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Bruce
The first time Bruce stumbled upon Tim wearing his clothes was none other than eight months after he became Robin. It happened on a cold Saturday night, a few hours after they ended patrol shortly after Bruce introduced him to a new different route.
One of the first of many more routes Tim would have to memorize in order to patrol alone. Not that it would happen anytime soon since Bruce didn’t want to take any chance in getting Tim hurt. Time had shown it was better to not rush things.
“I believe Master Timothy is working,” Alfred said as Bruce walked past the study, handing him a cup of hot chocolate. “Would you be so kind to retrieve him?”
“He’s still here?” Bruce asked. He could have sworn Tim had left the moment they got back here. He hummed, “I thought Tim had gone home by now.”
“You know better than anyone Master Bruce how Timothy works,” Alfred said with a shake of his head. “Reminds me of a younger version of someone I know far too well.”
“Spare me the sentimentality Alfred,” Bruce said with a roll of his eyes. “Tim’s got his own parents.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And a perfect and loving home,” Bruce finished despite how the little voice inside his head screamed at him lies!
“Sure Master Bruce,” Alfred said, arching an eyebrow. “Whatever you say.”
It was true in a way. Unlike Jason and oh, —how the memory of him still hurt—and Dick, Tim wasn’t his. Tim had his own parents that looked after him.
(But if so, his mind pondered as Bruce walked down the stairs, why was Tim always here? Surely he had better things to do, right?)
Perhaps that was the reason Bruce didn’t notice as he came down the stairs. His mind was already creating what-if scenarios and hundreds of different possibilities on why Tim prefered staying here than to notice what he was wearing.
“Tim?” Bruce called, careful to not spill the cup of hot chocolate Alfred had prepared for him. A tradition that started after Alfred discovered Tim had a thing for sweets. He took a glance but Tim was nowhere to be found. He frowned. “Are you in there?”
“In here!” Tim chirped back followed by sounds of fingers hitting violently against the keyboard. He walked up to him and there was Tim sitting in the batseat clutching his knees close to his chest, focused on running numbers in the Batcomputer.
A chuckle escaped from his mouth at the sight of the thirteen-year-old. Most specifically at what Tim was wearing. Tim looked comical in his gray sweatshirt three sizes bigger than him that had the faint blue letters of “YALE '' imprinted on it.
The sweatshirt was so big it covered his whole body. Bruce was pretty sure Dick would appreciate a picture. Bruce mentally filed that for later as he approached Tim.
”What’s up B?” Tim said when Bruce got closer to him, eyes not leaving the computer screen. A click of the mouse opened another window tab about a possible suspect related to the trafficking ring they were trying to identify.
“Alfred told you were still in here,” Bruce replied, handing him the cup of hot chocolate. He put a hand on his hip and he asked while Tim took a sip. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
Tim stuck his tongue out and placed the mug on the desk.
“It’s Saturday,” He said as if that was enough to work on murder cases. Then added when Bruce continued staring at him with a shrug . “I already did my homework, and I figured that I could kill some time working,” he spread his hands and continued excitedly, completely warming Bruce’s heart, “on this.”
“At,” Bruce took a glance at the clock, raising an eyebrow. “Four in the morning…?”
“The best hour to work,” Tim said with a nod, only to quickly backtrack when Bruce frowned at him. “Not that I always stay up this late!” Tim sputtered out and winced at how unconvincing it sounded. He added to cover it up, ”usually,” he groaned and waved his hands, “I mean frequently! Agh-”
“Alright, alright,” Bruce said with a chuckle as Tim covered his face with both of his hands, clearly embarrassed. He patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Half an hour and then I’ll accompany you to your home, okay? I’m sure your parents must be worried about you-”
The brief panicked look Tim threw at him gave him the suspicion his parents were once again on the other side of the world. Something like disappointment and anger boiled inside his gut. Times like these were when Bruce sort of wished he could to talk to Jack or Janet.
(But deep down, Bruce knew he wouldn’t. Not unless he wanted to endanger everyone’s identity.)
“Or,” Bruce said after a pause, carefully picking his words. “You could stay here.”
“Alfred won’t mind?” Tim asked hopefully, his legs swinging back and forth. He looked down suddenly more interested in his shoes and fiddled with his sleeve. “I know it’s kind of late and I guess-”
“I’m sure Alfred would love it if you stayed,” Bruce interrupted him, ruffling his hair and totally ignoring the indignant “Bruuuce!” that came out of Tim’s mouth. “You’re always welcome to stay here.”
