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Chapter Text

Tim swung open the door to his apartment and scowled. "What are you doing here?"

"Dick called me," Jason said, "believe me, this isn't my preferred way to spend a Wednesday either. Now are you going to let me in or not?"

Tim stepped aside and let Jason in, still scowling. "He wasn't supposed to call you."

"Well he did, because apparently Bruce can't be disturbed."

"He's in an important meeting. I told Dick not to call him," Tim said. "It's just a migraine. Not even a bad one. I don't need a babysitter."

Jason sighed. "Look, all I know is Dick wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to come over and keep an eye on you. Any mama bird issues are between you and him."

"Fine, whatever." Tim threw up his hands in frustration and returned to his seat on the couch.

"Have you taken anything yet?" Jason called after him. Tim hadn't.

"There's some painkillers in the cupboard above the sink."

A minute later, Jason handed him a glass of water and two white tablets, then sat at the other end of the couch. "So what are we watching?" He asked.

"Brooklyn Nine Nine."

"Nice."

They watched in silence for a while, before Tim said, "I don't have mama bird issues with Dick, by the way."

Jason snorted. "Yes you do. We all do. He tried to give me a hard time last week about eating healthy, as if I wasn't the one who got cooking lessons from Alfred while he lives on Twinkies and corn chips." Tim giggled, and Jason rolled his eyes. "Don't you laugh when I just saw the exact same things in your kitchen."

Tim laughed again, and then pressed his water glass to his temple with a gasp, as waves of pain shot through his head.

"You okay, kid?" Jason asked, suddenly concerned, "Does light bother you, or sound?"

"Light," Tim said, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Okay." Jason turned off the tv, plunging the room into near darkness despite Tim's protests. "That's gotta be the worst thing for you right now. Where is your phone?" Tim unlocked his phone and handed it to Jason. He scrolled for a minute, and then set it screen down on the coffee table. Tim heard the episode resume. "You've seen this one already, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you don't need to look at it. You can just listen. Lay down."

Tim obeyed with a huff. "You know those painkillers are like all caffeine, right?"

Jason shrugged. "So don't sleep. But there's no reason to keep doing things that make the pain worse."

Tim laid down and closed his eyes, then reached back behind him to drag the blanket draped over the back of his couch down. He struggled for a minute, unwilling to open his eyes again, before Jason straightened it out for him.

"Is the light from the kitchen a problem?"

Tim squinted. There was a reflection in the tv screen, but not enough to cause any extra pain. "No. It's fine." He closed his eyes again.

"Okay. I brought a book with me, so I'll be in there if you need anything."

Tim snuggled down until his blanket and listened to the start of the next episode playing from his phone, while his migraine slowly faded, and Jason stayed.

Chapter Text

"Why are we here, Todd?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm here to get new shoes. You're here because you insisted on coming along."

"Tt. Nothing here is new."

Jason tried not to be offended at Damian's obvious disgust for his favorite thrift store. "Everything here is new to us, and that's what matters." Jason perused the first shoe rack, and something immediately caught his eye. "Whoa, look! You're not gonna believe this."

"What is it?" Damian asked, curious in spite of himself. Jason held up a pair of shoes. "What are you excited about? How many diseases are probably living in those?"

"You don't even know what these are, do you?"

"They're dirty. That's what they are."

Jason shook his head and set the shoes gently on the floor. "Try them on."

"Absolutely not."

"Kid, just trust me. Try them on."

Damian glared at Jason and tried to forget that he was sliding someone's dirty used tennis shoes onto his feet. Jason grinned. "Okay, now stomp your foot."

"Why?"

"Quit being so skeptical and just do it."

Damian rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could, and stomped his foot. His eyes went wide as red and blue lights flashed from the sides of the right shoe. Jason laughed.

"See? I told you! Wasn't that worth coming out for?"

Damian frowned. "Why? I'm not going to buy them."

Jason shook his head. "Why on earth wouldn't you buy them? They light up, and they're exactly your size. You're basically Cinderella. You're getting them."

"There's no practical use for them."

"Let's at least look at the price before you turn them down." Jason crouched down and grabbed the price tag, ripping it clean off the left shoe. "Whoops! Now we have to buy them," he said, grinning again. Damian was pretty sure that wasn't how price tags worked, but he concluded that Jason probably knew more about thrift store etiquette than he did.

"Look, they're even on sale! Pink tags, twenty percent off."

"Tt. Fine. You may buy them for me." He started to put his own shoes back on when Jason stopped him.

"You might as well leave them on," he said, "to break them in."

Damian huffed and picked up his shoes. "So I'm just supposed to carry these around with me then?"

"Yep!"

They checked out ten minutes later. Jason handed the cashier the pink tag along with his own items. "My brother's going to be wearing these ones out of the store."

The old lady looked over the counter and smiled. "Oh I'm so glad! Kids and their cell phones, and their video games, and their MySpaces. It's nice to see a kid who still knows how to have fun."

Jason nodded along with her unexpected rant. "You're so right, and no one knows how to have fun like Damian here. Right kid?"

Damian glowered, and Jason laughed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason and Damian returned to the manor to find Bruce and Alfred in the kitchen. Damian approached Bruce, walking carefully. "Father," he said, "Todd and I purchased some shoes for me today." Damian stomped his feet one after the other, and Bruce's eyebrows shot up at the bright lights that shone off of them. "I realize they may look silly and frivolous," Damian continued, "but they actually serve a very specific purpose."

"Oh?"

"Yes. When I take Titus outside at night, he will be able to see me much more easily."

"Oh," Bruce said again, "I can see how that will be helpful. The floodlight by the door is much less eye-catching, isn't it?"

"Yes, exactly." Damian nodded. "I knew you would understand the necessity."

"I certainly do."

"Plus," Jason chimed in, "they're fun!"

Damian gave him a withering look. "Oh Todd. There are things more important than fun."

Jason, Bruce, and Alfred stifled their laughter until Damian left the room, and if he stomped a little more in his practical, light-up, Titus-spotting shoes, no one ever brought it up.

Chapter Text

Jason was reading in the manor library, happy to have a moment to himself, when he heard the door open with the slightest squeak. He sighed and looked up to see Damian in the doorway, his face screwed up in an odd expression.

Jason replaced the bookmark in his book, and asked, "What do you want, kid?" Damian didn't answer, but walked closer until he was standing almost directly in front of Jason. "You know there's not a TV in here, right?"

That was when Damian burst into tears. Jason panicked. "Damian, are you hurt?" He shook his head, and Jason relaxed a little. "You know I was kidding, right? You're allowed to be here in. It's okay."

Damian shook his head again and mumbled something Jason could barely hear. Jason leaned forward to grip Damian's shoulders, and said, "Say that again?" Damian took the opportunity to hook his arms around Jason's neck and hold on tight, so that Jason, in order to not stay hunched over, had to pull Damian onto his lap. He was just able to make out when Damian repeated himself, in between harsh sobs, "I don't want Titus to die."

"Wait wait, hold on," Jason adjusted Damian's position to hold him more comfortably, and then asked, "What makes you think Titus is going to die?"

Again Damian mumbling was almost indecipherable, but Jason caught something about a movie. "Okay. What movie did you watch?"

Damian wailed, "Old Yeller," and dissolved into tears again.

"Oh, buddy," Jason rested his cheek against Damian's head, and rubbed his back in circles. "That's not a movie you should've watched by yourself. But you know Titus doesn't have rabies, right?"

Damian turned his head just enough that Jason could hear him better. "I know he doesn't have rabies, but dogs don't live as long as people, which means that Titus is going to die and leave me all alone." Damian shoved his face against Jason's neck, sniffling.

"Well," Jason said, "you're not alone. Because you've got this whole house full of people who won't let you be alone," even when you want to be, "but, I guess since dogs' lives aren't as long as people's, it's important to make sure that Titus has a really good life."

Damian sat back and looked at Jason. "How do I do that?"

"I think you already do," Jason surprised himself by wiping the kids tears with the sleeve of his sweater, although he carefully avoided his running nose. "The way that you play with him everyday, feed him on a schedule, take him for walks-"

"And now he can see me at night."

Jason smiled. "That's right, you even bought special shoes so Titus could go out at night. His whole world revolves around you, but he can tell how much you love him by how you take such good care of him, and that's what matters."

The unlatched library door flung open again, this time to admit one giant great dane. "Speak of the devil," Jason mumbled." Titus' claws clicked as he trotted across the floor, and he lept up onto the sofa when Damian called him, despite Jason's protests.

"Oof!" The dogs pointy elbows stabbed into Jason's stomach and his thigh. "Why couldn't you have had a cat, kid?"

"I do have a cat."

"A second cat then. This dog stinks."

Damian scowled. "He smells like dog, Todd. That's what dogs are supposed to smell like." Jason rolled his eyes, but he had to admit it was cute when Damian flung his arms around Titus' neck and whispered something Jason couldn't hear into the dog's ear. He was a little surprised when Damian, still clinging to Titus' neck, leaned back against him again and seemed to settle in.

He picked up his book and opened it to the marked page. "So I assume everyone who is here is here because they're interested in Jane Eyre?" When neither Damian or Titus answered, Jason began - mid-chapter - to read aloud.

Chapter Text

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

Jason glanced at Tim. They'd been perched on a ledge for far too long waiting for Dick's signal to engage. "Dunno. Why do you ask?"

