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They took the zeta to Blüdhaven. Nightwing’s zeta, more or less, said Tim, because it was installed for him and he was the only one who really used it. Tim led the way to the tenement building where Dick lived now. Jason went for the buzzer, but Tim slapped his hand. “What are you doing?”
Jason was confused. “Ringing the doorbell? You know, so he can let us in?”
Tim huffed. “He won’t be in just now, this place is three hours ahead remember.” He pulled out a magnet from his pocket and subtly swiped it down the doorframe, then shouldered the door open and bounded up the steps.
Jason followed.
Dick’s flat was on the third floor.
There was a doorbell, but Tim took out the magnet again, and a set of lock picks, and went to work on the door. “He’ll be home in an hour or so, unless he stops to get food,” he said distractedly. “Hmm, he’s upgraded again… Ah, got it.”
As the door opened Tim quickly disabled another three separate electronic sensors in the doorjamb by swiping them with a device that looked a bit like a thumb drive. “Walk where I walk,” he said.
He took a big step over the doormat, then a careful skipped sidestep to another mat against the right-hand wall, where he removed his shoes.
“What the hell?” whispered Jason, still standing in the open doorway.
Tim pointed up. There was a net rigged up on the ceiling. “Pressure pads under the carpet.”
“I repeat, what the hell? Why the fuck does Dickiebird have traps in his flat?”
“Looks like he’s expecting me.” Tim grinned. “I mean, he’s not wrong. I would probably have popped by in a day or two anyway.”
While Jason took off his boots, carefully avoiding anywhere Tim hadn’t stepped, Tim edged his way carefully further down the hallway and reached for a door handle, then stopped thoughtfully. “Hmm. He doesn’t usually leave this door closed.” He crouched down and inspected the handle closely, above and beneath, then turned to Jason. “Got a knife on you? Something fairly thin?” He held out an open hand expectantly.
Jason did, in fact, have a stiletto on him. Tim slid it between the door and the frame, slicing down slowly, and paused, then sawed for a moment. He grinned as he handed the knife back to Jason. “There.”
“You’re sharpening that later,” pouted Jason, frowning at his blade.
Tim ignored him. He opened the door to reveal a sitting room with a few clothes strewn over the sofa, a kitchen area with a drop-leaf table, and, on the floor in front of the large television screen, a… not a rug… a tray? a rug-sized tray of…
“Oh, wow! He’s put out the glue trap!”
“…glue trap?” repeated Jason faintly.
“He almost never does the glue trap!” Tim examined it with evident delight. “Normally it’s just the tripwire in front of the window.”
Jason looked. There was, indeed, a tripwire.
Tim skipped over to the kitchen area and started rummaging in the cupboards. “He moves it around a bit, so you always have to check. I mean, apart from that that window’s usually pretty clear, once you disable the alarm sensor and the shockers. I normally come in that way.” He tossed Jason a packet of cheesy crunchies. Jason caught them on autopilot. “Or that one, though the net’s a bit of a nuisance.” He pointed behind him, at the window above the kitchen sink. It wasn’t quite a net curtain hanging in front of it. “Bedroom window’s trapped to high heaven though.” There was another rustle. “And the bathroom window would be too small for you.”
Tim turned from the cupboard, one hand in his own packet of cheesy crunchies, to see Jason standing in front of the doorway, still eyeing the room for other traps and sensors. “I don’t think there’s anything else in here,” he said around a mouthful of yellow. “Once I’m in it’s normally OK. Come on,” he said, pulling a couple of lime Zestis from the fridge and wandering over to flop onto the couch. He fished another handful of crunchies out of his packet and crunched them.
“Fucking hell, Dick,” Jason muttered, scrubbing his face and tossing his packet of cheesy crunchies carelessly on the coffee table next to the Zestis. He’d feed it to Tim later. He joined Tim on the sofa, pushing up next to him.
Tim startled and stiffened when Jason sat next to him. Jason very deliberately drew his arm across Tim’s shoulders, and Tim turned surprised eyes on him. “You –” he stopped himself, stopped breathing.
Jason squeezed gently, and Tim slowly relaxed. “Told you I would hug again,” he said, and Tim sagged into him, hand still in his cheesy crunchies packet. Jason brought his other arm up around Tim, pulling his head into his chest, feeling his jaw move against him as he crunched.
