Chapter Text
Jason had severe memory loss.
It had been nagging at Tim for days ever since he'd put the pieces together. The low incessant compulsion that followed the identification of a problem. Tim wanted to solve this. Tim was good at problem solving.
Usually.
Although normally the problems he solved weren’t entirely of a personal nature. He wasn’t amazing with people, with their feelings specifically. People were messy. Jason was messier.
Maybe it would be better if he let Dick handle this one. Jason didn't really get along with any of them particularly well, with the notable exception of Damian with whom he had a very interesting relationship based on their shared time with the League of Shadows. Tim was relatively sure that didn’t translate to Jason actually liking Damian, but it was something. The point was moot though; approaching Damian with this was a non-starter, not just because the little brat hated Tim’s guts with a fiery burning passion, but because it wasn't clear if Damian would actually be helpful.
Bruce was another obvious no. Cass and Steph would tell him to man up and do it himself, as they rightfully should since they also don't have much of a relationship with Jason, which was why Duke was also out. Barbara might help him, but there was a strange tension between her and Jason that Tim didn't want to get involved with. It was probably something to do with being bonded by their shared victimhood.
So… Dick.
No matter how many opportunities he had though, Tim never once brought it up to the older vigilante.
Maybe this has nothing to do with everyone's relationships with Jason. Maybe the tight feeling in his chest Tim felt every time he thought about Jason's problem had more to do with Tim than anything else.
Ever since Jason's return, after they survived the worst of the pit madness, and after he had established himself as Red Hood, crime lord vigilante of the Bowery and very occasional ally to the Batman, Tim had slowly put together that there were a lot of fraught and complicated emotions tainting the other man’s memories of the past. He seldom spoke about any specifics and when he did it was usually used to hurt Bruce or Dick. At least, that's how it had been at the beginning.
Nowadays he rarely spoke about the past, save for the occasional jab at the big bat when their paths happened to cross at night. The few times he did, the comments had always seemed somewhat off to Tim’s sharp mind.
Tim was good at reading people, a skill that didn't so much come to him naturally but was instead instilled in him through years of Janet Drake’s cold and crystal clear expectations.
But with the scarce amount of information and all the… complicated emotions he had towards the second Robin, well, it was difficult to come to any sort of solid conclusion.
In the end it hadn't been anything Jason had said or done, but months of small data points coming together to create an undeniable pattern.
Jason had lost most of his memories from before his death.
It made sense, dying and then being thrown into the psychological torture that was the Lazarus Pit and the League of Assassins would mess anyone up. To have held onto as much as he did was a miracle, but it seemed to have come at the cost of all the little memories. The moments and instances that made up a person's life and shaped them like ocean waves lapping at the rock of a shore slowly turning it to sand.
Jason remembered stealing the wheels off of the batmobile, but he didn't seem to remember repeating that trick on the getaway vehicles of a few gangsters during his Robin days. He clearly remembered where most things were in the batcave, but sometimes would get a look of frustrated confusion when Alfred would ask him to fetch something from the less used rooms in the manor. Food stands he should remember but didn't, places he looked at with new eyes even though he'd stood there years ago. These moments happened frequently enough for the keen observer to pick up on; and Tim was a very keen observer. After all, he'd been stalking the boy on and off for years, collecting snapshots of all those little moments. Lovingly developed and carefully put together into albums.
Tim usually didn't go longer than a few weeks without flipping through his favourites, a guilty comfort from when he was left wildly unsupervised for weeks on end in Drake manor. Even when things had been… hostile with Jason the old photographs were dear to Tim.
Even now they provided comfort, when Dick was too flippant with him or Bruce a touch too dismissive. Or when Jason's words cut deeper than Tim would ever admit out loud. Pictures of them looking younger, less burdened, a snapshot of a time where things seemed so much simpler.
Logically Tim knew that wasn't true, but he clung to that boyhood naivety in private, flipping through pages and pages of glossy pictures proudly displaying Batman and Robin, letting the nostalgia calm him.
Maybe that was the real reason he didn't want any of them involved. Maybe he wished this small part of him could help Jason. If it could provide even a fraction of the comfort it gave Tim… maybe it would be worth it.
“Why the fuck are you starin so hard asshole?”
Then again maybe it would blow up in his face.
“You have dirt on your mask,” he responds, tone dry.
Jason huffs and starts wiping at his domino, only smearing the dirt more.
“Shouldn't you be payin attention anyways?”
“I’m paying more attention than you. Our guy’s been passed out for the past five minutes.”