"Well," Tim fiddled with his utility belt, opening and closing the compartments at random. "I have an extra ticket for The Rise of Skywalker tomorrow. You could come. If you want, I mean."

"Why don't you ask N?"

"I did. He, um- he didn't respond for a while. And then he sent me a text about what he and Robin did all day."

"Maybe he didn't get your text?"

Tim huffed. "He saw it. He left me on read, Hood."

Jason chuckled, "Read Hood?"

Tim giggled in response. "Shut up," he said, grinning, "Anyway, it's tomorrow afternoon. I was gonna be at the theater by two, to have time to get popcorn and stuff. You don't have to come or anything. I've already seen it, but you really need to see a Star Wars movie a few times to really appreciate it, you know?"

Jason nodded as if he did know.

"So, yeah. What do you think?"

Jason shrugged. "Long as nothing better comes up, I don't mind seeing a movie on your dime, Replacement."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason woke up slowly, savoring how comfortable his bed had decided to be that morning. Or afternoon, as it probably was, considering he hadn't gotten to bed until well after six o'clock in the morning. He hit the home button on his phone.

1:39 PM

Perfect. He wasn't supposed to meet Tim until-

Panic struck him. He bolted out of bed, swearing to himself, and snatched whatever clothes he found first. Three minutes later found Jason dressed and on his bike, speeding towards the theater.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason's phone read 2:06 PM when he finally entered the theater, after making one quick, but very important stop at a convenience store. He scanned the crowd and finally saw Tim next in line. He was looking at his phone, brows furrowed. Jason stopped next to him, and said, "Popcorn is on you too, right?"

Tim looked up quickly, then smiled wide. "Yeah, popcorn is on me."

They placed their order, scanned their tickets, and found their seats. Tim handed his popcorn bucket to Jason long enough to adjust the footrest on his seat. He still hadn't stopped grinning. "I didn't think you were coming," he said, already eating. "You cut it kinda close there."

"Of course I was coming," Jason replied, "I had to make a stop first." He unzipped his jacket just enough to reveal an assortment of M&Ms packets in every kind the convenience store carried.

Tim gasped. "You're not supposed to bring that in here," he whispered far too loud, but Jason just rolled his eyes.

"As if either of us is going to pay what they want for a little bit of candy. You already spent thirty dollars on popcorn and drinks alone. You did your part. Stop being all judgy."

Tim relaxed a little, still looking a little judgy. Jason refastened his jacket until the lights dimmed. "So catch me up to speed before the previews start. Is Luke Skywalker still in these?"

Tim gasped again, more horrified than before. "Jay, please tell me you've seen the last two movies!"

Jason shook his head. "Kid, the last Star War I saw was when I was fourteen. Don't remember if I even paid attention."

"Jason!" Tim exclaimed, "We can't see this now! You'll be so confused, and have the other movies spoiled on top of it! No, we need to- we need to go! Go home and watch them all. We can come back tonight, and-"

Jason flung his arm across Tim to stop him from leaving. "Woah, kid. Relax. It's okay. I don't really care. Just tell me who this movie's about and that's all I need."

Tim looked skeptical. "Why did you even come if you haven't seen the rest of the trilogy?"

"Because you asked me to," Jason responded simply.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well," Tim relaxed back into his seat once again, "I guess you can just ask me if you have any questions, yeah? I mean, I've already seen it, so I won't be missing anything."

"Great. Now are you going to tell me who this one's about, or not?"

Tim's grin was back. "Yeah. I can do that."

Chapter Text

If Jason was being honest, he'd admit to still feeling shaken up from the night before. Tim's screams still rang in his head. He forced himself to relive over and over the desperation of thinking Tim was calling for him, and the jolt when he realized that Tim was screaming because of him. Jason, once he realized his presence was making things worse and not better, left for one of his safe houses.

He parked his bike near the manor garage and entered through the kitchen door, where he found Dick, elbows leaning on the island and gripping a coffee cup.

"You look like hell," he said, and Dick grimaced. "I'm sorry for leaving you to deal with that. I should've-"

Dick waved him off, and then set down his cup to pull Jason into a tight hug. He allowed himself to relax and be comforted, just for a minute, before Dick pulled away.

"It's okay, Jay. There wasn't anything you could do, and Bruce was already working on the antidote."

Jason shrugged, not feeling absolved. "How's the kid?" He asked. Dick shook his head.

"Don't know. He didn't come down for lunch, and his door is locked."

"Do you think there's still fear gas in his system?" Dick shook his head again.

"The antidote worked quickly, and B says it can't be that. I was hoping though...." Dick trailed off until Jason prompted him.

"Hoping what exactly?"

"I was hoping you would talk to him." Dick crossed his arms and leaned back against the island, eyes downcast. "You two are closer than he and I are right now. And it was you he was seeing- I'm not blaming you or anything, but maybe seeing you will help?"

Jason sighed. "Yeah," he said, "I'll check on him." He squeezed Dick's shoulder affectionately before heading up the back stairs to the second floor, and Tim's room. He knocked. Nothing. He sighed deeply and leaned his head against the door, before knocking again and calling Tim's name. "Come on, kid. I just want to talk."

A moment later, the door flew open, and a teary Tim was standing in front of him. "Woah, kid. And I thought Dick looked like hell-" was all he managed to say before Tim threw himself into Jason's arms. He was immediately aware of how much the kid was shaking. "Hey, hey," he murmured, "you're okay. It's okay. But you need to sit down before you fall over." He pried Tim off of him and led him back into his room to sit on his bed. Jason sat down right next to Tim and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, which Tim gratefully leaned into.

After a few minutes, Jason asked, "So what is this all about? Dickie says there's no fear gas left in your system. Why the hiding and crying?"

Tim sat up and drew in a deep breath. He turned to face his brother and said, "I'm sorry Jason. For last night." His eyes filled with tears, but he continued, "I was afraid of you because of something that you aren't anymore."

Jason was confused. "Timmy, I know how fear gas works. I'm not angry at you for having flashbacks. I- I hurt you, badly, and I certainly don't blame you-" he was interrupted by Tim bursting into tears."

"But you left." Tim pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "You left because of me, and Bruce and Dick and Alfred would hate me- and Damian would hate me more- if they lost you again because of me."

Jason gaped at Tim. "Have you been up here all day thinking that your whole family hates you?" Tim started to sob, and the big brother instincts Jason always insisted he didn't have took over as he wrapped his arms around Tim and let him cry into his shoulder. "Nobody hates you," he murmured repeatedly into Tim's hair. "I'm here. I'm not leaving. Nobody hates you." Tim's tears eventually subsided, but when Jason didn't let go, he wrapped his arms around his brother's waist in return and clung on.

Jason couldn't guess how long they sat there, holding onto each other, before Tim started to droop. "Don't fall asleep on me, kid," he chuckled, and Tim sat back looking groggy. "I wasn't kidding when I said you look like hell. So what do you think? Nap first, or lunch first?"

Tim blinked sluggishly. "Nap. But..." Jason waited for him to finish, and Tim sighed. "I tried to sleep a little before, but when I woke up, you weren't in your room, and..." Tim's eyes welled up again and Jason caved.

"I didn't sleep much either, so how about we both nap?" Tim nodded, relieved. They crawled into bed and under the covers. Tim tried to lay down on the other side of the bed, but Jason tugged him closer until Tim rested his head on Jason's shoulder. Jason ran his hand up and down Tim's back in a way he hoped was soothing, and said, "you know this is your family too, right?" He thought maybe Tim had fallen asleep until he heard a quiet, "I forget sometimes."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly four o'clock, and Dick hadn't heard anything from Tim or Jason in three hours. He opened Tim's door slowly when his knock went unanswered. When he saw his brothers curled up together fast asleep, he almost didn't have the heart to wake them

Almost.

He leaned over the to brush his hand through Tim's hair. "Timmy. Wake up bud." Tim blinked owlishly up at him, and Jason groaned.

"Go away Dickie."

Dick ignored Jason and focused on Tim. "How are you feeling, honey?"

Tim yawned. "Better, I guess?" He paused to consider. "Hungry."

Dick grinned. "That's perfect, because the reason I came to get you is because Alfred is running errands, which means there's no one to stop us from making pizza rolls. But you better hurry before Bruce claims them all."

The promise of junk food got Tim moving quickly, and Jason moving less quickly, and the tension of the night before melted away.

Chapter Text

Jason came across Damian unexpectedly in the library, curled up with a book, in Jason's favorite wingback chair of all places. "Whatcha reading, kid?" he asked, but Damian didn't answer. Jason realized that Damian wasn't reading at all, but was staring intently at the same spot on one page. He tapped Damian's shoulder, and Damian glanced up at him.

"You waiting for me or something?"

Damian scowled. "Tt. No I am not waiting for you, Todd."

"Well you're in my chair, so scoot." Damian didn't scoot. "What are you reading?" Jason asked again.

"It's not your chair, it's Father's chair," Damian retorted. Then he held up the book for Jason to see the title.

Jason scowled. "You know I can't read much Arabic."

Damian scoffed. "I've heard you speak Arabic well enough."

"Yeah, but speaking it and reading it are two totally different things," Jason replied with an eye roll, "especially when it uses a completely different alphabet from most of the languages I can read."