After a few minutes to let Tim finish his crunchies, Jason casually said, “I’ve got security on my safehouse windows, sure, but nothing like this. Who’s he expecting to break in anyway?”
Tim shifted and licked cheese dust off his fingers. “Me, like I said.” He wiped his hand on Jason’s shirt.
“Ew,” said Jason.
Tim stiffened, and Jason quickly gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Menace,” he added, making sure to add another hair ruffle and sufficient fondness in his voice for Tim to relax again. “So why’s he got traps out for you? He trying to keep you out?”
“No, no, it’s not like that! Well, I guess it was at first, cause he didn’t want to see me at all. The first time I went looking for him I broke in while he was out of town. It was just after you… uh…”
“Died? You can say it. I died.”
“Yeah. Um. B was in a bad way, so I went to find Dick to ask him to be Robin again, to keep him under control. Only he wasn’t at the Tower and he wasn’t staying with Starfire, so I broke into his place – not this one, he was in New York then – and went through the stuff in his secret safe until I figured out where he’d gone.”
There were so many things wrong with all that, Jason barely knew where to start. He picked the least occuous. “He didn’t give you his number?”
”Oh no, we hadn’t met yet – well, we had, but not since I was three – I was just trying to get hold of him at that point.”
Jason couldn’t deal with the implications of that yet, so he just ignored them. “So you broke into his flat?”
“His apartment, yeah,” said Tim with a slight frown, and Jason had a brief pang to think he’d been following Alfred’s influence without realising it.
“And then, what, you just kept doing it?”
“Well, yeah, how else was I going to see him? He wasn’t really talking to B then, so he didn’t come round much.”
”By knocking on the door, or, I don’t know, calling ahead like a normal person?”
Tim looked at his hands and muttered.
“What was that?”
“He might have… said no?”
Jason squeezed Tim again. “He’d have had to be an idiot. What am I saying, he’s obviously an idiot, if he’s leaving traps like this to keep you out.”
“Oh no, it’s not like that. I told him off about his lack of security once and, well, he took it from there. And now it’s just a thing we do, I guess. Enrichment in my enclosure, he says. Well, I guess it’s his enclosure, but you get the idea.”
“You got on him about security and so now he really just Home-Alones his entire flat every time he goes out?”
Tim shrugged against Jason’s chest. “Not the bedroom. That’s why he’s got so much stuff on the window there. But yeah, pretty much everywhere else.”
“Even the bathroom?”
Tim hummed, then sat up. “Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me. If you go in there, watch out for the trick floor tile by the washbasin. And check the light-pull, sometimes he traps it.”
“Huh,” said Jason. Tim cautiously leant back into Jason, and Jason wrapped himself around him properly, pulling his head down into his chest and running his fingers through his hair until Tim closed his eyes and gave a little hum.
He started to think back over some of the many things he hadn’t queried, and got caught on something. “What did you mean about having to keep Bruce under control?”
Dick deactivated the fifteen varied traps on his bedroom window all in one go with a click of the button on his wrist, and climbed in with a tired sigh.
And perked up. There was a faint light around the door. He crept up to it and listened.
There was a small noise from the living room. A noise as of someone trying to be quiet.
Tim! Tim was here!
Or possibly not, but pretty much no-one other than Tim Drake could get into this apartment.
He pulled off his mask and boots, opened the door as quietly as possible, and stepped softly out into the hallway.
Yes, Tim was here. There was an extra pair of boots against the wall.
Two extra pairs of boots.
Tim had brought a friend? Someone from the Titans, presumably, because that’s where he was coming from. Kon wore boots like that, didn’t he?
There was a niggling feeling that he’d missed something as he turned off the floor sensors and pulled on a plausible-deniability hoodie over his suit, but it could wait. Tim would have set off the alarms to alert him if there was anything seriously wrong.
Tim was here!
He hurried eagerly across the hall and – yes, Tim had found and negated the shocker on the door handle, well done Tim, that was a new one – opened the door.
And immediately had to parry the kid leaping at him from the arm of the sofa with a fist and an enthusiastic “Dick!”
Dick relaxed entirely. Tim wouldn’t do this in front of anyone he didn’t trust utterly.
Tim hadn’t done this in months. Tim hadn’t been happy enough to do this in months.
