metalogs | something something April showers (open)

It's super irritating to be knocked back to the end of his junior year after he already graduated and was halfway through summer vacation back home. It's even more irritating to have to convince the school (that he doesn't even want to go to, but will definitely hunt him down if he doesn't show up) to let him move up to the junior year randomly because he happened to age two years in one Confluence. But he'd've been even more bored learning stuff that he largely already learned, so.

New classes. New classmates, not that he ever tried too hard to be friends with anyone here beyond Nico, Dylan, and a few others. For now, he's got a free period and is using it to camp out in the library and study some of the concepts in his classes that differ from what he's being taught back home (trying to transfer mid-semester between universes isn't easy, even for him, all right). He could use a study buddy, maybe. Or a distraction. Or maybe someone noticing that That One Fifteen-Year-Old is seventeen now.

School's been a strange sort of escape for Donnie. After finally having the chance to go to school like a normal teenager, dropping out of it so abruptly just isn't something that would sit well with him.

He'd missed a week or two...or more- he's not sure, there were at least a couple of weeks that were a blur that they all just kind of meld into one hazy, depressed mush, but now he's back, and it hadn't taken him long to catch up with everything he'd missed. It was nice to have things that were objectively less complicated to focus on, and math and science didn't depend on emotional states, just nice clean numbers, formulas and data.

Technically Donnie is supposed to be in counseling, but he's not big on sharing feelings and his is a strange case in which an abrupt death in the family wasn't a permanent one. In any case, he's ditching, but since they'd probably just send him back if he went back to class, Donnie's instead taken refuge in the library, but libraries are always one of his favorite places to be. He's not hard to miss, given there aren't many mutant turtles on any given day on the campus, but unlike his brother, purple is definitely Donnie's choice color-coding, the hood of his purple hoodie pulled up over his head, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"This seat taken?" he asks, resting a hand on the empty chair diagonally across from Tim.

Tim's kind of relieved that the turtles who attend the school tend towards color-coding because that makes it easier to identify who's who. This is Donnie, he's pretty sure?

He moves a few of books to give Donnie more room, which is probably permission on its own, but he speaks, too: "Go for it."

He's technically enrolled himself as Othello von Ryan, an alias he's always been fond of, and it's the name he's registered with the Society under, but he hasn't been terribly strict about it. If he were then he'd have opted for going with a holo-disguise like his brother had at the beginning.

"Cool," he says as he settles right in, setting his backpack on the chair beside him, taking a moment to just sit before he starts pulling out things. Notebooks, a couple of textbooks.

After a moment while ~~Donnie~~ ~~Othello~~ Purple Turtle settles in, Tim digs a bag of potato chips out of his backpack and quietly pushes them over the table towards Donnie. This is reaching out, right? He's pretty sure Dick would be proud.

The offering comes as a surprise. Certainly there are probably rules about snacking in the library but it seems a little mean to pull that card and besides, there's something nice about some random guy willingly sharing his potato chips. And maybe he's overthinking things as he notoriously tends to.

So Donnie smiles. Easy enough. He reaches for the chips after a surreptitious glance around. Helps himself to some, as quietly as possible, flashing Tim a thumbs-up.

It's true that food isn't normally allowed in the library, but (a) Tim is sneaky and careful about not getting crumbs on the books, and (b) now Donnie is complicit, so he can't snitch.

Which is obviously why Tim grins and gives Donnie a thumbs up back.

Crumbs and greasy fingers don't really go well with books and homework, and while Donnie knows he doesn't really carry napkins around, at least he can improvise. Having weird transmutation powers really does come in handy.

He sticks his hand deep into his backpack, feeling for some scrap paper and hoping the brief light isn't noticed as he pulls out a couple of napkins, flicking one across the table. He may be complicit to this rule breaking but that doesn't mean he has to be a slob!

You'd be forgiven for wondering if the Robin patrolling Central City now is a new bird. There've been several, after all, and his sudden growth from fifteen to seventeen does change his silhouette. He's a bit taller, a bit broader in the shoulders, and while his uniform is still very similar, he's added a hood and cape. And since he's not the baby of the Batfamily back home anymore, he's gotten more used to flying solo.

He's not anxiety-patrolling the same way he was before the Confluence, but he's still pretty active. He might drop in to save your butt from an attempted mugging, or you could catch him with his legs dangling off the edge of a roof, eating some late-night donuts kindly donated by a shop that was going to throw them out anyway. He might even drop by street-level to share.

