Yearly Habit
A Word: For the special traditions theme of the 12 Days of JayTim.
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Tim picks his way through the attic of the manor. It's organized and clean unlike the attic of the home he grew up in, and even the manor next door that hadn't had that much in it. It's Alfred's influence and Tim's grateful for it as he has a multitude of clean and clear spots to chose from. He settles for a spot of floor that's shielded from the attic entrance by a wall of boxes and dumps his pile of blankets down. Kicking the thick cloth out until he has a decent pallet to collapse on.
He flips a fold over his legs and settles himself comfortably until he's on his back. Looking up at the barely illuminated rafters from the window he'd uncovered earlier. Another benefit of the manor is the fact that the entire place is heated. Even the attic is warm enough when compared to the temperatures outside. Tim only needs a few blankets to keep himself comfortable through the night.
He pulls out his iPod and hits shuffle before putting the earbuds in. Closing his eyes and relaxing as something that isn't the festive music Dick and Jason have been guerrilla blasting at each other all day plays. He relaxes utterly and quickly falls into a dreamless sleep.
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Tim's aware, on some level, that he's not alone. Truly deep sleep he doesn't wake up from hasn't been an option for Tim since Bruce first sent him abroad. Shiva had killed that habit fast. He knows he's not alone, but the person isn't someone he considers a threat. At least not at the moment.
So he sleeps, mind blank of anything but the music he's not really hearing anymore. Aware of the presence winding through the attic longer than it should for a quick look. Stopping over Tim and standing there silently. Tim's not really tired. He's gotten more than enough sleep to cover his sleep debt so the continued presence bothers him. Nudging him until he reluctantly surfaces from the comfortable doze he'd been swimming in. Eyes cracking open to look up at Jason.
The sun's rising and Tim has more light to see by, but Jason's bent over him at an angle that leaves most of his face in shadows for the moment. Tim pulls the earbuds out and frowns up at the man, "What?"
"Dick says it's a Christmas tradition to find you before presents can be opened," Jason eventually says and there's nothing in his voice. No anger or amusement or scorn. Nothing that Tim's so used to hearing. "He made it sound like a game."
Tim groans and drags himself up. Yawning and stretching as he contemplates the dangers of Dick unleashing Damian on him. Not because he thinks the boy is eager to open his presents, but because he knows the boy is overly eager to get the whole holiday over and done with as fast as possible. Tim understands his desire though, Tim can't wait for it to be over with either. He just chooses to put it off for as long as he possibly can. Normally he can get away with hiding until noon.
"Sure," Tim thumbs the iPod off and starts wrapping the earbuds around it. Reluctant to move from his warm nest of blankets but knowing better than to fight it. "Tell them I'll be down in a bit."
"Yeah, see, here's the thing," Jason drawls and Tim looks back up with a frown, "I kinda fail to see how this is a game."
"It's Dick," Tim says and kicks the blankets away enough to stand up. Shivering a little as he looses the heat he's built up. He slips the iPod into the waist band of his sleeping pants and bends to gather the blankets. "He thinks it's a game to see who gets shot at the most each night."
"Well, yeah," Jason raises an eyebrow and doesn't move out of the way as Tim turns towards him. "But that is a game, there's an element of chance there. I'm not seeing the chance here."
"Really," Tim deadpans and settles himself in because Jason's doing that thing he does when he's trying to figure something out. Talking the whole thing through while his brain is already reaching the conclusion. "Do tell."
"See, Dick said the first time he found you in the attic here, and the second time the attic of your place," Jason continues as if Tim hadn't said a single thing. "And here you are again. In the attic."
"Hooray," Tim says and moves to brush past Jason but the man slides to the side and Tim doesn't particularly want to hop over the boxes he'd thought would work as a shield. "Jason, come on. Let's get this over with. Alright?"
"Doesn't seem like a game to me if you're always in the same damn place," Jason says. Again, as if Tim hadn't spoken. Tim huffs and remains silent when Jason stares at him. If he's not going to hear anything then Tim's not talking until he gets to his point. "Seems to me like you're just holing up and trying to sleep the day away."
