Chapter Text
Jason snapped awake at the loud pounding on his front door. He rolled onto his side and stared blearily because there was something off about the noise, but he’d just fallen asleep after a long night of patrol so he excused himself for not giving a rat’s ass as to why.
It couldn’t be his so-called family. They’d invite themselves in through the window, raid his fridge, maybe drink his beer. Okay, that was Dick and it was only the one time, but it was annoying as fuck. An assassin wouldn’t pound on his door to get his attention; if they were smart, they’d go for a headshot through the window while he was standing around in his underwear.
Still, as he rolled out of bed to put on a pair of pants from the pile of clean laundry he hadn’t had time to put away, he also grabbed one of his guns. This was the Bowery, not the suburbs where people went knocking on doors asking to borrow eggs or sugar or shit like that.
“Whaddya want?” he shouted at the door. “It’s ass o’clock in the morning and some of us are tryin’ ta sleep!”
The pounding stopped. “Jason! Lemme in!” a young voice piped up.
It was very young. Too young to be Damian, his voice was just starting to crack – and wasn’t that a barrel of laughs every time it happened? Jason peered through the peephole but all he saw was a mop of black hair and what looked like a black blanket trailing along on the floor.
The hell?
Jason shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans, not caring that the cold metal dug into the small of his back, and opened the door a crack. And then opened it wider to let the little black-haired tornado wearing the top half of the Red Robin uniform dash into his apartment, dragging the cowl and cape behind him. He clutched the boots against his chest and Jason spotted the gold of the bandolier idiot-handles poking out of each one.
Tim was...Tim was a toddler. Jason blinked a few times because this just did not compute .
“What the fuck happened?” he managed to ask his replacement as he closed and locked the door behind him. More importantly, why was Tim even here? Sure, they were on speaking terms now, but that didn’t mean they hung out socially. Masks and hoods were the cornerstone of their relationship, allowing them both to engage in the time-honored Bat family tradition of repressing feelings and hiding behind snide remarks.
“Magic. What else would it be?”
What else indeed? Jason yawned, too tired to deal with this crap. “I dunno. There’s always that powdery junk the shaman guy sprinkled on Beetlejuice that shrunk his head.”
Even as a toddler, Tim was a master of the flat glare. But this time, he stomped his little foot, which was just too much for Jason’s sleep-deprived brain. “That’s a movie.”
“What part of ass o’clock in the morning did you not understand? I just got in maybe an hour ago.”
“Jason!” Tim’s brilliant blue eyes wavered, growing wider and wider until Jason had to suck in a breath because holy shit, who’d have thought Tim the Pretender Drake was also a master of the puppy dog eyes? “I need your help. You think I turned into a child just for the hell of it?”
“Stranger shit has happened to all of us.”
Tim dropped his gear and glared harder. It didn’t work, even if it did make his little nose crinkle up. “I’ll grant you that, but seriously, Jason. I need your help.”
“The last time I checked, I don’t have a magic wand hidden up my ass.” Jason huffed and returned to his bedroom to dig around in his laundry basket to find a shirt and some socks. It went without saying that he wasn’t about to get back to sleep anytime soon. “What about the others?” he asked, tugging the shirt over his head as he rejoined Tim in the living room. “You have magic connections, right? Call them.”
His head popped through the neck just in time to see Tim avert his eyes and his little shoulders slump, telling him he’d just struck a nerve. It was intriguing to see his normally calm and snarky replacement, the one who had so much control over himself that he could be a clone of Bruce, so expressive. Not that this was a major tell, but this was Tim. Maybe it was the transformation itself, but Jason had spent a fair amount of time around younger kids, and his gut told him it was the body itself.
Tim had no more control than any other five-year old did.
Whatever happened next, he was bound and determined to enjoy the shit out of it. Because it would be awesome.
“I’m not sure who to call,” Tim finally replied, his voice small. “I – I can’t remember exactly what happened.”
Jason sighed and headed over to the sofa where he sat down heavily on the lumpy cushions. After a moment, Tim followed and scrambled up beside him, curling into the corner. The top of the uniform all but billowed around him as he pulled it over his knees. His little feet peeped out from under the hem and were engulfed in a pair of socks that were held on with strategically placed zip-ties. It really was too early to deal with this, but he was already making a to-do list, and clothes that fit were at the top.
