Work Text:
Jason Todd is no idiot, and honestly, everyone knows it. Dick once joked that he was “all brawn and no brain,” and Jason raising an eyebrow was all it took for Dick to immediately take it back. So Jason knows that Bruce has gone crazy since he discovered Jason’s little temperature regulation problem. He doesn’t expect it to be thrown in his face, but, well, that comes with the territory for the demon spawn.
“Perhaps you should consider making your way back to Crime Alley, Todd,” snaps the beanstalk. “Then Father might stop making this place a living--what do you people call it?--sauna.”
There was a bead of sweat dripping down Damian’s forehead, Jason noticed, almost feeling alarmed that he hadn’t noticed it earlier. He was letting his guard down at the manor. It wasn’t a good thing.
He did notice Tim elbowing Damian in the side, which led to Damian gripping his fork like he was going to stab someone--the someone in question being Tim, who hastily put some distance between them.
“Too bad, so sad,” Jason snorted, and fine, it wasn’t his best or most sophisticated comeback. But he hadn’t asked Bruce to change the thermostat. He had nothing to do with this, really. And he definitely didn’t need Tim, of all people, taking up for him.
Dick walked into the dining room, then, hair sleep-messed and only wearing boxer shorts and an undershirt. Jason was fleetingly jealous. He missed when he could walk around like that, comfortable and content. When he could forgo the layers. He sees the moment that Dick clocks the steaming mug of coffee by his hand, and then his older brother smiles cheesily at him.
“Pass the cold brew, Timmy.”
“Pass it to Todd,” mutters Damian under his breath. “Maybe it will encourage him to--”
“Fine,” snapped Jason, standing up abruptly. He wasn’t gonna sit here and listen to Damian grumble on and on about how he wasn’t welcome. He had better things to do than get constantly levelled by a tiny brat. “If I see Mr. Fucking Freeze on my way out, I’ll send him your way, demon.”
Jason manages to collide with Bruce’s chest as he exits the kitchen. He supposed he had some sort of belligerent look on his face, because Bruce instantly looks wary. He snorted and pushed past the older man, heading to the garage, where his bike was.
“Damian told Jason to get out,” he heard Tim say innocently from the kitchen. Jason would usually be irritated by this kind of tattling, but if it helped the Replacement get a leg up on the demon spawn, he supposed he didn’t mind.
“Father, the temperature of this adobe is frankly appalling,” Damian argued back as the door slammed behind him.
He’s on his bike and about to leave when the door to the garage opens again. It’s Bruce, looking a little more awake, with a to-go cup in his hand.
“Wait.” He crossed the garage and thrust the cup into Jason’s hand. “Take this with you.”
It was Jason’s coffee, which he had abandoned at the kitchen table. The cardboard cup was warm under his hand. Warmer than it had been a few minutes ago. “I reheated it,” said Bruce by way of explanation. “And I’m sorry about Damian. He just--”
“You’re being weird about the whole--you know,” said Jason. “I never asked you to--”
“No, I know,” said Bruce hastily. “But--”
“--and it’s kind of embarrassing, old man, getting the freaking baby treatment--”
“I’m sorry.” Bruce held his hands up. “I just wanted you to be comfortable in your own home.”
“It’s not--” Jason cut himself off, staring at the coffee in his hand. “There’s no need,” he amended. “I mean, I get it, and it’s nice of you, I guess, but there’s really no need. You don’t have to crank the whole house up.”
“But--”
“Bruce,” said Jason, exasperated.
The other man lowered his eyes and sighed.
“Alright.”
“Thanks for the coffee,” Jason says begrudgingly, and peels out of the garage. He drinks it on his way back to his place and, yeah, it’s kind of nice.
*****
Someone has the grand idea of forcing Damian to apologize to him. He chooses to do this during patrol.
“Todd,” he said stiffly, grappling up to the rooftop next to Jason. “I was told I was… insensitive about your affliction.”
Jason groaned through the voice moderator on his helmet.
“I don’t care.”
“I hope I didn’t injure your feelings.”
“You really didn’t.”
“That is what I told them. Nonetheless, and especially as Father has adjusted the temperature of the house to something less sweltering, I have come with an offering for you.”
Jason wanted to take his helmet off so that he could rub a hand over his face. Damian’s odd, prim way of talking was giving him a fucking headache.
“You didn’t need to do that,” he began, but Damian grabbed his hand and quickly deposited something into it, before back-flipping away.
In his gloved hand was a single, crumpled HotHands packet.
Jason sighed.
*****
The next person that corners Jason about his problem is, predictably, Dick. They’re waiting in the woods next to the harbor and the shipping dock. They’re pretty sure meth is being cooked in one of the shipping containers, but they have to wait for movement. They’ve been waiting a long time. Jason’s toes are numb.
