A/N: This is a crosspost from AO3, where I post under the same name. Comics accuracy who? If you see any discrepancies with canonical things you've read… they didn't happen in this universe 3 I've read enough of the comics I'm happy to ignore like 80% of it.

Please enjoy the final chapter and the long-awaited comfort!

Tim didn't bother to hide his curiosity as they climbed the steps to Jason's current safehouse. He watched with interest as Jason disabled the alarms and reset the traps, any hesitance seemingly forgotten as he stared with wide-eyed wonder around the sparsely decorated apartment. It wasn't much, but clearly a purpose-built safehouse was more interesting to the kid than the place he'd been squatting.

While Tim was distracted, Jason slipped off to change out of his suit into something more casual, and when he returned from the bedroom he found Tim poking around the bookshelves.

His cheeks pinked at being caught, and he grinned awkwardly in response to Jason's raised eyebrow. "I, uh, didn't think you'd have books here. You're a fan of the classics?" Tim asked, pulling a copy of Wuthering Heights off the shelf and peering down at the cover.

"Not much else to do than read when I'm not patrolling or planning," said Jason wryly. "And what can I say, they have a way with words," he said with a shrug, and nudged Tim's bags closer to the sofa so they'd be less of a tripping hazard.

Tim let out a hum and put the book back carefully. "I didn't know that was a book. I thought it was only a Kate Bush song," he said thoughtfully.

Jason's heart stopped in his chest. "The fuck are they teaching you in school these days," he grumbled.

Tim let out a snicker and opened his mouth to reply, but anything he may have said was drowned out by the loud gurgle that came from his stomach. He flushed bright red, looking absolutely mortified.

Jason snorted. "When was the last time you ate something?" he asked, peering down at Tim.

Tim's blush deepened. "I had one of Alf's granola bars before I went out tonight, but…" he trailed off.

But that's all, Jason finished internally. He glanced at the clock. It was long past midnight, so that meant Tim hadn't eaten in hours.

Jason let out a put-upon sigh that was only half faked. "I guess I can whip you up something. Make yourself comfortable," he said with a gesture at the sofa.

Tim mumbled a thank you and toed off his sneakers, curling up on the sofa around his phone. For a moment he looked just like a typical teenager, not at all like a wayward Robin, and the sight tugged at something deep within Jason's chest.

Jason brushed the feeling away and got to work, fussing around the small kitchen on autopilot. The rooms were only separated by the counter and a small table that was currently playing host to an assortment of maps and various weapons—safety on and magazines empty, of course, Jason wasn't an animal—so it meant he was unavoidably aware of the kid sitting on his sofa, but also far enough away he could panic without Tim's notice.

There was no way in hell this could be a long-term solution, not with Batman involved, and despite Tim's assurances Bruce didn't know what was going on, Jason doubted that immensely. He'd stayed off Batman's radar through a combination of skills, luck, and his own knowledge of the bat's operation, but letting Tim stay was akin to an illuminated sign pointing directly at his location. Despite all that, there was also no way Jason could live with himself if he let Tim go along as he was.

The TV clicked on while Jason was distracted, but he could still feel the prickle of eyes on the back of his neck, though each time he glanced back Tim was either staring at the TV or his phone. Maybe Jason's paranoia had finally caught up to the kid; he had followed Jason to his safehouse with hardly any hesitation, and hadn't stopped to ask for further proof that Jason was in fact Jason. It worked out well for him in the end, but he wouldn't blame Tim for any suspicion over the big bad Red Hood cooking him a homemade meal.

In all likelihood, Tim was worried about the stability of his situation, considering Jason had poached him directly from the place he'd already been squatting in; he'd gone from being kicked out, to an apartment he'd at least sought out himself, then finally to a safehouse owned by an already notorious crime lord. That thought had Jason grimacing as he stirred a pot of pasta sauce; he didn't want to be giving the kid any more issues, but at least now he had a much safer place to stay.

