singillatim | august catch-all.

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!

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( being from gotham, jason would have a harder time listing the shit he has seen than the shit he hasn't. this wouldn't even be the first time he's vaguely experienced physical ages being fucked with, timelines being broken, and all the fun crap that comes along with that.

the difference here is that, while his memories haven't been fucked with, his body sure has. where there had before been a 6'0" brick shithouse of a man now stands a small, 4'6", not even one hundred pounds on him boy. he's covered in clothes that are significantly too big on him, several articles bundled up in his arms as he tries to make his way back through milton to find somewhere to - lay low for a bit, or find damian's hiding place because - that kid's about as small as he is, right? maybe a little bigger. it's not jason's fault he's tiny as hell. )

( he opens his mouth, teeth chattering, and grumbles, )

I'm gonna kill Tim.

( because it's not his fault but jason will find a way to blame him. somehow. maybe. )

( they've talked.

jason's had his arms out for sansa, he's offered her a helping hand because he knew she needed it. she needs someone to look out for her, even if he also recognizes she's damn strong on her own and would figure it out, she doesn't have to here and - he hated falling to his knees beside her after the forest talker had spoken to her. hated how much of her story she didn't need to tell for him to get it.

it's not the first, nor will it be the last, time he's heard stories of a similar vein. and he hates that too; how often some asshole thinks it's fine to take advantage of others, for whatever the hell reason they can think of to justify it. felipe thought he held all the power in his hands, because he could, legally, get away with anything. the girls in gotham have enough horror stories up their sleeves to fuck up anyone.

none of it matters currently. what matters is sansa, which is why jason remembered where she's been staying, went back to where he'd been keeping his puppy safe and a back of miscellaneous nonsense he'd needed, and brought them along with him to the cabin she's been calling home. with the pup (bitewing) curled up in an arm, idly chewing on the sleeve of his coat, he raises a hand and raps knuckles against the door.

waits for an answer, because even if no simple lock is enough to keep jason out, he can occasionally manage to use his manners. )

[Ruby was just passing by when she heard the grumble, and the chattering of teeth. She pokes her head around the corner and sees the boy moving through the town. She blinks and she recognizes some of the clothes but she hadn't seen this place mess with anyone's ages yet to put her finger on the idea that this was the same hulking guy she had come across a couple months ago.

Instead she gives a little grin.]

Seriously, What did Tim do this time? I hope he didn't ruin another party.

( he's not expecting anyone to actually be listening to his grumbling, but the moment she pokes her head around and grins at him, jason's - shutting up. because he probably should not have said that out loud. tim bullying should be left to his inside voice, and occasionally damian. )

He didn't do anything.

( tim's a common enough name; jason hasn't meant anyone else here with it, but he can still avoid actually mentioning anything that'd id tim. just in case. the weird, significantly higher-pitched voice he hears when he speaks still throws him off. arms tighten around the bundle of clothing he's carrying, and his mouth twists into a scowl. )

Maybe I'm just gonna hit him 'cause his face is stupid.

( a very mature response from a very mature adult. he's hit tim for less. for now? jason's just - going to keep on walking. )

[Tim doesn't hear the mumbling, though he strongly doubts there would have been a difference in what he does when his eyes register Child out in the snow.

Another fraction of a second later and those eyes widen- and not from fear.] --! ... [Tim closes his mouth, having called out nothing, because if there's one thing that's been beaten into his head it's that names matter. Especially for Robin.

His breathing hitches, unceremoniously pulling forward a few coughs, but Tim is already one arm out of his sportcoat when his legs begin to draw him closer to the kid. To Jason. Jason Peter Todd. Robin.

This is Robin. His Robin.

He remembers his voice eventually, but by then Tim is already burdening the boy by shoving (his) better-fitting, better-closing, warmer outerwear at him. It's a tangle of clothes snagging on themselves and getting passed through arms, and Tim can hear himself faintly through the flush of embarrassment that comes hot on the heels of just throwing your own jacket at a Gotham boy with literally no explanation beforehand.

Tim thinks, well, maybe he'll get stabbed. But what he's saying is,] --take that, I know you can handle the jackets just fine on your own but it's still a bit of a walk before we reach the town. It's a trade. Okay? It's a trade, the coat will fit you better and I'll- I'll take the furs. I'll give them right back! I promise! It's just. It.

[Quick, think of something--]

It's cold.

