Work Text:
Wayne manor decked out for the winter was a strange thing to see, Bernard decided.
It was always a ginormous place, but with lights strung up over the snow-covered roofs and highlighting its every angle, it felt like he was in front of a castle. It was utterly dazzling.
The car door slammed as Tim got out, making a face through the fogged up window to get Bernard to laugh, and he rolled his eyes before climbing out himself. The burst of cold air across his face stung, making him shiver involuntarily.
When they’d parked, it’d been in the grass to make sure the car didn’t slip around too much thanks to the ice on the driveway, which only meant that Bernard’s boots immediately sank into several inches of snow.
If he dropped his keys, it would take him a week to find them.
And as nervous as he was, that was a real possibility.
A family dinner.
A Wayne family dinner.
The Waynes celebrated a lot of different Winter holidays, and this dinner was some sort of middle-ground between all of them, just a regular meal between the different festivities. Everyone’s favorite foods, everyone’s favorite desserts, everyone’s holidays.
Bernard had never really been much of a holiday person.
And Tim knew that, had assured him it was okay. That nobody cared if he got into the spirit or not, and that he didn’t really like holidays either.
Which made sense, considering Tim’s mother was buried on Christmas eve.
Bernard didn’t have an excuse like that. He didn’t even have Tim’s thing with religion, where only his mom was religious and she never really spoke about it. Both of Bernard’s parents were openly religious. He’d been raised in a very religious household and holidays were spent at church, dinners began with a prayer.
He hadn’t honestly minded any of that, he liked the idea of having something bigger out there to put faith in, but he just…got burnt out.
And now he was standing in the snowy grass outside Wayne manor, staring up at twinkling Christmas lights and an inflatable Frosty-the-Snowman that had a cardboard knife duct-taped to its gloved hand.
Somehow, murderous Frosty made him feel a little more welcome.
Footsteps crunched in the snow behind him, a hand slid up and down Bernard’s arm through his bulky jacket, and automatically, Bernard tilted his head down to find Tim’s shoulder. He twisted so they were chest-to-chest.
“Hey.” Tim murmured. “You okay?”
Bernard nodded hollowly. “Tired.”
“If you wanna leave…”
“No.” Taking a deep breath, Bernard pulled his hands out of his pockets and pulled Tim close by the hips. “Just wanna get my kisses out here, before we’re in front of your entire family and I get too embarrassed to be within a yard of you.”
Tim chuckled lightly and slotted a finger under Bernard’s chin. Gently, he coaxed Bernard’s eyes up to look at his.
It was funny, because everytime Bernard saw him, they were different. A lighter blue, a darker blue, a little more green, a little more gray. Here, with the sky dark above them and the manor blazing with cozy lights, Tim’s eyes were nearly black, sparkling a reflection of all the decorations.
And when Tim leaned forwards on his tip-toes to catch Bernard’s mouth, his lips were chapped and freezing, but Bernard melted against him.
“Thanks for doing this,” Tim said quietly into the corner of Bernard’s mouth when they pulled apart a little. “I know we can be a lot.”
“Isn’t there a phrase about that? I’m not just dating you, I’m dating your family?”
Tim shoved him back with a snort. “Ew. No. Quit it, I was trying to have a moment.”
“And I was trying to kiss you.”
“After the mental image you just gave me of you kissing my brother, you’re lucky if I hold your hand.”
“Was it at least the cute brother?”
“Stop,” Tim said, rolling his eyes.
“Like, Jason’s not really my type, and Duke and Damian are basically toddlers, but Dick’s good looking.”
“Stop.”
Bernard laughed, taking Tim by the elbows and spinning them in a circle, spraying snow with every crunchy step. “Don’t be jealous, you’re always gonna be my favorite Wayne. I’m just saying that if I had to pick someone else to be under the mistletoe with upon pain of death—”
He wasn’t all that surprised that he found himself flat on his back a second later.
And honestly, he didn’t mind the snow sinking into his hood or his boots all that much, not when Tim was looking down at him with a fond little smirk and those dazzling eyes.
“We’re late,” Tim said.
“I’m gonna blame you.”