“Okay, Timmers. How about you tell me what you do remember, and we can go from there.”
Like, why did Tim come here when he could have gone anywhere else, or called the Super-Clone to give him a lift?
“I was near Gotham U tonight,” Tim started, picking at the rolled cuffs on his sleeves. “There’s been a series of small thefts from the university museum that I wanted to investigate. Nothing major, but one of the pieces happened to be a donation from my parents, so when the officials alerted me, it piqued my curiosity.”
Jason wanted to laugh because no five-year old ever used words like investigate or piqued. Hell, he was pretty sure that was a Tim-thing, but he kept his mouth shut.
“After some digging, I discovered there was no discernable pattern to the thefts. The artifacts are from all over the world. A small jar from Peru, a ceramic statuette from central Mexico. Wood-and-bone carvings from the Arctic. From the other side of the ocean, there was a set of jade earrings from China, an Egyptian funerary doll, and then my parent’s donation, which was from Israel. I started thinking that someone in the museum was working with either a private collector that had no morals…” Jason scoffed there, which made Tim grin. “I know, right? Who’d even think that?”
“I bet the only completely legit private collection on the Eastern Seaboard is Bruce’s.”
Tim nodded in agreement. “Checking provenance is something he’d totally do. And if not him, then Alfred.”
“Exactly. Keep goin’.”
The child sighed, frowning even as his little face scrunched up while he collected his thoughts. “I decided to break in to the university museum and poke around the exhibits, thinking maybe some of the other artifacts might provide a clue. Before I made my way into the exhibit hall, I heard someone arguing in one of the back rooms. It was late, even for people like us, so this guy was either there early or had been at it for hours and clearly needed a nap.”
Jason vowed right then and there that for as long as he was involved in this, he was instituting naptime for Tim. The pain from his retribution would be worth it.
“This is where it starts to get hazy.” Tim shifted and raised his eyes. “I remember the hallway. I remember the door. Then, somehow, I’m in the office and this older man is yelling and waving at an item on his desk, saying something about how youth is wasted on the young. There was a bright flash of light and I felt like I’d just been punched in the gut. I ran since magic was the last thing I was equipped for. Each step I took, it grew harder and harder to even move. At one point, I’m pretty sure I blacked out. The next moment I clearly remember, I was on the Bowery side of the Sprang looking like this.” Tim held up his hands. “My gloves are missing, but the rest of my uniform seems to be intact. Once I got my bearings and made a few clothing adjustments, I hightailed it here, hoping you’d be home.”
Story over, Jason still had questions. “That’s all well and good, Timmy, but I’ll ask you again. Why me? I get that I was closest, but I’m not exactly the kind of guy people rush to when they have this kind of problem.”
Or any problem, really. Although, the Pretender liked to flaunt expectations, so it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that he came knocking.
Tim leaned forward. “I’m here because I know that you’ll let me help find this guy and figure out what it is he did to me. The others,” he paused here, swallowed, then continued. “The others will sideline me, probably ban me from the Cave, and try to treat me like a kid.”
“I hate to break it to ya, but you are a kid.”
“I only look like one. My mind, everything up here is still the same.” Tim tapped his forehead. “I just can’t reach the kitchen counter right now.”
“Maybe you can use this as a second chance to drink more milk. Grow taller.”
The child’s glare would have been much more effective if he’d been an adult. “I drank plenty of milk.”
“Yeah, sure you did. What was in it? Chocolate?” There were times growing up when Jason would have killed for chocolate milk.
“You’re such a jerk. I should have gone to Dick and suffered the consequences.”
“Whatever you say, kiddo.”
Tim scowled and all but exploded out of his corner of the sofa, pummeling Jason with his tiny fists. “I am not a kid! I am an adult!”
“An adult who happens to wear what? 4T? 5T?”
“You are such an asshole.” The kid flopped bonelessly against Jason’s chest, all the fight disappearing from him. It was oddly endearing. “I’m tired.”
“You went from twenty-one to five over the course of who knows how long. I’d say that earns you a nap.” There, he’d done it. Naptime. Maybe he could catch a few z’s too.
Tim pushed himself up just enough to narrow his eyes. “This is not a nap. This is a strategic retreat into slumber because I’m too tired to think straight anymore. Unless you want to give me some coffee?”
“There is no fucking way I’m giving coffee to a toddler.”
