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Jason’s got to have some kind of death wish, because the moment he hears the crash, he walks towards it, instead clearing the fuck out.
If he was in a horror movie, he’d be the first to die, and he’d basically deserve it.
Tim’s in one of the manor’s billion opulent fucking hallways, looking pale. Kid fucked up and knocked over a tea set that had been on an end table fancier than the Queen of England. Not Jason’s problem. He should leave before the shit hits the fan.
The kid’s just standing there, frozen, surrounded by porcelain. He looks about a sneeze away from bursting into tears.
Damn it all to hell.
Tim’s got a year on Jason, but he doesn’t look it, and he sure as hell doesn’t look ready to take on a grown-up. Besides, Jason was brought into this indescribably weird place a whole three hours before Tim, so he might as well help the kid out.
“Think he’ll notice?” Jason asks. Willis would notice, but Jason has been here three days and he’s already seen like a billion fancy breakable things.
Tim gives a laugh that’s just a smidge too close to hysterical for comfort. “Um… yeah. I think he’ll notice.”
“Worth a shot,” Jason grumbles. Tim would know better than him, the kid’s parents are almost as rich as Bruce. “So on a scale of one to ten, how dead are you?”
“Batman doesn’t kill,” Tim says robotically.
“You know what I mean,” Jason gripes.
Jason starts picking up the bigger pieces of porcelain, and that’s what finally unfreezes Tim.
“I’ll get it. You can go play with everyone else, I can handle it on my own.” Tim crouches down and starts collecting glass, avoiding looking at Jason. “It was really nice getting to meet you though.”
Jason feels his jaw click. “I thought you said Batman doesn’t kill.”
Tim looks flustered. “No, of course he doesn’t! He’s not going to hurt me. It’s just that I don’t really need to be here, and I have my own house, and my own family. I’m already underfoot enough as it is, for no real reason, and if I can’t be a respectful guest, then I really don’t deserve to stay.”
Tim says it so matter of fact, even though he is a respectful guest. Jason is the one who keeps cussing at Bruce. But maybe Tim’s right. It makes sense that a rich guy would be nice for a while then lose his shit over rich guy stuff.
Because Jason doesn’t know how to act in his own best interest, he offers, “I can help you. We can at least
try
to hide it.”
Tim looks scandalized. “I can’t
lie
to
Mr. Wayne.”
Even though it’s serious, Jason can’t help smirking. It’s not even that Tim’s scared to lie to Batman; he can’t handle lying to ‘Mr. Wayne.’ Like this is some elegant evening function for rich people, not living in the home of a guy with more compassion than sense who’s passed on his child-collecting addiction to his kids.
“It’s not lying, it’s being sneaky. And I know for a fact you can be sneaky.”
“Talon can be sneaky.” The high pitched voice makes both of them jump about a foot in the air.
Jason whirls around and sees the yellow eyed shrimp of extreme freakiness staring at him. Jason’s about to tie bells around the kid’s crazy stretchy limbs.
“I’ll bet you can,” Jason concedes, because the kid sneaks up on everyone without even trying. “But we don’t really need your help. If we were going to throw someone under the bus, it’d be one of the bigger kids. We’re just trying to figure out how to handle all this broken shit.”
“I can handle it myself,” Tim protests.
“Bloodshed is the language of this city,” the little freak chirps.
Jason looks over and sees that Tim has a cut on his finger, but the look on his face is priceless.
“You know kid, your nonsense has a point.” Jason shrugs.
“Jason, can you take him to go play?” Tim pleads. “I don’t, you know, want him to get worried or anything when I get lectured.”
Jason bites his lip.
On one hand, Bruce reacted pretty fucking well to having his tires stolen. On the other hand, a tea set like that might cost even more than the tires- rich people are weird. On the other hand, it’s not like Tim was being a shit on purpose. But, on the other hand, everyone has their limit, and three days isn’t nearly enough time to find Bruce’s. On the other hand, Tim’s right that he at least has somewhere else to go. On the other hand, leaving Tim to get kicked out and be all alone again feels like a pretty asshole move. But then, on the other hand, if things are going to go south, it would be a good idea to get the smallest kid hidden.
At this point, Jason’s brain has come up with more hands than the three of them possess all together (unless Talon Jr. has an extra set hidden away somewhere) and feels no closer to an answer on how to proceed.
“Let me at least help you clean up real quick. You should grab some toilet paper or something for your finger, and then if we hear anyone coming, I’ll clear out with the kid,” Jason offers. Tim is 9, he can take care of himself, but Jason can at least help a little.
Tim looks like he’s about to protest when the little murder bird perks up in delight and flies down the hall. Jason and Tim look at each other in mutual confusion for a moment before they hear from around the corner, “Buddy! There you are!”
Jason relaxes. Of course Duke would be here. They can all see how much the talon follows Duke around like a little duckling, but after watching long enough, anyone can see it goes both ways. The meta can move shadows towards and away from him, and when his little assassin shadow strays too far, he always comes looking.
