#tim is the spleenless robin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thecruellestmonth · 3 months

Text

quick and dirty guide to Jason Todd in the masterpiece Batman: Battle for the Cowl—canon and fanon

CANON

Jason canonically is a cop-killing asshole garbage manbaby hypocrite who shoots a ten-year-old in the chest.

is a bad person explicitly because his dirty criminal childhood on the streets made him crazy and immoral. He canonically was ruined before Batman ever scraped him out of Crime Alley. (Canon—only a fake fan would argue against it!)

The Lazarus Pit also worsened his mind.

Described as "deranged" and "delusional" and "broken" and "rabid".

Crucifies Tim's Batsuit on a literal wooden cross, but Tim rises from the dead because he's Jesus.

Shoots ten-year-old Damian in the chest, then ridicules Dick for trying to save a "meaningless life".

After being shot, Damian lies on his sickbed just long enough for Dick to brood over his unconscious body.

As soon as Dick leaves, Damian jumps up, tries to swing a wrench at Alfred's head, makes a sexist comment to Squire, and then goes out running around as Robin like nothing happened.

Dick tries to use some unspecified shameful childhood trauma to trigger Jason into accepting Help, but for some mysterious reason Jason refuses—and obviously deranged, delusional, broken people Refuse Help because they're bad people who don't want to change.

-- (Somewhere, John Calvin is moaning in pleasure.) --

Uh thanks for the brief help in the B-plot, Cass—now go away, your thoughts and feelings about all this don't matter.

Apparently Jason can't transform into a man-eating tentacle monster anymore. :(

Overall, the art is pretty swanky.👌

AFTERMATH: Jason commits some dozens more murders.

Dick rightly finds him to be an insufferable asshole, and gains the ability to say so without resorting to ableism.

Damian doesn't care about being shot in the chest and suffers no lasting damage, he is too busy being in fun stories that actually further his character.

Going forward, none of the next writers really try to push long-term "Lazarus Pit madness" for Jason again--except Winick did try to slip it into the prequel, to salvage his baby.

Jason is never shown apologizing for his actions, yet less than a year later apparently decides he wants "redemption".

Bruce happily hands him a full position in Batman Incorporated, with seemingly no special supervision.

While Jason agrees to be subordinate to Batman, he still enjoys being a cocky bastard, and shows no remorse for his past crimes—which are only vaguely alluded to having happened.

CANON(?)

Battle for the Cowl was canon from 2009 to 2011.

It was wiped from existence when the universe reset in the 2011 Flashpoint reboot.

Presently as of the Infinite Frontier "timeline", BftC probably isn't canon until a writer actively writes it back into history, like No Man's Land fairly recently was.

AFTERMATH: It never happened.

FANON

Some scenario loosely inspired by Battle for the Cowl happens because Jason has glowy eyes Lazarus Pit Madness.

What is a female character...?

The conflict is wrapped up in like 200 words.

AFTERMATH: Dick gives Jason a big hug and apologizes for being the worstest brother ever back when Jason was a lonely little angel child.

Jason finds out that he is the most favoritest Robin for tiny 10-year-old Timmy, and he cries tears of remorse for his Lazarus Pit-induced violent frenzy against a nine eight seven-year-old little spleenless baby Tiny Timmy.

More hugging, cuddling, fingers affectionately carding through hair.

Damian doesn't exist for some reason.

If Damian does exist, he's treated like an unwanted booger instead of a human child. He talks like a robot and has no sense of humor.

Jason maybe scolds insensitive meanie Dick for picking evil Damian over Tiny Timmy. Timmy has been suffering fainting spells and consumption, all alone until Jason rescues him.

FANON

Massive overcompensation for other fanon.

CALLOUT post for Jason Todd!

Jason was a good kid. He isn't a bad person at all because of his childhood on the streets. (Fanon.)

The Lazarus Pit had no effect on his mind.

He is 100% sane and willing.

He is a bad person because he's sanely choosing to be an asshole garbage manbaby hypocrite who shoots a ten-year-old in the chest.

Damian isn't sexist to Squire, because she doesn't exist.

Dick destroys Jason with facts and logic and perfectly ethical therapy-speak, and never gets his hands dirty trying to trigger mental illness.

Jason destroys Damian's spine.

Tim and Damian suffer lasting physical and psychological trauma from Jason's torture—being a soldier is now harmful for a delicate developing child, but only on this singular occasion because Jason.

Alfred is the one who stole the Robin mantle from Tim to give it to Damian. 🥺 Dick was forced into a tough situation—he had no choice in how he handled things! It's Alfred, I tell you!

Dick suddenly has a close bond with Cass.

AFTERMATH: The loving idyllic Batfamily hard-blocks radicalized incel full-grown 18-year-old manbaby Jason.

They live happily ever after.

Paradise Lost Satan Jason must suffer his totally self-inflicted isolation, knowing he can never go back to the warm embrace of the very healthy and functional Batfamily, because of his petty, stubborn, definitely made-up unreasonable delusions of being a soldier in an endless warzone.

Hopefully some more cruelty and isolation can make Jason realize he's receiving karmic punishment for being a bad person—somehow this is clearly different from all the cruelty and isolation that happened to him for no reason at all.

--(John Calvin has recovered from his refractory period—he is now moaning more loudly and passionately.)--

"Yes, this is totally what happened! Read a comic, fake fans!" *makes up a fake version of BftC that never happened*

#Jason Todd #Batboys #post Crisis #canon vs fanon #fanon vs canon #Batfam #Batfamily #Battle for the Cowl #Batfam meta #Batman Battle for the Cowl #meta

80 notes · View notes

tallochar · 10 months

Text

You know what's a missed canon opportunity, for preNew52, that we didn't get a chance to go into because of when and how they cut us off?

Tim using all his cloning experience to make himself a new spleen and having Leslie transplant it in.

Because the problem Tim was running into was not making cloning work. It was making the specific cloning make up for Kon work in a way that resulted into an actual clone.

(Should have hunted down Match, took him down and took a few bags of his blood, Tim, but I suppose that was TOO far and the cloning creepy lab wasn't)

Tim figured out cloning well enough to be on his way to clone Kon, if failing because of the difficulty inherent in cloning a kryptonian with lex luthor specifically, so he should have been able to make himself a spleen no biggie.

