Chapter Text
Tim gets the idea from the newspaper.
His dad still has the paper delivered to the house every day, even though he’s only around to read it approximately five to six times a year. His mom likes to tease him for it – like Tim, she prefers reading things on her iPad. But his dad always insists that paper is the only real way to read something, “even if that makes me old-fashioned”.
Tim collects the paper from the mailbox every day. He diligently puts it on the ever-growing stack of papers in the living room, which sits there to collect dust until his parents come home and his mom inevitably makes his dad throw it all in the trash or, well, put a yellow sticky note on it so that the housekeeper knows to throw it in the trash.
Usually, Tim doesn’t pay it much attention, but sometimes, he likes to browse it anyway. On weekends, he likes to stay in his pyjamas, and he’ll make himself a pot of coffee and get the fake glasses he wore for Halloween a couple of years ago (he dressed as Harry Potter), and he’ll get that day’s newspaper and read it while sipping his coffee, grimacing at every sip and making remarks like, “Look at what those morons in the White House messed up this time”. He makes these comments to an empty kitchen, of course, but when he’s dressed up like that, he almost feels like his dad is there with him, but in a strange, alternate reality where he is his dad. It’s weird.
One day, he’s just finished reading the society pages – there was a special on Brucie Wayne flirting with the mayor’s wife at some charity event yesterday, and Tim may have only figured out that Bruce Wayne is Batman a few months ago, but it still made him cringe –, when he turns a page and ends up in the ad section.
There are various companies, and some smaller stores, too, like a local cab driving service or a wedding bakery. Someone is selling his bike, and a recently married couple is looking for a three-bedroom-apartment.
He's close to putting the paper on the living room stack when his gaze falls, quite by accident, on an advert where a single mother wants a babysitter, female, preferably a college student. She pays ten bucks per hour and an extra twenty if the babysitter stays overnight.
This is when an idea starts to form in Tim’s head.
He does not want to be a babysitter, just like he does not need a cab driving service or a bike. He has, in all honesty, pretty much everything he could ask for: a big house, a comfortable bed, a fridge that is always stocked with food, a bike and a skateboard, and a very generous allowance. His parents have provided him with everything that he needs.
They are not, however, providing him with company.
They try. Tim knows they do. He knows his parents would like to be in Gotham as much as possible, if they could. But life doesn’t always work like that, and sometimes, you just have to take three consecutive jobs that all put you on a different continent than your son, because that’s just how it is. Tim’s parents have all explained this to him numerous times, and Tim knows they’re right.
It's just that this doesn’t mean he’s not lonely. He knows that there is a good reason his parents are away a lot, but he still wishes there’d be someone here to keep him company. It’s selfish, he’s aware of that, but he can’t help it.
But if he pays someone to be there for him, then that’s not selfish, right? It’s just like hiring a babysitter. Not that Tim wants one of those. He already has enough adults in his life. No, what he really wants, what he’s always wanted, is a sibling.
So if his parents are not going to give him one, why shouldn’t he just hire one instead?
And just like that, his decision is made.
*
Well-behaved boy (10) is looking for big brother (11-15). Must meet up with me three times a week, for at least two hours each. Overall duties include helping me with homework, playing videogames with me, and showing me how to play catch. 10$ per hour. For more information, call (613) 773-0621, email me, or come to the address down below.
*
In a way, this is Bruce’s fault. Why did he buy Jason a bike if he didn’t want him to practice stunts with it? That’s on him. And since he told Jason that he was in no way to perform any sorts of stunts with it on the grounds of the manor, it’s also on him that Jason decided to take his business elsewhere – namely, a mostly-deserted country road that leads into the mountains.
It only takes him maybe fifteen minutes by bike to reach it. He has to drive past the Drake estate, then take a turn by the Hendrix mansion, and finally, he’s there.
Jason doesn’t get injured while practicing. Of course he doesn’t. He’s not stupid, and he knows how to be careful, which is what he told Bruce, like, a million times.
