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Chapter 6

Cats in the Rhododendrons

If Tim thought things had been strange before, it was nothing to how things had become. It was the little things, really, that disconcerted him the most. The note he'd found on his desk that morning, for instance, which read simply, "Believe Jason." It had been written in his own penmanship. He had physically twitched and then thrown it in the trash, and then taken the trash out.

And there was the golf ball that had landed in the bird bath outside his window with an audible plop somewhere around midday. A golf ball that was followed by his neighbor knocking on his door, and there stood Bruce Wayne, the picture of a sheepish billionaire, golf club in hand.

"Can't you just buy a new one?" Tim asked, somewhat perplexed. It wasn't like the billionaire couldn't afford to replace a few lost golf balls. The gardener would find the old one, probably throw it away, and that would be that.

"Ah," Bruce rubbed his neck awkwardly, "this one was a present from Linda. I'd hate for her to find out I lost it…" Everyone knew about the man's latest fling. It was all over the tabloids.

And that's how they ended up outside, Mr. Wayne trampling the hydrangeas on the way to the bird bath. As he pulled the white ball from the water, Tim had to wonder at the power behind the swing that the ball had made it so far over the grounds and landed so neatly by his window. Frivolity could only account for so much error, after all, and this was well out of range of even the worst of attempted hits. Had it really been an accident?

Bruce headed back before Tim could decide, holding the ball aloft victoriously.

"Thanks, sport." The man ruffled his hair.

"Hey, if it helps you avoid the wrath of Ms Page." Tim shrugged, thinking the man would go now, but Bruce turned back last minute, head tilted consideringly.

"I heard you work with computers." Tim refrained from any remarks about the gross simplification of that statement, long since resigned to the assumption of the general populace that analysts merely fixed computers. It was said offhandedly, but there was something sly under the veneer of the comment. The man grinned jovially, and even that seemed subtly toothy. "Could I bother you to come over and take a look at mine? Perhaps tomorrow?"

"I'm busy tomorrow," Tim replied automatically, not particularly interested in helping the man send email or some other ridiculous request. Bruce leaned on the club, smile turning sharp.

"I'll make it worth your while."

Tim could've said no. He should have. He had enough to deal with now with Robin. But it was Bruce Wayne, one of Drake Industries' key donors. And he was curious what kind of computer the man had. And there was the whole good-neighbor thing to consider.

"What time?" he asked instead.

As it turned out, Mr. Wayne's computer was more of a highly sophisticated piece of tech. The term computer hardly fit it at all. It certainly didn't describe the dangerous curve of its exterior frame or the monstrous processing power he was certain he'd find under the protective paneling.

Tim stood staring at if, fingers twitching to touch, and that was to say nothing of the rest of the cave. The cave. There was a cave under his neighbor's house.

Bruce was watching him knowingly, amused.

"Who are you?" Tim asked at last.

"Haven't you already guessed?" Of course he knew, but he didn't believe it.

"Batman," he whispered. Bruce smiled approvingly, warm hand falling on his shoulder.

"Tell you what. Stay for a couple hours, work with me, as many nights as you can, and you can have access to the information on the Batcomputer in exchange." The computer had a name. Of course it did.

"Mr. Wayne–" Tim frowned. There was no way this man didn't know he'd been snooping through confidential reports from Arkham and Blackgate and the GPD, hacking information for personal interest. Not with what he was offering.

"Bruce," he corrected gently.

"What are you doing?"

"Teaching you how to be Robin." The man leaned back against the computer chair disarmingly, billionaire smile still in place—the selling-it smile. "So what do you say? Stay?" Too bad Tim had seen the other side of the man, the unforgiving side, black as the night.

He sucked in a breath, overwhelmed by the offer, by what it meant, who he'd really be training with.

"You trust me?" he asked, looking around, dazed by it all. What would those hours working with the man entail?

"I trust Robin. He's never made a bad choice yet."

It wasn't just the promise of getting to inspect that computer, or the hunger to know everything—anything—about Robin, to be able to work with the Persona inside him instead of getting used by it, but it was that trust. He didn't want to let the man down. Not Batman. And so there was only one choice.

"I'll stay."

Two days later Tim was seriously beginning to consider the need to install locks on his windows. The number of vigilante visitors was getting ridiculous. He jumped when unexpectedly poked in the side, and the bowl of popcorn he'd been carrying hit the floor with a resounding clatter, spilling kernels across the immaculate floor. He spun around, preparing to defend himself, and twitched to find Jason leaning openly against the counter, looking lazy and smug and like he'd been there all day.

When Tim only continued to stare—because this was not happening, not right now, not with his father waiting for him in the living room—Jason rolled his eyes.

"Well? Any luck?" the man asked.

