[it's hard to see those scars on jason's face, physical proof of the damage that's been done to him. tim feels like flinching when jason pulls up his mask, but he keeps his gaze steady.]
You're full of shit, Jason.
[there's no trace of venom in his words, but there's no levity in them, either. there's a weight to what tim says, a seriousness that isn't quite the all-business red robin tone but falls a note steelier than how he typically speaks. tim's hands drop to his sides, and he takes a cautious step forward.]
Look, maybe I don't know everything that happened to you, but I don't need to know everything to see that it was bad. OK?
[it's always bad when the joker's involved. tim has a good imagination, but he can't wrap his head around the idea of what months and months of that sick fuck's abuse would look like, what shape the horrors jason's endured took.]
And yeah, maybe you don't need me, and maybe I'm the last person you want around, but - you said you've already been abandoned once, Jason. And I'm not going to let it happen again.
( he wanted tim to flinch. wanted to see the negative reaction it would pull from him--disgust, shock, whatever. when it doesn't happen, jason just gets even more pissy, grabs onto the entire helmet and yanks it off of his head, throws it onto the rooftop just a few feet away from them. he doesn't need it for this.
doesn't need the extra layer of protection from tim, of all people. and it pisses him off even more when tim's tone holds no disdain. when his tone's much more level than jason could manage; he doesn't have that level of calm anymore, not after the years of getting gutted out, torn to shreds, to screaming and begging and yelling and cursing until there wasn't anything left.
not in front of tim. jason takes another step forward to match tim, but he's raising the knife up along with it, turning it in his hand so the knife's angled out, hilt of the blade pressed to the outside of his hand. it's a threat: come at me, i won't hesitate. )
I don't want your pity. If that's all you came here for, then leave. I'll let you walk away, right now.
[even more difficult than seeing jason's scars is killing that marrow-deep instinct to fight when jason steps forward, threatening knife held out in his hand. tim has been trained to fight, trained to be prepared - trained well, and part of that is using every available advantage, even if it's just making his move seconds faster than his opponent. standing still while jason approaches is the antithesis of tim's training-turned-second nature, and it takes a concentrated force of will for tim to unclench his fists, take a deep breath, and think. he knows jason's stronger than he is, and that's before whatever weird military training this jason's been through is factored into the equation. he won't win this through a show of force. he can't let this escalate into a fight.]
That's not what this is about. [he shakes his head, mouth pursed in a tight frown, stands his ground and keeps his eyes locked on jason.] God, Jason, why is it so difficult for you to accept that I care about you?
( the fight or flight instinct is hardwired into every robin--himself, dick, tim. jason is well-aware of that. the fact that tim isn’t reaching for a weapon, unclenches his fists and continues to just stare him down like that’s strange as hell. he’s pushing back instincts he shouldn’t ignore, was trained to hone not shove back. or maybe it’s something beyond that. this tim isn’t weak, but jason has a fair amount of bulk and strength over him, plenty to overpower tim physically.
maybe that’s part of it. the knife stays in jason’s hand, but he doesn’t move any closer. just stops in place, still several feet away from tim. ) Because you don’t. You care about him, maybe--the other one. But he’s not me.
( they’re different. he’s the robin who died. jason’s the robin who should have died. there’s a piece4 of him that’s a little jealous, honestly; that the jason todd of this universe was put down instead of stuck in arkham for two years..ish. that he was brought back by some strange as hell time displacement, half braindead, and got to piece himself back together. the arkham knight doesn’t have those pieces to tape back together, anymore.
he isn’t broken. not in the kind of ways that are able to be repaired. all that’s left of him is the seething rage that never settles right in his gut. or at least that’s what he tells himself. )
I’m not the Red Hood. ( his voice levels out, practiced calm returning to his tone. ) I’m the Arkham Knight.
[it's not really a smart move, what tim's doing - coming in this close, fighting down his training, baring his throat and trusting jason not to rip it open with his teeth. he has no reason to trust jason - many reasons not to trust him - but this isn't pure recklessness. there's a strategy to tim's choices; this is a calculated risk.]
I care about both of you. Do you think there's just some kind of set number of slots for the people I care about?
[tim shakes his head. his heart has enough space to hold this jason - arkham knight, whatever he calls himself - along with everyone else who is important to him.]
I don't care what you call yourself. I care about you. And even if you stab me, or hate me forever, I still won't stop caring about you, Jason.
