Chapter Text
Bruce’s ‘vacation’ lasts almost three weeks. Alfred, whose actual vacation is scheduled for this exact time, calls them from England every day to make sure that they have food and ask if they need him to come home early. Dick and Jason both know that if they so much as indicated that they want him home, he’d be on the next plane back to the States immediately. So they always assure him that it’s fine, and they’re well-fed, and the house is still standing.
Whatever Bruce is doing keeps him busy, but he, too, manages to call a couple of times to check in on them. He, too, gets an assurance that everything is okay.
It's not a lie. Everything is okay. Dick commutes to Bludhaven every morning, giving Jason a lift to school on the way. In the evening, he asks if Jason needs help with his homework, Jason always tells him to fuck off, and then they have dinner together. Nightwing patrols five times a week, Robin joins him two nights. It all works out great, and that’s what they tell Bruce and Alfred.
Nothing about this is wrong. It’s just also not the whole truth.
But the phone calls are short and long-distance, and sometimes reception is bad, and there just never seems to be a reason to mention that there’s a third person living in the manor now. It’s not like that will change anything. Alfred would still be on vacation and Bruce would still be having space battles or whatever. Besides, Jason is perfectly capable of taking care of a child. Dick might not be, but Jason is.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” Tim asks the day after their first dinner, after they kidnapped him from school. (It was a friendly kidnapping.)
(Dick was coming to give Jason a ride home anyway, so it made sense to take Tim, too.)
(Tim’s house is empty, so why would Dick have dropped Tim off there, when Wayne Manor has food and a giant tv and, most importantly, real people in it?)
“Yeah, absolutely,” Jason says, anxiously holding out the plate of apple slices out to Tim, because Tim is not eating them. “These apples aren’t eating themselves, kid.”
Tim always gives Jason a weird look when Jason makes sure he eats, but Jason doesn’t think he understands how scary it is, having this little kid next to you and knowing his parents aren’t there to get him his next meal. If Tim’s parents aren’t stepping up to the task, then this responsibility automatically falls to Jason, and he takes it seriously.
They kidnap him every day after school, and after the third time this happens, Tim stops protesting. But he still insists on going home after dinner, which annoys Jason, and he still pays Jason for his time, which annoys Dick.
“It’s unethical,” he tells Jason one night after he’s back from driving Tim home. “When we were in the car, he asked if he should be paying me, too. Look, I can understand if you want a job, but you could have just gotten a babysitting gig. A real one. This way, he thinks your entire relationship is because he’s paying you by the hour.”
“I know that,” Jason says, irritated. “I know it’s not great. But the last time I tried to get him to stop, he cried.”
Dick looks momentarily taken aback by that, but because he’s Dick, he boulders on. “What do you need all that money for, anyway? I know what Bruce gives you as allowance, because I got the same one, and it’s already a lot. Are you saving up for something? Do you have debts? Are you buying cigarettes with it?”
“No, I’m buying heroin,” Jason says, just to see Dick’s face. “For the love of God, Dickface. I’m not doing anything with it, okay? I put it all in a box on my desk. I’ll give it back to him eventually.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Jason tries to swallow the hurt that Dick assumed he’s, what, exploiting a ten-year-old? It’s just – he’s been living here for a year now, and apparently, Dick still thinks that Jason will jump at the first chance to make a quick buck.
Dick, at least, has the grace to look contrite. “I’m sorry. I thought-“
“I know what you thought.” There is nothing Dick could possibly reply to that, and Jason knows it. It’s why he sighs and says, “If you have any suggestions on how I can stop this whole nonsense, I’m all ears. I don’t particularly enjoy being on a child’s payroll.”
“Quit,” Dick advises.
Jason rolls his eyes. “And make him cry again? I don’t think so.”
“Tell him you’re doing it for charity.”
“That’s worse. Tim hates being pitied.”
“Well,” Dick says, “I’m out of ideas. You got yourself into this situation, Jay, so you’re going to have to get yourself out of it. Word of advice, though?”
Jason shrugs. “Whatever. If I say no, you’re going to-“
“In my experience,” Dick says, talking right over him, “the formalities don’t matter. Sometimes family is blood, sometimes it’s a piece of paper. But for me, it’s always been about actions. If you act like family, then that’s what you are, no matter what those pay checks say.” He claps Jason on the shoulder, gives him an encouraging grin, and leaves, smugness over having the last word radiating off him in waves.
