Archive of Our Own ^beta

Warm sunlight spills across the covers, bathing Tim in a halo of gold. 

Bernard lets himself admire his boyfriend for a moment, fully knowing he was probably already awake. Watches the spiderweb shadows cast by his eyelashes shift across his cheek. 

He always looked so young when he was asleep. 

They weren't even that old--it just seemed that the universe was intent on piling semi-life destroying events onto them, and the stress added up. 

Bernard thinks about the other day, when they’d been sitting watching some old movie rerun on TV, Tim’s head in his lap. How he’d been chattering away about new evidence of the Jersey Devil’s existence and how they had a clear picture now--that proves it, Tim. Bernard remembers brushing his hand through Tim’s hair and stalling in his recount of the article he’d read, as he spotted gray sifting through his fingers. 

Tim had glanced up to him, confused. Had asked what was wrong and when Bernard had mentioned that he had gray hair Tim had gone red. Had said he already knew. That he hadn't wanted to mention it and had tried to hide it as long as he could. 

Now, the gray is prominent enough to spot it without having to search for it. 

Tim had come home spitting mad one day because Jason had cracked a joke about it and Tim hadn't taken it well. Had sat complaining and retelling the story at least five times before Bernard soothed him with kisses and nodding along to his various plans for revenge. 

So Bernard didn't mention it a lot. 

But now, the gray sifts and covers his eyes and Bernard finally reaches and brushes the hair from his face. 

A bird chirps somewhere outside and there’s a hum as the AC kicks on. 

Bernard finally drags himself up from bed, and groans at the pang in his leg. 

“Ok?” Tim asks, voice heavy with sleep. 

Bernard shrugs. “Yeah. Just the same stuff. I’ll take my medicine and it should be fine. We’re not going to cancel today.”

He can hear Tim moving closer, and the mattress shifts as he kneels behind him. His arms wrap around his shoulders a moment later, Tim’s chin resting on his shoulder. 

“We can cancel if it’s too bad.”

“Yeah, but we’ve done that before and--” Bernard huffs impatiently. “I hate it. I’ll be fine.”

“At least wear your brace.”

“Only if you wear yours.”

Tim grumbles and presses his cold nose against Bernard’s neck, laughing slightly when Bernard shrugs him off and pushes him away. 

“You’re like a dog.”

“Ew. No.”

“Cold noses. You’re always too cold.”

Tim hums and gets up, wandering over to the dresser before digging a shirt out and chucking it at Bernard’s head. 

“ Brace .”

Bernard throws the shirt back at Tim, who easily avoids it. 

“Do you want coffee?” Tim asks. 

“No, thanks.”

Tim gives a little thumbs up and leaves, faint meowing coming from the hallway. Eloise was up, then. 

The fridge opens with a resounding clunk and he can hear Tim murmuring something to her. She meows loudly in response, demanding her food to come faster. 

His brace clunks as it’s retrieved from underneath the bed, and he grimaces at the feeling as it settles onto his leg. The straps click and snap shut easily, far too familiar a process to Bernard’s hands. He reaches for the medicine next--takes it dry and grimaces at the feeling of it going down his throat. 

The room’s silent as he sits, trying to get the energy to stand. Sometimes he’s worried that he’ll try to stand and no matter what he does his leg won’t work and will collapse underneath him. 

Tim pops his head into the doorway, eyebrows raised. “All good?”

Bernard smiles--maybe it’s more a grimace, he can’t tell. “I’m good.”

Tim watches him for a second. “Do you want help?”

His face burns and he braces himself on the bed before shoving himself to his feet. Bernard’s proud that he only wobbles a little bit. “Nope. All good.”

“Ok. We just need to drop by the house and pick the stuff up. Alfred said it’d be ready.”

“I still don't understand why we couldn't just make things ourselves.”

Tim looks at him like he’s suddenly sprouted another head. “The last time you tried to cook you nearly burnt the kitchen down. Last time I tried to cook. Well.”

Bernard grimaces at the remembered charcoal something Tim had whipped up. Bernard had looked at it and then called for takeout. 

So maybe they can’t cook. Not a big deal. 

“So come on,” Tim says, “Let’s go. I’m gonna make sure Ellie’s alright with everything and then I’ll drive.”

“Wow. Don't trust me to drive?”

“Definitely not.”

Tim laughs at his expression, coming into the room and rummaging around in the dresser before pulling out his braces, putting them on quickly. He wiggles his fingers at Bernard, as if to say look and then grabs a sweatshirt from the closet (one Bernard is sure is actually his) and leaves again. 

His phone buzzes from the side table, a calendar notification popping up. 

Date w/ T--Stoneville Park.

#

The park is, thankfully, not very crowded. 

It does wonders for Bernard’s self confidence to not have every person over thirty look at him with pity as he walks along the path. 

Funnily enough, he’s sure Tim is getting more weird looks than him. Either because he was Tim or because he had his sleeves pushed up, leaving the braces and scars on display. 

The giant picnic basket in his hand possibly had something to do with it, too. 

