The House Rules, Ch. 1
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Alfred!
Genre: Humor/Slash. Very sitcommy. XD
Warnings: General embarrassment, because I love tormenting these boys.
A/N: Damian invites a surprise dinner guest. The rest of the family has a couple things to say about that, especially Bruce Wayne. It’s a follow-up to Caged Heat. But all you have to know is that Damian and Jason have a thing, and that Bruce and Tim once walked in on them (i.e. smashed through Jason’s windows). This turned out a little too cutesy for my tastes, but eh, I thought I’d share it, anyway. ^^*
“So, what do you think Damian’s date is like?“ Dick Grayson asked, not for the first time, sounding way too excited for someone who’d supposedly entered maturity a good while ago.
Tim Drake tried not to roll his eyes. “Well, he’s a pathological showoff, so I’m expecting a black-belt supermodel with a degree in physics, who also designs weapons-grade technology for the Secret Service,” he said dryly.
It sounded like a joke, and Dick laughed accordingly, but all in all, that was what Tim was actually expecting. Damian had ridiculously high standards for even the soap that was to be placed in his second bathroom on the third floor (and the kicker was, he didn’t even care for toiletries, he just made a point about being hard to please); so now that he’d decided to enter the dating scene at eighteen, the rest of them better held on to their hats.
Apart from that - in the back of his mind, Tim hoped it would be a ludicrously overqualified supermodel, or some such.
Because the alternative was so, so much worse.
A week ago, Damian had interrupted Sunday dinner for “an announcement” (right when Tim was telling Bruce that exciting story about his trip to Tibet, too), and had told them that he’d be bringing “a person” to dinner next week, and that he’d appreciate it if none of them “embarrassed him”, looking very pointedly at Tim Drake, who was known for many things, embarrassing people not being one of them. Tim had simply stared at him, popped a grape in his mouth, squashed it, and let the whole thing slide. Damian had taken the stunned silence around the table as agreement, concluded, “Good talk,” and sat down again, continuing to massacre his lobster.
Ever since then, Tim Drake had felt a certain nervous apprehension in his stomach.
Damian Wayne had been on an official date exactly once, as far as he could remember. It had been some debutante ball, and Bruce had set him up with a famous, sweet, impossibly pretty teenage pop singer. Damian had absolutely dazzled her by whirling her through a pitch-perfect Paso Doble. And then, he’d spent the rest of the evening detailing to her all 57 ways you could murder a person using only a drinking straw and a wristwach. They’d ended up not dating again.
The terrible thing was, Tim wasn’t sure if Damian had freaked her out for his own twisted amusement, or if he genuinely believed this was a good topic. (Tim actually agreed that this was a pretty good topic. But not for a date with a civilian.)
All this filled Tim with concern. Damian was smart, and he was a good Robin, too, but there was something in his nature that had never been tamed. There still was a slim chance he’d start murdering nurses once he went to college.
Of course, Dick Grayson didn’t see any of that; he thought it was adorable. He’d been pinching Damian’s cheeks all day (or attempted to), teasing him and asking him questions until the boy had threatened to put a fork through him (not in him; through him).
Of course, Dick Grayson didn’t know what Tim knew, he hadn’t seen what he and Bruce had seen, and somehow, they’d missed the perfect time window to tell him.
“I wonder if it’s a guy or girl,” Dick went on merrily, while they were putting the finishing touches on the salad they’d offered Alfred to make. He elbowed Tim, winking at him. “Hey, maybe it’s one of ours! You know, another mask. I could see it. Could you see it? I could definitely see it. Or - ” He seemed barely able to contain his excitement. “Maybe it’s a villain! We haven’t had that in so long!”
“Yeah,” Tim replied uneasily. “And that always works out so great, too.” He blinked at him, nervously, and licked his lips. “Listen, Dick, it’s probably nothing, but there’s something you should know - ”
He was cut off by the melodic sounds of the doorbell.
“There’s the date!” Dick put down the olive oil and made for the door. “Let’s have a look!”
