jason todd. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reneger) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-08-18 12:40 pm
reneger) wrote in singillatim2024-08-18 12:40 pm
Entry tags:
august catch-all.
Who: jason todd & misc
What: wolfing around, tdm prompts, misc other things.
When: august - september..ish.
Where: milton, mostly.
Content Warnings: tdm warnings may apply, will add on others as needed!
What: wolfing around, tdm prompts, misc other things.
When: august - september..ish.
Where: milton, mostly.
Content Warnings: tdm warnings may apply, will add on others as needed!
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Yeah, I know. [Or at least so says his tone while Tim is stuck processing not only the magic spell that's hit Jason (or Robin-?) but also apparently that Jason (Red Hood) has full awareness of his situation and that he's calling him Timmers.
Louis would say the runaway thinking that's master of Tim's psyche is due to an overconsumption of bad, bland, instant coffee. Joke's on him: Tim prefers his neverending anxious jitters to be married to bad, bland, instant tea. Or, y'know, his literal subconscious: the Riddler.] But it's fine. I can still just carry this back. It's no big deal.
[Lovely that he's stopped himself from spewing that it's fine a second time.
(Jason's feet must be killing him. Or maybe Tim's just a huge wuss. But he remembers the chill of first showing up in loafers and praying against frostbite when he finally gained the courage to peel them off.)
He doesn't mean anything by it- he doesn't mean anything mean, he means-- but Tim does slow his stride. He covers it by hefting the pelts higher up his arms, like he's rearranging for a better grip or something.] I have some... girls' pants.
[Wow is that an awkward sentence to hear yourself say aloud. Holy shit, man. As if he wasn't already flushed pink-]
No. I don't want to hear it. It's... they're good for layering, okay? And there's not that many chicks here right now who could use 'em. They'll fit. I'll get them to you.
[---]
Your shoe size is still larger than mine, though. You're on your own there, Ro-
Uh. You're on your own.
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jason can see it. hear it in his tone. he gets it, even before he catches the robin that tim manages to skip over. if this was another day, a tim who was less behind, he'd have so much shit he could give him crap for based off his last four sentences. he'd throw a smarmy grin his way, tease him mercilessly because it's fun. but given tim's whole, waving a stick at jason thing - as much as his mouth wants to skip forward three steps and jump straight into bullying tim mercilessly, jason (even while he's pissed, freezing, and feeling on edge) realizes it's a shit idea when he's already been trying to figure out how to get back on his good side. )
I'm not gonna give you shit for keeping warm. Have you looked at me? ( obviously he has. when jason was this small, half his clothes came from secondhand bins, and it didn't really matter what gender they were meant to be for. clothes were clothes, and gotham's winters were rough. even if they weren't this rough.
tim's pace has slowed, but jason opts to slow him down more by stopping entirely. his nose scrunches as his lips press together, in a way that'd probably look a lot more serious if he wasn't. tiny. )
Prefacing this with I've lugged you around in way more embarrassing ( impossible, there is nothing more embarrassing than this. ) situations and little D'll back me up on that if you ever bring this up, but can you kneel for a sec? My feet're going to freeze off.
( give him a piggy back ride, timmy, he doesn't want to lose his toes. )
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Sure, it was bound to happen when Tim had dared to challenge a muzzle-wearing, gun-toting Batman, but, y'know, shit had hurt.
Tim obediently, predictably, shadows the abrupt stop, though he blinks his eyes at the unending white ahead. Nothing makes sense but his (admittedly flawed) sense of self-preservation is flashing these huge neon lights blaring that Jason bad, and Damian bad and that them together is Actually Really Bad.
Blank, and maybe kinda dumbly, he turns to J..... the guy.
Logically, he shouldn't be rattled. But logically, he shouldn't have run to his reanimated father's corpse, fully believing he'd, like, save him or something. All of that to say, Tim is rattled (is it obvious? it's probably obvious) and logic and him don't always get along.
Kneel. Feet. Snow. Warm.
That one scene in Gladiator where they're about to freaking execute Maximus.]
Huh?
[He doesn't get it.]
