#jaytimweek:vde

Jason’s demand was enforced by him grabbing Dick’s face and squishing his cheeks in, which Dick couldn’t fathom was the purpose of.  Quite honestly, Dick had been thrown for a complete loop earlier when he’d popped in on Jason and found the man a bottle and a half deep in tequila, surrounded by crumpled piles of letterhead, and writing furiously on a clean piece.

The moment Dick was spotted, however, he’d been yanked to the floor, and Jason had begun forcing love letters, of all things, into his hands and had nearly gone to tears when Dick expressed an uncertainty to read them.  He’d only faltered for a heartbeat when Jason slurred out in explanation, “It’s ‘cuz Tim...‘cuz...perfect,” punctuated by the most adoring sigh Dick had ever heard come from anyone’s mouth in his entire life.  He was nearly certain Jason would have no recollection of this evening, considering how openly emotional he was being.  So read them he had, lest Dick have a sobbing behemoth of a man plastered all over him.    

And.  Jesus.  There was a sonnet to Tim’s fingers, and how much Jason liked watching him peel bananas.  There was a nearly unintelligible paragraph regarding the way Tim chews his lip when he’s thinking, with bolded words like ‘plush’ and ‘velvety’ and -- much to Dick’s confusion -- ‘Botox-shaming’.  The ode to how much Jason desperately wanted to give Tim a shampoo, condition, and blow out was richly littered with adoration and sweet musings, followed by a very embarrassingly detailed description of what else Jason would like to “blow out”, that Jason nearly got teary-eyed over when Dick stuttered through the words.

Not to mention the haiku about Tim’s butt, which was...enlightening.

And so it went on and on.  Dick skimmed the newest addition, full of similes and metaphors likening Tim’s eyes to the sky and the ocean, and very specifically to “the neon blue sign at that new car wash on the corner of Quincy and Main”.  He looked up at Jason then, who was watching him with a hazy gaze, waiting for him to continue reading.

“Hey,” he murmured, and Jason must have been just cognizant enough to recognize his tone, because he tried -- tried being a key term -- to sit up straighter.  “You really love Tim, huh?”

The sharp, shaky inhale Jason took at the question was all the answer Dick needed to understand, and when Jason placed a hand over his mouth, Dick smiled at him.  “Tomorrow morning, you should write a sober one of these,” he gestured outward to all of the notes.  “And then you should go give it to Tim.” 

“I don’t,” Jason frowned heavily, and continued, “‘M not good with words.” Dick’s abrupt laughter pulled the drunk man’s mouth into a tighter line.  “S’not funny.”

“Jason,” Dick smiled openly and reached out to ruffle his pseudo-brother’s hair.  “I just spent the last forty-five minutes learning firsthand that you are very good with words.  You just need paper to get them out.”

Jason’s eyes widened at that, and he glanced down quickly at the love letters scattered around them, the motion causing him to tilt dangerously, but he caught himself on an elbow before he could collapse completely to the floor.  “Do you really think--?”

“Yes,” Dick insisted, then for good measure, “And before you even ask, yes, I think he would be open to what you have to say.”

The intensity of the happiness radiating from the smile Dick received was almost enough to convince him that he wouldn’t be reminding Jason of his very important role in getting the two of them together.

The last six months had been a rollercoaster for her. It had taken Tim nearly two months to convince Jay that he actually wanted her and not for her less than legal services—not to mention the near-hour to calm her down after the Crown Prince, Richard Grayson, had accidentally outed Tim as royalty—and another five or so weeks to convince her to come to Wayne manor instead or her hole-in-the-wall apartment. The rest of the time had been varyingly tense introductions to the rest of the Waynes, and acclimating to three meals a day and snacks. Her and Prince Dick—who would actually wanted to be called a dick—get along surprisingly well, when he isn’t trying to touch her. But Damian is a monster. They very rarely last more than ten minutes in any room without Damian making snide comments that never cease to rile her.  

Now, though-now Tim wants to show her off to the public! To actually tell people they are dating. To introduce his street-rat girlfriend to High Society—though she’s sure to have met several from her days on the streets.  