Tim offered Bernard a hand and he took it, forever amazed by just how easily Tim could haul him around. Once he was upright, Tim brushed snow out of his hair with a grin. “I think I’ll just let you being covered in snow do the talking, thanks.”
With another laugh, Bernard bumped his hip against Tim’s and let him lead the way up towards the manor.
Alfred was already waiting when they arrived, a towel in hand, one eyebrow knowingly raised. Sheepishly, Bernard bent a little to let Tim towel off his hair.
“Everyone else has already arrived. They’re waiting for you in the dining room,” Alfred said. “My boy, I assume you know where to hang your and mister Bernard’s coats? I have to attend to master Damian’s animals before dinner.”
“Sure, Alf. Thanks,” Tim said.
He slipped away, leaving Tim and Bernard in the front hall. Tim vigorously tussled with Bernard’s hair to get off the leftover, slowly melting snow. Without pulling away, Bernard shrugged off his jacket and folded it over one arm.
They got the jackets and their snowy boots tucked away in the closet off the side from the front hall, Bernard stealing a quick kiss to warm up his lips after the freezing wind outside, then started towards the dining room.
As per usual with bigger gatherings, the Waynes had set up in the guest dining room, rather than the more private one that they used when it was just a handful of them. The table was twice as long, enough to fit twelve people, fourteen if they squeezed, and it was already jammed.
The chandelier was on and lighting up the entire crowded table. A Christmas tree sat brightly shining in the corner. It was warm, voices mingling with quiet Christmas carols in the background, and as Tim led the way to their seats, everyone raised their heads to smile at them.
“Hey, Timmy,” Dick said with a grin. “Hey, Bernard. How was the drive?”
“Icy,” Tim said.
“I warned you to get here early, before sunset.” Bruce frowned.
“We were fine, mr. Wayne,” Bernard said, pulling out Tim’s chair for him without looking away from Bruce. “Tim just hates letting other people drive.”
“Tell me about it,” Dick said.
“I do not hate it. I just don’t have any control from the passenger seat, if anything goes wrong—”
“That’s why we wear seatbelts and why we have airbags, my dear.” Bernard settled into his own seat.
He’d been sat between Tim and Stephanie, down near the end. Barbara was at the head of the table where her wheelchair could get in and out comfortably when she was ready to swap back to it, with Cass on her other side, who was sitting beside Duke. Duke was with Jason, then a tall, red-headed woman with bright green eyes who was leaning over to talk to Dick. On the other side of Dick was Damian.
Bernard was only a little bit surprised to see Tim’s aunt Kate there, a blonde woman sitting between her and Damian. Bruce was talking to Kate, and to his other side was Selina. Harper and Cullen were beside her, Harper chatting comfortably with Selina.
“I thought you said Talia was coming.” Bernard murmured.
It wasn’t like he’d actually personally met Talia yet, but from the few times he’d seen her in Damian’s drawings, she didn’t look like the blonde or the red-headed woman, so he had to assume she wasn’t there. Or that she was in a disguise, but he wasn’t sure why she would do that at a family dinner.
Maybe it was just one of those things he didn’t understand. Like Tim’s habit of taking an extra three left turns before parking somewhere or going home.
“Thought she was.” Frowning just a little, Tim glanced around. “Damian doesn’t look too upset, so I guess maybe she’s coming later or something.”
Bernard hummed, and then he was being swept up in a conversation with Steph and Babs about some movie he hadn’t gotten the chance to go see yet, and Tim was talking to Cullen about video games, and people started dishing themselves food from the long line of dishes in the middle of the table.
When Tim nudged Bernard’s elbow with a plate, he took it and began putting some mashed potatoes on it without having to ask. That was Tim’s first pick at any meal.
They swapped a second later, Tim passing Bernard a plate with some ham on it. It was drizzled in gravy, and even if it was a little heavier than he normally went, he didn’t mind. He just asked, “isn’t that the actress from that old Wendy the Werewolf Stalker show? Tim has the whole thing on DVD.”
Steph nodded.
“Yeah, it’s her. She’s gotten a lot older though.”
“She’s younger than I am, Stephanie,” Babs said dryly.
“Well, yeah, but you’ve got that youthful glow to you. It’s probably all the stress keeping you young.”
