#and kon trying to teach tim how to bake. tims....trying his best

[abacistat]

smallville timkon who agrees

lyrics from apple pie by lizzy mcalpine which is featured on my timkon playlist <3

[haunt-the-stars]

Ornaments

Written for Batfam Christmas Stocking 2018 for @starknjarvis27 ‘s prompts “A seemingly normal holiday activity accidentally makes someone sad, someone else comforts them.” & “Jason’s first Christmas back at the manor”

Fandom: Batman (Comics)

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain (mentioned), Dick Grayson (mentioned), Tim Drake (mentioned), Damian Wayne (mentioned)

Category: Gen

Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Every once in a while, Bruce wondered what it was like to have five mostly-grown children in a normal-sized house. Usually, he immediately wished he didn’t wonder about it, because the idea was terrifying. His family not being able to spread out to their own spaces...it would be awful for everyone except perhaps Dick. Even he sometimes retreated for a few hours, and Bruce would find him under a heavy blanket, headphones in, happily shutting the world out.

It was one of those times, when everyone was shutting the world out in their own way. As of this morning, all five of his kids were under his roof, and they would be having Christmas Eve dinner all together in about nine hours. Then Christmas Eve patrol, when Nightwing wore colorful string lights and Red Robin wore a Santa hat and Orphan’s humming of Christmas songs was constant on the comms. But for now, in anticipation of spending so much time together and so much energy trying not to kill each other, they were taking a few hours for themselves.

Bruce checked on Cassandra first, found her curled up with a tablet in the library watching what he had to assume was the holiday baking show she’d been watching so much lately. It’s relaxing, she’d told him. Ace sat on her feet, tail thumping against the chair. Cass waved at Bruce, not bothering to take her headphones out, then signed, “Do you need help?” Bruce shook his head, smiled, and waved back before quietly shutting the door and moving on.

Damian was harder to find, but Bruce eventually discovered him perched on a window seat in the study, fast asleep, sketchbook and a handful of pencils in his lap. Bruce smiled at the sketch of the large tree that stood outside the window. Damian had captured the falling snow, and seemed to have started adding a small bird with a tiny scarf before he fell asleep. Bruce gently moved the book and pencils to a table and replaced them with a blanket over Damian, hoping the chill from the window wouldn’t freeze him.

Dick was next, and Bruce didn’t even have to walk far into his bedroom before he heard the shower running and Dick’s voice drifting out of the bathroom with the steam. Bruce listened for a few seconds, thinking wistfully to himself how nice it would be if he actually remembered how to play the piano so he could share in Dick’s love of music. Damian had just started letting Dick teach him how to play the guitar, and Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t just the tiniest bit jealous of yet another connection they had that didn’t involve him.

He moved on down the hall to Tim’s room, and got another auditory confirmation of wellbeing in the form of Tim’s bright giggles, and then a, “It’s definitely just ‘moose,’ Bart.” A pause, then, “Well, house rhymes with mouse but it’s houses, not hice, right?” and then, “Kon, shut up,” and then more laughter, which made Bruce’s heart warm. He ignored the fact that the giggles were probably due to Tim’s obvious crush on Superboy, because to acknowledge it would be to acknowledge that yet another son of his had a thing for men who could bench press him. He had lost enough sleep over Dick, and Tim had his own contingency plans. Probably.

Bruce considered stopping his rounds there to avoid agitating his most volatile child. He had seen him just an hour or two ago, and it was unlikely that anything life-shattering had happened in the meantime. But a worried little drive always seemed to win over in situations like this. He couldn’t relax until each bird was accounted for, and after spending so long not getting to check on Jason, it was a privilege he never wanted to pass up. Especially today, given the circumstances.

All five birds in his nest for Christmas...for the first time.

True, each year had brought them a little closer to it, with Jason first sneaking in during the night to drop some mania-driven notes and presents, then the next year coming for an awkward visit during breakfast, and finally this year, a hesitant maybe to Alfred’s invitation. Truthfully, Bruce didn’t think he would come. His visits were slightly more frequent than they used to be, slightly more peaceful, and Bruce knew that he and Dick had a standing monthly dinner date, that he and Tim were steadfast video game partners, and that he genuinely seemed to like Cass and Damian. But when it came to Bruce, everything was still a battle.

He was sort of hoping for a Christmas miracle come dinner time tonight, that maybe they’d get through a whole twenty-four hours without conflict.