“Dick will arrive tomorrow,” Bruce said after a while, leaning against the Batdesk and watching how Tim worked.
“Oh cool!” Tim replied absentmindedly, as his eyes stayed focused on the computer screen. “Is he gonna stay the whole weekend?”
Bruce hummed.
“You know humming is not a language, right? Alfred told me so. You’re not a bird.”
“Speaking about birds. Did you know that a bird told me-”
“Was it a little bird or a big one?” Tim interrupted him looking back at him before giving him a sheepish smile, muttering a brief apology, and going back to work.
“An adult one,” Bruce settled for as Tim kept typing. “Trust-worthy source.”
The typing stopped and Tim cocked his head, locking eyes with him–the universal sign that he’d caught Tim’s attention. Bingo. Bruce ignored the urge to smile.
“Oh okay,” Tim said casually but Bruce could tell Tim was curious, “What did this bird tell you?”
“That a little Robin,” Bruce continued, watching Tim’s reaction. Dick was going to kill him later for this. It was supposed to be a secret. “Could be having developing feelings for someone-”
“Huh?”
“Whose name starts with K and ends up with on-”
Bruce grinned as Tim’s cheek instantly flushed six shades past red and he instantly looked away.
“I-I have no idea what you’re talking a-about!” Tim stammered out, covering his face with his both hands in a (failed) attempt to cover his furious blush. He peeked between his fingers and added, “and who does this big bird think he is anyway!? I want to talk to him!”
Bruce started laughing.
“Bruce,” Tim whined, slapping his forearm with no luck. “S-stop laughing!”
“Okay fine.”
“You’re being mean,” Tim said pointing his finger at him, threateningly. Or well, as threatening as a thirteen-year-old boy could look wearing an oversized sweatshirt.
“And don’t think I’ll tell Alfred about this unless you give me one hour to work on this case!” Tim decided, crossing his arms, “and then I’ll forgive you. Deal?”
“Half an hour”
“Forty-five minutes!”
“Thirty five minutes.”
“Forty minutes?” His will faltered when Tim gave him a puppy eye look. If there was one thing Bruce was weak to, it was that. Dang it. “Please? Please, please, please Bruce. I’m so close to finishing the case and-”
“Fine,” Bruce said with a sigh. ”Forty-five minutes and nothing more. But this will stay between us. No telling Alfred, you hear me?”
“Promise!” Tim said and went back to work. It stayed like that with Bruce keeping Tim company until he decided to leave except that at the last second he had the sudden feeling of deja vú.
He turned around and on a closer look, the sweatshirt did look familiar. A smile appeared on his face when he realized Tim was wearing no other thing than his old college sweatshirt.
"Is that mine?" Bruce asked. “I had forgotten I had it.”
"Uh, yeah, is that okay?” Tim said quickly and immediately started apologizing,“Im sorry, I shouldn't have—"
“Hey, chum, don't worry about it,” Bruce reassured him, “you can borrow my clothes anytime."
“Thanks Bruce!”
“No problem kiddo.”
And if the next time Bruce came down to the cave Tim was wearing another article of his clothing, he didn’t mention it.
---
Alfred
“Hey, Tim,” Dick nodded at him from the counter he was sitting on, eating frosted flakes out of a ziploc bag. “How was patrol last night?”
Tim blinked up at him blearily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Wha? Why are—why are you up at five in the morning eating cereal?”
“Don’t judge,” Dick pouted, wrapping his police jacket tighter around his torso. “I’m on duty soon, so I gotta head to Bludhaven in a bit. Also, mornings are nice and peaceful.”
He squinted at the older man before shrugging wordlessly, turning back to stare at the white wall with expensive and well-kept delicate wallpaper, and reassessing the meaning of life. Ah, yes, mornings.
“Want me to start you a pot since Alfred can’t?” Dick offered, hopping down from the kitchen counter and bustling towards the kettle.
“Did you—did you already drink an entire pot of coffee, Dick?”
“Duh,” Dick snorted, tossing the glass kettle up in the air and catching it over and over. “Why else would I have to start a new pot?”
“Well, I was hoping that Bruce had grabbed his own portion of it, so you wouldn’t be drinking that much coffee.”
“Actually, he gets his own special coffee machine. It’s hidden in his office because he likes to think that Alfred doesn’t know where it is.”
“Ha,” Tim scoffed, walking past Dick and to the pantry. “As if anything could get past Alfred.”