Jason cussed, taking out his binoculars and focusing them on their target, cussing again when he noticed what Tim had seen ages ago. Their target had fallen asleep on his couch, tv playing some colourful game show in the background.
“Alright, fine. Maybe this guy isn't our criminal,” Jason concedes looking particularly displeased. Probably cursing the entire stakeout for wasting his time.
“Maybe not, but he does hang out with quite a few of them,” Tim said, getting up and stretching his legs. Reaching into one of his pockets he took out one of his small gadgets and tossed it at Jason.
The other man caught it with ease and brought it up to his face to examine closely.
“You know I have my own tech right?”
“I know, but you don't have this guy's entire apartment bugged. Maybe his criminal friends have loose lips. Maybe they don't. Either way you should be able to listen in with that.”
Jason almost looked impressed, opened his mouth and almost said so himself. But then he didn't. Choosing instead to give Tim a nod.
A silent nod was almost like praise. Almost praise is good enough for Tim, it's almost like a compliment. Almost a compliment is better than not a compliment, and leagues above nothing at all.
Sensing their stakeout is over, Tim turned to go, grappling hook in hand.
“I'll let you know if I find anything interestin,” Jason calls out behind him. His way of saying thank you, Tim knows.
The problem with the picture book, Tim realises, is that it requires him to be emotionally open with Jason. Which had an extremely high chance of outright rejection, with an even higher chance of being met with increased hostility.
There was a very short list of things Tim could give Jason that would be accepted with minimal commentary. Namely: help in life or death situations, help with fights that involve protecting children, assistance when their cases happen to overlap, and the occasional medical help on the field. Outside of that their interactions had to have overt sarcastic commentary and undertones of annoyance if Tim wanted the interactions to continue.
Tim kind of liked it. It wasn't easy with Jason, but it was simple. There were things that they talked about and things that they didn't.
If Tim was to somehow present an entire album full of old pictures of Jason in a previous life, he'd have to find a way to sneak it in through one of their safe topics of conversation.
As it happened one of them was ruthlessly mocking Dick, both behind his back and to his face. Which presented an absolutely spectacular opportunity one day when they happened to be taking a break from patrol near the docks at the same time.
“You're lyin Red. There is no way that happened!”
“What, you need proof? The word of Red Robin isn't good enough for you?”
“You know it isn't you little shit. Especially not when you're tryna convince me that the Golden Boy once got kidnapped by a crazed gorilla who adopted him Tarzan style.”
Tim smirked, quickly pulling up the image on his phone and turning it towards Jason. The man’s eyebrows shot up and he immediately let out a cackle.
“Holy shit why do you even have that?” He asked between attempts to catch his breath.
Tim preened. A laugh, a genuine laugh, better than the almost praise he usually gets.
“Blackmail, obviously. And sometimes N needs to be humbled.”
That sent Jason into another fit of laughter which Tim soaked up in the privacy of his mind.
“Name your price Pretender, cause I'm willin to do just about anythin for you to give me that,” Jason said, pretending to wipe away tears from his domino.
This is where Tim had to be careful. Because he knew that “just about anything” wasn't actually going to happen. He had his golden opportunity to show Jason the pictures, not just the ones to humiliate Dick, but the ones that Tim had compiled weeks ago.
He had to up the ante.
“What if I told you I've got more like this?”
Jason's eyes narrowed.
“How many more?”
“Much, much more.”
Jason bit his lip, humming quietly.
Hook. Line. And… Sinker.
And that was how Jason ended up helping Tim out on one of his cases, doing the manual grunt work of walking through the sewers of Gotham. Tim hadn't, strictly speaking, needed his help, but he couldn't let Jason think he'd gotten the blackmail material too easily. That would've been too suspicious, might've even given Tim away on his real intentions.
Over the comms Jason was muttering profanities that Tim easily tuned out as he sorted through the digital scans of the compiled pictures. He made sure to leave out any that prominently featured Batman, while occasionally laughing at the particularly embarrassing candids of Dick.
“How’s the sewers? Find anything?”
“If I had found somethin I wouldn't still fuckin be here ruinin my favourite pair of pants,” Jason bit back. “Those pictures better be worth it asshole.”
“My condolences for your pants and don't worry,” Tim said, putting the finishing touches on his file transfer, “it will be.”
He had made sure to make the folder system complex enough that the pictures of Jason scattered about would pass as accidentally having been left there during the file transfer. Of course Tim would never actually be that careless, but Jason didn't know him well enough to know that.
“This what you're lookin for?” Jason’s voice cut through his thoughts. Tim looked up at the live feed and went right back to business.
