Archive of Our Own ^beta

A door slams shut somewhere in the Manor. The sound of raised voices doesn't hesitate to follow on its heels. Jason blows out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and wishing he could rub out the headache that's been steadily growing all morning just as easily as the furrow between his brows.

Dick is home again. Normally, for any other person in any other family, having one's older sibling visiting for the weekend would be a reason to celebrate. To be excited. And at first, Jason was. He heard so much about Dick Grayson, the first son, the first Robin, the perfect anything he set his mind to – who wouldn't want to meet him and have him around? Just the thought of all he could learn from the older man had had Jason so excited he felt like he might burst. But the first time Dick laid eyes on Jason, he whirled on Bruce with the fury of a thousand scorned men and started yelling about being replaced.

They patched things up, slowly, over the course of a few months of tentative and often frigid visits, usually when Bruce wasn't home or was otherwise occupied elsewhere in the Manor. And he knows they're okay now, that Dick loves him, that he's proud of him for how he's carrying Robin's legacy, that he's happy they're brothers. But Jason never quite forgot the coldness and simmering anger in Dick's eyes.

All of this wouldn't be such an issue if it weren't for the fights, though.

It feels like Dick and Bruce can't go five minutes around each other without one of them blowing a fuse and starting a screaming match. At first, Jason was wracked with guilt, erroneously believing himself to be the cause of their fights, but now he knows better. No one and nothing is really at fault when those two fight, except for themselves – the original Dynamic Duo could quite literally start a fight over the colour of the sky when it's raining and have it devolve, over the course of an entire afternoon, into acerbic accusations and thinly veiled insults.

It's exhausting to be in the middle of.

Now, Jason isn't a stranger to tense family dynamics. His parents never hurt him, certainly loved him as much as parents could, but they weren't all that great at the end of the day: between Willis’ frequent problems with the law due to struggling to put food on the table through illegal means and Catherine's addiction later in life, there were plenty of reasons for the Todds to argue loudly for the whole neighbourhood to hear. Jason learned to tune it out or make himself scarce pretty quickly.

Sure, when he got adopted by Mr. Daddy Warbucks over here he thought those days were behind him. Surely, rich people had nothing to be upset about, let alone get into screaming matches over. Boy, was he wrong.

But it's fine. Jason knows how to deal with this shit, so it doesn't even phase him anymore when, five minutes after Dick's car pulls into the driveway, doors start slamming and voices start yelling. That's not the issue.

The issue is Tim.

Little Tim-Tam, nine years old and three apples tall, who grew up in silence and absence like a fungus spore forgotten on the ceiling, growing into a tiny little mushroom by feeding off the moisture on the walls. Tim doesn't know what a normal household looks like because his parents weren't there even when they were and his nannies weren't paid to love someone else's child, just clothe and feed him. Tim once fell off the couch in the Den while reading a book because he forgot there were other people in the house and got startled by Jason walking into the room.

If normal noise stresses Tim out, what is this verbal WWE competition doing to the little guy's head?

With a great big sigh, Jason swings himself out of bed and opens his closet in search of weather appropriate clothing. A glance at the window shows it's sunny out, but Jason spent two years on the streets and remembers just how traitorous and misleading that sun can be in the spring. He grabs some baggy jeans and a long sleeve, changing quickly and hopping around looking for the matching sock to the one he's wrestling on his foot, then picks a light jacket he won't get cooked alive in while the sun's out but that will ward off the chill when the wind picks up. He also shoves his wallet in the jacket’s inner pocket after checking that his allowance is all in there, then walks out of his room and towards Timmy's.

Out in the hallway, he can hear Bruce and Dick's argument more clearly. He doesn't bother paying attention to what they're saying – it's not like it matters; they'll forget all about it in a few days and then start another one all over again the next time Dick comes over. Rinse and repeat. The same old tired bullshit.

Tim's door is firmly shut, as it always is, but Jason has older brother privileges that let him invade the little boy's privacy at will. (He also has express permission from Tim to enter without knocking, something nobody else has, but that's beside the point.) He bursts inside, annoying grin plastered on his face, and laughs for real at the surprised squawk Tim lets out at Jason's abrupt entrance.

“Get dressed, shrimp. We're going out.”

Tim, who's been hunched over his desk tapping away at his computer keys for only God knows how long, frowns in confusion and suspicion at Jason. Given that Jason knows how absorbed the little gremlin gets into his work when he's focused on something, he's sure Tim has no idea that Bruce and Dick are fighting and, therefore, no clue about what Jason's doing. Good. That's how it's going to stay until the end of time, if Jason has anything to say about it.

