Archive of Our Own

1.

Kon’s gaze lingering on him was the last thing Tim wanted right now, but avoiding it had never really been an option.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

Tim shrugged, snatching the papers from Kon’s hands so he could force them back into the proper folder. There were too many pages jammed into something that small. The edges bent beneath his fingers.

“Nothing. What do you expect me to do?” he muttered without looking at him.

A warm hand settled against his shoulder. Gentle. Careful. Reassurance he did not want.

“You’re still young,” Kon said quietly. “You could probably do a lot of things.”

Tim let out a dry laugh. “None of them involve letting me rot in my room alone, right?”

From the corner of his eye, he caught Kon shaking his head, a crooked smile pulling weakly at his mouth.

“No. That wouldn’t be healthy for you.”

Tim finally looked at him, eyes narrowing. “But I wouldn’t be allowed to patrol either.”

Kon winced before Tim had even finished speaking. The answer was already there.

“It would be safer if you stayed out of all this,” he admitted. “Too much mental strain isn’t safe.”

Tim scoffed and shoved Kon’s hand off his shoulder.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But I’m not staying at the manor anymore. Being watched twenty-four hours a day sounds like torture.”

Kon nodded immediately. “Completely understandable. Didn’t you still have—”

“No,” Tim cut in flatly. “I don’t want to work. I want to get as close as possible to a sedentary life without any of you shoving yourselves into my business.”

Kon frowned, already drawing breath to argue.

Tim beat him to it. “I’ll sell my time as a wife.”

Kon froze. “What?”

“Cleaning. Cooking. Caretaking.” Tim counted each one against his fingers. “Sex costs extra. Trophy wife, live-in spouse, whatever the hell they want as long as they pay me.”

Shock spread openly across Kon’s face. He grabbed Tim by the shoulders fast enough to wrinkle the front of his shirt.

“If this is about money—”

“It’s not.” Tim shrugged him off again. “Honestly, it sounds pretty reasonable to me.”

“You can’t sell yourself like that.”

Tim lifted an eyebrow, already exhausted by where this conversation was heading.

“So women who do that kind of work shouldn’t be doing it either?”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Kon shot back, embarrassment rising visibly across his face.

“Great. Then I’ll post my services somewhere and wait for replies.”

Kon stared at him for a second longer, visibly refusing to let the argument die.

“And what happens if the person you end up with is dangerous?”

“Then I’ll have you.” Tim’s voice stayed frustratingly calm. “And an entire network of supers ready to come rescue me if something goes wrong.”

Kon sucked air sharply through his teeth.

“Then let me hire you.”

Tim shook his head immediately.

“No. I don’t want to belong to any of you.” He stepped back, forcing distance between them. Kon’s hands fell uselessly to his sides. “And you don’t need to worry about me.”

“We’re not the only people you’d have to deal with,” Kon said.

A simple sentence. Heavy anyway.

“And I will,” Tim answered. “But nobody’s ever managed to control me before. They’re not going to start now.”

Then he smiled. Small. Controlled. Fragile enough that it almost hurt to look at.

“I was Robin,” he said, pride swelling sharp and aching in his chest. “I can handle this. And any asshole who gets in my way.”

Probably not what Kon wanted to hear.

But it was all Tim had left to offer.

2.

His intention had never been to stay locked inside his nest forever, but he also had no desire to face Bruce, Dick, Alfred, or even Damian right now. So this was the best option he had while waiting for a response that actually matched his conditions.

Kon probably believed he would end up choosing someone out of desperation or mental exhaustion.

As if Tim would ever be that careless.

His computer automatically filtered indecent messages, inappropriate requests, scams, and brainless idiots into immediate deletion. Red flags disappeared before he ever had to look at them twice.

Maybe part of the situation was his fault. He had stopped leaving the apartment entirely, sinking deeper into a hermit-like existence he had no real intention of escaping.

Unfortunately, his computer could not reject applicants who decided to show up at his door uninvited.

“Hood,” he greeted flatly, barely shifting on the couch.

A movie flickered silently across the television while he scrolled through videos on his phone with the dull focus of a zombie.

“Red,” Hood replied, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch. “I found your very interesting post offering wife services.”

Tim hummed.

“Did you come here to make fun of me or something?” he asked, barely sparing him a glance.

“No, actually.”

Tim caught the movement from the corner of his eye, but too late. His phone vanished from his hands before he could react.

“Hey.”

That finally dragged his attention fully toward Jason.

Full suit. Helmet on. Every expression buried beneath layers of red metal.

“I wanted to hire your services,” Hood continued, offering the phone back to him.

Tim took it with a raised eyebrow before tossing it onto the coffee table.

“Did Kon send you?” he asked. The bitterness slipped out before he could stop it.

Jason waved the accusation away. “Not even remotely. You’re offering a service I want. That’s it.”

Tim hesitated. Not being able to see Jason’s face was starting to get under his skin.

“And what exactly are you expecting from me, Jason?”

“Wife services,” Jason answered simply. “Cleaning my apartment. Cooking. That kind of thing.”

“I thought you were the neat freak of the family.”

Jason pressed a hand dramatically against his chest.

“I don’t have that much free time anymore,” he defended. “Patrol’s been rough lately, and cooking keeps cutting into my sleep schedule.”

Tim stared directly at the helmet as if stubbornness alone could force him to see through it.

“Besides,” Jason added, his voice turning quieter beneath the modulation, “you already know about vigilantes. About me. That helps.”

Tim considered that. Finding people for ordinary jobs became significantly harder when your entire existence depended on secrecy.

“My prices aren’t negotiable.”

“I wasn’t expecting them to be.”

“If you do something that pisses me off, I leave.”

Jason nodded once. “As you should.”

“And you can’t use Bruce’s money.” Tim crossed his arms. “It has to be clean.”

Jason scoffed, sharp and ugly through the voice distorter.

“I’d rather die than take anything from Bruce,” he muttered through clenched teeth. Then he tapped the bat symbol on his chest. “And I’m clean now. Your salary’ll be completely legal.”

Tim fell silent, unexpectedly running out of arguments.

Something subtle shifted in Jason’s posture at that. Relief, maybe. Encouragement.

“When do you want to start?” he asked, a grin bleeding clearly through his voice.

Tim exhaled heavily before finally surrendering.

“I’ll move into whichever apartment you pick on Monday.”

Jason pumped a fist in victory as he pushed himself off the couch.

“Perfect. I’ll be waiting for you, Birdie.”

He turned toward the window, then paused halfway there. His helmet tilted slightly back toward Tim, who still had not moved from his spot on the couch.

“Want me to come pick you up?”

Tim dismissed the idea with a lazy wave of his hand.

“I know how to get there.”

Jason barked out a short laugh. “Of course you do.”

But he still didn’t leave. His attention lingered on Tim for another second too long.

"How are you doing now?"

Tim blinked, briefly caught off guard by the question before recovering.

"Fine," he answered. "I'm fine, Jason."

Jason nodded once, every reaction hidden behind the helmet.

