"Bine faci, bine gasesti."

Romanian Proverb

You Do Good, You Find Good

By: The BatThing

Gotham City was cold, the chilling weather had settled in a few weeks ago, a bit early, but it didn't seem to mind. It proved to dampen moods, create a colorful array of muttering and complaints about things totally unrelated. It was strange what a little bad weather could do to a person, but it happened. All it took was a glance outside to see what waited and a frown was fast to arrive – after all, it was just cold and grey. No snow, no sun, just a large empty sky, and a few naked trees.

At Gotham Heights the common conversation concerning the weather was the matter of snow. What had the reports said on the matter? This Thursday? Snow? And so a rumor started, and kids would get their hopes up and talk about possible cancellations. There was nothing better than when school was cancelled, not when you're only sixteen years old.

"We're supposed to get three feet!" Colin leaned forward in his seat, looking around – meeting the eyes of those who were listening to him. "That's what I heard?"

"Where did you hear that? It's just a bunch of shit."

"I heard it from Marcus."

Dick Grayson lifted his head slightly, taking a moment to concentrate on the topic of discussion. He had heard the rumors, and wasn't much for them. To him, missing school only meant that he'd have to make it up later, probably during the summer. No thank you. "Where did Marcus hear that? I was listening to the radio on the way to school. It didn't say anything about snow."

"Well, Marcus said he heard that it was supposed to snow." Colin answered, a bit upset that he had been challenged in the matter. He knew better than to argue with Grayson, the kid was a year older than him, and not to mention ten times more popular. "I'm just saying."

"So am I." Dick responded, shrugging his shoulders and turning back to reading his text book – American Literature.

"What are you reading that for?" The girl to Dick's left leaned over and pointed at the book, her hand blocking a few words and calling off the boy's attention. "It's not like we have anything due, or a test or a quiz."

Dick shrugged his shoulders, taking the book up and snapping it shut. He shoved it into his backpack and glanced up at the clock. "I'm just bored – that's all."

"Oh whatev – you're just a goody-goody." The girl gave a pretty smile, her blonde hair swishing as she moved back. Her name was Katie, and while Dick wasn't head over heels for her, he knew an attractive girl when he saw one. "I heard you got a new car – is this true?"

The boy shrugged once more, as if it were old news. Truth be known he had just gotten the car last week, and was still thrilled about the matter. Bruce had gotten it for him the day he turned sixteen, and it was love at first sight. The car was everything Dick wanted, really – it was. Well, at least for this year. He smiled a bit at Katie. "It's a nice car."

"I'll say. If Bruce Wayne were my dad, I'd want the best car in the World."

"I wouldn't say it's the best in the World – but it'll do."

Katie rolled her eyes, slouching in her seat and pushing out her lower lip. "I wish I had a car, but I don't turn sixteen for another five months."

There was the sound of a door slamming and Dick turned in his seat, finding the teacher entering the room. He frowned, not ready to start class. He had been enjoying the conversation and had been hoping to offer Katie a ride home. Oh well, he could ask after class. He dug into his backpack and pulled out his American Literature book once more, giving Katie a winning smile as she giggled a bit.

"Simon Allen?"

"Here."

"Gabriel Albert?"

Jason Todd stomped his feet, trying his best to ward off the cold that engulfed him. He glared at the cars passing by up past the parking lot and cursed, wondering when Dick would show. The fifteen year old had been waiting out in the cold for the past twenty minutes, and was official mad. Usually his older brother was on time – usually, so when it came to bundling up, Jason didn't. He had no gloves, no jacket, and no hat – just an old sweatshirt. After all, why risk looking nerdy when all it took was a few minutes of being cold?

Shifting his weight, Jason dug into his satchel, pulling out his cell phone and turning it on. He waited a few seconds, watching it start up and shivering as he did so. Then, he pushed speed dial 6 - getting his brother's number.

"Jays?"

"Where are you?! I've been waiting for the past hour out here in this cold, and you're not here!" Jason paced up and down the sidewalk outside of his school. "It doesn't take this long to get out to your car and -." He paused, having heard the sound of a girl laughing.

"Listen Jay, I'll be there in just a few minutes, I just have to take care of something real fast – alright?"

