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Ever since Tim joined the Wayne Adoption Club, as Jason called it, dinners have always been either piercingly quiet or spectacularly loud. Jason said that it wasn’t always like that, but has been ever since last June, when Dick and Bruce got into the fights to end all fights. Tim now knew that it was over Dick “wasting his potential” (Bruce’s words) and certain people being “thicker than elephant hide” (Dick’s). Tim also knew that Dick had spent that summer sleeping with what seemed like everyone Tim knew, besides Bruce (and Alfred, but that went without saying), trying to fill the hole his seemingly estranged, family left.
“So, boys, I got an e-mail from the high school, telling parents about the school dance next weekend,” Bruce asked, when conversation about the Titans fell quiet, as it always did within five minutes of it starting, mostly because Dick had just started coming back to the house and Bruce didn’t want him to stop visiting. “Do either of you have a date?”
“Dances are part of the fascists’ way of keeping us in line. ‘Here, come to this dance that everyone will be talking about on Monday, but it won’t be worth it because the Nazi teachers will be keeping you the good Christian distance away from each other!’”
Bruce closed his eyes at Jason’s rant. Ever since the incident, Bruce had been letting Jason get away with a lot more of and with his spiels, but had lately been biting out things like the following, “So Cass turned you down?” At Jason’s scowl, he turned to Tim, who sunk down an inch in his chair. “What about you, Tim?”
To tell the truth, Tim didn’t want to go with anyone. Tam Fox had asked him, for a friendship thing, Steph had asked him on uncertain terms, but Tim mostly just wanted to stay home this weekend and only break up his sulking of his non-relationship with Kon by texting Kon. And maybe Bart. And maybe Cassie or Cissie. Possibly even Slobo, if he got desperate enough.
“What are you talking about, Bruce? No one wants Tim!” Jason said, smirking, he was moving his food around his plate (his appetite had been significantly reduced since the incident) and it cut a little too close to home. “He’s the innocent one of the brood, haven’t you heard? All math and no mate.” He punctuated the sentence with a small thrust of his hips.
It was probably that damn word that made Tim react the way he did, the word that Kon used to pound the final nail in his metaphorical coffin. But Tim knew, as soon as he stood up, that he was over reacting.
“Shut the fuck up, Jason. At least I have friends. At least I have girls who wanted to go with me! At least I have people that want to talk to me. I mean, Christ, I didn’t try to run away from the only four fucking people in the world, population six billion, that would even want to help me! That would care if I died! That would notice!”
Bruce shot up, as did Dick. “Timothy!” Bruce shouted and Dick pulled Tim back from where he was leaning across the table, but it didn’t stop him.
“Because really, Jason, we all know, you’re nothing but a punk ass kid from the gutter that gets too big for his britches and lashes out for the attention. I’m sick of it! I’m sick of being your proverbial punching bag because of your issues with inadequacy!”
Tim stopped to take a breath, but lost his gusto when he noticed Jason had a silent tear making its way down his face, face scrunched in anger.
“Are you done?” Jason asked, voice eerily steady. Tim didn’t know how to respond, and looked back to Dick, who still had a firm grip on Tim’s upper arms, face impassive, then to Bruce, who looked disappointed. Ugh.
He finally looked back at Jason, mouth moving soundlessly. Jason did a weird head bobbing motion and ran from the room.
“Dick, let him go,” Bruce said softly. As soon as Dick did as he said, Tim fell down into his seat. “Will you go check on your brother, Dick?” Dick nodded and squeezed Tim’s shoulder as he left the room. Tim flinched from the contact and hoped neither of them noticed. “Now, Tim, care to tell us what that was all about?”
Tim thought about actually telling him. About how he didn’t mean any of what he said to Jason, he only said it because of that damn word. About how he thinks he likes boys a hell of a lot more than he likes girls. About how he thinks his first “real love” is going to be someone who doesn’t think about him remotely the same way. About how that person is the only one of his friends Bruce seems to hate. About how he feels ugly because that one person didn’t even get turned on when they shared that mind numbing kiss.
“I-” Tim looked at Bruce’s expectantly looking face. “I’m going to go talk to Jason.”
Dick was standing at Jason’s door when he got there, gently knocking and calling through the door, “C’mon, Jay. Hoodie? Jay-Jay, c’mon, open the door for me. I’m sure Ti-” He looked into Tim’s face when he realized he had approached. “I’m sure Timmy didn’t mean what he said, he was blatantly upset.”
“Fuck Tim! God! He could strangle me in my sleep, and all you fucking assholes would do is make sure he didn’t hurt his pweshus ickle Timmy fingews!”
“Jay, you know that’s not true. We love you!”
Something smashed in the room, and Jason yelled, “Yeah fucking right, Grayson! You’ve resented me since I fucking got here, you little prick!” There was another crash then a thump. “Fuck!”
“Jason! Jason, are you okay?!” Dick called through the door and he and Tim pressed their ears to the door.
