Should I warn people about swearing in this chapter?
Disclaimer: Ain't mine
Smaller
Tim wished he was smaller. That was something that rarely happened, what with him already being at least a foot shorter than all the other 11 year old's in his class. But at moments like this, he wished he was even smaller.
Jason and Mr. Bruce were arguing again. Tim was sitting on the kitchen table, and ten feet away, at the refridgerator, Jason yelled how unfair this all was.
"I've been training since I was seven-what was the point of all that?"
"To keep you safe, not to bring you into more danger." Somehow, Mr. Bruce's calm voice was scarier than his shouting.
"That's not what you said last year! I was ready, I was going to join you, I did everything you asked, learned everything you told me to, you even said I'd be ready by this point to join you and-"
"You aren't ready, and that's final." Bruce had began to walk out of the room, towards the door behind Tim, who shrank more into his seat and pushed around his pancakes.
"I'm not the one who isn't fucking ready!" Jason said, his voice tightening, in the way it does when he's angrier than usual.
"You aren't ready, Bruce. But that's not fair. Dick wouldn't want me to-"
"Enough!" Bruce had turned back around, and now his fists were shaking, and Tim knew he shouldn't stare but he couldn't not. This was the first time Dick's name was mentioned in-what, a month? Two? At least, while Tim was here-And each time there was not a good reaction.
"He isn't dead!" Jason persisted, voice raising a few pitches. No doubt afraid of how angry his adoptive father is now, but refusing to stop, as is Jason's nature.
"He isn't dead, he's just-missing. And the sooner you let me out on the streets and out there to help you, the sooner we will find him!" Tim gripped his fork tightly in his hand, and watched Bruce's reaction. The man seemed to show no emotion but anger. His chest didn't move, which Tim only noticed after years of his own training under the bat.
"Jason." Bruce's voice wasn't soft exactly-the man didn't do soft-but it wasn't rough. It wasn't angry. It was pitiful. Jason rolled his eyes and looked away.
"Your brother is…" But Bruce couldn't say it. Tim didn't want him to.
"He was 9 when he started."
There was a quiet beat, in which Tim awaited another bout of yelling. Instead, Bruce sighed.
"Tonight. For two hours-or less, if I see you act in any way other than perfect. You will do small jobs, not including any action, until I say otherwise. That may be months, or forever, and there will be no complaints or halts in your training or school work. Understood?"
Jason looked with wide eyes. He nodded his head and grinned.
"Yeah, dad, understood."
"Now finished your homework and don't bother me for the rest of the day, I have work." And the man turned and walked out of the large kitchen, up to his study where he would be spending the next ten hours doing nothing but work. Paper work and solving little crimes, he found distraction in work.
Jason found distraction in fighting, training to fight and planning to fight, and now he would have exactly that every night.
"He still might take it back." Tim told the blond, as he sat down to finish his now cold pancakes.
"Nah." Jason shovel a piece into his mouth. "Not this time. See the look on his face? He always freezes up when I mention Dick."
Tim hesitated. "You know why he didn't want you to…"
Jason shrugged. "I understand slightly. I don't understand why he gave up. Why they all just-you know what? This is a happy day, tonight I get to go out as Robin, you get to spend the whole day here, first day of spring break, let's enjoy it, ok?"
Tim nodded and pretended to ignore Jason's clogged throat or lack of eye contact. They finished their food, and Jason asked Tim to go and get the others to swim.
