Chapter Text
Tim knows that what he’s doing can be seen as wrong. It’s not exactly a revelation. It’s just… he knows. But he still does it anyway. Because there is no other way Jason Todd would let Tim take care of him.
Not Tim, the one who replaced him. The Replacement. The pretender. The little private school kid who used to sweat money from his every pore. The one who donned Jason’s scaly panties faster than one could say Lazarus pit.
The man would rather walk blindly through the Bowery itself just to get away, even though the only thing Tim did against him was put on his suit to save Bruce’s life.
And it wasn’t even Tim’s first choice of action! It was a last resort!
Unfortunately, obviously, Jason doesn’t see it that way.
Still. The thing is, there’s nobody else to take care of Jason. Bruce, Dick and Damian are all hunting the gang of madmen that used to be Joker henchmen not too long ago. Steph is out for the count, recuperating herself while Cass and Babs are looking after Gotham. Alfred is the only one still at the manor, run ragged by trying to keep them all connected and up to date on intel.
Tim is currently the only expendable one with his leg in a cast, being told to take the second Robin out of Alfred’s already sparse hair, and to make sure Jason doesn’t get himself killed. Again. Really, they should have known the older man would protest loud and clear. Only…
Only, he’s blind as a bat.
Well fine, technically bats aren't blind, it’s just a saying, but Jason is. At the moment. That is what Tim is saying. The corrosive substance that put Steph out of commission also did a number on Jason’s eyelids, and he has to keep them closed for days or they’ll rip and repairing that would be much harder than just 3 days of rest.
So Tim, being Tim, came to the decision that as long as he doesn’t say a thing, perhaps Jason won’t realize it is him nursing his blind self back to health, and not, say… Cass. Or perhaps Dick, with an injury of his own.
And honestly, Tim isn’t a fan of having to lie to Jason in any shape or form. He truly isn’t. But what else is he to do?
He can’t let Jason be hurt and vulnerable alone somewhere in the underbelly of Gotham.
He just can’t.
Not after all he’s suffered.
Tim knows Jason’s life story. People keep forgetting, but Tim in fact dreads the minute Jason figures out that he was and always will be Tim’s Robin. The Robin he stalked. The boy he followed like a shadow over rooftops, through stinking sewers and even through a gala or two they both have been dragged to… It’s always, always been Jason.
And so... Tim knows.
He knows Jason never had a loving, doting parent, the closest to it probably being Alfred. Sure, Tim has heard the stories of a loving older brother… from Dick. And he's heard the stories of the loving father… from Bruce.
Alfred, when he gets sentimental, tells a quite different story.
Jason, during that time they kinda-sorta made up when they were chasing leads on Mother, and stole a plane together, have been forced to spend time in constrained space together… Well, he told Tim that same, very different story.
Back then Tim was skeptical, thinking Jason was still under delusions and affected by pit-rage, but since then, since he got Alfred to fill in the gaps, he’s pieced everything together.
Now Tim has a much clearer picture, and it doesn’t paint his family in the best of lights.
What Tim knows is this: Jason never had a loving family. His mother was an addict, his father a henchman. When he ended up orphaned and on the streets of Gotham, he saw an opportunity and took it - he jacked the batmobile’s tires. When Batman saw… he didn’t want to take him in. Jason was rejected once again, handed off to Mama Gunn instead by an uncaring Bruce, involuntarily entered right into criminal servitude.
Just the thing that he barely escaped from for the two months he spent living on the streets of Gotham, smack in the middle of the Bowery, no less.
It’s a testament to Jason's moral compass that he ended up stopping things, very criminal things, with some help from Batman - instead of joining in.
And that’s when he was finally taken in, after Bruce saw his potential. As a soldier. As a worthy son to join Batman’s crusade.
Tim understands why Bruce was leery of taking in a child who could have potentially unmasked him at any given time, but he doesn’t get why their mentor couldn’t have just set the boy up with someone legit. Like… social services. Someone who could have been trusted.
No. First it was Mama Gunn, some random elderly lady in the Bowery, who, surprise, surprise, turned out crooked. Because she wasn’t vetted. Bruce just handed over a child to her without checking her out like an utter idiot. Like someone trying to duck out on responsibilities. (Holy oversight, Batman!) And then… Bruce took Jason in himself. But only after he has found him worthy.
