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There are few consistencies Jason can depend on in his life. When you live an existence as chaotic and unpredictable as his, you learn to appreciate the things that never really change. Like the fact that smoothies just taste better when eaten with a spoon. Or how the rich can always be relied upon to screw over the poor. Or the unyielding progression of time, which stops for no man.
Jason is currently enjoying the deliciously slow progression of time while he pushes bits of garlic and onion around the pool of popping olive oil in front of him. The luscious aroma fills the air while the washer thumps rhythmically in the background. He’s learned to appreciate these small moments, quiet and happy fragments of his otherwise turbulent survival.
Tim is far from the most serene presence in his life. But that’s kind of what Jason likes about him; Tim’s curiosity, his sense of adventure. How many nine year olds occupy their time by chasing Batman around Gotham in the middle of the night with a camera?
Tim never fails to bring a bit of excitement into his life. And usually it's a good thing. Except for when Tim uses his unique proclivity for getting into trouble to send Jason into cardiac arrest.
Jason almost sends the sauté pan straight into Tim’s face when the younger man materializes out of thin air at his shoulder.
“ Jesus, Tim,” He gasps, clutching a hand to his heart. “Don’t do that.”
“You left your bedroom window unlocked,” Tim says, as though that justifies the years he’s taken off of Jason’s life. “It smells good,” He adds, not having moved from his spot.
“Thanks,” Jason responds as his heart beat returns to a healthy pace. And then Tim sends it rocketing right back up.
“I wanna try drugs.”
Tim says it as simply as he might say I want takeout for dinner tonight . As though he hasn’t just popped a spontaneous aneurysm in Jason’s brain. Surprisingly, he can’t think of a single thing to say in response.
“Now?” He finally asks, after an excruciating pause.
“Obviously not,” And now Tim is at last no longer breathing on his neck. Instead, he chooses to rifle through Jason’s fridge, the little leech. “Are you out of yogurt?”
“You wanna try drugs,” Jason repeats, trying to make the sentence compute. And it just doesn’t. Not with little Timmy who wears all of his clothes two sizes too big and keeps a pocket full of peppermints on his utility belt during the holiday months. Jason just can’t imagine him smoking a fatty.
“Yes.”
“Care to elaborate on that?”
Tim selects a capri sun and makes himself at home on the island counter.
“I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. And I think that partaking in some controlled recreational drug use could be good for my emotional development. I’ve been told I can be a bit,” Tim tilts his head from side to side as he searches for the right word. “High strung.” Yeah, that sounds about right. “Plenty of people my age consume certain substances as a form of stress relief and entertainment.”
“And you… want me to… help you get the drugs?” Jason has often found that the more Tim explains, the less things make sense.
Tim looks at him unimpressed as he takes a sip from his juice pouch. Or more accurately, Jason’s juice pouch.
“I don’t need your help acquiring drugs. You can’t throw a rock around here without hitting a dealer.”
“Is this your weird way of getting me to talk you out of this?” That would make a little more sense, if Tim was getting a little too curious and subconsciously seeking out Jason in an attempt to regain equilibrium. But Tim just rolls his eyes.
“No. I can’t fully anticipate what my reactions will be under the influence of psychoactive stimulants, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would be present to prevent me from making any choices that I might otherwise regret.”
“So this is your weird way of asking me to babysit you while you get high.”
“...yes.”
Jason shakes his head. “And I suppose you’ve already planned all of this out.”
“Are you free Saturday night?” Tim asks by way of response. His expression is carefully composed, but Jason knows that underneath it, the kid is practically vibrating, jazzed up at the thought of exploring unknown territory. Jason lets out a long, tolerant sigh.
“I can be.”
Tim grins, wide and uninhibited, then hops off the counter.
“Your onions are burning,” He calls over his shoulder.
“ Shit. ”
***
BIG RED // 11:14 PM
For the record, I’m not helping you do any hard shit
BABYBIRD // 11:17 PM
relax its just *lettuce emoji*
BIG RED // 11:17 PM
Have you ever done anything harder than tylenol?
BABYBIRD // 11:17 PM
ive drank before
alcohol is technically a drug
have u???????
BIG RED // 11:18 PM
Wouldn’t you like to know weatherboy
BABYBIRD // 11:18 PM
ooh
now im Intrigued
BIG RED // 11:19 PM
Lol not really actually
Nicotine and alcohol obviously, plus I’ve done *lettuce emoji* a few times
BABYBIRD // 11:19 PM
lololololololol
i love watching u use emojis
its like watching a dog walk on its hind legs
BABYBIRD // 11:20 PM
did u like it???
