#christmasriverswrites

[redrobinfection]

Alfred’s Favorite Barbara

Babs & Alfred || Read on Ao3 || Happy Birthday, Barbara Gordon! ❤

<< A sequel to last year’s “Batgirls’ Favorite Mentor” 

~*~

Barbara leaned forward and spit out the toothpaste Cass had let her use, on one of the many spare toothbrushes Alfred kept in the guest toiletries stockpile, then leaned back in her chair with a sigh and considered her mostly-put-together-again reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Wow, that had certainly been a party of a night, she mused, ruefully lifting a strand of her sleep-mussed auburn locks before deciding that pulling it back in a bun was really the only dignified solution.

Steph and Cass had kept her up all night--not like that was all that much different from her usual schedule, but mani, pedi, facials, horrible (great) superhero movies, and gossip until dawn had worn her out more than she would have expected. Although, the wine that had snuck into the mix right when the mani-pedis were left to dry and the third movie went in might have had something to do with it, she conceded with a smirk at herself in the mirror. It wasn't a bad sort of tired, she admitted as she tucked few stray hairs into her messy bun, but she was more than ready for a day to rest, recover and recharge.

Just after dawn, Alfred had invaded the sanctum of their home theater encampment to invite them up to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast. There he had laid out toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, juices, teas, coffee, pancakes and even some of the real cake from the night before--a rare breach of protocol from the prim and proper butler that Barbara took as a one-time gesture of affectionate indulgence of their whims--which eventually drew out the other occupants of the house, turning breakfast the morning after into as much of a party as dinner the night before had been.

After that, Alfred had shooed Steph and Cass off to bed and shown Barbara up to her regular guest room where the bed had already been turned down, the pillows fluffed and the blackest of blackout curtains tightly drawn, bless that man. After a few hours of much needed sleep, it was now just past noon, most of the manor's occupants were either still sleeping or out living their daylight personas, and Alfred had offered to drive her back to the Clocktower after she had "freshened up a bit".

Satisfied that she had done as much as she could to make herself decent for the drive of shame, Barbara gathered her things and made her way down the hall to the elevator. Alfred was waiting for her when the doors opened on the civilian garage.

"Ah, Miss Barbara, I take it you're ready to depart?"

"Yes. Thank you for driving me back, Alfred."

"Of course, it's my pleasure."

He led the way toward their several limousines, opened the door to one very special vehicle and began extending and lowering a long ramp. Barbara pressed her lips together to hide a smile as Alfred stepped to one side and let her wheel herself up the shallow incline. He retracted the ramp, closed the door and slid into the driver's seat while she positioned herself in the sleek interior and locked the wheels of her chair.

"Thanks again, Alfred. For everything," Barbara added as they pulled out of the garage. "Last night, this morning...it was all amazing and it must have been so much work--extra work--for you. I really appreciate it."

She saw his eyebrows rise in the rear-view mirror as he replied, "Of course. It was no trouble; I would hardly label hosting a small dinner in honor of and giving accommodations to one of my favorite persons "work". It was a pleasure, Miss Barbara."

She raised an eyebrow in turn. "Oh really? A fairly large dinner, putting up with the mess we all made in the theater afterwards, and putting together a big breakfast in the morning--and driving me back after letting me stay over, even when I'm sure you've got plenty of cleaning up to do? 'Favorite person' huh? If I didn't know better I'd think you were buttering me up for something, Alfred Pennyworth," she teased, sharing a knowing look with him in the mirror.

He didn't laugh out loud, but his eyes twinkled in that way Barbara knew meant he was amused rather than offended. "My word! Is it so hard to believe that an old man would take pleasure in doing what little he could to celebrate the birthday of his favorite Barbara."

Barbara did laugh out loud. "Your favorite...huh! First Jason calls me his favorite, then Tim and Dick, then Steph and Cass... and now you? All of you in less than twenty-four hours? Did you all have a meeting to discuss the topic or am I about to go home to one of the hardest cases of all time and you're all buttering me up to it?"

"I believe the subject had come up recently," Alfred replied evenly. "You do so much for this family and receive so little appreciation..."

"That's my line," Barbara muttered incredulously with a minute shake of her head.

"...and I'll have you know that of all the Barbaras I've had the pleasure of knowing, you most certainly rank supreme."

Barbara huffed a laugh through her nose. "And how many Barbaras is that exactly?"

Alfred met her eyes in the mirror and fixed her with an impressive look. "When you've lived as long as I have, served as long as I have, you come to know a great many people. Among all of those... you are rare soul indeed, Barbara. Surely one to celebrate and to venerate."

That gave her pause. What are you supposed to say to something like that? She didn't know, so she let the silence stretch and turned her gaze to the traffic speeding past her window while her true focus turned to beating down the bloom of color that had flooded her cheeks at Alfred's unexpected pronouncement. 

They rode in silence--not an uncomfortable silence, but Barbara still felt the weight of those words still hanging heavy between them--for the rest of the drive. They'd caught the lull between the lunch-hour jam and afternoon rush-hour traffic--likely a strategic choice on Alfred's part--so it only took about twenty minutes to make the trip into the city. 

Alfred graciously helped her disembark, escorted her to the ground level door to the tower, and--to her surprise--asked to walk her in, pulling a cooler bag from somewhere with leftovers from the revelries. Barbara invited him in, sending him ahead of her with repeated thanks, but the words of appreciation died in her throat as she rolled over the threshold and took in the interior of her homebase. 

She wasn't a slob, per se, but Barbara knew she didn't tidy up around the Tower quite as often as she should, and she cleaned the place even less frequently. It was a lot of real estate for one person--a person with certain mobility issues, at that--and a small army of specially programmed Roombas and some casual dusting here and there could only do so much. 

But today, her foyer was spotless. All the coats, umbrellas and other detritus were neatly hung or stacked in their places. The tile was a shade lighter than she remembered and the grout was actually white--she'd actually thought it was tan up until now. 

Moving into her apartment showed the same story. Shelves of books and knick-knacks were freshly dusted, the rugs had been deeply vaccuumed, and personal items had been put away or neatly arranged. Every surface gleamed.

She turned to Alfred with an accusing look. "Alfred... did you...?" One look at his quietly pleased expression was answer enough. "When did you even find the time to come over here and do this? Did you clean the whole Tower?" She wouldn't doubt it. She didn't bother to ask him how he got into her super-secure, high-tech lair--this is the ex-MI6 agent who raised Bruce, after all--but given the timeline of events, it shouldn't have been possible for him to clean all this by himself and do everything he did for them while she was at the manor. 

"We did, in fact, clean the entire tower--and we took great care not to disturb any of your things in the command center, mind you--but it hardly took any time at all with Masters Damian and Timothy along to help. In fact, we were in and out well before you rose from your nap this morning."

Barbara's eyebrow rose into her hair. Alfred had wrangled Tim and Damian--in the morning, of all times--into cleaning? Together? Without killing each other? 

"Wow, Alfred, you got Tim and Damian to work together to do all of this...? At eight in the morning? You're a miracle worker, for sure. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.

"Really, Alfred...this--" she gestured to rooms around them "--the party, the sleepover, and then breakfast... you've done so much. Thank you. It means a lot to me, but, really, you didn't need to do all this. It's... it’s too much..." 

Alfred looked away for a moment, his expression uncharacteristically sheepish. "Ah, well. Yes. I admit, I may have gone a bit overboard..."

They entered the kitchen and Barbara came to a complete stop. The appliances shone, the stove was spotless, and, for once, the sink was completely free of dishes. But that wasn't what stopped her dead in her tracks. 

On the polished kitchen table, laid out elegantly on a freshly washed and pressed table cloth that Barbara had forgotten she even owned, was a handsome tea set in lustrous lavender and gold--one pot, saucers, cups, sugar cellar and creamer. To one side sat a few varieties of Alfred's favorite teas, and on the other a plate piled high with Alfred’s signature tea cakes, one of her favorite things about visiting the manor for pre-patrol briefings or post-patrol debriefings, back in the day. A recipe card stuck out under the plate.

Barbara turned to Alfred, her vision going misty. "Alfred..."

Alfred graced her with a rare smile, beaming down at her, his expression fond, but his voice was quiet, "For when you need a break from Master Tim's gift of espresso or a moment of peace after along night."

Barbara broke out into a teary smile of her own and raised her arms, reaching out for a hug before she thought it through. Alfred surprised her yet again, leaning down to accept her embrace. 

"Really, thank you, Alfred. For everything," Barbara murmured into his shoulder before he could pull away again.

He didn't. Instead, he replied, so quietly Barbara almost missed it,

"Anything for one of my favorite granddaughters."

[redrobinfection]

(16) Graveyard

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober (2018) - Day 16 “Graveyard”

Tim & Damian | Implied JayTim | Implied DickDami | College AU | No Capes | Crack | actual discussion of literature | Dick Grayson was adopted by the Drakes instead of the Waynes | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"How about four out of seven?" Tim asked with a shrug, winding up the toilet paper roll again.

Damian, his fellow barista, threw his roll at Tim's head, missing wildly. He glared. "You cheated, Drake!"

Tim rolled his eyes as he retrieved Damian's roll and began winding it up too. "How could I cheat at coffee cup bowling, ‘Wayne’?"

"You wind your roll too tightly. It doesn't unravel as much when you pitch it and thus has more mass by the time it hits the cups."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What are you now, a physics major? That just sounds like strategy, dude. You are free to roll your roll as tightly as you'd like. That isn't against the rules."

Damian fumed. "The rules you made up! This is why I said we should use the rice crispy ba--customer."

Tim whirled on the spot, seeing that, indeed, a paying customer had entered their little, semi-enclosed coffee shop. Outside, a few students sat or sprawled over the sectional couches that filled the large basement of the university student union in which the shop was located.

Tim turned and vaulted over the counter. He heard a quiet "-tch-" from Damian as he walked to the hinged raise-able section of the counter and let himself in.

Tim straightened his apron and stepped up the register with a smile. The customer stood about five feet from the register, head tilted back, studying the menu board over Tim's head with bleary eyes. The guy was like a zombie, he was that exhausted. Tim cut his eyes over to the clock on the wall. 3:45 am. Hell of a time for coffee.

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who was reawakening the cranky espresso machine with deft fingers. Seven hours and forty-five minutes with Damian "the Demon " Wayne down, only four hours and fifteen minutes to go. Tim turned back to their customer and sighed. This was going to be a loooooooong morning.

At second glance, there was something familiar about the guy, but Tim couldn't put his finger on where he knew him. The guy had pretty teal eyes, but they were reddened and dull, like he hadn't closed them except to blink in way too long. He was also pretty well cut, Tim noticed, with clearly muscled arms and pecs so defined that Tim could clearly see them through the man's sweater. Maybe that's how Tim knew him? Maybe he'd seen him in the UREC weight room?

The guy's most eye-catching feature by far was the white forelock that curled down over his forehead. He was the third person Tim had met to have a whitened forelock like that; the other two were fraternal twins who had had small patches of albinism right at their widows peaks which affected both the skin and hair. Tim idly wondered if this guy's white lock was natural too. In any case, it looked frickin' cool, a lot cooler than his own; the best thing he could say about his own hair was that he could pull off the 90's curtain cut plus semi-mullet well enough that he could go an entire semester on a single haircut.

Tim was drawn out of his thoughts when dude finally stepped up to the counter and began to speak.

"Uh, hi, could I get a large, double-shot caramel latte?"

"Absolutely. How many pumps of caramel do you want?" Tim asked cheerily.

The guy looked up from digging through his overly stuffed messenger bag. "Uhh…the normal four should be fine."

"Okay, that will be $6.47. Can I get a name for the order?"

The guy didn't look up this time. "Uh, Jason. Gimme a sec', I know my wallet is at the bottom of this thing somewhere."

"No problem, take your time. It's not like we have a line, anyway," Tim joked.

This guy looked so dead right now--inside and out--that if he didn't find his wallet, then Tim would probably just buy the coffee for the guy himself. He understood better than anyone the sudden need for caffeine at odd hours of the day. He's not sure how he would have finished half his computer science projects this term without a much-needed double-espresso every couple of hours, to be honest.

The guy--'Jason' apparently--finally fished out a small money clip then handed over a student ID card. "Put it on my Dining Dollars, please."

"Yeah, no probl- wait a minute!" Tim cut off, staring. Suddenly, it had hit Tim where he knew this guy. "Aren't you that kid who always sits at the front of Professor Hyatt's nine-fifteen, Tuesday-Thursday, Modern European Literature and answers all the questions?"

The dude raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why…? Wait…" He squinted and leaned in. "Aren't you the kid who once tried to sit all the way back in the AV booth, since, and I quote, 'the back wasn't far enough back'?"

Tim grinned as he swiped the ID card through the register. "Haha, yeah."

Damian moved as if to step up to the counter, the guy's drink in hand, but stopped dead about a foot away. He stared.

"Wait. Aren't you the guy who always comes in, gets tea, and sits in the window over there and reads romance novels?" Damian asked, eying him appraisingly.

The dude huffed. "Yes. My name is Jason--by the way--and they're not romance novels, it's classic lit. Now can I get my coffee?"

Damian handed the coffee over the counter, but raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You mean to tell me Rebecca is not a romance novel?"

"Wait, what!? Do you mean Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca?" Tim asked as he handed Jason's ID card back over the counter.

Damian nodded wordlessly. Tim snorted, then said, "That's not a romance! That's a totally a murder mystery! You must be confusing it with Jane Eyre. I get those mixed up too."

Jason nodded in agreement, tucking his ID away before taking his first sip of coffee. He moaned, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he savored in the sweet bliss of piping hot caffeine at 3:49 in the morning, then he looked at Damian and said, "Well, actually, I'll give you that one, uh…" --he paused to squint at Damian's name tag-- "...'Damian'; Rebecca is a modern romance novel by classification, but it's also a crime thriller just like--whazzatsay?--'Tim' said."

He turned to Tim. "I'm not surprised you'd confuse it with Jane Eyre, considering that a lot of scholars believe du Maurier adapted it from Jane Eyre."

"Wait, really?" Tim said with a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking that! Rebecca is like the less boring version of Jane Eyre."

Jason froze halfway into sitting down in one of the arm chairs that lined the wall closest to the door and looked up at Tim as if he had just suggested burning down the library or something similarly unthinkable. "Whaaaaaat?! I can't believe you just implied that any of the Brontë sisters' works is boring!"

Tim laughed again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I was only twelve when I read Jane Eyre, so maybe I'd enjoy it more if I read it again now--with a mature perspective--but I remember Rebecca being a blast for thirteen-year-old me so…" He smiled, then shrugged.

Jason stared. "Twelve? Thirteen? Jeez. What else were you trying to read that young?"

"I mean, I read Moby Dick the year before that, in sixth grade," Tim admitted, shrugging until his shoulders hit his ears.

Jason gave him a flat stare. "Moby Dick? Moby fucking Dick? You've gotta be kidding me. And lemme guess, you also thought Herman Melville's masterpiece was a load of crock?"

Tim laughed, but shook his head and waved his hands placatingly. "No, no, no. I only understood, like, every fifth word--so.many.whaling.terms!--and it took me four months to get halfway in only to realize there was no way I was going to finish it by the end of the school year--I ended up skipping to the end and guessing for a lot of the AR test questions--but I definitely got the sense that it was a seminal work and that I was just too young to appreciate it. I've always meant to go back and try it again, but I still haven't gotten around to it."

"Why the hell were you trying to read Moby Dick at the age of twelve?" Jason asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Eleven, but, ah, well, my mom was convinced I had to be The BestTM in everything, so she pushed me to max out my Accelerated Reader level by the end of sixth grade and demanded that I always get the most AR points of anyone in my class, so I read a lot of the 20 point-and-up books." Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think Moby Dick was 47 points...Rebecca was 25...Jane Eyre was 33..."

Jason stared, shaking his head slowly. "So…what? You're fine with Moby Dick, a romance of the American Renaissance, but a gothic romance of the British Victorian era like Jane Eyre isn't good enough for you? Next you'll try to tell me you think Wuthering Heights is a snooze fest!"

"Well, I mean, I never could get into it, so…"

Jason slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair, incensed. "Okay, Mister, get your butt over here and sit down, we need to have a talk about Victorian Gothic and why, hands down, it is some of the best literature ever written."

Tim laughed again, then bit his lip, considering the offer. He glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop. Then he leaned over the counter and looked out into the lounge--there were exactly four people there and only one of them wasn't completely asleep in their books. Yeah, he could probably afford to humor the man.

He turned to Damian. "Hey, Dames, I'm going to make myself a coffee and take my break. You good to hold down the fort?"

"I told you not to call me that," Damian snapped, but there was no real heat to it; he liked to pretend that he hated the guts of all his coworkers, but Tim knew that he was Damian's favorite. "However, yes, I think I can manage. Go take your damned break, but when you come back I fully expect a rematch in bowling…and don't you dare cheat this time!"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned, then turned toward trying to coax Ol' 'Spressolino--their affectionate name for the cantankerous espresso machine--into spitting out a double-shot for him. "It's not cheating, but fine, we'll do it your way," Tim replied. "But I'm telling you, you have to buy those rice crispy balls. I definitely don't want to have to explain to Barbara why some of the food on sale looks like it went through the spin cycle in a dorm washer."

Damian grinned smugly. "My pleasure. It will be a small price to pay in order to ensure your swift defeat."

Tim shook his head, grabbed his espresso in one hand and two biscotti off the front counter in the other, ducked under the counter drawbridge, then slid into the armchair across from Jason. He offered one of the biscotti to the other man and Jason accepted the free food with an appreciative smile. He already looked ten times less zombie-like, thanks to the caffiene, and he was honestly pretty damn attractive.

"Okay," Tim said, peeling the wrapper off his own biscotti and dunking it into his bitter cup of joy, "Educate me."

Between sips of coffee and bites of biscotti, Jason began explaining his thoughts on the romantic period of literature, but barely a minute into his lecture, a plastic-wrapped, ball-shaped rice crispy treat about the size of a cantelope whizzed by their feet and crashed into the ten extra-large paper coffee cups arranged in a bowling triangle at one end of the coffee shop, scattering them in a definitive strike.

Jason jumped in his seat and looked around wildly. "What the fuck?"

Tim sighed. "Daaaaaaamiaaaaaaan…"

"Shut up, Drake! I'm practicing. I need to hone my skills and adjust my form so I can thoroughly crush you in our next round," Damian called back. He marched from the counter to the end of the shop to retrieved his plastic-wrapped projectile.

Jason blinked in confusion. "I repeat: what the ever-loving fuck?"

Tim sighed again, then explained, saying, "It gets pretty boring in here during the graveyard shift, so we invented a game, coffee cup bowling. Normally, we'd sleep or study, but Damian finished his exams two days ago and I don't really study for exams, per se-"

"And sleep is for the weak," Damian finished, nodding as he walked past them carrying his sweet, gooey ammunition.

Tim nodded sagely, in agreement. "Sleep is for the weak."

Jason glanced over Tim's shoulder at the coffee cup bowling 'pins' and then over his shoulder at Damian as he lined up another throw. "You guys are insane," he declared.

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "I mean this is my third graveyard shift in a row and Damian here is almost 20 hours into a 24-hour stint. After that much sleep deprivation, you'd lose your sanity too."

Jason tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough."

"If you want, you're welcome to join us after we finish our coffee and literature talk," Tim offered amiably.

Jason watched as Damian threw another strike, sending one cup so far it landed in the pot of the ficus in the corner, and raised his eyebrows. "You know what…why not." He turned back to Tim with a grin. "I could use a bit of fun before I go back to work on my Native American Lit paper."

"Are you a lit major?" Tim asked curiously.

"I am."

Tim nodded. "That makes sense."

"And you?"

"I'm a CS major--computer science."

"That makes sense," Jason echoed, grinning.

Tim grinned back at him and waved a hand. "Okay, so as you were saying…?"

"Yes, as I was saying…"

Jason continued his little lecture while they continued sipping their coffee and nibbling on the biscotti. When they had finished--the coffee, not the discussion, because Tim was pretty sure Jason would go on for hours about literature once you got him started--they joined Damian in a game of "ten-cup."

It was in the middle of this heated battle of cups and marshmallow-bonded puffed-rice cereal balls that their next customer found them fifteen minutes later. The man, dressed in flower printed leggings and a black hoodie with "Gotham University Aerial Arts" printed across the chest in blue, took one look at them and grinned.

"Oh, hey! Coffee-cup bowling! I love that game! Do you think I could interrupt you guys for just a sec to get some hot chocolate?"

All three of them--the two baristas plus their customer--turned and stared.

"Hot… wait, what?" Jason said, laughing a little. "Man, it's like 4:30 in the morning. Why are you getting a hot chocolate at 4:30 in the morning?"

The man laughed, too, shrugging before he explained, saying, "I don't like tea or coffee all that much, but I just finished a 20 page paper on ethics in police enforcement and I need a pick me up. I need to get my warm fuzzies going again."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, moving back toward the counter to get the man his drink. "You're going to end up being the cuddliest cop on the street, Dick."

"You know it, Timmy!" the man--'Dick' apparently--exclaimed, pulling Tim into a bear hug when he made the mistake of passing too close to Dick on his way to the counter. The hug escalated into a full on octopus hug as he lifted his legs to wrap around Tim's hips. Tim, for his part, ignored the grapple, opening the leaf in the counter and hobbling over to the drink bar with the human cephalopod still attached.

Damian and Jason stared. Damian cleared his throat and eyed Dick with poorly disguised interest. "Wait, do you know this man, Drake?"

Tim blinked dully as he turned around, a cup in one hand and a packet of instant hot chocolate in the other. "Yes. He's my brother." Dick made a squeeing noise and nuzzled his head into Tim's neck. Tim sighed. "My adopted brother," he amended testily.

Dick laughed, dropped his feet back onto the floor and stood up. He nearly wrung Tim's neck as he tried to hug him around the shoulders. "Awww, don't be like that, Tim. We haven't seen each other in two whole weeks and I needed my Tim-hugs! Gotta meet my cuddle-quota."