“Good job Hood, now all I need to do is…” and with that, all thoughts of the files currently transferring over to Jason were set aside in favour of the case.
The whole thing had turned into a twenty hour fiasco. It would have been longer but since Jason was involved from the get go, Tim didn't need to call in backup. The two of them handled it, working well together in that way that they had grown to do over the past year ever since Jason had cooled off on the murder attempts.
Still, it didn't mean that Tim avoided collapsing on his bed in exhaustion once it was all over, not even bothering to take off his suit. He shot Alfred a quick text as a sign of life and then promptly passed out.
When he awoke, he thought about going back out and doing a quick patrol route to make sure there wasn't anything he or Jason had missed when they'd wrapped up the case earlier. All he needed was some coffee and he'd be ready to go. Sitting up and stretching, he idly checked his phone and saw the reply from Alfred telling him to take care of himself before he went out again.
Guilt hit him like a ton of bricks. Of course, Alfred was right. He probably needed food, and he definitely needed a shower.
Looking out the window, Tim knew it would only be a few short hours before the sun set and he could do his normal patrol route.
Sighing, Tim pictured Alfred's disappointed stare to motivate himself as he went through the motions of self care. He started by stripping off his suit, because in the end he hadn't been able to avoid going into the sewers. Once he was free of the stinky material he stripped his bed, lamenting that he hadn't bothered to take the suit off before diving into his sheets. Just for good measure he did a sweep of his bedroom to make sure the filth hadn't gotten anywhere else, particularly not on his precious albums that he childishly kept under his bed. Once satisfied he hadn't missed anything, he indulged in flipping through a few of the pages of his favourite album for that quick hit of comfort before he gathered all the dirty sheets and tossed them into the washing machine. Then he started preheating the oven while he perused his selection of Alfred approved frozen meals.
He settled on a lasagna, mostly because he wanted to take a long shower and those things took forever to cook. Setting a timer, he went over to the bathroom and turned on the shower, making it as hot as was safe.
Much later, stepping out of the bathroom with wet hair feeling leagues better than he had when he woke up. Idly he wondered what kind of coffee would pair well with the lasagna only to be stopped dead in his tracks when he realised he wasn't alone.
There, on his bare mattress sat Jason, idly flipping through one of his photo albums while the rest were strewn about.
His pose said relaxed perusing, the tension around his eyes told a different story entirely.
“J-Jason, what are you doing here?”
“Tim,” the other man replied in lieu of greeting. And if he didn't know before, now Tim definitely knew how fucked he was. He could count on one hand the number of times Jason had used his first name instead of the usual nicknames and or insults, and none of them had been pleasant.
Tim's mind was reeling, pouring through every possible reason Jason would have to break into his loft.
“Those pictures you sent me,” Jason started, tone barely neutral, “I see you've got more.” Tim didn't respond, just gripped the towel around his waist harder. “This is a lot more than just blackmail material.” Very little of it was blackmail material. Tim had never taken those pictures with the intent of humiliation. “A lot more than just pictures of Dick,” Jason flipped another page of the album. Tim's favourite album. Which was mostly pictures of Jason himself.
Tim needed to say something. Anything.
But he didn't.
“Where,” Jason shut the album with a click, “did you get these?”
Tim's mind blanked.
“Get them?” He parroted, immediately regretting it since it prompted Jason to stand abruptly and take the two heavy thundering steps that were separating them. He was using his massive figure to loom over Tim. Who was still only wearing a towel. Needless to say, the looming was definitely doing something.
“You heard me,” Jason growled.
Physical threats were apparently more manageable than social ones for Tim's brain. Another thought to file away for the therapy session he never booked.
“I took them.”
“From who?”
“No, I mean I took the pictures. With a camera.”
This seemed to give Jason pause. Suddenly freed by the momentary confusion, Tim took his chance to walk over to his dresser as casually as he could manage and quickly fish out a pair of boxers. It did mean giving the other man an eyeful of his ass, but Tim could live with that. He was tempted to put on more clothes but he didn't think Jason's hesitation would last long enough for him to do that.
“That can't be true,” Jason huffed, stalking over to where he'd been looking through the albums. Picking one up, he turned it to show Tim. “These? You took all these pictures?”
Tim nodded.
“I've still got the negatives in storage if you want proof.”
“But you would’ve been a kid when you…”
Maybe Tim hadn't been entirely correct in his assumptions earlier. Maybe there was a lot more Jason didn't know on top not having his memories.
