This is an Easter fic I started writing a few days before Easter. I put it off for forever because of life but here it is!
There is cursing and Pre-JayTim here. And really bad puns. You've been warned.
Disclaimer: None of them are mine.
It isn't Tim's alarm clock that wakes him up today.
"Grayson, you insufferable fool, get off of me!" cuts through the wall dividing his room from Damian's. Tim sighs and sits up, thinking sardonically, Great. Way to put him in a good mood to start the day, Dick.
Laughter follows the insult, and Tim notes that it is definitely Dick's (no one else is physically capable of that much joy this early in the morning), before the oldest of the Robins chimes, "Not a chance, Dami. C'mon, we have eggs to dye! And we still need to wake up Timmy and Jay so let's gooooo!"
Tim lets a soft laugh escape him as he glances at his alarm clock. Four A.M. Right on time, Dick, as usual. . . Dick was never late when it came to holiday mornings. Easter and Christmas especially. Although the Easter one would be Tim's fault. He had accidentally let it slip that he never dyed Easter Eggs as a child, due to his parents' rarely being home, and only went to one or two Easter Egg hunts for Drake Industries publicity. After that, Dick promised that they would *never* go an Easter without dying and hunting eggs. And, really, it's a nice gesture – and it was fun. . .when he was a kid. But he's eighteen years old now and they came in from patrol four hours ago and he's tired, darn it. . .
But you don't say no to Dick. You can't say no to Dick. And by the sound of it, Damian is figuring that out the hard way.
"If you don't stop bouncing on my bed this instant I will forget that Father forbade me from using throwing knives on allies." the younger boy's threat just earns another laugh and Tim can picture Dick rustling the miniature assassin's hair. Tim almost feels a surge of jealousy at the image, but he quickly pushes it aside as he slides out from under his covers and begins making his bed. He's old enough to wake himself up – he doesn't need Dick barging in here like he did when he was a kid. And on top of that, this is Damian's first 'real' Easter.. Therefore, it's only expected that he should receive more attention. Dick may have taken Robin to give it to Damian, but Tim gets it now. He's not five – he can deal with being less important. After all, he spent the first twelve years of his life more or less alone. Why should it make a difference now?
Jason snickers as Damian lets out anther low snarl, warning Dick to stop poking his side. The acrobat doesn't listen, of course – Jason could have told Damian that – and instead starts whining again.
"Come on, Dami, we can't just dye them ourselves. The whole reason we're dying them at all is for you and Timmy and your much-needed family experiences."
Damian lets out his signature -tt- as he buries his face further into his crossed arms and huffs, "Then we will start when Drake finally arrives. Now leave me alone – I am trying to sleep. Bother Todd."
Jason laughs and takes a long drink of his orange juice before slamming the empty glass onto the counter – a cruel smirk tugging at his lips as the sound reverberates over the surface and makes Damian jerk.
"Sorry, kid, but you asked for this when you woke me up the way you did. Karma's a bitch."
Damian finally lifts his head at that but damnit a twelve year old should not be able to look that smug.
"What? I thought you would enjoy waking up to the sound of Drake's voice – as Grayson said, lately you have been rather- mphhhgrm. . ." Damian's smug eyes narrow into a deadly glare as Dick's hands quickly cover the smallest boy's mouth. Jason mirrors the glare, his gaze moving to the face of a very nervous looking Dick Grayson as he asks,
"Rather what, Grayson. . .?"
Dick laughs and shrugs his shoulders, looking guiltier by the second as he tries to seem offhand, "Oh, you know Damian – he takes the things we say waaay too literally and then twists our words to- OW!" Dick quickly releases Damian and steps back, his right hand held in his left as he yelps, "You bit me!"
"Excellent observation, Grayson, we could make a detective of you yet." Damian deadpans as he drops his head back to the counter.
Jason's glower doesn't leave Dick, though, and he opens his mouth to ask what *exactly* the little demon mean – but he stops when he hears a soft, "Sorry for taking so long. Lost track of time." from the kitchen doorway. Jason narrows his eyes at Dick, a silent threat of 'We are definitely not done with this conversation. . .' before he turns to face Tim.
