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The first time it happens, Tim has just been unceremoniously hauled out of the Sprang River by the remains of his cape. It’s not quite winter—not yet—but the water is cold and his arms and face are open to the elements.
He coughs, spewing water on the riverbank. It’s a rather inglorious end to what has been an undoubtedly crappy night. So much for Robin swooping in to help save the—
An unfamiliar boot appears in his line of sight.
Tim manages to roll to the side before it lands right where his chest had just been. The movement brings with it a host of new problems—namely that he quite possibly has a bruised rib beneath his body armor. Gasping, he winces, struggling to regain his feet and face his new opponent.
He barely makes it to his knees.
“Well, well, well. Look what the river rejected tonight.”
Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crappity crap.
It’s Jason Todd. The second Robin—now the Red Hood—who had just beaten the living snot out of him the month before in a rather uneven battle in Titan’s Tower.
The splint on his broken wrist from that fight had just come off last week.
Life is so not fair.
The wind picks up, blowing across the cold depths of the Sprang. Behind them, up on the bridge, sirens wail and lights flash as the police and fire department try to contain the damage from Batman’s latest run-in with Firefly. The same run-in where Robin had rather ingloriously fallen into the river after saving a kid from the same fate.
Involuntarily, Tim shivers there on the bank of the river, unable to even raise his head to glare defiantly at his former hero. He’s cold, so cold…
Something heavy and warm lands on his head. New scents replace those of the night air and river water. Metallic, mostly. Ozone, reminding him of fireworks. Beneath that, something fresh and clean and—
It’s Jason’s jacket. He’s smelling Jason.
Tim splutters again, this time for another reason as he struggles with the jacket. It’s lined, which is nice. And probably why it’s holding in Jason’s body heat so well. “What’re you…?”
“Don’t overthink it, kid,” Jason drawls in a lazy tone that does nothing to calm Tim’s raw nerves. “Next time we fight, I will crush you like a bug. But…” he pauses, which gives Tim a moment to pull the jacket tighter around himself. “You did good up there. Aside from the landing. You’re lucky you didn’t belly-flop.”
Oh.
Oh.
Tim’s stomach flip-flops as Jason’s words sink in. A compliment.
Jason has just given him a compliment. An underhanded one, to be sure, but a compliment nonetheless.
“Thanks?” Tim answers, voice shaking as the chill recedes ever-so-slightly. His throat is already raw from vomiting up water and he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t catch a cold after this.
“I can’t help but notice though…” Jason says leadingly, like Tim hasn’t spoken. “That the big man is still up there while his little birdie is down here. It’s like he doesn’t even care.”
“He trusts me,” Tim whispers, so soft that he’s not sure he’s even heard over the wind and the lapping water against the shoreline. He burrows deeper into the jacket as a chill of another sort trickles down his spine.
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, kid.” A flicker of light and then there’s smoke being blown into Tim’s face. “I’m feeling generous tonight.”
Gee, really?
“So I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get your scrawny green ass out of the Bowery before I come huntin’ it down and start clippin’ some wings.”
Tim finally looks up at Jason, at his bare face—because of course he’s not even wearing a mask—and the cigarette between his lips. He knows he needs to get moving, knows that Jason’s generosity is fickle at best, and that he’s not joking about chasing after him. So why he says what he does next…
Well, he’s done dumber things.
Coughing away the lingering smoke, Tim says, “You know those things will kill you, right?”
There’s a long pause as Jason gives him a level look. “Ten minutes. Tick tock, baby bird.”
The second time, Tim blinks slowly, lids like leaden weights over his eyes. He’s got to stay awake. He has to stay awake. There’s no other choice because if he falls asleep, then he’s not going to wake up.
Distantly, he checks off his mental list of hypothermia symptoms. At this point, the only one he isn’t actively experiencing is frostbite, but unless his situation changes soon, it won’t be long in coming. On another list, this one titled Worst Ways to Die as Robin, he moves freezing to death in an industrial freezer nearer to the top.
He almost envies the slabs of meat that form the makeshift shelter he’d created back in the first hour. If he survives this, he’s never eating beef again.
Shifting slightly, the emergency blanket over his head slips for the umpteenth time.
Tim doesn’t have the energy to fix it. He just doesn’t. What’s the point? No one is going to find him. His one lifeline, the one person who would have come if he’d just whispered his name, was gone. No more late night sessions of Mario Kart. No more teasing and ribbing about his caffeine habit or tendencies to overthink. No more being Dutch-ovened after a Super-fart.
