Riding Bruce's bike into the Cave is a lot like taking a beautiful, powerful, perfect, incredible, and also beautiful bike back to its owner. It had made the Harley look like a week-old corpse, despite all the work he and Tim had done on the thing over the past few months, and he's not at all ashamed of the fact that he has to take a moment to just sit on it after parking. Some things deserve *reverence*.

Bruce and Tim are nowhere to be seen, but it's a big Cave --

Gunshots.

Specifically, the brutally fast and relentlessly *even* gunshots of Bruce doing gun training with rubber bullets. Tim's going to look like he'd taken a *beating* --

No, that's *two* guns, and Jason's up and moving, knife out and prayers he doesn't even fucking know coiling up the back of his throat and dying there. He should have a gun of his own. He should --

Except that it *is* Bruce -- and Dick. Jesus, okay, he's breathing. He sheathes his knife and watches Tim leap and move. He's randomizing pretty well, but his arm gets caught in the cape when he tosses his shuriken and Bruce doesn't even come close to losing his weapon.

Jason shakes his head and keeps watching. Tim's not moving too far in any one direction, which means they're doing the 'closed room' test, and -- yeah, he's a fast little bastard even with how little sleep he would've gotten last night.

Dick is frowning and focused.

Bruce *isn't* frowning, but he's also pretty focused -- and going for Tim's legs now that Dick is reloading.

"How many hits has he taken so far?"

"One," Bruce says.

"Nice." And that would explain why Tim *can* keep moving like this. Jason can't even tell *where* he'd taken the hit --

Dick finishes reloading and Tim's in the crossfire again, and yeah, he's still struggling with the cape, but it's a lot more like he's struggling *with* the cape, using it as a silent partner to change his shape, move, *distract* --

But that frown on *his* face isn't concentration. "God, he hates that thing."

"Agreed. Watch," Bruce says, slamming in a new clip and moving right in a circle as Dick moves left --

And now it's almost as though Tim's treating the floor like a hot fucking *griddle*. Non-stop motion, leap after leap -- *toss*, and that was a good one, forcing Dick to lower his gun to keep from losing it --

But the toss at Bruce -- using his usually perfect left arm again -- is terrible. The shuriken doesn't even get the right spin because of the way the cape wraps around his arm --

And Tim growls. He doesn't stop moving, he doesn't say a *word*, but -- yeah. "Okay, I get the point."

Bruce nods. "Time."

Dick lowers his weapon, Bruce lowers his own, and Tim lands on his toes -- with another shuriken between his fingers. He smiles at Jason before tucking it away --

"I really think the cape needs to go," Dick says.

"We're in agreement. Jay?"

Jason sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair, doing his best to ignore the *hope* in Tim's eyes. "I fucking hate to see him lose that protection."

"It's a great cape, Jay, no argument there," and Dick moves to pick it up, stroking the material and looking a little nostalgic. "But..."

"*But*, yeah," Jason says, and shakes his head. "All right, Tim, what do *you* think? Can you pick it up with a little more work?"

Tim frowns. "I -- feel I *should* answer that in the affirmative. I don't know what it is that makes it so hard, other than 'it's in my way.' I don't know how to make it move the way I want it to -- except when I do. I -- the fact that I can't make it work is slowing down my other training. In the end, that's the most important thing," and he undoes the catches of the cape and folds the thing. "Shelve it for... now?"

Jason takes the cape and nods.

"I'm working on designs for a lighter, smaller cape that would nonetheless offer more protection than either Jason's or Dick's," Bruce says. "We'll return to the issue another time. At the moment... Jay, would you take another of the practice guns?"

Three guns for the kid to work against when all he has are shuriken and the armor in the suit. He's already training *in* the suit again, and that means -- Jason raises an eyebrow at Bruce --

Bruce nods, and there's humor *and* pride in his eyes, because, yeah, even *with* the cape, Tim had only taken *one* hit -- and Jason still can't tell where.

"Done," he says, and heads over to get the gun and set the cape down on one of the work tables. He, Dick, and Bruce make a triangle around Tim, who looks loose and ready to move.

It's on.

It takes almost two full minutes for Tim to take another hit -- a graze to the abdomen that makes his back-flip clumsy -- but doesn't affect his shuriken toss. *Both* he and Dick have to spin to avoid the things, and Tim gets his bearings again, working the small space endlessly and keeping his breathing ruthlessly even.

It makes Jason want to know how Bruce had trained *himself* for this, and how many of the scars on his body are from times when he hadn't moved the *right* way.

It makes Jason want to put the staff back in Tim's hands and let him go for all three of them the way he *can*, the way he can *feel* Tim wanting to, needing to --

Bruce grunts a split-second after Tim's latest toss, and his shots lose their rhythm for a good, solid twenty seconds -- Tim had hit.

They're moving now, and Tim's pulling out all the stops, moving as fast as that little body *can* and making Jason feel like pinning him just to shout at him that he's good, he's wonderful --

And the toss nearly takes him in the eye, forcing him to spin *and* dance back --

And he knows that had distracted Dick by the -- "*Ouch*, good, Tim --"

Tim grunts and *gets* spun by a more solid hit to the chest, and yeah, this is almost over. The pain is written all over Tim's face, and while he's not slower, he *is* stiffer, almost jerky as he telegraphs his next toss --

No, that was a *fake*, because he's moving on Dick with the shuriken in his hand, forcing all of them to rework their aim while Tim grapples -- with Dick's *legs*.

Jason snorts and keeps trying to get a good shot in, working on the principle that far, far too many gunmen don't let the fact that they could wind up shooting their buddies stop them from trying to shoot a *vigilante* --

Dick goes down with a laugh and a *yelp* --

And Tim rolls away with the gun, aiming shots at Jason's and Bruce's legs and doing a pretty fair job --

"*Time*," Bruce says, *not* in time to save Tim from the forearm chop from Dick that sends the gun skittering away over the floor.

Tim *and* Dick scramble to their feet, and Jason would really like to know how Dick feels about his obviously instinctive response to that tone --

"Tim. That was *unacceptable*."

-- but he can wait for that. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits to see how Tim will handle *this* one.

"I was out of shuriken and thus about to be 'killed,'" Tim says, solid and sure.

"Teach *me* not to take the kid seriously," Dick mutters, sucking at what seems to be a puncture wound on his gun hand.

"Heh. *First* time I sparred with him? Nearly kneecapped me with a pipe I'd made the mistake of leaving where he could get it."

"A *pipe*?!"

"*Quiet*," Bruce says, and yeah, there's a little anger in his voice, but --

"The kid has a point, B. We put him in an impossible situation --"

"The first rule," Tim says, and he's obviously trying to find a position to stand in which won't cause more pain than he's already in -- "is to stay alive."

"We don't. Use. *Guns*," and Bruce is bringing the *full* force of all that Batrage to bear --

But Tim only stands straighter. "Then tell me what I was supposed to do, and I will endeavor to do it in the future. I won't always have a partner, and, as this exercise showed, I won't always have access to my more *acceptable* weaponry. I wasn't shooting to kill, and, as near as I could tell, the only real mistake I made was not ensuring that Dick was downed effectively."

Dick crosses his own arms and raises his eyebrows, looking like he wants to whistle or maybe clear his throat and rocking on his heels, instead.

"Guns are the tools of --" Bruce cuts himself off, sucks in a breath -- turns and walks away.

Shit.

This time, Dick *does* whistle. "Kid -- little brother," he says, and rests a hand on Tim's shoulder. "The point of that exercise *was* for you to go down -- after dodging and moving as much as you could."

Tim frowns. "I'm sorry, but I don't see the point of that, Dick."

Dick looks at *him* --

Jason nods. "It's designed to give you a healthy fear of gunmen, Tim, and to keep you from leaping into a room full of 'em unless you don't have any choice in the matter."

"But I already *knew* that. *Both* you and Bruce have quizzed me on that sort of thing multiple times -- I. Please tell me why he's angry with me."

Jason looks at *Dick* --

"Hey, *I* didn't train him to do that, Jay --"

"I didn't, *either* -- I." Jason signs and crouches in front of Tim. "He really, really doesn't like guns. Yes, we have to learn how to use them, and learn a good chunk of information about all the popular models out there, but -- he doesn't like guns. It's almost a superstition with him, kid -- *mainly* because the first thing he sees when he closes his eyes to sleep, most nights, is the bore of the .38 that offed his parents."

Tim rears back a little, blinks -- "I should've known that --"

"Maybe," Dick says, and squeezes Tim's shoulder. "But you also haven't been sleeping here at night, and have probably never had Alfred explain to you what all the screaming from Bruce's bedroom was about."

Tim winces hard. "He told me -- he did tell me about his nightmares. He. I should apologize --"

Jason stops him with a -- careful -- hand on his chest. "Not unless you won't do *just* that if you're ever in a situation like that on the street."

"There -- must be another way. Something I didn't think of."

Dick sighs. "The 'other way' is pretty much always whatever you're packing in your belt, Tim. And -- I think it's fair to say that Bruce had an idea something like this would happen if he took that belt away from you."

Knowing Bruce... yeah. Jason nods --

"Then -- I'm back to being very confused. I -- help?"

"Let us talk to him," Dick says, and squeezes Tim's shoulder again. "It'll be all right."

Jason nods and stands, stroking Tim's hair. "Strip off and wait for us to come back and deal with those bruises a little."

"All right," Tim says, and heads over toward the med area.

Jason watches Tim go, but he can feel Dick's eyes on him. "I really didn't teach him that. He's just that *good*."

"And maybe a little scary. I -- that wasn't what I was wondering."

Jason raises his eyebrows at Dick.

"I spent a good long while today catching up with Alfred. When I *did* come down to the Cave --"

"You spent the night?"

Dick smiles ruefully. "In my old room -- excuse me, I think I meant 'in the shrine to my lost youth.' I... Bruce and I talked for a really long time, and I think it helped. I *know* it helped, and -- thank you."

"I didn't do anything --"

"You *existed* for both of us, and that combined with everything you said last night -- you helped. Just -- deal with that, okay?"

Jason nods. "All right, so what did you see when you came down to the Cave?" And he *knows*, but -- he has to see how Dick is going to phrase it. And deal with it.

"I..." Dick shakes his head and tugs on his own ponytail, and somehow, with him just dressed in workout clothes against the backdrop of the Cave...

He looks alien, or -- it's possible that Jason means threatening. Except that he's not Robin, anymore, and there's no way that Dick can take the place he's made his own. For whatever -- and everything -- that means. "Dick..."

"Tim was shirtless on the gurney. All that was happening was Bruce bandaging a couple of new cuts on Tim's back -- and that was really *enough* for my brain right there --"

"Dick, we explained that --"

"I know that. I *know* that, and I'm going to go with the idea that I still have the right to freak about it, you pervert, but... Jay. There was something *off*."

Off. Jason closes his eyes for a moment. "About the *way* Bruce was bandaging Tim."

"I -- yes. There was no one thing I can put my finger on, unless it was something about the *quality* of blankness in Bruce's eyes... does he. Are they...?"

He could just say no. It would even be *most* of the truth. But -- he owes Dick more than that. "Not yet."

"God, I leave you guys alone for a *minute*," Dick says, but the humor is only on the surface. *Beneath* the surface are a lot of other things, starting with the fact that Jason has always had something Dick had bent over backwards and done everything in his power just to *try* to get --

Jason squeezes Dick's arm. "Are you okay?"

"Is *he*? Tim, I mean. I can't imagine -- you were really fucked up about it, weren't you? When you and Bruce first started making love?"

Jason nods. "I -- to be honest, Dick, I never *stopped* being fucked up about it the whole time I was Robin. I'm *still* fucked up about it -- even though I'm in love with him --"

Hug, and probably he should've seen it coming, but it's just *there*, and Jason hugs Dick back --

"He's just really not all that *good* at picking --"

"Shut up," Dick says, and kisses Jason's cheek hard. "He's *very* good at *picking* people. He's just no good at all at keeping them."

God, *Dick* -- Jason hugs him a little tighter before pushing off. "Let's go talk him off the ledge, Big Bird."

"Yeah, before Tim develops any more complexes than he already *has*. I -- his parents really weren't there for him at all, were they?"

"Not that I could see. But -- well, we don't know. Tim hasn't talked about it, and I don't see him starting to anytime soon."

"We have to make him do it," Dick says, and they start walking. "That kind of thing could mess up *every* relationship in the kid's life."

"No argument." Even though it was *exactly* that quality of fuck-up that had let him *have* Tim as much as he does -- *because* it was.

"He really *likes* the cutting? Does he ever -- he doesn't do it to *himself*, does he --"

"Not even a little. We'd *notice*, Dick."

"Yeah, you really would. I -- damn. That really is --"

"Out there, yeah. The way he asked for it -- *demanded* it -- last night..."

Dick raises his hands. "Okay, okay, I hear you. I'm intimidated *and* freaked, but I hear you. And... damn. Good sign or not that all he's doing is filling up the bike you took?"

Jason thinks about it, looking Bruce over. He's pretty fucking *rigid*, but -- "He's there for us to find as opposed to lurking in some unfinished part of the Cave. I vote good sign."

"Yeah, I guess I do, too," Dick says, and they stop near the nose of the bike, giving Bruce time to finish topping off the tank, close it up, wipe it off with a rag, and walk over to set the can down with the ones which need to be filled again.

Bruce is doing that thing where he's keeping his face shadowed through sheer force of *will*, but -- he's not trying to chase them off.

Dick sighs. "Bruce, his shuriken *and* batarang work is just that good. He won't *be* in a situation like that short of serious disaster."

Bruce curls his hands into fists. "He could easily kill someone --"

"With his *staff*," Jason says. "And that I *did* show him how to do."

Bruce looks up, but the anger isn't there. He looks *bleak* -- "We both know how he responds to dangerous opponents, Jay."

"Yeah, we do," Jason says. "And we've both taught him all kinds of ways to avoid using the more dangerous moves -- and how to *survive* out there."

Bruce closes his eyes for a moment, and the tension in his jaw makes Jason's own face want to ache.

"Bruce..." Dick's voice is low and gentle. "He's not *either* of us. I think it's probably a *good* thing that he'll always look for a way out of even the impossible situations. I mean, it's *definitely* a good thing --"

"He picked up a gun," Bruce says, quiet and still bleak -- but not hard.

"He shot to *wound*, B --"

"Will he always? When he's faced with a killer? When one of his allies is hurt, as well?"

Dick turns to look toward the medical area with a frown. "I can't answer that question, yet. Jay?"

"He will."

"Jay --"

"He *will*, Bruce. You've seen his control. What you *haven't* seen is the way he's argued against *my* point of view. He's *not* comfortable with the idea of taking a life. No matter what."

"Comfort." Bruce shakes his head and hums. "It should be a great deal more than *comfort*."

"I agree," Dick says, turning back and crossing his arms over his chest -- hugging himself. "But I still don't know how I'm going to react to the Joker *when* he gets out again."

Bruce sucks in a sharp breath, and --

Jason blinks. "Dick...?"

"I've done a fairly good job of keeping my urges toward revenge down over the years as well as guiding my *team* away from that kind of thing, but. We're all human. If Jay says Tim has the control to keep himself in check, then I say we listen to him -- because I know that's all we *can* ask, or know."

Jason swallows and tries not to --

He thinks about it. The things Joker would do, the things he would *say* to Dick, because it's possible -- *probable* -- that none of their other opponents know as well as Joker does that the guy calling himself Nightwing *used* to be the first Robin.

And Dick has never been the kind of hard that would *let* him let things like that stand. Neither is he. But Tim... "He always, *always* thinks first. His instincts and reflexes are fast, but his brain is faster --"

"Which means that he'd planned to at least try to take one of the guns long before he ran out of shuriken," Bruce says, and --

"*Bruce*. Are you seriously saying you'd rather he'd done that *instinctively*? You can't have it both ways --"

"Really not," Dick says, stepping close to Bruce and resting a hand on his shoulder. "What do you *really* need, Bruce?"

Bruce's smile is brief and more than a little pained -- but he covers the hand Dick has on his shoulder with one of his own. "I suppose what I truly need... I. I was *going* to say that what I needed was for Tim to show me something familiar, but the truth is that he does, every day, in his own ways." Bruce pats Dick's hand and walks away from it, back toward the working areas of the Cave -- and Tim.

Dick looks a question at him, and Jason has to shrug. He'd thought that would be *harder* --

He could ask. "Bruce --"

"I set him up to fail, in part to see, once and for all, how he'd respond to that," Bruce says, and keeps walking. "But he is Robin, and Robin never fails, at all."

That -- "Are you saying I *wasn't* Robin --"

"No, Jay, I --" Bruce stops and *grips* Jason's shoulder. "I know you fought to the very end. In your hand, I found wires from the bomb Joker had set, fused with your flesh..." The grip gets stronger. "I can only follow the example you -- both of you -- have set for me. I will not fail you, and I will not fail Tim."

Jesus. Maybe family means that it always has to hurt just like this, always has to *fill* you with things you can't name and can't do more with than *feel*. Jason nods, giving Bruce a push toward Tim and giving himself leave to just stand there and hopefully, eventually deal.

And it's not really a surprise when Dick moves up next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"I'm not about to punk out, Dick --"

"Heaven forbid you do *anything* of the kind, of course." Dick sighs. "Stop being taller than I am."

"No."

"Bastard. Tim totally *picked* me for the attack, didn't he. It wasn't convenience."

"Oh, yeah. You're the only one who doesn't know what he can *do*."

Dick nods. "And you knew from your own world."

"And one of the other worlds I checked out through the anomalies. He's got the potential to do at least some of your signature moves."

"I *saw* that. But maybe that Tim was raised by other people... I have to train him, Jay."

"Yep."

"You *knew* I'd have to train him."

"That, too."

"What the hell am I supposed to tell my *team*?"

Jason grins and starts walking again, dragging Dick along with him. "You could tell 'em that Bruce picked up a *sweet* little piece of ass and you decided you needed a taste."

"Yes, but then there's no *way* I'd be able to keep Kory away," Dick says, elbowing Jason when he snorts. "And I hope you *choke* on those images, because Lord knows, *I'm* going to."

Jason snickers. "I'm *pretty* sure Tim doesn't swing that way -- but I have no *idea* how that works, because in *my* world he had a hot little girlfriend."

"Ooh, yeah? Anyone I know?"

"Nope. For all I know, she won't *be* a cape in this universe. I don't know, Big Bird. It's a little frightening to make decisions based on what I know 'should' happen when everything seems to be spiraling out of control."

"Jay... I never thought Bruce and I *would* be able to have a conversation like the one we had last night. At the very least, a lot more time would've had to pass."

"Dick --"

"I'm just saying -- as spirals go? It seems like we're *all* on a pretty good one, right now. I think you should just go with it as much as possible. We all have enough things to worry about without you playing chicken with the multiverse."

Is that what he's doing -- no, that's exactly what he's doing. Right. Jason scrubs a hand back through his hair -- time to get it cut again -- and takes a deep breath. "All right."

Dick claps him on the shoulder. "Good ex-Robin. Hey, we should start a club."

"Embittered and moderately insane ex-sidekicks?"

"Roy will bring the... well, I'm going to hope it will *just* be beer," Dick says, and they're laughing in that kind of helpless and *pained* way when they get to the medical area, where Bruce is painstakingly massaging at the spectacular bruises Tim's going to have on his chest, abdomen, and -- upper thigh.

Ouch. Jason covers the bruise on Tim's thigh with his hand just to give it a little warmth, but Tim's in his pain management zone. It's something all of them have for these little moments of maintenance, a way of slipping away into something like meditation while Bruce is as careful and measured as he can be with his touches.

By rights, he and Dick should leave Bruce and Tim to it --

And the look on Dick's face says he knows that perfectly well. Some things really are just for Batman and Robin.

He spends a good hour on the weights with Dick -- after sucking it up and changing into the workout clothes in his size that had just appeared down here one day -- and then another hour watching Dick on the gymnastics equipment offering opinions on what he should teach Tim when. And also just *watching* Dick, because damn.

Dick *does* use the show-stoppers out on the street when it's necessary -- and, Jason knows, sometimes when he can't stop himself -- but he still has to save most of the best stuff for when he's in a gym either alone or surrounded by allies. People who are allowed to *know* what he can do.

It's possible that no one *loves* training the way Dick does, and --

Perfect landing -- complete with a flourish because Dick *does* have an audience. But --

"Do you ever think about it, Dick? What your life would've been like --"

"If I could've somehow stayed with Haly's? Or if I'd maybe run away to join another circus?"

Jason smiles ruefully. "I guess that was a pretty obvious question."

Dick gives him a *wry* smile in return and starts unwrapping the tape from his hands and wrists. "You're not the first person to ask, and you won't be the last. The stock answer: I never could've given up saving the world on a nightly basis."

Jason crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. "And the real answer?"

"I never could've given up saving the world on a nightly basis. And I think about it at least once every day. The people I would've become close to and maybe loved, the smell of the animals, the looks I'd see in the other kids' eyes -- heh. In the *kids'* eyes, I mean, because yes, I *do* know I'm not thirteen, anymore. Most of the time."

"Dick."

"Yeah, I know. But we all gave up *something* for this. If I waste time thinking that I'm some unique and special flower just because *I* gave up something I loved, I'd be spitting in the faces of all the good people I've worked with -- and played with, and loved -- over the years. And? I still *do* get to play for a crowd, sometimes," Dick says, and his gesture takes in the whole of the Cave.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you made some of the bats cry with that last split. I know you brought tears to *my* eyes."

"Asshole," Dick says, comfortably fond. "What about you? You spent three years out of the game -- which definitely isn't a game, of course, *ever* --"

Jason snorts. "I trained, and then trained some more, and had a lot of nightmares of failing, hurting, dying -- and then I trained some *more*. When I thought about trying to live some kind of normal, civilian life it all just fell apart in my head. When I finally rode back into Gotham, I couldn't breathe or think with how *good* it felt, and... yeah. I'll be doing this until they put me in the ground again -- and hopefully it won't be all that deep the second time around. Just in *case*."

Dick laughs and winces, clapping Jason on the shoulder. "*Try* to avoid having it happen too soon, please."

"Maybe Alfred will serve me up some mud pies. Just, you know, when I start missing the *taste*."

"*Extra* worms, just for you -- oh, God, I think I'm going to hurl."

Jason snickers again. "Pussy."

"Pussy who *gets* -- to see a great deal more of the beautiful female form than *some* ex-Robins I can mention."

"Eh. We both know it's only a matter of time before Tim gets shaved, powdered, perfumed, and shoved into a dress. I can be patient --" Movement --

Which resolves into Tim giving him a *pissy* look.

"Aw, what'd I say, baby bro?"

And the pissy look wobbles a bit -- a bit more -- firms *right* up again. "*You* made a point of making me *fear* potential future adventures in drag."

"As well you *should*, Tim," and Dick ruffles Tim's hair.

"Doesn't mean it won't still be *hot*," Jason says, and offers his *most* obnoxious smile.

Tim narrows his eyes. "I would like to state for the record that I almost certainly won't be in *any* mood to put out if *anyone* wants me to do it in heels."

Dick looks thoughtful -- "It *was* sometimes nice to be taller. And you have very shapely legs."

Shapely -- Jason waggles his eyebrows. "And a little lipstick goes a *long* way. In terms of -- heh -- *indirect* application."

"This is hazing, isn't it? I suppose I should get used to it."

"Oh, little brother. We haven't *begun* to haze you," Dick says, and starts *playing* with Tim's hair.

"We really, really haven't. And --" Jason looks up, and Bruce is at the console. "Hey, B, is the makeup kit --"

"Precisely where it always has been," Bruce says, without so much as turning *around* --

But *all* of them had heard the smile in that voice.

Dick grins.

Jason grins right back --

And really, if you're *going* to run away from someone, it's a *good* idea to try to get one last lick in -- if only to slow the guy down, some. And Jason tells Tim that as he throws him over his shoulder.

Dick gets a lock on Tim's legs to keep the kicking to a minimum, and there are only so many strikes and punches Tim can use against him in this position. It's probably the definition of love that he's only using the ones which could -- if aimed a little better -- do no more than paralyze Jason for a while.

Jason veers them toward the work table with the extra zip strips, and then it's time for the Chair, which only gets the capital letter for the dread it has instilled in Robins for nine damned years. It's an actual *stylist's* chair -- and Jason would really like to know how Bruce had explained *that* purchase -- but there are still plenty of places to tie Tim down -- hmm. "Head issue."

Dick eyes Tim a little bit. "He's not struggling."

"I *could* be," Tim says, glaring at both of them.

"Mm, it's true. But! I have an idea," Dick says, and rummages in the disguise closet until he comes out with a brightly floral silk scarf.

"Heh. Good deal," Jason says, and holds Tim's head back against the rest so Dick can tie the scarf around -- and around -- his forehead. Tim's not going *anywhere*.

"I'm quickly learning to hate you both."

"But, Tim, honey, sweetheart -- ah. Your beauty inspires?"

Jason snickers. "It's true. Why, I'm getting *inspired* right now."

Tim narrows his eyes. "I could say something here about your attraction to underaged boys and bondage, Jay."

"But you *won't*, because it's workin' out pretty damned well for *you*, kid," Jason says, and chucks Tim's chin.

"Bondage? Seriously?"

Jason holds his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Hey, you saw those bedposts."

"Yes, and now I'll be seeing them in my *dreams*," Dick says, and waggles a finger at them both. "Oh, hm."

"Hm?"

"We can't get the foundation on with Tim in that delightfully spring-like little headband --"

"Whoops, too bad, guess you'll have to *let me go*," Tim says, eyes tracking fast.

Dick pokes Tim's nose. "Not a chance, trainee. Your complexion is good enough to go without."

Jason grabs the make-up kit and sets it on the table. "Yeah, baby bro -- just try not to get too pissy. It'll make you get all blotchy --"

"And we *can't* have that," and Dick pulls out one of the eyeliner pencils. "Now hold still. I made Bruce start using the cruelty-free makeup after one mind-blowing weekend with Clark or another, but it can still sting like a *bear*."

"Bears don't *sting*, Dick, and I -- eyeliner? Really?"

"*Only* the beginning, darling. Close those baby blues."

"I --"

"Don't you think they're really more *icy*, Big Bird?"

Dick raises an eyebrow. "I usually save that descriptor for *Bruce*, but... I can see it. Especially right now. Close 'em! Soonest begun is soonest done."

"Hate. Honest, pure hate," Tim says, and closes his eyes.

Dick gets the liner on in four perfectly even strokes, which -- yeah, he's really done this a *lot*, but. "Hey, *have* you done this to the other Titans?"

"Once to Roy, three times to Wally -- he's *really* good at annoying Donna and sleeps surprisingly deeply -- twice to Garth because he felt left out --"

Jason snorts. "I bet he looked pretty damned good, though."

"God, yes. I may -- *may* -- have had a moment."

Tim growls. "Is *that* what the Titans are calling it these days?"

Dick pauses in his perfectionism.

Jason pauses in his rummage through the make-up kit.

"I'm *trying* to play along," Tim says, and --

"That was a huff. Jay, you didn't tell me he huffed."

"I didn't *know* he huffed." Jason pokes Tim's cheek. "Do it again."

"No."

Dick gives him the big eyes. "Please?"

"Hate. I'm back to the hate."

Jason smiles and kisses Tim's forehead -- through the scarf. "You're going to be *so* pretty."

Tim growls --

"That reminds me. Beast Boy?"

Dick takes the eye shadow Jason had picked and looks it over, checking Tim's complexion and nodding his approval. "You're kind of scarily good at this, little wing. And it took me a year and a half, but yes, I finally found good colors for Gar."

"You're kind of scarily *focused*, Dick, but -- heh. I used to help my mom -- my *real* mom -- with her makeup. And maybe also sometimes her friends."

"Awww --"

"Shut up and paint my boy."

"No, I'm gonna go with 'awww' for a little while. I can just *see* you with the little brushes and the lipstick and --"

"I will cut Tim free and we'll put *you* in the chair, Dick."

"That's a thought," Tim says, looking hopeful. "I need to learn how to do this myself, after all."

"You'll be taught," *Bruce* says. Or it's possible that Jason means 'threatens.'

Jason looks back over his shoulder, and yeah, Bruce is there, smiling at Tim like the predator he *is*.

Dick holds up the eye shadow. "What do you think, boss?"

"It should flatter him immensely."

Tim sighs. "I'm trying to tell myself that this is better than, say, standing me up over a keg or spanking me with a well-worn paddle --"

"We've only ever done that to Roy, and he liked it too much," Dick says, and pokes Tim's nose again. "Eyes *closed*, beautiful."

Yeah, that was definitely a huff, but he closes his eyes and lets Dick apply the eye shadow. Definitely his color. Jason rummages around for the right blush, noting that there are *way* too many which would've been good for *his* complexion -- "Thank *fuck* I filled out as fast as I did."

Bruce makes a non-committal noise.

"You realize that you *owe* the multiverse for that, don't you, little wing?"

"Oh, I'm willing to pay. So long as no one wants to see *me* in a dress anymore? I'm a happy, happy man."

Bruce hums. "I wouldn't say --"

"Okay, B, *stop*. Just -- stop right there."

"No, let him talk," Tim says. "This is *interesting* to me at the moment."

"I'll make sure you see *all* the footage, Tim."

"Aw, Jesus, Bruce, you *saved* that?" Jason picks the blush and hands it to Dick. And -- hunh. "Wait, does that mean there's footage of *Dick*?"

"Oh," Bruce says, and smiles again. "Hours of it."

"Oh, yes," Dick says, and applies it. "Hours of me begging, pleading, stumbling on the heels, trying and failing to avoid cursing --"

"Pulling faces behind my back..."

"Lots and *lots* of those. Hm. It looked good in the case, but... you guys don't think it's too dark?"

Jason gives it a good look... heh. "It *looks* like he's blushing. Only *artistically*."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "My blushes weren't good enough for you?"

"Your blushes -- uh. Inflame my passions?"

Bruce hums again --

Tim *narrows* his eyes --

"Oh, don't do that, little brother, you're getting all scrunched up."

"Scrunched. You -- you just said *you* were making faces --"

"Yes, but that's *me* --"

"And me," Jason says, and winds a lock of Tim's hair around his finger. "Lipstick or lip *gloss*?"

"I --" That was *almost* a huff, but Tim managed to cut it off. "All right, what's the difference?"

Jason holds up the small tin of cinnamon-flavored lip gloss. "Well, your typical lip gloss -- like this stuff here which *I* had to wear and which I hope to God Bruce went in the store and bought *himself* --"

"Alfred is very, very tolerant."

"*Dammit*. Anyway. Gloss is for your younger girl. It adds to the *innocence* of the wearer, highlights the natural shade of the lips in question, and also makes you look like you'll suck cock for a Gap gift card."

Dick makes a choked noise, and Jason can *feel* Bruce looking at him.

"Well, it *does*."

"I don't know, little wing. I don't think lip gloss would work with the rest of the look we have going here."

"And I'm worth more than a Gap gift card," Tim says, and the look on his -- pretty, pretty -- face is all about *daring* someone to say *something* --

"Are you."

God bless you, Bruce, you giant fucking pervert. "Heh. *Tell* him, Tim."

"Maybe *you* should, Jay --"

"Oh, no," Dick says, "I think that's on you, little brother."

"I -- fine. I've devoted a great deal of time and energy -- and any number of sore throats -- to the art of providing pleasurable fellatio --"

"*Anyone* can make getting your dick sucked *pleasurable*, baby bro. Have a little pride."

"All *right*. I'm good at it. At times I think I achieve a measure of excellence, especially given the fact that Jason seems to prefer the more active sort of fellatio experience --"

"Meaning he's a rude, rude boy and likes to fuck your throat." Dick sucks his teeth. "You should be nicer to the lady, Jay."

"*Ladies* don't make noises like that --"

"I don't make very much noise, at all, when your sac is on my *chin* -- *mmph* --"

And yeah, Dick's hand is *clamped* over Tim's mouth.

"Hit a wall there, Big Bird?"

Dick is staring at absolutely nothing, and he's staring at it *hard*.

"*Mmph*."

Dick shakes his head like a dog. "Yeah, that was a definitely a wall. A big wall. Possibly a *great* wall. Wow. Uh. Bruce?"

"Yes, they've spoken that way in front of me in the past," Bruce says, and... shifts.

Tim sounds like he has a *lot* to say about that, possibly including things about sight-lines and the deep shadows in the corners of his bedroom. Oh... yeah. That. Jason shakes his head *minutely* --

Tim raises an eyebrow *extremely* pointedly --

Dick breaks and laughs, full-throated and *just* a little hysterical, and when Jason looks, Bruce is giving Dick a fondly narrow smile that, in some ways, really does say it all.

Jason waits until Dick's winding down. "So what it all boils down to? Is that Tim is an *excellent* cocksucker."

Dick wipes tears from the corners of his eyes. "Okay then, but I *still* think the gloss would just be too shiny. I want Tim to at least *look* old enough to have a mouth like that -- so to speak."

"Lipstick it is, then," Jason says, and picks a shade to complement the blush and shadow. "Hey, let Bruce put it on. He hasn't had a chance to do this in a while."

"Into every Robin's life, a little Bruce-insanity must fall. *Usually* right on your head, little brother, and -- is it safe to move my hand, yet?"

Tim narrows his eyes --

Dick *yelps* and yanks his hand back.

"Did he bite you?" Bruce sounds *extremely* interested.

"He *licked* me. Slowly. Some might even say *sensuously*," Dick says, and shakes his finger at Tim. "*Bad* trainee. Now you *do* have to wear the dress."

"You'll have to *untie* me to get it on, and I have no compunctions against tearing expensive fabric."

Jason smiles very, very widely. "Sounds like someone wants a sedative."

Bruce -- coughs.

Dick stares at him like he's crazy.

"What? I was the only one who got the damned sedative? What the fuck, Bruce?"

"You *sedated* him? To get him in a *dress*?"

"Technically," Bruce says, "he was already in the dress."

"I would just like to state -- again, for the record -- that I don't think we have to start a new tradition," Tim says, looking back and forth *rapidly* --

"Wait, if he was already wearing the dress --"

"The disguise required him to have smooth legs and underarms," Bruce says, and sounds just a *little* bit defensive, but really --

"I can't believe I was the only one who got sedated!"

Dick turns that shocked look on *him*. "Wait, you wouldn't *shave*?"

Oh, what the fuck. "Dick, look, I *know* you liked rocking the smooth and sleek look, but I have a close, personal relationship with each and every single one of my hairs."

"Yes. Only the ones that want a divorce come out when I'm pulling his hair," Tim says --

"And you -- I think Bruce has to sedate you."

Tim struggles a little -- "He does *not*!"

Jason grins. "Well, are you going to get in the dress like a good boy or aren't you?"

"You're seriously going to drug me and put me in a dress if I don't put the dress on voluntarily."

Well, when you put it like *that* --

"Tradition often means so very little to the young," Bruce says, in that quiet way which means he's laughing himself *sick* on the inside --

"I just don't see how the sedation helped him to -- oh. Bruce, *you* shaved Jay? That's. That's really *dirty*," Dick says, blinking a lot and very, very clearly picturing it.

"I suppose he could've had Alfred do it... and now you're all staring at me like *I'm* the crazy person in the Cave," Tim says, and growls again. "Fine. I'll wear the dress. But *I* get to pick which one."

"Good boy," Jason says, and gives Tim the double curl as much as is possible with his hair. "I reserve the right to have Bruce sedate you some other time, though."

Tim sighs gustily. "Also fine. But if I wake up shaved for *any* non-Mission-related purpose, I'm doing something mean the very next time you let my teeth *anywhere* near your sac."

That *probably* shouldn't make his dick perk up and say hello to his backbrain, but Jason is willing to go with the idea that it was going to happen sooner or later, *anyway*.

And Dick still looks a little dazed, but he hands the lipstick to Bruce without a word.

"Thank you," Bruce says, and moves close, resting one hand on the back of the chair and generally looming over Tim *dramatically*.

Dick shifts right to get a better view, Jason shifts left -- just in time to see Tim swallow. Heh.

"I suppose I don't... purse my lips. Or anything like that."

"Relax," Bruce says, and thumbs off the cap so that it falls in Tim's lap. "As much as you can."

"Um." Tim swallows again, presses his lips together -- and then takes a breath and relaxes his mouth, leaving his lips just *slightly* parted, and yeah, Jason's dick is taking notice *big* time.

He glances over at Dick -- still dazed, but dazed and *attentive* now, which... is as it should be.

Jason licks his teeth, says a mental fuck it, and crosses his arms over his chest, bringing his thumb up to his mouth so he can nibble on it a little --

"That's *my* nervous habit."

"It's workin' for me right now, Big Bird."

Bruce hums softly, pressing the tip of the lipstick to what may very well be the *exact* center of Tim's lower lip and *holding* it there.

And the breath Tim takes is seriously *shaky* --

"Jesus," Dick says, and blinks a little *more*. "I mean. Um. Don't mind me?"

"Don't worry, I'm not lookin' at *you* right now."

And then Bruce starts dragging the lipstick. *Slowly*. Tim's eyes are as wide as he's ever seen them -- they *seem* even wider than that -- and he's focused on *Bruce's* eyes.

Jason doesn't know if he wants to see what's in them or *not* -- no, he does want to see, and feel --

Fucking *taste* --

And it feels like it takes an *hour* for Bruce to get Tim's lower lip painted, but it's a *good* hour, like the slowest, sweetest stroke any dick's ever had, like --

"Do this, Tim," Bruce says, and rolls his lips in against each other and presses them together before rolling them back out again in a kiss Jason bets Tim can feel *everywhere*.

*Especially* his ass --

"Holy... I." Dick shakes his head. "Possibly I should do... something."

"I vote: enjoy the show."

Dick's laugh is breathy and a little high. "Jay -- oh."

Tim's rolling his lips together and searching Bruce's face --

Swallowing --

*Flushing*, and it should look a little silly with the makeup, but it just seems to blend where it doesn't *enhance*, and there's a real possibility that he's a little gone for the kid.

A little. Nothing serious.

Jason fights back a snort -- he *doesn't* want to break the moment -- and watches Bruce smile at Tim *softly*. It's the kind of look that always made him need to fucking *fight*, even if it was only himself, but, if anything, it makes Tim's eyes get wider.

"Open for me?"

Tim shivers and does it, and -- yes, they're *going* to put Tim in the dress, but that's really, *really* not going to last very long. At all. The only *real* question is Dick.

Jason decides to give up watching Bruce putting the finishing touches on Tim's lipstick to check Dick out... and Dick is staring pretty damned hard. *And* doing that thing he'd done *that* night, running the fingertips of one hand up and down lightly on his abdomen and definitely thinking about touch.

Yeah. Jason closes the distance between them and covers Dick's hand with his own, making Dick press a little harder. Dick licks his lips, looks down at their hands, and then looks at Jason.

Jason raises his eyebrows.

"Jay. This. Really. Got out of hand. I'm not sure --"

"It's gonna get worse. And by worse? I mean better."

"I --"

"*Oh* -- God."

They both turn to look at Bruce and Tim -- but Bruce is just putting the cap back on the tube of lipstick, and there's no real *reason* for Tim to have reacted that way --

But then Jason remembers that the cap had been in Tim's *lap*, and -- yeah. Big, big hands. Big, hard, deft, perfect, *deadly* hands. Jason grins and pushes his fingers between Dick's own. Dick's squeeze *feels* reflexive, but he doesn't pull away.

"Jay," Dick says, low and serious, and it's impossible not to turn back to him, and -- God. It's written *all* over his face. Everything Jason thinks is on his own, right now, and a few things that are just Dick. Things like worry and shock, and something Jason doesn't want to call shame, but --

"Dick. It's seriously okay. I mean -- I know that it seems like it can't be, but it's like you said: We're all human."

"No better than that," Bruce says, sighing softly. "But also no worse."

And Bruce is shifting in Jason's peripheral vision, doing *something*, but Dick's focus is all on him, right now, all...

God, there's something in his eyes that looks seriously *young*, and Jason remembers seeing it when he was Robin and wondering what the hell they were all doing, how any life as insane as the one they all had could possibly work, how it could be *allowed* to work --

Jason shakes his head and squeezes Dick's hand, shifting his grip until he's just holding on to the back of it before tugging it down, slow enough that Dick could stop it at any time, *pressing* enough that Dick's feeling himself up a little --

God, he wants that to be *his* palm, but -- maybe not yet. Maybe? *He* doesn't know. He *never* knows --

And Tim makes another soft sound -- oh. *That's* the sound of zip-strips being sliced clean through --

Dick's still looking at *only* him, and then --

Then he's making Dick cup himself through his shorts, wrapping his hand around to make Dick *squeeze* --

And watching Dick's eyes slip *most* of the way closed. Jesus. Jason licks his lips --

"Jay." Dick's voice is so fucking *heavy* --

Just the way it should be. "Yeah. Neither of us are kids anymore, you know. Just -- heh. Puttin' that out there."

Dick licks his lips. "You -- want. This."

"I want *you*. Always have -- you know that."

"What --" Dick blinks and turns -- back toward the disguise closet, where Bruce and Tim are *perusing*, and -- hunh.

"What are those dresses at the end there?"

Dick frowns. "They aren't yours?"

Oh... "Fuckin' A, Bruce, you *already* bought Tim dresses? I thought we'd just use one of *Dick's*."

Bruce hums and cups Tim's shoulders. "It always pays to be... prepared."

Jason snickers and turns back to Dick, meaning to *share* this little moment of 'what the *fuck*, Bruce,' but Dick looks just a little more shocky than he had a moment ago. "Hey..."

"Jay -- I. I really don't think I should be here right now. This is -- yours. Not mine."

No. Jason squeezes Dick's hand just a little *harder*, pushing his fingers between Dick's own again, and -- heat. *Lots* of heat. "That's the thing, Big Bird. I *never* thought that little equation worked out."

Dick's laugh is shaky -- "How good were you at *math*?"

"Heh. *Very*," and Jason starts a rhythmic squeeze --

"Jesus. Jay. Jay, we really can't --"

"I think we can --"

"I have a *girlfriend*," Dick says, and it sounds like he *wanted* that to be hard and sure, but.

Jason shakes his head and keeps working Dick's dick, making *Dick* work it -- "You have a family, too."

"Family, I --" Dick laughs again. "I -- I'm back to *Jesus*, Jay. A week ago -- two *days* ago -- my family was in New *York*."

And that... he doesn't have to see Bruce to know that he's wincing for that. Hell, *he's* wincing for it --

"Let go, Jay --"

"Dick --"

"*Jay*, let me -- I don't know how to *deal* with this," Dick says, and the plea in his eyes is making Jason think of Tim, of Bruce --

And yeah. He's thinking of himself, too. "I've never been big on *words*, Dick. Just -- we *couldn't* have had this back then, and I know that. But we're all about as close to being adults now as we're *ever* likely to get, and --"

"Tim. Tim is *not* an adult --"

"Getting there," Tim says. "Rapidly, even. Um. Not that I wanted to interrupt or... anything like that. You just keep talking."

Dick chokes on a *much* better laugh and Jason grins. "He's not like us -- except for the ways in which he really, really is."

"Jay... we both know I want this --"

"Then *take* it, Dick. Fuck, kiss me the way you did that night. You -- I only laughed because I couldn't *believe* it back then, couldn't take anything like that from *anyone*. *I* made it a joke, and I never stopped hating myself for it --"

"*No*, Jay, not. You were young, and all -- you were all messed up in your head, and so was *I* --"

"We were scared and lonely, and I don't know if we should've been or not, but --"

Kiss, sudden but *not* hard, and fuck if it isn't *just* like that kiss, that incredible kiss that went right through him --

*Goes* right through him, because it's Dick. It's Robin and it's Nightwing and it's *both* of them, *all* of them --

And Jason doesn't know which of them moves first, but they're pressed together and fucking making it *count*, arms crushed between them -- except that Dick twists and *yanks*, and now he's holding Jason's hand away from himself --

Jason *has* another hand, and he puts it right on Dick's ass and squeezes --

Dick bites Jason's lip and moans, kissing harder, squeezing Jason's *hand* hard, and the kiss gets deeper, *more*, and Jason knows that he's being watched, that *they're* being watched, but he can't tell if it's Bruce or Tim. It has that weight *and* that itch, that sense that he could be doing more, *touching* more --

He pushes his knee between Dick's legs and gets another moan --

And then Dick's shaking his hand free and pushing it into Jason's hair, tugging and stroking at once, and it feels like Dick is learning him at *speed*, because Dick's *other* hand is on *his* ass, and it's possible that they're going to hit the deck and start rolling around *quickly*, but that is anything but a problem.

Jason smiles into the kiss and licks Dick's mouth, his palate --

Dick *bucks* against him and mutters something incomprehensible, but there's no time to ask the question before Dick has his tongue in Jason's mouth again, slipping it in and out and all the fuck *around* -- Jesus, yes.

Jason gets his *other* hand on Dick's ass and tries to encourage him to thrust a little, buck for him --

Break, and Dick stepping back, almost *stumbling* back --

"Come *here*, Dick --"

"What -- am I going to say to Kory?"

And that's actually an honest question, like maybe Jason is the font of wisdom for this particular endeavor -- brain function, *now*. "That you finally took what you *wanted*. Or *did* Kory convert to Catholicism or something while I wasn't paying attention?"

Dick laughs --

"I always wanted to meet -- her. Actually," Tim says, and when they turn to look at him --

Jason blinks. "Holy *shit*, kid."

Tim raises an eyebrow and stands hipshot, one knee -- in seriously *dark* stockings -- bent and dark red lips parted. The deep green dress barely makes it past mid-thigh and would almost certainly look better if there was some padding under it, but --

"Holy *jailbait* is what I think you *mean*, Jay," Dick says, backing away to play with Tim's hair, pushing it back over his forehead and letting it fall again, stroking it into a double curl and letting it fall again --

"Would you like some styling gel, Dick?" Bruce is standing back a little and watching -- all of them.

Dick laughs again. "I think I want to know who *exactly* Tim's supposed to catch in this outfit."

"I'm sure I'll think of someone," Bruce says, and the smile he gives Dick is wry and *hot*. "Eventually."

Dick swallows. "I just -- made out with Jay. In front of you."

Bruce nods slowly and *never* takes his eyes off Dick. Jason catches himself waiting for the *blink* -- except that it feels more like waiting to come, to be *released* --

He doesn't have to wait. "Let Bruce fix Tim's hair," he says, grabbing Dick's shoulder and yanking him back around --

Dick splays his hand on Jason's chest, pushes a little --

And Jason has just enough time to wonder if Dick's going to balk again before Dick takes a handful of Jason's shirt and *hauls* Jay in --

No kiss.

No kiss? Jason raises his eyebrows --

"I keep trying to see the fucked up little *punk* in you, Jay..."

"I can call you a gaywad again if you think it'd help?"

"Gay... wad. Jay," Bruce says, and it definitely *sounds* like he's shaking his head, but Jason's *not* looking away from Dick right now. Just --

"Take what you want, Dick. I'm right here. *We're* right here."

Dick exhales sharply, frowning and shaking his head, but he still tugs Jason closer by his shirt, and closer than that --

"Kiss me again. Because I swear if you don't, I'm gonna... fuck, Big Bird, I'm too hard to think of a *threat*."

This time, the breath Dick takes is shaky -- "You... are an incredibly attractive guy, Jay, and this is all just a little too ridiculously. I. *Hell*," Dick says, and both hands are on Jason's face, holding him still for a kiss that's shaking Jason hard --

*Dick* is shaking, but the kiss feels too hard to stop, too much --

Fuck, Jason can *feel* his lips swelling for it -- and more when Dick starts biting his lips. Lower then upper then lower again, tongue inside deep where Jason can suck it, and --

This isn't going to stop again. This --

Jason growls and shoves Dick's shirt up, touching *skin* for the first time in years, and the feel of the hair beneath Dick's belly button on his fingertips makes him flex, growl again and *push* --

Dick lets himself be led, and it's just a few steps to the nice, sturdy disguise closet, which is solid *enough* to push Dick against it, break the kiss and go for Dick's throat --

"Nnh -- Jay. God, your *mouth* --"

"Same as it's ever been... and you taste like something I *want*," Jason says, sucking and kissing Dick a better-looking collar than the thing he goes *out* in night after night --

And Dick brings one hand down to Jason's hip and *yanks* --

"*Fuck* yeah, Dick --"

"I can't help -- I can't help but feel that we're not doing this entirely right..."

Jason holds the suck on Dick's pulse point until he can't taste anything but his own spit. "You have an *audience*. Go with it."

Dick bucks against him once, twice -- shoves Jason *back* --

"Hey --"

And all but *tears* off his shirt.

"Okay, never mind, *good* plan," Jason says, and yanks off his own --

"God, *look* at you. You were always going to be incredible, Jay, but --" Dick shakes his head and strokes Jason's chest, sliding his thumbs over Jason's nipples before twisting them *hard* --

Jason grunts and does a little bucking of his own --

And Dick is grinning at him, fucking *glittering* a little --

"Oh, yeah, Big Bird...?"

Short nails digging into his pecs, and then Dick *rakes* them down, and the only problem Jason has with the welts rising is that they won't *last* long enough. Jason grabs Dick's wrists and just holds them for a little while, feeling Dick's pulse -- just as fast as it should be -- and wanting.

Definitely wanting. "What *do* you want?"

Dick licks his lips and twists his wrists back and forth, staring into Jason's eyes -- squeezing his eyes shut.

"Oh, no, Dick, c'mon --"

"No, I'm not --" Dick laughs again, pulling Jason's arms out to the sides and walking up until they're chest to chest, skin to skin. "I'm not sure if it's an audience I *want*."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm *not*. Jay, I. All of us. Right?"

And the urge to be greedy and *focused* is, he has to admit, nothing against the urge to be *greedy* and just a bit -- diffuse. Especially since the feel of Bruce and Tim watching --

"I'm happy to watch. If that's -- ah. An issue," Tim says, and -- "Oh. Also... I can be. There's entertainment over... here. For me. I -- *Bruce*."

Dick blinks a few times and looks over Jason's shoulder -- "Oh my God."

Okay, now he *has* to look -- oh. Wow.

Bruce is holding Tim up in his arms --

Bruce is supporting Tim's weight with *one* arm and reaching up Tim's dress with the other, and that hidden hand is doing... something. Jason can't quite tell *what*, but whatever it is has Tim clutching at Bruce's shoulders and turning his face against Bruce's shoulder. And Bruce is *gazing* down at Tim, but that doesn't mean his attention isn't also on Dick and Jason -- right.

"Okay, so we have *one* audience member --"

"He's not even --"

"He totally is, Dick. You *know* he is."

"I am," Bruce says, and does something *else* --

"Oh *fuck*," Tim says, kicking out with one leg --

"Ooh. I didn't notice the heels," Dick says. "Did he walk in them? At all? Or did you just --"

"Three steps," Bruce says, and looks up with a smile for both of them. "Perhaps we would all be more comfortable upstairs...?"

"Upstairs?" Dick says, in a *high* voice, at pretty much the same time Jason says, brilliantly,

"Uh?"

Bruce's smile gets wider, and just a *little* rueful -- even as he *keeps* working Tim and making him fucking *kick* --

"B --"

"Bruce --"

"I would be... very grateful," Bruce says, turning his attention *fully* on Dick, who's nodding *exactly* like his dick has taken over all the thinking duties.

*Good* deal. But -- "Uh -- B. What are you doing to Tim? Exactly?"

Bruce hums and turns back to smile down at him. "He's wearing the panties I purchased to go with this dress..."

Dick chokes.

Jason pictures it --

Pictures it some more --

Pictures it from the *back* -- shakes it off. "So... in the panties or out?"

"In. Just enough to stimulate his prostate through his perineum."

Dick's expression is that kind of weird one some guys get: like he'd just been kicked in the sac and *liked* it. Jason *strongly* suspects his own isn't much better.

And Bruce raises an eyebrow and *slowly* turns toward the stairs. Yes, yeah, and fuck yeah.

Jason wraps an arm around Dick's shoulders and leads him along, because they're both doing the erection stagger and brothers *help* each other.

They make it up the stairs *not* fast enough -- especially since Tim keeps making little noises and periodically *kicking* --

Dick gives a shuddery sigh. "Does he do that a lot? The -- kicking?"

"Mostly the noises. The kicking's fairly rare -- but I think I'm going to have to examine that reflex in *detail* --"

Tim groans and they can *both* see him digging his nails in against Bruce's shoulders --

Bruce hums and walks *faster*, and when they get to his door, he kicks it wide and --

Yeah.

Bed. Great *big* bed, and there were so many times when Jason had felt *lost* in it, but they're going to do a damned good job of filling it --

"*Mmph* --"

Bruce is kissing Tim down onto the bed, or -- no, he's holding Tim *up* against his body for the kiss, and Jason can't see what Bruce's hands are doing right now, but he's going to bet it's something Tim really, *really* likes --

Especially since that was a really *nice* -- muffled -- noise, and there's a high-heeled shoe flying past his head --

Dick catches it. "I say he leaves these on for as long as possible, Jay."

"I say you're a wise older man with a lot of *great* ideas, Dick," and Dick's grinning at him --

Dick's kissing him hard and yanking at Jason's shorts *and* shoving and pushing Jason back toward the bed. Good plan *all* around, and Jason lets himself get walked and fucking *molested* until the backs of his knees bump the edge of the bed and he can scoot on --

While Dick yanks his shorts and boxer-briefs down his legs. Jay gets his trainers and socks off, and --

Naked on Bruce's bed is not something he'd thought he'd ever do again, but it's also not something he'd ever thought he'd *have* again, and the two are very different things... just as being naked on Bruce's bed with Dick over him and *moving* is a very different animal than being naked on Bruce's bed with *Bruce* over him --

"I can't help but think -- ah," and Tim's breathing is *rough* -- "Possibly I should be naked, too? Please?"

Dick bites the line of his jaw and then turns to look at Tim. "Not a *chance*, little brother. Just be happy this room isn't bugged."

"It isn't? I mean -- I'd assumed --"

"It's Bruce's *bedroom*, Tim --"

"It's totally bugged," Jason says, and pushes his hands into Dick's waistbands, getting a *nice* double handful of ass. "Let's all just accept that and move on. And *no*, Tim, you don't get to take off the dress."

"The hate would be greatly alleviated -- oh. *Oh*, that's -- my thigh. That's -- God, *tongue* --"

Jason can't *see* that from here, but he can definitely picture it. And Dick is staring enough for both of them. "Dick...?"

"Lace. On the panties. He actually --" And the rest of that's cut off with a grunt when Jason reaches between them to give Dick's dick a good stroke, which wasn't what he *intended*, so he lets go -- "Oh, God, Jay --"

"Keep *talking*," Jason says -- no -- "Wait, finish stripping off first --"

"Right, yeah," and Dick slips off the bed for the few cold and annoying seconds it takes for him to be naked and then straddles Jason again. "I was saying -- lacy panties."

Jason whistles. "He ever do that to you?"

Dick shakes his head and licks his lips again --

"Wait, are they lacy all over?"

"Just -- *hnn* -- just the edges," Tim says. "Don't give him any more *ideas* --"

"To be fair," Bruce says, shifting slightly, "I've had the designs for weeks."

Jason snickers. "Of *course* you have, you giant freak."

Bruce hums again. "You always sound so fond when you call me that, Jay."

"Because you *are*. And I *am*."

"Mm, as you say. I think..." And Bruce is moving again, more seriously this time --

Tim yelps -- "You could've just *asked* me to move -- oh. Hello," he says, and he's on his hands and knees *facing* Jason and Dick.

"Hello *yourself*, little brother," Dick says, and immediately does his best to ruin the style Bruce had somehow found the time to put in Tim's hair.

Tim smiles at Dick like maybe he's freeing him from *bondage* -- and the good ideas just keep *coming*, but --

"I can't decide whether I want the kid tied up or not," Jason says, and strokes the lean fucking *perfection* of Dick's hips.

Dick tugs on Tim's hair like he's thinking about it -- "I don't know. I mean, we're probably going to want -- I'm *definitely* going to want Tim to be *mobile*."

Mm. "Okay, yeah, there's that. In the *meantime* -- why don't you fuck against me a little bit? Let Tim *see* the way you can move."

"Oh -- please. And -- *ohn*. God. *Bruce* --"

Dick turns -- "Bruce..."

"Yes," Bruce says, and the bed is moving. Not *much*, but definitely rhythmically --

Jesus. "B. You're fucking his thighs --"

"And enjoying -- immensely -- his panties."

Dick's laugh is a little on the hysterical side, but -- "I would, *too*. God, I -- and oh, yes, little wing had a *request*," Dick says, and starts to *grind* --

Jason groans and goes for his rhythm, grinning up at Dick and gripping those hips *hard*, hard enough that it seems like he can feel Dick *thinking* about moving like that --

Like this --

"Jesus, I knew you could move like this, fucking *knew* it --"

"I'd say something about just needing motivation -- but I *always* had that. God, *look* at you, Jay --"

"I'll french my mirror next time I see it, I promise, c'mon, faster --"

Dick laughs and slows *down*, turning his grind into *torture* --

"*Bastard* --"

"*Punk* --"

"*Beautiful*," Tim says, and when Jason turns, Tim looks *drunk*, eyes hazed and glittering at *once* --

And he's moving *with* them, which means --

"Oh my God," Dick says. "I -- Bruce is using my rhythm. He's --" Dick groans and speeds up --

And Tim's eyes roll back as he starts grunting for every thrust, mouth open and the haze in his eyes taking over for the glitter. He looks *obscene* like this, made up pretty and somehow *used*.

Jason bites his lip and thrusts back against Dick, pushing one thumb into Tim's open mouth and getting it sucked *immediately* -- "You are *such* a good boy."

Tim groans, bites Jason and starts rocking back into Bruce's thrusts, blush making his cheeks look even more hollow --

"Jay. I -- I think I need more, need --" Dick moans and leans in, kissing Jason hard and wet, *good* --

Their legs tangle together and Dick pushes his hands into Jason's hair, pulls back and sucks Jason's lower lip --

And now his thrusts are short, almost *brutal* things --

Tim cries out around Jason's thumb -- "*Please*."

"Oh -- God, little brother, what do you need?"

"I -- am about to come in these panties and I'm not -- not sure how I *feel* about that --"

Laughing makes it feel like he and Dick are shaking themselves together, wrestling themselves into one *body* --

And Bruce's hum cuts through all of it, making it seem like everything Bruce does is connected to everything they're *all* feeling --

Something --

"You could consider relaxing and letting it happen," Bruce says --

Tim growls around Jason's thumb, pulls back --

Jason breaks the kiss to see Tim kneeling up and hiking the dress high enough that Jason can *see* those panties, which are very green, moderately lacy, and extremely fucking *packed* with a Tim in need --

*Fuck* --

Dick's mouth is hot and *wet* on his neck, making Jason's skin feel tight, making Jason want to -- *need* to --

Flipping them leads to Dick's legs being *locked* around his body, knees digging in against Jason's ribs -- which is an excellent reason to *use* Dick's flexibility for what it was made for. Jason hooks an arm under one of Dick's legs and bends it *back* --

"*Nnh* -- Jay, you *beast*."

Jason snorts, and it sends a jolt to his dick, making him twitch and have to grind *harder* -- "Like you've fucked *anybody* who didn't do this to you at least once."

"Usually -- they wait until the *second* date --"

"Shut up and *take* it, Big Bird --"

"I can't believe you're calling me that *now* --"

And Tim cries out again --

Again --

Jason looks over and Tim has his arms wrapped around Bruce's neck, eyes closed, mouth open -- panties down around his thighs and dress *hiding* everything important, including what Bruce is doing to make him make that noise. "B --"

"Penetration --"

Dick moans and his rhythm *stutters* --

Bruce turns to look down at Dick. "Two fingers," he says, and -- "Would you like to do this to him, Dick?"

Dick arches and grunts like he's taken a shot --

And then *somehow* Jason is on his back again --

"Jay. Have to -- can't *listen* to that voice like that, can't think --" And Dick is kissing his way down Jason's chest, twisting his nipples over and *over* --

Fuck, *in*, all the way down in one swallow, and -- Jason laughs and groans and laughs *more* --

"Jay..."

And that *wasn't* Bruce asking a question as opposed to tasting Jason's fucking name, but -- "Just thinking -- I *completely* see why you were -- *mm* -- jealous of the Titans --"

Dick *chokes* around him, and maybe that's not the best possible reason to shove a hand into his hair -- wait, no. Jason yanks out the tie and Dick's hair fucking *spills* on him, liquid and cool, silky --

"Watch," Bruce says, and Jason's all set to wonder what's *next* --

But he's just turning Tim's head toward him and Dick --

Tim moans -- "*Jay*. You look -- Bruce, I -- please, faster, harder --"

"Do you truly want me to give you an orgasm --"

"*Yes*," Tim says, and Jason has to laugh again, because --

Well, it's not like Tim ever *makes* unnecessary noise on the street *or* in training, but Jason is still sure -- down to the bones currently being sucked *out* of him -- that *that* was his 'I'm about to stab you' voice. Now, though -- just noise, rhythmic and high, *sharp* --

And Bruce is murmuring something Jason can't *hear* -- "Hey, share with the *class*, B --"

"I was informing Tim about a fantasy I'd had of you and Dick sharing him... and asking whether he would like to try to make that happen."

Jason grunts and pumps into Dick's mouth. Just -- *images* --

And Dick is *shaking* --

"Would you, Tim?"

