Pairing: JayTim
Event: JayTimWeek Summer 2017
Summary: Wherein Jason is a nervous, lovesick mess and Tim is clueless.
Notes: I’M A WEEK LATE; forgive me ;__;
“Tonight is perfect,” Jason admitted, just as the ferris wheel carriage reached its zenith. After all, the moon was full and the stars were bright, and the neon haze below made him feel giddy. His gaze slid to the other side of the cart and he shoved forward a drooping bouquet of wildflowers, wilted from the motorcycle ride.
Against his ribs, his heart jack-hammered.
“It’s perfect...because of you,” he breathed, swallowing thickly right after the confession. It was a moment of truth. His palms were sticky. His throat had gone dry. He ached...and then he groaned just before unceremoniously crumpling backwards, causing the carriage to tip sideways and creak under the sudden shift of weight.
The bench across from him was, of course, empty.
Had Timothy Jackson Drake actually been sitting there, Jason would have undoubtedly taken a swan-dive from the cart and disappeared into the crowds below. A man’s pride could only take so much in a ten minute period, and confessing to someone like Tim seemed like a surefire way to throw your heart into a blender.
After all, Tim was calm. Streamlined. Kind of nerdy, but that I’ve-got-my-shit-together type, which spoke to Jason’s nerdiness on an elevated level. But also, Tim was unaccessible.
Always working.
Always on patrol.
Always texting.
“Well?” he asked, eyeing the bouquet in his hand for advice. “What do you think? He loves me, he loves me not?”
They stared at him. Jason stared back.
One daisy wilted further.
“Uggggggh,” Jason dropped his hand, unintentionally letting the flowers slap against the seat.
When the ride ended and the cart door opened, the elderly attendant stepped forward to help only to pause abruptly.
“Sir?” he asked.
From his collapsed position on the bench, Jason simply lifted his wrist. The flowers made a sad sound. Jason sighed.
He felt pathetic and he hadn’t even been rejected yet.
Jason thought about giving up. Trying a different time. Trying a different person. But the attendant’s hand came forward as he took a step inside the carriage; he saw the weeping flowers, the far-away, love-lost look in Jason’s eyes.
Maybe he sees himself, Jason thought. Did he once try to woo a lover in a ferris wheel?
The old man said, very seriously, “Son. You need to get off.”
Jason sighed.
The carnival was a fun and terrible place, both swathed in neon lights and swarming with children. The smell of cotton candy tangled with the gritty scent of charred meat. A sign listing Deep Fried Oreos made Jason question the future of humanity. A man dangling upside-down from a bungee cord reminded him of Bruce.
Standing in the middle of it all, he felt like a still-image lost in the frenetic energy.
This was such a stupid idea, he thought.
From behind him, Tim asked, “Jason?”
Startled cats in Youtube videos had more grace than Jason; spooked kittens springing five feet high and into a wall, more finesse. Jason didn’t clear five feet, but he did stumble into a trash can; he managed to catch its rim with his hand before it went tumbling over and in a last ditch effort to look cool, attempted to lean against it. His hand slipped however, and he would have gone toppling if Tim hadn’t caught his arm and righted him.
“Wow,” Tim asked, amused, just before wrapping his lips around a straw and taking a swig of something that smelled profoundly of lemon. “Are you okay?”
Jason was not okay, a point further proven by the fact he replied, “Now that you’re here.”
The straw fell from Tim’s mouth and he folded his lips together and it was the type of look that clearly asked, is that so?
“I mean,” Jason pointed out, “you obviously just saved me from throwing myself in the trash.”
At that, Tim did laugh and he dragged a hand back through his hair, the cool condensation from his drink clumping his bangs together with damp. His eyes had a way of catching light, and he looked effortlessly casual – with an emphasis on no effort. A too-big t-shirt hung loose over his torso, boasting a collage of video game controllers with a line of text that read Choose Your Weapon. His jeans were old, worn, and tight. Smudged canvas sneakers and a denim pack completed the look, which Jason wondered, briefly, was a disguise for Timothy Drake-Wayne.
No one would ever put two-and-two together.
“How would you bring me to my knees?” Tim asked, and for a moment, Jason thought he’d died and ended up in some alternate universe where his deepest, darkest fantasies could be brought to life.
But when Tim held out his shirt with his free hand, stared down at it and added, “Maybe you could beat me at SNES…” Jason felt a small well of despair.
He said, “You already know my weapon of choice.”
