Chapter Text
Jason knew the stories—from Dick, Babs, and even Helena. Tim was a monster of a little brother when he was younger, hyperactive and smug and prone to bouts of insufferable brattiness sometimes. He frequently ate all of their food while criticizing the choices, slept on their couches, and recklessly poked around in their lives with sticky little fingers.
He knew that. In theory.
But this was the first time he found little Red giving him the same treatment.
Coming home early, Jason expected a nice and relaxing night in while everyone else pulled their own weight for once. Tonight had been slow in his neck of the woods and Gotham’s skies were fit to bursting with the number of bats in the air and on the ground tonight. Even Signal was on the roster, cooking something up with Batman and Batwoman that spoke of a shakeup coming in the next few days.
So, Jason took the night off. He grabbed a “Pepperoni Explosion” from Al’s Pizza on his way home and let himself in his apartment, already anticipating scarfing down two pieces while he waited for his shower to warm up. It was a long, hot shower type of night. He deserved it.
Instead, he walked in to find Tim asleep on his couch. He was burrowed under the afghan he usually kept tossed over the back of it, nested among the throw pillows Jason picked up for cheap at Robbinsville’s night market. They were mismatched and comfy and really tied the place together, turning his safe house into a safe home.
How did he know, Jason wondered as he took his pizza to the kitchen, that I would come here tonight? Yeah, this was his usual haunt, but he knew better than to keep consistent, observable habits.
Tim shouldn’t know this was his favorite place. His comfort safe house, even. None of the bats should know that. Having a routine led to awful siblings and not-quite-siblings nosing into his business. As evidenced by Sleeping Beauty on his fucking couch.
He entered the kitchen silently, mindful of his guest even if his guest wasn’t currently mindful of him. Setting the pizza on the counter, Jason remembered Helena’s bitching about how no bag of chips was safe around Timothy “Garbage Disposal” Drake and took a minute to down a piece of the pizza in four huge bites.
Like hell he wouldn’t get a chance to at least sample his own dinner.
To wash it down, he took a beer from the fridge and drained half of it in one go. Then, he eyed the contents of the fridge critically. It was sparse, but he had some staples and could rustle up turkey sandwiches at least. That eased his mind; the pizza was enough for him, but it definitely wouldn’t feed them both.
Confident that Alfred wouldn’t look slightly disapproving at his level of hospitality, Jason killed the rest of his beer. He took a moment to pour Tim a glass of water from the filtered jug in his fridge and then threw two pieces of pizza on a plate for his unexpected guest. Moving back into the living room, he carefully set down his burdens on the coffee table in front of the couch and moved to Tim’s side.
Left with nothing more to occupy himself and reluctant to wake Tim just yet, Jason loomed over his guest sleeping on, blissfully unaware.
Bats were trained to a certain level of intense vigilance, but in their homes they could be adorably naive. Tim especially was more vulnerable than the rest of them and should know better than to be so undefended. A part of Jason longed to reach down and wrap his hands around the little bird’s neck and squeeze, tight enough to bruise and teach him a lesson about letting his guard down in foreign territories.
The rest of him was disgusted with the urge. He looked at Tim’s unguarded neck, his peaceful face and he wanted to do anything to preserve his rest. He would keep watch if necessary. He would growl and snarl and chase off anyone that thought to disturb the little sub’s slumber.
But even thinking that did Tim a disservice. He was perfectly capable of handling himself, as evidenced by his entire history as Robin, Red or otherwise.
Whatever he was doing had to be deliberate. Even if Jason had no idea what the point he was making was.
Unless inflicting himself upon others with glee, Tim mostly went it alone these days. He worked his own cases, patrolled his own streets. Just about everyone in the family checked in with him regularly, even if they were otherwise feuding among themselves, but he had his own Nest and almost always went home alone.
(Although, after his world tour ended with Ra’s throwing him from a high rise, the family did start keeping better track of Tim’s comings and goings. Not that even Ra’s al Ghul could make Tim kneel. Pride brightened in Jason’s chest unreasonably at the thought, even if he had nothing to do with Tim’s quiet and deliberate inner strength.)
This is normal, he told himself. Tim is treating me like the rest of the family and he’s putting himself under my care. This is normal. Don’t be an ass and ruin everything like you always do.
To be honest, Jason never expected anything like this given their shared history. He’d only ever hoped for enough grace from his successor to let them work together amicably. Not… whatever this was. An olive branch, maybe? Little Red shared his case with him and now here he was, relaxing without a care in Jason’s home.
Tactically, it would be beneficial to make nice with Batman’s favorite Robin. Just about everyone went to Tim for information if they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) ask Oracle. He had extensive files and databases and could answer most queries with ease. If he couldn’t, he would rectify that immediately.
It also helped that Tim was known to go to bat against the Bat on occasion. Just remembering the other night when he intervened between Bruce and Jason despite skimming subspace made Jason feel warm inside. Tim had expertly smoothed the sharp and prickly edges of their his overbearing dom before Jason could get hurt. It was enough to make a man feel special.
It was that warm feeling that drove Jason to be gentle, taking care to kneel by the couch. His bulk fit awkwardly between it and the coffee table, but it put him on more even footing with the sub (even if he still towered over him kneeling). Glacially, he moved to cup the back of Tim’s neck, covering his nape to sedately guide him into waking.
Jason wanted this liminal moment to last forever. Tim’s eyelashes fluttered against pale cheeks as he awoke slowly, loose-limbed and not alarmed in the slightest at waking in a strange place. The greasy smell of pizza hung in the air and a soft whirring noise signaled the air-conditioner kicking on, little comforts Jason grew to depend on after a childhood of scarcity. The city was quiet enough outside that he could hear the tiniest unhappy huff leave the sub at the realization he was no longer sleeping.