Tim shook his head and handed the hot chocolate back over his shoulder. "You're insufferably, insatiably clingy when you're this tired, Dick. Go home and sleep."

Dick finally released him to take the drink. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in appreciation. "Thanks, Tim, and yeah, but, only if you do the same. You're just as bad as me when you haven't slept, if not worse."

"Can't. Working," Tim answered curtly, vaulting the counter to escape before Dick's grabby hands could reach for him again. His brother wasn't wrong; Tim was always up for a good cuddle after a long stint without proper sleep, but he didn't like public displays of affection.

Dick took one look at the nearly empty coffee shop, the three of them, their game, and then laughed out loud. "Ahhh, the days of getting paid to drink coffee and make up games at 4:30 in the morning. I kind of miss it."

"Would you care to join us," Damian asked abruptly. Dick brightened.

"Absolutely!"

And so that was how the four of them ended up bowling for empty coffee cups with rice crispy treats the size of spaghetti squash while blasting ABBA’s greatest hits--Dick's terrible, wonderful idea--until the sun rose and their shift ended, at eight AM.

By the time the four of them walked out the door, Dick was trying to convince Damian to join him in the aerials gym before breakfast, and Damian, clearly eager to do anything with the handsome college senior, accepted readily. Jason and Tim, on the other hand, were back to discussing literature over coffee--now focused on the merits and downfalls of contemporary science fiction and fantasy as an art form--and making their way to the East Campus Dining Hall, so they could continue their discussion over breakfast.

Tim snorted softly as he listened to Jason list all the ways Dune defined an era of sci-fi/fantasy, then smiled at the way Jason took his hand--without seeming to realize it--to pull him forward after the crosswalk light changed out of Tim's line of sight. Oh, yeah, this one was totally gay/bi/pan and he was definitely asking him out the minute he saw the opportunity, Tim decided.

He smiled. Who would of thought he'd come out of last night's graveyard shift not only having seen his demon coworker and his older brother hit it off--of all things!--but having met someone for himself too! He laughed, thinking, you never know what crazy things you might see, or the people you might meet, at the campus coffee shop at 4 o' clock in the morning!

[redrobinfection]

Batgirls’ Favorite Mentor

Babs & Batfam || Babs & Cass || Babs & Steph || implied DickBabs || Implied JayTim || Read on Ao3 || Happy Birthday, Barbara Gordon! ❤

<< A sequel to last year’s “Dick’s Favorite Person”

~*~

After Barbara's birthday dinner, Tim, Cass and Steph dragged everyone down to the Wayne Manor home theater to watch movies-- 'everyone' including Bruce, Damian, and her father, all three of whom seemed uncomfortable at the prospect of spending the evening participating in normal family bonding activities rather than heading back out into the night to fight crime, even if they couldn't acknowledge that they all three shared that discomfort.

(She was pretty sure her father knew everything--that she had been Batgirl, that Bruce was Batman, and about all the Robins and succeeding Batgirls--or at least suspected most of it, and had for a long time now, but he would never admit as much in order to maintain his plausible deniability).

Barbara struggled to contain her amusement every time she glanced over at them sitting side-by-side, stiff and awkward, on the couch. Oh, the rich irony.

While Steph, Tim and Cass convinced her to pick out a few movies for the family to watch, Dick and Jason helped Alfred clean up from dinner and make some popcorn, and then they escorted the grandfatherly man down to join the little party as well. Barbara picked the Ghostbusters series--including the new reboot film--for their watch party, feeling a little pre-halloween excitement for the first time in a long time, thanks to her good mood.

Her father stayed through the first film--it was something special having her father on one side of her on the big sectional couch, Dick on her other side, and the rest of her chosen family around her, laughing and making witty remarks about the movie--and then he excused himself.

Bruce, Damian, and Alfred persevered through the second, after which Bruce excused himself to "check on an ongoing case"--Barbara knew there was no ongoing case, but she was sure Bruce would also mind his manners around the Birds of Prey, seeing as he had promised her he was fine with them taking over for the night, so she let it slide--and Damian followed, muttering excuses of helping his father.

Alfred sighed and apologized to her, saying he should probably go down and ensure they didn't get up to too much mischief. His tone and the way he phrased it made Barbara giggle and she kissed him on the cheek with a quiet thank you for the dinner and everything else before letting him leave.

That left Barbara, Steph, Cass, Tim, Jason and Dick to watch the reboot film together, and Barbara had to say she enjoyed the extra quality time with her Robins and Batgirls. After that Tim, Jason and Dick also took their leave.

From the sounds of it Jason planned to drag Tim back to their apartment where he had apparently made and hidden extra portions of the mocha frosting used on the cake he gave her earlier and had some creative ideas about where to apply it only to lick it off again--Jason kept his tone low, but Barbara, being Barbara, overheard anyway. She smirked, but also blushed, making a note to avoid watching the surveillance video records for their apartment during these next couple of hours unless it became absolutely necessary.

Dick, blissfully oblivious of Tim and Jason’s plans, wandered off after them, probably headed up to bed or down to the cave to train for a bit before turning in.

After the boys left, Steph and Cass got even more excited and energetic, pulling out nail polish, face masks, and makeup. Barbara chortled at the idea of them doing makeovers and manicures like teenaged girls at a sleepover, but she went along with it with grace. Despite being Batgirls, the three of them weren't overly feminine, but every now and then it was fun to do some normal girl stuff and laugh together at how silly some of it felt.

They put the ridiculous Halle Berry Catwoman movie on in the background--Selina hadn't been overly impressed with that cinematic take on her persona, but Steph vehemently claimed that Halle Berry, acting in that role, had been a crucial part of her gay awakening--and then they did facials and manicures while they talked about boys--not boys in general, and definitely not daydreaming over dating them, but specifically the batboys, commiserating long and loudly over how ridiculous they could be, particularly Bruce.

At a certain point, Steph began not so subtly steering the conversation toward something that was not yet apparent, but Barbara was the one who had taught Steph the finer points of redirection, so she would know, even if she hadn't spotted the end goal as of yet.

"Y'know," Stephanie said, "it's nice when the Birds of Prey come and help out around Gotham. They always do a good job and work well enough with the boys, too." She glanced over as Cass and gave her a pointed look. Cass grinned back at her and began nodding along to the words very deliberately.

"Yeah, that's true…" Barbara allowed cautiously, suppressing the urge to shake her head at their painfully-obvious non-verbal signaling. Their poor attempts to manipulate the conversation notwithstanding, she was curious to see where this was headed, at the very least.

"I mean you should totally ask them to come take over for a couple of days, sometime," Steph went on in a carefully casual tone as she finished the second coat of polish on the fingernails of Barbara's left hand. "Y'know? Maybe take a vacation? Get out of Gotham for a while?"

Barbara sighed and began waving the hand, encouraging the wet polish to dry. "I appreciate what you guys are trying to do," she replied, looking them each in the eye in turn, "but I just don't have the time, what with Halloween and then the holidays. This is such a busy time of year for the crazies--and even for the not-so-crazies--and Bruce will never-"

To her surprise, Cass crouched down right in front of her and cut her off, both with her patented Cassandra Cain stare and with the words, "Yes. But listen."

Barbara blinked, then nodded. Cass smiled slightly then looked up to Steph and nodded for her to continue.

Steph nodded back and dropped the faux-casual tone, saying, "It's already done, Babs. We asked every single Bird on the roster to come by during the second week of November, right after the Halloween crazy-fest and just before the holiday madness.

"Kara, Donna and Koriand'r agreed to rotate out to keep an eye on things from above, Cass convinced Bruce to let them all to bunk here at the manor-" Barbara's eyes boggled while Cass nodded smugly "-and all the boys are on board with the plan and ready to play nice. Cass and I will be here too, just to make sure everyone gets along." Cass cracked the knuckles of one hand and grinned, nodding ominously.

"So, you see, it's all settled," Stephanie finished, looking smug. "You just have to say yes."

Barbara blinked rapidly, struggling to process all the surprises that had just been dumped on her. "Wait… so…I get a choice? To say yes or not?"

Steph laughed. "Yes, Babs, of course; this our gift to you, not a mandated vacation! So what do you say?"

Barbara shook her head, not sure how to respond. "Look, even if I had the time, I haven't exactly saved up to, you know, do anything special or go anywhere...I wouldn't even know where to go..."

"Well, Dick said he would go with you, if you wanted some company," Stephanie said, "Or he would stay here to help hold down the fort if you prefer but, as for paying for the trip…"

Cass walked up to the double doors to the den, pushed them open a crack and stuck her head out into the hall. "Hey, Dick, get your dick in here."

Steph choked on air and then burst out laughing. Barbara couldn't help but grin, especially when Cass backed up far enough to allow an upset and confused Dick Grayson entry into their den of Batgirls.

"Cass, that uhhh…isn't how that saying goes…" he began slowly, looking at Steph and Barbara in alarm.

"She knows that," Steph replied with a smug smile. She shot Cass an appreciative look that Cass returned with a grin and a wink.

Dick simply shook his head and let it go. "So we're doing the gift now?" he asked, glancing at Barbara, but directing his words to Stephanie.

"Yes," Barbara replied, barely concealing her amusement at their 'sneaky' tactics--What had Dick done for an hour in the hall while waiting to be called back in again? Since when did Dick Grayson have the patience for subterfuge anyway?--"Steph and Cass just explained to me that I'm being sent on vacation-"

"If you want!" Steph blurted.

Barbara laughed out loud. "If I want, apparently, and that you've also volunteered to go with me." She raised an eyebrow and adopted a mischievous tone. "Is the part where you offer to be my personal cabana boy? Or to bring your police uniform and strip for me every night?"

Dick grinned. "No, but those aren't bad ideas." He sobered and went on, saying, "No, this is the part where I offer to fly you anywhere in the world--out of my own BPD savings--and give you the choice to go and explore on your own, or to take me along for the ride if you want someone to keep you company and have your back while you're on the road."

Barbara stared, feeling her eyes go misty. "Dick, I...wow. That's…Yeah, I'd really like that."

Dick's grin brightened into a genuine smile, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Stephanie fist pump and then fist bump Cassandra. Barbara thought about it for a few seconds and then said,

"The Italian Lakes."

Dick tilted his head questioningly. "In the Italian Alps?"

Barbara nodded decisively. "I know it will be chilly in November, but I want to go there. I've always wanted to see them and stay in one of the villas."

Dick laughed and nodded. "Like that one they used for the Naboo lake country in Star Wars Episode II?"

Barbara rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yes, you closeted-nerd, exactly like that."

"Consider it done," Dick replied without hesitation.

"Thank you," she replied sincerely, turning her gaze onto all three of them. "You all had to have talked about this extensively, probably weeks in advance, and done so much leg work to get everyone on the same page…" she narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious, "and you still managed to hide it from me of all people?!"

"Yes, from the all seeing Oracle," Steph laughed, grinning infuriatingly.

How even, Barbara mouthed, shaking her head incredulously.

"By only speaking in-person in electronics-free areas," Steph replied, smiling conspiratorially. "By passing each other coded notes and-"

"Smoke signals," Cass added, nodding sagely.

"And messenger pigeons, too, of course," Dick finished, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Barbara shook her head at the three of them then shook a finger at one in particular. "Dick, you son of a bat, you lied to me," she accused, smiling broadly. "You totally had a gift all along and you led me on all evening!"

"Yeah," Dick admitted with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, "I didn't want to spoil the surprise, but it was sooooooo hard, I really wanted to give you something--anything--so much earlier..."

"I'm glad you didn't," Barbara cut in. "The surprises--both of them--were wonderful. Thank You." She looked Stephanie, then Cassandra in the eyes. "All of you. Really. This means a lot."

Steph swooped down to give her a hug. As soon as she straightened, Cass leaned down gracefully to give one of her own. Barbara squeezed each of them tightly in turn, trying desperately to relay the gratitude beyond words that she felt for their thoughtfulness as well as she could through the contact. The knowing smile Cass gave her as they separated told Barbara her unspoken message was received and understood.

"Only the best for the best mentor," Cass replied quietly.

Stephanie nodded. "We wouldn't be the Batgirls we were-" she glanced at Cass "-and are today if it weren't for you. You're the MVB forever."

Barbara frowned for a moment, then smiled. "Most Valuable Batgirl?"

Cass and Steph nodded and Dick nodded too, in the background.

"Forever," Cass repeated.

"Awwww, Batgirls…" Barbara cooed, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She motioned them back in and drew them into a tight group hug, all three of them slinging their arms around each other, laughing when their heads eventually clonked together. After a moment Barbara noticed Dick smiling fondly at the three of them from a discrete distance.

She raised her head and cleared her throat. "Okay, all non-Batgirls, please vacate the room. The official Batgirl spa night continues now."

Steph and Cass giggled but stepped away and busied themselves with rewinding the movie, giving Dick an opening to approach Babs before leaving once again. He stopped beside her chair, leaned down, and kissed her gently on the forehead, murmuring, "Happy Birthday, Babs."

She caught him by the chin and drew him down into a quick kiss, murmuring her thanks against his lips. He smiled, stood, then left quietly through the double doors.

To one side, Steph and Cass scrutinized bottles of nail polish with undeserved concentration, clearly trying to give Barbara and Dick some privacy. Barbara smiled.

"Okay, so, back to business. We’ve finished facials and fingernails, so...how about pedicures now?"

Steph and Cass blinked in surprise. "Are you sure?" Steph asked. She and Cass never made a big deal out of Barbara's paraplegia--often openly discussing it with Barbara as the situation required--but they'd also tried to avoid activities that would highlight her differences, such as pedicures.

"Yeah, I know, I wouldn't be able to feel it, but, you know, it's been such long time since my feet have had a chance to get fancy. It's my birthday, so…why not?" Barbara replied lightly, smiling slyly at them.

Slowly their faces brightened until Steph was beaming and Cass' eyes were reduced to delighted slivers.

"Absolutely!" "Of course!"

~*~

Alfred’s Favorite Barbara >>

[redrobinfection]

Many, many, many thanks to @chibinightowl for commissioning the fantastic @snowzapped to draw and paint this amazing fanart for my gen Batfam fic Tim the Drake (ao3) in honor of my recent birthday ❤ The scene came out fantastically and I absolutely love it!!! Thank you guys so much!

[redrobinfection]

So I started thinking about my writing process earlier...

I'm coming to the realization that the most prominent reason that developing my personal writing process has given me so much trouble is that I used to be so stuck on the idea that there is only one good/right way to form and/or tell the story, and really, if my experience has taught me anything, there are many ways to develop a story, some better than others, but oftentimes any "good" way will be "good enough". No need to be a perfectionist about it :3

The idea that there is a single "right" way to depict a story is an illusion created by the fact that in putting the story into "print" - especially publishing it to public record - effectively creates a "finalized" single version. To the reader, or the new writer, this makes it seem like there is always one authoritative, "true" version of a story.

But fiction writers aren't depicting historical events that have defined facts; rather, we have as much freedom to change the story as we do to change how it is told. (And even in non-fiction there are serious arguments to be made for the point of view of the writer and/or of society influencing the shape of the historical narrative; there can be many versions of history, depending on the POV).

I guess it is a sign of maturity as a fiction writer when you come to the point where - and the realization that - when you write, you aren't trying to replicate the "ideal version" of a narrative that lives in your imagination, but rather you define what the "ideal" version is as you write it.

[redrobinfection]

(15) Horror Movies

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 15 “Horror Movies”

JayDickTim | Established Relationship | Horror Movies | They’re not always scary but they can still put you in weird headspace | Sleep Deprivation | (brief) graphic descriptions of horror scenes | Panic Attack | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

Tim loves his boyfriends. So, so much. But one thing that Jason and Dick both love that Tim just can’t wrap his head around: horror movies.

They’re watching one right now, the third of a trilogy Jay and Dick love, and Tim is sandwiched between them on the couch, feeling faintly ill.

Jay and Dick are the kind of people that get that something from a horror movie, the adrenaline or the enjoyment of their terror or whatever it is that hooks people. Tim isn’t and he gets nothing but is a sick feeling in his stomach and the impression that all the color has been sucked out of the world.

It isn’t the scenes themselves that get to him, because as terrible as it is to admit, he’s seen and experienced thing just as terrible, maybe worse, in his time as Robin. All of them have. Brutal serial killings, human trafficking tragedies, figurative and literal monsters left and right, not to mention the rogues. A run-in with Scarecrow’s fear toxin? That would make most horror movies seem like a pleasant summer picnic. Chasing and being chased by Killer Croc in the sewers in the dead of night? Monster B-flick gold. And the Joker? ‘Nough said.

No, for Tim it’s more about the way the scenes are presented - the cold, dark filters; the unnatural lighting; the haunting music and grisly sound effects. It turns a factually horrifying scene into an garish exaggeration, like a scene from one of his nightmares - you don’t fully believe its real, but it still strikes a chord deep in your psyche.

He can handle one movie. Easy to shake off. Maybe two, in the daytime. But tonight they watched three, using their one night off from patrol to stay up into the wee hours of the morning–as if they would ever think use that time to catch up on sleep or something.

Three-quarters of the way through the third movie, Jason notices Tim getting twitchy and asks if he’s okay.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just getting late. I keep nodding off and then every time someone screams, I jump awake again,” Tim tells them, playing it off with a laugh. Dick and Jason laugh with him.

“No problem, Babybird, we’re almost done. We’ll let you sleep in peace soon enough.”

“Did you mean 'rest in peace’, Jaybird?”

“Ugh, Dick, staaaahp.”

They laugh and kiss over Tim’s head, then come at him from both sides when he makes a disgruntled noise for being squished between them, showering him in kisses and noogies and awkward side hugs. The warm moment of affection between the three of them almost distracts Tim away from the grim mood affected by the movies. Almost.

When they settle down into bed an hour later, Tim snuggled between the two of them–all of Dick’s limbs wrapped around him and Jason drooling onto his shoulder–the sick feeling, mental and physical, doesn’t budge. Tim spends the rest of the night staring up at the dark ceiling, mind circling the imagery of the movie in endless spirals. He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep when Dick gets up at 4:30 to pee, and again at 5:15 when Jay startles awake for a few seconds at the sound of a car alarm blaring down on the street. When they all get up at nine the next morning, neither Dick nor Jason seems to be the wiser to his deception.

Tim spends the next day exhausted, but makes up for it with a jam packed schedule–keeping busy always helps–and copious amounts of caffeine. That night he goes out for a quick patrol, then turns in early, hoping to make up for lost sleep.

He can’t. He’s still awake, his mind bombarding him with the images of a decapitated zombie child crawling toward a screaming young woman in the grey rain as “mama, mama” whistles in the wind; the sounds of a man sobbing as he clutches his dead partner in the snow–her womb torn out messily–and the smells he imagines a child clinging to their mother’s green, long-dismembered corpse would experience when Dick comes in at three AM. He’s still awake–and pretending he’s not with every Bat-trained skill he has–when Jay comes in a half hour later.

He’s seen just as bad in real life–and how messed up is it to say that?–but here the imagery is also accompanied by such a deep sense of sorrow, lasting pain and depression. Lives, minds, souls ruined. He’s still wide awake as dawn begins to light the sky. He extricates himself from their sleepy dogpile while Jason and Dick are still in the deepest stages of sleep and heads down to the gym to get a few hours of training in to pump him up for another exhausting day.

He struggles through day two, barely functioning as he makes his way into night three. He volunteers to stay on comms for the night, citing some bullshit excuse about a sore ankle he wants to rest to keep Dick from worrying and Jason from asking too many questions. He stays up late, working on case docs, hoping that if works himself to utter exhaustion that he can just pass out at dawn. He tells Dick and Jay he’s doing it to make up for not going out, and they seem worried, but he promises he’ll rest in the morning.

He doesn’t. Daylight doesn’t bring any relief from the wild thoughts and images that pop into his head any time he tries to quiet his mind. He pretends to nap on the couch until Jay and Dick leave, then goes into Wayne Enterprises and works late.

He goes out as Red Robin that night–night four–but turns in early after he gets a call from Alfred asking about unexpected telemetry from the vitals sensors in his suit–racing pulse, high rate of respiration. He excuses himself with claims that he’s in a bit of pain from his “sore” ankle. It’s a lie. His body and his mind are hitting their natural limits, his anxiety levels increasing and his organs screaming for rest. He meditates for the rest of the night, feeling somewhat refreshed the next morning.

Day four is like a bizarre dream, time zooming past or crawling by in fits and starts. He loses his appetite and even coffee starts to lose its appeal, the smell of it making his stomach twist. By five PM swears the shadows at the corner of his office have started to ooze toward him and he jumps at every little sound.

That night he skips dinner, disables all telemetry in his suit, and goes out for solo patrol. Just a loop around his territory. Then he’ll stop, take a sedative, and pass out for twelve to fifteen hours. Sweat it out as the drugs force him to stay under no matter what nightmares may come.

His patrol is patchy, if that makes any sense. Some moments he is clearly aware of where he is and what he’s doing, and then there are whole stretches of time that are total blanks. Halfway through his loop he gets sidetracked to a neighborhood outside his scope after he hears about of a drug deal going down outside a middle school.

He handles the would-be dealers–high schoolers dealing to middle schoolers who were lucky Red Robin caught wind of the deal before Red Hood did–then retires to the roof of the school for a breather. He sits down between two AC units and lets his head fall back against one for a few moments…

—

Tim slowly comes awake to the sounds of quiet conversation around him, gentle fingers combing through his hair, and a soft bed under him. He blinks his eyes open, squinting in confusion at the overhead light of the room he shares with Jay and Dick. Who left the lights on? Wait, why is he in his uniform? Did he forget to take it off before he dropped into bed?

“Dick. Dick, shut up a second, I think he’s coming around. Tim? Timmy? You with us?”

Tim turns his head to the side with a grimace. His neck is sore like he slept hanging off the side of the bed half the night.

“J-Jay?”

The hand leaves his hair and Tim turns his head minutely to see Dick sitting beside him on the bed, running both hands through his own hair, expression a blend of relief and worry.

“Holy cow, Tim, you scared the crap out of us. What were you thinking?” Dick demands of him. Tim blinks, confused.