That’s the thing about Dick, Jason thinks sullenly. He acts like a moron and an asshole a lot of the time, but when it comes down to it, he’ll usually find the right words. Not always, but often enough. It's really fucking annoying, but Jason can’t help but kind of admire it, anyway.
*
On Saturday, the day before Bruce’s scheduled return (and two days before Alfred’s, which means that it’s two days before they can all have a decent meal and fresh laundry again), Jason takes Tim to a museum. Tim alternates between being excited that they’re doing an activity together and being irritated by the fact that they’re going to a museum of all places.
“I could probably just google all this stuff if you want to know,” he says while they’re standing in line for the tickets. “Like, if you’re that interested in it.”
Never has Jason met a ten-year-old who is so intent to google things. It’s really weird. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. We’re not even inside yet.”
“I’ve already been to a museum,” Tim says in the same voice that he told Jason last week that ‘he’d already tried eating vegetables’ when Jason hade made a stir-fry.
“Yeah, well, newsflash: not all museums are the same.”
“That’s your opinion,” Tim says, sounding long-suffering. That’s okay, though. Jason prefers this sullen and whining version of Tim over one that apologises for every little thing, which is what still happens every time his and Dick’s arguments pick up just a little bit of volume.
Jason pays for their tickets, ignoring Tim’s outstretched credit card, and guides Tim through the first set of doors. Predictably, Tim stops as soon as he sees what’s inside.
“Wow,” he breathes, “that is so cool. Jason, look at that.”
Jason has actually been to this exhibit plenty of times before, but hearing Tim’s amazement over seeing the 41-foot Brachiosaurus skeleton makes him look at it with new eyes. It’s no longer Jason guiding Tim; from this point, it’s Jason doing his best to follow Tim around and not losing him in the crowd, while Tim wants to look at everything immediately.
Ha, Jason thinks smugly as Tim intently studies one of the information boards. Dick said he should take him to the movies, but that’s because Dick has no idea what Tim wants or needs, and Jason does not get all of his sense of self-worth from being the superior brother, but this is still nice.
“Jason,” Tim calls out, impatient, “what are you doing? Come over here, read this.”
“Coming,” Jason yells back, ignores all the indignant looks he’s getting, and joins Tim by the information panels.
He gets his next idea from watching the other visitors. There are a lot of families here today, with kids who are Tim’s age or younger, and many of them take pictures in front of the exhibits.
Jason waits until Tim has looked at everything in this room before pointing at the giant skeleton of the Tyrannosaurus. “Let’s ask someone if they can take a photo of us,” he suggests.
Tim lights up like a lightbulb, but only for a moment. “Sure,” he agrees, but his whole demeanour is subdued for some reason.
Jason, wondering what brought this on, asks, “Don’t like having your picture taken?”
“It’s not that. I just-“ Tim hesitates. Then he motions for Jason to bend down, so he can whisper into Jason’s ear: “I broke my camera last week.”
“Oh,” Jason says and, suddenly remembering that first afternoon he met Tim, and all the photos that Tim was so proud of, adds, “Oh, shit. That really sucks.”
“Yeah,” Tim says miserably.
“How’d you break it?”
Tim looks cagey all of a sudden. “I, um, it was nothing. Just fell down some stairs.”
That excuse sounds so familiar that Jason is almost ready to call the cops before he abruptly remembers that he knows for a fact that Tim’s parents have not been in the country for months. Some teacher, then?
“It’s nothing bad,” Tim hurries to say, “you don’t have to worry. It was an accident. But it’s broken now, and I can’t ask my parents to get me a new one because that’s, like, a really big expense, and my birthday isn’t for another few months.”
That, Jason thinks, and also he probably doesn’t want his parents asking how he broke it. If he doesn’t want to tell Jason, there is no way he wants to tell his mom and dad.
But-
“You have money, though,” Jason can’t help but point out. His inner street kid is rolling his eyes right now, but it’s true. Tim does. “Can’t you just buy a new one yourself?”
That, for some reason, makes Tim look even more miserable. “I can’t. I have some savings, but I’ve also had some unforeseen expenses lately. It’d take me months to save up enough if I don’t want to cut down on things like food.” Judging by the strange glint in Tim’s blue eyes, he’s considering it.
To nip this sort of thinking in the bud before it can escalate, Jason quickly says, “No cutting meals. Seriously, though, what sort of ‘unforeseen expenses’ can a ten-year-old possibly have? Did you buy a new computer or something?”
“Not exactly. Come on, let’s move on to the next room, we haven’t seen everything yet.” Tim takes his wrist and tries to drag him onwards, but Jason plants his feet firmly in the ground and refuses to be budged. Not when he knows he’s onto something.
