Jason wasn't sure how he had ended up in his current predicament. How he ended up frequently camping out on Tim's couch even though he had a dozen safe holds set up across the city that would be a hell of a lot more private and less risky than the residence of one Red Robin.

Sure, Tim had saved his ass, brought him home once to patch him up, and had put enough trust in him to not off him in his sleep while he lay sprawled out on Tim's sofa in a world of pain overnight.

And yes, he had returned the favor nearly a week later, because he was totally fair and willing to not put Tim out of his misery the first chance he had gotten. Because he was a private person, and admittedly paranoid, he had simply brought Tim home, patched him up there, and had stayed the night to make sure he stayed put and didn't do anything reckless to further injure himself.

But that honestly hadn't warranted making it a thing.

Of course… there had been the thunderstorm/Gotham monsoon that had developed out of nowhere three weeks ago. Where he had parked his bike behind Tim's car and had banged on the glass balcony doors like a drowned cat, even though his nearest safe house was only another three minutes away. But in his defense… well, Tim had the heated shower, a roof that wasn't leaking in over a dozen inconvenient places, and one hell of a nice comfy couch. The nice mug of tea he had received had earned the teen bonus points, though the Superboy t-shirt, and the ridiculous sweatpants (which could only be something ancient of Dick's) had been annoying as fuck. Cons of being so damn big and crashing at the home of a much tinier person.

And then there had been the incident just a week later where the idiot had gone out on patrol with a raging fever and had fainted on a rooftop where Jason had stumbled upon him twenty minutes later. He had dumped a bucket of cold water on him, hauled him up to his feet, and had practically dragged Tim's ass back home. He had tossed him in bed, made himself toast (because damn it if Tim's kitchen hadn't been completely empty) and had then kicked back to take advantage of the kid's cable TV. He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep until he had woken the next morning to the smell of waffles. One couldn't fault him for then staying for breakfast.

He had then realized that they were falling into a pattern. That there was something seriously wrong with how cozy he was getting with the 'replacement'. That he had been becoming accustom to the domesticity and was finding himself bunking in Tim's living room once or twice in a given week.

He had put a stop to that quickly, and had pointedly stayed far, far away for a week and a half.

Just when he had thought he was safe, he had ended up in a bit of a gang war, narrowly escaped death only to end up in a mass chase with the GCPD, had fled with his tail between his legs on foot, bleeding out, and had resorted to pleading on Tim's doorstep for safe haven.

What had really gotten him he supposed, was how after the teen had patched him up, fed him, and made sure he wasn't as concussed as he had seemed- just tired, he had presented him with a brand new plain black t-shirt and plaid pajama pants in his own size for him to pass out in. The fact that Tim had deliberately bought clothes expecting him to be a thing had won him over.

Food, shelter, clothes… damn was he easy. But he was at the very least willing to admit he had a problem.

What he didn't understand though was how fast Tim had warmed up to him after all the shit he had done to him over the years. How he could pass out on the opposite end of the sofa while watching a movie together (how the hell had they gotten there already/at all!?) and not feel strange or in danger. Nor how when he had flat out asked the kid as much he could respond with feigned innocence that he 'had no idea what he was talking about' or that he simply 'trusted him, and wasn't getting rid of him very easily'.

But the real kicker… the one that had him squirming with unease, was the very present situation.

Because he just honestly wasn't sure what the hell to do with the fact that Tim was fast asleep, snoring softly, curled up against his legs. Because he didn't do cuddling. Especially not with Tim. But at the same time he didn't want to move, because then Tim would wake up, and he sure as hell didn't sleep enough.

Right there, he stopped, circuits shorting out in his mind.

Because without having realized it, he had come to care for Tim's wellbeing. He had become accustomed to his company, gotten used to camping out at his house, and had developed enough respect for him to not have immediately flailed and punted his ass off the couch for having woken up with him clinging to him.

And instead of making a big deal over it, Jason let out a frustrated sigh (because he so did not sign up for this), and lit a cigarette, accepting the fact that he was screwed.

Because damn it if he wasn't emotionally comprised.