The room that had unofficially become Jason’s was empty, as was his childhood bedroom -- expected, since Jason usually wanted nothing to do with it. Bruce would have checked the library next, but he had been in there to see Cass and Jason wasn’t with her. Alfred was unaccompanied in the kitchen, putting a sheet of sugar cookies into the oven, and reported that he hadn’t seen Jason any more recently than Bruce had.

Beginning to worry, Bruce was about to make his way back to the study to check down in the cave when he heard the faintest of sniffles.

Oh no.

He stepped silently backwards until he could pinpoint the noise that was coming from the sitting room. It was quiet, but unmistakably Jason. Bruce could pick out the sound of any of his kids’ tears from a mile away, even if some of them were more apt to let him hear than others. He had to come up with a game plan, though. Dick and Cassandra both liked to be held when they were upset, while Damian usually calmed down with verbal reassurances and Tim was content to have someone sit with him and listen.

When Jason was young, he used to like Bruce to sit and listen to him too. But sometimes when he looked at his son now, it was like looking at a stranger. So different in the ways he talked and moved and felt that Bruce didn’t know how to take care of him, didn’t know how to love him anymore.

But he had to try.

Bruce came around the corner into the sitting room to see Jason sitting, legs crossed, face buried in his hands, under the Christmas tree. There were at least twenty Christmas trees in Wayne Manor, most of them in the front entryway and the ballroom, but those were decorated with big, plain, shining balls. The eight-foot beast in the sitting room was for all the ornaments each of his children had collected over the years, from the very first little elephant he’d given a nine-year-old Dick to Damian’s new tiny tray of teacups. Jason, despite his huge and intimidating stature, looked small beneath it.

“Jason.”

Jason started, lifted his head, and groaned. His voice was brittle and his face was red. “How much would it cost for you to go away?”

“I’m a billionaire.”

Jason huffed, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, and Bruce stepped further into the room, doing his best to look open and non-threatening. Open palms. Loose arms. Just like Cassandra taught him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” Jason said. Bruce shrugged, and sat down next to him, keeping just a bit of distance between their shoulders. Letting Jason come to him.

Praying Jason came to him.

“It’s not fair,” came Jason’s pitiful whisper after nearly a minute.

Bruce resisted the urge to turn and face him, hoping he’d feel more comfortable this way. “No, it’s not.”

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s probably not fair.”

A startled, choked half-laugh came from Jason, and then a hand was in front of Bruce’s face, uncurling to reveal an ornament. One of the first ornaments he gave Jason, in the shape of a tire.

It had seemed funny at the time.

“I was thirteen, when you got me this,” Jason says, and Bruce nods patiently. “And that was seven years ago. I’m twenty.”

Bruce had a bit of a feeling he knew where this was going, but he nodded again. “Yes, you are.”

“I’ve only been...a-alive, and...sane, for...sixteen years, total.”

Now Bruce did look over, saw Jason shudder and another tear slip down his cheek. “I missed so much. I missed getting my license, and my prom, and my graduation and birthdays and I’m here fucking crying because I missed getting some stupid fucking ornaments.”

Bruce felt his heart sink. “Jay…”

He had nothing else to say. Jason’s lip quivered and his breathing stuttered, tears coming in a slow trickle as he collapsed forward into his hands again. “I’m not twenty yet, Bruce. I can’t be twenty. I can’t be twenty when I was never sixteen or seventeen or--”

“Shh.” Carefully, Bruce laid a hand on his son’s back and rubbed up and down his spine. He wasn’t sure how well a hug would be received yet. But maybe this could be a compromise. “You don’t have to be twenty. You can be sixteen if you want.”

“I can’t be s-sixteen.”

“Why can’t you?”

Jason looked up at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t be younger than Tim.”

That was another thing about Jason. No matter the circumstance, no matter if they were sitting on the floor and Jason was crying, there was no one that could ever make him laugh more.

For a few seconds, Bruce felt horror crawl up his spine as he let out the most inappropriate, uncontrollable laugh he had in years. A rare “bat-guffaw,” as Dick would call it. Jason stared, wide-eyed, shocked into breathing steady again.

And then he laughed too.

Bruce hadn’t really heard Jason laugh since he came back with an adult voice. He’d heard him cackle, heard him mock him, but never laugh earnestly like a child being tickled.

