#Bruce: *mental note to ask Steph why she revealed the family's secret* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iatethepomegranate · 5 years

Text

Homecoming Chapter 24

Masterlist (I’m going to experiment with internal links and see if tumblr will disappear this chapter from the tag if I do this)

Pairing: DickTiger

Rating: Teen (this chapter)

Length: 5.5k

Summary: Secrets in Wayne Manor rarely remain secret. Tiger has tough decisions to make.

Notes: I'm making up my own scraps on canon because I have no idea what canon currently looks like. And, honestly, canon sucks like 75% of the time anyway. So there.

Warnings: references to alcohol, references to mental health issues. These are mostly addressed in passing.

****

Chapter 24

Tiger used to be good at multitasking. His life had depended on it as a double agent for Checkmate. Now, trying to juggle Dick’s condition, Bruce’s knowledge that he’d shot Alia, his own guilt and the looming issue of Checkmate threatened to send him into a breakdown.

He was beginning to understand why Jason drank so much, and that made him increasingly grateful for his faith. It was the only thing holding him together some days. Taking time out to pray and read the Quran forced him to slow his thoughts and direct them away from self-pity and anxiety. Thus, Tiger found himself sticking to his prayer schedule much more diligently than he had in a while. He asked Allah’s forgiveness for his lapse, and the peace he found in prayer seemed to tell him that forgiveness had been granted.

Praying alongside Damian was the only time the world felt even remotely stable.

As soon as he stepped out of the room and Dick wasn’t there to bother him, however, the world turned sideways again. Even if Dick were awake, he likely wouldn’t have the strength to drag himself out of bed for a few more hours at least.

Damian pinched his arm. “Alfred will have begun making breakfast. We should help him.”

Tiger managed a smile. “Dick tells me your ‘help’ means sitting at the counter and criticising everyone’s cooking.”

“If a talentless nobody from Gotham can be paid to tell other people how to cook, why am I not allowed to do the same?”

Tiger had no idea who exactly Damian was referencing, but it didn’t matter. “A compelling argument. Lead the way.”

“I heard you shot Agent 8 before she could turn Grayson into a puppet,” Damian said as they walked.

“And where did you hear that?” Tiger was past the point of concern, since the worst had already happened. He was, however, curious.

“Todd and Drake are not as subtle as they think.”

“Is there anyone in this house who does not know?”

“No. Brown and Cain were eavesdropping as well. Pennyworth, of course, knows everything.”

“I see.” Tiger wasn’t sure if this made him feel better or worse. “And Barbara?”

“Gordon also knows everything. She was once an information broker.”

Tiger could feel the beginnings of a headache pinching his temples. “Do any of you have privacy in this house?”

“It depends.”

They reached the kitchen.

“Good morning, sirs,” Alfred said, whisking a bowl of batter. He asked Damian to chop some fruit and Tiger was tasked with cracking more eggs. They worked peacefully together for a while. Tiger had forgotten how good it felt to keep his hands busy and let his mind rest.

He was beginning to miss gardening. He hadn’t had the opportunity since the undercover mission in Gloria’s neighbourhood had ended. He was tempted to ask Alfred if he could help him in the garden but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Tiger could survive most social situations, but this family was not like most.

Cassandra arrived not long after Tiger had begun to grate cheese for omelettes. Alfred had her set the table. There was little discussion, aside from the occasional instruction from Alfred. Tiger found himself enjoying the peace of it… and then immediately wondered what was wrong with him.

Except for prayer time, Tiger did not consider himself the type of person to simply rest on his laurels. There was always something to do. Moments of inactivity were to be avoided whenever possible. And yet… he was quite content.

“Well, ain’t this fucking domestic.” Jason leaned against the kitchen door. He was paler than usual and the set of his mouth suggested nausea.

“Language, sir,” Alfred said mildly, dropping a fizzing tablet into a glass of water and passing it to him.

“Sorry,” Jason mumbled before immediately gulping down the whole glass.

Damian scoffed. “I thought Drake was being dramatic when he said you were indisposed last night.”

Jason rolled his eyes, and then immediately clapped a hand over them. “Ow. Bad idea.”

“I heard that, Damian.” Tim slid past Jason to grab a handful of cutlery from the drawer with the hand not occupied by a coffee mug. He smiled at Tiger. “Cass recruited me into table-setting duty.”

“Bribed you, more like.” Jason stole the coffee mug and downed its contents. Tim retreated to the dining room without acknowledging what had just happened. Tiger did not know what to make of that.

“Will Master Dick join us for breakfast this morning, sir?” Alfred asked.

“I am uncertain,” Tiger replied. Dick had been on the mend last night, but sometimes the fatigue after his migraines would linger and make it difficult for him to leave his bed.

Alfred sent him off to check on Dick. He passed Stephanie on the way, who pointed a pair of finger guns at him and made a clicking sound with her tongue. He did not understand, but it seemed friendly, so he nodded at her.

Tiger opened the bedroom door quietly, but he needn’t have bothered. Dick was sitting on the bed, fully dressed and tying his shoelaces. “’Morning, sunshine.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Mostly human.” Dick sat up. “And very hungry.”

“Breakfast will be ready soon.” Tiger helped him up. “You should eat.”

“That’s the plan.” Dick stepped closer and planted a kiss on Tiger’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Tiger came very close to giving a kneejerk I’m fine, but Dick’s eyes narrowed and he instantly knew that was not an acceptable answer.

“I missed you this morning,” he admitted.

Dick sighed. “I know. I would’ve been there if I felt up to it.”

Tiger took his hands, squeezing gently. “I know. I do not blame you.”

Dick squeezed back. “So, where have you been?”

“Damian insisted we help Alfred prepare breakfast.” Tiger paused, wanting to say more but not quite knowing how to articulate the feelings swirling inside him.

“And?” Dick prompted.

“I liked it.”

“Tiger, are you telling me you didn’t realise you liked cooking?” Dick grinned, haltingly at first as if waiting for it to hurt. “Have you, like, forgotten everything that happened while we were fake-married?”

“I repressed it.” That wasn’t entirely truthful, but the face Dick made at him was worth it.

Dick snorted. “Of course you did. Come on. I need food.”

Breakfast was weird. Jason was clearly hungover, so he wasn’t saying much, and Tim was preoccupied with his laptop. Dick was grateful for the quiet, since his head still didn’t feel quite right, but it was still disconcerting.

Then Steph went for the jugular. “Where were you last night, Jason?”

Tim sighed and kept typing.

Jason rubbed his eyes. “Mind your damn business.”

“Okay, just asking…”

Cass smacked her arm. Jason mumbled something about wishing he hadn’t gotten out of bed.

Damian rolled his eyes so hard his head moved. Mercifully, though, he just kept eating his omelette without adding to the conversation.

Last night felt like a bit of a fever dream to Dick. He wasn’t sure if it was coming off the migraine, or the fact Jason had spoken openly about his feelings that had done it. Both, probably.

Breakfast settled back into quiet, but an uneasy kind of quiet. Then the door squeaked open to reveal Bruce. Jason glared up at the ceiling before pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

Bruce took a seat and poured himself a cup of coffee. “How was your meeting with Duke last night?” he asked Tim.

Tim shrugged. “Fine. I talked to the Rows as well.”

“Did you ask that Cullen kid out yet?” Jason said.

Tim fixed him with a silent stare.

“What? He wants you to.”

Tim sighed. “I’m not having this conversation. Everyone’s doing fine, Bruce. Honestly, given how well they held the city the night we took down Spyral, you can probably afford to give them a longer leash.”

