1.
Dick loves hugs.
It’s just a part of his personality, okay? He’s a very touchy guy, grew up in a very touchy family, well, before Bruce, at least, and his chosen sport/art (acrobatics) is one of the touchier sports/arts. As far as sports/arts go.
The point is that he gives lots of hugs. Good long koala-style hugs. All the time. To everyone. And since he lives with a clan of perpetually grumpy Bats, he’s more than used to being thrown off, shoved off, threatened with weapons, fists, and pranks, or tackled to the ground, when he does try to give hugs.
Jason is one of the worst. Practically allergic to hugs. So it’s no surprise that Dick begins to suspect when Jason doesn’t throw him off one day.
“Okay, what’s with you, Jay?”
Jason gives him a passable imitation of the famous Bat-Glare. “Nothing’s with me, Dickhead. Go away.”
Dick does not go away. “The last time you were like this was when you were dating that redhead, remember? I forgot their name.”
“Judging me for dating gingers, huh?”
“Course not, Jay, that’s like my thing. Dating gingers.” Dick does a little flip onto the couch, flinging his legs into Jason’s lap. Jason doesn’t even try to push him off. “See what I mean, dude? You don’t even mind me hanging all off of you and stuff. You only get like this when you like someone.”
Jason scowls, a faint blush creeping up his tan cheeks. “Not true.”
Dick just waits. After awhile, Jason sighs and says, “He’s not a redhead this time.”
“Aha!” Dick shouts. “So there is someone!”
“Yeah, whatever,” says Jason, and he’s laughing and covering his face, so it must be serious.
“Come on, give me a hint!”
“I already gave you a hint, man! Two hints! He’s a he and he’s not a redhead.”
“Okay,” whines Dick, “but that could be anyone, really. Give me another hint?”
Jason glares, but he can’t quite hide his smile. It hits Dick, for the first time in a long time, that he’s missed this. Missed Jason. First he was dead and then he was gone and since then they haven’t had a moment to talk, really. Dick grins and pokes Jason in the cheek.
“Fine,” says Jason, but this is your last hint. He’s … associated with Batman in a way. I mean, he’s a cape.”
And wow, this is … information. Dick grins and sticks his tongue out at Jason, then rolls over so he can see the TV. Who could it be, this mystery man of Jason’s?
Not any of the girls, for obvious reasons. No redheads, either, so that means Roy Harper is out. It couldn’t be him, Damian or Bruce, for obvious reasons. So, assuming it’s not one of Jason’s elusive contacts/coworkers/mortal enemies, that leaves Duke and Tim. And for some reason, Dick can’t really see it being Duke.
So … Tim, then?
Impossible. Jason’s tried to kill him like three times or something.
2.
Damian is not concerned with the affairs of Tim Drake. He doesn’t want to hear it.
Drake is currently benched, following an unfortunate incident with an out of control bus and Drake’s left shoulder. A wise decision on Father’s part, though Drake does not seem to see it that way. All he does is sit there and whine . And Damian is on computer duty, tonight. Meaning he has nothing to do but listen to Drake’s unbearable complaints.
“Three days is too long,” says Drake. He’s draped across the other computer chair, his left arm lying limp. He’s sipping from a cup of tea with his right hand. The smell wafts around the cave, and Damian kind of wants some tea, too, but he doesn’t want to get out of his chair, doesn’t want to ask either. Besides, no one here knows how to make it properly besides Pennyworth, who is busy.
“It’s just a sprain,” whines Drake. “I mean, Bruce has gone on patrol with even worse injuries, but he doesn’t let me go on patrol for like three days! Because of a sprain! I don’t think that’s fair.”
Damian wants someone to come in and make Drake shut up. He would do it himself, but then Father would be cross, and he might be benched.
“Three days,” groans Drake, and Damian has just about had it.
That’s when Todd storms in. While admittedly not Damian’s favorite person, he is still much better than Drake, and Damian appreciates the intrusion. Todd storms over to where Drake is sitting, fuming and glowering, and
hugs Tim Drake. Which is not what Damian was expecting. Drake wheezes a little, gesturing to his shoulder, but seems otherwise unsurprised.
“A car accident?” Todd is furious.
“What, are you going soft?” says Drake. “We see worse, and get worse, every single day. This is nothing.”
“Yeah, but —“ Todd sounds scared.
“Don’t worry about me, Jay,” says Drake. “Come here.”