He gets injured on the way back, when he stops paying attention for one tiny second and promptly drives into a tree.
The bike is unsalvageable, but his hands and knees hopefully will be, even though right now, they’re all bloody and gross. Jason swears, then swears again when he digs his phone out of his pocket and sees that it’s fallen victim to the crash. The screen is cracked, and so is the case, and there’s no way he's going to be calling anyone. Goddamnit.
Okay. Jason can do this. It’s only maybe a four-mile hike back to the manor. Maybe he can hitchhike. Maybe-
His eyes fall on the Drake estate, which happens to be just down the road. Five minutes, tops.
Alright then. Jason doesn’t know much about the Drakes, besides the fact that they are, technically, his next-door neighbours, but he figures that they won’t mind helping the bruised and bloody ward of Bruce Wayne. Right?
By the time he reaches the front door, his entire body hurts like a bitch, but he still tries to make himself a little presentably. He smooths back his hair and ineffectively wipes at the blood on his t-shirt before he rings the bell, already going for a polite smile.
The smile fades when the person who opens the door is neither a butler nor, in fact, any adult at all. It’s a kid, a few years younger than Jason and way tinier. He looks suspicious, but when he spots Jason standing on his doorstep, he smiles widely.
“Are you here for the ad?”
“Um,” Jason says.
“Come in,” the kid says, ushering him inside, “I’m so glad you made it. I was really afraid that nobody would answer it, you know. Like, should I have included a picture of myself? But I didn’t want to attract any criminals, so I didn’t. I didn’t know what to write about myself, either, but my parents always say that the best someone my age can be is well-behaved, so I put that down. And it worked, because you’re here now. You’re Jason Todd, right? I know who you are, I’ve seen you at some galas. I never thought that you’d be the one.”
“Listen,” Jason starts to say, “I think there’s been some sort of-“
“Do you want coffee?” the kid interrupts. “I just made a new pot. I don’t really like coffee, but it’s great for keeping you awake, and you’re like, almost a grown-up, so maybe you’ll like it.”
Almost a grown-up.
Jason, who turned thirteen last summer, has never once been referred to as almost grown-up.
He pulls himself up to his full height. “Sure,” he says, trying to sound casual, “I’d love some coffee.”
He follows the kid into the kitchen, where he finally learns his name. There’s a calendar pinned to the wall, with days marked yellow for when the housekeeper comes, and childish handwriting has noted things like, Mom: birthday, or Tim: dentist appointment.
Tim hands Jason a steaming mug and, following his gaze, grimaces and says, “I hate going to the dentist. They don’t like it when kids show up for appointments without their guardians, and I always have to talk them into treating me anyway. Hey, maybe you could come with me next time.”
Jason, unused to someone getting attached to him this quickly, gives a noncommittal hum and tries the coffee. It’s gross, but he tries not to let that show on his face. He’s basically a grown-up, after all.
It's when he sets the mug down on the large kitchen island that Tim’s eyes suddenly grow wide. It only takes Jason a second to realise why: he’s left a bloody handprint on the white porcelain.
“Are you injured? What happened? Do you need to sit down? Just wait here, I’ll get the first aid kit.”
“I’m okay,” Jason protests, which is not a complete lie. On the one hand, having the outer layer of your skin forcibly ripped off hurts a lot. On the other hand, a bike accident is, all things considered, much better than being punched in the face by a thug while out on the streets at night.
Tim ignores him. Within a minute, he’s back in the kitchen, holding up the first aid kit triumphantly. He moves to clean Jason’s hands, but Jason backs away. This is already embarrassing enough, he doesn’t need the added mortification of having his wounds treated by a seven-year-old.
“I’m ten,” Tim says when Jason states this, watching Jason disinfect his palms with wide, curious eyes. “Don’t you remember? It was in the ad.”
Right, the ad. Jason carefully wraps gauze around his hands before moving on to his knees, and tries not to sound too curious when he says, “So, you’re looking for a babysitter?”
