Current Obsession: BatFam

Raise your hand if you've been personally victimized by the Batman Fandom.

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Hi! :)

Hello! I threw together this blog to go along with my ao3 account (they have the same name and yes I know it's Doctor Who themed, I've had many phases).

I wanted to cross-post some of my work here since I haven't gotten into writing anything too long yet. Its all batfam... so much batfam.

If you like and want to check out more, I have all my fics posted here :

https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_tardis_is_cooler_than_yours

Hope you enjoy!!

[notyournoma]

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Hey so this is the cutest thing Ive ever seen

[hgedits]

They'll be ready. I expect so. They have a great teacher.

[astrotheyge]

Listen. I got to meet you. I got to do all this amazing stuff. I'm good. I made peace with it.

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Scars

A Jason Todd Soulmate AU

Chapter 5: Meeting

It had been a few days since she had spilled the coffee. As much as she tried to dismiss it, she couldn't stop herself from thinking about what happened with Jason. There were too many coincidences between them. The hair, the scar, even his reaction to the coffee. If he felt it too, then there was no mistaking what they were to each other.

Stella's phone buzzed along the counter next to her. She had put it down while making herself a latte. It was a slow day at the cafe, which meant she could treat herself to some coffee and doomscrolling before they closed.

[Unknown #]: Hey.

[Stella]: Hi, sorry I don't have this number saved. Who is this?

[Unknown #]: So many suiters that you don't even know whose texting, huh?

[Stella]: What? No. I don't give out my number.

[Unknown #]: Well, you gave it to me. Guess that makes me special. *insert wink emoji*

[Stella]: Is this Jason? Like coffee-shop-disaster, Jason?

[Jason]: That's me, Doll. Not the worst nickname I've been given, either.

[Stella]: Oh, uh, hi!

[Jason]: Hi, Stella. How's that burn treatin' you?

[Stella]: It's all healed, thanks. Not even a scar, though I’m sure you know that.

[Jason]: I might, but I still wanted to check in on you. Make sure you're ok.

[Stella]: I’m fine. I don't see why you care; you made it obvious we aren't anything to each other.

[Jason]: Harsh. Can't a guy check in on the girl that he magically shares all his pain and scarring with? Besides, I wanted to talk to you about that. I think my friend can help us out.

[Stella]: Help us out? I think it's pretty obvious what's happening here, Jason, you just don't want to admit it.

[Jason]: It's not that simple. I know you think it's easy, but my life is never that cut and dry. It has to be something else. Do you think you could meet up tonight? My friend works strange hours.

[Stella]: Meeting random strangers at night? In Gotham City, no less? My mom would be so proud.

[Jason]: C'mon, Doll, I would never hurt you. Our lives are connected; anything that happens to you happens to me, too, right? You'll be safe.

She didn't reply right away. He had a point; he couldn't hurt her without hurting himself. It wasn't like he was luring her out into the night to murder her; that would be stupid. It was dangerous, sure, but what wasn't in this city?

[Stella]: When and where?

—-

She heard him before she saw him, his motorcycle echoing across the containers littering the ship yard. She couldn't tell which direction he was coming from, making the thought of her impending murder all the more real in her mind. Why had she agreed to meet him here again? Couldn't she have asked to pick a place less sketchy than the docks?

"Stella!" she heard him yell from somewhere behind her. She turned, spotted him near one of the closer containers. She watched as he took off his helmet and killed the engine, leaving them in eerie silence.

She jogged over, her nerves unsettled by everything around her.

"This was dumb. Why couldn't we have met at a restaurant or a park? Literally anywhere other than where half of Gotham's crime takes place?" She huffed, stepping closer to him. She looked around them wearily, waiting for something to jump out at her.

"Hey, I got you, remember?" He soothed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Nothing's gonna hurt you out here."

His touch sent sparks of electricity down her arm, but they were oddly soothing. She could feel some of the tension melting away, knowing that he was there with her. She had hardly known him a week, only spoken to him twice, but deep down she could tell he would never let anything happen to her.

"Yeah, well," she still protested, turning to look at him. "I'd still rather be anywhere else. Where's your friend?"

Jason looked up, scanning the shadows that lined the tops of the containers. She followed his gaze, looking from container to container until she spotted him. The dark silhouette made him nearly invisible, but she could see the slight outline of his suit against the night sky.

"Holy shit, is that Batman?" she asked, grabbing onto Jason's arm in excitement.

"Unfortunately," he sighed, leading her closer to the Bat. She frowned at his lack of enthusiasm. Wasn't that who they were meeting?

Before she could ask him about it, the figure from above landed in front of her. He barely made a sound as he touched down, grapple still extended from where he was just standing. Her mouth dropped in quiet awe.

She took in all the details. He was tall, as expected, much taller than her. His suit was a mixture of grays and blacks, no doubt helping him blend into the night. The cowl fit snug against his face, leaving only his eyes and mouth exposed, and his long cape billowed behind him in the breeze.

"You're Batman." She stated, at a loss for any other words. Jason huffed from beside her, crossing his arms in annoyance.

"Hello," The Bat nodded, giving a hint of a smile as he spoke. "I assume you're Stella? I've heard a lot about you."

"Me?" she turned to look at Jason, who would not meet her eye. "You've heard about me? Why?"

"Jason explained your situation," he supplied, eyes moving back and forth between the two of them. "He said you share his pain. I offered to help you two, maybe figure out what's going on."

"Oh, right," she blushed, obviously, that's why he was here. It was, however, jarring to see the vigilante in person. That, and the eerie feeling of being at the docks, scrambled her thoughts.

"Would you mind if I see?" He asked, bringing her focus back to him. "It's hard to understand what might be happening without knowing the full extent of the effects you have on each other."

Batman reached forward, intending to take her arm to examine the scars littered across her skin. Instinctively, she pulled back, tugging the sleeves of her shirt further down her arms to cover the marks. She hated it when people noticed the scars, the pity, and judgment that she could see on their faces when they noticed. They assumed she was a junkie or a street rat. She didnt want Batman or Jason to see her like that.

Jason's hand reached out, stopping Stella's retreat with a gentle hand on her back.

"It's alright, Doll. He won't hurt you," Jason soothed, pulling her closer to himself. "He just wants to see what we're dealing with."

"Sorry," she blushed, calming at Jason's touch. "I know you won't hurt me, you're Batman, I just get nervous showing people. Its… alot."

She braced but gently rolled up the sleeves on each of her arms, holding them out for both men to see. The dim glow of the streetlight above them illuminated each mark along her skin. She remembered each one; where she was when they appeared, if they ached or stung as they etched themselves into her, but she never knew the stories behind them. She always wondered how they got there.

She didnt dare meet their eyes as they examined the marks, but she heard Jason's sharp inhale of breath. He shouldn't have been surprised; she was the other half of his matching set.

"These I've had my whole life," she explained, deciding they needed to know the whole story. She was already this far, might as well spill everything. "After lots of ER visits and specialists' appointments, a doctor told my parents they were from my soulmate. Every day, I would wake up to another scratch or bruise. I always worried about what he was getting up to."

She chanced a look up at Jason, but his eyes were glued to her arms, traveling along each scar that covered them. He looked like he was reliving the pain of each one, remembering their stories. Maybe he would tell her someday.

"They kept showing up until my sixteenth birthday." She paused, remembering. "That morning, I woke up in the most pain I'd ever felt in my life. I barely even remember it, but my parents said I was a mess. When I woke up, all of the marks were gone."

She looked to Batman this time, seeing his calculating gaze. His jaw was clenched tight as he flipped her arm over to examine the other side. He looked upset, angry even. His eyes traveled along her arm, but he was somewhere else, lost in a memory.

"I didnt see another scar for years. I assumed the worst about my soulmate. I grieved for him, knowing his pain must have been so much worse than the fraction that I felt. I thought about him every day, mourning a life I wouldn't get to have with him, until a few months ago. One morning, I woke up, and my hair was different. I had a big scar down my chest, and then the rest started to return." She swallowed, suddenly nervous again. "I'm pretty sure I have all of them back now."

This time, when she looked at Jason, all she saw was horror. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung slack in what she could only assume was devastation. She wasn't dumb; she knew something terrible must have happened, she had a literal autopsy scar on her chest, but now she could see him reliving it with the realization that she had been affected, too. She placed a hand on his arm, attempting to soothe him as he had her.

"I’m ok now," she spoke calmly. "I'm alright. They're just scars. I wasn't the one who lived through it."

He pulled his arm from hers, stepping back sharply. The horror morphed to fury on his face as he shook his head.

"But you felt it." He growled. "Maybe not all of it, but you felt it. I hurt you, and I didn't even know you existed."

She flinched at his tone, but nodded. He had hurt her, but it wasn't his fault; it was fate, or God, or whatever force that tied them together and gave them this power.

"It's ok, Jason. I didn't have many accidents, and any of my scars would have just blended in with yours. I’m not mad about it. It isn't your fault."

She reached for his arm again, attempting to ground him, help him hear her words. He shook his head, stepping away from her. His eyes blazed green as he kept walking back, fists clenched as he turned and marched over to his bike. He was gone before she could do anything to stop him.

She turned to Batman, at a loss for words. He had left her. She had told him everything that she kept locked away, hidden from others, and he had walked away.

"I think I owe you an explanation," said Batman, looking over her shoulder at where Jason had driven away. His face was controlled, but she could see the grief lingering in his gaze. He was right, she definitely needed an explanation.

--

If you're enjoying and you want access to faster updates, check my AO3 here! <3

[chapter56]

🐈

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Cold (A Jason Todd Fic)

Chapter 8: The Talk

"I can't do it," Tim sighed as he stormed into Jason's room in the manor.

Jason had found himself drifting to this space more and more as time went on. While Tim was on patrol or working out with Dick, he would sit in his room. It was still his, filled with his belongings, books, and trophies, but it felt hollow. Empty. Kind of like Jason.

"Of course you can, Tim," Jason reassured. They had been going back and forth about Tim's conversation with Bruce for days. They had rehearsed, planned, and replanned countless times. Now Tim was just stalling. "I know it's going to be uncomfortable, but we both know it's well past time you got him involved."

He could see Tim's shoulders tense, his defenses always heightened when Jason mentioned his home life. He understood better than most. When you live a certain way for too long, it becomes the norm, and you no longer see the problems; you just adapt to them instead. But Tim was too young to have to do that. He could have a better life; he deserved it.

"What if he doesn't help?" He whispered, "What if I tell him everything and he doesn't see a problem? Thinks I’m complaining or trying to get attention?"