“I know, right? Even though he’s across the manor in his room with a fractured leg, I’d bet like two dollars that he knows that we’re talking about him.”
“Just two dollars?”
“Okay, fine, Tim. A billion dollars.”
“Now we’re talking!” Tim joked before shaking his head. “But yeah, no thanks about starting a new pot. I think I’m just gonna drink a zesti,” Tim ducked and grabbed a can from a bright purple-patterned box.
“Okay, kid. I gotta go, so don’t burn down the house while I’m gone, you hear me?”
“To be honest, I think the manor has a higher chance of burning down when you’re inside.”
“Hardy har-har,” Dick stuck his tongue out at Tim. Real mature. “You try to be nice for once and make porridge and no one lets you forget it!”
“Bruce had to replace more than half of the things in the kitchen. And the baby blue antique curtains were burnt to a crisp.”
“It was really just a bunch of old fabric.”
“A bunch of old fabric that is worth more than more than your car, sure.”
Dick snorted and ruffled Tim’s hair to his dismay. “See you later, Tim.”
“See you.” Tim replied with a faint smile, turning away as Dick swept up his things and left the manor like a hurricane.
“Okay,” he took a deep breath, checking the time on his watch. He still had some time before Alfred woke up so he could make him some breakfast. Humming, he stepped quietly to the refrigerator, adjusting his T-shirt as he opened the fridge door, and peered into the contents.
Once he grabbed everything he needed, he set the ingredients on the tabletop, gently kicking the fridge door closed with a socked foot. When he turned around, he was immediately met with linen fabric to his face, stumbling backward.
It was a lovely green apron; an apron Alfred’s owned as long as Tim’s known him, and most likely much longer. Tim should probably use an apron; he’ll put it back when he’s finished. It’s totally fine, Alfred would be okay with Tim borrowing it as long as he doesn’t pull a Bruce or a Dick.
He reached up to carefully grab it off the hook and… ah, damn it. Why does Alfred have to be a tall person too?
WIth a soft exhale, he scaled the shelf nearby the rack and grabbed the apron before jumping back down to the ground. As he hesitantly put the neck strap over his head and nimbly tied the straps behind his back with a loose knot, he smelled a warm variety of teas and herbs surrounding him. The aroma reminded him of afternoon tea times, sitting across from Alfred as the elderly man told him stories. It reminded him of some of his favorite mornings when he would chat with Alfred as they made blueberry waffles for Bruce and chocolate chip pancakes for Dick.
Precisely measuring out the flour, eggs, milk, water, butter, and salt, he dumped them into a bowl and mixed, smiling as the batter began to form. Alfred’s done so much for him, Tim might as well pay him back in the food.
When Tim finished making the crepes, he neatly set the plate in a tray along with some earl grey tea before heading towards the butler’s quarters.
“Alfred?” Tim called and knocked on his door, carrying the tray in his other hand.
“Come in, Master Timothy.”
Tim obediently turned the doorknob open, ducking into the doorway. “I made, uh, I made some crepes for you.”
Alfred smiled warmly at Tim, making him beam back. “Thank you, Sir. You didn’t have to.”
“But I did. Rest well, Alfred,” Tim chirped, walking into the room and setting the tray on the table beside Alfred.
As Tim turned to leave, Alfred chuckled, making Tim turn around in curiosity. “Do you like my apron, Master Tim?”
“Wha—” Tim blinked before looking down and—oh shit. His face blushed red as he raced outside the door. “Uh, yes.”
How could Tim be such an idiot? He shut the door in an attempt to shield him from embarrassment but it slammed far louder than he had expected. He opened the door timidly with a “Sorry for slamming” and closed the door quietly before racing down the staircase.
He really liked Alfred’s apron.
---
Stephanie
It started with a sweater. Well, actually, it started with a scarf he had noticed Steph was wearing. And a t-shirt... and, he supposed, a pair of sweatpants too. They were pieces of clothing that definitely weren’t hers. Those, however, only cemented her as the culprit for Tim. You know what they say: “Your repeated actions define your character...” and yadda, yadda, yadda. But the sweater? That was the true start to all this. It was the reason he was now perched outside the blonde’s window, dressed in full Robin regalia.
Tonight, Tim wasn’t supposed to be out at all. Doctor Thompson and Batman’s orders. The other night a thug had gotten a lucky hit to his ankle with a crowbar. Well, what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. By this morning, the pain had dulled greatly. He wasn’t doing anything too strenuous anyway, and this was extremely important business.
