Rating: PG-13 (Maybe M for subjects discussed?)

Warning(s): Jason/Isabel mentioned though they aren't the endgame, minor canon character death mentioned

Canon-Compliance: Takes place mostly over the course of RHATO and Red Robin; canon elements from the New 52 are adopted as needed

Author's Note: For your Social-Distancing Reading Pleasure, enjoy the first fic I've ever actually completed since joining this fandom ^_^

T: Wanna bang?

Jason stares at his phone for a full ten seconds trying to connect the words to the contact name.

Logically he knows Tim probably meant 'hang' since they have been doing that more often lately. Something about brunch and commiserating over Alfred's waffles established a tenuous friendship that's continued in the form of intel sharing and the occasional team-up on cases when they both happen to be in Gotham at the same time.

The relationship is about at the level of shooting each other the occasional meme or gif via text, and 'hey, let's grab a chili dog but you're paying, Mr. Moneybags'. Even if Jason were inclined toward trying to get into his replacement's pants—which, he's not thank you very much even if he recognizes as a completely objective equal-opportunity appreciator of the human body that Tim Drake grew up hot—he also knows that Tim Drake is depressingly straight.

So, their occasional meetups have been nothing but casual, family-friendly (for this Family, anyhow) encounters with no hidden subtext or intent behind them.

(At least he's 87% sure because Tim's the kind of awkward pretty or pretty awkward that sends out flirt signals without even realizing it.)

In any case, it's probably the most functional relationship Jason's ever had with another Robin.

Which is why he's fairly sure that this text is one of those autocorrect fails.

And he could let it go.

But he's Jason Todd, and when has he ever let anything go?

J: Depends. You gonna buy me dinner first or is this just a casual booty call?

He goes back to cleaning and checking his weapons on the galley table, more out of habit than actually needing to. He was taught the fine art of weapon maintenance by the most paranoid man in the world, so his guns never jam.

His eyes catch a flicker on his screen and he glances over, watching the three dots indicating someone typing for barely a blink. And then,

T: What?

T: Omg

T: I meant hang

T: Autocorrect

Jason grins, imagining the face Tim must be making and decides mocking him is more fun than unnecessary gun polishing.

J: Should I bring anything?

J: Condom?

J: Lube?

J: Vibrator?

J: Ball gag?

T: Wtf? No!

J: Also, you're clean, right?

J: Only B really drilled the safe sex talk into me so

T: What

J: Would it be your first time?

J: Because I'm not sure I should be the one to take your v-card

J: This is Jason by the way.

J: Check your contact next time moron

He pauses in his rapid-fire texting, smirking at the little text bubble and imagining Tim's expression of horror morphing into dawning understand followed by embarrassed fury.

T: Shit

T: Sorry

T: Text fail

J: No kidding

J: Though if you're planning kinky sex with the Superclone you actually will need condom and lube

T: Oh my god Jason why are you like this

J: Lots

T: Stop it!

T: I hate you

J: Guess that means sex is off the table?

At this point, Tim seems to judge the best course of action to ignore him, which works well enough for Jason. He's gotten his laugh out of it, and there's really no need to beat a dead horse.

Or a dead bird, as it were.

He promptly forgets about the whole thing when Roy calls him from the front of the ship and informs him that they need to pick up supper somewhere because Kori vaporized the hotplate on the ship.

⁂

The next time he hears from Tim, it's the night after they save Gotham from a secret society of owls trying to make a creepy nursery rhyme prophecy come true. He answered his call for help against his better judgment since he's still not on great terms with the Family and didn't exactly linger to help with the clean-up.

(Barbie was just as unimpressed with him as he remembers, though it was nice to see her up and about again. There's something cathartic in knowing the Joker couldn't keep either of them down.)

He, Kori and Roy have just touched down on their little tropical getaway, and Roy's already trying to get laid (although Jason's not entirely sure if it's with Kori or Kori's ship at this point) and Kori's smiling that 'aren't-human-males-so-quaint' expression she reserves for the men in her life. Jason's in the middle of trying to call that flight attendant, Isabel, to see if she's interested in meeting up for drinks ("Yes, Roy, I know how to ask a woman out, now fuck off.") when his phone chimes with a notification.

T: Thanks for the team-up.

T: I know it's not your favorite thing to do

Jason makes a face at that, both the implication that he was contributing anything to any type of team and the idea that he beating the crap out of whatever creeper of the week is infesting Gotham hasn't been a hobby since he was 12.

He weighs the pros and cons of acknowledging that, but eventually texts back:

J: It's my city too.

J: Make sure you remind HIM about that

There's barely a breath before the kid replies.

T: Always do

T: And since he won't say it if there's anything you need in the future just let me know

And…well.

There are possibilities for that. Having a Wayne—even an in-name-only Wayne—owe you favors is a hell of a thing. But it also carries with it the strings of staying connected, which he doesn't want to outright encourage.