"I'm glad to hear that." His voice carried more weight than the words themselves. "Good night, Tim."

Then he disappeared through the window.

Tim let himself sink deeper into the couch afterward, exhaustion settling heavily through his limbs from something as simple as a conversation. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling while his thoughts drifted aimlessly overhead.

Jason was not the worst option for this.

They knew each other well enough for this arrangement to work.

But not well enough for it to matter.

And honestly, that was the most he expected from any of this anyway.

3.

Jason opened the door and gave a small bow, one arm extending toward the apartment.

“Welcome to my humble home.”

Tim would not have called this humble.

Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. A fully equipped kitchen. A dining room partially separated from the living area without making the apartment feel closed off.

It was bigger than he had expected from someone like Jason.

“Nice apartment.”

Jason smiled and grabbed Tim’s largest suitcase.

“The second bedroom’s yours,” he said, heading toward the room he had pointed out earlier.

Tim followed behind him quietly.

“You can handle the work however you think is best,” Jason continued as he stepped inside.

The room itself was simple. White walls. Bare furniture. Empty enough that nobody would assume someone was actually living there.

“And if you need to buy anything—” Jason pulled out a card and held it between them. “You can get whatever you need.”

Tim hesitated before taking it.

“I won’t spend more than eight hours cleaning,” he said, pulling a contract from his bag.

Jason frowned immediately. “That sounds excessive.”

Tim gestured around the apartment.

“It’s huge. If I clean every room every day, that’s the minimum amount of time it’ll take.”

Jason shifted restlessly but did not argue.

“Five hours for meals,” Tim continued. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“I don’t know if I’ll always be around for meals,” Jason admitted.

Tim shot him a flat look through his lashes.

Jason instantly raised both hands in surrender, guilt flashing openly across his face.

“You know how this job is. The hours aren’t exactly predictable.”

Tim clicked his tongue softly, disapproval written all over his expression. Still, he let it pass.

“Then tell me when you won’t be here,” he said. “I’m not wasting food.”

Jason nodded quickly. “Of course. Anything else?”

Tim rotated the card absently between his fingers.

“How do you want me to dress?”

Jason blinked, genuinely confused.

“It’s part of the service,” Tim clarified. “What kind of wife do you want me to be?”

Jason opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, visible color spreading across his face beneath the awkwardness.

“However you want,” he muttered. “Normal. Like always.” He pointed vaguely toward Tim. “You always look good.”

Tim accepted the clumsy compliment with a small nod before returning his attention to the contract in his hands.

“For physical relations, I have separate rates for—”

“No,” Jason interrupted immediately, waving both hands hard enough to nearly smack himself. “That’s not necessary. You have your room. I have mine.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “No physical relationship?”

Jason nodded firmly.

“I want your company,” he said. “Nothing else.”

Tim pressed the contract lightly against his chest and finally let himself properly study Jason’s face.

It had been a long time since he had gotten the chance to really look at him. Motionless. Unmasked. No helmet separating him from the rest of the world.

Strong jaw. Short curls. An upturned nose. Small blue-green eyes that held attention too easily.

And that look.

How the hell could someone built like that keep looking at him like a drenched puppy abandoned in the rain?

Like grief had settled permanently beneath his skin.

Tim inhaled quietly, forcing himself to pull his thoughts back under control.

“I’m good company,” he said, flipping through the contract papers mostly to fill the silence. “I took a psychology course.”

He held out the paper toward Jason, opening it directly to the title and grades.

Jason blinked, visibly impressed.

“This is incredible,” he murmured, skimming over the document. “What else do you have?”

Tim glanced down at the contract before looking back at him. “I took a lot of courses after I dropped out of college.”

Jason frowned faintly.

Tim shifted under the weight of the attention fixed on him.

“If you want to study again, you could always take time off for classes,” Jason offered.

Smart wording.

No pressure. No attempt to corner him. Just carefully stepping around the choices Tim seemed determined to make.

“I’m fine like this,” Tim answered simply.

He pulled a pen from his bag and handed it over.

“I already signed it. You can read everything first if you want.”

Jason shook his head as he took both the papers and the pen.

“That won’t be necessary.” He signed without hesitation. “I wouldn’t trust my life to anyone else,” he added with a smile. “You’ve got an enviable reputation, Tim.”

Tim bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making a smart comment.

They still needed to establish what kind of marriage this actually was.

Once the final page was signed, Jason handed both the contract and the pen back to him.

“Perfect. If that’s everything…” He pointed toward the dining room window. “I’ve got work tonight.”

Tim blinked as he watched Jason cross the apartment.

If Jason was busy, there was no point stopping him with a conversation they could have later. He just wished he understood a little better what Jason actually expected from all this.

The window slammed shut behind him a moment later.

Tim exhaled heavily.

He still needed to unpack, organize his things, and figure out how much food Jason had stocked in the kitchen.

But first—

His body dropped onto the mattress, the soft surface molding immediately beneath him.

He unlocked his phone and checked the time.

Still twenty minutes before he needed to start doing anything productive.

More than enough time for a few videos.

The apartment looked spotless. Not clean in the comfortable way people actually lived, but untouched. Like it had been recently unpacked and never fully settled into.

A thin layer of dust lingered in a few corners alongside the marks from Tim’s own shoes when he first arrived. Beyond that, almost nothing truly needed cleaning.

Which left him staring uncertainly at the cobweb hanging in the upper corner of the hallway.

It looked intentional.

Strategically placed. Carefully preserved.

Tim slowly lowered the broom and took a cautious step backward.

“I’ll ask Jason about it later,” he muttered.

The alarm on his phone shattered through the quiet apartment, reminding him it was time to start cooking.

Maybe his favorite part of the arrangement.

Contrary to what everyone seemed to assume, Tim actually could cook. He had simply never cared enough to make full meals consistently. If protein, carbohydrates, and vegetables kept him alive, then that was usually good enough.

Besides, Alfred always made sure food appeared eventually. And when that failed, takeout existed.

Food was food.

But now there was someone else waiting for it.

Someone who would actually sit down and eat what Tim made.

The real reason he had reserved two entire hours for cooking was the amount of care he intended to pour into every meal.

Something he hoped Jason appreciated.

Otherwise next time he’d poison him.

Or dump enough salt into the food to achieve basically the same result.

Tim threw himself completely into the kitchen after that, focusing so hard on each dish that he nearly missed the sound of the apartment door opening if Bruce had not drilled situational awareness into him so aggressively over the years.

“That smells amazing,” Jason greeted from the kitchen doorway.

Tim hummed and shifted sideways near the stove to make room.

“Want to try it?” he offered with a small smile.

Not too bright. Not overly soft either. Just something gentle resting naturally at the corners of his mouth.

The kind of smile he vaguely remembered seeing his mother give his father.

Jason visibly lit up.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” he admitted as he accepted the spoon Tim handed him.

“I’m self-sufficient.”

One of Jason’s eyebrows lifted, caught somewhere between amusement and suspicion.