BIG RED // 11:23 PM
It was alright
I’d do it again
BABYBIRD // 11:23 PM
omg if i like it we should totally smoke together sometime
BIG RED // 11:24 PM
Whatever you want kid
BABYBIRD // 11:25 PM
*green heart emoji* *leaf emoji* d:D
BIG RED // 11:25 PM
What the hell is that
BABYBIRD // 11:25 PM
what
BIG RED // 11:25 PM
d:D
Him
BABYBIRD // 11:25 PM
OH
he’s wearing a little baseball cap
d:)
BIG RED // 11:26 PM
You’re so weird
BABYBIRD // 11:26 PM
d;)
***
“Drug time.”
“Jesus fucking christ!” Jason almost fell off the couch, startled from Tim’s teleportation into his friggin living room. “We need to put a fucking bell on you.”
Tim just smiled and held up a little foil packet. At first he thought it was a condom and desperately tried to remember what exactly he had agreed to before reading THC Gummies! in a colorful font on the front of the package.
“Lemme see,” Tim tossed over the little packet and he caught it out of the air, examining the dosage instructions of the back where it read 2 5mg Edibles (10mg). “Are you sure? This stuff is gonna hit you all at once, it's a lot harder to control exactly how high you get.”
“I’m sure. If I smoke it, the smell will stick to me, and you know Bruce has a nose like a bloodhound. We have a thing tomorrow and if he finds out about this, I’ll have to change my name and move to another planet.”
“Okay, just-just start with one and wait until it hits before taking more.”
“Obviously.”
“ Obviously, ” Jason parroted back, teasing. Tim stuck out his tongue and snatched the package back, tearing it open and immediately swallowing one of the gummies.
“Did you even chew that?” Jason asked, incredulous.
“Does it matter?” Tim asked, setting the remaining gummy carefully on the coffee table then flopping onto the couch next to Jason.
“You’re insane.”
“Takes one to know one,” Tim replied, turning to lie down and throw his legs over Jason’s lap. “So what do you wanna do while we wait for it to kick in?”
“Whatever you want I guess. After all, I am just the babysitter tonight,” Jason said, pinching at Tim’s knee. Tim stuck his tongue out at him again. “I don’t know. Video game? Movie? Retile my bathroom?”
Tim snorted. “A movie sounds good. What should we watch?”
“Probably something low-stress. We wouldn’t want you to have a bad trip.”
“God forbid.”
“What do you want to watch?”
Tim just shrugged. “I don’t watch a lot of movies. What are some good, low-stress movies that come Jason Todd approved?”
Jason hummed. “Crazy Stupid Love? Legally Blonde? Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? Monty Python and the Holy Grail?”
“I have seen none of those,” Tim proclaimed.
Jason’s jaw dropped. “You’ve never seen any of those?”
Tim gave an aborted half shrug against the arm of the couch. “I told you I don’t watch a lot of movies.”
“Yeah, but-” Jason sputtered, trying to wrap his head around Tim’s complete lack of culture. “-But- how has Dick never forced you to watch Legally Blonde?”
“I read the plot synopsis on Wikipedia once. I can’t stand legal inaccuracies in shows. Or any kind of inaccuracies. It’s why I’m not allowed to watch anything to do with true crime. I get too worked up.”
“I’d love to watch you get too worked up over a true crime show.”
“You’ve never had to sit through an adaptation of Sherlock with me.”
Jason heaved Tim’s legs off his lap so he could approach his DVD collection on the shelf next to the TV.
“Alright, I’ve decided. We’re going to watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I think you’ll relate to one of the characters emotionally.”
“That’s what Dick always says when he picks out a movie and then the character is just a child prodigy or gay or a sickly victorian boy.”
“Those are literally your three personality traits.”
Jason’s back was turned, so he didn’t notice the pillow hurtling towards him until it smacked right into his head. He cackled anyway.
He managed to get the movie started and settled back onto the couch without further incident. The first hour of the film passed in relative peace, only interrupted by the occasional snarky comment.
(“ I’m sick,” A voice croaked from the television.
“Oh, I suppose that’s supposed to be me?” Tim asked, unimpressed.
And then later-
“ If I had to live in that house, I’d pray for a disease too. The place is like a museum. It’s very beautiful and very cold and you’re not allowed to touch anything.”
“Oh my god, this character is actually me.”)
And then somewhere over halfway into the movie, Jason looked to the side and Tim was gone. He sat abnormally lax, swaddled in the softest blanket Jason owned with the most vacant expression he’d ever seen on Tim’s face. His eyes were glazed over and locked onto the screen flashing bright colors.
“Tim?” He asked, more amused than anything else. The last time Tim had been this out of it was when he’d gone almost a week without any sleep and forgot how to speak anything other than Cantonese. Bruce had briefly considered hiring an interpreter. Jason just gave Tim a shot glass full of benadryl and told him it was an espresso. Tim downed it without a second thought and was out in minutes.
