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This is the end for him. Even if Tim had never been expecting much for himself in regards to this life to begin with, he acknowledges that this is a low among lows. There’s no blaze of glory, no sacrifice for the greater good, only a miserably mundane parting at the hands of a comrade in arms and a brother in heart. It would feel like a betrayal if Tim wasn’t the one who walked himself into the knife; if he wasn’t the one who held it steady.
Tim blinks the sweat from his eyes, squinting against the harsh light overhead as he lays prone. It’s criminal how Dick stands over him, a silhouette with light shining around him like he’s something heaven-sent. If Tim weren’t breathing in whistles and wheezes, he’d spit at him. This is all Dick’s fault, after all.
Pragmatic as he’s wont to be, Tim can’t help but think how sad it is; how a life in service to others would ultimately be his undoing.
“You suck.” Tim groans as Dick reaches down to peel Tim from off the training mats. There’s a sweaty imprint of him left behind–a remnant of the part of him that died just now. When Dick lets go of him, Tim flops right back into it, a graceless smack against the floor accompanied by a miserable grunt. “How could you do this to me?”
Dick doesn’t even have the decency to look at him, let alone be ashamed by the half-hearted accusation. He notably pays Tim zero mind, too distracted by the current cause of Tim’s suffering to notice much else. The jerk is so locked in that when he reaches out blindly to help Tim up again, his hand whiffs through the air because Tim’s arms are deadweight on the ground.
Petty as it is, Tim kicks him.
“You’d better be thinking of an apology.” He grumbles. “Whatever you did, he’s pissed.”
As if to prove his point, Jason’s voice carries across the Cave–all vitriol and indignation as he levels Bruce with a rant that quickly devolves into incomprehensible noise as Jason carries on with wild gesticulations and a tamping of his foot. It’s a tantrum if Tim has ever seen one, which in all fairness might be par for course where Jason is concerned. Still, there’s no denying that Dick got Jason in top form today.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” Dick tells him. Given it’s them, Tim believes it.
He lets his gaze slide away from where Jason jabs his finger into Bruce’s chest and makes colorful threats, letting his attention settle back on the man that instigated this mess. Almost in contrast to how Jason bristles and hisses as he wages a warpath, Dick is notably still and subdued as he sulks.
“It’s a misunderstanding you’re going to be clearing up now, right?” Tim asks. Truth be told, he has no context for whatever spat his brothers had this time. He’d assumed it was their usual bickering over some trifling miscommunication up until Jason called Tim over to sub in for Dick even though Dick is Jason’s go-to, preferred partner; even though Dick was right there, stoical as he was dismissed. Tim had only gone because Dick cut his chin in a way that told Tim to do so, because Tim figured they’d both cool off with some space and be okay. But then Jason whooped Tim’s ass ten ways to Sunday and put the fear of god in him and, well.
In hindsight, it was obvious that this wasn’t an ordinary tiff between his brothers. If it were, they would have sparred like they always do; it would’ve been all taunts and challenges and matching snickers as they threw each other around and tripped each other up. And if it were, Dick wouldn’t have looked so pensive and long-suffering as he stepped off the mat, yielding where he’s never given so much as an inch before because that time with Jason–it’s important to the both of them.
With how mad Jason was–maybe he told Dick to fuck off because Jason would have killed him otherwise.
A shudder runs down Tim’s spine. What the hell happened?
Rather than assure Tim that everything will be okay, Dick grimaces and avoids eye contact. It spurs Tim to prop himself up in a hurry because what kind of reaction is that? When Tim shifts to try and catch Dick’s eye, Dick crosses his arms and looks further away, expression pinched in vexation. Tim tries again, sweat beading at his brow, “You’re going to clear it up, right?”
Dick sighs, his shoulders slumping in an uncharacteristic show of defeat.
“Clearing it up might make it a fight.”
The admission is baffling. For all his brothers’ spats, they’ve never actually had a fight that couldn’t be reconciled. Whatever happened must have been severe to warrant Dick’s resignation to Jason’s ire, and more damning still, it must be a genuine fuck-up if Dick is guilty enough to stand down entirely.
Tim reels for one breath, then rallies the next.
He’s been Jason’s replacement before. He won’t stand to be Dick’s replacement, too. Tim is all for serving others and putting the greater good ahead of himself, but he almost died today–in a spar.
If his brothers are too stubborn to fix what’s wrong between them, Tim doesn’t have any choice but to take matters into his own hands. He’ll tackle this like he does any other case, with unrelenting persistence and irritating thoroughness, because like fuck Tim is going to let this become a long term thing.
It becomes a long term thing, if ‘long term’ can be quantified to a few days. Tim would argue it’s felt like weeks, which has to count for something. Every failed attempt to gather intel on Dick and Jason’s interpersonal drama seems to result in another brutal scrimmage with Jason. That doesn’t account for the times that Jason interacts with Dick, sees him, hears his voice, or senses the mere mention of Dick’s person. Dick, in his entirety, becomes a trigger that provokes Jason’s ire and it’s Tim who’s made responsible for bearing the burden of that grudge.
Which is something Tim is familiar with. He’s done it before; he’ll be fine. Probably.
That Jason is so sensitive makes Tim’s task of mediating and reconciling his brothers’ fight something of a challenge. Which, fortunately, Tim enjoys. He just wishes it didn’t pit him against Jason on the training mats so often.
So far Tim’s efforts have been limited to observations to prevent aggravating Jason. He’s taken note of how Jason is wound tight with tension, how he wears his anger like a shroud to hide his hurt feelings. It’s no different to all the other times Jason has been slighted by this family, though at the very least he still feels safe enough to stay–a testament to how far they’ve all come or potentially just an indication that Jason still trusts Dick, even in the midst of a fight.
There’s promise there, even if every time Dick and Jason interact it ends in a one-sided verbal altercation where Jason puffs up his chest and bares his teeth and taunts Dick to answer for some unspecified crime.
For his part, Dick is restrained. He doesn’t instigate, nor does he tease. If only because everyone has become used to Dick and Jason’s playful shenanigans with each other, the Cave feels cold and Dick colder still.
Tim wonders if that mindful distance Dick offers hurts more than it helps. It’s what he contemplates as he reviews his casework, scrolling with one hand and taking shorthand notes with the other to expand upon and organize later. He twirls his pen and wonders if an apology would suffice to ease the tension enough to work through the matter more thoroughly (and without the need to throw down with Tim). Twirls his pen again and sighs because while he feels Jason would be happy with an apology, Tim doesn’t want to take advantage of Jason’s low standards in regards to righting slights made against him. They need to address whatever behavior bothered him so it won’t happen again. Twirls once more and–
“Tim!”
–his pen skitters off, thrown by the way Tim flinches at the call of his name. It makes him groan, head tipping back as he slumps in his chair.
Risky as it is, Tim still asks, “Can’t you ask Dick?”
Even with his back turned, he can feel the weight of Jason’s glare. It begs no argument. Either Tim can walk himself over there or Jason will come to him. There’s no escape. Regardless, Tim whines for another moment, swiveling his chair back and forth as he tries to work up the wherewithal to have his ass whooped again.
“How pitiful, Drake.” Damian taunts him from where the punk sits nearby. He does a maintenance check on Robin’s weapons and Tim is tempted to take one and stick the brat with it. As it stands, he shoots Damian a dirty look.
“Then you spar with him.” Tim grumbles under his breath.
He’s hopeful for all of a few seconds if only because Damian is always ready to throw down, but in this singular instance the kid declines the offer with a dismissive wave of his hand. There’s not a doubt in Tim’s mind that Damian only does it to spite him. “I cannot,” Damian tells him with a lackadaisical shrug, smirking from across the table like the wicked demon spawn he is, “Conflict of interest, as it were.”
The conflict being that Damian has a vested interest in seeing Tim get his ass kicked.
“You’re such a–” Tim starts.
“Tim!” Jason calls again, sharp and bratty and–
Unbecoming as it is, Tim groans in defeat and resigns himself to the inevitable. As he trudges over to the training mats where Jason waits, he contemplates how, in the span of a few days, Tim has become a god-fearing man. He has actual war flashbacks the moment his feet touch the mats.
