#jason todd is very much the kid hiding in his room with his headphones on trying to block out screaming matches

[unavenged-robin]

Characters: Tim Drake & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Swearing, Minor Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff

Chapter 1

It becomes a habit much more quickly than he likes to admit, and for a lot of different reasons that are not just because I’m bored and I have nothing better to do tonight, which is usually what he tells Tim when he calls him to ask if they’re okay with him coming over.

Tim always says yes, of course Jay, we’ll wait for you, and never even comments on the fact that Jason has his own keys and he doesn't really have to ask him anything at all. He lets him live in his fake denial and Jason is kinda happy that way, or at least that’s what he says to himself everytime he opens the door of Tim’s apartment with his arms full of grocery bags.

Tonight, as many other nights, Tim and Damian are sitting at the opposite sides of the kitchen table, laptops open in front of them and piles of books framing their space like walls of two rival forts on a battlefield, a matching frown on both of their faces. Tim’s wearing his reading glasses and gnawing the top of his pencil with a focussed expression, and Jason knows he’s been working non-stop for hours now. Damian, on the other hand, is perched on the edge of his chair, fingers playing with the cord of his headphones, watching the screen of his laptop with glassy eyes, and Jason knows he’s bored out of his mind and just pretending to be working because of Tim.

He scoffs both at them and at himself, because really, if he’s noticing these kind of things already it means that he’s spending way too much of his time with these two shitheads. And that’s not okay. For a lot of reasons. He has a very long list of them somewhere.

“Alright, enough with this shit”, he says while walking into the kitchen, loud enough to snap Tim out of his working trance and for Damian to hear him despite the outrageous volume of his iPod. He has no doubt they’ve noticed him the moment he’s set foot in the apartment, they both probably just didn’t believe necessary to acknowledge his presence in any way. The brats.

He sets the bags on the counter with a loud thud and turns around to see both of his brothers glaring at him with an identical raised eyebrow. If they were closer to each other the urge to bang their heads together would probably be too strong for Jason to resist.

“Put all of those books away, then come help me with the groceries”, he orders with his best impersonation of Alfred’s voice.

“And exactly what was the cause of the head trauma you obviously had to suffer to think that we’re at your service, Todd?”, Damian asks, shooting him one of his best looks of haughty disdain.

Tim laughs but closes his laptop and stands up anyway.

“Come on, Damian, don’t be ungrateful”, he chides lightly. “After all Jason’s the one with the skill to turn raw food into a real dinner.”

“I never said I was gonna cook”, Jason retorts. And it’s true, but what’s also true is that he doesn’t have to say it because everyone, himself included, just take it for granted since Tim can’t cook anything that doesn’t come from the frozen food section and no one with a shred of survival instinct would ever allow Damian to play with knives and open fire.

“And if you don’t get a move you’re going to wash the dishes tonight”, he warns Damian, who just clicks his tongue at him.

“I see the trauma was even more serious than expected since you’re also experiencing memory losses”, the kid answers without losing a beat. “We have a dishwasher, unlike some uncivilized overgrown bullies”, Damian reminds him smugly and Jason, well aware of the responsibilities coming from being the adult of the situation, throws an apple at him.

Damian catches it easily and takes a bite out of sheer spite, and Jason wants to bang his head against the wall when he realizes that the first thing that almost gets out of his mouth is you’ll ruin your appetite, you little shit. When did he ever become a very less polished and well-mannered version of Alfred Pennyworth he will never know. What he knows is who he has to blame for it, though.

“You little shit”, he just grumbles back, narrowing his eyes at him, but it’s a weak retort and Damian triumphantly grins at him.

Tim just shakes his head, hiding his own smile and taking up some of Damian’s books while walking around the table.

“Alright guys, let’s call a truce”, he offers. “I’ll put the books away and set the table, and Damian can help with the bags and the cooking.”

Jason scoffs and starts pulling out the groceries. Damian, having won his own personal moral battle against Jason, graciously helps him putting them away, still munching at his apple with great satisfaction. He doesn’t even retaliate when Jason accidentally swats him on the back of his head with a stalk of celery, and that means he’s in a good mood. Tim too looks pretty much content when he comes back and starts moving around them to take out the tableware.