Tim grabbed his arm, trying to hold him back, but that only resulted in Dick dragging him with like an over-motivated Golden Retriever. “No, seriously, Dick, listen. I - ”
Well. Perhaps he was being paranoid. Tim knew that Bruce had looked into it right after Damian’s announcement, and had found no indication that these two were…meeting up again. But then, there were few people as good at covering their tracks than -
“Hi,” said Jason Todd.
Dick came to a halt in the entrance hall, looking about as shocked as if an inter-dimensional portal had opened up in front of him. Tim stayed put next to him, frowning, though not half as surprised.
Alfred, as always, seemed completely unperturbed.
“Mr Todd,” he greeted their guest. Tim noticed that he avoided saying “Master Jason”, or “Jason”, therefore treating him like a distant acquaintance. “I have to say, it is good to see you well.”
Tim squinted. He did look…well, sort of. He’d fixed his hair and shaved off the stubble, the dark rings under his eyes didn’t seem quite as dramatic as he remembered, and he’d gotten himself a suit. Tim still wanted to smack that lopsided smirk off his face, though. He had a bottle of red under his arm, and was clutching a little pink box with a bow around it in his hands.
For all it was worth, Jason either was a great actor, or he was sincerely excited to see Alfred again.
“You too, Alfred,” he said, offering up the box he was holding like a peace signal. “I brought wine, and cupcakes from Fido’s.”
Tim winced as Dick’s fingers suddenly dug into his arm. “Tim?” He hissed questioningly, sounding appropriately alarmed. “Tim? Tim?! What - ”
He sighed. “Yes.”
Dick groaned. “No.”
“Fido’s is an excellent choice, Sir. And the wine is … from a department store. How thoughtful.” Alfred accepted the package, still blocking the door so that Jason would have to bowl him over to enter. Tim could see Alfred subtly assess the weight of the box to make sure it actually contained pastries. If it did, they would most definitely receive some poison testing in the kitchen, too.
Apparently, the little pink box checked out. “Welcome,” Alfred said, stepping aside to let Jason in. “May I take your jacket?”
There was a gleam in Jason’s eyes as he entered, seeing the insides of Wayne Manor for the first time in years. His face flushed as he took a look around. It reminded Tim of his own awe and happiness when he’d first come here. That was a weird parallel and he didn’t like it. He’d made fists as soon as Jason had stepped through the door. Who knew if he might need them.
“Place looks great,” he told Alfred almost coyly, while he peeled off his leather jacket (who wore a suit and a leather jacket?!). “I, uh. I’m assuming there’s still no smoking in here?”
“Out on the veranda, if you please,” Alfred said, taking the piece of clothing. “I’ll bring you an ashtray.” His lips twitched. “As well as those health pamphlets I’ve saved up for you.”
Jason grinned at that. “I’ll take the ashtray, Alfred, thanks.”
Despite the caution, there was an element of genuine warmth between Alfred and their guest. Tim didn’t like that, either.
That moment passed quickly, though. Because right then, Jason noticed them standing there, and the room temperature dropped a couple of degrees. Tim could feel Dick tense next to him.
The minutes stretched, and for a good while, there was something in the air between them, palpable.
But then, Jason grinned that shit-eating grin that Tim hated so much, and nodded curtly in their direction. “Butters. Kyle.”
Tim relaxed his fists and crossed his arms in front of his chest instead. “Oh good, he knows 90’s television,” he muttered under his breath. “Sure, that’s embarrassing for us.”
Jason glared at him. “You don’t have to talk like I’m, y’know, not sentient. I’m right here. I can hear you.”
He could tell it took Dick all his strength to utter, “You’re here for Damian?”
For a few beats, Jason looked almost embarrassed. Then, he defiantly said, “Yeah?”, sounding way more defensive than he’d probably intended.
Tim could tell that these were devastating news to Dick, but he took it well. “Then I take it you’re still familiar with the house rules,” he said icily. “No weaponry at Sunday dinner.”
“Dumb rule.”
All their heads turned at once when they heard that cold, snappy voice. Damian Wayne was descending the stairs like it was prom night. He wore an exquisitely tailored velvety black suit, his best shoes, and had somehow made his hair look…okay. Oh god, he’d dressed up for his date.
He was smiling, too. It was always so freaky when he was smiling.
