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As soon as Tim lets himself into the apartment, he knows he isn’t alone. It isn’t the hair on the back of his neck raising, it isn’t the sinking of his gut, and it isn’t the feeling of eyes burning into him.
It’s the kitchen light. The warm yellow pouring out of it might as well be a neon fucking sign.
He walks past it.
“Hey.”
Tim doesn’t answer. He lets himself into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.
A numb sense of calmness falls over him as he strips off his suit. Sometimes he’s like this, and he’s powerless against it. He freezes out his emotions until nothing is left but blissful, peaceful quiet.
His movements are mechanical: pull off his suit, pull on a fresh pair of boxers, a pair of thin sweatpants, a shirt that’s too big and smells like smoke under the sandalwood and citrus scent of cologne—
He changes his mind on the shirt. Instead of tugging it over his head, he rips it off and lets it fall to the floor of his spotless room, digging through the drawer for a different one. One of them has to belong to him.
It takes him a minute, but finally, he finds one of his own shirts and yanks it on. He looks up at the mirror for a moment, staring at his reflection but not really seeing it.
That happens too, sometimes. He just can’t get his eyes to focus right. His gaze slides behind whatever he’s looking at, blurring the image until he’s looking at two of whatever is in front of him. It doesn’t usually happen in front of a mirror, where he can see the empty expression on his face twice over.
Forcing himself to look away is like snapping a line with his bare hands, but somehow he manages it. His brain feels a little less still after that, thoughts stroking the edges of the quiet haze.
He opens the door to his room and goes to the kitchen, keeping his eyes on the cabinet instead of the acknowledging the figure leaning against his counter.
“Already made you one,” Jason says quietly.
Tim stills, the cabinet door pulled half open under his touch. His fingers grip the wood so tightly his knuckles go white as he listens to the nothing in his brain.
He doesn’t want to turn around. He wants to crawl into the cabinet and shut himself inside, to place a barrier between him and Jason, to finish off that wall he’s always been building between himself and the world.
“Baby?” Jason asks, a nervous edge to the question.
Suddenly, Tim is self-conscious of his reaction, of the way he’s freezing. He hasn’t been like this around Jason before. It isnt something he wants him to see, always something he’s managed to hide.
Tim presses against the haze in his brain, trying to force himself to stop it.
He turns to Jason, pressing his back into the counter as he locks eyes with the mug in his hand. The counter digs into his back like a tether.
Tim reaches a hand out and Jason has to take a half step forward to press it into his open palm. He stares into the coffee in his hands, knowing that if he takes a sip, it’ll be made exactly how he likes it. His eyes lose focus again, two mugs, two hands.
“Darlin’—”
When Tim interrupts him, it isn’t a command. Jason wouldn’t have listened even if it was. His words come out soft, quiet. A plea.
“—Don’t.”
“We need to talk,” Jason says, just as softly.
Tim shakes his head. “We don’t.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m busy.” His voice is still coming out in that soft, quiet tone, like some part of him thinks that if he makes it sound like begging, it’ll work.
Jason scoffs, and Tim knows he’s rolling his eyes, but he can’t rip his gaze from the mug.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Tim tries.
The fog in Tim’s brain is too thick for him to sugarcoat his words, and he notices Jason’s body language change in his periphery, the way he stiffens.
“I can’t—”
Tim doesn’t try to finish the sentence. Tim doesn’t know the end of that sentence. Tim doesn’t want to know the end of that sentence.
Jason waits, and Tim can feel his eyes searing into him, but he still can’t look up.
“Why not?” Jason asks.
The question remains unanswered.
“Look, baby. I know that somewhere in there, you’re pissed at me,” there’s a pause for Tim to answer there, too. “I didn’t get hurt, alright? I’m okay-”
“Please,” Tim interrupts, quietly, a final plea. The thoughts at the edges of his brain are a barrage now, clamping down on the numb fog, suffocating his quiet calm. “Please don’t, Jason,” Tim begs.