“Tim?” He tried again when there was no response. He rolled his eyes. Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?
“Tim!” Jason punctuated the call by shoving his foot into Tim’s thigh. Maybe a bit too hard considering he almost tipped over completely before righting himself and turning to look at Jason. Or, more accurately, look through Jason. There was not a single thought behind those eyes.
“Hmm?” Tim replied belatedly.
“How you feeling, buddy?” He asked, barely suppressing his laughter.
Tim blinked sluggishly, pulling his hands out from beneath the blanket to make some kind of shape with his hands.
“You know that scene in Get Out where he goes to the sunken place and it's all, like, dark, and the real world is like this tiny window far away?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s like that, but if Get Out was a happy movie instead of a creepy one.”
“I can’t believe you’ve seen Get Out, but not Legally Blonde.”
“Kon made me watch it. He said it won a bunch of awards.”
“Alright, buddy. Finish watching the movie.” Tim complied without objection, focusing back in on the TV where parade floats were drifting across the screen.
Jason took mercy on him for the next half hour, letting the movie end without making any jokes about Tim’s inebriation. He stared as Tim watched the credits roll, absolutely enraptured.
It was strange seeing him so vulnerable, and not because he was injured or drugged or conked out. That singular focus that was so characteristic of Tim was still there, still zeroing in on his target, but unlike usual, he seemed blissfully unaware of the rest of the world. Not braced for impact, not prepared for the worst to happen. He was relaxed. Defenseless.
Well, not defenseless. That’s what Jason was for. That thought made something in his chest warm. Tim trusted him enough to be vulnerable like this. He knew that Jason would protect him. And he was right.
“Alright, what do you wanna do now?” Jason asked when the last logo faded to black. The sound of a quiet yawn drew his attention. Tim gave his head a little shake, like he was trying to nudge his cognitive functions back into working order. He looked like a hamster.
“You know what sounds good?” Tim asked, instead of answering the question. “Tacos al pastor,” He asserted, not waiting for Jason to respond. “Or-or! Oh my god, I want tiramisu, like from that one place. It’s my favorite. I’m not a big dessert person, but they make it with the- with the, uhhh- but not out of, like, a tub or anything, they make it homemade so it’s more flavor and less sweet, and I like it like that.”
Jason snorted. He could add ‘eloquence’ to the list of behaviors Tim exhibited while high off his rocker. “You’re hungry?”
“Can we get chicken nuggets?”
“We’re not going out into Gotham at this time of night, there’s like, zero chance we don’t run into a bat.”
“But Ja soooon ,” Tim whined, tipping over until his head dropped onto Jason’s thigh. “I’m dying .”
“You’re not dying, calm down.”
“I’m starving and you won’t let me eat so I’m dying and it’s your fault,” Tim griped.
Jason rolled his eyes and shoved Tim out of his lap, ignoring the resultant shriek as he tumbled to the floor, then got to his feet.
“Fine, let’s go to the kitchen and see what we can rustle up before you starve to death.” Tim clambered to his feet, keeping the blanket securely around his shoulders as he followed Jason out of the living room.
A blast of cold air whooshed out as Jason yanked the fridge open, examining it’s contents; the usual basics, eggs, milk, bread, butter, two dozen assorted condiments, sauces, and dressings, broccoli and cut up cantaloupe and the remaining half of a 6-pack of beer. He could make pasta or soup, though something quicker to prepare would probably be better. Maybe just a sandwich and some-
~cruuunch~
Jason looked over to find Tim in front of his pantry, elbow deep in a bag of cheddar flavored Sunchips. Tim caught his eye and pointed at the bag, like might not have seen it.
“These are really good,” He said through a mouthful of chips.
“I know ,” Jason replied, honestly more stunned than anything else. The little leech. “Just take whatever you want, I guess.” The fridge thumped shut. He really shouldn’t have been surprised. Tim had a tendency to make himself at home even when he didn’t have the munchies.
“‘Kay,” Tim said, continuing to root around in the pantry. Jason just shook his head and leaned against the counter, waiting for Tim to discover his stores of Hostess snacks.
Sure enough, after a bit of snooping, Tim let out a gasp theatrical enough to make Jason instinctively reach for the knife block, before the cause of the outburst was revealed.
Tim dove into the pantry, clawing for whatever had gotten him into such a tizzy, shifting the bag of sunchips to one arm and digging through Jason’s canned goods and baking supplies to pull out… a box of Rice-A-Roni.
