singillatim | august catch-all.

[The bellicose son of a bitch used to be Dick-- maybe still is. He'd have to source that from elsewhere, the estrangement that isn't supposed to be there between them at times felt as real as the snow crunching beneath him as Jason climbs on. Anyway: anger.

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.]

I told you not to baby me, didn't I?

( 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.

Edited 2024-08-22 00:53 (UTC)

[Honestly. He never, ever, would have thought he'd group Jason Todd with someone like Steph. Tim's expression is close to the shutdown he's hoping to get present company to make peace with. Though there's a nagging crease in his brow and he's frowning-- which is normal. And anyway. To be fair,

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.

Edited 2024-08-22 14:07 (UTC)

( there's something really, truly, fucked up about all of this. he hates being this small. hates leaning on people, especially tim, especially after what happened between them the last time they'd gotten stuck in the same room together here. jason knows he was right: tim is a sucker who'll help him just because that's his thing. he became robin to help bruce, despite originally not wanting it. he's the one who chose to be robin, who forced his way in because he knew batman needed robin to keep him in line. to keep him from losing his shit.

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.

[Getting shot has never sounded so good; Tim glances to his left, but it's only a rabbit that's responsible for rustling leaves on a low branch.

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]

( tiny enough to fall into a snowdrift is--well. maybe it's not untrue, but still. the scowl only deepens, and he's opening his mouth to retort that he's fucking fine, thank you, he's not a goddamn child, he can handle himself.

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. )

[Hey, fu- and there it goes, his mouth, moving, and it's an unstoppable force and so he says,]

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'.

( see, tim, this is why you can't have nice things.

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. )

[Tim ducks his head instinctively, and that means he stumbles forward after his boot catches a root at exactly the same time that Jason pummels him.

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.

( things are so much easier when they can just not talk about.. this. unfortunately, jason recognizes the position he's put tim in, and - he meant it, when he said they're brothers. meant it every time he's shown up as soon as the bats have called all hands on deck, and meant it when he said tim didn't deserve any of the bullshit jason put him through. )

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.

[He tries to understand what could have possessed Jason to believe that any of that was a good idea to confess to. Hell, Tim's relieved that the way they're positioned means that Jason can't see the way a defeated frown flashes across his expression.

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.

I told you to drop me off at the edge of town, you've opted to ignore it. That's not my fault.

( 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.

[To say it was a slap in the face would be to admit he was utterly unprepared. That would be the truth.]

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.

( losing his footing not once, but twice.

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?

[Okay. They can move. They're moving to the farm, which is a relief to Tim's lungs.]

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.]

Edited 2024-09-04 21:46 (UTC)

I'm a goddamn twig with the muscle mass of a very small gymnast. I'm exactly as heavy as you thought I was before you picked me up. Don't try to shift the subject by pissing me off.

( 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 - )

[He does the same thing he had done with Damian.]

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.]

Edited (added fuckery) 2024-09-05 01:36 (UTC)

It matters if we're going to figure out if you're an alternate version or just behind.

( 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?

[Jesus Christ. And these guys will try to say he's uncreative.]

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.

( he listens.

even if jason doesn't want to. even if he's moving an arm like he maybe intends on whacking tim upside his head again, but - doesn't. yet. )

Wasn't one of those "invite a psycho killer inside"?

[Oh. Tim brightens at the recognition- a rare, foreign thing, really.]

Yeah!

Wh-- [oh that's why. Tim, preemptively, grimaces.] Don't hit me! God. Just admit it's a catchy tune and cute... video. [...it is not.]

( don't hit me, he says, but jason's - grinning. the scowl's gone, as is the furrow of his brow, leaving him looking rather pleased. for jason. )

I do have a knife on me. Unfortunately for you, I've never needed an invite.

[Tim chokes out another oh my god because he has no idea why Jason figured that's some funny shit. Might have to do with the psycho killer thing.

Nothing to say, my lips are sealed
Say something once, why say it again?
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Maybe Jason didn't think he'd find it funny, per se, because yeah, thanks, nowhere is safe. Yeah, he knows.

But Moldova is now in the rearview mirror; the farmhouse is just up ahead, a multi-story home.

Tim drops the furs he's been carrying,

and then he battles Jason's grubby hands off of him--

if he manages to hit the ground, Tim might even feel better.]

You can make it to the front door, right?

[Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away, oh-oh-oh

God, he misses music.]

( tim doesn't need to shove jason off. as soon as the furs are down, jason's unlatching from tim's back and dropping down onto the ground. he lands on his feet, and since an invitation has been given, gingerly starts towards the door of the farmhouse.

while humming along to the tune of dumb ways to die. he's not intending to harm tim any. but it's funny as hell to hear him choke on his spit. especially now that he seems less - worried about jason actually trying to kill him.

for now anyway. )

[Treacherous thoughts, but damn it Jason this is why you died.]

Hey!

[Runt, he's not... finished. Tim runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, conflicted on how he's handling this next... phase. He sighs, coughs into a fist, and pins a look on Jason-- on Robin.]

Take a shower. You freaking smell like you're on hour 73 of your 72 hour deodorant. First door to your left after the fireplace. It says "Garage". Got it? I'll get you your clothes.

[There's a continuous, deliberately steady stream of gray smoke from the main floor's chimney. Inside is nearly distastefully... warm. As far as interior decorating goes, the house is a disaster.

There are sketches of engines strewn around, entirely ambitious and doomed to stay a fantasy. The walls might be acting as calendars or countdowns, tallies drawn on them with robust charcoal or even paint. There are hand tools littering the walkways, everything Tim Drake has been able to vulture from the property is at least safe from the elements even if it's lost to any semblance of organization. Shovel, the shovel. A conduit bender discarded by an electrician. Cut parts of aluminum, axles and springs from cars.

But the fire- it cracks and flares steadily.

The fire doesn't need tending to: it feeds itself. It tames itself. This is the work of gravity. There are logs of dried wood waiting to be consumed, the iron V-frame of the fireplace only letting the fire devour what it needs to keep strong, not letting it choke itself with too much, and then be starved by lack of fuel. There is a... water trough suspended just above and out of reach of the crackling cinders and orange flames, propped up by... wooden stands, flimsy crisscrossing of strategic lumbers. And there it is, folks: insurance of safety in the face of an unsupervised fire. The sprinkler system. The flood that will drench the fireplace the moment it misbehaves.

Physics. A Rube Goldberg machine made from too little supplies and too much time.

Pipes extend, here and there, from the water trough. They snake to the first room, named "Garage". Turn a valve. Get a hot shower. Not too hot, because the winding journey of the water exposes it to forced, cooler temperatures.

Science, bitch.]

And don't worry. Literally nobody comes by. I'm glad your arm's doing better.

[He waits for some confirmation of understanding, not so much of compliance, and then Tim's off to the skeleton remains of one barn. He can fetch his things, take a moment to think... really think...

And eventually he'll meet with his brother, still tiny, but Tim will chuck well-fitting, good-enough clothing at him. No rainbows, butterflies, or sparkles to be found.

Keeping friends close is something that you have to practice, sometimes.]

august catch-all.

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