"No, not alright – who is there with you?" Jason glared in the direction his brother was supposed to come and saw nothing. "You're hanging out with friends!"

Dick didn't answer, he simply hung up.

"Damnit!" Jason looked around once more and then pushed the 4 on his phone – dialing Bruce's number with a satisfied smirk. If he couldn't get Dick to listen to him, fine, then he'd just get Dick to listen to Bruce.

"Wayne Enterprises, how may I help you?"

"Hey, it's Jason, I need to talk to my dad." The teenager frowned, wondering why he had gotten Sarah, Bruce's secretary. After all, he had the emergency number – he should get right to the source.

"He's in the middle of a meeting, Jason dear – could I take a message?"

"Yeah, sure – just tell him that I'm waiting to be picked up at school. Dick isn't around and it's been a long time. So if he could just give Dick a call and tell him to come get me, that'd be great." He paused and then added on, making sure she knew it was important. "It's really cold out here."

Sarah laughed. "I'll tell him, hon."

"Thanks, Sarah." Jason flipped his phone shut and stomped his foot once more, continuing to wait. He wondered what Tim was doing. His little brother was only eight, and probably hadn't even thought to use his cell phone. It was then, as Jason was thinking, that he saw Dick's car cruising down the road. The teenager pushed his cell phone back into his satchel and heaved it up, hugging himself as the car pulled before him. "Where the fuck where you?"

Dick watched as Jason got into the passenger seat and gave an innocent smile. "I had to drop a friend off. They didn't have a ride home, I just thought I would help them out – you know?"

"No. We go to a school for rich kids. I don't believe a word you're saying." He strapped in and rubbed his hands together. "I don't think you understand just how cold it is out there."

"Not my fault you didn't bring a jacket."

"Not my fault you didn't bring a jacket." Jason mimicked, sounding twice as annoying as Dick had. He lifted his hands to the small vent as the pulled out, back into the road, heading towards Tim's school. "You do realize how late you are?"

"Let it go, I was just helping out a friend, nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah, but Tim was supposed to be picked up half an hour ago, that means that -." Jason didn't finish, he was interrupted by Dick's phone playing a short and grinding tune. He closed his mouth, recognizing the ring tone.

"Hey Dad." Dick answered, sounding as normal as could be. He was quiet for a moment and then gave Jason a dirty look. "No, I picked him up. He's right next to me, we're on our way to get – I helped a friend. …They didn't have a ride home. …I'm sorry, I didn't think about his school calling – no … yes, well – well, uh … fine."

Jason decided to look out the window and hope that his older brother wouldn't kill him when this was done and over with. Oh well, he got what was coming to him. He was still cold and a bit on the bitter side from having to freeze outside. Alfred never made them wait, and ever since Dick had gotten his car things had changed. He was the one who picked up everyone, called all the shots, made them wait. It hadn't even been a week yet and Jason was a bit jealous and a bit irked.

"Yeah, you called and I answered – what was I supposed to do?" Dick came to a stop light at which he turned and slugged Jason in the arm – hard.

"Ow!"

"Ok, I won't do it anymore – yeah. Yeah, that's what I said." He paused and frowned. "It wasn't an hour, it's only been like ten minutes. …Ok, fine, bye." He flipped the phone shut and dropped it in his lap, hitting the gas as the light changed color. "Why did you call him?!"

"You hung up on me!" Jason defended. "You were late, and it was cold – what was I supposed to do? Walk home?"

Dick sped up, jerking in front of a slower car. "I wouldn't have minded. I was just helping a friend and you all act like it's some sort of horrible thing. I was just giving a kid a ride and everyone makes it into some huge ordeal and says I'm not responsible."

The fifteen year old in the passenger seat gave a small smirk. "Did Tim's school call or something?"

"None of your business."

"Sure it ain't." Jason watched as they pulled into Brookview Elementary School. It was a small private school where both Dick and Jason had gone when they were in elementary. It had been a rule of thumb – school uniforms and dumb rules until you became a teenager. Then you could decide to go to the Gotham public schools. It had been an easy choice for both the teenagers to make. Brookview was hardly the place to have fun.

"You go get him." Dick said, messing with his iPod hook up in the car.