Tim tried his best not to groan. He should’ve just hit Gotham Burger on his way home and called it a night.
“Dumb rule, but he knows, Grayson,” Damian drawled, eyeing his guest like a Fido’s cupcake, “And besides, we have a metal detector built into the entrance for a reason. He couldn’t smuggle a razor under his tongue in here if he tried.”
Somehow, Jason didn’t seem to mind Damian talking about him in third person. His eyes were glinting as he cocked his brow. “A razor under the tongue,” he growled. “Right. If this was the Eighties. And…prison.”
Damian had arrived at the foot of the stairs. “You came.”
“’course I did.”
They approached each other, and Tim hated to admit that Jason scored some points when he leaned down and gave Damian a chaste little kiss on the cheek instead of doing something wildly inappropriate just to be a jackass.
It was kind of a nice kiss, too, like, genuinely affectionate.
Still, also vaguely terrifying. It was like seeing a velociraptor make out with Megatron. It was…just twisted and wrong.
Next to him, Dick Grayson looked all sorts of mortified.
“You look good,” Jason told Damian. The boy responded by giving him a smoldering look that Tim would never be able to unsee.
“We have time before dinner, right?” Damian asked in Dick’s and Tim’s direction before grabbing his date’s bulky arm. “You’re coming with me. To my room. You’ll look at all my trophies.”
“That sounds great.” There was some sleaziness creeping into Jason’s smile as he followed him willingly, to which Dick finally shouted: “Hold on.”
The pair stopped, and Damian turned with a telltale scowl on his face. “What. He’s going to see my room, anyway. We’re having a sleepover.”
Seldom had the word sleepover sounded less innocent.
Dick’s jaw clenched, which was a rare sight outside of battle. “No you’re not.”
Damian cracked his knuckles; his voice had arrived at sub-zero. “Excuse me. I live here. Do you live here? Because I live here.”
Oh please no. If Dick and Damian started a fight, they’d be here all week.
Not that Tim wasn’t siding with Dick, though.
He wasn’t the only one. “I live here as well, Master Damian,” said Alfred, who had returned from stowing away the wine and cupcakes, and had heard the whole thing. “And I’m happy to remind you that Wayne Manor boasts 12 guest bedrooms, one of which Mr Todd might gladly occupy, should this sleepover come to pass.”
Which it absolutely won’t, was what his voice implied.
“Those are all bugged, Alfred!” Jason interjected, sounding hurt. Alfred ignored him, which seemed to sting Jason a little.
“I’m assuming your father is informed about you inviting overnight guests?” Alfred asked Damian, to which the boy just fumed and said nothing.
“Very well,” the butler said. “The gazpacho soup will be served in 15 minutes. Might I suggest you wait in the salon, instead.” Again, in a voice that clearly communicated you will not be taking him to your room, young man.
Damian was baffled at that. “But…soup always tastes the same!” he protested, nonsensically.
“That has nothing to do with anything!” Dick pointed out angrily.
“I’m a grownup, Grayson, you can’t - ”
“Oh really? Because let me tell you something, sleepover is not a word that grownups use - ”
“What’s that? Sure! Be right there!” Tim said, even though no-one had called for him, and got the hell out of there.
He found Bruce in his study, trying to pick a bow tie. He looked up as Tim gave the doorframe a knock. He seemed so calm and relaxed this evening that it nearly broke his heart to have to do this. “Ah, Tim. Which one do you think? The ruby one … or the …”
Tim grimaced. Better rip that band aid off real quick.
“Yeah…it’s him,” he reported.
Then, he was almost knocked over as Bruce stomped past him, arms swinging and cold, steely determination in his eyes, to join the unfortunate scene in the entrance hall.
Tim sighed. Usually, these rare Sunday dinners at the Wayne Estate were a source of peace and tranquility. And it was a near miracle they’d managed to meet up to weeks in a row. It seemed especially precious because their lives where so violent and full of strife; an entire evening of just being in a room with people they deeply trusted.
Of course, Damian had to violate the “no weaponry” rule by inviting Jason Todd.
Right now, Tim wished he was a smoker. Hanging out alone on the veranda for a couple minutes seemed very attractive. Perhaps he could suck on a piece of carrot.