"I -- I --" And the rest of that is a *scream*, and there's come spattering Jason's chest and arm --

Dick pulls *off* -- "Sorry, Jay, I really need to -- ah. *Something* --"

*Right*, yeah -- "B, hurry up and *do* something to Dick before he bursts a blood vessel. Before he makes *me* burst a blood vessel --"

"Happily," Bruce says, and Tim makes that sound that means that -- heh -- *someone* is pulling out of him just a little too *slow* for comfort, and then moves away from Bruce to sit against the headboard, which -- no.

Jason goes to *get* him, picking him up and spreading him over his lap. He's nice and loose -- but still manages to make a protesting noise when Jason pulls the panties back up --

"*Jay*, Jesus, isn't the hazing over yet?"

"In *this* family we like to *multitask*. Hence, hazing *and* fucking," Jason says, lifting Tim's arms until they're around *his* neck and letting his dick start the process of making a wonderful mess on Tim's pretty, pretty dress. But -- there's no movement in his peripheral vision. Jason turns --

And Dick is just sitting on his heels, staring at Bruce like he's a *stranger*.

"Dick, go *get* some."

"I..." Dick shakes his head and blinks, obviously trying to steal a little focus from his rock-hard dick. "Bruce. Do you really --"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, and offers his hand.

"It's just. You should... say something else. I think that would help."

"What do you want me to say?"

"God, I --" Dick scrubs at his face with his hands. "I can *hear* how hard you are in your voice, and that's making me a little -- I never thought I'd ever --"

"I worked very hard to avoid your hearing anything of the kind --"

"Because you thought it was inappropriate, and also you couldn't reconcile your feelings for me as your. Your son. I -- got that," Dick says, and *searches* Bruce.

Bruce nods and offers his hand. "I will never reconcile those feelings. I learned that with Jason. Please, come closer."

Dick stares at Bruce's hand and licks his lips. "Just like that?"

"If you wish," Bruce says, and there's a part of Jason which thinks he should maybe give the two of them a little privacy, but --

There'll be other times for that, he thinks. Other *chances*. *Additionally*, he's pretty sure that Tim *would* stab him if he tried to pull him out of here now. He's still high on his orgasm and using all that newly-regained brain power to focus on Bruce and Dick...

To the point where it takes him a *long* moment to notice that Jason is staring at him. When he does, he blushes impressively --

"*Now* you blush?"

"I'll get back to you on that when I've gained control over my involuntary systems --"

"I'll be sure to help you work on that," Bruce says --

Dick laughs -- but it gets cut off, because Dick had apparently gotten over *enough* of himself and his fucked up childhood to put himself in range of a kiss. And that...

"Did *you* get a kiss, Tim?"

"Ah -- several. My cheeks, my forehead --"

"A *real* kiss," Jason says, grabbing Tim's hips and shaking a little.

Tim raises an eyebrow at him. "If what you're referring to is a kiss on the mouth with a lot of tongue --"

"Snippy, *snippy*. Maybe I shouldn't *let* you watch the show."

Tim narrows his eyes *slightly* in warning --

"Oh, yeah...?"

And he *could've* stopped Tim from pulling his knife -- but it would've helped to know that he *had* the sheath on under there. As it is, it's necessary to wrestle the kid a little bit -- something his dick is *extremely* happy to have him do, despite the fact that Dick is making some seriously interesting noises --

Heh, mental *note*: If he *ever* needs Tim to be too distracted to put up much of a fight, make Bruce mack on Dick a little bit, because *now* --

Tim is straddling his thighs again, but this time his ass is in an excellent position -- again, his dick is weighing in -- and Jason's got Tim's pretty little knife. What to do, what to do...

Dick bucks hard enough to make *Tim* gasp --

Bruce moans and *clutches* Dick's arms, pulling him closer --

Dick struggles --

Bruce lets go and pulls back. "Dick?"

"Just wanted my arms free, boss. Bruce. Uh -- no, I'm not going to think about other things I could call you right now --"

"Probably for the best, there, Big Bird. He always gets a little nuts when *I* call him Dad --"

Bruce growls, low and serious, scanning them all and touching his tongue to his lower lip --

"Out of curiosity," Tim says, "Ah... is this a kink I should know about?"

Jason laughs and Dick does, too. "I'm going to go with 'yes' for that one, little brother. And -- and." Dick lunges in for another kiss, cupping Bruce's face and crawling *on* Bruce, shoving him back against the wall and managing to get his knees *on* Bruce's shorts. They were already down around his thighs with his jock and boxer briefs, and now they're on the bed, and --

Yeah. Jason can't *see* their dicks, but they have to be lined up tight against each other, rubbing and pressing, and that's just the kind of *pretty* thought that makes it necessary for him to tuck *his* dick between Tim's cheeks --

"Oh. Jay..."

*That* sounded like a smile, and really -- "You are so fucking *wonderfully* bent, kid. *Never* change."

Tim snorts. "Really, Jay. How much more 'bent' am I than anyone else on this bed?"

Dick hums and pulls back from the kiss. "You *are* wearing the dress."

"And the makeup," Jason says --

"And those lovely stockings," Bruce says, stroking his way down Dick's back and staring into Tim's eyes.

Tim makes a slightly strangled noise -- something between protest and 'do me' -- and Jason starts to thrust a little, trying to get maximum touch to that sweet little hole that Bruce had *finally* tried out -- mm.

"How'd you like being inside him, B?"

"I'm afraid I'm not sure. I should... hm. Probably try again."

Dick laughs and cups Bruce's cheeks again, resting his forehead against Bruce's own. "You... I think I probably would've freaked out in a *titanic* fashion if I'd had any idea that you were this *perverse*, Bruce --"

"The thought had occurred," Bruce says, and moves to nuzzle Dick's mouth, pushing his free arm between them to stroke and pet Dick's chest.

Dick laughs again. "I can't decide what I want to do next. I can't... ah and that's my nipple. You're playing with my *nipple*, Bruce --"

"I'd like to taste you there."

Dick groans. "Jay. Is he always -- does he... God, don't stop --"

Bruce hums and moves *with* Dick, turning --

And giving Jason and Tim an excellent view of the way he's twisting and *pulling* on Dick's nipple.

Jason licks his lips and does the same to *both* of Tim's nipples, and -- "He can be pretty focused when you get him started, yeah..."

Tim moans and pushes back against him --

Bruce looks up and smiles at Tim before turning back to Dick. "There's a certain curious force to my desire for you whenever you seem especially... shocked."

Dick exhales sharply and licks his lips. "So what you're saying is that you're *invested* in driving me crazy."

"The intensity is powerful. The temptation more so," and Bruce bends in to lick Dick's throat -- *bite* --

And all three of them make noise for that, which may or may *not* be why Bruce bites *harder* --

"*God* -- Bruce, that feels so *good* --"

Bruce's growl sounds almost *desperate*, and Tim is working himself back rhythmically, and yeah -- getting *nice* and hard again. Jason twists Tim's nipples *hard*, getting a shout that makes Dick turn to see --

And something hot and *serious* flares behind his eyes when he sees Tim like this, something that makes Jason seriously *need* --

"B, where's the --"

And Bruce reaches behind him and tosses Jason the lube with perfect accuracy even though his eyes are closed and he's still just *holding* Dick with his teeth --

"God, I love you," Jason says, slicking his dick fast and sliding *right* in --

"Oh -- oh, God, Jay, yes, *yes* --"

Jason groans and -- "Fuck, you got him *all* ready for me -- c'mon, Tim, bounce on my dick a little. *Show* them how you can take it --"

Tim nods and does it, gripping his own thighs and *riding* Jason because he loves it, because he's the best little boy in the world, because --

"God, *yeah* --"

And Dick gasps and whimpers when Bruce stops biting, bends right back for Bruce's push until he's flat on his back and arching, writhing for the way Bruce is stroking his body --

"Jesus fucking -- Dick, how you're *ever* surprised when people want to bone you is fucking *beyond* me --"

"What was that you said? Something about frenching the -- mirror. Oh, Bruce, you really are kissing my chest. And my abdomen. And those are *wet* kisses, with a lot of tongue and --" And the rest of that is a noise with a lot of n's and o's.

"Hey, kid, he sounds a little like you," Jason says, and bucks and grinds a little, tries to focus on something other than how *good* Tim feels, how tight and *hot* -- "Oh. Fuck. Slow down, Tim --"

"I'd rather not --"

Jason laughs, gasps and gets lost again, because Tim is clenching around him, holding him tight, tight, *tight* while he rides --

"In fact, I -- really think you should come in me, Jay --"

Dick moans and shudders hard enough to shake the bed, turning and looking -- his eyes are glazed and his mouth is hanging open --

And Tim almost *spasms* around him -- "*Nnh* -- never thought. Dick, I know -- I know what that look *feels* like --"

"God, little brother, I --" Dick reaches out and takes Tim's hand, squeezing it -- "It's just that Bruce isn't really. He's not *sucking*."

Jason looks, and -- fuck, yeah, Bruce is *moving* on Dick's dick, but it looks more like mouthing than anything else, and -- "Tasting you. He's. God, B, what are you gonna *do*?"

And Bruce pulls off slow, stopping when he has just the head in his mouth and sucking hard --

"*Bruce* --"

Tim cries out and starts to shake -- "I want -- I want *more* --"

Bruce releases Dick and licks his lip. "You should definitely have... more," he says, and goes down in one smooth move, swallowing Dick *down* --

Dick shouts and tries to push his hands into Bruce's short hair --

Bruce pulls off again. "Tim," he says to Dick. "Please?"

Dick makes a sound that sounds like pain and want at *once* -- "You want me to? You want to see --"

"*Please*," Tim says -- "I. I mean. Sorry, I can't seem to --"

Jason pets Tim's hair. "It's okay, baby bro. *Let* us know what you want."

"*Dick*. I -- I'd like to suck you. I mean, if you want to. Or --" Tim shakes his head, groans and shakes his head again, clenching and fucking *flexing* around him --

"Hold on *just* a sec there," Jason says, pushing his arms beneath Tim's and cupping his shoulders from the front so he can *pull* Tim down onto his dick --

"That shouldn't look so *good*," Dick says, and Jason can't make himself focus enough to get a read on Dick's expression --

Bruce hums and pulls Dick back up onto his knees -- "I disagree. They're beautiful and in love."

"And that's all that *counts*? Bruce, since *when*?"

"Since I learned that I could not make myself more than what I was, than what I *am*. Please, Dick. Show me... show me how you would love Tim..."

Tim groans like he's dying, or maybe just losing important parts of his sanity, which Jason can *understand*. With *all* of himself, starting with his happy, *happy* dick and spreading out through the rest of him, warm and sweet and so perfect --

"C'mon, Big Bird. Let Tim show *you* a thing or two --"

"It's really okay. You don't have to. I don't. Oh, God, moving, you're *moving*, and you're coming closer --" Tim gasps, does it again, again --

"Don't hyperventilate, kid --"

"It's just me," Dick says, cupping Tim's face -- "You look *beautiful*, by the way. In case I didn't -- mention. God, I want to take you back to New York with me --"

"Don't be fucking *greedy*, Big Bird -- oh, *fuck*, that *clench*. Fucking *A*, Tim, nobody has an ass like you --"

"I." Dick laughs and strokes Tim's mouth. "Are you sure this won't be too much for you, little brother?"

Tim groans again and loses his rhythm on Jason's dick --

But that's what the grip he has on the kid's shoulders is for. Jason bends down to kiss the top of Tim's head and *gives* it to him --

Tim *wails* -- cuts himself off -- "Dick. Please. I -- I don't *know*, but I want -- oh, please, Jay, *please* --"

"Please what?"

"Don't *stop* --"

"*Hell*," Dick says, and -- "His hips, Jay, hold his *hips* --"

"*Anything* you say," Jason says, and cupping Tim's hips feels like coming home, feels like it completes some kind of *circuit* in him, the thing in him that makes up the fuck and maybe also important parts of his *mind* --

Which slips and *sparks* when Dick cups the back of Tim's head and pulls Tim down and down --

Dick's cry is sharp and *loud*, and Jason knows Tim's sucking hard and *serious*, almost certainly using that sweet little tongue the way he was fucking *born* to, and --

What is this *like* for Tim? In some ways it *has* to be crazier than that aborted threesome with Bruce, but the only tension in him right now is the *right* kind, the kind that's going to make Jason come his fucking brains out *soon* --

It's Dick, and everything he is, everything he can do and say and *be* for all of them, and he *knows* Tim is feeling it, and maybe that's another kind of circuit -- the thing that connects Jason to the kid, that tells him what Tim needs, tells him what he can *have* --

His --

"God, Tim, go *easy*," Dick says, petting Tim's hair almost frantically -- "Not. He's not *breathing*, and oh, God, his *throat* --"

"So *tight* --"

"*Yes*," and Dick shudders all over. "He's -- I want to *thrust* --"

Tim makes a sound that sounds like all the 'yes' in the *world* --

Dick moans --

Jason *flexes* and gives it to Tim harder, and the rhythm is fucking *rudimentary*, but he knows Tim likes it that way, needs it the way Jason always needs his lovers to lose control at least a little bit --

And somehow that's Bruce *behind* him, pressed to Jason's back and as hard as Jason has ever felt him. At *some* point he'd ditched his shirt, too, and God --

Just the feel of all that hair, all those *scars* -- "Bruce --"

"Jay," Bruce says, and fucking *gently* tilts Jason's head to the side, baring Jason's *throat* --

He can't -- "God, I -- *please* --"

Tim makes a sound deep in his chest --

Dick is staring and shuddering -- pumping his *hips*, and it's not as hard or as fast as Jason is, but --

*Bite*, right to the join of Jason's neck to his shoulder, and it's Bruce, it's *Bruce*, and it's been so fucking long since he's *felt* that --

And Jason doesn't think he's completely *solid*, anymore, and his control --

He wants Bruce *inside* him, right now, just like *this*, and it doesn't matter that it's been years, that it would hurt so bad he'd probably fucking *cry* --

"*Bruce*," he says again, and he thinks maybe all of that is in the sound of it, because Dick is reaching to touch his face --

Because Bruce is thrusting against Jason's *back* as he holds Jason with his teeth, as he growls and moans, *licks* --

"Oh, *fuck*," Dick says, hand falling from Jason's face --

Yeah, he's got Tim by the hair now, and so much for treating the 'lady' with care, because that mouth --

*He* wants that mouth, and he wants Bruce's dick, and he wants Dick's *something* --

"Fuck, B, *please*, c'mon, I need more --"

Bruce bites him harder for a second so hot that Jason can feel fresh sweat prickling his skin all *over* -- "Jay. Let me --"

"*Yes* --"

And Bruce yanks Jason's head back by his hair, and the kiss tastes like --

*Dick*.

Fuck, oh, *fuck*, he's tasting Dick, and Bruce is kissing him like they'd never stopped, like there's no one else in the room, like it *has* been forever --

Jason doesn't *know*, and he's lost his rhythm entirely with Tim, just thrusting and pushing and fucking *shoving* --

"Oh. Oh. Oh, Tim. Jay. *Bruce* --" Dick laughs breathlessly, groans --

Tim makes another of those *deep* sounds, and Jason knows he needs *air*, but there's nothing Jason can do about it right now, nothing but this *kiss*, and the way it's stealing everything in him, replacing his spine with something liquid and mobile, fucking *oiling* his hips for the fuck --

Bruce --

Bruce pulls out of the kiss and leaves Jason gasping, fucking *groaning* --

And begging with *all* of himself when Bruce spreads his cheeks and starts *playing* with Jason's hole, maybe feeling all the time Jason *hadn't* done anything --

It makes him feel small and it makes him feel *hot*, and he can't keep himself from bending over Tim --

*Kissed*, and Dick starts fucking Jason's mouth with his tongue *immediately* --

Lube on his ass --

Bruce's *fingers*, two of them, and it's too tight and too much, but more, please *more* --

Jason sucks Dick's tongue too *hard*, but he can't stop, can't breathe, can't *think* --

And then Dick cries *out* into his mouth --

Again --

*Again*, and the kiss is too messy to hold, too --

Dick *rears* back, stiffening all over --

Fuck, he's coming in Tim's mouth, he's *losing* it for Tim, for all of them --

Tim clenches around Jason *hard* --

And when Bruce hits Jason's prostate there's nothing but sex, nothing but the pleasure running through him like a shot from a fucking taser --

"Jay, *yes*," Bruce says, and there may or may *not* be anything after that, because all Jason can do is come and *come*, buried in Tim just the *right* way --

Tim's shouting and clenching around him --

White-out, and the only thing Jason can do is fucking *brace* himself as everything burns up --

Jason's elbows give out and his chest is on Tim's back. One of them is breathing like a fucking bellows -- no, both of them are, and Bruce is pulling *out*. Damn, just --

He can't manage to protest that with more than a groan, and it's possible that he should get *off* Tim. Jason pushes back up onto his hands --

Dick moans, and when Jason looks, he's sitting on his heels and petting Tim's face and hair, head thrown back and neck looking extremely biteable. Kissable. *Everything*-able.

It's *also* possible that Jason's fucking blown *out*. He kneels up and cups Tim's hips again. "Can you breathe for me, Tim?"

Tim moans, nods, and pushes up onto *his* hands, and Jason waits another moment before pulling out at *just* the right speed to get another moan out of the kid.

Once he's out, he *can* breathe again, but everything smells -- *tastes* -- like a whole fuck of a lot of gay sex. And he can *feel* Bruce staring at him.

Jason turns, and the look on Bruce's face --

Fuck, he looks almost *young*, desperate and hungry, and Jason *can't*.

He hauls on Bruce until they're pressed close, until Bruce's dick is a hot *bar* against his abdomen, slick and twitching even before Jason can make the kiss anything like good. Just --

He wants to say everything with this kiss, reiterate and promise and beg and *everything*, because it's Bruce, because it's *this* bed --

Because he's home, and the only thing he can do about it is *be* here and take absolutely everything he can, including Bruce's hard, hot mouth, wet and still --

Jesus, he needs to blow Dick *one* of these days --

Tim moans and it's muffled -- Dick is kissing him, and probably making sure there's *nothing* left of the kid's forebrain. Heh.

Jason pulls back. "Was it what you wanted, B? That little scene?"

Bruce smiles. "That depends on Tim."

And yeah, of *course* Bruce would've wanted that *mostly* because of Tim's fantasies. "Let's ask him," Jason says, turning to see Dick bending Tim back, kissing him *seriously* -- and holding one finger up.

Bruce hums and sets his hands somehow *cautiously* on Jason's hips.

And -- God, it's not like Jason can't understand the caution, but he doesn't *want* it. He covers Bruce's hands with his own and *makes* Bruce press harder --

Bruce clutches him just the way he *should*, and Jason feels himself relaxing in ways that even the orgasm couldn't make him do. Bruce.

Jason closes his eyes and just *feels* it, letting the memories wash over him, take him everywhere he needs to be --

And Tim is moaning constantly now, *right* into Dick's mouth by the sound of it --

"You stroking him off, Big Bird?"

Dick pulls back and licks his lips. "I really can't... he's so *hard*, Jay."

Jason strokes Bruce's knuckles. "Yeah, and when he gets like that in training? He never stops until *I* tell him to. All but fucking *beg* him to, because all the sex he puts out could light a damned *city*. Or get a city to fuck like rabbits. *Something*."

"Ooh. Little brother, don't you know that you're supposed to be taking four to six 'showers' a day at this point in your life?"

Tim's moan has a laugh *in* it, and -- "I -- ah. Try to avoid indulging -- mm -- my more obsessive tendencies --"

"Perhaps I should try that sometime," Bruce says, and starts kissing the back of Jason's neck and his shoulders --

"Some *other* time, B," and Jason reaches back and pulls until Bruce is pressed against him again --

"Jay --"

"Have a little *skin*, B -- and. Mm. How should we get you off?"

Bruce takes a deep, shaky breath -- "I'm afraid the possibilities have left me somewhat... stymied."

"Possibilities is a *good* word," Dick says, and starts stroking Tim faster -- "Oh, yeah, get those hands on my shoulders. Hold *on*."

"I'm -- trying not to *clutch* --"

"But I *like* clutching, Tim. I *love* clutching. Clutching means I'm doing this *right*."

Jason grins. "He likes a little twist sometimes..."

"Like this?"

And now Tim *is* clutching --

And Bruce is stroking Jason's hips and sides, his chest and abdomen. He reaches down between Jason's legs to just *cup* Jason's sac, maybe feel the weight a little, make note of differences, or --

"Talk to me, Bruce --"

"I missed you, Jay. I missed you so much that I couldn't. I had Alfred hide all of your things, put them places I wouldn't think to look when I was wandering sleepless and *hurt*..."

Jason closes his eyes again and presses back against Bruce. "It's all right, B, it's --"

"I would tell myself that it was like what I felt when I pushed Dick away, and it was. The manor was empty and quiet, and I was faced with the realization that I had made it into an oversized crypt, a monument to loss --"

"God, *Bruce*. I -- all you ever had to do was *call* me," Dick says, and somehow it's *impressive* that he manages to get that much sincerity in when he's *also* giving Tim the handjob of his *life* --

"I am weak in many ways," Bruce says, and splays one hand over the center of Jason's chest. "I live with fear because it was nearly the first thing I knew... and sometimes I can do nothing but surrender to it --"

"It *can't* be that way anymore," Jason says, knocking his head back lightly against Bruce's face. "I had to stay away for -- for a lot of damned reasons, and some of them were even good ones, but you *have* a family, B --"

"*Lovers*," Tim says, and it sounds like he wants to say more than that, but all that comes out is high-pitched noise, rhythmic and desperate --

"What *he* said," Dick says, and Jason watches him squeeze Tim *hard* --

"*Please* --"

"Come for me, little brother --"

"*Fuck*," Tim says, and now he's shaking and tensing, relaxing and pumping into Dick's fist, tensing *again* --

"God, *look* at that, B --"

"I can't look away," Bruce says, and bites Jason's shoulder again, *slowly* increasing the pressure until the pain starts mixing it up with all the endorphins running through him and Jason wants --

Something. *More*. He thinks about having Bruce in his mouth, about Dick having Bruce in his mouth --

Theoretically, at least, they could *all* pile on him, but Tim would need to get *off* first --

"Give him a finger, Big Bird --"

Dick bucks and bites his lip, *breathes* -- "I -- yeah?"

"Please, oh -- oh, I want --"

"He's *nice* and slick," Jason says, and then has to *grunt* because Bruce is biting hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to make Jason want to go loose all over and just let Bruce do *any* damned thing -- so long as it's everything.

And knowing that Bruce is *still* watching Dick and Tim just makes it better, makes it more *connected*, like maybe they all have a part in getting Tim off, or like Dick *could* be the one with Bruce's dick pressed to the base of his spine, like Tim could be stroking and biting --

So *good*, and the way Tim keeps his balance when Dick moves him makes Jason feel proud and hungry at the same damned time --

And then Tim's eyes are rolling back in his head for Dick's push --

"God, that's your *come*, Jay --"

"And the lube *Bruce* shoved in there --"

Dick moans and *immediately* starts thrusting, wrapping his hand around Tim's dick and starting to twist and pull, stroke and *take* --

Tim reaches out with shaking hands --

And Bruce moves them close enough that *he* can take Tim's hands in his own --

"Oh -- *Bruce* --"

Of *course* Tim can tell without opening his eyes, and watching him use what looks like every *ounce* of his hand strength to hold on to Bruce feels a lot like saying *goodbye* --

Which is to say that it makes him itch *hard* under the skin while also making him want to fight, hurt --

He doesn't have to say goodbye to anyone.

He doesn't have to go anywhere.

He --

And Jason can't tell if it's a relief or *not* when Tim's scream cuts off everything in his brain but the need to pay *attention*, to *see* Tim spasming and coming all over Dick's hand --

"Oh, that's good, that's *so* good, little brother -- God, the way you *feel* --" And Dick lets go of Tim's dick and uses his slick-sticky hand to tilt Tim's head back for a kiss, another --

Bruce *licks* the bites on Jason's neck and shoulders --

Dick pulls out of the kiss and shoves his own fingers into his mouth --

Tim kneels up *sharply*, grunting for the *loss* of Dick and turning to *help* Dick clean his own hand --

"Fuck, they look *good* --"

"Beautiful," Bruce says -- *corrects* --

"Yeah, okay, I can go with that," Jason says, and reaches back to pat Bruce's hips. "Get up near the head of the bed for us, B."

"I --"

"*Do* it. You know we're not done with you."

Tim rears back and grins over his shoulder, lipstick smeared a little and eyes *hectic*. "*Really* not, Bruce."

"Mm. But *first* --" Dick body-slams Tim to the bed and covers him, giving him something like the world's dirtiest *and* most thorough hug, complete with a grind and a lot of bites --

"Oh, *God*, Dick --"

Dick hums again and starts kissing and biting and *licking* his way down Tim's body -- after hiking the dress up under Tim's *arms* --

Bruce moves to the head of the bed -- staking out a position where he can still have an *excellent* view --

Tim is writhing for Dick, tossing his head a little --

And Dick finally yanks the panties all the way off, tossing them --

Bruce *catches* them, and Jason is probably the only one of them who gets to see Bruce bringing them to his face and breathing *deep* before tucking them under his pillow.

"You *freak* --"

Bruce just smiles -- and nods at Dick and Tim. Tim has his hands buried in Dick's hair while Dick licks and sucks at the shaft of Tim's dick --

"Jesus, Dick, don't *torture* the kid --"

"Mm. Says the guy who *cuts* on him whenever he gets the *right* kind of hard," Dick says, and flicks his tongue against the head while Tim whimpers and yanks at Dick's hair --

"God -- oh, God -- Dick, please, I -- I don't think I can --"

"Just let me get you *clean*, little brother --"

Just -- damn. If Dick is like this all the time, the other Titans probably want to make a *shrine* to the guy. Some place they can worship *and* fear. Jason shakes his head and grins, giving himself a calm-down squeeze and trying not to lose it *too* much for Tim's noises --

"Dick," Bruce says, "would you like to be inside him?"

Dick moans and darts down to bite Tim's inner thighs, one after the other -- "I think -- really yes. That is -- um. Not right *now*, but -- Tim, would you want that?"

"If Jason -- I mean. God, I don't --"

"Just say *yes*, baby bro," Jason says, crawling over and resting a hand on Tim's throat. "Remember what I said about *family*."

"I remember *everything* you've said to me, and I -- I can't help wondering if this -- ah. I can't help wondering if this interlude is... outside the rules."

Dick licks his lips. "That's... an incredibly good question. Jay? Bruce?"

"I would have this whenever it was offered," Bruce says, and even though he only strokes his thighs *once*, it manages to look incredibly restless. "With all of you, or with one of you at a time."

Jason blows out a breath and strokes the side of Tim's throat with his thumb. "That's about as clear as it gets. I -- yeah. I feel the same. I feel like that should scare the living *shit* outta me, but there you are. Dick?"

"I -- really, really, *really* need to talk to Kory." Dick shakes his head like a dog and squeezes Tim's thighs. "The fact that I still really want to bring Tim *with* me for that -- or you, Jay -- I." Dick laughs and kneels up, tossing his hair in a futile attempt to straighten it out. "Do you have any *idea* how many times she brought up the idea of a threesome with you, little wing?"

"And you turned her *down*? Fucking come close enough for me to *smack* you, Dick --"

"Tim," Dick says. "How do *you* feel about this?"

"Um... in flight? Rather stoned? I'm not altogether sure how I feel about the cross-dressing aspects of this particular endeavor, but -- um. Yes. I like the idea -- with reservations that revolve wholly around Jay."

Jason smiles ruefully and squeezes Tim's throat a little, just enough that his eyes slip most of the way closed. "I love you. I'm *in* love with you. And that means I want you to get all the happiness you can fucking stand, kid. Which mostly boils down to: make sure it's *filmed*."

Dick snorts --

"I would be honored to help with that last," Bruce says, and his voice is both mild *and* rough --

"Oh yeah. We were gonna do something about that monster over there," Jason says, grinning at Dick --

Dick blinks and looks up -- and licks his lips. "Oh yes. We really, *really* were. Still with us, Tim?"

"Oh... very much so," Tim says, sitting up and turning onto his hands and knees before crawling toward Bruce in a nice little *stalk*. The fact that the dress is still hiked up and that his makeup's a little blurred on the edges --

It's a fact.

And Dick is staring at Tim's ass. "I feel *strongly* that I shouldn't be perving quite this much --"

"Oh, you should. You *totally* should," Jason says, and claps Dick on the shoulder.

Though it *is* possible that it shouldn't be quite this *easy*, with Jason moving up on Bruce's right side and Dick on Bruce's left with Tim crawling right up *between* Bruce's legs --

Bruce looks like someone hit him with a joy-hammer. *Hard* -- "Robins."

Dick and Jason snort together --

"Not *quite*, Bruce," and Dick slides his hand up the inside of Bruce's leg and thigh. "But what do you *want*?"

"Everything," Bruce says, and cups Tim's face. "But first, I'm inclined toward tasting you in Tim's mouth."

Tim touches his tongue to his lower lip. "I'm not quite sure how much of that flavor is left --"

"Then I will simply have to *search* for it," and Bruce tugs Tim close, kissing him softly over and over in a way that somehow makes it incredibly obvious just how *swollen* Tim's mouth is -- and just how much Tim wants the *real* kiss. For Jason?

Jason would be shocked if that wasn't at least a *part* of it, but... maybe it doesn't have to be much of one, because when Bruce slips his tongue into Tim's mouth, Tim shudders all over and kneels up for it, resting his hands on Bruce's incredible shoulders and just --

"God, I can *feel* Tim opening for that," Dick says, wondering and low --

"Yeah. *Exactly*," Jason says, and reaches between Bruce and Tim to get a hold on Bruce's dick, pushing it out between Tim's spread thighs -- "Hold him for us, Tim."

Tim nods, hums, and does it, and that doesn't leave all that *much* for Dick and Jason to work with, but it's enough for Dick to get started, sucking on the head --

Bruce grunts into Tim's mouth and shudders, and *that* means this won't take long at all.

"Damn, one day I really want us to spend some *time* on you, B..."

Bruce pulls back out of the kiss and leans his head back against the wall, licking his lips -- "I. You'd make me surrender everything --"

"*Yeah*, we would," and Jason pushes a hand into Dick's tangled hair, feeling the sweat at his scalp, the messy *flow* of it -- "I know you want that --"

"Yes, Jay --"

"*Need* it --"

"*Please*," Bruce says, opening his eyes again, and they're wild and dazed --

"Oh. I feel as though I should -- move," Tim says --

"No --"

"*Don't*," and Bruce strokes Tim's cheeks, smiles -- "You've been such a friend to me, Tim..."

"I just -- we've just talked, and I haven't --"

"So generous. All of you, of course. Tim -- I'll do everything in my power not to fail you, not to -- to *hurt*," Bruce says, and tugs Tim in for another kiss, deep and *hot*.

Jason looks down, and Dick is *working* the head of Bruce's dick while Tim flexes his thighs around the shaft -- "Damn. *My* turn."

Dick hums and holds up a finger --

Bruce groans into Tim's mouth and *thrusts*, moving Tim and making him make a sharp little noise into Bruce's mouth --

And Dick pulls off slow, saliva and pre-come making a thin little rope between his mouth and the head --

Jason slips his hand out of Dick's hair and *dives* in, licking Dick's mouth a little --

Wet sound --

"*Please*," Bruce says, thrusting again and again, and God, Tim already had a *taste* of that --

Jason takes the head in and immediately gives Bruce a scrape with his teeth --

Tim yelps and shivers --

"What was that?" And Dick is petting Jason's hair --

"He. Tucked me. My dick, between my legs --"

Jason groans and sucks *hard*, following Bruce's rhythm as much as he can and wanting *faster* --

"God, Tim, you can -- you can feel everything, can't you?"

"*Yes*," Tim says, and -- "I -- mm. I don't know if I want to get hard again or *not* --"

"The responsible, Nightwingish part of me would like to point out that -- heh. *You* don't have to go on patrol tonight."

Jason laughs around his mouthful --

Bruce shudders again, and this time it lasts for a *while* --

"I -- I have to go *home* --"

"Damn," Dick says, and gives Jason's hair a tug. "That's *true*, but... oh, I'd really like to make you come again, little brother --"

Tim moans, loud and low -- until it isn't, and Jason would like to know which *one* of them is kissing the kid, his *boy*, his beautiful and perfect boy --

And it feels like Bruce is leaking a little more pre-come for every suck, like he's trying to paint Jason's mouth, mark him with more than his teeth --

"Mmm, I -- you're a *very* good kisser, Tim, and I think I need another -- taste," Dick says, tugging on Jason's hair --

Jason pulls back --

And he's kissing Dick again, Bruce's dick sliding against his cheek, *pushing* against Jason's cheek with every thrust, and Dick is moaning into his mouth, licking and doing his own kind of pushing --

Yeah, Dick's turn. Jason pulls back and kneels up, stroking Dick's shoulder and upper back --

"God, *Bruce*," Dick says, and then takes Bruce in again --

"Loved," Bruce says, hoarse and *hungry*-sounding -- "Always *loved*," and Jason knows that Bruce is talking about all of them, *to* all of them, and it doesn't matter that Tim's new --

Bruce has had a *taste*, and Jason knows with absolutely all of himself that he's never going to give any of this up, not one *moment* of it --

Bruce groans and wraps an arm around Tim, pulling him *hard* against himself and taking another kiss. Jason needs --

He can *have*, and it's the easiest thing in the world to push *into* the kiss, to feel Tim's mouth dragging against his own and his cheek, to taste Bruce's tongue and *live* in the feel of Tim nibbling the corner of his mouth, *panting* against him because there's no way that Tim's getting much air in Bruce's hold --

Dick's grunting around Bruce, and Jason can *feel* how hard he must be sucking by the way Bruce is just tensing harder and harder. He feels like a wall made of flesh, like something so much more than a man --

"That's --" Jason licks his lips and then licks a stripe up Bruce's cheek while Tim goes in for another kiss all his own. "That's the *thing* about you, B. You're so much *more* than everyone else, but you *are* just a man. And that -- God, I love you --"

Bruce grunts again, goes *rigid* --

And now Jason knows *exactly* what sound Dick makes when Bruce is coming in his mouth, knows that it's high and needy and full of *yes* --

And knows that Tim will groan for it --

And knows that *he'll* fucking well *twitch* for it, even though he's a good few minutes of *focused* attention from actually starting to get hard again -- yeah.

Tim spreads his thighs to free Bruce -- and gets clutched even harder for a moment --

"Oh, I -- don't have to move just yet."

Dick kneels up and throws his head back, licking his lips and shivering. *He's* still soft, too, but --

"I think I might just lose what's left of my mind. I. Jay, how do you *take* it?"

"Heh. Mostly? By never, ever thinking of him as Batman unless it's *absolutely* necessary."

Dick tilts his head forward and smiles ruefully at him, only his lips are a little swollen and red and --

"Damn, you look *obscene*, Big Bird --"

"Why, *thank* you, little wing. I *feel* a little obscene. And -- you know, it's funny, but -- it's the exact opposite with Clark. Thinking of him as Superman is sometimes the *only* way to -- ah. Cope," Dick says, and turns back to Bruce and Tim. "I want one of those."

"Ah... by 'one of those' do you mean a bone-crushing hug?" Tim turns --

Tim *starts* to turn, but Bruce cups the back of his head and turns him *back*, kissing him softly -- a lot.

Dick laughs quietly. "Okay, I hear you, Bruce. One at a time. C'mere, Jay --"

"Yeah, fine, you get the hug. Pussy," Jason says, and pulls Dick into his arms.

"Mmm, pussy. *Someone* had to be in this sausage party."

Jason snorts and bites Dick's jaw. "Does this mean I get to do you on your back one of these days?"

"*Only* if you bend my knees back against my chest and say lots of nasty things while you're at it," Dick says, and bites *Jason's* jaw. "Otherwise, I just won't really *feel* like your bitch."

"I'd like to state for the record that feeling like Jason's bitch is one of those things everyone should experience at least once," Tim says --

"Certainly," Bruce says, and releases Tim *just* enough to stroke the scars on Tim's chest. "You wear it well."

Which... Jason pulls out of the hug and retrieves Tim's knife from a fold of blanket, dancing it over his fingers a little --

"Oh... really, Jay? I mean -- seriously?" Dick looks *incredulous* -- but not freaked.

"Tim. C'mere."

Tim looks back at him over his shoulder -- and narrows his eyes. "Yes, Jay." Tim knee-walks close and sits on his heels. "How do you want me?"

"Jesus, you two. You don't have to -- I mean, I have no *idea* what goes on in your *heads* for this --"

"Dick," Bruce says, and reaches out. "Please?"

And Dick actually looks *shocked* that Bruce would want him close, even after all of that, and that fucking *hurts*. And Jason doesn't have to see Bruce to know that it hurts *him* a lot more.

"I -- all right," and Dick moves over to sit beside Bruce. The move that leads to Bruce's arm being around Dick's shoulders is as cautious and slow as some kid trying to put the moves on a girl in a movie theater, but Dick sighs for it and turns to kiss the back of Bruce's hand. "Bruce, have you *watched* this before?"

"Yes. And no."

And yeah, of *course* Bruce knows what he's about to do, but Tim still doesn't --

Until Jason flips the knife and offers it to Tim hilt-first.

"Jay. You. Are you --"

"You got the only knife in this room, kid. Tim," Jason says, and cups Tim's face, stroking his sharp little cheekbone with his thumb and thinking fleetingly of that other Tim, and all the ways this couldn't have happened, all the ways he'd made *sure* that he'd never have anything like this --

He doesn't *deserve* this, but he has it, anyway, and he thinks, maybe, that he *had* to live again -- if only to make sure he really *understood* Bruce at least a little.

Jason takes a breath and licks his lips. "How do you want *me*."

Tim's eyes are *bright*, almost *shining*, and Jason thinks --

I'm the only one in this room, right now. It doesn't matter what Bruce or Dick say or think, it doesn't matter how much this hurts, it doesn't matter how *scared* I am --

"Just. As you are, Jay," Tim says, and steadies his grip. "Though you should drop your arms."

Jason nods and does it --

And the bite of the blade is deceptively mild on his right pec, almost more of an absence of sensation than anything else, but he also doesn't quite need Dick's gasp to know that Tim is slicing him without hesitation or pause, deft and sure as he goes for a curve --

Break --

And then there's another curve, and he can feel himself spilling, feel it at the base of his dick and somewhere much deeper. Tim has eyes only for the work he's doing, and Jason wants to lick the concentration-line on his forehead, wants to promise Tim everything this means and everything else, *too* --

*Break*, and Tim's going for something between a broken spiral and concentric circles -- also broken. And that...

"Were you thinking about this pattern?"

"I was going to suggest something like it for my own skin, but I -- it's better for you. It stops and starts, it continues inward much farther than anyone else can go. It -- it doesn't end unless you're too weak to make... a jump," Tim says, blushing and licking his lips --

Break --

"I hope. I think -- Jay, I --"

"Finish it, Tim. It's --" Jason sighs for the burn, the song of it in his skin, the sting that's making his skin *want* to sweat --

"I love you," Tim says, and it's almost conversational as he finishes the last few curves. "I suppose... I suppose I don't have to worry about you ever not knowing that. Um."

"It'll always be with me," Jason says, and -- "I want to hold you."

Tim smiles, showing teeth and looking like a whole lot of what Jason wants in this life. "I think Dick is going to poke you about that."

Dick snorts. "Oh, no. It's *completely* Jason to express a sentiment like that while he's being *sliced open*."

"I've often found Jason's sense of timing... unique," Bruce says, and the smile in his voice is enough to make Dick and Jason laugh --

Tim hums, laughing and something *else* entirely -- yeah.

"Do it, Tim."

"Jay," Tim says, swallowing his name like he's swallowing Jason's blood, and the suck makes Jason grunt and *have* to hold Tim against him as the pain sparks and flares, as it rises and *screams* before subsiding again --

And the next suck makes him gasp --

And the next one makes him sigh, and stroke the back of Tim's head --

"Little wing... what's it like? I mean, what -- is it turning you on?"

"Right now? It's more of an *emotional* turn-on. Tim's *feeding* on me like the little vampire he was probably born to be, and he's *marked* me, and I..." Jason smiles a little helplessly. "I *belong*."

Tim moans and clutches Jason's sides, hilt of the knife digging in against Jason's ribs a little --

"But -- do you *need* that? I mean, is what Bruce and I feel for you -- no, I know it's not less *real*, but --"

"I hear you," Jason says, and tugs Tim back, taking a moment to look at his bloody face, his wide, blue eyes, the make-up -- "God, you're a beautiful mess, kid."

Tim smiles for him again. "So long as none of you try to stop me from taking the most serious shower of my young life."

"Mm," Bruce says. "First... the cold cream."

"*Definitely* the cold cream," Dick says --

"Be happy we won't put you through a facial, kid," Jason says, swiping blood from Tim's chin and bringing it to his mouth for a quick suck. "It's different, is all. Something just for me and Tim -- and maybe I shouldn't have started it, at all --"

"*No*, Jay --"

Jason kisses Tim's forehead -- and then gets a little lost in licking the blood off Tim's face -- oh, yeah, he was saying something. "I *did* start it, even though I really did mean to train Tim up and go..." Jason shakes his head. "Hell, maybe I needed a Robin, too. Now c'mere and let's finish ruining that gorgeous fucking dress," he says, and pulls Tim closer.

Tim wraps his arms around Jason's neck and rests his head on Jason's shoulder, pressing close carefully enough that there's going to be a perfect imprint of the mark he'd left on the dress. *Perfectly* considerate of the pain -- so long as the blood doesn't dry enough for them to stick together.

Dick sighs. "Okay, I'm going with 'freaky but sweet.' Just -- *please* don't give Kory any ideas. I don't think I *need* any more scars."

Jason grins. "See, that's the thing, Big Bird. Scars on you are like marking up a work of *art* --"

"Oh, God, don't *start*, little wing --"

"I have to agree," Tim says. "You really are terrifyingly perfect, Dick."

"Augh, no, don't *teach* the kid these things --"

"It was actually somewhat terrifying to be with you as you grew up, Dick," Bruce says, smile still in his voice but just a little more *evil*. "Every time you reached a new milestone of beauty and sexual attractiveness, I would assure myself that you couldn't ever become more so --"

"*Bruce*, I --" And Dick twists up and off the bed, pacing and pretty clearly looking for his clothes. And --

"Heh. Nice blush, Dickie --"

"Nice ass," Tim says --

"*Nice*... is a terribly weak word for the effect *I'm* seeing."

Jason detaches himself from Tim and rolls off the bed, and it's a *good* sign that Dick lets him catch him by the shoulders, but he actually looks a little *distressed*. "Big Bird?"

"I -- seriously, stop. People start calling me beautiful and then they're -- all over me. Men, women. *Strangers*. And none of them know anything about me, and I have to deal with the fact that --"

"Most of them wouldn't care, yeah, okay, I hear you," Jason says, and squeezes Dick's shoulders. "But *we* care, and you know that."

Dick's laugh is a little cracked. "I -- all right, but you're going to have to give me a little *time* for this particular paradigm shift, Jay. I mean, *you* know what it's like -- hell, *all* of you should."

And Jason thinks about what it was like to be a pretty, pretty little boy on the street...

Dick never had to deal with *that* -- though Jason's willing to bet that time Dick had spent in a group home before all the paperwork had gone through hadn't been all that fun.

Still... "You can't tell me the other Titans --"

"I know them, and they know *me* -- and possibly I wouldn't have spent *quite* as much time figuring out ways to make them all up if I didn't have quite as many issues as I do," Dick says, and smiles ruefully. "Just -- not that."

Jason nods, and doesn't say word one about the question in his head. *That* question -- the one that revolves around the fact that Dick probably *wouldn't* have grown up with so many issues if Bruce *had* let Dick see some of that honest appreciation --

Or if Bruce hadn't thrown Dick into the deep end with all those society parties and undercover assignments which had, at their base, the fact that Dick really was *just* that pretty. Jason pulls Dick in for another hug --

"Oh, God, you're *bleeding* on me --"

"Suck it *up*."

"Seriously, it's not supposed to count as a *good* date if the water runs pink in the shower afterwards, Jay --"

"Yeah, how's it working trying to teach Kory *that* one?"

Dick punches him lightly in the gut. "Asshole. I should've thrown you *off* that train --"

"I would've been deeply upset," Bruce says, mildly.

"Possibly heartbroken," Tim says.

"You would've gotten *over* it," Dick says, and pulls back again. "Alternately, I would've learned how to curse every other sentence and walk around like I *knew* everyone in a given room was checking out my panty-clad ass."

"They *so* were -- but I'm not going there, because I'm a totally sensitive and loving younger brother who's also taller than you will ever, ever be."

Dick goes for another punch --

Jason catches Dick's arm and goes to twist it behind Dick's back --

Dick twists *further* and yanks --

Jason sweeps --

Dick *leaps* --

Jason moves in double-time for the grapple, and Dick lets him do it -- just enough that Dick can trip him up with those legs which aren't just fucking *sculpted*, but are strong as hell --

But Jason can pull Dick down *with* him, and the carpeting in here is a lot more forgiving than the mats --

"I find myself wishing for oil," Tim says --

Bruce hums. "I find myself wishing I had more cameras placed in this room."

Dick chokes on a laugh, which is enough to let Jason flip him onto his back --

And get tossed.

"I'm not *that* easy, little wing --"

"You're not easy at *all*," Jason says, *while* pouncing --

Dick rolls, and Jason catches his arm, making a moderately awkward pin out of basically *nothing*, which --

"Hey, what's up?"

"You, on my *back*," Dick says, and spits out a little carpet. "Also, I just had the terrifying image of Alfred coming in to scold us for horsing around in the manor --"

*Tim* chokes, which -- gah. Yeah.

"Okay, point," Jason says, rolling off and pushing a hand through his hair. Bruce and Tim are sitting on their heels at the edge of the bed, Bruce behind and just a little to the right -- and resting a comfortable-looking hand on Tim's shoulder.

Tim looks moderately disappointed and *avid*, Bruce just looks very, very happy. And --

"You know we have to get a real spar in, Dick."

"Mmm. I agree wholeheartedly. I -- I think what I'm going to do is go back to New York and tie up a few loose ends, and then come back here so I can beat and bend and fold and spindle Tim into as much of an acrobat as I can make him."

"Oh," and Tim sounds wondering and pleased. "Yes, Dick?"

Dick turns and grins up at him. "You're gonna *fly*, little brother."

"But *first*? You're going to spend some quality time wondering if Dick maybe just wants you to remove your sac entirely," Jason says, making a cup of his hand and *twisting* it.

Tim winces --

"I think I've proven that flexibility doesn't have to come at the cost of *masculinity*."

Jason snorts. "Dick, you're about as masculine as the panties Bruce has stuffed under his pillow."

Dick chokes again --

"Jay. You *told*," Bruce says, and the exaggerated disappointment is pure *Brucie* --

"God, *spare* us, I'll be good, I swear --"

"You're *always* good, sport. Ha, ha, ha..."

Jason winces hard and bangs his head against the floor a couple-few times. "Right, okay, *now* it's time for patrol. Before my dick crawls back into my *body*."

Dick sits up. "Really *yes*. Do you want to *traumatize* Tim?"

"Actually, I'm used to that voice from all the parties. It's a bit disconcerting to hear it in *this* context, but I think I can survive --"

Bruce punches Tim's shoulder lightly. "*That's* the ticket, tiger. We're going to be *good* friends, I can tell."

"All right, no, that's *horrid*," Tim says, and edges away from Bruce --

Jason snickers. "You're just gonna encourage him, baby bro."

"Haa. You kids are just *fabulous* --"

Dick groans. "Someone gag him *with* the panties --"

"*Kinky*," Bruce says, and yes, actually *waggles* his eyebrows at Dick.

"Really, that's -- I mean I can see how you're doing that with your voice, but the *personality* is... unique," Tim says, getting that thoughtful look that always makes Jason want to put a scalpel in his hand and unleash him on an unsuspecting populace --

"I'm sure I don't know *what* you're talking about, tiger. I'm just a regular *guy*..."

Tim shudders, but then pulls on a look of determination, turning to face Bruce. "Really, Bruce -- or... I suppose I should call you 'Brucie --'"

"That's my name, ha, ha --"

"Stop that. I'm just saying -- where do you *get* this? I mean, it could be explained to a certain extent by the sort of people who attend the assorted parties and charity balls, but you've had this persona for *years*. You've honed it, perfected it -- even your facial expressions are different."

Bruce -- *not* Brucie -- raises an eyebrow and traces a line down Tim's cheek to the corner of his mouth. "Personae can be useful in a number of security-related ways, Tim. Are you thinking of developing one of your own?"

"Oh, thank God, he's done," Dick says, rolling to his feet and grabbing his hair tie from the edge of the bed.

Jason stands up, too, and goes looking for his shorts and underwear --

"I... well. I suppose it's possible that I *should*, but -- I haven't thought about it."

Bruce nods. "You've attended public school all your life, due to your parents' egalitarianism. I actually discussed the matter once with your father -- or, to be more accurate, 'Brucie' did. Before he fled in disgust, he made it clear that he wanted to protect you from people like me."

"So... you picked this up in your schooling?"

"To quite a large extent. It's fascinating how few people remember the quiet, broody, and rather morbid teenager I used to be," Bruce says, tapping Tim's mouth with his fingers before moving to retrieve his own clothes.

"Do you think I'll be hampered by the fact that I wasn't steeped in an environment like the one you were in?" 

"I think... that you'll learn to develop personae of your own. It is, after all, only a matter of observation and will -- and you're quite strong in both respects."

Tim nods and slips off the bed, stepping back into the heels and straightening his dress.

Jason stretches. "Shower in the Cave?"

"Probably the fastest way, little wing. We'll torture Tim with the facial cleanser and the cold cream first," Dick says, and heads for the door.

Jason follows, pushing Tim in front of him for the *sole* purpose of watching him walk in the heels. He's got the one foot in front of the other thing down, but he's not really giving it all he's got. "Work those hips a little, kid."

"I suppose it was too much to hope for that the hazing would be over --"

"*Really* yes," Dick says, turning and walking backwards. "*Come* to me, little brother."

Tim snorts and tries a little hip action. It's wobbly enough that Tim looks a little drunk, but it's still *really* nice to see from the back.

Jason gooses Tim a little --

Tim manages *not* to trip, but it's a near thing.

"You *really* should've seen that coming, kid."

Dick sighs. "It's true. You've got to be prepared for *anything* out there."

"I don't think I want to hear any stories about what the two of you put up with from the criminal element with regards to the -- panties."

Dick snorts. "Oh, you really, really don't. We'll tell you *anyway*, but -- good instincts!"

"Uh, *huh* -- *gah* --" *That* was a goose from *Bruce* --

"I feel quite sure that you should've seen that coming, Jay."

Dick snickers.

Tim hums.

Jason *sighs*. "Okay, fine, I deserved that. But you're still all assholes."

"And sore ones, at that," Tim says, and Dick finishes the job of making Tim's hair look like the nest of an epileptic bird with a *thorough* ruffle.

Bruce rests one hand at the small of Jason's back.

Jason takes a deep breath and goes with it.

*

He spends a good chunk of the next week watching Dick take all of Tim's potential and turn it into the kind of skills that will make Tim's Robin into something truly special.

The jealousy is there for it, but Jason's keeping it mostly under control -- with the help of the healing wound on his chest and the way Tim looks at him, the way it's still different from the way he looks at Bruce and Dick and, perhaps, always will be.

He spars with Bruce *and* Dick, using most of the tricks he knows and knowing that *all* of them are learning from him in ways he wouldn't have been able to stand... not very long ago, at all.

On one *particular* night, he climbs into Tim's bedroom only to find Dick there ahead of him, a feverish light in his eyes as he teaches Tim the kind of stretches that he probably won't *need* on the street nine point nine nine nine times out of ten, but which make Dick hungry as hell and Jason fucking *concur*.

They wind up gagging Tim for the ninety or so minutes of fucking around that *follow* the stretching, and after that Tim talks Dick down off the ledge of guilt for keeping him up -- heh -- so late.

It's Bruce on another night, and the only thing that had stopped *Jason* from needing a gag was the way that Tim was there beneath him, bent in half and ready for every kiss, every *cry* as Bruce worked his way inside Jason --

Gauntlets on Jason's hips and Bruce's hot mouth on the back of Jason's neck --

Tim clenching and holding him and Tim's eyes lasered in on his own --

Yeah.

Right now, Dick is guiding Tim through a routine on the pommel horse *neither* Bruce nor Jason could ever have taught him --

Right now, the Drakes are boarding a plane to Port-au-Prince --

Right now, Bruce is on his way to the airport for his own trip, and Tim doesn't know a thing. *Dick* knows that Bruce's trip is Mission-related, but he doesn't know the whole story.

Jason doesn't *want* to say a word, and he'd been going with the idea that he wouldn't ever have to, but that's just not true. It's --

It's an ache in the wound on his chest and it's a very particular itch under his skin. He can't keep this from Tim.

Jason walks over and claps Dick on the shoulder.

Dick raises an eyebrow. "What is it? He's got a good rhythm going."

"Call it, anyway. There's something he needs to know."

Dick frowns and nods. "Time."

Tim twists and springs into a dismount. Not as spectacular as Dick, but really pretty much perfect -- focus.

"Tim... you know Bruce is going out of town."

"Yes. I... *is* it business?"

"And personal," Jason says, fighting back the urge to grit his teeth and surrendering to the one that lets him push a hand back through his hair. "He's following your parents to Haiti."

Tim blinks --

"Wait, why?" And Dick is staring hard. "Is there -- they're not involved in anything shady, are they?"

"My *parents*?"

"Nothing like that," Jason says, raising his hands and making a little pushing motion. "I -- I've been trying to come up with a way to say this, Tim, and -- no. I've spent a lot of time debating whether or not to say it at *all*, and mostly going with the idea that I wouldn't."

Tim frowns. "I -- what. I don't understand, Jay."

"Neither do I," Dick says, and his expression is all about being ready, willing, and able to *drag* the information out of Jason if he has to.

Right. "In my world, something really nasty went down with your parents when they went to Haiti. They were kidnapped --"

"No. *No*. Jay, why didn't you tell me --"

"Easy, kid --"

"*No*, *not* easy. Jay, what were you -- how *could* you --"

"Because I told *Bruce*, and that's why he's following your parents. There was nothing you could've done to stop your parents without blowing a whole *lot* of secrets," Jason says, and feels like approximately nineteen *different* kinds of ass, because it's not the truth. It's just --

And the look of *suspicion* on Tim's face really fucking says it all.

"Tim --"

"You don't *want* Bruce to save them --"

"*Tim*," and Dick rests a hand on Tim's shoulder --

Tim twists away from it and stalks closer to Jason. "You -- you want Bruce to *fail*, Jason."

Jason, not Jay. Fuck -- "They're your parents, Tim, and I *know* you care about them, that you love them --"

"What made you tell Bruce? How much guilt did it *take*?"

Jason closes his eyes for a moment. "Call it 'enough,' Tim. There *isn't* anything you could've done but worry yourself sick about it --"

"And *maybe* if that was your *actual* reasoning I'd feel a little less like *castrating* you right now. I --" Tim cuts himself off and growls. "When does it happen."

"I don't know," Jason says, quiet and honest --

"Jason --"

"I *don't* know, Tim," and Jason raises his hands again. "The information I had was spotty and incomplete. I just knew that it would be the Haiti trip, and that it would be happening right about now --"

"What happened. What happened to them in *your* universe?" And there's fear in Tim's voice, but it's almost buried under the anger -- "God, I could've -- something. Laced their food with ipecac. Hidden their traveler's checks. Manipulated them into having one. One of their *fights* --"

Jason winces. Dick looks both thoughtful and *freaked* --

"*Dammit*, Jason, what *happened* --"

"Your mother was killed. Your father wound up in a coma."

Tim makes a strangled noise -- and punches Jason in the gut.

Jason lets it land, coughing out his air --

And Tim walks away, heading for the stairs. Fuck, fuck --

And fuck some more. He could've let it lie. He could've --

There *have* been a lot of kidnappings of rich White tourists in the Caribbean lately, and Jason could've spun it as Bruce just being extra cautious with someone he cares about --

Except that he *couldn't* have done that, because even *with* Tim walking away and Dick giving him the fucking hairy eyeball --

He feels better, inside and out.

Jason stands up straight and takes a deep breath. "Go after him, Dick. Please."

"Yeah, I -- one thing, Jay. I need to know one thing --"

"When the bad shit went down in my universe, Tim wound up living *here*, with Bruce. He got the lion's share of his training done and was street-ready a whole fuck of a lot faster --"

"Jesus fucking -- *Jay* --"

"They got *closer*, and learned how to take care of each other --" Jason cuts himself off and sighs. "When I realized that they didn't *need* this fucking tragedy in order to make that happen, and when I realized that I wasn't anywhere fucking *near* cold-blooded enough -- fuck, Dick, it doesn't matter. I want Tim out of that goddamned *house*."

"Not like *this*," Dick says, grabbing Jason's shoulders and shaking him a little. "You don't have to *be* an orphan to be one of us --"

"But we *both* know that it helps. Go *after* him, Big Bird --"

Alarm.

Specifically, the *Arkham* alarm --

"Mother*fuck*." Jason makes it to the console before Dick does and calls up the views of Arkham from all the cameras Bruce has planted over the years. Nothing, nothing, nothing -- and a whole fuck of a lot of smoke coming from a gaping hole in the outer wall.

"Oh, Jesus, no --"

"Get the *kid*, Dick -- I've got this."

"You *know* Bruce is going to make Alfred turn around and come right back --"

"*Fuck* --"

"Triage conditions --"

"But *we're* here. I --" Jason puts his comm in. "J to B, come in."

Nothing.

"J to B, come *in* --"

"All right, I'm going after Tim to tell him not to do anything stupid. You -- raise Bruce however you can *while* finding out who got out."

Jason nods and waves him off, trying to *think*. Gordon won't be putting up the signal for at least another four hours -- sundown.

Most of their channels for information just *won't* be functioning until then, but --

He can go right to the source. It's possible -- and way too fucking *probable* -- that no one will want to tell 'J' anything at all, but.

He can make it happen.

Jason gets changed while he works on raising Bruce, and. He knows it's Two-Face. Just -- going by his *very* clear memories of Arkham's layout in this time period, the blast would've taken out a wall of one of the common areas, just beyond the dispensary for those patients who've been acting sane enough to *get* time in a common area --

It would be wrong to assume that there's only one escapee, yeah, but whoever *else* got out -- Two-Face has to be one of them. It's the only thing that makes sense, and it'll make it even harder to get Bruce to leave the city.

Fuck, fuck, and fuck some more. Jason gums down the mask and grabs one of Bruce's bikes. Forty minutes to Arkham, and then fuck only knows how long to get answers --

One step at a time.

Bruce contacts *him* while he's looking for a way to sneak past the chaos -- and the Staties -- and far enough into Arkham to *get* some answers --

"J. Where are you."

"Arkham, B. Where are *you* --"

"The Cave --"

"Get *out* and get the kid's parents. N and I have *got* this --"

"That's *not* the protocol --"

"It *wasn't* the protocol, but it is now," Jason says, and quick-steps up to the two Staties guarding Arkham's new exit -- the ones conveniently looking for people trying to get *out* -- and drops them as gently as he can.

Bruce is breathing silently in his ear.

"Fucking *go*, B --"

"Jay. Did you know --"

"Not this, and *not* now. I know -- fuck, this is bad, yeah, but I swear on a stack that I knew nothing about an escape going down *now*."

"All right. I'll go."

"*Thank* you," Jason says, and looks around the rubble. "J out." There's blood on the floor and blood on the *walls*, and the only possible good thing about this is that it all *probably* belongs to inmates.

Jason calls up the -- old -- Arkham map in his head and starts moving. The quiet is the same quiet you can find after any major disaster, creepy and thick and designed to make the pound of your own heart seem obvious and horrible, like maybe anything you do will call *more* disaster out of somewhere. He heads for the offices as quickly as he can, because the people here have had nearly an hour to lock things down, and even the people unlucky -- or crazy -- enough to work at Arkham can manage *that*.

The quiet gets broken into messy shards the closer he gets to the admin offices --

Argument.

Between one of the Staties and the director by the sound of it, and -- fine.

Jason gives up on stealth and walks in --

"Who the *hell* are you?" And that's the Statie -- high rank, judging by the uniform, the age, and the look of terminal constipation --

And the director scowls at the Statie *exactly* like he's pissed at the guy for usurping the director's authority. In the end, *every* clusterfuck is ultimately the same.

"You can call me J. Batman sent me. Who's out?"

"Now, you listen to me, kid --"

Jason catches the wrist of the Statie -- conveniently in reach from all the pointing and jabbing at his fucking chest -- and twists it around behind the guy's back, lifting just high and hard enough to make his point. "There's no time for this. Who's *out*?"

The Statie grunts and tries sending an elbow into Jason's gut, and maybe it's not the *best* solution to send the guy flying into the painful-looking chairs in front of the director's desk, but it works well *enough*.

And it makes the corners of the director's mouth twitch in an abortive little smile.

*Right*. Jason grabs the guy by his shirt and lifts him. "Who. Is. Out."

"Ah -- Harvey Dent. And the Isley woman. There appears to be -- oh, dear."

That was for one of Jason's shuriken knocking the gun out of the Statie's hand. "There appears to be *what*?"

"I -- there was a car waiting for Dent. I don't know about Isley. Um. The bomb was placed outside the building --"

"And you're *sure* everyone else is locked down?"

