Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Bruce’s ringtone in Bernard’s phone was a joke.

He’d never expected to get a call, wouldn’t have even bothered to set a personalized ringtone if not for a stupid part of his brain that said Moneytalks by AC/DC would be funny.

But now it was echoing through Bernard’s car and his stomach was in his throat.

Trembling fingers turned the wheel, flicked the turn signal, took him to a parking spot outside some random grocery store fifteen minutes away from Bernard’s house.

“Good morning, mr. Wayne,” Bernard said on autopilot, hitting accept probably half a ring before it went through to voicemail.

The call automatically attached to his car’s speakers, keeping his hands free.

“Bernard.” That didn’t sound like a particularly pleased Bruce. Fuck. Tim, what happened? “Where are you at the moment?”

That’s a bad question, Bernard’s brain said.

The sort of bad question that someone gets asked right before being told, “you might want to sit down,” and, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you…”

And the only thing that Bruce and Bernard had in common, the thing Bruce would call about, the thing they both loved so, so much, was Tim.

Bernard’s throat felt like it was made of sand and year-old bread crumbs. His brain was foggy.

“What happened to Tim?” Bernard croaked.

Over the phone, Bruce’s sigh was tired and so, so old.

“He’s in the hospital.”

The sound Bernard made wasn’t human.

“Where?” He asked, ignoring the way his fingers were beginning to feel fuzzy. “Where is he? What happened? Is it his spleen, did he get sepsis or something?”

Bernard had read up on the different types of infections and possible consequences of not having a spleen the second Tim told him. Sepsis, he’d learned, could be deadly if left unattended for too long. Like, if Tim was kidnapped and held hostage for days, or tortured by the fucking Joker, or something.

Except Bernard had seen him just the night before, right? Tim had been fine. He’d asked Bernard to go to the store in the morning, said he’d be staying the night with Steph and Cass for a sleepover. He’d been fine then, so it shouldn’t be anything like that. That sort of stuff took time to settle in.

Maybe it was something else.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to check the news yet that morning, so if Robin or Red Robin had gotten hurt, Bernard wouldn’t even know.

Why the fuck didn’t I check the news?

“Bernard,” Bruce said.

When he tried to respond, all Bernard could manage was a low, choked sound.

“Bernard, deep breath in, son.”

Oh.

He wasn’t breathing.

The realization had Bernard’s shoulders arching backwards, his chest bumping the steering wheel as he sucked in a shaking, too-fast breath.

Once upon a time, he’d learned breathing exercises for Tim. It felt like a million years ago. It’d been less than a year.

Any semblance of a rhythm flew out of Bernard’s head as he managed to choke out, “what happened?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Bruce’s voice was infuriatingly calm. “Focus on your breathing. Try and calm down.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, just tell me what happened.”

“No.”

Bernard slammed his forehead against the steering wheel and laughed, the kind of frantic, angry, disbelieving laugh that made him feel like his body was turning inside out, his skin crawling with panic. 

And for a minute, that was the only sound in the car, until his laughter turned to hiccups, then to sobs, and suddenly he was clutching the wheel just to keep himself upright.

A too-steady voice spoke the entire time. Just a background noise that kept his brain from falling right out of his head.

He didn’t want to be doing this. He didn’t want to be on the phone with Bruce or whiplashing between emotions like a ping-pong ball. He didn’t want to be anywhere but in his and Tim’s apartment, waking up from this nightmare and clinging to Tim like a fucking koala.

Unfortunately, the aching twinge in his forehead where he’d smacked it against the wheel had already ruled out the dreaming idea.

Bernard forced himself to fall backwards against the seat and inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Once his chest stopped feeling like it was in a sippy cup being shaken by a toddler throwing a temper tantrum and his fingers stopped buzzing, he slumped in place.

“Fuck.” He gasped. “Fuck.”

Putting his hands over his face and shuddering, he resisted the urge to immediately start yelling at Bruce again.

It wasn’t technically his fault. And if Batman was telling him to swallow a chill pill, he probably needed to just shut up and take the prescription.

“Bernard,” Bruce said. Man, he was really getting sick of hearing his name. “Are you alright?”

With a nod that Bruce couldn’t see over the phone, Bernard managed to say, “yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. This is…stressful. I know.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanted to know what happened to Tim.”

“Please.” Bernard whispered.

Bruce coughed, then paused before saying, “there’s no easy way to put it, and Tim is currently stable—” Currently. “—but last night, he was shot in the throat.”

Every bit of blood in Bernard’s body turned to ice.

He croaked out something incoherent and clutched desperately at his own neck.

Tim.

Shot.

In the throat.

Tim.

Bernard reached for his phone and snatched it up with trembling fingers, disconnected it from the car speakers, and tried not to cry again.

“Did it—did it hit an artery? Do we know how bad it is?”

“Like I said, he’s stable. Yes, it did hit an artery, which made it a close call, but Tim is fine.”

The part of Bernard’s brain that was Tim’s boyfriend, that knew exactly how horrible a bullet could destroy someone from years of research into the Bats and months of looking into being an EMT, wanted to scream.

But another part of him, the little kid who watched Batman on the news and thought he was the coolest thing ever, who thought Robin was untouchable, invincible, unbeatable, settled down. Batman was saying it was okay. Robin was the one who’d gotten hurt. Batman wouldn’t lie and Robin wouldn’t go down without a fight. And Robin had too much to fight for to lose.

It was gonna be alright.

“Okay,” Bernard said, grabbing the steering wheel in his left hand. “Alright. Um. I’ll be there as soon as I can, I just need to know which hospital he’s at. Gotham general?”

“I’ll send you the address. It might be better if you call a cab, you’re too panicked to be driving,” Bruce said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bruce grunted disapprovingly, but didn’t bother to argue. “Stephanie and Cassandra will meet you there. Everyone else has been notified and will be arriving throughout the day.”

Halfway through a nod, Bernard’s brain caught up to what Bruce said, and he blurted, “what?”

Silence.

“I mean, you’re gonna be there, right? He’s…he’s your son.”

“Cassandra and Stephanie are watching him.”

Shoving aside a rush of thoughts about his own parents, Bernard clutched the phone tighter.

“But—” He heard his own voice crack, but didn’t know how to rein it in, how to fix it, because Tim was hurt, and Bruce wasn’t there — “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Another, tenser silence.

“Bruce, what the fuck is wrong with you? He’s your fucking son! Your family is his whole world! He loves you, and you’re not there?”

“That’s none of your concern. I’ll send you the address.”

“None of my concern?” Bernard asked, practically choking on his own influx of anger. “None of my fucking concern? Bruce, tell me something. Do you know what tomorrow is? Do you even know what tomorrow is for Tim?”

Another pause.

When Bruce spoke again, his voice was so even, so normal, that it made Bernard’s stomach roll with nausea.

“Saturday.”

Bernard hung up the phone.

It clattered back onto the passenger seat and bounced to the floor.

Fucking Bruce Wayne.

Fucking Batman.

Fuck.

He slammed the steering wheel, blaring the horn, and let out a raw, wordless scream.

Fuck him.

If he refused to be there for Tim, Bernard would be.

And at least Bernard would remember Tim’s fucking birthday.

_____

True to his—disgusting, asshole, traitorous, venomous—word, Bruce sent Bernard the address to the hospital where Tim was staying.

Twenty long minutes later, Bernard had to argue his way past the security guards keeping out the press.

“Do I fucking look like a reporter to you?” Bernard snapped at least twice.

Stephanie, thankfully, came out to snatch him after only a few minutes. The guard backed down at her word.

“Sorry. This is all over the news, it’s a big deal since the Flugelheim gala was so publicized. Tim wasn’t—he wasn’t even supposed to be there,” Steph said quietly. “All of the victims are being swarmed by the media. The fucking leeches.”

Wordlessly, Bernard nodded.

He was practically boiling under the surface, and he knew if he said a single word, he was likely to just start yelling at anyone nearby. Including Steph.

Who didn’t deserve it. Even if she was a family friend of the Waynes, of that fucking bastard, Bruce—

Bernard took a deep breath.

It was amazing how quickly his opinion on Bruce had flip-flopped, just from a couple sentences.

A couple weeks ago, Bernard would’ve said Bruce was the ideal dad, someone he was grateful Tim had. But now? Now that he knew Bruce couldn’t even be bothered to visit Tim in the hospital?

Bernard knew he was being a little unfair, that he was particularly touchy because his experiences with dads were very, very lacking, but he couldn’t bring himself to be unbiased yet. Probably wouldn’t be, until he saw Tim and got his hands on him and knew he was alright.

In the meantime, fuck Bruce, the old asshole.

“Can he have visitors yet?” Bernard finally managed to ask, just as they got in the elevator to head up towards the right floor.

Stephanie nodded. “Cass is with him now. It’s two at a time, so you can go on ahead.”

It took all of Bernard’s willpower to force the words out. “What about you?”

“I’ve seen him in enough hospital beds, thanks. I don’t need more nightmare fuel.”

With a crooked smile, Stephanie stepped out of the elevator and pointed off to down a hallway.

“That way. Just look in through the window, you’ll find him quick.”

Bernard took off at a brisk walk.

His sneakers slapped against the floor, his shorts and t-shirt doing nothing to protect him from the cold chill of the hospital’s air conditioner blasting overhead, and his hair clung uncomfortably to his face.

But he couldn’t care about any of that. He was too busy reaching Tim’s room and grasping the hallway windowsill, forcing his legs not to give out.

Tim.

Tim, hooked up to so many machines that he looked more tubes-and-wire than man.

He had a cannula forcing oxygen up his nose, which he’d hate, because of the clench, because he hates anything that reminds him of being sick . A heart monitor connected somewhere, and though Bernard couldn’t hear it through the window, he could see it beating normally. Tim’s face was paler than Bernard had ever seen it, even after the fear toxin or the Joker gas, and he looked sweaty.

More than that, he looked dead.  