“Good to know.”

Tim tightened his grip unconsciously against the fabric of his shirt while he waited for the verdict.

Jason blew lightly across the spoon before tasting the sauce. Red stained faintly across his mouth afterward, nearly the same shade as his helmet.

“Mmh.” The sound left him low and pleased. “This is incredible.”

Jason immediately leaned forward to steal another spoonful.

Tim smacked the back of his hand before he could reach the pot again.

“Wait until dinner.” He pointed toward the hallway with the wooden spoon. “You smell like the streets. Go shower and come back looking decent.”

Jason straightened slowly, eyebrows lifting higher as he tilted his head.

Tim froze. “I— You— I mean…”

Jesus Christ.

“You’re right,” Jason interrupted easily, setting the spoon down on the counter before Tim could finish dying inside himself. “I can survive a little longer and shower first if I’m going to show up properly for dinner.”

Heat crawled sharply across Tim’s cheeks.

“Okay.”

“Hey.”

Jason stepped closer, trying to catch his attention again.

“You put effort into cooking,” he said. “I should put effort into showing up for it too, right?”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

Jason’s mouth curved sideways into a crooked grin.

“You can talk to me the way you always have,” he replied. “I don’t want you pretending to be somebody else around me.”

Tim grimaced faintly, awkwardness settling beneath his skin.

“We don’t actually know each other that well.”

Jason shrugged with careless confidence.

“That’s the fun part about being married,” he said with a grin. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.”

“Yeah.” Tim smiled back despite himself. “We do.”

At least until you get tired of me.

Until I become heavier to carry than I’m worth.

4.

Jason was waiting for him in the dining room. He wore a formal black suit with a red shirt and no tie. His unruly curls had been combed back into a neater style that emphasized the sharp lines of his features.

He had asked whether he should cover the scars on his face with makeup, but Tim had dismissed the idea. They were part of him, and Tim didn't want him hiding them.

Tim, in turn, wore a dark blue suit with a white shirt, his ever-practical hair slicked back with more gel than necessary.

Jason held out a hand, a gentle smile resting on his lips.

"Ready for our date?"

Tim returned the smile, discreetly wiping his damp palms against his trousers before taking the offered hand. For some reason, the whole thing was making him nervous.

"I'd never turn down a free meal," he joked.

Jason laughed under his breath. "You're going to love this."

Delight brightened his face as he opened the door for him, their fingers never separating. Together, they looked every bit like a young couple to anyone who happened to glance their way.

His hand felt cold and strangely empty during the drive to the restaurant. The moment they stepped out of the car, Jason took it again without hesitation, gently squeezing it between both of his.

The restaurant itself was nice, though not quite as extravagant as the places Bruce liked to parade in front of cameras. A few steps below that. Even so, the atmosphere felt warm and inviting.

They were led to their reserved table.

Jason released his hand only long enough to pull out Tim's chair and offer it to him.

Tim pressed his lips together as warmth crept across his cheeks.

"Thank you," he murmured, lowering himself into the seat.

"My pleasure."

Jason nudged the chair in before taking his own seat.

Tim rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his clasped hands, leaning forward with amused curiosity.

"Any special occasion that deserves this kind of luxury?"

Jason hummed. "I thought we should celebrate our arrangement."

"Mmh." Tim tilted his head. "And what exactly are we celebrating?"

Jason's eyes brightened as he leaned slightly across the table.

"What aren't we celebrating, Birdie?" A smile tugged at his mouth. "We're engaged. That seems like a good enough reason to me."

Tim frowned.

"We're married."

Jason immediately mirrored the expression, his brows drawing together.

"The paperwork says 'engagement,' not 'marriage,'" he pointed out. "Besides, I'd like to get married in a church someday."

A rough laugh escaped Tim as he straightened in his chair.

"What?"

"Yeah, you know. To make it feel more real." A mischievous grin spread across Jason's face. "And so I can annoy Bruce a little. It'll be fun."

"I... uh..."

The words stalled in his throat.

He hadn't expected that kind of confrontation. Especially because he had been certain the paperwork was correct.

Jason slipped a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a small black box, setting it carefully on the table between them.

"I don't know why you're doing this," he said. "And I'm not going to pressure you. But if we're doing this, I want to do it right."

He slid the box toward him.

"Would you marry me? Even if it's just for fun."

Tim stared at the little box in stunned silence.

His thoughts circled helplessly around the proposal, around Jason's sincere desire to help without interfering.

How was this not interfering?

It certainly felt like it.

Tim knew Jason didn't see it that way.

Even if it's just for fun.

Tim didn't know how long that could last. How long the joke would stay funny before it turned into a stone in his shoe.

Until walking away from Tim became legally more difficult.

"You really want a church wedding?"

He didn't actually know, but church paperwork was harder to obtain and harder to undo.

Jason shrugged.

"We could get married at the manor. In the garden." A soft chuckle slipped from him. "I think Bizarro has a license to officiate weddings. Don't ask me how."

Restrained hope shone in Jason's eyes as he looked at him.

"What do you say?"

Tim took a deep breath.

Even if he refused, even if he told Jason this was all too much, nothing would really change. They would go back home—their home. He would fix the paperwork, making sure it was an actual marriage, and Jason would sign it because that was what Jason would do. He would go along with whatever decision Tim made without asking questions, and then he would never mention it again.

Everything would continue as usual.

Even if Tim ended up wearing the same ring resting inside the little box.

He didn't want that.

Not completely.

If everything stayed fake, then when it all finally fell apart, it would be easier to return the ring without looking back, easier to give Jason room to run.

But until then, maybe he could enjoy the lie.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I want to marry you."

Jason's smile widened further. He picked up the ring, and Tim offered his hand. Jason's fingers were gentle, warm, and careful as he slid it into place.

"You won't regret it," he whispered, lifting his gaze to meet Tim's. "I promise you won't."

These were the moments when couples usually sealed their love with a kiss.

The thought sent tension through every muscle in Tim's body.

His mind immediately began searching for an escape, or at least an excuse that would make the embarrassment easier to bear.

"Kisses on the lips cost nine hundred dollars."

Jason blinked, momentarily thrown off. Then color slowly climbed into his face as the implications of Tim's words settled in.

"Even if I could afford it—which I can—I wouldn't want to kiss you like that," he stammered, quickly looking away. "But I can do something just as exciting."

Tim feared whatever was coming the moment Jason pushed to his feet and threw his arms over his head.

"He said yes!"

The applause and congratulations erupted from the surrounding tables.

Tim lowered his face into his hands and seriously considered whether spontaneous human combustion was still a documented phenomenon.

5.

The next five days barely changed.

Jason never stayed for breakfast. Most mornings, Tim barely caught proof that he had returned from patrol at all. Sometimes he would wake up genuinely unsure whether Jason had come home the night before.

But eventually he always appeared around lunchtime, lingering just long enough for casual conversation and stories about whatever disaster Gotham had produced overnight.

Nothing unusual.