“You eat lunch at school,” he says slowly, “and you eat dinner with me and Dick a lot, so that’s not it. You take the bus to school, and we give you a ride home, so that’s not it, either. Is it your martial arts lessons? But your parents pay for those, right? Same with any groceries you get delivered. What is it, then? What could-“ He stops as something occurs to him.
In all the time they’ve known each other, Jason has never once seen Tim make an impulsive purchase.
But he has seen him hand out any amount between fifty and hundred bucks every single day without fail. All that money is sitting in a box on Jason’s desk right this minute.
He doesn’t know Tim’s allowance, but he’s sure that even if it’s generous, it’s not enough to cover that.
Tim, who is smart enough to realise what conclusion Jason has reached, urgently tugs at his wrist. “Don’t make a big deal out of this. It’s my money, so I can do what I want with it.”
“But your camera-“
“I don’t care! I like you better than my camera. My camera can’t talk to me or make me laugh. So I know exactly what I spend my money on.” Tim gives Jason a shaky smile.
Jason mulls this over. It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. But he knows, he just knows, that if he gives Tim his money back now, Tim is going to take it the wrong way. So instead, he returns the smile and allows Tim to drag him to the next exhibit. Act like a family, Dick said. Well, that’s what Jason is doing. He can act like the best family in the whole world, and they’ll table this discussion for now.
But Bruce is returning tomorrow, and he may not yet be aware that Jason adopted a kid in his name, but Jason knows Bruce is weak for that kind of shit. He’ll have Bruce agreeing in no time. And then, maybe he can finally get somewhere with all this.
*
Superman flies Batman home, which is a problem. Jason leaves Tim watching Transformers on his own for a bit as he pretends to go to the bathroom, but the minute he’s left the living room, he turns in the direction of the Batcave instead, taking off in a run.
He meets Bruce just as he’s coming out of the clock, and shoves him back inside, following behind. “Stay back,” he whisper-shouts, herding Bruce back down the stairs to the Cave.
“Is that Jason?” Superman calls out. “Jason, it’s Uncle Clark!”
Jason, who has never liked Clark’s insistent attempts to bond with him, ignores him, focusing on Bruce. “You have to change into a Hawaiian shirt,” he insists. “And you need to get a suitcase. And then you need to walk through the front door.”
“Is everything okay?” Bruce asks and adds in an exaggerated whisper: “Is someone listening?”
“You clearly aren’t,” Jason says. “Just do as I said! We have company.”
“Company,” Bruce repeats, a glint of Batman entering his eyes.
“Not whatever company you’re thinking of,” Jason tells him. “Just a little kid who Dick told that you’re on vacation, so that’s where he expects you to be. If you don’t like it, blame your firstborn. See you in a bit – in a Hawaiian shirt!”
“Bye, Jason,” Superman calls after him as Jason leaves. Jason rolls his eyes.
Tim is where he left him, but he’s no longer paying attention to the movie. He’s on his phone, apparently checking his account balance. He turns it off when Jason comes in, but the look on his face tells Jason that something isn’t quite right.
“I need to go,” Tim says, the very picture of unhappiness.
“What? Why?”
“I just need to. I’ll be back in two days, okay?”
What’s in two days? Tuesday. What else? Tim’s karate lesson. What else? June 1st.
Oh.
Jason connects the dots just as the front door opens with a bang, and Bruce obnoxiously shouts, “I’m home!”
Tim’s eyes widen, and it occurs to Jason that Tim and Bruce never met. “That’s my dad,” he explains helpfully. “He’s-“
“I’m home from my vacation,” Bruce says, waving at them from the door to the living room, setting down a suitcase by his feet. He’s wearing a faded t-shirt, sunglasses, and his hair is a mess, but he gets points for trying.
Bruce’s welcoming smile upon seeing Jason fades into a frown, eyes darting from Jason to Tim.
Jason says, “That’s Tim.”
“Hi,” Tim says, waving back. “I’m Tim Drake, sir. I live next door.”
“Hello, Tim,” Bruce says. “It’s nice to see Jason making friends.”
Tim shakes his head. “No, sir. We’re not- I’m his-“
“Tim is my new little brother,” Jason interrupts, grinning at Bruce as he reaches out to ruffle Tim’s hair. “What’re you looking at me like that for? What, so you can adopt kids and I can’t?”