As quietly as he possibly could, Bernard slipped inside.

Cass was holding onto Tim’s hand on one side of the bed, careful not to bump any of the wires, and watching his face. She glanced up at Bernard once before quickly looking back.

Another seat sat across from her. It looked like a hazard, blocking the doctors and nurses if something went wrong, but Bernard sank into it anyway. He pressed his fingers to Tim’s wrist and ignored the way his throat closed up when he didn’t immediately find the pulse.

There was a giant, beeping heart monitor right there, he didn’t need to feel it.

He still felt better when his fingers found the right spot and Tim’s heartbeat was thumping against his.

“You stay,” Cass said, standing. “Watch him. I need to check on Stephanie.”

Just like that, she vanished out the door.

It closed behind her, leaving Bernard to stare at Tim like it could somehow force him to wake up.

He dug down deep and found his voice buried beneath a few layers of grief that he definitely didn’t need, because Tim was gonna be fine. Good as new in just a few weeks.

“Hey.” Bernard croaked.

Tim didn’t budge.

“I went to pick up the stuff you asked me to. The cleaning supplies and whatever that you didn’t get last week. It’s all in my car,” Bernard said. “None of it’s cold stuff, so I just…left it there.”

Not so much as a twitch.

“Y’know, if you wanted to get out of doing the dishes tonight, there are easier ways.”

The silence felt suffocating, so bad that Bernard leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Tim’s hand just to hear the sound of the kiss.

“I’ll take the lumpy side of the bed for a week if you wake up.” He whispered. “I’ll switch our mattresses. I’ll go with you to buy a totally new one.”

He didn’t even pause to hope this time, knowing there wouldn’t be an answer. He just stood to hover over Tim’s slack face.

“Tim.” Bernard whispered. “Robin. Please.”

His eyes welled up, and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t fight it. He just pressed his trembling lips to Tim’s forehead.

The urge to actually kiss him was overwhelming, but Tim’s mouth was so close to the cannula that Bernard didn’t want to risk it. He settled for a few more near Tim’s hairline before pulling away and scrubbing furiously at his eyes.

With a puffed breath, Bernard sat down. Pulled his feet up onto the chair and buried his face, but kept one eye uncovered to watch Tim breathe.

Tim wasn’t technically a small person. He wasn’t as tall as Bernard, or as big as Jason or Dick or even Duke or Stephanie, but he wasn’t petite. He wasn’t fragile or tiny. In a hospital bed, that changed.

Staring at him, Bernard couldn’t help but note how Tim’s shoulders stayed a solid ways away from the sides, how his feet didn’t come anywhere close to the foot of the bed, how his hands looked almost frail where they rested. Maybe it was all the machinery dwarfing him, but he looked like he’d lost weight instead of just blood.

The room echoed with the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. It was one of those repetitive sounds that would’ve driven Tim crazy if he were awake to hear it.

“Tim,” Bernard said.

No response.

“You know I love you, right?”

Somewhere outside, close enough for him to hear, an air conditioning kicked on.

“Maybe it’s silly to say this when we’re practically still kids, but I honestly think you’re the love of my life. I couldn’t imagine loving someone as much as I love you.”

Tim stayed completely still. Silent.

“For our anniversary, I’m gonna do something special. Maybe I’ll get Alfred to teach me how to make your favorite food.” Bernard took a shuddery breath. “I know you’ve probably got some Wayne-style thing planned, like a trip to Paris or a vacation home in Europe, but I’d take bad junk food and a Star Wars marathon. Just as long as you understand how much I love you. ”

He looked away, blinking harshly, and added, “I really, really love you, Tim. So much.”

In his head, Bernard could practically hear Tim’s laughter, see him trying not to look flustered and feel him pressing a kiss to Bernard’s cheek as he said he loved him, too.

In the real world, Tim kept on sleeping.

The only sound for a minute or two was the heart monitor. Bernard’s eyes drifted to it, to watch the little green line as it moved.

Then, he heard footsteps from the hall.

Bernard lowered his legs and sat up properly, heart in his throat. Maybe it was a doctor coming to say they needed to take Tim away for something, or a nurse coming to kick Bernard out since he wasn’t family.

If it was a doctor, he kind of hoped they wouldn’t try to tell Bernard all of the details. As much as it might help to know how good Tim’s chances were, there was also the fact that it’d tell him how bad Tim’s chances were. And Bernard knew exactly which number his brain would latch onto.

The door swung open.

Bernard tensed.

Bruce stood in the doorway, shoulders back and mouth thin.

When Bruce’s eyes landed on Bernard, they both just stiffened more. Bruce didn’t even glance at Tim. Like he didn’t exist. Bruce  didn’t look particularly upset, either, which made Bernard wonder, why now?

If Tim wasn’t important enough for Bruce to show up for him earlier, then why show up now? He didn’t seem like the sort of guy who would show up just to, like, kick Bernard out of Tim’s room or something, but he also hadn’t seemed like the sort of guy who would leave his kid alone at the hospital either.

It didn’t make any sense.

Folding his arms over his chest, Bernard sank further into his chair, and pointedly looked at Tim. The tears drying on his cheeks felt sticky and cold and incredibly obvious.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to ignore someone who could intimidate an entire room just by standing silently. It felt like a black hole dragging Bernard’s eyes up and over his own shoulder, or like being a small, defenseless animal circled by a wolf.

“Bernard,” Bruce said.

“I’m not leaving,” Bernard said sharply. “Tim’s an adult, you can’t kick me out. And I’m not apologizing for yelling at you either, you piece of shit.”

With a sigh, Bruce took the seat opposite Bernard. He gently touched Tim’s hand and Bernard’s chest tightened painfully.

“Technically, I could kick you out. I own the hospital. But I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, wow. Give the asshole a metal.” Bernard muttered.

“Bernard, I have six children, plus Stephanie, who’s particularly creative. Name-calling isn’t going to faze me.”

“Yeah. Don’t think much could. Y’know, like your son getting fucking shot through the neck.”

Bruce didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

If anything, he looked sad. Not at Tim, not at himself, but at Bernard.

Seething, Bernard ducked his head and sank his nails into his own arms. His defensive arm-cross felt more like he was trying to hug himself, now, and he didn’t like it. Didn’t like feeling vulnerable in front of someone he so desperately wanted to be mad at.

Someone he was mad at.

Probably.

Mostly. Maybe.

He was mad, he knew that. Pissed. Borderline vibrating with the rage ricocheting through him, and nowhere to put it.

“I hate this.” Bernard snapped. “You should’ve—you should’ve been here.”

“I know,” Bruce said.

“Fuck you, Bruce. You’re his dad. Act like it.”

“Bernard. I know you’re worried about him. I’m worried, too, and if taking it out on me helps, then I’ll gladly be a punching bag. But Tim will be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Bernard said, purposefully swerving around the rest of it.

“I just spoke to the doctors. They said—”

“I don’t wanna know what the doctors said!” Bernard’s nails stung painfully in his arms. “I don’t—it’s not—”

He leaned forwards, pressing himself in half, and his forehead met his knee. His next breath felt like it was being strangled out of him.

Fuck.

He didn’t want to have another fucking breakdown in front of Bruce.

But if the world cared about what he wanted, Tim wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed, Bernard wouldn’t have to watch someone he loved throw himself into danger all the time, and they’d be home, safe and sound.

With all of his focus on not bursting into embarrassing tears, Bernard didn’t hear Bruce’s chair slide back or his footsteps as he walked around the bed.

He didn’t even know Bruce had moved until his hand landed on Bernard’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

It made Bernard’s skin light up with a painful buzz, like unfamiliar touch typically did, but it wasn’t as bad as he would’ve assumed.

He still wanted to fight it. Wanted to shove Bruce away and yell at him again for not being there, for being an asshole, compare him to Jack Drake and Bernard’s own father and all of the other assholes in the world, and make it hurt.

But that was the problem.

It would hurt Bruce because Bruce wasn’t Jack. 

Maybe Jack wasn’t the worst dad ever, but he probably wouldn’t have cared about Bernard’s opinion or be bothered by Bernard laying into him, and that was exactly why Bernard couldn’t bring himself to snap again.

Everything Tim had ever told him about Bruce, everything Bernard had seen firsthand, told him that something else was going on. Something more than just Bruce not wanting to make the drive or whatever bullshit Bernard’s own parents could’ve come up with.

Because Bruce wasn’t like Bernard’s parents, or even like the Drakes.

And there were so many layers, so many things Bernard didn’t know, that it was possible that Bruce actually had a good reason for not being there.

He couldn’t tell which reason it was, but there probably was one.

So Bernard slumped into the hand with stinging eyes, all the fight just…gone.

“Why weren’t you here?” He mumbled. “Tim needs you. You’re his dad.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, sounding honest.

“That’s not an answer.”

A moment passed, and then, with a heavy sigh, Bruce shook his head.

“I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals over the years, Bernard. My children are all prone to getting hurt. People like to think of them as targets. I’ve been told I’ve developed a guilt complex over it,” he said. “Tim doesn’t need me hovering and worrying and being guilty. He needs peace to recover.”

“He needs his family.”

“I know.”

“He needs a family that’ll remember his birthday.”

Bruce flinched, actually flinched, and cleared his throat. “I…yes. I know. Alfred reminded me. I know it doesn’t make it any better, but I didn’t forget what day Tim’s birthday was. I forgot what day it was, today, due to a very full and confusing calendar. I thought it was still early July.”

“...oh.”

“Like I said. It’s not a very good excuse, and I’ll make it up to Tim as soon as I possibly can. As soon as he’s recovered.”

Bernard swallowed hard. Scrubbed his face.

“No, mr. Wayne, it’s a good excuse. I’m sorry.” He pressed his hands into his face. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you or cussed you out, I know you’re better than…better than that. You deserve at least a little faith after everything you’ve done for Tim.”

“Don’t apologize, Bernard,” Bruce said kindly. “I’m grateful, in all honesty. Tim deserves more people who are willing to fight for him.”