“I had to do it,” Jason says, his voice a little more firm, like he’s bracing himself for an argument.
And he’s going to get it, because those words finally grind out the nothingness. His eyes snap up to Jason’s, no longer tied to the mug in his hand, which is shaking now, ripples running through the liquid.
“You had to?” Tim repeats carefully, and he can hear the sharp edge of anger bleeding into his voice.
Jason’s posture goes defensive, his eyes locked on Tim’s face. “Yeah, I did—”
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
A flash of Tim’s anger echoes in Jason’s eyes, and it’s more than a little satisfying to see.
Let him be as pissed as Tim is.
“I know you don’t need—” Jason starts, before Tim interrupts him.
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because I knew I would be okay—”
“No you fucking didn’t! That’s bullshit—”
“It’s not!” Jason snaps, the anger filling out in his expression.
“It is!” Tim snaps back, viciously. “Because if you knew that bomb wasn’t going to kill me, you wouldn’t have lied to me! You wouldn’t have tricked me into leaving you behind!”
“But I was okay! I am!”
“And what if you weren’t?”
A scoff rips out of Jason’s throat. “Then you would have been!”
“That is protecting me!” Tim shouts.
“Fine! I was protecting you, is that what you want to hear?” Jason snaps.
“No! I want you to have not done it!”
“Well, I already did it! I protect the things I care about! I—” Jason cuts off, his eyes going wide around the anger in them, like he was about to let something he wasn’t ready to say slip out.
Tim’s face doesn’t change. He knows the word Jason swallowed.
That word has been hiding everywhere, recently. It’s tucked into the way Jason makes the bed every morning, scrawled into Tim’s grocery list when he adds whatever Jason had mentioned needing. It combs through Tim’s hair with Jason’s fingers before bed, and it stains Jason’s skin when Tim tangles their fingers together.
That word is the truth that was hiding in the lie Jason told Tim tonight, when he said through the comms that the building was clear when it wasn’t.
That word is the last brick in Tim’s hand, and it looks like he’s going to finish building that wall after all.
“Go home, Jason.”
Jason flinches like he’s been hit.
This is home. Tim knows that. But he isn’t going to watch Jason get himself killed because he cares too much.
It’s time to nip this in the bud.
“I’m only going to say this once.” Tim knows he sounds like Bruce, and he hates it, but he can’t stop it, he can’t help it, he has to get them out of this mess before it detonates, too. “I can’t do this anymore. We’re done. Get out of my apartment, and stay away from me.”
Tim tries to ice his eyes over, but he isn’t sure he’s doing a good job. His focus is slipping again, like he’s looking through Jason.
At least it’s better than seeing his hurt expression in stark clarity.
There’s a thick beat of silence while Jason stares at him, and Tim’s heart aches in his chest, but that’s fine.
It’s better than the ache in his chest earlier this evening, when an explosion had rocked the ground under his feet, so it’s fine. Better than the ache when he realized he was waiting for one more check-in over the comms, and empty silence had followed instead. Better than the ache the moment after that, when Tim was shouting for Jason, but there was nothing, nothing, nothing, just silence and held breath as he ran towards a burning, collapsing heap of brick and concrete and breathing in things that will probably kill him someday, just like Jason—
Compared to that? This is fine.
Jason pulls him out of his thoughts with a scoff, shaking his head and sneering as he leans against the stove and crosses his arms. “Wow. You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that?”
Tim shrugs, like his chest doesn’t ache at all.
“Tell me why,” Jason says, like a dare, as he scrutinizes Tim’s face, his fingers tightening around his bicep, around the armor he’s wearing, still smeared with ash and reeking of burning building.
Jason’s always been better at reading people than Tim gives him credit for. Better at reading him than he gives him credit for.
“I just can’t do this anymore,” Tim says blankly, and he doesn’t believe him either.
“That’s not a reason. Come on, Tim—” his stomach sinks at the way Jason doesn’t say baby or darlin’ or any of the other soft names that aren’t the one glaring endearment he keeps swallowing down, but it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.
