Work Text:
A CASE STUDY ABOUT A̶N̶X̶I̶E̶T̶Y BROTHERHOOD
Tim felt tired.
The Martha Wayne Foundation gala was today, and he wanted nothing more than to disappear between his covers. By strict family code, it was his turn to attend it--although, for the first time, he'd have Jason's company too.
It's been three years since Jason came back. Three years where he nearly died, twice, by his brother's hand. (Was it appropriate to call Jason his 'brother'? Tim didn't feel like they were there yet.) Bruce was back too, which was part of why Tim was being nice enough to attend these boring and useless parties.
He understands it, though. In a way, a part of him feels happy to attend a gala inspired by Martha Wayne's upstanding legacy. At least, they were paying respect to her.
The problem isn't the gala, nor the boredness or the superficiality of it--being a Drake, he's used to it. The problem is Jason Todd's obnoxious company, distant gaze, and uncomfortable presence.
Tim had thought that Bruce would maintain Jason at a distance, publicly speaking. That was until three weeks ago, when the Justice League, on Batman's petition, had consulted multiple superheroes with cosmic, magic, and what-not powers to see if it was possible to erase Jason's death from everyone's memories without causing some cosmic disturbance. Which had led to Martian Manhunter rising to the sky and doing some weird telepathic thing, making everyone but a few (like the Bats and friends) forget about that tragic night.
For the normal eye, Jason Todd lived a happy life with his adoptive dad until the age of seventeen when he was emancipated from his care--a fact that explained his recklessness and ambivalent relationship with him. For some others, Jason Todd had buried his mantle away intending to be the last Robin, a wish that Batman hadn't respected. And that's when Tim comes in. It'd been the easiest way to establish the Red Hood's rising, his attacks, and his disdain to Batman and Robin III--ultimately resulting in their resolution.
And Tim uses the word 'resolution' because he's not sure forgiveness has arrived at his heart, even after three years.
The strained relationship between his family and Jason had turned around sometime after Damian's appearance and Bruce's death. Damian could be a demonic child, but his search for redemption and acceptance helped the family understand Jason's point of view, provoking a weird family bond between Little Angry and Big Angry. That family bond between Damian and Jason made Dick's heart soften. So, Dick had apologized, forcing Jason and himself to try and be better.
Then Bruce had come back from his little time trip, and just like that, he'd had Jason promising him to not use real guns anymore--at least while in Gotham. Soon enough, most of Gotham's criminals were being apprehended by rubber bullets and nasty kicks to the stomach.
In the blink of an eye, Wayne Manor was full--which is awesome because when Tim first arrived, it was just him, ghosts, grief, and anger, and now it is different. It is full of Steph's laughter, Dick's unfunny puns, and Damian's faux anger. Every corner of the rooms is now occupied by Cass' plants, and the living room is usually being used by a sleeping Duke. There's a mischievous cat too--and a cow!
But the weirdest part of it all is not the cow. It's Jason. Jason, reading at the kitchen table. Jason, gardening Alfred's plants. Jason, training with Dick in the afternoons. Jason, sleeping in his old room, waking up at seven AM sharp, and sleepwalking to the kitchen demanding food from Alfred. The weirdest part is Jason hanging out in the Cave with Bruce, a tiny smile on his face; it's his presence in the team, his help with demanding cases.
Overall, it was weird that it wasn't. It was as if Jason had never left--as if he'd never tried to kill them all--as if he'd never tried to beat Tim to death.
The problem is: Tim remembers. He still has nightmares about red helmets, broken ribs, and blood--lots of blood.
Yet he keeps quiet. He doesn't tell Dick about his nightmares when his older brother asks about his sleeping schedule and that awful dark circles in your eyes, baby bird! Tim just shrugs, sips his coffee, and tells him is WE work and cases with no leads.
Tim doesn't want to break the bubble that has formed. He doesn't want to cause problems when there should be non. His family is finally happy--Tim just has to try more, that's all.