"He won't," Jason affirmed. His father may be jaded, but he had never known the man to turn down a child in need of help. "And if he does, he'll have hell to pay in the afterlife because he'll have to deal with me," he smirked, trying to ease some of Tim's nerves.

It earned him a smile.

"Still want me to follow after you guys? I promise I won't interrupt, but I can be there for moral support if you need it." Jason asked. They had planned on him trailing their patrol, keeping pace, but not doing anything to distract Tim while he worked. They figured the best time to have the conversation was during a lull in the patrol, to help it seem more natural.

"Yeah, I think I’m going to need you there," Tim admitted. Jason's heart tugged in his chest. He would do anything to help his little brother.

"Then I'll be there, Baby Bird."

—

Hours later, Jason found himself swinging through the streets of Gotham once again, trailing his father and brother as they worked. He watched from afar as they took down robbers, thieves, and creeps lurking in the shadows. They worked like a machine, anticipating each other's moves and fighting crime like it was easy.

He missed this.

That used to be him down there. Before the fight, before he found his birth certificate, before he left. He was a Robin too, and watching his little brother be the person he wished he could be again, hurt. He felt the ache of longing deep in his bones, cold and angry.

He watched as they rappelled up to the roof of a building, breaking after a tediously long fight. He heard their bickering voices even before he landed behind them.

"That was sloppy, Tim," Bruce growled. "You didn't cover your left side, and he almost hit you. You have to be more careful, I thought you knew better than this."

"I was careful!" yelled Tim. "He barely grazed me; I don't even have a scratch. Besides, if either one of us should be talking, it's me; I can see you favoring your right leg. You have been all night. Didn't you always tell me it isn't safe to patrol with an injury?"

"That rule doesn't apply to me. I know my limits; meanwhile, you tried to patrol with a broken arm last year," Bruce defended, sitting on the edge of the building. He kicked his legs out to hang over the edge, his shoulders dropping in noticeable exhaustion.

Jason turned to Tim, eyebrows raised. He mouthed "You did that?" with an incredulous look. Tim rolled his eyes and waved him away behind Bruce's back.

"I only did that because you were going to fight Joker on your own, and I knew you needed someone there to stop you." Tim defended, standing behind Batman. "You were different back then. You pushed your limits too far, got too close to breaking your rules. I didn't want you to live with regret because someone wasn't there to stop you."

Jason saw Bruce's whole body shift. He turned to look at Tim, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"That wasn't your call to make, Tim." Bruce shook his head; something between annoyance and anger played across his features. "You're too young to understand. You can't make those decisions for me, and you shouldn't have been in a position to anyway."

Jason watched as Tim deflated, his body sagging in expected defeat. This is how it tended to go if Tim's stories were right. He took Bruce's words to mean that it was his fault, not seeing any other possibility. Looking in then, Jason saw it. How could Tim be so brave as to yell at the Batman for not taking care of his own injury two seconds ago, and then feel chastised when it was obvious what was really going on?

"God, you two are dense," he muttered as he dropped down to sit next to Bruce, keeping himself in Tim's eyeline. They didn't need Bruce to think Tim was hearing ghosts, even if he technically was. "He's blaming himself, not you, Baby Bird."

Tim's eyes shot up to Bruce. He looked like he was recalibrating, replaying the conversation in his mind. He paused, looking doubtful, but continued on anyway, trusting Jason.

"Wait, do you think you put me in that position?" Tim struggled to get the words out. He carefully took a seat on the roof's edge, keeping some distance between himself and the Bat.

"Of course I did, Tim," Bruce replied, looking away from the young Robin. "I know you went to great lengths to become Robin after Jason. You proved yourself, helped me more times than I'm willing to admit, but sometimes I forget you're still only a kid."

"I’m not just some kid, Bruce," Tim defended. Jason saw the anger in his eyes, the fury that he knew came with being labeled as incapable. "I'm not. I’m a Robin. I'm your partner. I’m supposed to be there to help you no matter what."

"Tim," Bruce sighed, looking too exhausted to continue fighting the younger hero. He ran a gloved hand over his eyes, a move born of frustration that Jason was all too familiar with from his patrols. It made his heart pang. "I think were done for the night. We both could use a break."

Jason saw the panic in Tim's eyes. He had obviously lost the semblance of control he thought he had over this conversation, and now that Bruce decided to leave, he had panicked. Jason motioned for him to take a deep breath, refocus as they had practiced.

"Bruce, wait," Tim reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him from getting up. They both froze at the contact, not used to physical touch outside of combat.

"I didn't mean for our conversation to go like this. I had a plan," he confessed, "I just… I had something I wanted to ask you about."

Bruce sat back down, his face calculating. Tim looked uncomfortable, pulling his arm back once he knew Bruce wasn't leaving. Jason watched as Bruce nodded, letting Tim continue. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. He knew his father hadn't changed that much; he was a sucker for a kid with a sob story.

"I don't really know how to say this, but I’m just going to try." He started, looking down at his lap, talking fast. His hands wrung together tightly. "I was talking with a… friend recently, and they told me that the way I live, or have been living, isn't exactly normal. I really don't think it's a big deal. I’m doing just fine, honestly. I know how to take care of myself and the house, I’m never late to anything, and I always do my homework, but hes still concerned."

Tim noticeably swallowed. He hadn't looked up at Bruce once during his talk or even taken a breath, but Bruce hadn't taken his eyes off him. Jason saw the concern building on his father's face, the doubt and realization dawning on him as Tim kept speaking.

"My parents- They go away a lot for work. Sometimes they're gone for a few days, but most of the time they leave for months at a time. Like I said, I'm capable of staying on my own. I know how to pay the bills, and I can feed myself, but my friend told me that it's still wrong. That parents aren't supposed to do what mine do." Tim paused, finally looking up at Bruce. "I'm not asking for anything, I promise. I know we're strictly Batman and Robin, not Bruce and Tim, but I guess I just — thought I should tell someone— well, tell you."

Jason watched as emotion after emotion played across his father's face. The usually stoic man was crumbling under the realization that Tim had been alone. The boy he patrolled with every night had been going back to an empty home where he had to feed and take care of himself. He was only fourteen.

Bruce reached out, placing his hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Thank you for telling me, Tim. I think your friend might have been right. That doesn't sound like the best situation to be in." He offered lightly, obviously taking care to choose his words.

Tim looked up at the man in front of him, unsure how to react. Tim had never seen that side of Bruce, the caring and compassionate man that haunted Jason's memories.

"No, it's fine. I don't even know why I told you to be honest." He backtracked, scrambling for common ground, something familiar instead of the discomfort of being seen. "I have a great house, and they send me money all the time. I’m not like the kids on the street. I still have a family."

Bruce nodded, pulling his hand back, noticing Tim's discomfort. Instead, he angled his body to face the younger boy, giving him his full attention.

"You're right, you aren't like those kids. You have a big house, and lots of money, but with a big house usually comes lots of people to fill it. You shouldn't have to be in there all alone, Tim." He confessed, keeping his voice level and calm. He sounded like he was talking to a nervous animal. "And I disagree with what you said. We are partners, that part is right, but behind that, I’m still Bruce, and you're still Tim. That doesn't have to be separate, and I’m sorry if I didn't do a good enough job showing you that."

Tim pulled back, eyes searching the roof to find a distraction, an escape route, anything to get out of the conversation he had started. He looked overwhelmed and uncomfortable, seconds away from bolting. Jason jumped up and kneeled in front of him, hands ghosting over his shoulders.

"Hey, Timbo, look at me real quick," Jason smiled, pulling his focus. He had put himself between the two, making it look like Tim was studying Bruce instead of the ghost in front of him. "This is good. It's scary as hell and uncomfortable, but you're doing a great job."

"I get that you want to run, I do, but take it from someone whose been there, yeah? I've had this conversation before, just try to hear the old man out." Jason looked at the man behind him, seeing the worry hiding behind his eyes, but also the warmth. Something he hadn't seen in a long time. It settled something within him, making him smile.

"That guy right there? That's the Bruce I know, the one who helped me. And I promise he will help you too, but you've got to give him a chance."

Jason watched as his brother looked at him, his breath steadying. He gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up before stepping to the side. Tim nodded as Jason stepped back, refocusing on Bruce.

"I don't mind being alone most of the time," Tim dismissed, "And you don't have to apologize for anything. I mean, you're Batman, you've got bigger things to worry about. If anything, I’m the one who forced you to let me work with you. I didn't expect us to be anything more than partners. You just needed someone to bring you back from the darkness."

"Tim," Bruce sighed, the pain of Tim's admission showing even through the cowl. "You are an amazing partner and an amazing young man. You helped me when I didn't know I needed it, and I'll always be grateful. But now I think it's time I helped you out a bit too."

"I don't want to get my parents in trouble," he shook his head. "Please, Bruce, they would be so mad at me."

Bruce sighed, looking down at Robin, shaking in what looked like fear for the first time since he had known him.

"I won't call anyone Tim; we can revisit that conversation later." He added, more of a promise than an afterthought. "But how about you stay at the manor instead? I know it isn't your home, but you can bring your stuff. Plus, I wouldn't have to worry about you in that big house all alone."

Tim looked up again, the fear settled, replaced with apprehension. Jason knew what was going through Tim's mind. He thinks it's for pity. That Bruce doesn't really care about him, but Jason knew that wasn't true. He could see it on his father's face. Bruce was heartbroken. He had known Tim for years, but was so consumed in his own grief that he never bothered to check in on the child who helped him.

"I—" Tim started, looking over at Jason quickly, who was already nodding his head aggressively, assuring the young Robin that this was a good idea. "Can I think about it?"

Bruce patted Tim's back again, more confident this time, more reassuring than his last try. His parental instincts were rusty, but he was making an effort.

"Of course, Tim. Take all the time you need." He squeezed his shoulder, standing up. "My door is always open for you. Always."

Tim stood too, a hesitant smile on his face. Jason watched on from a few feet back as they swung from the roof, his own smile threatening to appear. This was what he was here for, this was why he had come back.

--

If you're enjoying and you want access to faster updates, check my AO3 here! <3

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Scars

A Jason Todd Soulmate AU

Chapter 4: Confrontation

"Shit, shit, shit," she gasped as she pulled her shirt away from herself gently, fanning the already crimson skin underneath. She was no stranger to burns; it was a hazard of her job. She had small scars on her hands from the oven, espresso machine, and a few from trying out new recipes at home. But what surprised her this time was the pain. Or the lack of it.

