A/N: Ask and ye shall receive! A ton of people asked me to update this (kindly, not with "Uppppdate?" because those actually don't work and only succeed in dissuading me from adding more) and it really motivated me to crank this chapter out, so here you go! I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Jason curses quite a bit.

Please, if you really like it, don't forget to review! Those make my day!

Jason stretched, popping his back, and shook his arms out after. Patrol tonight had been mercifully slow after that major gang bust two nights ago, and he was content with enjoying the calm before the proverbial storm started back up again. The entire patrol had been peacefully silent, his comm muted, save the Bat chatter in his ear. As far as he knew Barbara was off on a vacation with the Birds, which was why she hadn't kicked him off the frequency. She, to put it mildly, was not a remote fan of Jason's. He didn't care. It wasn't a loss; Barbara had made her dislike for him known even when he'd been Robin. Yeah, it'd hurt back then, but at this point he was used to it. They'd never really had any sort of relationship—as friends or otherwise—so nothing was really lost.

He yawned, shifting to stand as he started contemplating whether or not he could make a quick stop by that Thai place by his safehouse when a certain bird's chatter was addressed to him. Jason groaned, his head leaning backwards. In his ear, the bird wouldn't shut up, even with the lack of response.

"Hooooood. Red Hood. Heyyyy, Little Wiiiing. C'mon, Hood, we know you're probably there. Maybe. There's the chance."

Jason didn't answer. Instead, he stubbornly shook his head—though nobody could see it—and marched off for the Thai place.

In complete honesty, he was in a good mood because of the slow patrol, so he was thinking about answering, even as he heard another, smaller, bird chirp back at the older one angrily. Then a certain bat got into it, and his ears processed it as a bunch of screeching, chirping, and growls that were starting to give him a headache.

Suddenly, he realized that there was another little bird who hadn't make a peep the entire patrol, and he wanted to hit himself with something. How hadn't he noticed sooner? It'd been a slow night—nothing to distract his mind, except for thoughts about turning it in early.

…okay he was trying to think, right now, and the noises in his ear weren't helping, at all.

Before he could think about the decision he was about to make, Jason turned his comm on.

"Can you guys shut up for one fucking minute? I can't hear myself think!"

Fuck.

"LITTLE WING! I knew you were there! See, Robin?"

"You have only proven that Red Hood is someone who cannot be trusted to keep to his own business without Oracle forcing him to do so."

Jason snorted. "Fuck you, half-pint."

"Language, Hood."

"Fuck you too, you ugly-ass furry."

He was surprised when Dick didn't try to comment on his language and instead asked if he was done with patrol yet.

A brow raising—that literally nobody would have or did notice—Jason answered skeptically.

"Yeah… Why? What're you going to ask me for?" He scoffed. "If you want to know my kill count for the day, it's a whopping zero, same as it's been every day for three months straight."

He was trying, okay?

"No, no! I wasn't saying anything like that—I wanted to know if you could check up on the other Red for us. He couldn't patrol today because he pulled a muscle in his shoulder pretty bad two days ago. He's been pretty upset about it, actually, because B won't let him work on any of his cases."

"What did you want me to do, let him use his shoulder maneuvering the machinery?"

"Yes, father, for then he would have further delayed his recovery and we would be spared his irritating and unnecessary presence at least whilst on patrol. I find it a satisfactory choice of yours to allow him to spend the duration of his recovery in his own apartment."

"Robin…"

Dick's sigh carried surprisingly well and Jason grinned a little. Little brat was really wearing on the all-patient Grayson, huh? Not his problem.

"So," he interrupted before any of the others could start an argument or lecture, "you want me to make sure the baby bird isn't messing with his injury and doing work."

"That is a gross simplification."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Shut up, bat-brat."

"Yeah, basically!" Dick abruptly piped in before Damian could start cursing Jason out. "Would you mind?"

Pretending to think long and hard about it, Jason waited about three minutes before shrugging. He'd made up his mind when he noticed Tim wasn't on patrol. He figured the annoying urge to make sure the kid was okay was just something left over from last month when he'd let Dick crash at his place and actually fucking rest for once in his damn life.