I know people have the 'he got himself shot in Red Robin and it was in the stomach area or thereabouts!' excuse lined up for fics where they want Tim to stay spleenless and that's a good one and I love to see it.

I just would also d love to see a fic where someone finds out Tim lost his spleen and they freak out and it goes sort of like:

"Huh? Don't worry about it, I got a new one already in."

"Did ... did you bribe someone to get you at the top of the donor's list or something?" "What? No, of course not! That would be just plain evil. Who did you take me for? Luthor?" (yes, Tim is aware of the irony of this statement, Tim is making an in-joke with himself) "I am offended that you'd think that of me."

"But then how did you get --"

"I made one with cloning tech. What, like it's hard?"

brief pause

"No okay, fair, that tracks for you."

slightly longer pause / a little bit later

"Hey, wait, was that a Legally Blonde reference? Tim? Tim! Don't grapple away from me!"

#tim drake #dc meta #headcanons #dialogue bit #tim drake's lost spleen

160 notes · View notes

ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 month

Text

Ive weighed the cost and youre worth it

by Lemccr Poor spleenless Timmy thing just aren’t going your way. And there’s infection and poison and angst and stuff. Umm yeah BW 2024 claim - day 88 - infect Words: 2587, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Stuff happens, Angst, Poison, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake is Not Okay via https://ift.tt/ThBvNDV

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

2 notes · View notes

lapetitechatonne · 6 months

Text

wip and tag ask game!!!

this is absolutely a mistake

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

okay let’s get this party started

Just a little farther beyond destiny

ABC Chap 2: Kate

Captivated by You

cardigan

Disney Week

Eyes on the target

Fire and Ice

fuck hallmark and their christmas

Heely Robin (doc & a spreadsheet)

i hate myself aka kinktober

i love my wives as you can tell

i may be spleenless and soulless and addicted to coffee but i’m still breathing

If you don’t know where you are going then all roads take you there.

Leverage au

MONSTER FUCKERS LETS GOO (2 docs and a spreadsheet)

MWAH MWAH, LESBIAN SEX? YOU BETCHA

Parental Figures

Paulina works as Tim’s bodyguard

pearls are a consorts best friend

She is the one named Sailor Moon

Sk8er Girls

smash me to smash mouth

sometimes at night you pray for burglars

Waddle

Urban Legends are Warnings from the Dead

Wisteria_Draft

De-Aged Dick

When a robin appears, loved ones are near

sailor moon au

. . . Ready for it?

dreamscape

Beer Before Liquor

benders au

dancing after death

Gods and Heroes

Inherited Engagement

First Dates and Roller Skates

Negotiations and Family Affairs

Reverse raising phantom

Till Resurrection Do Us Part

time travel is only good in theory

Two Nickels

Dickwally single dads au

Mamo dead au

this is a horrifyingly long list, i know, i’m a bit of a wip hoarder 🫠

anyways since i’m certainly not tagging 44 people, i’ll just tag: @disillusioneddanny @numinous-scribe @precarious-hermit @noir-renard @demon-cat-goes-woof and anyone else who’d like to!!!

#tag game #ask game #kate’s asks #kate writes #wip game #current wip

1 note · View note

lurkinglurkerwholurks · 2 years

Link

See AO3 notes for tie-ins, future plans.

It was somewhere in the middle of his five-on-one back alley brawl that Tim admitted that maybe he had made a mistake. Not the fight itself—he could take five low-level crooks, no problem. It’s not like they were ninja assassins or Rogues or Rogues working with ninja assassins or anything. And really, if you looked at it right, what had really happened was he had made some teeny, tiny, pretty much inconsequential decisions that in their own way amassed to equal to one single mistake. So it wasn’t his fault, really.

Like, yes, technically, he had chosen to go out even though he didn’t feel tip-top 100% well. It’s not like he had been dying or anything. Been there, done that, knew the feeling. It was just an earache, the lingering remnants of a mild cold that he had managed to keep hidden. Just an earache and a sore throat. Bruce had gone out in way worse condition so many times, so Tim felt justified by comparison to make his own call. And he hadn’t felt so bad when he’d first put on the suit.

And should he have been patrolling with someone? Maybe. But it just hadn’t panned out. That wasn’t his fault. Bruce had Damian tonight, and as much as Tim knew Bruce wanted them to learn how to patrol together as a team, Tim just wasn’t feeling it this time. See: Aforementioned illness. Usually, when Bruce had Damian, Tim stuck around Dick, but he’d suggested Cass go with Dick this time, just the two of them. He knew Dick wanted to get to know their sister better, and Tim patrolled with Cass more often and lived with her at the Manor, so stepping back so they could have some quality time seemed like the thing to do. And honestly? Tim missed his own personal quality time.

It had been ages since Tim had patrolled alone. He never wanted to go back to those horrible months before, when Bruce had been lost in time and everyone except Tim had assumed him dead. That kind of alone had been almost unbearable. The isolation had felt like icicles plunged into his marrow, numbing and excruciating all at once. But secretly, to himself, Tim could admit that he missed the quiet nights, just his thoughts and the dull roar of Gotham traffic, and being able to plan his own route, make his own decisions, guide his own way. So when the opportunity presented itself to pair Cass with Dick and volunteer for a solo patrol, Tim had leapt at it.

But now here he was, alone, no backup, with a pain in his ear that had progressed rapidly from too-tight-earplug to digging-with-a-sharpened pencil and an alleyway full of idiots who refused to just buzz off. The adrenaline helped some, pushing the pain to the back of his awareness and adding some clarity to his focus, but as the fight dragged on, the benefits faded. Tim wasn’t an idiot, so he did try to be careful of headshots with his bo, but he was losing patience and equilibrium in equal measure. He took no pride in the cheap shot that felled his final opponent, but he wasn’t sorry either.

Tim let out a soft sigh of relief as he reached out and rested his hand on the brick wall that definitely wasn’t moving. If he could just stand here for a minute or two, the world would settle, and then maybe he could finish his route. GCPD could come pick up the would-be gangsters scattered around the alley, and he could give a statement later. Maybe tomorrow, after he’d removed his own ear and replaced it with a prosthetic that didn’t hurt. Wayne E. had to have something that would do the trick.

“Slip your babysitter?”

Tim whirled, bo at the ready, and flailed to regain his balance. Red Hood stood beneath a nearby fire escape, arms crossed, the expressionless helmet somehow still managing to give the impression of being flatly unimpressed.