“Where are we going? If you just want to drag me to the store with you again so that you don't have to go alone, I swear I'll bite you. That lollipop didn't make up nearly enough for the long walk to the supermarket two miles away!” Tim complains in a huff.

Jason rolls his eyes and turns away from his younger brother to start rummaging through Tim's clothes. “I told you to steal more money from Bruce's wallet if you wanted something specific but you chickened out halfway through. Do I look like I'm made of money?”

“Stealing is wrong,” Tim retorts, echoing his own words from a few days ago. It makes Jason laugh because that is such a naive take on life that he can't remember ever having, but it also warms up his heart because, for all the ways in which Tim is too grown up for his age, he's still managed to find ways to cling to stupid naive beliefs like this. He may have been fucked over by his neglectful, unfeeling parents, but at least he never had to steal to survive another day. Jason hopes Tim never loses this belief, if only because of that.

“So is your face but you don't see me kicking up a fuss about it,” Jason shoots back with plenty of snark while he throws a pair of jeans and a shirt at Tim's face and cackles when his brother yelps and splutters. “Put those on and get moving. Chop chop.”

“You still didn't tell me where we're going,” Tim grumbles, shimmying out of his sweats and into the clean jeans Jason picked out for him. Jason turns his back to the boy, giving him some privacy, and starts rifling through the stuff piled on Tim's desk instead, partly out of curiosity, partly just to be annoying.

“I'm aware. The quicker you get dressed, the quicker you'll get to find out.”

“I hate you so much,” Tim says, voice muffled by the shirt he's got himself tangled in. “Help.”

Jason snorts. “You're a disaster, Timbit.” But he still steps away from Tim's desk and starts tugging on the shirt, guiding the little boy's arms and head towards the right holes until he's all dressed up and ready to go. “Oh, don't forget to get the red jacket.”

“Why? It's not winter anymore,” Tim whines.

“Because I said so, numbskull. It's 53 degrees outside, I don't want to spoon feed you cold medicine for a week when you catch a cold.”

“Ugh, fiiiine. You're so annoying, Jay. Worse than Alfred.”

“You won't be saying that when all your classmates are dropping like flies and walking around full of snot while you can breathe through both nostrils at the same time. Now zip it and let's go.”

Tim grumbles some more about Jason's motherhenning, dragging his feet towards the hook behind his door where his jacket is waiting, but he does pick it up and drape it over his arm under Jason's watchful eye. They walk downstairs together, Jason keeping up a steady stream of nonsense chatter to drown out the sound of yelling, and when they arrive at the front door, he leaves Tim to his shoes for a second while Jason slips quickly into the kitchen.

“Alfie, I'm taking Tim out. I have my wallet, my phone, and our bus passes, but I'll call if something happens. I don't know when we'll be back but I won't keep him out past dinner.”

The old butler raises his head from where he was bent over the counters, scrubbing brush in hand, and his mouth twists into an expression of sadness and deep understanding.

“Very well, Master Jason. Keep yourself and your brother safe. The tiramisu you requested is chilling in the fridge and will be ready to be served for dessert tonight.”

Tiramisu is Tim's favourite. Jason asked Alfred to make some the night before, after their dinner got interrupted by an alert on the Batcomputer. “Awesome. Thanks, Alfie. Okay, we're going now, I'll see you later, bye!”

They're dressed and out the door in record time once Jason comes back and bullies Tim into putting his shoes on properly. They walk at a brisk pace until they clear the wrought iron gates, but after that Jason slows their pace down to a stroll, not wanting Tim to get tired too soon and whine at Jason to take him back home.

The wind is nippy, pinching their cheeks into a rosy colour and throwing their hair into disarray, but the spring sun isn't completely useless and manages to half make up for the chill. Jason smiles into the collar of his jacket when a tiny hand drifts towards his own and makes a show of huffing about it but he laces his and Tim's fingers together before shoving their held hands into his jacket's bigger pocket, where the wind won't get to them easily.

“I thought it wasn't cold enough for the red jacket,” he nags, unable to help himself, and gives Tim's wrinkled forehead a flick when the shrimp scowls up at Jason.

“Bruce said to always hold hands when we're outside, shut up.”

“Uh-huh. Likely story.”

