So I was thinking about the whole younger siblings getting taller that older siblings thing that I am a victim of and it got me thinking.
So it’s known that some boys will continue to grow until they reach the age of 21 . Not all of them mind you, but some of them do.
From what I remember, Dick is currently 26, Jason is 22-23, Tim is forever 16-17 and Damian is 14.
Dick being the eldest was able to stay the tallest for a long time. Then Jason came back around 17-18 and suddenly his little brother isn’t so little anymore and Dick suddenly realises that it is possible that the others will get taller than him as well.
Damian is a given as Bruce is 6’2” so Dick knows that he hasn’t got a chance there, especially when Damian starts getting that mid-teen growth spurt. But Tim…
Tim has always been shorter than him by four inches. He’s 5’6” and Dick is 5’10” and the kid is barely growing. There is hope that he will continue to be taller than Tim!
Little does Dick know that Tim is still growing, just slowly.
Something happens that causes Tim and Dick not to see each other for a little while (nothing bad, just busy vigilante stuff) so it comes as a shock to Dick when they can all get together for dinner finally that he’s not seeing the top of Tim’s head.
No, that boy is now looking at him eye to eye.
Only not completely because Tim now has an inch on Dick.
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The feral cat gator of a 13 year old freshly scarred Zuko being forcibly adopted by the foggy swamp tribe! Bonus points if they willfully ignore the fact he's a firebender and treat him as a very strange waterbender bending-wise
It was Earth Kingdom ships that drove the metal one onto the reefs, so when the little thing came crawling up through the marsh spitting and hissing and dressed in red, they knew it weren’t no earthbender. No matter how much mud it had tripped in, trying to find where the ground stopped sucking at its feet.
“Wow-ee,” said Old Earl, “that sure is one way of keepin’ off the ‘squito-chiggers.”
And they all watched from Big Earl’s porch, sitting or rocking, as them bugs came for the all-you-can-eat and ended up on the bar-b-que.
“Sure is some weird bending,” said Little Earl, who was taller than Big Earl, but when they'd been twelve and they’d wrestled for the title it hadn't been Little Earl who’d won.
The little thing looked maybe twelve, too. And he was little little. But he had that same look like he was going to shove someone’s face in the mud until they said otherwise, as he stood there all panting and dripping and just realizing they’d been watching him this whole time.
“It’s firebending,” the one-kid mud-wrestler said, as bugs kept pop-snapping into flames around him.
Old Earl cupped a hand over his ear, like he couldn’t hear. And he kept doing it, while the kid got louder and louder about that bending of his, but quieter and quieter about looking at them like they were his next bugs.
“Oh, firebending,” Old Earl said, nodding like he’d only just got it, when the kid had stomped straight up to his chair. “Right, right, Old Jane’s got fire-water-bending, too. Why don’t you take him to her, boys.”
“It’s not-- ugh,” shouted the kid, but maybe he only had the one volume. Certainly only had the one volume for stomping, even though stomping was what got a fellow’s shoes shoved down so deep in the mud they’d be seeing them again as mole-shrimp hats. Not that the kid had shoes. Neither did Earl, Earl, or Earl. ‘Cept for Fancy Earl, but he’d gone off to Ba-Singing-Se, to be fancy.
Anyway, Old Jane was the best at turning anything and everything into fire water, which was the kind of thing a fellow called his or her liquor when they wanted fancy folk to keep right on walking. Was really good for making shouty little firebrands take their naps, too, which let Old Jane get her glowing mitts all over that fresh burn of his. And the love-bites from the shark-wrasses that had probably been half the reason the kid had come a-shore all a-shouting in the first place.
“Nope,” diagnosed Old Jane, when the kid woke back up. “That’s just how he talks. Mother was a screamer-bird, I’d say.”
“You take that back about my mother,” screamed their screamer-bird, who had pretty good hearing for someone who’s ear had lost the same fight as his eye. Anyway, Old Jane had done the best she could about both, and nothing was on fire that shouldn’t be, and she had that extra quilt she’d been working on that needed a body under it
And the waves and the shark-wrasses had all the rest of the kid’s crew
So sure enough they set their little screamer-bird up with a nest and let him cry loud as he wanted.
Anyway, if there was one thing Earl Earl Earl and Jane knew, it was how to make a joke so good the other person didn’t even know it were a joke.
“Firebending,” their little fledgling shouted, and waved his arms around, like all that fire pointed at no one was going to get them startled off.
“A-yep,” nodded Old Earl. “That there is some fire-water-bending. Just like Old Jane.”
Old Jane wasn’t the kind of gal who showed off, but she wasn’t the kind who missed no cue, either. She swirled a lick o’ liquor out of her latest barrel and twirled it ‘round and straight into her mouth, and when she spit it out, it looked so much like the little bird’s breath-o’-fire that he didn’t even notice the spark rocks she kept on her fingers as jewelry. No one did, ‘til they’d seen the trick a few times.
The kid’s mouth hung open so low and so long, a moth-tick flew in. That was some kind of life lesson, that was. The swamp was good at sending those.
The Earth Kingdom sent troops a-stompin’ through, losing boots and scaring catigators out of their sunning spots left and right, askin’ all rumbly about those fires they’d spotted, and if anyone from that shipwreck had made it on shore, and talkin’ about how there’d be money in it for them if they made that last answer a ��yes,” sounding like Fancy Earl and all his talk about commerce and living standards.
“Got a few parts of them ship people in the lagoon,” Big Earl said. “Probably still floatin’ if you want ‘em. But we better bring the shrimp-minnow nets, ‘cuase they’ll just slosh on through the turtle-sturgeon ones.”
“...No thank you,” the head stomper said, like sayin’ polite words made a fellow a polite man. He’d tracked those boots of his right up onto their porch without so much as a scuff on their mud rug. Even the kid had used the mud rug. “And the fire?”
“Oh,” said Little Earl, with a grin, “that was Old Jane.”
And she did her trick again, only less tricky, so they could see the spark rocks real good. “You boys want some fire water?” she offered. “It ain’t blinded no one who wasn’t already headed that way.”
They didn’t want any, which was grand, ‘cause she hadn’t really been offering.
When the last of them had gone stomping off back to the kind of land that let people stomp it, it took them two whole hours to lure out the catigators from under the porch. And their little screamer bird, too.
“...Why didn’t you turn me in?”
“What?” asked Old Earl, cupping his ear.
“Why—”
“What?”
“—didn’t—”
“WHAT?”
“—you—”
“Speak up, boy,” Old Earl said. “I never heard such a quiet child.”
And boy, did that set their bird back to singing.
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