“Said Batman.” Bernard mumbled into his palms.

The hand on his shoulder froze.

Bernard’s entire body stiffened.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

_____ 

Nobody’s mind got wiped.

As surprising as it was, Bernard still had his brain and all his memories—or, at least he was pretty sure he did, it wasn’t like he’d know if he didn’t—and he was even allowed to stay in Tim’s hospital room with him.

Most of the rest of Tim’s family trickled in through the day. Bruce excused himself to take some calls, leaving Bernard at the mercy of a sound-proofed room and a colony of Bats.

“So,” Steph said, gently kicking her sneakers up onto the foot of the bed. “When did you figure me out?”

Bernard smoothed his thumb over Tim’s hand with a shrug. “You weren’t really, like, a moment. It just felt obvious. Tim’s best friend, blonde and obsessed with purple, and Robin’s best friend, also blonde and obsessed with purple.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

Every eye in the room shot to Steph’s oversized purple hoodie.

“What about the rest of us?” Duke asked.

“Mm, you and most of your siblings were obvious, too, once I got Tim. Like, Dick’s a former acrobat who got adopted shortly before Robin showed up for the first time, and Batman was at the circus that night. But then Robin disappeared and Nightwing showed up a city over from here.”

Dick groaned. “At least I wasn’t the catalyst, this time.”

“I just think it’s sweet that Tim was so worried about you that he forgot to put on his makeup before rushing over to your house,” Steph said. “He’s normally like, way careful. Especially about his neck scars.”

“He could just stop pissing off people with good aim,” Bernard said.

Steph pointed at him and nodded vigorously.

“I think we’re glossing over the fact that Tim somehow managed to find one of the few people who could figure out one of the best kept secrets in the world, and dated him for almost a year without realizing he knew. Dude, the fact that you didn’t dump him for flaking all the time? That’s a giant red flag,” Duke said.

“To be fair, he thought that I thought he was flaking for work and family emergencies.”

“Yeah, but what about after you moved in together? It’s only been a few weeks, sure, but he flat out disappears in the middle of the night.”

“Night shifts.” Bernard shrugged.

“Night shifts at Wayne Enterprises, a company that he claims to work for through nepotism. I thought Drake was supposed to be smart,” Damian said dryly.

“It’s not like he’s had a lot of practice lying about it, recently. Most of his friends are in on the big secret,” Dick said.

Bernard opened his mouth, ready to say something about Young Justice not being any better about their secret identities, when Cass cut him off.

“Quiet.”

The room hushed immediately, everyone following her eyes to the heart monitor. It took Bernard a second to realize it was speeding up.

“Of course he wakes up when someone starts questioning his intelligence.” Stephanie muttered fondly, already heading to the door, probably to grab a nurse.

Dick crouched on the other side of the bed and gently pressed his fingers to Tim’s chest.

A couple seconds later, Tim’s eyes flew open, his entire body jolting.

“Tim,” Dick said. “Tim, you’re fine, bud.”

With a sharp shudder, Tim’s clumsy fingers reached for his arm, for the I.V. Bernard intercepted his hand and squeezed it gently.

“Babe. You’re okay. Hey, Tim, you’re okay,” Bernard said.

He leaned in to look Tim right in his wild, half-glazed eyes.

“He’s still on pain meds, I don’t know if he’s really awake,” Dick said quietly.

“Honey? Can you hear me?”

Tim made a strange, rasping sound, and his other hand reached up to prod at his neck. Dick allowed it, though Bernard’s heart leapt sharply.

“You can’t talk right now,” Dick said. “You got hit pretty good, pal, but you’re fine.”

After a second, Tim scrunched his nose and reached for the cannula. This time, Dick took his hand away, adding, “you’ve gotta leave that alone.”

Another rasp. His chest hitched and the heart monitor jumped.

“You’re not sick.” Bernard took a guess.

Tim’s watery eyes shifted back to him. 

“You’re not sick, Tim, I promise. It’s a wound, not an illness.”

Upper lip vanishing into his mouth, Tim took a shaky breath and nodded as best he could. Dick mouthed something to one of the others, but Bernard was too busy watching Tim to catch what it was, and didn’t really care. Tim looked…he looked scared.

There were some emotions that just wouldn’t ever look right on Tim’s face. Confusion, apprehension, fear.

Tim was confident. He was smart and strong and smug. He was goofy or stern, and sometimes he could get so serious that he looked ninety instead of nineteen. Tim was soft, gentle, caring and sweet and borderline omniscient at times.

He wasn’t supposed to look scared, not like this.

As carefully as he could, Bernard lifted Tim’s hand to his mouth and pressed a featherlight kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re safe.” He promised quietly. “I’m here.”

Tim’s eyes squeezed shut. His heart monitor was slowing, going back to normal, and when he inhaled, it was controlled.

“That’s it.” Bernard murmured.

Mouth moving slowly and eyebrows furrowing in pain, Tim croaked, “B’rn.”

“It’s me. Shh, rest your voice, love bird. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I—”

Bernard gently set his fingertips on Tim’s jaw, smoothing the skin and keeping him from talking, while his other hand squeezed Tim’s.

He still hadn’t gotten the full report on how long it would take for Tim to recover. He’d purposefully avoided hearing any of the statistics or the odds or anything. Bruce hadn’t pushed, and the others hadn’t even mentioned it.

But having actually talked to Tim, seeing him at least sort of awake, it was a little easier to imagine he’d be okay.

On the other side of the room, the door opened again and Bruce stepped in. The others immediately cleared a path for him.

“Sweetheart,” Bruce said quietly.

He put a gentle hand on Tim’s head. Tim leaned into it, tears finally bubbling over, and his weak fingers twitched in Bernard’s.

“How are you feeling?”

Tim used his free hand to give a thumbs-up, but it was shaky and unconvincing. Bruce’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

For a second, Bernard was sure he was going to have to be escorted out of the hospital for sucker-punching Bruce Wayne for being an asshole, but Bruce’s face softened quickly.

There was still a hint of anger, but it didn’t feel directed at Tim and it was overwhelmed by the worry and love on Bruce’s face. He leaned forwards to press a kiss to Tim’s hair. Tim’s eyes squeezed shut.

“You did good. I’m proud of you, son.”

A hitching sob made Tim turn his head away, even as Bruce wiped his tears for him.

Most of Tim’s siblings quietly filed out, making room for the nurses and doctor coming in. Bruce inched up towards the headboard and murmured into Tim’s ear. Bernard stayed out of the way as best he could without letting go of Tim’s hand.

It was an organized flurry of motion and medical talk. One of the nurses replaced Tim’s bandages. Another took his blood pressure. He was given more pain meds when he whined incoherently, and by the time the doctor gave Bruce an estimate of another twenty-four hours in the hospital before Tim could be released, Tim’s eyelids were fluttering shut.

His sluggish eyes met Bernard’s. It was pure instinct to lean over and kiss Tim’s temple, soft and slow.

Tim’s breathing evened out, his hand going limp, and Bernard put his fingers against Tim’s pulse.

_____

At some point, Kon arrived.

It wasn’t as flashy as Bernard would’ve expected from him. He just walked in, like everyone else had, and Bernard had to do a double-take.

He was wearing a leather jacket, but it wasn’t his Superboy one. Just a plain black jacket. He had jeans and flannel under it, his hair pulled away from his face and round glasses perched on his nose, and he wasn’t holding himself like he had at the gala or in videos. Instead of a confident, swaggering teenager, Kon was holding himself gingerly. Like if he lifted his shoulders, he’d dislodge the weight of the world from his back and it’d fall.

He looked sad. Heartbroken. Hesitant.

Bernard could relate.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

With a glance at Tim’s heart monitor, then at Tim himself, Kon nodded. “Hey.”

It took a second for Kon to take the seat beside Bernard. When he did, it felt like sitting next to a heater, or beside the sun itself. Like he was radiating warmth and worry and strength, all at once.

“He’s okay.” Bernard murmured.

Kon’s eyes drifted over to Bernard, eyebrows furrowed.

“He’s got a hole in his neck.”

“But he’s gonna make it. He’s through the worst of it, now.”

Reluctantly shuffling in place, Kon looked at the floor. Bernard turned back to Tim and the heart monitor, watching it religiously for any sign of him waking up again, or something worse.

The doctors had said it would take time for Tim to be lucid. That the pain meds were keeping him knocked out, that they didn’t want to risk him talking and reopening his stitches while they were still so fresh. While Bernard agreed, it was still a little nerve wracking to have Tim just laying there and looking so completely limp. It was bordering on lifeless.

Bernard drew his feet up onto his chair and took a deep breath.

Kon seemed to take that as his cue to speak.

“So. The others said you know who Tim is,” he said.

Course they did.

With a shrug, Bernard nodded, and said, “figured it out a while ago. You don’t have to give me the shovel talk, I already got plenty.”

“Wasn’t going to.” Kon admitted.

Bernard glanced over and found Kon studying his shoes as if the old laces were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Why not?”

“Tim. He trusts you—he loves you—” Kon said, voice faltering just a little. “—so you’re a good guy. I don’t have to know you well to know that.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t get me wrong. If you ever did anything to hurt him, not like, break up with him, but anything malicious? There’s nowhere I wouldn’t find you. But I don’t think you’re gonna go running to Vicki Vale with anybody’s identities.”

“I’d never,” Bernard said quietly. “I’d chuck myself off a bridge before ever breathing a word.”

“Figured. Tim inspires that sort of loyalty a lot.”

Kon shifted, obviously uncomfortable in the small, plastic chairs, and added, “Cassie, Bart, all the others said they wanted to visit, but didn’t wanna crowd up the room now that we know he’s gonna be alright. Figured they’ll probably make it in a few days, once he’s been moved back to the manor.”

“Okay,” Bernard said.

“I was gonna wait too, but…”

“Needed to see him? Just to make sure?”