His eyes flit to the open text to Isabel, and he reconsiders.

J: Know anywhere I can get a few decent suits?

J: Not the Family reunion kind

J: And not so expensive I have to sell my soul

J: Again.

If he's going to try this whole dating thing, he might as well make the effort.

Three dots over beneath his message, and then,

T: Your sense of humor sucks

T: As usual

T: I'll set you up with my tailor's contact info

T: Gimme a sex

Jason snorts, and before he's even really thought it through, he's typing back.

J: Nah I don't put out until the third date

It's several minutes before Tim responds—likely he's gotten distracted by something; it's the middle of the workday in his time zone, after all—and when he does it's as indignant as Jason expects.

T: What?

T: No!

T: A sex!

T: A SEC!

T: Autocorrect.

J: Methinks the lady doth protest too much

T: Ur an ass

J: It's okay Timbers you don't have to lie

J: First step is admitting you have a problem

T: Forget it. No favor for you.

Jason sniggers at that, earning curious glances from Roy and Kori, but he shakes his head. No need to explain the joke.

⁂

He still ends up getting in contact with Tim's tailor. Turns out the kid even insisted on paying for whatever Jason wanted upfront.

Which he's not going to say no to.

Somehow, taking Tim's money doesn't feel as fraught with implication as taking Bruce's.

It doesn't stop him from sending a needling message as he's leaving the store after ordering several disgustingly expensive suits. (Seriously, what the hell is it with rich people?)

J: So are you my sugar daddy now?

He never gets a reply.

⁂

The next time it happens, he brushes it off as Tim just being a hot mess.

Jason's just returned from his space adventure on the Starfire, and for once in his life, he got the girl. Isabel's a hell of a woman, taking whatever comes at her in stride even when she's scared out of her mind.

She's also not shy and is more than happy to take control in bed when it becomes clear Jason's a bit out of his element. She doesn't comment on it either, which he appreciates.

Sex is kind of awesome when you're not a stand-in for someone else…or when the person you're sleeping with isn't planning on stabbing you in the back.

Literally.

Afterward, when the sleepy afterglow fades and Isabel heads to the bathroom to clean up, Jason strains over the side of the bed to grab his pants and rummage around for his phone. He's had it turned off for several hours since they arrived in Gotham and should probably check in with Roy and Kori.

As he turns it on and goes through his messages, Isabel returns, slipping back under the bedsheets and curling into his side.

"Any other interplanetary disasters?" she asks.

"Nah," Jason replies, watching a series of message notifications dance across his screen. "Even if there were, someone else can deal. I'm ready to sleep for a week."

"Just sleep?" she purrs.

"Well," he trails off, giving her an exaggerated once-over, "arguments could be made for other stuff. Give me another twenty minutes."

"Someone's confident…"

Jason doesn't reply frowning as he thumbs through the notifications. A few messages from Roy, mostly consisting of emojis that Jason doesn't know the meaning of, but figures involve something dirty; one missed call from Alfred (because the man refuses to text); and then a text from Tim.

T: Heading back to Gotham this weekend. Want to grab dildos together?

T: *dinner

T: I swear I meant dinner don't be a jerk

Jason snorts and shoots back his response.

J: Dinner and dildos?

J: Is this one of those new trends you dang kids are into these days?

J: What are they teaching you in sex ed?

Isabel's chin settles on his bicep, eyeing the contact name. "So, who's…Babybird?"

"A tech genius that apparently never figured out how to turn off autocorrect," Jason replies. "We're family. But not really." He thinks about it. "Sort of? It's complicated."

"Like so much of your life," she says, amused, and then mock sighs. "It's my own fault. You distracted me before we could have the 'previous partners' talk."

"I distracted you?"

"Ah, see? A confession," she teases, which earns an eye-roll. "Seriously, though, if you've got something going on with this Babybird person, it's not really fair for her if you're stepping out with me."

"Whoa, whoa—there is so much wrong with that sentence," Jason protests. "First of all, there's nothing going besides some epic text fails. Second, he's a guy—not that I mind, or anything, but he's not my type—and third, and most importantly, I don't cheat."

The idea of it is almost physically distasteful.

"Well, how am I supposed to know? You lead a James Bond kind of life."

"Does that make you Pussy Galore?" Jason leers.

"I totally walked into that one," Isabel groans, head falling back on her pillow. A beat later, she lifts herself up and leans over Jason. "You're lucky you're cute."

When she leans over to kiss him, Jason is still frowning at his phone out of the corner of his eye.

The time on Tim's last message was several hours ago, while Jason was still onboard the Starfire. He's also practically attached to his phone and has never made Jason wait more than a few minutes for a response.

It could be something.

Or maybe the kid decided on a long over-due nap.

Either way, when Isabel ducks under the sheets, Jason tosses his phone to one side and promptly forgets all about Tim in favor of more interesting pursuits.

⁂

Turns out he should have gone with that first instinct.