That's why he will go to the gala, do small talk with old ladies (kids his age were no fun), hang around with his brother Jason (enough to not raise any questions between the guests), eat some crab, then go home and sleep for 37 hours straight.
Now, he just needed to complete the first step of the plan: Put his tux on, and roll--a task that seemed currently impossible to get done.
Tim sighed. He reckoned some of his tiredness was due to Jason being there too. He'd have exchanged some words with him, a few hello's and some more excuse me's. However, Tim generally avoided him, so they didn't talk much. When Jason was home, Tim prevented from seeing him or ending up alone with him.
Also, Jason never apologized and Tim assumed it was all buried in the past.
It still hurt, though.
Tim used to idolize him. Jason was his Robin. His hero. Tim looked up to him for years, and to be honest, this was a dream come true--to have Jason as his brother, Bruce as his father--to have this amazing family... it was all Tim had ever wanted.
And now, years later, he was whining. He was whining because he couldn't let go of something that's been already done. Tim knew resentment was corrosive, but some days, like this one, he couldn't stop the feeling of emptiness. It also didn't help that he couldn't tell anyone how he was feeling.
Since Bruce's death and return, Tim didn't feel comfortable opening up with Dick; not after his older brother treated him like he was insane. Steph was off-limits, not because Tim hated her or something, but because things simply weren't the same anymore. He didn't want to burden Cass and Duke with his useless feelings, and bothering Alfred was off the table too. And Damian? No way; Tim didn't want more teasing than what he received daily from that brat. Also, he wouldn't understand--his little brother wasn't the sentimental type like Tim.
Tim has been thinking about talking about it with Bruce. The past days went by with his dad being more affectionate than ever. A pat on the shoulder here and there, a few ruffles of hair, and even a hug, all of that in two months. It was more physical touch than Bruce ever gave him, and Tim wasn't complaining--he was dopey in affection.
The person he'd always trust the most is Bruce, and now more than ever Tim knew that he could count on him. Yet, he wasn't sure if complaining about his resurrected son applied on the affectionate-dad package. Tim planned to find that out tonight. The worst that could happen was a lecture from Bruce about letting go of the past and non-reasonable feelings, accompanied by a disappointed frown.
But first, the tux.
Tim dressed up, his arms and legs feeling heavy. Was that his heart racing? Probably. He didn't know why he was so scared. (He knew.) He'd had faced the Joker, for God's sake. And here he was, anxious about spending time with Jason Todd. His throat contracted.
"It's okay," Tim mumbled to his reflection. "Just four hours, then I come back home," he exhaled.
Tim moved his arms around one more time and left his room. He could hear voices coming from the kitchen and Duke's voice coming from the room across from him--his brother was probably on the phone with another crush of his, Tim thought and chuckled. He considered going with Duke for a moment, just to talk to him and decrease his anxiety--Duke's presence was like putting socks on in winter--but thought better of it. His brother was busy, and Tim was already late.
He inhaled, held his breath ten seconds, and then exhaled, repeating the exercise as many times as possible on his way to the kitchen. Tim could already hear Dick talking excitedly about a mission he'd had with Superman two days ago, and he hoped that Dick and Jason had traded places to go to the gala, that the latter had canceled or something.
Then, he heard Jason's laughter.
The ringing in his ears increased. Tim was going to be sick. Why was he like this? Jason was fine; he knew how to control the Pit now, he was fine. Tim could hang out around him, and Jason wouldn't kill him, or say nasty things to him. Jason wouldn't humiliate him, right? He was better now.
What if he makes fun of me, Tim thought all of sudden, what if he sees me and does a disgusted face. He froze just about to open the kitchen door, a feeling of doubt crashing over him. What the hell was he doing? Spending time in the Manor as if nothing had happened? Talking with Dick normally like he hadn't taken Robin away from him? Like Dick hadn't rejected his presence, his help? What was he doing hanging out with people who betrayed him like that, who thought he was crazy? What was he doing here, waiting to spend time with his nearly-murderer? With someone who tried to beat him to death, who left him bleeding on the floor?