Aw, what the heck. He turned around, and caught up to Bruce.
Dick and Damian were still tittering at each other when they arrived, like only people that were close could titter at each other. Alfred watched the whole display, complacent, yet observant. Jason looked back and forth between them, torn between looking jealous, filled with Schadenfreude, and contemplating a strategic exit.
However, his features turned to stone when he saw Bruce Wayne coming at him.
It wasn’t that he seemed scared, exactly; Jason wasn’t scared of him, because he wasn’t scared to get hurt, or even scared to die. But even he couldn’t shake the respect he felt for the man, no matter how hard he tried.
Tim knew that, because, having Bruce Wayne being mad at you was the most horrible thing in the world for so many reasons.
The bickering stopped at once when Bruce arrived. Even Damian went still, finger still aggressively pointed in the air. He eyed his father with apprehension, steeling himself for another fight like the ones they always had, every day, about absolutely everything.
“Good evening.” Bruce took a quick look around. “Alfred, please keep the dinner warm, we’ll be another 30 minutes. Tim, Dick, thank you for coming. Damian, go show them those new Wii games you have. And we - ”
He stepped up to Jason and put an arm around him in what seemed like a vice. “We’ll take a walk.”
Damian seemed to forget his quarrel with Dick for a moment. “What is he doing?” He hissed to his older brother, sounding as horrified as a kid whose dad had just started dancing at his graduation party.
“I’m sorry, little bro,” Dick had learned to smile again and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You’re just gonna have to let this play out.”
Jason could have freed himself from that grip, Tim knew. It was hard to tell whether any of them were a true match for Batman, but Jason was sturdy and strong, he surely wasn’t helpless. But he didn’t. Instead, Tim saw a curious mix of nervousness, excitement and…happiness…? wash over his features as Bruce dragged him away.
It was rare to see Damian Wayne so obviously not being on top of what was happening. “But…but…”
His dark face turned even darker, as he helplessly yelled, “I have an Xbox, Father! It’s not a Wii, it’s an Xbox! We played together on it…three times!”
Characters: Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Alfred!
Genre: Humor/Slash. Very sitcommy. XD
Warnings: General embarrassment, because I love tormenting these boys.
A/N: Damian invites a surprise dinner guest. The rest of the family has a couple things to say about that, especially Bruce Wayne. It’s a follow-up to Caged Heat. But all you have to know is that Damian and Jason have a thing, and that Bruce and Tim once walked in on them (i.e. smashed through Jason’s windows). This turned out a little too cutesy for my tastes, but eh, I thought I’d share it, anyway. ^^*
“So, what do you think Damian’s date is like?“ Dick Grayson asked, not for the first time, sounding way too excited for someone who’d supposedly entered maturity a good while ago.
Tim Drake tried not to roll his eyes. “Well, he’s a pathological showoff, so I’m expecting a black-belt supermodel with a degree in physics, who also designs weapons-grade technology for the Secret Service,” he said dryly.
It sounded like a joke, and Dick laughed accordingly, but all in all, that was what Tim was actually expecting. Damian had ridiculously high standards for even the soap that was to be placed in his second bathroom on the third floor (and the kicker was, he didn’t even care for toiletries, he just made a point about being hard to please); so now that he’d decided to enter the dating scene at eighteen, the rest of them better held on to their hats.
Apart from that - in the back of his mind, Tim hoped it would be a ludicrously overqualified supermodel, or some such.
Because the alternative was so, so much worse.
A week ago, Damian had interrupted Sunday dinner for “an announcement” (right when Tim was telling Bruce that exciting story about his trip to Tibet, too), and had told them that he’d be bringing “a person” to dinner next week, and that he’d appreciate it if none of them “embarrassed him”, looking very pointedly at Tim Drake, who was known for many things, embarrassing people not being one of them. Tim had simply stared at him, popped a grape in his mouth, squashed it, and let the whole thing slide. Damian had taken the stunned silence around the table as agreement, concluded, “Good talk,” and sat down again, continuing to massacre his lobster.
Ever since then, Tim Drake had felt a certain nervous apprehension in his stomach.