Damian went quiet, so Jason nudged him again. "You're still in my chair, brat."

"I miss it," Damian said, so quietly that Jason could barely hear him. Like he was admitting a secret.

"You miss what? Arabic?"

Damian nodded. "I miss hearing it. Speaking it. Hearing Mother speak it."

Jason sighed long-sufferingly, setting his own neglected copy of Wuthering Heights on the coffee table. "All right," he said, plucking Damian up off the chair under his arms, making Damian squawk in surprise. He sat down and settled Damian half in his lap, the chair being not quite big enough for them both. Damian was tense, but didn't fight as Jason took the book from him, and opened it to what would've been the last page in an English book. "I think it's your turn to read to me. I did it last time."

Damian turned, his shoulder digging into Jason's chest, and looked at him searchingly. He must have been satisfied with whatever he saw, because he turned back, adjusted Jason's hold on the book, and began reading. Jason closed his eyes and listened to Damian's lilting voice as he read aloud the language that he loved.

Chapter Text

Something had changed, and Jason wasn't sure that he liked it.

Tim was texting him sometimes, completely unprovoked, usually about whatever TV show he was watching that Jason didn't watch, or to complain about Damian. Sometimes even to complain about Bruce, which Jason had to admit were his favorite times.

He would show up wherever Jason was on patrol, also completely uninvited. Sometimes he was helpful, and sometimes Jason was even impressed by Red Robin, but Tim didn't need to know that.

He had also started getting in Jason's personal space. He had hugged Jason hello or goodbye no fewer that four times. He had been known to lean against Jason when he was tired or bored, or just felt like being annoying. He would even show up unexpected at Jason's apartment with fast food and a stack of movies every so often, and just make himself at home.

He was comfortable with Jason and it was weird.

Jason asked Dick about Tim's behavior, and preened a little at Dick's obvious jealousy over their brother's time and attention. But he told Jason that it was good for Tim to be taking time off to relax, and Jason ought not to discourage him.

Jason stretched his legs out on the footstool in front of him and pressed ice packs to his right knee and hip. An unfortunate landing the night before had wrenched his leg painfully. He had acquiesced to taking the lowest dose pain medication Alfred had, just to be able to walk, but had every intention of spending the day on the couch. Jason was dozing when a dip in the couch caught his attention.

Tim sat down on Jason's left, picked up Jason's arm, and wrapped it around his shoulders, snuggling into his side. Jason blinked at him, bewildered, as Tim started fiddling with the TV remote.

"What do you want to watch?"

"Huh?" Jason answered intelligently.

"Alfred said you're stuck here all day, so what do you want to watch?" Tim asked again, flipping through channels. "Do you want a movie? Or a show?"

Jason didn't plan on being awake for much longer, so he named the first movie that popped into his head. "Outlaw Josey Pye," he muttered, once again leaning back against the couch.

Tim chuckled. "Don't worry, I know what you meant," and flipped through the downloaded movies until he came to the westerns.

The movie started, and Jason dozed again, until he heard and angry little voice say, "Drake! What are you doing!?" He opened his eyes to see Damian carrying a tray with two steaming mugs, and an angry look on his face. "Todd and I were going to watch the Egypt documentary. Go away."

"Well tough luck, brat," Tim said, unhelpfully, "we're watching Clint Eastwood. You can watch your nerd show later." Tim settled back against Jason, his attention fully on the movie. Jason sighed long-sufferingly.

"Listen, kid," he said to Damian, "Alfie's pain meds are knocking me out, and we need to be awake to watch a documentary, yeah?" The hostility in Damian's expression didn't waver, and Jason sighed again. "Probably by the time this movie is over, they'll have worn off and I'll be able to stay awake. Okay?"

"I made you tea," Damian said tightly.

"I see that. Thank you." He patted the couch on his other side. "Why don't you watch this with us? It's a classic." Damian set the tray on the end table and sat stiffly beside Jason. Jason was prevented from snuggling Damian into his side the way Tim was by the ice pack on his hip, so he tugged at Damian's sleeve until he tipped over to rest his head against Jason's arm.

Damian sat up suddenly and picked up the two mugs, handing on to Jason. "It should be sufficiently cooled by now," he said, getting comfortable against Jason's arm again.

The movie ended with both Tim and Jason asleep. Damian half watched, and half played solitaire on his phone. The moment the credits started, Damian shot up, startling both his brothers awake, and went around to Tim's side of the couch. "Shoo shoo," he said, waving his hands in Tim's face in a way he knew Tim hated, "go away, it's my turn." Tim sat up, grumbling, and would have climbed over Jason had Jason not physically stopped him.

"Go around, replacement," he said, and Tim did, settling against Jason's right arm, and dropping right back to sleep.

Meanwhile, Damian had picked up Jason's left arm, wrapped it around his shoulders, and snuggled into Jason's side, and took control of the remote. "You better stay awake, Todd," he said, not a little bit threateningly, and Jason did his best.

Chapter Text

"Tim? Timothy," Jason picked up a Tupperware container and waved it at Tim. "What is this? There's shells all in these eggs."

Tim slumped. "But Jay," he whined, "you're so much better at this than me."

"I know I am. That's why my lady lock cookies are in the fridge, and you had to be rescued from making-" Jason picked up the box on the counter behind him, "Betty Crocker patriotic funfeti cake with-" he picked up the can next to it, "Great Value coconut frosting."

"What if we got Betty Crocker frosting?"

"No."

Tim huffed. "I don't understand why-"

"Listen to me, Replacement," Jason interrupted, "you're not making box cake for Alfred's birthday. And- Damian? What are you doing?"

Damian looked up from his task. "I'm sifting. That's what you told me to do."

"With a spoon?"

"How else would one sift flour?"

"Not with a spoon," Jason grumbled, digging around in one of the upper cupboards until he found what he was looking for. "Here's the actual sifter," he dumped some of the pre-measured flour in and squeezed the handle, "see?"

"But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why does it need to be sifted?"

"I'm with Damian on this one," Tim butted in, "we never sift the cake mix-"

Jason pointed a whisk at Tim as threateningly as he could manage, "I swear, if you say mix one more time."

Tim rolled his eyes. "So what are we supposed to do with the cake? Blend it? Whisk it? Combine it?"

"Okay, first of all," Jason answered, brandishing his whisk again, "all of those work. And second, you don't need to be able to say mix to do it. And third," he pulled a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, "this is the last dozen. This recipe calls for four eggs. Don't screw it up. And for the love of all-" he smacked Tim's hand as he reached for the Tupperware full of broken eggs, "use a different container! How are you supposed to be the smart one?"

"Okay, okay. Whatever." Tim went to the lower cupboard for a new container.

"Todd, I have finished sifting."

Jason rounded the kitchen island to where Damian had sifted so dutifully. "Well at least one of you- Damian? What is this?"

There were three giant mixing bowls sitting on the floor, each filled with a mountain of flour. Damian crossed his arms, clearly proud of himself. "I sifted all of the flour, so we'll save time next time."

"That's not how this works, brat. All you've done is waste time, and," he groaned, "please stop your cat from rubbing against the bowls!"

While Damian shooed Alfred the cat, Jason dumped the sifted flour back into it's container and set it aside, planning to let Alfred the human decide what to do with it. He pointed to the kitchen scale. "Start over. Tim?" He turned to his practically adult brother, ready for disappointment. "How're those eggs coming?

"Done!"

Jason picked up the empty egg carton. "Did you actually use the whole dozen?" Closer inspection of the egg-covered counter top confirmed his suspicions. "Tim, what the-"

"Look," Tim held up his second Tupperware container of eggs. "Eggs. No shells."

Jason took the container from him, looking skeptically at the eggs. "How many eggs did this recipe call for?"

"Um," Tim picked up the printed recipe, almost nervously, and Jason narrowed his eyes, "four."

"Then how come I only count three yolks in here?"

"One of the eggs didn't have any yolk-"

"Try again."

"The other eggs were so big, I thought it wouldn't matter if we ran out." Tim took the container from Jason, and held it up. "I make myself eggs all the time, and it doesn't matter if there's one less. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Fine!?" Jason finally erupted, "you think this is fine? Oh, I'm sorry Alfred," he mocked, "I know you cook and clean and do our laundry and look after us all year long with scant thank-yous and little appreciation, but I'm sure a birthday cake with one less egg, which will affect the texture and taste and cook time, is probably just FINE."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Are you done? Because we still have time to get to that Sicilian bakery and get a cake there." Tim snatched his keys off the wall, and headed down the hall to the garage. "Come on, Damian. It's not from both of us if we don't both go." Damian followed, in a cloud of flour, leaving Jason, and their mess, behind.

Chapter Text

Jason half awoke to his phone buzzing. He managed, eyes closed, to answer and held the phone to his ear. "What?" he grunted.

"You corrupted him," the voice on the phone said. "This is your fault. You corrupted him."

Jason drifted off to the voice droning, but jolted awake when it shouted, "Are you seriously snoring right now?!"

Jason pulled the phone away to glare at the caller ID before answering again. "What do you want, dickhead?"

"You know, it's bad enough that every time I try to spend time with my baby brother it's always 'Jason this,' and 'Jason that,' and 'Jay says,' and 'Jay does,' and now you can't even stay awake long enough to talk to me? Screw you."