Dick swung back at Tim (“Hey Timmy!”), who catapulted himself over Dick’s shoulder to avoid it (“Good to see you! How’s things?”) and went straight for the leg sweep as he landed. Dick jumped it and turned the jump into a flip with his feet flying out at Tim’s chin. “Oh, you know,” he said with a grin, momentarily upside-down, and Tim leapt backwards to avoid the feet, “Missed my little brother.” Dick landed and sprang forward again with an arm strike to the neck while Tim ducked (“That’s because I dodge”) and went for a gut punch that Dick blocked (“What about you? Tired of Titans’ Tower already?”) and they moved into a flurry of blows and blocks and dodges and kicks until Dick fell backwards taking Tim with him, and then spun him round as they went down so they landed on the floor with Dick now on top with a knee on Tim’s chest and an arm on his neck.
Dick couldn’t help smiling down at Tim, and Tim smiled up at him. They lay there for a long moment, Dick’s arm against Tim’s throat, Tim’s hand on Dick’s upper arm, staring at each other’s faces, and they grinned and they grinned and they grinned.
“Holy mother of fuck you’re both idiots.”
Dick startled to his feet. Not Kon. He’d known those boots weren’t quite right. It was –
(Tim bounced up to vertical and quivered next to him.)
– it was –
Tall and broad-shouldered, and with a white forelock and a thinner, older face, but it was –
“Just hug each other for fuck’s sake.”
–it was –
– and Tim trusted him –
“Tim?” he murmured quietly, needing confirmation. “Do you… Is that –”
“Yeah. It’s him, Dick.”
It was him.
Cloning or alternate universe or timeline disruption or whatever, Dick didn’t care. Even if it was temporary. Even if it wasn’t the same boy he’d known. Tim trusted him. Tim was happy. Dick could…
He swallowed. “…Jason?”
Jason splayed his hands. “Large as life,” he said with a smirk.
“Larger,” said Dick dazedly, realising he was looking up at him.
Jason shrugged. “I grew up,” he said.
“You grew up,” repeated Dick softly, feeling his eyes prick. He slowly reached out and laid his hands gently, delicately on Jason’s shoulders. Really, physically present. He held them there for a moment, blinking hard, and then tipped forward onto Jason’s chest, wrapping his arms tight around him. “Jason,” he said. “Jaybird. Jay. Little Wing.”
He felt Jason’s warm arms come around his back and shoulders and press him into him, and oh that felt…
He gasped out a sob and clung more tightly. “Jason,” he repeated, burrowing into his alive brother’s shoulder to ground himself against the dizzying unreality of it. “Jay.”
Jason squeezed him harder. He could squeeze as hard as he liked.
Jason suddenly shook his head sharply, and Dick looked up. Jason was scowling over his head.
He took Dick by the shoulders and pushed him gently away from him. “Okay, all right, you’re pleased to see me, I know. But that’s not why we’re here.” He rotated Dick to face Tim, whose eager grin had faded to a look of… trepidation? “That’s the one you should be cuddling.”
If only. “Oh, I – um, Tim doesn’t really…”
“I promise you,” said Jason, hands still on Dick’s shoulders, “he really, really does.”
Dick frowned in disagreement, and Tim shook his head and backed away a step. “It’s fine,” he said.
Dick stepped back against Jason. He couldn’t let himself. He knew how Tim felt about being –
“Oh my god,” muttered Jason. “You both want this. Why are you being so stupid about it?”
Tim… wanted?
Surely not, after all this time? But…
“Tim?” Dick held out his arms, still aware of Jason at his back. Maybe he could have two miracles. “Do you… do you want a hug?”
Tim opened his mouth, but said nothing, just stared with those big eyes at Dick. Dick was beginning to slump and trying not to feel disappointed when Tim finally stepped forward, so, so hesitantly. Dick ever so gingerly put his arms loosely around him, and Tim gasped and froze.
He didn’t want.
Dick swallowed his grief. He’d had one brother-hug, one beautiful, miraculous brother-hug. He couldn’t ask for more.
“Oh no you don’t,” growled Jason, and shoved.
Dick didn’t stumble, but he did tighten his arms around Tim, who had to bring up his own arms to brace himself. And then he held on. And then they were both holding on, clinging to each other, trembling with shuddering breaths.
Tim… did want.
Tim was letting Dick touch him, letting him wrap around him and cling tight to him as he’d always longed to do. And Jason was still here, at Dick’s back, warm and large and alive.
Dick never wanted to wake up.
