Work Text:
Two days after Tim’s 16th birthday, his fangs grow in.
Bruce is dead, Jason isn’t talking to anybody, Dick has taken over Batman and Damian never talked to Tim in the first place. Tim is on his own, trying to find Bruce, trying to get him back.
He’s all alone.
He celebrates his birthday in a desert on the brink of death.
When his fangs start growing, there is nobody to notice, nobody to see, nobody he could tell.
Much, much later, once Bruce has returned to them and Tim has moved back into his apartment, only passing through Wayne Manor every few weeks or so, he has gotten into the habit of hiding it. His family is back together, they’re happy again. They don’t need to be burdened with this.
Life moves on, and Tim never tells.
Nobody in this world knows Tim is a vampire and, as far as he is concerned, nobody ever will.
He tells himself he is fine with that.
*
Everyone knows Bruce Wayne is a shifter, is the thing. Tim figured out that Bruce was Batman, sure, but the whole world knows about the shifting. It’s been the subject of gossip for as long as Tim can remember.
Bruce Wayne adopts werewolf pup, the newspapers had written back in the day, is he trying to build a legacy? It’d been worse still when he’d adopted Jason, too. Another werewolf in the Wayne household, another series of articles about it. Damian, of course, being Bruce’s blood son, is a werewolf too, and way too volatile for them to even have attempted hiding this fact. Not that Bruce would have wanted to. Bruce is perfectly happy collecting as many werewolf pups as he can. He’d adopt them all if he could.
Usually everyone is very meticulous about not shifting in public, but Tim remembers one time – he must’ve been ten or eleven, following Batman and Robin from Crime Alley into one of the slightly less shady parts of downtown Gotham, and instead of getting into the Batmobile, they had shifted into wolves. Tim had stood with his back to the wall, frozen still, terrified that they’d hear his rapid heartbeat, smell his fear of being noticed. But nothing happened. The two wolves had disappeared down a street.
Tim had gone home that night, vaguely annoyed with himself at not having thought to take a picture. But what he remembers most is the relief. At age ten, Tim had still been afraid of dogs.
At age seventeen, Tim is still afraid, but it’s no longer for the same reason.
Everyone knows Bruce Wayne is a shifter. And everyone also knows that Bruce Wayne hates vampires. Tim gets it. If vampires had killed his parents, he’d hate them, too.
At least, he thinks to himself, he has a heartbeat. At least he’s a natural-born vampire, who needs to breathe and eat normal food and who can go out in the sunlight like everyone else, with nothing but a heightened risk at sunburn. As long as he doesn’t open his mouth too wide, nobody will ever notice a thing.
The only problem is that, in addition to all those characteristics that reliably mark him as human, he still needs to drink blood.
It's been just slightly more than one year since Tim’s need for blood arose together with his fangs.
It's been just slightly more than one year since Tim started starving himself.
*
It's Saturday, which means family dinner tomorrow, which means the guilt tripping starts today. By late afternoon, Jason has already half a dozen text messages from Dick, all unread, and a call from Bruce, rejected.
He isn’t saying he won’t go. He might. But it’s more than twenty-four hours until the dinner, and Jason just does not feel ready to commit himself like this. He’s a free spirit. His family can’t dictate what he does.
What he does is, right now, to go grocery shopping. Or, well. He has groceries, the only thing he really needs is bleach. Blood stains are ridiculously hard to get out of clothes. He is half-tempted to just bring all his dirty laundry to Wayne Manor tomorrow, take advantage of a. the high-quality washing machines and b. Alfred’s unrivalled skills, but that might be a bit of a dick move. Also, it’s a lot of blood-stained laundry, and he doesn’t want to carry it all.
He buys bleach, and then he stops by a friend of his – well, not friend – to purchase a new gun, and then he makes a quick detour just to see if the gun works. It’s important to be prepared.
He is on his way back when his phone rings again. This time it’s Dick calling, apparently having realised that his text messages are being ignored and optimistically deciding to try something else. Jason lets it go to voicemail. It immediately starts ringing again. The process repeats four times, and by the fifth call, Jason, annoyed by the noise, picks up.
“What?” he asks. “I told you I’m-“
“Do not,” Dick says, “mention that free spirit thing again. We didn’t want to tell you this before when Bruce was listening, but it makes you sound ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Jason says instinctively, before he remembers that he’s not twelve anymore. “And if I can’t be respected, I’m not coming to-“
“Jason, listen, I don’t have time for this,” Dick says, which makes Jason blink in surprise. Dick always has time for this. “Can you check on Tim? He hasn’t answered his phone in a few days.”
“I haven’t answered my phone in a few days,” Jason says, offended. “And nobody came to check up on me.”
“You never answer your phone, and we did send someone to check up on you. That’s the problem.”
“Oh,” Jason says, as it all comes together, “so you sent Timtam to me, and you haven’t seen him since? Well, I’m not telling you how to live your life, Dick, but if I were you, I’d think about that. Connect the dots.”
“Wait,” Dick says, “so you have seen Tim? Is he okay?”
“Let’s just say that he might have some trouble making it to Sunday dinner,” Jason says, hangs up, and drops his phone in the nearest puddle so that Dick can’t track him.
He hasn’t seen Tim, actually. But that’s not his problem, is it? It’s Dick’s problem. And if Dick wants to jump to false conclusions based on what Jason said, then that just goes to show how little Jason is trusted in this family.
He is nearly home when he suddenly smells it – blood. His senses are slightly heightened even as a human, but that’s nothing compared to what they’re like when he’s a wolf. Jason puts the bleach on the ground, writes DO NOT STEAL on the bottle (using Bruce’s expensive fountain pen, stolen a few weeks ago), and shifts. The world shifts too, becomes bigger and changes colour, and suddenly, he can see with his nose as well as his eyes.
On four legs now, Jason starts running towards the blood. The smell of it is stronger now, and only increases the closer he gets. It’s not that far away, only a couple of blocks. He follows it all the way into an alley, where, huh, yeah, okay, that’s Jeff from Jason’s least favourite Crime Alley diner. Jeff makes the worst burgers, though right now, it looks like he won’t make burgers for much longer. Dozens of stab wounds will do that to you.
Jason puts a paw on the man’s face. Nothing happens. A second later, the heartbeat slows, then stops. Jeff is dead. Jason should probably be more concerned about this, but on the wall behind the corpse, somebody used blood to write – something about cheating? It’s terrible handwriting, and also, as a wolf Jason can’t distinguish red from other colours, so he can’t read it too well. Either way, he figures Jeff probably had it coming. One time, he served Jason a steak that was barely cooked, and Jason totally would have gotten food poisoning from it if he hadn’t been a werewolf. But Jeff didn’t know that, did he? So Jason left him a one-star Yelp review and a death threat painted on his door anyway.
He is just about to leave well enough alone and return to his meagre house cleaning efforts, but then something else catches his attention. Not so much a noise as the lack of it. Like someone holding their breath.
Someone nearby.
Jason slinks into the shadows and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long: within seconds, a figure stumbles into the alley, heading straight towards the corpse. It could be the murderer, but Jason doesn’t think so. His suspicions are confirmed as the guy drops down to their knees and bends over the body.
Jason pounces.
There’s a strangled scream, but not much resistance, and within seconds Jason has wrestled the guy to the dirty ground, trapping him, and-
“Let me go.”
Jason, stunned, shifts back. Beneath him, Tim is still trapped, because Jason might be human now but he’s still a lot bigger. That’s lucky, because it allows Jason to comfortably choke him with one hand while using the other to hold a gun to his head, and there’s nothing Tim can do about it except struggle weakly. Pathetic.
“Now,” Jason says, keeping his voice casual and friendly while choking Tim a little harder, “why don’t you explain to me what you’re doing in Crime Alley, dressed as a civilian, draining someone of blood?”
Tim manages to lift his head, just a little bit, just enough to spit in Jason’s face. Jason, very calmly, wipes it off, and then whips Tim with his gun.
