#Jason asks Alfred how to care for a baby and the whole batfam panics

[piedpiperart]

I see a lot of posts about Danny seeing Jason and immediately thinking he’s a baby ghost and wanting to adopt him but what if it’s the other way around?

What if Jason sees Danny and is hit with oh my god that’s a baby, who left a baby unattended out on the street?? He needs help, gotta protect him, mine, yeah he’s mine now, I got u lil guy don’t worry

Meanwhile 15 yr old Danny is like um hi?? And promptly gets kidnapped. But he just lets it happen because he’s actually feeling the safest he’s ever felt in his life with this guy, and Danny’s core immediately recognizes Jason as parental figure and just relaxes Danny 100%

Jasons feeling like Danny is a helpless baby while Danny feels safe, protect, calm, safe, relax, and he just lets Jason take him home. Neither are really sure why or what is going on with them but they’re not gonna stop it.

I think it’s because Danny’s own parents kinda suck and any other ghost that he’s interacted with he’s had to fight in some capacity or has been spooked by them. Jason’s the only one who 1) wanted to parent him and 2) has good vibes. Danny’s usually waiting for fights to happen and he’s very stressed. Jason calms him down so much he probably falls asleep before they even get to Jason’s apartment, full trust that Jason will take care of him.

Meanwhile Jason never really connects with his pit side, but really wants to find some way to have a truce. Cue Danny, and both Jason and the Pit turn to protectiveness and so the rage becomes more protection and Jason yk, might be kinda lonely and wanting something to take care of. He was probably thinking about getting a cat and not a kid but he’s not complaining

[thingr1]

Focus on the Fallout (2/2)

Rating: T

Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts, past suicide attempt.

Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, basically entire Batfam.

Preview: *See first chapter*

Cross posted: FFN and AO3 (6-16-17). (A/N found on both sites)

Prequels: Of Milkshakes and Marathons (recommended, but not necessary) and Weighing One’s Worth (essential to understanding story.)

First Chapter: Here

It wasn't hard to tell that something was wrong.

The family—this dysfunctional, emotionally constipated family—was acting strange. More distant than normal.

Whispered conversations that ended the moment Tim crossed the threshold. Flashes of emotion caught by the corners of his eyes every time Tim glanced away. Shadows of footprints outside the door of whatever room Tim happened to be slouched in. Flutters of movement and spots of color (black, blue, red) in the darkness, tailing him as he patrolled.

That had been Tim’s reality for the past two weeks.

Everyone trying to pretend everything was normal, yet side eying Tim like something fragile, something broken, when they thought he was looking the other way.

There was only one possible explanation for this collectively strange behavior.

They knew. Every single one. And if it wasn't for the fact that he was probably (definitely) under tight surveillance at the moment, he would seriously consider another bullet to his brain from shame. Maybe jump off the roof. That is, if embarrassment itself didn't beat him to the punch.

Sinking back against the mattress of his too-big bed, Tim sighed to the blank white ceiling.

Why? Dick's big mouth... Just, why?

Tim knew Dick was only trying to help. But the thing was, they weren't Dick's secrets to share. Heck, even Damian betrayed him in the end—to the loosest jaw of the Wayne bunch, no less—when push came to shove. Which…actually wasn’t that surprising.

He felt like he was walking on eggshells. Like an outsider—no, a pretender in his own home. As if he'd ever really called Wayne Manor his home in the first place...

Tim hated feeling this exposed, baring his soul to the world. This was going to come back to bite him, someone was going to take advantage of him all over again. And Tim didn’t think he could take it.

Because at the heart of it all, that was his problem, wasn’t it? Whenever he let anyone in, they either died or threw him away; in each sense, they betrayed him. And he was so so tired of it all. Which was a much more selfish admission than he usually allowed himself. (Then again, Tim had tried to kill himself a week ago, which kind of took the cake.)

But yet…at the same time…why did it feel like a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders? He shouldn’t be this relieved to have just unloaded his truckload of problems onto Dick Grayson’s shoulders.