“God, you're so mean! If that's how you're going to be then I'm going back,” Tim threatens and starts tugging away from Jason in the direction of the Manor but Jason is older and stronger so Tim's struggling doesn't amount to much. He just tightens his hold on Tim's hand and drags him further away, herding him onwards like a dog on a leash. “Buttface,” Tim mutters sourly.

“You know, I liked you better when you respected me.”

Tim sticks his tongue out at Jason even as he snuggles closer into his side. “That was before I found out how much you stink.”

“That's not what you said last week when I scared off those bullies of yours.”

“Big and stinky, that's what you are. Like a troll.”

“Why, you little shit-”

Jason pulls their hands out of his pocket and uses that arm to grab a hold of Tim's head and shove him under Jason's armpit, then proceeds to give him the mother of all noogies while Tim squeals and flails his arms around, trying, ineffectually, to free himself.

They're both out of breath when Jason finally releases his brother, though Tim is as red as a tomato and as prickly as a cactus as he glares up at Jason while Jason smirks unrepentantly at the boy.

They continue their walk like normal people after that brief interruption, with Tim talking Jason's ear off about a billion different things ranging from the latest pop songs on the radio to little kid drama between his classmates in primary school. Jason listens attentively and gives his two cents occasionally, but mostly he just lets Tim ramble and prods him along with appropriate noises and leading questions when he seems to be losing steam. Tim may be used to other people's silence but he himself is a chatterbox once you get him going. Bruce and Alfred and Dick do their best to indulge him and encourage him to talk without restraint, but it's mostly Jason who has both the time and the patience to sit through hours of rants and rambles about the stupidest things. But he'd also be a liar if he said he doesn't enjoy it at all – he loves when Tim turns those big eyes on him and waits with bated breath for Jason's verdict to his silly kiddie school dramas and there's a particular kind of pride that blooms in his chest when he corrects Tim on some general knowledge thing the kid got wrong and then sees him apply it correctly a few days or weeks later, knowing he's the reason Tim knows that now.

He doesn't see himself as a parent in the future, not really, but he thinks that this must be pretty damn close and he's not sure he hates it much, if he's being honest.

They take the bus into Gotham proper, Jason making sure they stick to relatively safe, populated areas just in case. He can and will kick anyone's ass if they try something when he's got his little brother with him, but he'd rather not have to do anything to begin with.

There's a park in Coventry that Dick took Jason to once or twice when they were first getting to know each other and Dick needed to be away from the Manor, so that's where Jason takes them. They stop at a convenience store close to the park where Jason buys them water and a big Zesti they can share as well as some snacks in case the kid gets hungry, and then they're off again, walking through the park side by side, trading sips of soda and gummy bears full of sugar and artificial colourings, while all around them people go about their day, some jogging, others cycling, all of them passing the two boys and paying them no mind.

“Wanna go on the swings? I can give you a boost but then you're on your own,” Jason asks an hour later after they've inspected the whole park and finished the can of Zesti.

“I can do it by myself. I'm nine, not four,” Tim declares, scowling at Jason adorably.

“Fine, fine. Go ahead. Make sure you don't fall off, I don't wanna explain the holes in your jeans to Alfred when we get back home.”

“Har har. That was one time.”

“One time too many!” Jason shoots back and smirks at the middle finger Tim throws in his direction without turning around to face him.

He keeps a close eye on the kid until he gets seated and starts swinging, then turns around and takes a seat on a bench that gives him a perfect view of Tim and their surroundings. There aren't any other kids around, which is a bummer cause Jason's always trying to get the kid to make more friends outside of school, but he's keeping an eye out just in case. Besides, given Tim's penchant for attracting trouble like a magnet, Jason doesn't want to risk taking his eyes off his brother for too long and find him talking to some creep who shouldn't be within ten feet of a playground.

His phone vibrates in his pocket while Tim seems to be trying to reach the clouds with how high he's going and Jason pulls it out with a look that quickly turns into a scowl when he sees the notification.

Dickface: alf said you took timmy outside

Dickface: why didn't you say anything? I wanted to see him before I left

“Asshole,” Jason mutters under his breath before he starts typing furiously.

Me: Leaving already? No, please, don't. I didn't get to hear all the octaves you can reach when you yell at Bruce yet.