This is where Jason’s need to prove himself came from, Tim thinks. This stifling, all-encompassing need to be better than Bruce’s current Robin. Or any Robin. To be better than Bruce, even.
Because nobody made him feel worthy of acceptance. Of love. Of care. Or even a single fucking thought.
Tim learns a lot on that plane, and even more while they fight their way out of that maze. He learns the rest of all the things Dick and Bruce omitted from their stories, and all the carefully worded reports and diary notes on the Batcomputer.
Bruce loved Jason in his own way, and showed it too, but it was always conditional. Not something Bruce could have helped, Tim thinks, not without actually going to therapy, but it still damaged that young boy’s psyche in ways that never got repaired.
Not until Jason found companions of his own who gave a crap about him.
But that happened much later. First that boy was brutalized and yelled at by an angry older brother, whose jealousy at getting replaced knew no bounds. Dick said a lot about their relationship back then, but it was heavily tinted by the gentle lenses of nostalgia. Those sweet bonding moments Dick spoke of, according to Jason (and Alfred), never happened.
When Tim found that out, he was truly horrified.
Then, of course, was Bruce benching Jason after an argument. The man jumped, according to Jason, though he had "every intention of pushing the fucker off". And fine, maybe Tim can’t fully blame Bruce for asking Jason to take a step back (truly, Tim would have done the same), it was still a bit ham-fisted, the way he went about it. The way he handled that poor child who, until that point, thought Batman hung the moon.
No wonder Jason flew off at the first chance to find his real mother. Tim’s own heart still clenches at the thought of the young boy with his heart in his throat, eager to find someone who would just finally care about his existence. Who might not push him away (again), and then got betrayed instead. Caught in the Joker’s brutal trap.
And then...
And then Jason died.
Both Bruce and Dick mourned him. Though Tim heard all about how Bruce hadn't even told Dick about Jason’s death. For months.
Dysfunctional doesn’t even begin to encompass all that their family is.
But… Tim has heard more. It was Alfred, maudlin at some point, who told Tim what Jason told him: that he climbed out of his own coffin, probably suffering brain damage due to oxygen deprivation on his way out, and lived on the streets again for months before Talia al Ghul found him.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Tim knows all too well the story of Jason’s swim in the pit, the madness, the bloodthirsty rampage of the Red Hood out for the Bat’s blood. Tim remembers getting his throat slit. Remembers getting beaten to a pulp by a resentful Jason when he saw the Titans haven’t even erected a statue in his memory.
That’ll have to be rectified at one point, he promises grimly. Soon. Sure, the Titans felt less charitable after what the Red Hood did, and especially after he vandalized the Tower and Tim, but perhaps now...
But really, what commenced in the Tower that time was Tim’s fault. He mishandled it all. He was defensive and stupid, resentful of a Jason who was nothing like the stories he’d been told. Like the boy Tim stalked over rooftops and grimy Gotham streets. Tim was glib and mean and he called Jason insane… Yeeeah. Not one of his brightest moments. He certainly isn’t proud of how he handled that altercation.
It still boggles his mind that a pit-crazed, hurt Jason spared his life, even after all the things Tim has said. (And Tim has said plenty.)
So yeah. Tim continued the family tradition of traumatizing Jason. (What else is new?)
And he didn’t even know it.
Not that Tim wasn’t just simply petty by denying that Jason had every right to be angry. That Jason was worthy. Denying that he was worthy enough to at least have his own statue erected in Titans tower, if not more. And that Jason was kind, so very, very kind, and good. So damn good it still burns like a hot coal in Tim’s chest. Jason, little street-urchin Jason, who gave it his all, with his heart of gold.
Who still tried to warn Tim of how cold Bruce can be… how insidious, when he wanted to be.
Tim knows now. He’s older, wiser. He knows Bruce, knows Dick the-hot-mess Grayson, and knows Jason better, too.
He knows how much they all hurt Jason, all in their own, special way, and just where it hurt the most.
But no more.