Once the oven pinged to signify it was done, Jason banished his thoughts and started to plate up the food.

Back in the living room, Jason dropped down next to Tim on the sofa, offering the kid a bowl of pasta and shared plate of garlic bread.

Jason had intended on using Alfred's tried-and-tested method of easing into difficult discussions with a homemade meal, but with how fast Tim was scoffing the food, he decided to wait until the teen had finished inhaling his pasta and most of the garlic bread before speaking.

"So," started Jason once their plates had been set aside, "You know what I'm going to ask you."

Tim was licking his fingers clean of garlicky strings of cheese when he went rigid at Jason's words. Jason almost thought Tim would refuse to answer and continue to pretend he was watching the low-budget soap playing on the crappy TV, but after a moment he slumped back into the faded sofa upholstery.

"I already told you most of it," Tim mumbled. He started picking at his fingernails, eyes downcast. "My dad looked up my internet history. And I'd googled some stuff I wasn't sure about, and, um…" he trailed off, glancing at Jason through his bangs. "He found out. He yelled for a bit, and I thought it would be fine, but then he— he kicked me out," Tim said quietly.

"I still had my card, so I just got a motel 'cause I thought he'd get over it soon and I didn't wanna bother Bruce if it wasn't a big deal, but then he told Dana I was staying with my friend Ives and—" Tim's voice cracked, and his eyes started to glisten with tears. "I couldn't— Bruce is still so upset over you, and he shouldn't be worrying about me when I said I would help him so I just stayed away," he said morosely.

Jason was struck silent. Was Bruce so messed up after Jason's death he'd somehow convinced his new Robin he wasn't welcome at the Manor after he'd been kicked out of his own goddamn home?

Jason swallowed and dredged up his voice from where it had sunk into his stomach. "How'd you end up where you did?" Jason asked as gently as he was able.

Tim didn't seem to notice the rough quality to Jason's voice, distracted as he was twisting his hands. "He cancelled my card," Tim said miserably. "So I couldn't pay for the motel. And it's been like a week and he still hasn't asked me to come back."

Jason watched, paralysed, as tears started to slip down Tim's cheeks.

"I just— I don't get it. I wasn't— he had my search history, I didn't even know he could get it, that he was looking, and I don't— he was so angry, and I— I knew he'd never accept it but I thought he'd only find out when I was older and actually knew, and—" Tim let out a wordless noise of frustration that bordered on a sob and buried his face in his hands.

"He, hey, no, kid, it's okay, it's okay," said Jason. Ignoring the rising panic in his brain at the tears, he placed a tentative hand on the kid's back, rubbing circles through the too-thin material of his jacket.

Tim froze, and Jason pulled back instantly. Shit, was Tim touch-averse? Had Jason overstepped? But the next second, Tim launched himself at Jason and plastered himself to his side, half in his lap, small hands clutching at his hoodie.

"I was so scared," wept Tim, and pressed his wet face against Jason's chest.

Jason curled his arm carefully around the sobbing teenager. He continued to rub Tim's back through the wrenching sobs, reluctant to pull away until Tim explicitly requested it. Jason was likely the first person Tim had bared his soul to since his situation had started to snowball, and though Jason was hardly prepared to be the stability Tim so sorely needed, he would do what he could until he could see the kid into safer hands.

Tim's sobs gradually petered out into quiet sniffles, and when it was clear Tim was in no hurry to peel himself away from his side, Jason relaxed deeper into the sofa, slowing the movements of his hand in time with his own slow breaths.

"Feeling better now?" Jason asked once the sniffling had mostly stopped, and tried and failed not to wince when Tim swiped at his eyes and runny nose with his bare wrist. Jason itched to reach for a tissue or handkerchief, instincts still running in line with Alfred's rules, and felt a ping of yearning spark through his chest at the thought of the old man.

