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Published:
2023-09-17
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2,135
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1/1
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it’s time for me to make a way

Summary:

Tim snorts at that. Win. “Nah, I want to talk about it.” His eyes widen as he says the words. “Damn. I just admitted to communication.”

“Oh, fuck, is the President okay?”

“Shut up, only I get to mock myself.”

“Do you have a legal document for that?”

Tim glares at him. Jason only smirks and sips his cocoa.

“I hate you,” Tim declares, and Jason’s about to refute this statement, but Tim smushes his hand against Jason’s cheek. “Let me express my feelings, Jason.”

—

Jason and Tim talk about traditions and lost things (tim’s heritage HAHAHA)

pls beware this contains like. so many headcanons about religion and ethnicity

Notes:

Todays Title Sponsor: Chinese New Year by SALES (I love SALES)

hey i know we broke up months ago (i haven’t posted a fic in ages) but i was wondering if we could hang out as friends (please take this fic i wrote on discord in two hours) if that’s okay with you (i swear i’m writing something big)

i just did this for fun, I wanna make sure u guys know im not. like. stealing stuff for white propaganda

‼️⚠️PLEASE READ PLEASE READ PLEASE READ⚠️‼️ yes i know cass and damian are canonically chinese/asian! I love them! however, the story i wanted to do wouldn’t happen because idk if you know this but their childhoods were just. so fucked up. I really want to write more about the culture and diversity in the batfam, so I swear I’ll try my best to make another part to this focused on other members

ALSO!!!! i am not a bit hispanic (even though people think I am.) so im really sorry if I got anything wrong D: im just speaking from my own and a little bit of my friend’s experience.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Random Batkids sleepovers aren’t exactly rare, but they aren’t uncommon either. There’s one every month or so; they all gather at someone’s place spontaneously and stay the night doing and saying stupid shit. Last time, they had a whole debate that ended with Dick calling Wally and asking if the water in his body boils if he goes too fast.

(He didn’t answer, by the way, and Duke’s still furiously trying to prove his point.)

But that’s not important. Jason doesn’t go to these all that often, maybe every other month or two, but this time they went to him.

“It was inevitable,” Steph informs him, rummaging through his cabinets as he grudgingly makes popcorn for the movie night they’re having. 

“I know, I know,” Jason mutters, grabbing the milk from his fridge for the hot chocolate he’ll have to dish out to Damian, Cass and himself.

“Dick, if you go anywhere near Disney+ I’m going to eat your popcorn.”

“You’re getting crueler by the day, Timmy.”

“He was always like this,” Damian’s voice pipes up, and Jason’s fondly reminded the little eldritch horror is getting more casual with his speech. And then he hears a light smack and a shriek, and the fondness is gone. It was nice for that two seconds, though.

“Don’t fuck up my couch, pendejo!” Jason shouts. In the corner of his eye, Steph takes the popped corn from the microwave, snickering.

“I’m not!” Both voices ring out, followed by arguing and then more arguing after Dick undoubtedly used the distraction to grab the remote.

Ah, family. 

Tim appears next to him a few moments later, after the arguing died down from ‘Tim and Damian smacking each other with cushions’ to ‘everyone trying to find a movie.’ Jason’s pouring in the hot cocoa mix as Tim peers over.

“What’s that?” Tim asks curiously.

“Hot chocolate?” Jason raises a brow. “Y’know? The drink?”

Tim rolls his eyes and nods towards the yellow box on the counter. “No, the brand. I’ve only had Swiss Miss, dude.”

Jason’s nose scrunches. “I thought you were rich.”

“I am rich. I just like Swiss Miss. What are you, brandist?”

“Don’t be calling me brandist. I’ll call you homophobic.”

“I am homophobic.”

Tim says it with so much conviction and genuineness that Jason believes him for a second before punching his cackling brother in the shoulder.

“And here I thought I’d let you have a sip,” Jason sighs, and the cackling shuts up real fast.

“I’m very sorry,” Tim says seriously, eyeing the drink as Jason pours it into the designated cups for each sibling. 

Baby Beezlebub gets the white not-really-teacup with a cute painted gray cat on it, Cass gets her cyan star pattern mug, and he pours his own hot cocoa into a white mug with ‘ROY MUG DO NOT USE’ printed onto it.

“What happens if Roy finds out you used his mug for-“ Tim picks up the box of mix- “Abuelita’s Hecho En México?”