The dress. That monstrosity made of chiffon and sequins, she was afraid to touch. Alfred had to send the maid—Stephanie, Tim’s unofficial bestie (her words)—in to help her through it. Once it was on, Jay was amazed: the fabric clung perfectly to all her curves; the little triangle on her chest showed just enough cleavage to get attention, but not enough to be improper; and the huge slit up the left side showed off her killer thigh when Jay moved just right. Overall, she thinks Tim will be pleased.  

After she’s done with the dress, Steph hands her some red pumps—Louie batons, or something like that—and ties her long raven curls with a sparkling red ribbon that, apparently, accents the smokey eyeshadow,  and bright red blush and lipstick they had covered Jay in earlier. Steph helps her down the stairs, careful of the plush carpet trying to catch on the thin heels, and to the front door  Tim is waiting on the other side, with his brothers and father, and she’s more nervous than she has ever been before.  

Hiding on the streets and a life of subtle crime were nothing compared to the backhanded compliments and gazes of the wealthy, if Tim is to be believed.  

Jay takes a deep breath, feel her ribs expand within the confines of the expensive fabric of her dress. She fights down the panic bubbling in her chest through sheer willpower and nods to Alfred.

As the thick wooden doors swing open, Jay finds herself biting her lips and looking for Tim among the suits outside. Staring back at her are four stunned faces: Bruce with a barely there smile, one she had believe the King incapable of ever forming; Damian full of faux disgust in an attempt to cover his obvious wonder; Dick with a blinding smile that held familial affection that Jay had never experienced before.  

And Tim. Tim looked at her with an expression made of love and affection, or wonder and possession. He looked at her like he wanted nothing more than to hide her away for only he to see, to admire. She would never admit to him just how that expression made her feel—the power she felt in turning the reserved young prince into a man who would she his feelings so clearly to all those who looked his way.  

Bruce was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had descended. “Jasmine, you look lovely this evening.” He offered with a slightly larger smile and a small nod before ushering his eldest and youngest through the car door Alfred held open for them.  

Next to her, Tim cleared his throat. “You’re amazing Jay. You look amazing. Everyone is going to love you.” He faced twisted oddly, “everyone will—“

“Stare. But I won’t care. You know I only have eyes for you.” She smiled, giggling slight at the fond smile he sent her. Tim lead her to the waiting car and helped her in.  

Jay laughed again, as he heel hit the door frame—due to Tim’s haste—and fell the floor of the limo. Tim slid in after her, kneeling on the carpeted floorboard.  Mimicking the cheesy fairytale Dick had told her about, Tim picked up the shoe and shift her dress enough to slide the shoe back on her foot.  

She smiled down at him, fond and embarrassed and took his hand to pull him onto the seat next to her. Tim grinned back, lifting his hand—loving they way the golden metal wrapped around his finger shimmered in the dimmed lights—and rubbing his thumb over the lingering red in her cheeks.  

Tim Drake, neglected by his absentee parents, wormed his way through Bruce’s loneliness to explain that Batman needed a Robin, and became Robin at fourteen. Now, at fifteen, Timothy Drake is still Robin.  

Recently, a new mask has popped up in Gotham. Not quite good, definitely not bad, Stray is more of a distraction for Robin than an actual problem for anyone. Although, Robin has caught him antagonizing Batman’s Rogues often, and on one—very memorable—occasion, Robin caught him breaking into a mostly abandoned church. Tim didn’t want to know, even if Robin needed answers.  

The first night Stray appeared, Bruce just about had a conniption, stoic expression and cowl be damned. A young boy, mid to late teens, in a skin tight spandex-leather-velvet combo catsuit. Emphasis on the cat, considering he stood, all pride and arrogance with little ears, next to Catwoman.  

Ten minutes later Bruce and Selina ’s argument had devolved into making out in the roof access stairwell. Well, that’s what time was telling himself, while studiously ignoring the suspicious thumps and groans.  