“Whoa, whoa, ease up, Dickie, give 'im a sec to reboot, 'kay?” Jason chides, settling down near Tim’s bare feet–-oh, someone removed his boots, gauntlets, belts and cape and unzipped the collar of his suit. He rubs a soothing circles into the arch of one foot. “Hey, Timbo, you know where you are?”

“The 'partment,” Tim answers slowly. Did he hit his head on patrol?

“Yeah. You know what time it is?”

Tim blinks. It’s dark outside, so he knows it’s nighttime, but when he tries to think back to the last time he remembers he can’t get it straight. He was on patrol? Which patrol? He can’t remember. Did he get drugged? Shot?

“No? You know what day it is?”

He doesn’t. He starts to panic. What happened to him? He tries to sit up.

“Easy, Tim. Just rest for a minute,” Dick soothes, easing him back down with a hand on one shoulder. Tim flops back, heart racing. He’s missing something, something important, something awful he should remember.

“Breathe, Tim, don’t force yourself,” Jason chides. Dick’s hand returns to his hair and Jason lies down beside him, now rubbing circles into his exposed hand.

Dark spots cloud his vision and he starts to shake. Why can’t he remember? Now that he’s more aware, why do his joints ache and his limbs feel like they’ve been filled with cement? Why does he feel so cold? Is he dying? Is he dead?

“Jay, he’s hyperventilating.”

“No shit. Timmy? Tim? Breathe with me okay?”

“Breathe with Jason, Tim. Nice and slow.”

“Hey, fo– on m–”

“Ti–”

Their voices fade out along with the sensation of fingers feeling for a pulse and hands pulling off his suit. Darkness fills his vision until there is nothing left but the darkness.

—

When Tim comes around again it’s with a hiss for the bright overhead lighting of the Batcave’s med bay. You’d think with all their resources they’d invest in a light dimmer at some point.

“There he is. Rise and shine, Timbo,” Jason’s voice calls from his left. He groans and tries to squeeze his eyes closed.

“Ah, ah, ah, no falling asleep again until you endure the wrath of Big Bird and Alfie. They’ve got a lot of choice words for you, Babybird,” Jason chides, squeezing his hand. Tim tries to curl onto his opposite side but freezes with a gasp when a sharp twinge in his right arm informs him of the IV inserted there. The numb, slightly clammy feeling on his right index finger speaks to the presence of a pulse oximeter clip. Did he get injured, he wonders?

No. Bit by bit, Tim’s head clears and snatches of memory come back to him. He’d been on patrol. He stopped to rest. No dinner. No sleep. Wayne Enterprises. Disabled telemetry. Solo patrol. The teenaged dealers. A middle school.

Disabled telemetry. Shit.

“H-how long was I out?” Tim asks, croaking around the dryness of his throat. He turns back to Jay in time to see Alfred and Dick walk into med bay, expressions stern and relieved in equal measure. Jason snorts at whatever expression Tim makes in response to theirs.

“About a day, in and out of it,” Alfred replies smoothly, voice cool and unamused as he raises the back of the bed to help Tim sit up. “You gave Masters Dick and Jason quite the fright, not to mention myself, going out alone and under the radar the way you did. I thought we had taught you better than that, Master Timothy.”

Tim shrinks in on himself. You know you’re in trouble with Alfred when he calls you by your full first name. “Sorry, Alfred. Dick. Jason. I haven’t really been myself the past couple of days,” he admits, thinking back on the past week. He cringes internally as he thinks about their last free day and all the stupid things he did in the resulting funk.

“I imagine you wouldn’t be, skipping meals until you passed out from exhaustion,” Alfred lectures sternly as he deftly removes the IV and pulse oximeter. Dick looks sad and disappointed. Jason looks unconvinced.

Tim shakes his head. “I wasn’t skipping meals - mostly - I just wasn’t sleeping very much.”

Dick raises his eyebrows. “Define 'very much’? Why weren’t you sleeping?”

“Uhhhh, well… not at all?” Tim replies shrugging with an apologetic grimace. Alfred shakes his head as he leaves med bay and Jason’s eyes blow wide. Dick makes a sound of indignation.

“Not at all?!” Jason echoes. “What the hell, Babybird? What were you thinking!”

Tim scrubs his hands over his face and deliberately ignores the question in favor of asking one of his own. “What happened? I remember stopping to rest on the roof of Parkview Middle and then briefly waking up back at the apartment.” He looks around the med bay then takes stock of himself. He feels fine now, but he vaguely remember feeling like he was dying the last time he was fully conscious. “Did I get hurt?”

Dick doesn’t look happy about the redirect, but shakes his head and takes a seat on the edge of the gurney. “Well, after me and Jay got home at four AM, realized you weren’t there, and found your suit was missing, we called Alfred and Babs to see if you’d been out that night.

"Alfred said he hadn’t heard from you, and neither had Babs, but she eventually tagged you in a couple of surveillance feeds along your route. We tried to call you on comms: nothing. Then Babs tried to find you on live surveillance: still nothing.” Dick’s expression is dark and his eyes drill holes into Tim.

“We were freakin’ out, Timmers,” Jason continues. “Like, did you get hurt? Did you get kidnapped? We tried to check your telemetry and got fuck all. No vitals, no location. Dickie here was nearly shittin’ himself thinking you’d gone and gotten yourself killed or somethin’”

Tim’s face heats up in shame.

“In the end we pulled out the nuclear option and activated your subdermal GPS beacon,” he explains, gesturing to the stretch of skin on Tim’s arm under which the small capsule resided, a measure they all–Bruce included–agreed to take in order to avoid situations just like this one.

“We found you on some random-ass roof four blocks off your route, passed the fuck out. When we tried to check on you, you nearly cleaned Dickie’s clock, kicked me in the cup–it still hurt, even with the cup, so thanks for that–then tried to throw yourself off the roof. After we got you to calm down and wake up a bit, you seemed to recognize us, understand where you were, and we escorted you home.

"Everything was fine until we got into the apartment, at which point you threw yourself across our bed, cowl up and belts on, and passed out again,” Jason explained, rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of it. “You weren’t outwardly bleeding and your pupils reacted appropriately to light, so we thought you were just a little tired or whatever. When you woke up again, you were disoriented as fuck and freaking out. Then you went completely non-responsive and we freaked out. We brought you down here just to make sure you didn’t have a brain bleed or a punctured lung or something.

"A million scans and some bloodwork later and Alfie concluded you that probably hadn’t been taking care of yourself,” Jason concludes, pinning Tim with a severe look of his own. “And now we’re hearing from you that you haven’t been sleeping?  Cough it up, Timbo. How long?”

Tim clears his throat and shifts his legs restlessly.  “About five days.”

“Five days!” Dick exclaims, jumping up from the end of the gurney. He rounds to the other side, across from Jason. “Why?”

Tim shrugs and looks away. “I dunno, I just haven’t been able to fall asleep. I couldn’t shut my brain off.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you had insomnia?” Dick asks.

Tim shrugs again. “What would you be able to do about it?”

“Make sure you didn’t do something stupid like stay up all night filing reports or go on patrol with all your tracers turned off, probably,” Jason replies wryly. He stands up, bracketing Tim between himself and Dick. He narrows his eyes.

“You know, I can tell when you’re keeping something from us, Timbo. Spit it out. What’s been so heavy on your mind that it hasn’t let you get a wink of sleep for nearly a week?”

Tim tenses and curls in on himself subconsciously. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

Jason laughs mirthlessly and Dick frowns. “If it’s important enough for you to lose sleep over it, then it’s important to us,” Jason insists.

Tim mumbles under his breath, avoiding eye contact.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles a little louder.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, Timbelina,” Jason belts loudly into his ear.

“It’s your damn horror, movies okay!? I couldn’t sleep after we marathoned that trilogy on our night off,” Tim shouts back, scooting down the bed and throwing off the sheet. He swings his legs over the side, stands up, and only sways a little as the room swims around him for a second.

“The movies? They scared you?” Dick asks uncertainly as he steadies Tim with hand around his upper arm.

Tim shakes him off. “No, they’re just depressing as fuck. We see enough horrible stuff in our line of work, so sue me if watching it presented in a way intended to be emotionally gripping as possible puts me in a bit of a funk.”

He moves for the doorway, pretending not to be embarrassed that his ass is hanging out of the back of his hospital gown, only to be stopped by Dick darting in front of him, closely followed by Jason. They’re both watching him with concern, worry, and a tinge of guilt. Tim deflates. This was exactly what he hoped to avoid.

“Babe. You never told us they bothered you,” Dick starts while Jason says, “A bit of a funk? It must really bother you if it’s keeping you up for days.” They look at each other, then Dick nods to Jason. Tim sighs.

“What’s really going on, Tim,” Jason asks.

“That’s really all it is,” Tim replies, crossing his arms. “We watched the movies, I didn’t sleep that night and then it kind of snowballed from there, the sleep dep feeding the funk.” Looking at it objectively, after a good night’s rest, he can admit that the situation never should have escalated past that first morning; he should have taken a sedative and a day off right then and there to avoid falling deep into the funk.

“Is it really that bad? Why didn’t you tell us you don’t like scary movies?” Dick asked, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Tim groaned.

“It’s really not a big deal. Not usually. They don’t scare me, they just kind of… I dunno, haunt my thoughts for a while afterwards. You know how it goes; I overthink everything,” Tim admits, waving a hand dismissively. “And I didn’t tell you guys because I didn’t feel like being made fun of for being 'too scared to watch a scary movie’. Who would have believed me if I said they’re not scary, just emotionally disturbing?”

Dick opens his mouth like he’s going to object but Tim cuts him off. “No, don’t even try to tell me that you would. Look at Jay, at least he’s honest with himself.”

They both look at Jason, who is nodding along, looking chagrined. “Yeah, I’ll admit, if you’d said something, I probably would have teased you about it.” He gives Tim a look Tim can’t decipher. “You’re an odd one, Timbo, but there’s no arguing with the results. If it bothers you, it bothers you, whether it’s frightening or not. But if it bothers you so much, then why watch with us? You could have just told us you don’t like horror and gone to bed.”

“And not spend time with you guys?” Tim asks incredulously. “We get one night off together every two weeks, and you think I would just give that up and go to bed alone?” He shakes his head at them. “I put up with it because I wanted to spend time with you guys and I wanted you guys to do something you both enjoy. I didn’t want to be the wet blanket in the room that put a stop to that.”

Both Jason and Dick’s faces fall on hearing this, and in that moment Tim is done with this conversation. He tries to skirt around them, but Jason blocks his path.

“Move, Jason, I need to pee.” He does. IVs are great and all, but sleeping for twenty four hours through one, maybe two liters of fluids equals one very full bladder. He’s grateful Alfred didn’t stoop to inserting a urinary catheter just to punish him, even if it would have done him a favor in this one thing.

Jason crosses his arms obstinately.

“I will pee on you,” Tim warns.

Dick steps between them and places his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “Tim, it means a lot to us that you would put our enjoyment above your own, but it hurts a little to think you don’t trust us enough to let us know when something’s bothering you.”

“What Dick said,” Jason seconds. “Yeah, we’d probably tease you at first, but eventually we’d get that horror makes you uncomfortable and picked something else to do. We care about you just as much you care about us, ya know?”

Tim looks away, uncomfortable.

“Look, we’re not trying to blame the victim here, we’re just saying give us a chance next time, okay?” Jason clarifies, tone softening. “We deserve the opportunity to prove ourselves assholes or saints for ourselves, yeah?”

Tim snorts softly. “Yeah.”

They smile and Dick draws them both into a hug, sandwiching Tim between them. “Good. And we’re sorry, Tim. We should have noticed you weren’t having a good time and asked.”

“You did,” Tim admits, “But I told you I was 'just tired’ and you guys bought it. That’s on me.”

“Yeah, well, dealing with you–the guy who lies to Batman–we should have pressed the issue no matter how convincing you were,” Jason replies, pressing his face into Tim’s hair. “And you shouldn’t feel like we won’t take you seriously. That’s mostly my bad for teasing you so much.”

Tim presses his face into Jason’s chest and shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Dick says softly at his back. “But it will be.” Tim feels Jason smile into his hair and nod. He lets them hold him tight and close for a long minute.

“And no more horror movies around Timmy!” Dick exclaims belatedly, making Tim and Jason laugh.

“Definitely. We’ll save it for our solo dates, right Dickie?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Okay, this was nice and all,” Tim begins, squirming a little, “but I wasn’t kidding earlier; someone needs to let go now or I’m going to pee on Jason.”

“Eh, I’m fine with that,” Dick replies lightly.

“Dick, you dick!” Jason shoots back, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Stop making me laugh! I’m really going to pee on him!”

[redrobinfection]

Dick’s Favorite Person

<< A sequel to last year’s “Tim’s Favorite Oracle”

Dick & Babs || Read on Ao3 || Revised 2020.09.23 || Happy Birthday, Barbara Gordon! ❤

~*~

After Tim left, Barbara tidied up her kitchen, got herself dressed, and bided her time doing light chores around the apartment until her father arrived to take her out for their traditional birthday brunch.

They had started the tradition, long before she had become Batgirl, as a logical alternative after so many postponed or cancelled birthday dinners and parties over the years, postponed and cancelled due mostly to her father's demanding and unpredictable work with the GCPD. In the end, Gotham's crime came to dominate both their lives, and the birthday brunches, precisely timed to occur in the daily lull in crime that occurs just after the sun rises, had worked well for both of them.

After a quick bite to eat at her favorite diner, a brief exchange of gifts, and a few hugs from her father before he had to hurry back to the all-consuming task of wrangling Gotham's crime, Babs spent the rest of her day of birth sleeping. As a gift to herself she slept an extra hour and a half before rousing herself around five. A call to Alfred earlier had confirmed dinner for eight, so she took her time showering and dressing and enjoyed a refreshing double-espresso made from the beans Tim had given her earlier while she played around by putting on real makeup--beyond a little eyeliner and lip gloss--for the first time in a long while.

Right as she was about to call for a ride, she heard a ring from the street door. She smirked. She wouldn't put it past Alfred to magically know when she was ready and to come for her himself, even in the middle of preparing her celebration dinner. She opened her door, not to Alfred, but to Dick Grayson, dressed in nice civvies and smiling widely. He beamed down at her.

"Hey, Babs, Happy Birthday!"

He bent over to give her a hug, partially lifting her out of her chair after she wrapped her arms around his neck. She thumped him across the back of the head - he laughed, the goofball - but after a moment he gently lowered her back into the chair.

Barbara settled back into the seat and raised eyebrow. "Did Alfred send you?"

"No, I sent myself!" Dick replied defensively, although his grin turned sheepish. "But I may have had to talk Alfred out of driving down to get you. Honestly, he has enough to do preparing the manor and the food and all of that!"

Barbara nodded. "He does. Shall we?"

Dick stepped to one side and made a sweeping gesture. "Ladies first." Barbara stuck her tongue out at him as she rolled out the door, but she appreciated the real sentiment, which saw her roll herself up to his car and load herself in under her own power. Dick was one of the few who knew her well enough to not offer unnecessary aid and not be weird about it either.

Dick did help her by stowing her collapsible wheelchair in the trunk before hopping into the driver's seat and steering them out into the traffic clogging the roads. They slowly made their way toward the interstate, hopping on in the direction headed out of the city, toward Bristol.

After a few minutes of driving in relative silence - nothing about traffic in a big city was ever actually quiet - Dick cleared his throat.

"So, uh, how'd you spend your birthday?" he asked, sending her a quick glance before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Barbara replied offhandedly. "Dad and I went for our annual birthday brunch--quick and simple like it always is--and then I spent the rest of the day sleeping. Let myself sleep in; gave myself a break from research this afternoon. Nothing special."

Dick hummed in acknowledgement. "Does it bother you that your dad always suggests brunch instead of dinner or whatever?" he asked, voice deceptively casual.

Barbara raised both her eyebrows. "Not really. We're both busy and I still find it sweet and kind of funny that he convinces the diner to send me a stack of birthday pancakes with icing and candles on top every year. We eat, we talk, he gives me all the gifts he would if we sat down to dinner or had a party. What else could I ask for?"

Dick shrugged. "I dunno, I was just wondering. Making conversation to pass the time…" he trailed off into breathy whistling that died the minute he made eye contact with Barbara's questioning stare. She raised an eyebrow but let it drop.

"Speaking of gifts, I take it you heard what Jason and Tim did earlier this morning?" She asked, changing the subject.

Dick huffed. "Yeah, they totally jumped the gun, giving you your gifts right after midnight," he grumbled. "Before the sun even rose! Cheaters."

"Oh?" Barbara was getting tired of raising her eyebrows today. "And yet this is the first I've seen or heard from you all day. No visit, no gift, not even a phone call wish me a happy day…"

Dick spluttered and she grinned to herself. "I-I was waiting for the party! A-and I thought it--I thought you'd be resting most of the day, so I didn't want to bother you and…"

Barbara shook her head with a knowing little smile. Dick caught it out of the corner of his eye and grimaced.

"Admit it. You haven't gotten me anything yet, have you?" she asked slyly, eyes twinkling.

He glanced over at her and deflated. "Fine. Yes! I just, you know, couldn't figure out what to get you." He blew the horn at a person who tried to cut him off right as he steered the car over into the exit ramp toward Bruce's neighborhood in Bristol, then shook his head. "It used to be so easy. Flowers. Jewelry. Bat-themed anything."

"It's not that hard," Barbara countered. "Jason made me a coffee flavored cake. Tim gave me coffee and a picture frame covered in coffee beans. Later, Bruce will probably give me the newest, fastest processors from Wayne Tech for my Oracle servers."

Dick rolled his eyes. "First of all, I refuse to enable anyone's coffee addiction, and second, and what kind of computer doodad am I--me not being the owner of a cutting edge tech firm--supposed to get you--the all-knowing tech guru-- that you don't already have?" he asked, glancing at her as he turned down the drive to Wayne Manor.

They rolled to a stop beside of the grand front entrance. "I'm only teasing you," Barbara replied with fond smile, leaning over the center console to give him a peck on the cheek. "But I'm sure you'll figure out something great. You always do."

Dick's cheeks pinkened and he smiled back at her. "Thanks, Babs. You know, this is why you're my favorite person."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure."

"No, really, you're my number one, all-time favorite, absolute best…"

His voice faded away as he hopped out of the car and disappeared into the trunk to grab her chair. Bruce and Tim appeared at the front door and laid the long, portable chair ramp across the front steps--it wasn't often Babs visited by way of any entrance besides the Cave or the ground level door at the kitchen, but for a special occasion they would roll out the red carpet, so to speak.

The three men hovered uncertainly as she wheeled herself up the steep ramp. She flexed her arms when she reached the top, kissing her bicep, just for them. Tim laughed, at least.

Cass, Steph, Damian, and Jason waited for her in the foyer, bending down to give her birthday hugs. She could hear Alfred not too far down the hall, speaking with someone, maybe taking a last minute call.

"I heard Timmy here gobbled up the last of your cake," Jason teased, giving the person in question the 'I'm watching you' gesture by pointing to his eyes with his forefinger and middle finger held in the v-shape and then turning his hand to point at his target. Tim made a noise of exasperation behind her.

"No, it was an equitable trade. He gave me my favorite espresso and a ton of other coffee paraphernalia in exchange for splitting the last slice with me. He earned it," she replied, sending Tim a wink over her shoulder.

"Sweetie?"

Barbara jumped and turned her attention to the new faces crowding into the foyer. "Dad?"

Alfred finally made his appearance and beside him--apparently the person he had been talking to earlier--was her father. He smiled and his eyes crinkled around the edges in the way they only would when he smiled for her.

"Happy Birthday, again, sweetheart," he said as he leaned down to hug her.

"Dad, how? I thought…"

He straightened and gestured over her shoulder, where Dick had just entered with Bruce. "Dick called me right after we finished up our brunch, told me all about the special dinner Bruce and Mr. Pennyworth were planning for you, invited me over, and I thought to myself, you know what, Gotham and the PD can take care of themselves for at least one night, for once. You're worth at least that much and much, much more."

"Dad…" Barbara had to wipe away a tear before she tugged him down into another hug. "I'm glad you came."

He squeezed her tightly, voice soft as he replied, "I'm glad I came, too."

The rest of her chosen family gave them the space and time to enjoy the moment, but as soon as she and her dad disentangled, Alfred began shooing everyone toward the dining room. Barbara shooed her father toward the others with one hand, motioning meaningfully toward Dick with her eyes. Her father nodded, getting her drift, and shot her one last twinkling smile before he followed Bruce and the others down the hall.

Dick paused beside her and sketched a playful bow, sweeping an arm out in front of them. "Ladies first?"

Barbara snorted, then leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "Thanks, Dick. I knew you'd figure out something. At least now I can understand why you waited to 'give' it to me," she teased.

He beamed. "It was a last minute inspiration, but I'm glad it worked out. I still plan on getting you something else, too, just not coffee or computers, okay? Maybe…hmmm…maybe something with bats all over it?" he mused teasingly. "Now, who's ready for some of Alfred's best grub?"

"I'll race you there," Babs challenged, grinning over her shoulder at him as she shot ahead in her chair.

"You're on!"

Race or not, neither of them dared go too fast--there was only so much running or speeding Alfred would tolerate in the manor before he gave you a disappointed look and a piece of his mind, after all. Barbara won, course. Just before they entered the dining room, she paused and snagged Dick's sleeve. "Wait. So who does my dad think Jason is?"

Dick chuckled nervously. "Well, I think he knows that it's Jason, somehow, but earlier I got everyone to start calling him 'Peter' and your dad's just been going along with it, so…"

Barbara tugged Dick down, silenced him with a quick kiss on the lips, and threw her arms around him. "Really, Dick. Thank you," she mumbled into his neck.

She felt him huff a fond laugh into her hair. "Of course."

~*~

“Batgirls’ Favorite Mentor” >>

[redrobinfection]

Coffee, Coffee Everywhere: Extra

<< Previous (Part 21: Epilogue)

AN: Thanks to Seshat_Writting on ao3 for reminding me in a comment about this series and this extra little scene I’ve had rattling around in my brain the past couple months. Steph/Cass is a thing in this ficlet and past Tim/Steph is mentioned. Enjoy!