It had hurt a little, like when someone knocks into you when you have a fresh sunburn, but she knew that coffee was hot. Scalding even. She knew that it should have burnt her. There should have been blisters and bumps all over her chest, but when she looked down, her skin was barely red.

Her gaze snapped up, remembering the man in front of her. Jason stood holding his own chest right where she had been hit with the coffee. The skin she could see around his collar was a bright red. Matching her own. His eyes met hers; something like fear and wonder shone through his hard gaze.

"Did you—" she asked, motioning to his chest. She wasn't sure what she was asking. Did he feel it? Did she accidentally spill it on him? Did he realize what they were to each other? He just glared in response.

"How did you do that? " he asked, reaching across the counter. He grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the side of the checkout. She smiled apologetically at the customers behind her, but her coworker quickly took her place as Jason pulled her further away toward the privacy of the bathroom hallway. "Are you some type of new meta?"

She could see the glare settling in his eyes with the accusation that this was somehow her fault. He was assessing her, deciding if she was a threat.

"What? No, of course not." She shook her head, pulling her arm out of his surprisingly gentle grasp. "This is from my soul bond."

Her voice dropped, almost to a whisper. She usually never told anyone about it, but due to the circumstances, she figured it was important.

"We share injuries; pain too. It used to be a lot worse, but now—" she shrugged. She wasn't sure how to explain it. Explain that since she got her marks back, she's been a little different. Her injuries healed more quickly, she felt a little stronger, and if she got really upset, she swore her eyes turned a little greener.

Jason backed up a step. It was like she punched him straight in the chest. His face changed from assessment to pure horror.

"You feel everything?" He whispered. He looked down at his arms, littered with faded scars and fresh bruises. She pulled down her sleeves, not wanting to show him her matching set. The old scars, the ones from when she was younger, had started appearing again. They littered her body with familiar lines and grooves from years of unknown injuries.

"Kind of," she admitted, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. She suddenly felt awkward in front of him. He was still a stranger, even if there was a lot of evidence to prove that he was her soulmate. "Small injuries don't bother me; it kind of feels like an itch. Even broken bones aren't too annoying, but bigger ones? Those can be bad."

She wanted to ask to see if he had felt her injuries. The one time she cracked a rib falling off a playset, or the scar she had on her hip from a car accident. Surely he would have felt something from her over the years. Though with the amount of scars she got from him, her pain could have just blended in with the rest.

"I think we should talk about it." She announced, not able to handle the elephant standing between them. "The hair, the coffee, the scar I know you saw… I think we know what this means."

He shook his head, already denying the reality of it. He wasn't just lying to her; he was lying to himself, too.

"I don't think," he coughed, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I don't think I have one. Or if I did, the bond would have been broken when I—" he paused, seeming to realize who he was talking to.

He straightened his posture, a new resolve on his face.

"It's just not possible," he concluded. "There has to be another explanation. You can't be my soulmate."

He declared it so casually. Like his words weren't a knife to her already stinging chest. Standing there, claiming so calmly that he didn't want her.

"Right, of course," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. She crossed her arms in front of her body in annoyance. "And why is that? Am I not up to your high standards?"

"What? No, why would you say that?" He looked her up and down in disbelief. "You're gorgeous! It's just that I know I definitely do not have a soulmate. It isn't in the cards for me, doll, but maybe something else is going on."

Her mind whirled. Everyone had a soulmate; she had never heard of someone simply not having one.

"Listen, let me get your number. I know some people who might be able to help." He offered her a small smile—a peace offering. "I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I’m sorry. I can be kind of an ass sometimes."

He smiled crookedly, his undeniable charm showing through the rough exterior. She all but melted when he reached his hand out for her to shake. She still wasn't sure how to feel, with everything that had happened, but she knew one thing: She wasn't about to let him walk away.

"Truce?" he added as her hand slipped into his, giving it a shake. A zap ran up her arm, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. Holy shit. He jumped like he had just been electrocuted, too.

"Truce," she laughed, pulling her arm away and grabbing her notepad. "Here, let me give you my number."

He took the paper and tucked it in his pocket. He patted the outside after, like he was making sure it was still there.

"It was nice to meet you, Stella. Take care of the burn ok? Don't need you hurting anymore because of me." He smiled sadly, a silent admission. She looked down to see that the burn had all but vanished in the time they had talked, the fastest she had healed since she noticed the change.

"Yeah, you too," she smiled, but when she looked up, he was already gone.

---

If you're enjoying and you want access to faster updates, check my AO3 here! <3

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Scars

A Jason Todd Soulmates AU

Chapter 3: Coffee

The new marks didn't go away. She had expected them to, like they had when she was younger, but they remained. Every morning, she would wake up and check. Her chest filled with a mix of relief and anxiety every time she saw the now familiar lines.

She hadn't told anyone, not even her parents. They had gone through enough when they disappeared the first time, and she didn't want them to worry again. So she suffered and hoped in silence, waiting for the day she would meet a boy with a white streak in his hair and scars across his chest.

-

She was ringing up a customer during a particularly busy rush when she saw him. A quick glimpse from the corner of her eye, but it was unmistakable. He was waiting just a few customers down in the line, his eyes glued to his phone screen as he typed furiously. She could only see part of his face, but he looked angry as he typed on the screen.

"Hi, I’m Stella. Welcome to Sleepy Joe's, what can I get started for you today?" she asked the next customer, eyes still glued to the mystery man. Sure, he had a white streak in his hair, but maybe it was a style? She had gotten lots of compliments on hers since it showed up; maybe other people were doing it too?

She looked up at the annoyed eyes of the customer. It was obvious they had given their order, but she was too lost in her thoughts to hear them. She smiled sheepishly and asked them to repeat themselves, trying her best to refocus.

She didn't. It happened again and again as she went down the line. She fumbled cups, got orders wrong, and even spilled a drink. It was not her best look.

But she couldn't help it. As the mystery man moved closer with each customer, her thoughts frayed, and her nerves grew. What if he's the one? Her soul mate. She had so many questions to ask him, things to tell him. She wondered if he ever felt her pain? Noticed her scars mixed among all of his?

She was practically shaking as he walked up, eyes still glued ot his screen.

"Hey there, I’m Stella. Can I interest you in one of our freshly made pastries? Today's feature is peach-infused fritters with an almond drizzle." She smiled, hoping to catch his eye.

"Large coffee. Black. Make it extra hot," he mumbled, not looking up or acknowledging her in the slightest. Any hope she had vanished at his blatant dismissal, and she deflated immediately.

"Oh yeah sure," she nodded, putting on her well-practiced customer service smile, "anything else with that, or will that be all?"

"No," he muttered, throwing his card down onto the counter. Whatever he was doing on his phone must have been incredibly important for him to completely ignore her this thoroughly.

She rolled her eyes, picking it up and swiping it through her machine. Her biggest pet peeve was being rude to service workers, and he was feeding into it with his disinterest. She checked the name on the card out of spite, rolling her eyes. Of course, he would have a J name.

"I'll have that out for you in a few." She handed back the card, "Have a day, Jason."

She turned to make his coffee, missing his eyes as he finally looked up.

"What did you say?" He asked, watching as she made his coffee.

Hes just another customer. His hair doesn't make him special. He is not your soulmate. She repeated a few times in her head as she made his coffee. Your soulmate is not an asshole. She added before turning around again with her fake smile in place.

"I said, have a great—" she started, but stuttered as she was faced with the greenest eyes she had ever seen. Matched with the dark hair and chiselled features, she was at a loss for words. She studied the white streak running through his hair, in the same place as hers. An exact match.

She watched as his eyes widened, taking in her appearance too. His eyes traveled from her face up to her hair, following the streak of white down to her shoulders, where she hadn't realized a part of her scar was showing at the top of her button-down.

"What?" she heard him ask as she quickly reached to fix her top, accidentally spilling his scalding coffee all over herself.

---

If you're enjoying and you want access to faster updates, check my AO3, here! <3

[not-another-robin]

More from my beautiful mind

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Scars

A Jason Todd Soulmate AU

Chapter 2: The Cafe

Three years later

"Thanks, Mr. Johnson, you have a good day," she smiled, handing over a coffee to her regular. It had been a busy morning, Gothamites funnelling in for their daily dose of caffeine on their way to work.

She loved it, though, working at the cafe. She got a lot of opportunities to people-watch. The hours weren't great; she had to get up before dawn, but she didn't mind too much.

She had started there right out of high school, deciding that college wasn't in the cards for her. She had always hated school; it was a place of ridicule and bad memories. She much preferred the quiet atmosphere of the cafe and her ability to practice her baking in the off hours.

Betty, the owner, had started letting her put out some of her creations to sell about a year back. It started with a few muffins, but quickly spiraled into what it is now.

Now, they were known for their complicated and delicious creations. Each day was something new and interesting.

Today's special was Nutella Cruffins with a healthy spread of icing on top. Horrible for your body, but good for the soul. They had almost sold out by mid-morning.

"Stella, girl, you have got to give me that recipe," her coworker Alyssa begged. "I swear it's like you put crack in those or something. I’m addicted."

"If I gave it to you, then you wouldn't come here anymore," she teased, laughing. "We both know the only reason you keep this job is for the free treats, and I wouldn't survive here without you."

Alyssa sighed dramatically but didn't argue, turning to help a customer. Stella giggled and rolled her eyes at her best friend as she headed to the back. They were almost out of pastries, and she needed to see if she had stashed any other concoctions to last them the rest of the morning.

She hummed as she worked, ducking into the fridge to find a stack of muffins from yesterday that she could add to the display, orange cinnamon flavor with a hint of mint. They were a big hit, but she hated repeating items. The best part about her displays was that they were always changing and new. She based each new creation on her mood, but there wasn't much she could do about it today.

She was in the middle of arranging the muffins in the display when she felt it. The familiar ache of a mark on her skin. She dropped the muffins, the tin clattering to the ground as she stood up wildly.

No. No, it wasn't possible. She was sixteen again, in her bed, the pain of scars searing into her skin as she screamed. But no, he died, she was sure of it. Nobody could have survived the pain she had felt, and her old marks had disappeared; even the doctor agreed it could only mean one thing.

She ran to the bathroom, ignoring Alyssa's shouts as she passed and slammed the door behind her. Her chest burned, the ache growing as lines appeared, starting from each collarbone and meeting in the middle before dipping down to her stomach in the form of a Y. She had seen similar markings on TV when she watched cop shows. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched them solidify into angry red lines. They were autopsy scars.