“What? No!” Tim’s voice is filled with shock and a little betrayal. “If I needed a babysitter, I would’ve asked for one. Didn’t you read the ad at all?”
Jason hesitates. “I’m sorry,” he tries.
Immediately, Tim brightens again. “That’s alright,” he says solemnly, “we can work on that. What do you want to do next? Do you want to see the project I made for school? I worked really hard on it.”
“Um,” Jason says, “sure.” It’s not like he’s going to tell this kid he doesn’t want to see his project, right? Maybe the ad was for a tutor. And Tim seems so excited about him being here that only a monster would tell him the truth now.
Tim shows him the school project, and his collection of videogames, and his camera. His room is a mess, and Jason’s hands itch with the urge to clean it up, although that might also just be the disinfectant that Tim poured on his cuts.
“-and this is a photo I took of my dad the last time he was home, this is him having breakfast, and this is him telling me not to take pictures of him, and this one I took right before he took my camera away. I got it back, though. I just waited until he and Mom had left for the airport and picked the lock. There’s YouTube tutorials on that, did you know?” Tim doesn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, and this photo I took of the garden, and-“
Jason lets him ramble on. Bruce always tells him to listen, to observe. This is the perfect opportunity. He listens, and he observes, and when Tim finally pauses for breath, face red, Jason uses the brief silence to say, “Can I use your phone?”
“Sure,” Tim says, “why?”
“Just wanted to ask Bruce to come pick me up. I crashed my bike earlier.”
“I could probably repair it for you,” Tim says, considering, even as he hands Jason his iPhone. “Wait, don’t look at the-“
Too late. Jason is staring down at the phone background, which is a photo of Batman and Robin. Slowly, he looks around the room again.
Observe, Bruce’s voice echoes in his mind. Well, obviously Jason has been doing a pretty shit job of that so far, because he managed to completely miss the mass of Batman and Robin fan paraphernalia. There are posters, and toys, and even the carpet is shaped like a Bat for some reason.
Trying not to let his surprise show, Jason types in the number. “Big fan, huh?”
“Yeah,” Tim admits, and falls silent when Jason hits the call button.
Bruce is working from home today, but he must be pretty bored, because he answers immediately. “Yes?”
“This is Jason,” Jason says. “I’m calling from the Drakes’ house.”
“Are you alright? What happened?” Bruce asks, already sounding panicked.
“Nothing,” Jason says, because he’ll be damned if he admits that he crashed his bike. “Just need a ride home.”
“I’m on my way,” Bruce promises and hangs up before Jason can say anything else. Jason hands the phone back to Tim.
“Thanks.”
Tim is staring down at the screen for some reason. “Wow,” he whispers, which strikes Jason as weird. Is Tim a Bruce Wayne fan, too? Does Bruce Wayne have fans?
“So, I guess he’s coming to pick me up now,” Jason says awkwardly. “Thanks for the band aids and, er, all the other stuff.”
For some reason, this makes Tim’s head snap up. “Right! Let me just- just give me one minute- I don’t carry a lot of cash,” he explains while he is, for some inexplicable reason, digging around in the various clothes piles strewn across the room. “I usually just use my dad’s credit card. But I know I’ve got- aha!” He triumphantly holds up a crumpled ten-dollar-note, which he’s just pulled from a pair of dirty jeans. He holds the money out to Jason, who blinks at it in bewilderment.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s almost been a full hour,” Tim says, “but I figure the rest can just be tip. Here, take it.” He presses the note into Jason’s hands. Jason takes it automatically. “You know,” Tim adds, smiling at him, “I’m really, really glad you answered the ad. And I’m glad it was you and not, like, some creepy old guy, which I was afraid of.”
“No problem,” Jason says, because it seems like the thing to do.
“You have no idea how much this means to me. I’ve always wanted a big brother, and now I’ve got one.”
“For ten bucks an hour,” Jason says. It’s taken him a while, but he’s starting to put the pieces together.
