Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

For as long as Tim could remember, there was Tim, and there was Timothy Drake. Timothy was the kid that his parents wanted — never a bother, always quiet and respectful around the house, gets perfect grades without any effort, always knows how to behave at a gala. Timothy raises his hand whenever his teachers ask a question. Timothy is carefully building his resume so that he can go to Harvard, Princeton, or MIT. Timothy wins awards so that his parents can brag about him to their friends. And if Timothy were good enough, Mom would smile at him or nod approving at him, and Dad would pat him on the back and offer to take him out for some father-son bonding time. (They usually leave before Dad ever got around to it, but Tim appreciates the thought nonetheless.)

And then there’s Tim. Tim is the one who skulks around the giant mansion when his parents aren’t around and decamps in the second family room because it’s closest to the kitchen. Tim is the one who scrapes his knees skateboarding, who hates putting anything away, who would prefer to survive on nothing but bananas and Zesti. Tim is the one who’s been following Batman and Robin around the rooftops of Gotham because he can’t sleep at night. Tim doesn’t really care about going to college, and honestly would rather spend his spare time speed-running video games and hacking into the GCPD to solve their cold cases.

Tim’s parents would hate Tim, so Tim makes sure that he’s only Timothy when they’re around. Tim feels a little guilty, sometimes, for how much he privately detests being Timothy. After all, it’s clear that Timothy is the one that everyone else wants — his parents, his teachers, all the adults at the galas. Timothy is the one with the awards and the bright future, so there’s probably something wrong with Tim, that he doesn’t want to be Timothy all the time.

But his parents aren’t around to yell at Tim about it, so for as long as he could remember, it was Tim and Timothy. Timothy for school and when his parents are home, and Tim the rest of the time.

And then the bus schedule changes the summer that Tim turns ten.

That year, the Gotham Transit Authority does an audit and decides that the ridership for their Gotham-Bristol bus line is too low to justify the existing expenditures, and cuts the service hours to run from 6am to 9pm, every half hour. Very few Bristol residents notice, since the bus still allows their housekeepers and maids to come in during the day, and they use personal drivers for evening events in the Diamond District anyway.

Tim notices. Whereas he used to take the 9pm bus into Gotham and return on the 1am one, now he either has to spend the night sleeping behind a rooftop air conditioning unit or not go out at all. And while sleeping on the rooftops works decently for the summer, it’s going to be impossible to manage once school starts.

Thankfully, when Tim’s birthday rolls around mid-July, Tim’s parents decide that turning ten means that Tim is old enough to learn basic money management, and put him in charge of the household expenditures. Part of the birthday package that Tim receives in the mail is a credit card and instructions for how to arrange the monthly landscaping, housekeeping, and food delivery services and a list of the numbers to call for the handyman, the plumber, and the electrician in case of household emergencies.

Ever the dutiful son, Tim draws up some spreadsheets to track the household expenditures and even figures out how to make pie charts. It’s there that he makes the delightful discovery that if he cancels the housekeeping and food deliveries, and cut the landscaping service in half, the cost savings would allow him to rent a small studio apartment on the edge of Burnley. Not only would Tim be closer to all of the Batman and Robin action, it has the added bonus of a much shorter commute to school — 20 minutes by skateboard instead of an hour by bus.

Tim briefly contemplates trying to make a powerpoint presentation to convince his parents of this, but then decides it’s probably better to ask for forgiveness than permission, especially since his parents would probably frown at the possibility of Timothy Drake being seen that close to Crime Alley. Why bother his parents when he can learn how to create some fake IDs and hack the DMV? And as long as he keeps an eye on his parents' flights, he can just get the Manor ready in the days before his parents return. Janet Drake has always emphasized the importance of being an enterprising go-getter, and that’s what Tim’s trying to do. Tim does create a presentation just in case his parents notice the changes in the monthly expenditure report, but they don’t mention anything in their next two phone calls.

Thus, in the first week of September, Alvin Draper moves into apartment 6C on the corner of Brandt and Third.

——

Tim loves being Alvin, because Alvin doesn’t have to worry about being perfect the way Timothy does, and Alvin isn’t stuck on his own in a giant manor like Tim is.

Alvin Draper materializes in the alleyway behind Mr. Chang’s restaurant when Timothy stows his stiff Gotham Academy blazer and polished oxfords in his backpack, and swaps in for a large faded hoodie, comfy sneakers, and a pair of somewhat battered glasses. (If it works for Superman, it’d work for Tim, right?)

Then it’s Alvin who skateboards home to the studio apartment that he shares with his non-existent uncle. Unlike the large empty roads and forbidding gates back in Bristol, Alvin’s neighborhood is full of *people*. Alvin generally drops by the corner store to chat with Janice and grab some Zesti and snacks. Alvin then helps Mrs. Petryshka carry her groceries up to the fourth floor and hears about the latest gossip. Alvin even helps watch little Jose from #6B because Ms. Marisol’s work schedule leaves an awkward gap between when she has to leave for work and when her husband gets home. In exchange, Ms. Marisol has offered to help if Alvin needed an adult for something whenever Alvin’s uncle isn’t around.

Alvin has friends and neighbors and can still spend his time hacking and skateboarding and running after Batman and Robin on the rooftops. And to think: none of this would have been possible without the unholy combination of the Gotham Transit Authority, the Drake credit card, and aggressive spreadsheeting.

And then Robin dies a few months before Tim turns 12.

It’s bad enough that Batman starts terrorizing the city, beating petty thieves within an inch of their lives. But Batman’s violent streak is leaving *Tim’s* neighborhood in shambles. Mrs. Petryshka’s son manages to get away with “only” a broken leg and a broken arm, but Two Face doesn’t offer health insurance. Half of his neighbors are afraid to go out at night, and Janice at the bodega says that they’re losing business. After all, you can pack as many rebreathers as you want against Scarecrow’s fear gas, but you don’t know when Batman is going to show up and just fuck up your life.

Batman needs to be stopped. At the very least, Batman needs a Robin.

And Tim does have some blackmail on Batman.

But that would mean Batman would know about Timothy Drake: his family, his school record, his hobbies. Batman might find out about his parents’ long absences, or worse, Alvin’s apartment.

For a month, Tim tries to find alternatives. He leaves grief counseling pamphlets on rooftops. He leaves concerned notes on Commissioner Gordon’s computer. He writes letters to the Justice League. He hunts down Dick Grayson.

None of it work.

A week after Dick Grayson shuts his door in Tim’s face, Tim takes the number 9 bus to Bristol after school, walks past the empty and dark Drake Manor, and knocks on the door to Wayne Manor.

Turns out, Tim needn’t have worried. Like his parents, Batman was only interested in Timothy Drake: polite, eager to please, respectful and never a bother. That’s fine. Tim can give Batman the illusion of Timothy Drake. He’ll just think of this as an after-school internship opportunity.

Tim keeps a straight face and lies out of his teeth about his parents and extracurriculars, inventing a nanny and a Diamond District penthouse as a reason why he’d prefer to meet with Bruce in Gotham. He also lets his Bristol accent speak for itself.

Tim leaves Wayne Manor with a Bat communicator and a promise to return on Saturday for basic training and suit fitting.

So now, between being Timothy Drake at school, Alvin at home, and soaring as Robin at night, there’s no need to be little Tim Drake, stuck alone in a big empty manor in Bristol.

------

Timothy Drake at school:

Tiny!Alvin skateboarding home:

Chapter Text

Jason is having a hell of a time trying to find his Replacement. Sure, he’s got a name from Talia: Timothy Drake. And he’s looked up the kid’s school records: perfect everything. Perfect grades. Perfect attendance. His school photo shows perfectly slicked-back hair and not one wrinkle on his Gotham Academy jacket. A fourteen-year-old taking 11th grade classes, with nothing but good comments from teachers. (“Pleasure to have in class.” “His lab work goes above and beyond.” “Incisive comments during discussion.” Ugh.) Timothy Drake has wealthy parents who are movers and shakers in high society. There’s photos in the society pages of the Drakes smiling in some sort of museum charity event. Wow, Bruce really won the lottery with his newest child soldier.

The kid’s the perfect Robin, too. He’s stalked the dynamic duo a few times, always making sure to keep enough distance that they don’t notice him. (Jason has a 10 month plan and he’s still on month two.) But even from a distance, it seems like kid’s a decent fighter. He flits around Batman like a proper Robin, chirping what is probably Robin-appropriate commentary to Batman’s dour composure. Jason bets that the goody-two-shoes is the kind of person who asks “how high” when Batman tells him to jump.

Infuriating.

Jason has plans to track down Robin and take him down a peg or two, show the kid what really happens to foolish kids who think they can fly. That’s penciled in for month eight, however, and unfortunately it’s too early for Jason to show his hand. After his news scraper pings with another article about Timothy Drake winning the science fair, however, Jason decides that he can maybe do a little hate-stalking. Stop by the Replacement’s place, give him the stink-eye through the window. Piss in all his trophies, maybe.

That’s where things go a bit weird. Timothy Drake has his own fuckin’ mansion right next to Bruce’s, but when he swings by Drake Manor, it’s oddly empty and devoid of life. Weird. Jason tracks down a penthouse in the Diamond District, but it seems to be falsified records because there’s a whole different rich guy living there.

But Timothy Drake still has perfect attendance at school, and Robin flies around with the Bat almost every night.

What the fuck. Where does the Replacement go when he’s not Robin?

Jason’s still trying to stay off of Batman’s radar so stalking Robin is out. Jason tries waiting outside Gotham Academy, but after an hour of scanning for one rich white kid amongst the hundreds in identical blazers, all while getting the stink-eye from the various parents and chauffeurs in the pick-up line, he decides spite-stalking Timothy Drake is not worth the microaggressions and the constant Pit triggers.

It’s fine. Rich spoiled brat like little Timothy Drake probably hangs out at a second mansion or penthouse that his parents have paid for with their off-shore accounts or something. No matter. Jason has a backup plan involving Titans Tower and a backup backup plan involving the annual Wayne Gala, and it’s not like he’s in a hurry to clip the little bird’s wings — that’s month eight. So Jason back-burners the mild mystery of the disappearing Timothy Drake, removes him from his news alerts, and focuses on securing his position as Red Hood first.

Jason makes a splash with the duffle bag of heads at month three, but he knows the long work comes in what he does in months 4 through 8.

One of the things he’s learned from Talia is that physical intimidation is only a tiny part of running a criminal organization. Sure, he can claim territory with a few severed heads and some well-aimed bullets, but it takes actual work to maintain said territory: busting up upstarts, managing his lieutenants, holding his borders against nosy vigilantes and rival gangs, and most importantly, enforcing his rules.

By now (month five), most people know of his rules, but Crime Alley is justifiably slow to trust said rules. Some of it takes the stick — shooting dealers who sell to kids, threatening pimps who bully their girls, rooting out the traffickers and abusers in the shelters. But the other half is the carrot — showing up enough that the people of Crime Alley feel safe coming to him with their problems, knowing that he’ll listen and try to do something about it.

Sure, Red Hood is technically a crime lord, but Jason wants to be more than that. Controlling the drug trade and enforcing his rules comes in the night, but during the day is when he runs office hours out of the back room of Santiago’s on Wednesdays, teaches self defense classes in the upstairs of Joe’s Deli & Grocery on Tuesdays and Fridays, and organizes grocery deliveries on Mondays and Thursdays. Attendance is sparse, but growing. It sucks a bit that he has to wear his helmet on most afternoons, but Joe does give Red Hood a 10% discount at checkout.

Jason’s doing some grocery shopping at Joe’s after wrapping up his self defense class on Tuesday when he turns the corner and crashes into a kid in an oversized hoodie coming the other way, sending the kid’s basket contents everywhere.

“Oh shit, you all right, kid?” Jason squats down and starts trying to collect the three soup cans that are gainfully rolling down the aisle.

The kid doesn’t respond, and it’s only when Jason returns with the errant cans that he notices the way the kid’s staring at a bunch of flowers scattered on the floor.

“Oh no, this is all my fault. Here, lemme get you a new bouquet.” Jason bends over to start picking up the scattered flowers. These are the times when he wishes he doesn’t have to wear the helmet as Hood — the voice distorter is designed for growling threats, not reassurances.

“It’s fine, I can do it myself…” The kid squats down so quickly that his hood falls down and that’s when Jason notices the unkempt hair, thick glasses, and the red-rimmed eyes of Alvin Draper.

Jason’s run into Alvin a couple of times the last few weeks — Alvin’s neighbor was worried about him, so Jason had spent 15 minutes pulling up records that confirms Alvin’s uncle works a stable job as a night custodian at Drake Industries. Alvin’s also popped up at his self defense classes and grocery deliveries a couple of times. Good kid, if a bit quiet.

“Hey, you okay, Alvin?” Jason collects the flowers and then helps pull the kid up. “Let me get you another bouquet.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Hood,” the kid mumbles, idly rubbing his nose. “I can get it myself.”

Jason scoffs. “You don’t look fine.” He gentles his voice and hopes that comes across the voice distortion. “Hey, either let me pay for the bouquet or the ice cream next door, yeah?”

“I can pay for both,” the kid says irritably, but doesn’t say no when Jason steers him towards the ice cream shop.

“So… are those get well flowers or…?” Jason gestures at the new bouquet as they settle in the corner booth. The ice cream place is pretty deserted this time of day, so Jason risks taking off his helmet to eat his mint chocolate chip.

“They’re for my mom.” Alvin’s eyes are still trained on his cup of Rocky Road as if they contain the answer to one of Riddler’s riddles. After poking morosely at one of the marshmallows, Alvin finally sighs. “Lilies were her favorite.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Jason runs his mind back through what he knows of Alvin’s family, and finds that he doesn’t doesn’t know much beyond the uncle. “I didn’t know your mother passed. Was this recent?”

Alvin shrugs, still refusing to look at Jason. “Yeah, but it’s fine. I didn’t get to see her much when she was alive. They were never in the country, so…” He suddenly buries his head in his arms, tearing up. “I don’t get why I’m so sad about it. I barely got to know her.”

Shit, poor kid. Jason knows a few kids in similar situations — living with relatives while their parents are working elsewhere. Always hard on the family.

“You know, I knew my birth mom for all of two days before she sold me off, but I still felt bad when she died,” Jason offers. “Guess family’s weird like that.” Jason grimaces at the memory of Sheila’s face contorted in fear. “I think I was mostly mourning the mom that I wish she could have been.”

“Yeah, I guess maybe that’s what I…” Alvin suddenly cuts off.

Jason looks over to find that Alvin’s eyes have finally left the cup of Rocky Road, and are instead examining Jason’s face with startling intensity. “What?” Jason laughs, trying not to panic. “Got ice cream on my nose?” He should really wear a bandana under the helmet in addition to the domino — it’d help with the sweat and also hide his skunk hair.

Alvin visibly shakes himself. “Sorry, Mr. Hood. Somehow I imagined you with a beard or goatee or something.”

“What?” Jason can’t help balking. “A goatee?”

“Well, Green Arrow has a goatee, and you’re Red Hood,” Alvin snarks back.

“Okay, fair.” Jason chuckles, and lets out a breath. Alvin’s going through a lot, and maybe seeing Red Hood without a helmet is enough to shock him out of his doldrums. There’s no way the kid recognized him, because there’s no one to recognize — Jason Todd is dead, after all, and the only people who’d cared have long since moved on. “Well, no goatee from me,” Jason says as he pops the helmet back on and stands. Gotta keep busy, to stay ahead of the morose thoughts and the Pit.

Alvin has taken the signal to stand up as well, giving his face one final scrub. “Thanks for the ice cream, Mr. Hood. Sorry about dumping all my emotions on you like that.” It’s kind of remarkable, how quickly Alvin went from quiet tears to looking just like a normal standoffish Alley kid.

“Hey, you just lost a family member, it’s totally warranted.” Jason reassures him. “You live nearby? I’ll walk you home.”

A few micro-expressions flit across the kid’s face — surprise, confusion, joy, worry, before finally landing on determination. “Um, sure. Thank you, Mr. Hood.”

The kid lives three blocks down the street, in a studio apartment tucked into the sloped corner on the top floor of a six-floor walk-up.

The apartment is pretty cluttered, just from what Jason can see from the door. There’s a well-used skateboard by the door, as well as a pair of sneakers and a haphazardly-tossed backpack. There’s a single bed, piled high with blankets and gadgets, a couch that’s surrounded by batburger wrappers and homework scattered on the ground. There’s a pile of blankets on one end, with a battered laptop peeking out from it.

Jason frowns. “Your uncle makes you sleep on the couch?”

“Huh?” The kid looks at the couch, bewildered, before rallying. “Um, no, I sleep on the bed. Um.. Uncle Harry works the midnight shift so yeah… we only need one bed.” Then the kid adds quickly, “He also works all day on weekends, so it works out then, too.”

Jason hums, glad that the helmet is hiding his frown. The kid’s now subtly trying to herd Jason back out the door, but Jason still manages to spot the single bowl and one set of utensils on the kitchenette drying rack, and the lack of adult-sized shoes or clothing anywhere.

“Well, tell your uncle ‘hi’ from me when he gets in,” Jason pulls out a card from his pocket. “If he needs any help with your mom’s funeral logistics or whatever else, I check this number once a day, and …” Jason bites his tongue to keep himself from offering more. Alley kids are a suspicious bunch, and it’d take a while for someone like Alvin to warm up to Hood. “I run self defense classes on Tuesdays if you ever want to come.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hood,” the kid nods solemnly and takes the card before closing the door.