Damian Wayne had been on an official date exactly once, as far as he could remember. It had been some debutante ball, and Bruce had set him up with a famous, sweet, impossibly pretty teenage pop singer. Damian had absolutely dazzled her by whirling her through a pitch-perfect Paso Doble. And then, he’d spent the rest of the evening detailing to her all 57 ways you could murder a person using only a drinking straw and a wristwach. They’d ended up not dating again.
The terrible thing was, Tim wasn’t sure if Damian had freaked her out for his own twisted amusement, or if he genuinely believed this was a good topic. (Tim actually agreed that this was a pretty good topic. But not for a date with a civilian.)
All this filled Tim with concern. Damian was smart, and he was a good Robin, too, but there was something in his nature that had never been tamed. There still was a slim chance he’d start murdering nurses once he went to college.
Of course, Dick Grayson didn’t see any of that; he thought it was adorable. He’d been pinching Damian’s cheeks all day (or attempted to), teasing him and asking him questions until the boy had threatened to put a fork through him (not in him; through him).
Of course, Dick Grayson didn’t know what Tim knew, he hadn’t seen what he and Bruce had seen, and somehow, they’d missed the perfect time window to tell him.
“I wonder if it’s a guy or girl,” Dick went on merrily, while they were putting the finishing touches on the salad they’d offered Alfred to make. He elbowed Tim, winking at him. “Hey, maybe it’s one of ours! You know, another mask. I could see it. Could you see it? I could definitely see it. Or - ” He seemed barely able to contain his excitement. “Maybe it’s a villain! We haven’t had that in so long!”
“Yeah,” Tim replied uneasily. “And that always works out so great, too.” He blinked at him, nervously, and licked his lips. “Listen, Dick, it’s probably nothing, but there’s something you should know - ”
He was cut off by the melodic sounds of the doorbell.
“There’s the date!” Dick put down the olive oil and made for the door. “Let’s have a look!”
Tim grabbed his arm, trying to hold him back, but that only resulted in Dick dragging him with like an over-motivated Golden Retriever. “No, seriously, Dick, listen. I - ”
Well. Perhaps he was being paranoid. Tim knew that Bruce had looked into it right after Damian’s announcement, and had found no indication that these two were…meeting up again. But then, there were few people as good at covering their tracks than -
“Hi,” said Jason Todd.
Dick came to a halt in the entrance hall, looking about as shocked as if an inter-dimensional portal had opened up in front of him. Tim stayed put next to him, frowning, though not half as surprised.
Alfred, as always, seemed completely unperturbed.
“Mr Todd,” he greeted their guest. Tim noticed that he avoided saying “Master Jason”, or “Jason”, therefore treating him like a distant acquaintance. “I have to say, it is good to see you well.”
Tim squinted. He did look…well, sort of. He’d fixed his hair and shaved off the stubble, the dark rings under his eyes didn’t seem quite as dramatic as he remembered, and he’d gotten himself a suit. Tim still wanted to smack that lopsided smirk off his face, though. He had a bottle of red under his arm, and was clutching a little pink box with a bow around it in his hands.
For all it was worth, Jason either was a great actor, or he was sincerely excited to see Alfred again.
“You too, Alfred,” he said, offering up the box he was holding like a peace signal. “I brought wine, and cupcakes from Fido’s.”
Tim winced as Dick’s fingers suddenly dug into his arm. “Tim?” He hissed questioningly, sounding appropriately alarmed. “Tim? Tim?! What - ”
He sighed. “Yes.”
Dick groaned. “No.”
“Fido’s is an excellent choice, Sir. And the wine is … from a department store. How thoughtful.” Alfred accepted the package, still blocking the door so that Jason would have to bowl him over to enter. Tim could see Alfred subtly assess the weight of the box to make sure it actually contained pastries. If it did, they would most definitely receive some poison testing in the kitchen, too.
Apparently, the little pink box checked out. “Welcome,” Alfred said, stepping aside to let Jason in. “May I take your jacket?”
There was a gleam in Jason’s eyes as he entered, seeing the insides of Wayne Manor for the first time in years. His face flushed as he took a look around. It reminded Tim of his own awe and happiness when he’d first come here. That was a weird parallel and he didn’t like it. He’d made fists as soon as Jason had stepped through the door. Who knew if he might need them.
