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Tim had always wanted a brother.
When he was six years old he had politely asked his parents if he could get a sibling for Christmas. His parents had laughed indulgently in the way of adults who still found their child cute enough to ignore their social gaffes.
“You don’t want to have a sibling,” Jack scoffed amiably. “You’re an only child, Tim my boy, which means you get all the attention.” He winked. “And one day, all the money!”
“Jack,” Janet said reprovingly. “Timothy should not be thinking just of the money. Our company is a name – a legacy.” She used her long, thin fingers to brush a stray piece of hair out of Tim’s face. “If you had a brother or sister, you would risk having the company divided with disagreements and attempts at takeover. A sibling presents a threat to your authority. Drakes do not tolerate threats to their power.”
“Yes, mother,” Tim said obediently, while privately thinking that he was willing to risk losing part of his claim to his parents’ company if it meant that he would have more company at home. At least if he had a sibling he would be less lonely.
When Tim was nine years old he was deemed mature enough to stay alone without a nanny during his parents’ many trips abroad.
He was fine at home.
Really, he was more than capable of caring for himself while his parents were busy.
It was just… quiet at home. Tim often found himself tiptoeing through his own house in an effort to not disturb the oppressive silence. It would have been nice to have someone else with him to help break up the quiet.
Tim took up night photography as a hobby to get him out of the too-quiet house, and it wasn’t long before his hobby had morphed into Bat-stalking.
Batman and Robin flew across the sky like gravity was a suggestion, and together they fought back the constant growth of Gotham crime and decay. It was a storybook come to life. Good against evil. Epic battles. Amazing photo opportunities.
What really made Tim addicted to chasing down the Bats were the rare nights that Nightwing and Robin would both be in town. Nightwing and Robin acted like real brothers and Tim watched them with a longing that was bone deep.
Robin would sometimes shove Nightwing off a roof and Nightwing would chase after the younger boy screaming murder, but Tim was fairly certain that was normal sibling behavior. The two boys would chase each other across rooftops (seemingly doing their level best to kill one another) while Batman sighed and pinched the nose of his cowl like having children was a terrible mistake. Unless they were interrupted by an emergency, Nightwing and Robin would fight until they had worn eachother out, and they would finally flop onto a roof in exhaustion and call a truce.
Tim had more than one photo of Nightwing and Robin sitting on the edge of a roof with milkshakes in hand and laughter on their lips.
Tim’s house always seemed a bit colder– a bit emptier– when he went back home at night after Batwatching.
His little routine of friendly stalking continued for almost three years. His parents never found out, his heroes never noticed, and Tim’s heart felt like it was slowly hollowing itself out.
Then, Robin – Jason – died, and Batman fell apart.
The entire city grieved when it finally became clear that the bright young boy was gone from the shadow of Batman’s cape for good. Tim grieved more deeply than he had for anyone ever before. But Batman? Bruce? He broke completely.
Tim started carrying an emergency medical kit and learned how to use it after the third criminal he found beaten to within an inch of his life. Instead of a trail of grateful citizens, Batman was leaving bodies in his wake. He hadn’t killed anyone– yet – but that was partially due to Tim’s quick action.
The police were useless– Tim couldn’t risk revealing Batman’s identity. Nightwing wasn’t around. Tim didn’t know who else would be able to help.
Tim was very used to being the adult, so, at twelve years old, he took it upon himself to take care of Batman.
Bruce was not at all receptive to the idea of a new child (even if said child was more parent-shaped than son-shaped), but Alfred supported Tim’s plan, and Tim swiftly inserted himself in the middle of Bruce’s downward spiral.
Tim followed Bruce around like a particularly sarcastic shoulder angel, and Bruce was forced to refrain from almost killing criminals if only so Tim would stop nagging. Slowly– ever-so-slowly– Bruce began to surface from his haze of grief. He would break from his general vacant brooding to note that Tim had just gotten himself his fifth cup of coffee and glare disapprovingly. Sometimes, Tim would even catch Bruce looking at him with something in his eyes that seemed almost fond.
