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“Mr. Batman, sir?” Bart isn’t used to how shaky his voice sounds. Batman, already halfway disappearing into the shadows, stops and tilts his head.
“Just Batman is fine.”
“I know you don’t like other people running around your city, but since I’m already here… Could I see Robin, maybe?”
Batman waits for a few agonizingly long seconds before he responds. Bart has to will himself not to tap his foot, or fidget in some other way.
“Yes, I suppose that’s fine.”
Bart speeds away halfway through the sentence. He hopes the Bat doesn’t mind too much; it is what he’s known for after all.
His heart hammers against his ribcage as he races through Gotham. Tim has told him what neighborhood he lives in, but to Bart, Gotham is impossible to navigate through, especially at nighttime. The tears welling up in the corners of his eyes can’t be much help either.
Bart tries to shake away his encounter with the Joker as best he can, but mentions of the other Robin keep creeping into his thoughts.
He finally finds the Drake residence and clambers up the facade of the building. Hastily, he vibrates through a wall and finds himself standing in a bedroom. He doesn’t expect Tim to be asleep, even at the late hour, and isn’t startled by a confused Tim staring back at him.
He’s sitting on his bed with a book on his lap. Normally, Bart would get a little flustered seeing Tim shirtless, but right now his mind is occupied otherwise. His gaze falls over the numerous scars across his torso, stitches on half healed cuts, clusters of bruises at all stages of healing adorning his arms - blue, purple, sickly yellow.
“Bar - Impulse. What are you doing here?” Tim finally speaks after looking at him in confused silence. Bart clutches at his own arms and shrugs.
“Don’t worry, Batman knows I'm here. I was - I had to come see you.” There it is again, the unfamiliar shaking in his voice.
Tim sets his book on his bedside table and moves to the side, patting the free space beside him. Bart doesn’t trust himself to move just yet, instead looking to the book.
“What are you reading?” He squints to see the name on the bookspine better. “Sherlock Holmes?”
Tim looks away sheepishly. “I like detective stories,” he murmurs. He seems to realize that Bart won’t sit down, so he gets up instead.
He comes to a stop before him and reaches behind Bart's head, unclasping his goggles with surprising ease. The small pool of tears formed against the glass drip onto his cheek as he removes them and Bart frowns. Tim wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs. He stays like this, cradling Bart's face in his rough hands as he fixes him in a concerned gaze.
“Is something wrong? Is Max okay?” he whispers and Bart tries to shake his head.
“Everything’s okay, just… I helped out Batman today, he was dealing with the Joker-”, Bart cuts himself off as he sees the concern in Tim's eyes shift into something more urgent, more panicked. He pulls him closer, eyes flitting all over his body in sheer terror.
“He didn’t hurt you? You’re okay?” Tim's voice breaks a little as he speaks.
“I’m okay, really. Nothing happened, it’s just - he said something about another Robin? And there’s that suit in the cave…” The image of that deranged man involuntarily pushes itself back into the forefront of Bart’s mind and he can’t seem to find a coherent end to his sentence. He looks to Tim for an answer, an explanation.
Tim's jaw locks. His hands drop back down to his sides and he closes his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths before opening them again. Bart isn’t used to seeing his eyes when they’re not obscured by a mask. He almost steps back, startled by the intensity of his gaze.
“What do you want to know?”
Bart thinks on it for a second. He doesn’t really know what he’s asking of Tim. All he knows is that he’s freaking out right now, and usually, Tim is the one who calms him down.
“I don’t understand. Why would Batman decide to take on another Robin after… Well you know,” he asks carefully.
Tim takes another deep breath. “He didn’t. I did.”
Bart frowns, confused. “What?”
“Batman… he doesn’t work without a Robin. If I, or someone else like me, isn’t there to anchor him to what he is doing this for, to anchor him to reality, he loses it. I had to take a place by his side.”
Bart is quiet for a moment, chews his lip, and tries to process.
“But why you, specifically? You had to put yourself in danger?”
“Don’t you do the same thing?” Tim snaps, raising his voice with no real heat behind the words.