"Well it's about time, Babybird." Jason greets with a grin, "Now you can make Dickhead and Demon Brat stop bickering like a married couple. I'm done for the day."
Tim rolls his eyes and walks over to the counter, taking a seat next to Jason as he sighs, "Good morning to you, too, Jason. Note: I used your name and not a horrible excuse for a nickname. Try it sometime."
Jason stifles a chuckle at the younger boy's sass and instead puts on a mock pout – his eyelashes batting innocently as he complains, "But Tiiiiim. . . You let Damian do it all of the time."
Tim looks at Jason and blinks, his expression unchanging as he explains, "That is because Damian is insufferable to argue with. You're annoying, but not impossible."
Damian snarls, butting into the conversation without lifting his head from the counter as he grumbles, "I do not use nicknames – I call you all by your names. You *are* Todd, aren't you?"
Jason looks away from Tim to fix the newest robin with an un-amused frown. "Fine, I'll give you that. But you make it sound like an insult."
"Stop *being* an insult and I won't feel the need to call you one." the brat snaps back – and Jason has to physically force himself to not throw his glass at the kid because that's three strikes this morning and it's not even 10:00.
But Tim clears his throat, sensing the building tension, and diverts the conversation with, "Where is Alfred?"
Dick, who had been busying himself with getting the dyes ready, finally chimes back into the conversation. "He's upstairs. Said something about not going to bother attempting breakfast with us four disassembling his kitchen. He is waiting until we are done."
Tim lets out a soft laugh and an understanding, "Ah." as he slides off his seat and walks to the fridge. "Heh, that seems very 'Alfred-esque." he concludes as he opens the door and begins pulling out egg cartons. It isn't until he sets the second one on the counter that Jason realizes he is staring. He quickly looks down at the glass in his hands, deciding that the kid just doesn't smile enough and that's why he is caught off guard when the kid does. At least, that's what he tells himself as he stands to put his glass in the sink.
Tim groans and reaches into the red dye, retrieving his egg – which has only been in long enough to turn an almost-pinkish color – and placing it on one of the many newspapers protecting the countertop.
"Fine, Damian, there. It's out. I am no longer 'hogging all of the red out of a blatant display of my jealousy over your status as Robin' or whatever you just said."
Damian smirks, smug little jerk, and drops his own egg into the dye. Dick lets out an exasperated sigh, and Tim almost – almost – asks how Dick is the one exasperated if he's not the one on the receiving end of the brat's special brand of spoiled. But he thinks better of it. Instead, he picks up his will-never-get-to-be-red-now-sorry egg and puts it in the purple before leaning against the counter – waiting for Damian to find another fault in his actions and criticize him for that.
As he waits, he watches Dick and Jason: well, Jason more specifically. It's not a secret, not really, that he. . .enjoys the second Robin's company. A lot. If someone were to ask, he wouldn't exactly lie about it. He just doesn't make a big deal of showing it because, well, they don't exactly have a wonderful history. And even that is an understatement. Tim lets out a small sigh and pulls his egg out of the dye, deciding to occupy himself with other thoughts. After all, daydreaming about something that is never going to happen is a waste of time. So he dries the sort-of-marbled egg off, places it in the carton, and then smirks in Damian's direction.
"Jeeze, I'm tired of 'walking on eggshells' around this brat. . ." Dick looks up from trying to steal the white crayon away from Jason at Tim's irritated tone. But as he catches the dorky little smile and the 'your turn' glint in the third Robin's eye, Dick's face splits into a huge grin as he attempts to speak in a stern-sounding voice,
"Damian, stop egging Tim on." Tim snickers and Jason instantly looks about four hundred percent done. Damian, on the other hand, looks perplexed and somewhat indignant and Tim bites back another laugh because he hasn't caught on.
"I was simply restating a point I have made numerous times before, Grayson, I do not understand why it calls for reprimand. Besides, you were not even paying attention."
Tim rolls his eyes and knocks the back of Damian's head – hard enough to force his head forward but not nearly hard enough to hurt. The youngest Robin turns to glare at him in response, but looks utterly taken aback when he is met with Tim's amused grin.
