#but goddamn my mother is so so disinformed and acting like she knows better than i do. it is frustrating. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chronicbatfictioner · 6 years

Text

Fast Car - Chapter 16

Damian Wayne, Bruce's son, was a... well, as far as Jason was concerned, Damian was the kind of kid Jason's grandpa would wash his mouth with soap with. Only Damian did not know cusswords so much. Apparently, he was raised until he was 10 by his mother in the Middle East in a royalty-like environment, in which he was taught that he was a royal. Like Bruce, he was bestowed with intelligence and quick wit. Unlike Bruce, who was raised in the US, he has no notion of congeniality and could come across as a bully.

Jason understood how he and Tim would clash spectacularly. Tim has no patience for those who has no empathy.

"Todd," Damian greeted him as he walked in to the garage. "why are you bringing Drake into this? He is of no use for anybody." he added.

"Because, Damian," Jason started, ushering Tim into Dick's hand as the latter started to open the boxes of Chinese food they'd ordered, before Tim could snap back at Damian. "I loved having him around, even if he doesn't like to get his hands dirty. I loved having him around to remind me of things I might overlook, even if he doesn't know a thing about cars." he said, spreading his tools around the car. "Now, Tim and I, we go way back. Right now, he's here to feed me spring rolls and dumplings." Jason glared at Damian, partly challenging the boy to argue, partly closing the argument.

Damian's scowling face morphed to that of slight confusion, then to a more confusion, then - apparently - he had an epiphany. "You're lovers." he stated.

"Yes. Problem?" Tim retorted.

"None with Todd, just with you." Damian shot back.

"Oh nooo, no, no, no. It's lunch time, and I don't want problems until-- oooo... next century. Preferably after I'm dead or apocalypse happened or something." Dick interjected, walking between the two warring factions blithely. "If you two won't get along - or at least be civil - I'm sending you both to the corners. Separate corners!"

"That's one in Manhattan, one in French Quarter - corners. And I'mma be helping him impose order." Jason quipped. "Now come on over here and give me my dumpling, Timbo," he added as he removed the car's AC compressor. Tim scowled at Damian. Hard. Damian responded with a spectacular scowl that would've sent lesser man running the other way. But Tim just sat on the car's roof, which put him roughly at Jason's head's height, and started feeding the dumplings to Jason. Both Jason and Dick warily eyed Damian, who crouched on the toolbox that Jason was using; and neither would admit they'd respectively released sighs of relief when no further battle cries uttered and/or acts of sabotage insinuated.

Within an hour, the service work was done. Damian questioned a lot, and actually didn't protest when Tim answered some of the questions instead of Jason. Food was had, and somehow, Damian and Tim ended up bickering quietly - with no signs of actual battles - over a tablet, researching for components of air conditioners for the car.

"That--" Dick thumbed them. "--should we get ahead of ourselves and call 911? You know, they could still end up killing each other..."

Jason chuckled. "Naaah, they'll be good. Neither would have the last say on the component, no? I would." he pointed out.

"Yeah, I hope so." Dick smiled ruefully. "They're actually pretty similar."

"Actually, yeah." Jason agreed. "Just... less drama and tragedy for Damian, I think - knock on wood. But they are. I'm quaking at the thought of them getting along and plotting to conquer the world."

"Dude, you and me both. I think Bruce would, too." Dick chuckled. "Anyway, fun day, on Bruce's credit card. You think you have it in you to bring those two to the skating rink?"

Jason looked at Dick contemplatively. "I'd first asked him out at a skating rink." he confessed quietly. "I was working there. It was closed about a few months later. Haven't been in one since then."

"Welp, I don't see what would go wrong with reliving the memories, no? He's okay, you're okay."

"Yeah, okay. Let's." Jason decided, couldn't find the argument to that logic.

It took forty minutes in the rink to make Jason remember why he wasn't at all sad that the ice skating rink he'd worked at was closed.

He was on the ice, sliding easily while most people who'd seen him coming would give a wide berth. Tim hung on to him, laughing merrily as they made their way toward Damian. Dick was at the concession stand, ordering them hot chocolate. Damian was mostly sliding alone, a little carefully as he got used to the rented shoes.

"Watch it, kiddo!" Jason shouted instinctively as Damian veered into his way. He barely managed to swerve to avoid crashing into Damian and/or make Tim crash, too.

"Eyes on the road, man!" Tim scowled as he passed Damian, too.

Somebody else commented something that made Tim skidded to a halt and released Jason's belt, nearly catapulting Jason to a faceplant for the sudden lack of weight next to him. As he turned around in confusion, Tim was already face-to-face - almost literally - with a rotund man with shaved head. "Take that back!" Tim snarled. "You goddamn take that back and apologize or I'll send you home cryin' to your momma!"

