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ditzyredrobin · 7 months ago

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Life, Love, and Assassin’s

I can’t begin to express how happy and full my heart is from the response to my last fic. So much so that I wrote my longest fic to date.

Thank you so much everyone and I hope you enjoy this one just as much as I have. 💜

Here another prompt from my BTH Bingo card.

Prompt: Don’t You Dare Pity Me

“Don’t you dare pity me,” Jason snarls, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I don’t want to hear it from Dick or Bruce and I certainly don’t want to hear it from you, replacement.”

He’s never seen Jason like this before, not in this state of barely holding himself together, eyes glassy as he tries to fight back tears.

The Joker is intense (even for him), but they did their best to keep he and Jason apart. Truthfully, he’s not sure he has ever caught the aftermath of one of their run-in’s. Jason was normally gone by the time the sitch was handled, off to do whatever one does after coming face to face with your murderer when you couldn’t kill them yourself.

This time had been different. Tim had seen the hit, seen him go down, and struggled to get up. Until he knew he was okay, he wasn’t going to leave. Or, well, didn’t want to leave.

Tracking Jason down had been fairly easy, for him, at least. At this point he had the majority of his sibling’s safe houses mapped out all across Gotham as a precautionary measure. (The few he didn’t have figured out yet, he was working on.)

There had been two about equidistant from the scene, making it essentially a coin of toss as to which he would have gone to.

Apparently luck was on his side because he got it on the first go.

Well, really, depending on Jason’s reaction, he was either extremely lucky or he’d just won himself an all expenses paid trip to pound town. Knowing Jason, either was equally as likely.

When he slipped in, the blinds were drawn leaving a sliver of light from the street lights peaking between the blinds. His eyes were decent enough in the dark due to his extracurriculars, but her still had to squint. Jason was slumped over the couch, with his helmet and holsters on the coffee table, holding an instant to his shoulder.

Tim arches a brow sticking close to the window he’d come in through. Not close enough to make Jason feel cornered in his compromised state, but enough so it was easy to flee, if needed. “Who says I was going to give you it? Because it wasn’t.”

Jason snorts, his face blotchy and red and his breath hasn’t quite evened out yet. “You know I literally died, right? Beat with a crow bar, blown to high heaven, and all shit.”

“So?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘so’?”

Tim shrugged nonchalantly, trying to pretend like his heart was thundering in his chest. If he didn’t play his cards right, this could all go to hell in an instant. “Death is practically a right of passage, just because you died first doesn’t make you special. Steph died too and you don’t hear her complain about it.”

“Dude,” Jason says, deadpan. “She literally fucking brought it up yesterday. You were in the room.”

Tim frowned, “Are you sure? I’m pretty sure I would remember my ex-girlfriend bringing up one of the most significant, life altering, earth shattering events of my life for the lolz.”

“Well, you better build a bridge and get over it because it happened.”

“You must be mistaken because that’s not something Stephanie would do.” (It was absolutely something Stephanie would do.)

“Are you implying I just made up the whole conversation to troll you?” Jason’s voice is starting to lose that brittle edge, dissipating into exasperation.

“No, what I’m trying to say is you’re wrong.” Tim says, shifting on the balls of his feet. “To be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time. Have you had any neuro cognitive testing done recently? Maybe the brain trauma is finally catching up to you ?”

He’s not sure if Jason is going to blow a fuse, laugh, or punch him in the face. “You are not you trying to fucking gaslight me in my own home. ”

Okay, so, maybe it’s option D: All of the above.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Jason asks incredulously. “What I think is you’re a little shit.”

Tim shrugs, “I’m rubber, you’re glue~”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You’re such a dick, you know that?”

“It’s maybe been mentioned once or twice. All I’m saying is dying doesn’t give you special privileges which includes my pity. I won’t give it to Dick, why would I give it to you?”

“Dude, that should get me all of the special privileges. Dying isn’t exactly easy you know and then in a dip in the Pit.”

“Who is this family member who hasn't died in one way or another? Name one.” Tim replies easily. “Again, dying is practically a right of passage at this point. It doesn’t make you special.”

Jason, Steph, Dick, Damian, Bruce, the list goes on. He had lived through them all, grieved them all but he wouldn’t tell Jason that.

“You.” Jason says simply, not even taking a moment to think over his answer. “You are one of the only family members who hasn’t died.”