There was a night when the fire escape Tim was perched on broke beneath his weight. Bruce had swooped in to catch him, and it was almost exactly like Tim had always imagined it would be like to be saved by Batman.
The only difference was that Bruce had clutched him frantically all while murmuring Jason’s name.
Tim hadn’t been trying to replace Jason. It definitely wasn’t healthy that Bruce sometimes seemed to forget that the black haired child following him around wasn’t his dead son, but Tim was no therapist. He was just happy that Bruce no longer seemed to be trying to kill himself or anyone else.
Sometimes, he even allowed himself to pretend that he was actually one of Bruce’s kids. Sometimes, he liked to pretend that he didn’t have to go back to his own, empty house every night.
Tim ignored the fact that all signs pointed to him needing therapy almost as badly as Bruce.
Nightwing returned from his mission in space and the fight he had with Batman when he found a new kid in his brother’s place was earthshaking. Tim was surprised the Batcave survived it.
Tim had made himself scarce the moment the shouting began, but he had hesitantly returned for patrol the next day. Nightwing was still around, and Tim initially prepared himself for a new tongue-lashing for taking Jason’s place. Surprisingly, Dick seemed determined to welcome Tim with open arms. He was still quietly furious with Bruce, as evident by the stiffening of his spine whenever Bruce drew near, but he didn’t seem to blame Tim for the situation.
Tim almost wanted to sit Dick down and make sure he knew that Bruce had been the last person to want a new Robin. Tim was the one responsible for the situation.
“Almost” was the key word because Tim was high off brotherly affection and he didn’t want to ruin it.
Either way, Dick made a big show of being Tim’s new “older brother”, but he didn’t actually treat Tim like a brother. There were no good-willed murder attempts- no roughhousing that nearly resulted in missing limbs. There wasn’t even any furious shouting (which judging by Tim’s parents was a requirement for any family). Dick treated Tim like he was made of glass, and Tim was growing increasingly suspicious that Dick was beginning to view him more as the idea of Jason just like Bruce was.
Tim found himself dangerously addicted to his new source of hugs regardless of the motivation, and he just tried not to think too hard about why Dick always looked misty eyed when he saw Tim successfully complete a flip.
Tim was getting very good at ignoring things these days.
Batman, Nightwing, and Robin-number-three fell into a tentative sort of rhythm over the next few months. Slowly, Tim began to stay over at the manor after patrol more often than not. Slowly, Bruce nearly stopped calling Tim “Jason” by accident. Slowly, so very slowly, Dick began to convince Tim that hair pets weren’t a trick.
Of course, that was when everything fell to shit.
****
“I don’t understand, Bruce. Why would Jason do this? Why not just come home?”
Bruce said something too quietly for Tim’s pain-medication-addled mind to interpret.
“If he is angry with us, then he should face us– not Tim,” Dick replied, voice raised in frustration. “Instead, he’s treating this family like– like some kind of game!”
Bruce hushed Dick and probably pointed to the heavily-bandaged and presumed-sleeping form of Tim as reason, but it was too late. Tim was awake just enough to have overheard, and his mind had latched onto one word in particular.
Sure, having his childhood hero appear from the dead to personally beat him up was a bit of a letdown from Tim’s fantasies. Sure, his bones ached in a way he didn’t think was supposed to happen before he turned sixty, and sure, he had been scared out of his mind while Jason had hunted him around Titan’s Tower. BUT, Jason hadn’t killed him. Jason absolutely could have murdered Tim, but he hadn’t.
He had treated the whole thing almost like a game.
And if the internet had taught Tim anything, it was that brothers often engaged in life-threatening games for fun.
Ergo, Jason actually considered Tim to be his brother, and was treating him accordingly.
Tim’s head was fuzzy with drugs, but he saw no flaws in his logic.
Now, he needed to come up with a plan to show Jason that he accepted the offer of familial relationship and maybe cajole Jason back home at the same time.
It really would be a shame to have to return to his empty (always empty) house after Jason came back home and kicked Tim out, but hey, maybe they would actually hang out. After all, what was a little physical violence between brothers?