Jason sighs as he heads back down the six flights of stairs. Alvin is clearly living alone, and it sounds like Alvin’s parents have always been out of the country (well, now singular parent, if that). But Jason did his fair share of faking his parents’ signatures and using his mom’s credit card back in the day, and he wasn’t the only one, so he can’t really come down too hard on the kid. And at least the uncle’s job is actually on the books, unlike half of Crime Alley. Maybe this Uncle Harry was a fall guy for the Falcones and so they’re keeping the kid paid up. Or maybe Harry is a deadbeat but whoever hired him just doesn’t care that a kid shows up in his stead.

Not great, but par for the course when it comes to the Alley.

Well, he only has 4-ish months left on his Batman plan, and after that he’ll have plenty of time to fix the Alley.

Chapter Text

Tim heaves a shaky breath as he listens to Red Hood stomp down the stairs. For the first time, he’s thinking about something other than his mom’s funeral, his dad’s hospital expenses, and that churning sense of loss in the back of his mind. The impossible has happened: He just had ice cream with Jason Todd.

Tim tamps down on his initial burst of fannish joy and instead tries to focus on the facts at hand:
1) Red Hood is Jason Todd, mysteriously alive. (How? for how long?)
2) Red Hood is currently a newly-minted crime lord, with a dozen kills to his name, as well as several nascent community programs. (It makes sooo much sense, now that he knows Red Hood is Jason.)
3) Bruce would want to know ASAP.
4) For some reason, Jason Todd hasn’t told Bruce himself. (Why not? Red Hood has been operating for almost half a year now, why hasn’t he talked to Batman, much less returned to the Manor?)

But this is where Tim’s brain stalls out, because when he tries to play out what happens when he tells Bruce, there are too many uncertainties and uncontrolled variables. To wit:
- Will Bruce be happy the Jason is alive or angry that Jason is the Red Hood?
- Will Jason be happy to have Batman chasing after him or would he disappear again?
- Will Bruce offer Robin back to Jason, and would Jason accept?
- Where will Tim be in part of all this? Is this a good time to resign as Robin, or will Bruce need even more support at this juncture?

And that’s where these questions run into Tim’s ongoing problem of “What Next,” now that his mom’s gone and his dad’s in a coma. He’s cobbled together a fake uncle Eddie as a temporary measure to avoid foster care, but in between arranging the funeral and the hospital care, Tim hasn’t been able to think much about what next. He’s used to his parents being home for a few days every 3-6 months, but now that his dad is back in Gotham full time, he's having to be Timothy Drake far more frequently. What happens when his dad wakes up? He'll be expecting Timothy Drake full time. Tim’s been barely managing to hold steady with his school work and Robin work, but if Jason is back, does Tim even need to be Robin anymore? Is there a future where he can still live as Alvin Drake in apartment 6C?

Bruce thinks that Timothy Drake lives in a nice penthouse in the Diamond District, and Tim has worked hard to keep it that way. Being Alvin gives Tim all of the freedom that makes everything else bearable — he can be perfect Timothy and perfect Robin if in-between he can go back to his messy apartment and play video games and eat cup noodles. He can sort out his mom’s funeral and his dad’s hospital expenses and help Batman with the latest murder case, but only if he can come home after all that and joke with Janice at the corner store and listen to the Changs arguing one floor down. And right now, between Jason and his dad, it looks like his life as Robin and as Alvin are on the chopping block. Unless his dad never wakes up... but no, Tim doesn't want that for *anyone*, least of all his *dad*. Tim can't let himself think about that. His dad's *gonna* wake up.

Deep breath, Tim tells himself. This isn’t about him, it’s about Bruce and Jason. And the fact of the matter is, if Tim tells Bruce during patrol tonight, “Hey Bruce, I think your son is alive, though I don’t know why, and I don’t know if he even remembers you. And he’s the Red Hood, who you think is a new murderous villain but actually I’ve been to some of his self defense classes and he’s honestly making a positive impact on Crime Alley.” Not only would Bruce not believe him and possibly bench or fire him, but Bruce might also go haring off to confront Red Hood. The current likelihood of reconciliation is very low.

So with any good plan, what Tim needs is more data.

And Tim loves collecting data. So Tim does what he does best, which is shove everything messy in his life into neatly systematized boxes, and creates a new spreadsheet.

First he’s going to take these flowers to his mother’s grave and work on his AP Chemistry homework en route. And then he’s going to make dinner. And then after that, he’s going to do research on the Red Hood, with the end goal of bringing Jason home to Bruce. That will have to have a hard stop of 9:45pm so that he can then meet up with Bruce for Robin duties.

As the plans and contingencies roll out in his mind, Tim breathes a sigh of relief. He can do this. Everything is better with a list.

—*—*—*—*—*—

Bruce waits at the top of Drake Tower, and wishes for the umpteenth time that Tim would let Bruce into his life.

Sure, maybe Bruce appreciated the professional distance when Tim first approached him three years ago, with his starched shirt, his blackmail photos, damning crime statistics, and his unerring faith that Batman needed a Robin. He hadn’t wanted a Robin then, had in fact been unable to think of the word “Robin” without thinking about …. well.

Bruce steps neatly around the yawning hole that remains in the middle of his heart. He’s learned to put fencing around it, to tread around it enough times that the path now curves around edges instead of going straight in. But it still hurts.

At the time, he’d wanted to reject Tim’s proposal, but looking through those photos made him realize that Tim would be running around Gotham untrained regardless. The determination he saw in Tim’s eyes told him this was a kid who would run out in a home-made Robin suit if Bruce said no. And as little as he’d wanted Tim in the Robin suit, he’d wanted a child dying in the Robin suit even less.

Since then, he has Tim to thank for helping him build that path around the hole in his chest, shoddy and rough trodden though it may be. Every time he looked over at the Robin cape and saw someone else, it made it a bit easier to breathe through the pain and the guilt. He mourns his son, and will ever remain in mourning, but having a new Robin is a good reminder that life goes onward, and that what he’s mourning is his son, and not what his son did as Robin.

It has taken time, but slowly, with the path that Tim has helped him build, Bruce has been able to put up that fencing. Talk to Dick without listening for Jason’s snarky commentary. Eat a meal that Jason used to enjoy without it tasting like ash. Walk around the Manor without looking for that head of curls bobbing down the stairs. Stop looking for school event announcements in his email.

The pain is still there, will always be there. But it has finally dulled, after three years. Which has allowed him finally able to notice and appreciate the people who have been there for him — Alfred, ever his bedrock through everything. But also: Clark, who holds the League together and is always present with a sympathetic ear. Selina, with her “don’t-give-a-fuck” attitude, and Tim, who believed in Batman and Robin when Bruce couldn’t do it himself.

Tim, who Bruce notes, remains a mystery. The boy in question pops out of the rooftop access door of Drake Tower, all suited up and ready to go. He nods professionally to Batman as always, eyes hidden by the white lenses of the domino.

There’s nothing about how Tim Drake carries himself that indicates that the boy had just lost his mother to poison and that his father is currently comatose in Gotham General. In fact, if Bruce didn’t keep up with the society pages, he wouldn’t have known anything was wrong.

Bruce had offered to help with funeral services. With setting up Jack Drake’s hospital fund. With setting up temporary guardianship. Tim had politely demurred each time. “I can manage,” and “My mother left very clear instructions,” and “My uncle is coming in to help,” and “It’s fine, Bruce, this won’t affect Robin’s performance.”

It’s not that Bruce doesn’t understand the need to pull a mantle over oneself, to subsume one’s grief into something colder, more logical, within carefully circumscribed definitions of justice and action. And Tim is so much like him in this aspect — the desire to compartmentalize, to intellectualize.

Bruce just wishes that Tim doesn’t have to feel that way around him.

Bruce had tried, walking on that small trail around the hole of Jason, to try to invite Tim into their lives. Invitations to dinner, to movie nights, to stay in the Manor. But every time, Tim politely but firmly rejects. He needs to do his homework. He needs to get back to the penthouse in the Diamond District. He has a kid he’s tutoring and he doesn’t want to miss. Sure, his parents aren’t home much but his nanny would worry if he stays overnight. “This is a professional relationship, Bruce,” Tim would say, in that polite-but-firm way of his. “Thank you for respecting my privacy.”

And what can Bruce say to that? After all, he doesn’t meddle in Barbara’s life. She has parents and a life outside of the Manor, and it’s only fair to afford Tim the same distance.

Except that Barbara visits the Manor for Alfred’s monthly book club and has her on-again, off-again relationship with Dick, whereas Bruce doesn’t know anything about what Tim’s life is like outside what Vickie Vale reports in the Gazette.

Bruce has stooped to hacking into Gotham Academy’s school records to look at student feedback, and tracking Tim’s accomplishments in the school newspaper. “Well-mannered,” says the Gazette, “astute,” says Tim’s teachers, “most likely to succeed,” says the school yearbook. Nothing that Bruce doesn’t already know. What about Tim’s hobbies? What about Tim’s friends? Who is Tim tutoring? What does Tim do when he’s not Robin? Bruce knows so little about Tim, but it seems like Tim wants it to be that way. And after the way Dick ran when Bruce tried to control too much, and the way Jason ran when Bruce didn’t offer enough trust, Bruce can’t afford to have Tim run, too.

So Bruce does all he can, given the circumstances: weekend training sessions at the Batcave to make sure that Tim is well-equipped to figure out his own problems. Giving Tim remote access to the Batcomputer and all of the Batcave’s resources. The newest kevlar weaves and Robin suit to protect him from as much as possible.

Even though Bruce failed to save Jack and Janet Drake.

“How are you doing, Robin?” Bruce asks past the lump in his throat.

“Doing peachy, B.” Tim chirps from behind his Robin mask, polite as always. “What’s on the docket for tonight?”

“We need to check out the Red Hood,” Bruce says, realizing that he won’t be able to get more out of Tim tonight. “You’ve read the case file for him?”

Robin recites, “Red helmet, leather jacket, a lot of guns, left a bunch of severed heads with the GCPD four months ago. Staying quiet since then, but moving to control Crime Alley.”

Bruce nods. “And Red Hood is Joker’s old moniker,” he adds, somewhat unnecessarily. “We’ll check out some of our contacts in the Crime Alley tonight, but I want you to stay out of Crime Alley unless you’re with me. It’s dangerous.” Tim won’t let him help in other parts of his life, but at least here, Bruce can try to keep the kid safe.

Tim is oddly silent for a moment before nodding. “Got it.” He cocks a Robin grin. “Don’t have to worry about me, B.”

That night, they encounter Red Hood face-to-face for the first time. Red Hood fires three warning shots at them and uses language that implies he knows more about Batman and Robin than he should.

Bruce formalizes the ban on Robin entering Crime Alley and leaves Tim in the safety of Drake Tower, grateful for once that Tim has a life outside of the cape, well protected from the dangers of Red Hood.

Chapter Text

“Fuck,” Jason curses as he loses his grip on his grapple and ends up having to do an ungainly tuck-and-roll crash landing onto the closest rooftop. He can't help hissing in pain. Fuck. Just his luck to land right on top of his fractured left arm.

“Hood? Is that you?”

Jason looks up to see Alvin peering at him from behind an air conditioning unit. “What are you doing here, kid?” Jason grits out.

The kid blinks. “I live here.” He gestures at the roof access door.

“Oh. Yeah.” Jason grunts as he tries to stand up. If this is Alvin's building, then he’s got a safehouse three blocks over, and …

The kid hisses. “Shit, you’re bleeding, Hood. Let me help.”

And before Jason can say anything, the kid is somehow half under Jason’s arm and is applying pressure to the big gash on his side. “This is pretty deep.” Alvin frowns. “I’ve got a suturing kit. Come downstairs and let me stitch you up.” He stands up, taking on a surprising portion of Jason’s weight as he starts walking Jason towards the roof access door. “C’mon, I’m just one floor down.”

Jason should say no. His own medkit is just a few blocks away, and he really shouldn’t be bleeding over Alvin’s floor. But the thought of climbing down and making it three more blocks isn’t particularly appealing after the night he’s had. Besides, he’d kind of wanted to check up on the kid anyway.

So Jason stops resisting and lets himself be dragged through Alvin’s messy apartment and into his startlingly clean and neat bathroom.

“Jacket and helmet off,” Alvin commands as he pulls out a surprisingly bulky first aid kit, suddenly confident and assertive in a way that Jason hadn’t seen before. Ever since that day with the ice cream, Alvin has started showing up to help Jason with his grocery delivery service, but he tended to stay in the background, quietly helping with bagging, inventory, and delivery. This is the first time he’s giving Jason direct commands, one-on-one.

“Why helmet off?” Jason asks defensively. “I don’t have a concussion.”

“Hood, you know you’re really scary with that thing, right? Besides, I’ve already seen you with your helmet off — I know you have a domino under there.” Alvin is sorting through the various compartments of his kit, but looks up with a cocky grin. “Relax, I don’t have fear toxin stashed here or anything.”

“Fair,” Jason shrugs out of his jacket and pulls off his helmet. Alvin’s shoulders relax immediately. Wow, guess the helmet was bothering him that much, huh? Alvin gestures at the closed toilet lid with a flourish, and Jason sits down, propping his arm on the sink.

“What happened?” Alvin asks as he expertly threads the needle and starts with the first stitch. “I didn’t hear anything in the Alley tonight, and the Bats have been staying away ever since you shot at them last week.”

“Green Dragons.” Jason grunts. He was feeling antsy after his first face-off with the Bats, and had been distracting himself by picking fights.

“Ah, over in Chinatown.” Alvin raises an eyebrow. “I thought that’s squarely in Batman’s area.”

Jason frowns. “You sure know a lot about Gotham’s night life, kid.”

Alvin snorts. “I live in Gotham, Hood. Vigilantes are what we have for celebrities.” He nods his head toward the kitchen window, barely visible through the bathroom door. “Besides, I see them a lot.”

Jason looks over and … yeah, that’s actually a pretty good vantage point. It’s at the intersection of over half of Batman’s patrol routes, and, shit, that’s exactly where Jason was the other night, demonstrating quite unequivocally to Batman and Robin that the Alley is off limits. Wonder if Alvin saw that — Jason may have yelled some stuff in a fit of green-tinted rage that he’s now come to regret.

“This is gonna hurt,” is all the warning Jason gets before his vision whites out for a moment, driving all thoughts from his mind.

“Sorry,” Alvin says apologetically as he finishes splinting Jason’s arm. “Figured it’s better to do it when you’re distracted.” Arm splinted, Alvin moves on to apply pressure bandages to Jason’s smaller wounds.

“You’re really good at this,” Jason comments as he checks out the neat row of sutures on his abdomen.

Alvin shrugs. “Dr. Thompkin’s isn’t always open, so I got my own kit and did some practice at home. Youtube videos are really helpful.”

“You get hurt often?” Jason peers at the kid. Now that he’s looking, there are quite a few scars peeking out from under the kid’s t-shirt, and his arm has some pretty distinctive scrapes. Thankfully none that look like the neat lines he sees on some other kids, but still worrisome.

“I skateboard, and sometimes I don’t land right,” Alvin says tersely, then adds, “Don’t worry, Hood, I’m not getting abused by my uncle or anything.”

Jason hums noncommittally. “Yeah, I’m not worried about your uncle.”

He’d looked into Alvin’s uncle a bit more since the first time, and he’s pretty sure that the uncle is fake. Papers just magically showed up one summer five years ago, a mere month before this apartment got rented. Jason can’t find anything about the kid’s parents, either, but he doesn’t have much to go on besides the fact that they’re out of the country.

Alvin shoots him a wry look as he puts away his medkit. “You figured out that my uncle is fake, huh?”

“Wasn’t hard when there’s only one set of anything around here.” Jason doesn’t add the fact that Alvin is the only one who uses his uncle’s credit card. “Are you doing your uncle’s job at the Drake building?”

Alvin shrugs, standing up and walking out of the bathroom. “It pays the bills and it’s got flexible hours. I’m usually done around 2 or 3am, and with some full days on the weekends.”

Jason whistles as he follows. “So you, what, sleep 4 hours a night?” At least Jason doesn’t have school in the morning, and can wake up at noon like a healthy vigilante.

“I also nap between 8pm and 10pm, so it’s not too bad,” Alvin says matter-of-factly, moving to the kitchenette. “Plus there’s coffee in the mornings and Zesti for the afternoons. Want anything? I’ve got… well, coffee and Zesti. And there’s some bananas on the counter.”

“Yes, the 3 food groups that a growing 15-year-old needs.” Jason snorts. “You eat anything else besides that?”

Alvin scowls at him, offended. “I can also make egg scrambles, stir-fry, ramen, and sandwiches, of course. Plus it’s Gotham — plenty of places open late. And my neighbor gives me tamales in exchange for tutoring their kid, so my diet is perfectly fine.” As if to prove a point, Alvin pulls out a pot. “I’m about to make some midnight ramen, with all the fixings. You want in?”

“Sure,” Jason agrees, watching Alvin putz around confidently in his kitchenette, pulling out veggies and hot dogs to add to the ramen. Alvin seems to be fending for himself quite well — his cooking repertoire doesn’t seem to be very large but it’s very functional and geared toward quick, nutritious meals. The neighbor is probably Marisol, who was the one who initially asked him to check up on Alvin. Between Marisol and his boss, the kid is getting at least some adult oversight. And the kid is clearly well-versed in first aid care. The scars on the kid’s arm is still a little worrisome, though. “So is your life just school, homework, tutoring, and then work?” Jason nods over at the TV. “I don’t see a game system.”