---

"Aww, man, you guys started the face masks without me!" Steph groans teasingly, toeing the door shut as she steps into the the small studio apartment. The door locks behind her automatically and she rolls her eyes - of course it does, this being one of Tim's places - but admits it's handy as she juggles her keys, purse and one overflowing grocery bag.

Tim pauses in daubing a bit pale purple mask across Cass' chin. They both look up at her from the floor with twin stares of utter innocence. Steph isn't buying it for a minute.

"We didn't realize you wanted us to wait," Tim replies as he scoops another glob of mask out of a small jar. Steph catches a hint of lavender and smirks.

"You better be saving some of that for me," she comments, turning away to kick off her shoes. She turns back to a stare she assumes is Cass' way of expressing "bitch please" while Tim shakes his head at her foolishness.

"Cass bought two extra jars, just in case. Not that we'll need them," Tim replies, sweeping a glance over Steph. "Not unless you're planning to do a full body mask tonight."

Cass wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and Steph punts one of her shoes at the former Batgirl. "Serves you right if I do!"

She might, just to spite them. It's not like she has a lot to hide from her ex-boyfriend and her current girlfriend. Although, she might have to spread those remaining two and three-quarters jars pretty thin if she wants to do her whole body. Hmmm. Maybe she'll just do her face, neck, and chest tonight - just to tease them.

She breezes past them, headed into the little kitchen, and begins unloading groceries onto the counter. "I picked up three bags of limes for the homemade margaritas,” she calls out. Tim gives a thumbs up and Cass does a little happy dance. “I dunno why the pre-made mix isn't good enough for you," she adds in a mutter.

"Fresh is better," Cass responds primly. Tim has finished applying her mask and Cass is unscrewing the lid to an opaque black container, presumably to apply Tim's. Steph wonders which mask Cass picked out for him this time.

"I also made sure to pick up the anti-tequila for you, nerd wonder, for whatever lime-flavored abomination it is that you like to make," Steph continues, pulling out a bottle of gin with a grimace. "Oh, and some more of that metallic red nail polish you liked so much last time."

Tim beams as Cass begins smearing a dark, thickly-textured mask across his cheek. "It's called a 'Gin Rickey'[1] and it's so good! I swear it will convert you to gin drinks if you give it a chance," he tells her.

"Nope," Steph replies, popping the 'p', as she finishes fishing out chips, dip, hummus and veggies. All the best snacks for spa night. Or as Steph likes to call it: Bat-Girl's Night. Plus Tim, naturally. (She figures that if she could be an all-but-honorary Robin for a few months, then Tim could be an all-but-honorary Batgirl from now on and that would make his presence admissible. Babs approved and they've been nice and haven't made him wear the suit yet, the lucky duck.)

"I am good with tequila thank you very- Wait." Steph stares at the mask Cass is currently rubbing across Tim's forehead. "Is that…?"

She stomps across the room and swipes the container out of Cass's lap. "Oh my god it is." She glares disapprovingly at Cass. "A coffee face mask? Really? We just got him off his addiction!"

Tim grins sheepishly. "Well, I mean, I'm not exactly drinking it and it's not like it has any caffeine-"

"It literally says it contains caffeine right here," Steph counters, pointing to the tub. "Why the hell does your skin need caffeine anyway?!"

"Firming," Cass explains, nodding sagely.

"'Wakes up the skin'?" Steph reads. "What the hell? What a load of bullshit!"

Cass ignores her and continues swiping the dark paste of sugar, clay and coarsely ground coffee - real fucking coffee! - across Tim's forehead as he grimaces apologetically.

"Oops, well…at least I'm not drinking it?" he tries again weakly.

Steph pins him with a flat look, then raps her girlfriend lightly on the head. "This was your idea, wasn't it?"

"Yes. It's fine. He's been good. Deserves it," Cass replies without hesitation, reaching out a hand for the tub. Steph sighs dramatically then hands it back.

"I guess..." she concedes, then grins wickedly. "I guess as long as it's his giant, tired-ass eye bags drinking up the caffeine, then it’s all good."

"Hey! They're not that bad!" Tim exclaims.

Cass plops a large glop of paste onto one such eye bag and nods grimly. "Yes, they are."

Tim deflates a little and goes quiet while Cass finishes smearing the dark paste evenly across his face. She sits back with a smile. "All done." She turns to Steph. "Next!"

Contrary to her words, Cass and Tim both rise and wash up before helping Steph apply her mask. On their way back, they stop by the fridge and pull out plastic cups of milky colored liquid with dark blobs at the bottoms. Cass takes a large slurp from hers and Steph perks up.

"Are those boba tea?"

Cass turns around with a shit eating grin and shakes a pinkish-purple one at her. "Yes. Do I win back points?"

"Is that taro?" Steph immediately asks, jumping up to accept the offering of sweet, irresistible nectar.

"Yep."

"Oh, babe, you're the best," Steph replies, stealing a jasmine-tinged kiss off of Cass' lips before punching the proffered straw through the lid and sucking down her own liquid bliss. The tapioca pearls add a pleasant chewy, sweet dimension to the earthy-sweet flavor of the powdered taro root. Steph is almost too distracted to notice Tim creeping away with his own cup, the milky liquid in such tinged just a little too brown for it to be simple black tea mixed into milk.

"Tim. What is that?"

He freezes and turns only his head to stare at her with wide eyes. "Boba tea."

"Yeah, but is it actually tea?" Steph interrogates, expression skeptical.

"Maaaaaaaaybe?"

Cass darts out of the way of the ensuing tussle, which ends, inevitably, with Steph snatching away Tim's cup to steal a sip. She nearly throws her own cup at him when she tastes it.

"I can't believe this! You actually got coffee in your boba tea! There probably isn't any tea in this, is there? Utter travesty!"

Cass chooses this moment to step between them, pass the drink back to Tim, and lay a hand on Steph's shoulder. "Decaf. Mostly milk. Extra boba. Extra ice. He is fine."

Steph's eyes narrow, shifting from Cass who is nodding soberly, to Tim who is sipping warily, and then back again. "This was your idea," she accuses Cass. Again.

The sound of the front door closing shatters the tension. "No, it was my idea," Babs explains as she wheels herself into the apartment. She grins when Cass bounds over, hugs her, then hands her what looks like yet another sacrilegious coffee boba 'tea'. "Cass was just my delivery person."

"Babs, why?! We only just got him off of his coffee addiction!"

"He's been really good about it lately, so I thought he deserved a reward in the form of a compromise. Besides, there's barely any caffeine in that anyway," Babs dismisses, rolling away toward the kitchen.

Steph rounds on Tim. He takes a step back instinctively. She slowly reaches out a hand and smiles gently. "Okay, Tim. I know that you know that that is the gateway coffee to many more coffee mishaps, so just hand it over nice and easy before you end up doing something that you’ll regret."

He clutches it to his chest like and pouts like a three-year-old. "No."

Her expression and tone harden. "Tim. Put the cup down, back away slowly, and no one gets hurt."

He shakes his head and vaults over the couch. Steph leaps to follow. Cass and Babs slurp their boba tea placidly while they watch from the kitchen. Tim streaks into the bathroom and locks the door. Steph rattles the knob and curses that she didn't think to carry any picks on her tonight. It's a simple “pop-in, pop-out” lock so if she can just find a toothpick or a skewer…

She dashes into the kitchen, nearly bowling over Cass in the process.

"He's gonna chug it," Babs predicts in a bland tone as Steph rattles around in drawers..

Cass nods. "Yes." She cups her mouth to carry over the racket Steph is making behind them. "Remember: tapioca, little brother! Don't choke!"

Steph fist pumps when she finds a single toothpick, then vaults the counter. Right as she pops the lock, Tim appears in the doorway, expression triumphant.

"Tim, no!" Steph wails when he raises the empty cup.

He rattles it and grins. "Tim, yes!"  

[redrobinfection]

(14) Chills

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 14 “Chills”

JayTim | Established Relationship | Food Poisoning | Foodborne Illness | Vomiting | Mentions of other bodily fluids | Sick fic | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"Hey! You alive in here?" Tim calls as he enters Jason's safehouse, carefully balancing a shopping bag of 'goodies' on his hip and ducking low to avoid snagging his backpack on the frame as he steps through the window.

A bedraggled head sticks out of the bathroom doorway at half the height one would expect. "Tim? You shouldn't be here," Jason croaks, hauling himself to his feet with the support of the door frame. He looks awful, face pale, cheeks flushed, and dark circles under his eyes. It's only been a day and a half since his symptoms appeared, including copious vomiting, but he already looks gaunt and hollowed out.

Tim ignores him, continues on into the little kitchen, and begins unloading his supplies onto the counter. He's brought an arsenal of medical supplies: anti-nausea meds, antibiotics, fluids and electrolytes - both IV and oral - various disease test kits, portable diagnostic equipment, as well as broths and soups sent straight from Alfred along with saltine crackers, sports drinks, ginger teas, and ginger ale for when Jason’s appetite comes back. He loads the soup containers, drinks and antibiotics into the fridge, keeping his back turned even as he hears Jason shuffle into the kitchen.

"Let me rephrase that: you can't be here. I'm sick. I've got a fever and chills and I've been hurling my guts out of both ends all night and all day. It isn't safe for you," Jason tells him, hovering at the edge of the kitchen like he wants to step forward and shake Tim by the shoulders but knows he shouldn't.

Tim turns and closes the distance between them in two quick steps, raising a thermometer to Jason's temple while laying the back of his hand across his forehead. Jason startles a second too late.

"T-Tim! What are you doing?! Get away!" He tries to back up, but bumps into the wrap-around counter, knees buckling. Tim grips his forearm firmly to bolster him and follows diligently, holding the thermometer steady until he hears a beep.

"One hundred point nine," Tim reads off, nodding sagely. "That's not too bad. Overall, how are you feeling? Have you been able to keep down any fluids in the past twelve hours?" he asks as he pinches the skin of Jason's forearm to perform the skin elasticity test for gauging dehydration. "Mmm, from that I'm going to say 'no' or 'not enough', huh?"

Jason swats away his hand wildly then leans back over the counter away from the other hand Tim lifts undeterred to pull down Jason's lower eyelid in order to gauge the sunkenness of his eyes.

"Wha-wha-what are you doing?" Jason pants, eyes wild. "You can't be here, I have the flu; you can't touch me, I'm going to get you sick!"

Tim shakes his head, but takes a step back, making soothing motions with his hands. "It's fine, Jason, I made sure to--"

"It's not f-f-fine!" Jason hisses, teeth chattering with a full body shiver. "You could die, Spleen-less Wonder!"

Tim raises his eyebrows. "If you would stop running away from me for five minutes, or stop to answer my calls then you’d--"

"I w-was ru-ru-running to protect you!"

Five minutes after his first episode of vomiting, Jason had run out of Tim's apartment like the building was on fire, and then proceeded to lead Tim on a very bizarre game of tag through five separate safehouses over the past day and a half. Tim had been half convinced their wild chase would end with him finding Jason passed out in the street, or on some rooftop, between one place and the next. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or tear his hair out over the whole thing. Probably all of the above.

"I th-th-thought you'd given up by now!"

No, he hadn’t given up, but Tim also hadn't wanted to find Jason passed out in the street somewhere, so he had given Jason space and watched from a distance while he gathered evidence and ran tests.

He reaches into his back pocket, unfolds a Batcomputer print-out and shoves it into Jason's face. Jason frowns as he leans in to read the fine print.

"These are the results of comprehensive pathogen testing on a sample of stool and a sample of the foods we consumed the other night," Tim explains to him. "The tests are conclusive: you have food poisoning, not the flu. The food you ate and your stool both test positive for salmonella."

Jason blinks and his eyes dart to Tim with a flash of worry. "But... but you're okay? You didn't eat any of the contaminated foods?"

Tim smiles warmly at Jason for his concern and shakes his head. "No. Alfred and I are pretty sure it was contained to the sausage on your pizza. We didn't find salmonella in anything else and I didn't eat any of yours, only my own."

"Oh, thank fuck," Jason sighs in relief, sagging back into the counter. "Wait," he freezes, pinning Tim with an odd look, "Did you say stool? How the hell did you get a sample of my shit! When?!"

Tim snorts. "I mean, you did leave an incredible wake of contamination in your path as you fled from place to place." Jason glares and Tim shrugs. "You, uh, forgot to flush the toilet at your second stop. I collected it there."

Jason narrows his eyes. "Even if this is food poisoning, you still have to be careful collecting food samples, touching me, touching my shit--literal and figurative... Jeez, if you get a salmonella infection, that could fuck you up for the long term, Babybird."

Tim nods. "I know. I brought gloves, disinfectant, and plenty of hand soap. I plan to be careful. Alfred will never let me hear the end of it if I'm not."

Jason doesn't look happy about it, but he nods his acceptance, trembling as another chill wracks his body with violent shivers. Tim's brow crinkles in concern. He turns to scoop up some of his supplies then steers Jason toward the couch with a light touch on his elbow.

"Why don't you go get settled on the couch while I prep some fluids for you. I'm guessing you haven't been holding much down--or in--for more than a few minutes at a time?"

"Try not at all," Jason croaks as he subconsciously pulls his elbow away and shuffles to the couch on his own.

Tim grimaces in sympathy. "The diarrhea hasn't let up either?"

"Nope."

"Has there been any blood in your stool?"

Jason makes a face. "No," he gasps, gagging slightly. "Ugh. Can you grab me a bucket or something while you're at it?"

"On it."

Tim brings Jason his sick pail, then proceeds to take more vitals and pulls a blood sample to send along to Alfred. Jason suffers through it with as much grace as he can summon between breaks to gag and retch into his bucket.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood, so I brought antibiotics along just in case," Tim tells him.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood!" Jason shoots back hoarsely as he comes up from another round of vomiting.

"Don't worry, besides taking sanitary precautions, Alfred started me on a course of preventative antibiotics, just in case I did ingest contaminated material and haven't begun showing symptoms," Tim reassures as he begins prepping Jason’s forearm for the IV.

"Wha-what if you get sick? What am I supposed to do then?"

"Alfred will be by shortly to pick up the blood sample and check up on us, and if at any point I start to show symptoms, you or I are supposed to call Leslie immediately. The alternative is for you to return with me to the Manor." Tim wrinkles his nose to say what he thinks of that alternative.

"Nope. Here s-sounds g-g-good," Jason replies, teeth still chattering. Tim finishes inserting the catheter, starts up the fluids, tapes and then wraps the IV site.

"Okay, that should be good to go for a while. We'll know in a few hours if you'll need the IV antibiotics. For now…" he trails off, taking in the small, nearly empty safehouse and then the shivering form of one miserable Jason Todd. "How about we cuddle up on the couch and binge some Netflix?"

"I don't have a TV."

Tim smirks. "Do you think I go anywhere without my laptop and an unlimited 4G data plan?"

He sets up his laptop on a tray table in front of the couch and retrieves several clean blankets from the hall closet. He drapes two of the blankets across Jason's shoulders, which he accepts with a murmur of appreciation, then seats himself beside Jason and spreads another across their laps. He cuddles up to Jason and attempts to wrap an arm around him, his shorter stature be damned.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing?" Jason stutters, leaning away with a comically alarmed expression.

"You've got the chills, so I brought you some blankets and I’m snuggling you?”

"No, why are you practically on top of me! What if I throw up on you?" Jason wails, attempting to push away. Tim pulls him close and hands him the sick pail.

"You're a crack shot, Jay, so I trust that you won't miss at point blank," he teases.

Jason glares balefully, but gives up trying to pull free. "You're still gonna get sick…" he grumbles.

"I doubt it, but if that's a risk I have to take to snuggle you, then I'll take it."

Jason sags into him and grumbles under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said you're an idiot with a d-d-death wish," Jason growls between shivers.

Tim chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. "Whoa, there, Jay, I think you need to chill out."

"Tim."

[redrobinfection]

(8) Haunted Woods

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 8 “Haunted Woods”

 Steph & Tim | Discussion of StephCass and JayTim | Gen | Silly | Phone Conversation | New for 2019! | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

AN: No capes, Tim and Steph are about 14 here, Jason is 16, and Dick is 18 (he's a senior). Damian is 11. Tim’s parents are still alive and he’s often been invited to hang with the kids at Wayne Manor throughout his childhood. This is generally set in the late 90s-early 00s, because the 90s era of Robin, Spoiler, YJ, and solo Nightwing were the bessssssssst :)

~*~

Tim picked up his cordless phone, dialed a number, then threw himself across his bed and listened as the phone on the other end rings, feet swinging restlessly off the side. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling fan turning slowly above him.

"'Yellow?"

"Hey, Steph, it's me."

"Oh, hey, Tim," she replied, voice slightly garbled like she might have food in her mouth. "How'd that haunted house charity thing go?"

"It wasn't really like a house, it was more like a haunted trail-walk thing in the woods between my house and the Waynes', but, yeah, it, um, went okay, I guess."

"That's good. Raised lots of money for the shelter?"

"Yeah, I think it did. More people turned out than we expected."

"Nice! So did you get to spend time with those two Wayne guys you're crushing on? Penis-name guy and, uh, what's his name? Jay, right? That stand for Jacob?"

"Jeez, Steph, the older one is Dick, not 'the penis-name guy'--"

"I dunno, that's close enough."

"--and his brother is Jason."

"Ahh, okay, the ‘Jay’ is for Jason."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Ugh. So... No, I didn’t. Dick and Jay were working the event. They asked all their friends from school and the gymnastics club to come help them play the spooky characters on the trail."

"Oh, nice. What spooky thing were you?"

"I was too young to volunteer, so, instead, I, uh, actually ended up test-walking the trail with Damian."

"Ugh! The demon kid?!"

"He's not that bad."

"Did he try to stab you again?"

"….maybe. Not really. A mechanical pencil doesn't count."

Steph scoffed. "Like I said: spawn of the devil. I'm surprised they didn't want to use him as cast; he'd be a natural!"

"Steph, give him a break. He's only, like, ten and he had a messed up childhood, okay? He's getting better."

"Uh huh...but am I gonna find pencil lead lodged under your skin anywhere if I go looking?"

Tim grimaced and tried not to look at the dark smudge on his arm. "…He will get better. Just give him time."

"Okayyyyy, so moving on: how was it? Did you get scared? Pfft. I can't imagine the little demon baby did."

"No, Damian actually spooked a couple of times, though he tried to play it off as being 'horrified that the performances were so abysmal'; his words, not mine."

"Sounds about right. What about you, shy guy? You get spooked?"

"I mean, those woods are pretty eerie at night and it was definitely creepy having people jump out at us, but I wouldn't say any part of it scared me, per se."

"Mmmmm. So having your two major crushes jump out at you in sexy costumes didn't spook you even a little?"

Tim's face heated. "Well, uh, I mean… they weren't sexy costumes per se…"

"Okay, spill it, Timbo. What were they wearing? Did they try to scare you? What did you say to them?"

"Well, um, Dick was a werewolf and he, uh, I guess tried to jump scare us?"

"…"

Tim sighed and sat up on the bed. "He waited until we walked past, jumped out right behind us, and then growled in our faces when we turned around. He made Damian jump, at least. Except...then Damian jumped behind me and kind of pushed me into him, and Dick stepped on my foot then said, in the softest voice imaginable, 'oh, sorry', so, like...I wasn't really ‘scared’, I was just kind of, uhhh, flustered, I guess?"

Stephanie slapped what sounded like a table, or maybe her desk, with what had to have been her open palm. Repeatedly. "Ahahaha, oh my god, that is perfect!"

"Gee, thanks, Steph," he replied dryly.

"No, I mean, at least he talked to you right?"

"I mean if you can count getting stepped on and whispered at?"

"He got up close and personal with you!"

Tim sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay, okay, then what about Jason?" Steph asks excitedly. "What happened with him?"

If Tim's face had been hot before, now it was on fire. "Uhhh…"

"Oooooo, I sense a story here. Spill it!"

"Well, I mean, he wasn't really that scary. Damian just kind of just rolled his eyes at him and went on ahead, leaving me there."

Steph squealed. "Ooooo, so you got some alone time? So what was he? A ghost? A murderer in a hockey mask?"

"Um. Well. Jason was near the end of the trail, hanging around one of the creeping rose trellises in the Wayne gardens. They set up all these fake flickering candles and hung a ton of these big, long cobwebs from the trellis and then had Jason dress up as a Victorian zombie...or something? He didn't really try to jump out as us or anything. I think he was reading when we walked up? He seemed kinda bored, to be honest.

“And, uh, then my glasses kinda got caught in the cobwebs. Jason pretty much just stood there and watched me try to untangle, while they were still on my face, them for, like, thirty seconds, but it kept getting worse and worse until, finally, he walked up to me, very carefully removed my glasses, untangled them, handed them back and then I pretty much ran away in shame," he finishes lamely, squeezing his eyes closed at the memory.

"Whaaaaaaat?! Did you say anything? What did he say back?"

Tim squinted as he tried to remember something beyond the overwhelming embarrassment. "I think I thanked him, maybe? And then he grunted like a zombie and went back to reading. I felt like such a dork."

Steph laughed again. "Ahahahahahah,Tim, that is just too much. Honey, you felt like a dork because you are a dork. The most adorable dork that has ever lived to dork."

"Why did I call you again? I'm hanging up."

"Timmmmmy, nooooo. You're adorkable and that is what I love about you. If Dick and Jason have any sense, then they'll love it too. You just gotta put yourself out there and talk to them more often!"

"Whatever you say, ex-girlfriend."

Steph snapped her fingers, likely trying to point a finger at him through the phone. "Hey. I'm clearly the most qualified person to be saying this stuff; I know better than anyone how awesome you are."

Tim raised his eyebrows, unseen, but clearly heard in his tone as he replied, "And that’s why we broke up?"

Tim could hear Steph's responding eye roll in her voice. "We only broke up because it turned out I'm not bi like you. One of those 'It's not you, it's me' things, right?"

"Sure."