Bruce nodded silently and grabbed some oatmeal. “Anyone have something to report that we didn’t cover last night?”

“Oh, Catwoman’s showing her face again,” Steph replied. “Forgot to mention. I think she’s being a good girl, though.”

An exhausted look crossed Bruce’s face before he reset his expression. “We’ll see.” He visibly fortified himself with a spoonful of oatmeal. “Checkmate is increasing their presence in Gotham for the moment. I need everyone on alert.”

Barbara slipped into the room and took a seat.

“Has Helena given us any indication what they’re going to do with their Spyral prisoners?” Tim asked, looking up from his screen.

“They’re recruiting heavily,” Bruce replied. “It’s my understanding they haven’t decided what to do with Bannon yet. Bertinelli has strongly discouraged his recruitment, but her opinion may not matter.”

“I’ve spotted Helena a few times in Burnside,” Barbara added. “She doesn’t trust me at all, but she did mention she’s not sure Checkmate is listening to her about Bannon.”

Dick wasn’t sure what to do about that. Tiger could reveal himself as a Checkmate agent, but things were precarious enough already. But if he could convince them to avoid recruiting Bannon…

Tiger sighed. “I may be able to help.”

“May being the operative word,” Dick added. He didn’t know a huge amount about Tiger’s relationship with Checkmate, except he was trusted enough to undertake a long-term undercover mission in a rival spy agency on his own. That had to count for something, right?

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Is this about your affiliation with Checkmate?”

Tiger, to his credit, took that in his stride. “Yes.”

They stared at each other, and Dick was starting to wonder if an intervention would be required.

Jason cracked first. “Oh my fucking god just say something.”

“I need to report in to Checkmate regardless,” Tiger said. “They will ask for my report and I will have the chance to give recommendations.”

“Are we all just gonna skate over the fact Tiger’s literally been a Checkmate agent this whole time?” said Stephanie. “Like, am I the only person not keeping up?”

“Checkmate placed me in Spyral a number of years ago to stop them from finishing their mission,” Tiger explained flatly. “My goals aligned with Dick’s, even if our preferred methods did not. Fortunately, Dick was able to free Helena from Daedalus before I had to kill her.”

“Unfortunate for Agent 8 that she did not have the same opportunity,” Bruce said.

“We’ve already established Agent 8 was dead long before we got in the room,” Jason shot back.

A muscle twitched in Tiger’s jaw. Dick bumped their knees together.

“Can we focus on Bannon?” Dick said. “Tiger’s offering to explain to Maxwell Lord, and probably Amanda Waller if we’re being honest, that recruiting Bannon is a bad idea. Which it is. Shall I show off my scars? Or we could just wait until the next time I get a migraine?”

Bruce exhaled loudly through his nose. “Point taken. Tiger, if you think you can convince them, I won’t stop you. Do you intend to rejoin Checkmate?”

“No,” Tiger replied.

Jason raised his hands. “Well, that settles it. Now, out of respect to those of us with killer headaches, can we all shut up now?”

But Bruce was still watching Tiger. “You remained loyal to Checkmate for the duration of a very long undercover mission, which provided ample opportunity to defect. Ultimately, however, you carried out your mission and destroyed Spyral. Why not return to Checkmate?”

Tiger had somehow managed to retain eye contact. “Perhaps I have learned Checkmate is no longer the right place for me.”

Bruce just watched him.

Dick had to say something. “Yeah, I’d say going back to the organisation that wants to recruit the guy who tortured the shit out of both of us isn’t that appealing.”

“Even if I wanted to,” Tiger added, “it is unlikely I would pass their reintegration tests.”

“They just deputise people in the field most of the time anyway,” Tim said, tapping on his keyboard again. “Checkmate can afford to let an agent retire every so often.”

Tiger twitched a little at the word retirement. It was probably the correct word, but Dick supposed he hadn’t really thought about it like that. Or much at all. They had been preoccupied of late.

“We can always use more help in Gotham,” said Steph. “I think Tiger would look great in spandex.”

Tiger raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

“We’ve had that discussion already,” Dick said. “He vetoed the spandex.”

“Most of us don’t even wear spandex anymore,” Tim pointed out, frowning at his computer screen. “I think it’s safe to say Dick was the only one who ever liked wearing it.”

“Being able to bounce a quarter off my own ass isn’t any fun unless everyone else knows I can do it,” Dick replied. Tiger frowned at him.

“Is this another idiom? It is a bad one.”

“Is there such a thing as a good idiom?” said Tim.

Dick put a hand over his heart. “You take that back.”

Tim rolled his eyes and went back to typing. “I am very sorry, Dick. Please forgive me.”

Tiger looked like he had no idea what was going on. Which was fair. He and Damian shared a look.

It was probably for the best when Cassandra spoke up to bring everyone back on topic. “Tiger needs backup.”

Bruce nodded. “You have a point. Tiger, could you arrange a meeting if I provided a cell phone?”

“Yes.”

“Do it. We will arrange backup once we know when you are expected.”

It was a simple enough matter to call the external agent line and arrange a debriefing. Tiger didn’t typically use the phone line. It felt wrong to do it now. However, that was the technology Bruce had provided.

He was not sure what to make of this. He supposed it was not surprising to hear Bruce had known he was connected to Checkmate, but he still felt blindsided.

The matter of backup also had him on edge. He would have preferred Dick be on the mission, but that was not an option. Jason would likely not be chosen, either, especially now that his meeting had been scheduled during the day. He could not envision anyone from Dick’s family performing such a task in broad daylight.

Perhaps Helena was available.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dick had been lying in bed, watching the ceiling while Tiger had made the phone call. He had yet to fall ill today, but something didn’t seem… right. Tiger suspected he would have another attack tomorrow.

“I need to contact Helena,” Tiger said.

“For backup? Good idea. I’d go myself, but…”

“You are allergic to daylight.”

“Exactly.” Dick scowled; it didn’t suit him. “Fuck me… I really hope this isn’t permanent. I’m bored shitless. Seriously. I can’t even read.”

“Could you ever?”

“Oh, by all means, kick me when I’m down.” Dick pinched his leg. “This what they teach you at Checkmate?”

“Yes, we are trained to hurt your feelings. Yours specifically.”

“I can believe it.” Dick stretched. “You got a way to talk to her? I’ve got a communicator in here somewhere.”

“Yes, but Bruce may prefer to contact her himself… if he trusts her enough.”

“Ugh. I’ll talk to him.” Dick sat up slowly. “He’s probably down in the cave again.”

“The screens will give you a headache.”

“I’m already on the way to another migraine anyway.” Dick stood up and stretched. A joint cracked. “Ooh, that was nice.”

“Should I come with you?”

“Probably not.” Dick leaned down to kiss him. “I’ll be a few minutes. Probably. If you could go check on Jason, that’d be great. He’s been more off than usual since he and Bruce talked yesterday.”

“I am not the right person to address the problem.” Tiger knew very little about their problems, with the obvious exception that Jason died, came back and wanted the Joker dead.

“You don’t need to talk about it.” Dick crossed to the door. “Just hang out with him or something. Please?”

Tiger sighed. “Fine.” Saying no to Dick was hard at the best of times. So while Dick headed to the Batcave, Tiger knocked on Jason’s door.

“I’m not here,” Jason said.

“That is not how it works,” Tiger replied.

“Whatever. Come in.”

Tiger pushed the door open. Jason was sitting on his bed, twisting a screwdriver into the side of his grapple launcher. His face had more colour in it than it had this morning.

“Feeling better?” Tiger said dryly.

Jason snorted. “You really want the answer to that?” He set down the launcher. “Dick put you up to this?”