“That’ta boy,” Jason tells him, his smile sharp when he claps Tim on the arm. Maybe there’s something nice in Jason liking him well enough to turn to when he’s otherwise hurt by something, but damn if Tim doesn’t wish Jason were less high-maintenance with his temperament and his feelings.
“Don’t suppose you’ll let me win one this time?”
It’s the wrong thing to say, Tim realizes later as he’s laid flat on the mats again with Dick squatting beside him. Commiserating, as it were. Like the first time, Dick only has eyes for Jason, but it’s fine. Tim feels too pitiful to be seen at the moment anyway.
“Not gonna lie, I’m getting kind of jealous of you.”
It’s a feat that Tim can’t even enjoy because he’s too busy hurting all over. Still, he cuts his gaze in Dick’s direction and catches a rare show of vulnerability–there and gone between blinks. Dick claps Tim on the knee, all fake smiles before he excuses himself and leaves Tim laying there on the mats.
Tim wonders what it is: if Dick misses the fight, the challenge, or simply Jason’s company.
Although Bruce was complained to in the direct aftermath of Dick and Jason’s fight, he proves to be a useless source for information. As per Bruce, Jason complained, but it was in generalities. An assertion that Tim raises a brow at, skeptical. When he voices his suspicion, questioning if Bruce didn’t just tune Jason out, Bruce glowers at him, affronted. He defends himself with a stalwart, ‘I would never,’ that Tim raises his other brow at, which prompts Bruce to level Tim with a look promising reprimand if Tim doesn’t watch his attitude.
They hit an impasse until Tim rephrases his objective as helping Jason. At which point Bruce heaves a sigh and relays the various threats Jason made at him that day: ‘It’s your fault he’s like this,’ and ‘Did you put him up to this?’ and ‘Talk some sense into him, but don’t you dare hit him or I swear you’ll rue the fuckin’ day–’
It’s insightful in that Jason must not believe Dick would intentionally hurt him. What’s more is that even when Jason is spitting mad, he still cares about Dick’s wellbeing. The story Bruce regales him with has Tim biting back smiles because Jason exposes himself so thoroughly at being good to his core. It’s sweet. Endearing, even. Not so much that Tim forgets that Jason is regularly putting Tim in the ground during training because of this big misunderstanding, but still.
So Tim goes to Dick with the hopeful news and his solution: “If you were to explain why–”
Only Dick shuts him down before Tim can finish his suggestion, firm because, “Yeah, no. Can’t do that.”
The outright refusal is bewildering. It’s so uncharacteristic that Tim is stupefied. Although Dick told him before that explaining would lead to a fight, that fight can’t be any worse than what will compound from this misunderstanding. There’s no way Dick isn’t aware of the risks involved; no one spirals faster or draws more outlandish and hurtful conclusions than Jason. At least if Jason were to know the truth, they could contain the narrative and stop Jason from imagining something worse.
That’s assuming whatever Dick did isn’t worse than whatever awful thing Jason can come up with. It’s a consideration that bothers Tim the moment he has the thought. Though there’s nothing productive to it, Tim can’t help but catastrophize. He undoubtedly gives Jason a run for his money as he broods and tries to find resolutions to dozens of different hypotheticals that all result in Tim’s eternal servitude as Jason’s crash test dummy of a sparring partner.
“You seem stressed, Master Timothy.”
Tim raises his attention from the dredges of his coffee to look at where Alfred stands across the kitchen preparing a fresh brew. The man is as composed as he ever is, a spot of calm to steady Tim’s racing thoughts.
“Dick and Jason are fighting.” Tim explains, dropping his gaze back to his mug. He tilts it back and forth before heaving a sigh and letting it rest flat on the counter.
“A ‘misunderstanding,’ as I’ve been told.” Alfred hums in agreement, seemingly unbothered despite the severity of the conflict. “I’m sure they’ll have it sorted in due time.”
Tim grimaces. ‘Time’ is something he’s short on; it’s only a matter of time before Jason gets volatile enough and snaps Tim like a twig. Before that happens, Tim needs for his brothers to make up. Waiting on them to figure their shit out puts Tim’s wellbeing at too much risk.
With a grumble, Tim asks, “Can’t you make Dick apologize?”
Alfred glances at him briefly, humored, before returning to the coffee. “Master Dick cares for Master Jason a great deal. He’ll make things right.” The man tells him, assured even when Tim makes a face at him. “I also believe Master Dick trusts you very much to leave Master Jason in your care while the two of them sort matters through.”
Tim startles at the insight, brows pinching as he drops the lower half of his face into the cradle of his hand–a weak cover to hide the smile that pulls at his lips. It’s a hard thing to fight back. Even his face feels warm. It’s embarrassing. Alfred says nothing of it as he pours Tim a fresh cup though, mindful as he ever is.
“You think he trusts me?” Tim asks, trying to play it cool even though he misses by a mile.
And Alfred assures him, confident when he says, “Most certainly, Master Timothy.”
To cover all his bases, Tim presses Damian on if he knows anything. It’s a mistake if ever there was one, given Damian is more loyal to their brothers than to Tim. Even when Tim asks nicely, Damian turns his nose up at him, refusing to snitch while also giving him a smug look that seems to say, ‘sucks to suck.’ Twerp.
And truly, it does suck to suck, so Tim puffs up his chest and smiles down at the brat, haughty and complacent. As expected, seeing him so prideful gets under Damian’s skin because he can’t fathom what Tim could ever be proud of. Ornery as it is, Tim still torments the kid by stringing him along, cackling in a way that’s vaguely reminiscent of Jason when he looks down his nose at Damian and simpers, “You might know what’s up, but Dick trusted me with Jason.”
The dawning look of realization on Damian’s face is priceless. So is the indignation.
“He would never.” Damian says, tamping his foot.
Tim chuffs, on top of the world, “Only he did.”
Which is how Jason finds them: with Tim thriving while antagonizing their youngest brother, as he’s learned older brothers are wont to do. Sparring with a smile even as Damian strikes with lethal intent. Dangerous a game as it is, Tim still has fun with it. He might not lay Damian flat like Jason does him, but damn if Tim doesn’t pull out all the stops with his provocations. Playing into all his brothers’ brother complexes is always a good time when Tim can get away with it, Damian most of all.
“You’re too much like Dick,” Jason says, and for the first time in days Jason doesn’t spit the name, too humored to care. Too fond, even. Tim can’t help but look at him, caught by the ghost of Jason’s smile, “Shouldn’t you pick on someone your own size, Timothy?”
Tim laughs under his breath, ducking just in time to dodge a full body tackle from Damian and using the kid’s momentum to roll Damian off his back with enough of a spring for the brat to flail around midair before landing on his feet. When Tim stands upright, it’s to look decidedly between himself and Jason. He raises a brow, cheeky when he asks, “That supposed to be you?”
“Drake could never.” Damian scoffs, giving Tim a pointed look and grimacing before turning to Jason with pride and unspoken praise. Brat.
“I can take him.” Tim argues. Contrary to what all their recent sparring would indicate, a fight between Jason and him could go any direction on any given day. Tim’s just been off his game recently given Jason’s foul and intimidating mood.
Without a doubt, his brothers know this, but despite that they both still scoff and it’s unsettling and unappreciated how similar they are in that moment.
“Can you now?” Jason challenges him, lackadaisical yet imposing as he steps up onto the mats. The movement is so reminiscent of Dick that Tim is almost tempted to call him on it, same as Jason did him. It’s a near thing, repercussions be damned, until Jason goes on to say, “You sure you don’t want to try pawning me off on someone else?”
Tim’s lips purse immediately. He blames Dick for this. Again. Guilty as Tim is of trying to get out of sparring with Jason, it was Dick who fucked off first and aggravated this particular insecurity (even if it was Jason who forced Dick’s hand). It makes Tim wonder if this is the first step of Jason catastrophizing; if it will get worse from here.
To spare Jason from the hurt of that, Tim doubles down.
