Chapter Text
The chaos of the unloading school buses and hyperactive children made slipping out of sight easy.
There was a singular goal. And after Jason Todd accomplished it, he planned to be back with his school group before any of the chaperones noticed him missing.
From the directory outside the Daily Planet building, the newspaper itself rented out the bottom thirty floors, and sat on the top seven. The reporters seemed to be clustered on thirty-three to thirty-six. The thirty-seventh held the executive board offices. Then the roof; his target
location.
He waited patiently for his class to walk inside, noting that no one appeared to notice him missing, nor did any of the teachers or chaperones bound outside yelling his name. Satisfied that he had at least half an hour, and would receive a warning text from a classmate of his if anyone inquired about him, he went to a door leading to a stairwell, taking the steps two at a time until he ran out of breath and slowed down.
The building had a delivery elevator, and after he made it to the tenth floor, he found it and rode up to the thirty-seventh floor with only the hum of the passing floors as company.
Once there, the elevator exited to a less populated area of the floor, perfect for deliverers. And for a covert Jason. A sign indicating rooftop access led him further around a corner, not passing anyone on the way. The area was poorly monitored; a fact he counted on.
He stood still, glancing around the old fashioned architecture with high ceilings and exposed brick walls, decorated with newspaper clippings of famous headlines, and was about to cross to get to the rooftop access when a voice made Jason jump.
"What're you doing?"
Jason whirled around. "Jesus fuck! Tim?! Did you follow me?" The question was rhetorical. But how and when were burning on the tip of Jason’s tongue, yet he bit it back because it irked him that Tim managed the feat without notice. And didn’t look out of breath or flustered.
Tim shrugged. "I saw you sneak away."
"And what part of that seemed like an invitation to you?"
Another shrug. Tim looked around curiously, scanning each millimeter of the space with care. The kid had freakishly good observation skills and a light set of feet.
Jason sighed, irritated but already resigned. Tim followed him around the most, a persistent pest that none of the older members of the family would let Jason swat away.
Wasn't it enough that the kid had skipped three grades and had been placed in Jason's class? Yet no one had sympathy. Dick thought it was cute and wished he had his brothers in class with him. Bruce lectured Jason on being a good older brother and looking out for Tim. Alfred treated him to raised brows and a stiff British lip when Jason complained.
And now, like usual, Jason got stuck with the kid toeing along behind him, asking a million questions until he lost patience and snapped. Then Tim would sulk, either to make Jason feel guilty enough to answer his questions, or Bruce angry enough to chastise him with weighted words and disappointed looks.
It sucked. Since Tim had joined the family, Jason had become labeled as the bad kid, the troublemaker, whiner; while Tim was the sweet summer child with innocent curiosity and an enormous intelligence. Oh, and his stupid big backpack that dwarfed his small frame that he took everywhere. That enhanced his totally harmless act. But underneath that, Jason knew a little punk heart lay beating, wanting to go places he had no business being and bothering people he should just leave alone.
And Tim was ruining yet another of Jason's days with his unwanted presence. "Go back," Jason gritted out. "Someone is more likely to notice both of us gone."
Tim shook his head. "I told Mr. Banner's group that we would be with Ms. Tilly's. And I told her we'd be with him. As long as we're on the bus back, no one will notice."
That was a good idea. Jason had been banking on the number of students to hide his absence, a few friends to warn him if his absence caused a stir, but this ensured they'd be accounted for since the groups were doing two tours due to size.
This also defeated the reason for Jason to banish Tim back downstairs for the official tour. If Jason didn't let him tag along, it was possible Tim would tattle. Not that he ever had before, except accidentally, but Jason didn't trust him to keep from mentioning Jason's sneaking off if asked by Alfred or Bruce. If they were together, then he had insurance.
“Fine,” Jason sighed, settling on mutually assured destruction instead of the risk of exposure. “But you have to do what I say and don’t ask questions. Agreed?”
“Okay!” Tim chirped, looking happy to be included, which caused Jason to feel resentful guilt.
Jason put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and waved for Tim to follow him as he crossed the hall to the stairwell with rooftop access. They ascended the first of two staircases, and a quiet Tim lasted only about thirty seconds. “What are we doing?” he whispered.
“I told you, no questions.”
“Can I guess?”
“That’s a question.”
Tim went blessedly silent, but only for a moment. “I’m going to guess,” he said in a declarative statement with deliberate emphasis. Such a little shit.
Rolling his eyes, Jason felt another swell of annoyance. He wanted to tell Tim to shut up, but that would lead to a fight or a grudging silence and possibly to Tim retaliating by going to find one of their teachers. “I’m gathering evidence for B,” Jason said grudgingly.
Tim’s eyes went wide in understanding and he got even more thrilled. “About Superman,” he breathed, his brain making the right connections. Which meant that Bruce had let him read the secret files on the cave computer. Information that Bruce had deemed Jason too young to look at, so he’d had to sneakily look at it when Bruce went out for his nighttime patrol. More resentment festered.
