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"He has a son," Dick says quietly, one afternoon when it's just the two of them in the living room. The statement catches Jason off guard because it's so... so weird. It's like telling someone the sun is up, something that should be plain and obvious and impossible to miss.
"Of course he does," Jason says, trying not to make it sound like he's saying Dick is stupid (even if it kind of is). "He's got three."
"Not us," Dick says with a roll of his eyes. "A real son."
"We are his real sons," Jason protests. He's heard the argument before. Bruce has sat him down and talked him through it before. He wonders if it's different for Dick because he still thinks fondly of his own parents ( birth parents, Jason's brain corrects). Jason definitely doesn't. For him, Bruce is the only real parent he's ever had, and the only one he's ever wanted.
The people who gave birth to him definitely do not count. Bruce was very specific about that.
"You know what I mean," Dick says with another roll of his eyes. Jason does, so he doesn't argue. Instead he stays silent, listening to Dick as he explains what he was talking about. "I heard Bruce talking on the phone with his lawyers. Apparently he's going to take him in soon. He'll be here."
Here. Living with them in the manor? Jason isn't sure how he feels about that. He likes what they have, just the five of them. Six seems like too many.
"Does Tim know?"
Tim's the youngest. He's the baby of the family, and in Jason's absolutely-not-biased opinion, the most sensitive of them. He's still settling in. He's still coming to terms with his parents not being good for him.
"Not yet," Dick says. "I was going to tell you first, so we could tell him together."
The thought of letting Bruce do the telling crosses his mind, but Jason ignores it immediately in favor of tearing off down the hall, racing Dick towards Tim's room.
Tim's sitting at his desk, but he immediately hides away what he's doing when Jason and Dick burst through the door. He looks small and nervous, fidgeting immediately, and Dick has to grab the back of Jason's shirt to keep him from getting too close.
"We're getting another brother!" Dick blurts out before Jason can figure out the best way to deliver the news. Tim's eyes go wide as saucers, his mouth falling open ever so slightly.
Jason knows what he's thinking. It's probably the same thing Jason felt when Tim showed up, even if it's not like Bruce went out looking for Tim. It was hard for him not to feel like Tim was the newer, younger model. The one that already knew all the manners Alfred was struggling to teach Jason, the one who held his tongue and was quiet and polite when guests were over.
It was hard not to feel like Tim was better than him in every way, and it had taken a lot of convincing from Bruce and Alfred and even Dick himself to convince Jason otherwise.
So really, he knows what's going through Tim's mind.
"He's not replacing you," Jason says as quickly as he can. "He's just new. Like you were new to our family, and I was new when it was just Dick."
Jason's attempt isn't nearly as convincing as he'd like. Tim still looks upset, and while Jason expects Dick to follow up with the mention of him being Bruce's kid, he doesn't.
Probably for the better.
Bruce tells them over dinner, but by then they all know, so it's a complete non-announcement.
"Boys," Bruce says, obviously taking great care with his choice of words. "I know this is sudden, but you're all going to have a new little brother coming to stay with us soon."
"We already know," Dick announces, apparently physically incapable of keeping a secret. Jason shoots him a dirty look, and Tim seems to sink down into his seat. Bruce seems surprised by the announcement, glancing between the three of them, and then looks to Alfred.
"I'm afraid they must have overheard," Alfred says. "I would not have told them without speaking to you about it first."
Bruce frowns in a way that makes it clear he's unhappy he didn't get to share the news first, but eventually clears his throat, setting down his fork and knife and leaning back in his seat.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," he says.
"How old is he?" Jason blurts out.
"Damian is eight," Bruce replies, and Jason files both bits of information away for later. Dick looks upset, obviously hoping for someone older, but Jason likes it. With Dick as the oldest at fourteen, eight means they're all two years apart. It's neat in a way that Jason likes but would have a hard time explaining why.
"Why's he coming to stay with us?" Dick says, eyeing the ever-silent Tim.
"His mother's family are..." Bruce makes a strained noise. "Difficult. There's been some fighting in the family, and his mother thinks he would be better off here."
"Did you know about him?" Tim asks, breaking his silence at last.
Bruce shakes his head.
"I wasn't aware that Ta— his mother was pregnant, no."
"Is he going to go home when things stop being..." Dick pauses. "Difficult?"
"That remains to be seen," Bruce says. "We haven't worked out how things are going to be, but Damian needs to understand that this is his home too, if he wants it. I'm hoping you boys will all be as welcoming to him as you can."
There's three spare rooms near their own, so that isn't an issue, but there's still a lot of questions, most of which Bruce and Alfred answer with a careful ease. No, they don't know much about him. Yes, Damian will go to the same school as the rest of them if he's there. No, Bruce doesn't know what he likes. No, Bruce doesn't know when he'll be showing up, only that it's going to be sometime soon.
