entrancelogs | [open] i'll hold your hands

Entry tags:

[open] i'll hold your hands

Who: Tim Drake and You!
Where: Throughout the Mansion
When: Ewaymas!
Rating: PG
Summary: Tim is trying to stay away from the cookies, but he keeps accidentally eating them. And they keep making him cold.
The Story:

Tim has been trying to avoid the cookies that are all around the mansion in baskets like baited traps, but he can't… quite… stay away from them, despite not being very interested in cookies as a rule (unless they're Alfred's, but of course he's the exception to every rule). He's seen the effects that the cookie shave had on Georgia Mason and others, and he's not interested any of that for himself.

And yet.

Somehow he keeps catching himself about to eat one, without realizing what's happening. And then, of course, inevitably come the times where he doesn't manage to catch himself before eating one. Is he festive? Small? Musical? Hungry?

No. He's cold. Every time he fails to stop himself from eating a cookie, he's overtaken by a sudden chill, and unable to get warm.

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Even though Jason's looking at Tim - and he's fairly certain Tim is looking at him - Jason leaves his finger on the line he'd been reading on the open page and gives a quick glance around to one side, then the other. Yep, this kid sure does seem to be talking to him, though Jason can't reach for a reason why. Expression quizzical, he nods in acknowledgment to Tim's greeting.

"Hey."

Yep. Going great so far!!

"We spoke earlier--over the network. It was a scintillating conversation regarding consents and the placement of tails on donkeys. I'm Tim. Tim Drake."

And he's a huge fan.

Ah, right. He remembers talking with the kid, his first day here. Had some pretty interesting things to say, as Jason recalls.

"The weird kid from Gotham," he says, nodding with recognition, though the proper name Tim gives doesn't register. Why would it? Jason's never heard the name Tim Drake before, and he can't guess at why Tim's approaching him now.

Jason slips a folded piece of paper into the book to mark his place and closes it, placing the book on the table next to his feet, then turning with his arms folded over his chest to give Tim his undivided attention.

"So, what can I do for ya, Tim? You here for more discourse on donkey tails, or is there something else on your mind?"

Probably the latter, Jason thinks. But he won't know for sure unless he asks.

Tim doesn't actually expect to be recognized--he and Jason had never technically known each other before he died. Why would that be any different now? He gives in--slightly--to the cold and wraps his arms around himself. He nods back to the stacks behind him. "I was just doing some research and I noticed you here. Thought I would introduce myself properly." He pauses--should he continue? Probably not if Jason's still pretending to be John Doe, but he'd been pretty well outed on the network. "I think we have some mutual friends."

It's not really that he's still seriously pretending to be John Doe, more that he's sticking to the alias out of sheer stubborn spite. This is how a Jason rolls.

The kid's clearly got something to say, though why he's not spitting it out is a minor mystery; he had plenty to say over the network, even when the discussion turned downright silly. He says he noticed Jason, which means he saw and recognized him, and Jason was careful not to show his face at any point during that initial broadcast. Something's up here. Jason scrunches up his face like he's thinking hard about what Tim's said.

"Well, that can't be right. I'd need to have friends for any of 'em to be considered mutual."

He half-smiles like it's a joke. It is (sort of), but it's also what Jason believes to be true.

"Go on, kid - out with it. You're making me nervous, standing there like that."

Tim gives him a slightly bemused look, because... well, that can't be right, can it? He's not sure how Jason is alive and older than he was when he died, but he's obviously himself. Damian had confirmed that, and while Tim has read the comics that Georgia gave him, she doesn't really know what she's looking at, so there are a lot of holes in his knowledge of anything that happens ahead of his own place in the timeline.

"Well. Bruce? And Dick? You can't say they're not friends."

Bruce. Dick. The instant those names make their way to Jason's ears, everything in his demeanor snaps, cold and hard. His eyes narrow, a scowl settles across his mouth, and all trace of affability vanishes from his tone when he speaks again.

"Yeah, actually, I can say that." And he is, if his sudden iciness is any metric by which to measure. Jason hasn't been here very long, but he's already tired of all the people here who think they know him and are eager to tell him as much. It's time to set this kid straight.

"Who've you been talking to?"

That is... decidedly not the reaction Tim had expected. He doesn't actually take a step back (he's
certainly used to people from Gotham with uncertain tempers), but he does frown in confusion. "Uh. Them. Back home?"

Down from atop the table come Jason's booted feet as he sits forward in his chair. He taps a finger on the surface of the table, agitated, jaw tense while he stares Tim down and considers his words. A part of him knows this has to just be an innocent misunderstanding, but it's a part that's quickly drowned out by the rising wave of anger inside of him.

"Look, kid, I don't know what kind of bizarro version of Gotham you're from, but you've got the wrong guy here. They're not my friends."

Tim's eyebrows are way, way up at that. "It sounds like you're from bizarro Gotham, because I think that would surprise both of them very much where I'm from. But then--where I'm from, you've been gone for a few years now. They'd both be pretty shocked to see you. I know I was."

"Gone?" Eyebrows arched in return, Jason shakes his head. "Try dead."