The night starts going to hell when the Joker drugs Isabel and leaves her for Jason to find, followed by a run-in with Gotham's finest and a convoluted mess that has Jason walking right into an obvious trap.

What he doesn't expect is ending up face-to-unconscious-face with Red Robin, or the impromptu team-up to try to take out the pasty-faced fucker that's already killed Jason once.

In retrospect, there are worse people he could end up fighting side-by-side with against the Joker. Since his ever-unresolved Bruce-and-Joker issues make fighting the bastard beside Batman as loaded as a gun, and Dick might as well be Bruce 2.0 in that respect, Tim's the next most obvious choice.

(Damian will never be someone he wants to fight with him beside the Joker; one Robin has already died by the clown's hand, even if the kid's a walking weapon, Jason won't watch him be the next.)

And there's a certain amount of ease in working with Tim.

Sure, every Bat can instantly adapt to a given field situation, falling back into a pattern of camaraderie even if outside of the mask they'd rather be throwing punches.

But with Tim, there's inherent ease. Before his grand return to Gotham, Jason studied his replacement's style as much if not more than Bruce and Dick. He had been obsessed with figuring out what this kid had that made Bruce stick him in the costume within months of Jason's death. And he knows all about how Tim has been following Batman and Robin as a kid, how Bruce made him commit Jason's fighting style and his eventual fate to memory as a constant reminder of the pitfalls of failure in this business.

Maybe that's why he's so confident against the very worst Gotham has to offer ("Pfft. When don't I have a plan?"), and why he doesn't panic when Jason pretends to play into the Joker's twisted need for dramatic in-fighting. The kid's smart—so smart he figures the trick out before Jason can even fathom it—and in this business, that's everything.

Or almost everything.

It doesn't really do much to allay the panic of staring at what looks like his own face swimming in soup before him, or the discovery that the clown knows all of their identities or the terrifying sensation of Joker toxin taking over their bodies and minds.

Jason's always sort of suspected the freak knew, at least about him, but that he knows who everyone else is…

It's a hard pill to swallow.

Knowing that Bruce was aware of it the whole time?

Well, that's another kick in the nuts.

Jason's always calling Bruce out for his callousness, would believe him capable of almost anything if it means succeeding in his mission, but somehow, he never expected this.

It's worse for the others.

Bruce letting Jason down is just par for the course; for the others, they all expect more from him.

Tim leaves for New York as soon as his bloods come back normal, without any kind of goodbye. Jason's not surprised; Timmers takes the whole team-thing seriously. He's kind of like an overly anal-retentive camp counselor that way.

And the Titans are a bunch of teenagers with more balls than brains, so there's need for it. Jason doesn't have to worry about Roy and Kori the same way.

(Or Kori, at least.)

Still, he's inexplicably concerned that he didn't get to check in with Tim before he left. At least to apologize for pretending to kill him just to keep the Joker busy.

As if hastened by his thoughts, his phone buzzes as he's throwing on his clothes in preparation to get the hell out of dodge. Glancing down at the screen, he feels a brief relief when Babybird flashes at the top message. And when he opens it up, there's a reply to his earlier message.

(God, how was that less than twelve hours ago?)

J: Dinner and dildos?

J: Is this one of those new trends you dang kids are into these days?

J: What are they teaching you in sex ed?

T: Bold of you to assume I took sex ed

T: Don't you watch the news?

T: Politicians think promise rings and abstinence-only education covers everything

The response is flip and casual, and totally unrelated to their latest ordeal; unexpectedly, it makes Jason smile.

J: So how do the dildos fit in?

T:…

T: A gentleman never tells

Jason laughs outright at that.

An overpowering relief hits him then, that they're okay. Nothing about their dynamic has been affected by last night. On the heels of that realization, comes a wariness.

He's not looking to be okay with any of the Bats—doesn't need anyone's approval or good graces. But being okay with Tim is…important to him.

Which.

He's not ready to deal with the implications of right then.

To the point where he'd rather have a face-to-face with Bruce, which he promptly decides to do.

⁂

Things never go that easy, of course.

His grand, angsty exit is ruined by a parting gift from the Joker, and several nights in a medically induced coma while Alfred and Bruce try to fix the burns on his face and neck.

When Jason wakes up, Bruce is his usual emotionally constipated self, and everyone has a big cry, and Jason decides to stick around a little longer.

Not for himself, mind, but for the kid.

Damian's got a lot of issues to work through—issues his father clearly isn't prepared to handle. Jason just hopes death and resurrection won't be needed to get the brat's head on straight.

Besides, he hasn't checked in on his territory for a while, and when he's away from Crime Alley too long, people start to get ideas. Ideas that require bad guys getting their heads knocked together and kneecaps shattered.

Maybe he and Bruce have arrived at some kind of stalemate on that because he doesn't get any angry visits from the Bat. Or maybe Bruce is trying to dad.