“Want to try that again?” he asks. He eases his hold on Tim’s neck, thinking absently that there’s going to be a ring of bruises there tomorrow.
“I don’t know what you think you saw,” Tim says, voice hoarse, “but it wasn’t- I was only checking if he was alright.”
“Bullshit. You got one more try before I drag you to Bruce so that you can explain to him why his third-born is a vampire.”
“No!” Tim’s eyes are wide and scared, and the thing is that Jason gets it. He knows what it’s like, being afraid of disappointing Bruce. Knowing that he’s disappointing Bruce.
He eases his grip a little more and finally lets his hand fall away entirely, though he doesn’t yet sit up. “I get it,” he says, aiming for friendly again, but this time meaning it. “So you, what, got yourself turned a couple of nights ago? Been wandering the streets ever since, scared to go home? That sucks. But it’s not like you asked to be bitten. Bruce isn’t going to love this, not gonna lie to you there, but with a little friendly nudging, he’ll understand.”
For some reason, this reassurance does nothing for Tim, who continues to look miserable. “Let me go,” he repeats, exhaustion creeping into his tone. Jason, to his own surprise, stands, though he stops just short of offering Tim a hand up. Perhaps he should have, he reflects, seeing Tim stumble. His eyes keep darting to the corpse, still bleeding out. And suddenly Jason realises what’s going on.
“You need to feed,” he says, and Tim’s gaze sharpens. “Let me guess – first time feeding since you got turned?”
Tim nods. “I’m so hungry,” he says, quietly, like it’s a secret. Jason supposes that it is. He remembers his first days on the streets after getting bitten by a werewolf, scared and upset and worried about the full moon approaching. For maybe the first time, he sympathises with Tim.
He points towards Jeff. “Go on then. Feed.”
“What?”
“He’s already dead. He won’t mind.”
Tim blinks. “Literally five minutes ago, I was trying to feed, and you tackled me.”
“Yeah,” Jason says, “but I didn’t know who you were. I wasn’t about to let a total stranger eat Jeff’s corpse, but now that I know it’s you, it’s cool.” He tries to nudge Tim into the direction of Jeff. It’s like attempting to move a wall.
“Actually,” Tim says, as his eyes fall on the body again, “I’m just gonna- I’m gonna go. This was a bad idea.” He makes a weak attempt at walking past Jason, but Jason doesn’t just have a height and weight advantage, he also had two full meals today, whereas Tim clearly has been starving for days now. He holds out an arm;
Tim bumps into it, scowls, moves forward, and runs into Jason’s arm again.“Stop that.”
“I’m calling Bruce,” Jason says, because that threat worked really well last time and Tim seems to respond to it like nothing else. Predictably, Tim’s eyes go wide. “If you leave here without feeding, I’m calling him immediately.”
Tim doesn’t reply, but he’s also stopped trying to get away.
“Hey,” Jason says, as gentle as he can, “if you don’t want to feed on Jeff, don’t worry about it. You can feed on me.” That’s what Dick would do, right? What a good big brother would do? Jason, faced with a pale, miserable version of Tim who doesn’t want to eat, is, for the first time in his life, overwhelmed by the urge to give someone a glass of milk and a sandwich with the crusts cut off. But since turned vampires can only drink blood, he’ll settle for the next best thing. He holds out his arm again, this time rolling up the sleeves. “Here you go.”
“Jason, stop,” Tim snaps. “I’m not going to feed on you, what the hell.”
“No, really, go for it, I-“
“This is-“
“-don’t mind, you can-“
“-not funny, I’m-“
“-really go all in, got plenty of blood to spare-“
“-going to kill you.”
Jason stops, eyebrows going up, staring at Tim. “What? No, you’re not,” he says. “Feeding doesn’t kill people. It only kills people if you’re actively trying.”
Tim slumps. He looks very, very tired suddenly. “I won’t be able to stop myself,” he says quietly. “I haven’t fed in over a year. What do you think is going to happen?”
Jason’s brain short-circuits. The meaning of Tim’s words slowly sinks in. He doesn’t have all the pieces yet, but he has enough to draw the correct conclusion.
Tim hasn’t been turned recently. Tim probably hasn’t been turned at all. If Jason had gotten his head out of his ass for just a second, he would have realised that he can hear Tim’s heartbeat.
This means that Tim was born like this. Probably grew into his heritage at some point during puberty. And he-
“Let me guess – first time feeding since you got turned?”
- has never -
“I haven’t fed in over a year. What do you think is going to happen?”
- fed before.
By the time Jason snaps back to reality, he has made a decision. He takes out his gun again, and uses it to hit Tim in the face. Tim, not having seen this coming and also weak from a year of malnourishment, slumps immediately. Good. Resistance makes kidnappings that much harder.
*
Tim wakes up in an unfamiliar living room, tied to a chair. The knotwork is sloppy, so it only takes him a minute or so to undo it, and he’s only just gotten up when Jason comes in, carrying a mug of coffee, a plate with badly-burned scrambled eggs, and a plastic bag filled with a red liquid. He puts all three on the table and, apparently realising that Tim freed himself, says, “Took you longer than expected. Losing your touch?”
A sarcastic retort is already on the tip of Tim’s tongue, but he gets cut off when Jason’s phone rings. He curses, answers it, and says, “Dick? No- how would I- look, all I know is that he might have been captured by a human trafficking ring. No, don’t – it’s not my job to look after the Replacement just because you lost him. Good luck though.” Jason hangs up, and juts out his chin defiantly as he catches Tim’s glare. “What?”
“Did you just tell Dick that I’m a human trafficking victim?”
“No,” Jason says patiently, “I told him that you might be. Eat your breakfast.”
Tim, who has no intentions to do so, waits until Jason has left the room again before climbing out of the window. Jason’s apartment is at least a dozen storeys up, but Tim is a good climber. When the ground is only two metres away, he jumps, and lands straight in Jason’s arms.
“You weigh nothing,” Jason informs him as he carries him back inside. “And I would have made that climb way faster than you. Now eat.”
Tim, tied to the kitchen chair this time, but with one arm free to hold a fork, pokes at the eggs and ignores the coffee, and resolutely does not look at the blood bag. It turns out he needn’t have bothered, because as soon as he finishes eating, Jason drops the blood bag on his plate. “I got this for you,” he announces. “Friendly donation from a guy I know. He sends his regards. Well, he would, but he's dead. I got, like, ten more of these in the fridge, so drink as much as you want.”
“I can’t,” Tim says, deciding to ignore all the disturbing implications of this and just get to the point. “I’ve never- yesterday was a mistake. A slip-up. The smell of blood was so strong that I couldn’t think straight until you interrupted me. But I’m over it now, and it’s cool. I don’t need this.”
“Tim,” Jason says, staring at him like he’s grown a second head, “you’re a vampire.”
Tim winces. “And?”
“And- what do you mean, and? Vampires need blood, moron.”
Tim shakes his head, and winces again when it makes him dizzy. He’s been feeling dizzy a lot lately. “Only vampires who are turned. I’m a natural-born vampire. We can eat normal food just like everyone else.”
“Yes, and that’s probably the only reason why you didn’t starve yet. But you aren’t meant to just eat food. You need both to survive. I can’t believe I have to tell you this. Are you stupid?”
Deep breaths, Tim tells himself. He can probably untie himself again, but doing it just to strangle Jason won’t help the situation. “Bruce,” he says, as calm as he can manage, “despises vampires. He despises everyone who kills or hurts. Do you really think he would approve of me draining people of blood? Even if I don’t end up killing them – even if I can stop myself in time. Bruce would still think I need to be stopped.”
Jason hesitates, and that split second is enough to confirm Tim’s belief. It isn’t angsty brooding if they’re actually out to get you, he thinks. “Alright,” Jason says eventually. “I’m not going to tell him. But you still have to eat. So either you drink that blood in front of you, or I’m going to knock you unconscious again and force-feed you blood straight from my vein. Your choice.”