Even stranger was when she looked in the mirror. She watched as a small strand of her hair changed, turning bright white. The new color framed the right side of her face, from root to tip.

"What. The. Fuck," she whispered, staring at the fresh marks of her dead soulmate in the mirror.

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Scars

A Jason Todd Soulmate AU

Chapter 1: Boys will be Boys

The marks started when she was just a girl. She would wake up sometimes with a scraped knee or a bruised elbow. She could never remember how she got them, though that wasn't unusual for a child. Her parents mostly dismissed it, claiming she was just clumsy. Or at least they did until the morning of her tenth birthday, when she woke up with a broken leg.

They had rushed her to the doctor, thinking it must have happened in her sleep. Maybe she was a sleepwalker, and they never noticed? The doctors did extensive testing: CAT scans, X-rays, and even a sleep study.

They asked her a million questions: Did she feel the pain? Was she aware it was happening? Were her parents hurting her? She answered no to all of them. Still, they couldn't understand how she was injured but felt no pain. Who wouldn't wake up if they broke their leg in the middle of the night?

Eventually, they spoke to a specialist who explained that soul marks appear differently for everyone. Some have the words of their bond written on their body, some hear whispers of their voice, and others even have birthmarks in the place they first touch their other half. Rarely, however, bonds can share pain or injuries. She was one of the rare cases: unique, special.

Day after day, week after week, she would wake up with new injuries. Some days it was a light scratch, a scrape on the knee. Other days, it was long gashes that needed stitches. Once she awoke to half of her tooth chipped away. She was practically on a first-name basis with the ER doctors at the hospital.

"Boys will be boys" became the usual excuse. Her parents would shake their heads and groan with each new injury. Casts, crutches, slings, she was no stranger to them. They always dismissed it, though. Her mom claimed that her father was just like that when he was younger, always getting himself hurt. She promised that she just had to wait, eventually it would pass.

What amazed her the most was that she barely felt it. It was there, like a dull ache, but it didn't hurt like it would if she had caused the marks. Each new scratch and bump appeared without more than a hint of an ache. She lived like that for years, quietly taking each new injury, assuming her soul bond was just a rowdy kid, getting into trouble.

She hated it. The kids at school would always make fun of her, calling her a cantalope because she was covered in bruises. Teachers took notice too, each year setting up a meeting with her parents to make sure everything was alright at home. They even got documentation from the hospital to prove they weren't lying.

"Boys will be boys," they would laugh, again and again. But no one asked her how she felt. Everyone assumed she was excited, happy to see evidence of her one true love. She was a girl who was assured happiness in life; what more could she want, right?

But each new mark made her more upset. Why did she have to be special? Why could she have cute handwriting or patches of bright colors like the other kids in her class? And as she got older, the marks only got worse.

The scars grew bigger, marring her skin without her permission. New breaks and bruises, even concussions, became her norm. She would stay up at night looking at the mess of her arms and legs, wondering what he could be doing that would lead to this much scarring. This much pain.

One night, when she was about 16, she woke up screaming. Her parents rushed in, terrified to see her convulsing on her bed. The pain exploded all over her body; it felt like she was being torn to pieces, burned, and ripped from every angle. It lasted minutes before it was over, her voice hoarse and her body covered in sweat. But it finally ended. She was sure he had been shot or hit by a car, or worse, but when she looked down, ready to see the cause of her torture, there was nothing.

Every one of her marks was gone.

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Cold (A Jason Todd Fic)

Ch. 5

Chapter 6: Big Brother

Being dead was lonely. It was isolating and cold and so lonely. Jason would watch each day as the people he loved— his family— walked around him as though he wasn't there. Navigating their lives without him in it. He often tried to get their attention. Sometimes calling out, knocking things over, touching their shoulder, but each time, nothing happened. It made everything feel worse.

The only solace that Jason could find in his new life was that he wasn't completely alone. He had Tim.

He had come to rely heavily on Tim's company since he had returned. Tim offered him conversation, distraction, and entertainment. He helped to keep the darkness and waking nightmares away from Jason. Even still, he found himself staring off at times— when Tim fell asleep, or if he was at school, Jason would blink and be somewhere else.

Sometimes he was back in his body. He found himself swinging through the streets of Gotham, the warm wind running through his hair as he glided. He could feel the drop in his stomach with each fall, and the tug on his arm as his grapple connected with the next building. He felt free. Happy. Alive. He could look to the side and see his father right there with him, ready to catch him if he fell.

Once he awoke in a dark space. Eerily quiet and confined. Jason tried to move, but the darkness was all-encompassing. He could feel silk sheets below him and the ceiling right above. He could barely move. Distant shouts and scraping filled his ears, but he always came back before he could figure out what they were.

Other times, he would be in the warehouse. Bruised. Beaten. Hurting. He would look up to see his mother across from him, frightened and shaking. He could feel the pain in his chest, not from his injuries, but the betrayal that rooted itself so deeply when he discovered her truth. When he heard Joker laugh and thank her for telling him where Robin was— who Robin was. The person who brought him into the world, also responsible for taking him out of it.

He could feel the cold mountain air creeping along his skin. The torn suit did little to keep him warm. Aches and pains filled his body as he dragged himself to the exit, desperate to get out. His hands grew cold as he pressed them against the door, realizing it was locked from the outside. He clawed and begged, hoping his father would be there. But the timer ran out, and suddenly Jason is back where he was. The vision gone, but the pain remaining.

He decided that he would help Tim, rather than lament in his pain. He was already dead; there wasn't much more he could do to help himself. But Tim was alive. He was alive and breathing, but he was more isolated than Jason. Often choosing to sit in his empty house alone rather than stay at the manor. He had told Jason once that he wasn't welcome there, that Bruce had never offered to let him stay.

Jason knew otherwise. He could see it on his father's face the other night as he wrapped Tim in a blanket— He cared deeply for the boy. He had seen the same look on his face when he watched Dick train or goof off on a mission, sometimes Jason even caught Bruce giving him that look. Love and admiration, and worry, all mixed together. Jason just had to find a way to convince both of them to talk, see what the other was not.

He needed help. What he wanted to do couldn't be done alone; he needed his big brother.

—

"Why am I meeting Dick in the cave again?" Tim asked. He was zipping up his jacket before making the trek over to the manor. Jason had had him text Dick asking to meet in the cave, but didn't give a reason. Thankfully, Tim trusted him enough not to ask too many questions—until now.

"I told you, it's for training." Jason sighed, leaning against the door in front of him. "As annoying as he is, Dick knows a lot about hand to hand combat, and since you're out in the field more and more these days, I want you to be prepared."

Jason didn't mention that he was also hoping to break some of the tension between the two. He knew Dick was a sucker for a sob story and hoped this training session would help him see that Tim needed more support than Jason could provide in his current state. More than what Bruce was providing for him, too.

"You could just train me," Mumbled Tim. He brushed past Jason through the door. The sensation was still foreign and uncomfortable for the former Robin.

"Quit doing that," he said, shuddering at the feeling. "I can't train you when I can't even touch you, bird brain."

Tim chuckled and shook his head, holding the door open for Jason to follow him out of the house. They walked side by side, one real and one not, toward the warm glow of the manor across the lawn. Tim shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, looking down as he walked.

"Would you though?" Tim asked softly, "I mean- If- If you could, or if you were really here, would you help me train? I know I took the job from you, and I'm obviously not as good as I could be if you think I need to train with Dick- I just mean that… If you were alive, would you still want to hang out with me?" He stumbled through the question. It was obvious that he had thought it through a few times before asking it, but still, it came out in a jumble.

Jason smiled.

"Of course, I'd help you, babybird. What else are brothers for, right?" If he could, he would have knocked shoulders with the younger boy as he spoke. "You can't get rid of me that easily. Alive or not, we're friends, Tim." The younger boy smiled, repeating the words quietly back to himself. Brothers. Friends. They seemed foreign on Tim's tongue. Strange but good.

A knot formed in Jason's throat. He wished the younger boy would realize that he deserved all of those things. Family. Friends. He had been left alone for so long, determined to figure everything out on his own, that he had lost the opportunity to discover what truly mattered in this world. Things that Jason had taken for granted before they were taken from him. He hoped Dick would help him achieve that.

When they got to the cave, Dick was already waiting. He sat in his workout gear, a threadbare t-shirt and sweats, with his feet kicked up on the desk and his phone in his hands. Tim froze in the doorway, looking more unsure than Jason had ever seen him. Was this the same kid he saw backtalk Killer Croc last week?

"Say hi," Jason whispered, not that Dick could hear him anyway, but Tim remained frozen. He looked at the older boy as if he were infallible— a hero, untouchable.

"Would it help if I told you I once walked in on him in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal at 3 am in his Batman boxers? He wasn't even awake enough to remember to pour the milk into the bowl. Just ate it dry with a spoon." Jason chuckled. "Or the other time when we saw a spider in the back of the Batmobile, and he screamed for five minutes for Bruce to pull over during a car chase. He basically crawled into my lap to get away from it."

Tim's shoulders loosened, a small smile cracking his stoic demeanor.

"He's not scary. He's a goofball who wears a tight suit." He smirked. "Just ask him if he could help you with a few things. Remember, you should work on dexterity, aerobics, and hand-to-hand." He assured Tim, wishing he could put a hand on his shoulder in support.

"Just be yourself, Timbo, and he'll crack. I promise."

Tim nodded and made his way down the stairs. Jason hung back, not wanting to distract Tim with his presence. They were trying to get Dick on their side, not make him think the new Robin was crazy.

Jason watched from afar as Tim approached Dick, smiling unsurely. He could see from here that Tim was stumbling through his words, as he often did when he was nervous. The young Robin was wringing his hands together as he mentioned the different types of training he could use help with, not letting Dick get a word in otherwise.

Jason chuckled to himself at Tim's antics. He knew from experience that you can't help but want to help Tim; he has a certain quality that just screams, lost puppy.

He saw the exact moment that it clicked for Dick. He could see the change in Dicks features as he realized that Tim had never been a threat, or a replacement, but instead a boy with misguided beliefs on how he could help their family— how he could help Gotham. Jason knew that Dick would investigate and come to the same conclusion that he had— Tim needed help. And if Jason knew his brother, he knew he would do just that.

From his spot above, he watched the two speak. He saw Dicks features and body soften from their rigid stance as he moved towards Tim and put a hand on his shoulder, just like Jason had wished he could. A soft smile took over his face as he nodded and moved them over to the training mats. Jason watched as they both settled into each other's presence, learning to move and talk, and train together quickly.

