Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He woke up.

This was the shit that made up his flashbacks, nightmares, daymares. So, despite a white tiled ceiling welcoming him back to living, instead of a coffin, Jason started to choke on air. 

Then the whole hospital drama began, you know, beeping monitors, rushing nurses. Doc Thomson’s disembodied voice started yelling orders. “No sedation. No restraints. Stand out of the way. Just get the fuck out actually.”

This type of chaotic environment was why he prefered to sleep off injuries in a safe house, alone, on his floor mattress.

Tim’s face appeared blurry, above Jason's. He looked pretty fucking panicked. It was kind of sweet. Jason’s death probably caused a glitch in his logical processing systems. It wasn’t like a panic attack was gonna kill him a second time. If the I’m-back-from-the-dead-sex is better than the devastated-I’m-going-to-stick-you-in-Arkham-sex, he would be pissed.

Jason woke up again.

He could feel all the creepy Bat-stares poking at him. Waiting for Jason to telegraph he’d woken up, uncharacteristically polite.

He was sure they were all horrified and guilty. Like he wanted. Ready to give him lots of attention. Like he wanted. His fantasies about a noble and heroic death, that somehow proved he was right and Bruce was wrong, were focused on how great the imagined vindication felt. Having survived, the vindication had already worn off and mortification replaced it.

What would B’s face look like? Hollow and grey. What would his expression be? Jason could guess somewhere between devastated and horrifically angry, but he couldn’t say what ratio. Probably more angry than devastated. Right?

Did Jason put Dick back on anti-depressants? Wouldn’t be a bad thing. He was probably sleeping on the floor of Babs’ bedroom like a wounded dog. Jason hoped she didn’t let him up into the bed. She was smart enough not to backslide. Right?

Was Duke awkward since Jason was basically a stranger? Or had he internalized Jason’s importance as a living ghost already.  Damian, if Jason was lucky, would process this years later, happy and feeling safe, as his life’s trauma hit him like a sledgehammer.

As for what Tim was thinking… Well honestly Jason had no clue what Tim was thinking half the time, but um, they would have sex about it and it would be awesome. They would do it in one of Tim’s nice safe houses. Only because it would be satisfying to hear the bed frame banging into the wall. Definitely not because he wanted to wake up in sheets that smelled like Tim’s rich boy soap.

Tim liked to play pretend a lot, so they’d have a nice breakfast. Before Tim got on with the days work and did responsible and moral shit, like arresting Jason. Arresting. What fucking authority did that motherfucker have? At least Jason could shout from the rooftops: I’m a criminal piece of shit. I kill other pieces of shit. I’m a piece of shit. Fucking piece of—

He’d worked himself up a little. There was a breeze coming from the left. A window was there. Probably. He could just launch himself blindly. If the window had a big enough opening to squeeze through Jason would avoid so much awkwardness.

Jason launched himself towards the left. The window was wide open. Jason tucked in all his limbs and flew through it. Luck was on his side, because instead of a long fall it was a short one onto a fire-escape.

The sound of the bat-herd crashing toward him was loud. Jason slammed the window shut, and started scaling the side of building as fast as possible. He saw no one’s face, an above average outcome. You never know, if you never try. The dumb bitch gang were confined to the ground, since they had alive civvies. They had no chance of catching up to Jason streaking across the rooftops. 

The full moon was high in the sky, and Jason mooned in solidarity. Running was more tiring than it’d been before he’d resurrected. Jason figured he’d been in some sort of coma, or something. He was less toned than he wanted to be, with his bare ass sticking out the back of his hospital gown.  

Everything was screaming by the time he’d finished the hour-and-a-half journey to Tim’s little two-story, located in a nice residential area. His feet were fucked, that was expected, but the stabbing in his lungs. The way his vision had been spotting with black, for half the journey. Nothing like this had happened to Jason, since he was a literal child. 

Was Leslie losing her touch? Did they purposely kept him undernourished in his incapacitated state, to keep him tameable? That’s kind of a maggot in the rice of his happily ever after. How would he play into this? Tim I’m so horny that you’re controlling my caloric intake. I mean it’s actually kind of comforting. Bruce and Alfred, Talia, now you. Horny sob.

How dare Bruce. How fucking dare he. Jason was going to fuck with his food. He would fuck with his macro’s and protein intake, and then he would see how Jason felt. Yes, your meticulous food diary has been wrong for months. How does that violation make you feel motherfucker. How do you feel now. How does it feel, huh. How does it—

Jason woke up on Tim’s couch.