“Hood.”

It was maybe—definitely—stupid of Tim to feel relief at the sight of Jason Todd. Jason had tried to kill him more than once, had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he hated Batman, the Waynes, and everything to do with his old life. Except Tim hadn’t been scared of Jason Todd in months. Wary of him, sure. Cognizant of just how dangerous he was, absolutely. But Jason had had too many chances to kill Tim at his lowest and hadn’t taken them. Tim had his own blanket at Jason’s safehouse, even. He didn’t think Jason knew that was Tim’s blanket now, but Tim knew he had claimed it as his own, and that’s what counted.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Tim bluffed, tone light and breezy, or he tried to make it be. He kept having to clear his throat. He gestured to the groaning men at his feet. “Not yours, I hope?”

Not that it would have mattered if they were—Tim was sure they weren’t—but he needed the sweeping movement of his hand to draw attention away from the reflexive wince he gave as pain carved into his ear again. Tim’s shoulders had relaxed as he retracted his bo and slotted it back into his belt, but then he squinted and noticed Hood’s inquisitive head tilt, and the skin between his shoulder blades prickled. It gave Hood a distinctly cat-like look, and that made Tim the mouse.

“You out patrolling by yourself?” Hood asked, the modulator in the helmet adding an extra layer of menace to the question.

Tim’s brain was scrambling even as he covered with a smirk. Had he done something to piss Jason off? No, he couldn’t have. None of his cases had anything to do with Hood or his territory or anything even tangentially related to Jason. These weren’t Hood’s guys either, so what was the problem?

“The others are around,” Tim replied, his tone still unbothered.

Able to be here in time if Jason tried to start something, was the implication, but Jason was still watching him closely. Tim actually wasn’t sure where everyone was right now. He’d popped out the earpiece earlier in the night, unable to stand the feel of it in his aching ear, but the other ear sounded strange and muffled. The attention needed to decipher the night’s chatter was too distracting, so he’d gone without.

Wow, he did not feel good. The adrenaline was really coming down now, and the pain from his ear seemed to double in intensity in between breaths. The world still felt like it was shifting, too, like he was standing on a boat instead of the cracked-concrete bedrock of Gotham. Tim flexed his jaw subtly, trying to relieve the pressure from one side of his head. He needed Jason to get to whatever point he was building up to—ask his favor, make his threat, whatever—so Tim could drag himself home and pop half a bottle of painkillers.

“B know you’re out?” Hood asked instead, and oh boy, Jason bringing up Bruce voluntarily was a bad sign.

“Of course,” Tim huffed. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Hood shifted his weight slightly, and Tim mimicked the movement. Hood was built like a mountain, but he was fast, and Tim would need a head start if he wanted to stay out of reach. It was only when he did it that Tim felt the movement itself and translated what it might mean coming from his own body. Was Hood… uncomfortable?

This was weird. Tim wasn’t sure he could handle weird right now. He flexed his jaw again, trying to yawn without opening his mouth to see if the change in pressure would pop open whatever was going on—oh, Hood was talking again. He’d tuned out by accident and missed whatever it was, and now Jason looked annoyed. Maybe that was just the faceplate, but Jason usually seemed annoyed when he was talking to Tim, so Tim had picked up a sort of sixth sense for that kind of thing.

Hood hesitated, then looked either way down the alley, clearly checking to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. Oh, here it comes. Jason sidled closer, hands clearly visible, weapons holstered, which meant nothing, except now he was leaning in and Tim found himself leaning forward as well. Whatever this was, it had to be important, it had to be big, it—

Tim was on the ground, screaming, hands clamped to the ear Jason had slapped as fast as a striking snake. His brain had exploded, Jason had exploded his brain, his ear had to be a pulpy mess, he was dying, he was deaf, he—

Gloved hands gripped his arms, pulling his hands away to uncover the ear, then hauled him bodily over a broad shoulder with what felt like the rise and fall of a heavy sigh. Tim tried to find enough purchase to rip himself free, but ended up clinging to Jason, fingers tangled in the back of his jacket like a trembling kitten.

He had to think. Hood was kidnapping him, clearly, but why? And why now? Hood didn’t seem like the type to go for ransom, though it would make sense now that Bruce was back to pay it. Maybe it was about revenge, payback, more likely against Bruce or Dick than Tim. Unless Jason had just been biding his time before. Was this a mask thing or a personal thing or both? Holy shit that hurt.

Tim had stopped screaming and even managed to choke back his whimpers—a necessity, since dangling down Jason’s back, a shoulder digging into his stomach, peaked the nausea that had been burbling in the back of his throat. Jason jostled him slightly, making Tim freeze and hold his breath while he prayed for the nausea to pass. The last thing he needed was to piss Hood off further by spewing down his back.

The journey was a short one, or seemed it between Tim’s narrow focus and Jason’s long legs eating up the distance. He probably should have salvaged some of his pride and tried to fight his way free, but that seemed like a fantastic way to lose a limb or three. Best to wait to see what Hood’s master plan was and sabotage it then, right? That was what Tim told himself, at least, and his caution seemed borne out when Hood hauled him through the streets, into a building, and up the stairs.

It wasn’t until he redistributed Tim’s weight to unlock the door that Tim realized where they were. In his defense, he’d never actually seen the larger interior of Jason’s building. He had always come through the window into the apartment itself. But now they were through the door and Tim knew that threadbare carpet, so worn and stained from decades of use that it was no longer an identifiable color, and he recognized the subtle whiff of lavender from the nearby plugin. Why had Jason kidnapped him to his safehouse? Had he added a dissection lab since Tim had been here last? A torture chamber? If Jason tried to take him into the bathroom, Tim would do… Well, he didn’t know what, but he’d do something.

Tim landed on the couch with a grunt and rolled into a defensive posture, one hand cupped protectively over the still-throbbing ear. A finger jabbed him in the leg. Tim twitched, then realized Jason was asking him something.

“No,” he managed to grit out, “it’s Robin’s turn.”

Damian’s week at the Manor, which meant it was Tim’s week to stay away. Sometimes Tim visited Bludhaven and stayed with Dick, but this time he stuck to his own apartment. Why did Hood need to know that?

Oh, answering had been risky, puke-wise. Tim closed his eyes, pressed his lips together tightly, and tried to stay very still.