No one is coming. No one…
No.
One.
“Jesus fuck, Pretender.”
Huh?
A side of beef falls away and a blast of frigid air slaps Tim in the face.
Or maybe that’s Jason’s hand. It’s hard to tell.
“C’mon, Timmy. Wake up.”
Oh. Someone found him after all.
Nice.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, Pretender. You’re not allowed to take the easy way out.”
Easy? Who said freezing to death was easy?
But he can’t stay awake anymore. He just can’t. “Jay—"
Slumping forward, Tim falls asleep as the warm weight of Jason’s jacket lands across his shoulders.
“I got you, baby bird. I got you.”
The third time, it’s dark. And stinky. Really stinky. Somewhere up high, there are shouts and screams, but down here—wherever here is—he’s all alone.
Tim sniffs and tugs the heavy red shirt he’d found tighter around him. He doesn’t know where his clothes are. He doesn’t know where he is. He’s supposed to be a big boy. Mommy said he was such a big boy at his birthday party last week and Daddy agreed. They were both smiling so big as he blew out the candles on his dinosaur cake.
Big boys don’t cry.
There’s another scream up high and then everything goes quiet.
Somehow, that makes it even scarier.
A figure appears in front of him, dropping down out of the night like a monster.
Tim starts to cry for real now.
“Woah there, baby bird,” the red-headed monster says in a horrible voice. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
He tries to run, but he trips on the red shirt. It’s heavier than any shirt he’s ever put on. Even his fluffy winter jacket his mommy helped him into when they went sledding in the snow wasn’t this heavy.
“Shit,” Tim hears from behind him. “Hold up, kiddo.”
A hand lands on his shoulder and Tim screams.
“Fuck. C’mon, kid. Calm down. It’s just me.”
The voice is different.
Tim swallows hard and opens his eyes.
Kneeling beside him is a black-haired man with a kind smile and a red bat on his chest.
A bat.
That’s a good thing, right? Batman wears a bat on his chest too and he’s a hero. He’s the greatest hero in the world except for Superman.
“What’s your name, kid?” the man asks.
“Timmy.”
“And how old are you?”
“Five.”
The man says another bad word before he asks, “Do you know where you are, Timmy?”
He shakes his head. “No. But I don’t like it here. I wanna go home!”
“Where’s home?”
Tim opens his mouth and then closes it. He doesn’t know his address, just the outside of the nice building he goes in and out of with Mommy or Daddy holding his hand. Tears well up in his eyes and he starts to cry again. “I don’t know!”
Sighing, the man takes off his jacket and in one quick move, wraps Tim in it and picks him up. “It’s gonna be okay, Timmy,” he says. “You know your last name?”
“Drake.” Tim feels better already, with the jacket nice and warm around him.
“My name’s Jason. We’re gonna go to a place where we can look up your address, okay? I know a guy there who makes the best hot cocoa.”
Tim nods and buries his face in Jason’s shoulder, yawning. He’s safe now. He’s with Jason the Bat.
A warm hand gently rubs his back. “Go to sleep, Timmy. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
The fourth time, Tim has to admit, there’s something cinematic about a fist fight in the rain. The heavens are alight and the thunder serves as a dramatic punctuation mark each time his fist lands on solid flesh. It’s thrilling. It’s therapeutic.
(what does he even know about therapy anyway? it’s not like he’s allowed to go.)
The pouring rain conceals the tears falling from his eyes.
He raises his fist again and a hand snatches it from behind.
Tim whirls around and promptly forgets the drug dealer slumping to the ground.
Lightning flashes and reveals the dull red gleam of a fully-masked Red Hood. “Last time I checked, I’m the one who pummels those fucks senseless, not you.”
“What the hell do you care?” Tim snarls. “You asked me to be your Robin. Maybe this is my way of saying yes.”
Maybe killing someone will take away the pain of everyone he loves dying on him.
Bruce—dead. His dad—dead. His mom—dead. Steph—okay, not dead, not anymore, but something isn’t right there. Kon—dead. Even Dana, who’d never done anything wrong in her life—dead.
Dead, dead, dead. They’re all dead chants the crazed little voice that’s the driving force behind everything tonight. Ding-dong, they’re all dead.