‘Dick,” whimpered Tim. Dick crushed him impossibly tighter, feeling the hot tears run down his cheeks into Tim’s hair. And Tim leant into him, clutched back at him, rested his head on his chest. Dick leant his cheek on the top of Tim’s head.
He hadn’t had hugs like this in so, so long.
But then a hand patted his shoulder and the warm presence at his back moved and detached, and Dick panicked. He pulled a hand off Tim and flung it out to grasp Jason’s wrist. He couldn’t leave. Not yet.
“Okay, enough’s enough.” Jason tugged somewhat ineffectually against Dick’s grip. “Somebody has to finish making supper.”
“No,” grumbled Dick. “I’m not done hugging you.”
“Ah buh buh. Food.” Jason waved an arm in the direction of the pile of half-chopped vegetables on the counter. Dick kept an arm firmly round Tim as he swivelled to follow it. “Food has to happen. If not for us then for the Timbit. Kid’s skin and bones.”
He had a point, but Dick wasn’t ready for this to be over. Wasn’t ready for the explanations and the reasons this wasn’t permanent, wasn’t his Jason. Wasn’t ready for Jason to disappear. He held Jason’s wrist firmly.
Jason twisted himself free. “Oh fuck off Dickface. Someone needs to make sure that kid’s eating enough, and it sure as hell ain’t you.”
“It’s not his fault!” Tim broke in strongly, pushing out of Dick’s hold to stand defensively in front of Dick. Dick resisted, and Tim’s words were slightly muffled as he pulled him back in. “It was just. Really hard to get food in Gotham last year.”
“What, even for the Waynes?” Dick could hear the disbelieving scoff.
“You don’t know what it was like,” Tim protested, twisting in Dick’s arms to glare at Jason but not trying to escape. “Money didn’t mean anything. There was literally no food. Two packs of antibiotics got you four dented cans of beans. The only reason we didn’t all die of scurvy was that Ivy turned half of Robinson Park over to oranges.”
Jason had a look of bemused horror on his face and Dick realised that whatever form of Jason this was, he had no idea what had been happening in Gotham the last couple of years. He probably didn’t know about the Clench either.
“I’ve been back up to a fighting weight for a while now though!” insisted Tim, even though Dick knew it was just barely. Tim stopped eating when he was stressed or depressed, too, and he’d had one hell of a last six months.
Jason gave a heavy sigh. “OK, so what I’m hearing here is that you both need feeding up. You two go cuddle on the sofa while I prep this,” he said, and between his very valid argument and Tim’s retreat sofa-wards, Dick went.
But he kept an eye on Jason the whole time he cooked, to make sure he was still there.
They filled him in a bit more while he cooked and plated a hefty vegetable and chicken stirfry with noodles, based on what Dick had in his kitchen. Quick and nutritious. Would be better with fresh ginger though.
Jason had known that there had been an earthquake, and was vaguely aware that there had been some political shit over it. Gotham had declared independence, or something. He hadn’t heard much, or paid much attention to what he’d heard. He’d been focused. He’d had a goal.
And Tim and Dick were obviously making light of it, telling stories of successes and adventures and new people he didn’t know, like ‘Huntress’ and ‘Cass you-must-meet-Cass’, but they let slip enough, and Jason could read into what they weren’t saying.
It had been a catastrophe.
The earthquake alone had killed thousands, and that was just the start. There had been a blockade, land and sea. The bridges had been blown. Hundreds more people had been killed trying to leave Gotham, tens of thousands had been killed in Gotham, died of starvation and cold and dysentery and further building collapse, quite aside from the turf wars and the desperate fights over bottles of clean water and packs of dried noodles.
And Jason had come to Gotham and seen the new buildings and thought Bruce was just boosting his ego.
Jason brought the food to the sofa and handed out bowls. Tim immediately started hungrily shovelling stirfry into his mouth, while Dick took his bowl and leant back to give Jason room to sit down. Jason pushed himself into the smaller space on Tim’s other side, instead.
“So,” Dick said, as if casually, as Jason got himself situated. “What have you been up to?”
And what had he been up to, while his family had been keeping a city alive?
Travelling, training, learning…
Killing.
Planning a vendetta against Batman, daydreaming about forcing his hand, setting him and the Joker up in a way that forced Bruce to choose, finally, to make him step up and do what needed to be done. There was going to be a denouement. It was going to be full of symbolism and catharsis and dramatic irony.
