Work Text:
On the Sunday of every week Tim watches Bernard take a hair tie into the bathroom for about two minutes and walk back out.
It’s a strange ritual that Tim has yet to figure out the purpose of but he honestly doesn’t think too much of it. Bernard has formed odder habits like his piercings, stretching his pain tolerance for spices by eating the hottest things he can find, and matching Tim’s ability to stay up at all hours of the night. Though that last one was a bit unsettling to watch. Tim had a reason to stay up, what with his workload and nightlife, but he would often stumble upon Bernard in the dark hunched over his laptop with big, empty, unblinking eyes on a deep forum that Tim was entirely sure was filled with viruses.
But regardless, he didn’t bother asking. That is until the second ritual begins.
Now everyday, along with the Sunday’s two minutes doing god knows what with the hair tie, Bernard runs the faucet in the sink and washes his hair in it.
That one threw Tim for a loop. It wasn’t even a quick wash either. The way he was doing it took effort. Did he not just wash it in the shower? Or maybe he washes it twice? Tim has never heard of someone needing to wash their hair twice a day.
He figures he should ask but he thinks that maybe Bernard will stop soon. So he leaves it, just like he did with the piercings. If Bernard has a reason, Tim knows it’s nothing bad.
One night however, the time comes for Tim to figure it out.
Bernard is tired , like knocked out on Tim’s chest kind of tired. He’s still grasping onto consciousness for some reason and Tim is trying his best to get him to finally get him to close his eyes and give in. So after trying and failing at the stay still tactic, Tim tries running his hands through Bernard’s hair. He’s a bit surprised at how long it takes to reach the tips of the strands, remembering how short it had been when they started dating. Now it was a good inch or two longer. It works for a moment, Bernard nodding off a few times before his eyes flutter back open, taking a deep breath and letting out a stuttered sigh. He grips Tim’s shirt and Tim purses his lips.
“Hey Tims,” he rasps out.
“Yeah?” he asks softly. Bernard tightens his grip on Tim’s shirt.
“Can you…help me wash my hair?” he says. Tim frowns and pinches a few strands in his hand to inspect.
“It doesn’t feel too dirty.” he tries.
“It’s for somethin’ different,” Bernard explains. Tim bites the inside of his cheek and tries to think of what the reason besides cleaning would keep Bernard up like this.
“Mkay,” Tim says, “but you gotta go to sleep after.” Bernard hums and nods and Tim pats him on the arm to get him up. He takes Bernard by the hand and slowly guides him to the bathroom. Tim flicks the light on while Bernard leans on the doorframe with droopy eyes.
“Sink?” Tim asks. Bernard nods. He turns the handle and waits for the water to warm up while Bernard pushes off the door frame to dig through his backpack on the floor. He pulls out a few bottles, idly checking their labels to find the one he’s looking for, and moves to slump on the toilet seat lid. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the corner of the counter and they listen to the hiss of the running water.
There are moments like this that Tim rarely sees, when Bernard regresses into someone that Tim barely recognizes. A static, muted, tired husk of his old Bernard, his boyfriend . He knows a part of it is from the cult, because no matter what people say about how the Gotham locals seem to brush off the hell that they are subjected to on a daily basis, deprogramming was a long hard process. One that Tim had told Bernard he would help him through, just like Bernard helped him with his issues.
But the other part Tim has no clue about because he wasn’t there . Bernard had let a few things slip, things like his school and his parents, but it was just a scratch on the surface that was the “in between” .
He tucked it away for later and ran his hand under the water.
“Hey it’s warm now Berns,” he says softly, gently nudging Bernard’s shoulder. Bernard rubs his eyes with his wrists and stands up slowly, putting the bottle he was holding onto the counter. Tim guides him with a hand on Bernard’s nape to stand in front of the faucet. Bernard leans down to stick his head in the sink but bangs his head on the faucet and Tim winces. He gently places a hand on Bernard’s forehead, his other hand sliding down to rest on his back, and slowly helps him get the top of his hair wet. Bernard puts a hand under the longest part of his wet hair that the water runs through and lets the water gather in his palm, pouring it on the back of his hair where the faucet doesn’t reach. Tim copies him and uses the hand he had on Bernard’s forehead to cup the water and pour it down his neck, hand pressing in the droplets that refuse to seep into his hair.
Tim’s never done something like this before. Well, scratch that. He had taken care of his dad and his chosen family when they needed it, but it never felt this… intimate. Tim would never trust someone to be this close to his neck, to have their hands all over some of the most fragile and vital parts of his body. But Bernard was letting him. He trusted Tim, and Tim would do everything in his power to keep that trust.
When it was all wet, Tim’s hand returned to Bernard’s forehead and moved him out of the faucet’s range. Tim turned the water off and Bernard let his hair drip down into the sink, staring down while his hand reached out blindly for the bottle. He got a hold of it and brought it to his chest, hands shaking as he slowly twisted the cap. Tim carefully reached out and took Bernard’s hand holding the bottle.