Both of them glance and Damian, quick, and Damian sees Todd blush. Interesting. Todd bends down, and moves in such a way that Damian can’t quite see what’s going on. Not that he wants to see, just —
Surely they aren’t kissing.
Not that it’s any of Damian’s business.
“I’ll come by later?” Todd’s voice is soft, softer than Damian’s ever heard it before.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not worried, but —“
“I think Alfred would like it. If you came by later.”
Todd smiles and turns away, shrugs his jacket back on. “Go patrol!” shouts Drake. “Have fun!”
“I will!” And within seconds, Todd is gone.
Drake turns back to the computers, sipping his tea. “He spilled some on me,” he complains. “What are you staring at, Batbrat?”
Damian turns away quickly. “Nothing, Drake.”
That interaction seemed — not the most platonic. Damian’s not the best at figuring out this sort of thing, but it definitely seemed —
He’ll ask Father later. Right now he has a job to do.
3.
It’s clear that Tim hasn’t slept in over 24 hours. Steph would judge, but she’s kind of in the same situation, what with vigilante-ing and finals and all. Last week, everyone turned in their essays and tests and late work, and now, they’re all completely burned out. Waiting for a grade.
Tim is sitting on her purple bedroom rug, the one that used to be fuzzy but is kind of old and more matted than fuzzy now. He’s wearing nothing but a plain black binder and a pair of Wonder Woman patterned pajama pants. He’s holding one of his stupid little teacups, one of the ones Alfred uses, drinking his first cup of decaffeinated herbal tea in like a month.
“I dunno,” says Steph. “Like, I want to believe that she likes me but it’s probably just wishful thinking. Anyways I think she’s straight. So.”
“I mean, I don’t think she’s straight,” says Tim. “Kinda hard to tell, but, you know. If you really can’t tell, you could just ask her. That’s what I did, with —“
Tim cuts himself off a second too late. Now Steph is interested .
“Who?” she asks, leaning forward.
“Oh my god, no one,” says Tim. “Can we just go back to talking about Cass now?”
“No, we can’t! You have to tell me about this mystery person !”
“There is no mystery person, Steph, jeez.” Tim looks at his phone, suddenly. “I just got a text from Jason, dude, I gotta go.”
“Since when do you text Jason?” Steph asks, but Tim is already out the window. Oh well. Probably sneaking off to a date with his mystery person.
Steph just leans over and drinks the rest of his tea. Chances are, he’ll be back soon. Or she could just text him.
4.
Cass likes to know things.
She knows a lot. For example, she knows that Damian pretends not to like candy, but will often trade his granola bar for a pack of sour gummy worms from Jon Kent. She knows that Bruce keeps his parents’ wedding rings in a locked drawer in his desk, and that Alfred watches Kitchen Nightmares when no one else is in the living room. She even knows that Stephanie Brown likes her, like likes her. Cass is just waiting for Steph to get a grip and ask her out already.
What she doesn’t know is what’s going on with Tim and Jason. If there’s anything going on at all.
She’s sitting in the living room, eating cereal with Damian and the animals, when Tim walks in. His shoulder is still in the sling from his accident two nights ago. He slumps down on the couch, startling one of the cats, and Damian shoots him a glare.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I’m back on patrol tonight, Cass, with you.”
“Be more careful this time,” someone calls. Cass looks up to see Jason flopping down onto the other couch.
He’s been around the manor a lot more, lately, getting in everyone’s way. Not that anyone really minds — he could just move in, take his old room back, but he’s stupidly stubborn, so he refuses.
“Don’t worry about me,” says Tim.
Jason smiles, tossing something to Tim, who catches it in his right hand. It’s a Reese’s peanut butter cup. Tim grins at Jason, says, “You remembered!“
This is not normal. Jason has, quite literally, tried to murder Tim on multiple occasions. Cass used to think they hated each other.
“You left your sweatshirt at my place, by the way,” says Jason. He’s blushing, faint against his golden brown skin. “The blue one.”
“Keep it,” says Tim.
Sleepovers? What? This is not expected behavior for former mortal enemies.
Jason’s smiling a flustered little smile. “Okay,” he says.
“Would you get out?” Damian snaps. “We are eating cereal !”
“Why should cereal warrant special treatment?” Tim grumbles, but he peels himself off of the couch and walks out.
Jason follows.
Cass will have to do some more research. Maybe ask Steph. On their date. When it happens.
5.
Bruce begins to suspect something might be going on in the middle of a stakeout gone wrong. As usual. Jason, also as usual, lead the charge and managed to stumble into a trap.