The sweater in question had been a birthday present from Dick about a year ago. It was a light grey with a unicorn in a Batman costume on the front. He had no clue where Dick had even found the thing, but he absolutely revelled in the look on Bruce’s face every time he saw it. Tim wore it often enough that it had been easy for him to notice it was missing.
Amateur moves, Steph.
Which led him to Steph’s window on a cold Friday night. She had told him the day before that she would be at a friend’s house that night, so he didn’t need to worry about her catching him. It would be the perfect heist. Something to add to his resume if he ever decided to apply to be Catwoman’s sidekick. Tim didn’t think he would be able to pull off the catsuit though. Or the whip. He was getting a bit off track. He fumbled with the edge of the window and it slid right open with no resistance.
What the— it’s Gotham, Steph, jeez!
Shaking his head, he opened it the rest of the way and slipped inside silently. He would hate to wake Steph’s mother trying to steal a sweater. What a fun conversation that would be while he was Robin. Ha, robbin’. No, focus, Tim. Looking around the room, he quickly zeroed in on the closet door. Bingo. He pulled it open slowly and whipped his head around, cringing, to Steph’s bedroom door when the closet hinges squeaked loudly. No other sound made itself known in the apartment, to his relief, so he turned back and peered inside. It was an absolute mess. Of course. He nearly groaned out loud before remembering exactly where he was. He quickly flicked through the items that were hanging, but of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy. Kneeling next to the horrendous pile at the bottom, he got to work.
Fifteen minutes later, he finally had his hands on the prize. He cleaned up Steph’s clothes he’d strewn across the floor and tried to assemble them back into a pile somewhat resembling the way it looked before. If it was that messy in the beginning, she probably wouldn’t notice. Hopefully. He was Robin goddamnit. As he rose, a distinctive flash of eggplant purple caught his eye. There, at the bottom of the closet was a black box with a corner of fabric peeking out from under the lid. He barely hesitated when he opened it and wasn’t surprised when he saw Spoiler’s outfit staring back at him. An idea formed in his head. Steph wanted to ‘borrow’ his stuff? Well, he will ‘borrow’ hers right back. He detached the hooded cape from her suit, bundled it up in his arms along with his sweater from Dick, and closed the box.
When he finally climbed back through his own window, he was grinning from ear to ear. She was gonna be so pissed. Fair’s fair. He folded his sweater and placed it back in the top drawer of his dresser, but left Steph’s cape laid out on his bed. Curiously, he ran his hand over the fabric. It was really soft. He was almost jealous.
Suddenly, his stomach growled and he remembered he had skipped dinner that day. He decided a midnight snack might be a good idea, if only because he could hear Alfred’s disappointed voice as if he were standing right there in the room with him. He swiftly removed his Robin suit and threw on a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. After a moment's hesitation, he grabbed Steph’s cape on his way out the door.
As soon as he walked in, Tim spied a slip of paper on the kitchen counter and realized it was a note from Dana when he peered down at it.
It read:
Tim, your Dad and I will be away for the next couple of days so don’t be alarmed that we’re not home. I made sure the fridge was stocked up with some pre-made meals. We’ll see you Monday, have a good weekend!
-Dana
So, he was alone. Well, some things never change.
Tim crumpled it up and threw it in the trash can. He sunk into a chair at the kitchen table, running a hand over his face. He looked at the cape in consideration for a moment before coming to some kind of conclusion. He draped it over his shoulders carefully and wrapped it tightly around himself. It smelled like Steph; though it had been washed recently. He could tell because it smelled like her laundry detergent. A scent he recognized now from their many hangout sessions. Warmth flickered in his chest as he let himself feel the comfort it provided him.
For a moment he was slightly less alone.
In hindsight, he probably should have ‘borrowed’ more.
---
Bart
The moment Tim walked into the room, he felt like someone had just taken a crowbar to his chest (note to self: compare notes with Jason later). It was just so... so Bart. His room at the Garricks’ was startlingly similar to his old room in Titans Tower. Almost a direct copy and paste, except for the more recent pictures hung on the wall and a different coloured comforter. Bright red compared to bright yellow. The desk and posters were the same, and there were clothes strewn across the bed and floor as if Bart had been in there just moments ago. Tim wished desperately that that were true. However, he knew the reality. The Garricks’ must not have wanted to clean it up for a while since it had been about two weeks. Two weeks.
As Tim slowly moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, something on Bart’s desk chair caught his eye. It was a faded yellow sweatshirt, and it was familiar. Very familiar.