His new laugh was nice. Low and loud and bubbling up through his tears as they both dissolved back into giggles every time they looked at each other. A little bit hysterical. But that suited him, Bruce supposed.

When they finally calmed down, Jason scrubbed at his eyes again, sniffling. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“You should wash your face. I’d...like to take you somewhere, before dinner.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

“The mall, maybe? Somewhere with a Christmas store. I think...I think we have some ornament shopping to catch up on.”

Please be the right thing to say.

Jason grinned.

--

They picked out five ornaments, in the end. A motorcycle, a little stack of books, the Gotham skyline, a tiny pair of combat boots, and a pair of comedy and tragedy masks.

It wasn’t until they were checking out that Bruce noticed Jason had added a small bat to the pile.

Maybe this would be the first of a new kind of Christmas.

[satire-please]

TimDrakeWeek 2017 Day 2: Childhood/Adulthood DamiTim

Excited to try this with @iphoenixrising, @the-all-seer and @rahndom if they still want to jump and do a day. :D So far it’s been really fun.

Damian outgrew Tim in his fifteenth year.

In that summer to be precise. Though the sun baked the concrete to the point that everyone stayed inside to not fry to death...it had been a very dark summer for Tim.

Damian hadn’t been subtle at all. Anytime Tim stopped by the manor for a chemical analysis, a briefing from B or retrieve a casefile the current robin would stand side by side next to Tim. Look, compare and smirk. In June the brat was about to the bridge of his nose, by August...he was a hair taller.

“A centimeter is more than a hair I believe, Drake.”

“It’s the width of your pinky, now stop gloating.” With a hand, he pushes Damian back slightly. The teen’s been bad with personal space lately. Crowding him against walls before a mission just to prove heights is rude, dude. It’s almost as if the assassin is relishing the fact that now he can look down on Tim physically as well as emotionally.

“I’m just admiring my new perspective. This angle is surprisingly pleasing to me.” See. Tim doesn’t even know why he’s pissed. He should have been resigned the moment the tiny hell child announced Bruce was his father.

Still the fact itches. “Look, I know oxygen is thinner up there, but could you try not to lose too many brain cells?”

“I’ll try, though the weather up here is quite lovely.” Oh Alfred’s Apple Pie, Damians learned puns. Now Tim has to murder Dick. Especially when the smile Damian gives has a touch of fang. “Now come along, father needs us.”

The boy, ‘cause height difference or not that’s what he is, turns away dramatically after beckoning Tim to follow him.

“Worst. Summer. Ever.”

Dick of course makes it worse, “Who’s my shortest adorable brother?” He coos obnoxiously. Like one of those fat women making baby noises at their pet dog. His palms squish either side of Tim’s face and Tim swears to all higher powers that if Dick tries to rub their noses together he’s gonna bite him. “You are! You’re officially the shortest ruthless vigilante in the family now. I should twitter about this...to everyone.”

“If you don’t get your hands off me right now, I’m going to string you in your underwear somewhere for Bab’s viewing pleasure again.”

Dick’s fingers fly off his face as if it’s scalding. “Awwwwww, you don’t have to get that vicious Timmy.”

“I’m always this vicious, you dick. One day my pain will be yours and on that day I’ll will  remember this moment and you will be sorry.” Tim promises with spite.

Dick coyly presses a hand over his heart, "Oh Timmy, my darling petite–omph,” Dick could dodge the first strike to his thorax, but not the second. But still he wheezes out, “That would never happen!”

It happens.

“How could this happen?” Tim vindictively snickers at Dick’s cry when Damian hits seventeen. A month away for a mission and now he’s reduced to whining that Damian's not the right size to cuddle anymore. "He doesn't fit under my chin anymore." He sobs, tucking Tim under said chin tighter as Tim repeatedly attacks his kidneys. "And he keeps dragging me along if I hug him from behind. Like my weight doesn't even matter!"

"Ha. Serves you right." Tim twists around to slap his hands on Dick’s face, “Who’s the second shortest vigilante in the family now? It’s you, Dick. It’s you.”

“You’re so meeeeeeeeeean.” Dick wiggles his head closer until their noses smash together, “What did I ever do to get brothers as cruel as you?”

“It’s in your namesake, Dick.” Tim starts struggling in earnest to get away from the clingy hero. He is not a stuffed animal and would very much appreciate if his ‘siblings’ treated him less so. “Or it’s karma. Take your pick.”