The director has the nerve to look *affronted*, so Jason gives him a good shake, knocking his glasses askew -- "Yes! I'm sure!"

Jason drops the guy and spares one last look for the Statie, who's currently holding his bleeding hand and staring murder at Jason. "We're going to be looking into Two-Face's associates," Jason says, and pulls his gloves on a little tighter. "You can waste your time looking for proof that Two-Face and Ivy were working together, or you can go with the *fact* that this was Two-Face's escape plan and no one else's."

"Vigilante *scum* --"

"Yeah, that's me. And your guys? Are just taking a little nap. They'll be fine."

"You listen to me, punk --"

"Fuck you *very* much," and Jason heads out. There's no time for anything else, and --

Christ. Two-Face in a car. He *is* heading for Gotham, but beyond that...

And Ivy, too. Fucking wonderful.

Jason walks *faster*, calling in once he's on the bike. "N, come in."

"I'm here, and I've got R scanning police communications. B is gone."

"It's Ivy *and* Two-Face. Two-Face had an accomplice to plant the bomb and drive him out of here."

"Christ. No way we catch the guy before he gets back here, then. He's probably *already* here."

Jason hits the highway. "Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll make enough noise in midtown traffic to get an angry mob after his psycho ass."

"Yeah, and maybe I'll *grow* wings. You have a plan, yet?"

"Two-Face was *supposed* to break out months back, N. At the time, he was gunning *specifically* for B, and he was using explosives all over the city."

"Damn, damn -- anything else?"

"Just that you and B *couldn't* take him alone -- it's kind of how R introduced himself."

Dick whistles. "Well -- all right. *Are* we bringing him out with us?"

Yes. No. Yes, it'll take his mind off his parents. No, because if Two-Face gets even a *little* piece of the kid, I'll *have* to kill him -- "Yeah, I think we are. Limited, monitored --"

"And take no chances. I *can* call the Titans in on this."

"Leave it for now. I'm heading right into Gotham to start pounding on people."

"We'll join you once we have a read on the cops -- and we *all* go when Gordon calls."

"So long as he doesn't pull a gun on me, I'm fine with that."

"*What*?"

"Nothing, N. Just a Statie being an ass about things. Anything else?"

"No."

"Then J out."

The nice thing about Gotham --

Okay, the really *fucked* thing about Gotham is that there's always someone who needs to get beaten, day or night. It probably drives Bruce straight up a wall to think about all the nasty shit that goes down while the Bat's in its Cave, but he's not thinking about Bruce right now.

If he *was*, he'd be thinking too hard about the fact that he seriously has no idea whether or not he wants Bruce to succeed in pulling the Drakes out of the fire. On the one hand, it would ease things for Tim a *lot* -- and possibly save Jason's whole fucking *relationship* --

And there's a lot of fucking queasy in *that* --

On the other hand, they really *are* seriously useless fucking people, and they *all* need Tim to have a lot more freedom than he has right now. And --

Wouldn't Tim have to forgive him? Isn't that the *definition* of belonging to somebody?

("I'm sorry, Jay. I know now that I should've told you about your father --")

Fucking Two-Face.

Fucking *Bruce*, and what if Bruce's fucking *instinctive* response to that alarm had knocked his schedule around enough that he was too late?

Two-Face's fault or his own?

And so he's not *thinking* about that when he rolls up on the street corner his very useful snitch -- Possum Jellicoe -- calls home, when he steps off the bike and ignores the shouts and stares to shove Possum into an alley --

"Jesus, J, what are you *doing*? They're all going to know --"

"They already *do* know, you piece of shit. But, since you're *worried*..."

"Oh, God, oh fuck, *don't* --"

The knee to the groin gets Possum to scream impressively, and Jason can *feel* his crowd of spectators melting away at speed --

Possum coughs and moans, and moans louder when Jason picks him up and slams him against the wall --

"What the fuck did I do to *you*?"

"I'll come up with something. What's the word?"

"I don't --"

"Listen to me, Possum. I made you scream loud enough that no one who sees you walk out of here after me will assume you *just* punked out. In other words? I did you a favor. The *next* hurt I give you? Will be for *my* benefit."

Possum shivers and scowls. "The freaks are out, and everybody mostly wants to stay out of their way."

"Mostly?"

"I heard some of the young bloods talking about how the people who work for the freaks always make big money, how it's just a matter of getting out while you're still breathing."

Stupid, stupid -- "Where'd they go?"

"I *don't* know -- but if *you* don't know the bars where these people hang out, then you don't belong in this city."

Jason shows his teeth and shakes his head. "Attitude from you? That's *really* how you want to play it?"

The scowl lasts for another beat, another -- and gets replaced with something Jason can only describe as a terrified pout. "Markie's on Eighth --"

"And Lucy's on Ninetieth, yeah, I know. What *else*?"

"That's all I know! It's too early for anything else. Maybe later, once the freaks start *doing* things --"

Jason drops Possum and walks. The bars won't be any good this time of day, but there are a few more contacts he can talk to. He --

Kid, running two fingers along the bike.

"You don't wanna do that, kid --"

The kid -- girl, maybe eleven, jumps back and stares at him with saucer eyes. "You're *not* Batman."

"Nope. But he lets me play with his toys, sometimes," Jason says, getting on the bike and grabbing the helmet. "The thing is, though?"

The girl nods and keeps staring.

"Some of his toys *bite*," and Jason drags a finger over the hidden catch that releases eight shuriken, four on each side, all ready to be tossed.

"Oh! Man, that's fucked *up*."

Jason grins, pushes the shuriken back into their compartments, and puts on the helmet. "Very. Remember that," and he's off, not really letting himself wonder what happens when that little girl -- very, very carefully -- tries to boost the tires off another Batmobile --

La la la and also no.

His other contacts have nothing for him, so Jason spends a little time cruising Second Avenue, Twenty-second street, Castor street down by the waterfront -- a whole lot of nothing.

And what the hell is he going to do about *Ivy*? Dick almost certainly has Tim going over greenhouses and plant stores all around the city, but they're probably going to have to *ignore* Ivy until she does something they *can't* ignore.

Two-Face has always been the deadlier of the two just in *general*, since he tends to favor guns over man-eating plants and weird toxins -- *and* he has a bomber on his side. Shit, he should've -- "J to N --"

"We're on our way out. Got anything?"

"What did you find about bombers?"

"Bupkis," Dick says, and there's the growl of a motorcycle. "Everybody with that kind of knowledge and experience that we *know* about is either locked down or presumably out of state."

"Presumably?"

"No sign of them for at least ten months," Tim says, and his voice is cold and professional. "I memorized the most likely names and stats."

"Good boy," Jason says, before he can think --

Right now he doesn't have the *right*, and --

"Is the signal on yet?"

"That's a big yes, Big Bird. Am I heading straight there, or...?"

"What's your twenty?"

"I'm about twenty-five minutes out from Central --"

"Then head straight there," Dick says, and the bike roars. "We're not going to take the safest possible ride."

"Just don't get --" My boy killed. Fuck. "You know what I'm saying, J out."

The ride to Central is a little like going back in time. *More*. Whenever the signal's on, people drive a little slower, and there are always gawkers, people who can tell a Bat-vehicle from the other ones on the road, people who get into *accidents* because they were busy staring up at the sky --

Daytime people on their way home, for the most part -- because when the night people act like that, they tend to have horrible things happen to them. You *can't* be too stupid to live in Gotham when the sun goes down.

It winds up taking nearly *thirty*-five minutes to get to Central, and it's not a shock to see Dick and Tim flying in from the north-east while he flies in from the south.

As always, it feels *different* to land on this rooftop, the part of him which will always *be* a little punk jittering back up to life because this is the belly of the fucking *beast*, the road to group homes and foster parents who'll treat you like an ashtray -- or a sex toy --

He's grown now, and Gordon has proved *twice* that he'll let kids run free -- so long as there's a crazy man in tights to follow 'em around.

"A full house," Gordon says, stepping out from the deep shadow thrown by the flood light. "I can't say I'm not grateful -- where's Batman?"

"Out of the country," Dick says in the Nightwing voice, and steps out of his own shadow --

"And he can't get back?"

"Not yet," Jason says, sucking it up and stepping out --

"Holy..." Gordon steps back and shakes his head like a dog. "Explanation. *Now*."

"When Two-Face and Ivy are back inside," Dick says, raising his hands, and tugging Tim into the light. "I promise."

Gordon frowns hard and looks back and forth between Jason and Tim. After a moment, he sighs and hands Dick a folder. "Robin. Nice to see you... again."

"Commissioner," Tim says, and nods.

"You... what do I call you?"

"I just go by J," Jason says, and offers his hand.

Gordon takes it and squeezes, searching Jason's face like the cop he is and seeing --

Probably a *fuck* of a lot more than Jason is remotely comfortable with.

"Jay," Gordon says, low and deliberate in the mistake. "You've been working here for months."

Jason nods --

Gordon grunts and releases his hand. "Here's hoping you don't do all your thinking with a knife. That's all we have, Nightwing. The tech boys and girls say they'll need at least another day or two to come up with something substantive about the bomb used at Arkham, and the only thing our witness has to say about the car tearing away from that benighted place is that it was an older sedan. What have you boys come up with?"

Boys, right. "No sign -- yet -- that Ivy and Two-Face are working together, as opposed to Ivy just taking the chance to get out," Jason says, and crosses his arms over his chest. "The word on the street is that most everyone plans to lie low until there's some sign of what the freaks plan on doing."

Gordon nods and pulls out a cigar.

Dick touches Tim's shoulder, and Tim takes another step closer. "We're looking into known bombers and felons with demolitions experience tonight. We -- ah. We think it will probably be more useful than going after our usual contacts."

"And what contacts do *you* -- have." Gordon sighs again and lights the cigar. "Strike that one from the record, Robin."

"Noted."

"Anything else for me?"

"We have some -- seriously hazy -- information that Two-Face might've tried to do this some months back. You should get your own people to Arkham as soon as possible," Jason says --

"Why? Because the State Bears don't like you very much?"

"Because this is outside their range of experience," Dick says, and hands the folder back. "We *don't* have any word suggesting this was an inside job, but your people know the Arkham employees about as well as anyone else does. They can ferret out the squirrelly ones."

"'Squirrelly.' Right -- and noted, as well. I won't hold you up. Help us get these people back inside where they belong and maybe I forget about the fact that I'm seeing things I'm not supposed to see," Gordon says, but they're already flying.

It fucking *tears* something that Tim takes off with Dick, but he can't say that it's a surprise, and Jason can damned well keep his game face on when Tim starts reading off names and addresses for his half of the list of bombers in that ice-cold voice.

When all else fails, there will *always* be the Mission.

It only takes an hour to track down the first one, because he's in the process of killing himself with smack in an SRO not far from his last legitimate residence.

The next one's pissed-off former landlady directs him to prostitutes who flirt and tell him stories about a john who spouted off about chemistry for hours at a time -- and who had bragged about a job with a lab in Ottawa before disappearing from their lives.

The *next* one is an interesting mystery, as her last known residence had burned to the foundations three months ago, and is still a blackened ruin filled with debris and the kinds of sad and awful things you always find in places like that. Half-melted dolls, swollen and charred photo albums, mattresses filled with rats.

An hour cajoling the neighbors on the left to talk tells him that there was one fatality -- the old woman who'd lived on the top floor for forty-some years went down to smoke inhalation -- and that the fire investigators had, in fact, been using the word arson.

None of them knew anything about the woman -- Traci Kerns -- he was looking for, other than that she'd seemed to keep to herself. The neighbors on the right have nothing else for him -- except for a third floor peeping Tom who still has his telescope aimed at the place where the building used to be.

Jason breaks his nose and gets a lot of cursing. Jason *thinks* about breaking a few other things -- and then yanks the telescope off the tripod and dangles it out the window.

*That* gets him the fact that Kerns had left home that afternoon with an overstuffed suitcase and had never come back. She'd also never brought home a lover -- male *or* female -- and periodically ground up rat poison with cereal for the pigeons.

Very nice, and extremely possible.

He calls it in to Dick and Tim -- who are getting a whole lot of nothing on their own search -- and then gets stuck beating on robbers, *two* muggers, and drug dealers who are being too blatant for him to cope with on his way to looking for the last guy.

It eats up too much time, and there's an empty space (inside) behind him where Tim should be, which --

He's been working the city for *weeks* without Tim, and he'd fucking *dealt* with the fact that Tim would *be* working with Bruce more often than not when he *did* go out --

And yeah, he'd fucked up. *Hard*.

Tracking down the last guy leads him to a lot of illegal gambling, three different enforcers who get their kneecaps shattered with their own clubs and baseball bats, and the fact -- which will probably always be unprovable -- that his target is rotting in the river. Jason beats on the killer enough to ensure him a good, long stay in the hospital -- and then it's sunrise and Dick is calling off the hunt for the night.

Jason heads back in and spends some time calling up the official reports on the apartment fire. It *wasn't* a bomb, but there had been several containers of accelerant stashed around the building that had gone *up* like bombs while the firefighters were trying to put the place out. Several of *them* had gotten injured, and the arson squad had teamed up with homicide to try to track Kerns down.

The woman had no family, had managed to work in an accounting office for six years without confiding anything deeper than a love for turkey wraps with any of her co-workers, and... that's it.

Except for a sealed juvenile record that the cops were still trying to get *un*sealed. Happily, Bruce has had a backdoor for that kind of thing for years, and --

Yeah. *Lots* of fires, including one that had taken out her last foster home entirely. Kerns had spent two years in Bofford, and had been paroled instead of sent to big girl prison because she'd agreed to enlist --

Where she'd been promptly assigned to a demolitions unit, because sometimes the military is *just* that bright. Still, she had a clean record *there*, and had gotten an honorable discharge after doing her court-mandated time. She's even a veteran.

Dick had come in while Jason was searching and reading, and Jason leans back in Bruce's chair to let Dick scroll around and catch up --

"You like her."

"If nothing else, she's a sociopath firebug who'll kill someone *else* soon enough," Jason says, and fights back a yawn.

"Yeah. I like her, too. The *question* is how we find her. I don't suppose there's anything in the Arkham visitor logs?"

"Zip. We need Two-Face's mail."

Dick doesn't bother to hide his own yawn. "We'll head in tomorrow. Tim did good tonight."

Jason nods and closes his eyes for a minute.

"He's -- I don't know him as well as you do, but I think he might be more hurt than pissed, Jay."

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Dick says, and rests a hand on Jason's shoulder. "You *know* that even if his parents are completely awful -- I mean, *your* parents --"

"Got me killed. After the first set got me selling my ass. And yeah, I'm still twisted up about the whole fucking crowd of them, and I would've *damaged* anyone who hurt them," and Jason bangs his head against the back of the chair a few times. "Sometimes I stop thinking about Tim as a person because I'm too busy thinking of him as a series of fucking incredible potentialities --"

"He's a *kid* --"

"I *know* -- I know. And I have no idea how to apologize."

Dick sighs and crouches by the chair. "Start by meaning it."

"Fuck, make it easy, why don't you? I *do* mean it -- for hurting him, anyway --"

"Do you, Jay?"

"Jesus, Dick --"

"I'm serious," Dick says, looking up at him -- into him. "Because I think you've been maybe going with the idea of 'that which doesn't kill Tim...' Etcetera."

Jason -- grunts. "Okay, maybe -- a lot. Fucking -- I just didn't want him to go down under any of the shocks that nearly took *me* out of the game too many times. I wanted him hard, ready, *sure* --"

"Well, he was all of the above *tonight*. *Too* hard, maybe. We were in the middle of a bunch of bikers up from Pennsylvania pulling a train on a couple of waitresses at a bar. And --"

"What did he do?"

"Two of them are missing *eyelids*, Jay. One on the left, one on the right."

Jason blinks. "That's pretty... original, actually."

"And *why* did I know that you would see it that way? They might wind up losing the *vision* in those eyes --"

"And then again they might *not*. He didn't kill anybody and he knew exactly what he was doing at all times. Right?"

Dick nods, looking troubled.

"Big Bird --"

"*You* at least would get angry, *feel* something --"

"He feels a *lot*, Dick --"

"For you, and for Bruce, and for me... and, apparently, for his parents," Dick says, and shakes his head. "I think he could happily tell the rest of the world to fuck *right* off."

Which... "Is that so bad?"

"Are you *serious*?"

Jason spins the chair enough to face Dick. "Think about it, Big Bird. Yeah, okay, so maybe it's a little problematic that he doesn't have a big, bleeding heart like the rest of us, but he's never going to *slip* -- because he throws all of himself into *us*, and he'll do anything and *everything* to stay right *with* us."

Dick's frowning pretty hard -- "I don't think it's supposed to *work* that way, little wing."

"Yeah, well, maybe his parents should've given the kid a hug or two way back when. If they had, though... you might not have had anyone watching your back tonight."

"Jay --"

"So yeah, maybe I'm fucking *grateful* that his parents were so damned useless, because I *like* him the way he is. I don't mind you and Bruce softening him up a little bit -- it's probably good for him. But I'm *never* gonna get on his ass for being a cold little bastard, and I don't think you should, either."

"You like him just the way he is. Even though he's --" Dick takes a deep breath and takes out the tie, pushing a hand back through his hair. "*Especially* because he's so dangerous."

"Yeah. I just need him to forgive my ass."

"Jay... the way he is..."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, opens them again and focuses on Dick. "Say it."

"I -- you *do* know him better than I do, but I think, maybe... there's no getting back from this. Not all the way."

"You think he's never going to trust me again."

Dick nods.

"Yeah, well... he never, ever should have. And I'm not being flip or... whatever. I stuffed everything I knew about his parents down and decided not to think about it. One great big fucking lie of omission, and I'm pretty fucking sure that the only reason I'm upset about it is because *he* is. Fuck, Dick, it felt good to get it off my chest, but even that was just my own shit, my own fucking *weakness* and inability to live with another damned secret. No, he shouldn't trust me, at all."

"What about me, little wing? Should *I* trust you? Hell, what about Bruce?"

"*You*... should trust me to keep fucking up in one way or another as I stagger around trying to figure out who, exactly, I *am*. And I think you know how that works."

"I..." Dick knocks his forehead against Jason's thigh a few times.

"What is it?"

"I knew there was something wrong with Roy. I knew when he started losing it after Ollie disappeared on his little road trip with Hal, and I knew when the *quality* of him losing it changed. I never would've guessed that it was drugs, but -- no, that's just it. I didn't *let* myself guess about Roy, in any way, because I was too screwed up over Bruce. I just kept... pushing it aside, again and again, promising myself that if Roy ever messed up out there in a big *enough* way I would say something."

"And then, maybe, making new excuses for not doing it."

Dick nods.

"Dick, I'm not gonna tell you that's not fucked up, but hell, there's a reason I never tried to get closer to the Titans. Being on a team is just like having a *lot* of partners, and it was tough enough for me just having one," Jason says, and curls a lock of Dick's hair around his finger. "Maybe one day you should confess to Roy, but I'm willing to bet he'll just smack you around for trying to take responsibility for his own fuck up."

"The Titans taught me how to be a friend to someone other than Bruce, but sometimes I think I didn't learn the lesson all that well, little wing."

"Sometimes I think we have to relearn that stuff with every person we meet, and that we have to do it every *day*."

Dick groans. "Is it too late for me to be a hermit?"

Jason smiles ruefully. "Yeah, pretty much. Brother."

Dick smiles back at him and rests a hand on Jason's knee. "Brother. And... you know, I was actually on my way *back* here with him, tonight. That's what took me so long. I was just driving him here, and *not* because I'd forgotten he was there."

"He belongs here, Dick. He just -- he does."

Dick nods. "Are you going to him tonight?"

"I want to, but... no. I'm giving him space."

Dick squeezes Jason's knee. "Probably wise. And I -- look, I know you have a lot of reasons for not wanting to stay here --"

Jason shakes his head. "I'm too fucked up to drive right now. I -- I'll sleep here."

Dick grins. "Then can I ask you to stay in my room, tonight? I need company to crash in that museum."

"You could just go to Bruce's room, Dick. Or one of the other six thousand bedrooms in this place --"

"Bruce isn't here. And Alfred brought all my *things* to that room. C'mon, Jay, *indulge* my issues."

Which is how he winds up staring up at a *different* ceiling with an incredibly limber man wrapped most of the way around him and snoring, a little. It really is a shrine to the man Dick was just a few years ago, and a part of Jason only wants to light a few candles and maybe burn some incense.

It's *a* bed, though, and he needs as much sleep as he can get. Jason closes his eyes and strokes the back of Dick's head. On his way down, he wonders if the Haly's poster over the bed will detach itself and float down to smother him if he touches Dick in any other ways...

The truth is, he'd avoided this room like the plague when he was a kid -- after a glimpse had shown him that it *was* a shrine to Dick. He just didn't want to *think* about it, since every time he tried fear would rise in his throat *and* grow thorns. Now he's here, *in* the bed...

No crack of thunder. No alarms or recriminations.

Just -- Dick.

Jason slips down.

*

And wakes up alone and disoriented --

Dick's taking a shower, and the quality of light says it's early afternoon -- meaning that Tim is around *somewhere*, thanks to the light and funky little bike that Bruce had had made for the kid. Tim stashes it in a Bat-garage a few blocks from his home when it's out, and Jason heads right for it once he's down in the Cave.

It's a lot like *Jason's* first bike. Not too much power and not too much room for frills -- just enough to get Robin where he needs to be more or less when he *needs* to be there, complete with a few secret compartments chock full of nasty surprises.

Tim gets to have a compartment full of small explosives far too close to his sac for Jason to be anything *like* comfortable, but Tim actually has an innate gift for demolitions to go with all of that ruthless care. Bruce had *thought* about the contents of that compartment for Tim, and had come up with the best possible solution. Jason runs two fingers over the seat and actually turns to take Tim *in*.

He's topless, but wearing the entirety of the lower half of his uniform, working the staff and grunting for invisible opponents in a way he absolutely wouldn't if he were on the street.

Or if he were feeling optimal.

Jason grabs another one of the staves, extends it, and moves within range --

Tim immediately goes on the attack, just as he's supposed to. He's also doing his best to read Jason's eyes, but --

Yeah, there's one fuck of a lot of resentment for the fact that Jason's making him do that. He doesn't want Jason here, at all, and if Jason were anything like a good person, he wouldn't be making Tim do this now.

He is only himself. "Talk to me," Jason says, and makes Tim leap over a sweep --

"I'd rather work."

Alternately, fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Jason. Jason shakes his head. "We have to clear this up," and he gives Tim a few hard blocks, enough to *move* him --

"Clear this. You knowingly let my parents fly into danger, Jason. I'm not sure if there's anything that can be *cleared*," and Tim's attack is brutal, thorough, and *precise*.

There's nothing of anger to it, and the control is about as impressive as it can be. Jason responds to it as best he can, forcing Tim back a few paces --

Tim leaps like Dick had taught him, striking down -- and spinning away from Jason's return attack, landing on his toes and spinning the staff to fight Jason back a little.

"I might have just been letting the timeline --"

"Stop," Tim says, and begins striking for Jason's legs and feet. "If we're going to talk, you're going to be honest. If you can manage that."

Ouch. But -- he really was going into bullshit mode, and the only person who ought to understand Jason better is currently doing his best to keep Tim's fucking parents alive. "All right. I'm sorry --"

"For *what* --"

"Hurting you. Making your life more difficult. Making you worry. Making you -- doubt me," and Jason lets Tim move him, noting the speed Tim only brings out when he feels like he's in serious danger, because it saps his stamina --

Tim laughs, cracked and high and *hurt* -- "I wasn't going to say this, but *fuck* you, Jason. You're full of all this *talk* about how you only bring the serious punishment to people who deserve it, but then you do *this*. You let this *happen*," and Tim isn't giving him spar-grade attacks, now. He's going for *damage*, and the fact that he can do that while still being so controlled --

"You're so fucking good --"

"Shut *up*. I don't want to hear that from you. I don't want to hear *anything* from you," and Tim is going for Jason's hands, now, strikes designed to not just make Jason lose his staff, but to crack bone.

Jason nods and gives it back to him, watching Tim settle once more into his own skin, watching him *feel* this.

They do it that way for several minutes, moving all over the mats and letting the staves crack and slide against each other hard enough to make their arms and hands a little numb, hard enough to *pay* for this a little, and --

It's all there in Tim's eyes, the anger and the fucking *crushing* weight of disappointment. Jason could say something about how there should be more fear for his parents, but that would probably be the biggest asshole move he could make. Tim knows *exactly* what is and isn't going through his own head right now, and he knows the implications of all of it.

He wouldn't be half as hurt as he is right now if he *didn't* know, if Jason hadn't forced him to face some seriously uncomfortable truths about how he feels about his parents.

The only family he'd ever known before *them* --

Before him.

And Dick is watching all of this from a safe distance, ready to call time if he has to, to pull the kind of rank that probably *would* make Jason feel resentful as hell if he wasn't aching right now. If he wasn't --

"I need you," Jason says, and Tim's eyes go wide for a second he probably feels is *damning* more than anything else --

Tim growls and lets a little of his control slip, coming faster and harder despite the fact that he can't possibly be feeling the staff in his hands right now --

"You know I wouldn't lie about that," and Jason counters as best he can, letting Tim move him a little more and wondering if he should be going for punishment of his own, if that would make it *better* for Tim --

"I could hate you for that," Tim says, and his voice is a lot shakier than it had been before.

"Maybe you should."

"I'd much rather hate you for playing merry hell with my -- with my fucking *family* --"

"That's fair. It's just that I won't lie down and accept it," Jason says, and decides to go with the punishment, the speed and force that brings out everything Tim can give, everything he can do to hurt him right back --

And Tim's showing his teeth now, grunting out growls even as he randomizes his movements. The only thing showing in his eyes right now --

The only thing he's *telegraphing* is rage, but the disconnect between his body and his emotions is still holding steady, impossibly hard and maybe even *better* than it's ever been before.

He's so *good*, and this is exactly what he'd wanted from Tim, back when Tim *was* only potential to him, when he was the round peg he could carve down for the square hole, making all those points sharp enough to slash anyone open -- but especially Bruce.

Damn, damn -- fuck. "You were supposed to be just like this, Tim."

"What -- what are you talking about."

"That was my *plan*, Tim. To make you into the hardest possible weapon, someone who didn't care about anyone *too* much, someone who could look at the Mission with cold, clear eyes and always do exactly what was necessary --"

"Necessary as *you* saw it --"

"Exactly," Jason says, and takes a moment to fight back the strikes which are designed to break his jaw, smash his nose all over his face, and possibly to drive some bone into his *brain* --

"You're *not* cold, and you've never --" Tim growls again and keeps *coming* -- "You've never been clear about *anything*."

"No --"

"You're too wound up in your own emotions and you're too fucking *weak*, Jason. You never actually *decided* to do anything about my parents, just laid back in the fucking grass and let -- let..."

"Don't stop, kid --"

"*Fuck* you," and now Tim is going for Jason's knees, his hips, his fucking *elbows* --

"Yeah, give it to me --"

"You're still a *child*," Tim says, faking a strike and rolling *behind* Jason, forcing him to turn *and* dance back --

"Come on, Tim --"

"Maybe that has something to do with being raised by a crook and a *whore* and maybe it doesn't. Maybe part of you is still on the fucking *street* --"

"Always," Jason says, gripping the staff with his numb hands --

Too tight, because he doesn't manage to spin it in time to block the fucking *stunning* hit to his forearm --

"Don't you fucking *stop*, Tim --"

"You had no *right*, you fucking asshole! Not to have me and not to throw my parents into danger -- let them throw themselves into danger, away from me, always *away* from me, like they were ashamed of me, or I was too loud, too much --"

Fuck, no --

Tim growls like an animal and his control is gone. He's using the staff like a club and his hands and arms are shaking --

Jason disarms Tim as quickly and gently as he can, pulling him in close because he can't do anything else --

The jab to his abdomen is hard and fucking *sharp*, and for a moment Jason wonders if Tim had just gutted him --

But the pain is just from the punch and Tim is only beating on him, forgetting everything they've taught him and fighting like -- like a child.

"I'm sorry," Jason says, "I'm so -- I never want to hurt you --"

"*Liar*. You want me to feel every goddamned thing you've felt, want me to live in this world like *you* have --"

"Tim --"

"You *do*, Jason! And every time I relax, every time I have -- one fucking *moment* of happiness --"

Jason squeezes Tim hard and drops them down onto their knees. It's too much, it's too -- true. "You're right."

Tim *sobs*. "That's not *love*. I know I'm young, but that -- it's not *love*, Jason, you don't love me --"

"I *do*, Tim. But I didn't always, and that -- it spills over and makes a huge fucking mess. It's nothing you should've had to deal with, and -- you're right about everything except for that last --"

Tim shoves at him, but he's not strong enough to get out of this hold --

Nerve-strike, and it's fucking *impressive* that he'd managed to get that in with the right placement and force, but mostly it's damned inconvenient, because Jason's left arm is paralyzed, now --

And Tim is scrambling away from him, standing up and -- staring. Not glaring.

Jason looks up at him and reaches with his *right* arm. "Come back --"

"*No*. I -- damn you. *Fuck* you. I'm not. I'm not your fucking *boy* anymore, Jason, and it'll take more than a fucking hug to *fix* that," Tim says, stalking away -- heading for the pommel horse, which he loves.

Jason lets his hand drop to his side and squeezes his eyes shut, and he's anything *but* surprised when Dick crouches beside him. Still -- "Go to him, Big Bird. He needs you more."

"I don't think I'm comfortable with the idea of quantifying that particular definition of need, little wing," and Dick starts trying to massage a little life back into Jason's arm.

"You know it'll come back on its own --"

"Yes, *but*. And -- note that he didn't say you *couldn't* fix the problem."

The hope is as painful as it should be --

"Yeah, exactly," Dick says, and when Jason opens his eyes, Dick is frowning *into* him. "I think he knows how you feel."

"I think he knows what I *need*," Jason says, and hauls himself to his feet. "There's kind of a big difference."

Dick stands next to him and keeps working Jason's shoulder and arm -- "Jay... I'm pretty sure you just need to give him time."

And his parents, safe and sound thanks to Bruce. Who couldn't save them in Jason's world --

"He loves you. I -- he can't change the way he sees you, the way he *needs* you --"

"Dick, go to *him*. I'm not the one who doesn't *have* experience with relationships crashing and burning, you know?"

Dick winces hard. "Is that what happened with Bruce? Why you bailed?"

Jason rolls his head on his neck and takes a breath, and another one, and one more after that. "He didn't know how to trust me. I couldn't decide whether that pissed me off or made something really fucking *small* inside me happy. Add to that the fact that I couldn't deal with him being just a man in love... It was a mess all around, and mostly? I was scared shitless and young. Just like Tim."

"That... what he said about you trying to make him feel everything you felt --"

"Yeah. If I'd put it into words like that before..." Jason shakes his head. "I probably would've kept treating him like that, kept *using* him like that. And he rolled with the punches just fine, and kept coming back for more, and more --"

"And you punished him for that, too."

"Yeah. Go to him, Dick. Tell him -- whatever he needs to hear."

Dick frowns harder, but he nods and goes.

And the weights... well, they've always been his friend, in one way or another. Every time he could add more on, every time he could do one more full set...

Yeah.

He can *think* while he's doing this, and while part of him doesn't want to do anything of the kind, the rest of him knows that it's worth it. One of them is going to have to go check out Kerns' old commander and try to get something out of him, maybe track down some others from her unit...

Where would she be? What would she be doing -- assuming she *is* the bomber Two-Face has on his side? It *could've* been just another citizen's attempt to raze Arkham to the ground, but the bomb was placed too precisely for that *and* it was too small.

The cops are going to have to spend time and effort investigating that angle anyway, but *they* don't have to. It was a successful escape plan, and the fact that Two-Face -- and Ivy -- had gotten away clean means that at least one of them had to know about it beforehand.

Two-Face. *Definitely* Two-Face, because it all fits, so --

So. At *some* point, Two-Face -- or Harvey Dent -- had had some kind of hook-up with Kerns. It would be too easy for her to be on the visitors' log, so that means one of them will have to head back to Arkham tonight with a picture of her.

If she'd gone in with a fake ID and some faked-up business cards for a law firm, she could've gotten in and out without so much as being filmed or recorded in any other way. Arkham: proof that civil rights come with a *steep* fucking price.

And what's Two-Face's *plan*, anyway? In his world, the guy had immediately gone after Batman, luring him into a trap Nightwing couldn't save him from without Tim --

God, what he wouldn't *give* for Bruce's *complete* records for that time period. He doesn't even know *where* the trap was set, not even the damned *neighborhood* --

And Tim's not going to quit, and he's going to be so professional they'll all fucking *choke* on it --

Not his boy, anymore.

There's a scar on his chest that really wants to *deny* that, wants to scream about all the blood between them, all the great fucking sex and all the ways they can *hold* each other --

Jason moves off the weights and watches Dick guide Tim through another routine. He's finding it difficult, judging by the lack of precision in his moves, but there's no way to know if it's the routine, Jason, or some fucked up combination of the two.

Jason goes to do katas and waits for the night.

*

Getting onto a military base without damaging too many innocent soldiers or raising an alarm is an interesting challenge, but ultimately it takes too long for Jason to enjoy himself. He'd hacked the system -- with Tim's cool, near-wordless help and a powerfully *useless* desire to know how much Tim played with Babs in his own world -- enough to get a map of the base and an idea of where to find the people he was looking for, and now he's in motion, doing his best to move like someone who belongs here.

He could've gotten himself a uniform, but that would've taken more time than they *have* --

Two more soldiers to drop and drag into the shadows, and it goes as fine as the others... except that one of them snores. A lot. *Loudly*. Jason can't just stuff a rag into the woman's mouth and he can't turn her face into the dirt. Sitting her up lowers the volume significantly, but now there's an apparently unconscious soldier sitting *up*.

Jason sucks it up and drags her as much into the shadow of a sad-looking little bush as he can manage. She still looks obvious as all *hell*, but --

Jason moves faster, and now he's counting windows against the map in his mind -- there.

Up for a look -- at a darkened bedroom. Too dark, so he switches to night-vision -- Lieutenant Stokes sleeps like he's posed in a coffin, doesn't snore even a little bit, and *looks* like the kind of light sleeper that just might get Jason discovered.

Jason manages to lever open the screen silently *enough*, but... this guy is gonna wake up. He just *is*.

Fine. Jason slips in, rolls to his feet, and *just* manages to get the guy pinned and a hand over his mouth before Stokes can get his nine millimeter out and aimed.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone," Jason says, calm and quiet and serious. "I'm just here to ask questions."

Stokes glares at him and fights the pin exactly like someone trained and trained well.

Jason shakes his head. "If I *have* to hurt you, I will, Lieutenant."

Stokes goes still, narrows his eyes, and nods.

"I know exactly how to crush your windpipe, so *don't* try to shout," Jason says, pulling his hand away and popping the clip out of the nine millimeter --

"What the hell do you want, boy?"

Boy. Right. "Traci Kerns. We have reason to believe she hooked up with Two-Face -- *after* fire-bombing the apartment building she lived in and killing an old woman."

Stokes' nostrils flare and he shakes his head minutely.

"What? Anything you can tell me would be a help."

"I'll talk to the *cops*, boy. Not you."

"Look at me, Lieutenant. Think about who I am. I'm working *with* the cops, because the Gotham police commissioner knows I can get certain things done faster and better than they do. Two-Face is a killer and so is Kerns. I'm just trying to protect innocent people here."

"By sneaking onto a *military* base, and -- how many people did you take out on your way here?"

"Seven,*gently*, and you're wasting time. I want out of here as much as you *want* me out of here, Stokes, so *give*."

Stokes glares at him a little longer and then grunts, shifting beneath Jason --

Jason pulls out of the pin and stands beside Stokes' bed, *feeling* every second it takes the guy to sit up and push a hand back over his tight curls --

"Gotham. The governor ought to declare a state of emergency and send in the National Guard for a few months."

"Until he does? They've got *me*. Now --"

"She followed orders, kept herself and her equipment in shape, and never broke a single regulation. And everyone in the unit with a functioning brain wanted her out ASAP."

"Why?"

"She's a spook, boy. Something's wrong in her head. If she was a guy, I'd be looking for bodies in her backyard. As it is... she has all the demolitions training any home-grown terrorist could ask for. I petitioned to get her some counseling through the V.A. when we got back in-country, but she turned it down just as sweet as you please and gave me a look that'll make me shoot first and ask questions later if I ever see her in a dark alley."

Well, fuck.

"That what you wanted to know?"

"What about the people in the unit who *didn't* have a functioning brain? Anyone like her, hang around with her?"

Stokes sighs. "There's one boy... he's out, now. Carried a torch for her a mile high and wouldn't hear a thing against her."

"I need a name, Lieutenant."

"Why? So you can climb in *his* damned bedroom window?"

"You follow the news? *Someone* bombed the shit out of Arkham, and now one of the country's greatest killers is out with a whole big list of scores to settle --"

"And maybe he wouldn't *be* the psycho he is if your boss wasn't flying around with his underwear outside his pants breaking half the laws that make this country worth fighting for --"

"There are *always* gonna be crazy people out there, Lieutenant, and those people? Will *always* find a reason to do the shit they do. If your guy hasn't done anything wrong, nothing bad will happen to him. You have my word."

"The word of some teenager in a mask doesn't mean *shit* to me, boy --"

"I'll grow up when I have the *time* for it, Stokes. Right now? I'm more worried about the people who make *up* this country you love."

The glare is back, but Jason is getting that it only comes out when there's something Stokes can't do anything to change -- or fix.

His troops probably love him, but the seconds are ticking away, and who knows how long Kerns has had to make *up* the bombs Two-Face will tell her where to plant? Just --

"Adam Smith, born eight-thirteen-eighty-six. I know it sounds fake, but it isn't -- as far as the U.S. Army could tell, anyway. Last I heard, he was living up in Teaneck... but I wouldn't be surprised if he followed Kerns to Gotham."

"Thank you." And the boy in him wants to sketch Stokes a half-assed salute, but the rest of him is already moving, retracing his steps as quickly and safely as possible --

And then a lot fucking faster than *that* when the shouts start. He makes it to his bike just as the searchlights come on, and then he's on the road and *really* moving.

"N to J."

"I'm here, go."

"Two guards at Arkham recognized our girl -- apparently she gave one of them a fake phone number."

Score. "How many visits?"

"Two about a year ago and one last month. She *did* pose as a lawyer, and nobody caught it."

"Fucking A. *One* day someone's going to smuggle a suitcase bomb into that place, and I, for one, am *not* gonna shed any tears."

"J --"

"I know, I know. I spoke to her CO. Apparently, she's just as psycho as we think she is. No friends, but one guy with a major crush on her. I've got a name and a birth date."

"Give it to R, he can run it down in the Cave. The signal is up again and I'm headed to Central. N out."

Hell, what *now*? No, focus on what he *can* do. "R --"

"I'm ready for the information, J."

They *have* to be professional on this channel, but -- motherfuck, is he ready for an end to the freeze-out. *Somehow*. Jason gives him the information and heads for Gotham at speed.

There's the usual moment of relief -- possibly *release* -- when he finally makes it to the outskirts of Gotham, but --

"J, it's N, we have a problem."

"Another one?"

"*Same* one. Two-Face phoned in bomb threats to the MCU. Nothing about where they are, just a call for a ransom to be brought by B."

"Shit. *Where*?"

"The docks. The Coast Guard is already mobilized and searching ships and boats, but the Commissioner has nothing."

Fuck, but -- "We can fake it. Put me in the suit and send me in --"

"That's a *big* no, J. We *know* it'll be a trap --"

"And I'll have *back*-up, N --"

"Just *wait*," Dick says, and "R, are you hearing this?"

"Every word. I have an address for Smith, but it's possible that we don't have time for that, right now?"

"We're doing this by the book, guys. And that means no walking into traps unless we *have* to --"

"N, he's got his finger on the fucking *button* --"

"And the police are swarming the location like he *knew* they would, J. C'mon, think, it's a *fake*."

He's right. He's *right*, but -- "Something doesn't sit right with that. How *many* cops did Gordon send down there?"

"He didn't give me a number, but I'm willing to bet he cleared the nearest precincts --"

"What if. Um."

"R?"

Something. *Something*. "*Say* it, R, we need all the ideas we can get --"

"What if the police are the targets?"

Shit, *that*. "N --"

"I'm calling the Commissioner *right* now. I -- R, give J the info on Smith, and -- oh, no. Oh, no."

"N, *what* --" But Jason can see the smoke billowing up into the sky. He can't hear any screams, but he's still too far away for that --

"N? J?"

"Oh, God, no --"

"You called it, R. He's playing all of us."

Dick sucks in a breath. "We have to --"

"Find Two-Face," Jason says. "The EMTs will *know* where to go."

"Jesus, J --"

"N. You were right before and I'm right *now*. Pick an r-point to meet up with R --"

"Shouldn't someone be here to hunt down information?"

Jason fights back the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, because apparently Tim's the only one of them thinking things through. "Yeah, R, you're right. N, stay on top of things with Gordon. R, give me the info on Smith. I'll get something out of him if I have to wring him out with my bare hands. Okay?"

"Noted," Tim says --

"All right," Dick says. "I -- all right. But if the Commissioner wants our help with the downed officers, we have to give it."

"Agreed," Jason says, mostly because he knows Gordon is going to want them after Two-Face more than ever. "Is he distributing the picture of Kerns?"

"Every precinct and the media, with the word out that she's wanted as a witness. Is there anything else?"

Both he and Tim say no, and Dick drops out -- though none of them will be turning their comms off. Tim gives him the address and Jason heads in for it, feeling the empty space on the back of his bike even more, but...

Even with fuck only knows how many dead cops there are out there -- and they *would've* all been in body armor, so that has to help a *little* -- there's something he *needs* in the knowledge that the comms *are* on. He's with his family, the only family that matters --

Is this what the family in his own world felt when Babs was running the show as Oracle? To know that you were always there and always *on*...

He doesn't know, but it feels good enough to keep him going, moving closer and closer to a man who may or may not be able to do anything for them --

"J," Tim says, "I have a little more information on Smith."

"Good -- go." And he knows that Tim heard that hesitation, and he hopes to fucking God he gets some points for it --

"I have a recent application for unemployment. His last employer was a software firm, and he was fired for taking too many sick days. There are no recent hospitalizations or trips to a physician."

"Anything on when the absences started?"

"Nothing from the employer, but his cable box has logged increased daytime use as of three weeks ago."

When the apartment building went up in smoke. But -- "You hacked his cable company?"

"It's one of the few sources of voluntary surveillance available in this country," and Tim's tone is defensive as all hell, which is anything but what he'd intended.

"It was a *good* thought, R. I -- you're really doing well," Jason says, feeling like a parody of himself and wondering why the *honest* things sound so fucking off --

"Thank you. I. What's your twenty?"

"Five, maybe eight minutes away from Smith -- or whatever booby traps they left at his place."

Tim is silent for a good, long while, which probably means he's trying to get more information, but --

Jason can feel him. It helps.

Smith's place turns out to be a well-made brownstone in a seriously fucked neighborhood. The rent would be relatively low for Gotham, but if the crime rate doesn't take him out, the gentrification hordes -- creeping up from the east -- will.

For now --

"J, it's definitely the first floor for the apartment, but I have some canceled checks here which suggest he's paying for a chunk of the basement, too."

"Noted, R. I've got one light showing in the first floor, but no one visible. Lots of electronic equipment broken down on a table, though. I'm gonna assume that this place is rigged. Who lives on the top two floors?"

"Four college students on the third floor, a family with one child on the second. They have some great new -- and connected -- fire alarms, J. Should I set them off?"

What is the kid *doing* over there? "Uh -- go for it."

"Done. I think. What --"

"You're good, R." And the beeping is *loud*. Lights are coming on and people are moving -- on the top two floors. Nothing on the first, and he has to *wait*.

Jason takes a calming breath, another --

Six adults and one toddler come spilling out the front door. None of them are Smith, all of them look confused as hell. Jason steps out of the shadows and claps his hands twice -- he has their attention. "Be quiet and get clear -- we got a bomb threat."

Lots of wide eyes, but they're moving toward him and away from the giant death house, which is all to the good. A quick check tells him that none of them have seen Smith recently, and he promises to go in and look for the guy. And that, yes, Batman is on the case.

Gotta love Gotham.

"R, I'm going in."

"All right. I. Be careful," Tim says, and sounds *extremely* pissed about it, which means it's a damned good thing that he can't see Jason's smile.

He knows the front door isn't rigged, but he can't risk the front door of Smith's *apartment* -- or any of the windows. What he'd *like* to do is somehow shrink himself enough to go in through the plumbing from the second floor apartment, but the multiverse doesn't actually care for what he wants. That leaves the basement, which, if anything, makes him feel even *more* squirrelly, but fuck it.

He checks the door carefully for any new-looking tool marks, but the thing looks both solid and old. If *he* were a mad bomber, he'd rig every single entryway, but the basement would be at least potentially available to all tenants, and they'd be going with the idea that the *cops* would be coming in. The way the basement entrance is set up -- with the very steep stairs right *there* -- would make it tricky to get the ram in. So... call it seventy percent likely that he's not going to get blown *through* those stairs once he's done picking the locks.

One down, one to go --

Take a breath --

In, nice and low -- whimpering noise and a red glow from the northeast. Jason flips his night-vision lenses and moves --

Bomb. Smith.

All in one nice, neat package. Well, *neat*, anyway. Smith has the kind of face that would look more correct on a fat guy, the same haircut the Army had given him, and about a pound of plastique strapped to his chest with duct tape. Jason should've asked if anything had gone missing from the Army stores right about the time Kerns had gotten out.

And -- there's an hour on the clock, which matches with the deadline Two-Face had given the cops. Okay.

Okay. Second look, nice and thorough. Smith had pissed himself long enough ago that it's starting to dry. His wrists and ankles are bound with the tape. He's sweating like a pig. The bomb --

There really are wires *everywhere*, and while he has some training with this kind of thing, he's nowhere near Bruce's level with this stuff. He --

He can't. And maybe he should've let Bruce *stay* here instead of --

No time for that. 

"R, call in the cavalry. We've got a bomb strapped to Smith with fifty-eight minutes on the clock. Plastique, non-standard arrangement."

"Noted, calling --"

"I'm giving the poor bastard a shot of valium once I'm done with him."

"Why not knock him out?"

Because he let a psychotic killer use his place as a crash pad and I'm not feeling generous -- give the *other* reason -- "Because the only halfway safe method with the way this device is set up is to choke him out, and *everyone* struggles when you do that."

"I -- all right. I'm connected, R out."

Yeah, he'd heard *both* of those reasons, probably. Jason rips the tape off Smith's mouth --

"Please! Get me out of this!"

"No can do, guy. But we're calling in the people who *can*." Maybe. "Where's Kerns?"

"I -- I really don't --"

"*Don't* bullshit me, fucker. We know who you are and we know you've got a hard-on for the bitch. She's a killer, and if *we* don't get her? Some cop's gonna put a bullet in her brain, thanks to some shit she pulled down by the docks."

"You don't understand! She's -- she's *troubled*. The war was hard on all of us, and she just needs help --"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jason says, *carefully* reaching between the guy's legs and getting a *grip*. "Now listen to me carefully. I can make it so that you never have kids. I? Can make it so you never get it *up* again. And I can do it right here and now, and *still* make it out of here before the bomb squad shows up. And you know what? I might do it *just* because you forced me to touch your pissy fucking *chinos* --"

"Please don't hurt her!"

"She wired you to a *bomb* --"

"It's only -- I made her angry. I became too jealous and also --"

The shriek is pretty satisfying as these things go, but Jason already knows that it's going to take more. So. A knife pointed at Smith's right eye. "You wanna see her again, don't you?"

"*Yes*!"

"Look at that pretty face, gaze into those cold, dead eyes --"

"Please don't hurt me anymore --"

"Then *talk*. I promise you -- if she doesn't resist too hard, she'll make it in with just some bumps and bruises." Maybe.

Smith stares at him, desperate and pleading, helpless --

C'mon, c'mon --

"I don't *know* where she is. She -- she left with. Two-Face."

Damn. "Car?"

"M-mine. My car -- ah. An oh-four Chrysolet Hawk. License plate three - r - w - five - nine - one."

"Got it, J, searching," Tim says, and Jason nods.

"What else? How many bombs did she make while she was here?"

"F-four. I think. At least -- there were four blocks of plastique. Um. Other than this one. She took them all --"

"What did they *say* to each other?"

And for some reason, *that* makes the guy's face crumple -- he's actually crying. Which -- fine. Play it that way.

"They said they loved each other, didn't they?"

"Y-yes. They -- she said she'd been waiting her whole life for him, and he -- kissed her. For a very long time."

Right in front of the guy, and oh, did Jason *ever* not need the image of Two-Face macking on *anybody*. Right, soldier fucking on. "Any maps? Blueprints?"

"There were -- she took them. I think."

Oh. "You *think*?"

"After she packed up the plastique, Two-Face threw me down here and there were a few minutes before she came down to. Wire me up. I don't know what happened to the blueprints."

"Think *carefully*, Adam. Is there *anything* else that can help me find -- your girl?"

"She. She likes candy. Bereford brand. I -- she's always leaving the wrappers around, but I don't mind. It makes it feel like she's always here. Everywhere."

"Good job. Now just relax," Jason says, and pulls the Valium syringe from the goodie-case he keeps in his right inside pocket. Smith's eyes roll up immediately, and Jason's up the stairs. The sirens are getting closer, but Smith's door is unlocked, and --

Nothing in the living room --

Nothing in the bedroom or bathroom --

Blueprints all *over* the kitchen table, and --

Wayne Tower. Every last one of them. There are no convenient red x's where the bombs would go, but he grabs them all, anyway, and slips out the back, running for his bike, and --

"J to N --"

"I'm here, what have you got?"

"The blueprints our happy couple -- and they *are* a couple -- left behind were all of Wayne Tower."

Dick whistles. "Okay, so Dent's looking to burn his last bridge."

"*Maybe*. The Tower is almost empty this time of night, and Dent usually likes a body count."

"True. Hell. R?"

"Here," Tim says. "The bomb squad is moving in on Smith's apartment and I've sent out --"

"A description of the car, yeah, we got it," Dick says. "We've got two fatalities on the docks and eight more officers gravely wounded. The rest of the wounded are likely to survive, and I think we need to move on Wayne Tower."

Fuck. "N --"

"It's the best information we have right now, and it makes sense. Dent already struck at Gordon. It would make *sense* for him to go for -- Wayne."

"For certain values of sense, yes," Tim says. "I -- should I still stay here? If we're going after him --"

"You're coordinating things," Jason says. "We need you to *keep* doing that." And I'm not ready for you to go up against someone like Dent --

"What J said, R. And J -- meet me at the Tower. I promise I won't go in without you."

That -- is about as good as he's likely to get. "Fine, N. I'm fifteen minutes out."

"N out."

Jason hits it, focusing on making it through the traffic -- because Gothamites are running around acting *just* like a known psychopath is setting off bombs. Right. But --

"R, keep an eye on the private --"

"The roads, yes. I -- what's the protocol if there *is* an attack?"

"Stay in the Cave and don't try anything fancy," Dick says. "Nothing else matters, you hear me?"

"Yes," Tim says, and goes silent again.

Five minutes out, and Jason *knows* there's something wrong with this, that something's not *working* --

"Signal," Dick says, and, "Hell, I've gotta go back --"

*That*. "Wait. Just lemme think for a minute, N --"

"The car was just found," Tim says. "*Near* Central --"

"Two-Face," Jason says, feeling something cold and thickly satisfying settle in his gut.

"God. He got the Commissioner to clear the place -- everyone's on the *street* --" Dick takes a breath. "All right, we know he wants B, and we know he's not going to get him. *And* we know that every cop out there is trained *not* to pay attention to the roof of Central when the signal's on. All right. R-point alpha, J."

And a high-powered rifle for his birthday, maybe? "Coming," Jason says, leaving rubber when he turns the bike and pouring it on.

It takes several kinds of too long to get to the rooftop with the best view of Central, and Dick is already there --

"I got a view of Two-Face with a gun to the Commissioner's head two minutes ago, J. No sign of Kerns."

"Because she's wiring the place to blow. I think we should come in through the building, maybe catch Kerns on her way up -- he'll be expecting her."

Dick grunts and lowers his scope. "Unless he ordered her to stay down -- no, I know, you're right. There's only one way up to the roof. You go in, I'll swing onto the roof to cover you the moment you signal me."

"Done. Don't get shot."

"Same to you, little wing. Go."

Jason does. It feels like it takes an hour to get down, across the street, and *in*, but he makes it, and there's no sound of gunshots, yet. There *are* people in here, but they're all support staff. Some are shot, some are taking care of the ones who've *been* shot -- He flags a man running with towels. "How long before back-up gets here?"

"Everyone's scattered and I think Two-Face and the woman are still here!"

Yeah, pretty much. "Try to stay calm. Do you know where the woman *went*?"

"B-basement! I think. I mean, I don't know. I'm just trying to -- I have to check on Cindy --"

"Go," Jason says, and tries to think, tries to -- focus. The signal's only been on for -- he checks -- seventeen minutes. Two-Face "knows" that Batman's been running all over the city. He *would* give him a half hour --

Assuming his slightly more sane half is in control, which he *can't*.

It's just that all Two-Face has are his guns, while Kerns has up to three pounds of plastique *and* whatever other weapons she might be carrying --

And Jason's already moving for the basement.

"Hang tight, N, I've gotta at least try to track down Little Miss Demolition --"

"Hurry, he's ranting."

Shit. "Yeah, J out."

The building's old enough that there's only one way down to the basement, *too*, and for the first time since he's been here, Jason is seriously, fervently, and desperately wishing for a gun.

Just -- he'd only have to retrace his steps a *little* to get to the armory --

No time, and not a lot of room for that kind of thinking, either. Jason pulls out three shuriken and holds them ready. The door to the basement is open, and the steps --

Fuck, the steps are actually *wooden*. Whose bright idea was it not to change *that*?

Jason shakes his head and goes down as quickly and quietly as he can, night-vision lenses down -- movement.

He dives and tosses, feeling the wind of a bullet screaming past his ear. Kerns has night-vision *goggles*, and Jason *has* a flash-bang, but there's no way in hell he's using it when he has no idea where the bombs are --

More bullets, and Jason's moving, rolling, shoving a rack of old uniforms toward the very *much* military-trained woman who's rolling right with him. She only has one gun, though, and she's going to run out of bullets --

Jason tosses another three shuriken as soon as he hears the click. One knocks the gun out of her hand, one buries itself in her shoulder, and the last actually looks more silly than anything else sticking out of her forehead --

"*Bastard* --"

"That's me, lady, now c'mere and take a little punishment."

She knocks the shuriken out of her shoulder and forehead and immediately starts bleeding like a stuck pig. "You can't hurt me. I'm the only one who can defuse these bombs," she says, gesturing --

Three bricks of plastique and a set-up that would probably give even Bruce a serious headache, but -- he's out of patience.

Jason kicks her in the head -- *moderately* -- kicks her in the ribs, gives her a chop to the back of the neck and trusses her up. "Here's the deal, Kerns. I'm about to go upstairs and get everyone out of here. I? Frankly don't care if you go up *with* the building --"

"Harvey has your precious *Gordon*," she says, spitting blood and possibly a little venom, too.

Jason smiles. "He won't for long. Think about whether or not you want to die while I go take care of business, k?" He takes the stairs two at a time and snags the guy with the towels, ordering him to get everyone out as quickly as possible because of the bombs in the basement.

He counts down in his head, and -- twenty minutes. They really might *not* be able to save the building, but, hell, Bruce will *buy* them a new one. Maybe this one won't have wooden fucking *stairs* --

They aren't wooden on the way up to the roof, though, and he pauses to call in to Dick, who happily doesn't argue about his tying Kerns up with her handiwork --

"He's pacing. Call it ten seconds before he has his back to the door again --"

"Got it," Jason says. "On your signal."

Four --

Three --

Two --

"*Now* --"

And Jason's out through the door, but Two-Face is too quick for Jason to make his stab with the knife a good one. His wrist is slashed, though, and the gun wobbles in his hand --

Gordon elbows him in the gut, spinning away and pulling his ankle piece -- "Drop it, Dent --"

Except that Two-Face is moving, dropping, turning to shoot *Dick* --

And Gordon pumps a bullet into his back before Jason can so much as go for him --

"*Fuck*, Jim, I thought -- I thought we meant more. To each other, that is..." And Dent's laugh is awful and thick --

Yeah, there's the blood spilling out of his mouth *much* too fast --

"Jesus," Dick says, kicking Two-Face's gun away from his -- twitching -- hand. "We have to get him to the EMTs downstairs --"

Gordon grunts and tucks the gun back in his ankle holster. "What about everyone inside? Kerns?"

"Some casualties -- I put one of the healthy ones to getting everyone out. There's a good three pounds of plastique in the basement, set to blow in fifteen. Kerns is right there with it, hopefully giving serious thought to the question of whether or not she'll help us defuse it."

Gordon shakes his head. "Jay. That's not the way we do things --"

Dick claps Gordon on the shoulder. "We're getting you and Two-Face out of here, Commissioner, and -- R?"

"I've already contacted the bomb squad," Tim says. "They're at least ten minutes out, but the perimeter has already been established outside."

Dick nods and bends to throw Two-Face over his shoulder. "Let us fly you down --"

"I'm going back down to the basement, N."

"J, no --"

"I've gotta give Kerns a chance. There'll still be plenty of time for me to get out if she doesn't give it up --"

"Get. Her. *Out*," Gordon says. "We barely managed to save Smith, and we're not letting the whole conspiracy go down like -- like *this*."

And that -- Jason shakes his head and grabs Gordon, shooting his grapple a half-second after Dick does and taking him down --

"Are you listening to me? This doesn't *work* if there are *bodies* everywhere, Jay --"

Jay, not J. Because Gordon knows, even if he can't possibly understand. He *always* knows. Because --

It's the kind of thing that might as well be designed to reach between his legs with a pair of fucking pinking shears and *snip*, and *that's* without looking into Gordon's eyes and seeing the desperation, the hope and the fear --

Gordon has always trusted. Always *believed*.

And somewhere down in Haiti, Bruce is doing the same damned thing.

Jason nods and sets Gordon down on the sidewalk before running back into the building. Everyone's out -- even the ones who didn't look like they were breathing.

The basement is waiting for him --

And so is Kerns.

He gives her ten seconds to curse and spit, and then he lifts her head by the hair. "You want to see Two-Face again someday, don't you?"

"*No*. You didn't catch him, you couldn't have --"

"To be honest? It was Gordon himself who took him down. We just gave him a little help. Right now, Two-Face is being treated for a... minor gunshot wound. He'll be on his way back to Arkham in no time." They might even re-open the old cemetery on the grounds for him. "*You* could join him there."

"Or *what*? You people don't kill --"

"You see the uniform I'm not wearing? No one really *approves* of my way of doing things. Here's a hint -- I didn't even *try* to free that pathetic little shit who wanted to be your boyfriend."

Kerns rears back as much as she can in Jason's grip, blinking -- and thinking.

Yeah, *do* that, you psychotic little bitch. Think about all the ways you *could* die down here alone with me...

"I don't believe you --"

"Fine. There's this little trick I learned... oh, let's call it 'elsewhere' and leave it at that. I'm just going to give you a little pinch, and it'll make sure you're *hyper*-aware of everything around you. The rats in the walls, the sirens outside, the smell of dust -- and the feel of your body getting blown apart for every millisecond it takes for you to die. And then? I'm out of here. Because the bomb squad *isn't* gonna make it in time," Jason says, and reaches out to just *brush* the skin on the back of Kerns' neck a little --

"*Fuck* you --"

"Better people than you have said that to me. I'm curious, though. You've been alone your whole life. No one understood you, and *you* didn't understand anyone else. You didn't feel what they felt, and they sure as *fuck* didn't feel what *you* felt..."

Kerns struggles impressively, but the zip strips won't let her get anywhere or do anything notable.

"But you found good ol' Harvey, didn't you? *He* got you. Kissed you, held you, promised you things -- maybe even *kept* a few of those promises, hunh?"

"Shut *up* --"

"Right now he's all alone, surrounded by people who hate him *because* they fear him. And I made a point of telling him you were trussed up down here," Jason says, catching downy skin between his fingertips and pulling a bit. "No one will blink twice if the EMTs make a mistake with Dent, you know. He's going to die alone. But, more than that? *You'll* die alone. Just like you always knew you would. How does it feel?"

Kerns groans and shudders, then slumps against the floor.

Jason fights back *most* of the smile. "No answer for me? Well, there'll be other psychos out there. Have a nice trip to hell, Trace. Or did anyone ever call you that...?"

"Stop. Just -- I. It's the indigo wire. And the sky blue wire. Ignore the others, they're just there to look -- to make it all look complicated," she says, and a big and important part of Jason would *like* to see her eyes for this, but the rest of him knows that it would be a lot like trying to read a fucking lizard.

And not one of the friendly ones, either.

He pulls his knife and thinks about it, about what it would've been like to have the Joker trussed up and at his mercy, ready to spill anything just to avoid dying alone and without -- love. No, it falls apart. Joker is something else, altogether, and he's procrastinating.

He picks up a length of the indigo wire and folds it carefully before slicing through --

He's alive, and it's entirely possible that the sound he's hearing is Kerns crying her black little heart out. Right. Sky-blue wire --

"J, what -- get *out* of there," Tim says. "Please, it's just a building. You can take her with you if you want, but you can't trust --"

"I have to do this, R. Just -- for me."

