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Jason taps his finger on the table. He glances to his right, straight out into a busy street, jam-packed with cars.
He watches the packed lanes slowly move forward. Riding each other’s tails. Leaving hardly any space between vehicles. He was not looking forward to driving in that traffic. He hoped that, by the time they were finished eating breakfast, that it’d die down somewhat. It was mostly just people trying to get to work, so it’d have to start letting up sometime soon.
“Could you stop that?”
Jason’s attention moves to the person sitting across from him. Tim gives him a deep, annoyed, frown. He looked terrible. He had puffy purple bags carved into his face. His hair was messed up. His black strands stuck in whichever direction they pleased. His clothes looked like they’d been worn for a week without change. Wrinkled. Loose. Covered with dust.
“You gotta say the magic word,” Jason says.
“I’m going to make your life miserable if you don’t stop tapping your finger on the table.”
Jason quirks a brow. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. In fact, here, let me guess. You probably didn’t sleep at all.”
“I don’t need sleep,” Tim growls. “Sleep is for the weak.”
“Sleep helps your mood. It makes you generally happier, and, oh, nicer? Yeah. I think that’s the word.”
“I’m not nice,” Tim grits out. “Not to people who won’t stop tapping the table.”
“What kind of people are you nice for, then?” Jason scoffs.
Tim opens his mouth. He closes it when he hears the familiar patter of feet. Automatically, his face shifts, and Jason watches the tension leave his shoulders.
“Bobo!”
Tim stands up, leaves his seat, and then scoops up a delighted toddler.
“Damian,” Tim sweetly sings.
Jason watches Tim sit back down again, except this time he has Damian in his lap. Jason was a little put-back by Tim’s complete attitude change.
“Thanks for waiting,” Dick says. He joins their table, sliding in next to Jason. “Damian wasn’t super cooperative this morning.”
Tim makes an exaggerated gasp of shock. “Damian!” He looks down at the child in his lap. “Did you give your dad a hard time this morning?”
Damian leans back against Tim’s chest. He looks up at him with innocent eyes. “Bobo! Silly!”
“I’m not silly!” Tim laughs, freeing a hand to mess up Damian’s hair, “I’m just trying to keep you in line! Somebody has to!”
“Silly, silly, silly,” Damian sings.
“That’s his new favorite word,” Dick mentions with a smile.
Jason watches Tim spoil Damian rotten with hair ruffles, sweet croons, and a bouncing knee. He tries to picture the earlier, grumpier, Tim.
“You’re telling me,” he starts up, “that you’re only nice to babies?”
Tim looks up at Jason. He rolls his eyes. “No. I’m only nice to Damians.”