"What?" Tim was still contemplating those locks he really needed to install, said need reinforced by the non sequitur of Jason looking like bad-boy porn in their home-ec-style kitchen with his father only a wall away.

"With Robin!" If the well-duh wasn't said, it was implied.

"Now?" Tim asked, struggling to lower his voice from the disbelieving pitch it was. "Really? You couldn't have dropped by later?"

"Why? Is this a bad time?" The grin told Tim the man knew exactly how bad a time this was, and he was enjoying it. Tim's mouth clicked closed around angry rebuttals, glowering his displeasure instead. He had yet to master Batman's scowl though, and Jason only raised an eyebrow, still smug.

"You–" But he cut short at the familiar squeak of the easy chair in the other room, cocking an ear to listen and shushing Jason when he opened his mouth.

Sudden footsteps padded closer from the next room over, jerking Tim into action. He shoved a startled Jason bodily into the cleaning closet behind him, knocking into the mops and brooms, and slammed the door just in time for Jack to come around the corner, frowning.

"Tim, what's going on?" His father was worried. He'd undoubtedly heard the bowl hit the floor, might have heard the voices, and had definitely heard the closet door slam. This was supposed to have been the reassure-the-parent mandatory movie-watching night.

"I, uh..." A golden kernel crunched guiltily underfoot. "I spilled the popcorn." Tim looked down pointedly at the mess littering the floor at his feet. "Go back and finish the previews. I'll just clean this up and be right there."

"Let me help…" Jack started for the broom in the closet. The closet concealing Jason.

"No!" Tim shouted a bit too forcefully, causing Jack to jump and stare at his son barricading the broom closet with suspicious bewilderment. Smiling disarmingly, Tim forced himself to look reasonable and calm and not like he was trying to hide any unpredictable vigilantes under his father's nose. "I mean. I can do it." Jason was probably laughing at him.

"All right…" Jack hedged, looking strangely at his son but thankfully heading for the living room all the same, if now shaking his head over the behavior of teenagers. But, well, if some concerns over his son's hormonal development were the only things Jack had to worry about when the night was over, at least he wouldn't have nightmares about Tim hanging out with elements of the criminal underworld in his kitchen. Tim breathed a sigh of relief when the man disappeared out of sight. The next second he'd flung the closet door open, grabbed a fistful of Jason's shirt and hauled him towards the stairs, crunching spilled popcorn heedlessly the whole way. He didn't rest easy until he'd pushed the man into his room and closed the door firmly behind him.

"You can't just show up with my dad here!" He still had a hand firmly on the door, as though he could bar it shut against intrusive parents or trap Jason and all the rest of his problems in his room. "What were you thinking?" But Jason was meandering around his room, examining the sticky notes stuck to his monitor and the pictures tacked to the bulletin board on the wall, finally moving to the framed one on his dresser.

"Have you thought about it?"

"What? That's not even the issue right now!"

"Oh, it totally is." Jason lifted the framed picture to examine it. "Have you thought about it?"

"Of course I have!" He'd been thinking about it all day: considering the need for Robin in the city, his purpose and responsibility. How could he not think about it? He was stuck with the Persona whether he wanted it or not, and there was nothing to do but try and get along.

"Well?" Jason waved the picture in front of him distractingly.

"Well, what?" Irritated, Tim plucked the offending object from Jason's unappreciative hands, and tried to sort out the fastest way to get the man out of his house before Jack noticed he wasn't coming back. "Nothing has happened!" When Jason only considered him blankly for a moment, Tim continued, "Look, I need to get back to my dad before he comes looking for me. You need to lea–"

"Robin hasn't talked to you?" Jason interrupted, eyebrows lifted questioningly, and Tim almost dropped the picture halfway through returning it to the dresser. He had a feeling the man wasn't talking about the sticky note he'd found earlier.

And just that quickly he was curious again, irritation melting away, despite the fact that there really wasn't time for it. How did Jason manage to tick him off so effectively one moment and placate him the next?

"No," he replied, and couldn't help worrying a bit. Was he supposed to be able to talk to Robin? Was he doing something wrong? Maybe Robin just didn't have anything to say to him…

"Easy, shorty." Jason's hand fell on his head, weight bowing his neck and making him yet shorter. "I didn't necessarily expect you to get it so quickly. Aligning your thoughts will help you synchronize. Of course, there are faster ways…"

"What are you thinking?" Tim knocked the man's hand off his head. He had a suspicious feeling he wasn't going to like this.

"Your Persona responds to physical threats, attacks on your person. He'll come if you're in danger."

"I hate to disabuse you," Tim replied skeptically, "but Robin has never rescued me from any physical danger. I should know," he crossed his arms, "you've certainly attacked me often enough."