( not just any gotham boy, but jason todd, newly extremely small and not happy about it. if he was in a better state of mind, he might have been focused on how fucked it is that he remembers being this small, but there's a huge chunk of missing time between being tiny and suddenly being almost six foot tall with shoulders broad enough to rival batman's. luckily for them both, he's a little too cold to get stuck on the whole identity crisis part of. . . this.

and tim drake is a face he easily recognizes. one he doesn't feel like killing, or punching in, or - any other acts of needless violence that's not going to get him anywhere. it's his stupid punchable face that saves him from having fingers digging into his eye sockets when he throws the coat at jason. )

I know it's cold. Do you know how much snow is in my boots right now?

( a lot, because no amount of tightening the laces is going to make his boots fit him. but he is, you know, shoving the armful of furs at tim so he can push arms into tim's coat that is still too big but fits significantly better than his own crap. and unlike what one would generally expect from jason, he doesn't give the furs a second look once they leave his arms; he's not worried about tim stealing from him or anything.

it's after his arms are in, fingers curled in the fabric of the sleeves to keep them from freezing, that jason - presses his lips together, and looks up to tim. ) 'm still me, Timbers. You don't have to baby me.

[ Why are there so many children around– ]

Get in line.

[ She still hasn't forgiven Tim for breaking into her home while she was a little under the weather that one time a shadow in the shape of herself did its level best to drain her of the will to live. So sue her. ]

( on one hand, he hasn't figured out how exactly he wants to do the whole, we're brothers but also tim's from back when jason was in his... angry at everything phase and therefore, hadn't really known him outside of the murder attempts, considering tim was brought in after jason keeled over thing with everyone.

on the other, )

I've got dibs, y'know. Dibs called way before your dibs.

( don't actually fuck up tim, wynonna, that'd put them at odds. )

[Yeesh. Okay there's a little bit of an attitude from this kid, but at least he was being honest about it?]

Well look- I know Tim's not exactly the most popular guy around here, and his face is pretty dumb.

But he's done some good around here too. Do you mind like- maybe just sticking to some mild injuries and bruises but let him live?

[Look. If it was Tim she was thinking of, he probably deserved that much.

Don't mind her as she just going to follow along for now.]

I'd consider it a super big favor if you did!

( makes it even harder to disappear with her on his tail, but it's whatever. jason gets it: he wouldn't leave a brat by themselves if they were lugging shit through the snow either. it'd be easy to point out that they've met, that he's just - you know, unfortunately a little smaller currently but still plenty capable of handling himself. but that'd also mean pointing out that they've met, and he doesn't want to associate being like this to himself. if he can help it.

ruby can follow along with him, he'll just keep on trekking through. he can always ditch her as soon as they reach town with an excuse of, well, )

I'm not actually gonna kill him. We're passed that. I think.

Edited 2024-08-20 17:58 (UTC)

[She figures she should at least keep an eye on him until they get to town, but she does have to admit that she's less concerned about leaving him to his devices now that she has a better guess at where his anger's at.]

Ohhh, Okay then. Well it's good that you guys are making progress if that's the case.

Did he leave a bad first impression on you? Or is this a long standing thing and you guys knew each other before you got here?

[ sansa is no stranger to living with company. she'd grown up in winterfell, her family's ancestral castle, and it bustled with a household of a hundred-strong servants alone. she had a wealth of family, from her siblings to her father's kin, and the cadet branches of her house; on name days the keep would swell in number to almost twice as many people. when winter is finally come, sansa had been taught that the keep could handle twice that if needed.

which is to say that living with the lady randvi had been in equal turns both familiar and strange. strange, because there's only two of them, each minding their own. and familiar, too, to have someone who wakes in early hours as she does, who requires sparsity similar as she does. they have similar needs that sansa doesn't feel so out of place compared to the community centre.

it's comforting. she needs some comforting.

the hour is early in the day, finding sansa preparing to break fast for the household, when a knock comes to the door. lady had recently come in, drying herself by the back door where sansa had laid out a very large carpet for her to drip melted snow onto. the direwolf doesn't alarm, only canting her head to the side in curiosity; a friend, then. hers? lady randvi's?

sansa doesn't call out, instead wipes her hands on a kitchen cloth as the kettle settles in the tabletop stove. she peers out as she cracks the door open and makes a small but pleased gasp, draws the door wider. ]

Ser Red, [ she greets him. the sun is just breaking behind him, and there's a small pup cradled in one arm. ] You— oh, you have a baby.

[ ????????? baby? ]

—I'm so sorry, please come inside. [ she all but pulls him and his little charge inside. ]

It's complicated.