“Mhm.”
Grinning, Bernard added some steamed vegetables to his plate. “So you’re not too stressed then, Steph?”
“Hey!” Steph slapped her hands to her face with a faux-gasp. “Respect your elders, Bernie.”
“It’s, like, a few months.”
“A few months of me existing when you hadn’t yet, which very clearly means you’re supposed to be much nicer to me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bernard said.
Stephanie rolled her eyes.
“Honestly. Youngins these days. It’s those I-phones, I tell ya!”
With a snort, Bernard glanced over at Tim and found him showing Cullen something on his phone. It looked like one of the mobile games Tim had downloaded for when he got bored on patrol—not that he would ever admit to having done that. Bruce would flip his lid.
Everyone else was chatting away, voices echoing off the warm walls, and there wasn’t a single upset expression across the entire table. The only thing close was Jason frowning at Duke, but the corner of his mouth was twitching up.
All in all, the entire atmosphere was nice.
Good food, nice people, fun conversations. It was warm and cozy, very festive.
None of that explained the way Bernard’s chest was tightening.
He figured it was just the food, at first. Like he’d swallowed something without chewing it enough. His throat felt gummy enough.
But then his heart started to pound, and in one swift moment, Bernard recognized his standard panic attack tells.
Fuck.
Gripping the arm of his chair, he rolled his shoulders.
There wasn’t even anything happening to him. No bad memories, not a single threat. There was absolutely no reason for him to be anything but happy.
Steph was saying something, he realized, and tuned back in just in time to hear, “—Cass kicked his ass. It was awesome.”
He swallowed hard and let the fog in his ears take over again.
Eyes trailing dizzily over his plate, Bernard tried not to think about how all of it would taste like ash in his mouth. Alfred’s hard work, wasted, probably puked back up the second Bernard managed to sneak away. That was what always seemed to happen when he had a bad enough panic attack on a full stomach.
The buzzing under his skin was overwhelming, turning his limbs to mush, and he sank a little in his seat.
A warm hand found his. He fought the urge to flinch away.
Instead, he offered Tim the best smile he could, mumbling, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”
Whatever Tim said in response was lost in the fuzziness of Bernard’s head, and then he was in the hallway.
Sharp spikes of fear ran through his blood with every door he passed. Every shadow felt like a jumpscare waiting to happen. By the time he managed to figure out which hallway he was in and where he was in relation to the dining room, he’d found himself by the kitchen instead.
It wasn’t that far. He could take a few breaths, splash some water on his face at the kitchen sink, and go back.
Just the thought made him feel dizzy.
Outside.
He really needed to get outside, he decided distantly.
The kitchen had a big set of french doors off to the side, and through it, Bernard could see the long back porch. Alfred’s snow-covered garden sat beyond that, large blue tarps laid over his plants to protect them from the soft flakes still fluttering down.
As quietly as he could, Bernard slipped out onto the icy porch. The wood underneath his feet echoed with every footstep, pounding inside his head.
He moved away from the doors and sat clumsily by the railing, just barely missing the snow that had blown in. Crossing his arms, he tried his best to take a deep breath, but it came right back out as a puff of fog.
Under his thin shirt, his heart was still racing, palpitating in a way that scared him no matter how many times it happened. He pressed his hand to his chest and stuttered out another half-baked inhale.
The porch was decorated for the holidays, which Bernard hadn’t exactly expected, with a garland and some lights running across the railing. Icicle lights dangled from the hangover. Bernard stared at the little needles on the garland and tried to focus on counting slowly to one-hundred.
It was hard.
He felt jittery and distant, like his body was gone and all that was left was his mind, open for the cold wind to scatter everywhere.
Maybe coming outside hadn’t been the best idea. He didn’t even have his coat, didn’t know if Tim would worry, wasn’t sure if he was gonna irritate anyone by disappearing like that. He was in Batman’s home, and Bruce didn’t really seem like the sort of person who would just want his guests wandering around. Even his childrens’ long-term significant others would be on thin ice, Bernard was sure.
But as lightheaded as he felt out here, it was better than the overwhelming warmth inside. And he couldn’t be sorry for trying to escape a room that suffocating.
There were just so many people.
