Work Text:
Tim Drake-Wayne knew that he wouldn’t have normal teenage experiences. He knew that there were people that relied on him, to be focused and to be motivated. He knew that he had a city to protect. Despite this, how could he be blamed for desiring that he could have a normal teenage night out? With this line of thinking and with a little bit of convincing from friends, Tim ends up at a bar in downtown Gotham that doesn’t ask for identification.
The bar wasn’t dingy or even in a bad part of town. The floors were clean and not sticky like Tim expected. The music played at a reasonable volume and nobody was getting into heated fistfights. There was a long bar crowded with patrons attempting to get one of the two bartenders' attention. People swayed on the dance floor in the middle of the room, their drinks in the air as they belted to the music.
Tim was standing just off the dance floor, sipping his beer, and watching the patrons dance. He couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he saw Jessica from his class perform a dance colloquially known as the “sprinkler”. His classmates all looked like fools with their embarrassing dance moves. The alcohol running through his system made Tim want to join them. He did allow himself to bob his head to the chorus.
“Those your buddies?” A voice asks.
Tim turns to the side to face a man. The man is taller than Tim so Tim’s gaze is immediately met with a loose fitting black t-shirt that somehow hugs biceps in a way that makes Tim forcibly look up. The man’s face is even harder to stop looking at, a sharp jaw with slight stubble and a distinct nose with a small bump. He has light curly brown hair that covers his forehead. He is the textbook example of a hot man.
“Uh- What was that?” Tim stutters loudly, taken aback by the beauty of the man.
“I said are those your buddies?” The man asks louder this time, his voice smooth and not too deep, a smirk on his face, knowingly.
“Oh yeah,” Tim laughs a little, “they look funny don’t they?” Tim couldn’t help the goofy smile on his face, a pit of attraction building in his stomach.
“Yeah they do,” the man glances at his dancing friends before turning back to Tim, “I’m Dylan by the way,” he says, smiling at Tim with perfect straight teeth.
“I’m Tim,” he says.
“So Tim,” Dylan smirks, “You and your friends seem a little young? Huh?” He questions.
“What are you a cop?” Tim laughs.
There’s a beat of silence as the two stare at each other. Tim’s smile fades after the man doesn’t reply.
“Oh God,” Tim’s face falls at the thought, “You’re not a cop, are you?”
“No,” Dylan laughs, “I’m just fucking with you. I’m only twenty, I don’t think anyone in this bar is twenty-one.”
Tim allows himself to relax the anxiety retreating but the pit of attraction in his stomach still builds as Dylan looks into his eyes. Tim looks away pointing to a man on the dance floor in tight skinny jeans with two drinks in his hand, rocking badly to the music.
“I don’t know,” Tim says, cheekily, “I think that guys gotta be at least thirty.” The skinny-jeans guy whoops loudly, throwing his arms in the air, and almost topples over, somehow he holds on to both of his drinks.
Tim turns back to Dylan and they both laugh at the scene.
“Yeah, you might be right about that,” Dylan chuckles.
Tim recovering from his laughter and feeling calmer in the presence of Dylan tests his luck. He looks down at Dylan’s hand to see that he’s holding an almost empty drink.
“So,” Tim asks, cringing as his voice wavers, “you want to get another drink?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Dylan replies, smiling.
The night flies by in flashing colors of great conversations, beers, shots, and tentative grazing touches on arms. Dylan is a smooth talker and makes Tim giggle in ways that he’s never heard himself do before. Maybe it’s because of the alcohol or the bar atmosphere but Tim feels completely alive. He feels like he’s grappling through the city after solving a major case. It feels like Bruce said he’s proud of him. It feels great and Tim can’t help but smile and laugh the whole night. They drink and talk until the bar’s lights turn on, shining bright on the beautiful man’s face as he says.
“Guess we gotta get out of here,” Dylan smiles.
“Guess so,” Tim replies.
They close their bar tabs and walk into the cool night air on the city streets of Gotham. They end up standing in an alley on the side of the bar, still giggling and stumbling into each other. Tim ends up leaning against the alley wall, staring at Dylan as he approaches.
