Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or anything related to the comics, movies, or television shows. This is for fun not for profit.

Author's note: I've been absent a lot lately. Sorry about that guys. I hope this piece is decent in wake of my recent return to the fanfiction world. This will also be the first of many pieces in this collection, where most if not all will be one-shots. The Bat Family is one of my favorites, and the dynamics between the members are so interesting and complex. It makes for a wonderful story.

Warnings: Some cussing. Talk of childhood neglect and eating disorders. Please be aware of this before reading. Thank you.

Jason knows he's done some stupid things in his past life. He knows he's done some stupid things in his current life. He even knows he'll probably do some stupid things in his next life as well. -Will you look at the Buddhist he's turning into; won't the gods above be proud- What he doesn't know is what was so bad as to garner the absolute mess he's dealing with right now.

He and Tim were just having dinner after patrol. Or rather, Jason is broke so he's heating up a can of off-brand chicken noodle soup as their dinner, and Tim is keeping up a steady stream of conversation from the barstool he's perched himself on. Which is fine, by Jason's standards. The kid may only speak in SAT words and geek terminology Jason will never understand, but Tim is currently the only member of the Batclan Jason's on decent terms with, or at least, the only one he'll admit to. So the babbling is accepted, irritably of course because Jason has an image to upkeep, and for the most part, the night goes relatively smoothly.

And then Jason's making a comment about how little Tim eats and barely avoids burning his house down in the aftermath.

"Come on, baby bird. Stop pecking at that chex mix and actually put some weight on that stick body of yours." Jason flicks the tip of spoon he's been using to stir the soup in his brother's direction. Tim laughs and smacks him in the face with an accurately aimed pretzel.

"Not everyone needs to scarf down their food like you do Jay. Besides, it's a habit. My parents didn't like it much when I ate."

Jason rolls his eyes and turns back to the soup. "No parent likes to see their kid eat, Timmers. If you haven't noticed, kids are gross, and your high society parental unit probably regretted the idea of children after the first time you spit up on your mother's thirty-three-thousand-dollar pantsuit."

Another snort greets him, along with a scraping sound, as Tim drags his chair along his kitchen floor, likely to get a better vantage point to pelt his brother with salty snack food. "Yah, yah, make fun of my upbringing why don't you, Jay. You have a point though. Did you know they only let me eat once a day, and even then, they didn't stay long enough to see it? I'm pretty sure they thought breakfast was the devil." His voice picks up in a high, tinny falsetto. " 'Eating is unbecoming of a young man, Timothy. Listen to your father and I, or the Nanny will keep you for the gala tonight.' "

Tim goes as far as to put air quotes around the saying. Jason goes as far as to almost drop the towel he's using to pull the soup off the stove straight into the burner.

"They what?" He clambers to shut off the stove and turn back to his brother because really how is he supposed to respond to that? "What the hell do you mean 'eating is unbecoming of a young man.' What- They owned a mansion! What kind of a bullshit statement is that?"

Tim shrugs. "The truth I guess. I am, after all, the only heir to the Drake fortune. I had to look presentable."

"And they did that by what; starving you?"

"I wasn't starved."

"You only ate once a day." Jason points out in a voice much too tiny for his pride to ever admit. "That's not normal."

"It as a reasonable solution. I was a bit overweight at the time."

"A bit -a bit overweight?" Jason feels vaguely sick. He wonders if he'll ever be able to eat after this. It's ironic and slightly sadistic to think about. "Tim you, seventeen and soaking wet, weigh less than Steph after she's gone on one of those no-waffle diets. Hell, probably less than Damian does at this point, with his recent growth spurt. You might as well label yourself underweight for officially weighing less than a moderately sized twelve-year-old."

"Only by half a pound." Tim says calmly, as if Jason's in the wrong for freaking out over this, as if Tim's not skin and bones and sinewy muscle that never looks quite right on the teen because Jason can loop two fingers around his forearm easy and that's never sat well with him. "And besides, it hasn't always been that way. I was pretty heavy as a kid."