“Not a chance,” He says, squaring up even as he tilts his head back to maintain eye contact. It’s distracting to be nearly chest to chest with Jason, or rather…being so close to eye-level with Jason’s chest. Although Tim doesn’t look, he’s aware of how present Jason’s pecs are and it feels like a power play. Still, Tim stands his ground and Jason smiles, brilliant and biting when Tim says, “I’ll get my revenge this time.”
Which, surprisingly enough, he does. It must be because Tim is still riding high from the sentiment of Dick trusting him, plus the fact that he’s loose from a fulfilling afternoon spent tormenting Damian, plus the extra caffeine Alfred treated him to. Regardless, it all culminates in Tim being in top condition to win against his menace of an older brother. Finally.
It’s a hard-won feat that keeps Tim breathless, chest heaving as he keeps Jason pinned face down to the mats. His brother is wicked when he thrashes beneath him, but once Jason yields the sharp look in his eyes goes soft, bright with mirth. It makes Tim feel victorious, invincible.
But then Jason sees him and–oh.
What triumph Tim feels is quickly undercut by how Jason’s initial thrill seems to shift to sadness, like Jason expected Dick but found Tim, instead. The realization comes about so quickly that Jason seems staggered by it. It might stagger Tim too, to watch how Jason’s expression pinches–honest and vulnerable and hurt before Jason turns his face into the mats to hide himself.
Tim feels bad for him. To miss someone so terribly is an awful thing.
But like this, Tim might be able to fix things. Callous as it is to take advantage of Jason when he’s down, it’s an opportunity that Tim can’t pass up. Even when Jason finds the safety of his anger again and tries to pull away, Tim bears down, hands tight around Jason’s wrists and voice low so that no one else has to hear: “Tell me what’s going on, Jason. Let me help.”
“Get off.” Jason warns him, but the threat in it feels empty.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” Tim says. He’s not keen to carry on like they have been. It’s not good for anyone involved. Jason obviously misses Dick and Tim can’t imagine that Dick feels any different. That besides, Tim would rather Jason’s new hobby of wiping the floor with him be limited to special occasions than be a normal daily occurrence. “Come on, aren’t you ready to make up yet?” Tim asks, grunting when Jason bucks against him in protest, shifting to accommodate and struggling to keep his hold. “Come on, it can’t be fun laying me out flat every day!”
“At least you fight back!” Jason snaps, forehead pressed to the mats and breath creating condensation beneath him. He thunks his head against it before snapping his head to the side and shouting, “Unlike someone who fucking throws !”
What?
From across the Cave where Dick had been reviewing casework with Bruce, Tim watches as Dick heaves a sigh, head dropping back to look up at the roof with all its stalactites and chittering bats. Even from this far, Tim can see the muscle in Dick’s jaw twitch. When he turns to look at them, his expression pinches in exasperation and barely bitten back irritation. Dick looks like a man who’s been hashing out the same argument for the better part of a week and it shows in his tone when he groans, “I’ve told you, Jay – it’s not that I’m ‘letting you win.’”
Before Tim can make sense of anything, Jason flips them so that Tim is back on the mats–his rightful place in life, it’d seem. The jerk doesn’t even have the decency to look Tim in the eye when he escapes Tim’s hold or pins him down, which is laughably familiar. Like Tim doesn’t even exist, Jason pushes off of Tim’s chest to step over him and square up with Dick.
The force of the shove takes Tim’s breath away, making him wheeze pathetically. It would be embarrassing if Tim weren’t convinced his brothers weren’t in the throes of something endlessly more embarrassing, themselves.
“Right, you’re ‘letting yourself lose,’” Jason growls at him, stopping where Dick has met him halfway to poke Dick in the chest and knock their foreheads together. He scoffs, “Make it make sense, dick.”
The fight that devolves from there is the usual one-sided verbal altercation that they’ve all gotten used to hearing. Tim considers it now with a new perspective, baffled at the truth that’s been revealed. All of this strife over Dick throwing fights? That’s definitely a misunderstanding if Tim’s ever heard one. It doesn’t sound like Dick at all.
Out of curiosity, Tim asks, “Why does Jason think that?”
“Because it is true.” Damian says, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Grayson has been throwing his fights with Todd consistently.”
Tim turns to look at him, wide-eyed with disbelief. When Damian shrugs, Tim props himself up onto his elbows, looking back to scrutinize Dick because there must be a reason for it. Either Dick is off his game or injured or sick or–
When Tim looks to Bruce for guidance, Bruce is already looking at him–checking in to see what Tim noticed that Bruce missed. All Tim can do is shake his head and Bruce’s gaze slides back to where Dick holds Jason’s hands back from strangling him as Jason spits venom and vitriol.
“You want another chance with me, big bird?” Jason snipes. The way Dick holds him back does nothing to stop Jason from getting in his face, but Dick doesn’t seem to mind. He tilts his head, waiting on Jason’s every word, eyes dipping to Jason’s lips before trailing back up to look into his eyes. Eager to get back into Jason’s good graces, whatever it takes. Tim sees the conviction, the resolve–
–and just as quickly, the petulance because Jason turns his head abruptly, cutting his chin in Tim’s direction to smile at him, sharp and vicious when he says, “Take on the baby bird first.”
Tim grimaces, flopping back against the mats in defeat.
Give him a fucking break.
The condition Jason gives Dick to get back in his good graces doesn’t bode well for Tim’s overall wellbeing, but it’s nothing Tim can’t handle. He’s a pragmatist, after all. Where others see a death sentence, Tim sees leverage. Unfavorable as the circumstances are, Tim is confident that he can turn everything to his advantage.
“It’s a matter of perspective,” Tim says in an attempt to teach Damian a thing or two about the value in maintaining one’s composure and the importance in using every tool in their arsenal to take control of a spiraling situation. Dismal doesn’t mean doomed–exploitation can get them anywhere if they’re smart about it and a little quid pro quo never hurts when you have your ducks in a row.
Invaluable as the lessons are, Damian doesn’t listen. The brat doesn’t even appreciate how cutthroat his brother can be. Damian just hangs around, lying in wait for the inevitable blood bath because even as he watches Tim compile a record of all Dick’s thrown matches and listens to Tim’s plan to blackmail Dick into submission, Damian’s bets are on Dick.
Without a doubt, Damian withholds how impressed he is to be contrary and to try and get under Tim’s skin. It’s no matter though. Tim already moves on, running his mouth hypothesizing about this and that while he reviews all the footage they have on hand of Dick’s recent trouncing.
The losses are kind of spectacular, really. It’s always the same sort of moves that Dick keeps falling into. Tim can’t help but marvel at the compilation he’s put together, watching from various screens and angles as Jason restrains Dick–immobilizing him with thighs around his neck or by smothering him in Jason’s chest or bicep.
Tim is more than familiar with all these maneuvers after being massacred by them all week. It’s why Tim knows that Dick would never get tripped up so many times.
Which leads Tim to prattle on about other hypotheses he has, detached as he muses: “He must be sick,” Oblivious to the way Damian startles to attention, gaze cutting to Tim with skepticism and unease. Tim overlooks his brother’s sudden agitation, all his focus remaining on the job at hand.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. It explains everything: Dick’s reluctance to talk about it, the fear it would lead to a fight. Of course Dick didn’t want to say anything–news like that is devastating. It’d be worse than anything Jason would be thinking. It explains the accusations of ‘throwing,’ because maybe Dick just wasn’t well enough to—
“Grayson is unwell?” Damian asks, caught somewhere between somber and spooked. He stares down at the desk, unseeing.
“It must be something serious,” Tim says, motioning furtively to the compilation playing across all their monitors. He leans back in his chair, considering everything. Heedless to the distress he brings to the brother sat beside him.
“He has not said anything.” Damian argues.
Tim scoffs, unwittingly callous when he waves his hand around, dismissive of the comment, “You expect him to?”
It doesn’t feel good to plot to take advantage of Dick if he’s sick, but forcing Dick’s hand might be the only way they’ll ever hear the truth and get to the root cause of what’s caused all this strife between Dick and Jason. They’ll be able to help this way, both with the misunderstanding and with everything Dick has been hiding. There’s no way Dick won’t ask Tim for a fight soon. He’ll want to get back in Jason’s good graces before–
–before he can’t.