The call ended before Jason had a chance to respond.

Just over an hour later found Jason at Dick's Bludhaven apartment. At Jason's knock, Dick opened the door, glaring. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk," Jason shoved his way in and set an empty mug down on the counter, digging two teabags out of his pocket.

"You did not seriously bring your own mug to my apartment."

"Do you actually have more than one mug clean?" Dick rolled his eyes. "Yes," Jason said, "I brought my own mug." He looked at the dishes piled in the sink, and then back at Dick. "You're disgusting. Where's your kettle?"

"Don't have one."

"What do you mean you don't have one? What am I supposed to do, microwave water for tea?"

"Well I'm shocked that you, oh so prepared with your teacup and your teabag, don't carry a kettle around in your pocket."

Jason dug the only clean mug out of the dish drain and heated water in the microwave. "Earl grey, or masala chai?"

"Like there's a difference," Dick answered mulishly.

"They're nothing alike. You get Earl grey."

"Fine."

Jason set their tea to steeping, and slid Dick's mug across the kitchen counter to him. "So are you gonna tell me what that phone call was about?"

Dick crossed his arms. "Like you don't know."

"I have absolutely no idea what you think I did to Damian."

"Not Damian," Dick said, glaring harder, "Tim."

Jason sipped his tea. "Tim, then. How have I corrupted Tim?"

"He called me literally as I was headed out the door to tell me not to bother to meet him for lunch, which we've been planning all week, by the way, because he had to watch some four hour version of Les Miserables so he could talk to you about it," Dick said. He began to look less angry and more hurt.

"Is there a reason," Jason asked, "that you called to shout at me at ten in the morning instead of just talking to Tim?"

Dick slumped and picked up his mug, wrapping both hands around it. "You're right, I'm sorry. Tim and I aren't close right now, and it's been that way for a while, but I was so angry..." He took a sip of tea and made a face. "I don't like this."

"Put some sugar in it. This can't still be about you firing him?" Jason asked, as Dick found sugar in his cupboard and dumped six spoonfuls into his mug. Jason wrinkled his nose. "Seriously?"

"You're the one making me drink this. Let me do it my own way. And, yeah," he swirled the sugar around in his tea rather than clean a spoon. "Things have been different between us ever since then. Like he's keeping me at arm's length. And it was bad enough before, but now.... Now it's not just that he doesn't want to talk to me. It's like he's replaced me with you. It hurts."

Jason nodded. "Have you tried talking to him about it? Find out why it was such a big deal?"

"No."

"Maybe you should do that. You'll probably get better results than by screaming at me all day."

Dick winced. "I know. I'm sorry, again. Thanks for not yelling back. In the past I would've expected you to show up and shoot me, not make me tea that tastes like soap." This time Jason rolled his eyes. "When did you get so level headed?"

"Guess it comes with the big brother territory."

Dick smiled. "I'm the big brother, remember?"

"I'm bigger than you," Jason deadpanned, and Dick laughed.

"Older, then."

"Whatever, dickface."

"I think maybe Tim thinks I love Damian more than him, but nothing could be further from the truth. I love you all the same. I mean, I love you differently, because you're different people, and we have different relationships in some ways, but I love you all equally."

"I get it."

"You know I love you, right Jay?"

"I know, Dickie."

Chapter Text

It was raining, and Jason was stuck.

He was stuck at the manor because he'd made the mistake of riding his bike to the cave, and deciding to wait out what had been a light drizzle at the time.

He was stuck in the middle of a chess game because he had agreed to play with Tim. Although Jason would argue that he'd never actually agreed to play with Tim quite so much as Tim had plopped down on the other side of the window seat, rudely interrupting Jason's brooding time, and set up the chess board.

Jason took his turn, bored out of his mind, and then waited. And waited.

"You gonna take your turn or what?"

Tim glanced at the board, made a quick move with one of his rooks, which left his queen unprotected, and went back to staring at the raindrops running down the windowpane. Jason would have thought something was wrong with him if not for the soft smile on his face. "You're losing. Badly." He said. Tim just shrugged. "You're usually much grumpier when you lose. What gives?"

Tim turned fully towards Jason, and said, "This is just- it's so much like I always pictured it. You know?"

"Obviously I don't know, since you didn't say what it is."

Tim hunched his shoulders a little, hands bundled in the pocket of his hoodie. "Being your brother, I mean. I used to think about it all the time. When I was really lonely," he said, returning his gaze to the window, "or scared, or like... excited even. Like I wanted to share something exciting with someone. I used to pretend that that person was you. I'd see you out at night as Robin, and I'd be so proud of you, even though I didn't have any right to be." Tim trailed off, little smile still firmly in place.

Jason was speechless. Dick had let slip once about Tim's hero worship of Jason as Robin, but Jason had assumed that that image had been destroyed long ago. "Kid," he said, "I don't deserve any of that, but-"

He was interrupted by Tim lunging across the window seat to throw his arms around Jason's neck, knocking the chess board in the process. Jason was stunned, still unused to Tim's random, sudden displays of affection, then said, "I knew you couldn't handle losing."

Tim sat back, confused, and laughed when he saw the chess board full of knocked over and disrupted pieces. "You'll never be able to prove a thing," he said, grinning.

Chapter Text

It was nearly five AM, and Jason was going to murder whoever was trying to sneak in through his window. He switched on his nightstand lamp and glared at the child leaning halfway into his bedroom, blinking owlishly in the light. "What do you want?" he growled.

"I'm staying here tonight," Damian said, crawling the rest of the way through the window before sliding it shut.

"What do you mean you're staying here tonight? Did you even ask?"

Damian rolled his eyes. "Father won't care."

"I don't care about Bruce," Jason grumbled, "it's my apartment! It's my permission that you need. Haven't you ever heard of a telephone? Honestly, who raised you?"

Damian glared for an uncomfortably long minute and then headed for the door. "Fine," he said, "goodbye."

"Wait, wait." Jason stumbled after Damian and grabbed his forearm. "You're not going all the way back to the manor tonight. Sleep on the couch."

"Let go, Todd." Damian pulled against Jason's grip, without turning to face him. "I'm not going home. Let me go."

"Where exactly do you think you're going if not home?"

Damian turned then and tried to pry Jason's hand off. Jason didn't budge. "I'm going to call for Uncle Clark. He wants me around."

Jason shook his head. "Kid, it's practically morning. Just sleep on my couch. I'm not letting you go out now, and I'm not letting you bother Clark. Just - ow! - just relax already. Stop scratching me."

Damian continued to struggle. "I don't bother Clark," he tried to sound indignant, but Jason caught the waver in his voice, "I only bother you! And Father." His voice started to break. "And Mother. Father doesn't even like me."

"Aw, kid," Jason gripped Damian's other arm, annoyance melting away as he dissolved into tears. "What happened?"

"And now you don't want me either," Damian sobbed. Jason sighed and tried to pull him into a hug, but Damian resisted stiffly.

"I never said you couldn't stay here. I just said it's polite to call first, but you know what? Look at me, Damian." Damian's teary eyes met Jason's. "You get a pass. Okay? It's late. Or early, I guess. We're both grouchy. But you're always welcome here." This time Damian melted into the hug Jason offered him. "Now are you gonna tell me what happened?"

Damian sniffled against Jason's shoulder. "Father and I argued," he said in a small voice, "I said I wished Mother had never even brought me here, and Father just," his breath hitched, "he didn't say anything. He just walked away because he wishes Mother had never brought me too. But Mother didn't want me either, or she wouldn't have sent me away. And Grayson didn't want me, or he wouldn't have left me behind."

Jason stood up, settling Damian on his hip, and returned to his bedroom for his cell phone. He sent a quick I have your kid text to Bruce, then sat on his bed and leaned back against the headboard while Damian cried. "I can't take away your insecurities, baby bat," he said, "but I know Bruce and Dick love you. They both suck sometimes, but they love you."

"Do you really want me here?" Damian asked, sniffling.

"Yeah, I do," Jason rested his cheek on top of Damian's head. "Just knock next time, okay? It's much easier to let you in the door than to reset all my alarms." Damian nodded.

Jason must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was blinking at the blinding sunlight streaming in through his window, and weighed down by the little brother sprawled across him. He turned on his phone, hopes raised by the seven messages from Bruce asking after Damian. Somehow, they would be okay.

Chapter Text

Jason was standing in line, happily minding his own business, when someone poked him in the arm. Stephanie Brown appeared beside him, messy bun bobbing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "Hi!" She smiled broadly. "What are you doing here?"

Jason held up the clothing folded over his arm. "Buying jeans."

"In the mall?"

"Is there somewhere else I'm supposed to buy them?"

Stephanie shrugged. "I've just never pictured you in a mall, that's all," she said, "I had a coupon that expired today, so I bought some earrings. Look!" She fished her purchase out of its bag, and held up a card loaded down with more pairs of stud earrings in more colors than Jason could imagine one person ever needing. "Half off! They'll be perfect two at a time with some simple hoops. See?" She brushed whisps of hair that had escaped her bun aside to display the three piercings in her right earlobe, currently earring-less.

Jason nodded, not knowing or caring why studs should go with hoops, or why one ear needed three different earrings. The cashier beckoned him forward, and he paid for his clothing, Stephanie tagging along, continuing to chatter about earrings. As they left the store, Stephanie hooked her arm through his.