“How are you getting home?” Dylan asks, still moving closer to Tim, slower now.
“Ordered an Uber,” Tim meets Dylan’s gaze, alcohol fueling his confidence.
“That’s good,” Dylan replies inches away from Tim’s face, his eyes hazy from the alcohol but mixed with a hint of determination.
That hint Tim sees is all he needs as he grabs Dylan’s shirt and pulls him roughly into a kiss. It’s chaste and sweet until it's not. Their lips begin to move sloppily, pleasure running like a straight line through Tim’s chest and down to his groin as the kiss strengthens in force. Dylan pushes closer, making Tim’s head lightly hit the alley wall as their bodies press against each other. Tim groans as he feels Dylan’s body weight on him, suddenly he’s very hot.
Dylan places his hand in Tim’s hair pulling at the strands before running his hand down to the back of his head, pulling it forward, off the brick wall. The kiss becomes a show of force, like two powerful waves smashing into each other. Tim feels the blood rush straight to his groin as his hand grips Dylan’s bicep, the other hand pulling his sharp jaw closer.
Dylan moves his hand abruptly from the back of Tim’s head to his cheek. The motion causes an inebriated Tim to slam his head against the alley wall a little too hard.
“Ow,” Tim pulls back and hisses.
“Sorry,” Dylan laughs breathily and Tim pulls him back in giggling. Their lips make contact in another spark of passion.
Tim and Dylan can’t seem to get close enough, their bodies pushing against each other in a back-and-forth motion. Tim moves his hands so that they both grip Dylan’s upper arms. He can feel Dylan’s hardening member on the waistband of his jeans. The feeling sends another wave of pleasure as the fire in Tim’s stomach strengthens.
“Hey!” A voice yells.
Before Tim can even react to the loud interruption, he has to catch himself from falling flat on his face as Dylan is suddenly not there anymore. His drunk, horny brain runs rampant trying to make sense of what is happening. Danger, his head screams. Tim’s able to right himself as his legs form a fighter position but his arms are still held out trying to maintain his balance. His vision clears as he takes in the scene.
He immediately notices a man dressed in black with a red helmet turned away from Tim, blocking someone. Someone, Tim can’t see their face until the man with the red helmet moves slightly.
Oh, Dylan! And Jason? Tim thinks his head is still cloudy. Red Hood has his arm pressed against the sternum of Dylan holding him against the opposite alley wall. Tim cannot see Dylan’s face, but he’s shouting loudly.
“Tim run!” Dylan is shouting at him, Tim realizes.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jason sneers at Dylan.
What is happening? Tim thinks to himself, his arms falling at his side.
…
Dick was not expecting to run into Jason tonight, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to be sitting on a roof discussing their Christmas plans with him. It just so happened that Dick has been staying at the manor for the last couple of weeks, watching over Gotham while Bruce is out of world, and was patrolling an area where Jason was working on a case. They eased into conversation. It felt good to have his brother back now that the pit madness had subsided. Jason was back to his old self and they’d gotten closer because of it. Now even Tim and Jason get along well. It warms Dick’s heart when he sees his adopted brothers talk and joke with each other. Surprisingly and maybe for once in Dick’s life, everything was going okay.
“So, we still have a while left, but I think I have the perfect present for B,” Dick says sitting atop an air conditioning box as Jason stands facing the city skyline.
“Oh yeah?” Jason asks curiously turning to face Dick.
“Yeah,” Dick grins, “I think we should do one of those weird photoshoots where we dress in turtlenecks and jeans. You, me, and Robin”.
“Oh my God,” Jason chuckles, “Bruce would hate that. I’m totally in.”
Dick is about to continue on about the semantics of the photoshoot when they both hear a noise, that makes Dick stops in his tracks.
“Ow,” someone loudly hisses.
Dick turns to face Jason. Dick stands and he and Jason quietly walk toward the edge of the roof and peer down into the alley where the noise came from. They catch the scene of two men pressed against the alley wall. The taller man embraces the other man in a messy kiss, the smaller man’s face is hidden by the large man’s bulky body. The smaller man grips the larger man’s biceps, looking like he’s trying to push him away. The larger man moves his head slightly and Dick catches a glimpse of the smaller man’s face. It’s Tim. His baby brother, Tim. His seventeen-year-old brother, Tim.
