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Jason doesn’t have a stalker, is the thing. Has someone been sending unmarked letters with photos of his face to his work PO box? Sure. Did someone handwrite a letter (multiple letters) covered in bodily fluids to his apartment? Yeah.
So, sometimes Jason walks to his bike at night and feels like he’s being watched. Like eyes are trying to bore into the back of his head.
Everyone gets that.
But it’s not a stalker. Jason isn’t the kind of guy to get “stalked”. He’s big, for one thing. Shot up at 17 and nearly rivals Bruce’s height with his own. He’s not, no matter what his family says, attractive. He’s got scars on his face, deep gouges that people on the street flinch at. He’s half blind in one eye and he’s got a strange shock of white hair that sprouts from the front of his head. Fucking stress or some shit. Marie Antoinette syndrome like he’s some pathetic Victorian child.
Not to mention the leg. Jason usually, in fact, doesn’t mention the leg on principle. Or the cane. And he’ll kill anyone who does.
So he’s not the type of guy to get stalked. There’s nothing desirable about him. He spends most of his time at work, in his little office on the 18th floor, going through request forms and checking on his outreach programs. When he’s not at work he’s at his apartment, reading. Or at the manor in the kitchen with Alfred. He doesn't really have friends, he doesn’t really go out.
He’s not interesting, he’s not attractive, and he’s not being stalked.
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” he stresses, and then glances over at Drake. His face is annoyingly blank. The guy has hardly moved since Bruce had ushered him in. “Especially not some twink.” Drake’s eyebrow twitches, but other than that he doesn’t raise to the bait.
“Jaylad,” Bruce says, all pitiful eyes and worried pinch to his mouth, “the letters.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “That’s all they are, dad. Letters. Some incel loser who thinks he can intimidate me.”
Bruce continues to look sad and pathetic and Jason’s resolve teeters.
“They knew your home address,” he says, “they know your schedule. They—”
“Jesus Christ, dad. I get it. You don’t think I can take care of myself? Is that it? What was it you said? The police are doing all they can?”
Bruce’s eyebrows twitch together. Concern and pity written all over his face. Like Jason didn’t grow up on the goddamn streets. Like he doesn’t know how to watch his own back. Like he can’t handle a single creep by himself. “It would make me feel better if you let Tim here keep an extra eye on you. He’s very good at what he does. I don’t want you to get hurt, Jason. Not again.”
Jason ignores how that last comment makes his insides prickle. His leg throbs as he shifts his weight. Drake’s eyes flick down to the cane he’s leaning on and then look straight again. Like he’s totally bored with the whole situation. Asshole.
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” Jason says again, and Bruce moves to interrupt so Jason holds up his hand. “But. I’ll let you hire one if it’ll really make you feel better.”
Bruce’s eyes go all mushy and he’s clearly gearing up for one of his patented “Dad Hugs” but they have an audience so Jason shuts that down fast. He crosses his arms, closing himself off, and raises an eyebrow at Bruce.
“Thank you, Jaylad,” Bruce says. Using that stupid nickname like Jason is 14 still.
Jason waves him off. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I gotta get some work done.”
Bruce looks like he wants to fuss but after another hard look from Jason he leaves to do whatever it is the CEO of Wayne Enterprises does.
Jason sizes Drake up. He’s short. Shorter than Jason would expect for a highly rated security professional. He’s thin and lithe, and honestly Jason’s not sure he trusts a bodyguard who doesn’t have any visible scars. Drake’s features are soft, slight. Hair swooping, artfully tousled, to frame his face. He’s cute, attractive. He also doesn’t look like he can bench more than a hundred pounds. If Jason did have a stalker, which he doesn’t, he doubts Timothy Drake could do anything about it.
“You just gonna stand there all day?” He asks.
Drake lifts a single, perfectly trimmed, eyebrow. “Would you like me to stand somewhere else, sir?”
Jason resists the urge to slam his face into the nearest hard surface. “No it’s— fine. Stand wherever you want. And don’t call me sir.”
Drake’s perfect eyebrow lowers. “What would you like me to call you... sir?”
Jason grits his teeth. “Jason. Or Todd. Just— don’t pull any of that subordinate crap on me.”
Drake’s blank face stares him down and Jason gets the sense that, deep down inside, Drake is laughing at him. “Absolutely, Mr. Todd.”
Jason elects to take the high road for once in his life and ignores Drake. He has work to do. Piles of requests and forms he needs to go through. He’d like to open up a new location in the next six months but honestly if he keeps running into road blocks, it likely won’t be until next year.