Jason doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, he reaches for a grapple gun and shoots it upward. “You wanna be my Robin? Gotta fight like one.”
Tim takes the hint as Jason vanishes up into the night and shoots off his own line to follow.
Sounds like a fantastic idea (it’s an awful idea).
Up on the roof, lightning flashes again to reveal a barren concrete jungle illuminated in shades of black and white. Jason stands a few yards away, relaxed.
Why is he so relaxed? They’re about to fight, not take a walk in the park.
Tim extends his bo-staff and lunges.
Jason sidesteps easily.
Tim swings again, and again, and again. Each time, Jason avoids the strike like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
It’s infuriating.
He lunges and this time, Jason slips inside the reach of the staff, fist raised. The blow lands squarely on Tim’s nose and he falls, staff clattering away.
One hit. That’s all it took.
“You wanna fight at my side, Pretender?” Jason finally says, just loud enough to be heard over the rain and thunder. “I thought you were good enough, but look at you—you can’t even hit me.”
Good enough.
Jason is right. He isn’t good enough.
He couldn’t save any of them. And now—now Robin is being taken away from him.
Tim’s no hero. Never was.
It was time to stop pretending.
Making a fist, he pounds on the rooftop and sobs. He’s been choking them back since he left the Batcave, but now the cries finally escape his throat.
Crunching gravel distantly alerts him to Jason’s approach. If he didn’t want to be heard, he wouldn’t be, simple as that.
Tim stills and waits for the scathing words of ridicule that Jason never fails to fling his way each time their paths cross. He deserves them. He deserves it all.
A gloved hand takes hold of his head and yanks, pulling back the cowl of the Red Robin uniform he’d appropriated in his escape from Wayne Manor. Tim flails as icy rain stings his face, but even kneeling, Jason is unmovable.
“Takin’ something else of mine, I see,” Jason drawls before his tone hardens. “Robin wasn’t enough, you gotta take this too?”
“I—I’m not Robin anymore.” The words spill easily from Tim’s cold lips. “Damian is.”
Jason barks a harsh laugh. “The replacement’s been replaced, huh? Ain’t that just a kick in the pants.”
Tim doesn’t say anything. He just waits, waits there in the rain for the other shoe to drop. It always does when it comes to the second Robin.
Much to his surprise, Jason blows out a gusty sigh. “Fuck it, I don’t feel like dealin’ with this shit tonight. Get up.”
Cracking open an eye, Tim rolls onto his side and looks up.
Jason is standing over him now, faceplate raised revealing a weary face that’s seen and done far too much despite the few short years between them. It’s an expression Tim knows rather well, having worn it himself so much in the last year.
“I said, get up.”
Tim raises himself to his knees and wipes his nose on the back of his glove. He knows without looking that it’s bloody.
“How long you been out here?” Jason asks dispassionately.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly midnight.”
“I think I left around eight.”
Sighing again, Jason shrugs off his jacket and flings it in Tim’s direction.
He catches it with numb fingers.
“Your lips are blue,” Jason says. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Tim finds his feet and clutches the warm leather like the lifeline it is. “Where are we going?” he manages to ask as Jason starts to walk away.
“We’re getting drunk tonight.”
“I’m underage.”
“So am I, but that ain’t stoppin’ me.”
And on the fifth, Tim has decided that dating sucks. Going on a blind-date sucks even more, especially when Stephanie and Tam are involved. They’re impossible to deal with when they decide to combine forces to try and make his life better (or even more miserable than it already is).
“Ice skating is a great first date,” Tim mutters under his breath, repeating what he’d come out of Steph’s mouth earlier. “You’ll have so much fun.” He rolls his eyes and rubs his arms, wishing for the umpteenth time he’d remembered his winter jacket.
You’d think the snow outside would be a great hint. But this is what happens when he rushes—he forgets important things, like proper winter clothing.
At least he remembered gloves and a scarf.
Robinson Park is lit up like a winter fairy land as couples enjoy skating across the frozen pond. It’s peaceful and idyllic, the perfect setting for a date, if Tim were feeling charitable (which he’s not).
As it is, all he sees is the pond he’d been flung into during the middle of the summer not long after his eighteenth birthday. It had been green and scummy, not to mention coated in what he swore was sentient slime. The round of antibiotics he’d had to ingest for the following two weeks afterward had been the icing on the cake.