Tim is blushing, and he ducks away from Jason’s hand. “I really do need to go,” he insists quietly, but firmly. “Mr Wayne, it was nice to meet you. Jason, can I talk to you out in the hallway real quick?”
Bruce, who has apparently been stunned into silence, at least manages to catch Jason’s pointed look. He clears his throat, collecting his suitcase, and says, “I’ll be getting changed now. Jason, when you and our guest have finished talking, I’d like to be next in line. In my office, as soon as you’re done.”
“Whatever,” Jason says, which means yes.
In the hallway, as soon as Bruce is out of earshot, Tim wrings his hands and says, “I stayed over yesterday, so we’ve actually spent thirty-one hours together, and- I only have two hundred and fifty bucks left, and I’ll give that to you immediately, but I just don’t have any more right now, not until my spending money comes in again. I’ll give you an IOU, of course, but-“
“Wait-“
“-I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I swear it was a mistake. The next time, I’ll be more organised.”
“Tim-“
“I’ll forward the IOU to your email,” Tim says, and flees.
Jason’s first impulse is to go after him. But Bruce is waiting for him, and even though Tim takes priority as far as Jason is concerned, he has the feeling that Bruce might actually be able to help. In any case, he has something to show Bruce, regardless of all this new drama that’s unfolded.
Bruce is lounging on his armchair when Jason comes into his office, plainly playing Candy Crush on his phone. He brightens when he sees Jason, gesturing at the comfortable sofa that Jason has taken countless naps in, but Jason walks past him and takes a seat in front of the large blackwood desk.
Bruce sighs. He settles down behind the desk, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he regards Jason. “So this is official business?” he asks.
“You could say that.” Jason slides over the file he’s assembled over the past few weeks. “You’ll find everything you need in there.”
“Does ‘everything I need’ include an explanation for why you seem to have gained a brother in the time I was away?”
Jason pointedly looks at the file. “It’s all in there.”
Bruce sighs again. “In that case, why don’t you make us some tea? I’m assuming this will take me a while.”
Instead of answering, Jason just leans back in his chair and waits. Bruce sighs a third time before he finally starts reading.
He was right: it does take a while. The sun goes down outside, and Bruce has to switch on the lights, but that’s the only break he takes. He’s a slow, but meticulous reader, and Jason knows that later, Bruce will be able to recite all this from memory, not because of any special ability, but because he knows this is important to Jason, and he always pays special attention to things that are important.
Bruce reads and reads and reads, and Jason watches him throughout, too anxious to do anything else. Eventually, when it’s nearing midnight, Bruce closes the file and gives Jason a long look.
“Alright,” he says finally. “You’ve done a thorough job investigating Timothy Drake’s home life, and you ought to be congratulated on that. But why?”
In lieu of an answer, Jason pulls out his phone and shows Bruce the ad.
Well-behaved boy is looking for big brother, Bruce mouths to himself. “And you answered this?”
“Sort of. Yes.”
“Jason,” Bruce says gently, “if you wanted some extra money, you could have talked to me. I’m happy increasing your allowance-“
“Oh my god,” Jason says, “you’re so rich it makes me want to puke sometimes. In a loving way, alright?” he adds when Bruce has the nerve to look sad about that. “It was never about the money.” And just like that, the whole story comes tumbling out of him, everything from that bicycle accident (“Jason,” Bruce says, disappointment clear in his voice, but Jason just talks over him) to the box on Jason’s desk all the way to what happened this afternoon.
“And he sent me an IOU, because he literally spent his entire money on spending time with me, and that’s just messed up, Bruce. And his parents- you read the file. You know how much his parents suck. So…you know how you basically kidnapped me and Dick?”
“I didn’t-“
“So this is me, giving you permission to do it again. For Tim. He really needs someone in his corner, someone who’s not calling him twice a month from another country, and I think it should be us. That’s why I made this.” Jason hands Bruce a second folder.
Bruce opens it and shuffles through the various papers: a blueprint of what Tim’s room in the manor could look like, a cost analysis of how expensive taking on a third child would be, a copy of Tim’s last report card, and a list of all his extracurriculars. And, most importantly, an application to foster Tim.
“All you have to do is sign,” Jason says, “and then we can call CPS and they’ll take care of the rest. You’re going to do it, right, B? You’re not going to just let him stay in that empty house by himself until he turns eighteen. You can’t.”
“This is very impressive,” Bruce says, nodding at the folder. “Well done. I’ve taught you well.”
Oh, no. Jason looks at Bruce, heart sinking into his stomach. “You’re not going to do anything,” he realises. “You’ll just let this go.”