Jason made a face but got out of the car, slamming the door and walking towards the school. He entered and walked down to the gym, where he heard screaming and laughter – the after school program probably. Jason entered and found Tim right away, sitting beside the door, clutching his backpack and watching the crowd of his peers.

"Hey Timmy-boy, you ready to go home yet?"

Tim lifted his head, a smile crossing his face at the sight of his older brother. "You guys are late – they had to call home to find out what was taking so long."

"Yeah, well, it's not my fault. Dick thought he'd take a girl on a date before he came to get us. Complain to him." Jason grabbed Tim's backpack as he watched his little brother slowly rise up. "We got to tell a teacher you're going or something?"

Nodding, Tim pointed to a woman sitting before a young girl, putting on a Band-Aid. "She's in charge here." The eight-year-old took his satchel from his brother and trailed behind, staying close at hand, as if afraid of those all around.

"I'm Tim's brother – here to pick him up." Jason said to the woman, glancing at the little girl next to her. She was staring at him oddly, looking between Tim and him, as if it were something strange. "What do you want?"

The girl blushed and lowered her head, shaking it.

"Oh, right – you're a bit late, I'm afraid. I hope it doesn't happen again. If it does, perhaps you should consider telling your parents that they should invest in the after school program here." The woman obviously didn't like Jason, probably for his rude comment to the girl, but the fact that he was late didn't help.

Jason decided he didn't like her either. "You might want to tell that not to me."

She gave a cool smile and turned away. "Then I'll simply call your parents."

"Fine." Jason turned away, leaving the gym and feeling even more upset. He had gotten the heat when it was Dick's fault. Stupid Dick – stupid new car – stupid …

"Why did you do that?" Tim demanded. "That was Gracie! Now she's going to hate me even more."

"She was staring at me, what was I supposed to do? Why do you care? Do you like her? Huh? Is that it? Timmy and Gracie, huh?" Jason knew he was being dumb, but didn't care. It was just the way he was. Talk without thinking, act without thinking – it was what he lived by. "Timmy and Gracie, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Timmy Jr. in a baby carriage."

"SHUT UP!" Tim yelped, pushing his brother a bit as they went through the double doors, walking towards the car where Dick looked annoyed that they had taken as long as they had. "She's in the third grade, she calls me a baby."

"Well, you should be in the third grade too, so what's the deal? Just because you were held back two years doesn't mean that it's hopeless – just almost hopeless." Jason slid into the car and gave Dick a look. "What's your problem?"

The driver shook his head. "And you say I took forever to pick you up."

Jason scoffed, not enjoying the tone he was getting. He and Dick always got along just fine. After all, they were only a year apart in age. But they were brothers, and they were different. Dick was more down to earth, understanding, and been moved a grade up because he was so smart. In short, he was perfect. Jason on the other hand was rude, hyperactive, and had already been held back once. They clashed at times, so it wasn't unusual for this to happen, and it never lasted too long. It was just their weekly fight. "You took half an hour! I was in there for five minutes!"

Dick didn't answer. He drove in silence all the way home, not even glancing at Tim when the boy asked what had taken so long – and if he really had a girlfriend.

When they got into the Manor Alfred was there waiting, looking slightly concerned. "Master Richard – you're late."

"I took a friend home." Dick answered, giving Jason a pointed look. "So we're a bit late, yeah."

"So he says." Jason answered, and he received a shove from Dick. This wasn't very welcome, especially considering the events of the day. Jason didn't waste any time in shoving the other boy back, dropping his satchel, preparing to take care of things his way – if need be.

"Gentlemen!" Alfred called out.

Dick ignored him, plowing right into Jason and shoving him against the wall. He was shorter than his younger brother, a smaller frame. He was the only one of his brothers that actually looked different. His skin was an obvious shade darker, he was shorter, and his hair was so much blacker. The gypsy heritage was obvious.

Jason and Tim on the other hand – well, they were obviously Americans. Tim was small for his age, seeing as he was often taken for a six year old, but that was the only difference. Otherwise Jason and Tim could be blood brothers.

"They're fighting!" Tim shrieked, jumping up and down at the sight of his older brothers tumbling about the entrance hall.