But at the same time, seeing his two brothers work together without him left an ache in his heart. He wanted to be the one to help Tim. He wanted to be on the mats, leading him through different exercises, joking and messing his hair up if he got it wrong. Tim was his brother first, and he had just handed him off to Dick. But what else could he do? Dick was here and Jason wasn't.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he missed the presence that appeared next to him. He jumped at the sight of his father perched against the railing at the top of the staircase, hidden from the boys below in the shadows of the ceiling. Bruce watched quietly as Dick led Tim through a different defensive stance below them, smiling encouragingly as Tim tried it out.

Jason's eyes were glued to his father. This was the closest he had allowed himself to be to Bruce since he had returned. He could see his face so clearly. It had changed. There was a missing shine in his eyes, and more bags underneath them. He looked less happy and more tired, more stressed. Jason wished he could reach up and wipe the hard lines away from his face. Wished he could return him to the father he once knew.

He stood and watched Bruce as he stood and watched his brothers. It was a strange feeling to be so close to someone, yet so impossibly far away. Jason saw the small smile tug at Bruce's features as he looked on. He saw a small glimpse of the man he once knew flash across his face as Tim laughed at Dick below them. At least he could do this. He may not be able to come back or train Tim, but he was helping this way. He was bringing the family back together, thread by thread, piece by piece.

--

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to follow along, I'm also posting on ao3 here!

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Cold (A Jason Todd Fic)

Ch. 4

Chapter 5: Patrol

It had been days, and Jason still didn't know why he was back. He had been hoping that some bright light or shining beacon would tell him exactly what he needed to do, but nothing happened. Day in and day out, everything was the same, and he was still a ghost.

He decided to spend time with Tim while he waited, for what, though, he didn't know. Jason helped him with his English homework some nights. He explained Shakespeare and the importance of early American authors, even if they all were "annoying old white men," as Tim had put it. Other nights, Jason just talked to him. He wanted to know more about the boy— what he liked, his experiences, and why he decided to start stalking them on their patrols (Yes, Jason had found out about that). He prodded Tim about the empty house next door, asked when his parents would be back, but Tim always found something else to talk about. One day, they even tried to play video games. It was tricky, but Jason managed to work out how to touch one button on the controller at a time. It didn't matter, though. By the time he managed to turn his car left, Tim had already completed an entire lap around the track. Jason decided he didn't like Mario Kart.

Tim had grown on him. He spent his days chatting with him, teasing him, or messing around. It was how he had always imagined him and Dick would act, if he had ever warmed up to him. Like a brother.

Jason saw how Bruce acted around Tim, too. Cold, uninterested, distant. It broke his heart to see the man he once thought to be so warm turn to stone. It made Jason resentful, mad at the man that he knew his father could be. He watched night after night as Tim transformed— He didn't smile. Or laugh. He was all hard lines and gruff voice— an imitation of the man whose shadow he stood in. When Tim put on the suit, he stopped being himself. He was a perfect sidekick, providing support but staying out of the big man's way. He only pushed when he knew Bruce was going too far— a living reminder for Batman not to cross too many lines. To never break his one rule.

Robin was meant to be the light to Batman's darkness, a beacon of hope for those in Gotham, rather than the Dark Knight. Dick had explained it all to him when he took over. He reminded Jason that while he was there to help Bruce, Robin had other responsibilities as well. He was the mascot of Gotham's children, a reminder that there lives some good and hope in their dark city. Jason always took that job very seriously. He made sure to bring some humor and light to each interaction, even when he was alone with Batman.

Jason hated that Bruce created an environment where Tim believed he was only worth being there if he was putting in 110%. He never allowed himself off days, never let his emotions sway any of his decisions. He never acted like a child while he was Robin; he had pushed that part of him away while he worked. Jason wanted to know why.

He decided to follow them out on patrol one night. He had done it before— shadowing them— but never this close, never this intently. He had worried that his presence in the past would get Tim in trouble, distract him while he needed to be focused. But he needed to know, now. He needed to see how they worked together, wanted to understand where the shift in Batman's persona occurred, and why he was so tough on Tim.

He was thankful that he had woken up in his Robin suit, utility belt still intact. It allowed him to easily keep up with the duo while they grappled along through the rooftops of Gotham. He watched as Batman led, using strong, controlled moves, exuding confidence with each landing. Robin followed, emulating that same calm determination, faltering only minutely— only enough for a trained eye to see.

Jason saw how Batman looked at Tim each time he misstepped, each time he landed a little hard, or any time he made a mistake. He looked angry. He saw how Tim shrank each time, lowering his head and uttering an apology before Bruce could chastize him. It made Jason bristle.

This night was particularly difficult. It was different than the other times Jason had followed them on patrol. Tim had been staying up extra to work on a report he had for his science class. It was worth a decent chunk of his grade, so he sacrificed his sleep to work on it, rather than his time as Robin. Because of that, he was tired. He made simple mistakes— ones he would usually never make. Jason watched as Bruce paused their movement each time— over and over again. He never raised his voice, nor his hand, but his words were tight. Jason could sense that Bruce was holding himself back, not saying what he wanted to say.

It went on all night. Tim would trip, and Bruce would correct. Tim missed a grapple line, Bruce would teach him again. Tim stumbled, and Bruce made him retie his shoes. Over and over, Jason witnessed Bruce micromanage and poke at each of Tim's errors.

Jason wanted to scream at his father. Yell in his face and tell him to stop. To leave the poor kid alone, let him learn for himself. He watched as Batman spent the night analyzing Tim's moves, correcting him, pushing him— he never gave the boy a rest. It was a miracle they had any time left to fight crime.

At the end of the night, Jason watched as Tim sluggishly pulled himself out of the Batmobile and into the cave. The weight of his repeated training and crime-fighting pushed heavily on his shoulders as he made his way to the computer to write his report. Jason saw how Bruce watched the boy, a hard look on his face.

He had had enough. Jason stormed up to Bruce. He knew the older man couldn't hear him, but he had witnessed hours of unneeded training and little empathy from his father when he knew it was obvious that Tim was exhausted. He opened his mouth to yell, ready to lay into the older man and tell him exactly how he felt, but his voice caught in his throat. Because what he couldn't see when he was observing the two on patrol were the smaller details. From afar, it looked like Bruce was angry— annoyed at the boy— but now, up close, he could see no anger. He only saw worry.

Bruce was never good with emotions. As evidenced by his decision to dress in black leather and beat the crap out of criminals each night, Bruce didn't know how to process how he was feeling, or tell others either. When Jason first got to the manor, he learned how to read Bruce's moods pretty quickly. Learned that when he twitched his nose, he was holding back a smile, or tightened his jaw when he was annoyed. Jason had gotten so good at reading his father, always knowing his emotions, that he had forgotten not everyone could. He realized how much Bruce repressed his feelings, instead using them as fuel for his ever-growing anger at the filth of Gotham.

It shouldn't have surprised Jason. He should have realized that the emotion he used to see from Bruce was smaller now, more hidden, especially since he had experienced the death of one of his children— his death. When Jason looked up at Bruce's face now, he only saw worry and fear in his eyes.

It dawned on Jason that he had read into the situation completely wrong. Bruce was not mad at Tim, he didn't resent him or want to punish him for being Robin, he loved him. He loved and cared and worried for the young boy, but couldn't show it— didn't know how to or didn't want to. He loved his new Robin just as he loved the old, but he was afraid to get too close. To show his hand, in fear of losing it all again. Bruce looked like he was in pain as he watched the young boy slowly nod off in the too-large chair by the computer.

He watched as Bruce moved toward Tim, grabbing a thick blanket as he walked. Jason followed, looking intently at his father as he leaned down and carefully wrapped the fleece around the young boy, tucking in the sides to make sure it didn't fall away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into Tim's hair before sighing and standing back up. "I don't know how to explain it to you, but I hope you know that I'm only trying to keep you safe."

Bruce stepped back, careful to keep his footsteps light. He looked on as Tim snuggled into the blanket, a look of relief overtaking the boy's face for the first time all night. He looked peaceful.

Jason watched as his father observed the boy, seeming to relax now that he was safely tucked in. He watched as he pulled off his mask, changing from Batman to Bruce. Jason saw the worry and anxiety slip from his father's face as he began to pull armor off his body, heading toward the locker room. Before he turned the corner, Bruce looked over again, checking once more that Tim was safe.

Jason watched the final threads of tension fall away from his father as he observed his Robin safe once again in his nest.

--

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to follow along, I'm also posting on ao3 here!

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Cold (A Jason Todd Fic)

Ch. 3

Chapter 4: School

Jason was bored.

There wasn't much for him to do at the manor, especially since everyone left for the majority of the day. He felt more alone now than he ever had before.

Tim would leave for school in the mornings and return just before patrol at night— Jason wasn't sure what he did in the hours in between. Bruce went to work in the city for the day, often staying late and using his spare suit to meet Tim on patrol at night. Alfred always kept busy: cleaning, organizing, and shopping, so Jason barely saw him.

At first, Jason spent his time wandering the manor, rediscovering places he had somehow forgotten. He found his favorite window seat, a place he would curl up and read on rainy days. He could get lost in a book for hours, tucked away safely in a corner of the big house. He also went back to his (old?) room.

He had been putting it off. Waking up there was one thing, but revisiting it once he knew what happened was different. It was a shrine, one left by a grieving father.

He hadn't known Bruce for very long. Only a few years. He had adopted him after the tire incident on the Batmobile, and the rest was history. But even though Bruce was not a long-standing figure in his life, he still felt more like a father to him than anyone else — especially his biological father, that asshole.

The room was untouched. Just as it had been when he woke up, everything was exactly in its place. The shelves were dusted, the curtains were open, but the room felt stale. It was a pristine artifact from a time when he was present, there… alive. Like he remembered, everything was the same. His baseball trophies still sat on the dresser across from his bed, and the bookshelf next to his desk was still full of memories. Books and memories. Comic books were stacked neatly on his bedside table, a bookmark still marking where he had last left off in the top edition.

It felt like a frog had lodged itself into Jason's throat. It hurt to swallow, to breathe. He didn't like the stillness, the emptiness of the room. The all too familiar cold started to creep up his spine as he looked in from the doorway, not even able to take a step in. He didn't stay there long.

Instead, Jason decided to test the limits of his mobility and follow Tim to school.