“Be quiet! We don’t know what his range of hearing is,” Jason said, not managing to suppress his spite completely, “but it’s pretty far and we don’t want to get his attention.”
Complicated mental processes seemed to be happening in Tim’s brain, and he didn’t say anything else at the moment. They reached the top, only to find that the door was locked.
Jason had prepared for that, however. He reached in his pocket and produced a small set of burglary tools. He turned to explain to Tim how to pick the locks but Tim was holding out his own set.
“Of course you have that,” Jason muttered.
“I always carry it around.”
Weirdo, Jason thought for the millionth time.
Tim had come to live with them six months ago, not exactly Bruce’s ward, but close to that.
The official story was: Tim Drake’s wealthy parents traveled constantly, and wanted an old family friend to provide some stability for their twelve year old son.
The real story was more like: Bruce found out that Tim had no adult caregiver in some convoluted way that Jason hadn't been able to ferret out of either party. Tim had been fabricating the existence of a caretaker for over a year, the details of how foggy. Bruce had confronted Tim, and then Tim tried to blackmail Bruce into leaving him alone by revealing that he knew the older man’s secret nighttime vigilant hobby.
That backfired. Instead of getting Bruce off Tim’s back, Bruce got even more involved.
Jason could’ve predicted that one. As Alfred had muttered after the fact: place Bruce in proximity to a smart and family-less kid and he’d adopt him in a heartbeat. With Tim it was a bit more complicated because he actually had parents alive and well (another fact that made Jason feel a tight knot of angry resentment), but the outcome turned out to be essentially the same. Tim lived with them full-time upon an
agreement made with Tim’s parents, and Bruce had guardianship papers to make any meaningful decisions.
It wasn’t fair. Tim now basically had three parents, plus an Alfred. While Jason now had to divide Bruce and Alfred by three, instead of the more manageable two.
And the kid was good at everything. He excelled at academics, like at a genius level, putting Jason’s decent A’s and B’s to shame. He was naturally good at gymnastics, with a body type similar to Dick’s (Jason was getting too husky, better suited for contact sports), and an eagerness to learn that softened Dick into a puddle of brotherly goo even worse than he was with Jason. Tim was amazing with computers, a skill that had Bruce working together with him to get pointers.
And he had the gall to be prepared for any situation.
Jason seethed, irrationally furious, and ignored Tim’s grin at both of them having lock picking sets. He turned his focus to the lock, an easy one, and jimmied it like Bruce had taught him, getting the door open in two minutes. Probably a minute longer than Tim would’ve been able to.
“Let’s go,” he mumbled, regretting his assent to the kid tagging along. Now he wouldn’t even be able to take complete credit for what he found.
His plan was to surprise Bruce with more data about their newest obsession: the being the media called Superman.
Two months ago, the flying metahuman (who claimed to be an alien, but yeah right) saved a crashing plane of people with disconcerting ease and had been interviewed by the Daily Planet the very same day. Since then, Superman, as the papers unoriginally dubbed him, stepped in for major natural disasters, Metropolis related crimes, or other catastrophes that carried no pattern. Why Superman had chosen that particular city, they were still theorizing. There were devices Bruce had installed around Metropolis to measure the air displacement and fast moving objects. Then he had mapped the coordinates of the triggering events. Many of them were clustered around the roof of the Daily Planet.
Bruce hadn't made plans to go to Metropolis in order to study the physical locations and look for clues. His attention was captured by a more immediate problem; a heroin trafficking ring that had become more active in the last two weeks and where the perpetrators were planning to move cargo in the next few nights.
So Jason thought he'd help with the project put on the backburner. And maybe show Bruce that he WAS old enough to fight crime and assist with the Batman.
Bruce had strict guidelines about the boys involvement. He wouldn't even let Dick out into the field--refusing to consider it until after he turned 21. It was so unfair. Dick had protested, loudly, many times, and Jason agreed that they should be able to help more. Perhaps even get their own superhero identities! How cool that would be. But so far, Dick subsided in his attempts to convince Bruce to let him get involved and seemed happy to focus at college.
But Jason wouldn’t give up. He had the whole thing worked out. First, he needed to prove he could handle the fieldwork sleuthing. Bruce allowed him, and Dick when he was younger and now when he was around some weekends, to provide assistance in the batcave. He even let Tim join, a full year before Jason had gotten permission. With that kind of precedence, Jason stood a chance of being included earlier. He just had to prove his capabilities and Bruce would welcome him into the fold. What was the point of their extracurriculars (fighting, gymnastics, weapons, computers) if they weren’t going to be included?
Tim was an unwelcome intruder on his plan but Jason could roll with the punches.
With the door unlocked, Jason led and Tim followed. The rooftop itself wasn't particularly nice or meant for people to dwell. The view was decent from one side of the roof, glancing upon the more residential sections of the city. The large metal cylindrical planet stood above the roof, held in place by several pillars. That obscured the side of the road that overlooked the high rises and taller corporate buildings.