"So," she said, "food court?"

Jason didn't object as she dragged him through the mall, up the escalator, on a detour to smell a ridiculous number of candles, and finally to the food court. She waited in line with him while he ordered mandarin chicken and noodles from the Thai restaurant, and insisted he wait in line with her while she ordered pizza. He realized why when they reached the register, and she looked at him expectantly. Jason sighed and set his own tray down to dig his wallet out of his pocket. "You know I'm not one of the rich ones, right?"

She shrugged. "That's your own choice. I don't have a millionaire dad to not be on speaking terms with." She hugged his arm again before picking up her tray. "Thank you!"

They sat down at a table together, Stephanie chatting idly while they ate. "Wait," Jason said, interrupting her, "that's why Bruce has the Jonas Brothers banned? How did you even accomplish that?"

Stephanie threw her head back, laughing. "Dick helped me hack into the audio systems in the work car," she said with a wink, "so every time any sort of alert came through, Year 3000 blasted at full volume. Took almost three days for him to fix it entirely."

"Respect. I never could've gotten away with anything like that."

Stephanie shrugged. "Yeah, well. I didn't have anything to lose. Bruce already didn't like me."

Jason frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"He just doesn't. He never has." Her smile faltered, but remained in place, although Jason could see how real it wasn't. "I wasn't a good substitute for Tim. And I probably annoyed him or something too," she said, laughing.

"Well you don't seem to be good with personal space."

She laughed for real at that. "Oh, so you've noticed?"

Jason gestured to his empty tray. "You did eat half my food, after all."

"Oh, please," Stephanie teased, "three tiny little pieces of chicken is hardly half."

"Mhm. Whatever you say." Jason stood up to put his tray in the designated spot, and returned for his bags. "Well, see you later. Thanks for letting me pay for your lunch."

Stephanie looked slightly panicked, and jumped up to follow him. "Wait! There's a bookstore here! It's not big, but it's got all of the, like, classics and stuff. T-shirts. Bookmarks. Everything a book guy could want! Have you been there?"

Jason had been in that bookstore before. It was small and sterile, and held none of the charms of the used bookstores and libraries he frequented. But he couldn't ignore the oddly hopeful expression.

"Let's check it out."

Chapter Text

Dick had been insisting on having Tim and Jason over to watch a movie for months. The stars - not to mention patrol, work, and school schedules - had finally aligned, and Jason arrived at Dick's apartment, along with a pan of fresh brownies. He opened the door and was immediately met with yelling. He set his phone and the brownies down on the kitchen counter, and followed the noise into the next room.

"Why do you have to be so annoying all the time?" Tim shouted, arms folded tightly across his chest.

"Me?" Dick shouted back, gesturing wildly, "I'm the annoying one? I'm the difficult one? You're the one who broke my plasma screen tv-"

"That was two years ago!"

"It doesn't matter when it was! It doesn't matter at all! Because the point is, you were being a reckless heathen-"

Tim's face went red. "Why don't you say that to my face, Dickhead."

Dick scoffed. "Oh, real original. Clearly spending so much time with Jason hasn't made you more bearable."

Jason chose that moment to interrupt. "Okay, that's enough." He glared at both of them. "I don't know what your problem is, and I don't care. This is the first night I've had off in over a week, and you two aren't going to ruin it."

"I'm not going to ruin anything." Tim brushed past Jason. "Bye," he said, slamming the door behind him.

Jason sighed. "Whatever," he muttered, also heading for the door.

"He's acting like a child," Dick said, "are you seriously going after him?"

Jason looked back at Dick. "No. I'm leaving." And he did.

Tim didn't even bother to knock before barging into Jason's apartment. "Can you believe that guy?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "I don't want to hear it."

"I mean, him accusing me of being difficult? For real? He should look in the mirror before he starts throwing around accusations-"

"I don't care."

"-what a di-"

"Hey," Jason cut him off, "Dickhead is my nickname. Come up with your own."

Tim huffed. "I don't want my own. I want him to stop being a jerk."

"Tell him, not me."

"No," Tim said, petulantly.

"Timothy. Call him."

"I don't want to talk to him. Besides, he probably won't even answer if he sees that it's me."

Jason sighed deeply, wondering what he'd done to deserve being cursed with brothers. "Fine. Use mine." He stuck his hand in the picket of his jeans and swore.

"What?"

"I left it at Dick's apartment."

Jason knocked on Dick's door and waited. And waited.

And waited.

He knocked harder, shouting, "Open the door, Richard."

The door swung open to reveal Dick, looking angrier than Jason had seen him in a long time. "I don't want to talk to you."

Jason pushed past him, grabbing his phone off the kitchen counter. "Good. I don't want to talk to you either." He was halfway out the door when Dick raised his voice again.

"Can you believe him? I don't even know what his problem was. He just started yelling."

Jason, giving up on any hope of a peaceful night, reentered the apartment and shut the door. "You weren't exactly serene either."

"Why do I always have to be the serene one?" Dick asked angrily.

Jason held his hands up in surrender. "I never said you did. And for the record, you being the angry, out of control one would be refreshing if you hadn't chosen tonight to do it. You know, my one night with no fighting or violence."

Dick's glare didn't let up. "It's my night off too."

Jason felt no sympathy. "Yeah, and you screwed it up. What were you fighting about anyway?"

Dick seemed to deflate at the question. "We were trying to decide where to order pizza from. I don't know what happened, except that suddenly we were both yelling."

"That's a totally normal response to ordering pizza," Jason said. Dick just shrugged. "What movie did you decide on?"

"Avatar."

"That's a show."

"No," Dick shook his head, "it's a movie. It was really big when it came out." He picked up the DVD case and handed it to Jason.

"Oh. Yeah. I remember hearing about it when I was about..." Jason hesitated, "when I was fifteen. Why didn't you see it then?"

"I was a little... preoccupied."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Besides, I wanted to see it with you then. I thought it would be fun to watch it with you now."

"I thought you hated me then?" Jason said skeptically.

"I didn't hate you. I never truly hated you, especially later on. And I was trying to do better."

Jason handed the DVD back and gestured towards the TV. "Put it on."

Dick shook his head again. "Tim would be so hurt if we watched it without him."

"Call him."

Dick sighed, clearly annoyed, and pulled out his phone. "I'm not going to apologize."

"Fine. I don't care."

Instead of calling, Dick sent a text. Three minutes later, a text from Tim dinged on Jason's phone. It displayed a screenshot of a text from Dick reading, we're starting the movie, accompanied by a lone question mark. Jason glared at Dick. "Seriously?" Dick shrugged, already flipping through channels.

Not yet. Hurry up. He hit send, and received a thumbs up emoji in response almost immediately.

Two and a half episodes of Seinfeld later, Tim arrived again, this time with two Starbucks cups. He handed one marked green tea to Jason, and sat down on Jason's left, keeping the other cup for himself. Dick, seated on Jason's right and refusing to acknowledge Tim, slid Jason's pan of brownies to the far end of the coffee table, where only he and Jason could reach them easily.

The movie started, and Jason chose the enjoy one of the worst movies he'd ever seen to the peaceful sound of his brothers pointedly ignoring each other.

Chapter Text

Jason was awoken by the sound of his window being slammed shut.

"Todd, wake up."

He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. Damian didn't take the hint, and poked him hard in the arm.

"Todd, I said wake up."

"Go away," Jason grumbled.

"No. It's important."

Jason removed the pillow and leaned on his arm, glaring at Damian. "What's important is calling ahead and knocking. Remember? We've talked about this."

Damian ignored him. "I was informed that today is your birthday, so I got you a present."

"What time is it?"

"Five-thirty."

Jason groaned again. "Why can't we do this later?"

Damian sighed long-sufferingly. "Because I am here first, Todd. Look." Damian drew something out of the backpack slung over his shoulder and shoved it at Jason.

"Is that a book?"

"Yes it's a book."

"You really only know one thing about me, huh?"

"Tt," Damian chirped indignantly, "I do not only know one thing about you. I know many other things."

Jason sat up fully and turned his bedside light on. Damian handed him the book. "It's in Arabic?"

Damian nodded. "Yes. It's called Opera Ghost. I heard Pennyworth say that you wanted a French copy, but this is better."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Damian rolled his eyes. "It's in Arabic. Arabic is better than French."

Jason smiled. "Of course. I still need to get better at reading Arabic though."

"That is part of the present too," Damian said, "I am going to help you read it so you can learn."

Jason wrapped his arm around Damian in a side hug. "I love it. Thank you, really. Even though it could've waited until later."

"But then it wouldn't have been first."

"First, right," Jason chuckled. "Are you going home, or staying here?"

Damian pulled out his cell phone. "I am going to sit on your couch and watch videos of Japanese artists making tea pots."

"Sounds riveting."

Damian shrugged. "It's okay," he said, "Drake showed them to me. I was surprised that he had any interest in being cultured."

Jason squeezed Damian again and then let go. "Send me the links, will you?"

"I will. Good night, Todd."

"Night, Damian."

"Happy birthday."

Chapter Text

Jason opened his apartment door to find a very pale Tim Drake, his hand raised to knock again.

"Seriously?" He said, "what is it with you Robins and showing up here at five a.m.?"