The mood in the Cave is dismal after that and, despite what Tim may have proclaimed to Damian earlier, it does feel doomed. It was one thing to consider that Dick might not be well, but another to process the severity of that news. It’s devastating enough that Tim is left reeling, thoughts such a mess that he doesn’t even realize he’s been left alone until slow footsteps cut through the quiet.
“Hey,” Dick calls, meandering close to Tim’s side. Based on the caution in his approach and the gentleness of his voice, Tim can imagine Dick’s picked up on the dour mood. “Everything okay?”
For once, Tim can’t answer. He can’t find the words. When he looks over his shoulder at where Dick stands beside him, he sees Dick looking at the monitors showcasing his defeats, attention flitting between them. The light of them reflects in his eyes, artificially bright; stark across his face and painting him more pallid than golden.
All at once, Tim becomes aware of how horribly insensitive it is for him to broadcast Dick’s faults like this when Dick is fighting for his life. He wants to turn everything off–back off the original plan, but then Dick sighs and it’s wistful. There’s a tender yearning that bleeds through the smile that ghosts across Dick’s lips, a wondrous, breathless laugh as he watches Jason’s triumphs, his victories.
Seeing him like this–Tim’s heart aches. Dick must be cherishing every little thing now.
“He’s something else, huh?” Dick says around a low whistle. There’s something like adoration that warms his expression, a tender fondness and pride.
Tim feels much the same. With a heavy heart, he murmurs, “You’re something, yourself.”
For as sincere as the sentiment is, it does little more than leave Dick bemused. He looks at Tim with a raised brow, suspicious because, for him, the nicety comes from nowhere. Dick rolls with it easily enough, bumping Tim’s shoulder. Weirded out, but not put off. “What brought this on?”
Tim takes a steadying breath, shifting his attention back to the monitors. This conversation feels too difficult to have when face-to-face. Tim doesn’t want either of them to lose their resolve or the comfort they have in each other to talk about difficult things. “You trust me, right?” Tim asks even though he knows the answer already–has seen it in the way Dick depends on him in the field, the way he relies on him to take care of all the most important things when Dick can’t do so himself: Bruce, Robin, Jason–
“Of course.” Dick tells him, certain and confident in a way that fills Tim with pride and melancholy both. When Tim can’t find the right words to continue the conversation, Dick shifts. Turning his back to the monitors to lean against the desk, hands holding loose to the edge of it as he looks Tim over with concern, “What’s going on, Tim?”
“I know the truth,” Tim says, the words tumbling from him in a rush.
It feels like Tim may as well have struck him for how Dick cringes back, pulling away from him. His jaw clenches as he tries to find his words, as he pulls them from his throat, wary. “Look,” He says, more uncomfortable than Tim has ever seen him. Tim can’t blame him; vulnerability isn’t something this family does well. “I can explain–”
“You don’t have to.” Tim interrupts him, adamant. Earnest when he catches Dick’s gaze and says, “You don’t have to go through this alone, Dick. I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.”
It’s a testament to how lost he feels that Dick heaves a sigh and scrubs his hands over his face, taking a beat before returning to a neutral stance, a plain expression. “It’s new.” Dick admits to him and that’s all he needs to say. Tim can imagine the fear and the grief well enough. “I’m still figuring it out.”
Tim lets out a breath. He nods.
Obviously Dick is still processing everything. Of course. These things take time.
“Yeah, that’s okay.” Tim says, more earnest than he’s been in a long time. More scared than he’s maybe ever been. “Just–if there’s anything you need, tell me. No one’s going anywhere.”
They’re brothers, first and foremost. They’ll always be there for each other.
The quiet that settles between them feels heavy. It weighs on Tim so entirely that he’s uncharacteristically overwhelmed. So crushed that for once, he doesn’t know what to do. At that moment Tim can’t think up any plan to fix everything or make it all okay. All he can do is be there and it hurts—in his chest, his heart—to be so helpless.
“Are you going to tell him?” Tim asks, his voice quiet between them.
“No.”
The certainty in that one word makes him wince. For all Tim wants to be supportive, he owes it to Dick to be honest, too. His brother trusts him. Still, it’s difficult to be the one to say it. Tim loves him enough to do it anyway.
“Will you be able to hide it for that long?”
Dick lowers his head, gaze dropping to look at the floor and for a moment, Tim is stricken by him. The way Dick’s brow furrows and his jaw clenches, defiant through his denial, hurts to see. So is the way Dick closes his eyes and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose because Dick must know that this is out of his control.
“He would want to know,” Tim tells him, soft in a way that he hopes helps soothe. This isn’t something Tim does enough; he’s always relied on Dick for times like this. The truth comes easy though because it’s a fact. A constant. A truth knotted into the fabric of the universe. Dogged, unwavering, “Jason loves you.”
Dick doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say anything at all.
Tim stays with him anyway. It’s all he can do.
After so long of seeing his brothers (Jason) fighting, it’s odd to see them (Jason) being civil. Tim isn’t sure what’s happened, but it must be severe for Jason to set aside his grudge and have a level conversation. Nothing has happened that Tim is aware of, but even still he’s not blind to the heavy atmosphere surrounding his brothers. Something is wrong; Tim needs to fix it. While he doesn’t know the specifics of Dick’s condition, stress can’t be good for him right now. Tim will do what he can to help; he won’t let Dick go in everything alone like Dick is so often wont to do.
Unfortunately Dick isn’t easy to read, so Tim can’t glean any context from him. Instead, Tim turns to Jason who is the epitome of agitated concern. It shows clearly on his face that he’s worried. Even his body language is telling with all its fidgeting–shifted weight and crossed arms, a far-off stare and distracted nods as he listens to Dick talk, low and murmured between them.
Tim observes their closeness, eyes tracking the way Jason starts to bite the skin around his nail and how Dick gently redirects him. His touch light as he draws Jason’s hand down between them. Dick holds Jason steady; Jason lets him.
It’s a detail Tim lingers on. His brothers’ voices are quiet, but occasionally Jason’s raises until Dick brings him back down, keeping him settled and soothed.
Tim should know to mind his business. He gets in the middle anyway. Even if Dick has Jason under control, Tim can still help resolve whatever the underlying problem is. The last thing he wants is for any brewing spat between Dick and Jason to escalate before they resolve the first one. Tim has a vested interest in his brothers being cool together. It’s self-serving, but after the time he’s had, he can’t take any risks with how volatile and tumultuous these two can be.
“What’s going on?” Tim calls out, attention flicking quickly to the way Dick lets go of Jason’s hand–slow, reluctant. He catches how Dick sighs as he puts his hands in his pockets, casual as he shifts away from Jason to accommodate for Tim.
It strikes Tim as odd, but he’s quick to write it off. It’s been a long time since Dick has been able to keep Jason’s company. Of course Dick would want to spend what quality time he can with Jason, but unfortunately crisis waits for no one and Tim needs Dick to delegate some of his burdens so that Dick can focus on his health.
“Damian is acting strange.” Jason tells him, too bothered by the circumstances to be ornery about being open with details. “Since yesterday he’s been more intense than usual. Clingy, even.”
“That’s not strange though, is it?” Not where Jason is concerned, at least. It’s fact that Damian is soft for Jason; a universal constant that Damian will always cherish him.
“Not with me,” Jason says, then nods his head at Dick, “with him.”
“Ah.” Tim says before he can stop himself. It’s something Jason picks up on and he rears on Tim in an instant–an overwhelming force of protective caretaker.
“You know something.” Not so much an accusation as a statement of fact. Jason takes a warning step closer to Tim, looming over him and doing that power play with his pecs again. When Tim glances at Dick, he catches his brother looking at Jason’s chest, as well. He wonders if Dick thinks it’s a power play, too, but now is hardly the time or place to ask with how Jason squares up, “Tell us.”
Tim looks first at Jason, then to Dick. There’s a pressing need to be discreet, given that Jason doesn’t know the details and Tim won’t betray Dick’s confidence. Again. Though in Tim’s defense, it was a hypothesis when Tim ran his theories by Damian. Can it really be put on Tim that Damian took Tim’s ramblings at face value?
Yes, is the answer to that. Tim chooses not to think about it for the moment.