“Oh,” the soft exclamation escaped his mouth, unbidden. It was Tim’s sweatshirt. Well, it used to be his before Bart had taken it years ago. They hadn’t known each other for long back then, and he remembered being quite annoyed. You’re a hypocrite, a voice akin to Bart’s seemed to whisper in his mind.
Almost as soon as his hand brushed the fabric, he was pulling it over his head without hesitation. He pushed his arms through the sleeves and noted that the ends were severely frayed, likely chewed on and fiddled with over a billion times. A nervous habit of his late friend, he remembered. He couldn’t believe that Bart had kept the sweatshirt this long. If he concentrated long enough he could still hear Bart’s laughter ringing in his ears.
“You’re supposed to be the okay one. Cassie’s.. away, Kon is—“ he took in a breath shakily, “I’m not sure I was ever okay in the first place.”
He wasn’t sure why he’s talking. He was in Bart’s room, not in front of his grave. He hid his hands in his sleeves, wrapped his arms around himself, and kept going anyway.
“You’re the light in us, Bart... you were supposed to be okay.”
“And, god, I wasn’t there. Not even for the funeral,” he looked down at his knees in shame, “I should’ve been there. You should be here.”
He didn’t cry, he already did that when he got the phone call, but a part of him thought he should. These days, Tim just didn’t feel like crying anymore. Instead he felt a deep numbness, lessened only by the barest warmth that the sweatshirt provided. He was not sure how he would handle another loss like this.
Tim didn’t know how long he had been sitting there when a knock and a voice sounded at the bedroom door.
“Tim? Buddy, are you in there?” it was Dick. When Tim didn’t respond, the door was slowly pushed open.
The mattress dipped as Dick settled down on the bed beside him. For a short moment, there was complete silence.
“Are you ready to go?” Dick asked carefully. Tim was not sure what his voice would sound like when he opened his mouth, so he just nodded. Dick got to his feet first, followed slowly by Tim. The minute he stood up, he found himself swept up in a tight embrace. He didn’t reciprocate at first, but when he did, Dick’s arms seemed to grow infinitesimally tighter. As they stood there, Dick didn’t say: “I’m sorry” or “It’ll be okay, you’ll get through this.”
“I know,” he said.
They both separated, though Dick kept his hand resting lightly on Tim’s upper arm as they made their way out of Bart’s former bedroom and down the stairs.
He didn’t feel like he was really there, and the only thing that was keeping him somewhat grounded was the scratchy feeling of Bart’s sweatshirt against his skin. He thought he said goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Garrick, but if anyone had asked him later he wouldn’t have been able to recall. He barely even remarked Dick’s parting words with Wally West and the Allens, or the way his hug with Wally seemed to last longer than usual. The redhead patted Tim’s shoulder and attempted to give him a reassuring smile as they walked out the door; however, it came out brittle and thin like the ends of the sweatshirt’s sleeves.
If anyone noticed his change in wardrobe, nobody thought to mention it.
---
Jason
It was around nine-thirty p.m. that Tim started to think he’d made a mistake. Every corner and street he went to was met with the same disappointing result.
Nothing, absolutely nothing. No matter where he looked—as Tim looked for any sight of the people he was supposed to stop—it seemed like he’d wrongly memorized the location Oracle sent him.
Which a) was going to be an absolute bummer to deal with and b) a headache to explain later, once he returned to the Batcave.
He scrunched his nose as he tried to remember what exactly Oracle told him. It was something related… to a robbery? Tim thought as he swung through the streets. Yeah, it was something important. With a somewhat defeated sigh, Tim turned left with all intentions of returning but he sensed something wrong.
He felt his skin prickled and a shiver went down his spine. Tim glanced around but there was nothing.
And then...he heard it.
“Hey Replacement,” was the only warning Tim got before he painfully collided against someone. Tim barely had the time to say eep! before he went flying towards and landed on the nearest rooftop with a painful thump!
He groaned as his body impacted into the harsh tiles and winced when the pain on his hand began to pulsate. It took some time to gather his surroundings (and pride, his mind added) to glance up. And there right in all his glory was none other than the infamous Red Hood a.k.a Jason standing in front of him with a smug look on his face.
“Could start working on your reflexes next time, Replacement,” he said crouching down, flicking him in the temple and ignoring the `ow!` that came out of Tim’s mouth.
He smirked, stood up, and shrugged, “but I did like the backflip you did earlier so overall,” he paused before he added, crossing his arms ”I will give you an 8/10.”
