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“Fine,” Jason snapped, “be that way!” He turned to stomp out of the room - with a very aggressive slam of the heavy oak door, Bruce was sure - and then paused.
Bruce, who was in the middle of a truly impressive sigh, paused, too. Jason’s pre-teen angst had, thus far, been blessedly formulaic: he’d shout at Bruce about some (usually petty) issue he’d gotten worked up about, then stomp around slamming doors, then hide for a few hours, and finally seek Bruce out to quietly curl up nearby. They would read and work in silence until Jason had relaxed, which was Bruce’s cue to give hair-pets and gentle reassurance. Sometimes Jason would apologize and sometimes he wouldn’t, but either way all Bruce had to do was wait until he’d worked the worst of it out of his system, then make sure Jason knew he wasn’t alone, that he was loved, and that Bruce wasn’t upset with him.
Of course Bruce wished that Jason didn’t have to deal with all the emotional turmoil he was going through. Between the beginning of puberty hormones and the way all of Jason’s childhood issues were coming to the surface now that he’d found stability, poor Jay-lad was having a difficult time of things, and Bruce wished he could spare his son from the unpleasantness. But at the same time, Bruce couldn’t help but be thankful for how predictable Jason’s outbursts had been so far.
Dick’s emotions at this age had been much more difficult to navigate.
So the break in pattern had Bruce immediately alert. He held his breath and braced for yelling, for tears, for an outburst of middle-school drama that had been tearing Jason up inside.
Jason looked at Bruce. He looked at Tim, sitting in Bruce's lap and gnawing happily on an apple slice. He narrowed his eyes. Then he marched over and snatched the boy right out of Bruce’s arms.
The five-year-old had been watching Jason’s outburst with wide, curious blue eyes, carefully monitored by both Jason and Bruce for any signs of fear or discomfort. Tim was a bright child, though, and after being informed by Bruce about Jason’s trouble with his emotions and being reassured by Jason that he rarely meant what he yelled about to Bruce and would never take his anger out on Tim, Tim had been seemingly untroubled by the conflict. In fact, if he weren’t in the room when Jason started yelling, he would often appear in the doorway, where he would watch their exchange with great interest and subtle awe.
Jason was of the opinion that the baby genius was interested in psychology, and took Jason’s outbursts as an opportunity to study the human mind and emotions in preparation for a future as a manipulative dictator. This theory was stated with fondness and often accompanied by Jason booping his little brother on the nose until Tim dissolved into giggles.
Bruce’s theory, unfortunately, was not quite as humorous. From what little he’d seen of Jack and Janet’s parenting styles and personalities, emotional outbursts didn’t seem like something they’d tolerate - even from a toddler. Bruce hoped that seeing Jason’s anger, crying fits, and occasional panic attacks be met with understanding, acceptance, and love instead of punishment or ignorance would reassure Tim that Tim’s own emotions and struggles would receive the same patient, constructive response. Anything that made the boy more comfortable, more sure of his place in their family, was a win in Bruce’s books.
Either way, Tim seemed generally unbothered by Jason’s daily angst routine. It was lucky, Bruce thought, that giving Jason attention and space to work out his emotions safely didn’t mean he had to stop giving his youngest attention. Both his boys had been through so much, and they needed as much attention and reassurance as Bruce could give them. For Jason, this meant always being available, patient, and understanding. For Tim, this meant holding him as much as humanly possible and ensuring he was never left alone if he didn’t want to be.
Tim had spent far too long on his own already. He’d gone days without being touched or talked to, weeks without being held by someone who cared for him. Bruce couldn’t undo the neglect Tim had suffered, but he and the rest of their family would do everything in their power to make up for the affection Tim had missed out on. These days, the five-year-old rarely went more than half an hour before being hoisted onto someone’s hip or pulled into their lap. Though still quieter and more nervous than Bruce would prefer, Tim seemed to be thriving under the new conditions.
Jason propped Tim on his hip, and Tim immediately snuggled into his older brother, tucking his little nose under Jason’s chin. Tim was small for his age, but so was Jason, so the two of them made a rather humorous picture. Despite his size, Jason’s Robin training meant he could easily carry his baby brother around.
With Tim now acquired, Jason resumed storming dramatically away. His hands were too full to slam the door, but he gave a very derisive huff to make up for it.
Bruce blinked. Well, alright then. He hoped having Tim there would help Jason feel better.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Jason carried Tim back to his room, dumped him on his bed, and then went back to slam the bedroom door. He opened and slammed the door again, just for good measure. Then he returned to flop on the bed beside his brother, groaning into the fluffy Wonder Woman comforter.
“Jase?” Tim asked softly.
Jason grumbled, then rolled on his side to pull Timmy into a hug. Tim was way better than any stuffed animal.
“Jase,” Tim said again, petting through Jason’s hair with clumsy - and slightly sticky - hands. “You okay?”
“Yeah, Timbit, I’m fine,” Jason sighed, “just aggravated.”
Tim hummed thoughtfully. “Your emotions are too big again?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Jason sighed again, rolling to face the ceiling but keeping Tim pressed close to his side. “Sorry for grabbing you without asking. I was just - really mad, and I was angry at Bruce, so I took you from him.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jason could see Tim’s eyebrows scrunch up. “Why?”
