Wayne Manor felt too quiet.

No distant voices echoing down the halls, no clatter from the kitchen, no footsteps pacing overhead. Dick was out on patrol with Damian, Bruce was buried in some gala-related nightmare, and Cass and Steph were somewhere in the city, probably doing something loud. That left only Jason and Tim in the entire house.

Which was a problem, because Tim was sick.

Not just a little sick—very sick. Fever-high, limbs aching, thoughts slipping sideways kind of sick. Dick had noticed it earlier, dragged Tim to his room, forced him into bed, and then pointed at Jason like he’d just handed him a loaded weapon.

“Watch him,” Dick had said. “Don’t let him wander.”

Jason had rolled his eyes. “He’s not a toddler.”

Tim had immediately tried to walk into a wall on the way to his room.

So now Jason was stationed on the couch, pretending to watch TV while keeping one eye on the hallway. At first it was almost entertaining. Tim kept appearing like a glitch in reality—once with his shirt on backwards, another time with pajama pants inside out, mumbling something about needing to “check the files” before nearly tripping over the rug.

Jason snorted the first few times. Took a picture once. For blackmail.

But after the fifth appearance—Tim swaying on his feet, eyes glassy, hoodie halfway on like he’d lost a fight with it—Jason sighed and pushed himself up.

“Alright, replacement Robin,” he muttered. “That’s enough.”

He intercepted Tim mid-shuffle, easily scooping him up despite Tim’s weak, confused protests. Tim was warm—too warm—and boneless in that way that made Jason’s chest tighten just a bit. He carried him back to the couch, grabbed one of his own hoodies, and shoved it over Tim’s head.

“There,” Jason said. “Stolen comfort. You’re welcome.”

Tim tried to wriggle free almost immediately, mumbling something incoherent, but Jason just lay back and hauled him in, one arm firm around Tim’s middle, the other pinning him in place.

“Nope. You’re grounded. Fever jail.”

Tim’s resistance faded fast. He curled in without really meaning to, forehead pressing against Jason’s chest, fingers gripping the fabric of the hoodie. His breathing evened out, slow and deep, and within minutes he was asleep.

Jason stared at the ceiling, tense for a while, waiting for Tim to wake up again.

He didn’t.

Eventually, Jason’s grip loosened. His chin tipped down, resting lightly against Tim’s hair. He told himself it was just to make sure Tim stayed put. That was all.

When Dick got back hours later, the manor was still quiet.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, already calling out softly, heading for Tim’s room. When he didn’t find him there, panic sparked for half a second—until he spotted the living room light still on.

Dick stopped in the doorway.

Jason was sprawled on the couch, fast asleep. Tim was tucked against him, half-hidden in Jason’s hoodie, face relaxed for the first time all day. Jason’s arm was wrapped around him protectively, hand resting between Tim’s shoulder blades like it had always belonged there.

Dick just stood there for a moment.

Then, very quietly, he smiled, turned off the light, and backed out of the room, deciding that whatever else happened tonight—this was exactly where Tim needed to be.