What was he doing with a family where he never belonged to?
Tim was always an outsider, even when it was only him.
No. Tim needed to breathe. His thoughts weren't true. He belonged here. Dick had apologized and admitted he'd made a mistake. They were trying now. Tim is happy being Red Robin--hell, he saved his dad from the time stream being Red Robin. And the company. And he got his family back. Everything is fine now.
Breathe. Jason was better, too. He usually gave Tim his space, and he often nodded to Tim to say hello. Jason occasionally helped him on patrol. They were fine. In, ten seconds, out. In, ten seconds, out. The haze was finally dissipating.
"Tim? Are you okay?"
Tim panicked for a brief moment. He had his eyes closed, fists clenched, and labored breathing. He was the vivid image of cowardice.
No. Tim was just going through some anxiety spiral--which was okay and manageable. He opened his eyes. It was Dick. Tim hadn't been able to recognize his voice in between all the shouting and panicking in his head.
"Y-Yeah," Tim stuttered, giving one last exhale. "I just... felt sick. Something I ate, I guess."
It wasn't exactly a lie, though--he felt sick.
Another two pairs of eyes met him through the kitchen door, which Dick maintained open with his back. Alfred gave him a puzzled look as if he didn't believe him; Tim didn't expect him to. Jason's face was unreadable as always. Tim pretended his heart didn't start to race once again.
"You ate in that chicken wings place again?" Dick was frowning.
Tim gaped. He couldn't believe Dick still remembered his favorite restaurant of unknown-origin chicken.
"I believe we have already established that they weren't sanitary enough, Master Tim," Alfred spoke, suddenly in front of him with a glass of water and a look of 'I will found out what truly happened later'.
(Tim expected him to.)
Jason continued gazing at him, and the intrusive thoughts returned. It's going to be a long night, Tim thought resignedly.
"I can't resist it, Al," Tim grabbed the glass of water, gulping it down in seconds. God, he needed that. "Chicken wings I see, chicken wings I eat," and Tim smiled as if he hadn't been zoning out in anxiety a minute ago.
Dick eyed him but nodded, finally smiling and ruffling his hair. "Next time, I'll send Cass with you before you poison yourself."
Tim laughed a little, grabbing courage and stepping fully inside the kitchen. If he could spend minutes in the same room as Jason, he'd be fine in the enormous Gotham Museum with him. Alfred didn't continue to look at him expectantly, and Tim sighed, relieved to have a little time out before speaking with him for real. Maybe he'll tell Alfred about his Jason-inducing anxiety first. Or Bruce, then Alfred. They'd had his back since day one, after all.
Jason was still looking at him like he hadn't bought the whole chicken wings act. It was unnerving. Tim sat down in one of the stools, a meter away from him.
"Big night, huh?" Dick grinned like the teasing older brother he was. "Crabs, wealthy families, and flutes of champagne!" he exclaimed, making some weird pose.
"Such a circus boy," Tim said, rolling his eyes while Jason gave Dick the middle finger.
Alfred smiled a little, "Master Richard, perhaps you could attend next week's Gala, as your excitement is nearly palpable."
Dick nearly broke his neck to look at Alfred. "But Al," he pleaded. Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Okay," his older brother muttered, defeated and leaving slowly, "See ya Sunday, I guess. Good luck, little birds."
"That's right, Goldie," Jason shouted his way, "you can't escape the wrath of Alfred!"
Tim couldn't help but smile. He truly loved when Jason threw banter around. (Tim wished he could laugh along with him.)
"Well, grandsons," Alfred's eyes glinted. "I see you are ready to leave."