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( his hand raises to shove fingers through his hair, except - his fingers are stuck inside tim's coat, so instead it's just jason shoving his hand against his hair and scowling even more because, well, it's tim's fucking coat, and his hands are fitting inside the sleeves.
he's irritated. cold. exhausted in a way jason doesn't know how to describe, because this whole damn place has been a lot, and this is just making it worse. )
Look, okay? I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry about all the bullshit I did to you. ( his memory's a little fucked around the first time he tried to.. actively apologize to tim, but jason knows there hadn't been a need for him to get this far into it. tim had gotten it, which made the whole apologizing thing way easier. ) And I know sorry doesn't fix jack shit. I hurt you. You did nothing wrong--hell, you were the only one who'd tried to help me an' I kept coming back around to fuck up everything anyway.
( tim had at least listened to him. he'd gotten jason out of jail after jason had started crap in gotham, again. invited jason to the cave even if it, well - hadn't been the best idea and fucked him up long after, with bruce's whole last message bullshit. )
And I know I don't deserve your help, but I also know you're a sentimental little nerd who'll give someone who beat the shit out of him the coat off his back. So if we could please just skip past this part, I'd really appreciate it.
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Tim's not sure when it began, the whole... distancing thing. The kind where his own body is distant to what's happening around it, and words said sound muffled as if he's got cotton in his ears. Tim would bet it was Jack's doing-- and he loves the man still.
His tolerance for bullshit is vast- it's a superpower- but then Jason Todd says Sorry.
Says it multiple times.
And the cup doth runneth over.]
What the hell are you talking about-?
[He thinks he oughta put some work into the whole Abrupt Defensiveness thing, but he's already done that.]
I loved you.
[That good ol' Drake temper. Tim, logically, knows all about the problems that come with putting people on a pedestal. He had never before thought he would ever paint Jason and Stephanie with the same brush, but the tremor of TooMuch ThisIsTooMuch holds his right hand hostage as Tim looks somewhere- elsewhere- anywhere--
and he remembers that he should be dead. And he isn't. And so he has to-- it's this really--
and Jason's out here acting as if Tim's the one who ever needed
wanted
an apology.
(Because with him, trying is never enough; Tim knows this.)
He digs his fingers into plush fur (synthetic, and bobcat) and sighs.
And tries again.
And he's looking at Jason, at his Robin, with wariness when he turns back.
(It has little to do with Jason and much to do with whether or not Tim will be wrong, again, simply because he is himself.)
Wary. But his voice is weary. His everything is weary. Tim's learned he hates a lot of things. And this? He hates this. (What is this-?)]
So don't... you don't... have to do that.
[And so, finally, weary, chagrined, he kneels. Says,]
You really could have just said, 'Hey, I need a piggyback ride'.
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wishes that tim had just, you know, said okay and let it be. left it as a thing jason said maybe, but not something important enough to respond to because jason hates acknowledging his feelings, let alone everyone else's. if he puts it off somewhere else, they can just be things he doesn't have to concern himself with. things that aren't his problem. if they don't talk about it, he doesn't have to acknowledge how fucked up he feels about everything. the whole mess with bruce just before he'd woken up in the snow, their conversation before that which had led to jason being allowed to work in gotham, as long as he followed the batrules. everything that had happened before that point. blackgate, the asylum, trying to fix gotham his way while bruce was gone, his multiversal adventure with some jackass and donna when he'd been given the shitty red robin gear - going back to fuck if he knows when.
tim's response pisses him off worse, but it's not at tim. his jaw clenches together tight as jason bites back the venom he wants to start yelling at tim, but he also realizes--that's not helping either of them and tim can still run if he really wants to.
jason takes a step forward, wrapping arms around tim's neck (loosely; the last time this tim probably remembers jason's hands being that close to his throat was when he was holding a knife to it) and legs around his waist and it feels off because he hasn't clung onto people like this since he was robin.
whatever. tim's trapped now, so jason opens his mouth, and his tone is angry, even if his grip's still loose. )
It doesn't matter. If you loved me - no, actually, it's worse. The shit I pulled was unforgivable, and the least you deserve is an apology. Don't argue with me, I'll kick you right where your spleen would've been, if you hadn't lost it.