"Like tomorrow?" Tim says.
"Maybe," Bruce says with a shrug. "At some point, he and his mother are going to land at the airport, and then I'm going to go pick him up."
"Not Alfred?" Dick asks, eyeing the older man.
"I'm afraid this is something master Bruce needs to do for himself," Alfred says. "You'll be staying here with me in the meanwhile."
It's three days later when Bruce gets the call, excusing himself to head to the airport. For the most part they've warmed up to the idea, but there's still no small amount of hesitance over what's coming. None of them know what Damian's going to be like, and they're all—to varying degrees—worried about what he'll be like.
"We should make something for him," Tim says. "Because when I came here and wasn't going to see my mom and dad anymore, it was scary. He's probably going to be scared too."
"Make something like what?" Dick says.
"I dunno," Jason says with a shrug. "...Cake?"
Alfred's busy setting things up for Damian, so Jason takes charge of the kitchen. Dick talks him down to cookies, and Tim provides assistance as Jason takes advantage of all the time he's spent helping Alfred to locate and work his way through a recipe from one of Alfred's books.
The cookies are in the oven when Dick bolts around the corner.
"They're coming up the drive!" He blurts. "Are they done?"
Jason shoots him his very best disgusted look.
"Cookies don't cook that fast," Jason protests. "It's going to take longer."
"Well, we don't have longer," Dick counters. "We should have just bought him something."
"But then we would have needed to ask Alfred for help," Tim says. "Which isn't the same thing as making something."
Jason's very much of the opinion that he made something and the others just helped, but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he huffs and tries to clear up the kitchen as fast as possible, minimizing the mess to hide the truth... for now.
Eventually, the smell of baking cookies is going to give them away, but there's nothing he can do about that.
They head to the entrance way just in time to see Bruce coming up the drive carrying a bag with a very, very small child at his side.
"I thought he was supposed to be eight," Tim says. Jason' makes a noise of agreement, because the kid is so small there's no way he's eight years old.
And when the kid in question spots the three of them staring out the glass of the side window, he immediately falls back, hiding behind Bruce's legs. They can't hear what Bruce is saying, but it's obvious he's trying to reassure the boy.
"Master Dick, I am quite certain we spoke about fingerprints on the glass just yesterday," Alfred says. "I expect you provide a better example to your brothers."
"Oops," Dick says, not sounding sorry at all. "Sorry Al!" He nudges Jason and Tim back, which also gives Bruce space to open the front door, leading the newest addition inside as he does. Alfred takes the bags immediately, and there's an awful lot of shuffling around as everyone tries to get a look at Damian.
He really is small.
"Boys," Bruce says, planting a hand on Damian's shoulder and attempting to steer the boy out in front of him. "This is Damian. Damian, these are your brothers." He gives them a look that implies they should be introducing themselves, and Dick takes charge.
"Hi Damian!" He announces with far too much excitement. Damian looks sullen and unhappy where he's peeking out from behind Bruce's body, clearly making an attempt to just hide. "I'm Dick."
Damian mumbles something that Jason's pretty sure was Arabic, and all three of them look up at Bruce for a translation.
"That isn't something that needs to be translated," Bruce says, going red. "Damian, English, please. None of your brothers are... they don't know Arabic."
"It seems unfair that I should have to speak English," Damian says, his voice muffled by Bruce's body.
"It is," Jason says, trying to be helpful. "But I bet we could learn really quickly if you'd teach us."
There's a bit of grumbling from the boy behind their father's legs at that.
"I'm Jason, by the way."
"I'm Timothy Drake," Tim adds, obviously making an effort to swallow down his nerves.
"...Damian."
"Why don't we show you where your room is?" Bruce says, making another attempt to slide Damian out in front of him. "Boys, I'm sure you've all been helping Alfred set up the room... why don't you show him?"
They've been doing no such thing, and Alfred's look gives as much away to Bruce.
"Sure," Dick says, trying to be helpful. "You've got the room beside Tim, because Jason's room is beside the library and you can't sleep there."
"Well, you can if you want to," Jason says. "But you aren't supposed to, and Alfred gets cross. Bruce lets us though."
"What Jason means is that if you fall asleep in there like he does, Bruce will make sure you get back to bed," Tim says, and Jason scowls at him.
"I don't do that often."
"He does," Dick says, the traitor. "Jason loves the library."
Damian gives Jason an appraising look, but stays quiet. Alfred and Bruce trail behind them as Dick opens the door, and the boys spill inside, showing Damian his room.
"Small," Damian says, and Jason wrinkles his nose. Dick must see the annoyance on Jason's face, because he leaps into action to keep things from escalating.
