#hawk anon

Tim hissed and tried to bite when he felt something get shoved over his nose, but it was a cloth, and a drugged one at that.  Great, now things were getting blurry. Didn't stop him from thrashing and snarling like a pissed raccoon though. 

Then he heard a gunshot, and suddenly he was released. Tim yelped and gasped as he collapsed, his vision not getting any better. Vaguely, he heard the noises of someone getting beaten up. Screw that, the sound of multiple people getting beat up. 

It was hard to see anything at all, not just because of his downed senses but because Gotham was seeped in winter, and another blizzard was clearly on its way. 

The last curse was cut off, and there was a snarl as several people were good-to-honest thrown inside through the window of some warehouse nearby, and then, Tim saw him. 

Red Hood's helmet glinted red above. Jason apparently had his own patrol route near here.

Things were going dark, and Tim was only coherent enough to hear RH curse and mutter something about 'reckless little birds outta the nest' and to think 'I'm screwed' before he felt himself being scooped up and everything went black.

~~~

Tim woke slowly, as if surfacing from the bottom of a too-deep lake.

He knew a few things immediately: he was warm, someone had taken his domino, boots, and outer armor off, and he was still wearing his suit, but without the armor. The world was a hazy blur beyond the edge of his eyelashes, and his mouth tasted like chemical residue and regret.

Something soft—a blanket? Jacket?—was tucked around his shoulders. The couch he was on creaked faintly as he shifted. Dim lighting, the low hum of wind outside, the faint crackle of an old space heater, and the ceiling with water stains. The unmistakable smell of noodles and old gun oil. He was on a couch—lumpy, old, soft, and probably stolen from a back alley.

Definitely not the Batcave.

He opened his eyes fully.

"So, you're finally awake, little one."

Tim sat up real fast. Red Hood was across from him, helmet off and discarded on a crate beside him, sitting in a battered folding chair like he’d been parked there for a while. Jason’s boots were muddy, and his arms were crossed over his chest, resting like he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or just tired.

Jason didn’t say anything at first. Just watched as Tim blinked himself back into the world.

“You okay?” he finally asked, voice low.

Tim swallowed. “Where- where are we?”

“Safehouse,” Jason said simply. “Storm came in hard. You were halfway to hypothermic and full-on drugged. I wasn’t about to try to make it to the Cave when soon I wouldn't be able to see a hand in front of my face."

“Oh,” Tim murmured. “Thanks.”

Jason shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t maybe saved the life he almost ended once.

They lapsed into silence. The kind that filled too much space.

Tim sat up slowly. His muscles ached. His head pounded. But it wasn’t the physical discomfort that unsettled him—it was Jason. Sitting there. Watching him.

Alive. Still unpredictable. Still Red Hood.

Tim forced himself to breathe normally. Jason wasn't angry or on the warpath anymore. Hell, he had the Bat symbol on his suit. It was fine. They were fine. His brother wasn't gonna Pit Rage from the aether. It was fine. It was fine. 

Jason tipped his head and abruptly stood up, which had Tim flinching. The older boy's eyes sharpened, but he didn't show any other reaction. He just disappeared into another room and came back with two bowls of noodles. 

"Alfred's recipe," He said, shoving one bowl into Tim's hands, "Called him and asked whether it was okay to make it or if I should stick with soup. He said his noodles were fine so long as they weren't too cold or hard. Said something about you not eating enough and having sensory issues."

"Y-yeah." Tim managed to mumble. "Just autism, I guess. Bruce found out I had it."

Jason frowned at the fact that it was Bruce instead of Tim's parents, but didn't say anything. Just ruffled Tim's hair (ignoring how the younger Robin tensed up) and went to get his own noodles.

They ate in silence, though at one point Jason reached over and gently tapped Tim's shoulder to make him slow down.

"Stop shoveling it down so fast, kid. You're gonna make yourself sick, and then Alfred and Dad are gonna be on my back."