“Place looks great,” he told Alfred almost coyly, while he peeled off his leather jacket (who wore a suit and a leather jacket?!). “I, uh. I’m assuming there’s still no smoking in here?”
“Out on the veranda, if you please,” Alfred said, taking the piece of clothing. “I’ll bring you an ashtray.” His lips twitched. “As well as those health pamphlets I’ve saved up for you.”
Jason grinned at that. “I’ll take the ashtray, Alfred, thanks.”
Despite the caution, there was an element of genuine warmth between Alfred and their guest. Tim didn’t like that, either.
That moment passed quickly, though. Because right then, Jason noticed them standing there, and the room temperature dropped a couple of degrees. Tim could feel Dick tense next to him.
The minutes stretched, and for a good while, there was something in the air between them, palpable.
But then, Jason grinned that shit-eating grin that Tim hated so much, and nodded curtly in their direction. “Butters. Kyle.”
Tim relaxed his fists and crossed his arms in front of his chest instead. “Oh good, he knows 90’s television,” he muttered under his breath. “Sure, that’s embarrassing for us.”
Jason glared at him. “You don’t have to talk like I’m, y’know, not sentient. I’m right here. I can hear you.”
He could tell it took Dick all his strength to utter, “You’re here for Damian?”
For a few beats, Jason looked almost embarrassed. Then, he defiantly said, “Yeah?”, sounding way more defensive than he’d probably intended.
Tim could tell that these were devastating news to Dick, but he took it well. “Then I take it you’re still familiar with the house rules,” he said icily. “No weaponry at Sunday dinner.”
“Dumb rule.”
All their heads turned at once when they heard that cold, snappy voice. Damian Wayne was descending the stairs like it was prom night. He wore an exquisitely tailored velvety black suit, his best shoes, and had somehow made his hair look…okay. Oh god, he’d dressed up for his date.
He was smiling, too. It was always so freaky when he was smiling.
Tim tried his best not to groan. He should’ve just hit Gotham Burger on his way home and called it a night.
“Dumb rule, but he knows, Grayson,” Damian drawled, eyeing his guest like a Fido’s cupcake, “And besides, we have a metal detector built into the entrance for a reason. He couldn’t smuggle a razor under his tongue in here if he tried.”
Somehow, Jason didn’t seem to mind Damian talking about him in third person. His eyes were glinting as he cocked his brow. “A razor under the tongue,” he growled. “Right. If this was the Eighties. And…prison.”
Damian had arrived at the foot of the stairs. “You came.”
“’course I did.”
They approached each other, and Tim hated to admit that Jason scored some points when he leaned down and gave Damian a chaste little kiss on the cheek instead of doing something wildly inappropriate just to be a jackass.
It was kind of a nice kiss, too, like, genuinely affectionate.
Still, also vaguely terrifying. It was like seeing a velociraptor make out with Megatron. It was…just twisted and wrong.
Next to him, Dick Grayson looked all sorts of mortified.
“You look good,” Jason told Damian. The boy responded by giving him a smoldering look that Tim would never be able to unsee.
“We have time before dinner, right?” Damian asked in Dick’s and Tim’s direction before grabbing his date’s bulky arm. “You’re coming with me. To my room. You’ll look at all my trophies.”
“That sounds great.” There was some sleaziness creeping into Jason’s smile as he followed him willingly, to which Dick finally shouted: “Hold on.”
The pair stopped, and Damian turned with a telltale scowl on his face. “What. He’s going to see my room, anyway. We’re having a sleepover.”
Seldom had the word sleepover sounded less innocent.
Dick’s jaw clenched, which was a rare sight outside of battle. “No you’re not.”
Damian cracked his knuckles; his voice had arrived at sub-zero. “Excuse me. I live here. Do you live here? Because I live here.”
Oh please no. If Dick and Damian started a fight, they’d be here all week.
Not that Tim wasn’t siding with Dick, though.