Tim frowned, nodding. "Yeah, but we're still waiting for B," he said slowly. Then, "Unless he's been waiting inside the car all this time? Alfred! He's gonna be freaking—"
Alfred raised his hand, automatically ending his babbling. "Master Bruce called and informed me he will be leaving from the Watchtower and that he will see you at the gala."
Ah.
Wait.
"You're gonna drive us, then?" Tim couldn't hide his hopefulness.
"Nah," Jason replied instead, looking at his nails like they were the most important thing in the world, "I'll drive us there."
Tim crossed his arms. "But—"
"Very well, then," Alfred interjected before he could continue. "I believe I deserve a little break."
Well, that was true. Alfred deserved a vacation after all he's been through with the family. But why were his eyes glinting? Tim hummed.
This felt staged.
Also, Alfred has never admitted to wanting a break.
"Up and at 'em," Jason stood up, motioning to Tim to do the same. "We're gonna be fashionably late, just like our old man."
Tim obeyed without thinking twice, not knowing how to reply. His mind started to race. He was going to be in a too-closed space with Jason. Breathing the same air, interacting in the same atmosphere, at miles per hour--no escape at all. God, Tim couldn't stop thinking. This wasn't a big deal, but his mind and heart didn't seem to get the memo.
"Have a good night, you both," Alfred waved them goodbye.
Tim let Jason walk first, taking some distance between the two. He followed his way through the Cave, then the garage. Jason already had the keys to a car that Tim didn't bother remembering the brand. They silently hopped on, and when the doors closed, Tim felt somehow worse.
The uneasiness--it was something that he would never get used to. He knew the anxiety would always be with him, and at least now he could control it; however, it didn't mean that Tim enjoyed it. Having anxiety was terrible and having anxiety because of your brother was worse.
It felt wrong... To feel like this felt wrong. The air seemed to accumulate inside his lungs. Tim's hands trembled ever so slightly, and he was getting dizzy again. What he hated the most was the heaviness his limbs gained and the way his mind wandered, trying to get far away from the situation. He dwelled if Jason could hear his erratic breathing and that course of thought only made him more anxious.
Over the beating of his heart, Tim heard Jason calling his name.
"—istening to me? Timmers? Tim!"
He snapped out of it.
"Is everything alright?" Jason was gripping the steering wheel, a concerned look all over his face. Tim gasped quietly; he'd never seen that look directed at him. Not from Jason. "You're scaring the fuck outta me, Tim, say something!"
Tim finally nodded, inhaling and exhaling, "I'm fine," he rasped. "It's just..." Maybe it was better to lie than tell the truth. He didn't want Jason to get angry at him (again). "The gala," he lied, "I haven't been in one in a long time. And public crowds... aren't my favorite thing."
Well, that wasn't a lie. It's not lying if you're telling half the truth. Jason raised an eyebrow, making Tim look the other way. He gulped once again at the sound of Jason sighing.
"Listen, I know we aren't... close," Jason started, letting go of the wheel completely. "But if you don't wanna tell me what the hell is going on, I do wanna tell you what I think is going on."
Tim turned to look at him. "Jason, it's not..."
"Shut up," Jason grimaced. "I was wrong. I thought—I fucking thought we'd be alright. But I wasn't... We're not. I knew we weren't. The whole time."
Tim nodded jerkily. The least he could do was let Jason talk, even if that seemed difficult for him--that only meant Jason was trying.
"I never apologized," Jason chuckled without humor, "and by this point, I thought it'd be fucking weird, y'know? I didn't wanna bother you, either. I thought maybe, maybe if I took my distance, you'll be, I dunno, content enough, with me being here, invading your safe space like a goddamn idiot."
"You weren't," Tim uttered. "I am happy to have you here." Jason glared at him. "I do. It's like you never left," he smiled bitterly, tears prickling at his eyes. "You'll always belong here, Jason," Tim said softly, looking at his hands for a moment. "Here, the only problem is me."