"Young sirs!" Alfred managed to get between the two, forcing them apart long enough for the parties to calm down enough to realize what they were doing. "Fighting in this household is unacceptable and will not be tolerated. Now, perhaps both of you should collect your things and make your way to your bedrooms."

Jason grabbed up his satchel and left the room. Dick watched him go, glaring after his brother as if it were his fault. "Sorry Alfred, I didn't mean to fight like that – I just … he was being dumb all day long and it was inevitable."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow at the comment and shook his head. "Excuses are not acceptable; though I'll take you're apology. Perhaps you should work on homework?"

"Yeah."

Jason climbed out of the window and slid onto the rooftop. There, hidden in the gutter, was a metal box, locked up and a bit rusty. The boy snatched it up and climbed a bit higher, till he could see all the way clear to the ocean. It was nice living on the outskirts of Gotham; it at least had a view. In one direction lay the city, in the other the ocean. Bruce paid well for the grounds.

Slipping a key into the hole, Jason pried the lid open and pulled out the box of cigarettes and a lighter. There was an envelope inside too, inside were a few pictures and some money. Nothing much, but to the boy – it was an importance.

He lit up, sighing happily at the comfort of the situation. Bruce wouldn't be home for about half an hour – giving Jason enough time for a good smoke. His family had thought he'd quit, given up the habit that he had come with, but it was a lie. Jason had figured the perfect time to smoke, and it was just before Bruce came home. Alfred was in the kitchen preparing dinner, Tim was allowed to watch television, and Dick was almost always working on homework.

The boy leaned forward, blowing the smoke. It was simple enough to fool people who wanted to think you didn't do something wrong. Their trust and love was strong enough to give you the benefit of the doubt. Besides, all Jason had to do was shower and make sure to get his clothes smoke free. Nobody knew, though they suspected at times.

Smoker's cough, an easy give away. There were only so many times you could claim that it was just a 'bit of a cold'. Oh well, Jason figured he didn't have to worry too much, it wasn't like he was a constant cougher, just every now and then it came and went.

"Fuck you, Mr. Jones, I've got my own set of guns and I'm not afraid to shot." Jason sang under his breath, shivering a little from the cold air. He pulled his sweat jacket's hood up and glared a little.

"Jays?"

Jason froze at the sound of Tim's voice in his room. He cursed under his breath as he put out the cigarette and slid down, the shingles crunching under him. "What are you doing in my room? I locked the door!"

Tim hurried over to the window, eyes wide as he looked at his brother. "You're on the roof." There was a pause and then a cough followed by a disgusted face. "You stink."

The older boy caught Tim's waving hand and stepped back into his room. "Well, that's 'cause it smells like smoke outside or something. I think someone might be burning leaves. Though, I wouldn't tell anyone about that – it's illegal."

"Then shouldn't I tell?"

"No, I think it's a poor hobo who wants to stay warm so he won't die." Jason answered, pulling his jacket off and tossing it on the bed. "How did you unlock the door?"

Tim was leaning out the window, looking to see if he could maybe find the poor man. "I got the master key – Alfred keeps it in his room."

Jason momentarily watched Tim and then shook his head. "Get out, I want to shower."

"You always shower."

"I get dirty."

"HEY! LOOKIE!" Tim was on his tiptoes, about ready to climb out the window when Jason caught him, pulling the boy back. "Stop it, there's a secret box out there. I saw it, it's mine!"

Jason slid back out on the roof and grabbed the box, shutting it tight and turning to find Tim half out the window. "Get back in the house!"

The eight-year-old shook his head, eyeing the box. "I saw it first, that makes it mine. I'll tell if you don't give it to me. I'll tell that you were on the roof." Tim was now beside Jason, clutching his brother's arm, scared of the heights slightly.

"It's my box, alright. I just hide it out here so people like you can't fine it. Now I gotta' get a new hiding spot." Jason said.

Tim was covering his nose and mouth, to ward off the bad smell. "What's inside it?"

"Um, things. It's a secret. Let's get back inside now, before it gets too cold."

The two made their way back into the room, Jason holding the box and looking innocently at his little brother. "Why don't you go work on your homework or something?"

"I don't have homework."