Jason doesn’t look like he’s joking. He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, the perfect picture of someone who is happy waiting as long as it takes.
And-
Well.
If Tim were stronger, if he were better, he would wait this out. But he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand feeling this empty, feeling nauseous and shaky all the time. And a pint full of blood is right in front of him.
He opens the bag, and in that moment he hates himself for it more than Bruce ever could.
The first moment of blood on his tongue, finally, after a year of starvation, he is faintly surprised by how neutral it tastes. How normal, how untempting. If it’s always like this, maybe he really can-
He takes another sip, and suddenly, he is gone. For several seconds, for an eternity, there is nothing in his mind but the need to feed, to curb the hunger inside himself. He barely notices finishing the bag; before he can mourn its loss, it’s replaced by another. He drinks that, too, as fast as the last one, and a third to boot.
By the time Jason hands him the fourth bag, Tim has recovered enough to drink more slowly, treasuring the taste of it, drinking more for pleasure now than for any real need.
“Another?” Jason asks, and Tim, too full to speak, shakes his head. His hunger, for the first time in a year, has been stilled.
Jason drops the empty bags into a garbage can, puts the full one back in the fridge, and hands Tim a handkerchief, gesturing at his face. “You have a little-“
Oh. Right. Tim wipes at his mouth, wishes he could wash up properly. He must’ve made quite the sight. His parents would be ashamed.
“So,” Jason says, “you still look like shit. While you were busy doing your thing-“ - he mimics biting somebody, clacking his teeth together several times in quick succession- “-I looked a few things up. Not gonna lie to you, the first few sources were mostly about some vampire form of conversion therapy, but once I got past that, I found a diet plan for you. From what I can tell, you’re still like, in vampire puberty right now, so you need more human food than blood. A two-to-one ratio should be enough for the time being. If you feed every breakfast, that should be fine.”
“There is no way-“ Tim starts, but Jason just talks over him.
“Lucky for you, there is an unending supply of blood donors in Crime Alley. Don’t worry about it, I’m going to kill them anyway. I might as well siphon off some of their blood afterwards. If you don’t like that, tough shit, because you can totally go to a blood bank, but they ask for ID, and Bruce would find out immediately. I also think you should talk to someone.”
“I’m not going to therapy,” Tim says immediately. Jason snorts.
“Therapy? Who’s talking about therapy? I think you should talk to a vampire. I can supply you with blood, but that’s it. According to fangs-and-allies-dot-com, there’s plenty more for you to learn. So I asked Roy if he would do it, and he said fuck no, so instead I convinced this arms dealer I know. He’s coming here first thing tomorrow.”
“I don’t think I’m old enough to talk to an arms dealer.”
“Well, it’s not like he’s going to sell to you, is he? If anyone shows you how to use a gun, it’s going to be me. Speaking of which- while you were asleep earlier, I took the liberty to tell Wayne Enterprises you’re on a cruise, and I rented out your apartment. Well, I say rented out. It’s a drug den now, but it’s a guy I trust, so it’s all cool. He came by earlier to drop off all your shit. It’s in your new room. I can’t believe you don’t own a single book.”
Tim, taking this all in and wondering what to address first here, settles on, “I don’t like to read. It’s boring.” He refuses to let Jason’s obvious judgement affect him.
“Oh my god,” Jason says. “I can’t believe you just said that. Oh my god.” He flicks Tim’s face. “That’s next on the agenda, then. Getting you some good books. Do they teach you nothing at school?”
“I wouldn’t know. I dropped out.”
“Huh.” Jason frowns. “Want me to enrol you again?”
“Definitely not,” Tim says, alarmed. To his relief, Jason only says, “Alright then. You can use the spare time to help me out a little. I’ve been meaning to build my own furniture, but I gave up when my table crashed like, four times.”
Tim laughs. Jason frowns harder. Tim stops laughing. “Wait, were you serious?”
“There’s a toolbox in that corner,” Jason says, pointing at it. “You can help me build a table, or you can try and get blood stains off my sofa. What’s it going to be?”
Tim considers this. “Table, I guess.”
It’s not until they’re hours into the endeavour, and Jason has proved himself to be even more useless at furniture-building than Tim could have anticipated, that Tim realises he’s still here, still helping out, and Jason seems dead serious about letting him stay. He is still unsure whether this qualifies as a kidnapping, or aggressive parenting. Could be either, could be both, he supposes.
Whatever it is, he can deal with it later. First, he has to monitor Jason’s well-intentioned, but doomed efforts at woodwork.
*
It's a full moon tonight. Normally that would not be a problem, but normally, Jason also does not have a 17-year-old vampire teenager sleeping in his spare bedroom. A teenager who for the past three days has built Jason a table, kitchen chairs, and a birdhouse, who has burned every meal he was tasked to cook, and who has introduced a new routine of climbing out the window every morning in order to escape.
Running downstairs and catching him is good exercise for Jason, so he doesn’t mind. He only wishes Tim would sneak out in order to meet a girl or to find his long-lost secret birth mother in Ethiopia, like other kids that age do, and not to escape the breakfast Jason so lovingly puts on his table. Jason worked hard for that breakfast. It’s surprisingly difficult to fill someone’s blood into bottles. He’s getting the hang of it now, but the first few attempts left him coming home looking like a serial killer. Good thing his neighbours better than calling the cops.
It's the sneaking out-part that worries him about tonight. Jason has mostly skipped patrol for the past few nights, only going out long enough to collect blood. But tonight he has to go out, he won’t be able to help himself, and Tim will have to stay here alone. There’s nothing holding him back from escaping, and Tim is smart enough to not be found if he doesn’t want to.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jason says, throwing a dishtowel at Tim’s head. Tim, who is sitting on the sofa playing solitaire on Jason’s laptop, catches it without looking up, throws it back and moves a card. “Got any plans for tonight?”
This makes Tim finally draw his attention away from the screen. “Oh, right,” he says. “Today’s a full moon, isn’t it? So you have to leave me here on my own, where you know I will leave immediately. That must really suck for you.”
Following the strong urge to make sure his little brother is put in his place, Jason pulls out a gun, only for Tim to say, “I removed the bullets from it last night. Did you know your laptop is really slow? You should invest in a new one.”
“Invite your friends over,” Jason says, ignoring Tim. “As long as they don’t tell the Bats about this place, that is.”
At this suggestion, Tim doesn’t just look up, but he actually closes the laptop. “Are you serious?”
“Are you saying I’m not a man of my word?” Jason shoots back.
For once, Tim doesn’t rise to the bait. His fingers are tapping a complicated rhythm against his leg. “You must be really desperate to keep me here, if you’re willing to let strangers in.”
Tim isn’t exactly wrong, Jason thinks. He doesn’t like strangers in his apartment – doesn’t like strangers, period. And though part of him couldn’t care less what Tim does in his free time, another part of him wants to make sure that his pack is safe, is facing no threats.
But that’s just it, isn’t it? If Tim goes out, he’s going to stop his newfound diet immediately, and thanks to Jason, he doesn’t even have an apartment anymore. The safest place for Tim is right here, at Jason’s place. If letting Tim’s little gang come over is what makes Tim stay, then so be it.
There is also no way Jason is going to say any of this out loud.
“Invite them over or don’t,” he says, faux-casual. “I couldn’t care less. If you get any more stains on the couch, I’ll kill you.”
“We’re not going to have an orgy on your couch,” Tim says.
“What? Who said anything about orgies? Does inviting over friends automatically mean having sex to you?”
“I just told you we’re not going to have sex,” Tim says, irritated. “On the couch,” he adds, like an afterthought. “We might have sex in your bedroom though.”
“I can see what you’re doing,” Jason says, “and it pisses me off, but I also need to head out. I’ll be back tomorrow with breakfast.”