“It’s probably because of what we talked about before.” Tim says, subtle and vague. As expected, Jason’s brows furrow in confusion, but Dick lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been beaten out of him.
“Shit.” Is all Dick says and Tim winces in sympathy.
He’ll explain what happened and apologize for it later once they have more privacy, but for now all Tim can offer is a grimace. It’s obvious in hindsight. Of course Damian would be upset with Dick’s prognosis. While Jason might be the caretaker Damian cherishes most ardently, Dick is his mentor-brother-partner-guardian. It’s not something Tim thinks he can understand, but that doesn’t mean he can’t recognize the gravity in it, the impact of it: because Jason earned Damian’s devotion through kindnesses kept between them from their dark times in the League; because Dick fought for Damian’s respect and gave it in turn–an admiration and affection unconditional and unwavering. Twin beacons of hope to show Damian he was deserving of kindness and care, respect and devotion.
Traits that haven’t defined their hellion of a brother, but have certainly softened him. Giving him back hope and humanity.
Of course Damian would be devastated to have one of his pillars taken away from him in a way that he can’t even fight against. The helplessness in that must drive him mad. It does Tim.
“How can we fix it?” Jason asks, willing to overlook the details he’s not privy to if it means coming to a solution.
“I was hoping I had more time before having to have this conversation.” Dick groans, scrubbing his hands over his face and then pulling them through his hair. He heaves a sigh, finding his resolve although he still looks pained over it, “I’ll talk to him. This is on me.”
“Again.” Jason scoffs, lips pursed as he glares at Dick. “You’re on a roll lately, huh?”
“Ease up,” Tim protests, defensive. “It’s not like he has any control over it.”
The way Jason rolls his eyes makes Tim bristle, but before Tim can put his foot in his mouth again, Dick claps him on the arm and offers him a small smile, “Thanks, Tim. I’ll take care of this; don’t worry about it.”
Both Jason and he watch Dick walk off together. It isn’t until Tim is sure that his brother is gone that he gets protective–rearing on Jason without warning. He smacks him in the arm and glowers at him, irrationally irritable.
“Lay off.” Tim tells Jason.
The bite in Tim’s tone makes Jason glower back, “Why should I?”
“He’s been going through enough.” Tim says, no further explanation given although Jason gives him a chance to elaborate–waits on it, even.
“He told you that?” Jason asks instead, and Tim shifts his weight on instinct. From a neutral stance to something defensive and ready for a fight because Jason’s mood shifts in a palpable way. Jealousy is a frightening look on him, which Tim already knew, but it’s been a long time since it’s been directed at him.
It must hurt to be so close with someone and feel like you’re not trusted. Tim can’t find the words to tell Jason otherwise, either. Not without outing Dick. Anything Tim tries to say would lead to more questions, so Tim can’t comfort him. He can’t assure him that Dick trusts him more than anything, that he’s been distant because he loves Jason so damn much.
So Tim stands there, biting his tongue as Jason shakes his head and barks an empty laugh. ‘Of course,’ he mutters, masking his hurt with the safety of his anger. His brother turns, leaves, and all Tim can do is watch.
Out of nowhere, Damian comes at him with a flying tackle. The headbutt to his ribs is so aggressive that Tim is certain he’s spat up blood. A serious concern that Tim has little time for because Damian is relentless with his threats and assault. It takes all Tim has to defend himself, stumbling back while shaking out his arms because they’re bare knuckling it and it hurts something fierce regardless of how well practiced Tim might be.
“I will kill you for playing me for a fool, Drake!” Damian shouts at him, throwing an elbow at Tim that he just narrowly dodges.
“What did I do this time?” Tim grunts, trying to swat Damian away to no avail. Ornery as they get with each other on the regular, Tim doesn’t necessarily feel inclined to throw hands with him. He struggles to keep Damian at arms length instead, determined to talk this through like civil–
“Don’t bite me, use your words!” Tim yelps, pulling his hand back and watching in horror as Damian’s teeth snap shut around the empty space. He gets his hand planted back on Damian’s forehead and pushes him away, “Back, demon!”
“He is not sick,” Damian snaps at him, wrapping his hands around Tim’s wrists in a bruising grip; one at Damian’s face, the other at his shoulder. From around the obstruction of Tim’s hand, Damian snarls, “nor is he dying.”
“But he told me–” Tim starts, then stops to contort himself into some odd shape. Keeping Damian held back while also trying to lean away to avoid getting kicked.
“Did he tell you or did you put your words in his mouth?” Damian doesn’t so much ask as he accuses and, well. When Tim thinks back on it…
“Ah.” He says. That he keeps being caught like this is embarrassing; Tim must be in a funk. It begs the question of what the hell Dick and he were having a heart to heart about though. They were both definitely feeling their feelings, so what else could it be?
“‘Ah’?” Damian asks, then clicks his tongue and bares his teeth. “Your defeats at Todd’s hands will feel like childsplay when I am through with you.”
If only because Damian lacks the same intimidation factor that Jason has, Tim is cool with his chances of coming out of this alive. Not so much unscathed, but at least alive. Somehow Damian seems able to tell that Tim disrespected him without a word spoken though and the ferality that follows–that might be Tim’s undoing.
The Cave echoes with both Damian and Tim’s shouts and complaints after that. They leave a mess in their wake. Obstacles for Tim, collateral damage for Damian. It isn’t until Tim vaults over a table to take cover from the projectiles Damian throws that everything goes suddenly quiet. Cautiously, he peeks over the edge of the table to check what happened, wide-eyed and disheveled.
When Tim finds Dick holding Damian back with nothing more than a stern look, he heaves a sigh of relief and stands, leaning heavily against the table to catch his breath. Aggravated with him though he is, Damian doesn’t protest when Dick tells him to go cool off. That doesn’t stop the kid from leaving with a parting threat though. Damian points two fingers to his eyes before pointing at Tim; Tim does the same. It’s only when they both click their tongues that Tim remembers his age and seniority in this Cave and has some sense to feel embarrassed.
The feeling passes when Dick approaches him, righting this and that along the way. Uncertainty settles over him and Tim crosses his arms, waiting for an inevitably painful conversation.
“You okay?” Dick asks.
“You tell me.” Tim says.
Dick settles next to Tim, leg propped against the table beside them. He crosses his arms to mirror Tim, looking him over, considering him until the suspense has Tim’s shoulders drawn up to his ears.
“I’m not dying.” Dick eventually says, clarifying a misunderstanding so it can’t be misconstrued again. To his surprise, Dick doesn’t look mad at the mess Tim mistakenly made of everything. Instead, he seems apologetic and confused, “Where’d you get that idea?”
“The losses. The fight. Your reluctance to talk about it and that fear it would make Jason more upset.” Tim rattles off, not needing to stop or think it through because he’s been thinking about it nonstop since the epiphany came to him. “It’s the only thing that makes sense, Dick. Are you really not sick? Injured?”
Rather than answer right away, Dick considers the case Tim’s put together. The evidence is circumstantial, but Dick still gives it due consideration. He taps the toe of his boot against the ground, gaze lowered to the floor between them while thinking over his words. It takes a moment, but Dick seems to come to the decision to let go of his reservations and trust him fully. Tim can see it simply by the way Dick’s shoulders relax; from the way he huffs a small breath, a quiet but fond sound.
“Well,” Dick says, a slow drawl before he raises one of his shoulders in a shrug, “Lovesick, maybe?”
All of Tim’s racing thoughts come to an abrupt, screeching halt.
“What?” Surely he misheard, but Dick is already looking across the Cave. Drawn by the sound of Jason’s voice as he walks down the stairs with Alfred, Bruce paving the way in front of them. When Dick finally catches sight of Jason, Tim watches in utter bemusement as Dick’s eyes soften, warm and smitten in a way Tim never noticed before. His brother looks concernedly enamored. Helplessly, Tim balks, “Huh?”
Dick smiles at him, sheepish.
“So you get it now?” He asks.
Tim does. Or rather, he gets why Dick hasn’t said anything. Tim isn’t one to judge on keeping feelings for a best friend under wraps; there’s a lot to consider and even more at risk. What Tim doesn’t get is how. Why?