“My Switch is in my backpack, and I’m more of a computer gamer anyway.” Alvin is also cracking an egg into the ramen. “And in case you forgot — weekends do exist. That’s when I hang out with my friends.” Alvin pegs Jason with a gimlet glare. “My place is a bit small to host, as you can see. Done with your welfare check, Hood?”

Jason shrugs and makes a show of sitting back against the couch. Much of it is piled with various clutter, so he shamelessly occupies the one sitting area that is probably Alvin’s usual spot. “You seem to have a pretty good set-up here,” he comments. Now that Jason’s had time to look around, he can see the order to the chaos. This isn’t “kid on his own for the first time” sort of mess. This is “kid’s been on his own for a while” sort of clutter. The piles have internal logic, the laundry basket is not over-full, and there’s signs of regular tidying-up.

“Yeah?” Alvin puts the ramen in two bowls and walks over, navigating through the space with a degree of comfort and casual ease that speaks to having built up his habits over many years of solo living.

“What’s this doohickey?” Jason gestures at an odd board contraption by the couch.

“Oh! Check it out.” Alvin kicks it in one specific spot, and it unfolds into a couch-side table. He sets the ramen bowls down with a flourish. “Pretty cool, huh? It also doubles as a knee scooter for when I sprain my ankle.”

“Guess you’ve had a lot of time to get this place set up exactly how you like it.” Up to five years, if the uncle has never been real in the first place.

“Yup.” Alvin clears a second spot on his couch to sit down and passes Jason a set of chopsticks. His voice is relaxed, but his body is still tense. Jason knows he can’t push any further, so instead he digs into the ramen. It’s no Alfred, but it’s decent.

“Can’t believe your fake uncle trick has worked for so long.” Jason says admiringly between mouthfuls. “I know a few people who would kill for a pad like this one, and if they knew you were on your own…” Jason pointedly eyes the security latches on the kid’s windows.

“They’re more secure than they look.” Alvin explains. “Don’t want to attract attention.”

“Good,” Jason nods. “I was on my own when I was ten, too, and getting a secure place was always the hardest.” He'd held onto his mom's apartment as long as he could, and after that, he remembers defending coveted squats when he could, and hasty evacuations when he couldn't.

“Yeah, I’m really lucky — I’ve always had enough money for room and board, so the only new things that I had to figure out was buying groceries and doing laundry.” Alvin makes a face. “Actually it was actually hardest that first year, when I had to tag along after someone and pretend they’re my adult. Nowadays… the Alley doesn’t care much once a kid looks older than 10.”

“Sounds about right.” Jason nods as he polishes off his ramen. Alley’s got plenty of kids running errands for parents or other people by age 10. Hell, Jason was a tall 8-year-old and no one batted an eye when he did all the grocery shopping for his mom. Or when he was doing odd jobs to try to help make rent at the age of 10. And no one questioned the various bruises he’d get, either from his jobs or from Willis.

And Alvin seems to have a steady source of income, which is much more than what Jason ever got. He’s gonna have to look into Alvin’s boss and his revenue streams a bit.

“Don’t you dare stalk me,” Alvin shakes his chopsticks at him, as if reading Jason’s mind. “I put a lot of effort into building and protecting my setup here, okay? If anyone looks into it too hard, it’s gonna come crashing down. So don’t mess it up for me.”

“Okay, okay.” Jason sets the bowl down and puts his hands up in surrender. Maybe Alvin’s taking advantage of a clerical error or loophole somewhere. One of those things where any attention is going to close the loophole. “I’ll leave this alone.”

Alvin's shoulders visibly relax, which means Jason's made the right call. And with nothing left of the noodles, Jason picks up his helmet and gets up from the couch. “Thanks for patching me up, really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Drop by if you need any more patching up,” the kid offers, then frowns. “Though maybe not when I’m tutoring…. or working.”

“Cool,” Jason dawdles, trying to think of a non-awkward excuse to check in more. “I guess I owe you dinner now.”

Alvin looks at him long and hard, and for a second Jason thinks that he’d pushed the kid too far. Alley kids are skittish by nurture, Alvin in particular. It’s rare enough that Alvin trusts him enough to pull him into the apartment, but then Jason had to go and insult his independence. Finally, Alvin huffs in resignation. “Fine, if you’re going to keep checking up on me, dinner’s probably the easiest for the both of us. I’m usually just here doing homework between 6-8pm most school nights.”

“Great,” Jason shoots the kid a grateful smile before putting his helmet back on. “See you around, Alvin.”

Chapter Text

Despite the invite, Tim didn’t really expect the Red Hood to tap at his window the very next day, 6:05pm on the dot. He quickly closes the case files that he was looking at before heading over to unlock the window.

Crap, if this is going to be a semi-regular occurrence, Tim’s going to have to find a different time to do case work.

Jason takes off his red helmet almost immediately, which loosens some of the tension that Tim didn’t realize he was carrying. He still can’t quite forget the way that the helmet and the distorted voice had growled at Robin a few nights ago, calling him “pathetic” and “child soldier” and “replacement”. Which is idiotic, since he’s interacted plenty with Hood before and since, with and without the helmet, and he knows that Hood won’t hurt him. Well, as long as Jason doesn’t know he’s Robin. For reasons that Tim still needs to suss out as part of his research. Tim double-checks that he’s still wearing Alvin’s glasses, then follows Jason into his kitchenette.

Jason has set down a bag of groceries, and is frowning at the contents of Tim’s fridge. “Do you have soy sauce? I want to make a quick stir fry.”

Oooookay…. Tim supposes that Red Hood aka Jason Todd is now taking over his tiny kitchenette. This might as well happen. Tim tamps down on the part of him that is still excited about the idea of Jason Todd!! In his apartment!! It only took a few training sessions with Bruce to quash the irrational Batman fanboy in him, and hopefully something similar will happen here. He’s long learned that the real person is always far more interesting than whatever hero-worship version he’d built up in his head all those years ago. It’s better to get to know this new Jason as Hood, and not think too much about the Robin he used to follow across Gotham rooftops.

“Soy sauce is in the first cupboard, next to the fish sauce,” Tim points out. Why was Hood looking in the fridge, for soy sauce of all things?

“Did you know,” Mom says with a conspiratorial voice, “A lot of white people refrigerate their soy sauce?”

“Why would they do that?” Tim is standing on a stool, where Mom is teaching him how to make chow mein.

“I think they consider it a dressing, maybe?” Mom shrugs. “It probably makes sense if you rarely use it.”

He watches his mom expertly stir-fry everything together and serve the noodles in a bowl. “There,” she says with a satisfied smile. “Once you’ve learned how to do this, you can cook for yourself and we won’t need to pay Mrs. Mac for reheatable meals.”

Somehow, Tim finds himself sitting on the couch.

“You okay, Alvin?” Hood asks from the kitchen, where the smell of a broccoli stir fry is emerging. It smells heavenly. It smells different from the way Tim (and Mom) would make it.

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” Tim tries to shake off his silly doldrums. “Something just reminded me of mom, is all.” It’s surprising, how easily these words come out of Tim. It is unacceptable for Timothy Drake to be near tears because of some soy sauce. And he doesn’t want to burden Batman or Ms. Marisol with his problems. But Jason already saw him crying into his ice cream. And Hood has no expectations about how Alvin is supposed to behave. Still kinda embarrassing, though.

“Hey,” comes a gentle voice by Tim’s shoulder. Somehow, Jason is already leaning over and setting two bowls of broccoli noodle stir fry down on the coffee table. “It’s okay, sometimes the weirdest stuff trigger memories.”

Tim does the only dignified thing available, which is to grab the bowl and stuff his mouth so that he’s chewing and not crying.

“For me it’s graham crackers,” Jason says, eyes distant. “Mom would always have a box of them in the cupboard, and even on nights when she forgot to make dinner, I knew I could always count on the crackers…”

Tim chews, swallows, and somehow, feels better. “You miss her?”

“Of course,” comes the instant reply. Then, somewhat softer, Jason adds, “It’s been almost ten years but I still keep a box of graham crackers in every one of my safehouses.”

Hood visibly shakes himself, then turns to take in Tim’s setup. “Anyway, enough of that from the both of us, yeah? Do you want to work on homework or watch something? Are you more of a homework-dinner person or a tv-dinner person?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tim musters, grateful for the subject change. He looks down at his computer to see what’s still up on the screen. “I’ve got an English essay that I am procrastinating on, so I was watching a video essay on the early Qing legal system instead. I can start from the beginning again.”

“Wait, what about that English essay?” Jason interrupts.

“I’m procrastinating on it.” Tim reiterates. “That implies that I don’t want to work on it right now.”

“Yeah, but maybe I can help.”

Tim’s about to remind Hood that he’s got a system which involves 1.5-2 hours of procrastination per hour of essay work, but then he remembers that Jason Todd was a giant lit nerd. This could be a good way to get him talking, and possibly glean some hints about what happened to him. After all, the point of getting closer to Hood is to do research, not to have him comfort Tim when he’s being irrationally upset or whatever.

Even if it means he’s going to have to work on his English homework. With a sigh, Tim switches over to his essay. “All right, fine. We’ve just read MacBeth…”

—*—*—*—*—*—

“Are those …. the grocery delivery lists?” Jason looks over to the stack of papers that Alvin seems to be in the middle of digitizing in lieu of doing homework. Last Jason remembers, he'd left them on the table back at the delivery service headquarters. What are they doing here?

“Oh yeah.” Alvin mumbles around the falafel in his mouth, eyes flickering from page to screen as he inputs items and numbers into a spreadsheet. “The grocery lists have been modified and updated so much that they’re kind of messy and not really legible, so I was thinking… maybe we can digitize them?" Alvin pauses and swipes at his phone. "I’ve whipped up a quick webpage where you can select the person’s name and be able to see their list, so now I’m just entering the data.”

Alvin hands Jason his phone where the website is pulled up. “I’m thinking next is adding a line-item update feature that both the delivery person and the recipient can edit, and maybe later I can add in the data of what items come in each week, since our inventory shifts so much. That way we can allow people to update their list based on what’s available, or maybe list acceptable substitutions when we run out of something…”

Jason does a couple of quick taps on the website, and is suddenly able to pull up all the grocery lists for people living in the same building. “When’d you find time to do this?”

“Oh, José is with his grandma this week, so I haven’t been doing tutoring. And next week there’s less school work because of parent teacher conferences, so I can probably get most of the features implemented…” A look of panic flashes across Alvin's face. “Don’t worry, I know that not everyone has smart phones, especially not some of the folks that we deliver to, and sometimes it’s easier to mark things on paper anyway, so we’ll definitely keep paper copies around until I can implement some sort of proper paper-digital cross-platform usability features…”

“Alv,” Jason claps him on the shoulder, just to get the kid to stop blabbering. “It’s a good idea, and this is really amazing work. Thank you for taking the initiative.”

Alvin flushes. “Really?”

“Of course.” Given the way Alvin blushes, you’d think no one’s praised him before. Well, only one thing to do about that. Jason pops a falafel into Alvin's mouth, earning him a surprised squeak. "Gotta eat then while they're still warm, kid."

—*—*—*—*—*—

“Another sprain?” Hood asks pointedly as he sets down the two plates of shrimp and grits on the coffee table and plops down on his side of the couch. “This is the third this month.”

Tim takes a moment to marvel at what his life has become — Jason dropping by his place often enough that he now has a “side of the couch” that Tim endeavors to keep clear. Tim’s had more food variety in the last month than in the last 5 years, and has somehow acquired two new pots and a new set of knives in the kitchen. But also: Jason stopping by often enough to notice Tim’s constant bruising.

“Yeah, it happens.” Tim waves the offending hand nonchalantly. “I was trying to do some grinds on the railing outside Alvarado’s gym and landed wrong.”

Jason squints at Tim's wrist brace, and Tim is infinitely grateful that the brace is large enough to hide both the sprain and the bruises from when Killer Croc grabbed him. And that Hood’s bullets from the week before only grazed his shoulder, so he can hide that without wearing long sleeves. And that he’s good enough at walking smoothly with a sprained ankle that Jason hasn’t noticed that, either.

Still, just the wrist brace merits a far-too-discerning frown, apparently. Jason gives him a long look, and Tim is very glad that he’s had a lot of experience of standing up to Batman’s scrutiny. He takes deep breaths and reminds himself that Jason only shoots at Robin, and that he’s not Robin right now, just Alvin. Alvin who gets into skateboarding accidents and is definitely not bruised from a fight with Killer Croc. Alvin who Jason respects as an Alley kid. The best defense is a good offense, so Tim throws back with, “What, you’re gonna tell me to stop, Hood?”

Another beat, and Hood backs off. Tim can see him visibly relaxing back into Jason. “Nah. Just wondering how your school hasn’t got on your case yet. Aren’t they all mandatory reporters or some shit?”

“Well, they don’t ask questions because I’m not dumb enough to wear the brace to school.” Tim snorts, hiding his relief in sass. “That’s what long sleeves and concealer is for.”

Jason sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. “School knows nothing about you, do they?”

“Of course not.” Tim rolls his eyes. “I’ve been lying about my home life since I was seven. Besides,” he adds, “Mom would have…”

Tim’s mind stutters for a second as he once again remembers that his mom’s 6 feet under and his dad’s been in a coma for over 3 months. All the school would have done was try to call his fake uncle Eddie Drake. There’s no more biweekly video chats, no more questions about school and grades, no more commendations for Tim’s occasional awards. Mom isn't even there to yell at him for getting phone calls from the school. If Timothy Drake fails out of school would anyone even notice?

There is a grounding touch at his elbow. Oh, it's Hood's hand.

“Hey,” Jason asks gently, “Want a hug?”

Tim blinks. Jason’s… offering Tim a hug? No, Hood is offering Alvin a hug, which isn't the same. But it’s still really nice of him, to offer a random Alley kid a hug. Timothy Drake would decline, to be polite. Tim probably should decline, since he’s here to collect data about Hood, not garner hugs. But Hood’s offer seems genuine, and … Alvin would say yes, right? So what if his shoulder is still bandaged from the bullets that Hood shot at him? That was Robin. Alvin has no reason to flinch in front of Hood.

Tim takes a deep, trembling breath. “Yeah.”

Jason's arms wrap around him, solid and reassuring. At first, Tim's not sure what he's supposed to do -- he knows five different ways to greet people at galas, but none of them involve a hug like this. "Hey, it's okay, just relax," Hood murmurs in Tim's ear. So Tim does. He loosens his limbs and lets Hood squeeze him like a plushie. Tim lets out a long breath, and his brain goes a little fuzzy for a moment.

Eventually, Hood loosens his grip and sits back. "Better?"

Tim takes a breath in, and somehow finds himself smiling. "Yeah."

—*—*—*—*—*—

Alvin’s light is on.

It’s not like Jason makes a habit of swinging by Alvin’s apartment during patrol, but the kid’s place *is* rather close to one of the grappling crossroads and now that he knows which window’s Alvin’s, he can’t help tracking it.

And Alvin’s light is on, at 3am.

Doesn’t he usually get back from his job by 2am, latest? It’s usually lights out in less than 10 minutes.

Jason adjusts his grapple swing to drop by the window.

The kid’s in the kitchen, boiling water, with a heavy blanket over him and holding one of his many plushies. His laptop is precariously balanced on a mug and he seems to be working on a lab report for school.

“You’re up late.” Jason says with very little pre-amble as he disengages the various locks and opens the window.

“Hmm?” Alvin pulls down his ever-present headphones. “Oh, hey, Hood.”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep right now?” Jason teases. “You’ve shown me that chart of yours.” Alvin treats his body like one of the laptops that he maintains — x number of hours of sleep guarantees x percent of functionality, y amount of food applied at z intervals makes for optimal health. Jason hates it, but at least the kid’s alive. And he’s working on getting the kid to appreciate food in more than a utilitarian manner.

“Oh. Yeah,” Alvin’s brows pinch in a tiny frown. “Unfortunately I ran into some residual Ivy pollen on my way back from work, so I gotta stay up and let it burn through. But it’s okay — I’m getting tomorrow’s homework done right now, so I’ll just make up the extra sleep during my homework slot tomorrow.”

“Shit, what kind of pollen?” Ivy was fighting the Bats tonight, and Robinson Park is between the Alley and Drake Tower. Kid probably skated through some residual stuff on his way home. “Not one of her compulsion ones?”

“Nah — those don’t work unless she’s within 25 feet anyway, and have a half-life of about 5 minutes. This is just one of her cuddle pollens. She’s been leaving that stuff everywhere, ever since she started dating Harley.” Alvin makes a face. “I think she’s trying to play matchmaker for all of Gotham, but it just kind of sucks.”

“Don’t you need… well, cuddles, for cuddle pollen?” Jason got hit with it last month, and spent the night curled up on his couch with cold pins and needles and the next day in a fatigue fugue state. Once he got out of his funk he set up a cuddle buddy system for his Merry Men. It’s kind of weird, to see Alvin so blasé about it.

“Nah, I’ve got a system.” Alvin gestures. “Hot tea warms the insides, the weighted blanket warms the outside, plushie to deal with the impulse to hold something, and …” Alvin waves a blister pack triumphantly, “Allergy meds.” He adds proudly, “Turns out cuddle pollen is still just pollen, so if I take 4x the recommended dosage, it cuts down a lot of the initial symptoms. 2 hours of mild chills and shakes instead of 6 hours of hypothermia.”

“Enough to do homework, but not enough to sleep,” Jason observes.

“Exactly.” Alvin beams. “When I posted it to r/GothamLifeHacks, it got a ton of upvotes.”

“And what about the fatigue symptoms?” Jason asks, “Do your meds work on that, too? Or do you bring your blanket and plushie to school?”