The pout Jason got in return was insane because there was no goddamned way a child could look that adorable. Especially Tim. His replacement was a lean, mean, crime-fighting machine, powered by coffee, sarcasm, and as little sunlight as possible. Not this tiny, warm, nearly weightless bundle that wordlessly flopped back down and passed right the fuck out there on his chest.
What was wrong here? Or rather, what was wrong with him? This entire situation was raising all kinds of parental instincts he regularly pretended he didn’t have. Kids were cute and all, but it was more fun to rile them up, give them sugar, and then unleash them back on their parents. Tim, though… Jason frowned when he realized his arm was carefully tucked under Tim’s bottom, holding him close as he slept.
Protecting him. Keeping him safe.
Okay, this was getting far too deep for him. Tim was still Tim, underneath it all. Tim, who was the one person from his family that didn’t annoy him these days, that he could actually work with, and didn’t feel like punching in the dick each time he opened his mouth.
He could do this. Because holy hell, this was something he had no intention of backing away from.
Sleep deprivation was all part of the job, a fact Jason utterly despised since he’d been planning to do nothing but spend his morning in bed repaying his sleep debt. The last several nights had been spent trying to prevent a brewing gang war from errupting into full-scale chaos. Those were always fun and while it was therapeutic to break kneecaps and bust skulls, there was only so much stupidity he could deal with and he’d reached his quota for the month.
Sometimes, he felt like he was born old. Especially now.
Jason blinked and jerked his head, trying to dislodge the small weight on his chest and the even smaller hands patting at his cheeks.
“Wake up, Jason. Seriously, wake up. It’s time to work.”
“Christ, you are worse than Alfie. Go back the fuck to sleep.”
“Samuel L. Jackson you most definitely are not. It’s noon, Jason. We slept for almost seven hours.”
Oh. Still wasn’t enough, but that explained why his first instinct wasn’t to throw the deadweight off to the side.
“Fine, I’m up.” Jason punctuated the statement by rising from the sofa and promptly dropping Tim back onto the cushions while he stretched. The sofa was great for a nap, but only when he was lying horizontal. His neck would be bothering him all day.
“Hey, watch it!” Tim protested, bouncing slightly. “Just because you can literally haul me around like a sack of potatoes doesn’t mean you get to!”
Jason flipped him off and scratched his stomach. “Fuck off, brat. You want to be handled with, heh, kid gloves, you shoulda gone elsewhere.”
“I knew I was going to regret this.”
“Lemme take a piss and wash up, then we can figure out our game plan.”
Tim mumbled something he didn’t quite catch and looked away.
“What was that?”
The kid glared. “I said don’t trip in the bathroom.”
“Why?”
Tim scowled as he hopped off the sofa. “I had to use some of your hardcovers to reach the sink.”
It was a sign that Jason’s brain had rebooted for the day because it helpfully provided him with the reason why Tim needed to wash his hands in the first place. “Aww, did little Timmy have a hard time reaching the toilet? Did you manage to flush, or did you piss on the seat?”
“I am not that short!” Tim all but screamed at him, temper going from zero to sixty in nothing flat.
The outburst shocked both of them though, especially Tim, who raised his hands and pressed the heels into his eyes to stem the tears that were already starting to stream down his face.
Jason let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. That was – unexpected. “Okay, I’ll knock it off. Just…calm down and gimme a few minutes.”
Tim sniffed hard and stomped away, tripping on his tunic in the process, which did nothing at all to help a massive smirk from appearing on Jason’s face. Good thing the kid didn’t see it because he’d probably try to throw something at him and fail, his stubby little arms nowhere near what they used to be capable of.
Christ, this was just too damn fun.
The bathroom was as he’d left it, but with a stack of older hardcovers that had seen better days neatly piled up along the wall so they were mostly out of the way. Jason didn’t spend too long in there, his stomach waking up to remind him it was time for breakfast. Or lunch, because it was noon, but with his screwed-up inner clock, breakfast was whatever time he wanted it to be.
In the kitchen, he found Tim at the counter, standing on a chair he’d dragged over in an attempt to reach the toaster. At least he hadn’t gone for the coffeepot.
“Okay, let’s have a few ground rules here,” Jason announced as toddler Tim tried to crawl on the counter to get at the bread. “I don’t need CPS accidently getting called on my ass, so how about I make breakfast and anything else that requires a heat source.”