And Tim, pausing only for a beat, ducked his head and delivered a smooth smile. When he lifted his hand, he did so to poke a finger gun against Jason’s shirt, right above his heart.
“Bam,” Tim said, his lips rolling the B.
For a moment, Jason thought his heart might actually stop.
Then, “Why are you holding a bunch of weeds?”
It took a moment to process the question.
Why was Jason holding a bunch of weeds? He looked down and saw that he was still clutching the bouquet he’d finagled, only most of the flowers had lost their zest for life trying to co-exist with his secondhand embarrassment.
Abruptly, Jason whirled around and jammed them into the trash can he’d offended earlier and wished upon a shooting satellite.
Throw me a freaking bone…!
“Are you okay?” Tim asked, coming around to stand in front of him. His eyes darted to the weeds and back up, until a sudden seriousness invaded his otherwise laid-back appearance. “Is this an Ivy thing? Is that why –”
“What?” Jason asked, trying to connect the dots.
The flowers. Well, flower stems. Him running into trash cans. The fact he probably looked like he was going into cardiac arrest every two minutes.
For a moment, Jason thought about taking the excuse and running with it.
Ivy, he thought. Yes. A toxin. That’s exactly what’s going on.
How easy would it be to just pretend?
“I’ve got some triamcinolone,” Tim said, attention darting towards the front gate, eyes searching the parking lot beyond.
Jason frowned. “...you keep Kenalog shots in your car.”
Tim gave him a look like that was the least incriminating item anyone could hope to find.
“It’s not an Ivy thing,” Jason stated. He sighed, somewhat dejected. No ploy was worth one of those shots, especially when there was nothing wrong with him.
Tim looked suspicious.
“It’s just been a long day.”
Tim’s eyes darted to the ‘weeds’ once again and Jason simply shook his head. “It’s a long story.”
And really, it was.
“Long days, long stories…” Tim said to him, eyes squinting playfully as his gaze wandered the area, taking in the sights around them. When he glanced back, he seemed resolved. “Wanna make it a long night?”
The alternate reality speaks again, Jason thought.
The crowd was a tangled mess, and as Tim took a few steps backwards and into the fray, Jason marveled at how much come hither radiated from those eyes.
“I’ll kick your butt at the ring toss,” Tim promised.
“Like hell,” Jason said, and before he knew it, he was Tim’s shadow, trailing him through the colorful throng, chasing him beneath tapered flags and string lights, the sound of the world one big hushed lull of roller coaster shouts, bubbling laughter, and carousel chords that somehow echoed.
Tim wasn’t very good at the ring toss.
Jason wasn’t much better.
Jason was a better loser, though. Tim approached everything like a math problem, lips pursed like there was a formula, like the guy handing them the rings hadn’t rigged it. Everything was rigged at carnivals – didn’t Tim know?
They went on a ride that spun high and in circles and tripped over their feet trying to get to the exit. For all their jumping and rappelling off buildings, they weren’t used to the twirling. Tim laughed and braced himself against gate, looking flushed.
“My parents hated carnivals,” he admitted. “They always thought the rides would break. That I’d die on the teacups.”
Jason thought that was funny.
The next game involved Tim and Jason sharp-shooting water guns, teeth grit and eyes glued to chipped, plastic racehorses that made short, staccato jolts towards the finish line. Jason said he was a shoe-in, given his occupation. Tim said it was about water pressure, not experience.
An eight year old girl beat them both.
The basketball booths were open, and Jason and Tim played until they beat the high scores on each of their machines. It wasn’t that much work, but they both were damp with sweat. It was a hot night and exhaust plumed from food vendors.
They decided to get lost in the House of Mirrors. Tim asked Jason five times, “Does this mirror make me look fat?”
Jason’s answer, each time, was, “Yes.”
As they wandered the lot, they passed a dart-throwing booth. A man was arguing with the worker, saying it was rigged.
All the games are rigged, Jason thought.
“I bet you could do it,” Tim said, and it was startling in that it wasn’t a challenge. When Jason glanced at Tim, he was eyeing the board, probably calculating the distance, the arcs, anything math could piece together in his head.
It was weird how the intensity in Tim’s eyes made Jason feel that yeah, he totally could.
So he did.
He noticed little things between shots; minor details that made it apparent that whatever this was, it went deeper than a crush. Like the way Tim stood, completely relaxed, head tilted sideways as he watched the worker collect darts from the board. He kept his hands in his pockets, one leg kicked up behind him, and when he noticed Jason staring he simply grinned.
