Work Text:
Even though Tim doesn’t attend school anymore, he still wants a peek at what a normal teenager’s life looks like. He keeps track of local schools and their events, so he can drop by for a visit. Nobody notices he doesn’t belong in their halls when he wears the same disgruntled and tired expression as everyone else.
Turns out most teenagers are overworked, overstressed, and sleep deprived. Tim fits right in as long as he keeps his mouth shut.
It’s at an underwhelming and frankly pathetic science fair where he meets the girl of his dreams. She’s cute, of course, though less in a "I'd totally sleep with you" kind of way and more "You dropped your mechanical dinosaur on my head, and that’s awesome."
Her name is unimportant since their first date together ends up being their last one.
They go to an upscale restaurant. Tim’s nervous, unsure about whether he should eat with a spoon or a fork, and the waiter is glaring at his badly fitting suit. The girl across from him doesn't seem to mind, and they share a shy smile as their drinks are refilled for the third time.
Before Tim can say something stupid about taxes, the skylight above them shatters and a body falls straight into their salad. There’s a ringing in Tim's head as a scream goes in one ear and out the other. Batman descends from the sky to grab the body only to slam it back down, breaking their table and knocking over Tim’s date, who is trying to get up and run.
"This wouldn't happen if I had help," Batman growls out quietly enough only for Tim to hear. The grappling hook comes out, and Batman disappears back the way he came from with the body.
“Check, please,” Tim says, slinking down into his seat as his date remains passed out on the floor.
While Tim's not entirely sure he likes boys or girls or anyone at all, he's decided to give up on figuring it out for now. Statistically, Bruce will pick up a new child to be overprotective and overbearing towards soon enough. It’s not like Tim is getting younger.
(“Bruce broods like a chicken,” Tim informs Leilo, and the tabby cat blinks at him questioningly. “He has to have a baby to sit on, never realizing his baby chick is, in fact, a growing duck.”
“Dude, I’m pretty sure he thinks you’ll accidentally end up dating a Chaos God,” Superboy says, never looking away from the mirror he’s using to style his hair. His comb pauses as a thought hits him. “That, or he’s mad you won’t let him adopt you, giving him the right to have a say in your personal life.”
“Never say those words in that context to me again,” Tim says with a shudder.
“Dating a Chaos God?”
“Let him adopt you.”)
So no, there’s no need to waste his time dating someone who’s going to get Condiment King thrown at them for buying him a burger. Tim’s perfectly happy living his life on the run from Rose and her father, escaping Batman’s attempt to leash him, and slowly giving up his house to his cat.
But then he meets Bernard.
On what should have been a regular night, Red X gets caught stealing a bioweapon prototype. It turns out not only does Lex Luthor want the prototype, but all of Gotham does too, and the morons trip over each other while tripping security.
Which means Batman is alerted to the fact that Red X is in possession of said bioweapon prototype and starts chasing after him. Normally, Tim wouldn’t hesitate to hand over such a dangerous thing, but he has plans for it that aren’t Bat approved.
Red X isn’t a villain, but sometimes people forget that he’s no hero.
Just when his suit’s invisibility runs out, he finds an unlocked window to an apartment in one of Oracle’s blind spots. He crawls through it without hesitation, knowing Batman is literally seconds away. He ends up in someone’s bedroom and shoves the briefcase containing the prototype under the bed before hiding in the shadows.
He holds his breath as something darker than night passes by the window.
Tim waits a couple of minutes before moving over to the lone dresser in the room, so he can look for something to wear over his costume. The first drawer is nothing but hoodies, the second drawer as well. Upon pulling out the third and last drawer, he finds every bit of space crammed with hoodies.
The owner is nothing, if not dedicated, he supposes.
Since all of Gotham is looking for Red X, he’ll just have to make this limited option work. If he picks an eye-catching hoodie, most people will probably overlook the legs of his costume or confuse them with normal leggings.
Tim chooses a baggy, white hoodie to pull over his head. He tucks his cape in place before taking off his mask and gloves. He stuffs them into the hoodie’s front pockets. The domino mask comes off last. The disguise won’t fool Oracle or Batman for even a second, but it should get him through the waves of minions just fine.
If he can lose himself in the crowd, maybe throw them in Batman’s way—
“Who’s there?”
The light turns on, and Tim jumps like he’s been electrocuted. Turning around, he comes face to face with a teenaged boy wielding a baseball bat. Brown eyes squint suspiciously through blond bangs, and Tim pretends he’s still invisible.