Tim blinked owlishly. "Damian said you said it was okay as long as we knock."

"Since when do you two talk?" Jason stepped back to let Tim in. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sick." Tim said, sniffling.

"Yeah? Okay? And what, you came here to wait for someone to pick you up?"

Tim shook his head. "No. Bruce and Alfred are away on business. Damian is with Dick in Bludhaven."

"And why can't you just stay at your own place by yourself?" Jason asked skeptically. Tim just shrugged, and Jason sighed, resigned. "Okay, fine." He indicated the crate of afghans he and Alfred had rescued together from thrift stores. Most were washed, softened, and donated to shelters or children's centers, but Jason had kept his thirteen favorites. "Blankets are there. You can sleep on the couch."

Tim eyed the couch, and said, "Bruce always tucks me in when I'm sick."

Jason snorted. "You're how old?"

"Seventeen."

"Tuck yourself in. Goodnight." He went back to bed.

"Jay?"

Jason didn't hear that.

"Jason?"

He was asleep and he didn't hear that.

"Jay!"

"Ow!" He couldn't ignore the sharp poking in his arm. "Why do you have such bony fingers, replacement?"

Tim was hunched over wrapped in three afghans. "It's too cold in there."

Jason propped himself up. "Yeah. You have a cold. It's not any less cold in here, so go back to sleep."

"Dick always lets me sleep with him when I'm sick."

His pleading look got to Jason, and he threw the covers back. "All right. Get in."

Tim did, and immediately plastered himself against Jason, smothering them both in all three afghans. "Dick always hugs me when I'm sick, to stay warm."

"I'm sure he does, kid." Jason wrapped his left arm around Tim obligingly, and held his right wrist to his forehead. Warm, but not too hot. He threaded his fingers through Tim's hair, stroking gently. Late September in Gotham wasn't the worst time to have your own personal clingy space heater. "Go to sleep."

When Jason woke up again, it was closer to noon, and the heat wasn't comfortable anymore. Tim was sprawled across him awkwardly, right foot hanging off the bed, left knee digging painfully into Jason's side, and drooling on his shoulder. He tried to shift the kid off of him, but Tim moaned and hung on. "Tim, let go." When Tim didn't, Jason hoisted him up and deposited him on the other side of the bed. He got up, located a box of tissues, and threw it next to Tim on the bed. "Stop dripping snot everywhere."

He changed shirts to one that hadn't been dripped on, and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, Tim emerged, eyes and nose red, and down to one afghan.

"What do you want to eat?" Jason asked.

Tim scrubbed at his nose with a tissue. "Alfred always makes me soup when I'm sick."

"Don't have what I need for soup. Today was supposed to be my grocery day." He opened the fridge and poked around. "I can do hot ham and cheese, leftover spaghetti, or eggs."

Tim shrugged. "Ham and cheese, I guess."

Jason made tea while their sandwiches cooked. He handed a mug to Tim, who took a sip and wrinkled his nose.

"What?"

"Alfred always makes me tea with honey and lemon when I'm sick."

Jason rolled his eyes. "This is peppermint tea. It's good for you. And there is honey in it."

After they ate (Tim complaining that he couldn't taste anything, and Jason offering hotter and hotter condiments until Tim let him eat in peace), Jason quickly washed their plates. "More tea?" He asked. Tim nodded. "See? I told you you'd like it." They relocated to the couch with steaming mugs and turned the TV on.

Tim burrowed into Jason's side, careful not to spill his tea, and blinked innocently when Jason glanced down at him. "Bruce always watches Star Wars with me when I'm sick."

"Well I don't have Star Wars." He clicked through the local channels, and Tim vetoed all of them until they came across and all day Star Trek marathon.

Jason set the remote down and readjusted Tim's afghan before pulling him close and letting him snuggle in. "You're such a nerd."

"Mhm." Tim sipped his tea. "And you've read Emma how many times now?"

"Shut up and drink your tea." He poked Tim in the side, making him giggle. "And don't drip on me."

Chapter Text

Bludhaven news didn't usually make it onto Gotham news channels. Gotham had enough of its own problems to take time talking about anyone else's. This, however, caught everyone's attention.

Jason stood frozen, watching the footage play on the news of a Bludhaven warehouse explosion. Various bits of the footage were being replayed over and over and over, and he couldn't look away. The anchors talked about the possibilities of drugs, gangs, maybe even just a gas leak. Finally Jason forced himself to change the channel. He buried his face in his hands, trying to block out images of another warehouse, desperately wishing he had never turned on the TV at all.

He was trying hard to focus on the Brady Bunch theme playing on the TV (it would end up stuck in his head later, but he couldn't worry about that then) when his phone buzzed with two texts from Tim.

bludhaven pd were at the warehouse

dicks in the hospital

There were multiple other groups of people in the large hospital waiting room. Jason found Tim and Damian and took the chair in between them. He wrapped his left arm around Tim, who immediately melted into the hug. He knew Damian wouldn't respond well to too much affection in public, and just rested his hand on Damian's shoulder. He was stiff as a board and didn't acknowledge Jason at all. "So what do we know?" Jason asked.

Tim sighed. "Nothing. Bruce is trying to talk to someone now, but they just keep saying they don't have any information for us yet."

Jason glanced at Damian, and squeezed his shoulder. "He's gonna be okay, D."

Damian turned just far enough to glare at him. "I know he is, Todd."

Alfred entered the waiting room and walked over to them. Tim sat up straight. "Any luck?" He asked as Alfred sat on Damian's other side.

He shook his head. "No, but I saw Master Bruce speaking with a doctor, so we may know something soon."

Sure enough, Bruce showed up a few minutes later. He sat down in the chair across from Jason. "Dick is okay," he said, reaching a hand out towards Damian. Damian went to him and was pulled into a tight hug. "He and his partner were out of the building, and he got hit with some debris. He's concussed, but okay." Damian sagged against him, and Bruce lifted him up onto his lap. "We should be able to see him soon."

Soon ended up being almost two hours later. As they entered the room, Tim quickly found a chair and sat down at Dick's left and held his hand. Bruce did the same on his right.

Dick blinked awake, smiling softly at Bruce and Damian. "Hi, guys." He turned his head slowly, wincing, and saw Tim. "Hi, Tim. How did you get here?"

Tim chuckled. "How do you think I got here?"

"Don't the drycleaners have your car?"

Tim shook his head, smiling. "What are you talking about?"

Dick turned back to Bruce and suddenly burst into tears. Bruce squeezed his hand. "You're okay, Chum." But Dick shook his head, wincing again.

"No. No, Bruce," he cried, "I couldn't- I couldn't find Jason. I tried, B, but I couldn't find him."

Jason stepped forward and stood next to Tim. "Hey Dickie," he said, "I'm right here."

Dick gasped and freed his hand from Tim, holding it out to Jason. Jason held it, but Dick was only content for a minute before he tugged Jason close enough to hug him. He sniffled into Jason's shoulder. "Are you okay, Little Wing?"

Jason squeezed him tight back. "I'm okay, Big Bird."

Dick let go and leaned back. He looked at Tim and gasped again. "Tim! How did you get here?"

Dick, once coherent, agreed to stay in the manor to recover. Boredom led to a tendency to do things someone with a concussion ought not to do, so Damian insisted on being his near constant companion to keep him from doing anything to jeopardize his recovery.

On the second night home, Jason found Damian in Dick's room. "Hey, kid. How about I take over and you go eat? You've been here all day."

"I suppose that would be acceptable," Damian agreed, shutting the book he'd been reading.

"Phantom?" Jason asked. "You're reading it in English now too?"

"Tt. Grayson said the Arabic hurt his head." He stuck a bookmark in the book and set it on then nightstand. "Don't worry, I haven't read farther than we have."

Jason ruffled Damian's hair, making him squeak, and then noticed Dick sleeping sitting up. "That can't be comfortable." He tried to tilt Dick's head up, knowing the last thing anyone with a concussion needs is a crick in their neck, but Dick wouldn't cooperate. Instead he leaned Dick's head on his shoulder and, grumbling to himself about long limbed brothers with no sense, gathered him in his arms. Damian hurried to adjust Dick's pillows while Jason set him down and arranged him into a more comfortable position. "Better." He sat down, picking up Damian's book. "Go eat, kid."

Damian hovered for a moment, until Jason physically turned him around and shoved him towards the door. He scowled. "Don't read ahead."

Jason, who had already read the book through multiple times, nodded. "I promise."

Chapter Text

Jason was five videos deep into Tim's teapot-making playlist when Dick woke up with a groan. "Hey Dickie," he said, pausing the video.

"Hey," Dick croaked, blinking blearily. "What time is it?"

Jason glanced down at his phone screen. "A little after seven. How are you feeling?" Jason chuckled when Dick only groaned again in response. "Yeah, no kidding. You hungry?"

Dick shook his head and winced. "Keep forgetting I shouldn't do that. My neck doesn't hurt as bad as earlier though."

"You're welcome," Jason said, "baby brat and I stopped you from sleeping all slumped over. Hurt my neck just to look at you."

"Thanks, Little Wing," Dick said, and then sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Thanks for being so nice to me."

"C'mon Dickie, don't do that." That just made Dick cry harder. "What's going on?"

Jason helped Dick sit up while he got his breathing under control. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sorry I freaked out like that at the hospital."