Jason loses himself, as he often does when he’s focusing. Calling finance, calling different non-profits to see what they need, what they don’t have. He likes to balance his own checks and make sure everything is on the up and up, even though Bruce says that’s what the finance department is for. Still, Jason’s not sure he could fully trust anyone with this stuff.
Jason’s sure he comes off as an arrogant nepo baby, but he could care less as long as he can actually make a difference in this godforsaken city.
It’s a little after one by the time Jason comes out of his fugue, his bladder making itself known.
He stands and stretches, bones popping. His leg aches in the way it does when he keeps it in one position for too long. He massages the knee as he reaches for his cane and makes his way around the desk.
Drake’s head cocks in his direction and Jason nearly has a heart attack. He’d forgotten the guy was here, honestly.
“Just, uh, bathroom break,” he says as he reaches the door, “I’ll be right back.” Drake nods and lets him pass, but before the door closes behind Jason he realizes Drake is following him.
Jason bites back a groan. “Look,” he says, “you don’t have to follow me. It’s literally right down the hall. I just need to piss and I’ll be right back.”
Drake watches him with his irritatingly blank expression. “Actually, Mr. Todd, I do have to follow you. It’s in the contract.”
Jason’s face scrunches up. “It’s in your contract to watch me take a shit?”
Drake shrugs, unbothered. “If need be. But no. My contract states that I will escort you while on Wayne Enterprises property as well as to and from your apartment.”
Fucking Bruce. “So I don’t get any goddamn privacy?”
“Not while you have a stalker, you don’t.” Drake says.
Jason doesn’t punch anything because he’s a grown-ass adult. He does roll his eyes and stalks off towards the bathrooms. Drake, in all his prissy glory, follows dutifully along. He holds the bathroom door open for Jason like a goddamn gentleman and then, after taking a quick glance around and under the stalls deems the bathroom “safe” enough and steps back outside. Presumably guarding the door.
Jesus Christ.
He takes his time because he's absolutely petty enough to make the dude wait. He washes his hands for the full two minutes, even going so far as to sing the alphabet twice in his head. When he exits, Drake is standing on the other side. Back straight, arms clasp behind his back. The epitome of professionalism.
Jason sort of wants to punch the guy, just to see how he reacts. Something about Drake just rubs him the wrong way. Puts him on edge. Drake reminds him of all of those rich prep kids he went to school with. The ones who wouldn't give him the time of the day. The ones who looked at him like he was less than the gum on the bottom of their shoe.
Drake inclines his head, and motions for Jason to lead the way. He's literally just doing his job but Jason is still annoyed. It's the way Drake holds himself. Proper, professional. A pretty boy like him would never give someone like Jason the time of day if he didn't have to.
Jason lets out a slow breath, shaking out his hands as he does. Drake has literally done nothing wrong. The only thing he's done all day is stand in the corner and follow Jason to the bathroom. Not necessarily social crimes. In fact: doing his job, according to him.
They reach Jason's office and he holds the door open for Drake, because he's a goddamn gentleman. Drake lifts one of those perfect eyebrows again but, after a short standoff, enters the room first.
The afternoon follows in a similar manner. Drake stands by the door, refusing the seat that Jason offers, and Jason focuses on his work.
It's not until late afternoon when Lacey stops in with the mail. She does the mail-run for the whole floor. When Jason had asked her about it she’d admitted it was like a break for her. She didn’t mind going down to the mail room to grab everyone’s stuff if it meant stretching her legs.
She had, of course, been Bruce’s first suspect. She easily could have slipped in some unsavory letters and she worked closely with Jason and knew his schedule.
The letters, however, were delivered like normal. With bogus return addresses on them that were usually related to Jason’s favorite authors.
Lacey has a decent stack for him, popping her head in about half-past three. “Hey Mr. Todd!” She calls, even though he’s told her a thousand times to call him Jason. “Mail’s here. Looks like you’ve got some—”
It’s here that Drake steps forward, deftly swiping the pile of envelopes from Lacey.
“Thank you,” he says like he didn’t just take them, and starts shuffling through the pile as he walks slowly towards Jason’s desk.
“Right,” says Lacey, “I’ll just, uh.” She backs out of the office. Jason envies her.
Drake stops in front of Jason’s desk, placing each envelope down one at a time until he stops on one and makes a contemplative sound.
He sets the rest of the letters on Jason’s desk and lifts the one in his hands, inspecting it carefully.
