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Tim has a problem. Okay, maybe not a problem as much as a puzzle. Tim is, in his opinion, fantastic at puzzles, so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal. But this one has him stuck.
Bart has taken up wearing skirts as of late.
He asked about it the first time, and Bart shrugged and said he found them more comfortable to move in. That should’ve been enough of an explanation for Tim. It was not enough of an explanation for Tim.
He doesn’t take issue with Bart wearing skirts, is the thing. If that was what was bothering him, he’d be able to acknowledge that there was nothing wrong with a guy wearing a skirt and ignore the discomfort until he got used to it.
But he sees guys wearing skirts all the time, on social media or at stores or even sometimes at school, and it doesn’t matter at all.
Tim sees Bart’s skirt spin as he turns away from the fridge in Titan’s Tower, and he sort of wants to throw up.
The part of it that bothers him, then, is that it’s Bart wearing skirts. Bart, his very close friend, who he loves deeply and knows personally. Bart, who his other closest friends know as well. And none of them care.
Tim thinks that it would be easier if what he felt was discomfort, or anger, or even disgust. He could just be an asshole, realize that, and change it.
He sees Bart playing with the edges of his skirt during a mission debrief and he feels like his skin is going to pull itself away from him.
So he doesn’t know how to proceed, doesn’t know how to deconstruct this, doesn’t know how to solve the puzzle of why Bart’s wardrobe makes him feel so achingly split open.
When he recounts all of this, with increasing distress, Conner raises an eyebrow.
“Dude,” Kon says. “It kinda sounds like you’re just jealous.”
He wants to immediately respond that it isn’t that at all, but–
He sees Bart adjusting his skirt as he sits on the couch for team movie night and he thinks he might cry.
He swallows hard.
He stands off to the side while Bart asks Cissie which skirt goes better with his top and doesn’t really understand why his mind goes to the scandal when the media found out Dick Grayson got his ears pierced.
He takes a deep breath, letting the silence stretch just a moment longer.
He watches as Bart shows off his skirt’s pockets to Cassie and thinks, absurdly, of Janet Drake explaining to six year old Tim why he couldn’t wear a dress like hers to a charity gala.
“What do I do if I am?”
—
Tim thinks that he just needs to grow up. It isn’t Bart’s fault that Tim can’t get over this, and so avoiding Bart is an immature and unreasonable thing for Tim to do.
He avoids Bart.
When they’re at the Tower, Tim does everything in his power to prevent himself from having to be in the same room as Bart. When there are movie nights that Bart plans to attend, Tim makes up a reason to be absent. When Bart asks him to hang out, he becomes the busiest man in the world.
Luckily, he hasn’t caught on yet, which gives Tim at least a bit longer to accept the unfair nature of living in a world where Timothy Jackson Drake can’t wear a skirt.
His phone buzzes many, many times.
Bart:
16:57
[image attached]
[image attached]
whcih one looks better???
need help
have to leav in liek
two mnitues
Rob:
16:57
I prefer the first
Both look nice tho
Wish I could wear stuff like that
Bart:
16:57
ty!!
like wht?
Rob:
17:00
Idk
I was talking abt the skirts
But feminine clothes in general ig
Bart:
17:01
why cant u????
r u like
cursed ir smth
si batman antiskirt
Rob:
17:01
Neither of those
I just can’t
Bart:
17:01
is this a wierd past ppl thing
like wtih gender
Rob:
17:13
Something like that
Bart:
17:13
:(
ohohohoh waiittttttt
os that why ur avouding me??
Tim doesn’t reply.
—
Three days later, he walks into his bedroom, intent on going to sleep, only to find one Bartholemew Allen sitting on his bed, bouncing slightly. He is, to Tim’s immense relief–and then guilt–not wearing a skirt.
Bart waves excitedly as Tim enters the room. “You,” he says, voice sounding as bright as ever, “haven’t had an in-person conversation with me one-on-one in three weeks. Why?”
Tim winces. “Yeah, sorry. I meant to fix that before you noticed. It’s totally my fault.”
Bart shrugs and then makes a ‘go on’ gesture.
“You’ve been wearing skirts a lot lately, and that is absolutely fine and I don’t want you to worry about it bothering me,” Tim rushes. “But it does. Bother me. I just–I wish I could do that, y’know? And the reminder that I can’t makes me sad sometimes.”