“Yes.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.” Jason patted the bed. “May as well come here. Should we braid each other’s hair? Talk about boys?”

Tiger sat down. “Are those normal activities for you?”

“Nah, I normally just scroll Grindr in my boxers while watching soap reruns.”

“Riveting.”

Jason shrugged. “Most of us aren’t one half of a battle couple.”

“A what?”

Jason laughed. That seemed like a good thing, but Tiger didn’t know him well enough to be certain. Dick would probably like it.

“You and Dick. Battle couple. You know, if you were in a movie you’d be standing back-to-back with a cool pose ready to kick some ass.”

That forced a single, bitter laugh out of Tiger without his permission. “Maybe we were like that before we left Spyral.”

“And now?”

“I’m not sure either of us will ever fight again.”

Jason lifted a knee to his chest and rested his chin on it. “Okay, so maybe if we can’t find medicine for Dick, or if he doesn’t get better on his own… he might not make it back into the field. But what’s stopping you?”

“Are you sure you want to have this conversation?” Tiger hadn’t even talked about this properly with Dick. He wasn’t sure where he stood.

“I asked.” Jason fixed him with a steady stare. Tiger had read his file; he was meant to have bluer eyes than this, but they were a disconcerting teal-green. Perhaps it was the Lazarus Pit. Either way, his stare was… penetrating. Tiger found himself answering.

“I don’t enjoy battle as much as I once did,” he admitted. “I am also experiencing… ethical concerns.”

“About killing people?”

“Yes.”

Jason sighed. “Look. I might not be the best guy to give advice, but maybe you should train more with Bruce. He’s a piece of work, but he’s a master of nonlethal combat. And maybe he’ll grow the fuck up if you spend more time with him. Hasn’t worked for me, but…”

It was worth considering, but that wasn’t the only thing on Tiger’s mind. He wasn’t sure he had the mental strength to work in the field anymore. It was easy enough to think it, but saying it was another matter entirely.

Jason was still looking at him. “I’ll be level with you, Tiger. We can always use an extra pair of hands here, but we’re not hurting for help. There are some new kids on the block who help out here and there. If you wanted to join us, I’d welcome you. But… it’s not for everyone. And, honestly? Every time someone successfully retires from this life, that’s a good thing. It proves to the rest of us that it’s possible. Because for some of us, the thought of not going out there every night is unthinkable. I mean, we literally don’t know how we’d cope without it. It’s a fucking addiction. So if in the end you decide you don’t want to fight anymore? Good for fucking you.”

“You’ve thought about retiring?”

“When I’m really fucking drunk, usually.” Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “And sometimes when I’m hungover. But I don’t think I’m ready for that. You talked about this with Dick yet?”

“No.”

“I get it. He’s got his own shit going on. You should talk to him, though.”

“I might, once we know if his migraines are treatable. I do not wish to add to his worries.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Dick likes it when you tell him shit. He’s like that with all of us.”

“Fine. If it comes up, I’ll tell him. If not…”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t know why I bother giving you relationship advice anyway. What the hell do I know?”

“Aside from how Grindr works? I have no idea.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, I set myself up for that one.”

Dick almost took his sunglasses down into the Batcave, but then he wouldn’t be able to see shit. So he didn’t. Bruce was parked at the computer, frowning at the screen like he often did. He just looked like that, even when he wasn’t pissed.

“I used to think you were mad when you glared at the screen like that,” Dick said, leaning against a part of the computer that kept him mostly angled away from the worst parts of the screens.

“Hm.” Bruce pressed a button and the screens dimmed a little. “You did often ask what you’d done wrong when you were little.”

“Yeah, because I thought you were pissed at me.”

Bruce glanced up at him. “Stephanie tells me I have that kind of face.”

“Well, yeah. You do.”

Bruce’s concentration frown eased a little. “Better?”

“I mean, it’s like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound, but it’ll do.”

Bruce managed not to roll his eyes, but it did look like his soul left his body for a second. “Did you need something?”

“Tiger arranged a meeting with Checkmate. It’s during the day, so he was thinking Helena might make good backup instead of one of us. She’ll attract less attention.”

“And your thoughts?”

“I agree with him. Most of us are either too famous or too dead. And, I mean, a media frenzy about me taking my new boyfriend out on the town wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened, but I’m currently allergic to daylight, so…”

Bruce glared at his screen again, and this time he did seem irritated. “I’ll consider it. Cass or Stephanie are also an option.”

“We need Helena,” Dick said firmly. “If you want someone with her, that’s fine, but this is Tiger’s party. I think he should have a say in who gets invited.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine.”

“Okay.” That was easier than Dick had expected. “You know I get suspicious when you give in too easily, right?”

“I know.”

“I’m naming my next migraine after you.”

“I’m honoured.” Bruce typed something into the computer. “I imagine Tiger would prefer to contact Bertinelli himself, and that you intended to give him access to your communicator. You can give him one of the spares. Have Tim code it to give him a unique identifier.”

Dick would normally do it himself, but he couldn’t look at a screen for long enough. “Will do. What are you working on?”

“Updating crime files. Tim’s been playing with an electronic-paper display e-reader that you can use when your eyes are up to it. I’ll send some audio files if you like. The reader should nearly be ready for you.”

“Thanks.” That’d be easier on his head than a backlit screen, even if he still couldn’t use it when things got bad. “So.”

“Yes?”

“You knew Tiger was Checkmate.”

“Yes.”

“What gave it away?”

“Helena’s files on the Checkmate attack on Spyral were redacted, but I put the pieces together.” Bruce leaned back in his chair. “Tim may also have hacked into Checkmate’s systems temporarily. No identifying information, but it did confirm Checkmate had an agent inside Spyral. Tiger made the most sense, given all else I know about him.”

“So you didn’t actually know for certain.”

“I was certain enough.”

Bruce had been doing this work long enough to have developed a keen instinct for his things, so Dick couldn’t say that he was entirely surprised. He often uncovered the truth long before he had enough evidence to prove it. Dick had the same instincts, though he’d never claim they were as developed as Bruce’s were.

“Okay,” Dick said. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need some indication where your head’s at.”

Bruce switched off the computer screens and swivelled the chair to face Dick properly. “I don’t like being lied to. You know that. However, these past few months have demonstrated to me that a nuclear response is not the most effective.”

“No shit.” Dick couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

“So, he was going to kill Bertinelli?”

“It wasn’t personal. And he backed off as soon as I’d resolved the situation myself.”

“By taking Daedalus into your own head and kicking him out, yes. I read your report.” Bruce actually cracked a smile. “That sounds like you.”

“Believe me, I would’ve tried it again if I’d had the strength for it.”

“Hm.” Bruce rubbed his jaw. “That is the other problem. Whether it was intended or not, he did kill Agent 8 and lie about it.”

“No, he let us lie about it for him. It might not make a difference to you, but it does to me. And he did save my life, so…”

Bruce’s frown came back. “Yes. I’m aware. That makes it more difficult.”

“He wants to change, Bruce. He’s been trying. I don’t know if he even wants to do field work anymore, but he should train with us. Cass learned better. So can he.”

“I’ll consider it. After he meets Checkmate.”

“Fine. But I’m gonna tell Cass, and she’ll hold you to it.”

Bruce chuckled. “Clever.”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“I’m aware. I trained you.” Bruce got up. “How are you feeling? Up to some training?”

“Keep the lights down and we’ll find out.” Dick had missed the exercise, and it wasn’t every day he got to train with Bruce anymore.