-

"Jason, no. There is no way I'm going to get through the school day with you hovering over my shoulder the whole time," Tim sighed. He was finishing up his bacon and eggs in the kitchen, whispering to Jason under his breath as not to alert Alfred to their unexpected visitor.

"Ok, first of all, I don't hover. I'm not that type of ghost," Jason replied indignantly. "And second, you won't even know I'm there. I just want to see how far I can go. Plus, it's boring here all day."

Tim looked at Jason, his gaze assessing. The boy was smart, Jason had seen that in the few days he'd been back. He was sure that Tim could see the anguish he was trying to hard to hide. The loneliness and confusion that came with reawakening into an unfamiliar life. The painful lack of connection to people around him that remained so close, yet so far.

"Fine," he sighed. "But don't expect me to entertain you if you get bored. I have an English test today and I need to do well or I could fail the class."

Jason gave him a look. He wouldn't have expected Tim to be even close to failing anything. With the dedication he put into Robin and his rigid routines, Jason had thought he was a star student.

"Don't give me that look. I know, okay? I'm doing well in all my other classes, but English just doesn't make sense. What am I actually going to learn from old white men from the 1800s? Nothing!" He huffed, his voice rising. "It's bogus."

Before he could respond, Jason heard Alfred's voice chime in from across the room.

"Is everything quite alright, Master Timothy? You seem to be muttering a lot under your breath. I hope your breakfast is to your liking." Tim straightened, throwing Jason a quick glare before turning to Alfred apologetically.

"Everything is great, Alf, sorry. I have an English test today and I'm getting in my head about it. You know how I feel about this teacher… she's so full of herself." Tim grumbled, shoveling another spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

"Ah, yes. Mrs. McConnally. While I understand, I have to disagree with your assessment of the subject. I quite like literature, and the book you're reading is fascinating. I remember when I used to help Master Jason with his— Um, excuse me. I mean, I'm sure you'll do great, son." Alfred gave him a tight smile before turning and busying himself with the dishes once more.

Tim sighed, looking down at his plate. He pushed the bacon around, but didn't look to have much of an appetite anymore. Jason was staring at Alfred. It was the first time that anyone but Tim had said his name, or even recalled his existence. It was jarring.

"Happens more often than you think," whispered Tim, noticing the pained expression on Jason's face. "You're the favorite, even now when it hurts to talk about it. They can't help themselves sometimes. You should see Bruce when he does it accidentally during patrol — those nights end up being rough."

Jason didn't respond, instead turning his wide-eyed gaze to Tim. They talked about him? He had hoped, but it's been days and he hadn't seen or heard anything yet. He assumed they either forgot or it was too taboo to speak of the dead for anyone to dare.

"Common, we've got to go if we want to make the bus. It takes at least an hour and two transfers to make it before the bell." Tim hopped off the stool, thanking Alfred for the meal, and headed towards the door where he had left his backpack this morning.

Tim didn't often eat at the manor. It was a rare occurrence, only happening when Alfred insisted or on days after long patrols. Alfred's love language was food, and Jason could see clearly how much he cared for the boy. He seemed to be the only one in the family who did.

Jason followed Tim as he left through the double doors, still dazed from the conversation. He wasn't the favorite, that had always been Dick. He was the first. The first child, the first Robin, Bruce's first love. Jason could never compare, but he still knew that Bruce loved him, too.

He watched as Tim made his way down the long driveway. Had he said they were taking the bus?

"Wait up!" He yelled, running to catch up with the younger boy. His footsteps were silent against the gravel under his feet. It still felt unusual to Jason to walk through the world unheard, leaving no marks, making no sound. "Did you say we're taking the bus?"

"Yeah?" Tim questioned, slowing his pace slightly to match Jason. "How else would we get there? It's too far to walk."

"A car? Hasn't Alfred offered to drive you yet? He drove me every day to school, I think he would have fainted if I told him I was taking public transportation."

"No, he hasn't offered…" he replied, his tone shifting. "But that's because he doesn't know I take the bus. I told him my parents hired a driver for me."

Jason paused mid-stride. What?

"Why would you do that?" he asked, incredulously. "Do you like sitting on uncomfortable benches next to smelly people?"

"No," Tim replied flatly. "I didn't want Alfred to think he was obligated to drive me. I can take care of myself. I don't need him to go out of his way every morning and drive into the city. He has much more important things to be working on than that."

Tim's tone was defensive. Jason could tell the boy took a lot of pride in his self-sufficiency. He liked that he was able to function alone, be a "man." But Jason could also see the trauma in it. The need for control. The steel resolve that comes with being forced to find your own way and not rely on anyone else. He saw that look when he was still living on the streets. He probably had that look when Bruce took him in.

"Ok," he replied, his tone carefully calm. "You're right. You can find your own way to school. I'm not questioning you, alright, Bud? All I meant was that Alfred would be happy to do it. He never minded driving me, and I can see how much he cares about you, too."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed.

Jason winced. Ouch. He wanted to respond, wanted to tell Tim that he was wrong. His family cared, just in their own way. But before he could say anything, the bus rounded the corner in front of them.

"Shit," Tim cursed, "lets go before we miss it."

—

They made it to school just before the bell. One of the buses was running ahead, causing them to miss their transfer, instead having to walk the rest of the way from the bus depot to the school. Thankfully, no one bothered them on their walk past Park Row so early in the morning.

"You're a bad luck charm," Tim whispered as he slid into his seat. "I've never missed the bus once in my life, and the second you decide to tag along, I have to walk a mile to school."

"Well, you are technically being haunted, so I guess that's as bad of luck as it gets," Jason teased, ignoring the pang in his chest. Humor was the best medicine, or at least it felt like it. "Bet no one else here gets to hang out with someone as cool as me during school."

"Lucky me," Tim muttered flatly. He pulled out his textbooks, getting ready for the day. He spared a glance towards Jason, sitting on top of the desk of the girl next to him. She was oblivious as she looked right through his transparent form. The sight was unsettling. "Would you go somewhere else? You're being creepy."

The girl looked over at Tim questioningly. She raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking if he was talking to her. He shook his head quickly and turned to the front, the tips of his ears heating in embarrassment. Jason laughed loudly beside him.

"Oh man, today's going to be awesome," he smiled, still giggling slightly. He instead opted to sit at the empty desk on Tim's other side. Tim rolled his eyes.

"My test is first period, so if you could keep your comments to a minimum, me and my grade would greatly appreciate it." He huffed, pulling out his copy of Of Mice and Men to skim through before the bell rang.

"My grade and I," corrected Jason with a grin. "Did I mention that English was my best subject? I basically have that book memorized," he boasted, throwing his legs up onto the desk in front of him. If he could, he would tip the chair back onto two legs, like he used to when he was in school. "Sure, you don't want my help?"

"I'm not cheating," Tim rolled his eyes. "Especially not from a ghost. Now, if you could please shut up so I don't look like the weirdo who talks to himself, that would be great."

Jason laughed, but remained quiet after that. He watched as Mrs. McConnally began class, reminding everyone that this test was worth 20% of their grade. He could see the bead of sweat run down Tim's neck at the reminder. When the papers were passed out, he leaned closer to Tim to check the questions. They were all pretty basic, common sense. He figured Tim would do just fine.

That was until he checked again. Tim had answered almost every question incorrectly. Did he even read the book? Jason huffed, moving to stand next to Tim, rather than sit.

"Number one is A, not C. And number two is obviously D. How could you not know that his name was Lenny? He's the main character, Tim. Really." He pointed at each question as he criticized Tim's answers. At first, Tim went along and changed them based on Jason's suggestions, but by the second page, he had had enough.

"Stop," he whispered, gripping his pencil a little tighter.

"Ok, so for this one, I can see why you think it's B, but I think C makes more sense because-" Jason continued, ignoring Tim's warning.

"Jason, enough." Hissed Tim, voice rising.

"Timmy, common, these are softball questions, I could do this in my sleep. Skip to the back so I can read the essay question, then I can brainstorm while you finish the multiple choice." Jason quipped giddily. He loved reading and literature, and for the first time since he came back, he felt like he was being useful— helpful.

"Shut up!" Tim yelled, snapping his pencil in half. The already quiet room fell silent, all eyes turning to Tim. He was breathing hard, looking down at his paper. Jason's eyes widened, realizing what had happened, what he had done.

Tim was self-sufficient. Painfully so. He prided himself on doing things alone, by himself. And there Jason was, prattling on and on about how he got the answers wrong, telling him what to do. He had wanted to be helpful, needed to be, but at the same time, he had forgotten who he was talking to. Tim didn't need Jason to tell him what to do in order to be helpful; if anything, he needed the opposite.

And now the whole room was staring at the boy who had just yelled in the middle of a test. Fuck.

"Principal's office, Mr. Drake. Now." Called the teacher from the front of the room. Tim rose without a sound, collected his belongings, and exited the room.

The principal ended up sending Tim to the nurse, who ended up sending him home for the day. He managed to make up an excuse about sleep deprivation, and the principal even allowed him to take a makeup test the next day. It was his first offense, and he technically didn't do anything wrong, so it was more of a warning. Tim sighed heavily as he exited the office toward the front doors.

"I'm so sorry, Tim," Jason sighed, following a few steps behind the boy. "I honestly was just trying to help. I got so excited that I could actually do something for you… help you the way you're helping me, that I got ahead of myself. I know you wanted to do it alone, and I didn't respect that. I'm sorry."

Tim didn't speak as they exited the school. He remained facing forward, not acknowledging Jason at all as they walked further and further away from the building. He thought Tim was going to ignore him forever.

"I know what you were trying to do," Tim finally responded, after turning a corner down an empty street. "I'm not mad… well, I'm not mad at you. I shouldn't have reacted like that, so that's on me. But I understand that you're trying to help. I can't say I understand what it feels like to be in your situation, but I can at least imagine it."

Jason sighed. The pain in his chest rose once again. He realized that it never went away. It would rise and fall with his moods, an ever-present reminder of his pain. His grief.

"If you want to help, maybe we can study when we get back. I read the book, but honestly, it's just words on paper to me. You seem to understand it much more than I do. Maybe you can explain some of the key parts to me so I can do better tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can totally do that." Jason smiled, looking over at Tim. "But only if you want me to, I really don't want to force you or anything."

Tim nodded, returning Jason's smile. A different feeling swarmed in his chest, not the pain, but something cooler. It reminded him of what it felt like when he first became Robin, when he learned how he could help the people around him. He wasn't saving someone's life here, but he was making a difference. It was the first time since he had woken up in his bed so many nights ago that he actually felt like himself.

