"No," Jason blurts, backing away from the living problem held in Tim's one-handed grasp, dangling like a naughty kitten caught by its scruff.

"Nope."

"Yes," Tim says, said problem-slash-kitten is an abnormally scrawny ten year old boy that is supposed to be twenty-nine years-of-age Dick Grayson. De-aged. Oh, fuck him.

Jason eyes the kid's choice of current clothing, some stolen matching unicorn hoodie pajamas that Damian has never ever dared to use in public. No. Some god will have to strike him down. He had always wanted to go out with thunder. Not the with bang part.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Jason exclaims, his hand slapping the air. "Golden Boy Babysitter? Fucking hand him off to the Demon Brat!"

"Language," Tim chides, expression tired and unamused with whatever show Jason's trying to act, not even answering his nonsense questions. Tim shakes the still-dangling boy.

"Damian is out with Bruce on another planet, and I don't have the recources nor willpower to handle, well, this."

Jason's scowl deepens.

"Say hi, Dick." Tim says.

"Hi, Dick," Dick crows. He's charming, but mocking as he frowns, blue, blue eyes flicking up to meet Jason's.

"Who's this?" Dick asks cynically - and the fact that Dick doesn't know squat about him definetely doesn't hurt him.

"Jason," Tim hauls the boy up higher with a gaze that can only be labeled as exasperation, "he's... a close friend of Bruce's, just like me."

"Okay," says Tiny Dick, then starts wriggling, so Tim drops him.

The boy easily lands on his feet, arms thin and a little skinnier than it should be.

Dick waddles up to him, "Nice to meet you," he says, adopting a polite tone, tiny hand outstretched to shake Jason's suddenly too big and calloused one. That's fucked.

He lets his hand go, shoots Tim a death glare while the boy's attention is cast on the futuristic looking systems of the Batcave.

While the mini version of his (adopted) older brother attempts to hack into an advanced Batcomputer, Jason turns to Tim, seething. "The fuck happened?"