Tim nods cheerfully. “Yeah! Hey, I think that’s your dad.” He points in the direction of the window, where the sound of someone honking can be heard. “Should we exchange numbers? Wait- my number is in the ad. You can just text me, or come over like, literally any time. When school is out for the day, I’m usually home until ten pm.”
That’s another thing that strikes Jason as slightly off, but before he can think about it why that is, Bruce honks the horn again. Jason pulls himself together and goes downstairs. Just as he’s about to get in the car, he turns around, to where Tim is standing on the doorstep, waving at him. Jason hesitates, then waves back.
*
A few days after the bike accident, Dick enters Jason’s room with the words, “Why is there a little kid on the phone claiming he’s your boss?”
Damnit.
Since that baffling afternoon when he met Tim, Jason has done a bit of research. He’s found the ad, for one, which was just depressing. He’s also read up on the Drakes: rich (but not as rich as Bruce), good social standing (but not as good as Bruce), can trace their ancestors back several generations (but not as long as Bruce, whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower). They have one son, Timothy, a company that’s more or less successful, and an expensive hobby that sees them travelling a lot.
Bruce, spotting Jason at the Batcomputer a few days ago, asked if he was working on his geography homework because he was looking at pictures of a Mayan city in Belize. “I knew a woman from there once,” Bruce had said, smiling vaguely. “She was-“
“I don’t need to know about your gross sexual escapades,” Jason had interrupted. “Now please leave, you’re bringing down the vibe.”
Vibe, Bruce had mouthed to himself as he’d left, evidently memorising the newly learned term, because he’s ancient like that.
So, Tim’s parents are in Belize, and Jason also now has another one for the list of ‘places Bruce might have illegitimate children in’.
Tim, Jason can’t help but notice, is not in Belize.
“Jason,” Dick says, waving the phone impatiently, “what am I supposed to tell him?”
“Tell him I’ll be right over,” Jason says and shoves Dick out the door, ignoring his brother’s shocked face.
He’d been planning to go over there tomorrow after school, but he supposes if Tim wants to hang out right now, that’s alright too. He’s prepared, anyway. He’s got a backpack with two bags of chips, a cucumber, three carrots, a head of lettuce, a copy of Pride and Prejudice, and a laptop that’s got GTA 5 installed and ready to go. Jason’s investigation of the Drake situation is not finished yet, but while he’s on it, he might as well make sure Tim gets his money’s worth.
When he opens the door, Dick is still standing there, which is lucky.
“You need to drive me to the Drake estate,” he tells Dick. “Get a move on.”
Dick, because he’s nice like that, gets out his keys and follows Jason downstairs. He also, because he’s a pain in the ass, waits until they’re in the garage before dangling the set of keys above Jason’s head where he can’t reach, and says, “I’m not driving you until you tell me why Timothy Drake was calling you.”
“No reason,” Jason says, jumping up and down to get it, “it’s none of your business.”
“It’s my business as long as I’m the one with the car,” Dick tells him.
Jason, giving up on the jumping part, knees Dick in the groin. Dick groans and doubles over, which makes it very easy for Jason to just take the keys and get in on the driver’s side. Dick, having recovered enough to walk again, follows him and drags him out.
“You don’t have a licence.”
“I don’t need a licence to crash your car,” Jason retorts, trying to get in again. Dick lifts him up and deposits him on the passenger seat, locking the door before Jason can make a break for it.
“You’re allowed your privacy,” he says, “but I do want you to know that if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m just going to ask Timothy myself today because as soon as I’ve given you a ride, I will get out and follow you inside.”
Jason glares at Dick. “He goes by Tim,” he says.
Dick, nodding in satisfaction for some reason, starts the car. “Great,” he says as they drive through the large iron wrought gates that mark the entry to the Wayne estate, “so you do know him. He made it sound on the phone like he hired you to clean his garden or something.”
Jason hesitates, and Dick, evidently confident enough in his driving abilities to not watch the road, turns around.
“Did he hire you to clean his garden?”
