Title: The Fluffy Pink Blanket
Jason/Tim/Dick(+Damian) brotherly love gen; very much AU. (Where Jason did not beat Tim with a crowbar. Probably.)
Notes: I'm going to hell. For adorable this time, not for writing weird slash. (Well. It can be slashy if you want it to be, but it's meant to go either way…) Also ignoring DCnU like the plague.
Jason was doing his shopping at the small drugstore because Gotham had about five different Walmarts and they were like different levels of hell. (Each was robbed every day at least once and he really didn't feel like working when he was supposed to be shopping.) So the drugstore it was.
Food first—coffee, water, tea for Tim, milk for Dick, dark chocolate cookies, a half dozen microwaveable meals that both brothers would scold him for if they found them. Then, probably more important, the pharmacy—gauze, bandages, band aids, painkillers, disinfectant, and everything else a healthy vigilante needs.
The blanket an afterthought. Less than that, really. And normally he steered clear of the color pink, since it was usually next to something purple, and—ugh, that clown bastard. But this particular blanket was the last left on the shelf, so that caught his eye first. Obviously a high seller, there.
Not only that, it looked soft to the touch. Very soft. Jason was reaching out to touch the material before he really realized it.
It was as soft as it looked, if not softer.
He checked the price—on clearance—and dropped it on top of the other items in his basket. He'd been meaning to buy something to put on the couch.
At least it wasn't an alarming shade of pink.
The first time Dick saw it, he laughed.
Jason whacked his head. Without the long hair, it's a pretty convenient target. He's never been sure why that made a difference.
Dick pouted at him. "What? It's just sitting there. And pink. On your dirty old couch."
"You still sleep on it, asshole." It wasn't that old and it was only slightly used. And that weird musty smell was gone. Now, the couch just smelled like his pseudo-brothers.
Dick shrugged. "You got any food in this place that isn't prepared in three minutes?"
"There's some cookies."
After Dick went out to buy him some fresh food—the new Batman was free to brave Walmart if he wanted but he could fucking well leave Jason out of it—he slept on the couch.
With the blanket.
"I know he's alive."
"I know, kid. Here—tea."
"Don't patronize me."
"Fuck, why would I waste time doing that?"
"Dick doesn't believe me."
A shrug. "He's got his hands full with the new psycho Robin."
"Damian tried to kill me. Twice."
"I can kill him for you. Dick probably won't mind."
A flash of a shy smile, sad but still sweeter than anything. "No, it's okay."
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. It ached and he felt a headache coming on. "Stay here tonight."
"Shit. Wouldn't offer if I weren't, baby bird."
Tim lay down on the couch, but he didn't sleep right away. They stayed up watching old movies on TV, Jason sitting on the floor nearby despite the ache in his knees. (Fucking age. Fucking hard life. Fucking resurrection. Fucking Joker.)
Tim was cocooned up in the blanket. It wasn't a big one, and even though the kid had finally gotten some height, he still managed to curl under it entirely. He hadn't commented on the color.
"This smells like you and Dick," Tim said, muffled with his nose under the soft material. As if he were cold, but the flannel pajamas he had on—Jason's, and too big for him—should be keeping him warm enough.
Jason smiled faintly, taking his eyes off of John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara, as he had for most of the movie. Tim was all floppy hair, tired eyes, pink blanket cocoon and utterly adorable.
The bed would probably be more comfortable than the couch. And warmer.
Jason hesitantly reached out and rubbed where he thought Tim's shoulder was. Now, the blanket would also smell like Tim, but he decided there was maybe nothing wrong with that.
~ End. Thanks for reading!~
Endnotes: Inspired by an actual blanket purchased at an actual Walgreens that is actually very soft.