#theyre............a mess.......... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yellowocaballero · 5 days ago

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Itwau? Covid puppy Tim just sounds very funny to me lol

"AU where Tim was quarantined in a radioactive house with the least functional family of all time and he's released into the wild three years later incredibly under socialized and dysfunctional" is, in fact, the premise.

I'm so vauguely unhappy with the fic that I refuse to post it. But also it's not straight up bad. But also I'm worried that it doesn't do justice to Cass, and doing justice to Cass is important to me. But also isn't any predominant Cass good. But also blah blah blah have a scene.

Short scene, and a CW for references to a sexual relationship between a minor and an adult. And an apology to Tim/Bernard shippers. The scene's a good summary of everyone's dysfunction, I think.

A rock collided with the window.

Tim’s aim was true, as always. He shifted his balance on the withered tree branch, mindful of its tired creak, before flicking another pebble and hitting the glass panel again. The sharp thunk was clear in the mild night, and Tim only had to wait another minute before a face appeared in the window. Tim waved. The face grinned.

The carefully maintained window slid upwards, and Tim easily hopped off the branch to land on the windowsill and slide inside. The boy inside had already stepped away, locking the bedroom door and fixing the deadbolt.

“They home?”

“Mom’s on nightshift and Dad’s out with his friends again.” Bernard turned back to Tim and smiled at him. ‘Out with his friends’ meant he was getting drunk and wouldn’t be back ‘til morning, but that hadn’t bothered Bernard in a while. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” Tim stepped forward and kissed him eagerly, and after a half-second Bernard kissed back. It was a comforting and familiar kiss, and after so long it was definitely Tim’s favorite. “It’s so good to see you.”

Bernard gave him another kiss before stepping back, yanking some old clothing off his desk chair and stuffing it in the laundry tote. Tim shut the window and started taking off his mask, the buzzing energy in his limbs already melting away. Cass was expecting him back at three in the morning, so that gave him three hours here. More than he needed, probably, but it was never bad to surprise Cass by coming back early.

“How was your day at school?” Bernard asked archly, and Tim rolled his eyes. “Did you make the soccer team? How did the math test go?”

“How do your math tests go?” Tim asked pointedly, and Bernard abruptly looked a little guilty. “Right. Who cares, honestly. It’s not like you’re ever going to use the stuff.” Left unsaid: or ninety percent of what you’re learning in that weird little schooling co-op you attend, you freak.

“I will be loved for my pretty face, not my brains,” Bernard drawled, sitting down in his desk chair. Tim sat on the bed and pressed the secret button on his boots, letting them deflate and yanking them off. “I shall marry a powerful enforcer for the Penguin and live the rest of my life awash in chocolate and weed.”

“Will you still remember me when you’re rich and powerful?” Tim panned. He started unbuckling his tunic, undoing the golden arrow-shaped clasps running down the center. “The little girl next door?”

“You are anything but the girl next door.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Tim smirked a little, letting his hair fall over his face in the motion he knew Bernard liked to see. “You’re already fucking a territory boss, Bernard, it’s hard to go up from here.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Bernard laughed a little, short and sharp. “That’s still so wild. Only fifteen and you’re already a gang leader. You’re, like, one of the fifteen most powerful people in Gotham.”

“Sure am. Let me know if your parents need another job or anything. I don’t got a lot of employees, but I can find something for ‘em.” Tim brightened. “If you guys ever need to run into protected territory you know I’m right next door! You’d be the safest teenager outside of the Garden.”

“That’s - really nice of you, Tim. Thanks.” Bernard caught Tim’s thrown tunic, putting it on the desk behind him. His eyes lingered on the dull R, but he quickly shoved it away. “We’re doing okay, though. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I’ll find out.”

“Fantastic things to hear. I love it.”

Tim grinned at him, shucking his gloves and carefully tossing them at Bernard so he could put them next to the tunic. “You know what to expect from me.”