A shadow blocked the overhead light, so he cracked open one eye, only to flinch back into the cushion at the sight of Jason, helmet now in hand, frowning down at him. Something must have shown on Tim’s face, because Jason disappeared from view, then quickly reappeared with a small waste basket.

“Don’t barf on my couch,” he growled, shoving the can into Tim’s chest.

Tim blinked. “What the f—”

“Language,” Jason interrupted with a spiteful sliver of a smile. Rude, since Tim was pretty sure Jason was the reason the rule existed at all, but he sounded much more likely to take a knife to Tim’s mouth for it. “So who am I calling?”

“Who are you calling?” Tim echoed, the trashcan clutched to his chest like a stuffed animal. “What—” Oop—

Jason waited, standing patiently next to the couch, then took the bag full of Alfred’s chicken kiev to the hall, the ties pinched gingerly between two fingers. He returned with a fresh plastic bag and relined the can.

“Who am I calling?” he asked again, tone as flat and unimpressed as it had been with the voice modulator. “Bruce? Alfred? Who’s picking you up?”

“Picking up my body parts?” Tim asked. Ugh. Even to his own ears, he sounded gross, the vomiting having torn up his sore throat into a croaky rasp.

Jason looked like he wanted to slap Tim’s ear again. He bent down and enunciated like Tim was a very old man. “Who am I calling to take you back to the Manor?”

Oh. What?

Tim at least had the sense not to jostle his head with a shake. “It’s not my week. I’m at my place.”

“Not like this you’re not.”

“Why am I here? I mean,” Tim hurried to add, before he could make the situation worse, “this is one of the weirder kidnappings I’ve been a part of, no offense.”

Jason looked like he had taken full offense. His lips had twisted and pursed like Tim had said something inconceivably dumb. “I said your name like twice in that alley. And I wasn’t quiet coming down the fire escape either.”

And Tim hadn’t heard him until he was within knifing distance. Right.

“Then what the h—elsterskelter was with the…?” Tim gestured at his ear, the one Jason had struck.

There was a brief flash of amusement at Tim’s clumsy cover, but it lapsed back into irritation quickly enough. “Didn’t feel like playing ten rounds of ‘Catch the Baby Bird.’”

Baby? Tim was trying to decide how offended he should feel when Jason leaned in again. There was a quick exchange of slaps as Jason reached for Tim’s head, was batted away, and then smacked Tim in the back of the head for the affront before gripping his skull and forcing his head sideways.

Tim, out of an abundance of self-preservation, went still, a mouse caught in the cat’s jaws. But all Jason did was angle his head slightly, one way, then the other, poke at a sore spot just behind Tim’s jaw, then hum when Tim flinched, before letting go and backing away.

“You’ve got the balance of a drunk duck,” Jason announced as he turned his back on Tim entirely. “Nausea. Went down like a lightweight when I hit you, too. Lemme guess, your ear hurts, you can’t hear all that well, and you get dizzy when you change orientation too quickly.”

“I’m—”

“If the next words out of your mouth are some stupid dating joke, I will duct tape you to the couch and this will turn into a hostage situation,” Jason warned, voice deep but loud enough to carry from the kitchen. “Answer the question.”

Deflection, Tim noted to himself, was not going to get him very far tonight. “Yes.”

“To which?”

“All of it.” Kind of eerie, actually. How long had Hood been watching him?

“You getting over a cold or something?”

How long had Hood been watching him?

“... Maybe.”

There was the rattle of a fridge door opening and closing and jars being popped open on the counter.

“Is this a spleen thing?” Jason asked over the noise.

“What?!”

Tim’s headache was getting worse. What was happening. What had happened to his night. Vomiting had helped a little but not enough. Still clutching the trashcan, he wiggled down into the couch cushions and tried to think still, non-queasy thoughts.

“Is. This. A. Spleen. Thing.” Jason had raised his voice, as if volume were the issue. There was the bang and beeps of a microwave door.

“Not everything is a spleen thing,” Tim grumbled into the back of the couch.

He was suddenly, painfully aware that the last time Jason had seen him, Tim had been passed out on the floor dying from a stupid fever brought on by said spleen, or lack thereof. Their whole weird thing while Bruce was away had been a separate matter entirely. Tim had been an absolute mess and Jason hadn’t cared enough to be bothered by it. If anything, he’d pitied Tim enough not to murder him, and Tim was grateful for that, but it did leave Tim in a deficit as far as his pride was concerned.

“Ear infections are for little kids,” Jason said, close enough to make Tim jump and crack open one eye again. “And idiots with a spleenless immune system.”

As if to punctuate his point, he thunked a rattling bottle of pills down on the coffee table within arm’s reach. A glass of water appeared next to it.

Tim squinted blearily at the label. “... Why does it have my name on it?”

“Alfred,” was Jason’s terse reply as he turned away.

“No, Tim,” Tim argued.

“No, Alfred knows you’re a stupid little weenie who does stuff like forget your antibiotics and pass out without a spleen,” Jason sneered.

The sneer would have been scary, even with the word weenie, except for the context. Alfred had… given backup meds to Jason. For Tim. In case Tim had ended up at Jason’s safehouse again. Where he still technically wasn’t invited to be. And Jason had taken the meds.

“Take your damn pills,” Jason ordered from the kitchen as he silenced the beeping microwave.

“Language.”

Tim flinched, halfway outstretched toward the bottle, as the spoon hit him in the back of the head. Even plastic, it still hurt. But also, it was plastic. A good sign, he thought.

He had swallowed the correct dosage and used the rest of the water to rinse out his mouth when Jason returned from the kitchen.

“Ear drops,” Jason said by way of explanation as he placed a dropper and a dipping cup of golden liquid on the coffee table. “Three drops per ear, then tissues. Don’t make a mess.”

He turned away but kept his voice raised enough for Tim to hear, “I’m going to take a shower.”

Tim frowned, eyes on Jason’s back. “Am I… staying here?”

Jason waved him off without pausing. “I’ll set up a drop-off with Dickhead. We’re not having a slumber party.”

And Dick wasn’t allowed here, was the unspoken second half. That was all fine with Tim. He’d spent a surprising amount of time in this safehouse, but mostly when he didn’t care what happened to him while he was there. Being sick and vulnerable in the heart of Red Hood’s turf was not Tim’s idea of a good time. Still, there were hours left before Nightwing’s patrol ended, so he might as well get comfortable.

