

He wore a long black trenchcoat, a white linen shirt, and puffy red pants. He had a computer mouse somehow attached to his shoulder and what looked like a ray gun in a holster on his waist.

"I'm a digital pirate," Tim explained. "I have no respect for corporations or their copyrights."

"Oh God," Jason said. "You're a fuckin' nerd, is what you are."

Tim smirked. "You love it."

Jason flicked his forehead to wipe the smug look off his face, but he was forced to concede, "Unfortunately, yes." He wrapped an arm around Tim.

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Tim's night wasn't going great. The Halloween masquerade had been attended by Gotham's most elite of elite, dressed in costumed finery that was, admittedly, very expensive. The infiltrators weren't identified by any rogue's mark, but Tim thought he recognized some of Penguin's goons. Apparently Cobblepot was hurting for funds after recently paying his way through another court case.

Tim was technically disguised by his black feathered cape and beaked mask (he thought it was funny, dressing up as a bird,) but everyone in the room knew who he was, and he wasn't likely to find an avenue of escape. The intruders were armed, though, guns strapped to their backs, and Tim wasn't optimistic that the situation wouldn't escalate.

Tim had been forced to consider, how much could he get away with, as his civilian identity, surrounded by reporters and Gotham's most famous gossips? What could he bear to risk?

When one of the goons pulled their gun on a child in the crowd, he found that there wasn't much to consider at all. If anything, Tim was always comfortable putting his own life on the line.

He stepped between the gunman and the kid, palms out, trying to keep the worst from happening without giving himself away. He saw the look on the goon's face and thought, this is it, isn't it?

Before Tim could do anything, whether that was to reevaluate and make a new plan or simply to squeeze his eyes shut and wait for his fate, something intervened. A green blur that knocked the weapon from the gangster's hands.

There was one attendee who had drawn stares for not fitting in with the stylings of the crowd. Tim found that person in front of him now, pushing the goon back and bracing themself to deal with the attention of all of the others in the room.

It was an inflatable t-rex costume.

Bullets flew, and Tim dragged the child beneath a table with him. The crowd screamed and rushed about in their panic. The dinosaur appeared unfazed, though it was difficult to tell with their entire face and figure obscured. Tim couldn't see much of the brief altercation, but he could see just how much skill they possessed. They took down their opponents with grace, despite the way their inflatable body squished and deformed comically with every strike they made.

Then, disaster. A bullet met its target. Tim had no idea if the person underneath was hit, he only saw the costume begin to deflate. Tim's t-rex savior retalliated, taking down the final gunman, but the damage was done. They made their way towards the exit with speed, not letting any of the other guests get in their way.

Tim took off after them. He needed to know who, and how, and above all, why. Literally. Why.

He reached the front entrance and discovered he was too late. The only trace of his savior was a shed dinosaur skin and the sound of a motorcycle, driving away.

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Jason hadn't known if Bruce knew he was a vampire. He'd gone back and forth on it during his time in the manor, one moment convinced that he hadn't made any mistakes, in another certain that the world's greatest detective was waiting to bring it up: for what reason, he didn't know.

When he'd gone to look for Sheila Haywood, it was partly because he wanted to know if she was the source. His parents had been human. But also, Bruce wouldn't believe him about Garzonas' death, and Jason was sure it was because he'd known all along. Why treat Jason like his fall from grace was inevitable, if he didn't already have reason to believe that Jason was, in his core, evil?

If that was what Bruce thought of him, then Jason might as well prove it.

Then he'd worked together with Clayface, as something of a preview. He needed more data before he could commit to his plans. He wanted to see how Bruce would react to Jason Todd, returned from the grave.

He didn't clock, at first, the way that his replacement had looked at him with dawning horror and awe. He simply pulled the kid to his chest and let the knife kiss his throat.

Blood spilled, and Jason smelled it.

Wolf blood.

He'd thought he knew everything about Timothy Drake. Apparently, he'd missed a few details.

Bruce hadn't just gotten himself a new Robin, he'd found another supernatural kid. Because that worked out so well the first time.

A wolf could be useful, though, if his senses were half as good as the rumors said. He must've sniffed out Clayface from the beginning. Which also meant that he knew that Jason, Jason now, was real. Jason had blown his advantage the second he came up with this plan.

Catwoman caused a distraction, and the moment he was able, Jason fled.

–

Tim had never gotten close enough to get a good hold on Jason's scent. Not until that night.

Assuming that it wasn't another trick. Assuming that he really was Jason, returned from the grave with the distinctive scents of ash and blood.

He didn't know who had done it, and he wasn't sure if he should be thanking them or cursing their name. Who would want to bring Robin back as one of the undead? As a vampire?

Was Jason's sire the person behind the Clayface scheme? Or did Jason himself have some reason for such an elaborate deception? He'd certainly seemed angry, as he sprung his trap on Tim.

