It Takes Some Getting Used To Again
A Word: Family dinner theme of the 12 Days of JayTim.
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Jason does a remarkable impression of a cat being doused in cold water when Tim rips the blankets off of him. Tim would be amused by it but he recognizes it as the distraction it is and stands firm. "No, Jason, up. We're not going to be late."
"Fuck off!"
"No," Tim grabs one of Jason's feet and hauls. He shifts down the bed with the sheets and pillow still clutched in his hands. Stubbornly trying to stay in place. He gets a hand wedged in near the foot of the bed and holds on for all he's worth. Tim lets go and Jason crashes to the floor with a grunt. He proceeds to try and curl up on the floor and go back to sleep. "No, Jason! I swear I feel like I should be swatting you with a rolled up newspaper."
Jason looks suddenly interested and wide awake.
"No," Tim drops a shirt and pair of pants on Jason's leer. He's being nice here. They're clothes that he'd normally wear, and the shirt is even vaguely offensive enough to irritate Bruce but not upset Alfred. "Get dressed. I'm leaving in ten minutes and if you're not with me I'm going to suggest you pick one of the safehouses to stay in until Thanksgiving."
Tim walks out then because Jason's acting up just to frustrate Tim and if he doesn't give the man what he wants he'll give into the inevitable. Alfred had been the one to personally request Jason's presence after all, and no one said no to the older man. No one. Tim forces himself to keep to his ten minute promise and is turning the keys in the car when Jason slides into the passenger seat with a dark scowl.
He ignores it and doesn't say anything. Letting Jason have the moment because otherwise they're going to end up screaming at each other even before they reach the manor. Tim feels like a frazzled wife from every family comedy ever as he ignores the epic sulk happening just next to him. He doesn't enjoy the feeling very much and takes petty pleasure in the way Jason winds himself up tighter and tighter the closer they get.
He eats every bit of those petty feelings when he rolls to a stop and the manor fills the windshield. Jason looks absolutely terrified.
Tim's reminded abruptly that this isn't just another day for Jason. That it doesn't matter how often he's worked with everyone, how long it's been since he last turned a gun on any of them, or even how often he's walked into the manor by his own choice. It's Christmas. One of the two major family themed holidays of the year, and today is going to be the first time he's spent Christmas with any of them since he died. Logic doesn't have any hold on Jason right now.
"Hey," Tim reaches out and pries one of Jason's hands out of his jacket pocket. He wraps his hands around Jason's fist. Jason looks really young right now, and Tim's reminded that he's only a few years older than himself. "You're fine. It's going to be alright."
"Yeah. Sure," the look disappears as suddenly as it came. Jason's himself again. Gruff and annoyed as he looks up at the lighted windows. He kicks the door open and slides out, bending down to glare at Tim. "Let's just get in there before the demon brat can set the place on fire."
The secret to dating Jason Todd is being able to withstand severe whiplash, and the ability to control the constant urge to smash a head against the closest hard surface. His or Jason's.
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They're barely in the front door -juggling coats and wrapped gifts awkwardly with Alfred- when a war cry rips through the air and Jason goes down hard under about a hundred pounds of slobbering Titus. Damian stands further down the hall smirking and frowning in that particular way the boy is the undisputed master of.
"I had hoped he would go after Drake, but you will do just as well, Todd," Damian walks up and accepts the gifts from Alfred. He eyes them with utter apathy. "I don't suppose any of these will be useful will they?"
"Depends on what you mean by useful," Tim divests himself of the last layer and turns to eye the squirming pile of man and dog on the floor. Jason's cursing fluidly as Titus starts to whine, but he's digging his fingers in to scratch the dog so it's obvious he doesn't mind nearly as much as he's letting on.
"Grayson," Damian shoves the gifts back into Tim's hands the second Alfred takes his coat away. The boy crosses his arms and kicks out at Jason. Nudging him with his bare toes. "He's decided to sing."
"Caroling is a traditional holiday activity," Alfred says with no trace of a smile or smirk to give away what has to have been a very amusing morning for him. He shoos Titus away with a single touch. The dog backing off and sitting down next to Damian like he's an actual trained animal instead of the big baby he actually is.