Tim returns to the task of quickly cleaning up his mess, and Jason helps him out, keeping half an ear on the conversation in the next hall. He’s not really scared of Duke, but if an adult is coming, Tim’s on his own.
“Knock-knock!” Talon peeps.
“Who’s there?” Duke responds, enthusiastic and delighted.
“Bloodspill!”
This house is going to be the death of Jason. He completely deserves the horror film death he has coming to him.
“Bloodspill?” Concern overtakes the joy in Duke’s voice.
“Who,” Talon prompts in a monotone.
“Bloodspill, who?” Duke corrects.
“Tim’s finger!” Talon crows with self-satisfaction.
Jason’s got to hand it to the little monster. He might not really grasp humor yet, but he’s clearly got the hang of some formulas and patterns.
“Where?” Duke asks.
Jason drops the handful of tiny porcelain pieces he’s been collecting into a teacup that survived with only a chip. Duke comes around the corner being pulled by the talon and Jason gives him a shrug.
Tim looks like a deer who’s teatime went horribly wrong caught in headlights.
The talon points a finger at Tim like the ghost of Christmas yet to come. “The possessions of the upper crust are stained with blood,” He informs Duke calmly.
It might be a while before the talon can be funny on purpose, but his unintentional comedic timing is off the charts.
Jason erupts into giggles, earning him unimpressed stares from 6 eyes (again, assuming Talon Jr. doesn’t have any extra ones hidden away).
So Jason finds the murder baby funny. Sue him.
Duke rolls his eyes and turns to Tim. “Are you okay?”
From what little Jason knows about Tim, the kid’s spent way too much time unnoticed by everyone around him. When Duke shines a metaphorical (haha, meta!) spotlight (ha!) on Tim, he curls in on himself like a shrinky-dink.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’ll clean it up and then apologize to Mr. Wayne,” Tim says, like he’s not talking to the kid who saw a mutated killer cult child wandering in the Gotham tunnels and brought him home. If anyone’s going to lose their shit over a super fancy, super shattered tea set, it’s not going to be the kid who gets indignant when anyone so much as implies his ‘baby’ could be anything less than a saint.
“It’s okay. Dad’s not going to get mad.” Duke soothes, before smiling conspiratorially. “Damian broke a whole car once. You’re fine.”
Jason loses himself in giggles once again, imagining the perpetually serious vigilanteen just shattering a car like the tea set.
Duke puts his hands on his small, stabby-sibling’s shoulder. “Stay back here, okay?”
The blink Duke gets from the talon must have meant yes, because he nods and steps carefully across the carpet to Tim and Jason. He takes the porcelain carefully from them and sets it all on the end table while keeping up a running commentary that feels surprisingly comforting. “You don’t have to worry about this, Damian and Dad and Alfred and I can help. Accidents just happen sometimes, and besides, Alfred’s favorite teapot is the green one in the kitchen, and dad bought him two extras a couple years ago in case any of us ever drop it. We have to take care of your finger though. The bathroom at the end of the hall has space band-aids, or if you want to come to the one upstairs, that one has Justice League ones, and puppies that Damian will only choose if they won’t show, and emoji ones. But also, we have ones with suns in the kitchen. Dad ordered some M&M ones, and Jane Austen ones, and camera ones, but they’re not going to come until Wednesday.”
Jason blinks. Duke has coaxed him and Tim away from the mess and is inspecting their hands carefully.
“Jane Austen?” Jason blurts out, the implications of the words catching up to him.
“Yeah,” Duke beams. “He was going to get you ones with tires on them, but they were surprisingly hard to find. He’s probably going to order them custom, and probably get different camera ones too, because none of the cameras really look like yours Timmy, but once he does that, he’ll want to get everyone custom ones, so Alfred said he should start a list and order them all at once.”
Rich people are wild.
Still, the thought of there being band-aids under the bathroom sink that specifically symbolize him puts a feeling in Jason’s chest that he doesn’t know how to name. From the look on Tim’s face, Jason guesses that Tim’s chest feels the same.
“You guys aren’t hurt anywhere else, right?” Duke verifies, looking between them.
When they shake their heads, Duke holds Jason’s left hand, and Tim’s unharmed right. “So where should we go for band-aids?”
“Space- I mean, the close bathroom is fine- I mean anywhere, uh, thank you,” Tim manages.
Duke smiles at his little murder shadow before he starts walking. It’s like he wants to make sure the kid doesn’t feel left out, even though Duke doesn’t have a third hand to offer him. None of them have third hands. Probably.
As they walk down the hall, Jason feels another giggle fit coming on at the absurdity of his current situation. He lives in a mansion now, with a billionaire, and honest-to-god British butler, a trained assassin who’s barely old enough to buy spray paint, a meta with less self preservation instincts than God gave a moth, a stalker rich kid with more anxiety than God gave a fainting goat, and a not-exactly-human trained assassin who is most definitely not old enough to buy spray paint.
And maybe Jason’s starting to like all of them. Sue him.