Jason, on his part, finds himself settling in the domestic bliss quite easily, and almost without noticing it. He cooks, and he grabs the things Tim needs from the top shelves for him with a teasing smile, and he teaches Damian how to slice the vegetables without making them looking like the victims of a homicide.

With dinner, movies and no patrol for once, in the end it turns out to be a real nice, homely family night, and that’s probably why Jason keeps forgetting all the reasons why he shouldn’t get too attached to any of this.

*

Of course quiet family nights are a rarity more than a common occurrence.

Most of the times Jason would open the door and find Tim and Damian shouting or launching things at each other (no physical fights though, that’s one thing he has to give to them), or barricaded in their bedrooms blasting music at each other at full volume - and thank god Damian scared the neighbours enough to convince them to never ever think of meddling in their fights, or cops and social services would be constant guests of this house.

Usually he would side with Tim and force the little demon to back off (because at the cost of sounding biased, Damian is the responsible party ninety percent of the time), or just shout at them both until they both shut up, and sometimes - because there were those times too, no use in lying about it - he would just turn back and walk the hell out of there.

Then one night he comes- okay, no, he’s not going to think about this as him coming home because this is not his home, not even close to it, in fact, despite having now spent two weeks in a row coming here every night to have dinner and leave for patrol together and then come back again to crash on the couch and god, he needs to put a stop to this yesterday.

So, one night he comes to Tim’s apartment and the place is a mess. A truly, unholy, striking mess that makes his heart jump a beat because when it was the last time they heard about Ra’s? Or Talia, for that matter? And Ra’s always had a weird obsession with Tim, so what if they came here together to take away both of them and then split them, Tim with Ra’s and Damian with his mother? What the hell is Jason supposed to do if that’s the case?

“Tim! Damian!”, he calls, panic making his voice sounding thick with anger more than with worry, and he’s almost ready to bolt out of the door and towards the Manor - because fuck the whole amnesia thing, if the kids are in trouble he’ll force Bruce to remember them with his fists if he has to, no fucking way he’s letting him come too late for them too - but then a soft whimper attracts his attention and he stops in his tracks.

The sound came from Tim’s bedroom so Jason runs there, ready to find his brother covered in blood and the confirmation that Damian’s gone - but at least Tim’s here and together they can and they will get him back, Bruce or not Bruce. Those were Tim’s words, not so many weeks ago.

He finds Tim on his bed, laying on his stomach, a pillow pressed over his head. No blood, no wounds, and the mess around him is the usual Tim-mess, not the tornado-like mess in the half destroyed living room.

“Tim?”, Jason calls to him, the pit of his stomach still tight as a knot but now for a different reason.

“Mph”, Tim answers into the mattress.

Jason growls.

“Tim, what the fuck happened out there?”

There must be some kind of dangerous undertone in his voice because Tim doesn’t huff at him again. Instead he raises the pillow from his head and turns around to look at him. He takes in Jason’s posture, his white face and clenched fists, then he seems to consider the state of the rest of his house and how all of this would look like from a point of view of someone who knows what these kind of situations usually means and he just goes ...oh.

“Oh. No, no, it’s not- It’s okay, Jay. That was all Damian. Well, almost all Damian. Sorry”, Tim babbles, now propped up on his elbows, ruffled hair and eyes big with worry and guilt.

And Jason wants to be angry, he really wants it. He also wants to storm out of this goddamn apartment and never come back again because seriously, he did not die and come back to life for this kind of shit. Instead he plops down on Tim’s bed and hides his face in his hands, rubbing his forehead in the vain attempt to stop the incipient headache he knows it’s coming.

“I thought it was Ra’s”, he hums against his palms, because there’s no point in trying to look less ridiculous than he feels.

“Sorry”, Tim offers again, moving closer to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Mh”, Jason answers.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before he finds the strength to ask.

“You want to tell me why Damian decided to redecorate the house to make it look like a dump?”