“Cause, you know.” Jason rolled the words around in his mind, trying to make his thought process make sense. “When I’m angry at Bruce, I want to - not hurt him? I never want to hurt him or anybody, really, but I want him to feel bad because I feel bad. And hugging you is great. So I took you away so he couldn’t hug you. And, bonus, now I get to hug you instead.”
“Oh.” Tim’s little cheeks turned pink. “Hugging me is - good?”
“Hugging you is great,” Jason corrected, and tugged Timmy onto his chest for a proper hug. “And Bruce shouldn’t get Tim cuddles when he's being a butthead.”
“Jason!” Tim protested, scandalized, “that’s a bad word!”
“What,” Jason asked, “Bruce?”
“No!” Tim giggled. “Jase-on!” He was wiggling, so Jason sat them up, Tim in his lap.
“My name?” Jason teased, poking Tim’s cheek and leaning away to see his face. Tim pressed closer, determined to hide against Jason’s chest. “You sayin’ my name’s a bad word, Timmy?”
“Noooo!” Tim squealed, giggling louder and squirming to avoid Jason’s poking while staying hidden. “Jason, you know what word.”
“Nuh uh. I got no clue, Tim-bit. Cuddles ain’t a bad work, and shouldn’t ain’t a bad word, so I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You hearing things, Timmy?”
“Jaaay, no! You know, you said it! You said -”
“Said what?”
“Butthead!”
Tim’s hands flew to clasp over his mouth and he froze, finally letting Jason see the shocked expression on his face.
They looked at each other for a long moment, blue eyes meeting blue eyes.
And then Jason fell over laughing. Tim followed a millisecond later, racked with nervous giggles, then gleeful laughter.
“Butthead!” Tim shouted, sending Jason into another round of laughter. “You said butthead, Jason! You called Bruce a - a -”
“Butthead!” Jason cheered. “Hel- Heck yeah I did! Bruce is a big ole’ butthead, Timmy, and don’t you forget it!”
Jason laughed until he couldn’t breath, feeling tears squeeze out of his eyes, spurred on every time he was about to chill out by Tim shouting “Butthead” again in the most appalled yet triumphant little Bristol accent. The word itself wasn't that funny - Jason had heard much worse and more inventive language - but god, the way Tim said it... Eventually he managed to take some deep breaths and laid them both back down, grinning whenever Tim’s giggles reemerged like a stubborn case of the hiccups.
Finally calm, Jason sighed, feeling Tim move up and down with his lungs. Despite the weight of a five-year-old on his torso, it was easier to breathe than it had been all day. The tight, twisted thing in his chest had come undone.
“Thanks, Timmy,” Jason said softly, reaching up to pet Tim’s silky hair. Head scritches were basically the kid’s kryptonite.
Sure enough, Tim settled immediately, burrowing his cold nose and flushed cheeks into Jason’s shoulder with a little sigh of his own. “Love you, Jase.”
“Love you too, kiddo,” Jason managed, and he meant it even though it came out a little strangled. Tim was the only person he’d ever said that to other than his mom, and he’d gone a long time thinking he was never gonna get to say it to anyone else. Even when he’d tried to run away and Bruce found him and Jason yelled and cried all over him and realized Bruce was really going to keep him, was really going to let him stay safe and warm and fed and loved forever, and Bruce had said I love you to Jason for the first time, Jason couldn’t say it back. He felt it, but saying it was hard.
But then he’d found Timmy, and Timmy had come to stay with them and be a part of their family, and Jason had promised himself he was gonna be the best big brother ever. Way better than Dickhead. And Tim was just so goddamn easy to love, Jason didn’t see how anyone could have left this kid alone. Jason was five years older than him and Jason still wanted him around nearly all the time even though Tim was always sticky and either talking non-stop or being so quiet you forgot he was there. Tim was super clingy, too, always wanting to sleep in your bed and cuddle you and follow you around like a little lamb in a nursery rhyme. But Jason still wanted to hang out with him. And even when Jason felt like he might scream and stab someone if Bruce or Dick or even Alfred tried to touch him, most of the time hugging Tim was still okay. Just like saying sappy shit like I love you to Bruce or Dickhead or Alfred felt weird and hard and embarrassing and bad, but saying sappy stuff to Timmy was okay.
Maybe because Tim needed to hear it, and Jason needed to take care of Tim. Bruce and Alfie took good care of Timmy because they weren’t pieces of shit like every adult other than his mom. (And he guessed some of Dick’s grown up friends were alright, and he’d met Superman who was alright, and Doctor Leslie was pretty cool too. Whatever.) But Jason was Tim’s big brother and there were still some days he barely trusted Bruce to take care of Jason, much less little Timmy, who was so innocent and naive and trusting that literally anyone could take advantage of him. Tim wouldn’t last a day in Crime Alley. He’d fold the first time someone smiled and patted him on the shoulder and offered him a hug. And then he’d get kidnapped and trafficked.
So Jason had to take care of Tim. And if that meant hugging him and telling him I love you and making him laugh until Jason forgot ever feeling anything bad, if that meant having a brilliant little kid look up at him like he was the sun and all the stars, like he wanted nothing more than to stay close to Jason forever and ever?
Well. It wasn’t such a hardship, Jason supposed, and he held his little brother close as they drifted off for an afternoon nap.