And there was no Tim Drake looking down at him, with his weird bird eyes. 

Jason browsed the cute little kitchen, he preferred it over mega-sized ones. He was soo overgrown, that all the cabinets, appliances, and counters were within arms reach. It was real sparse forage. Jason yielded some pancake mix, powder milk, and frozen breakfast sausage. While the freezer sausage was in the oven he made a tea for himself and instant ice-coffee for Tim.

Jason held Tim’s coffee up at the ceiling. He had no idea where the camera actually was, so he settled for glaring at a likely corner. Yeah pervert, if you want to watch me stomp around the kitchen bare assed, you’ll have to come see in person.

In the time it took Tim to arrive, and stand awkwardly at the door, his coffee became lukewarm. The asshole rang the doorbell. The entire ordeal struck Jason as soo cowardly he stalked toward the door, and slammed it open. 

Jason stared at Tim. He looked good. Not at all like he’d spent the last months, weeks, however long, in an stimulants induced insomnia, that culminated in Jason being dunked into a Lazarus pit. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt. Jason looked for a dick print, but like always there was none. Tim always wore underwear. Also, he wasn’t desperate all the time like Jason. 

Tim stared at his hospital gown hemline. They stared, and stared, with the door open in broad daylight. Tim looked ready to make himself at home on the porch, when Jason decided to just take the loss. He fisted a hand in Tim’s t-shirt and yanked him through the door, slamming into a kiss. 

Tim was awkward and passive, which wasn’t really Jason’s thing, but then he pulls a the classic Tim move. Tim placeed one hand on Jason’s jaw and the other behind his head, in a way that betrayed his years of combat training. Tim moved Jason’s head exactly where he wanted it to go. This ways and that ways. They’re awkward straining positions that leave Jason’s neck sore. He’s been close enough to having his neck snapped enough times that fear tingled beneath his ribs, and headed downward.

Tim broke the kiss and pushed Jason away. He eyed Jason’s hardness, poking the front of the hospital gown, with unwarranted surprise. Jason always got hard, in like, a second. If Tim ordered ‘up’ Jason’s cock would salute.

“Jason,” Tim said, face blanking out into hero mode. “Why did you kiss me? Are you feeling well? Do you want me to call Bruce?”

What an unsexy thing to say. Jason’s erection didn’t flag.

“Babe, if this isn’t leading to some Daddy kink type thing. I think we might have to brawl.”

Chapter Text

He shucked off the hospital gown and surveyed his naked body, in the mirrored closet door. Jason’s reflection was kind of scrawny. He had more muscle definition than your average Joe, but nothing compared to what he was used to. His injuries were all wrong. His right knee twinged when his left should. He was still scarred up, but in all the wrong places, and the scars looked very old.

Jason scrutinized the tattoo on his right ass cheek, a red heart with barbed wire around it. It was one of a few scattered around his body, all pretty and meaningless. It’s location made Jason think other-Jason was also a slutty bottom.

Jason skipped the monogrammed tacky shit, his asshole other-self wears, and puts on a loose black jogging set. Good to hide weapons and haul ass in. If he had body armour on underneath it’d be something Jason would regularly wear.

Jason took a walk of shame downstairs to the living room. Except he didn’t even get off. He could feel the pinpricks of cameras, on the back of his neck, like eyes. Jason tugged the hood over his head and stuck his hands deep in his pockets. It was good there were cameras to document his crime. He slowed when he saw Tim’s head rising above the back of the couch.

Tim’s head was in his hands and his eyes were closed. He was doing his stressed bird thing, where he just went still and a crazy amount of computing took place in his dumb-ass head.

Jason dropped onto the couch opposite of Tim. “There’s nothing you need to think that hard about. I’m sorry for molesting you by the way. Free range to dole out any punishment you want without any fight on my end,” he assured Tim.

Please don’t throw me in Arkham though. Babe I’m basically begging. Blackgate will be fine. And I promise not to murder any of the inmates, or break out, this time.

Tim’s eyebrows started twitching in a concerned way. It was strange, because Jason is used to Tim’s permanently stoic demeanour, that held strong in the face of any crazy shit Jason said. And Jason wasn’t even talking crazy right now.

“Molest, punish, what the fuck.” Tim shook his head and forced some calm. “Okay, A, you didn’t molest me. You kissed me, and I kissed back. B, your an amnesiac whose been acting strangely. I definitely shouldn’t have kissed back.”