“Hmm,” says Drake, flipping the letter over in his hands. His gloved hands. He’d put on latex gloves before taking the stack of mail from Lacey. “Hand written. Sloppy.” He opens the envelope and reads through the contents. He’s quiet as he reads the letter over before he makes a derisive snort. “Amateur,” he mutters under his breath before folding the letter back up and sliding it back in the envelope. He pulls out an honest to god plastic baggie and seals the letter up in it before placing it in some hidden pocket on the inside of his blazer. “I assume Mr. Wayne has already tested the DNA against all employees?”
Jason blinks at him, mouth a little agape. “I don’t— I mean. I don’t know? I usually just throw away the letters before Bruce sees them.” But knowing Batman... “He probably did.”
Drake raises a single, asshole eyebrow. “Well. I’ll just double check on that. Can’t hurt to have more evidence on file.”
And then he clasps his hands once more behind his back and moves to stand against the wall again.
Jason stares at him, gobsmacked for a moment. He wants to— well. He wants to call this guy out for being a freak and for being so controlling but Drake is literally just doing his job. The job that Bruce hired him for because he doesn’t trust Jason to take care of himself anymore.
Jason clenches his hands on the desk. “What did it say?” He asks.
Drake’s eyes flick over to him briefly, some expression flickering on his face too fast for Jason to make heads or tails of it.
“Don’t worry about it,” Drake says, and at Jason’s scoff he tilts his head, pale eyes boring into Jason’s. “You don’t have to worry about it. Not anymore. That’s why I’m here. I’ll take care of it Mr. Todd, you just need to focus on your work.”
Jason resists flipping him off but still rolls his eyes, grabbing the stack of mail Drake had left on his desk. “Whatever.”
Neither of them speak for the rest of the afternoon, Jason plans to ignore him but gets distracted by work so he can’t even feel petty about it.
It’s a little after five when Jason glances at the time on his computer. “Oh,” he says, “uh, I have a bit more to do here. You can leave. I’ll see you in the morning.”
When Drake doesn’t move Jason glances up at him. Drake has one of his sculpted eyebrows raised again. “I’ll escort you home when you’re done, Mr. Todd.”
What a prick.
“Seriously,” he says, “I’m gonna be a while. You don’t have to wait for me.”
“The outline of my contract includes escorting you to and from work as well as accompanying you while on Wayne properties.”
Jason looks up at the ceiling and curses Bruce. “Right,” he says, “but you didn’t sign up for my weird hours. It’s honestly fine.”
Drake stares at him, unimpressed. “I’ll be escorting you home when you’re done with your work, Mr. Todd. Whenever that may be.”
Jason grits his teeth. He stands from his chair, bracing his weight on the desk. “Look at me,” he says, and Drake’s eyes flit over his body. He resists the urge to flush. “I’m six foot two, I’m a big guy. No one’s gonna snatch me from the side of the road. This whole stalker business? Just some competitor or someone who doesn’t like the grants I’m putting into place. This guy’s just trying to get a rise out of me. No one is actually interested in stalking me.”
Drake’s eyebrow finally lowers and he looks away from Jason, staring straight ahead. “I’ll escort you home when you’re ready, Mr. Todd.”
“Fucking—! Fine.” Jason snatches his coat from the back of the chair and slides it on, grabbing his cane and making his way around the desk. He doesn’t even bother to put his files away, leaving everything splayed out on his desk. He gestured towards the door sharply. “Well, Drake? Lead the way.”
Drake watches him for a moment, almost looking unsure. “If you—” he starts, but Jason cuts him off.
“Nope! If you’re escorting me home, let's get going.”
Drake’s eyes dart around his face but he turns and moves out into the hall. “If that’s what you want,” he says, as if Jason has any goddamn choice in the matter.
He angrily follows Drake down to the parking garage where, it turns out, Drake has been provided with a company car. He holds the passenger door open for Jason when they approach and Jason scoffs. “What, you a chauffeur now?”
“I am a man of many hats, Mr. Todd,” Drake says. “Please get in the car.”
Jason gets in the car but not without grumbling about his bike that they’re all but abandoning. He’s near certain Drake rolls his eyes.
“I’m sure your bike will be fine, Mr. Todd. At least until everything is sorted out.”
Jason doesn’t ask how long Drake thinks that will be. This is his life now. Cripple disappointment of the Wayne family that Bruce had to hire a goddamn babysitter for.
He fumes all the way home.
The following weeks pass much the same. Drake is always waiting outside his apartment bright and early with the sleek black company car. Sometimes he’s wearing douchy sunglasses, sometimes he has his hair pulled back by clips. Jason makes sure to make his displeasure known, but, at the end of the day, Drake is just doing his job.