Still, it made Tim feel a little less detached from the life that had followed him for years.

“Have you considered working as an Oracle?” Jason had asked the night before.

Tim had shut the idea down immediately.

Besides, Bruce would never allow it.

Years ago, Bruce had gone easier on him after discovering Tim no longer had a spleen, mostly because he knew he would lose if he tried forcing the issue. Tim could still disappear whenever he wanted back then.

Now he couldn’t.

“I’m not interested in going back in any way,” Tim assured him, gaze dropping toward Jason’s empty plate. “Do you want more?”

He moved automatically, already reaching to serve him, but Jason stopped him by grabbing the plate with the last two burritos before Tim could touch it.

“I’m old enough to serve myself,” he declared, sticking his tongue out with childish defiance.

After dropping one burrito onto his own plate, Jason glanced toward Tim’s.

“Do you want one?”

Heat climbed immediately across Tim’s face.

“Actually…” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I wanted the one you took.”

Jason blinked once.

Then laughter burst out of him so suddenly he nearly choked on air. He covered his mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking violently while Tim glared at him across the table with burning cheeks.

“Was that your evil plan when you offered to serve me?”

“The person serving gets first choice,” Tim muttered under his breath.

That only made Jason laugh harder.

He dropped the plate back onto the table, barely managing to stay upright while the laughter kept rattling through him.

“Smart,” he wheezed out eventually.

Tim opened his mouth to defend himself, but Jason suddenly grabbed both plates and switched them instead.

Tim followed the movement with visible confusion.

“Close your mouth before flies get in,” Jason teased.

Tim’s jaw snapped shut instantly.

“Enjoy your meal.”

Jason returned to eating, nearly inhaling the burrito in three bites flat. Tim took a second longer to recover before glancing down at the burrito now sitting on his own plate.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Jason shot him a grin and winked.

“Small sacrifices to keep a wife happy.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but still ended up hiding a smile behind another bite of food.

The sharp smell of something burning yanked Tim violently back into the present.

“Shit.”

He lunged for the oven, shutting it off before dragging the tray out while silently praying the food was still salvageable.

The edges resisted slightly when he poked at them, but only the bottom layer looked burned.

Still edible.

Tim exhaled quietly and carried the dish toward the dining table, checking the clock mounted on the wall as he walked.

Lunch had taken longer than expected, leaving him with roughly thirty minutes before Jason arrived.

Always punctual.

His teeth sank unconsciously into his lower lip while his fingers tightened restlessly against the edge of the tray, fighting the urge to start chewing on his nails instead.

“There’s nothing wrong with calling him,” he muttered to himself, staring at the clock hands ticking forward. “Just ask if he wants lunch early or if I should keep it warm.”

And if Jason was busy with something important, he could always ignore the call.

Decision made, Tim crossed toward the living room and grabbed the phone he had abandoned on the coffee table earlier.

He was already rehearsing the question in his head. Soft enough to sound caring. Warm enough to sound natural.

Like a wife.

Or something close to one.

Tim blinked when he noticed the message waiting on the screen.

Jason: I won’t make it for lunch. Sent an hour ago.

Then another.

And not dinner either.

Tim slowly lowered the phone.

The apartment still smelled like food. Warm spices. Cooked meat. Fresh bread.

But the space around him felt strangely hollow without the familiar expectation of company waiting just ahead of him.

And for the first time in a while, the loneliness no longer felt comforting.

6.

Tim called Dick. He was easier to deal with than anyone else. And if he started saying things that annoyed him, Tim could throw him out without mercy, which wasn't something he could really do with Steph or Cass.

Dick showed up at his door before even replying to the message Tim had sent. He shifted from foot to foot like an excited dog waiting to be let inside.

"Tim," he greeted as Tim stepped aside to let him in.

Dick's gaze swept across the apartment, and a low whistle slipped out of him.

"This is a nice place," he said. "I didn't know you'd moved."

There was a faint accusation in his voice.

Tim had stopped sharing things with the older members of the family. Bruce had the medical files, and Dick got brief updates through text messages. They had the important things.

The rest didn't need to be shared.

Especially Tim's plan to sell himself as a wife.

Only Kon knew about that. Tim had even made sure the listing never reached the Bats.

He still had no idea how Jason had found it.

"I thought this place was more appropriate," Tim said, heading toward the table.

He had already heated water and set out several cups alongside an assortment of tea boxes. Wandering through a supermarket with an unlimited card that didn't belong to him had become surprisingly entertaining.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

"What would you like?" He gestured toward the different flavors spread across the table.

Dick hummed as he sat down.

"Strawberry is fine."

The conversation opened more easily after that.

Dick told him about Bruce and how lost he seemed without a second pair of hands at his side—not in a way that put pressure on Tim, more like an amusing observation. He talked about Damian, Cass, Steph, and Alfred.

He even mentioned Jason, who had apparently been acting unusually pleasant.

"I know the fights with Bruce were awful on both sides," Dick said with a sigh. "Mostly Bruce, more than Jason. But now he seems calmer. No interest in arguing with Bruce anymore. More like, 'If something goes wrong, it's your fault. I have nothing to do with it.'"

Dick laughed and took another sip from his now-empty cup.

"And tell me, Timmy, what's behind the sudden move?"

Tim drew in a slow breath.

He had prepared for this, but the question still sent warmth creeping into his cheeks.

He raised his hand, letting the ring catch the light.

"I got engaged," he said.

Dick nearly spat tea across the table. His face immediately flushed red as he fought not to choke.

"What?" he squawked, eyes widening. "Who?"

"Jason."

Dick blinked.

"Jason," he repeated faintly. "Todd?"

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Do you know another Jason?"

"Actually, yes." Dick cleared his throat. "But that's not important."

He took a steadying breath.

"Our Jason?"

"The very same."

A dozen emotions chased one another across Dick's face, as though he were desperately searching for a question that wouldn't offend either of them.

"You two... since when?"

Tim shrugged.

"We had a relationship without a label," he said lightly. "I guess Jason decided to skip the dating stage."

His gaze dropped to the ring.

It really was beautiful.

And Jason had chosen it for him.

Jason was taking his role seriously, and Tim appreciated that. It made everything easier.

Though it also made things harder whenever Jason disappeared for days at a time and Tim could do nothing except wait for him to come back.

"He proposed, and I said yes." Tim lifted his head and looked back at Dick. "That's all. I just wanted to tell you."

Dick let out a long breath before offering him a soft smile.

"I'm really happy for you... for both of you."

He rose from his chair and walked around the table before pulling Tim into a tight hug.

Tim hugged him back just as fiercely, burying his face against Dick's chest.

Dick's arms tightened around him.

"I'm glad you found each other," he said quietly. "Jason seems happier whenever I see him in the Cave."

He leaned back just enough to search Tim's face.

"And you seem more relaxed too, so if you're looking for a blessing, you have mine." A warm smile spread across his face. "And I'll help with all the wedding preparations. It'll be huge. Worthy of a Drake, a Todd, and a Wayne."