“Not exactly.” Jason hesitates some more, then says, “He’s kind of paying me to be his brother.”
Dick hits the brakes. “He’s what?”
Jason sinks down lower in his seat, hoping that no one from school is watching this, and mutters, “God, why’d you do that? It’s not that weird, okay?”
“But… he doesn’t have a brother.”
“That’s the point!”
“But-“
“Dick,” Jason interrupts, before saying the magic words. “It’s a young people thing, okay? You wouldn’t get it.”
That does the trick. Just like that, they’re on their way again, and Dick does not speak a single more word to him until he pulls up in front of their destination. “Cheers,” Jason says, saluting him. Dick gives him a hurt look and drives off.
Jason doesn’t have much time to feel bad about this, because almost as soon as he’s walking up the driveway, the front door opens, and Tim is smiling at him. He’s smaller than Jason remembers, but that’s okay.
“I brought vegetables,” Jason informs Tim, “to improve your growth, alright? How do you feel about salads?”
Tim frowns at him. “You don’t need to cook for me. That wasn’t in the ad.”
Jason knows it wasn’t in the ad. By now, he’s read the stupid ad so often that he’s got it memorised. “Tell you what,” he says as he rummages through the Drakes’ kitchen to find a cutting board, “I’ll make you a salad, and then afterwards, we can go outside and I’ll show you how to play catch.”
Immediately, Tim perks up. “Yes!” he says, sitting down by the kitchen counter to watch Jason work. “Full disclosure, I already know how to play catch. I wanted my dad to show me, but he didn’t have time, and then they taught us in school, and my teacher thinks I’m really good at it so she wanted me to join Little League, but I didn’t want to so I told her no, and then my mom said I should have joined, but then my dad said I should join the boy scouts instead, and then they got distracted so they hung up and their secretary told me they’d call me again in two weeks.”
Throughout Tim’s monologue, Jason has been slicing vegetables and adding them to a large bowl, and now, while he works on the dressing, he tries to get Tim back on track. “So…you know how to play catch?”
Tim nods. “Yeah, but I like the idea of you teaching me, so let’s recreate that. I’ll pretend like I don’t know anything, and you can correct my posture, and when I finally get it right, you can hug me and tell me you knew I could do it.”
There’s clearly a lot to unpack there. Jason places a plate of salad in front of Tim, gets one for himself and, following a sudden impulse, ruffles Tim’s hair. At first, Tim looks confused, but it’s only a moment until he beams.
They eat in silence for a few seconds, until Jason works up the nerve to ask, “What about the other stuff, then? Let me guess – you don’t need help with your homework, either?”
“Not really,” Tim admits. “I’m doing pretty well in school. But when my dad is home, he likes it when I ask him for help with maths because that’s what he majored in, so I usually pretend like I don’t know how to do the more difficult exercises. Except that backfired, because then my mom said she’d hire me a tutor if I’m failing this badly already. But then they had to leave for their next trip, and I guess they forgot about it, because it’s been six months and no tutor ever showed up.”
Jason chews, swallows, and says, “Well, eat up, kiddo. I’ve got an idea for what we can do after – that is, if you don’t mind learning something new.”
Tim shakes his head vehemently. “I love learning,” he says earnestly. “It’s my fourth-most-favourite activity. Jason, do I have to finish the whole plate? I can, but I’m allergic to carrots, so I’d rather not. I can if you want me to, though. Do you know how to use an EpiPen?”
Once they’ve finished eating (sans carrots, because, seriously, what the hell), they go outside, where Jason starts by asking Tim to make a fist. He’s decided that they can play GTA 5 another day. For now, Tim should learn how to defend himself. And who’s better to show him than Jason?
Tim, it turns out, knows how to make a fist. He also knows some karate, and some taekwondo. What he does not yet know, however, is how to stab someone who’s looking to rob you. So that’s what Jason teaches him, because that’s a skill that’s needed a lot in Gotham, especially if you’re from Bristol. Some day, Tim is going to thank him.