Bart frowns at that, and knowing he put that expression on Bart’s face makes Tim a little sick. Bart looks at him consideringly, eyebrows coming together. “So, why can’t you?” he asks. Tim shrugs, almost helplessly.
“I just…can’t. I’m me. And I’m not someone who can do that.”
Bart stares at him. “And you’re not someone who can do that because…?”
“Because I can’t. I’m not allowed to do that kind of thing, Bart,” he says immediately, already feeling vaguely distressed and a little overwhelmed. Bart goes back to smiling.
“Okay, we’re making progress!” he decides cheerfully. Tim disagrees. “So, why aren’t you allowed to?”
Tim takes a deep breath at the question and moves to sit beside Bart, leaning against him.
“I’m not allowed,” he says carefully, “because I’m a Drake. The way I look is very important to maintaining my family’s extremely public image, which means I can’t do things that could be made into a big deal.”
Bart hums, tilting his head in consideration. Given how close they are, the movement results in his head resting against Tim’s shoulder. When it becomes clear he doesn’t plan to move, Tim shifts slightly to accommodate him.
“Well, you can do whatever you want in private. Or with us, if you wanted to.” He pulls away to look at Tim, the frown returning. “I don’t like the idea of you being sad.”
Tim feels a little like his heart is breaking. He pulls Bart into a tight hug, feeling him lean hard into the touch.
“I’ll…I’ll think about it,” Tim whispers eventually.
“Okay,” Bart replies just as quietly. And then, “why are we whispering?”
Tim snorts a laugh, finally pulling back from the hug, instead leaning against the other boy slightly. He takes a deep, slow breath.
“I really do feel terrible about avoiding you,” he says eventually. “I’ll stop.” He can feel Bart move his shoulder in a poor attempt at shrugging again.
“It’s okay,” he assures Tim, but the smile in his voice sounds a little forced. Tim wonders suddenly if it’s been like that the whole time and he’s only just noticing. He reaches for Bart’s hand, squeezing it gently. His throat suddenly feels tight. He blinks hard, swallowing a few times.
“Bart?” he asks eventually.
“Yeah?” Bart’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, and Tim wants to invent a time machine so he can go back and shake himself violently every day of the past three weeks.
“You know you can be upset, right? It’s okay if you’re mad at me.”
Bart pulls him into another hug, face pressed against Tim’s shoulder. Eventually, Tim realizes his shoulder is damp, and Bart is shaking. He pulls him closer until he can’t anymore, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. It isn’t enough, because Bart is still crying. Maybe even harder. He sniffs.
“I thought maybe you didn’t like me anymore,” he admits quietly. Tim chokes on a sob of his own. “Like, maybe I did something I wasn’t supposed to, and everyone knew but me.”
Tim’s arms tighten around him. “No, no. Bart, I care about you too much for something like that to ever happen. You know that, right?”
Bart hiccups. “Promise?” he asks, and he sounds so hesitant, so un-Bart-like.
“Promise,” Tim replies.
—
The first time Tim tries on a skirt, he’s in his room at the manor. Bart is also there, watching quietly as Tim takes in his reflection.
Tim’s not really sure how he feels about it. He’d thought it would be more, somehow, than this. He looks…exactly the same as he did five minutes ago, except that he’s wearing a skirt.
And it makes sense, obviously. His face, his hair, his body, even the shirt he’s wearing, haven’t changed at all. Bart still looks like Bart when he wears things like this, and so does every other person Tim has ever seen wearing a skirt.
Some part of him had thought–hoped, for some reason–that it would be different for him. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for exactly, but he doesn’t find it.
He lowers himself to the floor, suddenly dizzy. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes. His hands come away wet.
“Bart,” he asks, and his voice is strangely toneless, “am I crying?”
There’s a rush of air, and then warm hands are cradling his face, tilting it upward. He blinks, registering the golden eyes that are looking into his own. Bart’s eyebrows are drawn together, face slightly pinched into an expression Tim belatedly registers as concern.
“Yeah,” Bart says. “Do you know why?”
Tim frowns, shaking his head wordlessly. He glances down at his clothes for a moment, something tugging at him. It feels like he’s on the edge of something for a moment. Like if he just pushes a little harder or a little longer, he’ll have some sort of grand epiphany.
The feeling is gone as suddenly as it arrived, quickly replaced by the feeling of Bart’s lips against his right cheek, and then his left. He tilts his head questioningly, and Bart’s responding smile is almost as soft as the embrace he’s pulled into.