Jason nodded not contradicting the amnesia claim. They’d been over it, Jason was a very dangerous rogue, also an ex-bat and sometimes pinch-hitter, but that doesn’t change the fact that he regularly commits executions. He’d even highlighted the important parts. I support the death penalty, Jason promised. I’m a serial murderer, Jason said, in his most convincing voice. But Tim didn’t believe him, or take him seriously. Which was business as usual, and an all around sound call to make.

“So, we’re agreeing it cancels out then? Fine by me. Is it really weird your boyfriend would try to kiss you, after he stopped freaking out about waking up from his coma,” Jason asked, fishing for information.

Tim blinked. “We’re not dating. I can’t date my foster sibling.” This is the sort of thing Tim muttered under his breath, when he was trying to gather the will power to quit-it not hit-it. It worked not even one time.

Jason leaned forward. “But you can fuck right,” Jason said, too hot and too direct.

Tim didn’t miss a beat. “You and I have never had any sexual or romantic encounters.”

“Hmpf.” Jason slumped back into the couch. “Alright. Why are my clothes in your safe house’s closet then? Are we bros or brothers? Bit fucked up of you, if we are.”

“This is more your place, than mine,” Tim said. “You stay here for a couple of weeks time-to-time. You like the area, and it’s a good commute to Gotham U.” Damn Jason’s pursuing higher education. He looks the same age so he’s probably in grad school. What a colossal asshole.

“Do you perv on me through the cameras?” It came out confrontational. It wasn’t a fight he had any stake in, so he changed lanes. “I mean I don’t really give a fuck, but maybe he did, other-me.”

“I removed all the camera’s on the second floor for privacy, when you stayed long term the first time,” Tim explained. We settled at keeping cameras on the first floor, just in case.” Sounded more like Tim put his foot down. God, the thought of Bruce, or anyone else, doing something like that to Jason, would make him want to torch the house on principle. But, with Tim, there was this feeling of, maybe he’s right. And right now, it was fine if Tim wanted to surveil him. It was actually the correct choice. “You… You don’t like me. Bruce and Dick, you have huge blow up fights with them.”

“But we don’t even have anything to fight about? Right,” Jason said knowingly. It was like that in his universe too. Sure, he was homicidal at Tim’s existence sometimes, but nothing Tim ever did or said actually pissed him off to the same degree as Bruce or Dick. After, Jason kicked the shit out of Tim a couple of times, he’d gone on ignoring him. Tim is easy to ignore. It’s creepy, considering what a psycho he can be.

“Exactly. So, when it gets to be to much, with all of them. The mother henning. The constant surveillance. And you want space, well I always left you alone. And they don’t bother you, when you’re here.”

“So, no ones going to come busting down the door.” Jason nodded to the cute little red door, there was even a little flower basket hanging off the front. It didn’t deserve to be kicked in by the Batman.

“No.” His face was set in the cold look, and his eyes became dark, turning a grey color. There was the Tim Jason was familiar with.

Jason kissed his teeth. “Impressive.” Tim thawed and looked lost.

“Do you believe we’re dating?” Tim asked.

“Oh, God no. After patrol you get in that sensitive area, when it’s morning but still dark out. Your tired and drained, the grey morning feels endless. The unending slog of vigilantism and misery is a purgatory. With time going so slow you’ll never make it to morning. This feeling is painfully realistic, and letting me up onto your bed becomes a sensible option. At least that’s my working theory. I don’t really know what goes on up there when it comes to you.” Jason taps the side of his head. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I’m an open invitation. Anytime, any place.”

Tim was quiet for a couple minutes, thinking. Eventually he bit the bullet but Jason got the sense he wasn’t satisfied with the words he cooked up. “Jason everybody would take you up on that offer, but it’s not right while you’re in a compromised mental state.” Jason would rip your brain out of your fucking skull. Get the fuck out, spouting Bruce-isms at him. Jason hated Bruce-isms, even if Tim could pull them off. “Do you remember Steph?”

“Brown?”

Tim nodded. “I’m going to send her to stay with you. Your friends. She can answer any questions you have, and help you get settled. Is that an okay plan.”

“Sure.”

After Tim left, Jason laid down on the couch, and stared at the ceiling. Purgatory for Jason felt like the Lazarus water burning as it ran down his skin. A tug in his stomach to keep moving forward and fighting. Battles stretched to eternity. He was tired. Jason never wished for death because he wasn’t granted a painless sleep. As much as he’d love to disappear into nothingness, he persists.

Resurrecting in a different universe where there is a Tim willing to talk to him. To kiss him. There were worse starting points. He bets this version of himself didn’t even try to kill Tim. Jason can make this work.