Tim knows Jason has nobody to watch his back, not now. Jason is all alone, and if Tim isn’t allowed to look after him, he’ll be easy pickings for anybody he’s crossed since he landed back in Gotham. It simply won’t do.
So Tim… sneaks once again.
Sure, he knows another wrong won’t make it right, but he hopes Jason will forgive him. Again. Like he always forgives his family for literally gutting him at every turn.
Even if Tim just wants to do nice things for him. To him. With him.
He hopes maybe Jason wouldn’t mind it after days of staying with Tim, after Tim cared so very well for him. That’d be a good thing… right? Right. Tim thinks so, at least. And it’s not like he’d be allowed to do it in any other way.
So once Bruce is done treating Jason and storms off to bounce heads off Gotham’s streets, Tim is left alone with a groggy, bandaged demigod of a man.
Alfred is back on the batcomputer, staring at the screens. Tim is down with Jason in medical. There is nobody else but them in the cave. (Except for Batcow and Damian’s misfit animals.)
Tim makes the executive decision and tugs Jason up gently, until he can pull a big, warm arm over his shoulder to begin their shuffle towards Redbird. With nobody objecting, he’s kidnapping Jason to a place where he can make sure all his needs are met, and he can’t make harebrained escapes from to run into the open and waiting arms of the likes of Black Mask.
He’s completely fine with stealing Jason and tucking him away in his Nest under fluffy blankets while he recuperates, with all the food and care the older Robin could ever want. (And what Tim really, really wants to give to him.)
Tim thinks he’s extremely lucky Jason is too out of it to complain. He goes without prompting, slumping into the passenger seat of Redbird like a particularly muscled sack of attractive potatoes, letting Tim do up his seat belt without a single complaint. Tim barely dares to breathe a sigh of relief.
He closes the door - gently - and walks around to the driver’s door, clocking Alfred peering down at him with a single raised eyebrow in judgement… and freezes.
His throat clogs up with excuses he cannot utter. There’s too much he wants to say, but none he can articulate. He just stares up imploringly at Alfred, hoping the old butler will understand.
They stand there, Tim frozen in place while Alfred regards him steadily. An eternity passes. Tim feels so pinned he can’t even fidget, he feels as if the old man sees deep down inside him with ease, peering right at his shivering soul.
It’s ridiculous, but Tim feels that Alfred is the only one in their whole family who sees him for who he really is. Tim is very, very uncomfortable with the knowledge, but he can’t do a thing. He knows Alfred loves Jason just as much as Tim, would probably dispose of Tim if he felt Tim’s interests were harmful…
The slight, kind smile and the nod catches Tim by surprise.
He stares up, blinking stupidly, mouth open and catching flies. Until that sardonic eyebrow is raised again. Then Tim shakes himself out of it and nods back before he turns to open his own door and gets behind the wheel.
What the fuck, he wants to whisper, but he’s aware of a semi-conscious Jason sitting close, so close, too close for Tim’s sanity and listing slightly, as much as his safety-belt would let him. So Tim doesn’t. He just stares at the steering wheel and his key in the ignition until he feels less transparent. Less… visible.
He’s always prided himself on being unnoticeable. The least flashy Robin. The mild-mannered one. The one easily overlooked and underestimated. It works in his favour every damn time.
It helps him snoop, helps him plot… it helps him stalk.
He just wasn’t aware Alfred actually noticed him. Well, technically… Tim should have known. There’s nothing that can escape Alfred’s scrutiny. Not grubby little hands reaching for the fresh tarts pulled out of the oven and left to rest. Not a sneaky little child trying to hide bruises. And certainly not Tim trying to ferret away one of his charges.
Stupid, silly, witless Tim.
He sighs, wordless and silent, and then he guns the engine.
He’s got the permission. There’s no reason to break down about Alfred being the all-seeing, all-knowing butler that he is. It’s not news. They all know Alfred knows all, sees all, directs all. Plus… Tim’s been found worthy. That should be good enough. Right?
Also, he thinks wryly, he can always break down and sob about it later.
Yes, Tim decides as looks over at a floppy Jason, later sounds just perfect.
He drives out of the cave and into Gotham as smoothly as possible. He doesn’t want to jostle Jason not just because of the injury, but also in hopes of postponing the confrontation that’s inevitable to come. Tim really hopes Jason wouldn’t question him too much.