( there’s always a limit. not in numbers, perhaps, but in tolerance. and jason knows more than most that the level of tolerance it takes to deal with him is abnormally high; he’s got a few more problems than the average person, doesn’t want people to care about him, either. his death came years ago at the hand of a madman, all that’s left now is this empty husk, carved out of what made him jason and left him with nothing but rage, fear, and a need to end it all.
for someone with such a low attention span, joker sure did prove his ability to keep on task. )
You don’t even know me. ( venom’s laced in his tone, spat out without second thought—as if this is on tim, all of this is on him—and it isn’t, jason’s well-aware of that. doesn’t stop him from being a dick about it though. ) You have an idea of me, a concept, a past image you’re pretending is the same but it isn’t. I don’t know you. Hell, I barely fucking know the Tim Drake that exists back where I came from!
[the thing about tim is this: he's stubborn as hell, and when he has an idea in his mind, he doesn't give up. maybe the tim drake from jason's world is the same, and maybe if he got to know him, jason would know this, too. the native jason here was a real shit to tim at the start, and for a good while after, and tim forgave all of it, because he could understand why jason was so angry and hurt, why he chose to make tim the target of his wrath.
tim decided that jason was someone he cared about, and he's done it again with this jason. tim isn't going to be threatened off, and what he's banking on is that deep down, maybe so secretly that jason won't even acknowledge it to himself, what he wants is for someone to prove they find him worth sticking around for - the way his bruce apparently didn't.]
I don't need to know you to care about you, Jason, but - if that matters to you so much, then let me know you. Stop trying to shut me out. [his mouth purses tightly, and he takes another step toward jason, hands outstretched.] You don't know me, but you can - I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.
( and tim knows jason all-too well. better than this jason knows himself, maybe. that becomes all the more clear when tim starts stepping in towards him, extends his hands out, offers himself to jason. what he wants is someone who thinks he’s worth sticking around for, more than anything else. what he wants is to matter to someone. to not be thrown away, replaced.
jason’s stepping back in response, lips pursed tight. there’s a moment where the shock’s more than evident on his face: eyes wide and brows raised a little, but jason’s quick to push that mask back into place, the dim blue light glowing over where his eyes are.
hiding behind metal is easier than dealing with things out right. hiding his face, his voice, makes it easier to sound like he’s not broken. like there is something left inside of him that isn’t just anger and fear and hatred. in this case, it’s so much fucking easier to hide the way his voice quivers, how much tim’s offering is actually getting to him. jason doesn’t believe it for a moment. there’s a catch here somewhere, tim’s after something, and jason’s not going to give it to him. )
[tim doesn't miss any of that - the step back, the shocked expression, the pulling down of his mask. that's something they all do, isn't it - hiding behind a mask when they don't want to deal with what they're feeling. tim's guilty of it, throwing himself into a mission instead of processing his emotions; bruce does it too, and tim's seen similar enough behavior from the red hood to recognize it for what it is coming from the arkham knight.
they're all broken in their own ways, some more similar than others. maybe it just takes one broken person to truly understand another.
tim shakes his head. leaving is not gonna happen.]
No. [slowly, he takes another step forward.] Sorry, but you're stuck with me now.
[he's not actually sorry - tim knows, deep in his heart, that what he's doing is right. and if jason reacts poorly - well, tim's prepared for it. he's been through round after round with the red hood; he's been beaten and stabbed, and he always forgave jason for it. it's no different with this jason - he's been hurt so badly, and that's where his actions come from, pain and anger. the only way to combat that is with love and understanding.]
( this is where the barrier between what he wants to do and what he should do becomes clear enough: tim isn’t fucking off, but he’s nowhere close to jason’s hideout just yet. he could retreat back to it, tim will give up eventually, there isn’t a reason to chase after jason todd, after all. unless he’s intent on locking him up, which isn’t gonna happen. not today, not ever again.
retreating would be difficult if he’s armed, however. jason knows how robins are trained to track. the easier method would be to just kill him. but that—it goes against his own code. tim drake, neither of them, haven’t done shit to deserve death. the tim of his own universe replaced him, took over jason’s spot at bruce’s side but even he is self-aware enough to realize that was on bruce, not on tim himself. doesn’t make him any less pissed at tim, but it does entirely eradicate the thought that killing him would be good for anyone involved.