No doubt.
None.
Not that Jason doubted himself; hell, he was a king at darts, and this was pie.
Afterwards, the worker looked grateful. The man who’d been bugging him sauntered off after tossing a red solo cup into a trash can.
Jason felt smug.
And then Tim asked if they could go on the ferris wheel.
The moon was full and the stars were bright and the old man attendant gave Jason a wry, disapproving look. It probably had less to do with recognizing Jason from before and more to do with the fact it took all three of them – the old man, Tim, and Jason, to wedge the six foot tall teddy bear Jason’d won at the dart booth into the carriage.
When the ferris wheel finally moved, the cart crooned as it rocked back and forth.
“What are you doing?” Jason asked, because Tim was practically radiating.
“Snapchat,” Tim replied, holding his phone up to take a picture. The bear took up the entire bench, and it’s head was half-squashed by the canopy.
Tim’s knee bumped Jason’s and he held his phone out to share the picture.
It was ridiculous.
Tim typed out a caption and arched forward so that he could jam his phone into his back pocket, which caused his and Jason’s arms to brush. When he got seated again, he sighed.
“Tonight is perfect,” he said, sounding content.
The sentiment sounded familiar.
It was late; most of the families had left, ushering the younger kids home to sleep. The ferris wheel seemed empty and quiet, and Jason watched Tim look longingly over the park, wondering if he’d ever been on a ferris wheel before.
Jason snorted. The thought itself was sacrilege.
“I was really excited when you invited me out,” Tim said, though he kept his eyes on the carnival lights, which flickered and flashed below. “It’s times like this that I think...is this what it feels like to be normal?”
For a moment, Jason saw Tim in a different light. It was a split second of time, caught between blinks, when he imagined Tim and normalcy; a Tim who hadn’t idolized Robin as a kid, who hadn’t taken on a cape, who had simply grown up; and maybe they would have met, and maybe Jason would have offered to sneak him in – dared him, because rich kids don’t take offers from teenagers that steal tires; what it would have been like to take Timon the teacups, to have swindled some cotton candy, to have abandoned Tim in the House of Mirrors, arms crossed outside, grinning smugly while looking at his watch.
He could almost imagine Tim’s face in that moment, lips pursed and fuming, and it was something else; Jason was sure he would have fallen for Tim then, too.
“What?” Tim asked. He was looking at Jason, an eyebrow raised. He even wiped at his face, as though he might have something smeared on his cheek.
“I’m just trying to imagine what it’s like going your whole life not having gone to a carnival.”
“Depressing,” Tim supplied.
Jason leaned backward, stretching his arms back, letting them rest along the rim of the carriage. “You’re not allowed to be depressed when someone’s won you a giant teddy bear.”
At that, Tim laughed. Then he realized Jason was serious.
“No. No way. Jason, it won’t fit in my car.”
“Did you just call Mr. Fuzzlesworth an it? Oh my god,” Jason glanced up at the bear, who had no visible eyes because they were wedged up against the ceiling. “Don’t listen to him,” he advised.
“Jason!” Tim said. “I’m being serious!”
“Well, I drove my bike, so…”
“So…?”
“Do you hear that, Mr. Fuzzlesworth? His first trip to the carnival and he doesn’t even want you. Room for Kenalog shots, but not for –”
“Jason,” Tim elbowed him in the side, and Jason laughed.
“He won’t fit!” Tim argued.
Jason shook his head solemnly.
“Also, where would he go in my apartment?”
Jason turned to give him a look.
Tim grinned and it was obvious he was just trying to start something.
Jason kissed him.
It was quick.
Chaste.
Unexpected.
But he wasn’t lost to his heartbeat anymore, didn’t find it hard to breathe. Tim blinked wide eyes at him, and Jason let him, because he wanted to remember this moment.
The moment where Tim looked lost: cannot compute written across his pretty face, reflected in his bright blue eyes.
Jason turned his gaze to the bear. “It was fun while it lasted, Mr. Fuzzlesworth.”
The ride was coming to an end, and Jason turned back to Tim – Tim, who was blinking at him, as if trying to access whether or not the kiss had indeed occurred.
Jason said, “When the old man opens the door, we bolt.”
Tim frowned. “Did you just kiss me?”