Not until Tim has lulled him into feeling secure with him. (Please, oh please! Tim isn’t above begging any possibly existing omnipotent entities for a single break in his abysmal unlucky streak.)
Plus… it’s not even for Tim. It’s for Jason, and keeping him alive and healthy. And most of all, safe.
Kept safe in Tim’s space, hidden from the world in his Nest, amongst warm and fluffy things. Cared for. Loved. Jealously hoarded.
And he should probably cut back on the creepy levels, before Jason picks up on it.
Yeah... Tim loosens his hands on the steering wheel and takes a deep breath.
Perhaps he should… take a step back. Chill. Not freak Jason out with his… everything.
Yeah…
About that...
Tim's always been self-reliant. He had to be since he was little, because his parents didn't care all that much for him. Janet Drake wasn't the nurturing mother type, and Tim can't fault her for it. He's less… happy he never had someone to care for him, love him. A nanny, for example, would have changed his life tremendously.
But he isn't resentful, really. Because without their neglect (and it was neglect, Tim is old enough and stable enough to admit that to himself) he wouldn't have had the chance to meet his new family. Bruce might have gone dark side, taking all the others with him, and that would have made Gotham a horrible place to live.
Tim wouldn't want to change those things in his life... But.
But.
Tim didn't exactly get off scot-free like the others think. He isn't the self-reliant, put-together person he presents to them. Or... he is? A bit? But not completely.
They think he only ever talked to Jason's glass cage that one time when he was caught, that he was doing it because of Bruce and his influence, but that's simply not the case.
No. Jason Todd has been Tim's imaginary friend ever since Tim figured out he was Robin.
Just imagining that the spunky, exuberant, larger than life Robin was with him, chatting with him filled Tim's empty life with colour and love. He carried on whole, animated conversations with the boy. Tim never felt lonely or sad or abandoned by everybody when he had Jason, imaginary as he was, with him.
They, (Bruce, Dick and even Alfred) thought Tim's avid interest in everything Jason was due to and only because of his dedication to the cause, perhaps with a dash of hero worship, and not because of... less innocent reasons. Or perhaps back then it was the single most innocent part of Tim that still kept clinging to the memory of a dead boy, trying desperately to keep him alive in his mind.
That’s why it irked… hurt twice as much when Jason Todd came back and he was nothing like the warm child and good soldier he was supposed to be. He was angry and spiteful and paranoid, slandering Dick and Bruce, and Tim… In his confusion, in his anger and sheer disgust became spiteful, and lashed out at a distraught and hurting Jason.
Sure, he got himself beaten to a pulp in return, and had to watch helplessly as Jason vandalized Titans Tower… but later, when he thought about it, Tim had to agree that Jason was somewhat right. Not by beating Tim senseless, that might have been a little bit much, but the rest. No statue. No repercussions for his death. Nothing happened to honour him, to respect his memory. Just that insidious glass case erected in the cave that made him out to be something that he never was.
Tim hits the brakes a little too hard as he almost drives them through his garage door before it lifts fully up.
Jason gives a soft little noise of discomfort that almost breaks his heart.
Fuck.
He looks over, but the man is still floppy. It's sheer dumb luck. But fuck it, Tim’s dropping the ball while he’s woolgathering.
He wanted to care for Jason, not hurt him more, dammit.
He inches the car forward until he is inside the garage and waits until the door is shut again before he gets out. Jason is a dead weight in the passenger seat, having conked out again. It’s easier this way, Tim thinks.
He carefully extracts his precious cargo from the car, staggering under the sheer weight of those muscles. Jason sure grew up to be a big boy. (Tim approves.)
He slings the overnight bag he haphazardly filled with what was available and at least semi-clean in Jason’s locker, because not even Superboy’s clothes would fit the hulking man, and slinging a beefy arm over his shoulder. Tim directs them to the elevator, nudging the passenger side door shut with his hips. It nearly unbalances him because he forgot his leg was in a cast, and it hurts, but he just rights them both, and soldiers on.
He only has a short window before Jason wakes up properly, and then, if Tim hasn’t settled him yet… he’s most probably fucked.