“But that’s different. I can’t get hurt like you! Batman could’ve found someone who’s bulletproof or something!” Bart reaches out to him, a gloved finger ghosting over a scar that runs across Tim's arms. He swats his hand away.
“You can’t expect me to just go back to blissful ignorance now that I know all about what happens in this city! I know I can help, and I have to until there’s no need for me anymore. That’s my responsibility.”
His voice is steady, almost practiced. Bart wonders if he’s had this argument with Batman before, if he’s had to convince him as well.
“And you think Gotham is worth all this trouble?” He tries not to sound too sceptical.
Tim doesn’t hesitate for a second. He locks eyes with Bart and nods.
“Yes, of course it is. Any place would be, this just happens to be my home, too.”
They both turn to Tim's bedroom window, looking out at the city before them. Even though it is the middle of the night, Gotham hums with activity. It has a charm to it that Bart is not used to at all. Flickering neon signs, silhouettes of skyscrapers against the light-polluted bright skies, the thrum of traffic on the darkened streets below.
Tim turns to look back at Bart.
“Do you want me to show you?”
——
“Is this the right place?”
Bart skids to a halt. He looks at Tim, arms tight around his torso with his head buried in his shoulder, eyes shut.
Bart tries to nudge him with his elbow. Tim groans into his shoulder. His arms are still locked around him, but he loosens his grip a little and looks up with a pained smile.
“Remind me to go slower next time?” Bart asks. He twists around a little and moves one of his hands up to Tim's windswept hair, trying his best to make him look presentable while Tim blinks at him.
“Yeah, as if,“ Tim jokes as he finally peels himself off of Bart. His hands linger on his waist for the smallest moment, needing the contact to stabilize himself, just long enough for Bart's breath to hitch. Then Tim takes an uneasy step back.
“Welcome to Robinson Park!” he calls out with a grin on his face.
The name sounds familiar. Bart furrows his brow.
“Isn’t that where Poison Ivy stays?” he asks.
Tim looks away sheepishly.“Well, not this part of the park.”
“Hey, remember that this is supposed to convince me that Gotham isn’t full of crime and misery?”
Tim scoffs dramatically.
“I know that!” He reaches out for Bart's arm and pulls him along by his shirt sleeve.
Bart looks down at the clothes he’s wearing; he’s had to borrow them from Tim, so he wouldn’t have to walk around in his costume.
“Hey I thought you were an Oasis guy.”
“Huh?” Tim turns around to look at him with raised eyebrows.
Bart tugs at the hem of the Blur shirt he’s wearing. “A little conflict here, don’t you think?”
Tim snorts and shakes his head, clearly amused. “What, a guy can’t like two bands? I’m sure the Gallaghers will survive if I think Albarn's cute.”
The far away chatter they’ve been walking towards gets louder as they come to a stop in front of a hot dog cart in the middle of the park, weathered and covered in graffiti. Scattered around the area are round café tables with people gathered in groups. Bart smells grease layered over intense cologne, cheap beer and cigarette smoke.
Tim maneuvers around the crowd and comes to a stop in front of the vendors. They seem to recognize him as they greet him warmly and start preparing what must be his usual order.
Tim points to an unoccupied table a little off to the side.
“Wait there, I’ll bring us the food.”
Bart seats himself and swings his legs up on the chair in front of him. No one really pays him any mind so he feels free to listen in on the conversations around him, hears about exes joining convents and coworkers messing up business presentations.
The conversations seem to span across tables, with high school kids barging in to affirm older women that they were right to stand up to their bosses while they in turn listen to their plight that is math classes and incompetent teachers. Bart grins. He’s sure his friends in Manchester would never speak so freely among adults, so this is a nice change of pace for him.
Tim joins him soon after. He sweeps Bart's feet away from his chair and hands him a hot dog as he sits down.
“Here, the best hot dogs in all of Gotham. Ripper style, of course.”
Bart looks down at the hot dog in his hand. He has no idea what ripper style is supposed to mean.