“Lord help me, I definitely do.” Bernard held the gloves, finger rubbing against a ridged green thumb. His posture was stiff. Tense. He was nervous. Tim stopped undressing. “Look, I -”

“Quiet.”

Bernard fell silent instantly. Also suspicious. Bernard was one of the more contrary people Tim had ever met, and he knew Helena. Tim stood up, silently walking towards the window and sliding the panel open so he could sit on the windowsill and check the surroundings. Nobody out there. It was the only window in the bedroom, so Tim was forced to close it. He spot-checked the rest of the room, finding nothing out of ordinary.

Long-suffering, Bernard said, “Tim. Why are you looking for an ambush?”

“You’re nervous,” Tim said bluntly. Bernard opened his mouth indignantly. “You would break if your parents were kidnapped.”

“I - yeah, fair.” Bernard paused, clearly debating with himself, before saying something he was clearly fairly certain he’d regret. “What did your other ambushes look like?”

“Somebody planted intel of a human trafficking ring in a brothel,” Tim said. He undid the locks on the door and poked his head out into the hallway, just to be sure. “There were trafficking victims. But there were also several pounds of explosives.”

“Yikes. Everybody make it out of that one alright?”

“Yeah, we always check over the premises of a tip like that. If the story involves starving babies being cooked into stews it’s a dead giveaway for a trap.” Tim closed and re-locked the door. Bernard opened his mouth again. “Do you really want to ask that question?”

“...point!”

“Don’t worry about it, babe.” Tim walked over and leaned against Bernard’s desk, crossing his arms and grinning down at him. The cool look was slightly hampered by the wobbly leg. He’d have to offer to repair that. “The Upper West Side doesn’t see the worst of it. Don’t do anything stupid and you should be okay. And you get in any trouble just call me.”

Bernard smiled weakly. He grabbed Tim’s hand and squeezed, and Tim squeezed back. Tim wondered when would be a good time to start undressing him. Three hours was enough, but they should probably start. “It’s weird thinking about how crazy fucking lucky I am. My mom has a job with that laundry group and my dad just got that reconstruction job for the cops.” Tim did not like the cops as much as the cops liked the cops, but Gordon kept them in check. “We still live in our house. I got my own job at the orchard. The co-op and my friend and stuff. I got you. Couldn’t have imagined this three years ago.”

Three years ago Bernard and his family lived like anybody else - hiding from looters and scavenging for FEMA aid. “There’s more and more families like yours in Gotham every day,” Tim said. The thought made his heart feel lighter. As Robin, he saw the change grow and grow. It was amazing to watch. “Just watch, Bernard. One day soon everybody’s going to have a job. Everybody’s going to have food on the table. Gotham’s getting better. Isn’t it fucking wild?”

“I feel like a person again,” Bernard said. “We were living like fucking animals for ages and now I feel like a human person. Shit, Tim, I know you see the worst of the worst nonstop. Maybe one day soon you won’t have to see grotesque shit every day.”

“Maybe one day soon I’ll stop having to punch the grotesque in the face,” Tim said lightly. “Speaking of the grotesque, hurry up and strip for me.”

Bernard froze, and Tim knew why he had been anxious and tense since Tim stepped into his room.

“Ah,” Tim said.

Hurriedly, as if he wasn’t already far too late, Bernard said, “Can we talk?”

Tim stared at him, and he knew the weight had returned to his expression. Bernard’s eyes anxiously flickered around the room before focusing in on Tim, steady and alert in an intimately familiar way.

Bernard was a confident person. He probably used to be fearless. Tim wouldn’t know. Nobody was fearless in Gotham anymore, and more than anything Bernard was a very, very smart person. It was just good sense to be careful with the apprentice of the most dangerous person in Gotham. And, these days, a gang leader.

Tim had been dangerous when they first met, even at fourteen. He had been nicer back then, but Bernard hadn’t been stupider. It had been a risk. Hero had begun to fit strangely on Batman.

But they had been two very smart, very curious boys with little adult supervision. Having sex with Robin did incredible things to Bernard’s already considerable ego and Tim liked being cool and hot to somebody as cool and hot as Bernard.