Tim drags him towards an empty area that overlooks a pond, and plunks the basket down. It’s next to a boulder that was probably put there on purpose, and Bernard doesn't get it until he sees the almost seat like cutout. Oh. Tim pulls a blanket out and Bernard turns his attention back to him, laughing the second the design is revealed. 

“A batman picnic blanket?”

The blanket settles on the ground, fluttering slightly in the wind. 

“It was all I could find,” Tim says, his ears red. “Besides, it’s fine.”

“Just a bit on the nose, don't you think?”

Tim shrugs, and kneels next to the basket, starting to poke through it. “It’s not the Robin symbol. That would be on the nose. I’m not Batman.”

Tim pulls out sandwiches and fruit, settling them on the blanket before pulling a couple of water bottles out. 

“Someday you’ll get your own merch,” Bernard says, sizing up the blanket. Trying to figure out the best way to get down. He wasn't going to sit on the pity rock. 

“I don't really want merch,” Tim says, trying to act like he wasn't watching Bernard do his awkward shuffle around. “The whole point is kinda…well. Was originally that people didn't know about me.”

He knew Tim was itching to ask if he wanted help but Bernard would rather just drop into a fifty foot hole than have to have Tim help him sit on the ground. 

“What kind of sandwiches are they?”

“Turkey, I think.”

“Alfred and his odd love of turkey.” Bernard muses, finally managing to get himself to the ground. “Maybe I’ll get him a turkey nightie for Christmas.”

A bag of chips smacks against his arm, falling with a crinkle to the blanket. 

“You attacked me.”

“You’re harassing Alfred.”

Bernard scoots closer, catching Tim’s sleeve and tugging him closer. “You stole my sweatshirt.”

“Yeah. And you stole my shirt like a week ago. Equivalent exchange.”

“I’m glad we could finally do this,” Bernard mumbles. “We’re too busy.”

Tim hands him a sandwich and wraps an arm around his shoulder, leaning against him. “Well today we’re not.”

Bernard hums, closing his eyes to rest his head against Tim’s. 

It’s almost too warm in the sunshine, and he’s starting to sweat in his jacket. It smells like honeysuckle or something other he can’t quiet place--something from years ago when he still spoke to his mom and they’d sit on the back porch, her talking and complaining about everything and anything.

Tim’s hand finds his, giving a little squeeze, as if he somehow knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

“Next time we should go to an amusement park again,” Tim says softly. 

Bernard blinks, nearly blinded by the light reflecting off the water. “God, no. I think I’d puke again.”

“We can go on the slow rides!” Tim protests. “Come on--we should go while we still can.”

“Are you dying or something? Why can’t we go a different time.”

Tim pushes against him, laughing. “Listen. Dick still drags Kory to amusement parks. And he’s like-- old. ”

“He’s like thirty! God--what does that make us if you think he’s old?”

Tim’s giggling now, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “He’s actually thirty-two, I think. Listen, I just don't want to be thirty going to an amusement park and still getting excited about it like a little kid.”

“I’m gonna to tell Dick you said that.”

“ Don't .”

“If you force me to go, I’ll tell Dick.”

“But-”

“And you’re really gonna make me walk around that much?”

He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth--Tim pulls away, looking guilty. 

“I didn't mean--”

“I know.” Bernard says quickly. “Fuck, sorry, Tim. That was a shitty joke.”

“It was.”

“We can go. I don’t mind. But then we have to go visit that new museum that cropped up over on 3rd Street. I heard about it in class--they said that there's a whole section dedicated to Mothman --can you believe that?”

“If I have to endure more Mothman rants, maybe the rollercoasters aren't worth it.” Tim gripes, but he’s smiling, so Bernard counts it as a win. 

“You love my Mothman rants. They’re a classic.”

Tim rolls his eyes, grabbing a sandwich and unwrapping it, settling back against his side. “Mothmans not that bad, I guess. I miss your Robin conspiracies.”

Bernard laughs, bumps Tim with his shoulder, ignoring his annoyed look. “Out of all my thoughts on Robin, I don't think I would’ve ever guessed how that turned out. That it was gonna be some weird kid from high school.”

“If I was weird, you were too.” Tim cuts in quickly.

“Don't worry,” Bernard snorts, “I’m definitely not contesting that I was weird. I’m just saying you would've been least likely candidate in my book to… y’know .”

Tim waves his hand vaguely, scars glinting in the sunlight. “Of course I know. I was there, if you can believe that.”

Bernard ducks his head to press a quick kiss to Tim’s forehead, smiling. “I know you were there. I’m being discreet. ” 

It makes Tim laugh again, and Bernard thinks maybe he was destined to find Tim only if to get to make him laugh. 

“C’mere,” Tim says, and Bernard has about five seconds to process the request before Tim kisses him, the material of his brace rough against his cheek. “I’m glad this worked out. I hate not being able to spend time with you, you know.”

Bernard smiles, sure he’s doing a miserable job at hiding the fondness that seeps into his expression. “I know.”

Tim kisses him again, and Bernard makes a quick adjustment to his destiny. Meant to make Tim laugh, and meant to spend the rest of his life with him. 

Yeah. That sounded like something he could mange.