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Hair trigger tempers.
Tim's aware that his body is too tense- a failure, because should someone try something then he can't react appropriately.
Can't react appropriately.
Seems like a theme for him.
It's like the too-young voice is talking underwater (but not, because Tim understands everything, which is funny because sometimes he struggles with focus when someone is speaking to him, clearly, in plain English.)
He feels like one of those rabbits, like the knife's about to dig in.
He can't-- explain. Or.
Deny. It would invite questions. And he's no good at answers that he doesn't want to hear.
Tim grunts a protest, and gets them up to his feet.]
Don't worry, it's fine.
[Open-ended, amicable, versatile-- please just shut up, but he can't tell Robin to shut the fuck up.]
You sure you're hanging on okay?
[As in: drop it, fucking drop it and let them go on with their bullshit lives.]
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( his grip tightens, not enough that his hands are pressing directly on tim's neck, especially not with how jason's digging his chin into tim's shoulder - but the point's clear enough: he's fine. )
I'm still a Robin. Just 'cause you're slightly less of a twig than I am, doesn't mean I can't hold on.
( this is a thing tim does: he walks around subjects instead of addressing them directly when they're hitting too close to something. where jason takes an opening and rips straight into it, using emotional distress to attempt to manipulate it to his advantage, tim does -
this.
canada managed to grab three robins and picked the worst combo. )
I hate how you you're not worth shit. You're an idiot. You know that? For as smart as you are, you sure are stupid.
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he had never dreamed he'd be carrying Jason through the snow like this either. In any one of his many fever dreams, Tim thinks he remembers being brothers, yeah. But it's too much. Tim can't understand it (but he knows why)- he isn't supposed to buckle under pressure. People have sacrificed themselves... for that. Something simple (but not easy) shouldn't be too much.
But just like Stephanie, Jason pushes. And pushes.
Tim rolls his eyes- he's listening- and thinks it's time for a crash course.
not to baby me, didn't
Behold: how to best the Demon's Head,]
I'm not.
[and how to best the Batman: the truth is a weapon, too.
'You're my brother, Dick.'
And the truth is, Tim figures he could get an upper hand in the underhanded way that is- 'Bruce adored you' or (this is a good one, get this:), 'He died when you died, Jason. His heart might have been beating but he fucking tried his best to stop it; he lost himself and he never found himself again; he adored you, and I know he still does'.
Or something.
It's mean to think of Jason as a shrimp-- this stunted growth is nothing he could have evaded, he was a child-- but it's really-- honestly-- not hard to see why that love for the pipsqueak was so strong.
Names mean a lot to a Bat. Tim's had his fair share: Boy. Robin. Pretender. Placeholder. Replacement. Mistake. Interloper.
Stupid.
He breathes out for a measured count of four. It sucks, because it makes his chest want to seize with a (suppressed) coughing fit (on account of the no spleen thing), and so that four seconds pause grows to seven or eight seconds.
It's whatever.]
I hate how everyone seems to know me better than I know myself.
[Especially fun coming from a person he loved, who can't wrap their head around the idea that time marches on. And no one can stop it. (Tim knows this, because he's seen Time, back when--)]
But hey, what do I know.
Now: You're not staying in one cabin for more than 48 hours at a time... I don't even know where I'm supposed to be taking you.
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jason remembers back when he'd - actually been fifteen. remembers the time he'd stopped bruce from killing the joker (ha), how many times he had to call bruce out on his bullshit, how often his time spent as robin was balancing out batman. he wasn't great at it, jason has always run too hot, his temper simmering just below the surface, waiting for something to send him right over the edge.
he also knows he spent a shitton of time figuring out who tim drake was after talia had tossed the photos at him. how pissed he'd been, at being replaced. how it felt like his death hadn't even mattered. how angry he felt, when bruce brought yet another brat under his wing to drag into dangerous situations that could end with them getting killed as traumatically as jason had been.
funny, isn't it. how getting pissed at bruce for bringing in another kid and putting them in danger somehow translated to fucking tim over just to prove a point. it's shit he's intentionally thrown off to the side because fuck if jason wants to sit and... think about his life choices.
arms tighten around tim's shoulders before jason sucks in a deep breath, lets it out slow. considers his words carefully. )
I may be an asshole, but I'm still your brother. And I followed you long before I came back 'round to Gotham.