Sure he follows Jason to the bathroom and fields his mail and sometimes his calls and escorts Jason to and from work and Jason feels like he’s going to implode when he tries going into work on a Saturday and somehow Drake just knows and he’s waiting for Jason when he exits his building.
“Do you ever fucking leave?” Jason asks as he slides into the car mulishly.
Drake lowers his sunglasses just enough to look at Jason over the rims. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I had a tracker on you, and that I was monitoring your movements?”
Jason gapes. “I— do you?”
Drake pushes his sunglasses back up and shifts the car into drive. “No,” he says, “I just had a feeling about today.”
Jason lets out a sharp burst of air that he refuses to acknowledge as a laugh. “Right,” he says, “you’re just so in tune with my schedule you knew I would try to go into work today.”
Drake shrugs as he merges lanes, and Jason swears there’s a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Well, a magician never reveals his secrets.”
This time, Jason does laugh. And when he looks, Drake is smiling as well.
“Alright,” he says, “keep your secrets.”
They’re quiet the rest of the way to Wayne Enterprises, and it’s not until a few hours into working on a merger that has a deadline next week that Jason realizes he’s getting used to this. Used to looking up and seeing Drake stand just to the side of the door. Used to Drake being the first and last person he sees every day.
Drake doesn’t exactly have an unpleasant face. Jason might even call him pretty if he wasn’t so annoyed by Drake’s presence all the time.
He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Drake’s eyes lock onto his. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Todd?” He asks, and it hits Jason that he doesn’t actually know anything about Timothy Drake.
Jason prides himself in being a good boss. He knows everyone who works in his department, and tries to at least familiarize himself with the people who work in the departments that co-align with his own department a lot.
He knows Lacey has been dating recently, trying out different dating apps. Scott has three little girls that are his entire world and he’ll drag Jason into looking at photos on his phone for an hour. Abigail downstairs recently adopted a parakeet and it’s been keeping her awake at night.
He likes his job and he likes the people he works with and he wants them to want to be here as much as he does.
Timothy Drake, he’s got nothing.
He’d looked at the background check, of course. Only child, orphaned, born into high society but somehow ended up as a private bodyguard for Jason Todd.
“How’d you get into this?” Jason asks, after realizing that he’s just been staring at Drake for minutes on end.
Drake cocks his head. “Get into what?”
Jason flaps a hand at him. “You know, the whole bodyguard thing. You don’t exactly seem like the type.”
Drake hums, and Jason has the feeling he’s offended him.
“Sorry,” he says, “just with your height and noodle arms—” he cuts himself off. “I’m making it worse.”
“Maybe just a little.” Drake is biting at a smile. His eyes slide off of Jason and his eyebrows furrow. “I guess this was just the next logical step.”
“The logical step was becoming a private bodyguard?”
Drake laughs, a breathy soft sound. “School never agreed with me,” he says, “I was on the Harvard track when my parents died and with no one to push me I got my GED and dropped out.”
Oh.
“I did freelance photography for a while,” Drake tells him, “I’ll still do weddings sometimes but they’re a little boring.”
“Boring,” Jason repeated.
Drake has a tiny smile and for a moment Jason wonders how to keep it on his face. “I’m the worst, I know. After that I did some work as a private investigator, but, you know. I got a little tired of it.”
Jason barks out a laugh. He wishes Bruce were here just so he could watch the face his dad made when someone called investigating tiring.
“It was just a bunch of people wanting to find out if their spouse was cheating on them, I got sick of watching people have sex.”
Jason’s eyes shoot to his hairline. “So you were a voyeur?"
Drake’s face flushes. “I wasn’t— I mean— I just— is it a voyeur if I didn’t enjoy it?”
“I dunno, you tell me. Can’t believe you were a professional Peeping Tom.” Wait. He laughs. “Peeping Tim, holy shit. That’s too good.”
Drake’s entire face is red at this point. “Yes, well.” He says, clearly trying to keep up that douchy air of professionalism about him. “I probably know half of upper society’s secrets, even if it’s a bit outdated.”
“Of course you do, Peeping Tim.” Jason says. Drake gives him a look that says he would really like to flip Jason off right about now. It’s a look Jason is familiar with.
“We—” Drake’s voice cracks. “Don’t you have work you need to catch up on, Mr. Todd?”
Jason waves him off but wiggles his mouse so his computer screen lights up again.
“You should call me Jason,” Jason says when he knows Drake has slipped into a false sense of security in the silence. “I mean, if I’m going to be calling you Peeping Tim and all.”
Drake’s mouth pinches into a straight line. “I’d really rather you didn’t, Mr. Todd.”
Touché.
Jason doesn’t answer, but later that night he does change Drake’s contact in his phone to Peeping Tim.