He wasn’t the only one. “I live here as well, Master Damian,” said Alfred, who had returned from stowing away the wine and cupcakes, and had heard the whole thing. “And I’m happy to remind you that Wayne Manor boasts 12 guest bedrooms, one of which Mr Todd might gladly occupy, should this sleepover come to pass.”
Which it absolutely won’t, was what his voice implied.
“Those are all bugged, Alfred!” Jason interjected, sounding hurt. Alfred ignored him, which seemed to sting Jason a little.
“I’m assuming your father is informed about you inviting overnight guests?” Alfred asked Damian, to which the boy just fumed and said nothing.
“Very well,” the butler said. “The gazpacho soup will be served in 15 minutes. Might I suggest you wait in the salon, instead.” Again, in a voice that clearly communicated you will not be taking him to your room, young man.
Damian was baffled at that. “But…soup always tastes the same!” he protested, nonsensically.
“That has nothing to do with anything!” Dick pointed out angrily.
“I’m a grownup, Grayson, you can’t - ”
“Oh really? Because let me tell you something, sleepover is not a word that grownups use - ”
“What’s that? Sure! Be right there!” Tim said, even though no-one had called for him, and got the hell out of there.
He found Bruce in his study, trying to pick a bow tie. He looked up as Tim gave the doorframe a knock. He seemed so calm and relaxed this evening that it nearly broke his heart to have to do this. “Ah, Tim. Which one do you think? The ruby one … or the …”
Tim grimaced. Better rip that band aid off real quick.
“Yeah…it’s him,” he reported.
Then, he was almost knocked over as Bruce stomped past him, arms swinging and cold, steely determination in his eyes, to join the unfortunate scene in the entrance hall.
Tim sighed. Usually, these rare Sunday dinners at the Wayne Estate were a source of peace and tranquility. And it was a near miracle they’d managed to meet up to weeks in a row. It seemed especially precious because their lives where so violent and full of strife; an entire evening of just being in a room with people they deeply trusted.
Of course, Damian had to violate the “no weaponry” rule by inviting Jason Todd.
Right now, Tim wished he was a smoker. Hanging out alone on the veranda for a couple minutes seemed very attractive. Perhaps he could suck on a piece of carrot.
Aw, what the heck. He turned around, and caught up to Bruce.
Dick and Damian were still tittering at each other when they arrived, like only people that were close could titter at each other. Alfred watched the whole display, complacent, yet observant. Jason looked back and forth between them, torn between looking jealous, filled with Schadenfreude, and contemplating a strategic exit.
However, his features turned to stone when he saw Bruce Wayne coming at him.
It wasn’t that he seemed scared, exactly; Jason wasn’t scared of him, because he wasn’t scared to get hurt, or even scared to die. But even he couldn’t shake the respect he felt for the man, no matter how hard he tried.
Tim knew that, because, having Bruce Wayne being mad at you was the most horrible thing in the world for so many reasons.
The bickering stopped at once when Bruce arrived. Even Damian went still, finger still aggressively pointed in the air. He eyed his father with apprehension, steeling himself for another fight like the ones they always had, every day, about absolutely everything.
“Good evening.” Bruce took a quick look around. “Alfred, please keep the dinner warm, we’ll be another 30 minutes. Tim, Dick, thank you for coming. Damian, go show them those new Wii games you have. And we - ”
He stepped up to Jason and put an arm around him in what seemed like a vice. “We’ll take a walk.”
Damian seemed to forget his quarrel with Dick for a moment. “What is he doing?” He hissed to his older brother, sounding as horrified as a kid whose dad had just started dancing at his graduation party.
“I’m sorry, little bro,” Dick had learned to smile again and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You’re just gonna have to let this play out.”
Jason could have freed himself from that grip, Tim knew. It was hard to tell whether any of them were a true match for Batman, but Jason was sturdy and strong, he surely wasn’t helpless. But he didn’t. Instead, Tim saw a curious mix of nervousness, excitement and…happiness…? wash over his features as Bruce dragged him away.
It was rare to see Damian Wayne so obviously not being on top of what was happening. “But…but…”
His dark face turned even darker, as he helplessly yelled, “I have an Xbox, Father! It’s not a Wii, it’s an Xbox! We played together on it…three times!”