Jason must see the same thing Dick does because he yells “Hey,” before jumping down two stories into the alleyway and roughly pulling the man off Tim. Tim his little brother, Tim. Dick is not far behind, jumping down smoothly to the side of the scene, staring at Tim searching for injuries. Tim wobbles uncertainly on his feet with his arms out balancing himself. His face flushed, with a hazy look in his eyes.
“Tim run!” The man being held against the wall by Jason yells.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jason sneers.
Dick watches the scene, calculating, taking in everything. Tim, dressed in civies with a flushed expression and hazy eyes, obviously intoxicated. Possibly alcohol, maybe more. The man yelling at Tim to run. The noticeable bulge in Tim’s jeans that Dick attempts to ignore. They’re in the alley of a bar that Dick knows is frequented by minors. Tim’s not in any danger, Dick concludes. But he is definitely in trouble. Dick crosses his arms and watches.
“Jay-,” Tim stops himself, shaking his head, “Red Hood, what are you doing?”
Jason obviously too angry to comprehend the situation, looks back at Tim still holding the man against the wall with his forearm.
“What am I?” He asks, “Saving you from this pervert!” He turns back to the man. “Think you can just corner a kid in an alleyway? Just get what you want?” He yells.
“What, Red Hood? No-” Tim interrupts.
“You disgust me!” Jason knees the man in the groin and he lets out a puff of air with a groan.
“He didn’t corner me!” Tim yells, “We’re friends!”
Jason turns back to look at Tim and pauses. Dick can see that Jason is starting to take in the situation, staring at Tim and then towards Dick whose arms are still crossed. After a few beats of silence, Jason drops his arm and the man crumbles to the ground clutching his groin while breathing heavily. Jason kicks the sitting man without any real force.
“Get out of here,” He spits.
The man needs no further instruction as he rises to his feet and bolts out of the alley. Dick and Jason both turn to face Tim who shrinks back at their hardened gazes.
…
Tim is freaking out. He stares at his two brothers trying to get a sense of what they’re thinking.
“I-,” Tim clears his suddenly very dry throat, “What are you guys doing here?”
“What are we doing?” Jason asks throwing his hands up, “What are you doing?”
“I uh,” Tim’s emotions have changed considerably. He feels the pit in his stomach form into anxiety as his breath hitches. They know, and they hate him. Just like his Dad.
Tears well up in Tim’s eyes as his gaze averts to the floor. His arms sit limply at his side, his body defeated and working overtime to account for the switch in emotions.
“Please don’t hate me,” Tim all but whispers.
“We don’t hate you,” Tim hears Dick sigh, “We’re just disappointed.”
Tim hugs his arms to his chest at the words. Why can’t you be normal? He asked, You’re such a disappointment. It was like Tim was a crying thirteen-year-old sitting in his bedroom. He could hear his Dad’s voice in his head as clearly as if he was standing right in front of him. Tim could feel the breeze of the open window of his bedroom and the smell of lemon-scented fabric softener.
“I’m sorry,” Tim apologizes, sincerely and quietly because this time it wasn’t his dad, it was Dick Grayson., his role model and brother.
“Tim, what are you even doing out here? Do you even know what time it is? And you’re drunk out of your mind, you can’t even stand,” Jason looks on as if he’s taking Tim in fully, gesturing wildly at his drunk younger brother.
“I’m sorry,” Tim can’t help the sob that releases from his throat. He looks up to see his two disappointed brothers staring at him. Disappointed, just like his dad. He feels tears run down his face as Dick stares at him
“Timmy,” Dick is quiet now, “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Tim looks at Dick’s gaze his expression confused. Tim just wants to stop the tears that track down his face as he looks at his brother. He didn’t want him to know, he never wanted him to know.
“Tim-” Dick starts.