“No relation to Jack the Ripper I hope?” he asks and Tim giggles.
“You see how the casing is ripped open? It's because they deep fry them, and it sort of bursts. That’s why it’s called that,” Tim explains.
Bart nods and takes a bite. Tim watches him like a hawk, expectant eyes awaiting a reaction. His gaze never leaves his face, intense as always and Bart laughs nervously.
“Please tell me you like it. I feel like I’m doing a bad job at making Gotham seem nice,” Tim grumbles.
Bart loops his foot around his ankle. “I do, I promise. And this is nice. We don’t really have things like this in Alabama, you know.”
Tim hums as he takes a bite himself. He turns his head to look at the crowd, fingers tapping against the table. A sly smile spreads on his face as he listens to banter around them.
“It’s funny that the food here is so good when they also sell what's probably the worst beer in the city. But they don’t check ID.”
“Probably why I had my first kiss here. I know I would’ve been too nervous if I had been sober,” Tim muses. Bart flushes, suddenly very aware of the fact that their feet are still tangled around each other. He hopes the street lamps are far away enough for Tim not to see the color that must be flooding his face right now.
He glances over at him. “What about you?”
“Where do I go when I’m underage drinking?” Bart asks, trying to change the subject.
Tim laughs. “C’mon, I know you can’t get drunk. It’s why I spared you from that part of this culinary experience.”
Has Bart ever talked about his speedster’s alcohol tolerance? He raises an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”
“You can’t get poisoned because of your metabolism, so that probably carries over to alcohol too, doesn’t it?” He lowers his voice a little, as if he were worried about someone listening in.
“Hm. I forget you’re a genius sometimes.”
Tim rolls his eyes. “I doubt it takes a genius to figure out you’re deflecting.”
Bart looks down at the gravel at his feet.
“I haven’t had my first kiss yet,” he admits. It’s weirdly embarrassing. Bart can’t remember the last time he’s been embarrassed about something.
“Oh okay. No rush, you know,” Tim murmurs, barely audible above the loud conversations around them.
Bart gapes at him. “No rush? Was that supposed to be a pun?”
Tim winces, physically cringing at his own words.
“Oh god, yeah. And a real bad one, too. Sorry, that’s really lame.”
Bart can’t help the laugh that escapes him. Tim joins in after a moment, clearing the awkward air between them.
They stay quiet for a bit after that, eating and looking at the people around them. Bart notices a guy with a notebook in his lap, frantically writing something as his friend holds a flashlight for him. Behind them, a man in a business suit, his tie loosened around his neck, glances over their shoulders, occasionally giving corrections.
“I don’t understand how this works,” Bart says as he looks at the teenagers thanking the business guy.
“How come there's no craziness here? I always thought Gotham was cursed.” He can’t help the disbelief slipping into his words. Didn’t he come up against the Joker just a few hours ago?
Tim shrugs. “Criminals wouldn’t come here to mess things up. They’re too superstitious.”
“Messing with a hot dog cart is sacrilege?” It’s meant to be a joke, but Bart does a bad job of hiding his skepticism.
Tim laughs and nods. “Too some, probably. But I meant this.” He points behind Bart, who turns and squints to see better.
A small building, mostly obscured by shadows, stands on the hill behind them. “A church?” Bart asks.
He looks back to Tim, whose eyes have suddenly lit up, as if he remembered something.
“A chapel, yes. Can I show it to you?”
“Sure, why not?”
With that, Tim jumps to his feet and marches ahead, expecting Bart to come along. Bart doesn’t hesitate; Tim's sudden eagerness has piqued his interest. They leave the crowd and its noise behind them, replaced by the rush of the cold wind. It bites at Bart's face a little, and he wonders if Tim isn’t cold as well. Maybe Gotham's always chilly.
As they climb up the hill toward the chapel, Tim bends down and picks a few daisies. Bart looks across the grass and spots a few more flowers. He speeds over and picks them before returning to Tim's side.
“And you’re sure Poison Ivy isn’t around to get mad about this?” he asks.