With a small nod, Kon leaned forwards and pressed his fingertips to the side of the bed.

Bernard had to hold back a yelp when the blanket laying over Tim began to move by itself, gently repositioning itself to better cover Tim. The pillow fluffed itself up behind Tim’s head. One of the wires that had been sitting weird straightened out.

Back in the day, in Young Justice’s prime, it wasn’t uncommon to hear Superboy hollering about his TTK. There was a lot of speculation about it online, about what it could do and what it really was.

As far as Bernard knew, nobody had ever suggested it could be used to tuck somebody in.

“He hates being cold.” Kon mumbled. “He…”

Kon’s fists clenched and unclenched, and maybe that should’ve been intimidating, a Kryptonian showing clear signs of anger. But all Bernard could see was deep-seated worry.

“What happened?” He asked quietly.

With a shudder, Kon leaned forwards to brace his arms on his knees.

“I heard it,” Kon said, sucking in a breath. “I heard every single word. I heard the gun go off, I heard Tim’s heartbeat slowing, I heard him—I heard him telling Bruce to prioritize the civilians, then I heard him—”

He folded in on himself, a hand running through his hair and making it fall into his face, like it did as Superboy.

“I heard him telling Bruce that they couldn’t go to the hospital because it would expose their identities.” Kon croaked.

A wave of ice crashing through his blood, Bernard lifted one unsteady hand and put it on Kon’s back. Kon leaned into it.

“God, Tim.” Bernard murmured.

“He’s always been like this. The mission’s the priority. He likes to say he’s not like Bruce, and he’s not, most of the time. But then something like this happens, and he just throws himself into danger if he thinks it’s the right way to save people. I honestly don’t know if his own life factors into the equation half the time.”

Bernard flinched at that, at the idea of Tim just not caring if he made it home, and Kon turned to meet Bernard’s eyes.

“Sorry. I wasn’t—if it helps, Tim’s gotten better over the years. He’s trying. Especially since you guys got together,” Kon said.

“...oh.”

They were both quiet for a second, Bernard turning that around and around in his head, and Kon just watching him, like he could see right through Bernard and into his brain. Which, maybe he could.

The heart monitor beeped steadily in the background, just like it had been all day, a comforting rhythm in Bernard’s ears.

“If you hear it every time he’s in danger, how do you…not? What could possibly keep you away?” Bernard asked eventually, voice wavering. “I see him get hurt on the news and I have to stop myself from running down there. You have to have, like, willpower of steel not to fly over to save him.”

“He’d kill me.”

Bernard frowned, and Kon looked away. He added, “Tim hates being coddled like that. He appreciates it, y’know, but he doesn’t like it too much.”

“Is it really coddling to save his life?”

“Tim’s got a skewed perception of some shit. Like, majorly skewed. He’s trained with Batman for years. It makes you independent, makes you think you have to take things into your own hands to make sure it’s done right and that the fewest possible people get hurt. It’s a part of his very core at this point. In the suit, the mission is the priority. Everything else has to take a backseat, or people die. And he doesn’t want his friends or family to get hurt for him.”

Slowly, his eyes glued on the portion of Tim’s relaxed, peacefully sleeping face he could see, Bernard rubbed a circle into Kon’s back.

With Tim’s head tilted away from them, it was almost impossible to see the bandages on his neck. The stitches were completely covered. He looked normal, except for the fact that he was laying in a hospital bed.

Normal enough that it took most of Bernard’s self control to not just pull him into a tight hug.

Kon sighed. 

“Listen,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m the best one to be giving you advice on how to handle Tim, most of my tactics involve just sitting on him until he gives up and tells me what’s wrong, but…you need to know, he’s not gonna change. Being reckless with himself, self-sacrificial, the leader, it’s part of who he is, part of what makes him Robin.”

“I know.” Bernard said.

“He’s never gonna stop scaring you.”

“I know.”

With a rueful smile, Kon asked, “and you love him for it, don’t you?”

Something churned in Bernard’s chest, warm and cozy and light. He nibbled on his upper lip. “Like you said, he wouldn’t be Tim without it. Can’t not love it.”

Kon clapped Bernard on the back, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jostle him.

“Okay,” he said. “As long as you know. And if you ever need help getting him to slow down and take a breath, remember you can call us. Me and Young Justice, we’re always gonna be there for him.”

“I know. I will.”

With a glance at Tim, Kon flashed a grin.

“You’re a good guy, Bernard. You and Tim are good together.”

Bernard bit down on the inside of his cheek, giving Tim a fond look, and said, “that means a lot coming from you. Your opinion is the whole world to him.”

For a second, Kon faltered, before his grin somehow, impossibly, widened.

“Thanks,” he said. “I…thanks.”

He moved to say something else, but then his face fell into a scowl.

“Shit.” Kon muttered. “Coming, Jon.”

He glanced over at Bernard with a quick huff, saying, “there’s an emergency, I have to head back to Metropolis, but I’ll try to be back soon. Call me if anything happens?”

“I don’t have your number,” Bernard said.

With a quick half-smile, Kon pointed to his ear.

Bernard’s face went red. “Oh. Right.”

“Just say my name, I’ll be here.”

Kon stood and stretched, already moving towards the window, and slid it open. They were way too high off the ground for a normal person to consider even leaning out, but for Superboy, it was probably nothing.

He put one shoe on the windowsill, readying himself to leap.

“Listen,” Bernard said suddenly.

Kon paused. 

“I was thinking. Obviously we can’t celebrate Tim’s birthday while he’s still hurt, but once he’s recovered, do you wanna help me plan something? Not a surprise party, that’d end badly. But…something?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Kon said, dropping back to the floor with a thoughtful nod. “I’d be down to help with that.”

“Cool. Cool, okay.”

“I’m pretty sure I have his favorite cake flavor written down somewhere, if you want it. And if I don’t, Bart’ll know it. He’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

Bernard smiled. “And I know his favorite pizza, so I could grab that. Maybe we could talk to Alfred and see if we could do it at the manor, so Tim doesn’t even have to go far?”

“I like that. Do you have Tim’s phone?”

Pointing to the table in the corner of the room, Bernard asked, “why?”

“Cause I really do gotta go, but planning an entire party by yelling it to me across the city isn’t gonna work, so you should grab my number from Tim’s contacts. We can text the details, even rope Cassie, Bart, and the others into it if you want.”

“More help does sound like a good idea. Maybe Dick?”

“He’d be helpful, yeah. Nice. Okay, text me, dude,” Kon said. “Chill, Jon! I’m on my way.”

Then, he was out the window, sliding it shut behind him, and zooming away towards Metropolis.

Bernard grabbed Tim’s phone from the table and slid his chair a little closer, just so he could grip Tim’s hand while he scrolled.

He would’ve felt weird about going through Tim’s phone, except Tim had already given him permission to use it whenever. Their phones were basically interchangeable at this point. The only real difference was their homescreens—Bernard’s was a photo of them asleep at the manor, sprawled over each other on a couch, snapped by Steph, while Tim’s was a photo of Bernard being tackled by Titus—and the fact that Tim’s probably had half a dozen celebrities in his contacts list.

Finding Kon’s number was easy. It was under Mitosis, which Bernard had to assume was an inside joke, but the contact photo was Kon with a couple other people obviously cropped out. Kon had a giant grimace on with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair looked like it’d been caught in a lightning storm, sticking straight upwards.

Bernard put the number into his own phone and sent a quick message so Kon would know who it was. Then he gently put Tim’s phone back, smiling one more time at his lockscreen.

He flopped into his chair, squeezing Tim’s hand, and let his head fall back.

The chairs really weren’t comfortable. Hard plastic, low backs, tiny arm rests. Alfred had offered to bring a few folding chairs from the manor, but they’d all refused. Nobody wanted to put down roots in the hospital. It felt too final, like they were giving up on Tim getting well soon, at least to Bernard.

And it wasn’t like they’d be there too much longer. The Waynes were going to move Tim back to the manor as soon as possible.

_____

Five minutes.

Bernard had been gone for five minutes.

He went to grab a snack from the vending machine. To use the restroom. To stretch his legs and get some water. Five minutes.

And they’d lost Tim.

“How do you lose an entire person?” Bernard yelled. “He’s got a fucking gaping hole in his neck, he’s hooked up to a billion monitors and wires, and you fucking lose him?”

“I get you’re angry, Bernard, but wasting time on arguing between us isn’t gonna help anybody. Tim’s slippery, you know that,” Dick said, mouth thin and face serious.

“What happened to the Bats being paranoid? Paranoid enough that you keep shark repellant in your stupid fucking belts, but not enough to put a sensor or something in his bed? What if he’s been kidnapped?”

Half the room looked confused, while the others looked worried. They all glanced at each other.

“How do you know about—” Duke started.

“He hasn’t been kidnapped,” Bruce said firmly. He gestured to the discarded hospital gown Dick had apparently found in the bathroom. “Tim left this room of his own volition. There’s no sign of a struggle, and a kidnapper wouldn’t waste time getting him changed here, they’d wait till they got outside. An unconscious boy in a hospital wearing a gown is much more inconspicuous than someone in proper clothing. However, a teenaged boy wearing a hospital gown wandering around alone is going to raise more attention than a young man in a hoodie and jeans.”

Bernard balled his fists, counted to five because there was no way in Hell he was gonna manage to get to ten, and reminded himself that he and Bruce were on the same side. They both wanted Tim back.

Also, if Bernard got on Bruce’s bad side, he could probably kiss goodbye to being told anything at all about their progress in finding Tim.

“You still should’ve had something in here monitoring him,” Bernard said.

Bruce grunted what could’ve been an agreement or an argument, then said, “we’re going to talk to the nurses now. Hopefully, we can convince them that checking in on Tim is unnecessary for the time being. If they learn he’s missing, throwing money at them won’t be enough to keep the GCPD out of this. A missing teenager isn’t something the hospital will want coming back at them.”