It’s as soon as Jason has finally settled into his new normal— spending half of his day with Tim, ribbing him and goading him into a chat when he needs a break from work, and then going home and thinking about how he can annoy Tim the following day— that Jason’s “stalker” problem rears its ugly head and makes itself known once more.
Every now and then when Tim goes through Jason’s mail he’ll pull one out and spirit it away. He’s seen Tim and Bruce talking in hushed tones in the hallway on more than one occasion, but it’s always something he can push to the back of his mind.
Today it’s nearly four by the time Lacey comes through with the mail. She hands Tim the stack of letters as she’s come accustomed to, and waves to Jason on her way back out. Tim is already shuffling through the envelopes and is halfway to his desk when he freezes, eyes catching on one. He visibly grits his teeth as he slides it on the inside of his blazer and hands the rest to Jason.
“I’ve got to run upstairs for a moment,” Tim says, “will you be alright until I return?”
Jason blinks at him. Upstairs? What would he—
Bruce.
“What did it say?” He asks.
Tim shoots him a bland smile. “Nothing you need to worry about, Mr. Todd.” And with that he’s out the door, booking it towards the elevators.
He doesn’t come back for an hour.
After that it’s clear Tim and Bruce are on edge.
Bruce hovers more than ever and Tim keeps moving to glance out the window even though they’re on the 23rd floor. He’s more tense and less fun to talk to. Jason is told, in no uncertain terms, not to leave his apartment on the weekends. If he needs anything, one of his siblings can drop it off. Or, better yet, just go stay at the manor for a bit. Just until things calm down.
Jason puts his foot down at that. He loves his family but their hovering grates on his nerves. He moved out for a reason and he’s not going to let some letters he hasn’t even read scare him into going back. He’s earned his independence and he refuses to let Bruce take it away, no matter how worried he is.
He does have the sneaking suspicion his apartment is being watched at night, but if he can’t catch sight of his siblings doing it he can live in staunch ignorance.
It’s fine. He’s fine. This whole stalker nonsense will die down because at the end of the day Jason just isn’t that interesting. It’s been nearly eight months since the first letter. He’s surprised he’s kept his so-called stalker’s attention this long. Besides, even if something were to happen he’s got Tim in all his twiggy “I have a blackbelt, Mr. Todd” glory.
And a steel cane he can probably break someone’s kneecaps with if it comes down to it.
So he’s fine.
He is.
And then Lacey comes by with the mail, making small talk when Jason as Tim shuffles through the stack.
Jason almost doesn’t notice it, the way Tim’s body freezes. Not breathing, not blinking, just staring down at one of the letters.
“Could you give us the room, Lacey?” Tim asks, cutting off whatever Lacey was saying.
She blinks at Tim before her eyes flick over to Jason. He shrugs. “Uh, sure Mr. Drake. I’ll just— uh. Have a good afternoon.”
Tim has ripped the letter open by the time her form disappears down the hallway. He’s not even wearing gloves this time, and Jason watches the paper crinkle as Tim’s fingers dig into it.
“Tim?” He asks, “What’s—”
“Could you please call Mr. Wayne down here?” Tim asks, and the look he gives Jason has him pulling out his phone to text Bruce.
Bruce, as expected, leaves him on read. However, not two minutes later he’s striding into Jason’s office and lightly closing the door behind himself.
Tim hands him the letter and Bruce’s face turns stony.
“He’s escalating,” Tim says, and Bruce grunts.
“Escalating?” Jason asks. “Based on what?”
Tim glances over at him before looking back at Bruce. “It’s what I would do.”
Bruce grunts again, still not looking away from the letter.
“We’ve known it was coming,” Tim says, “this just confirms things. He’s getting angry. Sloppy. He’s going to slip up eventually but I refuse to let Jason be there when it happens.”
Bruce folds the letter carefully and slides it back in the envelope that Tim hands over. “What do you suggest?” He asks, like Batman has ever asked someone’s opinion on the safety of his children before.
“He stays at the manor for now,” Tim says.
He ignores Jason’s “The fuck I will.”
“He can’t be left alone, not now. It’s too uncertain. He’s not calming down, he's amping up. We can probably set something up but not until I know that Jason is safe.”
Bruce watches Tim for a moment, eyes searching his face. “You’re sure about this?”
Tim’s shoulders pull back and he straightens his spine. “I won’t let Jason get hurt.”
Bruce nods. “I trust your judgement.” Which is, to Jason, an insane thing to say to a guy who’s not even six foot.