"Relax, Damian, we are just yolking around." Tim assures with a barely suppressed snort. Dick, on the other hand, bursts into a fit of soft laughter. Damian glances between his ex-mentor and predecessor before looking over at Jason for some sort of answer. When he sees Jason's expression, though, the conversation must have clicked because he is suddenly glaring at the giggling pair with a look that almost mirrors Jason's.
"You two are childish." He states matter-of-factly, thoroughly unamused at his older 'siblings'' antics.
"Shh, Demon Brat, they don't know that. They think they're hilarious – we aren't supposed to let them know they're not." Jason replies as he rolls his eyes and watches the oldest of the group attempt to contain himself. Dick takes a few breaths, as though trying to speak, but his laughter keeps interrupting him. After several seconds of trying, he finally manages to choke out,
"I don't know what's wrong with you two, but, heh, but we crack ourselves up."
And Tim is done because that's a horrible pun and such a stretch and oh my god. He doubles over and rests his head on the counter as laughter consumes him. Damian makes several irritated noises before -tt-ing and hissing out, "Grayson, act your age. And Drake, go die."
Tim and Dick both stop laughing instantly and Tim lifts his head to look up at Damian. His gaze then slowly trails down to the bowls of color resting on the counter before returning to the younger boy's face. Damian's glare quickly shifts to grim resignation – indicating that he had only just realized the pun in what he said – and Dick's hysterical laugh cuts through the silence enveloping the room.
"Dye! Tim, go dye!" the eldest snorts out as Tim begins laughing again. It isn't that funny. Actually, it's awful – Robins should only be allowed to make terrible puns when trying to annoy villains for a reason. But it's early and he is running on too little sleep and too much caffeine and Damian just made a pun.
Sort of.
But Tim forces his laughter to settle into soft snickering hidden behind his hand as he hears chair legs scrape against the floor. His gaze moves to Jason, who has stood up from the counter and is now walking out of the kitchen. Before anyone can ask him where he's going, he growls out – his voice an odd mixture of fed up, amused, disbelieving, and exhausted, "It is too damn early to deal with this family's brand of crazy. I need a beer before I can put up with you. I'll be in the cave."
No one stops him: because Damian doesn't care, Dick is too busy laughing, and Tim *shouldn't* care so he can't really do anything.
So he inwardly sighs in disappointment before looking back at Damian with a devilish smirk. Might as well keep this up, then. "It's about time we crack that hard shell of yours, Damian. While egg puns are a dime-a-dozen, they put Dick on the sunny side, so keep it up."
The youngest Robins blink at each other, one grinning and one giving a stare that, if looks could kill, Tim would never have been born. Then they both glance over at Dick and – oh. . .he's gone. They would *think* he had gone down to the cave with Jason, but his laughter is still echoing around the kitchen. They lean over the counter only to find the older man sitting on the ground with his back against the cabinets, his arms wrapped around his stomach. Damian blinks before rolling his eyes and mumbling, almost too soft to hear,
"Eggcelent, Drake. You broke him. . ."
Jason sighs and takes another long drink from his third bottle of beer, finishing it off. He would have stopped at two, but he could still hear laughter coming from upstairs and he could have *sworn* he heard Damian's laughter, once, and that's just too creepy to put up with without being at least a little drunk.
Or, at least, not completely sober. There *is* a difference.
He drops the bottle on the ground next to the others, leaving them behind for Bruce to find because he knows how much it annoys the older man, and climbs off the hood of the Batmobile. A glance at his watch tells him that they should be just about finished upstairs so he decides to bide his time a few minutes longer before returning to the personal Arkham that is his 'family'.
He wanders aimlessly, debating between doing something else that would fully infuriate Bruce or just organizing going through some cases to actually help out for once. In the end, though, he must have subconsciously decided on both because he is standing in front of the cases, uniform cases, with a strong urge to switch a few of them around. He nearly humors that notion – until his eyes flick to that case.
His case.
He sighs and turns away, a growl beginning to work its way into his throat, but it never quite comes out. And a few moments later, despite his original plan of action to distance himself from that stupid reminder, he is standing in front of his old costume with his hand pressed against the glass.