Jason's certain Tim's never been 'pretty heavy' in his life. He has to bite down the pathetic motherly urge to take whatever non-perishables he has in his cupboard and stuff it down the kid's throat.

"So because you were a bit -and I stress a bit- overweight they had the right to starve you to get you where they wanted you?"

"They didn't starve me, Jason; stop calling it that. It was just a strict diet. Food only in the morning or afternoons; no desserts; sometimes they'd make me skip meals for a day or two if I put on a little too much weight. Nothing extensive."

Nothing extensive. Not feeding your child is nothing extensive. Jason is going to puke.

Tim however looks perfectly content with the conversation, even looking around and smiling when he looks off to the side into the living room.

"Hey, you have cable! Have you ever watched Criminal Minds? I mean it's not the most realistic thing but it's still good." He hops off the barstool he's sitting in, and clamors over to the living room couch. "I'll be in here if you need me, Jay. Tell me when dinner's done."

And just like that the conversation is over. Jason reflexively turns the stove back on and starts reheating their dinner. Five minutes later, the soup is boiling over and Jason is kneeling beside his toilet, losing his lunch.

Dinner is an ...unpleasant affair. The soup is off the table (and the pot and the counter; it'd over-boiled piled on the stove when Jason got back from the bathroom and no amount of nudging from Tim would get him to clean it up), but after the conversation they've had, Jason is not going to forgo a meal entirely. Instead, they wind up eating cold turkey sandwiches and snacking off Tim's value-sized bag of pretzels on the couch. Some marathon of some crime show Jason can't remember the name of plays while they're eating. Tim spends the entire time criticizing the techniques of the main actor and nibbling away at a sandwich he doesn't even finish half of. Jason spends the entire time silently wondering how he's going to breach the subject of how incredibly wrong Tim's parents were about their son's health.

Neither action really comes to fruition. Tim, tired out from patrol and likely a non-stop work week at WE, crashes somewhere between the third and fourth episode they watch. Jason can't find it in himself to wake him, especially if all he wants to do is comment on the shittiness of the kid's parents. Instead, he gently slips out from underneath Tim, who at some point has lolled his head onto the other man's shoulder, and lumbers off into his bedroom, swearing softly under his breath all the while. His phone is still on his nightstand and he glares at it, angrily debating his choices, before punching in a two into his speed dial. Dick's half-awake voice answers on the second ring.

"Officer Richard Grayson, Bludhaven PD-"

"Hey Dick." Jason breathes, and knows his brother has fully woken without so much as another sound from the other end. Jason can count on one hand the number of times he has called Dick's personal cell, and apparently Dick remembers this too because suddenly, his voice rings with a clarity that shouldn't be legal or even obtainable at four seventeen in the morning.

"Jason." Dick says reverently, as if he never expected to hear his brother's voice again. There's about three seconds of just silence, probably Dick absorbing the fact that his wayward little brother called him willingly before the panic sets in and he fires off question after question into Jason's waiting ear. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come pick you up? I can do that; I'm only half an hour away. If it's an emergency, I can wake up Babs or Bruce, I know you and him aren't on the best of terms but if you're in trouble he'll come; I'll make him-"

"I'm fine, Goldie. I'm not hurt." Jason's eyes roll until they catch Tim's sleeping form, glance over the tv-illuminated glow of his concave belly, the slight but obvious curve of his ribs, and the fire from earlier reignites in his chest, scalding and reminiscent of the hatred that pooled there after his stint with the Lazarus Pits. "Actually, scratch that. I'm not fine; hell, I'll never be fine again."

"Jason, what-"

"No! You have no excuse, Dick! You lived with him for five goddamn years. Did you or Bruce or Alfred never think to set the kid right on his health or on the eating habits that are tearing him apart."

"Who ar-"

Jason ignored him. "Jesus, I thought you were big brother central over there; I thought you would be the first to smack some sense into the kid because his abusive, neglectful son-of-a-bitch parents screwed him up royally and you are the key keeper to unscrewing-"

"JASON!"