“What are you doing in my house?” the boy asks, and his hands tighten around the baseball bat dangerously.
“I got lost?” Tim answers with an unsure lilt before nodding with certainty. “I got lost.”
The boy stares at him blankly before lowering the baseball bat. Only then does Tim realize the boy wears only a pair of loose shorts, leaving a lot of finely toned muscles on display. It’s quite impressive.
“Understandable,” the boy nods like he, too, gets lost in people’s houses.
It’s Gotham, so he just might.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me where I am?” Tim asks in an attempt to really sell his confusion.
“Like I said, you’re in my house. Specifically, my main bedroom,” the boy says while running a hair through his lengthy bangs. Muscled arms flex at the movement, but Tim’s eyes move downward.
“Cool, but why do you only have hoodies?” Tim asks, staring at the boy’s crotch intently. There’s no way owning only one set of shorts and underwear can be hygienic. He can’t even imagine the damage that would do to his clothes and reputation.
“You went through my stuff?” The boy looks around the bare bedroom as if looking for something Tim could have stolen.
“I was looking for a phone to call for help,” Tim says reasonably.
“Maybe I would believe that, if you weren’t wearing my hoodie,” the boy points out.
“Had an accident,” Tim supplies, pressing his fingers together bashfully. He looks down and glances up through his bangs. It’s a look he perfected on his parents whenever he needed to blame something on Mr. Dosletter’s oncoming dementia.
The boy hums and rests on the baseball bat like a cane. “I suppose I can lend you my third favorite hoodie if you promise to give it back.”
“I’ll do you one better and buy dinner too. You can’t possibly resist seeing more of this face, right?” Tim smiles innocently.
“How could I say no to such an offer?” The boy winks at him before holding out a hand. “Dowd. Bernard Dowd.”
“Drake. Tim Drake.”
They smile at each other and exchange phone numbers. Bernard has Tim’s number saved in his phone, and Tim has Bernard’s written on the back of a contract. It’s not until he’s out of the house, strolling down the now empty streets, that he realizes he left the briefcase behind, and more importantly, may have accidentally asked Bernard out on a date.
“Is this a date?” Tim asks Leilo while holding up the hoodie. “Or is this just a thank you dinner?”
The cat slowly blinks back before dismissing Tim to lick a paw. It’s Leilo-speak for “I love you, but you’re an idiot.” Tim would be offended if he didn’t agree whole-heartedly.
What is the etiquette for returning a coat? Should he wash it? Would it be okay to burn it and replace it with a new one? Considering it dropped one of his gloves on the way home, he would like to burn it.
“Not a date,” Tim finally decides on.
Kaiser, the AI in charge of his phone, starts playing “Can't Help Falling in Love,” and Tim checks the screen. The words “IT’S A DATE” stare back at him along with a taunting emote of two people kissing.
(ʃƪ ˘ ³˘)♥(˘ ε˘ʃƪ)
“I’m doomed,” Tim groans. He is in despair. Bruce is going to kill him and then move on to murdering his love life; he just knows it.
One round of panic texting later, and Tim realizes how wildly out of his depth he is. What do teenagers even do on dates that isn’t making out? Most of the ones shown on tv end horribly during said make out sessions.
None of his friends or family are helpful but asking Dick for tips ends up being a mistake when the reply is an excited “I'll be right over to help you pick out an outfit!” He tries to lock out Dick and the wheelbarrow of clothes with him, but the guy just kicks the door down without hesitation.
What happens from there can be considered actual torture.
“This one is subtle. Absolutely no one will think ‘I’m a guy on a date with another guy’ while still killing it,” Dick gushes, holding up a monstrosity that resembles a purple jacket. Leilo makes an appreciative meow from the catwalk wrapping around the walls.
“It shimmers under the light,” Tim deadpans, leaning as far away from the hideous jacket as the ropes binding him to the kitchen chair will allow.
“Got to have that manly ‘oomph,’ you know?” Dick swivels his hips to emphasize his glutes.
“It out-sparkles actual sparkles.”
“These will go well with it!” Dick picks out a pair of shiny black pants that squeak with every movement.
Dick is the worst, the absolute worst. Red X’s vengeance will be nigh unstoppable, and no amount of Barbara giving him the “tired of your shit” face will stop it. The moment Tim is free from his imprisonment, he throws both Dick and his ugly clothes out. He shoots Bruce a text to come get his ex-sidekick before Tim decides to use him for target practice.
