Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim liked to think of himself as the smart one. He knew, logically, that all of his siblings had above average IQs and were Batman trained, but living with them, working with them, and all together knowing them, allowed him to forget that sometimes. They all had such blaring blindspots in their intelligence that he had to laugh about it.

Tim liked to think that he didn't have any blindspots.

His siblings would probably scoff at that.

And sure, maybe Tim could be a little competitive and stubborn, and he wasn't always the best at communicating, but none of that made his brain shut down like he had seen each of his siblings do a couple times.

That was what he thought, at least.

It only took Kon and Cassie calling him out to see that that maybe wasn't the case.

“Is that Alfred’s pot pie?” Kon asked, picking up on the smell the moment Tim entered the tower.

“Yup. Leftovers from last night.”

“Ohhoho, hand 'em over,” Kon grinned, floating over to Tim. His reaching hands got slapped away.

“I already promised them to Bart.” Tim dodged around Kon, making his way to the kitchen.

“But that's not fair. Bart always gets first dibs,” Kon whined, following closely behind him.

“Bart doesn't always get first dibs. He just asked before you.”

“Bull. Shit. Just cause Barts your favorite—”

“I do not have a favorite.” Tim placed the container down on the counter and turned back to Kon, who took a seat beside Cassie.

“Oh you most certainly do,” Cassie butted in, rolling her eyes at the look Tim gave her. “Tim, all Bart has to do is look at you and you give him whatever he wants. You know I hate siding with Kon, but he’s right on this one.”

Kon stuck his tongue out at her but looked overall pleased that she agreed with him.

“I don't do that,” Tim said, frowning. “Do I?”

Kon and Cassie both nodded.

“And I get it, dude, Barts got those god damn puppy eyes down, but you've gotta start realizing when you immediately cave to him before I literally starve to death.”

“Okay, one, you are not starving to death. Stop pretending you rely on me to feed you, and two, I do not do that. I would notice if I did that. It takes a little more than some puppy eyes to get me to cave.”

“He can not be that oblivious,” Kon said, turning to Cassie, who just shook her head.

“I'm not—”

“Tim!” Bart cut him off, sliding into the kitchen and up to his side. Tim smiled, his previous annoyance fading with Bart's hug. “I missed you! How was your weekend?”

“Good. It was good. I brought you leftovers.” Bart grinned at him.

“You are 100% the best.”

“You can thank Alfred.”

“Oh I will. I'm already drafting a thank you letter.” Bart took a bite of the pie and looked ready to melt. “Perfection.”

“So not fair,” Kon muttered.

“Will you help me with a thing later?” Bart asked Tim, ignoring Kon's comment. “I started a new project in the lab but Cassie and Kon wouldn't help me cause they said it was ‘too dangerous’ and ‘a good way to get us killed,’ cause they're boring. But you'll help, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tim said without hesitating, ignoring the outraged noise Kon made.

“Yes, yes, yes! See, at least Tim isn't lame.” Bart grinned, outshining the twin glares Cassie and Kon were sending their way. “Lab at one, okay? I'll meet you there.”

Bart hugged him one more time before speeding off with his leftovers, leaving Tim slightly dazed. He blinked, turning back to Cassie, who was facepalming, and Kon, who was outright glaring at him.

“Favoritism!”

“It's not—”

“Liar! You're not that blind!” Tim blinked again as Kon stormed out of the room.

And oh.

Oh shit.

He found his blindspot.

*****

Once Tim realized it, he couldn't unrealize it. Bart simply drew his attention. He didn't know how he hadn't realized it before. His heart skipped a beat every time the speedster so much as smiled at him.

And Bart didn’t play fair. In his defense, he didn’t know he was playing, but Tim was losing his mind.

Here Bart was, fresh out of a workout, dressed in athletic shorts and a tank top. He leaned against the door frame and he smirked at Tim. It was simply unfair.

Tim shifted, feeling irrationally shy under the intense gaze of his friend.