He can't help the automatic way his tongue glues itself to the roof of his mouth at the tone. It's a Robin-fueled instinct that he's never been able to shake, despite having given up the green tights years ago. That tone means 'shut up and obey' and Jason hates himself for forfeiting to it so quickly.

There's a sigh from the other end. "Jay, I have no idea what you're talking about, or even who you're talking about. Lived with for five years… Are you talking about Tim?"

The anger in his chest burns red-hot. It scalds hot acid in his mind, up his throat, against his tongue. "Damn straight, I'm talking about Tim! Did you not notice the kid's parents basically starved him before he came to you? That he continued the tradition when he moved in? The kid's barely getting enough calories to satisfy a child Damian's age, much less a seventeen-year-old that does what he does on a daily basis!"

There's vague sputtering on the utter line before Dick's voice comes in, panicked and utterly confused. "Starving himself? I- what- no. We would never-! I..When Tim came to live with us, he said his stomach bothered him when he ate sometimes, so we went to Leslie's and got him pills and Alfred made his portions smaller but he practically loaded them with supplements to make up for it! Alfred would never condone Tim not having enough to eat. Neither would Bruce, not that, never something like that, and I-" He breaks off horrified. "Starving himself? His parents owned a mansion nearly the size of Bruce's and they made him starve himself?"

Dick sounds like he's ready to cry, and for a brief second moment, Jason is ready to crucify him again despite it, because how could they miss it? The signs are so obvious to anyone with street knowledge..

Except Bruce and Dick have none of that, a traitorous part of his mind whispers. Sure they have street smarts, but knowledge? No. Neither of the two have ever experienced living there. Bruce was raised by millionaires in a mansion with parents who, for eight years of his life, adored him wholeheartedly. He probably had full run of the place: when he slept, where he played, and especially what he ate. He'd never had to scrounge for food, or not eat for days on end. The detective in him probably wouldn't have even picked up on the signs because Tim was so damnably alright with the entire ordeal, not to mention the grief that Jason's death had inflicted on the man. When Tim arrived, Bruce likely wasn't even seeing straight, much less well enough to focus on the caloric intake of a twelve-year old that he only saw between the hours of eleven and two in the morning. Golden Boy was even less likely to notice the signs. He'd bounced from one household that may have been poor but had parents that would have given up their last meal to him if he'd expressed even the idea of being hungry, to a house where food was abundant and a literal butler waited on your every beck and call. The signs that Tim still display are obvious to Jason because at some point he was Tim, half-starved though certainly with a different viewpoint on the matter. But to Dick and Bruce? The signs might as well be written in Swahili and doused in invisible ink.

Not to mention, Jason knows for a fact that neither Dick or Bruce would never stand for something like this. Despite the all-consuming anger clouding his judgement right now, he can still remember the first time Dick learned on the street that he hadn't always had enough to eat or even anything to eat at all. His brother had been horrified, eyes wide and skin pale, before immediately going down to make Jason whatever he wanted in the kitchen. That had ended in a disaster, as Dick's cooking always did, but the image, the meaning, still stood out clear in Jason's mind. Dick would never, in any universe, let his brothers starve; he would never in any universe let his brothers hurt, not willingly, not without consequences for their abuser.

Bruce taking him in and giving him his first hot meal in days breezed through his mind, and Jason had to shake himself of the warmth that came with the memory. The wreck of emotions that came with thinking of his father wasn't something he needed right now. All he had to focus on was the fact that his older brother had no knowledge of Tim's problem. It made him breathe easier. Some part of him, small and quiet as it may be, still held Dick up on that same pedestal he did when he was twelve and wearing green and yellow, when his older brother was this strong, smiling figure that teased him and tousled his hair and yelled at Bruce in his defense. Though he'd never say it out loud, he was glad his childhood hero still made the cut. Even if he did have the worst fashion sense in the entire vigilante business.