“—if you’re going to dump me, give me a reason,” Jason demands.
Something in Tim’s chest seizes a little at the word dump. That’s… indicative. That’s not something they’ve ever talked about.
Then again, Tim is ending things. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter what they were.
“You’re a neat freak,” is the first thing he can come up with.
Jason barks a laugh at that. “If that was the problem, you would have dumped me in April. Try again.”
“You sing in the shower. Off key.”
“I have a beautiful voice, and you’re one to talk.” Jason’s eyes narrow as he orders, “Try again.”
“You give me orders in the field.”
Jason sneers at him, something in his eyes shattering like glass, sharp and sudden and loud. “You know what? Fine. Fuck this.”
Jason pushes away from the stove and turns on his heel, stalking towards the door.
Tim’s chest seizes at the thought that he’s leaving, even if that’s what he’s trying to get him to do, and the truth tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it.
“You’re not going to stop protecting me.”
Jason’s hand curls into a tight fist at his side as he stops, turns his head back towards him, just enough for Tim to see one furious eye, “Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”
“I wouldn’t have done it,” he answers instantly, but his voice is too empty, too flat, and they both hear how it isn’t true.
“You’re a fucking liar, Tim,” Jason scoffs, raking an angry hand through his hair.
“I wouldn’t have done that!”
“You still would have protected me!” Jason bites back, finally whipping back around to face him.
“That’s the problem, Jason! We’re going to die for each other! You’re going to die for me and then I’ll be alone!” Tim snarls.
There’s a beat of silence as surprise flickers through Jason’s expression.
He knows better than to poke that bear, though, so he finds a different nerve to press. “Breaking up with me isn’t going to keep that from happening!”
Breaking up is definitely more indicative than dump, but it still doesn’t matter, “It’ll lower the odds, if you just listen to me!”
“Let’s say I do! Let’s say I go,” Jason says, and Tim’s heart sinks, but it’s for the best, it’s for the best, it’s fine, it’s fine— “Let’s say I take off and get myself into some trouble and I don’t have any backup. Or even if I do! Let’s say I get into some trouble, and my partner isn’t as good as you, and I die anyway!”
Tim flinches, he can’t help it, especially with the fresh reminder of just how mortal they are. But Jason’s always so comfortable talking about his second death, like the first one is something that happened to everyone else.
“You’re fighting dirty,” Tim accuses, sounding like he’s taken a hit.
“I’m not about to start playing fair while you pull absolute fucking bullshit! We both know I don’t need to explain this to you, but since you’re pretending I do, I’m happy to play along!” Jason snarls, his words coming fast. “We protect people! It’s what we do, and it could kill any of us, any day! But I’m not going to stop protecting you, any more than you’re going to stop protecting me, even if you decide to end things!”
“I’m not going to watch you die for me—”
“I didn’t!” Jason decides to end this cyclical argument, to just point out the thing Tim won’t say. “I’m alive! I’m here and I’m trying to stop you from pushing me out of your fucking life because you’re scared!”
“I’m not—”
“You are!” Jason shouts, because apparently he has to poke that bear after all, “You’re afraid of being alone and you’re trying to control when it happens! But guess what, Tim? All you’re doing is putting yourself in the exact situation you’re afraid of!”
“At least I’ll know when it’s coming instead of getting caught off guard when you leave!”
It’s only in the following silence of Jason staring at him, astounded, that Tim realizes he feels that way.
“Wow,” Jason shakes his head slowly, giving a low whistle, “I’m almost impressed, Tim. Your mental gymnastics are a match for Dick’s. You should win an award,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, fuck off,” Tim says, and it sounds exhausted because he is exhausted, the anger seeping out of him in a wave, the same way it arrived.
“No. You just accused me of wanting to leave after I risked my life to keep you in one piece. I get to be pissed! I’m not going to fucking leave you! Stop trying to convince me to go!”
“That’s—” Tim starts to argue, but then he stops, because he can’t really argue with him. That’s exactly what he’s doing.