Alvin scoffs. “I’d get my ass handed to me if I brought a plushie to school. The fatigue isn’t reduced, but it’ll be over by tomorrow night, so not a big deal. School will just be a bit more tiring.” He gestures at his laptop. “Also why I’m getting the hardest parts of my lab report done now.”

Jason barely resists pinching the bridge of his nose. How is it that this kid has decided to invent a system for everything, but can’t fathom asking someone for a fucking hug?

“You know, the pollen is supposed to be burned off with human contact. Then there won’t be fatigue problems the next day, either.”

Alvin snorts. “Yeah, like I’m gonna (a) find someone to cuddle at 3am, and (b) bother them for an hour of close physical contact.”

That’s it. Jason plops himself down on the couch and pats the space next to him. “C’mon. Do your homework here, and I’ll be your physical contact buddy.”

“But it’s late,” Alvin protests. “It’ll take another hour to burn off the pollen. You probably have…”

“I’m a crime lord,” Jason reminds him. “These are my usual hours. I was gonna go home and read a book.” Jason pulls out the pocket copy of Persuasion he has in his jacket. “I can do that here, too.” He once again pats the space on the couch. “C’mon, sit.”

After another moment of hesitation, Alvin grudgingly brings his laptop and sidles onto the couch. He yelps a bit when Jason tugs him closer, but soon enough Alvin settles in, all but burrowed against Jason.

As the kid gets engrossed in his lab report, Jason ponders the mystery of Alvin Draper. He’s not quite an Alley kid the way that Jason had first assumed.

For one, Alvin spends money like the comfortably well-off. He never remarks on how much Jason’s groceries must have cost. He’s always known what a dish was, even if he hasn’t had it. He buys things with the confidence of knowing that the money is there to pay for it. He’s clearly never experienced the desperation of having to make a dollar stretch for far too many meals.

Then there’s the mystery of Alvin’s background. He’s been living on his own since he was at most 10, but he’s not an orphan like Jason. His mom is dead, but where are his other relatives? No uncle, clearly, but there may or may not be a dad? Alvin’s accent shifts in and out, from mid-town neutral to Crime Alley drawl, but then a few words seem too prim to be either. Sprinkled in are the occasional mis-pronunciations of a little nerd who first learned words through reading text. For the life of him, Jason can’t figure out where Alvin is from, where the remnants of his family might be, and how he ended up living in a studio apartment in Crime Alley.

And finally there’s the mysterious scars and the continuing parade of bruises. It’s like one’s barely healed before the kid got hurt again. Jason would think he's running drugs for the Maronis or something, except that Jason’s followed Alvin a few times, and his life is as routine as he’s described. So where are these mysterious bruises coming from? Whenever he’s gently probed over the past month, Alvin’s response has always been an adamant, “It’s nothing bad, I promise. No gangs, no bullies, no sex work, no underground fighting rings.” So the scars remain a mystery.

But with Alvin tucked under one arm, Jason finds that he doesn’t give a fuck about these mysteries. Alvin can keep his secrets, because at the end of the day, Alvin is a good kid. For one, he truly loves the Alley. Jason did look into Alvin’s job a bit, and it seems like he’s just siphoning off money from the Drakes’ corporate account and paying “Harry Draper” a cool 6k a month. With that level of money, Alvin could be living in a little brownstone in Otisburg. Instead he chooses to stay in a sixth-floor studio at the edge of Crime Alley. Alvin greets half the residents in the apartment building by name. He’s been improving Jason’s grocery delivery service by leaps and bounds, and charming all the old ladies with his sweetness and courtesy. The Batburger down the street has Alvin’s order dialed up the moment he steps in the door.

Yet here is Alvin, unable to find a hug when he fucking needs one. Sure, Alvin is a bundle of mysteries and conundrums, but at the heart of it, he’s a kid who is touch-starved and desperately lonely. He may not have lacked money, but the way he perks up at any sort of praise, the way he approaches offers of hugs like it can’t be trusted… the kid needs family.

Alvin’s head is beginning to list against Jason’s shoulder as they approach 4am, and Jason can quietly admit to himself that he wouldn’t mind being that family for the kid. After all, he’s been enjoying their dinners — he didn’t realize how much he’s missed having casual downtime with another person until he started visiting Alvin. With Alvin, he doesn’t have to be Red Hood. He doesn’t need to work towards a bigger plan, or manage lieutenants, or figure out the next move against Black Mask. He can cook, relax, goof off, and maybe yell at the kid for his tepid takes on Shakespeare.

Jason shifts so that he’s a bit more comfortable on the couch and considers the logistics of tucking Alvin in to bed. After all, it looks like Jason’s gonna be sticking around for a bit.

—*—*—*—*—*—

“What are you frowning about?” Jason asks as he lounges on the couch, having commandeered Tim’s Switch and is currently making Link fight far too many bokoblins. Tim would complain about Hood taking up his precious two hours of homework time, but (a) Jason makes yummy food, and (b) Tim is actually getting a decent amount of homework done, regardless. It’s actually kind of nice, to have company around who isn’t expecting anything of him, whose presence feels comfortable in way that no one else has. Tim can't remember ever sassing anyone as much as he's sassed Jason. It's surprisingly fun.

“I’m trying to decide whether I should submit to this photography competition or not,” Tim says after a moment of consideration.

“No shit? You take photos?” Jason rolls up to sitting, and Tim notes the way he carefully keeps his right ankle up. Hood probably sprained it the other night when fighting Black Mask. “C’mon, Alv, show me.”

Tim turns his laptop around and shows Jason some of the photos he’s considering, careful to hide any indications that he’s submitting as Timothy Drake, not Alvin Draper.

“Wow, this is really good!” Hood exclaims as he scrolls through the selection of street corners at various angles and closeups of pigeons in odd places. “You should definitely submit them. What’s stopping you?” His eyes narrow a bit. “Is there a contest entry fee? Because if there is, you know that’s just pure bullshit, right?”

“There just doesn’t seem like much of a point. Winning doesn’t get me anything.” Tim did it initially because that’s the only way to justify his camera expenses to his parents. Then it was one of the rare ways to get his parents to actually acknowledge his work (“Why would I waste my time looking at losing entries?” was what Mom said. Dad usually just glanced at the winning entry long enough to be able to brag about it to his friends.) So now that his parents aren’t around to care about the award, why bother?

“Well first of all, even if you don’t get into the semi-finals or whatever, it’s good to just put yourself out there. Secondly, just by submitting, you’re getting a chance to do more with your pictures, create a new narrative. Thirdly…” A phone buzzes from one of Hood’s many pockets. “Hold on,” Hood frowns as he takes it out and peers at the message. “One sec,” Hood says apologetically as he grabs his helmet and slips onto Tim’s fire escape, no doubt already dialing the number via his helmet.

Tim carefully flips back to his AP Bio homework and doesn’t look at Hood, pacing tensely on his fire escape. He’s already hacked Hood’s helmet, so whatever Hood is saying is getting routed to Tim’s separate server and recorded, and Tim can review it later for any relevant details that he can either slip onto the BatComputer or track in his own Jason Todd files.

Tim really hates these reminders that none of this is real.

When it’s just Jason cooking and playing video games in his apartment, it’s easy for Tim to pretend that Jason’s not also the same Red Hood who is finalizing his weapons heist tonight, and the one who rages at Batman and Robin whenever they come within three blocks of Crime Alley. Tim’s mostly fine with Jason’s “worksona” — you really can’t get far in Crime Alley without some growling and threats, and Hood’s violence has gone down over the past month as people have started respecting his rules more. But the Hood that Tim meets on patrol is something far scarier — all blind rage and casual cruelty. The more he gets to know Jason, the more that feels wrong: that’s not the Jason that rants about Jane Austen while baking chocolate oatmeal cookies. That’s not even the Hood that teaches self defense classes and kneecaps rapists. Red Hood on a rage rampage feels... monstrous.

If push comes to shove, Robin will stand his ground against Red Hood, because that’s what Robin does. But Tim’s mind shies away from that possibility, because when he imagines Jason coming at him with all of the ferocity and malevolence of Red Hood on a rampage… Tim can’t do it. He knows, on an intellectual level, that Jason hates Robin, but why does the reality of that feel like a stab to the chest? How can the person who makes him shakshuka be the same that hisses about “clipping Robin’s wings” and “the only good Robin is a dead Robin”, and shoots bullets that are too close to be anything but calculated misses? Tim wants to hug his knees and curl up in a corner. Why does Jason hate him so much? Unfortunately, the only person who Tim wants to turn to for comfort is also the same person who seems to want him dead.

“So anyway,” Jason is saying as he slips back into Tim’s apartment, helmet already off. “I think you should submit to this photography competition. If nothing else, I think your stuff is awesome, and if they get accepted, I’d love to be able to see it in some fancy exhibit or something.”

Tim pastes on a smile and hopes that any wavering comes across as doubt about the competition. “Yeah, guess you’re right, Hood. Though I don’t think they allow domino masks at photography exhibits.”

Hood snorts. “I do have a civilian identity, you know. Several, in fact.” He plops back down on the couch and picks the video game controller back up. “Guess you’ll just have to submit for that photography thing if you want to meet me as a civilian.” Jason smirks. “Not that you’d know it’s me.”

Tim laughs and hits "submit," even though he knows he can never invite Hood to the exhibit. After all, they’ll all be listed under the name of Timothy Drake, and Jason hates Tim Drake.

Chapter Text

“Hood incoming,” Oracle says tersely over comms. “ETA 3 minutes. Batmobile will be at the Iceberg Lounge rear exit in about 40 seconds.”

Bruce grunts as he punches a goon in the face and blocks another’s attack with his gauntlet. “Robin, go now. I’ll catch up.” There’s about 20 more men between him and Penguin’s office, and another dozen between him and the door. The math is simple: it’ll take Bruce 3-5 minutes to reach and secure the documents, and by then his exit will be blocked by Red Hood and the remainder of Penguin’s men. Batman does fine against Red Hood, but Penguin’s men might be enough of a distraction to tip the scales. Bruce squares his shoulders and speeds up his take-downs. This fight will be painful, but survivable.

“Counterproposal,” Robin bites out as his bo staff swipes at two of the dozen or so men near the exit. “I stay here long enough to clear out these bozos first.” Robin has clearly made the same calculations that Bruce has.

Bruce takes down another three men as he thinks through Robin’s proposal. Best case scenario: the exit is cleared and they both leave before Hood shows up. Most likely scenario: He’ll still have to deal with Hood, but with fewer distractions, leading to much higher chance of making through the night without injuries. Worst case scenario: Hood shows up early, gangs up on both of them, and shoots Robin like he’s been threatening to do. “Fine, but do not engage with Red Hood,” Bruce growls. “I want you in the Batmobile before he arrives.”

“Well, duh, the guy probably hates me more than he hates you,” Robin says bitterly as he kneecaps another goon. “Don’t worry, I’ll skedaddle once Oracle gives the 1 minute warning.”

Bruce grunts and allows his attention to be taken up by carving a path forward as quickly as possible. Distantly, he hears Oracle give the one minute warning and Robin’s response, and then he’s finally at the door to Penguin's office. It takes several solid kicks to break through the wall next to the steel-reinforced door, and another few heaves to make his way in. There, the safe. It takes another minute to drill through the back and finally he has Penguin’s account book and shipping manifests safely tucked into his belt.

Only then does Bruce hear the gunfire outside.

“Robin, report!” Bruce yells into the comms as he makes a mad dash for the exit, mind roiling with all the ways that Robin might be hurt or dead.

“I’m fine, B,” comes the soothing reply just as Bruce bursts out of the door to find the Red Hood snarling insults and emptying his clips at the Batmobile. “He only shot at me a few times before I made it into the Batmobile. He’s doing that uncontrollable rage thing again.”

Bruce takes a deep, calming breath as Red Hood notices Batman’s presence and spins to stalk toward him. Bruce tunes out the same old diatribe about the futility of Batman and the hypocrisy of Robin, and considers his options.

Given the two versions of Red Hood they’ve encountered, the rage version is much harder to take down in a fight, and impossible to reason with. But easier to trick or distract. Bruce can engage directly and ask Robin to plant a bug or tracker device, which would allow him to finally learn more about Hood, or he can confuse Hood and de-escalate, and hope to encounter a more reasonable Hood at a later date.

Much as Bruce would prefer to know more about Hood, the fastest and safest way to get out of this is to de-escalate, and he has a Robin to protect. “Robin, drive the Batmobile, evasive maneuver F2.”

“Gotcha, B.”

The Batmobile swings wide at the same time that Batman throws three batarangs. Hood dodges those easily, but by then the Batmobile has come up behind Bruce, pulling a smooth 180 and opening the top door enough for Bruce to hop in, before tearing out of the lot.

“Good job, Robin.”

“Thanks, B.” Robin is grinning under the mask as he passes the driving controls back to Bruce, and Bruce can’t help but smile back. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Tim smile that openly.

“Glad you didn’t engage with Red Hood,” Bruce grunts, thankful that unlike previous Robins, Tim seems to be following Bruce's rules about avoiding Red Hood.

“Not in a million years, B. He's crazy like this.” Robin shudders as he watches Red Hood grapple away back toward the Alley. “Drop me off before you go back to the Lounge for cleanup?”

“Sure,” Bruce takes a hard right to get to Drake Tower. “Rest up, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

—*—*—*—*—*—

Fuck. He needs to breathe. He needs a safe house where he can hit things without hurting anyone. He needs …

“Hood?” calls out a now-familiar voice.

Shit, that’s Alvin. Jason can’t see him like this, all hopped up on Pit rage. Why did he even swing by this way anyway? His primary safe house is on the other end of the Alley, for fuck’s sake. He tries to adjust his swing midair, to get out of Alvin’s block and back toward Joe’s Deli, and … shit, that wall just came out of nowhere.

Oof. Thankfully it’s only a 10 foot drop to the building rooftop below him, so Jason lands mostly painlessly, though not gracefully. It doesn’t stop the green from thrumming through his veins, though. He was fighting Black Mask’s men, trying to wrap up a weapons heist gone south, and then he heard the shooting over at the Iceberg Lounge and … Jason vaguely remembers shooting at the Batmobile, he thinks.

“Hood! You all right?” And suddenly there’s nimble fingers fumbling at his helmet. “Did you come from the south? r/GothamRogueWatch says things were popping tonight.” Jason grunts, trying his best to not strike out in a panic and still panting too much to respond properly. Somehow, Alvin manages to dodge all of the helmet’s failsafes and suddenly the helmet is off and Jason can breathe again. He sucks in deep lungfuls and that’s enough to get his bearings. Rooftop with Alvin, coming off of Pit rage. Right. Jason unholsters his guns and throws them as far away from him as possible, and skitters away from Alvin to sit in a meditation pose by the air conditioner unit.

Breathe. Focus. Don’t hit anything. He needs to recite something. MacBeth immediately springs to mind because he’s been helping Alvin with his essay, but no, that’s too full of vengeance. He needs one of the calmer sonnets.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o’ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

Jason feels his breathing even out.

“Your eyes were glowing.” Alvin’s voice pipes up, startlingly close.

“Shit, kid.” Jason’s eyes pop open, and yup, there’s Alvin, sitting just a few feet away. “Thought I told you to stay away from me.”

“Actually you just kinda threw your guns in my direction and then scuttled over here.” Alvin leans in closer to Jason with a frown on his face. “Are you all right? Did you get hit with some new sort of toxin?”

Jason sighs. “No, it’s … I got dunked in some toxic Mountain Dew a while back, which gave me rage and control issues, but … it’s just a me thing, not a ‘new toxin on the block’ thing.” Jason heaves himself up and goes to pick up his guns and helmet.

“Just a ‘you’ thing?” Alvin asks quietly.

“Yeah — sometimes I get triggered, and when I do… I lose control.” Jason takes another deep breath. It’s been getting worse as he gets closer to the end of his Batman plan, but it’ll probably get better after everything resolves. “Just… when you see my eyes glow, stay the fuck away, all right?”

“Yeah, all right.” Alvin nods. Then he cocks his head. “You’re not glowing anymore, though. You want to come to my place? I’ve still got some of the leftovers from yesterday, and I can make you some calming drink or something.”

“You? Mr. Coffee and Zesti? Do you even know what a calming drink is?”

Alvin rolls his eyes. “I was thinking of heating up a can of chicken broth. That’s warm and soothing, right? And if you put the broth in a cup, it totally counts as a drink.”

Jason can’t help chuckling as Alvin pulls him up. “Yeah, sounds good, Alv.” God, he loves this kid.

—*—*—*—*—*—

Tim waves a much-calmer Jason goodbye at 3am and spends a few moments just washing up at the sink. (He did end up putting the chicken broth in a cup, but he also made himself a proper bowl of clam chowder.) Then he takes out his math binder and works on next week’s homework — math assignments are calming, and there’s no harm in being a week ahead.

After giving it another half hour, just in case Hood’s still skulking nearby, Tim pulls up the file he has on Jason Todd.

Over the past few months of data collection, Tim’s mostly gotten the broad strokes — surveillance video footage and hospital intake documentation for a John Doe who was wandering around Gotham about six months after Jason was buried, along with the same surveillance tracking Talia al-Ghul checking Jason out of the hospital and ninjas covering up the upturned earth at Jason’s grave.

After a six-month stay in the League of Assassins, Jason apparently went on a year-long journey which Tim has titled “Jason’s training montage”. Tim’s been careful to augment anything that he collected from “bugs placed in a civilian apartment” with research and corroborative evidence, in order to avoid Bruce’s scrutiny over said “civilian apartment.” The folder is full of cross-referenced flight records, weapons purchases, security feeds, and decoded League of Assassins transmissions. He supposes, if he wanted to be extra about it, he could load up some images of the locations and news articles and set it to “Eye of the Tiger” for a proper training montage vibe, but pending that, the Jason file is mostly complete.