“I love Rice-A-Roni!” Tim said, scuttling forward like he’d just found God and not a box of shelf-stable pilaf mix. He cradled the box in his hands, holding it out like a sacred offering, a sacrifice to the Rice Gods. He batted his big blue eyes and asked, “Will you make me Rice-A-Roni?”
Jason took the offered box, feeling like a doctor whose patient was pleading for him to save their life, except the diagnosis was mild seasonal allergies.
“Sure.”
Tim cheered and then plopped onto the ground, right in the middle of the kitchen, to tear through the bag of chips while Jason made Rice-A-Roni.
The aroma of butter and chicken filled the small room as Jason set the heat to low and placed a lid on top of the pan. Tim almost cried when Jason told him it wouldn’t be ready for another 15 minutes.
“Well, what do we do now?” Tim asked, laid out fully on the tile, bag of chips still nestled in the crook of his arm.
“What do you want to do?” Jason asked, thoroughly amused. High Timmy wasn’t really all that different from Sober Timmy except that he would stare into the distance for quiet lengths of time and couldn’t hold a conversation for more than 2 minutes without forgetting what they were talking about.
“ Eat!”
Jason tapped his foot, racking his brain for something to occupy Tim with for the next 15 minutes. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Sure, Tim was a bit of a firecracker on his crazier days, impossible to keep still or prevent from finding some kind of trouble to get into, but like this? With his finer motor controls more or less shut off? It couldn’t be that hard to distract him.
And then an old memory resurfaced, something that had occurred to him during the movie earlier.
(“ Ferris, my father loves this car more than life itself.”
“A man with priorities so far out of whack doesn’t deserve such a fine automobile.”
“How come you’ve never taken the batmobile out for a joyride?” Tim asked. It was still too early for the edible to have kicked in. “That seems like something you’d totally do.”
“The last time I fucked around with the batmobile without permission, I got adopted. I don’t wanna give Bruce any ideas.”
“Fair enough.”)
“Wanna see something funny?” Jason asked, grin wide and shit-eating. Tim perked up.
“Yes.”
“C’mon,” Jason said, jerking his head to cue Tim to follow him out of the kitchen, double checking that the stove was set to low heat before making his way down the hall to the spare bedroom, the one that had been refashioned into a tricked-out, triple secured armory/medbay/storage space/gaming room.
He waved Tim over towards the walk-in closet, typing in codes and heaving latches open so he could get inside. After several less than dignified minutes of tunneling to the back of the closet, shoving crates and boxes out of the way, Jason was backing out of the closet, rolling his favorite souvenir out with him.
Tim blinked rapidly, like he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Is that-”
“The tire I stole from the batmobile? Yeah.”
“Fuck off.”
“It is!”
“ No fucking way,” Tim swore, leaning forward to examine the glistening rim and the squeaky clean rubber of the tire long since rid of any of Gotham’s signature grime. The telltale bat-symbol was engraved in the chrome finish of the hubcap.
“Yes fucking way,” Jason preened under Tim’s awe. It was, to date, Jason’s proudest possession. He owned plenty of highly advanced weaponry, sentimental mementos, and keepsakes from his favorite missions, including an extraterrestrial rock lovingly gifted from Kori.
But nothing beat the rush of smug satisfaction that came from knowing that even as a pubescent street urchin, he’d had the titanium balls to do what no one else in Crime Alley would: steal parts from the fucking batmobile.
“I already had this one-,” Jason patted the tire, “-stashed away and was working on the second when Bruce caught me. I told him it was long gone so he just pulled a spare out of the trunk and made me replace it. I went back later to hide it somewhere better and then forgot about it when I moved into the manor. I remembered it after I came back from the League and it was still in the same fuckin’ hidey hole. Go figure.”
Tim just looked at him stunned for a moment, and for that moment Jason was sure he’d finally done it, finally broken him.
Then Tim let out a startled guffaw. And then another. And then he was cackling, howling and rolling around on the floor like Jason and his 12 year old criminal habits were the peak of comedy. Tim laughed so hard he heaved for breath, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and the sight set Jason off too, until they were both rolling on the floor of his spare room shrieking and snorting next to a hijacked bat-tire.
Jason sighed and rolled on to his back to stare at the ceiling as Tim tapered off into the occasional giggle.
The Rice-A-Roni was probably almost done, but Jason was hard-pressed to get up.
Despite his many regrets in life, Jason couldn’t find it in himself to wish things had gone differently. Not when everything that had happened had brought him here.
Later, Jason would feed Tim some more, entertain him until the drowsiness became overwhelming and put him to bed. And at some point hours or days or weeks from now, Tim would do something else ridiculous and preposterous and insane that would rock Jason on his axis.
But for now, they would just lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling, basking in the pleasure of each other's company.