“Your Spanish is abysmal,” Jason replies, ignoring the question that he hopes he never has to find the answer to as he hands Tim the beverage. 

“Your Chinese sucks, you can’t say anything.” Tim blows on the drink before taking a small sip, brightening immediately and taking a larger, louder slurp. Jason has to carefully wrangle it out of his hands before he consumes half of the cup.

“Chinese?” Jason repeats, raising a brow. “Cass and Damian don’t speak much anyway.”

Tim considers this for a second before shrugging. “Yeah, fair. I don’t know a lot either. Disrespecting my ancestors is my hobby.”

That makes Jason do a double take. He swallows a burning gulp of cocoa and coughs as he shouts for Cass and Damian to come and grab their cups.

“You’re Chinese?” He manages, suddenly feeling a little guilty. How did he not know this? Then again, Tim looks the most white of them all.

“Yeah,” Tim hums, stealing Jason’s cup as he’s left to the death of his poor, poor taste buds. Spawn of Satan grabs and leaves, only giving him a confused look. Cass comes in silently next, signing something quickly that Jason doesn’t catch before trailing behind her little brother.

“We’re watching Descendants,” Tim explains as Jason recovers from his, frankly traumatic, hot liquid attack. “I guess Dick won today.”

“Of course he did,” Jason sighs. “Damn. I feel bad for not knowing, babybird.”

Tim just shrugs again and stares longingly as Jason steals back his cup and holds it close. “I mean, it isn’t that important? Also, I got the pasty white boy from my mom. I got most of her genes, now that I think about it.” Tim pauses a moment before continuing on. “I can’t celebrate anything either, so..”

“‘Can’t’?” Jason repeats, more interested and a little confused than anything else.

Bruce, as white and not-religious-but-not-atheist as he is, doesn’t not let them embrace their cultures. Jason goes to church every Sunday. Alfred researches recipes for their favorite foods from home and makes them well. Holidays are celebrated accordingly— if he remembers correctly, Lil’ Lucifer, Tim and Bruce did Hanukkah with the Kent’s once— and.. pretty much all of this family is some sort of mixed, now that he thinks about it. 

“Not can’t, just..” Tim trails off, tucking into himself as he leans against the counter, letting his bangs fall in front of his face a little. 

Jason’s curious expression softens, relaxing his posture and nudging Tim lightly. “You don’t have to spill if you don’t want to. But I’ll listen. Better than Disney channel songs, anyway,” he jokes.

Tim snorts at that. Win. “Nah, I want to talk about it.” His eyes widen as he says the words. “Damn. I just admitted to communication.”

“Oh, fuck, is the President okay?”

“Shut up, only I get to mock myself.”

“Do you have a legal document for that?”

Tim glares at him. Jason only smirks and sips his cocoa.

“I hate you,” Tim declares, and Jason’s about to refute this statement, but Tim smushes his hand against Jason’s cheek. “Let me express my feelings, Jason.”

“You could’ve done that, like, two minu-“

“Anyways,” Tim carries on, making Jason roll his eyes, but he shuts up anyway. “It’s not really can’t. I could if I really wanted to, I guess, but I’ve  just been too busy.”

Tim’s lips twitch downward at his own words, and the mood settles into comfortable somberness again. Ignoring the pop music in the background, it’s peaceful. Jason offers the rest of the cocoa. Tim takes it.

“My dad used to take me down to Chinatown as a kid,” he says after a long sip. The surprise must be clear on Jason’s face, because Tim snorts again. 

Jason remembers, one day, when Tim was a little younger, he had quietly admitted he hated his laugh. He said sometimes it was too much like his dad and sometimes too much like his mom. “50/50,” Tim had scowled spitefully, “but there’s no me in it.”

Now he wonders which he’s listening to now. Or maybe it’s Tim, who’s found himself after all.

Jesus. When did he get so emotional and poetic again? It’s probably Bizarro’s fault. He likes Jason reading out loud.

“He wasn’t as bad as I used to think he was,” Tim’s fingers tap the side of the mug as he speaks. 

“He wasn’t amazing, either, obviously, but.. he was trying at first, I think. He’d take me down on the weekends when I was really small— don’t even try to make a short joke— and we’d have dim sum together. There was a bakery and a candy store nearby too, and I’d trail behind my dad as he filled the candy bag for me.”

“Candy bag?” Jason echoes. The traditions are far beyond him.

“Yeah, they had a plastic bag and you’d scoop the candy out of, like, clear plastic boxes all around the store. It was fun. I mainly just remember stuffing my face with shark gummies.”