Dick grumbles and childishly cheats by using his legs to make the hold more difficult.

Yet as Tim contemplates his fate on the floor in this horrid octopus grip he actually has to admit...Damian has seemed to mellow out?

“Did you forget who’s the senior vigilante here? Just because you inherited B’s monstrous height doesn’t mean you’re any less of a brat Damian.”

Damian taunting sweeps his arm towards the entrance, “My apologies, age before beauty, then again with your delicate bone structure perhaps you would account for both.”

Tim freezes. Is Damian...flirting with him? He shakes his head, nah. Headgames must be another thing the boy’s gained from his crazy family tree.  Lately, or not lately, it’s been a gradual thing really, Damian and Tim have done more missions together.

“For efficiency sake.” Damina justifies. As the two of them all a frightening team when they apply their talents together.

Tim skill in logic and ability to place the clues in interesting ways, Damian’s assassin training that makes him a martial arts vistoso. Few enemies can best them when they fight together.

But something's off. Tim can’t nail down the thought with proof yet but…

“Timothy?” He jerks towards at Damian. “Timothy it is time we made our way to the burrows.”

“Timothy? What happened to Drake?”

Oh my dear. It that a slight blush Tim recognizes on Damian’s face? “I have realized that it might be considered rude to refer to you in that manner. After all, you do not call me Al Ghul, do you?”

This is true. “I suppose.”

But later, Tim realizes much later to his faulty skills as a detective, Damian still says Grayson, Todd and Brown with the other members of the family.

Like  “Timothy, I’ve brought us some rations. Just because we are reduced to wait for this scum to leave his pithole does not mean we must do it in discomfort.” It’s just a sandwich. But it’s one from one of Tim’s favorite cafes. Tim doesn’t know what to think of that.

Damian’s grown into his father’s monstrous bulk. Still shy of B’s height and an inch or two below Jason yet still informidable. His wide shoulders and dark tan skin have earned him the title, “Sheik” by various gossip magazines.

Not that Tim really pays attention to that sort of stuff.

Nor doesn’t he pretend not to know of how they dub them, “Fire and Ice.” whenever they endure an event together.

"What's going on?" Tim asks bemused. Damian and Kon stand off in the commons area. Kon with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while Damian casually tosses a batarang up and down with one hand. Kon is definitely taller, but there's something deadly in Damian's stance. Like a snake coiled to strike.

"Pissing contest." Cassie says  gleefully, grabbing a fist of popcorn before shoving the bag at Tim. "They've been at it for 14 minutes now and it's glorious."

Suck, diplomacy with the Titans and Dami has always been iffy. Once you attack their 'bird' you tend to go on their people-okay-to-drown-at-lunch list. It's a big list. Garth was excited to announce that Tim's list was currently the largest.

"Why didn't anyone get me?”

"Because it's about you." Bart hooks his elbow through Tim's and supports him, which is completely unnecessary, to limp and slouch on the couch. "The dude just showed up demanding to see you, that Bats needs your mad skills with forensics and crap but Kon thinks, it'd be nice if you were off crutches before getting broken again you know?"

"I'm not broken."

"Your leg begs to differ." Raven materializes beside him from the shadows. She really should teach Tim how to do that, he's just saying. Raven digs into the popcorn bag still in Tim's possession to get a satisfying crunch. "If I recall correctly, you shouldn't even be out of bed."

Damian whips his head to their direction, "Timothy is this true?

Crap. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Says the idiot whose tibia is in three pieces.” Kon grumbles straightening his back to make himself even more imposing to the intruder, but Damian’s eyes are glued on a different target. He drops the posturing act to walk to Tim and falls to a knee in front of him. Carefully, he lifts the neon pink cast, ‘cause real men wear pink, that’s littered with inappropriate comments from his team.

“Yes, that does seem to fit into the category of a ‘big deal’ Timothy.” He chides running his fingers over the names on Tim’s calf.

Tim bristles. “It does not. Besides, even benched, grown-up vigilante here, I can still do casefiles and computer work just fine, what does B need?”

“Hmmm, my father needs another to look over a heist note the Riddler is fond of making. Yet perhaps I should turn to different source.” Damian looks around and fishes for a marker on the coffee table. He gently lifts the limb to rest on his thigh, begins to write.  “Maybe one that will allow himself to heal properly.”