Either way, Jason is left to his devices for the next few weeks, which is just how he likes it.

He falls into a predictable routine—sleeps until noon, restocks his safehouses and preps his weapons, heads out into the night to take care of business, and then collapses into bed. Rinse and repeat. Sometimes he even switches it up and spends a day catching up on his reading or watching TV.

On one of those afternoons, he's lounging in front of the slightly cracked television screen of his apartment, mentally promising himself just one more round of channel-surfing before he turns the damn thing off when he lands on a news channel.

They're covering some charity event in San Francisco, ribbon cutting or baby-kissing or whatever it is rich people do that Jason never really paid attention to. What does catch his interest, though, is a familiar figure standing on the sidelines while some suit blathers on at a podium.

Tim's eyes have pouches beneath them, and he looks absolutely wrecked despite his tailored suit and perfect hair and the impeccable make-up covering his bruises. Jason's already digging his phone out and sending a text he doubts will be read any time soon, ordering him to take a nap.

To his surprise, on-screen, Tim tenses and his hand moves to his pocket, surreptitiously digging out his phone. He glances at it—probably intending to ensure it's not a Bat-related emergency—before his eyes widen and his cheeks go bright red.

"Okay, not the reaction I was going for," Jason mutters. "Kid must be starved for affection if he gets like that when someone tells him to—"

He looks back at his phone, re-reads the message he sent, and promptly dissolves into laughter.

J: You look exhausted take anal would ya

Onscreen, Tim has straightened his shoulders and is still playing calm to the camera, but Jason can see the furious movement of his thumbs as he types out a reply one-handed.

T: WTF Jason

J: Sorry

J: My bad

J: Meant to say anal

J: *a nap

He's laughing as he sends it. Tim peeks down at the screen as it vibrates, jaw clenching like he's gritting his teeth, and cheeks still not losing any of their color.

T: Stop texting me I'm busy

J: Then stop answering

J: Geeze you really could use some anal

He's pretty sure if the cameras weren't rolling, Tim would be flipping him the bird right now.

Still laughing his ass off, Jason turns off the television and gets up to find his gear, distantly trying not to remark on the fact that Tim Drake is kind of cute when he blushes.

⁂

A few days later, Jason is crouched next to a gargoyle on the roof of Gotham National, waiting for Tim to show up with some intel on a sex-trafficking ring he's been keeping tabs on for a month now.

It's raining and cold and miserable, and he just wants to get somewhere dry, and why couldn't he have not been stubborn about meeting Tim at the Cave? It's not like he doesn't have a standing, if reluctant, invitation. Or like he'd actually run into Bruce there—the Bat's apparently testing the security at Arkham again tonight.

Jason could be eating an Alfred-made sandwich right now, or even better-leftovers.

Snarling, he digs out his phone with frozen fingers and taps out.

J: Hurry the hell up I'm freezing my balls off here

T: Hold on I'm coming

Jason pauses, frowns up at the rain, and decides why not? Grinning viciously through his chattering teeth, he types out,

J: Geeze Timbo I haven't even touched you yet

J: you need to develop some staying power

He doesn't get a response until ten minutes later.

"I swear to god, Jason," Tim growls as he lands beside Jason, scowling beneath his cowl. He's wearing the full regalia tonight given the weather. "Do you have to turn everything into innuendo?"

"No names in the field," Jason taunts, wondering if he's imagining the light pink color across Tim's lower cheeks. "And I do no such thing. If you're the one interpreting it that way, that's all on you."

"Bullshit. You've got a puerile mind."

"Look at you with you highfalutin' ten-dollar words, Damian."

"Now who's using names?" Tim grumbles. "And I'll have you know my words go for at least $307.10 given historical inflation rates."

"You nerd."

"Keep insulting me and I drop this drive over the roof, and you get to go dumpster diving."

Jason rolls his eyes and holds his hand out for the plastic data stick. "Calm your shit, replacement. Gimme."

"'Gee, thanks Red Robin, for going out of your way and leaving your team behind just to hand me over data that couldn't be online for reasons I won't admit to'." Tim bitches in a terrible approximation of Jason's East End accent, though he drops the drive into his outstretched palm. "'No problem, Hood, I'm not in the least interested in what you have planned for this information or whether we're about to see a repeat of the duffle bag incident.'"

"Aw, thanks for understanding, babybird," Jason croons. "Seriously, though, been meaning to ask." He waves his phone. "Either you're really bad at dirty texting, or you and your little Titan friends have some pretty raunchy conversations." He leers. "Curious to know which it is."

Tim's scowls. "Gar keeps messing with my phone."

"Suuuuure."

Though that tracks; he remembers what a shit the little green monster could be.

"At least I have an excuse. You're just a degenerate."

"And don't you forget it."

"Jokes asides, though," Tim's stance becomes a little more relaxed, "you're not about to start another mob war and then disappear for months, are you?"

"Careful—almost sounds like you've missed me."