What he ends up selecting is an oversized dinner jacket from his dad’s high school days and a pair of old jeggings. It’s maybe not the best outfit, but it beats looking like a stripper.
He ends up manipulating Lex Luthor into thinking he has the bioweapon prototype to get Bruce out of Gotham. With him gone, Tim can sit down with Bernard in a fancy restaurant without worrying about a repeat of his first date, but he makes sure not to sit under a skylight or near a window just in case.
The meet up and ordering of drinks is simple. The rest of it…not so much.
“Does this place sell cheeseburgers?” Bernard asks, squinting down at the menu in his hands. He’s dressed in a snazzy jacket and ripped jeans. Tim thinks he may have been expecting a more informal setting.
“I’m not actually sure,” Tim replies staring at his own menu. “I know they called this place fancy, but I didn’t know they’d only use French words.”
As much as he’d love to blame this one on Dick, it was Selina who had vouched for this place. It’s his own fault for taking her at her word. Everyone knows Catwoman doesn’t hand out information for free, and messing with people is also kind of her thing.
He ends up picking something random off the menu. Bernard picks out what he thinks might be steak. The waiter just smiles at them with that soulless smile before sliding croissants onto the table.
“So,” Tim begins awkwardly, “I may have forgotten something.”
“Could it be my hoodie?” Bernard raises an eyebrow.
“I only remembered as we were getting seated,” he admits with a wince. He’d been so occupied with getting rid of Bruce that he forgot the actual reason they were even meeting up to begin with.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll probably have more chances to give it back.” Bernard winks at him, and Tim chugs his glass of water to avoid giggling like an idiot. This is flirting, right? He should flirt back.
“Is there a reason you have another bedroom?” Tim blurts out.
Opening with an interrogation. Tim’s definitely winning at this date thing. Bruce would be so proud of him.
“Oh,” Bernard blinks in surprise at the question. He answers with a smile, “I have to hide my hobby from my parents.”
“Which is?” Shoot, he still sounds accusative instead of interested. This is all Batman’s fault.
“Pain.”
Tim pauses from where he’s mentally choking out the Batman in his brain. “I’m sorry, I thought you said pain was your hobby?”
“No, you got it right. My hobby is giving and receiving pain. Consensually,” Bernard stresses upon noticing Tim’s blank stare.
“That’s a,” Tim hesitates, trying not to say ‘sex,’ “thing? Pain?”
“Pain is pleasure,” Bernard says, and all Tim can think about is the pain of loneliness and losing someone important to him. He makes a face, and Bernard, the mind reader, amends, “Physically, I mean. The endorphin rush, you know?”
“Oh,” Tim says in enlightenment, “like science!”
“Like science,” Bernard agrees.
“You know what’s also like science?” Tim asks casually. “Clones.”
Something in Bernard’s eyes sparks at the word. He places his elbows on the table, folds his hands under his chin, and gives Tim the most intense stare he’s witnessed outside of Batman.
“Are we talking fully cloned clones, opposite-sex clones, or mixed clones?” he asks seriously. “Because I’ve been studying the differences, and at this point only one is an actual clone. Anything else is a new relative that never existed until that moment, bringing up the matter of being if you’re the result of something besides sexual reproduction.”
There’s a beat of silence where only the light classical music and light clinking of dishware can be heard.
“Yes, I keep telling certain people that clones can’t be made from two people!” Tim beams. “If I clone my DNA and sequence it with his, that’s our baby, not a clone!”
“People are more caught up with being born abnormally than thinking things through,” Bernard says wisely.
They talk the night away, never breaking stride even when their food turns out to be lamb liver and a salad made out of cheese. Bernard is too interesting, too fun to talk to even when their meal doesn’t turn out to be what they hoped.
When they split up afterwards with the agreement to do dinner again, Tim finds he can’t stop smiling. He also feels like throwing up. He thinks there’s something wrong with him. Maybe Bernard disgusts him?
He should go ask someone with experience in romance. Someone who can guide him on the right path of being a teenage vigilante trying to date. Someone who won’t judge Tim for how he’s feeling.
He decides to find Jason instead.
“That’s just butterflies, you dork,” Jason tells him without looking up from the pistol he’s cleaning. “Now get out of my safehouse.”
“You’re the only one who won’t lie to me,” Tim says before thinking about Babs and tacking on, “or record me to make fun of later.”