Tim laughs softly. Bart can see his eyes crinkle under the faint light of the moon.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
When they reach the top of the hill, they’re greeted with a sprawling graveyard in front of the chapel. The tombstones look well maintained. Bart hums and gets to work, leaving the flowers he’s picked by the graves that haven’t been looked after quite as recently.
Tim steps along the twisted path through the graveyard toward the chapel and comes to a stop before the heavy wooden doors. He waves Bart over.
“Do you have any flowers left?” he asks him after Bart speeds over to him. He holds up a few asters he’s held on to and Tim nods.
He pushes the door open with a loud creak. He leaves the door open behind them. Bart thinks he might know why, considering the only light inside is dimly filtered through the stained-glass windows. A bit more light from a nearby streetlamp outside illuminates the room more, takes away its eerie quality.
Tim steps along the stone floor towards the altar, and finds a rack with votive candles. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out a lighter.
“You know, the southern wall here collapsed during the earthquake.” He lights a candle and hands it to Bart. “Rebuilding here wasn’t an immediate priority, obviously, but once they got to it, they came up with a tribute of sorts.”
With the second candle lit, Tim maneuvers them toward the southern side of the building. Unlike the stone used for the rest of the chapel, this wall is built of red bricks. Bart holds his candle closer to one of the bricks and finds an inscription chiseled into it.
Tim explains in a low voice. “I’m sure you know how bad the evacuation went back then. A lot of people died during the quake, even more during No Man's Land in general. There was no way for proper burials for almost anyone, so people came up with other ways around it.”
He sits down in front of the wall and places his own flowers against it. Only now does Bart notice the shrine at his feet, the flowers and framed pictures, letters and stuffed animals. He lays his flowers and his candle down and sits next to Tim.
Tim hesitates for a second, then drops his head against Bart's shoulder. Bart goes very still, waits for Tim to move. Instead, he starts talking.
“I don’t think it makes sense for me to hide away the bad parts. I’m not surprised you think Gotham is cursed, hell I don’t doubt it myself, but that doesn’t mean I want to give up on it. It can get really bad at times, but I care about this place, about the people here. I have to believe it can get better, and I do, or else I wouldn’t put myself in harm's way like that.”
Bart reaches out blindly in the flickering candlelight to find Tim's hand.
“I think I understand,” he whispers against the top of Tim's hair, his voice raspy. He peers down at him but his eyes are closed now, cheek squished against Bart's shoulder. He lets out a small breath, almost a sigh, and something inside Bart stirs.
They could sit in this silence for longer, but Bart can’t help but feel odd in a way he can’t explain, not really. His palms start to feel sweaty, and the thought of Tim noticing upsets him.
“Sorry I freaked out,” he says into the quiet. He means it. Despite the very dangerous pastime he partakes in, the thought of death barely crosses his mind. It’s one of the many things he disregards more than he should, and maybe it’s foolish that he does. Or maybe it’s one of the advantages of his powers, his quick metabolism that lets any scar fade in minutes while Tim is covered in them. The cuts and bruises fade just as quickly as the fear but Tim isn’t afforded that luxury. And now that Bart has noticed it, he might not be either.
Tim huffs. Another breath hits Bart's shirt, and it almost makes him shiver more than the cold gusts outside the chapel had.
“Don’t be. The Joker does have that effect on people.”
Even if Bart wanted to extract his clammy hand from Tims, he wouldn’t let him. He pulls their intertwined hands close to him, places them against his chest. Bart feels the soft thump of a heartbeat through the back of his hand.
“You know I'm careful, right?”
Tim looks up now. His eyes settle on Bart with an unwavering focus, bright and persistent. A rare sight to covet, a sight that causes a warmth to bloom in Bart’s chest. As if through some gravitational pull, he leans closer, leans his forehead against Tim’s.
“Yes, yes I do.”
——
“-And Wally, he couldn’t even tell them that Linda totally does exist, because he was stuck in the future!”
Bart is sprawled across the ground of Mount Justice. The mats under him had been placed by Red Tornado, whose constant pleas for him to please just use the chairs in the hall had been soundly ignored for a while now. Tim sits crosslegged in front of him, papers from a case file spread around him. He glances up from the file.