"Maybe I'm just enjoying the rare bit of peace and quiet."

Jason snorts. "You've been in California too long if you think peace is even possible in Gotham."

"I live in hope."

"Lame," Jason drawls.

"Fine. Maybe I'm just trying to figure you out," Tim suggests. "You keep yourself apart from all of us, but you're still always there when we need you. You're a Bat, but you're not. You're family…but not." He shrugs, mouth turned down in a frown that Jason thinks is more self-directed than meant for him. "Everyone has a role or fits in somehow, and you just…"

He leaves it hanging and shrugs.

Jason has half a mind to return the gesture, a little taken aback that Tim Drake has given any thought whatsoever about how Jason fits with the Family. He's always been of the mind that unless he's up in their faces, everyone kind of just forgets about him.

"Newsflash, kid—I never fit in," he says at last. "And who the hell decided fitting in was a good thing?"

"I never said it was good or bad. I just said it's confusing."

"Yeah, well, living with the Bat is confusing; it makes it hard to see outside of those neat black and white lines. I've said it before, but you should get out from under his shadow for a bit. And I don't mean steal someone else's shadow, by the way."

He juts his chin at the costume that was once his.

"You're just jealous that it looks better on me," Tim replies, tone a half-hearted attempt to veer away from what is potentially a minefield of a discussion.

The weather's already depressing enough, they don't need to get into all of that.

"Eh, I guess it's not exactly a chore to look at you," Jason allows as he straightens up and presses his fist into his palms, cracking the knuckles on one hand and then the other. "Want to go see if there are any schmucks crazier than we are out tonight?"

Tim's mouth is open-somewhat, and there's the barest puzzling stutter as he replies, "Y-yeah. Not like I have anywhere else to be."

"That's the spirit. And hey—hitting people in the face is a sure-fire way to clear up weird thoughts rattling around your noggin'."

"You talk like an eighty-year-old."

"You look like one."

He ducks the kick Tim aims at his shin, shooting his grapple as he hops off the roof, somehow confident that the other man is following close behind.

⁂

Somehow, that first impromptu team-up becomes a thing.

Twice a week, when Tim isn't overwhelmed with official Bat business, or in California or New York with the Titans, he and Jason inevitably run into each other on patrol. It can't be anything other than intentional, considering how large Gotham City is and how far away from each other their respective patrol routes are, but Jason finds he doesn't mind.

Unlike if it were Bruce or Dick or Damian, it doesn't feel like someone keeping an eye out on him to ensure he doesn't snap. It's almost like working alongside Roy or Kori.

And maybe, possibly, the idea of getting to work with Tim more often—of having a reason to be more involved—might have something to do with his agreement to work with Bruce again. To set aside the red helmet and their issues, and don the mantle of Wingman for the sake of Batman's latest plan.

Bruce's vision is scarily easy to lean into, bringing with it the possibility of second chances and actual out-of-the-mask friendships.

And then Damian dies.

And Jason isn't even there to see it. Is off running a stupid op for Batman Inc., instead of beside Dick and Tim, and jumping in at the last minute to save the little brother he never even wanted. He even misses the damned funeral.

Dick calls, leaving messages that range from rambling to nothing but crying; Jason ditches his phone. Gets a new one. Somehow Tim manages to get his number because he texts a few times before Jason goes off the grid entirely.

He tries to talk to Bruce about it all, later, but all that leads to is another horrendous fight that sends him trekking to the ass-end of nowhere, and S'aru, and getting rid of all the poisonous memories and feelings eating away at him.

Roy and Kori drag him out of it—because of course they do—and then there's that whole bit with the Untitled and Ra's al Ghul, and after that Jason just needs a break from any more magic and drama and just…everything.

It's the better part of a year before he can stomach the idea of contacting anyone again before he eventually decides it's time to return home. He needs to face the city again, needs to face Bruce again, and doesn't want to do it alone.

At the same time, he doesn't want Roy or Kori with him on this because as much as they are his family, they don't really understand being part of the Family. It's several days after he makes the decision to return that he reaches out to Tim, half-hoping for a quick response and half-hoping he's ditched his old number and gotten a new one.

J: Hey

J: So I'm headed back to Gotham

J: Assuming it's still standing

He stares at the words, feeling the inexplicable need to justify his absence, even though he knows out of everyone, Tim's the last person who would need that.

J: Sorry I've been off-grid

J: Would you believe magic and aliens were involved?

He pauses again and adds a final,

J: On a scale of 1 to Eat A Dick, how pissed off are you?

And then he waits.

He absolutely does not twiddle his thumbs or contemplate tossing this new phone and forgetting the whole thing.

Nor does he scramble when his phone buzzes in reply; half expecting a message telling him his text didn't send.

T: Pissed enough that I'll probably punch you the next time I see you

T: Not pissed off enough to condone cannibalism

T: Dick's had it hard enough

Jason can't hold back the startled huff at that. Somehow, Tim's still willing to talk to him—willing to banter with him. He didn't realize how much he relied on those inane, quippy texts.