And suddenly, it’s not fine.
None of this is fine.
Jason almost died tonight and he was so fucking scared, and now they’re fighting, and he’s pushing Jason away and he just can’t stop, and Jason is going to leave if Tim doesn’t stop, and then he won’t know where Jason is again, won’t know if he’s okay, won’t know if he’s ever going to make him another coffee or make their bed in the morning or mention something for him to put on their grocery list or comb his fingers so tenderly through Tim’s hair, like he’s something precious, something wanted—
That fear, that anxiety from earlier rises in him, writhing, scrapes its way back up his chest, clawing into his throat, and Tim does something he hasn’t done in a long time.
He cries.
Tears well up in his eyes and he can’t force them down, and he looks up as one, then another roll down his cheeks. Jason looks stunned, which makes sense.
He’s never seen Tim cry before.
Of course, he doesn’t know what to do, something suddenly panicked in his expression as he watches tears roll silently down Tim’s face. The look Jason is giving him vaguely reminds Tim of when someone is holding a baby for the first time in their life and it starts crying—
Then Tim realizes that in this analogy, he’s the baby, and he feels instantly pathetic, and that makes a mortifying sob tear out of him.
The noise seems to snap Jason out of it, which makes him feel even more pitiful. But Jason strides over to him, wrapping his arms around him and scooping him in, pulling him close against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Jason says urgently, his voice high and concerned as Tim buries his face in his armor, breathing in the smell of that fucking building alongside the sandalwood and citrus. “I’m sorry for yelling and pushing and upsetting you and being an asshole and for tricking you and lying to you. I’ll be more careful, okay? And if you really want me to go—”
Tim’s arms tighten around Jason and he sobs a little harder, shaking his head violently against Jason’s chest.
“Okay, okay, message received. Loud and clear. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m here. I’m here. I’m okay. You’re okay.” Jason gathers him tighter in his arms as he mutters more urgent reassurances.
He feels so small pressed against Jason’s frame, and Jason is wrapped around him, warm and heavy, and his heart is beating in Tim’s ear, a little too fast, but it’s better that he can hear it, better than the nothing he could hear as he sprinted towards a burning fucking building and praying to gods he doesn’t believe in that he wouldn’t find Jason’s broken, bloody, lifeless corpse in the rubble—
“I thought I lost you.”
It just falls out of Tim’s mouth, a little muffled from tears and being pressed into Jason’s chest. But Jason hears it, tightens his arms until he’s clinging to Tim just as much as Tim is clinging to him.
“You didn’t, baby. I’m right here.” Jason starts rubbing between Tim’s shoulder blades with his palm, and Tim loses track of how many times his hand trails that gentle path across his spine. The whole time, Jason’s muttering in his ear, little repetitions that calm the sobs that wrack through him.
“I’m okay.”
Jason’s okay.
“You’re okay.”
Tim’s okay.
“It’s okay.”
It’s not.
But… Tim thinks maybe it will be. Jason didn’t leave, after all.
Eventually, he goes from sobs to tears, from tears to sniffles, and finally, Jason pulls back to look at him.
Tim doesn’t want to be looked at right now, because this is beyond mortifying, so he leaves his head tipped against Jason’s chest.
“Lets move this to the bed, okay?”
He nods, still not wanting to look up, and Jason sighs and scoops him up into a princess carry.
Tim protests at losing a place to hide his splotchy, red, tear-stained face as his arms flying around Jason’s neck for balance. “Put me down, Jay,” he scowls, his words wet and thick from his stuffy nose.
“Fat chance, baby,” Jason smirks, but something in it looks a little fragile, not quite reaching his eyes.
The word baby knocks around Tim’s ribs, and he loosens just a little, even though he’s still muttering sniffly protests.
Then Jason dumps him on the bed unceremoniously. A little yelp slides out of Tim, but a little laugh slips out next to it, and Jason strips out of his suit as efficiently as possible before he flops down next to him. Immediately, he gathers him back into his arms, arranging them so Tim can lay on his chest. One of his hands comes up to stroke through Tim’s hair, and he settles under the touch, letting him comb through his hair with his fingers.