"Trust me, kid, he needs you in one piece. He'll come." He pulled the boot knife, flipping it skillfully once across his knuckles.

"What are you–" Tim edged away warily, eyes on the glinting object in the man's hand.

"I need to have a friendly chat with your new, night-loving personality. Let's see if we can't draw him out a little."

"Don't you even–" Tim couldn't finish before the man was on him and he was forced to dodge backwards, out of the way. And Robin wanted him to trust the man? If they ever managed to communicate, he was going to have words with the little Persona.

"When you're attacked the two of you will be the closest in unison, because you'll both be focused on the same thing: keeping you alive." Tim might have appreciated the lesson more if it didn't come with a live demonstration. He couldn't overpower Jason (the only reason he'd been able to manhandle the man into his room in the first place was because Jason had allowed it) and he could only dodge so many times.

"Why do half of our conversations end with me getting attacked?" He needed momentum, something to give him enough force to trip the larger man up. It was as he was thinking this that the tip of the dagger drew a bright red line over his collarbone, and he hissed, air escaping through clenched teeth.

The world started to go black at the edges, an unexpected tightness across his face, covering his eyes.

"That's it. Focus!"

The blackness abated a little as Tim fought his way through, grasping onto his outrage with clenched teeth. There was something… physical about the tightness covering his eyes, a slight weight. A mask, he realized, and the shock plunged him into darkness.

Jason reared back, swearing, when one of Robin's personalized shurikens sunk deep into his hand with a sching.

"Don't damage my vessel!" Robin was just suddenly right there, in his face—the Persona had fairly tackled him, using his moment of distraction to undermine his stance—Tim's limber body pressed furiously close to his, hot and tight with tension. Jason could feel the liquid shift of muscles against his own, the slow seethe of danger under the surface. "You're mad at me. Stop taking it out on him!" Even the words snapped, hissing from between perfect teeth. Robin, possessively protecting the kid. Because Robin's loyalties belonged to Tim now. Jason felt Hood rising defensively in response to the aggression, a rumble just under his skin, and rolled a shoulder to push it back. He didn't need help.

Jason grinned, more a baring of teeth… and flipped them, pinning Robin's smaller body—Tim's body—beneath him.

"Don't pretend you care about your vessels. You certainly didn't care about your last one!"

"I did everything I could!"

"You left me!" Jason slammed Tim's thin shoulders against the floor in brutal emphasis. "When I needed you most, you were just gone."

"You were the one who rejected me. When you came back to life, you'd changed. You'd moved on." Robin shoved a little against his chest, right over the place he could always feel Hood strongest. "You were taken. I had to find a suitable replacement."

Jason growled, because he didn't want to admit it, didn't want to accept that Robin's abandonment—the years of festering anger and loneliness and confusion, wondering if he wasn't good enough anymore, if Robin didn't want a damaged vessel, alternated with wondering if Robin even existed after taking so much damage—had been his fault all along. It had hurt so much when he'd seen the Persona again—seen that stupid, unforgettable, brightly-colored Wish on someone else, protecting somebody else—and known for sure that the Persona really had left him, that it wasn't just dead. He wasn't sure he was ready to let that hurt go…

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the press of Robin's fingers against his cheek, rough glove just the right amount abrading to get his attention.

"I failed you. I couldn't protect you."

Perhaps hearing the Persona admit fault made it easier to admit to his own, but some of the defensiveness drained out of him.

"I didn't do such a good job that night myself." Jason's grip eased, looking down into the mask beneath him. It was still strange to see it on someone else, even if that someone was Tim, the kid he'd found a couple nights back lost and panicked in a dirty alleyway. The kid he'd tried to protect. Needlessly, as it turned out.

Hood snorted suddenly, a mental exhalation at Jason's thoughts.

"He wouldn't have been wandering around unprotected if there wasn't something wrong. He needed us. He still needs someone to look out for him, look at him..." The Persona's voice was unimpressed, taking in the scrawny body pinned below them, the tattered and scorched edges of the cape and vest, and... Was Hood being protective? Jason blinked. But then, he shouldn't have been surprised. Hood had seemed to take to the kid from the start, and it said something that the normally standoffish Persona was worried too. Apparently he'd decided that Tim was harmless and Robin something of an annoying tag-along to be put up with and sometimes hassled fondly. How he'd won that status was beyond Jason, unless it was just that Robin also happened to be the only Persona to ever give Jason up, which had somehow decided him as non-threat, neutral territory.

"He has the others now," Jason reminded him. There was no way they were going to knowingly allow him around Tim after he'd openly attacked the kid.

"We could always knock them out."

"We are not knocking them out." No matter how satisfying it would have been.

"Still, the kid can't go on like this. He's obviously damaged. It doesn't hurt to keep an extra eye on him."

