Chapter Text
Jason stands just in front of Tim’s door, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and telling himself to just knock already.
He tried to act normal with B, but the truth is that knocking on Tim’s door after he cried in front of him is really hard, maybe the hardest thing he’s done in a while. He wants to explain what happened, but at the same time he doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to tell Tim why he shut himself in his room and cried for an hour. He doesn’t want to tell him about Mary from The Secret Garden, and he doesn’t want to tell him about things that happened when Jason still lived with his parents.
He may have lied to Bruce, just a tiny bit, when he said it wasn’t remembering his parents that made him cry. It wasn’t just that—he really did cry about Mary too—but that was a big part of it. It’s just that sometimes Jason doesn’t want to have the Big Emotional Talk with Bruce, which is always what happens when he’s feeling sad about his parents. Sometimes he just wants to be sad or mad without having to think about why or how to fix it. He doesn’t want to talk about his parents right now, especially since everyone’s supposed to be having a fun Christmas Vacation.
But even through his blurry, stinging eyes, Jason could see how freaked out Tim was earlier. His face went pale and his eyes got big, and he looked scared. At the time, it just made Jason cry more, but now it’s the thing that makes him take a deep breath and knock on the door. He doesn’t want Tim to be scared because of him.
It’s a tiny, quiet knock, but it still works fine. The door opens and Tim peers out at him sheepishly, his light eyes darting around Jason’s face. Jason can tell he’s looking at his swollen eyes and red nose, and he feels his face start to heat up. Jason’s a messy crier, no doubt about it—he always looks like a disaster after he’s done, and it’s impossible to hide it. And yeah, B can go on and on about how crying is nothing to be ashamed of and everyone does it, but Jason is still allowed to feel embarrassed, so there.
They stand there for a moment, staring awkwardly at each other without saying anything.
Jason clears his throat, sniffling a bit. “Is it okay if I come in?”
Tim blinks, and then jumps, pulling the door open wide. “Oh! Yes, sorry!”
The spare room Alfred gave Tim looks almost just like it always does, except for the books on the nightstand and the stack of CDs next to the stereo on the dresser. Sometimes when Jason gets up for a glass of water in the middle of the night, he can just barely hear Tim’s music from the hallway. He listens to a lot of different stuff.
Sitting on the bed beside Tim’s pillow is a little giraffe doll in a white dress. Tim was holding it when he first got here, but he hasn’t brought it out of his room since then. Jason guesses it’s not like Damian’s stuffed animals, which he carries around the house and leaves in random places. It’s probably more like Zitka, who stays in Dick’s room and is only for bedtime. Jason has a whole bunch of squishy stuffed animals that he likes to lay on while he reads, but he doesn’t have a favorite or anything.
“I like your giraffe,” he volunteers, pointing.
Tim looks at the toy and then back to Jason, and then smiles like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. “Her name is Petra.”
“Cool name,” Jason says, rocking on his feet again. This is just as hard as he thought it would be.
“I’m really sorry for getting mad at you,” Tim says suddenly, like he can’t hold it in anymore.
Jason swallows. “It’s okay.”
“It’s just that you said I was lying, and I wasn’t lying,” Tim continues, brows crinkled. Jason doesn’t blame him for being mad about that—he doesn’t like being called a liar either.
“I’m sorry too,” he says. “I didn’t know you were telling the truth, but I should have believed you. And… I’m also sorry I freaked out on you.”
“How come you cried?” Tim asks quietly.
“So, basically,” Jason starts slowly, remembering Bruce’s words: Tim’s view of this whole situation is messed up. “Thinking about you being by yourself made me upset.”
Tim blinks. “Why?”
Jason can’t say his first thought, which is that leaving your five-year-old kid alone for a long time is a crime and no one should ever do it. He wants to, but he remembers what else Bruce said.
“The Drakes aren’t good parents, but they’re still his parents, and he loves them.”
Jason can understand that. His mom wasn’t always there for him, but he would have hit anyone who called her a bad mom. Which means if he says anything bad about Tim’s parents, then Tim will be mad or his feelings will be hurt, and Jason doesn’t want that. But how else is he supposed to explain why he freaked out and cried?