Tim sighs and lets himself fall back on the bed.

“We were fighting about patrol again”, he answers, closing his eyes. “You know how he is.”

Jason does know. It’s been a periodical fight in the last month, with the little demon being more and more insistent on wanting to try the solo thing while Tim’s busy with the Titans and Jason with the Outlaws, instead of just getting dragged along by one of them. And he had some valid points too, Jason can’t deny it, but let an eleven years old - even this eleven years old - patrolling Gotham completely alone is something neither him or Tim are ready to do.

“He kept saying that Dick and even Bruce would’ve let him out on his own”, Tim goes on, voice just a little above a whisper. “And… I don’t know, I just lost it. Because I know, and you know, and even Damian knows that they would’ve never- that Bruce would never... And I must’ve said the wrong thing again and he snapped. So I snapped too. I think I throw him across the room, and things obviously escalated from there.”

“Tim…”, Jason starts.

“I know. But I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying. But he’s so frustrating sometimes and-”, he pauses, pressing a hand over his eyes. “I get that he misses Bruce and Dick, I get it. I know it’s hard and I know he’s, well, Damian. But I swear to god, sometimes I just want to give him a goddamn spanking.”

Jason finds himself chuckling at that.

“Well, it wouldn’t be underserved”, he agrees. “But then he’ll probably slit your throat in retaliation.”

“Definitely, not probably”, Tim corrects him with a snort.

Silence sets back between them and Jason stares at the floor, knowing what Tim’s going to ask him next. To his credit, Tim bites his lips and looks very apologetic when he finally does ask.

“Can you talk to him, Jason? Sometimes he listens to you, you know.”

Jason only snorts at that.

“Sometimes he listened to Dick. Maybe. If he was in a good mood. And if the stars were in the right position”, he corrects him bitterly. “But yeah, why not, I guess I’d earn my share of insults anyway so we might as well get on with it.”

*

He finds Damian on his bed, laying on his back, a pillow pressed over his face.

He wants to laugh.

They’re so similar, yet they would never admit it. They get offended with him every time he tries to point it out, and it’s so funny and so sad at the same time that they can’t see it when it’s so obvious to him (and would be so obvious to Bruce and to Dick too, if only they were here now, but then again, if they were here now none of them would be in this mess in the first place.)

He approaches the bed slowly and with heavy steps, making sure not to take the kid by surprise, in the very remote case he’s actually sleeping. Damian doesn’t react to his presence in any way, doesn’t even protest when Jason sits on the edge of his bed and prods him in his leg with a finger.

“Nice work out there, kid. You must really be a little prince to fuck up so majestically”, he says, going for the direct confrontation. Damian doesn’t believe in edulcorated discussions or in softening the blow, he likes a hit to be blunt and honest and Jason both respects and agrees with that. “Want me to call you Your Highness from now on?”

“Go away”, Damian orders him, but his usually imperious tone now sounds a little wet around the corners.

“Are you crying?”

The kid shifts a little, trying to distract him to hide a sniffle, and that’s all the answer Jason needs.

“Good. That’s probably the only proper reaction you had tonight”, Jason comments harshly because, like Tim, he gets it too - how could he not. A dead brother, an absent father, a house they don’t dare to call home, that’s something all of them can understand.

And yes, Damian is still a child, a child who’s been abused beyond comprehension since the day he was born, but that doesn’t mean that he can get away with everything. Pain and loneliness are not a justification for violence or for hurting other people, and yes, he knows that if he says that out loud Damian will quite literally skin him alive because that qualifies as the right title for his future autobiography, but that’s also why he’s the one who can truly say this kind of shit and knowing what he’s talking about. He walked that road first, after all, and what’s the point of his entire second life if he can’t even save his own brothers from making the same mistakes?

“I am not crying”, Damian only answers from under the pillow, making it even more clearly that he is, in fact, crying.

Jason sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Messy houses, moody teenagers, crying children: here they are the top three bullet points of that infamous list of reasons he keeps forgetting.