He’d spent so much time training, learning explosives and hacking and firearms and honing his body past perfection, trying the best he could to get better than Batman. Working out how his seventeen-step plan was going to go. So much time thinking about what he was going to say when Batman confronted him, when Jason gave him his ultimatum, when Bruce inevitably failed (because of course he would fail).
And he should have been here.
He should have been digging people out from under the rubble, defending food supply runs, helping set up clean water and getting people to medical aid. Should have been protecting kids from the crossfire and keeping as big an area of Gotham safe as he could.
He’d been telling himself for the past two years that he had to face Batman and make him see that his methods weren’t working. He’d been telling himself he was doing it for Gotham. His home. To make Gotham better. Safer.
But that hadn’t been why he was doing any of this at all.
Beheading mobsters, antagonising Black Mask, fomenting a gang war, taunting Bruce. None of it was to make Gotham safer.
If he’d been doing it for Gotham he would have come back sooner. He’d heard about the earthquake, seen reports on the TV in one shady bar or another. He knew what earthquakes did, what long-term damage they wrought.
And he hadn’t even followed up on the headlines.
It wasn’t about Gotham.
It was about Batman. It was about making the point that Batman didn’t know what was best for Gotham. That sometimes you had to put the bad guys down permanently, or things would never get any better.
But if that was what he was doing it for, then why was he messing about with Black Mask? Why had he tried to attack Tim? Why was he working so hard on his final setup?
Only a few days away now, if all went to plan.
Bruce, him, the Joker… and a gun.
No. It wasn’t an argument about methods of crime control. It was more personal than that.
He thought about the speeches he’d been planning for his grand confrontation. It was about… it was about proving to Bruce that he didn’t love him the way he thought he did, making him live with the knowledge that he had discarded his son…
It was about him.
How many people had he hurt, had he killed, had he put in danger, to take out his anger on Bruce when what he was angry at…
…what he was angry at…
…was being alive, ripped from his rest and forced into terror and pain and a world that had changed around him.
“Jason?” prompted Dick softly. Oh yes, there was a question to answer, wasn’t there?
“I’m the Red Hood,” he told Dick.
Maybe he could be alive for a reason. Maybe he could start doing this for Gotham.
The Red Hood.
The Red Hood who had a direct kill count of twenty-eight to Dick’s knowledge, and – given that Bruce was not sharing all his information – probably more that he didn’t know about. The Red Hood who had gathered a gang, claimed a turf around Crime Alley, muscled in on the drug trade, and thoroughly destabilised the already shaky balance amongst the various mobs. They’d just been starting to settle down after – after Steph, and now Gotham nights were full of gunshots again. Indirect kill count? …probably over a hundred.
Dick was sure he’d feel some way about that soon. Guilt, regret, grief…
But right now…
Right now, all it meant to Dick was that Jason had been in Gotham for months. Which meant that this wasn’t some temporary universe hop. Jason was here long-term. Jason belonged in this world.
Dick got to keep him.
“What are you going to do now?”
They could find a way to make this right, if Jason wanted to.
Jason sighed, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, through the white streak. “I… I don’t know,” he said finally. “I thought –” He broke off, staring into his bowl, looking lost.
Oh, Jason.
“You had bad intel,” said Tim gently, and Jason nodded miserably.
Dick pulled Jason into his side, behind Tim. “We can work something out,” he said. “What did you –”
“Nope,” said Jason shortly. “Not talking any more about this tonight. The only thing I came here for was to start getting Timmy caught up on all those hugs you haven’t been giving him.” He pulled away from Dick and put his arm around Tim’s shoulders for emphasis.
And Dick would have left it there, but for a sudden, horrible thought. “Does B know?”
Because if B had known, had known Jason was alive and hadn’t told him…
Jason shrugged. “I’ve left a few clues for him here and there,” he said, casually scooping up a forkful of noodles, but Dick could see the tension he was trying to hide.
“Pretty sure he suspects,” said Tim. “The books you sent Alfred were a pretty big clue.”
“Well yeah,” said Jason. “And I let him have some blood too, in one of our fights.”
Tim nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said around his broccoli, and swallowed. “I think he’s been thinking you’re a clone or something.”
He hadn’t known. Not for sure, and Dick knew how Bruce liked to be sure.
“Well, I remember digging myself out of my grave, so I’m pretty sure I’m the real deal,” said Jason sharply.