Jason's eyes are shrewd and sharp. Like they get when he's ready to add a wild element to a straightforward fight or pull the rug out from under someone. As the person who's almost swallowed his own teeth one too many times after seeing that look, Tim is instantly wary and angry.
"Why do you always hide on Christmas?"
"Habit," Tim says through his teeth. It's not like it's a secret, like he's hiding it, but no one has ever asked before and Tim's never had to explain it to anyone. "I always-" Tim shrugs and shifts on his feet. Looking over Jason's shoulder at the window where the sunlight is getting brighter. "Christmas is just another day, Jason. A day like every other day in the year. People just put too much emphasis and meaning on it."
"Uh huh," Jason sounds bored and twirls one finger in the air. "You gotta point here? Or should I make myself comfortable for the lecture about mommy and daddy not loving you enough?"
Tim tastes something close to blood when he clenches his jaw hard. His parents loved him. Tim knows that. Now. He just also knows that the way they loved him wasn't the way he wanted them to love him. It's probably the most normal and average thing about him there is in his life.
"December was the only month my parents stayed at home for more than a week," Tim doesn't let anything angry or bitter enter his voice. He's not giving Jason the satisfaction. "Because it was expected of them. Not because they wanted it, and it showed. They got angry and miserable the longer they were home. By the time Christmas actually came around they weren't fit to be around. The attic was the only place where I couldn't hear them," the only place he could be where he could pretend everything was alright.
That his parents were in love and loved him just as much. Curled up under a few sleeping bags and dreaming they were going to open presents and laugh and then have pancakes. And he'd stay there the whole day until it got late enough that they had to put on their smiles and stop their screaming for the event of the night. The one where people would see them.
He doesn't say anything about that. Jason's being a dick on purpose to provoke Tim into spilling more than he wants, and it's in his best interest not to respond. Tim flicks his eyes back to Jason and makes a show of being bored. "It's just a habit, Jason. Satisfied?"
"No," Jason says and before Tim can snap at him he pulls the blankets from Tim's arms. Tossing them back onto the floor. He hooks a foot around Tim's ankle and tumbles them both to the floor. Tim grunts as he hits and Jason lands half on him. The man rolls. Pinning Tim to his chest until their position is switched. "Habit my ass."
It's an aggressive hug. The only kind Jason gives, and Tim's slowly gotten used to. Just like he got used to the way Dick likes to tuck him in under one arm, the hand Bruce likes to leave on his shoulder, Alfred's constant straightening of Tim's clothes. Steph's random hugs, Cass's fingers poking his cheeks, even the way Damian sometimes sits a good six inches too close. Not touching but undeniably close. It's basic physicality and it doesn't make Tim twitch anymore. He's had time to get used to it, to expect it even.
He's still a bit behind on giving back though.
Tim lets his hands rest where they fell. One one Jason's shoulder and the other limp on the floor. He lets his head fall down though and that seems good enough. He's still angry at the really low blow, but this is an apology. Wordless and kinda assholish. Just like Jason.
"You know what I used to do every December?" Tim doesn't answer because Jason's going to tell him anyway. "I used to troll around the city and find fancy looking parties to crash. No one looks twice at a kid, even if he's wearing jeans and a sweater."
Ah, Tim smiles a little, because he finds he does actually know this about Jason. It's true. Children were always seen at those parties, but not really paid attention to. Tim would be introduced to certain people, be expected to nod and smile for a few minutes, and then he could just wander away. Watch the parties from the edges of the room. Tim has always been good at that. Which was why he'd seen the boy that didn't belong to any of the families there immediately.
The boy had slipped into the ballroom without notice and followed a younger couple for a bit before veering off toward the catering. No one paid the boy any bit of attention as he took a plate. Well, except for one of the waitstaff who'd been eying the boy's shoes with obvious suspicion. Making his way towards him.