“The future?”
Bart scratches his head. “Yeah! Or maybe it was the speed force? Definitely one of those two…”
“You know, you’ve never told me what it’s like in the future.” Tims finger ghosts along the text on his papers, but it’s clear he’s not paying any attention to it anymore. Bart frowns as he meets Tim's eye.
“I don’t know if I’m allowed to? Maybe it messes with the timeline or something.” He thinks of his grandma, sequestered in her home with no one to talk to without risk. A woman out of time and frozen in place all the same.
Tim thinks on it for a moment, taps his fingers against his folder before him. “I doubt it. I mean, that’s all way after my lifetime,” he says.
Bart hums. That checks out for him.
“Well, I’m still not the best person to ask about that. What with the simulations and all, I’ve barely even spent any time there. Or then. You know what I mean.”
Tim smooths over his papers, shuffles them back into their folder.
“Would you ever want to go back?” He hesitates, then clears his throat awkwardly. “To where you’re from, I mean.”
Bart raises himself up on his elbows and looks over at Tim, still needlessly organizing his file. His fingers tap lightly against the mats beneath them as he thinks. He keeps his eyes on Tim, notes the slight tension in his posture.
“I don’t think so,” he answers, quiet but confident that it’s the truth. Tim visibly exhales.
“Even if it were safe for you there?” he prods further, finally leaving his papers behind and inching closer toward Bart.
Bart shrugs. “What’s the point? Everyone I know and love is here. The future’s only my home in theory.”
He very pointedly looks at Tim, who swallows roughly. He sits closer, now hovering over Bart who’s still half laying on the ground. He avoids eye contact, instead looking up at one of the desks, the blank screen on his computer.
“Wouldn’t it be easier though?” he asks quietly. “You’ve said that you had a hard time getting used to things here.”
Bart reaches out for Tim's cape draped beside him, tugs at it as he speaks.
“Nothing's easy about leaving you behind.”
Tim's eyes snap back to him. Obscured by his mask Bart can only guess his expression. He doesn’t move or speak any further.
“I’d have a hard time getting used to any place where most people aren’t speedsters. You just make it worth it,” Bart adds on. Tim lowers his head slightly.
“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles.
Bart lets go of the cape. His hand finds its way up as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind Tim's ear. “You don’t believe me?”
“Of course I do.” He wrings his hands in his lap as he shifts closer.
“I just… you know how strongly I feel about Gotham. I was curious if you also had a place like that.”
Bart nods. “Yeah but it’s the people that are important to you, no? Manchester is important to me because of my friends. Max and Helen, too. And Mount Justice is important because of you guys.” He runs his hand through Tim's hair for emphasis, watches as the tips of his ears turn a bright red. Tim shifts under the touch, adjusts himself to find a better position.
“Yeah, I understand.”
Bart lowers his head again, this time not into the floor, but Tim's lap instead. He doesn’t question it, just hums when Tim absentmindedly starts brushing through his hair.
Tim looks straight down at Bart, then smiles softly as he leans down.
“Imagine if someone walked in on us right now,” he giggles.
Bart grins and closes his eyes. “I’m sure they’re used to this by now.”
——
Bart stirs in the medbay of Mount Justice with a slight groan. His eyes flutter open as he looks at the cavernous ceiling, illuminated only by the bedside table. He can’t remember the fight earlier, not really, but he hopes he’s the only one who got taken out.
He shifts to the side. Tim catches his eye immediately. He’s pacing in tight circles, his arms tight around his torso as he mutters something incomprehensible to himself. His breath comes in uneven and shaky, as if he had been crying.
“Tim?”, Bart asks into the quiet of the room. In an instant, Tim rushes to his side. He almost crashes into his bed but steadies himself as he takes in a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob. He looks at him wide-eyed and Bart realizes that he isn’t wearing his mask. He also sees that his eyes are bloodshot.
“You’re awake.”
Bart shrugs. “Sure am. We won, right?”
