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"Look, it's okay." He assured Bruce, feeling a tingle of suspense crawl up his spine and wonder what that was about, "I'll ask Cyborg for a ride home. Good luck." He hung up, placing his phone back in his bag, and waiting for whatever he could just sense lurking in the shadows to make itself known.
It doesn't take more then a few seconds.
"Hey Tim." An unfamiliar metallic voice hissed, and he turned around to see- "I was here first."
"You're The Red Hood." Tim identified, frowning. A rising figure in Gotham, not quite a Villain or Rouge but very close. What could he possibly be doing in the Titans Tower? And how the hell did he know Tim's name? "You've been cleaning up Gotham the easy way."
"Easy? What do you know about easy, Tim?" The man scoffed, stepping properly into the room.
Tim knows all about easy. He knows that killing people was easy, too easy. Tim knows how to kill almost as well as he knows how to die, and he knows that he isn't as....morally opposed to it on principle as he probably should be. He knows, almost definitely, he's going to kill someone eventually, for one reason or another, because it's so easy.
And he knows that he won't do it or Gotham, and not in Robin's colors. Not under Bruce's wing or in Jason's shadow. This position he shoehorned himself into- it wasn't about easy.
"You had a father that looked after you." The Red Hood all but growled, and Tim almost laughed at the claim. "You went to a private school, right? You slept in a bed." The Red Hood raised his hands to his helmet, undoing the clasps and pulling up. "I slept on the streets. I lived in the alleyways of Gotham." The Red Hood kept talking, but Tim kinda zoned him out when he saw (most of) the face under the helmet.
Tim recognized that face, he realized, stunned. It was the one he was wearing, after all. It was Robin's face.
But- oh shit that meant-
"Jason!" Tim gasps, desperately hoping the other didn't spend too much time staring in mirrors, or this was going to get awkward. He softened his jaw a bit as he shook his head, just in case. "You-wow. Um. how?"
Jason- Jason!- stuttered in his movement, Red Hood helmet hovering above the table he was about to place it on, staring at Tim.
Too late, he realized he....probably wasn't as surprised about this as he probably should be. And he interrupted Jason's Evil Monolouge, which is just horrid manners. Grandmama would make him swallow his tongue.
....That's probably not the general etiquette, though. What does he say now?
"Um. Sorry I interrupted. You were saying?" He waved awkwardly. "Something about me being better then you?" He prompted, which sounded worse out loud then it did in his head.
This night was just. Going great, really.
"Ha!" Jason(!!) chuckled, a dark and gravely sound that kind of reminded him of Bruce, "You've got the quips, I guess. Lets see what else you have!" He sneered, tearing the street clothes of Red Hood off to reveal a replication of the suit Tim had spent far too much time staring at in the cave.
A Good Solider.
(Gosh, if he'd known he'd be making his first impression on his predecessor- brother?- then he would have brought a few more toys, at least. And gargle bleach for his coffee stained teeth. He probably needed a haircut, too- oh, he was a mess.)
"Show me, Tim. Show me what you have that I didn't."
Tim giggled, an entirely childish sound, and was all too happy to oblige.
(He would have to make due.)
Being chased around the tower by his murderous pseudo-super-villain pseudo-kind-of-brother while the man continued to monologue dramatically far less upsetting then most would expect. Mostly, it was honestly kind of nostalgic.
"I know Bruce Wayne. If someone was trailing him for weeks, He'd know about it." Jason claimed, vaulting after him over a high ledge. "You can't be that good."
"Honestly, Cousin Timothy, are you trying to tell us that Mother didn't notice you pilfer the Oleander?" Pugsley demanded, pressing a kitchen knife to his throat, drawing an eager line of blood. Tim could see seeds between his teeth and smell the flower on his breath. His vision was already going blurry.
"She can hear a fly across the room." Wednesday claimed, certainty in her tone as she nibbled on the stem he'd given her. "no one is that quiet."
A shrug, a mischievous smile, a glint in his eyes that proves he knows something they don't.
"I am." He asserted, finally counter attacking with a strong crack across Jason's jaw that made his fingertips buzz in anticipation.