"*Please*, I -- I can see down the stairs with the camera, but I can't see you, I can't -- please, J..."

Begging. Absolutely *begging*, but.

He *needs* this, he realizes. More than anything else. One bomb for another. One chance for another. One *life* --

"I'm sorry, R," Jason says, and cuts the other wire.

"*No*!"

Nothing happens. Nothing -- the clock stops and starts *blinking* --

And stops.

Jason breathes and throws Kerns over his shoulder, jogging up the stairs --

"God fucking *damn* you, J," and Tim is breathing hard and probably hot. He's --

I love you, too, he doesn't say, and walks out into the night, dumping Kerns on the pavement and taking off. It's an ass move to leave Dick to do the talking, but Nightwing *has* to be used to that kind of thing from the Titans.

There are other things to do tonight.

*

He spends the rest of the night patrolling in widening spirals with Tim periodically giving updates about the injured officers and running down a list of abandoned greenhouses and arboretums for them to look into. Dick gets through three of them, and Jason...

Hasn't been back to his base in over a day.

When he *does* get there, the sun is almost up, but the place is dark and cold. Empty.

There's no sign that the sensor has gone off, and no sign that it hasn't.

Jason gives himself an hour to work his blown-out brain to figure out a way for it *to* leave a sign --

And another half hour to fight with himself over the question of whether he'd actually want to *know* if he'd missed anything.

In the end, he's on the bike and heading back out to the manor against the tide of rush hour traffic, needing and not having, wanting and thinking too much --

Too *much*, because Tim is getting some much-needed rest and he can't go there. Not until --

Not ever?

He can't think about that, either, but Gothamites *expect* vehicles that look like this to break every law there is. Hell, they even *like* it -- especially if said vehicle is heading in the opposite direction *they* are.

He pulls into the Cave, parks, and just -- gives himself a minute, letting his head hang and breathing, not thinking.

Just breathing.

And when he takes off his helmet, Tim is right there staring at him, body tense and eyes fucking *bruised*-looking.

"Why aren't you home and sleeping?"

"Tim Drake got up early today. It happens -- for all that Mrs. Mac knows. Why did you do it?"

No need to ask which it right now... or is there? "Tim --"

"You trained me to brutal, precise, and never, never reckless. *You* did that --"

"I did. And I wasn't being reckless, Tim -- I had her."

"Had her. Really. A psychopath who'd managed -- despite the kind of mental damage that *regularly* lands people in Arkham -- to trick her way out of any number of opportunities for psychiatric care. Did you know that her parents tried and failed to have her committed twice? They're dead now -- extremely suspiciously -- and she was *still* walking free," Tim says, shaking his head and clenching his jaw. "But you... had her."

"Yes. I did. And --"

"And you're a lying *asshole*, Jason, but I can't tell if you're lying to both of us or just to me. Maybe when I can I'll be a *real* detective," and Tim turns to walk away, which --

No. Jason gets off the bike and catches Tim by the shoulder, dancing back -- for a strike that doesn't come.

Tim's just standing there, all but fucking *vibrating* with tension -- "Let me go."

"I wasn't lying. You interrupted before I could tell you the *rest* of the truth," Jason says, and knows that Tim's listening by the way he gets even *more* tense for a beat --

Another -- "Tell me."

"Look at me," Jason says, and squeezes Tim's shoulder. "*See* me."

Tim sucks in a breath and turns around, showing Jason all the anger, all the *hurt* --

"I guess there was no way you were sleeping tonight," Jason says, and can't keep himself from thinking about all the nights when the *only* thing which could take him under was the feel of Bruce's weight on him, the sound of ruthlessly even breathing and the scent of the man who loved him, whether or not he should've done anything of the kind -- "I miss you."

Tim snarls -- blanks his face. "Tell me."

Yeah. That. "I needed it. There was time enough for me to get free, but I *needed* it. Dead cops, that fuckup of a boyfriend, Gordon finally putting a bullet in the man who killed my father... and my own death. The memories of it that can't seem to decide whether to be burned on my brain or gone in that final wash of light and heat -- I." Jason grips both of Tim's shoulders. "I needed it. I had to try, and I could say something about how there would've been flying debris taking out the rescue workers, how the destruction of Central would've sent police work back *years* in this city --"

"Stop. *Lying* --"

"All right. All right," Jason says, and drops into a crouch. "I had to prove I could do it. For *me*. That I could break someone without using my fists and that I could handle a -- a fucking *bomb*. And maybe that's juvenile --"

"It's stupid, callous, and *selfish*, Jason, and I can't believe you can't *see* that --"

"I'm just another street punk, kid --"

Tim knocks Jason's hands off his shoulders, and --

The motion that ends with Tim's little knife hovering just beyond his *eye* is something he could've stopped, but -- "Fuck, I love the way you move --"

"*Shut* up. You're not *just* anything, Jason -- except for when you *let* yourself, fucking give yourself *leave* to shut your brain off and let your muscles do all the thinking. *If* you let anything do the thinking, at all --"

"I was never the fucking *smart* one, Tim. That's *you* --"

"I *am* smart. Smart enough to know what I'm looking at, and that? Is someone who looked around, saw that things were fucked up and *difficult*, and decided to let them stay that way. Because it was *easier* than doing something about it --"

"I'm never going to *fix* Bruce. *No* one can --"

"But you can fix the world around him? Build him a *better* Robin? One who can love him and still protect himself, because you'll teach him -- teach *me* -- all about the pain?"

"Fucking *yes* --"

"Well, you *did* teach me, Jason. But I'm not some fucking robot you can program and forget --"

"I *know* you're not, Tim --"

"No, you don't. Because if you *did* know it, you'd realize that there are some things I just can't let *stand* --"

"Hey, you two, no knife-play outside the bedroom," Dick says, and he's moving toward them with his hands up and a seriously worried look on his face --

"*Back* off, Dick. I'm sorry, but Jason and I are having this *out*," and Tim never actually turns *away* from Jason, so he doesn't see Dick blinking and staring --

"Um. Guys? Look, I'll be the *first* to say that you need to talk --"

"It's okay, Big Bird. It's -- he *probably* won't actually stab me. Much."

And the corners of Tim's mouth *twitch*, which is, as far as he's concerned, a victory for the fucking *ages* -- but his knife hand never so much as shifts.

"Okay. I'm gonna go... over there, by the medical supplies," Dick says, and goes.

"All right, baby bro. You're clear. What else do you need to say to me?"

"Did you think about -- anyone when you were risking your life *completely* unnecessarily? No, fuck that, did you think about *me*?"

"Tim --"

*Answer* me."

Jason closes his eyes -- opens them again. "No. But --"

"No fucking *buts*, Jay. What the hell do you think I would've done if I lost you?"

"I thought you *wanted* to lose me, kid --"

"'Kid.' Right. That's okay -- I know that means I fucking well hit home -- and it's about time."

Jason -- breathes. Thinks -- *tries* to think, but it's all a fucking tangle again. He *had* needed to defuse that fucking bomb, even more than he'd needed to break Kerns for putting them all *through* this shit. It's part of who he *is* --

And just as soon as he figures out the other parts, he can --

Something. Definitely fucking *something*. He stands up and heads for the changing area --

"Where are you going."

"If I'm *going* to be awake, then I'm *going* to train."

"You asshole. You complete and total *fucking* asshole --"

"I'm loving the cursing," Jason says, shrugging off his jacket and setting it on a work table --

"I love *you*. And I really want to change that right now, but I *can't*. I -- you said you *needed* me, Jay!"

Jason stops, clenching his hands into fists and not striking and *not* saying the first seventeen things that pop into his brain. "I do."

"Then *act* like it --"

"*How*? What the hell do you *want* from me, Tim?" Jason turns back to face Tim, and yeah, he's looming a little, and that's fucking *impolite*, but Tim can take it. "You know me. You know me better than probably *anyone* else -- including Bruce. If you want me? You have to *live* with that --"

"*You* have to live with it, too, Jason --"

"God, just give up and *call* me Jay all the time. It's my name, it's my -- it's the only fucking thing I can *give* --" Jason growls and pushes a hand back through his hair. "Please."

Tim glares at him, *into* him -- "Jay. Jay. You have to live with it, with *yourself*. You have to know exactly who you are --"

"*Working* on it, kid --"

"Work *faster*. Because if I were Batman, I'd fucking *bench* you for that shit last night. You 'needed' it. Fine. Think about *why* --"

"I *know* why, Tim. I died that way --"

"You died because you got beaten by a madman and his cronies until you were only fractionally conscious and *then* blown up. What's next? Letting someone beat on you so you can prove that *this* time you can handle it?"

That's -- not. It's *not*. "Tim --"

"Jesus, Jay. You are *fucked* in the head. I am, *too*, and certainly Dick and Bruce have their issues, but you -- I think you may very well take the fucking *cake*. You have nothing to *prove*!"

Jason crosses his arms over his chest --

"And *don't* give me that 'I'm older and wiser' bullshit. You're older and *fucked*. You. Have. Nothing. To. *Prove* --"

"Not even that I love you?"

Tim rears back, but fuck if that's *ever* not a point he wants to score. Just --

"Dammit, Tim, I do. I love you *and* I need you --"

"Then let me -- God, Jay, please let me in. I need *you*. You've made me -- I could never have *been* what I am now without you. I *like* who I am -- for the most part --"

"You should like *all* of you --"

"God. I -- *God*," Tim says, backing up and shaking his head.

"Tim?"

"Is that what it is, Jay? Does some part of you -- are you *hating* yourself for some reason? I. It would explain one hell of a lot, but I don't *want* it to."

Jason bites the inside of his lip and reaches for Tim, cupping his face --

Fuck, it feels like *forever* since he's done this, since he's been *able* to do this --

"You feel so good --"

"Jay. Please -- please tell me --"

"That I don't hate myself? I can't do that, Tim. I can't -- ever. I've seen too much -- I've *done* too much, kid. Tim. Baby... okay, no, I won't call you baby. So long as I can stop myself. I --" Jason laughs quietly and strokes Tim's cheekbone with his thumb. "I've done too much," he says, again, and then forces himself to let go --

Tim catches his hand and holds it, squeezes it hard -- "Forgive yourself."

"Tim --"

"Just -- do it. Please. Before you do something else too stupid for words. Before you let yourself drift on your own distractions and fucking *maunderings*, drift so far that you do something else --"

"Terrible, Tim? What happens if --" When. "What happens if Bruce can't save your parents?"

And for a moment Tim only stares at him, and God help him, but it feels *good*, feels like pressing down hard on a bruise, or running scalding hot water over an insect bite until the itch *is* a burn, until -- shit, he's fucked up, but at least he knows --

Tim knows --

Tim is... laughing. Quietly at first, but it gets louder and more fucking *raucous* by the second.

"Tim, are you -- okay, I know you're not *okay*, but --"

"Relax, Jay? Is that what I should do? God, a part of you actually *wants* us to fail. To 'crash and burn' as Dick quoted you to me. And you know -- I could live with that if you *didn't* love me. I think -- no, I know, now, that you do. Because you can't stand *yourself*, and I'm about as far from you as anyone could get -- except when I'm not," Tim says, and steps close again, craning his head back to look Jason in the eye. "If Bruce fails, then you get what you want -- in several different ways. You get me further *in* to this world-*class* family of ours, you get me away from the people who you think hurt me --"

"They *did* hurt you --"

Tim waves him off. "You *also* get a real good reason to run away again, don't you? Because I'll just never, ever forgive you, right?"

Fuck, fuck -- Jason nods.

Tim nods back. "All right. Here: I forgive you for being a colossal fuckup who doesn't know a good thing when it's handed to him. I forgive you for being frightened all the time, because I am, too. I forgive you for all your efforts to make me even *more* scared and damaged than I already was, because I can damned well *recognize* when something's good for the Mission --"

"Tim. Tim, don't. You shouldn't --"

"Oh, I know I shouldn't," Tim says, and his smile is fucking *ghastly* and bright. "Believe me, I know. Because I've known my whole life what it *looks* like when two people can't figure out how to love each other the *right* way. I forgive you for all of it -- on one condition."

He wants -- he wants so fucking *much* -- "I'm listening."

"*Cope*, Jay. Don't run away from yourself, anymore -- even if you have to run away from me."

That... it's not -- "It's not that easy. I have a lot to run away *from*."

Tim picks up Jason's hand and brings it back to his face. "Not here. If you don't want to listen to the boy whose head you *thoroughly* twisted -- ask Dick. Ask Bruce... all right, no, *don't* ask Bruce. You probably think he can't see anything clearly with regards to yourself, and I can't say that I don't see where you would have a point there. But Dick isn't in love with you the way we are."

"Dick's *nice* --"

"Yes, he is. He's also Nightwing, and I strongly suspect he's as tired of your bullshit as I am."

Jason closes his eyes and nods. He can't really --

But what if he could?

It's possibly the most terrifying thought he's had in *either* of his lives, but it's there.

It's there.

Jason picks Tim up and carries him to a work-table, sweeping away a clear space before setting him down.

Tim raises an eyebrow at him.

Jason kisses him, soft and slow until Tim's arms are wrapped around his neck and then as hard as he wants, slipping his tongue in and tasting coffee and something sweeter, better -- Tim pulls back.

"Training. And -- time," Tim says, smiling ruefully. "I think I need to have a small breakdown with regards to what I've chosen to do with my life."

"And who you've decided to do it with?"

"That, too. I -- I'll do anything for you, Jay. Except watch you self-immolate."

A part of Jason only wants to ask if Tim would kill for him, wants to see Tim rear back again, make all the hurt and damage in the kid *force* him back from the ledge he's on -- protect.

But who -- and *what* -- would he really be protecting?

Jason shoves that part of him down into the dirt a little and nods, instead. And kisses Tim's forehead --

And lets his lips stay there for just a little while longer. "Need you."

"Have me, Jay. All of me."

Jason pushes his hands into Tim's hair and holds on until Tim pushes him back.

Training.

He spars with Dick while Tim is on the weights, taking the long, searching looks as a given until he can't stand it anymore and tells Dick *exactly* what Tim had said to him, and most of what he'd said in return.

When he's done, Dick sighs in relief and proceeds to do his best to pound Jason into the mats while Jason returns the favor. Dick has him on speed and flexibility, he has Dick on strength and nastiness, and, in the end, Tim is watching them go and very clearly taking any number of mental notes.

They call time simultaneously and make Tim attack both of them, forcing Tim to chase them all over the mats until he starts getting sloppy, which --

"Wait, wait, wait," Dick says, frowning at Tim. "You're *exhausted*, little brother."

Jason snorts. "*Try* not to make that sound like an accusation, Big Bird -- he's a growing boy --"

"*Don't* make excuses for me," Tim says, and that was nearly a *growl* -- "Oh, hell, I always act like my -- I always get *pissy* when I'm this tired."

Uh, huh and also *right*. The only question is whether he was going to say 'mother' or 'father.' Jason lets it lie and makes a stand-down gesture at Dick as subtly as he can --

"Don't fucking treat me like a child --" Tim growls again. "I think. I think I may need --"

"A *nap*, yes," Dick says, and pounces on Tim and starts tearing at his clothes. Which --

"How many times have you had *this* fantasy, kid?"

"I *haven't*. I -- Dick, I can take off -- ow, that's my *head* --"

And all right, there's definitely something about watching Tim trying -- and failing -- to crawl away from a seriously determined Dick. Jason flanks Tim and pushes him further into Dick's arms. And legs.

It doesn't make the stripping process any more efficient, but it makes Tim make that huffing noise --

"God, that's so cute I might *die*," Dick says, grinning like a maniac and shoving his hands down Tim's shorts --

"Yeep -- I -- I might *stab* you --"

"Shush, you love it," Dick says, crawling *over* Tim and pinning him with his body while he works on Tim's shoes and socks.

Tim lies back and takes it.

"Aw, c'mon, baby bro! Put up a fight! We *like* it when you do."

Tim glares at him.

Jason smiles and watches the show, and then joins it when it gets to the showers, where Dick completely fails to let Tim wash himself -- and completely succeeds in getting distracted while soaping Tim's tackle.

"Oh -- *God*, that's -- Dick, I'm *clean* --"

Jason pushes a hand into Tim's wet hair and tilts his head back for a kiss --

Another --

Tim *shouts* into Jason's mouth, shaking all over, and -- yeah. *Upstairs*.

Tim has enough of his brain left to insist on robes, and Jason can't say that's a bad idea. They head straight for Dick's room, and Dick crouches in front of Tim and grabs his ankles. Oh... heh.

Jason grabs Tim's wrists and they lift him together --

"Hey, what -- oh my God, I'm not *five* --"

"And that's a *good* thing, little brother," Dick says, and they swing him once --

Twice --

Onto the bed with a *healthy* bounce --

"I hate you *both*," Tim says, scrambling up onto his knees *just* in time for Jason to slam him back down to the bed with his third-favorite tackle. Tim grunts for him and scowls --

And his eyes are dancing and bright -- and just a little hectic from exhaustion.

"Jay..."

"Look at you. Anyone would want you, want to *feel* you --"

"I -- if you say so --"

"Oh, he *really* does," Dick says, and eyes his bedside table. "I don't think I *want* to know if there's any lubricant in there."

Jason snickers. "Schrödinger's gay porno?"

Dick flips him off. "I'm just going to steal Bruce's. I'm *okay* with the fact that I am, at base, a coward."

"Yeah, well. We *maybe* should let the kid sleep," Jason says, and makes a point of *gently* lifting Tim's arms above his head and pinning them against the comforter.

"I -- really don't think I'd *get* to sleep --"

"You definitely would," Dick says. "That's just how your body *works* right about now. But... I don't know, guys. I think we could use a little recreation."

It's Dick, and he's asking for sex. "Okay, you've talked me into it. Get the slick," Jason says, and licks Tim's cheeks, one after the other --

"We just *showered* --"

"And now you're going to get *dirty* again, kid. C'mon, you know the drill."

"I. I suppose I do," Tim says, and smiles up at him just like Jason is someone good, someone worth all the fucking *pain* --

Jason shakes his head and bites the line of Tim's jaw, bites his throat and his shoulder, bites his throat *again* and then works his way down Tim's chest and abdomen. He's lean and he's *hard*, a solid if thin layer of muscle covering his ribs and giving him a respectable little wingspan for someone his size. "*Mine*."

Tim bucks and moans, and Dick had gotten him *nice* and hard, but Jason doesn't really know what he *wants* -- other than every possible thing at once. He kneels up and strokes Tim's chest --

He *starts* to stroke Tim's chest, but Dick kisses him hard, kisses him down to the bed and once again crawls *over* Tim to get the maximum amount of body contact. Still, Tim can sit up and he does -- and does *something* that makes Dick groan into Jason's mouth and start to *grind*. Which --

Jason *can* guess, but where would be the fun in *that*? He strokes his way down Dick's back to his ass, and there's a hard little hand *working* in Dick's cleft -- circling and pushing on Dick's hole. Mm. Jason pulls out of the kiss and tugs on Dick's head until he's mouthing Jason's neck --

"I can't... this seemed like a very good idea," Tim says, sounding both pleased and a lot *younger* than he has for the last several *hours*.

God, just let him *keep* this -- "Playing with Dick's ass is *always* a good idea, Tim. In fact --" Jason gives Dick a nice, hard *slap* -- and then *grunts* because Dick thrusts *hard* against him --

"Oh. I. I think I want you to do that again, Jay --"

"Anything you say --"

"Hey, I -- don't I get a *vote*?" And Dick sounds honestly *affronted*, but --

"You started it, Big Bird. You were -- in fact -- naughty as *hell*," Jason says, and starts *spanking* Dick, which is something that had occurred to him exactly *never*, but Tim's giving him that hot and *hungry* look, sweet like the first kiss of a blade and twice as dangerous --

"Oh -- *fuck*," Dick says, writhing and bucking -- "I usually only let *Kory* do this --"

"And *thank* you for that image, Dick, because it's sure as fuck gonna keep me warm at night," and they rearrange themselves with what feels like a lot of extra limbs until Dick is over Jason's lap and Tim is between Dick's long, pretty legs.

"I would just like to state for the record that -- oh my *God*, your thumb feels good, little brother --"

"Good to know," Tim says, and *twists* his thumb a little --

Dick grunts and *starts* to get up on his knees --

And goes *right* back down again when Jason starts spanking in earnest --

"*Jesus*, you guys -- uh. I hope. Hope you don't want me to be quiet --"

"Not even a *little*, Big Bird. And let me just take this -- heh -- *opportunity* to say that your ass is *inspiring*."

Tim hums. "You aren't a little worried about what it's inspiring you to *do*, Jay?"

"Nope. Everybody needs spankies sometimes."

Dick gasps on a laugh. "Spankies. Really. Is that what he called it -- oh, *God*. I -- did he ever do this to you, Tim?"

"No. And now I can't help feeling neglected --"

"Just *wait*, baby bro," Jason says, thinking about it -- and then using his free hand to pull Tim in for a kiss, nice and hard and deep... and so very *much* better for the moan Tim gives him --

Dick cries *out* --

Tim pulls out of the kiss and looks Dick *over*, eyes glittering and hand fucking *pumping*.

"Why don't you get the lube and do this *right*, Tim?"

"I. Um -- okay, yes," Tim says, pulling out carefully and grabbing the slick --

"*Hurry*," Dick says. "I -- somehow it feels like a *year* since I've had something up me --"

Tim grunts, dick twitching as he pours kind of a *lot* of lube all over his fingers, and --

Heh. "You've never fucked anyone, Tim."

"Um. Well. You would -- know," Tim says, blushing hard and stroking slick up and down Dick's cleft --"

"Ooh. Do you want to?" And Dick grins back over his shoulder and *works* his ass --

"Oh -- God. I think. I kind of think -- I can't last. At all," and Tim almost looks *panicked*.

Jason leans in and bites Tim's shoulder. "Not what he asked."

"I just -- I have to." Tim pushes in with his *finger* instead of his thumb --

Dick groans --

"Oh, God. He's clenching, Jay. Dick, you're *clenching* around me --"

"Nnh. Yeah. Think about how that would feel on your little friend. Think about how *I* would feel --"

"Oh, *fuck*," and Tim's coming, spattering Dick's ass and Jason's hand --

Pulling out and *whimpering* --

"Ohh, little brother. Okay, maybe that was too much?" Dick laughs and turns over, sitting up and kissing Tim all over his face --

"Definitely too much," Jason says, and joins in the kiss, making it as messy as he possibly can --

"But -- mmm. Something to think about for another *time*."

"Think *deeply*," and Jason grips Tim's slick hand and gets enough of the lube on his own fingers that he can reach and push two into Tim --

"Oh, *God* -- fuck, please, *please* --"

"*Hell* yes," Dick says. "Let's get him hard again *fast*, little wing --"

"*On* it, Big Bird," and it's just easier and *better* to get Tim into his lap, spread him over it so he can face Dick and get kissed over and over --

God, Dick's *mouth*, and Jason knows what it's like, he's finally gotten to *have* that, but he knows it must be even more incredible for Tim. No one kisses like Dick, no one puts as much into every single *one*. And it must be...

Jason can *see* it. All those years growing up here, getting to be a man dressed in boy's clothes and dreaming of a chance to show Bruce the way it *should* work, of showing him everything, all the desire and all the *hope* --

"Can you feel it, Tim?"

Tim nods and moans into Dick's mouth, presses back against Jason's hand --

Mmm. "Just -- it's *Dick* --"

Dick pulls back -- "Don't *start* that, Jay --"

"Shut up and deal with how incredible you are --"

"Certainly," Dick says, and smiles kind of *meanly*. "About five minutes after you do the same."

"I."

But Dick's kissing Tim again, tugging on his hair with one hand --

And the other is stroking Jason's *working* hand, petting it and almost feeling it *up*, urging faster, more --

Until Tim is gasping and almost *shouting* into Dick's mouth, shaking all over... yeah. Jason reaches between Tim and Dick, strokes down to give Dick a friendly little squeeze and to just *touch* Tim.

Impossible to tell if he'd gotten soft, because he's hard now and getting harder, bigger and better, and Jason doesn't know if he could handle Tim fucking him without losing his mind altogether, without needing a lot more right then and there --

Dick. And the fact that Jason has a free hand is a *wonderful* fact, because Tim had gotten Dick slick *enough* --

"*Jay* --"

"Just getting you ready, Big Bird --"

Dick grins and gasps, eyes closed but tracking fast behind the lids --

"You're inside both of us," Tim says, and he sounds wondering, happy, *hungry* --

"All the birdboys I can *handle*," and Jason licks the back of Tim's neck, drags his teeth and nuzzles a little --

"You're. The one who calls himself *Jay* --"

"Ha fucking ha, Dick. Gordon gets away with that --"

"Because he's the Commissioner and you have -- mm -- *so* much respect for that -- oh, do that again, little wing --"

"Do I need to spank you again?"

Dick opens his eyes and grins wider, licking his lips exactly like *sometimes* he knows just how dead fucking sexy he is. "I don't know. Do you?"

Jason shakes his head. "Okay, so now I want more *arms* --"

"That -- would be deeply disturbing," Tim says, resting his head back against Jason's shoulder and *moving* like Dick, hips curving and grinding and making Jason's fuck that much more incredible for both of them --

"God, I need to fuck *somebody*," Jason says, wondering if it would be too weird to try to bite Tim's scalp --

"I have -- a suggestion," and Tim clenches *hard* around Jason's fingers --

Dick moans and grabs Tim's face, kissing him again and not even *pausing* the motion of his hips, which --

He has Dick and Tim *on* his hands, he's fucking them both and he wants more, which means that he's either the greediest asshole in the world or extremely sane. It's a tough call, though it might be easier if he wasn't hard enough to fucking *brain* somebody --

And Dick reaches back and grabs Jason's wrist, humming into Tim's mouth before pulling back. "Pull out, Jay, let me -- heh. Turn *around*."

Dick has wonderful, beautiful, awesome ideas, and Jason can *go* with them -- especially when they end with Dick on his hands and knees and shaking his ass at them. "*Jesus*, Dick --"

"He'll last a little while *this* time," Dick says. "C'mon, little brother -- aim and *fire*."

Tim moans and grabs Dick's hips, kneeling up and pulling away -- except that Jason has to kiss him again, has to fuck that pretty mouth with his tongue while he takes another few strokes with his fingers... okay, he can cope now.

"Slick your dick for us, Tim."

"*Nnh* -- okay. I can do that. I can -- thank you," he says, when Jason slaps the bottle in his hand. "I just -- are you sure I'm big enough? To... make this work?"

"Score one point for me *not* convincing Bruce to fuck me stupid every day," Dick says, and licks his lips. "Sometimes Kory and I get a little crazy, little brother, but... ah. You felt me. My ass isn't going to suddenly turn into *Jay's*."

"Oh, fuck off, Big Bird," and Jason snorts. "I'm not the goddamned Aparo Tunnel --"

"Fuck *on*. Me. Okay, that didn't work, but -- tell me you're already nice and slick, Tim --"

"*Ohn*. I -- I am now. If you're sure --"

"He's sure, all right. And -- heh. *Let* me help," Jason says, wrapping his free hand around Tim and guiding --

"God. *God*, I -- I can't think. It's too -- much. I can't really --"

"It's okay, little brother. I *promise* you'll do fine --"

"What he said, Tim. Trust me when I say that *this*? Comes natural."

"Oh. Okay. I'll just -- um. Oh my *God*, Dick, you feel -- just against me --"

"I feel *you*, hard and hot... mm. Tease me a little?"

Tim grunts again and shudders, closing his eyes -- and brushing Jason's hand away from himself so he can drag his dick over and *over* Dick's hole.

"Fucking *A*, that looks good," and Jason strokes Tim's hip and *forces* himself to hold his other hand still inside him --

"I think you should probably -- God, Tim, like that, just like that -- I think. Jason, you should fuck Tim *into* me --"

"I think you're a very -- smart man. Um. It's just that I can't really handle much more in the way of... ah. Preparation. Without coming again," Tim says, biting his lip and *still* dragging his dick. Just -- damn.

"You think you can take me without it, Tim?"

"God, yes -- wait, that might've been my id talking. Um. Um. Please? Wait --"

Dick laughs and shoves back against Tim. "I say we go with 'yes' and you just take it *easy* on my little brother, Jay --"

"I think I can do that," Jason says, and pulls out, slicking himself up *thoroughly* before pouring some lube down Tim's cleft --

Tim jumps and *pushes* --

"Oh, *God*, Tim, yes, do it, *in* me --"

"*Dick*, I --" Tim shakes his head and pushes the rest of the way in -- "God, I want to be *bigger* --"

Dick laughs and gasps. "You'll *grow*. But right now you feel perfect. Jesus, Jay, you really need to *do* this --"

"Yeah, well, you *always* come first, Big Bird. Damn, I -- can you hold still, Tim?"

"Nuh. I. Maybe? Possibly. If I put my mind to it oh God *clench* --"

"Should I apologize, little brother?"

"*Never*," Tim says, sounding fervent and just a little blown. He's just going to get *more* so, and yeah, Jason has to be a part of that.

"Let go of Dick's hips for a minute and spread yourself for me, baby bro. My hands are too slick --"

"Right. Okay. Yes," and Tim does it, opening right up for him and making it fucking *necessary* to do some teasing of his own -- "Oh, please, Jay, I can't -- it feels too good --"

"Even just this tease?"

"I -- feel sensitive. Exposed -- I don't know. It's a little much," Tim says, and a part of Jason only wants to find a way to make that feeling more intense, to *push* Tim, but --

He doesn't have to. He already knows Tim will go *exactly* as far as Jason needs him to -- and farther than that. And maybe it's a fucked up kind of gentle to start pushing in with his dick, to open Tim up *that* way, the best way, God, just let him --

"*Jay* -- *Dick* --"

"Ooh, is he in you, little brother?"

"*Yes* -- I mean, almost. Fuck, I -- I'm *not* stretched enough -- don't *stop* --"

Jason wraps one arm around Tim's chest and gets the other into Dick's cleft, teasing that hole he's thought about for fucking *years* --

"*Oh*, yeah," Dick says, tossing his head a little and making his pony tail shift on his back --

Tim *grabs* it and tugs --

"One *more* reason to never, ever cut my hair," Dick says, and there's a laugh in his voice. "You like that, little brother?"

"So. Silky. I -- it's your *hair*," and Tim sounds like he's trying *hard* to explain something important, but that his dick is very much in the way.

Understandable. *Completely* understandable. "Tug on it again, baby bro. Let me see -- yeah, like that --"

Tim whimpers and wraps Dick's hair around his fist, tugging until Dick has his head tilted back, until Dick's panting --

"*Fuck* me, little brother --"

"I -- I -- words not. *Yes*," Tim says, and pushes back on Jason *hard* --

"Jesus, Tim, go easy on yourself --"

"Sorry. I mean I'm not. I mean oh, *God* --" And Tim's moving, jerky and a little spastic at first, but it really doesn't take long before he's throwing his head back and just *doing* it, giving it to both of them, taking it --

Jason cups Tim's throat and kisses his cheek, squeezing a little every time Tim pulls most of the way off of him, for every time he's pushing *into* Dick -- who is moaning and grinding just like maybe he *hadn't* given it up to fucking Superman a lot more than *once* --

Or, who knows, maybe the big alien pervert doesn't like that too much. Either way, Dick sounds fantastic, and Tim sounds even better, getting even more vocal than usual. He's grunting and whimpering --

He's going *faster*, and Jason's dick wants him to know that he *could* be moving, that he *should* be moving, joining the fucking party --

And it really *is* a fucking party --

"God, just like -- Tim, that's so good, *so* good. Give it to me harder," Dick says, tugging against the grip Tim has on his hair and moaning louder -- and clenching *hard*, judging by the way Tim freezes and shouts.

"Don't stop, Tim, c'mon, give it to us --"

"I -- I don't want to *come* --"

"But *we* want you to," and Dick turns his head to grin again. "Right in me. Hot and *wet* --"

"S-stop. Please, Dick. I can't -- I. I'll keep moving," Tim says, and Jason wants to try to *convince* him to let Dick talk dirty as much as he *wants*, but it's Tim's show right now, and it's not like Jason doesn't understand. The first few times he'd fucked people, he'd wanted the entire *world* to shut up so he could concentrate --

Oh, that's *Tim* clenching around him, movements stuttering but *not* stopping --

Jason squeezes Tim's chest. "Good boy. *Best* fucking boy --"

"Yours. Yours. Always. I mean that I lied. I mean --"

Jason kisses Tim's forehead and squeezes harder. "It's okay, I promise -- don't stop, okay? I'm gonna need to... need to move soon --"

"God, Jay, don't hold back, don't -- I want you to *move* me --"

"Fuck, hell, *listen* to the kid, Jay --"

"I thought you said go *easy*, Big Bird --"

"I was -- hnh. I was clearly out of my *mind*. *Never* listen to me when I say things like that --"

Tim laughs and groans. *Jason* laughs and *rocks*, just enough to shove Tim into Dick and *keep* him there --

"Jesus *fuck*," Dick says, and -- "Okay, now I sound like *you* --"

"Gonna wash your mouth out with *cock*, Dick --"

And Tim's sounds start rising, doing that *spiraling* thing that always means he's *really* close to losing it -- and he's bucking now, shoving back against Jason again and again --

Dick claws at the comforter --

Tim reaches back with his free hand and grabs Jason's hip, stroking and scratching at it -- "*More* --"

"Anything you *want*," Jason says, letting loose and opening *up*, and it feels like he's been waiting years for this, fucking *decades*, and part of that has to do with the fact that he's in love with the boy currently speared on his dick, but most of it is just the fact that *this* is happening, that they can all *do* this instead of brooding in their fucking separate corners.

His body knows that he has to take this while he *can*, absolutely all of it right now *and* whenever else he can get it --

Tim shouts --

Tim shouts *again*, raking his short nails over Jason's hip before grabbing Dick's again --

"God, yeah, *hold* me, little brother --"

"*Dick* -- it's so good, I can't *stop* --"

"*That* means you're doin' it right, baby bro," and Jason gets his hands on *Tim's* hips, making Tim fuck Dick harder --

"God, Jay, I know that's *you* --"

"Yeah, you can -- fuck, you can *feel* me --"

"*Using* me," Tim says, and it's possible that there was going to be *more* of that, but Tim's grunting and moaning, shuddering --

"Don't come yet, little brother, don't --"

"*Trying*, I -- *please*, Dick, Jay --"

"I've got you," Jason says, and lets go of Tim's hip for *just* long enough to give Tim's sac a little yank --

Tim *screams* --

"*Jesus*, little wing, what -- what did you *do*?"

"Heh. Slowed things *down*," and Jason emphasizes his point by making *Tim* slow down --

"God. *Fuck*," and Dick is shaking his head and shoving back against Tim --

Tim's coughing out groan after groan and *struggling* against Jason's hold --

"*Rhythm*," Jason says, and all of a sudden it's really damned hard to explain, to think of the words -- but Dick *has* his rhythm, pushing back against Tim every time Jason thrusts *in* --

Another shout from Tim and he unwinds his hand from Dick's hair, stroking Dick's back, scratching at it -- "*Please* --"

"Can't -- I don't think I can --" Dick shakes his head again, shakes it like a fucking dog -- "*Faster*, Jay --"

And he could *argue* with his body for treating that like an order from on fucking high, but he really doesn't want to. Not when it makes Tim throw his head back like that and not when it makes Dick kneel up and start *riding* Tim --

"*Oh* --" And Tim wraps his arms around Dick's chest and holds on, kissing and licking, biting and sucking --

Jason's *mouth* is watering, but he can *fix* that. He bends in and starts mouthing Tim's shoulders, the damp and salty column of his throat -- can't bite there, and usually it's just something to remember in between bouts of having as much sex with Tim as he can *stand*, but right now it feels like a fucking *tragedy* --

Wait, Tim's been saying he *does* have a girlfriend --

But just to his so-called "best friend." Right. He tells himself to fucking *cope*, but how is he supposed to do that with Dick urging them on even faster and with Tim treating the -- gorgeous, he *has* to admit -- lines of Dick's back like a banquet with only one *guest*?

The answer is: Not.

Not at *all*, because Dick might be going faster, but *he* can go *harder* --

"*Jay* --"

He can make Tim shout for him, for *both* of them --

"*Close*. I'm -- tug on me again, or --"

"*No*," Dick says, reaching back to stroke Tim. "Just let go, Tim, it's okay. I want to *feel* you --"

"But --"

"*Listen* to the man, kid," and Jason bites Tim's ear, tugs on it with his teeth, *licks* --

And listens to Tim grunt and whimper some more. Just -- he has to be hurting *and* feeling like this is the best day in his life, which makes Jason ache for him all over, makes him sympathize and want Tim to have the best of everything he can fucking *manage* --

And the noises start getting closer to screams again, high-pitched and --

"God, he always sounds *terrifying* like this, little wing --"

"Heh. You mean he sounds *young* --"

"That, *too*. And I feel like this should be *stopping* me, somehow --"

"*No*," Tim says, clutching Dick harder and fucking him off-rhythm and actually kind of *brutal* --

"Oh, God, never *mind*," Dick says, laughing and moaning. "Just do *that*."

Which -- a *good* fraction of Jason wants to be able to stop doing his *own* fucking, because he doesn't want to chance *interrupting* Tim giving it to Dick hard, but --

That's not gonna happen. Not now, and possibly not any of the times they wind *up* in this position --

Let it happen again, and again after that. Let it be *this*, because family can't ever be as fucked up as it feels, or --

He doesn't *know*, but at times like this he doesn't *have* to. It's just his body and his emotions, and if both of them are going a little crazy right now --

Dick is letting his mouth hang open, letting them *fuck* noise out of him --

Tim is clutching Dick like maybe he'll try to get *away* --

And Jason is giving it all he's fucking *got*, because Tim can always take it, Tim is so fucking *good* --

"*Love* --"

And that's the last thing Tim says before he goes rigid and starts *slamming* between them, back onto Jason and as deep as he can *get* into Dick --

Dick groans -- "*Yes*, oh that's so *good*, little brother --"

"*Always*," Jason says, and bites the back of Tim's neck because he *has* to --

Tim slumps between them and twitches a few times -- "Nnn -- please?"

And that actually sounds a lot like a cry for *mercy*, which Tim never asks for --

Tim whimpers in *pain* --

"Whoa, hey, can you handle this, little brother?"

"I -- could. Try -- ow. Ah --"

"Time," Jason says, *forcing* his hips to still while Dick knee-walks forward and turns, pulling Tim into his arms --

"You probably need a little while. Or a *nap*," Dick says, laughing and stroking Tim's back, and --

Tim reaches for *him*, which is -- still a lot. And probably will always *be* a lot. Jason takes his hand and does his own knee-walking until they're sandwiching Tim. Dick rocks them back and forth and moans softly -- probably for the feel of his dick pressed against Tim's abdomen.

Jason isn't *quite* nestled in Tim's cleft, but God, it would be sweet --

"I just -- sorry. I don't mean to --"

"You're *not* punking out, kid," Jason says, and kisses the top of Tim's head. "Why don't you just relax over there while Dick and I get sticky? Stickier."

"Mmm, yeah. I think that's an excellent plan," and Dick pulls back and starts *moving* Tim --

And it's probably the best possible proof of just *how* fucked-out Tim is that he doesn't make even a token protest. And once *he's* situated, Dick grins at Jason and looks him up and down.

Jason raises his eyebrows.

Dick licks his lips.

It's not *much* of a wrestling match, considering the fact that they're both trying to a) stay on the bed and b) not run Tim *over*, but it feels fantastic. Body to body, skin to skin, dick to dick until they're working together, rubbing off and just feeling each other --

"Wait, no," Dick says. "I'm about as prepped as I'm going to *get* right now, Jay. Get *in* me."

Jason thrusts *hard* against him --

"I can see that you see the wisdom of my words," Dick says, rearing up to lick Jason's chin.

"Dick, are you --"

"Yes, I really, *really* am. I --" He shakes his head and grins. "Kory *instructed* me to -- and I'm quoting -- 'make love until your entire insane family can no longer stand anything of the kind.' And then she offered to help. And I *know* you're about to bitch at me for not taking her up on that, but I honestly believe that she and Bruce would fuse into a singularity of complete failure to cope, sucking the entire multiverse in after them. And you know I'm *right*."

Tim laughs quietly, and yeah, Jason has to laugh, too. It's *nothing* but the truth. "All right, fine, but -- she's going to get impatient, eventually."

"Which is why I'm leaving you and Tim to hold the fort for a day and a night while I head up to New York -- *after* we catch Ivy."

Jason kneels up and strokes Dick's chest. "We *can* handle her on our own, Big Bird --"

"Probably, yes, but still. It's the principle of the thing -- or do you really think Bruce would've left if we weren't *all* here?"

Haiti, Christ. And he doesn't *want* to look at Tim right now, which means that it's the best possible idea --

And Tim is looking at *him*, eyes steady and calm and full of all the forgiveness Jason can choke on.

"Tim..."

Tim's smile is small and *hard*, but it's there. "We'll talk later, I promise. Right now... I want my show."

"*Music* to my ears," Dick says, and bucks up a few times. "C'mon, Jay. I wanna do this before --"

"You think about it?"

"*Before* -- I get any older. Or *harder*. Jesus, Tim, that was fantastic, and do *not* say a word about not lasting long enough. You're an *infant* -- when it comes to sexual experience."

"I -- noted," Tim says, and the smile on his face quirks and gets a lot twistier.

"Don't listen to him, Tim. He's *just* old enough to forget what it *feels* like to be your age --"

"Yes, yes, I'm a conservative old *fuddy-duddy*. Now fuck some life back into me -- or did you need me to beg?"

"Uh." Jason licks his lips. "We can try that?"

Dick snickers and spreads his legs, pulling his knees back to his chest and *holding* them there --

"*Jesus*, Dick --"

"Please, Jay," he says, in a voice that can *only* be described as fucking *sultry* -- "Give it to me. Fuck me *hard*."

God. God. "Dick --"

"*Please*. You know I'll scream for you -- *mmph* --"

Kissing Dick is *definitely* a kind of self-defense Jason is ready, willing, and able to explore at length. In *depth* --

And isn't that a good thought? Yes, yes it really is. And the only way to *do* this is with all of himself, everything he usually only gives to Tim and Bruce, everything that makes him who he *is*. The good and the bad, the hard and the sweet until Dick is moaning and trying to catch Jason's tongue to suck on it.

He teases a little --

And then a little more than that when Dick pushes his hands into Jason's hair --

"Both of you are so..." Tim sighs. "I really could watch this for hours."

Dick yanks Jason back. "But we're not going to make you *wait* hours, Tim. Are we, Jay?"

Jason licks his lips and *grinds* against him, dick to dick again and so good, so *right* -- "You were always the *first*," Jason says, fucking *blurts* --

"But I wasn't the last --"

"That's not -- it's not enough and it's not the *same*. I -- God, Dick," Jason says, doing a one-handed push-up so he can get a hold on his dick and fucking *seek* --

"Jay -- God, Jay, *missed* you --"

"I'm right here. I'm --" Not going anywhere. Not -- Jason shakes his head and pushes against Dick's hole, which feels small and hot and perfect against the head of his dick --

"Don't *wait* --"

*In*, then, and Dick's shout makes Jason seize up and feel young, blundering because his body was growing too fast for his mind --

"*Jesus*, you feel good," Dick says, grinning up at him like maybe Jason had just done a fucking *trick* --

"Dick, I..."

"*Go* with it, little wing -- because I'm sure as hell gonna do just that -- nnf. Okay, maybe I wasn't as prepared as I *thought* I was, but -- c'mon, *move*," and Dick bangs the sides of his feet against Jason's chest, *rubs* his feet against Jason's obliques --

Yeah, *move*, and doing this with an unfamiliar body --

*Feeling* this when it's not Tim --

He looks, and Tim's lips are parted just a little bit. He's focused on Dick's *face* -- and looking there just makes Jason groan, because Dick's biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut -- "Fuck, Dick, don't let me fucking *hurt* you --"

"I *want* it, Jay, want *you*. Show me what you give to Bruce and Tim. Show me how it *feels*," Dick says, and when he opens his eyes they're wide and *hot*, damning and begging at once --

*Ordering* --

And now he's the one with his eyes closed, because that was too close to what was going through his own mind, too *perfect* --

"God, *yes*, Jay --"

"Dick, I wanted you -- so fucking *long* --"

Dick laughs and groans -- "I'm right *here*," and he wraps his legs around Jason's chest and *pulls*. Having the physical *strength* to resist that is meaningless when held against his profound lack of willpower. Just --

He feels *good*, and Jason always knew that he would, that he'd *have* to --

He feels incredible, and it's Dick, the first one, the only one --

"Wanted you to *see* me --"

"God, Jay, I do, I do *now* --"

He does. And that's --

Kissing Dick is clearly one of the best ideas he's ever had, especially since it makes Tim make a soft and *appreciative* noise, makes Dick grab his hair and pull, grip --

Groan enough that Jason's tongue is buzzing --

*Rock* himself into the fuck, forcing the rhythm faster if not harder -- no. He *wants* it hard, and Jason can give it to him. It's just a matter of *going* with the idea that Dick *wants* this --

Sees him now. Right. And maybe that should be frightening -- too *many* people see him now -- but right now it's just another part of this, another thing gripping his dick and tightening the world's sexiest rope around his spine.

There's no getting *away* from this, now. Or -- there is, but isn't it already too late? Hasn't he spilled out everything that makes him --

Makes him --

Dick pulls out of the kiss and gasps, cries out sharp again and again --

"*Dick* --"

"*Jay*, God. You should -- never. Stop. Fucking people," Dick says --

"I *agree*," Tim says, and his laugh sounds a little breathless, a little --

Jason looks over and Tim *is*, in fact, getting hard again. God *bless* thirteen year olds. He meets Tim's eyes and licks his lips -- and fucks Dick *harder* --

"Oh my God. Oh -- fuck," and Tim starts jerking himself off, wincing for the sensitivity but doing it *anyway* --

"Look at your little brother, Dick..."

"What -- I -- I'm busy getting my *brains* fucked out -- ohh. Ooh. Yeah, do *that*, Tim -- *God*, and you keep doing *that*, Jay --"

"No *problem*. God *damn*, you feel good. I bet Kory does this every chance she *gets* --"

"You should *see* the traditional Tamaranian sex toys -- oh my God, so -- right *there*, Jay --"

And Jason follows *orders*, because it feels too good not to, too much --

Dick throws his head back and squeezes him tighter with his legs, but --

"Put your legs down and fucking *brace*, Big Bird --"

Dick nods and does it -- and *immediately* arches up and starts working his hips for it, thrust for thrust --

"Thighs," Tim says. "I -- *thighs* --"

"Dick is *pretty* --"

"Neither -- neither of you are paying *attention* --"

"*I* am, Dick --"

"Oh, I totally am --"

"Not to the. Important -- oh my *God*, Jay, do you -- no, I *know* you fuck Tim like this. I -- how do you *take* it?"

"With great joy," Tim says, and starts working his dick faster. "I'm pretty much always. Um -- sore. And that does not mean *stop*. Or -- go off *schedule* --"

Jason laughs and moans, long and *loud*. "Don't worry, kid. Your ass is -- mm. *Always* on my to-do list."

"Good to. Know. Oh, look -- look at Dick --"

Jason does, and -- fuck. Dick's head is thrown back and his mouth is open. His eyes are closed and his face is flushed dark and Jason has to just *stare*, because this is what Kory gets to see all the *time*, what fucking *Superman* gets to see --

And now him.

Now the *family*, and it feels like a finally, like something the whole damned multiverse *should've* been waiting for --

And Tim's starting to make those sweet, sharp little noises that always go with him getting his dick stroked. Just -- he *can* hold himself up on one hand. "C'mere, Tim --"

"I -- all right. I just -- I don't want to *interrupt* --"

Jason lets himself groan again and adds a little twist to his hips -- "You *won't*."

And Dick's making choked noises, now, rhythmic and *filthy*, and there's something about wrapping his fist around Tim's dick like *this* that makes it all hit home.

Never in this room for Dick.

Never in this *house* -- not *this*, anyway, unless he'd missed something *damned* exciting --

"Hnn -- hnn -- *Jay*," and Dick is tossing his head back and forth --

Tim is pumping into his fist -- "*Please* --"

Close, just like that, just --

"Yes, God, *please*, little wing, please don't stop, please -- *fuck* --" Dick is slamming his head against the pillows --

Tim is covering Jason's hand with both of his own --

And Jason's rhythm is *completely* fucked. There *is* none for this, just the desperate slam of his hips, the slap of his sac against Dick's ass, the feel of Dick's dick dragging against his abdomen --

And the way Dick *moves*. Like every fantasy he'd never thought would actually *be* a reality, like --

God, like *himself*, and he's out of everything resembling coherency. Out --

Shuddering --

"Oh, Jay, *come* for me --"

And his eyes roll back in his head, but he can keep going, he can *make* this work --

Except that Tim twitches in his hand, vulnerable and *bright*, somehow, and knowing that he's right there, that he wants everything Jason has to give --

They both do, and Bruce, too --

God --

White-out, too soon for him to do anything about his grip, too *much* for him to do anything but feel it, fucking *live* in it --

All the loss and all the fuck-ups --

All the *good* and the way it's all through him now, impossible to *deny* --

And somewhere far away there's a shout, a touch --

And right *here* he's squeezing Tim's dick hard enough that Tim's trying to push his *hand* off, and he's so deep in Dick that he thinks he might be poking the man's uvula --

Jason shakes himself and lets *go* --

"*Oh* -- you really didn't have to do that --"

"Don't -- mm. Don't tease my little brother, Jay. I -- it's not *nice*," Dick says, and sits up on his elbows. "I can't *believe* I didn't *come* --"

"Let's take care of that," Jason says, pulling out *carefully* and moving down, *going* down --

"Oh my *God*, I think you should say dirty things while you're doing that, Jay --"

Jason makes a questioning noise and *sucks* --

"Yes, I *know*, do it anyway," Dick says, and -- "While I do *this*," and he pulls Tim over his chest --

"Oh. Dick --"

"Fuck my *throat*, little brother," and by the sound of it, Dick doesn't actually wait for that order to make it to Tim's brain before swallowing him. Which --

*Good* plan, and Jason does his own swallowing, holding his mouth open so he can grunt and drool a request to lick Dick's ass until he cries --

Dick hums *loudly* --

Tim makes a *strangled* noise and thrusts, choking Dick off --

Okay, then. Jason follows it up with the world's most incoherent request to tie Dick up and use one of Kory's toys on his throat --

And the noises get wetter and louder, chopped into *bits* by what Tim is doing --

So Jason pulls off until just the head is in his mouth and *breathes*. "Wanna watch you fuck Kory's *tits*, Big Bird --"

*Purposeful* hums -- strangled *silence* --

Jason licks the slit and laughs. "Damn, I actually *wanted* to hear what you had to say to that --"

Extremely *direct* hum --

Tim gasps and *croons* -- cuts himself off. "I feel. I'm hindering. Communication --"

"*Don't* stop," Jason says, and takes Dick all the way in again -- and pushes his thumb into Dick's wet, *wet* hole --

Dick *bucks* --

Tim thrusts *hard* by the look of the shadows, by the sound of Dick's *gulp* --

Jason stays down for a beat --

Another --

Pulls *off* -- "I wanna watch the Titans run a *train* on your sweet ass, Big Bird. And then I'll take my sloppy -- heh -- *sevenths* --"

And that's Dick's hand in his hair, pulling tight and yanking him back *down*, which is absolutely something he can *work* with, especially since it's an interesting challenge to try to only suck when Dick makes Tim make noise --

And then only when *Dick* makes noise --

Wet sound -- "Jay, you're being *evil*. What did I ever do to *you*?"

"I'd like to point out. That. Evil. Um?"

"Oh God, sorry, little brother," and Dick starts sucking again, which --

There's something fucking *hilarious* about Dick treating the act of sucking Tim off like something it's *possible* to be distracted from, considering the fact that Tim's hands are almost certainly buried in that long, long hair and *yanking* --

Yeah, he's *laughing* around Dick's dick, choking himself something *fierce* --

And Dick is humming what sound like curses, imprecations, and *threats*.

Heh. Jason stops fucking around and fucks his mouth on Dick, fast and *serious* -- and faster than that when Dick starts fucking his way in --

And in --

Dick shouts, coughs, and comes in Jason's mouth, sticky-hot and perfect. Jason hums his approval and lets some come spill out of his mouth --

And then licks Dick clean while he whimpers and gasps. When he's done -- and Dick is *shaking* -- Jason kneels up and checks. Yeah, Tim is still rock hard.

"C'mon, Big Bird, *do* something with that mouth of yours --"

"*God*, yes -- and let me just state for the record that you taste incredible, and that I'm not *thinking* about the fact that your youth probably has something to do with it, Tim."

"Um? Thank you. I mean -- *gih* --"

And whether that was for Dick's long, sweet swallow or Jason's fingers up his ass...

A mystery for the ages.

It takes about thirty seconds for Tim to start working himself between them and another ten for him to lose every word in his vocabulary that isn't "please." Jason uses that time to do everything to Tim's neck he can that won't leave obvious marks while Dick reaches up to play with Tim's nipples.

He tells Tim that he's good, that he loves him, that he loves his ass and can't wait to do him *again* --

And then he wraps his free arm around Tim's chest and holds on, breathing against Tim's ear as quietly as he can so that he can hear every shout, every terrifying cry, every *moment* of this, because it doesn't matter that he'll never forget any of this -- he has to have it.

And he's not going to fuck it up again. Just --

Somehow.

Tim collapses *while* he's coming, and Jason holds him up and watches Dick swallow every drop, watches Dick watch *him* and knows that he can't give this up --

God fucking help him.

Jason holds Tim up while Dick turns back the sheets, and they flank Tim for a while, watching him fall asleep *despite* Dick alternating between telling Tim how hot he is and telling him how *cute* he is. Because Dick is now and will always *be* -- Dick.

Once Tim *is* asleep, Dick turns to him and smiles wryly.

"What's up?" And Jason keeps his voice quiet and low --

"I *believe* you about how things went down in your world -- and let me just say that it's already weird that this *isn't* your world --"

"Dick --"

"Yes, even with you being taller than me and nineteen, and I'm not -- I'm not pushing or anything, really. Just. Letting you know. Okay?"

Jason nods and swallows back the feelings, the need and the *want* --

"Anyway, I was talking about our very littlest of perverts."

That's easier. Jason smiles. "Fucking hot, isn't he?"

"*Too*. For my blood pressure, that is. I -- I really think Kory's going to want to play with him *extensively*."

"Heh. Fine by me. He *should* see how the other half lives before his girlfriend shows up. Make sure he can show her a good *time*."

"Mm. But -- it's so strange to think of Tim coming to *me* when things got crazy in your world. It must've been because you weren't there --"

"Dick, seriously -- *one* of the pictures in his collection? Is the one someone took with the two of you and all of your parents."

Dick waves him off. "I know, I know. But he really does love you more than anything ever. Maybe he could've felt something like that for me if I was the one who trained him, but I really don't think so. You *touch* something in him, Jay. And it is and *isn't* the way you touch me and Bruce."

"I... I think about the other Tim, sometimes. The way he'll never look at me without suspicion, the way I *hurt* him just because I couldn't deal with the fact that Bruce hadn't rolled over and died when I did. I wonder what I could've had with *him*."

Dick frowns and reaches over Tim to grip Jason's arm. "That's perfectly natural, Jay. So long as you don't think so much that you forget what you have *here*."

"You -- really want me to stay," and Jason feels like an idiot for saying it, feels like he's reaching so far he's dangling over a fucking cliff -- "No, forget I said that --"

"No, I don't think I will. Yes, I *do* want you to stay. We all do. And at first it was all about you filling the hole that *our* Jason left, but now it's you. It's *all* you. You're not perfect -- none of us are -- but you've grown into a man I love very much. And occasionally fear. And often want to get sticky with. And sometimes want to *punch* --"

"I -- get the idea."

Dick squeezes his arm hard. "*Do* you, Jason? Because yeah, you *did* have it out with little brother, here, but there were a lot of heavy things in there. Things that make me *worry* about you, and what you do and don't *hear*."

And he really should've seen this coming. Just -- really. "Tim seems to think you're inclined to call me on my bullshit, Big Bird?"

"Oh, I really am. First things first, though -- I *know* you have a lot to atone for, and I'm not going to pretend you *haven't* done scary, terrible things. You know it, I know it, Tim knows it -- and Bruce knows it, too. Deep down in the places he doesn't want to look."

"And you do?"

"Frankly? No. But I don't love you so much that I'm stupid with it, Jay. I just -- here's the deal: Hating yourself doesn't get you any closer to making up for the things you've done. The *only* thing hating yourself does is isolate you from the people who care about you --"

"Maybe I *deserve* isolation --"

"We *don't*. We deserve *you*. All of you that you can give and then some. Additionally -- people who hate themselves cause a whole lot of damage while they're flailing around trying to get the world to crush them. You *know* that. And you better not give me any shit about not being up on all the psych stuff we do, because I *heard* you in there with Kerns."

Jason makes a stand-down gesture. "Okay, okay. We're gonna give the kid nightmares if we keep on like this --"

"Jay --"

"I'm hearing you. I -- somewhere along the way, I forgot how stupid people can get when they're... when they're down."

"And you were pretty far down."

"Farther than I thought, anyway. God, Dick, the first time Tim made me laugh... let's just say that it had been a long damned time and leave it at that."

"Oh, Jay. Some people were made to be serious all the time, but that's not *you*. It never was."

Jason pushes a hand back through his hair. "I thought it was. I thought it *should* be. I *thought* -- that if I'd been harder and stronger I wouldn't have died in the first place. And I -- God, Dick, I'm hearing you, all right? And I'll remember."

Dick stares at him long and *hard*, but nods after a moment. "What do you think? Nap until lunch?"

"Sounds good to me -- though we should make sure Tim sleeps longer than that."

"Agreed," Dick says, and smiles down at him. "We should make sure Tim sleeps *now*."

"I *am* asleep. Mostly. I can't even open my eyes."

Jason snorts and whacks Tim's chest lightly. "Fucker."

Tim's smile is broad and a little diffuse. Sleepy. "Accurate. I like that."

"Ooh, someone's getting -- heh. *Cocky*," Dick says, and tickles Tim --

Tim yelps and struggles to get away -- then gives up and just starts struggling to give Dick a mild to moderate injury.

Jason lies down and closes his eyes. They'll settle down eventually.

*

Alfred guilts him and Dick into eating lunch in the dining room while Tim keeps sleeping, which is *mostly* fine, though it feels a lot like stepping into someone else's past.

The way Dick keeps looking around and shaking his head makes it clear that he's feeling the same way, which definitely helps. The food is, of course, fantastic, and Jason finds himself going for seconds and thirds. *That* turns the look on Dick's face to something amused and fond, but Jason is entirely capable of eating while flipping Dick off.

"Hey, look at this way, little wing -- you might still be *growing*."

And that... Jason laughs a little. "It kinda freaked my shit out how fast I grew once Bruce took me in."

"It freaked *me* out. One minute you could've fit in the Robin suit I wore when I first started out, the next minute you were *hulking*. Tell the truth -- you were glad when you outgrew that Robin suit I gave you."

Aww, Dick -- Jason shakes his head. "I liked that, Big Bird. It meant more to me than I know how to say. I mean, yeah, I was glad to get bigger and stronger, but it also... well, I don't know what Bruce did with it, but *I* used to keep it in my locker downstairs, just so I could touch it, stroke the places where it had to be repaired because of something you did... anyway."

And Dick --

"You can hug me when I'm *done* eating. Jesus. How you managed to keep that instinct even living with Bruce --"

"It took *effort*. And I? Was never afraid of a little hard work," Dick says, and leans back, balancing the chair on two legs.

Jason kicks it a *little* --

Dick balances it on *one* leg -- and manages to get his napkin over Jason's face for *just* long enough to move off his chair and hug Jason *hard*.

"Sometimes I can't *stand* you --"

"You sound a little like Tim when you do that. Which, let me just say -- is adorable."

Jason snorts and shoves Dick off, and they go back to eating. Jason's just about done when Alfred walks in --

"Master Dick, Master Jason, there is a message from Master Bruce waiting for you in the Cave."

Lunch over. Jason and Dick stand together, and... hunh. "Hey, Al, why are there no little alarms up here for that sort of thing?"

"I believe the fact that I mentioned a mild desire to spend the better part of the next decade back in Great Britain may have played a role, sir," Alfred says, cool as you please and all but *daring* one of them to say anything about it.

Dick laughs. "Ah -- noted, Alfred. Thank you."

"You are, of course, always welcome, Master Dick."

They get down to the Cave at speed, and the news is pretty much what Jason had expected, given how long it's been without an update. He wasn't able to stop the Drakes from being kidnapped, and he doesn't know where they are yet. Yet being the operative term, because he'd managed to track one of the kidnappers and is tailing the guy. There's a number where messages can be left, and Dick makes the call, giving a security-conscious update on where they are with Two-Face and Ivy while Jason tries to figure out where all the little pieces of hope and fear *are* inside him.

There hasn't been a ransom demand yet, and that can mean anything from disorganized criminals to dead hostages. Dead *parents*, and how *much* does it matter that they were useless at it?