He looks at Dick, stumped, and thinks back to every time Jason has laid him out flat recently. With trepidation, Tim asks, “Elaborate? He’s kinda mean.”
“Prickly.” Dick corrects with affection, and yeah. Lovesick is an understatement. Sick in the head would be more apt, but Tim will keep that to himself.
“So you’ve just been distracted while sparring and that’s what led to all this?” Tim presses, looking for a definitive answer, nay, an explanation for why Tim has spent the past week playing the part of Dick’s stand-in and getting his ass whooped left and right, day after day. “Because you have a crush?”
“No, I was throwing.” Dick admits, shameless. “One hundred percent.”
Tim sputters, baffled, “Why!?”
Dick turns on him, baffled in turn, “What do you mean ‘why’? You’ve fought him. Isn’t it obvious?”
All Tim remembers from their spars are the ass-whoopings and how he had the fear of god put in him; the taste of mat in his mouth, the mat burns, the permanent imprint of him in said mats after being thrown down so many times. Being challenged, overwhelmed–pinned by arms, chest…thighs…
Tim recalls the video compilation and snaps his head to look at Dick, incredulous.
Dick has the audacity to smile at him, boyish and charming as he turns to lean more fully against the table. In it for the long haul as Tim processes.
It’s a staggering revelation. Tim turns away from Dick to sit back on the table too, then steeples his hands in front of his face as he tries to wrap his head around all these new details and insights. Dick, his brother-mentor-hero, was indulging himself and being a thirsty freak over Jason, who Tim holds some amount of affection for despite the regular trouncing Jason subjects him to; his predecessor-brother-friend. All at Tim’s expense, no less.
There’s something funny about it all, in hindsight. Tim can’t help the breathy laugh that bubbles up from him. Of course it would be something simple like this; he’s so damn relieved. With more force than what’s necessary, Tim shoulder checks Dick. He makes sure it hurts, too–this absolute ass.
“Here I was stressed about your health,” Tim jibes with an incredulous shake of his head, “And you’re over here falling in love.”
“I promise we were stressed the same.” Dick swears around a snicker.
Tim checks him again, then breathes a sigh. All the tension he’s carried goes out along with it, leaving him lighter. He tilts his head back to look at the roof, shaking his head in disbelief. A crush, of all things.
“You really won’t tell him?” Tim asks, remembering their conversation from before.
Dick shakes his head and leans against the table with more of his weight, arms crossing more firmly over his chest. “I don’t know,” He says, disappointment making his smile look brittle. There’s something rueful in his voice when Dick admits, “You almost had me convinced to take a chance until I realized we were on about different things.”
Tim considers that, head lulling towards his shoulder to look at Dick. He thinks about all the things he’s noticed this week: how protective Jason is of Dick, the influence Dick has over him. The way Jason gravitates towards him, always wanting for his company. The way Jason is vulnerable with him, safe in his presence; the way the Cave doesn’t echo with the sound of his laughter anymore. Little things–like the way Dick held Jason’s hand and how Jason let himself be held. And the way Jason looked for Dick and was hurt when he wasn’t there.
“Does it matter?” Tim asks, because this seems simple, too. The facts haven’t changed; it’s still an irrefutable truth of the universe: Jason loves Dick in some capacity, whether he realizes it or not.
A beat passes. Followed by another.
Tim can make this work for himself. And for his brothers, of course.
“You should still tell him,” Tim tells Dick again with steadfast conviction. When Dick raises a brow at him, inquisitive, a smile cuts across Tim’s face, devious and cunning. “With the two of us on the case, he doesn’t stand a chance. We’re gonna make him fall in love with you.”
“The best way to win Jason over is by putting him in the ground.”
Tim acknowledges his faux pas the moment he says it. Whether there’s some deeper psychological meaning behind the slip up doesn’t feel like a matter for concern compared to the withering look Dick gives him. To appease him, Tim raises his hand in silent acknowledgement to his poor phrasing. Tim is all about putting the greater good ahead of himself; he can take the high road, so to right his wrongs, he adds:
“Respectfully.”
“Respectfully.” Dick echoes just as plainly. He sits at the table they’ve commandeered for their impromptu strategy meeting, cheek cradled in his hand and giving Tim his undivided attention (because Tim purposefully blocks Dick’s view of Jason). It’s an opportunity to review the facts and develop an effective game plan to resolve the threat his brothers’ relationship troubles pose to Tim’s wellbeing.
(And to make up for the scare Tim gave Damian over Dick’s nonexistent fatal sickness).
(And to help Dick out with his crush, of course).
They’re removed enough that they don’t have to worry about anyone eavesdropping, but even still they talk in low voices. Not conspiratorial, but probably suspicious regardless.
“Yes. You’ll sweep him off his feet by sweeping the floor with him.” Tim says with a definitive nod. “Easy.”
To his credit, Dick keeps a neutral expression. It makes it all the more savage when he says, “I worry about you sometimes, you know? Is this how you flirt?”
“Of course it isn’t.” Tim scoffs, defensive. It’s a classic misdirect, but he falls for it anyway. “Who’re you to judge anyway? This is Jason we’re talking about; there’s no way he isn’t into that sort of thing. You think you can woo him better?”
“I dated Kory.” Dick reminds him.
“You fumbled Kory.” Tim says.
“You fumbled Kon,” Dick counters.
“I never dated Kon.” Tim points out.
“Case and point.” Dick smiles at the same time Tim grimaces because damn, entrapment.
It leaves Tim without words. Who knew Dick had the capacity to be mean? There’s no way that isn’t Jason’s influence.
Though Tim appreciates the biting banter, they’re reaching dangerous territory with where the current line of conversation goes. The point of this meeting is to get Tim out of crisis, not deeper into another. Tim’s painstaking non-situationship with his best friend is a nonissue. It’s only Dick on blast today.
“So as I was saying, lay him out flat.” Tim starts, stops. Grimaces. “Wreck him.” He tries again, only to stare deadpan into the middle distance. Dick does nothing to stop him, too humored by innuendo and how Tim can’t escape it. He chuffs and Tim rolls his eyes. His brother is lucky Tim loves him enough to put up with him. If Tim wasn’t the favorite brother after having Dick’s back while looking after (ie incurring the wrath of) Jason, he will be after helping Dick win over his crush. With a brusque wave of his hand, Tim huffs, “You get what I mean.”
“Yeah, I got it.” Dick snickers. He’s not sure how merciful his brother actually is with sparing him when Dick goes on to look at him, bright-eyed and eager, “Starting with you, huh?”
Starting with Tim. Unfortunately. It’s not like Tim is going to just let Dick win though. Tim has some petty feelings to work through, after all. For all he wishes his brother well with his endeavor in love, Dick still put Tim through a lot of grief when they could’ve been handling this revelation like grown men from the start. It’s only fair Tim gets retribution. Jason’s whooped his ass ten ways to Sunday, so Dick’ll get his comeuppance.
“Alright,” Tim says, game face on. After sparring with Jason so much, Tim is in top form. He’s more practiced than he’s been in weeks. Dick won’t stand a chance. “Let’s go.”
And suddenly Tim is squinting against the harsh lights overhead as he lays prone, Dick standing over him, a silhouette with light shining around him like a devil blocking the way out of hell and Tim blinks hard because what just happened. He’s flat on the mats. Dick threw him down so quick that Tim hasn’t even processed it.
“I wasn’t ready–” He says.
Only it happens again.
“Best three of five.” He argues through whistles and wheezes. That feeling of wanting to spit at Dick is back from a week ago.
And again.
“You suck.” There’s nothing fair about this trouncing. The only reason it happens is because Dick happens to be more motivated. Love triumphs over revenge after all, apparently. He accepts the hand Dick offers him, letting himself be hoisted up just to be dropped a moment later when Jason cackles at them. Tim falls gracelessly back to the mats with a splat, but it’s fine. He’s used to it.
“What got you so motivated, big bird?” Jason calls to Dick, his smile sharp and wicked. There’s a brightness to his eyes that Tim hasn’t seen in a long while. It makes sense, now that Jason is looking at Dick and seeing him again. There’s something to the way Jason seems drawn to Dick–eager, ardent. Impatient because Jason has been waiting and Jason never does anything in halves; his want is a desperate thing. It’s yearning, demanding.