*****
Jason walked out of his very important crime lord meeting in the very dangerous corner of Crime Alley to find his motorcycle (his precious, 500 horse-power child) covered in a melted cocoon of plastic wrap and topped with a Joker-green bow. There was a card tucked under the bow– a scribbled-upon thing that declared “It’s a Boy!” and had bright blue balloons across the cover.
Jason flipped open the card.
Glad you’re back!
Your move. :)
-R
The card crumpled in Jason’s fist and his helmet’s vocoder crackled with his heavy exhale.
Oh. It was on.
*****
Timothy Jackson Drake was in the midst of extremely important research.
His headphones were in. His coffee was growing tepid beside him. His computer was slowly sending him increasingly frantic messages about dying batteries.
In two words? He was locked in.
…In hindsight, maybe he should have been slightly more aware of his surroundings after directly antagonizing the local, up-and-coming crime lord.
“Glad to see your injuries are healing so well,” Jason drawled. His casual stance leaned against the doorframe of Tim’s bedroom was slightly ruined by how brightly his eyes glowed. “You sure have some fuckin’ audacity , Replacement.”
Tim shoved his headphones off to land around his neck and the grin he sent Jason was possibly more maniacal than he intended. “I had considered putting a bomb on your bike instead, but I didn’t want to come off too strong at the start.”
Jason snarled and stepped closer to Tim’s bed, his hands drifting towards his guns. “If you were planning on breaking Bruce’s rules, you should have finished the job, Replacement. We all know that I don’t hesitate in killing people.”
“Not usually,” Tim agreed, giggling a bit in delight at the reminder that Jason hadn’t actually killed him at Titans Tower which was obviously a sign of great sibling affection.
Jason paused his approach and glared at Tim warily. “Why are you so chipper?”
Tim attempted to school his expression into something cool and unaffected, but he failed miserably. Sue him. His formerly-dead idol had come back to life and was treating Tim like a brother. Tim was living the fucking dream .
“Sorry, sorry,” Tim said, still attempting to control his expression. “I’m just so excited!”
Jason’s face did a backflip before landing on a blank expression. “Excited?” he repeated flatly.
Tim nodded, still not quite able to suppress his grin. “Like, I know Dick sometimes says we’re brothers, but he is just saying that to be nice. He doesn’t actually treat me like a brother. He hasn’t even tried to maim me!” Tim tossed up his hands to emphasize how ridiculous Dick was. “But now you’re back, and I always hoped we’d be something like family but I never thought you would accept me so fast! Sorry if I’m being mushy, but I’m really really glad you’re back, Jason, and do you think we can still hang out once Bruce takes back Robin and I go back home?”
Jason did not react for several seconds after Tim’s rather incomprehensible speech. When he finally did move, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, removed his hand from his gun, and reopened his now-much-more-blue eyes. And then? He turned on his heel and walked out of Tim’s room.
“Wha– Hang on. Wait!”
Tim scrambled to follow Jason and he ended up knocking over the dregs of his cold coffee across his sheets (sorry Alfred) and getting momentarily tangled in his blanket before he finally escaped and chased after Jason. He tumbled into the hallway and followed Jason’s brisk walk at an awkward trot due to his shorter legs.
“You can’t leave yet,” Tim protested, trying not to whine. ( Do not beg, Timothy. It is unbecoming of a Drake.) “We haven’t even gotten to hang out yet! I thought we were going to play murder tag or something.”
Jason stopped walking suddenly and Tim almost ran into his back. “And what exactly is ‘ murder tag’ ?”
Tim raised an eyebrow at Jason. “It’s where you play tag while trying to murder each other.” He imbued his voice with as much of an “ obviously” tone as he could manage. “But you know, the fun murder. Sibling fighting kind.”
“Oh, of course. The ‘ fun murder’ . How could I have been so silly.” Jason was sounding oddly hysterical as if he hadn’t been the one to initiate the sibling war. “Where exactly did you get your information on ‘normal sibling activities’?”
“The internet, duh.”
“ Of course you did ,” Jason muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Jason suddenly turned and swept Tim up around his waist and tucked him under his arm like a football. “Bruce! Alfred! Dickwad!”