“Why can’t I be normal?” Tim pleads. He wipes at the tears that continue to fall down his face and looks down at his shoes. Tim doesn’t want to deal with the fact that they know. They never should have known. Tim wasn’t supposed to engage with this anymore, he promised his Dad as much. He made a mistake. A bad mistake and now Dick and Jason knew his terrible secret and that fact made tears drop down to the cement floor of the alley.
“What do you mean? What does he mean?” Jason asks, anger replaced with passion.
There is a quiet pause. Tim’s brain runs wild.
“Timmy, hey no,” Dick sounds like he’s realized something, Tim sees him taking a step closer to him out of the corner of his vision, “We’re not mad at you for that.”
Not mad at him for that? Tim thinks to himself and resists the urge to cock his head as tears continue to fall.
“Oh yeah. Oh, Timmers, we don’t mean that. We uh-” Jason stops as if trying to find the words. There is another quick pause before Dick speaks.
“It’s okay if you like boys,” Dick says, seriousness in his voice.
Tim lifts his head. Both of his brothers watch him with intent, Jason has removed his helmet, his domino mask covering his eyes. They have both gotten closer to Tim since he last looked. Tim doesn’t understand what Dick says. It’s like a shock through his system, igniting his nerves and frying his brain. It just doesn’t make any sense.
“Yeah, we-” Dick says staring Tim down directly, “We care about you is all. We just want you to be safe.”
“But, I’m not normal,” Tim pleads with Dick. Because he’s not normal. He has to be not normal.
"Who told you that?” Dick asks softly.
There’s a beat and Tim can feel his detective brothers calculating.
“Did your bastard Dad say that?” Jason swears, realizing, “Tim, you are normal,” he emphasizes.
Tim takes a step back, his hands running through his hair. They’re lying, they just want him to put his guard down. They’re just pretending to be nice so they… So they… Tim knows he’s wrong. He knows that his Dad is wrong. This is who he is and it doesn’t make him a freak. It’s just a fact. But, accepting that means accepting that his Dad hates him for no legitimate reason. It hurts more than believing there is something wrong with him. But, hearing his brothers talk, Tim can’t lie to himself anymore.
“I-” Tim begins, “ You really don’t care? You just?” He pauses waiting for their response.
“We don’t care about that,” Jason says, “Suck whoevers face you prefer. Just don’t do it in an alleyway at 2 am while you’re wasted and underage.”
“It’s okay if you like guys or girls. Or both. It is normal and it’s who you are if that is who you are. There’s nothing wrong with it and if your Dad says there is then he’s just an ass,” Dick says.
“Yeah fuck him,” Jason adds.
Tim can’t help the loud alcohol-fueled half-sob, half-laugh that shakes his body at their words. It’s a strange feeling, to have his biggest insecurity publicized to his older brothers. It’s freeing but terrifying.
“Come here,” Dick says to Tim but he comes to Tim instead, walking up to him and embracing him in a hug. The feeling of Dick’s kevlar costume and his slow patterned breathing causes Tim to relax his muscles. His shoulders slump as Dick rubs his back.
Dick pulls away after a few moments.
“Why don’t we bring you to B’s,” Dick suggests. Tim’s shoulders tense at the idea.
“You won’t tell him will you?” Tim asks.
Dick glances at Jason.
“Well he is out of world and I won’t tell if you won’t” Jason shrugs.
“Yeah, I won’t either,” Dick says turning back to Tim, “It can be our secret.”
“All of it?” Tim asks.
“All of it,” Dick promises.
“Yeah, just no more late-night drinking episodes with Mr. I’m too old for you,” Jason snarks.
Tim chuckles, tension falling from his body.
…
Later that night, feeling marginally more sober with two glasses of water chugged and all remnants of tear tracks cleared away, Tim sits in the Batcave with Dick and Jason.
“Did you tell Jason about my idea?” Tim asks Dick, setting down his third glass of water on the desk. Dick is standing by the bat computer, stretching out his arms while Jason is off to the side watching Tim intently, both of them without masks.
“What idea?” Dick asks.
“The Christmas photoshoot,” Tim supplies.
“Of course, that was your idea,” Jason chuckles.
…