Jason always heard them prattling on about getting proper rest and taking good care of their bodies to Tim, but they're all hypocrites. Bruce didn't sleep; Jason was convinced of that now. Bruce had been Batman so long that he actually became a vampire, like the idiot thugs always whispered about whenever Halloween rolled around. Dick had the tendency to overwork and stress himself and his body. He always took on more than any human being could handle and was ridiculously hard on himself if he didn't accomplish them all perfectly. It was annoying.

For them to go and tell Tim off about not getting enough sleep was such bullshit from them. At least Jason took better care of himself than they did—hell, Damian probably did too.

"I'll do the solid, but you owe me one."

"Awesome! Thanks, Hood!"

He'd been just about to crack a sarcastic response when Bruce spoke up and made his thoughts—and body, which was already heading in the general direction Tim's apartment was—screech to a sudden halt, making him trip and nearly fall.

"…thank you, Red Hood. I appreciate it."

Damian's immediate squawk of alarm and cry of "Father!?" registered through the sudden rush in Jason's head and he blinked twice before clearing his throat, yanking his thoughts back by the scruff of their proverbial necks, and replying.

"I, uh. No problem B."

Then he was shaking his head—the sarcastic comment of that was traumatic popping into mind—and resuming his quest for Tim's surprisingly comfortable apartment, muting his mic again as the birds started talking.

Getting to Tim's apartment was pretty quick. Jason was crouched by a pretty big window—really Tim? Human-sized windows for an apartment in Gotham?—as he contemplated either knocking on the window or just cutting all the alarms and helping himself inside.

"Fuck it," he mumbled as he started pulling out his stuff. Disarming security measures it was.

Tim was ridiculously paranoid or something. It took Jason five minutes to get everything, and even then he couldn't rely on the scanner in his helmet because Tim knew about those, so he had to find the rest by eyeballing it and asking the classic, 'If I were Tim' question.

Only when he was sure the measures were all disabled did Jason crack the window a little and promptly exhale in relief when no lasers appeared to detach his hands from his body. What? Jason didn't know what the things he'd taken apart did, he knew how to keep them from doing those things.

"Yo, Timbit!" Jason looked around once he was inside, having removed the helmet, and a scowl etched onto his face when he flicked the lights on. God, the kid lived like his home was a garbage disposal. It was disgusting. Alfred would have a heart attack…

Where even was Tim? The place was moderately-sized and Jason knew for a fact that his voice carried well.

"Tiiim. Timber. Timmy. Timothy. Timmy bird. Timberly. Kid. Timothy Jackson Drake. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. Young emancipated adult who lives in bio-hazardous waste."

Nothing.

Jason's scowl deepened as he started walking to the bedroom, the only place where Tim had better be sleeping, because if he wasn't, there would be consequences. Jason would snitch to Dick who would immediately dive into panicky mother-hen mode and not leave Tim alone for more than a minute. No way was Jason above that. If he found out Tim was still doing work while he should be recovering…

Alfred was always an option, too, but Jason would pick up a little—a lot—to prevent any premature death by aneurysm.

Gently opening the door, Jason poked his head inside the room and waited for his eyes to adjust to the low lighting. There was a small lamp on the nightstand beside the bed, the warm orange-y glow softening the room, and it helped Jason make out a sleeping figure on the bed.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, because he knew about the pillow and wig tricks—had pulled it once or twice with Bruce—Jason walked over silently, crouching beside the messy mop of hair and tilting his head a little as he shifted some of the hair. Tim's sleeping face came into sight and Jason calmed down, satisfied.

He stood, gently carding a hand through his little brother's hair on some weird instinct, and didn't have to make sure Tim was sleeping on the good arm. If he were on the bad arm, there wouldn't be a bulge where his shoulder was poking visibly from under the blanket.

Silent as he'd been when he'd entered, and feeling a little bad for being so loud calling Tim's name, Jason moved to exit the room.

Or, well, he tired to make himself get out, because all the trash and clothes everywhere was seriously bothering him. Did Tim not know how to do laundry or maneuver a broom? Christ.

With a deep and silent sigh, Jason gave up controlling his urge to at least pick up, and bent down to start collecting clothes in his arms. Once he'd gotten it all and dumped it in a pile on the floor of the main room—after he'd cleared a space to dump it in—Jason hunted down a broom and dustpan to set to work sweeping Tim's room up. He ended out taking a trash bag into the room too, because he had no idea what the hell half of the rancid-smelling stuff in the room was, and opted to just dump it in the bag and toss it out with everything else.