"Uh huh," said Tim, and glanced up at Jason. His cheeks pinked like he'd forgotten who he was crying on, and though he tensed and shuffled back to his own seat, he didn't pull away entirely. Taking the show of trust for what it was, Jason left his arm slung across Tim's back; it was clear he needed the comfort.

For a long, painful moment, Jason wished he had Bruce. He'd spent many a night sitting with Jason as he cried and screamed and worked through the horrors he'd seen on the streets, and had somehow known exactly what Jason needed, whether it was a quiet conversation, a hug, or simply company.

But he'd lost that. Jason would never again have that simple, complete trust in Bruce and what he stood for; that suffocated alongside him in the rubble of a warehouse.

Jason's heart clenched, and the spark of anger fizzled and died. It wasn't worth getting worked up over Bruce and his numerous missteps when the latest had fallen directly into Jason's arms.

Jason tugged Tim closer and rubbed his shoulder, waiting until Tim relaxed before he spoke.

"You don't need to tell me why your dad kicked you out, but I think you should tell Bruce," Jason said reluctantly.

Tim went rigid. "Why," he said tersely. "You— you said you wouldn't call him."

Jason huffed. "That was an ultimatum, in case you forgot. I only agreed to hold off for the time being. And just 'cause I'm keeping you here for now, it doesn't mean I'll be able to let you stay here forever. I have a reputation to maintain, you know."

Tim halted in his pouting, and looked up at Jason with surprise in his red-rimmed eyes. "You— you'd let me stay? Not just for now?" he asked hesitantly, a small wrinkle appearing between his pinched brows like he couldn't quite believe it.

Jason fought back the stab of affection that pierced his heart. Those puppy-dog eyes were lethal, and Tim didn't seem the slightest bit aware of the havoc his question was wrecking on Jason and his resolve. "Thought that was obvious, kid," he said, and gave Tim's shoulder a squeeze.

Tim slumped into Jason's side, his relief palpable. He hid his face in the damp patch he'd already left on Jason's hoodie as he whispered a quiet thanks, and Jason felt the last of his defences fall away. There was no way he was letting this kid go without a fight; Bruce would have to get custody from Jack Drake before Jason would even consider returning him.

"I am still going to need to call Bruce, though, don't try to convince me otherwise," said Jason, lips quirking when Tim let out a whine. "You're a child, and I don't legally exist. Someone will freak out."

"Told you, I'm not a child," muttered Tim. He paused for a moment, then pressed in closer to Jason's side. "You could ask Babs to make you real, then you wouldn't have to worry."

Jason threw back his head and laughed. "You won't get out of calling Bruce that easy. Seriously, why are you so reluctant to tell him what's going on?" he asked.

Tim looked away, and Jason frowned, turning to look at him head on.

Faced with Tim's avoidance, Jason's thoughts spiralled, and he couldn't help the darkening of his expression. "If he's hurting you," he started.

Tim wheeled back, aghast. "No! He'd never! That's not— he's just dealing with a lot, still, and I don't want to make things harder for him."

Jason frowned. "That isn't how it works."

"It is. He's stressing over so much, and if I tell him he'll just have to deal with this as well, and he already hates my dad so he'll—" Tim cut himself off. "I'm not his kid, not like you. Bruce already looked after me when my dad was in hospital, I don't want him to feel like he has to look after me again. He's got more important things to worry about," Tim finished quietly.

"Tim," Jason said, and gripped him by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake until he made eye contact, "You're important too. You're not inconveniencing anyone by needing help, you're a kid, you're supposed to need help."

"But Bruce—"

"Is an adult. He knows how to multitask, and he can worry about more than one thing at once." Jason gave Tim a crooked grin. "Alright?"

Tim still looked uncertain, but he nodded, and hopefully his silence meant he would stop arguing over his own worth or Jason contacting Bruce at some point in the future.

Jason let out a gusty sigh. "Now, with that settled, I think it's time we finished up for the night," he said, rising from the sofa and groaning as he cracked the muscles of his neck. "C'mon, grab your bags and we'll get you set up."