Bernard pressed his forehead to his knees and shuddered, moving his trembling hands to squeeze his outer thighs.
He was supposed to be doing better about this sort of thing. It’d been so long since the Chaos monsters, he shouldn’t be scared of something as simple as a crowd anymore.
Especially not a crowd like that. His boyfriend and his family were vigilantes, they saved people, they were heroes. He wasn’t in any danger with them. If anything, he was safer than he could possibly be alone.
And he still felt like puking at the idea of going back into the dining room. Or even just the kitchen.
Moving in general felt like a bad idea, the kind of bad idea that ended with him tied to an altar, or getting hit with chloroform gas in a crowded restaurant, or tied to a chair in a tiny room with a metal chain whipping against his skin so hard he bled—
The crunch of snow made Bernard’s head jerk up.
He made direct eye contact with something in the shadows beyond the porch, and just as he opened his mouth to scream, not even sure if he had enough breath in his lungs to make anyone hear him, Damian’s dog Titus came bounding out.
Titus stopped a few feet away and shook himself, sending snow spraying every direction.
Only once he was satisfied with being de-snow-ified did he stomp over to snuff at Bernard’s face. With Bernard sitting, Titus was as tall as he was.
A weak, relieved laugh tore itself out of Bernard’s lungs.
“Hey, boy. What’re you doing out here? It’s too cold for you,” he said, voice wobbling.
Gently, Titus pawed at Bernard’s knee, then backed away a bit, entire body wiggling. He did it another two times before sticking his cold nose against Bernard’s chest.
“Sorry—” He took a steadying breath. “Sorry, Titus. Not really in the mood to play with you right now.”
Titus whined, nosing at his chest some more, and Bernard allowed Titus’ bulk to spread his arms wide. The second he was out of the way, Titus shoved him over.
With a yelp, Bernard found himself staring up at the porch’s wooden rafters and the twinkling Christmas lights.
A heavy weight settled on his chest. Titus’ face was off to Bernard’s left, warm puffs of air ghosting over Bernard’s shoulder as he panted happily, and his stomach was firmly planted on Bernard’s chest. He seemed very content with himself.
Bernard gritted his teeth, waiting for a wave of panic to wash over him at being trapped, but all he got was a weird sort of pressure, like the panic attack was being slowly squeezed to death.
He pressed his hands to Titus’ rough fur and swallowed hard. His next breath was a stuttered mess.
“Y’re a good dog.” Bernard managed.
Titus licked at his ear, and with a weak chuckle, Bernard pressed his face against Titus’ side.
He’d never tried something like a weighted blanket before. The closest would probably be Tim laying his head on Bernard’s chest, but if anything, that made Bernard panic worse. He always thought about how bad it would be if he woke Tim up by having a panic attack, so scared of worrying Tim that it made his entire body freeze up.
This wasn’t like that.
Titus wouldn’t care if Bernard panicked. Or, maybe he would, but he wouldn’t worry about it. He’d huff, get up, and walk away. Or he’d shove Bernard around a little bit. Readjust them so Bernard wasn’t bothering him.
Somehow, that helped his heart slow a little bit. It wasn’t normal, not by a longshot, but at least it wasn’t pounding in his throat anymore.
“G’boy,” Bernard said again. He let his head fall back against the cold wood with a dull thunk, closing his eyes against the chill seeping through his bones. He sighed. “Very g’boy.”
He had no idea how long he laid there before the door handle clicked behind them.
It was Titus’ utter lack of reaction that kept his panic at a dull spike instead of another full-blown explosion.
“Dowd?” A vaguely familiar voice asked.
Bernard cracked one eye open, tilting his head back to peer at the french doors, and found Damian standing there. He had one upside-down eyebrow raised.
Lowered?
Raised.
“Hey, Damian.” Bernard rasped.
His fingers scratched at Titus’ fur even as Titus lifted his head to glance at his owner. There must’ve been some sort of silent communication, because wordlessly, Damian stepped out onto the porch and shut the door.
“You’re laying in snow,” Damian said. Bernard couldn’t quite decide whether he sounded confused or disapproving.
“Next to snow.”
“Close enough.”
Damian leaned against the railing, frowning down at them.