Having gone home for as long as he did is especially weird whenever Tim tries to think about what happened two weeks ago. Because two weeks ago, he was living at the Manor in Gotham, he was a part of the Team, he'd gone through serious changes to his life and family. But two weeks ago, he was also fifteen and here and stressed beyond belief and not ready to deal with some things about himself.

Two weeks ago, it was really important to him to have food stashed around the Belfry, Just In Case. Two weeks ago, he'd already been forced to confront the fact that it's impossible to do that in a family of detectives ages ago and had been working with Dinah for a while to find compromises. So that's what he's doing now: compromising. A few of them - the ones with the best hiding spots, in his opinion - he keeps. (He checks on them, too, makes sure that everything's definitely within date, and adds a little typed note to them: my therapist said I get to have this. snitches get stitches.

The rest, he dismantles. Just in case, he tries to be discreet about it, but he's not as paranoid about it as fifteen-year-old Tim would have been.

Jason doesn’t live at the Belfry but he comes by often enough now that it would be easy for him to consider it a second home, despite his family issues. Or perhaps it’s because of that? Perhaps he’s come to be attached to a family that spans across different Earths.

Whatever the case may be, the Belfry is a good base to go for replenishing and repairing some of his gear and he at least knows it’s highly secure from outside threats.

It’s during one of these visits that he sees the younger Tim. He hated that Tim felt the need to have food stashes as it was a sign of deeper psychological trauma the kid has. Jason was also forced to accept that deprogramming Tim out of that mentality was going to take a long time. So Jason’s not sure what to think when he catches Tim with one of his hiding spots. At first he thinks he’s refreshing it but then he sees there isn’t new stock to be placed. Perhaps some things have changed for the better after the last age-up Tim went through?

“Hey.” He says calmly, as a way to hopefully put his little brother at ease.

"Hi."

Okay, look, he doesn't love that Jason found him dismantling one of the stashes. But it's not like Jason didn't Know already, given that he talked to Jason about it a long time ago. And even back home at this point, the Waynes know about them, they just politely pretend most of them don't exist.

He glances down at some of the food in his hands, and then back up at Jason. "Can I offer you a granola bar in these trying times?"

Jason huffs out a soft laugh. He appreciates Tim’s bold attempt in trying to break the tension at least.

“Yeah, sure,” Jason says taking a bar. “You cleaning?”

"Spring cleaning, I guess." He tosses the promised granola bar in Jason's direction. "I couldn't leave too many of these around."

Jason catches the bar, unwraps it, and takes a bite.

“Yeah, gotta save some of those nooks and crannies for emergency batarangs,” he says, still trying to keep the conversation from getting too awkward. “What started this?”

"Not as anxious as I was when I set all of these up, I guess?"

It's still weird to talk kind of openly about this, but it helps that it's an open secret back home, so.

With that admission, Jason feels more at ease to be more genuine with his feelings on the topic.

“I’m glad,” he says. “You’re doing better than I was when I was your age.”

“I was working with Dinah back home? To find different coping strategies.”

Not that he’s 100% found something else, given he still has a few stashes. But. It helps.

“It’s a good first step,” Jason says, gesturing at the food Tim has already taken out. “Any luck so far?”

He glances down at his emergency food again. “I guess. I mean, I’m not replacing this one.”

“That’s something at least,” He says. “Pretty clever it was to use my old spots.”

And perhaps it was an example of Tim being too smart for his own good.

“Yeah,” he says, somewhat wistfully. “It didn’t last forever, though.”

Look, just because things are largely better now doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating that he was caught.

Jason hears that wistfulness in Tim’s tone.

“Yeah, it’s what happens when you come from a family of detectives,” he says.

“It’s annoying,” he mutters. “You could at least pretend not to notice everything.”

As if he isn’t part of the family and not annoying observant, himself.

“And not fulfill our sibling duties in annoying little brothers? Nah,” Jason quips.

"I want my granola bar back."

So there.

Jason quickly stuffs the rest of the bar in his mouth before grinning.

“Too late.”

Tim lobs another granola bar at Jason, aiming for his forehead this time. He does not expect it to work, but it's satisfying, anyway.

With a cheeky grin, Jason ducks.

“Gonna have to do better than that, Boy Wonder,” he teases.

Because he's Tim, and he always wears his magic-powered belt for Reasons, a batarang follows suit.

Jason ducks again but it’s a much closer dodge.

“Not bad.”

something something April showers (open)

[OPEN, high school] don't you forget about me (don't, don't, don't, don't - )

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[OPEN, Central City] flying high

[OPEN, the belfry] spring cleaning (tw: food hoarding, likely mention of child abuse)

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