Tim moved to stand, but hesitated by his bags for a moment. "Um, can I hang my jacket by the door first?" he asked.

Jason snorted. "Alfred isn't here to grade you on etiquette but sure, kid, go for it," he said with a chuckle.

Tim scowled but headed towards the door regardless. Jason was still chuckling as he watched Tim rock up onto his toes to sling his jacket over the hook, smirking at how far he had to reach, but it slid off his face immediately when Tim's shirtsleeve rolled up to reveal a dark smudge spanning the width of his upper arm.

"What's that," said Jason, voice crackling darkly into the room.

Tim flinched, and hastily pulled down his sleeve. "It's nothing, just a bruise from patrol," he said hurriedly, the skittering path of his eyes obvious even in the dim light of the entryway.

Jason rushed over, frowning down at the now-covered bruise. With Tim's sudden skittishness and reluctance to explain, he doubted it truly was something from patrol. "Let me take a look at it," he said, voice flat.

"I told you, it's not a big deal," Tim insisted.

"Do you really want to do this now," Jason warned, and the kid must have had some sense of self-preservation left, because he gave in without further pressure.

Tim slunk back into the living room, looking balefully at Jason as he directed the kid to stand by the lamp.

"You know the drill," sighed Jason, "No hidden injuries. I'm going to take a look now, okay?"

Tim stiffened as Jason took a careful hold of his forearm, and flinched hard when Jason went to lift his sleeve. Jason froze.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly, unable to help the concerned furrow of his brow.

"I know," mumbled Tim. It took a moment, but Tim managed to relax somewhat, though Jason could still feel the tension in his arm.

Jason still waited for a nod before he tried to lift Tim's sleeve again.

The bruise was ugly. It was a purple mass, tinged green-yellow at the edges, wrapping around Tim's slim bicep. It curled around the underside of his arm, leaching from the centre to become splotchy and thin, a shape almost painful in its familiarity.

"Tim," said Jason, and didn't resist when the boy tugged his arm back and lowered his sleeve once more.

"It's nothing, okay?" Tim said, and gripped his elbows. He looked all-too small in his tee-shirt, socks, and track pants, shrinking in on himself like he was trying to hide from the truth.

Jason stayed silent for a long moment. "I'm not going to pretend I don't know who gave that to you. Lying about this is just going to hurt you more in the long run."

Tim looked up warily, hand moving to rub at the hidden bruise. "How would you know," he bit out, all edge, and though Jason knew Tim was on the defensive the sting cut right through his patience.

"I know what a bruise from an adult's hand looks like, Tim," said Jason, voice blunt.

Tim winced.

"He doesn't— my dad didn't hit me," Tim said weakly. "Not like—" He cut himself off.

"He just grabs you hard enough it bruises," said Jason. "As if that's any better."

Tim wilted. "But he's not— he doesn't hurt me, not like you're thinking. He's never hit me. He just yells. Sometimes he takes my things away but that's for a reason, like not listening to him. It's never just because. It's normal!" Tim cried, near pleading.

Jason felt sorry for the kid. Jack Drake deserved not even half of the loyalty his son was exhibiting, defending a man who'd shown no lack of remorse or even a desire to reconcile with the child he'd thrown out on a whim. Regardless of if he knew it, Tim deserved better, and Jason was in no way willing to throw Tim back to the sharks, whether that was a precarious living situation with his father or Gotham's overwhelmed system.

"It doesn't have to be normal," Jason said quietly. "The fact he isn't hurting you physically doesn't stop it from being just as serious as a form of abuse."

Tim flinched. "It's— he's not abusive," Tim pleaded. "He isn't."

Jason almost growled. "He kicked you out and denied you shelter. He cancelled your card, cutting off your only access to his support. He grabbed you so hard you still have a bruise a week later. He hasn't contacted you since to ask you to come home, or even to make sure you were okay. Have I missed anything?" he asked, keeping the anger towards Jack Drake out of his voice through sheer force.