"You remember that?"

"Just vaguely. Mostly I remember panicking, and you hugging me. But I'm-" his eyes welled up again, "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I don't know if I ever even said that to you, but I'm so, so sorry I wasn't there."

Jason gathered Dick into his arms and let him cry. It was a little while before he calmed down again. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Stop saying that."

Dick pulled away, and wiped his eyes with the tissue Jason handed him. "I'm sorry for crying, anyway. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You mean besides the fact that you're concussed, exhausted, traumatized, and on pain meds? You've really gotta stop being so emotional for no reason." Dick laughed at Jason's obvious sarcasm, just as his door swung open and Damian came in.

"Tt, Todd! What did you do?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Relax brat, we were just talking." Dick held his arms out, and Damian went willingly to be hugged, still scowling at Jason.

"I'm okay, honey," Dick said, hugging Damian close. "Better now, because I have two baby brothers taking care of me."

"Uh," Jason interrupted, "I actually have to go-" His resolved crumbled under Dick's pleading expression and Damian's glare. "...get a couple of books if we're going to be here all night. Any requests?"

Jason woke to loud dinging from his phone. He turned the screen on, squinting at the brightness, to see a text from Roy.

Roy: let me in

Roy: ???????

Roy: dude let me in

It was difficult typing with one arm trapped under two brothers, but Jason made it work. What are you talking about?

Roy: im at your place right now and i know you have all kinds of alarms and stuff set up and i dont feel like dealing so let me in

J: I'm not home. Dick got hurt and I'm with him.

Roy: that wont work this time let me in

Jason sighed and pulled up the camera on his phone. He took a quick photo showing Dick's head pillowed on his shoulder, and Damian wedged in between them and sent it to Roy.

J: See? Leave me alone, I'm going to sleep.

Jason put his phone down on the nightstand and wrapped his arm back around Damian. Just as he started drifting off again, his sleep was interrupted by three more chimes.

Roy: aww

Roy: awwwwww j ur such a good brother

Roy: dont worry i got in but your out of peanut butter

Jason shut his phone completely off and went back to sleep.

Chapter Text

"Thank you for knocking, and randomly dropping by at the reasonable hour of-" Jason looked at his phone, "midnight, rather than five in the morning. Feel free to call ahead next time."

Stephanie ignored his sarcasm. "Will do. But I need your phone number first."

"You have my address, but not my phone number?" Jason asked skeptically.

"Tim gave it to me."

"Tim gave you my address, but not my phone number?"

"He lives by a very specific code that no one else understands."

"I see." He didn't.

Stephanie squeezed past him through the doorway, which was quite a feat considering the amount of stuff she was loaded down with. "Anyway. My mom's out of town. Tim is 'busy'," she air-quoted with one hand, "and can't handle 'distractions'. Cass is still away, and I am absolutely not in the mood for Bruce and Damian tonight." Stephanie dropped her things on the floor and flopped on the couch. "You know, I love them a lot, but when they're both there, it's like there's nowhere to escape."

Jason eyed her pile of stuff distastefully. "So you've decided to escape here?"

She nodded. "Yup."

"May I ask why?"

"So you know how I'm, like, totally fearless and independent and all that jazz?"

"Um. Okay."

"Well it turns my one weakness is staying in my mom's house overnight by myself. I get totally freaked out and can't sleep or focus on anything."

"Weird."

"Yeah. Like, I know that I can take care of myself and all, but there's something..." she waved her hand, searching for a word, "unsettling, I guess, about being alone all night."

"So you're saying big bad Spoiler needs protecting?" Jason said, smiling.

"Not needs," Stephanie corrected, "wants. And Tim said you always make him feel safe so I thought you wouldn't mind some company..."

How was he supposed to say no to that? "I suppose you can sleep on my couch. Afghans are in the crate-"

"Oh I have blankets," Stephanie interrupted, "can you throw me the purple bag?"

Jason looked down at the pile of duffle bags on his floor. "They're all purple."

Stephanie scoffed. "They are not all purple. One is lilac. One is magenta. And this one-" she stretched over the arm of the couch to point at one of them, "is just plain purple."

Jason had to admit that that bag was the most purple of all of the purple bags. He tossed it to her, and she unpacked three blankets and a pillow large enough that Jason thought she must have used black magic to get them all to fit in the bag to begin with.

"What's all the rest of this?" Jason asked.

"Essentials."

That cleared up nothing. "Essentials?"

"Yeah, you know. Hair dryer, clothes, makeup, toothbrush, pajamas, DVDs, phone charger, extension cord, backup phone charger, hoodie, energy drink, um.." she paused to think, "oh yeah! Beef jerky. I think I'm forgetting something, but that's most of it."

Jason shook his head. "Do you really need all of that?"

"Yes."

"You don't even wear makeup most of the time."

She scoffed again. "I do so wear makeup most of the time. I'm just good at it, so you can't tell."

"Fine. Whatever. But I do have food, so save your jerky."

"Really?" Stephanie brightened. "Can you make waffles?"

"For breakfast? Sure." He needed to nip that in the bud, because he knew if she asked him to make waffles right then, he would give in.

"You know," she said, "waffles do make an awfully good breakfast-for-dinner..." She trailed off, and Jason sighed, already heading for the waffle maker. She followed him into the kitchen, absolutely beaming. "I thought we could watch a movie! Since I'm crashing in your space, you get to pick."

"How generous of you." Jason gathered his ingredients and plugged in the waffle maker. "What did you bring?"

"I brought Hamlet."

"Hamlet?" Jason said, surprised. "You like Hamlet?"

"Well, no," Stephanie said, "but I thought you might like it. And I like Mel Gibson, so how bad can it be?"

Jason was not convinced. "You said DVDs plural. What else did you bring?"

"Legally Blonde."

Jason poured the first scoop of batter into the waffle maker. "Legally Blonde is perfect. Remote is in front of the TV, go set it up." Jason shook his head, smiling, as she dug around noisily in the lilac bag.

"Found it!" she yelled, just as the waffle maker maker chirped. Jason removed the first set of waffles, and poured the second. When they were finished, he took both plates to the couch, and handed Stephanie hers along with a bottle of syrup.

"Whoa!" She said, "you've got the good stuff!"

"Of course. Maple flavored corn syrup isn't allowed anywhere near anything I cook. Alfred was always very insistent about that when I was a kid, and he was right."

"I wouldn't know. I've only eaten Alfred's waffles once." She shuddered.

"You're lucky," Jason said, laughing, "when you live there you don't get a choice."

The movie started, and they ate in silence, until Stephanie said, "You know, I basically am Elle Woods. Except I don't like pink."

"So you're purple Elle Woods?" Jason asked.

"Yeah."

"So you think you could get into Harvard Law?"

"What, like it's hard?" Stephanie grinned when Jason laughed again. "I wouldn't want to, but I bet I could."

"You probably could." Jason took both of their plates to the kitchen. When he returned, Stephanie had an odd look on her face. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged and didn't answer, so Jason let her be. A minute later, she said, "I'm not actually as stupid as everyone thinks I am."

Jason shifted to face her. "Who said you're stupid?"

"Nobody. But I can tell they think it."

"Nobody thinks you're stupid." She didn't look convinced. "Would a stupid person be able to keep up with Batman and his entourage?"

"I'm so telling Tim you called him Bruce's entourage."

"Tim?" Jason said, "you mean the smartest person we both know who also broke Alfred's washing machine because he put quarters in the lint trap?"

Stephanie was grinning again. "You're the one who told him it needed quarters."

"And he's the one who never puts milk back in the fridge."

"Okay, you're right," Stephanie conceded, "you and I are clearly the smartest. Which should be obvious, since we're also not part of the entourage."

"Got that right. Who takes orders from a man in a bat suit anyway?"

"Stupid people," Stephanie said.

"Stupid people," Jason agreed.

Chapter Text

Jason entered his apartment to find it less empty than he'd left it.

"Todd," Damian greeted him, and then closed a cupboard door more aggressively than necessary. "There is no food in your house."

Jason sighed and dropped his library books on the counter. "Well gee, gremlin, maybe if you freaks would stop showing up the day before grocery shopping day, I'd have more food. Or maybe- and just hear me out here," he said pointedly, "stop eating me out of house and home."

Damian rolled his eyes and took his phone out of his pocket. "I'm ordering spaghetti."

"I don't like spaghetti," Jason said, "What are you doing here anyway?"

"You told me to come."

Jason was fairly sure he hadn't done any such thing. "I haven't even seen you in over a week."

Damian shot him a withering look. "You can't possibly have forgotten, Todd. We made plans."

"I don't think we did."

"Yes, we did," Damian said, annoyed, "last week. Before patrol. Grayson and Drake said they were going on a road trip, and you said, and I quote, 'baby bat,'" he wrinkled his nose in distaste, '"and I will have more fun without you.'"

"So you thought that meant you were supposed to show up as soon as Dick and Tim left?"

"That's what you said."

That was not at all what he'd said. "I see."

"Anyway," Damian went on, "I thought we could go to the botanical gardens."

"Botanical gardens," Jason deadpanned, "why would you want to go to see gardens in November?"

Damian ignored his question. "I read online that every nice city has botanical gardens."

"Gotham isn't a nice city."

"There is still a garden, Todd, and there are still things growing in November."