“I’ve got it,” he whispers. Bernard lets him take the bottle and quickly twist the cap off. He reads the label. A serum for hair growth. Huh.
“If you say I’m balding I’ll make your death look like an accident,” Bernard says quietly. Tim smiles.
“Asking me for help but you still have enough energy for snark,” he laughs. Bernard huffs a laugh and shakes his head a few times. “I didn’t think you were, though this says something else.”
“It helps it get longer faster or something. That’s what I read off the website,” Bernard explains. Tim nods.
“How much do I need to use?” he asks.
“Enough for like three of your fingertips to be covered. I just eyeball it most of the time,” Bernard supplies. Tim tips the bottle and lets the serum trickle out, stopping when he thinks enough pools on his fingers. He smears it all over his hands and reaches out to Bernard’s hair, running his hands through the wet strands. He’s almost done covering all that he can feel when Bernard puts his hands over Tim’s and presses hard.
“I have to work it all into my scalp, make it hurt,” he says, low and husky. Tim frowns.
“I don’t think I need to do that,” he tries. Bernard shakes his head, a few drops of soapy water falling to the counter top.
“It works, trust me. It's already gotten it this long,” he replies. Tim hesitates for a minute before Bernard presses his hands down again. “Please.”
Tim relents, digging his fingers into Bernard’s scalp and scraping where Bernard curls his fingers.
Bernard had done stuff like this for Tim before, massaging his back and shoulders when Tim got too irritated with the pain. But this wasn’t getting rid of pain. It was inflicting it, and it was bothering Tim.
“Why does it need to be rubbed in like this?” he asks.
“It's supposed to help with blood flow I think? Maybe strength, I don’t really remember,” Bernard says, trailing off at the end. Tim hums.
“So you want it long?” Tim asks. Bernard’s hands tighten over his again.
“I want it back,” he says, voice wavering with each word. Tim digs his thumb in a little less at the sound.
“Want what back?” he asks gently.
“Me. I want what I used to have back. I used to be able to tie it back a little did you know that?” he says, broken and tearful. “They made me cut it off at school. Boys can’t have long hair. Too girly. Not allowed.”
Tim doesn’t know how to answer. He was never bothered too much by his appearance following a set of rules. He was always changing, fitting to whatever role he needed to fill. But Bernard never needed to do that, shouldn’t have to do that.
“Pain doesn’t have to be physical. Losing something hurts. You know that , I know you do,” Bernard continues, eyes distant, “I liked my hair. Took it away. Let it hurt.”
Tim stops working in the serum and turns the water back on. He guides Bernard’s head back into the water and they’re quiet as they wash everything out of his hair. He snags a towel off the rack and drapes it over Bernard’s head, drying off the excess water and carefully avoiding his earrings. The towel slips off the top of Bernard’s head, falling to his neck, and Tim finally sees Bernard’s face.
He’s pale but his eyes are red and watery, not quite crying but desolate all the same. It scares him, how someone like Bernard has a side like this. Tim’s not naive, he knows that people get hurt and that they’re dynamic, ever fluid with their own selves. But it was different watching someone you love fall apart in front of you.
A few drops of water from his hair run down Bernard’s face and Tim thumbs it away.
“It doesn’t have to hurt Bern,” he says quietly, “If you want it back we’ll get it back. You just have to wait a bit…and I’ll wait with you.”
Bernard’s face scrunches up, clenching his jaw as he keeps in tears that threaten to spill. Tim pulls him close and Bernard buries his face in Tim’s neck. Tim can feel his shirt getting wet but he doesn’t care, only hoping that it’s just the water from Bernard’s hair. Tim never sees Bernard cry, never gets to take care of him like this, so he holds Bernard with all he can, and Bernard holds on back.
They stand in that bathroom until Tim can feel the shaking that racked Bernard’s body recede, and the grip Bernard has on Tim’s shirt loosen.
“Come lay down with me,” he whispers into Bernard’s hair. Bernard pulls away and rubs at his eyes with one hand, the other clutching Tim’s wrist as he turns off the lights and leads them to bed. He lifts up the comforter and nudges Bernard into bed while he changes shirts. Bernard is all but knocked out by the time Tim gets under the covers, but when he feels the dip in the bed he reaches forward. Tim scoots closer and Bernard pulls him to him, wrapping his arms around Tim’s waist and burying his face in Tim’s chest. Tim moves Bernard’s head so that it rests on top of his arm and gently runs his hand over his head.
“It won’t take long I promise. I’ll be here Berns, I’m sorry I wasn't before, but I’ll be here now. I won’t let anyone take something like that away from you ever again,” Tim says. He doesn’t know if Bernard hears him before he falls asleep, but he means it all the same.