"Heeeey, don't get all down on yourself, okay? Here, this is what we'll do: Cass Wayne and I were planning to go see that new horror flick next Friday--"

"You hate horror movies. I hate horror movies. They freak us out. That was, like, the one thing we always agreed on."

"Shhhhh, all a part of the plan, Timothy," Steph soothed conspiratorily. "See, you'll ask Jason if he wants to come on a double date with us and Cass will totally push him into it, and then at the movie I'll pretend to be scared and grab onto Cass and you can pretend to be scared and grab Jason's hand!"

Tim barked a laugh. "Pretend? Try actual fear."

"Exactly! We'll actually be scared, so our acting will be totally believable!"

"Do you even hear yourself?"

"Come on, it'll be great. We're thinking we'll do an early show to beat the crowds and do a late dinner afterwards to shrug off the lingering creep factor. We were planning on going to that diner you like, the one with the double coffee milkshakes, remember? Whaddya say?"

Tim grimaced. "I dunno…"

"Just imagine: cuddling up to Jason Wayne in a dark theater, sharing a shake and fries afterwards. There are two straws, you accidentally mix them up…"

Tim made a sound of disgust at that horrible cliché of an image. "Okay, okay, stop, fine, I'll do it."

Steph cackled. "Yessssss, this is gonna be great." Abruptly her tone went deadly serious. "You should call Jason right now."

Tim froze. "Uhhhhh, right now?"

"Yes, before you chicken out. Actually, I'm gonna hang up and call Cass. We'll call you back in ten minutes and if you still haven't called Jason and asked by then--Cass will know--then I'm gonna make her make him call you."

"Steph, no…"

"Then call him!"

"Okay, okay, I'm hanging up."

"Yay! Okay, you've got five minutes and then I'm siccing Cass on you guys. Good luck!"

"Wait, you said ten! Steph? Steph?!"

A click and then the dial tone was all that could be heard. Tim flopped over onto his pillow and groaned.

"Well, great. Just… great."

[redrobinfection]

(21) Ghosts

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 21 “Ghosts”

Alfred Pennyworth | Batfam | Introspection | Haunting | pre-n52 timeline | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

Over the years, Alfred often sees the 'ghosts' of Waynes past around the Manor, memories and echoes come back again to haunt the halls in quieter moments.

At first they are neither disturbing nor unwelcome reminders, though they are often bittersweet. The disapproval from Dr. Wayne as Alfred sews up his vigilante son's wounds again and again; the joy from Mrs. Wayne when they take in Dick, then Jason, and then others; a small hand on Alfred's arm the day he breaks down in front of Jason's memorial case, as if to say, ‘It's okay, Alfred.’

Soon, tragedy after tragedy plagues the family--which now extends far beyond the Wayne name--and the echoes of deaths, crippling injuries, arguments and separations haunt him. Wayne Manor is a house now filled with the ghosts of happier times, lost lifestyles, and long passed friends.

Even the miracles plague them--Jason miraculously returns to life, but the look in his eyes is still very much dead. He is a ghost of his former self, and a vengeful one at that. Alfred mourns a grandson he feels he has lost not once, but twice now.

More die. Stephanie. Then Bruce. The Manor becomes so thick with the sorrows of the past that he and their dwindling family flee to the city, to live in the Penthouse and work out of the Bunker. Tim, barely more than a ghost himself anymore, chases the ghosts far from home.

Alfred is nearly overwhelmed by grief, but he swallows down his suffering in silence in order to support those who remain of his family.

Then there is a break in the storm clouds: Stephanie comes back. Then Tim, heralding good news. And then, finally, Bruce returns.

In the end, Jason turns a corner and returns to them.. A larger hand grips his shoulder when he tears up in front of the memorial case one day, the young man's deep, gentle voice telling him, "It's okay, Alfred. I'm here. Why don't we leave the ghosts in the past, yeah? Let's move forward to, say, that pot roast you promised you'd make for family dinner this week, maybe?"

Alfred smiles, Jason laughs, and for the first time in a long time, some of the weight lifts from his old soul, the press of memories easing up a bit.

Later, when he brings out the roast, he swears for a moment that he sees Mr. and Mrs. Wayne--Thomas and Martha--standing in the corner of the dining room, smiling down on them. He doesn't turn to look, too focused as he is on serving the family in front of him, but after, when he spares a glance, he smiles; there is no one--nothing--there at all now.

[redrobinfection]

(22) Full Moon

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 22 “Full Moon”

JayDick | Established Relationship | Silly | Fluff | Mooning | A silly headcanon of mine for Dick - likes to wander nude; doesn’t like anyone to see | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

Dick likes to hang out around the apartment naked. Completely naked. As in bum bare to the world, everything hanging out... Yeah.

Jason knows this about his boyfriend because Dick has mentioned it, offhandedly, once or twice, but he has never seen it, because as much as Dick apparently prefers to spend his free time alone in the buff, he is strangely shy about going nude around anyone else. Instead of leaving it alone, now Jason is obsessed with catching him in the act.

That's not to say Jason hasn't seen the older man naked--they have a very healthy sex life, fuck you very much--but there is something drastically different between seeing your partner stripped bare in the dim light of your bedroom and catching your partner in the act of eating fruit loops in their birthday suit, sitting on the kitchen counter, their namesake at half staff.

(Babs swears she walked in on Dick doing exactly that once, long ago, and Jason knows better than to doubt her).

In the end, it takes careful planning and even more careful execution to finally catch a glimpse. Dick can be a tricky, slippery bastard when he wants to be, always darting out of sight at the slightest sound and keeping one eye on the external camera feeds like the automatic notification system they have in place shouldn't be enough warning.

Jason takes his time. Finds a blind spot in the cameras. Takes advantage of the fact that Dick intentionally loops the internal cameras when he lets it all hang out. Uses every damn ninja skill the League and Batman taught him just to catch Dick standing in front of the fridge, humming some cheery tune, wiggling his bare ass slightly to the beat.

"What a fine, full moon that rose in our kitchen this afternoon, huh? Fullest moon I reckon I've ever seen. So pretty it puts the one in the sky to shame," Jason calls, stepping into the kitchen.

Dick, for all his training, jumps a half a foot in the air and tries for the best of him to hide behind the fridge door.

"J-Jay! When did you get back?" Dick stutters, tawny cheeks darkening. Jason imagines his other cheeks would turn a pretty shade of red, too, given the right circumstances. Like a pretty little peach; he wants to take a bite out of that fruit.

"Whatcha doin', Dickie?" Jason asks casually, gesturing to the open fridge.

"I was just… a snack… hold on, lemme go grab some pants," Dick replies distractedly, his eyes flitting to the doorway. He makes an aborted attempt to dart out from behind the fridge door, but Jason easily foils that by stepping back into the doorway, effectively blocking all escape. That is, unless Dick wants to try squeezing through the half window above the sink with balls aswinging; he is welcome to try - Jason would enjoy the show.

"If you're done mooning the eggs, do you mind if I grab a beer?" Jason tries. He advances, keeping himself between Dick and the doorway, and lays a hand on the fridge door. He begins to pull it toward him, but Dick squeaks - that grown-ass slab of muscle fucking squeaks - and grabs it back, rattling the jars and bottles in the racks. Jason raises an eyebrow.

"Jay, come on, turn around and let me go grab some pants, okay?"

Jason drops the casual act and rolls his eyes. "What's the big deal? I've seen you naked. You certainly don't seem to mind lounging about the place naked when I'm not around, my sources say,--"

"What sources!? Who--?"

"--and you've never been shy about the skimpy as fuck leotards or the short shorts you wear around the gym with nary a shirt in sight," Jason finishes dryly, ignoring the interruption.

"You know I don't like to be naked if other people around me are wearing clothes"--this is true, Dick has always insisted either they both keep or both lose their clothes in the bedroom--"There's just something about it that makes me really uncomfortable," Dick explains, his expression going serious.

"Well, I mean, if that's really all it is..." Jason trails off contemplatively. He's not blowing off Dick's feelings--that reasoning actually makes a lot of sense to him--but if that's been the only reason he hasn't had the opportunity to enjoy brunches in the buff with his boyfriend, then they've been seriously missing out.

Dick's jaw opens to speak then drops when Jason abruptly pulls off his shirt and throws it aside. "That," Jason tells him as he reaches for his belt, "is something I can fix." Dick licks his lips as Jason shucks off his pants and nudges them aside. Jason laughs. "See something you like?"

"Uhh, yeah, I think I do," Dick retorts after a moment, shooting Jason an anticipatory smirk. Jason takes his time with his boxer briefs, making a show of running his thumbs under the waist band before slowly easing them over his hips, flaring his rear so Dick could watch them glide down over his own modest ass and pausing for dramatic effect before flipping the fabric off his cock and sack. Dick shakes his head, but steps out from behind the door and slips his arms around Jason's waist. Jason's arms encircle him as he leans in to kiss Jason.

"I dunno what I did to deserve a show like that," he murmurs against Jason's lips, his own quirking up into a smile.

Jason snorts softly. "Bein' you's enough, Babe, but that little show of hummin' and wigglin' your hips earlier didn't hurt, either," he teases affectionately.

Dick groans and lowers his head onto Jason's shoulder. "You saw that?"

"Mmhm," Jason answers, pressing close and leading Dick into a gentle sway from side to side. "Put me in the mood to dance too."

"And by dance, you really mean sex," Dick deadpans. Jason leans his head back and laughs outright.

"I mean, yeah, sex'd be great," he admits, "but after that it'd be nice just to hang out on the couch, order in, binge some Downton Abbey…"

"Naked?" Dick clarifies, his expression skeptical.

Jason grins and kisses him again. "Yep, with nothin' but skin between us, baby," he whispers dramatically. The moment breaks and Dick bursts out laughing.

"O-oh man, Jay. No. That was awful. You're so bad at being romantic!" he laughs, slumping into Jason's embrace, his cheeks now red with mirth.

"Hey! I'm plenty sexy!" Jason defends, a smile breaking out in spite of himself. He'd been starting to think that he'd never get Dick to relax again.

"Sexy? Yeah. Romantic? Well…" Dick begins, dropping his gaze. He blinks, then laughs. "Look. You forgot your socks. Oops."

Jason looks down. "Huh. So I did." He smirks. "How about you come help me out of them?" he asks, turning on the smolder and throwing in an eyebrow waggle just because.

Dick howls. "Oh-oh my--oh my god, Jason, that's not romantic or sexy. It's supposed to be your pants. Your underwear. There's nothing sexy about stripping off your sweaty socks."

"I dunno, you could have a foot fetish."

"Yeah, but I don't."

"Oh well, you love it anyway," Jason retorts, pressing a quick kiss to Dick's nose, that makes the older man snort.

"Yeah, I love you, you overgrown dork."

"Takes one to know one, Love."

"Shut up and kiss m--"

[redrobinfection]

🎃 Spooktober 2019 🎃

Last year...

@sociallyawkwardfoxwriter created a casual writing event as part of their Write 365 challenge which they entitled “Spooktober” ~ The event consisted of thirty-one one-word writing prompts for the month of October themed around Halloween.

I, in my boundless writing ambition, began writing along with SAF on their prompts (the original list of those can be found here), but two weeks into my endeavor the reality of taking the most difficult computer science course in my program (Operating Systems, fyi) that term set in and I was forced to abandon my plans and WIPs.

So, this year,

I thought, why not go back and pick up where I left off? So, for the rest of October I plan to reblog the fics I posted last year, (hopefully) post more than few new ones for this year, and whatever I don’t get around to this year, I guess I’ll tackle next year!

Here’s to a fun, productive Spooktober 2019! 🎃👻🕸🕷

[redrobinfection]

(30) Treat

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 30 “Treat”

Jason & Tim | BatFam | Gen | Minor injuries | Pranks | Halloween Ficlet Posted in January Because No Shame

AN: Hi, Anon! Fall semester really kicked my butt this year (2018). I thought I could handle it, but then I totally dropped out of the Spooktober event without any notice (which is a shame: what am I going to do with all these Spooktober drafts and ideas sitting in my WIPs folder?) and I felt terrible about it, but honestly, I doubted anyone would notice... So thanks for proving me wrong (the best way to be wrong) and for sending me this kind note which gave me the excuse motivation to write the follow-up to Day 1 “Trick”. Enjoy the treat! 🎃

---

"Weren't you going to join them on patrol?"

"Psh, nah," Jason scoffs, waving a hand. He leans down over Tim and and grins deviously. "This is way more entertaining."

Tim looks up and rolls his eyes as he pops the last lug nut off of the final wheel. Jason shakes his head in disbelief. Imagine that. The kid actually managed to get all four wheels off the Batmobile before Bats and the fam made it back from their Halloween patrol.

"Hey, we still have those cinder blocks down in the motorcycle bay, right?" Tim asks absently as he awkwardly wiggles the last wheel off the posts, then tosses it into the pile of discarded wheels off to one side.

Jason’s eyes narrow and his grin sharpens. "Yeah, but... Wow, really? Damn. Remind me not to piss you off in the future.” He laughs. “I'll go grab 'em, just for you, Timbo."

Tim grins back just as sharply. "You're too kind, Jay."

By the time Jason returns with four cinder blocks stacked in his arms, Tim is already going to town with the tire pry, separating the tires from the rims. Jason whistles low. "Gee whiz, Timmers. Seriously, remind me to never get on your bad side."

Tim hurls the tire away with a breathless laugh and glances back at him with a smirk as he begins letting the air out of the next wheel. "Jason, never get on my bad side."

Jason snorts. He considers the mess of deconstructed wheels with amusement. "You don't do anything halfway, do you?"

"Nope!" Tim chirps cheerily as he rams the pry down under the bead of the now deflated tire. "Hey, help me figure out where we're going to hide all of these."

"Babybird! You sure about that? I was kidding earlier, but this... B's really going to ground your ass from here until Christmas for this."

"Eh. He was going to anyway," Tim replies with a wink, stumbling on his bad ankle as he pulls the second tire free. Jason grabs him by the elbow and shakes his head.

"Well, we better hurry up and hide ‘em fast; the Bat Brigade will be back before we know it. Here, give me that tire pry…"

~*~

When Bruce and company return twenty minutes later, they roll in to find Tim and Jason sitting pretty with smiles on their faces, clearly relishing the looks of horror and confusion as the family inspects the Batmobile in its sad state--stripped down to the hubs, propped up on four cinder blocks, and covered in a toilet paper teepee.

"Uhhh… I thought Mischief Night was last night?" Dick jokes hesitantly, trying to lighten the situation.

"Mischief what?" Damian parrots sharply. "Isn't Halloween inane enough?"

"It's the night before… oh nevermind," Steph begins then gives up, waving a hand dismissively and shuffling off toward the showers instead.

Bruce looks thunderous under the cowl as he and the rest of the crew slowly ascend the stairs from the motorpool. Their eyes rove around the cave, taking in one tire hanging from the snout of the dinosaur and another, inside out, hanging around the neck of Bruce's spare suit inside the display case. Tim turns his chair slowly to reveal one rim sitting on the desk beside the Batcomputer; he runs a finger along the edge of the finely tooled rim like some sort of cheesy spy flick villain.

Bruce's glower darkens further.

"Jay, why'd you have to pull the wheels off again?" Dick moans, peeling off his mask just in time for them to see him roll his eyes. "That stunt got old years ago."

Jason's eyes widen innocently as he shoots up in his seat. "Me? You're blaming me? I didn't do this!"

Steph’s laughter echoes from the showers and Dick rolls his eyes again. "Who else would it be? This sort of dumb-ass humor is right up your alley. Literally."

"Hey!"

Tim snorts, drawing the eyes of Bruce and Cass. Cass smiles knowingly before gliding away to join Steph in the showers, but Bruce pouts in that 'I'm not angry I'm just very disappointed' way of his that would normally piss Jason off, except that tonight it's directed at Tim instead of him. It’s a rare treat to be on the laughing end for once.

"I thought you of all people would be above petty revenge, Tim," Bruce comments quietly. Dick's eyes dart to Tim in surprise and Damian scoffs, but Tim meets all of their eyes challengingly and grins.

"Yeah, it is petty, but this is what you get for benching me from everything, including comms, on Halloween of all nights," Tim informs them matter-of-factually. He slowly pulls himself out of the chair and begins limping his way to the elevator. "Have fun following the clues to find each and every lug nut. Oh and watch out, the bats might have left you a surprise in one of the rims."

Dick's jaw drops and Steph's echoing giggles escalate into loud cackling, soon joined by a soft clapping that must be Cass. Jason's shoulders shake in silent laughter as he takes it all in.

Tim stabs the button to the elevator and turns to smirk over his shoulder. "Trick or Treat, B."

[redrobinfection]

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

JayTim | Complicated Relationship | Angst | Betrayal | UST | One-Sided Attraction | 5.4K (below read more link) | Read on Ao3

AN: This fic is a gift to @chibinightowl for the 2018 JayTim Secret Santa Exchange. It represents a small portion of a much larger AU developed for the prompt "Pirate Captain Jason and Privateer Captain Tim chasing each other around ocean and ending up marooned together"… maybe someday chibi_nightowl and I will share the rest with everyone else ;)

---

A stiff wind beats against their ship, sending chilly spray up over the bow and into the faces of his haggard crew. Captain Timothy Drake bears the sharp gust and biting spray with grim equanimity.

"Captain, please! This is our thirtieth watch since we began this hellish grind and if we stay on this heading, we'll run right into those storms brewing right o'er the horizon. Let us break off and seek calmer seas."

Stephanie's - his navigator - words roar around him like the sea, but he doesn't yield anymore to her than he does to the roughening surf. He knows a storm is brewing - he can smell it, feel it even - but he doesn't care. His eyes are fixed on a hazy smudge on the horizon, his target of nearly eight days now, and he'll be damned if he lets it go. Not now. Not after so long…

"Cassie, please, you know I speak sense! Help, me convince him!"

Tim feels a light touch on his arm and turns to his first mate, the fierce Cassandra Sandsmark, who is peering into his face with equal parts concern and steely resolve.

"Tim, I agree with Stephanie on this. Our crew is lagging, the winds are rising, and if we don't turn back soon we'll likely be caught out in this storm. We weren't equipped for a jaunt much longer than a few days and we aren't rigged for open water. We've given those pirates a good run of it, but time and fortune are against us now. We need to turn back."

He frowns. "Re-rig the ship and begin tying down loose articles, but we won't turn back until they do. We'll smash these bastards between our hull and the storm if we have to. Those are your orders," he reiterates firmly, eyeing both of them sternly. Cassie tsks in exasperation and Steph scrubs her hands through her hair with a sound of frustration. Conner Kent and Bartholomew Allen, two more of his trusted lieutenants look up from across the ship in concern and curiosity.

"Captain, really, the crew is-

"These seas will tear us to flots-

"Enough!" Tim cuts across them, tearing his eyes away from his target to stare them down. "I hear your concerns and, as always, I appreciate your candor, but my decision stands. Maintain visual contact and move to intercept at best possible speed."

Cassie and Steph share a look, but in the end, they are still his best and truest. They salute him crisply for the whole crew to see. "Aye, Captain!" Cassie immediately turns to the crew and begins issuing orders to adjust the rigging, but Steph hangs back.

"If I may speak freely-" Steph begins in a low voice.

"I doubt you'd hold back even if I asked," Tim replies drily.

"-and as your friend," she continues, her acknowledging grin still tinged with worry, "the crew would feel a whole lot better about this rough haul if we knew what was so important about this one measly ship." She sighs and tilts her head back, rolling one shoulder. "Every person on this ship trusts you with their life and would follow you into hell itself, but it's not often you to lead us on in the dark. The crew is antsy, tired, confused, unmotivated..."

Tim opens his mouth but Steph presses on, turning to fix him with the full force of her icy blue stare. "They see a fire in your eyes and wait for you to light it in their hearts, but instead you keep your reasons to yourself and lead us on this wild goose chase, into a storm, in open water, and all for what?"

"Steph-"

"Hell, even I'm feeling a touch flighty, not knowing if you'll sacrifice us to Davy Jones just to catch a single ship and ne'er e’en tell us what's worth more'n our lives to-"

"Steph!" Tim finally bellows, shaking his head and turning her away from the crew. She colors but holds his gaze. He sighs and leans in.

"The man on that boat wearing the captain's tricorner, he's the reason I came to Bristol," Tim tells her quietly. Steph's eyes widen.

"Wait. He's the one that…"

"Aye, the very one."

Steph covers her mouth with one hand and stares over Tim's shoulder toward the ship in the distance. "No… are you sure?"

"Completely. And even if I wasn't, that ship flies known pirate colors; as privateers in service of the crown, we'd chase them down for entering crown territory in any case. But…" he trails off and his eyes harden. "I'm sure, Steph."

Steph's gaze hardens as well and a spark of something fierce and wild - the very spark that caught his eye back when he first put together his privateer crew back in Bristol - lights up her eyes. "In that case we'll have to prepare a proper 'thank you' for him, eh?" Steph cracks her knuckles and grins savagely. Tim shakes his head fondly. "May I share this news with the crew?" she asks him beseechingly. "They'll be wanting to share their 'thanks' with this bastard as well, I'd imagine."

Tim hesitates, but nods stiffly. "Aye, but keep it brief. They don't need my whole bloody life story, Stephanie."

"Aye, Captain," she replies with a jaunty salute that barely disguises the rage behind her eyes as she turns to the crew and begins to walk the length of the ship, calling out in a loud voice, "Okay, listen up you sorry lot, we've got a grand personage on that boat up ahead-"

Heads come up and eyes turn toward her while Tim does his best to tune out her voice. He turns his gaze back to the ship in the distance.

"-that very cur that once tried his damnedest to betray and murder our esteemed captain-"

A distant part of him can feel his crew's eyes on him, but his mind is elsewhere, imagining a face, imagining the look on it when they overtake that ship, board it, then sink it to the depths.

"-one Jason bloody Todd, scourge of the Caribbean, and foulest among pirates! I expect you all to give him your 'warmest regards'-"

Murmurs rise among the crew, heads nodding. Cassie looks surprised and furious, but she turns her fury toward the horizon. In the background, Conner's face takes on a dark cast and Bart cracks his knuckles with a wicked grin.