He wishes it wasn't here. Or, at least, that it didn't mean anything. Especially not anymore. Because he's back – he's alive. But. . .he's not Jason anymore. Not *this* Jason. Not the Jason that died. That one is still dead, and that is the one his 'family' mourns.
He isn't the Jason they want. He wasn't the Jason they wanted to come back. They hadn't wanted the 'new' Jason at all, at first. Now things are better. Strained, obviously, but better. He's living under the same roof, after all. But this damned case is still here, mocking him. Making sure he never forgets that he's not their Jason.
He sighs and presses his forehead against the glass, his eyes shut tight. As much as it pains him to be second-rate, to not be unconditionally accepted, he wouldn't change himself for the world. He is who he is – and his family accepts him for that, more or less. Well, they do now. For now.
He jumps as he feels a hand rest on his shoulder – his eyes instantly snapping open to see whoever is behind him through the reflection in the glass. After a slow breath to calm his startled heart, Jason turns to face the oldest Robin.
"Well it's about time." Jason greets, raising his eyebrow as a cocky grin covers whatever emotions Dick may have seen. "It took you three long enough."
Dick looks at him with that damned 'I know you're hurting but I won't push even though I really want to hug it out ' look but smiles anyway and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.
"Heh, actually, we *still* aren't done. Not quite. Tim and Damian are finishing up the last six."
"And you left those two alone? Yep, wise choice." Jason replies with a low chuckle, trying to dislodge the remnants of a lump that had settled in the back of his throat. Ah, the joys of living in a family of ninjas that can unintentionally sneak up on you at any given moment.
Dick just laughs and shakes his head, "They'll be fine – they were actually getting along for a little while, off and on. I figured they would be alright for a few minutes." Dick trails off for a second, his gaze moving up to the roof of the cave as though he is looking up at the kitchen, before he concludes with, "Tim thought I should come check on you, though."
Jason instantly blanks, his smile fading, because – what? Why would Tim care? Not that he doesn't want Tim to care, but that's just it: Tim *doesn't* care. Neither Jason nor Tim really made a very good impression on the other: not since Jason came back, at least. Tim was, is, just another one of them – another one waiting for old Jason to come back. He shouldn't care at all.
Dick looks back at him and smirks ever so slightly and then Jason remembers – 'What? I thought you would enjoy waking up to the sound of Drake's voice – as Grayson said, lately you have been rather-'
Jason glares and goddamnit it makes Dick's smirk widen. "That reminds me: what was the brat saying this morning? About what you said that I said about Tim? And don't bullshit me, Dick, I'll punch you."
And Jason counts it as a small victory as Dick's smile falters ever so slightly but then the older man laughs and shakes his head, chiming, "Real mature, Jason. Very nice threat. . .But it's nothing. I just. . .confided observations in Damian that I did not think he would piece together. As it turns out, though, he's made similar observations of his own."
"That doesn't answer my question." Jason deadpans even though it almost does. He didn't think he had been that obvious. So he had been putting a little more effort into his relationship with Tim lately – so what? He's been careful to make it seem casual. . . Hasn't he?
Dick lets out a small chuckle and puts his hand on Jason's shoulder again. "Relax, Jay. Tim is a genius, but when it comes to anything important, he's oblivious. And I only noticed because I'm the big brother and I'm supposed to notice things like this."
Jason eyes him for a moment before rolling his eyes. "Things like what, exactly?" he asks, adamant in his attempts to convince Dick that whatever he thinks he has seen is completely wrong. It's just a crush, if it's anything at all. It will go away.
Dick just chuckles again, sighing out a "Whatever you say, Jason." as he grabs the second Robin's hand and drops something into it. Jason looks down at the bright red egg in his hand before looking back at Dick, who chimes, "C'mon, they should be almost done by now. Help me hide them."
"I am eighteen years old, Dick, I am not hunting Easter eggs."
"-Tt- For once Drake is right. I refuse to participate in such a childish task."