The sun is setting by the time that they stop, both of them sweaty and exhausted. Tim’s face is red from the exertion, but he keeps asking Jason for more – more tricks, more advice, more fight moves, more everything.
Jason, who has spent large parts of his childhood starved for food, thinks he understands what it’s like to be starved for affection. That is why, when at the end of it, Tim hands him fifty bucks, Jason tries not to take it.
“It’s cool,” he says. “Free of charge.”
“Take it,” Tim insists, stubbornly thrusting the money at him again. “You have to.”
“Seriously, you don’t need to pay me.”
“I do.” Tim suddenly appears to be blinking away tears. “I do, because then you’re going to come back, right? Unless – don’t you want to be my big brother anymore?” His breath hitches audibly.
Jason awkwardly pats him on the shoulder, then thinks, screw it, and pulls him in for a hug instead. “Sure I do,” he says. “I just-“
“Do you want more?” Tim asks, still tearful. “I can pay more. How much do you want?”
Shit, Jason thinks. “It’s fine,” he tells him, stroking small circles down Tim’s back. “Ten bucks an hour is more than enough. Don’t worry about it.” To prove that he’s being truthful, he finally takes the money from Tim, shoving it into his pocket. “Just call me when you want to hang out next. I’ll be there.”
He means it, he realises. Tim clearly needs supervision. Now, if Jason can just figure out what, exactly, is going on with Tim’s parents and nanny, hopefully he can have found a solution to all this by the time that Tim calls next.
*
Tim, it turns out, does not call. Tim comes over and rings the bell – and, since Jason happens to be at the library, runs into Dick instead.
Jason finds all of this out when he arrives home a few hours later and finds Tim and Dick in one of the dozen living rooms (the one with the ugly yellow wallpaper that makes him want to kill himself just looking at it, and he hasn’t even given birth), colouring pictures.
Jason stops at the threshold, frowning down at him. His first thought is that Tim is a little too old to be doing that, and is Jason not challenging him enough? His second thought is, what the hell.
“What the hell,” he says out loud, kicking Dick’s ribs with a socked foot. “Dick!”
“What?” Dick asks innocently. “I’m just getting to know Tim. Can’t I get to know Tim?”
“Hi,” Tim says, right on cue, waving up at him. “I wanted to build a space engine, but Dick said that we’d need Alfred’s permission for that, so we’re colouring pictures instead. Dick is working on a pericardium, and I’m colouring subdivisions of the mediastinum, do you want to see?” Tim holds up what’s a half-coloured in drawing of human anatomy.
Jason stares at it until Dick explains, “They recommend it for med students. Bruce got it for my tenth birthday.”
“He wanted you to go to med school?”
“No, I did, but only until I wanted to become a fireman a week later. Bruce bought a lot of colouring books that year.”
“My dad got me a Rolex for my last birthday,” Tim pipes up. He’s not looking at them, too busy selecting another pen. “But he got it two months too late, and when I asked him about it he said my birthday was in September, and I said no, it’s in July, and he told me to go to my room because he needs some quiet time. Dick, have you seen the red colouring pencil anywhere?”
Dick hands it over and turns his attention back on Jason. “Tim and I had a very interesting conversation. Did you know that his parents are on an archaeology dig and almost always remember to call every two weeks? And that he’s old enough now to no longer need a babysitter?”
Looks like Dick found out more in a couple of hours than Jason found out during two whole days. Great. He can just tell that Dick is smug about that, though Jason personally thinks that this doesn’t prove Dick is any better at investigating, it just proves he’s nosier. That’s an unattractive quality to have, and Jason will tell him this as soon as Tim is gone.
As if he’s somehow heard these uncomplimentary thoughts, Dick says, “Tim’s staying for dinner.”
“Does Bruce know?”
“Bruce had to go-“ Dick hesitates and, glancing at Tim, finishes, “-on, um, a special trip. Vacation. That’s why I’ve been called to watch you.”
Jason bristles with indignance. “I don’t need anyone to watch me, I’m thirteen.” He also glances at Tim. “But someone should watch him.”
