Jason is rereading Sense and Sensibility when his phone rings. He looks at the caller ID to make sure it's not Bruce. It's not Bruce, so he picks up.
Jason bookmarks the page and puts the paperback down: What's up, Shrimp?
Tim, sounding actually, genuinely sad: Despair.
Jason straightens: What? What's wrong?
He's two seconds from grabbing some guns and sprinting to his bike when Tim's voice interrupts that plan.
Tim: No one's dead! Chill! I just need some emotional support. Just tell me I'm not useless and this isn't a reflection on my competence.
Jason breathes out and relaxes back on the couch: If that's what you want, then why'd you call me?
Tim: Because it's Dick's mandatory self-care day and Babs threatened us to leave him alone even if the world is on literal fire.
Jason: So I'm your second choice.
Tim: No, Alfred and Cass are busy.
Jason: So I'm your fourth choice.
Tim: No, but Kon and Steph would laugh at my despair.
Tim: Yeah, but at least you'd offer to feed me if I told you that I genuinely need emotional support right now.
Jason opens his mouth to say something snippy, then gives up and sighs.
Jason: Ugh. Fine. What's up?
Tim sniffs forlornly into the phone speaker: Despair.
Tim: I was trying to pick up my orange juice. And I lifted it too fast.
Tim: So the drink went everywhere. On the floor. On the counter. On me. My place smells like orange juice and it's all my stupid arm's fault. Oh, and there's also glass everywhere. So I used my broom to pick up the glass, but it got on the orange juice and now it's sticky?
'Don't laugh don't laugh don't fucking laugh.'
Jason clears his throat, struggling to control his breathing: So did you clean it up the juice?
Tim: Yeah. But now my shirt's gross and I haven't done my laundry so I'm stuck with no shirt until I wash it.
Jason: Have you put the laundry in the washer yet?
He can just imagine Tim rolling his eyes through the phone: Yesss mom. Can you give me my pep talk now?
He mutes the call and spends ten seconds laughing hysterically, holding his stomach and laughing until there are tears in his eyes. When that's done, he unmutes and in the most casually reassuring tone begins his Timbit Pep Talk.
Tim: You just laughed at my expense, didn't you.
Jason: Maybe. Not important. Listen here, what happened with your juice was an accident. Happens to the best of us. It doesn't change your worth as a person or your skills. You're still a kick-ass hero and everyone's still proud of you.
Tim: ...Wow. That actually made me feel better. Thanks, Jason.
Jason rubs his neck, embarrassed: Yeah yeah. We can watch a movie and eat some pizza before patrol, if you want.
Tim: With bacon, artichoke hearts, and onions?
Jason scowls: Ugh. Yes. I'll order your monstrosity. Come over in an hour.
Tim: Sounds good. Still a little worried about my arm though. It's never just jerked up like that.
Jason: Should probably see a doctor for it.
Tim: Yeah, probably. Man, I knew I should've said no to the electric shocks. I told Damian it wouldn't be effective.
Jason widens his eyes and prays he just misheard: What.
Tim: Oh right. We didn't tell you about the experiments.
Tim: It's not as bad as it sounds! We were just researching invasive thoughts! Just dabbling in neurology!! Totally safe! DON'T TELL BRUCE.
Jason as he's dialing a number on his second burner phone while holding this phone to his ear: Why the fuck would I tell him?!
Tim: Right. Okay, then DO NOT TELL DICK.
Jason scowls as Dick fails to pick up: Fine. But only because I value our kinship as forgotten middle children.
Tim: He didn't answer, did he.
Jason: Nope. He better be having a good fucking time after leaving me with this shit. Now I have to call Alfie and explain to him that you two fuckwads are experimenting on humans.
Tim: First of all, I'm the only one who was experimented on. Second, I'll give you twenty bucks if you don't tell anyone.
Tim: Thirty and you can borrow Alfred for a week.
Jason wrinkles his nose: Alfie's not yours to barter with. I'm telling him that you tried to sell him off.
Tim: Not Alfred the human. The cat.
Jason: Not much better. The squirt's not gonna like you offering his cat.
Tim: He's part of the problem. He should help me fix it.
Jason taps his chin, contemplating: I want a favor from you both and the cat for a month.
Tim: Damian won't agree to losing Alfred for a month. How about two favors from us and no cat?
Jason: No. I want the cat. One month.
Tim: One week, and I'll throw in a blackmail pic of Steph falling off a roof and landing inside a rat-infested Batburger dumpster.
Jason: Two weeks, and you have yourself a deal.
Tim: One week, and I'll give you the pic and a box of that super nice chocolate B likes.
Jason: ...Fine. I still want the two favors from you two. If anyone asks about what you and the squirt are doing, I know nothing about it.
Tim: Pleasure doing business with you. I have to go put my clothes in the dryer now.
Jason: Yep. See you later.
They end the call. Immediately Jason gets up to do some stress baking. Why do all his siblings have to be freaks? It's so fucked up that the Dead Robin, the literal Crime Lord, is the most normal one.
Jason decides to make caramel pecan cookies.