He was going to get kicked out. Tim had stood there for a bit before deciding to act. He was closer and got to the boy first. Tim reached out and grabbed the boy's hand. Ignoring the way it made him jump and whirl. "Hi."
The boy frowned and tensed. Ready to run or yell maybe. Tim never did figure out which it was.
"You boys finding everything alright?" The man loomed over both of them. Eyes still suspicious but lingering on the hand Tim held. Uncertain.
Tim smiled up at the man. The same smile he used at the beginning of the night. "Yes, my friend and I just got hungry."
"Good," the man smiled, still uncertain, but knowing enough to not question it any further. He melted back into the background and Tim let go of the boy's hand.
Sharp eyes studied Tim, and there was a frown etched deep in the boy's face that faded fast. "Here," an empty plate got shoved into his hands. "Hold this."
Tim had taken it and patiently followed the boy down the line. Watching food pile up on both of the plates. The boy didn't say anything else and Tim didn't try. He didn't ask for a name as he followed the boy to a corner where seats had been set up, and didn't offer his either.
The boy had immediately started eating. Eyes darting to Tim occasionally, in between looking at his plate, and assessing the ball. It was a few minutes before the boy asked, "What do you do here?"
Tim shrugged and looked at the room. The dancing was getting ready to start. "This. There isn't much to do."
"That's boring," the boy declared. His plate is empty and he didn't ask before grabbing the one Tim had been picking at. "Aren't there any other kids here?"
The Wallace twins, but they were teenagers. Talking with the adults like they're older than they were and didn't have time for any of the younger kids. "Sometimes, but there's still not much to do."
"That sucks," the boy said without any real feeling or commiseration, and Tim doesn't fault him for it. He's had an idea of where the boy was from and why he was crashing the party. "There's not much here besides the rich and the food is there?"
"No," Tim had swung his legs and spun the empty plate in his hands. The ball was being held at a hotel. A nice one, but that's all it had been. Nice.
"How about the cars?" The boy asked with a grin that didn't apologize for what he was implying. "They anywhere close?"
"Yes, but," Tim frowned, he didn't like what the boy was implying. Taking food that wouldn't have been eaten was one thing, but stealing was another. Not that, Tim's eyes flickered through the crowd again, anyone in the room would have a problem replacing what was taken. He didn't lie though when he told the boy, "It's valet parking. They have a secluded garage floor for it, and they don't like letting people in there."
Which, Tim had thought, had more to do with the fact they kept some pretty illegal looking goods stored there -ready for any guest who had the money- than security. Tim was small and very good at getting into places he wasn't supposed to be in even back then.
"That sucks," the boy had said again. With more feeling as he looked around the now swaying couples and groups of laughing people. He'd smirked at Tim then. "Well, not much for me to do here either."
The boy had stood up and placed the plate on the chair, and Tim had watched as he walked right back out the way he came in. Leaving Tim alone again.
Tim remembers it because he remembers everything. He doubts that Jason does though. Doubts that he ever gave the little boy he'd met that night more than a second thought. He would now, but back then Jason had more things to worry about than a bored and well cared for rich kid.
"Could always get a decent meal," Jason stretches out and folds the arm not holding Tim in place under his head. He stops moving and lets out a sigh. Eyes closing. He's obviously not going to be moving anytime soon, and neither is Tim. Tim doesn't exactly mind but he wonders why. "Maybe something a bit more than that. Always used to depend on what the party was for."
Tim hides his smile though Jason won't be able to see it. "Did you steal the tires of all of high society too? Or was Bruce just special?"
"Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep," Jason says without opening his eyes. The arm around Tim tightens in warning once before relaxing. "Dick can learn a little restraint for once. Fuckhead woke me up two hours ago."
Tim blinks and frowns. Decides it's not really worth it to poke the dubious thinking processes of Jason, and closes his eyes. Letting himself doze again. This time to the sound of Jason's heartbeat under his cheek.
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