singillatim | august catch-all.

( 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.]

( wow, rude. telling him he smells.

jason raises an arm to confirm tim's accusations, nose scrunching up when he does get a whiff of himself. it's not his fault he's stuck here where there's minimal access to showers and everything's fucking freezing all the time. tim, at least, has a setup where he can go inside and get warmed up. and from the looks of the farmhouse, he's spent a shitton of time working on improving his temporary home.

he'd bitch at tim about his ability to organize shit and keep things tidy, but tim is gone before jason manages to get there. and while he would clean up a bit, he's not fucking with tim's chaotic disorganized mess that he's likely got his own system for remembering where shit is.

yet.

instead, jason snoops around a bit. takes a look around the farmhouse, memorizing rooms, and locations of things he may or may not come back for later before he does make his way into the 'garage'. the warm but not too warm shower is still significantly better than anything jason's had access to in months, so he - takes his time enjoying it.

luckily, he is small as hell, meaning it takes him a little less time to get all the grime off and scrub through his hair.

by the time tim comes back around, he's out in the living area, oversized shirt and shorts on, but he takes the clothes when they're thrown at him.

shoves pants on over the shorts, then takes off the oversized shirt so he can put on the correctly sized one, and - throws the oversized one back on over it. layers are nice. )

It was B. ( he starts, easily enough. looks down to his arm when he says it. ) We were on good terms for. . . a while. But I got angry and fucked up. So he beat the shit out of me again an' told me it was over.

[The animals used to have warm water, warm ground to nest in.

Jason might find barrels of stale gasoline siphoned from the stranded vehicles outside. Not many barrels, of course. There's some buckets of soap shavings.

It's easier to thaw the ground before digging any graves.

The open space of the house overseeing the chimney has (figurative) rats' nests as seating, and a couch. Tim's laid down on it. He turns his head when Jason dresses.

It's just habit.

It's insanely difficult to find... words. Tim is no good at those.] He forgets himself sometimes.

[Forgets that Batman is a punishment for his sins, not anybody else's.

And, what difference did it make if B broke an arm instead of, say, broke a rib or two in one their infamous scuffles. The difference, Tim swallows, is that this new world he's learning about is marked by a unified... family. And family doesn't...

Tim doesn't want to think that it's...]

When I got here, I met this other guy named Jason. He was going to be graduating in three days. We got to the Community hall and then I ditched. I found a black, fluffy dog.

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

He was being all friendly so I thought he belonged to someone. Anyway, he pushed me off a cliff and I broke my arm.

[Keeping enemies close is something that comes more naturally to Tim.]

Jokes on him, my arm was already broken.

[And then Tim had... broken. his arm. Like, a day later. On purpose. Shockingly, that harebrained scheme hadn't worked out well.

Cold day in Hell when he ever admits that one. Feeling braver, Tim eyes Jason again.

Good god, he's small.]

Did Goodsir set it? He didn't even know how to work a cast.

( how modest of tim.

with laters back on, jason sprawls out comfortably on the couch, one elbow resting on the armrest with his palm pressed to the underside of his jaw, idly relaxing into the cushions. where jason may not usually allow himself to relax, he's letting his guard down and making himself comfortable now. it's tim. tim's not going to do jack shit to him. )

No. It was some guy named McCoy. Haven't seen him around since.

( if jason's lucky, he disappeared just as logan had. lucky because - mccoy caught him at a bad moment, saw him vulnerable, and jason doesn't like knowing people are around who have seen him like that. )

The dog pushed you off a cliff?

[McCoy. Tim thinks he showed the man the barns, but he's also been doing a good job at not learning names. He says,] Same happened with Jason.

[and,]

The dog pushed me off a cliff.

[The difference is, this time it's far more difficult to keep a straight face as he says it. He struggles with the shy, ridiculous smile, but bodies are treacherous and his eyes see Robin and Tim, predictably, loses that struggle.]

It was a small cliff. But still. I thought Lassie was supposed to get Tim out of trouble. I was wrong.

How'd you let yourself get pushed down like that? Christ. Tim.

( he wasn't intending on going by jason here anyway, so the lack of having someone who shares his name isn't - well. it doesn't sound like tim had the time to properly bond with the guy, so it's not like it matters much. )

You're fucked up enough as-is.

( even ignoring the stupid way tim's looking at him. as if he's different, as if jason being smaller somehow makes his presence more tolerable. he knows it's not the perceived lack of a threat: he's capable of kicking ass still, not that tim's ever seemed to care one way or another.

it's robin, isn't it. gross. )

[Consider:] It was a big dog.

[It was not.]

( doesn't matter whether or not it was, because jason is just - raising a brow regardless. )

You're telling me a dog took you out.

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