It probably wouldn’t be a long session, but Dick could use some endorphins. Maybe a little adrenaline wouldn’t go amiss either. Lying around anticipating his next migraine had left him with a sense of lethargy. It took everything in him not to broadcast that to the world, but it was there.

Bruce kept the lights in the training ring dim, but enough to see by. They wrapped their hands and warmed up. Dick’s joints complained a little after so much inactivity, but they loosened up as he worked them.

“Tell me about Agent 8,” Bruce said once they were warm and facing each other.

“What’s there to tell that isn’t in my reports?” Dick jabbed lightly.

Bruce dodged. “I want to hear it from you.” He jabbed back. “Everything.”

Dick blocked; it hadn’t been a powerful hit. “Well, her name was Alia. She’s—she was—from Smallville.” He hit back.

Bruce blocked him. “And yet it appears she knew little of Superman.”

“He’d probably moved to Metropolis by the time she was old enough to think about it.” Dick dodged another strike. “I’m not sure of her age. Anyway, she was Tiger’s mission partner when I arrived.” He struck, and Bruce blocked him. “I worked with them on the Old Gun mission. This was before Tiger would give me the time of day.”

“Hate at first sight?” Bruce kicked.

Dick dodged. “Funny. I made some mistakes on that mission, so Tiger had to save my ass. He was… displeased. Alia yelled at me a bit, but we still got along pretty well. If you, uh, know what I mean.”

Bruce paused, sighing. “Really, Dick?”

“You have a literal child with Talia al Ghul. Don’t judge me.”

“Hn. Point taken.” Bruce increased the pace of his jabs. Dick was still keeping up, which was nice. “So, she faked her death at the end of that mission.”

“Yeah. And then Tiger and I got partnered together, which was, uh, not ideal. Until we worked it out.” Dick tried something a little flashier, ducking under Bruce’s punch and kicking the back of his knee.

Bruce stumbled but corrected. “Good work.”

“Thanks.” Dick had to dodge another punch. “Alia was working for Dr Netz and Daedalus the whole time. She masqueraded as me and killed spies who were meant to be off-limits. Helena thought it was Tiger doing it for a while, so I may have punched him in the face and abandoned him on her orders. But then Alia lured Tiger to Italy to kill him. I got there in time but lost the fight. She was still pretending to be me, so I hadn’t quite put it all together at that point. She used a Hypnos kill switch to take me down.”

“And then Tiger led Helena to believe Checkmate was behind all this?”

“Yeah. Not sure why. I guess he let Alia go so he could try to track her movements, or maybe she manipulated his affection for her.” Dick tried for another feint, but Bruce anticipated him and hit him in the stomach. Dick backed off, bending over to suck in air.

“When do you think Daedalus possessed her?”

Dick straightened, taking one last deep breath. “After she faked her death. Less scrutiny.”

“I agree.” Bruce adjusted the bandages on his right hand. “Had enough?”

“Normally I’d say no, but…”

“Better safe than sorry.” Bruce unwrapped his bandages. “You’ll need a good cooldown.”

Dick freed his hands from the wrappings and threw them at Bruce. “Duh.”

They stretched together, massaging aches out of their muscles as they went.

“One thing I don’t understand is how Tiger went from hating you, to, well…”

“Being here?” Dick laughed. “What can I say? I’m a charmer.”

Bruce just looked at him.

“Okay, fine. I’m going to redact some details because talking about sex with you is still fucking weird, but…” Dick lay on his back in a semi-supine position and took a few breaths to get his heart rate back down. “It’s a good story. Starts with me nearly falling out of a window, to being fake-married in suburbia, to the weirdest debrief with Helena I’ve had in my life. Get comfortable.”

Bruce and Dick weren’t really the type to talk about relationships with each other, but maybe that needed to change. Dick was willing to try if Bruce was.

So Dick told his story and Bruce listened.

At the end of it, Bruce helped Dick to his feet. They’d been down here a while.

“Tiger should ask Alfred if he can help in the garden,” Bruce said.

“That’s your takeaway?”

“I have a lot of takeaways. I’m just saying Tiger could use an outlet and he seemed to enjoy gardening.”

Bruce wasn’t wrong, but…

“I never thought you’d be giving mental health advice, Bruce.”

“I’m trying new things.” Bruce clapped his shoulder. “Look. I know I’ve dragged my feet on this matter. I don’t like change.”

“Everyone knows that, B.”

Bruce frowned at him. “Respect your elders.”

“Too late.”

Bruce threw that topic away and kept going with his original point. “What I mean to say is, I trust your judgment. Tiger has been very helpful in the short time he’s been with us. I’m not going to pretend I’m comfortable with his past, but I understand I have been harsher than I needed to be.”

Dick didn’t need to say anything. He could feel his opinions beaming out from his eyes, and Bruce was able to read them.

“Yes, I know I’m stating the obvious, Dick. I’m trying to say Tiger can stay here as long as he likes.”

“Good,” Dick replied. “Because if he goes, I go.” He smiled, and knew it was the most passive-aggressive smile he’d ever given anyone in this family. “Just so we’re clear.”

“Message received. Now stop smiling like that. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna take a shower.” But Dick paused halfway up the stairs. “Oh, and you might want to tell Tiger all this. I could talk to him, but he’ll believe it more if he hears if from you. Just saying.”

“We’ll talk when there’s time,” Bruce promised. “Now go drink some water.”

Dick rolled his eyes. It hurt a bit, which wasn’t a good sign. But at least he’d accomplished something today. There were enough problems without Bruce and Tiger being at each other’s throats.

He kept walking.

“Oh, and Dick?”

He paused.

“You were right to be angry,” Bruce said, barely loud enough to hear. “I did not anticipate I would suddenly be unavailable to you while you were undercover. That was an oversight, but I have always trusted you to think for yourself. You relied on your instincts to see you through to the end. I am proud of you.”

That was nice, but the delay stung. “It would’ve been nice to hear that months ago, Bruce.”

“I know.” Bruce looked steadily at him. “I’m sorry.”

Dick had hoped, but doubted, he would ever hear Bruce say those words. A small part of him wanted to reject the apology and wallow in his anger some more, but the more mature side of him prevailed. Dick could hold a grudge with the best of them, but it never felt good.

He breathed. “Okay. Thank you.”

#dicktiger #dick grayson #tiger king of kandahar #homecoming dicktiger fic #my fics #fanfiction

7 notes · View notes

violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Tabula Rasa [6/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/48034471

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (Rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #i’ll protect you #soulmark tattoo #bright anxiety #soulbond #a lie #hand holding

First Chapter

Author's Note(s): And now for a bit of Jason's perspective, before we return to chronological continuity...

________________________________________________________________

The minute Tim reveals to the Family that Jason is his soulmate—the minute Jason’s sudden burst of conscience has him confirming it—he knows he’s done. He’s lost all ability to pretend anything to the contrary, even when Tim gets his memories back, everyone will always know.

And he will always have to face the looks like the ones they’re giving him now.

As soon as there are no more civilians lurking outside the door, it’s as if a den of wolves has rounded on him.

“What the hell?” Steph demands. “He said you were dead!”

Ouch. Although…I guess he wasn’t lying.

“Congratulations, I guess,” Duke offers, not looking sure he’s expressing the correct sentiment. Then again, he often looks at a loss at figuring out the dynamics of the Family he’s suddenly found himself a part of.

Cass seems unsurprised about the whole thing which makes a certain amount of sense; she might not have known exactly what was going on between him and Tim, but she noticed something.

Bruce remains blank-faced.

Jason hates that he can’t read him or figure out what he thinks of all this. Is he angry? Disappointed? Plotting to lock Jason up again?