Jason had been wondering about that damage, pushing it aside because it hurt to look at it too closely. He really needed to ask...

The fingers on his cheek shifted curiously, distracting him from his thoughts.

"You've changed so much." Robin's mouth parted wordlessly, wondering, and it was strange to see such an openly soft expression on Tim's face. His thumb brushed over the ridge of Jason's cheek bone curiously, mapping familiar contours roughened by time.

Jason ignored the touch. He still needed some answers…

"Why did you leave Tim unprotected on the streets instead of returning him to his home?" It wasn't like the little Persona to endanger its vessel unless something was wrong. The fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw pushed back into his hair curiously. Jason caught the hand, stilling it, forcing Robin to look at him. The Persona sighed, releasing the breath he'd been holding in a sudden gust next to Jason's neck.

"Among other factors, I am… not recovered." He pulled on his trapped hand, asking for it back. "When Joker took you away, that damage has never fully healed."

"And you took the kid out anyway?!" Jason's grip only tightened.

"I couldn't wait any longer." Robin frowned unhappily. He twisted his hand free in one smooth jerk, unmindful of Hood's growl slipping from between Jason's teeth. "The city was threatened. I was called."

"Why didn't you come to us? Why didn't you let us help you?" He wanted to shake the little Persona, for all the good it would do.

"You would've stopped me. You didn't want me out there."

Jason opened his mouth to deny that sentiment, thought better of it, and shut it. It was another one of those things he didn't want to admit, but the Persona was right. He'd been only angry all week that Robin was back on the streets again. He knew Bats was still dealing with the trauma of losing the little Persona once already and didn't want the reminder. Nightwing might have been the only one of them actually glad to see him back.

"Give me the kid back," Jason demanded finally. Robin shoved against him, shoved against the command, bossed around by older siblings. But Jason was Hood, the bulkier, meaner Persona shifting inside him menacingly. "Give him back," he repeated. Robin shuddered, what might have been that worrying flicker again, and fell back.

"What are you…?" And that was all Tim, the slight squirm that accompanied imminent consciousness. Jason barely had the thought before the kid's fist nearly unhinged his jaw. "You jerk!" Bats had only had the kid for a day or two, but Tim was already getting better. Jason raised his hand to block his face from ensuing hits, and the kid's struggles stopped, that lithe body stilling all over.

"Jason! Your hand!"

"Heh. Robin disapproves of the way I'm… training you." His grin was only a sliver abashed. "I think we're making progress." Tim stopped fussing over the blood to throw him a dirty look, slanted blue eyes through black hair.

"Speaking of which…" Jason yelped as Tim pinched his injured hand mercilessly, throwing him off while Jason cursed and clutched at the injury. "Don't ever do that to me again." Robin would have been proud.

"Tim?" The voice came through the door, worried, accompanied by light knocking. Of course the kid's father had figured out his son wasn't coming back. Tim was on his feet in an instant, dragging Jason up by the shoulder.

"You have to go," he hissed. "Right now." Jason stumbled at the insistent pushing, but allowed the kid to herd him toward the window, latching onto the ledge at the last second.

"Training again tomorrow?"

"Are you kidding? You keep trying to kill me! Get out!" Tim shoved more insistently, hands on his chest, feet braced against the carpet, trying to dislodge Jason from the windowsill. But Jason wasn't giving up just yet.

"Tomorrow?" He did have a bad tendency of attacking the kid, but he wasn't giving up. They'd made progress.

"I have training with Batman!"

"I'll see you there then."

At the door, the kid's father knocked again. The doorknob squeaked, turning open.

"Tim? Is this about the movie? We can watch something else…"

"Fine!" Tim hissed, desperate. "Now go!" He threw all his weight into the shove this time and Jason's grip finally broke. He tumbled backwards out the window with a surprised yelp.

The last thing he heard before the glass slammed closed above him was Tim's too-bright declaration, reassuring his father, about cats in the Rhododendrons.

Author Notes: THIS was the scene I needed to finally get through to Jason, the resolving of his personal conflict, and I didn't want to do it by aiming weapons at Tim again, but I just... I give up on creativity right now. At least I feel like the next chapter finally starts to move us past the discovery stage and into some development. Jason showing up at training goes about as well as you might expect.

I have this strange little desire right now to write Persona verse with Earth-3 characters, where like, Talon is the manifestion of someone's Wish to make everyone else suffer as much as the wisher has suffered, and he uses his vessel mercilessly, and Jason tried to get the Persona blown up and it still didn't work. Too many alternate Persona ideas. Must not. (I wish I could get more people involved in writing persona-verse stories, there are so many possibilities!)

Thank you so much for all the encouragement! I always feel the need to write or proof-read a little faster every time someone reminds me they're waiting. I'm sorry I couldn't get back to all of you!