Using the dregs of water left in the glass, Tim carefully peeled away his domino and scrubbed off the residual adhesive, then wiggled out of his outer suit. That was one of the unspoken rules of the safehouse, this careful balance of neutrality. He couldn’t be Red Robin here, could barely even function as Tim Drake here. It was better, safer, to be no one at all.

Stripping down to his base layer left Tim feeling dizzy and worn out, so he wedged himself back down into the couch cushions and tried to run through some of the grounding meditations his therapist had shown him. He didn’t hear Jason return from the bathroom, just retained a vague awareness of someone passing behind the couch and into the bedroom beyond. He had meant to put in the eardrops, had meant to stay awake and keep tabs on Jason. He failed, drifting down into an exhausted, restless half-sleep that brought neither rest nor comfort.

———

When he woke again, the right side of his head was nothing but bright, angry, throbbing pain. It was too much all at once—the pain, the gross dryness in his mouth, the crackling in his other ear, the unsettled sloshing of his equilibrium even as he lay still. He didn’t know where he was, what was happening, who was hurting him. Tim clawed at his head, as if he could dig his fingers into the canal and scoop out the infection.

Hands caught his wrists, pulling them away, then one of the hands pinned his wrists together while the other arm slipped between the cushion and his back and dragged him upright.

“Okay,” a voice was saying from the other side of the pain, “okay, you idiot, hold on. Just—” A grunt and then Tim was propped upright between the arm and a torso.

There was grumbling Tim couldn’t catch, something low and irritated that rumbled through the chest to his left. Something something ear drops and more aspersions against Tim’s intelligence. More maneuvering happened around Tim, the pinning arm’s hand wrapping around more tightly to keep his wrists immobilized as the other hand went off somewhere else.

“Hurts,” Tim heard himself say, his own voice muffled and far away. He hadn’t realized he’d been speaking at all. “Head. Hurts.”

“Yeah, kid,” the chest rumbled. “I know. Hold on, I’m fixing it.”

Something warm and wet dripped into his ear. Tim flinched away from it, into the chest, but then the grip around his wrists released so that a finger could rub at his ear, coaxing the liquid to drip down where it was needed. It didn’t help, or didn’t feel like it helped, but just the distraction eased some of his discomfort.

A cotton ball plugged his ear, then the hand turned his head, tilting it enough to quickly drip the same warm wet into the other crackly ear and then rub the heat down. Tim squirmed, but pulling away from the hand drove him into the chest. He didn’t mind so much. The big-solid-muscle-warm felt… safe. It felt like hugging Bruce.

The voice had stopped grumbling, at least loud enough for him to hear. The hand was still pressing on his ear, callouses scratching the skin.

“ ‘m feel awful,” Tim mumbled.

“I know.”

The voice didn’t malign his poor tired brain this time. That was nice. Poor poor brain. It wasn’t his brain’s fault that it hurt so much and that thinking made it hurt worse. He was always thinking, all the time. It felt nice for it to stop for a bit.

“M’ears.” Tim tried to dig at the offending ear, but the hand batted him away again.

“Stop.” A rattle. “I should’ve given you painkillers with the antibiotics. I just…” A hesitation, fraught and tense. “Doesn’t matter. It’s fine.”

The shoulder propping Tim up shifted.

“Here.”

Two pills popped into Tim’s mouth, then were washed down with a cup of water held to his lips. The water hurt to swallow but felt good in his mouth. Maybe Tim should have been more suspicious of unidentified meds from nameless hands, but he really didn’t care right now. His therapist would call that a red flag, but que sera sera, YOLO, and so forth.

“Head.” Tim reached again, but this time for his head instead of his ear. His head felt so full.

“The meds will kick in soon.” Another hesitation. “Actually, hold on.”

The shoulder moved. It left. Tim could have cried, except he thought he already was. He felt miserable, and now he was alone and miserable, and that was worse. It was always, always worse.

“Geez, kid, you’re a mess,” the voice said, but it wasn’t unkind. The hands were back again, pushing him up, and then the shoulder. Yay, the shoulder. And then there was a heavy cloth, hot and amazing, pressed against Tim’s ear, and the relief pulled a sob from his sore and croaky throat.

“Good stuff, huh?” There was more shifting, but instead of leaving again, the shoulder-chest-voice leaned back into the couch, settling in next to Tim. “I know. I had a lot of ear infections as a kid. Crappy immune system, I guess. My mom…”

A low hum, thoughtful and deep, vibrated through the chest and into Tim’s cheek. It was like curling up against a tiger. The best.

“We didn’t have a lot of money, you know? Not a lot of money for antibiotics and stuff.” A thumb swiped at Tim’s face, absently clearing away the sticky, half-dried tears. “She tried. Got ‘em when we could. Mostly, it was garlic ear drops and hot compresses. It always helped, and having her sit with me.”

Tim’s ear hurt less. It wasn’t better, wasn’t fixed, but the pain was easing, beaten back by the compress, the oil, the company. He was awake enough now to remember where he was and who he was with.

He was using the Red Hood, murderer and president of the Anti-Tim Fan Club, as a body pillow.

Jason Todd was cleaning the tears from his face and massaging his infected ear.

Robin was telling him about his mom.

Tim wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear what Jason remembered about his mom. Bruce hadn’t liked to talk about Jason in general, much less his life before the Manor. Tim had picked up pieces here and there, but so much was a blank. Did Jason miss her? Had he been sad when she died? Whatever their relationship had been, she didn’t sound like Tim’s mother. Jason’s mom had stayed with him. And he had loved her.

Tim didn’t dare ask about any of it. They weren’t—that is, Jason didn’t—well. There was a reason Tim was hearing this now, while he was sick and half-conscious and presumed to be so out of it that it would be like it never happened.

But maybe that was okay. Maybe this could be enough, for now. Tim had found his way back to the Manor against all odds. It was okay if Jason took a little longer, as long as he returned eventually. And Jason didn’t need to know he was awake. Tim would remember.

Eyes still closed, Tim yawned and shifted, risking letting himself relax fully again, exhaustion tugging at his hem.

Jason yawned as well, chest rising with a stutter and then settling under Tim’s cheek.