Bernard had often bemoaned how he was fucking actual Robin and he couldn’t even tell anybody. He was so cool and sexy he had bagged actual Robin, and yet he would never rule the school. Tim had laughed and swatted him with a pillow.

The thought of anybody wanting to brag over being with Tim, that scrawny nerd Tim Drake with no friends and nothing interesting about him…life had gone crazy in every way.

They had always limited it to Tim sneaking into his bedroom in the middle of the night. He had never even been downstairs. Tim had been excruciatingly clear that they were casual, Bernard had felt extremely adult at the concept of casual sex, and they both had a regular hook-up ever since. Tim just dropped by whenever he was anxious, stressed, wired, or bored. He really hoped Bernard hadn’t caught feelings. He wasn’t so sure. Cass had never met him, so he couldn’t ask. Tim didn’t go into detail about Robin stuff, and Bernard didn’t go into detail trying to satisfy his insatiable curiosity about his dubiously ethical missions.

Bernard had only brought up a rumor once. The Jokerz in Amusement Mile had grown far too rowdy, and some of the leaders were making noises about taking the territory from Harley and returning it to ‘the real mad lads!’. Harley had asked Tim and Cass to come in and help definitively destroy the burgeoning coup before it began.

Destroying coups obviously involved a lot more than beating up the rabble rousers and calling it a day. It was really a fear based endeavor. You had to stop anybody from even dreaming of crossing you again. Harley had done most of the work, but Tim and Cass played back-up. They weren’t Batman, but they definitely had their own cred on their own merits.

Tim had just waved off his concerns. “You know way better than to listen to the Batman rumors, man. Just ignore them.”

“Yeah, I know they’re all Batman Morningstar. I was just asking if they’re true.”

“And I was just telling you to ignore them,” Tim had snapped. “Why are you arguing with me?”

That had ended with Tim leaving in a huff and Bernard closing the window in a huff. But Bernard hadn’t asked again, so Tim counted that one a win. Bernard was the most curious person Tim had ever met, a miniature investigative reporter in an uncaring apocalypse, and a part of him was always striving to seek out the truth and ferret out secrets.

Bernard had also grown a survival instinct. He didn’t do that anymore. Even with Tim.

So Tim kept his posture loose and forced his expression into something light and pleasantly neutral. Bernard recognized the mask, but he also recognized the ‘I’m pretending I’m not a dangerous person so you feel safe’ face, and he silently gestured to the bed. Tim slowly sat down, bouncing a little old on the old mattress, and Bernard slowly moved to sit next to him.

Their thighs brushed, but they didn’t look at each other. They sat in silence a little, Bernard wrangling hard with how to say something difficult. Tim really hoped this was just ‘let’s not do this anymore’ and not ‘I jumped inside radioactive waste and I’m going to conquer Gotham’.

Finally, Bernard said, “You remember Sid?”

Thank god. No need to bring out the Hazmat suit.

“The guy in your math group?” Tim asked. To his own strange surprise, he couldn’t fight the smile. “The reason you failed your test?”

Bernard flushed, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re the one who snuck in the night before we had it!”

“Yes, I’m so sorry I disrespected the sanctity of your math club to have fantastic sex with you. It’s all my fault. Nothing to do with the guy who had sex with you of undetermined quality during your math club.”

“It’s not a club, it’s a co-op - oh, never mind.” Bernard had visibly relaxed, and Tim gave himself a mental pat on the back. He saw Bernard mentally cross out ��Robin’s gonna go into a jealous rage’ on his list of potential conversation outcomes. “We’re just getting…I don’t know. I like him a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I haven’t met anybody as nice as him in years. I’ve started volunteering at the soup kitchen with him, he’s been teaching me how to make tamales. He’s useless with art, but he keeps on borrowing my art supplies to draw trees. Terribly. He sucks.”

They had been going on dates? He hadn’t mentioned that. “I thought you guys were casual too.”