“I thought you said you were done working for the day,” Bart said, sauntering over and placing a hand on the table. He leaned over Tim, and Tim tried his best not to stare at his exposed collarbones, glistening from the thin sheen of sweat.

When had Bart gotten tall? Or maybe even more importantly, when had he gotten hot?

Bart had always been attractive. When they were young, he was quite frankly adorable. There was no denying it. He was their tiny, pocket sized speedster, with big hair and bigger feet, golden eyes that sparkled, a splatter of freckles that danced across his face, and a delicate nose that scrunched up but he laughed too hard.

But now he was all legs and lean muscle, and Jesus, Tim was gonna combust.

“I am, or— I will be, in like five minutes.” Tim’s eyes flickered back to his open laptop and the case that had slowly been driving him crazy.

“You said that before I went for a run,” Bart half teased, half whined.

“I know. I promise I’ll be done by the time you're done with your shower. Which you should get to, you skink.” It was a weak attempt to get Bart out of his space. He gave him a little shove to the chest to encourage him to get moving.

Tim’s mind blue screened.

Muscle.

Oh god that was a mistake.

Bart huffed a short laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” He turned toward the doorway. “Just remember, Kon said family dinner tonight so don’t be late. Be there on time or I’ll be back to carry you there myself.”

Like that wouldn’t be a dream.

With that, Bart made his exit and Tim absolutely did not watch him go.

He scrubbed his hands over his face.

Focus.

He needed to make a little more progress before dinner. That would be a hell of a lot easier if his mind could stop wandering back to the redhead that he knew was showering in the other room.

Stop.

He was in so much trouble.

And he didn't even know who to talk to about it! Maybe he could call Cissie? No, Bart was her favorite. She would murder him.

He couldn't talk to Kon or Cassie about it 'cause they would say he’s trying to “corrupt their speedster,” even though they all knew damn well what a little shit Bart was. He was impossible to corrupt. If anything, he was the corruptor for seducing Tim!

Dick would be entirely unhelpful. He would probably just say, “Is it the speedster thing, or the red head thing? Cause either way, I get it.” And Tim just couldn't have that conversation with his big brother. Plus, it was neither of those things. It was a Bart thing.

Jason and Steph would just laugh at him, and Tim didn't think he could ever get himself to ask his younger brothers for relationship advice. Duke would probably get awkward and Damian would definitely insult him.

And Cass would tell him to go for it, but she wouldn't give him anything to reassure him that it would work out.

Talking to Bruce was out of the question. He would just get that face, the once that Bruce made whenever he thought about any of his kids in a relationship.

The point is, Tim’s only option was to stew in his own angst for the rest of eternity.

And no, that was not overdramatic.

*****

Bart's hair was in a ponytail. A ponytail.

His bang still hung around his face, creating a perfect frame. Bart kept having to blow the fringe out of his eyes, his irritation at it seeming to grow.

But his hair— his hair was up and exposing his neck. Tim had been staring at his nape for the past ten minutes and it was a miracle that no one had noticed. He wanted to bite it. To kiss it and suck bruises into the skin that would outlast the speedsters accelerated healing.

Bart sat up straighter and Tim diverted his eyes in case the redhead turned to look at him, but no. Bart just stretched, his arms coming above his head. The muscles in his shoulders flexed. His head tilted to the side to expose even more skin.

Tim must have made a noise 'cause Bart turned to look at him questioningly.

“You good, T?”

“Yup,” Tim squeaked. He cleared his throat, trying to bring his voice back to a normal octave. “Totally fine.”

Bart gave him a funny smile, but turned back to the mission briefing Tim had asked him to read. Tims face heated up and he resisted the urge to slam his head against the table.

Kon caught his eye, an eyebrow raised, and Tim slouched in his seat even more. He knew Kon suspected something was up, and the super would probably be annoyed at him for keeping it a secret, but Tim couldn’t handle Kon getting involved. His best friend had an annoying habit of making everything his business.