“All right sirs,” the old attendant said, and Jason was up and moving, dragging Tim behind him. They left to shouts, a croaking voice yelling at them from behind.
The crowd was thin and Jason felt young.
He pulled Tim behind him and they wove through the park’s fabric until they were out of the gate, in the barely lit parking lot. They were both panting and nearly out of breath. An adrenaline rush for something as silly as abandoning a stuffed toy.
“You kissed me,” Tim breathed.
Jason scrunched his nose. “Well, I mean, if you call that a kiss –”
“You kissed me?”
Jason paused, closed his mouth. He nodded.
Tim looked lost in thought. Putting pieces together. Analytical. It was insanely attractive.
“I like you,” Jason admitted.
Tim eyed him. Then he relaxed. He looked nonchalant when he asked, “Was this a date, Jason Peter Todd?”
Jason thought carefully about his answer.
Tim said, “I hope it was.”
Jason felt his pulse stumble.
“Next time, win me something I can fit in my car?”
We’re about a month out from our JayTim summer week and very much looking forward to all of your amazing submissions! The official tag for posts is #jaytimweeksum2017 or #jaytimweek2017 or #jaytimweek
Be sure to check out the RULES, and of course, if you have any questions, feel free to send them our way!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: DCU, Batman - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Prudence Wood
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Royalty, Scarring, Injury, Slavery, Fireworks, future relationship
Summary: After being shot down in battle, Prince Jason Todd awakens to find himself a slave aboard an enemy warship. Unrecognised by those who captured him, he quickly realises his continued survival will depend on his ability to keep his true identity hidden. A task that becomes all the harder when he discovers his new master is to be Prince Timothy Drake, sworn enemy of his house, who despite never having met him face to face before, holds a deeply personal grudge against Jason.
The wing of the starfighter is still smoking when Tim’s men lead him to it, its nose buried deep in the wet earth of the battlefield where the crash occurred. A deep furrow betrays the trajectory at which the ship had met the ground, running at least 200 feet from beginning to end, and the lieutenant guiding Tim takes care to lead him around that trench, wary of letting his commander’s impeccably polished boots sink down into the muddy ground.
Men have been punished for far less in the Red Empire.
The closer he gets, the more Tim gets a better idea of what has his soldiers so excited. Underneath the black scorch marks and mud spattered across her hull, the starfighter is coloured a deep rust red. Painted in the way that only a squad commander’s ship would be, and though that alone is enough to arouse his interest, it isn’t until one of the men currently trying to prise open the ship’s canopy moves aside enough that he can see the crest painted along her flank that Tim’s heart really starts to pound in his chest.
A black bat, outlined in gold against the red; he’d know that mark anywhere.
Written for the day 7 prompt of ‘Fireworks’ in the JayTim Summer week: Read more on Ao3!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Category: M/M
Fandoms: Red Hood and the Outlaws, Red Robin, DC Comics
Relationship: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Summary: Popsicles and beach bonfires don't really mix. Some people enjoy the resulting mess more than others.
Some days, Tim wishes he was a Wayne, he stays with them enough since his parents are always gone. The maid at Drake Manor isn’t bad or anything, but she is definitely no Alfred.
Ever since his parents found out about Bruce adopting Dick, and then Jason, they asked him to keep an eye on Tim while they were gone. It was weird at first, with Dick being five years older, but they ended up being really close. Then Jay came along. And well, they’re close. Just in a… different way.
Tim being close to the Wayne’s is how he ended up here. On the beach. At night. Crowding with a bunch of people he doesn’t know or like. Around a bonfire. In August. Come on Dick, it’s too hot for that!
However, Dick is happy with this fiasco, so everyone else is happy. Well, mostly. Jay is kind of annoyed, complaining about Dick being every end-of-summer movie cliché ever; after Tim shows Jay the cooler with the secret stash of—made from real-fruit, thanks Alf!—popsicles Tim brought, he is in a much better mood.
The popsicles, though, they are the real problem here.
---
Jason hates marshmallow. Hates them. They too sweet. And sticky and messy. And basically just fluffed up sugar. Zero nutritional value. No one should be allowed to eat them, no one!
Dick, on the other hand, loves marshmallows. Also, because he is completely cliché in everything, he demands that everyone eat smores at his graduating/last-harrah beach bonfire—it’s a campfire Jason—shindig.
So when Tim silently nudges a cooler closer to him, he’s not really interested. That is, until Tim opens said cooler and digs out one of Alfred’s famous real-fruit Strawberry and Banana popsicles. After that, he’s pretty much ready to kiss Tim.