“I know how to make breakfast, Jason.”
“Yeah, you’re a big boy and a capable adult. I’ll buy that because you haven’t put yourself in a diabetic coma like the one Dickie should be in, considering all the crap he eats.”
Even Tim shuddered at that. “How he’s made it to thirty is a feat for the ages.”
It sure as hell was.
In what Jason felt was a massive concession, he set the bread down in front of the kid. “If you can handle the toast, I’ll get us some eggs. How d’ya like yours?”
“I’m not picky.”
“Over easy it is.”
Breakfast didn’t take long to prepare when four hands were involved, even if two of them were tiny and couldn’t butter toast to save their life.
“What’s your plan?” Tim asked once they were seated at the small folding table Jason kept in the kitchen. His shoulders barely reached the top, even seated on two more hardcovers as he was.
Jason sipped his juice. “Clothes for you. I got nothin’ here that’ll fit you.”
“We can always roll and pin the cuffs.”
“Right, and as soon as we step outside, someone will call the cops because they think I kidnapped you, dressed like that. There’s a thrift store just down the street. I can run down there real quick and grab a few things.”
Maybe a few other items just to get a rise out of Tim because he could.
“And then?” The glass of orange juice looked immense in Tim’s small hands.
“While I’m out, I’ll make a call to someone I know. I assume you can’t reach your normal magic contacts, right?”
“My systems are biometrically rigged. I don’t think they’ll recognize me as I am now, especially my voice.”
That actually explained a few things.
“Okay, so I’ll set you up with my laptop while I’m out, see if you can’t try and retrieve your notes or files that way.”
Tim nodded in agreement. “Who’re you calling?”
“My favorite asshole of an Englishman. John Constantine.”
Jason called as soon as he left the building. It went straight to voicemail.
“Call me back, asshole. I need your opinion on somethin’ sooner rather than later.”
Theirs was a complex relationship, consisting mostly of insults and a love of Guinness. But ever since he came back to life, Jason had a penchant for attracting the odd and Constantine was about as odd as they came. He was also a damned powerful magician who owed him a favor. By calling in his favor from Constantine for Tim, the Pretender would be in his debt. And, truth be told, he’d rather have Timmy in his pocket because that kid thought outside the box like no one’s business and had no problem letting him blow shit up if the situation warranted it.
Tim even helped him set up the C4 charges once. That was a great night.
The children’s section of the thrift store was not an area Jason had ever explored, so it took him a few minutes to figure out what was what. All jokes aside, 4T and 5T clothing was small and he had a hard time imagining Tim in any of this. Although the red t-shirt with the dinosaur on it looked like something he’d wear.
A few shirts, some jeans with an elastic waistband that made Jason snicker as he placed them in his basket, socks, underwear, shoes – yeah, that seemed to be all he needed from here. Did the kid need pajamas? Probably.
Jason was sorting through another rack when his phone rang.
“What?” he asked without even looking at the screen.
“Well, well, well. If it ain’t my favorite American zombie.”
Thank fuck. He’d been half afraid he wouldn’t hear from Constantine for a couple days. “That implies you know more than one American zombie, you bloody wanker.”
“That does not sound right with your accent.”
“Blow me. I got a problem and it’s right up your alley.”
“Blow you in an alley? Did I hear you right? C’mon, I got standards.”
This was debatable. “You’ll be spittin’ teeth if your mouth comes anywhere near me. Christ only knows where that thing’s been. You still in New York?”
“Yeah, I am. Another day or two and I’m heading back to civilization. Whaddya need?”
“Tim got whammied with something that turned him back into a kid. He’s still as normal in the head as he ever was, but physically, he’s about five.” There was no need to hide behind masks with Constantine; in fact, the occultist had known who he was from the moment they met a few years ago when Jason was wandering through London. Zombie bird, he’d called him back then.
“Damn. All right, can you bring him to me? I can’t leave New York right now, but I can spare you an hour later this afternoon.”
“I was hopin’ you could come here.”
“You always do, you soddin’ Yank. I owe you a favor, not money and it takes money to get to Gotham.”
“Fine, whatever. Where you stayin’?”
Constantine gave him an address and a time. “See you and the kid soon.”
“Yeah.”