“I was eight when I started,” he explained, purposefully keeping his tone light. “I used to follow B and Dick around with my camera. No one ever caught me so I just… kept doing it.”
“For years…”
“Yeah. Right up until…” but he couldn't finish his sentence. This conversation was already not on the list of approved topics of conversation between them. Tim couldn't make it worse by bringing up Jason’s murder.
“Why did you send me those pictures?”
Ah, time to play dumb. Back to familiar territory.
“Because you asked me to. Frankly I don't understand why you felt the need to break into my house and-”
“Don't play dumb Tim. It's not a good look on you,” Jason said with an all too knowing look in his sharp eyes.
Tim blanked, again.
Fuck, why was talking to Jason always so damn hard.
“I… I'm not sure I know what you mean.”
“And I'm sure you do,” Jason responded, voice ice cool and sharp. It would've been hot if Tim wasn't scrambling internally for a back up plan. A lie, any lie believable enough to mask the truth.
The words couldn't get past the lump of panic in his throat.
Distantly he wished he wasn't still in his underwear.
“Cause the only reason I can think of for you to send me this shit is to mock me,” Jason spat out, rising anger written in the flush on his cheeks, “Would be to- to taunt me with-”
“No!”
Jason looked shocked at the outburst. Tim felt the same.
“No,” he repeated in a more level tone, “no- I- That isn't true I would never do that.”
“Then why Tim? You don't even like me so what other reason could you possibly have?”
“That isn't true either.” Tim shot back sharply. Jason looked like he’d been struck. “I do like you Jason. I know we have a… complicated history. But I didn't want to hurt you. The opposite, actually.”
The two men stared at each other.
That's when the oven timer decided to go off.
“Do you… want some lasagna?”
Jason blinked at Tim in disbelief. The alarm beeped again. He let out a borderline hysterical laugh before nodding.
Going through the motions of taking the lasagna out of the oven, feeling the blast of hot air on his bare chest, Tim wondered what on earth he was supposed to do.
Things with Jason were never easy, but they were supposed to be simple. This wasn't simple, this was beyond the carefully constructed social scripts Tim had long ago memorised. The whole reason he'd done it was because he'd wanted some kind of relationship with the former Robin that wasn't entirely negative, or at least with fewer murder attempts.
Now Jason stared at him with an intensity Tim couldn't decode. The crime lord looked particularly strange sitting at Tim’s kitchen island, not particularly out of place but not fitting in either. This was beyond anything they'd ever done. Fuck, it had been easier to talk to him when he'd been beating the shit out of Tim at Titan Tower.
“So what exactly do you mean by the ‘opposite of hurt me’?”
“Help you Jason,” he said, focusing intently on cutting up the lasagna.
“To what end?”
“With the end… of helping you.” He finished lamely, platting up two portions and putting one in front of the other man.
Jason glared down at the food.
“You're supposed to let them rest when they come out of the oven.”
“What?”
“The lasagna. Jesus have you not even read the instructions on the box?”
Tim had skimmed them, focusing on the temperature and the time it was supposed to be in the oven and not much else.
“It's frozen lasagna Jason. Not really life or death stuff.” That got him a laugh, a real genuine laugh. Inside his head he sighed in relief and preened at the little nugget of almost praise. Outwardly he took a bite of lasagna and promptly burnt the shit out of his tongue.
Jason laughed harder, doubling over as Tim attempted to cool his mouth with deep breaths through a mouthful of hot molten cheese and sauce.
“And now you know why they tell you to let it rest,” the other man wheezed as his laughter died down. His own portion letting off steam in front of him, sitting untouched. Bastard.
“Not a problem if I never make one again,” he grumbled, pouring himself a glass of water and immediately chugging half of it, earning him an insufferable smirk from his imprompty dinner partner.
They ate in companionable silence after that. Tim was more than happy to settle into something closer to what he was used to from Jason. They'd shared silent meals before, mostly street food after particularly successful missions on rooftops overlooking Gotham. But this was close enough if he ignored the fact they were in his apartment and he was still only wearing boxers.
He was even starting to get comfortable again before Jason opened his mouth to speak instead of putting more lasagna into it.
“Why would you wanna help me?”
Tim considers the question. It could have been why he thought the photos would help, or even worse asking him exactly what Tim thought he was helping with. In comparison this question was significantly easier to answer.
But easier is not easy, and Tim struggled with his words for a while.
“You deserve it,” he finally said, aiming for a tone that brokered no argument.
“I almost killed you. Twice.” Jason countered anyways. He always was a master at ignoring social cues.
“So?”
“It can't just be that,” he kept pushing, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning forward. Tim very carefully stayed put.