Dick Grayson.

Who had taken Robin from him without even asking. Who had, how many years later, apologized for it. Had stopped pretending that everything between them was right as rain and outright admitted he was in the wrong.

It was mortifying.

Tim had failed somewhere. He had to’ve.

It probably had something to do with the fact he’d tried to off himself in the middle of the Manor, the one place where all the Bats could come and go as they pleased. The one place where there were eyes everywhere. It was careless of Tim to even think of attempting what he had in such a public place.

Unless…

Had…had he wanted someone to find him? Maybe…maybe that was why…

Tim shook his head violently, turning his face into his pillow in embarrassment.

No. He wasn’t going to psychoanalyze himself now. He’d tried to kill himself. It didn’t take. Now it was just a question of moving on.

…Which would have been so much simpler if his family’s actions didn’t make it that much more impossible to compartmentalize the self-destructive feelings back into a deep, dark corner of Tim’s mind that life usually kept him too busy to explore.

And yet, Tim couldn’t help the faint glow of hope that was slowly eating away at the darkness in his core. Maybe…maybe this time Dick would come through. Maybe this time would be different; maybe they could heal. If only that feeling wasn’t so often crushed by the realities of life. Then maybe Tim could bear to give it a chance.

No, he decided. Better to forget. Better to forget than to give his family the opportunity to screw up enough so Tim would have to juggle forgiving them (again) on top of it all, too. He’d figure this out on his own. Like he always did.

Without warning, his door slammed back on its hinges.

Tim’s skin prickled, muscles seizing, panic shredding through every inch of his flesh in the form of adrenaline as he whirled, wild-eyed, to face the intruder.

Damian stood in the doorway, arms crossed over he chest, giving Tim a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Your presence is required downstairs, Drake,” the child reported, pompous as always.

Tim glared. (Internal terror revealing itself in a rather Jason Todd style: Anger.) “For what? An interrogation?”

Damian snorted. "Nothing so crude. It is…” The boy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “‘Family Bonding,’ Grayson is calling it. Everyone is required to attend.”

"And why should I trust you?” The words spilled out before Tim could stop them.

The former assassin’s eyes narrowed. Assessing.

After a moment, Damian’s jaw set, cobalt eyes almost glaring in their intensity. "I swear to you that no one is judging you for your moment of weakness. In fact, if I see so much as a pitying glance, I will mash that person’s nose into their face myself. Just…come downstairs. Please.”

Which was…actually half-decent as far as politeness went for the demon child.

Tim…hesitated. A trap. It had to be… No.

Those eyes so like his father’s screamed sincerity, even though Damian’s features remained studiously blank. Though he was many things, Damian Wayne was not a liar. Something Tim both hated and respected about the fifth Robin.

And after…that night…something between the two of them had changed. For the first time since they’d met, they understood each other; they’d caught a glimpse of who they were behind the masks and facades. Their insecurities exposed to the person they hated most.

It was…freeing somehow.

(Dick had always told him that all Damian wanted was acceptance; and for the first time, Tim might just believe it.)

No. Damian wouldn’t betray him like this. (Not again, anyway.) The others, on the other hand…

“Promise?” The word slipped out before Tim could stop it; small. Shaky. Weak.

Damian inclined his head. “You have my word.” Solemn. Straightforward. (So unlike his father.)

Tim sucked in a breath. Bit his lip. Squared his shoulders. “Fine.”

He was going to regret this.

The journey downstairs seemed to pass far too quickly. And yet, at the same time, it stretched long enough that Tim had far too much time to think.

Tim couldn't...shouldn't...didn't want to face his family. Didn’t want to see the looks on their faces at the realization that their toy soldier was broken; unusable.

…Was he broken? Wasn’t that the question of a lifetime. One that Tim really didn’t care to answer; now, or ever.

Moving on.

(Why’d he even bother with a gun? His own brain was going to be the death of him.)