The fight continued, more brutal then the game of cat and mouse from before, and Tim had to remind himself to keep his injuries, as he fell into something closer to a dance then he usually dared in costume.
But...Jason was angry. Angrier then he'd ever seen any of his family members, even when he dyed Wednesday's hair pink. A deep, scorching anger that almost made him sweat.
Jason was alive, and he was absolutely livid.
The joy and familiarity started to dull, as Tim started to understand just how serious this situation was, and Jason kicked him through a door to the Hallway of Fallen Titans. His voice was thick with all sorts of emotions as he knocked over Donna's statue, and this wasn't all fun in games.
Well, kind of. It kind of was, for Tim, but it wasn't for Jason at all.
"I was a Titan too!" He roared, breathing heavily, and Tim felt something tighten in his own chest.
"What do you want?" Tim asks, because, for better or worse, he had always been a problem-solver before anything else. "Do you want to be Robin again?"
"Why in hell would I ever want that?" Jason scowled. "Don't you get it? When I died, no one cared! No one remembered me."
"Are you....completely insane?" He marveled, flipping back in for an attack. "Seriously? No one could forget about you!" Something like anger starts to bubble, but fizzles out immediately. Maybe he should be angry that Jason was trying to murder him for doing something that had to be done, calling the best-but-hardest years of his life easy, assuming to know things he doesn't. But, really, Tim can't...find it in himself to care, all that much. What's a little murder between family? Especially alive family.
He should be angry, but Jason should be dead. So he laughs in the older teen's face and steals his staff back with a yank that must sprain his Robin's wrist.
"Are you coming home?" He asks, getting another solid hit in. He loved his Bo staff.
"What?" Jason coughs, bending over a bit with the hit before returning with an elbow that only barely misses. "Fuck no! Why the hell would I go back to a man that let the Joker live?"
Tim nodded, because that was...not a fair point, but a reasonable one.
"He's not winning any Dad of The Year awards." He agreed. "But Batman can't kill. You know that."
"What I know is that his stupid rule is more important then the my life, as far as he cares." Jason corrected, tripping Tim over. He tried to take the staff again, and Tim wriggles out of the almost-hold before he gets the chance. This, at least, wasn't familiar. The closest things to actual fisticuffs he ever really got with his family was sword fighting, or the occasional wrestling with Pugs that somehow didn't boil down to traps or explosions.
"Its not like that!" Tim insisted, trying to figure out how to explain it as he darted back for a breathe of thought. Jason closed back in fast. "Bruce can't kill. He doesn't- Killing isn't something he can come back from. Trauma, addictive personality, strong sense of duty, stronger sense of justice- his rules are the only things keeping him from going completely mad. He already almost has a God Complex, with that big head of his-" Tim shook his head, dodging a hit from Jason. Sloppy. Maybe he was listening, or maybe he was just so mad his stance was breaking down. "Bruce can't kill. He doesn't have it in him."
"Bruce isn't- he isn't like that. Stubborn old man can do anything he sets his damn mind to. He just didn't bother." Jason argued, but something...wavered, Tim thought.
Hoped.
"Maybe he wasn't." Tim conceded, though he didn't believe it for a second, "But he is now, at least. Your death shattered him, Jason. I heard that Superman had to step in to stop him from killing the Joker. I had to stick my neck out to give him an anchor before he killed himself working alone. If he did kill the Joker, after all of that, he'd be tearing open old wounds, doubting the very few things he's absolutely sure of. He can't kill, and he can't use guns, just like Dick can't let anyone go on patrol without triple checking their lines."
Jason paused, a very complicated look on his face that even Tim didn't want to try and figure out.
In the end, though, he shook his head firmly, charging forward with another attack. Tim accepted that as an end to the conversation- because, really, what else could he say?- and fell firmly into the fight.
The fight that does not go well for him.
Tim is mature enough to admit it- he gets his ass handed to him. It doesn't surprise him, really- It's a little annoying, especially because he's going to have to heal normally given that this was all almost certainly being recorded on the cameras, but it isn't surprising. Jason was many things, and a brawler was always one of them.