Until the moment the knife cut Tim's throat, when his blood had touched the air. Jason's grip had gone stiff.

Maybe he hadn't been prepared for his own reaction. How long had he been living like this? Was anyone helping him, teaching him, making sure he had what he needed? Tim didn't know much about vampires, only that their lore was greatly exaggerated and that they were far more common in Gotham than the public would believe. But it broke his heart, the idea of Jason, changed against his will, alone, confused and starving and convinced he couldn't ask for help.

Tim wished he could talk to Bruce about all of this. He ached to let tell mentor that the son he grieved may be alive. But Bruce would need proof, and Tim didn't have something clever to explain his deduction. Bruce wasn't going to accept "I smelled him" as a reason, not when Tim had been hiding his nature the entire time they'd known eachother.

Tim would need to investigate Jason on his own.

–

Chapter Text

Technically, Jason doesn't know who broke into his bunker, cracked the safe inside, and stole his old costume.

He's got a pretty good fucking idea, though. It's a pattern of behavior at this point. (And really, who else would be capable of it?)

It takes a while to track the little bastard down. Jason catches up with him in none other than Falcone's main office, working on a lockbox that had been hidden in a secret desk compartment.

Jason approaches Red X from behind, leans down to where his ear would be, without the full face mask, and says, "So we've stooped to petty thievery now, is that it?"

He gets no reaction from the burglar, no jump of surprise, only a mechanized voice saying, "Petty theft implies low monetary value. I assure you, that isn't the case here."

Jason circles to the figure's side and looks down at the box. He quips, "Didn't think you were hurting for cash. Something I don't know, Red?"

Those nimble fingers pause, for just a moment, before continuing his work. "Can never have too much money," he says. "That's Red X's MO, isn't it? Stealing for personal gain. Any other benefits are just coincidence."

Jason sighs. "How'd you even know it was me?" he asks.

Red X looks up at him. Masked eyes meet helmeted ones. "Same way you figured out that I'm in the suit, now. I know you."

Jason hopes his armor masks his swallow. "So what's the point?" he finally asks. "Why are you stealing, again?" He's sure that Red will understand that he doesn't mean Falcone's property. He's talking about the mantles that were never passed on, only taken.

Red X looks down again. "The bats can't put Falcone away," he says. "Nothing sticks. Even when he looses in court, his friends get him out within days." The box pops open, and Red pulls out a statuette of a bird in flight, encrusted with gems. "But if I can remove some pieces from his game, like a few valuables with particularly temperamental buyers lined up, I can hurt his reputation. I want him embarrassed, discredited, defunded. I'll make him not worth the effort of working with."

"And you had to be Red X to do that?" Jason asks.

Red shrugs. "Not everyone would approve of these tactics. Disrupting mob alliances is dangerous, and it's pretty far from the proper legal channels. I wanted to use an identity unconnected to me, to avoid suspicion."

"And you think that this–" Jason says, gesturing up and down Red's body (his suit, Jason isn't looking at anything else) "–is going to work?"

"It already worked for someone else," Red says. "Red X is an inconsistent, yet established, player. No reason to think that his sudden return has anything to do with me." He tucks the statue into a belt pouch.

"Fine then," Jason grumbles. "Carry on." He snaps up his hand and grips Red's jaw, right below where the skull mask ends. "Just leave me out of it, capisce? Don't think you'll get away with stealing from me again."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the little shit says. He puts both hands on Jason's shirt, slipping them under his unzipped leather jacket. Jason's wearing body armor, obviously, so he can't feel much except for a pressure against his pecs, but he still goes hot at the touch. "Far too dangerous, stealing from the big bad Red Hood."

"Um," Jason says. He can't think of a reply.

Red X pats his chest twice, then withdraws. "See you later," he says, amusement clear through his modulator, and he slips out of the room like he was never there.

Jason stands in a mob boss's burgled office like an idiot. Since when is Timmy willing to go the morally dubious route? Since when is he forward?

Suddenly, Jason is hoping to see this new Red X again.

Chapter Text

Jason stops short at Tim's bathroom door, floored by what he sees.

Tim looks up at him and swears. The four translucent wings on his back flutter in discomfort. They're shaped like a dragonfly's, shiny and translucent, jewel toned, as captivating as stained glass. Jason simultaneously feels a desire to touch them and fears that his hands would ruin such delicate things.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asks.

Tim sighs and turns around, craning his head over his shoulder to get a look at the appendages in the mirror. He's shirtless, and the way his lithely muscled torso twists draws Jason's eyes for a moment. Then he grimaces, which strikes Jason as almost sacrilegious. He can't imagine looking at something so beautiful that way.

"I thought my parents made it up," Tim says despondently. "I thought it was one of those weird lies you tell to kids because… I don't know. To get them to behave, or scare them, or because lying to children is funny."