Jason raised his hand in a stop motion. "Don't fucking say that."
"But it's true," Tim insisted, his anxiety coming in waves. "It's true... I don't—I didn't want you to know. Now you do. And all I can say is that you belong here, and that I'm sorry, and that I just need to get used to it," to you, Tim didn't say. "I always get used to everything. It's my thing," he tried to joke.
Jason's eyes hooded in sadness. "Tim, you were practically spiralling in anxiety just because we're in the same car."
It's exposure therapy, he didn't say.
"I told you it's the gala, the crowds," Tim insisted instead. "I wouldn't be talking with you if it were the case. I'm tired, I have a lot of unfinished cases, and the work at WE is hard... It's a whirlwind of things and it exploded."
Jason passed his hand through his hair, looking at him like he didn't believe a word--he was starting to seem anxious, too.
"I'm sorry," Tim muttered once again. "I'm really sorry I ruined your night."
At that, Jason snapped. He punched the wheel. "Goddamit! I fucking knew this wasn't a good idea."
Tim frowned, the dark aura dissipating. "What?"
Jason ignored his question. "I fucking told him! I knew you weren't gonna be fine spending time with me," he cursed in between breaths. "Fucking Bruce, thinking he's always right. Fuck."
"Jay—Jason, what are you talking about?" Tim finally looked him in the eye.
He knew where this was going but he needed to confirm it.
Jason sniffed. "This," he moved his hands around, "this was planned. The, the—me driving around and being your company for tonight," his brother closed his eyes for a moment. "I told Bruce I didn't know how to make things better between us, and he—fuck. He said maybe I just needed to try?" Jason chuckled bitterly. "As if I haven't been doing that for months. He said I needed to talk with you at least for a night? And then he suggested a gala, because it's, y'know, inevitable? And I agreed. Like a fucking moron I thought it was a good idea—until this morning."
Jason looked at his hands and started to play with his wristbands.
"What changed?" Tim's whole body was now facing Jason. "What happened this morning?"
His brother snorted. "Like you don't know."
"I don't!" Tim's jaw clenched. "I don't know what I did."
Jason glared. "It's not your fault, Tim. I understand your reaction."
Tim was going to yank his hair off.
"Reaction? What the hell are you on about?"
"You were trembling!" Jason finally said, yelling less than a meter away from him. "You were trembling all morning," he ruffled his hair again. "You were scared all day, avoiding me even worse than before. You usually don't look at me but this morning," Jason shook his head. "Fuck, Tim. You had this... this look in your eyes. Like you were expecting the fucking worst from me." Jason bit his lower lip.
The silence was defeating after that. Tim didn't know what to say--it wasn't like he could deny it. It was true. Tim just hadn't realized that he felt that way since morning. He thought the anxiety started to appear an hour before when he was showering. And now, hearing it from Jason, he realized the anxiety has been eating him alive since he woke up.
Tim didn't know he was that easy to read. Much less to Jason. He's always thought Jason didn't care even a bit about him.
He was wrong.
"It's fucked up," Jason broke the silence, startling Tim. "It's fucked up that I hurt you this much."
Tim didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say, what to do, to make Jason feel better. He thought about the gala, about Bruce probably waiting for them there. He thought about Jason, talking with Bruce, of all people, about something that concerned him, about Tim, their brotherhood... about wanting to make things better between them. Tim's heart, incredibly, shattered. It shattered just to think about Jason caring.
His brother cared.
His brother.
Tim didn't know how to feel.
"I'm sorry, baby bird," Jason spoke again, softly and regretfully. Tim looked at him. Baby bird. "For everything. For trying to..." He breathed in like murder wasn't a word he could stand. "I dunno how to make things better but I sure as hell wanna try. If you let me... I can be your brother. For real, this time. No bullshit, no tears," Jason himself sounded like crying. "And if you want me gone... just say the word and I'll never come back. Not again. Not if it meant I'm hurting you."