"It must be nice being in first grade."

Tim nodded, then turned away and left the room, having lost interest.

Bruce was pulling down the lane of Wayne Manor when Tim sprinted out in front of his car – causing him to slam on the breaks. The man had just gotten off a long day of work, and while he wasn't in a bad mood, it could have been better. He pushed his lips together as he watched he eight-year-old lift up a dirty soccer ball, looking as innocent as he could manage. The billionaire motioned for Tim to come.

The boy walked over to the rolled down window, seemingly confused. "What do you want?"

"I think you know what I want."

"My soccer ball?" Tim lifted the ball up, passing it into the car.

Bruce frowned, taking it away and shaking his head. "Not your soccer ball – but that will do. What were you thinking running out in front of my car like an idiot? You know better."

Tim shrugged his shoulders, shivering from the cold and rubbing his gloved hands together. "I didn't see the car, my ball went out there and I followed. I was playing soccer, that's what you're supposed to do – Dick told me. He said you kick the ball into the goal, and the goal is over there. Dick and Jason got in a fight."

The billionaire, who had an argument built up, closed his mouth. The conversation turn was sudden and unexpected. "You're getting away from the point – don't run out into the driveway like that."

"Can I have my ball back?"

"No." And the man pulled forward, rolling up his window and leaving an upset eight year old running behind him. He parked, and then walked into the house, Timothy trailing at his side – talking about how Dick had been late to get him, about how Jason said mean things to a girl named Gracie, and then about how Dick and Jason started to really fight and how Alfred had to stop them.

"I didn't even do anything. I just watched." Tim said as Bruce unzipped his jacket. "What are you going to do about it?"

The man said nothing, hanging up the article of clothing, happy to finally be home. He didn't much care about what was being said – well, not completely. It was important, but from the sound of things Alfred had taken care of it. He knew perfectly well that he wouldn't have to worry too much about such things because Alfred simply took care of them.

"Can I have my ball back, please. It's not mine, I borrowed it from Dick." Tim followed Bruce into the sitting room, all the way to his office. He kept saying random facts about his day, and kept making sure to ask every few seconds about the soccer ball. "He'll be mad if I don't give it back to him."

"I'll give it back to Dick, don't worry."

"Why can't you just give it to me?"

Bruce simply gave the child a look and the questions died away. Tim turned, left the room, and left Bruce to relax slightly. This was his time now, right after work – where he could just sit in his study and … well, work on work, but still. He started shuffling through some files that he dug out of his briefcase concerning the new offer that McCarthy had suggested. He wasn't really for the offer, but it seemed everyone else was. A loud bang sounded off above his head followed by raised voices and a door slamming.

The billionaire froze, hoping that he wouldn't have to do anything about the matter. Hoping that the boys would solve it on their own – please solve it on your own. He didn't know why, but Jason and Dick were starting to get all the more testy. They fought more often, and did stupid things that got them into trouble. All in all, they just weren't using their head. Bruce relaxed a bit as the noise died away and things seemed to be fine once more. Good.

Dick wasn't near as bad as Jason was, though he had his days. No – Dick had always been the more common sensed of the three. Of course, he was the eldest – things were naturally different for him. Dick had lived at the Manor for eight years now, two more than Jason and Tim had. His story had been interesting, considering. His parents were performers, his parents both from Romania. They were in Haley's Traveling Circus. When an accident occurred the billionaire found himself making an impulsive choice and adopting Richard Grayson. He blamed his youthful ignorance and Alfred. The butler never said anything about the manadopting the boy – but made sure Bruce knew how horrible life would be for the child. And Bruce could relate – no doubt about it. So, Dick had started to live at Wayne Manor then and there. Things were hard for the first year, very hard, but they learned how to live with each other.

Richard had been an experience that forced Bruce Wayne to grow up faster then ever before. Going from a single playboy billionaire bachelor to having an eight year old from the circus was harder than expected. But he had learned, and he had grown, and he had been happy.

It was Jason who came next, and totally … unwelcome at first. His childhood had been the story of just about every kid living in Crime Alley – bad. His parents were young dropouts when the boy had been born, from what Bruce had heard. They stayed together for a long time, longer than most in their situation. It was when Jason was four that they split up and split custody. And the games began.