"I have seen carolers on the streets," Damian allows with a faint sneer. "While I do not appreciate their selection of songs they at least have the ability to sing them. Grayson has no such ability and should not be allowed to continuously torture me with his lack of skill."
"What do you think the caramels are for?" Jason grunts as he picks himself off the floor and finishes handing over his jacket. "Just throw one in his big mouth whenever he opens it. It'll shut him up for a few minutes at least."
Damian looks thoughtful and slowly nods. Eyes narrowed as he obviously runs calculations through his mind. Tim sighs and follows Alfred further in. Leaving Damian and Jason behind to discuss the best method of gumming Dick's mouth shut with candy.
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"They're going to gang up on you with the candy bowl," Tim warns when he's done placing the gifts under the tree. There's several piles there already in various stages of wrapping. From professionally paid for to shoved in last year's gift bags. It makes the whole room look very homely.
Dick grins from where he's mostly sprawled on the couch. Head in Steph's lap and one foot hooked stubbornly through the arms of Babs' chair.
"Oh good!" Steph perks up immediately. "I don't think I could take another round of Deck the Halls."
"The mirrors can't either," Babs says, and the smile she gives doesn't take any of the sting out of her words at all. Not that Dick seems to mind at all going by his still grinning face.
"What can I say? I have a terrible gift, and I use it so sparingly out of love," Dick curls up to lean against the arm of the couch. Leaving the center open for Tim to drop into. "Love for your screams of mercy and agony."
"Well, I hope you stocked up on those sounds because Jason told Damian about the caramel," Tim leans into it when Steph turns to use him as a back rest. Her phone lit as she taps words into a text. "I think the little demon was trying to figure a way to sling shot them into your mouth from a distance."
"You didn't-?" Dick starts.
"No," Tim cuts him off and smiles when Steph looks over her shoulder at him. Getting Dick to shut up is one of the unofficial trials of Robin. The candies came from Bruce but the delivery of them was up to each of them. Jason had used brute force to jam handfuls into Dick's mouth. Tim had resorted to using a rigged up sling shot. He's not sure what Steph did, but he knows it had hurt the older man and he hadn't been as persistent that year as he usually was. "He's had enough help. He can figure out the how of it on his own."
"Did anyone tell Jason that?" Babs asks shrewdly.
Tim blinks and looks back at the door where Jason and Damian decidedly aren't.
"Huh," Steph's lips curl up in a smile and she turns enough for Tim to see she's texting Cass. "You might want to get on the offensive there before they both drag you down and stuff your mouth."
Dick snorts and rises to his feet with a bright grin. "Ladies, Timmy," he's over the couch and out the door in a flash, and Titus barks loudly followed by Jason's cursing.
"Grab him!"
Dick's cackling echoes into the room and Tim finds it soothing because it's not directed at him in any way at all. "So," Tim lets himself slump over Steph's shoulder to stare shamelessly as she types, "how's Cass?"
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The sad fact of the matter is that sugar highs are an actual thing, and Dick gets them. He gets them a lot because despite being born in a circus and subsiding on a diet of mostly sugared up cereal his body doesn't build up a tolerance to it. So the more candy Jason and Damian get into Dick the more wired he gets. The more wired he gets the more he sings. The more he sings the more candy they throw at him. It's a vicious cycle.
It's also probably meant as some really obscure lesson from Bruce. One that backfires horrendously -every year and it says something that Bruce keeps doing it anyway- when Dick gets started on the Gotham schoolyard variations of the songs. The Jingle Bell variant is always a secret favorite of Tim's just because of the way it makes a tic appear in Bruce's cheek.
Dick's on the verge of crashing when dinner gets served, and the sudden quiet is almost stunning. Several hours of war that had kept them all entertained over with the introduction of ham and mashed potatoes which Dick falls upon ravenously. Tim feels Jason stiffen almost immediately next to him. The look of disbelief as he watched Dick eat melting into a bit of that terror from earlier.
And maybe that's why Dick hadn't been willing to give up so easily this year. Why he'd continued to annoy and prod Jason and Damian into more and more brutal ways to get him to stop singing. Just to keep Jason busy and moving instead of thinking. Of worrying over something that's only an issue in Jason's mind.