Dick meets Jason’s gaze from across the training mats and from over Tim entirely. Just hearing him already brought a ghost of a smile to Dick’s lips, but seeing Jason like this–pleased and in want of him–Dick’s smile softens to a crooked smirk. His attention lingers on Jason, unwavering; unwilling to give.
“You.”
As far as flirting goes, Tim has to admit that was pretty smooth. Jason must think so, too. Shy as their brother gets, he doesn’t look displeased with Dick’s answer. It’s whatever though. Forget his brothers. Tim might be the one off his game. Or rather, maybe he’s just nothing in the face of whatever sort of love is happening here. The tension is palpable and while Tim loves his brothers dearly, he isn’t sure he likes being stuck in the middle of it.
While laying on the mats with his head squeezed between the firm softness of Jason’s legs, Tim comes to the profound realization that he can’t begrudge Dick for all the thrown matches that led to his brothers’ falling out. He doesn’t know how he managed to overlook it before, but it’s kind of nice and, loathe as he is to admit it, really hot. It’s not hard for Tim to understand how Dick got carried away and it’s because of this that Tim recognizes the potential of falling victim to the temptation again. If that were to happen–history would repeat, the cycle would continue, and Tim really will need to get his affairs in order; he doubts Jason will be as forgiving after a second go-around.
There needs to be a better incentive than victory to motivate Dick, but what?
Jason’s thighs are warm beneath Tim’s hands. Even when he feels Jason let up, Tim holds on to him–thoughtlessly pushing Jason’s legs together to squish Tim’s cheeks again as he ruminates.
“You okay?” Jason asks, peering down at him with a raised brow. “Didn’t snap your brittle bird bones, did I?”
“You could try–” Tim starts, distracted. When he realizes what he’s about to say, he bites his tongue for how quickly he shuts his mouth. This is no time to get distracted; Tim needs to stay on task, so with firm pats and a lingering (indulgent) squeeze to Jason’s thighs, Tim looks up to meet his gaze and says, “I’ve got an idea on how to fix things with Dick.”
The way Jason perks is disarmingly cute, but what throws him more is when Jason agrees. Just like that, “Alright, I’m in.” Without reservation, without knowing. Because he’s willing to go in blind if it’s for Dick.
Tim tries not to think about it too hard–if it’s singularly that Jason would risk it all for Dick or if there’s a part of Jason that trusts Tim to look after him. Just the thought makes him bashful. A thrill chases up his spine and Tim can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. A stupid, giddy little thing. Contentment makes him feel soft, warm–
–a feeling that is quickly doused by a sudden chill that sweeps through the room alongside a foreboding sense of danger. It has Tim’s attention diverted in an instant, head snapping to the side and more fully into Jason’s thigh. The plan he was about to share with Jason becomes a forgotten thing because all of Tim’s focus shifts to Dick. The weight of his brother’s presence is heavy, but it’s the way he stands across from Tim, silent and still, that raises the hairs on the back of his neck.
The way Dick watches him makes Tim feel like stalked prey, hunted and haunted. He digs his fingers into Jason’s legs for something to hold on to, dimpling the skin. Dick’s eyes track the movement, attention lingering on where Tim touches only to drag slowly up to meet Tim’s gaze; hold it. There’s a warning there and Tim feels the threat behind it loud and clear.
“Yield!” Tim calls in response, taking his hands off of Jason and holding them up in surrender. There’s no way Tim is getting out of his pending death sentence as Jason’s sparring partner just to offer himself up for execution by Dick for what amounts to an honest misunderstanding. Tim isn’t after Dick’s crush; he was just doing field research, honest. “I yield.”
Not even his sincere surrender eases the cold severity that cuts across the room, but the moment Jason looks over at him, Dick is all (fake) warm smiles with an aura of (artificial) sunlight around him. It’s so abrupt that Tim reels at having witnessed the shift. What’s scarier is how convincingly normal it looks. It makes a shudder chase down Tim’s back.
He remembers how Dick warned him about getting jealous some days ago. It makes him wonder just how close to dying Tim might’ve been back then without even realizing.
Tim tumbles to the mat when Jason extricates himself, ditching him without further ado as he bounds off the mats to be with Dick. If Tim could, he’d become one with the mat to avoid this situation. It feels crucial and in his best interest to attract as little of Dick’s attention as possible. Being lovesick must’ve made him a little psychotic, too.
Still, Tim has a detective’s mind; he’s naturally curious. Although he should take the opportunity to dip, he lingers instead. Watching as Jason stands at Dick’s side. Sweet with his wide smile and the way he subconsciously leans close.
“Ready to fuck me up?”
Tim should have left when he had the chance. As it stands, the damage is done, so Tim straggles over and groans internally at the unintended innuendo. He knows Dick catches it, too, because his brother’s attention briefly flits to Tim and he smirks in the face of Tim’s exasperation.
“Looking forward to it.”
Credit where it’s due, Tim can admire the artful craft of plausible deniability in the way Dick flirts. Tim would take notes, but somehow Jason makes the situation entirely worse when he casually says, “Tim wanted to spice things up for us.”
Dick chuffs, looking back to Tim again with a charming smile that Tim can’t help but scrutinize now, wary after Dick showed his hand earlier. He frowns and Dick smile turns impish. With a playful lilt to his voice, he teases, “By watching?”
For fuck’s sake. Tim can’t fight the blush that burns across his cheeks. He can’t even be mad about it because the opportunity was there–Tim would’ve done the same thing. Even still, Dick is a damn menace.
“A bet.” Tim sulks.
Which leads them to this: the moment of truth. The spar that will decide Tim’s fate as a free man or as Jason’s eternal training dummy. Simple as the strategy Tim came up with is, he’s certain it will be effective. As far as failsafe measures go, there’s no way this one can go wrong.
“It’s a bet,” Tim explains, censoring his words because he sees this as less of a gamble and more a precaution to ensure Dick stays motivated and doesn’t get swept back up in the thirst trap Jason poses. “If you win, Jason will owe you one no-questions-asked request.”
Dick looks genuinely surprised at the favorable terms, interest piqued when he asks, “Really?”
“Nothing weird though.” Tim clarifies.
Dick gives him a look at the subtle jab. Less enthused, he intones, “Really?”
“Same deal if I win, right? What constitutes ‘weird’?” Jason asks. There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes and the curl to his lips is something wicked. He gives Tim a pointed once-over, “Damian’s got a body that needs hiding.”
Tim scowls. Jason snickers.
“Hate to break it to you, little wing, but you’re not winning this one.” Dick interrupts, looking every bit as eager as Tim knew he would once the deal was laid out. It makes Tim wonder if Dick has already figured out what he’ll ask for–if he’ll use the opportunity to ask Jason out or if he’ll go all in and propose.
“You sound sure of that, old timer.” Jason says, playful as he looks Dick over. When he lifts his gaze and catches Dick’s eye, he cocks his head to the side and smirks. Taunting. Teasing.
“I am.” Dick tells him. It’s a promise.
“We’ll see about that.” Jason says, trying for haughty but missing the mark because he just looks happy and hopeful instead. Jason actually bounces on the balls of his feet, giddy for the fight to come. Oddly enough, it’s cute. Dick must think the same if his adoring smirk is anything to go by. Jason grins at him, baring his teeth, “Don’t keep me waiting, big bird.”
The way Dick smiles back at him is so brilliant that Tim is blinded by it. That this is what gets them going is an insight Tim didn’t need, honestly, but he can’t deny that it’s good to see both of his brothers so happy.
Better than seeing his brothers happy is Tim being happy. As a concept, he’s never much believed in karma, but there’s no denying it must be looking out for him given all the good, positive energy he puts out into the world. He’s an example of what happens when you live a life in service to others; when you dedicate yourself to the greater good. All his efforts, his good intentions–some power of the universe finally deems to pay it forward in the best way possible.
He can’t help the cackle that tears out of him. Retribution feels good even if he’s not the one doling out the punishment. Tim isn’t particularly greedy; he’ll take his revenge through proxy.