J: I could make a joke there

J: But given the serious situation I won't

J: See how I've grown?

T: That remains to be seen

T: When will you be here?

He pauses, lips pursed as he considers; he'd been planning on easing into it, taking his time to pack his things and make a slow return, maybe make a small road-trip out of it.

Jason decides he can do that at any time.

J: Probably tomorrow

J: Just need to hop a flight

J: you still in Cali?

He pauses before suggesting meeting Tim there if he is. Because they aren't that close.

T: No I'm home

T: Pretty much running WE since everything

Jason winces.

T: Let me know when you get in

T: I can pick you up at the airport

T: You know

T: So I can punch you

He smirks.

J: As long as it's you and not Concerned Older Brother I'll give you a furry

T: ?

T : I think I'm good…

Jason groans and lets his face fall into his hands because obviously his attempt carefully re-connecting his complicated and as-yet-undefined relationship with Tim Drake is incomplete without

J: a FREEBIE

J: jfc

T: brb dying

J: shut up

J: that's my thing

J: somehow this is Roy's fault

T: uh-huh

T: never mind Roy's been in Star City for two days now

J: careful, baby bird, your stalker is showing

T: stalking is how we show we care

Jason pointedly ignores reading too much into that last line.

⁂

It's a simple matter, getting to an airport once he leaves the Outlaw's usual island getaway, and buying a ticket for the first flight to Gotham. It's always been surprisingly easy to fly despite the fact he's technically wanted in several countries. Roy's talents for false IDs are unparalleled, and money does talk.

Jason spends the flight sleeping so as not to have to think too closely about the implications of returning to Gotham, and it's only once they've landed in the dreary, smoggy city of his birth that he wakes.

Once he gets off the plane and checks his phone, there's already a message from Tim.

T: So am I licking you up or not?

Jason raises an eyebrow at that; seconds later, three dots flash, and then a second message:

T: Picking!

T: I meant picking!

Jason starts laughing, the sound bursting out of him in almost surprise. It's the first time he's had the urge to laugh since Damian's death.

Before he can really process that, another message comes in.

T: Jason don't you dare

And really, how can he do anything else after an invitation like that?"

J: Not sure I'm into that sort of thing

T: Forget it

T: I'm not picking you up

T: You're a troll

J: Aw, come on

J: I'll buy you dinner

And is it just him, or does he hold his breath a little bit waiting for the answer to that?

Eventually,

T: Fine. But no chili dogs

J: You suck the fun out of everything

T:…

T: I'm not going anywhere near that one.

⁂

Tim is waiting for him outside of Arrivals, leaning against what he and Bruce would call a civilian car but which Jason knows probably costs more than a year's college tuition. He's dressed casually, in a hooded peacoat and wearing sunglasses, and his hair's longer than Jason remembers.

It suits him in a way that makes Jason's stomach flip, and so to cover that he affects a sneer. "Finally got tired of wearing B's old suits? Giving the tortured beatnik look a try?"

"Well, I needed something to compliment the scruffy hobo chic you've got going on," Tim counters, pushing off the car and moving toward him. He's leaning on a cane, which Jason didn't notice before.

Alarm frissons through him. "What happened?"

"It's been a long year," Tim replies, nodding his head toward the passenger seat of the car. "Tell you along the way."

"Along the way where?"

"Dinner. I know this great sushi place."

Jason snorts as he opens the door, tosses his duffel into the back seat, and sits down. "More money than god and you can't afford a cooked meal? It's sad, really."

"Not as sad as someone who grew up with nothing and has the balls to turn his nose up at food."

"Raw fish isn't food, it's compost."

"Uncultured swine," Tim says as they pull away from the airport, but it isn't said with any heat. "Don't worry, where we're going, they've got other stuff, too. Pretty sure someone with your refined palette can find something."

"If that's a subtle way of insulting my tastes, I'm telling Alfred."

"Low blow."

"Seriously, though, what's with the cane? Someone shoot you?"

"Not me, technically," Tim replies, and then launches into a story about the time Jason's missed, including an elaborate attempt at getting Vicki Vale to stop trying to prove he's Red Robin.

"A year," Jason repeats. "You've been everywhere on crutches or a cane for a year?"

"Almost a year. And not crutches anymore, as you saw. Miraculous recovery and all."

"Of course. I bet she loved that."

"She's still poking around, but not as overtly," Tim informs him. "I'm guessing pushing conspiracy theories about a crippled teenager being Robin puts a dent in her credibility." They pull up to a fast food place offering Asian fusion cuisine; it's somewhere Alfred wouldn't allow either of them to be caught dead in. "What about you? What have you been up to?"

He asks it, casual like it hasn't been almost a year since they were in contact. Jason knows right then they aren't going to talk about it; none of the emotional stuff, none of the landmine level explosive issues lying in wait.