Bruce turns and walks across the room, rounding Jason’s desk and squatting in front of him like he’s twelve and not in his twenties. “I know you don’t want this, Jaylad,” he says, resting a hand on Jason’s knee. “But I need you to let me keep you safe.”
What the fuck is Jason supposed to say to that?
Jason swallows back his annoyance. Everything from being kept in the dark to being carted around like Alfred’s fine china.
“Okay,” he says.
Bruce squeezes his knee once before standing up and striding out of the office. “I’ll let the others know about this development,” he says.
“I’ll get him home safe,” Tim promises, and then Bruce is gone just as quickly as he arrived.
Jason waits until he’s sure Bruce is on the elevator before he’s spinning his chair to face Tim. “Okay,” he says, “what the fuck.”
Tim’s already moving around the office, packing up Jason’s jacket and computer and the open files on his desk. “We really don’t have time for this, Mr. Todd. Please gather your things.” Like Tim doesn’t already have everything shoved in a backpack he procured out of nowhere.
“I get the feeling I’m not coming into work tomorrow,” he says with a sardonic grin.
Tim levels him with a flat gaze. “We need to go directly to the manor and we need to leave now.”
Jason grits his teeth. He hates everything about this. Hates being the broken kid. The disabled kid. The kid who proved every single one of Batman’s fears.
He’s a fucking adult but Bruce will never see him that way.
Still, Jason knows when to wage his battles. Once this whole stalker thing is dealt with he can have another go at proving his independence to Bruce. To his family.
It’s gonna be a goddamn nightmare but trying to do something about it now won’t get him anywhere.
Still.
“I have to go back to my apartment.”
“No,” Tim replies immediately, “you don’t.”
Jason grabs his cane, hoists himself to standing and makes his way around the desk, snatching his jacket from Tim.
“Yes I do. You want me to go stay at the manor with minimal kicking and screaming? We gotta go back to my place so I can grab a few things.”
Tim huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure Bruce can get you whatever—”
“Tim.” Jason cuts him off. “This isn’t a discussion. I’m going back to my apartment first.”
Tim watches him, pale blue eyes boring into Jason’s. It’s unsettling but Jason has three younger siblings. He holds his ground.
“Fine.” Tim bites. “Apartment first. You’ll have five minutes."
Jason shrugs easily. “Sure. Won’t need more than that.”
Tim huffs and turns to stalk out of the room. “Let’s get moving.”
Jason can tell Tim wants to be out of the building quickly but he can only move so fast. Tim turns to look back at him a few times when he realizes he’s walked too quickly and has put more than a few meters between them. He’ll slow down but soon enough he’s walking further and further in front of Jason.
He’s tapping his foot as he stands by the elevator waiting for Jason.
“Sorry man,” Jason tells him, not actually feeling very sorry. “I’m not exactly running marathons over here.”
Tim’s hands clench at his sides but he doesn’t reply.
It’s silent on the way to the car.
Jason waits until they’re buckled in and Tim has pulled them onto the downward ramp. “So,” he says, aiming for casual, “what did the letter say?”
Tim’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.
They’re pulling onto the street and Jason’s just decided that Tim isn’t going to bother answering him when Tim says “He knows my name. Knows our schedule. Knows some other things he shouldn’t.”
“Oh.” Jason’s stomach clenches uncomfortably. “Well that’s... not great.”
Tim lets out a hoarse bark of laughter. “It’s not ideal, no.”
And then he turns the corner and swears.
The road that takes them to Jason’s apartment is in shambles. There’s a fire hydrant shooting water straight up in the air and the center of the road is concave, broken pipes and concrete jutting up like public art. Jason can make out a few cars that have fallen with the road. Paramedics are still pulling people out of the rubble. The police are already there quarantining the area. A few pedestrians are scattered at the caution tape line, gawking at the scene.
Tim rolls down the window when a cop approaches their car.
“Sorry,” the cop is saying, “road’s closed.”
Jason rolls his eyes. Clearly it’s closed.
“What happened?” Tim asks. “Sinkhole?”
“Not sure yet, but we’re evacuating the area to be safe.”
It sure doesn’t look like they're evacuating the area, what with the kids now huddled around the broken and spraying fire hydrant.
“Okay,” says Tim, “thanks, officer.” And then rolls the window back up and starts to pull the car around.
“Hey,” says Jason, slapping his arm, “what about my shit?”
Tim carefully doesn’t look at him. “You’ll have to have someone else come back and get them.”
Like hell is Jason letting one of his siblings dig around in his apartment. “We can take the alley,” he says, pointing.
“The car won’t fit in the alley,” Tim tells him, “have someone else pick up whatever you need.”