“Stupid Dick and his stupid long patrols. I’m not putting my boots back on tonight. He can wait until morning,” Jason muttered and tugged at the blanket Tim hadn’t noticed before, untangling it from around Tim so it draped over them both.

Tim hummed his agreement. Yes. Yes, morning would work. He tugged the blanket up to his chin, thumb rubbing in fits against the familiar stitching at the hem. Another yawn stretched his jaw until it cracked, but Jason’s hand kept the compress in place, the weight of his arm warm and comforting.

“Thank you,” Tim murmured.

There was no reply, but the thumb against his face twitched, the briefest acknowledgement.

They slept.

#batfic #my fic #fanfic #tim drake #jason todd #red hood #red robin #hurt/comfort #sickfic #Jason Todd is a good bro #Tim Drake needs a hug #Tim Drake is spleenless

176 notes · View notes

jaundicerat · 2 years

Text

i love it when fics include the fact that tim drake doesn't have a spleen. my boy is immunocompromised and probably has antibiotics in his utility belt lol

#tim drake #batman #robin #red robin #poor spleenless boy #dc

20 notes · View notes

undertheredhood · 7 months

Text

the real reason why tim never publicly makes fun of jason for wearing a knock-off robin suit while beating him up is because jason (during his revenge plan to kill the joker) had found the extremely embarrassing self-insert wattpad fanfic he wrote about being sold to batman by his parents and the last thing tim needs is anyone else finding out about it

#batman #dc comics #tim drake #jason todd #tim made sure to delete it off the internet after he became robin #but surprise! the internet is forever!#babs knows but instead of saying anything she just filed it into her blackmail folder #with how much of a planner jason is do you expect me to believe he didn’t do a background check on tim?#there are so many other embarrassing things about tim that jason knows but that secret most definitely takes the cake #red hood #red robin #tim gets calls y/n for months #tim drake is a cringe fail edgelord #jason was never the angry robin #tim is the spleenless robin #when they’re bored babs and jason sit together to read the fanfic #if anyone in tim’s life finds out about it he’ll never live it down for the rest of his life #tim tries to make fun of jason only for jason to recite every single embarrassing moment from tim’s life from memory #jason is cackling as he’s watching tim panic #jason todd is a menace #are they really siblings if they don’t bully each other at every opportunity?

58 notes · View notes

hintofelation99 · 3 years

Text

Bruce: Tim, why are there wanted posters for your spleen in the foyer?

Tim: I had to hang them somewhere

Bruce: ...

Tim: I just want to find my spleen man

#tim drake #incorrect batfamily quotes #incorrect batfam quotes #batman #bruce wayne #red robin #tim drake is a spleenless fool #mypost

118 notes · View notes

capsrecedinghairline · 4 years

Text

Tim Drake not having a spleen hits differently in covid times, like...... I’m immunocompromised and I won’t even go to the fucking grocery store, yet meanwhile this Disaster Lad is probably still hitting the streets of Gotham every night, armed with naught but a bo staff and a dream and not a spleen HE DOESN’T HAVE A SPLEEN, what fresh bat-themed fuckery is th

#me wearing a mask: ‘for tim drake’#tim drake #red robin #robin #batman #batfam #dc comics #dr. thompkins finds out the bat squad has been letting their most spleenless member go on regular patrol #and she fully loses it #HE DOESNT HAVE A SPLEEN BRUCE

32 notes · View notes

anothertimdrakestan · 4 years

Text

Dealing W/ Sick Batboys Batfam x Reader

what each batboy is like sick and what their s.o. has to deal with!

Dick:

- he tries to pretend he’s not sick

- definitely the reason the whole family gets sick

- drinking too much of the kids medicine even though he’s an adult

- saying *pun intended* batshit crazy things

- “y/n the chandelier cures sickness i’m telling you it’s true”

- “damian you HAVE TO cuddle me when i’m sick get over here”

- the whole family flips into mother-hen mode because everyone hates it when Grayson goes down, they secretly need him

- Tim tries to make the dumb jokes and dad puns to fill the silence but it’s never quite right

- coming over with soup to find dick smothered by the batfamily grinning

- you and alfred take turns making him stay hydrated and comfortable

- overall it’s really wholesome when dick is sick, how can you be mean to the guy when he can’t chase you with a batarang???

Jason:

- he avoids the batcave at first

- “no y/n Alfred’s soup will not fix me. i’m not letting the demon and replacment know i have an imperfect immune system”

- if he has a fever he becomes really honest, especially at night

- “i love my brothers. do they know that? they’re my family- why are you recording me?”

- finding him laying on the air conditioner naked because he’s over heating

- because the sickness weakens him he’s sweeter and can’t keep up the bad boy facade around you

- that doesn’t mean he stops with the flirting even though you’ve been dating for years

- “taking my temperature are we? i can think of some things to put in your mouth ;) ”

- letting dick come over when J is being a soft boi so jason can tell dick he loves him then continue throwing up

- J getting over the sickness and he just wants to kiss you all the time because he’s not contagious (he kissed you even when he was though...)

- secretly relishing in sick weeks with jason because he’s chill and loving and perfect for blackmail tapes, but enjoying when his flirtatious smirk comes back online

Tim:

- this kid will hook himself up to an IV drip to avoid sickness

- when he goes down he goes down HARD

- if he gets really sick it’s a fun ER visit, field trip!

- coffee doesn’t taste good when he’s sick making tim a regular human again

- you take the time to try to get him on a good sleep schedule

- fever dreams getting pretty bad

- he’s constantly sweating and will always try to get you to shower with him

- “y/n i’m so sick what if i DIE in the shower. you have to come for safety”

- he lets everyone dote on him, he likes that they worry it makes him feel appreciated and loved

- everyone telling damian they won’t just let “natural selection decide Drake’s fate”

- tim is the one person bruce gets concerned for because the kid is spleenless

- becoming the king of the house for a week or so while also fearing for your life takes a lot out of tim, you stay over a lot, just being with him to keep him calm and safe, anything for the worlds sweetest boi

Damian

- he refuses to see you at the risk of beloved getting sick

- trying to convince him that food poisoning isn’t contagious

- once you’re allowed over dami becomes a cuddle monster

- he just wants you to hold him and run your hands through his hair while you whisper stories about your day

- demanding Pennyworth make him soup

- lots of sketching and painting, he always draws sketches of you, he likes being able to drink in every inch of you, completely focused on each tiny detail from the light freckles on your nose to the way one dimple is larger than the other or how you bring your shoulders forward when you laugh

- throwing things at his brothers when they interrupt

- constant teasing about how “little baby dami is sick”

- he’ll say he’s fine too early and you’ve learned to force him to stay in bed 48 hours after he says he’s fine

- it always reminds damian why he loves being robin when he’s forced sit out for a week, he returns to the suit with newfound determination and appreciation for the activity of saving lives

- you are always so proud of your love bird for using sickness as way to create passion, one of the many way the lil nugget inspires you constantly

1K notes · View notes

toosicktoocare · 4 years

Text

I’ve got BatFam on the mind.