Tim pursed his lips like he wanted to argue but he held his silence, staring off at a point behind Jason.

Jason continued, "That's criminal neglect, at a bare minimum, and you and I both know that if you came across a kid in a similar situation as Robin, you would never ignore it and pretend it was fine. So why is it okay if it's you?" stressed Jason.

Tim looked down. "He's not abusive," he repeated, but all the fight was gone from his voice.

Jason resisted the urge to tug him into another hug. "Even if he's not, none of this is okay. And if a random crime lord who's only met you once can see that, what would Bruce and Alfred think if they saw the way he treated you?"

Tim's face fell, and he shivered. "I don't want them to know," he said in a tiny voice.

"I know, kid," said Jason, and gave in to his impulses. He slowly reached out, giving Tim time to back away, and pulled Tim towards him with a gentle hand around the back of his neck. Tim didn't resist, almost falling into Jason's chest.

"I hate this. I just want him to let me come home," Tim said miserably.

Jason looked down at the top of Tim's head, brushing his thumb over the downy hairs on his neck. "I know," he said. "But, Tim, I don't think you were safe there."

Tim pressed forward in lieu of an answer.

"And even if your dad did ask you to come home, would you want to?" Jason asked gently.

"But I have to," Tim said with a sniff. "He's my dad."

"You really don't," said Jason. "If he threw you out once, he might do it again. And Tim, kid, you deserve a safe place to live."

Tim's breath shuddered. His fists clutched at Jason's hoodie so tight he could almost hear the material creaking under the strain.

Jason sighed, giving Tim's neck one more rub, and guided him back over to the sofa. He tugged a blanket off one of the armrests and tucked it around Tim, making sure it was snug. Tim stared up at him, his blue eyes huge and wet, looking lost.

Jason didn't want the kid to go to bed focused on the conversation they'd just had, but nor did he have the magical ability to conjure the perfect combination of words to fix everything, like Dick sometimes had. Just before the silence became awkward, an idea flashed into mind and he blurted, "Are you lactose intolerant?"

Tim scrunched his nose in confusion at the non sequitur. "Um, no?"

"Okay," said Jason with a nod, and patted Tim on the shoulder.

With Tim safely situated under the blanket, Jason headed back into the kitchenette and hunted through the cupboards to find exactly what he needed. He'd made this recipe countless times before his death, with or without supervision, and it didn't take long before muscle memory kicked into action.

He started a pot of milk with vanilla and cinnamon on the stove, roughly chopping a block of dark chocolate as it warmed. Just before the milk began to bubble, he stirred the dark chocolate and a few spoonfuls of brown sugar into the pot.

As the chocolate and milk coalesced, Jason pretended the rippling anger he felt towards Jack Drake was melting away, just like the chocolate, and soon, it was replaced by something much more pleasant. The gentle waft of cinnamon intermingling with the vanilla and rich aroma of the chocolate took him right back to late nights at the manor, helping Alfred in the kitchen as he prepared the drink while Bruce watched from the doorway with a smile.

It made Jason wistful for all the things he'd lost since his death. But that was no longer his life, and it was time to accept it; he had more important things to dwell on, like the kid waiting for him back on the sofa.

The cloche on the counter still had a few fresh muffins left, so he lifted one onto a plate then divided the hot chocolate between two mugs, and carried them back to the sofa along with the muffin.

Tim was still looking fragile, but he perked up somewhat when he saw the steaming mugs, and eagerly wrapped both hands around the mug Jason handed him. He'd kept the blanket up around his shoulders, but had moved to sit cross-legged on the cushion, the fleece fabric covering him easily. He took a long sip of the chocolate and let out a hum, looking more comfortable than he had all night.

"Just like Alfred's," Tim said with a small sigh.

Jason gave him a crooked grin. "Where'd you think I got the recipe?" he said, dropping onto the sofa and taking a long drag from his own mug.