Maybe they were always nice to dogs and gave money to charities. Maybe they treated their employees with warmth and respect. Maybe they honestly believed that Tim didn't *need* them --

"Jay," Dick says, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll tell Tim when he wakes up," Jason says. "Or -- God, maybe you should do it."

"No, I think you kind of *have* to, little wing," and Dick squeezes Jason's shoulder. "And I think you know that."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and breathes -- opens them and looks Dick in the eye. "Yeah, I do. Okay, I -- fuck, Dick, this would be a lot easier if I knew what I actually wanted to happen."

"You're seriously..." Dick frowns hard and squeezes harder. "Jay, you can't possibly want those people to *die*."

Jason sighs. "It's more that I want them out of the picture. And, yeah, to do some suffering for being such suck-ass parents."

"Are you seriously blaming them for making it so that Tim could *be* one of us?"

"Yeah, Dick, I *am*. Because it's never supposed to go down like that. They had all the money and opportunities anyone could ask for. They never had to worry about not having enough food or about being kicked out of their home. And they still treated Tim like a damned accessory. Like -- some fucking piece of boy-shaped *furniture*. I watched them. I fucking *studied* them. And --" Jason shakes his head and brushes Dick's hand away. "Maybe you just don't know Tim well enough, yet, but he's *damaged* --"

"He's an incredible kid, Jay --"

"He doesn't think he has the right to anything. To *anything*. Or -- he didn't used to. He let me *use* him, even knowing full well that I was doing it, because a part of him thinks that the best thing he can *be* is useful. God, you've seen it -- parts of it, anyway. That thing where he doesn't know how attractive he is, or how much of a *gift* he's giving us... Just -- I've been working on it as best I can, and Bruce has, and *you* have, without even thinking about it, but it's *there*."

"It -- you don't think." Dick steps back and starts to pace, frowning hard and -- yeah, chewing on his thumb.

"Say it, Dick --"

"I don't *want* to. I -- hell. You told me his parents traveled a lot without him --"

"As far as I can tell? They haven't taken him on any of their trips for *years*, Dick."

Dick steps up onto Bruce's chair and makes it spin, chewing harder -- "He thinks they didn't want him around --"

"*Yes* --"

"Which, since they're his parents... he thinks *no* one wants him around?"

And there's a cold feeling for that, and a hotter one which is all about wanting to protest, all about his hands wanting to grip Tim and shake -- "Sometimes? I think the best thing I've ever told him is that he *could* be Robin. That he *was* in my world, and so he could be, too. The rest... I'm pretty damned sure that the fact that I love him *only* started sinking in when he realized that *I* was damaged."

"Jay, that's -- that's *awful* --"

"Yeah, it is. And maybe one day I'll have the right to have it out with him about it --"

"You love each other. You *already* have the right --"

"Just -- right now? His parents did the best possible job of making Tim into someone who *could* be programmed. I thought I'd have to work at it, but I really didn't. I think Tim could be one of the most dangerous people alive, because he's fucking *vulnerable* to people who tell him he can be *useful*, and the only thing that lets me fucking *sleep* at night is the fact that every universe I've seen? He winds up with *us* instead of some damned supervillain."

Dick grunts and jumps down from the chair, pacing again and switching thumbs, switching again, pacing in a more complicated pattern -- stopping. "We just have to love him, I think."

Jason laughs. "Yeah, well, I'm on with that plan."

"You could've -- if you're right, and I have to admit that I *do* see where you're coming from, then you really could've *fucked* Tim, Jay --"

"Yeah, I..." Jason pushes a hand back through his hair. "I know that, too."

"How *do* you think he's going to react if he loses his parents?"

And Jason *wants* to say that he doesn't know, but. "He'll go on. We'll *have* to all but sit on him to keep him from going out every night, and I'll have to probably push him to get him to own the fact that he *can't* actually forgive me for everything --"

"Jay, he already said he *does* forgive you --"

"Yeah, *but*, Dick. That was with all the hope and belief in Batman, all the *possibility* that lives in the idea that Batman's on the case, and will do everything in his considerable fucking power to make everything work out. I've done a whole lot to make sure he knows that Bruce is just a man, but he's spent his *life* believing in Batman and Robin, and I just... it's gonna hurt him."

"It's not that I don't see that, but..." Dick sighs and punches his own palm once, twice. "I want you to tell me that he'll be all right, Jay."

"He will be. He's strong, and there's something hard in him that no one will ever be able to touch, Dick. It's fucked up that it's there -- but it's part of what makes him so *good*."

"Okay. I -- okay. Which one of us is going to finish going through all the likely places for Ivy to hole up and which one of us is going to call the Commissioner to find out what's going on in the daylight world?"

"I'll hit the computers, you make the call," Jason says, and sits in the big chair. The chair that's just not *that* big *anymore*.

"Done," and Dick heads for the secure phone.

Jason spends the next two hours giving the hairy eyeball to every plant-related property in Gotham that isn't a community garden -- too open -- or a flower shop -- against Ivy's religion. There aren't all *that* many, and it's summer -- the parks would *have* to pretty damned tempting. In another year or two, Ivy will have changed her biochemistry enough that she'll actually start going somewhat *dormant* in the winter months. Right now, she's still human enough to be able to go pretty much anywhere and *do* pretty much *anything*.

Jason rubs his eyes and -- movement. That resolves into Tim bringing him a mug of coffee and a smile that's only small if you *don't* look into his eyes. And that...

Jason reaches out to drag Tim into his lap -- stops. Damn.

Tim raises an eyebrow, but there's something a lot darker and younger than curiosity in his eyes.

And Jason has to tell him. "Tim, I -- first off, we don't *know* anything, and Bruce has an eye on one of the kidnappers --"

"They were taken."

Jason nods.

Tim frowns and looks down, but Jason can still see his eyes tracking back and forth -- "For all we know... they're okay."

"Yes."

"They're worth... a great deal of money. That would almost certainly make the kidnappers careful, and. And."

"Yes," Jason says again, giving up and resting his hands on Tim's shoulders. "Bruce is on it."

"Batman is. And Batman doesn't give up," Tim says, nodding and setting the coffee down next to the keyboard. "If you'd like, I could take over hunting down potential bases for Ivy."

Because Tim will go *on*, right up until he can't. And maybe a good, solid hour *after* that. Jason shakes his head. "You should work with Dick a little more, while he's here."

"Is he -- he said he wouldn't go until Ivy was captured. Before," and maybe that's a little bit of panic? Tim *would* understand that Dick will almost certainly get swallowed up in Titans missions and the life he has in New York...

"Yeah, and he will, but --"

"But you don't think I should be around you right now," Tim says, and nods just as if Jason had already said yes.

"I don't want you driving yourself crazy --"

"By telling myself I forgive you when I'm 'really' incredibly angry?"

Jason winces. "That's -- pretty much it, yeah."

"I anticipated that you'd feel that way, and I'd be lying if I said there wasn't an element of that," Tim says, and reaches out to stroke Jason's cheek with his fingertips. "You've forced me to really *think* about my feelings for my parents. On the one hand, there's the fact that they're human beings who've never done anything to cause injury to another person or even so much as committed a crime. On the other hand, there's the fact -- the one I'm currently having a difficult time coming to terms with -- that my relationship with them has caused me some degree of psychological... difficulty. *Just* looking at those two things, I'm left with the question of how much of this situation is a result of you wanting to punish them out of a misguided -- and rather over the top -- desire to avenge me versus you wanting to punish -- and *shape* -- me into the Robin you think I need to be. Will you answer?"

The wince is going *nowhere*, but -- "Yeah, I will. I won't deny that a lot of the things I've said and done to you are all about twisting you into a new shape, but this -- this isn't part of it," Jason says, only somewhat shocked to discover that it's true. "If that *was* the case, I would've never let them walk into the fire."

This time when Tim raises his eyebrow, the curiosity is completely honest. A part of Jason -- a part that knows Bruce very, very well -- honestly wants Tim to figure it out on his own, wants to *see* that brain working and live in it a little, wants to *teach* --

But now is anything but the time. "If you think about it... it would've been really counterproductive, Tim. If anything, I set them up to be *martyrs*, and gave you a really *good* reason to idealize them and fight back any difficult or uncomfortable memories you had --"

"It didn't work that way --"

"I couldn't have predicted that it wouldn't. I'm not *shocked* that it didn't work that way, but, in the end, you're *incredibly* young and have a lot invested in thinking of them as good people, because you care about them *and* because you've built a good chunk of your identity on what you know about them and what it means that they treated you... the way they did."

Tim frowns. "So you're saying that if you'd *planned* it, you would've... what? Shoved my face into all the things you think I don't want to deal with?"

Jason waves a hand and fights back the urge to smile ruefully. "I probably would've tried to be more subtle than that, and I probably would've failed. But yeah, pretty much. Tim... to be honest? It would pop up in my mind every few days, and sometimes more often than that. And I would shove it right back down again because I couldn't deal with it... or what it meant that it popped up whenever I started thinking about how much I cared about you."

Tim nods and looks away again, clenching and unclenching his hands -- he stops and sighs. "It would be easier if it wasn't so... messy."

"Maybe."

"No. It would be, because then I would be able to see one distinct flaw in you and could then decide how I was going to handle it."

"And maybe how to handle me?"

Tim smiles wryly. "Isn't that what you trained me to do? Granted, you were more interested in getting me to the point where I could handle *Bruce*, but surely you saw the urge toward manipulation in me --"

"I saw the *potential*. And I had a lot of fucked up assumptions about how the Tim in my world dealt with Bruce. If I'd *ever* thought about you 'handling' me, I probably would've tried a lot harder to hold myself back."

"You... all of this... it makes it seems like you tripped and *fell* into all of this, Jay."

"Yeah, well, sometimes? I think the whole adolescent awkwardness thing just went straight to my *brain* after I worked it out of my body."

"You had -- you had *plans*."

"I did. And most of them were seriously fucked up. I -- I wouldn't make them again, now, Tim," Jason says, and feels something tear in him, something that was holding a whole lot of *emotion* back, and now it's all through him. Filling him up and making him *feel* it. And know it.

But Tim looks both scared and *hurt*, and that --

"What is it, Tim? Tell me, please --"

"You wouldn't have trained me? You -- you *picked* me --"

"Jesus, no, it's not like that. I would've done it *differently*, Tim. I wouldn't have been such a fucking *asshole* about it. And maybe I would've also given some fucking *thought* to how I was treating you -- sexually."

"No. No. That was -- you know I *wanted* --"

"Except when you didn't. Except when you were *scared* and I just ran right over you --"

"I *like* that you did. It's -- it's a good thing, because you didn't let me get all wrapped *up* in my fear. I don't *regret* -- and no, *don't* say anything about how maybe I *should* regret it. Look what you *gave* me, Jay."

God. "It's -- it's really hard not to think about the things I *took*, baby bro. God, I was better at doing this kind of thing when I was *fourteen*. Back then, I never hurt anyone, and I was fucking *careful* --"

"And you never *gave* any of those other people yourself," Tim says, and he sounds both desperate and *sure*. "You -- don't you see, Jay? You let me *have* you, and you didn't hold anything back, and that -- that's what I fell in love with. And now you want to be more *careful*. You want to be gentle and good and caring -- and that's all right, but only in *moderation*."

Jason snorts. He really can't *help* it --

"I'm *serious* --"

He grabs Tim's hands and pulls him close until their knees are bumping -- Tim *immediately* spreads his legs around Jason's thigh, which feels exactly as good as it should. "I know you're serious. And that's -- you've gotta see how fucked up that is --"

"Just --" Tim sucks in a breath and squeezes Jason's hands. "Don't treat me like I'm -- fragile or something. Don't treat me like I'm some kind of -- of broken *vase* held together with glue and fucking *hope*. I'm a *person*, Jay --"

"I'm *not* gonna forget that again --"

"And -- maybe I *am* a mess. Maybe there are things about me that are just... too wrong. But I'm not crazy and I'm not asking you to go back to the days when you would just walk all over me. We could be screwed up *together*."

"That's -- well, that's *kind* of what I want --"

Tim laughs, high and sharp and just a little wild. "They're all like this, aren't they? The other heroes?"

"They all have *different* issues, but... yeah. From what I've seen. Make Dick give you the full breakdown on the Titans someday. He won't *want* to, because they *are* his other family, but he knows you'll need to know eventually. The stuff I could tell you about Roy... anyway. Look at it this way: it's *not* normal to want to risk your life every night to fight against people who are incredibly powerful and dangerous -- and to want to do it for free, and without the law backing you up. You've pretty much gotta go with the idea that people who have the issues to do that might just have a few other issues, too."

And Tim's smile is twisted. "There you go again, destroying my childhood innocence."

Jason winces again --

"No, Jay. You have to. I *do* need to know all of this. And, in the end, innocence didn't do all that much *for* me. I -- to get back to where we started, I'll be sure to let you know when I'm too angry to let you touch me. I'm not going to pretend I'm more together than I am about this, or about anything else -- and you're to blame or possibly thank for that."

Yeah, *that*. "Because I've given you a great big three-dimensional view of all the bad shit that can happen when people do things that way."

"Exactly," Tim says, twisting his hands free and bringing both of them to Jason's face. "You see? You never *stop* training me."

*

It's barely past sundown when they all arrive on the roof of Central. The signal isn't on, but Gordon had told Dick to come by to help coordinate the planthunt. There's a pretty impressive bloodstain where Two-Face had fallen the night before, and Jason catches Tim looking it over thoughtfully, and --

Dick goes right *to* Gordon, taking his hand in both of his own. "There was no time for this last night, Commissioner, but I wanted to say that I'm sorry we weren't able to end things with Dent --"

"More neatly, Nightwing?" Gordon shakes his head and takes his hand back. "Save your breath, son. It was going to happen one of these days, and I don't think Harvey would've had it any other way. Right now, he's cuffed to a gurney in the St. Sebastian's ICU, and there he's going to stay until he decides whether he'll live or die. Someone should... talk to Bruce Wayne, though. That man never gave up on Harvey. Maybe *couldn't* give up on him."

Rebuke or not? It makes *Dick* wince impressively --

And Gordon claps him on the shoulder. "Nightwing. What've you got for me?"

Dick pulls his game face back on. "The plan is to split up and investigate some of the places she might pick to hide out -- and come down. The doctors at Arkham had her on some pretty serious psych meds, and, unless her body chemistry is completely unpredictable, she should be feeling pretty awful right about now."

Gordon nods. "The force is stung after last night. Stung *hard*. Give our people --"

Tim steps up with a list of some of the possibles and hands it to Gordon, who grunts and nods.

"Thank you, Robin. I take it you'll be joining the hunt, tonight?"

"With backup," Tim says, and his voice is probably as low as he can manage to keep it. It makes him sound like he has a head cold, but the Robin voice has gotta come from somewhere.

"Tell your men to wear face masks and gloves, Commissioner," Dick says. "I can't stress enough how important that is -- or how much it might not help."

"Noted, Nightwing. For our part, the mayor's office has been getting some angry letters and phone calls about local businesses from an environmentalist group that had some of their more radical members taken in by the Feds out in Oregon. I don't know if that'll help anything, but it's the kind of thing *we* can't do without warrants, and not even our friends on the bench could make one of those do anything but stink to high heaven," and Gordon pulls out a sheet of his own that's probably full of the kind of information the cops aren't technically allowed to collect.

"We'll look into it," Dick says, and then looks at *him* --

"I think that covers things," Jason says. "Any word on how Kerns got the explosives?"

Gordon pulls out a cigar and taps it against his palm. "The U.S. military are firm believers in interagency communication, son. And I think you know exactly what that means."

A whole lot of nothing, thoroughly padded with bullshit. Jason nods, and they fly.

Tim's riding with him tonight, taking the bitch seat just in case they wind up doing anything that requires the kind of power *his* bike just doesn't have, and...

He's the kind of quiet that means he's thinking hard, and that one of the things he *is* thinking is that he shouldn't speak up. "Say it, Robin."

Tim hums a laugh. "I think I must move more quietly than I think."

"You really, really do. Give."

"Two things. First -- is the Commissioner mad at us about Two-Face?"

"Tough call. Back in the day, Two-Face was almost his *partner*, and was definitely a friend. The two of them and Batman had a whole thing with truth, justice, and the Gotham way, and the two of them and *Bruce* had the same -- kind of. Then again, Gordon stopped sticking his neck out for the guy after the *first* time he broke out and started offing people. *Bruce* -- is a lot more forgiving. Gordon doesn't really take kindly to people who don't take the opportunity to fix their lives on their own."

"So you would say...?"

"I think he would've preferred it if Batman *was* there, because probably *B* would've found a way to get the gun out of Two-Face's hand before Gordon had to shoot. I *also* think that he doesn't blame us, as opposed to thinking we're a lot more green than he wants us to be."

"All right, that makes sense. What do you think you did wrong in terms of Two-Face?"

"Easy -- I should've gone for a stab to the shoulder instead of a slash to the wrist. I was at a disadvantage by having to come through the door blind, and Two-Face *was* a pretty decent athlete when he was young... but there's no way I shouldn't have gotten the gun out of his hands."

"You would've stabbed his... shoulder?"

Jason smiles and wishes Tim could *see* it. "Yeah, I would've. There's just something about having Gordon *right* there that makes me want to behave."

Tim hums. "I suppose I can see that... though mostly as a hypothetical based on the idea that prolonged exposure to the man would lead me to feel much the same."

And that... hunh. "You saying you would've gone for the stab?"

"One, assailant is prone to bouts of extreme violence. Two, assailant is over a foot taller than I am, with a history of athleticism. Three, assailant has a hostage, and thus needs to be *stopped* as much or more as he needs to be dissuaded. Four, assailant is far more likely to survive a wound to the shoulder than one of any other provenance -- as you readily if unwittingly demonstrated. A stab to the shoulder followed by a slash above the eyes, *then* followed by staff-work -- if necessary."

Jason's not sure he's ever felt the urge to *purr* before -- including those times when Bruce has been stroking him after a truly phenomenal fuck -- but he does *now*. "You, my little friend, are wonderful in every way."

"You sound like -- N."

"Heh. It happens. Especially when I spend enough time around him. His whole *world*-view is incredibly tempting, when you think about it."

Another hum, more thoughtful this time. "I can see that, too. I'm just not sure I could ever... go there."

Interesting. "What's stopping you?"

"He... he believes in love. The *power* of love, and the inherent good of sharing that love around."

"So do I, when it comes right down to it," Jason says, and checks his mental chart -- ten blocks from their first possible.

"Yes, but you draw *boundaries*. Rather severe ones, not to put too fine a point on it. And... well, I do, too. I'm not sure how much sympathy I'd have for people who sympathize with people who kill innocents."

Gordon, again. Well... "No one can help who they love, kid."

"'Kid' again. Hm."

Jason snorts. "Don't give me that 'hm.' You can't *tell* me you've never wished you didn't love me."

Tim's response to that is to squeeze him and press closer.

"Wishes aren't important?"

"I acknowledge that you may have a point about the futility of trying to have *perfect* control over one's emotions... but I'll table final judgment until such time as I fall for a supervillain."

"You *do* that, baby bro. Or better yet? Don't."

Tim gives him one last hum and curls his fingers in against his abdomen, pressing hard enough that he can *almost* feel it, as opposed to just hearing the slight scratch of Tim's gauntlets against his shirt.

They run through their list of possible hideouts quickly, and Jason makes them take a break while he switches his radio to pick up the police scanner. A handful of small crimes being taken care of, and no word on Ivy whatsoever.

Dick would've called *in* if he had anything, but --

"J to N."

"Here, with a whole lot of dead plants -- none of which look exciting enough to be Ivy's."

"Right. Why don't you trail Gordon's people while R and I take a look at those environmentalists?"

"Not really Ivy's *style*, J..."

"Yeah, I know, but it's either that or start hitting the parks, and there's no way we go in there as *anything* but our own little army."

"I take it she'd claimed one of the parks for her own in your world?"

"Yeah. Not *yet*, timeline-wise, but..."

"I hear you, J. Report when you can and I'll do the same. N out."

Jason taps his comm back to receive-only and steals one of Tim's energy bars -- and thinks about using one of his pockets to carry his own. Just how long *is* he going to keep up this half-in, half-out thing, anyway?

Long enough to get *out*, a part of him says.

The rest of him is just staring out at him from behind his eyes and looking seriously impatient. Right.

They fly, finding a mugging in progress. Jason sees the flash of a gun while they're still on the bike, but --

"Take him," he says, and Tim doesn't hesitate even to ask if Jason's sure, just tosses two shuriken before he's off the bike --

One sends the gun flying, the other sticks in the asshole's wrist --

Right up until Tim jabs him there with the staff --

A bone-breaking blow to the jaw, another to the guy's left knee --

He's down, and Tim knocks him out for good measure before zip-stripping him. The would-be victim's gone before Tim can check him out, which says a whole *hell* of a lot for the guy's reflexes, considering the whole thing had taken seconds.

Jason lifts his visor to give Tim a smile, a little bit of applause --

Tim gives him the student-to-sensei bow and then jogs up to take his place on the bike again, calling in the police using his head-cold voice as Jason gets the bike going again.

When he's done --

"Any suggestions?"

"Two. It's fine for you to use multiple shuriken to hedge your bets at this point, but remember there's only so many of them you can carry on any given night, and it's not like you can reuse them --"

"Disinfectant wipes in the belt?"

"Not fool-proof *enough*, Robin."

"Hm. I see --"

"*Keep* hedging your bets for now. There's going to be a time when you need to work on your own, without a partner to back up your supplies, and you can try being skimpy when you're *sure* there are no serious weapons around, but, for now, you've got some slack."

"I. All right. And I understand that you meant that strongly. What was the other suggestion?"

"More of a heads-up, really," Jason says, and takes them up over seventy as they get out of midtown. "You know head-injuries are dangerous. *I* have no problem with you doling them out even when your targets are down -- hell, I *approve* --"

"But... others would prefer I save them for when they're necessary. I understand." Tim shifts a little. "Perhaps I'll save them for those times when a greater degree of punishment seems... warranted."

His boy. "And for whenever you don't want to use your knife -- for any reason."

"Noted."

The environmentalists they're after announce their presence in the neighborhood by there being *two* community gardens and a co-op that looks about this close to bankruptcy. Places like that just don't thrive in neighborhoods that haven't been gentrified, and this part of Gotham won't see that kind of renewal anytime soon. Still, there's a light on in their little storefront headquarters, and Jason walks right in, Tim behind him.

Two granola types are visible -- a man and a woman who could've been the older sister of the activist chick he'd hooked up with in that other world. In that other life.

Their jaws drop when they look up, and Jason offers one of the smiles he always thought of as friendly until Bruce had disabused him of that notion --

Another world, the *same* life.

Jason sits on the woman's desk and notes with a fraction of his awareness that Tim's moving into a position where he could drop the man in almost the same movement he'd have to use to extend his staff.

"What's your name, ma'am?"

"Um. Who *are* you?"

"You can call me J," and Jason picks up the document she's signing -- "Beryl. I always liked that name. I hope you're not gonna make things difficult for us tonight, Beryl."

"We haven't committed any crimes and we do *not* recognize the activities of extralegal vigilantes," the man says, stepping up out of his chair --

And getting blocked from coming any closer by Tim's staff.

"Heh. See, that? Is being difficult. Be cool, Mr. and Mrs. Hemp America. We don't care about your weed, your shrooms, or whatever else you've got stashed back in your crash pads," Jason says, picking up one of Beryl's pens and making it dance over his fingers. "We just want information."

"Don't *talk* to him, Beryl! They work for the fascists --"

"Actually," Tim says, "Batman has some ideas that are frankly socialist. Just to be accurate about things."

Jason rubs at his upper lip with his index finger, then flips up his lenses so that Beryl can see the laugh --

"Oh. You have very pretty eyes."

"People are *always* tellin' me that, Beryl," and he flips the lenses back down. "Now I gave you a secret -- how 'bout you return the favor?" This time, the smile he gives is just a *little* wet --

And Beryl blushes attractively. Probably *hates* herself for it, but there you go.

Jason smiles a little wider. "Pretty please?"

She stares at him long and hard and he stares right back, noting not at *all* absently that Mr. Hemp did something that made Tim feel a need to tap his chest twice with the staff. "Oh. Okay. What do you want to know? I mean, I'll tell you -- if I know. If I can! I mean."

"You guys have been sending some nasty letters. If your goal was to get more attention? You've got it."

"Proof! I *knew* they were watching us, Beryl! I told you --"

"Sit *down*, Marcus. They're not the cops! The fact that *they're* here means that the cops don't even think they can make a case against us," Beryl says, looking flustered and *sounding* like that's an argument she and Marcus have been having for a fair amount of time.

"That's just right. I mean, I'd think twice before you guys did more than planting gardens and protesting high-rises," Jason says, "but there's nothing to worry about. Unless, of course, you're harboring fugitives --"

"Oh, sure, bring up *that* old wheeze," Marcus said. "None of the people involved in those fire-bombings out west were affiliated with our group. Though I think they had the right idea."

"You're actually talking about having sympathy for bombers. After last night. I -- that's almost impressive," Tim says, apparently incredulous enough to lose the head-cold voice.

Marcus' blush is a lot less attractive, though Jason has to admit he has a nice mouth. He turns back to Beryl. "The fugitive in question --"

"Is Poison Ivy," Beryl says. "Right?"

Jason nods.

"She hasn't contacted us or... anything like that. Obviously a lot of environmental action groups have sympathy for her... I suppose you would call it a *cause* --"

"Actually," Jason says, and raises his eyebrows behind the mask. "We call it an obsession --"

"That's because you're an animal kingdom supremacist," Marcus says, and then makes the mistake of trying to grab Tim's staff, which --

Jason winces for the guy, but Tim doesn't break anything on him, as opposed to bruising his face, arms, and shins.

Marcus goes down whimpering, Beryl starts to stand --

Jason raises a hand. "He'll be okay. Robin's feeling friendly tonight. So far."

"I -- we really don't know *anything* about Poison Ivy, J," Beryl says, looking honestly worried. "I mean, I suppose it's possible she might be attracted to one or more of our properties, but --"

"Properties? You guys have some real estate we don't know about?"

"I -- um." Beryl is looking at Tim, who is currently spinning his staff and giving Marcus the full effect of the blank lenses on his mask. He can really rock that dead *and* menacing look for a little guy, or...

In some ways, Jason thinks, the fact that he *is* so small works for him, the way it had maybe worked for him when *he* was small -- if probably never for Dick. The whole 'psycho kid' routine can work wonders on the average adult. He turns back to Beryl. "Like I said, we have no beef with your organization at the moment, and no interest in ratting you out to the cops for a warehouse full of pot plants --"

"It's -- nothing like that," she says. "Well, all right, it's *sort* of like that. We have a few unofficial members. People who provide money and support but who don't want their names on any of the mailing lists and who won't ever show up for rallies because they need to protect their names for one reason or another --"

"*Cowards*," Marcus says, and --

Tim doesn't knock any of his teeth out, but he only holds himself back from it by a couple of millimeters. Heh.

"Tell us about *them*," Jason says.

"In detail, please," Tim says, and fakes a strike to Marcus' groin, another to his head, and another to his left knee.

"Um. Right," and Beryl gives them a few -- interesting -- names. Some seriously wealthy Gothamites -- mostly on the young side -- who've been funneling money to the organization *off* the books.

Which just means that they *want* the ecoterrorist wing to make a little more noise.

There are a handful of properties down by the docks which they'll check out, but Jason already knows they'll find a couple of buildings filled with lush, healthy marijuana plants there. His *gut* is telling him to go for the rich idiots *first*, though, and a quick chat with Dick gives them the go-ahead to do just that. Off to the fashionable neighborhoods then, and their first stop is an excellent opportunity for Tim to practice his house-breaking techniques.

Jason sits back and watches him disable one of the more impressive security systems on the market --

"You know, it's actually disturbing how easy this is to do," Tim says, while shutting down motion detectors and alarms.

"Heh. No such thing as *safe*, baby bro."

"I *know* that -- really, I do. Still, there's something actively offensive to me about the fact that these people would've been more secure with a dozen sword-wielding men and a moat."

All those science-fiction novels... well. Jason claps Tim on the shoulder. "You just reminded me that none of us have taught you how to fence, yet. You'll like it -- it comes in handy basically never, and it can make pretty much anyone look incredibly hot."

Tim snorts. "That *doesn't* sound like my sort of... but. *You* would be teaching me?"

"And B -- who makes it look easy *and* like pornography. Trust me -- it feels like a little vacation that has the added benefit of improving your balance and speed," Jason says, and they rappel down from the roof and into the townhouse, where everything is dark and quiet.

"I'll... take your word for it."

Jason grins and moves for the bedrooms, finding the master suite first -- obvious by the size and view of the park -- and moving on until...

There.

The bedroom of one Ashton Bell III has a pretty sizeable number of -- uncommon, by Jason's informed *enough* judgment -- plants, and he keeps it humid as all hell.

The smell, though... hunh.

The smell is less *green* than kind of funky. The smell of rot, almost, and Jason's just about to start wondering if he should have a rebreather in when Tim points to a big, gorgeous-looking orchid and pinches his nose shut.

"Really?"

"I learned about it in earth sciences," Tim whispers and then raises and eyebrow, nodding toward the bed.

Jason nods back and gives Tim the go gesture --

Which leads to Tim leaping onto the bed, kneeling on Ashton's arms, yanking his head up by the hair, and pointing the tip of his knife at Ashton's eye. "Quiet."

"Who *are* you?"

"My name is Robin. My associate's name is J. You're going to tell us about your ecoterrorist funding activities."

Predictably, Ashton slumps, tension leaving his body in a rush. Jason has yet to meet anyone with a Roman numeral after his name who puts up much of a fight when they can *see* they're facing a superior force.

Jason walks over to lean against the wall and cleans his fingernails with his own knife.

"I -- I just give money," Ashton says. "I haven't *done* anything --"

"Your money buys explosives and training for people who endanger the lives of others. As such," Tim says, and brings his knife a little closer, "I don't like you very much."

Ashton swallows and *focuses* on the knife. "What. What do you want to know?"

"Poison Ivy. You think of her as a hero --"

"She's a *freedom* fighter --"

"She's a murderer, and she's going back to Arkham. The only question is whether or not she'll do it before some police officer has to shoot her -- and whether you'll be known as someone who helps the authorities or as the bitch of a man with tattoos on his neck."

Jason coughs out a laugh and tucks his knife away. "Now, now, Robin -- some people *like* that sort of thing."

"Mm. What about you, Ashton? Do you like taking it up the ass? You'd probably have your best chance of survival with the so-called Aryan Brotherhood. Sure, they'll pass you around and beat the shit out of you on general principle -- and blackmail your parents to keep you alive --"

"Okay! Okay! I -- um. I might know where she is."

"'Might' doesn't make me feel very friendly, Ashton," and Tim brushes at Ashton's eyelashes with the blade of the knife.

"I'm serious! I haven't even *seen* her," Ashton says, and it's just one of those things about this life that he actually sounds *disappointed*.

"Really," Tim says, and shifts enough to *really* dig his knees in against the guy's forearms. "Who's keeping her away from her adoring public?"

"It's not -- he's not a bad guy. *I'm* not a bad guy -- *mmph* -- *mmph*!"

It really is some kind of beautiful to watch Tim covering Ashton's mouth and notching his ears. Just --

Most people would just slice a cheek, or maybe bring the knife to the guy's throat. Tim, though...

Tim is always, *always* original. And when he's done, and the noises are down to muffled whimpers --

"I'm going to move my hand now, Ashton. If you have some idea of what's good for you, you'll give us a name and as many addresses as you know. And then you'll really *think* about the fact that people like us are watching you -- and *all* of your bank accounts -- before you write another check. Do you understand me?"

Ashton nods frantically, blood spattering the sheets.

Tim moves his hand --

Ashton spills like a piñata, nice and *detailed*. The fact that the name is actually the third on the list of possibles Beryl had given them *might* be making Tim feel guilty for the ear-thing... but Jason doesn't think so.

Not if the way he's making the knife dance in front of Ashton's eyes is any sort of thing to go by.

They hit the road -- for Bristol.

Which is about as funny as you can *get* in Gotham without horrible fucking laugh-toxins and psychotic clowns, but it's not like Ivy *hasn't* worked the burbs before. Hell, she'd actually gotten down to Pennsylvania once or twice. If there's a rich fuck running a company that pollutes or hurts natural terrain in *any* way, then Ivy's damned well going to be there *eventually* -- it's just how she works.

This, though...

Bradley Dumont's parents are out of town until next month, so he has the whole mansion -- hell, maybe he calls it a manor, *too* -- to himself. That's a lot of damned places for Ivy to hide -- including the grounds on a nice warm night like this one -- so Jason calls in the cavalry.

"How sure are we that this Dumont guy is harboring Ivy?"

"Call it seventy percent, Big Bird. Our buddy Ashton wasn't all that bright, but he *was* obsessed enough to have kept an eye on the situation. He has a hard-on for the bitch."

"Does he just not *know* that Ivy can rot it *off*?"

Jason snickers and pulls the bike into a stand of woods about a quarter mile up the -- private -- road to the Dumont's place. "I didn't get that far in depth. R had him crying too hard to be very clear, anyway."

"And you couldn't be prouder," Dick says, sounding fond and amused. "Okay, I'm letting the Commissioner know -- he'll have better luck telling the locals to stay out of it than we would."

"Right. *Are* we gonna wait for Gordon's boys and girls?"

"Not a chance, little wing. I'm about fifteen minutes out -- wait for *me*, and then we'll all go in. Make sure little brother has --"

"His haz-mat gear on right. I *know*."

"Sorry," Dick says, sounding rueful. "I'm still getting the hang of this whole 'taking point in *Gotham*' thing."

"You'll figure it out sooner or later -- J out." He turns to look at Tim, and -- he's got the rebreather in -- though not functioning just yet -- his mask has that seriously *uncomfortable* look that means he's just gummed it down even more thoroughly than usual, and he's holding the hood like he's not sure whether he should put it on. "What's up, baby bro?"

"It's a *flame* hood. Doesn't she hate fire?"

"Like B hates guns. But you know it's to protect your skin."

"*You* don't have anything like that."

Jason pulls out his own hood and raises his eyebrows.

"I -- all right. It makes me look like a bright red penis."

Jason snorts. "You know, I *hadn't* been thinking about it that way, but... yeah, you're right," he says, and puts on his hood. "Put it on, anyway. Neither N nor I are as good at on-the-fly poison diagnoses as B is."

Tim sighs and does it. "Are we waiting here for Nightwing?"

"Pretty much, though I'm planning to scout ahead a bit. Feeling antsy?"

"There's a certain... there's an itch to it, I suppose. I... we *will* get a call if B finds anything and calls in, right?"

That. Damn. Jason cups Tim's shoulders and squeezes. "Normally? No. But for this... yeah, we will."

Tim nods and looks down. "I can't decide if that makes the silence better or worse."

"Robin..."

"I also can't decide if I want... if I *should* want your comfort."

"I know. And I'm --"

"You're *not* sorry, so don't say it," Tim says, looking up again. "Please."

"I *am* sorry that you're hurting, and for being the cause of it. And I -- I kind of need you to believe that."

Tim's jaw gets tight, and Jason's pretty sure that he's blinking rapidly behind the mask. "I -- all right. You should go ahead and scout. I'll stay by the bikes --"

"No, scout with me. N will see the bikes when he gets here and he'll know what we're doing. I'll head into the woody areas, you stick by the road."

"Oh. I..." Tim's smile is bright and brief and a little wild.

And Jason *knows* it to the bone. "Yeah. You're *Robin*."

"'The Boy Wonder.' I -- like that. A lot."

"Well, right now you're kind of the Boy *Foreskin*, but *go* with that idea."

"Oh, J. So *much* like a bucket of cold water to my pride, sometimes."

"That's what big brothers are *for*," Jason says, and gives Tim a push toward the other side of the road.

They move, and Jason hasn't gone far before he has to go with the idea that the Dumonts probably just kind of *like* the idea of nature running wild on their property. This *part* of their property, anyway. If Ivy didn't tend to go for more tropical kinds of plants in this part of the timeline --

No, he can't make assumptions. Two years just isn't all that *long* in the grand scheme of things, and when it comes right down to it, Ivy had proved in his world that she liked this kind of nature just fine.

So. He keeps an eye out for plants that seem *too* healthy, growth that seems too new and riotous. Nothing so far, and nothing from Tim, and --

It's the first time he's sent Tim to work without being close enough to step in if things got hairy. He *is* nervous about it, but it's just a kind of nugget at the core of everything else he's feeling, all the *right* he's feeling.

Robin is on the case.

Jason smiles behind his hood and ignores the prickle of sweat at its heat -- the material will absorb *enough* of the sweat to keep him going and he has a job to do.

He keeps moving.

"R to J -- I'm out of uncontrolled vegetation on this side of the road."

"Go ahead and move onto the property itself, and don't be afraid to move *slowly*."

"Noted, R out."

The minutes pass with a whole lot of nothing, and if he hadn't been able to hear Dick's engine, he'd still know he was there by the way this small stretch of woods *feels*.

He's not alone here, anymore, and that more than anything else makes him want to hurry up and storm the damned castle. He moves up to where the lawn starts and waits --

Not long. Dick announces himself with a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Anything?"

"Nope. R's on the other side of this killing zone of a lawn."

Dick breathes a laugh and crouches next to him. "Ivy's never been the type for henchmen. Or automatic weapons, for that matter."

"Yeah, yeah, and the glass is half-full. We could keep going through these woods, but I *really* think she's inside."

"Me, too. It's just that I *also* think it would be a mistake for us not to know our perimeter as well as we can," Dick says, clapping his shoulder and moving off further.

"God, you sound like some damned *teacher*."

Dick laughs again. "Would it get you hot if I put my hair up in a bun and smacked you with a ruler?"

Jason splits off from Dick and stays close to the edge of the lawn. "You should feel free to imagine my gesture, Big Bird," he says, using the comm.

"Oh, I *love* imagining *you*, little wing --"

"R to -- ah, both of you. I think I have something."

Jason feels a little like a hunting hound with the way that makes him *pause*, all over and utterly.

"What's 'something,' little brother?"

"Ah... maybe a nest? Of sorts? Or a hammock made of tree limbs? I'm at something of a loss. There doesn't appear to be anyone else around, but there are footprints -- a woman's size six, approximately -- made out of new shoots that disappear once they reach the lawn."

"Stay away from the footprints -- *and* the nest," Jason says. "N --"

"We head for the house," and Dick moves quietly onto the lawn, looking about as obvious as it's possible *to* look --

Though Jason has to admit that none of them look subtle against all this manicured green. There are *serious* reasons why they don't normally work the suburbs. They make it to the house and start looking for a good way in, moving at speed. There are lights on all over the house, but no sounds making it out --

Crash and the tinkle of glass from two windows down, and Jason reaches for Tim, boosting him up --

"I see the world's most disturbing spider plant. It's -- huge. And coming for the window, J, ah --"

He yanks Tim back down, turning, covering him, and trusting Dick to take care of himself --

While the spider plant *makes* an entrance for them. The leaf-slash-limb is broken and *twitching*, but it's possible to climb it and get *in* --

And move *quickly* out of the room -- it may or may not have been a dining room before Ivy's invasion -- and into a hall. There's an *actual* ivy trailing along the walls, punching deep holes into the plaster --

And dying *while* it grows, turning brown about eight inches behind the growing edge.

"She's weak," Dick says, pulling an incendiary out of his boot and heading down the hall.

Jason pulls his machete and pushes Tim ahead of him --

"This is weak?"

"As these things go, little brother. Stay sharp."

Tim nods and pulls both of his boot knives, careful to keep toward the middle of the hall --

And that's a scream that sounds a *lot* like a guy having his balls pulled right off -- slowly. They head toward it at speed, and the closer they get the more the world starts to smell like the world's worst tea, bitter and bracing at once. Jason knows his rebreather is on correctly, but it's still enough to make *his* balls want to crawl right into his body.

"That smell --"

"Try to ignore it, R," Jason says. "We all get some bloodwork done when we get home."

"Noted."

And the dead-looking plants on the ceiling suddenly sprout green and *reach* for Dick --

But Tim's already leaping, slashing at the vines with his knives and tumbling in the air until he lands in *front* of Dick --

At which point things start getting serious. The screams cut off *badly*, but there's no way they're getting any closer right now. They keep Dick between them, letting him bounce his incendiary in his palm as they take care of the vines as best they can. Which...

The biggest problem Jason has with this is the fact that he can't really *see* what Tim is doing, as opposed to being able to hear Dick murmuring praise, warnings, and apologies for warning for things Tim can clearly already see. Dammit, he's got the *knives* out. Jason really can't *help* wanting -- needing -- to see that.

Still, they're making progress, and the tea smell has become a more general *green* smell --

Ivy, naked except for something that looks like a strapless bikini made entirely of thin, *mobile* vines, working their way around and around her body. She's still human-colored, but there's a tinge of green going all through her, almost *pulsing* beneath her skin --

And Tim is right in front of her. Fuck --

"A new boy. For me?" Ivy smiles like a shark and *blows* something right at Tim's face --

But Tim doesn't flinch before going at her with his knives, slashing and striking while she sends more and more vines at him --

Fuck, *fuck*. Jason starts hacking at the ones coming at the kid from the back. He's *aware* of Dick slapping the incendiary into Jason's palm and moving into the room Ivy had just left, presumably looking for the Dumont kid, but --

"Oh, that's not very *nice*, little boy," Ivy says, leaping up and letting her own vines carry her away from Tim's blades. Tim can't reach her on the ceiling, but Jason can if he just moves *fast* enough --

Liquid dripping on him that could be from the vines or could be from *her* -- she's wounded, and the smaller vines she's wearing are moving almost frantically over her, exposing the bright red of her -- heh -- bush while they go to bind up her thigh --

Had Tim gone for a femoral slash? No, she still looks too lively for that --

And that fucking *roar* really would be something that looks like a pitcher plant with teeth. It's a fucking vegetable *cannon* of a thing, and Ivy dives right into it --

Jason pulls the pin and tosses the bomb in after her, yanking Tim *back* just as the plant tries to bite him in half --

"*Back*, c'mon --"

"Yes, J --"

And they make it back around the corner just as there's something like a semi-liquid belch --

And a *column* of flame shooting past where they were a second ago. *That* scream is Ivy sounding pissed as *hell*, and he doesn't have to tell Tim to move after her --

Hole in the floor where the plant had been, and a whole lot of smoldering green.

They pull their grapples and go down after her, and -- they're in a basement, extensive and dark. However, it's not like there's a dirt floor -- Ivy's headed *out*. The trick is to find the exit before she does --

And Tim's already moving, night-vision lenses down and following something *like* a blood trail.

"Be careful, R," Jason says, and flanks him.

Tim nods and casually wipes his blades on his uniform, getting them clear enough for another battle --

Whip-crack, thick and loud, and there are vines wrapped around Jason's wrist -- *on* the machete side. They're thin, though, and Tim slashes through them with a strike Jason can't help being proud of, even though the trail had been a *trick*.

She'd probably stopped right around here and deliberately spattered blood ahead of her before binding herself up better and moving -- there.

Wine cellar, and they've actually managed to back Ivy into a *corner* -- and Jason's pretty sure that the brown that's showing on her bikini-vines has a lot to do with why. Her eyes are wild and she's holding a broken bottle --

"There's no escape, Dr. Isley," Tim says, and moves into a ready-position. "If you surrender, we won't hurt you, and you'll get the help you need --"

"*Help*. They shoot me full of drugs that have barely been tested on humans, full of *poison* --"

"Yeah, and they take your plants away," Jason says, and carefully pulls a bolo. "We know. But there's no way out. The only vines you have now are thin enough for Robin to take out without a fight, and your big plants are dying as we speak --"

"I'm not going *back*," she says, shattering the bottle and shooting all of her vines at once --

And, *fuck*, the vines all pick *up* shards of glass --

Tim dances back, but his uniform gets shredded -- blood. *Real* blood, and Jason's slashing through the vines before he can think, tossing the bolo for Ivy's ankles and tackling her, hitting her --

Again --

Again --

"*J*. Stand *down*," Tim says, hard and sure --

Ivy's blood is black in the green light of the night-vision lenses, and her eyes...

They aren't wild so much as dazed. Her nose is broken, and so is one of her teeth. He'd --

He's not sick. He's not *sick*, and he can fucking well *cope*. He flips her over onto her stomach and zip-strips her wrists and ankles, turning her back over and -- looking. Just looking, for a long moment.

"I'm *fine*," Tim says --

"So is she. Or she will be, soon enough. I --" Jason squeezes his eyes shut and breathes once, twice -- "Call it in, baby bro. And watch her."

Tim studies him for a long moment before nodding and doing it.

Jason heads for the hole back up to the first floor -- and Dick is staring down. "Dumont?"

Dick shakes his head. "She -- he was in pieces."

"Fuck. We should've --"

"Come in faster. Yeah, I know," Dick says, and yanks on his own ponytail. "R's calling it in?"

"Yeah, Big Bird. Do we wait?"

"You're asking *me*? I -- no. No, I know. I'll stay here. You get R back to the Cave and check him out."

"Done. And -- don't beat yourself up for this, N."

Dick manages to look bleak even with his lenses down. "J --"

"Just don't. We're all feeling our way here, and you *had* a point. Just like I did when I broke Ivy's face a little for shredding R's uniform -- and skin."

Dick winces. "He's --"

"Just fine. And pissed at me --"

"Not pissed so much as worried about you," Tim says, melting out of the shadows and gripping one of Jason's hands. The gauntlet makes it feel both unnatural and imperative. "You can't lose it like that --"

"On your first real night? Oh, I really think I can --"

"Not if you plan on letting me earn respect. That was Ivy's last gasp of a move, and there wasn't much power in it. Yes, I'm bleeding, but only from minor cuts and scratches. I don't care about her broken nose, J, but I care very much about my reputation -- and our ability to work together."

Well... ouch. "I -- spank received, and I *will*... deal with it. But let's get out of here."

"Done," Tim says, and climbs up his de-cel line to the first floor. Jason does the same, breaking off a piece of flooring before he's up and steady. Dick sketches them a salute and goes down to keep an eye on Ivy --

They go.

From here, it only takes ten minutes to get back to the Cave -- most of that time being spent on getting around on the decidedly non-gridded private roads. Alfred is waiting for them when they get in with all the medical equipment out and ready to be used, but Jason walks Tim into the shower, helping him strip as they go.

"Haz-mat protocols, Al."

"Noted, Master Jason."

In the shower, then, and the scratches *are* all pretty minor, but they're all over Tim's chest and abdomen. It's a trick they're going to have to remember for the *next* time Ivy gets out. "You're gonna hate the decontamination shower with those scratches."

"Oh, I'm sure I will. I -- Jay."

"Right here," Jason says, grabbing the sprayer so he can aim the water *directly* at all those scratches.

"I think. I'm not sure. Hm," Tim says, sounding both thoughtful and a little *dazed* --

Fuck. "You're not feeling right, are you?"

"I don't feel *bad*, per se. Just a little... strange. Maybe high. I suppose it could be adrenaline --"

"Except that adrenaline has never *hit* you this way, before," Jason says, shutting off the water and picking Tim up so he can *run* the kid over to the decon station --

"I can *walk* --"

"I'm sure you can. You go in first, then you sit in your own chemical stink for a few minutes while all the cleaners do their thing and *I* go through here, then we get back in the other showers."

"Okay. If you're. Did you know that your eyes are often scary *because* they're so beautiful?"

*Definitely* high. "You don't say," and Jason pushes Tim into the little tent thing. "Grab the string, close your eyes, pull the string. *Don't* open your eyes."

"All right. Though my eyes aren't as beautiful as yours, and therefore aren't as valuable."

"Tim --"

"I'm doing it. I'm -- my eyes are closed and I'm pulling -- oh, my God, this smells like burnt plastic and *bleach*."

"We'll raid Bruce's cologne collection later, baby bro, I promise."

"This is like... I don't think I approve of having to deal with this while I'm also having what will likely be my *only* experience of being high."

Which -- that's pretty damned *funny*. It's just that he's a little too worried to *really* appreciate it.

"It's not *fair*, Jay --"

"Life's not fair. You know that."

"Mm," Tim says, only it sounds like there are a lot of extra m's involved. "I could get used to the stinging. It's a bit like having lots and lots of tiny vibrators in my wounds."

Jason raises his eyebrows. "Uh?"

"Bzz. Bzzz. Bzz bzz bzz."

"I... see?"

"Do I pull the cord to make it stop, Jay? I'm not sure if I *want* it to stop."

"Rub yourself down a bit, Tim. Turn around, really get *doused*."

"Will you be watching my silhouette while I do it? Because that could be... interestingly old-school in terms of eroticism, actually."

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to ten in his head --

Alfred puts a hand on his shoulder, and when Jason turns, he's holding a syringe. "A concoction of antihistamines made to Master Bruce's specifications. He tends to inject himself with this --"

"Whenever he goes up against Ivy, right. Thanks, Al, I'll shoot him up when he gets out."

Alfred nods and heads back over to deal with Tim's uniform --

"I don't like needles," Tim says, sounding distinctly *pouty*.

"Tell me about it."

"It's like being violated with metal. It *is* being violated with metal. And -- things."

Right. "*Good* things, though. Uh -- *helpful* things. You can turn off the shower now."

"Hmm," and Tim does it and steps out. He smells horrible, but it's for a good cause. "If anyone has to violate me, Jay, I'm glad it's you."

"That's really -- thank you, Tim," Jason says and shoots him up in the bicep.

Tim nods. "You're welcome. And it's your turn. I *will* be watching your silhouette, by the way, so you should move around a lot. I'd like that, I think," and Tim's eyes are wide and -- blown. And earnest. And --

Yeah, the kid's got himself a semi. "Can you stay right here? And not do... anything? At all?"

Another nod, and this one is as solemn and deep as the Oath no one has taken time to give the kid. And that...

*Will* Bruce do it? Or will he let Tim go his own way with no constraints? Jason's honestly not sure which way Bruce'll jump, and he has to admit that that's kinda seriously fucking scary.

He steps into the tent, rubbing his nose against the smell and closing his eyes.

As ever, this particular process feels like it takes about eight years, even though it's livened up for the little show he's putting on for his strange, serious, dangerous, beautiful, and *magnificently* stoned boy.

"Oh. Maybe we can go dancing someday, Jay."

Oh... yeah. Still, though -- "You dance?"

"Like I'm being electrocuted *slowly*, for the most part, but I was mostly thinking I could watch *you* dance."

"It's a *thought*. Still, you should do things like that with Dick. I'm not much for crowds of people bumping into me in places where it's too loud to think."

"Hm. The security concerns *would* be high, I suppose. Do you think Dick would teach me how to dance?"

"Absolutely," Jason says, and scrubs at his chest and abdomen. "Just ask him sometime."

"I followed him and Starfire to clubs twice. I wish I'd been courageous enough to try to get inside," and Tim's voice is both wistful and *drifty*, which --

"Tim? You doin' okay out there?"

"I think, perhaps, if I were to step up into the air, I could fly. It wouldn't be very effective flight, but -- still. Robins ought to fly."

"They *do* fly, baby bro. On de-cel lines."

"Yes, but. Thing. I want. I think I want wings. Sometimes I dream of wings, black and leathery. When they flap, I can smell this Cave. And blood. Lots of blood."

Okay, freaky... Jason steps out of the tent and walks Tim back to the real showers -- "Tell me how you're feeling right now."

"Getting sleepy, I think. Not tired, sleepy. I never really thought about there being a difference between the two, but that was foolish of me. Human languages are inherently lazy. There wouldn't *be* two words -- oh, I think there's more than two --"

"I'm hearing you, baby bro. How about how you feel *other* than sleepy?"

"Horny. I mean -- 'aroused.' No, those are two different things, as well. I am -- horny. I almost think I want to hump your leg."

"Probably a bad idea until we're all cleaned up," Jason says, and turns the water on again.

"Do you think this was her plan? Because I'm not seeing the benefit of her dosing me with something like this. I mean, I still would've hit her. Though not as much as you did."

Jason pushes Tim under the water and starts scrubbing. "Distraction, forgetfulness, loss of control --"

"Did she ever do this to you? You have very nice legs," Tim says, and starts petting Jason's thighs. "I mean, I like looking at you, and touching you, and. Would you pose for me? Like a... body builder, I guess."

"Tim --"

"Please?"

Right, fine, humor the stoned vigilante. Jason steps back and does some posing and flexing. "Like this, baby bro?"

"Oh, *yes*, little wing," Dick says, and steps into the shower. He's still wearing his top and a hair tie -- he strips those off. "You look *very* good."

"I'm doing it for *Tim*," Jason says, and he is *not* fucking blushing --

"Yes, he's very nice to me sometimes. Oh," Tim says, and his knees buckle --

Dick catches him and sets him down carefully on the tile --

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I mean, it seemed like a good idea for several seconds, but I was still in the process of arguing the pros and cons with myself," and Tim wraps his arms around Dick's neck and starts kissing him all over his face. The kisses look soft, damp, heartfelt, *and* like the prelude to Tim passing right out --

Dick laughs quietly. "You dosed him?"

"Really yeah, Big Bird," Jason says, and comes closer to check Tim's pulse, his temperature -- difficult in the shower, but he does feel a little cool. As for his pulse, it's slow and strong.

Tim kisses Dick's nose, hums, and *throws* himself back, making it necessary for Jason to catch him before he brains himself --

"You were supposed to let me *fly*, Jay. Remember, I told you --"

"You're grounded for the time being, baby bro," and Jason pushes Tim up and into Dick's arms. "We should put him on the gurney and strap him down --"

"Ooh, *bondage*," Tim says, laughing *joyfully*. "I like bondage. It always makes me feel like a well-loved pet. Of course, that brings bestiality to mind, but -- Dick, have you ever found a dog attractive?"

Dick chokes. "Ah -- no. And perhaps you should end that conversation --"

"Some people out there *really* find dogs attractive, judging by what I've learned on the internet. That's just strange to me. I mean, I've seen some beautiful dogs, but none that give me erections, as opposed to the uncontrollable urge to rub their ears, and sometimes their bellies --"

"*Go* with that," and Jason picks Tim up and carries him out of the shower. Alfred is waiting there with a towel --

"I got it," Dick says, and follows them.

Tim doesn't put up a fight once he's on the gurney so much as he gets terribly *helpful*, turning around and around, lifting his legs, *spreading* his legs, playing the drums on Jason's chest, attempting to use Dick's hair to haul himself up --

They get him tied down.

Tim hums, writhes, and smiles up at them.

"This shouldn't be making me want to get him high more often," Dick says, "but... I really do."

Jason smacks the back of Dick's head. "We need his *mind*, not his damned id."

"The id is a *part* of the mind," Tim says. "A very important, and... it connects us to our animal selves, and allows us to live within our personal narratives, as opposed to merely reading them from the outside --"

"You slipped into Jung for a minute there," and Dick ruffles Tim's hair.

"I try to make things as integrated as possible. It's better, I think, to have something close to unified for one's view of psychology. Considering the lives we lead."

"I don't know, kid. You spend too much time trying to come up with a single theory of how the human mind works and you start misdiagnosing people -- or ignoring people who shouldn't be ignored."

Tim hums and arches, dick bobbing -- yes, he has to admit it, that dick's looking interesting right about now. And when he looks up, Dick has a wry expression on his face... which he turns on Tim's dick.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Well, I think so, Brain, but where would we get a hopelessly stoned underaged boy at this hour?" And Dick waggles his eyebrows.

Jason snorts. "Dick, man, that's wrong. That's really --"

"How much wrong-er than what was going through *your* head, little wing?"

Tim hums again, pumping his hips and smiling. "I recognize pop culture references when I hear them, but I don't always understand them. I mean, the obscure ones usually make -- mm, a lot of sense to me, but the other ones..."

Jason rests a hand on Tim's thigh, noting the coolness, the softness of Tim's *inner* thigh... "Go on."

"Oh. Oh, that's really..." Tim pulls against the restraints and frowns. "What was I saying?"

Dick rests a -- still-gloved -- hand on Tim's chest, pressing and stroking in a way that might even be comforting to Tim right now --

"That's also nice. I -- mm. I like the idea of being your brother. Both of you. It provides a certain amount of meaning to my life. Normally I don't like to think about the lack of meaning -- it's really kind of a gaping hole, and also a wound -- but it's there. It's always there. Except when you're here, Dick."

Dick makes a soft sound and manages -- of course he manages -- to find a way to hug Tim thoroughly despite the restraints.

Jason clears his throat. "Maybe you *shouldn't* think about meaning, Tim. You're doing everything you can to make the world a better place, and people love you. That's enough --"

"It's not enough for *you*. If it were, you wouldn't still be planning to *leave*," Tim says, frowning and pulling against the restraints again --

"*Easy*, little brother. We can't let you roam free just yet."

"I don't want to be *free*. I just want to touch, and hold, and -- I think these moments must be rare, these chances to be together, and be -- connected. One. Or -- not one. I don't think I'd like being just a cog in a larger machine --"

"You never could be," Jason says, and squeezes Tim's thigh. "You're a lot more than that. You're -- heh. Special."

Tim smiles -- beams -- and then laughs again, long and loud. It's a rusty sound, and as such it makes something ache in Jason, makes something *need* to be closer, like Dick --

He pushes Dick out of the way and kisses Tim, cupping his face and holding his head up so he doesn't have to work for it, so he can just *have* it -- if he wants it.

It usually isn't a question, but Tim is shaking his head --

"No, no, I have to. I -- Oh, Jay, I love you so much --"

"I love you, too," and Jason nuzzles Tim a little bit. "What do you have to do?"

"I have to *say* -- I have to say that I always want to be your brother, I always want a family. I've always *wanted* a family, and I think -- and right now I can't seem to *avoid* it -- that I've never had one, at all."

And there's pretty much no way in hell he can avoid the wince for that. Just -- damn. And Dick's looking pretty sick about it, too --

"Just so you know, Tim?" Dick strokes Tim's hair until he focuses -- sort of -- on Dick again. "We're not going to hold any of this against you. We know that you wouldn't really want to say all of this. In this way."

"Why wouldn't I? I can't seem to imagine... well, all right, there's the fact that I've never felt especially comfortable with emotional exposure, and the fact that I'm definitely inebriated right now, and the fact the two of you and Bruce are the only people I've ever really wanted to *impress* -- hm. All right, yes, I'm talking too much," Tim says, and beams again. "It feels good. Everything feels good right now."

Jason sits on the edge of the gurney. "Then why don't you *focus* on feeling good, okay? We'll take care of you."

"Absolutely," Dick says, and sits on the other side.

It makes the gurney seem huge -- no, it makes Tim seem exactly as small as he is. A *kid*, and there's a part of Jason which is *now* sitting up and wondering what the hell he's doing, what the hell he's *started* --

Because Dick is stroking Tim's chest again, smiling like *he* isn't thinking anything of the kind, smiling like he's completely okay with this, with the life Tim would've chosen given half a chance...

But he'd never given Tim a *chance* to choose, and maybe -- maybe it was time for *everything* he's said and done to come crashing down on him. There's a voice in his head that only wants him to know that it's too late for everything except *exactly* what he has, and it's right.

It's right.

Tim laughs again, taking Jason out of his head, and when Jason looks...

Tim is smiling at him, eyes shining and bright, full of everything he wants and everything he doesn't deserve. Some part of Tim really is *okay* with him. *Entirely* okay, even with everything Jason has done, and yeah, Jason *did* need to know that, but he's sorry for it, too.

"Promise me something, Tim."

"Anything, Jay --"

"*Not* anything. Not right now, okay?" Jason slips his hand beneath Tim's head, cupping it and turning Tim's face until he can see Jason easily, see everything in *his* eyes, and please, please -- "Promise me that you won't regret tonight, and everything you've said. Promise me you'll remember that we love you, and that we'd talk about any or all of these things with you whether or not you were stoned. Promise me that you'll remember that -- that we're *interested* in you, and -- God, all the other things I can't figure out how to say right now."

Tim's mouth is open -- he closes it and nods, and his pupils are still like fucking *saucers*, and --

Hell, maybe it would be *better* if Tim forgot absolutely *all* of this. It's just that Jason knows that it would be a whole hell of a lot worse if he just *pretended* that he did. And --

Dick claps his hand down on Jason's shoulder, shaking him back and forth a little.

Jason closes his eyes. "You're about to say something heartwarming, aren't you."

"I'm *about* to say... that I really love the man you've become, Jay."

"God, Dick --"

"Hey, if you don't trust *my* opinion, ask little brother here. While he's feeling *loquacious*."

"I've always liked that word," Tim says, dreamy again just that fast. "It's *round*. Or -- no. It's more like a cloud than a circle. Expressive. I don't suppose one or both of you could jerk me off?"

Dick laughs and kisses Tim and --

"Shouldn't we be worried about him passing on the contagion?"

Dick hums into Tim's mouth and holds up a finger -- and then brings that hand to Jason's arm and strokes, back and forth and back again. He pulls back with a wet sound and stares into Tim's eyes. "We absolutely *should* worry, but somehow I'm not feeling like a good boy right now."

"To be fair," Tim says, "I started feeling strange almost immediately, but I'd been chalking it up to adrenaline and the fact that I'd helped take down *Poison Ivy*. I'm Robin. I'm Robin!"

"And positively *surrounded* by the people who know best what that means," and Dick nudges Tim's jaw aside so he can start kissing and humming against Tim's neck --

"Okay, so maybe I'm a little jealous."

Dick laughs and pulls back again. Dick *winks*. "Don't be jealous. Be *helpful*. I mean, I've left that nice little erection just for you, little wing."