Dick chuckled, and Tim laughed with him.

Well, that settled the foundations of the lie firmly into place.

The rest should be easier.

7.

Tim startled at the sound of the door opening, tightening his grip on the broom as he watched Jason drag himself inside. His gaze was unfocused, fixed on nothing, his heavy footsteps carrying him straight to the couch.

He didn't spare Tim a single glance before dropping onto the cushions with a dull thud. A quiet groan slipped past his lips as he melted into the soft fabric.

There hadn't been a warning text, so Tim hadn't been expecting him back yet. He drew a slow breath, propped the broom against the wall, brushed his hands together, and crossed the room toward the obviously exhausted man.

"Jay?" he murmured.

It was the same gentle voice his father always used when waking his mother after a long day at work.

"You'd sleep better in the bedroom."

Jason mumbled something under his breath, rolling onto his back before blinking heavily up at Tim.

"It's far away."

A quiet laugh escaped Tim as he settled beside him.

"But you'll sleep more comfortably. And waking up will be a lot easier."

Jason looked ready to argue.

Ready to point out all the worse places he'd slept before.

Tim had never been very good at arguing with him.

With a quiet sigh, he crouched beside the couch and reached for Jason's hand. He enclosed it between both of his own, waiting until the cool skin began to warm beneath his palms before lifting it to his face and gently pressing it against his cheek.

"Please?" he murmured, pouting just a little. "Take a shower, get some sleep, and then we can have dinner before you head back out."

Jason hummed, opening only one eye as though genuinely considering the offer.

"How much..." He licked his lips, his gaze sharpening as it settled on Tim. "...for sleeping spooning together?"

Tim blinked, completely caught off guard.

He had worked out prices before, but at that moment he couldn't remember a single one.

Would he look desperate if he said it was free this time?

Maybe.

And Tim wanted to avoid that.

"Around... three hundred."

"Mmh."

Tim let go of his hand and stepped back as Jason pushed himself upright.

"I'll take that offer," he said, stretching both arms high over his head.

The movement pulled at the muscles across his torso, lifting the hem of his shirt just enough to expose a narrow strip of skin along his abdomen.

It wasn't anything Tim hadn't seen before.

But this time, something felt different.

His eyes darted away before he could stop them.

Jason chuckled under his breath as he headed toward the bedroom.

"See you in a little while, sweetheart," he said, winking before disappearing inside.

Tim remained frozen for a long moment before burying his face in one of the couch cushions.

What the hell was that?

And worse...

Why the hell had he reacted like that?

As shy as a virgin bride waiting to be deflowered by her arranged husband.

He had seen Jason wearing far less before and had never felt anything beyond a little envy and admiration for the work he'd put into his body.

That had always been enough.

So why was he suddenly looking at him with something dangerously close to lust?

He shook his head sharply, forcing the thought away.

It didn't mean anything.

Maybe he'd simply been cooped up for too long. Too little physical contact. Too little interaction with other men. Maybe his body had latched onto the only available option.

Even if he had no real interest in looking for anyone else.

Especially not now, when he had a contract...

And a ring on his finger.

It felt... wrong.

Even if there was nothing between him and Jason, he still owed him a measure of respect.

Tim let out a defeated sigh and headed toward his bedroom to get ready.

The scene of a wife waiting in bed.

Should he wear a two-piece pajama set...

Or a nightgown?

He settled on a pair of red shorts and a white T-shirt. They were the same pajamas he always wore, and Jason had said he should stay the same, after all.

Jason stepped out of the shower, rubbing a towel through his hair before stopping beside the bed. His eyes lingered on Tim for a long moment.

Silence settled between them, drifting dangerously close to awkward.

Tim tightened his grip on the blankets, wondering if he should have chosen better pajamas. Or maybe tied his hair back instead of leaving it loose over his shoulders.

Jason spoke first, breaking the thread of his thoughts.

"You..." Jason cleared his throat. "Do you sleep on the right side or the left?"

Oh.

"The left."

Jason nodded and moved to the other side of the bed.

No more words followed.

Everything felt awkward, unfamiliar, and strangely new.

But somehow...

It also felt warm.

Tim lay down, watching Jason fuss with the blankets as though he were stalling—or regretting having asked in the first place.

"It's okay," Tim said, reaching out his hand. "It's just a hug between fake husbands."

Fake husbands.

Even the words rang hollow.

But they seemed to reassure Jason. He took Tim's hand before finally lying down beside him.

"A hug with no strings attached," he murmured, perhaps more to himself than to Tim.

Tim hummed and gave Jason's hand a gentle tug until his arm settled around his waist. Jason's body radiated warmth against his back, still leaving the smallest gap between them.

"Can you slide your arm under my neck?" Tim asked, lifting his head just enough to make room.

Jason drew a slow breath as he eased his arm beneath him. Tim felt the muscles in that arm tense before gradually relaxing.

He guided Jason's hand the rest of the way, wrapping both of his own around it before settling it against his chest.

Now Jason's body rested fully against his back.

For a moment, it felt as though someone was protecting him.

Surrounded on every side.

Safe inside a cocoon of blankets and arms.

It even felt easier to breathe.

"I set an alarm," Tim said, trying to steady both his own heartbeat and Jason's, easy to feel through the slow rise and fall of the chest pressed against his back. "Sleep well."

"Mmh," Jason whispered. "Sleep well."

That seemed to be the final push Jason needed.

He shifted a little closer before finally surrendering to exhaustion.

Tim let out a slow breath and closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to drift away as Jason's warmth and quiet presence carried him into a gentle sleep.

8.

The same message arrived again, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

It had been a full week of the same thing. This time it included a guilty-looking wet cat emoji.

Tim scoffed at the screen and replied with an angry cat emoji of his own. He hesitated briefly before typing another message beneath it.

Tim: Did you eat?

The answer came almost immediately.

Jason: Something. Nothing as good as your cooking, though.

A laugh escaped Tim under his breath before he could stop it.

Tim: Idiot. 🐱

Then he shoved the phone aside and went back to cleaning.

When Jason warned him again the following day that he would not be home at all, Tim refused to spend the night sitting uselessly around the apartment.

Maybe he could not move freely during the day or cross Gotham comfortably without someone noticing.

Night was different.

At night, people stopped paying attention.

Decision made, Tim prepared dinner carefully, including Jason’s favorite dish, before disappearing into his room to get ready.

He was grateful he had brought the Red Robin suit with him.

Nobody needed to know he still kept it hidden like some half-buried relic shoved into the back of his closet alongside the mask and utility belt.

A life he still had not figured out how to let die completely.

Tim stopped in front of the apartment window.

It had not even been that long since the last time, but fear still prickled sharply beneath his skin.

His hand flattened against the glass while he slowly pushed the window open.

He knew he would not fail.

He was still capable. Still functional. The city would not suddenly swallow him whole the second he stepped back into it.

He just needed enough courage to fly again.

Tim took the stairs two at a time, clutching the backpack full of food tightly against his chest.