Not that Tim would let him. Tim isn’t ready for the whole coming out thing. As in, coming out that he’s dating Jason. Everyone already knows that Tim is hella bisexual.
---
Tim has regrets. All the regrets. Every single choice he has made up until this moment in his life.
He can feel the throbbing in his temples getting worse by the second. The oncoming headache is no surprise considering he’s spent the last hour—at least!—glaring at everyone. Seriously, everyone. Except Jay.
Stupid, beautiful, perfect Jay. Who doesn’t realize that everyone in the surrounding vicinity is leering at him. Almost full on drooling over him.
It’s disgusting. And unacceptable. Jason is his, damnit. Even if these people don’t know that.
Tim is a strategist, has a plan for every outcome. So, he really should’ve seen this coming. This being, popsicles on a beach in the summer, next to a fire, are going to melt. And quickly.
Jason, for his part, is far too intent on his popsicle to really care about anything else.
About twenty minutes ago, after the first popsicle had melted too much and slipped from the stick, Jason had taken his shirt off, making a face at the wet spot on it, and showing everyone those gorgeous abs.
Tim is pretty sure the girl sitting next to him had actually swooned when Jason twisted around to drop the shirt, showing off all his rippling muscles.
Tim internally groans as Jay licks another trail of popsicle juice from his elbow up to his wrist. Some of the people around watching shift a little, obviously thinking about something other than a healthy frozen treat.
---
This is stupid, Tim isn’t a jealous person. He has no right—no reason to want—to punch stupid Gary or whatever-the-hell-his-name-is in the face when he dares to grab Jason's shoulder as he’s sitting down next to him.
Nor, should Tim want to kill him for wrapping his arm around Jason’s shoulder as they laugh about who knows what.
Point is, Tim and Jason have been dating for years! Actual years; two of them. Tim is confident in their relationship.
It was, after all, Tim's idea not to go public. He didn’t think the media was ready for one of the Wayne heirs to be openly gay and dating the obvious, but not technically openly, bisexual Drake heir. There would be a lot of rude comments and questions. So many people would try to play it off as teenage curiosity.
But that’s not true. Tim knows that he loves Jason and wants to be with him, preferably forever. He also knows that Jason loves him, forever. That no one else has a chance with either of them.
That doesn’t mean Tim isn’t about one popsicle away from marching over there are kissing Jason breathless and blushing. Staking his claim for everyone to see.
Jay finally finished his popsicle and when he doesn’t reach for another, Tim breathes a sigh of relief—everyone else pouts about their show being over.
Seeing Jay lie down in the sand is acceptably less teasing, even if it does cause his shorts the slide a little higher up, showing off his fantastic thighs. Fewer people seem interested in staring at those, though.
---
Tim is going to murder Roy. Then, he’s going to murder Dick for inviting Roy.
Roy, who is sitting very close to Jason—who is blushing so bright—and telling him just how pornographic he looked sitting over here with no shirt and juice dripping all over the place.
Tim doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t care what he said or why it’s important. Jason is his!
He gets up, rocky slightly in the soft sand, and stalks passed the two logs—actual logs because Dick is extra—to where Jason and Roy are sitting. He doesn’t say anything, and knows Jason will tease him mercilessly about the caveman act later. He reaches a hand out to Jason, who turned away from Roy when Tim walked up. Once Tim has Jason's hand in his, he pulls the larger boy up, and right into a deep, deep kiss. Tim keeps going, and going until Jason pulls back to breathe, panting and flushed all the way to his chest.
Distantly, he hears Roy’s “Told ya I could get him to do it!” shouted.
He also hears Dick's exasperated groan, followed by, “Timmy, you’re the one with self-control.”
It doesn’t matter. Because all he cares about right now is the small, genuine smile—the one that crinkles his blue-green eyes at the corner, the one that is only for Tim—lighting up Jay's face.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: DCU, Batman - All Media Types
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd
Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Hot Weather, Intersex Omegas, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Summary: It's the height of summer, and Jason's heat couldn't have come at a worse time than when the city is caught up in the middle of a heat wave. But at least he has Tim to help him through it, who no matter the circumstances, always knows how to give Jason exactly what he needs.
Jason shivers when he hears the bathroom door open, a quiet knock preceding the sound of the hinges swinging inwards. A moment later, Tim’s voice follows, equally soft and quiet.