“Yeah? Then guess I better impart some more wisdom. Don’t worry about your feelings, they will all go away after a little bit,” Jason tells him.
“That’s a good thing?” Tim asks.
“Look, once the initial high of being in a relationship goes away, you find out you want to continue seeing them, or you find out they’re a douche and kick them to the curb,” Jason pauses in his cleaning to gaze thoughtfully at the bullet holes in the wall in front of him, “or you kill them for being human scum.”
“That doesn’t sound right?” His soap operas make a point to show how powerful love can be, and how hard it can be to let go of those feelings.
“Trust me, kid. I’m always right,” Jason says haughtily.
Tim supposes tv isn’t always accurate and divorce rates are high for a reason.
They go on a handful of more dates before he slips up. It’s only natural that all happy things in Tim’s life must come to an end, but he wishes Bruce picked a less public place than a fast-food joint for their showdown.
“Hey there, sport! How’s it going?” Bruce drags a heavy metal chair to their table. The sound goes on long enough for everyone to look at them with murder in their eyes.
“Mr. Wayne,” Tim says flatly once the awful noise stops. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, same as you, of course! Got to eat that meat!” Bruce’s grin practically sparkles.
“Oh my god, can you shut up,” Tim hisses as his face heats up. He takes a moment to smooth out his expression until he appears more angry than embarrassed. “Isn’t this a little too poor for your expensive tastebuds, Mr. Wayne?”
“Haha, don’t be silly!” Bruce says with that wide smile of his. “A man like me needs to broaden his horizons every now and then!”
“At a Lickin’ Chicken Kitchen?” Tim asks dubiously.
“Is that what this place is called? Couldn’t see it with the graffiti over it.” Bruce glances around as if seeing the restaurant for the first time. “Isn’t it odd that it’s mostly penises?” Tim chokes as Bruce blazes on. “Amazing how lots of men claim to be straight when they seem to be obsessed with penises.”
“Bruce. Can you not?” he begs.
“Not that I would know anything about that, haha. Had to be talked out of buying this lovely painting of a vagina. It was by that one artist—you know, the one who painted those gorgeous Greek women cuddling together.”
“They weren’t cuddling, they were having sex. And stop it, Bruce.”
“Of course, if my son decided he liked penises instead of vaginas, I will support him as any father should. I just hope he’d trust me enough to tell me about it.”
“I will end your life with this toothpick flag, so help me.”
Bernard is watching them with horrified fascination. He’s munching on french-fries like it’s popcorn. Tim feels bad about having to throw him into Batman’s clutches, but there’s literally no escape: Bruce has maneuvered his leg to keep Tim in place.
“Bernard, this is Bruce Wayne. He’s an acquaintance of my parents,” Tim gives in with a sigh.
Bruce narrows in onto his maybe-boyfriend with a dangerous smile.
“It’s good to meet you, Bernard! Timmy here has been showing up to my parties since he was still wetting his diapers. Makes me feel a fatherly feeling, you know?” he chuckles.
“I don’t think Tim’s ever mentioned you,” Bernard says breezily. He takes the lid off his soda to take an obnoxiously loud sip while staring Bruce straight in the eyes.
“Funny, I could say the same,” Bruce says coldly.
Bernard holds out a hand to shake, and before Bruce can reciprocate, “accidentally” knocks over his soda with an elbow. The drink splashes Bruce’s expensive silk shirt and blazer before falling into his lap.
“Oh, whoops. Sorry about that, Mr. Wayne,” Bernard apologizes before winking at Tim. “Guess you need to get to the dry cleaners before that sets in.”
Tim feels his heart skip a beat as Bruce glares at Bernard with the full ferocity of Batman only to receive a sunny smile in return. This is the beginning of the war between Bernard and Bruce. It will get so out of hand that there will be a file in the Batcomputer labeled “Bruce Wayne fails.”
(“No, you cannot have him arrested for jaywalking. That’s an abuse of your power,” Barbara points out while sending Dick a photo of Bruce’s current predicament and a laughing emoji.
“He’s in league with a Rogue,” Bruce says with certainty while scrubbing at the paint on his face. The rainbow doesn’t come off. “I’m certain of it.”
“If by ‘Rogue,’ you mean school children who can be bribed to use the wrong paint for their fundraiser, then sure,” Barbara says sweetly.)
Tim misses most of it.
He’s busy refining the bioweapon prototype into the chemical he needs for his project. There are a few things still missing, and Red X has it on good authority one of the lesser-known cults in Gotham has something he’s looking for and is openly recruiting new members.