( tim, who often thinks of himself as a failure, versus jason, who knows he's a failure. funny how that works, isn't it. )
Just drop me off at the edge of town. I'll figure it out from there.
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The asshole he's toting along like a backpack keeps on talking and Tim's sure he'd be dizzy in tears if the Gift Of Gab wasn't a... a shared. trait. Make no mistake, he is still dizzy. (He's been in Milton far longer than they have, and staying alive and keeping others alive is a drain on the human body. There are no personal trainers here. There's no high-cal meal plan delivery.)
He painfully misses Cass.
His friends.
His dad.
His
family.]
No, because you're tiny enough to fall into a snowdrift. And die. So I need to know exactly where you're going to be staying.
[If he sounds a little distant, so be it. Better than sounding like some space cadet, or some hound howling because Master's returned home.
Tim can't guarantee he even remembers how to be a brother. And his eyes are all misty veiled anyway. Which is fine. It's all... fine.
(It's going to be fine.)]
Though I guess you don't have a clue, either. What do mean, 'figure it out'?
[Is Jason's memory warping or... oh. Huh. Yeah. Totally forgot about
Tim blinks rapidly, as if rebooting, and he doesn't stutter or trip over his own words but dude,] Wait, wait, how did this happen? When? Why are you suddenly ten years old? What--?
[twas the tea witch huh, yeah he knows but man he forgot to ask, like, about the Big Thing, wow]
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and then tim continues, with the whole why are you ten and jason's hand lifts off of tim to smack the palm of his hand against the side of his head. it's not particularly hard, definitely not enough to hurt him, but enough to get his point across of - )
Hey, fuck you. ( firstly. and secondly, ) I ain't ten. I'm -
( hold on, he has to think for a second. )
Fifteen? And I'm not pissing off some old lady in the middle of fucking Canada. Especially not given how she showed up. I'm not gettin' hexed.
( sometimes the safer path is the fucked one. )
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No, we're brothers.
[Timothy Jackson Drake shut the fuck up challenge: impossible. His eyes grow wide, he makes a (belated, but well-intentioned) noise of protest that sounds more like Jason strangling him, and he's lamenting his life when he gets... slapped upside the head.
He makes a noise again, unsure of what or why it exists.
He focuses on the fact that Jason also got Tea Witch'd, but like hell he's going to admit to his fumble.]
I think...
[He does, sometimes.]
You already ticked off an old lady in the middle of the woods. In Canada.
[Does this count as suicidality.]
And you already got, uh, 'hexed'.
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he keeps running his mouth, and jason's whacking him over the head again. nowhere near the amount of force he could put behind it, and he's got direct access to numerous pressure points he could use to actually fuck tim over. if he wanted to. )
I'm trying to be nice. Do you not hear me, being perfectly fucking civil?
( it's not all that hard, but it's about to be if tim keeps running his mouth.
because jason will start running his back and maybe he will disappear into the snow and become forever buried in it in his efforts to kick tim in the teeth. )
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His life flashes before his eyes but, fear not- he doesn't land his ass in the snow because of what must be some divine intervention. Idly, he thinks that it's good that Jason (the kid) isn't shoving his hood down to pull at his hair like a demented gerbil. (He didn't want to think it, but now he is, and he frankly doesn't know what he would... do.)]
I thought that I could understand everything you felt about me when Dick gave Damian Robin.
[Holy non-sequitur, Batman.
And Tim's walking on. Docile, even, as he hums,] Obviously that's not how things work.
[Tim Drake doesn't have a sliver of an idea of how things 'work'- there's suffocating, and yelling, and hurting and being hurt and, like, yeah. That's it.
Jason Todd has tried to kill him multiple times. Damian Wayne has tried to kill him multiple times.
Jason Todd has killed several other people. Damian Wayne has killed several other people.
Tim Drake has killed some people, and his daydreams are crammed full of the truth that, in the future, as soon as he's outta here, he will be there to see a man die. And he'll be satisfied.]
But, I... yeah. Don't worry about it. It's fine.