And tonight, he finally got a first-hand confirmation to the missing piece. He adds “toxic Mountain Dew” to the previous vague hints of “worst dunk tank of my life” and “underground hot tub of hell”, and is able to quickly cross-reference the BatComputer’s documentation on the Lazarus Pits. Madness and uncontrollable rage when triggered, says the Batcomputer. Can be eased with meditation and minimizing of triggering experiences. He adds some observer notes about glowing green eyes, as well as confirmation that Hood does practice meditation techniques, then sits back and scrolls through the entire file again.

It’s about as complete as Tim can make it.

Complete and therefore ready for him to submit to Bruce. Bruce’s files on Red Hood’s takeover of Crime Alley is growing, and Tim’s desperate to stem that before Bruce’s reaction to finding out that Jason is the Red Hood is simply “lock up in Blackgate.” Just last week, Tim was able to pull together and submit the newest numbers from GCPD and Oracle on crime and drug use statistics in Crime Alley. And tonight, he was really happy to see Bruce choose de-escalation instead of confronting Jason. Tim has carefully framed everything in his Jason File to showcase the Lazarus Pit and the League of Assassins’ role in Jason’s newfound love of violence. It should pair well with the Crime Alley statistics to show that Jason hasn’t changed in his passion to protect others, just with… slightly deadlier means sometimes.

Hopefully it will be enough to point Bruce towards a reconciliation with Jason. Now he just needs to choose the right time to hand it over. Tim chews on the end of his pencil. Tomorrow during patrol, maybe.

There is a sense of gnawing disquiet in his chest, but Tim figures it's just too many nights of staying up past 2pm. Or maybe residual nerves from sitting inside the Batmobile and watching Jason shoot at him point-blank, with only Batmobile's bullet-proof glass shielding him from Red Hood's wrath. Tim shakes his head. It's fine -- he's going to go to bed, then school, then tutoring and dinner, and then he's going to give Bruce the file, and then Jason and Bruce to reconcile. Then Jason won't be shooting at him anymore and Tim... Tim can be free to figure out what to do next.

His plan is going perfectly.

As usual, Batman is already waiting when Tim pops his head out onto the Drake Industries rooftop the following night. He nods at Tim in greeting, and Tim tries to put that extra Robin pep in his wave back. He thinks he mostly succeeds, all things considered.

“What’s the route tonight, B?”

“9f,” Batman grunts.

Tim frowns. “You want to go through Crime Alley? I thought we decided to leave Hood alone for a bit.”

“He chose to come after us last night.”

“B, you know as well as I that Hood was hopped up on something.” Tim can’t tell Bruce about the Lazarus Pit directly, at least not yet. He needs to introduce the idea of mind-altering toxins. It's not like Gotham is short on those./p>

Batman pauses and stares at Tim. “Robin, he unloaded a clip at the Batmobile just because you were in it, and has made numerous threats against your person over the past three months.”

“Yeah, but…” Tim takes a deep breath and wrenches his mind from the memory of the bullets hitting the Batmobile windshield. Focus on the plan. “Fine, he clearly doesn’t like us, but I submitted a report about his impact on Crime Alley just last week. Dealing to minors is almost nil. Drug overdoses down 76%. Armed robbery is …”

“Down as well, yes, I read it.” Batman sighs. “Are you sure you want to let this go, Robin? Those bullets were aimed at you.”

“Yeah, and I think the less we trigger his rage thing, the better it is for everyone. Crime Alley needs a sane Red Hood, too.”

Batman hums. “Route 14c, then.”

The rest of the night is pretty quiet — a few muggings and an arms deal. It gives Tim a lot of time to think, especially when him and Batman are staking out the arms deal. Bruce’s willingness to adjust his route tonight is a good sign, and he seems to buy Tim’s claim about Hood being triggered into a rage state. Everything is primed for Tim to hand Jason’s file to Bruce and then yell “Surprise! It’s your son!” before running away. Maybe do some jazz hands or something.

And then he can disappear and watch father and son reconcile from the sidelines. Resign from Robin and go back to his Batwatching days of taking photos.

So why is there a queasy feeling in his stomach whenever he thinks about it?

“Robin,” Batman grunts beside him. Tim looks over and sees the truck back up into the alley. Some men come out of the warehouse to greet the driver, and then all three enter again. Arms deal is finally going down. Tim draws up Robin around himself and pulls out his grapple and two birdarangs. “I’ll take the truck and then go in the back?”

Batman nods. “I’ll go in the front. Let’s go with the Heller opening, with possibility of Mendoza formation if things go wrong.”

“Gotcha, B.” Tim grins before leaping off the roof.

——

The problem, Tim thinks later as he’s zip-tying the bad guys, is that he’s going to miss being Robin.

Jason has already made his stance on Robin quite clear, so “no more Robin” will probably be part of Jason and Bruce’s reconciliation. And even if Jason decides to stay as Red Hood, Bruce hasn’t really needed Tim for well over a year now. He doesn’t need Tim to talk him down from his violence or up from his despair anymore. Even if Tim doesn’t tell Bruce about Jason’s return, Bruce would be fine without Tim. Sure, Bruce seems to value Tim’s input on missions, and their relationship has always been a civil, professional one.

It’s selfish of him, but being Robin lets Tim fly across the rooftops. As Robin, he gets to solve cases and work with Batman and feel like what he’s doing is worth something. No amount of science awards or exemplary grades feels real the way this does.

It’s all worth it, to get Bruce and Jason back together, and hopefully go back to taking photos as Alvin, but it leaves Tim in a pensive mood. One which Batman unfortunately notices.

At the end of their patrol, Batman hesitates at the top of Drake Tower. “Robin, you were rather quiet during the stakeout tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” Tim answers embarrassedly, “I had a lot on my mind. Sorry, B.”

“Is it … your dad?” Batman asks awkwardly, “Do you need …?”

“Don’t worry, B, I’ve got it handled.” Tim answers automatically, “It won’t impact Robin work.”

“It’s not just…” Batman huffs quietly, pauses, then tries again, “What happened with your parents… it’s a lot. Are you getting the support that you need?”

“Oh! Yeah, I’ve got a support network and everything,” Tim rushes to reassure Bruce. “Uncle Eddie’s great, he’s been there for me these past months. He makes sure that I’m eating and getting homework done. The other night he even tucked me in to bed.” Tim realizes as he’s saying it that those are the things that Jason has done. “Like, it sucks that Dad is still in a coma, but I’m doing good.” With a pang, he realizes that there would be no reason to continue his dinners with Jason after he submits the file. Would Jason move back to the Manor? If he does, Hood would have no reason to eat dinner with Alvin.

Batman makes an aborted motion with his hand before nodding to Tim. “Good. I’m glad that you are doing well. Feel free to come to the Manor or the Cave if you need anything.”

“Of course, B,” Tim replies. It’s true that he doesn’t have a mass spectrometer as nice as Bruce’s.

Batman nods one more time, then grapples into the night. A minute later, Tim hears the roar of the Batmobile below.

With a sigh, Tim returns to Drake Tower, switches out his Robin uniform for Alvin Draper’s hoodie and glasses, dawdles a bit in case Red Hood’s watching, and then skateboards home.

Between Jason’s hatred of Robin and Bruce’s indifference, Tim’s probably the only one who’d miss Robin. Well, the Titans, maybe, though they’d probably still work with Tim if he went by a different name. And even if Hood doesn’t stop by for dinner anymore, Alvin can still keep volunteering at Hood’s community projects, so it’s not a complete loss.

Tim opens the completed file on Jason and hovers over the “Send” button for a long moment before closing his laptop.

He should wrap up his open cases first, and check in with the Titans about maybe continuing his work with them post-Robin. The file can wait a week or two.

Chapter Text

“What’s up, Alv?” Jason asks as he throws together a quick chicken fajitas on the stove. The kid’s been frowning at his laptop. “Having problems at school?”

“Huh? No.” Alvin looks up in confusion. “I already finished the essay that’s due tomorrow.”

“What is it, then?” Jason asks gently as he passes Alvin some tortillas. “Girl or boy troubles? Your boss being mean? Need me to shoot anyone?” Jason pauses, thinking back to the bruises he saw on Alvin’s arm. “Your boss...he hasn’t been hurting you, has he?”

“Oh my god, no.” Alvin has a slightly horrified look on his face. “That’s from skateboarding.” Jason quirks an eyebrow at him. There’s no way a kid has that many skateboarding accidents, and they both know it. But this is the one thing that the kid refused to give up. And just like all the other times, Alvin glares at him mulishly. “Look, I’ve told you, the bruises are nothing bad, I can handle myself, and I’ll call you if I need someone shot, all right?”

“So what were you frowning at, then?” Jason relents.

Alvin sighs. “I’m thinking about quitting my job.”

“Did your boss finally figure out the uncle thing?” Jason asks as he loads up his plate.

“He still thinks I have an uncle.” Alvin chuckles for a moment before sobering. “Actually… well, my boss never really wanted me to work there, what with me being too young and all. I kinda blackmailed him into it.” Alvin prods a bit at his fajitas before continuing, “And, my boss’ son recently came back from college, and he’s been pretty vocal about how wrong this is. It’s gotten to the point where it’s kind of awkward for everyone, so I figure the right thing to do is quit.”

“Well, it makes sense to get out of a toxic work environment, but don’t you need the money?”

“I can figure out the money another way.” Alvin waves a hand dismissively. “It’s just … I do like the job — my boss trusts me to handle a lot on my own. And it’d be a pretty big change if I just quit — I want to do something besides school, you know? What would I even do with those hours? Sleep?” Alvin laughs hollowly.

“Come work for me.” Jason blurts out.

“What?” The kid blinks.

“Well, I’ve got a few things to wrap up with the Bats, but after that I’ve got plans to set up a proper community center. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, so come work for me.” Jason adds, “I’ll even throw in dental, once I figure out how to do that legally.”

“Oh, that’s easy, just make a couple of shell organizations. The key is to shuffle enough people around that the IRS can’t just use your payroll as a who’s who of your goons.” Alvin answers automatically.

“See, that’s why you should come work for me. I need you to set up dental and health care for all of my guys,” Jason points out. “Wait, why do you know this stuff anyway?”

“Oh, I read a lot about this when I was setting up my fake uncle thing,” Alvin narrows his eyes at Jason. “But what do you mean, wrap up things with the Bats? I thought they stopped coming into the Alley?”

“Yeah, but Batman is still a fuckin’ hypocrite and Robin is still a little child soldier," Jason can't help growling.

“That’s not…” Alvin begins, but seeing Jason’s eyes behind the domino, he swallows. “And what, you plan on taking them on…?”

“Robin needs to be taught a lesson about the dangers of being a child vigilante,” Jason says tersely, green creeping in. “And I need proof of what Batman cares about, once and for all: his Robins, or his code.”

Alvin’s sharp breath pulls Jason back to the smell of fajitas. He runs a hand over his face, sparks of green still behind his eyes. “Ugh, sorry. Did I scare you? And here I was trying to recruit you.” Jason takes several deep breaths, forces the green back, and tries again. “I swear I’m a good boss. Batman just brings out the worst in me. It’s a personal thing. Everything will be better after I deal with them, once and for all.”

“You’re not… planning to kill them, are you?” Alvin asks hesitantly.

“Nah.” Jason waves his hand dismissively. “Should be pretty easy to scare the little trust fund Robin, and Batman… well, I’ll give him a chance to do the right thing, but even if he chooses wrong… only one person will be getting killed, and it won’t be the Batman.” Jason takes a bite of his shrimp. “Anyway, do you want the job? Maybe start in a month or two?”

Alvin finally finishes loading up his tortilla and takes a bite as he considers. “I’ll think about it, but it does sound like a good gig,” he says finally. Then he pauses, nervous in a way that Jason hasn’t seen in a while. “If I end up saying no… would you still come over for dinner?”

“Of course, Alv,” Jason knocks his shoulder against the kid’s. “I still have that Breath of the Wild save file here, after all.”

“Yeah, all right.” Alvin’s shoulders loosen as he takes another bite.

—*—*—*—*—*—

Tim takes a deep breath after Jason leaves. Then he takes another. Jason dropped so many bombshells just now, he probably needs multiple lists to sort things out.

Good news:
1) Jason just offered Tim a job. Red Hood just offered Alvin Draper a job.
2) Jason likes Alvin enough that he might keep coming to dinner regardless.

This means that even if Tim quits Robin, he can still hang out with Jason, and maybe even help Hood and join his Merry Men! It won’t be the same as Robin, since Hood is hiring Alvin Draper, who is just a smart Alley kid, and there’s no way Alvin would ever have Robin levels of training. But it’s still a good alternative to doing nothing at all. It eases the pain of giving up Robin, at the very least. And Tim can still go to the Titans when he needs to fight aliens or whatever. This can work, as long as Jason never finds out that Alvin is Tim Drake aka Robin.

Bad News:
1) Jason has a plan involving Batman and Robin
2) He will probably execute said plan in the next 3-5 weeks.
3) This is somehow tied to the Lazarus Pit.

The plan is not to hard to figure out, now that Tim has a basic time frame and a clearer sense of motive. Jason wants to beat up Robin, probably with a goal of scaring Robin into quitting and making Batman feel like a poor protector. He wants to have a confrontation with Batman and deliver some sort of ultimatum. Given Jason’s issues, the ultimatum will probably involve killing the Joker. Any of these actions will make Red Hood public enemy #1 in Batman’s eyes.

Fuck. He’d finally gotten Bruce to the point of feeling positive about Red Hood — now Jason is going to blow it all up. They’ll have a horrible confrontation and destroy any chance of reconciliation.

No, not if Tim has anything to say about it. Tim takes another few breaths. He can still salvage this. He *needs* to salvage this, for the Batman and Robin he followed on the rooftops. For Bruce and Jason, as they are now.

He already has the files that will convince Bruce that (a) Jason is alive and returned, and (b) Jason is doing good work as Red Hood. He did not anticipate that Jason would have a whole vengeance plan, but maybe he can figure out a way to defuse and pre-empt the plan somehow. Is there a way Tim can tip the scale on whatever showdown with Joker and Batman that Jason is planning? What about whatever Jason is planning with Robin? Jason isn’t going to return unless he feels properly vindicated, but that’s okay — Tim just needs to make it that Jason stops hating Batman enough to reconcile with Bruce.

Does this mean Tim’s going to have to let Jason beat him up? Tim’s heart chills at the thought. No, he’d fake his own death and run away before he does that.

Okay, new plan:
1) Figure out a way to resolve Jason’s Robin-related anger (without getting beat up. obviously give up Robin, but possibly need to fake own death)
2) Tell Bruce that Jason is back and quit Robin (and make sure Bruce doesn’t blame Jason for anything. maybe do in opposite order to reduce blame?)
3) Prevent or interrupt whatever showdown Jason has planned with Bruce, if necessary (hopefully they’ll have reconciled and made this step moot. idea: disappear Joker somehow, non-lethally.)
4) Make sure that Bruce accepts Jason as Red Hood (he already has the files for this, sweet)
5) Work for Red Hood as Alvin Draper (!!!!)

Great, sounds doable. There’s some minor details that Tim will need to work out, but planning is what he’s good at, he can figure it out.

Tim opens a new file and starts on step one. What’s Robin doing in the next few weeks that makes Jason so confident he’ll be able to find Robin? Tim’s been sticking pretty close to Batman during patrol, and he’s Alvin the rest of the time… except when he visits the Titans.

Gotcha, Hood.

Tim smiles. He’s going to be able to salvage this after all.

Chapter Text

Breaking into Titan’s Tower is feeling a little too easy.

Jason steps out of the zeta and there’s … a neatly folded set of clothes in eerily familiar colors sitting on the table, with an envelope sitting on top of it.

What the fuck.

Jason walks over and … yup, the envelope is addressed to the Red Hood. Did the Replacement know he was coming? But how? Jason had made sure to leave his threats vague. And if Replacement knew he was coming, why leave Jason’s access codes in the Zeta? Why leave him a Robin suit and a letter?

Jason’s not about to stick around in case some superpowered teenagers jump him, so he grabs the Robin uniform and the envelope and books it back to his safehouse. Then he spends an hour running all the tests he can think of, but ultimately, the suit is just a suit, and the letter is just a letter. No trackers, no poisons, no remote triggers.

Jason supposes he’ll have to read the letter, then.

Dear Jason, the neatly typed letter begins, and Jason bites back another curse. Little Timmy Drake really has him figured out, and Jason doesn’t even know where the kid lives.

Firstly, yes, I know who you are, but B doesn’t know, and I haven’t told him. Why the fuck not, Jason wonders? Strange for little perfect Robin to keep secrets from the big Bat.

I had a whole file prepared, with a timeline from your resurrection to the Lazarus Pit and your training, and explaining all the good you’ve been doing in Crime Alley, but I figured you probably have your own reasons for not telling him yet. Jason mouths the word “yet,” thinking about all the various scenarios he’s run in his head these past few months. Him knocking on the manor door when Bruce is out and waiting for him in the kitchen. Him standing with a gun to Joker’s head, asking Bruce to choose. Him breaking into the Cave and waiting for the Batmobile to roll up. That’s usually where his imagining hits a wall, however: he doesn’t know what happens next, what Bruce would do. Jason shakes his head — this is why he needs to manufacture the perfect meeting. Something where he has a way to respond to every possible reaction that Bruce might have.