Dick couldn’t breathe for a moment. He dug himself out of his grave…
Yes, he wanted it to be real. But not like this. His Little Wing…
“Yeah, I could tell,” said Tim, oblivious. He swallowed another mouthful of chicken and noodles. “You’ve obviously been trained somewhere else since, but your underlying movements are still like when you were Robin. So either you’re really Jason or –”
“The fuck you know about when I was Robin?” snapped Jason, and Dick had to laugh. “What?” demanded Jason, which just made Dick laugh more.
“– or you’re a clone with Jason’s memories, which makes you functionally the same –”
“Ah, Boy Stalker,” said Dick, reaching over to ruffle Tim’s hair, before remembering – he can hug him now! – and pulling him up on to his lap. Tim squawked and held his bowl up to stop it spilling, but he didn’t resist, and in fact snuggled in to Dick as soon as he was firmly in position. “Never change.”
“Boy Stalker?” asked Jason sharply, parts of Tim in his lap too. Despite his suspicious tone, he curled round Tim, pushing his arm into Dick’s side as well, a large, warm body next to him, one that he could trust, one that would never slide hands too low or press lips against…
“Do you know,” Dick said quickly, talking to keep his mind from going where it shouldn’t, “do you know how this one became Robin?”
Jason shrugged, shoulder moving against Dick’s. “He’s been telling me a few things while we were waiting for you. Something about Batman… going off the deep end?”
Dick ignored the tone of disbelief. They could get into all that another time. “That’s why. Do you know how?”
“Yeah, I told him I came looking for you,” said Tim.
“This kid,” said Dick, heart full of the memory of how his little brother had tracked him down at the circus, all big eyes and secrecy and a folder full of photos, “this kid, aged nine, saw a clip of me as Robin on the news and recognised who I was just from my moves.”
“To be fair, the quad is pretty distinctive,” protested Tim.
Dick gave his hair an extra nuzzle for that. “And do you know what he did then?”
“What?” said Jason, eager as if he were fourteen again.
“Tiny Tim here, I repeat, aged nine, gets hold of a camera and starts following us on patrol.”
“He did not.”
“I’ve seen the photos.”
Jason pulled up to look properly at Tim, a light in his face. “You have photos of Dickie-Robin?”
“They’re not very good,” said Tim ashamedly, as if it wasn’t an amazing feat to get photos of any of them at all. “I was just starting out then. My ones of you are much better,” he added.
Dick enjoyed the absolutely nonplussed look on Jason’s face for several seconds.
“You have photos of me ?” Jason asked eventually.
“Oh you have no idea,” said Dick with a grin. “He has so many.”
“Hang on.” Tim scrambled up to face Dick. “You’ve been in my photo stash?” His tone was awed, as if Dick had given him some marvellous treat.
“And you’ve been in my scrapbook,” retorted Dick, pulling Tim back down against his chest. “And my files. And my old school stuff.”
He was never going to get used to this. He was allowed to hold his little brother.
He wriggled back into Jason’s side. Both his little brothers.
Tim’s empty bowl was slipping out of his fingers. Jason pulled it from his hand and put it on the table with a clink, and Tim startled. “Come on, time for little birdies to be in bed,” said Jason, scooping him up out of Dick’s lap. “Where’s the bedroom round here?”
Dick got to his feet too. “Straight across the hall,” he said, padding after them. “I don’t have a spare room, but it’s a nice big bed, we can all –”
“Nope. Nu-uh. You’re not coming with us.” Jason smirked at Dick. “You can have the sofa, Dickhead.”
“What? No!” cried Dick, launching himself at them. “You’re not making me sleep out here on my own!”
“Dick! He’s taking me away from you!” Tim called melodramatically, writhing and kicking.
“You’ve had years to hug this one,” Jason said, tightening his grip on Tim just in time to prevent him somersaulting out of his arms. “Not my fault you didn’t do anything about it. Now you’ve missed your chance.”
Jason strode off, heedless of Dick’s protests and Tim’s cries of “Put me down!”. He twisted away from Dick’s grab for Tim and made for the doorway. “You snooze, you lose,” he tossed over his shoulder.
And was brought to an abrupt halt as Tim grabbed onto both sides of the doorway – hands on one side, feet on the other – and braced himself. Dick immediately latched on to Jason and started tugging him back.
