Chapter Text
Jason’s beat by the time he guides his bike through an underground entrance to the Bat Cave. Patrol wasn’t hard – more annoying than anything else. There’s been an increase in copy-cat villains lurking the shadows of Crime Alley, all who can’t even follow through with a napkin-scribbled plan properly.
“Nice work tonight, Hood.”
Jason slips off his bike, boots heavy against the steel floor below him. He taps the comm nestled in his ear. “Thanks, O. Time to sign off? I’m sure you have an absolutely riveting day at the library tomorrow.” A cheeky smile plays at his lips as he slips his helmet off, huffing around a laugh at Barbara’s drawn-out sigh in his ear.
“I honestly don’t know why I help you every night.”
“Come on, O. You know you look forward to our quick-witted banter every day. That’s our thing – our trademark, if you will.” His smile widens when Barbara chuckles in his ear.
“You’re ridiculous, Hood.”
Jason slips into a changing room, grimacing as he cards his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “Please, O. You know you love me.” His suit is damp against him, an uncomfortable testament to just how much he’s done on patrol in the few hours he was out.
“Maybe a little.”
Smirking, he shrugs his jacket off and reaches to the back of his neck, working his damp suit off until it’s hanging low at his waist. “You flirting with me, Babs? I’ll tattle to Dick.” He barks out a laugh at the low, impressive string of curse words that echo from his comm.
“I retract my previous statement. My tolerable feelings toward you stem from obligation alone.”
“Babs,” Jason whines, slamming a hand to his chest, “you wound me! Now I’m really going to tell Dick!”
“Well, you’re out of luck. He left for Bludhaven an hour ago.”
Jason pushes down on his suit until he’s stepping out of it, kicking it to the corner of the changing room with the notion that he’ll deal with it later. Tomorrow. He sighs – eventually.
“Detective Grayson summoned for an assignment?” He turns on his heel, snagging a towel that he drapes over his shoulders, using one corner to mop the sweat dripping from his hair.
“Something like that.”
Barbara’s voice goes soft on the other line, and Jason stops, frowning smally. “What’s up, Babs?”
“Damian and Bruce are still out, so I need to get back to them. Can you check in on Tim for me? Steph said he’s been quieter than usual all day.”
“Pump the kid up with coffee, then? I can do that.”
“Jason.”
Jason holds his hand’s up in mock defense out of habit, sighing between his teeth. “Fine, yes. I’ll follow in golden child Dick’s footsteps and take my role as the dutiful big brother.”
“Good. Also, I have that on recording now for the next time you try to sarcastically remove yourself from a family affair.”
“Barbara!”
“Later, Jason!”
There’s a crackle in Jason’s ear, and then the line goes dead. Rolling his eyes, he pulls the comm free, dropping it beside a large monitor in the cave before padding upstairs, eager to shower Crime Alley’s discount villains away.
He swings by Tim’s room first, finding him at his desk, eyes soft and cast toward the window. His expression is somber albeit a tad thoughtful, and Jason promptly pulls him out of whatever muted stupor he’s currently lost in.
“Well,” he starts, nudging the door open wider, eyes flicking to the textbook open at the desk. “You’re doing better than I did. Studying wasn’t really my forte.”
Tim twists around and cocks his head to the side. “You were a straight-A student.”
Scoffing, Jason drops against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Hey. I didn’t say I wasn’t smart.” He nods to the book. “And you’re essentially a boy genius, so do you really need to do that?”
“It’s a good distraction,” Tim sighs, turning back to the window and dropping his cheek against his fist.
“A distraction from what?” Jason’s eyes narrow into sharp slits, watching a small line of tension take to Tim’s shoulders.
“Dick left.”
Jason’s taken aback. Dick comes and goes all the time – they all do. He can’t imagine Tim will be here long, and he, himself, is only staying the night before he heads back to the safe house he’s been frequenting by himself in the morning. Now that he thinks of it, he’s sure he overheard Steph mentioning packing for a trip with Barbara in a few days.