Anyway, I only took up Robin to keep B stable after your death, so now that you’re back, B won’t need me anymore. :) Jason stares at the enigmatic smiley face. What the fuck is going on in Timothy Drake’s brain? What does he mean, “keep B stable”? And that Bruce won’t need him anymore? Bruce fucking loves picking up black-haired-blue-eyed strays and shoving them into a Robin suit. Besides, what sort of Robin would Timmy Drake be if he’s so willing to give it up, just like that? Robin is freedom, Robin is magic, Robin is hope, and Jason knows that thrill all too well. And he’s spent his time observing this little Robin these past few months — Replacement snarks and distracts and challenges just like the best of them. So what’s up with this fucking smiley face? Does Timothy Drake think Robin is some sort of class that you take, where you get the A and the “good work” and then move on?

I’m going to officially turn in my notice to B tomorrow. There’s obviously going to be some gear and casework to wrap up, but that should take only a few days, so I should actually be out of your hair by next weekend. Don’t worry, I already have a very plausible reason for quitting, so he won’t blame you for my departure, and you’ll be able to do your reveal however you want. Jason scowls. What is going on here? Turn in his notice? Robin isn’t some sort of job, and Batman isn’t a boss that fills out fucking time sheets. What has Bruce been doing that is making Robin think this way? And why is Timothy Drake convinced that Jason wants to do some big dramatic reveal in the first place? (Well, he did have a plan, but why would Replacement know anything about it?)

Although I kind of hope you’ll be able to tell him soon. He really misses you. :( Jason’s mind stutters. Does Bruce actually miss him? There’s no way, he’s seen Talia’s reports. And even if he did, Bruce misses the 15-year-old who died, not the Red Hood.

Actually, I kind of need to make sure that you’ll tell B, so… sorry to do this to you, but I’ll send the file about you being Red Hood in 2 months if you haven't told him by then. I want to respect your way of telling Bruce, but also I don’t want to have just quit Robin for no reason??? What the fuck is going on with Timothy Drake? None of this was covered in his teacher comments. “Consummate scholar,” his ass. More like “Cryptic gremlin.”

And in case you’re worried, I put in a lot of effort convincing Batman that Red Hood is good for Crime Alley, so don’t worry about the murders and stuff — once he sees that Red Hood is you, he’ll forgive you instantly. :thumbsup: This is then followed by a hand-drawn scribble of a little Robin and a Bat.

Under that is a formal “Sincerely, Timothy Drake”, followed by a signature flourish. Then, at the very bottom, a quick postscript:

P.S. I’m going to remove your login to Titan’s Tower after you leave, since (a) it’s kind of not good security, and (b) I don’t want B to know that you broke in.

Jason logs into his computer and does a quick check — yup, his login credentials are wiped from Titans Tower.

Then he makes himself a quick late-night/early morning French toast and sits back to consider the options.

How the fuck does the Replacement know so much about him? He has a whole file on Jason? A file that Batman doesn’t have? One that he’ll drop in two months, apparently. What is his game here? There’s no way Replacement Robin is giving up his suit like this. There’s gotta be some sort of plan to out him to Bruce in the worst way possible. There’s no way in hell Bruce’ll forgive Red Hood’s murders just because of a powerpoint.

Well, one thing is clear: Jason will have to find Timothy Drake and ask him directly.

What the fuck.

—*—*—*—*—*—

Bruce looks at the folder, then looks back up at Tim, who is standing there with his hands neatly clasped and back straight. “What is this, Tim?”

“It’s my resignation letter and associated paperwork,” Tim replies, a small wrinkle between his brow. “I just said that. Are you hiding a concussion again, B?”

“No, my head’s fine. What I don’t get is… *why* are you quitting? I thought we…” Bruce can't find the right words to finish the sentence, mind drawing a blank. The papers in front of him don't make any sense.

“Oh, well, me being Robin was always supposed to be temporary, remember?” Tim reaches over and points helpfully at the left side of the folder. “I’ve included a copy of our original contract.”

Bruce remembers the formal little twelve-year-old, with his hair neatly gelled and combed, sitting in the front sitting room with his folder of photos and his pre-drafted contract. At the time Bruce had appreciated the formality and the emotional distance of a contract. He couldn’t handle being a parent again, but he could be an employer. After all, Bruce Wayne employed tens of thousands. He remembers the internal sigh of relief as they negotiated training times and meetup locations, trading various stipulations back and forth. Tim had wanted privacy for him and his parents’ home life in their downtown penthouse. Bruce wanted to train and track Tim enough to ensure his safety. They’d signed a contract and shaken hands, and Bruce remembers feeling relief at the cold, formal nature of their relationship.

But now…

“Tim, I don’t understand. I thought we had a good partnership.” Bruce struggles to frame his thoughts in the form of employer and employee, even though Tim has become so much more to him. He flips through the contract, only retaining every third word. “Is there …something with our relationship that is unsatisfactory?”

“No, not at all! It’s been great!” Tim looks horrified at the idea. “I learned a lot, and I’ve loved all of our casework and patrols. It’s truly been an honor and a joy to work with you, sir.”

This leaves Bruce even more confused. “So why the resignation?” None of this makes sense.

“It’s just that…” Tim sighs, face quietly sad in the way that Bruce has caught glimpses of since his mother’s passing. “With my mom gone and my dad at the hospital, I… er… kind of need some time away from Robin.”

“Of course, you should take all the time you need to mourn.” Bruce looks down at the paperwork again. “So this is a temporary leave of absence?” Bruce feels like he’s grasping at straws, but even a leave of absence is better than Tim being completely gone from his life…

Tim seems to hesitate. “Sure, let’s call it a leave of absence for now. I can still help out if there’s a major Arkham breakout, or if circumstances change dramatically such that you need me again.”

That doesn’t sound like a leave of absence, that still sounds like a resignation.

“What do you mean, such that I need you again? I need you right now. We’re partners, right?” None of this makes sense. Bruce’s whole body feels numb.

Tim shakes his head and says in a gentle tone, “B, you don’t *really* need a Robin, you did fine before Dick, and you did fine whenever one of the Robins got hurt or benched. I got into the suit to help you deal with Jason’s death, and now … there’s no more need for that. Thus: contract complete.”

Has Tim always thought of their relationship like that? Bruce’d hoped, in the past few years…. But Tim had never said yes to a single brunch invite, had he? Bruce tries one more last-ditch attempt. “If you’re not Robin, then does that mean you’ll finally say yes to our invitations to visit the Manor?”

“What?” For the first time, Tim seems caught off-guard. “You want me to … visit the Manor? When I’m not Robin?”

“Of course I do. Me, Dick, and Alfred, we’ve been inviting you to movie nights and Sunday brunches for quite a while now.” Bruce frowns. “You have always said no, for I assume reasons of maintaining professional distance as Robin. But if you’re not Robin, would you say yes?”

Tim blinks. “I don’t understand. Why would you continue your invitations when we no longer have a working relationship?”

Bruce resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Tim, I know we initially agreed to keep this professional, which I have respected.” At Tim’s nod, Bruce continues, trying to lay out the logic as clearly as possible. “Unfortunately, the professional Batman-Robin relationship has precluded us from building a relationship informally, as Bruce and Tim.” Tim nods, more hesitantly this time. “Thus: if we are no longer partners, this frees me up to get to know you as Tim.” Bruce squats down and puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “And I *want* to get to know you better as Tim.”

Tim looks confused. “But why would you want to know me as Tim? I’m boring.” He shakes his head to clear it. “Anyway, as mentioned in the contract, this is at-will, so the notification is mostly a courtesy. All of my gear is already in the locker, and I’ll file some final files when I get back home. Then I can remove my credentials…”

“No.” Bruce cuts in, trying to do something, anything, the abate the panic in his chest. “Keep your login credentials. Keep a spare suit. In case you want to come back.”

Tim hesitates, then nods affirmatively. “Of course. In case you need me for a massive Arkham breakout or something.”

And then Tim is turning to head out of the Cave, and finally the ugly thing finally bursts out of Bruce’s chest. “I don’t get it, Tim.” His voice is shaking. “You’re my Robin. Why are you leaving?”

Tim turns around, and seeing Bruce’s anguish, takes a step back toward him before pausing. For the first time in three years of being Robin, Bruce sees Tim’s composure crack. “I’ve loved being Robin, too, Bruce. It has been an amazing three years, and I’d love to stay, but… my circumstances have changed. It’s better for everyone if I left.”

And before Bruce can ask him what he means, Tim is turning again, striding resolutely out of the Cave.

Funny, that one of the few times that Tim calls him Bruce instead of “B” or “Mr. Wayne” is when Tim is leaving for good.

Fuck professional distance. Bruce had been so careful with Tim, respecting his boundaries and trusting his decisions, and all he got was a Robin who didn’t feel like he belonged in the nest in the first place. A bitter chuckle rises out of him, unbidden. Somehow, he’s managed to find a new way to fuck up a Batman-Robin relationship. Maybe Red Hood is right: Batman shouldn’t have Robins.

No. Bruce stands up and goes back to his Batcomputer. There must be something else going on. Tim mentions a change of circumstances, but it must be more than his mother’s death — the timing doesn’t work out. Red Hood is wrong: Batman needs Robin.

He just needs to find Tim and fix this.

Chapter Text

Jason needs to find Robin, fast. So unfortunately, he’ll have to go with his backup backup plan. Jason’s not heartless, plus hospitals generally gives him the creeps, but needs must, especially when he needs to find a slippery Robin.

Timothy Drake always visits his comatose father on Saturday afternoons. Jason kinda felt bad for the kid when he first got the alert, but then he figured Bruce is probably already setting up the kid’s room in the family wing of Wayne Manor. So… kinda sad, but little Timmy has a lot more support than any kid in Crime Alley, as per usual for a Bristol brat. And by leaving that confusing letter, what did Timothy really expect? Of course Jason’s going to have to come after him at another location.

It’s not too difficult to sneak into Gotham General and make his way up to the coma ward, the surgical mask thankfully blocking his face. Once he’s in the room, Jason finds a quiet corner and then changes into his Red Hood getup.

Timothy Drake shows up at 3:15pm, exact. Jason hears Timothy make polite conversation with the nurses at the station before heading in and taking a seat by his father’s bedside. He is wearing a neat button-down, with his hair slicked back, the very picture of a Bristol upper-crust teenager.

And then he lets out a breath and his face falls, revealing all of the exhaustion that the kid was apparently holding at bay.

Shit, maybe Jason shouldn’t have come.

As Jason watches from behind the curtain, the kid reaches over to hold Jack Drake’s hand, and runs his thumbs long his dad’s hand for a long moment.

“Hey Dad, isn’t it nice, now that you’re here in person, we get to do weekly reports instead of biweekly ones?”

Jason wonders briefly about the biweekly reports, but then he remembers: parents always traveling, nanny at home. Right.

“Anyway,” he starts, “Nothing much happened this week. I did well on the Calculus test, and I checked in with the school registrar — I’ll have enough credits to graduate by the end of the school year. Except for maybe English, but there’s a workaround for that. She says I should stick around another year so that I can take more electives and also apply to college, but...” The kid pauses to take a deep, bracing breath.

“Honestly, that’s what you and mom wanted for me, but I don’t know if I want that,” the kid says bleakly. “I’ve spent so much time being what you want, but now you can’t even… I don’t even…”

The boy rubs his teary eyes, and Jason is suddenly reminded of another kid with red-rimmed eyes, poking morosely at ice cream. “I hate that this is the longest you’ve been home in seven years but you’re not actually here.”

Okay, Jason can’t do this anymore. He needs to cut in before the kid reveals anything more personal. Before Jason starts thinking of him as sad kid Timothy Drake instead of little shit Robin.

“Replacement.”

Timothy startles, eyes turning surprisingly joyful for a second before narrowing. “Hood,” he hisses quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“You tell me, Replacement. What’s with that note you left me?”

“I thought it was pretty clear," Replacement frowns. "I’m getting out of the way so that you can reconcile with B.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jason rolls his eyes and makes sure his voice conveys his disbelief. “A reconciliation on your terms. With an ultimatum.” Jason takes a step forward, pushing Timothy against the bed. “What are you *actually* planning? Planning to wait for me to go back to B on my knees, before revealing how unredeemable I am? Before proving yourself the superior birdie?”

“No, that’s not it at all!” Replacement protests. “I *want* you and B to reconcile! He’s missed you so much! Why won’t you believe me?”

“Maybe I’d believe you if he didn’t replace me with a better model within a few months.” Jason scoffs, green filling his vision. He lunges forward and grabs Timothy’s wrist, feeling the pitter-patter of the Replacement’s pulse beneath his thumb. “How about if you tell me what you’re actually planning, Replacement? You already have the suit. Planning to take over my room in the Manor, too?”

“Wait, that’s why you think I replaced you? I haven’t…” The Replacement starts, but suddenly the steady background beeping starts speeding up, followed by a chaos of all the machines around the room triggering alerts at once.

Shit.

Jason books it before the nurses rush in.

—*—*—*—*—*—

News alert:

Jack Drake (of Drake Industries) briefly wakes up before passing

At 3:46pm, Jack Drake of Drake Industries, who has been in a coma since the kidnapping that left his wife dead and him in Gotham General, woke up for a brief five minutes. Sources on site said that he looked at his son, smiled, then asked for his wife. When his son informed him that Janet Drake had died of poison during the botched kidnapping six months ago, he said simply, “And left no friendly drop for me?” before closing his eyes for the final time. The quote is a reference to Romeo and Juliet. For more on Jack and Janet Drake’s relationship, see ”Jetsetting Romance: 25 times we caught Jack and Janet Drake being a power couple”

Jack and Janet Drake leave behind one son who has been under the care of family member Edward Drake since Jack Drake’s coma. Drake Industries continues to be under the capable stewardship of CEO Philip Morehouse, who has been helming the pharmaceutical giant for the past three years.

Full obituary to follow.

Chapter Text

Bruce is having a hard time finding Tim. He hears about Jack Drake’s passing far too late — by the time he shows up at the hospital, everything has been arranged, and Tim is gone.

He catches Tim very briefly at the funeral, but Tim is hollow-eyed and barely present. In response to Bruce’s queries, Tim merely shook his head and replied, “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” It was the same response he gave to everyone.

Tim is clearly not fine.

Bruce brings a bouquet of flowers and knocks on the door of Tim and Uncle Edward’s penthouse in the Drake Towers, but instead of Tim he gets introduced to Philip Morehouse, the current CEO of Drake Industries. Philip is sorry about young Tim’s loss, but assures Bruce that Tim’s uncle seems to be an upstanding guy, and has been handling everything. Unfortunately, Philip does not have an address on file for Eddie, though he does have an email address.

An email to Eddie gets a polite rebuff: Timothy is in mourning and doesn’t want to see anyone right now.

Bruce tries stopping by Tim’s school, but gets stopped by a very polite receptionist who is very firm about student information laws, even in the face of all of Bruce Wayne’s charms and wealth. Impressed but undeterred, Bruce ducks by Calculus, which Tim is supposed to be in, but doesn’t find him in the classroom. Checking Tim’s attendance record, he’s marked as present, but Bruce knows that if he can hack the school records, then so can Tim.

On the way out of the office, he thinks, for a moment, that he sees Jason. Bruce shakes his head — he’s just being a worried father, not willing to lose another son. Small wonder that his mind is playing tricks on him.

Seems like school is a bust. Bruce decides to try Drake Tower next.

—*—*—*—*—*—

Jason has to duck behind a locker to avoid Bruce stalking through Gotham Academy’s halls. Well, figures that the old man would be trying to find Tim Drake, too.

After Jason had gotten home from the hospital, he’d found a folder on his laptop titled “You’re wrong :/” In it were crime and hospital admission statistics from the months following Jason’s death, as well as a strangely formal contract establishing a Batman and Robin “internship”, dated to 4 months after Jason’s death.

Then the news alert popped up about the kid’s dad waking up, just to croak immediately. Shit, that must have been so rough for the kid.

And Timothy Drake *is* just a kid, Jason realizes. He’s been trying to avoid thinking of Robin that way, choosing instead to focus on his plan, but Bristol silver spoon or not, Timothy Drake just lost both of his parents within 6 months.

Jason needs to find him, to apologize for his assumptions, and maybe make sure that the kid’s got people looking after him. An uncle is all well and good, but even Jason can admit that some mother-henning from Alfred and some octopus hugs from Dick would be helpful.

And the fact that Bruce Wayne is stalking the halls of Gotham Academy means that Timothy Drake really made good on his promise and quit Robin. Probably left the Manor in a huff, only to then have his dad die on him. After Jason yelled at him for being a replacement. Shit.

What Jason needs right now, is a break. Somewhere where he can cool his jets a bit, take a step back and maybe give the whole revenge plan a re-think.

So Jason stops by Joe’s Deli, grabs a few ingredients, and swings his way over to Alvin’s place. Cooking and chatting with Alvin always helps him gain some perspective.

Except that Alvin isn’t doing his homework like usual when Jason lands on the fire escape.

“Hood, can we … not? Just… not tonight.” Alvin looks quite haggard as he opens the window that Jason was trying to climb into.

“What? What’s wrong?” Jason looks around. Is it just him, or is the apartment messier than usual? “Something happen at school?”

“No, not school.” Alvin runs trembling hands through his messy hair. “Just … it’s been a rough week, and I don’t … I don’t think I can talk to you right now.”

Jason has never heard Alvin so distraught before. He reaches out to put a hand on Alvin’s arm.

Alvin jerks away.

Jason feels his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. What the fuck happened? Alvin's face is closed off, his shoulders hunched up defensively, eyes radiating hurt from behind his glasses. Sure, Jason skipped a dinner because he was a little focused on the Titans Tower thing, but something else clearly changed in the past week.