“Do not,” Tim starts, “come back with-“ But it’s too late for Jason to hear the rest of the sentence, he’s already out the door.
*
Tim had mostly been bullshitting earlier. He doesn’t mean to go out. Or, like, he might, if he had anywhere to go. But his apartment is a drug den, Drake Manor has been deserted ever since his parents died, and Wayne Manor – well. There’s a reason he disappeared.
He didn’t mean to make anyone worried. He just hadn’t been able to stand it anymore. Bruce’s brooding, Dick’s silence, Damian’s insults. The hunger, too, had been a big part of it. So when Dick mentioned that somebody should go check on Jason, Tim volunteered.
He did check up on Jason. Within an hour, he’d found out that Jason was in Gotham and, at the time, cutting someone’s fingers off. Reassured, Tim had returned not to Wayne Manor, but to his apartment, which a week ago had been refreshingly free of opiates of any kind. He’d stayed there, huddled into a corner, trying to remember why it’s a terrible idea to go out. He had known, instinctively, that if he left the house, he would go hunt for blood.
Which is exactly what happened, and which is how Jason found him.
If Tim had been somewhat unsure of his welcome at Wayne Manor before, he has no such doubts now. He knows, with all his being, that he can never return there. Not after he spent the past few days drinking blood.
As far as Tim is concerned, he can just stay in Jason’s apartment forever, or at least until Bruce comes back from his outer space mission, realises what’s going on and hunts him down. Jason doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, Jason has stated multiple times that if Tim tries to leave, he’s going to tie him to a chair again and keep him here until he's old and grey. It should be unsettling, but Tim can’t help but think it’s sweet. It’s nice to feel like his presence is wanted for once.
He's still practical, though. He can’t help that, either. And so he knows that for the past few days, he has been dressing in Jason’s clothes and eating Jason’s food and using Jason’s shampoo. The least he could do is get his own clothes and buy some groceries.
He sets out maybe half an hour after the moon has risen. Howls everywhere fill the city. Tim shudders and pulls Jason’s leather jacket tighter around himself. When Jason ran into him, he’d been wearing his own coat and therefore does not strictly speaking need to borrow Jason’s jacket. But it looked really warm, and it’s not like Jason needs it right now when he literally has fur, so Tim refuses to feel bad about this.
Grocery stores in Gotham are usually open twenty-four hours, partly to accommodate the creatures of the night and partly to accommodate all the murderers and crime lords who conduct their business after midnight. Gotham is tolerant like that. The store Tim approaches has flickering lights and an axe buried in its door, but it’s not like any other store will be much better.
A bell chimes as he enters, which makes Tim frown. As he moves down the aisles, filling his basket with cereal and vegetables and juice, it occurs to him that this might actually be the first time in his life that he’s set foot in a grocery store. At the Waynes, Alfred does the shopping, and when he moved into his own apartment, he usually relied on takeout. He’s not sure what to buy now, what normal households would put on their grocery list, but he’s smart. This can’t be that hard.
He is standing in line for the register when there’s a particularly loud howl nearby. Tim flinches and nearly drops the basket. This is fine, he reminds himself. They’re just people in wolf form. They won’t hurt him. Probably.
He pays and is already on his way out the door when something catches his eye. It’s a vending machine filled with bags holding blood of various blood types. He hesitates, then resolutely walks past it. Accepting the blood from Jason is bad enough, but at least then, he can justify it to himself as basically being coerced. Buying
his own is unacceptable.
The groceries are taken care of, so now all that’s left is obtaining clothes. Tim means to, he truly does, but then he steps out onto the street and something – no, someone – is growling nearby, and he just. He can’t. He’s going to order clothes online, whatever, if Jason doesn’t like having his address known to Amazon he can fucking deal. Tim is going home.
The truth, Tim reflects when, after having barely walked two blocks, a giant wolf steps out from behind a corner and growls at him, is that he never did stop being afraid of dogs.
He takes a step back, and another one. This isn’t one of the Waynes, at least. He’d recognise them anywhere. It’s not Jason, either, since this wolf, though black, has no white streaks anywhere on his fur.
Finally, Tim’s back hits the wall. The wolf is still advancing, and suddenly, he doesn’t feel so lucky anymore. His heart is hammering in his chest, which surely the wolf can hear. He’s heard stories about werewolves in Crime Alley. None of the stories were good.
“Hey,” he says, voice shaky, “do you want an eggplant? I have, like, three eggplants in my bag.”
The wolf doesn’t seem as though it wants an eggplant. It opens its mouth, revealing a set of sharp teeth. Maybe, Tim thinks, it won’t be so bad to get bitten. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He's already a vampire. It’s not like he can become a werewolf.
Suddenly, there’s a flash, and just like that, the wolf has been thrown against a building. Batman, Tim thinks, and then, Conner. But it’s neither. Instead of Batman, who might have gotten Oracle to stalk him, or Conner, who might have picked up on Tim’s increased heartbeat and flown over to check out the problem, it’s somebody else.
Tim wasn’t lying earlier when he claimed he could recognise the Waynes anywhere. Even though he is now busy fighting another wolf, he recognises Jason.
*
After the pit, Jason lost control over his shifts. He would shift uncontrollably, the slightest thing setting him off. With the pit fading from his mind, his control has returned. These days, the only time when he is at the mercy of his wolf is once a month, during full moon. Full moons used to be hard for Jason. They aren’t anymore, but he still remembers that awful helpless feeling, like the pit had returned, like he was reliving it all over again. Every full moon used to feel like an endless cycle of rage and fear, all the way until sunrise.
That’s long in the past. But that rage is still there, has never truly left. It’s always in the back of his mind, one nudge away.
Seeing Tim getting threatened by a strange wolf makes all that rage return with an intensity that would be frightening if it wasn’t so satisfying.
For a few, blissful seconds, his world is made up of teeth and claws and blood filling his mouth as he bites the wolf’s neck, a mockery of a submission bite. The wolf, not that easily subdued, roars, but then Jason bites down again, and the wolf goes limp. He’s still breathing, but only barely. Somebody else’s problem. For now, Jason has to check up on Tim.
He turns, and sees Tim still with his back against the wall, deathly pale. He still looks scared, even though the enemy is gone now. Is there someone else? Jason looks around, but can’t spot anyone. Still, he howls, a warning sent out into the moonlit night that this is his territory, his little brother, and if anybody wants to challenge that claim, Jason is going to destroy them. He turns back to Tim, satisfied, only to realise that Tim looks even more scared than before.
This would be easier if he could shift to human, Jason reflects. It’s hard to keep track of his thoughts like this, easier to just follow his instincts. And right now, his instincts demand that he go and check if Tim is okay.
“Woah,” Tim says as he approaches, “Jason? What, um, what are you doing? Look, I’m sorry that I went out tonight, okay?”
A growl escapes Jason at that, and Tim flinches. Immediately, Jason tries to look out for more enemies again, but once more, he finds nothing.
“Hey,” Tim is saying, “hey, hey, I’ll make it up to you, how does that sound? If you think about it, I even bought you groceries! You owe me!”
There are, indeed, groceries here, though Tim must have dropped the bag at some point, causing some of the food inside to spill out. Jason sniffs at it, huffs, and pushes his snout against Tim’s arm, trying to get him to move. When Tim doesn’t react, frozen stiff, Jason gently closes his teeth around the fabric of Tim’s jacket, using it to pull him forward.
“Oh my god, you want the jacket?” Tim asks, voice edging on hysterical. “I’m sorry I took it. Please don’t hurt me.”
It suddenly seems vital that Jason shift right this very second so he can shout at Tim instead of just growling. Especially because every growl makes Tim flinch in a way that not even the hardest hit he took during patrol ever did.
He leads Tim all the way back to his apartment, where he uses a combination of his larger mass and Tim’s fear making him compliant to manoeuvrer him onto the couch, before laying down on top of him. “Um,” comes Tim’s muffled voice from beneath him, “what is happening?”