“Oh, come on,” he grumbled, and tried to push through, but Dick had him in a chokehold now and Tim’s grip on the doorframe was surprisingly firm. Kid had some muscle for all his skinniness.
“Don’t you dare – hng – tell me who I can and can’t cuddle,” grunted Tim, pushing back against Jason. A moment later he went limp, and at the exact same moment Dick eased his grip, and Jason stumbled forward, feeling the press of Dick’s hands on his shoulder as he leapt over his bent back through the doorway. Tim snaked fully out of his grasp and rolled out from under him, kicking at his legs on the way.
Jason rolled into a flip, kicking out at Dick’s chest with his heels and reaching for Tim with the arm that wasn’t pushing off against the ground, but Tim caught his arm and pulled and Dick was grabbing Jason’s feet and suddenly Jason was on the ground with both of them on top of him.
And then Dick was on his feet again and snatching Tim up. “My Tim,” he growled, and Tim struggled just as hard for Dick as he had for Jason. “Jason!” he cried. “Save me!”
“Oh you little shit,” snarled Jason, getting up and diving forward, and they all crashed into the bedroom door and tumbled together in a heap through the doorway, gasping and laughing.
“I’m keeping both of you,” Tim declared finally, pulling himself out from underneath them and tugging on one arm each.
Dick laughed and let himself be hauled up. “Definitely,” he agreed, and turned his brilliant smile on Jason.
And what else could Jason say?
“OK.”
Jason went through the bathroom first, as Dick and Tim started undressing with the unselfconsciousness of vigilantes who have shared a thousand decontamination showers and treated each other’s injuries for years. When he came back, they were both in old sleep tees and shorts.
“I think my things might be a little tight on you,” said Dick apologetically, as Tim disappeared towards the bathroom in his turn.
Jason shrugged. “I’ll cope. Not like you were expecting me,” he said.
“Well, if you’d just called ahead…”
“And miss seeing Timster deal with your traps?” Jason countered, pulling down his combat trousers and shaking them off his ankles. He could sleep in his boxers. “That was freaky.”
Dick put a hand to the back of his neck and grinned, a little sheepishly. “Yeah… it started as a joke, and I guess it just became a habit. He enjoys it.”
“Yeah, he told me. Enrichment, enclosures?”
“It’s been a while since I last went full out on it. But I wanted to cheer him up.”
“What about the fighting? That supposed to cheer him up too?” The fighting that explained a lot about how Tim had reacted to Jason in the Tower, Jason realised.
Dick shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much,” he said, and then paused, grimacing.
“I get it,” said Jason. “Would have been better if you’d actually plucked up the courage to hug the kid properly now and again though.”
Dick closed his eyes and breathed in, shoulders tense. It alarmed Jason.
“Christ, Dickie, what happened to you?”
“Sorry. Tim’s had… a rough time of it recently, you know?”
“Sounds like it’s not been great for you either.”
Dick said nothing, and Jason tried to resist the urge to –
Well, he supposed he’d better take his own advice.
“Shit,” he said, and pulled Dick in to his chest again.
Dick didn’t grab on, but huddled in to him. “Sorry,” he muttered, and added something else too indistinctly to be heard.
“What’s that?”
Dick shook his head and burrowed deeper into Jason’s shoulder.
“Idiot,” said Jason fondly, tightening his arms. “You and Tim both. Don’t think I don’t know what you did just there. You can ask, you know.”
“You might have… said no,” mumbled Dick.
Jason chuckled. “I swear, the two of you…”
The bathroom door opened and Tim padded back in. Jason gave Dick one more squeeze, then released him and gave him a gentle shove towards the door. “You think you can stand to be away from us long enough to piss on your own?”
“Only if you promise to still be here when I get back,” Dick said, entirely seriously. Tim, too, looked up at him as if it was in any doubt.
Jason responded by flopping onto the bed and patting the space beside him, looking pointedly at Tim. Dick nodded, and headed for the bathroom, while Tim approached the bed with caution.
“Are you sure –?” he began.
“ ’Course I’m sure,” said Jason.
Tim crept into the bed like a nervous cat. But as soon as he got fully in, Jason captured him. Tim squeaked and froze, and Jason ran his fingers through his hair and waited patiently for him to relax.
The bed wasn’t enormous, but Jason made sure to leave space for Dick.
“Thanks,” said Tim sleepily. “For being nice to Dick, I mean.”
Jason hummed.
“He really missed you, you know,” Tim said.