"I have one condition, though," added Tim. "You're never coming to school with me again."

"Yeah… yeah, that's probably fair," agreed Jason, still smiling.

--

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to follow along, I'm also posting on ao3 here!

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Cold (A Jason Todd Fic)

Ch. 2

Chapter 3: Drake Manor

Jason watched as Tim left the cave later that night. They had talked a while longer, getting to know each other, but eventually decided that Tim needed some rest after his patrol. Tim's body seemed to sag as he walked away from Jason, allowing the ever-present weight to return to his shoulders now that he was not being watched… or so he thought.

Jason followed the young boy as he went up the stairs and through the manor, keeping in mind to stay hidden as he observed. Those Robin skills were so deeply trained into him that even now, without his body, he could rely on his training to ensure he wasn't seen.

He had assumed the boy had a room somewhere in the large estate, but was surprised to see Tim head for the front door and down the driveway. Jason wasn't sure of the rules of his new body. In movies, he knew that ghosts had a range on their travel, usually tied to where they had died. But he wasn't in Ethiopia. Maybe these rules were different.

He decided to test out his boundaries. What was the worst thing that could happen? He would die? Been there and done that, somehow came back. The risk didn't seem too great.

He stepped out the door quietly, realizing that his new body allowed him to move without sound. He was a silent whisper against the wind, barely visible in the darkness of the night. His steps gained confidence as he strolled behind Tim, careful to stay far enough back that the boy didn't see him.

Tim took a turn towards the side yard of the manor, seeming to navigate a well-worn path in his mind through the brush and towards the side fence. Jason could see the large estate nestled into the trees on the other side. The lights were off. The whole building was shrouded in darkness. Jason wouldn't have even seen it if it weren't for the boy heading in its direction.

It looked abandoned. The driveway sat empty, and the ivy growing on the side of the brick seemed to have taken over. Tim didn't seem to notice as he walked to the front door and used a key from under the mat to unlock it. He looked quickly behind him, scanning the area, before entering and closing the door.

Jason swung his body behind a tree as the young Robin surveyed the yard, not wanting to be seen. He watched from his spot as Tim entered the house and disappeared. No lights turned on. It was as if he were teleported. There was no sign of life.

After a few moments, Jason dared to move. He traced the boy's steps up the walkway and to the door. But there was his problem. How would he get in? He couldn't touch anything without pain, let alone pick up a key and use it. How would he get inside?

He tested the doorknob, attempting to touch it with his hand. The familiar feeling started at his fingertips and traveled up his arm as his fingers connected. He pushed through, squeezing his fingers around it, trying to grip it, but his hand went right through.

A queasy feeling tightened in his gut. Going through an object felt inherently wrong, almost sickening. It went against what he believed to be natural. He quickly let go and stepped back. There goes plan A. How else could he get into the house?

He couldn't use the key, his hand would just go through it. The same would happen if he tried to climb through a window; he would never get it open. Anything he touched, he would phase right through…

The thought struck him, and he took a step closer to the door again. He laid his hand flat against the oak door. He could feel a slight pressure against his palm; he knew that he was technically touching the surface of the object, but it didn't seem as solid as it once had. His body was still used to the natural limits of his environment, but his environment had changed— no, he had changed.

He pushed his palm gently against the door and shuddered as his hand began to slip through the solid wood. He could feel his hand slide from one solid edge to the other. The pins and needles were there, but he was getting used to the feeling; it didn't seem as intense as before. He continued to push against the door, his arm slowly disappearing against it. His wrist, then his elbow, all the way to his shoulder. He watched as his body disappeared, unable to process how it was possible.

Instead of pondering, he stepped forward, pushing the rest of his body through. The sickening feeling returned tenfold. His body felt hot and cold at the same time, and his skin broke out in goosebumps. He never wanted to do that again.

As he recovered, he took in his surroundings. The dark foyer was dusty, and the artwork and various statues were covered in thick tarps. It reminded him of a museum under renovation, one that was long forgotten. The house seemed unlived in; A moseleum. The familiar cold feeling seemed to return.

He listened intently to see where Tim had gone, but heard nothing. The boy seemed to have vanished. He made his way up the steps, assuming Tim would make his way to his room, either to shower or sleep. Instead, he saw a faint light shining from a crack in one of the doors at the top of the staircase. It stood out against the emptiness of the rest of the home.

He peeked in, careful not to touch any of the wood. He had had enough practice going through things for one day. He took in the room. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. There were clothes strewn all across the floor, the bed unmade: a mess. Tim had hung dark black out curtains across the windows and the only light in the room was the bright screen of his desktop against the far wall.

There sat little Timothy Drake at his computer. Jason sidestepped into the room and cautiously walked toward the younger boy. He could see that he was taking notes in a small notebook on the side of his desk, copying lines from his screen onto the pages. Jason looked at the screen and forced back a laugh. Tim had searched, "Are ghosts real?" into the search bar. He had various other tabs open aswell, all with the same theme.

Jason would have made fun of him any other day. Of course, ghosts weren't real… except that he was. He was a ghost. And he thought he was real; he felt real.

He reached forward to do what he wasn't sure. It wasn't like he could touch anything anymore. He was an observer in this world, intent on watching, but never interacting. He pulled his hand back and cleared his throat instead.

Tim froze. The hand holding the pen tensed, while the other reached under his desk to grab something unseen. Tim turned slowly toward the noise, a mask of calm on his face. He relaxed at the sight of Jason's barely there form standing in the middle of his bedroom. He put back whatever he had grabbed from under his desk and spun his chair around to face the older boy.

"I didn't think you could leave the manor," Tim sighed, visibly trying to relax from the scare that Jason had given him.

"Thought so too." Jason shrugged. "I was planning on heading back up to my room, but I saw you leave the manor. You live here?" he questioned, once again taking a look around the room. It felt just as cold as the rest of the house. Did Tim feel it too?

"Yes," snorted Tim, "This is my house, of course I live here."

"Alone?" Jason questioned. The lights were still off in the rest of the house, and there was no sound besides them speaking softly. It seemed wrong to speak too loudly in the emptiness.

"No." Tim averted his eyes and quickly looked back at Jason. He was a poor liar for a Robin. "My parents are away on a trip. They travel a lot for work, but I can take care of the house myself."

"Sure you can, kid," Jason nodded. "Why doesn't Bruce let you stay at the manor while your folks are away? I can't imagine he feels good about leaving you in this big, empty house alone. He can't have turned into that big of a monster." Or at least, Jason hoped he hadn't.

"It's alright, I'm more comfortable here anyway… Besides, I never actually told him I was here alone." Tim shrugged. He looked away from Jason, not allowing him to see the lie in his eyes once again.

Jason's eyes widened and he quirked an eyebrow up. He had clocked Tim's first lie right away, he doubted it would get passed Bruce either. Unless… Bruce never asked. He had taken in the kid to be Robin, but knew nothing about him. It was obvious they didn't talk, it wouldn't be that far out of the realm of possibility that Bruce had just not inquired about Tim's house. It didn't seem right, but with this new Batman? Anything was possible.

"I— I'm not dealing with that right now." He sighed, shaking his head. There would be a time and a place where he talked to Bruce about the shit job he was doing with Tim, but first he needed to figure out his own situation. "What are you doing, anyway? Thought you would have just crashed after being out all night."

The tips of Tim's ears reddened as he looked back at the screen, realizing that he had been searching for ghosts in front of Jason. He minimized the tabs, but he knew it was too late.

"You asked for my help," the boy sighed. "I'm good at research. Its how I found out about Bruce and how I became Robin. I figured that some research might be good for this too."

Jason smiled. He couldn't even make fun of the kid. If he had done all that on his own, then he knew he had found the right person to help him with his situation. Jason walked over to where Tim was sitting and looked over his journal. He had tons of notes written already. He barely beat Jason into the house. How had he gotten so much done already?

"You work fast," he said, smiling, "Tell me what you got so far."

"Well," Tim smiled, perking up. "I really just started, but from what I've seen, it's a bit split. Some people are adamant that ghosts are real. There have been sightings in old houses everywhere, and some people even say they can talk to ghosts. There was this one show on TLC called the Long Island Medium, and she talked to people's family members that had passed away— anyway, on the other hand, there are people who don't believe. They say it's all fake. We," he pointed between himself and Jason, "obviously know where we stand on that subject."

Jason nodded, smiling at the boys' tangent, but let Tim continue.

"Ghosts go back to ancient times. There have always been people who believed they could see their deceased relatives. It's a part of so many cultures. In our case, though, I'm a bit stuck. We know you're real, and we know that you came back to a place that was meaningful for you. We also know, now, that you can travel from that place. But the thing we need to figure out is why you're back. Why did you return after two years? What changed, and how can we use it to bring you back?" Tim sighed, leaning back in his chair. He was talking so fast as he explained that it felt like whiplash to Jason when he stopped. He thought a moment, processing what Tim had said before he responded.

"You think I can come back? or- I mean, stay here? Like back in my real body?" He asked softly, barely looking at the younger boy as he spoke. He sounded much more vulnerable than he had liked, but couldn't stop the question from leaving his mouth.

"Don't you want to?" He asked, tilting his head as he looked toward Jason. "I assumed that's why you asked for my help to begin with."

"I do!" Assured Jason, "I just wasn't sure if it was possible."

"Well, that's the thing. I don't know. I haven't exactly heard about any stories of people coming back to life after years of being gone, but give me some time. I have some people I can reach out to, and I know a few sites I can check out."

Jason looked toward Tim again. He didn't want to get his hopes up, he had already been pushing them down ever since he realized what he was. Besides, Tim, while admittedly extremely smart, was still just a kid. Jason shouldn't rely on him for all of this, but he didn't have a choice.

"For now, I think you should explore. We don't know why you're back, so why don't you go out and try to find out? See if anything speaks to you or draws you in. My hypothesis is that we're going to figure all of this out through trial and error. Just… don't go towards any bright lights, ok?" Tim smiled, trying to hold back his laugh.

"Yeah, yeah," Jason rolled his eyes, suppressing his smile. "Make fun of the dead guy. Watch out there, little Robin, I could haunt you for the rest of your life if I wanted to."

Tim sobered a bit, but Jason could still see the smile in his eyes. He, surprisingly, wasn't mad at the kid. If anything, Tim was growing on him. He couldn't understand why there was such a big rift between him and his family. He seemed like he would fit right into their dysfunctional life.