Jason ignores him. It’s clear Tim is not going to contribute anything useful to the conversation, and also, he might try and leave again. Jason can’t let that happen. This way, he can both stop Tim from moving and also protect him from any threats, like another wolf or an explosion or a gunshot.
Safe-warm-sleep, the more animalistic part of his brain supplies, and Jason, who still won’t be able to shift back for a few more hours, has no intentions of going against it. He sleeps.
*
When Tim wakes up, he is no longer being suffocated by a gigantic wolf. He is now being suffocated by a gigantic man, who happens to be his brother, and who also happens to be drooling on him. “Get off, get off, get off,” Tim says, finally succeeding in pushing Jason off the couch. Jason yelps as he hits the ground, the force of the collision waking him, and he wastes no time in glaring at Tim.
“What was that for?”
“You were choking me,” Tim says primly. “I was saving myself.”
“By throwing me under the bus?”
“By throwing you off the couch,” Tim corrects. Jason scowls and starts to rummage in the kitchen cupboards until he’s found a bowl, which he puts on the counter before he rummages around in the fridge instead.
“Groceries,” he mutters under his breath. “I could swear you said something about groceries.”
That’s the annoying thing about shifters – sometimes, everything that seems perfectly clear in one form gets lost in translation when shifting to the other form. Tim has witnessed this happen countless times with Bruce and Dick, not so much during normal, controlled shifts, but almost always after the full moon.
Evidently, this means he is going to have to explain last night’s events to Jason.
Actually, Tim thinks, while Jason starts searching the freezer, who says that he does? Nothing happened. If Jason can’t remember, then there is no reason for Tim to bring it up. No reason at all.
“Oh my fucking god,” Jason says suddenly, dropping the whisk he’d just picked up, “you’re afraid of shifters.”
“What?” Tim asks, feigning ignorance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re afraid of shifters, and Bruce either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and you almost got eaten by a werewolf last night because you’re an idiot.”
“I,” Tim says, getting off the couch and pulling himself up to his full height, which admittedly does not mean much, “am not afraid of shifters.” He pauses. “I might be afraid of dogs.”
“You’re afraid of dogs,” Jason repeats flatly. “Let me guess, that extends to wolves, too?”
“Possibly,” Tim says defensively. “What’s it to you?”
“So let me get this straight. You’re afraid of wolves, and you moved in with a whole pack of them. You’re a vampire, and you moved in with the guy who hates vampires more than anything. And finally, you went out last night knowing that not only would said guy probably be out on the streets, in wolf form, but several hundred more wolves would also be out?”
Tim hesitates. “I was getting groceries,” he says weakly. “And clothes. But I didn’t get to that part, and I dropped my grocery bag.”
“I can’t do this,” Jason announces. “You’re literally killing me. There’s some money in the top drawer of that wardrobe behind you; you can take that. Do you need to borrow my jacket again?”
“Are you…kicking me out?” Tim asks, unsure. He should have expected this, he reasons. It’s frankly surprising that Jason let him stay as long as he did.
But Jason shakes his head. “Go out and get us some eggs. And milk. And flour. And whatever spread you want on your pancakes.”
“You’re making pancakes?”
“We are making pancakes,” Jason corrects. “I’m teaching you how to cook. And when we’re done with that, I’m teaching you how to knock out, kill, and skin a wolf.”
Tim considers pointing out that he doesn’t think Jason’s a great cook either, before realizing that that’s an insane thing to focus on. “I don’t want to know how to kill a wolf, or, or any of that other stuff,” he says, crossing his arms. “Why would you teach me that? What’s wrong with you?”
“Look,” Jason says, in a reasonable tone of voice that makes Tim’s eye twitch, “all the parenting books-“
“All the what-“
“-say that it’s important to teach kids stuff. So, there. I’m teaching you. You’re fucking welcome.”
Tim stares at Jason. Jason stares back. Eventually, Tim is the one to look away first, dropping his gaze and getting the money from the drawer. He buys eggs, and milk, and flour, and strawberry jam and also a jar of Nutella. When he returns with it, Jason lectures him on cavities before presenting Tim with another bag of blood that Tim has to drink in front of Jason’s watchful eyes. It’s supremely weird.
It is also, he reflects, somewhat nice, having somebody care whether he eats and brushes his teeth and goes out alone at night. Tim’s never had somebody care like that before. He thinks he could almost get used to it.
*
“Replacement? I got some reports the other day. Kid might be in Canada, going on a solo mission.”
*
“You’re saying he isn’t with the Teen Titans? Well, how should I know? Do you think I talk to him?”
*
“It’s not my fault that you can’t track him. Besides, I heard that even Daddybat’s high-quality trackers break after being submersed in water for long periods of time.”
*
“Dick, seriously, stop calling,” Jason says. He’s in the middle of making pierogi with Tim, which means his hands are dirty, which means he had to answer the call using his nose, which was the only reasonable choice and if Tim doesn’t stop laughing, he’s going to regret it.
“Tim has been missing for three weeks,” Dick says, tinny voice echoing through the kitchen since Jason put him on speakerphone. “The only reason Bruce hasn’t flown off the handle yet is because-“
“He hasn’t noticed?” Jason guesses.
Silence on the other end of the line. “He’s been busy,” Dick says at last, sounding defensive. “And also in space. But he got back yesterday, and it’s going to be hard keeping this from him.”
“Call the police, then,” Jason advises. “Or, you know, investigate. I really don’t understand why you’re bothering me with this.” He glances at Tim, checking if his little brother is showing any signs of being upset by this conversation, but Tim diligently continues folding pierogi. He’s getting better at it.
“I did investigate,” Dick says, a strange edge creeping into his tone. “And you know what I found, Jason?”
This feels like a trap.
This feels like a trap, Tim mouths at him, making a sharp cut-throat motion with one hand and flinging dough in Jason’s face in the process.
“This feels like a trap,” Jason says out loud.
“Does it?” Dick asks pleasantly. “Why would you think that? Oh hey, are you guys making pierogi?”
Jason goes for his gun, only to remember that he left it on the dresser by the window. The window Dick just came through and, hey, he found the gun. He pokes at it, then takes the bullets out and lets them shatter to the floor before pointing an accusing finger at Jason.
“I knew you were lying. I knew it. And you-“ He turns to Tim, who appears to be frozen to the spot, face white. “How could you? Do you know how worried I was? I thought you were dead, and you’re just here cooking?”
“I’m-“ Tim starts, and Jason just knows he’s about to apologise.
“I kidnapped him,” he interrupts, subtly angling his body so that he’s standing in front of Tim, acting as a barrier between him and Dick. “I broke into his apartment and dragged him here and now I’m forcing him to cook for me. I think child labour is okay if it’s Tim.”
Behind him, he can feel Tim nodding rapidly against his back. “Yeah,” Tim says, apparently deciding to roll with it. “I’m being held against my will and, um, beaten. Jason beats me every day.”
“Nothing like a nice round with the belt to build character,” Jason agrees.
Dick looks horrified, but only for a moment. As quick as it’d arrived, the horror leaves his face, giving way to anger. And then, lightning-fast, his face isn’t showing emotion at all anymore, because he’s shifted. Suddenly, Jason is no longer facing his idiot brother, but a very big, very angry wolf.
Jason snarls, ready to shift as well, but then, he hears a hitched breath behind him.
Tim.
Who is afraid of dogs.
Change of plans, then.
Jason shoves Tim down and, when Dick jumps, grabs a knife off the counter and plunges it into one of Dick’s massive legs. Dick howls, shifts back, and, holding his bleeding thigh, says, “You stabbed me, what the hell?”
“Shift again in my apartment and I’ll do a lot more than that,” Jason informs him amiably. “Now-“
“Jason is helping me,” Tim says loudly, talking over them both. Jason moves in front of him again, but Tim isn’t having it this time, neatly sidestepping him and shoving an elbow into his side when Jason doesn’t immediately move away. “Stop fighting about it.”