“He’ll come back,” Jason responds, and Tim spins around in his desk chair with a sigh that’s far too long and heavy for a kid his age.
“I know that. It’s just,” Tim pauses, waving one hand around, “too quiet without him here.”
“That’s a bad thing?” Jason cocks a brow, and Tim huffs.
“You know what I mean – Dick’s all energy and smiles, and everything just feels better when he’s here. When we’re all here together.”
This, Jason thinks, is edging a delicate territory he’s not adept to handle. His vocabulary rivals Alfred’s, and yet, piecing together words into a sentence that’s both optimistic and comforting is not something he feels he’s capable of. Instead, he steps into the room, dropping his palm to Tim’s head, and the silence that follows is sharper than Bruce’s best batarang.
“Jason,” Tim finally mutters, voice flat.
“Is this comforting?”
“No, it’s weird.”
Jason rips his hand away, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips. “Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.” He turns toward the door, muscles faintly aching, his reminder that he really wants to shower and sleep. “Night, Timmy. Dick will come back soon.”
He opts not to look behind him lest he wants to feel a big-brother spark of guilt he’s just too exhausted to handle. Instead, he slips out of the room without so much of an over-the-shoulder glance.
***
Jason’s alarm starts softly from his phone, and he slams his hand against it with a low groan, trained to wake at the quietest of sounds. Outside, the sun’s not quite made it up and over the horizon, still casting the manor in a soft glow – a view that Dick swears by. Jason shuffles over to his window and takes in the view for roughly four seconds before he decides he’d rather see it through the visor of his bike’s helmet.
Still, before he can leave, he’s got one more thing he needs to do at the manor – a rather brilliant idea, if you ask him, he came up with in a sleep-ridden mind right before he conked out for the night.
He’s not Dick. He’s better than Dick.
He changes and perks an ear to the sounds down the hall, hearing the others waking. Once he hears Tim’s bedroom Keurig stop running, he acts, plastering a triple-watt smile to his face and storming out of his room.
“Ugh, Jason,” Cass mutters, rubbing her eyes. “What are you doing?”
Jason doesn’t respond, waiting, instead, for Tim to open his bedroom door, and the moment he does, Jason sucks in a long, swelling breath.
“Good morning!” He shouts, dragging out each word, making his voice as loud as possible, a bright bellow that sinks into every crevice of the manor.
Beside him, Cass cups both hands over her ears, and Damian merely turns back into his room, slamming the door behind him. Duke can’t get to his phone fast enough, and Tim promptly jumps out of his skin, his coffee splashing from his mug to burn against his hand and stain the floor. There are footsteps pounding up the stairs, and Jason smiles even wider, his cheeks stretched and tight, and he sucks in another large breath.
“Jason, what the hell—”
Jason cartwheels down the hall, narrowly avoiding a puddle of coffee to stop upright before Tim. He ruffles Tim’s hair, his forced smile fading to something softer, more genuine. “Morning, Timmers!”
“What in the world is going on?”
Bruce is breathless at the end of the hall, and Alfred’s trying, and horribly failing, to hide a laugh behind a cough.
“I’m telling my family good morning,” Jason shouts, arms outstretched. He offers Tim a wink and leans in close. “Grayson’s got nothing on me,” he whispers, tone devious, before he presses a kiss to Tim’s cheek and claps a hand to Tim’s shoulder.
When he pulls away, he slips past Bruce and Alfred, maneuvering around them with a practiced grace that could rival Dick Grayson. “Something smells incredible down here!” He adds from the stairs.
“Oh, Dick’s going to love this,” Duke mutters, ending the video recording on his phone.
“Should I call Leslie?” Bruce asks, worried, his attention torn between the startled and amused faces before him, and the echoing sound of Jason singing Broadway showtunes from the kitchen downstairs.
Tim looks down to his coffee mug, his hand faintly burning and sticky, and he smiles warmly. “Nah, Jason’s fine.”