Tim slowly nibbled at the muffin, dropping crumbs all over the blanket. Jason wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn't help being endeared by it—he wondered if it was a little brother thing, and if Dick had ever thought the same the few times Jason had dropped in at his place in Blüdhaven and caused a mess.

Jason almost choked on his hot chocolate. Little brother? In a roundabout way, he guessed that made sense; Tim had basically been taken in by the Waynes, despite his living father, and Jason had assumed he was adopted before he looked up Tim's details, but this was the first time he'd let himself consider it. Jason's death hadn't revoked his adoption, after all, and despite all his anger, that didn't stop Bruce from being his dad.

The protectiveness he'd seen in Bruce and Dick the few times they'd fought made a lot more sense, in retrospect. Though some of his more recent memories were clouded in a green haze, the fury the vigilantes had exhibited at any mention of Robin had seemed somewhat intense for a neighbour's kid, but not if they saw their newest bird as the baby of the family.

Brothers. Yeah, that would work.

Mind whirling, Jason watched Tim finish the muffin and his drink, draining his own when Tim set his mug down on the coffee table.

"Right. Bed. Let's go. No more distractions, I need my beauty sleep," said Jason, leaping up from the sofa and bringing the mugs and plates from dinner into the kitchenette, dumping them in the sink to soak.

He returned to the living room to find Tim standing awkwardly, still draped in the blanket, like he wasn't quite sure what to do.

Any plans Jason had to set the kid up on the sofa vanished in an instant at the look on his face. The safehouse had a big enough bed; they were brothers, after all—they could share.

"C'mon, baby bird," said Jason, the last word dragged out by a yawn, and waved Tim towards the bedroom, picking his schoolbag up as he went. Tim blanked like the nickname had caused him to bluescreen, but after a moment he rebooted and carried his duffel into the room after Jason.

Jason set Tim's bag by the closet, and not hearing the kid enter, turned to see where he'd gotten lost and saw him frozen in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the lone bed.

"Um, I'm fine on the couch, I have a sleeping bag," he said, glancing at Jason and making no effort to enter the room.

Jason lifted an eyebrow. "You've been sleeping on a shitty mattress in a flimsy-ass sleeping bag for a week, and I have a perfectly fine bed here that I'm not giving up. We can share," he said.

Tim shifted. "You sure?"

Jason shrugged. "Easier to shoot any intruders after us if we're both in the same room. It's a queen, anyways, and you're such a shrimp that I doubt I'll even notice you're there," he said with a smirk.

Tim threw Jason a savage glare. "Just because you're a giant doesn't mean we all have to be," he snapped, but with the tension broken, he finally moved into the room proper and set down his duffel.

Jason yanked off his hoodie and pitched it into a clothes hamper, encrusted as it was with dried tears and snot. "Toss any clothes you want washed there," Jason said, gesturing at said hamper, "And change into your PJs while you're at it. I'll set you out a new toothbrush—do not argue with me on this—and you better use it once I'm done. Bathroom's across the hall, so yell if you need anything, I guess," he finished awkwardly.

"'Kay," said Tim, already kneeling to dig through his duffel. The flash of green and red from the Robin costume he'd kept shoved in there failed to do more than ignite a tiny puff of annoyance that Tim hadn't bothered to fold it, so Jason counted the influence of the pit well and truly gone. He ducked across the hall before Tim noticed him lingering.

Jason brushed his teeth quickly, setting out a new brush for Tim as promised, and did a cursory check of his bandages to make sure none would bleed during the night. Satisfied, he headed back into the bedroom, pausing on the threshold when he caught sight of Tim's pyjamas.

"Bathroom's yours," said Jason, and knew he hadn't disguised his mirth at Tim's oversized Superman sleep shirt well enough from the annoyed look the boy shot him.

"It's from a friend," Tim mumbled, ducking beneath Jason's arm braced on the doorframe before he could comment further.