He looks at Damian’s hands, clenched into fists around the edges of his pillows, whitened knuckles and arms rigid with tension, then turns his head towards the door frame, where Tim’s lean figure has just appeared. Jason sighs again.

“It’s not a matter of trust, you know”, he says slowly, looking at his own hands. “It’s not even a matter of skills. This is about doing what’s right for you- what Bruce and Dick would want for you, if you prefer.”

“They don’t-”

“I know they don’t. But Bruce’s going to remember eventually, no way this is going to be permanent. You know that. And you also know that the moment he’ll get you back he’ll never let you patrol alone until you’re old enough to drive legally at least.”

“I did it anyway”, Damian mutters, so softly Jason almost doesn’t catch it. “The driving, but also patrol alone. Sometimes. When he was off-planet with the League.”

He laughs bitterly at that.

“Of course you did it. Hell, we all did it, at some point. And who knows, maybe a few times he really didn’t find out about it.”

Or he found out too late, but let’s not go there.

“I wouldn’t count on that”, Tim says from the door, with a smile in his voice. “I always got grounded for it, no matter how sneaky I thought I’d been.”

Jason hums in agreement, and Damian doesn’t disagree, so Tim goes on.

“This is not permanent, Damian”, he says, repeating Jason’s words. “But for now we need to make it work anyway.”

There is a long silence, and Damian only answers after Jason pokes his leg again.

“I know”, he grumbles, pillow still pressed on his face so tightly Jason’s really starting to wonder how in hell he’s still breathing.

“Want to come out from under there and say something else?”

“No.”

Jason pinches his side and Damian unclenches one of his hand to swat him, giving him the opportunity to snatch the pillow away from the kid’s other hand. He meets Damian’s puffy, angry red glare with an impish grin.

“So?”, he prompts him again.

Damian looks away from him and makes a point to look anywhere else but at his brothers.

“I will help with the cleaning”, he murmurs.

Which is not an apology at all, but it’s close enough for Tim to nods at him. Jason has half a mind to insist anyway, but he’s also so not in the mood for a fight right now, so he pushes down all the snappy comebacks on how helping with the cleaning is the least he can do and gets up from the bed.

“And no patrol for a week”, he adds anyway, crossing his arms over his chest because if he has to play the adult he might as well do it properly. Also he’s kind of curious about Damian’s reaction, because if the kid decides to start trashing the room again, at least Jason will have the confirmation that this entire night has been nothing but an useless exercise in patience.

But Damian doesn’t start screaming or launching things at him. He only scowls and shoots him a look full of disdain, which, Jason supposes, is as close as he’ll ever get to acquiesce.

He watches the kid scrambling out of the bed and then out of the room, pausing only for a moment next to Tim, who gently squeezes his shoulder when the kid walks past him.

Jason will never understand his younger brothers, honestly.

From the sound of it Damian’s already starting to pick up pieces of the smashed furniture when finally Tim turns towards him with a skeptical grimace on his face.

“You know that you just reminded him that instead of fighting us about this he can actually just try and do it behind our backs, right?”

Jason answers him with a tired smile.

“Yeah, the key concept here being instead of fighting us”, he points out. “What? You don’t feel up to the challenge? Damian will be delighted to hear that.”

Tim rolls his eyes at him.

“When this dumbass plan goes downhill - and it will go downhill, mark my word on this - you’ll find me right beside you, ready to put all the blame on your stupid perception of what is a situation improvement and what isn’t.”

“Yeah, sure”, Jason replies. “You’re welcome, little brother.”

Tim gives him a look all too similar to Damian’s previous one before he too walks out of the bedroom to help the kid with the cleaning, and Jason can only mentally groan at himself, knowing that this time he dug his own grave with his hands.

Totally unplanned second chapter because my brain does that sometimes. Still this is not going to turn into a longfic because let’s be honest, there is literally no plot here, just Jason getting random heart attacks because of his younger brothers.

Also I feel like I’m rewriting Lilo & Stitch for some reason??? I’m just not sure who’s who here because Damian should be Stitch but he’s more Lilo than anything, and Tim is totally Nani. So that makes Jason Stitch, I guess. I mean, he does have the temper.