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The Batcave felt unbearably suffocating in a way that felt vaguely familiar to Tim.
The hum of the BatComputer sounded like the buzzing of a thousand angry bees. Tim’s head hurt. His vision tunneled, the edges turning a bit blurred.
Type, his mind whispered, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Finish the report.
Tim couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t even feel the comfortably plush leather seat beneath him.
Not again.
Last week’s conversation with Kon flickered through his mind, Kon’s words echoing in his skull.
”I want you to promise me you’ll call.”
”You call me, and I’ll come sit with you. Deal?”
Calling for help felt like a spectacularly bad idea. His brain screamed at him to shut up, you’re being a burden and don’t be pathetic, Tim, he already had to deal with you like this just last week.
But finishing the report, expending the energy to lift his hand and type, was too much for his already aching head to handle as the static grew louder despite his attempts to push it away.
I am Robin. I don’t need a savior.
Calling for Kon was a bad idea, and Tim couldn’t really remember why it seemed that way. It was a good thing that destiny had practically engineered him for bad decisions, then.
“Kon,” Tim chokes out, his voice barely echoing off the damp walls.
The monitor screen blurred into a white smear. His chest felt tight, lungs refusing to take in the air he so desperately needed.
“Kon…”
He–He needed to breathe. Chest heaving, Tim tried to inhale deeply like the meditation exercises he used to practice.
Crack.
The sound of the sound barrier breaking pierced through the Cave, echoing violently off the walls.
Tim could see the edge of a leather jacket out of the corner of his eyes, but it was hard to tell. Kon landed on the floor in front of him, his boots skidding loudly.
“Tim!”
Kon fell to his knees, hands hovering near Tim but not close enough to touch, not wanting to startle the boy.
Tim's eyes were wide, glassy, and staring right through his best friend.
"Hey, look at me, Tim!" Kon’s voice cracked slightly with panic.
Tim made a small, wet, choking sound and shook his head lightly.
Kon didn't wait. He grabbed Tim's wrists, squeezing hard. He took a deep breath in to calm himself.
"I've got you, Tim. You’re in the Batcave, you’re safe. Come back."
Kon hauled Tim out of the chair, dropping to the floor and pulling the blank-faced boy close against his chest.
"Match my breathing, come on. In… and out. In... and out."
Kon’s chest expanded exaggeratedly against Tim’s back, a solid heartbeat anchoring them both.
Tim finally slumped, his forehead sinking into Kon's shoulder as the world finally stopped spinning as fast as before.
————————————
A good thirty minutes later, Kon abruptly realised they should probably move to somewhere more conducive to recovery instead of a cold, hard floor in the middle of the freaking BatCave. No, he was not hysterical about being in the legendary Cave only the Bats and their closest associates got to even see, let alone be in!
Kon gently prodded Tim on the shoulder, telling him they’re going to his room. Tim didn’t respond, but he let himself be half-carried up the stairs to where Kon assumed the family suite was. Sure enough, he recognised Tim’s room, the door hanging open.
They slipped into his room, leaving the shadows behind.
Kon slowly clicked the door shut. He kicked off his boots in a corner, made sure Tim was comfortable, and slipped in next to him under the duvet. Tim immediately curled in closer to his friend’s warmth, seeking the heat radiating off Kon like a shadow trying to cling to sunlight.
Kon wrapped an arm around Tim’s waist, his eyes feeling heavy. In just a few minutes, the two boys fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
————————————
“Drake. Pennyworth requests your presence for breakfast.”
Damian Wayne kicked open the bedroom door without knocking.
“Wake up. Don’t make Pennyworth wait.”
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Kon’s eyes flew open, his super-hearing registering the intrusion a minute too late because of his sleep-addled brain.
He bolted upright, hands tangling in the sheets. “It’s not what it looks like!” He whispered-yelled, throwing his hands up in defense just as he got them free from the sheets.
At the exact moment, Tim shifted a little and groaned in his sleep. Perhaps sensing the loss of warmth, he lunged forward.
He threw an arm over Kon, pulling him down and burying his face directly into Kon’s chest. Kon blushed at the sudden contact.
Tim let out a soft, content sigh, tightening his grip.
Kon froze, terrified to move.
Damian’s eyes widened and his jaw nearly dropped. Nearly. He had a reputation to maintain, after all. A slow, malicious smirk spread across his face.
"Blackmail," Damian whispered, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief.
He spun on his heel and sprinted down the hallway. After all, if he was no longer allowed to torture Drake physically or kill him, embarassing him to death would have to do.
————————————
“Grayson! Father!”
Damian burst into the dining room, his voice absolutely dripping with venomous glee.
Dick paused, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. Bruce didn’t look up from his coffee.
“Drake has the clone in his bed.” Damian announced proudly. “They are both half-asleep, and look positively debauched.”
Dick froze, coughing violently as he choked on his eggs.
Bruce spilled half his coffee on his newspaper. He briefly mourned the loss of his life-saving beverage, but horror crashed into him as the Dark Knight realised he never gave Tim the talk.
A cold paralysing terror overtook Bruce.
The Talk.
His brain went into overdrive, tactically mapping out a 50-slide powerpoint and a crisis management plan. Surely Tim wasn’t already old enough for this…
He pulled out the emergency WayneTech tablet he hid under the table in order to circumvent Alfred’s ‘no tech at the table’ rule for emergencies. This was definitely an emergency. He opened a blank document.
“Father?” Damian watched calmly as Dick wheezed, and reached for a sip of water. “What are you doing? Pennyworth does not have a no-kill code, and will not hesitate to exact vengeance upon you when he learns of your disobeying him.”
“Need a PowerPoint,” Bruce said, his voice completely flat and his face entirely devoid of emotion. “Tim needs to be educated. Slide one will be on boundaries.”