He's exceedingly grateful for that.

Jason ends up giving Tim an abridged version of everything while they eat, not leaving anything important out but also not going into too much detail. There are certain aspects about his life—mostly related to the All-Caste—that he's not ready for the Family to know.

"So now I'm ready for my grand comeback," he finishes. "Curious to see how bad the Alley's gotten while I've been away."

"B's been looking out for it actually."

Jason freezes, staring at him. "What?"

"Yeah. On the rare occasion he's actually in Gotham, that's where he spends his nights." Tim takes a sip of jasmine tea, expression becoming solemn. "I don't know how much of that is feeling bad for how you two left things, or because everywhere else in the city reminds him of Damian."

Jason frowns and takes a sip of the beer he ordered; he's unsure what possibility makes him the most uncomfortable.

"Are you going to visit—"

"If it isn't the young Mr. Wayne!" an irritatingly familiar voice fawns; both Jason and Tim look up to watch a familiar redhead stride toward them. "What a coincidence!"

"With you, Vicki, I stopped believing in coincidence years ago," Tim informs the reporter, slotting instantly into his polite-charmer persona.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she says and holds up a to-go bag. "I'm just here on my lunch break." Vicki turns to Jason, eyes considering as they flick up and down his form; the gesture would be appraising or even flirtatious on anyone else, but from her, it's penetrating and invasive.

Also kind of gross since she used to date Bruce.

"Who's your friend?" she asks.

"Bodyguard," Tim replies easily.

"Right," she says, obviously not buying it. "I guess you're not exactly as able to get out of danger these days." She considers his cane. "How is your recovery going?"

"Slow but continuous. Which you already know, having accessed my medical files."

"That would be unethical," she replies. "But I do pay attention at the conferences you hold, you know. Just because I'm not the one asking the questions doesn't mean I zone out."

"Obviously."

"Although, you know what I have noticed in the past few conferences and Wayne functions?" she begins, affecting a pensive expression. "The conspicuous absence of Damian Wayne. When just last year he was standing beside you and the older Mr. Wayne looking like someone peed in his cheerios. How's he doing?"

The sharp, burning flash of anger that shoots through Jason is nothing compared to the hard chill emanating from Tim now.

Tim was never close with Damian, but they were still family; obviously his death hit him harder than he might pretend.

"Visiting with his mother," he says calmly.

"And who's that? Off-the-record. It's a question Brucie never has answered properly."

"And won't be," Jason interrupts and gestures at Tim. "You're late for your appointment, Mr. Drake."

"Yes, thank you, Miles," Tim says, already standing. "A pleasure, as usual, Vicki. I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon."

"You can bet on it."

Jason ushers Tim out, adopting a protective stance he's used before on many an undercover bodyguard job. He's tempted to put his arm around Tim's tense shoulders but stops himself because that's more something family does and not a bodyguard.

He wouldn't put it past Vicki to follow them all the way to Tim's car.

Neither of them relaxes until they're in the car—Jason takes the driver's seat, just in case she is watching—and have driven a few blocks away.

Tim's fists remain clenched on his knees, eyes flinty, and Jason wonders if the kid might not be coming up with another plan to deal with Vale, this time permanently.

Knowing how much he appreciates time to cool off, he gives them a full ten minutes of silence before he checks in.

"So," he begins, eyes flicking toward him. "'Miles', huh?"

Tim blinks. "What?"

"Do you actually think I look like a Miles?"

Tim snorts. "It was the first name that came to me. One of WE's lawyers are named Miles, and I've been fielding calls from him all morning."

"And the bodyguard story?"

"It's all I could come up with."

"Probably a better alternative than making Vicki Vale think the most eligible bachelor in Gotham has a boyfriend," Jason allows.

"Bruce has a boyfriend?" Tim asks innocently. That earns a snort of laughter. "If it wasn't something that would have Vale snooping around you and getting mixed up in your business, that's exactly what I'd let her think."

"Right…can't have her accidentally getting killed. Bruce would be on my ass in an instant."

"Even if it were my fault," Tim agrees, somewhat ruefully; they both know that when it comes to Jason, Bruce loses his shit at him first, and asks questions later.

"Granted, the look on her face would have been priceless," Jason muses, "but knowing you, you'd have to keep up that ruse for another year."

He nods at the cane leaning against the interior of the door, earning a sheepish smile from Tim. "Not sure you could commit that long?"

Jason is affronted.

"Do I look like Dick?" he demands. "I'll have you know I'm the epitome of commitment. If anything, I'd have to worry about you. Since you have to keep up that billionaire playboy reputation."

"That's easily faked," Tim dismisses. "Stage a few break-ups and make-ups, then settle down a few years later and it's believable."

"Of course you have a scenario for this," Jason says with a shake of the head, taking the next right turn. He's sort of just driving in the general direction of his most habitable safe-house since he doesn't know where else to go.

