Chapter Text
Dick's eating lunch alone (he only shares a lunch period with Wally and Donna this year, and Wally's sick and Donna's busy fucking her creepy teacher boyfriend in a supply closet somewhere), trying to finish his food as quickly as he can so that he can go finish the homework he swore to Bruce he'd finished last night before English class this afternoon, when he feels the table rock and looks up to see Tim's friend Bart, the tiny skinny one who everyone says will probably make the Olympic track team when he's 18, staring at him with his big brown eyes.
“Your brother has a knife.”
Dick waits a minute to see if a punchline or a question is forthcoming, and when one isn't he just nods. “I know.”
“Con says someone should do something about it before someone gets hurt,” Bart adds, still staring.
“What and you think it's gonna be me? I am getting into a knife fight with Tim right around never, kid.”
Bart nods. “That's fair. Do you think I should ask Jason?”
Jason and Tim have this... thing, that Dick's going to politely call 'tension'. He's actually not sure whether they're going to end up fucking, killing one another, or going on some kind of vigilante crime spree together, but definitely one of the three. “Depends whether the idea of getting shanked by Jason upsets you more than the idea of getting shanked by Tim.”
Jason doesn't always carry a knife, but then he's 6'2” of solid muscle, so that's mostly because he knows he doesn't need one any more. He and Tim come from very different but equally fucked up backgrounds, and one of the only things they'd bonded over back in the days when Jason couldn't stand the sight of his newest foster-brother was their continued resistance to Bruce's desire to disarm them.
(Bruce gave up in the end and sent them both for – separate – weapons-based martial arts training, because knowing how to pick your battles is rule one of fostering the kids too fucked up for anyone else to take them.)
“Tim is scarier than Jason,” Bart says thoughtfully, “but Jason would definitely be more willing to injure me. Also, Jason attacking me with a knife would definitely be less hot than Tim doing it.”
Dick squints at him. “Are you screwing my little brother?” he asks. He doesn't necessarily mean it to sound threatening but it sort of comes out that way anyway.
“No. He says he thinks of me as either his brother or his son. I'm pretty sure that means he's not interested.”
“Probably,” Dick agrees, although it is Tim so who knows. He does his best not to know too much about his siblings' sex lives but he knows enough not to rule out any weird kinks when it comes to Tim. “Maybe.”
“Do you think we should do anything about Tim's knife?”
Dick remembers Tim's first night with them. He'd seemed like a nice kid, no hint of why so many foster families had rejected him, right up until Bruce had explained the no weapons in the house rule. It had taken them hours to get Tim out of the closet he'd barricaded himself into and Bruce had needed seven stitches by the time it was over. “Definitely not. He's not going to stab anyone who doesn't deserve it.”
Bart nods. “Yeah, probably true. Thanks, Dick.”
As he skips away (not literally, but Dick wouldn't actually be surprised) Dick makes a mental note to talk to Tim about fucking concealed carry. If Tim gets expelled, Bruce is gonna be pissed.