Not exactly the only one but he wouldn’t correct it. Plus, he had almost died after being stabbed by The Widower. That should count for something.

“That’s because I’m built different.” Tim says easily, earning a scoff from Jason. “Ra’s has my pickled spleen on a shelf somewhere so I think that earns me vigilante points.”

Jason makes a sound like a game show buzzer, “Wrong answer. You earn zero points, trying again next time.”

Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “He wants to make me the heir to the League.” He argues, deadpan. “As in the League of Assassins.”

Jason shrugs, leaning back into the sofa, some of the tension finally draining from his shoulders. He drops the ice pack into his lap. His eyes look more aware of his surroundings and Tim, less distant than when he’d first come in. “Been there, done that, and they didn’t even give me a T-shirt.”

“My spleen, Jason.”

“At least they didn’t take you for a swim because let me tell you, that shit fucking sucks.”

He thinks back on the moment he’d woken up in The Cradle, sore from his splenectomy, the fear that he’d been given an involuntary swim himself. It was a surprise that Ra’s hadn’t taken advantage of him considering all of the pining.

Then again, he’d also kicked Tim out a high rise window, so….

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

He wouldn’t tell Jason about the shadows Ra’s sent after him periodically as a reminder of what (in Ra’s’ mind) was to come.

He had it handled. If he needed help, he would ask but he didn’t need it. For right that was his little secret, he had it taken care of.

This secret would, perhaps, be his forever (Bruce would lose his shit he found out—it had been a near enough thing when Tim had finally come out about the whole losing his spleen thing). That’s what he hoped for at least.

Jason’s amusement quickly dissipated as he gives a more serious expression, “What’s wrong? You’re giving me that look again.”

Tim frowned, “What look? I’m not giving you a look.” He tells him with as much assurance as he can muster with his stomach suddenly tying itself in knots.

“Uh, yeah, you are.” Jason tuts. “It’s that blank one where you’re looking through me instead of at me. You might be able to hide it from Dickhead and Daddy Bats, but you know better with me.”

Shit.

Tim waves him off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You know what fine stands for right? Fucked up, insecure-“

“Fine, I’m not fine, I’m okay.”

I’ve got it handled.

Jason stares at him for a long moment with scrutinizing expression. “You tell me or I’ll go to Bruce, your choice.”

“You don’t need to go to Bruce, I’ve got it covered—you don’t need my sympathy and I don’t need help.” Tim stresses.

He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to get anyone else involved—this was between he and the League.

“So, you admit that weird fuck is doing something.”

“I didn’t say that, Jason, I’m-“

“You say it again and I swear-” Jason warns.

“-okay.” Tim finishes. “I’m okay.”

He was…ish. Once he got Ra’s off his tail would be, he had to build a plan things would be fine. Luckily, he was an excellent tactician even if his intelligence rivaled his. He suspected it wasn’t going to be that easy but he wasn’t used to easy.

Nothing about being a vigilante was easy.

Jason rolls his neck, attempting to sit up straight again with a wince. Even sitting, Jason was built like a tank, stronger and bulkier than he was (even without the padding in his suit).

And it seems like his time had officially run out. Tim takes a hesitant step towards the window, his hand creeping towards his bo staff. He may be out of arms length, but not leaping range. His body wasn’t the best in the small apartment but it would at least buy him enough time to holding Jason off and run.

The weight of it in his hand also brought him a sense of security, if he had his bo, he was safe.

But, to his surprise, Jason doesn’t pursue him. He doesn’t move up from the couch or reach for his hand guns as expected. What he does is more threatening.

All while staring him down, Jason reaches into his pocket and pulls out his comm. His heart comes to a dead haunt, eyes widening. “You don’t want to tell me, I’m serious about going to Bruce. I’m not going to let you get yourself killed because you’re too proud to ask for him.”

Tim swallows hard, “You can’t tell him.”

Jason lifts one brow, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell Daddy Bat’s and I’ll think about it.”

Because it’s my fight.

Because it’s my fault.

Because I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.

“I just…I can’t. It’s not pride, it's just my own issue.” Not yours.

Obviously not an acceptable enough answer because Jason places it in his ear and presses the receiver to activate it. “This is your final warning—fess up or I’ll sick Dickie on you.”

Now that was a threat he knew Jason would make good on.

When did this conversation go from Jason’s issues to his own?