Tim ignores the question. “You’re okay?” His hand reaches for Bart's face, brushing a thumb against his cheek. Bart sees a blood stain on his palm and frowns.
“Yeah. Are you okay? You look like you haven’t slept all night. What time is it?”
“That’s not - God, you scared the hell out of me.”
Tim starts shaking. Bart gently wraps a hand around his wrist as he rights himself.
“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.”
Tim doesn’t say anything, just lets himself get pulled into the bed. He hides his face in his hands as another sob escapes from him.
“When you passed out, you - you were on the ground, not moving and - God, Bart I’ve never seen you bleed!”
He looks at him in sheer terror, eyes locked on his shoulder, where his suits ripped open. Bart grasps on his hand and places it on his healed skin, his other hand finding its way to the nape of his neck.
“I’m not bleeding, not anymore. Here, look.”
“I know, I know, I just - I thought you were gone for a second and -” Tim interrupts himself, tries to hide his face again, but Bart doesn’t let him. He holds onto his hands, pulls them close to his chest. Tim looks up and stares at the ceiling as tears trickle out of the corner of his eyes.
“It’s so selfish, but the first thing I thought was that I never told you that I loved you. How messed up is that?”
“That’s not selfish,” Bart mutters as he leans into Tim’s space. He barely hesitates before he starts kissing away his tears, lips soft against wet skin. “And not true.”
“No?” His voice sounds shaky, unsure.
“Of course I know you love me. You always laugh at my stupid ass jokes, especially when you know I'm in a bad mood. Because you always know when I feel weird and you know how to distract me.”
Bart moves to the other side of Tim's face, leaving tentative kisses across his path. Tim makes a strangled noise. His fingers tighten around Barts.
“You let me ramble while you work on your cases, because you say it lets you focus, but it’s really because you know I need that sometimes, need to just talk and talk without someone rolling their eyes at me, which you never do.”
Tim shifts, drops his head into the crook of Bart's shoulder. He sighs against exposed skin, and Bart feels goosebumps raise on his arms, the back of his neck.
“And that new suit you started wearing. The one with all the extra padding, right after I freaked out about the Joker. I know you love me, just like I know that I love you. These things come in pairs, you know.”
Another shuddering breath into Bart's shoulder. Tim lets go of his hand, wraps his arms around Bart's waist instead. He huffs softly before looking up with glossy eyes.
“Is that how it feels when I get hurt on the field? How have you not lost your mind yet?”
“Because I know you're careful. And capable. And a genius. It’s terrifying but I try to make it work.” Bart explains as he runs his hand through Tim's hair, soft strands slipping through his fingers.
Tim nods, hums at the slight tug on his hair. He somehow sits even closer, arms still wrapped around Bart. “I can’t believe I told you I love you and it wasn’t even the scariest thing to happen today,” he mumbles as he mouths along his jaw.
Bart grins. “Stop teasing.”
“What, you ticklish?” Tim giggles against his skin.
For once, Bart doesn’t play along. “Can I kiss you?” he asks timidly.
He feels like Tim really should have expected that question but it seems to almost knock him over. He goes completely still for a second before he straightens up so they sit face to face.
“Oh god, yes,” he whispers, already flushed.
Tim kisses like he does in Bart's dreams. Their noses bump awkwardly, but his lips brush against his so gently that it’s all Bart can focus on. He tilts his head, urging him to deepen the kiss and Tim complies happily. Bart can feel him smile against him before Tim pulls him impossibly closer, lips parting. Bart moves his hand away from his hair, tracing a line down his back. Tim shivers beautifully at that and Bart loses his mind a little.
Tim pulls away with a soft sigh. Bart almost leans forward to chase his lips again, but halts when Tim starts pressing soft kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. Giddy laughter bubbles up in his chest as he lets his head fall against the bed frame behind him with a soft thud.
Tim stills again. He traces a line along Bart's profile in silent contemplation, brows furrowed.
“You’ll be careful?”
Bart leans forward, presses a kiss against his forehead.
“For you, always.”