( he doesn't even dislike tim, they're fine back home. they've been fine, for - a while. tim is also just conveniently located for threatening when jason's in a mood, and he's definitely in one right now.

arms shift to adjust the hoard of pelts in his arms, throwing one over a shoulder and wrapping one over the top of his arms to keep his fingers from freezing off. he'll need to--adjust shit a little more once he gets to somewhere a little warmer, but that's a problem jason can solve later.

under his arm, covered in pelts, comes a quiet little howl. jason's head tips down towards it, and the scowl on his face softens a little. )

Don't fuss, you're fine.

Ah, Gotchya. I get complicated, believe it or not.

[Complicated was the name of the game when it came to Ruby's relationship dynamics. She figured prying wasn't really going to get her anywhere here, and Jason was entitled to his privacy too.

However once the shifting of pelts starts she moves in a little closer. She catches the little howl and feels a little smile curl up on her lips too.]

Do you want me to carry some of that? You don't have to do it all on your own.

( ???????? baby?

confusion is written plain as day on his face as sansa yanks him inside. despite his bulk and how obvious it is that jason could refuse to move while she yanks, he offers no resistance and lets her tug him along until he's firmly inside with the door shut behind him. no need to let in extra cold air when it's already freezing out. and once he's inside, he realizes.

baby is the equivalent of puppy in this case. because he doesn't have the former, even if he is lugging around one of the latter. )

They had a few of 'em they were rehoming earlier, so I took in - Bitewing here. ( it's not the best name he could have given a dog, and the joke won't hit for anyone who isn't from his side of the multiverse, but. it's better than dog or boy, which he had been calling the puppy before he'd started gnawing on jason and everything else he keeps around. kneeling close to the ground, jason lets 'bitewing' down and onto the floor, where he gives a soft little bark and starts sniffing at the floor around jason's boots. )

Figured if I let him walk, he'd track a shitton of snow inside. ( and he is a puppy, so - ) He's not gonna make a mess, long as there aren't any leather jackets around to chew up or boots left lying around. He's got expensive tastes.

Well, there are Lady Randvi's leathers, but she's fastidious in keeping them clean.

[ and sansa has her own clothes, but they're light enough and do not have the same give that leather or wool might. lady herself was the same when she was younger, nipping at everything she could get her teeth onto until sansa firmly (but ever gently) taught her it doesn't befit a lady to be so chew-happy.

but... truly. why did she say baby. she knows what to call a young pup, she's a stark. wolves and hounds and other dogs are ever-present in her life. ]

Lady's dripping the kitchen space, if you might like to let... Bitewing meet her?

[ bitewing is about the size of sansa's forearm, or perhaps smaller. lady, meanwhile, is near as high as her hip at the wolf's shoulder. she must still be half-asleep, scattered across the rooms as her thoughts are. sansa's not as postured like this; her hair is simply brushed into a single braid, no smaller ones adorning the length of it. faint wisps of red frame her face, rising in the staticky coolness of the air. and her shift – what they call a dress here, though she can't say why — is loose, unfastened at the waist as to look like a very long tunic instead.

she's not wearing her chain, but it sits in a wooden bowl in the middle of the table. unworn, the small blade is more obvious for what it is. ]

I can put Bitewing in a basket. Do you want tea? I'm preparing first meal for the household.

[ she should ask why he'd come. is he in trouble? perhaps when they're seated, settled. ]

It's only clothes. ( aside from the mysterious hidden howler. ) They're just - big.

( like his boots, which are not meant for a small child-size person. or the shirt that's falling off him, and the four layers of coats/furs he's carrying. don't think too deeply about that. after another moment, jason - stops in place, shuffling around to take the puppy wrapped up in another coat out of the pile of things he's lugging around and offers him out towards ruby. )

You can hold this guy, if you want. Just don't put him down, he'll roll around and get himself covered in snow.

[Which is frankly fine because as far as identity crisis goes, Tim's got him beat. What, too soon-?]

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.

( tim is struggling.

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. )

[As far as lugging him out of embarrassing situations, Tim's mind helpfully flashes the memory of Damian, the brat in a mishmash of League and Robin colors, but Tim hadn't paid that much mind when the little prince dragged him out of his own puddle of blood. Because Jason had stabbed him. Through. his. chest.

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.]

Edited 2024-08-21 02:12 (UTC)

Jesus Christ, Tim.

( 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.

Edited 2024-08-21 19:46 (UTC)

[Oh.

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'.

( he hates this worse, now.

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.

[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)

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Page 1 of 6

august catch-all.

i'll run alone tonight ( birch bark tea ; open )

go ahead and cry ( sansa ; closed )

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welp

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