Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jason readjusted his crutch under his arm before resuming his slow, clanking progress down the hall. Each click of the crutches was unbearably loud in comparison to the Wednesday morning silence of the Manor, where he was currently serving out his house arrest. It was a small detail in the grand scheme of things, but it only made him resent his situation further.

His phone, weighing heavy in the pocket of his sweats, buzzed against his thigh. He cursed quietly, making a beeline for the wall and leaning bodily against it as he dug the device free. The one problem with pants baggy and saggy enough to fit over an entire leg cast was how far he had to shove his arm into the pockets to reach anything.

It took three tries for face ID to work. Instead of throwing his phone into the opposite wall, Jason settled for opening Tim’s new message with a much rougher jab of his thumb than necessary.

Beneath the previous texts summoning Jason to his room, which was rude enough considering which of them was on Alfred-mandated R&R, was a new passive aggressive addition.

Tomithy Duckboy: don’t rush or anything

Jason, who was going at a perfectly reasonable pace for someone with a shattered patella, scowled. He took his sweet time to peruse his camera roll, hunting down his own personal screenshot of Kermit the frog looking out a rainy window. He carefully captioned the picture with a single broken heart emoji before sending. Self-satisfied, he returned the phone to his pocket. He felt it land somewhere troublingly close to his shin.

By the time he reached Tim’s door, the ever-present ache, previously centred around his left knee, was radiating up to his hip.

He barged in without a courtesy knock. Because that would imply a level of respect.

“You do realise I’m on bedrest, right?” Jason snapped by way of a greeting, picking his way carefully across the hazardous wasteland that was Tim’s bedroom floor.

Tim glanced over his shoulder, backlit by his computer screen, bright white in the otherwise dark room. Jason saw his jaw muscles twitch before he spoke. “Hmm. Yet here you are.” The flatness in his tone made clear just how aware Tim was of Jason’s opinion on bedrest.

“Yeah, cause if anyone asked why I was up, I could blame you.” Neither pointed out that they were currently the only two people in the Manor. Jason made it to Tim’s desk without incident. “So what am I looking at?”

With a few quick clicks, Tim pulled up a police report dated two days prior. He scrolled past the first few pages.

“Here. Woman saw some suspicious guys doing some suspicious shit across the street from her apartment, called it in. I thought the perp description was similar to the one in that drug case you're working on.” He gave his keyboard a sharp tap, increasing the size a little, before reclining in his chair to let Jason see the screen.

Jason leaned in over his brother’s shoulder, hand braced against the backrest, squinting against the eye watering brightness. With his ear now positioned right beside Tim's jaw, it was hard to miss the skrrrt of grinding teeth. Jason tensed his own jaw in an unconscious mirror reflex, but otherwise ignored it.

Tim pointed to a specific line of text Jason was supposed to be reading. Skrrrrttt.

“Good lord, Tim,” Jason hissed three paragraphs later, “fucking stop.”

If there weren’t already a forehead-crashing distance between them, Jason would have gotten aggressively into Tim’s personal space about it. As it were, he settled for a withering side eye. Tim seemed to sense the pointed vitriol and shot over his own scathing squint. Skrrt.

“I’m not fucking doing anything, asshole,” he growled through gritted teeth, lips parted just long enough for Jason to watch them grate and creak together as soon as Tim finished the last syllable of his bald faced lie.

Jason felt his eye twitch. Powering through the flaring pain in his leg, he dragged his weight off the chair and back onto his crutches, giving him enough stability to shoot a hand out and grab Tim by his dumb face. Jason gave the other boy’s head a good rattle, hopefully hard enough to release his jaw in the process. He was technically successful. Unfortunately, said jaw decided to reclamped on the webbing between his index and thumb.

“Shit!” Jason ripped his hand away, shaking it like he’d been burnt. It sure hurt as much.

Tim ran his tongue deliberately along the edge of his top teeth in what was probably supposed to be a highly intimidating power move. It just made him look cannibalistic.