“Of course not,” Bruce says sharply. “As both Batman and a parent, I have a responsibility to watch out for cases of child neglect, and I don’t take them lightly. However, I will, for now, pretend that I haven’t seen this yet. Any of this.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise, I would need to call CPS at once. And judging from what you’ve told me, I think Tim might not take kindly to that.”
“But-“ Jason protests, but Bruce interrupts him.
“Talk to Tim,” he says gently. “Explain. Ask what he thinks. If you don’t, he’s going to resent you forever. Especially,” Bruce finishes, “if he still thinks you’re only here for the money.”
“Well,” Jason snaps, “then tell me how to fix that. I have not heard one single helpful thing from you yet.”
Bruce shrugs delicately. “I’m not an expert, and besides, someone very dear to me has recently stated that my being rich makes him want to puke. However…” He smiles. “If you can promise to stomach my wealth for a while longer, I might have an idea.”
“Does it involve throwing money at the problem?” Jason asks suspiciously.
Bruce’s smile widens. “As a matter of fact, it does.”
*
Loving father (41) is looking for someone to play with his son (13). Must meet up with him every day after school, for at least two hours each. Overall duties include doing homework together, playing videogames, and staying out of trouble. 10$ per hour. For more information, come to the address down below.
*
The ad is not in the newspaper. It is, in fact, printed on a single sheet of paper inside a cream-coloured envelope, delivered straight to the mailbox. Tim knows it’s addressed to him because the envelope has his name written on it in fine cursive. There is no sender, but the address that’s written beneath the advertisement is very familiar to him. It’s the same street, after all, just two miles away. His next-door neighbours, in fact.
But why is Bruce Wayne looking for a playmate for Jason? And why does he want Tim to know about it?
Tim decides to ignore it for now. It’s only one more day until his allowance comes in, so he’ll just go over to Wayne Manor tomorrow and ask Jason about it. Although maybe he should wait a little, actually. He’s been spending time with Jason a lot recently, and even though it’s just a job, Jason must surely want a little time for himself. The day after, then. Tim will go over in two days.
Except that the next day, when he collects the newspaper, there is another envelope, one that has the same ad inside. Tim frowns.
The day after that, the envelope is hand-delivered to his front door. The person holding it is Bruce Wayne.
“Hello, Tim,” Mr Wayne says, smiling at him. “May I come in?”
Wordlessly, Tim steps aside.
In the foyer, Mr Wayne stops, taking in the expensive art on the walls, the polished hardwood floors, the statue in the corner that Tim thinks his parents brought home from a dig. “That’s a nice place you have here. Pretty big, too. Must get lonely sometimes, though, right?”
“It’s okay,” Tim says and, because he doesn’t want to be rude, adds a, “Thank you, Mr Wayne.”
Mr Wayne says, “Call me Bruce. Did you get my letters?”
“Are you going to tell me I’m a wizard?” Tim asks, frowning at him.
That seems to catch Bruce off-guard, because he laughs, sounding startled. “Not exactly. I want to hire you, actually.”
“I’m ten,” Tim tells him, frowning harder. “That’s child labour.” Then again, he supposes, while Bruce awkwardly clears his throat, Robin is probably also kind of child labour. Wait. Does Bruce want to hire him as Robin? No, that’s crazy. Jason is doing a really good job as Robin, Bruce can’t be looking for a replacement.
“Don’t fire Jason,” he blurts out.
“Excuse me?”
“He’s only been Robin for a year. If he’s made a mistake, it’s because he’s still learning. Don’t fire him.”
Bruce pales. “Tim,” he says very carefully, “I don’t know what you think you know, but-“
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Tim assures him. “I wouldn’t. But if you fire Jason, I’m going to go to the press, and everyone will know. So you better don’t.”
“I- I won’t,” Bruce says slowly. “I wasn’t going to. I just came here to- can I sit down?”
“No,” Tim says, because he’s just blackmailed Batman, and he doesn’t want Batman to stay here any longer than he has to. “If you don’t need a new Robin, what are you doing here?”
It takes Bruce a lot longer than usual to answer, and when he does, he speaks dazedly, like a man waking from a dream. He manages to hold out the envelope, though. “If you’ve seen the ad, you know what I’m looking for. A friend for Jason. He hasn’t made many friends at school, I’m afraid.”
Tim tries to think back on whether he’s seen Jason hanging out with other students at school. He’s pretty sure that he has. Maybe those are just acquaintances, though. And after school…well. Recently, after school, Jason has been hanging out exclusively with him.