“I’m still mad at you,” Tim says softly, like he’s afraid of what it means.
“Okay,” Jason says.
He doesn’t say it carelessly, or dismissively. It sounds a little hurt, actually, but it sounds like he’s decided he can live with it. “Does the singing really bother you that much?” he adds, obviously trying for a joke.
Tim gives a watery scoff and an eye roll, but he knows he looks relieved.
He is relieved. If it was a problem that he’s still mad, Jason would be gone by now.
“I mean, I can stop if you’re going to dump me over it.” Jason’s smile is somewhere between teasing and self-deprecating.
And… it’s the worst time to have that conversation, isn’t it? He shouldn’t push, shouldn’t press. But Jason just said dump again, and they’re not in the middle of a fight anymore, and he was pushing awfully hard to get Tim not to dump him back in the kitchen—
His thoughts spiral as he tries to decide whether or not to bring it up, and Jason can see it in his eyes, but before Tim can brush it off, Jason’s talking.
“What?” he asks, his voice developing a concerned edge.
“…nothing,” Tim decides. It can be nothing. It doesn’t have to be something. Jason’s still alive, and he’s still here, and isn’t that too much to ask already?
Five minutes ago he was shoving him away, how is it fair of him to ask this now?
“Baby,” Jason sighs, and that concern is deepening, spreading to his eyes.
Tim looks away from him. Jason isn’t going to let this go, and he knows it. He’s worse than Tim like that, sometimes.
He makes himself spit it out. “…you said break up with you.”
And he feels it, the way Jason stiffens under him, everything about him going tense. They don’t look at each other.
“…I said dump,” Jason whispers, like that’s any better.
“Earlier,” Tim mutters. “Earlier you said break up with you.”
There’s a long moment of quiet, the air between them filled with all of the things they don’t talk about, with all the words they don’t say.
Or maybe just the one.
Tim stares at the blanket, the way it’s tucked in on Tim’s side and not on Jason’s, the way they each prefer.
“…I guess I did.” The admission is breathy, a little surprised.
And maybe that was Tim’s last attempt to get Jason to leave. He’s always thought that if they talked about this thing they’ve been doing, Jason would go.
Which was stupid. Did he think Jason just hasn’t noticed what they’ve become? Hasn’t noticed how many of his jackets are in Tim’s closet? Hasn’t noticed how Tim keeps acquiring fancy new kitchen equipment for him to use?
Jason has a fucking key.
Tim still remembers the day Jason walked in through his front door, whistling, twirling his keys around his finger, smirking wide.
(“Where the hell did you get a key?” Tim asked.
Jason laughed instead of answering, walked over and pressed a kiss to Tim’s forehead. “Well, you’ll stop complaining about me crawling in through your windows now, right?”)
And then it just became one more thing they never talk about, just like the words break up are about to.
Tim is tired of the way that stack only grows.
And apparently, Jason is too.
“I did. Say break up. And dump,” Jason stutters.
“Three times,” Tim informs him, something fluttering in his chest.
“I know,” Jason says, running his fingers through Tim’s hair again.
“You have a key,” Tim says, like he doesn’t know.
“You buy us groceries,” Jason counters.
“You make the bed every morning.”
“You sleep in my shirts every night.”
“You almost died for me today.”
“I love you,” Jason breathes, and the word sounds exactly as surprised as Tim feels hearing it.
In the moment it takes him to answer, Jason’s fingers curl tighter around him, like he’s afraid that this is the moment Tim really will finish building that wall, and Jason will end up on the wrong side of it. Jason’s heart is pounding so hard and fast that Tim can feel it through his chest.
And Tim should be just as terrified; there are so many things to be afraid of, and his heart is pounding just as hard.
But his stomach is flooding with warm relief, and the greedy, indulgent thing in his chest tells him to take a sledgehammer to that wall.
“I love you too,” Tim breathes back.