“You’re such a freak.”

“What the actual balls is your problem, man?” Tim seemed genuinely confused.

Skrrrttt.

“Dude seriously, are you on meth or something?” Jason demanded, leaning forward again but keeping his fingers decidedly to himself this time. Skkkkkrrrt. “So help me god, if you grind your teeth one more time I’ll knock them the fuck out!”

Tim’s jaw halted mid bone rattling creak, eyes wide like he was genuinely unaware he’d been doing it. He cracked his mouth wide open to stretch the no doubt tense muscles.
“Oh, my bad.”

Jason watched him for a moment, taking in his wide, red eyes, twitching fingers and general air of high strung tension. Bubbling anger settled down to a simmer, then caramelised into something sticky and uncomfortable. “Tim.”

“What,” the jawbreaking heathen sighed.

“Are you on something?”

“Oh my god, no!” Tim jerked back in his chair, the picture of indignation.

“I’m just saying, you’re kinda-“

“I don’t do drugs!”

“Ok pussy, I was just asking,” Jason snapped, keeping the relief off his face. “If it’s not- wait, are you drinking that canned battery acid again?”

“Don’t disrespect Mango Loco.”

“Gross. You told us you’d stopped buying that crap.”

“No, I told Dick and his big, wet, woeful eyes I stopped buying ‘that crap’, it’s not my fault everyone took it as some sort of caffeine chastity vow,” Tim scoffed, toying with his mouse absently. “Plus, what else am I supposed to do? Coffee tastes like shit.”

“It’s better for you,” Jason said like he gave a fuck.

Another scoff. “Better for these-”

“If you say anything that can be twisted to mean the word ‘testicles’, you better make sure you have a five second head start.” He risked jabbing a finger in front of Tim’s nose.

“You’ll chase me down, huh?” Lip curled, Tim leaned away from Jason’s hand with pointed distaste.

“Yes. That’s what was implied.”

“You and what legs?” his brother sassed.

“The three I was born with.”

The shock, quickly bleeding to outrage, on Tim’s face was truly beautiful. Jason should get Damian to capture it in pastels or something.

“Hypocrite!”

“Nuh uh,” Jason argued, “I said testicles related, not wang related.”

Tim didn’t seem to find the distinction all that significant if his furrowed brow and pinched mouth were anything to go by.

“As long as you say neither of those words in my presence again, I’ll forgive you,” he said snootily, turning back to the open report and scrolling to the next section he intended to share.

Jason snorted. “I can live without your forgiveness.” He began hobbling towards Tim’s lazily made bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. I need to lie down.” Jason sat gingerly on the wrinkled quilt, leaning his crutches carefully against the cluttered bedside table. With both hands, he lifted his casted leg up first then settled back against the pillows.

Tim watched him in silence from his seat at the desk. Jason didn’t need to see his features clearly to know his expression was incredulous. Like he was still somehow surprised by Jason’s gall.

Considering how long they’d been in each other’s orbit, that was really on Tim.

“My leg hurts. You made me walk all the way here. By right, I get to use the facilities,” Jason explained magnanimously.

“There’s still, like, six pages I want you to read,” Tim said, as if he couldn’t quite believe Jason’s disinterest in case relevant information.

Jason, who had already decided any similarities between the report and his own investigation were a mere coincidence, waved his hand dismissively. “You read it to me then.”

He let Tim’s grumblings slide as he smacked his keyboard a couple times. The other boy’s voice soon filled the space between them, audible irritation fading to audible acceptance.

Since elevating it, the pulsing pain in his knee had settled back to a dull, bearable ache.

Staring up at the shadowed ceiling, Jason let the soft sound wash over him, individual words blending into a steady background hum.

Every blink seemed to last a little longer, eyelids feeling a little heavier each time he dragged them open again.

Jason could feel himself slipping away, conscious thought like sand through loose fingers. He didn’t fight it.