“It started out that way. But we just saw each other in class so much, and he’d always insist on walking me home the entire way. It was so corny. And…I don’t know, Tim. I just didn’t want something casual anymore. We had a connection. So he asked if we could get more serious. And I said yeah.” Bernard shrugged, rubbing his shoulder. He ripped it open on a barbed wire spike two years ago, and it hadn’t healed right. Tim gave him small back massages sometimes to loosen it up. “He says that he wants to be monogamous and just focus on each other. I want that too. So we both agreed to stop seeing our other guys. So I guess what I’m saying is - it’s really not personal Tim, I swear, it’s just - like, the shape of my life right now -”

“Dude,” Tim said. “I’m so fucking happy for you.”

Bernard sagged, all of the tension drained from his body. “Thank god.”

“What, did you want me to start crying?” Fat chance of that. Bernard grimaced. He had obviously been worried about that and a lot more. “You’re an awesome lay and I’ll miss being with you a lot. But that’s not worth ruining the good thing you have going on right now. You deserve to be happy. If monogamy is what’s making you happy right now, then go for it.”

“You are taking this super well,” Bernard said, almost incredulous. “We’ve been seeing each other for a year and a half, dude. It’d be pretty normal to be upset.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim asked. “I said a billion times that we were casual, Bernard.”

“I’m aware, but casual doesn’t mean we don’t give a shit about each other.”

“Of course I give a shit about you. That’s why I’m really glad you’re happy.” Tim clapped Bernard on the shoulder and stood up, moving to grab his left glove. “I liked sleeping with you because you’re a good guy and a lot of fun. But you know I really just sleep with people for fun, Bernard.”

Benard’s mouth twisted. “Fun’s one word for it.”

“Stress relief,” Tim amended. “And there’s plenty of people in Gotham I can relieve stress with. I got, like, four on the regular.”

“What, including the twenty year old?”

“You have some sort of vendetta against Ruby and it’s very rude.”

“She’s twenty, she needs to get someone her own age.”

“It’s really none of your business. So come on, tell me more about Sid. Amusement Mile’s actually pretty great for date night these days.”

“You’re insane.”

Tim shoved his uniform on as Bernard told him more about Sid. They were pretty sickening. Tim could tell that they would only get worse. Monogamy was out of fashion among kids these days, which caused some pretty spectacular juvenile drama. Tim was more familiar with the Garden’s culture than the greater Gotham teen culture, but the Garden’s queer scene was pretty dire. All the gay people had already slept with each other and battle lines had been drawn.

Truthfully, some part of Tim had always worried. He knew distantly that he had started kind of young, and that he put very little of himself into any of his partners. They were all short-term. But he knew he had taken Bernard’s virginity, and that Bernard was the person he kept coming back to, and he didn’t want his weird-ass sex life to conflict with Bernard’s normal life. His normal happiness, as much as any of them could possibly scrape together happiness from nothing. He thought he might have ruined him. That, at least, was a relief.

“Tim.”

Tim finished sliding up the window panel, turning around. Bernard stood in front of him, uncertain and anxious and sad. As gorgeous as ever. Thin, without muscle or hard edges. Big eyes and sure hands. He had been so awkward as a kid, but had more than made up for it with enthusiasm. He had been warm.

“Are you ever going to find somebody too?” Bernard asked. “I mean - are you ever going to let yourself?”

“I’m Robin, dude. Ninety five percent of my time is spent doing Robin shit.” Tim sat down on the window frame, swinging his legs outside the house. “My life isn’t schools and friends and boys. So you have fun for both of us, okay?”

Bernard crossed his arms, mouth twisting. “I want to ask if we can still be friends, or if we can still meet up after this and do normal teen boy shit. But I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that one.”

“If you ever need help, page me,” Tim said. “I’ll come running.”

He disappeared in a swish of cape, and after a few seconds he heard Bernard sigh and close the window after him.

Tim sat down against the wall of Bernard’s house, hiding in the darkness obscuring him from view. He pulled his knees to his chest and dropped his forehead on his kneecaps, wrapping his arms around his knees.