[It will be fine. Fool him once, shame on you. Fool him twice...]
Truce. I guess. Yeah, it's fine.
You still haven't told me where I'm dropping you off.
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It wasn't about you. Hell, I knew you were good. I would've had to be blind to've missed that. I knew you were a capable Robin. That you'd worked hard to get as far as you had. It wasn't you. It was--
( see, jason's told this to himself dozens of times, but admitting it in his internal monologue is significantly easier than putting it into words out loud. his mouth presses together into a tight line for a moment, before he manages, )
I died. I was a stupid kid chasing after shit that didn't exist. And all the training, the years under B's wing, it didn't do anything to stop that from happening. I was angry because I'd died and nothing had changed. Joker was still alive, and worse - there was another kid running around in close to the same gear I'd died in. But I wasn't angry at you. I was angry because it felt like I'd meant nothing. Because not only was the asshole who killed me still rampaging around, but he'd just found another kid to dress up in bright colors. It was fine that I was dead, 'cause I was easy to just replace. I thought I'd show him, you know? How stupid it was to pull kids into his war, to let them get hurt fighting against his enemies.
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It's not about him, and yeah, he knows.
Jason is light, small enough to pass for a sixth grader who is in between growth spurts. He survived the streets and had the guts to show an Urban Legend what it meant to fight for someone else, something that had come up naturally with Dick but that hadn't yet extended so deeply as it did once Batman took on his ward.
Robin could make Batman laugh, and that was extraordinary, and Tim wants to point out that no, Jason isn't-- wasn't, stupid.
But yeah, maybe he is. Did he know about Nightwing...? About the clown having been killed only for Batman to--?
Like Batman dying, only medically, only for a few seconds, but dying all the same-- no, Tim thinks he'll keep his secrets. Or he'll keep his ignorance, if Jason does. somehow. in his world, know.
It'll keep the peace.
Peace feels like a paper cut in every exposed inch of Tim's skin.
Jason had done so many incredible... it was no wonder-] It took B months to even look at me. [Well, no, that's not true but it's true enough that it feels sour on Tim's tongue.] I don't even know how long it took him to even say my name. He didn't want me. You know that, right?
[Right-?]
And you still haven't told me where we're going.
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( jason has a few areas he's been stashing shit, but he's not letting tim in on those. and outside of that? he hasn't Settled anywhere. has no intentions of settling. having a home means having a place people know to find you, and he doesn't want to have a place where people go looking for him.
partially because it means when people want to have stupid conversations like this with him, they might come after him for it. as it is, they're stuck in this one now. it could be worse: it could be anyone other than tim. like hell is jason talking about any of this with the brat. or dick. bruce. )
And I know now. That it wasn't - that nabbing himself a new Robin wasn't something he'd wanted. That you noticed how shit he was handling crap, tried to drag big bird back into it, then realized if you didn't do it, no one was gonna. Digging into the hows an' whys wasn't exactly a high priority when Talia'd handed me an envelope full of evidence I'd been replaced.
( his voice lowers a little, not softer, just - quieter. )
When I was going 'round with Donna and Rayner, I'd met a B who had killed Joker after I'd died. Who never had you to be an annoying thorn in his side. He was fucked. The Leaguers had abandoned him, he didn't have friends. He was alone. Gotham was quieter, but it wasn't worth the cost. It doesn't matter, what B wanted or didn't want. He needed you. And what you did - it took guts. Dick an' I were just two brats B picked up and thought he'd give purpose to, but you? You fought to become Robin. You weren't built for it like Dick was and didn't grow up in it like I had. You chose yourself.
no subject
Huh?
[An escaped whisper of all the terror that this rude awakening breeds.
When is paranoia not paranoia?
Paranoia is what Tim should have fallen back on the many, many times his own understanding of a situation came up short. In some airport bookshop, overpriced and mocking everyone who is not a morning- or evening- or people- person, is a dumb quick-read book called The Gift Of Fear.
Tim is going to buy them all, and watch them burn.
Some gift.
There's a stumble, a wildly out of place moment where Tim forces himself to stop less he feed the nausea.
The wobbly ground must be from the tremors. They're growing frequent.