More notably, though, was the way Jason fought. He fought dirty, and he fought like a bat, but also- something else. Something deadlier. He wasn't killing Tim, or seriously trying to- Of all people, Tim would know- but it wasn't because he didn't know how, like one would expect from someone trained by Batman in exclusively non-lethal take downs.
(Plus he had guns. There was that. His Red Hood costume had guns, and if he wanted to kill Tim, he could just go back and grab a one. This wasn't a murder, it was a warning. Or an act of war?)
Failing to block a certain attack that left him gasping for air like a fish and then having his probably-dislocated shoulder stomped on, Tim was almost wistfully reminded of his time training with Lady Shiva. The thought stuck in his mind for the rest of the fight, drawing comparisons and theories that he didn't like one bit.
"Still think you're hot shit?" Jason demanded, pressing a knee between ribs that shifted like they were broken. Ugh.
"Yes." Tim wheezes, curling his lips up in a smirk that Jason punches off his face.
He doesn't stop punching, after that, and Tim reluctantly accepts that he's lost. He allows himself to go limp, but doesn't pass out. Jason's alive, and, regardless of circumstance, he doesn't want to miss a second of it.
Jason stops surprisingly soon after Tim goes limp. He stands up with a grunt, and Tim keeps his breath deep to mimic sleep, but leaves his eyes open under the mask to watch, not even bothering to blink. Jason stands slowly and stretches, a hand coming up to rub at his jaw that bloomed a nasty red, and Tim had to stop himself from grinning at the sight. At least it wasn't a completely one sided fight.
He took a step back, almost stumbling, and then a more stable second, and walked back the way he came.
A few minutes later he walked back into the room carrying a bucket that smelled so strongly of blood that Tim's face twitched.
Jason walked out of his field of vision, but it was very quiet in the cold stone hall, and he could hear the man shuffling around. Heard scuffing of stone, a grunt of exertion, a wet dip of something in the pail, and the quiet scraping of something on the wall. It takes several minutes, minutes that Tim spends healing himself the best he can. Getting rid of a few that he can justify not having sustained, either because of luck or skill, making some of the ones he had to have sustained as mild as plausible. He left his ribs bruised and his ankle twisted and his jaw absolutely shattered, and mentally admired Jason's right hook. Excellent form, really.
He was knocked out of his injury evaluation by a wet slap, and the familiar thud of boots landing on stone.
"Well, replacement." Jason hisses, picking him up by his hair, and Tim honestly can't tell whether Jason knows he's awake or not. "It has not been a pleasure, but at least it was cathartic. Remember to sing like a bird when Bruce asks you what happened."
Tim giggled, a bit, because it was funny- Or maybe he had a concussion? Jason startled, dropping his head on the stone with a curse, and at least that answered that question.
And he absolutely had a concussion.
"Wha- How the fuck are you still awake?" Jason demanded, not quite managing to mask his surprise with anger.
Tim tried to slur a witty response, but his jaw was, in fact, still shattered, and all he really managed to do was spit blood in Jason's hair.
A fairly acceptable alternative, he decided with another bloody grin. He should probably manage whatever organ he's spitting up. He was pretty sure he could whittle his recovery time down to a month and a half without suspicion.
Jason scowled again, picked him up by his hair, and slammed his head on the floor again. Tim obligingly went limp, mostly because if Jason did that again then he might die and then luck and skill wouldn't matter much at all anymore.
A high pitched beeping noise rang out of Jason's helmet, and the man cursed, muttering something about overrides and just in time and lickity split, which, who even said that anymore? Tim was absolutely going to make fun of that, one day.
When Jason finished whatever it was that he was doing and came back. Because he would, one day, Tim was sure. One day, Jason would get sorted out, either himself or with some help, and then he'll come home, because he was family. He knew that Addams standards were far from universal, but he was pretty sure that unconditional love meant the same thing to everyone, and Tim didn't know any other kind of love.
Again, what's a little murder between family? Especially when it was just pesky little attempted murder?
(He would get that bastard back for the bench time, though. He heard the elevator door opening with panic, and this was going to be closer to two months out of commission, Ugh.)