“Alvin,” Jason says helplessly. “You know that if you need anything, I’m here for ya, right? Anything.”

Alvin huffs a wet, disbelieving laugh. “Sure, Hood.”

“Jay.”

“What?” Alvin finally looks up at Jason.

“Call me Jay." Jason takes a deep breath. "The Merry Men know me as Pete and my safe houses are registered to various people, but… Dr. Leslie calls me Jay, and I think you should, too.”

“And you’re just … trusting me, random crime alley kid, with your real name?” Alvin’s face scrunches in doubt, losing some of the tension from before.

“It’s as close as I got to a real name, yeah. And you’re not just some random kid, Alv." Jason adds wryly, "I don’t drop in with food and gossip for every Crime Alley kid I know, y'know? Just you.” Somehow, this comment leaves the kid looking even more flummoxed, as if he can’t comprehend the idea of Jason just wanting to hang out with him. Jeez.

Jason puts the groceries down by the window and squats down, careful not to touch Alvin. “Look, you’re the most upset I’ve ever seen you, and that’s saying a lot since I bumped into you buying flowers for your dead mom.” Poor kid’s clearly been crying. Jason takes a breath and continues, “So I want to be here for you, whatever you need. If you need me to go away right now and check in later, I’ll do that. But I can also come in and make the chicken noodle soup that I brought ingredients for, and … we can talk about whatever — your thing, if you want to, or anything else, whatever will help the most.” Jason reaches out tentatively with his hand, and this time, Alvin allows it. “I’m in your corner, kid.”

Alvin looks at him long and hard, before sighing and stepping away from the window. “Well, technically you’re in my window. But fine. Chicken noodle soup does sound really good right now.”

Jason heads over to the familiar kitchenette and starts pulling out the ingredients. Alvin, for once, is loitering awkwardly just out of eye-line instead of working on homework.

“Were you always planning on chicken noodle soup? That seems pretty … tame, by your standards.”

Jason shrugs as he tosses the chopped carrots into the broth. “I’ve had a pretty weird week, and I kinda wanted something homey and comforting.”

Alvin snorts, strangely bitter. “Weird? I can’t possibly imagine.”

Jason doesn’t rise to the bait. “It’s… well, I was hoping to talk to you about it, but you’ve clearly got bigger things going on.”

There’s a long, muted sigh behind him. Then, a reluctantly curious, “Well, what’s going on, Jay?”

“So you know how I’ve got beef with Batman and Robin?” Jason tosses in the celery and starts on the parsnips. “Well … I just got a whole bunch of new intel that doesn’t quite match my previous info. If the new intel is right, then I’ve been completely going about things the wrong way. I also really fucked up in dealing with Robin, so… yeah. I don’t know what to do now.” Jason turns the boil down to a simmer, and turns around to face Alvin. “Basically I’m questioning everything about my plan and I don’t have a new one.”

“Welcome to the club.” Alvin mutters as Jason sits down beside him. He doesn’t elaborate, but Jason takes the opportunity for what it is.

“So now that I’ve dumped my problems, wanna tell me what’s up with you?”

“I can’t tell you the specifics,” Alvin finally says after a long pause.

“That’s fine. I haven’t told you much of mine, either.” Jason wonders if whatever happened is related to Alvin’s mysterious scars. Or his mysterious background. It's not something that Jason can ask, though, especially not now. They lapse back into silence, but it feels a little less tense. Alvin pulls out his phone, and Jason gets up and pokes needlessly at the noodles, just for something to do.

It's when the noodles are cooked and Jason is ladling the soup into bowls, when Alvin finally sighs and puts down his phone.

“Something … something that I’ve been dreading has finally happened, and that really changes my financial and family situation. Like… I think I might not be able to keep living here anymore. And this all happened right after I’d quit my job, so … I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

“You’re moving?” Jason blinks.

“Maybe? I don’t know.” Alvin put his head in his hands. “I don’t know if I can stay, but maybe I can? I don’t know.”

“Is it because of money issues? Or something with the landlord?” Jason frowns. “I can help.”

“Yes? No? I don’t know, Jay.” And then Alvin says it again, completely at a loss. “I just don’t know anything right now.”

“And you can’t tell me enough details for me to help.” Jason says hollowly.

“Right.” Alvin sniffles some more, but finally starts in on his soup.

And all Jason can do is to watch Alvin slurp up the noodles. He hasn’t felt this helpless since the days of catching his mother passed out in the bathroom. Jason clenches and unclenches his fists. What's the point of being Red Hood, if he can't help a kid like Alvin?

Alvin does seem to have regained some of his composure when he sets his bowl down. “Jay, thanks for the soup tonight."

"No probs, Alvin." Jason manages a small smile. "And I was thinking of making a curry for tomorrow, yeah?"

Alvin's eyes skitter away, and he starts worrying at a corner of his hoodie. "Actually... I... I think we... Maybe let’s take a break from the dinner stuff, yeah?”

“Sure, Alv," Jason says, trying to keep his voice from cracking. Anything, even if it hurts to know that Alvin doesn’t want him here. Jason chews his lips. “You want me to bug out of your life completely? Or you just need some time?”

“Just some time, I think. A lot of things are up in the air right now, and I think I just need some time, to figure myself out. What I want to do next.”

Jason nods, and bites his lip to keep from pushing. “Well, since you quit your job, you’re always welcome to join my operation. Standing offer, it’ll be waiting for you whenever you want it. And if you need food or someone shot, I’m your guy.”

“I… thanks, Jay. In a few months, maybe?" Alvin frowns, briefly considering. "July, or August. I think I’ll have myself figured out September, latest. That's when school starts, after all.” Alvin’s face looks a little clearer, so maybe the soup did help.

Jason takes a deep breath. “Yeah, take all the time you need.” He can deal with a few months. “And you’ve got my number, right?”

“Yeah, from when you gave it to my uncle.” The kid manages to crack a small smile at that.

Jason echoes with a small smile of his own as he gets up. “Well, my promise still stands — text or call, and I’ll be there.”

The kid asked for space, so Jason’s gotta give him space, even when every instinct in him wants to do the opposite.

Jason tries not to look back too much as he heads out the window.

Chapter Text

“Red Hood.” Bruce intones as he drops onto the rooftop.

The crime lord has guns pointed at him in less than a second. “Batman.”

Interesting. No shots fired, no follow-up taunts, and no active acts of aggression. Very uncharacteristic for Red Hood. Bruce takes the relative lack of animosity as a cue to proceed with his line of questioning.

“Surveillance caught footage of you leaving Gotham General around 3:45pm two Saturdays ago.”

“Yeah?” Hood tilts his head.

“You have threatened to clip Robin’s wings,” Bruce states, letting the implications speak for itself.

“Huh,” Hood twitches, then lowers his guns. “Funny how you should put those two facts next to each other. Are you perhaps trying to assess whether I know Robin’s civilian identity?”

Bruce grunts in response. Neutral, noncommittal.

“Fine, yes, I know who the little birdie is. What’s it to you?” Hood crosses his arms, stance purposely relaxed.

Bruce has had his suspicions, given the strange specificity of Hood’s taunts these past few months. It doesn’t stop Hood’s open confirmation from making his mind spool out in a series of anxieties and contingencies. Is this what Tim meant by “circumstances?” Did Hood blackmail Tim into leaving?

Bruce takes a deep breath and forcibly puts a stop to his spiraling thoughts. He needs to focus on the more urgent task at hand. “Robin and his father. You were present. Explain.”

Hood sighs. “I didn’t sabotage his dad, if that’s what you’re asking. I just went there to find Robin.”

“For a fight.”

“No, just a conversation.”

“Hnn,” Bruce grunts, letting his skepticism show.

“Fine, the conversation got a little heated, from my end. But before it went anywhere, the machines started beeping.”

Bruce nods grudgingly. Thus far Red Hood hasn’t said anything contrary to surveillance footage from the hallway and witness corroboration.

“Yeah, sorry about his parents, or whatever.”

“Hm,” Bruce replies. This is surprisingly civil, for Red Hood.

“Is the kid doing better now?” Hood asks. Interesting — Hood had always stuck to “Robin” or “child soldier” or a whole host of other unsavory descriptors.

Clearly, Bruce hesitates a moment too long, because Red Hood bursts out with, “You don’t KNOW?!”

“Robin has… resigned, abruptly,” Bruce acknowledges. “I have lost contact with his civilian identity.”

“And you haven’t been able to find him for two fucking weeks?!” Red Hood growls. “World’s Greatest Detective, my ass.” He huffs. “What, you’ve finally stooped to asking villains now?”

Bruce doesn’t want to admit it, but ... “Poison Ivy and Riddler are next.”

“Wow, should I be honored that you thought of me first?” Red Hood tilts his helmet in question. It is disconcerting, to see Bruce's own reflection in the red chrome, and it's made the Red Hood infuriatingly difficult to read.

“You have made the most recent threats against him.”

“Sure,” Hood agrees easily, then adds darkly. “So how long before you give up and put another little kid in the suit? It only took you, what, four months last time?”

“Enough.” Bruce bites out, nerves frayed from the past two weeks of fruitless search. “I'm tired of this. For four months, you’ve been taunting me about Robin. But Robin is the reason Batman exists.”

“Yeah, right. Robin is just a child soldier. You take these gullible kids and sell them on some greater good and then point them at the most dangerous, unhinged villains…” Red Hood scoffs, sounding closer to his normal angry self. “And when one of them gets blown up by the Joker, you just put another one in the suit…”

“No, I almost hung up the cowl.” Bruce interjects. At Hood’s shocked silence, he continues. “Robin II was …” Bruce swallows around the familiar pain. “He was the child of my heart. So when Joker killed him, it was … I was lost.” Bruce could stop there, but he finds that he needs to explain the importance of Robin, especially when he’s failed so many.

“I still went out, because I told myself that I owed it to Gotham, that a Batman on the streets is still safer than one without.” Bruce pauses, taking a deep breath and remembering the charts in Tim’s hands. “I didn’t realize until later, that I had gotten violent, that I had lost my sense of purpose. That I was no longer protecting Gotham.”

Bruce finds that weeks of desperately looking for Tim has worn him down, made it easier to voice the thoughts that Batman would never admit to. “When Robin III first showed me the statistics, I wanted to swear off Batman. But then Two Face broke out of Arkham, and Robin convinced me that Gotham needs Batman. And Batman needs Robin.”

In the face of Red Hood’s silence, Bruce continues, “You’ve called me a furry with rage issues before, and I know that I am. Robin is why I don’t kill people. Because Robin is hope, Robin is magic. If Batman is the night, Robin is the promise that the night will end.” Without Tim, Bruce would have gotten lost in that hole of loss and pain. And now he's missing.

“After Robin II, I got very close to killing the Joker. If he had escaped Arkham during those months… I would have killed him, and then hung up the cowl. It was Robin III that reminded me that I could be better.”

“Let me guess,” Bruce stares at his distorted reflection in red helmet, “You would have preferred that, Hood. After all, you’ve been pretty clear that you think my no-killing rule is ineffective.”

Red Hood jerks back, and it takes a second before Red Hood musters himself and pulls out a gun. “Damn right. I’m a murderous crime lord, you’re an ineffective do-gooder. So stay out of Crime Alley.”

Bruce notes with some amusement that Hood’s threats tonight are rather lackluster.

“You know, Robin has shared statistics about your reign as Crime Lord. You only kill top leadership, and you usually offer everyone else a chance to join you. Apparently you’ve started offering health care and dental. Drug and crime rates are down in Park Row.”

“God, just call it Crime Alley like any normal person.” Red Hood huffs in exasperation, and holsters his gun. “Anyway, nice chat, Batman. All I got from this is that you’re useless without Robin, so if I see him around, I’ll send him your way, all right?”

And with that, Red Hood grapples away.

Bruce squints after the Hood. This was the first conversation he’s had with Hood when he’s not foaming with rage, and there’s something oddly familiar about his tone…

But no matter, he needs to find Ivy next. He can't let down another Robin.

—*—*—*—*—*—

Shit, Jason forgot about Tim Drake.

Or rather, he put finding Tim Drake on the back burner, since he figured that Bruce is already on the case, whereas no one else was watching out for Alvin Draper. So Jason’d spent the past week or so trying (and failing) to figure out what disaster has secretly befell Alvin’s life.

But if Bruce is desperate enough to talk to Red Hood (and damn it’s weird to hear Bruce defend Robin and be a hair’s breadth close to accepting Hood’s methods), that means Jason needs to find Tim Drake, yesterday. He’s the one who fucked up with the kid back at the hospital. And he’s the reason the kid quit Robin. He needs to find the little idiot bird, bring him back to Batman, reinstitute him as Robin to show him no hard feelings, and THEN he can maybe figure out a different way to tell Bruce that he’s alive, since APPARENTLY Talia al Ghul is a liar.

Fuck, he’s gonna have to figure out a less dramatic way to kill the Joker, isn’t he?

But first: find little Timmy Drake. He should be able to fit that in between trying to track down which of Drake Industries' hundreds of custodial staff was Alvin's boss.

Jason scowls and pulls out his laptop, minimizing the various documents he has open for Alvin. Bruce has already done the school route, but it seems like the kid’s not showing up. Fine. Jason will just start from the other end: the uncle. Bruce probably already checked the surface level stuff like address and phone number, so Jason uses his backdoor in to the city records department and pulls out everything on Edward Drake: birth certificate, driver’s license, credit cards, bank accounts…

Wait, some of this looks strangely familiar. The bank that’s used. The way the addresses point to several unsold real estate properties around Gotham. The handwriting on the birth certificate, the way that the signature does a loop in the “D”.

Jason knows this forgery. He’s been staring at similar records all week.

Jason checks the time as he swings out on his grapple — it’s 5:30pm, so he has just enough time to grab some groceries before heading over. He made a promise not to bother the kid, but that was before he figured out that Alvin’s involved in this somehow.

Jason could tell something was wrong even before he fully landed on the fire escape.

Alvin’s apartment is a mess, and Alvin is nowhere in sight. It looks like the kid is halfway through packing up. There are papers and piles everywhere, things spilling out of various paper boxes and other things stuffed haphazardly into garbage bags.

What the fuck happened here? Is Alvin really moving? Jason feels a pang in his chest — would Alvin move without telling him?

Jason climbs in the window as usual, and makes his way to the epicenter of the chaos. There’s a neat circle at the couch, and a tiny path that wends its way to the kitchenette. Alvin’s skateboard is not by the door. Jason heads to the kitchenette, knowing that the kid preferred to work on the counter.

Sure enough, tucked under a half-empty coffee mug, Jason finds a scribbled list:

- take over DI?
- kidnap Tim Drake?
- Paris?
- work for Hood?
- get rid of Tim until 18?

Shit. It’s worse than Jason thought. Alvin is planning to kidnap and kill Timothy Drake.

Chapter Text

Tim tests the bonds on the chair — they hold quite well. Or rather, they appear to hold quite well.

The good thing about planning his own kidnapping is that he can actually do it right. Abandoned warehouse with the least fish smells. Chair properly bolted to the floor of the warehouse. A nice backdrop to block out any location-identifying information in the ransom video. The good zip ties. Bank accounts that route through enough shell companies that not even Oracle will be able to track them.

Of course, Tim’s hoping to stay under Oracle’s radar altogether. Tim’s just sending the ransom video to “Eddie Drake”, who, upon receiving the video, will then wire the ransom money post-haste, without even notifying the police. Easy peasy way of getting $20 million dollars by skirting around all the locks on his parents' funds that somehow triggered once his dad died.

Tim takes a moment to breathe through the wave of anguish that rushes through him. Fuck, it really sucks that first Mom and then Dad… Fuck. No, it’s fine. He's not going to think about the way his dad looked at him as if he's nothing, the way he only asked about Mom, and then promptly ... God, Tim can't... he can't think about it. Except that he'd hoped ... well, he didn't know what to expect with Dad's waking -- maybe a lot of time spent with helping him get better. Maybe they'd actually spend father-son time together. Dad staying in Gotham for once. He didn't expect.... He didn't think Dad would just... no, it's fine. Tim's fine. The last thing Mom said to him was to keep up his grades. The last thing Dad said to him was to ask about Mom. It's fine. They've just ... gone on a long trip, like they always do, except now they're not coming back and Tim is left to figure out what to do next.

Tim takes another deep, bracing breath and wishes once again that he could tell Jason any of this, that Jay could give him a hug. But he can't, not when the only high profile death is Jack Drake's, not when Jason still has it out for Tim Drake. Jay promised to be there for Alvin, but unfortunately Tim Drake is the one with the problems. And there's no one who can help with Tim Drake's problems except himself. But it's fine. At least, it will be, once he enacts his plan. Tim sits there a moment longer, waiting for his breaths to ease and the pain in his chest to lessen. His body is so stupidly emotional. Tim’s already wasted a week crying and irrationally hating everyone and everything, while simultaneously missing everyone and everything. Nope, he's done crying, he's a new Tim with a new plan.

Specifically: Kidnap and ransom himself for $20 million, which will then fund a series of off-shore accounts that will keep Alvin in the black for the next couple of years while Eddie Drake takes Tim Drake on a whirlwind world tour, conveniently timed to return when Timothy Drake’s trust fund unlocks at age 18. Mom has tied his shares of Drake Industries to him graduating with a business degree, so maybe Uncle Eddie can get Tim enrolled in LSE while they’re abroad. Tim’s just two English credits short of graduating high school anyway, and the counselor says he can just do them over the summer.