Tim laughs that off. "Not like I'd ever do that."

"Yeah, it'd be a bitch to keep that kind of act up on top of the nighttime gig."

"And can you imagine the looks on Bruce and Dick's faces if they had to go along with it? And all the questions they'd have to field at any public functions?"

Jason's eyes widen, hit by a sudden mental image, and a feeling of absolute glee rolls through him.

"Forget Vicki—I would do it just for that," he breathes, giddy. "I would legally come back from the dead just to fuck with them like that."

"The problem with that is then we'd both legally be Waynes, which is a little more scandal than I'm going for, thanks."

"So dating a gun-toting, scarred, formerly-homicidal dead guy that spends most of his nights in body armor is okay, but when the legal technicalities start that's what you think people would stick on?"

"Oh, sweet summer child, you really don't know, do you?" Tim counters with a smile that seems almost fond. "And here I thought you were from Gotham."

Jason throws his head back in a laugh.

"True. These are the people that get invested whenever Joker and Harley break up."

"Oh, haven't you heard? That's completely over. For good this time."

"No shit?"

"She and Poison Ivy are a thing now."

Jason whistles. "Well, what do you know? Good for her. Glad she finally dropped that fucker. Hope it was off a tall building…"

"If only we were that lucky," Tim agrees, and there's an honest hint of a wish in that.

"One day," Jason vows, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "One day, Bruce won't be there to stop it, and I just hope it's me that does the dropping." Tim nods, thoughtful. "What, no lecture? No attempts to stop me from committing murder?"

"If anyone has just cause to kill the Joker, it'd be you," Tim says slowly, "and even if I don't agree with it…even if I don't think you should go down to that level to deal with him, I understand why you would."

Jason squints at him, trying to process that; it's the closes he's ever gotten to acknowledgment and approval concerning his plans for the Joker from someone that wasn't Roy or Kori. And somehow it carries even more weight coming from Tim.

Tim meets his eyes for a beat, an intense something there that Jason can't quite read, and then it's gone; the Tim-Drake-Wayne screen comes back online, complete with a wry smile and affected humor.

"Besides, what kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn't support my partner's goals?" he asks with would-be frankness. "That's a sure way to another break-up."

Jason can't help the guffaw of surprise, allowing the serious moment to fade back into their earlier banter. "And what were the other ones for?"

"Oh, you know. The obvious. I work too much, don't help with the housework-"

"Threaten to punch me."

"To be fair, I didn't follow through, did I?"

"Ride's not over yet."

"True. Also, I can't figure out how to turn the autocorrect off my phone and end up sending you dirty messages at inopportune times…"

"Well, I can help with that," Jason grins, reaching for Tim's phone, only to get a surprising smack against his fingers in return.

"You permit yourself strange liberties, sir," the younger man tells him primly. "Also, I don't trust you not to mess around with it so much that everything I type turns to 'dick'."

"Add 'lack of trust' the list of reasons to break up."

They grin at each other in shared amusement for a few seconds, before the gist of their conversation actually sinks in. They've been standing here for several minutes, effectively planning a fake relationship with one another.

"Careful, Drake," Jason warns as they pull onto his street. "Keep it up with that fancy talk and you could give a man ideas."

Tim startles at that, tilts his head to one side like he's weighing the pros and cons of something, and then smiles a slow, smug thing that has Jason swallowing a few times. "Are they good ideas at least?"

And boy-howdy, isn't that a question?

Images and scenarios, he hasn't even realized he's been considering flit through his mind on fast-forward and in surround sound. Along with the very real possibility that he's legitimately flirting with Tim Drake.

And Tim Drake may actually be flirting back!

"Jury's still out," Jason says, at last, thankful he can keep his voice level and not crack.

"Well, keep me posted," Tim says, with the same ease as if it's a business discussion, and the heavy moment vanishes.

Instantly Jason's stomach drops, thinking maybe he's reading way too much into this.

But when they pull up to the curb outside his place and he gets out of the car to grab his bag and then relinquish Tim's keys, the shorter man is giving him an appraising look.

Unlike with Vicki, this one makes Jason feel very hot under the collar.

"Thanks," Tim says as he takes his keys—fingers brushing just a shade too long. "See you around?"

"In this city?" Jason manages, taking a grounding step back from the car. "Count on it."

"Maybe I'll even buy you dinner next time," Tim offers and climbing back into the driver's seat. Before Jason can think up a reply, the other man's waving through the window and pulling the car away.

Jason continues to stare even long after the car is gone, wondering if the sudden sociability after so long in isolation might possibly be cooking his brain.

His phone buzzes, and he fishes it out to see a text notification from Tim that has him choking; he's not sure if it's from laughter or shock.

T: Dildos are optional.

Look at that. I wrote something shorter than 10 000 words! I think that's a first for this fandom... I may do a continuation, but for now this is a standalone. Hope you liked it! /i

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

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😫 whyyyyyyy?!