Jason shook his head again to clear his thoughts, and then put his phone back to his ear. Dick is still babbling on the other end of the line, has been throughout the time Jason tuned him out no doubt, and now he's practically yelling into the receiver in the nice, frenzied, guilt-ridden panic that his brother is known so well for.

"Is Tim with you? Because I need to talk to him; I need to apologize and I-I need to make something. No, my food isn't that good; I uhh.. I'll pick something up, something with protein and carbs. That's healthy right? Chicken has protein in it, and bread has carbs right, so would a chicken sandwich work, right Jason? Jason?"

"Yah, Goldie. It'll be fine." He glances back over at the somehow still slumbering Tim and shakes his head. "The Replacement's with me and sleeping anyway. I know you have work in the morning-"

"Damn my work!" Dick snaps with such vehemence that Jason flinches automatically at the sudden mood shift from the most amiable of his brothers. The sound of a motorcycle starting hums through the line. "Family first, Jason. Always. I can take off work. I can get a new job if it comes down to it. What I can't do is help Tim, not if I'm a city away focused on my work. I've already neglected to notice this was an issue for the past four years; I'm not going to dismiss it for another few hours because it'll be convenient for me."

In that moment, Jason loves his brother more than he ever has before. Because Bruce would have waited till morning and they both know it, and Jason doesn't think he can wait till then to have someone, anyone, to talk to about this. He wants to rave to the world how wonderful Dick freaking Grayson is, tell them how much he needs his older brother despite the fact he's twenty-one and can handle himself just fine. He wants to and he can't and the words that come spewing out of his mouth taste slick and rank, like used motor oil.

"Oh calm yourself, Perfect One. I already talked to the kid." Now that's a blatant lie. "Unlike you, I know what it's like to go hungry."

All sounds except for the smooth hum of Dick's bike stop in a sudden gush of air. God, Jason's a jerk. He doesn't deserve the second chance at life he's been given because he's such a gigantic asshole. He might as well shoot himself in the foot for how good this conversation's going; why the hell did he say that? Why would he-

"You're right."

Jason swears his heart stops in his chest. "I'm what?"

"You're right, Jason; I don't know what that's like. Mami and Tati always made sure I had enough to eat, even when we didn't have much at all. And I'm sorry, Jay, that you, that both of you didn't have that. I am so, unbelievably sorry. But do not think just because I haven't gone through it, doesn't mean I will not help you to overcome it. I may not know what it feels like to go hungry, but I will not sit back and watch you or Tim suffer like some stranger when I could damn well be there like your brother. So I am going to show up at the door of whichever one of your apartments the two of you are at in half an hour with food and drinks and a tub of neopolitan ice cream that I know you and Tim both like, and we are going to talk like semi-civilized human beings about how we are going to fix this problem, is that understood?"

Jason has to restrain the urge to laugh, probably slightly hysterically. Even after all these years, Dick is still the eternally forgiving sixteen year old he grew up with. Now he just wears actual pants and happens to sound like (and be) a cop. Jason wants to cry. He restrains himself by very little.

"Alright." He finally whispers, feeling all of twelve years old again, cowering behind Dick because Bruce had gotten mad again. "We're at my apartment. I'll uh...leave the door open. Do you want me to wake The Replacement?"

"No, let him sleep. We can wake him in the morning."

Jason nods, even though Dick can't see him and goes to hang up his phone. He stops at the last possible minute.

"Dick?"

"Yah, Jay?"

"Thanks, for this. For… for everything." He slams his phone shut, but not before he hears the ghost of Dick's voice whispering,

"No need. Love you too, Little Wing."

Jason walks his way back to the couch, and scoots him closer to Tim until he can hear the soft breaths of the sleeping teen. Then he turns towards the door and waits for his brother.

I'll go through all the Bat-siblings (including the girls), and try to update every couple of days or so. If you find any inconsistencies in the story or have anything to add, don't hesitate to contact me. As always, have a great day!

-D. SAM