Cold Gotham air slammed into him the moment he stepped onto the rooftop.

He inhaled deeply.

For the first time in days, something inside him loosened.

Then his body moved before his thoughts could catch up.

Across rooftops. Fire escapes. Concrete ledges. Familiar momentum carried him through Gotham with instinctive precision, muscle memory guiding him cleaner than conscious thought ever could.

It was still too early for the rest of the bats to begin patrol.

Which meant Jason would still be at Red Hood’s base.

And Red Robin had permanent access.

Tim landed inside the base hard enough for the sound of his boots to echo across the floor.

Weapons snapped toward him instantly.

Only one person reacted quickly enough to stop things from escalating further.

“He’s with us,” a man barked, forcing the others to lower their guns before someone made a catastrophic mistake.

Tim barely reacted. His grip tightened around the backpack hanging from his shoulder.

“I have something for your boss,” he said evenly. “It’s urgent.”

He left no room for discussion.

The man finally became recognizable beneath the dim lighting.

Juan.

“The boss is in an important meeting,” Juan warned stiffly.

Tim did not move.

Juan glanced helplessly around the room, probably searching for somebody else willing to deal with the vigilante who had just walked into the base uninvited.

Unfortunately for him, everyone else had already disappeared.

“We don’t have permission to interrupt.”

“You don’t,” Tim replied, voice rough and quiet. “I do.”

Juan followed after him anyway, making increasingly pathetic attempts to convince him to turn around while Tim ignored every single one.

The meeting room glowed brightly at the end of the hallway, tense voices carrying clearly through the closed door.

One wrong sentence away from becoming a fight.

Easy enough to recognize.

Tim opened the door without hesitation, ignoring Juan’s startled noise behind him.

The man immediately retreated down the hallway afterward, disappearing fast enough to resemble smoke fleeing a fire.

Inside the room, three men and one woman snapped their attention toward him instantly.

Kate tilted her head first, a crooked smile already forming.

“Pretty thing,” she greeted. “I thought you quit the job permanently.”

Tim shrugged, deliberately ignoring the looks Bruce and Dick were directing at him from across the table.

He did not need their disappointment added to the room.

“This isn’t work,” he replied, crossing directly toward Jason. “I’m fulfilling my responsibilities as a wife.”

Jason leaned forward against his hand, visible curiosity sharpening beneath his expression while he followed Tim’s every movement.

Tim pulled the dinner containers from his backpack one by one.

Three total.

“I was hoping we’d get to eat together,” he admitted, glancing briefly toward the others gathered around the table. “Guess that’s not happening tonight.”

Bruce spoke before Jason had the chance.

“You haven’t eaten?” Concern bled instantly into his voice. “That’s not okay.”

Tim turned toward him, keeping his tone casual.

“I’ll eat when I get back to the apartment.”

The movement of Dick shaking his head pulled Tim’s attention away.

“No, it’s already late,” Dick said. “We were leaving anyway.”

The words came alongside a brief but loaded look exchanged between him and Bruce.

Kate looked openly entertained watching it happen.

Jason sighed quietly, fingers tapping once against the table before stilling again as he glanced sideways toward Tim.

“We can finish this after patrol.”

Warmth settled unexpectedly in Tim’s chest.

Jason had chosen him over the work spread across the table.

Everyone in the room knew Tim could stay. Help. Handle strategy, analysis, logistics — every intellectual part of the operation without ever stepping onto the field again.

But that was never the point.

As if trying to live quietly could somehow stretch his lifespan a little longer.

Even when there was no way to predict what would happen or when it would happen.

Like loading a bullet into a revolver and trusting luck not to pull the chamber into place.

Kate gave in first.

“Sounds perfect to me.” She moved toward Bruce and grabbed his arm. “Let the lovebirds breathe for five minutes. “Especially since you, genius, already solved half the problem.”

Bruce grunted but allowed himself to be dragged upright anyway.

“I’m still missing information.”

“Then you’ll survive hearing it later.”

Kate continued hauling him toward the hallway while Bruce kept arguing the entire way out.

Dick lingered behind a second longer, a faint smile tugging lightly at his mouth.

“Get home safe.”

Then his footsteps disappeared alongside the fading sound of the others’ voices.

Silence settled over the room afterward.

Jason cleared his throat awkwardly, pink spreading visibly across his cheeks.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“Of course I did.” Tim planted himself stubbornly in front of him. “How exactly are you supposed to function if you’re barely eating?”

Jason huffed out a quiet laugh while accepting the utensils Tim pulled from his backpack.

“You’re insulting Sam’s cooking.”

“I’ll apologize eventually.” Tim slid one of the containers closer toward him. “Right now, eat. I’m pretty sure they’re all waiting upstairs to drag me home on the back of a motorcycle.”

Jason nodded while opening the container.

“At a perfectly legal speed,” he muttered.

Tim rolled his eyes immediately.

“Wouldn’t want anyone dying from shock because you broke the speed limit.”

They stared at each other for half a second before both of them dissolved into helpless laughter.

“Dick absolutely would,” Jason said.

“Without question.”

Tim finally sat beside him and opened his own container.

Jason groaned softly after the first bite.

“This is incredible,” he murmured. “I missed your cooking.”

“Just my cooking?” Tim teased before taking a bite himself.

Jason didn’t answer right away.

Tim frowned faintly and looked up.

Jason was already staring at him. Too steady. Too intent.

“Of course not,” Jason said quietly. “I missed your company too. You leave a hole behind when you’re gone.”

A soft tshh slipped out of Tim before he could stop it.

“Your words are nice,” he replied carefully, “but unnecessary, Jason. I made a decision, and I’m happy with it.”

Jason leaned slightly closer.

No judgment. No pressure. Just quiet attention that somehow felt worse.

Tim would have preferred criticism.

“Then why did you cross Gotham wearing your suit with a grappling hook in your hand?” Jason asked softly. “You had my people’s contact information. Somebody could’ve picked you up and brought you here safely.”

Tim inhaled deeply. His chest trembled faintly with it.

“I know.”

Jason extended his hand across the table, fingers stopping just short of touching Tim’s.

“You don’t always have to wear the mask,” he said quietly. “But you also shouldn’t deny yourself something you still want.”

Tim exhaled through his nose and curled his hand into a fist against his chest, trying to steady the tremor threading through his body.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“And how does—”

“Jason.” Tim cut him off sharply. “That’s enough.”

Jason’s jaw snapped shut hard enough for the sound to crack through the quiet room.

“Sorry,” he apologized immediately.

“It’s fine,” Tim replied just as quickly, dropping his attention back to the food in front of him.

The knot tightening beneath his ribs hurt enough already.

He couldn’t look at Jason right now. Couldn’t deal with whatever expression might be waiting for him across the table.

Thinking about it would not change anything.

Silence settled over them again afterward. Not hostile. Just tighter around the edges.

The food slowly disappeared while neither of them seemed capable of finding solid ground for the conversation again.

“I…” Jason started eventually.