Stray laughed and said, “Come on, Birdbrain. Any good Robin knows they’ll be at it a while  No one, except maybe Mama, wants to hear Batman finish. Trust me.”

The look of disgust and odd familiarity with Batman and Catwoman–despite being his first night out—sent warning bells off in Tim’s head. However, the prospect of hearing Bruce climax was far more scaring than anything Stray could get them into. Tim—Robin—can handle anything, because Robin has magic, at least, that’s what Jason used to say before he disappeared.  

That’s how it started. Tim letting go of his Robin persona for an hour or so every couple nights to run around playing roof top tag with Stray. He loses most of the time; Stray is confusingly good with rooftops, grapples, and the hidden spots on all the best roofs. Tim’s still trying to figure out who Stray is under the goggles, he has tried everything he could think of, but Selina has no none associations of that age, and Batman’s file is suspiciously empty.  

At first, they only spent these nights together when Batman and Catwoman are… otherwise occupied with each other. The last couple weeks, however, Tim has found himself seeking out Stray whenever he is having a slow night. Stray seems to pop up out of nowhere the nights when and the other Sirens are quiet, so Tim think he comes looking for Robin when he’s having a slow night, too.  

“Hey, Birdbrain.” Tim finds Robin melting away and a fond smile forming on his face. He turns, just in time to avoid the box thrown at his head.

His browse furrow. “What’s this?”

“You’re the detective, BirdWonder. You can figure it out.” Stray’s smirk is all challenge, and Tim can’t help but rise to the bait.  

He flicks open a pocket on his utility belt and cleanly slices through the tap with a bat-a-rang. Once he gets it open, he find a smaller box, this one untaped, and a small card. Happy Birthday, Tim it reads; Tim nearly drops the boxes in shock. He graces up and finds Stray, blushing as red as the Robin tunic Tim wears, and avoiding eye contact.  

“Stray?” Tim questions, warring between Robin’s suspicion and Tim’s joy.  

“You knew I knew B’s secret identity, it’s not that much of a stretch that I know yours. My-My mother actually told me, when I was gone. I kind of also know about your parents, and that B isn’t the best with non-Batman things, so…”

“Wha—“

“There’s a second part to it, but you have to open it first!”  

Tim stares for a few more seconds, becoming more and more curious as Stray twitches and fidgets. Finally, he turns his attention back to box and slowly lifts the lid. Inside in a few more pieces of paper, folded in thirds, and a small key decorated as a black cat. Once unfolded, the top-most paper is an address, an old warehouse-turned-apartment that currently sits empty in the Bowery if Tim remembers correctly—he does, he always does. The next two sheets are a letter, address to Timothy Jackson Drake, and nearly make him cry with how sweet the words are, and how beautiful the poetry is. The last piece of paper is a birth certificate for Jason Peter Todd.

Tim's brows furrow, confused, mind working to connect the pieces—he couldn’t be so lucky as to have been flirting with his lifelong crush for the past year—between still considered missing Jason and the spandex-clad cat in front of him.  

Stray clears his throat, once, then a second time when Tim doesn't immediately look up. Once he has Tim's attention, he takes a deep breath and lifts the goggles from his face—Tim has seen him without goggles, he wears a domino mask underneath it, which Tim thinks is utterly ridiculous—and Tim can't help the slightly sharp inhale. Tim doesn't really know what possesses him to do it, but when Stray peels off the domino, revealing the eyes and cheekbones of Jason Todd—the Second Robin, classified as missing in action—Tim kisses him.

It's awkward. It's Tim's first kiss. It's Jason. Tim has been in love with him since before he hit puberty. After Jason reaches up, with the hand not holding his mask, to adjust the position, the kiss becomes incredible.

They have spent almost the last two years hiding their relationship. How do you explain to your guardians that you are dating their almost-significant other's child without it being hopelessly awkward? Tim is not exactly happy, but he is content with the midnight make-outs and secret kisses.  

They have a plan. Tonight, when the clock strikes midnight and Tim is officially eighteen, they are going to tell Batman and Catwoman. No more stolen kisses, and no more hiding their relationship.