Tim sat like that until the moment had passed - unmoving and silent. He didn’t cry. He didn’t even think much. He just sat there, curling into himself.

Then he stood up and left, roaring his bike engine a little louder than necessary and ripping away from the battered street.

The drive home was longer than usual. Batman was waist deep in a case that was proving to be a massive pain in the ass, so he had called in all of them to help. Now it was everybody’s pain in the ass. Cass and Tim had been running ragged on Batman’s heels for the past two days, so they had crashed in the Clocktower for the night. Stumbling home from a long night out and falling into the king sized bed with Cass in their shared room on the fifth floor was sweetly nostalgic, and Tim had been sleeping easy the past two nights. Diamond District was theirs, but it just wasn’t familiar like the Clocktower was.

Tim pulled into the garage at 1:30am, far before his promised return time. Cass would be happy. He already sorely missed her, even after less than two hours away. He needed a hug. Or sister cuddles, which sometimes were sweet and sometimes involved her lying on him and refusing to move. Fuck, he’d even take that right now.

For the first time in a while Tim wished desperately that Cass was not privy to every single thought and emotion he had. He didn’t want to share this with her, but there was really no way around it. She wouldn’t mention it if he didn’t want her to, but she would still know. Best they could do.

He dragged himself into the lobby of the Clocktower, which was the one floor that had rooms and objects for real people who actually used the Clocktower for things that were not fighting crime. Barbara had, obviously, ripped it all up and replaced it with servers. They used the ground floor above the garage as the storage space for their heavier and more durable supplies, such as replacement parts for the cars. It was also where they kept the brig. Don’t ask.

The lobby boasted a leftover reception desk, made of thin wood with a cracked marble top that had seen better days. Old rolling chairs were pulled against the sides, and the desktop was cleared of everything but cigarette butts and ashes - Helena wasn’t allowed to smoke inside. There was normally nobody sitting on the rolling chair. Today, there was Batman.

Tim stopped short. It wasn’t Batman - it was Bruce, wearing sleep pants and a tattered shirt. Sandals, for the consistent potential tetanus. Tim had barely a few seconds to notice that Bruce looked tired before he saw Tim’s entry, and the deep-set exhaustion settled into a glower.

“Tim!” Bruce barked, and Tim’s spine snapped ramrod straight. “Where have you been?”

What the hell? What was this? “Out?” Tim cried, beyond baffled. “Did something happen? Did I miss a rendezvous?”

“A rendez - Tim, you and Cassandra said you were retiring for the night two hours ago. I expected to find you in bed, not gone. Where were you?”

Holy shit. He couldn’t be serious. Tim couldn’t believe this. It strained his mind, like a weak computer trying to run one of Oracle’s three disc programs.

“Okay,” Tim said slowly, “back up. You said we were off duty from the mission for the night. I didn’t fail to update you on anything.”

Bruce’s lip ticked backwards. “On mission or off, I expect you to be where you said you would be. And not sneaking out.”

Automatically, Tim said, “What makes you think I was sneaking out?”

“You deactivated the motion sensors, security cameras, and perimeter silent alerts. You also took the old suit without the tracker.”

Oh. Right. Yeah. That one was pure habit. He had been kind of guilty about this at first. “If my movements are off the field they don’t need to be logged.”

“Why don’t you want them logged,” Bruce said flatly.

“Why do you need them logged?”

“You were not where you said you would be and I couldn’t find you leaving on the cameras. If it wasn’t for Cassandra I would have worried that you were abducted.”

“There you go. Cass knew I was fine.” Abducted? From the Clocktower’s security system, with Cass right there? That was a completely irrational fear. “I wasn’t off the grid.”

“She wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

Right. Tim had sworn her to secrecy about this years ago. She had promised to keep it even from Bruce, but that had never been put to the test before. Man, she was brave. He’d have to find her a pastry.

“That’s because I was on personal business. She told you I was fine, right?” Bruce’s lips thinned. “Then I was fine. I’m sorry, Bruce, can I be excused? Nothing I did tonight was mission relevant, so I can’t see where I broke any rules.”