"-so what say you, crew of the Red Robin? You ready to catch this sonofabitch and send his sorry excuse of a ship down to the murky deep?"

"Aye!"

Tim smiles grimly into the biting wind and imagines the face of one Jason Peter Todd in the moment he gets his long-overdue comeuppance.

"All hands on deck for best available speed and make preparations to board!"

"Aye!"

He smiles and looks in grim satisfaction to the storm ahead.

~*~

"Jason? Jason! Damn you to the depths, Jason Todd! Listen to me when I talk!"

Jason nods absently, his eyes fixed on a slip of a ship far off to their stern. "I hear you, Roy…"

"But you don't listen!" Roy bites back, stepping between Jason and his view of the tailing ship. Roy frowns. "All you want to do is stare dreamily back at that damned ship and mutter to yourself. You're lucky Kori has her wits about her or they would have caught us naught but five minutes out of port."

"I can't believe it, Roy, it's him, it's really him..."

Roy, his third-in-command, rolls his eyes. "You keep saying that, but who is 'him'? Who is on that ship that has you so moony you would've about thrown yourself under their keel if we hadn't hauled you away?"

Jason scowls and rips his eyes away from the horizon. "It's him, Roy. The one I thought I’d…"

"Is that supposed to mean something to- OH," Roy's eyes widen as he remembers a drunken confession Jason made to him over too many brandies all those months ago back when Jason first brought their crew together.

"He's the one you killed while hopped up on Joker's Breath? Back when you tried to take the Batfang out from under ol' Bluebird?"

Jason winces, but nods. "Aye. Him. Tim."

"Tim, huh?" Roy looks uncertain. "Are you sure? You only got a glimpse of him before they raised the alarm and Kori sped us away, thank God in heaven for the good head on her shoulders."

Jason nods and turns his gaze back to the distant ship. "I'd know that face anywhere, Roy. It's him."

Roy rolls his eyes again. "Okay… well, I guess you didn't kill him after all, but considering the fuss he's put up trying to run us down, I can't imagine he's all too happy over the attempt."

"I don't care," Jason says. "He's alive. I could sing, Roy. My God, he's alive…" He runs his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, teasing it into wild, unkempt spikes.

"Yes," Roy responds flatly. "Actually, it's been eight days, Jason, how has this not sunk in yet?"

"He's really alive…"

Roy closes his eyes and tips his head back, groaning. He crosses himself. "God in heaven, preserve us…"

"Save some of those prayers for the hours to come, Roy Harper. We'll be needing them once this storm breaks," First Mate Kori Anders tells him as she approaches from behind.

"They must be suicidal following us into this storm," Roy comments wryly.

"A trait we clearly share, since we're headed into it ourselves!" their helmswoman Artemis calls back over her shoulder.

"Aye, but you'd have thought they'd've turned back by now," Roy muses, rubbing his chin. “It was a mad plan, but it should’ve worked a charm...”

"Never underestimate the lengths to which a pirate - former or otherwise - will go to set to rights a wrong committed against them," Kori comments blithely, pulling out her looking glass. She sighs after a moment and turns to Jason.

"Captain, there is nothing for it. We cannot outrun them and we are vastly outgunned. We must come about and bring the fight to them, on our own terms."

Jason nods. "No more running. I need to see him, one more time..."

Roy makes a sound of disgust as Kori frowns in confusion. "You're missing the point, Captain Todd. We're not planning to turn around to kiss your lover on the cheek. That man is after our blood; we need to make a stand, draw first blood and drive them off," he reminds him.

Jason finally turns his full attention on Roy, a blotchy flush rising on his cheeks. "He was not my lover, not after… No, we don't take the offensive today." Roy begins to interrupt him, but Jason persists, eyes taking on a grim cast.

"He's not after our blood, he's after mine," Jason tells them firmly. "I'll… I will speak with him. We will work this out." Kori and Roy raise their eyebrows, but wisely told their tongues. "We will defend ourselves, but we will not draw first blood. That is an order. Is that understood?"

Roy and Kori stiffen under his unyielding stare, their doubt and uncertainty yielding to trust borne of long partnership and camaraderie. "Aye, Captain."

"Come about! One-eighty to stern. Ready the sweeps and prepare arms! We fight to defend only, by strict order of the captain himself! Prepare for hard sprint at the word!" Kori orders the crew in a booming voice. Jason turns back to staring across the waves toward their shadow. Roy scrubs a hand across his face in exhaustion then hurries to help the crew prepare their vessel for the rough stretch ahead. Artemis and the rest of the crew of the Red Hood look around at each other uneasily, but comply without hesitation.

"Aye!"

~*~

"Tim, I'm so relieved you're alive! I don't even have the words to express how glad-"

"Save your breath, Jason!" Tim yells back hoarsely, fighting to be heard over the howl of wind and rain and pounding seas around them. He strikes out at Jason wildly, recklessly, forcing Jason closer to the edge of the steeply rolling deck.

They slide around on the slick planks and tumble over loose detritus in a frenzied dance, Tim striking out violently while Jason attempts to talk him down from his rage. Around them the crews mirror their fight, Tim's crew attacking with a vengeance while Jason's fight just to hold them at bay. Truthfully, it was all they could manage in any case, outnumbered as they were by Tim's privateers.

Kori's plan to turn back fast and hard and surprise Tim's crew worked a charm. They'd been taken off-guard so badly when the Red Hood had suddenly appeared out of nowhere on leeward side that they'd hadn't the time to run out their long guns and had instead begun immediate boarding, just as Jason and Kori had hoped. Unfortunately, the storm that had been brewing around them also arrived to the fight not long after they, and now it tossed their ships around like toys, threatening to take them both to the crushing deep for their troubles.

"Tim, I'm so, so sorry! I never meant-" Jason bellows over the wind, dodging another wide swing of Tim's staff.

"Shut up! Shut up and fight me, you arsehole! I don't want to hear your false apologies!" Tim howls back, launching himself heedlessly across the deck of his ship to strike again. "You. Tried. To. KILL! ME!" he pants out, his face livid in the sporadic flashes of lightning. "You. Ungrateful. Hog-brained. Ill-begotten. Betraying. Piece of filth! Fight back, you spavined cur! FIGHT MEEEEE!"

Jason lets Tim dart in close and rap him smartly across his side, but the younger pulls his blow almost immediately, looking all the more enraged for Jason having allowed the hit. Jason shakes his head, sending rain and seawater flying from his sodden hair. "I killed you, Tim, I watched you die and I'll never forgive myself! Never! I'm sorry, so sor-"

"LIAR!"

They both stagger as the ships lurch, and a sudden cry of fear rising from many mouths turns their heads to stare in horror at the massive swell rumbling toward the linked ships. Calls from both crews to pull back gangplanks, cut loose, and brace for impact are faint under the roar of the sea, but there is no way they can be ready in time.

Jason sees his chance and scrambles across a plank just before two of his crew push it off their rail, safely alighting on the deck of his own boat. He hears a cry and turns, eyes widening in horror as he watches Tim go down with the plank, eyes fixed on Jason's, one a hand still reaching out as if to snag his coattails and drag him down with him. He watches in slow motion as the back end of the plank rises while the other drops, striking Tim hard on the back of his head. Cries of alarm rise from some of Tim's crew as their captain goes limp and plummets like a stone into the inky surf. Jason moves without thinking, the roar of the sea and the screams of their crews dropping away as his world narrows down to a single point: Tim.

He dives headfirst into the gulf between their ships and lets the current take him. He searches wildly in the pitch black with his rapidly numbing limbs and nearly gasps in relief when his legs strike a large mass. He twists and turns, finally snagging an arm just before a wave flips them head-over-heels. He tugs the body close, wraps all four of his limbs around it while praying that it is, in fact, Tim, and waits for a lull.

His lungs are burning by the time he finds a chance to rise, slinging one arm around Tim while he uses the other to scrabble for the surface. They reach air just in time for him to suck in a quick breath before another wave pushes them down once more. A bolt of lightning illuminates a piece of flotsam that washes over them and Jason seizes it, hauling the body up and onto it in the next lull. Another flash reveals Tim's slack face and their two boats disappearing into the storm.

Not ideal, but he'll take any good fortune he can get along with the bad. There was no way their boats would be able to get to them in these rolling seas, anyway. They would all have to ride this out and see where they end up in the morning.

Jason turns Tim onto his side and thumps between his shoulder blades, breathing a shaky sigh of relief when he feels coughing. He climbs up beside Tim, throws an arm and leg over him, and braces himself to hang on for the both of them, for as long as it takes, until they ride out this storm.

~*~

Tim wakes slowly, the smell of wood smoke registering first, then the unpleasant, sticky-gritty feeling of taking an unplanned bath in seawater…

His eyes snap open and he lurches upright with a strangled gasp that dissolves into coughing. His throat feels awful and it stands to reason he might have swallowed a good portion of that seawater he bathed in, but he's currently coming up blank on why or how that might have occurred. That's fine; he's woken up this way more than once in his time as a pirate, and then later, as a privateer. One of many workplace hazards. It'll all come back to him eventually. Or it won't and he'll make due anyway. He always does.

A small sound draws his eyes across the fire to the sight of a man and in an instant it all comes back to him with a burning fury. "YOU!" he bellows, throwing himself at the man, at Jason Todd, nearly setting himself on fire in the process. Jason has the good grace to look guilty before surprise overtakes his features, but Tim is livid at the other things he sees there. Happiness. Affection. Lov-

"Tim! Easy! Take it easy, pajarito! You took a rough tumble and breathed no small amount of seawater before I fished you out last night!" he has the temerity to plead. Tim fumes.

"How dare you! You don't get to call me that anymore, you bloody mutineer!" he wheezes hoarsely, aiming a punch straight for that smug, handsome face that has the gall to look pained at the accusations.

The infuriating man catches his fist in a firm grip, but his shoulders wilt. "No, I don't suppose I do, at that. Tim, I'm so sor-"

"No!" Tim screams, ripping his fist away and launching himself at Jason anew. They tumble back into the sand and Tim rains open handed blows against Jason's ribs, causing him to grunt involuntarily. "I don't care how sorry you are! I don't want to hear it! That doesn't excuse you for conspiring against my friend - your own brother! That doesn't erase the damage you did to him! To us! And I absolutely refuse to let you weasel your way out of this after you stabbed me square in the chest and left me for dead!"

Jason bucks his hips and rolls them, pinning Tim's legs with his weight and pinning each hand with one of his own. Tim wriggles and fights like a man possessed, but Jason holds firm, staring down at Tim with that stupid, pretty, mournful face of his.

"I know I hurt y-

"You were my friend, Jason! My brother! More than a brother!" Tim howls, drowning out that bloody voice. He can't stand it, can't stand to hear it again after all these months, that same voice he hears in his dreams sometimes, whispering friendly quips and sweet nothings before it morphs into the low growl he heard just before he took a knife to a rib, lucky that he took it to a rib and not between them. "You were the closest thing I had to love and you tossed it all away like rubbish! And for what? For some new 'friends' of yours?"

"Tim, I-"

"I hate you! I despise you, and I will take you down for what you did, even if I have to come back from the dead to- hmmnf!"

Jason leans forward and shuts him up with a rough kiss, something so familiar and yet so strange after all that's happened. Tim lets himself go limp and kisses back after a moment, seeing an opportunity. He tells himself he doesn't enjoy the contact - that Jason is as striking as ever, but he doesn't want any part of that anymore - and that he's only letting his body fall back into this familiar rhythm in order to play along, but it messes with his head, nonetheless. Jason pulls back after a moment and stares down at Tim with an expression that is a vision of relief and guilt and joy all rolled into one. He’s beautiful, as always, but Tim isn't falling for that pretty face anymore. Never again, he swears.

"You've already come back from the dead, Tim," Jason tells him softly, easing up on his hands, then lifting one of his own to trace the line of Tim's face. "We both have, and I would gladly die aga-"

Tim uses that chance to flip them and summarily strikes Jason in the temple with his fist, dropping the man instantly. He scrambles off of him and drops back into the sand with a grunt. After a moment to catch his breath, he slowly begins taking in the island around them, studying the trees and the sand and the curve of the beach around them.

It looks... small. Intimate, even. No chance of him disappearing to some secluded corner and pretending he hasn’t just been marooned on an island with the one person he currently hates most in this world. After a moment he tilts his head back and releases a wheezy sigh.

"Well, fuck."

~*~

Jason groans, then attempts to bat away the scratchy object repeatedly nudging his cheek. All he wants to do is roll over and sleep off the awful pounding in his head. He shouldn't have let Roy talk him into having so much of that damn rum, he thinks hazily.

"Wake up, you lunk," a voice off to his right says, the scratchy object nudging with greater insistence.

"Lemme alone, Roy…" Jason begins to grumble until the tone and pitch of that voice registers and he snaps awake. "Tim!"

Tim Drake sits back on his heels with an sullen glare, but proffers a roughly cut half of a coconut that Jason accepts with shaky hands. There is coconut water in the cleaned out shell and suddenly Jason's thirst hits him hard and fast much like the wave that knocked them from their ships did hours ago. His memory of the last day and a half trickles back to him as he gulps down the sweet water gratefully.

"I still can't believe it's really you," Jason admits hoarsely once he catches his breath again.

"Well, it is, and I can't believe you thought it was a good idea to snog me into submission after everything you've already done," Tim replies, pinning him with a sharp look. Jason winces, and sets the coconut down in the sand.

"I'm sorry-"

"I swear, if I hear you say the word sorry one more time…" Tim growls, rolling his eyes in irritation. He sighs, then moves to put the campfire between them. Jason watches him warily. Tim glances over at him then rolls his eyes again.

"Relax, I'm not going to attack you again. For now," he adds with a slit-eyed glare. "I'm still upset with you and no amount of 'sorry's or 'I feel terribly about it' is going to change that, but we can't afford to be fighting each other right now." He gestures to the island around them. "I scouted out our new refuge. We could probably subsist here for weeks, if not months, but it’s a small island and we're all each other has on this sad little spit of land, so, for the time being I propose a truce."

"I agree, heartily," Jason says, clenching his hands together and twisting them, "but I can't live with myself if I don't at least try to amend for some fraction of-"

Tim shakes his head wearily. "I don't want to hear any of it, so don't waste your breath." He gives Jason with a searching look. "Words are cheap, Jason. If you want to prove to me how sorry you are for what you've done, then allow me to take you in to the proper authorities to pay for your crimes."

Jason opens his mouth, but Tim presses on, leaning in intimidatingly. "And know this, Jason Peter Todd: our truce lasts as long as we inhabit this island. As soon as we step off of it, I will spare no expense to bring you to justice. I'll chase you to world's end if need be. I swear on it."

Jason nods, feeling the burden of their shared past weighing heavily on him as replies. "I will."

Tim tilts his head in confusion. "What?"

"I accept your offer of escort to the ruling authorities of any port of your choosing, and I will readily give myself over to suffer whatever punishment they decree in the name of justice," Jason tells him, leaning in to meet Tim stare for stare. "I will never forgive myself for what I did to you - and to Dick - but if it puts your soul at ease, then I will gladly welcome whatever punishment is due to me under the eyes of the law."

Tim stares. "Jason… you'll hang for piracy," he states plainly.

"If that makes amends to you, even in the smallest bit, then I'll go to the gallows gladly," Jason replies, just as plainly.

Tim's eyes widen and his face pales under a slight flush of sunburn. He takes a moment to collect himself and Jason welcomes it, taking the opportunity to drink in the sight of Tim like a man dying of thirst.

Words are cheap, as Tim says, but Jason knows to the depths of his soul that he would go to the gallows happily just so long as Tim's face is his last sight on earth. After too many months of dreams, nay, nightmares that begin with kissing Tim and end with a knife lodged in Tim's chest, there is nothing more beautiful to Jason than the sight of Tim alive and well. Every moment he stares, even the moments of baleful glares and raised voices, feel like rain on parched earth, a balm for his burned and battered soul. He'll take soul-searing fire all day, any day over the horror and betrayal he sees in Tim's pretty ocean-blue eyes every night.

Eventually, Tim clears his throat, studying his woven fingers intently. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd… in all my dreams of this day, I'd pictured confronting you, imagined hauling you away, sometimes imagined keelhauling you or locking you away in my brig to rot, but... I don't think I've ever imagined you actually going to the noose." He glances up, showing Jason his first glimpse vulnerability in what feels like lifetimes. "If you did, I think I'd lose a part of myself on that noose…"

He trails off, deflates with a sigh, then scoots around the campfire until they're sitting roughly side by side. Jason could reach out a hand and touch his arm - he wants to, desperately, if only to confirm Tim’s real and this isn't just another dream - but he holds himself back.

"Explain."

Jason tilts his head and raises a brow in confusion.

"Explain to me what happened," Tim clarifies. "All these months, I've nursed my wounds and my wounded pride, but what really rankled most was never understanding why." The pain and betrayal Jason recalls in his dreams every night shines in Tim's eyes now, and he can't stand to see it, but he refuses to tear his eyes away, punishing himself with the sight of it.

"Why did you turn on Dick?” Tim demands. “Why did you stab me in the chest for something as silly as a Captain's mantle? What did those strange new friends of yours offer you to convince you to betray everything you'd worked for your entire life?"

Jason shakes his head. "They didn't offer; they poisoned," he corrected in a low voice. He plucks a long palm frond from their meager fire and stirs the glowing coals, picking his words wisely.

"Joker's Breath" - Tim's eyes widen in horrified understanding - "was what they offered, and I was fool enough to give in to their wheedling the second night after you'd left to scout ahead. One time was all it took to snag me in their web. By the time you came back…" Jason trails off, shaking his head and refusing to continue. It didn't matter why he did it, it only mattered that he did and he regretted every bit of it with every ounce of his soul.

"Explain," Tim demands again, eyes shining like blue steel in the firelight.

"All that matters is that I was a blasted, naïve fool for letting that riffraff pressure me into taking their poison, and then for letting it consume my every thought thereafter until Dick threw me into the brig to sweat it out," Jason tells him. "Everything that followed that moment of weakness was entirely my fault, and I will never forgive myself for a single bit of it. Never."

Tim lets out a long breath before he speaks again, slowly, as if he is choosing his words very deliberately. "Whether you forgive yourself is your affair, but if I am ever to forgive you - and a large part of me sorely wants to, if only for the benefit of my own peace and sanity - then I need to understand what happened."

He leans in close, catching Jason's gaze. "I need to hear your side of this. You may be surprised to hear it, but I, well…" - a blush darkens the redness in his cheeks and he fidgets but holds Jason's gaze doggedly - "As much as I was infuriated and confused and hurt by what happened that day, I still missed you."

Jason blinks in surprise and Tim nods to himself. "I still love you, despite it all,” Tim admits, “and not understanding how you could do this to me - to all of us - has made that love nothing but a terrible ache in my soul."

"You.. I…" Jason swallows, struggling. "I did all those terrible things and still you have it within you to love me?" he gasps incredulously.

"Yes, but love is funny, Jason. Never doubt for a moment that I also hate you just as much," Tim informs him bluntly. He narrows his eyes and points a finger into Jason's face threateningly. "I wasn't kidding about despising you. I despise what you did and I despise you…"

Jason gapes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"…but I can't stop loving who you were - who you may still be, somewhere deep down in that muddied soul of yours - and that is just the way it is," Tim concludes with a nod of finality.

Jason closes his mouth and lets out a long breath of his own. "So… you really want to hear my side of things? You're sure?"

The tension drains out of Tim's shoulders and he rolls them once before shooting him the ghost of a grin Jason knows all too well. "Please," he asks, his gentle tone at odds with the challenge in his expression, playfully daring Jason to defy him and see what happens. A marriage of steel and grace, Tim's hallmark style.

As if Jason would ever dare to defy this man's wishes. He scrubs a hand through his salt-sticky hair and drops the tension from his own shoulders, settling himself down before the long, anxious tale ahead. "Well, going back to where it all started, not long after you left on that ill-fated scouting trip…"

[redrobinfection]

I’ll Be There

JayTim | Established Relationship | Angst | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Fluff | Angst and Fluff | Discussions of Death | 9.9K (below read more link) | Read on Ao3

AN: A gift for @chibinightowl in (belated) celebration of her birthday. Hope this is all you hoped it would be, more even (and not too over the top, at that! =_=;) ❤ Happy Birthday!

WARNING: This is hard-core emotional hurt/comfort. This gets really dark, really introspective, and really, really psychologically unhealthy in places. There is a lot of self-blame being tossed around; there are some panic attacks and near panic attacks; there is a lot of discussion of past canon character death(s), claustrophobia, and mortality on the whole. I had to go to a very deep, dark place inside myself to write sections of this. So, if any of that sounds like it might upset you or set off your own emotional spiral, turn around RIGHT NOW and go read something fluffier. I've written plenty of physical hurt/comfort with fluffy fluff at the end, not to mention the tons of pure fluff, so take your pick and stay safe, my friends.

---

Jason's laughter over Dick's latest exploits - teaching Damian to make rice crispy treats - dims faster than Tim was expecting and he stiffens slightly beside him on the couch. Tim looks up from his tablet. "What's up?"

Jason's fingers are frozen over the pull-down menu on his phone and he is staring intensely at the screen. Tim leans in and quickly reads over the message Damian sent, but what he finds isn't alarming enough to warrant the grim cast of Jason's expression and the tension Tim can feel radiating off of him in waves.

"It's almost April," is all Jason replies, tone curiously flat.

Tim glances down at the date. Saturday, 27 March. "Yeah, wha-" he begins then cuts off abruptly as it hits him; the 27th... April… April 27th, the day Jason died just over ten years ago. He sobers instantly and reaches out to grip Jason's forearm lightly, but firmly.

Last year's anniversary had been rough on him, Tim had learned, after the fact, in bits and pieces that Jason had shared with forced offhandedness. Just remembering it made Tim wince. He had learned more about it from the other family members who - as Bats, had never had enough sense or decency to keep out of other people's business - had kept tabs on Jason throughout the day. According to them, 'rough' was an understatement.