"What are you talking about?" Jason asks. He looks at the tilt of Tim's head and notices that his ears have changed shape, too, have raised into elegant points.

"I guess– fuck, this sounds stupid– I guess I'm a changeling?" Tim's tone lifts unnaturally, like he's even more bothered by this revelation than he's letting on.

Jason stares. "You're talking, like, fairy tale shit," he says for clarification.

Tim huffs and aggressively scrubs a hand through his hair. "I mean, yeah. When I was younger, my parents would tell me that they… they got me in a trade. Raising human kids is so much trouble, right? They wanted a kid who could take care of himself, and was pretty enough to impress all their friends, and clever enough to take over the company, and would always do what he was told." Tim doesn't seem to be done, just incapable of adding more. By the end of his speech, he's nearly hyperventilating.

Jason needs to say something, despite reeling from the fucked up implications of all of that. "Okay, that's a theory," he offers, and internally cringes. Even if there could be another cause, that's not helpful to Tim in the moment. "But why is this happening now?" he asks.

Tim laughs, loud and humorless. "I don't fucking know," he says. "Fairy puberty, I guess. Since I'm not even human anymore. I was never human actually." Then he freezes on the spot, and all the color drains from his face so quickly that Jason's a little afraid he'll fall over. "What happened to the other kid? Their actual kid? What did they do with him?" he rushes to say.

Jason finally steps out of the doorway and into the room. He grabs Tim by the upper arms and tries to focus on his face instead of his dazzling wings. (Tim's eye color has changed, too, the blue brightening to an unnatural hue, not quite like Clark's but certainly able to rival his in brilliance. Jason reminds himself to focus.) "We can find out, okay? You've got the full force of the Justice League on your side, and someone's going to know something about this."

Tim breaks eye contact and takes a deep breath. He looks at the mirror again and flexes his wings, moving them slowly back and forth. They catch the light in glittering patterns. "What do I do with them?" he asks. "They don't just fold away."

Trying to cover them up sounds absolutely criminal. It's not Jason's body, though. "Pretend it's a costume?" he says, shrugging. "Or we get in a car and go hide in the cave right now."

Tim turns back to Jason. "You'd come with me?" he asks. "To the cave, or the watchtower? You hate going there."

Jason tries not to blush. He doesn't want to be obvious. "Yeah, well, you've got me invested," he says. Then, even though it's difficult, he adds, "And I'm not making you do this by yourself. Regular puberty is hard enough."

Tim chuckles at that, and Jason's heart squeezes in his chest. He wonders if Tim's potential heritage has anything to do with the way Jason's always found him so enchanting. Is it a glamour of some kind, something that draws people to him? It's still more likely that it's just Tim himself, his determination and his kindness and his pretty little self. "Okay," Tim says. "Let's get moving."

Jason, with fairy tales on the brain, replies, "As you wish."

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"Oh, so you're Freddy?"

"Quiet, Richard, you know not of which you speak," Damian said, disgusted.

"Yeah man, shut the fuck up." Jason pulled off the yellow head of his costume. "His name's Freddy Fazbear. Do I look like a fuckin' bear to you?"

"Um…"

Damian looked at Jason appraisingly, then nodded. "You've shown commitment in depicting an appropriately murderous character."

Jason grimaced. "I don't appreciate being compared to a child murderer, actually."

"Wait, what?" Dick asked. "I thought it was a scary robot game?"

"Don't worry about it," Tim said despondently.

Dick politely redirected attention to Tim. "So, what are you from?" he asked.

Damian scoffed. "The same series, Richard, keep up." He looked Tim up and down. "You are 'phone guy,' correct?"

"Yeah," Tim said, eyes dead. "We lost a bet."

"What kind of bet?" Dick asked.

"Don't worry about it," Jason repeated, putting his rabbit head on.

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If there were any kinds of shifters that people didn't expect to get along, it was cats and mice.

Jason and Tim managed, though.

Jason never shifted with anyone else. His animal form was good for information gathering, but it was always vulnerable, always dangerous. Tucked between Tim's paws, though, wrapped beneath his tail, Jason felt truly safe.

Tim loved that trust. He loved that Jason could take off the armor that protected him and let Tim just hold him, listening to the fast patter of his tiny heartbeat.

The two of them curled together and basked in shared warmth.

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Tim looked so pretty. He had tawny spots painted over his face and elegant antlers attached beneath his brown wig.

"You stared at me through the entire party," he mocked, a sly smile on his face.

Jason picked him up and sat him on the kitchen counter, stepping between his legs. "What can I say? I'm a predator."

Tim reached up and felt the pointy ears on Jason's head. "What's a fox going to do with an entire deer?" He asked. "You really didn't think this through."

"I bet I can manage" Jason said, and leaned in to kiss him.