“Just because you don't believe you deserve-”
“I'm gonna stop you right there.” Jason cut him off with a hand wave, “I can accept that you think I deserve it, whether or not I agree, what I ain't gonna accept is that that's the only reason you're helpin. So,” he took a breath and fixed Tim with an intense stare, “try again.”
Tim swallowed hard.
Maybe the truth would be easier than a lie.
Jason was surprisingly observant.
Maybe Tim had underestimated him.
Maybe Tim had overestimated himself.
The problem with that thought: he hadn't really bothered examining why he wanted to help Jason so badly. (Hadn’t wanted to.) The desire to help had been enough and then he had refused to really think about it further.
Jason kept staring him down.
“I know you don't like me Jason but… I never hated you. Not really. Even when you did try and kill me,” Jason ripped his gaze away and looked down at his plate. His elbows stayed on the counter even as Tim noticed the man clench his fists for a moment. He pressed on saying “I was angry, but it was hard to stay angry after learning… everything really.”
“So what, you're tellin me it’s all fine? That you don't look at me and see a rabid dog,” Jason spat out, putting on the same bitter grin he usually directed at Bruce during their arguments.
“If you were a rabid dog they would've given me a rabies shot after you introduced yourself to me at the tower.”
Jason’s lips twitched for a second, almost splitting into a smile before he quickly turned it into a snarl.
“This isn't a fuckin joke!”
“Then stop saying stupid shit!” Tim snapped back. “You were a kid. A fucked up pit crazy kid with an extremely questionable upbringing. I’ve already told you how I feel. If almost killing me didn't change that then you making an ass of yourself won't either.”
Jason visibly deflated.
“Why'd ya give me those pictures Tim?” He said in a quiet voice, the smallest he’d ever sounded. Tim could relate. He'd been feeling that way for a long time.
“Things were easier back then. Simpler. I thought… it might be nice for you to see yourself like that.”
Not technically the truth. Not the whole truth anyways.
Jason sighed. Looked down at his plate. Shuffled in his seat. Abruptly picked up his forgotten fork and took the last few bites of his lasagna angrily. Or as angrily as anyone could eat frozen lasagna.
“Why did you take those pictures in the first place? Eyein up the Robin gig before I was even dead?”
Tim flinched, he couldn't help it, and there was no way Jason missed it.
“If that was my goal then I missed my chance after Dick got ousted.” Jason didn't miss that deflection, judging by the sharp look his comment earned him. Tim sighed. “Robin and Batman were my heroes. Made me feel like the world could be a better place. Like maybe I wasn't going to be alone forever…” That earned him a raised brow. Tim had never really thought about how much Jason knew of his upbringing. Most likely only the highlights, if that. “I don't think now is the time for my sob story.”
For the first time since this hellish conversation started, Tim felt the crushing weight of Jason's attention lighten and he could finally breathe easy again.
“Well… I guess it ain’t totally fuckin awful, havin these pics of me. And the Dickie blackmail.” An almost thanks and a return to familiar territory.
Jason got up and stretched, popping a few joints.
“Still, I don't wanna owe you a favour. The sewers were for the blackmail, the pics of me were somethin entirely different. So pick somethin now and we'll be even.”
Tim wanted a lot from Jason. Tim would never ask for any of it.
“It's fine man, let’s just forget about it.”
“No. Pick somethin asshole.”
There's a thought.
“You could, like, stop… calling me names…?” He said, audibly losing confidence as he got each word out. He hated how petulant and childish the request sounded to his ears. He'd long ago made peace with the insults, why did he have to bring up those old feelings now?
“Okay.”
His eyes snapped up.
“Okay? Just like that?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
Tim looked at Jason, really looked at him for the first time since he had appeared in Tim’s room. Not the surreptitious looks stolen between bites of food, or while thinking about how to react. Just, really looked at him.
Jason seemed tired. There were more grey hairs on his head than just the distinctive stripe of white. The muscles around his eyes were pinched, jaw clenched in a way it always seemed to be lately. Tim looked at Jason and saw a man tired beyond his years.
Tim was tired too.
“Thank you.”
Jason’s face twitched and he promptly turned around and stalked towards the balcony, shoulders tense.
“Fair’s fair after all. See ya later babybird.” He called out behind him as he promptly leapt over the railing of the balcony and grappled away.
Tim could have stopped him if he wanted to in all likelihood, but more than anything he was perplexed at how easily the request had been accepted in contrast to how poorly the thanks had been received.
Really, he was perplexed at everything that had just happened.