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The week already feels like it’s dragged on forever, but it’s only Wednesday. First, there was a mass Blackgate breakout on Sunday night. It had taken the better part of two days to round up the escaped prisoners. And then, just when everyone thinks the worst is over and they can get some sleep, a gang war breaks out in Crime Alley.
Jason had been in the thick of it when the rest of the Bats arrived, being the only one to break away from the Blackgate mess to tend to his turf. No doubt, he knew trouble was brewing and from the look of things when the Batmobile roared up, he’d waited a little too long to ask for help.
It had not been pretty.
They’d barely gotten him cleaned up and settled on the bed in the medbay when he stirs with some aborted flailing.
Both Dick and Tim move quickly to his side when Jason tries to get up. Tries is the keyword. He’s on the good drugs, he’s got a concussion and an arm in a splint due to a fracture. He wasn’t just gonna get up.
But it’s Jason, so Tim doesn’t want to bet on that. If the man can dig and crawl out of his own grave, a cot in the medbay while doped to the gills might be a walk in a sunny meadow full of flowers in springtime.
“Did someone feed Tim?” Jay slurs. He’s trying to focus, but his pupils are different sizes. “Tim needs feeding.”
Dick stares at Tim, as does everyone else in the cave, all heads turning towards him like the bat version of Children of the Corn. “Is Jason feeding you? Is there something you need to tell us?”
“No? What? I don’t know what he’s talking about.” He would definitely have noticed if Jason were feeding him. It’s one of his domestic fantasies.
Jason, still slurring, tries to get up again and it takes both Dick and Tim to hold him down. The muscles bunch and strain under Tim’s hands. "Gotta feed Tim. He'll be hungry. Don't want him to die."
Dick stares at Tim as if to say, See? Do something.
He’s even more confused, but gamely pats Jason’s shoulder while trying to get him to settle down. Did they need to break out the straps? Not that they ever last very long on any of them since they’re all trained escape artists. "It's okay, Jay. I'm fine. I’m not hungry."
At this point, even Damian and Stephanie have moved closer to see what’s happening, murmuring quietly to each other.
Tim resolutely ignores them. Everyone in this family is a damn gossip. There has been no feeding going on here. Nothing. Nope, everything is just fine and dandy—even though he really wouldn’t mind if Jason fed him. A deeply buried voice whispers he isn’t particularly picky about where Jason feeds him and Tim resolutely shunts said voice to the side.
Now is not the time for his fantasies.
Jason, cross-eyed, looks at him and tries to focus. It's cute. And damn funny. "You're pretty, baby bird. But someone's gotta feed my Tim. He’s gonna starve without me."
Everyone mouths, MY TIM? At Tim. And he flushes because why?
Does Jason have another Tim? He hasn’t even had a chance at him yet and Jay has already found someone else? With the same name? This is so unfair!
"He's in the fridge. Gotta take care of him. Not let him die," Jason grumbles then promptly passes out.
They all stare at him in silence. The bats overhead rustle their wings.
Steph, in all her wisdom, asks the important question. “What the fuck?”
It's been two days and everything still fucking hurts. But it's a dull ache that only turns into stabbing pain when Jason puts pressure on some key parts of his body. He's been stuck in his room either sleeping things off or getting some reading done while ignoring everyone who comes to check on him like he’s about to jump outta the window or some shit while their backs are turned. He wasn't gonna do that.
Not with Alfred watching him like the Eye of Sauron. Sheesh.
Dick has been by several times, mostly to bring him food the first day that Jason resolutely ignores because ugh, food didn’t sound very good after the pounding he’d taken. After that, they've all been taking turns.
Last night, Tim had come by after work from WE and peeked into his room and saw he was awake. He shared some marshmallows with him from a one kilo bag while drinking coffee.
One of these days, Jason is gonna sit that man down and cook him a healthy meal even if he has to tie him to a chair. Though in all fairness, Tim will probably welcome any meal he does not have to cook himself if the frequency that Alfred sends him meals is any indication. He just needs to find a way to invite him over and not sound like he’s asking him out—which he totally wants to do. But he needs to get a feel of things first. Stuff him with food before he stuffs him with other things. Like himself. Heh.
Now that his mandatory bedrest is over, Jason tries to limp his way out of the manor when Dick and Tim suddenly appear like damn wraiths, intercepting him on his way to the door. Only bat-training keeps him from jumping.
“Hey, Jay.” Dick, all smiles, glides smoothly in his path. Jason would be impressed if he doesn’t know they’re trying to stop him from leaving. “Did Alfie give you the all clear?”
“Yeah. You think I’d be able to sneak past him if he didn’t?” He tries to move past them, but Dick just moves with him, like they were doing the waltz or something. Tim, at least, is cautiously standing by, observing, but he has no doubt the cute little gremlin will close in if given the signal. He’s sneaky like that. “Whaddya want, Dickface?”
The smile on Dick’s face raises the hairs at the back of his neck. He picks up his pace to the door. Damn this living room for being so huge. Fucking rich people and their mansions.
“You know…” Dick matches him stride for stride. He can feel Tim just a few paces behind, probably doing a shuffle hop to keep up. “When you were drugged, you kept mumbling about feeding Tim and not letting him die... In your fridge.”
Fuck. Jason scowls fiercely but it’s ruined by the red on his ears and cheeks. He resists the urge to turn and look at Tim. Tim, who at least did not bring that up last night while they were chomping on marshmallows and discussing how to take down Killer Croc in the least number of moves.