"Mmm. I would like to state for the record that I'm *not* developing a complex about the size of my penis -- the size of my *dick* relative to both of yours."

Jason snorts and moves down the gurney. "Think of it as a rite of passage, baby bro -- we *both* spent our adolescent years showering with *Bruce*."

"My *God*, yes," Dick says. "I spent a good, solid year having to erase the image of the circus bears out of my mind."

"And so we've returned to the -- mmm -- real issue: bestiality," and Tim makes a sound low in his throat --

Yes, he really is *growling*. Jason licks the underside of Tim's penis from base to tip, and the growl gets a lot more serious --

"I *like* that sound, little brother. I -- should I bite you?"

"Yes, please -- ohh. The vibrators are back and I think they want to take me down to hell. Or -- what if there is no heaven or hell --"

"There is," Dick says -- slurs. "People die, people go weird places, people come back. Hey, I never asked you, Jay --"

"A lot of black nothing," Jason says, and sucks the head of Tim's dick once, twice --

"That's not *fair* -- life isn't fair, I know, I know -- oh, Jay, you should -- there should be *light* --"

"There is," Jason says, and decides to see how far he can get his mouth away from Tim's dick and still keep the rope of spit of pre-come between them --

About seven inches.

"There's light, Tim. I had a chance for it, too. All I had to do was reach, stretch myself away from my body, away from the light of the fire and the kind of sunshine I'm pretty sure you *only* get in Africa --"

"Jay -- J-Jay, I -- oh, please --"

"There's *light*," and Jason licks Tim again, again --

*Again* --

"But I didn't want it," and he goes back down, *all* the way --

"*Ohh*..."

And the sound goes on and on, spiraling higher and dropping lower, higher again --

Cracked off, and Tim's gasping and moving, tugging against the restraints and --

It's a lot like he'd forgotten *how* to thrust his hips, because the motions are jerky and almost tortured --

Dick moans and comes down to join Jason, kissing and licking Jason's cheek and leaning in to suck on Tim's shaft when Jason pulls back and just holds the head in his mouth. It's a *tight* fit, but Tim is crying out and jerking, shouting and spasming --

Twitching in Jason's mouth --

He's going to come *soon*, and the least Jason can do is share --

He doesn't want to share. He pushes on Dick's shoulder, getting a laugh --

"Okay, *okay*. But don't be surprised when I kidnap Tim out from *under* you, Jay," Dick says, and moves back up the gurney --

The sounds are muffled now, and Jason *knows* that kiss is fucking epic, because when Dick wants --

God, when Dick *wants*, and yet Jason knows -- *knows* -- that the Dick in that other world had never so much as jerked Tim off. Everything would've been *different* if they had, from their body language those times when Jason had watched them together to the way Bruce would've spoken about Tim.

This -- this is because of *him*, and if the spoiled *idiot* inside him can't decide if that's a good thing or not, the *rest* of him knows that it is, that it's another *right* thing. They'll always have this, because Dick wouldn't have it any other way, because once Dick opens the floodgates, there's no fucking closing them --

Another shout, and Dick must be making love to Tim's throat again, his long and perfect --

Jason groans around Tim's dick and sucks harder, fucks his face on Tim and grips those thighs, those hips --

*Fuck* me, he wants to say, and hopes that he's managing it with his body --

And knows that he is when Tim starts to buck, arching clear off the gurney and fighting the restraints again --

"So good, it's always so *good*, Jay -- you can't -- you can't take this *away* from me --"

Jason *grips* Tim's hips and tries to make Tim give him a rhythm, something to work against, work *for* --

"We've got you, Tim," and Dick's words are slurred again, low and somehow *both* soothing and fucking hot.

*Dick* --

And Tim, because Tim's begging between kisses now, most of his words getting lost in wet sounds, hums and muffled moans that make Jason fucking *need* --

He lets go of Tim's left hip and pushes his fingers behind Tim's sac, pressing and *working* him --

Tim screams into Dick's mouth and *comes* in Jason's mouth --

And *keeps* screaming when Dick pulls away to do -- something. Jason can't tell for sure, but it *must* be good --

"Oh, don't stop, don't *stop* --"

"You look so *good* like this, little brother. I -- *mm* --"

And it's *possible* that Jason shouldn't take this as an excuse to keep Tim's dick in his mouth, but he's not softening even a little, and he tastes like a definition of home he'd just somehow *missed* all these years, and he feels like --

He feels like Tim, and isn't that what he needs? What he has to take for himself with every fucking *second* Bruce doesn't call in with the bad news?

It *will* be bad, because there's just been too much time since the last call, because there still hasn't been a fucking *ransom* demand --

No, just this right now, *just* this, because the whimpering sounds Tim was making into Dick's mouth have become moans again, because, like this, he's doing something *right* --

Dick breaks the kiss and pants. "You've *got* to give me a turn *now*, little wing."

Yeah, probably. Jason pulls off and sighs, watching Tim's dick bob and shine in the fluorescents -- yeah. "Okay, Big Bird, but you've gotta treat my boy *right*."

"The alternative is *unconscionable*," Dick says, and shoves Jason off the gurney before moving down between Tim's legs --

And Jason gets to watch Tim's eyes *cross* a little when Dick takes him in, gets to watch him purse his lips, *lick* his lips as he tugs on the restraints --

"*Fuck* me. One of you should --"

"You need recovery time, baby bro," Jason says and strokes Tim's arms and shoulders, massaging a little --

"The pain right now -- I -- the pain from you sucking me too long. Was good. Very good. Very *intense* --"

"But *that's* not something that can tear you up inside," and Jason leans in to kiss Tim a few times --

A few more --

"Be gentle on us, Tim. We're trying not to *hurt* you."

"Then don't *leave* me, don't go, promise me you won't --"

And Tim fights the kiss this time, fights *hard*, but doesn't bite Jason's lips or tongue and *does* give up -- eventually. He shudders hard, though, and Jason knows that most of those sharp noises aren't for what either of them are doing. Jason cups Tim's face and strokes, making the kiss deeper and hopefully harder to resist *emotionally* --

And whether it's the kiss, Dick's blow job, or all the chemicals wreaking havoc in Tim's system, it's *enough* to make Tim start losing it the *right* way again, make him strain and *reach* for the kiss until Jason pushes his head back down and moves enough that he can comfortably play with Tim's nipples --

Maybe -- just maybe -- let himself think about piercing them for Tim, for *himself* --

Give himself something to pull on and twist --

Dick pulls off with a wet slurp and Tim whimpers into Jason's mouth -- "I need -- more. Of something. Maybe... if I use a lot of lube and *just* my fingers --"

Jason pulls back and stares into wide eyes, *dazed* eyes. "Yeah, good call --"

"I'm on it," Dick says, and heads for the cabinet. He's still fully suited up, though, and that's several kinds of wrong.

"Strip *off* while you're at it, Big Bird."

Tim groans and arches up off the gurney again, starts to *writhe* again --

"God, you look good enough to eat, Tim. You know I need you, don't you? I don't know -- I don't know what I'd do without you --" Fuck, except that he's just fucking *begging* for *Tim* to start begging again --

Jason covers Tim's mouth with one hand and twists his nipple *hard* with the other --

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and nods, one tear sliding down the side of his face --

And Dick is back and naked except for his hair tie, uniform in a pile and the fingers of his right hand *good* and slick -- "Do *not* be afraid to tell us how much you like this, little brother."

Jason pulls his hand away --

"I always like it. I always want to be *filled*," Tim says, and looks back and forth between them until he seems to lose his focus again. "You know I. It's good. It's *right*, because I've been so empty, so *alone* --"

"God, baby bro --"

Tim laughs, but his smile is a little hectic and *hard* -- "I'm sorry, I can't seem to -- I might be... coming down?"

Jason winces and strokes Tim instead of hurting him, cups his face. "There can be a crash, yeah. We could just take you --" To a house empty except for the housekeeper, who may or may not be wondering -- no, Tim had called and said he *might* spend the night with his friend Ives. "Upstairs," Jason finishes. "We'd still need to keep you tied up for a while, but there's no reason for you to -- be alone."

Tim nods and bites his lip, turning to look at Dick -- who's eyeing his slick fingers with something a lot like chagrin.

"There's a *reason* God invited wet wipes, little brother," Dick says, and grabs one.

"I don't want to say no. I never -- I still feel... unhappy. About saying no before. To Jason and Bruce. I feel. I feel. I feel a lot of things," Tim says, and laughs again, sounding perfectly fucking horrible.

"All right, we're getting you up and out of here," Jason says, and starts working on the restraints. It *takes* a little doing, because Bruce had designed the things to be impossible for *him* to get out of. "Dick, grab --"

"The robes, yeah, on it."

Once Tim is free, he sits up -- and falls right into Jason's arms. "Easy, Tim. No rushing this. If a mosquito bit you right now, it'd fly smack into a fucking *wall*."

"Mm, good. I *hate* mosquitoes. Do you like spiders, Jason? I think spiders are incredibly disturbing in appearance -- mostly the way they move -- but overall they're wonderful creatures. I think we should study their webbing in order to make more things, more tools. I had --" Tim's yawn is jaw-cracking, and he shudders against Jason. "I had an idea."

"We can *work* on those ideas of yours," Dick says, and starts working Tim's arms into the robe.

Jason helps, and then they push him back down on the gurney while they put their own robes on --

"My turn," Dick says, throwing Tim -- gently -- over his shoulder and heading for the stairs.

"*I* could carry him in my arms --"

"Yes, Jay, and you're more of a man than I will ever, ever be," and Dick pats Tim's back. "Close your eyes so you don't get motion sickness, little brother."

"I think it would probably be worse if I couldn't see. Though I can't say for sure. And you have -- oh my God, I was about to say something about your ass."

*Definitely* coming down. Jason gives Tim's hair a good tug. "We'll take it as read."

"I said a lot of things. I'm *saying* a lot of things --"

"Remember what you promised me, Tim."

"I --"

"*Listen* to Jay, Tim. We've all been there, in one way or another. And we? Mouthed off to *Bruce*."

"I think... I think I'm going to go to sleep," Tim says, getting a grip on the belt of Dick's robe and faking a yawn.

"Good one, baby bro. Though it would've been more realistic if you'd done that *while* you were talking."

"Hm. Noted."

Once they're upstairs, Dick stops at his door -- and then moves down the hall toward Jason's old room.

"Hey --"

"Door's open, little wing. Let's just see what there is to see," Dick says, kicking it open wider and stepping into Jason's memories.

The posters aren't on the walls, anymore, but everything else...

The furniture is where he'd put it, and Jason remembers that long day of muscling all that heavy wood around. The curtains are at just the right degree of open, and the sheets are the deep green that's still his favorite damned color.

Jason doesn't bother looking in the closet and bureau -- he knows what he'd find.

He shakes it off and pulls the covers back enough that Dick can get Tim settled in the middle of the bed -- and Tim immediately pulls the cover up and looks at them like they might decide to beat the hell out of him at any given -- no, it wouldn't be a beating. It would be something they *said*, because Tim feels, right now, like he'd given away the store.

He had.

"You... really don't look like you're getting to sleep anytime soon, kiddo," Dick says, and moves around to the far side of the bed before sitting down, leaving the near side -- the *door* side -- for Jason in an act of courtesy that probably didn't even register.

Jason strips off his robe and sits down, too, resting a hand on Tim's chest -- through the covers. "I told you to relax, didn't I?"

"Relaxation being a *good* thing, a thing that leads to sleep, dreams of criminals going to jail, dreams of very attractive people in *very* tight uniforms --"

"*Super* tight," Jason says --

"Mmm. Super*man*. Do you know that thing he's wearing is just *cloth*, little brother? It's why it gets blown off him so often. Now, he denies that he keeps it that way *just* for fan service purposes, but he's modest, that way --"

"Jesus, Dick --"

"I have *personally* collected a good, solid hour of news footage of Clark wearing nothing but *shreds*, little brother. Shreds that expose, oh, *acres* of perfect, golden flesh and a musculature that would make a dyed in the wool lesbian --"

"I *think* you mean flannel --"

"*I* think I'm going to take you down on the East Side and leave you for some very colorful and important citizens of Gotham to *beat* you, little wing -- what was I saying?"

"Ah." Tim blinks and licks his lips. "I believe you were talking about Superman --"

"You *should* call him Clark. You're family now, and he loves our family very, very much --"

"He loves our *asses*," Jason says, lying down beside Tim and stroking a little more --

"That, *too*. And oh my *God*, you haven't had your ass loved until it's been loved by Clark Jerome Kent," and Dick lies down, too. "I'm serious, little brother. You should think of it as an important rite of passage."

And Tim is blinking a lot more, now, looking back and forth between them and very, very clearly fighting back a laugh.

Jason grins. "*Or* you could consider it as just one of those hazards that go with living this life. Gunmen, violent psychos -- and aliens who just *love* to get their hands on the asses of pretty young boys."

"Pretty. I --"

"Oh, don't fight *that*, Tim," Dick says, and his smile is broad and *wet*. "We've *seen* you in drag."

"Mm, yeah," Jason says. "We've *also* seen you mostly *out* of drag and impaled on cock."

"Which, I must say, is an *excellent* look on you," and Dick's smile gets wider. "And I just *bet* that Clark already agrees with me."

Jason snorts and gives Dick a shove. "Are you *trying* to get Big Blue to show up unannounced?"

"*There's* an idea. What do you think, Tim? Wanna meet the man? See for yourself?"

"Well, I -- yes, actually, but not while I'm naked --"

"*Easy* enough problem to fix. Clark, come *here*. But wait until Tim gets his robe back on."

All right, *fine*. If *anything* can distract Tim from his own brain right now... yeah. Jason rolls out of bed and grabs Tim's robe.

Dick hustles Tim out of bed and *into* the robe --

And there's a knock on the window.

"Oh -- goodness," Tim says, staring wide-eyed... at the huge, grinning alien -- in farmboy civvies -- hovering outside the window.

Dick beams and jogs over to the windows, throwing one open --

"Thank you," Clark says, because he's already inside -- and offering Tim his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Robin."

Tim swallows and shakes Clark's hand. "And you, ah... Superman."

"Please, call me Clark. Especially when I'm dressed like this," and Clark fucking *swallows* Tim's hand in his own. "May I call you Tim?"

Tim's blinking again, looking up and up and up some more -- "I -- of course. I mean, I think so. I mean -- yes. Ah. How are you?"

If anything, Clark's smile gets even wider -- and starts seeming like it's lighting the *room*. "Quite well, thank you. I... hm. I understand you've been having something of a difficult time, tonight."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "By which you mean you've been... monitoring."

Clark's smile turns wry. "I find it very difficult to ignore the voices of the people I care about," he says, and turns to Jason. "Jason. Words can't express how happy I am to see you, for all that the circumstances are very strange."

"Um... yeah," Jason says, and pushes a hand back through his hair. He really is *extremely* naked, and so is Dick. And the fact that it *seems* like Clark is only looking into his eyes does *not* mean he is. "Hell, Clark, it's good to see you, too."

Clark's eyes narrow in amusement, and then he turns back to Tim. "I like to think that I've been a friend to your new family over the years, Tim. I'd be honored to add you to that particular... list."

Tim looks down at where Clark is still holding his hand in both of his own and touches his tongue to his upper lip -- "Ah -- why? You don't know me -- unless you've been listening a great *deal*."

Heh. Score one for the kid. Jason crosses his arms over his chest.

"Ah... hm." Clark moves *one* of his hands and scratches at his eyebrow a little. "How would you define 'a great deal?'"

"Oh, Clark, don't *weasel*," Dick says, pushing his way under Clark's arm and wrapping *his* arms around Clark's waist. "We *all* know you've been on high alert since you heard Jason's voice again."

Clark smiles down at Dick for a moment before turning to Jason again. "I wasn't sure. I -- told myself that I was imagining things, that my senses were lying. It wasn't a difficult thing to do, considering the fact that you didn't seek out Bruce. But then there were the things you said to Tim... I. If Bruce hadn't sought you out when he did, I would've felt the need --"

"To tell on me, Clark?" Jason shakes his head and smiles. "Yeah, I guess I can see your point."

"It's only that his grief was so powerful, his sense of hopelessness... I understand that you had reason to keep your secrets, Jason, but Bruce is my closest friend."

"Your *best* friend," Dick says, and nuzzles Clark's chest a little bit, and --

Of course *he* wouldn't care that he's bareass. Clark has been a 'good friend' to Dick for a lot of years --

"Yes, I suppose -- no, I do think of him that way. Though that doesn't mean I don't care for all of you," and Clark turns back to Tim. "Your secrets are safe with me. Always."

Tim laughs quietly and turns Clark's hand in his own, stroking Clark's palm and almost certainly noting the smoothness, the lack of anything resembling scar or callus. He touches his lip again with his tongue and looks up. "It seems as though I don't have a *choice* in terms of whether or not I trust you, Clark."

Clark frowns slightly --

"Don't think of it that way, little brother. We all keep so many secrets that it's *good* to have someone who knows just about everything. It's really kind of like sanity insurance," and Dick rubs his cheek against Clark's shoulder.

Clark sighs. "While I would like it very much if you were to subscribe to Dick's viewpoint, I do understand how that might not be possible. I can only say that I *do* work to give the people I care about as much privacy as possible. I can always hear, but I don't always *listen*."

Tim raises his eyebrow again, looking both thoughtful and speculative, but he nods after a moment. "All right, Clark. Though... possibly it's petty, but I can't help feeling as though I'm at a distinct disadvantage."

*That* makes Clark smile again, bright and hopeful. "At nearly any time you wish, I'm ready, willing, and able to converse with you, Tim. You should never feel as though any question you want to ask is too personal. You may make me blush, but it's a very small price to pay for the chance to have another friend."

God, *Clark*. "You've gotten a lot more subtle about putting the moves on a guy since you tried that with *me*," Jason says, and raises his own eyebrows.

Clark's smile for him is *deeply* wry -- and this time he looks Jason up and down *just* slowly enough that Jason can see it. "One does one's best. Jason."

Jason snorts and makes a pushing motion with his hands --

Clark sighs again. "As you wish," he says, and *winks*.

And Dick must've caught *all* of that, because he's laughing hard enough to shake his whole body against Clark's own --

And Tim is smiling again, bright and small and real. "I suppose... I suppose I'll have to call you. Sometime."

"Please do," Clark says, and reaches to push a lock of Tim's hair back from his forehead.

Jason's skin *remembers* what that touch is like, the way it's simultaneously almost too gentle to feel and *hot*, until it feels almost more like being shocked than being touched, and --

Tim stiffens and sucks in a breath, blushing impressively.

Clark lets *all* of them see exactly how much *that* had affected him, and then steps back, sharing his smile around. "I'll leave the three of you to your rest. Thank you for the opportunity to be near you. All of you."

Dick pushes up on his toes and kisses Clark --

And Clark flies them up until their hair is brushing the ceiling. Jason leaves them to it and focuses on Tim...

Who's looking *very* speculative again. *Right*. Jason moves up behind Tim and rests his hands on his shoulders, making a point of brushing the sides of Tim's throat with his fingers.

Tim shivers and steps back against him, but never takes his eyes off Dick and Clark, who, Jason has to admit, make a damned pretty picture --

And just that fast, Dick is swaying on his feet and Clark is gone, curtains flapping in the breeze. Dick closes his eyes and tilts his head back, breathing deeply -- "God, I love that smell."

"It smells a bit like the leading edge of a storm -- without the scents of the city to... interrupt it, I suppose," Tim says, and turns to look at Jason.

"Yeah?"

"That was 'subtle?' Clark hitting on me, I mean."

"Heh. Well, he didn't touch you until *after* he was done, and he didn't say anything about the way you smell --"

"Or what your eyes reminded him of," Dick says --

"Or the pleasure he takes in the act of 'physical love...'"

Tim's expression *quirks*. "I'm not sure if I'm insulted or relieved."

"*Don't* worry, little brother. All of that will come in time, whether or *not* you decide to give him a try. Clark believes in being *open*."

"And for *Dick* to say that about someone? You know it's hardcore," Jason says, and tugs on Tim's robe.

Tim steps out of it and stretches. "I -- I'm not sure how long it will take to come to terms with the fact that he can hear *everything*. That he's *heard* everything."

"Well, there *are* the times when he's off-planet or busy saving *this* planet," and Dick leads Tim back to the bed.

"Yep. Plus? All the time with Lois Lane."

Tim pauses halfway onto the bed, looking lean and tempting and entirely available for Jason to walk up behind him and grind against his ass a little -- "Oh. Jay. Um -- that isn't -- I thought that was a tabloid rumor."

"It *is*," Dick says, and climbs in on his side of the bed.

"And it isn't," Jason says, and strokes Tim's thighs a little before backing off and letting Tim get the rest of the way into bed. "It's complicated."

"Mm-*hm*. Poor Clark. It's tough to have your major romantic competition be a guy you *created*."

Jason snorts. "I always thought that marked Lois out as kind of a freak. I mean, okay, I can see wanting Clark -- *he's* a freak, but yeah, he's a good guy. But Superman? You might as well perv on McGuffin the Crime Puffin or something."

"Oh, that's totally unfair," and Dick turns onto his side and starts wagging his finger at Jason. "For one thing, the puffin doesn't have god-like powers and that *body*. For another thing, *she* doesn't get to know the real Clark."

"Well, whose fault is that, Big Bird? I mean, *I* always thought that if Clark really wanted to settle down with Lois, he'd suck it up and *give* it up. It's not like Lois would run to her damned editor and spill the guy's secret to the world. Or is it?"

Dick frowns and absently pets Tim. "I'm not sure. I've only met her once or twice, and she wasn't exactly in the mood to open up and share with the kid vigilante, but -- well. She loves at least *some* of Clark. That has to count for something."

Jason shakes his head. "Okay, that's kinda fucked."

"But... wouldn't it be the same with any civilian?" Tim looks at both of them. "You'd always have to wonder if they *could* keep the secret, because none of them could possibly understand how important the secret *is*. If they could, they probably wouldn't *be* civilians, right? At least -- not entirely."

That...

"I think that's kind of harsh, little brother --"

"I don't mean it to be some kind of... of *slam* against the vast majority of people who don't live the way we do, Dick. I just mean that it *is* a crazy way of doing things, and it doesn't seem like it would be the easiest thing in the world to *share* that kind of crazy."

Jason doesn't have to look -- he can *feel* Dick frowning for that one. But -- "Tim has a point, Big Bird. With *any* civilian, you start out by lying about who you are -- telling *big* lies about who you are and what you do with your free time. Even with the most sympathetic civilian, that *has* to fuck things up at least a little. Or have *you* been spending a lot of time macking on citizens?"

"Citizens. I -- a lot less time than *you* have, Jay, and, all right, I have to admit -- all the lies kept me from even *thinking* about being with a civilian perhaps as much as Babs' Batgirl uniform did --"

"My fucking God, she was sexy in that thing."

Dick sighs. "She didn't actually *start* my puberty, but she certainly sped it *up*."

"Jesus. I can see it," Jason says, and grins. "I'm seeing it right *now*."

"Our first kiss..." Dick sighs again. "I think I would've ridden my bike under a truck if she said she'd slip me some tongue for it."

Jason snorts. "Back to Lois."

"Yeah, Lois. Well, probably? No one knows her better than Clark does, and he wouldn't *be* madly in love with her if she wasn't actually a wonderful person --"

"You don't think he seems a little... free? With his love?" And Tim turns to give Dick the *questioning* eyebrow.

Dick laughs. "Okay, it's nothing but the truth that a *large* part of Clark would thrive in some hippie commune with organic farming and daily orgies, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have excellent *taste*. Look how well he's taken to *you*."

Tim blushes again. "He doesn't -- all right, he *does* know me, but that doesn't make it any *better*."

"Heh. *Go* with that, baby bro," Jason says, wrapping his arm around Tim's waist and squeezing --

"I -- he's also. He's. I think I like him --"

"Go with *that*, little brother --"

"It's just that I'm a little afraid of him, and also afraid of how *much* I could like him. There's a certain terrifying appeal to the idea of being with someone who already knows *every* bad and boring thing about me *because* he's been paying attention --"

"Big alien *stalker* --"

"We stalkers have to stick *together*, Jay," Tim says, and there's a smile on his face, but it doesn't quite make it to his eyes -- which is understandable.

Jason presses down on Tim's chest. "It's freaky as *hell* that you were stalking all of us for almost four years, but --"

"That's different, Jay? Tell me how, please."

Dick hums. "He's got you there, little wing."

"Oh, fuck off, Dick. He *doesn't* 'got' me, at all. It *is* different, because Tim is Tim -- not Clark fucking Kent -- and that means he gets a free pass."

"I think he *likes* you," Dick stage-whispers -- and then sticks his tongue out at him.

Jason flips him off, and Tim --

The smile *does* make it to his eyes. Good enough. "Go to sleep, baby bro," Jason says, and flicks Tim's nose lightly. "Neither of us will until you do."

"Oh, no pressure *there* --"

"None at *all*," Dick says. "We could make Jason sing you a lullaby?"

Tim coughs out a laugh.

"Oh, yeah, here ya go: Lullaby and good night, go to sleep or I punch you in the face."

Another laugh, and Dick's grinning, and -- damn, this is good. Just -- good.

Too good, maybe, but it's not like he can even imagine walking away from it tonight. Jason smiles ruefully and kisses Tim lightly -- and then gets pulled into a kiss from Dick --

Who then turns and kisses Tim. "Sleep."

"All right. But I reserve the right to blame both of you if I get so used to this kind of thing that I have difficulty sleeping alone," Tim says, and the laugh is in his voice, but he's *also* being serious.

"One of the first Titan inventions was a kind of water-lung for Garth so he could take naps with the rest of us, sometimes. *Don't* tempt my ingenuity --"

"Yeah, you might wind up sleeping with the fish-boy. Who really is kinda pretty."

"Especially in drag," Dick says, and kisses Tim one more time. "We're here," and his voice is lower and a lot more serious. "And we won't let you sleep through Bruce's call."

Tim nods and closes his eyes, and Jason and Dick spend the next five minutes staring at Tim until he *is* asleep -- which is kind of an impressive feat on Tim's part.

Dick reaches over Tim's body and clasps Jason's forearm. Jason returns the gesture.

They put themselves out --

*

-- for what feels like about three minutes before Alfred is leaning over the bed with their comms -- all three of them -- on a little tray. Jason's *awake*, and so is Dick.

Tim makes a soft sound when Dick slips his comm in, but then he's awake, too, because --

"B to all. I'm coming in."

And Jason knows that feeling is *hope*, but he'll be damned if he knows what he's hoping *for* --

Tim swallows. "What about --"

"The Obeah man and his organization has been neutralized, and... one of the hostages has been retrieved safely. She's with the Port-au-Prince authorities," Bruce says. It's the *Bat* voice, but Bruce is all over it. That fucking hesitation --

"One," Tim says, and it's not a question. It's -- God, it's a verbal fucking *punch*, or maybe the aftermath of one --

"There will be an autopsy, but there is a ninety-five percent chance that Jack Drake was... murdered. With poison."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut --

"No. No, I -- no --"

"The authorities," Bruce says, inexorable *and* slipping, "will be contacting the Drakes' family in Gotham within the next two hours. Robin..."

"Batman. I'm. I'm here."

"Robin. I."

Jason opens his eyes, and Tim's face is blank right up until you look in his eyes, which are exactly as terrible as they should be --

"Batman out."

Dick wraps himself around Tim immediately, but it doesn't do anything for the question of what Jason should be doing right now. Tim's staring *through* him, and -- fuck.

Just -- *fuck*. "Tim --"

"My father is dead, Jay."

Jason nods --

"No. Say it. Say it for me, please."

Jason reaches out and *just* lets his hand brush Tim's knee --

Tim shudders. "Say it."

"Your father is dead."

Dick makes a soft sound and squeezes Tim tighter. "We've gotta get you back home, but we've got a few minutes --"

"A few. Minutes." Tim bites his lip *hard* and nods, shrugging free enough to stroke Dick's arms. "My father is dead."

"Yeah, Tim. He is."

Tim tilts his head to the side, eyes wide and fucking -- brimming. "Do you still hate him, Jay?"

Jason shakes his head. "What I'm feeling doesn't matter for shit right now, Tim --"

"It does. It always does. Just -- trust me," Tim says, scrubbing the tears away and laughing horribly. "Tell me."

Damn. "Yes, Tim. I hate him."

"There's. I've always thought that there's a virtue to consistency, but now I wonder if there's anything I could say or do to make you feel differently, and how I would feel if it turned out that there wasn't."

"God, little brother, I'm so sorry. I know that doesn't mean anything right now --"

"It does," Tim says. "Neither of you should ever worry about the things you say not meaning anything to me. I'm just -- that's just not how I'm made," Tim says, and shrugs Dick off the rest of the way before standing up on the bed and stepping off. "I have two very good brothers. I don't have a father, but -- the balance sheet is difficult to picture," and Tim puts on his robe. "Perhaps I shouldn't be thinking about it that way."

"I don't think you should, no," Jason says, and he and Dick move off the bed, too --

"It never works that way, Tim. Even if we want it to."

Tim makes a non-committal noise and walks out, making them shrug their own robes on at speed --

Alfred has stopped Tim in the hall with a pile of folded clothes -- just Tim's own.

Jason looks at Dick --

"We let Alfred take him home in one of the cars, little wing. And we damned well stay *on* his house until he gets himself alone again."

Jason nods, and they head down to the Cave for their uniforms, trusting Alfred to keep Tim from doing anything like trying to *walk* home. If anyone is used to kids with dead parents...

What has he *done*?

Wouldn't it have been better to lure them out for a night on the town and -- he could've made it look like a mugging. He could've made it be *quick* on Tim, and Bruce would've taken him in, and Tim would've had devoted himself even more seriously to the Mission, to all of *them* --

Except that he would've felt the need to confess, sooner or later. Just like he'd confessed every other fucking *thing* --

"Don't lose it, Jay. Deal with the fact that you *could've* stopped this *and* deal with the fact that *you're* not the one who poisoned Tim's father," Dick says, and pulls on his boots. "Tim needs that from you, and I do, too."

"Dick --"

"*No*. He needs you, and for better or worse, you set it *up* that way. Don't get yourself so *fucking* wound up that you need to run again."

Jason sucks in a breath for the slap that was. He could say something here about how he needs to go back, go *somewhere*, how he can't just --

He can't say anything of the kind. He nods and finishes getting dressed, and they head for the bikes together. And...

"Dick. Some of the things that go through my mind --"

"Are fucked beyond *all* recognition, I know," Dick says, and turns a hard smile on him. "So what else is new? One of the first things I thought about you was that you would've made a good *henchman*, Jay."

"And you still feel that way?"

"No way. There just isn't a hero who you *are* designed to be a sidekick for. You're your own man, and a good one. You led a fucked up life before you even got here, and all of that is always going to be in your head -- but you pull yourself above it a little more each day, and I'm *not* going to let you forget that."

"Dick, I wish his mother had died, too. The only thing holding me back from that feeling is the fact that I need him to love me."

"They can't be that *bad*, Jay --"

"No, they aren't. Or -- hell, Dick, I knew a kid who grew up in a house like that. She killed herself *slowly*. And you've seen --" Jason pushes a hand back through his hair. "And it's not just being mad on Tim's behalf. It'd be easier if it was. I don't want any *part* of him to belong to those people."

"They're his *parents* --"

"Yeah. But *we're* his family. And that's all I want, and I can't make myself stop wanting it, no matter how good a person I *want* to be," Jason says, and stares into Dick's eyes, fucking *willing* him to see, to understand, to *care* --

Dick frowns and shakes his head. "I don't understand, Jay. I don't -- I don't think I *can* understand."

Jason closes his eyes and nods. And then he opens his eyes again and focuses hard on Dick. "Then just remember it. Remember that I said it, that I fucking *owned* it, okay?"

Dick grips Jason's shoulder and squeezes hard, nodding. "Let's go."

In the end, they spend a good hour and a half crouching behind a directional mike and wincing as Tim alternately plays and *is* the worried, grieving son for his housekeeper before the woman leaves to make what sounds like will be a truly fucking epic grocery shopping trip.

They give it five solid minutes after she drives off and then invade, climbing through Tim's bedroom window just in time for Tim to walk in.

His eyes are hollow and he looks like he's lost weight. Knowing that's impossible doesn't chase the illusion away, and --

Jason can't keep himself from pulling Tim into his arms. The *most* he can do is to do it slowly and gently enough that Tim has time to pull away, reject him, fucking *hit* him --

Tim sighs against Jason's chest and lets himself be held for a long moment before he hugs Jason back.

Dick moves up behind Tim and joins the hug -- "What can we do, little brother?"

"I haven't the foggiest clue -- no, that's a lie. I. You have to understand that I'd begun preparing for this. I couldn't quite formulate a mental equation of how I would handle it if my mother died *versus* my father dying, but I still... I still considered it."

"That's because you're not like other kids. You're -- you're better," Jason says --

"Mm. Perhaps I'm just more anal. What you can do for me: please don't let me chase you away. Tell me to shut up and cry if you have to, just -- don't let me chase you away. Either of you."

"God, Tim -- you got it," Dick says, and squeezes tighter --

"At the same time, Dick, I don't think it counts as chasing you away to point out that you should be on your way back to New York."

"Tim --"

"No, Jay, he -- he *told* Starfire that he would go back once Ivy was taken care of -- all right, now I can't actually breathe."

"Sorry, sorry, I just -- I can't leave you right now, little brother. And if you think that Kory wouldn't understand -- and *agree* -- then I have to let her shoot starbolts at you for a little while."

"I --" Tim wriggles most of the way free. "I think I would actually find that soothing, right now. Maybe... I could always use more crossfire training," Tim says, sounding *hopeful* --

Jason cups his shoulders. "You have to stay in --"

"Not -- not at *night*. Mrs. Mac will sleep, and --"

"Your mother is *going* to call at some point, Tim, and you know... your housekeeper will probably try to wake you up for it," Dick says, and strokes Tim's hair almost restlessly --

"You're being reasonable. I think. I think I might hate that. And my father is dead. My father is dead. I'm never going to see him again, because he's dead. My mother is going to need. Oh. I don't know what she's going to *need*. I don't --" Tim shrugs free again and starts pacing, crossing his arms over his chest and patting at his own arms, frowning hard and --

Facial tic. He's about to have a panic attack.

Jason grabs Tim and drags him over to his bed, stroking him and saying... he has no idea what he's saying, but it's in a low voice, and maybe it's even soothing, because after a few minutes of it, Tim takes a calming breath --

And curls into something like a fetal position on the bed. "I'm fully aware that I'm not making a. A very good showing."

Dick crawls onto the bed -- boots *off* -- and curls up behind Tim. "You're doing fine."

"You really are, kid. You --"

"You really should let yourself lose it," Dick says, and pulls Tim against him. "We're *here*."

"You have to go. You have to leave me alone. I really should -- it would just make sense for me to begin preparing for that, the way I'd begun preparing for the loss -- the death -- I've skipped denial entirely, haven't I?"

Jason winces and toes his own boots off, settling in on Tim's other side. "Yeah, pretty much. You've always been pretty fast."

"Maybe. Maybe I can skip some other steps --"

"*Don't* try," Dick says. "You'll just wind up tripping over yourself when all the repression backfires on you. *Trust* the orphans."

"Half an orphan. I. Do you think my mother will want to..." Tim frowns and straightens out, turning onto his back and folding his hands on his chest -- and then he winces and stretches his arms out at his sides. "Families are supposed to try to pull together in times of grief and crisis."

Dick nods. Jason... thinks he might have to abstain from that one --

"You don't think she'll want to pull together, do you, Jay?"

Dick sends him a warning look --

"I don't know, Tim. I really --"

"Don't lie. Please don't lie to me."

*Dick* winces --

"All right. I... going by the behaviors and habits I've observed, I think she'll fold in on herself in her grief, and probably resent any attempt to pull her out of herself --"

"*Jesus*, little wing --"

"I could be -- I could be *wrong*," Jason says, searching Tim's eyes. "I could be wrong."

Tim nods, bites his lip, and nods again. "Will you hate her more or less if you are?"

"That depends on how she goes about reaching out, Tim. If she opens up for you or just decides to make you bear all the weight. If she copes or if she expects everyone else -- including you -- to do it for her. If she acts like an adult or if she takes her pain out on you."

Tim makes a sound -- swallows it back. "You have to *know*. She's never been abusive. She -- not to. Not to me."

"I know, Tim. I know that. I just don't trust her to keep up the good work."

Tim nods and stares at nothing for a solid minute, another --

And Jason catches himself trying to match the rhythm of Tim's breathing, then trying to match *Dick's* --

"Thank you, Jay. For being honest. It's -- it's very important."

Jason nods and reaches to hold Tim's hand, pushing his fingers between Tim's own and squeezing.

"I think I'd also like to know... what are the terrible things that are supposed to happen in Gotham -- that *happened* in your Gotham?"

Dick rests his hand on Tim's chest. "Tim, there's no way to be sure -- the timeline is already different --"

"Yes, I know. But I need to -- I think what's driving me hardest, right now, is the need to remember the important things --"

"It *is* important that your Dad died, little brother. It's *okay* if that's your whole world right now --"

"No," Tim says, and sits up in a casual lotus. "It isn't okay, because it would *hurt* more to just fall into my own pit. I'm *going* to cry -- more than I have, and I'm going to do all those other things, but right *now* --"

"A guy who calls himself Bane is going to break Bruce's back. He'll recover, but it wouldn't have happened at all, probably, if you had been there to *watch* his back, Tim --"

"God, *what* --"

Tim gives Dick the stand-down gesture. "Why do you think I wasn't there?"

"I had no idea -- but now that I've thought about it..." Jason sighs and sits up, too, keeping a hold on Tim's hand. "He probably pushed you away in a blend of exhaustion-related insanity -- Bane causes a mass breakout at Arkham -- and grief for... for me."

Tim nods. "I won't let that happen. What else?"

"The guy Bruce appoints to take his place is brutal and kind of insane in his own right -- he kills."

"Jesus. I -- *hell*, little wing, *I* won't let that happen --"

"But you might've," Tim says, and looks at Dick. "If you hadn't worked things out with Bruce before then. Right?"

Dick rears back, rolling off the bed and starting to pace. "I don't think I should hear this. I -- we can't drive ourselves crazy about a future that might not *happen*."

"I think we should be prepared," and Tim turns back to him. "What else?"

"Plague," Jason says. "Manufactured, that is. You catch it while tracking down the assholes who released it and nearly die. It takes out thousands."

Dick moves to the window and grips the edges of it. "God, Jay. Where were *you* when all of this went down?"

"Learning at Talia's knee and being a fuckup."

Dick shakes his head --

"What else?"

"Earthquake. Massive one. Thousands are killed immediately, the president orders the city to be evacuated and abandoned. Meanwhile, Arkham isn't quake-proof, so *everyone* gets out and starts carving up the city. It takes the whole family -- minus me -- over a year to get things halfway cleaned-up again. Nobody ever manages to root Ivy out of Grant Park. You turn fifteen in the middle of it, Tim."

"All of this happens in the next two *years*, little wing?"

Jason nods. "There's more, but... those are the major things. Those are the things I wanted -- needed -- Tim to be ready for, more than anything else. A lot can change if Bruce has the right kind of partner."

"Someone hard. Someone sure and *ruthless*. Over and above all of those things, someone who was dedicated to the family and, perhaps, *only* the family. No distractions. No weaknesses that couldn't be covered, healed, or ameliorated *by* the family. Yes, I see," Tim says, and moves into a more perfect lotus.

Dick comes back to the bed and cups Tim's face. "You *won't* be alone."

Tim's smile is small and *feels* cracked. "No. I'll be part of a family. The best family anyone could ever ask for. I -- do you think Barbara will like me?"

Dick narrows his eyes in something that looks a lot like pain and kisses Tim's forehead. "I think once she sees what you can do with computers... on *top* of everything we'll be telling her about you..."

"She'll wanna keep you, Tim," Jason says, and squeezes Tim's hand again.

"Yeah," Dick says. "*That*," and he sits beside Tim again. "Why don't... you could tell us about your father, a little, you know."

"Stories. Memories," and Tim turns to Jason.

Jason nods.

Tim laughs again. "Part of me wonders what the point will be of that. I can't convince you of anything."

"I'm stubborn, but I'm not -- tell us about loving him. Show him to us," and Jason squeezes harder. "Please."

"You're just trying to get me to deal with my emotions. I -- I suppose that's necessary, too. All right."

And Tim spends the next two hours offering carefully-chosen fragments of his life with his father. They all know he's editing like crazy, and they all know that he's digging fucking *deep* to come *up* with things to say about the man.

It hurts, more and more, and finally even Dick gives up and starts telling stories about *his* parents while they keep an ear on what the housekeeper is doing downstairs.

Jason can feel Tim getting tired, but he can *also* feel Tim fighting it as hard as he can. He's not looking forward to his own dreams, either.

Finally, silently, Tim starts to cry, ignoring it until his collar starts getting wet, and then stripping off angrily, using the shirt to scrub at his face --

"Tim? Your mother's on the phone!" The housekeeper from the foot of the stairs -- "Did you hear me, Tim?"

"Yes! Thank you, Mrs. Mac," Tim says, voice thick and obvious --

Oh, yeah. It's supposed to be. Jason hands Tim the cordless --

"Yes, it's me, Mom. I --"

Jason can feel Dick looking at him.

"I know. I know. Mom, are you okay?"

Jason squeezes his eyes shut. Just -- for a moment --

"All right. I understand. But --"

He opens them, and fuck if Tim isn't pulling on his damned game face. What is she *saying* to him?

"Tomorrow. All right. I'll. Mom, I'm so sorry --"

And Jason can't hear *exactly* what the woman is saying, but it's loud enough that Tim winces and holds the phone away from his ear -- it stops.

"I won't, Mom. I promise. Yes. I -- goodbye," Tim says, and presses the end button. And then rears back to throw the phone out the window --

Jason catches his arm. "You probably don't want to do that."

"You're probably right," and Tim drops the phone into Jason's hand. "She's upset. I think that's understandable."

"It really is, little brother --"

"And she -- she just doesn't want me to. I think she'll probably." Tim's face crumples and he covers it with his shirt, muscles tense and flexing. The light catches the scars Jason has given him, and makes the two dozen or so small cuts Ivy had given him fade --

Jason pulls Tim into his arms again and strokes the back of his head, waiting it out and fucking *tasting* it, the bile of *whatever* the fuck it was the woman had said to Tim --

*Screamed* at him --

Tim gasps in a breath and makes a soft keening noise -- and cuts himself off, stepping back. "She needs me to -- be strong. She could hear that I'd been crying, and she doesn't *like* crying --"

"Fucking *A* --"

"*No*, Jay. It's -- she. Everyone has their own ways of dealing with grief, and this is hers. She'd been giving statements all day, forced to go over and over her -- her *ordeal* --"

"There's *nothing* wrong with crying, little brother --"

"I *know* that," Tim says -- *snarls*. "I -- I know. It's just that she's under a lot of *pressure* right now --"

Jason grabs Tim again, and this time Tim grabs fistfuls of Jason's shirt and starts banging his head against Jason's chest. The body-armor Jason's wearing can't hurt him too badly, but it's still fucking horrible to feel, to *see* --

And Dick's looking at *him* like maybe he has any answers.

He doesn't. But he can damned well hold on.

*

The next few days revolve around patrolling, sleeping, and stalking Tim's neighborhood for those times when he's not being there for his fucking mother, who has thrown herself into liquid grief with a fucking vengeance. She had Tim mixing her martinis for a while, but his failure to make them strong enough *quickly* lost him that job.

The housekeeper is gamely keeping on, but there's only so much of being screamed at by Janet Drake for no good reason the woman's going to take. And then... what?

Will she call in child services? Bruce would step in in a heartbeat -- if Jason had to drag him to the courthouse by his goddamned necktie -- but would Tim be able to handle leaving her?

Every day, Tim talks patiently about getting her counseling. Every night, three sheets to the wind, she agrees that it's a wonderful idea and promises to make the call tomorrow. The business is in the hands of the executive vice president.

The funeral arrangements are all made -- thanks, subtly, to Alfred -- but Jack Drake's body hasn't been released. It's entirely possible that the woman will calm the fuck down once he's back in the States and in the ground, but Jason has his doubts. Booze makes a lot of bad fucking behavior *too* easy.

And Tim...

Yesterday, he'd explained -- in that way where *all* of them knew that he was pulling out his own fucking liver to do it -- that he couldn't handle keeping Dick away from his girlfriend and his team, anymore, and that having Dick around was harder than not. Dick had fought hard -- hard enough that Tim had actually started *begging* -- and that was too ugly for Dick to deal with. He's gone, now, and it's just him keeping watch.

Bruce is taking care of the city, and hiding from the fact that he'd failed Tim, and that can't...

God, that can't *last*. It's not his fault, and maybe Jason should be working harder to make Bruce see that... he doesn't know.

Right now, Tim is eating dinner next to his mother, who's drinking it. Tim said the housekeeper had started cooking Janet's favorites, and -- everything about Tim is clear and calm, except for the tension that's hard enough to make Tim look like he'll fucking shatter at *any* given moment.

From what Jason has seen, Tim hasn't cried since the first day, but maybe that feels like payment for all the things Jason *hasn't* said about the situation he's living in. Jason *could* take Tim out for patrols, but Tim had benched himself without a moment's hesitation --

("I will kill someone, Jason. And I think I'll enjoy it a great deal.")

And there's a part of him that's just laughing itself sick about *that*. Isn't that what he'd wanted? Isn't that what he'd *trained* Tim for?

God, every fucking *moment* without him --

Every moment watching him like *this* --

And then his heart is in his throat, because that blue flutter at the edge of his vision is Bruce pausing to announce himself before crouching at Jason's side.

Jason takes a breath. "Thank God you're finally here."

"I didn't know -- no. I knew I had to be."

Jason nods. "He needs someone other than me."

"He doesn't need *me* --"

"Stop. Just stop, B," Jason says, and turns to look at Bruce. "He hasn't asked for you, but he *wouldn't*. He doesn't think he deserves anyone. Add to that the *fact* that he blames me and *not* you --"

"Do you know that for sure?"

"Yeah, I do. I told him that you weren't able to save both of his parents in the other world, and you did *better* than that Bruce."

"Because Janet Drake is... well."

"She's not well at all, but she's physically healthy. For now."

Bruce nods. "I monitored the cameras I have in their home. I -- listened," Bruce says, and he sounds like he wants a confessor.

It's so very *much* not the first time he'd heard that tone in Bruce's voice. Jason shakes his head. "She's no good for him, B."

Bruce frowns. "She's his mother."

"She should *act* like it --"

"What," Bruce says, and covers Jason's hand with his own, all but fucking *begging* for a pause.

"I'm listening, B."

"What do you think he needs?"

His father to be alive and well, doing whatever it is he does that makes his mother *not* drink like it's going out of style. Jason does his own frowning. "More than what we can give him -- but that doesn't mean we shouldn't *be* giving."

Bruce nods and squeezes Jason's hand. "I could tell how thirsty they were. How it had become... another sort of torture."

The poison was in the water the so-called Obeah man had been *displaying* for the Drakes... "Yeah, B?"

"I didn't have water with me -- I'd consumed my own supply during the stakeout. I... did you know that the man had drunk from the pitcher, himself? He'd spent years building up a tolerance to various poisons, the better to impress his followers," Bruce says, and sounds like he's right back there watching. "I didn't think."

"There's no way you could've known --"

"I almost knocked *over* the pitcher during the fight, Jay. I -- as soon as I freed him, Drake picked the whole pitcher up and poured the water down his throat, over his face... his wife was reaching for it when he collapsed."

Selfish to the end -- no, that's not what Bruce wants to hear from him. "How long did it take for emergency services to get there?"

"Forty minutes -- impressive, considering how deep into the jungle we were." Bruce shakes his head. "By then, Jack Drake had been dead for thirty-nine and a *half* minutes."

"Fuck."

Bruce grunts. "If I hadn't waited --"

"Then you might've been dead, too."

"I meant -- when I was supposed to leave. They were kidnapped before they reached their hotel, Jay. The Arkham alarm --"

"B, we all have reflexes. You've been... it'd been months since you had anything resembling back-up, and you'd *never* had back-up who could handle that kind of thing without you."

Bruce doesn't say anything, but he might as well be *screaming* 'not good enough.'

"C'mon, B, what *good* is going to come out of you beating yourself up?"

"Being beaten...?" Bruce hums and shakes his head. "No, Jay, I know what you're saying, and I even understand it. When Dick lost his parents, I -- eventually -- explained to myself that there was nothing I could've done. When... when Two-Face began murdering the men who worked for him, I hadn't paid enough attention to the family life of your father and, eventually, I explained to myself that there was nothing I could've done. This time, I had all the information it was possible *to* have, including where the crime was going to take place --"

"Yeah, right, because my narrowing it down to a *country* was all that fucking helpful --"

"You have to see where I'm going with this, Jay. I *can't* help wondering if, perhaps, a part of me is working against the rest -- and working *for* companionship for myself. How deep would I have to dig to find something like that? To find that *impulse*?"

"Further than you *go*, Bruce --"

Bruce's cape snaps in the light breeze, and Jason knows that if they were in the Cave or the manor right now, Bruce would be pacing, and, perhaps, growling.

"I *know* you, remember? I know exactly what you are and aren't capable of -- maybe better than anyone else *including* yourself."

Bruce looks at him, and even with the cowl on, Jason knows he's being searched. Fucking *studied*.

Jason looks right back, flipping his lenses up so he can make *sure* that Bruce is seeing all of it --

"How much of your comfort is based on the idea of you being capable of far more -- and far less -- than I am?"

"I *am*, Bruce, and we both know it, but no, that's not it. It's *you*, and the fact that you were born to be a hero -- more so than anyone I've ever met. I. God, I *tried* to fucking turn you in that other world --"

"Jay --"

"No. Listen to me, all right? I gave you a chance to have me *back*. All you had to do was let Joker die. You didn't even have to *do* anything -- just not save him. And I would be there. I would've given you anything, right up to me moving back into the manor and being your partner again. Hell, I even planned to stop beating the crap out of Tim whenever I saw him -- call it icing."

"I could never... murder isn't --"

"You took an Oath, yeah, and you gave it to all of us in turn. I *broke* that oath -- all the fuck over the place -- but you still wanted me --"

"Because I *love* you, Jason. All of you, and I always have. I can't -- I can *remember* a time when I didn't love you, of course, but I *can't* remember a time when I wasn't waiting for you," Bruce says, and cups Jason's face.

The gauntlet is cool and slick on Jason's cheek, and... yeah, this is getting away from things. "I know all that. But you could *never* love anyone enough to kill for them, or even step back away from your Mission a *little* bit. I know it, Dick knows it, and Tim knows it, too."

Bruce sucks in a breath and nods, moving his hand from Jason's cheek. "I... I've missed you, Jason."

"I... haven't exactly been around much, no. I know. I miss you, too."

Bruce smiles, teeth showing for a heartbeat. "Perhaps that shouldn't please me as much as it does."

Jason snorts. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't be *you* if it didn't, so... go with it."

Bruce nods and covers Jason's hand again. "Tell me how he's taking care of his mother."

"He's been leaving snack-type foods in reach of her favorite drinking spots, instructing the housekeeper to keep what are apparently her favorite juices in the house, turning her on her side when she passes out -- that kind of thing. It's not --"

"Enough, no. He has no other family, Jay."

"I know."

"His mother needs help that she can't get at home. I... perhaps Bruce Wayne should pay a visit."

Now *that's* an idea, but -- "How are you going to swing it?"

"I asked Dick to come back down tomorrow. Dick has taken Tim under his wing in recent months -- after a chance meeting in the city during one of Dick's frequent visits."

Jason whistles softly. "Yeah, that could do it -- but she might turn on Tim for spreading her problems around. That wouldn't be good for anyone, B."

"Then I will just have to be subtle," Bruce says, and stands. "Watch him. Tell him I'm coming. Try... try to make him see that it would be for the best, and only temporary."

"That... he has reason not to trust *me* about these things --"

"Because you didn't give him the chance to stop his parents' trip, himself. Yes, I can understand that. Tell him I'll do my best to come *tonight*, then," and Bruce clenches his hands into fists. "Jay... thank you for telling Dick and Tim what you know about what -- might -- happen. For giving me the opportunity to hear, and to prepare."

Jason pushes a hand back through his hair. "Just don't work so hard *to* prepare that you set off something nastier, B."

Another smile. "We all do what we can," he says, and leaps off the far edge of the roof. Jason reflexively listens for the grapple and, once he hears it, returns his attention to the Drakes.

He spends the next hour listening to Tim talk up the therapy and rehab places he's been studying, just as if he hadn't done it the night before and the night before that.

He watches Janet Drake slip into her bedroom and close the door, taking off the robe that's the only thing she'd bothered to put on today. She's a good-looking woman and Jason wants her -- gone. Not dead. Not *really* -- though that's mostly because she's alive right now and he's looking at her.

He couldn't put a bullet through her skull. He couldn't strangle her or slit the throat that looks so much like Tim's own.

Right now, she's hugging herself and staring blindly at all the things she and her husband had collected over the years. Normal toys like the big-screen TV and the mahogany furniture that had to have set them back a pretty penny, and the other things -- statues and art from all over the world. Places they'd never bothered to let Tim see.

She hugs herself.

She cries, silently and copiously.

She stops, and pulls a bottle of vodka from under the bed. She usually likes her vodka cold, but for this time of night... the thing's already half-empty, but she's a small woman. It'll last her until she passes out.

In the kitchen, the housekeeper is preparing a platter of foods to Tim's undoubtedly careful specifications. If the routine is the same as the last few nights, Tim will wait a good twenty minutes -- until Janet's taken some hits off the bottle and has crawled into bed -- before knocking on the door.

Janet will yell at him for something -- maybe for something like putting the wrong fruit on the tray -- and Tim will apologize and leave the tray on the night table. He'll move to kiss her goodnight, she'll offer her cheek, and Tim will go back to his room and stare into the darkness while pretending to meditate.

That's what Jason's waiting for, and that's pretty much exactly what he gets -- except that the yelling, this time, is about the fact that Tim hadn't gotten the housekeeper to change the drapes to darker ones.

Tim will do that the very next day, but the woman will still find something else that night.

Jason waits until Tim is in his bedroom and then goes, pushing in --

"I don't know what to do," and Tim's voice is exhausted and this close to fucking *dead*.

"I get that, baby bro," Jason says, toeing off his boots and sitting next to Tim on his bed, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling all that tension and pain against his own body --

"She's going to get. She's going to get sick."

"I know that, too. Bruce -- Bruce is coming tonight, if he can. After his patrol."

"Do you think... did he have any ideas?"

Jason kisses the top of Tim's head. "Bruce *Wayne* -- and Dick Grayson -- are going to show up at your door tomorrow to have a talk with your mother about maybe... taking a little break. Dick's your good friend, and you'd just love to spend some more time with him."

"That. I'm not sure that would work, Jay. I mean, she doesn't want to. She says she wants to. I. She's not an *alcoholic*."

They never are -- that won't help. "It's going to take some manipulation. They're probably going to need your help --"

"*Speaking* of manipulation --" Tim pushes away from Jason and gets up off the bed. He doesn't pace and he doesn't say anything else, just stands there off to the side of the light from the street, a shadow in shadows.

Where Jason belongs. "I wasn't trying to manipulate you --"

Tim snorts --

"But I can deal with the fact that I was doing it anyway. I'm just not as *good* at it as you are --"

"I've *never* tried to manipulate you --"

"No, you haven't. But you've had a whole lot of people dancing to your tune these past few months, and..." Jason sighs and doesn't squeeze his eyes shut. "You're going to have to do it *more*."

Silence.

Silence --

"I don't want to," Tim says, quiet and -- fucking young.

"I know --"

"You *don't*, Jay. You never had to play your own -- your own *fucking* family."

"If I had, they might still be alive. One or two of them, anyway --"

"Oh yes, there's *that*," Tim says, laughing low and hard. "Is that why you didn't give me a chance to stop this? Because you thought I'd do too good a job?"

Fucking ouch. Jason digs the heels of his hands in against his eyes and lets himself fall back on Tim's bed --

"It is, isn't it, Jay? You have so much *faith* in me. You -- you know what I can do when I'm *motivated*."

"Tim --"

"Stop pretending you give a *shit* about me saving my mother's fucking *life*, Jay --"

"I'm not, and I don't -- except for how *not* managing to do it would affect *you*," Jason says, and sits up on his elbows. "Now would you come back over here?"

"And if I don't particularly feel like touching you right now?"

"Then that's fair, Tim. I... I don't want you to hurt. Can you believe that?"

Tim swallows audibly and turns toward the window. "Too much."

"All right. Can you believe that Bruce's motivations are cleaner than mine? Because they *are*."

"Yes. Yes, I believe. I... what am I supposed to do once you all -- with my *help* -- get my mother packaged away in some rehab spa and I'm a resident of the manor? Get back to work?"

"When you're ready." Which had --

"Which had better be soon, yes, I know," Tim says, and moves to turn the lamp on beside the bed. The shadows make the hollows under his eyes even deeper than they actually are, and all Jason wants to do is knock the kid out and take him *home*.

He'll keep Tim there, and make him feel better *somehow*. Bruce and Dick will *help* with that --

"What about the funeral, Jay? She -- she has to be there."

"She will be. If she can handle it. Or do you really want her there if she *can't*?"

"She won't -- it's not like she'll hurl herself onto the casket as they lower it into the *dirt*, Jay --"

"But there are other things," Jason says, and reaches out for Tim.

Tim takes his hand and curls up next to him, shuddering and sighing. "She told me that she wished she hadn't agreed to go. That Haiti in the summer was a stupid vacation choice, anyway, but that DI was looking to expand a little. That it was a *research* trip."

Jason strokes Tim's arm. "Yeah?"

"I said that I was sorry, again. I really. I shouldn't have done that. She doesn't need to hear that, because she already blames *herself* for not fighting harder not to go --"

"Tim --"

"She. She told me that if I'd tried to keep her and my father home, they would've had to talk to me about being too. Too clingy."

Fucking *hell*. *He* hadn't heard that conversation, but he's willing to bet Bruce *had*. "You're not clingy."

"Says the man currently setting aside a portion of each day just to cuddle me into submission."

"You're *not* fucking clingy --"

"It would explain so much, don't you think? You can't *let* people like me too close, or we'll just latch on like... like *lampreys* --"

"*No*," Jason says, flipping them until he's straddling Tim and has a grip on both of his shoulders. "It's not like that. *You're* not like that. If anything, it's me. I can't stay away from you. I can't let you *go* --"

"Perhaps I manipulated you into that. You have such a *soft* spot for children in need of affection, you know. It didn't take very long at all for you to notice that I never fought you or criticized, that I took every insult and *slam*..." Tim's smile looks almost drugged --

It's possible he means poisoned. "Don't go there, Tim."

"Why shouldn't I? I was such an obviously *lonely* child, and I never asked for too much -- I never asked for *anything*. It got to be an itch in you, didn't it? It started to drive you a little crazy, because *everyone* needs something, and you could tell I wasn't getting it at home."

God. "You're fubar right now, Tim. You don't really know --"

"What I'm saying? Oh, I think I do. A few needy looks from my wide, wide eyes, proof that I would do *anything* you said and like it... do you really think you stood a chance against me, Jay? And Dick... well, *he* was easy. You gave me the pieces yourself -- including ones you probably didn't think about. It just didn't take all that long to figure out that the reason he kept trying with *you* was that *he's* lonely. God knows he shouldn't be, but this is one *fucked* up family, isn't it? Dick thinks that all he *really* wanted was a little brother and the love and regard of his father/mentor, but there'll be something else sooner or later. That hollow in him will demand to be filled --"

"*Stop*, Tim --"

"Just like the hollow in you will. And the hollow in *Bruce*... well, he's better off than the rest of us, when you think about it. He *knows* there's something wrong with him, that he'll never be satisfied or happy, so he takes what happiness he can *when* he can. He takes whatever he can *get*, doesn't he? I know you saw it with your *own* relationship with him -- ow."

Jason stops squeezing Tim's shoulders mostly through force of *will* -- "And what about you, Tim? What's your damage *exactly*?"

"Well, there's this *great* big hole in me which is all about the fact that my parents never loved me enough to try to get to know me. All those fantasies I had about Dad taking me into work again -- yes, he *did* only do it once -- to show me off to his colleagues are never going to happen. All those fantasies about Mom taking me aside to show me *exactly* how she gets things done with *her* colleagues... well, you know, maybe she *will* do it. But probably only if I show signs of majoring in something like literature or philosophy in college. So long as I don't do any of *that*, she'll just assume I'll take over the business when the time comes, and treat me like shit when I do something wrong -- or do something in a way she *wouldn't*," Tim says, and smiles a little wider. "That's what you want to hear, isn't it? Proof that I *know* what bad parents they are?"

"Fuck, Tim, no, I don't want -- "

"No, you're right, *I'm* sorry. You want me not to *love* them. Well, Jay, why don't you tell me *exactly* how that works? Is there a meditation for it? Maybe a little mental trick?"

Jason closes his eyes and lets go of Tim's shoulder, settling back a little. Just -- he needs to think, because whatever he says right now has to work, has to pull Tim out of this at least a *little* bit --

"You know what? Don't try," and Tim sits up on his elbows and scoots out from under him. "You should go."

"Tim, I can't leave you like this. I just -- I can't."