Jason definitely does not laugh at the image of little Timbo shoveling gummy sharks into his mouth.

“I’ve only been to Chinatown a few times.” Jason moves to a chair instead of just leaning on the counter the whole time. “It sounds pretty nice.”

“Nah, I probably just went to the better parts.” Tim follows along and rests his head on his crossed arms on the table. “I’d beg him to go to the playground and he’d cave once in a while. I think he mainly just watched me climb over shit and wince when I got my clothes dirty.”

It’s silent for a moment, very much pretending Dove Cameron isn’t in the background, before Jason prods. “And then..?”

“I got older.” Tim answers simply. “I wasn’t a little kid, so my dad stopped taking me there. That was the maximum of the Chinese culture stuff we did. We didn’t celebrate Chinese New Year or anything. I don’t think he was ashamed of it or anything,” Tim’s quick to defend, even though Jason didn’t say anything. Like he’s fighting his own thoughts. “I think it was just because he was never home to do anything like it.”

Jason hums low as Tim finishes. It’s so much more different than his situation, where his parents were both at least a little bit Hispanic. Sheila was Guatemalan and his dad never told him where he came from. He just said it was their month during September and slapped his back hard. Catherine was white, though, but she didn’t do anything about the traditions he’d eventually celebrate on his own.

At least he was connected. To his language, his culture, his holidays. Tim was about as abandoned by his heritage as Jason was by Catherine and Willis.

“Do you want to celebrate them?” Jason asks suddenly, making Tim glance at him and then back to the table thoughtfully.

“I don’t really know.” The younger taps his fingers on the cup sitting next to him. “If Cass or Damian want to, I guess? Chinese New Year might be kind of nice. We could go down and watch the dragon parade.” 

“Sounds fun.”

They stay there a minute longer, exhaustion of the night and the warm, sleepy lighting getting to them both. Jason almost gets up to yell at Dick to turn down the volume so he can crash when Tim speaks up quietly.

“There’s a thing that some people do,” he admits, slightly above a whisper, and Jason’s eyes feel less heavy as he hears the tone. “Tradition, I guess? I don’t know, Jack only did it once and I was like, three. But, um.” He shifts in his chair awkwardly.

“I saw online that there’s a whole thing to honor the dead, and, uh, I was twelve. And a half. And you had just….”

Jason’s throat goes dry.

“Yeah,” Tim clears his throat, clearly trying to get the words he wants out. “It’s a respect thing. And Robin was my hero, so I bought incense and chicken nuggets— because I didn’t want to make a whole duck— and snuck over to your grave one night.”

Jason kind of wants to laugh, but also shake Tim and scream, so he’s having a hard time trying to open his mouth at all.

“I did the whole thing, because I thought you might appreciate it, wherever you were. Bow three times or something. I ate the chicken nuggets there, though, I was hungry.”

“Dude,” Jason finally finds his voice after five beats of silence, and it definitely cracks. “I probably wanted those fucking nuggets.”

Tim stares at him. Then he laughs, and Jason laughs with him, desperately wiping away the tears that are threatening his eyes. 

“Jesus, kid,” Jason laughs again wetly, pulling him from his seat and hugging him tightly. “That’s- so stupid. That’s so fucking stupid but also the nicest shit someone’s done for me, especially then.”

“I was twelve,” Tim argues into his shoulder. “And a half. And getting my answers from Google.”

“Yeah, stupid.” Jason wipes his face again with his sleeve, snickering at little twelve and a half year old Tim. “You did that for me? I..”

He doesn’t deserve that. He didn’t, doesn’t, deserve that praise or compassion. But Tim..

“Well,” Tim’s face flushes. “Yeah? You were my favorite hero, like, one inch behind Dick’s Robin, and it felt like a good thing to do.”

Jason stares at this kid, his little brother, the little boy with a camera and a whole invisible bucket of kindness. And he punches him in the arm, making Tim screech.

“That’s for the chicken nuggets,” he grins, because for once, he doesn’t know how to use his words. Tim only smiles back, elbowing him in the side.

“Love you too, asshole.”

Notes:

thanks for reading!! that ending came out of nowhere but I ran with it, tell me what u think

i really like Asian-American Tim mostly because as a kid I’d go to Chinatown and see the dragon puppets and I loved them. so, Drake, dragon… y’know?

here’s the playlist I made for this!
https://spotify.link/N4wcj3IvaDb