Meanwhile, Dick’s shock had morphed into two distinct emotions warring on his face. Damian could see Grayson’s intention to completely embarrass Drake(although unintentionally) clear as day on his face. Damian fought the urge to twitch his lips up further, a devious smirk already on his face. Grayson’s reaction was so entertaining.
First, a wave of utter brotherly glee at the absolute premium level teasing material he now possessed.
Second, a protective, older-brother fury that burned hotter than the sun. The first Robin was known for his temper, and few things could truly enrage him more than one of his little brothers potentially taken advantage of, in any way.
"He's in his bed?" Dick roared, slamming his hands on the table. "That half-naked over-hyped meta is touching my little brother?!"
Dick shot upwards from his chair, grabbing a heavy silver spatula from the buffet utensils on the table.
"Dick, chum, wait," Bruce ordered, his fingers flying across the tablet screen. "I need you to review the slide on protection first."
"I'm going to kill him!" Dick yelled, storming toward the stairs.
Damian sat down at the table, casually taking a sip of orange juice, a look of profound satisfaction on his face.
————————————
Bang.
The bedroom door splintered against the wall. Dick Grayson stood in the doorway, chest heaving.
His eyes were wide, manic, and completely unhinged.
The silver buffet spatula in his hand caught the morning light.
"Get away from my brother!" Dick roared.
The sound shattered the peaceful quiet of the room. Tim bolted upright, the sudden movement robbing him of any potentially lingering sleepiness.
His brain moved sluggishly, still heavy with exhaustion.
"Dick? What—"
Tim blinked, looking down at his own arms.
He was still tangled in the duvet with Kon. His face was smushed right on Kon’s chest, and his hands were around his best friend’s face.
A sudden, violent wave of heat rushed straight to Tim's face. Oh god, why the hell was he gripping the guy's t-shirt like a lifeline? It was just the grounding stuff from earlier, he tried to tell himself. It had to be. Just standard, stupid, platonic body heat because his brain was completely fried. But a wave of dread crashed into him at the thought of letting go of his best friend.
His best friend, who had paled dramatically at Dick’s entrance. Tim sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes to mask his own discomfort.
"Nightwing, wait!" Kon stammered, raising his hands frantically in surrender.
"It's just grounding! We were just sleeping!"
"Together? In the same bed?!" Dick shouted, taking a menacing step forward. "Without any pants on?!"
"I have sweatpants on! I’m wearing clothes, I swear!" Kon yelled back, face burning red. Tim looked between his brother and his best friend.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
Damian, that little shit, must have told them. And Damian always made every single thing sound ten times worse.
"Oh my god," Tim whispered, letting go of Kon and burying his face in his hands. He spared a moment to internally curse at the universe for putting him in situations like these.
"Dick, please stop. Literally nothing happened."
"I don't believe you." Dick said, his voice dropping an octave. He sounded scary. The manic energy vanished, replaced by pure, freezing menace.
Dick stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The sudden silence was far more terrifying than the shouting.
He walked to the edge of the bed, shadows stretching over them. Kon, a literal clone of Superman, instinctively scrambled backward like a man possessed.
The back of his head hit the headboard, trapped in fear by a regular, or at least baseline human. Dick leaned over the mattress, his face mere inches from Kon’s.
————————————
"Listen to me very carefully, Superboy," Dick whispered.
His eyes were completely dead, devoid of the brotherly warmth Kon was so used to seeing around Tim.
"I know exactly how fast you can fly," Dick murmured. "I know how tough your skin is."
"But I also know exactly how to make your life a living hell."
"If I ever find out you took even the slightest advantage of him..."
"If you ever make him feel unsafe in his own home..."
Dick tapped the cold metal spatula against Kon’s collarbone, his eyes burning dangerously.
"I will personally find enough green kryptonite to line your clothes and your little boots with."
"Then I will drop you into the deepest trench in the Atlantic."
"And I will watch you sink, Conner."
A genuine, icy shiver raced straight down Kon’s spine. His super-strength felt completely useless against the sheer, unadulterated danger radiating off Nightwing. Dick stared at him for a moment that felt longer than it was. “Understood?”
Kon nodded rapidly, his throat too dry to swallow.
"Understood," He choked out, his heart hammering so loudly against his ribs he thought both Tim and his terrifying brother could hear it.
————————————
Tim couldn’t take it any longer. He just watched his older brother basically make his best friend almost shit his pants over false pretenses. "Dick, get out!" He yelled, his face a bright, mortified crimson.
He grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his brother’s head.
"Go away! Leave us alone!"
Dick caught the pillow easily, his intense expression instantly vanishing.
"Breakfast is at nine, boys," Dick said with an infuriatingly cheerful smile. "Bruce is printing out hand-outs as we speak."
He spun on his heel and sauntered out of the room. The door clicked shut, leaving an oppressive silence behind. Tim groaned loudly, collapsing backward into the mattress.
"I'm going to kill Damian," Tim muttered into the blankets. "I’ll legally change my name and move to space." Kon still sat frozen against the headboard, his heart racing.
He looked down at Tim, who was curled up next to him, completely flustered.
Tim’s hair was a messy, chaotic nest of dark curls. His cheeks were flushed a beautiful, deep pink.
Despite the embarrassment, Tim looked softer, <prettier than he had in weeks. Hold up a minute, now where did that thought come from? Kon’s mind, still recovering from Dick’s threat, suddenly took a sharp turn.
“If a romantic relationship meant protecting and getting to see this side of Tim...” Kon thought, a strange, warm weight settling in his chest.
“Would it really be the worst thing in the world?” He watched Tim hide under the duvet, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe the threat of a kryptonite-induced watery grave was worth the risk.
-fin-