Jason sinks back against his couch, humming pleasantly, and he’s just about to kick his feet atop the ottoman and open the new book he’s been eager to dig into for a month now when a quick, patterned knock on his apartment door interrupts his eased thoughts, startling him briefly before he sighs loudly.

He’s just decided to ignore it when the knocking continues, accompanied, this time, by a small voice he, unfortunately, recognizes almost immediately.

“Jason?”

He makes sure the groan that builds from the back of his throat is dramatically loud and equally as long as he drops his book on the abandonded couch behind him and starts to the door, undoing the locks and pulling the door open with a familair frown reserved specifically for the damned “family” of his.

“Replacement,” Jason bites out, fingers curled lazily around the edge of the door.

Tim’s drenched before him, shuddering slightly with his arms wrapped tightly around his too-slender frame, and his normal, calculated composure looks to be nudging the brink of breaking. He squeezes under Jason’s arm, letting himself into the apartment, and Jason drags a deep sigh out.

“I need your help.”

“Did you already forget where the door is?” Jason asks, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Because it’s right there, and I’m happy to escort you out.”

Unfazed, Tim slows his pacing down, stopping in the center of Jason’s entryway. “Dick’s been kidnapped.”

Jason rolls his eyes, a bad habit he hasn’t cared in the slightest to remedy. He drags narrow eyes up and down Tim’s uniform. “And I care because?” he draws out, arching both brows.

Tim sighs at this, and if Jason weren’t borderline dangerously annoyed, he’d be a little impressed that he’s managed to just barely get under Tim’s skin.

“Look, seeking out your help made the most sense logistically.”

“Logistically,” Jason parrots back flatly.

“You’re the closest to our location.”

“And, you came here instead of helping,” Jason points out, motioning toward Tim’s suit. “Why waste the time? You’re capable of helping him yourself.” He’s hoping, smally, that the fraction of a compliment will boost Tim’s ego up just enough to send him out the door, and yet, Tim visibly deflates before him, tugging his mask off and coughing into the crook of his arm.

“I shouldn’t be out.”

“Because you look as if you took a deep dive in the Gotham River in the dead-ass middle of winter?”

“And because I have the flu.”

Jason frowns sharply, eyes flicking from one too-flushed cheek to the other. Without thinking fully, he crosses the room and slaps a palm to Tim’s forehead, finding him alarmingly hot to the touch despite the icy water dripping off him.

“You do remember that you’re kind of missing your spleen, right?” Jason questions lowly, stepping back to further assess Tim’s condition through gaze alone.

Shuddering, Tim hugs himself tightly, eyes casting to the ground. “Dick asked me to come out and help. I told him it may not be a good idea because,” he pauses, turning to hack harshly into his fist, “well, that. But he insisted.”

“He insisted,” Jason repeats darkly, eyes flashing a brief red.

Tim meekly nods, swaying on his feet, and Jason growls in the back of his throat, guiding Tim to the bathroom. “Christ. Hot shower and change into something dry,” Jason spits out, already whipping toward his bedroom for his suit. He’s quick slipping it on, easy muscle memory, and he’s just slipped a few guns into the holsters at his sides when Tim clears his throat.

“You’re going to help?”

“Apparently,” Jason grumbles, hands adjusting the clip of rubber bullets. “The last thing I want is you keeling over in my apartment and the big, bad, Bat blaming me for it. Plus, I now have a reason to rip Dick a new one for being a fucking idiot.”

“Thanks,” Tim sighs, visibly relieved. “There’s a dock with a wooden boat house at Gotham River, east side.”

“Got it,” Jason starts, pasuing, mask only pulled over his forehead. “Hang on,” he stops his quick movement toward the door, whipping around toward Tim. “Did you actually deep-dive in the Gotham River when it’s close to the negatives outside?”

“Got dizzy,” Tim mutters, coughing. “I kind of fell.”

“Fucking hell,” Jason curses, snagging the keys to his bike before stalking out of his apartment, slamming the door behind him.

***

“Do you have a plan?”

Jason works through a colorful string of hushed curses at the sudden sound of Tim’s rough voice in his ear, forgetting that he’s never actually disconnected his comm.

“Yeah,” he whispers, eyeing the boat house from his corner cover behind a brick wall. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping or some shit?”

“I wanted to help you. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m borrowing your laptop so I can have eyes on multiple locations.”

Jason’s working through a grunt that he doesn’t mind, but his brain wraps back around unspoken details. “I have my laptop password protected.”

“’I am the Red Hood’ isn’t exactly a hard password to crack.”

Jason shakes his head, a huff slipping past his covered lips. “I’m moving far away from all of you after this,” he mutters, standing from his cover and approaching the boat house.

“Hood, what’s the plan? You’re wide open right now.”

“About that,” Jason draws out, stopping before the wooden door. He can hear multiple voices behind the rickety walls, Dick’s voice standing out loudly among the others. “I think I’ll just walk in, say a little hello.”

Tim groans in his ear, muttering how he should have ignored logistics to find someone more competent, and Jason laughs lowly before kicking the door wide open, a sly smile curling against his covered lips as multiple men with guns whip toward the door, numerous barrels aimed right at him.

Dick’s in the center of the room tied to a chair. His face is beginning to fade to blues and blacks, yet the look of pure, innocent surprise on his face completely contradicts the entire situation.

“Hood?”

“I’d say long time no see,” Jason starts, one hand slowly moving to ghost above a gun at his waist, “but you’re a little hard to make out with all the swelling and bruising.”

Dick rolls his eye that’s not swollen to hell, and Jason starts forward ignoring the rings of clicks that echo from every gun that’s pointed toward him.

“Hey, aren’t you the Red Hood?”