Just to get him to stop staring like he was trying to dissect Bernard’s brain from a distance, Bernard asked, “were you looking for Titus?”
“We were looking for you. Drake was concerned when you didn’t come back to dinner.”
A prick of guilt bloomed in Bernard’s chest, and he must’ve reacted somehow physically, because Titus gave a low rumble and nosed at his ear.
“Sorry.” Bernard mumbled. “I got…”
He gestured to Titus, expecting Damian to push and ask why he was even outside to begin with.
Instead, Damian nodded. “Titus likes to make people his bed. If he gets too heavy, you just say his name and tell him up.”
Bernard rubbed Titus’ back.
He didn’t want to get up.
He didn’t want to lose this weight on his chest, pinning him to the ground like a butterfly in a collection, keeping his head from floating away.
But if Tim was worried—
As if reading his mind, Damian pushed away from the railing.
“I’ll let Drake know you’re alright.”
With a deep, shaky breath, Bernard managed, “please.”
A few moments later, the french door opened and closed firmly.
Titus and Bernard sighed in unison.
Sometimes, he was so very grateful for Tim’s wacky family.
It felt like dating someone from the Munsters. The family with their basement-hideout, their habits that seemed so peculiar, the kids that were just a little bit off from what you expected.
Damian was an awkward little kid, not quite sure of his footing sometimes, but he was a good kid. He loved Tim, tolerated Bernard, maybe even approved of him.
When Tim got hurt and Bernard was waiting in the medbay, Damian would offer to lend him some comics or manga or a video game to distract him. If Damian showed up looking for Tim when he wasn’t home, Bernard had no problem giving him some vegetarian snacks and letting him talk about whatever animal he’d most recently adopted. Once, when nobody else had been available, Bernard went with Tim to pick Damian up from school.
Some of Damian’s drawings were pinned to his easel in the manor’s library, and Bernard knew he’d seen a few sketches of him and Tim passed out on the library couches amidst the rest. Good sketches, ones that caught how softly Tim looked at him, how Tim was wearing his jacket, all of it.
He was a good kid, one that seemed to gravitate towards his family, who proved time and time again he’d do anything for them.
And maybe Damian was a little bit of a traitor, because not five minutes after he went inside, the door opened again.
Bernard’s eyes slid shut.
“Hey, Berns,” Tim said softly.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that part.” Quiet footsteps echoed near Bernard’s head, making his heart speed up even as he reminded himself that it was just Tim. Just safe, beautiful, comforting Tim.
Titus rumbled again. Some of his slobber got on Bernard’s shoulder, leaking through his shirt and plastering it against cold skin.
Seconds later, Tim was settled in, sitting cross-legged beside them. One of his hands came up to scratch gently at Titus’ back. When he spoke, his voice was a low whisper carried on the wind. “Was it dinner?”
“Tim.” Bernard whined.
“I know, I know, but I can’t help you unless I know what happened. I can’t fix it.”
“I’m not asking you to fix it.”
Shifting uneasily, Tim moved his hand as if he was going to grab Bernard’s. He let it hover for a second before slowly, slowly slipping their fingers together. Bernard didn’t protest.
It took him a minute and a bit of hyping himself up to convince himself to squeeze Tim’s hand.
The relieved look he got was worth it.
Relieved.
Because Bernard scared him.
“I’m sorry,” slipped off Bernard’s tongue before he could stop it.
Tim froze.
“I’m sorry.” Bernard scrubbed his face with his other hand, jostling Titus. “I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have panicked.”
“Hey,” Tim said.
Readjusting himself across Bernard’s chest, Titus gave a quiet huff, adding more weight to the quickly-tightening lump in Bernard’s rib cage. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and shook his head. “Nothing happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, nothing happened! There wasn’t some—no trigger, no alarm bells, nothing happened. One second I’m fine and the next, I’m freaking out. I haven’t had something like this in months, Tim.”
Tim shifted, laying down on the cold wood beside Bernard. A bitter wind dragged their hair into their eyes.
“This is all wrong.” Bernard croaked.
“Hey,” Tim said softly, tugging his hand. “This is your timeline, Bear. There’s not right or wrong, there’s just progress.”