"The 27th," Tim murmurs softly, squeezing Jason's forearm gently. It wasn't question, but Jason replies anyway, his gaze going distant and somewhat pained as memories of years before and years back alike clearly flash before him.

"Yeah..."

Last year had been the first April they'd been officially 'together', but Tim hadn't been around for last April 27th. He wasn't there for Jason and for no good reason at all. Only because he hadn't thought about it, because Jason had never said anything about it, because… it doesn't matter why now, all that matters is that he feels awful about it.

He just went about his business as usual, going out to the Titans for the weekend, coming back a few days later. He didn't worry too much when Jason went quieter than usual right before he left. Didn't think too much about it when Jason didn't call him even once over that weekend.

Some boyfriend he was turning out to be…

"I'll be there," Tim promises solemnly, gripping his arm tightly.

Jason relaxes, eyes blinking as he comes back to himself, and nods jerkily, corners of his mouth twitching into the ghost of his normal, snarky grin. "I… yeah. Please."

~*~

Tim clicks vigorously at the blocks on his Wayne Enterprises schedule on his computer screen and sends them back to his secretary with notes on who to call and when to reschedule them. He leans back in his office chair and considers the day he's just emptied out. Tuesday, April 27th.

He's known about this day for years. It didn't take long after he became Robin for him to learn the exact circumstances of Jason's death. 'Let it serve as a warning' and all that. Grim case files aside, it is hard to forget all the times he had to pull Bruce out of dark reveries right around the same time at the end of April every year. Too many anniversaries he had to pull Batman off of muggers he had beaten just this side of 'too hard'.

So, it's not like Tim could ever forget that date or its significance. He didn't forget it last year, either, to be honest. He'd just never seen or thought about how Jason would spend that day... the day he had died. What are you supposed to do, how are you supposed to feel on a day like that? Mournful? Angry? Contemplative? All of the above?

Tim leans forward and exits the hourly view with a sharp keystroke. He left clicks it in the week view and blocks it out entirely. Better safe than sorry. He sighs and leans back into his seat once more, staring pensively out of the massive windows of his corner office at the bleak, misty day outside.

He had always assumed that Jason liked to spend the day alone, working through what ever he was feeling on his own, because that was apparently what he'd done every single year since he'd come back. Furthermore, whenever anyone would offer to come over, have him over, or take him somewhere, Jason would always brush them off, and if anyone got any ideas about snooping around uninvited, he would always them chase away, often angrily, sometimes violently. So, Tim figured he needed that time to himself.

Now Tim knows that the only reason Jason never lets anyone get close to him on that date is because he never feels it's safe enough to be around anyone else. During his most vulnerable times, Jason - like Tim - curls in on himself and pushes away the people he should hold close, being too afraid to show weakness, too afraid too reveal his inner workings, out of fear that others will push him away, or worse, attack him while he's down.

Jason admitted this to Tim sometime in February of last year. He described the masks, literal and figurative, that he wears around everyone - different masks for each of them, each taking a different toll on him - and how much energy it takes, sometimes, just to exist in the same space as other people. He also admitted that, for the first time in his life, he feels as if he's found someone he doesn't have to try so hard around, someone who he trusts to see him without any masks. Someone he would trust to be there when he's at his lowest.

He had looked Tim in the eye as he said this and made it perfectly clear he was looking right at that 'someone'.

Tim's face burns at the memory, in shame as well as a blend of embarrassment and affection. He whirls around in the desk chair and punches the keys on his keyboard, backing the calendar out to the month view. He left clicks the date and hovers over the options, eyes growing distant.

Jason had said that to him, and he - the 'World's Second Greatest Detective' - couldn't even take a hint! Couldn't connect the dots until Jason had made a comment in passing some time after Tim had returned, something about how he was glad that Tim had had his own stuff going on at the end of April, and gotten coverage in Gotham, because he, Jason, had had a pretty rough week and wouldn't have been up for their usual patrols. It had taken Tim a hot second - had had to catch himself right before he was about to ask why it had been such a hard week - but then, all of a sudden, it had all clicked together, guilt striking him with all the force and pain of a batarang to the chest.

Tim comes back to himself and clicks the option to block out the date completely, for every year in the foreseeable future, with no exceptions. He sighs, and leans back in the chair one final time, steepling his fingers. He rests his chin against them as he frowns at the screen.

He messed up last year. No question. He wasn't where he needed to be, wasn't where he should have been. This year he won't mess up. He made a promise. He'll be there.

~*~

"Hey, Babs, sorry to bother you after a long night, but I need to ask for a favor."

"Hey, Tim. It's been a while since you've called my secure number instead of calling over the comms. What's up?"

Tim sighed and stretched out in his wheelie chair. He was sitting at the console for his own personal 'Batcomputer' in the Perch, typing up the night's reports. "Yeah, well, it's the kind of family sensitive thing I didn't want to float across the comm lines, secure or not."

"Ah" Barbara responds succinctly, the single word speaking volumes to her understanding. Tim hears a few quiet clicks and then Babs confirms, "This line is now 100% secure. No prying ears, Bats or otherwise, will hear this conversation, on my end, at least. So what's up?"

Tim feels a tension leech out of his shoulders that he didn't even realize he'd been carrying. "Two Tuesdays from now could you quietly bring in one of the Birds of Prey to cover my, and maybe Jason's, patrol routes?"

"Well, Jason already asked for coverage that day - for the whole week actually - and Cass is coming back but why would-- oh." The line goes quiet for a few seconds before Barbara continues in a subdued tone. "He asked you to stay with him that night?"

"Yeah, I'm taking the whole day off," Tim responds, absently spinning a Birdarang on the desk to give his fidgety fingers something to do. "I…wow. I didn't realize Jason was taking the whole week."

"Yeah, he always takes that entire week - the day before and several days after, so he's not tempted to tear up the town while he's still in his usual funk - it's no secret. So why with all the 'hush-hush' from you?"

"I…" The Birdarang falters in midspin and he quickly sets the disc aside and sits up in his chair. "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. This is the first time Jason is letting anyone stay with him and I thought that if the family found out or if Jay heard me making the request over the comms…"

"That he'd be upset that you were attracting attention to the whole thing," Barbara finishes. She sighs. "Yeah, it's probably wise to keep it on the down low, but to be honest, I think this is the one thing Bruce and Dick would leave alone no matter what." She chuckles. "After years of repeated failures, they've 'wisely' taken my advice and are waiting for him to feel ready to open up before they force their way in."

"That's… surprising, but good to hear," Tim admits with a small smile.

"In any case, I'll find someone to cover your routes that night. Is there anything else you needed while I have you on the line?"

"Actually," Tim speaks slowly, weighing his options, "Do you think you could make it the entire week? Now that I know Jay will be down that whole time…"

"Uh. Sure," Babs replies in mild surprise, the sound of keys clicking rapidly in the background. "Done. But can you really afford to be away that long?"

Tim's expression turns grim. "I'll have to. I wasn't there last year, Babs. I have to be there for him this year."

She hums thoughtfully then trails off. The line is silent for so long that for a moment Tim thinks she's hung up on him. Then… "Tim, you know that Jason doesn't blame you for not being around last year, right? You guys had only just gotten together, so he probably didn't feel completely ready to have you there until now anyway."

Tim exhales slowly through his nose, consciously working to dispel the tension that had crept back into his shoulders as Babs spoke. "It doesn't matter. I still feel awful for not even thinking to ask if he wanted me to stay. So I have to be there. I will be there."

"Okay..."

~*~

Everything is set. It's the Thursday before the anniversary and Tim is feeling good about the preparations he's made.

He's cleared his WE work schedule, not only for the day of the anniversary, but also for the day before and the day after. He's arranged for patrol coverage for the entire week and even finished off most of his current caseload, passing off the last of it to Steph and Damian. He spoke briefly and discreetly with both Dick and Bruce to let them know where he'll be and why, and, to his surprise - and appreciation - they not only accepted his explanations without argument, they also completely agreed to give him and Jason space - without even being asked! He even called the Titans to let them know he wouldn't be out there this weekend, or the next, and, to their credit, they had tripped over themselves telling him to take as much time as he and Jason needed.

Which is why, of course, Kon is on the phone with him right this second, begging Tim to come help the Titans.

"Rob, dude, we're barely holding it together as it is. We need you out here, like, yesterday," Conner tells him over the emergency line. Tim rubs the bridge of his nose to ward away the headache building between his eyes. "I wouldn't call you out here if it wasn't a matter of life or death. We've already called in the Justice League, but with half their members off-world and most of the leadership tied up elsewhere we're really struggling here. We need you."

Tim tells Kon that he'll call him back. Jason was in the room when the phone rang and heard everything. The minute Tim lowers the phone, Jason tells him to go. For the first time since they got together over a year ago, they argue for real.

"You know it's okay, right? You can go. Go help the Titans. I'll be fine."

"Jason, I'm not going to do that to you. I took this weekend off for a reason-"

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"You asked me to be here."

"Yeah, for the anniversary. Tim, it's on Tuesday. Today's Thursday."

"Yeah, but just in case..."

"I'm not a dainty fucking princess, dammit! The mere thought that day, days away from now, isn't going to send me into fits. I kind of expected you to be gone for the weekend, anyway, off with the Titans like you always are."

"Jason, it's not just for the weekend! If I go out there now, there's no guarantee I'll make it back in time. I don't want to risk it."

"It's fine."

"It's really not."

"Tim, just go help the Titans, already. I'll be fine. I promise."

In the end, Tim is reduced to the point of begging. "Jason, please… please don't ask me to leave you here alone when I promised I would be here, that I would be here for you no matter what," he pleads. He's practically vibrating with anxiety, his body tense with poorly-suppressed fear. Jason seems legitimately shocked at the force of his reaction, face frozen in a look halfway between frustration and alarm. "If I can't make it back… if you need someone…"

Jason's expression gentles and he pulls Tim close, tucking his head under his own and rubbing one hand across his back soothingly. "I've been on my own for years. I'll be fine. Go do you what you need to do, Babybird. Go save the world; it needs you more right now than I do."

Tim pulls away slowly, looking up at Jason with an expression torn between concern and desperation. "You'll call me if things get bad?"

Jason nods. "I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

~*~

Jason calls, just like he promised, but Tim isn't there to accept the call.

To be fair, things were legitimately awful out in California. Between the early season wildfires that had been tearing through the countryside for weeks, the massive earthquake that ripped up the fault lines of SoCal more recently, and the major assaults launched by not one but two of the Titan's biggest foes - H.I.V.E. and Brother Blood - to take advantage opening created by the back-to-back natural disasters, the Teen Titans and those of the Justice League who could be spared to respond to the triple disaster were stretched to their utmost limits.

Tim spent day after day, hour after hour coordinating round-the-clock ops against HIVE and the Church of Blood while also working non-stop with emergency services and the remaining heroes to coordinate rescue efforts. Between handling all comms, assigning rescue missions, coordinating strike teams, troubleshooting EMS communications and the phone grid, repairing power grids, and participating in search and rescue in the final stretch, Tim hadn't slept more than five hours since he'd touched down, and rarely in segments of more than five or ten minutes at a time. Time always ceased to mean much while they were on the go non-stop and eventually the days blurred together until it was difficult to tell how many had passed since it had all begun.

Tim's heart nearly stops the first chance he gets to check his personal cell, not just for the three missed calls and one new voicemail from 'J. Todd', but for also the date and time that glow innocently up at him on his homescreen.

08:47, 27 April, 20xx.

"K-kon! I need you!"

Kon comes flying to his side from halfway across the state expecting a fight or to carry an injured - possibly dying - Tim to safety, but after he calms down, Tim eventually convinces the confused and weary Super that it is imperative that he make it back to Gotham in the next hour.

"Jeez, I thought you were in trouble, dude. Don't scare me like that," Kon chastises as he lifts him and they speed off toward the rising sun.

"I am in trouble, Kon. I promised Jay I'd be there today. I should have been back last night! I knew this would happen if I came out here!"

"Chill, dude. I'm sure Jason's fine. You make it sound like he's going into labor or dying or something."

"This is the day that he died twelve years ago, Kon, and every year he goes through hell reliving it all alone, so, yeah, he is kind of dying!" Tim yells over the rushing wind. He squints toward the horizon. "Can't you fly any faster?!"

Superboy rolls his eyes, wraps a bubble of TTK around them - the tug and roar of the wind around them abruptly ceases - then picks up speed, easily breaking the sound barrier. "No need to shout, dude," Kon placates him in calming tones. "You're lucky I can protect us from the wind, otherwise we wouldn't be able to make the trip at mach 1. Is that fast enough for you?"

"What are you talking about?! You peak at mach 2.1 on a bad day! Why are you going so slow?!"

Tim is still shouting despite the bubble of quiet. Kon winces and shakes his head. He opens his mouth to respond, but Tim babbles on over him, bitching and moaning bitterly.

"I knew this would happen! I knew it! It's all because you had to drag me out to San Fran! Why'd I even pick up the phone? I can't believe I let this happen! I can't believe I let you and Jason talk me into thinking this would work out. I knew this would happen!"

Kon jostles Tim a bit, which, thankfully, shuts him up for a moment. He readjusts his TTK grip, pulls Tim closer, and lights up his metaphorical afterburners. "You know what? You're lucky you're getting a lift from me at all. You wanna see top speed? Fine! Shut up and hang on to your capes, kiddies, but don't complain to me when you're puking up coffee all over your roof in about fifteen minutes."

~*~

Jason isn't sure where he is anymore. He lost track hours ago, sometime, somewhere, in his frantic escape from the way the walls of each place he'd tried to settle down in closed in on him every time the memories bore down. He hasn't stopped moving since he started, he can't find a place that feels right, that feels safe to ride this out, because as soon as he stops, the walls start closing in again and every little noise is a crowbar being raised above him and every child's laugh turns sour and cold in his head. Safehouses, apartments - some of them his, many of them not - public parks, libraries, dank sewers, and secluded rooftops are all flashes in his memory, places he had pushed himself toward in some unnamed, indecipherable urgency, only to abandon with a hollow feeling of dread within minutes, if not seconds, of arriving.

This happens sometimes, in some years, on this day. Other years, he can't stand to move, can't move at all, and he hunkers down wherever he is and tries to block out the outside world long enough to shore up the growing cracks in his fragile mental state.

He had thought this anniversary was going to be one of those 'hide in a corner and try not to hyperventilate' ones, so the day before the anniversary he had picked out a suitable hidey hole, stocked it up with food, checked the security and soundproofing, then locked himself in. Barely five hours in the place, he began to feel that itch under his skin, that urge to move, to get away, to look for shelter in spite of the perfect fine one around him. He held it off for an hour, tried calling Tim - like he said he would - but in the end the crawling feeling in his bones and the lack of response drove him out of his appointed safehouse.

He doesn't remember most of his wandering, and that would worry him, except that some distant part of his mind that can worry about things like his personal safety and situational awareness knows that Oracle and Batman are tracking his every move like flies on the walls, giving him the space to deal with this on his own but ready to step in at a moment's notice to protect him from his own vulnerability.

He called Tim twice more after he started running, once when he stopped in Tim's theater Perch and felt, for the briefest instant, like this was safe place to stop, to stay, and then once again five minutes ago. But the itch is coming back again.

He doesn't want to leave the bolthole he's currently pacing the length of, but he can't sit still. He can't stay, he can't leave, but he can't stay. But if he leaves, Tim won't know where to find him, so he has to stay. But he can't…

He sets his phone down on the lone, rickety table and tugs at his already frazzled hair with both hands. The bolthole isn't big, but for a minute or so the small room had felt secure, knowable, safe. But then the walls started getting closer. He knows they're not moving, can see they're stationary, but he can't shake the feeling that they're inching inwards, reaching out to him, trapping him.

It's getting hard to breath. The dim lighting is darkens in his head, the sickly light not all that different from the glow of a timer from across a dark warehouse, the shadows not that far off from the absolute black of a sealed coffin. His hands are starting to shake, again, and everything around him feels so distant, even as the walls feel so close. He has to wait, he can't leave, Tim will come so he has to…

He's leaving. He leaves. He leaves his phone without realizing it.

Bursting through the door feels like clawing his way to freedom all over again, but also like rolling over to look up as the Joker brings down the crowbar for another hit, and he shudders as the memories rolls over him. He squints against the sunlight - bright, for once, but still so cold; taunting him, searing into his soul, despite the gentle warmth that washes over his skin - and hurries forward to the next shadow, shivering as the loss of light burns just as much as stepping into it had only seconds ago. He keeps moving and flounders in that state of neither here nor there as the memories flood up within him, all around him, and he wanders with urgent, pointless purpose.

It isn't usually this bad, this day. He can count on one hand the number of times he's gotten this worked up over the memories. It's not usually that big of a deal, he reminds himself, but right now he doesn't know where he is, he can't stop moving, can't stop shaking, can't breathe, can't remember how much time has passed… and he can't even care that much about any of that anymore and that...

That's bad. It's been a long time since it's been this bad.

He reaches into one pocket, then the next, then the back one, looking for his phone. He needs to call Tim. He said he would call. He doesn't find it.

A distant, reasonable part of him wants to feel okay that Tim didn't make it back in time, that he didn't make it back before he started to unravel. He told Tim to go. He told him it would be okay, that he'd be okay. He told himself that he's done this many times before, that he can handle it.

But now he remembers how awful each and every one of those times was, even the 'easier' ones. He remembers that terrible feeling of wanting someone, anyone, to be there to anchor him through the flood, but also not wanting anyone at all, not trusting anyone, pushing his family and friends and everyone away. This year was supposed to be different. Tim was supposed to be different. He's supposed to trust Tim. Tim is supposed to be there, be something for him to focus on instead of the maelstrom inside of him.

He wants it to be okay, but it isn't. He isn't angry that Tim isn't here. Tim said he'd be here, but Jason isn't angry. He told Tim he could go. It's okay. But now… Tim isn't here and Jason isn't okay.

It isn't okay.

~*~

"H-hey. Tim. It's, uh, me. I, uh… You're not back yet and I said I'd call if…… I'm in the Bowery safehouse, the bigger one, I know you know the one. Meet me here when you can. I'll- I'll see you."

Tim swallows convulsively, anxiety slithering up into his chest like so many wriggling snakes as he paces through the rooms of Jason's largest safehouse, the first voicemail Jason left echoing in his head. Tim knows he isn't here anymore - the rooms are dark, silent, almost foreboding - but he has to check, has to make sure Jason hasn't circled back, like he often does when he's restless and hopping between places.

Tim rushes from the final room back into the living room and perches on on the edge of the couch while he brings up the Bat-special locator program on his phone, sending out a ping to pin the latest location of Jason's phone on his mobile map. He gets a hit and springs to his feet. He has to find him, he has to get to him. He said he'd be there. He has to be there.

~*~

"I'm here. I mean, I- I left the Bowery place, but I'm here, again, I stopped moving. I'm, uh, in your Perch, that is. The Crime Alley one. I know I said that I could... I can't. Tim. I can't. Please come home. Get this and come ho- come back. I don't know long I can stay here. Please. Tim. Please."

Jason's not in his Burnley bolthole. His phone is, but he's not. Tim feels like he's going to fly apart. He wants to hurl his phone out the wall, he wants to hurl Jason's phone at the wall, he wants to-- his phone starts to ring.

Incoming Call from 'O.'

He barely registers his finger sliding across the screen to accept the call.

"Tim? Hey, Tim, you there? I saw you enter Jay's Burnley place a couple of minutes ago and already I know his phone trail stops there. I have eyes on him right now, so I need you to listen…"

Tim pockets Jason's phone and clutches his own to his ear, listening to Bab's steady voice with all the desperation of a drowning man thrashing towards air. He listens. He follows. He's going to get there. He will be there.

~*~

"T-tim. Tim. Tim. I-I. I can't. I'm. Burnley. In Burnley. I'm… I'm trying. I'm trying to wait but I can't. I can't stop. I can't wait. It's… it's bad. It's really bad this year. I'll- I'll call you. I'll call you… if I can. I'll try, but I don't… I can't…"

"Ja-Jason?"

Tim steps lightly into his very first safehouse - one of their favorite hangout spots back in the day - and searches with quick eyes and slow feet, as afraid to startle Jason as he might a feral cat. The stumbling, nonsensical sobbing of Jason's third and final voicemail is ringing in his ears as he rounds the corner and spots Jason pacing the small space of hallway between the living room and the kitchen. His voice trembles and breaks as he calls out again.

"Jason?"

Jason looks up.

~*~

He looks up at a sound and suddenly Tim is there, calling his name, rushing toward him and throwing his arms around him. Jason's body flinches before his brain catches up, but when it does - TIM! - he wraps his arms around Tim and squeezes, holding on for dear life. His mind hones in on Tim's presence and abruptly halts its spiraling, frantic cycle of respun memories like a dog pauses barking to listen when it hears a new sound, but, at the same time, Tim's sudden presence blows a whole new storm of emotion over him, so he hangs on to Tim so he won't be blown away, and Tim hangs on just as tightly back.

They stand there for a few minutes, just holding on to each other and rocking slightly with their breathing, until they each start to relax and loosen up against the other. When Jason's arms loosen up enough to give him room, Tim leans back and tilts his head up, the unshed tears in his eyes startling Jason. He doesn't think he's ever seen Tim cry before, or even come close.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Jay, I'm so-" Tim buries his head into Jason's chest again so that his continued stream of garbled apologies is muffled into the fabric.

Jason feels as if someone just hit a struck a tuning fork his head, the pure tone snapping him out of the lingering traces of his earlier meltdown. He feels a curl of annoyance as he notes that Tim looks about as distressed as he felt earlier, maybe more. He isn't sure what Tim thinks gives him the right to feel worse than Jason on his own deathday, but focusing on Tim's bewildering distress does have the upside of giving him a reason and the urgency to compartmentalize his own for the moment.

"Tim. Timmy. Look at me."