No. No, that wasn't what Tim wanted. Tim didn't--Tim didn't want him gone. The family--his family was finally at ease. They were finally together, they were all trying. Tim had never seen Bruce as happy as these days--he was nothing like the man Tim had met years ago. The grief fog that seemed to invade the manor was gone, even the walls were clearer. Alfred now sang while he cooked and Cass--Tim's never seen Cass that comfortable. Dick seemed lighter, too, like he'd just discovered, after years of carrying the façade of the happy-golden kid, that he didn't have to carry the world over his shoulders--he had a family he could lean on now.
A family, all Tim ever wanted, all he ever wished for since he had use of reason. He didn't want to feel like before when an empty house was all he had. An empty house was his worst nightmare. He shuddered.
And Jason leaving? Jason leaving would be even worse. He was the glue, the one who kept things together, alive--who didn't even need to try. Jason just did it, effortlessly, without looking for affection in return. If Tim hadn't met him before, he would've thought that it was a superpower of his, something he gained after resurrecting--the ability to light up everything everywhere he went.
But Tim had known him, before, when Jason was Robin. He was a light that never went out, not even how much the villains and criminals had tried--not even how much the Joker had tried--, Jason never switched off.
He is so important to Tim, as a hero, as a person, as a brother. And now that Jason is in his life, doesn't matter if it's just glimpses, moments, nods, or looks... Tim doesn't want to lose that.
He doesn't want to lose his brother.
"I used to dress up as you, you know, back in the day," Tim started talking without thinking, looking through the front window at the other cars that surrounded them. He felt Jason's eyes on him. "Made my own suit, well," Tim laughed with tears. "One of my nanas helped me. It was beautiful—nothing like yours, but useful. And that's the keyword, I guess. I felt useful with it on," his voice cracked.
From the side of his eye, he saw Jason slowly moving, his whole body now facing Tim, too.
"I spent most of my afternoons making theories, and my nights trying to take photos of Batman and Robin," Tim continued, feeling like he was back in his room with a bunch of markers, photos of Bruce Wayne, his first son, and his newly-adopted second child, Batman and Robin jumping through rooftops, newspapers from the Daily, and The Gazette, even from magazines, and of course, a lens, just to feel like a real detective. "Until one day, I just knew it. I wasn't uncertain anymore, all the proof laid before my eyes," Tim sighed, melancholic. If it wasn't for his undying curiosity, his life wouldn't be like it is now. "After that, I tried everything in my power to be your friend. I don't think you remember me, it was years ago after all... but you were all I expected, more even," Tim smiled at his brother.
"The very first time we talked was because you saw me alone, at a gala, of all things," Tim muttered playfully. He could remember that day like it'd happened yesterday. "I was anxious, the crowds never were my thing. Back then, I didn't know how to control it. I was used to the feeling of helplessness, to the trembling of my hands, the little catches of my breath," Jason's eyes never wavered, and suddenly Tim felt embarrassed for all the attention he was receiving. He forced himself to continue: "Then, this intimidating kid, much taller than me, suddenly appeared by my side. In-between the haze of my anxiety, I recognized you. The Jason Todd. My mind exploded," Tim smiled.
"What'd I do?" Jason asked softly.
Tim raised his hand, for Jason to take. His brother complied.
"First, you touched my shoulder, taking me near a wall, just by the chocolate fountain," Tim couldn't stop smiling. His eyes were gathering tears. "The waitress looked at us like we were trying to steal the thing. I was hyperventilating by this point. You took my hand, paying no attention to the waitress" he gripped Jason's hand, "and told me to breath deeply, hold ten seconds, then exhale, until I felt like I could breathe without thinking," Tim slowly let go of Jason's hand. "After that, you gave me your name like you weren't the son of a billionaire that made it in the news every two days."
Jason huffed a laugh, his eyes glinting.