Jason cocks his head to the side, turning toward the voice. “Well, I do have a hood, and last I checked, it’s definitely red.”

“Watch it, smartass. What business do you have with this one?” The man speaking, some gruff, bulky blond with distasteful tattoos littering his fingers, motions toward Dick with the barrel of his gun, and Jason tenses slightly, his hand now laying fully atop the gun at his waist.

“Bird infestation,” Jason grumbles. “Gotta get this one to get rid of the other.”

“Red Robin?” Dick calls out, jerking against the ropes that have his hands tied tightly behind the chair. “Is he okay?”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Jason mutters, and Tim crackles in his ears.

“Hood, I don’t like these odds. I’m going to call for back up.”

“No need, Replacement.” Jason drags a slow gaze back toward Dick, and though they disagree on 90% of things, they still, somehow, share this odd ability to communicate via look alone, and Dick gives a single nod to his silent question. “I have help.”

“Jason-”

Jason slips both guns out from his holsters and stretches his arms out wide and open. “Let’s go, boys.”

The next few seconds are loud, gun shots ringing out from every direction, and Jason feeds off the familair sound, adding into the mix with his rubber bullets that don’t miss. Dick, as he predicted, has broken the wooden chair he’s been tied to and has managed to wiggle his wrists free from the ropes. Jason covers him with one gun while targeting those running toward him with his other.

The fight lasts a minute and forty-three seconds, with Jason and Dick ending on top, multiple unconsious men at their feet.

“I’ve already notified Gotham PD,” Dick starts, rubbing at his wrists as he steps over a few bodies. “Where’s Tim? He was fighting outside, and one of these assholes broke my comm.” Dick’s tense, fear laced heavily in his voice, and Jason steadies his eyes into a sharp glare.

“He’s back at my apartment, sick-” is all he manages out before Dick’s racing out of the boat house. “-as fuck, no thanks to you,” Jason finishes flatly to himself. He slips his bike keys from his pocket and starts out the door when he can hear sirens in the distance.

***

Jason makes it back to his apartment a few seconds after Dick, and he’s making a very serious mental note to move far away when he slips through the open door to see Dick hovering over Tim, pressing a palm to his forehead, counting Tim’s pulse with his free hand.

“Dick, I’m fine,” Tim whines, swatting at Dick’s hands, and Jason pulls his mask off and cocks his head to the side.

“Spleenless, the flu is not ‘fine,’“ Jason gripes out, and Dick whips around to him, eyes wide, before dragging a quick gaze back to Tim.

“The flu? Tim, what the hell?”

Frowning, Jason approaches the two, eyeing Tim dangerously. “You said he knew.”

“I calculated a few scenarios,” Tim starts, coughing weakly. “I figured you’d be more likely to help Dick if you were pissed at him.”

“What kind of fucking backwards logic-”

“-Dick!”

Jason’s unable to finish his thoughts when Dick drops to a knee in front of him, one hand curled tightly around his abdomen, his face pinched in pain.

“Dick,” Tim presses again, shoving the laptop from his lap and leaning over the side of the couch to get a better look. “What’s wrong?”

Jason’s seen some shit when it comes to this twisted family he can’t quite get out of, but he can truly say that he’s never seen Dick’s stoic composure crumble under the weight of injury, and his eyes grow wide all on their own, a lump building in his throat.

“Nothing,” Dick grunts out around clenched teeth, his jaw a hard, sharp line, and Jason blinks around the muted grip of fear, groaning instead and pulling Dick to his feet despite Dick’s hiss of pain at his side.

“Alright, Dickie Bird. Since my home is now apparently the house of the hurt and helpless, let’s look you over. One bird down in my apartment would be bad, but two? No fucking way.”

He calls out for Tim to take some damn medicine as he drags Dick into the bathroom, pulling at Dick’s suit until the top half’s pulled down, revealing dark purple bruising littering Dick’s sides.

“Your ribs?” Jason guesses, and Dick nods, swallowing back a moan of pain when Jason presses lightly on Dick’s sides.

“Doesn’t seem broken, but we’ll wrap it just in case. I’m sure Alfred will personally kill me if I don’t.” Jason moves for his first aid kit, very much aware but choosing not to adress the hard eyes watching his every movement.

“Jay-”

“I don’t want to hear it, D,” Jason says, snagging some large bandages he can wrap around Dick’s torso.

“Thank you.”

Jason groans loudly, crouching down to start wrapping Dick’s ribs. “I said I didn’t want to hear it. What’s up with you birds and your piss poor hearing?”

“I really didn’t know that Tim was sick. He seemed off, but he was insistent that we go and investigate the boat house. He said he had reason to believe they were smuggling drugs underneath the floorboards.” Dick hisses sharply when Jason tightens the bandages, promptly shutting him up.

“I should have known that your mother hen instincts would have never let typhoid Timmy go out while sick.”

Dick rolls his eyes around a wince, hand ghosting across the bandages when Jason stands up and backs away to critique his work.

“Things just got a little out of hand.”

“Clearly,” Jason says dryly, and Dick frowns deeply when he stands, the pain pulling at his sides hot and overwhelming.

“I’ll call a cab-”

“-don’t,” Jason sighs loudly. “It’s late. You both can stay, but your asses are gone in the morning.”

The smile that spreads across Dick’s lips is blindingly familiar, and Jason finds he’s at ease with Dick’s boyish charm overcoming him once more.

They slip out of the bathroom, and Jason starts to his room to get a change of clothes for Dick, pausing in the doorway to see Tim passed out on his bed, his breaths loud, congested.

“I can move him to the couch,” Dick offers from behind him, and Jason only shakes his head silently, padding quietly into the room. “You both can sleep in here. He’s already infected my bed, anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Jason sighs, only faintly aware of how many times he truly sighs whenever one of the damn birds is around. He shoves clean clothes into Dick’s arms before stalking around him to change his own clothes, maybe take a hot shower to chase away the lingering chill, and finally, hopefully, start his book.

“Jay?”

Jason stops, one foot already in the bathroom. “If you look at me with those stupid, puppy eyes and say ‘thank you’ one more fucking time, I’ll make sure your ribs actually break.”

Dick smiles wide and holds a hand up in mock defense before he slips into the bedroom and nudges the door closed, and Jason shakes his head, his own breath of a smile flicking at the corners of his lips as he closes the door behind him.

272 notes · View notes