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Jason doesn’t know who is the little hellion that stole his antidepressants, but he’s going to use this shitty, shitty plan to figure that out somehow.
So here he is haphazardly throwing the still hot tray of chocolate chip cookies onto the counter, completely ignoring the fact that he forwent the glove and pulled the metal tray out of the burning hot oven the moment the alarm went off with his bare hands.
Well that actually doesn’t really matter to him anyways, cause the pit will do its job and fix his physical problems. That doesn’t make him any less bitchy than he already is though, as Kyle had put it. Some days, Jason would wonder why he continues being boyfriends with someone that is clearly more than capable of being a bigger asshole than him. Rayner told him it was because he loved him, and Jason thinks that this was god’s way of punishing him for ditching being an angel to come back to earth as an absolute heathen. Jason personally thinks he done a good job, and can’t wait till god tries his luck and finally nerf or nothing's his still breathing body into the fucking cosmos.
Yeah, he can see why he needs Ketamine to begin with.
Anyways, today was the day where he was actually supposed to have a proper day off. Kyle was home from a mission with a sloppy head injury, (“Wear a fucking helmet”, Jason would say. Kyle would simply go hehehe like the evil goblin he knows he can be.) and Jason is legally dead, so technically everyday is a day off, but being a crime lord is significantly harder it seems, and he had finally finished all of his paperwork and had nothing to do but relax and delay an unstoppable mental breakdown that is waiting to happen for later.
But oh no life decided that he couldn’t have anything for himself
Dick had called him on Friday and had told him that he was going to drop both Tim and Damian at his apartment for the weekend because apparently, Dick has once again decided to break the Good Older Sibling Rules™ to go on a date with Wally, that speedy little bastard. When Jason had asked him why Stephanie or Cass couldn’t do it he found out that they were also going on a date. He wasn’t even going to ask why Bruce wasn’t taking care of his little bastard children, but Dick said that he was on an off world mission with the Justice League. Now with Duke and Kate both being smart people and saying taking measures to escape babysitting duties, the only semi functional human being left to babysit a demon and an E-boy was Jason.
So now Jason was left with 2 toddlers in his apartment that he has to take care of.
And this would have been so, so much bearable if he didn’t conveniently forget to take his anti depressants for the past two days, but when he decided enough was enough and slapped his bed side table for his prescription bottle, he discovered that one of the 2 parasites in this house stole it! Now he is righting his wrongs by hunting for the little rascal who took his medication, so he could finally regain some semblance of his nonexistent sanity.
He was just waiting for the feral little possums to come scurrying in like the rats they are and--oh look it didn’t even take them 30 seconds to shred his couch and come scuttling into the kitchen at the sight of chocolate chip cookies. Fucking Gluttons.
Tim quietly manifested by his side like the soul of a dead Victorian ghost girl and hasn’t said anything, but is giving out an intense aura of such fucking desperation to eat his cookies while they’re still piping hot, that Jason thinks for a minute that the replacement is going to literally to die of dysentery if he says anything resembling a no. Damian’s head doesn’t even reach his nice expensive marble kitchen counter beyond the nose, yet has the fucking audacity to look up at him with the arrogance of a god while he says, no demands,
“Give us the cookies, Todd.”
Jason doesn’t even give an outward reaction. He’s too busy fighting the brewing pit in him that is tempting him by silently chanting “kick the baby” in the back of his mind. He’s tired, he’s depressed, and he wants to definitely kick the baby but he can’t do that if he wants peace and his Zoloft back, so he responds.
“You give me my fucking,,, Xanax back, I know one of you have it.”
When Jason meant by one of you he actually meant Tim, because as far as he knows Tim is the only one in this damn family that uses the same brand of antidepressants that he does, and is also very well known to steal Jason’s own medication when he runs out.
(Jason doesn’t even know how Tim runs out of his prescription when he’s known Tim to have never taken it even if it meant dying, but then he remembers Alfred exists. God bless that man.)
Except Tim looks at him very confused, and Jason, being the best liar in this fucking family, is sure little Timmy is innocent of the crime when he goes “...I thought you took Prozac.”
Ah shit, was it Prozac? Kyle had railed him so fucking hard he forgot the name of his fucking antidepressants. Well then, Tim can’t take his shit if he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for--wait no, actually he still can.
“What ever the fuck its called, I honestly couldn’t care at this point.” Jason admits. Tim snorts and then quietly mutters a ‘dumb bitch’ under his breath, very aware that Damian and Jason can still hear him.
“You only get the cookies if you confess and give me the bottle back.”
A beat of silence, then two, with all of them looking at each other in suspicion and distrust like that one Spiderman meme. Surprisingly its actually Damian who confesses.