“Damian. Al Ghul. Wayne.” Where’s his crutches? He’s going to beat this twerp over the head. Give him something else that’s broken to worry about. Bart buries his face into Tim’s shoulder to muffle his snickers. It doesn’t do much. 

Dami finishes adding to the mess of ink before nodding to himself. “I’ve decided. I’ll give you the datapad after you gain an hour of rest.” He says staring up at Tim without compromise.

“What? No.”

“Or I’ll put Alfred on the com and inform him of your unfortunate situation.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Only if you consider it to be so.” Why yes Tim considers it to be so. Motherhen Alfred is a terrible nightmare to behold. No one can escape his clutches once he knows a Bat is harmed, doesn’t matter how old you are or where you are, he will find you. He will drown you in blankets, food and sedatives. And he has full access to the Tower. Garth is very fond of his vegetarian alfredo pizza.

“He’s got you there, Red.” Kon calls out, hands on his hips with a smug expression. The tension that once electrified the room is gone, but Tim almost misses it. Then maybe everyone in the room would stop ganging up on him.

“Do we agree or disagree?” Damian presses.

“We agree that this is shameless blackmail and I hate you.” Tim hisses out.

Damian’s voice turns warm and satisfied. “Good. Now let’s get you back into bed.”  He then worms his hands under Tim’s knees and lower back and lifts. Like Tim weighs nothing at all.

“I have crutches. Like right there. Cassie get my crutches.”

“Nope. Red’s room is on the top floor, by the way.” She has a hand pressed to her mouth, grinning like a loon. As if the best sight she’s seen all day is Tim carried like a princess. Then where’s his tiara, dammit?

“Thank you.” Damian gives a curt bob of his head and turns to go with the fussy man. The last thing the team sees is the elegant black scrawl on their Rob’s cast.

Please protect this foolish treasure - Damian

Yeah, maybe the Titans can trust their bird in these hands….just maybe.

It all comes to a head during a mission, they almost get caught in an explosion. Why can’t clowns stay away from fire? And Damian had tackled him to the ground and covered him against the flare of heat that licked their backs.

In the rubble, Damian lifts himself to stop crushing the smaller man. Their faces are close, Tim notes with his heart in his throat. They breath the same air and Damian's eyes flicker to his lips. To the inch barely separating them, all he’d would have to do is drop his head...just a little for them to meet.

“Damian?” The boy, no man in question drags his gaze to meet Tim's stare.

“Tell me to stop.” And slowly, achingly, he closes the distance between them. Tim can't move. Doesn't dare to as Damian kisses him gently. Almost excruciatingly so. It's a barely a press, so hesitant though it lasts for several long seconds...or years, Tim can't tell. Damian doesn't close his eyes the entire time and Tim is hypnotized, can't break the hold of that connection even when Damian reluctantly pulls back.

His brow furrows and it's a ridiculously adorable look on the oversized teen. “You did not tell me to stop.” He says confused.

“I didn't tell you stop period.” That earns Tim a cracked smile. It's so cute, Tim can't help but lean up to peck him square on the mouth. When Damian jerks to the side in surprise, He snorts and breaks into laughter.

His arms slowly squeezed around Tim’s waist, as if in disbelief that he was there in Damian’s lap. It was tentative, but definitely a conscious action.  Then reluctantly Damian unraveled his grip and cradled Tim’s hips in his palms. The fire blazed from yards away but the heat that races up Tim’s spine isn’t coming from the destruction. Then with barely an effort he lifted Tim straight up to place him back on his feet.

It’s casual, smooth and Tim hates to admit it...impressive.

“Are you alright, Timothy?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“A little singed, nothing more.”

“Okay, I have to know. Have you flirting been with me this entire time?” Tim asks blunt as a rock.

“Oh good.” Damian ducks his head away from the other vigilante, as if he’s too embarrassed to look at him. “I was becoming concerned that you would never notice my advances.”

A raspy voice buzzes in from the com, “Yeah, we thought the world would end first.”

“Jason if you ruin Dami’s confession, I will cut you.”  Dick hisses and Tim decides that the rest of this conversation is better done off grid.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere where there isn’t a raging firestorm or snooping eavesdroppers around.”

“Indeed.” Damian’s agrees warmly and when he wraps his arm gently around Tim, smiling down at him like that? Well, Tim finds that he doesn’t mind the height difference anymore.

Not at all.