Tim lifted his gaze immediately.

“I still don’t know when I’ll make it back to the apartment. This case is getting ugly.”

Tim nodded once. “I understand.”

“And you probably shouldn’t come back here either.” Guilt flickered briefly across Jason’s face. “Things are getting complicated. We’re going to be buried in this case for a while.”

“I understand,” Tim repeated.

There was no room for him to complain about that.

Nobody understood better than him how vicious certain cases could become once they sank their teeth in.

Jason smiled faintly, trying to loosen the heaviness settling over the room.

“We can do something after this is over,” he offered, voice carrying a little more energy now. “Maybe a movie? Actual theater. Popcorn. Gotham pretending to look beautiful at night.”

Tim blinked softly, caught off guard by the invitation. It was unnecessary under the contract. Still… spending time together probably counted as companionship.

“Okay,” Tim agreed, a small smile finally pulling at his mouth. “That sounds nice.”

Jason brightened immediately.

“You’ll see. We can go anywhere once my schedule stops trying to kill me.”

A quiet laugh escaped Tim before he could stop it.

“I can’t wait.”

Purely platonic.

Completely professional.

And absolutely protected by a contract.

Obviously.

9.

Tim needed a distraction. He needed to get out, do some kind of exercise, and interact with people who weren't his family through text messages.

Especially Dick, with his daily "Good morning" and "Good night," always followed by "How are you feeling today?" without the slightest variation. Almost as if he had them scheduled in advance. Almost as if he were waiting for Tim to get fed up and finally let him visit the apartment again.

Have another one of those heartfelt conversations.

About that last night at Red Hood's headquarters.

About why Tim had quit.

About everything Tim had no intention of discussing.

And maybe he would.

But not now.

Right now, he was walking through the sliding doors of a building that smelled of disinfectant and blinded people with lights that were far too white.

Clara looked up from her computer and met his eyes. A warm smile immediately spread across her face.

"It's been a while, Timothy."

Tim nodded, returning the smile.

"Six months," he said. "As prescribed."

She hummed softly while typing something into her computer.

"You know how this works." She pointed toward the stairs. "Everything's ready. Just call and wait for your turn."

"Thanks."

Tim drew in a deep breath and started up the stairs. The hospital looked less crowded than usual. Maybe he had arrived earlier than normal. With nothing occupying his mornings anymore, he had decided to come when the sun had barely cleared the horizon.

He knocked on the door as instructed and waited several minutes before a nurse finally opened it.

There were only three other people inside. Tim claimed an empty seat and pulled out his phone, letting the minutes pass a little faster.

Arriving early had its advantages.

Even if he somehow always ended up finishing at the same hour.

A nurse he recognized from his second visit patted his arm while searching for a vein.

"They used the other side last time," Tim pointed out, turning his arm over and exposing a fairly visible vein beneath his pale skin.

"Oh, right." Recognition crossed her face. "I remember now."

She smiled and began preparing everything.

The prick of the needle was barely an annoyance compared to pain he had endured before. Even so, he pressed his lips together.

It was still unpleasant.

The nurse adjusted the IV and checked the tape securing the needle to his arm. Then her attention caught on the ring around his finger.

"Oh." She covered her mouth. "Did you get engaged?"

There was genuine excitement in her voice.

Tim stretched his fingers, watching the ring catch the light against the pale skin of his hand. He had put it on out of boredom back at the apartment and forgotten to take it off before coming to the hospital.

And he couldn't exactly dismiss her conclusion when the ring was very obviously an engagement ring.

Besides, he didn't know her well enough for the answer to matter.

"Yeah," he said. "My boyfriend finally proposed over dinner a few days ago."

She let out a delighted squeal and clapped her hands together. "Congratulations, Tim. You deserve nice things."

You deserve nice things.

Why did people keep saying that?

Everyone deserved nice things, damn it.

Jason deserved nice things.

A decent dinner.

An end to that damned case.

Maybe if Tim helped, Jason would recover faster.

His hand curled into a fist before he consciously forced it to relax.

He shoved the thought back into the darkest corner of his mind.

"Thank you," he replied, offering a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

10.

I still don’t know when I’ll make it back to the apartment.

One week turned into two.

Time slipped through Tim’s fingers as mindlessly as the dirty water he emptied after mopping the floors.

Routine swallowed everything after that.

The apartment gleamed without a single trace of dust. No evidence of life except Tim himself drifting endlessly between the bedroom, kitchen, and living room couch. Half-watching movies he never finished. Starting shows only to abandon them halfway through once he realized there was nobody beside him to laugh with or complain to.

He dropped onto the couch with a bag of chips balanced against his stomach, grumbling softly under his breath.

His head ached from too many hours spent bouncing between his phone and computer screen, desperately cycling through distractions to fill the empty stretches between naps.

Maybe he should go downstairs for once.

Stretch his legs.

Take out the trash bags overflowing with evidence of the takeout he had been surviving on for days.

“Maybe I should sign up for the gym downstairs,” he muttered aloud. “Bruce would probably approve. Kon would definitely celebrate me doing literally anything besides rotting in here.”

He shoved another chip into his mouth while staring blankly at the television.

At some point the plot had stopped making sense entirely.

“When the hell did he become a werewolf?”

The sudden sound of the doorbell ripped through the apartment.

Tim yelped violently, nearly dropping the chips everywhere as his whole body jerked from the surprise.

He scrambled upright immediately.

There was no time to clean properly, but he brushed crumbs off his clothes while accidentally leaving a trail of chips behind him toward the door anyway.

Tim inhaled deeply and forced a softer expression into place before opening it.

“Did you forget your key, Ja—”

The words died instantly.

Dick stood in front of him instead.

“Tim,” Dick greeted gently.

Tim resisted the immediate urge to slam the door directly in Dick’s face.

Dick offered him an awkward smile instead, gesturing vaguely toward the apartment behind him.

“Can I come in?”

Tim stepped aside with a tired sigh. “Welcome to my humble home.”

Dick raised an eyebrow the second he walked inside, gaze sweeping across the apartment.

“This place is way too big to qualify as humble.”

“I know,” Tim blurted dramatically, laughter slipping out under his breath. “But apparently that’s what Jason insists on calling it, so I’m committed to supporting the lie.”

Dick snorted quietly.

Some of the tension loosened while they walked farther inside.

Then both of them froze simultaneously.

The couch had disappeared beneath crumbs. Empty snack bags littered the coffee table, and the television had already rolled into the ending credits of something neither of them recognized anymore.

“Hee…” Tim pointed weakly toward the kitchen. “Do you want me to make something while we talk?”

Dick immediately looked away from the disaster in the living room with enough politeness to make Tim even more embarrassed.

“Sure.”

“It’s Sunday,” Tim defended himself while leading him into the kitchen. “And maybe I wanted to create a small mess so Future Me would have something productive to clean tomorrow.”

“I’m probably the last person alive who gets to judge another apartment,” Dick admitted, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “You’ve seen mine.”

Tim hummed softly but left the comment alone.