"Oh, is it? You must have had a pretty big room with your mom. We've all got rooms of the same size—except Bruce, I guess—and if you ever want to visit our rooms you can just knock. Maybe we'll give you design tips or something."
Damian looks around, clearly unimpressed by the room, and then looks towards Bruce for... something. Advice? Insight? Additional prompting?
"I'm sure you're hungry," Bruce says. "Why don't we go get a snack, and then you can—"
"We made cookies!" Tim says excitedly. "We made cookies for him. I mean, mostly Jason, but we all helped."
"Cookies!" Bruce says with a look of obvious relief. "Good. That's—see, Damian? I told you they'd like you. Why don't we go enjoy those cookies?"
"...Alright," Damian says carefully.
He stays close to Bruce as they make their way back to the kitchen, and Jason runs ahead to get the cookies out of the oven. They're done—a little bit soft, but done—but still too hot to eat (even if Dick tries). There's a lot of shooing Dick away from them for his own good before Bruce orders them all back to the table, and Alfred emerges a short while later with a tray of cookies and milk.
Bruce hovers over them, beaming at all four of them until Alfred insists that he sit down and have some too.
"Your children helped make them," Alfred says, "so it's only to be expected that you'll give them a taste."
But Damian gets first bite. Alfred slides the plate over to him, and the young boy stares down at the cookies as if he's never had one before.
For a second, Jason wonders if maybe he hasn't, and he feels a stab of sympathy.
"They're good," he says. "It's one of Alfred's recipes. They're just chocolate chip."
Damian stares down at the cookie and then carefully picks it up. There's a level of almost absurd caution in his movements as he finally nibbles at the edge, squinting down at the cookie as he does.
"...It's good," he finally declares, and there's a sigh of relief from half the room.
Bruce beams at all of them.
"See? I knew your brothers would be excited to meet you," Bruce says, resting his hands on Damian's shoulders as Damian stares across the room at them.
He looks like he's nervous and trying very hard to hide it, and Jason feels a pang of regret that he ever thought taking him in might not be a good idea.
It's long past dark and Jason's in bed when there's a knock at his door. It's soft and hesitant, so Jason's immediate thought is Tim, but when he opens his door he finds Damian standing there, dressed in what looks like a very long nightshirt.
"...You made the cookies?" He says, which apparently counts as a greeting for him.
"Yep," Jason says, leaning up against the door frame. Damian really is small, but up close he doesn't really look his age. He looks... intense, and it strikes Jason as pretty funny that Damian's so clearly inherited Bruce's intense stares, one of the few things that should absolutely be a learned behavior.
"...Thank you," Damian says, shuffling his feet. "I know I didn't thank you earlier, which was rude of me."
"It's no problem," Jason says, surprised by the thank you. Honestly, he hadn't really been paying attention to who did or didn't thank him for the cookies. There's a moment's pause as he tries to get a feeling for what the kid is after, and then it occurs to him that he might—and it's a big might—be lonely. Or nervous. Or unable to sleep for a dozen other reasons.
"I think there's some left over in the kitchen," Jason says. "We could sneak over and get them? Maybe watch a movie?"
There's no answer for a moment, and then Damian very, very hesitantly nods.
"Great!" Jason says, and then hesitates. "You think we should get Dick and Tim? I bet they'd like to watch with us."
Damian hesitates again, but eventually nods.
"Good," Jason says. "Let's go grab them."
When Bruce goes to check on Damian late that night, he's alarmed to find the boy's room empty. He's kicking himself for having left him alone at all when Alfred intercepts Bruce on his way to the manor's security suite.
"Living room," Alfred says simply. "And being quiet would be prudent."
Alfred's right: quiet is important. Bruce sees as much when he reaches the living room and finds all of his boys—all four of them—curled up together on the couch. They're all asleep, and the TV's on but not playing anything, hung at a menu.
"...Let's not move them," Bruce says quietly to Alfred, and Alfred gives him a small smile.
"I'll fetch some blankets," he says. "I'm sure the boys would prefer to spend the night right here as well... but maybe in a bit more warm a fashion."
Alfred fetches some blankets, and they very carefully tuck the boys in. It's not perfect; Dick cracks an eye open midway through before snuggling back into the pile, but eventually it's done.
"Some for you, sir," Alfred says with a smile, handing Bruce some blankets of his own. "I'll be retiring to my bed."
Alfred knows Bruce better than knows himself sometimes, and with a tired sigh Bruce retires to one of the armchairs and makes himself comfortable.
He's certainly not leaving his kids by themselves, after all. It's his job as a father to make sure they're taken care of, and right then that means sleeping in an armchair under a heavy blanket, listening to Jason snore.