Jason was simply a way that they would get back at each other, mostly Steven Todd getting back at his wife. The woman was … well, she wasn't exactly all there, but she cared about her child. So, if she made Steven mad then Jason would get it when he was there for half the week. Calls had been made so often to the Child Protection Services that they were written off, said that it was just a marital dispute and that Jason wasn't abused. Typical Gotham.

The boy's mother died when he was six, leaving him in full custody of his father, which wasn't as bas as it could be. He was just your normal Gotham City slums kid, backhanded or smacked around every now and then – nothing big compared with some of the stuff that could have happened. Though – that was just at first. Bruce had seen the files, and they weren't good. The boy's father had sold the child out for money a few times, after all – most insane people were rich and were willing to pay a lot for the kid. Steven couldn't say no, and after all – it didn't really bother him that much, so he said.

And it would have kept going on that way if Dick Grayson and Steven Todd hadn't crossed paths. At the time, Dick and Jason were about the same height – same hair and eye color – the only difference being the shade of their skin. Though, when you're drunk things tend to get a bit fuzzy, and Steven Todd had mistaken Dick for Jason. He had dragged the ten year old off, and when Dick had resisted, started to hit him.

It had been the rare time Bruce Wayne stopped for gas. After all, he never stopped for gas – but on that day he was forced to. At the time he didn't think much of it, just a bit annoyed. Though, looking back it seemed like it was meant to happen. Richard had gone inside the building, bored and not wanting to wait – and that's when it happened. Dick of course ran, unlike Jason, and told Bruce what had happened. And things were taken care of then and there.

When the police came they arrested Steven Todd on other accounts that he had been wanted for and also discovered Jason.

Bruce had said no. He didn't want another kid, especially not an abused one that would take up so much … well, he hated to admit it now, but time. It was a huge workload, and he knew better than to think he could do it well, so he had said no. Though, Dick wasn't about ready to let the matter go. He kept talking about it, and pointing out how horrible it would be to live a life like Jason's and so on so forth. So the billionaire had said he'd find Jason a family, a good family. And he did, or so he thought. It was a married couple who already had a three year old, but they didn't hesitate to take in the nine year old.

The only problem was the fact that Jason wasn't about ready to settle down kindly into a normal family life. And the family wasn't truly as prepared as they had thought they would be. He was hyperactive and an attention seeking screwed up kid. It only took a week before they admitted defeat.

Nobody came for Jason, and nobody appeared remotely able to handle the matter. So, after about six months of trying to help find the orphan a new home, Bruce decided to just take the boy in. So he did. And it was just as much work as Dick had been – and then some.

Jason launched out of trees, falling to the ground on purpose. He used the stair railing on the third floor as a balance beam, and about killed himself in the process. It probably didn't help that Dick was a natural gymnast – and challenges were always being held. If Richard climbed to the top of the tree, then Jason would too. If Dick performed a triple flip off the jungle gym, then Jason put his heart and soul into it. It wasn't till accidents were becoming out of hand that he was put into counseling and started medication. Leslie Thompson, Bruce's family friend – a doctor – explained he was simply ADHD to an extreme, an attention seeker due to his abusive past, and a hundred other things.

And then, as if things weren't hard enough – Jack Drake died.

Bruce never really knew his neighbor very well. Sure, they saw each other about once a week at various gatherings, business meetings, and parties – or through the kids. Jack's wife had died – murdered according to what Bruce had heard. And she and her husband had a three year old, Timothy.

It was Alfred who made the connections with the boys. Jason and Dick had been gallivanting on the grounds and crossed onto the Drake property – which amazed Bruce. It was a few miles to the other grounds, a few miles through woods and over a river. And when they had arrived there they ran into Jack himself. The man and the boys talked – and he discovered that they were Wayne's kids – and he introduced Tim.

From what Bruce knew Jason and Dick didn't much care for a three year old hanging out with them. It was a chore, he dragged them down when they wanted to rough house, or explore – but he had some cool things at his house, and so they would stay and play there.