Tim glances at Damian and nods once before looking back at Dick. Whatever truce they had come to hours ago had completely dissipated by now, but that didn't mean they couldn't team up to take down a common enemy. And Tim would bet by the way Dick is staring at them that the eldest is regretting trying to get his two youngest brothers to get along and create the ultimate anti-cooperation monster.
Jason, on the other hand, looks completely amused. He walks over and loops an arm around Dick's neck before whispering something to the older Robin. And the borderline-evil look that flashes in Dick's eyes is enough to make Tim take a mental step back. Dick snickers and Jason's grin doubles as he looks back at the younger two.
"Fine, you two don't have to hunt them. We understand that you're afraid that the other will beat you." Jason finally says, shrugging his shoulders as though he really is nonchalant about it. And no – no way. Did they honestly think that would work on them? As Tim stated – he is eighteen freaking years old. Reversed psychology – especially when it's as blatant as that – doesn't work.
But he forgot that Damian is twelve. And it works just fine on twelve-year-olds: trained assassins slash potentially the spawn of Satan DNA test pending: or not. Damian's hands fist at his sides and he snaps back, eyes narrowing into an 'are you honestly that stupid to consider such a thing' glare.
"Drake could not beat me even if he tried. I do not need to prove this – it is an obvious fact." Damian retorts, his arms crossing over his chest.
Jason's smirk grows even more like that of a cat that ate every single canary at Petsmart while Dick bites back and a laugh and coos, "So you are worried. Dami, it's okay if Tim can outdo you sometimes. We won't think any less of you."
Damian's pout – and yes, it is a pout no one can deny that – darkness and Tim almost expects the youngest Robin to stomp his foot as he exclaims, "He is incapable of outdoing me, Grayson. I will show you since you and Todd lack the insight to realize such an apparent superiority. Drake – retrieve your basket."
It takes Tim a moment to realize the youngest of the group had given him an order and, when he does, he turns to face the glowering child with a half-hearted glare, "Wha- No. No, Damian - they are playing you. Don't let them."
Jason throws his head back and laughs, "Don't tell me you're actually worried, Baby Bird. C'mon, you have years of practice on Damian. He can't possibly find more than you do."
At that, Tim shifts his glare to Jason and snaps, "I'm not scared, Jason, I – ugh. Stop it. Both of you. I'm not letting you trick me into this."
"Ha!" Damian's barked laugh forces Tim to look away from the older two again as the youngest sneers, "You see – Drake realizes that I am truly superior to him. It is only you two who fail to see it."
"You aren't- You two – argh!" Tim tilts his head back and digs his fingers into his hair as he takes a deep breath in through his nose. After a few moments, he slides his hands down his face, just far enough to let his glare peer over his fingertips, as he growls out,~ "I hate all of you." before walking over to his discarded basket.
"So Damian has twenty-six." Dick mumbles to himself as he writes the number down on the sticky notes he brought outside before he shouts, "Tim! How many have you found?" It takes a few seconds before Tim falls to the ground beside the oldest, landing in a neat crouch before slowly standing and peering into his basket.
"Twenty-one, I found the four on the roof." he replies before glancing over Jason, his head tilting as he cocks an eyebrow, "I imagine that was your idea? Dick has never felt the need to put any up there."
Jason laughs from where he's sprawled out on the ground beside Dick. He lifts his sunglasses up so he can see Tim properly before chiming. "Yep. I figured I should up the bar a little – you *are* eighteen, after all." Tim rolls his eyes but the small smile that tugs at his lips is enough to tell Jason that he found it at least somewhat entertaining. Jason decides to chalk that as another victory for the day as he slides his glasses back on and crosses his arms behind his head.
"So there is one more left." Dick states, a bit of a laugh edging his words. And Jason lets a smirk cross his face because this was an idea of his, as well. Hidden in his pocket is the forty-eighth egg: but he doesn't plan on telling Tim that. Or Damian. And he wouldn't have told Dick if the eldest hadn't nearly squashed it by sitting on him earlier. They plan on letting the younger two hunt about aimlessly for a while longer before admitting their trick. It would result in one hell of a payback, but it would be worth it for now.