“If we might all calm down,” Alfred speaks up, ever the voice of reason, “this is a trying time for all of us. No doubt more so for Master Jason and Master Timothy.”

Though he seemed shocked at first, it seems he now simply accepts the fact, in the same way he simply accepts and adapts to every new Wayne Crisis.

“How long have you known?” Bruce asks, question void of inflection.

Jason meets his eyes in defiance. “A while.”

“And Tim?”

“Longer than me.”

“Why didn’t either of you tell us?” Dick cries, hurt lacing every syllable.

But Bruce steamrolls over that, too, asking the real questions. “Were you aware of this at the Tower?”

Jason clenches his fists and refuses to answer.

“The Tower?” Steph echoes. “Wait. You mean when he beat Tim within an inch of his life?” She levels a vicious glare at him, twin spots of angry red on her face as she jumps to her feet. “You tried to kill him! Your soulmate!”

“In case you don’t remember, I wasn’t firin’ on all cylinders back then,” Jason shoots back.

“That’s a shitty excuse and you know it!”

“And it wasn’t exactly the last time,” Dick adds, then winces like he didn’t mean to add accidental evidence against Jason in this impromptu Trial by Bat.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Jason snaps. “It’s not like I asked for any of this.” He pushes away from the wall that’s been holding him up since all this began. “Thanks for this little reunion, but I’m out of here. You all have your hands full with coma boy now.”

“You can’t just go!” Dick protests. “If he wakes up and you’re not here, how do you think he’ll react? You’re the only one he recognizes!”

“He doesn’t recognize me, he recognizes the ball and chain on my arm,” Jason retorts, brandishing his left wrist.

Far from emphasizing his point, everyone’s eyes rivet toward the mark, which hasn’t settled back on his wrist yet. It’s as if it acts as a reminder; everyone goes quiet and considering in their own way.

He hates that, that they think they may pass judgment on him, on this—on the fact fate fucked him and Tim over.

“Screw this,” he says and stalks from the room. He tries to ignore what looks like a flash of relief on Bruce’s face.

He doesn’t bother with the elevator, needs the physicality of stomping down sixteen flights of stairs to cool his anger. It doesn’t help; he gets outside the hospital and ends up just kind of standing there near the ambulance loading bay.

Not sure what he’s supposed to do now, he digs out his cigarettes and lights one, starts puffing away in agitation. He should leave, get out of here to do something useful. Screw playing nice for anyone’s sake—it would serve them all right if he did decide to put Gotham in his rear-view.

But he has to get back on task. Whoever this person is that’s decided to be his new archenemy, he’s bad for more than just Jason’s business. That’s why he has to stick around.

Not because of Tim’s recovery.

He ignores the voice in his head (which sounds annoyingly like Roy) that tells him denial isn’t a talent no matter how much effort he puts into it.

Jason has started his second cigarette when he hears a familiar pattern of footsteps approaching.

“Whatever you’re gonna say, I don’t want to hear it, even from you,” he warns.

“I am not here to say anything in particular to you,” Alfred replies serenely. “I would, however, ask if I could trouble you for a cigarette.”

Jason almost jolts at that and stares at the older man in astonishment. “What?”

“Curious. Nowhere in your files was it mentioned you had suffered recent auditory damages,” Alfred remarks mildly. When Jason still can’t summon a response, he adds, “It has been a rather trying two weeks, Master Jason and decently brewed cuppas are scarce in this place. Rather suspect, given how much funding we provide them with.”

As if in a trance, Jason slides a cigarette out of the pack and hands it to Alfred. The man takes it gingerly, the movement awkward but practiced, like it’s something he hasn’t done in a while. He bends to hold it to the flame that Jason automatically flicks to life and gives a few experimental inhalations.

For a while, they stand in silence. Jason spends a good deal of that sneaking glances at the butler as he handles his cigarette almost artfully between two fingers.

He can’t take it anymore. “Since when do you smoke?”

“You are not the only one in this family who had tumultuous teenaged years. I spent some time before I went into service frequenting pubs that made your American CBGB look like a primary school.”

Jason blinks. “Huh. And I’m suddenly re-evaluatin’ who’s the most secretive member of this gig.”

“Quite.”

There is another long spell of silence. At last, that gets to Jason too.

(And he knows Alfred’s doing it on purpose, damn it!)

“Look, Alf, it’s not that I…” he begins, then stops because he’s not sure how he wants to tackle this. “Soulmates or not, I’m the worst person to be around the kid right now. And I’ve got…stuff going on.”

And I might be the reason he got shot, to begin with; I don’t know if I can be around him knowing that.

“Understandable, Master Jason. One can only do what is within one’s power,” Alfred hums. “This is a difficult situation, and you need to take the time to process, however you do so. This family—Master Timothy himself—has always weathered emergencies just as dire as this. I have every confidence and faith they will again. At least this time, no one has died.”

And isn’t that a low fucking bar? ‘Whelp, you still have all your limbs and only slight mental trauma, but you’re alive, so good for you!’. This fucking family…

“Have you ever had occasion to visit Japan in your travels?”

The segue makes Jason turn his whole body to face the man again. “Uh. Once or twice?”

“Was it all for business or did you visit any cultural sites? I remember as a child you had a fascination with Matsumoto Castle.”

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I got to go there, once. It was awesome.”

No need to tell him it was to meet with the head of the local Yakuza for Talia. Why does he want to know that, anyway?

Alfred hums again.

“The Japanese have a philosophy I have always found fascinating,” he says, using his finger to tap away a bit of ash. “They treat breakage and repair as an integral part of history and development, rather than something to hide or gloss over. They call it kintsugi, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jason frowns, the term tugging a memory. A late night in bed flicking through National Geographic. “Isn’t that when they fill the cracks in clay pots with gold or something?”

“There is a relation between the two,” Alfred allows, amused, and then becomes thoughtful once again. “The past may be imperfect, but it is not something to repress. It is there whether we want it to be or not. And it is how one accepts and changes in relation to that which shows one’s measure.” He takes another drag of the cigarette and frowns, shooting Jason a judgemental look. “I forgot how bloody awful these things are.”

And Jason can’t help snorting with laughter as Alfred flicks the butt away.

“Anyhow. I hoped to catch you before you left and say I wish to see you again soon. Sooner than a few months this time, though I understand you have a life of your own.” And there’s the Alfred guilt; Jason knew it was coming. “I did, however, hear a rumor that the Red Hood died in an explosion the other night. With him off the streets now, perhaps it will be more convenient to come around.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “I’m not fallin’ for it.”

“Falling for what?” Alfred replies, innocent. He turns. “We will see to Master Timothy, have no fear about that. I will send you updates as to his condition. It may take a while, but I remain confident he will improve. Good day, Master Jason.”

And then he heads back into the hospital.

Jason glares at his back, telling himself he will not let that sway him. He’s too old to let well-meaning manipulations sway him. And yet…

Tim had seemed so…frail. Vulnerable. Terrified. And that had gone away when Jason was there.

The expression is in such contrast to the other he has in his head. The blank resignation and acceptance when Jason all but told him he wished he didn’t exist.

Like he was fucking expecting it.

He smokes two more cigarettes before swearing and turning back to the hospital. This time he takes the elevator.

When he re-enters Tim’s room, everyone looks up in surprise at his return. Except Alfred, because the man is a sneaky fucker, and Jason wonders if Tim doesn’t have more in common with him than with Bruce. He refuses to meet anyone’s gaze, though, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets.

“I might be a jerk, but I don’t want to make the kid hemorrhage from the stress of me not bein’ here,” he grumbles. “So I’ll stick around until he’s, I dunno, less breakable or something.”