Tim just knew that Kon would get hyper vigilant if he knew. He would probably get a spray bottle to squirt Tim in the face with anytime he suspected him to be having “impure thought.” Not to mention the completely obvious attempts at setting them up that he would plan.

No, it was better that Kon didn’t know. Tim could handle this himself.

Still, knowing that Kon was noticing Tim’s strange behavior was embarrassing. And if Kon was noticing, how long would it take Bart to notice?

Whatever, that was a problem for future Tim. Current Tim could just focus on not staring holes into the back of the redhead's perfect neck.

*****

Tim had meant to press his family emergency signal. This mission was getting out of hand and if the gunshot wound Tim was already sporting was anything to go by, it would just get worse.

He needed help, as much as he hated to admit it.

Tim flipped out of the way to avoid the next strike, trying not to engage his hurt shoulder too much.

He couldn't believe some random fucking goon had gotten the best of him. Jason would never let him live this down.

But at this point Tim didn't really care how much crap Jason gave to him about this if he would just get there.

He dodged again. If he could get to the stairs, get the high ground, he could–

His head slammed against the rail.

Fuck.

The room swam in front of him. Everything tilted and Tim couldn't seem to get his feet to stay under him.

The goon was too close, his hand gripping Tims hair to force his head up. He had a mean smile, almost Joker-like. He had a gun in his hand and he was too close.

Tims world spun.

Tim found himself on his back, the wind knocked out of him. It hurt to breathe and his ears were ringing. The room spun as he peeled open his eyes. He registered hands on him. One on his shoulder, the other on his cheek.

He blinked trying to clear his vision.

“–ob, Robin, can you hear me?” Tim blinked again. He knew those goggles.

“Impulse?” He slurred. Bart nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got you, okay? You'll be alright.” Tim’s senses started coming back to him. The sound of gunshots rang through the room. Bart kneeled over him, hands gentle as they inspected him for injuries. They were tucked away behind a stack of crates.

Tim brought his eyes back to the speedster. Bart's eyes were intense, enlaced with something like anger, and Tim tried to remember if he had done anything wrong. Why was Bart angry with him?

Bart's glow distracted Tim. Lightning danced across his shoulders, creating a halo around his head. He looked pretty. He blurred around the edges and Tim wasn't sure if Bart was moving or if it was just his dizziness.

“Are you going to be okay here alone for a minute, Red?” Tim’s face scrunched up, his fingers latching onto Bart's uniform. He didn't want him to leave. He wanted Bart to stay close to him and give him hugs. Bart gave the best hugs.

Bart must have gotten the message from Tim’s incoherent grumbling. He leaned down and placed a kiss on Tims forehead. Tim took a sharp breath, his grip loosening in his shock. Bart pulled away.

“I'll be right back,” he said softly. He glared over his shoulder. “I've just gotta take care of something first.

“Oh, Red Robin,” an unfamiliar voice sang. Footsteps drew closer. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Bart crouched, getting ready to go.

“I'll be right back.” Then he ran. Tim could see him standing a few meters away, lightning crackling off of him.

He looked otherworldly.

“You're not who I'm looking for,” the unfamiliar voice said, almost sounding bored.

“You made a mistake tonight,” Bart growled. The other voice laughed. Bart's eyes sharpened.

The sound of gunshots was deafening. There was a flash of light, and Tim couldn't get enough air into his lungs to scream for Bart. He needed to help. He needed to make sure he was okay, but he could barely move. Every inch of his body protested when he tried to sit up.

Bullets clattered against the wall until an agonized scream filled the room. Tim lurched forward. He had to make sure that wasn't Bart. He had to–

Impulse stood strong, looming above the figure crumpled on the ground. It almost hurt to look at him, the way the speedforce radiated off of him. His face– Tim had never seen such a look of contemptment, of such hatred, on the speedsters face before.

Bart turned to him, all traces of anger melting from his body, replaced only with concern. He sped back over to Tim, helping him sit up.