Dickface: cmon jay dont be like that

Dickface: where are you? I can swing by before I go to the Tower

Me: None of your business. If you want to see Tim so much, maybe try bothering to greet him before you start ripping into Bruce for the billionth time this month. I'm tired of being a buffer every time you come over but I want Tim to live in screaming and slamming doors even less, so until you and the old man get your shit together, I'll be taking Timmy outside every time you show up. Instead of being annoyed with me, you should thank me. I'm the only reason that kid still thinks you shit gold and invented perfection. Have fun in New York.

To be extra petty, Jason blocks Dick's number immediately after sending his last message, then locks his phone and shoves it back in his pocket with an angry scowl. He doesn't have time to brood over the entire situation, however, not with a nine year old with too much energy around.

“Jay! Look!”

Jason lifts his head at the sound of Tim's voice and he can't help the fond smile that blooms across his face when he sees Tim swinging around like a lunatic, bending his knees for all he's worth in an attempt to boost himself up high enough for the swing to bump into the support bar at the top. He remembers when he was a kid and used to get into competitions with the other kids at the playground to see who could reach it the fastest.

“That's awesome, Timmy! Don't fall on your nogging or you'll crack it like an egg!”

“Thanks! I won't!” Tim yells back happily and keeps swinging.

They do a few more laps around the play area with Tim trying out various equipment but nothing keeps his attention like the swing did, the boy losing interest pretty quickly and moving on to something else.

When the sun is dipping its toes into the horizon, Jason throws away their trash and starts herding his brother back to the bus stop. Tim is more subdued now, his energy finally depleted, and Jason keeps him tucked into his side and under his arm, safe and sound under his protection, as they walk together down the mostly empty street.

The bus isn't too crowded, which is a surprise considering the hour, so Jason finds them two empty seats easily and ushers Tim towards the one by the window before he plants himself like a sentinel between Tim and the aisle. Tim heaves a sigh and lowers his head until it's resting on Jason's shoulder.

“Today was awesome, Jay. Thank you for taking me with you,” he murmurs so softly Jason barely hears him over the loud clatter of the bus.

He huffs with so much fondness in his heart he's afraid it'll burst at the seams and pats Tim's hair gently, brushing it away from the boy's face with a tenderness Jason used to think the streets had eradicated from him.

“No need to thank me, Tim-Tac. I have the coolest little brother in the world, it was my pleasure to hang out with you.”

“I'm glad you think so,” Tim says quietly. “I know I can be annoying but I'm really glad you're my brother.”

Jason's heart twists. He bends down, the angle awkward, and presses a kiss into his brother's hair. “I'm glad you're my brother too. Even when you're annoying.”

They laugh together, Tim borrowing closer into Jason's side, and silence settles over them for the rest of the ride; it's not tense or awkward, but the kind of comfortable silence where neither feels the need to fill it with empty words. Jason's silences have always been strained or tense or dangerous and he knows Tim's have been nothing but empty and sad and full of longing, so it's a treat for both of them to be able to languish in silence now, leaning against each other and not saying a word, knowing that they're not alone but utterly safe as long as they have each other.

Later that night, after they've both eaten dinner and dessert (Tim was so happy when he saw Alfred lay down a plate of tiramisu in front of him that he got up from his seat and did a little pirouette around the table, the dork), after Tim has changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth, after Bruce has tucked him into bed and Jason kissed his forehead goodnight ten minutes later, Jason lies back against his pillows and stares at his phone screen, thumb hovering over the unblock button. His mind goes back and forth, too full of thoughts and anger he doesn't know what to do with, before he finally taps on it.

Immediately, a text comes through.

Dickface: im sorry jaybird. you're right. ill do better i promise.

It's not much. It's barely anything, really. Jason is still so mad he wants to punch both of them in the face for being so stupid and self-absorbed. And he'll still keep an ear out the next time Dick comes over, ready to spring into action and spirit Tim away from the Manor until things calm down between Bruce and Dick again. But staying mad at his older brother won't solve anything either and maybe Jason wants to grasp onto some of that faith he used to have in Dick when he first came here and let himself believe it.

Me: Don't screw this up. Or I'm never talking to you again. I mean it.

He turns on Do Not Disturb after sending his reply and throws his phone on the nightstand, then closes his eyes and sinks back into the mattress, letting the darkness of his bedroom swoop in and carry his consciousness into dream land. He doesn't even grumble a complaint when Tim shoves his pointy elbows and cold feet into Jason's stomach a few hours later, just throws his blanket over his brother and pulls him into his chest before falling back asleep.