With a blink, Tim jerked back into reality as Damian slid into the lit doorway on the right of the hallway that Tim recognized as the living room without looking back. Clearly expecting Tim to follow.

Tim sucked in a breath. No. Don’t think about it.

Do this. He could do this.

Breath huffing in an almost sigh, Tim stepped around the doorframe and…

Everyone was looking at him.

And when he said everyone, he meant everyone. Dick, Damian, Alfred, Barbara, Steph, Cass, Jason, Titus.

Bruce.

The whole gang was here.

And they were staring.

Heat barely had time to brush Tim’s cheeks before the whole room erupted.

“Timmy!”

“Tim.”

“So good of you to join us, Master Tim.”

“‘Bout time you got here, the popcorn’s almost cold!”

“Hey, mind breaking the tie for us? We’ve narrowed it down to Monsters Inc. or Frozen…”

“Frozen?! Who said Frozen? I voted Inside Out!”

Through the cacophony of sound, lights, and general confusion, Cass materialized at his side, squeezing him in a hug, whispering “Love you,” and guiding him through the mass of people, popcorn, soda cans, pillows (from the bedrooms?), and movie cases to the couch before Tim could fully process what was happening.

And then Jason was wedged on the cushion next to him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “Come on, Baby Bird, help me out here. Inside Out or Frozen?”

Tim blinked. Still in shock. “Tangled.”

Jason scowled. “Wow. You’re helpful.” Then, serious, poking Tim none too gently in the ribs, he hissed: “Bullets have more calories than milkshakes, y'know. Talk about hard to work off."

Tim flushed, a combination anger and embarrassment snapping him from his reverie. “That bar was a one time thing, Jay! I swear, is this going to keep coming up in every conversation?"

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Just so long as I never catch you at it again.” Then, in a low mutter Tim almost had to strain to hear: ”Call someone next time you start feeling self-destructive, 'kay, Baby Bird? We’ve all been there. We can help.“

Tim ducked his head; mortified (touched). "O...okay. Yeah."

Jason slapped Tim's shoulder with his free hand, reeling him in so Tim’s face smashed into him in a…a hug. "Good. We're marathoning Harry Potter next."

And...Tim's lips quirked upward. "Haven't seen those in awhile."

"Exactly, Tim. Exactly."

Dick Grayson’s voice suddenly erupted in his ear, causing Tim to jump: “Tim! Timmy! You voted Frozen, right?”

Jason stared, stiffening under Tim’s weight. “So you’re the one.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “Uh. No?”

The second Robin growled, reverberating through his chest where Tim’s face was still half smushed. “What did I tell you about Frozen?”

Dick’s eyes twinkled with the mischievous light that always preceded a particularly self-endangering statement: “That I need to ‘let it go’?”

There was a moment of pure, icy silence. Two. Three.

Broken by a laugh.

A laugh.

From Tim’s own mouth.

Another burst from his mouth without his consent. Then another. Suddenly, Tim was gripping his sides, tears welling in his eyes, shaking from the force of his own laughter.

Everyone was staring at Tim again, this time in open surprise; joy, fondness, maybe mixed with some concern for his mental health.

And for once, Tim didn’t mind it. Still chuckling, he snagged the pillow from the couch arm and rammed it into the nearest face: Dick Grayson’s. “Stuff that in your big mouth, Dick!”

There was a pause.

Then a mad cackle rent the air as Jason Todd hefted another pillow over his head. “You deserved that, Dickie!” Slammed the stunned man’s face with the makeshift weapon so hard, the seams burst. Tim almost winced.

Almost.

“Pillow fight!” Steph screamed gleefully, swiping an ancient throw pillow and slinging it into Jason in the same instant as Damian slung a blanket into the man’s abdomen. “For Arendelle!”

The room devolved into chaos as the rest of the family joined in; pillows flying, blankets cracking like whips, popcorn scattering.

And as the feathers swirled in the air around them, laughter carrying them to the ceiling, Tim realized that maybe—just maybe—he could stand to call this crazy mess of a family (life) his own after all.