Chapter Text
This time when Tim woke up on Jason’s couch, it was much less abrupt.
He lay with his eyes closed for a minute, mortification slowly building in his chest as his brain caught up to speed on the horrendous bundle of emotions he’d let breach containment the night before. And to Jason of all people.
He was never going to live this down.
If it weren’t for the circumstances, it would have been a pretty nice way to wake up. The sun on his face, the soft texture of the couch, the smell of someone cooking—
Wait, why was someone cooking?
Tim scrubbed at his eyes with one hand, pushing himself up with the other.
“Morning,” Jason left him no time to process anything through his blearily opened eyes, “I called you out of work.”
The shame in his chest threatened to start bubbling again. Tim pushed it down.
“Um. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Tim watched Jason move around in the kitchen, neck craned to the side so he could see above the counter.
Seeing as Jason’s back was turned, Tim tentatively stood up, pushing away from the couch. His leg stung, a bandage that he had definitely not put there himself pulling against his skin and hair. His path to the door was slightly blocked by an obviously slept-in pallet of blankets and pillows stacked up in front of the couch.
Guilt mingled with the shame churning in his stomach, bleach meeting vinegar.
“Come eat,” Jason was turned back around again, eyeing Tim warily, “I made breakfast.”
Tim glanced at the door, the pallet on the ground, and then back at Jason, skillet in hand.
Hesitantly, he shuffled over to the kitchen.
Jason set two plates down on the counter and turned back around to start cleaning. He threw out all the garbage next to the stovetop except the package clearly labeled “turkey bacon,” which he left in Tim’s line of sight.
Tim looked down at his plate, picking half-heartedly at the bacon, hash browns, and waffle staring back at him, not even bothering to grab the syrup.
“So, you called me out of work?”
“Tam said she’d cover for you.” Jason replied, scrubbing at the cast iron in the sink, “Eat your breakfast before it goes cold.”
“Does Tam know where I am?”
Jason paused, looking up to meet Tim’s stare. “Do you want her to?”
The mustard gas of emotions threatened to crawl its way up Tim’s esophagus again. He swallowed.
“No.”
He could plausibly get Tam to raise the alarm bells, but that would require eventually explaining to everyone why he was eating breakfast in Jason Todd’s kitchen instead of doing anything else. And he was so tired of talking.
He ripped a tiny corner off of the waffle and put it in his mouth.
Jason didn’t say anything, just finished scrubbing the skillet and set it on a drying rack. Then he went back for the bacon packet, throwing it in the trash before wiping the counter down with a wet rag.
Tim raised an eyebrow at him, motioning towards the trash can. “You’re Catholic.”
Jason shrugged, pulling the second plate to the opposite corner of the counter to eat. “It was partially habit, you know, after the manor. And my mom didn’t really like pork anyway, so it’s not like I was missing out on the real thing.”
Tim watched Jason smother his entire plate in syrup. “Partially?”
“Well, after a while I figured I might as well stick to turkey just in case, you know, anyone ever needed a place to crash.”
Tim knew that uncomfortable tone of voice well. He tore another square off of his waffle. “Do you talk to Dick often?”
Jason shook his head. “Do you?”
“He calls me every weekend.”
“And you answer?”
“And I answer.”
Jason nodded thoughtfully before turning his attention back to his plate.
Tim watched him for a second before eating a few more squares of his own waffle and enough hash browns and bacon to be polite. He missed his daily protein powder smoothie, Zesti, and hot chip combo waiting for him at his apartment.
Jason glanced at Tim’s picked-over plate but didn’t say anything.
Tim wiped his hands on his pajama pants and then shook them out, trying to get the feeling of the bacon grease out of his fingers. “I need to go back to my apartment.”
Jason just stared at him.
“I have meds that I need to take. Antibiotics. I can’t miss a dose.”
Jason couldn’t argue with that, he figured, not with his stupid new attitude about Tim’s well-being.
“You’re sick?”
Fuck. “No.”
Jason quirked an eyebrow. Tim stared back, unrelenting.
“Okay. I’ll give you a ride.”
That— was not what he was expecting. Between the hope that Jason would let him slip out the door without fuss and the expectation that this would end in a physical altercation with Tim struggling for his freedom, Jason had somehow chosen a secret third option.
“Why are you doing this?” Tim asked, looking down at his plate like his life depended on it.
“Well, I wasn’t going to make you walk all the way—“
“No, not— not that. Why are you being so— you’re supposed to try to kill me or something. Not— whatever this is.”
Jason took a large, loud breath in, and Tim almost hoped that this was it, that Jason was going to leap across the counter and strangle him for asking stupid questions and wasting his time. At least that would be familiar. At least Tim would know where he stood.
“I fucked up,” Jason’s voice was tight, pained, “when I hurt you. Every time I hurt you. That wasn’t— I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
The apology hit Tim square in the stomach, finally forcing the emotional biohazard he’d been repressing up and out. Embarrassingly, while he could swallow the GERD, he couldn’t keep his eyes from prickling with tears. He squeezed them shut, taking a deep breath in through his nose.
When he opened them again, Jason was staring at him, concern clear on his face. Tim avoided eye contact, standing up and moving to clean up his plate. “My apartment is on Park Row. Above the old theater.”
“Shouldn’t take us long, then.” Jason matched Tim’s new tone— informal, light.
“No, it shouldn’t.”