He’s managed to make a full U-turn when Jason grabs the wheel and jerks it to the side.
Tim slams on the breaks, shooting him a glare. “What the hell?”
“I’m getting my stuff whether you come with me or not.” And he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door, letting his jacket fall off as Tim tries to grab for him.
“Mr. Todd!” Tim calls from the car. “Mr.— fucking hell.” He pulls the car up to the curb and throws it in park. Tim rushes from the car after him and they both ignore the police that call after them, telling them they can’t park there.
Jason is already at the mouth of the alley, but Tim has two working legs and is quick when he wants to be.
“Mr. Todd, I insist you return to the vehicle.”
Jason flips him off and hobbles further into the alley. It’s about a five minute walk but he can see the back of his apartment building— he’s not going to give up when they’re this close.
“We’ll be in and out Timmer,” he says as he turns the next corner, “then you can—” A gun clicks against his ear. The safety sliding off.
Jason doesn’t recognize the man that had been lurking just around the corner. He’s wearing a greasy black hoodie with a stretched out collar that hangs low on his neck. His eyes are bloodshot and a little wild looking. His hair is absolutely crazy, like he can’t stop running his hands through it.
“Jason,” says the man, and then the gun is jabbing into his cheek. “Why would you— how could you do this to us?”
“What?” Jason breathes.
“It was all— everything was perfect. I had a plan.” The gun digs further against his flesh. “I had a plan. And then that— that fucking— you think you can just treat me like that? Like trash? Just throw me away like—”
“Woah, woah,” says Jason, hands coming up placatingly, cane dropping to the ground, “I’m sorry. Who—”
“You think sorry will fix this?” The man yells. “You— you cheated on me. With that goddamn fucking pansy twink. But you— I know what you need. You don’t need a boy. You need a man.” He shuffles closer. “I’m the one who’s been watching you, all this time. Someone like him could never understand what we have. I’m the only one who—”
And suddenly the man is on the ground, arm wrenched around his back with Tim digging his knee into the man’s spine. He disarms the gun with one hand, letting the bullets fall out and clink onto the ground.
It was so— he was so fast. Tim took down a guy almost twice his size like it was nothing.
“What?” Jason asks.
“I told you I had a black belt in Judo,” Tim tells him, and then he’s pulling out a pair of handcuffs— does he always carry those?— and secures the man’s hands behind his back.
“Hey!” He yells towards the mouth of the alley, at the cops who are milling around the car like they can’t decide if they should issue a ticket or not. They all glance up. “We were just attacked. A little help here?”
And then the pigs are jogging towards them.
It’s a little bit of a blur after that.
Tim hands him his cane and hands the cops his card and then throws out the name “Bruce Wayne” at least three times before they’re allowed to continue on their way to Jason’s apartment.
He pulls out his keys but for some reason they won’t fit in the lock. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Tim rests a hand against his arm, taking the keys from him. “Christ, Jason. This is why I wanted to go straight to the manor.” He huffs, like he’s annoyed, but holds the door open for Jason and helps him up to his apartment on the 3rd floor.
He’s already got Jason sat at his own kitchen table with a mug of chamomile by the time Jason comes back to himself.
Tim’s on the phone— with Bruce probably— saying “Yeah, once he calms down I’ll bring him over. Yes I know I just— have you met your son? Has he ever listened to something you’ve told him to do? Even once? I— yes sir. We’ll see you tonight.”
Tim slumps at the table, and pushes the mug closer to Jason. “Drink,” he says, “we should get going soon.”
Jason holds the mug between his hands, and the warmth almost burns his palms. “Was... was that him?”
“Think so,” Tim says, but he’s typing something on his phone, not looking up. “I don’t think he had a partner or anything. But now that we have him we can test the DNA, should be easy to book him after that. We’ve got assault now, at least.” He glances up. “You okay?”
Jason huffs a laugh and takes a long swig of the tea— it’s just how he likes. “I’m a little shaken but yeah. I’ll be okay.”
Tim tilts his head, biting his cheek. “I honestly thought nothing could shake you, after Joker. Thought that would top everything, but I get it I guess.”
The brown liquid of the tea ripples as Jason sets it down. His thoughts jumble and trip over each other as he slowly looks up at Tim.
“I... what?”
Tim blinks, his eyebrows furrow and he clearly replays what he just said in his brain. “Shit,” he says, “I didn’t mean to say that.”
They watch each other for a moment, Tim looking more and more uncomfortable with each second that passes.
“... You know I was Robin?” Jason asks, because, as implausible as it sounds, that’s the only explanation Jason can think of.