“Very funny, Hood,” Tim said, rolling his eyes at his brother. He lifted his arms, expectantly. “Now help me.”
Jason lifted an eyebrow.
“And the magic word? “ Tim blinked, taken back. “Or is this like a Gen Z because I swear that in my days-”
“You’re 3 years older than me, Hood,” Tim deadpanned.
“But in my heart, I’m an old man with ten cats—”
“Nope! You’re not even close to being a millennial. Dick can attest to that statement!” Tim said and then when he realized Jason was not going to help, he rolled his eyes, “Ugh, fine. Please?”
“Your word is my command,” Jason said with a bow and a small oof! escaped his mouth when Jason grabbed his arm without preamble and pulled him to his feet.
“I still don’t know why you’re still Alfred’s favorite,” Tim said under his breath with a glare with as much distaste he could express in this situation.
“Perhaps because I’m the only one who can cook without burning the whole manor down?”
“Hey!” Tim exclaimed with a stomp on the ground, offended. ”I can cook too!”
“Sure, sure,” Jason said, patting his shoulder. “Whatever you say.”
“Just you wait Hood. I’m gonna tell Agent A about this. He will immediately back me up with my extraordinary-
“You mean disastrous-”
“Wonderful-”
“Abominating-”
“Exquisite-”
“Atrocious-”
“Truly a delight to the world-”
“Unpalatable-”
“Exceptional culinary abilities,” Tim finished with a nod, dusting his pants. He grimaced at the small black stain on his uniform. One thing was for sure: Alfred was not going to be happy about it. He glanced up and crossed his arms in that perfect I’m-angry-but-I’m-holding-back kind of pose.
Jason's smirk got wider.
“It was brand clean, hood, hey-!” Tim said with a squeak when Jason decided that was the perfect time ruffled his hair in a small headlock.
“You’re way too serious sometimes Red. Loosen up, will ya?” Jason said with a chuckle still ruffling his hair. He shook his head and said, “It’s not good for your blood pressure.”
“For your information my blood pressure is fine,” Tim said exasperated, trying to get out of Jason’s hold. “You’re the one who always puts way too much salt on everything!”
“It’s called flavoring for a reason.”
“Well, your health record says otherwise,” Tim replied.
“Did you check my health records-” Jason growled but Tim interrupted him.
“Don’t think I’m below notifying B about this,” Tim said smugly, sticking his tongue out. Jason mumbled something along the lines of “this kid” in a voice that was close to an exasperated tone.
“You're lucky I like you kid,” Jason said and let him go. Tim immediately hopped two steps back (just to be sure) and began flopping his hair back into place but with no much success.
“Ho-od,” He whined when Jason began to quietly laugh at his hair sticking up in weird places. “This isn’t funny.”
“So? Can’t I show affection to my dear,” Jason said with a wink, stressing out the dear as long as he could until Tim’s eyes started twitching, ”associate?”
“Funny that you say that because my friends say otherwise-”
“You still angry over the teen titan thing?” Jason asked, arching one of his eyebrows. ”Timmers that was ages ago.”
“You gave everyone a heart attack!” Tim stressed, raising his index finger in the most threatening way he could do only to immediately retract it when Jason opened up his mouth, “And you’re breaking the rules! Code names on patrol!”
“Not my fault the security had been slacking, little bird,” Jason sing-song and ruffled his hair once again much to Tim’s displeasure.
Tim crossed his arms and looked away.
Jason nudged his shoulder.
“Hey don’t put that face.”
“I’m not putting on any face. This is my normal face,” Tim said matter-of-factly with another roll of his eyes. “At least I'm brave enough to show my face, unlike others-”
“Mmm, ‘pretty sure Leslie wouldn’t be against you guys using helmets. Your brain would probably thank you.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“Nope! Go ask this later,” Tim retorted back and sat on the ground. There was a brief pause as Tim stared at the ground and gathered his thoughts, before finally asking the giant question, “anyways, why are you here?”
“Oracle didn’t tell you?”
Tim blinked.
“Um. No?”
“The situation has been resolved and you can thank” Jason pointed at himself,” the big bad hood for that who’s currently accepting any gift-cards for his wonderful generosity-”
“Ha-ha. Very funny Hood,” Tim interrupted. No wonder he didn’t see anyone. “Did they give you trouble?”
“Nah, it’s all good.”
“Great,” Tim said softly and stared at the background. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he did this, perhaps some months ago? Gotham looked peaceful for once. For a while, both of them didn’t say anything, deep in thought until Jason eventually broke the silence.