“But this isn’t progress.”
“Yes it is. C’mon, a few months ago, you would’ve bolted straight back to the car, not just come out to the porch. And before that, you wouldn’t have been able to make it through the front door without panicking.”
Bernard swallowed hard.
That wasn’t…wrong, exactly.
One of the first times he’d come to Wayne manor, something about the front hall reminded him of the room he’d been put in to go through the first trials with the Chaos monsters. All the old wood, the fancy wainscoting, the intense amount of dark brown.
He’d wound up in one of the spare bathrooms with Tim crouched in front of him, running through breathing exercises and holding his hands to stop him from clutching at his hair.
Instead of admitting that Tim had a point, Bernard very purposefully looked at Titus.
“I have a dog on my chest.” He mumbled.
“That’s progress, too.” Gently, Tim pressed a kiss to Bernard’s shoulder. “Letting yourself get trapped? Titus isn’t exactly small, it’d be totally fair if you’d freaked out.”
“Yeah, but—like, why?”
“He does this for Bruce and Damian too. When they’re panicking, having a weight helps. Guess he recognized whatever you were doing.”
Bernard wheezed a laugh, head dropping back against the wood. “Great. And here I thought I was doing fine hiding it.”
He felt Tim’s lips twitch downwards against his shoulder, and when he looked over, Tim was frowning at him.
“We’re gonna talk about that, by the way,” he said firmly. “You trying to hide a panic attack from me.”
“Tim—”
“It’s one thing if I’d make it worse, but I don’t want you hiding things from me because you think I’m gonna worry or because it’ll mess up a dinner or something, okay? If you’re gonna try to handle something like this alone, I want it to be because you genuinely think it’ll work better for you.”
“I just thought I could deal with it solo.”
“But you don’t have to.”
Bernard glanced away.
“I know.”
A gentle hand came up to tuck some of Bernard’s hair behind his ear.
His breathing hitched, awkward and sudden, and Tim’s fingers paused where they were playing with the ends of his hair.
Hiding his face in Titus’ fur, Bernard took his own hand away.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know that Tim would be there if Bernard asked.
He did know. He knew it in his bones, because boyfriend or not, Tim was just that kind of person.
There was just something about the way he’d said it, that gentle sort of certainty, that made Bernard feel like his heart was being ripped in half. Like there was nothing that could keep Tim away if Bernard wanted him close.
A few icy tears trickled down Bernard’s cheeks, catching in Titus’ fur. He sucked in a breath and shuddered.
“Why’s Titus out here, anyway?” Bernard asked, voice wobbly.
Thankfully, Tim allowed the change of topic. “He’s got a doggy-door in the mudroom by the garage. If we don’t let him out here, he whines for hours.”
“It’s snowing.”
“Don’t ask me, he’s Damian’s dog. Great Dane’s don’t even like the cold, their fur’s too short, so I dunno why Titus insists on prancing around in it.”
Bernard ruffled Titus’ sides, getting a gentle huff in response, and chuckled weakly.
“Y’know…” He turned his face closer to Titus and away from Tim. “I wouldn’t mind getting a pet.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Not a Great Dane, that’s a bit much for a first pet, but…something. A cat, maybe.”
“We should talk about that.” Tim murmured. “I think a cat is a great idea.”
It took a second for Bernard to lift his head, but when he managed it, Tim was watching him with a soft expression. It was like melted gold, just for him.
“Really?” He asked hesitantly.
“Really.”
Tim took one of his hands and squeezed it, then brought it to his face to blow on it, warm air prickling his frozen fingers.
He hadn’t even realized how numb his hands were until he felt Tim’s.
“You about ready to go back inside?” Tim asked. “You’re freezing.”
“Mhm. Almost.”
After a second, Tim pressed his face to Bernard’s shoulder with a little sigh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“You go on in, then. I don’t want you catching a cold or something ‘cause of me,” Bernard said.
Tim just shifted closer.
It was nice.
Titus’ weight on his chest, Tim at his side, the snow silently fluttering past, Christmas lights twinkling overhead.
Closing his eyes, Bernard took a deep breath.
He really, really didn’t wanna go back inside, but that was a problem to deal with in a few minutes.