“Tea or coffee?” he asked instead while pulling mugs from the cabinet.

“Tea, please.”

Dick settled into one of the kitchen chairs while Tim filled the kettle with water.

Silence settled naturally between them for a moment.

Then Dick cleared his throat. “How have things been going?”

Tim shrugged lightly without turning around.

"I'm honestly surprised it took you this long to come by again," he admitted.

Dick grimaced.

“But things have been okay,” Tim continued. “Jason’s good company.” A beat passed before he added more quietly, “When he’s actually here.”

“Yeah,” Dick muttered. “That might be our fault.”

Tim slowly raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.

“Go on.”

Dick shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“There’s been a difficult case,” he explained carefully. “A murder threat. We’ve been moving nonstop trying to stay ahead of it.”

Something old and sharp tightened instantly inside Tim.

His eye twitched faintly. “I could’ve helped if things were really that bad.”

Dick shook his head immediately.

“You’re retired,” he reminded him. “We can’t keep dragging you back in every time things get complicated when we’re fully capable of handling it ourselves.”

Tim scoffed.

“Then tell me, Mister Fully Capable,” he said flatly, “what happened to Jason?”

Dick looked away too quickly. The kettle began screaming behind them, nearly drowning out his answer.

“He got shot.”

Tim stopped breathing.

“In the shoulder,” Dick clarified immediately after seeing the panic explode across Tim’s face.

Dick squeezed his eyes shut briefly, visibly regretting opening his mouth at all.

“And the arm,” he added weakly.

Tim stared at him in horrified disbelief.

Dick gestured awkwardly toward his own torso.

“And the chest.”

“Dick,” Tim snapped.

His voice came out sharper and higher than intended, panic tearing straight through the edges of it.

“But he’s alive,” Dick insisted quickly, pushing himself upright to face him properly. “He’s in the cave on strict bed rest. That’s it. He’s alive.”

Tim covered his face with both hands, trapping the sound trying to claw its way out of his throat.

Then he lowered them again and fixed Dick with a furious glare.

“Take me to him.”

11.

Tim could barely breathe as he crossed the Cave, his strides carrying him straight toward the medical bay. Bruce's and Alfred's worried gazes followed him, but neither of them tried to stop him.

There was no reason to stand in his way. Even if they still didn't fully understand whatever relationship existed between Tim and Jason, neither of them would keep him from Jason's side.

Tim pushed the door open, his body trembling.

Jason wasn't supposed to get hurt.

He was stronger and smarter than whatever he had been facing. No one else seemed to have been injured, which only sent Tim's thoughts spiraling further.

What had distracted Jason enough to get shot?

Bullets that, even blunted by his armor, still left bruises behind. Wounds where the protection hadn't covered him, like his arm and shoulder.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat, fighting the tears gathering behind them.

Just the thought of losing Jason made it difficult to breathe.

The sight of Jason sitting upright in the hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and wrapped in bandages, brought only the faintest sliver of relief.

Jason lifted his head, finding Tim's eyes immediately.

"Birdie."

Tim drew in a shaky breath as he crossed the remaining distance, struggling to keep his legs beneath him.

"You're okay," Tim whispered, cupping Jason's face with both hands. "You're okay."

The words dissolved into a sob.

The fear that had been twisting inside his chest throughout the silent drive with Dick finally broke free, releasing the crushing pressure wrapped around his heart.

"You scared me so much."

"I'm sorry." Jason covered Tim's hands with his own, gently squeezing them. "They caught me by surprise."

Tim let out a watery laugh. "How does anyone catch you by surprise?"

Jason gave a small shrug, guilt written plainly across his face.

"It wasn't that bad," he said, forcing a faint smile in an obvious attempt to reassure him. "The shoulder shot went straight through. The one in my arm barely grazed me, and the one to my stomach hit the armor. I've just got an ugly bruise."

"Not that bad," Tim echoed in disbelief. "That's what you call not that bad, Jason?"

Jason's shoulders sagged.

"You know I've had worse," he said quietly. "And I'll probably have worse. I—"

"But you can avoid it."

Tim's voice cracked as he cut him off. His breathing turned uneven.

"You don't have to throw yourself into the line of fire. You could wear better protection. There are so many ways to keep this from happening."

Jason held his gaze. His eyes seemed capable of seeing straight through him.

"Why do you care so much?"

Tim gasped. The sound came out wet and broken as his whole body trembled.

"Because you matter to me!"

The words tore free with all the force of the emotions he had been holding back for far too long.

Feelings he had refused to name but could no longer deny.

"I waited for you in that stupid apartment, expecting you to come home, only to find out you'd been shot."

Tim dragged a trembling hand across his face.

"And I couldn't do anything. I was cut off. Shut out from everything. Completely blind while you—"

His shaking fingers lifted toward Jason.

"—could have died." A rough, fractured sound escaped his throat. "And you're not supposed to be the one who dies."

Jason inhaled sharply. Something in his expression cracked.

"Don't say that," he said, shaking his head immediately. "Neither of us is going to die. Not today, not tomorrow. Not until we're ninety years old and we've lived the best years of our lives."

"But—"

"Tim." Jason slowly opened his arms. "What are you afraid of?"

Tim's breathing caught.

The question settled deep inside him, heavier than he knew how to carry.

"I..."

His voice broke, another sob escaping before he could stop it.

"I don't want to be dead while still alive. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my life anymore. But I'm scared everything will fall apart, that I'll become a burden, and... I..."

"Tim." Jason kept his arms open, steady and patient, exactly what Tim needed. "How much for a hug?"

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, finally letting go of the breath trapped in his lungs.

"You don't have to pay," he murmured as he closed the distance, carefully folding himself into Jason's embrace. "Just... don't get hurt."

Jason hummed softly, his hand slowly combing through Tim's hair.

"Then start living the way you want to," he said. "Without being afraid of tomorrow. Without letting a future that may never come decide your life."

"It's not that easy."

"Life never is." Jason pressed a gentle kiss into his hair. "But you'll miss so much if you keep yourself trapped inside a bubble, afraid of a future that hasn't happened."

He lifted his free hand to Tim's face, gently tipping his chin upward until their eyes met, making sure every word reached him.

"And I'm certain that, whatever happens, I'll be right beside you."

Tim wanted to deny it.

To argue.

To reject the promise.

Jason never gave him the chance.

"How much for a kiss?"

Tim drew in a shaky breath. "What?"

Jason smiled, small and tired.

"How much for a kiss?"

Tim didn't answer.

He had no words left. No clear thoughts. No stability. Nothing at all. Instead, he closed the distance between them.

His lips brushed Jason's before settling into a kiss. His eyes drifted shut as the world slowly slipped farther away, becoming quieter and less real.

Maybe it wasn't the right moment. Maybe they would have to talk about it later.

Right now, none of that mattered.

Right now, he only wanted to disappear into Jason's warmth, comforted by the simple fact that he was alive.

Maybe for a little longer.

Maybe for much longer than that.