And he's seen Bruce and Dick both since he returned, after five long years of shaping himself into the monster Jason's convinced himself Gotham needs more than Batman and Robin. Dick was quickly taken out of play by the explosives Jason set in the subway, and Bruce - well, he was surprised, sure, but seemed to get over it quickly. He had more important things to do - like telling Jason just how wrong he was.

Jason studies Tim for a tense moment, looking for the clues to what he senses he already knows. Jon said there were two Robins here - Damian is one. And how else would Tim know Bruce, Dick, and Jason? There's only one thing that connects them.

"Who are you?"

Tim frowns, looking away. "I know you were dead. I was being euphemistic." He folds his arms a little tighter around himself. He doesn't much care for looking this defensive, but the damned cold isn't helping him much.

"I told you. I'm Tim Drake. But I stayed with Bruce for a while after my mom died, when my dad was in a coma. And well before that I worked out how he was spending his evenings, and you, and Dick. I'm Robin now. I have been for a few years."

Don't be anxious. Don't be anxious.

Jason knows Tim's answer before he says it. After that first day here in Wonderland, he'd filed the fact of a second Robin's existence away in his mind - too much new information to absorb, too much mental energy spent pushing away the truth of Bruce replacing Jason with an actual son of his own, and uncovering the identity of the second Robin fell to the background, nearly forgotten.

But Jason remembers now. And the other Robin's standing here in front of him, and Jason just feels sick with anger. Not only did Bruce not care enough about Jason's murder to do a damn thing about it, he replaced him.

Jason thought nothing Bruce did would hurt more than what he's already experienced. He feels a little stupid now, with the knowledge of just how wrong he was curling cold and hard around his heart. It's not Tim's fault, and some part of Jason's mind recognizes this, but it's a small part, easily drowned out by the long mental scream currently taking up space in his thoughts.

"Well," Jason finally says, eyes narrowed and jaw tight, "good for you. Tell me one thing, Boy Wonder - did he even wait a week after I was dead, or did he start scoping out new recruits the second I started turning cold?"

This is going... so well. He's suddenly very aware of why Damian had seemed braced for some kind of Reaction from Tim when he told him that he had succeeded him as Robin. And he knows that Dick hadn't taken it very well either.

Apparently none of them are very good at facing their replacements--not that Tim agrees with the term. He doesn't think that Jason replaced Dick, and he certainly doesn't view himself as a replacement for Jason. Far from it. He knows he could never take his place, and he's never wanted to.

Jason's fury is obvious--upsetting if he takes the time to think about it, and he'll have plenty of that later--but it's also not his fault. Just like Dick's issues with Bruce were never Jason's fault, and whatever issues he's going to have with Bruce won't be Damian's fault.

Instead of reacting, he drops his arms, and raises an eyebrow at Jason. "If you want to have an actual conversation about Bruce's mental state after you died, and how I came into things, I'm more than happy to oblige. If you're just looking for an excuse to be angry and something to take it out on, I recommend the training center. There are a number of punching bags there that are going to be a lot less irritable when insulted."

God, he really wants to punch something - this kid's face, a wall, anything. Jason can feel the anger rising up higher in his chest, a white-hot flicker singeing his heart as he pushes the chair back from the table and climbs to his full height, spots clouding his vision as he glowers down at Tim. This feeling is all too familiar, and Jason knows if he allows himself to fall down over that precipice, if he allows that thin shred of resolve holding him back to tear, then there's going to be blood.

Tim may be Robin, but he's still just a kid. And Jason's not meeting him in battle as the Red Hood - if he were, all bets would be off, but that's not what's happening right now. Jason may be a monster, but he's not the kind of monster who beats up kids. He knows that type. He's better than that - he wants to be better than that.

"I have a better idea," he says, low and even. "You get out of my face and stay out, and I won't have to use yours as a punching bag. That's the only warning you're getting."

He makes a noncommittal noise. "I don't make a very good punching bag. I fight back." He's still cold, but the prospect of a fight makes that matter a lot less than it had. He doesn't think Jason is about to start throwing punches right now but the potential for violence is a lot closer than it had been.

He turns to go, though he's certainly prepared if Jason loses his temper and decides that the library is a good place to have a fight.

"Look me up if you decide you want to talk. Or fight. I'm good for either."

Jason isn't always good with self-control, but there's always a tipping point where he loses what little bit he has, and it's easier to come down from a rage high before he hits that point than after. He isn't there yet - close, with his suddenly spiked emotional state - but unless the kid escalates this into a fight or provokes him with sharper words than the ones he's currently using, it's unlikely that Jason will be the one to throw the first punch.

He doesn't doubt that Tim's serious about fighting back - Jason knows from experience that Bruce doesn't hold back on teaching how to fight based on age - but Jason's a good deal older and bigger than Tim, and he's got more training than Batman's under his belt. Maybe it would be a fair fight, all things considered, but Jason's willing to let this go - for now. If Tim's leaving, Jason will let him, and hope the kid heeds his warning to stay out of his way.

Just ... not before getting a last word in.

"Don't hold your breath, kid."

Tim might have a few surprises of his own--he's had more training than just Bruce's. But he's more than happy to not have to get into it right now. First of all, the library is neither the time nor the place, and second of all... he doesn't actually want to fight him.

He leaves.

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[open] i'll hold your hands

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