He can almost hear Dick’s smile. “Thanks, Little Wing. Knew we could count on you.”

“Bullshit you did.”

“Master Jason.”

He sighs and sidles into an empty chair, one closest to the door, farthest from Bruce, and with a good vantage point of Tim.

This is gonna suck.

“So,” Dick leans against the wall next to Jason, movement slow and deliberate. There’s a slight, manic edge to his voice. “Soulmates, huh?”

“I swear to god, Grayson, if you keep bringin’ it up, I’m out of here.”

“Spoilsport.”

But mercifully, he leaves it alone. For today.

⁂

To say that Jason’s world has completely uprooted itself within the course of weeks would be an understatement.

At first, he expected everyone to leave him alone—his presence tolerated only because of the technicality of him being Tim’s soulmate. But the day after Bruce’s birthday and the visit from Gillian Sato, Dick pulls him to one side while he’s getting coffee and hands him a folder. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Jason flips it open and blinks at the contents. Pages and pages of what looks like a whole new identity. “‘Todd Jacob Kane’—what the hell is this?”

“Well, we had to explain how you’re connected to the Family if Tim or anyone asks. So now you’re a distant cousin on Bruce’s mom’s side of the family. Explains the hair, too.”

He reaches out to tug at said hair, but Jason ducks and snarls at him, “Why the fuck do you have to explain anything?”

“That social worker will come back. And now she and all the doctors know you’re Tim’s soulmate, so you can’t be dead or unaccounted for. At some point, other people will ask, too.”

“You’re talkin’ like I’m gonna be around once his head’s back on straight.”

“That could take a while, Jay,” Dick says with uncharacteristic solemnity “Maybe even longer if the damage is worse than we think. We’re just trying to prepare for every eventuality. Besides—don’t you want to be alive again? In the legal sense, I mean.”

“Not if it means I gotta spend more time with you losers, or like, pay taxes or something.” He leafs through the documents, eyebrows raising. “Shit. Barbie went all out, didn’t she?”

GED, vaccinations records, passport, social security number, military records (ex-army medic, two tours of duty in Manbij—hell, she was paying attention, wasn’t she?) and—

“What the hell is this? Formal PTSD diagnoses?!”

“Can you think of a convincing argument where those are wrong?”

Jason grumbles in response, because, no, he can’t.

“Leslie may have had some input, based on everything she knows about you and us.”

“And what about this, huh? Why do I have a juvy record?”

“You can’t be too clean or anyone looking into you would know there’s something up. Besides, you already had a juvy record, it’s not like it’s a change. And this segues well into your military career.”

“Where I racked up a dishonorable discharge, looks like.”

“Did you look at the reason for it?”

Jason glances through the document, and a bit of the tension clears. “Okay. Yeah, that would track.”

“This way you’ve got both a criminal record and a service record. If you’re intending to keep straddling the line of good guy and bad guy, you’ve got a background to build on for either.”

Jason considers this as he looks back down to the files, and whistles. “Damn, Barbie.”

“My wife’s a genius.”

“Well, one of you has to be.”

“You’re just jealous.”

That you somehow ended up soulmates with two of the most gorgeous and capable women on the planet? Who wouldn’t be? I mean, if I gave a shit about soulmates.

The thought rubs him wrong for some reason, and he thinks back on Tim. The kid isn’t really the worst option in the world. He can sort of see if he were a different person—the kind that’s swept up in the soulmate nonsense—how the younger man could be appealing. His sarcasm alone might have made them friends in another life.

Dick must notice something in his expression because his own softens, and he says, “Tim will be okay, you know.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You sure? Because you looked kind of—”

“I’m fine. It’s not something I’m losing sleep over.” He tries to deflect. “And you’re takin’ this all suspiciously well, considering you were freakin’ out about it yesterday.”

“Well, I had time to process. And I think it makes sense.”

“…Fuckin’ excuse me?”

“Maybe not on the surface,” Dick hurries to add, “But the thing is, you and Tim, you’re both…” He hesitates, looking for the word.

“Replacements?”

“Damaged.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “What.”

“Well, you are. For different reasons. But maybe your damages complement each other or something?”

“That is the stupidest thing you have ever said to me,” Jason informs him. “And you once asked me why they put the paper on the onions so tight.”

He was thirteen, and it was the first and last time he ever attempted to cook anything within the same vicinity as Dick Grayson.

⁂

Tim is in and out of consciousness, and barely even Tim for the first month or so. It doesn’t stop him from somehow using his latent powers of manipulation to get Jason to agree to stick around even longer—or worse, visit the manor.

(And yes, he’s aware that at the moment Tim is, perhaps for the first time in his life, not even capable of manipulation. But how else is he supposed to explain the way he folds whenever the kid turns that sad, panicked gaze on him?)

It’s a pain for more reasons than his own discomfort, because the thing is, he wasn’t actually lying to Tim when he said he had work.

Just because Penguin’s a slimy bastard doesn’t mean he isn’t smart. Jason’s taken his words to heart in the time that he’s been lying low. He scoped out the Hungry Ghost, the club that fronts a modern-day bordello and chosen it as his information-gathering hub. It took a bit of reconnaissance and conveniently arranging for the current bouncer-slash-barback to skip town, and he had a gig lined up.

He’d put on a convincing show of hesitating at the entrance. He’d awkwardly shuffled a bit and mentioned to the owner, Madam Salome, that he heard they hired without caring too much about past records.

She’s a hard-mouthed woman, whipcord thin and angular, and with a cold look he’s seen before on a lot of the girls walking the streets. She grills him about why he was in juvy (carjacking—not a lie) and why he got discharged from the army (killed a man for raping a young girl; also not technically a lie) and whether he has any kind of issue with sex work (“No ma’am, world’s oldest trade. Should be regulated.” Which is also something he believes).

Then she gives him a hard look like she can tell he’s lying and hires him anyway.

So now he’s ready for his long-con of surveillance, which means he can’t be spending every free moment with Tim.

Right?

Yet, against his inclination and will, he finds himself at the manor every evening, helping with physiotherapy or sitting by Tim’s bed with his nose buried in a book.

(Or trying to have his nose buried in a book, it’s sort of hard when he’s being watched by Tim’s unwavering gaze. Strange how he’s good at that even with one eye still covered with a bandage.)

He’s uncomfortable with how attached the kid has gotten to him in such a short time, all because of his soulmark; it feels false since Tim currently has no memories of everything Jason has done to him.

A niggling voice in his head that sounds like Kori this time reminds him that Tim seemed open to the idea before.

(He shrugs that off.)

It’s a while before he gets over the guilty pit in his stomach whenever he walks into a room and Tim’s face lights up to see him. The kid might not be talking yet, but he’s ridiculously expressive. Jason wonders how he survived in the boardroom with such an open face, before he remembers that before, Tim knew how to hide more.

He always keeps space between the two, a careful distance unless he needs to help Tim calm down or with physio exercises; the only time he gets close to Tim of his own volition is when the kid is asleep. Even then it’s just to study him and try to figure out why the hell the universe thought they’d be a good match.

Sometimes he’s downright resentful of him.

Inwardly, he rails that it’s Tim’s fault they’re in this situation. If he hadn’t been there that night, if he’d not had some stupid meltdown on television, he wouldn’t have been in Crime Alley. He wouldn’t have been anywhere near Jason and wouldn’t be brain damaged now.

(You don’t know that, Kori’s voice in his head reminds him. He throws himself off buildings and into fights every night. He could easily have gotten hurt some other way.)