Tim unobtrusively reaches over and grips Jason just above the knee. A press of fingers to let him know it's alright still. He doesn't get a glare or a brush off. Jason stays tense even as he starts in on his own plate with an intensity that shuns any attempt at talking. Tim moves to pull his hand back, but Jason grabs it fast. Presses his hand tight over Tim's and doesn't let go. Even though it means he eats the rest of the meal with his left hand.
Everyone pretends not to notice. Even if Cass has to pinch Damian when his mouth opens once or twice.
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"Don't see why we've got to stay here," Jason grumbles. He's still tense but a lot of it bled away with dessert. A crumbly pastry layered with nuts and honey that had made Damian go suspiciously silent.
"So Dick can wake us up by throwing Damian on top of us," Tim says as he closes the door to what used to be his rooms. There's still some things of his in them, but he doesn't really consider them his anymore.
Neither of them had so much as looked at the door to Jason's rooms. Still filled with every single thing he'd owned before he died.
"Hm," Jason falls face first onto the bed. Bouncing a little before rolling onto his back to leer at Tim. "Let's fuck."
Tim unzips the bag he'd packed and pulls out a pair of sweats for Jason and his own usual pajamas. "I'm not sleeping naked so we can mentally scar Damian in the morning."
"Well you're no fun," Jason mutters before his boots thump to the ground and the mattress creaks.
Tim turns and catches the shirt Jason throws at him. He's working his belt and jeans off. Trying to get out of them without having to actually sit up or get off the bed. It's something he does out of pure laziness and Tim will admit to himself -but not Jason, oh, no- that he likes the way Jason's muscles move and his body arches as he slides his jeans down.
He sets the clothes on one of the bedside tables and waits for the jeans to get kicked off before crawling up onto the bed. Hovering over Jason and smiling down at him, "I wasn't saying no to the sex, Jason."
"Well then," Jason's grin is sudden bright. His hands running up Tim's back and tugging on the shirt he's still wearing. "I guess I can settle for only slightly fun."
"Slightly fun. Huh, you know what?" Tim rolls over. Off of Jason and away from his hands. Sitting up to get off the bed. "I think I might be getting a headache now."
"Whoa, hey, no!" Tim yelps as he's grabbed around the waist and hauled back up against Jason's chest. Tim tilts his head back and Jason gives him an exaggerated pout. He's doing a poor job of hiding his laughter though. "You know I don't mean that, babe. Let me make it up to you?"
Tim makes a show of considering it, and ignoring the way Jason starts to place kisses along the column of his neck. "Well, I suppose I coul- Jason!"
Tim's flat on his back in a matter of seconds. Jason's hands pushing his shirt up and his lips sliding low. He feels Jason's words as much as he hears them. "Don't worry, I'll stop that headache for good."
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Tim wakes up to a facefull of shouting, flailing Damian. He curls up around the struggling boy out of sheer preservation and gets an elbow to the collar bone for his trouble. "Ow!"
"Release me, now!" Damian growls. Twisting in his pajamas and Tim's grip. "Grayson, I will-"
"Oh you fucker!" Jason's shout drowns out Damian and the groan the bed makes when it jumps. Tim looks over to find Dick grinning down at Jason as he tries his best to crush the life out of him. "Get your fat ass off me!"
Dick hums and tilts his head to the side. "No."
Damian has gone still and pliant in Tim's arms as they both watch with interest. It's clear that Dick has all the leverage on his side. A bony chin digs into Tim's shoulder and he smells Steph's shampoo before the mattress dips under her weight. "I give zombie boy five minutes."
"Don't be ridiculous, Brown," Damian snorts, not looking away from the scene. "Grayson has the weight and the leverage. Fifteen."
"You're both wrong," Tim refutes and casually curls his arm over Damian's legs. Holding on tight despite the way the boy stiffens. "Less than a minute."
"Really?" Steph drawls out the question even as Dick raises an eyebrow.
Tim smiles and says, "Yes. Can't you smell that Alfred's making french toast?"
The debate over who got out the door first -Jason or Dick, after they'd nearly bowled everyone else over- lasts through breakfast and not once does Tim feel Jason go tense again.
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