Suddenly they both lurched forward, as Jason swung the door open, and fell down at his feet.
“Very graceful, douche bags.” Jason’s face was flushed and tear-stained, and Tim could see from his position on the floor that his room was completely trashed. “What are you doing here, dick face?”
“Jason, I - Can I talk to you in private?” Tim asked, as he and Dick stood up. Dick nodded his consent, and left, with a pleading look at Jason. Jason glared at him openly for a moment, then nodded him into the room. Jason grabbed two of the ratty old couch’s cushions on his way to said ratty old couch. He threw one of the cushions at Tim’s head then plopped himself down on his own on the body of the couch.
Tim sat down cross-legged on the couch, facing Jason, who sprawled out, in a typical “man watching football” pose.
“I’m sorry, Jay.”
Jason rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever.”
“No, Jay, what I said, I don’t feel that way. You - Well, your kind of horrible to me most of the time, actually. You tried to kill me once-”
Jason shook his head, “Almost doesn’t count. And besides, that was only because I thought you had broken in to steal Dickie’s underwear or something.”
Tim’s eye twitched and he wrinkled his nose at the ghost feeling of hands around his throat. “Right, well. Regardless, most of the time you’re awesome, when you’re not beating me half to death, and I’ve grown to love you.”
Jason snorted and picked at the knee hole on his left pant leg. “Yeah, whatever, brotherly love is abundant at Wayne Manor.”
Tim took a deep breath and crossed his arms around his shins. “I want to tell you why I...said what I said.”
“You don’t have to do that, Red. I get it, it’s your time of the month.” Through Jason’s sarcasm, Tim could see that he was offering forgiveness, but Tim needed to tell this to someone, and Jason wouldn’t tell anyone. Because regardless of how long Jason had lived with Bruce, he would always live according to the street. It was the same with how Dick would always live in the circus in his head, Jason would forever have that touch of gutter rat in his blood.
“No, Jay, Hoodie, I need to.” Tim took a deep breath. “I hate that word.”
Jason rolled his eyes and raised his brow. “What word?”
“Innocent,” Tim said and Jason rolled his eyes again. He muttered under his breath about Tim being melodramatic, but let him continue. “I - I like this person, and when I kissed...the person, the person said that I was a ‘completely innocent’ person, and didn’t see me as anything else.” Tim looked up for the first time, and Jason was looking at him through narrowed eyes.
“Don’t think I didn’t catch the lack of gender specific pronouns, there, Timmy.” Tim sighed and Jason looked worried. A light bulb all but appeared over his head and he seemed angry. “You’ve been P.M.S.ing since Kon stayed over a month ago. It’s him, isn’t it?”
Tim looked away, toward the blanket covered window that the couch was pressed against. He wished that the blanket wasn’t there. Jason’s window faced the East Gardens, and the robins were always swooping through the air, this time of day.
“I’m gonna kill that cock-sucker! That little mother-fucker! I fucking warned him! I’m gonna kick his fucking ass! No, fuck that, I’m gonna fucking tell Dick, and Dick will kick his ass to kingdom come, and tell Clark and Clark will apologize to Bruce, and Bruce will make him wish that Luthor never mixed him in a petri dish!” Jason was pacing the room, now, arms crossed tightly across his chest.
Tim widened his eyes and clutched his knees closer to his chest. What in all holy hell was Jason talking about?! “Jason! What the fuck? What do you mean, ‘warned’?”
Jason looked at him like he was dumb for a second, then rolled his eyes, “You think Bruce lets anyone talk to us? You? I mean, c’mon, Timmy, if you were any more naïve, it’d be a form of mental retardation.”
“I’m not naïve, Jason!”
“You are when it comes to people! I mean, Christ, you think Stephanie Brown is okay with being ‘just friends’!”
Tim scowled and crossed his own arms. “Whatever.” Tim stood up, and started to cross the room. “You better clean up your room, at least to its normal state of chaos. You know how Alfred feels about your little fits.”
Just as Tim was about to leave he looked back and saw Jason smirking a little. “You ass! You totally just distracted me from the fact that you threatened my best friend!”
Jason sighed and nodded, “Remember that time in Metropolis when you went to the bathroom and came back and asked Kon if he was okay, because he looked sick?”
“What did you say to him!? He ran to the bathroom and threw up!”
Jason shrugged his shoulders and looked away. “Nothing I’d ever say remotely near hearing distance of Alfred.” Tim glared at him. “Man, someone does it to everyone we meet. Bruce did it for Dick with Donna, Roy, Wally, and Garth. Dick did it for me with Sasha. I did it for you with Kon, Bart, and Slobo, and Dick did Cassie, Cissie, and Greta.” Tim continued to glare. “It’s a precaution. I mean, Christ, do you know in how many people out there would want Bruce Wayne’s darling boys for ransom?”
This time Tim did leave, slamming the door and thumping down the hall to his room.
He hated his brothers sometimes.