Tim uses the time Bernard is at group therapy to meet a cult recruiter in the backroom of an ice cream shop. It feels almost insidious that his appointment is set in a place so fun and innocent. Granted, the room is bare of anything besides a small table and two chairs which gives off something of a sinister vibe.
The door rattles, and instead of the creepy man he was expecting, in comes—
“Bernard?” Tim gapes.
For a moment, he thinks he’s mistaken. Instead of a snazzy outfit or a hoodie, the teenage boy frozen in the doorway wears black leather with belts and strips of cloth that have no real purpose. Silver piercings dot every inch of skin that can hide obvious holes, and his face is covered in black makeup.
“Tim?” The Bernard lookalike slowly closes the door behind him. With careful movements, he takes the seat across from Tim. The boy gives him a searching look. “You’re not here to join, are you?”
“No.”
They stare at each other awkwardly. Tim wonders if he’s a bad boyfriend not to notice how many piercings Bernard has. The ones on his ears should have been obvious.
“I think we need to talk,” Bernard finally says.
Tim cringes. He’s heard those dreaded words enough times to know what they mean. He tenses up, ready to run for the door. “Is this where you silence me?”
“No, deja de ver telenovelas.” Bernard rolls his eyes.
“My soaps are fine,” Tim argues hotly. “You just don’t appreciate good drama.”
Bernard raises a pierced eyebrow at him, and Tim remembers there is an important reason his boyfriend looks like he came out of a goth magazine.
“You’re in a cult,” Tim pauses, “that’s, um. Cool. Yes, cool. Cool like ice cream. I like ice cream.”
“You don’t mind?” Bernard flashes those big doe eyes of his.
“Gotham has hundreds of cults. As long as there isn’t any human sacrifice involved—” Tim cuts off upon noticing Bernard wincing. “Is there human sacrifice involved?” Tim asks dully.
“Well,” Bernard hesitates.
“Is there human sacrifice involved?” Tim asks again.
“Only under special circumstances!” Bernard replies hastily.
“Like?”
“Well, when a member becomes terminally ill—” Bernard begins.
“Stop.”
“—we throw these kickass parties—”
“No, really. Stop.” Tim plugs his ears as Bernard says something about Roman wine and stabbing. He mentally screams inside his head in an effort to make himself temporarily deaf.
“—and that’s why the goat skulls have to get bleached.” Bernard finishes with a guileless smile. Tim lets his arms flop onto the table as realization sets in.
“Oh my god,” Tim says. His boyfriend is in a crazy, murdering cult. “Bruce must never know.”
“And as long as no one looks in my basement, no one will ever know what we do to rapists,” Bernard promises.
“Oh my god, shut up! Bruce must never know,” Tim reiterates fervently.
He’ll never be able to talk to anyone outside the Batcave if this becomes known. Batman will have him under lock and key until Tim is saved by his friends, which will then turn into a battle that leads to galactic war. He just knows it.
“So now you know my secret, where do we stand, Tim?” Bernard asks softly.
And Tim…doesn’t know the right answer to that, but he does know what he wants it to be.
“Bern, I, um, have something to tell you too,” Tim says before he can think better of it. He straightens his shoulders back and decides he’s in it to win it. “I am Red X, the Nefarious Red X.”
Bruce is going to kill him, revive him, then kill him again.
“Oh, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ve known about that,” Bernard says dismissively.
“Say again?” Tim leans forward like he’s hard of hearing. “Are you saying you know that I’m…?”
“Red X? Yeah, sorry. I’ve known since you crawled into my house and dropped one of your gloves.” Bernard does that thing with his eyes where he’s silently laughing at Tim for being adorably stupid.
The only thought going through Tim’s mind is huh, so that’s where his glove went to.
“Well, that’s that then.” Tim sighs. “If I were a superhero, this would be the moment where I tell you to stay away from me for your own good.”
“Are you going to tell me to stay away?” Bernard asks him.
He absolutely should. Red X is a danger as both his enemies and allies won’t hesitate to go after Bernard. There is no guarantee that Tim will even have enough time to make their moments together worthwhile. There are countless reasons to break their relationship off before things become messy.
But Red X is neither selfless nor a superhero.
“Nope,” Tim says, making sure to draw the word out with a pop. He then asks with a mischievous smirk, “Want to see the Batmobile I took from Batman?”
“Yes!” Bernard squeaks immediately.