“You're okay, Rob. I've gotcha.” Bart held him close and Tim finally got to enjoy the hug he’s been craving. Tim pressed his face to the speedsters neck. He was amazing. He wrapped Tim in a blanket of safety that was easy to sink into.

Tim made no protest when Bart scooped him up and carried him home.

*****

Bruce didn't usually let Tims friends come over. It was mostly because of his strict no metas in Gotham rule, but after years of Tim begging and pointing out how it was totally unfair that Dick could have friends in the city, Bruce finally relented.

It probably had more to do with Alfred than with Bruce that Bart was allowed to come to a gala. Tim needed to remember to thank him later. Galas were always so much more bearable with a friend.

Now, Tim would like to think that he had fully mentally prepared for this. Taking your best friend to a gala? Of course, totally a platonic activity. There was nothing that could go wrong.

Tim forgot to prepare for the dresscode of these events.

The Bart Tim was used to was a jeans and t-shirt kinda guy. He liked to wear sweatshirts he could swim in, old sneakers, athletic shorts, and weird socks.

Tim wasn't used to Bart in a suit and he was so glad Kon wasn't here to call him out on the way his heart rate spiked.

“How do I look? Cassie said I had to fit the part.” Bart held out his arms, spinning around a bit.

“Perfect,” Tim breathed. He quickly cleared his throat. “It's perfect, you'll fit right in.”

Smooth Tim. But it wasn't his fault! Anyone would react like that. Bart would easily be one of the most attractive guys at the gala.

Tim was regretful to say that Bart was indeed one of the most attractive guys at the gala.

He had the attention of almost every woman there the moment he walked into the room, and not just because he arrived with the Waynes.

Tim knew that part of the reason was that Bart was a new face at these things, and to add on, he really was just striking. So Tim stuck by him the whole night, trying not to glare at everyone who approached him.

He wasn't jealous. He wasn't. Absolutely not.

But Bart just kept smiling his stupidly charming smile and everyone kept fawning over him.

Tim hadn't realized how hard it would be to get in a good conversation with his friend here. Cause really, seeing Bart all dressed up was nice (really nice), but the main reason Tim invited him was to spend some quality time together. The way things were going now, it wouldn't happen at all.

Tim sighed as Bart got pulled away to dance again.

“Timothy! Oh how are you darling?” No. Oh no. Mr. and Mrs. Waters were quickly coming his way and Tim wanted to sink into the ground. It's not that Tim hated them or anything, they were old friends of his parents and current investors in WE, but the two could talk.

“I'm doing very well,” Tim said instead of running away. “How are you?”

He shouldn't have asked. Why did he ask? He nodded along in silence as the couple went on and on about their vacation to Peru.

Boring, boring, boring, boring, oh my god please stop talking—

A hand on his shoulder puller his attention from the couple.

“Mr. Drake, can I borrow you for a moment,” Bart interrupted politely. Tim's eyebrows rose, but he nodded.

“Excuse me,” he smiled at the older men, and allowed Bart to lead him away.

“Is everything okay?” He asked quietly, falling instep with Bart.

“Yeah,” Bart shrugged. “You just looked bored.”

Tim almost laughed.

“So what, you're saving me?”

“If that's what you wanna call it,” Bart smirked.

“Oh my hero,” Tim said sarcastically, slinging his arm around Bart's shoulder.

“I like the sound of that,” Bart grinned. “Please, Timothy, sing my praise.”

Tim did laugh this time pausing only when Bart pulled him closer, taking his free hand and his waist.

“What are you doing?”

“Dancing. You do know how to dance, don't you?” Bart asked, knowing the answer. Of course Tim knew how to dance, he grew up at these events, after all.

“Why?”

“It's not like this is the first time I’ve made you dance with me. Besides, isn't that what people do at these things?” Yeah, sometimes, but usually not two men. Still, Tim followed along as Bart led him through the waltz.

“We’re not exactly in the most progressive company, plus the press is going to go crazy over something like this.”