Jason hung up and checked the time. Shit, he needed to get moving if they had a chance of catching a train. What was he looking for? Pajamas, right.
The last item in the 5T section had him pause, then cackle with demented glee that would do the Joker proud. The onesie could not be more perfect if it tried. He placed it in the basket and returned to the shoe section to grab the pair of kid’s boots he’d spotted before and ignored in favor of a simple pair of sneakers. To hell with the cost and the fact Tim would probably only be wearing these for a few hours at most. If he got a picture and sent it to Alfred, the old man would probably send him meals for a week.
Timmy officially had a uniform now.
When Jason returned home, Tim eyed the clothing bags with suspicion, picking up on the fact that he was clearly keeping one from him.
“Get dressed, short stack. We gotta catch a train to New York.”
“Huh?” The statement distracted the former teen wonder from the laptop like it was intended to.
“Constantine is in New York and can’t leave for a few days. I figure you don’t want to wait that long.” Jason paused and gave Tim an appraising look. “Unless you want to go through the joys of puberty again?”
“Hard pass.” Tim snatched the clothes from the bag he’d been given and stalked into the bedroom. “I’ll be ready in five.”
“Lemme know if you need help with your shoelaces!”
“I hate you.”
Jason snickered as he went to the kitchen to grab a few snacks for the trip. Tonight was going to be great, he just knew it.
The trip to Gotham Central Station took longer than expected because apparently traveling with a kid meant walking at the top speed their stubby little legs were capable of. Tim tried to keep up and even resorted to holding his hand to keep from being separated as they wove through the crowded platforms, but Jason still ended up carrying him in the mad rush to catch the bi-hourly train.
“Let’s not do that again,” he said when they were settled in their seats.
Tim nodded, curling up against him as much as his seatbelt would allow. They’d decided on the way over that it would be best if he didn’t speak much where he could be heard since his vocal patterns were so distinctly unchildlike.
The ride was uneventful, and Jason took the opportunity to read while Tim dozed beside him. His paperback had seen better days, but he wasn’t the type to complain, especially since he was borrowing it from Janie, one of the ladies of the night who happened to be his only neighbor at the moment. She liked torrid romance novels and he was in need of something brainless. It was a win-win as far as he was concerned, especially since she was devouring the copy of Sense and Sensibility that he’d lent her in return.
As the train started slowing down, Jason nudged Tim lightly. “Hey, we’re almost there.”
Tim yawned and rubbed his eyes, somehow appearing utterly adorable in the process. Damn, his replacement had been one cute kid. Shame his own parents hadn’t seen it that way.
“Have a nice nap?”
“Yeah.” Tim leaned over to peer out the window.
He had no sense of personal space, climbing over him as he was, which surprised Jason. Was this a Tim-thing? Didn’t seem like it, that kind of behavior was much more Dickie from what he remembered, but what did he know? It wasn’t like they hung out on the regular.
“Your son is so well-behaved after a long trip like this,” the older woman seated across from them commented as the train came to a full stop.
Jason looked up in surprise. Son? Tim? Oh, fuck no.
But Tim, the little shit, plopped right down in his lap to bury his face in his hoodie, acting all shy. Of course, he was playing it up. Jesus Christ.
“Yeah, thanks. He’s a good kid,” Jason replied, trying for a worn out smile he’d seen once or twice from Bruce on the rare occasions he acted like a dad. “I’m tryin’ to do it right. Lord knows my old man didn’t.”
From the vicinity of his chest, he could just barely hear Tim laughing.
“I think you’re doing just fine, sweetie.” She patted Tim’s head as she rose and headed toward the door.
The quiet snickers grew louder and Tim’s shoulders started shaking.
Jason got to his feet, keeping hold of the giggling toddler. “You’re lucky it’s frowned on to dropkick kids.”
“I just discovered the silver lining to all this.” Tim drew back enough to grin widely, revealing all his little baby teeth.
“What?”
“And spoil the surprise? Nuh-uh.”
“Behave or I’m calling Dick.”
“It’s too late. You’re in too deep.”
Why the fuck did he have to be right?
Constantine’s hotel was just like him – shabby and a few years out of its prime, but refusing to admit it. How he was getting around the no smoking signs plastered all over the place was anyone’s guess because the man reeked worse than an incinerator at the dump.
Tim’s little face screwed up in distaste at the scent of his cigarette smoke. “I thought that brand was illegal here.”