It’s satisfying in the most ornery of ways to watch Jason get thrown down so fast that he’s left reeling, thoughts trying to catch up to his present circumstances. It’s a feeling Tim knows all too well, though it’s funnier now that it’s not Tim on the other end of it.
The only difference is that Jason smiles after, boyish in a way that makes his cheeks ruddy and his eyes squint. He’s quick to pull himself off the mats and quicker still to insist, “Best two of three. You owe me.”
It’s sweet to watch them have fun together again. The Cave is most comfortable when their laughter fills the empty spaces. It makes it feel like what a home should be. Comforting, warm, safe. Tim thinks they’d make a good one, though maybe they already have. The Cave hasn’t always been this way, after all.
Though maybe Tim should attribute it most to Jason. While Dick has always kept hope alive in this cold, severe place–Jason brought humanity back to it. To them.
There’s always been something different about their brother compared to them. A sensitive heart and vulnerable soul. Emotional. So damn emotional. Raw and honest in a way no one else is brave enough to be. Guarded, unwieldy, yet so ready to compromise and yield and break for love, for them. There’s too much kindness in him and a compassion that’s unsettling for how it overwhelms. Jason thinks he hides his softness well; Tim doesn’t know if he realizes it’s what makes everyone cherish him so deeply.
Jason makes it easier to be honest; he makes it easier to feel. He’s safe in every way that matters and he’s–he’s liberating because he accepts it all. The good, the bad, the hurtful. Nothing is too ugly for him; he stays regardless.
It’s easier to understand how Dick fell in love like this.
All his ruminations make Tim feel terribly fond. He doesn’t realize when his ornery, villainous smirk softened to something so affectionate, but he’s content to let it linger. Taking a moment to admire the gentleness of it, the warmth.
Maybe Dick doesn’t have such bad taste, after all.
It’s only for a moment that Tim looks away from his brothers, but when he turns back to them that soft, tender smile drops clear off his face and is replaced by something inscrutable and dispassionate because ugh .
The way Dick gets Jason pinned beneath him is lewd. Standard a pin as it is, it feels indecent like this–with Jason laid beneath Dick, wrists pinned and legs spread over Dick’s thighs. Accommodating for the space Dick fills between them, loose so Dick can press closer. Crowding Jason’s space, firm grip softening, shifting so just Dick’s thumb brushes soft over Jason’s wrist and thundering pulse.
Tim doesn’t get the impression Dick did it purposefully; he doesn’t seem aware of how salacious the pin is or how pliant Jason is, oblivious because he’s having more fun teasing Jason, but Dick’s a bit of a freak so it’s hard to say. Tim isn’t concerned with Dick though. He’s a known variable. What concerns him is Jason.
Because Tim watches in real time as Jason has his ‘oh’ moment. It’s laughable how direct a complement it is to Dick’s experience. Tim isn’t surprised they match each other’s freak though. His brothers were made for each other, without a doubt. Soulmates have nothing on them.
Gross.
Tim is happy for them. They’ll be together by the end of the week, he’s certain.
And it’s precisely when Tim is considering this another case closed and job well done that Jason finally processes his predicament and flusters in a truly spectacular way, lashing out with a vicious sucker punch that topples Dick over with a startled, miserable grunt.
Jason’s embarrassed panic in the aftermath is comical. At the same time, he’s kind of a wet dream with how he’s tousled and breathless, blushing pretty. That Dick can’t even appreciate the sight is something to torment him about later. Tim snickers to himself. Karma prevails again.
There’s no actual coherent sentence that Jason says because he’s so ruffled, but he eventually settles on getting ice and telling Dick not to move and something caught between a curse and an apology.
Which leaves the two of them: Dick lying prone on the mats, wheezing and holding his bruised ribs while Tim squats next to him, smug and not gracious about it in the least.
“Wonder what he’s gonna ask you to do,” Tim says. Gabbing in good fun, “Kind of a brutal loss there.”
“You’d know, huh?” Dick snarks back, looking over at Tim to chuff, “He mentioned something about a body.”
“Hah, hah.” Tim says, playing unamused but giving himself away when he laughs under his breath. It’s been a fun time, but everything is resolving itself naturally. Jason got his sparring partner back, Dick wooed Jason with Tim’s expert flirting advice, and Tim is once again a free man. “You good here?”
“Will be.” Dick says, reaching out to bump his fist to Tim’s knee before returning it to his ribs. Even through a pained grimace, he’s sincere when he says, “Thanks for looking out, Tim.”
Tim isn’t sure how cool he plays it when he leaves. Though he tries his best, his face feels the same way it had when Alfred told him about Dick’s trust in him. There’s no beating back how happy it all makes him. It feels good to help someone so important to him–Dick, especially. It might always baffle Tim to see how far he’s come and how much things have changed; for the better, despite everything.
He sneaks away only far enough so that he can watch from a distance without being seen. Curious, nosy, and justifying it by telling himself he deserves to see through the fruit of his labors. So he watches as Jason trudges back, cheeks still flushed from embarrassment. And he watches as Dick props himself up, meeting Jason halfway when Jason kneels and presses a cold compress to Dick’s ribs. He rolls his eyes at how smooth Dick is in laying his hand over Jason’s, taking the compress away to hold it to Jason’s bruising knuckles, instead.
From this far Tim can’t hear what’s said between them, but he can see how Dick smiles–a small, crooked thing, but genuine. Quiet laughter follows, echoing around the Cave and filling all the empty spaces, keeping the cold and darkness at bay.
Everything is as it should be, which is perhaps why Tim finds himself called to the mats the very next day. Jason’s voice is so unexpected and loud as it carries across the Cave that Tim startles, hands flinching across the keyboard of his laptop and typing a string of gibberish. For a split second, he thinks he’s in a ptsd-induced flashback or worse, a time loop.
Stiffly, Tim swivels in his chair to look behind him at the training mats and finds Jason beaming at him while beckoning him over with a menacing wave of his hand. That someone can go from looking so cute the day before to looking like a hellion the next is discomforting. Isn’t the gap in Jason’s personality too much?
“Dick and you just made up!” Tim calls back, protesting, “What happened?”
“Injury.” Dick tells him, smiling like a giddy, dumb-in-love youth. He pats his ribs like he was given a love tap by his crush instead of a devastating, debilitating right hook. Dick beckons him over, too, waving Tim over in that same menacing way. “Stand in for me?”
Some god must have seen Tim’s goading the day before. There’s no way this isn’t retribution for his hubris.
For all he makes a reluctant show of joining them though, Tim doesn’t mind. It’s fun to spar with Jason when he’s in a good mood and more fun still when Dick is on the sidelines badgering them both, taunting and teasing to spur them on. It becomes a chaotic free for all when Damian joins in, the Cave suddenly full from the sounds of roughhousing and goading, strangled yelps and sputtered laughs; half-hearted threats made lighter by innuendo that Dick and he laugh at like it’s an inside joke and which goes over Jason and Damian’s heads entirely.
Tim doesn’t miss the way Dick’s eyes linger on Jason. How when he looks away, Jason sneaks lingering glances of his own. And when their eyes happen to meet–Tim notices that, too–the way Dick lights up with that unfamiliar, shy smile and how the tips of Jason’s ears burn red and he’s quick to look away, caught out. The way Dick laughs under his breath and the way it pulls Jason’s attention all over again until Damian tackles Jason and Tim both to the mats, taking advantage of their distractions.
Dick comes over after, hoisting Damian up before offering Tim a hand. If only because Dick doesn’t drop him to the mats right after as he’s become wont to do, Tim rewards him. Tripping him when Dick hoists Jason up, sending them tumbling backwards and in a tangle together.
With how Dick holds Jason to his chest, Tim wonders if Dick doesn’t give himself away with his racing heart–if Jason would be able to hear it at all over the sound of his own heart stutter skipping in his chest.
It takes all his resolve not to snicker, but a smirk sneaks by him regardless of his efforts. It’s only fair after the hellish week they’ve caused him that Tim torments his brothers a bit more, but it’s fine because he’s still looking out, in the end. Always putting the greater good first; always in service to others. His brothers are lucky to have him and, at least to himself, Tim can admit that he’s lucky to have them, too.