“So what?” Bart had an easy smile on his face that told Tim he wasn't worried in the slightest. “That's what Bruce’s PR team is for.”

“You're the worst,” Tim smiled right back.

“You love me for it.”

Yeah, I do. Tim didn't say.

Chapter Text

Tim’s eyes bare into the ground as he tries to keep his breathing steady. He bounces his leg, rapidly tapping on the floor in a way that he knows is probably driving Kon crazy.

He can't help it. Waiting rooms always make him anxious. They’ve been here for two hours and still no one has come to update them on Bart.

Usually, when Bart gets hurt, he bounces back within minutes. His accelerated healing kicks in. His body stitches itself back together like magic.

That didn't happen this time.

All it took was one lucky shot, a bullet laced with something that blocked his meta abilities, and he was trapped, separated from the team while scouting.

Even depowered, Tim knows Bart can hold his own, but outnumbered, already sporting a bullet wound? It just wasn’t a fair fight. Once he was depowered, they had made sure to keep him that way, locking an inhibitor collar around his neck.

Even when they were kids, villains had hardly ever held back against them, and now that they were adults it’s even worse. They were merciless, beating him, torturing him, until the team had gotten there to put an end to it.

Tim had wanted to remove the collar immediately. He wanted to see the speedster up and moving as quickly as possible. Cassie had convinced him to wait. If Bart needed surgery, they couldn't let his healing fight against it.

Instead they rushed him to the hospital. Cassie had taken the lead, talking to the doctors, going calling the Justice League, doing everything a proper leader should.

So that leaves Tim here, in the waiting room, picking at the bandages hastily wrapped around his bloody knuckles, waiting for any news on Bart.

He can see Kon watching him from the corner of his eye. His friend has stayed quiet since their rushed journey there. Tim assumes that Kon, like himself, is afraid of breaking the tense silence that had settled around them.

Kon sighs.

“You're an idiot.”

Oh, apparently not.

He leans his head back against the wall.

“What?” Tim asks, forcing his foot to stop and giving Kon his full confusion.

“I knew you were down bad, but I didn't realize you were in love with him, which maybe was me being an idiot, but Jesus, Tim, I've seen you get angry before but that was next level.”

Tim’s heart jumps to his throat. He— Tim had been—

He had wanted to kill that guy. After watching him strangle Bart, after he de-powered the speedster and continues to beat him, Tim would have killed him if Kon hadn't pulled him away.

He realizes that it must have been scary for his friends to see him like that.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don't be sorry. I almost didn't stop you. I'm not mad at you. Not for that, and not for not telling me.” Tim glanced at him apprehensively. Kon still has that gentle look on his face. He sighs again. “I'm a little annoyed that you haven't made a move yet. Imp would literally cut his own leg off if he thought it would make you happy and you're still too awkward to say anything.”

“That's not— He doesn't—”

“Don't tell me he doesn't feel the same. I know him, and I know you. Anyone who looks at you two just sees “idiots in love” in flashing lights. Plus, Cissie basically confirmed it for me. She said he’s been actively trying to fluster you to see if he had a chance,” Kon smirks as Tim’s jaw drops. Then Kon’s eyes go wide. “Don't tell him I told you that or Cissie will kill me.”

“He— He was—” Bart really doesn’t play fair!

Kon laughs at Tim’s outraged expression, and soon the robin is joining him.

“I thought you were gonna die when he put his hair up.”

Tim groans into his hands.

“That's so mean!” Tim knows his face has gone red, the embarrassment eating him alive, but he still can’t wipe the stupid grin off of his face.

“So I'm assuming he has a chance?” Tim just nods, not trusting his voice in that moment. “I'll give you two a couple minutes then.”

A nurse walks in seconds later and Tim realizes that Kon must have been keeping an ear on Bart. He casts a thankful look to his friend as he stands up.

Bart looks small. He looks small wrapped in stark white sheets with wires attached to his body and a heart monitor beeped at a totally normal human pace. It doesn’t look right. Tim’s larger than life, not afraid to take up space speedster, looks small.