"We talked for the rest of the gala," Tim said as the weight on his chest disappeared and grew heavy all at once. "It was hours. You talked the most because I couldn't believe my luck. I just heard you babble about books, and cultures, and school, and your life before being Bruce's kid," he exhaled. "That night I definitely knew you were Robin. There was no other explanation."
Tim smiled with his lips only and shrugged as if it was no big deal what he was about to say. "You were my Robin," he whispered, "and you died sixteen days later."
A single tear escaped his eye, and soon enough he felt more cascading through his face. In an instant, Jason was hugging him. Rib-crushing hug, the kind that searched for your soul and succeeded.
Tim thought about that day when he'd learned that Jason Todd had died, crying in his room 'til morning without anyone who could understand his pain. Robin was gone--Jason, who he'd talked to days before, was gone; who shared bits about his life on the streets and on the system with Tim like he could understand--like Tim wasn't some rich and random kid he'd had just met. Jason, who taught Tim how to breathe when he felt anxious, who gave Tim a little bit of his time, when he was surrounded by much more interesting people at the time.
"I don't—I don't want you to leave," Tim gripped Jason's shoulders. "Please, don't leave," he begged, "you're my brother, Jay, and I, I forgive you. Always. Wasn't your fault either," Tim's voice broke down.
"Ssh, ssh," Jason's hand was petting his hair now, "I've got you, baby bird. I'm here. I'm not leaving ever. Hey, hey," Jason broke the hug, holding Tim's face with his hands, "I told you, Tim, I'm not leaving unless you want me to."
He shook his head, sniffing. "Don't want you to."
"Then I won't," Jason laughed with relief. "I fucking won't."
Tim took deep breaths, laughing too in-between. His nose was running and he knew his face looked like a strawberry.
"I probably look ridiculous," Tim mumbled, giving Jason some space.
"Nothing new," Jason teased, a blush all over his cheeks. His eyes were red, too.
Tim rolled his eyes, trying to remove the tears from his face with his hands.
They stayed silent for a moment--a silence totally different from the one before. Tim's heartbeat beat at a normal speed now and his breath was slowing down as more seconds passed. He never thought he'd feel totally at ease with Jason by his side. Tim looked at his brother, smiling slightly.
"So," Jason dragged the O's. "Your Robin, huh?"
His brother had a shit-eating grin on his face. Tim huffed a laugh.
"Well, you know me, I have low expectations."
Jason full-on cackled.
"You little shit," and it didn't sound nasty, it sounded affectionate. "I'd like to hear all about your opinions on Goldie's Robin and his old Nightwing suit while I drive us to that hell."
Jason started the car, turning off the A/C without thinking twice and opening the windows. The radio was on, and soon The Bangles were surrounding their ears. His brother started to drive.
"I waited my whole life for this moment," Tim declared without hesitation, the smile on his face refusing to go. "First of all, who told him that disco suit was a good idea?! And that vee neck?! Jay, the vee! Why was it so low?!"
Jason laughed like never before, his face lighting up. Tim continued babbling about Dick's phase as Robin, earning some more laughs from Jay, soon returning to talk about the disco suit because what the hell--he was making fun of his older brother with his other older brother. He earned this.
Tim felt the wind all over his face. He knew his hair would be a mess when they arrived at the gala. He didn't know when he'd stopped talking but he was happy to hear his brother instead. Jason had something about him that you couldn't stop paying attention to; maybe it was the way he tried to make eye contact even though he was driving or the fact that he told stories like a playwright.
Or maybe it was simply because he was his brother, Jason.
Tim held onto the feeling, ease spreading all over his ribcage, and thought about Jay; nodding at him the mornings he was home, making him space at the couch, lending him a bottle of water at family training, looking out for him on patrol, supporting his ideas and plans in front of their dad, smiling a little at his jokes...
And noticed that it'd felt right to call him 'brother' even before he realized it. Jason would always be his brother, no matter what happened.
Tim laughed along with him.