But then Tim lets out a soft "Wait a minute. . ." and mumbles a few numbers under his breath. He pauses, counts again, and then looks at them. "I forgot about the one I found buried in the front yard: I have twenty two. So – does that mean we're done?"
Jason instantly sits up and Dick holds out his hand, asking, "Can I see that?" Dick counts, recounts, and then looks at Jason with confused eyes. "He's right – twenty-two."
Tim snorts and grabs the basket back as he replies, his voice only almost bitter, "Yes, Dick – I can count, as unbelievable as it may seem."
"No, it's just. . ." Dick begins before looking at Jason again, his eyes clearly stating 'I have no idea what is going on what is this sorcery?' But Jason has no idea how to respond because – seriously, what the hell?
"Are you sure you counted Damian's right?" Jason asks as he stands, his hand moving to the egg hidden in his pocket.
"Positive. I counted four times before letting him go look some more." Dick replies with a nod before he looks down at the paper in his hand.
Tim blinks, confusion overwhelming his blue eyes, as he asks, "Shouldn't there be forty-eight. . .?" Jason looks at Tim for a second before sighing and pulling the egg from his pocket. Tim's expression shifts from confusion to realization to irritation and then to confusion again in less than a few seconds as he figures out Jason's and Dick's dilemma.
"Yeah, there should be forty-eight. Not forty-nine." Jason replies as Dick calls for Damian to return.
They dumped out all of the eggs, lined them up across the grass in a single straight line, and counted them. Seven times. And they didn't get forty-nine – they got fifty. Fifty eggs when they only dyed four dozen cartons. And none of them have a single clue about what's going on.
And they aren't getting any closer to figuring it out, either, because Damian is going on about how he triumphed over Tim, Dick is borderline freaking out about how funny yet terrifying this is, and Tim is staring at the eggs with so much concentration that Jason is surprised he has yet to crack them with his mind.
Jason sighs and stands up, stretching his back with a series of satisfying pops, as he asks, "Are you *sure* you didn't somehow accidentally dye extra eggs? Because that is the only way to explain this."
"We had four dozen, Todd. Where would we have found an extra egg?" Damian snaps, irritated with being interrupted during his bragging speech. Dick nods in agreement and opens his mouth - but before he can speak, Tim lets out a small 'aha'.
Three sets of eyes fall on the third Robin as he leans forward and picks up two of the eggs. He then stands and turns, facing them with a victorious grin and a look that makes it seem as though he has pointed out some significant detail. Jason stares back, wondering if maybe Tim is a bit crazier than he thought. . .
But then Damian gasps as well as Dick grabs one of the eggs and chimes, "Blue! These ones are blue!"
It's Dick's turn to receive Jason's 'you're a nutjob' stare, but Dick just grins in return as he holds up the robin-blue egg and repeats, "These two are blue, Jason. Two extra eggs."
"But what does – " Jason begins, only to stop and mentally kick himself because duh. They didn't have blue dye. Well, they did, but they had accidentally spilled it. Hence they put newspapers down before dying anymore. So that solves the 'how' – sort of. At least they know they aren't going crazy. But that doesn't explain why the eggs exist, who colored and hid them, where they came from, what they were doing here. . .
"I bet it was Alfred. . ." Tim mutters, the soft tone of his voice clarifying that he is thinking aloud. "I would suspect Bruce, but he's still away on a business meeting." Tim grins and looks back at them, ignoring Damian's indignant, "My father would never participate in this plebian ritual."
Jason looks at the egg in Dick's hand and laughs. Of all the colors, Robin's egg blue. Alfred may be the king of sarcasm, but this is a little bit too blatant for the old butler. However, Alfred is the only other possibility.
"So. . .Do we hunt for these, then?" Dick asks, raising the egg and casting a questioning glance around the group. When the question is met with silence, Jason shrugs and decides,
"Might as well – It's not like we have anything better to do."
After another half hour of hunting, Tim has come to the conclusion that Alfred did not hide these eggs. He cannot even begin to imagine the older man climbing the trees and scaling the walls necessary to reach some of the places they have found the eggs. So they still have no idea who did all of this – but he won't lie. It's been fun. Challenging, but fun.