Something about this--crouching in the trees--reminds Jason of the one time Bruce took him camping. Dick had joined them, and Jason had been so happy about that. That his big-shot older brother, who was already his own vigilante with his own city, took time off of work to go camping with him. Some street kid Bruce found.
He can feel Dick looking at him from over his shoulder. He wonders if Dick remembers that, too, how they’d argued over who got to start the fire until Bruce shot Dick a pointed look and Dick had backed down good-naturedly. He remembers how Dick’s face looked, twisted in surprise when Jason didn’t know what a s’more was. And then how quickly Dick had smoothed it out into something less affronting, careful of Jason’s feelings.
He and Dick got along fine, now, but it would never be like it was. Jason knew that. It was another thing that had died alongside him.
And here he was, thinking about his death again. He made everything about his death, didn’t he?
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Dick, shifting beside him. Leaves crunched under his weight. Jason scoffed.
“Your thoughts may be worth a penny, Dickhead, but mine are a little more expensive.” Dick rolled his eyes, and Jason relented after a moment. “I was thinking about that time we went camping.”
Dick immediately brightened.
“Oh my God, we should totally go camping again.” Jason should really learn to keep his mouth shut, shouldn’t he? “We can all go--you and me and Bruce and Tim and Damian. Except we’ll have to keep Tim and Damian apart. We’ll need two tents. Me, you, and Tim in one, Bruce and Damian in the other. That’s asking for the least amount of damage, I think. We can stargaze and make s’mores--oh my God, remember how you didn’t even know what a s’more was? I was aghast. What if Damian doesn’t know? And we can fish--”
“I can’t,” blurted out Jason. Dick fell silent. “But you guys should go,” he added hastily, feeling a little bad.
“You could have your own tent.”
“That’s… not it.” Although Jason was oddly touched by the sentiment. “I--you know, my thing. I ain’t sleeping outside, and you wouldn’t either, if you were constantly--”
“Cold,” finished Dick ruefully. “Right. I’m sorry, I forgot.” It was the first time anyone had said it out loud. Cold. It was a little humiliating, but not as bad as Jason was expecting. Actually, he was almost glad someone just said it. There were a few moments of silence. Then, Dick said, “Are you cold right now?”
Jason instantly bristled.
“Don’t do that.”
“I was just--!”
“Well, just don’t.”
Dick looked away sheepishly. And then sent Jason a sideways glance:
“We could share a sleeping bag.”
Jason buried his face in his hands and groaned. Why was he on this shipping container meth operation, anyway? It should be Tim here, having to fend of Dick’s ridiculousness. “Come on Littlewing, I run like a furnace--”
“I didn’t need to know that.”
“Look, you would be fine, see?” And then Dick was crowding into Jason’s personal space. Jason wasn’t expecting it--they all seem to make a concentrated effort not to touch him, or to touch him as sparsely as possible--so he was knocked off-balance and ended up falling into Dick’s side. Dick laughed and wrapped his arm around Jason’s broader shoulders, loosely enough that Jason could throw him off if he tried, draping his chest over Jason’s back.
And, damn. He did run like a furnace. Jason could feel his warmth even through his kevlar suit. It just wasn’t fair, he thought, begrudgingly enjoying a few seconds of Dick’s body heat before shrugging him off.
“Better yet,” continued Dick, “we could all share a sleeping bag. Doesn’t that sound toasty?”
“Sounds like hell,” Jason interjected.
“It’ll be great, it’ll be perfect. I’ll talk to Bruce about it--”
“Dick,” huffed Jason.
“--and I’ll tell him it was all your idea, don’t worry--”
“Dick.”
*****
Jason walks into his own apartment to find Tim of all people standing in his bedroom. He stops short, gaping at the shorter man, who he can see through his open bedroom door. Tim is holding his Red Hood helmet.
“What do you think you’re doing with that?” Jason’s voice comes out more snappish than he’d intended. Tim blinks and turns around.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Tim has this look to him, like he’s always just pulled an all-nighter. Jason puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head.
“Well?”
Tim puts his helmet down on his bed and comes towards him.
“I altered it.”
“You altered my helmet?” Jason isn’t sure if he’s surprised or angry. Bit of both, probably.
“It’s better now.” Tim cringed. “Sorry. I was up all night--” Jason knew it! “--working on new tech for WE. Heated pods for the homeless. I thought I’d test-drive the tech in your helmet.”
“You thought you’d test-drive untested tech in my helmet? Gee, thanks.” The word Replacement is on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but he should really stop saying that. Ironically, Tim, too, had been now replaced. (And so he, Jason, had replaced Dick, once upon a time.) It was some kind of twisted Robin rite-of-passage, he supposed wryly.