As if on cue,  footsteps echoed down the hall, and the room went silent.

The door handle jiggled.

Bernard tucked himself in between Duke and Cass, just on the off chance it wasn’t someone who was supposed to be there, just as the door swung open to reveal a short man in scrubs. He was holding a clipboard in one hand and was already reaching for the light switch with the other.

“Oh!” He said, glancing around at the full room. “Sorry, we were told this room had been vacated. Were you all looking for someone?”

A ripple of tension ran around the group, reaching a crescendo at Bruce.

“Timothy Drake-Wayne, this is his hospital room. I’m his father, Bruce Wayne. Who exactly told you his room was vacated?” Bruce asked, putting a bit of Brucie Wayne into his voice, as Tim called it.

It wasn’t nearly as convincing as it had been the few other times Bernard had heard Bruce do it.

The nurse frowned.

“Um. Yes. Sorry, gimme just a second, I’ll…” He lifted the clipboard and flipped through a couple pages. “Yep, you’re his emergency contact. I can’t give you too many details since he’s an adult, but mr. Drake checked himself out not too long ago.”

Cass made a wide-eyed face at Duke, who shrugged back and made a face that Bernard could best decipher as oh fuck.

“An adult.” Bernard said. “An adult, who checked himself out of the hospital and walked right out the front doors with stitches in his throat.”

“I’m sorry, but as I said, we’re legally unable to tell you anything more. Since mr. Drake’s an adult—”

“Drake- Wayne.” Bruce snapped.

“—er—yes, mr. Drake-Wayne. I’m sorry, that wasn’t in his files. Um.” The nurse glanced around the room. “I’m sorry, but we can’t share any more information without Timothy’s direct permission.”

Before anyone else could say anything, Alfred stepped forwards and took over the conversation with the nurse. Bernard barely caught a word.

A moment later, the nurse was in the hallway. The door closed behind him.

Dick threw up his hands. “Great. Tim’s officially on the run. Just…great.”

“We’ll find him,” Damian said. “Drake’s predictable.”

“Right up until you think he is.” Steph grumbled.

“He’s gone out as Robin, we all know it,” Duke said.

“Gotham’s a big place. Tim’s got safehouses all over the place. He could be anywhere,” Dick said. “I’m getting Babs on the phone, she’ll be able to track him faster than us.”

Bruce held up his phone, getting everyone’s attention at once.

“I’ve found him.”

A couple different voices spluttered out questions, making a little part of Bernard’s brain ping with questions, because he was Batman. Of course he could find Robin. Why would they even doubt that?

But the majority of Bernard’s brain was the part that asked, “where?”

“That doesn’t concern you. Any of you. You’re all to remain here or go back to the manor. I’ll call when I’ve got Tim,” Bruce said.

This time, the spluttering was a bunch of protests.

Bernard agreed.

“You want us to just sit around? Tim might be in trouble!” Bernard spat.

“Which is why I’m going after him. This isn’t up for discussion,” Bruce said firmly.

“I’m calling Babs and Jason,” Duke said.

“Nobody is calling anybody.”

“No, I definitely am. You’re not even taking Cass? Babs is gonna have a field day with your stupidity this time, boss man,” Steph said.

“Father, Brown’s right. Drake might be predictable, but he’s slippery, and you’re not in your prime anymore. He’s got too much of a head start and he knows you’ll be coming for him,” Damian said.

“He’s saying you're old and Tim’s gonna win this game, B, and I agree,” Dick said.

“Bernard,” Cass said.

Bruce’s eyes snapped to her, and he scowled. “No. That’s even worse than the rest of the suggestions.”

“What? Like, have me go with him after Tim?” Bernard asked. “I’m not…I can’t exactly hop rooftops.”

“Tim will listen to you,” Cass said. “You don’t have any power over him. You’re equals.”

Bernard fidgeted in place, scanning the faces in the room, before landing on Alfred. He nodded, just slightly.

A lump of dread settled in Bernard’s stomach. Something else hovered in his chest.

“I do wanna find him.” Bernard admitted. “And you think I can help?”

Cass nodded, Alfred nodded, Dick nodded. Steph and Duke gave him vigorous thumbs-ups. Even Damian raised an approving eyebrow.

Bruce was the only one who didn’t seem to agree.

“Bernard is a civilian. One who we’ll be endangering, even if we do manage to find Tim without incident,” Bruce said.

“Tim’s my boyfriend,” Bernard said. His chest coiled tightly, and he sucked his upper lip into his mouth. “If I can help him…”

“You can’t.”

“That’s not what your kids are saying.”

“My children,” Bruce said, frowning at them, “aren’t in charge. This is not a democracy. I’m going after Tim and I’m going to bring him back. The rest of you, go home. Rest if you can. Eat. Prep the medbay for Alfred to check Tim’s stitches as soon as we arrive.”

“Is that really gonna work? Are you sure? We don’t even know why Tim bolted in the first place,” Bernard said.

“He almost always does,” Dick said.

“Never wants to wait out the full rest period. Always says it’s his choice and that he should be out doing his job.” Steph added.

Bernard took a deep breath.

If it was about his job, then was Bruce really the best person to go after him? His boss?

God.

He was about to really, honestly argue with Batman. Again.

“I think Cass was right,” Bernard said. “About equals. If Steph’s right, then having his boss chase him down and order him to rest…”

“It’s not a discussion,” Bruce said firmly.

“It just doesn’t make any sense. You’re too close to this.”

“I’ve trained for longer than you’ve been alive, Bernard. I know how to be unbiased. Alfred, take the kids home. I’ll call later.”

“If you’re not taking Bernard, then you’re taking me.” Dick squared his shoulders.

“Dick.”

“He’s my little brother.”

“He’s my son. My soldier.”

Dick’s face flashed through a few different emotions, all at once, and he looked abruptly red.

“Don’t you fucking start that shit again, Bruce. Don’t you dare.”

Bruce opened his mouth and Dick stepped forwards with one hand balled, and they both looked about half a second from going completely apocalyptic.

Stomach rolling itself into a panicked ball, Bernard shoved away the memory of his father looking particularly angry and Bernard being convinced he was about to be punched square in the face. Then, like he should’ve done the moment Tim disappeared, said, “Kon, Tim’s hospital room, now.”

The room froze.

“Oh, shit.” Dick muttered. He took a reluctant step back from Bruce.

“Worried Kryptonian alert,” Steph said with a frown.

“He was gonna find out eventually,” Duke said.

Bernard shuddered. Stared hard at the floor.

Thirty seconds later, Bruce was still staring a hole into Bernard’s head, and there was a gust of wind at Bernard’s back. A firm hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry about the delay, y’know how traffic can be,” Kon said. His voice sounded falsely-cheerful. “What the fuck happened to Tim?”

“They lost him!” Bernard burst out.

He threw his hands up and whirled, stomping away to the window. Kon let him go. It wasn’t like there was anywhere for him to disappear to, even in the large hospital room.

Bernard’s stomach was twisting and churning and he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he puked right out the window.

“How do you lose an entire person?” Kon asked.

“He’s Tim?” Steph said.

With a low groan, Kon said, “okay. Fair point. Better question, how did you not at least try and prepare for that? Tim could probably escape most of you, but Cass? Oracle?”

The room was quiet.

“Okay. Great.” Kon scoffed. “What, you need me to find his heartbeat? He’s—”

“No.” Bruce said firmly. “I’ve already located him. I’m going to find him and bring him back now, and you are all to stay here, including Bernard and Superboy.”

Bernard mumbled, “fucking…”

He turned around to look, just as Kon tilted his chin up.

“No.” Kon said.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

Crossing his arms, Kon floated a little off the ground, his eyes sparking red. “No.”

Several hands in the room twitched towards belts that weren’t there.

“Superboy, Bruce has the best chance of stopping Robin from doing something reckless. They’ve worked together for years. Bruce knows what he’s doing. At least, he does this time,” Dick said. It looked a little like it physically pained him to say.

“No. I know what’s going to happen if you go. Tim’s not going to listen to you, you’re gonna get pissy, and then you’re gonna get into an argument and he’s gonna bolt all over again. You two talking when you’re angry and he’s on the run only ever ends with Tim getting even more upset,” Kon said. “Trust me. Half the time, it ends with him showing up at the farm and brooding in the hayloft.”

“Superboy,” Bruce said.

“Bernard goes,” Kon said louder, “or nobody does.”

“Absolutely not. We are not bringing a civilian into this.”

_____

Angry, overprotective Kryptonian, one, Batman, zero.

With a bit of help from a reluctant Dick, who seemed to have plenty of practice arguing Bruce down, Bernard and Kon headed out into Gotham.

They decided that Bernard would cling to Kon’s back, as per Dick’s suggestion. Something about piggy-back being the most dignified of the few options. Bernard didn’t really care about that, not when Tim was out there somewhere doing God knows what, but he also figured it was probably Dick’s attempt to soothe Bernard and Kon’s irritated nerves.

It didn’t work, but if that was what he’d been doing, Bernard could appreciate it anyway.

He could also appreciate flying.

Honestly, it kind of felt like leaning out a car window. Kon didn’t do anything crazy, so all Bernard felt was the wind in his face and his ears popping a little.

The weirdest part by far was the fact that the middle-of-the-night Gotham traffic looked so small and inconsequential. All of it did. Even the buildings they flew past and the windows Bernard caught glimpses of. People sitting at desks. Janitors scrubbing office floors. The night shifts.

He clutched Kon a little harder, seeing that. It was all so far down that it made Bernard dizzy with fear.

Fortunately, it only took a few minutes more for them to reach the right rooftop. Kon gently lowered Bernard down before flying away and out of sight.

“I’ll be in the area,” Kon had said on the flight over. “If anything goes wrong, holler. I’ll grab him by force if I absolutely have to.”

Which, if Bernard had any say in it, he wouldn’t. But he had no idea how stubborn Tim was going to be.