He rubs his arms again and glares at his phone, double checking the directions Steph sent earlier. This is the place, he’s sure of it. The hot chocolate stand is right over there and the skate rental is just down the way.
So where’s his date?
“Wow, you sure know how to dress for the season.”
Looking up, Tim huffs a small laugh as Jason approaches him, appropriately dressed, he might add. “I was in a rush to get here.”
“You were in a rush to freeze your balls off?” Jason shrugs and takes a sip from the steaming cup of hot chocolate he’s carrying.
“No, not especially. Looks like I didn’t need to worry about it anyway.”
“Why’s that?”
“Pretty sure I’ve been stood up.”
Jason mock gasps. “You? Tim Drake-Wayne? How dare they.”
Tim laughs for real this time, marveling at how easy it is to talk to Jason these days. They’ve come a long way since the night he’d been dragged out of the Sprang by the other man. A few years, several jackets, and one night of getting blind drunk together managed to put things in perspective for them both. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. It’s Steph’s fault, probably.”
“I’m sure it is.” Jason shakes his head. “So what’re you gonna do then?”
Shrugging, Tim eyes the hot chocolate. It’s perfect for a night like this. “I think I’m going to get a cup of that and head home.”
“What, no ice skating?”
“Does it look like I’m dressed for it?”
Jason gives him the onceover, taking in his heavy cable-knit sweater, flannel-lined jeans, and snow boots. At least Tim remembered to layer.
“Hold this,” he says, handing over his hot chocolate.
Tim shamelessly steals a sip of warm chocolatey bliss, then promptly chokes as Jason removes his jacket. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Jason adjusts the winter vest he has on underneath and holds out his jacket. “Stop stealing my hot chocolate.”
As he hands it back over, Tim’s ears start burning. “Do you realize how many of your jackets I’ve appropriated over the years?”
Four. He’s got four of them hanging in the depths of his closet, each one a memento of the times Jason’s offered them up in an act of kindness.
“What’s one more then?” Jason shrugs. “I’d like this one back though. You have any idea how hard it is to find a winter jacket that fits with shoulders like mine?”
Said shoulders are sloping across Tim’s own as he puts the jacket on. It’s warm, of course, but what makes his knees want to shake is the scent that teases his nose. A scent that he’s come to associate with something that’s very rare in his world.
Safety.
“I bet,” he offers faintly.
Jason smirks and takes hold of Tim’s gloved hand. “C’mon. Whoever falls first buys the next round of hot chocolate.”
The first time Jason sees—really sees—Tim wearing one of his jackets, he finally understands why some people get off on seeing their significant other wearing their clothes. Yeah, little Timmy has grown up pretty and looks good in just about anything, but there’s something about him in dark brown leather. He stands there in the doorway, cool and confident, and with laughter in his eyes like he knows exactly what’s going through Jason’s head.
“You look good,” Jason manages, stepping aside so his date can enter the apartment. “How many of those did you steal from me?”
Tim offers up a small smile. “Thanks. Gotta admit, I almost didn’t put this on.” He tugs at the sleeves that fall over his still-gloved hands. “I’ve got four of them in total.”
“Yeah? Which one is this?” Jason distinctly remembers at least three times he’d wrapped Tim up in one of his Red Hood jackets. The fourth is escaping him.
“The first one,” Tim answers as he kneels down to unlace his winter boots. “From when you hauled me out of the Sprang.”
Lights go off as Jason finally recalls the incident—or pieces of it, rather. He shakes his head and closes the door, locking it behind him. “Gotta admit, I don’t remember that night too clearly. Was still riding the wave that’s the fucking Lazarus Pit.”
Tim’s head bobs in understanding. “Makes sense. We weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the time.”
“Then why did you keep it?” Keep them. He has to know.
Tim is slow to answer, a distant look on his face as he works it out in that big brain of his. “At first, it was because I thought I’d have a chance to return it one day. But then I got another one and I realized… Having them made me feel safe.”
Jason’s jaw drops. “How the fuck do you figure that?”
“I didn’t say it made sense,” Tim answers with another little smile. “What really nailed it home was when I got turned into a toddler. According to Alfred, after you dropped me off, I refused to let go of your jacket until Zatanna arrived to reverse the spell.”
That’s a lot to unpack, so Jason just shakes his head. “This is what I get for being nice.”
