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Tim stared down his brother in the doorway of his current safe house at approximately five in the goddamn morning. Time for even vigilantes to sleep. “No. You cannot keep showing up here whenever you’re fucked up.”
“Sure I can,” Jason said, flashing a crooked grin. The effect was rather diminished by the blood running down his temple. And his leg. And his jacket. There was a shit ton of blood.
“No, you can’t,” Tim said, but he was opening the door to let him in anyway, because he was an idiot who would feel a bit bad if he kicked Jason out and he bled out in an alleyway.
Jason saluted in a way that was probably illegal. “Thanks, Timbo.”
Tim slammed the door shut with perhaps more force than was necessary, scowling it. “Don’t mention it. Ever. You know where the first aid kit is.”
“Gotta bullet lodged in my back,” Jason called, ambling down to the kitchen that was used for emergency bullet and knife removal, along with consequent stitching up. Food was not made there, unless anyone felt like getting a weird bloodborne disease.
“Sucks for you.” Ugh, Tim hated when blood dried sticky. It felt disgusting, and also made him vaguely worried about what the hell was in Jason’s blood specifically. Aside from cancer. What was the Pit even doing?
“Someone needs to get it out and I can’t reach, so unless ya feel like inviting Dickface over here too, you’re gonna have to do it yourself.” Jason was already digging through Tim’s first aid kid, frowning. “What’s with all these extra antibiotics?”
“No spleen,” Tim reminded him, shoving him away and ignoring how he grunted. “Alright, on the table, armor off. Let’s get this over with.”
“Yes, sir.” Jason scoffed, but he really didn’t have a leg to stand on, considering he was the one bleeding all over Tim’s floor.
He could be sleeping right now. Everyone made a fuss about him not getting enough–which was rich, considering their family’s occupation–but this shit happened all the time, so clearly they didn’t care that much.
Jason stripped down to the shorts he wore under his armor and shit, taking off his tank top to reveal a torso riddled with scars, and also smeared with blood. “How’d you even manage to get shot straight through your armor?” It was pretty tough, since Jason didn’t rely on flexibility as much as the rest of him and therefore had heavy armor, and besides, his ribs would be protected either way.
Jason just shrugged. Asshole.
“You’re lucky your ribs did their job and we’re not dealing with a punctured lung or some shit. Leslie would kill you.” Tim poked at him, ignoring Jason’s frankly dramatic groan–shit, he had to wash his hands first. Not that it would bother Jason, who had a functioning spleen and whatever the fuck the Pit was doing to keep him going, the lucky bastard.
“Noooo, she’s still mad at me for breaking my leg in like four different places in October.” Jason nearly whined, which made Tim grateful that he’d taken the bugs Bruce had planted and redirected them to his systems, meaning he had that on the record.
Tim rolled his eyes, scrubbing his hands with soap. “That was your fault for trying to do that weird flip off a moving train and land on a moving car thing Dick does. No one else can do it, so I don’t know why you thought you could.” Tim had tried, sure, but he’d managed to only sprain both wrists.
“You tried,” Jason said, even though he hadn’t been there and had no proof.
“No, I didn’t,” Tim said, drying off his hands and rubbing hand sanitizer on them, just in case.
“Demon brat said you did.”
“Well, obviously he’s lying.”
Jason squinted at him as he approached. “One of you is, anyway, and I happen to know you’re a filthy little liar, Timbits. Lyin’ ‘bout all kinds of shit.”
“Says you, teen rebel of the century. ‘I hate you, Dad, so I’m gonna kill a bunch of people until you admit you love me.’” Tim elbowed him when he tried to sit up. “Hold still, idiot.”
“What, I don’t even get painkillers? Christ, baby bird, no need to be so fuckin’ vicious.” Jason jolted once, pointed, before accepting his face and laying face down on the kitchen table.
“If you wanted nice, you should’ve found Dick. Of course, that always comes with an unholy amount of smothering, little wing, and also scolding.” Tim had been there. Several times. And sure, the attention was nice–there would always be a part of him that fought for every scrap of affection he could get from his big brother–but also. You know. Smothering.
Jason groaned. “I have limited options, kid, and Roy’s out of town.”
“Don’t call me ‘kid’. I’m a legal adult and less than three years younger than you.” Tim poked at the bullet wound with slightly more force than necessary. “On three, okay?” Jason nodded. “One–” Tim pulled it out with flourish.
Jason hissed, tensing, but that was all he did. “What happened to three?”
“I lied,” Tim said sweetly. “That’s what happens when you show up at five am when I’m trying to sleep.”
“Like you were sleeping.”
“I was.” Tim hit him ‘round the head, making a face as he cleaned out the wound enough to stitch it up. Jason grumbled at the needle, but he was the one who got shot at close enough range to go through kevlar and body armor.
Jason made a sound like he was going to start saying stupid things again, but Tim cut him off. “Shut the fuck up while I’m stitching your idiot ass back together.” He finished a few seconds later, then dropped his supplies. “You can do the rest yourself.”
“Brat,” Jason said, pushing himself upright. “Y’know, ya really should be nicer to your big brother.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Tim let himself collapse in an armchair, curling up and watching Jason.
He patched himself up pretty fast, wincing occasionally, but not being loud, which was considerate to Tim’s growing headache. His hair fell into his face in greasy strands, and he made a face. He’d meant to wash it tonight, but he practically collapsed in his bed after patrol.
Jason groaned again, more loudly this time, which Tim assumed meant he was finished, since he was standing. “Never become a crime lord, Timmy. Fuckin’ sucks.”
“Don’t call me ‘Timmy’. I’m not eight.”
“You sure?” Jason made himself at home on Tim’s sofa after grabbing ice. He put it on the bruise on his ribs, which looked nasty.