"What." Jason breathed as he approached Damian.

"He wished me and 'my people' to go home," Damian huffed, his face stern, but there was an air of resigned dejection in his pose.

"He said all immigrants should go home." Tim elaborated, snarling. "I think he's right, all of you immigrants should go home. We Miagani people would really like to see a loser 'immigrant' like you white boy to go back to your caves, stop soiling our lands."

"You're not.. you're not..." the man spluttered, uncertainty creeping up to his expression.

"Oh yes I am, boy. My father's name is Drake. But my mother's maiden name is Galavan. Remember? If you're a true Gothamite you'll know that name well. The last Shaman of the Miagani tribe who was never sent to a reservation. Oh, and this boy. His great grandma happened to be one Catherine Van Derm. Know who she was? No? Well, she was the granddaughter of the last Chief of the Miagani tribe. That makes this boy the actual true native of Gotham. For your info, Miagani people, like most native tribes, are matrilineal.

"You, buddy? You're just a sore loser who can't see those with different colors than you thrive and be happy. We don't need people like you here. So why don't you go home, from where your ancestors came? Oh what's that? You don't know because your ancestors were outcasts? Yeah, I figured as much. Those whose ancestors came here to look for a better life usually aren't as petty and repugnant as you are - picking on a child..."

The other man's face was, in Jason's opinion, showing some very interesting shades of red. Tim's mouth was merciless, Jason knew that from a good long while ago. But the other man definitely didn't look like someone who'd give up without physical violence. So Jason started to shift - he could step in, if needed.

Dick approached from behind the man, and waved a badge right over the man's face. "No property damage is done here, yet, buddy. So I suggest you leave." he said, almost sweetly. "Unless, of course, young Mr Wayne wishes to file charges of hate speech?"

Damian glared at the man, then at Tim, and drew himself up. "No need, Officer Grayson. I reckon this man has experienced enough enlightenment via Mister Drake's history lesson to repeat his behavior; or to experience further enlightenment through my lawyers."

Jason almost smirked when the rink owner, previously hovering around, pretending to be invisible in the face of imminent ruckus, promptly made his way toward Damian, cooing, "Oh, Mister Wayne! That is so generous of you! I'd say it's time for you to leave, sir," he glared at Tim's opponent. "If you do not leave on your own, I might have to ask Officer - what was your name again...? --Grayson here to escort you out, and I will file a complaint against you."

Jason watched as Tim sidled toward him, half dragging Damian along with a tug on his sleeves. Damian followed, haughtily thanking the rink owner. Dick approached them about five minutes later with glasses of hot chocolates. "Courtesy of the rink owner, Mr Wellesley, for 'that lovely young Mr Wayne. My! He looked like his father!'- quote-unquote." Dick said, grinning.

Damian looked a little subdued, still. But after a gulp of hot chocolate, he turned to face Tim. "Thank you, Drake."

Tim blinked at him. "No need," he shrugged. "I hate bullies."

"I concur." Jason said. "The first time I met him, he chewed the asses of the teachers who were bullying me."

"Really?" Damian asked, looking interested.

"Oh yeah, they were calling me learning disabled because I'd been living on the street for a few years and didn't catch up on schoolwork, see. And Tim just like, 'no he's not and you teachers were stupid wrong' - only with longer words. Needless to say, I didn't end up in the Special Needs classrooms, and eventually graduated with 3.70 GPA."

"I don't believe people are stupid. Just either disinformed or misinformed." Tim scoffed.

"That's the same thing." Damian said.

"--or uninformed. I'm not done." Tim scowled at him.

"Regardless, I'm just amazed you'd stand up for Damian." Dick interjected.

Tim glared at him as if he was the stupid one. "I stand up for injustice. I may and will forever fight Damian over intellectual matters, but not because his skin is darker than mine. Besides, my skin is like, twenty shades lighter than even Jason's." he pointed out.

"...and that you were both Miagani descendants." Dick chuckled. "You're like, tribe-brothers, then."

"Oooh... might want to stop right there, Grayson..." Jason warned, suddenly having an epiphany on how the war between Tim and Damian would continue.

"Technically, I would be a closer descendant because it is from my father's side." Damian intoned.

"Ooooh, no, no, no... you're wrong!" Tim scoffed. "You see..." he started, and glared as Jason groaned out loud, and Dick face-planted onto the table. "what??"

"Stop." Dick groaned. "Just. Stop."

"I agree. Joy and goodwill to mankind, boys." Jason agreed, lifting his cocoa mug. "If either of you continue this argument, I'll pour this cocoa to your head."

#fastcarAU #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #JayTim #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #no-capeAU #batfam #batboys #one more to go!

18 notes · View notes