Tim lets a still semi-conscious Jason slump down onto his couch still wearing most of his Red Hood regalia, and grabs one of the couch pillows. His leg is starting to hurt, badly, but he doesn’t have time to pop a pill. Not just yet.
He throws the bag on the ground, then the pillow next to it, and he rests his broken leg on it as he kneels down awkwardly in front of the Red Hood. From down there, the man looks even more hulking. Tim can barely believe that tiny boy is the same person as this epitome of human perfection.
He wants to stay down there and get lost in trying to find all the differences between his childhood imaginary friend and the Jason of now, but he doesn’t have time.
Full of regret he reaches for the boot closest to him, finds the hidden zipper, and pulls. The fact that it comes off clean surprises him so much he goes ass over tit, flailing and thumping back hard on his hardwood floor. Perhaps he shouldn’t have pulled this hard. (Yeah, definitely not. But this is Tim’s very first nursing opportunity, and he’s tackling it with all the exuberance he’s ever had. Which is a lot. Sue him, he’s eager. It’s Jason .)
He scrambles back to a kneeling position and after setting the first boot to the side, he grabs the other. He uses less force, and less tugging to get it off, and almost gets kicked in the face by a snorting Jason. Who, after Tim went splat on the floor again, goes back to dozing on the couch. Again.
Honestly, fuck Tim’s life. So far it’s gone splendidly. Which is to say, tits up.
Tim sets the other boot down, and regards Jason’s feet.
It’s… distracting.
Tim thinks there's something oddly vulnerable in seeing Jason's socked feet.
It strikes him as strange that he's seen Jason almost naked, suit and armour ripped to shreds, bleeding to death, and yet... he never saw him in socks. It's completely absurd, but the sight of Jason Todd in socks just feels too private, too vulnerable, something people just aren't supposed to witness.
It takes him long moments to digest this. His leg starts to throb in that awkward position. Above him, Jason begins to snore.
Tim reaches up again.
Luckily he can disarm most of the suit’s traps himself, and what he can’t he uses a knife to pass by. Jason might not be happy about it later, but Tim will try to fix the cuts to the best of his abilities before the three days are up. He reckons that could be seen as enough penance.
Yanking the trousers down isn't easy, and Tim’s starting to feel that pain in his leg, but he swallows it down. He’s survived much worse, with more sleep dep. He can do this.
Jason needs him.
And this time Tim’s not going to fail him.
He has to get his hands on those delicious thighs to pull the rest of the suit off, and Tim… he isn’t proud of how much it makes him want Jason in a completely non-innocent way, but there’s nothing he can do. He hasn’t been a child for a long while. And he can’t deny that Jason grew up just as beautiful on the outside, too.
Tim swallows and takes in the sight of the Red Hood, unmasked and undressed, sprawling carelessly on his couch. Tim’s eyes are drawn, against his will, to the spread thighs and that tight pair of black shorts. Tim’s relatively sure they should be illegal. Nobody should be this attractive. (And Tim at some point shared space with Dick Grayson. Tim should know.) This is utter torture. It’s more than Tim can bear. But he must. For Jason.
It’s not about me becomes his new mantra.
He grabs the sweats and surges up, leg knifing in pain, but he ignores it as he grabs one delicate, socked foot and directs it into one trouser leg. Once it’s safely inside he grabs the other foot and repeats the motion, until he can pull the pants up, grunting as he lifts the man bodily up to pull the waistband over that pert, muscular ass (it’s not about me, goddamn it) and up.
He falls back panting and his leg throbbing and hurting, but at least now Jason is decent.
Well, Tim stares up at his gloriously naked, muscled, mouth-watering chest on full display… almost.
He heaves a sigh of despair (half disappointment that he’ll have to cover that up, and half resignation that he’ll have to jostle his leg again) and grabs the first shirt he can fish out of the duffle on the floor.
When he gets up this time, he grabs the pillow. He drops it back onto the couch while he pulls Jason’s arms up one by one, feeding it into the shirt and pulling it gently down, until Jason is finally, properly dressed.
Then Tim flops down next to the man and leans back against the plush cushions… and promptly blacks out.