he’ll have to disarm tim first. then go. another step back, and jason’s removing one of his guns from it’s holster, raising it to point the barrel for tim’s head. )
[tim has many reasons to chase after jason todd - none of which involve locking him up. most have to do with the fact that he's determined not to give up on jason, to prove how serious he is in caring about jason - to prove him wrong, as tim guesses jason believes, that he isn't worth the effort. if jason truly wanted tim out of the way, tim would already be dead, a hail of bullets shot through his body, his throat slit for maximum damage.
so maybe ... maybe this is working. tim has a fistful of hope that this is true.
he eyes the gun, then jason's masked face, then slowly unzips his hoodie, as requested. the grappling gun's hooked to his belt at his hip, but his shirt's long enough to conceal the collapsed staff tucked into his belt at his back and the batarangs slipped into his waistband.]
You do know I can run barefoot, right? [hoodie unzipped, tim slips one arm off, then the other, and holds it up along with his hands, surrendered.] It's not exactly pleasant, but it's totally doable.
I'd be disappointed if you couldn't. ( survival of the fittest, and all; if tim would have been taken down by something as simple as being deshoed, he deserves the title of robin even less than jason had originally anticipated. he watches while tim removes the hoodie, waits for him to hold it up before taking those few steps forward that separate them, grip steady on the gun. jason's free hand reaches up, grabs onto the hoodie when he's within arm length, and gestures to the side with the barrel of the gun. )
Turn around. ( not that tim can't do jack shit with his back to jason, but it's a hell of a lot easier to pat someone down when they're facing the opposite direction, and a lot less fucking distracting.
the hoodie gets tossed back onto the rooftop far out of tim's reach; he won't get rid of it entirely, not yet. getting it away from tim is good enough for now. )
[tossing his jacket is kind of a dick move, but honestly, for jason - any jason - that's more or less expected. so it's fine. what's less fine is what he's likely to do when he discovers the weapons tim's hidden away, which is where this looks to be headed. tim claimed to be unarmed, and while he has no intention of using any of what he has stashed away on his person unless jason makes it necessary, tim can't imagine jason will take that particular discovery well. tim tips his head to the side, as if considering jason's request.]
You know, if you're planning to shove me off the edge of the roof, you may as well just do it to my face.
[he's not turning around - not yet. maybe he can distract jason a little, prolong the altercation that seems determined to start.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
You're full of shit, Jason.
[there's no trace of venom in his words, but there's no levity in them, either. there's a weight to what tim says, a seriousness that isn't quite the all-business red robin tone but falls a note steelier than how he typically speaks. tim's hands drop to his sides, and he takes a cautious step forward.]
Look, maybe I don't know everything that happened to you, but I don't need to know everything to see that it was bad. OK?
[it's always bad when the joker's involved. tim has a good imagination, but he can't wrap his head around the idea of what months and months of that sick fuck's abuse would look like, what shape the horrors jason's endured took.]
And yeah, maybe you don't need me, and maybe I'm the last person you want around, but - you said you've already been abandoned once, Jason. And I'm not going to let it happen again.
no subject
doesn't need the extra layer of protection from tim, of all people. and it pisses him off even more when tim's tone holds no disdain. when his tone's much more level than jason could manage; he doesn't have that level of calm anymore, not after the years of getting gutted out, torn to shreds, to screaming and begging and yelling and cursing until there wasn't anything left.
not in front of tim. jason takes another step forward to match tim, but he's raising the knife up along with it, turning it in his hand so the knife's angled out, hilt of the blade pressed to the outside of his hand. it's a threat: come at me, i won't hesitate. )
I don't want your pity. If that's all you came here for, then leave. I'll let you walk away, right now.
But it's the only chance you're going to get.
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That's not what this is about. [he shakes his head, mouth pursed in a tight frown, stands his ground and keeps his eyes locked on jason.] God, Jason, why is it so difficult for you to accept that I care about you?
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maybe that’s part of it. the knife stays in jason’s hand, but he doesn’t move any closer. just stops in place, still several feet away from tim. ) Because you don’t. You care about him, maybe--the other one. But he’s not me.
( they’re different. he’s the robin who died. jason’s the robin who should have died. there’s a piece4 of him that’s a little jealous, honestly; that the jason todd of this universe was put down instead of stuck in arkham for two years..ish. that he was brought back by some strange as hell time displacement, half braindead, and got to piece himself back together. the arkham knight doesn’t have those pieces to tape back together, anymore.
he isn’t broken. not in the kind of ways that are able to be repaired. all that’s left of him is the seething rage that never settles right in his gut. or at least that’s what he tells himself. )
I’m not the Red Hood. ( his voice levels out, practiced calm returning to his tone. ) I’m the Arkham Knight.
no subject
I care about both of you. Do you think there's just some kind of set number of slots for the people I care about?