“Dude, what the hell?” Tim complained, wriggling like an eel to escape. “I’m not two. I don’t need people to hold me.”
“BRUCE!” Jason yelled louder.
Bruce ran around the corner– faster than Tim had ever seen Batman move– and then froze at the sight of his un-dead son holding (but not attempting to murder) Tim.
Jason held Tim out to Bruce like Tim was baby Simba from the Lion King. “Your kid is broken, B. I have made an error. Take him back now.”
“Hey,” Tim protested, a bit of actual hurt in his voice. “Does this mean you don’t want to be brothers?”
“ Bruce.” Jason begged, holding Tim out more insistently. “Fix him, please. I need to go back to being an evil crime lord now, and this is ruining my vibe.”
Bruce hesitantly reached out to grab Tim, but Tim swung up his legs and somehow managed to wrap his body around Jason’s arm. Jason tried to shake him off, but Tim refused to budge.
“You just got here.” Tim didn’t even try to keep from whining this time.
“Get off before I murder you, brat,” Jason threatened.
Tim grinned happily at the renewed promise of a game, and Jason’s expression fell into one of despair.
“That is a bad thing. Oh-my-god, Bruce, how does he have worse self-preservation instincts than I did?”
Bruce seemed shell-shocked. “Tim, please get off your brother.”
“ I’m not his br– ” Jason looked down at the positively heartbroken expression on Tim’s face and he visibly flinched. “Would you stop that? I swear to god it’s like trying to hate a puppy.”
Tim switched back to his grin and allowed himself to be shaken off Jason’s arm only to immediately attach himself to Jason’s leg. “You can’t leave. You gotta stay for dinner at least.”
“Get off ,” Jason growled, lifting his leg with some difficulty and attempting– without success– to shake Tim loose. “Crime lords don’t stay for dinner at Batman’s house.”
“But Batman’s sons do,” Bruce said, his eyes looking impossibly soft.
“Wh– I’m not– You can’t just say that, Bruce. What the hell?” Jason attempted to make his escape but was immediately hindered by Tim’s koala impression on his leg. He groaned in frustration. “How the fuck are you so skinny yet so heavy?”
“You gotta stay for dinner~” Tim declared in a sing-song voice. “Gotta stay forever~”
“If someone doesn’t kill me again right now, I might do it myself,” Jason said flatly.
“I will not tolerate such talk, Master Jason,” Alfred declared, rounding the corner behind Bruce. “Now, I heard something about needing to set an extra place at the dinner table?”
Jason looked down at Tim’s cheshire grin, back to Bruce’s hopeful expression, and finally at Alfred’s sly look. “If I stay for dinner, will you leave me alone , brat?”
Tim giggled maniacally. “Absolutely,” he said insincerely.
Jason muttered something under his breath, but he began walking (or more accurately step-dragging with Tim still attached to one leg) towards the dining room. “You’re lucky you’re too tiny to eat, you little asshole.”
Tim was still giggling at Jason’s attempts to walk that occasionally lifted him into the air. “Alfred’s food probably tastes better anyway.”
“There’s no way I annoyed Dick this much,” Jason muttered, looking to the sky as if to ask which of his many ( many) crimes had earned him such a terrible punishment as a younger brother.
“Shall we ask Master Dick and see what he recalls?” Alfred said dryly.
Bruce coughed to cover up his laugh.
“I hate all of you,” Jason grumbled without any real heat. “I am a crime lord. I am very scary and should be feared.”
Alfred and Bruce both had the suspicious need to cough.
Jason sighed and lifted his leg high enough to look at Tim’s upside down head. “This is all your fault. For the record, your ideas of normal sibling behavior are very wrong.”
“‘S working out so far.”
“I am going to sell you on craigslist.” Jason promised flatly.
“Just try it. I’ll hide all of your left shoes.”
“I’m going to change all of the auto-correct words on your phone to ‘your mom’.”
“I’ll remove the labels on all of your cans in the pantry.”
“What if I stabbed you again?”
“That’s a cheap threat. Try again.”
“You’re a deeply disturbed child, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
Jason sighed. “Good. If I’m stuck with you now I at least wanted to make sure you knew.”