The warehouse is dark. Bruce flings an elbow into the throat of some goon and brings his heel down hard into the back of another. In his ear, Oracle is repeating, “Red Hood, what is your position? Red Hood? Hood?”
The comm crackles in his ear. “Green,” mumbles Jason. He’s hoarse, sounds terrified. Bruce throws the last goon to the ground. “Get me out, get me out,” chants Jason. This is no ordinary trap.
“He’s closest to you, B, get on that.” Oracle’s voice is determinedly even.
Bruce heads deeper into the warehouse, switching on his night vision. Shelves and boxes outline themselves in ghostly green. There’s cobwebs stretched against everything. A fine mist creeps across the floor.
Bruce has his gas mask on before he has time to think. “Fear gas,” he says into the comm.
“Shit, okay, you need backup,” says Oracle. “Red Robin, what’s your position?”
“Almost there,” says Tim.
Bruce hurries further in. He comes across a single goon in a gas mask, whom he quickly knocks out. Jason shrieks into the comm.
He finds Jason huddled into one corner, crying. “Tim,” he gasps, “Tim, where are you? I need you, Tim, Tim, don’t leave me. Don’t! Please!”
“Jason,” mumbles Bruce. Jason has a hand on his handgun, meaning Bruce can’t safely approach. Damn it.
“Red Robin, where are you?” he snarls into the comm. Jason’s clawing at his own hair now, nearly sobbing, but he still has the gun, and Bruce is powerless.
And suddenly, Tim is beside them, his black cape stirring the gas in the air into little whirlwinds. He has his own gas mask on. He nods at Bruce and slowly, carefully, takes Jason into his arms.
Jason reaches for him, dropping the gun. “Tim,” he cries. “Tim.”
“I’m here, I’m here,” whispers Tim. “Hood, Jason, Jaybird, I’m here.”
Jason looks so young, so small, as he cries into Tim’s cape. Bruce feels a surge of affection for his former apprentice. Then Tim rubs a gloved hand along Jason’s hairline and the sweep of his jaw. It’s such a tender and familiar action that Bruce has to look away.
Are Jason and Tim …?
No, Bruce thinks, they would tell him if they were … together. He shakes his head and goes out to bring the Batmobile around.
Later that evening, after debriefing and medical and the showers, Bruce pulls Alfred aside.
“Are Jason and Tim — ?”
Alfred quirks an eyebrow at him. “You’ll have to figure that out on your own, Master Bruce. You’re a good detective. You don’t need my help.”
+1
Jason is in the manor’s kitchen, making himself some tea, when he hears Tim come in. Tim, with his tiny frame and years of stealth training, is very experienced at making himself silent. But Jason hears soft footsteps on the floor and the brush of Tim’s hand against the counter, and knows that Tim wants to be heard. He smiles to himself and turns to the sink to fill the kettle.
“I thought I saw you come in,” says Tim. He fits himself along Jason’s back, curling a protective hand around his waist. Jason sighs and pushes further into Tim’s hand. He loves these casual touches, loves the way Tim can make him feel so small. So protected.
“Making tea,” says Jason.
“Can I have some?”
“Of course.”
Jason puts the kettle on the stove and turns around to face Tim. He has dark smudges circling his blue eyes. Jason can’t tell whether they’re from tiredness or old eyeliner, but knowing Tim, they’re probably both.
“When was the last time you slept?”
“When was the last time you slept?” counters Tim, and Jason laughs a little. They’re both kind of beaten down. It’s been a rough week.
Tim smiles and pushes a hand through Jason’s hair. Jason wishes he were smaller, so it would be easier for Tim to pick him up and manhandle him around. This’ll do, though. Jason loves this. He wraps his arms around Tim, careful of the shoulder he hurt earlier this week.
They share a few soft kisses. Slow, unhurried. Jason feels himself melt into Tim, grateful for the strength in his boyfriend’s body. It’s such a small thing, to feel supported, but sometimes it makes all the difference.
Someone clears their throat, and the two reluctantly separate. Jason looks up. At the door to the kitchen is Alfred, carrying groceries.
“Master Jason,” he says, “it’s lovely to see you here. You hardly ever stop in.”
“He’s got more reason to visit now,” mumbles Tim, sleepy and strong against Jason.
Alfred smiles. “Well, you ought to stay the night sometime. You can always stay in your old room — it’s mostly intact.”
“Or he could stay in mine,” says Tim.
“That is true,” says Alfred. “Come and help me put the groceries away, you lovebirds, then I’ll let you get to bed.”
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