He took a few steps towards the fluttering cape perched on the corner of the rooftop. Tim lowered his binoculars and sighed.

“Not in the mood to talk,” Tim said bluntly.

Too bad.

“Robin.” Bernard called.

Never in his wildest imagination would Bernard have ever thought he’d be able to startle a Bat, but he watched as Tim whirled around.

He was only visibly alarmed for a split second, but Bernard had been around Tim enough to start seeing those little reactions.

When Tim spoke, though, he was perfectly composed. Tilted his head a little, domino mask lifting with his eyebrow, and gave a small frown. The exact look Bernard would’ve expected.

“You,” Tim said. “The boy from the Chaos Monsters. What’re you doing here?”

Bernard stiffened.

Tim knew exactly how much it bothered Bernard to have them mentioned without warning, without permission or without him bringing it up first.

He hadn’t been mad at Tim before.

He really hadn’t been.

But that was a low fucking blow.

“Last time I checked,” Tim said, glancing around, “this building doesn’t have rooftop access. How’d you even climb up here?”

And besides, Bernard had always had a bad habit of his feelings morphing into something else. Humor, when he was younger. Anger, now that he was a little older. Worry becoming rage in the blink of an eye.

It felt safer that way.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bernard demanded.

Tim— Robin —made the smallest little motion that might’ve been a flinch. “What?”

“Ditching the hospital. Not even saying a word to me. You knew how terrified I was, how bad you scared me, and now you’re gonna bring up the fucking Chaos monsters?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tim said.

It sounded so sickeningly genuine for such an obvious lie. Enough that Bernard’s stomach turned, wondering how many times he’d missed lies just like it.

“Cut it out, Tim,” Bernard said.

This time, it was definitely a flinch.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“I’m not. I don’t know who Tim is, or why or how  you’re up here.”

Bernard clenched his fists, unclenched them, and then clenched them again.

He knew exactly how fucking stubborn Tim could be. And with this? A secret he was so protective of that Bernard could read it in every line of his posture from across a dark rooftop?

Just pushing with words wasn’t going to be enough.

“Fine.” Bernard said flatly.

Turning and starting away, Bernard ignored it when Tim called, “where’re you going? Hey, what—?”

Five steps from the edge of the rooftop, he heard Tim suck in a breath.

Four steps, and he could practically feel Tim go completely tense.

Three, and the cautious footsteps started.

Two. “Bernard? Bernard, right? Stop for a sec, okay?”

One. The footsteps sped up, until they were running, pounding against the rooftop.

Bernard’s foot met open air.

He was tumbling faster than he could even breathe, an automatic yell getting knocked from his lungs at the dizzying distance to the ground, to the far away little lights of cars and people bustling by on the dark sidewalks.

Stomach swooping away from him, Bernard flopped around like a fish until he was staring upwards at the swirling sky.

Distantly, he heard something that must’ve been Tim screaming, but the wind ripped it away.

He was spinning and whirling like a shred of white plastic in a cheap snow globe. Plummeting downwards.

By the time he was jerked to a dramatic stop that left his head rattling, he was half-convinced he was actually going to hit the ground. The warm arm wrapped around his waist was the only thing grounding him to his own body for a beat.

Something in the back of his mind reminded him that Kon had said he’d stick around close by, that Kon probably would’ve saved him. But Bernard’s focus was entirely on Tim’s legs wrapping around his waist and the arm slipping away, just enough to attach what looked like a belt with a D-ring to Bernard’s belt loops.

An emergency safety harness of some sort, he assumed.

Glancing up at Tim’s face, Bernard caught the tension in his jaw, the tremble in his fingers.

Bernard opened his mouth to gasp out something, maybe a snarky jab about how terrifying that must’ve been, knowing your boyfriend had put himself in unnecessary danger, but Tim barked, “shut the fuck up.” and he went silent automatically.

The grappling hook they were dangling from connected to the gun in Tim’s hand. With a quick squeeze of the trigger, they were heading upwards, practically flying towards a different rooftop.

Where Tim almost definitely would’ve had a graceful landing by himself, Bernard’s presence sent them both down in a spray of rooftop-gravel and tangled limbs.

A half-second later, Bernard was flat on his back and Tim was pinning him down. 

His legs bracketed Bernard’s waist. His hands were shaking where they forced Bernard’s wrists down.

Gravel dug painfully into Bernard’s shoulders, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain, even knowing that Tim would loosen up immediately if he so much as winced. The pain was proof Tim was there. That he was okay.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tim spat. “Why the hell would you ever do that? What if I hadn’t fucking caught you?”

“I know you would.”

Tim laughed, and it was a harsh, grating sound. Desperate and bitter and angry, and if Bernard knew Tim, and he did, scared.

“I knew you would,” Bernard said again. “Because you’re that good, but also because you can’t help yourself. Tim. I know you.”

“Stop.”

“You can’t help yourself. You can’t. It’s why you’re out here now, why you’re in that fucking suit with an itty bitty bandage holding your entire throat together.”

“Stop.”

“Why can’t you ever choose yourself?” Bernard asked. His eyes stung, and he didn’t do anything to stop the first tears from slipping down.

Tim balked, dropping Bernard’s wrists, and fumbled with the ring connecting their waists.

“This is my job.” He hissed.

Covering Tim’s hands in his own, Bernard slipped his thumb into the ring. It effectively kept them chained together. “You know the others can handle it.”

“Bernard, the doctors cleared me—”

“For Timothy Drake’s life. Not for Robin’s.”

“I didn’t start as Robin yesterday, I know what I’m doing. And I know a hell of a lot more than you.”

“Yeah, because you didn’t fucking tell me anything. And I get it, okay? I get why you didn’t. But I need you to talk to me now. You’re scaring everyone, Tim, you’re scaring me. Please.”

Tim faltered, just barely, and Bernard pressed further.

“Please. Come back to the hospital, or the manor, or our apartment. Come home. Please.”

The weight on Bernard’s waist shifted as Tim stared down at him in complete silence.

For a second, Bernard was sure he’d messed up somewhere. Tim was just sitting there. Watching him. Bernard couldn’t even tell if he was blinking.

It wasn’t like it would be impossible for Tim to free himself, he could probably use a batarang to slice the belt, or break Bernard’s arm in a billion different ways, or knock him out entirely. He looked angry enough, and with anyone else, Bernard would be scared.

But then, Tim sagged. Like a marionette with cut strings.

“I—” One hand crunching in the gravel just beside Bernard’s head to support himself, Tim shook his head helplessly. “I’ve got a job to do. Crime’s not gonna stop because I’m hurt.”

“You’re just gonna get hurt again. Tim, honey, if you go out and you’re not at one-hundred-percent, you’re putting yourself and the people you’re trying to save at risk. You know that.”

Tim swallowed hard.

“Come home. Please. We can stay at the apartment for as long as you want, just the two of us. There’s gotta be some…paperwork or something you can do. Something you can work on that doesn’t risk you or anybody else.”

“There’s…I have some casework. It’d…but I don’t...”

“It’d make me feel a lot better.” Bernard whispered.

He would’ve felt a little bad about guilt tripping Tim, except for the fact that he could see Tim’s shoulders slump in defeat. He couldn’t feel bad about keeping Tim out of danger.

“Okay.”

Holding in a relieved breath, Bernard carefully lifted one hand to Tim’s cheek, cradling him, and Tim leaned into it. This close, the white parts of his domino mask weren’t quite as opaque. Bernard could just barely see Tim’s eyes flutter shut.

“I’m tired.” He admitted softly, breath warm on Bernard’s palm.

“I know,” Bernard said. “Let’s go home, okay? You can rest, then do your casework. Get some work done without the danger.”

Nodding reluctantly, Tim shifted in place, as if he was about to stand up.

They were still connected by the belt and the ring, so Bernard slipped his thumb out of it and gripped Tim’s outer thigh, squeezing.

“I love you,” Bernard said.

“I love you.” Tim echoed.

His voice was barely more than a whisper. Like all of the fight and energy had been drained out of him in just a few words.

The way he was sitting, alone, made Bernard worry. How he was wavering in place. Like he was about to tip over.

“Is it okay if I call Kon? I think it’s safer than you trying to grapple right now.”

Tim glanced down at Bernard, tilting his head further into Bernard’s hand, and asked, “you know about Kon, too?”

“I know about most of you guys. Your siblings, Young Justice, Bruce.”

“Bruce?”

Bernard faltered.

He wasn’t sure what he’d just said wrong, but Tim was tensing up again, his fingers tightening around the buckle holding them together.

On instinct, Bernard jammed his thumb back into the ring.

It felt wrong to try to keep Tim there, but it felt worse to just let him go.

“Bruce sent you here?”

Tim pushed his other hand away, and it felt bitterly cold without Tim’s skin pressed against it.

“No. He didn’t want me coming,” Bernard said. He fumbled for the right thing to say, to bring back Tim’s relaxed expression. Tim was overprotective, maybe he was angry because he thought Bruce had sent Bernard up onto the rooftops? “He was gonna come bring you back himself.”

“He—God. Course he was.”

“Tim?”

The hand beside Bernard’s head balled into a fist. Tim sat back and his lips smoothed into a thin, intense line.

“Tim.”

“Bruce isn’t in charge of me.” Tim snapped. His voice shifted between exhaustion and anger, with every word.

“Nobody’s talking about who’s in charge,” Bernard said. 

“You are. You’re saying he was gonna come find me, like he’s my fucking keeper.”

Bernard put his other hand back on the ring holding them together, over top of Tim’s hand, and squeezed. “That’s not what I was saying.”

With a scoff, Tim shook his head.

“Why’re you here, Bernard?”

“What?”

Tim leaned forwards. They were close enough that Bernard’s skin tingled from the warmth, and he could see the way Tim’s eyes were hard and daring, even as his eyelids sagged. His chin was wobbling ever-so-slightly.

“Why are you here?”