“I have your prescription bottle, Todd.”
“Why do you even want it anyway?” Jason asks, genuinely curious about this kid's need for his cylindrical orange pill bottle.
Damian is, in his eyes, a fetus, and his parents’ hereditary history of mental illnesses won’t pass down to him until he hits puberty, to which he will then develop so many fucking problems. Not as much as Jason though, but he knows that right now the kid is too young and doesn’t have a need for Prozac yet.
“Arts and Crafts.” Damian replies, as if that answer is anywhere near helpful. Jason tilts his head to the side, and then flicks his wrist like every brown mom would when he can’t form a coherent string of words to explain his need for Damian to elaborate.
Damian just tsks and opens his mouth but it is Tim who adds on, actually answering his question. “He’s making DIY fairy lights with the pill bottles.”
Okay he takes back what he said about Tim answering his question, that doesn’t make any fucking sense.
Damian continues talking as if Jason hasn’t taken another metaphorical hit to the head with a crowbar, “I have an Etsy shop.”
“They’re also pretty high quality and long lasting lights, honestly. I have a bunch of them hanging in my room. You should buy some.”
“Of course they would be high quality, Drake, I don’t half ass my projects like you.”
Jason just raises his brows in shell shock as he listens to Tim and Damian argue, trying to comprehend this conversation as an actual real time event and not a by-product of possibly inhaling a lot of crystal meth while crashing a drug ring. The cookies on the counter and his antidepressants are already out of his thoughts as the thought of Damian owning an Etsy shop and making fairy lights out of prescription bottles to sell them crash his mind. Is this where all of his and the bats’ orange bottles have ended up? Is this why he kept getting complaints of someone stealing from his garbage can at night? This can’t be real.
The cookies are forgotten in favor of being emotionally distressed at this new piece of information as well as pushing Tim off his Gucci counter when he tries to sit on it, until suddenly Jason’s front door swings open to reveal Kyle, in all his hickey covered glory. Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t forget about Kyle's existence a moment ago, but Kyle doesn’t need to hear him say that because he probably already knows, if the look of understanding he throws them is anything to go by. Tim and Damian also finally shut the fuck up and start to stare at the Green Lantern they believe is intruding upon their little space when it is in fact the opposite way around.
With the confidence only a Lantern can have, Kyle immediately walks into the place, closing the door and then gliding across the floor in record timing to move around the table and then snatch Tim and Damian’s older brother by the waist in an embrace. The two younger bats gape in shock and disgust at his pearl clutching behavior while Jason only scrunches his nose in distaste. He cranes his head and locks eyes with Kyle in an attempt of a glare, but fails miserably because Kyle only snorts.
“Unhand me you fiend, and where have you been while I’ve been suffering all day?”
Kyle shrugs and outstretches his arm to show the shiny white and red CVS bag in his hand, which catches all of their attention, “I went to get yours and Tim’s prescription filled up.”
That is a fucking good excuse. “Oh gimme gimme gimme!'' Jason beckons, and Kyle unceremoniously dumps the CVS bag onto the counter. Tim snatches the plastic bag faster than Jason can when he has an octopus latched onto his side, and opens the bag up to confirm Kyle’s alibi. Damian is on his tippy toes to see the contents of the bag.
“Yeah those are our prescription bottles, he wasn’t lying--wait--” Tim squints and looks up at Kyle, rattling the orange bottle in his hand. “Bupropion?”
Kyle smiles sympathetically, “Yeah, always has been. You know, for badass hypercompetent furries with copious amounts of trauma, you guys are notoriously shit at taking care of yourselves and remembering the name of you medications.’’
“...huh.” Tim said intelligently, after processing Kyle’s words and ignoring the furry jab.
Damian scoffs, “of course you two would be dimwitted enough to not know the name of your medication.”
Tim doesn’t take to that kindly, “Shut up you’re 5’2 and look like a melted Playmobil figure.”
“Yeah well you have the fucking Farquaad cut, Drake.”
Jason completely ignores their little argument, grabbing whichever bottle is the closest and running off into his bathroom before Kyle can get him back in his grips. (Weak ass bitch)
“Babe that’s the wrong fucking one!” Rayner shouts. Jason doesn’t even look at the label to see that it's labelled “TIM DRAKE” in big bold letters. Eh, same difference, Tim can use his bottle instead.
“Love you too now fuck off!”
Damian yells out to him before he can get into the bathroom and shut the door. “Todd what about the cookies?”
“Go apeshit, eat it, fuck yourself with it, I don’t give a fuck. Just don’t kill my boyfriend while I’m in the shower.”
Tim and Damian will in fact, attempt to kill his boyfriend while he’s in the shower.