The smile grows into a crooked smirk. “You’re the one who asked me out for dinner.”
“No, I offered to make you dinner. There’s a difference.”
“Really?”
Jason glances over at the small dining table where a red tapered candle burns brightly, framed by a shaker full of red pepper flakes and another of freshly grated parmesan. A bottle of red wine stands tall beside the candle. There’s even a small basket with fresh, soft garlic breadsticks wrapped inside a red-checked cloth. He has a big serving plate of spaghetti and meatballs keeping warm in the oven, all ready to go.
Instead of answering the question, he rolls his eyes and makes a strategic retreat to the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready in a few. Go sit your scrawny ass down.”
Tim does as he’s told, for once, and pours the wine for them while he waits. But it’s clear he’s dying to make a comment, which he does once Jason sets the main meal between them and sits down.
“Why am I getting Lady and the Tramp vibes?” he asks, his long fingers wrapped gracefully around his wine glass.
“Probably because you’ve watched one too many Disney movies with Dickhead,” Jason answers, mentally cursing himself.
Why does he always go over-the-top? He knew the candle was too much, but he lit it anyway.
“Excuse you, I watched most of my Disney movies on girl’s night with Cassie, Greta, and Cissie.”
Jason just about chokes. “What the hell were you doing at a girl’s night?”
A faint dusting of color appears on Tim’s cheeks. “They started after I asked Cissie for help putting on make-up for an undercover case when we were still Young Justice. Cassie found out and told Greta, so I’d get dragged over anytime they wanted to play dress-up.”
“With you as the dress-up doll.”
Tim shrugs. “Pretty much. At the same time, I’m a mean hand with mascara, so anytime you need help…” He grins.
“I’ve been known to rock some eyeliner from time to time,” Jason answers with a grin of his own. “Could probably be talked into wearing mascara, I suppose.”
“I draw a wicked cat’s eye. Selina even said so.”
“She’d know.”
Dinner progresses without any mishap and Tim practically coos when he finds out the tiramisu he’s inhaling is homemade.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” he asks.
There’s a speck of cream in the corner of his mouth. It’s very distracting.
“Alfred started it,” Jason manages, trying not to stare. “When I came back,” the words from the dead are left unsaid, “I got sick of takeout really quick, so I poked around online, found a few cookbooks, watched a bunch of videos. I discovered I liked it. A lot.”
The soup kitchens around the neighborhood love it too. They always benefit when he stress bakes.
Tim’s nodding. “Makes sense. I’m not the best cook, but I’m not the worst either.”
Jason laughs. There’s only one person they know who gets to truly claim the title of worst cook ever. “What did Bruce poison you with?”
“Tuna salad sandwich. You?”
“Macaroni and cheese.”
Tim finishes his tiramisu and wipes his mouth politely with his napkin.
The speck of cream is still there.
Jason can’t stand it anymore and reaches across the table. “May I?” he asks softly.
“Huh?”
“You’ve got some cream right…” He swipes his thumb over Tim’s lips, catching the corner that’s been driving him to distraction. “…There.”
Not being as polite as Tim, Jason licks the tip of his thumb instead of using his napkin.
Tim stares at him, then abruptly stands. “Well, if we’re playing this game…” He rounds the table and Jason barely has the chance to slide his chair back before Tim takes a seat in his lap.
Jason blinks and settles a hand over Tim’s hip. “Wow, forward much?”
“My arms aren’t as long as yours.” Tim raises a hand and a finger glides softly across Jason’s cheek. “You’ve had chocolate on your face since I walked through the door.”
“What?” He looks at Tim’s finger and sure enough, there’s a dark smudge across the tip. “Fuck.”
The finger disappears in Tim’s mouth. All Jason can do is just stare.
“I think we’ve got a ways to go before we get there,” Tim says, a smile dancing across his lips. “But, I have heard it’s good luck to kiss the cook.”
“Have you now?” Jason can barely breathe as Tim draws closer. How the hell did he get so lucky to have this happening to him? His replacement, his little baby bird, sitting here all pretty and confident in his lap.
“Uh-huh.” This close, he can make out a ring of dark blue outlining the paler blue of Tim’s eyes. They’re stunning. He’s stunning. He’s—
Their lips brush together softly, the faintest of caresses as Tim gives him the opportunity to pull away.
Fuck that.
The next pass, Jason meets him halfway.