“Because you’re my boyfriend?” Bernard tried. “Because I love you? Because I don’t want you pulling stupid stunts while you’re hurt? Tim, I don’t know what you want me to say. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You didn’t even know I was Robin until today, and before that, you loved Robin’s stupid stunts. You adored him. Now, suddenly he’s me and it’s wrong?”

Bernard blinked, his head spinning.

He imagined this was a little like what whiplash felt like. Sudden and jarring and so completely confusing.

In the end, all Bernard could manage to say was, “I’ve known the whole time.”

Tim’s fingers froze in Bernard’s grip. His legs tightened around Bernard’s waist. He jerked back, and what little of his face was visible with the domino from the new distance looked downright shocked.

“What?” Tim choked out.

His voice cracked right down the middle.

“I’ve known.”

“That’s— how?”

“Figured it out. You have…” Bernard tugged one of his hands free, gently, and placed it on the back of Tim’s neck. Tim shuddered, one of his own hands moving to cover the bandage. Like he had to protect it from Bernard’s touch. “...here. This scar. That day you came to my house after everything, after the cult?”

Tim’s eyes were closed when his shoulders fell. When he asked, in a defeated voice, “I didn’t cover it?”

The abrupt change, from anger to shock to whatever this was, left Bernard feeling strangely gooey. Like he was trying to melt into glue so he could hold Tim’s shattering pieces together.

It was too much. They were bouncing wildly from emotion to emotion, and Bernard couldn’t keep track.

“No. And I’m glad,” Bernard said.

“Then…” Tim’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at the sky with a devastated expression, even through the mask. “Did you…why’d you ask me out?”

“Tim.”

“Why?” Tim asked, voice broken.

He finally managed to disconnect them from each other, the harness clattering to the ground, and practically shoved himself away from Bernard. “Because I’m Robin? Because I’m your hero? Were you—you said you wanted to finish our date. Our date.”

“I did.” Bernard swore.

“Then—I don’t get it,” Tim said. “Did you date me because of Tim or because of Robin? Was I some fantasy to you?”

“No!”

Tim made a sound that was a mix between a whimper and a sob, and Bernard’s heart shattered into a billion pieces.

Bernard sat up, just a little, and let the painful desperation in his chest seep into his words. “No. No, Tim, no, never. I asked you out because you’re you, because I’ve been in love with you since Junior year, because you are the most perfect guy I’ve ever known. Okay? Because you walked into my life and turned everything upside down in the best possible way.”

They were only a yard or two apart, but it felt like so, so much further.

Slowly, Bernard shifted so he was kneeling instead of sitting. He reached a hand out to Tim, who skittered further away, like a spooked cat.

“I liked you from the second I saw you. And I’ve loved you since, like, forever. I was so, so scared you’d find out I liked you, because I didn’t wanna lose you as a friend, because I thought you’d hate me for crushing on you. And then I was terrified to tell you I knew you were Robin because I didn’t wanna lose you right after finally finding you again. I know I fucked up, but I swear, I didn’t know you were Robin until I’d already asked you out.”

“You should’ve told me,” Tim’s face was hidden in the shadows, but his voice was trembling badly.”I didn’t tell you about Robin because I couldn’t, but—but you had a choice. You could’ve. I was just trying to protect you.”

“What was I supposed to say? What wouldn’t have scared you off? Was there anything at all that could’ve convinced you that you weren’t putting me in danger?”

“Bernard.”

“I couldn’t risk losing you again, Tim. Not after Grieve. You were gone for so long, in Bludhaven and then with the Waynes, and I just didn’t wanna chase you off.”

“That wasn’t…”

“I know it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t trying to run from me, and you didn’t owe me anything, anyway. We were just friends back then, I get it.” Bernard huffed out a tired, teary breath. “But it hurt me so, so bad, and I wanted to be selfish for a little while. Just to keep you around.”

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Bernard forced his wobbly voice to say, “I wanted to tell you I knew. I promise.”

Gravel crunched as Tim crept a little closer. He was obviously balancing most of his weight on the front of his shoes, ready to bolt, but he reached up and did something with his mask. The white lenses vanished.

Tim’s eyes were teary, eyelashes wet, and all Bernard could focus on was the pretty blue color he’d gotten so used to seeing all the time, surrounded by the dark mask.

“Timmy?”

“I wanted to tell you too.” Tim whispered. He crossed his arms. “I was going to. Moving in together? I genuinely wanted to help you, but…it was also to make sure we were serious. That we were completely compatible, even when we’re living together, when we’re in each other’s space twenty-four-seven, when we’re mad and when we’re upset and…I was gonna tell you.”

Something in Bernard’s stomach dropped, and he felt abruptly off balance.

The world was spinning, everything was still happening as it should, but all Bernard could focus on was Tim in front of him and the dizzy relief in his head.

Tim had actually been planning on telling him.

Wordlessly, he opened his arms.

A moment’s hesitation, and then Tim practically collapsed against him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Tim said, voice pleading. “I’m so sorry I lied.”

He tugged Bernard close, nails biting into his skin, and Bernard had to choke down a sob.

“I’m sorry,” Bernard said, too.

A raw, horrible noise tore itself out of Tim. He shivered in Bernard’s arms, and they were both clutching desperately at each other, like something was going to tear them apart.

Burying his face in Tim’s shoulder, cautious of his bandage and stitches, Bernard half-begged, half-whispered, “can we please just go home? I really don’t think any of this is a rooftop kinda conversation, and I’m—I wanna go home.”

Tim moved to pull away, and Bernard made an aborted protest, deep in his throat.

“Our apartment?” Tim asked.

His eyes scanned Bernard’s face shakily, more tears clinging to his eyelashes and threatening to fall. Even when he blinked, Bernard could still see them there. He lifted his hand to wipe them away and Tim leaned into his touch all over again.

Nodding vigorously, Bernard croaked, “yeah. Home. Please.”

“Okay.” Tim pulled him back in. “Okay, yeah. Home.”

_____ 

Tim waited twenty-four hours after ditching the hospital to go to Wayne manor.

Bernard fully expected to be left at the apartment, but Tim offered him a small, rueful smile, and asked, “do you wanna come? I wanna show you the Batcave, and I think if I wait too long, you might just find a way in all by yourself.”

That’d been an unexpected part of Bernard admitting how he’d figured out Tim’s identity. In the last few hours alone, Tim had cracked a couple small jokes about it.

Being called a regular Sherlock unironically by Robin was officially one of Bernard’s top ten life experiences.

“Okay,” Bernard had said, and then they were on their way to the manor.

He hadn’t been too surprised when they got there and Bruce dragged Tim into his study to talk. Loudly. With quite a few cuss words.

Tim was definitely winning the argument, though.

It was less nerve wracking than Bernard would’ve expected. He didn’t like it, he was on edge, because it was an argument and it was a dad yelling at his kid so loud everyone could hear it from the kitchen, but it wasn’t enough to send Bernard scurrying from the house. 

Maybe it was because he knew Tim could handle himself, or maybe because Dick was still in town and he’d already proven he was willing to go to bat against Bruce, and he looked relaxed. Not like someone who was waiting to hear an argument turn into a fight. Maybe it was just because Bernard was too tired to be scared.

After crying with Tim on a rooftop, then having Kon fly them back to their apartment, and having a bit more of a murmured conversation on the couch, Bernard had staggered up to bed at almost four in the morning.

Much later than he was normally up.

He’d gone to his own room automatically. It wasn’t as comfortable as Tim’s, thanks to him almost never using it, but he didn’t want to risk hurting Tim’s neck in his sleep. And he wasn’t entirely sure Tim would welcome him after everything.

Tim was the sort of person who needed space after an argument, Bernard had learned. He needed a little bit to cool off.

So he was more than a little bit surprised when his door creaked open and Tim crept to Bernard’s bedside, hesitant and a little sheepish.

“Can I..?” He’d asked, gesturing to the bed.

Bernard had blinked and rubbed his eyes, but Tim was still there.

‘I—yeah. Yeah, it’s cool with me,” Bernard had said, and on impulse, he’d grabbed Batbear. “But you’re gonna have to ask him.”

The laugh it’d yanked out of Tim wasn’t even close to proportional to how unfunny the little joke had been. 

Within seconds, Tim and Bernard were both flopped on the bed in a fit of relieved giggles. Tim latched onto Bernard’s waist and buried his face in Bernard’s hip. Bernard had pressed Batbear to his mouth, muffling his snorts in the bright yellow bat.

It hadn’t taken too long after that for them both to fall asleep, exhausted from the whiplash of emotions all in one night, and it’d taken Tim’s stomach growling like a T-rex to drag them out of bed at noon, but Bernard was still holding in yawns.

Alfred, omniscient as always, put a little mug of coffee in front of Bernard’s place at the kitchen counter.

“Thanks,” Bernard said sheepishly.

“Of course,” Alfred said. “And would you like something to eat, mister Dowd? We all spent most of the last several days eating horrendous hospital food, it would do you some good to get something substantial in you.”

Bernard went to say no, to apologize and say he wasn’t very hungry, but before he could, the kitchen door slammed open.

In the doorway stood a very smug Tim, followed by a very grumpy looking Bruce.

“Alfred, your son’s a little bastard,” Tim said proudly.

“Master Timothy.”

“Alfred, your son’s a little wimp.”

“Much better.”

Bernard couldn’t help but grin, his face twitching, and Tim slid under his arm. He pressed a kiss to Bernard’s jaw.

“So, guess we know who won the argument,” Steph said from the kitchen nook where she, Damian, and Dick had holed up to listen to Tim and Bruce shouting.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Dick asked.

“Pennyworth bet on Father,” Damian said idly.

“Alfred?” Tim asked.

“My duty is to master Bruce first, my boy. Someone must have faith in him, or he’ll brood himself to death.”

Bruce sighed, dropping his head into his hands, and took a seat beside Steph. “Adopt children, they said.”

“Nobody suggested that but you,” Steph said. “Hey, look, free traumatized orphan. Let’s steal him!”