[tim shakes his head. his heart has enough space to hold this jason - arkham knight, whatever he calls himself - along with everyone else who is important to him.]
I don't care what you call yourself. I care about you. And even if you stab me, or hate me forever, I still won't stop caring about you, Jason.
no subject
for someone with such a low attention span, joker sure did prove his ability to keep on task. )
You don’t even know me. ( venom’s laced in his tone, spat out without second thought—as if this is on tim, all of this is on him—and it isn’t, jason’s well-aware of that. doesn’t stop him from being a dick about it though. ) You have an idea of me, a concept, a past image you’re pretending is the same but it isn’t. I don’t know you. Hell, I barely fucking know the Tim Drake that exists back where I came from!
no subject
tim decided that jason was someone he cared about, and he's done it again with this jason. tim isn't going to be threatened off, and what he's banking on is that deep down, maybe so secretly that jason won't even acknowledge it to himself, what he wants is for someone to prove they find him worth sticking around for - the way his bruce apparently didn't.]
I don't need to know you to care about you, Jason, but - if that matters to you so much, then let me know you. Stop trying to shut me out. [his mouth purses tightly, and he takes another step toward jason, hands outstretched.] You don't know me, but you can - I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.
no subject
jason’s stepping back in response, lips pursed tight. there’s a moment where the shock’s more than evident on his face: eyes wide and brows raised a little, but jason’s quick to push that mask back into place, the dim blue light glowing over where his eyes are.
hiding behind metal is easier than dealing with things out right. hiding his face, his voice, makes it easier to sound like he’s not broken. like there is something left inside of him that isn’t just anger and fear and hatred. in this case, it’s so much fucking easier to hide the way his voice quivers, how much tim’s offering is actually getting to him. jason doesn’t believe it for a moment. there’s a catch here somewhere, tim’s after something, and jason’s not going to give it to him. )
Go back. You don’t belong out here.
no subject
they're all broken in their own ways, some more similar than others. maybe it just takes one broken person to truly understand another.
tim shakes his head. leaving is not gonna happen.]
No. [slowly, he takes another step forward.] Sorry, but you're stuck with me now.
[he's not actually sorry - tim knows, deep in his heart, that what he's doing is right. and if jason reacts poorly - well, tim's prepared for it. he's been through round after round with the red hood; he's been beaten and stabbed, and he always forgave jason for it. it's no different with this jason - he's been hurt so badly, and that's where his actions come from, pain and anger. the only way to combat that is with love and understanding.]
no subject
retreating would be difficult if he’s armed, however. jason knows how robins are trained to track. the easier method would be to just kill him. but that—it goes against his own code. tim drake, neither of them, haven’t done shit to deserve death. the tim of his own universe replaced him, took over jason’s spot at bruce’s side but even he is self-aware enough to realize that was on bruce, not on tim himself. doesn’t make him any less pissed at tim, but it does entirely eradicate the thought that killing him would be good for anyone involved.
he’ll have to disarm tim first. then go. another step back, and jason’s removing one of his guns from it’s holster, raising it to point the barrel for tim’s head. )
Take off the boots. And the hoodie.
no subject
so maybe ... maybe this is working. tim has a fistful of hope that this is true.
he eyes the gun, then jason's masked face, then slowly unzips his hoodie, as requested. the grappling gun's hooked to his belt at his hip, but his shirt's long enough to conceal the collapsed staff tucked into his belt at his back and the batarangs slipped into his waistband.]
You do know I can run barefoot, right? [hoodie unzipped, tim slips one arm off, then the other, and holds it up along with his hands, surrendered.] It's not exactly pleasant, but it's totally doable.
no subject
Turn around. ( not that tim can't do jack shit with his back to jason, but it's a hell of a lot easier to pat someone down when they're facing the opposite direction, and a lot less fucking distracting.
the hoodie gets tossed back onto the rooftop far out of tim's reach; he won't get rid of it entirely, not yet. getting it away from tim is good enough for now. )
no subject
You know, if you're planning to shove me off the edge of the roof, you may as well just do it to my face.
[he's not turning around - not yet. maybe he can distract jason a little, prolong the altercation that seems determined to start.]