Dick tilts his head, his suspicion obvious. “Helping you with what?”
“With-“ Tim hesitates. Jason can practically see the cogs turning in his head. By the time he’s apparently reached a conclusion, he’s scowling. “With my fear of dogs,” Tim finishes. He’s glaring at Jason, though Jason isn’t sure why. It’s not like it’s his fault that Dick broke into his apartment and forced Jason to stab him.
“You don’t have a fear of dogs, don’t be ridiculous. See?” Dick stops putting pressure on his wound in order to shift again. The wolf walks up to Tim and experimentally licks his hand. Tim flinches back.
“Stop that,” Jason orders. Then, because Tim, despite his fear, is still managing to look at him with an expectant and, frankly, impatient expression, he sighs. “You’re undoing all of my hard work with this. I’m, you know. Desensitising him.”
“Desensitising him.”
“Yep. So that he’s…”
“More comfortable around you and the others,” Tim finishes. He sounds so earnest that it weirds Jason out. Where did he learn to lie like that? “I didn’t mean to keep this from you, Dick, I swear.” Tim bites his lip and looks to his feet, the picture of guilt. Of course Dick can’t resist such an obvious opportunity to hug, and, therefore, he doesn’t even try. Within moments, he’s wrapped Tim in a hug tight enough that Jason winces in sympathy as he sees Tim struggle.
“I forgive you,” Dick says, like an idiot. “Don’t worry about it even a little bit. It must’ve been so hard carrying that secret all by yourself. Next thing you’ll be telling me that you’re a shifter yourself.” Dick laughs fondly. After a second, Jason and Tim, sharing a look, awkwardly join in, their laugh sounding, to Jason’s ears, much less sincere.
Later, Jason extracts a promise from Dick not to tell Bruce. Dick agrees, although he also points out that this means he’s going to have to think of a cover story for why Tim is gone, and that’s a responsibility nobody should leave him with. Jason agrees, but it’s not like he wants to think of a cover story himself, so he just pats Dick on the head and tells him he’ll do a terrible job but Tim loves him anyway.
“And you?” Dick asks, already on his way out the door.
Jason sighs. “Get out,” he says, but kindly, so that Dick can fill in the blanks. Presumably he does, since he’s beaming when he finally leaves.
“Wow,” Tim says as soon as the door closes. “That was a shitshow.”
“Don’t use that word,” Jason says, and goes back to showing Tim how to make pierogi. It was a shitshow, he thinks. But at the end of the day, it’s not his lie, it’s Tim’s, and therefore Tim’s problem.
Who is he kidding? It’s definitely Jason’s problem. But that’s for Future-Jason to figure out. Present Day-Jason is going to teach Tim how to cook.
*
Tim knows, technically, that he can’t avoid his family forever. They aren’t like his parents, they aren’t going to forget about him as soon as he’s out of sight. Especially Bruce. Damian might be happy that he’s gone, and Dick might have been satisfied with the half-truth they fed him, but the only reason he got away with this whole thing as long as he did is because Bruce was gone.
Any day now, he’s going to have to return to Wayne Manor. Or, well, he’s moved out of the manor ages ago, so it’s not like anyone expects him to join family breakfast, but he definitely has to return to the Cave. No matter how little he interacts with everyone during daytime, he’s still Red Robin during the night. Now that Bruce is back in Gotham, Batman is going to wonder why Red Robin is shirking his patrol duties.
Tim doesn’t even have a good reason, exactly. When Jason first found him, he’d been too weak, so skipping patrol had only made sense. But he has long since recovered, and now that Dick knows where he is, there is no excuse not to take up his vigilante duties again.
So why does just the thought of getting back into costume make Tim’s throat close up?
Well.
Tim has always been good at riddles. And he’s solved this one weeks ago, even if he doesn’t want to admit to it.
The key difference, he thinks, is that before Bruce went off-planet for a mission, nobody in the world knew that he was a vampire. He was going to keep it a secret as long as he could, ideally forever. But now Jason knows, and Roy knows, and Jason’s arms dealer knows, and at this rate, more people are going to find out.
Tim knows, he just knows, that as soon as he sees Bruce, the jig will be up.
So he stays in Jason’s apartment, sleeps in Jason’s spare bed, eats Jason’s food, and lets Jason’s arms dealer talk to him about hunting safely.
“It’s messy at first, but you’ll get the hang of it,” the arms dealer advises. They’re sitting at Jason’s kitchen table, technically just the two of them, but any illusions of privacy are ruined because Jason is lying on the couch in the living room and staring at them through the door, openly eavesdropping. “I was told you want to feed with minimal harm and no fatalities, but you’ll get over that quickly. I can show you how to kill someone with one bite, if you like.”
“Um,” Tim says. “No, thank you.”
The arms dealer shrugs. “Suit yourself. In that case, we’re about done here. Wait, I almost forgot – here you go.” He drops something on the table, and Tim frowns at it.
“You’re giving me a gun?”
“Special discount,” the arms dealer says and winks, but Jason has already crossed the room in two large steps and snatched the glock away.
“I said no guns for my little brother until he’s eighteen,” he snaps.
The arms dealer holds up both hands in a placating gesture. “My bad, my bad.”
Jason says something else, but Tim is no longer listening, barely even notices the arms dealer leaving the apartment and Jason muttering something to himself, because all he can think is that Jason just called him his brother, and he-
Until he’s eighteen.
If Jason thinks Tim might get a gun from his arms dealer in a little under a year, does this mean he expects Tim to stick around for that long?
“Can you believe that guy?” Jason asks, interrupting Tim’s thoughts but not erasing them. “Anyway, I was thinking that next week, we can go out together. I’ll hold someone down for you and you can try your hands at a non-lethal bite. What do you say?”
“Am I staying with you?” Tim blurts out.
Jason cocks his head. “I mean, yeah?”
“No, like, permanently. Am I staying with you permanently?”
“I mean,” Jason repeats, “yeah.”
“But-“
“If you’re going to say that Bruce can take better care of you, try again. Historically, he’s proven that he really can’t.”
Tim lowers his eyes. “I was going to say that I’m emancipated. I don’t need anyone taking care of me, I can do it myself.”
Jason actually laughs at that, quick and sharp but, Tim thinks, not as derisive as it could have been. “Of course you think that, you’re seventeen. Well, I’ve seen how you ‘take care of yourself’, and I wasn’t impressed, so you’re stuck with me now. Tough luck.”
Tim opens his mouth to protest, but no sound comes out. Maybe because what Jason said is so ludicrous that all reasonable arguments fall flat in the face of the sheer insanity of it. Or maybe because he can’t help but wonder what will happen if he somehow manages to win this fight. If Jason agrees to let him go, what then? There’s nothing waiting for him after this. This might be quite literally his last chance.
It's that thought that finally prompts him into action. Jason has shown him nothing but kindness, in his own weird way, and he’s apparently offering to let Tim move in with him on a permanent basis, and the thing is that Tim’s already done this twice before and it never ended well, so he feels like he should be honest with Jason about this upfront. Being honest is better than tricking him into making a decision like this now and withdrawing his offer later.
“I’m-“ Tim stops, swallows, tries again. “I can be difficult to live with.”
Jason frowns. “What, you’re only realising this now? Of course you’re difficult to live with. There’s a reason most people put teenagers up for adoption when they hit puberty. You guys suck.”
Where is Jason getting this info from, a part of Tim’s mind wonders hysterically, but he can’t get distracted. Not now. “Not because of puberty. I meant-“ He stops again. It sounds crazy to say it out loud. What’s he going to tell Jason, that his parents spent all their time away because they didn’t like him? That Tim got emancipated while Bruce was dead and that in the several months since Bruce’s return, Bruce doesn’t even seem to have noticed that he’s moved out of the manor?