“It’s safe. Let me know if it’s good, or if you have any notes. I can fiddle with it.”
It was somewhat surreal, Jason thought, that Timothy Drake was standing in his apartment blabbering on about how he just installed a freaking portable heater into Jason’s helmet. Jason opened his mouth to--to what? Thank the kid?--but Tim was already gone, slipping out the window.
Jason patrolled for longer than usual that night, and his ears, for once, weren’t aching by the end of it.
*****
Of course Jason comes to the manor for dinner the one time Bruce invites freaking Oliver Queen and Roy Harper over.
“You could have said,” he hissed into Bruce’s ear. The other man had the grace to give him an apologetic look.
“You didn’t say you were coming.”
“This is your stray, huh?” Oliver boomed, slapping Jason on the back. “Just like mine.”
“I’m not his,” retorted Jason hotly. God, he hated the arrows. Bruce couldn’t have invited someone cool over? Like Clark, or Diana? Roy Harper, seated further down the table, says,
“Just ignore him,” voice lazy. Jason doesn’t like Harper any more than he likes Queen. Harper always wears these stupid sleeveless shirts and lazes around with bulging biceps, like he just needs everyone to know how ripped he is. And that stupid trucker hat that he wears all the time to hide his disheveled red hair.
Jason must have been staring at Harper with distaste, because the other man straightened in his seat and sent Jason an amused look.
“Like what you see?”
Seated between where Harper was sitting and Jason was standing, Dick looked like he was about to have an aneurism.
“No,” Jason deadpanned, willing himself not to flush or show any signs of weakness. “I’m appalled.”
Harper laughs at that, loud and bright. Jason looks away.
“Sit with me, Littlewing,” says Dick, motioning to the seat beside him, which is conveniently sandwiched between Dick and Harper. Jason huffed at that, but the only other open seat was between Queen and Damian. He could just leave, he considered briefly, but doing so was practically asking for Queen, Harper, and the rest of the Bats to use him as fodder for their dinner conversation. He couldn’t have that.
Tim is the one that brings it up, but he has the grace to look instantly ashamed afterward. It’s what brings Jason back into the conversation. He’d been spaced out, devouring his loaded baked potato, and then he heard Tim saying casually, “Jason’s condition,” and that’s all it took for Queen and Harper to pounce.
“Jason’s condition?” Repeats Harper, an amused look on his face. “Should I be concerned about sitting next to him?”
“He’s right fucking next to you,” replied Jason, defensive but with no real heat. “And it’s nothing worse than your permanent condition… it’s better, actually, because mine doesn’t pertain to my I.Q. or my genitals.”
Bruce gives him a bit of a pointed stare for saying the word genitals at the dinner table, but Jason couldn’t care less. He returns to his potato, fist clenched beside his plate.
For a moment, the dining room is quiet, and Jason regrets overreacting. Then Harper reaches for his glass of water.
“I get tested,” he said finally, causing Queen to sigh and roll his eyes. “Anyway, now I’m really curious. I’m so curious that I might not stop digging until--”
“Oh my God,” Jason bites out, “Fine.” Before he can double think it, he’s pressing his hand against the nearest part of Roy, which is his irritatingly exposed bicep. Roy recoils.
“God damn,” he said, eyes bugging out of his head. “What?” He turns towards Jason and reaches for his hands. Jason tries to pull away, but there’s no room at the table and Roy snags them. Their hands are almost the same size, but Roy’s are slightly bigger and more callused from using a bow and arrow. They’re rough and warm on top of Jason’s. Jason isn’t sure what the other man is doing. He’s just squeezing Jason’s hands in his own, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
Ears burning red, Jason suffers a quick glance at the others. Tim’s jaw is practically on the ground. Damian’s eyes are flicking between Jason and Roy, brows narrowed. Dick looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat and take a picture. Bruce is flushed and looks a little constipated. Queen is hardly paying any attention at all, like this is the kind of thing Harper does all the time.
Jason huffs at that and tries to jerk away from Harper, but the other man tightens his grip.
“Hey, wait,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m warming them.” Jason isn’t really sure why he doesn’t attack the other man. Something keeps him frozen to his seat, still as a statue, rigid, tense. But it’s not a panicked kind of tense. It’s a coiled kind of waiting. Jason doesn’t know what it means or why Harper is the one causing it. He has to avert his eyes from the others because Tim is starting to smirk.
“God,” says Harper offhandedly. “I would hate to share a bed with those icy feet.” And there--that has Jason yanking his hands out of Harper’s, Dick bursting into laughter, and Bruce pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.