Jason nodded. He was beginning to realise that.
When Dick returned, instead of claiming the space left for him, he stood at the foot of the bed and stared at them for a moment with disbelieving joy on his face.
“Stop gawking and get your arse in here,” Jason grumbled at him. “Some of us want to get to sleep.”
Dick tipped himself forward and rolled onto the bed, then scissored his legs round, knocking his shoulder and elbow against Jason on the way, until he was the right way up in the bed.
“Not like that!” Jason yelped, and Tim giggled.
Dick wriggled into place beside them, tucking his head under Jason’s arm and draping his own arm over Jason’s belly and Tim’s shoulder. He sighed contentedly. “I can’t believe I finally get to hold you,” he murmured.
Tim gave a happy hum.
Dick and Tim were both asleep in minutes, exhaustion slipping from their faces in sleep. Jason lay there, feeling Dick’s breath on his shoulder, the warmth of Tim curled against his chest and hips.
He was warm, and calm, and home.
Dick’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. Jason ignored it.
It buzzed again, and Dick snorted and stirred.
Oh no. Jason wasn’t having that. He was warm and comfy and both of his idiot brothers were here and he wasn’t going to let whatever bitch was on the phone ruin that for him.
He gently lifted his arm off Tim and reached out to carefully, quietly, pick up the phone. Dick’s hand twitched.
He ran his finger along the edge and found the button, and pressed down, holding it down until it gave that little quiver that meant it was turning off. Then he slowly, gently, brought his arm back round Tim and Dick.
Dick lifted his head, eyes still closed. “Hmm?” he asked.
Jason pushed Dick’s head back down against his shoulder and rubbed his thumb over his hair. “Shh, Dickiebird,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
Dick snuggled in again. “Jay,” he murmured. “’S’a good dream.”
“Shh, big bird. We’re both still here,” Jason whispered, and carried on stroking through Dick’s hair until his hand grew too heavy and his eyes closed.
They were all woken rather abruptly by a loud crashing thump.
It was followed, after a short silence, by more thumping, and a grunt.
Tim, as the topmost, rolled off quietly. All three of them got to their feet in cautious silence, all fully alert. Dick opened the door slowly.
Another grunt, from the direction of the living room, and Tim caught Dick’s eye and they both broke out into identical, enormous, involuntary grins.
Jason’s eyes widened. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “No fucking way.”
And then it was a mad dash across the hallway and Dick threw open the living room door and they all scrambled through it and –
– there he was, the Batman himself, face down in the glue trap, struggling to push himself up with his great black cape all puddled around him in the glue.
Tim snorted.
“B!” Dick called out cheerfully. “Looks like you’re in a bit of a… sticky situation there.”
“I’m getting a camera,” said Tim, diving back out of the room.
Jason threw back his head and laughed freely.
Batman raised his head, attempting to push himself up on his elbows. He drew in a deep breath. “Tim,” he said, choked. “Jason.”
“I can’t believe you, old man,” said Jason. “Timmy breaks in here all the time and he never has this problem. And here – here you are,” he laughed so hard he could barely continue, “lying down on the job…”
“Bonding with the floor,” giggled Dick, holding himself up with a hand on Jason’s arm. “Glued work, B!”
Tim eeled back through the doorway, past Dick and Jason, and held up Dick’s phone.
Bruce wasn’t attempting to get up. He lay there, prone in the glue, staring at the three of them with a tilt to his jaw that told anyone who knew how to look that he was having Emotions. Click!
“Wait wait wait!” cried Jason. He scrambled forward and crouched next to Bruce, holding up his hand in an offensive gesture. “Take it now!” Click!
“No rush!” yelled Dick happily. “I think he’s gonna be sticking around for a while!” Click!
Bruce turned his head to look at Jason. Click!
“Come on, Tim, let’s take a selfie!” crowed Dick, tugging him forward. The three of them crouched next to Bruce, arms around each other’s shoulders, jostling and shoving.
Click!
It was one of the worst pictures Tim had ever taken. Compositionally, at least. The top half of Tim’s face blurry in the bottom of the photo, Dick and Jason grinning widely, Jason with a hand on Bruce’s back, pushing him down into the glue, and Batman in his cowl in the glue trap, not even attempting to pull free, looking up at them with a soft smile on his lips.
“I’m sending this to Babs!”
“Screw that. I’m sending it to Alfred!”