Tim was caught between wanting to puke and wanting to scream. On one hand, getting Jason involved might help, on the other Ra’s may take it as a sign to up the ante. This was between them.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Tim concedes softly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what will happen if he knows someone else is involved.”

“If anyone should get involved, it should be me. I think you underestimate my ability to take care of myself.” Jason says seriously. “Plus I’ve got a bone to pick with those bastards.”

He can’t look at Jason, so he stares at the wall just above his head, not focusing on anything in particular. He lets his vision go blurry. “I have it handled, seriously.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “You said that already. Try again. What has he done to you?”

It takes everything in Tim not to fidget under the intensity of Jason’s gaze. “He-“his voice cracks and he winces, clearing his throat. “He’s sent shadows after me…multiple times.”

Jason’s expression is hard to read, but for a second he imagines he can see a flash of something like disappointment in his eye. “I take it it’s been more than once?”

There’s a pang of guilt in his chest. “Yes.”

There’s something about disappointing Jason that sends a cold wash of shame over him. While he’s alway been Dick’s number one fan, Jason was the Robin he had followed the longest through the streets of Gotham.

He’s the one that taught him to be brave in the face of fears and when he had died, his grief for the dead Robin was insurmountable, washing over him in waves for days.

Forcing Bruce’s hand and taking on the mantle of Robin wasn’t an easy decision. Some days the full force of his grief was almost unbearable, to the point where he didn’t want to run the gauntlet anymore. He wanted to was no Jason—he was just that, a replacement.

But, in those moments, he remembered Jason’s courage and bravery. He remembered how deeply Jason had cared for this city and civilians, and pushed himself.

Jason was his idol and letting him down…it hurt.

“You’re giving me that look again,” Jason sighed. “I’m not mad—okay, well, actually, I’m pissed, but not the point I’m trying to make. How many times, Tim?”

Uh-oh, now he’s done it. He didn’t use one of Tim’s many (many) nicknames, meaning this, this just hit oh shit levels of serious.

“Five in the past three months.”

Jason curses under his breath. “And you haven’t said anything? To anyone?”

“I had it handled.” Tim says simply with a shrug, like it’s that easy. “So far they haven’t been out to kill. An educated guess says they’re only out to keep me on my toes, rough me up as a reminder that they have plans for me.”

“And what if their instructions change? What if you don’t call for help and they actually go for the kill.”

Tim grimaces, “I’ll figure it out.”

“Of course you’d say that, always figuring shit out by yourself.” Jason mocks, pushing himself to his feet. This time Tim does reach for his bo, placing his finger over the release. One swift press of a button and it would spring to its full length. “Je-sus, I’m not going to hurt you. I just—you drive me up a fucking wall, you feel me? This one man act is bullshit. You need help, you call me.”

Tim blinks, “What?”

For the nth time in as many minutes, Jason rolls his eyes. “I said, you need help and don’t feel like dealing with the smother hens, you call me. Don’t call Dick or Bruce, I will always come for you. Got it?”

“No?”

“What do you mean no?” Jason snaps. “You’re supposed to be the smart Robin. I didn’t think you were that fucking dense.”

“That’s not-“ Tim shook his head, taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, before starting again. “What I mean is why do you want to help? You could get hurt.”

“Because someone has to. At least, if it’s me, I’ll know someone’s got your back.”

Tim stared at him for a long moment. How they had gone from hating each other's guts to Jason having his back was confusing and…welcome.

It eased his nerves just a little.

“Alright.” Tim says cautiously.

Is he going to regret this decision? Probably but for now… it’s okay. Weird, but okay.

“Good, now get out. I don’t know if you can tell but I’ve had a shit night.” Jason says, and, like a switch being flicked, he’s back to his usual grumbly self.

Without a word, Tim goes to slide open the window. He’s a little flustered and not quite sure what to say.

“Oh, and, Timantha?”

And Jason was definitely back.

Tim rolled his eyes, looking back to Jason. “What?”

“Call me or I’ll kick your ass.”

#tim drake #jason todd #my writing #over 2000 words #my fics #Tim Drake’s Missing Spleen #Why can’t I stop mentioning his missing spleen?#boy has issues and I can’t get over them #hurt/comfort #jason todd is a good brother #Tim Has Issues #Ra’s Al Ghul is a Creep #red robin #batfam #batman #could be jaytim if you squint really hard but idk man #bad things happen bingo #probable sequel coming soon

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