“Shut the hell up.” Tim glared at him, but Jason didn’t seem bothered by it. “At least I–” No, he hadn’t graduated high school, fuck. “You know what, I turned sixteen in a normal fashion.”
Jason glared at him. “Didn’t Bruce do that weird thing where he made you try to figure out who betrayed the family with some fake future hologram? As some sort of fucked up test.”
Tim squeezed his eyes shut just at the thought of Bruce’s subpar parenting skills. “Don’t remind me. At least I got a surprise party.”
“I don’t remember my sixteenth birthday,” Jason said, shrugging. “Probably wasn’t fun.”
“Dude, that’s dark.”
“I fucking died, bitch, of course it’s dark.”
“And then you came back and made it your whole personality.” Tim cracked an eye open just to see Jason pulling out a cigarette from–where the fuck had he gotten that? Did he put them in the couch?
Jason rolled his eyes as he lit the cigarette. Tim winced at the smell. “And your whole personality is ‘nerd’.”
“Quit smoking in here, I don’t need lung cancer and a missing spleen,” Tim snapped. “And that’s a lot coming from you, Mr. ‘I Read Books For Fun’.”
“Reading doesn’t make you a nerd, Timberlina.”
That was a butchering of his name. The Drakes would be horrified. Unfortunately for them, they were dead, and Tim was hunched over in a safe house watching his brother ruin his lungs.
“It does if you’re reading classics.”
Jason scoffed loudly–unnecessarily loudly, if you asked Tim’s headache–but said nothing. Good. It was bad enough he woke up Tim during what precious sleep he got, but he had the gall to taunt Tim. Asshole. Too bad he didn’t get shot at again.
Blissful silence. Jason kept fucking smoking no matter how much Tim glared at him, and he was too tired to get up and take it, so he settled for wrinkling his nose at the smell. Jason didn’t appear to be bothered.
“You know,” Tim said after a moment, “it would be so embarrassing after all the shit you did and what killed you last time, if you died of lung cancer. Like the first time you died, it was all he was beaten to death, and obviously that’s gonna kill you. Imagine dying of lung cancer. That’s so boring.”
Jason threw the cigarette–still lit–at him. Tim hissed and pointedly tossed it in Jason’s hair. Fuck him. “Brat.”
“I’m telling Dick you said that.”
“He’ll agree.”
Tim pouted. “No, he won’t, because he loves me and thinks I’m still fourteen.”
“You look fourteen,” Jason drawled, looking him up and down.
“I assure you, several activities I’ve engaged in with a certain young man would not be appropriate for–”
“Shut the fuck up, Tim, I don’t want to hear about your kinks.” Jason threw the cigarette at him again, so Tim did the rational thing and chucked it towards the kitchen.
“What?” Tim said innocently. “We went to a movie that was rated R.”
“Brat.” Jason eyed the kitchen tile where the cigarette had landed with something like longing. “After all I’ve done for you–”
“You tried to kill me like five times.”
“–you treat me like this.”
“No one made you show up here at ass o’clock.” Tim gave him a flat look. Who told him siblings were cool? It was probably Dick, the fucking liar. Tim missed being an only child. In an empty house where people let him fucking sleep.
Jason waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m so awful to you, blah blah blah. Do you ever shut up?”
“When I’m sleeping,” Tim said pointedly.”
“Then go the fuck the sleep. No one’s stoppin’ ya.”
“Your voice is too annoying to sleep through.” Tim stretched out, eyeing the blanket Jason had laid directly on longingly. He was just wearing boxers and a tank top, and it was cold.
“Cry me a fuckin’ river, Timmers. D’you have any of the nice shit Alfred gets? The chamomile tea?” Jason closed his eyes, reaching up with a grunt to rub at his temple. “I’d kill for some right now. Literally.”
“Ha ha,” Tim said flatly. “I don’t have any. I guess you’ll just have to–what the fuck?” Tim flailed, trying and failing to keep himself from failing when Jason reached out and yanked him closer with one hand. “What are you doing?”
“Tryna getcha to stop complainin’. Shuddup and let me pass out before the painkillers–” He’d stolen Tim’s painkillers? “ – wear off and I start moaning and groaning.” Jason tugged Tim–well, not tugged, because that implied a certain level of gentleness. He manhandled Tim until he was halfway underneath Jason’s bulk.
“God, you’re heavy,” Tim said, groaning and trying to bite whatever parts of Jason were nearest. He succeeded in catching the side of Jason’s arm between his teeth, biting down with a grin hidden in Jason’s yelp.
“You feral little shit!” Jason pulled his arm from Tim’s jaw, elbowing the side of his head. “Calm the fuck down–I’m not the biter here.”
Tim glared at him, as viciously as he could, but he probably wasn’t overly intimidating, squished under Jason, pale with circles under his eyes. “You did break into my safe house.”
“You let me in.”
“But I didn’t want to.”
“Same difference. Didn’t you wanna go to sleep? Now’s your chance.” Jason yawned pointedly and slumped further over Tim. “Good night, brat.”
“Die again.”
"You don’t mean that,” Jason cooed. He didn’t even have the decency to act affected when Tim elbowed him. “Seriously, shut the fuck up. I’m exhausted.”
“Makes two of us,” Tim grumbled, but that was the end of it. Now that the semi-shock of finding his older brother bleeding out on his doorstep had worn off, Tim was ready to drop again, yearning for sleep.
And despite his many negative qualities, Jason was pretty warm. Practically radiating heat. Tim scowled again as he buried his face in Jason’s side. Jason made a little grumbling sound, but it stayed quiet, the two of them drifting off.
Fine. This was probably better than Jason dying in an alleyway because he was an idiot. He’d call Dick over in the morning to handle him.
Tim fell asleep.