“So we’ll watch him together,” Dick says, clearly happy to have found a compromise. “When Bruce is back from his business trip-“
“Vacation,” Jason mutters.
“When he’s back from his vacation,” Dick says smoothly, “I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that you had some company while he was gone. Tim, how do you feel about ordering pizza?”
Tim feels indifferent, but he perks up at the mention of Chinese food, so that’s what they get. While Tim helps Dick set the table, Jason goes into another room out of earshot, then calls Bruce to find out what really happened. The reception is pretty bad, and Bruce appears to be in the middle of a fight, so all Jason can really hear is ‘space battle’ and ‘be back soon’ and ‘don’t patrol on your own’ and ‘don’t drink more than one glass of soda’.
Jason returns to the kitchen just as the food arrives. Tim is insisting that he pay Dick back, and Dick is insisting that Tim doesn’t need to pay him, he’s ten, and Tim tries to hand Dick money, and Dick looks at Jason with a ‘can you believe this’ expression. Clearly, this could go on for a while, so Jason piles up food high on a plate and starts eating, though it only takes two seconds before he feels bad. He fixes another plate, this one even fuller, and hands that one to Tim. “Eat up.” Instantly, he feels better.
Tim eats a forkful of rice, Dick does, too, and Jason holds up his phone and asks Dick, “What do you think about filming me chug glasses of soda until I puke?”
“I can do it,” Tim offers immediately, rice abandoned. “Are you doing a dare? I’ve seen that in a movie.”
“Alright,” Dick says loudly, “no one is puking. Jason, if you want to antagonise Bruce, you can do it when he comes back.”
“Fine,” Jason snaps. “I will.”
“Good. If you have to act out, do it yourself.”
“I just said that I will, Jesus Christ. Let it go.”
“I’m just saying-“ Dick stops suddenly, eyes widening in alarm. “Tim?”
During their argument, Tim has looked from one brother to the other, mouth curling downward, desperately unhappy. Now, he gets up, shoving the plate back. “I think I’ll just go home. Thanks for dinner.”
“Wait,” Dick says at the same time that Jason says, “You have to eat more.”
“You guys are fighting, and you don’t need me here for that. My mom likes me to make myself scarce when she argues with dad. I know the drill, so you don’t have to coddle me.”
Guilt churns in Jason’s stomach, but luckily, one of Dick’s superpowers is that he’s great with kids. He’s going to fix this.
“Do your mom and dad argue a lot?” Dick asks, tone serious. “Does that make you feel unsafe?”
Instantly, Tim freezes. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he says stiffly.
Apparently Jason vastly overestimated his brother’s abilities to interact with children without sounding like he’s going to have them shipped off to a foster home within the hour. Great. As always, this is on Jason now, because he’s clearly the only one here qualified.
He flicks Tim’s arm, just lightly, and does his best to sound casual. “We weren’t fighting like adults do. You’ve seen the movies, right? You know that brothers argue over dumb shit a lot.”
He can see Tim thinking this over. “I guess,” he says eventually.
Jason nods encouragingly. “So that’s what we were doing. Just being dumb. The real brother experience.”
“Do we have to argue?” Tim asks.
Jason puts an arm around him and pulls him in tight. “Nope. Dick is my big brother, so I have to fight him. But little brothers are exempt from that.”
Tim tilts his head, unconvinced. “You’re a little brother.”
“Nope,” Jason says again. He points first at Dick, who is listening in bemusement, then at Tim, then at himself. “I’m clearly the middle child. You’re not paying me for nothing, are you?”
“Jason,” Dick says in warning, but it doesn’t matter, because that finally did the trick. Tim smiles at him.
“That’s true,” he says. “I am paying you for that.”
“You sure are,” Jason says, glaring at Dick over Tim’s head. “And I’m here to make sure that you get the best brother experience ever, right?”
“Right,” Tim agrees. When he picks up his fork again, Jason counts that one as a win.