Tim pulls a chair up to Bart's bed and brushes his bangs away from his eyes.

“He should wake up soon,” the nurse says. “He may experience some discomfort, so don't hesitate to hit the call button, okay?”

Tim nods.

“The chemicals have been flushed from his system, but we kept the inhibitors on to give his body a chance to rest before his powers kick in. If he’d like to take it off when he wakes up, he certainly can.”

“Thank you,” Tim says, and the nurse smiles.

“I’m glad we could do our part. I know whatever you were up against couldn’t have been easy.”

Tim nods again. Tim hadn’t been that scared in a long time.

“He’ll be okay,” the nurse says. “I’ll be back soon to check in.”

Tim’s not sure how much time passes between the nurse leaving and Bart waking up. He spends each minute shifting his attention from the speedsters face, to his vitals, to his charts, and back to his face. Minutes pass like hours, and he thinks maybe this is how the world feels to Bart. It’s torture. No wonder the speedster constantly needs new things to do.

Tim’s head whips up from the chart when he hears a noise from Bart.

The groan turns into something much more like a whimper, and Bart's hand shoots up to claw at the inhibitor collar.

“Wait, Bart, hey,” Tim pulls his hand back, holding it between both of his own.

The panic in Bart's eyes ebbs away in an instant when he catches sight of Tim. The robin squeezes his hand.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You’re in the hospital. They fixed you up. You’re okay.”

“Tim,” Bart rasps, and god damn, he’s hurt, and Tim should absolutely not think that anything about the roughness of his voice was sexy in that moment.

“I think we can get that off you now,” Tim says, reaching for the inhibitor. Bart tilts his head up, he bears his throat– which hours ago had someone’s hands around it applying deadly pressure– to Tim, and the show of trust makes Tim want to cry.

Tim’s hands retreat at the shock he receives when the speed force returns, but Bart just sighs when the collar deactivated, immediately relaxing.

Tim knows how much speedsters hated being de-powered, how much all metas hated it, really. He’s talked to Bart about it before in the past, the other times when his connection to the speed force was severed.

He knows what being de-powered means to him. It means helplessness while the people he loves are hurt. It means torture. It means getting his knee shot out.

Bart has described the discomfort of it. How it’s like a piece of him had been ripped away and he was searching in the dark to try and find it. Tim hates thinking about the fear that must come with it all.

Tim rubs Bart's hand as he watches the finger shaped bruises disappear from his neck.

Much better.

“Did we win?” Bart asks. “Everyone else is okay?”

“Yeah.” Tim nods. Count on Bart to ask about everyone else before himself. “They're all good.”

“And are your hands okay?”

“My– oh, yeah.” He flexes his hand, wincing when his knuckles crack open again.

“Hey, watch it,” Bart takes his hand again and rubs his thumb over the bandages. “You're usually more careful than that.”

“Yeah, I… kinda lost it for a minute there.”

“I know,” Bart sighs, sinking into the pillows. His lips curve up into a smirk. “It was hot.”

Tims face heats up.

“You were passed out!”

“Only for part of the time,” the speedster waves him off. “Doesn't change the fact that you got all scary and protective for me. That's hot.”

Tim huffs before his shoulders sag. He presses his face to Bart's hand.

“You scared me. I thought he would– I thought I might lose you again,” he whispers.

Bart takes Tim’s face in his hands, guiding it back up. His fingers are soft. Tim’s breath catches when he meets his eyes, golden pools for him to drown in.

“It’ll take a lot more than that,” Bart says. There’s a promise in his voice, in the way he looks at him.

And yeah, Tim thinks, this is worth losing his mind over.

He reaches, brushing hair away from golden eyes and pressing his forehead to Barts.

“I love you, you know?” He says.

Bart's breath hitches. He pulls back the slighted bit and smiles that stupid smile that Tim’s never been able to say no to. “I love you too.”

And Tim couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to.

He leans forward and kisses him.