This makes him feel like an ass for thinking and he’ll immediately seek out Dick or Damian because clearly, he has feelings that need to be exorcised. Right now he can’t get out on the streets to do it, so the Cave will have to suffice.

He prefers Damian, to be honest. The kid is doing his damnedest to act as if nothing has changed, which Jason needs right now.

“I don’t know what everyone is so worried about,” the brat dismisses one day as Dick watches him and Jason spar. Jason wishes he could say he’s taking it easy on the kid, but they’re pretty evenly matched. “Drake has survived his ordeal and will recover. He always does.”

“But he might not this time.”

“Pennyworth is seeing to his needs, there’s no need for us to continue deviating from our usual routines.”

“You’re assuming he will get all his memories back,” Dick cautions, crossing his arms and frowning as Jason ducks the swing of a bokken. Dick won’t let either of them use real swords against each other since they might fall back on League habits. “He might not, Little D. Then what will you do?”

Jason grits his teeth, sensing that the question is directed to him, too. If he’s being honest with himself, it’s a sentiment he’s been thinking over more and more the longer Tim remains functionally amnesiac.

“I wouldn’t care one way or the other,” Damian insists, parrying Jason’s next attack. “The longer he takes simply makes it easier for me to take my rightful place as Father’s true heir.”

“That’s bull. If he never goes back to the way he was before, that means everything that’s made you jealous of him goes away too. You lose your rival—the one person you’ve been measuring yourself against since you showed up.”

Damian grunts, either in effort or derision, Jason can’t tell, since he unleashes a flurry of attacks that forces him to go back on the defensive.

“Take away the parts of Tim you pretend to hate, and all you have left is a brother who needs you.”

“Tt.” Damian jumps back from Jason one last time and throws down his weapon. “I yield. I refuse to listen to this nonsense any longer.”

“Hey! No quittin’!” Jason yells at his back as he disappears, and glares over at Dick. “Thanks a lot, asshole. I was just startin’ to work up a sweat before you started with your Dr. Phil crap.”

“I’m only trying to get him to understand the seriousness of all this,” Dick tells him. “He’s seen all of us get injured and come back from things before. Hell, he’s died and come back. I worry he’s starting to believe it’s a given when it’s…really not.”

“Kid grew up in the League of Assassins,” Jason reminds him. “Trust me, he understands the futility of things.”

“And do you?”

Jason narrows his eyes. “What now?”

“You’ve also been acting like this is all temporary. Like Tim’s just going to bounce back,” Dick says, crossing his arms tight against his chest like he’s trying to comfort himself. “But there’s a real chance he doesn’t. I mean, come on, Jason, look at what happened to you. You’ve had brain damage before. It took a dip in a Lazarus Pit to fix that.”

“It’s different,” Jason snaps. “I had my head caved in in about nine different places. Doc Thompkins already said the kid’s injury was clean. He’ll be back to chuggin’ energy drinks and playin’ with his gadgets in no time and I can get back to my life.”

“You mean the life that literally burnt down around you?”

Jason snarls and throws up his hands. “Know what? Bat brat had the right idea. I’m not listenin’ to you ramble anymore.”

“It’s okay to worry about him, you know!” Dick yells at his back as Jason climbs the stairs back to the manor proper.

And that is why I prefer when it’s only Damian. Dick always takes advantage and tries to go for the heart-to-heart. Though it could be worse. It could be B.

For the most part, Bruce has been keeping out of Jason’s way when he’s at the manor, which he is simultaneously relieved at and frustrated by. Relieved because he doesn’t want to have that conversation, the one where Bruce judges him and finds him unworthy of being Tim’s soulmate.

(Jason doesn’t want to be his soulmate, but Bruce finding him unworthy is one of those anxieties leftover from his childhood.)

Frustrated, because one of the few good things about him and Bruce has always been that they can be bluntly honest with one another. It’s a no holds barred, going-for-the-throat kind of honesty, that cuts through the shit and straight to the core.

(Except perhaps the months leading up to Jason’s death, and his return to Gotham when he wanted to be a little dramatic.)

He wishes they could just fight about it and get it over with.

⁂

It is several weeks before Tim can sit up on his own; a month spent in bed, needing help to get showered and redressed. Jason thankfully doesn’t have to do any of that stuff. Alfred and Dick appear to be falling over themselves to do that, though the long-suffering expression on Tim’s face whenever he needs help amuses Jason.

At least that’s the same; Tim never liked having to ask for or get help. Jason knew that even without being around him often.

From the scowls he tries to hide from everyone, he dislikes the various therapies he has to endure, too.

Jason does the bare minimum of what the family wants. He stays with Tim, so he doesn’t freak out, holds his hand when he needs to, puts up with Bruce somehow looming from an entirely different wing of the manor, and leaves with lots of leftovers from Alfred.

But that’s it.

Jason has no intention of getting attached or encouraging the universe’s practical joke; as soon as Tim remembers (and he will fucking remember, Dick, so stop jinxing it) he’s gone.

He doesn’t have rambling conversations with Tim the way Steph does; she isn’t glaring at Jason as much anymore, but she pretends like he’s a statue or wallpaper on the rare occasion they pass in the hallways.

(He’s sure at some point that will end since they both have tempers and are raring for a fight.)

Cass just looks between the two of them like she finds them amusing or something, which a kind of insulting.

It’s lucky they see little of each other that first month. Steph shows up during the day after her classes or whatever it is she does when she’s not in costume and leaves for patrol before Jason arrives. Whenever Jason gets there and learns that she hasn’t left yet, he ducks into the kitchen to sit with Alfred for a while.

The old butler is the only one who appreciates how uncomfortable—how angry—the whole soulmate issue is making Jason and doesn’t make him feel guilty about it. He also appears to sense how restless Jason has been since benching himself.

Undercover work has never been his favorite thing, and with this job, he surprisingly has more nights off than on. It’s disquieting, leaving him with too much time on his hands to ruminate about his shadow rival or dwell on the situation with Tim.

“Why not assume a different mantle whenever the need arises to go out?” Alfred suggests one afternoon as he kneads the dough for his homemade egg pasta. “I don’t pretend to approve of the nighttime doings of anyone in this family, but a lifetime habit is difficult to break even in a few weeks.”

“Don’t you think I considered that? But it’d kind of be a give away if a new mask shows up on the streets so soon after Red Hood bites it,” Jason replies. He holds out the bag of flour when Alfred gestures for it.

“Are you telling me that in the vast collection of gear in the basement, you cannot find something that is storeyed and recognizable?”

“Not unless Bruce still has the Wingman suit,” Jason snorts.

Alfred says nothing, merely raising his eyebrow as he continues to add a few fingerfuls of flour to the dough.

“Are you kiddin’? I thought he tossed that and the Redwing out after Damian…?”

Alfred’s hands still for a moment, his eyes closing as he no doubt remembers that horrible time. Then, with small effort, he shakes it off and replies, “I fear Master Bruce was not in the mindset to do much of anything constructive during that time. The suits went into storage.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt B wants me wearin’ anything of his right now. In case you haven’t noticed the waves of disapproval driftin’ up through the floor, I’m not his favorite person right now. He won’t want me touchin’ his suit.”

“Your suit, Master Jason. It was always meant to be yours when you were ready for it. Prior to the…incident…with Master Damian, it was to be an olive branch. A means of returning to the fold should you ever decide the need for Red Hood had passed.”

Jason’s chest tightens for a moment and he’s unsure what to say to that at first. He’d known when Bruce came to him that time that it was an olive branch, a second chance—but he’d assumed it was a temporary thing. An ace in the hole against Talia and Leviathan.

And of course, the bastard would never just come out and say that.