Eventually, Tim finished and got up unsteadily, trying to make for the door. Instantly, Jason was up and had him by the scruff. 

"Nope," He snapped, eyes narrowing at the way Tim froze. "I already called Bruce, and he knows you're here. Said to wait it out. No little birds leaving the nest in a snowstorm."

"But-" Tim began, but Jason cut him off.  "I said no. You're not going out in this weather, little brother."

There was a pause. A long, heavy one. Jason seemed to realize that this was the first time he'd called Tim his brother out loud to his face. 

Tim didn't know what to think. 

Then he was suddenly tugged over back to the couch and gently shoved down. 

"Batdad's orders, little bird," Jason muttered, raking his fingers over Tim's scalp before letting his hand drop. "He said over the phone, and I quote, 'Don't let Tim go out in the snow, no matter what he says. Do not let him outside until the sky is clear. ' He said that. Honest."

---------

The storm outside howled against the cracked windows. Tim shifted beneath the blanket, still curled up awkwardly on the couch like a cat that didn't know where to hide.

Jason was sprawled in the folding chair across from him, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, flipping through something on a beat-up burner phone, but Tim noticed him snatching a glance every now and then.

Tim’s eyes flicked toward the door again.

Jason noticed.

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered, not looking up.

“I wasn’t,” Tim lied, curling his legs up beneath himself.

Jason gave a soft grunt that somehow managed to say sure you weren’t with no actual words.

Tim stared at the wall. His fingers twisted in the blanket. He was calm. He was fine. Jason wasn’t going to hurt him. Jason hadn’t hurt him. This wasn’t then. He knew that.

But his brain didn’t always listen.

Jason kept his posture relaxed. He didn’t move fast, didn’t raise his voice, didn’t approach unless Tim was ready for it. He was trying. Tim could tell.

And it only made it worse somehow— because that meant Jason knew. That Tim was scared. That Tim was nervous. That he couldn’t even look his brother in the eye for too long without a spike of panic threading through his chest.

Jason sighed and finally set the phone down. “You need something? More tea? Blanket? Punching bag?”

Tim shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Jason eyed him. “You’re always fine right up until you pass out on a rooftop in February. Yeah- Dickie told me about that.”

-----

An hour passed.

Jason was still quiet. Still chill. He flipped through an old book on his Bat-Ipad while Tim did… something on his laptop. (Jason would bet ten bucks he was trying to hack the weather patterns to find a gap in the blizzard.)

Then, it happened.

Jason was walking past, casual, same as before. Probably on his way to check the windows. He nudged Tim with his elbow in passing—barely a tap—and his arm brushed Tim’s ribs.

Tim yelped.

A high-pitched, startled noise escaped him as he jerked back, laptop nearly toppling.

Jason paused mid-step.

Turned.

Raised a brow. “...Seriously?”

“I—no,” Tim stammered, going red to his ears. “That was—shut up.”

Jason blinked. Then his mouth curled up. Slow. Dangerous.

“…Huh.”

Tim did not like that look.

"What," Tim said flatly, already putting the laptop down and trying to edge back on the couch.

Jason’s grin widened, pure menace now. “Y’know,” he said, thoughtful, “Dick mentioned you were ticklish. Wouldn't tell me where, though. Guess I'll figure it out now,”

“I’m not.”

“Mmhm.”

Jason lunged.

Tim bolted.

Tim dove off the couch in full-blown retreat mode. Jason laughed and gave chase, far too casually amused.

“You better get back here, baby bird!”

“You suck!” Tim hollered, skidding around the crate-table and ducking behind the fridge like it would save him. “You’re not even supposed to do this! This is—this is Dick’s thing!”

“Oh, come on.” Jason sounded almost offended. “All big brothers have rights. I was dead, not disqualified.”

"Jason—!"

-

It didn’t last long. The safehouse was too small, the furniture too scarce. Jason herded him like a big cat with a squeaky mouse.

Tim darted left, slipped on a loose floorboard, and the next second—

“Gotcha!”