"*You* have patrol to do. Or maybe you can just sit on top of that little anomaly sensor of yours and *wish* real hard for a universe you *haven't* fucked up in. Hey, third time's the charm, right?"

Jason strokes Tim's face with his fingertips, and -- Tim lets him. He *lets* him, and that has to be enough for something, even with that hard fucking look in Tim's eyes --

("Hard things shatter, little one. And there will always be someone ready and willing to exert the necessary force to make it happen.")

He snorts a little helplessly --

And there's fear in Tim's eyes, *just* that quickly.

"You're afraid of what I'm going to say."

Tim clenches his jaw and *starts* to look away -- and then turns right back to face him.

Jason nods. "You're so damned strong, Tim. You can take so *much* -- but the idea of me leaving still kills you --"

"*Fuck* you for trying to use that against me --"

"You can't just quit loving someone, no. That's the point of all this, right? Well, *most* of the point. The rest is that this feels like a giant waste. Two good *enough* people, and now one of them's dead while the other one is drinking herself to death. Well, it *is* a waste, and *part* of it's my own fault, and I'm sorry. I *would've* done it differently if I had another chance --"

"Is that what you'll tell yourself when you leave, Jay? That you'll do it *right* this time? Teach me to *hate* my parents before you let them get kidnapped?"

Maybe, offers the part of him which has never been anything but an asshole. The rest of the voices in his head are shrugging hard and being *useless* -- "I love you," Jason says. "That's -- that's pretty much all I've got, Tim."

"Please go."

"Please don't *make* me go --"

"I'll talk to Bruce when he comes. I'll come up with a plan to package my mother up and ship her *out*, because I trust Bruce to find some. Someplace nice. Once she's gone, I *will* be a little better, and then I'll be able to go back out on the street, because anything else would just make me feel too pathetic to live."

"Tim --"

"But right now, I need you gone, Jay. And this isn't where you force me to accept your love and comfort and all the fucking *good* things, because I can't take them right now. Get *out*."

And that... that. Jason nods, and reaches to cup Tim's face, and presses his forehead against Tim's own. "I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing because something reminded me of Talia, and that was about the most inappropriate thing which *could* pop into my head just then."

Tim shudders. "All right. Fine. Go."

Jason does.

*

He keeps his distance for the next few days. At first, Dick keeps him in the loop, telling him about the fucking *resort* Bruce had found for the inimitable Mrs. Drake and letting him know that Tim's as settled in at the manor as he could be. His room is right next to Dick's, but he apparently spends more time in Bruce's.

Dick asks -- as carefully and gently as he can, which is *very* -- when Jason is going to come back, and Jason tells him that he's giving Tim time. The fact that Dick doesn't fight it tells Jason all he needs to know about how welcome he *isn't* as far as Tim's concerned, so --

He patrols for longer periods of time, taking larger areas of the city for his own and trying to figure out who, exactly, he wants to be.

He has no problem whatsoever taking a knife to a rapist, but what *about* the muggers?

The gang members often force him to use some of the nastiest tricks he knows, but then there are the armed robbers, the addicts beating each other down just to get enough cash for the next hit --

The pimps *always* get the knife, and he thinks about all the stories he hasn't told Tim about his mother. Things like hanging the washing line in their tiny living room so she could save the few dollars she'd have to spend to dry their clothes, or things like how she'd taught him how to sneak into movie theaters, and how to pick the *right* food to steal, the kind that would last and give you at least some of the nutrients they needed.

He thinks about his father, rotting in the ground.

He thinks about Sheila Haywood, and how much prettier she was than the woman who had raised him, how it would've been to grow up a nurse's son, rather than a pro's...

A dirty nurse.

There's always silence from the sensor, and, every once in a while, he lets himself think about what he's going to do the day there isn't. How he'll hop on his bike -- Bruce's bike -- and head right over, how he'll look through and see a world --

A Gotham --

A Bruce?

A Tim?

He eats and he sleeps. He trains and he patrols -- avoiding Batman and Robin.

He waits --

And he fights back the urge to grin like a fucking maniac when the shadows flash blue while he's busily rearranging a drug-dealer's face. He's twenty now, and he can fucking well *control* himself --

Even when Bruce hands him a zip-strip *just* before he was going to reach for one of his own.

Jason leaves the drugs in artistic scatter, takes a moment to say a prayer to the multiverse that the dried blood he can *see* on the guy's knife will tie him to something with some jail time, and follows Bruce to r-point twenty-seven, soaking in the rhythms of the flight, the *look* of that cape --

Fuck it, he says -- emphatically to himself -- and kisses the hell out of the man, cupping his face --

He breaks the kiss to tear off his glove with his teeth and then dives right back into it, stroking the cowl and pushing at it *just* a little.

Bruce pulls him close and *deepens* the kiss --

Bruce tastes like coffee and smells like home, and God, fucking *God* --

And what a *special* reflex it is to pull back just as he's getting hard. Jason smacks himself around internally and copes with it while he presses his cheek against Bruce's gauntlet --

"Jay..."

"Uh, hunh. What do you need to tell me?"

"Come home with me."

*Not* a surprise, but -- "Where's Robin?"

"Hopefully, enjoying his new bike on the way there," Bruce says, and there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He can play. "*Another* new bike...?"

"Nightwing pointed out that he was more than responsible enough to handle the power of one... and that Robin needed it."

"And also he looks damned good on it?"

Bruce hums. "He came very close to smiling when he saw it. He... has given me reason to believe that he cares for me, Jay," and now the smile is *hauling* at the corners of his mouth.

"Of *course* he does, B. You..." Jason shakes his head. "You're *you*. And... Dick told me the two of you were spending more time together."

He gets a nod for that. "I want... do you think." And now Bruce is frowning and turning away --

"Hey, no, what is it?"

"I want to adopt him."

Okay, yeah, that *is* worth a bit of pain in the old brain pan. "Uh -- Bruce."

"I know it's a terrible idea. I've thus far managed to avoid bringing it up."

"*Probably* a good thing right there, B. You know he's kind of one big *wound* when it comes to the whole *idea* of parents, right? I mean, I stuck the knife in, myself --"

"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you twisted it," Bruce says, and smiles again for him -- and it *is* for him, because it's the smile that used to scare the hell out of him.

The one that makes Bruce look one hell of a lot younger than he is. Than he should be. Now, though... Jason moves close again and pushes his bare fingers between Bruce's gauntleted ones.

The squeeze is cautious and -- all kinds of welcome. "Jay --"

"I love you, and you're not well, B. You're just -- you've been screwing him every night, haven't you?"

Bruce nods and flips his lenses up, letting Jason see the search, the open, the -- everything, including fear. "Making love to him is nothing like... it's like nothing else. The passion he shows, the pain it causes him, the way he demands *more* even when..." He closes his eyes. "I want him to be my son, as well."

"Maybe you can settle for him being your son in your *heart*? Because I think that would be a better plan."

"When I asked if you would allow me to adopt you --"

"I treated it like it was nothing, I know. You were all but *screaming* that you wanted to do me, and I was wondering how long I would have a home if I said no -- *don't* interrupt. I know that you wouldn't have thrown me out."

Bruce nods again, but the frown is back.

Jason squeezes Bruce's hand again. "I didn't take it seriously. My parents were dead, and here *you* were. Rich, a little crazy in the head... I don't know, B. I thought of it as *insurance* more than anything else --"

"You are my son, Jason. In -- my heart."

"I know that, B. And you've been more my father than the guy who completely failed to raise me by a long road. And it *won't* be long until you've been more of a father to Tim than Jack Drake. But just -- wait, okay? Hold it *back* as much as you can, and... I don't know. We can revisit the topic another time, okay? And Dick -- you should definitely talk to Dick about it --"

"Tim is already his brother --"

"*After* you finally tell *him* how you feel."

"I did... I did tell him. That night when you sent him to me. He told me he'd think about whether or not he wanted me to formally adopt him."

Jason blinks a little -- but it makes sense. Probably nothing else *could* have made Dick relax that much, but... "He *probably* doesn't think you still think of him that way, though, B."

"Because we've made love."

Jason bites his lip and nods, nice and slowly.

"Sometimes I'm quite sure you think I'm *dangerously* insane, Jay."

"Sometimes? You're absolutely right," Jason says, pushing against Bruce enough that he can breathe his breath, taste him a little. "It just makes me love you more, though."

Bruce hums again. "Come home with me. Be with us for as long as you can, Jay --"

"I need to give Tim his *space*, B. You -- he needed me gone."

"That was then --"

"He knows where to *find* me --"

"*Trust* in me, Jay," Bruce says, squeezing hard enough to make Jason wince.

"Come home, J," and that was Tim, in his ear. "I. Need you."

Jason blows out a breath. "Then I'm there." And maybe that shouldn't have come out as easily as it did, maybe it shouldn't feel that fucking *right* --

But the smile in Bruce's eyes is making him fucking *sweat*. Yeah.

And Bruce had parked the car on the street *right* by the alley where Jason had left the bike. Jason follows Bruce for a while, and then lets the bike do exactly what it wants to. Bruce can damned well catch *up*.

He gets in, he parks, he starts stripping off, making a beeline for the cocoa, the cookies, and the boy currently holding the tray with something *almost* resembling a smile in his eyes. The cocoa's at just the right temperature to chug, and the cookie tastes better once he's kissing Tim, backing him toward a table where he can put the tray down, kissing him again, feeling him, *having* him --  wait.

He pulls back. "*What* do you need me for?"

"Ah -- you. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"There isn't anything that comes after that," Tim says, and shakes his head. "The 'mostly' was reflexive. I think. I'm not. I'm not sure about anything that isn't on the street right now, Jay --"

"That's all right. You don't have to be."

"I think Bruce... wants something from me," Tim says, and picks up his own mug of cocoa. There's a hint of cinnamon in the scent, which would *help* explain the way Jason's tongue is still tingling. "I don't know what it is, though."

"I do. And you don't need to think about it, baby bro... Tim. Tell me why you're in workout clothes?"

Tim strokes a hand over his own abdomen. "I'm not tired enough. I'm not. I think -- I don't. I *hate* this," he says, setting his mug down with *careful* force and covering his face with his hands.

"Tim --"

"Part of me needed to know that you'd come when I called. And I think that's both petty and pathetic. And I miss my mother so much. So much. And she's in a better place. Except that that makes it sound like she's dead. My father is dead, and in the ground, and you know what that's *like* --"

Jason pulls Tim close and holds on, just breathing against the top of his head until *Tim's* breathing slows to match his own --

"Oh, God. Oh, God. I was *all right* on the street. I didn't -- all the mistakes I made were minor. I learned things. I helped people."

"You're Robin. That's what you *do*."

"Then why am I so fucked up *now*?"

"Because you're grieving, and the only person who knows the man you're grieving for as well as you do isn't around to *be* with you."

"But it's my *fault* that she isn't. That -- I *twisted* her until she agreed, and I -- she had to go there, Jay, she. Fuck," Tim says, stepping back and scrubbing at his face with his hands. "I think I'm going for a run around the grounds. You're welcome to join me."

"Ah -- probably you should save that for *daylight*, Tim --"

Tim drops his hands. "Why? Because it's not *safe*? Are you *serious*?"

Jason bites the inside of his cheek and stares at the hands which aren't holding Tim, anymore. "Okay, you've got a point."

"I *know* I do. I... join me? Please?"

"Just give me a minute to change."

And it's a pretty nice almost-dawn, as these things go this close to Gotham. The stars are few and far between -- and faded, too -- the air can't decide whether it wants to be green-sweet or faintly salty from the ocean, and the crickets are sawing away like their lives depend on it.

They probably *do* for some reason, and he'll bet Tim can tell him for sure, but it's enough to be running with him. It's almost like the first days, a little, when he'd lead Tim through the various Gotham neighborhoods, sometimes taking him on the subway so they could get to know places that were further away...

Except that Tim is a *good* runner now, better suited for it than Jason will *ever* be, and it shows. He lets Tim take the lead so he can watch, taking in his posture and rhythm, the lightness of his step...

He moves up beside him again. "You know I don't care if you *do* get incoherent on me, right?"

"I hate it. It's like having a permanent game of free-association going on in my head, and at any moment the psychiatrist will explain that no, I'm really *not* suited for this life, and that I should just go -- home."

"You *are* home."

"Yes, well. I have several reasons for not wanting to see it that way, all of which you already know."

Jason grunts his assent and lets Tim lead them into the woods, wishing idly for his night-vision lenses, or maybe just a chainsaw. "How much do you like places like this?"

"Wooded areas?"

"Trees, grass. *Nature* in general."

"Not as much as Ivy. Probably a bit more than you."

"Pretty wide range there..."

"When my paternal grandparents were alive, they lived in Kent, up in Connecticut. My grandmother would pack me a lunch and send me out to explore. There were frogs. I like frogs."

Well... okay. "What were they like? Your grandparents, I mean."

"Distant. Almost aloof, really. By the time I was six years old, I was absolutely positive that they only saw me as proof that their son could produce a reasonably acceptable heir. They periodically quizzed me on current events, worked to instill traditional Republican values, and did their level best to make sure I wasn't spoiled."

"Uh -- what does *that* mean?"

"Spoiled? Oh, they were very clear in their minds about the danger that comes from lavishing young children with unnecessary affection, especially if that child is a boy. I believe they were worried that I'd become a homosexual."

"Jesus fucking Christ --"

"No, Jason, I *don't* have any family members you would approve of. I mean, I suppose there might be some distant cousins, but they would have to be *very* distant, and -- anyway. The elder Drakes had a beautiful home on beautiful grounds."

"I... really didn't mean to make you think about things which would fuck with you more, Tim."

Tim smiles at him, teeth flashing in the shadows. "I know. And it's all right. It *was* time for me to cope with the fact that I just wasn't raised very *well*. That I would, in fact, never treat a child of my own the way I was treated. I had to start dealing with everything that *meant*."

"No argument, baby bro, but -- fuck. Now?"

"Now. Tell me about your mother. I -- I'm sorry I spoke about her the way I did."

"She spoke about herself that way, sometimes. Mostly when she'd done something stupid with the money like buying fifty bucks worth of lottery tickets," Jason says, and just barely notices a fallen tree in time to leap over it.

And -- he doesn't need to see it. He can *feel* Tim wincing.

"Anyway, what do you want to know?"

"What... when she wanted to spend time with you, how did you know it?"

"Well... she'd come find me. If I had the blankets pulled in front of my bedroom -- my corner of the living room -- she'd pull them aside and tell me that it was time for us to take a walk. If I was out on the street somewhere, she'd come walking up -- it doesn't matter where I was, she always knew -- and take me home. If we were just hanging around at home, she'd pull out this old, worn deck of cards..." God, the cards. He'd brought them here with him, and...

He *knows* Bruce had kept them, but where would they be stashed?

"I -- anyway. She taught me every card game she knew. She had a couple of regular johns that would call her for *just* that. A fourth for bridge, or hearts, or spades... why --" No, he knows why Tim is asking.

And Tim doesn't call him on the almost-question, just veers them a little to the east. Okay, then.

"She wasn't perfect by a long road. She kept getting hooked up with pimps that would abuse her, steal from her, show up at the apartment in the middle of the night to make her go back out and work... shit like that. She had an on-again, off-again love affair with cheap gin, and when she was drunk, she'd forget that thing about never bringing johns home -- one of them gave me the scar I have on my forehead."

"I. I don't think I can imagine --"

"You *will* be able to imagine it one day, though. That's just one of the things this life gives you, Tim."

"All right. What... what about your father?"

"Apparently he stuck around until I was almost three, but I don't really remember that, at all. Then he was in jail, and my mother never brought us to see him, so I thought maybe that my mother just hadn't *needed* a man to make me until I was seven or so, and then I just assumed that my father was one of her johns. He got out just before I turned eight, and then he was... in and out. He'd stick around for a whole month, and then he'd be out running jobs with one crew or another. He'd show up with a wad of cash one week, and then take money out of my mother's purse the next. He was pretty much useless, Tim. I don't have any memories of him that I'd call good."

Tim moves closer to him, close enough that their arms brush a little as they run. They're out of the wooded area and burning over the lawns, now, and Jason wonders how much Tim will want to do, tonight.

"Is there anything else you want to know?"

"Yes. But I'm not. I feel as though I've already asked too much --"

"I'll let you know if I need to not answer a question about this stuff, okay? I --" Owe you this, and a lot more, besides. "It's okay for you to know it."

"Have you ever talked about it with Bruce or Dick?"

Well... "Not in specifics like this. I think Bruce knew all he needed to when he figured out my father was *that* Willis Todd."

"I... suppose I can see that. I just... was your mother still alive when you started working as a prostitute?"

"Yeah, but she was sick as hell by then. The girls -- her friends -- who showed me the ropes were all pretty careful about making sure she didn't know they were turning her son out, and whenever she asked me about the money, I'd give her bullshit about working odd jobs and running numbers. If she knew, she didn't let on -- we needed all the money we could get."

"You always knew she loved you."

"Yeah, I did."

"I... I heard my parents arguing once. I. I heard them argue a *lot*, but this one particular time they'd been arguing in their bedroom for over an hour, and that was *strange*. They usually took their arguments all over the house. So I went to listen at the door, and.

"Well, I think.

"I think the argument *started* over something to do with running the business, and it just went on from there, with the two of them bringing up example after example of why they couldn't trust the other's judgment. And."

He knows what's coming. He can fucking *feel* it -- "I'm listening, Tim, but I don't have to be. I mean -- you don't have to tell me."

"Yes, I do, because then. Then, maybe, I don't have to tell anyone else. And it's a small thing, and I'm sure a lot of people -- she said she never wanted to have me. That it was all my father's and his parents' idea, and that the only reason she went along with it was to shut my father up about it. She said I was as passionless as my father was, and as dull. She said that he'd never have to doubt that I was his, and then they started talking about my mother's infidelities --"

"Stop," Jason says, and turns to pull Tim against him --

"*No*, Jay, I'm not -- I mean, I dealt with it years ago, and anyway, she just *says* things when she's mad. Everyone says things they don't mean when they're mad --"

"If she has a soul -- and I'm sure she does because I *saw* her crying for your father --" Or for *herself* --

"Really? She cried? She's always said that people who cry for any reason save extreme physical pain are asking for pity."

"Yeah, well, apparently she's human, too --"

"I've often thought. I mean, is 'humanity' really anything to aspire to, Jay?" Tim pulls back and looks up at him, and it's dark enough that it *would* be hard to read his eyes --

If Jason didn't already know what was there. But. "What do you mean?"

"I mean -- we're *all* human. You, me, Bruce. The man I kneecapped tonight who'd broken his wife's jaw, the wife who'd stayed with that man long enough *for* him to do that, Ivy. Two-Face. I just think we should be *better* than human."

"Well... I can go with that, yeah, but you have to be *real* damned careful with how you *define* better --"

"I know that. I know -- I know. You can't let yourself start thinking that certain "races" are better than others and... things like that --"

"Yeah, but *also* you can't start saying shitty things about people who cry. We *all* have to cry sometime, and maybe your mother's just learning that, but it's just one of those things. We have to cry, and laugh, and get horny when we see someone hot, and eat when we're hungry -- all these little things that can *seem* small and even damaging or dangerous if you look at them in just the *wrong* way, but are just part of who we are."

"Hm."

That -- Jason laughs a little and grips Tim's shoulders. "That was pretty fucking non-committal."

Tim strokes Jason's arms and looks down -- "I think -- I can't help but think that developing more control in general would be a good thing, for both our professional and private lives."

And see, Tim, this is *why* Bruce wants to be your Dad -- no. "Control has its place, and I know I could use a lot more of it --"

"Your control is absolute," Tim says, and flashes his teeth again. "When you remember to use it."

Jason snorts and cups Tim's face. "Okay, fine. *Your* control is just fine. It's one thing to teach yourself how to hold your breath for longer periods of time, or how to slow down or speed up your heart rate, but trying to put a leash on your emotions can lead to some scary places. In the *bad* way."

Tim hums at him again.

Jason sighs. "Tim --"

"I know -- I do know what you're saying, Jay. It's just that there's something like a voice in my head which only wants to tell me about how many things might have been easier for me over the years if I *had* had control of my emotions."

"Yeah, probably, but here's the deal -- I've had that voice, too. It was telling *me* about how much easier -- *better* -- it was to be angry rather than other things, and I believed it. Part of me *still* believes it. And look what *I* got for it."

"A family who loves you and a purpose in life?"

Jason feels his eyes *wanting* to cross --

Tim laughs softly. "Yes, I *do* realize that I just glossed over a lot of bad things, but... but. It *does* help that you understand. I... I have someone who understands me. Who wants to understand me. I --" Tim makes a soft sound, something like the growl of a cornered animal, and pulls back all the way.

"Hey, come back here --"

"Let's -- let's finish our run. And then. You'll stay? The night?"

The *day*, more like --

Home.

Jason closes his eyes. "Yeah, I'll stay."

"You don't -- I don't want you to stay if you don't want to --"

"I *do* want to. And that's what I have the problem with --"

"Oh. You're not just talking about the night. You. You want to stay with -- here?"

With me. With me. "I do. More... more than anything else --"

"Then --"

Jason covers Tim's mouth with his hand and leans in to kiss Tim's forehead. "Let's run."

For just a moment, it's bright enough that Jason can see everything in Tim's eyes, pain and fear, want and hope, desire and *love* --

And then Tim closes his eyes and turns away. And runs.

Tim takes them around to one of the alternate Cave entrances, and they jog in. Bruce stands up from the console as they get close and smiles at both of them, and he probably *can't* actually keep himself from putting one hand on Tim's shoulder and the other on Jason's, so it's just something to go with --

"Boys."

Jason raises his eyebrows. "I'm not fifteen anymore, B."

"No, you're not," Bruce says, and it sounds like that's something wonderful -- hunh.

"How relieved are you that you still want me even though I'm not a kid, anymore?"

Tim makes a strangled sound --

Bruce's smile turns wry. "As relieved -- and chagrinned -- as I was when Dick became a young man, of course. I've had a great deal of time to consider the more uncomfortable facets of my sexuality. And the way I love," Bruce says, and moves his hand to Jason's face, tracing Jason's smile lines -- "Shall I tell you more?"

Well... Jason looks at Tim, who's both blushing *and* paying a large amount of attention. Heh.

"Go ahead."

Bruce nods and steps back, beginning the process of stripping out of the uniform. "I noticed nothing untoward for a long time. Of course, I had to spend a large amount of my adolescence learning that there was nothing wrong with being sexually attracted to males..." He turns to Tim. "You seem to have never had that problem, Tim. Do you think it was the greater availability of the relevant information?"

"I -- well. The internet has been extremely helpful, but I'm not sure... I mean, I met Dick when I was very young. That -- made a large difference, I think."

"Mm. There is, perhaps, something to be said for a purity of focus," and Bruce lets the cape and cowl fall before starting to work on the chest armor. "In any event, I've never been attracted to very many people, at all, so the fact that I still found myself fantasizing about the touch of..."

"Harvey Dent," Jason says, and crosses his arms over his chest. "It's okay, B -- I did ask."

Bruce nods and reaches out to touch Jason's face again. "All I can say is that he was beautiful in every way I knew how to measure. He was kind, open, generous, brilliant, dedicated, courageous... it seemed natural to love him, and to continue to love him. When I was twenty-five, I didn't fantasize about the boy he was when we were both fifteen, and there were no other boys in my life save for chance acquaintances on my travels."

"And you weren't attracted to any of them?"

"A pair of eyes in Thailand. A truly arresting smile in Brazil. The perfection of hard-worked bodies in Tibet... form meant almost nothing, and I never found a *friend* in my travels, as opposed to many teachers and fellow students. Perhaps if I'd been less driven, things would've been different. Different enough for me to take the time to *notice* that the forms I admired from a distance were on men -- and women -- of all ages."

"Ah..." Tim licks his lips. "*All* ages?"

Bruce shrugs off the chest armor, stretching and breathing. There's a large bruise over his ribs, but it doesn't look as though it will be severe. It's meaningless against the raw, simple *fact* of Bruce, massive and solid, hairy and scarred --

"Jesus, you just don't stop looking good, B," Jason says, and shakes his head.

Bruce smiles at him. "As ever, your appreciation is... appreciated," and he turns to Tim. "I can't be sure about *exactly* how old the youngest-seeming and oldest-seeming people I've found attractive are, but I'm reasonably sure there was no one younger than adolescent. As for the other end of the spectrum... don't you find there to be something magnetic about a body which has seen all that life has to offer? The physical evidence of experience can be incredibly... tempting." And Bruce rests his hand on Tim's scarred pec through Tim's shirt for a moment. 

Long enough for Tim to swallow and nod, and then Bruce sits down to take off his boots, and --

Jason moves a little closer, mostly because he can. "So there was no one but Harvey until Dick?"

"Well," Bruce says, and flashes another smile. "I realized that I had something of a... fascination for Jim Gordon --"

"Oh my God, I think you should stop right there," Jason says and shakes his head like a dog. "Okay, I know he was young once, I've seen the pictures, but he still had that *mustache*."

"Some people find a good mustache quite distinguished, Jay," Bruce says, and actually sounds a little fucking *arch* --

"Some people -- find new ways to *disturb* me each and every fucking *day*. God, B, he's a *cop* --"

"And a very good one. Brave, again. A wonderful detective. Focused on bettering Gotham and, by extension, the world. Open-minded and kind. Warm and always willing to extend the hand of friendship..." Bruce hums and sets his bare feet on the stone, leaning back in his chair and frowning. "Dick told me that he was worried for how I'd feel in the aftermath of the latest Two-Face incident. He's a very good man."

"He's old enough --" Jason cuts himself off *much* too late, because Bruce's smile is fucking *vicious*. Jason raises his hands. "Spare me, B. I'll be *good*, I swear --"

Bruce hums again and turns to Tim. "What do you think of Jim?"

"Me? I -- I'm reserving judgment. I'm willing to go with the idea that he's been a valuable ally, and I'm sure you're all right about him, but it seems... I don't know. I do wonder what sort of police officer he can truly be if he doesn't mind flouting the law *on* Central night after night."

If anything, the light in Bruce's eyes gets brighter. "Entirely fair assessment. Cool, measured, observant... who do you admire, Tim? Who makes you believe in a better world?"

"I." Tim blinks -- but he doesn't look at Jason for assurance.

It's a small thing, really, but it makes Jason feel both proud and a little afraid, and it's very hard not to rest a hand on Tim's shoulder. *Very* fucking hard, but he can do it. Tim's had time with Bruce, time enough to get something like his bearings, maybe, and... Jason wants to see it.

"I feel as though I *should* say you, if only because Batman wouldn't be real without you, but..."

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

Tim smiles. "I think I like you too much to admire you, Bruce. And yes, that does do more against it than the fears and doubts I have about -- and around -- you. I'm not sure it's possible to admire a... friend."

Bruce curls his fingers around the arms of his chair and generally looks about three nanoseconds from *jumping* Tim, but restraining the hell out of himself. He nods. "I disagree... but I understand," he says, and stands, moving easily into the small space Jason has left him --

The kiss is brief and hard --

"Jay... and we were discussing my sexuality."

Jason touches his tongue to his upper lip. "Yeah. We were," he says, and grabs Bruce by the waistbands of his shorts and tights.

Bruce --

Bruce *inhales* Jason, narrowing his eyes and licking his own lips. "I was *emotionally* attracted to Dick from the very beginning, of course. I could see in his eyes what I'd felt behind my own, but even that was a very small thing compared to what I had seen before his parents were murdered. A few glimpses of joy, of life, of humor and pleasure. The sound of his laughter at a moment when much of the audience had randomly hushed, bright and beautiful. I knew that I wanted to hear it again, and again."

"Oh," Tim says. "*Yes*."

Bruce steps back and strips down the rest of the way until he's standing naked before them, some *extremely* gay -- and twisted -- man's Galatea, maybe, marked by self-sacrifice and *will*... and it's possible that he's always going to be *just* this gone for the man.

Jason laughs a little and shakes his head. "Okay, we all agree that a happy Dick is a *good* Dick --"

"We could... ah..." Tim trails off, clenching and unclenching his fists in that way that always tends to mean that he really *wants* to be naked and isn't at all sure about where that impulse *came* from --

"'We could,' Tim...?"

Tim swallows again. "You know, you -- you pick interesting and terrible times to *test* me, Bruce."

Bruce smiles again and reaches out to stroke the bridge of Tim's nose, making Tim go cross-eyed briefly before he blushes and frowns at himself -- "You might consider it a matter of being interested in what you will say, Tim. And how you'll choose to say it."

"I... fine," Tim says, and stands up straighter, sticking his chin out a little. "I was just going to suggest that the three of us go upstairs," and he actually manages to sound a little affronted, which --

"That's kind of adorable, baby bro," Jason says, and smiles when Tim glares at him. "I mean it, I'm tempted to ruffle your hair."

"You're not -- helping. Or encouraging. Or *anything* remotely positive -- oh."

And that oh was for Bruce picking Tim *up*, pulling him in so that Tim spreads his legs around Bruce's waist --

"Tim."

"Bruce."

"I think that was an excellent idea, and I appreciate your offering it."

"I -- really, Bruce, *someone* was going to say it eventually --"

"You said it *first*, however, and you will not argue me away from being... charmed," Bruce says, supporting Tim with one hand and stroking his arm with the other --

Until Tim lifts both arms around Bruce's neck and gets another smile for it.

"You're training me. For *this*."

Bruce tilts his head to the side. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm merely offering -- hopeful -- suggestions."

Jason snorts. "No, he's totally training you. Remember: he's old, and he has a *lot* of kinks."

"Being held is a kink?"

"By a beautiful young man who rarely initiates physical contact...?" Bruce's eyes are fucking *laser*-focused on Tim's own -- "Yes," he says, and turns to Jason --

Jason laughs and nods, and Bruce begins walking toward the stairs, naked as hell and apparently *entirely* willing to walk through the manor that way --

"Wait, wait, you should put on a robe --"

"And risk letting you free again? I think not."

"I'm not -- free. *What*?"

Jason jogs up close enough to pat Tim's ass. "See, you should get him to tell you about all the times I tried -- and *failed* -- to convince him to let us keep it in the damned *bedroom*."

"If I recall correctly, Jay, you were the one who suggested we indulge ourselves at the opera --"

"I was *bored*."

"And the Knights' season opener --"

"You took me to a goddamned *ball* game and refused to let me eat hot dogs --"

"And --"

"I get the point," Tim says, and settles himself against Bruce a little more --

Bruce hums and kisses Tim's throat while he walks, clearly making a little *event* out of it --

"Mm -- ah. We were talking about Dick. And you, Bruce --"

Bruce pulls back with an extremely obscene noise. "So we were. What do you want to know?"

And for *some* reason -- God only knows why, really -- Jason can *feel* the unspoken 'son.' Possibly '*my* son.'

Tim frowns -- yeah, he can hear it, too. He pulls back to search Bruce's face, and it would probably be a lot better for Bruce if he kept up the smiling, happy-perv thing, but Jason has to admit that he can understand why Bruce *can't* for this.

God, *Bruce* --

"What is it, Bruce? What... you're not telling me something."

"You only have to --"

"*No*," Tim says, pushing back even further and clearly getting ready to jump down. "You can't -- you can't hide things from me. I don't like it. I can't -- take it --"

"Tim --"

"No, Jason, you said there was something, and there *is* something --"

"I want you," Bruce says, "to be mine in as many ways as possible, Tim. I want you never to leave, never to be *able* to leave --"

"This isn't my *home* --"

"It is, for as long as you wish it to be so -- and forever beyond that," and Bruce pauses halfway up the stairs to pull Tim against him by main force. "It's only that, I promise you."

Tim frowns a little harder -- "That -- wasn't a lie."

It just wasn't the whole truth, and how long has Bruce been able to lie this *effectively* to people he loves? He wouldn't have had to try that hard with Dick back in the day, but what about *him*?

"No, it wasn't," and Bruce kisses the line of Tim's jaw, his cheek, his ear -- "There's a certain intimacy to this touch I've never fully been able to comprehend within myself. I've never had a schoolyard friend to whisper to."

"Ah -- neither have I," Tim says, licking his lips and closing his eyes. "Bruce --"

"You've let me tell you so much, Tim. You've offered yourself and your remarkable ability to *listen* --"

"You shouldn't -- I don't. Compliments for things like that --"

"Are entirely apropos. You hear everything I tell you and many of the things I don't..."

And that pause was for *him*, but Bruce and the truth are... what? Would it be better or worse if he knew that Bruce was still capable of hiding at least some of the truth from him? Knowing he never *wants* to isn't the same thing, and --

Tim is looking at him curiously and a little worriedly. Bruce is tensing up just a little, and --

And maybe he wouldn't be so fucked up about this *now* if he hadn't gotten used to there being no lies between any of them just lately. Fuck, what a thing *to* get used to --

"Jay --"

"I think you should tell him, Bruce. I -- he probably doesn't want to *hear* it right now -- and maybe not ever --"

"Wait, there *is* more? I don't -- what's going on?"

Jason pushes a hand back through his hair. "What's going on, Tim, is that I'm being incredibly fucking *selfish*, because *I* can't deal with having a secret from you."

Tim blinks a few times and bites his lip. "Jay."

"I am... to say that I am 'willing to be led' is something of an egregious understatement. For such things as this, I've never known whether I could trust my own instincts, as my motivations remain murky and strange to myself," Bruce says, and leans in to kiss the wings of Tim's collarbone, once and once.

Fuck, he has a big fucking mouth. "It's something you don't want to hear, Tim. But it's not... it's not a bad thing," Jason says, and thinks about all the times he'd bumped up against the knowledge that he was technically fucking his father and moved *right* away from it again -- because it was never technical to *Bruce*, at all.

"But... it *bothers* you that I don't know, Jay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. It -- heh. It's not that it brings back bad memories. It *could*, but it doesn't," Jason says, and reaches up to cover Tim's hands on Bruce's shoulders. "It's more that I'm hurting a little... I never want to lie to you. The same way Bruce never wants to lie to... any of us."

"Do you want to lie to *me*, Jay?" And Bruce doesn't turn to look at him, but that's only because he knows the answer. What the answer *used* to be.

"I always wanted to lie to you, B. Just to have something that was *mine* after spending all that time surrounded by you and everything you paid for. I *used* to have to work to feel that *I* wasn't something you paid for -- I had to get away from you --"

"I'm so sorry, Jay. Jason. I --"

"No, B, no, I --" Jason laughs a little breathlessly and moves up the steps until he can turn and meet Bruce's eyes. "Like I said -- I'm not fifteen, anymore."

Bruce searches him for a long moment and then nods, cautious and hopeful and a lot of other things at once.

"In any event -- I don't want to lie *anymore*," Jason says, and rests his hand on the back of Tim's neck. "But it's your call, Tim --"

"Tell me," Tim says, and looks back and forth between them. "Whatever it is -- it's better to know. I can't actually decide whether it would be worse to be surprised by it sometime in the future or to just *never* know -- tell me."

Bruce nods. "I want to adopt you. I want you to be my son."

Silence, and lots *of* it, and Bruce is Bruce -- he doesn't look down or away until *Tim* turns away, at which point Jason feels like a diseased asshole. He could've kept this from Tim.

He could've *protected* Tim from this. Hell, he'd been *doing* it --

"You." Tim's laugh is *deeply* cracked -- "You might've warned me that I wouldn't want to hear it while in this *position* -- no, Bruce, you don't have to set me down. But I refuse to be taken on... on a *piggyback* ride, oh my *God*, that's -- that's *twisted*," Tim says, and turns to look at Bruce. "That's really -- and you came to this conclusion *after* we were already sleeping together?"

"It was more... diffuse before then," Bruce says. "Before, I only wanted to be closer to you. I had no specifics in mind."

Tim nods, jaw tight but otherwise nowhere near as tense as Jason would've predicted.

Just -- "It's nothing you have to do, Tim. It's all about what *you* want."

Tim nods again, not taking his eyes off Bruce. "You know, I feel I *should* know how my mother would respond to that suggestion, but I honestly have no idea."

Jason winces hard --

"Tim..."

"It's all right. It's -- it's all right. And now I know, and as near as I can tell, the only thing I'm sure of at this moment is that I *really* don't think you should ever make love to a woman without two condoms and a vasectomy, Bruce."

"The thought had occurred."

"Well -- good," and Tim cups Bruce's face, brushing at Bruce's short hair with his fingertips. "Jay warned me about you, Bruce."

"Yes."

"He -- he taught me to fear you *while* teaching me that what I already felt for you was desire and *romantic* love -- and nothing as clean and easy as I'd previously thought."

And Bruce is searching Tim, now, and Jason *wants* to help him, but he has no fucking clue *how*.

Just as he has no fucking clue how he'd managed to go so long *without* wanting to help Bruce, be with him, *live* in this crazy that has love all over it, all through it --

"Bruce..." Tim shakes his head. "Do you want me to call you --"

"No," Bruce says, firm and sure -- "Unless. Unless you want to. Unless you." Bruce swallows.

"Unless I feel it for someone who's taught me, comforted me, guided me... loved me."

"Tim..." And there's something terrible about the *hope* in Bruce's voice, about the way it's all over Bruce's face where Tim can *see* it --

"My -- other -- teacher..."

"Yes, Tim."

"I." Tim still isn't looking away, but he reaches back for him, and when Jason takes his hand -- "Dad?"

Bruce grunts and shakes his head. "Tim."

"It seems. I should probably have these feelings -- if these feelings are what I *think* they are -- for *Jay*, who did an excellent job of making himself my whole world, and, for quite a bit of that time, held himself in a position of unassailable authority. You came *later*, and have, if anything, treated me as an equal --"

"You *are*," Bruce says, and there's anger in his voice, but also so much need that Jason can feel himself getting harder, *needier* --

"I was surprised by your... revelation. It had never even occurred to me, which makes me feel both embarrassed and a bit *stupid*, but there you are," Tim says, and strokes Bruce's face, covers Bruce's mouth with his hand. "I. I'm very aroused. I mean, you can *feel* that, but --"

Bruce nods.

Tim sighs, and it's a shaky enough sound that Jason wants to *kick* himself for the twitch it puts in his dick, but he settles for squeezing Tim's hand.

"I'd like to think that I'm better than this, that I can rise above concerns like size and *age*..."

"No one is, baby bro. Not even Bruce, no matter what he made you think."

"But -- he never. Not with any of those *people*."

"He had *fear* on his side. Fear of losing sight of the Mission, fear of losing his *focus*, and maybe a little fear of love," Jason says, and squeezes again.

"Fear is a powerful thing," Bruce says, and starts to stroke Tim with the hand he's not using to support Tim's weight. "I never considered it back then, in those situations. I spent much of my time fighting the fear of *failure*. I... Tim."

"Yes. I -- understand what you want? I don't know if I can... I don't know if I can."

Bruce nods. "There are other things available to us. All of us."

That wet sound -- Tim is licking his lips, and he squeezes Jason's hand again -- "I'm frightened," he says, and laughs again. "I think... I think I finally understand *why* Jason was so focused on making me learn to fear you. You're so. There's so *much*."

"Then..." Bruce splays his free hand against Tim's back and pulls. "Only take what you want."

"And leave the rest unexamined? *Waiting*? I don't think I can do that, Bruce."

"Then --"

Tim kisses Bruce, humming into it and tightening his grip with his thighs. He's still holding Jason's hand, but... he really doesn't have to be. Jason lets go and Tim immediately brings his hand to Bruce's face, stroking and squeezing, touching, *knowing*.

It's incredible to watch, and it's -- what he wanted? Batman and Robin -- except that this is *Bruce* and *Tim*, and that's a different thing altogether. The deeply fucked up and beautiful man he's been in love with for longer than he likes to think about, the deeply fucked up and beautiful boy who -- ditto.

On a smaller scale, sure, but does it really *feel* that way when held against all the changes in who *Jason* is as a person? Can it?

All he knows is that it makes him feel *right* to see it, but not in any of the ways he could've predicted. He's not --

He's not ready to *leave* them like this, even though he knows, now, that they can make it work as a partnership and everything else.

He's not ready, and maybe that's enough of an excuse to cover the hand Bruce has on Tim's back with his own, to cup Tim's ass *with* Bruce --

Tim moans and pulls out of the kiss, not bothering to cut the moan off first -- "Mm. Upstairs. Before I -- think more."

"Tim. My relationship with Jay has taught me that, perhaps, it would be better not to allow --"

"I'm not Jay. And I'm perfectly capable of deciding when and whether I regret."

And when and whether you *forgive*, baby bro...? No, he's not going to ask that -- mainly because Tim would view it as an insult and a distraction, and be right to do so. Instead, he leans in and kisses the back of Tim's neck, wet and slow and serious --

Tim thrusts against Bruce --

Bruce *grunts*, and yeah, they're headed upstairs again. Jason lets Bruce take the lead so he can watch Bruce continue to make love to Tim *while* walking, watch him *give* the way he always wants to, take the way he always *needs* to --

And Tim isn't thrusting as much as he's *grinding*, working his body the way Jason loves, the way he'd picked up from *Dick*, who Jason sincerely hopes is having a fabulous time getting wound up in Kory's legs, arms, and hair. He deserves it, and everything else, too.

And then he's not thinking about Dick, anymore, because Bruce is stripping Tim in that way that manages to be both scary and a little *reverent*, because Tim is just *going* with it in ways Jason hadn't been able to manage when he was Tim's age --

Tim's more prepared for this than any of them *ever* were, and a *part* of that is due to him, which makes the warm and growing thing inside him pulse, seize, *want* --

And it's his turn to pick Tim up, clutch that body against his own and kiss hard, deep, tasting hints of Bruce in Tim's mouth and --

Bruce tugs Jason's shorts and boxer-briefs down, stroking him, loving him, loving *them* --

His sons.

His *younger* sons, and Dick is back in Jason's mind, but only because he knows Bruce wants him there, too, wants *all* of them at once -- every day and every night --

Oh, yeah, he has a *special* family. Jason laughs and tosses Tim down onto Bruce's bed, watching him recover and spread his legs just as wide as he can, watching him watch *them* and pant, stroke his way down his chest --

And then he can't see, because Bruce is pulling his shirt over his head, stroking Jason's chest and whispering --

"Beautiful. Always so beautiful --"

"I agree," Tim says, and when Jason can see again he's scooting further up the bed, resting on one elbow and wrapping his hand around his dick. "I remember the first photos of him I took --"

"I would very much like to see them," Bruce says, and pulls Jason back against his body, leans in and mouths the place where Jason's neck meets his shoulder --

Jason laughs. "Maybe I'll bring 'em in one day. You can decide which ones B gets to see."

"Ooh. Autonomy. You spoil me, Jay."

"Heh. Don't let it go to your *head*, baby bro."

Tim *pinches* the head of his dick. "I'll try to avoid it. But... I was rather stunned at my reaction to the pictures. The *immediacy* of the arousal was... shocking. Disturbing."

Bruce hums and *bites* Jason, and now he's stroking Jason's hip and thigh with his other hand -- he pulls back. "I was too shocked to *be* disturbed. Too... affected."

"I *was*, in fact, a damned pretty little boy," and Jason knows his smile is just a little *wet*. "You had an advantage over poor Bruce, Tim."

"Oh, yes...?"

"You couldn't see my big, pretty eyes. Long, long lashes, a blue... now *what* did that one john say? Oh yeah -- 'eyes so blue I wanted to dive right in and swim to your soul.'"

Tim snorts. "I hope you charged him extra."

"Bled him dry," Jason says, and drags the hand Bruce has on his abdomen down to his dick -- and Bruce starts stroking immediately, fast and *serious*. Jason licks his lips. "Not hard enough for ya, B?"

"Never," and Bruce licks the back of Jason's neck, bites his earlobe --

"Jay should always be very, very hard," and Tim starts stroking himself with the same rhythm Bruce is using --

"Both of you," Bruce says, breathy and low. "I. I never know whether I would prefer to watch or to *touch*."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Even when you are, in fact, touching?"

"Even then," Bruce says, letting go and backing away. "Please."

And Jason would have to take another few blows to the head with a crowbar not to know what Bruce wants. He crawls onto the bed and pushes Tim's thighs further apart, gripping them hard enough that his fingers sink in against Tim's flesh --

"So beautiful --"

Tim moans and stares into Jason's eyes, starts stroking himself a little faster --

"Stop that."

Tim grunts and tenses -- "Why should I?"

"Because I *said* so," Jason says, and bites Tim's wrist *nice* and hard --

"God, I --" Tim pulls his hand away from himself and rests on *both* elbows. "What else do you want?"

"Everything I can have, and just a little more. You know that," and he sucks the head of Tim's dick, licks the slit and tries stabbing it a little --

Tim moans and arches for more, trying to get deeper --

Jason wraps his hand around Tim's dick and holds on tight, sucking harder and humming --

And the sounds get high and frightening, fucking *sexy* just that fast, just that *good* --

"Bruce. Bruce. You should -- what *do* you want to see?"

"Everything. I recognize that that's an unhelpful answer, but it's all I have to give," Bruce says, and the mattress dips with his weight, but there's no touch -- there. Bruce is beside them, looming a little --

"Oh. The way you *look*, Bruce. I -- I thought, perhaps, I'd grown accustomed to. And now you're looking only at me --" Tim groans, growls a little, and there's a hard little hand in Jason's hair, winding its way in, tugging and tangling -- *pulling*. "I don't. I don't want to come, yet --"

Jason pulls off and licks his way up Tim's abdomen and chest, detouring to suck on his pretty scars, lick and bite *around* them --

"*Jay* --"

Bite *harder* --

"Oh. Oh, so -- Bruce, *kiss* me --" And there's a muffled sound that's almost like a *yelp*, and Jason really, really has to see that --

God, Bruce's big fucking hand on Tim's face as he very clearly and obviously *fucks* Tim's mouth with his tongue, over and over as Tim's lashes flutter, as he reaches to cup Bruce's shoulder, squeeze hard enough that his knuckles show white --

*Fuck* yes, and the best way to respond --

The *only* way to respond is to push Tim's legs up and lick his cleft, tasting sweat and musk, sex and maybe all the shadows around them -- especially the ones Bruce causes by *existing*.

Stabbing into that sweet little hole gets him a muffled *shout*, and then one that isn't muffled, at all --

"God. So -- it's *different* --"

"What is, Tim?"

"I -- I. All the acts are the same, but when Jay does it. When he touches. Tastes -- I."

"There's something to be said for the pleasures inherent to one's first love, but I don't think that would explain things adequately for you...?"

"Hn -- I. God, *Jay*, you feel so good, and I -- Bruce. It's. There's always a different *feeling*, and I don't *know* why."

Bruce hums, and there's the sound of skin on skin -- probably Bruce is taking the opportunity to just stroke Tim a little, feel all that new muscle, all that skin which has barely been marked by anything but Jason's own knife --

"Jay almost certainly has a different... focus than I do. Or perhaps a different manner *of* focusing...?"

Tim pants, moans for the way Jason's giving it to him with his tongue, or --

That's definitely Bruce's hand in his hair, which means he's teasing the hell out of Tim by *not* touching Tim's dick... he's a bad, bad man, and yeah, he's smiling against Tim's ass, now, humming a little as he kisses, as he *fucks* --

"He always -- wants me to be crazy. I think? Um -- it's difficult to. Focus."

"Your pleasure is so very direct when he touches you. I *could* describe it as being uncomplicated, but that's not it, at all," Bruce says, and lets go of Jason's hair. "Would you say that you feel that every moment with Jay is something to be --"

"Savored. Experienced. *Lived*. God, I only want -- I can't help -- *please*, Jay --"

"I know what you want," Jason says, and kisses Tim's hole hard, nuzzles a little. "Tell me why I should give it to you. Tell *Bruce* --"

"I *need* you, so much, I -- you shouldn't *tease* me if you don't want me to be honest, Jay. Don't *leave* --"

And yeah, he knew that was coming, and he'd still done it, still said those things --

Jason shakes his head at himself --

"God, *please* --"

He pulls back and cups Tim's hips, rearing up over him --

Tim wraps his legs around Jason's waist and *pulls*, hard enough that it's *deeply* necessary to let himself fall, brace himself on the pillows and stare down at the boy he helped to shape, the boy who'll always be a partner to Bruce, a Robin to make the streets fucking *shake*, the boy who drives him right out of his head and --

"*Fuck*, B --"

"It seemed... timely," Bruce says, and continues stroking slick all over Jason's dick, working him and making him *ready* --

And Tim is staring up at Jason, searching him with the same hurt in his eyes, the one that *only* belongs to him -- and then he turns to look at Bruce, who can maybe *feel* it, because he lets go of Jason and cups Tim's shoulders, pressing him back down against the bed --

"It's all right, Tim. You'll never truly lose him --"

"Is *that* what you told yourself when you held his *body*, Bruce?"

Bruce's smile is sharp and fucking *appreciative* -- "No. But it's something I understand now. We can never *imprison* the ones we love, never try to hold them to ourselves when they need to leave us --"

"I don't want -- he *said* he wanted to stay."

And the silence for that is huge, deep -- fucking *immense*. Bruce is squeezing Tim's shoulders hard enough to make Tim wince, a little, and his eyes are focused on nothing and no one in this room.

"B --"

"Jay," Bruce says, voice low and dark --

"I said it. And I meant it. I just don't -- I can't -- I don't think I *can* --"

"You can do anything you wish, Jay," and Bruce still isn't looking at anything but the inside of his own mind. "I will not -- I know, now, that there's nothing I can do -- or should do -- if you truly need to be apart from the family. From -- from *me* --"

"God, Bruce, let's not -- we don't have to *go* there --"

"I *won't* apologize for taking us there," Tim says -- "Though I would like it if you didn't crush my bones to powder, Bruce."

Bruce lets go -- and the move that ends with Bruce cupping his jaw with one hand and gripping his hair with the other --

"Hey, Batman. Nice to see you," Jason says, and raises his eyebrows.

"*Jay*."

And that was a plea, a demand, an order, *and* a whole separate plea on top of the rest. God, *Bruce* -- "Yeah. I *said* it. Fuck, look at where I *am* --"

"Tell me what I must do, Jay. What I must *say* --"

"It's not *like* that --"

"Then *what*?" Bruce grips him a little harder -- and then his forehead is pressed against Jason's own, his hands are --

His hands are perfect, wonderful, and there's *more* perfect and wonderful for him right there on the bed, waiting -- "I don't know."

"Jay --"

"I don't *know*, all right? It's something I have to do, something I have to *decide* --" Assuming there will ever *be* another anomaly.

Assuming he'll be there to know about it, as opposed to here, maybe buried deep in Tim where he belongs --

Where he needs to *be* --

And the kiss is bruisingly hard, so close to how it used to be when Bruce would try -- and *fail* -- to keep himself away, hold himself *back* --

It's a dozen memories at once. It's the back of his head bouncing against the mats as Bruce takes him down, it's the feel of Bruce's hands gripping his thighs as Bruce sucked and fucking *bit* --

It's Bruce begging, wordless and sharp, low --

Jason sucks Bruce's tongue and pulls Bruce's hands away from him, and Bruce immediately pushes his fingers between Jason's own and grips him *that* way --

"I could say something, at this juncture, about your failure to demonstrate calm and control in the face of the *fact* of Jay, Bruce," Tim says, and he sounds so damned *cool* --

Jason laughs into the kiss --

And Bruce's tackle nearly takes them off the bed, but Tim's right there when Jason flings an arm out to steady himself, tugging just as hard as he can and -- well, he can't *move* Jason with Bruce on him, but the grunting noises *convince* Bruce to kneel up --

And *yank* Jason back onto the bed --

"*That* brings back memories. *More* memories --"

"Jason," Bruce says, using that *extra* serious voice, that listen-to-me voice that actually doesn't have a damned thing to do with the Bat --

"I'm listening, B. You might even say you have my *utmost* attention," and Jason strokes Tim's wrist with his fingertips. "If not my *full* attention."

"You don't know what those other worlds would be like. You don't know --"

"Anything," Jason says. "I don't know *anything*. But I know -- God, I had a damned *plan*, and it didn't involve getting stuck anywhere other than --" Jason laughs again. "It didn't involve getting stuck *anywhere* -- no matter how good it was. Is. Let's not *do* this now. We've got the morning, we've got your great, big bed -- and we've got a Tim who's being very patient --"

"And who can continue to *be* patient on this particular subject. Just to put that *out* there," Tim says, and *he* kneels up, moving to slip himself under Bruce's arm and hold on, palm moving restlessly over a scar Jason knows came from a machete wielded by a guy hopped up on PCP. Jason hadn't been good enough, then, to take out the guy's friends *quickly* enough --

He shakes his head. "You two... look really good together. I wish I'd gotten to see --"

"You can see *everything*, Jay --"

"At the very least," Bruce says, and the humor is back in his eyes as he runs two fingers down the center of Jason's chest, "you should feel free to watch the footage."

Jason snorts. "Bruce -- you're a fucking pervert."

"Something you always seemed to appreciate, though in a similar way to how certain people appreciate wounds."

"Epicures recognize the place bitterness has in the human flavor palate, music critics see beauty in the atonal -- I." Tim closes his mouth and frowns --

"Hey, no, baby bro, he wasn't --"

"He was mocking with love, yes, I get it. *None* of us know what's in those other worlds for you, but we know what's *here* --"

Jason sits up, scoots back a little and then gets up on his own knees, wanting at the closeness, the *power* that seems to be running through the three of them --

All that fucking *potential* --

"Please," Tim says, low and calm. "You know there's nothing I wouldn't do, nothing I wouldn't *give*."

He's already given his father, and his fucking *right* to string Jason up for that. He. "You probably think there's nothing worse than what you've already been through --"

"No, Jay, I don't. I know there are worse things, and my nightmares have offered several to me already. I... blood on my hands. You made sure I'd know the stink of it, and the *sound* flesh makes when it's torn --"

"Tim --"

"No, Bruce. This -- this isn't yours, and can't ever *be* yours," Tim says, and curls his fingers in against Bruce's chest. "But it's Jason's. And It's mine. And all of my oaths, from now on, will be taken with that in mind -- whether or not Jason stays."

Bruce frowns for that, but he doesn't even look a *little* surprised... yeah, there are reasons why he hasn't taken Tim's Oath --

"Am I what you wanted yet, Jay?"

Fuck. "You're a lot more than that. You *have* been a lot more than that for a long time now," Jason says, and wonders why he hadn't said it before. It seems so *obvious* --

Tim nods and touches his tongue to his upper lip. "I want that to be enough. I want to be... stronger, I suppose. But I'm not. I spent a great deal of time alone growing up, and I think it must have... damaged me in certain ways. You've given me a taste of what it's like to *not* be alone. You've given me a *family*. And while you can't take away the latter, you have to know that you can take away the former very easily. I -- I know it's a terrible, manipulative thing to say, but I'm going to say it anyway: If you leave, I'll know that you never really loved me, at all --"

"Tim, *no* --"

"I'll know it with all of myself, and I'll always remember it. It will color all of my future relationships, in much the same way that my relationship with my parents will. It is, of course, not your responsibility in any way to guide me through the world -- and you've given me far more than anyone else ever could -- but, ultimately, that doesn't change anything. And that's all I'm going to say on the matter. I won't ask you to stay anymore. I won't beg, or plead, or cry -- where you can hear or see me, anyway. I'm done," Tim says, and shrugs away from Bruce again, stepping off the bed --

But he stops when Jason puts a hand on his shoulder. Stops, shudders, and probably hates himself for it, but -- "Do you *need* to go right now, Tim?"

Tim laughs, quiet and a little ugly. "I'm frankly not sure, Jay. And I wonder if this is what you feel every time you look at your little anomaly-sensors."

Jason swallows, feeling Bruce's gaze on him, feeling the *tension* in Tim's shoulder --

Feeling so fucking *much* --

"Jay. What do *you* need right now?"

Jason blows out a breath. "My fucked up, twisted, dangerous, brilliant, and really kind of scary boy. *My* boy."

"I love you," Tim says, and reaches up to cover Jason's hand with his own. "You never... I mean, you *knew* how fucked up it would be to start a sexual relationship with me, and maybe you blamed it on adrenaline and uncontrollable -- unbelievable, really -- lust, at first, but you still did it, and kept doing it. You scarred me and you hurt me and you tasted my blood, and I never stopped being a *boy* to you."

"A feat I never managed," Bruce says, as quietly as everything else.

"Yeah, well, I *own* my perversions, *kid*. Come here and let me make you come for me. Let me make you scream until your voice cracks --"

Bruce's dick twitches, and Jason grins and wraps his free hand around it --

"Better yet, let me see the way Bruce touches you. The way he *works* you --"

"Jay. I -- I want --"

"Both? Neither? Can you still feel my tongue in you?"

"I -- fuck," Tim says, turning around and coming back to the bed --

Jason grins and licks his lips, and --

He's never going to forget *this* moment:

The frown warring with a kind of blank *hunger* on Tim's face as he moves between Bruce and Jason, as he straddles Jason's thighs and parts his lips, staring into Jason's eyes *and* into the space behind his own, as he wraps his arms around Jason's neck and tilts his head back, baring his throat --

"Mine," Jason says, shocked that it comes out more conversational than the desperate he's starting to feel in his fucking bones --

"Yours," Tim agrees, and presses as close as he can, rubbing against Jason's slick dick, grinding and *pushing* -- "But I think... I think you should watch Bruce fuck me."

"Oh, I think you're absolutely right, and I --" Okay, focus on a little more than the lust, a little more than the images crowding and fucking flooding his brain -- "It doesn't -- it won't make a difference. It won't make me think you're any better off without me or -- any of that."

Tim nods seriously and flashes him a smile, bright and small. "How much did it turn *you* on when I called him... that word I have no intention of teasing him with --"

"Thank you," Bruce says, and kisses the top of Tim's head --

Tim takes one hand from around Jason's neck and reaches back to do... something. Squeeze, maybe? Stroke? Hard to say when he has his own hands on Tim's obliques, now...

"Uh... at the time? I was too busy thinking about what an ass I was to make you deal with it to really *think* about it."

Tim nods slowly. "The thing is -- it would be incredibly easy to let myself fall into that mindset. Into that way of *being*. I can imagine all kinds of things, but I don't *have* to imagine anything -- we've already spent time working on the vehicles together. We've discussed the -- heh -- family business. He's held me while I cried. He's held me while I fell asleep. We've shared meals together without anything resembling trauma or stress, I -- I can't stress *enough* how much that means."

Jason nods, and doesn't say a damned *word* about the meals he's watched at the Drake home --

"And I see that I don't have to. You know. You *both* know, and somehow it's all right that you do. I..." Tim grinds against Jason again and closes his eyes --

And Bruce is right there to cup Tim's throat and *squeeze* --

"*Jesus*, that's hot --"

Tim nods and grinds more, *harder* --

And Bruce is staring into him, willing him to see, or maybe to know... something.

Jason shakes his head. "What is it, B?"

"You've given me a gift. You are, undoubtedly, tempted to say that Tim would've been one of us without your influence, but you know it wouldn't be like this, Jay."

"I -- yeah. I do."

Bruce nods and starts squeezing Tim's throat rhythmically. "The Bruce and Tim in your home universe were not romantically involved."

"No, but... ah. You *had* adopted him. Not long after... Captain Boomerang killed Tim's father."

Bruce blinks and releases Tim's throat --

Tim brings Bruce's hand *back* -- "Not this. Not now. We can discuss the matter later. I -- it happened years from now, Jay?"

Jason cups Tim's hips and squeezes. "Just before you turned seventeen."

"Four years... and a large amount of possibility between then and now," Tim says, and reaches up to cup Bruce's face -- "And a different parent."

Jason debates telling Tim that the difference won't matter, but -- hell, Janet Drake could get herself hammered and take a fall down the stairs between then and now. She could get married. She could spend her time traveling the world, leaving Tim behind --

"Right now... I don't care," Tim says, and pushes his hand into Bruce's short hair. "I think I might be... I don't know, and I don't want to analyze it, beyond considering the idea of Bruce being my father and *not* fucking me on a nightly basis."

"I will never pressure you --"

"In *any* way, yes, I know, Bruce. Closer, please?" And Tim groans when Bruce presses him against Jason, and --

"God, I think I can feel *your* heat, B --"

"I love you both. Let me --"

And the kiss he gives Tim is hungry, *hot*, and a little mind-blowing when he starts squeezing Tim's throat again, cutting off moans that get higher and higher, more desperate as Tim runs out of air --

As Tim thrusts against Jason again and again --

Bruce pulls back -- "Beautiful boy. You know so much about me. There's so much I've been able to say -- and so much I've never *had* to say."

"Bruce. Oh -- God, I want. I."

"Tell me," Bruce says, and for a long moment Jason might as well not be here at all. It's in the way they're looking at each other, the way --

There's something between them that had clearly grown while Jason had kept himself away, something deep and a little terrifying -- judging by how wide Tim's eyes are and the shudder that goes through him --

Through all of them.

"I want to say it," Tim says, and swallows. "I want. I'll mean it, but I want to say it, anyway, and I don't know. I. What happens if I change my mind?"

"You'll still have said it. And I will have heard it, and had what I wanted for a moment I would never forget," and Bruce moves his hand from Tim's throat to stroke his mouth, to press against Tim's lower lip with his thumb --

"God. God. Both of you, right here, and I. I never know how I'll *take* this. It always seems like *this* time I'll fall apart entirely and never be any good to anyone, again --"

"You *are* good," Jason says, and shifting his grip to Tim's ass means brushing against Bruce with the backs of his hands, brings a contact that *is* complicated, warm and more than a little beautiful --

"Take what you want, Tim --"

"Say it. Say -- the word. Let me hear --"

"Son," Bruce says, low and almost *hard* as he pushes his thumb into Tim's mouth, as Tim shudders all over, closes his eyes, and *sucks*.

