Alfred paused outside Tim's door, his hand poised to knock. He reconsidered. If the boy was asleep, he'd prefer that he remained that way. He'd been getting terrible sleep in the hospital, too light, constantly interrupted.

Instead, he shifted the pile of cloth he was carrying and set his hand on the doorknob. He turned it gently and opened the door a few inches, then stepped inside. A sharp intake of breath from the direction of the bed had him raising his eyebrows as he looked over.

Oh. Jason was there, sitting with Tim against an enormous pile of pillows. Tim was asleep, his head cradled on Jason's chest, and Jason's arms were folded carefully around his shirtless torso. Jason grimaced, staring at Alfred like he'd been caught jumping on the furniture, face inexplicably pale, but Alfred felt only warmth in his chest.

"Hey, Alfie," Jason said, sotto voce. "Sorry I didn't come in the door like a civilized person."

Oh, was that what the boy was ashamed of? Alfred glanced at the window, still open, then hummed gently and stepped toward the bed. He allowed a smile. "Not at all, Master Jason. I'm immensely pleased to see you here, no matter your manner of entrance."

He set the bundle down at the foot of the bed, then moved around to the window to close it, shutting out the nippy night air. He did not turn the latch, though, aware of traumatized children and their need for easy escape routes.

"Yeah, okay." Jason dared to raise his voice to a murmur when it was clear that Tim would not be easily roused. He tipped his head toward the clothes Alfred had left on the bed. "What's that?"

Alfred returned to the pile and lifted up the top one to display it. "Just a few of Master Bruce's t-shirts. Most of his children prefer to wear them when they're under the weather, including you, once upon a time. The last time..." He lowered the shirt in his hands. "Well, the last time Master Tim was ill and living here, he wore them for nearly a week. But that was, good Lord, more than a year ago."

He frowned at the boy in Jason's arms. "He's been away too long."

And he was far too thin. Without the clothes Tim usually wore like armor—and the armor he wore like clothes—it was frighteningly apparent just how visible his ribs were, how lean he was from toe to tip. Bruce's shirts had been baggy on Tim before, but now they would be cavernous.

Jason snorted quietly. "I can see what you're thinking, Alfred, old man. He's too skinny." His voice revealed nothing but hearty agreement with the sentiment. "Speaking of last times... Yeah, the last time I was sort of holding him, he was a lot stockier than this. Kids are supposed to get bigger as they age, not smaller."

Alfred's forehead wrinkled. He could not recall a time when Jason might have held Tim like this. More was the pity—they should have been brothers, should have been close enough for physical contact, wrestling on the rug, cuddles on the couch, from the time Tim had come into their lives. The Joker had taken a great deal from all of them in that blasted warehouse in Ethiopia, including from Tim.

Jason looked ashamed again, less rabbit caught in the headlights, more hound dog hanging his head. "You can't remember when I held him because you weren't there. It was... It was when I was holding a knife to his throat, threatening to kill him in front of Bruce."

"Ah." Alfred held up the shirt again. "Well, help me get this on him, would you?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hip nearly butting against Tim's, and maneuvered the shirt in his hands until it resembled a ring of cloth. Jason sat forward slightly, shifting Tim in his arms. Between the two of them, they managed to get Tim draped in the soft, warm fabric with very little trouble, then let him lounge back against Jason's chest again.

Jason, who was still wearing his leather jacket and crusty jeans and smelled rather a lot like smoke and alcohol... Alfred looked him up and down, and Jason fidgeted.

"You aren't going to say anything about me trying to kill Tim?"

If he hadn't been weighed down by a sleeping teenage boy, he would have been ready to bolt at any second. He might have already fled. Alfred knew that, and he was grateful to Tim, once again, for helping to save what was lost without even seeming to try. As if it was effortless, though Alfred knew it was anything but. As if it was just what Tim did, who he was.

He looked Jason in the eyes. "I rather think that's between you and Master Tim, my dear boy. He has accepted your presence without reservation. In fact, here he is sleeping against you, without the slightest sign of stirring, and you know as well as I do that that is a grand achievement in a family as wary as this one. I think we can agree that of all your siblings, Tim is the one you have caused the most pain and turmoil. If he has forgiven you so utterly, the rest of us would do well to follow his lead."

Jason relaxed, somewhat, then grimaced and tensed up for another reason. "Actually, could you give me a hand?"

"Of course, my boy. With what?"

"Can you take Timmy for me? Just for a little bit." He looked down at the boy in his arms, then lowered his voice. "I have to pee. I've been needing to for a while, but..." He shrugged. "It's like having a cat fall asleep on you. Moving is basically illegal right now."

Alfred chuckled soundlessly and held out his arms. "Pass him here."

"Whuh... Not like that, Alfie. You gotta, like, sit over here, and we'll just..."

It took some maneuvering, but Alfred was finally positioned to Jason's satisfaction, and Jason very carefully, very gently tilted Tim into his arms. Alfred folding his arms around him, mirroring what Jason had been doing. Tim's head rolled into a sheltered dip on his shoulder, a sleepy murmur stumbling from his lips. Jason stared at him for a second or two, frozen, then relaxed minutely and pushed to his feet.

Alfred tucked his chin over Tim's head and watched Jason move toward the en suite bathroom. "Why don't you go on and shower while you're in there, Master Jason? You can take one of those t-shirts to change into when you're done."

Jason paused and scowled down at the shirts still at the foot of the bed, his eyes narrowed. "I'm not sick, Alfred. I don't need my daddy's old gym clothes to comfort me."

"Don't you?"