Tim looks up and there are tears visibly swimming in his eyes. "-m so sorry. I said I'd be here and-"

"You're here now," Jason says firmly, fighting down the tiny urge to chuckle at how overly dramatically upset Tim is. He still feels pretty awful right now - nothing changes the past, changes his damage - but just having Tim here now, it's helping. Even this bullshit is helping. "Wow, you must not have slept very much over the weekend, you're a total wreck right now."

Tim makes a croaking sound halfway between anguish and indignance and takes a step back. One tear leaks out of his eye and rolls down his cheek. He whips up a hand to scrub it away, but Jason's hand gets there first and gently brushes it away. "I-I didn't but… But you've been frantic, you're were having a breakdown earlier, and I wasn't… I wasn't here." Tim takes a shaky breath and angrily scrubs the tears out of his other eye before they can spill over. "I wasn't here for you."

"I was and you weren't," Jason intones solemnly. "And I still feel pretty shitty, but this… whatever this" - he waves his hands vaguely around Tim and grins weakly - "is about is pretty distracting, so thanks for that."

Tim scrubs at his eyes again vigorously and his expression darkens. "I made you a promise and I broke it, that's what this is about. I said I'd be here and I wasn't. You were having an awful time, and no one you trusted was here for you. That's not okay."

"No, it wasn't okay. I wasn't okay," Jason admits seriously before gently grabbing Tim by the shoulders and gently shaking him as he leans down into his space. "But you're here now. It'll be okay. We'll be okay.

"Will it? Will we?" Tim bites off angrily, pulling away from Jason's touch. He looks into Jason's eyes miserably. "I broke your trust, worse, I made you go through all of that alone and I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for that and…"

Tim is angry, but Jason can tell it isn't with him for making light of the situation. He's upset with himself. Disproportionately upset with himself and Jason is starting to get a bad feeling about it. Time to nip this line of thought in the bud.

"I can forgive you," Jason cuts in loudly, pinning Tim with an insistent stare. "Easily. I never blamed you to begin with. And you certainly haven't broken my trust. I told you to go. That's on me. Let me decide how I feel about it, okay? Besides," Jason lets some of his annoyance color his voice and he points an accusing finger at Tim, "Since when did this become all about you and your need to self-flagellate over everything, huh? Leave a little misery for the guy who actually died on this day, will ya?"

Tim covers his face with both hands and turns away, groaning. He leans over and makes a sound of disgust as he scrubs at his face. "Ugh. You're right. I turned this all back on me and made it all about myself." He sank down into a crouch and covered his eyes with one hand. "I guess I'm sorry for that, too? Damn… I suck. I'm so sorry, Jay. This was supposed to be about you and helping you and… I'm sorry."

Jason crouches down beside him. "Tim. Look at me. You don't suck." He takes Tim's hand and pulls him to his feet. "And I'm not sorry. A little annoyed, yeah, but also a little glad." Tim gives him an incredulous look and Jason chuckles and gently pulls the smaller man into his chest. "It's probably not the healthiest thing - I dunno, I'm not a psychologist," he mumbles into Tim's hair as he wraps his arms around him and squeezes softly, "but sometimes getting sucked into someone else's problems is a great way to take a step back from your own. So thanks for pulling me out of mine and into yours for a hot second."

Jason feels Tim huff a quiet laugh against his chest and then wrap his arms around his waist. "You're welcome?"

Jason rocks them from side to side, almost like they're dancing to some unheard music, and continues speaking in soft tones. "So now that you've helped me helping you with your problems, let me help you help me."

Tim tenses and looks up instantly, brow crinkling slightly. "What do you need?"

Jason chuckles and rocks them a little harder, pulling Tim out of his rigid stance. "Easy, there. Don't give yourself whiplash, Timbo." He hums and leans his forehead down to rest on Tim's. "As for what I need... this was great and all - this impromptu game of tag plus hide 'n seek plus lots of feelings and talking at the end - but I think I need to retrace my steps 'cause I think might have dropped my phone somewhere, and then, after that, maybe it'd be nice to actually settle down somewhere for a while and ride out my annual deathday meltdowns the right way, the healthy way."

Tim's eyebrows rise. "Healthy way? What is that?"

He shrugs, and grins weakly. "I dunno, still working on it. Thought maybe you could help with that."

Tim pulls back and meets his gaze thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think I can do that. And hey," he looks down and starts digging around in his pockets. "Uh… not that one, how about… ah! There it is. I can fix your first problem," he replies, offering up Jason's phone.

"Oh, good! Because retracing my steps would actually be pretty tough since I, uh, don't actually remember all that much about how I got here," he admits with a chagrined grimace and a shrug.

"Jason…"

"Hey. None of that. I didn't ask for no pity," he cuts in, giving Tim a look that is half disapproving, half teasing.

"No, no pity, I would never," Tim backtracks playfully, before turning serious. "But empathy… ouch."

Jason swallows and lets that hang for a second, then nods. "Yeah. Ouch."

Tim buries his head into Jason's chest again and squeezes. Jason lets him, accepting the unspoken gesture of comfort and commiseration and returning it with a squeeze of his own. After a moment Tim pulls away again and smiles up at him fondly.

"Let's get out of here. I'd say we could stay at this place" - he turns his head to look around the sparsely furnished space with fond sadness - "but we haven't used it in a while and I can't really say how well-stocked it is right now."

Jason shakes his head. "Nah, let's head back to my main safehouse. I bought a whole bunch of food over the weekend and stockpiled a whole bunch of stuff for us there, so we should be good to hide out there for a few days."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Tim replies agreeably. "Did you uh…" he trails off with a grimace. "How did you get over here?"

"I uh… I think I walked? I did have my bike at one point but…"

Tim shakes his head and offers his hand. "Let's take mine. We can track yours down later."

"Sounds good to me," Jason agrees. He slips his hand into Tim's, and together they leave his frantic wandering in the dust on Tim's safehouse floor, behind them, where it belongs.

~*~

"This uhh… wasn't what I was expecting."

Jason steps out of the kitchen, carrying two bowls of chili - complete with fried tortilla tucked along the sides and a mountain of cheddar cheese on each - and raises an eyebrow at Tim.

Tim sweeps his hand in gesture to Jason's current attire - his baggiest, softest sweatpants; the biggest, softest t-shirt Tim had owned before Jason had lovingly nicked it from his pyjama drawer; and the softest fucking blanket he owned draped over his shoulders - then to the food, and finally to the colorful, animated space adventure show queued up on Netflix. He shrugs. "I just figured… it'd be different? From when we usually hang out? I just thought you'd want, I dunno, quiet time and maybe… talking? Not that I'm not down for this, I just…"

Jason sighs and settles down on the couch, setting the bowls on the coffee table. "Tim, I don't know if I can talk about it, not right now, but maybe not ever. I don't… I'm not…" He makes a frustrated sound and leans back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. "I've never done this before. Having another person around for this. So we're just gonna hafta figure this out as we go."

"So… you want me to distract you," Tim asks hesitantly. Jason snorts softly at the wording, thinking of all the ways Tim could keep his mind off of everything.

"No, not that. It's not that I'm not going to think about what happened or that I don't want to," he admits, "I just… I need someone here to remind me not to get lost in my thoughts, in the memories."

Tim nods along slowly, comprehension dawning on his face.

"So whenever I start to space out…"

"I'll be there," Tim finishes softly. Jason nods with a gentle expression.

"Yeah, you will, and that will be enough to keep me from spiraling."

Tim fiddles with the corner of Jason's blanket, then looks up with a guarded expression. "Then let's dig in and get going on our Voltron rewatch, but... if you ever do want to talk… I, uhh… I'm here to listen..." He swallows, then rapidly adds, "And I'll never, ever judge." His hands twist the blanket nervously, but his eyes are cool, firm and serious as he meets Jason's. "There's nothing to judge, but even if there were, you wouldn't get that from me. I know how strong you are. Not in spite of all the shit you've been through, but because you overcome it, again and again."

Jason flips the blanket out of Tim's hand settles it across their laps, then reaches an arm up and around Tim's shoulders, bringing him in close.

"I 'preciate that, Timbo, and I promise, I'm a pro at using the pause button, so if I get the urge to talk… I'll be sure to use it."

Tim relaxes into his side and cranes his head back to smile up at him. "Cool. Now what's this about a chili you promised me?"

"Only the second best thing to real-life chili dog, that's what," Jason responds blithely, hitting play on the show, and settling in for a long evening with his favorite food, his favorite animated show, and his favorite person.

~*~

Five seasons in and several hours later, Jason shifts uncomfortably. He hadn't lied or said whatever he thought Tim would want to hear back when he admitted that he'd probably be mulling over the unpleasant details of his death and resurrection, even while they were snuggled side-by-side watching TV together, for the rest of the day.

Really, any time the credits roll or his mind drifts away from the plot or they pause the show for a bathroom break, memories creep forward from the back of his mind and haunt him with their echoes. Sometimes the show itself dredges up flashes of the past, each one the bittersweet intersection between the emotional connection to the characters that marks good fiction and the miniature personal crises indicative of post-traumatic stress disorder.

For the last thirty minutes in particular, he's been lost in the feeling of death; not the pain of dying, but rather the darkness and loneliness of going into the void and the panic of waking up again buried alive. The words he needs to say out loud sit bitterly at the back of his throat, choking him. He stares blankly at the television, registering nothing of what's happening on screen, while he wavers over whether to finally vent his feelings or continue on stewing over them internally.

He knows Tim has noticed that he's lost focus and fallen into his head - the smaller man sneaks peeks at him and stiffens instinctively before deliberately relaxing again, all the while rubbing gentle little circles into Jason's thigh, presumably to soothe him - but to his credit, he doesn't stop the stream or say anything. He's giving Jason control over when and whether to discuss what's eating at him, and offering his presence and touch in the meantime to keep Jason from spiraling off.

That means the world to Jason, and in the end, it is the combination of that silent solidarity and the reassurance of knowing Tim well enough to know he really won't judge that makes him comfortable enough to pick up the remote and pause the show. Tim sits up slightly and Jason sucks in a deep breath.

"I can't sleep in the dark," he spits out without preamble, his voice cracking at the end. "Not anymore. When… when I was a kid, with my mo-with Catherine, then on the street, then at the manor, I couldn't sleep unless it was pitch black. But after... I just can't. As soon as I can't see to the walls anymore, they just start to close in and I'm back in that box and I can't…"

He swallows and steels himself against the raw, hollow feeling he gets for admitting this out loud. Tim's hand stops circling and spays across his leg instead, squeezing gently, and that gives him the boost he needs to go on. "I lose it. I have to have something - a table lamp, a nightlight, sometimes just pulling up all the blinds and letting the light from Gotham in, but… I feel like a scared, stupid little kid, afraid of the dark and I hate it."

Jason sighs and closes his eyes. "I can't sleep in rooms with low ceilings, either. Or in rooms with wood paneling, or with wooden ceilings. Basements are the worst. It sounds so stupid, but every time I try I feel like I'm back there, six feet under, death on my tongue, running out of air, pounding against the lid and…" he cuts off shuddering. "I hate that, too. I dream about it sometimes. I've clawed my way out of that coffin, out of death, more times than I've celebrated my birthday and that is just... so sad, and so stupid, and I just feel so... broken. Stupid. Worthless."

The last word comes out as barely a whisper but Tim hears it and scoots in close, turning his body toward Jason, wrapping his arms around him, and mashing his face into his chest. Jason sinks down into the embrace and rests his chin on Tim's head. They stay like that for a time, the stark silence in the apartment ringing paradoxically in his head, suffocating him with the illusion of total stillness, like death itself.

Eventually Jason focuses on breathing in and out until the sound of Tim's breathing jumps out at him again, then the sounds of the city outside reappear, and finally the feeling of Tim around him sinks in again. He feels empty and scraped raw having admitted some of the things that had been banging around his head, but it feels right having let some of it out, having shared it with someone else. It feels good. He feels lighter and stronger, maybe because some of his burden rests on Tim now, like he doesn't have to shoulder it all alone anymore.

Now that it's out, he feels like he can forgive himself for some of it, accept it instead of letting it eat at him like acid in his chest, in his head. If Tim can accept it, can accept him, then why shouldn't he?

After he relaxes again, Tim pulls back and hums softly. Jason glances down at him, distracted by the way the gentle lighting plays in his soft, glossy hair.

"I get that. I can't ever know what it's like, exactly-"

"I hope to God you never do," Jason growls lowly, disturbed at the very thought.

"-but I wouldn't say that… Me personally, I don't think you're stupid or broken or worthless because sleeping in the dark or under a low ceiling - or a wooden one - reminds you too much of being buried alive," Tim explains, voice low and thoughtful. "To me that makes sense. I would be the same way; I think anyone would be. It's fucked up, but no one would call you broken.

"And the dark... well, I get that," Tim finishes in a low voice. Jason frowns. There was something in the way Tim said that last bit that sets off his intuition, urges him to press, just a little.

"How?"

"What?"

"You said 'you get that'? How?" Jason asks, keeping his voice low and soft. Tim hesitates and Jason instantly checks himself.

"You don't have to say, it just sounds like there's a story and… you know, same deal: if you wanna talk, I'm here for you."

Tim nods, a troubled expression crossing his face before he forces it back to neutral stillness. Jason doesn't press. Instead, he presses a soft kiss into Tim's hair and Tim cranes his head back to catch his lips in a gentle kiss. They return to the show in unspoken agreement and several more minutes pass before Tim finally picks up the remote with a sigh and pauses the show himself.

It takes him a minute to speak and when he does, his voice croaks like his throat is closing up around the words. "After my mother died, I couldn't sleep in the dark for years. I just… any time I tried, my mind jumped to her, alone and cold and stiff under thousands of pounds of dirt, not rotting, but slowly desiccating, and then I would be there, feeling it, feeling cold, feeling dead."

Jason could feel himself freezing up in horror, the descriptions triggering his own memories, but he didn't stop him. This was something they needed to share and then maybe overcome together, he thought.

"S-sometimes it wouldn't be my mother," Tim admitted hoarsely. "Sometimes… after I became Robin… after I saw the… your file, the last entry… then it would be you." Jason stopped breathing, his eyes widening. "I didn't know you, but I'd spent so long watching you as Robin, admiring you, building myself up to do your memory justice…" - Tim's voice wavered and Jason sucked in a breath, searched numbly for Tim's hand - "…that I felt like I did. I'd… I would talk to you, talk to your suit, in the case, promising to be better… but sometimes, in the dark, thoughts of you, cold and silent…" Tim cut off and shook his head, unable to go on. Jason rode out a wave of nausea and focused on Tim. He didn't let himself fall into his own head; Tim had gotten him through his shit, he could get Tim through his - they could get each other through all of this.

"What-what about your dad?"

Tim latched onto the question just as Jason hoped he would, pulling himself out of his thoughts to respond. He shook his head.

"When Dad died, it was different. Bruce was there when he die-when Boomerang murdered him," Tim corrected. There was something in his eyes as he spoke, a darkness Jason saw in his own whenever he looked in the mirror and thought about the Joker, but that was something to come back to later.

"It hurt like hell, more than with Mom, but somehow… Bruce took me to the manor, after, and shared my grief, kept me close, then, later, adopted me. He kept me focused, grounded me in what was real and present, I guess," Tim mused, his expression thoughtful. It turned hollow in a way Jason had never seen as he went on.

"But after he died… after Steph, Kon, Bart, Dad, then him… I lost myself, a bit. No one was there to keep me grounded anymore - Dick and the demon brat sure as hell weren't, and Alfred was facing a such great loss of his own… - so, for days after we settled the scuffle for the mantle-"

"After you recovered," Jason amended guiltily, his eyes darting briefly to the center of Tim's chest, imagining the batarang-sized scar he'd put there. Tim's eyes shot up to his and he shook his head, squeezing Jason's hand.

"Yeah, but we're way past that, Jay. Don't beat yourself up for something you did when you were in an unbelievably bad place, something I can't even blame you for now that I understand how bad it really was," Tim chided him sternly. Jason opened his mouth but Tim went on over him.

"Anyway, after Bruce died, I spent weeks wandering the manor as if, I dunno, if I looked hard enough, if I walked through the right door or looked under every bed, he'd be there. It was such a shock, such an impossible thing that he could really be gone, that it just wouldn't sink in. I'd look and look and look, for hours sometimes. When the manor started to feel too small and suffocating, I'd wander around Gotham. Every safehouse, every rooftop, every nook or cranny we'd ever hid in. I couldn't stop moving, stop looking," Tim admitted, his eyes lost and distant.

"It felt like, if I kept moving, maybe eventually, I'd find Bruce or find a way to accept he was gone. It wasn't until Dick… when I lost Robin that I snapped out it. Losing my only remaining purpose was a slap to the face, a wake-up call. I stopped wandering, but I still kept searching. I found a painting amongst the family paintings - it had changed, I swore on it - and that convinced me that Bruce was still out there, somewhere in time, and that the body we'd buried was a copy, or that Bruce had been copied, but one way or another he was still out there. I became obsessed with finding him and lost myself to that instead."

He swallowed and admitted in a quieter voice, "Without anyone or anything to keep me grounded… if I hadn't found Bruce eventually… I don't think I would have come back from that. Not really." He paused then blinked and shook his head with a scoff. "Sorry, I'm making this all about me again and-"

"That was what happened today."

"What?" Tim blinked at him in confusion, but Jason nodded slowly.

"To me. That's where you found me. Sometimes, on the anniversary, it all becomes so much that I feel like I'm going out of my mind, like it can't be real, couldn't have been real, and I have to get away, I can't stay in one place, as if… if I search long enough, move fast enough, that I could outrun the past, find a better reality, find a place I feel like me again," Jason explains. Tim stares at him with wide eyes. "So that 'can't stop, won't stop, suffocating and going out of your mind so keep moving' you described? Well, I get that."

Silence falls again around them as Jason lets it sink in; he looks away and gives Tim a moment to process. Tim eventually leaves the room, and after a minute Jason hears the toilet flush. A few minutes later Tim returns on quiet feet and clears his throat. When Jason looks up, he smiling beatifically down at him, and he raises his eyebrows when Tim climbs into his lap and kisses him unreservedly. Jason hums in surprise against his lips, but kisses back just as thoroughly. Tim pulls away after a moment and looks down at him fondly.

"What?" Jason asks with a touch of amusement. "What is that look for?"

Tim laughs and moves off to one side, plopping down beside him. "Nothing. You're just something else, you know?"

"Me?"

Tim flicks his hand in playfully reproach. "Yes, you."

"Why?"

Tim flicks his hand again, so Jason flips it over and snatches Tim's, lacing their fingers together. "This day was all about you, about your problems, and here you are helping me through mine. Again," Tim explains. He shakes his head minutely against Jason's shoulder. "Honestly, I should be the last thing you're worrying about right now."

"Yeah, sure, I mean it's the day I died and that's important 'n all, but that doesn't mean I get the monopoly on being messed up and needing an ear for the day," Jason replies wryly. Tim sucks in a breath like he's going to argue, but Jason lifts their hands and thumps them emphatically against Tim's knee. "No, I don't deserve that, so don't even try to tell me I do. And besides, like I told you earlier, helping you through your problems kind of helps me get past mine.

"I guess, sometimes, it takes seeing someone else suffering in a similar way to put your own suffering into perspective, to make it possible for you think about it objectively enough to work through it," Jason suggests.

Tim hums in agreement and squeezes their fingers gently. Jason gives them a few beats to sit together in companionable silence, then thumps their hands one last time and moves to sit up.

"Okay, Timbo, I know we said we were going to finish out the entire series tonight, but I feel like it's about time we call it a night."

Tim nods in agreement and yawns as he pulls himself away from Jason's side. He darts away just a second too late to avoid Jason playfully ruffling his hair with one hand, and Jason laughs at the little hiss and glare Tim shoots him. Together they lethargically tidy up the living room, turn off lights, check and recheck security systems, then shuffle off to bed.

~*~

Jason climbs in first, rearranging pillows and kicking around the duvet, while Tim brushes his teeth and makes sure to triple check the security system - they are vigilantes, after all, and with people like Batman and Ra's al Ghul up in their business on a regular basis, it could never hurt to double, triple, then maybe quadruple check.

Tim flips off the last light - mindful to first open the shades to let in the light from the city - then hovers over his phone, briefly glancing over his messages before bed. He squawks in playful indignation when Jason rolls over and hooks an arm around his hips, dragging him onto the bed.

Tim falls into the motion, toppling like a felled tree across Jason's body, and feels a brief moment of satisfaction for the breathless 'oof' he gets before Jason rolls them and tries to crush Tim with his superior bodyweight. They wrestle for less than a minute before their brief surge of playful energy wears off, at which point Tim lets himself collapse at Jason's side and doesn't fight when Jason tugs him in close. He rests his head against Jason's ribs and lets himself drift off to the rise and fall under his cheek.

He's almost completely asleep when the rumble of Jason's voice brings him back.

"Tim?"

"Mmmm?"

"That thing…that you said about Bruce…"

"Mmmhmm?"

"About losing your father and then Bruce being there, being around, giving you something to center yourself around, someone to keep you grounded…"

Tim perks up his head and blinks into the dim light, focusing. "Yeah?"

"That's what I need. For days like today. For… always. Someone to be there. Maybe not to talk about it or to help me forget, but just… to keep me here. Present. Centered. I just need you to be here for me, nothing special, just like you always are."

Tim hums morosely and shakes his head. "I almost wasn't today."

Jason scoffs softly and Tim squints at him in the dark, trying to make out his expression. "Yeah, you almost didn't make it back to Gotham today, and, yeah, I guess it helped to have you here, in-person, where I could see and touch you, but even if you hadn't made it back, even if you'd just picked up the phone, made a video call, or done something just to let me…ugh," he sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. "Long story short, let's just say that even if you can't always be right here beside me, I'll never doubt that you'd move heaven and earth to be here for me," he explains, a touch of amusement coloring the undeniable tones of affection and appreciation in his voice. "Not unless… You're not planning on leaving me, are you, Timbo?"

Tim snorts softly and lets his head drop down again. He wraps his free arm around Jason's waist and squeezes gently, feeling Jason's breath hitch slightly before whooshing out in a long, easy sigh.

"No," Tim replies, smiling softly, "I'll be here."