Jason shook his head. "No. Pick something else."

Damian stomped his foot, the lights from his shoes dancing on the wall. "You said we would do whatever I want to do."

Jason had definitely not said that. "It's cold."

"It's almost fifty degrees."

"That's cold!"

Damian crossed his arms with a huff. "If it's not too cold for me, it's not too cold for you."

Before Jason could think of another excuse, Damian said, "If you don't want to go, I'm ordering spaghetti." Jason wrinkled his nose. He hated spaghetti.

Jason watched Damian struggle with his cellphone. He was crouched down in front of a plant Jason couldn't identify, trying desperately to take a picture. He pinched the screen and zoomed in, but he must've zoomed too far, because he immediately zoomed back out. He pulled up the Pro sliders and moved them around randomly until he found the shutter speed. The screen darkened, and then brightened as Damian slid the shutter speed up, and then darkened again as he slid the aperture down. A few adjustments later, he found whatever he was looking for and touched the shutter button, only to growl in frustration when the photo came out overexposed and blurry. Jason grabbed Damian's wrist just in time to stop him from throwing his phone on the pavement.

"Whoa, wait a minute," he said, prying the phone from Damian's hand, "don't take it out on the phone just because the lighting over here sucks."

"This wouldn't happen if Father would buy me a real camera," Damian said angrily.

"Maybe that's because he thinks you'll smash it after one bad picture?" Damian only glared in response. "Since when are you interested in photography anyway? I've literally never heard you mention it."

Damian held out his hand, and Jason returned his phone. "I have an interest in all art, Todd. And as I have already excelled in drawing and painting, inferior art like photography should be easy." Damian visibly deflated. "It's just capturing what's already there. To even call it art is a joke." He looked up at Jason, eyes wide. "So why can't I do it?"

Jason sighed and sat crosslegged on the ground in front of the plant Damian was so determined to capture. "Okay, first of all? Don't let Tim hear you say photography isn't art. It's just a different kind of art." He pulled up the camera on his own phone. "Your first problem is using a Wayne Tech phone. I don't know why Bruce doesn't get someone who knows how to build a good camera. Now, look," he turned on Pro mode, and slid the first slider, "this is your shutter speed. The higher you go, the more exposed your photo is. But that also means your shutter is open for longer, so it catches more movement. Make sense?" Damian nodded, and Jason went on to explain aperture and ISO. At the end of their impromptu lesson, Damian had one clear, well exposed plant photo in his camera roll. He bit his cheek when Jason complimented the steadiness of his hands and well-balanced exposure, but a small smile came through anyway. His frustration quickly returned when his camera refused to focus on a little black bug on the edge of a leaf.

"That's the cool thing about art," Jason said, chuckling, "you can say it's blurry on purpose."

They wandered the gardens for another hour, Damian stopping to take the occasional picture, before the sun began to set and there was no hope of Damian's camera capturing anything decent.

Jason gave into Damian again, and stayed at the Manor that night after patrol. They spent the next afternoon practicing Damian's new photography skills on his unwilling cat and unhelpful dog.

Damian whistled and snapped his fingers to try to get and keep Titus's attention long enough, but he managed to turn his head just as Damian hit the shutter every single time.

"No no, wait a minute," Jason jumped up and ran to Tim's room, where he stole a bag of pretzels from Tim's secret stash, and then hurried back across the hall to Damian, "try this." He noisily opened the bag and dangled a pretzel over Damian's phone. Titus perked his ears in anticipation of snacks, but just as Damian touched the shutter, someone made a racket, and Titus took off to investigate. Damian and Jason ran after Titus and found him crowding Tim and Dick as they came in the front door.

"Are you serious, dog?" Tim shoved past Titus through the door, laden with camera bag and tripod. "You saw me yesterday morning, I do not smell that different."

"Poor Titus! Tim doesn't love you, but it's okay, because I do." To Jason's disgust, Dick knelt down and let Titus lick his face.

"I do too love him, but I'm not about to drop my camera over it." Tim set his equipment carefully against the wall, and then threw his arms around Jason's waist. He squeezed tight and then let go before Jason had a chance to hug him back. "You have to see these photos I took at Hamilton Square. They still have a little fall color there. I haven't even had a chance to edit them yet, and they already look really good SOOC."

Dick chuckled as Tim bounded up the stairs to retrieve his laptop. "He always says that, and his photos always look amazing straight-out-of-camera."

Tim returned with his laptop, and began to transfer the files off of his memory card. "It's gonna take a second because of all the RAW files."

While they waited, Jason saw Damian pull up the photo viewer on his phone. "Grayson, look—"

"Done!" Tim scrolled quickly through hundreds of jpegs, stopping occasionally to give details about how he achieved a certain shot, or to gush about his new telephoto lens. Finally he reached the end, and opened Photoshop and Lightroom to begin editing his favorites.

Damian poked Dick in the arm. "Grayson, look." Dick turned towards him, and Damian showed him the picture he'd worked so hard to get.

"What's this?" Dick asked.

"Todd and I went to the botanical gardens yesterday to take pictures."

"Oh, very cool," Dick said as Damian scrolled to the next photo.

"This one is blurry on purpose."

"It's art," Jason said helpfully, "it's supposed to be blurry."

Dick smiled indulgently, and Damian scrolled through the rest of his photos. "Very nice," he said, "let's get the expert's opinion." He took the phone from Damian and showed one of the pictures to Tim. "What do you think of Damian's photo?"

Tim glanced at the photo, and then at Damian. "You took this?" Damian nodded. "Nice job. Good composition."

Damian beamed. "So that means I can go with you next time, right?"

"Oh, um—"

Tim looked up from his work. "Well, Dick? Does it?" He asked tersely.

Dick held up his hands placatingly. "Maybe next time we can all—"

Tim closed his laptop, got up, and left. Dick turned to Damian. "Listen, Damian," he said, "sometimes Tim and I need to do things together the way you and I—"

"Save it, Grayson," Damian cut up him off with a glare. He snatched his cat off of the back of the couch on his way out. "I'd rather take pictures of Alfred and Titus anyway."

Jason grinned at the stricken look on Dick's face. "So how does it feel to be everybody's favorite brother?"

Dick narrowed his eyes in annoyance, and then smiled. "Aw, am I your favorite brother, Jay?"

Jason threw a throw pillow at him.

Chapter Text

Jason was trying not to cause trouble.

Everything was good. Everyone was getting along. He and Bruce bad been on speaking terms for months, and he hadn't shot anybody in more than a year.

But if Cassandra didn't stop clicking that pen, all bets were off.

She had to be moving closer to him. The clicking was getting louder, but he refused to give Cass the satisfaction of looking up from his phone and acknowledging her.

Suddenly, the clicking was happening right next to his ear. Jason swore and dropped his phone. "Get that thing out of my face," he said, with as much malice as he could muster.

Cass smirked. "Ooh, I'm so scared," she said, mockingly. She held out her hands. "Come on."

Jason glared. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

Cass grabbed his hand. "You need to."

"Why?"

"Important."

Jason relented, and Cass dragged him along until they came to her bathroom. She took a fold-up stool out of the closet, and opened it with a flourish. "Sit."

Jason sat, and Cass wrapped a towel around his shoulders. "Can you tell me what's happening or not?"

"You need a haircut." She unzipped a leather case a produced a pair of scissors. "Free for little brothers."

"I'm bigger than you."

"Younger brothers."

"Fine."

Cass grinned. "Little baby brothers."

"You're literally a month older than me," Jason grumbled. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

She nodded. "Yes. And you don't have a choice."

Jason believed her. She started to comb through his hair, and then stepped back with a frown. "Turn." Being instructed to face away from the mirror did not boost his confidence in his sister's abilities. He turned anyway. He could hear her rummaging around in a cabinet, and then she appeared in front of him and sprayed something in his face. Jason sputtered, swearing. Cass flicked him in the ear. "Language."

"What was that!?"

"Water. Stop being a baby." She dampened his hair with the spray bottle, not knowing — or not caring — about the water dripping into Jason's eyes and ears.

Cass stuck her finger in his ear, and Jason jerked away. "Ow! What are you doing?"

"That's how you get both sides even," she said, yanking him back by his shirt collar. "You'll thank me later."

Jason wasn't convinced, but he sat longsufferingly while she poked at him. She combed, and snipped, and sprayed, and said "Whoops!" a few too many times for comfort.

It looked....

Bad. It looked really, really bad.

"What did you do?!" Jason exclaimed.

Cass rolled her eyes. "You didn't even pay for it." She threw the case and scissors in a pile on the counter, not even bothering to sweep the floor before skipping away.

"Yeah, no kidding I didn't pay for it," Jason called after her, "if I had, I'd sue!"

Just after Cass had gone, Tim stuck his head in the door. He had a green beanie pulled down low, and a bandaid on his earlobe. "What happened to you?" Jason asked.

Tim chuckled. "Same thing that happened to you."

"I meant the band-aid."

"Oh, that. She stabbed me, and then said there was an extra charge for no stabbings."

Jason scoffed. "Thanks for the warning. It's nice to know who your friends are."

"Stop being a drama queen, and don't say anything to anyone. It'll all be worth it when she gets to Dick." Tim grinned. "Want to borrow a hat?"

Jason looked back at the mirror and sighed. "Yeah."