Ignoring her, Bruce pointed a finger at Tim without looking up.

“If you’re going downstairs, go. I want you back up here in thirty minute for dinner. And absolutely no driving the Batmobile.”

Tim grabbed Bernard’s hand, grinning, and tugged him out of his chair. “C’mon. Before he changes his mind and I have to insult his bald spot again.”

“I’m not balding.”

“Sure, Lex.”

_____

“I’m in the fucking batcave.” Bernard breathed.

He spun in a slow circle, taking in the different platforms, the giant computer, the T-rex, the Batmobile, the huge coin, before looking back to Tim. “I’m in the fucking batcave and my boyfriend’s Robin.”

“You knew that one,” Tim said.

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between knowing objectively and—holy shit, Tim, is that a fucking Batcave Roomba?”

Bernard followed the little robot carefully as it bumbled across the floor, stopped, and spun to head the other way.

“Surprised there’s not a knife attached to it.”

“Don’t give anybody ideas,” Tim said, grinning.

He led the way up towards the main platform, where Bernard had to resist the urge to scream because that was the Batcomputer.

Dick snorted, trudging down the stairs after them. “Looks like you finally found someone who’ll listen to your computer rants besides Babs.”

“If it’s about Batman’s computer? Fuck yeah.”

“Batcomputer,” Tim said. “Dick named it.”

“I was eight,” Dick protested.

“Batcomputer.” Bernard echoed. He grinned, glancing around. “Any more silly names, or is it just the Batcomputer and the Batmobile? Do you have a Batshower? Please tell me you have a Batblanket.

“We have bat-teries. And a batbucket,” Tim said.

“Both of which are Bruce’s fault,” Dick said quickly.

“Based off the ones you made up.”

Dick flipped Tim off, then ruffled his hair so it fell in his eyes, and shoved him towards one of the other platforms.

“Go show Bernard the Batmobile or something,” Dick said. “And remember what Leslie said about laying off talking. Keep it to a minimum.”

“I’m fine,” Tim said.

“We’re gonna listen to the doctor with a PHD, not the kid who dropped out of high school and has the self-preservation instincts of a worm.”

Before Tim could snap at Dick again, Bernard wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulder and said, “don’t worry, babe. I’d love you if you were a worm.”

“I hate both of you.” Tim grumbled.

He playfully pushed Bernard away and headed towards the vehicle platform, and with a quick grin at Dick, Bernard jogged after him.

Tim showed him the Batmobile and the various bikes, the Batcopter, and the Batboat. They saw Batcow, who Bernard had been completely convinced they were joking about. Duke walked past on his way home from patrol and let Bernard geek out over his armor for a few minutes before heading to the showers with a jaunty salute. There was even a trophy area with a bunch of old rogue stuff.

“Mr. Freeze’s original freeze gun,” Bernard said, awestruck. “This is the best day of my life.”

Then, Tim dragged him up to the Batcomputer and pulled up a bunch of video feeds, practically shoving Dick aside.

“You’ll love this. Oracle’s got it set up so we can see pretty much all of Gotham if we want to, even the outside of our apartment.”

“Hmm. Challenge accepted.” Thoughtfully tapping his nails against his leg, Bernard asked, “Arkham?”

“Course. Even inside some of the cells,” Dick said.

The screen flickered, a few new tabs opening and showing the outside of the old mental asylum. Wrought iron and twisting trees that Bernard had only ever seen from a distance.

A moment later, a couple rogues popped up.

Scarecrow and Joker were missing, but Bernard could see Riddler sitting on a worn cot in the corner of a small cell. Two-Face was flipping his coin and staring at the door. Ivy, in a sealed, circular room that kept her from touching any of the guards.

“Holy shit.”

“Yep,” Dick said. “There’s more, but I’m not letting a nineteen year old civilian see the old torture room. What’re we looking at next?”

“Torture room?” Bernard asked.

“Don’t,” Tim said.

Reluctantly, Bernard sighed, and suggested, “My parents’ house?”

With a sheepish smile, Tim nodded. He pressed a few buttons and videos flared to life, his parents’ house shown from multiple angles, including one directly into the kitchen through the window.

Neither of them looked like they were home. Bernard’s skin crawled anyway.

“Tim asked us to keep an eye on it after the whole Chaos monster thing,” Dick said. “He said your…well, your parents didn’t exactly react well to you being kidnapped, and then there was the fact that the cult could’ve come back. He wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Sorry. Wasn’t trying to be creepy.” Tim said, looking particularly unapologetic.

“Dude, are you serious? I had the Bats monitoring my house. That’s cool in the scariest possible way.”

Dick snorted. “Tim, you always know how to find the weird ones.”

Flipping him off without looking, Tim asked, “what next?”

“Wayne Enterprises?”

“Easy,” Dick said.

The videos swapped. A live feed of bustling sidewalks, an empty rooftop, and various windows.

“Okay.” Bernard put his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “How about a person?”

“A person?” Tim echoed.

“Yeah. Find me…find me commissioner Gordon in this sprawling concrete jungle, and I’ll be impressed.”

Less than five taps of the keyboard later, the screen swapped to footage of Jim Gordon in a coffee shop, sunglasses on and foam from his coffee on his mustache.

“Holy shit,” Bernard said.

“To be fair, that’s Oracle’s dad. Not exactly a challenge considering they’re meeting up for coffee in twenty minutes.”

Bernard’s eyes widened, and he stared up at the computer in awe. “Wait, Barbara Gordon is Oracle? The ex-politician? The commissioner’s daughter? Is she watching us right now?”

“She’s helping me pull up these videos, so yeah,” Tim said.

“...holy shit. Best day of my life.”

“We could find pretty much anybody with this tech,” Dick said. “It’s got facial recognition software, and Oracle’s tapped into most of the city’s security systems. Plus some of her own that she’s had the Bats install over the years.”

“It’s helpful for patrol. Babs can find us and whatever we’re looking for in under thirty seconds, half the time.”

“It’s how Bruce found Tim so fast yesterday, though I don’t know how he managed to get a tracker on you when you weren’t even wearing one of the suits he has access to. That one was from your nest, right?”

Tim shrugged, and Bernard blinked.

“You don’t have…like…a tracker embedded in one of your teeth, do you?” He asked. “Cause that would be super cool, but also horrifying.”

“No,” Tim said immediately.

“Maybe,” Dick said.

Tim’s head snapped towards him.

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t put it past B.”

“Dick, I do not have a tracker in my Goddamn tooth. I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.”

“If you were awake for it,” Bernard said.

“You two are officially banned from speaking to each other.”

_____

Peering over the edge of the bird statue, Bernard tried his absolute best not to giggle like a little kid.

Tim readjusted his hold on Bernard’s waist with a smile.

His knee was propped up behind Bernard’s head, so Bernard was leaning entirely on Tim’s legs and looking him right in the face. Right in the domino mask, which was possibly the coolest thing ever.

There was something funny about being a couple dozen stories above the street and still feeling as safe as he would on the ground, Bernard decided. He’d never really minded heights, but he certainly hadn’t sought them out, not even during his adrenaline rush phase. Yet, here he was. Perfectly comfortable in Tim’s lap, their hands clasped together and resting on Bernard’s chest.

If he’d been asked, he would’ve assumed that Tim’s armor would be uncomfortable to lean against. It was designed to keep out bullets, not to be a pillow.

It was the most comfortable thing in the world.

In his newfound quest to keep Bernard far, far away from the evil influences of Dick Grayson, Tim had taken him to Wayne Enterprises, gone up to the roof, and changed into his Robin suit. He’d pressed a mask to Bernard’s face with the utmost care.

Then, they’d jumped.

Anything and everything Bernard had ever done for an adrenaline rush immediately felt about as exhilarating as watching snails race. He was pretty sure he could drive a car a hundred miles per hour towards a cliff and not even blink, now.

Because they were free falling for a solid, breathtaking few seconds before Tim aimed the grapple and they swung, heading for the old clocktower’s bird-gargoyle-things. Bernard’s heart was in his throat and he was clutching Tim so hard his fingers ached. Any scream he might’ve let out was swallowed by pure fear.

Pure fear and a little bit of excitement, anyway.

Tim had said something about the clocktower being protected from prying eyes, somehow. That it wouldn’t be a risk for Bernard to be seen with Robin as long as they didn’t do anything stupid. Which probably, unfortunately, included kissing Tim in midair.

But then they were sitting, Bernard carefully arranged on Tim’s lap, and Tim helped him take off the mask. 

Kissing was safe. In fact, Bernard would say it was encouraged, considering how close they were.

Except Tim was making that sad thinking face he did whenever something was dragging him down, and when asked, he looked away over the city.

The light was practically blinding from up there. The blue sky reflected in all of the glass, cars racing along like ants, people’s voices drifting over the honking and the traffic. It felt like Bernard could reach up and brush the clouds with his fingertips if he stretched far enough.

“I really am sorry.” Tim whispered. “I wish I could’ve told you sooner. Before…” He waved a hand at his neck.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Bernard said softly, threading his hands into Tim’s hair and pulling him close, cautious of the stitches in his neck.

Tim closed his eyes and melted into the touch. It was easy to guide his head to rest on Bernard’s shoulder, to kiss his hair, soft and fluffy.

“Neither do you,” Tim said.

Humming into Tim’s hair, Bernard nodded.

When he didn’t say anything, Tim tilted his head up to peek at him, frowning just a bit.

“I mean it, though. I’m sorry about the lies. The omissions. I don’t wanna ruin this, not even for the Bats. You mean too much to me, Berns. So, so much.”

“Tim, you aren’t ruining shit.” Bernard took a deep breath. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in ages, and I’ll be damned if I let you think otherwise, okay? I love you. We can work through anything else on our own time.”

With a small nod, Tim murmured, “okay.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, too. Just to be clear.”

Bernard snorted, running his nails through the hair at the back of Tim’s neck. “I know.”