“I just don’t want you to regret this,” he finishes lamely.
Jason flicks his face. “Spare me the teenage angst. You’re staying, and I’m not going to change my mind. Next thing you’ll tell me that everyone hates you and thinks you’re fat.”
Everyone does hate me, Tim thinks instinctively, but even he realises that that’s not rational. They don’t hate him, or at least nobody except Damian does, he’s pretty sure. They all just have other things to worry about. It’s cool. He can deal with it.
“Want to go to the roof with me and practice shooting cans?” Jason asks. “I’ll show you how.”
Tim considers this. Batman would hate him so much as even touching a gun. But Batman isn’t here. Jason is.
“Yeah,” he says, “okay. Let’s go shoot cans.”
*
Having someone around all the time is weirdly nice. Jason doesn’t think he wants kids, not exactly, and he definitely doesn’t want to move back in with Bruce, but…maybe a dog, some day. He’s reasonably sure he could take care of one. He’s managed to take care of Tim for these past few weeks, hasn’t he?
He’s found that he likes coming home and knowing that Tim is just going to be there, lying on the couch with his eyes glued to the phone because Tim is the worst kind of teenager, and he likes going grocery shopping with someone by his side who tries to quote articles at him about how vegetables aren’t even really that necessary to the human body – an argument Tim quickly regretted when Jason agreed with him and bought even more blood bags for him.
Of course, he thinks, a dog wouldn’t be quite so fucking annoying.
“My friends are coming over,” Tim tells him when Jason comes in carrying grocery bags. He says it confidently, informing him instead of asking, and Jason can’t help but think this is an improvement. Ever since he confirmed that Tim was staying with him, Tim has been more sure of himself around the apartment. It’s also made him a much worse roommate, but Jason will take it.
Jason opens the fridge and, while he’s reorganising the shelves to make room for more food, asks, “Which friends?”
“Just some friends, Jason, God,” Tim says, stands, walks into his room, and slams the door. Twice.
Jason considers this, then shrugs to himself. Whatever. If Tim wants to throw a tantrum to hide that he's clearly keeping something from him, Jason is not going to stop him. Besides, somebody has to open the front door when the bell rings, and now that Tim is hiding in his room, Jason is the only other option. He can just sit back and wait.
Two hours later, he’s still waiting. There’s a lasagne sitting in the oven, he has once more failed at getting the blood stains out of the sofa, and still nobody has rung the bell. Tim hasn’t returned yet, either, which makes Jason frown. Maybe his friends bailed on him, and he’s sulking. Actually, didn’t Tim also deflect the last time Jason suggested he invite friends over? Maybe Tim isn’t as friendly with the Titans as everybody believes.
Either way, Jason is happy to let him sulk for a bit longer yet, but he can at least go to tell him that there’s dinner if he wants it. Except when he enters the hallway, there’s faint laughter coming from Tim’s room, followed by what is definitely more than one voice.
Jason is going to kill Tim.
When he kicks down the door, the two teenage boys sitting on the bed flinch. Jason uses the moment of shock to take in the scene before him. Tim and Superboy are sitting on Tim’s bed – fully clothed, a laptop before them, apparently watching…some action movie? God, Tim has the worst taste. In movies and in guys, apparently.
“Alright, who wants to explain what’s going on here?” Jason asks pleasantly.
Superboy still looks apprehensive, but Tim has recovered and already gone from shocked to defensive. “We’re watching a movie.” The duh goes unspoken, but Jason hears it anyway, loud and clear.
“With someone you sneaked in,” Jason says.
Tim crosses his arms. “I told you I was inviting friends over.”
“Only one friend, apparently.”
“Tim-“ Superboy starts, but Tim elbows him. This must hurt him more than it hurts Superboy, going by his wince that he quickly tries to hide.
“No, shut up, I’m handling it. Jason-“
“Leave,” Jason says to Superboy, tone still perfectly pleasant. Superboy hesitates and, infuriatingly, waits for Tim’s nod before he leaves – through the window, because of course he does, because Tim apparently decided that the front door wasn’t good enough for him.
“Jason,” Tim says again, expression earnest. Jason has no doubt that he already has the perfect explanation prepared, coupled with a flawless apology.
If he wants to listen to that kind of bullshit, he can always accompany Bruce to another gala. “Cut the crap,” he says, and Tim falls silent. “Now, you’re going to listen. I think I’m pretty fucking lenient with you. You don’t want to go to school, fine. You don’t want to call Bruce, okay. You want to play solitaire all day instead of going on patrol, that’s okay, too. You can quite literally do whatever the hell you want. And even in the bizarre case that you somehow thought that you couldn’t, there’s still the fact that I already told you that you could invite your friends. So which part about this made you think that you had to sneak someone in?”
Tim’s swallow is audible even from where Jason is standing. His face is pale. “I-“
“What? Embarrassed to be living with the Red Hood? Didn’t want to tell your boyfriend that you’re living with a murderer?”
“No! I-“
“Or maybe you didn’t want me to tell him you’re a vampire, is that it? Do you trust me so little?”
Tim hesitates, and somehow, that makes Jason even angrier. The pit rage hasn’t been back in a while, but he can still feel it running through his veins. He forces himself to take deep breaths. He can’t explode on Tim. He can’t.
Tim lowers his eyes. “It’s not that. I just- I didn’t want you to know I’m gay.”
Jason whistles, low and sharp. Just like that, his anger has dissipated, replaced by surprise. “So you don’t want people to know you’re a vampire, you don’t want them to know you’re afraid of shifters, and you don’t want them to know you’re gay. I have to say, that’s a lot of secrets for one scrawny seventeen-year-old.”
Tim swallows again. He’s fidgeting with the blanket, and the action movie is still playing in the background, and Jason suddenly thinks that Tim hasn’t looked this scared since he was about to be chewed to pieces by a wolf.
“I’m sorry,” Tim says quietly, and that, too, surprises Jason. “I shouldn’t have deceived you. It’s just that you were being so nice, and I really wanted to see Conner but if I go to the Tower then Batman will know immediately, and I know you told me I could invite people over, but you didn’t specify, and so I wasn’t sure, and I just. I really didn’t want you to kick me out.”
“Tim,” Jason says, and at that, Tim finally looks at him. “I’m not going to change my mind. I told you that. Doesn’t matter what you do, who you sleep with, who you kill in a crazy revenge-scheme. I went through all that trouble of building your wardrobe, I’m not going to have that go to waste.”
Tim frowns, and at first, Jason thinks he’s going to insist on, what, being kicked out? He barely knows what goes on in Tim’s head on a good day. But then all Tim says is, “Yeah, about that – I’ve been meaning to tell you. That wardrobe broke down, like, immediately. It’s cool, though, I ordered a new one from Ikea and assembled it when you were on patrol one time.” And before Jason can get over the betrayal of that, Tim adds, “So, if we’re cool again now, can you leave so I can ask Conner to come back?”
“Absolutely not,” Jason says immediately. “That kid is banned from my house for at least a month. If you try to sneak him in again, I’ll borrow some of Bruce’s kryptonite.”
Tim slumps. He’ll get over it, Jason thinks. Either that, or he’ll have come up with something new within a day. Jason approves. A bit of teenage rebellion will do Tim a world of good, even if it does mean that Jason has to rework his entire security system just to show Tim that he’s still boss. If Tim can figure out how to smuggle Superboy in through kryptonite-laced walls, good for him, he’ll have learned something new. If he can’t, that’s a lesson in itself.
For now, Jason forcefully shoves Tim to the left side of the bed and joins him there, angling the laptop on his lap. “What are we watching?”
“Fast and Furious,” Tim says, perking up. “Do you think they do street racing in Gotham? I think I’d be really good at it.”
Jason is not going to unpack that, so he just lets the movie play on. When Tim finally falls asleep on his shoulder, apparently able to sleep through the sounds of cars crashing and explosions, Jason pulls out his phone, takes a selfie and forwards it to Dick. Maybe Dick wants to join movie night some time.