Jason decided. He would search for why he was back, but he would also work to mend the void he left. He was going to bring everyone together, whether they liked it or not. Tim would not have to live alone in this sad cold house, Dick would be able to smile a little more, and Bruce… well he had a lot of work to do with Bruce. Good thing he wasn't short on time.

--

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to follow along, I'm also posting on ao3 here!

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Cold (A Jason Todd Fic)

Ch. 1

Chapter 2: Robin

Jason waited for the boy in the cave. He took the time to wander while they spoke, searching for any other changes made in his absence.

Everything looked the same, the only difference being the "shrine" in his honor. The costume, which had been his, was draped on a mannequin in the tall glass case he had seen earlier. The plaque underneath read, "Jason Todd, a good soldier."

The abrupt ache that filled his chest felt too real for his incorporeal form. The burning pain spread through his torso and out to each limb, filling his being with a longing so strong it hurt. The emotion burned bright and lingered, an awful contrast to the cold he had grown so used to.

He moved away quickly. The sight of his memorial was too jarring for the moment. He needed to figure out what was happening. Instead, he turned toward the desk in the center of the room.

Jason had spent hours down here during his Robin days. The long nights often left him bored— a dangerous thing for a twelve-year-old. He found a game to occupy his time rather quickly. He had wanted to see what he could get away with while Bruce wasn't looking.

It started simple: moving things around behind Bruce's back, messing with some computer settings when his father wasn't looking. He once changed the autocorrect feature on the computer to say "butts" whenever Bruce typed a word starting with B. He got better as time went on, and so did his tricks. He started seeing what real changes he could make around the cave without his father noticing.

His best attempt was a small victory. Something barely noticeable, but meaningful nonetheless. Jason had carved his name on the table under the bat computer.

Bruce had passed out in the chair one night after a long day, and Jason seized his chance. He snuck under the desk with his pocket knife and scratched "Jay was here" in harsh lines across the metal. It was barely noticeable until it caught the light, but it was perfect.

While he waited to speak with Robin, he sank to his knees and shuffled around Bruce's legs, going under the desk. He wouldn't dare try to touch his father again. The pain, both emotional and physical, was too great.

Jason managed to wedge his body around Bruce and slide towards the back of the desk. He looked up. There, in the dim light, were his words still scratched into the metal. Something in his chest loosened. A tightness he wasn't aware of until it had eased. It was still there, it hadn't changed. He wasn't totally gone.

He sat a moment, needing to breathe. This was Jason's safe space. A place he would seek comfort after tough cases, ones that ended badly or couldn't be resolved. A small space just for himself, guarded by the legs of the man he trusted most in this world. Marked by his words, and his words alone. His cave.

If he closed his eyes, it felt as if nothing had happened. He could believe, for a moment, that he was just waiting for Bruce to finish up his reports after a patrol — he was safe, protected, not alone.

But he wasn't. Not anymore.

He lived in an unknown world now. Between the one he knew and the one waiting for him just out of his reach. It felt dark, uncertain, and so cold.

He opened his eyes again, looking up at the words. He had shifted to lie on his back, his arms tucked under the back of his head. They were farther away, but he still traced each line with his eyes, knowing that touching it with his fingers would only hurt more. He went over the words again and again; they grounded him. They were an anchor to what was, and what he wasn't willing to give up.

As he traced the words, his eyes caught something else glinting in the light. Words. More words were written under his desk. In his space: an invasion of his world.

The light was too dim. He couldn't see what they said. It was written farther back, closer to the wall. He slid down and tilted his head, getting a better angle. There, in the darkness, were four new words: "Miss you, Little Wing."

Dick.

His brother had found him. Even after he was gone, Dick must have gone to the spot that Jason coveted, to what? Be with him? Mourn him?

He reached up to touch the words and acknowledge the message his brother left him, but he was interrupted. Movement caught his eye once more. Bruce was leaving, and the walls of his makeshift cave were breaking; he was exposed.

Not like anyone could see him anyway. Well, anybody but Robin—

He spared a glance at the notes once more and then crawled towards the retreating figures. Bruce stalked away and up the stairs without a backward glance as Dick cursed something under his breath and climbed onto his motorcycle.

Robin stood in the middle of the room, head downturned and unmoving. The distant slam of the cave door echoed against the rev of Nightwing's engine as he peeled out of the garage. Both figures left loudly, yet silently. Not a single word was exchanged.

These were not the men that Jason knew. Not now. Not how Jason remembered them.

His mind, his memory, was full of soft smiles and gentle words. Feelings of happiness and security. The knowledge that he could rely on the people around him for support, guidance, and love. He remembered warmth.

But here, he only felt the cold.

The room was silent once more. The tense silence that he now understood was the norm. So different, so sad. Had he done this? Did he ruin his family because of his selfish desires?

"Are you real?" came a whisper, pulling Jason from his thoughts. He turned to the boy, regarding him. Robins's head remained downturned, the same as when Batman stalked from the room.

Robin's eyes were shut tight. Afraid. His hands were curled into fists at his side. Ready, though useless against his untouchable form.

"No." Remarked Jason dryly. He was frustrated, confused, and tired. He had no patience for the young impostor. "I'm a figment of your guilt-ridden imagination. An apparition of the boy you stole that costume from."

Robin tensed, taking a deep breath. He flinched as though Jason had struck him. It felt wrong.

"What do you want?" He asked, eyes still screwed shut.

Jason sighed, looking closer at the boy. He looked skinny. Tired. Haggard. This Robin didn't look like he slept much… or ate much. Did Bruce not take care of him?

"Listen…" started Jason, the anger fading from his tone. He couldn't be mad at the kid. It wasn't his fault that this had happened to Jason. That was his own fault. "I don't know what's going on here, but I feel like I woke up in Bizarro world."

Jason sighed and slumped to the ground, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. He dropped his head into his hands, his dark curls falling in front of him and blocking the view of the young Robin. He could barely feel the floor underneath him, an odd sensation of something under him, but not a familiar feeling. He couldn't even sit anymore—

A hand touching his shoulder startled him. It wasn't a warm touch, but instead, his skin broke out into those sharp needles, causing him to flinch back and away from the feeling.

Robins eyes widened as he too took a step back, looking down at his hand. He stretched it and closed it into a tight fist before looking back over at Jason.

"Sorry," the boy said, almost shyly. "I didn't think that would work. My hand felt like it turned to ice. Does it feel like that for you?" His voice sounded intrigued, curious, boyish… too young.

"No," responded Jason, giving no further explanation as he rubbed the uncomfortable feeling out of his shoulder. "How old are you anyway? You look younger than I was when I took over Robin."

"Am not," Robin replied indignantly. "You were twelve. I'm fourteen." He pushed his shoulders back, trying to appear taller than he was. But even with the effort, he was still a head shorter than Jason was when he started working with Bruce. His arms were skinny and he had little muscle. It looked wrong for him to be Robin, unsafe. He needed more training, a stronger figure, more time to train.

What was Bruce thinking?

"Sure, shortstack. Whatever you say," He agreed, moving to stand next to the boy. He was indeed much shorter than him, though he is older now than he was when he became Rob. "Bruce lets you go out and patrol? What training have you done?"

Robin tenses, invisible walls seeming to rise around him. He looked fiercer like this, more calculated. He looked more like Robin than he did with his head hanging low next to Bruce.

"Of course, I patrol. Batman needs a Robin. Nobody else was going to do it, so I stepped up." He bristled, his eyes glazing as he thought back. "You wouldn't understand; you were gone, but he was angry. He didn't pull his punches anymore. Got real sloppy."

"What?" questioned Jason. That didnt sound right. Bruce was violent, sure, he was Batman. But he was never unjust. Never unkind.

"I was the one who noticed," continued Robin. "I did what I had to do. Gotham needs Batman, and Batman needs a Robin." He huffed towards Jason. His defensive position strengthening, showing some muscle in his arms.

"But what about Dick?" asked Jason. His brother would have helped, surely. If Bruce had gotten that bad, his brother would have stepped in.

"Nightwing tried… I guess. He was the first person I went to when I saw Batman getting more violent, but he said he was busy with Bludhaven and didn't have time to help Bruce. He told me he would get better on his own, but it only got worse."

Jason's head swam. Bruce got angry? Mean? and Dick didn't help? What had happened to his family?

"So then you, what, asked to be Robin?" Jason looked back at the kid, Robin, incredulously. Bruce had only given it to Jason when he found out about Dick. He gave it to him because he was his son. But this Robin wasn't related to him, he was just a child.

"Well, not exactly. Bruce didn't want help. He wanted to be alone, but I knew he needed me. So I made my own suit and started to patrol with him." The boy winced as he thought back to the memory, "He hated it. He screamed at me, told me I was crazy… But one night, he got into a bad situation, and I helped. I got him out before he got killed. So he took me on as Robin." He shrugged, like it was all just history and not the most heartbreaking and devastating thing Jason had ever heard about his own family.

Jason had had enough. His mind had been trying to keep up, put the pieces together, but this was all too much. He broke, crumpling once again to the floor. His entire life had changed, had ended, and now everything was fucked.

"How long has it been?" Jason's voice was hoarse. Grief filled his throat and closed it tight. He felt like he couldn't breathe, not that he had to anymore.

Robin's face sobered, understanding in his eyes. His defences dropped and he stepped closer to Jason, reaching to touch his shoulder again, but rethinking at the last moment. His hand hovered instead. Jason didn't flinch, didn't move. His head was filled with new information. His father was not who he was when he had last seen him, and neither was his brother.

"Two years," whispered the new Robin. "It's been two years since you've been gone…"

Robin opened and closed his mouth, seeming to form words and rethink them over and over again in his mind. Jason remained silent. Two years.

"I'm sorry," Robin whispered. His hand once again settled on Jason's shoulder. The needles erupted down his arm and across his back, but he didn't move. He couldn't. The pain helped to ground him, pull him out of his spiral. He would have time to crash, but now wasn't it. There had to be a reason he was still here, still around. He didn't stay dead, and he needed to figure out why.

He sniffed, pulling himself together, and reached over to touch the hand on his shoulder. He squeezed it, the pins and needles now spreading into his hand and down his arm. He looked up at the Robin in front of him, so young, so thin, so determined.

"What's your name?" Jason asked.

"Oh, it's um… Tim. My name is Timothy Drake," he replied.

"Well, Tim, it looks like I need your help," smiled Jason. This wouldn't be the end for him. He would find out what had happened and why he had come back. He would fix his family and, hopefully, fix himself. The world didn't seem to be done with him, and he certainly wasn't done with this world.

--

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to follow along, I'm also posting on ao3 here!