They're probably all going to be eaten alive by some dark, endless crevice.
Some gift.
(Thank you, Bruce.)
Tim should have seen it coming.
But he's-- no good at good, common sense, maybe.
When is paranoia not paranoia?
When everyone really is out to get you.
He's been living a (screwed up) fever dream. Talia al Ghul's name is what finally wakes him up, it seems.
Jason's talking.
Was talking.
Tim says,] You're staying in the farmhouse. It's warmer in there than wherever you're thinking of going.
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jason rolls his eyes, because it isn't subtle at all. he knows what's up, to an extent. it's the same shit they all go through, isn't it? he could leave it. this isn't his business, and making tim feel better definitely isn't in his job description.
but they're brothers. they're stuck here together, and jason is trying. bruce isn't here, it's not like anyone's around to fuck it up for him.
he digs his chin in against tim's shoulder, head tipping to the side so he can kind of look at him. )
You're a good Robin, even if you're a massive nerd. Are you listening? Or do I have to fuck you over even more to make you acknowledge your ears are working?
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I heard you. I was listening.
[Jason is making an attempt to join the ranks of a cold mountain monkey colony. Tim's trekking forward is slower because of it.]
I'm flattered.
[And he remembers his-- time, with du Lac not that long ago, and Tim wonders if he really is this easy. Tickle his ego and he's rolling over and barking for any scrap of attention.
(He's never been so humiliated, except he has.)]
I'm speechless, even.
[One of the first things he did, upon arrival, was to make it his business to learn who holed up where. One cabin was locked and so not unclaimed, and he had weaseled into Louis de Point du Lac's living room. Do you serve the Demon's Head, Tim had asked, and the man had snarled that he serves no man.
And Tim had gotten so incredibly sloppy.
Trust no man over 30, Damian had said once, still just a brat of a prince. Talia had looked at Tim strangely then, and advised that he shouldn't trust men who have lived more than thirty lives.
But here they are.]
You're just heavier than you look.
[--he is not.]
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( not that tim's doing a very good job of that anyway. jason almost whacks him across the head again, but manages to find the self-restraint not to. this time. )
You heard me, you weren't listening.
( now he just sounds like bruce. which is even worse. maybe he should whack tim across his thick skull again. )
When was the last time we met, before ending up here?
( he hasn't placed the timeline for tim, yet. has an estimate, but - )
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It matters?
[Jason is the one who had expected something between them that wasn't bloodshed, like Damian had. Jason is the one who takes the disappointment of unaligned projections, the way Damian does.
Tim hadn't put that much thought onto their similarities, too occupied with the several other elements that are poised to kill them all.]
You're more parallel to Robin than to me. I know I never told anyone about what happened in Moldova.
[Which reminds] I don't know what I'm supposed to call you. [Since they're going to be doing that now.]
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( obviously they don't match up. none of them do. damian looked jason over after he mentioned his injuries and damian knew, somehow, what had happened. hadn't said a word about it after, which was for the best. jason knows damian can't be from the same moment he's from, because jason hadn't had the time to categorize how badly bruce had fucked him over before he'd ended up here. it means he knows, but - hasn't cared enough to use that knowledge against him.
damian's from after jason's scruffle with bruce, tim's from long before they'd gotten on decentish terms. jason doesn't like both knowing and not knowing shit, but he's not going to ask.
just like he has no idea what the fuck tim's going on about with moldova. )
John Malone. Break it down however the hell you want, I don't care. ( he's gone by mal, john, red; as long as jason knows he's supposed to answer to a name, he'll respond like it's his own. doesn't matter much anyway, and at least it's slightly more original than john doe. )
What happened in Moldova?
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A friend- Aussie- showed me the full song of what was his ringtone. Phone kept going off every four minutes; it was driving us all crazy. The others already knew the story, but it was news to me.
[Tim's lips twitch up in an ill-advised, suppressed smile.
He thinks it was funny.]
It's an ad to the subway system, about not stepping in front of the incoming trains. Dumb Ways To Die- that's what it's called, and it's very catchy. And very dumb.
[And then everyone died, the end.]
God, it's been stuck in my head all day.
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