Tim turns as he hears approaching footsteps and he can't help but smile as he Jason approaches him with a wide grin.
"He still up there?" Jason asks, his gaze moving to the spot on the roof Tim had been watching seconds before, his hand coming up to block the sun from his eyes. He had lost his sunglasses to Dick about fifteen minutes ago: and Dick had lost them to gravity and a long fall to concrete. Jason had assured Dick that he was not upset – they were Bruce's anyway. Tim chuckles and returns to watching the eldest of their group work his way across the roof.
"Yep. He is almost certain there is one on the very top. I don't know why he thinks that, but you know him – once he gets an idea there is no convincing him otherwise."
Jason laughs, not a sarcastic laugh but one of his sincere laughs that echoes deep and just short of rough and makes Tim's stomach flutter. He tells himself that he only gets those feelings because Jason doesn't laugh as much as he should. He isn't used to it, so it catches him off guard. But he knows he's lying to himself. Regardless, it's nice to see his predecessor genuinely happy.
"Is Grayson finished being an idiot, yet?" Damian's voice pulls Tim from his thoughts and he looks down at the youngest – not quite sure when he had approached. Not that he would let Damian know that, but he'll admit, he's almost proud of the kid for sneaking up on them like that. Of course, Tim was a bit distracted.
"Dick is never done, Brat. But I think we can convince him to be less of an idiot as soon as he comes down." Jason laughs again as Dick begins to climb up the last wall to the top of the roof and Tim catches Damian smirk out of the corner of his eye before the youngest quickly buries the smile under his usual frown.
All three watch in silence as Dick pulls himself up to the highest peak of the house. After a few moments, Dick bends down and then stands – his arm held in the air. He is too high up for any of them to see what's in his hand, but they can guess.
"Well I'll be damned. . ."
"-Tt-"
"He was right." Tim laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. He looks down at the basket in his hand, only to jump as he sees the new shadow standing just to the left of Damian.
The youngest Robin is already blinking up at the tall figure standing beside him. And Jason doesn't even look away from the roof as he greets – his voice lacking its usual animosity when paired aimed at the man standing with them,
"Bruce."
"Jason." Bruce responds with a small smile, his eyes locked on the descending form of his oldest son. "Now how did I know *he* would find that one. . .?" he chuckles, arms crossing behind his back.
"It was you." Tim smirks. It isn't a question, it's a statement. He'd figured it out a while ago, after all. Bruce smirks and nods.
"Alfred suggested it. He said it would be a good gesture. Of course, it was my idea to make it a training exercise."
"But I thought you were away on Wayne business, Father?" Damian asks, finally getting Bruce to look away from Dick. He smiles down at his biological son and somehow manages to look as though he is shrugging despite the fact that he hasn't moved his shoulders,
"I figured this would be more beneficial. And travel really is a pain this time of year."
Jason looks at Bruce and, rather than tense and glare like he usually does, he shakes his head and snickers under his breath. "So you decided to stick around and play Easter Bunny for your private band of misfits? You have some odd interests, Bruce."
They all hear the real meaning behind Jason's words, though. The unspoken 'I'm glad you're here', the unsaid 'Thanks for doing this'. The words that he doesn't say that all three of them mean. Before anyone can say anything else, Dick lands down in front of them and stands – his grin growing wider than it has all day as he takes in Bruce's presence.
"Happy Easter, Dick." Bruce greets with a soft chuckle, earning a laugh from Dick.
"Happy Easter, B." Dick chimes as he drops the egg he found on the roof into Tim's basket. Tim can't help but wonder if maybe Dick knew about this all along – but he decides not to dwell on that right now. No, he would rather focus on this momentary peace that seems to have settled on the 'family'. It wouldn't last, it never does, but for now – it's nice. Jason suddenly lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Tim's shoulders and leaning his weight against the smaller boy as he chuckles,
"Can we take this Kodak moment inside? I'm starving and I am positive Alfred has breakfast ready and is cursing us all for letting it get cold."
Once they all go inside, it's uncanny how spot-on Jason was.
The end. c: Hope it made you smile.