The urge to coo was strong, watching a such a receptive sub in his softest moments. It soothed something jagged in Jason’s chest to be trusted so implicitly.
Tim didn’t snap into waking like Jason himself would. Here, in a place he’d clearly decided was safe, his return to consciousness was a meandering thing. He’d been beautiful in Dick’s ropes, but now he was magnificent in his defenselessness. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he shifted life back into his sleep-leadened limbs and never once threatened to dislodge Jason’s physical claim.
“Hey there,” Jason rumbled before sentimentality could choke him up. “This ain’t your usual nest, Birdie. Dickie’s is down the street.”
“I kn’w,” Tim mumbled, slurring his words more than speaking them. He smacked his lips and wiggled an arm under himself for leverage, pushing himself up. The process of sitting up was an ordeal and Jason’s hand was along for the ride since he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet. With his free hand, he picked up the glass of water and passed it over when Tim got situated. Little Red tipped his head back and drank deeply, mesmerizing Jason with the long, pale column of his neck, marred by scars and all the more beautiful for it.
Jason’s hand shifted up and threaded into Tim’s hair, rubbing gently. He took Tim’s glass after he’d emptied it and set it aside. Tim’s eyes were already growing heavier, falling to half-mast, and he looked moments from succumbing to sleep once again in his little couch-nest. A line ran across his face, an imprint from his time face down in Jason’s pillows. It was impossibly endearing.
“Hungry?”
“Pizza?” Tim asked, sniffing a little. His voice was only marginally clearer. “For me?”
Jason silently handed over the plate he’d prepared, finally giving up his grip on Tim’s nape. The food roused little Red more than Jason could ever hope to and he fell upon the offering ravenously. Reluctantly, he left Tim to it and returned to the kitchen where he got himself another beer and called, “Do you want more water or a beer? You’re legal now, right?”
“Not that it stopped you from offering before,” Tim called back after audibly swallowing. Jesus, was he even chewing his food? Was he unhinging his jaw like a snake? “But water please!”
“In my defense, I figured anyone from Gotham legally had to participate in underage drinking.” Jason refilled the cup and closed the fridge. “I think I was, like, nine when I swiped my Dad’s Bud Light.”
“I grew up reasonably wealthy. I stole sips of wine and little champagne flutes as tradition dictated.”
“Rub it in why don’t you,” Jason muttered. He served Tim his water and left his own beer on the coffee table. One more quick trip to the kitchen later, he settled on a stool he’d salvaged from the curb weeks ago, brushing off Tim’s embarrassed insistence that Jason could sit on the couch too and that he would move. Jason told him outright to shut the fuck up when he apologized for taking up the whole thing and they divvied up the rest of Al’s most popular dish.
(Al’s Pizza was very obviously a front for the mob, but somewhere along the line Alphonso Russo lost the plot and instead discovered a love for the craft. While it technically still laundered money, just about everyone looked the other way. It really was a diamond in the rough.)
They didn’t talk much as they ate. Despite finally remembering his manners and pretending to be a good, demure house guest, Tim let Jason make them both sandwiches after finishing the pizza. Running rooftops and punching bad guys burned a lot of calories and no sane vigilante would turn down a solid meal. Bruce’s metabolism might be slowing down, but theirs sure weren’t.
It was only after Tim assured him that he couldn’t eat another bite that they got down to brass tacks.
“The problem and the solution is the president, Anthony Edness; he’s overtly corrupt, but recently he’s been facing international pressure. He tried to legitimize his little empire, mostly to attract new money, and came under fire for a scandal last year where someone recorded him announcing that he would hang anyone running against him as traitors.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“For sure. I definitely would feel super safe being left alone with him,” Tim agreed. “He’s trying to get those sweet, sweet brand deals from, like, McDonald’s, so he agreed to let a third party international group oversee the polls and audit the votes for a fair election. But the overseers and auditors aren’t going to get there until a few weeks before the election, which is in a little under a year.”
Jason listened intently, sipping on a third beer.
“This year there’s another candidate. He announced his intention to run recently and has made a point to distance himself from all their current politicians. He’s running on a hard stance against the sex trade,” Tim explained, hard voice and intense eyes at odds with the cozy nest he was still ensconced within. “The current regime wants him dead, but they can’t find him. If he can survive and win the popular vote, him and his chosen few might stand to make real change.”
“And get the McBucks.”
“If he wants McBucks over sex slaves, I’ll take that as a win,” Tim said and took a long drink of water. Jason watched him through half-lidded eyes. “The actual citizens are tired of Edness. If another candidate made it to the finish line alive and not in jail they stand a good chance of winning. We just need to make sure the right candidate makes it there.
“Oh, so we’re fixing the election.”
“Shut up. We’re unfixing it. We’re offering options, Jason.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. How do you want to go about making sure your perfect candidate isn’t bumped off?”
“His name is Asier Estrada. And I want to go undercover and try to infiltrate Edness’s ranks and thwart their evil schemes, obviously.”
Jason put his beer down. “Oh, obviously. There’s a whole country built on exploiting anyone they can get their hands on and you, a true sub, want to waltz into the lion’s whole ass den.”
“If he was whole assing anything, that video wouldn’t have gotten out and his pandering would have already paid off,” Tim pointed out.
“Tim.”
“Jason.” Tim leaned forward, dislodging a throw pillow and sending it to the floor. He reached over and touched the back of Jason’s hand. “It’ll be fine. I’ll have you there, won’t I?”
Looking at Tim’s bright eyes, Jason knew he was well and truly fucked.