“Broke any -” Bruce halted hard, mouth twisting strangely. “Right. I never gave you two a curfew.”

What the fuck. “We have work at any hour of the night.”

“I am well aware. Tim, I -”

Bruce stopped short. He blinked hard at Tim. Tim tried to see if he could make a break for it or if he had to deal with being pointlessly reamed out for the next hour.

Somewhat strangled, Bruce said, “You’re wearing your tunic improperly. Your boots are fixed unevenly. Your left glove is unlatched. Cassandra refused to tell me where you were.”

Ah. Shit. Tim didn’t blink. Lying was a terrible idea, so he stayed silent. It was important to take the time to compose the proper rhetoric.

Slowly, as if he couldn’t believe the words he was saying, Bruce said, “Tim, were you with a girl?”

“Not during mission hours.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend during mission hours,” Tim said. Or at all, but Bruce would perceive a flat denial as a lie. “I was not obligated to report this to you and I was not obligated to log my off-duty movements. I did not do anything wrong and I would like to be excused.”

Bruce stiffened, and Tim stiffened too. It was the oddest sort of Mexican standoff, one with uncertain weapons and an unknown result. The analytical part of Tim’s mind worked overtime to puzzle out how to get Bruce to leave him alone and get out of this. He had to figure out how Bruce was thinking and attack the train of thought directly. Through applying the art of misdirection, he could -

“I am not a punch clock, Tim,” Bruce said shortly, and Tim halted. “You aren’t allowed to do whatever you want, even if it’s outside of the Mission. I expect you to behave like an upright young man. Not sneaking out in the middle of…” Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why even hide this from me? I’ve never prevented Robin from having friends or partners in his civilian identity.”

Bernard had not been in his civilian identity. Whatsoever. Information that did not have to be shared.

“Taking off my mask is not a civilian identity. I don’t have a civilian identity. Where would I even find the time, Bruce? We get one day off a month and we work fourteen hour days. You already control how I spend fourteen hours of my day, and now you want me to log and document my two hours of free time a day? You should have specified.”

“That’s not the point,” Bruce said, and Tim could hear the frustration in his voice. He should probably back off and back down - just agree and apologize and be done with it - but it just wasn’t in him today. His head was pounding with exhaustion and his heart still hurt. “Omitting information is different from hiding it from me. I am only asking why you went through such great effort to hide something as simple as a girlfriend from me.”

It wasn’t a girlfriend. Bernard was not his girlfriend. None of them had ever been girlfriends, not even the actual women. The only permanent relationship he needed in his life was Cass, and everything else was stress relief. Or stressful, if it was the rest of the ‘family’.

He hated this picture Bruce painted. What must it have looked like to him? Was there some meet-cute during an undercover mission where Tim bumped into a redhead passionate about literature? Did they go for walks in the park, make tamales together? Did he tell her that he loved her, but they just couldn’t be together?

It was sickening. It was wrong. It had been Dick and Jason’s. Tim knew that was the picture summoned in his mind right now: Dick’s teenage flings, Jason’s juvenile middle school romances.

What had that looked like for them? Had they sat around the dinner table, eating steak and potatoes talking about Dick’s day in Gotham Academy? Had Dick excused himself early, claiming that he was hanging out with Jennifer or Bailey or Heather? Had Bruce given him that extinct smile and asked - so Jennifer/Bailey/Heather, huh? You been seeing a lot of her, haven’t you? And Dick would stammer and pretend to be late and run out of the room, and maybe Bruce had laughed at him.

Jason would have told him. He would have burst into Bruce’s study where he was doing taxes or some ridiculous crap, announcing that he had gotten a date! With a girl, obviously, no homosexuality in this apple pie world. And Bruce would have clapped him on the shoulder and said something about how he was a man now or some utterly asinine bullshit like that.