If Superman did frequent the Daily Planet roof, then he must leave a trace of that behind. Fibers from his uniform. Burn marks from takeoff.
“Maybe he left a handprint or footprint,” Tim suggested, scanning the area with concentration.
This was possible, and there were many prints left behind from Superman assisting with malleable materials and using his strength. The airplane he'd landed contained deep indents from where Superman held the plane. However, no one had recovered DNA from the prints. No biological discard had been found ever, at any rescue site. Highly unusual.
That didn't mean they shouldn't check. “I'll look on this side, and you can take the other,” Jason ordered. Tim nodded.
They were quiet for the next half hour, carefully searching.
Jason was the one to find something first. It was a tie. Dark blue, cheap material, and decorated with cartoonish pens and pencils. The unusual part was that it was nestled in a box underneath a bunch of pipes. The box was plastic and Jason had used gloves to open it carefully. The box also had a set of clothes.
“Tim,” Jason said, “do you have any sealable bags?”
Tim ran over, eager. He reached into his backpack and produced a sealable bag that Bruce taught them to use for evidence collection. “Do you think it's for...you-know-who?”
“I don't know. But we can scan them in the lab.” Jason sniffed the material and didn't detect any foul or pungent odors. But the clothes also didn't look newly washed or smell of detergent. Gently worn and then placed in the box for safe keeping.
“That shirt is really large,” Tim commented.
“Looks like it would fit him,” Jason said, tampering his excitement with seriousness. He wanted to be professional about this.
“Can I see the pants?”
“No. We can look at it them when we get home.”
“But I had an idea—”
Jason sealed the bag. “Let's finish looking and get back to the tour group before we get in trouble.”
“You never listen to me,” Tim muttered sourly.
Jason scowled. “You followed me without asking! I don't owe it to you to listen when you weren’t wanted here in the first place.” The words erupted out without thought.
Tim looked at him with shining eyes and that made the guilt resentment combination roar up and spill out as anger.
“I thought I could help,” Tim said, head tilting down so his hair obscured his face.
Jason hated when Tim played the victim. It made Jason feel bad but also frustrated that Tim didn't stand up to him and tell Jason to go fuck himself.
Before he could think about what he was going to say, maybe do a breathing exercise Alfred had taught him to calm down, Jason acted on his anger and snapped. “I never asked for your fucking help and I never asked for you to live with us. I don't want another brother. I wish you'd just leave me the fuck alone!”
Tim reeled back in shock. Stiffened. And his face went blank. Without a word, he pivoted and went back through the roof door, not so much with an actual slam as a metaphorical one.
Jason, of course, felt horrible immediately, sick with himself. He always did this, spoke without thinking. Why couldn’t he just control himself? Dick and Alfred had lectured him about being nicer to the twelve year old, and how he needed to be assured that they wanted Tim there. His real family apparently hadn't been the best, what with leaving him alone for years on end and getting so easily fooled that there was someone around to babysit. Not good or responsible parents in the least. Downright neglectful, Dick had muttered once.
He paced back and forth on the roof for several minutes. But before Jason could decide whether to go find Tim and apologize (ugh) or let it be (maybe), a ear-piercing series of bangs made Jason jump.
A familiar sound to someone who listened over a comm device when Batman went out into the dark to fight crime: gunshots.
Tim, Jason thought in panic, and raced to the door.
~*~
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~*~
Tim stormed down the rooftop stairway, intent on leaving the building entirely and perhaps spending the day wandering around Metropolis to see what he could find in the dregs of the city on his own. He had his camera, like usual, in his bag and several hundred dollars sewn both into the seams of the bag, but also his shoes and jeans. He’d learned over the years to be prepared to simply hop in a cab or on a bus quickly, or to bribe someone to leave him alone. A hundred bucks went a long way on the street.
I don't want another brother. And I wish you'd just leave me the fuck alone! The words echoed in Tim’s head, on repeat. Tim wanted to scream back at Jason that he didn’t ask to be his brother, either, but the words always got stuck in his throat at the contemptuous look in Jason’s eyes, and he had to admit that he couldn't fault the older boy for hating Tim. Tim didn’t have anything to offer him, or Dick, or Bruce, or Alfred. Sometimes he thought it would be better if he withdrew a bunch of money and disappeared, somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was a place he would finally stop being a burden.
He reached the bottom of the rooftop stairwell and exited to the other side, where more than thirty floors of descent greeted him. He sighed forlornly as he began a trek down. Before made it more than a few floors, however, gunfire and screams filled with the air with a dizzying suddenness, freezing Tim halfway between steps in fright.
He said a word that Alfred would’ve scolded him and whipped out his phone…no signal. Unusual, given the strength of the wireless connector on his phone and the tinkering he’d done to enhance it. They must have a frequency blocker, whoever ‘they’ were. He needed information and a way to contact the police and Bruce.
And Jason!
Tim immediately turned heel to make his way back up.
But the entrance to the floor below him slammed open abruptly and several men in black tactical gear and automatic weapons filed in, shouting.
Tim said a bad word again.