Tim slumps in his seat. “Yeah,” he says, “sorry.”
“... Does Bruce know?”
Tim pulls his knees up, resting his feet on the chair and wrapping his arms around his legs. Jason’s never seen him so... relaxed. So casual. He wonders if Tim is as off kilter from this whole ordeal as he is. “I mean, I assume so. Batman knows everything.”
Okay. So Bruce definitely doesn’t know.
“How?”
Tim looks chagrined. “It was a lot of little things. The Grayson’s quadruple backflip, for starters.”
Jason chokes on a laugh.
The corner of Tim’s lip twitches up. “I used to follow you guys around and then you... disappeared. Both Jason Todd and Robin. I was a few grades below you but we went to the same school.”
Jason wracks his brain. “I don’t remember you,” he admits.
Tim looks so small, curled into himself in Jason’s kitchen. Nothing like earlier when he had taken down a man with a single kick.
He has a wistful smile on his face. “That’s okay, we didn’t really talk.”
“... You followed us on patrol?”
Tim looks sheepish. “It was fun, I was a lonely kid. But then...”
“Then?” Jason prompts.
“Batman,” Tim says, “well he.... He got violent. After your accident.”
After Jason had been an idiot, chasing a pipedream of a parent and had gotten sold to the Joker.
Something in his brain clicks. “You’re the one who sent that letter to Superman?” Tim shrugs. “We spent months trying to track you down.”
“Sorry.”
“No it... it helped.” Jason grips the mug of tea tighter. “You helped. Bruce was— he was in a bad way, after my accident. And then he couldn’t even touch the Joker after that because of the whole fucking, Iran thing. But then Supes swooped in saying he got some sort of letter and he was tired of Bruce shutting him out. And then he... he really helped turn things around. Gave Batman a few nights off, gave him support whether he wanted it or not.”
“And then Spoiler.”
Jason laughs. “Goddamn, Drake, you know everything, huh? Yeah. Gotta admit I was a little jealous in the beginning but Steph was... she was good for him. Her and Cass are really a force not to be reckoned with. Not even Batman stood a chance.”
They sit in silence for a bit, as Jason’s brain comes to terms with the fact that, apparently, Tim can kick ass. And he’s also smart enough to have figured out Batman’s identity. Goddamn.
“We should—” Tim cuts himself off, face scrunching as he lets go of his legs and sits up straight. “I should get you to Wayne Manor. And then I guess talk to Mr. Wayne about my end of employment.”
Jason’s eyes snap to him. “What?” He asks. “Why would— what do you mean?”
“Well,” Tim shrugs, “if you don’t have a stalker anymore you don’t exactly need a personal bodyguard. I know how much you hated having me around.”
“I don’t hate having you around,” Jason denies immediately. Tim raises an eyebrow. Jason huffs, running a hand down his face. “Look I— I don’t like feeling helpless. I don’t like the fact that my family thinks I can’t take care of myself to the point that Bruce hired someone to watch me.” Ignoring the fact that in the end he had needed Tim there. “But I don’t hate having you around I actually—” Christ. He was doing this, wasn’t he? “I like it. When you’re around. Even when you won’t sit down and you follow me to the bathroom. But you’re funny. And you’re... hot. And apparently you can hold your own in a fight.”
“I told you—” Tim starts, but Jason bowls over him.
“Since I don’t have to worry about the family secret getting out,” Jason says, “Or, like, inappropriate office relations anymore— would you wanna go out sometime?
Tim blinks. “Huh? Me?”
Jason shrugs. “I like a guy who can kick my ass.”
Tim’s face immediately flushes a bright red. “Oh I can’t— I mean— you were Robin. I couldn’t— I’m nothing compared to you. To your family. I’m just— me. And I’m not—”
“Not interested?” Jason asks. “That’s fine.” Even though it’ll hurt like a bitch.
If possible, Tim’s face turns even more red. His hands twist over themselves in his lap. “I’m not... not interested.”
Jason grins, and then chugs the rest of his tea because Tim made it for him and it’s his favorite.
“Alright,” he says, slapping his legs and standing up. He snatches his cane from where it’s resting against the table. “Let's get to the manor. Bruce can yell at us about bad decisions and then we can tell him what you know.”
“Oh.” Tim stands, shifting on his feet. “Do we... have to?”
Jason laughs and throws an arm around his shoulders.
“And then, once everything’s in the clear, I’ll take you out for coffee.”
“Oh,” Tim says again, “that sounds much better than admitting to Batman I know his identity.”
“Don’t worry, Tim,” Jason says as he ushers Tim out of his apartment. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”