He pushes past Dick. "No comment.”
“Aw, come on. We’re just curious. You were pretty adamant about it even when you were drugged six ways to Sunday.” He looks past Jason—probably at Tim—and Jason does his best not to turn because if he sees Tim’s face, he might just say something stupid.
Like how he wants to feed him and squish his face. Fondly. Not in like a murdery way.
He opens the front door and there’s a car at the bottom of the stairs outside, which means they were waiting for him to escape. Dick won't let him drive with his arm in a splint so they pile into the car. Jason takes the front seat and buckles up. He sees Tim trying not to vibrate from the suspense, but he stays quiet in the backseat, eyes going to Jason, then Dick, then out the window.
This is probably one of the longest moments of his life where Tim isn’t mouthing at him. Jason is kinda scared now.
Dick, on the other hand, is smiling, full of mischief and anticipation. The Dick. Dicktard. Dickles. Dickhead.
Jason entertains himself by running over his extensive list of dicknames he’s come up with over the years. He doesn’t need to tell them anything. Ever. But they’re persistent bastards and being detectives is kinda what they all do, so it’s bound to happen eventually. So when would be a good time? Would it be better now than say, never?
He chances a glance at Tim in the backseat and their eyes meet. Fuck.
Does he want to do this now? He had a plan. Well, like 50% of a plan. With cooking and stuffing involved. All nice and friendly like to test the waters sort of thing.
Eh, whatever. He'll wing it. It’s what everyone else thinks he does all the time anyway.
The drive drags on forever even though it’s not very far at all, and they all get out of the car outside his apartment. Jason is just resigned now because they will not let this rest until he shows them. The nosy fuckers.
He stomps into his apartment and goes straight to the fridge, takes out the mason jar with his one good hand, and quietly despairs that Tim has deflated so much, but thankfully or hopefully, isn't dead. All those experts online did say it would be pretty hard to kill his pet once he's got it going.
Jason sets the jar on the kitchen counter. "Meet Tim. Tim, this is Dickhead and Timmy."
"Tim." Tim automatically corrects and stares into the jar. "What is that?"
Jason narrows his eyes. "It's my sourdough starter."
"A sourdough starter?" The two idiots stare at him like he'd grown two heads. Or probably with the confusion of people who never had interest in baking bread before.
Opening the jar, Jason gives it a sniff. It’s not bad. He proceeds to take out a container of flour and a digital scale from under the counter, then pours a glass of water. Everything is measured and weighed out, then added into the jar. He’ll deal with the discard tomorrow when his audience is gone. Tim just needs to be fed. He’s a growing boy who doesn’t do well when he’s ignored.
Jason holds the jar in his splinted arm and mixes up everything with a fork. "It's a wild yeast culture,” he explains to the peanut gallery. “To leaven up bread. Gotta feed it every day to keep it healthy.”
He ignores the look of fascination he gets as he finally puts the jar down. He likes bread and enjoys making it himself when he can. Maybe he'll even share some with the rest of them—if they don't piss him off.
Finally, Tim speaks up. "Did... Did you name it after me? Or um, some other Tim you know?"
Well, so much for The Plan. It’s now or never.
Jason smirks. "It's pretty resilient. Always hungry, but you gotta remember to feed it to keep it alive. It just sits there cultivating until it's time to do a job—then it's very good at what it does. Sound familiar?"
Dick is just right there looking between both of them with a little smirk of glee. Then it slowly morphs into a terrifying sort of grin that is all teeth. The bastard. "I'm gonna... Go. I think. Yeah. Good luck making bread with your Tims, Jay!"
The tips of Jason’s ears are burning again, but he’s in for it now. No one ever said he was a coward.
They wait for the door to shut before turning to look at each other.
Tim is blushing too. That’s a good sign, right?
Jason wants to squish his face. Then maybe kiss him. He has a lot of pent up feelings, okay? “So, uh, do you want to help me make bread?”
Tim looks like he’s fighting a laugh. “Is that a euphemism for dating or are we actually making bread? Because I’m open to both.”
He grins, relieved. He can do this. “Depends? Do you want fresh bread? It usually takes three hours. I don’t think putting a bun in the oven applies to us, but we could do some other stuff in between?”
Tim loses it. “Oh god. That was so bad, Jay.”
Jason chuckles as he watches Tim try to rein in his laughter. It makes him happy to see Tim happy. “You sure you want to date me?”
Tim pauses to look up at him, bright eyes and pink-cheeked from laughing, a smile playing on his lips that Jason just wants to kiss the hell out of. “Let’s put some actual buns in the oven first and go from there.”
Jason snorts out a laugh, but moves to get some instant yeast from his fridge. “You got it, you little shit.”
Tim sidles up next to him grinning, “It takes one to know one.”
“We’re MFEO,” He deadpans.
“Oh my god. Jason. Why?” Tim despairs even as he laughs. “I take it back! No more buns for you!”
“Now, is that a euphemism?” Jason’s laughter echoes in the apartment as he dodges the kitchen towel Tim flicks at him. "You can be my hands. My left arm's busted so I'm all right now."
"One more bad pun and I'm leaving," Tim calls out laughing. "No matter how good your buns are."
"Holy hot buns, Batman! Challenge accepted."
Tim the Starter is probably judging him right now, just like the man he named it after. But it’s okay. He and the Tim running after him are off to a good start at least.