“You’re shivering,” Jason pointed out and Tim glanced down, and oh, his hands were trembling. He exhaled, and a shiver ran down his spine
“Oh, I didn’t notice, and ow!” He yelped when Jason flicked him on the face, again. He rubbed his temple looking with betrayed eyes, “why did you hit me?”
“Because apparently, your self-preservation skills are non-existent,” Jason retorted back. “You need to start taking care of yourself. Don’t want to deal with daddy bats if you get sick.”
Tim did a double take back.
“Wait, why would you get in trouble?”
“Oh dear timber,” Jason cooed, “do you want me to say it?
“Say what?” Tim asked, dumbfound then quickly backtracked when he saw Jason’s smile getting wider. “Jason, I swear to god if you start reciting Hamlet again, I will go feral-”.
“Since you like solving questions: what’s one organ you only have once?”
Tim frowned.
“That’s a clear nonspecific question, Hood,” Tim said, “I’m pretty sure all the organs we have we only get them-”
“Your spleen,” Jason finished with a grin and only wished he could forever capture the offending noise Tim made. As Tim spluttered, Jason gave him a hand salute and grappled away, leaving him alone.
“Dang it, why does everyone keep bringing it up?” Tim said with a sigh. It wasn’t like he asked for his spleen to be taken away! Tim decided it was time to go home. But just as he was about to go back he noticed a familiar leather jacket laying not far.
He looked around to see if there was someone and he scrambled to get a hold of it. At least the jacket was warm enough to shield him against the cold. That’s how Bruce found him later, re-adjusting the leather jacket three sizes bigger than him. And whenever Jason would start moping about his vintage jacket that he lost doing patrol, Tim and Bruce would simply smile at each other.
Because no, Jason, that jacket didn’t belong to you anymore.
---
Kon
“Kon, I will break you if you do that. ” Tim’s voice was filled with mirth as he pointed a threatening finger at his boyfriend who hovered teasingly midair.
“You can’t break me,” Kon retorted, running a hand through his hair as he grinned widely with sparkling white teeth. Beautiful teeth that should honestly put him up as a candidate in a toothpaste commercial. Teeth that made Tim contemplate whether he wanted to punch him in the face or pull him in closer to kiss his lips.
Tim narrowed his eyes. “Bruce makes me keep kryptonite with me. He’s overprotective like that.”
“You’re also paranoid as hell.”
“You’re not making a good case for yourself,” Tim shook his head as he kept down a laugh. “Come on, Kon. It’s so much fun!”
“Yeah, but flying and using my TTK is so much fun!”
Tim glared at Kon, crossing his arms. “We’re going to do parkour without powers,” he said evenly with a calm tone that made Kon fidget where he stood. “And it’s going to be fun. Dick and I used to do this all the time.”
“Yeah, but you guys are Bats.” Kon pointed out dryly. “Also, shouldn’t you be wearing something warmer?” He gave a pointed look at Tim who defensively stepped back.
“Hey, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Uh huh, in a t-shirt and jeans?”
“I used to wear this all the time when I went train hopping and park outing with Dick.”
“Did you happen to have a spleen at the time?”
Tim glared at him. “Everyone keeps bringing that up. It only happened one time.”
“Tim. Honey. Sweetheart. Rob.” Kon pinched his nose in exasperation. “You only get one spleen in your life. It’s a one-chance kinda thing.”
“But I only ever lost it once.”
“But—you—I.” Kon squinted at him before shaking his head. “Whatever.” Kon shrugged off his leather jacket. “But I’m not going to get murdered by your family because you get sick.”
“But—“ Tim started but bit back his entire spiel about how coldness didn’t directly correlate to illness, instead captivated by the sight of Kon holding his black leather jacket out to him. “Okay. I’ll tell you off for this later.”
Kon wore a stupidly attractive and amused grin as Tim eagerly took the leather jacket, slightly loose around his body once he put it on. “Sure, Tim.”
“Be quiet,” Tim replied sullenly before spinning on his heel and walking towards the edge of the rooftop. “No powers, still.”
Tim could almost hear Kon pouting as he followed him. He zipped up the black jacket, taking comfort in the warmth that surrounded him. “Alright. Basically, try to find the most creative and cool way to get over there,” he pointed at the billboard advertising Zesti Cola, “that billboard.”
Kon fixes his sunglasses on his face, peering at the brightly lit billboard. “Any rules?”