*
Tim knew he wasn’t going to be able to stay away from Bruce forever. He knew that now that so many people know about the vampire thing, it was only a matter of time before Batman knew, too. And after more than a month of hiding in Jason’s apartment, it seems the game is finally up.
If pressed, he might have theorised that it would happen on patrol. He’d lose control, maybe, at the smell of blood, or the rest of his powers would grow in and he’d move too fast, be too strong, and Bruce would look at him and know.
But he never expected it to happen like this – with Batman breaking into their apartment and holding a stake to Jason’s heart before anyone can move.
Jason freezes, because who wouldn’t freeze when Batman is pointing a sharp object at them, and Tim freezes, too, because what the hell.
“What the hell, B,” Jason yells. “Have you lost it?”
“Jason,” Batman growls, low and furious. “You lied to me.”
“Yeah, like, all the time,” Jason says, starting to sound angry, too, “but normally you don’t try to kill me for it, Jesus.”
Batman shakes him then, hard, and moves the sharp tip of the stake from Jason’s heart to his throat. “I’ve seen the footage. You’ve been hunting. Leaving your victims drained of blood.”
The realisation hits Tim then, way too late, but with enough force to leave him nauseous. Jason has been hunting for him for weeks now. Neither of them considered how it must look to an outsider. To Bruce.
Jason must have realised it too, because he spits in Bruce’s face and snaps, “So what?”
“So what?” Batman repeats, horror seeping into his voice. “Are you that far gone that you don’t even care what you’ve done? What you are?” He hesitates, just a split second, and when he next speaks, he almost sounds like he’s comforting Jason. “You’re a born shifter. Turning into- into something like this – must’ve been a shock. But I can help you, Jason. I’m giving you a choice. There are places that-“
Jason, who has been unsuccessfully struggling to free himself of Bruce’s grip for the past few seconds, stops, staring at Batman. “You want to send me to vampire conversion camp? Are you serious?”
“That,” Batman says calmly, “or I defang you right here, right now, before you’re sent to Arkham. What’s it going to be?”
Tim can’t watch this any longer. So far, neither Bruce nor Jason have paid much attention to him – Bruce because he’s dismissed Tim as harmless, Jason because he’s trying to protect Tim, like he has been doing for all this time. Still trying to protect him even now, even when it means Arkham.
Tim can’t be responsible for that.
“Let him go,” he says.
Bruce doesn’t even bother turning around. “Leave, Tim,” he says. “Now’s not the time. We will talk about your disappearance act later.”
“Leave,” Jason repeats, more forcefully. “This isn’t your battle.” He locks eyes with Tim, looking determined.
Tim ignores both of them. “Let him go,” he demands again. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“He’s a vampire,” Batman growls, except he doesn’t say it like Jason says vampire. He says it like he means monster.
Tim takes a deep breath. This is what he’s been afraid of. But suddenly, with Jason being threatened to be staked through the heart only metres away because of him, it’s easy.
“He’s not,” he says. “I am.”
*
Batman being shocked into silence is precisely what Jason needed to free himself, so he does, tackling him to the ground and knocking away the stake. He still cannot believe Batman got an actual fucking stake, what the fuck.
Unsurprisingly, Batman does not stay down for long. Jason takes several hard hits, one strong enough to shatter a rib, but it’s okay, because he gets in some good punches, too, and Batman groaning in pain sounds sweeter than music.
“Get off him,” Tim yells, like an idiot, because it’s not like Batman really wants to take down Jason, he just wants to get an obstacle out of the way before he can get to Tim.
Jason really does not want to find out what happens if Batman gets to Tim.
“Jason, stop protecting him,” Batman orders. “He’s dangerous.”
Jason almost laughs at that, because Tim is dangerous, yes, but that’s because of his training, the same training they all went through. He’s useless as a vampire. Really, really useless. “Fuck off,” he says instead, and he would have said more if Batman hadn’t chosen that moment to get in a really good hit, one that knocks Jason’s head to the ground and makes his vision go black for a moment. Concussion, his mind sluggishly supplies, goddamnit, why now-
He barely notices Batman releasing him as he gets up. Jason tries to get up, too, and even succeeds, though his legs are shaking so much that they’re barely holding him up.
Batman is approaching Tim, and Tim can’t do anything about it, can’t-
Tim is holding a stake.
What?
“Tim,” Batman says, “be reasonable. You know what your kind can do. What your kind has done. You need to be stopped. So I’m giving you the same options I’ve given Jason.”
Tim raises the stake…and holds it out to Batman.
No, Jason thinks. No.
Batman stares at it, bewildered, and Tim, without lowering his arm, says, “Go on then. Take this. Kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Why not? You clearly think I don’t deserve to live. So I’m giving you two options, too. Either you kill me right now, or you go and leave me the hell alone.”
Batman still does not accept the stake, and when Tim pushes it into his arms, he lets it drop to the floor. “I don’t kill. You know that.”
“Well then,” Tim says, “then this should be easy for you. Because I’m not going to back down. I’m not going to Arkham, I’m not going to a place that tries to exorcise me, and if you try to pull my fangs out, I’m going to cut off your hand.”
Batman doesn’t appear to have heard him. He is still staring at the stake, lying abandoned by his feet.
Thinking hurts and moving hurts even more, but somehow, Jason manages to walk towards Tim. Tim puts an arm around his waist immediately, steadying him, which is ridiculous, because if anything, Jason is the one who should steady him. He should protect Tim, not the other way around.
And yet it’s Tim who’s standing tall right now, and it’s Tim who watches with cold eyes as Batman, looking dazed, leaves without another word.
The threat gone, Jason finally collapses. Tim catches him before he can hit the ground, and together, they make the awkward and slow walk back to the sofa. “He will be back,” Jason manages to slur.
“Yeah,” Tim agrees. “But that’s a problem for later. Hey, don’t fall asleep, okay?”
Jason tries his best. As they sit together, waiting out his concussion for what feels like an eternity, he says, “Nice job.”
Tim knocks their shoulders together companionably and says: “I learned from the best.”
*
Ten months later
“It’s Tim’s birthday tomorrow.” Dick finishes the smiley face made of mushrooms that he’s been crafting on his half of the pizza they’re preparing, and now attempts to make a face on Jason’s half, too.
Jason bats his hands away and hums noncommittally. He knows it’s Tim’s birthday. It’s why they’re only making one pizza and not two, and why there’re two bottles of beer sitting on the counter.
“So, he’ll be eighteen,” Dick says.
Jason hums again.
Dick flicks a mushroom at him. “So, what’s the plan?”
“There is no plan,” Jason says. “It’s not like he has a school to drop out of.”
“No, but he could move out,” Dick says. His tone is casual, but his smile is tight, worried. “Is he going to?”
Jason takes a moment to consider it – Tim moving out, getting his own apartment again, ignoring calls and eventually getting killed somewhere without them ever noticing.
No.
That’s never going to happen. Jason is here to keep an eye on him now. Even if Tim does move out eventually.
“Tim’s staying,” he tells his brother. “Why, do you think he should get his own place? Be independent like you?”
Dick’s smile, somehow, becomes even more strained. “Not at all,” he says. “The opposite, actually. I think he’s been doing really well lately. I was actually asking because-“
“Spit it out,” Jason says when Dick stops.
Dick hesitates, which is uncharacteristic. “I just wanted to ask if you’ve got a spare room,” he asks quietly.
Jason’s eyebrows shoot up at that. He can think of a hundred questions to ask, a thousand things to say, a numerous number of objections.
But he thinks of Dick’s strained smile, and then he thinks of Tim, who’s spending the evening before his birthday with his friends, who hasn’t talked to Bruce in almost a year, who must surely wonder if, now that the secret is out, Dick, too, doesn’t want to be in touch anymore.
He says, “There’s no spare room. But we can always get a bigger apartment.”