Chapter Text
Don’t get him wrong, Tim’s actually really happy that Dick’s started to stop by Titans Tower more frequently to hang out. Instead of only interacting on cases and patrols, this new form of spending time together has allowed him to associated the dimpled, smiling face with a softer kind of smothering and worry than he’d previously been subjected to.
The older man is still beyond overbearing when it comes to letting him do any kind of patrol or confrontation on his own, but after Jason grabbed him and dragged him into a soundproof room to “talk” for over an hour, he’s even backed off on that front too.
None of that matters right now, though, because Dick decided to drop in unannounced at the same time Jason pulled one of his infamous “you’re not being paranoid enough, look at how easily I was able to break into the Tower” lessons.
Now, this wouldn’t be a problem, if Jason hadn’t still been in his Red Hood getup, infamous helmet on display as he crosses his arms and lectures them on the importance of not trusting their security cameras when they’re easily hacked to show looping footage, and how enough of their opponents can fly that it’s reckless to not lock every window that opens even if it’s on the nineteenth floor.
In a staggering display of very unfortunate timing, Dick enters the main room, clocks the crime lord who broke in, and launches himself at the perceived threat.
Tim’s teammates scatter with startled cries as the two men start rolling around, fists and elbows flying. Dick even breaks out his intimidation voice as he tries to grill Jason on what he’s doing here.
Fed up, Tim grabs one of his knives and chucks it at his oldest brother.
Startled, Dick catches it and leaves himself open for Jason to slip out of his pin. Taking the out, Tim’s other older brother shoves his hand in Dick’s face and pushes him back, getting his foot on the older man’s chest and kicking him away lightly.
“Robin, what are you doing?” Dick asks, voice tight.
“Ha, Baby Bird likes me better!” Jason taunts instead of clarifying anything, so Tim throws a knife at him, too.
Jason catches it, spinning the blade through his fingers before flinging it back with a dramatic flourish. “Good throw, use more force next time. It’s all about wrist movement.”
Rolling his eyes, Tim snatches the projectile out of the air and turns to Dick. Putting his hands on his hips, he asks, “Are you gonna give that back, or do you intend to keep it?”
Wordlessly, Dick darts his gaze between Tim and Jason, thinking. “That depends. Does he throw knives at you often?”
“Oh, all the time,” Jason says flippantly, because he loves making things worse.
“Nightwing, what the heck!” Cassie yells, recovering from the shock of said hero’s sudden appearance. “What are you doing?!”
“Trying to take down a violent criminal,” Dick responds, but even as he says it he sounds tired. He’s probably picking up on the highly protective vibes the Titans are giving off right now, and isn’t looking forward to telling them why their pet project is someone they should consider a villain.
Good. That should teach him to not throw himself into fights without gathering all of the relevant information first.
“Again? What happened between now and last week that made you lose your mind?!” Kon shouts, waving his arms to gesture at Jason. “He’s not a violent criminal!”
“He’s not violent towards us,” Bart clarifies.
“He just threw a knife at Robin! He’s wanted in Gotham for the murder of over fifty people!” Dick grits out, hands flexing around the knife grip.
“In Gotham?” Cassie asks. “You’re trying to tell me that he’s a Gotham criminal? Did you hit your head?!”
Tim can see Dick grinding his teeth in frustration. “Bright red helmet, leather jacket, liberally uses guns. The heights match, the speech patterns match, it all matches. There’s no way he isn’t –”
“It’s not like I could be anyone under this helmet or anything,” Jason drawls, taking out one of his guns so he can spin it around his finger threateningly.
“Everyone knows that Batman hates metas,” Kon adds, shooting a judgmental look at Dick. “Just because he’s from Gotham doesn’t mean he’s your murderer.”
“A meta?” Dick asks, thrown off guard.
Jason shrugs casually. “That’s what the kids tell me.”
“Dude, you pulled fire swords out of thin air,” Bart whines. “What else would you call that?”
“The product of a very in-depth, soul-searching meditation session,” Jason replies, and this is why Tim can’t stand him sometimes. His brother will say the wildest shit, completely deadpan, and it’s up to him to try and figure out if it’s a joke, a half joke, or completely true. It’s annoying, despite how many interesting rabbit-holes it’s led him down.
“Robin?” Dick swings towards him. “Is Red Hood a meta?”