“Hey, is it okay if I come in?”
He’s tempted not to answer, sinking down into the cool water of the bath as if it can swallow him whole, but then he catches a glimpse of Tim’s face out of the corner of his eye — equal parts concern and desire — as well as a whiff of his scent, caustically alpha, and… well, there’s no saying no after that.
“Yeah,” Jason mutters, surrendering to the inevitable. “Yeah, come in, Tim.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Fandoms: Red Hood and the Outlaws, Red Robin, DC Comics
Relationship: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson-Mentioned
Summary: The boys take a trip to the Carnival despite the oppressive heatwave strangling Gotham, and things get chilly.
“I don’t get it.” Jason sighed.
“Don’t get what, Jay.” Tim mumbled, offhandedly, too busy concentrating on the obviously rigged hoop and bottle game. Seriously, he did the math, there is no way he has missed every single stupid bottle with all seventeen shots.
Jason swatted his hand, causing him to drop two of his last three rings, and earning a vicious glare.
Jason simply rolled his eyes, stating rather loudly and pointed: “First, how haven’t you realized these rings don’t fit these bottles” and turning towards the bored-looking, lanky kid behind the booth, “and we would like the set that actually fit.”
“Fine,” the kid sighed. “You only get three ‘cause that’s all ya’ have left. And, ya’ can’t come back or tell anyone; that’ll get you kicked out.”
“Now there’s an idea,” Jason mumbled under his breath, holding his hand out for the bigger rings.
The just stood there, befuddled. He should have known the rings were too small. He was still calculating the differences the difference in circumference of the first rings and the bottle necks when Jason turned and smirked as the third ring clanked around the same bottle as the other two.
“Something from the middle row,” the kid intoned, back to bored indifference, not looking up from his phone.
“Just for that, I’m getting the Superman plush, not the Wonder Woman one I was going to give to you. Also,” Tim continued softer, so the kid couldn’t hear, “it looks sad, like someone hung Clark.”
Jason rolled his eyes and huffed, “Whatever. He grabbed the plush from the kid before Tim could take it, “Can we go home now. It is so fucking hot, Babybird—“
He paused, turning around with a mischievous smirk, “—I’m dying here.”
Tim glared a little as he rolled his eyes, “we are here because our brother, Dick wanted a family outing to the Carnival, since the circus doesn’t stop in Gotham anymore—.”
“That doesn’t explain why I’m here.” Jason complains.
“—so, we stay until he’s done gorging himself on fair food and throwing it up on all the rides. It’s a family trip, Jay.” Tim finishes, continuing over Jason’s interruptions.
Jason pouts down at Tim. “I’m technically, well, legally dead, remember? I don’t count for public family events.” Jason felt a small pang of regret at the sad, hurt expression that crossed Tim’s face before it flitted away again, replaced by the blank mask that meant he was beyond angry and not willing to show his rage in public.
“Well,” Tim drawled, words drawn out to express his fury, “you’re my boyfriend, technically, so that means family,” and stomped away.
“Shit.” Jason mumbled. This was going to be bad. He was in so much trouble.
---
It has been three days, seven hours and roughly 32 minutes since Tim stomped away. Tim has not spoken, not even been in the same room as Jason since. Jason knows he’s fucked. Tim is notorious for his grudges and the patented Cold Shoulder. Apparently, when Tim has a really bad day, even Blondie and Dickie get harsh words and comments from fights long passed.
Jason sighs, shrugging on his jacket and pulling on his helmet—he really should have considered the oppressing heat and mugginess of Gotham in the summer when he was doing his last costume upgrade. Even in the cropped jacket, and with the new vents and filters in the helmet, he is left sweaty and disgusting after an hour of swinging across rooftops.
Today though, he has been sitting on this particular rooftop waiting for Tim. The old and dilapidated newspaper factory marks the boundary between his and Tim’s territories, so they meet here whenever they get a chance on patrol. Jason had hoped Tim would have been willing to at least talk to him.
Jason huffs one last time, mentally preparing himself for the heat that awaits once he starts moving again. Jason is going after Tim, going to force him to listen and maybe apologize if that’s what Tim needs to hear.
To be honest though, Jason knows it wasn’t the murder joke that made Tim mad—everyone knows Jason loves to make jokes about his murder and subsequent resurrection. No, it was the family thing that pissed Tim off.
They are family. Jason just has to convince Tim that he already believed that.