Jason’s not emotionally equipped to unpack yet another one of Bruce’s backhanded attempts at parenting. Instead, he focusses on Alfred’s last words.

“This is Gotham, Alf. There will never not be a need for Red Hood, I don’t care what Bruce thinks.”

“Perhaps. But then, I’m of the opinion you need not choose between the two. A mask is not a man, Master Jason. It is a symbol. How one uses that symbol makes the man.”

They sit in silence for several minutes, Alfred working and Jason mulling it over. At last, he sighs and smirks at the old butler. “You know, for someone who disapproves, you have a lot of opinions.”

“At my age, I’m allowed, Master Jason. Now go set the table for four.”

“Four? Is B stayin’ tonight?”

If he is, I’m not.

“No. But Miss Cassandra will be. She returns to Hong Kong tomorrow to tie up a few loose ends before returning here. I insisted that she have a decent meal and sleep before heading to the airport in the morning.”

“And…uh…Blondie?”

“I heard a certain Mrs. Grayson requires her talents this evening.”

⁂

And so Jason finds himself back to patrolling several nights a week, once more striking fear into the hearts of criminals.

Albeit behind a different mask than he’s used to.

There are provisos, of course, as Batman informed him in his usual detached way down in the cave. No guns, no lethal force and he can’t spend all of his time in Crime Alley.

“It would be too much of a coincidence given Red Hood’s demise.”

“Bullshit!” Jason had argued. “No one’s patrollin’ that part of town anymore. And I’m pretty sure people have noticed Red Robin ain’t even pokin’ his nose in either.”

“Red Robin has made appearances along his usual routes,” Batman dismissed.

“What? How?”

“Black Bat has agreed to take on the mantle every week or so. She is closest to Tim’s height and weight. We can’t have anyone connect Tim’s injury and Red Robin’s disappearance.”

“But what about—?”

“Signal has been monitoring the East End. He is as invested in the well-being of neighborhoods as you are. I have every confidence he can handle it during your absence.”

“Must be nice to have your confidence. Wonder what that’s like?”

“If you didn’t have my confidence, you would not be getting this suit,” Batman replied shortly and turned back to the computer. “If you continue your investigation into the changes in Gotham’s underworld, do so in a way that doesn’t connect Wingman to Red Hood.”

Damn it, even when he’s trying to make a gesture, he’s still an ass about it.

“Nah, I figured I’d go shout it from the rooftops,” Jason shot back sarcastically and stalked away before he could get into an actual fight with the man. “Next thing, he’s gonna tell me not to say anything to Tim…”

Which, obviously? They decided early on not to tell him anything Bat-related while he’s recovering.

The problem is, Tim doesn’t seem any closer to remembering anything.

Every week that passes, even after the surprising instance of Tim trying to sing Happy Birthday to Dick (which, okay, Jason was also relieved at that, but only because he’s been watching how frustrated Tim’s been with his music therapy) he shows no sign of knowing anything about Tim Drake or Red Robin or any of it.

It’s a cause for concern, and not only because of Mission related reasons.

Gillian Sato keeps visiting the manor every week.

Jason might not be on great terms with Tim—might be awkward as hell around him—but he’s even less so with her. Alfred texts him when she comes over, and Jason does his best to get to the manor as soon as he can. He’s more effective at looming over her on these ‘visits’ than Dick is. And she can’t object to his presence, even when he interrupts her well-meaning-but-leading questions. The ambiguous kind, where Tim’s current yes-no answers might land him in a sea of trouble.

“You don’t trust social workers, do you, Mr. Kane?” she asks him one day when he interrupts every question she asks, wanting to qualify statements or elaboration to an almost pedantic degree.

Tim seems to have fallen asleep again—pale and exhausted from darting his eyes between Jason and Sato’s less-than-veiled disagreement. Across the room, sitting cross-legged and pretending to be absorbed in a video game, Damian looks like he’s ready to jump into action if need be.

“Lady, there ain’t no one in this house you people haven’t screwed over.”

“But not you,” she pries, eyes keen. “According to your record, family took you in. Your cousins, was it? Kate Kane and her father?”

(He’s still not sure how Barbara got Batwoman to sign off on that; Kate never really liked him.)

“Yeah, but not before I lived on the streets a few months. And I don’t regret the experience one bit since it meant I didn’t get fucked over by the system.”

“That isn’t in your file.”

“Last time I checked, they seal juvenile records,” Damian speaks up, tone sharp. “Is there a reason you’re looking into him when you’re assigned to Drake’s case? Or so you allege.”

“I hardly see how it’s your concern,” she tells the boy. “Although on that note, is there a reason you refer to your brother by his last name? Some lingering resentments, perhaps, that gave way to violence?”

Damian’s eyes narrow, a delicate angry flush that’s almost imperceptible in his dark cheeks. “If you believe I intend to share any information with you, you presume your self-importance to be above his legal rights to privacy. I can assure you, as much as he irks me, Drake is far above you in the status quo.”

Huh. Has the bat brat ever said anything nice about Tim?

Damian’s implication would insult most people, but the woman doesn’t even blink. “If these are the manners Mr. Wayne instills in his children, it seems my office’s concerns are valid.”

“Manners are not requisite indicators of good parental care,” Damian retorts. “But again, I am not the subject of your inquiry, am I?”

They stare at each other a beat before Sato looks away with a sniff. “I just want to have all the facts.”

Jason narrows his eyes and folds his arms over his chest, showing off his mark which is already reacting to his proximity to Tim. It’s a less than subtle reminder her facts are irrelevant to him. He feels no guilt doing so since the damned mark’s caused him nothing but trouble so far. He should at least be able to use it to keep the kid from being hounded by social workers with axes to grind.

It has the desired effect. She purses her lips and scribbles something on her tablet with a stylus.

It would surprise him if whatever she writes is still there when she gets home; Babs can be vindictive even from a distance.

There’s a subtle clearing of the throat, and everyone glances over at Alfred.

“I fear it is getting late, and Master Timothy needs his rest,” he said. “If you would be so kind, Ms. Sato, I will escort you to your broom—ahem. Apologies. Your car.”

Jason and Damian both choke in surprise as Alfred gestures for her to follow him, even as Sato continues to appear unimpressed. Once they’re gone, they exchange looks.

“Did Alfred just break British-butler protocol and insult a guest?”

“Given the past few weeks, it does not surprise me he is beginning to crack,” Damian notes, frowning at Sato’s back as she leaves. “I don’t like her.”

“You don’t like anyone, that’s not unusual. But nah, I don’t think anyone likes her.”

It’s like she’s being an asshole on purpose.

Damian folds his arms. “No. This woman is…she gives me an unpleasant feeling.”

“Aw, look at you all protective,” Jason teases, just resisting the urge to ruffle Damian’s hair. He enjoys having two hands, even if one of them has a soulmark emblazoned on it that complicates his life. “And here I thought you and Timbers didn’t get along.”

“Tt.” Damian looks away.

Jason goes back to sit beside Tim, picking up his book as he does so.

“This is,” Damian begins after a long pause, then stops, looking angry, though at what is anyone’s guess. At last, he clenches his fists and says, “This fate is…unworthy. For him.”

He doesn’t meet Jason’s gaze as he stalks off.

“Huh,” Jason says out loud, watching him. “See, now you have to get better, so you can give him a hard time for being a secret sap.”

Where he’s been feigning sleep for the past ten minutes, Tim snorts.

⁂⁂⁂

To Be Continued

This blog isn’t my primary, so my reblogs don’t show up very well. As such, please reblog the fic, otherwise not a lot of people are going to see it :)

<3 Violet

12 notes · View notes