Jesus, *yes*, and Jason bites the inside of his lip to keep from saying anything, from *interrupting* --

"Anyone would be proud to call you their own, Tim. Anyone who took the time to know you would *need* you," and Bruce starts *fucking* Tim's mouth with his thumb --

Jason gives Tim's ass a squeeze --

Tim opens his eyes, but they're dazed, unfocused --

"My son. I will make love to you in any way you wish. I will give you all the pleasure you wish to take --"

Tim groans and squeezes his eyes shut again, shakes his head --

"You mustn't -- please don't deny me this, Tim. *Son*."

Another shudder, and Tim sucks Bruce's finger -- it looks like he's sucking as hard as he *can*, and Jason knows that means Tim wants to protest as much as he wants more, so --

It feels so good to start fucking against Tim, to just rub his slicked-up dick all over Tim's own, and his abdomen --

To make Tim moan around Bruce's thumb --

And to watch Tim reach for it as Bruce starts to pull it out, slowly and fucking inexorably until Tim is panting and whimpering a little. He's flushed, sweating --

"Take him, B. I can't -- I need to *see*."

Bruce nods and sucks his wet thumb before bringing it back to Tim's mouth for Tim's sharp little pink tongue, for those swelling lips --

Jason starts fucking a little faster, making an *effort* to shove Tim back against Bruce with every thrust, to get those little grunting noises --

"Say... say yes to me, Tim," Bruce says, and presses his short thumbnail against Tim's lower lip -- "Tell me you want --"

"Want. I want you, Bruce, I want -- please fuck me. Please... Dad -- *oh* --"

And judging by the feel, *Bruce* had just thrust against Tim's ass --

"Again, Tim --"

"Dad, *please*, I'll do -- not anything, not. That's for *Jay* --"

And that -- Jason spreads Tim's cheeks and Tim whimpers for him, for both of them, because Bruce *must* be fucking Tim's cleft, feeling sweat and maybe a little of Jason's spit --

And then Bruce is moving Tim's arms until they're tight around Jason's neck, moving *Tim* until Tim's head is on Jason's shoulder --

"Please. Please --"

"The answer is always yes, Tim," Bruce says, and then the little bottle of lubricant is in his hands --

And then Tim is making noises with a whole lot of o's, rubbing his face against Jason's shoulder and managing to match his rhythm to Jason's own --

But it would be Bruce making the rhythm work, wouldn't it? Just -- of *course* he's capable of prepping Tim *and* continuing the sex just the way Jason wants it --

Needs it --

Jason kisses Tim's forehead. "You're all right, baby bro..."

Tim laughs and bites him. "I could question... that. I could. Oh. Oh, please, *please* --"

"B?"

"I'm pushing as deep as I can, feeling..." Bruce sighs. "Stop holding him open, Jay. I need you to -- I need Tim to be *held* right now --"

"God, fuck, yeah, I understand," Jason says, and wraps his arms around Tim --

Tim shudders again and *clings* the way he almost never does, feeling just as young as he is, just as incredible --

*Fuck*, yes -- "You're so hot like this, Tim. So perfect  --"

And that was a whimper -- and Tim starts working himself faster between them, urging them on --

"Careful, you don't want to come, yet --"

Tim grunts and bites Jason again, holding on with his sharp little teeth --

"That's right. That's just right. You feel how hard I am for you? How much I need you?"

Animal noise, muffled and *wet*, and Tim pulls back to blink and stare at him, through him --

Jason grins and squeezes him tighter. "You know it's good, don't you?"

Tim licks his lips and nods -- and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Another finger, B?"

"Yes. I'm always tempted to do this as slowly as he'll allow --"

Jason snorts. "See, this is where you *fail* to get in touch with your inner teenager, Bruce. Too slow is too much of a *tease*."

"I'm not unaware of that, Jay. It's only that every reaction is precious, every moment vital and beautiful..."

Tim moans and *keeps* moaning, and Jason would bet that Bruce is making those two fingers feel like three, stretching Tim as open as he can, and -- God, yes --

Jason licks Tim's face, tasting salt and wanting *more* -- "Choke him again --"

"Wait --" Tim pants and shakes his head. "I'll. I'll come."

Mm, there's a point. "What if he just sucks your throat a little, Tim?"

"I -- all right --" And Tim kneels up to give Bruce a better angle, stroking Jason's neck and shoulders restlessly and making those 'oh' sounds again, high and *sweet*.

Jason can feel himself leaking more pre-come, feel himself getting harder and fucking *needier* -- "*Faster*, B --"

And Tim's moan becomes a grunt --

Another --

And then it's rhythmic, suggestive almost to the point of *pain*, because Bruce is fucking Tim with his fingers, he's --

"God, you're fucking my *boy* --"

"My *son*," Bruce says --

And Tim starts smacking Jason with his palms, shaking his head and working himself between them, back and forth and back again --

Jason licks his lips. "One of my hottest memories is of finding Bruce reading the newspaper in the study and just yanking down my pants and underwear --"

"You'd prepared yourself before coming to me. You were. When I saw the shine of lubricant on your cheek, I lost myself."

Jason strokes up to the back of Tim's head and cups him there, holding him against himself -- "Yeah, well, you were due to *join* that particular club. I could barely *remember* preparing myself -- there were just flashes of sensation and *need* right up until I sat on your lap --"

"I nearly called you 'son.'"

Jason laughs and works his free hand between his body and Tim's own so he can pinch and twist Tim's nipples. "*Better* that you didn't."

"You *rode* me, Jay --"

"And it wasn't enough --"

Tim groans and starts *pumping* his hips --

"Easy, baby bro --"

"Can't. I -- I can see -- I can *feel* --"

"Then I will not make any of us wait any longer," Bruce says --

Tim gasps --

Tim *shouts*, and Bruce is pulling him into his lap, pulling him down onto his dick inch by fucking *inch*, and Jason works his hand between them just so he can feel it. Bruce hard as fucking rock, Tim stretched as far open as he *can* be --

"*Ride* him, Tim."

Tim nods almost frantically and braces his hands on Jason's shoulders, eyes closed but tracking fast behind the lids as he does it, lifting himself up and *shoving* himself back down --

Bruce grunts like an animal and wraps his hand around Tim's throat again, getting a cry that gets choked off *slowly* --

And Tim is still fucking against Jason, still moving in *just* the right way to make Jason's dick feel fucking *appreciative*, and the only possible response to that is to push closer, *crush* Tim between them until all the motions are short and sharp, just to the sweet side of awkward --

Bruce eases his grip on Tim's throat --

"Nnh -- I -- please, oh -- oh, God, I need more --"

"It's --" Jason shakes his head and bites his lip. "It's never enough like that, Tim, I know --"

"*Please* --"

"Just --" Jason *licks* his lips and kisses Tim, swallowing Tim's cries until there aren't any, sucking Tim's tongue until he starts fucking Jason with it -- he pulls back. "Just a little longer. Give us what you *got*, baby bro --"

"*Nnh* -- I. All right. I --" And Tim shakes his head again and starts riding Bruce faster, *rougher* both in terms of the rhythm and what Tim must be *feeling* --

"Yeah, like that. That's pretty much how I did it. It's -- mm. It started to *hurt* more than it felt good --"

"Yes -- *yes* --"

"But I kept going, Tim. Because I could *feel* Bruce losing it in me, feel the way he was watching me, *seeing* me. Knowing that I *wanted* it --"

Tim throws his head back and shouts -- "*Please* --"

"And then I couldn't wait anymore," Bruce says, and moves his hands to Tim's hips. "I had to. Had to *help* --"

"D-Dad. Dad --"

"*Yes*," and Bruce starts moving Tim, lifting him and pulling him back down, lifting him against Jason and thrusting *up* --

"*Fuck* yeah, B --"

"I tell myself that it must be wrong to want this, that this, at least, should be something I can resist --"

"Please, *no*, Dad, please -- oh, please don't stop, don't leave me, don't *leave* me --"

Bruce grunts and shudders, slowing *down* -- "Tim --"

"I -- I --" Tim sobs and *beats* at Jason's shoulders, struggling in Bruce's grip for *more* --

"Remember, B, don't tease --"

Bruce stares at him. "He's not -- he isn't --"

"He's *here*," Jason says, and gives Tim a quick, hard kiss. "Even if it's not all the way."

Bruce frowns --

Tim sobs *louder* --

"My *son*," Bruce says, and starts giving it to Tim again, harder and faster --

Tim nods and clutches Jason, burying his face against Jason's neck and shoulder, licking and mouthing and muttering things that sound enough like words to make Jason shiver, because he *knows* --

Not what they are. But he knows what they *mean*, and maybe they're fucking Tim into a whole new *set* of issues, but they're also giving him what he *needs* --

"My beautiful boy. I. I won't leave you," and Bruce's voice is low and *harsh*, absolutely nothing like the voice Tim will never hear again, but Tim is still sobbing and gasping, still trying to keep up with Bruce's rhythm, with Jason's --

And Jason feels himself twitch for the feel of Tim sinking his teeth in against Jason's throat --

Bruce doesn't *stop* --

None of them are gonna fucking *stop* --

"It's. There's nothing wrong with your tears, Tim. Son. I want to taste them. I want to hold you to myself, keep you --"

"*Dad* --"

"*Mine*," Bruce says, and it's more of a growl than anything else, as harsh and vicious as the fuck currently making Jason want to be on his hands and knees, want Bruce's dick in his mouth, Tim's dick --

He *can* have that, but it would mean backing *away*, and that wouldn't be any good for Tim, not the way he's clutching with his arms and with his *teeth* --

"We're both right here," Jason says. "We've got you. We won't let *go*," and kissing Tim is the only possible way to cope with everything he feels, everything this *is*.

There's that rope around the base of his spine, and his dick is spitting pre-come with almost every fucking *thrust* --

And Tim tastes like the acid need that burns right through Jason every fucking day, and Bruce is fucking Tim against him fucking *relentlessly*, and this is what he wants, this is what it *means* to have Bruce --

To have this *boy*, and the realization that this won't end when Tim comes is somehow *profound*, deeper than everything else -- possibly *including* Bruce's fuck --

Jason growls into Tim's mouth and cups his face, holds Tim *still* for this, even though he *does* want to know what Tim's trying to say, wants to hear him beg the way Jason always had to beg, wants to know what it's like for *Tim* to feel half-split open and desperate, hurt, *needy* --

"My boys, my beautiful. Beautiful *boys*," and Bruce shoves a hand into Jason's hair and *yanks* --

"Dad, *no* -- *oh* --"

And it's awkward, but Bruce manages to pull Tim into a kiss, manages to take *that* for himself, and Jason can only stare and thrust, only *watch* as Bruce takes Tim's mouth fucking brutally --

"I know what it's like, Tim. I know what it -- what it *is* --"

Muffled sounds, *strangled* sounds --

"You can't fight him, you can't ever fucking *fight* --"

And Tim goes limp everywhere but his dick, fingers twitching against the back of Jason's neck as the kiss somehow gets *deeper* --

But it doesn't last, because the sounds Tim's making are high, dangerous as a mouthful of broken glass --

"Fucking *do* it, Tim --"

And he's rigid again, *clawing* at the back of Jason's neck as he *screams* into Bruce's mouth, and the only real question is whether the tear that's rolling down his cheek started welling before or *after* he started coming hot and slick on Jason's abdomen and dick.

Gorgeous. Just --

And when Bruce pulls back from the kiss, Tim turns to face him. His eyes are wide and his pupils are blown. His mouth is open and his hair's a fucking *mess* --

And Bruce doesn't stop. He doesn't --

Tim narrows his eyes for every thrust, and there's a *plea* in his eyes. He's --

"Jay? Jay..."

"It's all right, baby bro. It's -- you don't know how *good* you look."

Tim *closes* his eyes and tilts his head back -- just in time for Bruce to bite Tim's throat hard enough --

That is *absolutely* going to leave a mark -- which will absolutely fade by the time Janet Drake's sober enough for company. And that's probably not the *best* excuse for leaning in to bite the other *side* of Tim's throat, but Jason's fucking well going with it, letting the spit ribbon out the side of his mouth as he bites and sucks, licks --

"You -- both of you. I --"

Bruce pulls back with a wet sound. "Say it *again*, Tim. *Please*."

Tim whimpers -- "Please come, Dad -- *mmph* --"

And when Jason looks up, Bruce has two fingers shoved *deep* into Tim's mouth and he's lost his rhythm. Fuck, he's probably lost his *mind* --

More so than usual. Jason grins. "You've given him something neither I nor Dick ever did..."

Tim nods and closes his eyes again, leaving his mouth open for every pant, every whimper --

"He's *never* gonna forget -- and fuck, but I want a piece of you --"

"*Tim* --"

And Tim makes a choked noise as Bruce *slams* in -- and Jason knows that *that* silence means he's coming, holding himself still everywhere but the dick that Tim has to feel *twitching* --

Tim's eyes roll back in his head and he --

Well, he probably *would* be swaying if Bruce wasn't holding *him* still for every fucking *drop* --

Bruce groans and starts kissing every part of Tim's face he can reach until Tim takes a breath and whimpers again --

"It will be easier," Bruce says, voice rough and fucking *heavy* -- "I know you already know this. I. I need to hold you."

Tim nods again and reaches up to wrap his arms around Bruce's neck.

"Son."

Patience -- is just one of the virtues he missed out on getting his share of, but he can wait. And stroke himself a little, getting his dick a little *covered* with Tim's come and thinking about what it will feel like to be inside Tim *after* Bruce, how wet and fucking *open* Tim will be --

Jason licks his lips and forces himself *down* a little. There's no way he'll get any softer, but maybe he can just get control of his emotions. Maybe.

Bruce is stroking Tim's chest and abdomen, squeezing Tim's thighs and reaching between to cup his sac and stroke *that* while Tim rests against Bruce's body and tries to catch his breath.

Jason licks his lips. "How sore are you, baby bro?"

"I'm still... I feel. I think I'm stoned on endorphins. Which is the only possible reason for me not being wildly embarrassed right now --"

"You have *nothing* to be ashamed of," Bruce says, and clutches Tim tighter --

"I. Beg to differ."

"Tim --"

"Tim," Jason says, and uses his free hand to tilt Tim's chin up so they can look each other in the eye -- "Damn, you *do* look pretty stoned."

Tim's smile is so soft --

Jason shakes his head. "You're making me crazy, and that's a *good* thing. But -- listen to B. If we *didn't* lose it a little for sex, it wouldn't be any good."

"I -- that was more than a little," Tim says, blinking and... yeah, those are salt tracks on his cheeks.

Jason leans in and licks them away before backing up enough to meet Tim's eyes again. *Just* enough. "You were incredible."

"You haven't come --"

"Oh, I will. Hopefully *in* you."

Tim shivers -- and his dick twitches. And he groans.

Jason grins again. "Yeah, like that. And what makes you think we don't *all* have massive Daddy issues, anyway?"

"I --" Tim blinks. "All right, when you put it that way..."

"*Exactly*. You just let loose enough to actually get something *out* of those issues -- which is something the rest of us don't normally manage... well, no, I'm going to go on the record with the firm statement that I don't *know* what Dick does with Clark, and that I don't *want* to know."

Bruce hums. "Perhaps for the best."

Jason laughs. "Meaning you *do* know?"

"Clark... used to put a great deal of effort into trying to get me to seduce Dick."

"It wouldn't have been *hard* --"

"Perhaps not," Bruce says, and bites the curve of Tim's ear lightly. "But it invited a certain amount of speculation over what topics the two of them had... discussed."

"I'm... trying to decide whether I'm comfortable with the idea of my -- simply -- having 'issues' where my parents used to be. Should be," Tim says, and looks a question at Jason.

A part of him really wants to point out that that's kind of an unfairly difficult question considering how *hard* he is... but the rest of him has a soul *and* knows that it really isn't unfair, at all. "No one's saying that you have to 'just' have the issues. Bruce is never going to get over the loss of his parents, *Dick's* never going to get over the loss of *his* parents --"

"You did, Jay."

"Is that what you think?" Jason shakes his head. "I'm still... part of me is terrified that when Bruce moved all of my things, he lost or got rid of my mother's favorite deck of cards --"

"I put them back in your sock drawer," Bruce says. "That... that is where you preferred to keep them?"

"I --" No, he's *not* going to get choked up right now. "That. That's fine, B." Jason takes a breath and cups Tim's face. "And that's really my point. My parents were more fucked up than most, but that doesn't mean I don't hate Two-Face for killing my father -- good memories or *no* good memories -- and that doesn't mean I don't miss my mother, and that doesn't mean I don't still catch myself wondering, sometimes, what it would've been like to grow up with the woman who gave birth to me."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "But you still think my father doesn't deserve my grief."

Jason strokes Tim's cheek with his thumb. "That's just me. I don't get to decide how the world's gonna work, even if I *did* die and come back."

And Tim stares into him for a good, long while, but Jason just kneels there and takes it, because --

Because it doesn't matter that it's a truth he doesn't want -- it's still true.

"I think, sometimes, that you paid for your emotional health with my father's blood --"

"Tim --"

"No, B, he's right. And he'd deserve to say it even if he wasn't. I probably *wouldn't* have such a clear view of what's going on in my own head if I hadn't watched you grieve. And if I hadn't come too fucking close to losing you."

Tim's expression gets pinched -- and he kneels up off Bruce with a wince and a sigh before brushing Jason's hand from his cheek and coming close, wrapping his arms around Jason's neck and pressing a brief kiss to Jason's lips. "You won't lose me."

"You shouldn't --"

"Say things like that? Maybe not. But I know myself better than you know *yourself*, Jay. And I know that you won't lose me. Whether or not the question *should* touch on my parents... it doesn't. You're an entirely different world from them, and in that world, I only *have* issues. The real people behind them are..." Tim smiles again, small and soft and *bright* -- "Rather far away."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. But I can't change the fact that I like living in your world, Jay. I just have to deal with what it says about me as a person."

"You should never doubt your own goodness, Tim," Bruce says, and Jason can definitely hear --

"Oh. Call me 'son' again, Bruce. Make it real. Make it -- inescapable," Tim says, and looks back over his shoulder at Bruce --

"My son," and Bruce curls his fingers in against his own thighs, absolutely telegraphing the fact that he'd rather be holding Tim against himself and doing some more kissing and biting --

"Perhaps when we wake, you can... hmm. Take me in to Wayne Enterprises. I've wanted to meet Lucius Fox since I realized you were Batman."

"He's a brilliant and wonderful man."

Tim's smile gets sharper. "And you've never wanted to sleep with him?"

Bruce holds up a hand -- and holds his index finger and thumb about half an inch apart.

Jason snorts. "Talk about fucking *Daddy* issues. You make the poor guy slap 'Brucie' around all day... okay, he could probably put you in your place in a way you'd like."

"As ever, Jay -- the idea had occurred."

Really -- fucking -- "Somewhere? Lucius is having a *horrible* fucking nightmare right now and he doesn't know *why*."

Bruce shows his teeth. "Almost certainly better than the alternative," he says, and turns back to Tim. "What do you need?"

"To spend yet another night... in company."

Bruce nods. "I vastly enjoy having you in my bed," and he strokes a line down Tim's spine -- over Tim's *first* scars. "Though Jay may prefer --"

"I'm staying here tonight," Jason says -- blurts, really, and the smile on his face feels shakier than he likes, but -- but. "We -- Tim in the middle?"

Another nod. "If that's all right with you, Tim."

Tim bites his lip and looks down at the bed, moving one hand from the back of Jason's neck to stroke the comforter a little. "I can't help feeling -- I shouldn't let myself become accustomed to sleeping with other people."

"It can be difficult to go from having the warmth of a loved one to having nothing of the kind --"

"Which is all the more reason to *take* that warmth while it's there," Jason says, and strokes Tim's side. "You'll always know how to put yourself out when you need to do it -- you don't *lose* lessons like that, even if you don't want to sleep, at all -- but there's no reason to deny yourself when company is *available*."

Tim's smile is a little private, even when he turns it back on Jason. "Something else you've learned recently, Jay?"

"Heh. *Very* recently," and Jason pushes his free hand between Tim's thighs, where it's warm and wet-slick from Bruce's come --

"Oh. Jay... I think a part of me actually forgot -- um."

"That I was waiting for a chance at you?" Jason sucks his teeth and shakes his head. "Bad boys get *spanked*."

And he can see Bruce raise a distinctly interested eyebrow, but it's a lot more interesting to see Tim blush and lick his lips.

"What do you think, baby bro? You been bad?"

"No. I mean -- I haven't, but I also -- would you want to...?"

"Spank your little ass until you start making even more interesting noises than your usual?" Jason licks his *own* lips. "Oh, yeah. Enough that I might put the bug in Dick's ear next time he's down here so he can help me wrestle you down."

"Why not now? I mean -- why not with Bruce? Not that I'm saying that I want to -- I'm not actually sure --"

"Easy," Jason says, and moves his hands back to Tim's hips. "It's just sex. You're *good* at that."

Tim's laugh is high and just a little edgy. "I think it's more than just *sex* --"

"You'd prefer the knife?"

Tim licks his lips. "I have -- context. For that."

"I know a good way to *get* context --"

"Have you -- have the two of you...?" And Tim looks back over his shoulder at Bruce.

Bruce... it's not *quite* a cough, but it's close. "I... heard about the tradition of birthday spankings, in the context of them being something normal families engaged in --"

Jason fights back a snort. He doesn't do all that well. "You totally woke Dick up on his fourteenth birthday and gave him spanking. You actually did that."

"It was disturbing for both of us," Bruce says, and there's a *wry* light in his eyes. "Perhaps more for Dick --"

"Who got an erection he could pound *nails* with. And you, B?"

"I remain unsure how Dick managed to miss my... interest."

God, *that* -- Jason snorts again, grabbing a pillow and smacking Bruce with it. "Because he was rock hard, embarrassed, and seriously *confused*, you lunatic."

Bruce catches the pillow before Jason can hit him with it again. "That does make a certain amount of sense. I did consider spanking you some of those times when we had... vehement disagreements, Jay --"

"Oh, *that* would've gone over like a lead balloon. And then we would've fucked like animals, and *then*? You wouldn't have been able to *effectively* scold me for *anything*."

Bruce hums --

"The images are... compelling," Tim says, and he definitely looks like he's picturing it. Whether it's him or Dick over Bruce's knee in his mind is something Jason frankly can't even guess at, but -- it's definitely there in his mind.

Jason strokes his way down Tim's back, finding the scars and rubbing them a little before cupping Tim's ass and *lifting* a little --

"Oh. I -- I'm just not sure I'll *like* it. All right, no, there's also -- I mean, how much more perverse can my relationship with Bruce *be*?"

"This probably isn't the time to offer suggestions," Bruce says, and sets the pillow aside. "But they are... available."

Tim grunts and laughs -- "All right, I knew I'd start getting hard again *quickly*, but -- mm. The fact that you can talk like that in the same voice you use when you're *training* me, Bruce --"

"Think of it this way, kid: the reason why he sounds like that when you're training? Is that he's *thinking* of this. All the damned *time*."

"Jay, I'm not eighteen, anymore. I do consider other things --"

"Uh, huh, and how *many* of those other things *lead* to this? All that time workin' on the car and I'm supposed to believe you *weren't* thinking of bending Tim over it? Maybe using the *restraint* straps to keep him in place while you jerked him off nice and slow...?"

Bruce hums and strokes the back of Tim's neck with two fingers --

Tim shivers --

"Yeah, my *point*," Jason says, spreading Tim and dipping in just a little --

"Oh fuck -- I. Which *one* of you would be spanking me?"

"Yes," Bruce says, *helpfully* unhelpful.

Jason grins at the wide-eyed shock on Tim's face and gives his prostate a nice little *press* to make those eyes get unfocused again, make Tim open his mouth and pant. "You first, B...?"

Bruce hums again and strokes his way between them, pinching Tim's nipples *hard* --

"*Please*. I -- oh, God. I'm not sure -- I mean, shouldn't. What if. I --"

Jason ducks in and bites Tim's lips, one after the other. "Bruce to get you wired up. *Me* to take you home, baby bro."

Tim pants a little more, then pants a little harder, faster --

Bruce is twisting Tim's nipples back and forth, and there's something kind of ridiculously hot about the feel of his hands brushing against *Jason's* chest while he does it --

Though the *heaviness* he's feeling in his dick could definitely have something to do with how dazed and fucking *easy* Tim looks right now...

Yeah. Jason slips out again and gives Tim a push -- and watches him crawl right over into Bruce's lap like he'd gotten an order that went straight to his central nervous system. He lays himself over Bruce's thighs and lets his head hang, curls his toes and fingers in against the comforter --

"Beautiful," Bruce says, and strokes Tim's back in a way... well, it's a little like the way Jason has seen some women stroke a fur coat, or an exceptionally pretty car. It's possessive and *seriously* objectifying, and it makes Tim squirm and tense a little.

"Here, kid, focus on this," Jason says, and moves close enough that he can push his thumb into Tim's mouth, revel in the wet heat a little as Tim hums and sucks. "Don't be neat about it. Bite me, lick me... go to town."

Tim nods and follows orders -- and relaxes all over as his focus gets nice and *direct*, and --

Bruce is looking at him.

Jason raises his eyebrows.

"I never knew you harbored this particular... kink, Jay."

"I don't think I did, really. Tim brings out the perv in me. I kinda want to try everything at least once."

Bruce nods. "I've... it's a sentiment I find familiar."

Jason grins. "I just bet, freak. C'mon, give it to him --"

And it's more of a *cracking* noise than a slap, sharp and breaking --

Tim tenses and jerks, moans and bites down --

And Jason cups the back of Tim's head with his free hand and strokes. "That's not so bad, is it?"

Tim's hum is kind of *fervent*, but it comes with several little bites that mean he doesn't especially want to talk -- and that's just fine.

"Do it again, B --"

Three spanks in rapid succession, alternating cheeks, and Tim's writhe makes Jason want to tie him down and fuck him blind, call in Dick and Bruce to fuck him while he's recovering so Tim doesn't get one spare fucking moment --

"Yeah, *again* --"

And these spanks are lighter, but there are more of them. Five -- six -- seven -- stop, and Bruce strokes and squeezes Tim's ass, cups and squeezes -- and runs his fingers down Tim's cleft while Tim's moans hitch and he starts trying to get up on his knees --

He stops and lays himself out again, pants around Jason's thumb -- swallows audibly and *drools* a little.

"That -- is fucking hot."

Bruce hums and pushes his hand between Tim's legs, getting Tim's sac in hand and squeezing it, almost *pumping* it --

And Tim starts making some *wonderful* noises, rhythmic little grunting moans through his teeth -- he's holding on to Jason's thumb again --

And Bruce lets go and strokes *up* Tim's cleft -- pushes in with two big, hard fingers and makes Tim narrow his eyes and whimper, which --

Jason fucks Tim's mouth a little, pushing deep and stroking Tim's tongue, the inside of his cheek. "Nobody who likes getting fucked as much as you do should ever be left *alone*, baby bro."

Tim's lashes flutter as he sucks again, relaxes himself all over --

Bruce meets Jason's eyes --

Jason nods and Bruce fucking *brings* it , spanking too hard and fast for Jason to count in his seriously fucking *impaired* state. Jason switches his thumb for two fingers and tries to fuck Tim's mouth in Bruce's rhythm, tries to keep Tim steady and relaxed, because --

"God, I can't wait for my turn --"

"Patience --"

"Fucking bite me, B, that's *sweet* --"

"It is. And I believe I'm becoming aroused again."

Jason grins again. "Believe? You're not sure?"

"Ask me again in a moment -- yes, I'm *quite* sure," Bruce says, and stops spanking Tim to stroke him again, to shift Tim closer and lift his hips against Tim --

Tim moans long and *loud*, kicking at the comforter with both legs and tensing and relaxing almost *randomly* --

"*Suck*, Tim --"

A nod and Tim's doing it, going down on Jason's fingers and relaxing -- not quite completely this time. His ass has to sting too much for that, judging by how red it's getting. It's a *different* color than the flush spilling down his back, the depth of the color highlighting his scars --

"God, you're pretty, baby bro. Remind me that I want Bruce to do this to you sometime when you're all dragged up."

Tim makes a *questioning* noise that seems honestly shocked, which --

Jason snickers and strokes Tim's back. "You can be a bad little *girl*, too, you know."

Tim pulls back and off Jason's fingers -- "I really wouldn't mind it if you started sleeping with women again, Jay."

"Heh. Anything to avoid the high heels?"

"I -- the makeup is more objectionable than the clothing, actually --"

"You realize that you just convinced Bruce to make you up every chance he gets and then work on *making* you like it, right? I know this because things like that run in *families*."

"Oh... God."

"Uh, huh. Somewhere in New York, Dick is dreaming of mascara, pretty boy," Jason says, and flicks Tim's lower lip with his thumb. "You're in for a world of hurt."

Tim shifts -- and stills when Bruce lays his hand on Tim's ass and pushes him down against his own thighs. "Oh. I. I suppose I'd better get used to it. Then. Um."

"More, B. Make him shout for it."

Tim shudders all over and opens his mouth --

And then it's *just* like Bruce is spanking the noises out of him, because every slap comes with another sound, a grunt or a groan, a gasping whine --

And every spank is *lifting* Tim a little -- no, Tim is pushing up into it and then *grinding* against Bruce's thighs, and -- fuck, it's almost like Tim is showing *off*.

Jason knows it really *isn't* that -- he's pretty sure they're still a ways from Tim going down *that* road -- but --

It's pretty.

It's hot.

It's fucking *perfect*, and it's making Jason want everything at *once* -- but he can settle for wrapping his hand around Tim's throat and squeezing *just* lightly enough that Tim can still make those noises --

Keep *moving* like that --

Keep kicking and clawing, fuck, Jason *needs* --

And Bruce stops spanking and reaches between Tim's legs again, doing -- something. Jason checks, and Bruce has tugged Tim's penis down so the head is in reach for his working thumb --

And Tim is louder now, gasping out cries and trying to get leverage, *obviously* trying to make Bruce stroke more seriously --

"Fuck, *now*, B --"

"Yes," Bruce says, lifting and moving Tim until his thighs are spread to either side of Jason's own --

Jason *dumps* lube on his dick and *pulls* Tim onto him, getting an even better cry --

Another one --

"Pinch him off, B. I don't want him to come --"

"God, *please* --"

Jason kisses the back of Tim's neck. "It's okay, baby bro. I've got you --"

"That -- shouldn't be as reassuring as. As it is. Oh, please, oh -- God, Jay, *please* --"

"*Absolutely*," Jason says, getting a good grip on Tim's hips and holding him *just* right for the stroke he wants, sharp and steady and long enough for Tim to really *feel* it, feel how open he still is and how open he *isn't*, anymore. It's gotta feel different than their usual, and Jason *wants* that. The unfamiliarity, the *harshness* --

And when Jason looks, Bruce is playing like his hand just happens to be the world's most *ruthless* cock ring, holding on tight and probably driving Tim crazy --

The way the heat of Tim's ass is driving *Jason* crazy, the feel, the *different* slickness that's Bruce's come against his shaft --

God, *yes* --

Jason starts pulling Tim onto him, starts taking faster, fucking *harder*, and there's a part of him which is screaming things like finally, like yes, over and over *yes* --

Bruce leans in and kisses Tim, swallowing Tim's cries, making them muffled and wet, quiet and a little strange --

"That's it, that's -- fuck, baby, baby bro --"

And Tim's shudder makes him *slam* in, makes him need it so much he wants to fucking *cry* --

"This. This is what you *do* to me --"

Bruce pulls back just in time for Tim to fucking *wail*, struggle, twist in Jason's grip --

"Come. You have to let me -- *please*, Jay --"

"Not *yet*," Jason says, and he knows he *sounds* harsh, harder probably than he'd been during *training*, but he needs this, needs -- "Need you just like this --"

Tim sobs and shakes his head, *tosses* his head --

"*Just* like *this*," and Jason gives it to him harder, *knows* he has to be hurting Tim at least --

"*Please* --"

At least a *little*, and Bruce is watching everything, *seeing* everything. Is he siding with Jason? Does he want to protect his youngest son? Does he want this and everything else he can *get*?

Jason laughs and it turns into a groan that just goes on and *on*, because the rhythm is slipping out of his grasp the way Tim's hips really *aren't* --

Because he's this close to losing it --

"So fucking -- so *close* --"

Another sob and Tim is rubbing at Jason's hands, *scratching* at them --

"Almost there, almost --" And the orgasm *rips* its way through him, making Jason toss his head back and thrust --

Again --

*Again*, and he can't stop, can't do anything but *feel* this, the heat and the *release*, because Tim will let him do anything, *have* anything --

Almost anything --

So much more than just *enough*, and when he's back in his own body enough to moan, Jason realizes that he was *also* back in himself enough to wrap his arms around Tim and squeeze as he bites, kisses, bites again and again until Tim's shoulder is as red as his ass. "Love you," he says --

"Please. I. I need to. I feel like -- the edge. *On* it, for a long time now, and please, Jay, I *need* --"

"What do you want, baby bro?"

"I don't -- I don't *know* --"

"Unfair question right now, okay," and Jason brushes Bruce's hand away from Tim's dick and gets a *good* grip --

"Oh, please, *yes* --"

"I won't stop until you come, baby bro. I've *got* you. And I want you to clench around me so hard you make me whimper like the bitch I am --"

Tim laughs and shudders, groans -- "I whimper all the *time* --"

"It's an excellent look on you. Right, B?"

Bruce nods, silent and slow -- and brings his hand to his own dick.

"Like *this*, B," and Jason starts stroking Tim fast and hard. No patience, but just a *little* finesse. Enough that Tim starts to make those little crooning noises for him --

And clenches hard enough to make Jason's eyes cross a little. Just --

"This feels a little old-school, baby bro... like maybe I should be acting like a prick and pretending I *don't* want to be buried in your sweet little ass."

Another laugh, breathy and *high* -- "Please. Please don't --"

"Yes," Bruce says, and narrows his eyes. "You've given me the opportunity to watch your desire -- your *love* -- from a distance which could, in a particularly *tortured* way, be described as 'objective.'"

Jason grins and pauses to play with the head of Tim's dick --

To watch Bruce do the same thing to *himself* --

"You always did like the way I rolled, B."

Bruce smiles, sharp and *focused*. "You remain utterly compelling."

"Especially when I'm losing it for -- heh -- your *son*?"

"Your brother. Beautiful... boys," Bruce says, and closes his eyes for a moment -- and still manages to start stroking himself again when Jason starts stroking *Tim* --

"So. I. I don't think this is what family is supposed to *mean* --"

"How would *you* know --" and Jason cuts himself off, because fucking *ouch*. "I --"

Tim snickers and it turns into something almost like a giggle, breathless and sweet, young, *perfect* --

"Tim," Bruce says, and it's a request for attention, or maybe just to be able to see the look in Tim's *eyes* -- and when Bruce grunts and shudders, Jason knows Tim had given it to him.

"I know *nothing*," Tim says. "I am -- ignorant. Woefully so. I -- fuck, Jay, *squeeze* me --"

He does --

Bruce squeezes himself --

Tim *clenches*, and yeah, that was a whimper from him, because he's totally softening and *still* so deep, so fucking --

Bruce sighs, and Jason *knows* that sound, knows it means that Bruce is giving it up all over, losing it a little for just his own *hand*, and that means Jason has to speed up, has to --

"Jay -- *Jay* --"

"Gonna come for me, baby bro --"

"*Yes*. Oh. I love your hands, Jay, I love the way you touch me, the way it's always so -- so --"

"*Tell* me."

Tim reaches up and back to wrap his arms around Jason's neck, panting and tilting his head back, fucking *offering* his throat --

And Bruce is right there to cup and squeeze with his other hand, matching the rhythm, *Jason's* rhythm, and God, fuck, controlling both of them, taking --

"Bruce, I need him to tell me --"

"I'm sorry. I'm. He's so very close," Bruce says, and shifts to pinch off the blood to Tim's *brain* --

"Oh my -- God. You --" Tim shakes his head and starts panting harder to no effect, and Jason doesn't know if he wants to know what that feels like or *not*, but --

"Tell me, baby bro, tell me about how I touch you --"

"No hesitation. No doubt. No -- you just *do* it, like you know I'm -- I'm sexual. Available --"

"You *are* --"

Tim whimpers, cries out -- "For you, for anything, Jay, anything, I'll do anything --"

No more finesse, then. Just the hard and fast stroke that'll get Tim off *fastest* --

That'll make Bruce groan like the huge fucking *animal* he is --

Clench and Jason has to gasp, squeeze his eyes shut for just a *moment* --

"*Jay*," and Bruce is *pleading* --

"Yeah, I -- yeah, fuck, B, he's so *tight* around me, so damned good --"

And Tim's noises are wordless, high, perfect --

"Always so *perfect* with you, baby bro --"

Tim *yells*, and this time the clench goes on and on, makes Jason's *eyes* water --

And Tim is coming all over his hand, spilling out everything he's got for Jason, making it *right* as he clutches at Jason's hair, fucking *pulses* around him --

And arches forward a little, pulling Jason with him *by* the hair --

"Easy, Tim, easy --"

Another wail and another *spurt*, and then Tim slumps and starts panting, scratching at the back of Jason's neck -- no, those are just hand spasms. Jason lets go and brings his sticky hand up --

Bruce grabs it and starts licking and sucking it clean, still jerking himself off, still *staring* at Jason --

Jason grins. "Tastes like teen spirit...?"

Bruce narrows his eyes in something that looks a lot like *pain* --

"Jason," Tim says, and sucks in a breath. "Do you think your ephebophilia is excused by your sense of humor about it? I'm just curious."

Mm. Well... Jason grabs Tim's hair with his free hand and yanks him back up until Jason can lick his ear. "I *think*... that if I *didn't* have a sense of humor about it, I'd probably get laid way less often. And that when I *did*... it wouldn't be half as good. Boy Catamite."

Tim snorts. "Noted. Ah... I'd really like to suck Bruce off now."

Bruce grunts again and squeezes himself *hard* --

"Ah -- *right* now, actually --"

Jason *bites* Tim's ear. "Why should I let you? You never got your spanking from *me* --" And he cuts himself off with a gasp, because *this* clench forces him the rest of the way out, and he *really* wasn't ready for that --

"Oh. I --" Tim licks his lips -- "Please, Jay. Let me suck him. Let me taste him. I want him to choke me with his dick --"

"So you can't say anything else? What if I *want* you to talk?"

"I *know* what you want. You. I want my -- father. I want to taste my Dad, feel him --"

"*Tim*," Bruce says, and he sounds about seventeen *different* kinds of desperate, which -- fuck, if he *hadn't* just come --

"I want to be *close* to him. I want him to hold me, keep me *safe* --"

"There *is* no safety," and Bruce's hand is shaking on Jason's own -- he lets go and strokes Tim's face gently, carefully -- "My son. Jay, please."

Jason shakes it off and tries to *think* --

Jason gives up and lets go, and Tim moves the few inches it takes for him to be in range of Bruce's grab. Bruce pulls him close and kisses the top of his head, his forehead, his face and the top of his head again -- and his hand is still working, still *pumping* --

Until Tim reaches between them --

"Tim. My beautiful son. *Take* what you need --"

Tim kisses Bruce hard on the mouth, shaking his head --

His hands are still working between them and Jason wants to know what he's *doing*. He moves closer and tugs them apart by main force, just enough to see Tim stroking Bruce's hand, his dick, reaching for Bruce's sac --

And then Tim pulls back and dives *in*, taking Bruce deep in one gulp and swallowing him with the next --

Bruce gasps and cups Tim's face, strokes him there and over his shoulders, his back -- he tries to pull Tim closer, but there's nowhere he can *go*, and God, it's good to watch.

Jason moves around behind Bruce and wraps his arms around him, kissing his throat and breathing in the smell of his sweat, his *sex* --

"Love. I. There are times when it crushes me under its weight," Bruce says, and pushes his hand into Tim's hair, carding and tugging.

"Mm, feels like responsibility, B?"

"It feels. I --"

Tim makes a sound deep in his chest and starts stroking Bruce's thighs restlessly, *hungrily* --

"Tim. Jay -- I am not myself. I am only myself. It seems -- a paradox of desire. A labyrinth of need --"

"*Go* with it --"

"I have no choice," and Bruce smiles like someone who'd just gotten proof that God existed *and* gave a shit. "And so I am free to live within. This perfect feeling --"

Another noise, and Tim wraps his arms around Bruce's hips and starts working his head on Bruce's dick, fucking himself on it with a need that seems fucking *pathological* --

"You better believe I did it just like that, baby bro. That I *needed* it like that."

Tim hums and his eyelashes flutter again as he pauses, sucks *harder* --

"*Yes*, Tim," Bruce says and tugs harder. "Show me everything. Show me -- I feel I am tasting you with parts of myself beyond sensation. I am -- there is an inebriation to this --"

"Because you *couldn't* just say you were fuck-drunk..."

"No, I could not," and Bruce reaches up with the hand he doesn't have in Tim's hair and pulls Jason in for a *deep* kiss, hard and slow -- and hitching as Bruce gets closer to losing it for Tim.

Jason coaxes Bruce's tongue into his mouth and just sucks it for a while, grateful and a little scared for the way he can *do* this without losing his own mind. It's one thing to have just had an orgasm, and another thing entirely to be something resembling an *adult* --

And so it's a relief when Tim starts making muffled humming noises, *pleased* noises that make Jason need to press his soft dick against Bruce's back, need to feel his scars *there*, taste him with his body --

Bruce pulls out of the kiss and pants -- "Jay, can you *see*?"

He's not talking about what Tim is doing, not really, but Jason has to look, anyway, has to watch his boy taking Bruce like the pro he'll never, ever be --

"I -- Jay, please..."

Jason licks his lips and turns back to Bruce. "I see that he needs you, needs to make you feel all the good you make *him* feel. I see that he loves you --"

Bruce's moan is broken, almost *anguished* --

"Yeah, like that. I see that you're helpless, that you *have* to have everything he can stand to give *up*. I see that right now he's happy, because of *you* --"

"Both. Both of us. I --" Bruce moans again and *pushes* into Tim's mouth, right down into his throat -- and Tim looks up at them, eyes deep and dark and *full* --

"You'll never lose him, baby bro..."

Tim nods and closes his eyes, face flushed and mouth *stretched* --

Jason licks his lips. "It's okay. It's okay for you to *need* each other like this. It -- it's *right* --"

Bruce *clutches* him. "I can't -- I must. Oh, this -- such pleasure --"

"Give it up, B. Show him how good he is. Show him how much you *need* --"

Bruce nods, eyes unfocused and lips parted, and Jason can't --

He pushes his hand between Bruce's legs and presses up, drags his fingers *back* --

And Bruce starts thrusting hard, ragged --

And Tim takes every last one of them, swallowing and humming and drooling like there's nothing he'd rather be doing --

And a part of Jason can't help but wonder if Bruce and Tim would've had this if he hadn't fucked up so badly, if he hadn't left the *door* open for Bruce to walk through and pick up all the pieces of Tim he'd found too inconvenient to deal with --

They can eulogize their parents together, now, and if the facts of this victory aren't what he'd wanted, or even what he'd *imagined*... it's still a victory. Jason works Bruce's prostate and watches, drinking everything in and willing himself to remember every moment, to *take* this in case --

Just in case --

Bruce *grips* Tim's hair and pushes in deep, holding himself there and tensing hard --

*Harder* --

He's coming, and Tim is taking it all from his new father, his *better* father, who will never, ever choose a ski trip to Aspen over his son, and will only let Tim go when he's dead.

Jason kisses Bruce's shoulder and just stays there while Bruce and Tim recover a little. It doesn't take long, because all of them are feeling the sun rising beyond Bruce's luxurious -- and *effective* -- curtains. It's time to wash up a little and sleep --

But Bruce turns enough to pull both Jason and Tim against him for a long and silent moment first.

They use the bathroom together reasonably efficiently, silently passing around the toothpaste and handing out washcloths -- though Bruce uses his to wipe Tim clean in a way that's *terrifyingly* paternal --

"You know, I would've had to kill him if he tried that with me after sex -- as opposed to when I was beaten down from a patrol," Jason says, and raises his eyebrows.

Tim just smiles. "In for a penny..."

Bruce kisses his hip.

Tim takes the middle of the bed without a word, and for a moment Jason has to wonder what it *will* be like for Tim to sleep alone again. It'll happen -- different missions, different sleep schedules, the fucking *perennial* issue of getting Bruce off the console when he's determined to prove that *this* time it'll take more than exhaustion to put him out...

But not tonight.

Jason crawls in one side of Tim, Bruce takes the other, and Tim's asleep in minutes --

And Bruce turns his attention on Jason.

"I know, B. I -- you don't have to say a word."

"I have my doubts about that."

Jason smiles, and maybe -- *just* maybe -- lets himself live in the fact that he has a home right here, complete with all the trimmings. He turns on his side and rests his hand on Tim's chest. "I'm thinking about it. All right?"

Bruce nods and turns off the light.

Jason falls asleep to the unique, wonderful, and terrible feeling of being watched in the dark.

*

It would be seriously generous to say he spends about an eighth of his time at his cold and empty base, so he doesn't say it, and he doesn't think about it. He trains, he trains *Tim*, he patrols, he spends a lot of time having sex.

Making love.

The sensor is silent.

He spends a good portion of one night with Roy in his ear telling him to come to New York in between both of them beating the crap out of people, and it feels so good he almost heads up --

But when a flash of red resolves into Tim wading into a gang-fight to take his back, he knows he's not going anywhere.

The sensor is silent.

Dick comes down for a few days and continues to teach Tim how to *really* fly.

Tim hits five feet one inch, and Alfred bakes a cake that could be held up as proof of a beneficent multiverse.

Janet Drake calls from the rehab place -- for the first time -- and manages not to make Tim cry or try to throw the phone through any windows. He's tense as hell when she gets off the phone, though, and doesn't talk about it until after Jason spanks him, fucks him, and convinces Dick to *use* his throat. The upshot is that she's planning to stay for another sixty days, and is thinking about taking a -- very, very secure -- cruise after *that*.

There was, of course, no mention of taking Tim with her.

Dick holds Tim for the better part of an hour and says a lot of good things that probably mean nothing at all *to* Tim, and then Bruce joins them and nobody talks about anything more serious than Bruce's many, many perversions. Tim sleeps like a baby on heroin.

The sensor is silent.

Tim patrols with Dick and scares the living shit out of him, since their assignment for the night involved a large number of Gotham's pimp class. Tim comes home bloody and thrumming with energy, Dick hugs him sincerely and heads back to New York, promising to come back when he can.

Jason spends some time trying and failing to convince Tim that that *wasn't*, actually, a blow-off, before giving up and giving Tim a short biography of Kory, including the highlights of her core values. *That* gets him a thoughtful nod and the end of the pinched look that was starting to show up on Tim's face, but he knows it won't really sink in until Dick *does* come back.

The sensor --

The mini-sensor he keeps on Bruce's bike -- *his* bike -- starts flashing at him when he's a mile and a half out from the manor, and he's rolling east before he can think about it. He's --

He has to *see* it. He has to know nothing dangerous is going to jump *out* of it.

He --

His jacket is about as stocked as it can be.

The road ends before he reaches the anomaly, and Jason forces himself to move *cautiously* through the woods, even though he wants to run.

Even though he doesn't know which *direction* he wants to run --

And then Bruce steps out from behind a tree, and there's not one moment when Jason doesn't know *which* Bruce it is.

The uniform *alone* --

And the look in his eyes when he pulls back the cowl.

"Bruce."

"Jay. I -- I had to find you. I knew you were gone and." Bruce clenches his jaw and stares at him. "Come back."

Motherfuck.

Mother*fuck*, he -- movement, but it's red, and he's almost set to relax when he realizes that this Tim is six inches taller than the one he actually knows --

And his face is much, much harder.

And Jason's pretty damned sure *he* looks like a cornered rat. "Tim."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Jason."

But -- "Why. Why are you here?"

It's almost more of a damned *tic* than a facial expression, but -- "I wasn't about to let Bruce make this particular trip alone," Tim says, and when he shifts Jason can see that the staff is extended.

Jason shakes his head and holds up his hands. "I'm. I'm sorry."

Bruce takes a step closer --

"Don't," Jason says, and tries to get something like his fucking bearings, tries to *think* -- "You manufactured this anomaly."

Bruce nods. "I couldn't let you be lost again, Jason. Jay --"

"Go home, B. Go -- while you can. While it's safe."

"Not --"

Jason makes a pushing motion. "You have to go. Both of you --"

"And you?" Tim has his head cocked slightly to the side. "What are *your* plans, Jason?"

How long before the Bruce and Tim from *this* world note that the bike is stopped in the damned woods and they come looking for him? How much time does he have to... what? Exactly?

Jason pushes a hand back through his hair --

"Jay," Bruce says, and this time there's no stopping him. He's *right* there in Jason's space, being huge and hungry and *Bruce*.

"Go home," Jason says again. "You don't have a place here."

Tim shifts enough that the cape is fully behind him -- out of the way. "And you do?"

Yes. No, not that, not --

He has to *go*, but --

"I made a promise to you once, Jay," Bruce says, and rests his hands on Jason's shoulders. "I promised that I would be there for you, for whatever you needed --"

"You kind of -- it didn't *work* that way, B --"

"No, it did not. There were things you needed I couldn't give you, and there were times when I *wasn't* there -- too many. I need your forgiveness, Jay --"

"You fucking -- you *have* it --"

"*Jay* --"

"And Tim -- I *can't* actually apologize enough for all the things I've said and done, but. I want to."

Tim raises an eyebrow and purses his lips just a little -- "Forgive me, Jason, but you're doing an excellent job of making me exceedingly curious about just what you've been up to in *this* world."

Pure Tim, ice-cold and as sure as anyone could want -- and yeah, Bruce is doing that thing where he only *seems* to be focused on one thing, but is really paying very close attention to both of them. Jason shakes his head. "Making friends and influencing people. Renewing old acquaintances. Mostly? Getting my head screwed on straight again," Jason says, and turns back to Bruce. "Everything you said about him was right, Bruce. And more... there's so much more."

Bruce nods slowly and squeezes Jason's shoulders. "This world... has moved more slowly?"

"I got here right after I died, yeah. I --" And Jason manages to cut himself off before he says the words without thinking, manages to get something like a *grip* on himself, because the ground is shifting beneath his feet, because --

"What is it, Jay?"

Jason swallows and he knows he looks like he's pleading, because he *feels* about thirteen years old, small and unsure and desperate to fucking *survive* --

And Tim is just watching, looking just as suspicious as he should be, just as *dangerous* as they all know he can be --

"I'm not going anywhere," Jason says, and listens to parts of himself scream while other parts cheer, while still *other* parts wander around like victims of blunt force *trauma* -- "I'm not going anywhere."

Bruce *grips* Jason's shoulders --

"What have you done, Jason? What *makes* this world so much more... palatable?" And Tim moves close enough for a strike -- from either of them.

There's a certain ass-backwards temptation to ask him if he's *really* sure Bruce will protect him, but that's just distraction, something to keep him from being as focused as *he* needs to be. "I trained you. The Tim from this world."

Tim raises his eyebrows and his nostrils flare, and if he's *not* remembering what he'd been like, what his *life* had been like... Then nothing, because he *is* remembering it -- "Me. You went to *me*."

"I wanted to mold you into someone *I* thought would be the right kind of partner for Bruce. It worked -- except for the ways in which it completely didn't. We. We got close," Jason says --

And Tim shakes his head fucking *minutely*, but he also swallows.

"You were on your way to the manor," Bruce says, sounding *almost* like the Bat.

"Yeah, I was. To be more accurate, I was on my way *back* to the manor, B. Bruce -- shit, this is fucked," and Jason brushes Bruce's hands off his shoulders and backs up a pace or two. "Everything was the same here -- up to a point. All of my memories of the world, of the two of *us* --"

"He has those memories, too," and Bruce sounds like he's working up a good *hate* for the Bruce in this world --

"He does. There was... there was no moment, once he found me, of strangeness. Not really." Jason covers his face with his hands. "Go home. And take my useless fucking apologies with you for -- for everyone."

"Have you considered the damage to the timeline if you --"

"Yes, Tim, I really, really have. And there have already *been* changes that I'm really not going to bother burdening you with, baby -- *shit*."

"'Baby.' You. All right, no, screw this. What the *hell* have you been doing --"

Bruce turns -- "Tim --"

"*No*. I'm -- what? Thirteen years old in this universe? Jason, what --"

"I was *going* to say 'baby bro,'" Jason says, and drags his hands down off his face. "But that doesn't mean I'm not in a relationship with him."

Tim rears back --

Bruce really, really doesn't. If anything, he's starting to look *happy* for the first time since he'd stepped from behind that *tree* --

Jason sucks in a breath. "Yeah. It's like that. I have. I have everything I need here except for the proof that I can make things work in my own universe -- and I'm. I'm ready, willing, and able to go without that."

Bruce and Tim stare at him for a long moment -- and then they *all* hear someone moving in the woods toward them. It's quiet -- stealthy -- but it's not --

"*Go*. I'm not going back. I'm not -- it's done."

"Jay --"

"No, Bruce. Not anymore. Not --"

And maybe he should've seen the kiss coming, but maybe he also should get a pass for having stared at the proof of all his fuck-ups -- no.

There are no free passes, just as there's no getting away from the fact that this is Bruce, four years older than the one currently waiting for him in the manor but still kissing Jason like he's fifteen -- no, that's not it, either. It's not about age and it's *completely* about *possibility*.

Bruce is kissing him like it could make a difference, like maybe Jason had just forgotten --

He could never fucking *forget*, and this Bruce had had four years of a whole lot of nothing, save for abortive relationships with that doctor who'd fixed his back and fucking Selina Kyle. This Bruce has a son he can't *touch* --

"Oh," Tim says, and it's *his* Tim --

And Bruce shoves one gauntleted hand into his hair and holds on *tighter* --

"Nice uniform," the Tim from Jason's universe says --

"Ah. Likewise. I have to say. I have to. Please don't take him back."

The older Tim growls -- cuts himself off. "You *don't* know what he's like, Tim --"

"And *you* don't know what you're talking about --"

Jason shoves out of the kiss and shakes his head, staring at the shine of his saliva on Bruce's mouth --

And turning to stare at the two Tims, both of whom have their staves out and ready. Jason puts his hands on *his* Tim's shoulders and pulls him back. "He's not your enemy *and* he can take you --"

"I can make it difficult," Tim says, and twists his forearm strangely -- and releases a blade that sticks out wicked and sharp beyond his fist.

Jason blinks. "Uh -- that's new."

"Bruce made it from designs I left lying around. I'm reasonably sure he doesn't approve --"

"That's how you trained him, Jason?" The other Tim shakes his head. "I suppose I shouldn't be shocked."

"*Stop* acting as though you don't have the capacity for what I do. You just never had a reason," and Tim shrugs off Jason's hands. "I believe Jay was telling you both to go home."

Movement -- that ends with Bruce cupping Jason's Tim's jaw and forcing his head back --

"Let go of me."

"Do you love him."

"That's none of your business, Bruce -- but yes, I do. With all of myself -- and I know you find that familiar. Why don't you take your Tim home and do something about the staff he keeps in his ass?"

*Not* really a time to laugh -- except that the other Tim's eyebrow is up high enough that it looks like it's making a break for his fucking hairline. Still -- Jason covers his mouth until the urge to lose it *passes* --

"You taught him how to curse, too. Clearly, your capacity to be a role model exceeds all expectations, Jason."

"And you're a tight-assed *bitch*, Tim, but I wish I'd given myself half a chance to know you," Jason says, and offers his hand.

The older Tim shakes his head --

Bruce lets go of *his* Tim --

"Please," Jason says. "Once for the chance to do it. Once for everything."

Tim takes them all in, gaze lingering on Jason's Tim for a long moment that speaks of a deep desire to interrogate at *length* -- and then he reaches to grip Jason's forearm.

Jason twists his hand to return the gesture and thinks of knives and broken bones, recriminations that made no sense and his own fucked up inner child -- "I'm sorry."

"Noted," Tim says, letting go and turning to walk toward the anomaly without waiting for Bruce to do the same.

Bruce reaches out to touch Jason's mouth, and somehow he'd found the time to take off his gauntlet. His hand smells like plastic, but when Jason licks his lips, he'll taste the same salt he'd pretty much lived on for a good long while --

"I." His Tim retracts the blade and reaches up to put a hand on Bruce's chest. "My Bruce -- *our* Bruce... I love him, too. You should consider that."

Bruce turns to look at him.

The older Tim laughs quietly. "Ah, filial relations. We *do* tend to put our own spin on them, don't we?"

Jason grins, feeling his lips drag against Bruce's fingers. "That's just how we roll."

"Goodbye, Jay," Bruce says, and there's no Bat on his voice. Hell, there's practically no *adult* in his voice, and Jason can't smile anymore.

"Goodbye, Bruce. I never. I'll never stop loving you."

Bruce nods once and turns, resting his hand on the older Tim's shoulder as they walk through the anomaly and into their own Bristol woods. The hole in reality stays open until they move out of sight, and then there's a pop, a sigh, and wind on his face that just tastes green.

There should be more.

There should be --

Tim moves close to him, looking up at him -- his lenses are up. "Jay. Did that mean... I mean, I overheard, but --"

"Not everything, I guess," Jason says, and drops into a crouch so Tim can look down at him. "I'm staying. Unless something... I don't know. Maybe if I fuck things up too much this universe will kick me *out*. But if not, I'm staying at least until I die horribly again."

Tim makes a slightly choked noise, but doesn't throw his arms around Jason, or cry, or... anything resembling that. He only nods, and the smile on his face is small enough to be pretty damned elusive -- hell.

"You don't believe me."

"Not yet, no. Ask me again in a year or so," and Tim turns to look at his gauntlets.

"Knives in both of them?"

"I underestimated the stiffness. Or rather, the way the stiffness makes me *feel*."

"Some of your strikes will come harder with those."

Tim frowns and nods. "Ultimately, I think these will have to be shelved, yes."

"They *do* look cool," Jason says, and strokes one.

Tim hums. "How long before I *would* be able to take that Tim?"

Jason thinks about it... "You're meaner, but not sneakier. He knows *I* trained you, so he'd be ready for at least half of the nastier moves you know now, and that number might actually go *up* as you get better. He's got all your speed, he's bigger... it'll be a while."

Another hum, and Tim stands up straight. "Then I have work to do."

"Tim --"

"It's not going to work, I don't think. If that Bruce *does* try to seduce Tim, Tim will be convinced that he's the rebound choice for quite some time. I'm not sure *what* Bruce could do to change his mind."

Extreme subject change. Sure, okay. Jason stands up and starts heading back toward their bikes. "What convinced *you* that Bruce wanted you for yourself?"

"It helped to see the way he behaved when he had all three of us," Tim says, and follows.

"Not the way he acts when it's just the two of you?"

"Mm, well... part of me still thinks he's just being... nice."

Baby bro, I'd really like to dig your father up, tie your mother to his moldering corpse, and then drop them off Wayne Tower --

"I. I do recognize that much of this has to do with the fact that my... issues are coming into play."

"That's an *excellent* start --"

"I just can't help but think that *his* issues would be even worse. I mean... wouldn't they be? Well, no, you said he had a girlfriend... hm. Is it possible that he's closeted?"

Jason blinks. He'd... really never thought of that. "It would have to be... I mean, okay, *I* didn't really twig to it, but then I never spent any time thinking about him and sex. Bruce and Dick and Babs -- they'd kinda *have* to know."

"But would they really bring it up if he never did?"

"Yes? Maybe? I'm going with a definite maybe. He spends a lot of time with Dick, who is most assuredly his *big brother*. Dick would've had to bring it up at some point..."

"That sounded like a question," Tim says, and steps out onto the road.

No bike save his own -- Tim had run out here to be as stealthy as possible. "You know, you're a *damned* good boy," and Jason swings his leg over the bike.

Tim gets on behind him and wraps his arms around Jason's waist. "I do try. I -- we don't have to talk about that other universe."

"The home I just left behind for good... no, we don't have to talk about it at all. But -- put it this way: that Tim is good, but there's no way he's good enough to hide everything he feels from a Bruce on a mission to find *out*. Eventually, Bruce would figure out Tim's doubts, and then he'd *redouble his efforts*."

"And he's already Tim's father, which... all right, I suppose I can see it. They'll both still miss you."

"Tim won't --"

"You just gave him a very good reason *to* miss you. Because I sincerely doubt that he's forgotten his hero worship of you. Or his desire for you."

"I broke his *arm*," Jason says, and hands Tim the extra helmet. "*After* slashing his throat."

Tim is silent for a moment, another -- "*Are* there anger management seminars for vigilantes?"

Jason snorts and starts the bike. "Yeah. Only we call it 'going evil and getting killed.'"

Tim hums again and squeezes him. "If you break my arm, I'll cut off one of your testicles."

"*Good* call --"

"I'll tell Bruce that it's our new game. Of course, that will almost certainly lead to our sex becoming even more disturbing, but it's a small price to pay."

"God. If you convince Bruce to castrate himself, I will be *extremely* unhappy."

"Yes. You might even leave --"

"Hey, now --"

"A year," Tim says, and scratches at Jason's abdomen. "You can give that to me."

Jason sighs and takes the bike up to seventy. "Yeah. Yeah, I can."

end.



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