Jason huffed and kept walking, then suddenly paused. He turned back and swept up one of the shirts, movements sharp and angry. "This is only because I didn't pack a bag, and the clothes I'm wearing smell like a bar."

Alfred nodded pleasantly. "Of course. I would never presume to say otherwise. I'll stop at your place tomorrow and pick up some supplies for you. You can make a list."

Jason turned to face him fully, his mouth agape. "Who says I'm not going back myself?"

"Why, you did, I do believe. Didn't you declare yourself to be Master Tim's bodyguard? Twenty-four/seven, I believe that was the deal you made."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"But what? Did you change your mind?"

Jason blinked. And blinked. Then he shook his head.

"Then I will help you to keep your promise," Alfred said firmly. "Anything you need, I will be happy to provide."

More than happy. Beyond happy. Ecstatic. The thought of Jason staying in this house again, even for just the period of Tim's recovery or until that monster, Gary McDaniels, was apprehended... Alfred was over the moon just thinking about it, and he would do anything to make sure it happened. Including a bit of gentle manipulation. Or guilt-tripping, as Dick would call it.

Jason continued to look pole-axed for a moment, then grimaced and shook his head. "You're a real piece of work sometimes, you know that, old man?"

Alfred nodded amiably. "I have never pretended to be otherwise." He lifted one hand to shoo him toward the bathroom. "Go on, get that shower. Master Tim and I will be just fine here."

Jason wrinkled his nose, but finally turned on his heel and finished his journey to the bathroom, grumbling as he went. Alfred listened to the door close and the water turn on. He could feel Tim's breathing against his chest, the warmth of his body pressed along his, the tickling of his hair under his chin. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to soak it in.

All too soon, another sound grabbed his attention, and he lifted his head and opened his eyes. Tim's bedroom door had opened again, and there stood Bruce in the doorway, staring at them. "Ah. Hello, Alfred."

Alfred gave him a nod. "Master Bruce."

"I was just going to stop by and check on Tim before going on patrol. I didn't expect to find you here." He looked toward the bathroom and tilted his head, listening. "Is that the shower? Who else is here?"

Still that enormous warmth in his chest, through his entire body, to have his second grandson under the same roof again. "It's Master Jason."

Bruce's shoulders relaxed. "He came back. Good." He looked back to Alfred and Tim on the bed, his eyes passing tenderly over the sleeping boy nestled in Alfred's arms. "You took over for him, I presume?"

"Ah, yes. I came in to find Master Jason and Master Tim...cuddling, I suppose you might say. Master Jason said, and I quote, that it was 'basically illegal' for him to move while Master Tim was sleeping on him. But he needed to use the facilities, so he asked me to take his place for a time."

There was something both dark and light in Bruce's eyes, happy and jealous at once. "I see. I could take over for you, now that I'm here. Let you get on about your business."

Alfred sniffed. "I think not. We're both quite comfortable where we are. Besides, weren't you about to go on patrol?"

Bruce scowled and leaned backward to peer down the hall, as if someone might be listening. "Yes. Dick and Damian are waiting for me. Cass has already gone out."

But then he went back to staring at them, shifting from foot to foot and looking so hang-dog and pitiful that Alfred began to regret his disdain of earlier.

He sighed and tightened his arms around Tim, just a fraction. He took a moment to relish in his weight against him, light as it was. "You know, you could skip patrol tonight. You've been out the previous two."

Bruce hnned. "I suppose. But Tim wants me to go out."

"He might relent, since he's no longer in hospital and the media presence is not quite so oppressive. Besides, he's asleep at the moment. He can hardly argue his case while he's dead to the world."

Bruce made a considering noise.

"But if you did take my place, you would have to deal with Master Jason when he emerges from the bathroom. It might be awkward."

Bruce stood straighter, his eyes sharpening. "I can deal with awkward. I can deal with...Jason." His shoulders slumped at the last, uncertain again.

Alfred softened. "You've been needing to talk to him for quite some time. This might be the best opportunity."

"I don't want him to feel...trapped. Into a conversation with me."

"Then don't trap him. If Jason wants you to leave, leave. But you can at least try. Master Tim needs you. All of you. You owe it to him, if not to yourselves, to try to learn to coexist."

Bruce stood still for a long moment, thinking it over. Then he gave a decisive nod. "You're right."

He moved over to the bed, to the opposite side from where Alfred perched, and lowered himself down to sit against the pile of pillows where Jason had been sitting not long ago. The bed dipped under his weight, and Tim murmured nonsensically in his sleep at the disturbance of his nest. Bruce held out his arms, beckoning impatiently with both hands. "Give him here."

Alfred huffed. He was reluctant to give up Tim's presence despite his arguments to the contrary. Still, any method to begin a conversation between Bruce and Jason was worth trying. He carefully rolled the boy into his father's arms, taking the moment to silently apologize for disturbing him twice in the course of ten minutes. It was a testament to Tim's utter exhaustion that he still seemed to be asleep, despite all of the movement and sound around him.

Tim's eyes did slide open a sliver as Alfred drew back, his hands trailing off his upper arms. "Al...fr'd?"

Alfred smiled. "It's quite all right, Master Tim. Go back to sleep."

"Mm. 'Kay." Tim sighed and turned his head to press his face against Bruce's bicep, and he was out again.

Alfred stood over them for a moment, looking fondly down at his two boys, one too large and one too small, both older than their years though in very different ways. Both scarred, both wounded, but both safe and cared for, at least for tonight. "I'll take my leave then, gentlemen."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said softly as Alfred closed the door behind him.

Alfred stood in the hall for a moment, breathing. Then he turned and walked briskly down to the cave to tell Dick and Damian that Batman would not be joining them tonight.