Jason snickered and went to shake out the quilt.

As he puttered around straightening the room, Jason still couldn't quite believe how things had changed since he'd first landed in Gotham. He'd never imagined going from being a pit-fuelled rage machine ruled by his anger to helping out his replacement, let alone losing every drop of the pit's influence because the kid reminded him so much of his younger self. He wasn't even sure if Talia would still recognise him.

That thought gave him pause, and Jason couldn't help grimacing down at the sheets. He'd have to tell Talia about his change in plans at some point, and he did not look forward to that phone call. He looked forward to a future phone call with Bruce even less; admitting he'd stolen his Robin, regardless of how easily Tim had agreed, would not go down well with the bat if their previous interactions had anything to show for it.

Fortunately, before Jason could spiral down that rabbit hole any further, Tim emerged from the bathroom, and he looked as though he was about to fall over where he stood. He blinked slowly and rubbed at his eye with his fist, looking half his age.

Wordlessly, Jason peeled back the covers on the side of the bed closest to the door. Tim stumbled over and crawled beneath the quilt, tugging it up until only the dark mop of his hair and half-lidded eyes were visible. "Thank you," he said quietly, the words bisected by a yawn.

Jason's lips ticked up in a tiny smile. "No problem, kid," he murmured, leaning down to gently ruffle his hair. Tim blinked up at him for a moment, before he buried deeper into the covers with a little sigh.

Jason made his way back to the door and flicked off the ceiling light, leaving the room lit only by the dim glow of the streetlight managing to squeeze past the edges of the blackout curtains. He eased the door shut, though he left it open a crack instead of closing it fully; a force of habit since his new claim to life, but one he thought Tim might appreciate.

With no more last-minute tasks left to complete, Jason edged back to the bed, sliding beneath the covers and letting the soft give of the mattress embrace his ever-aching muscles. Letting out a sigh of his own, Jason closed his eyes and almost immediately began to drift off, trained as he was to sleep whenever given the chance.

But something stopped him from dropping off entirely. An indiscernible amount of time later, his eyes cracked open, and he rolled his head to the side to see a slight shudder shaking Tim's bundle of blankets.

Half asleep, with any higher thought processes dulled by drowsiness, Jason stretched out an arm and hooked it beneath Tim's waist, hauling him across the mattress and into his side. Tim let out a squeak, the line of his back going rigid where it was now pressed to Jason's ribs.

"Go to sleep," Jason murmured, giving Tim a squeeze before going lax with impending sleep.

Tim stayed tense for a moment longer, but soon went limp, practically melting against Jason's side. Jason hummed, instincts satisfied with Tim's proximity, and started to drop off once more, hopefully this time for the full length of the night.

Soon, Jason was jerked awake once more as Tim twisted around, his bony elbow digging into the meat of Jason's stomach in the process. He let out a grunt, wondering why the fuck Tim was still awake.

"Sorry," Tim whispered, but made no move to untangle himself, instead squirming halfway on top of Jason, pillowing his head right over Jason's heart. Finally, he settled down with a small noise, wriggling in close, warm breaths puffing out across Jason's sternum.

"G'night, Jason," said Tim quietly.

"Night, baby bird," Jason mumbled back, dragging his hand up to cup Tim's head and keep it in place. He ran his fingers through the downy-soft strands of hair, unable to halt the smile cracking across his face as Tim pressed into the touch.

He tugged Tim in impossibly closer. He could worry about what was to come in the morning, but for now, his new little brother was safe and sound.

– END –

A/N: Jason definitely wakes up to Batman lurking at the end of the bed at like, five am, and has to try and explain why the Red Hood is cuddling Bruce's wayward Robin, right now—without waking said baby bird still curled up on his chest, fast asleep—and that he's Jason, not the kids' uncle, what?

(When he wakes up later, Tim has to groggily explain to the two of them why he thought a fake uncle was in any way a good idea.)

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