There were no words to describe how Jason felt once Tim's room was clean. He still had to wash the sheets and stuff, but Tim was using them and Jason didn't want to wake the kid. Instead, he took out his phone, checked the time, then texted Dick.

Game-over: Tim's asleep.

Game-over: His laptop and stuff is still in the main room, but it doesn't look like he's used it.

Game-over: Did you know he lived messier than you?

Messages sent, Jason sighed and went to go clean the rest of Tim's apartment. It was something he could do to help, and he was already thinking about helping the teen out on some of his casework. Jason really doubted he'd be getting any sleep tonight, as he finished filling a second black bag of trash and moved on to the third.

His phone buzzed and Jason checked the notifications.

Dickaster: He is?! You didn't do anything to his drink or something?!

Jason scoffed.

Game-over: Fuck you. No I didn't drug him. He was passed out when I got here.

Dickaster: wow.

Dickaster: Thanks for checking up on him, Jason.

Game-over: Just remember you owe me.

Dickaster: ;)

Conversation ended, Jason turned some music on quietly and went back to cleaning.

Three hours later it was four in the morning and Jason was finishing up, wiping down the last dish, because dishwashers were just a waste of water and time since they never really cleaned the dishes their entire purpose was to clean. Jason would die before he used a dishwasher.

Yawning when he'd put the plate on the drying rack, he stretched a little and sighed, plopping down on the recently-cleaned couch.

Propping his head up on his fist, and resting his elbow on the arm rest, Jason closed his eyes. He'd sit, just for a little.

Fuck. He'd earned the damn rest.

. . .

Jason woke up with a jolt, shooting up and off the couch before he got his bearings.

Where the fuck am I and why am I here?

His head whipped around and he calmed when re recognized Tim's recently-cleaned apartment. Huh. Jason had forgotten about that.

Lifting a hand to rub at his eyes, Jason's hand touched the domino instead and he groaned. Damn it, he'd slept with it on. Taking the fucking domino off now would be a bitch.

As he walked to the kitchen to make some breakfast, Jason didn't think about the possibility of Tim not having anything inside of his refrigerator except for milk and—are those fucking goldfish.

He stood there, looking into the fridge, stunned, for about five minutes before he was grabbing an over-sized jacket that was probably Dick's from the clothes he'd folded and washed, throwing it on over his armor to hide the red bat, and walking to the nearest supermarket to do groceries.

Were they going to need to hire a caretaker for Tim? The kid couldn't seem to be able to take care of himself for shit.

The grocery run was quick and Jason regretted not swiping Tim's car keys as he made his way back to the kid's apartment with bags both dangling from and in his arms, as he also plotted.

Maybe they could get that Fox girl—the fuck was her name again? Sam? Pam? Tam? Tam. Tam sounded right—to at least check up on his little brother. Tim had told him about her, and Jason had sensed feelings that went past 'just friends'. It would be good for him.

Once he was back at the apartment, Jason dialed Dick's number—it was only six in the morning and Dick had probably gone to sleep around three, but three hours was fine since Jason knew Dick would go right back to sleep after the call—and waited for his older brother to answer as he started putting groceries away.

"H'llo?"

Yep. Dick was just waking up.

Pausing to word it just so it would spark Dick's curiosity, Jason said, "Wake the fuck up, Dickface. I need to scheme with you," and waited for it to work.

It worked.

"Scheme? What kind of scheme, and what are we scheming about?"

Grinning, Jason explained his master plan to help Tim get both his shit together and the girl. Dick laughed by the end of it, and agreed to help, saying he'd talk to Bruce about it later in the day. The call ended with Jason wondering what the fuck he was doing setting Tim up and making him breakfast.

What. The. Fuck.

His time to wonder where it all started turning into this ran out when he heard sounds from the bedroom. Jason quickly served up a plate, filled two cups of coffee from the pot he'd started, and slipped out the apartment from where he'd entered.

The alarms and traps were re-enabled faster than they'd been disarmed and Jason was gone by the time Tim made it to his kitchen.