Did Bruce think that was the situation? The idea itself was insulting. Batman wasn’t delusional. He was practical and grounded. He always considered all of the factors and made the decision that guaranteed the best outcome. He didn’t let pathetic fantasies control his behavior like this. Bruce wasn’t acting like Batman.

Why did the thought flush such sick rage through Tim? It made red climb in at the corners of his vision, sending every inch of his skin buzzing. Bruce was supposed to act like Batman. Bruce was Batman. Everything Bruce did was the right thing to do because it was Batman doing it. And when Bruce strayed from that - forgot Batman like this - then Tim always pulled him back on the right path. It was always an accident, a slip of control. It had never been on purpose like this.

It was weak. It was weakness. Standing in a ruined Gotham, fucking daydreaming about Dick and Jason and mansions and schools and boyfriends and dates and connection and - while Tim was out in the real world, sacrificing for the real world. Hypocrisy. It was sheer hypocrisy.

Tim lost his grip.

“I only tell you about the mission because that’s all you’ve ever fucking cared about!” Tim yelled. “I tried telling you about my life when I was a little kid and you shut me down every damn time! If I say it’s none of your goddamn business then it’s because you told me that! I always listen to you, I always do what you want, so don’t give me the third degree when I do exactly what you’ve trained me to do!”

Bruce completely shut down. His face blanked out, a weight settling onto his features. He stepped forward and Tim stood still, forcing himself not to tense.

The sick anger flipped instantly into something else, just as powerful and nauseating. His eyes darted to the exit before he forced himself to keep them on Bruce.

It was natural. It was smart. Tim was confident, but he wasn’t fearless. He had never told Bernard that he understood how he felt. Sometimes he wondered if Bernard had known anyway. It was just the structure of their world, it was nobody’s fault. Bernard even felt it a few hours earlier, and god knew Tim had worked triple time to make sure he wasn’t rough with him. Bernard had noticed and appreciated the effort. Bruce never made the effort. Tim wasn’t sure if he had never noticed or if he just didn’t care. Or if it was the point.

“You do not talk to me like that.” It wasn’t a threat or a command. He said it with the utter expectation that it would become true. “I expect you to act respectfully, Tim.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you only have any respect for me as your mission command, then that’s your prerogative. We won’t have this conversation you find so useless again. But if you ever hide anything from me again, no matter how irrelevant it is to our relationship, you will be acting against the interests of the organization. Do you understand?”

You did not want to act against the interests of the organization. You did not.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you actually understand anything I’m saying or if you are just trying to make me shut up.” Tim flinched hard, but Bruce just sighed. “Forget it. It’s in one ear and out the other with you. I can’t…just do what I say, Tim.”

“Yes, sir.” He worked hard to bite down on the words leaping to his tongue, but he had lost all ability to restrain them. “So do you want daily logs of my sex life or can they be weekly?”

Then Bruce’s expression really darkened, and Tim wasted no time in scampering off and taking the rickety freight elevator to his old bedroom.

Cass was still awake, obviously. She was lying on their old bed, all of the lights on and playing the GameBoy. They had liberated a large cache of batteries from the Penguin, so they were booting up the GameBoys with abandon. When Tim walked in and flopped on the bed next to her he saw that she was playing Pokemon Blue again. It was kind of impressive that she had figured out how to play with a barely kindergarten reading level, but she could memorize the words and what they did well enough. Amazingly, the skills were transferring to real life. She could navigate some of the higher level children’s books now. She was so cool.

She looked up from her game, looking towards him. Tim watched her register it, all of it - Bernard and Bruce and moments obscured by shadows. She dropped the game and immediately pulled Tim into a hug, and Tim clutched onto her for dear life.

Tim buried his face into her shoulder. “I just need you. Right?”

And Cass had heard him say the words verbally so many times before that she understood completely. She tapped the base of his spine twice with one knuckle. Yes.

“You’re enough,” Tim said, because she fucking had to be. Because he had no other choice. Because she promised to protect him and keep him safe. Because she loved him and would stay, and that was all Tim needed. “This is enough.”

#theyre............a mess..........#my writing #my asks

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