In the meantime, Alvin Draper can hang out with the Red Hood, help the Alley and maybe (if Hood hasn't tired of him) get to keep having dinners and hangouts with Hood. Tim also needs to make a new vigilante identity so that he can fight aliens with the Titans, and hire an actor for Uncle Eddie to fend off the lawyers. $20 million should be more than enough for some evidence of world travel, tuition fees to LSE, a new vigilante outfit, and 3 years of apartment rental.

It’s a pretty good plan, if Tim doesn’t say so himself.

Anyway, Tim puts on his best Bristol accent and delivers what he considers to be the best ransom video of his life, with tearful pleas and everything. Then he reaches over and taps the “send” button with his foot. It doesn’t make sense for Eddie Drake to send the ransom immediately, which should give Tim just enough time to wiggle out of his restraints.

That’s when a window breaks behind him, followed by “Alvin! Stop!” in a familiar distorted voice.

Tim stops by default and jerks around to try to see Red Hood coming up from behind.

“Hi Timothy,” Hood grunts, then squats down to start cutting Tim out of his zip-ties.

Oh, right. Tim’s dressed as Timothy right now, hair gelled back, starched Gotham Academy shirt and everything. And Red Hood doesn’t like Tim Drake, because Red Hood doesn’t like Robin.

Tim puts on what he hopes is a Robin-appropriate scowl. “Thought you didn’t like me, Hood. Why are you rescuing me?”

“Changed my mind.” Hood grunts as the last zip tie is cut through. He stands up and looks around. “Where’s Alvin?”

Tim frowns as he rubs his wrists. “Alvin?” Why would Hood be looking for Alvin here?

“Y’know, the kid who kidnapped you. Fluffy hair, glasses…” Hood gestures with his hand, “About this tall…”

Wait, does Hood think that Alvin kidnapped Tim Drake? Tim is so confused. What would give him that idea?

Before he can concoct an appropriate response, however, a second, deeply familiar voice cuts in.

“Release Tim, Hood.”

Tim barely has time to take a step back as Batman charges at Hood.

Hood blocks just in time before jumping back. “Cool it, Batman, I’m trying to save your little Robin, not kidnap him.”

Batman growls as he attacks again. “Lies. Oracle tagged a ransom video sent to Edward Drake, which traced back to this location.”

“What? No.” Hood dodges Batman’s attacks and pulls out a gun to fire a few warning shots. It doesn't do much to stop Batman's momentum, but slows him enough for Hood to grit out, “For the last time, I didn’t kidnap the kid! Someone else did! And there *is* no fuckin’ uncle!”

Batman pulls to a stop, two batarangs still in his hand. “Explain.”

“Look, I know a kid in the Alley, all right? And no I’m not telling you his name. Timothy there somehow found the kid and got him to do the paperwork for his fake uncle. And no I don’t know how they know each other, or why he didn’t just ask you to adopt him, stop asking questions with your grimaces, B. Anyway, now the kid’s kidnapped Timothy, probably to get some money out of the situation — the kid’s been going through some major life changes, and I’m *trying* to help, all right? Except that the kid won’t let me.”

Batman turns to Tim. “Tim, is Hood telling the truth? You don’t have an uncle?”

Fuck. How is Tim going to talk his way out of this one? He had a whole plan involving getting Tim Drake to disappear and just living as Alvin, but now both Jason and Bruce are looking at him.

“Yeah, sorry, Uncle Eddie is fake.” Tim picks the easier question to answer. Honestly, Tim had counted on Bruce finding out earlier, so it’s not a big loss.

Batman pinches the bridge of his nose in a very Bruce-like fashion. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have been your temporary guardian.”

“We had a professional relationship, Batman,” Tim reminds him.

“A professional relationship?!” Hood explodes, waving his arms at Bruce. “For the last two weeks you’ve been going around with your head cut off because you lost a Robin, AGAIN. You told *me*, a complete stranger and crime lord, that Batman is nothing without his Robin. Yet somehow your precious Robin thinks this is all a ‘professional relationship’?!”

Batman looks properly chastised. “I…”

“Of course Batman needed someone like Robin I or II!" Tim jumps to Bruce's defense. "That's a different relationship, though. We're strictly professional." It's weird that Bruce is still confused about Tim's resignation, and even weirder that Batman would be telling Hood about it. "And we ended it, formally, over 2 weeks ago." Tim turns to Bruce. "Unless you need to do an exit interview?"

"Tim, you're my Robin, just like Dick and Jason were.” Batman has now fully turned his back on Hood in order to look Tim in the eye. “Our relationship may have started out as something professional and contractual, but it's become something more, for me at least. I want you to stay. I’ve been inviting you to the manor. I want to have the same relationship with you as I do with the others." Bruce has long since dropped his Batman growl. "Why did you resign, Tim? What went wrong?”

Tim hasn't heard Bruce sounding this lost and upset since the first few months after Jason's death, and he wants to tell Bruce that it's all right -- Jason's back, and they're going to reconcile and things will be so much better, really soon. But he can't, at least not yet. “Sorry, B -- I need a little more time. I’ll tell you in six weeks?” He shoots a look at Jason, trying to send a psychic message of "tell your dad, now."

Unfortuately, all that seems to do is make Bruce round on Jason again. "Red Hood. What do you know about Robin's resignation? Why did you kidnap him? Did you blackmail him into resigning?" Batman growls menacingly.

"For fuck's sake, I didn't kidnap him!" Hood throws his hands up in frustration. “This is all part of his stupid plan to... Oh fuck it, fine.” Red Hood rips off his helmet, then uses it to gesture at Tim. “For some reason, Timothy here got it into his head that he should resign, as a way to force me to tell you that I’m alive and back. Surprise, B, it's me, Jason, and I’m alive.”

“Jay?” Bruce croaks. Batman has lost all of the posturing and menace from a bare moment ago. It is Bruce who reaches out a trembling hand. “Why? How?”

“Oh! I have a file for this!” Tim bounces over to his laptop and queues up his file. (He also takes the opportunity to actually get “Eddie Drake” to send his ransom money, and maybe cheer a little bit that his plan totally worked.) “There, just uploaded my Jason case file to the Bat-computer, which you can pull up in your cowl. But basically: mysterious resurrection, Talia dunked Jason in the Lazarus Pit, and he had some misconceptions about the impact of his death, but I sent him some files about it already.”

Jason narrows his eyes at Tim. “Timothy Drake, why are your files on the kidnapper’s computer? Are you… kidnapping yourself?”

“Um… kinda? All my parents’ money is locked down, and I needed a way to get a massive cash infusion…. sorry?” Tim darts a quick look at Bruce, who seems to still be in shock from Jason’s reveal, and looks as if he’s carved out of stone. Drat, he was hoping a tearful reunion would give him the chance to escape all this questioning.

“Then how is Alvin involved?” Jason crosses his arms.

“Oh. He, um, helped me with some of the paperwork and bank routing stuff,” Tim hedges. “Anyway, my fake uncle just paid my ransom, so I’m off to travel the world, bye!”

Before Tim could make a run for it, Jason grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “What. The Fuck. Your fake uncle is taking you to travel the world? Why? Why do that when you have a perfectly good Robin gig right here?” He turns to Bruce. “B, tell him again how much you want him as Robin.”

“He said that before he knew you’re back, Jason.” Tim bites out. “Your death is why I became Robin, so now that you’re back, Batman doesn’t need me as Robin anymore. And since my parents are both dead, there’s no one around to care about my grades or whatever. So I’ll just travel and come back when I turn 18. Mom’s stipulated that I take over Drake Industries but I won’t be able to do that for a few years.”

Jason frowns. “I don’t get it. You’re just going to give up and leave? There’s nothing worth sticking around here for? What about your friends?”

“I don’t have friends!” Tim yells, finally pulling his arm free. “No one likes Tim Drake. My *parents* didn’t like Tim Drake. *You* don’t like Tim Drake! I don’t get why you’re so angry about this when this is what you’ve always wanted, Hood! It’s the thing that you’ve been talking about nonstop for the Past. Four. Months.” Tim takes a step back. “There’s no point in being Tim Drake, Tim Drake has nothing.” Just a big empty mansion and a few locked trust funds.

But Jason isn’t looking at Tim anymore. He’s looking at Tim’s arm, where his shirt has rucked up all the way to the elbow. “I know those scars.” Jason's face changes from confusion to disbelief. “Alvin?”

Fuck.

Tim grabs his laptop and runs.

—*—*—*—*—*—

Jason finds Tim first. He has the home court advantage, after all -- Marisol had seen Alvin running down the block as she was coming home, and then Janice pointed Jason in the right direction. Of course, knowing where Tim is doesn't help Jason with his jumbled thoughts. He thought he knew Timothy Drake, trust fund baby and perfect replacement Robin. He thought he knew Alvin Draper, spunky Alley kid who spends all his spare time helping his neighbors. But who is Tim Drake?

The kid’s sitting in the empty ice cream parlor, glumly digging into a cup of Rocky Road. With his glasses off and his hair a mess, he looks somewhere between Timothy Drake and Alvin Draper. Seeing the mussed hair settles something in Jason. Maybe the last four months haven't been *all* an act. Jason takes a deep breath and tries to put aside his natural fondness for Alvin and disdain for Timothy. Well, guess it's time to meet the real Tim Drake.

Tim sighs when Jason slides into the booth next to him, but makes no move to run.

“Sorry, Hood.” Tim says before Jason has a chance to say anything. The petulance is all Alvin, though now that Jason knows to listen for it, there’s a hint of Bristol primness in his words. Turns out he was looking in the wrong place for Alvin’s origins.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Jason takes his helmet off, out of habit. Fuck, no wonder Alvin was so afraid of the helmet, he’d been screaming threats at Robin for four straight months.

“I lied to you.” The kid’s stabbing at his ice cream. “Got to know you under false pretenses. Pretended to be someone you liked.”

Jason takes a moment to digest this. It's what he'd initially thought, back at the warehouse -- that Alvin was a cover constructed to investigate Jason. It's what he wanted to demand an answer to: was Alvin a lie? Was it all a plan to reconcile him with Bruce? But his search through Crime Alley has reminded him of plenty of evidence to the contrary. Alvin has been living in Crime Alley long before Red Hood even existed. And looking now at the way the kid is sighing at his Rocky Road, his starched shirt unbuttoned and rumpled, Tim looks far more Alvin than Timothy.

“Hm. Is that why you stitched me up that night after the Green Dragons? You were trying to investigate the Red Hood?”

The kid nods miserably. “I wanted to know why Jason Todd is alive.”

All right. Jason tries again. “And what about the pollen with Ivy? Did you fake that, too?”

“What? No. Why would I fake pollen?” Tim frowns, pure Alvin.

“Okay, and what about you building the grocery delivery database? Was that part of your investigation?”

“No? I just wanted to streamline the process.” Tim looks appalled. "The data was a mess! It had down that Mrs. Rubens wanted broccoli. She *hates* broccoli."

“And buying that horrible grape Zesti from the corner store?”

“What? How would that possibly be … Janice carries that specifically because she knows I love grape Zesti, and besides, the prices are pretty good...” Tim frowns in confusion. "Wait, what does that have to do with anything?"

Jason lets go of the breath he was holding, and leans back. “So it wasn’t all a scam. I did get to know Tim Drake after all.”

Tim scoffs. “Don’t you get it, Hood? Tim Drake doesn’t exist. Sure, there’s Timothy Drake, because mom and dad wanted to see A’s and awards, but Tim Drake is a mess. Just a lonely kid stuck in a giant mansion all by himself. I just tricked you into liking Alvin, and Alvin's fake.”

“All right. Then tell me — who’s smart enough to figure out over-the-counter allergy meds can help with Ivy’s pollen, but stupid enough to not ask any of the people in his life to give him a fucking hug?”

“Me.” The kid says reluctantly.

“Okay. And who’s been tutoring his neighbor for the past five years, rain or shine?”

“Me, but that’s because Ms. Marisol needs someone to watch over José.”

“And who’s the person I gave a hug to when they were sad about their mom?”

“Me.” Tim’s voice sounds a bit wet.

“And who’s the kid who set up a whole web portal for my grocery delivery service and also helped set up my dental and health care plans?”

“Alvin.” The kid glares at Jason mulishly.

“Who is you.” Jason reaches over and boops him on the nose. “Anyway, that’s the person I like and care about. And that's the person I’m offering a job to. Tim Drake, Alvin Draper, whatever name that person wants to go by. He’s kind, and smart. Drinks way too much coffee, is always trying to help other people, and has a spreadsheet for his sleep schedule.”

“That’s… still on the table?” Tim asks tenuously.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jason shrugs. “You’re still you. Except now I can assign you more work since you apparently have Robin training.” Fuck. Jason’s gonna have to worry about Robin training. Robins never do what they’re told. Robins get *everywhere* where they’re not supposed to be. Is this what it feels like to be Bruce? Speaking of which…

“You serious about quitting Robin? Don’t you want to go back? Bruce wants you, you know.”

Tim tilts his head in consideration. “It was always supposed to be temporary. I like doing Robin work, but I can do that with the Titans. And I’ve already promised to help B with the big breakouts and stuff, and he’ll sometimes have cases that he might need help solving.” The kid shrugs as if solving B’s cases isn’t a feat unto itself. “But day-to-day? I’d rather help you. Help the Alley. If Tim Drake of Bristol is Robin for Batman, then Alvin Draper of Crime Alley is Robin for the Red Hood, I guess.” Tim gains a thoughtful look. “Maybe I’ll call myself Red Robin.”

“That’s a stupid name.”

“Says the guy who calls himself Red Hood.” Tim snarks back.

“Fine.” Jason grunts, hiding his relief that Tim is feeling up for snark. They can workshop the name later. “Y’know,” he offers, “If you’re sticking around and not running off to Paris or whatever, my place has a spare room, if you’re tired of living on your own. It’d save me from constantly having to bring groceries over to your place and cooking on that tiny kitchenette stovetop.”

Tim looks at him long and hard, and Jason tries his best to project how serious he is about his offer.

Finally, the kid cracks a sly smile. “And give up my prime Batman viewing window?”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m just right around the corner, and I have a window looking over the same exact rooftop,” Jason grouses. “And a full sized kitchen, with an induction stovetop. And a bedroom where you can pile all of your plushies and work however you want.” It's currently where he keeps his weapons and gear, but that can go in the hallway closet or something.

“Throw in a proper coffee machine and I’ll move.” Tim pegs him with a full Alvin grin.

“Fine, whatever,” Jason mock-grumbles. “And we can still keep your studio as a safehouse.”

“Yeah, all right.” Tim smiles. Then he adds softly, “Thanks, Jay. For... everything. I'm sorry, for lying to you.”

"Hey, it's okay. I *was* threatening to kill you at the time." Jason shrugs, then decides that's enough of that, so he reaches over and steals a big spoonful of Tim's ice cream.

Tim laughs and parries Jason's next attempt with his own spoon, and soon enough the ice cream is finished and Tim is slipping his glasses back on and standing up. “So Hood -- want to show me this place of yours? Convince me that dinner would be better there?”

“Sure thing, Alv.” Jason slings an arm across Tim’s shoulders as they head out of the ice cream parlor. His place would be better for private conversations anyway. A thought comes to him as he pops his helmet back on. “Hey, now that I know you’re Robin, can you help me mod my voice distortion to be less scary?”

“Of course!” Tim beams. “And now that you know I’m Tim Drake, do you want to come to my photography competition tomorrow night?”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with me raiding Black Mask’s shipments.” Shit, Jason had been planning this for a while, he doesn’t think he can move it.

“It does but if I help you with the raid, we should be able to finish in time for the exhibit,” Tim says cheekily.

Fuck, there’s no stopping a Robin, is there. Guess all he can do is make sure the kid is properly supervised and has backup. Can't let a Robin run around Gotham alone. Speaking of which… “One day you’re gonna have to tell me how you ended up renting an apartment with a fake uncle at the age of 10.”

Tim laughs. “Well, it’s because the Gotham Transit Authority decided to do an audit…”

—*—*—*—*—*—

Epilogue

Bruce watches from a block over as Jason comes out of the ice cream shop with an arm slung over Tim’s shoulder, laughing and chatting.

Bruce drinks in the sight of Jason, vibrantly, viciously alive, and Tim, smiling more widely and body more relaxed than he’d ever been as Batman’s Robin. Once again, his Robins have grown up without him. In spite of him.

His phone buzzes. It’s from another Robin who has left the nest to become something more. Bruce smiles as he answers, thankful that Dick finds the time to call home even after he's established himself as his own vigilante.

“B, you wanna explain what’s going on?" comes the harried voice of his eldest. "I get back from a two-month space mission and there’s five voice messages from you. That’s, like, a hundred if you’re anyone else. Is Tim all right?”

“Yeah, he’s all right.” Bruce watches as Jason and Tim blend into the bustle of the street. “I don’t think he wants to be Robin anymore, though.” His heart is still feels hollow, even with the joy of seeing Jason slowly seeping in to fill the emptiness. Bruce thinks he'll be all right. Eventually. Maybe he can ask Dick to help get Jason and Tim to come to the Manor for a Sunday brunch some time.

“Okaaay,” Dick says, clearly putting that aside to yell at Bruce about later. “Is that why there’s a kid in my apartment who’s claiming to be the true heir of the Bat and wants me to train him to be the next Robin?”

“What?”

Bruce is halfway to Bludhaven when he realizes that he forgot to tell Dick about Jason being alive.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Timothy Drake at school:

Tiny Alvin Draper headed home:

Alvin!Tim fixing up Jason in his tiiiiiny studio apartment bathroom:

Alvin!Tim and Hood!Jason hanging out