Tim grinned viciously. “Don’t fall.”
With that, he took a couple of steps back to give himself a running stark before sprinting off the rooftop and flipping on the nearby building.
“Keep up!” He shouted behind his shoulder, whooping along the way, knowing that Kon was following behind.
After a couple of rounds, they landed in the Gotham playground, with Tim sitting on the swings.
“Want me to push you?” Kon wiggled his fingers teasingly as he sat nestled in the monkey bars.
“Would you accidentally send me to the moon?” Time teases making Kon scrunch his face.
“Hey, now. I could control my strength.” Kon laughed, hopping down to meet Tim who stood.
“I think I won,” Tim said matter-of-factly as Kon snickered.
Kon snaked an arm around Tim’s waist and pulled him closer, smirking when Tim yelped at his cold fingers. “You know,” his voice was growly and made Tim shiver. “I think I am the winner because I get to see you wearing my jacket.”
“Possessive much?”
“Just with you.”
Tim snorted and leaned forward to reach up at Kon’s face, use his fingertips to slide the black-rimmed sunglasses off the bridge of his nose and into his boyfriend’s hair. Kon’s eyes were wide open as he watched Tim’s movements before closing them and leaning in, feeling Tim’s breath mingle with his before their lips met. Tim smiled into their kiss, and his teeth clinked against Kon’s as Kon pulled him in closer.
When they pulled away, blushes and grins vibrant on both of their faces. Kon rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “I, uh, I gotta go. Ma set a curfew after last time.”
Tim’s eyes danced with laughter. “Oh? Can you take me home then, please?”
“Sure!” Kon reached out with both of his arms. “C’mon.”
“Piggyback ride?”
“Fine,” Kon rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’ve got against bridal carry.”
“It’s degrading!” Kon squatted down and Tim climbed onto his back, wrapping his arms loosely around his neck and hooking his legs around his waist. “And this is more fun.”
“Alright,” Kon laughed as he stood up, holding Tim’s calves. “Let’s go.”
Once Kon flew them back to Tim’s apartment, he opened and hopped in through the window, Tim still attached to his back like a koala before he twisted around to grab him and toss onto his bed. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks,” Tim replied dryly, sitting up from his bed to stand in front of Kon, incredibly aware that he was still wearing Kon’s leather jacket. It’s most definitely not a new thing for Tim to wear someone else’s clothing but as Kon started to wave goodbye, Tim raised an eyebrow and tugged at the black leather jacket that hung loosely around him. “Do you—do you want this back?” Though he said that, he of course had no intention of returning it to Kon because, well, finders keepers, losers can go cry in a ditch. Everyone knows the saying.
“Nah,” Kon shook his head with a smug grin as he took in the sight of Tim wearing his jacket. “You can keep it. It looks good on you.”
Tim slammed his focus down to the ground and fiddled with the jacket to hide the growing red flush on his face. “Shaddap, I’m just—shush.”
“You’re just ‘shush’?” Kon laughed, fingering quotation marks at the word ‘shush’. In his peripheral vision, Tim could see Kon step backward towards the window, his thumbs loosely hooked on the front pockets of his jeans.
With a bright red face, Tim waved his arms like he was trying to disperse a flock of pigeons. “Don’t you have to leave? Before your curfew?”
“Hey,” Kon pouted at Tim. Tim wanted to kiss that stupid pout off of his face. “Don’t be mean. Or else you have to give me my jacket back.”
“Nope,” Tim chirped, tightly clutching the leather jacket around his stomach and turning his body away from him. “No take backs!”
“Fine, fine. You look too good in it for me to take it away from you, anyway.”
Tim shook his head with an exasperated smile before grabbing the collar of Kon’s shirt—to his yelp in surprise—and yanking him down to meet his face and kissing him hard until they were breathless. They smiled dazedly at each other as they leaned away from each other.
“I’m not giving it back,” Tim said softly, making Kon chuckle and kiss his nose.
“I wouldn’t want you to.” Kon reached for Tim’s hand that was partially covered by the leather and lacing their fingers together. “I did give it to you, after all.”
“You did.” Tim glanced at the clock before nodding at it pointedly. “You know, your curfew is in less than a minute, right?”
“What? No—oh, shit!” Kon sprang away and dashed across the room to the agape window, repositioning his sunglasses at the crook of his nose. “I’ll see you later, Rob!” He cried out behind his shoulder before launching himself off and out of the window.
Tim snickered and hugged himself, the leather jacket smelling of Kon, and he loved nothing more.