Before Tim has time to feel bad about that, Bruce continues, “So that’s why, if you’re up for the task, I’d like you to spend some time with Jason in your free time. You don’t have to worry. I’d compensate you, of course.”
“But… Jason and I already spend time together,” Tim points out.
“Well, then,” Bruce says, smiling brightly. “This should be easy.”
“No! You don’t- did Jason tell you why? I’m- I’m paying him,” Tim confesses in a shamed whisper.
Bruce shrugs. “So? You’re paying him, and I’m paying you. Everybody wins.”
That does not sound like a win to Tim. It sounds pointless. “Maybe you should just pay Jason directly,” he suggests. “Cut out the middleman.” Even if cutting out the middleman means cutting out Tim.
For some reason, this makes Bruce’s eyes glint with something like satisfaction. “Excellent suggestion,” he praises. “So, in a way, I guess I’d be paying Jason to spend time with you. Right?”
“Um,” Tim says.
“Let’s call him,” Bruce says. He’s already taking out his phone, so there’s not much Tim can do to stop him.
For a few seconds, there is nothing but the sound of the phone ringing as they wait for Jason to answer. Then, Jason’s voice fills the foyer. “What, B?”
“Change of plans,” Bruce says easily. “Tim will no longer be the one paying your wages, I will. Is that okay with you?”
“What?”
“Ten bucks for every hour you hang out with Tim. That’s fair, right?”
“No, it’s insane,” Jason answers. “I don’t want your money, what the hell? What’s happening?”
Bruce smiles, though only Tim is around to see it. “You’re saying that you don’t want me to pay you?”
“Yeah,” Jason says, bewilderment evident even over the phone. “I’ll hang out with him for free, Jesus.”
“Fantastic,” Bruce says, and hangs up. When his gaze focuses back on Tim, it’s strangely triumphant. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Are you going to do it for free? Because I’ll still pay you ten bucks an hour if you like. The deal still stands.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Tim protests. “Of course I’ll spend time with him, it’s Jason. But-“
“I’m happy to hear it, Tim,” Bruce says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I really am. And I’m glad we resolved this. Saves me a lot of money, right?” He winks. “Now, I have to go, but I’m hoping I’ll see you for dinner. I think Jason mentioned he wants to talk to you about something. Remember – you’re basically doing charity, now. Don’t want to be seen slacking off.” He winks again.
Tim watches him leave, more confused than he’s ever been in his life. He can’t help but think that he’s just been played.
*
Bruce and Jason do not call CPS, in the end. But when Tim faints during maths class few months later, courtesy of a ruptured appendix, and the school spends several hours trying to reach the Drakes, to no avail, CPS get called anyway.
Luckily, Bruce has had the application to foster Tim filled out and ready to go for some time now.
By the time Tim wakes up in the hospital, he’s a ward of the state. By the time he wakes up for the second time, drowsy from the drugs, Bruce Wayne is officially his guardian.
Jason swallows any and all statements that might indicate he thinks this has long been overdue. He’ll swallow them for several years more. For now, what counts is Tim.
“You know what this means, right, Timbo?” Jason asks a few days later, once Tim is ready to be released. There’s nothing wrong with Tim’s legs, but the nurses insisted on a wheelchair anyway, and Jason insisted to be the one pushing it. They were halfway down the hallway for a race before the nurse started yelling. Bruce is waiting outside in the car, hopefully unaware of any trouble they might be causing.
“What? What does it mean?” Tim asks.
Jason grins down at him. “We’re real brothers now. Officially.”
“Oh.” Somehow, Tim does not seem as excited about this as Jason had hoped. He’s been subdued ever since they told him that his parents have yet to be in touch. Jason supposes he can understand that.
Still, Tim shouldn’t be upset just because his family sucks. That’s why Jason waits until they’re out the doors and on their way to the parking lot before flicking Tim’s arm to get his attention. “So, you’ve already got the wheelchair and the missing organ, and I’m right here. Want to recreate a scene where I pick up my tragically ill little brother from the hospital?”
Tim instantly perks up. “Yes! You go stand over there, and you can come over like you’ve only just seen me, and then you hug me and tell me that we can fight anything, even cancer, and I’ll tell you that you don’t have to worry about me and you should just go back to your wedding, and you’ll say, no, not without your little brother, and then when we’re back in the manor we can play my death scene.”
Jason nods and salutes. “You got it.”
Bruce is still waiting in the car, but it doesn’t matter. For Tim, Jason can keep him waiting a while longer yet.