When Jack got sick he had asked for Bruce Wayne, to the billionaire's shock. The dying man explained that he didn't have relatives that he wanted his son to stay with. He explained that he realized that the two didn't know each other, and there were nothing that Bruce owed him but … he wanted to ask.

If Tim had brothers like Jason and Dick, perhaps he wouldn't be so lonely. And besides, he knew Bruce and their parents had known each other so … so could he take Timothy?

And what could be said to that?

So Timothy Drake had come, at three years old, to live at Wayne Manor.

A three year old had seemed almost impossible to Bruce – especially at night when Alfred would turn the responsibility over to him. Taking care of … well, practically a baby wasn't something he knew anything about. And he had thought Dick and Jason were little. In just a few days Dick seemed to age about ten years. Though, as difficult as it had been those first few days it seemed to die away once Alfred taught him a few things.

The main point taught was that Dick and Jason were the best babysitters for Tim.

Tim would trail around with them wherever they went, and sometimes it got a little scary. Bruce would come home from work and find all the boys gone. Alfred would explain that they were playing outside since that morning, but had stopped in for lunch.

And then when they did get home it was a sight to be seen. Dirty, bloody, bruised and scraped, but oddly enough – they were happy. Tim would talk in broken sentences that sometimes made sense … and sometimes didn't. He would talk about all the things that had happened to him, and Bruce could see exactly what Jack Drake had meant when he had wanted his son to have brothers.

"I'M TELLING ON YOU!"

The screaming upstairs started again, followed by a door slamming and Tim shrieking. Bruce shoved back from his desk, slightly startled by the scream. He made his way out of his office and upstairs towards the crying. There he found Jason and Dick looking down at Tim, who sat on the floor holding his hand and sobbing rather loudly. "What happened?"

"He was bothering me." Jason muttered.

"And?"

"His hand got caught in my door."

The billionaire crouched down and took Tim's hand up, looking it over and saying nothing. It wasn't bad, just a scratch, some blood, and probably a bit of a bruise tomorrow. It wasn't anything bad, a type of thing that would happened when Tim would get hurt while playing outside, and he never cried then. The difference was that the eight-year-old wasn't having fun. "Why did you slam the door on him?"

Jason was quiet for a moment, looking at Dick and then at Tim. "He was bothering me."

"Th-that's not true!" Tim wailed. "He had my stuff!"

"It's not your stuff, dumbass!" The teenager growled, stepping forward with a stomp. "He saw something of mine and wants it is all! It's mine not his!"

"Jason!" Bruce snapped.

"Finders keepers!" Tim yelled, his hand forgotten. "I found it on his roof early this afternoon, it's mine."

"No it's not!"

"Yes it is!"

"It's my stuff!"

"It's mine!"

"HEY!" Bruce held up his hands and watched as Dick moved towards Jason's room, peeking inside as if to see what they were arguing about. "Jason – why did you have a box of stuff on the roof?"

The boy was turning a bit red now. "My things from my parents is what! And it's not anybody's but mine – and you guys don't got the right to take it from me!" The boy went into his room and grabbed the box, holding it to his chest.

Dick instantly turned and went into his room, finding the argument just to have crossed into a zone that he didn't enjoy.

"Timothy – that's Jason's stuff." Bruce said in a hushed voice. "He didn't say it was his parent's stuff, he said it was just a secret – meaning he didn't know." Tim answered, frowning at the discovery that the box was suddenly off limits. "I want a box."

"I want a box." Jason mimicked. "You don't even remember your parents, what do you need a box for? You just want to copy, like usual."

"Jason – come on." Bruce said, sounding rather tired. Leave it to Jason to make something bad just a little worse. He had the bad habit of paying people who did him wrong back tenfold, though Tim knew how to hold his own in a battle against his older brother.

The eight year old was quiet for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to cry or to fight back. "At least my parents were nice to me."

And there it is. Bruce lifted the child up and motioned towards Jason. "How about you clean the room a little ok – Alfred isn't a slave, you know."

Jason was glaring, doing his best to hide the blow from Tim's comment. "You pay him don't you?" A look shut him right up.

"Tim, you need to apologize to Jason."

"Sorry." Tim muttered bitterly.

"Don't say you're sorry if you don't mean it." Bruce told him, lugging the child out of the room.

To Be Continued …