Jason tackled him onto the ratty couch like Tim was a misbehaving puppy, laughing as he pinned him down with a knee and grabbed for his sides.

“NohohoHO—!” Tim instantly shrieked as Jason dug in, poking and squeezing with unrelenting precision. His laughter broke free, breathless and wild and genuine.

“Ohhh, look at that,” Jason crooned, grinning. “Ribs, huh? You poor, doomed creature.”

“STOHOHOHOP!! JAY!! IHIHIH’M GOHOHONNA D—EHEHE—!”

“Nah,” Jason said cheerfully, fingers skittering along Tim’s stomach, making him writhe like a panicked ferret. “You’ll live. I’m just giving you some, y’know, big brother treatment. Emotional damage. Cute giggles. All that good stuff.”

“EEEK—NOHOHO PLEHEHEASE!”

“Tickle tickle, baby bird,” Jason cooed. “C’mon, laugh therapy’s real, right? We’re bonding.”

He pressed harder into Tim’s lower ribs, drawing a scream-laugh that ended in an embarrassing squeak.

“NONONO NOHOHOT THEHEHERE—!”

“You brought this on yourself, baby bird.”

"Buhhuhut- EKK! NOHOHOHO! WAHAHAHAIT-"

“C’mon, you try to sneak out, you lie to my face, and you’re ticklish? You practically asked for this.”

Jason smirked and skittered his fingers down to the kid's belly again, earning a squeal and more squirming. He snorted.

"Seriously, little bird, you really thought you could hide this from me that long? If i didn't find out myself I'd catch Dick doing it."

Tim hissed at him, trying to shove the elder off, to no avail, since Jason was bigger and heavier. Jason grinned and took the opportunity to get his armpits, earning more thrashing.

"Ok, ok, how about this. You promise not to sneak out again, I stop for now." Jason continued as he said this, taking the chance to dig his fingers back into the smaller's sides.

“NEHEHEHEVER!”

Jason, delighted, leaned down until his forehead bumped Tim’s and growled affectionately, “Wrong answer.”

He dug in with double thumbs into Tim's tummy, gently but relentlessly, which earned him a loud squeal and way more giggles.

Tim was wrecked. Laughing, squealing, flailing weakly and hiccuping pleas between peals of helpless giggles.

It didn’t take long for Jason to clock that Tim’s laugh—rare and real—was the cutest damn thing in Gotham.

By another, he’d stopped trying to get away.

Soon, he was just laughing, red-faced and wriggling, and Jason could feel the tension in his little brother’s spine start to melt under his hands. Hands unclenched. Breath stopped being as frantic. He still squirmed, but only as much as a kid would when their big brother morphed into the tickle monster.

Eventually—eventually—Jason slowed down. Let the pressure fade. He didn’t move off of Tim, but he let him catch his breath. Tim lay there, panting, curled in on himself like a dizzied cat.

His hair was a mess. His face was pink. His hoodie had bunched halfway up his torso, revealing the faint edges of bruises and bandages. His eyes were closed, lashes damp, breath hiccupping.

Jason gently fixed his hoodie. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just… watched.

Then, soft: “I know you’re still scared of me, y’know.”

Tim stiffened. Barely.

Jason didn’t sound mad. Not even disappointed.

“It's ok,” he continued, voice low. “I was angry. You got the worst of it. And I… yeah. I’m sorry.”

Silence.

Jason climbed off and carefully tugged his little brother close. "I'm serious."

Tim opened his his eyes to look at him, a hint of wariness still there. Jason sighed and rested his chin lightly on the top of Tim’s head.

“I get it,” he said, voice quiet. “I was messed up. I know I hurt you a lot, not just verbally. I’m not mad at you for being scared of me, Timbit. I’d be more worried if you weren’t.”

Tim sniffled, once, and Jason didn’t comment on it.

“I’ll fix it,” he added. “I promise. You’re my little brother. You shouldn’t ever have to be scared of me. I’ll prove that to you. But I’m not gonna hurt you. Ever again. That’s a promise on any Robin's honor, baby bird."

Jason brushed a hand over Tim’s hair. This time, Tim didn’t flinch.

Jason sighed and lifted the kid, the way Dick and sometimes Bruce would do after obliterating a younger Jason would. He headed over to the couch and flopped down.

After a minute, Tim snuggled closer.

One exhausted little bat curled up against one very smug big brother.

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