“Anything’s legal when you can make someone look the other way.” Constantine smirked as he held the door open. “Well, would ya look at you? Tiny Tim now, right?”
“I will destroy your knee if you call me that again.”
Jason didn’t bother to hide his grin. Why didn’t he think to bring some popcorn?
“Right then, mate.” Constantine turned to Jason. “How’re we doin’ this? Quid pro quo? Although, if I remember our discussion, you’re callin’ in the favor you owe me.”
“I’ll pay you myself,” Tim butted in, glaring up at the occultist. “Just as soon as I’m able to access my funds. Which, the sooner you figure this out, the sooner you’ll get.”
From the way Constantine’s eyes shone, it was clear he found the proposal as hilarious as Jason did. What five-year old spoke this way?
“Kid, my services don’t come free and I only accept IOUs from blokes I know. Like your zombie friend here.”
Jason decided stepping in would probably be in everyone’s best interests if the way Tim was eyeing Constantine’s knee meant anything. “Well, to be fair, Timmers here has access to more money than you or I could shake a stick at.”
“Oh, to be funded by Batman.”
“Nah, there’s too many strings attached. But the kid’s right. He’ll pay you as soon as his fingerprint works properly again.”
Constantine sighed and shot Jason an aggrieved look. “You’re takin’ all the fun outta the negotiations."
“Someone has a bedtime.”
This time, Tim did kick a knee. His.
“Will you please take this seriously? I swear to God, as soon as I can hold a batarang properly again, I am shoving it so far up your –”
Jason slapped a hand over Tim’s mouth and grinned. The kick hadn’t done a damn thing, but fuck was it cute. “Now, now. Only adults get to say the fun words.”
If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man again.
Constantine shook his head. “As much of a riot as this is, you didn’t come all the way here to bicker. I’ll accept an IOU from you, Mr. Drake, if Jason here is vouching for you. He might be a zombie, but he’s a decent enough one. Doesn’t eat brains or give off weird scents.”
Tim licked Jason’s palm, forcing him to release the kid with a loud, “Hey!”
“Thank you, Constantine. Now what do you need me to do?”
“Take off your shirt and just stand there.”
Tim complied and Constantine walked around him, muttering under his breath. He poked him a couple times, once between the shoulders and the other in the center of his chest. To Jason’s surprise, the man knelt before Tim and looked him dead in the eye. “Tell me exactly what you remember.”
The story came spilling out again, without any major deviations from what Jason had heard earlier in the morning. “…My gloves are missing, but aside from those, everything I was wearing was intact. Jason was the closest to my location, so I went to him.”
No need to state what would have happened if Tim had shown up anywhere else. He’d be sitting in Alfred’s kitchen eating cookies right now wearing something Bruce probably wore at his age because the old butler never got rid of anything if he could avoid it. There would be no chance the kid could get anywhere near the Batcave, not until whichever magic user Bruce summoned arrived and even then, Dick and Alfred would bundle him right out after they were done.
“Alright then.” Constantine rocked back on his heels. “You’ve been cursed. Well, sort of. It’s an incomplete curse, which, considering the circumstances, is probably for the best.”
“Cursed?” Jason and Tim manage to spit out at the same time.
“How is that a good thing?” Tim continued, eyes big and wide. Damn, he was good at the puppy dog look, even when he wasn’t trying.
Constantine shrugged. “If it was the full curse you wouldn’t be here right now. Probably still wandering around Gotham in your oversized costume making doe eyes at whoever snatched you up. What I’m gettin’ at is that you still have your memories, your sense of self. If the curse had done its job, you wouldn’t even have those.”
Jason let out a slow breath. That was bad, that was very bad and while he and Tim weren’t exactly on the greatest of terms, even he wouldn’t wish for the scum of Gotham’s underbelly having their way with an utterly innocent child who just happened to be wearing the wrong set of clothes.
“Okay, so if it’s a curse, then how do we lift it? There has to be a counter-curse, right?”
“It would help if I knew exactly what had been used to curse you in the first place, Tim. If you can find that for me, then I can fix it.” Constantine stood and looked Jason square in the eye. “I’d hurry though if I were you. These things have a way of finishing themselves, so the longer you wait, the higher the chances of Tim wakin’ up some time and wondering who the hell you are and where Mummy is.”
“Fuck.”