Before Tim can respond, Cassie explodes. “You knew it was Red, but you still attacked him?! What the hell, man!”
“Red?” Dick gapes. “No, this is –”
Deciding to actually do something productive for once, Jason takes off his helmet, running a hand through his hair to get it under control as he smirks at their older brother through his domino. “Really, Big Bird, I’m hurt. I thought you were happy that I was back.”
“Little Wing?” Dick drops the knife in shock. “You’re Red Hood?!”
“Obviously, he’s a different Red Hood,” Cassie says, crossing her arms defensively. “Haven’t you been listening to us?! He’s a meta! He can’t go back to Gotham when Batman’s so territorial!”
Taking a step forward, Dick raises his hands to try and take the red helmet from Jason, who pulls it back childishly. “You’re a meta?”
Humming, Jason’s smirk widens. “Allegedly.”
Dick makes another pass at the helmet, and Jason holds it up over his head, out of the vigilante’s reach. Not one to be deterred, Dick jumps onto their brother and starts climbing, ending up wrapped around Jason’s arm, prying his fingers off of the “red hood”.
“He didn’t give me any solid answers when I asked,” Tim says, taking the juvenile antics in stride. “Though I did get a... decently convincing demonstration.”
Jason grunts, waving his arm around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I answered all of your questions. It’s not my fault you asked the wrong shit.”
Tim makes a disgusted sound at that, but decides that it’s better to simply ignore the two grown men acting like children. Turning to his team, he shakes his head. “They’re both morons.”
Bewildered, Cassie chews her lip. “So, we don’t have to worry about Nightwing and Red fighting again?”
Bart snorts, “There’s no way they aren’t gonna fight again. Not possible.”
“Shouldn’t we do something, then?” Kon asks, worried.
“No point,” Tim sighs. “It’s how they interact, since no one in this family knows how to communicate without violence. Best thing to do is leave them alone until they decide to start acting like adults again.”
“Baby Bird!” Dick cries out, hurt.
“I’m not even eighteen yet, give me a break!” Jason gripes loudly.
“What?!”
Cassie, Kon, and Bart all look completely floored. Tim can admit that even he had forgotten about just how old Jason actually is.
“But, but, you’re like, so old!” Kon splutters.
“You read Shakespeare!” Cassie joins.
“I thought you were, like, thirty!” Bart cries, landing the finishing blow.
Jason’s menacing growl is loud enough they can hear it over Dick's startled laughter, and the next half hour is spent running around the Tower, trying to hide from a very irritated seventeen-year-old. Any previous tension is completely lost.
...
Afterwards, Dick corners Tim in the ops center. The vigilante comes through the door, punching in an override code to temporarily lock it, giving them privacy.
Judging by the serious look on the older man’s face, he can tell that he won’t be able to mislead his way out of the conversation. With a sigh, Tim pushes back from the workstation, spinning to face his brother.
“Is Jason Red Hood?”
Time to misdirect. “Dick, what day is it?”
Dick puts his hands on his hips, making it clear that there had better be a reason for Tim’s line of questioning. “Monday.”
Shaking his head, Tim presses, “No, what’s the actual date?”
“The first. Tim, where are you going with this?”
“It’s April first, Dick,” Tim says, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen so it shows the date. “And you know how Jason is.”
Slowly, Dick arches his eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that this whole thing was a joke? That I walked into him giving a lecture to you and your team while dressed up as the guy who stuffed eight heads into a duffle bag, with none of you surprised at his appearance, because Jason wanted to prank me?”
Tim shrugs, staring Dick straight in the eye. “I mean, if the shoe fits. Who am I to try and decipher what goes on in his head?”
Dick stares at him for a moment longer, but Tim refuses to break. He’s gone toe-to-toe with Batman, out-stubborning Nightwing is nothing.
As predicted, Dick folds. Scrubbing a hand over his suddenly tired expression, he hisses out a sigh. “While I can definitely see Little Wing doing something like that, it still doesn’t add up. I’m not going to try and arrest him, I just need to know why.”
“Then ask him, not me,” Tim snarks. “I’m not his PR manager.”
They stand in silence for a little bit, before Dick asks another question. “... is he a meta?”
Tim makes an unflattering noise of pure irritation, and Dick laughs.