He pulls air into his cheeks and slowly blows it out again, thinking hard about what he should say.
He really doesn’t want to talk about this, but he figures Tim deserves to know a little bit about him, since he knows all about Tim’s stuff now. “Before I came to live with Bruce, I lived with my mom and dad. My dad wasn’t around much, but it wasn’t really a big deal. My mom was always there, even if she was sick a lot.
“But then my dad got sent to pri— Um, he got sent away, and my mom’s sickness got worse. She couldn’t really stay awake for very long, so I was alone most of the time.”
He hated it when she slept all day, but at least when she was asleep she wasn’t hurting. She wasn’t just laying in bed all day, shaking and crying and still trying to smile at him. The worst part is that if Jason tries, he can still remember what it was like before Mom got sick, when she would read to him and make him dinner and wash his hair and play games with him. When she would tell him funny jokes to make him laugh when the power went out and he got scared. When she would stand up to Dad when he got mean.
In the small space after she started getting sick but before Dad left for good, there was one time when Dad got mean like he always did, and Jason happened to be right there in the same room with him. Mom was dead asleep on the couch, and when she woke up from the shouting, she just stared and didn’t say anything. It was like her eyes were seeing them, but she just couldn’t understand what was going on. That was the only time she didn’t stand up for him, and even though Jason knew it wasn’t her fault, it still hurt a lot more than anything Dad ever did.
“My neighbors used to invite me over for lunch and dinner sometimes," he tells Tim, "but mostly I just stayed in the apartment to keep Mom safe while she slept. And it was really lonely, and I felt sad a lot. I didn’t have anyone to talk to or play with.”
Tim’s looking at him with big, understanding eyes. It’s funny that even though neither of his parents are sick like Jason’s mom was, he’s also had to sit at home by himself, just like Jason did. Well, it’s not funny, really, but that’s the only word Jason can think of right now.
“Picturing you all alone in your house made me really sad because I know how that feels,” he admits. “And sometimes when I get really sad, it feels better to pretend I’m angry instead. Or… maybe I am angry? I don’t know. But that’s why I said you were lying.”
“It's okay, Jason, I understand now,” Tim tells him. “But you don’t have to be sad about me. I’m very mature for my age, and I'm fine spending time by myself.”
“But wouldn’t it be so much better with a friend?” Jason pushes. He decides to share something he’s never told anyone, not even B. “I used to wish for one sometimes, when Mom was asleep and it was just me. I’d wish for a brother who was big, and strong enough to beat people up, but still wanted to read to me and stuff like that.”
Tim hesitates, and then says very shyly, “Sometimes I pretend I’m friends with the Justice League. And they’re coming over for a party, and I need to get everything ready before they show up. And I set out plates and silverware and the fancy glasses, even though I’m not really supposed to touch them.”
Jason grins. “I bet the Justice League would love to go to your party, Tim.”
“Really?” Tim asks quietly, his cheeks going red. “I never know what food to give them.”
“Can't go wrong with pizza,” Jason tells him, shrugging. “Just remember to invite me if you ever do have that party, okay?”
“You want to come to my party?” Tim asks, looking very surprised.
“Well yeah, if it’s a party for all your friends then I need to be there!” Jason tells him. “Plus it’s my ultimate dream to get Wonder Woman’s autograph, so.”
Tim’s eyes go bright, like the windows of a house with the lights on inside. “You're my friend?”
“I mean, yeah,” Jason says uncomfortably, scratching the side of his nose. “What did you think?”
“I’m not sure, I’ve never had a friend before,” Tim tells him easily, like that isn’t a very sad thing to say.
“You’ve never had a friend?” Jason asks before he can stop himself.
“Well,” Tim says, “I had Miss Claire, but she’s a grown up. I never had a friend who was a kid like me.”
“Well you have one now,” Jason says firmly. “So that means you should get used to me caring about you, even though sometimes I’ll probably cry or get mad. That’s just part of the deal with friends, okay?”
“Okay,” Tim says, eyes big and happy. “Thank you, Jason.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” Jason says, feeling his ears heat up. “Now let’s go, I haven’t had lunch yet and I’m starving. Being a friend is hungry work, you know.”